#like it’s such a double edged sword for me because like on one hand YES I want to see htte trilogy adapted | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fvsm4x · 3 months

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❝﹝ ᝰ 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 part 4 ★ ˙ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི.ᐟ﹞

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

｡𝐂.𝐖: ex-boyfriend! Gojo satoru x depressed! female reader , sexual assault , attempted rape , dark themes.

｡𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.2k+

｡𝐀/𝐍: I lied to y‘all, part 5 idk when

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part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

As you stepped out into the night, the cool breeze brushed against your face, signaling the arrival of darkness and a slight chill in the air. Seeking warmth, you slipped your hands into the pockets of your jacket and began to walk away from your apartment.

The night sky stretched above you, a vast expanse of inky blackness punctuated by the shimmering glow of yellow and white stars. The trees swayed and danced in the cold wind, playfully pushing strands of hair away from your face.

The biting cold weather caused your lips to tremble slightly, and your eyes threatened to release the tears you had been holding back since you were inside your apartment. The wind, instead of offering solace, seemed to intensify your emotions, pushing you closer to the brink of tears.

Why were you crying? Was it because Geto had found someone else? Someone who was more beautiful than you? But deep down, you knew that you didn't have romantic feelings for him. So why did you feel this pang of jealousy? Perhaps it was because he seemed so happy, while you were not.

They appeared to be blissfully happy together, almost too happy. Yes, there was no denying it - you were undeniably jealous. You couldn't help but imagine yourself in their shoes, with Gojo by your side, sharing moments of happiness, embracing each other with radiant smiles and blushing cheeks.

But that reality was no longer possible. Gojo had made it clear that he didn't want you. He had found someone else to shower with his affection. You had hoped to move on, to forget about your feelings for Gojo and find solace in someone like Geto - someone kind, gentle, and reliable, who would never hurt you or betray your trust like Gojo might.

But try as you might, you couldn't bring yourself to love Geto the way you loved Gojo. Gojo still held your heart in his hands, even though you wished he didn't. Why didn't you deserve to be happy? What had you done to deserve this treatment from Gojo? These questions echoed in your mind, leaving you feeling lost and hurt.

The desire for happiness consumed your thoughts, leaving you questioning why it seemed so elusive. It felt as though life had dealt you a cruel hand, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had done something to deserve this constant ache in your heart.

The decision to let Geto live with you in the apartment that Gojo had gifted you now seemed like a double-edged sword. On one hand, it had provided you with a sense of security and companionship during a time when you had nothing and no one. But now, with Geto having found a girlfriend, their presence together in the apartment served as a constant reminder of the past, of the moments you had shared with Gojo.

However, the thought of kicking Geto out of the apartment never crossed your mind. He had been there for you when no one else was, offering you a place to stay and a shoulder to lean on. The debt of gratitude you owed him was immeasurable, and you couldn't bear the thought of hurting him by asking him to leave.

But the reality of the situation was hard to ignore. With Geto now in a relationship, the dynamic between the two of you had shifted. The once frequent and cherished moments you spent together were slowly dwindling, replaced by the presence of his girlfriend. The pain of this change cut deep, reminding you of the void that had been left in your own heart.

It was a bittersweet realization. On one hand, you wanted Geto to find happiness and experience the joy that you had yearned for. But on the other hand, the thought of losing the closeness you once shared with him was almost unbearable. The loneliness that settled in your chest was suffocating, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was the price you had to pay for allowing yourself to love someone who didn't reciprocate those feelings.

As you continued to walk through the night, the weight of your emotions pressed down upon you, making each step feel heavier than the last. The tears that had threatened to spill earlier now streamed freely down your face, mingling with the cool night air. The world around you seemed to blur, as if mirroring the confusion and pain that consumed your thoughts.

In that moment, you longed for a respite from the ache in your heart. You yearned for a glimmer of hope, a sign that happiness was still within reach. But as you trudged forward, the path ahead appeared uncertain, and the darkness seemed to stretch endlessly before you.

As you continued your leisurely stroll down the bustling street, completely engrossed in your own thoughts, an unexpected interruption abruptly jolted you out of your reverie. Without warning, a firm grip seized your arm and forcefully pulled you aside, causing your heart to skip a beat and adrenaline to surge through your veins.

Startled and disoriented, you swiftly pivoted to confront the source of this sudden intrusion, only to find yourself face to face with two imposing figures towering over you. Their intense gazes, marked by dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, betrayed a mixture of desire and mischief. Smirking down at you, their eyes seemed to devour your presence.

One of them, his hand still clasping your arm, gradually allowed his fingers to glide up your forearm, tracing a tantalizing path towards your shoulder. With a deliberate and almost hypnotic motion, he entwined his fingers in your hair, playfully twirling it around his own digit. His voice, laced with a hint of seduction, broke the silence, "What brings such a beautiful lady like yourself here?"

As the words escaped their lips, a shiver ran down your spine, causing your heart to race in your chest. You couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and curiosity, unsure of what this encounter would bring. The intensity of the moment seemed to freeze time, leaving you suspended in a state of uncertainty.

Their gaze bore into yours, and you couldn't bring yourself to meet it fully. You felt a knot forming in the pit of your stomach, your thoughts racing as you tried to make sense of the situation. What did they want from you? Why were they looking at you like that? Fear began to grip you, making it difficult to find your voice.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had, you managed to muster a response, your voice trembling with a hint of caution. "What do y-you want from me," you stammered, your words barely audible. You hoped your timidity would shield you from whatever intentions they had.

Their smirks deepened, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of unease. Their amusement was evident, and it only fueled your anxiety. What were they finding so amusing? You felt their presence so close, their breath grazing your ear as they whispered. It sent a chill down your spine, making your heart skip a beat.

„Oh, we're just looking for a little adventure. And it seems we've stumbled upon someone who might be up for it.“

The mixture of fear within you intensified. You knew you had a choice to make, but indecision clouded your thoughts. Should you let fear dictate your actions, or should you embrace the unknown and venture into uncharted territory? The thought of the latter sent waves of panic through you, but there was also a strange allure to the idea.

Summoning all the courage you could find, you forced yourself to meet their gaze, though your eyes quickly darted away.

You mustered a response, your voice barely above a whisper. "Uhm- I don‘t think I‘m up for that little adventure of yours…" Your voice trailed off, your words lacking the conviction you wished you had.

Their eyes sparkled with newfound interest, and you couldn't help but wonder what you had gotten yourself into.

The person standing before you leaned in closer, their eyes sparkling with mischief and a sly smile playing on their lips. Their words were laced with an enticing promise, "Oh, come on," they said, their voice dripping with seduction, "we guarantee that we'll give you an unforgettable experience."

Feeling a surge of discomfort and unease, you instinctively took a step back. Their gaze was fixated on your smaller form, making you feel vulnerable and unsafe. Your lips trembled slightly as you averted their intense gaze, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control.

With every intention of escaping this unsettling situation, you slowly began to walk backwards. But your attempt at retreat was abruptly halted when a hand forcefully grabbed your face, yanking you back towards them. The grip was rough, and it sent shivers down your spine.

"Where do you think you're going, miss?" the person holding your face sneered, their voice dripping with an unsettling mix of dominance and aggression. They pushed you further into their personal space, their other hand wrapping possessively around your waist, leaving no doubt about their intentions.

A whispered plea escaped your lips, your face contorting with fear and your eyes welling up with tears. You knew all too well what they wanted, but you refused to let anyone use your body against your will. The weight of their desires and the intrusion into your personal boundaries felt overwhelming.

Why did these things always seem to happen to you? Why did Gojo have to betray your trust and cheat on you? Why did Geto have to replace you? And now, why did these strangers feel entitled to possess you?

A sense of despair washed over you as you contemplated your seemingly endless streak of misfortune. Perhaps, you thought, you didn't deserve happiness after all. Maybe you were destined to endure these hardships. But deep down, you couldn't fathom what you had done to deserve such torment. The answers eluded you, leaving you feeling lost and helpless.

„P-please let me go.“ you whispered, your trembling hand instinctively reaching out to push against their chest, hoping to create some distance between the two of you. But instead of relenting, they tightened their grip on you, their hold becoming even more suffocating. The room suddenly felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in on you, and the air grew heavy with an unspoken tension. Panic coursed through your veins, causing your heart to race and your thoughts to spiral into a frenzy of fear and desperation.

What had you done to deserve this? Why did it seem like these unfortunate circumstances always found their way into your life? It was as if the universe had conspired against you, casting you as the perpetual victim of misfortune and suffering.

Maybe, just maybe, in another life, you deserved to be happy. Perhaps there was a parallel existence where the scales of fate tipped in your favor, where joy and contentment were your constant companions. It was a fleeting thought, but one that offered a sliver of solace in the midst of your current turmoil.

The hand that had been on your face now moved, sliding down to your neck, gripping it tightly and pushing you closer to the person who had trapped you. Just as their lips were about to meet yours, a voice abruptly chimed in, shattering the tense atmosphere.

"Oi... what the hell do you think you're doing?!" The voice came from behind, and you swiftly turned your head, your heart sinking even further as you recognized the unexpected intruder. It was Gojo. What was he doing here? His presence sent shockwaves through your already tumultuous emotions, leaving you even more bewildered and distressed. His expression mirrored your own surprise, as if he had stumbled upon a scene he hadn't anticipated.

"Get away from her!" Gojo's voice boomed, cutting through the tension like a blade. He swiftly moved towards you, positioning himself as a protective barrier between you and the ominous figure that had threatened you mere moments ago. The stranger, who had been momentarily caught off guard by Gojo's sudden arrival, now wore a scowl, their arrogance faltering.

"This doesn't concern you. Mind your own damn business," they sneered, their voice dripping with disdain. "Give me back the girl. She was certainly enjoying herself," they added, a twisted smirk forming on their lips.

Gojo's gaze shifted from the stranger to you, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your tear-stained face, frozen in fear and anguish. His protective instincts kicked into high gear, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Enjoying it? I don't think so," he retorted, his voice laced with a mixture of fury and concern. "Look at her—she's fucking crying."

The question echoed in your mind, reverberating with confusion and disbelief. Why was Gojo, of all people, coming to your aid? What compelled him to intervene in this dangerous situation? But in that moment, as you stood there, vulnerable and broken, his unexpected support offered a glimmer of hope.

"These are happy tears," the man sneered, taking a menacing step towards Gojo and aiming a punch at his face. With lightning-fast reflexes, Gojo caught the man's fist and twisted his hand, eliciting a cry of pain from his adversary.

"Happy tears, huh? More like pain tears," Gojo growled, forcefully throwing the man to the ground before turning to confront your shocked and motionless figure.

As Gojo stood before you, his eyes blazing with determination, he extended a hand towards you, offering his help. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

"I-I'm okay- thank you," you muttered, taking a step back from him. Confusion and a whirlwind of emotions churned inside you as you struggled to make sense of the situation. The man who had replaced you, who had broken your heart, was now standing before you offering assistance. Memories flooded back, the pain of his betrayal still fresh in your mind. Where was his girlfriend? Why was he here?

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over, and you quickly wiped them away, refusing to let him see your vulnerability. You couldn't bear the thought of appearing weak in front of him, especially after three long months of trying to move on from the heartbreak.

Feeling a mix of embarrassment and anger, you turned away from Gojo, avoiding his gaze, and took a step forward to leave him behind. But just as you thought you could escape, a hand grasped your wrist, halting your movements.

As you turned around, your eyes met Gojo's figure standing there, his posture tense, his gaze lowered, and his expression a mix of emotions. His voice was gentle as he released your wrist and asked, "Hey... are you sure you're okay?" His concern was palpable, evident in the way he studied your tear-swollen eyes, a clear indication of recent distress.

Gojo's heart twisted at the sight of your tears, aching with the uncertainty of their cause. Was it his fault, or the dangers you had faced? The sight of you in pain tore at him, leaving him feeling helpless in his desire to ease your suffering. Despite the complexities of your shared history, his instinct to protect and console you remained unwavering, even though he felt clueless about how to mend the fractures in your heart.

"I'm fine, thank you for your help," you replied, avoiding his gaze, the weight of the moment suffocating you. You just wanted to escape the intensity of the situation. The air around you felt heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, creating a tension that seemed to thicken with each passing moment.

"Hey... um," Gojo began, his voice soft as he struggled to find the right words. His fist clenched as he averted his gaze, his internal turmoil evident in the way his brows furrowed with self-reproach. The silence between you was pregnant with unspoken apologies and unaddressed grievances, adding layers of complexity to an already fraught interaction.

"I messed up, I'm sorry," Gojo finally admitted, his voice tinged with regret and a hint of desperation. The vulnerability in his tone was a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor, revealing a side of him that you rarely saw – a side that was raw and exposed, stripped of its usual facade.

Your eyes widened at his admission, your heart racing with a mix of emotions. You searched his face for any signs of deception but found none. The lines of worry etched on his face, the sincerity in his eyes, all seemed to point towards a genuine remorse that tugged at your heartstrings, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

"I'm so, so sorry, y/n," Gojo continued, his brow furrowed with genuine remorse. "I know I've hurt you in ways I may never fully comprehend. I can't erase the past, but I want you to know that I truly regret everything I've done." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths and unaddressed wounds, creating a palpable tension that seemed to envelop the space between you.

You listened to his words, sensing the sincerity in his voice, yet the wounds he had inflicted remained raw. You were torn between the hope of reconciliation and the fear of trusting him again. The foundation of trust that once bound you together had been shattered, leaving behind a jagged edge that seemed impossible to mend.

As Gojo stood before you, his apology hanging in the air, each word felt like a heavy weight on your shoulders, a painful reminder of the hurt he had caused. Memories of being replaced, evicted, losing your job, and discovering his betrayal flooded your mind, a storm of pain and betrayal you had tried to bury. The ache in your chest grew with each passing moment, the conflicting emotions swirling within you like a turbulent sea.

"I'm sorry, please give me another chance," Gojo pleaded, taking your hand in his, holding on as if his life depended on it. His touch was warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled between you. The weight of his hand in yours felt both comforting and suffocating, a reminder of the bond that had once held you together, now frayed and fragile.

As you felt his hand in yours, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. The warmth of his touch stirred memories of happier times, of shared laughter and stolen moments of intimacy. But beneath the surface, a current of pain and betrayal still lingered, threatening to pull you under.

You looked into Gojo's eyes, searching for answers, for a glimpse of the man you once knew. His gaze was earnest, his expression a mix of regret and determination. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored the turmoil in your own heart, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness.

"I don't know if I can," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. The weight of his apology, of the past that loomed between you, felt like a heavy burden you weren't sure you could bear. The wounds he had inflicted ran deep, leaving scars that seemed impossible to heal.

The realization that Gojo had a girlfriend sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. Doubt and insecurity gnawed at your insides as you grappled with the implications of his relationship status. Would he betray her with you again, repeating a cycle of deceit and hurt? The mere thought of being entangled in such a web of deception made your stomach churn with unease.

His words echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of the comparison he had drawn between you and his girlfriend. "She's better than you," he had said, a dagger to your already wounded heart. The question lingered like a shadow in your thoughts - if she was indeed better, why did he seek you out again? Was it a game to him, a twisted manipulation of emotions that would end with you cast aside once more?

"You have a girlfriend," you spoke, your voice tinged with a mix of hurt and skepticism. "Right now, it feels like you're just repeating the same pattern that hurt me before."

His grip on your hand tightened, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness evident in his touch. The warmth of his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm offered a sense of reassurance amidst the storm of emotions swirling between you.

"I know it's complicated, and I understand your hesitation," Gojo began, his voice tinged with regret. "I never intended to hurt you. But being with her made me realize the depth of my mistakes with you. I can't change the past, but I want to make amends, if you'll allow me."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the unspoken questions and doubts that clouded your mind. Would history repeat itself, with Gojo playing with your emotions once more before discarding you like before? The memory of past wounds still fresh, the scars still tender, made it hard to trust in the sincerity of his intentions.

Gojo's gaze met yours, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions - remorse, longing, and a glimmer of hope. His grip on your hand remained firm, a silent plea for a second chance, for understanding, for forgiveness.

"Me and her broke up," he confessed, his eyes avoiding yours as he gazed down at the ground, his expression pained.

As he uttered those words, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swept through your mind. Did he seek you out because he wanted to rebound from his recent breakup? Would he just use you as a temporary replacement until someone better came along, only to discard you once again?

You knew deep down that you deserved more than being someone's second choice. You craved genuine love and loyalty, to be someone's priority and not just a convenient option to fill a void.

The ache in your heart intensified at the realization that Gojo had only turned to you because of his recent breakup.

"S-so, you only want me back because you're no longer with your girlfriend? How could you- play with my feelings like this…?" you questioned, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

As you stood there, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anger, hurt, and confusion swirling within you. Memories of the past flooded your mind - the times he had come to you for comfort, the moments of laughter and intimacy you had shared. But now, it all felt tainted by the realization that perhaps it had all been a facade, a temporary distraction for him until something better came along.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your trembling voice as you continued to confront him. "I thought what we had was real, that you cared for me beyond just a temporary fix. But now, I see that I was just a convenient option for you to turn to when things got tough with her.."

His eyes met yours, a flicker of guilt and regret passing through them. "I didn't mean to hurt you..p-please," he began, his voice filled with remorse.

But your walls were up now, your heart guarded against further pain. "Intentions don't erase the damage done," you replied, tears spilling down your face.

„At least give me a new chance- I promise…I‘ll be better..please..-“ he begged, falling to his knees and looking up at you.

As he knelt before you, his voice filled with desperation and his eyes brimming with tears, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. His words tugged at your heartstrings, stirring up memories of happier times and the love you had once shared. Despite the pain and betrayal you had experienced, a part of you still longed for the connection you had with him.

His hand holding onto yours felt familiar, comforting in its own way. You could feel the intensity of his emotions radiating off him, his vulnerability laid bare before you. The urge to comfort him, to offer reassurance and forgiveness, warred with the anger and hurt that still lingered within you.

You gazed into his pleading eyes, searching for sincerity and remorse. The guilt began to gnaw at you, whispering that perhaps he deserved a second chance, that people make mistakes and can change. The inner turmoil threatened to overwhelm you, clouding your judgment and weakening your resolve.

A part of you wanted to believe his promises of change, to hope that things could be different this time. The idea of rebuilding what was broken, of finding a way back to the love you once shared, flickered in the depths of your heart. But another part of you, the part that had been wounded and scarred by his actions, hesitated to let down your guard once more.

But it wouldn‘t hurt to give him a second chance, right..?

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR THIRTEEN

in which eddie wants to distract you from the one thing you ask for: honesty. it's a shame he never realized just how dirty you can play when you want something bad enough.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, smut, female masturbation/male masturbation, exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), minors dni

→ wc: 3.2k+

→ a/n: probably the shortest chapter of the entire series. if i added anything else from what will be in hour 14, it would simply get too long. and this length felt good for what i was trying to accomplish! as always with my smut, my apologies if it ain't up to standard. i don't really edit my smut chapters haha. thank you all for being so kind and for all messages, reblogs, etc! <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

13:00 ────────ㅇ───────── 24:00

HOUR THIRTEEN - 4:00 AM

“Would you like me to be honest now, doll? Or would you rather me eat that poor pussy right here, right now, on this counter?”

Against your better judgment, your knees spread for him.

Honesty can wait, you realize, as his palms are warm against your skin. He’s slow in his descent, dropping to his knees on his kitchen floor at an antagonizing pace.

“Is that what you want? I was interrupted earlier, after all,” he murmurs, eyes locked with yours as he finally settles on the floor, hands cupping the back of your knees before tugging your hips to settle at the edge of the counter, “Use your words for me, sweetheart.”

No, we can’t settle a fight with sex. That is not becoming our new normal.

“Yes,” you breathe out, your mind in shambles as you look down at him on his knees for you. As if he’s prepared to worship. As if the two of you weren’t just arguing.

“Yes, what?”

He’s weaponizing himself against you now. Fingertips tickling down your calves, smiles lilting in a knowing grin. He knows that he has you right where he wants you right now. He knows just how desperate he can turn you.

“Yes, please,” you beg, giving into the desperation far too soon. But he only tsks in response, not fully accepting the plea despite the rashness that drips from your tone. And so you try again as his fingers return to your waist and plays with the band of the sweatpants you had just put back on, “I want you to eat my poor pussy right here, right now. On this counter. Please.”

He doesn’t expect the straight-forwardness, the crude words – you shock even yourself. You can see his upper-hand immediately falter as his breath catches in his chest and his hands curl unexpectedly into the bare skin beneath the clothing he was fiddling with.

He thinks he has you right where he wants you, but you know better. You’ve caught on quickly; he isn’t just doing this to distract you, but because he needs it just as much as you. This is not a weapon against just you in this argument, but himself as well. The distraction is a double-edged sword, and just as he was pressing it against your own skin in the form of a devilish grin and wandering hands, you decide to press it right back.

You go for the sternum as you whisper, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It’s a win-win for you, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he keeps his face stoney, but you can catch his blush rising underneath the fluorescent lighting.

In another daring move, you swat away his hands, and you remove the sweatpants.

Fuck Eddie. Fuck all the fights. Fuck letting him have all the control, all the fun.

“No? Allow me to explain,” your voice grows in volume and confidence simultaneously, and you relish the way his eyes have widened when met with your clothed core once more. He’s looking at it like it’s the first time, as if he hadn’t just had his way with you on his couch, you at his mercy fully. “I think you want to get your mouth on me even more than I want it. And if you get your way, you also get to avoid honesty. Again.”

Your mind somehow becomes sharper in the haze he’d originally caused. The look in his eyes only fuels you as you bring your hands to the edge of his sweater, toying with the hem and smirking at him.

“I see,” he hums, reaching out for you, eyes still glassy and distracted. You swat his hand away before it even gets the chance to reach your knee. In an instant, his gaze adverts from your pussy to look up to you, stunned with a dumb-struck expression, puffy lips parted as his mouth hangs open ever-so-slightly, “That sounds like a win for me and for you. I’m not seeing the issue here, doll.”

“The issue is you avoiding honesty, Munson,” you scoff. You finally lean forward, pulling his sweatshirt off of you. You toss it to the ground beside where he kneels, now wearing nothing but your panties and the shit-eating grin that would usually belong to him, “I’d like to propose a deal.”

He’s easy to turn dumb. Too easy. The moment your breasts are exposed, the man before you is nearly drooling, eyes darting from them to your core, rinse and repeat, as if he can’t decide what to focus on. Anywhere but your eyes. Anywhere but your smug expression.

You have the upperhand.

“Look at me,” you demand. Your voice doesn’t hold the same strength as his would – that’s not your forte. Your forte is in the softness you continue to carry, the delicacy you now weaponize with shy fingers that trail down over your own stomach, inching closer to your underwear.

“What’s the deal?” he asks without complying to your request.

Immediately, you pause your wandering hands to lean forward, balancing your elbows on your knees as a hand grabs at his chin. It’s daring, even for you, but oh so rewarding. Blown out pupils swallow up the shades of gold that thread his irises as you give him no other choice to focus on your face again.

“What do you want?” he’s the one now desperate, still on his knees, urgency drowning out any cockiness that had been in his tone to begin with. He’s at your mercy, “Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”

“Honesty.”

He’s turned into something impenetrable. You can practically feel the waves of his ocean still. Neither of you breathe for one second, two seconds, three seconds. Only three seconds, but it could have been an eternity there in his kitchen.

Your grip on his chin never falls.

“Honesty?” he questions, brows furrowing, eyes narrowing, “I already told you, princess, you either get one or the other. You can’t have both. Not happening.”

“No?” you coo, finally removing your fingers from his skin. There’s not a single sign of the hold you had on him, your touch having been as soft as a butterfly’s wings. He’s unmarked, and he’ll remain that way, unless he agrees to your terms. You’re determined now. The upper hand won’t be sliding from your grasp as easily as it had fallen from his, “That’s a shame.”

You lean back and his eyes follow your every movement, “And why’s that?”

“Because if you’re not honest, you’re not laying a hand on me.”

“That’s still my deal, baby,” he’s trying to be condescending again, to get you back under his thumb and constrained by his idea of a distraction.

It won’t work. Not this time.

He leans forward, and just as his breath hits the wet spot that had begun to form over your clothed cunt, you bring a hand to his forehead and push him away. Your knees snap shut immediately as he tries to keep his balance, leaning back on his haunches.

He’s glaring up at you now. But he’s still not desperate enough.

“Not your deal at all,” you continue on. You’re enjoying yourself far too much, and he can tell. His breathing is picking up, his jaw has locked as he gazes up at you, “See, pretty boy, with my deal, we could have our cake and eat it too,” He swallows hard as you bring a hand up to one of your breasts, “You’re honest with me, and I let you get your mouth on my pussy. A win for everyone.”

“And if I’m not honest?”

“Then I’ll take care of myself. I’m a big girl, simple as that.”

You’ve had to spell it out for him, but it finally clicks in his mind. You can watch the mechanics of him processing your words in real time, and that desperation you’ve been seeking out this entire time has arrived. Pathetic, big eyes. Lips twitching to avoid falling victim to a pout. If you could see his knuckles, you’d find them turning a bright shade of white as he grips his knees painfully.

Just as he opens his mouth to argue again, your finger flicks at your nipple. All words on his tongue die, shrivel, dissipate at the sound of your soft moan.

“Such a shame,” you sigh out, heading lulling backwards. The back of your skull hits his cabinet with a soft thump and you hope that it won’t ache once the adrenaline and euphoria has passed, “I was kind of excited to see what that mouth could do besides piss me off.”

“You’re bluffing,” he deadpans, zeroing in on your fingers as they let go of one nipple and move onto the next, “You’ll cave before I do, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think I will,” your voice is breathless as you twist your nipple, arching your back into the touch for emphasis. It’s not as good as his hands would be, you know that, but you’re not backing down now. You have your eyes on the prize, staring down honesty with the same intensity that he stares between your legs.

“No? Are you sure you aren’t imagining how much better my fingers could be? My hands?” he eggs on. Almost as if subconsciously, he’s leaning forward into your gravitation again. When his nose brushes your knee, your thighs clench harder.

It’s not to keep him out. His words travel down your spine, wrapping and shocking all the way down until they’ve reached your core.

His hands would feel better, but his honesty will feel the best.

“You forget that before tonight, I went about life just fine without your hands,” you reply as you finally let your hand begin down a path over your torso again, starting at your sternum and traveling at an agonizing pace. You’re teasing yourself just as he would, as you know he wants to.

As you know he craves to.

“Yeah?” he chuckles lowly. Your eyes flutter close as your fingers reach the band of your panties, and you try to imagine the look on his face as you prepare yourself for his taunting, “I’ve seen the way you stare at my hands, baby. I’ve caught you staring when I’m playing with my rings. That dumb expression on your face as you watch me tap on tables. Just how many times have you imagined them wrapped around your throat, or knuckles deep in that pussy, before tonight?”

Your eyes snap open. His chest is puffed up both in self-satisfaction and heaving breaths, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. And he knows you’re watching intently, making a show of it as he slows the drag of it. A small teasing of this tongue could be on you right now.

“See, now you’re asking a bit much of me, don’t you think?” you try to keep your tone even as your hand stays poised at the edge of your underwear, making eye contact once more, “Sounds a lot like you’re asking for honesty from me. You shouldn’t ask for things you can’t give in return.”

With those words, your hand plunges into your underwear, fingers sliding between your folds, teasing your hole as you gather wetness to trail back up to your clit.

It breaks Eddie. Seeing your fingers hidden by your panties, pleasuring yourself, making whines begin to spill out between gasps, pulled from the back of your throat as your knees separate enough to accommodate your hand.

“What do you want me to be honest about?” he nearly barks out. You see his shoulder moving, arm crossing closer to his lap, and know his palming himself through his sweats.

You take the time to insert a finger into your clenching hole, Eddie’s eyes finding yours at the intrusion, biting down your moan into a mere hum before saying, “Why do you hate me?”

“Right now?” he gasps out, confirming he is touching himself to the show you’re putting on, “I hate you for being such a fucking brat. I hate you for thinking you’re in control right now.”

“I am in control.”

You slip in a second finger, curling them in sync as you press them in knuckle-deep. It’s not enough – it’s not as good as his fingers. You whine out at the thought, bucking your hips against your hand, palm applying pressure on your clit.

“Baby, you wish you were-” he goes to bring a hand to your knee again, and you’re already ready with a hand, grabbing his wrist sharply this time.

“How hard are you right now?” you ask, having to slow your movements to get out any coherent words. You can feel his heartbeat racing below his skin, feel the taunt muscles of his arm as he tries to exercise self-constraint. He’s losing – he’s failing, miserably.

Just having his skin against yours as you continue to pump your own fingers into yourself has more intense waves of pleasure tearing through you.

“How- I-” he stutters. He’s licking his lips again, but this time, it’s not to tease you.

He craves it as much as you need it. You need his honesty, and you need his goddamn mouth on you.

“I asked you a question,” you pant, grip tightening on him. You can see his shoulder shifting more fervently now, see the flush of his cheeks. He’s touching himself, and he’s close.

If he finishes first, he wins. You can’t have that.

“Tell me how hard you are right now, honestly, and I’ll let you touch me.”

A snap in his composure. You feel it in the twitch of his wrist in your grasp. “Hard. So fucking hard, I can’t fucking think right now,” you begin to get starry vision, pumping your fingers faster, curling harder to reach for a spot you can’t seem to find when his eyes are on you and his hands are right there, “If I don’t get my mouth on you within the next five seconds, sweetheart, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

You’re right on the edge, teetering over a cliffside. At the bottom are all the repercussions of what is to come. The breeze of your defeat, the call of his honesty. You don’t have to think twice; you remove your hand from yourself despite the disappointment that ruffles your entire body, and your knees fall open to him.

He hardly gives you the time to release your grip on his wrist before his fingers are tearing into the waistband of your panties and tearing them down your thighs, letting them fall to the floor limply once they brush your ankles. His palms dig into the meat of your thighs, spreading you impossibly apart and tugging you to nearly hang off the edge of the counter before he’s bringing his face to your hot core.

And then he pauses. You’re waiting for the feeling of his tongue in you, his nose to bump your clit, and he pauses.

“For the record,” he breathes out, and it has your core clenching against nothing as you feel it against you. His fingers dig into your thighs harsher, “I never hated you.”

You look down at him, pretty between your thighs, brown eyes sparkling, “Are you being honest right now?”

“I am,” he doesn’t hesitate, leaning forward and kissing your mound, “I could never hate you.”

You’ve won. Your victory settles in the air around the two of you, your victory whispers between each kitten lick he makes at your clit, to each thrust of his fingers when he presses two into you without warning. Your victory tangles in his hair just as your hands do as your hips buck up against his mouth, desperate and uncaring in lack of control. Your victory splotches your vision, blacking it out when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Your victory dances with the stars behind your eyelids as he curls his finger into the spot you’d been searching for, as he traces an unspoken language over your clit, as you repeatedly call out his name and he murmurs “good girl” in vibrations that reverberate through your core, your spine, your vines, your flames.

You’ve won. But it doesn’t feel like winning when you’re coming down from your high, Eddie pressing kisses to your inner thigh and lips shining from your slick, and his words come back to haunt you.

“I could never hate you.”

The victory has come at a cost. One that neither of you address as you catch your breaths. As you slump to the side, resting your temple against the side of his cool refrigerator, you look down to see a wet spot spread across the crotch of Eddie’s sweatpants.

You knew he had been touching himself to you touching yourself, but the patch is far too large to have just been precum.

“Did you…” you murmur, fighting a grin, “Did you cum from eating me out?”

Eddie, remarkably enough, isn’t even shameless as he rakes a hand through his curls, pursing his lips in a way that only accentuates to the slow curl upwards of the corners, “You look so surprised for someone who was so insistent that I needed that more than you did.”

“I was right,” you laugh, lifting out of your lean supported by the appliance to your left, “I knew it.”

He only chuckles back in response, rising slowly from his kneeling position, “Yeah, yeah, Sherlock Holmes. You cracked the case – congratulations,” he doesn’t close the space between the two of you as he stands there, and his words pester the back of your mind again. If you could never hate me, why are you so far away right now? “Stay here, I can come back with another ra-”

“You don’t have to clean me up again,” you interrupt. His words are pushing forward now. I could never hate you. It doesn’t make sense, doesn’t fit right into everything you already know of Eddie, “I’ll be fine. Just clean yourself up, yeah?”

He looks taken back, but says nothing more as he nods before leaving the kitchen. He sends you one last glance, one last chance to say more. But you can’t say a word to him, or even meet his gaze, as you filter through endorphins and try to pull sensibility from what just happened.

He leaves, and you regret. You don’t regret doing all of this with him – you’d enjoyed it, he’d enjoyed it, it was good – but you regret how it’s happening. You regret all the emotions it’s nurturing. Feelings that turn it all complicated, that make this entire ordeal more than something casual. This night is going to haunt your mind for the rest of your days. It has carved out an emptiness inside of you that hadn’t been there before, or maybe it had been, and you had already spent a year filling it in with the dirt of sour interactions and abrasive fights.

It didn’t really matter, though, whether it had been there before tonight or not. All that matters is the space there was empty once more, hollowed out by five simple words.

“I could never hate you.”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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geekynightowl1997 · 7 months

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Okay, somebody can correct me if I'm wrong- but at the end of The Nigerian Job, when the team was convincing Nate that they should keep doing what they did- Eliot's whole argument was Nate. Nate falling apart. Nate needing the chance. Nate not being able to walk away. Nate.

Then, suddenly Eliot became the whole team's body guard. (Something he's grunt and gruffed about.) Yet. Yet. Somewhere (I say it was The Iceman Job and The Inside Job,) Eliot's brain switched from protecting the team to protecting Hardison and Parker. (Again correct me if I'm wrong.) Suddenly his job became more about having Hardison and Parker's back than having Nate's back. Maybe I'm the only one whose noticed- but Eliot become more softer with both Hardison and Parker after those particular jobs. Sure he keeps that gruff, sarcastic wit about him but there's often tones of... protectivness(?) when he interacts with them. Almost like he's telling other people around them- whose in ear shot- that Hardison and Parker are his. Like he's possessive.

Now, I'm not saying Eliot just stops caring about the rest of the team. I mean- he beats up Sterling for Nate and in Redemption Eliot is following Sophie around a handful of times. Their are even times where he has Breanna's back and Harry's. But he seems to treat those situations like a case. He compartmentalizes those situations. With Hardison and Parker- he doesn't. It's like his brain won't let him. He sees Hardison and Parker and it's like- all bets are off.

And on the flip side- has anyone noticed that Parker and Hardison seem to be the only ones that know how to... defuse (is that the right word?) Eliot? Like even Maria couldn't get Eliot to relax in The Hurrican Job. (Of course that's probably because Eliot was hiding who he was to her.) But Eliot always seems to be more relaxed when he's around those two.

In The Iceman Job after when Hardison tries to hug him? Eliot wasn't really fighting it. (I would know- I do that to my brother ALL the time when he tries to hug me.) In The Inside Job- when Eliot went to attack that employee- Parker stopped him. In The Double-Edge Sword Job, when Eliot is furious because an abusive ex comes after a women that they tried to hide- it's Parker that calms him down. It's Hardison who pays off the bartender when Eliot attacks Sterling. It's Parker who is always by his side or close to it. It's Parker who trusts Eliot when their in the back of the van with Vance. (Yes, Parker trusts Hardison too, but Hardison is a hacker- not a protector.) It's Eliot who Hardison listens to when he's not confident. It's Eliot who grabs Hardison from the coffin. It's Eliot who crouchs behind Hardison as Parker flips around him. It's Eliot whose hands are shaking when he they have half a second on a bomb.

Eliot Spencer is Hardison's and Parkers. They own him. In the same way Hardison and Parker are his. He owns them. (Does that make sense?)

For the record- I don't know why I'm pointing all of this out. It's just interesting to me... I guess.

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yuanology · 11 months

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hey!! congrats on 100!! you've definitely become one of my favorite writers so it's cool to see you becoming more popular so quick - it's deserved. For the event, may I request "Is this okay?" or "I'll take care of you". With Blade? Just a soft scenario where it's his first time and he's a little nervous or unused to all the contact - can be either gender neutral or male reader, doesn't matter to me. :)

people like blade are not used to things that do not hurt him.

walking along the path of destruction, his own capabilities have the ability to rear its head back against him. his very existence is a double-edged sword, one without a good reason to exist. everything hurts but he has learned to tolerate the pain. it means that he is alive, it means that he is one step closer to death.

blade is not unfamiliar with the concept or sex, nor the idea of pain being played into pleasure. he isn't the type of man to indulge himself in such debauchery, but he isn't exactly opposed to it. he just finds no reason to linger in the process. sex is just another need, the base instincts of a living being.

blade is still—unfortunately—living and so he still needs to succumb to the baser pleasures sometimes. even so, he prefers quick, rough and occasionally painful tugs on his cock that will get him off as quickly as possible. he sees no point in extending the moment, not when sex is just another casualty, a side-effect of being alive.

"is this okay?" your words are so soft where they're murmured against his skin, as if you intend to brand him with your concern. your palms feel scalding where they press against the skin on his hips, your lips a licking flame as you press a kiss over his trembling pulse. "too much?"

"no." but his voice sounds ruined, fucked out. it's too much, but he's not willing to admit it. he just feels so—full of you, stuffed to the brim by the feeling of your cock buried to the hilt inside of him.

you let out a low hum, as if you understand what you mean. he doesn't doubt that to an extent, you do. "does it hurt?"

( yes, blade thinks. it hurts, it always hurts when he's with you. you're always so careful when it comes to him, as if he's something fragile and not a stellaron hunter craving death, as if he's something worth looking at so softly, so reverently. it hurts, your tenderness because people like him are not built for softness. )

"no," he answers. he snaps his hips, meeting yours in one sharp motion. a grunt escapes your lips and your hand grips his hips, keeping him in place. "what are you—"

"shh." you're so close to him, your breath tickling his neck. "i'll take care of you. relax, blade. i've got you."

blade stares up at the ceiling, feeling your lips against his throat once again, peppering gentle kisses as you let him ease into the feeling—of fullness, of contentedness.

"okay," he rasps out.

for the first time in a long time, blade lets his eyes slide shut and allows himself to just feel.

thank you so much for your request & for your support! i remember you being one of the first people to interact with my content lol. i do appreciate you a whole lot. thank you again <3 hope you continue to enjoy my stuff!

#idk if this is exactly what you wanted but #the ending is so awkward ...#but the idea of blade who's always hurting allowing himself to succumb to softness :(#deserves the world #blade x reader #sub blade #sub hsr #top reader #dom reader #( event. )#( thirsts. )

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xjulixred45x · 7 months

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Continuing with the series of Platonic Yandere Kenjaku, the user @thecuriousquest give me the idea for this Drabble(thank You again sweetie!)

And kind of the Manga itself

What would happen to (Child Reader) when/if Kenjaku get them Back?

Spoiler, NOTHING GOOD

First of all, when will this happen? probably in the Culling Game arc, when Choso and Yuki have to take care of Tengen so that Kenjaku doesn't go after him.

(Child Reader) in order not to be kidnapped again they would have to stay with Itadori and Megumi (and in this case the twins), but let's say that is not the case, they decide that it would be better for them to stay with Tengen, Yuki and Choso (since They know the latter very well and are confident that Yuki could against Kenjaku).

but it's not like that.

Kenjaku manages to defeat--kill Yuki and Choso is too wasted by the fight to do anything as he absorbs Tengen and takes (Child Reader).

The child cries, kicks, screams for someone to help them, to save them, they curse Kenjaku with everything they have, but far from seeming upset, he seems amused. They still have spirit, he loves it.

He wonders, will they still have that spirit when he's done with them? He'll find out soon!

Now, although Kenjaku's first punishment was "physical" he goes more with the Psychological side when it comes to (Child Reader), more because now he has a lot of ammunition to shoot. (Child Reader) is completely alone, and he makes them get that into their heads, that no one will come for them now that he has Tengen by his side, that they have abandoned them.

all this while giving him a hug so tight that it nearly suffocates them. Yes, it sounds weird, but he really miss them, maybe that's why he don't want to apply physical punishment in the first place.

but if (Child Reader) keeps pressing the wrong buttons, I can see him doing something like putting them into his inventory (yep, the same inventory full of monsters and first-grade curses that could perfectly leave them limbless), he'd be waiting a couple of minutes (maybe 15) and then would pull them out like they were a rabbit from a magic trick (the poor thing would be ten times worse than the first time he used curses against them, with blood, bruises and tears in their face) and ask them if they are ready to behave.

but (child Reader) pouts and just....shuts up. They don't make a noise. Oh? the law of ice? It's okay, Kenjaku can make them talk in other ways.

He proceeds to put them in the inventory a couple more times, alternating the time from a few minutes to longer, each time the child is worse, but they continue doing nothing to talk to him. Kenjaku is very surprised by the child's durability and stubbornness, even amused, but a part of him is worried about accidentally killing (child Reader), so after a while, when the child is barely conscious, he asks them what they want in exchange for talking.

and surprisingly (Child Reader) responds.

they want Kenjakj to be completely honest with them. nothing else. and he wants it to be a deal (that is, one that he is obliged to comply with).

Kenjaku is surprised that the boy is so smart, but accepts. He also takes advantage of several opportunities to not tell him certain information (they never said that he couldn't stay silent instead of answering).

This ends up being a double-edged sword for (child reader).

because on the one hand Kenjaku doesn't lie to them about what he's doing or what's on his mind, which helps them be prepared. but it also scares them away on several occasions.

What I mean by this? that Kenjaku can either say very Wholesome things when Child Reader asks him or very, very shady, creepy things.

For example, once Kenjaku said that he couldn't wait to introduce (Child Reader) into his future plans, when the child asked him what he meant, he gave him a very...creepy answer.

"...it's different depending on the day...sometimes I imagine what you'll look like when you grow up, yes, into a big, strong adult......and other times I just think about how I'll turn you into a Cursed object! That way you would stay cute, small and with me forever! Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

This, along with the horrible inventory experience, only makes the child fear him even more.

He will use the indirect threat of the Inventory every time (Child Reader) is doing something even remotely suspicious. but it's not even the worst, The worst thing is that when Kenjaku decides that the Culling Games have to end with everyone dying, he brings (Child Reader) with him. EVEN WHEN HE KILLS THE PARTICIPANTS.

He says that this way he is preventing (Child Reader) from escaping again, but he also wants to scare them even more from him so that they understand that there is no WAY for them to escape. the BASTARD is so sinic that he even says that it could be considered father and child time while the poor child cries because oh my god he blew that woman's head off--

If the child wants to look away, he might give them his cell phone, although - well, it's not much better (those who saw chapter 239 know what I mean).

BUT THEN A RAY OF HOPE APPEARS--something like that--TAKABA.

To be honest, after several days/weeks of being with Kenjaku and with all the recent trauma, (Child Reader) does not want to see another participant die, he begs Takaba to leave quickly, to run! because Kenjaku is going to kill him! The kid is already crying thinking about everything that SINGLE DAY has had to do with him.

Then Kenjaku launches an attack, one that hits him STRAIGHT, and the kid falls apart as Kenjaku carries them around like a soccer ball, telling them that if they stop crying they can have some candy--

AND THEN TAKABA COMES OUT UNHARM!! and insulting Kenjaku saying that he could have killed him and that he will put him in jail 🤣

THIS

THIS IS BEAUTIFULL

Takaba would be also scold him for make cry the poor (child Reader) "YOU EVEN MAKE THE CHILD CRY! HOW DARE YOU, YOU'RE SO MEAN!"

(child Reader) is as shocked as Kenjaku, but for the first time in a long time they feel like they have a slim chance, if Takaba can give them enough time, maybe, just maybe they can escape and find help.

maybe even use the beam up their sleeve they've been saving.

but Kenjaku will not lose easily and they know it, it will remain to be seen who plays their cards better...

Any ask or suggestion for this Series is welcome!

#jjk #neutral reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x y/n #jujustu kaisen #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #platonic yandere kenjaku #jujutsu kaisen kenjaku #kenjaku #jujutsu no kaisen #drabble #jujutsu geto #jujutsu takaba #yandere kenjaku #tw yandere #yandere jujutsu kaisen

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bradtomlovesya · 2 years

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Choices. 2

Two: Tick Tock

Peter Parker x reader series

Summary: Everybody forgot who Peter Parker was. All his world tunerd grey until he met you and you started dating. It could have been perfect if it wasn't for the fact that MJ comes back and, surprise! She remembers EVERYTHING.

Warnings: Pure Angst!, Peter being kinda an idiot, mentions of cheating, swearing.

w/c: 2.3k +

a/n: I changed the name of the chapters and now I am happier with them. Hope you like them and enjoy this chapter! As always, coments, reblogs and likes are completely appreaciated. Thank you so much for all the love and suppor this series is having. I will be forever grateful! ❤️. Gif not mine.

Series Masterlist

Peter left your apartment that night and his last words were:

"I'm going to fix it, I promise."

He never answered yes or no. He never gave you a concrete answer as to who he wanted to be with, her or you.

The truth is, even Peter didn't know. It was true that he loved you. But it was also true that seeing MJ remember him made his heart beat a mile a minute.

Peter Parker was many things, but it was always clear to him that he had to do the right thing. He always (or at least almost always) knew it was the right thing to do. And, if he didn't, his Aunt May was there to advise him and tell him what to do.

But now May wasn't there. Maybe that's why it was so hard for him to give up on MJ. They were both the only women he had loved in a long time and he lost them on the same day. Having Michelle's memory back made him feel like he had at least gotten one of them back.

However, Parker didn't know if he needed MJ in his life. After all, he already had a life with you. HAD in the past tense. Because obviously you broke up with him after you saw him kissing his ex-girlfriend at the carnival.

Ned, on the other hand, still didn't remember him. And he probably never would again. MJ was a mere pure stroke of luck and the brown-haired boy didn't know if it was a blessing from the universe or if he just wanted to taunt him by putting him in a situation no one wants to be in.

Although he still wasn't sure if he would be able to forgive him for what he did. The brown-eyed man had to make a decision. Go back to MJ and bring his past with him into his present or try with you and continue with his present into the future.

Peter thought it best to go out on patrol and clear his head in the cool night air. That's when he decided he should give you the time you asked for and go out with MJ. Not as a couple, at least for now or maybe never, but as friends who haven't seen each other in a long time and need to unwind from everything that has happened in their lives.

You managed to catch a glimpse of them on one of their outings. They were walking around campus while eating a slice of pizza and laughing about God knows what.

Your heart sank even deeper into your chest. You were already a mess trying to live without him. Now you had to watch him be happy with her too?

Right there you felt selfish. You didn't want Peter to laugh with her. You wanted him to laugh with you.

The aforementioned wiped the corner of MJ's mouth with a napkin and a tear slid down your cheek as you thought of the many times he did the same for you.

'She's not me' you repeated to yourself. But even then you couldn't stop the hole growing in your chest at catastrophic speeds.

They were there, laughing and eating while you were miserable, and yet you couldn't hate Peter for loving her. In spite of everything, you loved him.

Love is a double-edged sword.

Two days later you were watching Netflix in your bedroom when your phone vibrated on the coffee table. The screen was lit up with the word 'Peter♡' and your breath caught in your lungs. Should you answer it? your heart asked. Should you ignore it? your brain asked.

The heart won the battle this time. You answered the call.

"H-" you cleared your throat. You wanted to sound as neutral as possible. "Hello?"

"Y/n..." his voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't know if you were going to answer" his voice was so low that you had to turn up the volume as high as it would go and give him your full attention.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

"Nee-" he coughed. "I need your help...please" a faint whimper was heard from his side of the line and that was enough to worry you. Something wasn't right.

"Peter? Is everything all right? What's wrong?" your voice was now one of concern. You've never turned your back on those you love and care about, you weren't about to start now.

"I... I'm kind of hurt" he breathed again and your breath hitched. "It's not serious but-" he paused. "I can't get up." He confessed.

"Where are you?" you got up from the small couch to look for your shoes. "Peter?" You worried about his breathing on the other end of the line.

"In my apartment" he grunted in pain. "Shit."

"I'm on my way" you hung up the call and grabbed your keys. You still kept your copy of the ones to his apartment so getting inside it wasn't a problem.

You leave your keys on the plate on the counter and remove your shoes as quickly as you can before running to her room.

"Peter?" you ask when you don't see him and pause to scan his room.

"Here!" he groans. He made too much force when he spoke so you could hear him from the bathroom.

You walk in and see him lying in the unfilled bathtub. He was dressed in nothing but his boxers but it didn't bother you. It's not like you haven't seen him like this before.

"I tried to take a shower but I slipped and I don't have the strength or energy to get up" he smiles apologetically in your direction.

"I see..." you walk over and see his suit on the floor. "Why a shower?" you ask.

"The guy I stopped was doing weird experiments and threw some weird substance at me. I preferred not to take any chances and showered as soon as I got home" he clarified.

"Let me help you" you hold his arms and help him stand up.

Peter felt more than embarrassed at that moment. Because of what he had told you and because you were too good to say no to him when he needed help.

"Thank you" he sits on his bed and takes the towel you offer him so he can dry off.

"Is the medicine cabinet in the same place?" you ask. It's been a little over two weeks since you've been in his apartment.

Having him so close and yet so far away hurts like a million needles pricking your heart. But none of this was your fault, it was his and he's the one who should fix it. Even though you saw him so happy with MJ, you still had hope that he was going to choose you and come back to you.

It's okay to dream, isn't it?

You bandage his wounds after cleaning them and turn around so he can put on some boxers and gym shorts with a little privacy. You didn't leave the room because you were afraid he would fall while doing it so turning around was enough.

"Thank you for coming. I know I don't deserve it" he mumbles with his eyes on you as you turn to look at him.

"It's true... Maybe you don't deserve it coming from me" you shrug. "But I can't help but help the people I love.

'People I love' Peter's eyes sparkled at that phrase. You still loved him, that was more than enough.

"I really appreciate it" He smiles and watches you sit next to him on the bed.

"Why didn't you call MJ?" you ask abruptly. It was a question you asked yourself since he called you for help.

"She's busy, she couldn't come." He said without thinking.

And then reality hits you in the face and chills you like a bucket of cold water.

"So I was your second choice just because she couldn't" Your voice is serious. You just remembered how everything went down the drain in one night.

"What? No?" he frowns. "That's not what I wanted-"

"Save your excuses. I don't want to hear them," you stand up and look at him seriously. "You're already bandaged and in your bed. Next time, don't call me."

"Y/n. Please" he tries to get up but his side hurts "That's not what I meant I promise."

"Your promises don't mean anything to me anymore" you feel a lump in your throat. You are on the verge of tears. "You know one of the things that hurts me the most, Peter?"

"I-" he sighs and shakes his head. He wants to let you finish your point.

"You were indeed my first love, my first time, my first everything" the tears build up in your eyes but you're determined not to let them out. "And you didn't think about that before you stuck your tongue in her mouth. I bet your heart never beat for me like it does for her."

The brown-eyed man was about to say something until you both hear the sound of someone knocking at the door you watch Peter get up and walk to open it.

You walk behind him only because you know it's time to go. You shouldn't have come in the first place.

When Peter opens the door, the person behind it is MJ.

"You should give me a copy of the key" she laughs lightly.

"Keep mine" you put on your shoes and grab your purse. You walk over to the plate where you left them before and put them in her hand. "I won't be needing them anymore" you walk out of the apartment and she is both surprised and confused.

Another two weeks passed. Peter felt empty again. Just like he felt when he lost MJ and Ned in the first place but worse because not only had he lost you. He had let you down completely.

Spiderman became clumsy on his nightly patrols, he didn't pay attention and classes and even less when MJ talked to him. Even though he knew she was just trying to make him feel better.

"Peter?" she asks. "Peter!" She snaps her fingers in front of his face and sighs heavily.

"Yes?" He looks at you but his gaze is still lost.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" she asks.

"How could I not when she's right here" he shows you his pencil.

"What do you mean right here?" MJ asks with a frown.

"Yes, it's right here. She's the one who gave me this pencil" he sighs. "And she's over there too" he points to the girl sitting a couple of tables away from where they were sitting. "That girl has her same color hair" he looks at his fingers "but not just over there" he points to a boy with a can in his hand. "That boy is drinking his favorite drink." He snorts. "Everything in this damn library reminds me of her."

"Why haven't you tried talking to her then?" he shrugs.

"Because I'm lousy with words, MJ. Whenever I try to tell her something, she ends up misunderstanding it because it was me in the first place who didn't know how to use the right words" he runs his hands over his face.

"Then don't talk to her" she shrugs.

The brown-haired boy looks at her with a frown. "That's supposed to solve my problems? Thanks MJ." She rolls her eyes.

"Stop your sarcasm," the chestnut-haired girl points

Her finger at him. "I mean maybe I should be the one to talk to her." He sighs. "I shouldn't have kissed you, Peter. I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

"MJ..." Peter sighs and takes her hand. "I was the one who shouldn't have kissed you having a girlfriend. It wasn't your fault, it was mine." He assures her. "I'm the one who should fix this."

Michelle nods and looks to her left. There you were. Watching as Peter held her hand just as he held yours. You shouldn't care, it's been a month since you and Parker broke up but it still hurts like hell.

MJ saw you pull back quickly before she could separate her hands from Peter's. "At least she knows you and I aren't dating?" she asks and Peter denies.

"No, I've tried to tell her but me and my big mouth always say something else and I hurt her more than I manage to fix it." He sighs heavily.

"What? She still thinks that you and I...?" MJ pauses.

"Yup." Peter nods and fixes his gaze on the floor.

"Peter... that's not fair" he sighs and shakes his head.

Parker knows. He knows it's not fair but he already said it, he's not good with words.

"Everything I say ends up being misinterpreted and it's my fault!" He covers his face with his hands. "Help, MJ. Please."

"And if instead of using words you take action?" proposes the brunette.

"What do you mean by that?" The boy raises an eyebrow. "You'll have to be more specific."

"God... you're so smart but so dumb at the same time, how is that possible?" She rolls her eyes. "You have to do something for her, something she can't refuse or misunderstand, and then explain everything to her, Peter. Be honest."

"You're right," he nods and sighs. "No more secrets."

Peter was already planning something in his mind. Something that would make you either forgive him or wish you never saw him again. That was up to you.

However, He had to move and plan a little faster. Your heart still loved him, true, but it wasn't closed to moving on and rejecting Parker altogether.

Austin, a classmate who asked you out before you and Peter dated, found out about your breakup with him and was determined not to pass up the opportunity that was once taken away from him.

Tick tock, Peter. Your time is running out.

~~~♡♥︎♡~~~

Peter Parker Tags:

@raajali3 @fangirling-galore @powerpuffluuvv @itszulli @hallecarey1 @xoxokiaraaxoxo @kaitieskidmore1 @lnmp89 @pure-a-tea @vixparker @army24--7 @spiderydreams00 @my-name-duh @nani-2305

Choices' Tags

@parkerpeterparker2004 @afro-hispwriter @sakaki-chaaaaannn @insertsupercoolusernamehere @local-mr-frog @diasnohibng @stilesismyhusbandforever-blog @tombolland1996 @ellesalazar @cursedandromedablack @ifilwtmfc @newtmaskilledme @sweetenertea @wonieeee @jackiehollanderr @parkthothwa8 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @itsmadamehydra @luvherfairy @reneinii @pauuuus @rootbeerfaygo @janoskiansecondsofdirection @bubble-blu

If your username is lined, tumblr didn't let me tag you :(.

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gepardling · 11 months

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what about a shy!reader confessing to gepard and him being so surprised he’s at a lost for words

unspoken heart w/ gepard.

desc. : dis is 1 day overdue bc i was 2 busy playing league w/ friends :(( aphelios has my whole heart... but here it is <3 i erm hope i did dis 1 some justice, my mind ran away w/ me when i started writing o.o i feel like every1 has their own perception of shyness, and as some1 who considers themselves pretty shy in a romantic aspect, i had 2 lay it bare... ( wc : 1.3k )

tags / cw : sfw, just fluff, gn!reader, reader is a shopkeeper, not proofread

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards wasn't one for frivolous pursuits. That being said, they never seemed to come his way either. It was a double-edged sword – And yes, it did hurt. To put it simply, Gepard wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Yet, as long as he never expressed genuine interest in a person (vice versa), he wouldn't budge.

There was, of course, one individual in particular who had grasped the attention of the Captain. It was nothing major, really, just another shopkeeper around Belobog. At most, he found himself stealing glances at you every now and again when he passed by your shop, whether on patrol or off duty. But staying 100% "cool" was something you couldn't quite manage.

The first few times it happened, you thought you were under investigation for tax evasion or something equally crazy. The moment you caught his eye, he would turn away and continue walking, and it was weird. Yeah, he was pretty weird. But he was also just... pretty. It was kind of embarrassing to think how easily you had fallen for the quiet silvermane guard. Each time those intrusive thoughts wandered into your mind, you had to savagely fight off the crimson blush that crept up your neck.

It only made matters worse when he started visiting your shop, actually entering and purchasing an item. You nearly jumped out of your skin when the little bell by the door chimed, revealing the looming silhouette of Captain Gepard himself. His aura was intimidating up close, his steeled gaze seemingly piercing straight through you. It made a lump rise to your throat each time you had to greet him...

Normally, you'd never have a problem working with customers. You would greet them, help them with their orders, take their payment, and thank them. You didn't really need to have any social skills for that; it was just standard workplace protocol. But for some reason, Gepard made it increasingly difficult for you to just be natural at work. You would stutter when you greeted him, almost drop the Shield he gave you as payment, and hide behind the counter for a quick moment to compose yourself every time he left.

It was frustrating, almost infuriating, how your emotions got the better of you whenever he was around. In fact, one day you were beyond embarrassed when he actually tried to have a conversation with you. It didn't help that midway through, he asked if you were feeling unwell because of how red your face was becoming, even encouraging you to go home and get well soon. He was none the wiser about your true feelings, of course, which made you feel both relieved and anxious.

Over time, you came to realize that you must be attracted to him, which didn't do your mental state any good. It completely shattered your resolve each time you saw him from that point onwards. Your hands would shake ever so slightly, and you could barely conceal the tremble in your voice whenever you spoke to him. Though you appreciated the lingering conversations that grew longer with time. It was safe to say that you had grown accustomed to seeing the Captain’s face every day.

Yet, while you were comfortable with the way things are now, people tend to stagnate if they keep doing the same things all the time. The worry that Gepard would grow distant again before you even had the guts to tell him how you felt gnawed at your heart, and the whole situation made you feel anxious, to say the least. The feeling only worsened when he started visiting less and less, and the confidence you'd somehow managed to build up in your comfort zone dissipated before you.

The rollercoaster of emotions had you feeling a little silly about your seemingly one-sided infatuation with him, and your own reluctance to confront him with your feelings merely heightened your awkwardness. The harder you fell, the more absentminded you seemed to become as a coping mechanism for the crippling shyness that threatened to envelop your being. But your own absentmindedness was about to bite you on the arse the very next time you met with Gepard at the shopfront.

While you were ringing up his goods, Gepard started a light conversation. It was nothing serious, just some basic how-are-you banter between acquaintances. He told you a bit about the situation on the frontlines and how busy it had gotten lately with a spike in fragmentum activity.

"You know," your voice trailed off, gaze fixated on the Shield you were counting in your palm. "You should take care of yourself out there, I miss seeing you here." As soon as the words left your mouth, you froze up entirely. The heat in your cheeks rose exponentially fast once you realized Gepard’s own wide-eyed expression. Overwhelmed by the accidental confession that slipped past your lips, you found yourself stumbling over your words, desperately trying to salvage the situation. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, a torrent of thoughts racing through your mind.

How could you have been so careless? The fear of rejection loomed over you, and you wished for nothing more than to disappear into thin air. Gepard's stunned expression mirrored your own internal turmoil. His usually composed demeanor faltered for a moment as he searched for a response. The silence hung heavy in the air, and the weight of your confession seemed to press down upon you, suffocating any semblance of composure you had left.

As you fumbled to correct yourself, the words tumbled out in a jumble of awkward phrases and incoherent ramblings. Your mind raced, desperately trying to find an escape from the overwhelming embarrassment that had engulfed you. But there was no way to take back what had been said, no way to erase the vulnerability you had just laid bare. Gepard's silence wasn't doing you any good either, and you were just about to excuse yourself before you melted into a puddle on the ground.

Gepard's eyes softened, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hand reached out, lightly brushing against yours as he accepted the change you had hastily pushed into his palm. The simple touch sent a jolt of electricity through your veins, momentarily distracting you from your own embarrassment.

"It's alright," he said, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "I appreciate your concern, and I've missed seeing you too." His words were laced with a tenderness that sent your heart aflutter, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos of the moment. You stood behind the counter, heart still racing as you attempted to come to terms with what just happened. You blinked several times, but Gepard remained standing in front of you, confirming that he was in fact not a hallucination.

"I- uhm… I mean- No, err… Thank you for supporting us!" you rambled on, "Our shop, I mean, not us like, people, that would be silly…" All the while your eyes desperately searched the room. Your nervous laughter chimed through the shop, and by this point you've caught quite a few people's attention. Gepard's chuckle joined yours, and the tension in the air slowly dissipated. His easy smile and the twinkle in his eyes reassured you that the momentary awkwardness was nothing more than a shared experience, a humorous twist.

"Don't worry, I understand what you meant," he said, his voice warm and gentle. "And I appreciate your gratitude." His gaze swept across the shop, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you, realizing that your accidental confession had not gone unnoticed by the other patrons.

Blushing furiously, you offered a sheepish smile to those around you, feeling their curious gazes upon you. This truly was a spectacle to behold, and you were sure to answer some questions regarding your behavior later. Suffice to say, this sudden turn of events was enough to leave you red faced for days on end…

#gepard fluff #gepard x reader #gepard x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #gepard hsr #gepard landau #♥︎ | milky writes #♥︎ | request

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4saken4gotten · 2 months

Text

Head Canons For Dante From Devil May Cry

I think about Dante way too much so I thought I would share my thoughts on some head canons of my own. Especially since the fandom for me gets so fucking dryyyyyyy Like please, I need more content or I'm going to spontaneously combust and not even in a hot and sexy way. (Or it still will be I just wont feel like it, but looking like hell on wheels is the goal!) yes that was a Heathers reference don't come at me Am I cringe? Yes. Am I free? Yes. These are my SFW head canons for him! If I get to it I can make my NSFW head canons as well but we'll see about that. Gender Neutral Reader Pairing. For my bitches, bros and fellow nonbinary hoes. (My certification in making head canons is as follows: I have played DMC 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. I've read all the novels, and read 3 different fan translations of the novels we don't have official English translations for. I've watched the animated series at least 12 times and I've listened to all of the audio drama CD's. I have canon reasons for all my head canons but some of them are just little silly things because I brain rot. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.) I apologize in advanced for any typos and grammar mistakes and or just not making sense. I am dyslexic and autistic so I have a weird way of explaining things and will misspell basic words sometimes but I promise to do my best.

He's a big dork and his favorite thing to do is make his S/O laugh. Filling their soul with light is his favorite thing to do. teehee So he says the stupidest jokes to make them double over in laughter.

This is a bit of a double edged sword however since he uses humor and sarcasm as a major crutch / coping mechanism. He can be serious when the situation calls for it, but most of the time he doesn't want situations and mishaps to weigh on himself or those around him too heavily.

He's HELLA broke. So he'd take full advantage of free things to do like spending the night under the stars in a park after hours. Something that feels like "We aren't supposed to be out here!" but isn't really harmful / breaking the law.

I think he has some sort of collection of some sort. I think he collects seashells because they remind him of more serene times in his childhood. Probably hand sized conches or perhaps sand dollars (because its the only 'dollars' Lady cant swindle out of him ;u;)

Will die on the hill of pizza being a "balanced meal" insisting that it has all the important food groups therefore pizza is healthier than media wants people to think.

Despite his habits of leaving his pizza boxes about and letting Patty clean up after him- his own personal hygiene is actually really important to him. He always makes sure to take a shower after he gets back from every mission.

He honestly cant stand the scent of demon blood on him, it makes him a little anxious because it takes him back to the night of the fire / attack every time. (babyyyy boyyyyyyyyyyyy)

His love language is physical touch (giving) and acts of service (receiving). When he gets more comfortable with you, he's got some part of him touching you at all times: a thigh pressed against yours, a gentle hand around your shoulders or the small of your back, insistent on you laying on his shoulder or in his lap if you're tired. He'll be super appreciative of you organizing things when his mind gets too jumbled or he's just brooding.

I'm sick of people calling him lazy. I don't think he doesn't clean up because he doesn't want to- I think he's just overwhelmed most of the time / overstimulated to do anything if he's not in battle.

I strongly feel like he has some sort of ADHD, Depression and CPTSD due to his trauma. (Losing / killing his brother several times, his mother being killed, his father up and disappearing one day, losing his found family repeatedly: Grue, Nell, Jessica... etc)

He'd probably be super understanding of a neurodivergent s/o and be more than happy to "parallel play" in the shop. He reads his magazines on the couch with you while you read a book. Or he'll try to get some semblance of work done at his desk on the occasion while you watch your favorite tv show.

#devil may cry in love headcanon #devil may cry #dmc dante #headcanon #sfw headcanons

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atmilliways · 11 months

Text

Wrong On The Money (11-12)

parts 11 & 12 of ?? | 1076 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Giving the kids rides home from Hellfire meetings is wreaking havoc on Steve’s gas money. It also involves the double-edged sword of Eddie being there.

11.

Giving the kids rides home from Hellfire meetings is wreaking havoc on Steve’s gas money. It also involves the double-edged sword of Eddie being there. Two birds, one stone—but seeing him always stirs up feelings in Steve’s chest that he doesn’t know what to do with, so the audience isn’t ideal.

“About that total,” Eddie says one night, in the hurried rush between the kids piling into the Beemer and exchanging bills so either no one saw or the older club members assumed it was a simple drug deal. “I need to charge interest.”

Steve pauses, peering at Eddie, whose expression and body language carry more of the tension from their first run-in than he’s seen in a while. His first instinct is to ask about his uncle, but he’s not supposed to know about that and doesn’t want to get Dustin in trouble for telling him.

So much for a straightforward total. There’s some jewelry in his parents' room that his mom hasn’t missed in months, and probably won’t ask about whenever she bothers to stop by the house next. Maybe he can sell it, help both Eddie and himself out.

“Sure, why not,” Steve sighs.

It’s Eddie’s turn to stop and frown at him. “Really? No protest, just like that?”

Steve angles a thumb over one shoulder, pointing back at the Beemer right as one of the kids (his money, if he had any left, would be on Mike) gets to the horn. “No time,” he says with a tight smile of his own.

The car honks again as he turns to go. He was right; Dustin has shotgun, but Mike is the one leaning up from the back seat to lay on the horn.

“Mike! Patience, dictionary, look it up!” Shaking his head, Steve starts towards the car at a brisk pace, throwing a quick “See you next week, Munson” over his shoulder.

12.

What the fuck was that, what the fuck was that?

“What the fuck was that?”

Jeff’s voice mirroring his exact thought makes Eddie jump at least half a foot in the air. Gareth and Frank are already headed to Frank’s car, a fact he notes with confusion because—

“I told them you’re giving me a ride,” Jeff explains. “Figured it’d give you an opportunity to share about whatever’s going on with you and The Hair lately.”

“There’s nothing going on,” Eddie mumbles, jamming both hands deep in his jeans pockets to tuck the wad of bills he’d palmed from Harrington safely away. He slouches off towards his van where it sits alone in the deserted parking lot.

“Then he’s shit at buying drugs,” Jeff shoots back, following, “because he didn’t take anything with him. Come on, Eddie, how long have we been friends? I was right there getting that rabies shot with you after you tried to house train a raccoon, man.”

Eddie gets in and starts the van, looking anywhere but at his friend. “What are you poking at this for? Let it go, it’s not that big a deal.”

Yes it is. Yes it is and I am in over my head, I am so in over my head it’s not even—

“Dude,” Jeff says flatly. “I can see you thinking a mile a minute.”

So Eddie cracks. He drives out to the middle of nowhere and parks in a field, and tells Jeff everything, hardly stopping for breath the entire time. He outs Harrington, which he's literally being paid not to do. He outs himself (which, nothing against Jeff, but he was kind of hoping to get the fuck out of Hawkins before anyone besides his uncle found out). He talks about how the doctors keep extending the time Wayne is on the medication, not happy with some sort of results from blood tests, and having to ask for interest.

“And he’s going to do it,” Eddie says, winded by disbelief of this fact as well as everything else that's tumbled out of his mouth like a goddamn avalanche. “He didn’t even ask how much. That must mean—I must have really intimidated him, right? What if I’m ruining his life?”

“Oh bull,” Jeff scoffs, finally elbowing a word in edgewise. “Nothing I saw tonight implied he thinks you’re intimidating. Look, wait a minute—did you just say you’re gay?”

Eddie freezes. “I . . . sort of did, yeah.”

“. . . And the best you can do is a crush on Steve Harrington?

He flushes, pulling clumps of his hair to cover his face with both hands—mortified, but also hiding a manic grin. They’ve been friends for years, and while Eddie hadn’t expected Jeff to call him a fag and spit in his face, it would’ve been too much to expect this kind of easy acceptance.

That done, he starts patting his pockets for a joint, because god he needs one. “Uh, apparently? He’s, I mean, he looks like that, but. . . .”

“But a total douchebag,” Jeff supplies. “Man, I get it, most of the girls in this town would call me a nerd or have their boyfriends beat me up as soon as look at me.” He pauses, accepting the joint when passed to him with a look he sometimes gets when trying to puzzle out one of the traps Eddie's set in a campaign. “You’re right though, it’s weird. I never would’ve guessed blackmail because he didn’t even seem, like, mad.”

Eddie pounces on that, nodding hard. “Yeah, exactly! You know, he never even asked why I wasn’t worried that he’d tell people about me? I had an answer all lined up too, I was going to be all—” he drops into one of his villain character voices, low and gravelly— “Everyone knows I’m a freak already, they don’t need confirmation. You, on the other hand, are prime real estate for the gossip mill to go to town on.”

Jeff smirks. “Well, that’s true. But you’re only threatening to tell his girlfriend, right?” When Eddie nods again, he simply shrugs. “So, maybe he’s not worried that she’ll spread it around. I know Buckley from band class, she’s decent. Could explain why he’s so relaxed about the whole thing.”

“But then why is he paying?” Eddie wails, getting both arms in on the question.

“No idea. Maybe all that hair is weighing down on his brain.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie grumbles, but he doesn’t mind. It's a relief to tell someone, even though he's still not sure how to feel about the whole mess.

#steddie blackmail fic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things fic #jeff is eddie's bff in this one. i don't make the rules i just write the story.#steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #jeff (stranger things)

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randomwriteronline · 7 months

Text

@cantankerouscanuck

There were still things that put the Chain on edge.

Surprisingly; because they'd been through some wild stuff, individually and together.

Sudden appearance of a portal? They could handle that. They'd gotten almost used to it, by now. Only almost, but almost.

No, the weird part, which made the nine heroes draw out their swords in the blink of an eye to point their blades at the brand new threat and Skull Kid's pupils thin into slits as they hid behind their larger friends' legs, was that from the strange gateway into who knows what dimension emerged a being they weren't even sure they could have ever dreamed, not even after the biggest, most uncoordinated, stomach-ache worthy supper of their lives.

Its elongated head was bone white, with red eyes and an enormous mouth of teeth; its body seemed at first deathly emaciated beneath the dark mantle, but a more careful look revealed that it was more or less only a skeleton - a metallic one at that, with incomplete hands and sharp feet, similar to the talons of a bird of prey.

Whatever the hell that thing was looked at them nice and long, taking them in one by one.

"Oh," he finally said, clanging his horrible teeth together in dismay: "Oh, you are hideous. Disgusting, even."

"Never look in a mirror then," Four quipped: "You'll get a heart attack."

"A mirror? Why would I do that? Ah, I see, I see, that's an insult, I understand - but you see, you horrible fleshy thing," the stranger replied with no apparent malice in his voice, in a rambling tone, "I have seen myself - well, not since this mask was fused to my head, but I have, and you will have to understand that while I do indeed have a horrendous face not even my own other half could love, you are made entirely of meat. Of flesh. Of organic material. No such thing as a piece of metal on your bodies except for your swords. No masks at all. Not even a glimmer of iron on you - although I do like your fabrics, I do, they'd make for quite a nice cape, and - oh, you do have armor, yes, you do, that you do... You won't mind me taking it all from you once I'm done killing you all, will you?"

The nine of them tightened the grip on their weapons, making them glint in the sunlight.

"I'll take it as a maybe."

Wind glared at him up and down a couple times: "What even are you?"

"A Skakdi, or the half of one, to be more precise," the being answered as if any of that made perfect sense. He turned to Time: "You should be shorter. And less meaty. And less appalling, but only slightly."

"Funny. I don't think we've ever met." the older warrior replied curtly.

"We haven't? Oh, I suppose we would not have, not here. Such a shame, truly. I didn't like that other you at all. I would have hoped not to meet another one in the next place I ended up in."

"Sucks to be you."

"Indeed it sucks."

"And you got a name?" pressed Four a little more rudely than usual. "Or at least half of one?"

The creature paused. His strange hand tapped on his chin pensively, as though he honestly needed to think about it for a couple seconds.

"A name, a name, a name..." he mumbled, until finally he seemed to remember: "Ah! Of course I do, of course. I gave it to me myself, after all - it's Vezon, with a Z, which means double, because I am a double, ripped away from a big blue brute, Vezok, also with a Z--"

"With a K," Sky corrected.

Legend elbowed him.

"What?" Vezon asked.

"Vezok with a K," Hyrule repeated helpfully.

Legend elbowed him as well.

From threatening and unpredictable, their opponent completely shifted his demeanor: now he stood a little hunched, arms limp down his sides, head tilted, face a bit scrunched into a confused expression.

"Yes, I do know Vezok is spelled with a K. My name is Vezon, though."

"You mentioned Vezon with a Z, but Vezok also has a Z." Sky explained.

"Yes, I know that too."

"That's not a difference."

"I'm aware. What is your point?

This time it was Hyrule who clarified: "If you don't want us to call you Vezok, you should specify that Vezon is spelled with an N and Vezok is spelled with a K."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because that's the difference between the two names. It sets them apart."

Vezon seemed floored.

"I did not think about that," he admitted. "That does seem more useful."

"This guy tells us upfront he wants to kill us to loot our corpses and you start arguing with him on spelling?" Warriors took the chance to hiss at his fellow heroes while the creature was distracted.

Sky raised his shoulders defensively: "It made no sense! It was bugging me!"

Wild, who had some amount of brain damage due to caramelizing for about a hundred years in the rebirth oil, decided he had enough experience on the matter to ask the half Skakdi with a hint of genuine concern: "Are you like. Alright?"

"Oh, yes!" the being replied: "I am insane."

That did explain a variety of things.

Skull Kid (who, as they were wont to do, had snuck away from their friends so quietly that their absence had gone completely undetected in order to investigate possibly deadly things on their own) sniffed at Vezon's arm. Based on their furrowed expression and squinted eyes, the scent was less than enjoyable.

The mechanical creature turned to them, and widened his awful grin.

"My dear! You still look the same! Sort of," he croaked out almost happily. His incomplete hand prodded at the wooden head, specifically interested in the mouth area: "You're still non organic. Mostly, I mean, you still have all that horrid plant-life on you, but you're not as immensely horrid as these fellows here... You are much shorter though. And much quieter. And you still don't have a mouth, do you? Ah, such a shame, such a shame, I was hoping in one of these universes you'd have a nice set of teeth for once, you know - maybe I would manage to rip them out of you nice and clean so I can jam them in your jaw once I finally get the chance to pry your skull open and-"

Skull Kid's razor sharp teeth bit down on his palm.

Vezon's head glowed suddenly: he barely had time to shriek a blood-curling A-- that he was already gone, disappearing in the fraction of a second.

The imp's teeth clattered close around the empty air. They looked around, confused.

Nope. The guy wasn't coming back.

"Well," Twilight hollered loudly to break the silence: "Guess that's over."

"Did the Goddesses just think it was getting a little chummy around here? Did they figure we were getting bored and so threw... That, at us?" Four wondered aloud in genuine bewilderment.

"He tastes like metal." Skull Kid informed them. "And he has tendons."

"That's great, Sweet Pea."

"I think I have some in my mouth."

"Ah, fuck-"

"Again?"

"Here, come over here..."

#tloz #linked universe #bionicle #vezon #skullkid #skull kid #hyrule lu #four lu #wild lu #warriors lu #time lu #twilight lu #wind lu #legend lu #sky lu #random writing #this is perfectly aligned with canon as vezon can just travel through alternate universes

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chezzywezzy · 2 years

Text

Yandere Miles Fairchild (1/4)

Word count ; 4.3k

*As usual, R and Miles are 18/19. Dedicated to @thedoctorisinlove and @vampbloodbunny.

*Edited:3

I sighed, hitting my head against the desk in my room. Underneath my head, fluttering from my sudden action, was my various calculus assignments. Calculus was hard. And it was even harder when I taught myself… I used to be fine with Mrs. Grose’s definition of ‘home schooling,’ but now that I was in my final year of schooling, everything was so hard.

I finally raised my head, gazing tiredly at the messy piles of textbooks and assignments for other classes. So much to do, and no time to do it; seeing as my mornings and late afternoons were spent doing my job as a maid. I only have have the early afternoons and late nights to catch up on school work. I’ve previously inquired to Mrs. Grose about hiring a tutor to help me out. Yet, apparently because I was a maid who lived here rent free, it would have to come out of my own pockets.

I didn’t have money in my pockets, though. The agreement has always been, in exchange for my services as a maid, I could live here without any needs or worries. I guess Mrs. Grose didn’t consider a tutor a need, though.

I twirled my pen between my fingers, my focus returning to the paper. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off, and I was about to jot down the answer when —

My door was flung open, and Flora, in her adorable childish glory, burst into the room. “Y/n! Y/n! Come quick! Miles is almost home!”

I tuned her out as she came over to me and started grabbing at my arm. Messily, I wrote the answer for the problem and drew a small frowny face beside it. The work was messy, but I finally dropped the pen, allowing Flora to pull me out of my seat.

I furrowed my brows as she dragged me out of the room. I was wearing my usual maid outfit. Once upon a time, I despised it because of how formal it was, but I grew to like it. There wasn’t much of a point for changing out of it for a few hours, anyways. The skirt served as a cushion against the stiff wooden chair I studied in.

The girl was especially energetic. I was hunched and lagging behind her, as a matter of fact, and I had to try hard to keep up. Her tiny hand was tight and painful, but I didn’t point it out.

“What do you mean Miles is back, Flora? I don’t recall Mrs. Grose informing me about a holiday,” I inquired in confusion. A part of me already knew he got himself suspended again, but Flora didn’t need to know about her brother’s bad behavior. Each time, in fact, I found it amusing how creative her answers were.

Flora let out a drawled ‘um’ thoughtfully as she pulled me down the stairs. Her pace slowed as her brain churned. “Well,” she started, "I bet there was a… a zombie infestation at the school! And he barely escaped. And because of that, he gets a whole new holiday for being a survivor of such icky monsters!”

A smile tugged at my lips. “I bet you’re right.”

We arrived at the front door. It was large, and both doors were flung open, allowing the sunlight to flood the foyer. Standing out at the edge of the stone steps was Mrs. Grose in her stiff, stoic stature. Her hands were clasped tightly behind her. She stared at the gravel in the parking lot and fencing of the establishment.

Flora pulled me outside, and I blinked, adjusting to the bright light. Mrs. Grose peered at us expectantly over her shoulder, her expression not changing. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she wanted to say something about Miles recent behavior - recent being ever since his parents died, which was already a few years ago.

“Y/n, I already cleaned his room and changed the sheets. So, I expect that upon his arrival, you’ll prepare dinner and tend to the children. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered obediently. Her wording was a double-edged sword; it always was. On one side, it was flattering that she saw me as a responsible adult. On the other hand, I wished she saw me for what I was. I was barely an adult.

“Y/n, when Miles gets here, can you get us some snacks? I’m so-o-o hungry,” she exclaimed, jumping up and down. “And brother will be, too! He just escaped the zombies after running for his life, after all.”

I slowed, crouching down to her height. I ruffled her hair affectionately. “You’re right, Flora. How thoughtful of you. Let me say hello to your brother first and I’ll get right to it, okay?”

Flora nodded, and just then, my ears picked up the distant sound of a car. The crunching of gravel grew closer and closer until a grey car pulled into the parking lot. It pulled up to the base of the steps before coming to a halt. Mrs. Grose began defending the steps, and the moment she did too, the back door opened.

Miles emerged, messy-haired and jovial. He was grinning ear to ear, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He dashed up the stairs while Flora went down, and they met each other half way.

Miles had clearly grown stronger over the last semester. He lifted the child with ease, twirling her around. I watched the scene expectantly, noticing how Mrs. Grose was accompanying the driver in taking out all of his luggage.

My suspicions peaked. Miles never brought any suitcases back with him.

He carried the girl back up and set her on the ground. Flora giggled gleefully, and Miles turned to me. I was still somewhat disappointed by the situation, but I opened my arms to him. No greetings were exchanged as he dove into my arms. His hands grabbed at my back tightly and he hurried his head into the crook of my neck.

I patted his back warmly as his hair brushed against my cheeks. Flora was already tugging eagerly at my skirt, begging for me to get her some snacks now. However, Miles was unmoving while I was laughing from the small girl’s insistence.

“I missed you too, Miles, but the princess demands food,” I finally spoke.

Miles pulled away, not hesitating to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. Over the years I’d grown comfortable with his open affections, and it made me smile. He had an irreplaceable, handsome grin on his face. “Let me help you,” he offered.

I shook my head, dusting my hands off on my skirt. “It’s my job, Miles. Let me take care of it.”

Miles pouted, grabbing my upper arm. Flora tugged at his shirt. “Miles, I want to go play chess in the living room!”

Mrs. Grose and the driver were in the process of dropping the suitcases in the doorway. Mrs. Grose peered at us. “Miles. Let the girl do her job.”

Miles sent a piercing glare her way, but it was gone as soon as it was present. He dully shrugged. “Okay, Mrs. Grose. Let’s go, Flora!”

Alike to what she had done with me, Flora grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. They were both laughing, and Flora offered for a piggyback ride. I watched as he lifted her up and Flora was cheering ecstatically. They disappeared from view, and that was my cue to go inside as well.

I went to the kitchen and swiftly placed a platter of crackers, meats, and cheeses on a tray. I held it with one hand as I exited and went to the living slash all-purpose room. I walked in on Flora and Miles playing chess, just as they said they’d do. The game just started, but I could already tell Miles was going to win.

He was trying too hard against the little girl. But I knew how strong-willing and prideful Miles was because of his spoiled and pompous upbringing. I set the tray down, finally drawing both of their attention to me.

Flora gasped and thanked me, pawing at the various snacks. Miles grinned at me and patted the spot on the couch next to him. He was hunched over the coffee table while Flora was adjacent to him, sitting on the floor. I obeyed, plopping down and flattening my skirt out.

As Flora munched down on a cracker sandwich, Miles moved his bishop. He sat back, leaving Flora to think hard. He grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers.

“I know you probably think it’s really stuffy to be stuck here at home, but school is so shitty!” he exclaimed, which peaked Flora’s interest.

“Shitty? What does shitty mean?” she innocently asked.

“It’s another word for poo —"

I stole my hand back only to slap his shoulder. “Miles! Watch your language,” I scolded. “Especially around Flora. When will you learn?”

“Awe, come on, it’s just words, Y/n,” Miles chortled coyly. He grabbed my hand once more. Although I was somewhat fuming from his irresponsible behavior, I allowed him to do so.

I knew I wouldn’t get through to him, so I sighed and leaned toward Flora, who was whispering and repeating the word to herself. “Flora, dearest? Don’t listen to your dumb brother. That’s a bad word to use.”

Flora frowned in confusion. “Oh. Okay.” And with that, she moved a pawn forward, not knowing that it opened up the king to Miles bishop.

Miles was about to reach out and solidify his win, but I leaned into his ear. “Come on, Miles. Give the girl a win, will you?”

He pursed his lips in mock thought. He sent me a small smirk. “How about… no. It’s a learning experience!”

“You say that every time!”

He moved the piece, exclaiming, "Checkmate!”

Flora threw up her tiny fists in frustration. “Oh… shitty! You always beat me. I hate this game. Can we play something else?”

Miles laughed, but I sent him an ‘I told you so’ look. He ignored me, though, letting me go and rising to his feet. “Sure, Flora. We can play again some other time. I just know you’ll beat me next time.”

I smiled at the heartwarming scene, sinking back into the couch. Flora huffed and glared at her brother, crossing her arms. “Well… I know it too!” she eventually agreed. “Can we play hide and seek instead? I want Y/n to be the seeker.”

Miles nodded in agreement, pulling Flora to her feet. He sent me a mischievous glance. “That’s a great idea, sis. Y/n, you should count to fifty —"

“Um, Miles, wait,” I interrupted, standing and grabbing his arm. “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”

Flora stomped her foot. “But I want to play!”

Miles slowly nodded. “Uh, yeah, Y/n, of course! Flora, why don’t you get a head start and look for a hiding spot? We won’t take too long.”

Flora begrudgingly ran off, leaving me and Miles to our lonesome. He turned to face me, blues eyes boring into me expectantly. I tried to find my words, knowing better than to set off his temper by wording my question wrong.

“So… Miles, what happened? Why are you home so soon?” I asked carefully.

Miles tensed and could no longer meet my gaze. “It’s… nothing. Don’t worry about it, Y/n.”

I shook my head in disappointment. “I’ll find out sooner or later. I’d rather you tell me upfront, Miles.”

He frowned, clenching his fists and taking a step back. “I told you, it’s not important, okay? Just be glad I’m already home. I’ve missed you, Y/n.”

I strained a smile, knowing that his fuse would burst if I prodded further. I let it go, deciding to drop the object. I covered my eyes with both hands. “One, two, three…”

“Fuck, that’s unfair!” the boy shouted as he ran out of the room.

I would’ve laughed, but I was more concerned about how reluctant he was to answer. I listened intently to which direction he went, because I knew that anywhere he went, Flora was sure to follow. As I counted, I couldn’t help but be consumed by my concern for Miles.

Ever since his parents’ death, he was different. It was understandable, and I understood him completely. However, even I got over my mother’s death after a while. I moved on. But Miles… it was like he allowed that grief to consume him. He was so much darker than the boy he once was. I knew from the many horror stories he brought home with him; that he was violent and short-tempered with his classmates, and because of that, he was a total recluse.

“Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty! Ready or not, here I come!” I shouted loudly, although I knew quite well it would only echo in one-tenth of the house. I removed my hands from my face and headed out into the hallway. Slowly but surely, I examined the rooms. Upstairs, then downstairs, and then I realized; I was only left with the vast chasms of the basement.

Oh, how I hated the basement. It was mores for personal reasons, but I hated it nonetheless. I couldn’t blame them for choosing that area, though. It was always dark and it was filled with junk and there were so many dark corners.

I hovered at the top of the stairs. It wound deeper and deeper, and I began my descent. When I made it to the bottom, I had to shake my flashlight to turn it on. There wasn’t even an ounce of sunlight down below. The basement was wet and cold and stoney. I shuddered in disgust, using the flashlight to scan over the large room.

To my left was piles of old junk. To my right, nothing but a mossy wall that led deeper into the basement. I gulped down my anxiety to the best of my ability, deciding to scan over the junk piles. I took a few steps deeper. The flashlight grazed over a pile of clothes, and I was about to skim past it, but I suddenly saw something fleshy squirm under the light.

I hummed in amusement, pacing toward the pile. “I know you’re somewhere close, Flora-a-a. I wonder where you are…” I was standing right in front of the dusty clothes pile. “Maybe you’re right…” I prepared to grab her hand and tug her out in attempt to scare her. “Here!”

Flora screamed as I pulled her out. However, her screams quickly morphed into roaring laughter, and she dove in for a hug. I laughed as well as I fretted over picking off dust from her hair.

“Have you caught Miles yet?”

“Nope. But you, dearest, need to go clean up. You should know better than to get all dirty like this. There could be rats in there, for all you know!”

Flora giggled, pulling away. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I just really wanted to have a good hiding spot! Can I be the seeker when I’m done taking a bath?”

I patted her head. “Of course, Flora. Now go get clean. And next time, don’t go getting all dusty, okay?”

Flora detached from my torso and ran past me. I watched as she disappeared up the steps, and I was once again left to my lonesome. Right away, my anxiety returned. The basement was deafly quiet. It was dank and dark and Miles could be anywhere. Especially if he was using the same tactic as his sister. I could only hope he had more common sense than that.

I went down the hallway and entered the next room. There were three doors, but I could only reach the one to the right. This was due to the junk piling so high that the other doors were blocked. I could assume Miles could’ve only gone one way, and I quickly checked over the pile. Luckily, the boy was nowhere to be found.

I licked my lips. My entire body was shaking. As terrifying as the silence was, I knew it would be worse if there was even the faint dripping of water. Or, hell, when Miles inevitably tried to scare me and succeeded. Over the years, that’s what he always tried to do when he chose the basement as his hiding spot.

The room I entered was larger and emptier, much to my glee. I thoughtfully glazed the flashlight over one of the few towering piles. There seemed to be nothing in the room, so I was about to move on, but something caught my eye.

There was a blacked out window with only a spot of sunlight peaking through. However, hanging from a loose nail, was a large flannel shirt. I reluctantly went over and picked it up, a firm frown stretching onto my face. With shaky hands, I lifted the shirt slightly.

It had been at least a year since Peter Quint’s shirt was shoved down here. And yet, it still smelled of him. And there’s nothing I hated than knowing that I could still recognize his smell, even after all this time. Before I could let myself get lost in thought, though, I dropped the shirt to the ground and kicked it away.

I was about to turn, but I suddenly screamed as two arms encircled my waist and lifted me in the air. I hit and kicked whoever had grabbed me. It took a moment to realize it could only be Miles, especially now that he bursted into roaring laughter and dropped me back on my feet. My heart was still racing with adrenaline, though, and I turned to him, punching his chest.

“Jesus, Miles, when will you grow out of such childish jokes?” I reprimanded angrily.

Miles raised his hands in mock defeat. “I’ll grow out of it when it stops being so funny. Shouldn’t you know better than to turn your back by now?”

I scowled, my anger dissipating. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you spared me some empathy,” I muttered. “I’m leaving now. I have to check on Flora.”

I went to move around him, however, his arm shot out, preventing me from doing so. He didn’t seem quite as smug, but he maintained a smirk. “Wait, wait. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll start going easier on you.” Before I could accept his apology, he grabbed my face and tilted my head, planting a kiss on my cheek.

Similar to his sister, he ran off before I could reply. I watched him leave, but I hated being in the basement, so I was quick to follow.

~~~

I was entering a circus tent, of which was large and rambunctious and flooded with people. However, instead of a set performance, it seemed that one was able to walk around the center and observe the many sights. I stood in the entrance as people shoved past me. Each was as faceless as the last, so my attention was drawn to the center. Strobe lights circled the displays. There were jesters on the high-hanging tightrope, a car with clowns overflowing from the windows, and an elephant tied up to a very thin metal post.

The crowds went into the stands, and I felt pressured to do the same. I walked forward, but suddenly, an arm shot out. Miles in full clown make-up and attire, only recognizable by his goofy hair, was grinning at me. He offered me a flower, of which I was obliged to take. As I took it, though, water suddenly spurted from the flower, striking me in the face. I shut my eyes and wiped it off with my sleeve.

When I opened my eyes, Miles was gone. I planned on entering the stands. However, Flora, in a elephant onesie, seemingly emerged from nowhere and dashed past me while giggling like a madman. I reached out to her and swerved to catch her, but similar to Miles, she had disappeared into thin air.

The crowd suddenly started roaring in laughter. Confused as to what captivated them so, I turned back. However, the scan had completely changed. One large strobe light was focused on the center. A large, empty cage fit for a lion was in the center, and standing beside with a whip, his back to the crowd, was the lion tamer. He adorned the stereotypical red and black suit.

What was so funny?

I blinked. But that was enough to change the world around me.

When my eyes fluttered open, I was in the center. However, my vision was blocked by iron bars. Terrified, I realized that I was the lion trapped in the cage. And the audience was laughing at me. I gripped at the bars, shaking them and screaming for help. However, the howls of laughter were deafening.

I shrunk back, but the front suddenly dropped open. In terror, I scrambled over to the entrance and emerged. I was panting in fright. I hit my head on the way out, having to duck on the way out. I planned to make a run for it, but I was paralyzed in fear.

The lion tamer turned to me. But instead of another faceless person, it was the one person I never wanted to see again. The lion tamer’s body morphed from a slim, twig-like proportion to that of a somewhat overweight, hairy man with a beer belly. A neck beard was prominent and he grinned at me.

Peter Quint. The man I despised most. Back to haunt me, even in my dreams.

He suddenly snapped the whip menacingly, chortling like he used to do in that deep voice of his. I regained control of my body and made a run for it. I head the snapping of the whip as I ran further and further. However, as I kept heading toward the exit from whence I entered, I realized I wasn’t gaining at all.

Instead, I looked at my feet. They were frozen in place. I wasn’t in control in the slightest.

Suddenly, I let out a shriek of pain, a searing slap sounding against my back. I fell on my knees, ands digging into the dirt. Another slash, and I completely collapsed onto the ground. I was completely exhausted. My mouth was open and I was screaming, but the audience was laughing like their lives depended on it.

My agony fell on deaf ears as I was suddenly whipped onto my back. Tears sprouted to my eyes as Quint loomed over me. He had such a friendly, warm expression. And yet his eyes screamed danger because I knew its what he embodied. He stepped over me, holding the whip high in the air.

He raised it, slowly. He was aiming for my head. I weakly covered my head, waiting for the slash. I closed my eyes.

“Y/n!”

But nothing came.

“Y/n, you’re alright now.”

I opened my eyes. But I realized there was no longer a circus. There was no longer Quint terrorizing me in unfamiliar garb. Instead, there was only the ornate ceiling of my room. And, quickly ducking into my peripherals, Miles. My vision was blurry. Not just from not having my glasses on, but from tears.

Warm hands gripped my cheeks. I was still terrified from what my mind had conjured, and I was struggling to recognize the real world. I instead focused on the sensations. Miles soft thumb's massaging my cheeks. The vague heat of the bedside lamp he must’ve turned on. The squeaking of my bedroom door which was wide open. The ruffling of my blankets as I limply sat up.

I grabbed Miles hands, pushing away. I wiped my tears, my eyes rather itchy. I must’ve looked so ugly with how much I’d cried in my sleep. My cheeks reddened in shame as I pulled my legs to my chest, hugging them. Miles placed his hands on my knees, scooting closer. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, concern etched into his features.

“Do you need to talk about it?” he inquired carefully, massaging my blanketed knee.

I slowly shook my head. “…It’s nothing.”

Miles frowned, scooting closer once more. “I heard you screaming from next door. It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Thanks, Miles, but I can take it from here,” I panicked, drawing my trembling hands to my chest.

Miles frown deepened. He didn’t reply, instead crawling onto the bed and sitting beside me to my right. Wordlessly, he pulled me into a side hug. I appreciated that he didn’t push for me to talk about it. I was too embarrassed to do so, anyways. I buried my head into his lightly clothed chest. Miles was wearing but a loose t-shirt that was thin with age.

I was oddly exhausted from my nightmare. It was like the running manifested itself into real life. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead.

“Let me stay here for the night,” Miles cooed, his finger under my chin as he tilted my head up to meet his earnest gaze.

My heart flooded and I gulped. “…Okay. Thanks, Miles.”

We lowered our bodies underneath the covers. I. Laid on my back, but that didn’t seem to satisfy Miles. He wrapped one arm around my torso and held me close, half of his chest pressing against mine. I would’ve complained about the restriction, but it was oddly comforting. I turned off the lamp beside me and darknesss enveloped the room.

#yandere #x reader #x y/n #self insert #miles fairchild x reader #miles fairchild #yandere miles fairchild #the turning #yandere the turning #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard #horror films #yandere x reader #yandere slashers #the turn of the screw

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flowery-laser-blasts · 7 months

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How would the first meeting between Drakken and Shego’s brothers would go?

Good question! First technical meeting was during the episode 'Go team Go' but that was barely anything. Let me try and write down how I think a first meeting would go:

So I suppose after the episode, the next best meeting could be during a family orientated holiday (Thanksgiving or Christmas). It would be very likely that Hego, after finding out where Drakken's Lair is located, would send an invitation for them to visit during the holiday; no hero activities, no villain activities just family stuff + Drakken. Drakken is a sucker for family orientated outings (See the yearly evil family picnic that he organises for his henchmen and the time he celebrated Christmas with first only Ron and then with the Possibles and Shego).

If Drakken gets his hands on the invitation first: Drakken might keep it a secret from Shego and makes her come along with him to GoCity under the guise of "We're going there for evil shopping" or anything and 'coincidentally' bumping into Hego.

If Shego gets get hands on the invitation: Shego will probably burn it and toss it away. However, she won't wait for it to burn out (like the photo strip of her and Kim in 'Stop team Go'). So Drakken might see it and stomp it out, see the address and could potentially read that it's an invite and then do the same as the previous part, go to Go-city.

Alternative: Drakken invites team Go to the lair for a family reunion.

Drakken and Hego would formally introduce themselves to each other and Shego would try and go away but gets stopped by the Wegos who surround her with hugs. Eventually she just gives up and everyone goes to GoTower or Lair.

Drakken + the Go brothers impressions:

Wegos & Drakken: The twins would probably be neutral over Drakken. He looks a tad boring to them compared to the Go villains. They are mischievous though and first pretend to be 1 sibling, making Drakken confused because he thought they were twins, then triplets??? Quintuplets?!? "Oh, just twins with multiplication powers, haha of course--." Drakken would also think they're around the age of Kim's brothers so he got them a pranksters' science kit as present. "How to build an atomic whoopy cushion? Neat!". Drakken is okay in their book.

Mego & Drakken: A looooooooooong silence between them. Mego and Drakken would probably start with having the least common interests, but something they both like to talk about is themselves. One would start talking about some anecdotes connecting to their line of work, then in turns they interrupt each other to tell another 'funny story that I just remembered cause of this story'. The conversation then turns into talking about Shego. Both of them then bond over getting onto Shego's nerves.. until Shego interrupts them "Hahaha, oh that's funny-- hey don't stop talking about me now, you guys seemed to have so much fun!" "Yes, uh, well, we're just--" "Boy! All that socialising sure dried up my throat. I'll get myself a water, would you like some too, Doctor Drakken?" "Why, yes Mego, here let me help you!!" And both of them hurry away into the kitchen before Shego can say anything. They also compliment each other's hairdo but secretly think it looks lame and theirs looks better.

Hego & Drakken: I feel like this is a double edged sword. They both like the Oh Boyz and probably would sing Karaoke during the party (making Shego and Mego cringe in their seats). They could talk about the fastfood industry/horeca in general and maybe Hego likes Snowman Hank as well.

Now the negative aspect. I think at one point during the party, Drakken might ask Hego something along the lines of "So, you are okay with your sister being evil? Running from the law? A super Villain's sidekick?" and Hego laughs it off, replying "Oh, yeah well, I'm not that worried. You see, if she's paired up with the likes of you, it'll be ok." At first Drakken might be flattered but then, "What do you mean, "paired up with the likes of me"?"

Hego explains that he knows that Drakken is no 'real villain'. After first seeing him, he looked up everything about Drakken in a villain database and concluded that Drakken is no real threat, at least not like the true villains that terrorise GoCity (according to him). Shego probably is the safest with Drakken cause she'll never be in real danger because of his shenanigans. Drakken will get fired up because this definetely hurts his ego. He will start getting real angry and tries picking a fight with Hego, telling him he's probably the reason that Shego left for villainy, because he's such a goodie two shoes that controls everyone like they're tools to get him in the best light and adoration of the city. Hego and Drakken will eventually get closer to actual fighting but Shego steps in, scolding both of them hard. "This is exactly why I didn't want to come." Shego grabs Drakken by his collar and heads out.

It's not the most perfect first meeting, but it's a first meeting nonetheless. I hope you liked my take on it!

#kim possible #kimpossible #dr drakken #drakken #drdrakken #dr. drakken #dr.drakken #shego #hego #wegos #mego #team go #teamgo #stop team go #go team go

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lil-vibes · 1 year

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i would die if you wrote anything expanding on that post about chuuya being taken over by baki and just floating all over the place and speaking with an echo until he gets to dazai at the ADA office - that was a great idea, very cool

yooo thanks man !!!

here you go, a little more brainworms regarding that au!

• when Baki wakes up in a back alleyway and tries to stand up they overdo it and snap Chuuya's spine in the process. they try to walk and all of a sudden they are on the ground with mild pains from the vessel' legs. they aren't sure how a human body works, so for now they decide to just float.

• Baki, in my hc, is very curious for just about everything because it's quite rare that they 'view' the world through a humans' eyes

• piggybacking off of that, i think that they'd have trouble expressing their thoughts in the beggining (speaking in short, sometimes conflicting/unfinished sentences) because using human vocal cords without snapping them is difficult and also words have changed since the last time they were actively using them. Ranpo just chucks a dictionary at them and they absolutely ABSORB every word

• i also think that they'd want to sword fight with both Fukuzawa and Golden Demon/ Kouyou for fun

• they can make Dazai float and he just about gives up on life ( something something 'your human existence can not deny mine' yeah me thinks)

• i personally think that theyd be slightly more chill than expected, however when they get upset, or emotions generally run high, the control over the body begings to wobble. some examples of that being:

- the overlapping voices are the most common ones. they are a mass manifested through war and suffering and vengeance, thus Baki has to be extremely careful of how loud they speak because there's a great chance that someone's eardrums will explode.

- corruption markings are a damn near permanent fixture on Chuuya's skin, more so to help remind everyone that this isn't Chuuya in control right now (Dazai is constantly stressed about it, and has to consistently tell himself that it's fine), but they tend to grow and glow and move around like they are alive too, as if also taking offence that Baki is agitated. they also burn if touched directly

- people around an Agitated Baki feel like they are about to poof out of existence simply by being too close. Mori nearly dies once because Baki can see his general soul and is not pleased. it kinda feels like your blood suddenly starts running the other way, or your like heart is beating backwards and double in speed. not fun !

- sometimes birds fly into the windows. maybe the sky tints red, maybe there is ringing in the ears, static in the brain of those around them. maybe looking at Chuuya's form hurts a little, burns a little, blurs around the edges. what were his features again? what color were his eyes? his hair?

• Baki loves Chuuya and learning all about him :] ( "and his name? what is his name? we would love to know who our vessel is."

"it's Chuuya Nakahara.."

the entity thinks, hums for a bit, vibrations making the lights swim around it, then pleased, it smiles "hmm Chuuya... it suits him a lot" )

• disregarding stormbringer for a moment, when asked how exactly one traps a being like it, Baki kindly informs them that there are runes carved into every bone inside Chuuya. yes, they do mean every single one.

• also, and that's a little.... gruesome, but it's a misconception that Baki and Chuuya share only a consciousness. "it's like that most of the time, but right now what you are looking at is ... ah, let's say, our clothes. we are woven in-between his skin and bones and every blood vessel, but also we are separate. it's like a hand pupet? we are under his skin :)"

• Baki absolutely says unhinged things like its normal

• they also find it funny to tease Ranpo because they recognise just how smart of a human he is but also he's just that to them. a human

• i also have this scene when someone complains about the sun or something so Baki just,,, shifts either the Earth or the Sun a bit so that it's not shining directly at the person. everyone FREAKS abt this btw

• Baki also loves the Akutagawas and Kouyou bc Chuuya loves them :]

some skk things bc i love them:

• Baki tells Dazai, hand pressed against his heart, looking him dead in the eyes with that slightly unhinged expression "no wonder you hold onto warm things, for you have been warm once, then never again. no wonder you seek to be warm again" and Dazai just has to go through his day after that

• okay last thing off of the top of my head, but somehow they (the ada) get into the topic of worship and Baki casually drops that yes! they get prayers sometimes but nothing even begins to compare to the feeling of the worship from their most devoted person. naturally everyone wants to know who that is, and Baki tilts their head a little and then points to a Very Confused Dazai (Ranpo and Kunikida are exhanging money in the backround btw).

("but... i don't worship the hat rack?? what?"

"oh, but that can't be" they sway a little from their perch on Dazai's desk, appearing as if deep in thought. after the day, Dazai knows better. "but we can distinctly recal feeling a sort of warmth from you. say, how do you define worship? because it can be food offerings too. or thoughts about us or even just the pure, unrelenting faith that as long as you believe in us, your wish will be made into existence"

Dazai blinks at them, stunned.

"so now, has your answer changed?" )

• LAST one. Ranpo asks them if Dazai has ever nullified corruption with a kiss and Baki is like we think so? but Dazai denies that hard. Baki counters by saying that every place where 'coruption' has been nullified burns to this day. twice on left the wrist, once at the forearm. once at the right hand, once at the cheek, and once ot the lips. Dazai may or may not work harder to resolve the issue after that (he's never gonna beat the gay accusations)

(end of skk things hh)

• when it's time to surrender themselves back to Chuuyas will, Baki tells the ada + the Akutagawas and Kouyou, that when their time finally comes, when Chuuya is either one of them or dust in the wind, they will remember the kindness they have experienced. that they will live forever in the mind of a god

• Chuuya is so, so confused after waking up

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rainbowsky · 8 months

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Hi Rainbow,

I just want to ask you something I've seen several times now since I joined the fandom. Is it true that XZ's big name fans openly call fans to rate other people's work (not just WYB's, because I know that happens a lot) 1 stars on Douban and other sites. I'm asking purely because I want to know the truth, and I'm worried how it'll negatively affect XZ in the industry, not because I want to put that blame on XZ. Please ignore this if this isn't something you want to post on your blog. Thank you

Hi Anon,

What's with all the asks lately about anti/toxic fan behavior? Every turtle who reads my blog should know by now that I think focusing on what those people say and do is pointless, and a very unproductive, negative approach to fandom.

You're all free to do whatever you want, but I hope you can stop bringing these topics to me. It's not what I want to focus on, think about or talk about.

This truly is the last question of this type I'm taking. We should be focusing on GG and DD. When there is a lull like this, and things are slow, now is the perfect time to watch their projects. I highly doubt everyone's seen them all, but if you have then a rewatch is always worthwhile.

GG's movie is coming out early next year, why not also read the story it's based on? The Legend of the Condor Heroes by Jin Yong. FANTASTIC, FANTASTIC story. Absolutely gripping, exceptionally well told. I've been working my way through this series for the past several weeks and I can't recommend it enough.

As for your question, Anon, yes - that type of activity/behavior is a typical part of toxic fan culture, although GG's active fandom solos are known to be especially dedicated to this type of toxic fandom. It's a double-edged sword. On the one hand they are boosting his popularity and clout, and on the other hand they're really messing with his career and harming other fans and artists.

GG and DD's fans are especially horrible to each other and are constantly launching attacks on each other and on each other's idol. Some of the worst attacks against GG and DD were heavily pushed by XFX/MTJJ against each other's idol. The infamous 'desperate illiterate' attack against DD, for example, was largely pushed by XFX, who actually still frequently use it to this day.

My hope is that GG will gradually start to shed this type of fan, and I believe there's some evidence that he's intentionally, carefully shifting his image toward that goal. But in the meantime, this is just where things stand.

A GG solo posted an essay on Weibo a while back that was translated on Twitter, outlining some of their experience in that fandom. It was an interesting read and should give you some insight into how they operate. My thoughts on all of that can be found here and here.

I have also written a lot about similar topics in the past. Just a reminder that if you want to know my thoughts on most past/non-time-sensitive fandom subjects, you can always browse my masterlist post and explore the tags on my posts.*

*Just make sure you're doing so from my actual blog page, because if you access a tag from your timeline or from a reblog you'll get every post from all over Tumblr that has that tag, whereas if you access a tag from my blog you'll only get content from my blog that is tagged that way. You can also do a search on my blog for subjects you're interested in.

#solos belong to moling su sect #it's in the air it's all around #antis go home #ask

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definitelynotshouting · 1 year

Text

everything i loved and feared (first 1k)

hello scarianblr beloveds this is the unedited very beginning of my completed scarian fic that im posting for the hell of it. fic is 7k rn but that will likely expand after the final draft rewrite<3 so this is just a funky little teaser thats gonna be rewritten anyway, hence why i dont mind sharing.

CWs for: blood, graphic injury, implied character death. Enjoy :]

Grian’s eyes are red now.

It’s an odd color on him– not because it doesn’t suit him, but because it suits him far too well. Like a glove, Scar thinks past the hazy, heady fog settling over his mind. Red like his tattered sweater– like the blood that beads between Scar's neck and shoulder, clouding the water he kneels in. Red like life.

Red like love.

That’s the fog settling thick over his senses. Love, the amalgamation of it, something so beautiful and terrible that anyone else wouldn’t– shouldn’t– look at it head-on. But inside Scar’s chest is a warm purr; he has rolled the die, shown his hand, and now Grian stands over him, vibrating red, red, red. He’s gorgeous like this, all righteous, trembling fury. Scar wants to pull him close and kiss him until they’re both dead.

“You can kill me” he says, and his voice shakes with the cost of this victory. “Grian. You can kill me.”

Above him, an avenging angel falters. Grian’s sword, so swift with its raging swing, lowers by a noticeable fraction. “What? No.”

“For everything you did to me,” Scar says, breathless, “to keep me alive this long– you may slay me, and take the enchanter.” He lowers his head, until his forehead brushes against cool, rippling water. It feels like benediction. It feels like a curse.

Grian will win. It is both the least and most Scar can do for him.

When Grian speaks, his voice is small. “No– no, I can’t. I literally can’t. Scar–”

“Do it,” Scar insists, that eager haze billowing through his veins, unfolding to rest with steady pressure against his bowed spine. Distantly, he wonders why nothing is singing. There should be war horns, trumpets, a blazing, crescendoing melody. Birds, at the very least.

Instead there is only miserable silence.

Grian sucks in an audible breath. “I’m not–” he starts, then breaks off; Scar lifts his head to watch him struggle, how his grip loosens on the hilt of his sword, how his eyes pinch around the edges. Grian flinches, presses his free hand to his head, eyes going middle-distant.

“The spectators want a fight,” he says at last, hollow.

And this is what he's waited for, this moment of realization; the other shoe dropped, the culmination of the game they've waltzed around. Scar smooths his voice, curling it around the two of them with gentle, insistent pressure. “It’s okay, G. You can kill me. You can be the winner.”

For one, long moment, Grian holds his stare, expression flayed open for only Scar to see. Raw and wild, his eyes gleam in the dawning sun– thin strands of hair curl around his ears, damp from their earlier struggle in the pond.

Slow, so slow it’s almost imperceptible, Grian shakes his head. Clenches his jaw. “Scar, they want blood.” Something in his face shifts– some beetled brow, a muscle jumping before smoothing out. He’s shaking: ripples blooming around him as he wavers on his feet, as if adrenaline has finally retracted its claws.

Scar’s shaking too. Even in this, they are together.

Scar opens his mouth– to push, to press, to snap him out of whatever spell holds him in suspension– but Grian beats him to it; his sword lifts from its helpless stance, glittering bright and blue in the sun. His mouth twists, tired affection curling the corners of his lips.

“Scar,” Grian says, “no matter what happens, we can claim this as a double victory. Right?”

The words are a cool caress against his fevered skin. Scar sinks into them, eyes drifting shut– because even now, with victory dancing through his veins, he can’t look Grian in the face when he kills him. “Yes,” he breathes, and braces for the blow, the cut of diamond against his carotid–

It never comes.

Instead, a rush of air as the sword comes down; the sharp, wet schlck of a blade entering flesh; a choked-off, gurgling yelp. Scar’s eyes fly open just as Grian falls to his knees with a splash, and–

And blood is tumbling from his gut in great scarlet waves where his sword is buried, slicking around his hands where he grips the hilt. Grian’s teeth are stained as he grins up at Scar, sharp and feral, eyes alight with more fire than Scar has seen in them since he knelt to die. “You win,” Grian hisses, and shudders, one hand flying out to sink into the silt of the pond they’re both kneeling in. Like a toppling tower, the rest of his body follows suit, falling sideways into bloody water.

The fog clouding his mind is ripped away in one fell swoop. Scar isn’t sure if he screams– all he knows is that one moment Grian is collapsing, and the next Scar is holding him, breath stuttering in his lungs.

“Grian– Grian, no, hang on. Wait, wait, wait, no, no– no, no, no, no. Grian.” His hands find the hilt of Grian’s sword, but make no move to pull it out– that would just kill him faster. It's like he's been punched– the bright, earnest rays of the sun have missed their mark, gilded the wrong death in stunning, flagrant gold. “What are you doing?” he chokes, like that will reverse everything.

Grian was supposed to win. Grian was supposed to be the winner.

“They never said what kind of blood,” Grian says, hazy. His lips wobble. “I can’t– I couldn’t, Scar. I couldn’t kill you.” When he coughs, blood bubbles on his lips. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Scar whispers, fingers shifting to catch in the wet strands of Grian’s hair. “You did that on purpose– Grian, you were supposed to win.”

He’d done everything– cast the die, folded his cards, offered up his life, because Scar knows himself; he could never handle being alone. Not in that emptiness. Maybe it’s selfish, how he’d planned to let Grian take that fall instead– but Scar is selfish. And more than that, he’s in love: awful, truthful, scarlet love, with a man now dying in his arms.

“You weren’t supposed to die,” Scar wails, terror thick in his lungs, despair a weight around his ankle. He leans forward, brushing his forehead against Grian’s, until the trembling puffs of breath from Grian’s lips fan over his own. “Grian– how could you?”

When he pulls back again, Grian grins at him. The sun slips across his face, revealing the pale, faded remnants of freckles scattered over his cheeks. Scar has always wanted to count them. He’s never gotten close enough until now. “Guess I’m just not cut out to be a winner,” he murmurs, one hand lifting to rest, delicate as a butterfly, over Scar’s cheek.

He does not say I love you. He does not say anything at all. Instead he guides Scar’s head down, until their lips brush, the taste of copper flooding Scar’s tongue. Then his hand drops, breath hitching, head lolling back–

Scar wakes up choking on his own desperate scream.

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