#he wants to be topped so bad it's become part of his identity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thevoidstaredback · 21 days

Text

Danny smiled from his place on the clocktower roof. He'd been in Gotham for a while now, two years to the day exactly, but he'd never get tired of the view. Sure, he hated not being able to see the stars at night, but there were worse things. He did make sure to leave the city every night to see them, though.

He liked being up high. It reminded him of, not simpler times, but times when he wasn't as alone. Jazz had made her way to Harvard, Tucker was MIT, and Sam was at Pomona. Danny was nowhere.

They say after he turned fourteen, he died. It, to say the least, wasn't a pleasant or painless death, though it didn't hurt past the initial shock and revival. When he was sixteen, he realized he wasn't aging. Sure, Danny Fenton aged until he was sixteen, but Danny Phantom stopped at fourteen. Good for keeping a secret identity, but horrible for wanting to half live normally.

The day after he turned eighteen, exactly four years after he died, Danny disappeared. He left everything behind and hid out in the one place he'd always said he'd avoid. It was the one place no one would look for him. The one place where he was just another face in the crowd.

Gotham City allowed Danny the anonymity that normally came with death. Instead of just another headstone in the graveyard or a body in the harbor, though, he was just another kid on the streets in a busted hoodie and jeans. No one looked twice and no one asked questions.

In the two years he's spent on the streets of Gotham, he's learned a lot. Survival was something all humans are born with, but growing up with neglectful parents amplified that instinct. Dying and becoming an unwilling hero honed those instincts. Living in Gotham gave him a chance to learn more.

Learning the lay of the land was another thing he learned very quickly. Batman is over all of Gotham except for Crime Alley. That's Red Hood's haunt. Gotham Proper was split into blurry lines and shared between Batman and Robin, Red Robin, Orphan, and Spoiler. Nightwing is over Gotham's sister city, Bludhaven. Signal is the only day shift, so he had the most ground to cover in the least amount of time.

Of course, the Rouge's all had their own territories drawn with hard, barely flexible, lines. Black Mask was really the only one to breach those lines by trying to take Crime Alley, but Red Hood had been keeping him in check.

Learning the rules for each territory and how to interact with each person, Rouge or Vigilante, took time, but he managed. His own experiences had probably helped with that.

The next thing Danny had mapped out was where the neutral stations were. Every territory had them. They were places no one attacked because the important ones have standards. In Crime Alley, it's The Club. In Penguin's area, it's the Iceberg Lounge. Ivy marked off Robinson Park. Etcetera. The Joker is really the only major Rouge without a neutral mark on his map, but that's because he's more of an asshole than the rest. An asshole with standards, but an asshole nonetheless.

Very few of those neutral areas were available to spend the night in. Even fewer we're hiring. So, the homeless population of Gotham City stuck to the streets and back alleys.

However, there were two places Danny knew he could go where he'd be safe from scrutiny if someone looked too close at him. The Club in Crime Alley where all the working girls and boys checked in and reported any Bad Johns or Bad Janes, and The Iceberg Lounge in the richer parts of Gotham.

The clocktower was where Danny liked to spend his nights when the streets were too loud and the lights too bright and the fights too close for comfort. Oracle, who was Batman's eye in the sky and ear to the ground, worked from the clocktower, but he made sure to avoid her. It wasn't easy with what's basically super hearing that he can't turn off, but he found a spot near the very top where he could block out all Bat Business. Plausible deniability and all that.

Danny misses the stars. He misses being able to peek his head out of his bedroom window and name of each constellation he could see. He can't do that in Gotham because of the light pollution that clung to the sky like black mold. It was part of the reason he'd sworn to never go to Gotham.

There are Shades in Gotham. Shadows of people who have died but aren't quite ready to move on. He helps them as best he can, but there's so many that he sometimes feels like he's cutting off a Hydra's head. He gets to see results, though. Some days the parks are more colourful, the clouds have drifted enough to let natural sunlight through, and the graveyards are buzzing with thankful energy.

Danny forwent the thought of trying to get a job a while ago. As far as the world is concerned, Danny Fenton is missing, likely dead. Being dead, in case it wasn't well known, is a legal barrier. Sure, most jobs in Gotham didn't do background checks, but Danny didn't really want to join the Goonion. He's just fine living on the streets.

Ectoplasm is scarce compared to Amity Park, but that's to be expected. Besides, the miasma crushing the city like a weighted blanket was enough to sustain his basic abilities. Food was a bit harder to come by, but, like sleep, he could survive longer without it than a living being can. If anyone were to ever ask - though the likelihood of anyone even finding out - how he was alive, his answer was "Photosynthesis, but for ghosts."

Danny liked being just Danny. No name, no responsibilities outside of keeping himself alive.

Danny Fenton, the loser nerd who fell to the bottom of all his classes, who's obsessed with space and everything in it, who could tell you exactly how long it would take to get from Earth to Betelgeuse and back, is dead. He died the day after he turned fourteen.

Danny Phantom, the hatefully loved vigilante who appeared with the throngs of ghosts, who grew more powerful with every fight, who won more fights than he thought he could because there was no other option, is gone. He disappeared after exactly four years.

Danny just exists. He lives on the streets of Gotham City, staying away from trouble because he learned how to recognize it as soon as he could walk. He loves space and finds every opportunity he can to get out and watch the stars and moon and planets. He likes heights because being up that high reminds him of when he was living and not just surviving. Was there really a difference anymore? He hangs out in graveyards and the docks because the dead are so much more tolerable than the living.

Danny liked being just Danny because Danny doesn't have the world of Infinite Realms and Possabilities on his shoulder.

Danny likes to be able to just be for once.

Storyboard Part 2

374 notes · View notes

hero-israel · 4 months

Note

I think there needs to be a reckoning about how so many white (passing) American secular/nonpracticing antiZionist Jews can say "Not in my name, Israel doesn't speak for us!" and then think they can speak for Israel. How so many of them can have a limited familial connection to Israel, have such a disdain for Israelis, Israeli culture and society, and Israel as a concept, and then have the gall to act like their opinions matter?

I see their attitudes be described as fear, but to me it strikes me as more than just fear. A lot of them, I suspect, have incorporated antiZionism as a fundamental part of their Jewish identity. It's not just a disagreement, they're not just saving face. Take away the Goyim and talk to them privately and they still believe what they believe, and express it in the same way. They hate Israeli Jews.

And Israel is only going to become less Ashkenazi (aka less "white") as time marches forward. The bad faith hysterical Israel bashing and condescension is only going to look more and more like Orientalism, and frankly, racism.

I think it's very possible that calling something antisemitic can't just be a catchall term when this chicken comes home to roost. I think if there aren't already, there will be distinct forms of antisemitism, some that only Diaspora Jews face and some that only Israeli Jews face. And if this is true or will end up being true, it's pretty important that we not speak over each other's experiences. To do that we have to recognize these experiences and respect them. Do some Israeli Jews disrespect the Diaspora experience? Yes, from what I've seen. Is it nearly as vitriolic and is it growing nearly as quickly as the disrespect for the Israeli experience among antiZionist American Jews? Not even close.

All this divisive language to say: sometimes when Israelis say "so and so is antisemitic!" in the context of antiZionism, they're talking about themselves, their experiences, the stakes for them, and not Americans. So maybe we should all learn to stay in our lanes sometimes.

A lot of Israeli Jews disrespect, or at least are unable to grasp, diaspora existence, particularly when it comes to Americans. I can't even count the number of times I read Israelis say "Why are you American Jews so upset about Trump? Don't you see how good he's been for Israel?" Which is the worst damn argument a person could possibly use - it feeds into both left-wing and right-wing antisemitism, while ignoring that American Jews live HERE and are at risk from Trump's fascist cult and general lawlessness. And it is bad FOR EVERYBODY to have "pro-Israel" become the position of stroke-babbling grotesque racist criminals, and also for America to be too focused on anarchic decomposition and Yugoslav-style street warfare to be able to support Israel like it traditionally has.

And because turds of a feather flush together, Netanyahu wants ALAN DERSHOWITZ to be Israel's advocate if the ICJ case proceeds. I knew Netanyahu was a senile failure undermining all the strengths he had ever built for the country and this is just the shit cherry on top of the shit sundae. Alan Dershowitz is the ultimate stereotype of a Boomer who was kind of useful in the 1980s-90s and became awful and embarrassing now, Trump is surrounded by them (i.e. Rudy Giuliani). Your grandma in Florida remembers Alan Dershowitz for writing "Chutzpah" and being tough and quick-witted, and everybody under 40 knows Dershowitz as a Trump cultist and Epstein fuckbuddy. Big "Vladek Spiegelman can only compare his artist son to Walt Disney" energy. There are surely thousands of lawyers better-suited for the role, just off the top of my head I'd prefer Eugene Kontorovich and so should anyone who is more aware of the world as it actually is than how it was in 1994.

I say all that to parallel your original point, not to contradict it. Yes, the American Jews who performatively loathe Israel are by and large just an Extremely Online phenomenon of the most college-town bubble-protected, least observant, least affiliated, and least aware of non-Ashkenazim. It is not so hard for American Ashkenazim to stay protected from antisemitism as long as they totally unplug from their Jewish identity and any public-facing aspects of it. Can't be killed in a synagogue or JCC or kosher store if you never go in, head tap.

272 notes · View notes

the-marshals-wife · 4 months

Text

New Horizons (Arthur Curry x Reader)

A/N: Requested by @dantes-devil-huntress. I can't believe this is my first Aquaman fic! This was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Premise: Trying to figure out his place in the world as the newly crowned king of Atlantis, Arthur meets someone who may just help him find the answers he looking for.

Description: Arthur Curry/Aquaman x Fem!Reader (Human), meet-cute fluff! | Warnings: alcohol, mild language | Setting: AU w/o Mera endgame, before The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 3,468

Edit: here's my Orm Marius x Reader fic for my fellow Orm girlies ;)

Gif credit: user jasonmomoaonline

Imagine Arthur giving you shelter when you're stranded in a storm, and discovering his true identity

Getting stood up for your date had been the worst part of the night, until the moment you got into your car. Instead of the engine turning over and sputtering to half-life like usual, it only stalled.

"You have got to be kidding me," you say, gripping the steering wheel and turning the key until you thought it might snap, "Come on, come on, come ON!"

Throwing open your door, you pop the hood and stumble back out into the chilled night. You mutter curses under your breath as you survey the labyrinth of steel and hoses before you.

"At least nothing's on fire this time," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

You step back and stare at the bucket of bolts the salesman had called "like new." Besides coming to this bar, buying this car was quite possibly your biggest regret. It wasn't quite a lemon, but it wasn't a Rolls either. And most of all, it was all you could afford.

You exhale, glaring up at the flickering light of the bar's neon sign. The last thing you wanted to do after waiting nearly two hours alone like a fool was show your face inside again. You retrieve your phone from your back pocket, just to see the blinking bars in the top corner. No service.

"Wonderful," you groan.

Like a bad joke, thunder rolls in the distance. You look up to see the lightning flashing on the horizon across the bay. The brisk, salt air rises up from the water and cuts right through you.

"Could this night get any better?!" you lament, an angry shriek escaping your lips as you kick the front tire.

"Excuse me, Miss?" a voice from behind interjected.

You jump and turn to see a man approaching, nervous smile on his bearded face. You appraise him wearily: tall, dark, and not at all lacking in style, clad in both leather and jewelry. He looked a sight better than the drunken fishermen you'd observed stumble about the bar, which you concluded was about ninety-percent of the clientele. Even from where he stood, he certainly seemed to smell better.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but you sound like you might need some help," he offers hesitantly.

Despite your initial scare, something about him puts you at ease.

"Oh, um...yeah, actually" you smile embarrassed, tucking your hair behind your ear, "My stupid car won't start. Again."

"Mind if I take a look?" he asks, pointing.

"Would you? That would be great, honestly," you say, folding your arms against the cold, "I just had it in the shop last week. I have no idea what's wrong now."

He pats the fender as he circles around to the front, "Let's see what's got you all clammed up here, buddy."

"Your guess is as good as mine," you say exasperated, stepping to stand behind him a ways.

He chuckles and pushes up his sleeves, ducking underneath the hood. You take note of the intricate tattoos, realizing this friendly stranger was becoming more interesting by the minute.

"Hmm, nope. Not that," he says, craning his neck, "Not that either."

You bite your lip and sway on your feet, silently praying he could find the source of the problem. Any easy fix was probably too much to hope for, but your fingers stayed mentally crossed nonetheless.

"Ooh, maybe- no, definitely not," he says, followed by a clinking sound, "That should not be there."

"I really appreciate this," you say after a moment, peering over his shoulder, "I can change the wipers and put on a spare if I have to, but that's about the extent of my car expertise."

"No shame in that," he grunts, his voice strained, "Oof, now that might be a problem."

"Did you find something?" you dare to ask.

"These spark plugs are kaput. Like, 'not even a necromancer can bring them back' kind of kaput."

"The guy said they were fine!" you exclaim, "I knew I shouldn't have gone back to that place. Probably just took my money and laughed."

The man finally stands up and winces.

"And your alternator is on its last leg," he says with a grimace, "Even if you could get it to start, I wouldn't go more than five miles in this thing."

"Great. That's just wonderful," you sigh, shaking your head, "Well, thank you for looking. It'd have taken me forever to figure that out. Google only goes so far."

"No problem, wish I had better news for ya," he says, wiping his grease-tinged hands on his jeans before extending one towards you, "I'm Arthur, by the way."

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Nice to meet you too."

Despite your frustration, you couldn't help but grin. As Good Samaritans go, he was quite a handsome one. Something in the back of your mind whispered that you had seen his face before, but you couldn't place when or where.

Before you could speak again, a bolt of lightning strikes just across the harbor, followed swiftly by a crash of thunder.

Arthur looks off to the darkened horizon, his expression souring with concern.

"Storm's coming in fast," he observes, the sea breeze blowing through his long, sun-kissed hair, "Do you have someone you can call to come pick you up?"

He turn back to you, and only now do you notice just how rich and golden eyes his eyes are. For a few dizzied seconds, you forget to answer.

"Uh, not really. I'm pretty new to the area. I don't know very many people," you reply, feeling shy all of a sudden, "I can just call a Uber or something. If my service ever picks up."

"Yeah, definitely," he nods, clearing his throat, "They have a phone inside."

"Thank you again for helping me, Arthur," you say, starting to walk towards the door.

"I didn't really help, though..." he trails off, disappointment in his voice as you step past him.

Your hand is almost on the handle when he pipes up.

"Uh, look I know you don't know me, but my dad's place is just down the road from here. He's the lighthouse keeper. Him and my mom are actually away on little retreat, and I'm watching the place for them," he explains, "It's dry, warm, and definitely has a lot less drunk guys. You could wait there while the storm passes, if you wanted."

You turn back to him, trying to conceal your renewed hope, "I couldn't impose on you like that."

"Oh you wouldn't be. It's just me and the dog. He's probably getting sick of me at this point. He could use a visitor," he chuckles, "But I understand if you'd rather stay here. Strange guy at a bar invites you to a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night. Sounds like a horror movie, I know."

You laugh, and so does he, bringing some much needed levity.

"I'll bring you right back if you change your mind, just say the word," he adds, sounding truly sincere.

Almost everything in you was saying not to trust a man you'd just met, but your gut was telling you otherwise. There was more to the warmth in his eyes than just the color.

"Well, it does sound like the dog could use some company," you say thoughtfully.

Arthur smirks. "Oh yeah. There's been a Hell's Kitchen marathon on for days, and I'm pretty sure he's sick of listening to my Gordon Ramsay impression. I can't resist, love that guy."

"I might have to hear that for myself."

"Let's get you out of this weather, and we'll see what I can do about that, then," he says with a wink, "My ride is just over here."

Not even the chilled wind could overcome the warmth of your cheeks. The excitement in your chest grows with every step as you follow him across the sandy lot. The ride in question, however, soon comes into view, and the knot in your stomach tightens all the more.

"Oh boy," you say, staring at the motorcycle.

"You're not scared of bikes are you?" he questions, stepping alongside it and reaching into the black saddlebag.

"Not exactly," you hesitate, "I've just never been on one before."

He pulls out a red, half helmet and offers it to you.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall off," he replies, amused.

You look between him and the headgear a moment before taking it.

"Besides," he says, swinging his leg over the seat, "All you have to do is hang on."

With no argument to make, and rain drops beginning to sprinkle down, you pull your hair back and fasten the helmet on. You nearly lose your balance trying to throw your leg over, having to grab his shoulder to steady yourself. He didn't seem to mind; you could have sworn you heard him snicker. You settle into the seat, heart racing from being so close to him. More anxious than ever, you lightly place your hands on his back.

"All good back there?" Arthur asks, a smile in his voice.

"All good," you repeat, unconvincingly.

"Alright then," he says, turning the key.

Seconds later, the motorcycle roars to life as he revs the engine. Arthur eases the bike back slowly, pivots out of the lot, and eases it up to the main road. The instant he accelerates, the force kicks you backward. You throw your arms around his torso, pulling yourself against him. Over the noise of the machine, you weren't sure if the rumbling in your ear that followed was thunder or laughter, but you figured was the latter.

With the bar now behind you, and the rain coming down harder with the increasing speed, you bury your face into his back and hold on tightly.

♆

The lighthouse comes into view just as the skies open up. Arthur maneuvers the bike up the slippery, sand driveway and quickly shuts it off. He gives you his hand as you climb off and leads you toward the house.

The helmet offers some protection from the downpour, but the wind blows the spray into your face as you squint to see. Lightning above illuminates the world like daylight as you scramble up onto the porch.

Arthur throws the front door open and lets you in first as you stumble inside the dark house. You take a few blind steps forward as he slams it shut behind him, thunder making the windows rattle.

"Man, someone must have really pissed off Thor," he laughs. His relief, however, is turned to exasperation as you hear a clicking sound followed by a sigh.

"Power's out. Awesome."

Still trying to catch your breath, you pull out your phone, struggling with wet fingers to use touchscreen. Finally the flashlight turns on, and Arthur throws his hand up over his eyes as you accidentally shine it right at his face.

"Sorry," you pant, pointing it down.

"No worries. That's a good idea, actually. I always forget about this thing," he remarks, grabbing his own phone and doing the same, "One second, I think Pops has some candles in the kitchen."

You nod as he disappears into the next room. Now remembering the dripping helmet on your head, you release the strap with your free hand and set it down on the mat beside the door. A shiver goes through you from your soaked clothes. You point your phone about the shadowy room to get your bearings, admiring the otherwise cozy living area. As you sweep the light downward, something large and metallic glints on the coffee table in front of the sofa and catches your eye. You move closer to get a better look, and then your heart drops to your feet. Lying beside a bag of jerky and the TV remote is a massive, gleaming trident of gold. A memory flashes through your mind of an article you'd seen weeks ago, with a fuzzy photo of an alleged aquatic hero holding a weapon just like it. The pieces come together all at once as you realize the identity of your host.

The very next second, you hear Arthur's approach. He returns with a lit candle in each hand and a blanket under his arm, only to find your expression of complete and utter shock.

"You...you're..." you stammer.

"Oof, I knew I forgot to put something away," he cringes, "My bad."

"You're the Aquaman," you gape, finding the words.

"Surprise," he says in a sing-song voice, flashing a nervous smile, "Yeah, I never really know how to bring that up.

You stare at him dumbfounded as he places the candles on the coffee table. "I can't believe it. Aren't you supposed to be like...well, in Atlantis or something?"

"I was, earlier this morning. Just about died of boredom in council meetings," he says matter-of-factly, proceeding to talk as if he had a desk job, "I'm kinda part-timing right now, between land and sea. It's complicated. I'm still new to the whole 'king' thing. Don't have all the kinks worked out yet."

"I'd imagine," you breathe, your mind still reeling.

"Here, figured you need this." He holds out the blanket, completely unphased by the previous subject, "Do you drink tea? I can make some for you."

You take the blanket and chuckle in bewilderment. "Um, sure. That would be great," you answer, "Thank you."

"One tea coming up," he smiles, "Uh, just make yourself comfortable, I'll get the fire going here a minute, after I find the dog. Pretty sure he's hiding under Pops' bed upstairs. He's terrified of storms. Ironic right? Lighthouse keeper's dog afraid of a little water."

"I don't blame him this time," you say, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, "I think you were right about Thor."

As if on cue, another boom of thunder shakes the walls. You both burst out laughing.

♆

A few minutes later, you find yourself sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire with a warm mug in your hands, finally beginning to feel dry. Having been unsuccessful in coaxing the dog into joining him downstairs, Arthur settles down beside you crossed-legged, damp hair tied up, trading the tea for a can of Guinness. Your thoughts rage like the storm outside as you stare into the flames, agonizing about what you should say.

Arthur speaks a moment later, saving you the trouble.

"Sorry about the power. I'll call you that cab as soon as it comes back."

"That's okay, I'm not in a hurry," you reply.

You look over at him hopefully, meeting his piercing gaze for as long as you can. Mere seconds pass before you bow your head, heart racing while you repress a smile.

"I'm uh, sure you've got some questions about all this," he ventures, rubbing the back of his head.

"Honestly, with the night I've had, meeting 'Aquaman' is par for the course," you smirk.

"I didn't mean to spring it on you like that. I guess you can understand why I don't lead with the whole King of Atlantis thing. Kinda makes it hard to keep a conversation going once people know you 'can talk to fish.' They don't really see you the same after that."

"Yeah, I think I'd probably keep that to myself too," you agree, the awe returning full-force, "Still, it must be amazing. I mean, you're basically ruler of the ocean, right? Or is it just Atlantis?"

"Eh, I mean there's the other kingdoms-"

"There's more?!" you blurt out, wide-eyed.

"Oh yeah. Xebel, the Fishermen, the Brine, a couple of defunct ones no one wants talks about. We got a few."

"And you're the ruler over all of them?"

He shrugs. "More or less. I mean, they each have their own ruler. But then I'm also over them? Kinda? I'm still figuring crap out, they didn't exactly give me a rule book on my first day. Plus I have answer to this royal council and they've got sticks up their butts about everything I do and say," he groans, rolling his eyes, "I like to consider myself more of a 'protector of the deep' than a ruler. Sounds more cool, and less like an old fart with a crown."

You giggle, hanging on every his every word.

"And with this bad boy right here," he says, reaching behind him and patting the trident, "I command all life in the sea. The animals anyway. Between you and me, that's the best part."

"You definitely have a cooler job than me," you beam.

"It definitely has its perks. But most of the time, I'd rather be here," he sighs, punctuated by a swig of his beer.

A visible sadness washes over him as he looks into the fire.

"You aren't from Atlantis?" you question.

"No, I was raised by my father. My parents met on accident. My mother was queen of Atlantis, and she ran away from her not-so-nice guy fiancé. She got lost in a storm, and my father rescued her. They've always said it was..."

Arthur stops and turns his gaze towards you, realization in his eyes.

Your heart skips as you understand. "Fate?"

He nods thoughtfully. "Something like that."

You blink, letting him go on.

"Anyway, I know I have a calling to the sea, but the land is always going to be a part of me, you know?" His expression softens. "Here, I've always found everything I need."

His words linger in the air between you. You look down at your hands, your chest pounding.

He clears his throat. "Sorry, I know that was a lot of info."

"Just a little bit," you reply teasingly, "But your secret's safe with me, Arthur. I promise. I've got no one to tell anyway."

"Don't worry, I trust you," he says, waving his hand, "It's actually nice to have someone else to share it with."

"I'm honored that you did. I know it's not the same, but I do understand what it's like to feel that you don't belong," you confess, "I didn't fit in my 'kind' either. Moved out here to start over. I guess you could say I'm still trying to figure some crap out too."

He pauses in thought second before responding, "Do you mind if I ask you something, Y/N?"

"After everything I've asked you? I'd say it's definitely your turn," you chuckle, taking a sip of your forgotten tea.

"I saw you at the bar before you went outside. I couldn't help but notice that you were there by yourself..."

"You noticed correctly. I was supposed to meet someone for a date, but after saying he was on his way, he never showed. I tried to text him, but he blocked me. I don't even know why."

"Nothing like being stood up at some backwater bar," he concludes, frowning, "Well, screw that guy. He's a bum."

"Yeah, I figured that out too late," you agree, then give him a knowing look, "The evening wasn't a total loss. I did meet you, after all."

"That's true," he concedes, playfully stroking his beard, "I may be a half-breed rookie king, but I'm not a bum."

You snort and gesture to the television set on your right, "So much for your marathon though, huh?"

"Ah, that's alright. They were all re-runs anyway."

You raise your eyebrow. "Think I could still hear that impression?"

He holds a finger to his chin in mock deliberation, "Hmmm, have I had enough to drink for that?

"I don't know, have you?" You lean in with anticipation.

He flashes a sly grin. "Of course I bloody have," he declares in the most hackneyed attempt at a British accent you'd ever heard, "And you better listen up, because I'm about to tell you everything there is to know about how to cook a bloody good flounder."

Your sides ache with laughter as he continues to go on a tangent about how to properly sauté shallots and season the perfect demi-glace. The voice sounded nothing like the infamously tempermental chef, of course, but you still thought his attempt was cute. By the time he was yelling at his invisible staff for serving him raw fish, the storm outside had passed, and neither of you noticed.

As Arthur went to light the stove to warm up some "gourmet" SpaghettiOs, still boisterously carrying on as Chef Ramsay, your excited thoughts returned to the story about his parents. You couldn't help but wonder about your own stormy night, the man you had met, and how much of a hand fate had played in it. The horizon seemed so much brighter than before, and for the first time ever, you were grateful to have bought that car.

#arthur curry x reader #aquaman x reader #aquaman imagine #arthur curry imagine #aquaman and the lost kingdom #jason momoa #arthur curry #aquaman 2 #aquaman fanfic #my writing #request

191 notes · View notes

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 8 months

Text

Imagine Being Loved By Me

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Self deprecation, alcohol, mild angst, semi public smut, oral sex (m receiving) Word count: ~3.2k

Summary: Loose lips sink ships - a drunken night at the pub proves catastrophic for the secret fling she's been having with her best mate's brother. Based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She lays cocooned on the sofa, enveloped in the soft warmth of fluffy throw blankets. The sounds of an episode of Eastenders playing on the TV fill the small space of her living room, yet her attention is focused solely on her phone, cradled in her palm as her thumb hovers over the screen.

“Come to the pub, not seen you for ages.” Reads the text message from her best mate, Lana.

It’s true, she has seen less of Lana over the last couple of months, the sole cause of that is due to Lana’s younger brother, Billy. She had never meant for it to happen.

After Billy had been pulled from his car in Cranstead Gardens, only for it to blow up mere moments later - a bomb planted by a right wing group called The Crusaders, attempting to frame Billy for an attack on anti-fascist protestors, Billy had been in a bad way. Already plagued by struggles of self worth and identity, he was now traumatised on top of it.

Supporting Billy through all of it had taken a toll on Lana. She’d taken time off work to care for her younger brother, making sure he went to his therapy sessions, sitting up with him when his night terrors got too much for him to bear, making sure he ate and took care of himself.

She’d seen how tired Lana was becoming, the dark circles under her eyes growing more prominent every time she saw her. Spending so much time looking after Billy, she was forgetting to look after herself. Stepping in, she’d lended her own support, wanting to ease the burden on her best friend.

Countless cups of tea were made by her, she’d cooked massive pasta bakes and pots of chilli, ensuring that both Lana and Billy had dinner every day. In her bid to support her friend, she’d unwittingly become part of her brother’s life too.

It was an afternoon a week after Lana had gone back to work, she’d continued to pop round to Billy’s each day as a favour to her, just to check in on him and make sure he wasn’t letting the flat get in too much of a state.

They had been standing side by side in the kitchen, her rolling a cigarette for both of them, while Billy made tea. Their fingers had brushed as he’d passed her mug with one hand, while taking his rollie from her with the other, and for the briefest of moments their eyes had locked.

She felt as though time had stood still as she stared into his big blue eyes, and suddenly tea and cigarettes were forgotten as their lips met in a frenzied rush of passion. He’d pushed her back against the kitchen side and she’d giggled against his lips as they’d sent empty beer cans and dirty cutlery clattering to the floor.

In response, he’d lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist as he’d carried her to the bedroom. His breath had been heavy against her neck as he’d rutted hard into her against the rumpled bed sheets, while she’d stroked her fingers through his tousled sandy hair and whispered to him how good he was making her feel.

They’d laid there breathlessly afterwards and he’d made her swear not to tell Lana. It had made sense to her at the time, she’d thought it was a one off, and Lana would probably find it weird that her best friend and her younger brother had slept together.

But then it kept happening, and as time went on it felt more like a relationship than casual hooking up. Yet Billy continued to insist they kept it quiet, so she had, despite it seeming odd to her that they’d make a secret of something that clearly both made them happy.

And Billy did make her happy - most of the time. When things were good, they were really good; they’d spoon on his threadbare sofa, his laughter ruffling her hair as they watched reruns of The Simpsons. His large hand would always find its way up her top, wrapping around the dip in her waist, anchoring her to him.

When things were bad, they were awful. It would often happen after Billy’s weekly visits to the JobCentre to sign on, he’d come back petulant, closed off, in a place that was so far into his own mind that she couldn’t reach him. He’d lash out with angry words, filled with spite and vitriol if she tried to push him to open up, so she’d learned to retreat, to let him come to her.

Usually a day later, he’d reach back out and apologise, and things would be good again. Yet this time, a week had passed since she’d left Billy to his own devices and he hadn’t spoken to her at all.

She clicks away from Lana’s text, and onto her thread with her younger brother, faced with a stream of her own unanswered messages.

Fuck him.

If he doesn’t want to talk to her then perhaps her Friday night is better spent at the pub. She fires off a quick message to Lana, telling her she’ll be there in an hour before showering and getting herself ready.

The pavement is slick underfoot as she walks from her flat. It’s rained recently, and the smell of it hangs thick in the air, along with a brisk chill that causes her to pull her leather jacket tighter around herself, wishing she’d put on something warmer.

She pushes through the heavy barrier of the pub door, leaving behind the cold air, the smell of rain and the steady hum of traffic, for stifling warmth, the cloying scent of beer and raucous laughter.

Smiling when she spots Lana at a table in the corner, flanked by her mate and fellow EXPO, John, she heads over, taking a seat next to Lana and shrugs out of her jacket.

“Alright, stranger?” Lana looks warmly at her, eyes filled with familiar affection, “Mick’s just getting a round in.”

Her smile falters, stomach churning with disgust at the mention of Mick. He’s ex-military, a mutual friend of Joel and Lana. Since Joel had passed away in the Westhaven Estate bombing, he had latched onto Lana, and it made her skin crawl. She hated his arrogance and the way he always leered at her, he took cheap shots at Billy’s expense whenever he was around, despite repeatedly being told to stop.

“Great,” she says, the dullness of her tone not matching the enthusiasm of the word.

Before Lana can respond, Mick makes his way back over, four full pint glasses clutched tightly in his hands. He sets them down on the table, the motion sending lager foam dripping over the edges and onto the wood beneath.

“Lana mentioned you’d be dropping in,” Mick says, sliding a glass across to her, a trail of moisture spreading across the tabletop in its wake, “so I got you a pint.”

“Thanks,” she says with a tight smile, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a deep sip, focusing on how the bitter bubbles fizz against her tongue.

“Any time, gorgeous,” he fires back with a wink, and she grimaces, feeling as though she’ll bring the beer back up that she’s just swallowed.

She’s grateful when he takes a seat next to John and the two fall into conversation, leaving her and Lana to catch up. They talk about work and Lana’s excitement over Thom finally asking her to move in with him. It’s nice to be around her best friend again, how easily they slot back into place as though no time has passed. She feels guilty for not having made more time for Lana, being secretly kept preoccupied by Billy.

As if on cue, her phone buzzes and she pulls it out of her bag, seeing a text from him flash up on the screen. “were r u??”

She sighs, realising he’s likely turned up at her flat and seen she’s not home. It’s tempting to ignore him, considering he’s left her hanging for the last week, but she knows Billy, knows what he’s like, he’ll spiral if he doesn’t hear from her.

“At the pub.” She replies, then sends “With your sister.” as an afterthought, hoping it will deter him from turning up.

Putting her phone away, she continues drinking her pint and chatting with Lana, until Lana’s eyes move towards the door, brows raising in surprise.

“Here comes trouble,” she says, before taking a drink.

She turns, heart sinking as she sees Billy making his way unsteadily towards their table. His eyes are glazed, a pinkish hue is dusted across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, the telltale signs he’s been drinking.

Mick looks up, raising his pint in greeting. “Billy! I’d offer you a drink, but I’ve not long gotten a round in. You can afford to get your own, right?”

“Mick, leave it,” Lana grits out, eyes narrowed.

“Sit down, Billy,” she says gently, pulling out the seat next to hers, “I’ll get you one.”

“I don’t need you!” He snaps, nostrils flaring and brow furrowing.

She flinches back, feeling her throat tighten, lowering her gaze to hide the hurt she feels.

Billy softens, shoulders sagging with shame, averting his own eyes. “Don’t need you to get me a drink,” he says quietly, “can get my own.”

She watches him weave through the crowded pub towards the bar, anxiety forming a pit within her stomach.

“Fuck’s sake,” she hears Lana mutter under her breath, turning to her. “I’m so sorry, had no idea he’d turn up.”

I did, she thinks to herself, but offers her friend a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, I don’t mind.”

Billy’s pint is already half drunk by the time he makes his way back to their table. He sets the glass heavily down on its surface, before slumping in the seat next to hers, fingers fidgeting with a beer mat.

“Still not working then, Billy?” Mick asks and she has to fight the urge to tell him to shut up, her grip tightening around the condensation coated outside of her pint glass.

“Starting an apprenticeship in two weeks, actually,” he says, shooting him a sideways glance, fingers continuing to spin the beer mat.

What? Why hadn’t he told her?

Her eyes widen in surprise, mouth opening to ask about it, closing it again upon realising it’s not her place, not publicly anyway. Thankfully, Lana is quick to step in.

“That’s brilliant news! Doing what?”

“Car mechanics,” Billy says. “Bloke at the JobCentre sorted me out with it, I start in two weeks.”

“Wow,” Lana says with a genuine smile, “I’m dead pleased for you, mate, know how much you enjoyed doing up your old Vauxhall.”

Billy nods, tapping the edge of the beer mat against the table, not looking directly at anyone. “Yeah, should hopefully have a job by the end of it.”

She takes a mouthful of lager, swirling it over her tongue, trying to distract herself from the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’s pleased for Billy, it would be cruel not to be, but she can’t deny the hurt she feels that this isn’t something he felt was worth sharing with her.

“Let’s hope this sticks, eh, mate?” Mick says with a smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Billy asks with a scowl.

Mick shrugs casually. “Seems like a good opportunity, would hate to see it go the same way as all your attempts to join the army.”

“Let’s keep it friendly, shall we?” John says uncomfortably, but is ignored by Mick.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, “hope another group of terrorists doesn’t come along and distract him. They teach you how to look for bombs while you’re fixing up the cars at this apprenticeship?”

“I said enough!” Lana shouts, slamming her pint glass down, eyes wide with fury.

The pub goes eerily silent, the Oasis song that’s playing on the jukebox and the scrape of Billy’s chair legs on the flagstone flooring are the only audible sounds as he stands abruptly, tossing the beer mat he’d been fiddling with onto the table.

“Going out for a fag,” he says sullenly, the chatter of surrounding tables gradually becoming louder as the shock of the sudden outburst wears of.

Billy walks out of the pub, head bowed, and she watches him go, her heart aching for him.

“Erm…think I’ll join him, actually,” she tells Lana, turning towards her, “could do with a smoke anyway. I’ll see if he’s alright.”

“Appreciate that, thank you,” Lana says, giving her hand a squeeze. “Think Mick and I need to have a little chat anyway,” her tone is suddenly stern, her gaze dark as she turns to face the man opposite her.

She nods, slipping her jacket back on and heads outside.

The shock of the cold night air hitting her skin causes her to draw in a sharp breath. It’s still damp outside and she worries that Billy might have gone home when she can’t immediately see him. It’s not until she walks along the road a short distance that she spots the glow of the end of a lit cigarette down an alleyway, the reddish hue dully illuminating Billy’s sharp features.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she walks towards him. “You should ignore Mick,” she says softly, standing in front of him, “he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Billy exhales a plume of smoke, a hint of a sneer on his face as he draws his head back, staring at her through narrowed eyes. “Seems like he had the right of it to me. I’m a fuck up and almost got myself killed because of it.”

“You’re not, Billy,” she reassures him, “you were in a bad place. Those scumbags took advantage. Mick only takes the piss because he knows if he was in your position he wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

He sniffs, scowling slightly as he takes another drag, and she shifts from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for him to say something, anything.

She sighs when it becomes apparent he won’t, silently exhaling smoke, his brooding silence too much for her to bear. “Why didn’t you tell me about the apprenticeship?”

Billy swallows thickly, staring down at his trainers. “I was gonna, but then…then Becky text me.”

“Oh,” is all she’s able to get out, her skin growing heated despite how cold it is, as her heart lurches with painful jealousy.

She takes an involuntary step back, but Billy is quick to advance towards her, his free hand reaching for her. “No, not like that!” He says hastily. “I dunno what she wanted, actually. Messaged to ask how I was and I told her I was with you and not to contact me again.”

Her stomach flutters at his words.

Told her I was with you.

She can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth. “And then what?”

“Then she said it wouldn’t last, she couldn’t imagine why someone like you would wanna be with someone like me.”

“And you believed her?”

He chucks his cigarette butt on the ground, crushing it underfoot. “I followed my therapist’s advice; cut ties with people who force you to question your self worth - blocked her number.”

Pride swells in her chest at his words and she reaches for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“But it got me thinking,” he continues, “you deserve better than a few secret shags with your best mate’s waster brother.”

Her brow furrows, sadness making her feel heavy. “Is that why you’ve avoided me all week?”

Billy nods. “Yeah, just sorta wondered what the point of it all is, we have to keep it a secret anyway, and I’m just gonna fuck it up, same as I’ll do with this apprenticeship.”

She reaches up, cupping his face, fingers stroking over the scruff of his jawline, which is in desperate need of a shave. “Billy, it was your decision to keep us a secret. I’d tell everyone, given the choice. I’m not ashamed to be with you.”

His hands grasp her wrists, thumbs stroking the soft skin on the undersides. “Really?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper as he looks at her hopefully.

Leaning up, she kisses his lips, quick and chaste. “Really. Billy, you’re so good,” she leans up again, pressing her mouth to his more firmly, for longer, savouring the feeling of him kissing her back.

“So good to me,” she whispers, trailing her lips along his jaw and over his neck, smiling as she feels him shudder, his long fingers threading themselves into her hair.

“I’m so proud to be with you,” she tells him, sucking at his pulsepoint, earning a groan, which she feels the rumble of through his chest.

She reaches down, palming him through his jogging bottoms, feeling the rapid hardening of his cock through the cotton. “You’re gonna do so well at your apprenticeship, show everyone else just how good you are.”

His jaw goes slack, his grip on her hair tightening as he pulls her in for another kiss. It’s deep and heated, his breathing rapid as he tongue works against hers. He tastes of tobacco and Carling, yet to her there has never been anything more addictive.

Pulling away, his hands slip from her hair as she drops to her knees in front of him, not caring how the dampness of the concrete soaks into the material of her jeans.

“What are you doing?” Billy asks, lips parted in shock as he watches her tug at the waistband of his joggers and boxers, pulling them down just enough to free his erection. “Someone could see!”

“Then let them see, Billy,” she whispers huskily, eyes flitting up momentarily to meet the ocean blue wideness of his. “I told you I’m not ashamed to be with you.”

She licks the flushed pink tip of him, humming appreciatively at the sharp taste, grinning to herself as Billy hisses through his teeth, eyes screwed shut.

“Tastes so good,” she coos up at him, reveling in the sigh of the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the way he twitches against her palm.

Opening her mouth, she envelopes the length of him in its wet warmth, hollowing her cheeks as she bobs her head back and forth.

“Oh…fuck!” Billy all but chokes out, and she moans around him, speeding up her movements, pulling back each time the head of him knocks the back of her throat, stroking her hand up and down the base in tandem.

It is risky to do this so publicly, and yet it adds to the thrill; on her knees in a darkened alleyway for her man, showing him exactly what he’s worth, what he means to her.

Her core throbs with arousal, her movements becoming sloppy as Billy cups the back of her head, muscles tensing and his breathing becoming ragged. She can feel the tang of pre-cum against her tongue and knows he won’t last much longer.

She whines when he grips her hair, pulling her off of him and dragging his trousers back up.

“Why’d you do that? You were about to cum,” she huffs, rising to her feet.

“Exactly,” he says with a shrug, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and guiding her out of the alley. “Wanna be inside you when I do that though, and I’d much rather be back at my girlfriend’s place to do that than down a fucking alley.”

She grins, wrapping an arm around his waist as they walk home.

Girlfriend.

She likes the sound of that.

#billy washington #billy washington x reader #billy washington x you #billy washington x y/n #billy washington smut #billy washington angst #billy washington imagine #billy washington trigger point #ewan mitchell #billy washington fan fiction #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington fan fic #billy washington fanfic #trigger point

371 notes · View notes

moralesmilesanhour · 2 months

Text

so, 'the spider within' has me thinking.

Because the new short that just released is so...well, short, I feel like technically there isn't much to say about it because it's pretty concise and has very few if any areas that would warrant critique or super deep analysis. BUT, I think one of the most interesting (albeit obvious) things about the 'monster' in 'The Spider Within' that forms as a manifestation of Miles' anxieties is that the monster is...himself.

Spiderverse tends to focus more on Miles struggling to take on the role of Spider-Man because balancing a secret identity that requires you to fight bad guys every day and personal commitments like school and family is difficult. What I haven't seen the franchise do up until now is address the idea of Spider-Man as monstrous. This is addressed somewhat in what I believe is Miles' original (?) comic book run, where he first gets powers and almost immediately wants them gone. Why?

Because he's afraid that he might be a 'mutant'. A monster. A 'freak'.

Now, I don't think that TSW necessarily intended for this to be the main theme of the short because their primary focus here is mental health and the psychological impact of having a million responsibilities on top of unresolved trauma from one of said responsibilities. However, I still think that the subtext of 'becoming a monster' is there because the Spiderverse team chose to use the image of a shadowy version of Miles that then morphs into a spider, when they could've done something that more directly references some of Spider-Man's usual foes; why not have it be Kingpin, Green Goblin, or even The Prowler?

Because, again, the thing Miles is most afraid of is himself.

Speaking of The Prowler, I think TSW provides an interesting parallel to what we see in ATSV with the whole 'evil doppelganger' motif (I know Miles G. is not really evil, but that is what the writers initially want us to believe by the end of the film so that they can subvert that expectation). Unlike most Spiderverse fans by now, our version of Miles is not aware yet that his Earth-42 counterpart isn't evil. As far as he's concerned, he is staring right into the eyes of the personification of one of his worst fears, which is that he's not really a hero. That he's not meant to be Spider-Man. That he's not as intrinsically 'good' as he thought he was.

(Note: I think the Miles 42 reveal would've hit way harder and felt more full-circle if the writers had emphasized the idea that both Miles and his family are terrified that he may become his Uncle, instead of just leaving it up to subtle bits dialogue and visual cues, But that's a different conversation altogether.)

All that being said, I think part of what makes Spiderverse such an interesting and unique take on Miles' story is that the supervillains feel de-emphasized and like more of a backdrop to the story at times compared to most superhero media that I've seen. His most important conflicts aren't necessarily about whether or not he can defeat the Big Bad (his tactical skills and intelligence are never really much of an issue post-itsv), it's about whether his fears and insecurities are going to destroy him from the inside out before he ever gets the chance to.

#ahhhh this short was so cool #I hope the spiderverse creative team gets to be in their horror bag more in btsv #miles morales #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #the spider within #atsv analysis #blabbering

74 notes · View notes

badbatch-badfics · 3 months

Text

Padawan (TBB x Male Reader) Part 1

Part 2

Characters: The Bad Batch - Crosshair. Not much of Wrecker, mainly just meeting them.

Relationship: All platonic

POV: Mixture between 2nd (you/yours) and 3rd (he/him)

Pronouns: He/him, but referred to as they/them when identity is unknown to the Batch

Species: Unspecified, should be pretty neutral

Content: Angst?? Panic?? Introductions?? Beginning of found family??

Warnings: Panic attacks, minor injury description, thinking about your death (non-suicide), anything that would be in TBB normally. Possibly some lore inaccuracies. Cringe

Word count: 4,777

Notes: If you’re willing, please let me know if you think 2nd person or 3rd person POV is better, or if the combo is readable.

You balanced yourself on the beam, steadily walking across with eyes darting back and forth for anything that seemed of use. Or, at least, a new pathway, or bridge, or anything that could lead you somewhere new, where there was the possibility of supplies. Or food, or some type of communication device, or, quite literally, anything. You weren’t picky, given the circumstances- couldn’t afford to be. But in truth, there was little to no chance of finding anything new. You’d scavenged through the ship countless times, and for the past…however long, there’d been nothing new. You hadn’t missed anything from the previous ventures, no small creature had drug in anything from outside or from a part with limited access, nothing fell to reveal a hidden treasure of some sort. Absolutely nothing. But yet, each day you once again went out with a glimmer of hope- or denial- that there would be something. Or maybe it was just a feeble attempt to focus your mind away from the events. Not that it worked.

As the beam came across a body of water, you peered down to the pool, loathing at what was reflecting back- raggy, dirty, and bloody. Kriffing Hell, I could be mistaken for a Tusken Raider with this shit-job of a covering. Your normal Padawan robes, as well as ones from your Master, had been torn into several chunks, and wrapped around different limbs, as well as pieces of fabric from any corpses you’d stumble upon. Layered on top of those was a poncho-cloak, barely holding on by a thread. An oxygen mask hung limply around your neck, and was covered with a fine coating of dirt and grime, with splattered blood on top. Bandages, cloth, and even animal pelts wound loosely around your head, leaving only small holes and strips for the mouth, nose, and eyes. Your waist was adorned with a make-shift gear belt, holding a multitude of different bones- sharpened and shaped to become tools and methods of protection. Your Lightsaber bumped lightly with each step, an eternal reminder to what happened- and as many bad thoughts as it brought, it would be an absolutely idiotic move to ditch the weapon. Not wanting to look any longer, you pulled back your head and took a deep breath, continuing on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rex led the squad of modified clones through the dirty, deserted and desolate hallways, shining a light so nobody fell to their demise. The group talked about the war, inhibitor chips, and the like until they came across a large canyon, so to speak. Rex, Omega, Tech, Hunter, and Echo all shimmied their way across, leaving Wrecker to go last. “You can do it! Just keep your eyes on the table,” Omega yelled encouragingly. With a few grunts and a shake of his head, Wrecker began climbing the cable upside down. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, it couldn’t hold his weight, plummeting him down to the murky water.

The collective panic from all six clones shot out an incredibly large Force ‘wave’ to the padawan, of which felt as though he was being hit by a speeder bike head-on and then ricocheted into a Bantha. The shock of realizing that someone- scratch that, multiple someones- were here, on the ship with him, at this exact moment was more than enough to cause (Y/N) to stumble backwards from where he was standing and trip over some debris, falling flat on his ass. Once (Y/N) could gather that he and the strangers had a decent amount of space in between them, his breathing calmed- but not enough to be normal.

(Y/N) carefully got up, watching his foot placement, before turning to where he had been sleeping and recouping for the past few months. His legs felt both stiff and shaky, his vision was blurry, and his breathing was ragged. Once (Y/N) was finally in the small space that contained his very few belongings, he fell to the floor, backed into the wall, and curled up into a tiny, and rather pathetic, ball. People were here. (Y/N) didn’t know if they were good, or bad- or if they weren't much of either. Didn’t know their motives, didn’t know anything. When (Y/N) had prayed to the Force to find new things, this is not what he meant. At all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Soon enough, and with several general or head-based injuries, all four men had their inhibitor chips removed. Omega and Hunter were walking around, exploring this and that and whatnot. Mainly because Omega would have done so anyway, but she most definitely needs supervision on the death-trap that is so humbly called a ship. Unfortunately for you, the pair was getting awfully close to his “hide-out.” Even worse, it seemed Hunter was aware of that as well.

“Omega…I think there’s someone here with us. Stay close,” he whispered, pulling out his blaster. Your breathing grew faster and more shaggy, and your vision clouded. What could I do? They’re in front of the only exit, and I haven't fought a person, or even touched my lightsaber in Force knows how long! Considering the only way out, other than direct confrontation, seemed to be a 100+ foot drop- the choice was more or less clear. You shakily stood up, grabbed the lightsaber which had been doing nothing else than collecting dust (and bad memories), and began to sprint as fast as possible, shoulder aimed at the door. Dank Farrik, please- don’t let me die like this.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hunter jumped back, quickly grabbing Omega’s arm and pulling her out of the way with him. And lucky he did, otherwise she may have been crushed by the metal plate that went flying as the cloaked figure stumbled and bolted. Immediately, Hunter reached up to his comm and reported, “There’s somebody else on the ship! His motive is unclear- just blasted through a door and ran- looks like he’s going for an escape.”

On the other end, Wrecker almost jumped out of his skin in excitement- “Finally! Some action!” Tech couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Wrecker’s interest in beating someone to hell and back. After some more information was passed through, Wrecker and Tech had an approximate idea of where they needed to head in order to intercept the stowaway. Since Hunter had said that the mystery person appeared to be running away, stealth was not an objective for the pair- running through loudly was acceptable.

(Y/N) was solely focused on getting out- not where the others could be. Which was a terrible mistake- if you’re running away from somebody, it’d generally be wise to know where they are. Tech could guess as much, and used it to his advantage. Although he hadn’t gotten a full map of the ship, based on Hunter’s location report, the mystery person’s motive, and the ship being heavily damaged, he could make a reasonable estimate as to where the person would be.

To no one’s surprise, Tech was absolutely correct. After instructing Wrecker where to go, they had each blocked the end of a hallway. Wrecker had cut in front and faced the mystery person head on, grinning as cracking his neck, while Tech had stealthily followed from a ways behind. By the time Tech caught up, the mystery person had already slammed to a stop and immediately turned around to exit the other end, but to no avail.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You ran as fast as you could, and you really did try paying attention to your surroundings, but it was all utterly useless. The intruders had pinned you. One giant guy to the front, and one smart guy to the back. Brains and brawn. Your heart beat far too fast, feeling the thump thump in your head, being far too hot, and your vision was rapidly becoming smaller and more tunneled.

It didn’t help when the big guy spoke, and you realized they were clones. Odd clones, granted, but clones, who, as far as you knew, executed Order 66, executed your Master, friends, your entire sense of familiarity and comfort.

You weren’t prepared for this- you hadn’t trained in months, or even used your lightsaber. There was no means of escape, considering the second either of them saw you reach for a weapon, it would be over. Running would do you no good, and if they had followed Order 66, talking wouldn’t do any good either. It seemed you’d join the other jedi in whatever afterlife awaited.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The figure fell flat on their ass and scrambled half-way backwards and half-way to the nearest wall after hearing Wrecker’s voice- they were shaking, sweat drenching their clothes all the way through, and, all in all, resembling a caged animal who knew it was done for. A loud echo ran out as the figure roughly contacted the metal wall, and pulled their legs up, semi-resembling the fetal position, as their hands were still on the ground.

Wrecker and Tech slowly approached the figure, blasters balanced on their arms. Both took notice of the shaky and rapid breathing, the occasional twitching, and how the figure seemed to be ever-so-slightly rocking. This person was a very good actor, or nothing more than someone scared, who was in the very wrong place at the wrong time. They both assumed the latter.

As Tech walked forward, he used his scanner to find the general age and species of the subject, brows furrowing as results came forward. The figure was somewhere in between 15 and 18, was (chosen species), and, as more data was collected, Tech discovered that the figure was a Jedi. Or, at the very least, someone with a high midichlorian count. He stopped walking, lowered his blaster- not a lot, but just enough, and gestured to Wrecker to copy. Wrecker made a grunt in confusion, not understanding. Tech sighed and replied, “I do not believe they intend to harm us. If my data is correct, they are a teenager, and most likely a padawan. And it would seem they do not wish to engage through a fight, anyway. Put your weapons down.”

(Y/N)’s head darted back and forth between the two, confused- was he safe? They were clones- were they not going to execute Order 66, or at the very least, kill him as a simple intruder? Just then, a third clone appeared- one with half the helmet white, the other black, with a few more details and some large red stripes. He had a vibro-knife in one hand, extended outward with a curve, and his other hand, holding a blaster, rested on top of it. “Hunter, I do not think they are a threat- at least, at this moment. There has been no attempt to harm us as of yet, and they appear to be force sensitive, which would most certainly warrant an attempt to flee from a group of clones,” Tech informed. (Y/N) slowly reached his hand towards the lightsaber on his makeshift belt, but didn’t quite grab it- not yet. Hunter slowly put his weapons away and set down his helmet, a small hiss ringing out when he took it off.

He crouched just enough to seem smaller and slightly less intimidating, without looking like he was getting ready to spring up. He extended his hands, walking slowly towards (Y/N). “We’re not here to hurt you- we're not like the other clones– we’ve had our inhibitor chips removed. You’re safe,” he spoke slowly and clearly. Tech jumped in, “The inhibitor chips are what programmed the regs– the other clones– to execute Order 66. So we don’t want to hurt you.” Wrecker grunted something in agreement.

“Now, we have a functioning ship with us, and we can get you out of here- somewhere safe, or at least, more safe than here, okay? We have food, water, medical care, and we have a place to stay where the Empire won’t bother us. Let us help you.” By the time Hunter had finished his little speech, he was only a few feet away from (Y/N), crouching down, now eye-level with him. (Y/N)’s hand slowly came away from his saber. This felt safe- he could sense it, more or less. There wasn’t actually any danger, and the clone, who (Y/N) assumed was Hnuter, felt safe and honest– reminding him of the warmth and comfort the Jedi Temple, his fellow Padawans, his Master, all brought him.

(Y/N) tried to say something, but his voice caught and cracked horribly- a mixture of the panic, and having not talked to anyone in months. He felt his eyes water behind the terribly dirty rags, which stung more than it should have. “Let's start by getting those rags off you, okay? Tech, bring over some bacta-spray and clean bandages,” Hunter instructed. Tech did as he was told, fishing out some spray and bandages from one of his several pouches that lined his waist.

Tech passed the supplies to Hunter, who indicated for him and Wrecker to go report to the rest what was happening. He directed his attention back to (Y/N), calmly asking, “I’m gonna take off your face wrappings, alright?” (Y/N) mumbling what Hunter assumed was an ‘okay,’ and felt his body go heavy and almost limp. Hunter reached up, tenderly brushing against the Padawan’s face, swiftly untying the bounds of cloth. He quickly used his other hand to bring the rest of it down, now draped around (Y/N)’s neck. His face was dirty, caked in dirt, grime, and what appeared to be blood. The mixture of paste, so to speak, was cracked and chipping, looking like a desert’s mud-crack.

Whether or not he meant to, Hunter grimaced at the sorry state of the Padawan. He took his gloved hands to try and brush and scrape off the majority of the paste off, which was primarily successful. After the layer of muck was removed, Hunter found one long gash, following the curvature of (Y/N)’s jawline, from just below the eye to just above his mouth. It was inflamed and oozing, and was most certainly going to need stitches. He held up the bacta-spray, and lightly spritzed it onto the wound. A sharp hiss sounded out from (Y/N), who was now squinting his eyes. Hunter mumbled some sort of apology before taking out the bandage and delicately, yet firmly at the same time, placed it on the gash.

“Are there any more major injuries we should worry about? We can take care of the smaller ones on the ship, but still. Better safe than sorry.” (Y/N) shook his head no. Hunter slowly stood up, and extended a hand, but (Y/N) just seemed to stare at it. Slowly, though, the Padawan extended his own hand out, flinching and hesitating once his arm was half-way extended. After a few seconds, though, he fully reached out and tightly grabbed the man’s hand. Using the wall behind him, (Y/N) pushed himself up, legs shaky. As soon as he was steady, (Y/N) ripped his hand away, bringing it close and pinning it tightly against his own chest.

Hunter commed Tech, instructing him to get everyone on-board the Marauder, and to try and use any spare pieces of clothing or blanket to form some type of clean cover that would fit the Padawan. After what seemed to last forever, Hunter broke the silence- “So, what's' your name, kid?”

“(Y/N)...” he mumbled, quiet enough that only Hunter’s enhanced ears could make it out clearly. The pair continued their walk through the broken up ship, eventually coming up to the ramp that led out to the Marauder. (Y/N) brought his arm to his eyes, squinting at the sun- being far too bright, seeing as he hadn’t gone out of the ship in Maker knows how long. Hunter took notice and briefly stopped, turning his head back to the teenager.

“You alright? I’m sure I have something if you want to block out the sun for the walk,” he gently offered. (Y/N) silently shook his head no, while slowly taking his arm down, bringing it back down to his chest, head and eyes solidly trained on the ground. Hunter stared for a few seconds more, just to be sure, before continuing on towards the Marauder.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your head was woozy, your heart beating out of your chest, and you were simultaneously shaking, yet felt numb. All in all, it felt terrible. And perhaps even worse, you knew there was no real reason to feel this way. You were finally safe. And there was no possible way that the clones would turn and execute you. They would have done so already, without a doubt! Why would anyone go against direct orders, and pure convenience, just to make someone suffer more? That would be beyond inadequate. And it just made you feel terrible for not trusting them, or at the very least, for being suspicious of them. And now your head hurt more than before.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was no more than a five minute walk, the pair came up on the Havoc Marauder, in all its battle worn glory. Echo was leaning on the frame to the entry ramp, draping a clean, albeit worn and torn, wool poncho over his scomp. From the time Echo had spent with them, he gathered that the Jedi seemed to really like their ponchos.

As you and Hunter finally came up to the ramp, you froze. Your heart got significantly louder, palms sweater, which, by the way, was never pleasant under the dirty rags, and your eyes began darting around. There was only one way out, it seemed. If the group did have ill intent, you’d be done for as soon as you set a single toe in the ship. That was not a comforting thought. Hunter could hear your heartbeat and smell your sweat (or rather, the reaction it has with your skin) from a mile away.

Alerted by this change in demeanor, he turned back to look at you- who was completely frozen stiff, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape and pulled downwards. He may have been prepared for any mission the Republic gave him, but there certainly wasn’t any briefing on traumatized teenagers- let alone force sensitive teens. Kriff, he barely knew how to socialize with the Regs, and it was a miracle he could bond as much as he did with Omega.

Echo, even with his lack of enhanced senses, could easily see Hunter’s predicament. “How about you get the rest of the squad together, keep it calm for the kid. I’ll go take care of this.” Hunter silently nodded in thanks, brushing past his brother to head inside and start giving orders. That he was good at, no matter the topic.

Echo slowly, but not too slowly, as that would seem like a predator circling its prey, walked down the ramp and stood just in arm’s reach of the Padawan. You seemed to stare at each other for an eternity before he slowly handed you the poncho. “Here… seems you Jedi like ponchos, and we had one lying about. Hope it works. Got some more fabrics up on the ship, if you need any. And better med-kits, stuff to find infections or fevers. In case.” He spoke both in a calm and precise manner, and continued on, “Name’s Echo, by the way. Yours? If you don’t mind, anyway.”

You didn’t respond for a few more seconds, taking it all in. Finally, you mustered up a small response, “(Y/N)... and thank you.” Echo smiled lightly, extending the poncho out a bit further. Quickly, you threw off the old poncho, which wouldn't have lasted another week, and put on the fresh new one. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, at least around the arms and face, yeah? We’ll be on another planet soon, and then you can get some proper fitting clothes.”

Echo turned and walked back up the ramp, making sure he could hear your footsteps following him. A few steps after you had gotten in, and the ramp seemed to slam shut. Realstickly, it was probably shutting for a while, but you hadn’t noticed it until it registered that there was no way out now. And everything seemed so tight. Sure, you had just been in a wrecked ship for Maker knows how long, but it was a big one. Now, you were stuck on a much smaller ship, with however many clones. Before the claustrophobia and feeling of complete despair could kick in, a small blond girl tugged at your burnt, calloused, and wrapped up hands, attempting to pull you somewhere. Of course, given your larger mass, as well as training, you didn’t budge, not one bit. You stared down at the young girl, eyes wide, yet blank. To say it disturbed her would be an understatement.

“Omega! I’m Omega, and this is Lula- Wrecker’s tooka doll!” she exclaimed, bringing your attention to a large stuffed…rabbit? Or… loth cat? It was hard to say. It had a black body, with red sock paws, similar to the red tips on its ears. The tooka doll sported some pattern of white, clearly resembling a face, with two red dots for eyes. Distracted by the stuffed creature, she could successfully pull you, where she then disposed of you in someone's bunk. She all but slammed Lula into your chest before running off, what, or who she was looking for, a complete mystery.

She came back with a collection of blankets, pillows, and snacks, and most certainly more than she could carry. Immediately, Omega got to work, bundling you like a baby in a blizzard. You were too stunned to do anything, really. What could you do, anyway? After about two or so minutes of her layering, she paused, and frowned. “How are you going to eat if your hands and arms are covered! Agh!”

She quickly began undoing her work, until your arms could be brought out, and then resumed the stacking of blankets. All you could do was blink repeatedly, ever confused. After another five or so minutes, she smiled triumphantly at her work. “Perfect! Here, have some mantell mix!” she said as she shoved a fist full of some clunky substance into your palm. Looking down at it, mouth watering, you slowly reached down and plucked one of the misshapen balls, and popped it into your mouth. And by the Maker, was it delicious. Your eyes widened, and without a second thought, your hand flew to your mouth, sending the entire pile of mantell mix down your throat. After eating random rodents, insects, and food that was quite possibly expired from the ship, this mantell mix was a blessing to your senses.

As you continued chewing and swallowing the treat, you leaned back against the hard wall of the ship, a quiet, content sigh escaping. While it certainly wasn’t the most comfortable, it was ten thousand times better than anywhere you had slept on the Venator. Lula was still resting across your chest, and Omega smiled proudly at your comfort before running off again. Although it was muffled, you could hear her talking to one of the clones, before grabbing something and running back towards you.

“I was training with Nala Se and the medical equipment at the Kaminoan facilities, so I can fix you up! Now, where does it hurt the most?” She was a bit too excited about her ‘patient’ needing help, you thought. It was cute, though. The younglings and other Padawan at the Jedi Temple were like that, too– always eager to be the first to help, even in situations where most would never be joyous. You supposed there wouldn’t be any harm in humoring the girl, even if she was, by all means, a possible threat, with everyone else on the ship. I mean, if they did plan to harm or kill you, there’d be no chance of survival, so you might as well play along with the little girl. Either your last moments wouldn’t be too bad, or you’d start bonding with your saviors. Either version was a win, in one way or another.

Cocking one eyebrow, you raised a question– “How are you supposed to take care of me if I can’t move under all these layers? That seems rather counter-productive, no?” Her face molded into one of thought and consideration, nodding her head in agreement. Before you could register her next move, she essentially lunged, quickly stripping you of the layers for the second time within the hour. Now, the blankets all strewn around you resembled a porg’s nest, without the sticks and twigs, anyway. Omega yanked your arm forward, a tad too eager, considering you should always be gentle with your patients. Your eyes squinted, brows furrowed in a smidge of pain- Omega immediately noticed, and gave you a sheepish smile before apologizing and bringing it towards her more gently.

She carefully wrapped the bandages off of your arm, eyes widening at the…state of it. Burn spots, blisters, scratches, bruises, and more littered the entirety of it, looking like it came out of a horror holo-film. You stared at it rather intensely. You had no clue it was this bad. I mean, it hurt, obviously- you were in a crashed ship and had no proper care for however long. Of course it was going to hurt. But seeing it, that was still a shock.

“Umm… I should probably get Tech. I’m not this good, I don’t think…” Omega whispered, frowning. She scurried off, but you just kept staring. How could you have let it get this bad? Was all the training useless? Or was it you?

Tech, the one with goggles and a plethora of gear, came over, holding what Omega had given him, and more. His armor was still on, but the helmet had been discarded. He bent down on one knee, and scanned over your body, checking for any and all injuries. And, oh boy, did he have his work cut out for him. Tech carefully took your arm in his gloved hands, and stared for a little bit before spraying a lot of bacta on. You lurched forward, bringing your other hand to your side, in a feeble attempt to focus the pain elsewhere. Your brows scrunched, and cheeks pulled down, biting your tongue in every attempt to not bother him any more.

“Let me know when it stops stinging. Most of the bacteria should be gone, then. We’ll still clean it out routinely, as they’ve been untreated for so long,” he spoke precisely. After what felt like eternity, he was finally finished applying the spray. “Hold your arm out. Make it as level and steady as you can,” Tech instructed. Fingertips barely brushing your skin, he brought the clean cloth around, wrap after wrap, from your palm to your elbow. He took some smaller bandages and wrapped them around each of your fingers, leaving your entire arm covered.

You lifted up your other arm, and you both repeated the process. Bacta, wrap, done. He gestured at your legs, silently asking to both take off your shoes and life up your pants, to at least the knee. There was a much larger and deeper gash on your left shin, courtesy of a falling metal plate as you finally managed to get some sleep. “That…will need stitches. Wait here.” Not like you were going anywhere.

After what felt like hours upon hours, everything that was physically wrong with you had been fixed- or, at the very least, temporarily fixed. Obviously, there weren't the best medical supplies on a smaller ship that had long left the army, and thus left behind the blessing that was gift-wrapped med-kits. Finally, he gave you some type of liquid- not a lot, just a shot. He could see the quizzical look on your face, and quickly explained– “It’ll help you go to sleep, for quite a while, and it’ll help reduce the pain. By the time you wake up, we should be at Orl Mantell, where we’ve been staying. Or, at least, close to it.”

In a fraction of a heartbeat, you downed the small glass and handed it back to Tech. He ran one more scan on you, just to be sure, before getting up and heading to the cock-pit with his brothers and little older sister. Your heart slowed, and your eyelids grew heavy. That serum worked fast. Half involuntarily, you fell face first onto the bed and drifted into the best sleep you’d had in countless rotations.

69 notes · View notes

dairy-farmer · 2 months

Note

That ask about public incest being normalized has gotten me thinking: an AU where the pecking order is instinctually determined via sex. Who can mount who.

Try as he might, Tim just can’t seem to move up the ranks.

Bruce fucks him almost clinically. Mostly to reaffirm his place at the top, to remind Tim that he’s in charge when he thinks Tim is getting out of line, picking unnecessary fights with his brothers, or not obeying their “reasonable” orders. (He’s above you in rank, Timothy. If you don’t want to have to listen to him, then maybe you should mount him.) He’s thorough and deliberate, but almost impersonal about it in a way. It’s his duty as the head of the family.

Dick fucks Tim slowly and lovingly, though firmly, to remind Tim that he’s part of the family, that he belongs to them. He takes Tim whenever he catches Tim hiding an injury or not taking care of himself. To keep Tim from withdrawing. A reminder and an order. Often times it’s fun and playful, which Tim enjoys most.

Jason mounts him roughly and often. Whenever he needs to let off steam. To keep the Replacement in his place, not that he ever gives Tim time to forget it. Whenever Jason even imagines that Tim is challenging him, or thinks he’s mouthing off. If he even catches sight of Tim on his really bad days. If he’s annoyed at Bruce. He makes Tim kneel under the table at his feet every time he comes to family dinner. When he’s frustrated with a case. If he’s just plain bored. And without fail, every time Bruce takes Jason, Jason makes a beeline to Tim and bends him over and mounts him hard and fast. Sometimes he toys with Tim, letting him think he might actually win, but it always ends the same way. Tim thinks he might spend as much time under Jason as he does talking to him.

Damian takes him fast and quick, almost as aggressively as Jason. He ambushed Tim the first few times, pinning and mounting him before Tim even realized he was there. He really shot up in size during puberty, and now that he’s outgrown Tim, he’s difficult to pin in return. Damian also takes his frustration out on Tim, and likes to remind Tim of his status. Growing up in the League left him with certain expectations.

Tim has never tried challenging Cass, but luckily she doesn’t take him often, preferring to watch. Sometimes she’ll ride his face when she needs control in her life, but at least that’s a nice change from getting fucked by his brothers.

It even extends to costumes, though not as much as it’s dangerous to get too distracted.

Batman will only ever fuck his throat and has him swallow it all down (to not leave DNA evidence). He mostly leaves Red alone unless he catches him doing something stupidly risky or disobeying his orders.

Nightwing is much the same, preferring to take him in the cave where he can stretch Red out on the mats or have fun on the ropes course. Nightwing prefers keeping it light and fun when he’s in costume, and mainly leaves Red alone in the field.

Robin follows in both his mentors’ footsteps. He will not allow himself to become distracted in the field by the likes of Drake. (Only at home)

Hood, though, is a bit closer to his civilian identity than the others. He’ll hunt him down on patrol if he really wants him. He’ll happily bend him over a skylight on slow nights. If he catches Red close enough to his territory, he’s been known to actually drag him in and fuck him where his people can see. Tim says it undermines Red Robin, but Jason insists it helps keep crime down; his people seeing him mount a Bat. (Tim has run the numbers. Jason is right. Jason has no idea that’s true-he just said it so Bruce would stop bitching about him distracting Red).

(Spoiler sometimes ambushes him on slow nights too.)

Tim (and Red Robin) has never really been able to rise in the ranks. Once, Tim was seconds away from taking Damian, but Jason came by and pulled Tim off and mounted him then and there, while Damian then took his mouth. Jason thought it was funny, laughing while Damian gloated as they used Tim. Dick, with his soft spot for Damian, also helped him sometimes, especially at first. Letting Damian pin Tim right after Dick was finished with him without giving him a chance to get up, and giving Damian a thorough demonstration on how to get Tim down.

It’s not fair. Dick and Jason have both fucked each other, and he’s even caught Dick letting Damian take him on occasion (how else is he going to learn, baby bird? He needs to have more experience than just you!), but nobody ever goes easy on him. Anytime he gets close to winning someone else seems to come by and step in and then he’s suddenly under both at once.

The rest of them have a slightly more fluid pecking order, but Tim is just so fun to fuck (and fuck with). They have an unspoken agreement to step in if it ever seems like he might actually win. Everyone feels more secure knowing they will never be at the bottom, knowing that at least one person in their life has to listen to them. They all know Tim’s proper place and they will keep him there.

yessss!!!!!!!!!yesssss!! this is so good!!!! an established pecking order that is maintained and determined by who is mounted and poor tim being at the very bottom of that order because of sabotage from his family that never lets him rise up because they all find a comfort in knowing that THEY will never be at the bottom and that THEY all at least have some power and control in their lives because they know that at least, at any time of day, they can fuck tim to remind themselves of the control they have even with a control freak like bruce for a father.

i LOVE that bruce would be the most clinical about it. he does it more as procedure, making sure to work in a weekly mounting with tim no matter how busy he is because bruce has learned his lesson about allowing people in the family to go too long without being mounted. if only he'd been as diligent with jason and dick as he had with tim then maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they did with them. so when bruce has tim and sees tim beginning to try and stretch his wings out and test his limits as robin- well bruce makes sure to mount him. sure, tim was a little young but maybe if bruce had started mounting dick and jason when they were younger they would still be alive or talking to him. for the longest time tim was the only family member around and whenever things got slightly unstable or bruce was scrambling for control because his personal life and professional life was out of whack he'd mount tim. being robin initially had been made harder because of that because it seemed like bruce's struggle with reining in violence also translated to him roughly mounting tim. eventually he calmed down. he got less...mean about mounting tim and pretty soon it tapered off to only weakly or occasional mountings from him.

with dick too. as nice as he became with tim and was gentle when mounting him, he still also had his phase of waking tim up from a deep slumber to press into him and whisper about how its okay and tim could go back to sleep, dick just needed to do this. those times almost always coincided with bruce and dick having another fight which involved bruce storming off to patrol early and returning when dick had already left. unluckily for tim though it would mean bruce mounting him and shoving his cock into tim's tender hole and grunting at the thick spurt of dick's cum that would get pushed out.

jason hardly waiting for the family the open their arms in welcome before he was mounting tim. often he and tim would get into arguments that would end with jason grunting and fucking tim harshly into the floor, stairs, or roof of wherever their spat was all while tim just huffed, irritated, and swearing he'd get jason the next time.

damian is arguably tim's hardest pill to swallow because he was cheating!!! he was getting help from dick and jason who would gang up on tim and hold him open, allowing for damian to press his baby cock all the way inside and hastily mount tim. it would barely be longer than a minute or two because damian was young and he came fast but tim would still be stuck with the indignity and shame of having damian's cum drip down his inner thigh. but then damian gets a growth spurt, grows bigger and now he doesn't need jason or dick's help to mount tim. once he realizes he can mount tim whenever he wants to, he makes it his mission to try and mount tim as often as he can....though that might just be damian working off sexual frustration brought on by puberty by using tim.

tim!!!! just being placed at the bottom of the pecking order by his brothers who would greatly prefer to not be in his place and because they love the ease of being able to fuck him and knowing he will always be there ready to take a cock.

#asks #answered asks #anonymous

46 notes · View notes

peachy-hk · 9 months

Text

Late.

Wordcount: 1.1K

Read part one or part two here!

Choosing your best friend (and the person you've had feelings for practically your entire life) over your brother is a troubling thing. But, Miya Atsumu feels little to no regret.

Sure, he feels a little bad when he thinks back to Osamu's defeated face when he left the cafe, and the way it was so evident that Osamu hadn't been sleeping well when he went to go pick up the rest of your things. But, (in his mind at least) this was not nearly enough of a punishment for what Osamu did to you.

Maybe, he's a little biased because he likes you more than a brother-in-law should, but it's only normal when you've been friends for that long...right?

Atsumu is having a dilemma.

The cards have been dealt in an odd way. A way that has never been dealt to him before. Should he fold, and back away from this opportunity? Or should he go all in, and take a chance, while betraying his brother?

How do you tell your best friend of years -who just so happened to break up with your identical brother- that you've been in love with them since you were children?

How, in the nicest way possible, do you tell them that you made a mistake in not confessing sooner and that you believe (know) that they chose the wrong brother?

Now shouldn't be the time for Atsumu to be thinking these things, but as he watches you an Suna play Mario cart together on the couch, legs over each others, throwing playful punches at each other whenever a banana peel or shell is thrown, he can't help but feel like he's going to mess up and miss his chance for a second time.

How is he going to do that though? Standing in the kitchen watching, he wonders if he should even try. Sure, you and him have gotten closer recently but it is most likely because you just sent divorce papers to his brother, and Atsumu is acting as the middleman.

Even if you've been friends for years, at some point, deep down, it has to bother you right? How could you see Atsumu's face and not think of Osamu?

All of these thoughts race through Atsumu's mind, constantly, it feels like he's been thinking about these things for years, but in reality, it's only been a couple months since you've moved in with him and Suna.

Sometime in the future, he'll muster up the courage to ask you to become more than friends, he thinks, as he walks back to his room to pack his bags for an upcoming volleyball trip. He's going to be out of town for the next week, at training camps, press conferences, and friendly games between clubs.

Maybe he'll take you to a nice dinner, or a late-night park trip after getting your favourite convenience store snacks, or perhaps he'll take you to a place you've always wanted to visit around the world.

After Atsumu's week-long trip, he feels like he's finally come to a conclusion, a solid way to confess how he's felt about you for the past 2 or so years of your lives.

He thinks, optimistically, that 'today is the day'. The day that fate will play out in his hands, you'll reciprocate how he feels, like it should have been from the start.

Today, however, is not that day. Atsumu comes to a harsh realization that fate will not always be on his side and that some things just really aren't meant to be.

Today is the day that Atsumu thought he would stop stressing about how he feels about you and his brother for the first time in months, finally tell you how he felt, and everything would play out nicely.

Today, Atsumu Miya entered his shared apartment to find Suna Rintarou planting a soft kiss on the top of your head as you fell asleep in his arms.

He feels his heart shatter in his chest, as he watches Suna rub your back, looking down at the way you lay on his chest.

Atsumu feels the same heartbreak that ripped his heart to shreds back when he was 15 and Osamu had just told him that he was taking you on a date.

He feels like time has stopped, as he just stands in the entryway of the apartment, watching, feeling his heart shatter into more and more pieces as the two of you continue to cuddle in the blissful unawareness that Atsumu is facing the second worst heartbreak of his life.

A vibration in his pocket shifts his focus back to reality, distracting him from the aching feeling in his chest. He reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone out, reading the text that was just sent to him.

"Hope you got home safe, rest up and make sure to stretch! Next practice is in two days, at 7 AM. :)" - Captian Meian

With a heavy heart, and a seemingly now even heavier body, Atsumu picks up his bags and begins walking towards his room, exchanging a quick 'hey' with Suna as he walks by.

He lets his eyes fill with tears the second his bedroom door shuts behind him. In the confines of his bedroom, he lets his tears roll down his face, staining his cheeks.

Unpacking his bags, he begins taking out all the gear from his bags and putting clothes he didn't end up wearing back into his closet. He does this mindlessly, feeling numb because of the ache in his chest.

When his hand bumps a white box that was tucked into the side of his bag. The numbness in his body fades, and the overwhelming feeling of heartbreak comes rushing back to him.

He picks up the box and feels over the ribbon that it's wrapped with to keep it closed. He picked your favourite colour to wrap it with when the clerks asked him if he had a preference in which ribbon they used,

He opens the box to reveal a necklace, one with a single simple charm, one that you had been talking about buying for yourself for months now.

With a defeated sigh, he closes the box, pulls open a drawer in his bedside table, and places it inside.

The box sits in his bedside table for months, collecting dust over time, the pristine white box becomes a dull grey. In all honesty, Atsumu had forgotten the box was even there.

That was, until he saw you wearing the same necklace that occupied said box months later.

"You finally got the necklace for yourself?" He asks, leaning against the kitchen wall as you grab glasses to place at the dinner table.

You smile up at him, with the same smile that he fell in love with back when you guys were kids.

"Suna got it for me."

taglist! bolded names were unable to be tagged :(

@ly17 , @pluviophilefangirl , @wolffmaiden , @bitchotine , @bunnyperi , @sakusuna , @momoinot , @natriae , @aelrinv , @garousmonster , @karasunoya , @introverbatim , @katsunarii , @iluv-ace , @justsomeonewhoyoudontknow , @carmendanny2, @nsojbbkkm , @dododododooosworld , @bluelesbiann , @sassycheesecake

p.s. I'm sorry for breaking Atsumu's heart too <3

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu angst #hq angst #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #suna x reader #atsumu angst

121 notes · View notes

seratopia · 11 months

Text

hobie brown x reader (fluff) - uninvited → she/her pronouns!

hobie likes visiting you through your window

He likes to climb through your window unannounced; a very spiderman-esque entrance. Sometimes you keep that window locked, but after you found out that Hobie can just pick at it, you just decided to leave it open. A wordless invitation for him.

It happens too often, whether it'd be for you to patch him up, maybe to show you a song he's been working on, or just to cuddle up to you, Hobie enjoys your company. You scold him for it, but at the end of the day, he just kisses the top of your head, knowing you aren't actually mad.

As far as you know, Hobie's only revealed his true identity to you. Sometimes you see him sling through the city, guitar glued to his back and his iconic spikes on full display. Too many times he's sent you a wink, or he blows you a kiss midair.

Tumbling through your window, again, he yanks off this spider-mask, shaking his head back and forth to let his hair air out. You see the scratches on this favorite vest, the barely-visible bruise against his cheekbone. His posture's the slightest bit hunched over, a representative of his exhaustion.

His face says it all, purple eye bags and a disgruntled expression.

"I'll go get the stuff." You automatically say, rising from your squeaky swivel chair.

"No, no, stay with me, hun." Hobie begs, already reaching to stroke at your fingers.

"You sure?"

He nods once, gingerly guiding you towards him by your wrist, his heart rate's still up, part of him still panting a little from what you assume to be a fight.

"What do you want, then?" You ask, letting him touch you for the time being.

Hobie shrugs, his various spikes and pins clinking as he does. "I'm not allowed t'spend time with my babe?" He half asks, raising an eyebrow.

Hobie slings his guitar over his head, somewhat gently tossing onto the floor of your bedroom. Slyly, he stakes a few steps backwards, landing into your bed with a 'thump.' He slots his palms behind his head, shutting his eyes.

Awkwardly, you just stand in the middle of your room, confusedly gazing at him. There's an awkward silences before Hobie raises his head a little, peering back at you.

The teen blooms open arms to you, beckoning you closer with grabby hands.

"C'mere. Right on top." He mutters.

"Aren't you hurt, though?"

"S'fine, just want you here."

Reluctantly, you slot your knee onto the mattress of your bed, gingerly climbing onto him to the best of your ability. His hands press you down into his chest, snaking down to the small of your back.

You hear the tiniest pained groan from him, and you immediately recoil back, supporting some of your body weight with an arm on the bed. The boy adjusts his decorated vest away from his chest, so what's left is just the smooth fabric of his over-shirt.

Wordlessly, Hobie brings a ringed hand to the back of your head, pushing your cheek down onto his chest.

"Am I too heavy?" You mumble, and he tucks his chin onto the crown of your head. You can hear his heartbeat, now a little slower.

"No." He replies, indulgently rubbing circles into your back. Slightly, you feel the studs of his heavy belt over your hips, the dulled spikes of his cuffs across your back.

You've almost become accustomed to it, memorizing the layout of his various accessories on your body.

A moment of silences passes, where Hobie just rubs your back, and you can smell the city on him.

"Who was it this time?" You ask, gently adjusting your head up a bit. You rest your forearms across his chest, just so that you can take a good look at his structured face. Hobie sees the dull pain in your eyes when you gently run your fingers across his bruised cheekbone, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"It was a bad guy, right?"

A smile suddenly breaks into Hobie's face, and now you're confused.

"No, sweets. Had a concert today." He chuckles, petting your hair back.

"Then how'd you get those?" You ask, slotting your head back down onto his heartbeat.

"Did a stage dive."

"Oh."

Hobie chuckles, reminiscing the wild events of the concert; a stage dive, some screaming, even a bra being thrown at him. It was loud, but exhilarating, sent adrenaline through his body.

You've only heard word about Hobie's shows; he'd tell you about the people he'd meet, who he hates and loves, and occasionally his political motivations.

"Y'should come sometime... I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew" He mumbles, and your heart flutters just a little.

The idea of it swirls in your head like a burst of pixie dust; it'd be so sweet to watch him up on that stage. He'd drag you up there just to kiss you silly, lights flashing and punk rock falling to a blur as his hands divot into your lower back.

It makes you giddy just thinking about it, and Hobie can tell.

"You like that? Hm?" Hobie smirks. "How 'bout tomorrow? Wales?" He asks, a small smile on his face. He stares at you expectantly, and you trace small shapes onto his shirt.

"Sure. What's the dress code?"

"That cute top and those jeans, hm?" Hobie suggests into your hair and you playfully roll your eyes.

"I know you rolled your eyes just now." He says, pinching at your side.

You slap his hand away, yelping. "No I didn't."

"Yes y'did."

...to be continued

#hobie brown #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #atsv hobie #fluff #reader insert #x reader #romance #spiderman #seratopia writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

384 notes · View notes

choism · 1 year

Text

Bad Roomates | k.hj & j.wy [REUPLOADED]

Roommates!WooJoong x male!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: male!reader, member x member, polyamorous, blowjobs, color system, slight degradation, wooyoung is a brat, hongjoong is cocky, switch!hongjoong, bottom!wooyoung, top!reader

A/N: Hello all! This is a request for my dear friend @peachytangerines! Both him and I noticed that there is little to no male reader or gender neutral smut out there, especially for Ateez so I have decided to write my first male reader piece! It's also my first threesome piece lol. As I become more comfortable in my gender identity, and in my own sexuality I have decided to open up requests for male reader so I hope you enjoy! As always if you catch any mistakes please do not hesitate to send me an ask <3

THIS FIC IS NOT STOLEN BUT REUPLOADED FROM MY TERMINATED BLOG @/huiranghaes!

Fuck this.

Fuck everything, fuck Wooyoung, fuck Hongjoong. Fuck. Everything.

Why are you cursing at everything? Wooyoung of course. Just earlier you were cussing out Wooyoung for stealing your food, again. Every week something goes missing. Ramen, chips, a whole tub of butter, you name it, it’s gone in a week. Labeling nothing helps, not even continuously yelling at him works. The asshole does whatever he wants.

What’s worse is that this has only been happening a month, before that he has been the perfect roommate, and Hongjoong too, until he started acting up as well. Just two weeks ago Hongjoong has started to get on your nerves on top of everything. Constantly blasting whatever he is working on at the latest hours of the night. Leaving his clothes everywhere. The clothes part may be normal of him actually, but as of late he has been leaving them in the living room and the hallway.

Other than all these things, their behavior has been strange too. Wooyoung has been way more flirty than usual, and more crude. Blatantly talking about his sex life, even making jokes towards you. Usually you would overlook it but for some reason its really getting to you. Hongjoong has been more touchy than usual too. He is usually one for minimal physical affection, but when relaxing in the living area he has to be near you, even have a hand on you or a finger.

Despite the strange behavior, you couldn’t stand it, you were at your limit, and finally you called both of them into the living room to sort everything out. Wooyoung, as if sensing the exact reason he called you in, had a stupid grin on his face. Of course he would get off on being yelled at, you weren’t surprised in the slightest. Hongjoong, however, was calm. You couldn’t tell if he knew what was coming because he had a blank face.

“Alright, what is the deal with you two?” You ask, clenching your teeth. Wooyoung takes a knowing glance at Hongjoong but you miss it, and Hongjoong starts, “What are you talking about?” There is a tone in his voice that you catch that tells you he is purposely playing dumb.

“I know damn well that you know what I am talking about. Wooyoung?” You look over to the man and he just shrugs, acting just as clueless as the man next to him. You can feel your ears heat up with anger. You figured Wooyoung would deny it, he is just a brat by nature it’s normal for him. But Hongjoong too? You swear you’re seeing red.

Wooyoung does his best to hold back his smirk, he is really trying to hold in his emotions so he can drag out your reaction but he just can’t help himself. You’re kind of hot when you’re mad he thinks to himself. You catch his smirk, and you finally sense a shift in the air. “What’s so funny Woo?” You question him. He saunters up to you, and you see Hongjoong’s expression crack a bit, but immediately go back to unbothered. The brunette circles around behind you and places his hands on your hips, bringing his mouth up to your ear.

You startle under his touch, not expecting him to touch you so boldly like this. Wooyoung flirts, makes sexual comments, anything to get under people’s skin, but he usually doesn’t touch someone unless it’s one of his friends. You shiver, feeling his hot breath on your neck. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” He whispers in your ear, and as if it’s a cue, Hongjoong comes over as well.

“Noticed what? You being more of a brat than usual?” You scoff. They are both so close and you can feel your face heating up. Surely what was once an air of sterness has now faded into sexual tension. You wouldn’t let them overcome you, however. Hongjoong speaks up, “Y/n….Can’t you see? Even I’ve been more touchy than usual.” There is a slight whine to his voice, something more needy. Then you feel it. Wooyoung’s hard clothed cock brushing up against your ass. “I didn’t think I would ever have to be this forward with you, don’t you want us Y/N?” You have to admit, you’re really caught off guard.

Of course, there have been times while living with the both of them that you have thought about one or the other, sometimes both, in a sexual light. Who wouldn’t? Wooyoung just drips sex appeal, and Hongjoong has his moments too, especially when he is in work mode. You’ve always thought about fucking them, but you never indulged those thoughts as you didn’t think either of them would want to do anything. But now here you are, your two hot roommates teasing you, just begging to be fucked.

“I….” You trail off, thinking of what to say. You can’t let them take over, take control. “Of course Woo. Don’t you want me, babyboy?” You finally hear his breath hitch at the nickname. Finally, some control over him. You reach behind your self and grab his hip, pushing him further into you, and you take hold of Hongjoong’s hand, smoothing your thumb over the back of his fingers. “Is this why the two of you were acting like nuisances? You just wanted me to fuck you?”

Wooyoung is rubbing against your ass a bit more roughly, and you can feel your cock growing in your pants. The thought of the both of them thinking about you like this for months makes your head spin. Hongjoong pouts, “Of course we want you to, we have been planning this for a while.” You bring your hand up to his face and you brush your thumb across his lips, Hongjoong closing his eyes and falling into your touch.

“Then I’ll give you what you want, but I have conditions.” Wooyoung pulls away and joins Hongjoong’s side, both of them ready to listen intently. Hongjoong grabs a hold of Wooyoung’s hand unconsciously and the younger man gives it a squeeze. “Firstly, you will only address me as sir, anything other than that isn’t allowed.” Shyly Wooyoung breathes out a small “Yes sir.” and Hongjoong does the same, but with a bit more confidence. Wooyoung can’t help but let his smile escape once again, excitement taking over and ideas running through his head. “Secondly, I am in charge, especially considering what you two put me through this past month.” They both nod, but judging by the look on Wooyoung’s face, you suspect he won’t listen that much.

“And finally, let’s use a color system, green for good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop, is that all good?” Hongjoong speaks first, “It sounds perfect to me.” And Wooyoung nods indicating he feels the same. Without saying anything you walk towards your bedroom and they follow behind obediently. “Then let’s start shall we? Wooyoung, get undressed, everything except your underwear.” Hongjoong looks at you with expectant eyes as Wooyoung undresses himself hastily. “Not yet Joongie, I have something special for you.” His eyes glimmer and a mischievous smile spreads across his face.

When you look back Wooyoung is finally undressed, his cock visibly straining against his black briefs. You walk up to him and kiss down his neck, brush your fingers over the waistband. “You were the worst one, so you get to waist longer, now be a good boy and go sit on the chair over there.” He lets out a whine and grabs your wrist but you pull away. “But-” “Chair. Now.” He mumbles out a yes sir and takes a seat, looking at Hongjoong he pouts and the older man sticks his tongue out jokingly.

You walk over to Hongjoong and push him onto the bed, leaning over him and unbuttoning his shirt. He goes to touch you but you stop him. “Ah ah, only I get to touch for now.” Hongjoong whines a bit but he doesn’t question you, letting you take off his shirt and toss it aside. You work at his belt and pull his pants off too, taking his underwear off along with them and his cock springing free. Hongjoong wasn’t very big but he had some girth to him. His tip is already glistening with precum, and his veins are popping out around his abdomen. You run your hand from his chest to his pubic bone, stopping just above his length.

“Okay Wooyoung, come here.” Wooyoung eagerly gets up and walks over to you, and as you stand up and back away from the man underneath you, Wooyoung very openly looks down at your crotch, and eyes your cock visibly straining against your own pants. He looks up into your eyes. “Yes sir?” He asks impatiently, waiting for your orders. “I want you to suck off Hongjoong while I get ready. Wooyoung looks over to his older friend, eyeing his cock then looking into his eyes. Joong bites his lip at the thought of Wooyoung sucking his cock.

“Yes sir.” Wooyoung responds, walking over to the edge of the bed and lowering his knees to the floor in between the red heads legs. Hongjoong lifts his torso up so he is sitting upright, looking down at the crown of Wooyoung’s head. You take this time to undress yourself and gather some items. “And Wooyoung, don’t let him finish, if he cums you get the punishment.” He holds back a groan but simply nods his head, lifting his hands up to Hongjoong’s cock and stroking his length, getting a feel for what he likes. Hongjoong throws his head back in pleasure, and lustfully stares down into the younger man’s eyes.

Wooyoung takes his tip into his mouth, sucking gently and stroking his thumb along the veins, using his other hands to cups his balls and apply light pressure. Hongjoong has been pent up for so long that he can already feel the heat growing in his abdomen but he doesn’t hold back his moans. He is curious to see how Wooyoung would get punished so he allows himself to revel in the pleasure.

Wooyoung takes him into his mouth fully now, running his tongue along the bottom of his cock and letting spit bubble and pool at the sides of his mouth as his pace quickens. He thinks he can get Hongjoong to the edge, he wants to see him on the edge. Hongjoong looks fucked out already, and it just encourages the brunette to move faster, squeezing and massing his balls tighter, and hollowing out his cheeks. Hongjoong’s moans grow louder as he feels himself get closer to his orgasm, at this rate he knows he won’t be able to hold it.

Wooyoung moves the hand holding Hongjoong’s balls to his thigh, digging his nails in as he let’s Hongjoong throat fuck him, Hongjoong’s hand flying to his hair to push him down further. All the while you are nearly done, Fully undressed and your cock slapping against your stomach as you grab some lube and some rope. Wooyoung knows he doesn’t have very long before Hongjoong cums and as he is about to pull back Hongjoong grips his hair harder keeping him in place. The brunette tries to make noises of protest, probably proclaiming that he is cheating but the vibrations just send Hongjoong over the edge, letting his load coat the younger ones throat.

The younger man swallows every drop and pulls back, “That was cheating, you can’t do that!” He yells but Hongjoong just laughs. You walk back over to the bed, setting down your items. “I didn’t say Hongjoong couldn’t hold your head, therefore you get the punishment Woo.” All he does is whine loudly, but secretly he wants to be punished. You know this of course, Wooyoung likes being degraded, yelled at, anything that pushes someone’s buttons and he faces the consequences he loves, but you have something else planned for him.

“Go sit on the chair again.” You demand and he does as you say. You pull off Wooyoung's underwear and let his cock free. Wooyoung’s dick is a lot bigger and girthier than Joong’s, and a lot angrier. Just like his arms, veins decorate his cock and his abdomen. You take the rope you procured off the bed, and tie Wooyoung’s arms to the chair. His cock twitches at the sensation of being tied up. You bend down and place a soft kiss against his lips and ask him, “Color?” He whines out, “Green.” You grip his cock for a second, just to tease him and he moans out loudly, finally being touched for the first time, but just as quickly as you grabbed him you let go. “Now you get to watch me fuck Joongie.” You whisper in his ear and he grumbles. He wants to be fucked first, he already worked so much.

You make your way to the bed and lift a leg over Hongjoong, your cock directly in front of his face. “Spit.” Hongjoong spits on your cock and you lube yourself up naturally, spreading it around. “On all fours, do you want to be stretched first?” Hongjoong whimpers out, “Yes sir, please fuck me with your fingers.” He moves into the position and you pick up the lube, dripping some onto your fingers, and onto his hole. You circle his rim with your single digit, teasing him a bit before slowly pushing in. You avoid his prostate for the time being, just wanting to stretch him and work him back up to hardness. You’ve decided that Hongjoong gets to cum twice, but Wooyoung only once.

Hongjoong’s cock grows back to full length as you insert another finger, the feeling of you fucking his hole making him groan and writhe. It isn’t long before you insert a third digit, and start brushing against his prostate. His moans start to get louder and you can even hear Wooyoung whining, thrust his hips in an attempt to feel anything. You bring your other hand down onto Hongjoong’s ass, leaving a red mark and earning a loud yelp from the small man. “Are you ready for my cock?” He doesn’t say anything immediately, only focusing on your fingers hitting his prostate over and over. You hit his ass once again, “I asked you a question, slut.” Hongjoong whimpers, “Y-yes sir!” He yelps.

You remove your fingers and Hongjoong bite his lip at the empty sensation. You get up and walk over to Wooyoung, dragging the chair over to the edge of the bed. “Move your face over to where Wooyoung is, he needs a front row seat.” Hongjoong crawls over to the edge of the bed, Dangling his head over the edge, directly above Wooyoung’s angry cock. You move behind Hongjoong and line yourself up, spilling lube onto yourself and onto his fluttering hole. He whines as you press your tip into his hole, only filling in halfway to let him get used to the girth.

The redhead has to bite his lip as you bottom out finally, filling him up. He feels so tight around you, so wet. You groan out before slowly rocking your hips back, starting at a slow pace so he can get used to you. Hongjoong is so close to Wooyoung’s cock that the younger man can feel his hot breath on it. You slowly build your pace, and feel your orgasm growing closer, seeing the way Wooyoung looks everytime Joong gets close to his cock is driving you crazy. “Hongjoong, suck Wooyung’s cock for me baby.” He does as you say, letting his tongue fall out, and licking and sucking on his tip sloppily. You can tell that Wooyoung is already close from watching you and Hongjoong fuck around, but you aren’t going to let him finish easily.

You pick up the pace, fucking into Hongjoong harder and forcing him to choke around Wooyoung’s cock. Both the men let out whines, tears even pricking at wooyoung’s eyes from the pleasure, the ropes feeling tight around his wrists as he thrashes about, wanting to grab Hongjoong and make him take in his cock further. “Joong please…. Take in more. I can't take it.” Wooyoung begs but the redhead knows better than to do what he asks, he only takes orders from you. You are slamming into Hongjoong at this point, your orgasm only moments away, Hongjoong’s as well. With just a few more strokes you finish inside of him and bring your hand down to his throbbing cock and he finishes as well, rope after rope of cum falling onto the bed and your hand. You can tell that Wooyoung is right at the edge too. “Hongjoong pull away.” He pulls away with a popping sound, and after a few seconds pass Wooyoung starts moaning again, tears in his eyes. He spills onto Hongjoong’s face with loud moans. You laugh, proud of yourself for effectively ruining his orgasm. One last rope of cum lands onto Joong’s face and Wooyoung comes down from his high.

You slowly pull out of Hongjoong’s now aching hole and he whines at the feeling. You go to your bathroom to grab a couple of wet washcloths to clean all of you up. When you come back you hand one to Hongjoong and go to wooyoung, untying his ropes and cleaning him up. “That was mean.” He huffs. You can clearly tell that he loved it though. “That’s what you get for being a brat. Play nice next time and we will see how I treat you.” A mischievous smile covers his face, “Next time?” His eyebrow wiggles and you just roll your eyes. You throw the washcloth at his chest. “Clean up you heathen.”

“I would love for there to be a next time.” Hongjong says brightly, cleaning Wooyoung’s cum off of his face in the mirror on your nightstand. “I would too.” You say, kissing Hongjoong on the forehead.

#ateez x reader #ateez x male reader #male reader #ateez smut #kim hongjoong smut #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x male reader #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x male reader #woojoong #woojoong smut #wooyoung x hongjoong #wooyoung x hongjoong smut #hongjoong x wooyoung #hongjoong x wooyoung smut

289 notes · View notes

blueberrymuffinmassacre · 7 months

Text

So The Amazing Digital Circus has latched onto my brain like a particularly stubborn tick so now I gotta share a theory of mine from the Pilot.

Considering it's all, indeed, digital and the mental health of its occupants ties to their stability, I bet their avatars are near direct reflections of themselves and their issues/flaws, albeit with a filter to fit the Fun, Child Friendly Aesthetic of the Circus.

Pomni is a classic rendition of a Jester. A Court Fool. Her eyes are incredibly expressive and even change to scribbles, hollow circles, or pure black depending on her mental state.

She likely views her life as a joke, or views herself as the punchline of a joke. She's a Fool. Whether this is due to perceived incompetence, an inability to "grow up", or simply considers herself to be lesser than her peers.

I do however use the above picture on purpose. She's an absolute nervous wreck 99% of the time, but stops while being chased by a monster and is stunned by her own reflection. That isn't a look of fear or confusion, it's awe. Something about her avatar struck a cord with her and seemed right. I personally subscribe to the theory of her being transgender and experiencing a small bout of gender euphoria amidst the horrors thanks to a post made by one demilypyro.

Jax is a Cartoon Rabbit. Not really terribly much to say about the design itself other than it being very rubber-hose animation in its proportions and the seeming default smug expression.

Jax is an asshole. He plays pranks in bad faith, is incredibly snarky and dry even to someone in distress, and doesn't seem to overly care about the others well being.

"I'm fine with doing whatever, as long as I get to see funny things happen to people." It makes sense his avatar would take a similar look to another wise-cracking cartoon rabbit we all know. He also seems the most content to actually be in the Circus itself. Considering it can let him do all manner of things to others, from the lethal to the physically impossible, he might consider it better than reality.

Ragatha is literally just raggedy ann. A patchwork doll.

She seems to be the most outwardly kind of the individuals in the circus, showing patience and understanding with Pomni even when in distress, though she clearly has a limit to said patience.

I think it's safe to assume Ragatha has been through a lot of shit for her avatar to make her seem patchwork. Which is to say, damaged multiple times and repaired each time, leaving clear marks of the repairs like scars.

Zooble is a mess of individual parts slammed together in an approximation of a humanoid shape. Like someone took dozens of pieces from all sorts of toys and put them together into an amalgam.

Gooseworx has stated they have no idea what they're even suppose to be. This can and likely does include gender, but probably includes their entire identity as a whole. Or rather, their lack of one.

For whatever reason, be it alienation, isolation, or any number of potential causes; Zooble doesn't know who they are or what they want to be. No ambitions, no dreams, no real self identity. This makes their avatar manifest as a mess that also doesn't know what it wants to be, so is a little bit of everything.

Gangle is most insubstantial, their body almost entirely a ribbon. The key part of their avatar is the mask: Comedy and Tragedy. And it seems in the few instances it's not broken, they always try to wear the comedy mask over top the tragedy mask.

Gangle's behavior makes me think she's the youngest of the individuals, at least mentally. As for the masks, something about her circumstances in life made her feel the need to put on a facade of joy. Maybe to live up to expectations, or to hide her true feelings to avoid worrying others. As an avatar, this seems to have become literal: She seems to only be happy with the mask on and discontent at best with it off/broken.

Kinger is a White King Chess Piece.

He's a forgetful paranoiac who, according to the characters, has been present in the Circus for the longest amount of time. He seems to forget where people are and what he's doing quite a bit.

In a moment of lucidity near the end, he goes in depth about how the food they eat is just simulated, and how they provide the sensation of eating despite not being real. It's also worth mentioning the ground floor of the circus is a Chess Board.

I believe Kinger is/was at least partially in charge of creating the Circus. His avatar is a walking symbol of authority, a reflection on his standing within the digital space rather than his current mental state. Perhaps the avatar was more fitting when he first entered the Circus, aware of its intricacies and rules, but has long since forgotten such things.

We don't see Kaufmo while he's uh. Normal. But we do see pictures of what he did look like: A Clown.

From the dialogue of other characters like Ragatha and Gangle, he seemed to actually try and play the role of clown during his time in the Circus, even if he wasn't terribly funny.

Kaufmo likely found himself to be a clown in reality. Maybe he was a clown in the literal sense. Or maybe he just saw himself as a funny, quirky guy to be around even if he was none of those things.

Finally, we have what happens when someone goes completely plum insane.

The Avatars are based on mental scans of the individual made to fit the aesthetic of the circus. an Abstraction is what happens when said software tries to read a mind that has no logic or reasoning left. There's nothing to find, no basis of personality, no base to work with. So in confusion the avatar becomes a glitched mess, trying and failing to find a shape within the madness to settle into.

Kinger seems to be insane, yet they're stable, because there is still an individual underneath the neurosis. There's nothing left of Kaufmo at this point: Just a cyclone of emotions inside a broken human mind.

That's the theory, anyway. It's a fucking pilot I could be entirely wrong.

#The amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc theory #Long Post

90 notes · View notes

ystrike1 · 6 months

Text

Master's Pet - By Shroomi (8.5/10)

It's a hot love battle! The son of the Duke. The son of the Marquise. The illegitimate son of the Marquise. They're all fighting over the same man. Our unfortunate, fatally attractive, protagonist just wants to escape his obsessive stalker. To do that he must pick a master, and pay with his body.

Our story begins with Collin.

He is a malnourished and gorgeous 18 year old boy. His mother was a mistress. Collins father was the very dead, spoiled and annoying Marquise. Collin looks exactly like that gorgeous and dumb Marquise.

His identity is hard to deny.

The legitimate heir, Joseph, takes him in. He doesn’t have to. Collin is half worthless peasant after all.

Joseph takes Collin in to turn him into a stud. A stallion. You see Joseph doesn't want to marry. His dumb hot father spent all the money. He must focus on saving the territory. Also his mother beat him horribly and he can't bear to sleep with women. So frankly Collin is really convenient.

Collin gets depressed when his mom abandons him for money. Joseph buys a slave of humble birth. Someone Collin can trust. Collin is afraid of power. Of being a noble son.

Joseph buys Ein. Ein wasn't a regular slave. The Duke's son, Max, is obsessed with him.

Ein is willing to do anything to get away.

Joseph tells Ein to gain Collin's trust. Teach him. Make him look noble so a Lady will marry him to continue the Marquise line.

Ein agrees.

Bad news!

Collin is a very nice young man!

He's not excited to be rich. He's afraid and he relies on Ein for emotional support.

This destroys Ein. He feels incredibly guilty, but he has no choice. His previous owner kept him locked up every day. He couldn't even interact with the other servants.

Joseph uses Ein for his sexual needs. That's part of the deal. His mommy issues are real bad, so he needs to tie Ein up too. He doesn't like to be touched. Joseph is kind of a shitty, abusive, possessive guy until the very end of the story. Ein is a good servant and support for him, but they never become real friends.

Joseph grapples with possessive feelings for Ein, but they never become real love.

Ein tames Collin....with love.

Yes, Collin wants to be with Ein. He says he will become the perfect man....if Joseph hands over the slave papers. Collin wants to be Ein's master.

How impure.

Wait Collin plans to burn the contract! Yes!!! His is the one good egg in the lineup of men.

Joseph struggles with his feelings while Collin is away at school. He abuses Ein some more and then he remembers being abused sucks??? It kinda hurts actually???

Joseph's weirdo mommy was obsessed with the dumb hot Marquise. She spoiled him rotten. She wanted a blond, blue eyed son. Instead Joseph came into the world with her face. She beat him. He wears gloves because she attacked his hands. She whipped his arms until they were all permanently white with scar tissue on top.

She sucked, but that doesn’t mean using Ein for rough playtime constantly is ok.

They could have been friends. Maybe lovers. But Joseph doesn't get over his mommy issues.

Max the stalker captures Ein at a really dumb party Joseph planned. Joseph wanted to marry Collin off. That was the plan, but the party tipped Max off. Somebody recognized Ein.

Max kidnaps him, and we learn the truth.

Max ruined Ein's whole life, from childhood to adulthood. He's been abnormally attached to Ein since he was like a toddler. Ein had to deal with it, because he was a slave. Max confessed his love when he grew up, but Ein refused. Then Max locked him up and threw away the key. The Duchess is a sane woman, so she snuck Ein out. Without her he'd still be in there.

Collin and Joseph have the papers. Max has Ein. They burn the papers, and that makes Max a criminal. Slaves are fair game for kidnapping, but kidnapping a citizen is a huge deal. Especially when you're the Duke's son. Without the slave papers Ein can easily get rid of Max, because everybody hates him. He's an annoying little brat that never grew up.

Max says he is Ein's true Master, and he always will be.

Ein looks down at him and says Max means nothing to him. Without the paper he has no reason to care about his madness.

Collin and Joseph both teamed up to save him.

Who does Ein pick?

No one.

He chooses to quit his job. He never wants to see another noble man again.

Collin cries when he leaves. Joseph is mad about it, but they get it. Again, Max ruined his entire childhood and um yeah.

Eventually Collin chooses to abandon life as a noble man.

It never really suited him anyway.

He finds Ein, who has become a teacher because of his years of tutoring experience.

Ein has been waiting for him.

Collin, the sanest and most loving of the three, was always Ein's true love.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #yaoi

88 notes · View notes

mrsdarkandyandere7 · 2 years

Note

May I please request some Yandere Peter Parker x reader where she's the youngest maximoff? She also had the same powers as Wanda. After she got assaulted by Peter she was able to escape, she later found out she was pregnant and was able to raise the kid far away from Peter. Her son knew what happened because he would spot some scars on his mother’s skin and he could even see her flinching. He could never forgive what his bastard father did to his mother.

One day, her son of her snuck out to have a party with his friends. He didn’t know the place was held where Spiderman is and (y/n) was able to track her son down.

But they didn’t expect to see a familiar face who just landed in front of them. It was Peter Parker who was very happy to see them both. (Y/n) is very frightened to see him and her son goes forward ready to protect her at all costs. Talk about a horrifying family reunion.

Family Matters

Pairing: Dark Peter Parker x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNINGS: Implied forced pregnancy and toxic relationship; Attempted kidnapping.

AN: So, I made this a bit longer than what i wanted plus it has a open-ending, so it's up to your imagination how you want it to end cause i really have no idea how to complete this. Hope you enjoy this :)

“No.” Your tone is assertive, leaving no room for discussion.

“Why not? It’s an Avenger’s party, mom! Only superheroes there, it’s not even dangerous or anything.” Jason nags, looking up from his phone and suddenly you’re struck by his face. He looks so much like Peter that it hurts, but then you have to remind yourself that he’s not Peter.

He’s Jason, your son, the light that shines the darkness within you.

The only good thing in your life.

It’s been long since you’ve moved on from Peter, moving away from New York to Boston while erasing all traces of you. You changed your name, your bank account, doing all you could to create a new identity. You even went as far as cutting contact with everyone from your old life, including your older sister Wanda.

You didn’t even use your powers anymore, feeling like they had become somewhat blocked. Now you live your life as an ordinary single-mom but you have your own share of secrets.

Jason knows how he was conceived and how bad things were with Peter, but you never told him that his father is Spiderman. And that’s exactly why you don't want him to go to that party.

“Jason, you can’t go and that’s final.” you declare, returning your attention back to the uncut vegetables for the dinner, completely ignoring Jason’s whines and begging.

You can’t let Peter find out about Jason.

No no no.

This can’t be happening.

Jason’s room is empty, without any sign of him. The window is partially open, a cold breeze entering the room, causing your bones to chill both in cold and fear.

You already know where he must’ve gone. That Avenger’s party.

You search his desk for some clue or indication of where the party is being held. A small post-it has the address and you rush there, panicking over Jason finding Peter or the other way around.

The overwhelming feeling that your life is about to get wrecked doesn’t stop all the way in the cab and you can’t stop overthinking about all the possible scenarios of how the outcome of this horrible night.

You reach the luxurious building ready to beg your way in, but the security guards just allow you to enter, without any questions. It only adds more concern to your mind, has Peter found you already?

The whole room is filled with loud music, people dancing all over the place and you spot a very drunk Tony dancing on top of a table while Steve tries to get him down.

A small pang of nostalgia hits you as you look at them for a moment, remembering the days where you used to be a part of the team, helping them save the world.

You shake your head, trying to focus back on finding Jason. He’s your priority now, you can’t let Peter find him or you. Your eyes carefully scrutinize through the crowd, but there are no signs of Jason nor any of his friends.

You scratch your arm with anxiety, feeling too exposed. Where is he?

Turning around, you meet Peter, who’s right in front of you. Suddenly your whole body freezes as you face Peter, both of you standing in surprise.

For a moment, everything slows down. Peter seems older but still has the boyish features he’s always had. Practically everything about him is the same.

Peter also stares you down, a disbelief look in his face. He opens his mouth but you’re fast to turn around, starting to head towards the exit. You don’t get much far though, as Peter swiftly grabs your arm, pulling you with ease towards one of the corridors. Panic bubbles inside of you, your legs shaking as your body is forced by Peter to keep moving.

Your mind is frozen, your whole body seems to go numb. The only thing that keeps you in place is Peter’s hold in your wrist. You absently notice as he pulls you into a fairly dark room.

Peter doesn’t waste time hugging you, his arms possessively wrapped around your frame. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your perfume as you go limp in his arms.

“Fuck, it’s been too long. I’ve missed you so much, you know that?” his voice is low, filled with longing and desire. His arms tighten around you, making you flinch as realizations slowly starts to hit you.

“I looked around, I searched for you so much. I never stopped looking out for you even after all these years. Even Wanda didn’t know where you were, all she told me was that you had a son. Our son.” he says, pulling away from the hug. His eyes are practically glinting with happiness while yours are filled with horror.

Something inside you snaps as he mentions your son. Your son. Not his, but yours.

Suddenly you push Peter hard, causing him to step back.

"Leave me alone. Leave us alone. We don't want anything to do with you." you scream, seeing a brief look of fury fill his face before turning your back on him.

You move towards the door but as soon as your hand touches the handle, two arms attach themselves to your body, pulling you away from the door.

"You're not going anywhere, don't think you're going to run away from me again." he roars. You struggle in his embrace but he doesn't weaken his iron embrace, if anything he gains more strength, starting to pull you further away from the door.

It makes you panic even more, air starting to get scarce to breathe but you still manage to scream, hoping someone would help you.

The door kicks open and a young man appears on the door, without breath.

“Please, help me!” you yell. Just as you look at him, you realize it’s Jason. Your son looks shocked to see you there, but he doesn’t hesitate to jump in to your aid. Peter’s hold on you falters for a brief moment, but he doesn’t relent as he and Jason wrestle to get you.

“Hey, get off my mom!” Jason yells, his hand coming to twist Peter’s wrist, successfully forcing him to release you.

You take the chance to get away from Peter, rushing to your son’s side. Peter and Jason stand in front of each other, a practically exact copy of each other with only a few differences. Hard not to realize that they are father and son.

You hide behind Jason, taking a small scared peek towards Peter only to regret it. He looks furious, probably because the warm and happy family reunion he expected didn’t happen. Jason’s body irradiates hatred, acknowledging his father for the first time in his life.

“You can't keep her away from me, son.” Peter slowly declares, his fist clenching hard.

“You’re not getting anywhere near her, know that, dad.” Jason scoffs, ignoring the way Peter’s eyes flash with utter anger.

Neither of them move, standing like cold statues. None of them will give up on you, you’re sure of that.

One hell of a family reunion.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere avengers #dark marvel #yandere marvel #yandere peter parker #dark peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #yandere peter parker x reader #yandere!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader

785 notes · View notes

brucewaynehater101 · 9 days

Note

man, my *pressing ask only to go wait holy shit!!* is getting out of hand

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Ranger and DigiDestinedhood hammers home to the team that as good as saving people is, secret identities are a paaain, but a nessecery pain

But they would never trade it for the world

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Tim arguably has it easier than everyone else when it comes to identity shenanigans. He has no powers, and thus no expectation to become a hero himself.

Inheriting Drake Industries and maintaining it will be a chore. However, if he plays his cards right, he can get digimon on his playrole to act in his stead when he can get away with remote work

The company still has motives to profit, but when it comes to it's non-profit organization and welfare departments? Policies to keep them at top quality are aggresively enforced.

It will also heavily invest in technology, particulary regarding the internet in ways that benefit his team's mission and the digital world

A good percentage of remote workers aren't even physical, but nobody except seven needs to know that

Plus Drake Industries will grow like never before. He can spout loads of bullshit to the press as to how but his team knows the truth

The Digital World and his Digital employees

The Batfamily are the main source of his worries, but he's got things under control

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

What Tim doesn't have to worry about is passing for (wholly) human. Becoming a Power Ranger of the Digivision negated his 100% human percentage, but minus some scares and precautions here and there, nobody will realize he's an unordinary human boy

He can provide support and even ways to help them hide their more extraordinary traits, employ Digimon support, but there's only so much he can do

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Thorn can't help being frightened whenever Luthor is their foe, when Superman is front of him congragulating on a job well done

When Superman questions his frozen still state, he just says that he's a huge fan and can never believe it when he sees the super

"But I understand that I should see the man under the cape, not just the symbol, and I'll do my best to do so."

And he thought just seeing them on the screen or in the distance was bad

It's a frightening, but easy to take of the kryptonite when in Ranger form, and his friends and people are in danger, and embrace his powers to save the day, clumsy as he is at it

It's going to be a long time coming when he stops wearing kryptonite under his clothes, in his pockets outside of training, no matter how much better his body feels without it, and let himself be witness to so much agony in his civillian life

When Superman asks Data Ranger is also a Kryptonian?

When Superman stares down Thorn with both of them knowing full well they know that the other knows that they know?

"You're my clone"

Thorn can taste his death through the very kryptonite he's indulged a life's comfort in. Compared to what's more likely?

He'd much prefer that

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Speedster metabolism is a straight up liability when you're trying to keep yourself secret

Bart wasn't pretending he didn't exist persay, just one of the more instrumental parts of himself

The Flash family was sniffing around since news about the Vaccine Ranger and the speed force first popped up. Please stay away thank you. And thank you Batman paranoia!

Sucked how the most crash parts of his life circled around to being mode--- oh hey his favorite store just opened!

Bart had to be very, very careful not to speed. Which was utterly mode in his books but it's crash in the long run

Tl;Dr?---he liked this time and world's slang---Tim is having him and Thorn live at his place since they're homeless otherwise, and the press sucks! But living with Tim comes with a rad allowance he can spend on all the food and snacks he wants

Tim was working on getting revolutionary food preservation tech and other tech and GMOs made so Bart would never want for anything that satiated his hunger and taste buds again

but for now he'd have to settle for shopping

"How many parties are you buying for?" the cashier asked

"I've made it a career," he jested

And if he used the speedforce to give him a tip of bills adding up to hundred with a note of "keep the change :D --signed party boy"?

Sue him, Gotham was mode!---No offense Tim---people needed all the help they could get here

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Cassie arguably has it harder than the rest of her team from a certain view

What's stopping Zues or anybody else affiliated with him in anyway from flying down from the heavens and declaring her own divinity for everyone to hear?

What's keeping her from being forced into a spotlight or duties at the wave of a hand?

Pouring through texts for anything---anything!---that could conceal demigodhood, she mentally noted down anything that boosted luck as well. Knowing anything, she'll need it

She looked up to see that the digimon helping her were barely making more progress than her

So much for the ✨Age of Information!✨ she thought

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Tl;Dr --- The Digital Division don't want their civillian identities compromised because it could compromise their allies

And they aren't to inclined to willingly share their identities to anybody outside of the Digital Division

If they manage to not compromise their allies, the prospect of being forced into another superheroism identity and thus be forced to juggle three secrety identities is something they don't want

Also rip Thorn with his unreliable narration. Lies and mental illness are a bitch!

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Hey maybe the team expands the Digital Division to have its own social worker department of sorts aimed at helping the community

Maybe it's the start of the digital world and real world coming together as one, or maybe a different approach is taken

One must wonder the public and real world's reaction to the existence of the digital world

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Also Bart and Terriermon would probably use a bunch of Digital World slang in the future addition to real world future slang, where as the present Digital World uses their own terms, another way of displaying their displacement in time

Also Tim would probably have Bart and Thorn stay at the Drake Manor since they're a bit homeless and maybe he arranges Helena and his parents to meet if they haven't already so Cassie can have an excuse to come and stay over whenever

Thorn and Bart staying at Tim's place is great! I like the addition here of the Digital Division kind of treating other heroes as pests. They are basically trying to shoo away anyone who's trying to figure out their identity.

I bet Batman is going nuts. He can't really track/follow them into and out of the digital world. Maybe he tries to get Oracle to help? Wonder how that would go.

I'm also vibing with the digital employees and Tim continuing to be the CEO for D.I.

Overall, the concept is cool as hell!

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #bart allen #dc au #cassie sandsmark #kon el kent #thank you for the ask!!!!

20 notes · View notes