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tgcg · 5 months

Text

candid detail. my biggest project so far

hey happy new year

CG: DAVE?

TG: yeah?

CG: SOMETHING’S KIND OF FUCKING ME UP RIGHT NOW AND I NEED TO TELL YOU SPECIFICALLY ABOUT IT IN CANDID DETAIL.

TG: oh shit

===

TG: yeah whats up

TG: not too often i get to be the sole audience to karkats grievances

CG: PFF, BULLSHIT. YOU'RE PRIVY TO WAY MORE ABOUT MY GRIEVANCES THAN BASICALLY ANY OF MY SURVIVING AND PRESENT FRIENDS, BY A SIGNIFICANT MARGIN, AND YOU KNOW IT.

TG: yeah and im boutta add another im like broses up on that hill bundled up in a long ass list of things that make the homies upset

TG: lay it on me

===

CG: OKAY. SO.

…

CG: I’M KIND OF THINKING ABOUT JUST. US AND OUR BRO-DOM.

===

TG: oh

CG: LET ME FINISH.

CG: ALL THIS TIME I’VE BEEN FUCKING FORCED TO SPEND IN THE DREAM BUBBLES MADE ME REALISE SOMETHING, AND THAT’S THAT…

===

CG: THIS IS KIND OF RARE, RIGHT?

TG: what

TG: us

CG: YEAH! LIKE… THERE’S SO MANY THANKFULLY DEAD KARKATS I’VE HAD THE INSURMOUNTABLE GODDAMN DISPLEASURE OF FAILING TO AVOID THAT DON’T LIKE YOU, BARELY MET YOU, OR EVEN JUST DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU.

===

CG: IT’S THE RARE AMBIVALENCE THAT REALLY GETS TO ME. I ABSOLUTELY UNDERSTAND A TIMELINE’S KARKAT FIRMLY DECIDING THAT THEY HATE YOUR ASS. NON-ROMANTICALLY I MEAN. THAT HAS BEEN ME, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. BUT THERE WAS NEVER, EVER!!! A POINT WHERE I JUST FELT NOTHING ABOUT YOU AT ALL.

CG: EVEN WHEN I INITIALLY HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF SEEING YOUR DOUCHEBAG SPECTACLES YOU GOT FROM YOUR BRO ON THE SCREEN, I AT LEAST HAD A STARTER DISH OF SKEWERED CONTEMPT TO WHET MY APPETITE. IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO IMAGINE NOT FEELING ONE WAY OR ANOTHER ABOUT YOU.

===

CG: ONE TIME I MENTIONED YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF A THREE-WAY ARGUMENT AND ONE OF THE OTHER KARKATS SAID "WHO?"

CG: "WHO?"!!!!

TG: now thats fucked up

CG: IT IS! AND THAT'S WHAT MADE ME FIRST REALISE THAT NOT EVERY KARKAT IS GETTING TO HANG OUT WITH EVERY DAVE, AND VICE VERSA. AND THIS IS GOING TO SOUND LAME AS SHIT IN A WAY THAT I’LL NEVER EVER LIVE DOWN, BUT. I FEEL BAD FOR THEM ABOUT IT! YOU KNOW?

===

TG: well you always feel bad about around and towards other yous so thats

TG: wait

TG: is or is not the nature of this moment of self-pity fuelled by malice anger disgust or any similar terms slash phrases

CG: I MEAN, FOR ONCE? DON’T GET ME WRONG, THE MALICE ANGER DISGUST ET CETERA IS STILL THOROUGHLY PERMEATING THE WHOLE ORDEAL. THE DAY I LOSE CONTEMPT FOR MY ALTERNATE SELVES IS THE DAY I GET TAKEN OUT BACK AND PUT DOWN LIKE THE LAME HOOFBEAST I’VE ALWAYS DREAMT OF BEING. BUT…

CG: I ACTUALLY JUST FEEL SAD FOR THEM, STRAIGHT UP. INDEPENDENT FROM TERMS PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED.

===

TG: damn

CG: AND THAT FEELS INCREDIBLY WEIRD TOO. I CAN’T EVEN ARGUE WITH THEM ABOUT IT, IT JUST MAKES ME FEEL THIS SHITTY, SHOCKINGLY QUIET… GRIEF? ALMOST? FOR THEM. GENERAL NON-TROLLIAN FEELINGS. AND EXCEPTIONALLY NON-STANDARD IN A KARKAT-TO-KARKAT CONVERSATION, AS YOU MIGHT HAVE GUESSED.

CG: BUT I KNOW IF I TOLD ANY OTHER EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED REFLECTION OF MY OWN FECULENT INNER FILTH TO TALK TO YOU, OR EVEN JUST LOOK AT YOU ONE TIME, THEY’D ONLY SEE IT AS ANOTHER PERSONAL AFFRONT. LIKE I JUST TOLD THEM "HEY, SHIT ALL OVER YOUR FROND AND SNIFF IT, IT’LL BE AMAZING JUST TRUST ME, ABSOLUTELY ZERO REASON NOT TO."

===

TG: you come up with the most potent mental images man youre the wordmeister of viscerally gross as hell vocab

CG: THANK YOU.

===

CG: AND LIKE… SHIT, I DEFINITELY WOULD’VE FELT THAT WAY BEFORE I GOT TO KNOW YOU! I UNDERSTAND THE INNER MACHINATIONS OF THOSE IMBECILIC NOOKSTAINS BETTER THAN ANYONE EVER COULD, DESPITE MY BEST EFFORTS.

CG: KARKATS UNIVERSALLY DECIDING THAT THEY JUST CANNOT LIKE YOU ON PRINCIPLE IS A CRISIS OF SHIT HAPPENSTANCES. THE HAPPENINGS ARE ALL OUT OF WACK, COSMICALLY.

CG: LIKE EVERY ME WRITHED OUR WAY OUT OF THE BROODING CAVERNS AND THE FIRST CONSTELLATION WE SAW PEELING THROUGH THE EXOSPHERE, TWINKLING IN THE REFLECTION OF OUR HUGE RED GANDERBULBS, WAS A PAIR OF SHADES GETTING COVERED IN GASOLINE, FOLLOWED BY A CONSTELLATION OF A LIT MATCH.

CG: A SIMPLE EQUATION WITH A VERY SIMPLE SOLUTION.

CG: A SYSTEMIC EPIDEMIC, IF YOU’LL PARDON MY BULLSHIT.

===

TG: it is a goddamn catastrophe sweeping the karkat population

TG: presidents on the headlines trying to get karkats everywhere to stop quarantining their asses and have a real heart to heart among themselves about the issue but they keep isolating anyways

CG: I STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL A PRESIDENT IS. YOU’VE FAILED TO DESCRIBE IT AS ANYTHING MORE THAN A POORLY-SELECTED "DUDE CONDESCE" WHO DOES NOTHING PRODUCTIVE AND THEN EITHER DIES OR RUINS EVERYTHING, OR SOME CHAOTIC COMBINATION OF THE TWO.

TG: well that is exactly what it is but wait good point

===

TG: tragedy strikes as the karkat population reveals it doesnt generally know what a president even is so it means jack shit to them that this dude is trying to get their attention

TG: and mr president he is getting voted the fuck out of office over this blunder just an embarrassing display

TG: the public trust has plummeted off the fucking chart and cratered the damn ground like a meteor

TG: or he could be the tenth to die in office yknow there was a pretty big stretch of no in-office deaths til 2009 so maybe some catchup would be good for everyone

CG: ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU WANT TO MAKE ANOTHER PRESIDENT, AND THEN KILL HIM?

TG: not me personally i just wanna be there and see it also is that dream bubble fucking huge or what

TG: must be the size of

===

TG: jupiter

===

TG: look all im saying is the end of the world coincided pretty notably with a dry spell in the presidential kill:death ratio

TG: i was tragically too busy not dying to see obama die live on television when an errant meteor hit the white house that was my one chance

CG: PFFFT.

TG: i want to keep a comically aloof finger on the pulse of the shit but i do not want to be among the shit

TG: but anyways guess its my turn on the pedestal

CG: BE MY FUCKING GUEST.

===

TG: yknow uh im not gonna lie if present me went back to me age thirteen sippin my dubious aj in my pre-apocalyptic layer of hell that was texas and told me

TG: hey that gray text dude is probably gonna be your best friend if you give him a shot yall could be sweet bros in real life itll be awesome

TG: i mean disregarding the fact i already doomed that guy because i dont remember that happening to me

TG: id probably be casting some wicked aspersions on that shit

===

TG: our whole friendship feels like a plot twist to my damn life story

CG: I HEAR YOU.

TG: its like our narratives bumped into each other hard on the street and decided yknow what yeah this pavement is pretty cosy lets talk about your dad

TG: but

===

TG: dont get your think pans too wrapped up in that different timeline stuff

CG: IT’S THINK PAN. SINGULAR. NOBODY HAS MORE THAN ONE THINK PAN, EVER. IT IS A SINGULAR ORGAN. IF YOU WOULD LET ME READ A TROLL BIOLOGY BOOK TO YOU ONE TIME WE’D STOP BUMPING INTO THIS ISSUE.

TG: gotcha and no

CG: OBVIOUSLY.

TG: but anyways dude look

===

TG: i am literally a time dude and i can tell you right now with all the sage wisdome of my knightitudes

TG: not a good way of looking at it

TG: ive met daves that didnt like you either it doesnt affect jack or shit because those daves arent me

TG: like they are in a way but

TG: me and all those other guys spent the whole game honing down these doomed timelines to a fine point and that point has obviously involved a whole lot of hanging out with you

CG: …

===

TG: so

TG: maybe they just missed the point while you and me were on the breaking edge of that shit

TG: we got to the bottom line of it so it doesnt matter yknow

CG: HUH.

===

TG: and i mean plus

===

TG: ive seen a handful of alternate daves and karkats who get along uh great apparently so

TG: yknow

===

CG: WHAT?

TG: you know what i fucking mean im not saying it

CG: ROLLING YOUR SHOULDERS AND SAYING "yknow" GENERALLY DOESN’T CONVEY FUCKING ANYTHING MEANINGFUL IN A CONVERSATION, DAVE.

CG: I’M NOT A PSYCHIC. YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO TELL ME WHAT YOU MEAN. IN CANDID DETAIL.

TG: its besides the point anyways

===

TG: the point is its you right here that matters overall and you right here is chilling with me so thats gotta mean at least one or two things

CG: OKAY, OKAY, YEAH… I GET WHAT YOU’RE SAYING. I REALLY DIDN’T THINK ABOUT IT LIKE THAT.

CG: YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND BY NOW HOW IT’D BE REALLY FUCKING DIFFICULT FOR ME TO WRAP MY THINK PAN AROUND THE CONCEPT OF ME BEING THE RIGHT VERSION OF ANYTHING.

CG: BUT I FEEL LIKE THE AMOUNT OF TIME WE'VE SPENT TOGETHER CUMULATIVELY IN THIS TIMELINE MAKES UP FOR THE AMOUNT OF DAVES AND KARKATS WHO NEVER SPENT ANY AT ALL, BY AT LEAST TENFOLD.

===

TG: heh yeah

HAHAH.

===

CG: GOD. WHO WOULD’VE GUESSED THAT KARKAT VANTAS WOULD GET TOO FAR INTO HIS OWN THINK PAN ABOUT THIS BULLSHIT, RIGHT?

TG: stop repeating the words think and pan i get it already

CG: ARE YOU SURE? TOTALLY SURE? ABSOLUTELY ASSFUCK CERTAIN OF YOURSELF?

TG: yes dude

CG: ALRIGHT. KEEP IN MIND THIS WILL BE ON THE TEST LATER.

TG: im acing that shit i swear to god youre gonna eat your damn foot

CG: STRUT POD

TG: when i pass that shit to oblivion

TG: youre gonna regret doubting me

CG: OKAY, DAVE. THEN EXPLAIN TO ME WITH ALL YOUR SAGE WISDOME: WHAT IS A "LUMPSQUIRT"? AND REALLY, TAKE YOUR TIME THINKING ABOUT THIS. GOD KNOWS WE'VE GOT MOMENTS A-FUCKING-PLENTY TO SPARE.

TG: as the literal god of time in your local area i sure as hell do

CG: GO ON THEN.

===

TG: …

TG: pass

CG: EXACTLY.

CG: ANYWAYS, I’M STILL GOING TO GO AROUND FEELING ANOTHER LAYER OF PITY FOR THOSE GRAY BULGEMUNCHERS THAT DON’T GET TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU. NOT THAT ANYTHING ANY KARKAT COULD FUCKING DO WOULD EVER MAKE THEM DESERVING OF IT, BUT THAT’S ANOTHER CAN OF DIRT NOODLES ENTIRELY.

TG: yeah i feel bad for anyone who isnt buddy-buddy with the david stri too

CG: OF COURSE YOU DO. I’M GLAD WE’RE ON THE SAME PAGE HERE.

===

TG: but also

TG: any dave who missed out on a slice of the realest homes in paradox space is a tragedy in my eyes

CG: Y--

TG: let me finish

TG: i just dont let it get to me so much cus… first of all ive been having to not let time shit get to me this whole damn game but also

TG: i know i have you here and thats whats important

TG: ok not "have" just

TG: how the fuck do i phrase that

TG: i know whatever is happening with other "us"es whatever shits goin down

TG: i can wake up and watch movies with you or hell i can even hang with you in there if i bump into you and thats what matters to me in this bro-dom thats what i wanna do

TG: and thats some real shit i just said feel free to co-sign it

CG: …

===

TG: karkat i meant it

CG: … THANKS.

TG: no problem

#davekat #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #this is literally at the image cap i hope you all like it #comix #candid detail

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ceilidho · 5 months

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Ceilidh, I keep thinking about soap and ghost who are absolutely pro omega rights (soap in particular, or at least he’s more vocal about it). Like fuck those old, conservative assholes who think omegas should be seen and not heard, whose only purpose is to lie back, listen to their alpha and take a damn knot when they’re told.

They’ve both worked with omegas that got shit done – civilians AND military operatives, they know better and they’ll damn well shut anyone up who starts spouting that regressive shit.

But their own omega, well that’s a different story. Poor little thing doesn’t know what’s good for her, best if she gets rid of all those silly notions of hers and just let ghost and soap take care of her like they’re s’posed to.

ok in total honesty you almost lost me in the first half because as much as i would love that irl, it doesn't interest me so much in fiction where i want them to be deranged freaks. but you GOT me in that last paragraph.

neither being particularly activistic, but they also don't indulge in the casual omega denigration that some of their colleagues participate in. if an alpha says something shitty while Soap is around, Soap will usually snap back something about how maybe the alpha saying it should take notes from the omega civilian and military operators on base because "at least they're actually proficient at their fucking jobs". he'll genuinely get in fights when his temper flares up just enough - loves sparring when he's taken a particular dislike to someone because it means he has permission to beat the shit out of them.

Ghost doesn't have the patience for verbal fights, but he'll request an immediate transfer of any alpha sergeant or private with the misfortune of thinking that someone of Ghost's stature and size and general look would agree with their primitive beliefs. or he'll riddle them with hard labour and assignments that'll leave them exhausted and broken.

but when it comes to their omega? oh no, she's kept off base in the house they've purchased. they even contemplate retirement after finding her, neither of them comfortable with being away from their omega for extended periods of time. she's taken off her suppressants the second they get her locked up, the two of them helping her work through the withdrawals, getting her nice and relaxed on their knots.

despite the fact that the two of them are alphas, Soap always defers to Ghost, so Ghost is the one that knots her first. Soap gets to work her through the worst of her heats though, stamina letting him go for hours, overstimulating the both of them to the point of pain.

poor girl probably had a job and friends and maybe even volunteered before those two brutes stole her from whatever former life she was living. Soap is so enamoured with her temper tantrums, the way she demands they let her go. pinches her cheeks and coos when she gets worked up to the point of tears. she doesn't understand how they can have so much respect for the omegas in their field while keeping her locked up in their house, but the cognitive dissonance just works for them. their omega is just too soft and breakable to be out in the world (regardless of how tall she is or how she's built, how muscled or tough. to them, she's breakable)

i love writing them as hypocritical assholes :\\\\

#ceil writing #cod x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #cod simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #ghost cod #soap mactavish #ghost/soap/reader #ghoap x reader

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taintandviolent · 1 month

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bend without breaking ; Jimmy Darling x reader

summary and word count: 4.4K! requested by @sugarr-and-spicee. you get jealous of Maggie Esmeralda, and decide to give Jimmy a taste of his own medicine. Angst, smut and a little fluff ensues.

w a r n i n g s: contortionist!reader, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, angst, jealousy themes, rough sex, alcohol mention, clunky writing, uhhhhhhhh Jimmy being real handsy and kinda' manhandling reader a bit. maggie esmeralda hate.

a/n: written partially at work, so if it's clunky or disjointed I apologize!! divder by cafekitsune!

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here!

It's not like you owned him or anything. It's not even like he really even cared about you outside of the scope of the general, amiable 'member of the troupe' kind of relationship. Now, of age, he flirted with you casually, like he did all the girls, but you, as delusional as it may have been, thought you had something special – because boy, oh boy, did you care about him. You were obsessed with Jimmy Darling, in all ways possible.

You'd grown up alongside him, from the age of sixteen when you got kicked out for a plethora of reasons, and ran away to the traveling freak show that was opportunely in town. It had taken the owner, Elsa Mars, almost all day to be convinced, but when you bent over backwards, putting your head through your legs and pleaded with her upside down, a sly smile spread across her thin, aging lips.

You thought that Jimmy might’ve fancied you – that was until Maggie came along. The liar. The fraud. The insolent little brat that she was. She’d taken a liking to Jimmy, and seemed to snatch up every second he was alone – something that you used to do. He had fallen for her fortune teller act, but you certainly hadn’t. Your aunt had been a fortune teller and had possessed a true and genuine gift. This broad did nothing but spin silly little tales about misfortune and good luck, generic things that any person could identify with.

You’d decided to test the waters one hot summer afternoon. It was before the show, and Jimmy was preoccupied setting up the cash box. With your skirt in your hand, swishing it back and forth, you strolled up to him feeling as giddy as ever. It was rare that you didn’t feel bubbly when you were around him – he had that effect on you. Before you spoke, you took in his appearance; a sheen of glistening sweat covered his bare, tanned shoulders, his caramel-coloured locks hung in a cluster on his forehead, and his dark, brown eyes swept over the cash as he counted it, arranging the tickets neatly next to the box.

“Hey Jimmy,” you cooed. “Need any help?”

Without looking up, he replied: “Nah, doll. I’m just about finished.”

“Well, maybe I could help you with whatever you’re doing next…”

“If I need ya’, I’ll find ya, sweetheart.”

“Or you could find Maggie.”

“She’s in her trailer.”

Your heart quivered and sunk, cracking like a delicate porcelain vase. He already knew; he’d already found her.

“Of course she is, and of course you’d know that.”

He grinned crookedly, exhaled out of his nose and shut the cash box, turning the key. He looked at you then, with a pointed gaze. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean? Huh?”

Your brows rose high on your head, feigning innocence. He, of course, with all his charm and wit, saw right through it. You didn’t care. “Oh, nothing , Jimmy. Nothing at all.”

“Sure, dollface, sure. You wouldn’t be jealous, now would ya?”

“Of her? I’d be more jealous of a drowned rat in a sewer than I would be of Maggie.”

With that, you stomped off, your steps crunching the tall grasses that covered the field you called home for this month. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks had flushed. Feeling like a fool, you marched right to your trailer, taking great care to slam the door as hard as you could.

You spun around, facing the door as thought he was behind it. “How dare he think I’m jealous of her ! That horrible woman, and he thinks – oooooh! ” You clenched your fists, shaking them at the door.

It had taken you two hours to calm down. Two hours of pacing your small bedroom, fussing with your appearance and reading a magazine you’d picked up in town last week. It also took you two hours to come up with what you thought was the revenge plan of the century.

An hour later, you found yourself at the local diner, schmoozing with a cute young man in his early twenties. You’d batted your fluffy lashes and pouted your lips and with hardly a few words, you had him wrapped around your manicured finger. He’d bought you a milkshake, which you were nursing, taking small sips in between answers.

“You’re sure you won’t run out of this diner screaming?”

“No - no. I promise I won’t.”

“I’m a travelling performer… I’m only here for a few more weeks. I work at the Freak Show in the field down the road.”

“What do you do?” He asked, cautiously, looking you over your body with a suddenly very critical eye. To most, you looked normal . Sure, you were a little longer and lithe than some girls your age, but you didn’t fit the bill of a freak. That was until you bent and contorted your body into the most mystifying, inappropriate positions that they had ever seen a woman in.

“I’m a…” you leaned in, dipping your chin to your chest, keeping your gaze sternly locked on his. “A… contortionist.”

“A what?”

Oh, what a dumb bunny . He was cute, you’d give him that; his pretty, sea-blue eyes, pink lips and dirty blonde hair that had been perfectly styled. The clincher was that he had two very nice hands – strong, and veiny. The truth of the matter was that you preferred Jimmy Darling’s hands – but he didn’t need to know that. To him, this would be a threat, and if everything went according to plan, Jimmy would be red with anger, furiously jealous and looking as though he must bust a vein.

“I’m flexible. Very flexible.”

His eyes lit up. It was a predictable response, and one you’d seen before. Men were grotesque, they liked the idea of bending a woman into unique positions like a jointed doll, just to see her body in a fresh, new way. They liked the thought of fucking you while you were bent over backwards, folded up neatly.

The waitress brought your food; you’d only ordered a side of fries, which you dipped into the remainder of your shake. A habit that you’d learned from Amazon Eve – it was easily the most delicious combo you’d ever tasted. As you two ate, the conversation drifted naturally. You laid on the charm heavy. Every other response contained a compliment, telling him how handsome he was, how you’d never seen a boy as cute, so on and so forth. He fell for it hook, line and sinker. And you.

Afterwards, he paid and held the door open for you. As any gentleman should, he wasn’t earning any points with you. Only one man could…

“Can I come see your show?” He asked, playing idly with your fingers.

You reached over and yanked one of the flyers from the nearby telephone pole, folded it in fours, and pressed your lips to the paper, leaving a crimson mark. You tucked it in the man’s shirt pocket.

“See you tonight. Tell ‘em that I sent you. Front row seats.”

He stammered out an agreement, looking flustered. With a wink, you were sauntering back down the sidewalk. The great big sun, orange and warm, was making its heavy, tired descent back into the horizon, and you quickened your pace. The last thing you needed was Elsa being upset at your disappearance.

As you made your way back to the field, you hummed the song that was playing in the diner and skipped. There was something to be said about the butterflies in your stomach, though you couldn’t discern whether or not they were for the fact that you were going to see that man in the audience. You suspected not. Jimmy Darling would be jealous and that was the thought that sent you.

Later that night, as the calliope played, your hands glided up over the curves of your thighs, and over your sides, gracefully, like a burlesque performer teasing a reveal. With one movement, you brought your leg up to your head, pulling it tight. A few oooh’s and chortling chuckles from men in the audience dotted the room. With floaty, delicate movements, you slid down into the splits, never losing your bright smile in the process. More pleased reactions and some applause. You crossed the stage in backbends, working the crowd as they cheered for you.

At the final backbend, you sunk to your stomach, laying on the floor. You were just nearly at the edge of the stage, and directly in front of you was your diner boy. His eyes were locked on you, enchanted, enrapt and obsessed like a dog staring at a fresh cut of sirloin. With a come-hither smile, you reached out and swept your hand along his jawline before tapping his chin with a single finger. You sucked in a deep breath and brought your legs forward, curving your spine around until your feet were planted on either side of your face.

The crowd gasped in horror, and little girls shielded their eyes, expecting to hear the dull crack of your spine as it snapped in two. But Diner Boy was fascinated, and still staring at you. He was looking at your body, the unnatural curve of it, and the way that you’d brought your cunt somehow closer to his face. As the seconds passed, he looked more and more like a dog to you, hungry and slobbering.

You smiled, scanning the crowd again. Your eyes drifted to the corner of the stage, where Jimmy stood against one of the support poles, arms crossed. At least, despite Maggie, he’d retained his habit of watching every performance you did – though this one, he didn’t look as delighted with. You could tell by the way the corners of his mouth were pointed down in an angry frown, his eyes narrowing at the little things you did to entice Diner Boy. You grinned at Jimmy, acknowledging him and tapped the toes of your shoes childishly against the stage before unfolding your body again.

The rest of your show finished without a hitch, and Diner Boy played his part very well. He took in every moment, and at one point, when you reached your hand out to him, he interlaced his fingers with yours. A nice touch. When you looked back to where Jimmy was, he was gone. You smiled inwardly, prideful and gratified by the way your devious little plan had gone.

As soon as you went off-stage, Jimmy grabbed you by your arm, gripping your bicep hard. Almost too hard. You winced. “What was that about?”

“What? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Casually, you yanked your arm from his grip and began to polish your nails on the fabric of your shirt.

“Cut it out! You know what. Who was the guy in the audience? You sure were payin’ him a lot of attention.”

His words, though loud, were a little slurred, his breath smelled of alcohol; you could tell that he'd taken a few gulps of liquid confidence before approaching you. You didn't mind; your father used to say that the truth came out with booze. You hoped that would remain true with Jimmy and he'd spill his guts to you.

“Just someone I met at the diner, Jimmy. Why are you getting so heated over him? You flirt with girls in the audience all the time.”

“It’s part of the act, doll! You know I have to act a certain way, I can’t –”

“Can’t what? Stand to love me?”

Jimmy stopped abruptly, his mouth hanging slack. His chest rose and fell with hot, angry breaths.

"Just because I can bend without breaking doesn't mean my heart can, Jimmy."

“Dollface, wait.”

“No.”

You pushed yourself through the flaps of the tent, storming off towards your trailer. Jimmy followed close behind, calling your name.

“Doll, c’mon, hang on a minute!”

“No, Jimmy. Maybe Maggie can hang on a minute .”

“Hey!” He bellowed, catching your arm again. You pressed your back against your trailer’s door, again, yanking it away from him and crossing them tightly across your chest. Your heart thudded against your ribs, deeply delighted at the fact that he was chasing you, pursuing you with an overbearing jealousy.

“What.”

“Can we just…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “...talk about this a second?”

“Sure.” You snapped.

Jimmy’s black coffee eyes scanned over you, searching your face for some semblance of softness. He found nothing but a tightly pressed line of lips and a cold gaze.

“What’s your problem, huh? I can’t flirt with other guys?” you finally asked, your stern voice shattering the awkward silence.

He shook his head, almost sheepishly. “I don’t like seein’ it. I know they don’t care about you.”

“And you do?”

Jimmy swallowed again, forcing the lump in his throat down. For the past several years, you’d been a constant in his life, by his side, and taking all his showman flirtations in stride. You’d never once fired back at him, and he thought that it was because you could care less about what he did or who he flirted with. Against the voices in his head, Jimmy pacified the anger in his gut by leaning forward to crush his lips against your red ones, tasting the sweetness of whatever gum you’d been chewing before the show.

He lingered there a moment before his conjoined digits made their way up your waist, gripping it softly. He waited for you to soften, to ease into his kiss, but you didn’t. You stood your ground, arms still pressed against your breasts. You intentionally filled your mind with thoughts of Maggie Esmeralda and how close he’d gotten with her. You thought of all the times that he flirted with girls in the audience, damn near kissing them with how far he’d lean off stage during his song.

“Baby, please…” You blinked. His low, smooth voice pulled you out of your hateful thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, you murmured, “I want to hear you say it, Jimmy.”

“Say what?”

“You know what.”

The muscles in his jaw fluttered as he clenched them, grinding his teeth hard. Jimmy spent his whole life being put on the spot, but it never got any easier. Especially not in front of you – the girl he’d fallen hardest for. He inhaled, puffing his chest out and mustering up all the confidence he had.

“I don’t like seein’ you flirt with other guys… ‘cause… I wish it was me.”

“Who’s jealous now, huh?”

“I am.” He looked at your lips, then back up to your eyes. A cricket started off somewhere in the field, and your attention flitted off towards it, only to have Jimmy’s large, warm hand bring you back. “Hey.”

He kissed you again, his strong tongue darting out to taste you again, his plush lips closing around your bottom lip to suck it gently. This time, an undulating warmth erupted deep in your core. You couldn’t help but melt into him and your arms relinquished their position, dropping heavily to your sides. Your fingers reach forward to claw at his shirt, just above the waistline of his jeans and instead latch onto his belt loops, pulling him closer at the hips.

You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, swirling your tongue with his. Mingled with his personal taste, he tasted like warm honey and the liquor you smelled on his breath earlier. Not always admirable, it was something that you knew him to dabble in when his mother wasn’t looking. More often than not, he’d sneak some booze, saying it calmed his nerves before and after shows. You didn’t mind; in fact, you wondered what it would be like to have a drunk Jimmy, sloppy and unable to control himself around you.

“I’ve waited a long time for this…” you broke the kiss, breathlessly whispering over his lips.

“Me too, honey. Me too.”

Keeping your eyes on him, you blindly felt behind your back, where the handle of your trailer was digging into your soft flesh. You yanked it open, and took a fistful of Jimmy Darling’s shirt, tugging him inside.

It was like someone had fired a gun and Jimmy was a racehorse. He charged at you, his big, conjoined fingers wrapping tightly around your hips on either side, kneading the flesh like dough. He kissed you again, hot and in a hurry, like you only had a few minutes to do whatever it was you were going to do. With your hands on his pectoral muscles, you pushed him off gently, just enough to get a look at his face.

He, being mere centimeters from your breasts, wasn’t looking at your face. His attention was clearly elsewhere. A low, rumbling groan vibrated through his throat as he craned forward to kiss your skin.

“Jimmy, baby, slow down…”

Between feverish kisses to your neck and chest, he muttered: “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

He had you where he wanted you, after so long, and he wasn’t going to let that slip through his fingers this time. Jimmy muscled you backwards, urging you towards the small hallway where your bedroom was. He was all hard-working muscle. Having done set-up for so many years had lined his body in bulky strength, the kind of strength that you only get from hard labour. So, when he started guiding you backwards, you could do little to protest.

“Jimmy, my god, what’s the rush?”

“I want you bad, baby… bad.” As proof, he urged his hips against yours; the hot rigidness of his erection pressing into your hip bone. You let out a surprised mewl, and wrapped your arms around his warm neck, fingers slipping into his short-cut hair. His lips found yours again as the backs of your thighs hit the mattress. He kissed once and playfully, shoved you down. You bounced twice on the bed, looking up at him with a heavy, wanton gaze.

“I’m all yours, Jimmy Darling. All yours.”

Jimmy didn’t say anything, just sunk to his knees, his hands finding the stretchy hem of your sequined shorts. He pulled them down in a swift jerk, before moving right back up to your waist. Those striped tights were next. He rolled them down off your thighs and over your knees; which fell apart, exposing the already-damp satin of your underwear. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he worked.

He was in too much of a hurry to bother taking off your shirt, instead just gathering the fabric and pushing it up over your breasts, letting them bounce free. He may have been raised a gentleman, but he wasn't immune to the tantalizing sight of some tits -- especially when they belonged to a girl he'd been lusting over for months now.

"God damn, baby. Look at those."

You couldn't help but blush, feeling your cheeks grow hot at his compliments. You bowed your head, casting your eyes to the floor. You were so stern before -- what had happened? Silly question. You knew; he was undressing you in your trailer, all that confidence had melted away underneath his strong, fused fingers.

“Jimmy, promise you won’t flirt with Maggie anymore…”

He scoffed. “She’s nothin’ to me, honey. Gals like her are a dime a dozen.” He pressed his lips to your kneecaps before kissing his way up your thighs. You whimpered, your head lolling heavily back between your shoulders. You thought about revealing that she wasn’t a real fortune teller, but Jimmy’s mouth neared your cunt, and the thought disintegrated.

“...my god…” you breathed, your lids drifting shut. Jimmy nuzzled his face and lips against your soft mound, the hard bridge of his nose teasing at your soaked slit.

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, again, whimpering. He pressed his fingers slowly against your soft mound, over the fabric. Feeling the puddle that had settled into your underwear made Jimmy clench his teeth, hissing loud through them. With one hand, Jimmy maneuvered your underwear down your thighs. Once they were off, he tossed them carelessly behind him – you’d find them a day later in your kitchen sink. Now exposed, you gazed at him sheepishly, for the first time since he'd started kissing you. His eyes fixated on the wetness that glistened in the low-light of the trailer.

"I had no idea..." he said, the pad of his thumb sweeping over your clit with just enough pressure to make you writhe in lustful agony, aching desperately.

"No idea what?" You breathed.

"To be honest with you, that you liked me that much..."

You leaned forward, taking his chin into the palm of your hand. You stroked it gently, falling deep into his eyes. "Jimmy... I've wanted you since before I could have you."

You looked on at his face in admiration as the thoughts played out, the realization of what you meant dawning on him. He grinned his bright, lopsided grin and his large hands slid up your legs, caressing the outside of your thighs thoughtfully.

"Baaaby," he hummed before dipping his head down. You gasped, your lids drifting shut in ecstasy as you felt his breath rush over you -- you knew what was coming; one deep sweep of his tongue along the length of your cunt, between your folds to taste you, to savour your silken wetness. Burying his nose in your pussy, Jimmy alternated between using the strong tip of his tongue to flick at your sensitive spots and lapping at your clit with a flattened, thick tongue. Adventurous and hungry, he'd venture further down to get a mouthful of your sweet, heady wetness and would murmur how good you tasted into your cunt -- the vibrations of his voice made you shiver every time.

After a few minutes of this, you felt the inner core of your legs begin to shake every time he made contact with your clit, your tummy tightening in a warning clench. You reached forward, gripping his head on either side, yanking him softly off your cunt.

To your relief, he straightened up, chin glistening with your fluids. He swallowed you down, growling in satisfaction; the intimacy of tasting your lover's ejaculate was unparalleled, and when your eyes finally opened, they met Jimmy's lust blown ones. He was ready, and so were you.

"Fuck me," you said, nodding.

Jimmy made quick work of undressing, pulling his briefs down over his ass cheeks before he lined his red-tipped cock up with your leaking slit, bumping into the sensitive bundle of nerves a few times before he stuck you. He didn't ease in, just bottomed out and you let out a pleasurable yowl, tossing your head back at the sensation of being so full as his thick cock violated you, slipping against your slick walls. He found a rhythm, thrusting his cock up into you as deep as he could. You clenched hard around him, pulling a groan from deep within his chest. He pulled out, looking down at your sopping wet and now reddened cunt.

"'Hoh' my god, baby... do that again."

He gripped your hips hard, pulling you roughly onto his cock. You clenched again, swallowing him into you. The tip disappeared inside you, hot and leaking, and he held himself there, completely engrossed in the sensations. You clenched again, pulling him further in and Jimmy's head fell back, his hips bucking hard out of instinct. You both found a hurried rhythm, grinding and rolling against each other with voracious desire.

As he thrust into you, Jimmy watched you intently, holding onto you tight, his thumbs working your hips, kneading them in small circles. He looked starved for your image, the way that his eyes climbed from your hips to your breasts to your face and back down again. You let out a particularly ecstasy-ridden moan, and Jimmy dug his fingers into your hips.

Rocked back and forth with the strength of his thrusts, you look down, watching as his thick cock pumped in and out of you. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, and Jimmy's dark eyes followed them as they moved.

"Huuuh... I'm gonna' lose it, baby... you feel so god damned good..."

"Give it to me," you coax, moaning deeply. His thrusts get faster, more feverish and uneven, and before you can say another word, his expression contorted, brows pulling together in pleasured agony. You felt the warmth of his cum as he filled you up with a few spurts, but kept pumping until it leaked out the sides, groaning deeply. Your orgasm raced towards you quickly after that, pulsing around him in a hungry grip.

With a heavy sigh, Jimmy pulled his softening cock from your cunt and flopped heavily onto the bed onto his back. Your chest rose and fell with every laboured breath, sweat streaming from every pore. Both of you, collapsed in lust, saying nothing, just enjoying the warm scent of sex that lingered in the air. Soon, your sappy gaze drifted from the ceiling to Jimmy. His fawn coloured hair clung to his forehead in sweaty clumps, his cheeks flushed. You'd done that. Made him jealous until he fucked you silly. You smiled inwardly, and adjusted your head on the small mattress.

"Turn the fan on, Jimmy, it's hot."

Jimmy leaned over, flipping the small metal switch. The fan rattled to life, blades spinning and washing your sweaty skin with a soft breeze of cooler air. He leaned back, enjoying the change in temperature.

"I meant what I said, dollface. Maggie's nothin' to me now that we're uh..."

You pressed your lips against his softly, smiling into the kiss. "We're what?"

"Y'know..."

"Fucking each other like teenagers?"

"More than that, baby. More than that."

You weren't sure what that meant yet, but you weren't about to question a bit of it. You paused, furrowing your brows. You realized that Diner Boy had probably expected to see you after the show, but you hadn't shown. You hadn't even thought about him, far too busy with Jimmy's lips to even remember he was there.

"What?" Jimmy asked, concerned.

"I wonder if he was waiting for me..."

"I hope he was, and I hope he figured out real quick that you weren't comin'."

You kissed him again, inhaling his scent. Jimmy hummed into your lips, pulling you atop of him, his face bright with adoration.

He stayed in your trailer that night, and you two fucked each other, explored each other's bodies repeatedly. When the morning sun peeked through your lacy curtains and your lids peeled apart, a yawn ripping through your mouth... you wondered if Maggie Esmeralda saw that coming.

#Jimmy Darling #Jimmy Darling x you #Jimmy Darling x reader #AHS Freak Show #ahs freakshow #myfics #requests

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howtofightwrite · 7 months

Note

Was reading through your torture tag and noticed a lot of stuff that was being said seemed to contradict things that were said on the scripttorture blog... do you have any suggestions on how to clear things up? Im not sure which things to trust

And you're asking us, because they've posted once in the last two years?

I'll admit, I have a fairly low opinion of them, and that's not directly their fault. For years, one of their fans, would regularly send some pretty incendiary asks our way. In fact, some of the less hostile ones were answered, and may be the posts you were looking at. Understandably, the ones simply accusing us of being torture apologists, demanding we redirect all our asks to their blog, or insisted that we should sit down and shut up, did not make the cut. With that in mind, please understand, I'm not going to go digging through their blog to refresh my memory, so some of this might be slightly skewed by the aforementioned deranged fan.

Look for the blog that does not constantly contradict or misrepresent their authoritative sources. Which is to say, if you actually pay attention to Shane O'Mara's work, it's basically what we've been saying all along.

If you're unfamiliar, O'Mara is a Neurologist who was (last I time I checked) working at Trinity College Dublin. He published a, frankly fascinating piece, called, Why Torture Doesn't Work, in which, he set about trying to answer why torture is an ineffective tool for intelligence gathering. O'Mara also had the misfortune of being the only expert who said anything close to the perspective Scripttorture wanted on torture.

An open secret about torture is that it is completely worthless for getting accurate information. This has been widely understood for centuries, if not millennia. O'Mara's question was, “why?”

It turns out, that the neurochemical trauma associated with torture, seriously interferes with your ability to accurately access information. For example: If you're being tortured, you can't tell your torturer where you planted the ticking bomb, because your brain literally can't access those memories.

Torture is evil. Yeah. No shit.

And, this is where ScriptTorture stops. “Torture is bad,” and Jack Bauer is an incredibly unrealistic fantasy, end of story.

Except, this is not the end of this.

Now, generally speaking, I don't blame anyone who wants to get off the ride here. Torture is an unpleasant subject, and wanting to stop at, “oh, it's evil,” is entirely reasonable... unless you want to write on the subject, or if you do political analysis and need to understand why people break out the torture implements.

More than that, this is where my academic background in political science actually comes into play. I'm not saying this as an Eagle Scout who had a couple overly enthusiastic hand to hand instructors when I was a kid. This is (part of) what I studied in college, and I have kept an eye on it since then.

If torture didn't work, you wouldn't see state-sponsored torture pop up repeatedly throughout history. It would not be one of the favorite tools of dictators and despots. However, because it does, and it is, simply saying, “it doesn't work,” isn't instructive or meaningful because it's clearly untrue. Someone is finding value in this, so it becomes important to understand what they are doing, and why they are doing it.

When you torture someone, the information they provide is basically madlibs of whatever leaked through their brain. They want the pain and stress to stop, and they'll say anything they can to make that happen. That often takes the form of what they think their torturer wants to hear. O'Mara's research does explain why they don't simply cough up the truth.

So, why do it?

Torture is a very labor intensive process. You (as an individual) can't, realistically, torture multiple victims at a time, and it is a very drawn out process. Some elements can be automated, your torturer doesn't need to be present at every moment, but they're going to spend hours, if not days, working on one victim. Worse, this is actually a technical profession. It's not like you can just pull in anyone off the street and get the results you want. (Though, technically, this doesn't seem to be as true, however, amateurs do have a shocking capacity to screw up torture. So, the point remains valid.)

The value of torture has almost nothing to do with the victim. It's about the message it sends to everyone else.

Torture is about mass coercion of the population. When you are the state (meaning, the government), and you torture someone, you are telling your citizens that you are willing to do the same to them, if they oppose you.

State-sponsored torture is specifically a tool to suppress political engagement. It is, quite literally, state-sponsored, domestic terrorism.

This even holds true in cases where the state employs torture to extract confessions from criminal suspects. The message sent into the general population is that dissent of any kind will not be tolerated, and that the state has the willingness and power to turn these tools on you if you draw their ire.

I get that this is outside of ScriptTorture's area of expertise, and in fairness, I probably would not have studied this with any intensity, if I hadn't taken multiple classes on revolutionary theory.

Torture from private organizations (which is to say, organized crime, and religious institutions, though cults and some other groups might fit this description as well), follows roughly similar patterns. These tend to do the same things, discouraging dissent, and establishing the organization as having power over the population (or community.) (The technical term would be to “establish capacity.” Which is to say, the organization's capacity to enforce its will. The same term applies to states, though in those cases, the state's capacity is often overestimated by its population. It's only when it starts to falter, for example through military defeats or serious civil unrest, that they really need the capacity boosting part of this equation.)

Zealotry or stupidity can create situations where you have a torturer (or, more likely, someone in a position of power ordering the torture) who believes that it is effectively compelling the truth from the victim. This (or amateurs) can easily lead into a distinct problem, which is that all of this has diminishing returns. Torture one person, and you send a loud, clear message. Torture ten, and all you've added to it is that you're willing to keep going. However, as you start stacking up the victims, you do start sending a new message to your enemies, that being, you're going to get to them sooner or later so it's in their best interest to respond now, mobilize and retaliate proactively, before you get to them. This means that a state which leans heavily on torture can easily instigate the civil unrest that exposes their limited capacity leading to a political death spiral. Alternately, if the state does have the capacity to put down the resulting unrest, it further reinforces their position (which does happen with depressing frequency in the real world.)

You're also going to create new enemies in the friends, family, and loved ones, of the people you tortured. This means that any organization that relies on extensive use of torture will, eventually, start tying a noose around its own neck. (Granted, there are a lot of social dynamics that I'm skimming over here, so it's not exactly as simple as “if the state tortures lots of people, it will result in increasing unrest.”)

If you want a partial citation for the above, you can (ironically) find it in a podcast interview with Shane O'Mara, when he explained why torture has been employed repeatedly through history. (Specifically I think it was episode 15 of Your Welcome, by Michael Malice. Though, I'm not 100% sure off hand.) Though that doesn't cover some of the more in depth elements I just discussed. Some of this is coming from a textbook on revolutionary theory I can't locate (it disappeared in a move a few years back.) Though that was more interested in the general structure of a state destabilizing into internecine conflict. Ironically, my preferred citation on torture, Fear up Harsh by Tony Lagouranis is mostly uninformative in this case, because his experiences were on the ground, rather than from a structural understanding of what his job was really doing. However, he does illustrate my comment about amateurs making even more of a mess, both through personal experiences with a few, and also through the eventual trajectory of the invasion and occupation of Iraq.

But of course, torture is evil... again, no shit. Was that really a question? And, I'm apparently a torture apologist for having a structural understanding of why evil people do evil things. Cool. Evil people don't do evil things because they're evil, they do them because they gain some tangible benefit from those acts, and they do not care about the consequences to anyone else. If you ask someone, “why do people do this?” and their answer is, “it's simple; they're evil,” that person is lying. They may be lying to themselves, but they are lying to you.

Why do people use torture? It's a lot more complicated, and unpleasant, than you'd expect at a simple overview.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #starke answers #torture

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kissesforsatoru · 10 months

Note

Hi! Can I ask for some headcanons of Mikey and Izana taking an interest in the sibling of one of their gang members? After all it's a peak sibling behaviour to be given away to their brother's crazy boss like some sacrificial lamb.

MIKEY, IZANA x READER (separate)

₊˚⌗ mikey and izana taking an interest in one of their gang member’s sibling.

⤷ cw : general yandere themes, potential kidnapping??? implied forced relationships (i kept it vague, so it’s up to personal preference, really)

notes : i said i would start getting requests and i know, i know, it’s been a few days since then, but look! i got this done for you guys :) it is definitely not my best work though, so keep that in mind

mikey : your older brother so happened to piss mikey off, you heard vaguely something about giving up critical intel to a rivaling gang without even realizing he was doing it, your idiot brother. since it wasn't intentional, mikey decided to take care of it himself by coming to your house to try and settle a deal with your brother.

you heard the commotion and listened through the door their conversation, and just when it was getting a little bit interesting, a little bit heated too, you pressed to hard against the door not knowing it wasn't closed all the way causing you to fall right into the floor in front of mikey and your brother.

"oh? who's this, huh?" mikey asks in a low tone, one bordering on amused as he looks away from you and at your brother, smirking. you only stare dumbfounded, still stiff on the floor from such an embarrassing give away to your eves dropping while your brothers eyes widen as he looks between you and mikey nervously.

"mikey, they don't have anything to do with this. they were just listening in cause they don't know how to mind their fucking business, alright? this is between you and me," your brother chokes out, sounding desperate. you scoff offendedly at the jab out you being nosey; who the hell wouldn't be nosy when their brother got his ass into some trouble with a gang leader?

your annoyance with your brother dissipates when mikey bends down in front of you, his hand coming to grab at your chin, moving your face from side to side as he looks at you.

"you're pretty, aren't you?" he whispers more to himself than anyone else in the room, but you still heard him, and you gulp in anticipation, lips parting afterwards to breath in more air because you feel suffocated under his gaze.

"you know, i can forget all about your little mess up if you let me have your sibling..." mikey suggests, an almost threatening tone laced within his words. you inhale sharply as your stomach whirls and your heartbeat races. your brother gives you a sympathetic look, and you know then that there's no way getting out of this.

izana : it was chance that he met you, the younger sibling to one of his lower ranked gang members. you weren't supposed to be at the docks, but you followed your brother one night who had foolishly led you straight into the prying, lustful eyes of other gang members of whom you had the misfortune to catch the eye of. the commotion caught izana's attention, and from that moment you'd trapped yourself in a corner to be stalked and analyzed by a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.

you really were like a deer in headlights that night, stumbling shyly into the center of the docks for all to see. your brother stood staring wide eyed at you, hissing about why the fuck you were there and how you should be asleep at home, but izana was quick to shush him.

"why the hell are you getting mad when you were the insolent fuck who got followed, huh?" he grits, glaring at your brother, daring him to say another word. when your brother bites his tongue and looks away shamefully, izana turns to you with a softer expression on his face.

"it's dangerous for you to be around here at night, you know? do you even know what kind of place you walked yourself into?" he asks, a lilt of amusement in his voice as he watches you curl into yourself, your hands grasping at the hem of your shirt tightly.

"i just-" you start, a nervous wobble in your voice as you realize the kind of situation you've found yourself in, "my brother- i just wanted to know what my brother was up to. i didn't know it would be, uh, this..." you trail off, taking a small step back when izana starts to approach.

"yeah? well, you're awful dumb, huh? now look at you, you're practically shaking like a fucking leaf," he huffs a laugh, "don't worry, pretty angel, not a damn person here will hurt you. i'll make fucking sure of that," he whispers the last part to you as he stops right in front of you, staring at you with his wide, intense eyes.

#₊˚⌗ outgoing mail ! ✉️#💬 (1) new message from kolyas beloved anon(s) !#yandere #yandere thoughts #yandere imagines #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokrev #yandere x you #yandere tokrev x reader #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo rev x reader #yandere tokyo rev #yandere mikey x reader #yandere mikey #yandere manjiro sano #yandere manjiro sano x reader #yandere izana kurokawa x reader #yandere izana kurokawa #yandere izana x reader

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rosewaterandivy · 1 month

Text

the verbal thing comes and goes

Summary: eddie's first study(ing) date with an appearance from hawkins own lothario.

Warnings: eddie’s senior year 2.0, no Upside Down, scary smart debate team captain reader, NHS president and tutor nancy wheeler, ap music theory nerd and general nuisance robin buckley, pretentiousness alert - you have been warned!

W.C.: 1973

Eddie’s early, for once in his life.

He stands on the Wheeler’s doorstep worrying the strap of his backpack with his thumb. It’s Thursday, and he’s nearly done with his second read-through of Notes from the Underground. Turns out, reading Russian literature and annotating it at the same time is a bit of a commitment. So much so, that scribbling in his Hellfire notebook has fallen by the wayside.

He has highlighters now (yes, plural); who the fuck does he think he is?!

A guy who wants to stay in the same English class as you, that’s who.

Which brings us to his earlier than usual arrival for the study group.

He pushes the doorbell and hears the chimes clang from inside the house. There’s a bit of grime on his cuticles, he’d been fucking with an oil change for the van a few hours ago. Luckily, there’s not a smear of brackish fluid left on the pristine white button.

Mike loafs to the door and opens it with his usual fanfare, which is to say, none.

“What’re you doing here?”

“You mean at your house? Where your sister is? Who’s in my group for this English project?”

Each rhetorical question brings Eddie incrementally closer to Mike and inside the house, who backs away slowly, dead eyed stare and all.

“Psh, get outta my face twerp.” Eddie says, ruffling Mike’s stupidly long hair.

The door shuts behind him and Mike inclines his head toward the stairs, “Think they’re waiting on Buckley, you can head on up.”

Mr. Wheeler grunts in agreement from his lay-z-boy recliner in the living room.

Briefly, he wonders if he should take off his shoes. There’s a pile by the door and carpeted stairs, even Mike is wandering around in socks. And Eddie doesn’t want to be rude, or responsible for whatever mud he’s probably tracking in.

After toeing off his Reeboks, he takes the stairs two at a time and follows the sound of voices down the hall.

It’s an idyllic scene.

Namely, that Nancy has one of the most certifiably girly rooms Eddie has ever had the misfortune to see. But also, that you’re seemingly dressed in pajamas which consist of men’s plaid boxers, socks scrunched around your ankles, and an oversized t-shirt with a warped Tweety Bird face plastered on it. Your hair is up and off your shoulders, tied back with an obnoxiously bright scrunchie, and your face is freshly scrubbed.

It looks like a sleepover, if the legends are true, but neither you nor Nance are currently jumping on her bed and hitting each other in slow motion with pillows, a dusting of goose feathers filling the air.

“Hey Munson,” you greet, patting the spot next to you, “Take a load off.”

Well, shit, he’s certainly got a load alright.

He slings his bag to the floor and leans back against the foot of Nancy’s bed, taking a seat next to you.

“Didn’t realize this would be an all nighter Wheeler.”

Nancy glances up from her notes at your soft laugh. But before she can reply, there’s a clatter from below and Mike bellowing something about food.

“Oh, Rob must be here,” she says with a smile. “She said she was bringing pizzas or something.”

The three of you make your way down to the kitchen, where Robin has been cornered by Mrs. Wheeler. Her blue eyes are wide as she clutches the edge of the pizza boxes, nodding along politely with whatever Nancy’s mom is going on about.

“Oh Bucks,” Eddie says, swooping in to take a box before she can crush it, “For me? You shouldn’t have!”

Robin looks relieved, mouths thank you from where she’d been stopped by the counter. She’s just come from her job at Family Video and is still wearing the stupid vest to prove it. It’s got cheesy buttons like ask me about our newest releases! and Eddie has half a mind to do so.

That is before Steve Harrington comes swanning into the room with a few cans of soda. He stops short, surprised with Eddie’s presence at the Wheeler’s kitchen table. But then you trot in the room, lost in conversation with Nance and he sees Steve’s eyes blow wide as a blush warms his cheeks.

He’s looking at you because of course he is. The universe can’t seem to cut Eddie a break without throwing King Steve a bone(r).

It’d be comical if it wasn’t so typically teenage tragic.

For Eddie, that is.

“Oh, uh, h-hi,” Steve stammers in greeting, “I just grabbed whatever since I didn’t know what you’d like.”

It’s all Eddie can do not to roll his eyes.

Buckley had mentioned Steve not having as much swagger with the ladies as of late, but damn, Eddie didn’t think he’d have to witness it.

Still, it’s not as though he feels sorry for the guy.

Not when you give Steve a smile in thanks, but nudge Eddie’s shoulder with your hip.

“Outta my spot Munson.”

The contact of your thinly veiled hip against his jacket has got him spinning. If he wasn’t wearing the damned thing, he could’ve felt the warmth from your skin. He grunts and shoves over, sticking to monosyllables until he can get himself together.

Mrs. Wheeler eyes him briefly before stepping out of the room, a lingering glance that says watch yourself as she settles in the living room.

Seated around the table, various hands grab for slices of pizza that land in greasy splotches on paper plates. Robin is talking a mile a minute about someone who returned Fast Times stopped at a very pivotal point in the film.

Steve rolls his eyes and pops the tab of his soda. Leaving Eddie to beg Mike’s earlier question:

“What’re you doin’ here?”

This said between bites of pizza, stringy cheese decorating his lips. Spying his predicament, you toss a paper towel at his face and continue listening to Robin’s tales of Family Video.

“Could ask you the same,” Steve replies with a measured tone.

“English project.” Eddie pauses to take a swig of Mountain Dew, “Now you, Harrington.”

“Rob doesn’t drive, so I dropped her off.”

“Dropping off implies leaving, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He’s adopted a curt tone, as if he’s offended by Eddie’s rationale. So he decides to drop it for now.

And sure enough, Steve eventually does leave. Right after hauling in Robin’s overstuffed backpack and trumpet.

Eddie notices how Steve’s eyes linger on you, flitting to and fro, and tries to tamp down the roil of jealousy in his gut.

It’s only once the group is back upstairs and working on the project, the door minduflly cracked open at Mrs. Wheeler’s behest, that he feels himself relax. After all, he can’t dedicate too much of his time to feeling like a possessive meathead with Nancy delegating.

Currently, you’re all huddled over your novels and passing around copies of notes on each text. Nancy’s are neat and tidy, Robin’s are a downright mess, but yours are something else. Color-coded with a key in the upper right-hand corner of the page, not a smear of ink to be found. It’s like the Holy Grail of notes.

They also smell faintly of your perfume.

Eddie’s notes aren’t as batshit as Robin’s, but there are plenty of sketches to be found in the margins. He hopes they’re acceptable, he’s never really willingly taken notes over a book before. Much less, painstakingly copied three sets of said notes for distribution.

He’s more familiar with a different type of distribution.

Speaking of which:

“Shit, I gotta go.”

He hastily packs his bag while Nancy lists off his task for the project. You’ll see each other in class, obviously, but there won’t be another study session until next week. NHS is rolling out their individual tutorials, and she’s got stuff for the school paper. Debate team meets weekly for practice in addition to their class, you’ve got to start prep for research on a few topics. Robin has band shit and life shit, as she calls it, so everyone is pretty much swamped until then.

Even Eddie, with his tutoring from Nancy and Hellfire meetings and Corroded Coffin practices and shows. And, apparently, there’s another meeting with Mrs. Meloy next week to see how he’s “adjusting.”

He says his goodbyes quickly and dashes down the stairs, surprised to hear the sound of you behind him. He turns, tugging on his shoes, inquiring, “Nance forget to tell me something?”

You smile with a shake of your head, “Nah, just thought I’d see you off.”

“Ah, yeah. Prime time for creeps, good lookin’ out.”

He gets a laugh out of you, which lights something in his chest with a dull warm glow. Shouldering his backpack, he makes way for you to open the door and follows you onto the porch.

The last of the summer sun eeks across the sky leaving bands of creamsicle orange and pink behind. You glance up, exposing the delicate tendons of your neck, the elegant slope of it. And it’s all he can do not to press his lips to the sweat gathering in the hollow of your throat.

Eddie clears his throat instead and stands there awkwardly as you enjoy the summer evening. The air is humid, and a dampness permeates the otherwise pleasant moment. You sigh softly, having taken your fill of the sky for now, and turn your gaze to him.

He feels like an ant under a magnifying glass might, not used to the attention and fearful of what’s to come.

“I expected you would’ve called by now,” you say casually, with a fond pull of your lips, “But you’re just full of surprises Munson.”

He scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the pavement and shyly glances down. He notices the weight of his bag now, the sweat beginning to bead along his skin. It’s uncomfortable and his van is within sight, he’s so close and yet so far.

All because you’re staring at him, attempting to have a conversation with the guy who said he doesn’t read much and yet had some of the finest penmanship and annotations you’d ever seen littered all across your copy of Dune.

He’s surprising and you like surprises well enough, but Eddie is becoming more and more of a mystery to you which is somehow even more appealing.

Of course, he knows none of this.

All he knows is that a pretty girl in a Tweety Bird shirt and boxers is looking at him with a secret smile on her face, and he feels like he’s hurtling toward oblivion or humiliation.

“Maybe I lost the note?”

Lies. It’s squirreled away in his most prized possession, a battered copy of Tolkein’s Fellowship of the Ring.

“How tragic,” you tease, “If only we had been taught to memorize things like phone numbers and addresses.”

“Yeah, that would be something.”

You laugh, “Oh, wait. Lucky for you I have it right here.” You tap your temple with a manicured nail, and pull a face as if you’re about to snarl but your eyes are bright and teasing.

“Look,” Eddie says, a laugh falling from his lips, “Maybe I was giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Oh really,” you drawl, arms snaking across your chest. “When a pretty, smart girl gives you her number and offers up her time and expertise, you, Eddie Munson, think twice?”

“Generally, from past experience, yes.”

You kiss your teeth and let out a soft tsk. “Well, don’t.”

“Think?”

The smile you give him could launch a thousand ships.

“About this? Not even once.”

And with that, you turn on your heel and walk back into the Wheeler’s house leaving him dazed and more than a little confused.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #fic: ibciyd #eddie munson fluff

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dilvuc · 9 months

Text

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: fluff

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗: male

𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊: flower in the web; chapter 零

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: baizhu x hutao's older brother!reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: none

✎

You are seated at the front desk at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, just reading your book. But your reading time was interrupted when your younger sister, Hutao barged into the parlor…holding a literal child in her arm. It was Qiqi, the zombie girl from Bubu Pharmacy.

"I have returned with the client! Let's get buried!" Hutao cheered while you just facepalm.

✎

Returning Qiqi back to the Bubu Pharmacy, you forced your sister to bow down and apologized to the herbalist for kidnapping the poor zombie.

"Hey! No fair! I was so close!" Hutao whined, struggling to get out of your strong grip. You sighed, "Kidnapping a zombie from the Bubu Pharmacy, what will the owner think of this?"

"You mean Baizhu? Ugh! That guy!"

"Oh? What do we have here…? I don't think I've seen you before." You turned your attention to the voice, who might be the owner of the pharmacy. You bowed down and apologized, "Apologies for my sister's idiotic behavior. She's so desperate to bury the poor child."

"Oh? You must be the older brother of Hutao. I've heard rumors about your amazing talent, but I wasn't expecting to see you in person." The green haired male chuckled. "You aren't described as I heard from the rumors."

"Eh? What's the rumors?" You raised your eyebrows, curious about the rumors spreading about you.

"You have the spirit of a poisonous spider roaming around Liyue, giving people extreme misfortune and fear." Baizhu stated. "Some find you very…formidable."

"What? Am I like that…?" You inquired.

"You never put a smile on your face and your face always looks like you're glaring into other people's souls!" Hutao pointed out. "They thought if they put you in a bad mood, they might have misfortune coming their way!"

You pulled on the girl's cheek with a terrifying look on your face, "So you spread those rumors while I was gone…"

"S-see! Like that." The teen sweatdropped. "But it wasn't me! They were the ones who started! The people of Liyue!"

You softened your face and let go of the girl, "Ugh. Am I really that scary?"

"I think you are a fine gentleman. I've never believed those rumors that were spreading around the City of Liyue." Baizhu smiles gently, catching your attention. "When you see a spider, good fortune comes to you. It appears I have such a great fortune already coming my way."

You blushed while holding the back of your sister's collar when she's trying to take Qiqi and sneak out. You put up a smile and bashfully rubbed the back of your neck, "O-oh? You really think so…? I'm glad to hear that…"

"Hey! Let me go!" Hutao whined.

"My name is Hu [Y], the former 77th generation director." You bowed politely. The green haired male was grateful for your attitude. He was glad that you weren't like your hard headed sister. You two will probably get along.

"Baizhu and this is Chengsheng." Baizhu introduced himself and the snake to you. A snake? You didn't notice the snake. Chengsheng greeted you, "Nice to meet you…"

"Such a beautiful name and a cute snake there." You smiled. "No surprise, you have pretty eyes."

"Oh? Why thank you ~"

"Ew, are you two flirting?" Hutao gagged. You forcefully bowed Hutao's head, forcing her to apologize to Baizhu, "Apologized for my sister's idiotic behavior. With me around, she won't be a bother to you or Qiqi."

"I appreciate your gratitude. Are you interested in having some green tea, Hu Xiansheng?" Baizhu offered.

"Of course. I wouldn't mind. And please, just call me [Y]." You smiled.

"Ugh! Come on! Just let me finish my job!" Hutao whined. "Why do I had to be stuck between this?!"

rules

genshin masterlist

#male reader #top male reader #genshin impact #baizhu #baizhu genshin impact #genshin x male reader #seme male reader #hu tao #genshin qiqi

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divinehedons · 3 months

Text

i won't hurt you.

navigation: masterlist

word count: ~1.9k words

summary: you meet joel in the aftermath of a terrible accident. reeling from the aftermath of the event, there is a looming shadow that complicates your relationship with the southern man you just somehow happened to meet

warnings: explicit (but not graphic) content–MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! relatively dark(?)-ish joel miller, allusions to smut (not heavily detailed), graphic depictions of injury, some scenes include hospitalization (not in graphic detail), dubious consent, joel miller radiates mansplain / manipulate / malewife energy, men are trash in general wbk

note: oh. my. god. it has been far too long and i’m so so very sorry for just now coming back! i’ve hit a terrible writer’s block alongside very bad mental health and i’m just now recovering :’D thank you so so so much for 800 followers, it’s going to take a while for me to respond to everyone but i’ll be going through them! i love you very very dearly, mwah!

note 2.0: pls pls lower your expectations, 🫣 i am trying to get back into the groove of things!

You remember the screech of tires on frozen asphalt. A flash of headlights. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Your body ignited in pain. Then… darkness.

Darkness that seemed to spread before you for an eternity. Untethered and stuck in limbo, perhaps in another universe, you would call it the most peaceful slumber of your life. The misfortune comes when you wake. Lightning strikes shake you awake from the darkness of your subconsciousness. Electricity trembling in your chest as it shoots through your beaten frame. A light peers through your closed eyes. Brighter, and brighter… bigger and bigger. A ringing in your ears that almost deafens you.

The world shifts around you, and you wake paralyzed, staring at the ceiling in the warm sun that falls on your body lying there. Everything hurts. There is a humming in your head that you cannot seem to shake out of.

The solitude lasts for a beat. Then another. That’s when you see him.

A sleepless, roughened man looking at you with his warm eyes. Through the bleary vision of your own gaze, a shaky breath escapes him. His crinkled eyes looking over your features with a swift once over.

“Oh, Christ, you’re awake.”

And that’s how you met Joel.

–

In the week that followed your complicated recovery, Joel tells you he saw the crash. Tells you the asshole who ran you over was nowhere to be seen. He says most of it with his eyes averted. Yet you hold your gaze.

You will not be weakened by the shame of your misery.

It is two days later when you confess to him; your throat still rasping as the pain in your head boils and toils beneath your skull. You look at him when he arrives, paint-stained shirt providing evidence of a messy day of working. “I don’t want to think about what happened to me anymore, Joel.”

Your tongue grabs at words the way young children do with sticky fruit in the summer. As if language has become foreign to you.

Joel, keys in hand, meets your gaze with a furrowed brow. “Sure, sugar. Whatever you need.”

Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you could’ve sworn you saw his shoulders relax from some kind of tension leaving his body.

–

Joel doesn’t know what he had gotten himself into. What he does know is that for some reason, he couldn’t bear the idea of staying away from you. You tell him fragments of what little you remember, your concussed consciousness blindly clawing at every last bit of beaten brain matter for some kind of answer.

You sometimes cry from the effort it takes you to think, but he’s there. The first few times, he held your hand. As the hours bled into days, he held you as you wet his shirt with warm tears. Sometimes, when the nightmares reach him in his own bed a few miles out from the hospital, it feels like you’re bleeding into him.

From the moment he saw you, he had been marked. And no matter how many times he scratched at his own skin, he could never wash away the blood on his hands.

–

He’s the one to take you home to your quiet little apartment, having grown dust in your absence. You apologize, he waves you off. He watches you as you peer out of the window, comprehending a view that had once been so mundane, transformed into some shred of a miracle for you to still be there, witnessing it all. He’s behind you, ten feet away, tilting his head as your hair catches what little sunlight blessed you the day you left the hospital.

He says your name, and you look back at him with a curious smile. “My God,” he followed. “You look just like starlight.” He steps forward, and that’s when you know everything had fallen into place. Without another moment lapsing, he takes your face into his hands, pulling you into a searing kiss.

You apologize so many times. For the hospital smell on your skin. For your trembling knees. For the dizzying sensation of human contact without the involvement of medical processes. For feeling so unclean.

Meanwhile, he apologizes, too. For kissing you. For pulling you to him. For holding you. For carrying you to the forlorn couch grown cold from the absence of human warmth. So many times that there are times that you don’t know what is there to apologize for. You shake your head each and every time.

The tears roll down your cheek just as he pulls away and his eyes immediately soften. You shake your head, pulling him into another kiss as you whine.

There are many things you want to tell him. But you don’t dare tell him this: Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you have been ruined.

“Tell me to stop, honey, and I will,” he murmurs, holding your cheek as you pause between touches. You shake your head immediately. You want many things. You are hungry and untamed. But you do not want him to stop.

You tell him as much. “Joel, don’t you dare stop.”

And he doesn’t. Not when you’re naked and he sees your bruised skin, purple and yellowed in places. He looks to you just as your body tenses. His demeanor softens, kissing along your jaw and your neck with a shaky breath.

“I won’t hurt ya, darlin’.”

He keeps to that promise. Even when your legs are around his waist and he’s caught in your warmth. He says it again and again as you whine into the cool, quiet solitude of your home.

I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.

–

Falling in love with Joel was both so complicated and so simple at once. Whenever you wake beside him, you wake up writhing from the pain of your injuries; sometimes crying from the nightmares that followed every waking moment. You felt marred by shame for putting so much of your perceived burden on his shoulders. He never departs from your side, his strong arms placating you while his lips press against your temple.

It’s all so simple, the way he cares about you. And whether or not you admitted it, you like the feeling of being cared for. Of having someone that cares.

Regardless, you cannot escape the fact that someone did this to you. And whenever the pain shocks your body, everything but rabid rage escapes your body. You curse the stranger, whoever they may be, for that cursed night.

Joel sees glimpses of this. He saw it most that one afternoon when the hospital called, saying you had been taken care of. By who, they didn’t say. Only that the stranger apologized for what happened.

You were on the floor, hands trembling in the fists you held them in. The hospital bill crumpled a few inches away. You do not see him. What you see is all red.

A wail escapes your trembling mouth just as your hands claw at anything they can touch. It is an uncontrollable surge of blinding, mouth-foaming, unbridled rage. He’s there, trying to hold you down before you hurt yourself. Each wail pierces another hole into his aching heart. Each struggle followed by his gentle shushing, trying to assuage you in the crest of your emotion.

“Whoever it was,” you told him then as you sobbed. “They ruined my life.”

“Darlin, darlin’...” He breathes in, cupping your face. “Maybe he’s around and he regrets-”

“No!” You claw at him, just as he holds you tighter against his chest. “If he could find me, then he could say it to my face. He wouldn’t be some coward who left me alone like this after he ruined my life!”

It destroys him. And you can see it in his face. All he can do is hold you as you cry against his chest. All he can do is shut his eyes, letting the waves of grief crest over and over your frame. Letting your sobs tear him open and burn him out.

He tells you nothing lasts forever. That he’ll be there for as close to forever as possible. You shake your head because you know better. He says nothing lasts forever. He doesn’t know he’s just afraid your pain can last longer than he is capable of loving you.

–

Perhaps, to the end of his days, Joel will regret that drunken night. He’ll regret following his bleary gaze through the quiet, sleet-slick roads. He’ll regret the fact that he couldn’t have stopped his truck sooner.

When he steps out into the cold just as he smells the acrid scent of burning tires, he sees your bloodied face in your car. So small. So undeserving. He muttered a string of cusses. The sudden shock of adrenaline washing away the last of his drunkenness. He looks back at his truck, horrifically beaten, his gaze doubling from his last bout of drunkenness.

He bargains that night. Calls up someone high up amongst the police rank to bail him out. He negotiated for ten minutes. Then he hides the truck somewhere off the side of the road for him to come back to and dispose of. And then, only then, did he call for help.

Only then did he reach you in the driver’s seat, blood now caked to your skin as he lay you out amongst the concrete.

You make some sound, and he cusses to himself.

His rough palms cup your cheek, trying to get you to look at him then. But you were too far gone.

He spoke, anyway. Just in case you’ll hear it.

“It’s alright, doll. I won’t hurt you.”

Even now, weeks after he stole your life from you, he holds you and tells you the same thing anyway. The same set of words that manage to calm you down.

He does love you. And it breaks him every day to know he was the one to endanger you.

I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.

#circe writes #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

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deeisace · 1 year

Text

it is 2pm, and I’ve finally packed a laundry bag

#jesus fucking christ #i need to leave the house. and when i return to the house. i have to stay standing.#so that i can clean the house. because there are unfortunately landlord-adjacent people on saturday.#blehhh #oh general misfortune #okay okay right yes

0 notes

mitsies · 1 year

Text

synopsis: chuuya nakahara has a little crush on you. to his misfortune, dazai catches on.

sfw 15 era!chuuya x reader but chuuya's a little bitch LMFAO, mega jealousy, falling in love, in dazai we trust, confessions, fluff!

chuuya nakahara didn't get jealous.

he likes to think of himself as cool, and easy-going, and even-tempered. he's not too sure as to why everyone around him disagrees- he thinks he's pretty reasonable.

yes, he gets mad sometimes, but doesn't everyone? and it's not like it's his fault that everyone around him is insufferable and incompetent.

he's only 16, but somehow more capable than most everyone else in the port mafia- this generalization, though, doesn't include you.

you're a year older than him, and probably the most competent and normal person he's met thus far. you're quick-witted and sharp, with a killer smile and a silver tongue. you're agile and a good fighter, and you're kind- a trait he's seen a horrifying lack of in his new field of business.

you're a member of the flags, a port mafia subgroup that chuuya had happened to become close with in his brief employment. the flags consisted of unsavory characters and unlikable men- you were an exception.

eventually, though, he found that you accompanied him on more missions than you did with your own group. and surprisingly, he didn't mind it all too much. in fact, he even appreciated your presence and input.

so while you were one of the few port mafia members he didn't deem completely inept, that didn't exclude the company you kept. namely: dazai osamu.

he's not too sure when or how you two became close, seeing as you, a subordinate, would have little business with the port mafia's boss' pupil- but you and dazai had recently been spotted in each others' company more frequently.

and chuuya hated it.

you were so nice, and intelligent, and a being far superior to the likes of dazai, who was horrid and cruel in every sense of the term. but chuuya nakahara wasn't jealous. no, he simply knew that you deserved better than dazai- you deserved better company, you deserved him.

you and chuuya spent time together on missions a few times a week, sure, but never anything outside of business, whereas you and dazai hung out on evenings and any free moments in the port mafia's lair.

he despised seeing you and dazai laughing in empty rooms, and he abhorred watching the both of you converse in the corners of gatherings. he thought he did a pretty good job of hiding it from you, though.

he'd never bring up dazai to you, and you didn't mention him often either. but you seemed so much more subdued around chuuya and it grated on him to think that you might be more comfortable around his rat-faced companion than him.

and speaking of dazai: chuuya could hide his not-jealousy from you, sure, but keeping it from the demon prodigy was a whole other story.

in fact, he didn't even have a chance of keeping it on the down low. dazai simply found out, just like that.

"oh my god," he had started out of nowhere. chuuya and dazai were walking to meet a car that was meant to take them home from their mission. he'd frozen in his steps and his eyes held a familiar glow- a shimmer of condescending amusement.

"you like her."

chuuya sputtered. "i do not, you ugly horse. i don't like y/n."

"who said anything about y/n?" dazai's grin grew tenfold and chuuya lacked the words to defend himself.

from then on, dazai had been a relentless tease about the situation. after he'd caught on to chuuya's crush, his jealousy-not-jealousy was easy to pick up on.

"careful with your staring," dazai had playfully chided at some point, sidling into the seat next to chuuya, "your eyes might fall out of your head."

chuuya scowled. "i wasn't staring."

"so you were just watching me and her talking. and making a gross face when i put a hand on her shoulder. i see."

if they weren't in the middle of a crowded meeting hall with a surplus of port mafia members, chuuya would strangle dazai. "i wasn't watching anything."

dazai smiles. "careful, chuuya. some people are going to start catching on, and envy isn't a good look on you-"

he's promptly cut off by chuuya slamming his fists on the table with fury written all over his face. "i am not-"

he stops himself. you're hurrying over to where the both of them are seated, glancing around furtively.

"chuuya, dazai," you all but scold, "how about you save that for later? maybe when a whole room of people aren't watching?"

dazai stands from his chair and feigns a sigh, flopping onto your shoulder. you laugh and it sounds like music and chuuya feels a vein pop in his forehead.

"my sincerest apologies," dazai bemoans, "it's just that the little one here seems to bring out the worst in me."

chuuya's clenching his jaw so hard that his teeth might grind themselves to ashes, and you playfully shove the taller boy off you. "play nice."

dazai sits back down and you take the empty seat next to him, and chuuya looks straight ahead as he listens to the two of you blabber on about some nonsense.

he's mad, he's really, really mad because he can't find it in himself to insert himself into the conversation and you look so happy talking to dazai. and really, who wouldn't be happy?

dazai was charming and charismatic, even if he was a piece of shit. he was humorous and actually kind of easy-going (looking past the murderous tendencies) in a way chuuya only claimed to be.

chuuya was angry, angry enough to admit yes, maybe he was a little jealous of dazai's closeness with you. but he had no idea what the hell to do.

chuuya can't decide if he's lucky or unlucky when the answer falls right into his lap.

it's a sunny day in january, something rare and unusual. chuuya's day has been pretty normal for a 16-year-old boy. so far, he's overseen 2 jewel trades and still had daylight to spare. he's unhurried as he wanders the hallways of the port mafia headquarters, looking for something to occupy him.

that's when he runs into you.

you're leaning against the wall of a common room, tapping away at your cell phone with your headphones on. they're sitting on your hair oddly, making the strands stick out in an awkward way. he bites the inside of his cheek, despising how the littlest things endeared you to him.

he calls your name, and you look up. a bright smile forms across your face. "hey chuuya."

"hey. not doing anything?"

you shake your head. "nope. i was about to leave, actually, to go grocery shopping. you?"

"i finished early today."

"ah. cool."

"yep."

chuuya hates how stale this conversation is. he knows he can do better but the way you look at him ties his tongue in knots and he can't seem to muster the words he wants to. he thinks that if he were dazai, it would be easy to get out what he wants to say. luckily for chuuya, though, you do it for him.

"if you're not busy," you say, "would you want to come with me? i can make you lunch back at my apartment, if you'd like."

chuuya smiles and it takes his whole being to not beam at you with all his teeth. "that sounds good."

the walk to the local grocery store is uneventful, but a constant chatter is exchanged. you talk and chuuya replies, and he feels the ice in his throat melting.

this, he realizes, is the first time he's been in your company outside of an assignment. he thinks he loves it.

you're quick to fill silences, and there's never a lull in the conversation. you laugh and smile and you seem so genuine that chuuya's heart is thundering in his chest whenever you do.

the grocery store itself is small and quaint, with windows lining the walls. sunlight filters in and stains your skin with its gold. it's peaceable, chuuya decides, the way you lead him around and gather products in your basket. it's lovely, he thinks, whenever you look at him. he could get used to this.

but chuuya is not a lucky man, it seems, because a very loud and very familiar voice cuts through whatever you were saying:

"oh, i didn't expect to see you both here, outside of work! chuuya, i'm impressed, you finally told y/n that you're hopelessly in love with her?"

chuuya freezes, staring straight ahead at the apple shelves. you straighten, wide eyes looking at him. dazai is grinning.

"you fucking piece of shit," chuuya snarls, whipping to face him.

dazai raises his hands in the air with a serene smile. "not in public, chuuya, please! think of the children!"

dazai grabs an apple from the stands and takes a bite. he turns to leave without paying. "i hope your relationship is wonderful and prosperous!"

chuuya stares at his shrinking figure, hoping that the other boy can feel his gaze burning through his back. his endeavors are only interrupted by your voice calling his name.

"chuuya?"

his attention snaps to you, and he opens and closes his jaws like a fish. "uh, yeah?"

he hates how dull and hesitant his voice sounds. he hates how confused you look. he hates dazai.

"what was dazai talking about?"

chuuya puffs out his chest, sensing an opportunity to lie his way out of this. "i have no idea, i guess that blubbering idiot has finally gone fully insane-"

"no, tell me truthfully, please."

he resists the urge to curse, having forgotten how perceptive you were. "uh... well..."

"you like me?"

silence. chuuya looks at you. you look at him. he's not sure what else he can say.

"yeah."

you blink. and then you smile. "okay, cool. i like you too."

and just like that, you move on, continuing your search for the scallions. chuuya's still frozen, so he jogs to catch up with you.

"wait, so like," he spouts disbelievingly, "for real?"

"yeah."

"just like that?"

"yep."

"it was that easy?"

"probably!"

chuuya sighs deeply and you giggle. "chuuya, i'd have said yes if you asked me out the day we met, if i'm being honest."

he gapes at you. "serious?"

"mhm. and i knew you liked me, by the way. i was just waiting for you to say it. i guess dazai got impatient."

he is flabbergasted. "what gave it away?"

you shrug your shoulders, gathering a bundle of scallions and a few heads of garlic to place in your basket. "you don't hide your envy well."

chuuya huffs. "i don't get jealous, actually."

"sure you don't."

"really, though! i don't!"

chuuya protests but he's smiling, and you are too. you bump him with your shoulders and his hand finds its way around your waist.

okay, so maybe chuuya nakahara got a little, tiny bit jealous- but for you? he thinks it was worth it.

#bsd x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuya x reader #chuya nakahara x reader #chuya nakahara #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #mom i love him

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clu-ven · 1 year

Text

The Bad Batch accidentally walk in on you changing HCs

1.2k words ! slightly suggestive !

As the Marauder speeds towards the batch's next mission, you take a few seconds to slip into your room and change. You're too busy reciting the plan over and over to yourself to realise you forgot to lock the door, quickly discarding your clothes and ruffling through what little clothing options you have. It’s only when you hear the whooshing sound of the door opening do you realise your mistake…

HUNTER

The second Hunter enters the room, your scent fills him. And the sight of you that goes with this almost overwhelms him completely.

When he registers what’s going on, Hunter averts his gaze from you and begins mumbling an apology as he backtracks out of the room.

This isn’t a predicament Hunter wants to be in nor does he want to just linger there, hating the idea of making you feel uncomfortable. Just as quick as he enters, Hunter leaves again. He doesn’t even give you time to say anything, disappearing out of the room as swiftly as he can.

…Though even after exiting the room, Hunter finds it extremely difficult to get the scent of you out of his system.

Hunter keeps a subtle eye on the entrance to your room while you change, getting ready to stop anyone else from entering. He’s very protective of you and the thoughts of someone else seeing you in such a compromising position makes his skin crawl.

When you are fully dressed and leave the room, Hunter keeps his distance for the rest of the mission, avoiding eye contact with you and stumbling over his words whenever you join a conversation.

Hunter knows the awkwardness will pass but he’s not sure if he can ever get the beautiful sight of you in your underwear out of his head.

TECH

“Oh,” Tech’s grip on his datapad tightens, the sound of his voice making you freeze in place “it appears I’ve picked the worst possible time to enter”.

Tech doesn’t just stand there gawking at you or stumble over his words. Instead he turns around so his back is facing you and begins telling you why he came in, letting you know about a slight adjustment being made to the plan.

That way he can catch you up to date on the mission while also giving you the privacy to get dressed - and it’s time efficient!

Afterwards, he just leaves as if this is nothing out of the ordinary. He pretends like it never happened but not intentionally ?

Tech simply accepts it was misfortunate timing and lets the moment pass by, not wanting to make it a big deal and possibly make you feel even more awkward.

He has no problem moving on almost immediately and acting as if it never even happened. But if you want to talk about it, Tech can do that too, though he will be a little bit surprised that this is something you want to discuss.

Basically, the last thing Tech wants to do is maximise any lingering awkwardness and so he won’t ever mention this again unless you bring it up first.

WRECKER

Wrecker has the loudest reaction out of the batch, quickly pulling his eyes away from you and opting to stare at the floor, all while loudly exclaiming “Ah!”, “What in the-”, “Oh my..uh…”.

He’s panicking, a flurry of emotions and worries flying around his head. Do you think he’s done this on purpose? Why didn’t you lock the damn door?! Is he getting too…um… excited about this sudden predicament? And do you notice that?

If there are any loose clothes near him, there’s a good chance Wrecker will impulsively pick them up and throw them in your direction. “Here!” he flings a pair of pants in your general direction, landing on top of your head and further bewildering you.

“Take these too -oh, and this!” you manage to take the pants off your head just in time to see a blanket and pair of blacks being thrown your way.

If there’s any laundry within a five feet radius of Wrecker, he will be throwing it towards you. He means well, doing it with the good intentions of wanting to get you dressed and hopefully ending this whole situation.

When Wrecker leaves, he hurls even more clothes at you, using the bombardment of laundry as cover while he bolts out of the room.

He might be a bit avoidant for the rest of the rotation but as soon as you start up a conversation with him, any awkwardness melts away and he’s fine again.

ECHO

Echo rarely freezes but seeing you so exposed? Yeah, he thinks he may have short-circuited. His jaw drops open at the sight in front of him and for a few seconds, he has no idea what to do, his mind going blank.

But he’s quick to snap into action once the initial shock passes. Echo tries to cover his eyes but he uses his socket arm which admittedly doesn’t do a great job at blocking out his vision.

Cursing himself, he hurriedly switches and uses his other hand which does a much better job. At least now Echo is too embarrassed by his own actions to realise you’re also a flustered mess.

He apologises for barging in and you notice the slight change in his tone. He reverts back into his standard ARC Trooper formal tone, a slight strain in his words as he explains why he’s here.

Echo hopes that if he pretends he’s in a briefing and simply relays the plan to you just like any other time then hopefully his voice won’t shake and he won’t stumble over his words.

He leaves immediately after finishing his last sentence. He's in such a hurry to leave, he almost walking into the door, earning another muttered curse from him. Afterwards, Echo apologises at least 5 more times as well as giving you numerous apologetic glances throughout the mission.

CROSSHAIR

Crosshair doesn’t get flustered. Did this surprise him? Sure but he’s quick to recover, his eyes momentarily going wide before a smirk graces his lips.

He knows you’re not one to usually get very flustered so it’s kinda funny to see you hurriedly trying to put a pair of pants on, nearly falling over in the process.

Crosshair leans against the wall, arms crossed as you fumble with your clothes. If you’re a complete mess and flustered beyond belief, he might ask if you need some help just to see your reaction but if he’s in a merciful mood then he’ll bite his tongue.

Crosshair doesn't turn away from you completely, instead opting to move his head to the side, giving you some privacy while still keeping you in his peripheral vision. He tells you about the change in plan, his voice completely calm.

Before leaving, Crosshair looks back over his shoulder at you, complimenting the colour of your underwear before disappearing out of the room.

Next time you see him, Crosshair will give you a knowing look, toothpick rolling across his smug smile as he makes a vague comment about what happened.

It’ll leave the others with confused expressions, having no idea what Crosshair is referring to and it’ll most definitely leave you blushing.

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carionto · 5 months

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Do you think aliens would be weirded or freaked out that when we're tickled, it's actually a pain response but laughter (sometimes anger) is the only way we can deal with it? Or that tickling is even a thing?

That startling repeated noise.

Humans often make it, particularly when with other Humans. They say it's generally a reaction to positive emotional and unexpected physical stimulation in certain parts of their bodies. It is quite... disturbing sometimes.

Once a Human asked me to "tickle" them, saying my slender feathery limbs would be a fantastic sensation to experience. They raised their arms up and exposed their bare skin and said: "Go for the sides. My ribs are extra sensitive to that." Hesitantly, I complied.

Upon the lightest touch, they screamed louder than I had ever heard anyone do. It was mortifying, like the death-wail of a raging beast. I instinctively snapped back and my feet jolted me 10 meters away in a second.

The Human kept making this noise for a brief moment, then asked me to come back and continue, saying: "Oh man, I've never felt anything that gently peculiar. It's like a hundred feathers all in one place caressing each individual nerve ending. It's okay, us Humans love laughing like this, it's great."

Despite my initial shock and discomfort at the noise, I decided to comply and "tickle" the Human for a few minutes. It was a rather grueling experience to be honest, but after a short while, seeing more of what their "joy" looks like, I grew accustomed to the noise. Just a little.

"Whoo, damn, that actually tired me out. Haven't had a good laugh like that in a while, thanks for humoring me." The Human said while looking exhausted and catching their breath. I have never seen a Human on this station be physically tired before, even when they run and jump around and recklessly endanger their lives. But a light touch, I barely even had to move, and the Human was all but incapacitated.

"Hey, could you do me a favor? When you go back to your department, give one of the people there a tickle, someone who looks all gloomy or is often complaining about something. They could use a laugh. It won't be as effective through clothing, but trust me, they'll thank you for it. And if they don't just tell them I told you to do it, it'll be fine."

That last phrase raised alarm bells, but the reassurance and how much fun they seemed to have convinced me to accept their request. After all, it is a good thing to spread joy and happiness, so if this is one way I can help out Humans, then I should.

Big mistake.

When I got back and noticed one Human who fit the description, I approached them from behind and tickled the back of their neck, as I was told that is another sensitive spot.

They screamed, turned around and slapped my arm out of the way faster than I could retract it.

The bone is still healing, doctors said it would take a month for all the fractures to fully reconnect and harden, but the nerve connection to my seventh finger was so badly damaged I would never be able to fully extend it again.

I was visited by both Humans who I had "tickled" and the first was in a very apologetic and defeated mood. The other spoke: "I apologize for breaking your arm. I did not mean to. Tickling is one of those things we don't fully understand about ourselves, but it isn't just about having fun and being entertained." This was pointed more to the first Human.

"It's an automatic response, most Humans feel ticklish like this one here, but some, like me, find it painful and our response to external stimuli towards sensitive parts of our bodies is to protect them fiercely, like you had the misfortune of experience for yourself."

"I'll speak to the administration and have them include this in the guidelines for interacting with us Humans. And," turning directly towards the first Human now: "I'll have them include a section for Humans about not teaching our Alien friends to play children's tricks on us." They turned back to me. "Get well soon, and again, sorry about this mess."

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #carionto #humanity fuck yeah

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doberbutts · 7 months

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You: reblogs post explaining why performative support and playing to pick sides on an armed conflict when you are completely detached from it is negative and unhelpful:

These fucking dumbasses: so 🤨🤨🤨 you're picking the side of the baddies 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 🤨🤨

It's not even that it's

Me: I think anyone with a brain can understand that genocide is always wrong and so is the killing of innocent civilians who have nothing to do with the conflict, I think targeting city centers and hospitals and schools and daycares is not just cowardly but also morally repugnant no matter who's doing it or what their justification is

Them: so you think [side] is in the right to be killing innocent civilians and performing genocide? you think [side] should be targeting schools and hospitals?

Like. What part of "stop killing peaceful people just living their lives" makes (general) you think I'm okay with the other side killing innocent people just living their lives? There was no "unless they are the team I personally am backing" part of that sentence.

I think it is bad to be killing those uninvolved with the conflict that have the misfortune of living in an active war zone while trying to do things like feed their families and go to school. Those people are not anyone's enemies.

There's so many things out there that's like "oh well [activist] was part of the dead" or "oh well [person who ran a charity] was part of the dead" and I do think that's sad but I also think that we shouldn't have to justify valuing a human life. It's sad that the people died because they were people with lives and hopes and dreams. Their worth is that they were human. The school teacher on her daily commute is worth just as much as the activist raising funds. They were both people just trying to live. And now they're gone.

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yawarakaizai · 7 months

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I LOVE YOUR AESTHETIC SM!!

i was thinking..

gn doll reader with nikolai.. i feel like he’s obsessed with dolls (bj dolls/porcelain dolls) he’d treat you delicately and.. ahh.. i need HIM. CARNALLY.

ⵌ THIS LITTLE WORLD IS YOURS TONIGHT

SENDER Doll ! Reader (GN) RECIPITENT Nikolai Gogol (BSD) CONTENTS He took the utmost care of you, treating you how he believed you should be treated. He loved every part of you, and that included your feisty temper, even when he was so nice and caring towards you. NOTE bratty reader, pet-names, usage of 'daddy', possessiveness, suggestive content, genitalia mentioned (or rather lack thereof), mentions of fyodor + sigma, size difference, reader is a ball-jointed doll, non-sexual nudity, rich nikolai lolol, spoiled reader, mentions of punishments/implied punishments (spanking), feminine clothing (dresses) COMPANY Smarty

A/N hii ano n! tys m f or your req (>///<) nikolai is one of m y fav es actu al ly, , hes s o swe et , craz y and aa aa a <3 i hop e you enjoy this small fic! !! it was f un t o write ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ i th iink nikolai would be s o silly w/ a re ader who' s a dol l !! he'd p air well w ith a br att y doll .. s o here 's th is !! \(^///^)/

" Noo! I don't wanna! "

Your whine was met with an exaggerated sigh of mock-sadness.

" Oh, but please! You'll look utterly adorable in this! "

One thing about you was that once your mind was made up, there was no way of convincing you otherwise. It was always your way. At least .. usually.

" Don't wanna means I don't wanna. "

You stood in the middle of the room nude, your hands placed on your hips, your head turned to the side away from the man knelt on the floor before you with his pleading eyes, a white gown bunched up in his hands.

Stubborn is what you were. And goodness, did Nikolai not love and hate it at the same time.

You were his sweet, spoiled doll. He wouldn't want it any other way.

" Ya know I love you best when you're behaved, doll. " He was dumb to think you'd relent your attitude so easily. Nikolai was being soft today, thankfully. On a hard day, he would've had you crying out bent over his knee promising to be a good doll next time.

Peeking from your shut eyes, your glass eyes stared curiously and intently on the dress he insisted to hell and back you should try out.

Frilly, short and virgin white - like every other garment he'd buy for you.

You most certainly are appreciative to have such a generous daddy. One who'd adorn you in only the best of dresses and accessories, showing you off to all who'd have the misfortune of coming across Nikolai.

He'd boast about how lucky he is to have you, with you shyly hiding behind his large stature, your fist gripping onto the hems of his shirt for your own comfort. You were timid around others that weren't your daddy. You'd shrink at compliments from others and cling to Nikolai; afraid to lose him.

Nikolai adored you for how bold you were with him. No matter the façade of a pure, innocent angel you'd display to all - he knew just what you were in private.

" Fine. But only this dress. Otherwise, I'll go straight to Dostoy and tell on you! "

" Yes! Yes, oh, how sweet you are! "

Standing up to his feet, he immediately began to tie the matching garter to your porcelain thigh, tightening it enough to ensure it wouldn't slip off.

" You'll look beautiful. I could not rid the thought of you wearing it from my mind. " He rambled on, guiding your head through the many frills of the dress, pulling your arms into the sleeves and smoothing out any wrinkles in the fabric.

You found it to be too short, as you'd find when you'd spin around the dress would ride up with the air and thus exposing the area humans considered intimate.

Although you possessed no genitals, Nikolai still found your body erotic.

" It's too short. " You'd protest, to which he'd reply, " It's perfect. "

It could be said Nikolai found you aesthetically pleasing to look at, as many would come to agree. Even Dostoy - as you'd call him - began to take a keen interest in you, requesting for your co-operation in being his muse for a while.

He had painted a lovely portrait of you. One you kept in an expensive gold frame, hung over your prized vanity table.

You did not pry too much into your daddy's life, and that included his relations with Dostoy. All you knew was that Dostoy was above the other, and the two had mutual respect for one another.

" Can you sit still for me, doll? Need't put these on ya. "

Nikolai rummaged through the many shopping bags he had hauled into your room, not expecting to have caught you during your brattish hours.

Nodding in silence, you allowed him to clip bows and pearls to your soft hair, having to kneel down to properly align everything perfectly and just the way he wanted them to be.

By the time he was done, you could feel the weight on your head having increased from how over-the-top he had gone.

" Daddy.. "

You huffed, puckering your red lips childishly.

" You look elegant, I promise you. "

Placing his hand on the lower end of your back, he carefully guided you towards your full-body mirror hanging adjacent from your large wardrobe.

Studying your reflection, you stared up at his grinning face. " You look dumb. " You remarked, continuing to twist and twirl. It wasn't that bad.

" I knew it'd be perfect, " He creeped behind you, wrapping his arms around your hips with his head resting atop of yours, " ya gonna thank your daddy for bein' so kind and sweet, aren't ya doll? " He murmured, lightly letting some of his heavy weight loosen on you, immediately making you yell out to him.

" Hey! Watch it! Daddy! Too heavy! "

You did your best to support him as he only laughed over you, " Catch me, catch me, doll! " he joked around, threatening to faint at any second, soaking in your desperate attempts at hoisting him back up.

In one fell swoop, he swept you off your feet over his shoulder, in the process, accidentally letting a stray bow come undone, falling to the floor below.

" Gonna go parade ya to Sigma. "

He praised, hand straying up your skirt and onto your bottom, in response you immediately whacked his back, stifling an "ow!" as your delicate hand forgot how tough he was, especially his upper body.

" Think he'll get mad when he realises I spent his money on all this? "

" Daddy! "

#bsd x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai gogol #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd nikolai #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd nikolai gogol #bsd imagines

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