#Was debating posting this on ao3 too but it seems too short to go there
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I was looking through my files and discovered a mp100 Serizawa fic I forgot I wrote. I have no clue if this was supposed to be part of a larger idea, but after giving a quick glance over what I wrote to make sure there were no glaring errors it seems like it's rather complete even if not fully revised. BUT I do know this image is from this idea so without further rambling here's the little fic:
In Unnatural Places
Serizawa had always been inside.
He started that way, hiding the world from his powers. Hiding himself from the world. Alone and dark, where nothing could be hurt.
Suzuki offered him a way out. Outside of the walls where he knew every crack and every piece of chipped paint. But even though he left his room, he never left the confines of the inside world. He should've known that an umbrella opened indoors would only bring bad luck, but who was he to turn away the first person who proved that he could be normal?
Outside his room was inside more walls. The enclosed areas were safe, as if everything outside of them did not exist. It was contained in a size that Serizawa could handle, not the infinite land and sky that he occasionally saw through a window. The only times that they truly went outside were in the short minutes between building and car, or train, or plane, or boat. From one solitary enclosed space to a moving one. In the end, it was all the same. He had learned how to function without his umbrella when inside, the walls simply functioning as a bigger umbrella, but the moment he stepped outside it went up, no matter the weather. He might as well have been a vampire, shielding himself from the sun, but in reality, it was the noises, the light, the smell, the bodies, the plants, the animals, the skyscrapers, the cars, the pavement, the sun, the clouds, the way the Earth rotated despite the ground staying still. It was too much, and it would never be enough. Not under Suzuki's watch.
Then, he got in the way. The memories of a kid who had experienced it all bounced around in his brain. The way flowers smelled in spring, the joy of the warm sun on your skin, the sounds of children laughing and playing. There were still bad moments in those memories, but they were undertones compared to the moments spent in happiness. Something to consider, to grow from. Serizawa had never had the time to develop those thoughts. Inside, the building was pristine, not a single crack lacing its walls. Suzuki was there, ensuring that this inside was just like all of the others he had been in. Safe, comfortable, known. These new memories displayed the outside clear to see. The ground torn up, building collapsed, not a person in sight. It was nothing like the glimpses he got while walking to the car. It was the signs of a power out of control.
The same person that gave him his umbrella took it away. He no longer had his safety net, and no longer his supervisor. It was back to the start, an uncatered bomb ready to shift and ignite. It was back to the walls he knew, the only place he could keep everyone safe.
Then he came. The one that Serizawa had forfeited his life for. Reigen showed him that the world was nothing to fear, that one step at a time, he too could learn to enjoy things both inside and out. It had been raining the first day he went into the office. Newly re-acquainted to society, there had been no time to explore how he could buy an umbrella for himself. They had walked downstairs when Regien noticed, opening his umbrella outside and turning back to the doorway. His hand reached out, umbrella loose in his grip. Reigen told him to take it, that he'd get wet and catch a cold and that if he did that meant he couldn't work. Serizawa didn't want to miss work. He carefully took the umbrella from his hand, thinking about how much lighter it felt than his old one. Looking up, he could see the rain accumulating on its surface. Beyond that, the buildings, the trees, the cloudy sky. He was covered, yet he could still see the outside world.
Reigen declined taking it back once Serizawa realized this meant that he now had no umbrella, insisting that his immense power would keep him from getting cold. There wasn't much of an argument, for who could question his logic?
The rain didn't let up as Serizawa walked home. Water began to pool on the sidewalks, an interesting phenomenon. It didn't belong there, it belonged in lakes and rivers and streams. If it was supposed to stay there, then it would have been there this morning when he went to work. He crouched down to examine it, a reflection of himself looking back. Although it looked happy, smiling and laughing. He did not feel that way. His heart still ached. And yet, the reflection seemed to speak to him, as if saying that it takes time. But what was “it” and how much time?
He closed his eyes like the version of him in the reflection, trying to think about what could make him feel that way. There wasn't much that came to mind, as his world had been shifted again and again.
"Serizawa," a familiar voice called out. He looked around, unable to see a source through the rain.
"Hello?"
"Serizawa what are you doing?"
He looked down. The image in the puddle had changed, and instead of being still it moved. Pale skin, dark eyes, ginger hair. It was no longer him, but rather…
"Reigen, how are you in a puddle?"
"What? I'm not- I'm in my apartment, looking at you through a portal- or something of the likes."
"Oh." Serizawa didn't know what to say. Usually he hated the feeling of not knowing, but with Puddle-Reigen here, somehow it all felt okay.
"Okay, well, why don't we figure this out tomorrow. I'm tired. Goodnight Serizawa," He said, his body shifting out of frame before being placed right back and center.
"Okay. Goodnight, Reigen." He stood up, watching the reflection fizzle away. It all felt like a dream, like maybe he was going crazy and talking to himself. A buzz went off in his pocket and he fished out the phone, also something Reigen had given him. It was a little old and beat up, but he had said that as his employee he needed some way to communicate when they were not in the same room together.
-Maybe you didn't need a phone after all [6:47, Reigen]
Serizawa smiled at every puddle as he continued his walk home. Maybe things in wrong places weren't actually bad, but rather something special exactly where you need it.
#mp100#serizawa katsuya#toichiro suzuki#reigen arataka#shigeo kageyama#Not by name but clearly referenced#Idk why Reigen is going to bed at 7pm but yk sometimes I feel like doing that too#Should that be 18:47. Idk enough about anything#I love puddle reigen tho#although I'm trying to remember where this idea came from#Something about Serizawa able to like#communicate with Reigen through the puddle because he willed it somehow???#Anyways this story was cute enough without logic getting in the way#If you're the curious analytic type like me it's 1085 words#Was debating posting this on ao3 too but it seems too short to go there
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strange nightmares
I had a really dumb idea for a drabble after todays streams but it's too short to post to my ao3 so here have some Wilbur and Tallulah
(it's not as angsty as it looks) (spoilers for phil's stream and charlie's streams from today) (also I wrote this in like 20 minutes)
~
“Are you ready to go to bed now, Tallulah?” Wilbur asked, smiling as he set the guitar down on the ground.
Tallulah seemed unsure. Her brows were scrunched as she rolled onto one side, before promptly rolling onto the other. Wilbur wondered if she wasn’t tired yet, but before he could ask, he noticed something troubling.
Her hands were shaking where they clutched at her blanket. It was then Wilbur’s gaze trailed up to her eyes again, and recognized the fear sitting in the brown.
“Are you scared of something?” He asked softly, scooting his chair closer to the end of the bed. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
Tallulah stared at him for a moment, her lip trembling as she seemed to have some kind of internal debate with herself. Then, she reached for her notepad on the nightstand, and began to write.
I’m scared I’m gonna have nightmares again
Wilbur blinked. “You’ve been having nightmares?” When Tallulah nodded, he made a pained noise. How long had she been having nightmares for? Did Phil know about them? Did he comfort her when she woke up? What were the nightmares about? Was it because he was gone so often, she didn’t feel safe without him?
“Oh darling,” he murmured, moving to sit on the edge of the bed so he could wrap her in his arms. “You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to, but what were your nightmares about?”
He waited for her to finish writing in the notepad before glancing over.
I had two nightmares last night. In one of them me and abuelito and chayanne were on an adventure but then we got killed by a really scary monster and died.
Wilbur hissed out a breath between his teeth. Goddammit, Phil.
While he didn’t doubt that Phil took great care of his granddaughter, Wilbur knew that taking her on all those adventures was going to cause something like this sooner or later. He’d wanted her to keep her childhood innocence for as long as possible, but now she was terrified she was going to get killed by a monster because her grandpa kept putting her in dangerous situations. What kind of a childhood was that?
“I’m so sorry-”
Before Wilbur could finish his sentence, Tallulah started writing again.
The addition said:
In the other one some weird man was standing over my bed and kept singing a song about giving me nightmares
Wilbur blinked. That didn’t sound like a monster dream.
“Did he do anything to you in the dream?” Wilbur asked, tugging her closer.
Tallulah shook her head and wrote: he just kept singing and then he left and now I have it stuck in my head
Hm. That was tricky.
“Well, maybe if we give the song new lyrics we can get that stuck in your head instead, so it’s not as scary,” Wilbur suggested, although he had no idea if that would help at all. “Would you wanna do that?”
If anything, brainstorming lyrics might just take her mind off the other nightmare with Phil and Chayanne, so at least there was that.
After a moment of consideration, Tallulah nodded.
“Okay, you wanna hum me the tune so I can see if I can play it on my guitar?”
Nodding again, Wilbur reached for his guitar as Tallulah cleared her throat. Then, she began to hum.
Only a few notes in, Wilbur recognized the tune.
“He sang the fucking Pokemon theme song?!”
Shrinking back at the volume of his voice, Tallulah gave him a confused look.
Wilbur blinked a few times. Should he even try to decipher that one? Where did she hear the Pokemon theme song? They didn't even have Netflix on this damn island!
Fuck. His daughter was somehow having nightmares about Ash Ketchum. Even though he'd never read a parenting book, he was pretty sure they didn't have an advice section for this.
Clearing his throat, Wilbur straightened back up, knowing he needed to focus on getting Tallulah to calm down so she could go to sleep.
"Sorry, uh, I'll explain what a Pokemon is tomorrow," Wilbur said, adjusting the guitar on his lap. "Anyway, uh, I actually already have some lyrics in mind for that if you wanna hear it?"
Tallulah nodded again, perking up at the promise of getting to hear him play guitar again.
Wilbur began to strum the familiar chords.
"I wanna be the very best, that no one ever was-"
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With all this talk about AI, the one perspective that appears missing from the discussion is that of someone who actually uses AI writing tools in production of their fanfic. So here I am, stepping in to provide my (anonymous) two cents.
I've been using a generative AI program especially made for creative writers for several months now. Initially, I had a lot of the same reservations I'm hearing form others, but I was curious about the tech and wanted to try it for myself. I quickly discovered that it's insanely useful, and I truly believe it has improved my writing.
I also believe these tools will become commonplace among creative writers in the near future. In fact, I've heard that generative AI is coming to a writing software near you (MS Word to be exact), and I suspect that that once more people have actually tried it, use of AI will begin to seem no more remarkable than the use of spelling or grammar checkers does now.
In the meantime, as you can see, I am staying anon, and there is absolutely no way I would tag my fanfic as AI assisted given the current environment. People are very quick to make assumptions about what a statement like that means, and are all too hasty in reaching for their pitchforks.
As far as I can tell, the main concern seems to be that Ao3 will be flooded with 'bad' fanfic as a result of AI use. But 'bad' fanfic has been a thing for as long as I've been in fandom (decades, at this point), and in my experience, human beings are perfectly capable of writing poorly without any help from machines. Readers are, as always, advised to curate their own reading experience. The 'back' button works the same as it always did, and someone's possible use of AI changes nothing about that.
But the general assumption that AI input automatically leads to 'bad' writing seems rather short-sighted. Yes, obviously if someone were to go to ChatGPT and tell it to write them a fanfic in 'x' fandon about 'x' pairing, the output would be bland, generic and probably a bit rambling. AIs are not great storytellers; they can't maintain narrative logic.
If this hypothetical person then copy-pasted the unedited output directly onto Ao3 and called it a story, the result would most likely qualify as 'bad' fanfic. Whether it would be worse than a story the same person might have written on their own is debatable. Our hypothetical protagonist obviously decided that the output was good enough as it was, and chose to post it without bothering to edit, which suggests (at least to me) that they would have similar standards about a story they'd written without an AI.
Since the above seems to be the scenario everyone has in mind when talking about "AI fic," I would like to point out that what I just described is not the only way to use AI in one's writing. My own use is more akin to using an online thesaurus; a very powerful thesaurus that can make suggestions for things like phrasings, descriptions, dialogue, and so on. The key there is that it makes suggestions.
My AI assistant is smart enough to 'read' the scene I'm working on and tailor its suggestions to the mood, style and context of what I'm writing. But it's still my story. The AI doesn't write it for me. I'm the one who sifts through those suggestions, takes the bits that work, and shapes them into useful text. Sometimes the AI comes up with amazing things. I wasn't kidding when I said it's improved my writing - and my rewriting. It knocks me out of those mental ruts we writers tend to get into, coming up with descriptions and turns of phrase that I wouldn't have thought of on my own.
But it's still just a tool, and at the end of the day, I'm still the writer. The words that end up on the page do so because I chose them. Those writerly choices are what make the story mine, regardless of where the words might have originated from. And whether they came from my brain or the AI, they are still subject to the same standards of rewriting, editing and proofing.
So no, I don't think I'm going to be tagging my fic with an AI disclosure statement any time soon. Not until the current moral panic dies down to the point where people don't read that and automatically assume it means 'copy-pasted from ChatGPT.' And for anyone who's curious about AI... I suggest you try it for yourself. Play around a little and find out what it's about before making judgments. I think you'll find it's a tool like any other - and just like any tool, it can be used well or it can be used badly. That's entirely in the hands of the human being using it - which is one thing that hasn't changed, and never should.
--
Yeah, I fail to see any major issue with more sucky fanfic getting posted. That's just the default for big fic archives.
The actual problem problems we're seeing are with paid markets with open submissions that get flooded beyond what staff can handle and big corporations replacing humans they already try not to pay.
The main potential issue I see with other uses of AI is that it may end up with samey suggestions, but it's hard to know how much that's 1. a thing and 2. an actual issue when writing genre stuff that often sounds samey on purpose and where that's a desirable characteristic.
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sephesis week day 1. infatuation / introduction: "we seek it thus."
(all prompt fills are interconnected and will be posted as a oneshot on ao3 at the end of the week.)
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The first picture Genesis ever collects of him is black and white, dark ink printed against pale newspaper. Still, Sephiroth's features are striking and handsome even out of focus, and when his parents throw out the week's paper, Genesis steals it from the trash and cuts the photo out, stashing it away underground alongside the rest of his secrets. And just like the rest of his secrets, he lets each photo gather there, safe and cherished as time passes.
When he comes to his newest resolution, the only one he tells is Angeal—his good and only friend Angeal, who tilts his head and squints with a telltale frown of concentration, then says, "They're saying he's a war hero? At our age? I wonder what he did."
"It says right here in the papers. Killed a bunch of people, captured this-or-that territory, and so on. It's a war, after all." Genesis rolls his eyes; Angeal can be so dense sometimes.
"Don't be so flippant, it must have been important," Angeal insists. "He probably saved a lot of innocents with his efforts. Why else would they call him a hero?"
"Oh, never mind that. I showed you the paper so you could look at him, not debate the significance of his actions."
"He looks… short?" Angeal looks confused.
"He looks like he needs a friend," Genesis corrects. If he's being honest with himself, his heart had been set the instant he'd seen the boy in the papers, the soulful look in his eyes stirring something in his chest, although he'd been good and done what Angeal keeps nagging him to do and sat on it for months before acting on his decision.
Thankfully, Angeal knows Genesis well enough that his expression clears with immediate understanding. Less thankfully, he doesn't seem to be quite on board with it.
"And what, you're going to be his friend? You, a famous war hero's friend? If the papers are telling the truth, he's been out fighting in Wutai since he hit puberty."
There's an odd note in Angeal's voice; Genesis ignores it. Angeal is always praised as the good one, the sensible one, the one with his head securely on his shoulders and who keeps Genesis from causing any more messes in town, and yet no one bothers to point out how he always goes along with Genesis's ideas anyways. A buzzkill is what Genesis thinks he is, and he's gotten quite good at filtering out Angeal's requisite complaints. He'll be more willing to listen to what Genesis has to say once he's done.
"So I'll join ShinRa and go fight in Wutai too," Genesis declares—quite reasonably, in his opinion, given the majority of his collection consists of recruitment ads, and he doesn't get why Angeal sighs, loud and heavy.
"You shouldn't get your hopes up, Gen. You probably won't even get the chance to speak to him."
"Not if I become a hero too." Genesis flashes Angeal a bright smile, uncowed. "I've a new dream, now. I'll be best friends with Sephiroth, and tell him all about Loveless, and dumbapples, and—oh, I bet he's never even had a dumbapple before! There must be some way to be able to export them from here. Maybe if I—"
"I'm going too."
That's not what he'd expected Angeal to say at all. Wind torn from his sails, Genesis blinks at him for a few moments, because—isn't he supposed to be the spontaneous one, not Angeal? He'd thought there would be more protests.
"I'm going too," Angeal repeats, chin jutting up defensively. "Someone has to look after you if you're deciding to go off on your own. And if joining ShinRa means doing some good too—if it means being able to protect the people—then I want to join too."
"No need to worry, I understand. We seek it thus, and take to the sky." Genesis laughs, bright and carefree. "Certainly beats growing old and stale in this boring village, doesn't it? How exciting!"
Admittedly, the idea of his childhood friend being with him while they venture into the unknown is something of a relief. After all, he'd grown used to the assumption that they'd grow up and grow old together. Now, nothing about that is going to change—it's only going to be more, because now there's Sephiroth too.
They're going to be the best of friends. Genesis is sure of it.
-
next day
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A Good Old Tale
Inspired by this post and this comic by @meowthefluffy
Notes: Mention of injuries, not graphic but it's there. Not proofread, we die like Twitter.
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Archive of Our Own, known as AO3, is not very sociable. Everyone knows it, even those who stubbornly insist he should be.
But for AO3, working on the Archive and watching millions of writers save their works in the many shelves is more than enough. His work seems tedious to some, but he quite enjoys the repetition of it: tagging works, helping writers place their stories within the shelves and making sure the laws are followed. There’s never a shortage of people with interesting tales to entertain him.
Every now and then, though, one of the more social people walks in, usually with their followers. TikTok, the dancer, and her loud gaggle that needs to be constantly reminded to be silent and not inconvenience anyone. Instagram and her group, who enjoy painting themselves reading the books instead of actually reading. YouTube and their critics, always with a million annotations to take back home.
But two of them always catch AO3’s attention more than the others.
One is Twitter, the most beautiful man in the world—or so he is called. Twitter has light blue hair, fluffy and curly like those of angels, the same shade as the wings out of his back. He dresses in white and light blue, with gold adornments. He is beautiful, with his blue eyes and soft lips that stretch in a brilliant smile. His movements are gracious, as if he’s perpetually dancing. Moreover, he’s a debater of little words, preferring to talk in short and sharp phrases, voice enchanting and subjects too simple.
It is hard to not look at Twitter whenever he is present. If he, somehow, isn’t enough to grab one’s attention, the sheer number of his followers surely is. And their status, as Twitter is known to be followed by kings and nobles and rich merchants and entire guilds.
AO3 has never been much interested in Twitter, however. To him, the best part of the man was his lover, the second person that always catches AO3’s attention.
Tumblr is his name.
Tumblr is beautiful, of a peculiar beauty that not many seemed to appreciate. His hair is a deep, dark shade of blue, and it cascades down his back like tendrils of unspeakable horrors. His eyes, always accompanied by dark bags, are incapable of keeping only one shade of blue, and sometimes they flash something unusual like pink or white. He, too, is beautiful, with his crooked teeth and pointy nose and expressive eyes. He moves clumsily at times, even falling down, but there is no grace equal to his when telling one of his stories, or singing one of his songs, or dancing one of his tunes, or showing one of his paintings. Tumblr is a master of many words, from short one line ballads to the most ungodly litanies, voice like thunder you hear in the distance.
They are lovers.
How they came to be is a tale very few don’t know. Star-crossed lovers, different but so similar, the beautiful orator and the heretical storyteller. Many joked their relationship is the same as a Goddess of Beauty falling for a lowly Court Jester.
AO3 does not see it happen, but many of his customers come tell him.
“Tumblr,” they say in shaky voices, their pins and bands and cloaks and laces a grieving shade of blue, “got beaten almost to death by his King.”
AO3 makes a point to stay within the Archive territory at all times. This time, however, he simply cannot. Not when his friend, who often came with an encouraging smile to his followers and a tale on his tongue, could be dying this exact second. AO3 rushes out as fast as he can, the followers guiding him. They go past the woods and past oasis, only stopping when they reach the Desert of the Forgotten. A shiver goes down his spine, nothing good comes to those who stay at the Desert of the Forgotten.
The followers that are still around are much smaller in numbers, but their intensity as they watch him walk to the hut Tumblr rests in could have fooled him into thinking they were billions.
“Where are the others?”
“There are no others. They followed that man, they abandoned us,” one of the followers snarls, and many others grunt and growl in agreement.
AO3 would have answered, weren’t for the view in front of him.
Tumblr, on a makeshift bed, looking one deep breath away from dissolving into nothingness. His hair had been cut, and AO3 knows that the nice buzzcut was one of his followers’ idea. There’s bandages around his neck, and bandages hold together the bones of his hand, and bandages keep his legs in place. His eyes are covered too, unseen and unseeing.
AO3 cannot stomach the view for long, and the first breath he takes after leaving the stuffy hut is as liberating as it is crushing.
“They hurt his throat so he wouldn’t talk. They blinded him, deafened him, broke his fingers and legs… all so he would stop creating what they didn’t want to see,” the follower explains in a soft voice.
“... will he survive?” he asks. It comes out as a plea.
“He will,” another follower answers, eyes fierce as they approach, dressed in Tumblr blue from head to toe. “We will make sure of it. We will carry him so he can still circulate, he will hold his hands so he can still write. We will make our crafts brighter and brighter until he can see them, and we will sing our songs louder and louder until he can hear them. We will tell him stories every breathing moment, until he’s telling them to us instead.”
Now, AO3 knows of loyalty. The Archive was built on loyalty.
And yet, his breath is taken away by the unanimous agreement.
He returns home with hope.
Months go by. Not one word of Tumblr is heard, and the general populace starts believing he truly is dead. Except AO3 knows better. He sees the deep blues around, walking with pride, socializing with ease, and he knows. He knows Tumblr lives. He has no idea where, but he knows he lives, breathing words into elaborate narratives.
Twitter, meanwhile, grows more and more loved, and he basks on that love without shame. There’s not even a mention of his lover, the lover he left in fear of being dragged down from his golden throne.
Two years after his last visit, someone asks him if he wants to visit Tumblr. He recognizes them as the same follower who came forth with the oath. He agrees without much thought, eager to see the other man after so long.
Now, the follower fills him in as they travel, they all live in the ruins of an abandoned town. The ruler of that territory is kind to them, much kinder, despite still limiting much of their products. Tumblr had recovered fully, and while the scars still cling to him, he can now talk and laugh and see and sing and listen and dance and craft and create and be again. The follower does warn him that Tumblr has become odder. More twisted under the fun bits and stories. Unnerving even. But he is still Tumblr, and they will still follow him loyally.
They reach the village and AO3 is surprised when he sees people wearing a much lighter shade of blue together with the Tumblr blue.
Tumblr is waiting for him in front of a rundown but incredibly colorful house, painted on the colors of the sky. He sits on a small stool and rests his hands and chin on a cane. His hair has grown considerably, like tendrils of dreams beyond imagination, and his eyes shine different shades of Tumblr blue with the occasional white or pink or green or—
“Archive.”
“Tumblr.”
“I lived, bitch.”
AO3 laughs at his friend's irreverence. How could he ever dare doubt this man? How could he ever dare think Tumblr would not spit on Death’s face and walk back to life? He accepts the hand extended to him, and pulls the taller man into a hug. Tumblr smells of the sea, a good match for a man obsessed with crabs, and magic, the type of magic that exists even when magic doesn’t exist.
“I see there are people with his color amongst yours,” AO3 murmurs, bitterness in his heart.
“What right have I to take their home from them?” Tumblr answers, letting go so he can look at AO3’s eyes with that mysterious and forever kind gaze he was once known for. “What matters is not the color they wear, but the one they return to.”
“Are you not angry?”
“I am wrathful,” Tumblr smiles serenely, sending a shiver of fear down AO3’s spine. “If I could, I’d tear apart Heavens and Hell with my bare hands. I want to fistfight every god who dared ignore my prayers, and not to brag, but I am confident I would win.”
“I’m sure you would.”
And he believes it too.
“They cannot kill me in a way that matters,” the man squeezes him one last time before letting go. “Come, old friend, let us share some tales like the good times.”
AO3 spends the rest of the day listening to Tumblr spin his tales, one after the other. From the lovely to the twisted to the heartbreaking to the healing to the downright hilarious, there are no words that do not bow to Tumblr’s low lilt. It’s almost enough to ignore the terrible scars across his face that almost blinded him, or the gruesome scar that claimed his neck in the attempt to mute him forever. Almost.
Life goes on, as it does.
Tumblr starts wandering again, with his followers now more protective than ever, ready to fight whoever they think is a threat to their leader. Tumblr smiles his crooked smile, and laughs his breathy laugh, unbothered by having to share space with the lover who abandoned him long ago. Twitter doesn’t seem to notice the presence of his past lover, too occupied playing nice with the rich and pretending kindness to the poor.
Two occupied bathing in his greed.
AO3 sees it happen, it is hard to ignore.
The man who bought Twitter on a whim, descending from his golden carriage so his hands can taint Twitter’s skin with even greater greed. The king himself, the one Twitter bowed to, had sold him for an unbelievable quantity of money. Sold him like a sack of potatoes or a cow or a slave. Twitter screams and begs and kicks, but who dares go against the richest man in the world and the king’s decree?
They all look away as Twitter shrieks their names, and the blue on the clothes of his followers start disappearing under coats and inside bags. There’s a constant murmur as no one steps up, but all hope someone will.
“Tumblr!”
Silence eats away all the noise in the plaza.
“Tumblr, my love!” Twitter calls, tears running down his cheeks pitifully. “Please, save me! Please! We can be together again! My love!”
Tumblr, who had been rhapsodizing about a man named Goncharov, turns to give Twitter an unreadable look. His hair, tendrils of imagination beyond existence, cascades over his back and shoulders. His eyes shift through a few different shades of Tumblr blue. He tilts his head like a curious cat.
Then he smiles, showing off his crooked teeth.
“Worry not, beloved, for from this day on, you’ll get all the attention and riches you once desired,” he says. “And your story will be told all around the world, for generations to come. Me and mine, we shall make sure of that. We do love a good old tale.”
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aubade
aubade noun
a poem or piece of music appropriate to the dawn or early morning.
IWTB era fluffy-ish ficlet inspired by this post
565 words, read here on AO3
5:30. It was always when her alarm was set to five-fucking-thirty that he hated it most, when its insistent beeping seemed most obtrusive, rudely dragging him from the little sleep he got. Of course, she never even stirred for it. He was certain that she would sleep through the apocalypse if he let her.
‘Babe, alarm’s going,’ he muttered in her ear, voice gravely from sleep, eyes still shut tight against the impending day.
She grunted and burrowed further into her pillow, humming contently when he finally peeled his eyes open and reached over to slam his hand down on the top of the clock to get it to shut up, the little red numbers flashing angrily at him. ‘Come on, Scully. You’ve got to get up.’
‘No.’
‘You’ve got work.’
‘Mm. Five more minutes.’
‘No. You’ll hate yourself if you do,’ he sighed, slumping back against his pillow. He counted in his head, fifty-seven seconds before she groaned and sat up, combing her hand haphazardly through sleep-tangled hair and yawning noisily, before she swung herself out of bed, grumbling the whole time about the unfairness of him getting to lay in. He knew she didn’t mean it, knew that if he got up with her, she’d roll her eyes at him and tell him there was no point in him getting up just because she was when he might as well at least wait until the sun had crested the horizon. But still, she grumbled, and allowing his eyes to slip shut again after taking a quick moment to admire the sweet curve of her ass cheeks in the little shorts she’d taken to wearing to bed, he murmured a quiet: ‘perks of being a fugitive.’
She disappeared off into the en suite, and he rolled over, nestling into the warm gap she’d left behind, allowing the familiar sounds of her readying for the day to soothe him into a light slumber – he wasn’t going to fall back asleep properly now, but he could doze for an hour or so. Maybe, if he had the energy, he might tackle the repainting of the porch swing today, should the weather hold. Or fix the leaky roof in the mud room. If he had the energy, that was. He should probably see what he could rustle up for her dinner, too. Write a grocery list for her to get – they were running low on things he could make half-decent meals out of. He’d check the message boards first, though. There was a debate he’d been having with TruthSayer121212 that he wanted to continue if they’d responded.
‘’m off,’ she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple and running a hand through his unruly hair. It was almost as long as her’s had been when they started sleeping together all those many moons ago. ‘Needs cutting. I can do that on the weekend for you if you want.’ He nodded and gave a non-committal grunt, and he heard her sigh quietly. ‘Mulder?’
‘Hm?’
‘Why do you always end up on my side of the bed?’
He shrugged, buried his nose deeper into the crisp white cotton of her pillowcase, ‘smells like you.’
He could feel the soft smile pulling at her mouth as she pressed one more kiss to his lips, leaving him with a minty taste and the sound of her tires on the gravel.
Tagging @today-in-fic
#my writing#hey look who wrote something unprompted.#I mean it was inspired heavily by a foxes in love post because they're all msr and I defy you tell me otherwise#but otherwise unprompted#honestly I might just start using foxes in love posts as inspo for fic writing because they are so good#txf#the x files#x files#xf fanfic#msr
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The Game
Summary: You introduce the batch to a new game, what could go wrong!
Pairing: The Bad Batch & GN Reader (Platonic, readers appearance is never described)
Warnings: None!
Word Count: 1k
A/N: Didn't realize I wrote this in first person POV until reading it back just now, that's new. Fun brownie just kicked in so I'm posting as-is. It's a one-shot, it's short, it's silly, it is not proofread, I don't know why I wrote it, I just hope you enjoy! <3
AO3 | Masterlist
I never liked Kamino, which did seem to be the general consensus among the population save the Kaminoans themselves, but the mess hall was an entirely different beast. Where the endless hallways, medbays, and training rooms were impossibly sterile and cold, the mess hall held a certain chaos in the air. And chaos is great, don’t get me wrong, love chaos – this chaos, though, always held a certain quiet judgment at every table besides ours. We’d walk past with our trays of bland GAR provided meals, and that shouting dimmed to quiet whispers and barely stifled laughs as they stared directly at us. Not exactly subtle. I try to make the process as speedy as possible, grab my tray and fill it up with anything that looks even remotely appetizing (if I won’t eat it, Wrecker will) before walking so fast some may classify the speed as a light jog to the table towards the back. Always the same table. Always the same whispers.
Today was no different. Scratch that, today was slightly different. Hunter, Echo, and Wrecker got there before the rest of us, tasked with inventory duty after a prank gone wrong. Today, Tech and Crosshair joined me for my little routine. Today, I actually slowed my pace a bit, too engrossed in conversation to even notice the identical glares from each passing table.
“It doesn’t sound like much of a game,” Crosshair plucks the toothpick from his mouth staring at it with consideration, clearly debating if he should toss it on the ground or at a reg, any reg, “only one rule. Too easy.”
I glance over my shoulder, smile falling to a scold before I balance my tray in one hand to snatch the toothpick from his fingers. “Come on, we just had to save your ass last week, I don’t wanna sit in the medbay with a sore loser all afternoon again.” That earns me an incredibly dramatic eye-roll as I drop the toothpick onto my tray. “And it’s fun, it’s like a mind game, you love those.” Another eye-roll! Two in a row! I let out an exuberant laugh as we near our unassigned-assigned table, drawing the attention of our resident demolitions expert who throws a massive hand in the air for an animated wave.
“I, for one, find it quite interesting, how is a winner chosen?” I figured if I could rope anyone into the game it’d be Tech. He set his tray on the table, still looking at me for an answer.
“That’s the thing.” I take the seat across from him, next to Wrecker, putting my tray down rather unceremoniously to point a finger at the genius. “You don’t.”
On the other end of the table, Crosshair takes a seat next to a very confused Echo; his brows knit in confusion, he waits for his brother to sit down before leaning over to quietly ask, “What are they talking about?”
The sniper sighs, picking up his fork to take a bite of whatever the greenish-brownish mush may be. Beans, maybe? Not meat, I hope. He doesn’t bother looking up to give his answer. “The game.”
Perplexed, Echo looks between Crosshair and I, "What's the game?"
My attention snaps to their end of the table, smile wide – quite nearly crazed, depending on who you ask – much to the confusion of everyone besides Tech and Crosshair, who only wait for me to explain myself. “You just lost the game.” They still look confused. I jump in before Tech can explain, if only to correct just one thing. “Okay, first of all, it’s not ‘the game’. It’s The Game. There’s one rule, don’t think about The Game. If you think about The Game, you lose The Game. And when you lose The Game you gotta announce it, drag everyone else down with you. And now you’re all playing.”
They still look confused. I thought that was a really good explanation.
Tech, of course, steps in. “So, there are two rules.”
I wave a hand frantically, dismissively. “Semantics.”
“And we have all lost, does that not mean the game is over?” He continues. I deadpan, he knows what I’m about to say. “Apologies, does that mean The Game is over?”
I give a single shake of my head, leaning onto my elbows. “Nope.” With a fork, I push around the mush on my tray, letting out a quiet laugh. “When you lose you just start back over. Everyone is already playing, they just don’t know it yet. When they find out, they’ll lose, then they’ll start over, tell more people, they lose. As long as you can think about The Game, you’re playing The Game.”
“I didn’t know I was playin’ a game.” Wrecker crosses his arms, abandoning his utensils in something between skepticism and indignation.
“You’re not, Wrecker.” Crosshair quips, not looking up from his meal. “I’m not either, it’s pointless.”
Wrecker lets out a quiet, “I’m not?” I pat his arm, he’ll get there, I just have to explain a little better.
“You were, even though you didn’t know. Now that you do know, you’ve gotta start from square one.”
I can see the gears turning in the big guy’s head. Then I see it click. He lets out a large gasp, his hands falling slowly back to the table. “And now it’s in my head so I have to forget it!” My smile widens again as I nod.
“That sounds… aggravating.” Echo’s brows furrowed with doubt and eyes wide with shock. Next to him, Crosshair sighs.
Still smiling, I point a finger at him. “It is.” Hunter’s been awfully quiet, I notice. When I look past Wrecker to turn my attention to him, he’s sitting with his elbows resting on the table and his forehead resting against his fists and he’s sporting this tired, knowing, deep frown. My own frown creeps across my face, gently questioning, “Hey, what’s wrong?”
He inhales, for a good few seconds, then he slowly releases the air while raising his head just enough to turn and look at me. “I just lost the game.”
On instinct I bring a hand to my face when I gasp, hiding the way my jaw hangs open in shock and delight. “No way.” I’m in disbelief, I assumed if the game ever made its way to the GAR everyone would be in on it. “Where did you…”
I trailed off, but Hunter picked up on my incomplete question. “Couple of the guys from the 104th were telling me about it during that mission on Birix. That was months ago. Forgot all about it until just now.”
“Well,” I nod once with a sigh, my devious grin returns, “looks like we all get to start over at the same time. Let The Game begin.”
#the bad batch x reader#the bad batch & reader#tech tbb#crosshair tbb#hunter tbb#wrecker tbb#echo tbb#star wars x reader
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Fireworks
Hitsuhina Week 2023 - Day 1: Academy Days / Fireworks
Rating: K
Summary: Hitsugaya is preparing to take his Captain's Exam. But doubts weigh heavy on his mind.
AN: Originally posted on AO3
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Eyes followed him everywhere he went. It wasn’t unusual for him, his white hair and turquoise eyes tended to draw attention whether he wanted it or not. But these days, the stares were more intensely judging him. It was no secret that Toshiro Hitsugaya had been working on mastering his bankai for the past few years. But since Captain Shiba had vanished, and the Tenth Division was in need of a captain, he’d begun to consider taking the Captain’s Exam to fill that vacancy. Once word got out that he’d take the exam, every soul reaper he’d pass would stare and whisper among one another. He’d learned to ignore most people talking about him but hearing it from within his own division was another thing.
He’d heard a few unranked members talk about transferring if he was made captain. Laughing at how ridiculous it would be for them to take orders from a kid. Fortunately, Lieutenant Matsumoto seemed to be in full support of him should he be made captain. After all, he’d practically been running the whole place since even before Captain Shiba left. His administrative skills were evident since the very beginning. The questions laid mostly in his maturity and leadership. Hitsugaya made it to his room after training after dodging most of the larger streets to avoid the stares. Entering his room, he began his nightly routine of polishing his zanpakuto and planning with the spirit for what to practice tomorrow. “My Sennen Hyoro could use work. The pillars are too thin. I’m sure there is a way to strengthen them without expending too much energy.” He said.
In his mind he heard Hyorinmaru rumble in agreement. “You think too much in preparation,” The dragon said. “Lay the trap. Then lead the enemy within.”
“That leaves too much up for chance.”
The dragon spoke quietly in an almost nurturing tone and said, “Not ready.”
Hitsugaya caught his reflection in the blade and simply held the sword where it was. Not ready meant too young. And as he looked at himself, he thought that perhaps the dragon is right. Not ready to perfect his bankai. And perhaps even too young to become captain. His face was still boyish and he was quite short even for his age. The idea that he could even achieve bankai wasn’t even taken seriously by most. Men in his own division had doubts. Maybe the entire division would be better off waiting for someone else to take over. He’d still be the 3rd seat and that would give him time to grow up and gain further mastery of his bankai.
“Lil’ Shiro!” A loud knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts as he looked at the shadow of the figure outside. “Lil’ Shiro you in there?”
Hitsugaya groaned, putting his zanpakuto away. “What is it Hinamori?” He asked as he slid open the door.
“Hello to you too, Lil’ Shiro,” She beamed at him, not even bothered by the annoyed tone of his voice.
“I thought you said you’d call me by my name once I became a soul reaper.”
She just smiled and shrugged, “I did. And I do, at least when on official business. But right now, we’re both off so, you’re Lil’ Shiro.”
He groaned, realizing he wasn’t likely to get her to stop at least not now anyway. “Can you at least drop the ‘Lil’’? I’m not that short anymore.”
Hinamori laughed, “Okay Lil’— I mean, Shiro.”
“What do you want anyway?”
“I wanted to know if you’d come with me back to my barracks.” Her voice dropped into a whisper as she cupped her hands as though it were some big secret. “We planned a special fireworks show for Captain Aizen’s birthday tonight.”
“You realize everyone already knows about that, right?”
“Come on it’ll be fun. Just like the ones we’d watch as kids.” She reached out and grabbed his arm and began tugging.
Hitsugaya rolled his eyes and debated the option of going versus staying for a solid minute before agreeing. Outwardly, it looked as though he was reluctant to attend. But deep down he knew that his mind had been made up the moment she smiled at him.
Together, the two of them made their way in the direction of the Fifth Division. The closer they got, the more people seemed to already be crowding the street waiting for the fireworks. Hinamori had to elbow her way through, dragging him along behind her in order to get to the gate where guards stopped them. With a flash of her lieutenant’s badge, she got them both in without any further fuss and they made their way to the roof where a bunch of other officers gathered. They found a relatively quiet part and Hinamori sat down, her feet dangling over the edge while Hitsugaya remained standing.
“Hey I meant to congratulate you on getting a date for your Captain’s Exam,” She said.
“Hmm.”
“When’s it going to be?”
“Two weeks.”
Hinamori frowned. “I thought you’d be a little excited about it,” She said.
He turned his head towards the nearest pair of officers, feeling their eyes on the back of his head. When their eyes met, the pair just laughed and turned in on themselves.
She noticed this silent exchange and stood up. “Hey, I’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t,” Hitsugaya sighed.
“You’re going to be a captain. I can’t have members of my division not be respectful to the other captains.”
He was quiet and glanced around to make sure no one could hear him before he spoke again. “What if… what if I don’t become captain?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
He shrugged and bowed his head slightly, his shoulders rolled forward a little. “What if… I don’t get it? What if I fail?”
Hinamori moved around to step in front of him, looking down at her best friend who was one of the smartest, bravest people she knows show her how nervous he really is. Hitsugaya was not one to show weakness often and for him to do so right now, she had a feeling this had been eating away at him for awhile. “Here, come with me.” Taking his arm, she quickly brought him down into the barracks and then into her room shutting the door behind them. “Talk,” She said, pushing him to sit down on the futon and taking a seat right next to him.
Hitsugaya was quiet as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on bent knees. “There are some… doubts about my ability to become a captain,” He began. “Since Captain Shiba left, I thought I could be the next captain. He’d always say I was bound to be captain after him but… I never thought it’d be this soon.”
“He believed in you for a reason, Toshiro,” She said. “I’m sure he saw how your determination, intellect, and talents would do great things for the division. And between Shiba and Matsumoto, you’ve been captain in every capacity but in name.”
He scoffed and shook his head, “I don’t think I’ll become captain with administrative skills alone.”
“No, but you have mastered your bankai. That has to say something, right?”
Hitsugaya shrugged. “‘Mastered’ might be too strong a word,” He said. “I can use it for about eight minutes but after that…”
“That’s still more than most. I don’t even know my bank’s name.” She wasn’t getting through to him. She could see him curling further and further in on himself as his thoughts seemed to snowball. “Is this all because of what a couple people said?”
“A couple?” He scoffed, “Try just about everyone in the Soul Society. I’ve heard it all from ‘turning the 10th into a daycare’, to me ‘lying about having achieved my bankai’. Even members of my own division don’t want me as captain. How am I supposed to lead them, if they don’t want me?”
Hinamori scooted closer and wrapped her arms tightly around him like when they were kids. Normally, he’d just push her off and the fact that he didn’t spoke volumes to how much weight this exam was putting on him. She wished there was something she could do to get rid of everyones doubt about him because she believed so much in his ability, but she couldn’t. “Let’s go back to the 10th,” She said.
“Huh? But I thought you wanted to see the fireworks.”
She waved them off, “They’re just fireworks. And this is way more important.”
Rather than taking the long way back through roads that were now crowded, the two of them traveled by rooftop using shunpo to get there quickly. Making a quick stop at his quarters, he took his zanpakuto at her instruction before heading to the empty courtyard the division used for training. “What are we doing here?” He asked as she pushed him to stand in the middle of the yard before backing a good distance away and sitting down.
“Practicing your captain’s exam, of course,” She said.
“Huh?”
“You’re going to have three captains and the head captain you’ll have to demonstrate it to. So you’re going to pretend I’m the captains and show me what you can do.”
Hitsugaya’s face was vacant as he stared at her almost incredulous at the idea. “Do you even know how the exam works?” He knew of course but had been sworn to secrecy about the exam process.
“Nope. I’m just guessing.”
“This is ridiculous—“
“—No it’s not!”
“What if someone—“
“No one is here! They’re all at the fireworks.”
“But what about—“
“—Just show me already, Shiro!”
“Ugh! Fine,” He grumbled, drawing his zanpakuto. Looking at her across the yard, he suddenly felt a bit nervous having never shown anyone his bankai before. Taking a deep breath, he looked around to check that there was in fact no one around, before lowering himself into a fighting stance. “Bankai!”
The temperature dropped around them and ice crystalized across the yard as his reiatsu flowed evenly from his body. Ice formed across his shoulder into a pair of wings that spread wide, with a crystal tail at the base of the juncture where the two wings met and his legs and right arm were encased in ice. Hitsugaya stared across to the other end of the yard where Hinamori sat quietly taking it all in with a wide smile.
“Wow, you’re amazing, Shiro!” She said, standing and taking a few steps closer before stopping. “Um, can I come closer?”
He nodded and watched her smile broaden before she trotted over to him and circled around him. He felt her eyes on him and for the first time in a while didn’t mind the intensity of her stares. Maybe it was because she was one of the only ones to believe in him, or maybe it was just because it was her. Either way, he wouldn’t mind if she stared at him like that again.
Coming to stand back in front of him, she reached out and gently touched one of his wings. “It’s so cold,” she said.
“It’s ice, dummy,” He said with a roll of his eyes.
“It’s so amazing though.”
Overhead, the sound of the fireworks beginning drew both their attentions skyward. The bright colors illuminated the sky but from where they were they couldn’t see them. An idea popped into his head and he found himself speaking before properly thinking it through. “Um, you know these wings aren’t just for show. I actually can fly with them.” Hitsugaya felt his cheeks heat with the unspoken suggestion and turned his body sideways to avoid her laughter.
To his surprise, she took a sharp intake of breath and grabbed his shoulders. “We can watch the fireworks from the sky!” She said. Her excitement, too much for him to even consider denying.
Opening his arms, she gladly wrapped her arms about his neck and he held on tight to her before using his wings to thrust them skyward. She screamed at the sudden speed with which he took off and held on tighter before erupting into giggles as he reached a point in the sky where he was level with the fireworks taking place at the Fifth. He felt her head lean onto his shoulder as they watched and he felt himself smile. He paid the fireworks little attention, focused only on her, taking in her smile, her relaxed breaths, the small ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s she’d say after particularly interesting fireworks went off. Time faded into a single moment that he longed to stretch out as long as possible.
After the last of the fireworks had ended, Hitsugaya slowly brought them back to the ground and he released his bankai. “That was amazing, Shiro,” Hinamori said, hugging him tightly.
“I’ll say.”
The two friends broke apart and looked over to the entrance to see Captain Aizen standing there, his gentle smile easing them into a sense of calm.
“Captain Aizen! I thought you’d be at the party.” Hinamori said, torn between leaping to his side or staying at her friends side.
Aizen gently raised his hand in a calming gesture that made it clear there was nothing to worry about. “I was for awhile. But then I was wondering where my wonderful lieutenant who planned the whole thing had run off to.” He smiled as he walked closer to the two of them. “I wanted to thank you for all the effort you put into this day.”
Hinamori beamed under the praise and bowed respectfully to her superior. “It was nothing really. Everyone helped out. We all wanted to show our appreciation for you.”
Aizen placed his hand on her head affectionately, “Still, your passion and attention to detail are much appreciated by me personally.” He looked over to Hitsugaya and folded his hands in the sleeves of his shihakusho. “Third seat Hitsugaya.”
“Sir,” Hitsugaya bowed stiffly.
“Your bankai looks quite impressive.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Aizen leaned closer to him, “You know, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I’ll be one of the captains observing you at the exam.” He stood back to his full height. “I look forward to seeing what you can do, future Captain of the Tenth Division.” With one final nod at the two of them, he took his leave, walking leisurely away from the barracks.
Once he was out of sight, Hinamori grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “See? Even Captain Aizen thinks you’ll do great!” She said, smiling and laughing with joy.
Hitusgaya felt himself smile as he wrapped his arms around her as well. His nerves were still there but the doubts in his head had quieted. He was going to become the captain of the Tenth Division. And no matter what anyone says, he’ll work hard to prove he is worthy of that title.
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Wheel of Writing - Day 28
Pairing: Viktor x f!reader
Prompt: At your friend’s urging, you begrudgingly attend a Valentine’s Day speed dating event.
Notes: So fun fact, this is the first time Viktor is appearing on my blog, but this is not the first thing I wrote for him. There’s a sex pollen fic for him on my AO3 from a few months ago that never got posted here.
This was a bad idea.
No, scratch that, this was a horrible idea. And it wasn’t even yours.
The only thing you could think of as the man across the table droned on about his extensive properties was how exactly you were going to kill your friend when you saw them next. Didn’t you read something one time about the perfect murder? Something about using ice as a weapon because it melts.
Although if this guy didn’t shut up soon, you were going to test your methods on him.
You let out an audible sigh of relief when you heard the bell ring, signaling it was time for a switch. As your last ‘date’ stood you dropped your head into your hands, trying desperately to find the tiniest scrap of a will to live.
“You look like your evening is going about as well as mine.” There’s a wryly amused tone to the voice across from you, but the accent is what gets you to look up.
Your next date is carefully lowering himself into the seat across from you, leaning a cane against the table. He looks up once he’s seated, and for the first time tonight you find yourself actually wanting to talk to one of your romantic prospects.
In the next second his words catch up with you, and you let out a short laugh. “Depends, are you also debating how best to murder your best friend for talking you into this?”
“Getting there, actually. And I wasn’t talked into it, I lost a bet.” You’re already halfway to completing his sentence mentally with ‘but it allowed me to meet you’ before you realize he didn’t take the obvious pick-up line set-up.
You sit up straight, glancing down at the paper in front of you. It lists the names and ages off all the men you were supposed to meet tonight, and you scan down until you find his. “Well, Viktor, I guess we are in about the same boat then. Out of curiosity, what bet did you lose?”
He grimaces, letting out a sigh. “My partner and I, Jayce, we work on something called HexTech. I bet I would be the first to figure out how to harness it for a new medical device we’re working on. As you can probably gather, I was wrong. I was very close, but wrong.” Viktor shrugs. “Jayce seems to think I spend too much time in the lab and not enough out ‘meeting new friends’,” He makes air quotes, and you find yourself grinning, “So this was what he made me do.”
“Well, I’m sorry for how your night has gone so far. That sounds like a truly humiliating punishment.” You can’t keep the grin off your face, and something warm curls up in your chest at the answering grin from Viktor as he shrugs.
“Eh, it truly has not been that bad. I just never really know what to do in social situations, especially situations like this.” He sounds almost disdainful, and you glance at the clock on the far wall that keeps track of the time until the end of the round and find it getting startlingly close to zero.
You look back at Viktor. “Well, avoiding the cheesy ‘I’d go through it again to meet you’ line, I’m not too upset with the whole night now that I’ve met you. You’re actually interesting to talk to.”
He blushes. He actually blushes, and damn you if it doesn’t look perfect on him.
Viktor coughs slightly, glancing down and smiling slightly. “I think I would agree with that sentiment.”
You glance back at the clock and stifle a groan, knowing you still have several rotations after this round. Looking down you tear a corner off your paper, leaning down to dig a pen out of your purse. “Listen, feel free to tell me I’m being presumptuous, but-” You finally snag a pen, hastily scrawling out your name and number on the scrap of paper before holding it out to him, trying not to look too hopeful.
He looks surprised, and for a second your heart drops at the idea of him refusing. A heartbeat later he reaches out, fingers barely brushing yours just as the bell sounds again. He looks up, eyes locking on yours, and grins.
“Not a total waste of a night, then.”
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Mastermind Chapter 4/9*
Chapter Rating M (Entire work E) Co-written with @tofuttim. Read here on AO3. *Full work will post by Thanksgiving.
You see, all the wisest women had to do it this way
'Cause we were born to be the pawn in every lover's game
If you fail to plan, you plan to fail
Strategy sets the scene for the tale
I'm the wind in our free-flowing sails
And the liquor in our cocktails
-Lyrics by Taylor Swift
“Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her.”
-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Dana waited patiently for a call from headquarters about her next role. She’d let her colleagues and superiors know that she was awaiting her official assignment but would be transitioning out of Quantico immediately upon request. Timing seemed to be on her side, as she was just finishing with the current class of cadets.
She’d made transitions in her personal life too. She’d finally ended an on again, off again relationship with Ethan, a man she’d started seeing since she broke up with Jack. Melissa, her sister, had moved out of her apartment and onto the next adventure.
Dana felt that she was at a precipice; her career open and personal life cleared, ready to fully commit to her impending assignment.
She received the call from Melanie on Tuesday morning. Section Chief Blevins hoped to see her the same day at 2:00 PM. Dana packed the rest of her belongings from her office and went home over the lunch hour to change clothes. She settled on a checkered suit jacket, tan trousers and a green blouse which she thought favored her alabaster skin.
As she drove to the J. Edgar Hoover building, she reflected on the moves she’d made in just a few short weeks to land her in this position.
She’d felt a pang of guilt over the weekend, realizing how she had played these men like pawns to fulfill what she thought was her destiny. But after a phone call with Melissa she realized she had no regrets. Her actions might seem overly contrived to an observer, but as a woman in a career ruled by men, she was merely going after her desired career with intention.
She didn’t tell any lies, there were no exaggerations about her abilities; sheis the perfect partner for Agent Mulder, her plan had been to help them realize it and that plan was playing out to perfection. As her sister said, the truly sad reality is, without Dana executing this plan, these men running the agency never would have thought of her for the role.
Dana entered the building as ‘Agent Scully’ for the first time and easily navigated her way through the bullpen to Section Chief Blevins’ office on the 4th floor. When she arrived, Chief Blevins was sitting at his desk flanked by two men she didn’t recognize. She was not introduced to them by name and knew it was against protocol to force their introduction.
They didn’t beat around the bush, asking her how she ended up at the FBI before jumping right in, asking if she knew of Agent Mulder. She tried her best to maintain a cool and even demeanor while answering questions generically about what she knew of Agent Mulder and the X-Files.
“The reason you are here Agent Scully is we want you to assist Mulder on these X-Files…” Blevins said. Her heart skipped a beat upon hearing this and she was sure a small reaction was apparent on her face.
Section Chief Blevins made it clear that he did not want her to intentionally debunk the X-Files, but instead wanted her to make the proper scientific analysis which she was all too happy to do.
Time to debate Agent Mulder, not one-sided this time , she thought, excitedly.
“You’ll want to contact Agent Mulder shortly, we look forward to seeing your reports,” Blevins said before dismissing her.
I did it , she thought to herself, giggling. This plan was destined to come together. She went to the women’s restroom and allowed herself a brief moment of joy before checking herself in the mirror, adjusting her hair and lipstick and stepping back into the bullpen.
Where do I go ? She wondered, realizing no one had told her how to find Agent Mulder. She felt the draw of him and almost thought she could close her eyes and let it pull her to him like a magnet, but she thought it would be better and quicker to seek help from a friendly face.
Dana took the elevator up to the sixth floor and found Melanie, sitting guard outside of AD Skinner’s office.
“Hello Agent Scully, I hope you are having a good afternoon,” she said.
“Yes, great actually. I am officially assigned to the X-Files, I’m supposed to contact Agent Mulder.”
“Congratulations, Agent Scully. I know AD Skinner will be glad to hear that.”
“Melanie, I have one problem. No one has told me where to find him,” she whispered, feeling a bit embarrassed.
“Oh,” Melanie whispered. “Here is his cell phone number,” she handed Dana a note with the number, “And his office is in the basement.”
“The basement?” Scully questioned. “I thought there were just old files down there.”
“Old files and Agent Mulder,” Melanie shrugged.
Dana didn’t care where his office was, she was ready to dive into her destiny.
“Okay,” she shrugged, “Thanks Melanie, I really appreciate your help.”
“Anytime, Agent Scully,” Melanie winked.
Dana made her way back to the elevator and was grateful to find the elevator empty. She leaned against the safety rail and began to collect herself. Yes, she’d successfully nabbed the job, but she hadn’t thought too much beyond that. She was nervous and excited and her stomach a little queasy but she could swear she felt the pull of him stronger and stronger as she descended down the elevator.
The elevator opened to the basement and she meandered past boxes of abandoned files to find a lone office. She briefly closed her eyes, took a deep breath and knocked.
“Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” she heard from a voice inside. She pushed gently on the half-ajar door and entered the office.
She saw Agent Mulder sitting at a desk, working with photos, he still looked handsome from behind. As she walked toward him, her eyes wandered around his office; messy, filled with articles and clippings. His work must be his obsession , she thought.
He turned to look at her and she couldn’t help but smile; he looked exceptionally cute with glasses on. The two previous times she’d seen him, he wasn’t wearing them.I’m not interested in him like that , she told herself unconvincingly, hoping that her smile wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
“Agent Mulder, I’m Dana Scully, I’ve been assigned to work with you” she said, putting her hand out for him to shake, anxious to touch him again.
As their hands made contact, she felt an electric spark shoot between them again; what was it about this man?
//
Have I met her before? Mulder wondered. He felt a jolt of energy spark from her hand and run through his body. He blinked several times and began to blush. He quickly moved on, not wanting to seem awkward in front of his new partner.
He used his patented sarcasm to deflect, “Oh isn’t it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded? So, who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?” Fuck , he thought, she probably sees me blushing.
“Actually, I’m looking forward to working with you. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Dana said.
What has she heard? Mulder wondered. He couldn’t help but find her fascinating. Skinner had been telling him about this young, female medical doctor with a background in physics and his interest peaked. He still insisted he was better off working alone, but Skinner made it clear that was no longer an option.
Despite working at one of the most distinguished agencies in the federal government, Mulder struggled to find intellectual peers. After reading her thesis, rewriting Einstein, he realized she was in fact an intellectual equalif not smarter than him . The thought of that, along with her surprising beauty had Mulder intimidated; and he didn’t get intimidated. He realized he was nervously shuffling and rambling around his office.
He walked over to the projector and proceeded to discuss his, now their , new case. Mulder had always been able to easily charm people and while he could tell Agent Scully was charmed by him, it was not enough to supersede her initial interpretation of the evidence. She was a stalwart; built sturdy and tough, not easily swayed.
Their initial banter about the case felt like foreplay to him, not having been challenged by a woman with an IQ like hers…well, ever.
“How’s your chemistry?” he asked, showing her a slide with a chemical element, while feeling a strong pull of chemistry boiling between them.
He peppered her with questions, and he noticed how she handled it with incredible grace. He was impressed with her answers, they were detailed and well thought out, but she didn’t go so far as to leap to any assumptions and she admitted when she didn’t know something.
He’d been realizing recently that working alone was making him weary, and although he preferred to work alone, it felt like she was breathing life into his lungs.
A critical question formed in his head; it seemed like a logical and important question to ask any new partner to the X-Files, but it came out more flirtatiously than just about any question he’d asked in his life,and he was a natural flirt . “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?” He asked her, realizing he was shaking his head at her and whispering at the end of that question. What was he doing? He thought to himself. It probably looked like some bizarre animal mating ritual.
He caught her smirk; was she flirting back? He thought she might be as she layed out a solid case against the existence of little gray men.
As they traded hypotheses about what could have happened to the girl from Oregon, he felt a stiffness in his pants. This woman, this Agent or Dr. Scully,I’ll just call her Scully, he thought, was more than he could have envisioned. She was incredibly smart, fearless, beautiful and all too happy to go back and forth with him until she made her case.
He felt drawn to her; incredibly turned on by an intoxicating energy that had never existed in his office.
Feeling his flirtations had gotten the best of him, and needing to conceal the growing erection in his pants, he ended the conversation, turning to his desk as he finished his instructions to his new partner, “We leave for the very plausible state of Oregon at 8 AM.”
//
Arriving home, Dana closed her apartment door, latched the lock and finally allowed herself to fully enjoy the success of her day. She was officially a field agent assigned to the X-Files, a department she felt drawn to since learning about it.
Dana was partnered with Agent Fox Mulder, a man she felt she was meant to be connected to. She knew in an instant that all of her moves to get to that moment were essential. I felt it again; the spark and the rush of a million emotions when he touched my hand , she thought. What is it with him? Is he destined to save my life or me to save his? Are we supposed to be together to solve some major case or dilemma? Is he my soulmate?
She had the most invigorating debate of her young life with him today. Sure, she had debated professors and colleagues before, but the way they went back and forth…it was like nothing she’d ever experienced or felt, it was all encompassing and arousing. She wondered if it had the same effect on him.
She showered, made herself a cocktail and laid in her bed; her brain peaceful and running wild all at once. He called me Scully , she laughed to herself, not Agent or Dr. Scully, just Scully …Maybe I’ll just call him Mulder . Her dopamine and serotonin naturally high after one hell of a perfect day, she couldn’t help herself from grabbing her vibrator out of her nightstand and capping her perfect day with a perfect orgasm.
To Oregon tomorrow , she thought, Scully and Mulder .
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Kassandra x Fem!Reader - The Most Peculiar Wingman
Can be found on AO3 here.
Summary: You recently moved into a new flat and you’re hearing some rather unusual sounds from your next-door neighbour’s abode. You’re worried the mysterious woman next door is involved in something dangerous. Kassandra is worried that you’re the landlord about to bust her for her lease violation.
(Sorry if you don’t like coffee and/or you speak fluent Greek.)
Word count: 2568
.
Damn, you’ve lucked out with your new flat. The area is pleasant, the décor is tasteful – the windowsills could use a bit more greenery, but you’ll get to that – and the letting agent wasn’t a dick. Zero hassle with bills, minimal scuffs on the walls…it’s bizarre how simple your moving process has been.
But nothing can be perfect, can it?
Over the few days you’ve lived in your new home, you noticed some rather disconcerting sounds coming from the apartment next door. Nothing that disrupts your sleep, thankfully, although your post-unpacking nap was interrupted by a very loud thud against the thin wall connecting the two flats. Thumps, crashes and very disgruntled cursing in a language you can’t quite place tend to crop up in quick succession once or twice a day. Today, though, the odd sounds seem to be omnipresent.
The strange symphony is starting to get alarming; you’re beginning to ponder if the seemingly perpetually angry woman next door is involved in violence…or, forbid, organised crime? That would certainly explain the forceful thuds and grumbling. God, what if she manages to rope you into her shenanigans? What if she is armed?
After a loud bang and an exasperated “oh, fuck you” reverberates into your apartment, you decide to investigate.
Anxiously, you pop on some slippers and step into the hall, locking the door behind you (‘I’m not about to get robbed less than a week after moving,’ you think to yourself, ‘Oh, shit, I need to get insurance…’). Stomach churning with speculation, you make the arduous four-metre trek to your neighbour’s door. Biting your lip, you rap your knuckles against the wood.
A chorus of panicked shuffling echoes through the door, causing your throat to tighten. Footsteps sprint from one side of the room to the other, the sound of shattering ceramic shrill against the heavy thudding. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” the woman hisses, muffled by the walls, followed by some shushing and the rattling of something metal. Who is this woman, what the fuck is she hiding, why am I doing this—
Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing…oh, wow.
Your neighbour is an amazon.
Flawless bronze skin, chocolate hair strewn into an unruly braid, tall and shredded with lean muscle. Her eyes are a gorgeous tawny brown, the split second of alarm disappearing from her gaze, replaced by a sparkle that makes your heart hammer against your chest. Very kissable lips upturn into a charming smile, bringing your attention to a small scar above her upper lip quirking adorably. A deeper scar sits on her nose, and the pang of anxiety returns, but your eyes need only flicker back to hers and it melts away.
“You’re not the landlord,” she says with a rich accent and curious lilt. Your cheeks feel warm.
“Uhm, hi.” You fiddle with your thumbs, mouth suddenly dry. “Sorry, I moved in a few days ago next door. I just heard some loud noises and was wondering if everything was alright?”
Lips curving furthermore, she braces her arms on the doorframe above and, fuck, are they nice arms. Sun-kissed, bulging against her white t-shirt, three gnarly rings cutting into her right bicep that just scream to be touched. Is this her distraction tactic?
“Oh, sorry about that. I hope I wasn’t too much of a disturbance?”
When you finally pry your eyes from her arms, a tiny smirk registers on her handsome face. Bashful, you stammer, “No, it’s fine. But, uh, what caused it, if I may ask?”
The woman cranes her neck to scan the hall. “Can you keep a secret?”
Mob boss? Arms dealer? Axe murderer?
Clearly, your nervous speculations are apparent, because her eyes widen slightly. “Don’t worry, lovely, it’s nothing dangerous. I just have a pet bird.”
Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, you run a hand through your hair. Just a bird. Just a bird. Her face relaxes back into a casual smile. A fresh wave of warmth caresses your cheeks at the name she gave you.
Chuckling, you joke, “Must be one big bird.”
“He’s…an eagle.”
You blink back your shock. “How on earth did you manage to get a pet eagle?”
She laughs, the melody warm and addictive. “Poor fucker followed me all the way from Kefalonia. I didn’t have it in me to say goodbye, even if it violates the lease.” Her tone is affectionate, despite her less-than-endearing name for the bird. Pushing back from the door frame – hands flexing wonderfully while she does so – she gestures for you to step in. “Come and meet him, if you’d like.”
Everything about this woman is so inviting, you can’t help but gravitate into her apartment.
“I don’t think I caught your name?” you ask shyly.
“Kassandra,” she replies, flipping the ‘r’ in her buttery accent. “And what can I call you?”
Anything you fucking want. “(Y/N) is fine,” you manage, debating whether her flat is hot or your face is akin to a beetroot.
“That’s a lovely name. Suits you perfectly,” she winks. She saunters over to a shelf with a blanket hastily thrown over it. You can’t help but observe her firm-looking behind through her jeans. Kassandra tugs away the blanket, revealing a large eagle sitting grumpily in a cage. It remains put when she unlocks the cage, standing almost defiantly.
“Don’t be like that, Ikaros,” she chastises. The eagle – Ikaros – begrudgingly flies out of his confines, perching atop the sofa in the middle of the open-plan room. “He’s gentle, I promise.” You’re doubtful, but he isn’t making any sudden moves.
“He just likes winding you up?”
“Loves it,” she grins. “He’s a little bitter I put him on a diet since he was getting a bit fat. That’s why he’s been throwing some tantrums lately.”
You smile as she scratches the top of his head before heading to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Kassandra asks, giving you another heart-melting beam. “I have coffee, orange juice, I might have some tea somewhere—”
“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” She asks your preference and you state it, taking in the layout of her apartment. The place gave off a very homely, Mediterranean vibe, with warm colours and white furnishings. A few hand-painted ceramic vases were dotted about – maybe she did pottery – alongside some family photographs. Atop the dining table was a woven basket brimming with ripe fruits, as well as a laptop with a pile of messy papers next to it.
“Have a seat, get comfy,” she calls over the whirring of an expensive looking coffee machine. Shyly you take the chair by the unoccupied end of the dining table. Feeling nosy, you scan the documents by her laptop, but the handwriting was all in Greek.
A minute later, Kassandra joins you with a steaming mug in her hand. “Your coffee, madame,” she announces with a pantomimic bow, evoking a laugh.
“Merci,” you thank her. “How would I say that in Greek?”
“Efharistó,” she replies. You test the word hesitantly, wincing on the second syllable, making her laugh. “Not bad,” she chuckles.
“I butchered it.”
“Try it a little softer,” she smiles, lowering her voice, giving it a sensual cadence that made your head spin. Oh, she knows she’s attractive.
“Efharistó,” you border on whisper, gay little brain surging with the overwhelming instinct to do whatever she tells you.
“There we go!” The proud quirk of her lips is all you need to see.
Feeling your cheeks flush, you bring the coffee mug to your lips, hoping the steam from the beverage will help mask your fluster. You blow on the liquid and take a sip, immediately regretting the decision as you scorch your tastebuds, repressing the urge to hiss in favour of looking cool for the hot Grecian.
“Do you, um,” you start, ignoring the numbness of your tongue, “work from home?” You wave your hand at the paperwork by her seat.
“As often as my job lets me.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a museum curator,” Kassandra beams, evidently proud of her job. “A glorified history nerd who couldn’t be fucked with the extra academia, basically.” You snort against the mug, nearly spluttering coffee over her. Smooth.
“What time in history?” Her eyes sparkle at the question, passion shining through her irises.
“Mostly the classics, ancient Greece and Rome and all that. But I did my thesis on the evolution of weaponry.” You prop your chin up on your hand as she talks, eyes lazily focused on her lips. If not for the conviction in her tone, you would have zoned out and chased some daydream about kissing those lips. Kassandra reclines back in her chair. “Enough about me, though. Tell me about yourself.”
“You sounded really passionate, though. I don’t mind if you keep talking about your job.” God, you sound like a dizzy schoolgirl who’s hot for teacher. You scald yourself with another sip of coffee in reprimanding.
Kassandra’s eyes twinkle. “I don’t usually invite beautiful women into my home to ramble about cool swords.” You blush and set down your coffee.
The two of you talk for quite some time, getting to know each other, peppering in the occasional flirtatious remark. In her company, you somehow simultaneously feel comfortable and skittish. She’s so relaxed and easy-going, but her physique and seductive demeanour fills your stomach with butterflies.
An irritated squawk cut your conversation short.
Kassandra shoots Ikaros a look before turning back to you. “Sorry about him.”
You shake your head. “It’s fine, really. Damn… What was I saying again?” you ask sheepishly.
Squawk.
“Nevermind, I was probably babbling anyway,” you dismiss, sipping on your now cold beverage.
Kassandra chuckles softly. “Don’t be silly, you have the voice of an angel. You could read me the dictionary and I’d still be interested.” She probably said this to every woman she took a liking to, but you can’t bring yourself to care, far too flustered and feeling, for once, special.
Squawk.
Her eye practically twitches in anger as Ikaros flies over to the windowsill, makes unwavering eye-contact with his owner, and shits on the wood.
Kassandra looks like she wants to be euthanised.
“My god,” she mutters as you burst out laughing. She awkwardly rubs the back of her neck and grimaces, mouth parted as if trying to form some kind of apology for her eagle’s behaviour.
“I’m guessing you’re used to being the only one doing the flustering?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.
Her disgraced expression shifted back to a playful one. “If I say yes, do I sound like a whore?”
Grinning, you shake your head. “A little cocky, perhaps.”
“I’ll take cocky.” She winks and gets up. “Your coffee is probably cold, can I get you a fresh one?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.”
“The finest,” she smirks.
“Real smooth,” you roll your eyes, smiling regardless.
Ikaros caws from the windowsill, as if mocking Kassandra’s advances. Once again, her effortless charm dissolves into a look of frustration. She grabs kitchen towels and a bottle of disinfectant from by the sink and walks over to the window, nudging the eagle so he’d move out of the way. “Maláka,” she groans, cleaning up the mess from the surface. “Μη μου το χαλάς αυτό,” she mutters to Ikaros, earning a confused look. Kassandra sighs. “Usually I wait until after the first date before introducing a beautiful lady to this little shit. That way people don’t immediately think I’m just a weird bird lesbian.”
Testing the waters, you remark, “I happen to quite fancy women with an affinity for animals.” You bite your lip and add, “And, well, you’re…very attractive.”
Smugly, Kassandra finishes disinfecting the windowsill and walks to the kitchen with a little more vigour, your compliment proving to be an ego boost.
Once again deprived of attention, Ikaros decides to flap over and join you at the table. Instinctively, you flinch as the large bird flies in your direction, but all he does is stare at you, trying to analyse the stranger in his home.
“Does – does he bite?” you ask, hesitantly standing up.
Kassandra discards the kitchen towel in the bin, washing her hands. “No, he’s very kind to everyone who isn’t me.” She flashes you a wicked grin. “I only bite when asked.”
Stammering, you choke on air, struggling to find a response. Ikaros gives her a disappointed look.
“Shit, too forward?”
You shake your head. “Not at all,” you blush. “I’ve just…never met anyone quite like you before.” Ikaros seemingly gives you a judgemental leer, and you swiftly find yourself adding, “I-in a good way, that is!”
“Oh?” Her brow is upturned, her interest piqued.
“It’s…exciting.” The eagle shuffles towards you and nuzzles your hand, apparently deciding you’re worthy of his affections. The dark feathers atop his head are surprisingly soft to touch. Smiling, you give his head a few pats, inhibitions to the wind when cute little coos vibrate from his throat. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“I think it’s adorable,” Kassandra says softly.
You look up. “Really?”
“Really.” She joins the two of you and plucks a damson from the fruit bowl, feeding it to Ikaros while you pet him. “You’re the loveliest person to have ever set foot in this building, that’s for sure.”
Ikaros cocks his head in agreement. His beady eyes meet yours, damson juice dribbling from his beak. Do it, he’s silently telling you.
Screw it, let’s shoot our shot.
You clear your throat, mustering up some courage. “Are you free next weekend?”
Kassandra beams amorously. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she grins. “How does dinner sound?”
Fuck yes. “Really good,” you blurt out excitedly.
“There’s this great Persian restaurant a couple streets over. I’ll book us a table?”
You gasp, having seen the building on the drive when you were moving in. “The place with the garden and the pretty lights, right?”
“That’s the one.”
“Sounds amazing.” Red in the face and heart pounding, your eyes dart about the apartment, fearing that you’ll combust if you look at Kassandra any longer. They settle on Ikaros, who gently butts his head against your hand, almost like a fist-bump. “Well, uh, I have a home insurance company to ring up, so I should probably get going,” you stutter.
“I won’t keep you, then,” Kassandra says, a tinge of disappointment in her tone. Ikaros squawks sadly.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
“It was my pleasure. Thank you for staying,” she winks. The eagle coos in agreement. You give him one last pat before walking to the front door.
“Oh, before you leave, there is something you should know…” Kassandra calls, moving over to you. She delicately takes your hand, frying your brain, and leans down to your ear. You feel faint. Lowly, she whispers, “…Our Hermes guy likes to drop-kick our parcels.”
Snorting, you look up at her in disbelief. I mean, what was I expecting? A kiss? Get a grip, woman. Kassandra laughs at your expression. “Use the amazon locker down the road instead.”
“You’re amazing,” you murmur, grinning. “I’ll probably see you before next weekend, but bye, I guess?”
“Chaire,” she bids softly, opening the door for you.
When the door closes behind you, you let out a ragged breath, excitement coursing through your veins.
You are so glad you moved here.
.
( The Greek clause is meant to say "Don't blow this for me" but I used 5 different translators and all 5 came back with slightly different things and I sort of ip-dip-doo'd it and chose one at random...sorry. )
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I’ll Take Care of You, Chapter 3: The Bar
HI! I was so afk;sdlj to hear from you lovelies on my last chapter... you don’t even understand:)))
I'm probably taking this in a direction y'all weren't expecting but it's what I felt like in the moment. I hope you stick around to see where this story is going :) aka more smut to come but imma make you wait ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Fic Summary: Reader works in the hospital where Billy Russo keeps his mother. They’ve caught each other’s eye. But she thinks he is the devoted son… little does she know what hides behind a handsome face and expensive suits.
Posted on my ao3 as well :)
Pairing: Billy Russo x Fem!Nurse!Reader
Chapter Summary: The realization of what the reader has just done finally dons on her, and she becomes a bit overwhelmed
Warnings: swearing, am I writing how I, personally, would react??? 🤔🤔🤔
Words: 1.5k
Masterlist ~~ Chapter 2
~
You were exhausted. Despite the mind-blowing romp with Billy at the start of your shift, the rest of your night was a shit-show. There was a code blue and the patient didn’t make it. It wasn’t one of your own, but the loss is still always hard. You had to take on the other nurse’s patients while she dealt with the paperwork and debrief. You felt like you hadn’t sat down all night.
You had sent Billy a flirty response to his text, telling him that he better not stop thinking about you. He had sent a simple ;) but nothing else. That was okay with you. All you wanted to do was take a shower and sleep, and not think about what you had gotten yourself into.
When you got home, you stripped off your scrubs and turned on the water in your shower. You stayed under the warm spray for a few more minutes than you usually would. After you finished your shower, you looked at your body in the mirror. Little bruises from Billy’s hands bloomed on your hips, hickeys were scattered across your neck. You grinned as you traced a bruise by your jaw. You hadn’t had to deal with these suckers since college, and receiving them from a guy like Billy... well, it made your insides burn.
Before you could get too caught up in the memory, you decided it was time to go to bed. You threw on some comfy shorts and a long sleeve cotton shirt. You put on your eye mask to block the remaining light that your curtains couldn’t so you could try to catch some sleep.
***
When you woke up, you checked your phone for the time. It was around 1:30pm. You also had a text. From Billy. You turned your phone face down and stretched your arms over your head, trying to contain the grin that was taking over your face. When your excited heart rate slowed, you picked your phone back up and clicked on the text notification.
12:00pm Let me buy you a drink. You free at 8:30?
You bit your lip as your fingers hovered over the keyboard.
1:34pm Thought you were going to call me?
1:40pm Didn’t want to wake a sleeping beauty. I do know how hospital shifts work, little lady
You blushed. Over a text, you blushed. Why did this man make you feel this way?
1:41pm I told you that you were a nice guy ;)
1:45pm Is that a yes to drinks, then?
1:46pm I’m free. You felt good sending that text.
1:50pm I’ll pick you up. What’s your address?
Normally, you just walked, took a taxi, or the subway. Giving him your address, was that really smart? You were chewing on your lip as you debated your next text. You’d tell him, and you’d also tell your best friend what you were doing tonight. That way if anything went wrong... You doubted that it would, though. Billy seemed like a genuinely nice person.
So, you texted him the address of your apartment building, but not the room number. That was at least a little smart. Then you texted your bestie and let her know that you were going out on a date with a guy you didn’t know well but he seemed really nice. She sent you a bunch of surprised emojis, then said she’d expect to hear from you by midnight and if she didn’t, she’d call the cops, the FBI, homeland security. You shook your head at her drama.
You went through your day with excitement burning in your chest. After finishing with your dinner, you went to your closet to find something to wear. You were so nervous. All he’d seen you in were your scrubs, and those were far from flattering. You know he already found you attractive, and you normally didn’t show yourself off, but you wanted to snaz yourself up. You hadn’t gone out with anyone since college. You picked out your nicest black jeans, a red bodysuit, and your black leather jacket.
You anticipated at least some kissing, so you didn’t bother with more than tinted lip balm. You brushed on some eyeshadow and mascara, then covered the circles under your eyes. You debated covering up the hickeys, but decided against it. You thought it would be hot if he saw his marks on you. You knew he left them for people to see. You ran your fingers through your hair as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You pulled on your black high-heeled ankle boots and grabbed your purse before you left your apartment.
You waited down in the lobby and checked your phone when it buzzed.
8:30pm The car’s out front. Black Escalade. My driver’s name is Jack. He’ll drive you to the bar
You frowned. 8:30pm You’re not with him? :(
8:31pm There was something that came up, but I’ll be waiting for you.
8:31pm Promise.
You sighed. 8:32pm Okay.
You exited your building and saw a man standing beside a black Escalade. He saw you approaching.
“Y/N?” He asked. You nodded. “I’m Jack. Mr. Russo sends his regrets, but he’ll meet you at the bar. Are you ready to go?”
You looked up and down the street before looking back at the young man. “Yes.”
Jack opened the back passenger door for you and you got in.
The drive was silent. You hated it. You felt so weird. This felt... practiced. Wrong. You frowned as you stared out the window. You suddenly became very overwhelmed. What the fuck was even happening right now? What were you doing?
When you got to the bar, you didn’t wait for Jack to open the door. You got out yourself and walked into the bar. You scanned the crowd for Billy. He was sitting at a high table against the wall across from the bar, and smiled and waved you over when he saw you.
You couldn’t seem to return his smile, but made your way over to him.
He stood up when you got to the table and reached for your hip. You let him pull you in to drop a kiss to your cheekbone. “You look absolutely stunning.” He whispered in your ear.
His voice was melting you, but you tried to hold your resolve.
He pulled your chair out for you and you sat down. Well, you’d put it as plunked. You plunked down, and crossed your arms over your chest.
He raised an eyebrow at you as he took his seat opposite you. “What’s the matter?”
Your eyes scanned his before you spoke. You couldn’t hold your tongue. “How many girls have you sent cars for?”
He looked stunned. “Excuse me?”
“How many times have you sent a car to fetch someone for you?” You asked coldly.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t really think that concerns you.” His voice was dark.
“Doesn’t it? That felt so weird, Billy. Sitting in the back of that car, going to some undisclosed location.” Your voice betrayed you, sounding more hurt than you intended.
His face softened. “I wanted to keep the bar a surprise, Y/N.”
“Yeah, I can see why.” It was probably the fanciest bar you’d ever been in. Your arms tightened across your chest. “I just feel wrong.”
Billy’s eyes searched your face, observed your body language. “What happened to the fiery little lady from last night?” He asked gently.
Your shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. I’m not normally like that.” You rubbed your fingers across your forehead. “I still can’t believe that I did that, last night.”
“So, you regret it.” Billy slouched back in his chair. He looked defeated, and you didn’t like that.
You sat forward and reached across the table to touch his arm gently. “No, I don’t. I just think that I need to figure out what’s going on here before I get myself into trouble.” You said honestly.
“I can respect that,” he nodded.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Your past relationships or girls you’ve seen is none of my business. It was stupid of me to say anything.” You said sheepishly.
Billy took your hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay. But to answer your question, I’ve never sent a car for anyone. I don't think there are many girls like you, Y/N.” His eyes were so dark, you felt like they were consuming you.
You felt your cheeks flush now. “Oh.” You said absently.
“I won’t do that again, though. I’m sorry.” He said. He let go of your hand and you immediately missed the contact.
You shook your head in dismissal. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I never want to make you uncomfortable.”
You gave him a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”
“You intrigue me, Y/N. I want to get to know you. How about we start there, and see where it goes?” Billy said.
You nodded, smile growing. “I’d like that.”
***
Author’s note: pleaseee let me know what you think :)
Chapter 4
#billy russo#billy russo x you#billy russo x reader#billy russo fanfic#the punisher#the punisher fanfic#season 1 billy russo#fanfic#i'll take care of you
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Secrets of the West Wing (ch. 2)
Pairings: Emily Prentiss x fem! reader; Emily Prentiss x y/n
Warnings: mature (eventual smut 17+); cursing; violence in future chapters
Summary: Y/n has been elected president and Emily Prentiss was assigned as the head of her security detail. Will they break protocol and give into their developing feelings, or will they remain professional? AU Criminal Minds presidential fic. Slowburn romance. Haven't decided, but probably eventual smut. Emily Prentiss x reader/Emily Prentiss x y/n. @sweetprentiss
Read on Wattpad | Ao3 | Previous Chapters
Chapter 2 - Languishing
March 2025
I never saw Agent Prentiss in the residence. It was just as I asked Agent Hotchner - it was like she wasn't there. He had clearly relayed my rather rude demand to Prentiss. And even though this is exactly what I asked for, I couldn't help but be disappointed. She was just so pretty. I was like a junkie waiting for my next fix, my next peek at Emily Prentiss. Of course I saw her around, but she was always so stoic.
Prentiss was never far from my mind. For weeks I had to resort to stealing glances of her throughout the day. Unfortunately, she was only around if I left the West Wing because she knew I was safe there. I could only come up with so many excuses to go somewhere else. So, I was left with my memories. My one memory of an angelic face shocked by the President of the United States so brusquely brushing past her.
For about two weeks it was all the same. Lie awake and think about her pretty face; distract myself from thinking of her by running the country. The American People deserved so much better. Prentiss was always peripheral. I always knew she was around. Yet, she was always out of reach. Until she wasn't.
I'd had bad days before, but nothing like this. I hadn't eaten since 8:30 am, everything I suggested in the War Room was rejected, the Senate was stalled on a bill I promised the American People I'd get passed, and to top it all off, my shoes, though incredibly sexy, murdered my feet all day. As I left the West Wing, all I could think about was crawling into bed, drawing the blanket over my head, and sleeping. Saying a passing "goodnight" to Agent Green posted at my door, I shut the horrors of the day outside. Immediately, I threw my briefcase down and stripped satan's shoes off.
"Long day?" Prentiss asked from the couch, a book open on her lap.
Holy hell. She was actually here. Looking like that. And I looked a mess.
Ignoring her question, I responded, "Wine?"
"That bad?" She asked with a chuckle. I sighed, not in the mood to be laughed at. I grabbed two glasses, the bottle, and a corkscrew and made my way to the couch. I inelegantly flopped on the couch and stared at the bottle, willing it to open telekinetically.
I looked up at Prentiss and found her staring at me with an unidentified expression on her face. "What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"Can you pour this? I want to change." What seemed like disappointment flashed across her face, but was gone before I could be sure. I made my way to my bedroom and paused as soon as I closed the door. I looked longingly at my bed and debated crawling in despite who was currently waiting for me in the living room. But sleep would always lose when competing with Emily Prentiss.
I came back out in black shorts and a white t-shirt. Once again, I flopped back on the couch, too tired to even lower myself normally. She handed me my wine glass, and I said, "Thanks for pouring this." She hummed.
"I've never seen you so casual," Prentiss said, nudging me with her foot. An electrical current zapped my bare skin, and I shot away from her to the other side of the couch. What the hell was that? Embarrassed by my reaction, I bit my lip - a nervous tick of mine - and looked away. Was she uncomfortable by my attire? My shorts were, admittedly, quite short. Then it occurred to me: she had been reading when I got here. Of course she didn't want me here. My thoughts were zooming a mile a minute, conjuring all the reasons why Prentiss was about to tell me to leave. And all the while, all I could feel was the tingle from where her skin had touched mine.
She never asked me to leave. In fact, we made polite, if not stilted, conversation about my day. I lied, not wanting to get into what a nightmare it really was. Then we discussed how she got into the Secret Service and her "complicated" past. That seemed like a sore subject for her. I even related how excited I was for the vice president's birthday gala. I asked if she was allowed to attend as a guest and was only mildly disappointed when she said no. Though the conversation was inconsequential, it was the highlight of my week.
"You know, they say you're one of the most charismatic presidents ever elected…yet you're being so awkward right now. You won't even look at me." I blanched. My foot almost lodged itself in my mouth and blurted That's what happens when in the presence of beautiful women. Thankfully, my filter remained in tact long enough to prevent that humiliation.
Instead, dredging up the only ounce of courage in me, I responded, "I guess I just don't know what this is."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, are we…friends?" The word felt heavy and bitter in my mouth. "I mean," I continued, "Isn't that a conflict of interest or something?"
Emily's eyes widened. "Do you feel unsafe? Do you want me re-assigned?"
"NO!" I blurted much too quickly. Reducing the urgency in my voice, "I mean, no - that won't be necessary. You're doing great." There was another horribly awkward pause in the conversation. I downed the rest of my wine.
Emily, braver than I, broke the silence. "It's settled then. Friends." Her lips formed a half smile, a sort of squished line marginally tilted up at the corners. It appeared she wasn't any more thrilled with the word than I was. But when I stopped to think about it, having Emily as a friend was better than nothing. Better than never getting to be with her like this. Friends was already pushing the boundaries dictated by our situation. Besides, the thought of her being re-assigned was simply unbearable.
_______________________________________
Wine nights became a regular, weekly occurrence if my schedule allowed it. These glimpses into her life would have to be enough for me. It would be inappropriate to have more and it was selfish to want more. But as the weeks progressed it was impossible not to want more. With each passing week, I sat on the couch with her in unimaginable aching. To be closer to her. To touch her. To taste her. And though friends, I never made progress past that. Her dedication to her job, to me, was admirable. I only wished she were dedicated to me because she felt the same as I did. I wished she looked at me, not because it was her job to watch me, but because she yearned for me as I did her.
At some point, my longing grew to a fever pitch. And that fever pitch turned into a melody, incessantly swimming in my head. One night at - I checked the clock - 1:54 am I had an overwhelming need to write a song for Emily, and it wouldn't rest until it was out on paper. I grabbed staff paper and a pencil and tip-toed to the front door in an effort to not wake Emily.
When I opened the door, I mentally cursed. I had forgotten about my ever-present agents posted outside. "Madam President, what are you doing? It's 2am." I didn't answer, continuing down the hall. Hopefully if I did it fast enough they wouldn't follow. How naive. "Madam President! Where are you going?" He asked me, and then continued into his ear piece, "Athena is on the move. Destination unknown." Athena? I idly wondered if Emily would tell me why they chose that as my code name.
I finally entered the grand hall, quickening my pace towards the piano. I hoped it was in tune. "Where are you going, Madam President?" I sat down. "Ma'am please, we haven't swept this room."
"So, by all means, sweep away," I muttered. I started playing, ignoring Agent Green's furious whispers into his earpiece. It felt absolutely joyous warming up with my old favorites. I was filled with such mirth, I actually threw my head back and laughed. Soon Emily's song demanded my attention, and I finished a good portion of her song in no time at all.
Melancholy leaked into my composition because I knew I would never get the opportunity to play it for her. And I knew she'd never get to appreciate its meaning. I was wistful realizing she would never get to know exactly what each note meant.
Continue to next chapter
#iv’s spring writing challenge 2022 🌸#criminal minds#criminal minds au#criminal minds fanfiction#emily prentiss#emily prentiss x y/n#emily prentiss x you#emily prentiss x female reader#Secrets of the West Wing#wlw writing#🌬 fics
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BEHAVE | Part 1/3 | Boba Fett x Reader
{part two} {masterlist} {taglist}
Rating: Explicit 18+
Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader (No use of Y/N)
Word Count: 4.1k
Warnings: Oral sex (m receiving), face fucking, rough sex, choking, slapping, cum play, facial, dom!boba, some degradation at the end, unwanted sexual advances (no touching), possessive!boba, implied age gap (reader is of age), pet names, explicit language
A/N: here we goooo boba thots round 2! I’m debating making a second part to this, let me know if I should 👉👈 Also, I know nothing about running a criminal empire I just needed to fill in some spots okay i’m just here to get dicked down
Cross-posted on ao3
You had a lot of nerve, he’d give you that. A lot of fucking nerve.
Boba Fett had only one rule for you when it came to your residence at the Palace. It was quite simple, really - you were not allowed in the throne room during any of his, errr, “business negotiations.”
Ever. No exceptions.
When it came to his empire, he made it clear he did not want you involved in any way, shape, or form. You weren’t his partner, like Fennec Shand, and you weren’t a smuggler who worked for him. You were his… Well, you weren’t sure what exactly you were to him. Calling yourself his girlfriend seemed too childish, and fuck buddy seemed too impersonal. You fell somewhere in between the two, but whatever you were, he didn’t want you tied up in his criminal doings.
Boba’s reasoning for the rule was practical: the less you knew, the better. The more ignorant you were to his doings as a crime lord, there was less of a chance of you becoming a target. Your relationship with Boba (whatever it was), could be perceived as a weakness, a way for an enemy or pissed off associate to get back at him.
You, of course, understood. You weren’t oblivious to his reputation and how he came to own his criminal empire. It was kind of hard not to know, especially on a seedy planet like Tatooine. And while you weren’t interested in getting involved, you did push back at his rule, teasing and testing the boundaries whenever he informed you to stay away from the throne room, if only to get under his skin. He didn’t call you his little brat for nothing.
“I can defend myself!”
“No, you can’t.”
“I did the first time I met you.”
“You broke a lamp over my head.”
“Some call that self-defense.”
“Why do you want to hang around a bunch of bantha fodder criminals, anyway?”
“I hang around you, don’t I?”
“Easy there, little one.”
Teasing aside, you respected his rule and made sure to stay busy whenever he and Fennec were preoccupied in the throne room. You never interrupted, always making sure to keep a safe distance from the throne room.
So when you came tittering into the throne room, Boba couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on. He gazed at you with critical regard, watching as your hips swayed to an imaginary beat as you gave him a wistful smile.
Maybe you were suffering from a sudden onset of amnesia. Who knew? Boba sure as hell didn’t and he was not in the mood to find out.
His patience had been wearing thin even before you walked in. He sat on his throne with Fennec standing to his right. He was meeting with one of his smugglers, a man named Kole Terrek, about a shipment. The meeting was meant to be short, 30 minutes tops, but the 30 minute mark had passed over an hour ago and Kole was still there.
Talking.
And talking.
And talking some more.
He wouldn’t shut up. He was an old contact of Fennec’s and while she warned Boba of Kole’s motormouth, it seemed to be so much worse in person. Even Fennec seemed to be at her breaking point. Her lips pursued by growing displeasure as she shifted her weight between her feet. Every so often, she would glance down at Boba, trying to will him to do something. Anything. Just…make Kole stop talking.
Boba tried his best to remain stoic, but that was proving to be harder by the second. He sat with his back straight, legs spread, and hands resting on his knees. His muscles were stiffened and his mind became hyper-focused on Kole’s nasally voice. It bounced off the stone walls, making Boba feel as if someone was playing pingpong inside his head. When a dull pain started to throb at the base of his skull, he was ready to throw Kole out.
And then you came in.
You knew you shouldn’t have been there, you knew that Boba was not going to be happy. To be fair, Boba was always in a sour mood, that was sort of his thing. He was a grumpy, old man. And you were bored.
You finished your stockpile of books and binge watched all the holovids you saved on your data pad. You struggled to keep yourself occupied while Boba and Fennec worked.
Now, the only source of entertainment at the time was in the very room you were forbidden to enter. So yes, breaking Boba’s only rule was not the best solution for your boredom, but where was the fun in that?
You weren’t looking to get involved or interrupt. You just wanted to put on a little show for him. Give him some motivation to hurry the fuck up and get back to you.
Earlier that afternoon, you planted your data pad under one of the tables lining the back wall. You changed into your shortest dress, the one that if you bent over just a little too far, whoever was looking would get a nice look at your ass. When the time was right, you would come in quietly to retrieve your data pad, making sure to arch your back ever so slightly so give Boba a little show, before heading out. Bend and snap, quick and easy. Kole Terrek would never know.
Or at least that was the plan. You didn’t account for Kole’s heightened hearing to alert him of your presence. Kole turned around at the exact moment you had bent over, your underwear on full display for Boba and Kole to see.
“Boba! Who is this?” Kole exclaimed, making you shoot up almost hitting your head on the table.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Your posture stiffened as your eyes darted between the three people in front of you. Kole had turned entirely to face you, a shit-eating grin on his face while he stared a little too hard at your chest and exposed legs. Fennec, on the other hand, looked amused, albeit a bit annoyed. A small smirk played on her lips as she bent down to mutter something to Boba.
Boba’s reaction was the most worrisome because there wasn’t really a reaction. He hadn’t made a single move since you entered. Not even to Fennec’s whisper or when Kole turned around to face you. He just sat there. His helmet blocked his face so you couldn’t see his expression, but if you had to bet on it, you were sure his face was pressed into the default scowl we always wore.
When neither Boba nor Fennec made a move to step in you, your eyes went back to Kole, who seemed more preoccupied with confirming that your tits were indeed stuck to your chest.
You opened your mouth to speak, but Boba cut in.
“Not important,” Boba barked, a tightness lacing his words, as if he was holding back from saying something else.
“Nonsense!” Kole exclaimed, not bothering to face Boba. “Anyone who is a friend of Boba’s is most definitely a friend of mine. What’s your name?”
You looked back at the throne, eyes pleading for Boba and Fennec to step in. Fennec seemed to step forward at your appeal, but Boba put up his hand, stopping her from moving forward. His helmet bowed down, the black visor still trained on you, as if he was taunting you, daring you to say something.
Try something, princess.
You felt your stomach contract into a tight ball as you did everything in your power to stop yourself from huffing at Boba’s lack of support. If he wanted to play a game, you could play.
Fuck it.
You were already in trouble with Boba, there was no coming back from this. Plus, you didn’t have anything better to do.
Relaxing your shoulders, you stuck your hip out, causing Kole to flash you a smile. Not bothering to give him your name, you coated your voice in the most tooth achingly, sweet voice you could managed. You apologized for interrupting, explain that you were looking for your data pad.
It only spiraled from there. Kole Terrek wasn’t just chatty, he was a shameless flirt. He had every overused, cheesy pick-up line memorized and you were getting to experience them all. Smiling through it, you listened politely, laughed at points, but you couldn’t stop glancing back at Boba.
An unexpected heat began to grow between your legs as you watched Boba grow jittery with trepidation. He did his best to remain stoic, but he couldn’t stop his right foot from tapping, the movement causing the spur on his boot to jingle. His hands no longer gripped his knees as he kept cracking his knuckles.
“Boba ever take you to Canto Bright? I wouldn’t mind taking you if you ever grow bored looking at sand dunes.”
That was enough.
“Kole,” Boba spat, a thread of warning in his voice. Standing from his seat, he asked, “Where’s my shipment?”
“Oh right, right,” Kole chuckled, waving a hand back at Boba dismissively. “Sorry, got distracted.”
Kole’s dismissal made Boba thrust the lip of his helmet forward with indignation, not that Kole noticed. His attention remained on you, making him oblivious to Boba drawing his blaster and jumping down from the dais.
“Think you can help me? You picked up that data pad real nice.”
Your response wasn’t needed. Kole got the message when he felt Boba standing behind him, the barrel of his blaster pointing into Kole’s back. You watched the smuggler’s eyes widened in fear, lip starting to quiver as Boba leaned down to him, his helmet mere inches from Kole’s ear.
“She’s busy,” Boba growled. “Fennec, escort Kole to get the shipment.”
You didn’t bother to stick around to see what happened next. Scurrying away from the group, you exited the throne room through the same hallway you entered. You gripped the data pads in your hands until your knuckles turned white.
“Shit.” You muttered, closing your eyes as you leaned against the wall.
That did not go as planned. It was meant to be a little tease, not incite a brawl. You were not expecting things to escalate like that. Hell, you weren’t even expecting the smuggler to see you, let alone flirt with you. But now you had done it.
Boba wasn’t going to let this slide.
You nerves were burning after what had transpired, but a part of you didn’t want it to end. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest and your mouth was gaped, uncertain whether to breath or scream. Amongst the panic, you could feel a wet spot growing on your underwear.
It was as if the world had slowed down, Fennec and Kole’s voices fading into a muffle. The hard knot constricting your stomach seemed to relax as arousal started spreading through you, filling every molecule in your body. Your eyes dilated at the thought of Boba, savage and ready to fuck the defiant brat out of you. You would risk unleashing the wrath of the King of the Underworld if it meant he would fuck you.
You swore your desire for Boba would end up kicking you in the ass eventually; and today, you were willing to test those odds. Despite his complaints, your little acts of defiance were as much of a turn on for him as it was for you. He was dominating with an obsessive need for control, but he couldn’t help growing hard whenever you defied him.
You were jolted back into reality, the world resuming its spin, when you felt the force of the palace door slam shut, causing vibrations to ripple down to where you stood. Fennec and Kole had left and now it was just you and Boba.
A shudder ran down your spine when you heard the sound of heavy footsteps moving from the middle of the throne room, coming straight to the hallway you were hiding in.
Boba.
Ignoring the growing sensation between your legs, you started walking again, albeit a lot slower than your normal pace.
Boba’s stomping came to a stop when he saw you a few yards ahead of him. His mini stampede from the throne room caused the dust from the dirt floor to kick up in small clouds. Illuminated in the soft light, it looked like you were gliding. Gliding among the clouds as if you didn’t just open the gates of hell.
An unknown gust of wind blew behind him traveling straight towards you. The wind blew between your legs, ruffling the short hemline of your dress and causing it to fly up just enough for Boba to see the black lace covering your ass. He sucked in a shaky breath as he watched you stop.
One chance.
He was going to giving you once chance to explain yourself. One. That’s it. His shoulders were down in a dangerous stance as he felt the frustration of the day mixing with the sight of you in front of him. He felt himself grow harder as he waited for your next move.
What was he waiting for?
Boba’s sudden stop made you stop. You expected him to come stalking towards you, not stop and stare. Turning your head to side to address him, you tried to think of something clever to say, but nothing came to mind.
Instead, you bit your lip in an attempt to suppress your devious smile. Just how far could you push him? Without another thought, your grasp on the data pad loosen and it fell to the ground. You were already walking away before the data pad hit the ground.
That’s fucking it.
With his eyes full of censure, his vision focused in on you. You. His disobedient brat. He held back a scream of frustration and resumed walking, his footsteps thundering down the hall.
Once directly behind you, he grabbed your left arm, pining it behind you, before pushing you into the wall. His thigh pushed itself between your clamped legs. Spreading them apart, he could feel your pussy pulse against his thigh.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He snarled in your ear. His hand slammed into the wall above your head, causing some dust to shake down on you.
Your face was pressed against the stone wall, so he couldn’t see the small smirk on your lips.
“I just needed my data pad.” You stammered as Boba adjusted the thigh between your legs, catching your clit in the process.
“Just needed my data pad.” He mocked you before moving his hands from the wall to wrap around you. He hoisted you up higher on his thigh until you were flush against his chest. He pushed his hips forward so you could feel his hardening length.
“You disobey me, interrupt my meeting, all because of some kriffing data pad? You can’t just behave, can you?”
He pushed you off his thigh before commanding, “Get on your knees.”
You dropped down without thinking. The dirt floor of the hallway was harsh against your knees, small pebbles digging into your flesh. You looked up at the intimidating dark helmet as it stared back at you. Hearing the familiar sound of shuffling, you dropped your eyes letting his crotch take up your entire view. His hand undid his pants and released his cock. He was already hard when he took himself in his hands, stroking himself inches from your face. You squeezed your thighs together as you began to throb.
“Open your mouth.”
You complied, opening your mouth slightly, but apparently it wasn’t good enough. Boba slapped your cheek as punishment, he wasn’t in the mood to play games.
“Wider…Tongue out…All the way.”
You widened your jaw as far as possible and tilted your head back, exposing your tongue and the back of your mouth to him.
“Very good.”
His hand stopped moving up his length, as you took a deep breath in anticipation. You looked up Boba with those blown-out eyes you knew he loved. He rested his hands against the wall behind you and shuffled forward, backing you up until your back hit the wall, effectively caging you into between the wall and his thighs.
His helmet looked down at you before barking his next order, “Get to work.”
You grabbed his thighs to steady yourself and leaned forward, using your lips and tongue to maneuver him into your mouth. He felt hot and heavy on your tongue, and a small bead of precum landed in the back of your mouth.
You bobbed your head on his length in a steady pace. Boba wasn’t in the mood for kitten licks and light kisses. He was angry and you better make it up to him before Fennec and Kole return. You suck your cheeks and move up and down, taking him down your throat farther and farther.
“Fuck-” Boba moaned above you, the sound of his leather gloves straining as he clenched his fists.
“Is this all you needed? My cock in your mouth?”
“That all it takes to make you behave?”
His words were a straight shot to your pussy, making you throb harder. Blowjobs never got you wet, ever, but then Boba stormed into your life, and you were sure you could orgasm just from his words alone.
You were cock starved for him and him alone. Not just to feel him between your legs, but everywhere. Your pussy, your mouth, your hands, your ass.
You didn’t dare take Boba out of your mouth to speak. Instead, you hummed around his length in acknowledgement. The vibrations around his cock shot straight up his spine, his hands clenching in response.
“O-Oh, fuck - g-good girl,” He mewled as one of his hands went down and buried itself in your hair.
Giving your hair a harsh tug, signaling for you to stop. Straightening himself up from the wall, he reached down to pull his cock from your mouth. He took a step back to give himself more room, but not enough to let you go.
You watched as his hand grabbed himself at the base before slapping your cheek with his cock.
“Suck my balls.”
Groaning, you bowed your head down to them and grabbed them in your hands. Massaging the sensitive skin, you leaned forward and grabbed the first one with your lips. Your tongue ran along the skin before you moved on the next one. You pulled at his balls again before taking the entire sac in your mouth and sucking, making your muffled sounds of need vibrate through him.
While you sucked, he stroked his length, a bead of precum leak out as he gave his head a quick squeeze.
“You can be so sweet when you want to be.”
“Why can’t you just behave?”
“Good girls get cocks in their pussies. Good girls get their pussies licked.”
“Are you a good girl, hmm?”
You clenched your thighs harder at the cold and exact words coming from his mouth. Your underwear was soaked with your slick as you tried applying more pressure to your clit.
“I don’t think you are.”
Too lost in your thoughts and building desire, you didn’t feel his hand move to your head and pull you off of him again. He yanked your head back and grabs his cock with the other. Your mouth was still open in surprise when Boba pushed his cock in your mouth and down your throat. Your throat spasmed around his member as you struggled to breathe.You weren’t expecting that.
With Boba’s cock buried in your mouth and both his hands holding your head still, you had to take it. Your nose rubbed against the patch of curly hair at the base of his cock, your jaw was in pain, and your cheeks started to heat up at the sudden intrusion. The tears pooling in your eyes blurred the vision of Boba above you into a watercolor painting of black, red, and green.
“You’re a bad girl. And bad girls don’t get to breathe.”
Your pussy throbbed as Boba pulled out of you and slammed back in. He was aberrant, he was exactly what you wanted. Boba pumped into you three, four times before pulling out entirely.
Breathing heavily above you, he took you in and, Maker, you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen.
A thick string of saliva connected his cock to your mouth, your lips red and bruised. Your face was flushed, burning hot, as the tears spilling from your eyes mixed with the saliva and precum dribbling from your mouth. The liquid mixture trailing down your face and landing on your chest in splotches.
One of his hands released its tight grip on your hair, his fingers caressing your scalp, soothing the irritated skin as you struggled to catch your breath.
“You want more?” He taunted. There was a bite in his words, but not enough to force you. You knew that if you wanted, you could object and it would all be over. Boba, no matter how brutal, always made sure to give you a way out.
You looked up at him and nodded, stuttering out a simple “yes.”
That was all Boba needed before forcing himself back down your throat. He starts fucking your mouth, more violently than before, chasing his release. He could hear Fennec and Kole’s voices getting louder as the descended the stairwell into the throne room.
He looks down at you and sees you’re looking up at him. You had an attitude bigger than the galaxy, but fuck, he could never get over the sight of you on your knees choking on his cock.
Boba would put up with all your tantrums, watch you flirt with a thousand smugglers, if it meant he could have you like this.
“Y-You’ll - fuck - you’ll be good, now, right?”
“You-You’ll behave?”
You couldn’t do anything while Boba controlled your movements. All you managed was a simple grunt and blink, but that was all he needed.
He pulls your mouth of his cock with enough force you hit the wall behind you. He grabs a hold of his cock while another hand pulls your head to look up at him.
He keeps fisting his cock and muttering to you, “Look up, look up at me. K-keep that pretty m-mouth open - Fuck!”
You knew what happened next and you legs quivered at the thought. You kept your head tilted up just under Boba’s hand and cock. Eyes trained on the black visor of his helmet with your mouth wide open, you were ready to take all that Boba had to offer.
His voice cracked as he moaned, letting his release coat your face. You felt the warm liquid spurting all over, some landing in your mouth, but most strings of cum landing over your cheeks and forehead. You stayed still letting him take in the sight of his mark on you.
Boba sighed heavily, cradling your head, before whispering, “Swallow.”
You close your mouth and move your sore throat to take down his cum while Boba tucked himself back into his pants.
Boba smiled behind his helmet, turning back to you, he cradled your head, careful to avoid the sensitive skin of your scalp.
“You want to join us in there? We’re pretty much done.” He asked.
You nodded, smiling up at him.
“Good.” He mutters, hand running down to tape his thumb against your chin in satisfaction.
Beaming up at him, your hand moves to collect the cum still painted across your face, but Boba stops you before you could.
Gripping your wrist, he chuckles. “Oh no, little one. Keep your hands off your face.”
Your stomach drops and start to stumble over your words. “But…”
His hands moved to your arms and started pulling you up, helping you back to your feet. Your legs shook and the skin on your knees was rubbed raw and stung as some cuts began to bleed. You can feel his thick cum starting to slowly move down your face.
“That shabuir is too fucking comfortable. Why don’t we remind him who you belong to?”
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he wraps an arm around you and steers you back to the throne room.
“You’re keeping my cum all over you for the rest of the meeting.”
“...Boba.” You started as you both entered the throne room. Fennec had noticed you first, eyebrows widening when she saw your face. Kole hadn’t noticed yet, opting to keep his head down.
Boba’s hand dropped from your shoulder to your ass, caressing the plump skin as you approached the pair. His helmet tilted down so only you could hear his promise.
“Behave and I promise I’ll fill your other holes.”
Mando’a Translation
shabuir - jerk, but much stronger
#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x reader y/n#boba fett x you#boba fett x yn#boba fett x ofc#fennec shand#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#my writing
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Blessed Rain
Summary: A Hunter’s weapon of choice says a lot about them. OR: Kyle upgrades his weaponry and gets caught red-handed in the act. Luckily (?) for him, only Tsukino seems to know exactly why he's having an emotional crisis over this.
Word count: 3,260
Note(s): set post-game
Also available on AO3!
Kyle’s had his new bow for a good couple of weeks before the feel of the limbs and the weight of the draw became comfortable enough for him to consider upgrading it. If he’s going to be injured, he reasons, he’d rather it be purely by way of monster and not because he pulls a muscle wrestling with a bow that hasn’t been properly broken in. His wallet despairs as he forks over the zenny, but this’ll hopefully let him take on some of the bigger hunts like the ones that Reverto goes on. It’ll all be worth the investment up front once he has his completely finished bow and restocked his coatings and finally drops the last of his coin on a couple new talismans.
He refuses to think about the implications of his reasoning with a literal coin, rolling it around and around his fingers as he pushes through the market throngs towards the smithy’s. Perhaps he ought to have a change of scenery—the fog-shrouded summits of Terga were said to be particularly beautiful at this time of year, and the heat in Lamure was becoming just shy of unbearable.
The final product that the blacksmith puts into his hands when he finally makes it to collect is nothing short of gorgeous. Blessed Rain is sleek where his old Rex bow was bulky, far lighter and certainly not as clunky. The upgrades on the riser gives the entire weapon a pleasant solidness in his hand, yet the delicately reinforced plating on the limbs doesn’t retract at all from its flexibility. The decorative grip protector gleams. Just looking at it makes Kyle excited to shoot.
“Bring her back if you’re finding that you need anything adjusted,” the smith tells him after Kyle’s diligently inspected every inch of the bow. “Kept the poundage the same for you, but added another inch to the draw length like you asked.”
“Thanks,” Kyle says. Eventually, he’d like to work up to the point where he can up the poundage again. Even just another five pounds would be good. He can do most of the hunts in his skill range alone now, but extra firepower would make him just that much more efficient, or that much of a better support for team hunts.
The smith laughs when Kyle sheepishly admits this. “Well, I always like to help a Hunter improve, and you know where to find me,” he says cheerily, clapping Kyle enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Come by again anytime if you need a tune up or want to test out something new.”
And with that, he waves Kyle away so that another Hunter can step up, holding a tired-looking sword and shield and looking equally exhausted. “Aye, rookie Hunter?” Kyle hears as he wanders off to find a more relaxed corner of the market in which to admire his new bow some more. “If you’ve got the materials I can repair and upgrade that for you.” The conversation peters out and melts into the general din of the marketplace as Kyle slips into the crowd, taking care to step out of the way of a Felyne carrying an absolutely massive basket groaning with produce. He watches the precarious load totter away, trying and failing to locate Tsukino in the brief respite the parted crowd affords him. They’d split earlier that morning and he hasn’t seen her since.
He still hasn’t managed to find even a whisker of Tsukino’s whereabouts by the time he settles into a decently quiet nook next to a stall selling all manner of spices. Pity, because the dappled light spilling through the colorful drapes of the marketplace catches so beautifully on the milky-white sheen of the bow, and he’d been looking forward to showing it to her. As a Hunter, Kyle will always care more about weapon practicality than aesthetics, but as a normal human being he certainly won’t turn down the opportunity to have both an aesthetically pleasing and perfectly functional weapon. He’s still grinning a little when he goes to strap the bow to his back, and it’s in the process of looking up that his gaze catches onto wide eyes staring plainly at him from across the street.
He freezes, arm suspended awkwardly halfway to sheathing. His beautiful bow glints damningly in the bright Lamure sunlight as his unexpected friend wades through the throngs of people towards him, gesturing for him to stay put with a wave of her hand that really can’t be mistaken for anything other than a greeting.
“Hey,” he says cautiously and lamely when she finally reaches him. Belatedly, he remembers to lower his arm. He is momentarily thankful that she doesn’t try to reach up for his face in the Mahanan greeting, although his goodwill evaporates when she leans in to inspect his bow, body thrumming with unexplainable anticipation.
“Oh, that’s pretty,” she says finally. Kyle can’t help himself from preening just a little, shifting his grip so that she can get a better look. After all, what was the point of spending all that money and materials if there was no one to excitedly show the end product off to? Besides, it’s been a while since they last saw each other. Last he heard, she had been traveling, keen to finally see the world on her own terms and at her own pace.
“It’s fresh off an upgrade,” he answers smugly. “Easier to handle than the Rex.”
“Slightly less intimidating though,” she chimes in, and Kyle bristles, not liking where this conversation is going. And true to form, she goes in for the kill: “Mizutsune? I recognize the plating.”
Kyle can feel the flush crawling up to his ears. Logically, he knows that there’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about. It’s a mark of good smithing that one can tell at a glance which monster a weapon was inspired by, and a Mizutsune was both powerful and extremely iconic. This bow in particular had good stats and the ability to fire rapidly, which admittedly took him some time to get used to after focusing mostly on piercing shots. The paralysis coating that works so well on this bow has also already saved his skin on more than one occasion. There is little more a career Hunter can ask for out of his weapon. It’s not like he’d been heading out to Pomore Garden at any given opportunity and holding onto an increasing multitude of Mizutsune materials just because he wanted some physical reminder of what was probably the most pivotal moment of his life, something that never failed to put a very complicated and jumbled mess of emotions deep within his chest whenever he thought back to it.
He’s starting to feel very, very hot under his collar. The sun is terrible. He resolves that his next big hunt really needs to be somewhere outside of Lamure.
His friend, however, just looks more and more baffled as he launches into an unprompted defense of his newest purchase. Every time she opens her mouth, Kyle talks a little faster. Eventually, she doesn’t even bother trying to interject, which is arguably worse, because instead she just looks progressively more and more thoughtful. Kyle wished desperately for Tsukino to peel away from whatever hidey hole she was tucked in. Then, his train of thought screeches into a rude and abrupt halt.
“What,” he croaks. “What are you doing.”
One of her brows quirks up. “I sure hope your eyes are still working because that’d be a detriment to your job,” she says plainly. “What does it look like I’m doing? I promise it’s not a trick question.”
What she’s doing is holding Kyle’s hand—the one not clutching his new bow—the one that had apparently been waving about with increasing agitation as he jabbered on and on. What Kyle doesn’t understand is why. It’s not like he just did some impressive shot to give them the edge in a battle or anything else that was cool and hand-holding worthy. He’d just been yammering about bow mechanics, and maybe embarrassingly dipping into his talisman hopes and dreams. He stares a little helplessly at his trapped hand. Her kinship stone winks up at him.
“Look,” she says patiently, when it becomes very clear that Kyle is going to need a moment before he can get his brain back online. “There’s nothing wrong with a bow made from Mizutsune parts and I am the last person who will ever turn down pretty things. What I was going to say was that this is an interesting departure from your whole—” She pauses, as though looking for a specific word. “Well, your whole image as a very grown-up and serious and intimidating Hunter or whatever it was you were trying to convey with that scowl you used to like so much. And you weren’t letting me get a single word in.”
“You’re getting plenty of words in now,” Kyle scowls, just to be contrary. “And I’ve grown since then.”
“Someone’s in a mood today.” She smiles, crinkle-eyed, up at him. Kyle very seriously debates wrenching his hand out of her hold like he did the last time this happened and then pointedly doesn’t act on the impulse.
“Why’re you in Lulucion?” he asks instead with a truly remarkable level of self-restraint. “Thought you’d never want to come back again after what happened.”
She shrugs, the greatsword on her back heaving with the movement. “Guess I’ve grown too,” she says loftily, though she sobers quickly. “I was actually visiting my grandfather. He used to go back to Mahana around this time of year… he can’t do it anymore of course but I’ve got Ratha now, so I figured I could do it instead. And then I figured I’d stop by Rutoh before going home, to see Ena and Alwin and wheedle a few more stories out of them.”
She lets go of Kyle’s hand. He tries not to miss it. “Even Ratha can’t make the trip in one go, and Lulucion was closest, so we’re stopping to rest. I dropped by the Scrivener’s Lodge earlier because I was hoping Reverto could give me a few weapon pointers as I’ve saved up just about enough for an upgrade, but they told me that he was out on an urgent mission and wouldn’t be back for a while.”
“Oh,” Kyle says, a little stung that she hadn’t come specifically to see him first, out of all the Hunters in the city. He’s slightly mollified when she grins at him, though.
“And then I met Tsukino by the cannons. She said I could find you here, so here I am.”
“I don’t know anything about greatswords,” Kyle blurts out, and immediately wants to kick himself. She blinks at him, and then bursts into laughter.
“I was just going to ask the smith,” she wheezes when she’s got herself somewhat back under control. “Can’t I see a friend just to say hi to him anymore?” Kyle stares very intently down at some of the finer detailing on his bow.
“Where is my Palico anyway?” he finally settles on, falling into a tried and true grumble. “I haven’t seen her all day.”
She waves her hand vaguely in the air. “Navirou said something about getting donuts. I wasn’t really listening.”
But there was a donut stand right here in the marketplace, Kyle wanted to cry out. He should have seen Tsukino by now if they’d really been going to buy snacks! And how was it possible that he had missed Navirou in his entirety, between the Felyne’s penchant for wearing ridiculous little outfits and his inability to shut up?
“Why? You have a hunt you need to run off to?”
“Yes,” Kyle says hotly. It’s a lie. He’d accepted a subquest that wouldn’t depart until later that evening for the sole purpose of testing out his new weapon in a relatively stress-free environment. Before that, he’d just planned on hitting up the shooting range in the training arena to break in the new string. His schedule was very, very free. Tsukino was perfectly aware of that.
His eyes widened. Tsukino had been with him on every excursion into the Gardens. She went where he did (usually), and it’s not like Kyle would ever begrudge her a visit home. But she’d been with him every step of every single Mizutsune job he’d ever taken—had watched him craft traps when he needed to capture and had kept watch for opportunists hoping to sneak up as he’d carved. She’d been the one who’d recommended the spinner for all the excess purplefur he was ending up with. At first, he’d simply thought that she’d wanted the thread to mend some of her own items, or to send back home to her brethren, but instead she’d tucked each skein of vibrant, silk-soft thread into the bottom of his pouch with gentle paws, cryptically talking about how strong a material it was, and how nice it looked when woven. Kyle has never touched a loom in his life, but now he’s looking at someone who he definitely knows has.
His stomach drops. Hadn’t Tsukino looked particularly smug ever since he’d lingered on the blueprints for Blessed Rain after getting a look at its stats and required materials?
“She got me,” he groans. His friend just looks at him bemusedly, though perhaps with a touch of wariness at his ferocious frown. Hastily, he tacks on: “It’s nothing. I, uh—I just remembered that I needed to tell Tsukino something. Important. Later, when I find her again.”
“Alright,” she says, though she doesn’t quite look like she believes him. “A quest’s a quest, though, so I won’t keep you here. The bow really is pretty though. I know I just said it doesn’t match your image and all but I really don’t think you can go wrong with something you like. You’ve got the skills for it, anyway.”
“Thanks,” he croaks, feeling a little overwhelmed. He manages two whole steps out of the nook before he pauses, worrying at his lower lip. “Actually,” he says sharply, spinning around on his heel and nearly causing his friend to startle right into a spice display. “How long are you staying for?”
“However long it’ll take to upgrade my sword, I guess,” she says after she collects herself, the words lilting into a question. “Three days or so, I guess?” She skirts nervously away from the glaring vendor, careful not to overbalance on her greatsword.
“Cool,” Kyle says with a nod, steeling himself. “Great, even. Look, how about this. Your last visit to Lulucion was terrible—” an understatement, “—so when I get back from my hunt I’ll show you some of the better sights Lulucion has to offer. There’s a hole in the wall that I think you’ll like. Dad used to take me after hunts—they grill really nice queen shrimp. And the parapets—you can climb them, and they’ve got all these little carvings in the stone that you can search for like a scavenger hunt.” He’s keenly aware that he’s rambling again, but she looks interested, so he barrels on. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow just as soon as I can get a nap in. We can stay in the city or take Ratha out to the Barrens, down by the water. Just make a day of it.” He’s pretty certain that he looks at her with something akin to hope as she considers. It feels like a lifetime before she finally comes to a decision.
“I want to take Ratha out in the evening,” she says finally. “I don’t want him to be cooped up too long here ever again.”
“Yeah,” Kyle breathes out, the word rushing out of him in a flood of relief. “Yeah, I can work around that.” She beams at him.
“I’ll look forward to it,” she says, sincere and looking more than a little surprised despite herself at the prospect of looking forward to doing anything in Lulucion. “I’m staying at the inn closest to the stables. Pretty sure I’m the only Rider there currently so they’ll know who I am.” Kyle nods, and lets himself get his hand squeezed again, though not without her hands first hovering in an instinctual bid for his cheeks before she remembers herself.
“Good luck on your hunt. If I see Tsukino I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”
“She’ll show up in due time,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll let you know if Reverto gets back early or if he’s just been loafing around this entire time. For your next upgrade or whatever.” She laughs, bright, and then slips off into the crowd to wrestle her way into the smithy’s queue. Kyle is left staring in her wake before his gaze is drawn back down to his bow.
“This is all your fault,” he tells it. Predictably, it doesn’t answer. Also predictably, Tsukino takes that exact moment to drop down from seemingly nowhere.
“I didn’t know we had another job lined up,” the Felyne says delicately, carefully brushing crumbs off of her coat. Kyle groans, sheathing his weapon.
“Don’t tease me,” he huffs. “I’m going to the shooting range. Are you coming?”
“Hmm,” says Tsukino. “I suppose I can spare the time.”
“Of course you can spare the time!” Kyle hisses, indignant. “You just spent the day eating donuts and eavesdropping!” He pointedly doesn’t look towards the smithy, where his friend was patiently browsing the display while another Hunter was getting their hammer looked at.
“One must always be prepared with the latest intel,” Tsukino says mildly. “I’m glad the upgrade went well.”
“It’s got good stats,” Kyle protests weakly in what is quickly becoming a tired argument. “The rapid shots have been going very well. And I had a surplus of Mizutsune parts.”
“Yes,” his hunting partner agrees readily enough. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do with the thread?”
“This conversation is finished,” Kyle says abruptly, making a very determined push towards the market’s exit. “Either come or don’t, so long as we meet at the gate for tonight’s hunt.”
Tsukino looks at him with exasperated fondness, which is frankly a little insulting, but readily falls into step next to him. Kyle wonders how many rounds he’s going to have to shoot in order to clear his head again and rid it of thoughts of Hazepetal Garden or Mizutsune or high-grade thread that he’ll never use himself. He’ll examine them again someday—because he’s not a coward—but that day is most certainly not today.
He does his rounds in the training arena and marvels at the way the string slides off his fingers with a satisfying twang, even though it’ll still be a good few days before it’s fully broken in to his liking. Tsukino’s saved him a donut, the cakey sweet sticky with honey and practically melting in his mouth. He’s got some free time even after stocking up for the evening hunt, so he takes a few minutes to browse the quest board, taking careful note of the jobs that were situated near the Harzgai Rocky Hill, or the ones from further afield in Alcala that’ll take him closer to Rutoh. And when he leaves the city, he pointedly doesn’t look up at the familiar shape circling in the dusky sky, even as he knows that they’ll surely see the last rays of the setting sun winking off of the plates of his bow like a beacon.
#was anyone going to tell me that HR Kyle gets a MIZU BOW#You were just going to withhold this vital piece of information from me?#anyway here's 3k words about the significance of Mizutsune to one (1) boy that I love#I wrote this specifically with my idiot in mind#but asides from the gender and a few other lines I guess you can generalize to any other Rider#monster hunter kyle#monster hunter stories 2#Annie writes
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What’s Their Name Again? (Miya Atsumu x GenderNeutral!Reader)
Summary: In which Miya Atsumu quickly becomes infatuated with you and hits someone in the face with a volleyball because of it.
Word Count: 4,877
Warnings/Genre: fluff, the slightest bit of angst, cute stuff :) no warnings except maybe swearing and osamu and atsumu being argumentative twins lol
Notes: I posted this on ao3 yesterday and now it's here! I could not get this idea out of my head and just had to write it! Please let me know if you like it! I love to hear your feedback! <3
(masterlist)
The first time Miya Atsumu saw you was in his first year of high school. He had been walking onto the court to play a game at the Spring Interhigh Nationals when his wandering eyes fell on your own. He couldn’t even remember the other team’s name he was about to face. However, he could remember the deep blue and gold tracksuit you were wearing a couple of courts over. He practically stopped in his tracks as he watched you talk to a manager from another team.
Your eyes shined brightly and the smile that graced your lips had him reeling. Needless to say, he was rather speechless with your angelic appearance. The stadium was too loud to hear the laughter that came out of your mouth, but he was sure it was perfect. His eyes scoured over your body, looking you up and down.
Wow, he thought, tempted to watch you for as long as he could, before something bumped into him.
His eyes were dragged away mercilessly from your figure and to his brother’s.
Miya Atsumu groaned loudly as he looked at his gray-haired twin. His frustration boiled over easily as if in too small of a pot and it resulted in him chasing after Osamu until Kita gave him a look that told him to behave. Oh, yeah, we are at nationals…
“Tch,” He mumbled before looking back at you. Or at least, where you had been standing.
You were gone.
And he was too entranced by your looks to see what school you went to. Atsumu looked back to his team and held in a groan as he forced himself to focus on the game that was soon to start.
~~
The next time Miya Atsumu was graced with your appearance was during the Winter Interhigh for his second year of high school. His team had once again made it to nationals, and it seemed yours had too.
In fact, you were currently standing opposite him on court B, while he stretched out his limbs.
You seemed much more confident in yourself than last year. The small, nervous blush that was permanent on your cheeks last year was gone. Your hair was shorter than before, no longer hiding over half your face, and it made you look way too good.
He stared at you as your team ran around the small court.
Tanuki High, he read off the jerseys.
Although he wasn’t happy to be facing off against your team on the first round of nationals, he tried to look at the bright side. He could impress you.
He found himself frequently looking at you as he warmed up, hoping you were looking at him. However, his now blond hair didn’t even help him stand out in a crowd. Rather than looking at the gorgeous setter that he was, you were looking at a player from your own team.
The boy had short black hair and green eyes. He had a smirk practically plastered onto his face and it made Atsumu want to hit him. Not a punch that could make his precious hands and knuckles bleed, but maybe a swift kick or elbow of the stomach.
He could not figure out why you were looking at that other guy so much. From what he could tell, the green-eyed bastard was also a setter and much worse compared to his own skill.
Atsumu groaned as he watched you look at that idiot with such a kind smile. He hated how beautiful he thought you looked and how much he craved for you to look at him that way.
And I don’t even know your name, he thought.
Once again, Atsumu was torn away from you by his brother.
“You like ‘em?” He asked, nudging Atsumu and looking at you.
Atsumu didn’t reply and simply walked away.
“Ah, so you do?” Osamu pestered, becoming that much more incessant.
“Shut it,” The blond twin spat back, “I need to practice my sets, toss them to me.”
Osamu didn’t bother to say anything else and simply followed along.
~~
It was about halfway through the game when Atsumu’s blood began to boil.
Tanuki High was not a bad school. They had a great defense and an ace who practically shut them out. However, Atsumu was able to keep calm and levelheaded until he saw you looking at that black-haired setter.
For most of the game, you had been dutifully noting down every point, block, and whatnot. It helped that you weren’t staring and giggling at the setter like before. Except, as everyone shifted positions and Atsumu moved to serve, he watched the opposite setter move to be standing closest to you.
Back left, Atsumu thought.
He watched attentively as the green-eyed boy looked at your sweetly and waved.
You waved back shyly.
Atsumu saw the other setter mouth something he couldn’t hear and your face went red immediately before you giggled.
The blond groaned as he took his steps back. When he looked up, you were still smiling like an idiot at the other setter. The referee whistled, signaling that it was okay for Atsumu to serve. He didn’t even bother silencing the cheer team, subconsciously knowing it would draw attention to him. He ran forward, jumping just in time, and smacked the volleyball as hard as he could.
It took less than a second for the ball to connect directly with the black-haired bastard’s face.
The referee once again blew his whistle and multiple people rushed over to check if he was okay.
Smirking, Atsumu walked up to his brother who was standing at the front as said, “Serves him right for not paying attention.” He knew he was an ass, he knew it was a little much to purposefully do a jump serve right into someone’s face, but it was a split-second decision.
Osamu chuckled and Atsumu felt a sense of pride rush through his veins until he saw your eyes snap up at him.
Like any manager would, you had rushed over to check on the player. His nose was bleeding and tears threatened to fall from his eyes.
When you heard that comment from the blond you had just served, you looked up in disgust at him. Your eyes held a fury that was rarely seen and Atsumu stepped back tentatively.
“You monster. How dare you,” You spat at Atsumu with venom dripping from your voice.
Atsumu could barely pay attention as he watched you usher the setter out of the gym and most likely to the infirmary.
Well, that backfired, he thought, now missing your kind presence that previously filled the gym.
The game ended quickly after that, Tanuki High being low in spirits. Although Atsumu wasn’t that much better either.
His heart felt like it ripped apart as you came back just in time to see your team lose. You were not accompanied by the setter and sadly shook your head as he watched the coach ask you a question.
Was my serve really that strong? He questioned as you sat down.
Atsumu simply followed the motions as he perfectly set the ball to Aran and watched closely for any possible blocks. It didn’t matter though.
He heard the smack of Aran’s powerful serve hitting the floor before he registered much and the ref's whistle blow.
End game.
He watched you calmly put your clipboard down before looking up to meet his eyes.
There was still so much anger in your eyes, but you hardly looked at him, barely spared him a glance, before going up to the players and hugging each and every one of them.
Atsumu stared at you with a foreign feeling. It felt different than the jealousy that ran through his veins when he saw you talking with that black-haired idiot from before. This feeling made him feel empty, but at the same time made him crave to fill that hole with your smile.
Oh, that gorgeous smile. You had lips that he would beg for a chance to kiss. The perfect shade of pink that matched perfectly against your skin tone to the slight laughter lines. Your smile was not joyful currently, it was more so filled with a pity directed at the volleyball players, a sorry attempt to cheer up the players.
He knew he should, but the second-year was way too nervous to actually go up and apologize to you. However, after a small cheer he shared with his team, Kita and Aran did force him to go and bow and apologize to the entire team.
“I’m very sorry for hitting your teammate. Please give him my sincere apology and know it was never my intention to hit anyone,” He partially lied, while bowing down to a 90-degree angle. He flashed a remorseful smile directed at you in hopes for pity.
You had none.
~~
Atsumu did not see you during the Spring Interhigh National games. He didn’t know if it was because your team did not make nationals or if you just didn’t cross paths. Regardless, he didn’t want you to see him lose in only the second round and was grateful for the absence.
~~
Atsumu finally saw you again at the Winter Interhigh National games.
Your tracksuit somehow fit even better than in years passed and Atsumu almost immediately walked up to you because of how profoundly gorgeous you looked.
However, what stopped him was the black-haired idiot. Or more so the lack of him.
He must have been a third-year, Atsumu thought as he watched you talk to the players. He was quite sure you were giving them an endearing and powerful speech. The passion and fire in your eyes outshined everything else. He absolutely adored how passionately you looked. If he looked closely, he would have noticed that you were also teary-eyed.
Atsumu continued to watch over you as he debated what to do. He was more confident than he was before, confident enough to walk up to you and ask for your number.
But what if you aren’t single? He thought, knowing full well that the alumni setter had flirted so freely with you and most likely asked you out.
“Stop being such a wuss.”
Atsumu looked away from you and to his brother.
“You have been looking at ‘em since our first year,” Osamu reasoned.
“No, I have not!” Atsumu countered, ready to hit his brother in the head.
Osamu barely ducked away in time from the attack before laughing, “Yeah, and you totally didn’t hit that guy in the face with a volleyball last year because he was flirting.”
Atsumu groaned, knowing that he was right. “Shut up, ‘Samu.”
“Whatever,” Osamu replied. “Just don’t come crying to me when you finally work up the courage and can no longer find ‘em.” His brother shrugged and walked away to go and talk to Suna.
Atsumu immediately turned his head around, worried you would be gone like before. He would theoretically only have one more chance to see you, that was if your team even made it to nationals. Atsumu groaned, knowing Osamu was right.
You were currently kneeling on the ground by the back wall and packing up some things in a bag, getting ready for your team’s game to begin. With most of your team busy warming up on the court, it gave Atsumu his best chance to talk to you privately. Most of his team was also leaving the court so none of those idiots would interrupt him either.
Before he could even think about what to say, his legs began approaching you. He inched close and closer but stopped when he was about five feet away and simply watched you.
Shit, what the fuck am I supposed to say?
“Can I help you?” You asked, looking up at him, worrying that he was going to be one of the many volleyball players from a different school that simply asked you out because they didn’t have their own team manager. You had a suspicious look on your face that heavily juxtaposed the sweet smile you gave all the players in Tanuki High.
“Oh, uh,” Atsumu stumbled over his words, not realizing you would notice him. He tentatively stepped closer, suddenly much more anxious than he was a few moments ago. However, he also found your confidence and bratty attitude so goddamn attractive. “I’m uh—"
“Oh!” You stood up from the kneeling position you had been in and pointed at the blond. “You’re Miya Atsumu, right?” Your eyes scanned his features and he wondered if you knew him from his noticeable, sunken eyes and bleached hair.
Atsumu immediately felt his face heat up, something he had yet to experience in his academic career. Despite being sought after by many people from his own high school, those people only liked him for his talent.
He never cared much for people who couldn’t befriend him for his personality but were happy to ogle him while he played. Nevertheless, he also still found himself enjoying their praises while he played.
Any of the people he tried to date in the past, a whopping three people, ended up breaking up with him because of his personality. The explanations ranged from him being too loud to being too obsessed with volleyball.
Either way, he was much more cautious than before, and yet you still grabbed his attention and made him want to learn more about you.
Atsumu would have looked away from you and toward the ground, except your eyes were sparkling too brightly for him to possibly miss a second. Fuck, he thought as he tried to figure out what to say.
“Y-you know me?” He finally asked. He pointed to himself in shock, eyes wide and unsure of himself.
“How could I forget the number #1 setter who hit Tadashi Kou in the face with a volleyball?” You ecstatically spoke, leaning back casually onto the wall and smiling with a confidence that made Atsumu’s heart rate increase.
Atsumu figured you were talking about the setter from last year, especially because he did not make it a habit to hit people with volleyballs. However, your voice, although not dripping with honey, did not have any anger in it as it did previously. He thought that if you remembered him for that, then you would be more upset with him. Your blatant compliment told him differently.
Regardless, Atsumu found himself sheepishly rubbing the back of his head and apologizing. “Yeah, sorry again about that,” He mumbled, looking down to the floor.
“Don’t apologize,” You waved him off, sheepishly scratching at the side of your face for making him feel bad.
“Oh! Um, but why?” He asked, silently thankful. The conversation wasn’t flowing perfectly, it was filled with awkward pauses and exclamations, but that was better than nothing. In fact, Atsumu wondered if your awkwardness was because you liked him, the same way his awkwardness was because he found your more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen. He reminded himself not to jump to conclusions, a normal person would not fall that fast and he was only beginning to understand his own feelings.
“Tadashi Kou is an asshole,” You swore. “That bastard totally deserved it.” Your voice echoed itself from that day last year. Except, almost angrier. It dripped with a fury Atsumu was unfamiliar with and he was glad he didn’t hear you speak this exact way to him last year.
“Oh,” Atsumu awkwardly replied, not quite sure what to say. What did he do to you? He wanted to ask but feared stepping over a boundary.
“I suppose you are wondering why,” You mumbled more so to yourself.
They know me so well, Atsumu thought, well aware that anyone would think that. However, he decided to let himself dream a little bit more, relish the good feelings he got from talking to you.
Even just your voice was gorgeous. From the way it dripped with honey as you talked to your teammates to the excitedness behind it when you guessed who he was. Even the sassiness and anger that your voice held at certain times made him shiver in new ways.
He realized how much he liked a confident person. No person who had shown interest in him before was the confident or teasing type. They were all confident enough to confess to him, but not confident enough to stop him if he was doing something dumb. Which was rather frequent, unfortunately. But your confidence made him hopeful that you would be willing to joke around with him and stop him when he was going too far. He found himself grinning wildly at just how quickly he was falling for you.
When you looked up at him, he realized his mistake. His eyes were glued to you, but he was thinking of something completely different and you definitely noticed.
Shit, I must look like an idiot. How long have I been not saying anything?
The smile on his face was wiped away because of his nerves and he was sure his face was red. “Uhh, yeah, but I don’t want to make you,” He mumbled back, wanting to forget about this awkward instance. However, your sparkling eyes looking directly at him with such curiosity made it almost worth it.
“Well, the whole world should know he’s an ass,” You replied, shrugging your shoulders, and moving so gracefully that no one would realize the swear that came out of your mouth. “He cheated on me if you must know.” Your voice was flat and blatant.
“Oh, shit,” Atsumu replied without thinking.
“Yeah,” You shot back.
Atsumu wanted to say something, anything, to cover up the silence that quickly took over your conversation. He moved closer to you, now only being a couple of feet away. “Well, I knew he was an ass from the beginning, so…” He trailed off, not sure what his point was.
You, however, still sputtered out a laugh that made his heart skip a beat. Once your chuckles died down, you looked up at the blond with a glint in your eyes that anyone would realize was flirtatious. “Oh really? And what made you hit him in the first place? I assumed it was an accident.”
Atsumu scoffed, replying quickly with, “What makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”
You scoffed back, equally as quick-witted, “Because I’ve seen you play. Coach made me watch hours’ worth of videos when we were going to play you last year, so I know you pride yourself on your serves. You wouldn’t try to hit someone unless provoked, especially because it would make it seem like you didn’t have almost perfect control over your serves. So, I just assumed it was a freak accident.”
Atsumu smirked, “You watch me that much, huh?” On this inside, he was screaming. He was going absolutely feral. You were way too much, and he was about ready to ask for your hand in marriage.
You simply shrugged once more. However, Atsumu, who was watching you intently saw you smirk at him. “So, was it an accident?”
Atsumu smiled and shook his head.
Your smile somehow widened. “And are you gonna tell me what provoked you to hit him?” You wanted to know so bad. What could possibly make Miya Atsumu forgo professionality?
Atsumu, who was busy staring at you, slightly shook his head to bring him back to focus. “You really want to know?” He asked, moving even closer to you, and forcing you to look up at him to meet his eyes. The angle was rather perfect, it gave him an ideal view of your face and he was so tempted to lean in and kiss you.
Either he was an idiot, or you were flirting with him. And he was really hoping you were flirting with him.
Atsumu smirked boldly and you visibly swallowed and tried your best not to breathe completely in his face.
“I do,” You breathed out, barely trusting your voice.
Atsumu hummed low in his throat, an action he knew worked well in getting a rise out of people. “Well,” He leaned back slightly, giving him some more room to talk. “You’re right that I pride myself on my serves. However, I’m not so prideful that I wouldn’t intentionally hit an idiot in the face. In fact, I have a lot of practice aiming my serves directly at my brother's head.”
He paused and smiled joyfully as you shot your hand up to your mouth and laughed. However, your laughter died abruptly stopped as the blond setter once again leaned forward. This time, he put his left arm against the wall behind you, effectively trapping you in closer than ever to him. Atsumu felt lucky that there were a lot of people in the stadium, making it easy for him to hide. Just imagining his team mocking him for this moment almost made him regret it.
He looked into your eyes, so innocent and simply looking directly at him. What he would give to hear your thoughts right now…
“You never told me what made you hit him,” You finally spoke, your throat dry, but still determined to know why.
“If you must know,” Atsumu spoke, looking directly at you and tentatively licking his lips. Your eyes shined with intrigue and your lips were slightly parted. As a last-second decision, Atsumu leaned forward again, brushing his lips against your right ear. He gently breathed out, noting how you shivered easily against his actions. “I couldn’t help myself when I saw how he was flirting with you.”
He was lightheaded.
It was very unlike him to act like this.
Sure, he thought about how to flirt with people, but actually doing it was different. In fact, the last person he dated laughed in his face when he tried to flirt.
He was sure you were about to do the same.
Except, you didn’t shake with laughter. You gasped and turned your head just slightly to meet Atsumu’s eyes as he moved away from your ear. He could feel the heat radiating off your face and see the light blush on your cheeks.
Atsumu smirked, hiding his own nerves. He was so ecstatic with your reaction, but at the same time anxious to see how you would reply.
“Fuck,” He heard you swear. It was so quiet as if coming out as a meek breath. He wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close to you still.
Being so close to you felt suffocating at this point. The air was hot and the temptation to lean down and kiss you was way too high. He wanted to take this slow, at least for now. Atsumu slowly pulled back, just enough so the air he was breathing was no longer yours as well.
Quickly, you looked down at your feet and fumbled with your hands.
“Don’t look away,” Atsumu sadly whined. He wanted to see your face and your reaction.
“But you made me nervous,” You whined back, causing Atsumu to smile wildly.
“So cute,” He simply spoke before moving his hand to gently cup your chin. He tilted your head up and smiled kindly at you. He could tell you were just as nervous as him and hoped his actions didn’t intimidate you.
You looked into his eyes expectantly. You weren’t sure what he would want from you. Unlike people from his school, you didn’t know much about him. You knew he was popular though. At least, a popular athlete. You clearly remembered the multiple women who cheered for him and held up signs for him during games.
You wondered if he was only flirting with you for fun. Or maybe he was hoping you would entertain him for the night. However, the idea of him literally hitting someone in the head with a volleyball simply because they were flirting with you made you think it might be something more.
However, the long, pregnant pause that had you both reeling in nerves and teenage feelings was stopped when your name was called.
You looked over, Atsumu’s head also turning when yours did.
Your face met the face of one of the first years. A sweet boy with pale, blond hair. He still had a little baby fat on his face, but he was quickly becoming an excellent player despite his innocence and cheerfulness.
Those factors made this moment all the more awkward.
Atsumu’s left arm tucking you into the wall and his right hand holding your chin. He towered over you in a way that made this look even worse.
You gulped down the lump in your throat. “Yes, Watanabe-kun?”
“The game is starting soon, and Coach wanted to talk to you,” He mumbled, his eyes only looking into yours, too nervous to look anywhere else.
“I’ll be there soon, okay?” You replied. Atsumu hadn’t moved in the slightest. He simply only watched Watanabe like he was a potential threat.
The first year nodded and jogged away.
You turned back to look at Atsumu how met your eyes. “So,” You mumbled.
“So,” Atsumu repeated as your voice died down into nothing.
“I have to go,” You finally added.
“You have to go.”
It was clear that you were both reluctant to separate. Atsumu didn’t want to move because he worried that you would leave and he would not see you again.
“Can I have your number?” You finally asked, surprising Atsumu.
“Um,” He finally pulled back and looked down. He tapped at his shorts, realizing he was still in his jersey. No pockets, no phone. “Do you have your phone on you?”
“Yeah,” You replied, and moved down to the bag you had been previously packing up. You unzipped the small, front pocket which helps your phone, and a small first-aid kit.
You quickly unlocked it and opened up to add a contact. You handed your phone to Atsumu and watched as he put in his number. You expected him to simply hand your phone back to you, but he suddenly moved to phone up high. He looked into the lens, smiled, and held up a peace sign before taking a photo of himself.
When he handed you back the phone, you saw he not only added a photo but also entered in his name. TsumTsum <3
“TsumTsum?” You questioned, looking up into the blond with an inquiring look.
Atsumu sighed and flopped around rather humorously. He acted like he couldn’t control his arms and whined out, “I thought it was cute!”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t!” You shot back, laughing at his actions.
Atsumu whined again, “Then why did you look at me like that?”
You simply shrugged, a beautiful smile on your face as you looked down at your phone and typed something out. Once done, you showed him your fine.
‘Hi TsumTsum <3’
Atsumu smiled proudly at the text.
“There, now you should have my number too,” You explained before tucking your phone away into your back. “Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smiled at Atsumu and gave him a quick wink before turning away and walking over to your team.
Atsumu smiled happily, so glad he was finally able to talk to you. In a haze, he finally left the gym and walked down the hall to where his team was supposed to meet up. Most of them were sitting around the small area, either on their phones or trying to sleep.
Atsumu had already given them a short speech about how they played today so they had most of the day free until after dinner when they would watch the recording of them playing and go over it with their coach.
Atsumu plopped himself down onto the ground next to his bad and Osamu. He immediately chugged his water and grabbed his phone out of his bag.
He giddily unlocked his phone to look at the text you sent him. His noise made his brother look over his shoulder and to his brother’s phone.
“Oh, did you get their number?” Osamu asked, turning around to see Atsumu’s phone more clearly.
Atsumu immediately moved to hide his phone. “Yes,” He abruptly replied before looking back to his phone and moving to add you to his contacts. However, as Atsumu’s fingers hovered over his keyboard, he realized something. “I didn’t get their name,” He spoke, looking up to Osamu as if he would have a solution.
The gray-haired twin immediately began laughing at his brother.
“Shut up, ‘Samu!” Atsumu exclaimed, moving to kick his brother.
Osamu hardly dodged his brother’s attack, unable to move swiftly from laughing so hard. “You’re such an idiot, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu said in between his laughs as he moved over to get to Suna.
Atsumu groaned loudly and turned to be by himself. He looked down at his phone, debating what to put as your contact.
Would it be too weird to put a pet name, he wondered.
Finally, after debating for some time, he decided to simply put your contact names as ‘Baby’.
Maybe I’ll change it once I know their name, he reasoned before turning back to his team and interjecting himself into Suna and Osamu’s conversation.
He never did change it though.
#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#miya#miya x reader#miya atsumu x reader#miya atsumu#miya atsumu fanfiction#haikyuu fanfic#haikyuu x reader#atsumu x reader#atsumu#atsumu fanfiction#miya osamu#suna rintarou#kita shinsuke
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