#Rock Solid Backhand

[mrsvalentinefucker1]

Support class dick hc, kinks + How they fuck

Cw: knives, rough sex, blood

Sniper

•Dick: I’d say about 6, 6 1/2 inches if I’m being generous here. Definitely not thin, it’s got some girth to it that’s for sure. He never ever clean shaves he thinks it looks weird (he’s not wrong) so he’ll definitely just trim up a little or maybe not at all. Wild man moment. Plus, he kinda loves the scruffy look he has going on. I know everyone says he’s uncircumcised and i definitely agree with that. Tip is not red but definitely a deep pink, it’s cute. Two visible veins, one on the top of his shaft and one underneath it. So he’s very very sensitive.

•How he fucks: Rough. He likes to be fucked hard and to fuck hard. His favorite position to see you in is definitely mating press or doggy style (with a knife to your throat) he loves to see your face contort with pleasure and fear. He’s very vocal i mean haven’t you heard his voice lines. Come on. He loves telling you how great of a fuck toy you can be when you aren’t being a cunt or a teasing slut. He doesn’t have a favorite place to cum really.. Whenever he gets his rocks off is where it stays so.

•Kinks

Praise: definitely, but backhanded praise “look at you, good little slut.” Stuff like that you know?

Predator vs prey play: I know this is so basic but oh my goodness he LOVE LOVE LOVEEEESSS to chase you down and just fuck your brains out if your skull. Like I said, he likes it rough. (Me next)

Knife play: Ofc this is one of them. That mf is a literal animal. He just likes the power trip tbh. Having your life in his very hands, though he’d never do anything to ever hurt it.. it’s hot to watch your fearful eyes and if you enjoy it just as much as he does, you’re in for a ride of dirty talk and rough hard sex.

Public sex: touching you while in public. Something about it. Maybe it’s bc he likes to tease and see how long you can last without gripping his arm while shaking and begging to cum or maybe it’s because nobody around you can (probably) tell how good he’s pleasing you, and how they’ll never get a chance to touch a wonderful lady like you the way he does. Who knows

BREEDING: Though he is scared to have kids and will take every procedure to make sure you won’t get pregnant, he still loves to just cum inside of you all day, everyday. (Same sniper.)

Stepping: he probably likes to be stepped on. He’ll buy you beautiful, expensive heels just so you can step on him or press against his hard cock. (Meow.)

Spy

•Dick: solid 5 1/2, it’s not too thin but not exactly thick.. it stretches you very very nicely that is for sure. He trims it constantly. He is never out of order, he takes too much pride in himself to let it grow out like that wretched bushman. Uncircumcised, his dick skin is like.. oddly soft and velvety. One small vein on the side of his cock, it’s nice. Tip, I’d say, is a light cute pink.

•How he fucks: He either makes love for a long time or he plows you hard. Usually both. He rides the fine line very well. While he goes at it soft and caring, he teases you a lot. Vibrators, toys, his finger, his mouth. He just likes to tease you a lot.. but once he slips in, its game over for him. He can’t help it. He has to fuck you like an animal in heat.

•Kinks

Lingerie for sure. He loves to either buy them for you to give you his card to buy yourself some and then surprise him with it! (Will probably write a fic based off this)

Spanking or brat taming: He will absolutely wreck your ass if you talk back to flirt with ANYONE. He will spank you so hard you’ll become a babbling mess.

Body worship: Giving or receiving, he loves to tease you by kissing down your gorgeous body and leave small bites all over you. Nipping, kissing, nipping, kissing. You know. Backhanded kisses

Medic

•Dick: He’s German and from my experience, they’re packing serious heat. 7 inches hard. Argue with the wall because I will not listen. Tummy bulge will happen so be prepared. Much like spy he keeps himself in check, trims every couple of days. Circumcised, dark pink with a red hue tip. It’s sensitive as hell. No visible veins until he gets to fucking, then they all start popping out. Thick. Hard stretch that’s for sure.

•How he fucks: They all fuck hard but him.. dear lord. Pray and buckle up because he will bruise your cervix. He pounds. He doesn’t even fuck, HE SLAMS. bed? broken, operating table? broken, desk? Broken twice. He loves to just fuck you into a mindless mess. That’s all

•Kinks

Roleplay: He loves to roleplay anything really. Nurse and doctor, doctor and patient, boss and intern, things like that.

Knife play: scalpels are going to be pressed against your skin.. which leads me to my next kink hc

Blood kink: Licks the blood off of your wounds or the small cuts he marks your body with. If you have a period, best believe he will be begging to fuck you on it

“Meine Liebe! It feels so much better when you’re on your period, it also relieves cramps too!”

[thesakuragarnet]

Touch-Starved

Summary: What does the hero do when the villain collapses?

Tags: s3xual tension, swearing, first kiss, sickfic, hurt/comfort, DabiHawks, Pre-Paranormal Liberation War Arc, enemies to lovers, Dabi-typical body horror and blood

Word Count: 2,904 words

AO3 link

Dabi never canceled. No matter what. He couldn’t let trivial things get in the way of his plans, and, in his eyes, that included his health. He didn’t care that he was running late; he would find some sort of excuse. In truth, he was walking as fast as he could; everything felt like Hell. He was supposed to change out his staples last night, but he didn’t have the energy or the stamina. He was pretty sure Twice had given the entire League the flu, as everyone in the hideout slowly developed the same symptoms. Dabi never really got sick; his immune system had to be rock solid given his condition. If it were any lesser, he’d be long dead. He always kept up with his surgical staples, changing them out before anything got infected. In the back of his mind, if he didn’t change and clean them tonight, he feared the worst would happen. 

Hawks checks his watch as he waits in the dark warehouse, wondering where his villain contact is lurking. He looks up and sighs, preparing to turn and fly back out of the skylight, when a harsh creak of a door echoes through the building. Dabi is in his normal disguise: a dark pullover hoodie zipped up all the way with dark aviator shades. 

“And I thought you weren’t gonna show,” Hawks smiles cheekily before registering the difference in Dabi’s normal demeanor. His gait is slightly slower, and his eyes seem a little droopier than usual.

"You feeling okay?" The hero asks cautiously, putting his hands in his pockets. Dabi doesn't answer, which is unusual. Hawks expected some snarky comment or backhanded insult. The villain remains silent, and he ever so slightly starts to sway. 

"Over...sl....slept," Dabi lies between jagged breaths, barely getting the last word out before Hawks realizes his knees are buckling beneath him. 

"Whoa, whoa!" Hawks exclaims as his feathers swiftly stop Dabi's head from cracking against the concrete floor. He hesitantly steps toward him, wary that this is some kind of ruse. However, Dabi is unconscious, weakly shivering. Something in the back of Hawks' brain whispers. This is the chance to get one of Japan's worst villains off the streets for good . He could kill him and leave him here. The Commission would want that. It'd be so easy in his frail state. Hawks' brain swirls between listening to the voice of his superior in his head and following what his heart compels him to do. 

...

...

Dabi slowly opens his eyes to find himself on a couch covered in a thin blanket with a cold rag on his forehead. 

"Ah! You're alive!" Hawks' chipper voice assaults his ears as the Pro Hero suddenly materializes beside him, staring down at him like he's some museum exhibit. 

"Where the fuck am I?" Dabi croaks, his voice coming out raspier than usual. 

"My apartment. You passed out on me, Dabs. I was worried I was gonna have to drag your ass to the villain hospital," Hawks chuckles, but his words make Dabi's blood run cold. 

"You wouldn't dare ," Dabi seethes, feeling his Quirk activate at the mere thought of it. That would make this entire plan fall to pieces. They'd take his blood. They'd trace him back to Endeavor. It would ruin everything . 

"I wanna stay on your good side, man. Of course I wouldn't do that to you," Hawks replies, oblivious to the wrath he just incited within his colleague. Before Dabi can respond, he feels a dull wave of nausea and dizziness sweep through his body, making his vision blur. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe through his nose. Normally, he can't feel pain. His nerves are all fried and dulled. Everything feels muted and faint to him. It has been since he woke up from his coma after Sekoto Peak. Whatever Twice had spread around the League was strong . Still. He needs to change out the staples. At least the ones on his back. He pulled some of them when he made a run with the League last week. If he didn't replace them, he'd risk going septic. Unfortunately, he's quickly realizing he won't be able to do that by himself in this state. 

“Fuck,” He mutters under his breath, feeling anxiety bubble up in the pit of his stomach. He’d brought a bag of supplies with him; he’d been planning on changing them out on the way back…if he made it that far. Suddenly, he feels the rag disappear and warm, soft skin replaces it on his forehead; he flinches, eyes snapping open when he realizes Hawks is feeling him for a fever. 

“You’re not quite burnin’ up, but I don’t know exactly how your Quirk impacts body temperature,” Hawks murmurs absentmindedly as he pulls the back of his palm away from Dabi. The touch was gentle. It was genuine concern. Dabi hadn’t felt such a thing since before his accident. Someone caring after him. His mouth is suddenly dry, and he can’t find the words. 

“You coulda told me you were sick. I wouldn’t have minded postponing our meeting,” Hawks points out, a touch of empathy in his voice. Dabi wrestles with the notion of whether his empathy is from his hero routine or from authentic compassion. They’d had a weird relationship ever since Dabi recruited him. There was an uneasy tension between the two. It had gathered at an all-time high the night of the Nomu attack in Kyushu when Hawks held a blade to his throat. But…this wasn’t the same Hawks that he met in that warehouse months ago. There was no cold-blooded, mistrustful stare…only worry…only tender warmth in his eyes. Dabi averts his eyes, taking in his surroundings. He can see his bag sitting on a red nest chair in the corner of the living room. Could he trust him to do this? Another shock of pain ebbs through Dabi's body, and he winces. He doesn't want to ask him for help. The mere thought is making his stomach churn even more. Hawks could easily kill him. He's literally giving him the opportunity to stab him in the back. The villain takes a deep, shuddering breath as he slowly sits up, ignoring the haze in his vision from the movement. 

"Bag," He demands without elaboration, pointing to the pack, and Hawks raises an eyebrow before complying. Without a word, Dabi carefully slips off his hoodie, and Hawks' eyes widen as he takes in Dabi's surprisingly toned form. The villain gets on his knees and turns around so that his back faces the hero. 

"I...I need you to change out the ones on the top part of my back," Dabi mumbles, hating that he has to even say it out loud. It feels pathetic. It takes a minute for Hawks to register just exactly what the villain is asking, but, when the lightbulb goes off in his head, he kicks off his shoes and gets on the couch, kneeling to face him as he unzips the pack. Carefully, he pulls out a pair of hemostats, a pack of gauze, a loaded surgical staple gun, and a water bottle filled with a clear bubbling liquid labeled "ANTISEPTIC". The hero blinks. It feels like a setup. Maybe some sort of test. There's no reason why the villain should trust him...unless it's truly a life-and-death situation that he's in no shape to handle himself. His eyes scan Dabi's back, lighting up in recognition when he sees the slightly pulled staples on the top of the scar line. There's ten of them. 

"You want somethin' to bite down on?" Hawks offers as he leans forward, positioning the first staple between the tips of the hemostats. 

"Used to the pain," Dabi rasps, and the hero sniffs before he carefully pries the staple free from Dabi's skin. Dabi grits his teeth as he feels the faint tug, and he hears Hawks trying not to panic behind him. 

"SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! THERE'S BLOOD!" Hawks stammers, haphazardly tearing open the package of gauze as he watches the red bloom out from under his scars where the staple once held the skin in place. 

"They fucking hold me together, moron. Yeah, there's gonna be blood. You should've had the gauze ready and held it over before you pulled it out," Dabi snaps, and Hawks snorts. 

"Y'know, you didn't give me any instructions," The Pro retorts before pouring some of the bubbly liquid on a fresh gauze square. He peels back the blood-soaked piece of gauze and immediately replaces it. The faint hiss that results from the chemical reaction makes Hawks cringe, and Dabi winces. 

"Hold it for five seconds. Then staple it," Dabi mutters, and Hawks nods wordlessly. With a shaking hand, Hawks grabs the silver staple gun, eyeballing the target before he pulls away the gauze square. 

Ka-CHICK!

The familiar sound of the staple gun sends chills down Dabi's spine, and he grunts at the dull, muted pain. Tenderly, Hawks presses the other side of the antiseptic gauze onto the shining staple, dabbing away any residual blood. 

"One down," Hawks quips softly, and Dabi flexes out of habit, getting used to the new staple. The motion highlights the hidden muscles in his back, and the sight catches Hawks off guard. Hawks turns his attention to the second dirty piece of metal in the row. This one looks particularly painful, and half of it is already lodged out, the blood clotting to it in a messy scab. 

"This one's gonna be a bitch," The hero warns, and Dabi braces himself. When he removes the staple, the clot dislodges, and Hawks quickly covers up the open wound before it can start spurting. Dabi shudders as his vision blurs in and out. He feels so fucking weak. He was never gonna let Twice hear the end of it when he got back to the base. Dabi gulps, barely registering the click of the fresh staple being fastened into his skin. 

...

Ka-CHICK!

Dabi curses like a sailor as Hawks fastens the final staple into his back, and the Pro immediately starts blotting away the dried blood with the antiseptic. Breath hisses through Dabi's gritted teeth as the sting slowly numbs, and, finally, it's over. The second Hawks pulls the rag away, he puts his hand on Dabi's unburned shoulder, giving a light, comforting squeeze.

"Do I...can I put the Neosporin on 'em, too?" Hawks blurts. Dabi had almost forgotten about that. 

"Whatever, I guess," He huffs, wishing that he would stop talking; the situation couldn't possibly get even more awkward. He loathes the vulnerable position that he's found himself in. He should be intimidating the Pro, instead, he's being coddled by him. However, Dabi's bitter mindset dissolves when he feels Hawks' calloused hands massaging the scars on his back. It sounds cliché, but his touch feels like magic, expertly kneading into his flesh in a way that's subtly suspicious. After all, he must be doing this on purpose for Dabi to be able to register the sensation. It's thrillingly intimate...deliberate...intoxicating. The villain turns rigid, trying not to melt as Hawks' hands dance up and down his back, traveling significantly farther than the isolated scar line. 

"You're fuckin' tense," Hawks mutters under his breath as his hands find their way to Dabi's shoulders, thumbs pressing into the back of his neck. 

"Probably because my back is turned to a hero," Dabi grunts, letting the last word fall from his lips with a venomous twist. Hawks simply ignores him, a small smile playing at his lips when Dabi swallows a sigh as he forcibly rubs into the tense areas of muscle. Finally, he works his way back down to the scar line, and Dabi hears the familiar squelch of the tube. 

"You hadn't even put it on, yet?!" The villain scoffs, stealing a glance over his shoulder to see Hawks' shit-eating grin, but, when the hero catches him looking, his expression changes to ambivalence. 

"Quit complaining. You needed it. Don't you feel a little better?" Hawks replies before gently weaving his fingertips between the staples, and Dabi shudders at the faint cold sensation. The massage did manage to distract him a bit from the dull ache pulsing through his entire body. 

When Hawks removes his hands from Dabi's back, the villain takes in a deep breath as he turns to face the hero. It's only then that he realizes how close Hawks has gotten. Their faces are mere inches apart, and Dabi's heart skips a beat...for whatever reason. He doesn't know why he feels so flustered all of a sudden. Maybe it's the intimacy that he accidentally created? Maybe it's the fact that, for once, someone seems to care in a way that no one else ever has? A few seconds of silence slip by; the only sounds coming from Hawks' apartment are their tense breathing. In the dim lights of the apartment, Hawks practically glows; the lights reflect off of his feathers and highlight the gold flecks in his eyes. There's a glint in them that Dabi's never seen before. 

Time seems to stop...and...without a word...Hawks leans in...and kisses him. Dabi's eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat; he freezes like a statue, his entire body tensing the moment that Hawks' impossibly soft lips sweetly press against his. He can only partially even feel the sensation, but it shakes him to the core. The hero's eyes are closed, and the villain takes note of how long his eyelashes are. He assumed the markings on the corners of his eyes were some sort of weird birthmark, but now he can see that it's just seamless eyeliner. His gut instinct is to push him away. To burn him to ashes. He should kill him for doing this. But...his heart twists in a way that makes blood well up in his fucked up tear ducts. Everything about this is wrong...but...why does it feel so right? Why does it feel relieving? Against every logical thought, Dabi's eyelids flutter shut, thin streaks of blood dripping down from them as he begins to kiss him back. Hawks smiles into the kiss, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat when he feels Dabi pushing closer, and he wraps his arms around the villain, making sure not to pull any of the fresh staples on his back. Dabi's sharply inhales and exhales through his nose as he gently lifts his hands up, using the little bit of strength he has to cup the side of the hero's face and wrap another arm around his waist. After what seems like an eternity, they both break from the kiss, cerulean eyes reflecting in gold. Dabi can't form words. His mind is swimming with a thousand thoughts of: 'You idiot! What are you doing?! That was...amazing... He's the enemy! You can't trust him! He's so pretty...' Until it finally lands on:

"Why the fuck would you do that?!" Dabi suddenly angrily blurts, his face heating up as a dull blush spreads across the healthy skin on his face. 

"Please. I don't care if you get me sick," Hawks smirks, rolling his eyes and waving his hand absentmindedly. 

"That's not why-I don't give a- fuck you!" Dabi stammers, getting progressively irritated as he tries to gather his hazy mind. He can't think clearly when he feels so shitty. 

"You're the one who leaned into it," The Pro shrugs, grinning smugly. Dabi scoffs, speechless. He can't stop staring at Hawks' lips. No one had ever touched him like that. Not in a way that felt like it meant something. But...what the fuck did it mean? Hawks' devilish smile fades when he notices the trails of blood streaming from Dabi's eyes, steadily dripping down the side of his face. 

"Dabi," Hawks mutters, his voice laced with worry as he points to the red streaks. Dabi blinks, immediate realization crashing down on him as he frantically thumbs the blood away, embarrassed that he let himself be so vulnerable and silently cursing himself for it. Another wave of nausea sweeps through his body, and he puts his face in his hands, trying to calm down. 

"Hey, I didn't mean to upset you," The hero murmurs apologetically, feathers drooping ever so slightly as he instinctively reaches an arm out to comfort him. Dabi flinches the moment Hawks' fingers brush against his shoulder, but, in a split second, he sinks into the gesture, letting himself get lost in the feeling of his touch. 

"I...I haven't felt this shitty in a long time," Dabi huffs, his voice muffled by his hands as he keeps his face hidden.

"I think you just need some rest," Hawks offers, giving his shoulder another tender squeeze, "You can crash here for the night if you want. I'm not sure if you should try to make it all the way back to wherever your colleagues are holed up."

Dabi sighs, mulling it over in his head. He knows that he's right. He'll probably just collapse again if he trudges back on his own...and he can't take Hawks back to the base yet. 

"You tell anyone about any of this, and I'll burn everything you love to the fucking ground," The villain grumbles, and the hero chuckles nervously. 

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

[lokisasylum]

So now they are targetting ANYONE who supports Jimin. From solos to the few Armys that stream?

Today around 30k accs got deleted (especially Premium ones) for no reasong, which is messing with the likes to This Is Jimin playlist.

This is no longer just "a spotify glitch", no longer "a mistake", this is intensional!

We don't know why this is happening to Jimin only, but until we get to the bottom of it ya'll better NOT give up on him. 'Cause thats exactly what they want, for us to get tired and not support him anymore so that the artist feels forgotten.

And this isnt "a crazy theory by solos" its facts and it sadly happens in ANY job. It starts with backhanded comments, microaggressions being encouraged by your superior to your co workers so they do the same, then they isolate you from those who may be on your side.

The point is to harass the employee to the point that they either leave on their own or stay thinking they have no choice and get used to mistreatment and receiving the minimum because they don't deserve more/better.

I trust Jimin is smart and will know what to do in the long run. But we need to be there too.

After all, we ARE his Rock Solid Fans 💪

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

With A Flap of Wings, Part 4

With his cousins making sure his little sister doesn't get nosy and his parents and aunts occupied talking about some urgent thing or another that may or may not be related to their ghost, the only difficulty Nie Mingjue has sneaking out is getting past the guards. But he manages, and sets off for the family tombs just after moonrise. 

Their ghost –his brother– is right in the same spot as before, kneeling in front of the huge stone doors as if sent there as punishment. 

The moonlight washes so much color out of him that he looks like an ink drawing come to life.

Nie Mingjue has to take a few moments to run through a quick breathing exercise and pull himself together before he leaves the trees behind and approaches. 

Up close, the first thing that strikes him is how worn his brother looks.

The pale green eyes that are the only color on him are made even more prominent by the dark circles under them. His mouth is a tense slash across his face, and the whole line of his body is bowed by grief and exhaustion.

Nie Mingjue has seen cultivators come home from night hunts that ended in horribly violent failure who still had more energy to them. 

It only adds to the questions buzzing in his brain, but... First thing first. 

"Didi?" 

Nie Huaisang jerks as if Nie Mingjue had backhanded him across the face, turning his head away as he hunches in on himself. 

The air between them twists and, seized by the sudden fear that his brother will simply vanish, Nie Mingjue lunges forward without thinking- 

-and his hand meets solid cloth where it should have simply whiffed through air. 

They both stare at where he is clutching his brother's robes. He can still see right through to the ground underneath, as if looking through steam or smoke, and yet- 

He takes a deep breath, then lets go and shifts to reach out instead towards-

His brother flinches away before he can touch his face. His hair hides his expression, but this time Nie Mingjue can decipher the emotions that churn in the space between them. 

Fear. 

Shame.

His chest tightens and he swallows past the lump forming in his throat, then he carefully lowers himself to sit across from his brother. 

"Tell me-" he starts, then has to stop for a moment. "Tell me," he says again once he has recovered. "What were we like?"

Nie Huaisang doesn't respond, head still turned away and bright eyes closed as if in pain. 

Nie Mingjue takes hold of his hands, then tightens his grip in an attempt at reassurance when his brother flinches. "Didi... please." 

Nie Huaisang still does not speak, but Nie Mingjue once again feels the bond between them open. Unlike the flood from before, the feelings flow between them now in what he recognizes is a passage of years. 

Affection.  Annoyance.  A dozen other emotions gently moving in currents and eddies that are perfectly normal for brothers growing up together. 

There are... he can only describe them as rocks in the stream, sudden bursts of sadness or pain or fear or worry that he instinctively recognizes as things like losing people around them, close to them, but for the most part the flow remains steady even as it winds and curves around what must have been important, stressful, even daunting events. 

Until the stream suddenly becomes rapids.

Nie Mingjue inhales sharply at the confusing change. Where there had been occasional exasperation on his shore, there is now anger; where there had sometimes been frustration on his brother's, there is now resentment. 

What- what had- 

The seething roil reaches a waterfall of rage on his side and terror on his brother's, and when it crashes at the bottom in a mix of fearworryregretguiltlovepain- 

-only his brother is left. 

"I died?" Nie Mingjue asks in a soft wheeze, a little breathless from how much tighter the feeling in his chest has wound itself. "No... I was killed. And I hurt you as it happened."

He swallows hard, trying to fully process that. 

It was impossible for him to tell how old he would have been during specific moments in the flow, but... it had felt so short. He couldn't have been even as old as their father was now. 

Still recovering from that revelation, he almost misses when the stream begins again, it’s such a tiny trickle of emotion.. 

Guilt.  Longing.  Anguish. 

A deep, gut-wrenching mix of Regret and Loneliness. 

And then Shock that gives way to Anger. Fear and Determination.  A sense of waiting for something.  Something big. Waiting for... for... 

Revenge.

Nie Mingjue involuntarily shudders at the sheer depth of the feeling but gamely hangs on to his brother’s hands, feeling like he owes it to him to reach the end of the river. 

There is a brief wave of Anticipation and then- 

-Emptiness. 

If the moment of Satisfaction had come, it had passed by so quickly that he hadn't caught it. Instead, he finds himself metaphorically looking at an open, flat, lifeless sea. Small waves of Determination, a desire to fix something in particular swell up, but are quickly smoothed back into Nothing by Failure and Despair.

Until that's all there is. 

Nothing. 

When Nie Mingjue opens his eyes again, there are silent tears trickling down his brother's face, and his own eyes are wet as well. 

Nie Huaisang starts to pull his hands away, but Nie Mingjue refuses to let go. Unable to spit out the words that bubble up in the back of his throat, he instead jerks the surprised ghost of his brother into his arms and holds on tight, heedless of the fact that it still shouldn't be possible to do so. 

–As his sons meet for the first time in this life, Nie Haoran drafts a letter to send to Qishan. He still hasn't figured out what to make of Wen Ruohan's strange demand for a visit, but he apologizes that he won't be able to make the trip. 

Seeing no reason to lie to his old friend, he writes that by some circumstance that they don't yet have an explanation for, their second son has been returned to them as a spirit… possibly a spirit of protection, given what they do know so far, and that this revelation takes priority.

He has no idea that this letter will save his life.–

[kharti]

[ Good Sir, Mad Lad #24 ]

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Jack felt so fucking good he could have cum, and all he did was stand up and stretch for the first time in—he didn’t know how long, exactly. Most of his memories were hazy, and he didn’t want to dwell too long on what he could remember.

      ( Continue reading on AO3 or... )

Jack felt so fucking good he could have cum, and all he did was stand up and stretch for the first time in—he didn’t know how long, exactly. Most of his memories were hazy, and he didn’t want to dwell too long on what he could remember.

What mattered was he was sober, and he had work to do.

“Hey, so, I need everyone to gather up,” he hollered as soon as he crossed the threshold onto the main deck, and the reaction was expectedly not hurried, even when he clapped his hands and repeated himself louder.

He could feel the contempt and ire radiating from the men that did show up, and easily imagined more from the ones that didn’t.

Well, it was a start, so he ran his fingers over his moustache and tried to decide what expression he should make. He needed to look sincere, but what the fuck did that look like?

“What do you want?” one of them asked—John, he recalled.

“Right, yeah.” Jack folded his hands behind his back and took a breath. “I need all of ya to forgive me.”

There was an awkward pause, then John spoke again when no one else did. “Why?”

“’Cause Stede won’t give me a second chance if ya don’t.”

That earned a few murmuring responses, and everyone assembled stood up to leave, save for one: the Swede.

“Wait, fuck, don’t leave!” Jack stepped forward, hands raised. “Hear me out!”

“I think it’s nice,” the Swede said, smiling. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Not this fucking twat.” John crossed his arms over his chest. “Not after what he did to cap’n.”

Jack nodded. “Right, I deserve that.”

“What’s going to stop you from hurting him again?” another asked, and Jack recognized him, but struggled to remember his name.

“Hitting rock fuckin’ bottom made me realize that I need him,” Jack said with as much sincerity as he could. “That I love him.”

It felt weird to be having this conversation with people who weren’t Stede, but this was part of the deal, wasn’t it? Stede wanted him to prove he really meant it, so he was going to make sure every fucking person on this ship knew.

“Aww,” the Swede cooed.

“Too little too late, I think,” John muttered.

“What’ll it take to prove I’m serious?” Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, mostly because he didn’t know what to do with them. “Go on, hit me.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” one of them piped up. “Let each of us get a good hit on you.”

Jack snorted. “Yeah? If it’ll help, have two.”

And that was how Jack found himself with a group of men lined up, each one stretching their limbs and grinning. On the plus side, he finally had the whole crew assembled, so that was progress.

He'd taken plenty of punches before. He just had to endure some more, and then he’d be on his way to forgiveness.

The man at the front of the line stood there with his arms crossed, a serious frown on his face. Jack recognized him as the one who carried around the big book—Lucius.

“You’re probably thinking this makes up for what you did to Stede.” Lucius jabbed a finger at the center of Jack’s chest. “What you’re about to receive barely covers the first day he spent weeping over your worthless ass.”

Jack shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll take as many hits as ya think it takes.”

Lucius stared at him, then shrugged. “I’m giving my hit to Jim. They’ll do a much better job than I could.”

“Aw, come on. Won’t it feel good to hit me yourself?” Jack leaned in, his chin jutted out to offer his face. “One good slap across the—”

To Jack’s surprise, Lucius struck him with a solid backhand, sending his head to the side and momentarily filling his vision with stars.

“You’re right,” Lucius said with a small huff, shaking his hand. “That did feel good.”

“Good, glad, yeah.” Jack rubbed his cheek and straightened up. “Next!”

He had to give credit where it was due: the crew was certainly creative when it came to giving blows. None of them used the same technique, which meant he couldn’t brace for impact on any of them.

He took a punch to the gut, a knee to the balls, a fist in the face, even a bite on his arm—on and on until the last person stood there. The Swede.

“Come on, man, don’t hold back,” Jack said, blood trickling from his nose and through his moustache. He licked his upper lip and grinned.

The Swede nodded. “I know. I’m just preparing myself.”

Jack tried to watch the man’s body language for any clues, but there were none until the whole of him was coming right at him. Jack grunted when their bodies collided and he toppled over backwards, hitting the ground hard with a body pushing him down.

The Swede smiled down at him, a little breathless. “Did that count?”

“Yeah,” Jack coughed, his whole body aching from the abuse it had received, but especially from falling down. “Ya did good, man.”

Someone helped the Swede off him, but unsurprisingly, no hand was offered to him. He pushed himself up with some strained effort, his body still weak from his time spent restrained and made weaker from the beating he’d taken from the crew.

“All right,” he huffed out once he was back on his feet. “What’s next?”

The crew looked at one another, then, after a moment, huddled up so they could whisper to each other without Jack overhearing.

He waited, rubbing his sore jaw and licking blood off his upper lip again. He considered this progress, honestly. They were all working together to decide a fitting punishment, which was better than being ignored outright.

Maybe he actually did have a chance at making amends.

Finally, they all turned to face him, arms crossed and expressions serious.

“You spent almost an entire week bound to a bed,” Lucius said. “Making a filthy mess of yourself, might I regretfully add.”

“Yeah,” Jack replied lamely, not sure of what else to say.

“Stede had to see you at your worst, so you owe him to show him your best.”

Jack just nodded.

“So,” Lucius continued, his lips twisting into a smirk, “we’re going to give you a makeover.”

Jack swallowed. “A what?”

“We’re going to turn…” Lucius gestured vaguely at him. “This mess into something actually presentable. And you’re going to be a good boy and let us.”

      ( next )

📚 view a list of all my current stories!

[sportsgr8]

ATP Tour: Nadal Romps To Another Impressive Win In Brisbane, Reaches Quarters

Pat Rafter Arena: Spanish legend Rafael Nadal's comeback to the ATP Tour continued seamlessly with a stylish victory in the second round of the Brisbane International here on Thursday. The former World No.1, who recently returned to action after a 12-month-long break due to injuries, dismantled Australia’s Jason Kubler 6-1, 6-2 to reach the quarterfinals. The 37-year-old Nadal, who started with a rock-solid opening victory against Austria's Dominic Thiem, picked up where he left off at the hard-court ATP 250 event by scoring an equally impressive victory on Thursday. Nadal, who had not played a competitive match for nearly 12 months due to injury before this week in Brisbane, continued to move impressively around the court as he powered past Kubler in 83 minutes. “I think I started the match playing very well, with a very good determination,” said Nadal in his on-court interview. “I saw videos of Jason before the match and I saw him playing very solidly from the baseline, so I came on court and tried to be aggressive with my shots from the baseline." “It worked very well. I think it was a very positive match for me and the chance to play again tomorrow means a lot to me. Two victories after a long time being outside of the professional Tour is something that makes me feel good,” the 22-time grand slam title winner said. Nadal, the 92-time tour-level titlist, won 12 of the first 13 points in his maiden meeting with Kubler and barely looked back thereafter as he booked a last-eight meeting with another home favourite, Jordan Thompson. The Spaniard, whose highlights against Kubler included a stunning backhand smash that simultaneously showcased high-class agility and timing, will step on the court against the World No. 55 Thompson having won 10 of his past 11 tour-level matches against Australian opponents. “I need matches, I need health, I need to keep practising well and of course the past two matches here help, and even the doubles on the first day,” said Nadal, who has hinted that 2024 may be the final season of his career. “Of course, victories and hours spent on court help. For me, every day that I have the chance to play is great news, so I’m just happy for that, happy that I came back after a long time and feel competitive. Let’s see how far I can go,” said Nadal, who is hoping to add to his 22 Grand Slam singles titles at the upcoming Australian Open, to be played from January 14 to 28 in Melbourne. Nadal has won the year's first Grand Slam twice -- in 2009 and 2022. Nadal’s lightning-fast start gave Kubler, the No. 102 in ATP Rankings, little time to settle inside Pat Rafter Arena, and the Australian appeared hampered by an issue with his right arm, for which he received treatment from the physio both during and after the first set. Nadal, the 14-time French Open winner, trailed 0/40 when serving at 5-1 but he recovered to seal an opener in which he dropped just five points on serve. With his heavy-whipped lefty forehand forcing Kubler to deal with plenty of high, spinning balls, Nadal continued his charge with his third break of the match in the opening game of the second set. That set the 37-year-old on course to victory, and he finished the match having struck 20 winners, including four aces. Earlier on Thursday, Grigor Dimitrov notched an equally comprehensive second-round triumph when he accelerated past Daniel Altmaier 6-1, 6-2. The second-seeded Dimitrov, who battled past former World No. 1 Andy Murray in three sets in the opening round to become the player with the most wins in tournament history, is now 20-7 at an event where he lifted the trophy in 2017. The Bulgarian converted four of the six break points he earned against Altmaier to advance in 68 minutes. His opponent in his seventh Brisbane quarterfinal will be home wild card Rinky Hijikata, who battled past Tomas Machac 5-7, 6-2, 7-6(4). Read the full article

[stateofsport211]

📸 🎥 ATP Challenger Livestream

Just like the second set, J. Fonseca’s setup to the third set was also erratic, marked by his final shots’ errors that resulted in Roman’s early break to 1-0. Roman then consolidated his point to 2-0, and had not looked back since even if J. Fonseca tried to press Roman even more, but it was insufficient to win even more points on return since Roman’s serves were apparently more solid, especially since he adapted well to the altitude condition of Brasilia.

Interestingly, in the seventh game of the third set, Roman almost doubled the break after he baited J. Fonseca to an out-slicing contest, where the latter’s final shot errors (one forehand and one backhand) resulted in the creation of Roman’s break point. However, J. Fonseca managed to stay solid and held his service game to 4-3, thus Roman still had his opportunity to serve for the match three games later. Eventually, surviving another moment, Roman took the third set 6-4, securing him his second Challenger quarterfinal on the hard courts since the Little Rock Challenger 2022 (l. Ben Shelton).

[ameliaegschulz]

The wyvern rolled in the skies, and the maverick, almost slipping right off, latched onto the saddle with a one-handed death grip. After a moment of spinning with it, he just barely gripped it with his other hand and was just rock-steady enough to not be thrown off.

Another moment to check his surroundings. Berry on the skyscraper he was on earlier. Another woman with her. Healing? He nodded. Something odd atop a structure to the south. Ignored. Some movement on the streets. Woman with pink hair stepping out into the open. With Berry and the other? She had ice building up in her palm, from the look of it.

Mind made up, the maverick waited for the wyvern to try and shake him off again, and when upside down, he kicked himself straight to the streets with a force the wyvern would find familiar. He landed with a fist in the ground, making a sizeable dent in the road.

Large spikes of ice lining each side of each road.

What were these women planning...?

Oh, that flurry of green...

Bullets, in threes.

A quick back and forth swiping with his left hand later, and the first volley of bullets was knocked out of the air. Then the second. Then the third--

--passed by him for a moment, as he zipped behind to face the healer who had followed him to ground level all the way from above. Challenging him head-on, was she?

"If you insist!" he yelled, just barely swiping the third volley of green bullets that had homed in on him. Then the fourth.

An interesting fight, he thought this would be. Homing bullets raining from the south, shards of ice keeping him contained in the city, and doubtless the wyvern would rain dragon fire all around and at him as soon as it could. All while he engaged in good old fashioned melee combat with this woman, who he surmised was Berry's leader, given her valor in challenging him head-on.

The maverick zipped back in to face her. An angel? Hardly, she had the same smell of blood, ashes, and death as Berry. He ended up on the left side of the leader's sword, hopping back before she could pull back and stab him with it. Left hand blocked another green bullet volley. Side step to his right as she attacked again. Right hand blocked another volley. Side step to his left to dodge.

The leader could see some scratches on the back of the maverick's hands. One of them faintly glowed the same green as the bullets.

This pattern of blocking and dodging held for a solid moment until he, with eyes flashing gold, suddenly lunged forward to the leader's right, elbowing her in the upper torso, backhanding the back of her head, jabbing her with the other fist, and punting her to the side of the road, towards one of the icy spike strips laid out by the woman with pink hair. His person had a short afterimage of gold to it.

"Ngh!"

Before she knew it, it was a direct hit! Sent flying away from her wyvern, the Paladin immediately took notice!

"Berry!"

Golden wings sprouting out from her back, Estoile quickly grabbed her before she managed to land onto the ceiling...! As for the wyvern, Nidhogg shaking the man off as it began flying with it's body turned, attempting to drop the man off.

"You okay?"

"... I could be better. More importantly, his eyes..."

The fairy proceeded to open her palm, slowly healing the summoner's wound for a moment.

Healing magic. It's not too potent compared to the average healer, but it's still something. Tapping her earpiece again, their leader proceeded to talk with the other.

"Clementia, got anything?"

"Speedster. Quick strength. Uses walls to his advantage. His power comes in bursts, most notable when his eyes begin to glow..."

The girl was casually changing bullets in her pocket, sliding them into her sniper rifle, before looking into her scope.

"... Nothing we can't handle. Threat B, at best, unless he has more surprises up his sleeve."

"B, huh?... Not the first time we're fighting speedsters, these guys tend to be pretty cocky, yet have shit for brains. It's pretty much the same for them everytime, and... I guess it makes it easier if he can't fly, just a fast little rat...~"

The pink-haired fairy got up from her spot, before she proceeded to call forth ice... and created icy spikes made from water around the roads in the city.

Perfect little mines, should he decide to trip.

"Still, yellow eyes... so that's the time when he uses more of his abilities... That's good to know. Jormungandr. Stick to Plan Q for now. Let Hell's Flame guide us."

"... Got it." "Sure.~" "..."

Plan Q... pressure him, and go on the defensive, and wait until there's an opening to strike.

If the man decides to stay on the ceiling, there won't be much cover for him to run to, thus being open to Clementia's bullets, and Nidhogg's flames.

As their opponent is in the air, Clementia began firing vollets of bullets in bursts of three per second, each bullet leaving behind a green bullet trail as they moved towards the target.

If a certain hermit were here, she'd recognize those. These... were homing. Advanced bullets which are far beyond mortal civilization, and in the present day, she would have very limited supply of it.

If the man decides to head down the streets, Helia would be waiting with not much places to run, having ice traps on the road... which will get worse with time.

And of course...

"You are my opponent now, Maverick! En garde!"

The leader of the group, Estoile, the light of the team... proceeded to put pressure on the other, wielding a sword on one hand, yet is wise to keep her distance.

As for their enemy, he would see a flurry of green, homing bullets flying into his way, along with a fairy of white diving in yet keeping her distance in her shortsword's length, doing light thrusts...!

[arthurneace75]

Rock Solid Backhand https://ift.tt/2TQn5YX Watch more golf videos here: Scratch Golf Academy

[charlesrockstartennis]

Rock Solid Backhand https://ift.tt/2WYXqiH Watch more tennis videos here: CTW Academy

[garygibsontennis]

Rock Solid Backhand https://ift.tt/2ZxskQJ Watch more tennis videos here: CTW Academy

[burningfeathersx]

"One that succeeded." Followed by quite the laugh. "It isn't."

He left it chaotic in the ranks by design. But his position? Kept rock fucking solid. He'd been at the Hell court games for a very long time and he was a very intelligent and strategic being. When his mind wasn't clouded up by Pride or Wrath. Which it wasn't when it came to keeping the courts and lower too busy mucking about with each other to bother him.

The few that did, well...no one hears about them.

He could see how it was easy to think was Alastor did. But it just wasn't the case.

"Why, thank you. Don't forget a good Long Live The King. For extra backhanded spice."

"Only one in all that time? It sounds as though your Hell is relatively peaceful, in that case." By comparison, he imagined. Extermination in the Pentagram alone shook things up enough to cause significant rifts in power dynamics.

"Well, if it means anything whatsoever to you, I wish you a long and... unchallenged reign."

He imagined it did not, but he was always looking to play the polite well-wisher if it meant that he could divert attention away from his ulterior motivations.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTW...ish

My brain continues to fight me on...just about everything, lately, but all three series have their next parts very much in progress, so here’s a cheater cheater story of the week: a peek at what’s coming. Featuring Robbie paying a for real compliment without even one backhand, Jared being totally reasonable how dare you imply otherwise, and Scratch in bed (but not having fun there :( )

“You’re my best friend,” Joey says.

“Not sure if you’re talking to me or the vodka soda,” Owen says. “Though I suppose it doesn’t matter: either way it’s not true.”

“I hope Scratch is okay,” Joey says.

“He texted you less than an hour ago,” Owen says. “Saying he was okay.”

He actually said ‘am oke’. Then ‘sleps’. Which isn’t quite the same. But he sounded okay, if a little out of it, on the phone when Joey called to follow up on what the fuck ‘sleps’ meant — it meant sleep, written like a very sleepy person — and he promised Joey he was just going to stay in bed, and double promised he wouldn’t attempt stairs before Joey got home.

“I wonder if Scratch has attempted stairs,” Joey says. “Stop smiling at me like that.”

“I can’t smile at you?” Owen says.

“No!” Joey says.

*

“Why aren’t you mad about this?” Jared asks.

“Julius is a nice young man,” his mom says.

“He is not,” Jared says. Julius is many things. He is not nice.

“You know what I mean by nice, Jared,” his mom says. “I like him. Your dad likes him. You like him.”

“No I don’t,” Jared says.

“Jared,” his mom says. “You love Julius. You brought him home for Christmas.”

“Out of the kindness of my heart,” Jared says.

“You brought someone you don’t like for Christmas out of the kindness of your heart,” his mom says. “And invited him to your wedding. One of the very few guests not related to you or Bryce. Out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Yes,” Jared says.

His mom snorts.

“Hey!” Jared says.

“Obviously you like him, or he wouldn’t be one of your closest friends,” his mom says. “And since you’re choosy about who you’re friends with, that means a lot. You have extremely good taste in friends, when you bother to make them.”

Jared picks at his sweats.

“Right?” his mom says.

He can’t exactly say that he has bad taste in friends. His friends are excellent people, or they wouldn’t be his friends.

“You didn’t think much of my taste when it was Bryce,” Jared says.

“And we were wrong,” his mom says, and then, before he can gloat, “Because our judgment was clouded by emotion due to our love and concern for you.”

He can’t disagree with that either, because she’s doing a self-drag to drag him. And she’s right. About the self-drag.

“Gross, love,” Jared says.

“I won’t tell Erin you love her, I promise,” his mom says.

*

“I thought the coolest thing in the world would be to win a Cup with you,” Robbie says.

Georgie pushes his foot into the ground, sets the swinging chair rocking, the world around him too. Bad idea: it makes it very clear just how drunk he is, the swooping vertigo as they rock, worsened by the dark of the backyard around them, the only solid things either too far to be anything but silhouette. That or Robbie’s face, patchy-bearded, more shadow than anything, even from the other side of the bench.

“I mean,” Georgie says. “It’s still pretty cool, even if you were stuck doing it with me.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Robbie says, sounding exasperated. Georgie doesn’t know why. It’s hard to take it any other way. Every other word out of Robbie’s mouth for years has been an insult. Not that Georgie’s counting.

Georgie digs the toe of his shoe into the ground, and they swing to a lurching, nauseous stop.

“So what are you saying,” he says.

“I don’t know,” Robbie says. “I’m still glad, I guess. That it’s with you. Best D-partner I’ve ever had.”

“And it’s not even close,” Georgie agrees.

[tarisilmarwen]

@badthingshappenbingo

Title: “Controlled”

Prompt: Backhand Slap

Fandom: Teen Titans (cartoon)

Character(s): Robin, Starfire, the Puppet King

Warnings: Head trauma, broken bones.

AO3, FFNet

---

Robin stepped back slowly, his hands raised, his heart beating apprehensively, staring ahead at the scene before him.

In the darkness just past the overhead light stood a female silhouette with glowing green eyes. Robin gulped, however, because it was not Starfire's bright, burning normal green, but an eerie, washed out, pale green-blue, almost ghostly.

He knew immediately what had happened in a horrible instant and cursed himself for letting her get too far ahead of him in their chase.

"Star?" he called, even though by now he knew he was only talking to an empty shell. "Hey. Hey," he called again, more frantically. He crossed the room and put hands on her shoulders, shaking her a bit. His eyes searched her neck, checking, hoping for the sight of one of the Puppet King's smaller, more "hands-on" mind control devices. "Starfire?"

"She can't hear you anymore, Boy Wonder," the Puppet King's reedy, thin voice called from out of the shadows.

The diminutive wooden villain stepped into the circle of overhead light on Robin's right side, one fist clutched around his new control device—smaller than before, not as many buttons—the other lifting up to present him with something dangling on the strings clutched in his fingers.

Robin's heart sank as he saw Starfire's puppet double.

"She is under my control now," the Puppet King bragged.

Robin let his hands drop off Starfire's shoulders, horrified, his worst fears confirmed. A moment later he steeled himself in resolve, narrowing his eyes at the Puppet King.

"Not for long," he said icily.

He started to lean into a charge for the villain.

In the corner of his eye he caught Starfire drawing her arm back. He quickly processed what was happening and had just enough time to grimace and brace.

SWACK!

The impact of the back of her palm making contact with his cheek struck like a heavy swinging mallet, exploding pain inside his head in a white flash. Robin felt himself weightless, flying across the room.

He hit the warehouse wall with a solid slam!, the rock and concrete cracking and splintering from the impact.

"Hng—!" came the pained sound that managed to escape him, as he clenched his teeth and tried desperately to stay conscious through the reeves of ringing, dizzying pain clanging through him, bouncing off the insides of his head.

His vision popped and flashed, white and black spots cluttering his blurry line of sight. His ears buzzed, a tinny ringing that throbbed in time with the stabs of pain digging into his skull.

"I am sorry!" came Starfire's voice from the puppet, squeaking and tiny, full of distress.

Robin sat, digging hands into the floor to anchor himself, heaving in breath. He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head, only to groan again when that brought about a fresh round of pain.

"Destroy him," came the Puppet King's order. "He will not interfere again."

A shot of chagrin and dread went through him and Robin looked up to see Starfire's body flinging towards him.

He tried to push to his feet, fumbled, failed twice and lost precious seconds as he braced his back against the wall and scraped hands and heels.

With inches to go and Starfire's fist barreling down on him he finally managed to fling himself forward and away, landing to the side and rolling.

CRUNCH! Plaster and stone crumbled under Starfire's fist, the wall where Robin had been breaking off into chunks of rubble.

Robin forced himself upright, swaying dizzily as the rush of motion spun his ears. Even as he turned to face towards Starfire she was already upon him, and Robin clumsily ducked and sidestepped the first two swings before the third caught him hard in the shoulder.

He stumbled back, off-balance, almost falling over. Starfire caught him by the edge of his cape and yanked him back towards her, driving her fist into his ribs.

Robin cried out sharply, feeling bone crack and sharp pain blossom.

"Sorry!" Starfire's voice yelled out from the puppet again.

Another blow to his temple staggered him. Starfire's leg kicked and displaced his ankle, sending him to the floor again. Robin muffled a cry as he landed on his broken ribs, forcing himself to get back up again.

Think, think, he had to think or he was absolutely going to get his ass kicked.

He let instinct take over, falling back on self-preservation drilled into him through hours and hours of training. He was slower than he liked, moving awkwardly with his injuries, but managed to dodge or deflect the next couple of heavily-thrown strikes.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to keep it up forever, though, so he inched back towards the circle of light, letting Starfire drive him towards the Puppet King.

His head protested, begging him to just pass out for one moment, but Robin stubbornly kept retreating and retreating, until with a deliberate side-step to let Starfire lunge past him, he spun on his heel and extended arms out in a flying tackle.

The Puppet King had time to widen his eyes, wooden mouth dropping a bit in shock.

***

Moments later Starfire's arms were around him; she was sobbing profusely into his shoulder, warbling apologies between hiccups. Her puppet self, the remote, and the Puppet King all lay scattered and lifeless on the floor behind them.

Robin gripped her close and faded into her scent, his adrenaline rush petering out and leaving him exhausted and aching.

"I hated it so much, watching you be hurt at my hands!" she was weeping.

"'s'not your fault..." he mumbled, his pounding head starting to demand more attention.

She pulled back, messily smearing the sides of her hands under her eyes. "We should—should call the others," she said, slowly beginning to compose herself.

"Yeah..." Robin agreed tiredly. Now that the danger was past the floor was looking awfully comfortable. "Tell Raven. Probably have... concussion and... broken ribs."

Starfire caught him as he was starting to fall forward, easing him back on his knees again. She tucked her hand behind his head and cradled him to her, a silent thank you for the pain and effort he'd gone through to save her.

Robin rested his cheek against her neck and was just happy she was okay.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Can I ask something like: reader being engaged to someone of the Zen'in clan (not willingly) and discovering that she is pregnant with Getou's child, which she's having a secret relationship. So this would lead to a huge conflict. Feel free to add smut or change anything if you don't feel confortable writing it! Thanks for your work. Lots of love <3<3<3

SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER (who happens to be me)

Arrangements: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.9k

tw: nsfw, angst, mentions of abuse

The priceless china teacup - the only one of its kind in the set of four - drops from your hand and to the dining room floor, where it shatters into a million pieces.

"No."

Your father looks at you with concern, as if you had just spoken some foreign language.

"No," you repeat, this time with much more emphasis. Didn't he understand the meaning of the word? Or was "no" not a part of his vocabulary?

"Unfortunately, you don't have a choice, y/n. You and Naoya have been paired together since birth, and it's now time for you to--"

"I said no!" You stand from the table and walk past your father to exit the dining room, pushing the door open with fury. As you stalk away from the arranged marriage to a Zen'in and your father, you feel tears well up in your eyes.

You scrub them away as you push past your bodyguard and into your room, where you lock the door. But the tears come faster than you expect, and you can't help but weep. It isn't until the sun goes down that you stand from your seated position and move to your desk, where the picture of you and your best friend sits, his black eyes glaring at the camera as you pinch his cheeks, smiling at him with glee. You were only five then, but if you knew then what would happen to you fifteen years later, you would have begged to run away with him much sooner.

The 'plink' of a pebble smashing into your window calls you out of your daydream, and you place the picture back down before moving to open your windowpane.

"You really could just knock," you advise Suguru Geto, who stands at your window with a silly grin on his face. "It'd be a lot less annoying."

"But what's the fun in that?" he wonders, climbing inside easily. "Plus, it gives me an excuse to find pebbles around the grounds. You know how I like rocks." You roll your eyes as he leans in, placing a deep kiss on your lips and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Mmm," Suguru hums. "You've been crying. What's new?"

"Nothing," you lie, but he tilts your chin up, examining your face.

"Looks like you've been crying for a while... Did your father say something to you at tea time?" You hold in a sob, lips quivering. "Perhaps a spat over something he sees as trivial, per usual?"

"Stop," you beg, pushing his hand away. "I don't want to talk about it."

Suguru steps back, rifling around in his pockets for something. When he produces the black stone, he hands it to you, letting your fingers drift over the polished texture as you consider opening up to the only man you love. "Here's one of my worry stones. You can rub at it and it'll take the negative feelings away."

You hold it in your hand, making a note to save it with the other pretty things Suguru has given you over the years in the box under your bed. You sit on your bed and he follows suit, laying beside you and sighing.

"Have you ever thought about running away?" you wonder, and Geto bites his lower lip thoughtfully.

"Sometimes. But then I remember that I can't run away from all of my problems, and I'd be leaving you behind."

"Maybe we should run away together." At your proposal, Geto puts his hands underneath his head, staring at the spinning fan.

"I can't condone that. You'd be running away from your problems, y/n."

"And? What does it matter if I only have you? Is that enough?"

"It matters a lot," Suguru mumbles, and you sigh. "I can't ask you to give up your life for one of hardship. I've been working on saving a bit of money, though. When I get enough, I'll buy a ring, come to your dad, and ask him for permission to marry you. Just wait a little while."

"We don't have a little while," you blurt, and he frowns. "My father wants to marry me off to some Zen'in, and--"

"What?" Suguru sits up, black hair falling down his back. "Say that again."

"My father wants to marry me off to some Zen'in," you repeat, and Suguru's eyes widen immensely before squinting.

"No, no, no... that can't be right," he breathes, and you shake your head.

"That's why I've been crying." Shock gives way to a blank look and he stands, running a hand through his hair.

"I have to go."

"Wait!" you cry out, but Suguru is out of your window in a flash, walking across your lawn without turning back.

_____________________________________________________________

The look Naoya Zen'in gives you is revolting.

When he strides into the room, your insides melt to nothingness and apprehension takes over. He circles you like prey, smiling at your shape and making lewd comments about your child-rearing abilities.

"Looks like you have a set of hips that are perfect for---"

"Naoya," your father chides, and the man slides his eyes to your father's face.

"Right, well..." the man clears his throat. "I would like to see what she's like by herself if you don't mind." Your father gives you a look that says 'behave' and you plead with him in your head to remain in the room. But he leaves you two alone, and that's when Naoya's face drops its smirk.

"Alright, let's be frank with each other." He leans forward on the table between you, lacing his fingers together. "I'm not in the business of making you feel good about yourself. You have to do that on your own. I'm going to tell you what I need when I need it. If you can't provide it, then you should seriously consider emptying that little head of yours of the idea that I won't remind you of your place."

You recoil at his words, lips curling up in disgust.

"And don't even think about replying with some smart-ass remark. I'm not the Chief of Hei for nothing." Bile rises up in your mouth at the thought of this swine being your betrothed, but you force it down, swallowing hard.

"I understand."

"Good. Now, let me see you turn around and walk out. I want to watch your hips as you walk away."

_____________________________________________________________

You rush into your bathroom and lean over the toilet, all of your consumed food coming back up. You vomit until nothing is left in your stomach, and dry heave for the rest of the time you're perched at the toilet bowl.

When it's all said and done, you wipe your mouth and flush, face redder than it was before you started feeling ill.

'Plink'.

Your head swivels to the window, and you rush to open it, coming face-to-face with Suguru.

"Babe..." he whispers, face flushed. "I brought you something." When he comes inside and sits on your bed, you consider telling him about the encounter with Naoya, but when he opens a small box, you're stopped in your tracks.

"Su!" You eye the small moonstone ring with curiosity, a smile creeping across your face. "Su, this is gorgeous."

"Solid rose gold and moonstone; your favorite." You slide the ring onto your ring finger and hold it up to the light.

"I love it... I love you." Suguru stands and brings you close to him, holding onto your head carefully.

"I'm going to take it to your father right now and--"

"I really wouldn't recommend you do that," a voice calls out from your doorway and both of you pull apart, startled by Naoya's sudden presence. "I had a feeling you'd be otherwise occupied." Naoya closes the door as he enters, smirking. "I should tell Mr. L/N myself that I've discovered this little tryst, but I think I'll let this poor man off the hook just this once." He turns to Suguru and gives him a deadly glare, crossing the space between them. "Leave. Don't come back here. I don't care how you feel or what you've done. But she's my property now, and no one other than me touches my things." Geto bristles at the threat, eye twitching.

"Make me, you piece of dogshit."

It's apparent that Naoya isn't quick to anger, but his fists clench in defiance. "I see," he breathes, letting go of his fists and running a hair through his light-colored hair. "You'll regret those words." And he leaves you two in the room, closing the door behind him carefully.

_____________________________________________________________

You stare at the little bump protruding from your belly in disbelief, fingers quivering over the skin. You try to recall the last time you and Suguru had unprotected sex and realize it was over a month ago, right before Naoya had appeared in your life.

The heavy onyx ring sits on your finger, reminding you of your engagement and the despicable man who had chased your lover away on that dreadful night.

Footsteps approach your room, and you quickly dress in your loose-fitting cotton shift dress, concealing any signs of pregnancy. Naoya throws open your doors and strides in, eyes looking about the room. "I have a little surprise for you, doll," he smiles, holding his hand out for you to take. Without hesitation, you grip it, knowing any delay could mean a swift backhand or a bruised wrist. "You'll enjoy this. I think I'll consider it my wedding present to you."

Naoya half-drags, half-walks you to the courtyard, where many of the townspeople have gathered, their faces somber and uneasy.

And chained to a post at the front is Suguru, his shirt torn and scrapes dragging across his skin.

"Just in time," Naoya chirps, pushing through the crowd and making you stand at the front, where Suguru could see you. His eyes widen, and he mouths something to you, but you shake your head, hands trembling.

"This man has been accused of stealing from the town's jeweler," Naoya calls out, circling around Suguru carefully. "And in his possession, we found a valuable piece of evidence." The accuser holds up a moonstone ring - your moonstone ring - showing it to the crowd proudly. "The punishment for theft is usually loss of a hand. But I feel that he should be delivered a much less barbaric punishment." Your heart leaps out of your chest, and you bite your tongue to keep from crying out.

Nothing Naoya would do would be less than barbaric.

"Fifty lashes are appropriate for the crime," he announces, and a man comes out of the crowd with a whip, standing behind Suguru with authority. Your eyes sting with tears, and you try your best to hold in a scream when the first lash lands across Suguru's back.

His black eyes are trained on you for the first fifteen strikes, but when the sixteenth lash rings out in the crowd, they begin to roll back, and he cries out in pain, voice echoing across the courtyard. Naoya sidles up beside you, gripping your wrist.

"See what happens when you sleep around with thieves?" he hisses, and you begin to weep, your vision blurring with tears. He chuckles and you hide your face behind your hands, sobbing furiously.

By the fortieth lash, you're all cried out, and Suguru's lost consciousness. His eyes are closed and his head lolls forward, hair drooping across his face. And when the man finishes, Suguru is left on the post, his blood and sweat mixing together across his back. You can hear ragged breathing after a minute of waiting, and Naoya goes up to Suguru's body, pulling his head back by his hair.

"Learned not to mess with my things?" he grins, and Suguru drags himself from the edge of consciousness to whisper,

"For y/n? I'd do it all over again."

The look of pure, unadulterated shock on Naoya's face is enough to haunt you every day afterward.

[lightsidetillidie]

Stolen, Part 1

Warnings: A bit of violence and cussing

Words: 1024

A/N: First time writing for Boba! Part 2 will have a lot more of him in it, but for now here you go!

Part 2

You sat in the cargo hold of the pirate’s ship, arms bound behind you and legs bound underneath you. You barely had time to react when those damn Weequay pirates grabbed you and forced you into their ship.

Of course this had to happen while Boba was out on a bounty. Which meant it would take a long time before someone noticed you were gone. He left Fennec to watch out for you, but since you were out of the palace in the market it would take time for her to notice as well.

Which meant these damn pirates had plenty of time to do what they wanted with you.

What they wanted seemed to be no more than hold you up as a prize. They stole the King of Tatooine’s girl. That in and of itself was something that would make a great tale over ale back at their pirate haven. Or at least to half of the pirates on the ship. The other half? They looked scared shitless.

They had reason to be. It was only a matter of time before the Slave I was in their proximity, with a very pissed off Boba on board. Those steel jawed pirates looked focused on getting to their destination as quickly as possible. You were probably going to be used as a bargaining chip, hoping to gain some influence in Boba’s vast crime ring.

But you knew better than them that that was never going to happen. You were covered in bruises from where they roughhoused you into their ship. Once inside, you were a little too mouthy for their tastes and got a solid backhand to the face, which led to a bruised cheek and a busted lip. It must have been fun, they thought, beating up the enemy’s girl. You knew that once Boba saw those bruises on you, all hell would break loose.

“Not too long till we’re home,” one of the pirates guarding you said, clinking his glass next to his brothers. “Then we bring Fett to his knees.”

You rolled your eyes. If anyone was falling to their knees, it was the pirates.

The one saw your eye roll and walked over to you. He keyed in a combination to the cell and walked over. “Think something’s funny, princess?”

Oh no. Oh hell no. No one was allowed to call you that but Boba.

You glared daggers at the man, who knelt down to your level. “Not going to be so funny when you become a slave, is it?” You spit in the pirate’s face, which caused him to backhand you yet again. This one stung even worse against the already forming bruise, but you wouldn’t let him see that. You just continued your glaring.

Before he could make another snide remark, the ship lurched forward and fell out of hyperspace. The pirate left your cell and made sure the lock was secure behind him. Well shit, looks like they got you to their hideout. Fear began to grip at your chest and your breath was caught in your throat. Boba wasn’t able to save you. You would be thrown into a cell and abused, used as a mere bargaining chip. For once during this whole event, you felt scared.

The fear didn’t leave your body as the ships proximity sensors began to beep. Maybe some other band of pirates heard of your kidnapping and wanted you themselves? Were you about to become a game of hot potato between the pirates?

The man who was tormenting you scrambled up the stairs out of the cargo hold and the door was closed, leaving you in complete darkness.

The darkness had you terrified. You couldn’t see anything, let alone your own hand in front of your face. You were always scared of the dark, something you tried to work through being the king’s girl. Boba assured you that you didn’t need to do anything you didn’t want to; he would always be there to make sure you weren’t trapped in darkness. Deep in your chest you knew his ship had to be the one attacking the pirates, but there was still the fear that it was just another band of pirates here to take you for themselves.

You scooted back in the cell until you were in the corner of the room. The ship lurched and tilted and rocked and you had nothing to hold on to but yourself. One particular turn had you hitting the wall so hard you felt the breath get knocked out of your lungs. Eventually the movement stopped but was replaced with sounds of distant blaster fire.

You held yourself in the corner, nursing your bruised side and trying to ignore the darkness all around you. It’s just Boba. He’s here to save you, you repeated over and over to yourself, trying to calm your nerves.

When the hatch to the cargo hold opened and light flooded in, you couldn’t be more relieved to see it was Fennec who opened it. “Boss, she’s here,” she called out. She stepped aside and Boba immediately came down the ladder. He was dressed head to toe in his father’s Mandalorian armor and had a few spots of blood on it. His gaffi stick was in his hands, no doubt getting good use with the Weequay’s tough skin.

He stalked over to the cage and shot at the lock. Sparks flew and the door opened.

Boba knelt at your side, his hand gently coming to caress your bruised cheek. You still shook with fear, but nuzzled into his hand, happy for the comfort.

“Oh little one, I am so sorry,” Boba said, his gruff voice soft and modulated through his helmet.

You couldn’t stand it anymore and lurched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. Boba quickly wrapped his own armored arms around you and held you tight. For a moment, there was just silence on the ship, the only sounds were both of your breathing. After a pause to make sure you were ok, Boba stood up and you tried to get your footing. He reached down behind your knees and picked you up bridal style.

“Come on, princess. Let’s get you home.”