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saetoru · 7 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ speak of the devil

synopsis. satoru and his father don’t quite get along—you don’t think it would help that case if his father walked in on you fucking on his desk right now, but satoru doesn’t seem to care at all

FIVE PLACES RB! GOJO SHOULDN’T FUCK YOU SERIES

length. 3.4k words (why did it take all day sobs)

contents. fem! reader, minors do not interact, college au, rich boy! gojo, as always it’s shameless satoru, you sit on satoru’s lap, brief fingering, dry humping, desk sex <3, clothed sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, perfect girl)

notes. to everyone who kept asking when i was gonna update this series: here it is. now don’t ask again <3

the one time you decide to surprise satoru with a visit is the one time he’s nowhere to be found—it takes you ten minutes and the help of two maids to finally find satoru in his house. as it turns out, he’s in his father’s office—the only room you’ve never been in yet.

“hey,” you murmur, “been looking for you everywhere. way to ruin my surprise.”

“baby!” he grins, perking up from his spot at the chair, setting the pen in his hand down. “you came all the way here to surprise me? you must love me so much. and think i’m hot too, right? and funny? and smart? and—”

“i’m leaving,” you tease, rolling your eyes. and then you notice the papers in front of him, peeking over his shoulder as you read over them. you understand nothing. “what’s this?”

“paperwork,” he grumbles, “old man says i have to start being more responsible for stuff if i’m gonna take over someday. what a geezer.”

you snort—satoru never runs out of insults for his father. normally, you wouldn’t encourage his comments, but….well, his father deserves them. quite a bit, in fact.

“my poor businessman,” you say sympathetically, smoothing back hair from his forehead as you cup his face. he pouts, leaning into your touch as you rub over the swell of his cheek with your thumb. “you deserve a break.”

“i know,” he whines, “i’ve been doing these for like an hour. i could’ve been playing video games with suguru. or fucking you.”

“satoru!” you gasp, pressing a hand over his lips as you eye the door and listen for any signs of anyone nearby. you turn to him and hiss, “you have too many people wandering your house for you to say that so loud.”

“not like they’ve never heard us before,” he shrugs.

well, that’s satoru for you—as shameless as ever. not only has he probably traumatized the poor maids with his insatiable horniness, but he’s not even got the tact to at least seem embarrassed. not even slightly ashamed. you scoff, shaking your head as he grins up at you cheekily.

“you’re a real case, you know that?” you say in disbelief, “i think the only surface you haven’t fucked me on is your parent’s bed. and that’s only because you love your mom enough not to do that.”

“if it was just the old man’s, i’d have fucked you on that too,” he snickers. and then he hums thoughtfully, “actually, i think i have fucked you everywhere. it’s like a bucket list.”

“satoru, you’re sick in the head.”

“the showers, the guest rooms, the kitchen, the living room, the movie room, my room, of course—oh, the game room too. and we can’t forget the backyard and the pool either. i think we got it all—wait.”

he sounds serious. you look at him with furrowed brows as you tilt your head. “what?”

“we didn’t get this room.”

oh god. he’s absolutely ridiculous—and not only that but a complete idiot, too. not only do satoru and his father not get along, but his father couldn’t disapprove of you any more than he already does. the last thing you both need is for him to walk in on his son fucking the girl he probably wants to hire a hitman to assassinate.

“oh my god,” you say exasperatedly, “toru, have you not one ounce of shame? you can’t possibly think—”

“why didn’t i think of this sooner?” he wonders out loud—and oh no. satoru has that look in his eyes, the one that’s locked in on something he wants. the spoiled side of him isn’t going to let this go. the weak part of you is probably going to have a hard time fighting him.

the unwise part of both of you will probably get you both into a whole lot of trouble.

“because it’s a bad idea. you’re a smart guy, toru,” you try to butter him up—it doesn’t seem to do much, though. “the smartest. so, so genius and intelligent, so you know this is a terrible idea, so let’s just drop it—”

“i should’ve done this way sooner,” he chuckles, looking at you in awe, “bend you right over this desk and fuck you over that fossil’s papers.”

his words are so shameless and so, so wrong. but for some odd reason, your clit aches a little at that.

“no, absolutely not—”

“can you imagine? he’s signing papers right where i had you drooling for me? he’d be so mad if he knew,” satoru cackles.

god—this should not be as appealing as it sounds. you try to throw on your best stern look, but satoru is as smart as he is sly. he can see the way you shift on your feet as he smirks up at you, and he’s already got that determined look in his eye that you know well enough.

it’s the same look he has when he decides he’s hungry—for you, that is. the same look that paints his face as he eyes you like you’re his next meal. the same look that tells you he wants you—and he’ll stop at nothing to have you.

and….well, you’ve never been good at saying no to satoru. it’s your fatal flaw.

“satoru, we should definitely not be doing any of that in here, and we definitely should not be risking making your dad—who hates that we’re dating, by the way—any more angry with us than he already is—”

“sweetheart,” he chuckles, pulling you by the wrist to fall onto his lap, “you worry too much, y’know that? i should fix that. fuck you dumb over this desk so you don’t overthink in that pretty little head you have.”

you glare at him, but he’s already got you straddling his hips, arms looped around your waist as he kisses your jaw with a hum. he’s already hard from what you can feel—the bulge pressing against your heat is hard to miss.

“satoru—”

“save the part where you say my name for later. i haven’t even done anything yet,” he winks—and then he’s kissing you. he’s clever, you think, because kissing you is the fastest way to get you to melt against him, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls you closer.

so close, in fact, that you can feel his cock practically twitch in his pants as you shift on top of him, dragging your clothed cunt over his aching bulge.

“this is such a bad idea, toru,” you whisper in between kisses—but not one part of you fights his touch or even attempts to pull away. he hums, pressing wet kisses along your jaw as his hands dig into your hips, moving you to grind along his hardened length.

“yeah? you sure? let’s check, shall we?” he raises a brow, hand slipping past the waistband of your pants and brushing past your folds—wet. dripping and messy and needy, just how your pussy always seems to be when you’re with him. he grins in satisfaction and throws you that knowing look as he mumbles, “sorry, baby. this pretty little pussy of yours disagrees.”

“toru,” you gasp as he toys with your clit, rubbing slow enough circles that you whine and roll your hips, trying to get more. but satoru is a brat—always has been, right from the day he was born. he pulls his fingers away and looks at you smugly as he kisses your curled lips while you frown at him.

“want more, don’t ya?” he asks—he’s too cocky for his own good sometimes. too ridiculous and annoying and troublesome, but you’re aching to feel something, anything. preferably him, so you nod.

“just hurry up,” you huff. your hips push against him, dragging your cunt over his cock—it’s throbbing in his pants, confined under the fabric and needy for the tightness of your walls. you gasp when he rubs against your clit, and he groans, guiding your movements with a tight grip on your hips.

“fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps, “c-could cum jus’ like this. see what you do to me?”

“‘s not me,” you tilt your head as he nips at your neck, hand trailing to cup the back of his head and keep him in place as he nibbles at the skin and pecks along the marks he leaves, “this is all your fault.”

“all my fault, huh?” he chuckles, “you make it sound like this is a bad thing.”

his hips buck up, rolling against yours and building the friction up until your both panting messes, his lips against yours as you drink in each other’s moans—your clit rubs along his length with every stutter of your hips, and his tip leaks with more pre cum every time you press harder against his cock. it’s desperate—the way he chokes on your name and the way you cling around his neck. it feels good, and the way this is all so wrong only makes it feel better.

“‘m close, toru,” you mewl, whining as his hand slides under your shirt to massage your tit, his eyes trained on you as he hums.

“good,” he grins, eyes dark and glinting with a sick satisfaction you don’t think you’ve ever seen on him before, “cum for me, sweetheart. right here—right on this chair,” he says lowly.

so you do—head falling back with a sharp gasp and your nails digging into his shoulder as you come undone with a loud whine. the gojo estate is big—very big. you’re sure your voice isn’t carrying through even a fraction of the place, but still, you can’t help but clamp a hand over your mouth in case anyone is nearby.

satoru doesn’t like that, though—his hand rips yours off as he ruts his hips upwards faster, harder, pressing against you closer. “no, baby,” he chuckles, cutting himself off with a breathy moan when you press harder against his cock, “make sure you let me hear how good you feel. feels good, huh?”

“yes,” you whimper, “yes, feels so good—need more, toru. please,” you pout, looking up at him with lust-blown eyes.

“here?” he mocks, raising a brow, “you want me to fuck you right here? in my father’s office? where he does his work? right on his desk?”

“yes, here,” you sob, “right here—please. want you so bad. need it.”

“see?” he laughs, “now you’re getting it—not so much of a bad idea, is it?”

that’s the thing about satoru—he’s too used to hearing what he wants. being told what he likes to hear. getting what he asks for. you say no, and he’s determined to change it to a yes. but yes is never enough—it’s more. always more, more, more. it’s like all rich people, you suppose.

they just always want more.

there’s a small, reasonable voice in your head that tells you this is a bad idea. a disrespectful one, even. sure, satoru’s father has never been kind to you, let alone polite. he looks at you like you’re an eyesore, and he’s certainly said less than appropriate things about your upbringing. but that doesn’t mean you have to stoop to his level of low and do something equally as spiteful, if not more…but you’re only human. and satoru always just fucks you so well, and cumming around nothing just isn’t enough, and…well, you think it’s just karma.

the way the world works.

the way you and satoru work.

so you grin, huff out a little snort before pulling him into a kiss and reaching to free his hard, leaky cock from its confinements. he whines a little into your mouth as you smear the arousal coating his tip along his length, stroking down and squeezing at the base.

“okay,” you whisper against his lips, “fuck me toru. right here—right on his desk.”

that, evidently, is all it takes—one second you’re comfortably sitting on his legs, pants soaked with his bulge pressed against your core, and the next second you hear his hand swipe papers off the surface to fall to the floor as your back is pressed against the cool wood. he doesn’t even bother with your clothes, just tugs both of your pants down your thighs that it’s enough. satoru has always been impatient too—doesn’t like to wait for anything when he can take it when he wants.

you can feel him close, hovering over you. he’s warm—where his cock presses against your thigh, where his breath fans over your lips, where his hands grab your wrists and pin them over your head. he’s warm, and your head spins, and you need him filling you to the brim right now.

“anything you want, you get, sweetheart,” he murmurs, grinning sickeningly sweet, “can’t say no to my baby. what kind of boyfriend would i be?” you feel him bump his tip against your clit, making you gasp before he drags the head of his cock along your folds—they’re wet and slick from your arousal, coating his tip before he’s slowly pushing in. you gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck as he groans lowly. “can never get used to this,” he breathes, “never get used to this pussy. just takes me so well. fit in like i was made just to fuck you.”

“toru, t-toru—oh,” you squeal when he slides the rest of his length to fill you, buried to the hilt as your walls flutter around him. it’s nothing new, but it’s never something you’re prepared for all the same. how thick he is, how perfectly he hits that spot in the back of your walls, how full he makes you feel. it makes your legs wrap around his waist and pull him forward, closer, deeper. “more, toru—move, please.”

“nuh uh,” he drawls, kissing your cheeks, “first you gotta tell me how much you love me.”

“satoru,” you hiss in disbelief, “are you kidding—”

“c’mon, say it,” he giggles, “love you, toru. love how you fuck me so good everywhere in your house and make me feel like a princess. you’re the best boyfriend ever and i’ll die without your cock—”

“i love you toru,” you smile sweetly, “you know what i love more, though? when you’re too busy making pretty sounds for me instead of talking so much.”

that makes him shudder—makes him curse under his breath as your walls flutter impatiently around him. he’s aching—hot and swollen in your dripping cunt, balls heavy with cum that he needs to empty into your pussy because it was made to take him. every inch of him.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he breathes out shakily, “know that? gonna kill me one of these days.”

“good,” you hum before rolling your hips and making his breath hitch, “now move, baby. wanna feel you.”

he does—pulls his hips back so that he’s just almost pulled out completely before he slams back into you, pressing against your sweet spot with his tip in the way only satoru knows how. only he knows you this well, only he knows your body so well. he knows where to kiss and hold and touch to make your eyes flutter shut, and your mouth fall open, wanton moans falling past your lips without a care in the world who can hear.

“so tight, baby,” he whines, “god you’re so perfect—my perfect girl.”

“so full,” you gasp, clawing at his shoulders, pulling at his hair, pulling him closer and closer and closer until not even air can fill the space between you. “feel so good, toru—fuck.”

“look at you,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, “‘s a shame you can’t see what i see. then you’d know why i can’t keep my hands off’a you—’s impossible.”

you can’t speak—all you can offer him as he’s bullying his thick girth into you is a pathetic whine as his veins drag along your walls, as his navel bumps along your clit and has your head thrown back against the table. there’s slick smeared along your inner thigh, the wet sound of his cock fucking into you ringing in your ears along with his deep groans as he pants harshly against your ear. you can feel his breath against your skin, can feel the goosebumps and the flutter of your walls every time he makes a pretty little sound for you as you squeeze around him.

“love you, toru,” you mewl—you can’t help but say it, can’t help but remind him when he pushes into you like he was always meant to fit right there, like he was always meant to feel you as you feel him too. and if his rotten, greedy, stuck-up father with a receding hairline can’t see that you love satoru, maybe you’ll just have to fuck him right where he can find you just to drill the image into his mind.

“love you too,” he says between moans, face digging into your neck as your hand cradles the back of his head, keeping him right there, keeping him close against you like he should never be anywhere else, “love my perfect, perfect girl. feel me? feel what you do to me?”

you nod between sharp gasps and soft cries of his name—he looks down at you in wonder, at the way your lips look when they murmur that sweet little cry of toru!, at the way your pussy sucks him in and hugs too tightly around him, at the way you look so good with the slight sheen of sweat on your face.

his hips roll, a little sloppy in rhythm now, but still just as hard and deep as before. he can sense it—the way you’re just about to fall apart on his cock, just like you always do. so he presses a thumb to your clit, rubbing harsh circles that make you cling to him tighter as you cry out another sweet string of toru, toru—more!

“you close, sweetheart? gonna cum for me? ‘m close—gonna fill you up. want that, don’t you?”

“yeah,” you breathe, kissing him with hot, open-mouthed kisses that he returns, “yeah i wan’ you to fill me up, toru—gonna cum. ‘m so close—f-fuck, so close, baby.”

you know he is too, the way his cock twitches and the way his hips are desperate in the way they roll into you tells you he’s just as close to falling apart as you are. you push your hips up to meet his thrusts, pushing him impossibly deeper into your cunt before you feel the coil snap as you cum—hard. your walls flutter around him, spasming and squeezing around him that his bottom lip is tugged between his teeth as he inhales sharply.

“f-fuck, baby—’m gonna…” he doesn’t get to finish before you feel his cock twitch and the first drop of cum fills you. it’s hot and thick, every rope he fucks into you, leaking past his tip and painting your walls white. you can feel the mess he makes—can feel the drops leak and smear along your inner thighs as he slams into you with choked whines of your name. “g-good—’s so good, you feel so good,” he says breathlessly, face digging deeper into the crook of your neck as his arms tremble over you.

the wood is hard against you, makes your back ache slightly—but it’s not nearly as bad as satoru is good. you can’t think of anything else but the way he fucks you both through your highs until your legs are begging to press shut from the oversensitivity.

it’s silent for a bit once you’ve finished—save for the harsh, labored panting as you both calm down and catch your breaths. satoru is still buried with his nose pressed against your neck, your hand rubbing over his back slowly.

“your maids must hate us,” you mumble, “and if your mother hears? we can never show her our faces again.”

“she’s probably dead to the world and watching her reality shows,” he snorts, “we’ll be fine.”

“well, we should clean up and leave before your dad—”

“oh look, speak of the devil. he’s just in time,” satoru snickers as he cuts you off, looking over at the window as an expensive car drives up to the house, “think we can get these papers organized before he comes up here? maybe we should just leave ‘em to make him mad.”

“you’re crazy,” you say in disbelief. and then— “i think we should leave them there. make them his problem.”

you think you’ve just watched satoru fall in love with you all over again at that.

i hate this fic but hopefully i come back one week later and reread it and think wow i ate w this. sometimes i do that. but if i don’t: if all of you donate one dollar to my family they can afford my funeral for when i drink bleach

#teepods.writings #fics.#thirstee!#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you

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lisafication · 6 months

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This post is uh, extremely normal I swear

So hello yes I am absolutely On My Bullshit regarding my new favourite game.

That’s right, it’s the cannibal incest game, The Coffin of Andy and Leyley. And I’m here to shove five thousand words of pretentious analysis down your throat because, and I do not exaggerate, I think it is one of, if not the best written game I have ever played. And I have played a lot of games, including Baldur’s Gate 3, Final Fantasy XIV and Undertale, to name a few narrative luminaries to come to mind.

That wordcount is not an exaggeration. My brainworms are extremely powerful and now you can share them with me as I walk you through my insane skyscraper of inference-driven analysis.

Or you can click away. I really wouldn’t blame you, it’s quite a lot.

Content Warnings: …Yes?

(To drop the bit for a moment, The Coffin of Andy and Leyley covers extremely disturbing material and challenges you to examine aspects of living in this world that many have taken for granted all their life, it is not a comfortable game, this will cover similar topics and will often echo the game’s unremitting scepticism on basic principles of society and humanity and you should look after yourself first. My Content Warning is framed as a joke, but it’s also quite real in that the game is designed to make you uncomfortable and there’s no shame in that not being for you.)

This was originally posted on and formatted for Sufficient Velocity, and you can probably more easily read and discuss it with me here.

With that said, let’s dig in. I have had to split this into multiple posts because tumblr will only allow so many images. There will be spoilers for all endings.

She’s excited, are you?

It’s All About Ashley

It really is, isn’t it? I mean, for approximately eighty percent of the total game as currently released and the entirety of Episode 1, you’re in control of Ashley, just as she’s in control of her and Andrew’s relationship for 80% of the game, up until the various ending sequences where it begins to slip. The only other characters who really matter at all in and of themselves are Andrew and her mother — and the former is under her thumb, and she eats the latter. It’s all about Ashley. Even her obsession with Andrew is, ultimately, about Ashley.

But who is Ashley? What is Ashley? Why is Ashley, even? Let’s take a look.

Ashley as presented to us in Episode 1 is very straightforward, so let’s list off the traits we’re given — she is malicious, she is fearless, she lacks empathy, she doesn’t have anything resembling a conscience, she demands Andrew belong to her and her alone, she has him at her beck and call.

In Episode 2, we’re ostensibly shown how she has him at her beck and call— she leverages the threat of reporting Nina’s death over him and had him swear to be with her forever. We’re shown that even as a child she was “just, like that” — but as a child, she hadn’t learnt to live with it yet, to laugh at the farce of it all.

Yeah, exactly like that!

And she does this throughout Episode 1 — The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is a remarkably silly game much of the time, finding moments of absurdity and levity against a backdrop blacker than pitch — and most of the time, your internal narration is coming from Ashley and the jokes will not-infrequently come at her own expense.

She will later get negged by her human sacrifice for her poor ritual circle drawing

Her reaction to being told that her soul is as dark and viscous as tar is “You guess you already knew that” — it’s confirmation to her, not new information. Ashley knows who she is. But who taught her this? There’s layers to this, nothing in this game is as simple and straightforward as it appears at first sight, which is why I’ve been obsessing over it for days.

While it’s common in fiction, the truth of the matter is, most ‘bad people’ really do think they’re good people. But Ashley has never once thought of herself as a good person — or perhaps better put as a person worthy of love — as we learn across Episodes 1 & 2, with our flashbacks to Andy and Leyley and the VERY VERY QUIET!!!

I really wish I had space in this essay to talk about this, but I’d like to touch on these being traits usually more easily forgiven in young boys than young girls at some point.

If she removes all other options, only then can she expect him to like her.

This is something that is echoed in the modern day — her seeming self-assurance is easily shaken and she reaches out to the world — usually Andrew — to affirm and validate her, soothing her insecurities, using any tool she deems necessary. Even when her life is on the line when Andrew has her by the throat at the climax of Episode 1, the only ‘compelling reason’ she can give Andrew to not kill her is her ability to soothe his nightmares. When he tells her there are sleeping pills for that…

Most people would have a bit more to argue for their existence.

While she, unlike Andrew, acknowledges having had friends before the quarantine… you know she’s got a point that they didn’t even bother to answer her calls, that was clearly not something the state was interfering with given Andrew’s calls with his mother and his girlfriend, and given her general demeanour it’s not hard to imagine that… they weren’t ever very close. When we see her and Nina talk in the infamous ‘box scene’, it’s clear that Nina doesn’t like her very much, despite Andrew’s assessment of Nina as being one of Ashley’s friends.

We see further support for her general lack of companionship in her dream sequence in the Burial route — Leyley and Leyley Alone. No matter what you do, you can’t place the pink plushy at the family table, the flowers won’t bloom if you give the Julia and Nina plushies her own as a companion instead of Andrew’s — and if you’re bold enough to go for the ‘incest route’, in the ‘Love’ room you see that no one ever looks happy to be with her in the childlike depictions of her history, nor is she happy in turn, save for when she’s with Andrew. In a bit of heavy-handed metaphor, the player then overwrites all of these tense, upset, hard moments with Andrew, having him fill in for everyone else in life — and happy with her.

Once Upon A Lousy Life…

THE END

And that’s why she needs him to affirm her, because no one else ever has and no one else ever will. It’s even included in their comic beats — when the siblings are getting along well, they’ll often play a game where Andrew dramatically overpraises Ashley while she demands more; it’s a comedic bit but I mean — it really does matter to her!

For the record, she opened a door. She gets a little heart in a speech bubble after this exchange.

We have a great example of this dynamic, that of insecurity and affirmation, in Episode 1, after Andrew has killed for her, butchered for her, his girlfriend broke up with her, he’s seemingly thrown his entire life away for her… she’s still insecure over her relationship with him, she’s uncertain of her control and she needs him to reaffirm it for her.

This is her victory, surely?

Andrew affirms her once, with his usual dead-eyed look.

But she's still not so sure.

He actively reaches out to affirm her again with cheer.

Look how happy she is!

While it’s most obvious and clear cut here, it’s hardly the only case. Let’s look back to the aftermath of Andy and Leyley and the VERY VERY QUIET!!! (I’m not using the other name). Leyley is, after similarly extreme acts — he murdered a girl and hid her body for her — convinced Andy doesn’t like her and she needs this leverage to keep him around, to meet her basic needs for survival. Because that’s what this is — she receives no care of affection elsewhere, so she forces it out of the only source she sees available through the means she sees as necessary.

I really hope we see some of their earlier childhood in Episode 3

What exactly made her like this? Was it just neglect, or something more specific…

She needs this to be the case because otherwise she doesn’t believe he’d stay.

This pattern repeats throughout — Ashley’s insecurities are hit on and she reaches out to Andy to affirm that she is not alone, and she will use any and every tool to exploit her ostensible control over him and force him to be what she needs him to be — and as long as she has that, as long as she is everything to him and it’s not possible for him to leave, she’s happy. As long as she thinks he loves her in her very particular, very peculiar view of love, she’s content, come what may. As long as Andy and Leyley are together, they can take on the world.

Let’s talk about that view of love, because there’s always more layers to unpack here I’m only scratching the surface with this essay — Ashley consistently refers to anyone else Andrew may have befriended or spent time with as a whore, a slut, a bitch — highly gendered insults that bring to mind the idea that he’s cheating in some way. But it’s not even about sex — when Andrew mentions that their parents had friends, she accuses them of cheating on each other in the same way!

There’s a lot to unpack about Ashley’s view of femininity and the role the patriarchy plays in their relationship.

Any kind of emotional engagement, any kind of commitment, any kind of life outside of your significant other is, to Ashley, cheating. Because that’s what she needs from Andrew, a seeming complete and total commitment, secure in her place as the only thing in his life, because she cannot understand anyone picking her if they have a choice.

This insecurity she has in her relationship is what drives her to empower the trinket — he can’t leave her as long as she can protect him with prophetic dreams, after all. She needs every kind of leverage she can get because until she succeeds in being everything to him, in devouring him so completely she has him in her thrall mind, body and soul she can’t be sure of herself — hell, her dream sequence in Burial has you placing Andrew’s signature green plushy, ‘the best thing in the world’ in a cage far away from anything else.

Ultimately, it really is all about Ashley — even her seeming obsession with Andrew ultimately comes back to her own insecurities. If she is everything to ‘the best thing in the world’, some of that ‘best’ must surely reflect on her!

But that’s enough about the more normal, straightforward and understandable sibling.

That was not a joke.

Andrew’s Rank 100 Deception

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he did not exist.

Let me explain.

You might have noticed that in the previous section I often use language such as ‘ostensibly’ or ‘seemingly’ to describe Andy and Leyley’s relationship, and there’s a good reason for that. From the beginning of the game through to its end, Andrew is lying to you, the player, without ever falsely representing or misinforming you about events that occurred.

The common, or obvious ‘initial take’ on Andrew as presented in Episode 1 is fairly straightforward. The game primes you to think this way, it frames things and strings reveals just right so as to make it very easy to overlook the incongruities it introduces in Episode 2. He’s a victim. Plain and simple, Ashley is his abuser and he is her victim and would be fine, a normal albeit kinda depressed guy without her.

It really is not a difficult conclusion to draw

You can go all the way through the game, have him try to accept his mother’s olive branch and enter the Decay route as a method for him to finally actualise his desire to get out from Ashley’s thumb and it makes sense, it’s a reasonable way for the story to go, given his character.

You see him this way because the game primes you in Episode 1 to view their relationship like Andrew does — he’s lying. He’s lying to himself, he’s lying to Ashley and he’s so good at it — Deception Rank 100 — he even lies to you. Without misrepresenting a single event or otherwise misleading you directly, the game gets you to buy into his preferred self-perception. Nina? Ashley. Julia? Ashley. The murders they commit in the course of the game? Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, it’s not his fault he’s not to blame he’s just a doormat at the beck and call of his demonic sister.

But he wants to be there. From the very outset, the very first puzzle, that’s made clear. Does anyone else remember this exchange, from right at the beginning of the game?

Ashley wants to investigate the music!

Andrew disapproves…

…Or does he?!

Like. Listen. Okay. You do not frown when saying ‘Nope’ and then smile when saying that you’ll instead tag along if they do it if your heart is at all in the no. That’s not an objection, that’s using Ashley as his excuse. Especially if you immediately throw her the balcony key that she could not possibly have gotten from you by force (more on Andrew’s ability to use force later).

This is the very first time you control both characters together with Andrew following Ashley instead of off on his own, the first adventure, the first puzzle!

But put a pin in that for now, let’s talk about his initial framing in Episode 2 first. Episode 1 has set us up to, generally speaking, believe the superficial framing of the siblings as portrayed in its promotional art:

The question that we then ask, right at the heart of it is… why is he a doormat? We explore this in his dream sequence in Episode 2, which does make it clear that the boy’s not okay but— it’s real easy, given the priming from Episode 1 to make you think that he’s the one with the originally functional moral compass, to think that that him being fucked up is damage done to him by Nina’s death and being bound to Ashley for his entire life. She corrupted him.

But, well, is that the case?

You're primed to ignore this as manipulation (which it is) but the best manipulation has some truth to it.

Precisely two things spur Andrew to action in the entire game, consistently — they are the fear of consequences and Ashley. And the first incident of that fear, the very first time we’re shown his seeming moral compass as a kid — the first time it’s really hammered home that it’s a fear of consequences rather than any true moral qualms is after Nina’s death. And why does he fear consequences here?

……

The ‘natural’ read that many take away from this sequence, particularly those who have only played Decay, is that Ashley browbeat him into doing this against his will, using emotional blackmail to overwhelm his objections, and then used the event itself to bind him to her forever as her personal doormat.

In a strict sense, this is true. But this doesn’t match up with the details, something the game uses shock to encourage you to overlook. That outburst is before any kind of threat has been made, and absolutely nothing either of them say anything about it being morally bad until Ashley weaponises ‘you’re a bad person’ against Andrew — morality didn’t seem to enter his mind or the equation at all until Ashley brought it up. More than that, his greatest fear and driving motivation even prior to that is, as shown above, being taken away from Ashley.

She, of course, recognises this and uses it against him. But she never needed to, it didn’t change anything about Andrew’s attachment to her, it was there to address her own insecurities.

Just like to touch on how a lot of his affirmations are preceded by him confirming her insecurities.

I adore this phrasing

There’s a second prong to this as well, to the question of ‘who really calls the shots here’ because — Andrew can, at any stage, apply an ‘ultimate veto’ of physical violence. The game is very clear to the player that that is on the table — even when they were children, when Andy swears their blood oath, he briefly considers killing her — and take note of how he ultimately got a ‘winning’ condition out of her by not specifying there wouldn’t be others and she is forced to accept that, there. Even outside of their most serious confrontations, Ashley is portrayed as having to convince, manipulate or otherwise coerce Andrew into going along with her schemes — she really can’t make him do anything, she doesn’t have the supremacy in violence and, to a lesser extent, capability that would allow her to.

Andrew, you are like ten years old.

The truth of the matter is, Ashley can only make Andrew do anything because he lets her. I don’t mean in the sense that I’m saying abuse victims let their abusers emotionally abuse them, I mean in the sense that he is clearly considering his options on the table and choosing to discard those that could stop her, or bring an end to any of this. He needs her.

But it’s true that he hates her, too. He has to hate her, because if he doesn’t hate her, if he isn’t forced to have done this, that means… he’s responsible. And nothing, at the start of the story, is as important to Andrew as avoiding the consequences of his own actions, not even Ashley. By the midpoint, he loves her, he hates her, he can’t live without her, he wants to kill her — by the end… well, that depends if you’re on Decay or Burial, but more on that in a bit.

A great scene to study for this dynamic is the climax of Episode 1, when Andrew grabs Ashley by the throat and considers strangling her to death. She’s pushed him too far with hurtful words and assault, and he’s seemingly had enough.

It’s still framed as a question of risk, of consequences happening to him.

Like, this is not the usual behaviour of someone who’s been pushed past their breaking point.

He tells Ashley that he wants to kill her, because she’s just going to throw another fit and that’s a risk to him. She is… not framed as being able to fight back (she does have a gun here, and more on that in a later essay, maybe). He’s so calculated in how he approaches his use of violence here, which isn’t at all what you’d expect of someone about to commit a crime of passion… but it’s very easy to overlook because of the abuser/victim narrative that the player fits his behaviour into the narrative that the game primes them to accept, brushing incongruities under the carpet.

At the start of Episode 2, we get to control Andrew for the first time, and the first obvious holes in his cover start to show. Some of this is optional — you only learn that he’s been faking having nightmares in order to share a bed with Ashley if you choose to go back into the motel room and check the bed, for example — but not all of it.

----(See reblogs for the second half)

#the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #andrew graves #ashley graves #spoilers #multipost

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digital-domain · 2 months

Text

Written in Blood

Alastor x Reader // Word Count 2.2k

In which you’re given a lasting reminder of who should be on your mind.

tags/warnings: dark content, yandere, violence, branding, scratching, blood, alastor definitely wanting to taste said blood (but holding himself back), implied sexual content, power imbalance, abuse, absolutely fucked relationship dynamic, reader clearly has no control over what happens to her (therefore dubcon/noncon implications)

A/N: this exists because the wonderful @absolute-flaming-trash planted this idea in my head. Let us all take a moment to bow down to our queen <3

As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut (or into my inbox). Thank you and enjoy.

Alastor’s hand slides gently up your back, the soft touch contrasting ominously with the brutal way he’d slapped you just moments before. Your clothes are strewn haphazardly across the floor (while his all remain on, and intact), but the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with your lack of cover. His gloves, which he’s never removed before, now lay discarded along with the rest of the scraps, two fingers slick with the residue you’ve left behind.

“What’s my name, darling?”

The pet name feels underhanded, cruel as the sting of his palm that still burns on your cheek, but you don’t take the time to ponder it. This is not the time for resistance - the way his hand pressed against your bare skin, trapping you between his palm and your bedroom floor, is enough to remind you of that. “Alastor…”

“That’s correct! Very well done.” The charm lingers in his voice, barely betraying a hint of the malice underneath. “And why, pray tell, did I feel the need to ask you such a simple question?”

“Because…” Because you’d been stupid, and let your mind wander, as it often does, to the life you’d led before. The people you’d loved. The time when being… intimate felt real, when it wasn’t just another piece in some twisted game whose rules you’ve never been told. “Because you want to make sure that I remember it.”

It was in one of those warped, vulnerable moments, when you’d felt everything and he’d seemed to feel nothing at all, besides a sick sense of amusement at seeing you lose yourself. That was when you made your mistake. Let go a little too much, and sighed a name that wasn’t his. One that you missed, one that you often closed your eyes and pictured above you - you’d been too deep in your reverie to realize how deeply you’d betrayed yourself, and by the time you’d come back to your senses, it had been far too late to do anything but beg for forgiveness.

“I do want you to remember.” He sighs. “Such a shame that you would rather forget…”

You don’t protest. He’s not wrong, at all. How desperately you wish you could go back to the life you had before. At the very least, you could have chosen to go somewhere else - anywhere else - in the wake of your death. You’d give anything to rewind the clock, now, to forget him entirely and start anew, go down some other path that didn’t end with him. With this.

You’re surprised when his hand pauses on your upper back, beside your shoulder. Truly, you’d believed that he was going for your neck, that he was going to clamp his fist around your throat and cut the air off from your lungs until your vision went black. Instead, his free hand finds your own, and clasps over it, locking his fingers with yours. He gently squeezes into your palm, a gesture that would be comforting if it didn’t come from him.

“Let’s make sure you don’t forget again, shall we?” He sounds calm, almost soothing, a sudden shift from the rage you’d been subjected to just a minute before. He turns on a dime like this often, and you’re never sure which side of him to trust. Never sure what’s an act, or what’s real.

“I won’t.” You mean it, more than anything you’ve ever said to him. There’s a knot in your stomach, pulling tighter with this sudden change in demeanor, and you want desperately to unravel it. To have peace, if only for a little while. “It was just a mistake. I won’t ever do it again.”

“Of course you won’t.” His head drops, distorted static pressing into your ear. From out of the corner of your eye, you can see that familiar red glow pulsing out behind him - always a sign of worse things to come. “Not after this. ”

The hand on your back tenses, and you tense along with it. Unnaturally sharp nails dig slowly into your flesh until, with an agonizing jolt, your skin breaks beneath them. At this, three of his fingers lift, but the fourth - his index finger - burrows deeper into your flesh, and yanks down, ripping a diagonal gash inches long.

You scream. Truly scream, your mind ripping from pain and shock, just as awfully and tangibly as your skin. He’s hurt you before…but he’s never drawn blood, and certainly never sent it dripping in rivulets down your back.

He sighs, and brings his finger back up to the opening point of the fresh cut. “Oh… this is going to be a long few minutes for you, isn’t it?” Without any more preamble, he tears into you all over again, yanking out another cry of pain as he pulls away at the opposite angle, drawing out a deep scratch the same length as the first.

There are tears in your eyes. Normally, you’d try to hold them back, but this time you can’t pull yourself together, as hard as you try. You let them fall, let yourself cry out loud. Somewhere in the haze that your mind has become, it occurs to you that there’s something very deliberate about the placement of these scratches. Something methodical.

“Do you even know what I’m doing?” He cackles over you, a luminescent red glow fading into the corners of your vision. “Perhaps after this one, if you still haven’t figured it out, I’ll give you a hint…”

He delves into you once more. This slash stings most harshly at the ends, where it connects the two lines already drawn, halfway down, digging again into already-broken skin. Slowly, your mind forms an image, connecting the strokes…when the pieces fall together, a sob, loud and raw and hopeless, plummets out of your mouth.

“You understand.” He presses his thumb into the blood pouring from your back, and gently runs it over the A he’s carved into your skin. “No need to despair…that’s one letter done already.”

“I…” You squirm, shaking violently beneath him. “I can’t…”

“ Don’t be ridiculous.” He slides his hand down, already preparing for another stroke. “I’m not going to leave my art unfinished…it would be such a waste. And very confusing to anyone who happened to get a glimpse - not as if I intend to allow such a thing to happen.”

His name - it’s going to be written diagonally across your entire back. He’s left just enough room for the remaining letters, while taking up as much space as possible with each cut.

“Stop shaking, my dear. You’re going to mess this up…and I’m sure you don’t want me to have to do it over again.”

You try to figure out how many more times you’re going to have to take this, how many more scratches before you’re done. Two for the L, another three for the next A…

He slices into your back, straight down, and the numbers disappear from your head. It’s hopeless. You bite your lip, hard, but you can’t keep yourself silent.

“ Poor thing.” The condescension is palpable, dripping cruelly from his lips. “If only you’d controlled yourself to begin with. It takes just a moment to ruin everything…I do hope that you won’t do it again.”

Oh, you know that that’s a lie. He loves having a reason.

Another slash, and a hum of satisfaction from behind you when you go still, recovering just a bit quicker than the time before. “Two down.”

He says it like it’s a good thing, and not a reason for you to sob harder. Two down means five to go….means you’ve barely started.

His mouth is close enough to a fresh tear that you can feel his hot, hungry breath against your torn skin, his macabre smile burning into your spine.

And - oh god. Something wet and warm hits your back, slides down and mixes with the rivulets of blood trailing over your skin.

“So tempting …” He sighs raggedly, and slowly, oh-so-reluctantly pulls himself back. “But I know myself well enough not to go down that path with you …it would be far too hard to stop once I started.”

Even the pain of the scratch that follows isn’t enough to push away the pure horror that curls in your gut.

Neither is the next.

Or the next.

He’s dragging it out, each time insisting that you still your shaking limbs before he continues, giving your hand an awful, gentle squeeze before moving on. Your eyes are screwed shut almost the entire time - but with each stroke, there’s a moment when they flicker open, and take in a bit of that terrible red light before you manage to wrestle them close.

It doesn’t get better. If anything, you think it’s getting crueler as it goes on, but you pull yourself together enough to start apologizing again, whimpered “ I’m sorry ”s gasping almost inaudibly from your mouth.

“I’m not convinced.” The pad of his finger traces up, readies his next stroke. “You’d say anything to get out of this, my dear. It’s only when I’m done that I’ll be satisfied.”

You bite down on your lip until it breaks, scratch at the palm of your free hand, the floorboards beneath. It’s only been a few minutes, but this is beginning to feel like your entire existence - you can’t conjure memories of a time before it, and you certainly can’t imagine a time after. Least of all looking in the mirror when this all over…

He pauses for an extra moment before this next letter, as if he’s giving time to let the dread sink in. You’ve lost track of where you are - but the O is unmistakable. One long, unbroken stroke that requires him to twist his nail against your skin.

He laughs indulgently, almost sweetly, as you gasp and writhe helplessly beneath him. “Almost finished, darling…try to be patient.”

Oh, if his affection felt twisted before, it’s a thousand times worse now. And yet, he somehow manages to make it sound genuine. Like he feels bad that he has to do this to you. It would almost be easier, you think, to let yourself believe it.

His voice is soft, the static almost entirely fallen away. “Now, tell me again - what is my name?”

You choke back your tears, force what little air you can into your lungs. You’re almost done, but everything hurts so much that it barely matters. His voice sounds so far away, hovering above you, reverberating strangely in your head.

He presses his lips to your ear. “ Answer me.”

“A”-

As soon as you attempt to speak, he slashes down once more, and your voice dissolves into something between a sob and a scream.

He laughs, and doesn’t bother pausing before finishing off the R of his name,grinding his talon deep into your back, grin spreading wide in the corner of your eye as you shriek. “Not quite.”

You’re sure that there’s a pool of your tears on the floor, but you’re too out of it to see with certainty, even if you did manage to open your eyes.

“Hm.” He sighs, gently tracing the pad of his finger over the final scratch. “And…what about your name? Surely, you can at least remember that.”

His nails suddenly dig into your torn skin, sending a fresh shudder of pain curdling down your spine, leaving you gasping - not to speak, but to quell the churning in your stomach.

“Shame.” He gives your hand another squeeze. “But I’m sure it will come back to you, before long. You’re very resilient…I think that’s why I always have so much fun when we’re together.”

Your head spins. It’s been spinning for what feels like an eternity, numbed and stretched out by his torture. You want him gone. Now, and forever. But once he leaves, you’ll be just as miserable. Playing what just happened in a sickening loop in your head until the pain finally goes away. Until you wash every stain from your skin. And even then…

Oh, even long after that. Just like he said - you’re never going to forget.

He rises to his feet, collects his gloves from where they lie on the floor, and slides them into his pocket. For some time, he stands silent and still above you. Even with your face pressed to the ground, you know that he’s staring, eyes flashing bright and red as he surveys the results of his work.

“I’m sure you’ll do better next time,” he sighs. “Until then…”

His hand slides under your jaw, forcing you to look up. He bends down at an angle that truly doesn’t make sense, uses his bloodied fingers to swipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks, pushes back your hair - and kisses you oh-so-softly on the forehead.

You don’t move. Don’t speak. The tears are still coming, and you’re not even sure if they’re still from the pain.

“ Take care, my dear.”

You wait until he’s turned away before you allow yourself to react, nails digging into your palms as your face falls back to the floor. Shaking. You stay there until long after the door has shut behind you.

#tw: dark content #tw blood #tw violence #tw abuse #tw noncon #alastor x reader #yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel

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strawberry-cowmilk · 5 months

Note

i NEED mc being upset that Mammon constantly wants to hide that he likes them! Like y r u ashamed of me? U want me to love u and only spend time with u and not pay attention to any one, but every instance u could have to prove that u love me u fold? Mc who DOES love him back but isn't willing to be treated like an embarrassment/burden??? I neeed this 🥺

hi anon! I really like this idea! I hope I do this right, enjoy!

be honest

-> mammon x mc

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

content warnings: fighting

-----

Every day Mammon brags about being your 'first man' to his brothers. Every day he gets jealous any of them sit next to you at dinner. One time, Levi accused him of being 'absolutely smitten' with you and like usual, Mammon started avoiding any eye contact, his body language turning more reserved while denying Levi's statement. At first it was sweet right? Having such an energetic, confident demon turn all shy the second it's clear he loves you. It honestly made you like him back more too. But, it's been years. Years of Mammon clearly having a crush on you to the point the average person passing by on the street could tell but denying it in the least subtle way possible. You know, maybe he doesn't want to commit to you. Is it because you're a human? Is Mammon afraid of what others may think of him when he starts dating a human?

You finally had enough during game night with Mammon, Levi and Beel. In the game you were playing, you needed to be in teams of two. Beel and Levi were one team, leaving you with Mammon. Levi was joking about how Mammon kept using every healing item he got on you, while Beel nodded silently in agreement Of course, the second brother made up a silly excuse like 'Mc has lower health' or 'it was an accident.' The more he kept fighting Levi on this, the more annoyed you got to the point of going to your room early this game night.

Of course Mammon went right after you, calling your name until you finally turned around. The confusion, anger and sadness in your expression was clear to him. Before he could ask what was going on, you kind of blurted out how awful you have grown to feel about his 'I don't love Mc' act. You told him to just drop the act if you're so enbarrassing to date and reject you properly. It would hurt, but not as bad as the constant denial. Like just be honest, Mammon!

Mammon however did not see this coming. He feels awful for making you feel this way, especially since he really didn't mean to. You must really hate him now, no way you'd agree to be his lover, right? He apologised to you. 'I, well, it's my own issue' he explained. It's not you he's ashamed of, it's his own way of acting. But now is not the time for shame, you want him to be honest.

Mammon confessed to you. It was not how he imagined it to be, over a candlelit dinner with roses, but in front of your bedroom door after a fight. 'I'm sorry I hurt you, Mc.. I'd still like a relationship, you know, if that's alright.' Clearly embarrassed and afraid, Mammon looked down at his shoes until you gently touched his arm. Despite everything, despite still being mad at him, you still love him back.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me swd #obey me imagines #obey me angst #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #gn!mc

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kiame-sama · 2 months

Text

Little Spider, Fun and Games- (Yan!Chrollo x Reader)

Warnings; fem reader, yandere, yandere behavior, yandere relationship, blood, murder, causal slaughter, mention of kidnapping, chronic illness (narcolepsy), troupe opinions, fluff with murderers, a bit of domestic cuteness, nsfw, somnophilia, rando insults reader, unnamed character death,

By selecting read more you consent to view the content included and affirm you are of age to view content.

If you are a minor, go the hell away. This fic is not for you.

~~~~~~~~

You shivered slightly as another howl of wind whistled through the building, metal struts groaning from the force. A sudden warmth wrapped around you and you glanced over to see Chrollo had placed his coat over your shoulders. Truly, you hadn't even been aware that he was keeping tabs on you, but it didn't surprise you to find out either.

Chrollo was always ensuring your needs were met and quickly taken care of regardless of the situation you two may be in. Luckily the current situation you were in was a familiar one, hiding out in some abandoned building until whatever heist Chrollo has planned goes into motion.

"You seem cold, Little Spider."

"Yeah, I am kinda cold. We don't usually go anywhere like this for a heist..."

"How about I warm you up?"

"Chrollo, not here..!"

"I meant by using my nen, dear. What were you thinking?"

You felt the flustered feeling in your chest as you tried to avoid eye-contact with him, knowing he was thrilled to be teasing you. He had been suggestive for a reason, and you walked directly into his trap. There was little more that amused Chrollo beyond seeing you get so adorably flustered by his absolute lack of shame and open flirting.

"Ugh," the scoff that came from Feitan surprised you as the troupe didn't often comment on the relationship you had with their beloved boss, "too damn cute, stop."

You were almost hurt by the callous words before you realized that he meant your interactions were quite cute. The two of you were being painfully sweet with your domestic behavior and casual flirting. Everyone in the Troupe found the relationship you had with Chrollo to be extremely wholesome regardless of his less than wholesome personality.

It was obvious- even to you- how much Chrollo favored you over anyone else.

~~~~~~~~

Waking up was usually very difficult for you, even on a good day. From the alluring pull of sleep to the rather comfortable feeling of a bed, everything worked against you. Even your lover was just another contributing factor to your constant desire to sleep.

Chrollo contributed to your need for sleep in plenty of ways, but the most prominent being his rather unusual appetite for intimacy with you. It did give you a twinge of pride to know that he was so addicted to you that he sought out intimate behavior and actions whenever he could. But Chrollo had more energy than you did and it was rare that the man ever actually slept.

As if to balance the difference in sleeping habits and physical needs, Chrollo had developed quite the kink for Somnophilia. So on the evenings where you dozed off early or spend an extended time sleeping, you fully anticipated him to help himself to your sleeping form. This is why you were not particularly surprised to wake face-down with your hips propped up and a distinctly familiar voice moaning.

A loud moan from you let him know you woke up, feeling an intense pulse of pleasure from being caught. Though you were quite alright with his somnophilic behavior, he still felt a certain thrill if you ever woke up while he was on top of you. The act of being caught doing perverse things with your sleeping body was just the thing his narcissism needed when it came to his perception of his hold over you.

Chrollo continued pounding into you frantically, feeling your walls tighten around him and coax him closer to his orgasm. Your moans were punctuated by each thrust, somewhat muffled as you gripped tightly to the bed beneath you. It didn't take long for the feeling to overtake you as you were practically thrown into your climax, feeling your walls trying to clamp down on his pounding cock. He was quick to follow and let out a groan of satisfaction, thrusting a few more times just to squeeze out every last bit of cum.

As the afterglow of your orgasm faded away, you felt Chrollo lay his body over yours and gently kiss your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist as he pressed as physically close to you as possible. You could feel the way your heart seemed frantic in comparison to his heartbeat which rolled in a steady rhythm in his chest.

"It seems you've caught me red-handed, Little Spider."

Chrollo could only chuckle as you failed to respond, still catching your breath and trying to adjust to being awake. No matter how many times he got to see you fall to pieces in his hands, he would always feel such a thrill just being with you. Years without significant amounts of emotion left him drowning in a cocktail of dopamine and serotonin that he was almost dangerously addicted to.

"It's not often I get caught, what ever should I do to convince you to keep this between us, hm?"

"How about another round?"

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

~~~~~~~~

"I'm here to make a deal with the leader of the Phantom Troupe, not some dumb slut."

The words echoed in your mind as the arrogant man sneered at you, clearly having a rather negative opinion of you and your presence. Though his words shouldn't have bothered you, they actually managed to sting more than a little bit.

There was a long moment of silence as you turned away, not wanting to look at the man who so gleefully insulted you. Naturally, the Spiders- that had been rather bored and relaxed when the man approached- were all furiously glaring at the man now. The Spiders cared about you just as they cared about Chrollo and the man insulting you easily set them all off.

"There are two leaders of the Phantom Troupe. Myself and Little Spider. What deal do you think you could make with us when you so blatantly disrespect one of the leaders of the Troupe?"

The man seemed confused before he glanced at you again, the weight of his folly suddenly smacking him in the face as he realized what he just did. He seemed to now take note of the many eyes glaring at him venomously despite how slight the offense may have seemed at first glance. The only thing that could save him was your forgiveness, and with how you refused to look at him, he was unlikely to recieve such a blessing.

"Wait, but I- hey!"

He struggled against the crusting grip of both Machi and Feitan as they forced him into a kneeling position, his arms twisted and being slowly crushed. Despite his clear discomfort and upset tone, you still refused to look at him or at any of the Troupe. Chrollo took this as a sign that you would not forgive the transgression and acted accordingly.

All the man could do was let out a choked sound as his arms were suddenly removed, a ballpoint pen sticking out of his forehead. He collapsed forward into the dirt floor and silence once again returned to the Troupe. You refused to look back before Chrollo wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Are you okay, Little Spider?"

"I guess."

"Don't worry about what that fool said, you are much more than that to me. And if anyone else tries to insult you, I'll kill them."

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #hxh yandere #yandere chrollo

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ellecdc · 1 month

Note

Hello Elle!! I’ve been lurking thru your fics (pos) and they’re just so awesome !! May I request a fluffy little fic of male!reader and boyfriend!remus just cuddling and reading together in the gryffindor common room? It doesn’t have to be much,,,just maybe them snuggled up under some blankets and reading their respective books while lightly nudging each other from time to time (you can tweak the request in whatever way you want,,,as long as it’s fluffy it would be super duper nice!)

of course, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to !! Hope you have a great day <33

lurk away babes! I'm so glad to have you here. thanks for your request <333

Remus Lupin x male!reader cuddled on the couch in the Gryffindor common room

You had to admit that you were very surprised at how extremely touchy Remus Lupin turned out to be.

You had no idea that the quiet spoken, aloof personality you had initially fallen for, followed by the shy flirting and gentle teasing would ultimately lead to this.

That’s not to say that Remus was huge on PDA – he really wasn’t, which was just as fine for you as you really weren’t that kind of person either – but he was almost always touching you in some way.

Sitting together in the Great Hall, his leg would be pressed up against yours (hips, thighs, and ankles). If you were walking to class together, he’d likely have your hand in his, or at the very least his elbow would gently bump into yours with every step.

And when you were working on your Divination homework whilst he read on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room? Well, he was pretty much sitting on top of you; your legs intertwined comically under the blanket as his thumb gently caressed your Achilles tendon.

You thought that perhaps the blanket provided enough privacy for him to be as affectionate as he would be if no one else was around to see, which made you very happy considering you’d likely melt on the spot if he tried sitting with you like this in the courtyard.

You were technically finished your Divination homework already but were going over your answers in preparation for a test next week; this left your attention split between your work and Remus’ muscle twitches and quiet gasps.

“Merlin, Moons. You’re gonna kick your boyfriend right off the sofa if you don’t settle down over there.” Sirius teased without lifting his head from the game of exploding snap he was playing with Peter on the floor.

You hated to laugh at Remus’ expense, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at the horrified look on his face as he began to apologize to you.

“I didn’t kick you hard, did I?” He asked, moving his hands higher under the blanket to massage at your knee.

“I’m okay, Rem. What’s going on in that book of yours that has you so excited?” You redirected, closing your notebook and textbook to give him your full attention.

Remus’ face was a mix of excitement at getting to tell you about his book and shame at having interrupted your homework.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, you can finish your homework.” He offered shyly, a pretty blush decorating his cheeks. You were sure your face looked just as lovesick as you felt.

“I was finished already; I was just studying for the test next week.”

When he still didn’t look completely sold, you dramatically sighed and shifted your body so you were sitting knee to knee with Remus – nearly in his lap.

“How about this? You catch me up on everything going on in your book now, and you can help me study tomorrow?” You bargained, aiming for earnest but likely missing by a mile at the amount of affection flowing through you for this boy.

“You sure?” He asked, voice full of shy hope.

You smiled. “Absolutely.”

“Okay, deal.” He agreed, bodily pulling you impossibly further into his side as he began tallying off all of the goings on in his book since the last time he’d updated you on it.

You hummed in all the right places and even threw in a “oh my gods, you’re kidding”, and a “they did not!”, even though you didn’t particularly care for the story, just that it made your boyfriend so happy.

“Moony, why do you never read to me anymore?” Sirius pouted, throwing you a cheeky wink as he interrupted his mate.

“For this exact reason, Sirius, you always interrupt and then complain that I’m boring you.”

Sirius, never one to be shamefaced, vehemently denied the accusations. “Slander!”

“It’s not slander if it’s true, Pads.” Peter mumbled from his place.

“You’re welcome to join us, Sirius.” You called, even shifting over to suggest there was room beside you should the long-haired boy want it.

To your horror, Sirius actually looked like he was going to stand up.

“No!” Remus shouted, holding his hands out as if prepared to bodily fend off Sirius should he try to sit with you. “Don’t encourage him, love. He’s a menace.”

Sirius clutched at non-existent pearls adorning his neck as he looked at Remus in outrage. “How dare you!? Did you ever stop to think I just wanted to sit with Y/N? He’s far lovelier than you.”

“Sod off, he’s mine; get your own.” Remus mumbled, actually lifting you from your spot on the sofa to pull you directly into his lap. You felt all of the blood in your body rush to your face as you tried to hide behind the blanket.

“Fine.” Sirius harrumphed, finally standing and disrupting the game of cards he’d long abandoned in favour of drama.

“PRONGS?!” Sirius shouted, causing everyone else in the common room to shush at him. As was usually the case with Sirius, he ignored them.

“YEAH?” James shouted back, clearly sitting in their shared dorm room.

“CAN I COME CUDDLE?”

“OF COURSE YOU CAN!”

“THANK YOU!”

With that Sirius turned to give Remus his most shit eating grin. “You’re missing out, Moons.”

Remus scoffed as he began nuzzling into your neck.

“Honestly, is it too much to ask to get through one game?” Peter moaned as he began picking up all of the cards that had been discarded.

“You know better than to try to play with Sirius Drama Queen Black and James ADHD Potter, Wormy.” Remus replied, not bothering to remove himself from your neck.

You turned your head when you heard stomping from the way Sirius had just left to see an annoyed looking Lily Evans.

“You’re lucky you have a boyfriend with a backbone, Y/N.” She muttered, barely pausing to speak as she headed straight up to the girl’s dormitory.

“Poor Lily.” You chuckled, which turned into a full laugh when the puffs of breath from Remus’ laughter tickled your ear.

Feeling particularly mischievous, you turned to peck a kiss to Remus’ nose before mustering up your most sincere face.

“Maybe we should invite her to cuddle with us.”

Now, if you had been dating Sirius Black, your boyfriend would have clutched once again at his non-existent pearls and began singing about the injustices.

However, you were dating Remus Lupin, which meant he chidingly squeezed your side in the way he knew was ticklish and called you a minx.

Lily was right though.

You were very lucky.

165 notes · View notes

morallyinept · 6 months

Text

Dress Me Up & Call Me Pretty - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Dieter gets into your make-up stash, and all carnage breaks loose.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 6.8k of depraved filth.

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶🌶🌶 "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Explicit - Established relationship/oral F receiving/M anal play/ass eating/pegging/dirty talk/come eating/playing dress up/feminisation kink/praise/sex toys/drug use/angst/Dieter being a fucking menace. 🐼

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a GIFLET... 🙄 I blame @for-a-longlongtime & @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for encouraging me, you gorgeous rascals. Inspired by the BTS pic of Pedro on SNL with make-up on from his Miss Flores skit. Plumping lipgloss idea courtesy of the absolute legend @secretelephanttattoo 🖤

Finally get to play & write something for my homeboy, D - Yay! 💋

☝🏻If this story isn't to your taste, that's cool. Just skip past it quietly. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

“...I know I messed up, but this audition, it’s a game changer. Put me forward for it. I’m ready.”

The voice on the other end of the speaker sighs heavily.

Brown, darting and bloodshot eyes flick up to the mirror, pale bottom lip chewed on listlessly. The rings on his pointer and pinky clack against the marble surface as he rocks his hand back and forth against it, increasing in speed.

Clack-clack-clack...

“You’ve gotta fucking get it together, Dieter. I can’t keep pulling your ass out the gutter. That stunt at the Emmys? Shit man. Fucking memes are everywhere.”

A finger swipes in the tiny mountain of white powder and is brought to pale gums. He releases with a squelchy pop. The heady feeling bottoms out in his gut too quickly.

“I know. I-I fucked up-”

“Fucked up? Jesus, Dieter!”

“I know. I’m just… I’m feeling the pressure, you know? I can’t fucking sleep.” He scratches under his chin. That little spot that feels raw and tight. "Just need some sleep."

“You checked in with your therapist?”

He snorts and bends over the vanity growling. “That quack doesn’t know me.”

Clack-clack-clack...

There’s a long sigh. “Get yourself straight. Sleep. For a week. Then we’ll talk about work.”

“Get me the script!” He wails.

“Goodbye, Dieter.”

He tosses his phone into the sink and tugs at his hair. His eyes find his disapproving reflection staring back at him vacuously.

The mirror never lies.

It shows us the unbidden, hideous truth that we try to deny; shows us who we really are, even if we don’t know who that person is anymore.

Who are you?

It shows you your weakness, that disgusting perverse swill that rides inside your veins and is one with you - it’s a part of you and always has been; the root of its origin undeciphered. You’ve just known it to always exist inside of you; accustomed to the customs of your vile ways.

Who the fuck are you, Dieter Bravo?

He points at his reflection. “I see you, you… fuck! I see you.”

Dieter is seeing it once again, the way he always had when he beheld his wrung out reflection staring back at him. The sight of himself in the mirror hung over the giant basin causes a tidal wave of images to stab at his eyeballs. So much so that he feels slightly unsteady on his feet for a moment or two.

A rush of recall; the sordid details of that fucking Emmy after party in all their purest, most vivid forms, taunting him and confusing him for a relapsed second or two, where he lets them slip inside his walls.

His guard relinquishes but if for a moment, and it's a singular moment that brings unbearable consequence and destruction with it.

It brings guilt, shame; unabashed disgust. It brings that look on your face as you shake your head and storm out, cameras flashing in his face as he chases after you and peddles fraying excuses that you've heard before.

And once those feelings fester in, they’re hard to rinse out. A cataclysmic effect that renders him incapable of anything else but mental self-flagellation; an emotional top drop strangling him until he can no longer breathe.

Tasting the smells and hearing the colours that are laid out inside his head like sleazy schematics, drowning in the cloudy dopamine. A suffocating feeling engulfs him; a fire raging through the driest desert, burning up everything until there is nothing left to destroy.

He knows his dick was probably involved, it usually is. Drugs too. Lots of drugs. But he'd arrived sober and with you glittering on his arm. He'd been doing so well, polished up.

You were right, those people that surrounded him, they weren't his friends. They were enablers. Leeches. Revellers in his misery.

But your face, your pretty, pretty face... You didn't scream, you didn't shout. You just held him whilst he sobbed. All night. God, he hadn't cried like that in... well, he can't remember.

And he couldn't sleep that night, and hasn't been able to since.

He begs internally, to make it stop.

Screaming silently not to allow him to be the spectator anymore on his last deviances, but he’s still rendered useless whilst it omits the heinous, fucked up truths about him.

Truths that should have ruined him; if it was anyone else, it would have. Game over. Hollywood says bye-bye. But instead he’s celebrated for his bawdy reputation in the industry. One janky scandal after another, racking them up like it's fucking awards season.

He scratches the underside of his scruffy chin listlessly. He taps his cheeks, hollowing his mouth open so it sounds out of his mouth like bongo drums and does that on repeat. His fingers are buzzing, his toes feel weird. What day is it?

Dieter grips onto the sink with both hands straining to keep himself up right and gasping as though he’s been punched in the gut; his reflection is not making it easy on him at all.

You did this. You fucking did this.

He dry heaves into the sick, but nothing comes up anymore.

Sort your shit out.

He sees it. He sees his face. The mirror never lies. It shows you your real face; the one under the professionally groomed cheekbones and ageing skin pulled crinkly round the eyes. Perhaps he should get some botox.

He decides he loathes his face, it’s hideous and he wants nothing but to claw it off and leave it bloody and scarred.

He decides that he hates being alone and left to his own perilous devices like this, and wonders why you’re not home yet. Wonders how you can always silence the nagging and twittering, even though he is less than deserving of silence.

He snorts two more powdery lines and takes a deep, shuddering breath, clears his throat as though trying to find the right baritone as the sherbet fizz rips craggy down the back of it.

The conversation with his agent leaves him ruminating further in the dark of the unhinged; ebbing paranoia starts to gnaw at him and he knows he has to calm down; somewhere in the static fuzz, he knows he should probably calm the fuck down. Regain his composure, even with a head full of luminescent bubbles that make his cortex feel uncomfortably numb.

His fingers blindly selects a tool from the pot of brushes on the sink; he takes the fuzziest one with the biggest head and retreats into the bedroom, a lost boy, running its silken fibres up and down his cheek.

The gentle stroke of the compacted hairs feels like a tender touch, comforting, grounding him as he breathes in and lets the make-up brush, that you use to coat your cheeks in pretty fuschia colours, soothe him for a few seconds.

And that’s when Dieter has an idea; cracking open his skull like a lightning bolt. Dashing back to the bathroom as though he’s shit all down the inside of his harem pants; the adrenaline, the rush floods down the veins in his triad inked arms as he scatters the brushes across the vanity clumsily and cackles wildly.

The same rush he gets when he’s about to paint a new, heinous masterpiece. Only this time the canvas will be his own face.

Layer by layer, he conceals the signs of his turmoil, the long, binge worn-in trenches under his eyes. As if he could mask and tame the chaos with every stroke. The eyeliner is meticulously applied, despite the visible shake in his fingers, although two more lines of coke will sort that out, give him sharpened focus, if but for a few minutes.

The act of shaping his eyes allows Dieter to momentarily escape the storm inside his mind, even if he doesn’t take the opportunity to bask in its sloshy puddles.

He looks back at his reflection and sees not the paranoid, reclusive and somewhat maniacal man he’s become, but an esteemed, Oscar-worthy actor who can transform into another character, if but for a while.

And it stuns him, not his handiwork, although he’s quite in awe of it - he’s always been expressive with a brush - but the fact that he’s forgotten that he’s this person rather than the catatonic failure being held together with strained, thread-like seams.

That he, too, could be… pretty.

But Dieter knows this is only a temporary reprieve, another coping mechanism before the turbulent thoughts blow in again to rattle his tired skeleton. But for now, it’s enough to roll with, to revel in the ignorant bliss.

And it’s having a profound effect on his body as things start to tingle back to life again; fingers, nipples, cock… Pieces of him coming alive that have felt so anaesthetised for so long.

Staring at his lips, he frowns at their bareness. Rummaging through your make-up bag in a road to Damascus dash, he audibly growls when he can’t find it, the finishing touch.

He ends up tipping it all in the sink, burying his phone that has been incessantly pinging for days, as he searches for his coveted prize frantically with gnarled claws.

“Fuck!” He paces out of the bathroom; a renegade hand partaking in the regular tug and twists at the curly hair on his nape. He pulls open the dresser drawers and rifles around.

No, not in there either.

The bedside table shows no hint of the final piece that will complete the look.

Sighing and feeling his fingertips throb, Dieter stops stomping when he spies it, taunting him on the side of the sink where it had always been.

Come here, big boy…

He pulls the cap off and twists up the bottom to reveal the velvet bullet, shaped down to a flat nubbin by your copious wear. He sniffs it; it even smells of you. The lipstick is a pretty, deep rosy pink.

He runs it over his lips and rolls them together. Blotting it with his fingers, a few soft taps like he’s seen you do a thousand times before; he puckers and licks around his teeth. He loves this colour on you, his favourite.

Loves that it leaves the markings of you all down his chest and around his cock.

Dieter reaches into the front of his pants and adjusts the heavy weight of his dick in the throes of hardening and tenting them out. He gives himself a squeeze and the groan that escapes him sounds so alien.

He leans forward and kisses the mirror, leaving a print of his lips, and smirks.

"Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard. I'd fuck me so hard..." Dieter recites Jame Gumb imitating his accent, and snickers at his reflection.

He paints on a sticky glaze of gloss over the top of his lips, then retreats into the bedroom, back to the dresser drawers where he pulls out your silk and lace in abundance and laughs maniacally as he repeats the quote.

"I'd fuck me so hard..."

When you reach the bedroom, the carnage stops you in your tracks. For a moment, it looks as though there's been a robbery.

What the...?

There are clothes everywhere, on the floor; your delicates and unmentionables. Outfits strewn over the bed, sequins and suede crumpled on the chair like deflated ghosts.

The closet doors are wide open and you can hear the muffled sounds of him from somewhere amongst the throes of it. Garbled curses and strung out laughter that echoes.

“D?” You call as you place your purse down.

“Yeah!” He calls as you make your way towards the closet door, but he bounds out, wrapping his green gown tight around his waist.

He looks at you, hair dishevelled, but you stop in your tracks.

You smile, slowly and wide, as he stares at you like he’s just woken up.

“Babe.” He acknowledges, blinking widely and fast.

“Damn, you have good taste. That colour is gorgeous on you.” You say, zoning in on his lips.

“What?” He questions with a twinkly void in his eyes. He baulks then remembers his face is caked full of make-up.

“Oh. Yeah?” He blushes.

More scritching at the underside of his chin commences and he frowns at the foundation now embedded under his nails.

You smile softly. “Yeah. But let me fix your eyes. Come here. Got a little smudge there.” You say as he follows you over to the vanity like a loyal puppy and sits himself down, proverbial tail wagging crazily.

You smirk, noticing his legs are swathed in a black, nylon sheen under the flaps of his corduroy gown.

“Nearly fucking blinded myself putting that shit on. Don't know how you do that everyday.” He nods to the eyeliner that you pick up.

“Masochist,” you smirk. You dab at his eye corner, redraw the line and smile. “There. Perfect.”

He blinks a couple of times, as though there’s something in his eye. Or perhaps he’s having a stroke.

“You look…” You swallow as you can’t find the words.

“Do I look pretty? Do you want to have sex with me?” He puts to you, and it’s like he just whispered it directly to your clit. He stares up at you with perfectly lined, brown doe eyes.

Sucking in a breath you query “is this for a role, or…?”

“No.” Dieter shakes his head standing and his gown falls open. You see he’s wearing black stockings with lace tops, held up by suspenders. And your black, lace thong.

“D. Is that my thong?” You ask, bewildered and bemused, as he turns back to you.

“My thong now.” He simmers at you.

“Oh my God. Don't do this to me.” You say feeling the heat ignite your cheeks.

It suddenly feels very hot and stuffy in the bedroom as you take him in. Sweat makes itself known on the back of your neck and you feel damp between your legs. Your inherent need for him grows fangs and wants to sink itself into the meat of his thigh and suck deeply until you grow fat and full and fall off.

“I'm not doing anything, baby.” Dieter remarks, twiddling his curly tufts around his finger.

“Fuck, D. You're fucking hot like this.”

“Yeah I am.” He says twirling, and twirling a bit more vigorously, until you stop him.

You take his head in your hands and peer at his blown out pupils. “Are you high?” You question, eyeing him with a dipped frown.

“Maybe. It's irrelevant.” He shrugs and shakes out of your grip. You’re too good to him, and he knows it.

He is completely fucking unworthy of this, of you. Look at you; you’re stunning there in your effortless grace and the way you behold him like he shits out gold nuggets, even when he’s fucked up - again.

You’re a fucking Goddess, and the no good, piece of shit needs to worship at your feet and beg for your forgiveness for his latest relapse. He can’t look at you, he can’t look at himself.

He wraps his robe around his belly again.

This was stupid. Pathetic. Why does this fucking foundation itch so much? It’s your eyes, it’s as though he’s tumbling through tunnel vision, hurtling straight at your damn eyes. Stop looking at me.

But you pull him to you, wanting to get your hands on him. Wanting to reassure him and quell those shakes that rattle him. Wanting to scrape those scabbied layers off of him and bathe until the skin feels soft once more.

But he’s making it very difficult to concentrate on any kind of admonishment right now.

Right now, you just want to lick him all over.

You take his hands and his gown flaps open again. His little tummy paunch rests softly on top of the silk elastic of the suspender belt and you run your finger along the width of it. His cock barely fits inside your thong, and you’re trying not to dribble as you stare down at it.

Thick and swollen and hard. And thick... fuck.

“I like this.” You pant.

“Yeah? How much?”

“A lot.” You nod to him slowly as you look up at him. That clit of yours thunders like it’s kicking crazily at a locked door to get out. You clench, squeezing your thighs together and try to stifle your moan.

But he hears it. And he fucking runs with it.

“Am I your good girl?” Dieter pouts and flutters his clumpy mascara eyelashes at you.

“Oh-ho.” You whine, shaking your head and punching your fist against his bare chest gently.

Yeah, he went there.

You know exactly what he wants, how he wants to play this out. He's playing the part, and you're his partner in scene. So you give it to him.

“Yeah. You're such a good girl, D. So fucking pretty for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you make yourself all pretty just for me?”

He nods. "You like it?"

“Look at those blow-job lips… Jesus.” Your thumb pulls on his sticky, cerise bottom lip before he sucks it fully into his mouth and eye fucks you darkly the whole time he does it.

“What do you want?” He whispers coyly as your thumb pops out.

“I wanna ruin your make-up.” You husk.

“Fuck.” He says, giddy. "Do it."

“Wait here.” You say, scurrying over to the closet and disappearing inside.

“The strap on!” He calls.

Your head pokes around the door like a Meerkat sniffing out danger. “Yeah?”

He nods enthusiastically with serious eyes. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, you’re such a fucking cock slut.” You call back excitedly and giggle as you rummage around in the drawers in the closet. The drawers that are chock full of an arsenal of sexual weaponry. Dildos, plugs, vibes… Everything you can think of, and then some.

“It feels so silky and nice. I can't stop touching it.” He groans as he watches you step into the bedroom again with the harness and dildo dangling from your hand.

You pull down your jeans and step out of them, kicking them away in haste, and he bites his lip beholding you.

You're too much and not enough.

“Touching your little pussy?” You observe him running his hands over the silk of the suspenders and the stockings. He fiddles with the tiny bow on the thong.

“Yeah. My pussy feels real nice.”

“Show me how you touch it, Dieter.” You tempt.

He sits back on the chair, legs open, manky gown falling off his thighs. His hand cups over his cock that’s grotesquely hard. Thick, swelling and the head as flush and pink as his lips.

Poking out the top of the thong, it’s so small to hold him all in fully, and there’s a little sheen on his belly just below his slot machine button, that glimmers sticky at you where he’s leaking.

Your throat runs immediately dry because all the fluid in your body is pooling in your cunt right now and dripping into your panties. Fuck...

You watch him pump that hefty cock of his over the lace. You can hear him breathing hard and moaning with unrestrained pleasure as he goes. He hisses, you watch mesmerised and unable to look away, trying not to drool in the process.

He says your name and you feel it all over your body as it fires in your core.

“Mmhm, mmhm, fuck… feels so good.” Dieter purrs as he strokes up and down his thick length, taking the time to rub the pre-cum slick around his head.

You watch keenly as the insides of his thighs jerk each time he does it.

“Come here, pretty girl,” you coo sitting on the end of bed and tapping the space beside you.

“You want to do scissors with me?” He smirks.

“Fuck, D!” You groan.

You run your hand through his fluffy, messy hair as he reaches you. No matter how well put together he can look - and it’s rare - his hair always resembles a chaotic mess that you love tugging on.

You yank him forward by it, eliciting hisses from him. Those plush, pink coated lips of his are puffed out as you twist his cocoa hair tightly inside your fingers. He coos, enjoying your fuss.

“You feeling a little out of sorts, baby?” You whisper to him, kissing his crown as he kneels between your parted legs.

You know, you always know when he needs you. But never asks.

He sits back on his heels and doesn’t look at you, his hands wringing, fidgeting. The obvious signs that say he’s not ready to talk about it yet. He scratches under his jaw, in a patch that is soothed as he digs his nails into it again. You take his hands and he hangs his head.

“D.” You prompt. “Tell me what you need right now.”

Why do you do that? I hurt you, and will continue to hurt you, and yet you still want to take care of me...

You smile at him, plugging in and powering up the sun, and it tears at something inside of him.

Dieter leans forward, planting soft smooches up the inside of your thigh and leaving wet, lipstick kiss prints.

“This.” His nose presses into your crotch. He flicks his tongue out and up the front of your panties. “I want to taste that pussy, baby.”

“Yeah, you wanna lick my cunt, pretty girl?”

“Mmhm,” he says, his fingers now tugging your panties aside eagerly as those brown eyes lance at you for permission, for approval. His brain is yammering away twenty to the dozen.

Pussy-pussy-pussy-pussy-pussy-

“Eat it, Dieter.” You groan.

He runs his nose up your slit inhaling in deep and humming out in satisfaction at your scent. He slides his long fingers up underneath your panties and pushes them to one side to reveal your soaking lips glistening at him.

He leans in, eyes still looking up at you in their droopy, tired haze, and runs his tongue against you.

You feel that wet muscle weave inside your folds and begin to lap you up like he’s starving.

He listens to them; those whimpers around his fingers as he slides them into your mouth as he tongues you, and the way you look at him; you trust him, you adore him, and it fractures him and leaves wounds opening up all over his body as he bleeds out, bleeds for you.

He reaches down and slides his other fingers inside your pussy as he slurps hungrily around your clit; so wet and so fucking tight.

Dieter watches every time you come; really studies your face and the sounds you make from his fingers fapping hard inside your cunt, bringing you to the edge, and instead of holding you back or denying you, he lets you fly. It's the best part. It's like fucking Icarus, man. He always flies too close. He wants to see your psychedelic colours and bask in their vividness as they blind him. Feel your corona melt his face.

He feels you tighten and constrict around his fingers, hilted to the silver bands at his knuckles, your slick soaking all over the metal. He knows this is real, not a spaced out trip. Knows that he makes you feel these things for him. Even when he feels like utter shit.

You can’t fake it when you’re this open, this vulnerable before him. He inhales you, he needs you. He lets you dissolve on his tongue. Needs you more than the nose powder, more than the glittering lights, more than the fans chanting his name and his face blown up on billboards.

You’re his fucking drug and he’s hopelessly addicted to feeling you flood through his veins.

The pointed tip of his tongue probes and flicks wildly against your clit, and you die. He grabs a hold of your waist, hoisting you up and back further onto the bed where he tugs your panties aside further and delves into your cunt with a heated fervour.

You watch, gasping, as that perfectly pink lipstick smears wet and sticky across his mouth and cheeks as he goes to town on you like he’s starved.

“So fucking good, baby. Just like that!” You gasp feeling dizzy and unbearably hot.

Amidst the heat of his lapping, you start to feel a subtle, yet almost electric feeling that radiates on your lips and clit. It’s like a cascade of tiny, pinprick vibrations; invigorating and soothing at the same time.

Tingles, leaving a pleasantly cooling sensation around his wet tongue.

“Mmm, you’re wearing the plumping lipgloss, aren’t you?” You smile as the tingles increase over your clit, pulling tight and localised; you start clenching internally as you feel it deliciously sharp and aching as that nub pulses whilst he teases and strokes it with his tongue.

“Mmhm,” he confirms with his mouth full of you.

“Good choice.” You groan. “Yeah, D…”

Your fingers rake through his crown, tugging his face closer into your centre where you start to grind. Snuffles of his nasally breaths are felt on your mound; his tongue diving deeper and you feel the thickness of his fingers sliding into you, immediately stroking at the fleshy spot where he knows to coax your orgasm out of hiding and into his waiting mouth. The beads on his wrist jangle and clack as he faps hard, finger fucking you into oblivion.

“Mmm, oh God, D…” You groan and writhe. “Just like that, pretty girl. You’re gonna make me come.” You pant glancing down at him and that darned lipstick is everywhere, all across his lips, peppering his scruff pink and smeared across your cunt and thighs.

“Oh fuck! Yes!” You caterwaul, your body tensing and pulling tight as you start to unwind and flood his mouth.

Drinking you down, he licks long and fat stripes up your pussy. He sucks on your plumpy clit and smirks as you catch your breath; your thighs clamp hard around his face from the overstimulation.

“On your hands and knees, pretty girl.” You instruct and he grins.

The gown comes off, flying through the air, to reveal him bare chested, clad only in your suspender belt and stockings, and that damned thong with his cock spilling out of it.

Bending over on all fours and presenting that ass up to you, Dieter groans as you grab his cheeks and bite into them.

“Yeah!” He growls as he feels your teeth indenting the skin. You slap his ass a few times, watching the fat of it jiggle; sharp, quick stings from your palm as he moans and stretches out like a cat pushing his rump closer to your face.

You part his cheeks, unhooking the black line of the thong riding deep up in that crack. Holding it to the side, you slide your tongue all over that pink, puckered urchin that's waiting for you.

“Oh, baby!” He groans.

You reach between his legs with one of your hands; his butt cheek closing against the side of your nose when you let go, and stroke his rigid cock as you lick and tease his hole.

You spit, lathering him up, and the wet clicks of your tongue flickering around his rim are filling the room obscenely.

Your tongue pushes in, delving into his ass deeper as you fuck him with it, and he whines and bucks. You pump his cock, feeling your hand sticky from his silky fluids, and his balls are full and swollen as you grope and pull on them gently. It makes his head feel all fizzy, like a soda pop all shook up, and he could burst and spew out at any second from the carnage your tongue causes as you push it deeper into his ass.

“Fuck!” He grizzles, his head hanging low like it's snapped off his vertebrae.

“You love it, look at you. I wanna watch you get fucked in this pretty little hole, D. Take pictures. So everyone can see what a cock hungry, little slut you are.” You say.

“Fuck baby, yeah.” He growls.

“Let everyone see you get ruined.”

“Ruin me, baby. Please.” Dieter grunts.

"Stretch you out and watch you gape for me."

"Fuck!"

You reach for the strap on and begin buckling it in around you as you carry on feasting. You take off your top and bra in between licking and sucking around his hole.

Once it’s on and secure, you tap his ass. He turns as you stand, and you jut the dildo towards his mouth.

“You look so good with my cock in your mouth.” You praise as he sucks on the end of it.

You stroke through his hair, and run your thumb across the lipstick smeared around his mouth. Shiny, sticky with the gloss and your cunt slick. He's a mess and it delights you.

Your hands clutch his head; the length of your rubber cock inside his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. Whining for it, able to take it in deep and getting a little too enthused for it that he chokes a little here and there.

“You like sucking cock, don’t you, pretty girl?” You cajole.

“Mmhm.” He nods with his mouth full, taking the dildo in as deep as he can to the back of his throat. It's impressive that he can deep throat so well.

“You wanna fuck this, hmm?”

“I do.” He gasps as he takes a breath. Strings of crystalised saliva pulling from his lips.

“Get the lube.”

He scrambles towards the bedside table and yanks open the draw so hard, the whole thing comes out and crashes on the floor. Grinning, Dieter tosses the bottle up at you and you squeeze it out over the dildo.

“Bend over, let me see that ass again.”

Dieter eagerly presents once more, and glances over his broad, tan shoulder at you. His sultry eyes are expectant, wanting - needing.

“Ready baby, deep breath…” You chime jauntily squeezing his cheeks.

His face scrunches, that initial pinch felt as the large, globular head of the dildo breaks through, but you can feel him instantly relaxing against it and welcoming you in.

You slide the dildo into him gently, slowly. All the way until you reach the hilt.

“You take it so well, pretty girl. That feel good?” You stroke and pat his butt.

“So good, baby. Fuck!” He groans. "Oh God, you're so deep."

"Your sluttly little hole can take it." You move your hips forward steadily, easing the dildo’s thickness in and out of him.

You watch as his ass indeed takes it; the lube helping to glide it in effortlessly as it squelches and bubbles around his rim.

“Nice and deep, D. God, you should see this right now. See how your ass just takes my cock.”

“Feels so fucking good.” He gurgles, trying not to dribble on the sheets.

“My big, fat cock filling you up, hmm?”

“Yeah. Fuck me."

His little breathless pants echo around the tincture and colour of his voice, barely able to come through as he breathes out through it all. “Oh my God, oh my God…” Dieter trails off.

“That’s it baby, take my cock.” You whisper at the sight of him doing just that. “So, so pretty.”

You work the dildo in and out as you reach underneath again and pump his dick up and down; squeezing and applying the right pressure as he fucks into your fist.

You still for a moment, just enjoying him pushing back and twerking on the end of you like some mad evangelist for anal. Marvelling at how his hips flex and his back arches and sinks like a cat as he works and fucks hinself on the end of your cock.

He flashes you an enigmatic grin over his shoulder again.

"Good girl," you praise.

You grip tighter around his cock and start to pump him in rhythm with your increasing thrusts into his ass.

“Oh you’re so hard, you like that don’t you?” You whine. “Look at my pretty girl taking this cock so well.”

You let go of his dick and press into his thighs as you lift yourself up a little and begin to fuck his ass harder and faster.

“Oh shit, baby!” Dieter whines. “Yeah, fuck my ass!”

He takes it, somewhat cross-eyed, as you go harder and deeper inside him. You see his large hands claw into fists around the sheets. He grits his teeth so hard the cords in his neck pop out.

He’s close. You always know. Those little telltale signs of an imminent climax when he starts to strain and tense before biting down his lip and panting wildly like a dog trapped in a hot car, reveal themselves like clues to solve an orgasmic mystery.

But just as he’s there, just as his eyes are rolling into the back of his head in sweet delusion, is when you pull out.

It’s the perfect, sweetly sinful moment to destroy him.

Dieter’s head immediately snaps round at you. “What the fuck?!”

You smirk and slap his ass.

“Please…” He whines. He tries to back his ass back on it as you step out of his reach.

You shake your head and then plunge back in. You do it again, and again. And a-fucking-gain.

It goes on for quite some time; the agony, the prevention - the acute thwarting of his pleasure. Leaving him on the edge of never, that peak where his body can’t unwind or uncoil or release fully.

You throw him up to that height, but don’t allow him to fall back down.

His body responds in all the right ways each time - the clenching, the jittery spasms; the gasping and incoherent babbling as it builds, and each time he thinks this will be it - that you’ll show mercy and let him fly free.

But then you snatch it all away from him; robbing him of his hedonism with a wicked smirk creeping across your mouth like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

Dieter growls out - and somewhat close to damn tears too through glistening, black lined eyes - when you pull out of his ass again and let go of his dick, just when he is on the cusp.

Keeping him balanced on the edge precariously for the final time.

"Baby, you're fucking killing me, please." Dieter whines.

You slather his butt and your dildo in more lube; you can see it dripping shiny down his crack and onto his balls. You slide back up into that puckered hole of his ass, taking him by surprise, forcing your way in this time - no pleasant warnings or easing him in.

“Going to destory this hole, D.” You growl, grinning as you grab a hold of his ass cheeks like he does yours, and you fuck the shit out of that ass of his.

You watch as the shiny dildo plunges in deeper each time as you draw back. “This ass is mine!" Tiny squirts of lube are felt pelting your thighs.

Dieter grunts away crazily, face pressed down into the pillow, covering it in foundation and eyeliner as it sweats off of his face. His body struggles to stay upright and you adjust your position.

You sit over his ass; the dildo plundering in so deep. Your hands rest on the back of his stacked shoulders, and go hard on him like riding a bronco.

“Fuck!” He mouths into the pillow. His cock rubs against the duvet deliciously.

“Look at you taking my dick,” you snarl in his ear full of awe. You lick across his cheek, over that little wondrous scruff, and then suck on his ear lobe, tasting the metal from his hoop.

“Such a good little cock slut for me, aren’t you D?” You tease.

Dieter groans out, his eyes crane to look at you. Jaw slack and nodding. You push your fingers inside of his mouth and you can feel him tonguing them as he pants with his ass chock full of your girthy strap on.

He mewls as your fingers slip out of his mouth all shiny from his saliva.

“Can I sit on it?” He asks and the request takes you both by surprise.

“You wanna sit on this cock?” You ask him, your thrusts slowing down.

“Please.” His voice is so tiny, like he can’t believe he is actually begging for it.

His dick brushes against the dildo as he manoeuvres upright to face you, and it makes him gasp and smile in delight. You clamp your hand around them both and jerk them slowly for a moment or two, bewildered by how he reacts to it with his mouth open in a small 'o' and glassy eyes smeared with mascara.

It’s so fucking hot, the state of his face; it’s a fucking mess, a pink cloud around his mouth and panda eyes, and your cunt is literally throbbing at it.

“Fuck…” Dieter curses as he throws his head back enjoying the sensation. It may be silicone or whatever, but crushed and rubbing against his own cock, it feels so damn good.

“You like that?” You put to him and he looks down at you nodding and placing his hand over yours as you both start frotting together.

He slips his fingers on his other hand into your cunt; ringed thumb stroking on your clit and bringing you close.

You’re both watching and panting together, all the perverted, lusty visions of it flooding your senses. You imagine him doing this with another guy - with another real cock - and it turns you the fuck on. You wonder for a moment if he’s thinking the same thing. You want to see that. You want to watch.

You make a mental note to discuss it with him at a later date. Your clit pulses in response to it, like it’s been zapped as he strokes against your spot expertly, and you squeal as you come over his fingers.

He sucks them and groans deliciously.

“Sit on it like you wanted, pretty girl,” You say, laying back on the bed.

Dieter kneels, straddling over you, as he lowers himself down slowly onto the dildo; whining out as it begins to fill him up again.

You can see him taking his time, being hesitant as he fucks the tip mostly. Sitting tentatively on the top so he can control the depth.

“Take it all in, D.” You instruct him boldly. You push down on his hips and he takes more of it in. His nylon covered thighs buckle and shudder, his massive hands grip onto your stomach for a moment and you can feel his fingers prodding at you sharply.

“Fuck all of that dick!” You order him and you buck up, the dildo going further into his ass and making him cry out.

You start to fuck him and he pushes back against you each time, taking it deeper and starting to whine and groan with sexy, gruff melodies again.

He sits backwards, his hands behind him and gripping around your thighs. His own cock slapping across your stomach and his as he bounces up and down on that dildo jammed into his ass that feels so fucking good.

Dieter starts rolling his hips around on it and almost passes out.

"Fuck..." he growls, eyes rolling back again.

“You're such a hungry cock slut, Dieter… that's it, ride it. Look at you, you can't get enough. Stretched all around my cock. Do you love it?”

“I fucking love it, baby.” He pants, sweat beading down his temples; his suprasternal notch shiny.

“Tell me you love my cock, pretty girl.”

“I love your cock. Ahh yeah… fuucccck!” He’s there again, so close. You can see it.

“Come all over my tits, D. Come on, you slut. Do it.”

“Fuuh-uuuckkkk!” His balls lurch and surge and you can feel him stiffen and tense in his body before he cries out through delicious grunts and strangled curses.

His toes are stretched out and he’s cricking against it; holding onto the pleasure for as long as he can until he eventually bursts all over your chest.

He sighs deeply as he releases; a geyser of pearly deliciousness spurting upwards and splashing onto your skin and nipples.

“Good girl.” You praise. “You gonna lick it up, like a good girl for me? There we go. Get it all.”

He runs his tongue all over your skin, licking and getting all of it. He then leans into you, kissing you and slipping his salt soaked tongue into your mouth so you can taste him too.

“Mmm,” he whines as he tries to control his breathing, cheeks as pink as his smeared lipsticked lips.

Dieter flops forward fully onto you, his weight crushing. The dildo slides out of his ass with a wet pop, and you both stay like that for a few minutes as you wrap your arms around him and kiss the top of his damp crown, over and over affectionately.

“You okay? Feel a bit better?” You whisper to him tentatively, the hair on his head tickles your lips as you speak into it.

He nods and reaches up for your face and strokes your cheek with his knuckles.

“Yeah.” he replies, satiated. “Fuck. That was-”

“I know.” You giggle utterly beside yourself. “Your make-up’s ruined.”

You kiss his fingertips and cuddle him tighter, wrapping your legs around his waist. As you do, the stickiness of his sweat squelches between you both and sounds like you just let rip ungraciously.

He snorts, his shoulders heaving against your chest, and you giggle into his hair.

He places a few lingering kisses on your clavicle. “We're doing that again. And I'm keeping these.” He says, flicking the elastic of your thong against his hips. “You hungry? I'm fucking hungry.” He croons, looking at you.

“I could eat.” You agree.

“Waffles? Or no, no, no, wait… Ramen. Fuck. Yeah. Then some waffles. Some of those peppery chicken things… you know with the Haberno sauce?” His eyes are still blown and you peer into him carefully.

He stops yammering and tries to look away, but you kiss him again, pulling him back to you. You sigh, as his head rests sweaty against yours, so close that it looks like he only has one, twitchy eye.

“You know this fuck up loves you, right?” He murmurs in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard peep out of him.

“Never doubted it.”

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He mumbles. Dieter presses a kiss to your cheek and gets up.

“D?”

“Yeah, yeah?” He reaches for his gown crumpled on the floor.

“Go flush it.” You nudge. “All of it. We’ll start over again, okay?”

He sighs. He doesn’t deserve you. You, and your soft eyes staring back into him encouragingly, with misplaced love and forgiveness that you force him to confront.

He wants to do it, wants to be better for you. He wants to be as pretty for you as you are for him. He’s tired of disappointing you, even if you never show it each time he falls back into the muddy, cold gutter. You always reach in to pull him out. How do you do that?

Padding to the bathroom, he pulls the thong out of his ass; a dishevelled, chaotic mess with a ladder running the length of the left stocking down the back of his calf, and you smile as you unbuckle the strap on.

Moments later, you hear the toilet flush in the bathroom.

“Good girl!” You praise, and you hear Dieter chortling wildly.

Dieter catches sight of his face smeared in the mirror. The mirror never lies, no matter how much your dress yourself up and call yourself pretty.

Sniffing in deeply, tasting some flavour of of a mild clarity, he reaches for a cotton pad and begins clearing the smeared make-up off of his face. Slowly revealing his features back to him with each swipe of the pad. New skin, a new man.

He smiles at himself, blushing.

You’re not afraid to be lost with him. To indulge him and be unabashed. And Dieter knows that eventually, you’ll help him find his way back to himself again.

Because you always reach in to pull him out of that muddy, cold gutter. And he loves you so fucking much for it.

Tagging the Dickin' Around With Dieter On Discord Lovelies: @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @maggiemayhemnj @trulybetty @for-a-longlongtime @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @musings-of-a-rose @avastrasposts @undercoverpena @gemmahale @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @linzels-blog @sin-djarin @beboldbebravethings @legendary-pink-dot @laurfilijames @ladybess-a03

(If you want to be removed, that's cool.)

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

🖤

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo giflet #jett's giflets #jett's pedro boys #pedro pascal characters #Spotify

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fruityroth · 6 months

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Just something on why representation matters: even the smallest bit of seemingly the most miniscule part of someone's identity being shown will make someone out there happy. It can be the most minor thing in the world to you, but someone, somewhere, will be absolutely ecstatic to see a part of themselves in one of their favorite characters.

Example: I seriously love left-handed characters. As a lefty, this is super cool to me. Seeing someone who uses their left hand in media will always make me smile, and it makes me feel more connected to the characters. Some examples: Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Sephiroth, and, of course, Link. Like, this is why I loved The Legend of Zelda so much as a kid. Link has historically been left-handed since the very first game. Seeing Link pick up the Master Sword in his left hand, being called the Left-Handed Hero, and generally just be awesome while also being a lefty, makes me giddy to this day. It's just such a positive representation of left-handedness, and that probably doesn't matter to *anyone* that didn't grow up as a southpaw, but it makes me happy.

That's also why it's a shame that he's no longer left-handed. Not only do I feel less connected to the character who was, for the longest time, my absolute favorite hero (a pot-smashing, grass-cutting role model, one could say), but it also feels like they cut out a core part of his identity with that small change.

I especially felt disconnected after reading about why they made the change. Apparently, according to an interview, they switched for wii motion controls, since people hold the wii remote in their right hand regardless of "hand preference" (those were the exact words used). I, uh...I don't! I have, and always will, hold a wiimote in my left hand. Learning that *this* was the reason for them cutting out such an enormous part of the identity of my childhood role model, the Paragon of what lefties could be, seriously pissed me off. And again, this probably doesn't matter in the least to anyone who isn't a lefty.

In short: diversity, inclusion, and representation don't have to be massive. It doesn't have to take up the core of a character's story arc. Even something as simple as the character's *dominant hand* can make people feel seen.

This is also why I don't like it when people say not to have representation for representation's sake. "Oh, it's just tokenism if you say that a character's gay and do nothing about it!" No. No, it's not. It increases diversity, it makes people feel closer to your characters and story, it gives positive representation of usually marginalized people (including lefties until recently, believe it or not!), and it adds an extra layer of depth to this collection of traits that you're passing off as a person.

Even if there's an argument to be made that a character is just the "token gay," or the "token PoC," or whatever, it also shows that people from those communities are capable of living normal lives in society, rather than conforming to whatever stereotypes apply to them. I would much rather a writer add an identity to a character and then not mention it much than they try to make a story arc around it that comes off as anything-phobic.

Again, in short: representation matters. Never say it doesn't.

#representation matters #the legend of zelda #link #left handed #lefties #lgbt representation #lgbtqia #rant post #writers #ruby rose #weiss schnee #sephiroth #rwby

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theholypeanut · 5 months

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♪ To All The Girls You Loved Before ♪

Cw: gn!reader, Otoya slander, Otoya being a lovesick simp, Blood, mentioning of hooking up (not with reader), aged up characters (university), fluff?? kinda?? Mostly comedy I’d say, using words like whore or slut, but I promise it’s not serious I love Otoya, mentioning of STDs (guys why this cw gets weirder and weirder), Otoya is suggested to be bi here

1,3k words (I’m shocked too)

Birthday Fic for Otoya Eita!!

Otoya Eita was a whore.

Everyone knew it - at least everyone at the university, in the football club, gym, probably within a 50 kilometers radius from the dorms as well, including supermarkets, flower shops, game arcades, and even the cinema workers (oh they probably knew the best, seeing him every week taking another girl on the same romantic comedy).

Well, it was not a secret, and it was neither something that made you hate or despise him. You had no opinion about him until you met him.

And you met for the first time in the book shop, when you were looking into a new book by Yoko Ogawa.

Someone next to you dropped their book.

„Ouch, sorry” you heard a deep male voice. „I just accidentally dropped my modern feministic literature. My bad.” He picked up Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay from the floor. This scene was so ridiculous and obnoxious, you couldn’t hold the laughter.

„Did you literally pick the closest book with the word feminist in it?” You asked amused. He cleared his throat. „No, I’m a big fan of…” he took a quick peak at the cover. „…Roxane Gay”

You smirked and raised your eyebrow. „Ooh really? How did you like Five Guys; My Story of the Polygamist Hexagon?” Eita didn’t even blink. „Actually this one is my favorite” he said with absolutely no shame in his voice. You rolled your eyes with a smile. „It’s not a real book, dumbass. I made it up.”

Otoya was so used to interactions like this, that he didn’t feel offended at all. „Well sounds like a great read, maybe you should write something like this” he said, putting the book back on the shelf. „However if we start dating I don’t know if I want to have a… polygamist hexagon. Well, at least not with five guys”. He sent you a wink.

You looked at him with a mix of disbelief and amusement. „You are really something else, Otoya” you said, with a smile. „But I’m not gonna lie, that was probably the funniest and the dumbest conversation I had recently. Thanks” And you left him in between the shelves.

In the beginning, Otoya was planning to just woo you into going on a date with him because you seemed cute. But that was the moment when he fell hard - this bright smile, laughter… He knew his pickup line was awful but you were not really mean to him. You didn’t look at him with disgust. Even more: He never saw the most gorgeous human being with such a beautiful laugh and right now he was dedicated to getting to know you.

He started to come to the bookshop every single day - he was not obsessed enough to skip trainings (because he was not ready for Yukimiya to kick his ass) but even the elderly lady at the counter started to cheer up for him.

„You know, young gentleman” she said one evening, seeing him looking in between the shelves. „They are a student at the university close by, I assume they are in their second year since they were buying some textbooks recently” she gave him a hint. The next day Otoya gave her a bouquet of the prettiest flowers he could afford. He was dedicated to finding you. If you knew who he was, then you probably study together. Or did he date your friend? Multiple friends? He hoped not your sibling or mom because that for sure would make things complicated when he will finally propose.

Yes, this Otoya Eita, a town slut, was already preparing his wedding vows after one interaction.

„I have no idea what’s their name” he whined to Karasu during the break. „They were the most beautiful person I ever saw…”

„You say that about every second hook up, Eita” Karasu answered a little annoyed. It's been a week since he started making his failed love life everyone’s problem. Not like he wasn’t whining before, but usually it was after he cheated on a girl and she got angry, not before he even asked anyone out. „Also Jesus, why are you so fixated on the Feminist Book Stranger? You usually take rejection so lightly, I’m surprised to see you so…”

„Pathetic?” Chigiri suggested, as he was drinking water nearby.

„Pitiful?” Yukimiya added.

„…Lovesick” Karasu ended. Otoya signed dramatically. „You will be so jealous on my wedding, you will see”

„Well, I don’t think so” Chigiri said after taking another sip of water. „If they know your name, I assume they probably also know your dating history”

He knew. Otoya was well aware of his reputation, but till now he never really cared. Because he never expected to actually fall in love with someone, and even more he never was anxious that his soulmate might find him disgusting and pathetic.

„At least check yourself for STDs before trying to get into your future spouse’s pants” Reo added after listening to the whole conversation. „I don’t think chlamydia is the best way gift you can give them on the first date.”

Otoya took a mental note that even if he felt a little offended, this was not the worst advice.

And fate brought you together again, no later than the next day.

You had an important essay due today and spent every possible moment studying and writing it. You kind of regret you had no time to read for fun anymore, only to drown under the amount of literature you had to read for your university lectures and tests, but there was no other way. There was one particular book you needed to borrow to finally end this monstrosity you’ve been creating, and then you are free… at least until the next essay. You took the turn to the university library.

„You know, I think I achieved a new low” you heard a feminine voice. „I was looking for a fast hook up and even Otoya ghosted me. This one hurts. I think it's time for therapy or some shit, because if even him…”

You smirked. Who knows if there are therapists in this city, who get another crying college girl or guy in their chair and can thank Otoya Eita for bringing in more than 20% of their revenue?

You didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping, so you fast went to the door out of the building, the library was just minutes away. You pushed the door outside with a lot of force… and heard a bang.

„FUUUUCK” you heard someone swearing right in front of you. It was almost as loud as the laughter that was accompanying it. „Right into your nose dude!” You heard the amused voice. You panicked. „Oh my god, I’m so so sorry” You slide through the door to the poor victim who was not other than… Otoya Eita. He froze for a second, considering if he just died and gone to heaven, that he heard your voice again. He looked up at your face, but his vision was still blurry.

You took out the tissue from your bag. His nose was bleeding, so you gently pressed the tissue to his face. „Shit, do you have a concussion?” You asked panicked. Karasu stood next to you. „Just ask him something” he suggested, still amused by the situation. You thought for a second. „What's the capital of Malta?” The dark-haired guy looked at you both surprised and amused. „Okay but maybe ask him something he knows”

„I'm fine guys” they heard the weak voice. He looked at Karasu angrily. „Don't you dare flirt with the love of my life!”

You looked at him confused, then looked at Karasu. „Yeah I think he has a concussion, maybe we should take him to the hospital.”

Otoya’s nose stopped bleeding and his head was no longer spinning. Somehow you looked even more beautiful than the first time he saw you.

„How about you take me out for dinner, as an apology?” He sent Karasu „the” look. Tabito rolled his eyes in answer. „I’ll leave you two lovebirds here to flirt” he said and started walking away. You were too stunned to speak. You turned back to white haired guy still too confused with what is happening to digest his offer.

„Wait, are you serious right now?”

He smirked.

„So, how about tonight?”

There is gonna be part 2, this is a promise and a threat at the same time, because I had so much fun writing this crack fic

#otoya eita #eita otoya #blue lock #bllk #blue lock headcanons #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #dividers by benkaibear #bllk headcanons #blue lock fluff #blue lock imagines #otoya slander

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galedekarios · 6 months

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Hi!! Hope I am not bothering you (if so please feel free to ignore!) with a Gale lore question, but I figured you're the person on tumblr who would most likely know given all the cool shit you've been posting, but do we have any idea *where* gale was when he got snatched by the mindflayers? I can't seem to find a straight answer about most of the companions, but there seems to be a fairly straight forward answer for most of them except Gale (and Astarion to some extent) I know he had his year of solitude that he seemed to have left willingly and from what Tara says about Waterdeep it doesnt seem like they had a massive nautiloid attack the city a la the opening. I figured he either left Waterdeep in search of more items to sate the orb/protect the city in case of rupturing and was taken there or he was just maybe beaten over the head and abducted in the city by one of the few Absolutists that are in Waterdeep.

thank you for your message! i really appreciate your words.

sadly, there is no indication at all where precisely gale was before the events of the game take place.

i've collected some pieces of the puzzle, however, that i thought are relevant to at least paint a broad picture of what likely happened:

gale is well aware of how unstable the orb is. when he escapes the nautiloid, his first thought is that the illithid tadpole is very likely to have adverse effects on it:

he has lived with the orb for about a year or longer, knowing well what its effect might be. i have wondered often just why gale would know so much about ceremorphosis before the game starts. perhaps the devs just needed another exposition machine, which is likely, too, of course.

but considering the very real and very present danger of the orb, i think it's also likely that in his desperation to find a way to heal himself, reading up as much as he could on everything that even resembled some sort of solution, gale perhaps even read up on ceremorphosis, before deciding that it's just not viable, that it would do more harm to than good.

i think it might be in line with the same reasoning as to why the player can bring up the nightsong to gale as a possible solution to the orb.

2. gale is aware just catastrophic the consequences of the orb being unleashed are. when gale goes to rest in his origin playthrough, sleep will not find him and once more, his thoughts turn towards the orb first:

it's likely that this is why we find him staring into the flames playing a custom protag. these two scenes seem to mirror each other.

3. we also learn from the same dialogue two important things: that gale made tara promise to stay in waterdeep, concerned for her safety. we also learn from his conversation with tara that he is not only concerned about her safety, but his mother's as well and that he left her behind in waterdeep as well:

morena isn't aware of what her son tried to do. he kept it from her. not only had he disappointed her faith in him and his talents, now, with the orb, he was actively putting her in mortal peril. along with everyone else in the city.

from a later dialogue we also learn that gale is afraid of bringing shame to his family name:

player: So, your last name is Dekarios? gale: It is. Courtesy of my mother, the inimitable, dare I say it sometimes unavoidable, Morena Dekarios. It's been so long since I've used it. 'Gale Dekarios' cuts a poor figure next to the wizarding prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep.' player: You're right. Just 'Gale' is better. gale: I agree. And on the plus side, if I get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

we also learn that while news of the absolute seems to have reached waterdeep, tara doesn't seem to think that they have infiltrated waterdeep yet. which in turn means that waterdeep wasn't affected in the same way baldur's gate and other cities and regions were.

4. the next morning, gale can have the following conversation with tara:

"you left the tower in such a hurry you didn't leave an address." is what stands out to me here.

what exactly did make gale leave so suddenly?

was it a particularly bad flare-up of the orb? i think it might be likely because i also found this line in the files:

player: i fail to see why you need me to help you this. you've done fine without me so far. gale: A fair point - however, until recently I was able to rely on a supply of artefacts stored in my tower in Waterdeep. A supply that has now run dry. The reality of the matter is that a lone wizard with a chronic impairment such as my own is not in the most ideal of situations with regards to self-defence. The manner of artefacts I need are not often found waiting patiently on a shop-keep's shelf. One usually has to lift them delicately from trap-filled tombs or prise them from the hands of violent ne'erdowells.

so not only does this validate the fact that gale indeed suffers from chronic pain due to his condition even more, it also clearly states that he had nothing left in his possession to treat his condition anymore.

(as an aside, larian really did the seriousness of his condition a grave disservice here on a multitude at levels and this is another point where the narrative is at odds with the game mechanics of the full release. in ea, it truly required great artefacts (the sword of justice blessed by tyr or even the idol of silvanus) to soothe the orb.)

so to bring all of these points together, this is what i believe:

i think gale left waterdeep in a hurry after he felt the orb destabilising.

having no artefacts great power left, staying was no longer an option, lest he puts his mother (and waterdeep itself even) at great risk. he hurriedly packed what he could.

i assume tara was there and that it was then that he made her promise to stay because he didn't want to put his longest (and now only) friend at risk, too. perhaps he also felt better knowing that tara would be there for morena.

i think he was abducted while on the road, trying to find information about artefacts of great power and perhaps even setting out himself to acquire them.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3

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angelicyouth · 11 months

Text

Risky

⇢ pairing: kenny mccormick x marsh!reader x craig tucker

⇢ synopsis: ❝Four (4) times that you almost got caught by the rest of the boys + the one (1) time that you actually did.❞

⇢ warning: sexual content

⇢ note: part of the [youth au] but can be read by itself!

♡*･｡ﾟ// ONE (Craig):

Whenever Kenny or Craig spend their time playing video games online with the rest of the boys, you'll typically find yourself sitting on the floor in between their legs to hang out with them despite the difference in your activities.

You'll hug one of their limbs against your chest and rest a chin on their thigh, a blanket wrapped around your shoulder for warmth and a soft pillow cushioned underneath your body for comfort.

During occasions like these, you'll often occupy your own time by eating some snacks that you hand feed to the mouth of whichever boyfriend is currently playing as your unoccupied fingers swipe against the glass screen of your cellphone.

Whenever they have time to spare in between games or they're waiting the few seconds for their character to respawn, their hands will always find purchase on your head as they either run their fingers through the silky locks of your hair or pat your head for patiently waiting for him.

A variation of good girl’s or look at my pretty baby will be mumbled against your soft skin as they plant a kiss onto your forehead or cheek, gently showering you with all sorts of praise and affection.

((Kenny and Craig have found you asleep from this position from time to time, the repetitive motions of their fingers in your hair soothing you to slumber. When this happens, the boys are sure to baby you with gentle massages to your sore neck when your eyelashes softly flutter awake. The blonde will often joke about how they should get you a dog bed for underneath their gaming setup, causing you to pout and for him to pepper your face with an onslaught of kisses until you smile again. It’s hard to stay mad when he softly coos at you, Kenny greatly endeared by anything and everything you do.))

Sometimes, when you're feeling particularly needy, you like to sit on their lap so that both of your chests are pressed up against each other with your chin planted on their shoulder.

You'll either wrap your arms around their waist or drape them over their broad shoulders as you play with your own handheld gaming console behind their body.

((When you do this, Craig will often complain of the heat from the close proximity of another body and from the blanket thrown over your joined forms but he has never suggested that he doesn't like it or that he doesn't want you to do this anymore.))

If you're feeling playful, you like to tease them with small kitten licks to the expanse of skin you have access to, mixed along with the contrasting harsh suction of your mouth as you invoke a trail of vivid reds and deep purples for them to find later on.

Seeing their skin slicked up with saliva, you find joy when you blow onto the wet area and see goosebumps run along their entire body from the sensation.

Sometimes when you're feeling particularly possessive, you'll bite down just to see the imprint of your teeth against what's yours.

At a sight like that, this usually transitions into you grinding your body against their lap when you feel their hardening member underneath you.

It drives them absolutely crazy when small puffs of your hot breath quickly hits the column of their neck as you burrow your face into their skin, the sensation leaving you breathless and desperate for some much needed oxygen.

At this point, Kenny will immediately throw his controller carelessly onto the desk in front of him to go AFK so that he can get his hands on your body.

And because of his rush to touch you, he'll leave his headset on.

The blonde has absolutely no shame so he doesn't give a fuck when the boys start complaining and yelling at him for costing the whole team their win—they'll immediately shut up when they hear his low moans through the microphone, the breathy way he praises you for taking him in so well, and the lewd sounds of your slicked lips pressing against each other.

This doesn't work on Craig, however.

He chances a glance at you when you turn around from your usual position from between his legs on the floor but you just flash him an innocent smile in reassurance, your chin resuming its position against the top of his thigh but dangerously close to his crotch, more so than usual.

You'll play along with the material of his pants and the creases against the fabric in faux innocence as you watch a video on your phone, slowly inching your hand closer and closer to his member.

You palm him against your hand and the corner of your lips quirk up in a smirk when you can see his jaw tensing at the pressure you exert onto his body, his teeth clenched as he forms rigid replies to the boys.

He accidentally lets out a low but throaty groan when you place a wet kiss on the skin of his taut stomach, your unoccupied hand lightly skimming itself against his bare side and eliciting a shiver to rack throughout his whole body.

All the boys are quick to chime in with concern by asking if he's getting attacked or needs help from any one of them, Butters insistent in transferring a healing potion into the ravenette's inventory despite his refusal for aide.

Be prepared for the consequences when he finally finishes his games because that man will punish you.

"You act like a bad girl then you get treated like one."

The ravenette will edge you so that when you begin to feel the familiar build up of your release as he eats you out, you'll loudly wail when his hot tongue is immediately substituted with the cold air of the room that hits your weeping folds.

He'll sit you up on his lap while he's deep inside of you but you're not allowed to move or make any type of noise while he plays for a whole match.

He won't properly fuck you until you succeed with being quiet for an entire game.

♡*･｡ﾟ// TWO (Kenny):

Whenever you guys do long distance drives that amount to an exceedingly large number of hours to get to your destination, the group will typically rotate on drivers throughout the whole trip.

It's Kenny's turn to drive one of the cars that holds the boys to somewhere warmer for a camping trip (with the amount of people in Team Stan + Team Craig including Butters and yourself, you'll usually take 2-3 cars in total).

All the other guys in the car are fast asleep at the back so you don't even take a glance at the blonde driver to the left of your position at the passenger side when your hand innocently rests itself against his thigh.

When you start to lightly trail your slender hand against his slowly hardening member, Kenny's trembling fingers will reach out to turn up the music just a tad bit so that the blissfully oblivious boys don't wake up from any suspicious sounds.

You can hear his audible gulp amongst the snoring of the sleeping teens, his hand clenching it’s hold around the leather steering wheel in front of him as you nonchalantly stare out at the passing scenery from outside the window in an attempt to hide your smirk.

He'll sing along to the music playing in an additional effort to mask up the lewd noises but his words begin to get breathier and dangerously waver when your tongue pays special attention to the vein running along his heavy length or when you swirl your wet muscle around his leaking tip.

The blond will curse underneath his breath when he can't buck his hips up to fuck your mouth like he usually does because he doesn't want the sound of you gagging or the crude noise of saliva against your slicked lips to rouse the guys from their slumber.

Kenny accidentally swerves sharply on the road when your hand wraps around the remaining girth that doesn't fit into your mouth, expertly twisting your smaller hand around the base in time to your bobbing mouth when someone from the back lightly groans at the harsh motion.

His large hand tightens itself around the hair at the base of your head as you take all of him in and the slight tugging he provides feels amazing, causing you to moan against his member.

The vibrations from the sounds you make causes him to reach his climax, the blonde biting his lips so hard to muffle his groan that all he can taste is the distinct, metallic taste of copper.

Fortunately, the boys don't wake up until 5-10 minutes after your ministrations as Clyde begins to whine about needing to use the bathroom and Cartman starting to complain about getting some more snacks for the road.

When you're at the closest gas station, filling up your plastic cup with some flavored ice-cold slushie to sip at in the car, Craig will raise an eyebrow when he tastes Kenny's lingering bitterness in your mouth when he kisses you.

Kenny will snicker when the boy's start to admonish the ravenette after they see yours and his purple stained tongues, a result from the mixture of Craig's cherry slurpee and your blue raspberry against one another.

The guys complain and strictly reiterate to the three of you that it's a bro trip with absolutely no PDA being tolerated, not knowing that the blonde broke that rule first.

♡*･｡ﾟ// THREE (Craig):

It's a night in with the boys, a sleepover where the loser to the video game that they're currently playing has to go out and use Stan's car to buy some late-night snacks for everyone else.

Unfortunately for Craig, the monotonous teen lost when Jimmy played dirty and perfectly timed a harsh shove at the ravenette's shoulder when he was close to crossing the finish line.

You obediently follow him out of the door without being asked to because you always tag along with your two lovers whenever they have any errands to do and vice versa.

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull your body close to his in order to press a gentle kiss onto the side of your head, a wordless thank you being conveyed from the kind and loyal gesture.

As much as he wanted to, Kenny couldn't join because he's been on a winning streak, meaning he's not allowed to forfeit his controller until he loses his metaphorical crown.

You rub soothing circles onto the back of his hand, the both of you intertwining your fingers over the center console of the car when you notice him pulling over in the middle of seemingly nowhere.

"I want you, now" is the only explanation you get and you’d be fucking lying if your eyes didn’t seamlessly transition from confusion to clear want at how much this boy makes you feel so damn wanted, anywhere and at anytime.

The authoritative tone he commands you with mixes along beautifully with his deep voice and you haul your body into the backseat of the car as quickly as you can (you would've done anything the ravenette asked you without question, regardless).

"Careful babe, you wouldn't want to get anything on your brother's seats," he mumbles underneath you as his tongue teasingly circles around the entrance of your heat.

As you're riding his face, the teen's larger hands tightly grips onto the skin of your thighs when your phone begins to cut through the charged air of the vehicle with an obnoxious alert that lets you know that you're getting a call.

His cold fingers ground you from your haze-induced pleasure as he lightly drags his fingers along the expanse of skin exposed to him, the silver metal decorating his longer digits eliciting a cacophony of goosebumps along your trembling body.

Ring adorned hands grabs onto the screaming mobile device, Craig smirking as he answers the phone for you without pausing or relenting on his tongue's enthusiastic assault in between your soft thighs.

The boys call to tell you what snacks and drinks that they specifically want from the convenience store, your teeth gritting in frustration as they prolong it by fighting to have their voices heard over the others.

When he teasingly grazes his teeth against your highly sensitive bundle of nerves with a large hand shooting out to lightly grasp at the column of your neck, you can't help the small mewl that escapes from the confines of your mouth at the influx of sensations attacking you at once.

The boys ask if you're okay but you quickly excuse the sound by saying that a raccoon took you both by surprise, your breathy voice a result from running at the sight of the chasing mammal.

You snort when you hear Cartman call Craig a pussy bitch for that, the ravenette harshly sucking to reprimand you for laughing at his expense so you make it up to him by telling the large teen on the other end of the line to quit being defensive over his fursona.

With an already large group like yours, it's already a given that the call will be long with having all of the guys relaying their requests but you can't say anything as you grind against the ravenette's face in retaliation for lowly chuckling at your tortuous predicament.

Don't worry, he'll reward you for not making a suggestive sound throughout the duration of the phone call by fucking you in the sleeping bag that you both share that night (you couldn't help but stare at Clyde's drooling face in pity at his obliviousness to the situation but the sympathy doesn't last for long when a particularly deep thrust forces you to bite onto the material of your pillow to stop your high-pitched whine from coming out of your mouth).

Kenny develops a cute pout on his handsome face the following morning during breakfast when he sees a hickey on your neck that he knows he didn't leave on you when he fucked you himself an hour before the sleepover.

♡*･｡ﾟ// FOUR (Kenny):

During the half-time of one of the boy's football matches, you're granted a quick break as your team doesn't have to perform—it's an away game so the home school's cheerleaders take on the job instead.

Like always, you head to the concession stand to buy some extra gatorades, water bottles, and snacks for the boys (just in case!) for the bus ride back to school when Kenny catches you by the crook of your arm (the blonde has a special talent of finding you anywhere, even within a sea of moving people).

You softly smile at him when he interlocks your hands together as you both talk about the game, your eyebrow quirking up when you notice the detour that the blonde is taking as the halls become more desolate until there's no other person occupying it besides for you two.

You're not surprised when he leads you to a bathroom stall to fuck you in, the football player notorious between your two boyfriends for always enjoying a good quickie (it doesn't matter what time or where, as long as you're involved then he's always hard and ready for some fun).

He's also always more vocal between the two about how much he loves your cheer uniform on you.

The way that the thin fabric hugs your body, further accentuating your curves and the way your short skirt sits perfectly on your ass and thighs is just chef's kiss to him—whenever you wear your cheer uniform, you know that you're getting laid as long as you leave your skirt on when you fuck (as per the blonde's only request when you dress like that).

He especially loves to see you with your hair tied up, your pretty little cheer bow perfectly sitting at the top of your head like a present just for him (how can he resist when you're wrapped up so pretty like that? presents are meant to be opened).

The blonde plants you on his lap as he sits on the cover of the closed toilet seat, his thumb running along the quickly hardening nub of your nipple as his tongue swirls around the twin mound on the other side of your chest.

You can just feel his growing smirk against your skin when the entrance of the restroom opens, the voices of the boy's rapidly filling in the once quiet space as the blonde mischievously chose the male bathroom closest to the locker rooms and field.

You can hear all of your friends and even your damn brother talking to one another, taking the short reprieve from the game to relieve themselves before they're back on the artificial tuft of the field to play.

His legs expertly lift up so that they're not shown before he plants them on the flimsy stall door that provides a barrier between you and the others, one of his larger hands trailing up your face to stick two of his longer fingers into your slightly parted lips.

You understand the nonverbal demand as you begin to suck onto his digits, the blonde physically silencing every gasp and moan that threatens to leak out of your mouth.

His unoccupied hand reaches under your skirt (convenient and beautiful on your body, what's not to like?) so that his fingers can lightly trail against your thighs until goosebumps arise from his cool fingers before they gather the slick steadily pouring out of your heat.

Your body's reaction to his ministrations allows him to seamlessly run along your weeping folds, rubbing circles onto the small bundle of nerves that are desperately screaming for his undivided attention.

His foot will accidentally slip from its purchase on the stall door before quickly resuming its previous position when you lick the shell of his ear and lightly suck at his earlobe, the both of you hearing Cartman's distinctive sneer at the sudden noise: "Ew, was that a fucking rat?!"

When the bathroom finally clears (tears are already leaking from the corner of your eyes, goddammit), the blonde doesn't waste not even a second before he turns your body around to slam the front of it against the stall door, his pants quickly meeting the dirty, tiled floor to mercilessly pound into you from behind.

Another reason he loves when your hair is tied up is because it makes it easier for his slicked lips to attach themselves onto your neck—makes it easier for him to gather all of your hair into one hand so that he can pull on it and dirtily whisper into your ear, every word granting a puff of air that lightly tickles your skin.

When he finishes, he'll release all of his load inside of your tight heat and make you stay filled up for the rest of the game—he'll eat it out of you later, every last drop of it as a reward.

♡*･｡ﾟ// ONE (Kenny + Craig):

You and the boys are situated in varying positions around the backyard, the warm weather calling for an outdoor activity such as a barbecue to enjoy the rare rays of sunshine greeting South Park.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you begin to take suggestive pictures to send in your group chat with your two significant others in an attempt to rile them up in a setting where they're powerless to do something about it.

Craig warns you over text, relaying over the phone that he's currently using his plate of food to cover his damn lap at the sight of your body.

It doesn't take long before they relent to your teasing, the digital conversation quickly escalating to dirty talk and filthy promises of later.

You slightly jolt when you hear someone yell from the outside, your form immediately running to where everyone else is gathered on an assortment of plastic chairs or wooden picnic benches.

The first thing you notice is that every single one of the boys are staring at their phones with varying expressions of slightly parted lips, wide eyes, and red faces.

On either end of the spectrum is amusement in the form of loud laughter and smirks or disappointment slightly tinged with disgust (unfortunately, the rest of the boys will always see you as their little sister—even when you grow wrinkly and your hair turns grey at 100 years old. and no sane person wants to hear about their baby sibling’s private life, especially the intimate details).

You're confused until your brother’s screams: "I did not need a detailed description on how you two fucking bastards eat out my FUCKING SISTER!"

When Clyde sent a meme to the group chat containing all of the other guys and you just a few minutes ago, both Craig and Kenny made the amateur mistake of forgetting to switch back to the correct chat log.

The only thing the blonde is able to say before Kyle has to hold back a seething, red-faced Stan is: "Chill, dude. You act like you didn't hear us fucking in the bedroom next to yours last weekend."

"You fucking WHAT?!"

"... I thought you knew? Baby girl was being pretty fucking lou-"

Kenny, unfortunately, didn't get to finish his sentence.

#south park #south park x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #craig tucker x reader #kenny mccormick #craig tucker #south park fanfiction #lalawrites

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 2 days

Text

The Injured List

Batter Up Chapter 4

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Joel's just a baseball player and his back is killing him, good thing he has you to take care of him. Warnings: smut, Joel gets injured and can barely move, you masturbate and Joel watches, cum swallowing, you ride Joel's fingers. Words: 3,500

Masterlist Playlist

⚾️⚾️⚾️

“And I don’t know folks, doesn’t look good for Joel Miller,” the announcer intones, but his words disappear, all you can focus on is the image on your screen. Tears begin to stream down your face as you watch Joel writhe in pain on the dirt. This can’t be happening, you’re literally packing your bag for the flight home to Texas in a few hours. He has the All Star Game in two days, and right now he’s sitting on the ground shaking his head and grimacing as his manager, teammates and trainer surround him, their faces all shrouded in concern. The shirt you were folding drops out of your hand as you walk closer to the television, as if being next to the broadcast will change the outcome.

“Come on baby, come on,” you chant to yourself, nervously bouncing in place. You have nobody to talk to about your worry, except the man currently being helped up off the field by his trainer and coach. He looks pissed as he hobbles to the cart, you swallow hard realizing how angry and destroyed he looks. There goes the All Star Game, there goes his swan song of returning back to his hometown and old home field during what should be his final year of playing.

Your heart shatters for him, for you, for his career. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you still pack your bag. You text Joel that’s you’re leaving now.

“What a shame. Miller’s out…” Your dad texts you later that night. Little does he know you’re reading his text as you take the elevator up to Miller’s apartment.

The sound of Joel’s keys in the lock startles you out of your daze, you jump from the couch, hopping over the ottoman to meet him at the door.

He looks haggard and tired.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, his face looking less defeated at the sight of you. “You didn’t have to come here, m’sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I wanted to be here,” you delicately wrap your arms around his neck, rising up on your tip toes and giving him a kiss before grabbing his bag from his hands. “I couldn’t not be.”

It’s the first time you’ve been together in over two weeks, this is absolutely not the scenario you were expecting. Usually the first time you see each other after long stretches of time your first stop is the bedroom, both of you excited to touch each other and get all of your long distance frustrations out in bed. Tonight, it’s different, the first stop is the bedroom, but the only thing on your mind is taking care of him.

“I appreciate it baby, you’re too good.”

“I know I am. Now, come on, I got the bed all set up for you.”

——

“Well, I better get used to this damn room for the next week,” he grumbles limping into his room.

“Good thing I already have the next week off so I can keep you company.”

“You can still go home, ya’ know?” Joel plunks down on the edge of his bed. "Don't want you missing the game and your family on account of me."

“And leave my injured boyfriend all alone? What am I a monster?” You kneel down in front of him, unlacing his shoes and pulling each one off.

“No, just feel bad you have to give up your vacation to take care of me,” his voice is soft as he grabs your chin and pets your cheek.

“Listen,” you climb up his legs, placing your hands on his thighs, “I get a week of you stuck in bed, that’s better than a beachfront villa in Tahiti. Plus, I refuse to let a nurse or anyone else help you get undressed and bathe.” You untie the ties of his joggers. “Now, let’s get you in bed and I’ll take care of you.”

You hold out your hands to help him stand, he takes them and rises with your assistance, grimacing as his back moves.

“Should we ice it, or is the heating pad good for now?”

“Heat’s fine,” he croaks.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine, just really fuckin’ hurts.”

“Here, I’ll help with your clothes, do you want sleep shorts and a shirt?”

“No, just a pair of underwear’s fine.”

“Right,” you turn and head for his closet to grab a new pair.

“Hold up, just… I’ll get it.”

“Why?” You turn around, shrugging your shoulders. “You can hardly move.”

“Just, don’t do any digging, okay?”

“…..Okay, I’ll grab the first pair I see then,” you angle your eyebrows at him.

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm,” you say as you turn and walk into his closet.

“Damnit.” You hear him groan from the other room as you open his underwear drawer.

“Don’t do anything I can help you with!” You shout grabbing the top pair of boxer briefs fighting the urge to look through the drawer.

Joel Miller is always cool, always put together. You don’t think there’s ever been a day that he’s looked pathetic, up until today and the sight that greets you when you walk out of his closet.

“This sucks,” he miserably huffs, standing by the bed, his pants halfway down his legs, the hem of his shirt rumpled up around his chest.

“Oh baby,” you giggle. “See, how could I leave you in this state?”

You kiss his cheek and bend down in front of him, grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling them down. “Step out,” you instruct, looking to find he’s staring down at you, his eyes hooded, the same look he gives you in bed. “Don’t get any ideas Mr. Miller you can hardly move.”

“Could probably move enough.”

“Bullshit, it’s not happening tonight Joel,” you stand. “Trust me, I want it too, but it’s not happening. Now, let’s get your shirt taken care of. Can you raise your hands for me?”

He nods and raises his arms, trying to disguise his frown.

You lift the hem of his shirt gently rolling it up his chest while trying to ignore the fact that he’s now almost fully naked in front of you.

“You know,” he says as you slowly roll his shirt up his head and outstretched arms. “Just because I’m out of commission doesn’t mean you have to be.”

“Joel,” you breathe out placing his shirt on your shoulders. “Stop.”

“I missed you— ’n your body, if I can’t have it, at least lemme look at it.”

“We’ll see,” you bite your bottom lip, the angel on your shoulder is telling you the best thing for him to do right now is rest and sleep, the devil on your shoulder that looks like your handsome boyfriend is telling you to let him watch you get off. “Hate to say this now, but I have to take your underwear off.”

You kneel down in front of him, thinking how stupid you are that you’re now face level with his crotch… and he’s already half hard.

“Fuck, this sucks,” he tips his head back exasperating as you grab his waistband and begin to pull his boxer briefs down.

“I know it does,” you whisper your mouth beginning to salivate as you expose his half hard cock, it feels like you’re unwrapping a forbidden present, "but I’m here to take care of you baby.”

“You can’t call me baby,” he sighs, “when you’re... down there.”

Joel’s underwear pools at his feet, you stare straight forward at his half hard cock, your mouth dropping open at the sight.

“I’m also going through things too,” you whisper as you tap on his legs so he can step out of the fabric at his feet. “I gotta put your underwear on.”

“Mm,” Joel lifts a leg as you pull his underwear up, your hands forced to feel the skin of his legs, the hair is soft against your touch.

“Christ, can feel your breaths against me, you gotta stop,” he whines.

You hold your breath as you pull the black fabric up over his crotch, finally hiding the temptation.

You stand back up, focusing on getting Joel ready for bed, the stick of your soaked underwear against your skin getting harder to ignore.

You spread the heating pad out on his side of the bed, bending over to plug it into the socket behind his bedside table.

“You look so good bent over like that, hate my goddamn back,” he bitterly mutters.

“Can’t stop you, can I?” You chuckle. “I’m just glad you were able to shower at the ballpark.”

“I’m not,” he huffs out sitting on the edge of his bed gingerly twisting and lifting his legs up, resting his back against the wall of pillows you’ve placed against the headboard.

“You good?” You hand him the remote control and the heating pad controller.

“Yeah, m’fine, thanks.”

“Need anything?”

“No, just want to feel you in bed with me.”

“I know, just have a few things to do first.”

You gather Joel’s dirty clothes in your hand, depositing them in the hamper inside his closet. Your eyes glance over at his underwear drawer, why does he want you out of it? You know it’s not a ring, it’s too early, he knows that. It could just be nothing at all… you let the wonder escape your brain with a shake of your head. No need to worry about it right now.

You take your clothes off, sighing internally at how wet your underwear is with your arousal.

“Where’s the sleep shirt you’ve been keeping for me?” You peek out of his closet.

“It’s already in my suitcase on the floor.”

You nod. “Thanks.”

“You naked in there?”

You roll your eyes at his question. “Yes.”

“Lemme see.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you unzip his suitcase, finding the shirt folded right at the top, as if he couldn’t wait to give it to you as much as you couldn’t wait to receive it.

“Please baby, it’s been a long fucking day and an even longer two weeks.”

“Fine,” you walk out of his closet, the only piece of clothing is his shirt in your hands. Joel’s eyes darken as you walk over to the bed. “Happy?”

“Thank you,” his eyes roam your body. “Missed you pretty girl.”

“Missed you too,” you blush.

“Come lay next to me, it just hit me how little I’ve gotten to touch you.”

“I should probably get our phones from the living room, just in case."

“Please don’t, it’s all a bunch of texts and articles I don’t want to deal with right now, I just want to be with you right now.”

The frustration in his voice makes you climb in bed and lay next to Joel, carefully placing your head on his chest.

“This okay?”

“Of course it is. Wish I could wrap my arms around you and hold you close, fuck, you feel so good.” His hand comes up to your face, rubbing his thumb against your chin and lips. “God damnit, this really sucks.”

“I know, but I’m happy doing this too.” You grab his hand away from your face. “Can’t believe I never asked you, what does this mean?” You trace the three circles on Joel’s hand.

“Had a bullseye board my dad used to use for hunting practice, would put it out in the field behind my house, my brother and I would spend hours trying to hit the ball off the tee and have it hit the target. Went ‘n got this the night after I won Rookie of the Year.”

“Cute,” you bring his hand up to kiss the tattoo. “I remember that banquet, I thought you were so hot. God, I thought that since I was eighteen maybe you’d talk to me because I was older. Ridiculous.”

“Dark blue dress, your hair was pulled back ’n you had a gold headband.”

You audibly gasp, dropping his hand out of yours, his palm thudding against his chest.

“Yeah… yeah, that’s— wow, that’s what I was wearing.”

“I know, and I would’ve talked to you if your dad wasn’t the one signing my checks or holding my future in his hands. I remember talking to your mom, and you were right behind her, you looked so beautiful it was hard for me to pay attention to her.”

“I remember that, I loved listening to you talk. God, I can’t believe we’re here. Look at us now.”

“Look at us now,” his low chuckle vibrates against your head. “Speaking of looking, I’d really like to look at you.”

“You have been Joel.”

“No, I want to look at you, please, I’m gonna keep pulling the injured card, but let me watch you touch yourself.”

“Joel… I don’t think that’s doctor’s orders.” You want to touch yourself, you're so wet, just from being near him.

“Please, darling, it’ll make this day not totally suck.”

“Ugh, I can’t argue with that. Joel Miller wins again. Where do you want me?”

“At the foot in front of me, wanna see all of you.”

Your body thrums as you climb down his bed. You love how excited you are to touch your pussy for him, he adores your body, worships it.

“Spread your legs for me, wide, want to see your pussy drool all over my sheets.”

You sit up and face Joel, leaning back on an outstretched arm opening your thighs wide, your naked body lit by the soft glow of the lamp on Joel’s bedside table.

“Fuck baby girl, look at that, can see how wet you are, you’re absolutely fucking soaked.”

You can see how his cock is hardening underneath his boxer briefs. It drives you even crazier.

“Rub your pussy for me,” his eyes burn into yours, the timbre of his voice urging you forward.

Your hand snakes down your torso, dipping in between your folds, a moan leaves your lips feeling how wet you are, Joel groans as you begin to touch yourself.

You do this all the time for him on FaceTime, but you’ve never done this in person, your leg draping over his, your arousal dripping onto his sheets. You love how you can see the way his eyebrows wrinkle as his big eyes dart from your eyes to your pussy and back.

“That’s it baby, you look so fucking amazing.”

You can’t believe your luck, both good and bad. Good luck that you’re close enough to watch Joel grow harder as he watches you fuck yourself. Bad luck that Joel can’t be the one fucking you.

“Stick a finger in, lemme see it,” his hand dropping down to grip his bulge. “Not gonna do anything, pressure’s just helpin’ me.”

“You okay?” You ask, your finger paused at your entrance.

“Course I am sweetheart,” he smiles, “I’ll be just fine. This is good, real good. Stick it in for me.”

You raise your hips to meet your finger and begin pumping it in and out of you, your palm resting against your clit. You focus on Joel’s thick fingers forming around his sheathed hard cock, you stick another finger in to try to stretch yourself the way he stretches you.. It’s nothing compared to him.

“Greedy girl,” he growls, his fist tightening around his bulge. “Fuck, you’re so hot. Thank you for doing this for me.”

You want to give Joel a show, he deserves it.

“Joel,” you whimper sticking a third finger in. “You always feel so good in me, love it when you fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He breathes. “Love how you squeeze me, you squeezin’ your fingers for me?”

“Mmhmm,” you moan, your legs beginning to shake as you fuck yourself harder, your palm knocking against your clit. Your heavy breathing and the sound of your fingers shoving in and out of your hole growing louder and faster bringing yourself closer to your climax.

“That’s a good girl, missed you so much, missed that sweet pussy of yours. Can see you getting close, you close for me?”

You nod as an idea pops into your head. You scoot yourself forward, your cunt now right in front of his free hand resting on his thigh.

“Touch me, just, stick your fingers in, don’t move them, let me do the work?”

“Fuck. Yeah? Okay baby,” he sounds practically giddy at your suggestion. “How many?”

“Three, I need to feel you,” you order as you kneel on your knees hovering over his hand.

He nods, his face with a serious, determined expression as he sticks his fingers up for you.

You lower your pussy on them. Fuck. His fingers are so fucking thick, opening your cunt even wider as you sit on them. Joel lets out a long, low groan as you bury his fingers inside of you.

“Baby, oh god, you’re fucking soaked for me. Jesus, you feel so fucking silky and soft. Fuckin’ squeezing me so hard.”

You begin to rub circles around your clit, bringing your other hand to cup your breast as you begin to ride his hand. The feel of his skin against yours, the way his eyes bore into you as you slide your cunt up and down his thick digits, the guttural gasp he lets out as you squeeze his fingers tight chanting how much you wish his fingers were his cock edge you even closer.

His head thuds against the pillow as you grind harder against him, your wet dripping down against his knuckles. His hand still grips his cock, you place your hand on top of his, tracing the tattoo with a finger, the same circles you draw over your clit. He stares at his hand, his brows furrowing as he watches you trace the ink on his skin.

You move your hips on him as he stays still, he’s being so good to you, knowing you’ll worry about his back if he oversteps his boundaries.

“Feel so good when you touch me,” he whispers, his hand clenching and unclenching around his length. “Just a fuckin’ finger on my hand and it’s driving me crazy.”

You love him so much, you know today has been hell for him, you’ll deal with that later, right now all you want to do is let him forget about everything using your naked body as a distraction.

You can feel your orgasm beginning to peak, your cunt clamping around his fingers. You’re close, so fucking close.

“Oh, babygirl, you’re going to cum aren’t you? Fuckin’ strangling me, wish it was my cock so bad. Let go for me, lemme feel it.”

It’s been so long since you’ve felt his touch and now your cunt is pulsing around his fingers.

“Fuck,” you stare open mouthed as you notice the dark spot on Joel’s underwear from his leaking cock. Your orgasm waves through you at sight, your slick gushing out soaking Joel’s fingers. You grab his cock and yank it out of his underwear as you rock through your climax, fuck your self imposed so-called “doctor’s orders” you want to touch him.

“Stay still, stay still,” you pant as you spread his precum all over his shaft, stroking him.

His head nods ferociously, eyes widening as he bites his top lip, his hand curling into a fist resting atop his chest.

“I know, I know,” you raise up off of his fingers, leaning forward to kiss him. “Cum for me Joel. Give me your cum,” you moan against his lips.

“Yes,” he chokes out.

“You’re being so good, laying so still, letting me do the work for you.”

You stroke him faster, twisting the tip the way you know he likes it, he lets out a long groan, letting you know he’s there. You quickly clamber down the bed sealing your mouth over his cock. His body stays perfectly still, the only thing moving is his head nodding against the pillow and his cock throbbing as his seed shoots down your throat. You swallow all of it down, happy to be able to finally taste him.

“Thank you baby,” he whispers, “needed that. You’re so good to me.”

“You deserve it,” you smile wiping your mouth and pulling Joel’s underwear back up. “I know today wasn’t easy on you, but I’m going to be here for you every step of the way.”

“I love you,” he sighs, his eyes already turning heavy with exhaustion.

“I love you too,” you lay down next to him, making sure to gently rest your head on his chest.

“You’re so good at turning my bad days good. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

——

Joel falls asleep quickly. You sneak out of bed and softly pad out to the living room to grab your phones, remembering you need to set an alarm for his meds.

They sit on the coffee table, right where you left them.

Joel has too many missed texts.

You have a few texts too, the most recent being from your mom.

Your stomach drops as you read it.

“Aren’t you flying in tonight? Why are you in Philadelphia? Please call.”

A/N: Hello, there is an awful lot of foreshadowing going on here.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #baseball joel #baseball #baseball au #tlou au #batter up #baseball fic

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teaboot · 12 days

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What are your favorite pieces of media?

hhhhng Uhhhh

growing up, probably The Pendragon Chronicles- from what I recall it's a series of books about a kid who has to correct cataclysmic events on a bunch of separate worlds caused by a being who intends to end life on all of them.

One world is Modern Earth, where he's the only one able to use the portal to travel to other worlds, one is 1920's Past Earth, one is Future Earth in a sort of cyberpunk setting, one is a desert planet in the midst of war, one is a jungle world in which the dominant species is a race of bipedal cats, one is a water world where all food is farmed on a series of island-sized boats.. and I think that's all of them, unless I'm forgetting?

And on each world there's one guardian, and they meet up and fight and shit, and they can't blow their cover on any world, and each world has a large, distinct world-ending event brewing- The water one may lose their source of food, for example, and in future-earth people are wasting away in a virtual reality game they become addicted to.

It's one of the rare long series of teen books that I feel had a pretty satisfying ending despite the huge buildup, and I'd really recommend it to anyone interested.

I also really like X-Men, and Trigun, and while I haven't seen the new Percy Jackson series it was UNCONTESTED my number one favourite- I still have it on my shelf, absolute A+.

Aaaaand.... I enjoy the Batman Fandom more than most of the comics themselves but I'm in there, too. Was a homestuck cosplayer back in the day, as well. Loved Gravity Falls, loved Steven Universe.

Six Underground ins my favourite "sick at home" comfort movie. Also the only two John Wick movies in existence, shame they never made more sequels. Lord of the Rings. The Princess Diaries. Stardust. Ella Enchanted.

Oh, and the Inkheart books were FABULOUS. Really, they read like nothing else, just such a fantastic and unique flavour in fantasy!

Uhhhhh. Hellboy, too. Hell's Paradise. Bleach. Darker Than Black I vaguely remember enjoying, but I have the DISTINCT MEMORY of despising season two, so fuck that shit, whatever it was.

And I remember... oh, maybe twelve years ago, now? Really liking the spy series Nikita, and the urban fantasy Lost Girl, though I don't think I finished either.

Oh, and Elementary is a must-watch!

Poirot, too, and Perry Mason, and Midsommer Murders.

Also Blown Away, glassmaking reality series, and Forged In Fire, a bladesmith reality series.

Kitchen Nightmares, Hotel Hell, Hell's Kitchen, all good.

Puppet History. Watcher. Game Changer.

And webcomics Dead End and Check Please.

................I may need to spend more time on this

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much-ado-about-whumping · 1 year

Text

Help for when you’re having a rough time

(If you're looking for my old pinned post with my whump masterlists, you can find it here.)

In light of some deeply sad news in the whump community today, I’m thinking about how many of us here struggle with mental health, sometimes including physical or mental self-harm and suicidality. Since I know lots of folks might be having a hard time right now, I wanted to share some resources that have helped me in rough moments. Please feel free to add on to this post (or make your own, if you want!) with the resources that have worked for you.

First, a note:

Trauma, shame, and suicidality all tend to isolate - they make us feel like we’re all alone in the world, like no one else would understand us, and like the only solutions we have available to us are ones we can think of all by ourselves. In my experience, the antidote to that is connection. If you’re feeling scared or alone, you can hop into my asks or DMs if you want. I’m sure there are other folks in this community who would offer that, too. Many of us have grappled with mental health struggles, including suicidal ideation, and sometimes we can offer each other the care that can be hard to offer ourselves. Don’t be afraid to reach out if you need support.

A quick note about location: I live in the US, but about half the resources in this post are written guides you can access from anywhere. The hotlines and warmlines linked below are US-based. One or two are accessible in Canada or have an online chat or moderated forum that could be accessed anywhere. If you have good local resources from another place, please reblog and add them! (Thank you, @straight-to-the-pain, for flagging this in the notes!)

That said, here’s my absolute first recommendation if you’re feeling generally awful and don’t know what to do:

1. You Feel Like Shit (also available at its original site here)

If you’ve read a lot of ~self care tips~ in your life (and if you’re a bit of a salty bitch like me), you might be sick of being told to eat something and take a nap. (I don’t think we can hydrate our way out of long-term trauma and late-stage capitalistic hell, but thanks.) That said, I’ve found this site REALLY helpful. Personally, I have ADHD and CPTSD, a combination that makes it ROUGH for me to know how to take care of myself sometimes. This site speaks to you calmly, like a non-judgemental friend, and walks you through steps that you might struggle with if you have a hard time with executive function in general, or if you’re ill, grieving, overwhelmed, or otherwise just off your game. I pretty much always walk away feeling at least a little better, even if I don’t complete every step.

There are more suggestions and resources below the cut. Wishing everyone in this community love and care. <3

2. The 15-Minute Rule (info available in many places; after a quick google, I really like this site as a place to start)

One key principle to understanding the resources I’ve put together here is the 15-minute rule. If you’re feeling an urge towards physical or mental self-harm or suicide, studies show that the urge is unlikely to last more than about 15 minutes at its peak intensity. (Sorry I don’t have data on this off the bat - anecdotally, I can tell you that this rule also tracks with my own personal experience.) This means that, if you’re presently feeling overwhelmed by grief or pain that’s turning inwards on you, if you can stay afloat through the next few minutes, the tide of it is likely to ebb. The site I linked above has information about this concept and some great harm-reduction ideas, too. (Another resource on this that I liked in my quick search is here.)

3. Read This First (a compassionate distraction from feelings of self-harm)

I’m gonna be honest; this resource is aimed at folks having urges towards physical self-harm, but it looks like something I would find helpful with urges towards emotional self-harm, too. (It also looks like it could be handy for body-focused repetitive behaviors - BFRBs - like dermatillomania/skin-picking or trichotillomania/hair-pulling).

4. Resources from Pete Walker, psychotherapist and author of Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving

Obviously not everyone reading this will have complex PTSD (also called C-PTSD), but if you’re a person who, in general, tends to beat yourself up a lot, I’d highly recommend checking Pete Walker’s work out. If some of it doesn’t apply to you, that’s okay - take what you need, and leave the rest. This site (and the book it references most heavily) assumes you may have had parents who were emotionally or physically abusive or neglectful. If that doesn’t ring true for you, but other parts of the resources seem helpful, use them anyway! A handy place to start maybe this page on Shrinking the Inner Critic in Complex PTSD (that is, reducing the volume of the voice that screeches unpleasantness at you when you feel ashamed or scared).

As a note: this website looks VERY mid-2000s (which I kind of love). Most of the resources you want will be in the right-hand column full of links. Some of those links will open new pages, and some will automatically try to download a PDF of the article you want to read.

5. Warmlines:

This is something I just learned today - if you’re feeling really lonely and sad, but you’re not in immediate crisis, there are warmlines you can contact! These seem to be numbers where you can call (or sometimes text) to talk with a counselor or trained peer when you need support and connection. I can’t vouch for any of these numbers personally, but as someone who has definitely thought, “It’s not bad enough to REALLY need help,” I think this is a fabulous idea. Here’s a list of warmlines you can check out in the US.

6. Specialized hotlines:

There are lots of good crisis hotlines out there, but some may be better for your needs than others. For one thing, if you’re feeling seriously suicidal, it’s good to know the policies of the hotline you’re calling. In my opinion, everyone deserves bodily autonomy and the right to refuse care; for that reason, I think it’s important to know the policy of the hotline you’re calling as to whether or not they’ll call emergency services without your consent. Everyone has to make their own judgment call on this one, and I’m a little too (lightly!) triggered to go deep into my analysis on this right now, but I wanted to flag that it’s something to be aware of - if you’re going to call a hotline, you can try to look up their policy on calling emergency services before you contact them. You could probably even ask them in the beginning of the call. (A script: “Before we start, can you tell me what your policy is about contacting emergency services on behalf of callers?” If this is true, you can add: “I’m having some feelings of [suicidality/self-harm], but I’m safe and am not in danger of hurting myself or others.”)

With that in mind, here are some hotlines that seem promising to me, in no particular order:

A. For queer and trans folks in general:

Trans LifeLine

Available in the US (1-877-565-8860) and Canada (1-877-330-6366)

Available in English and Spanish

Will NOT call emergency services without your consent (you can read more about this policy on their website, including here)

Peer to peer support for transgender and questioning folks; also, microgrants (small amounts of money) for trans-related needs!

Does not offer text/chat-based support

I’ve never used Trans LifeLine myself, but I’ve heard excellent things about it from peers who have.

The Trevor Project:

Support from trained counselors for queer, trans, and questioning folks

Definitely available in the US; I’m not sure where else.

Offers support via phone (1-866-488-7386), text message (678-678), and online chat (link here - scroll down to Start Chat)

Also offers an online peer support space, TrevorSpace, for folks ages 13-24

Their site says, “In very specific instances of abuse or a clear concern of an in-progress or imminent suicide, Trevor counselors may need to contact a child welfare agency or emergency service.” When you click Learn More, it takes you to their Terms of Service (informative, but in legalese that might be hard to parse if you’re in crisis).

Again, not a service I’ve used myself, but I’ve heard good things!

B. For BIPOC folks (Black folks, Indigenous folks, and people of color more broadly), especially those who also hold LQBTQI identities:

Call Blackline:

Available via phone or text (both at 1-800-604-5841)

Available for people in crisis. Call Blackline can also help connect you with local community organizers and officials if you need to report a negative, inappropriate, or physical interaction with police, other law enforcement, or vigilantes.

From their website:

Call BlackLine® provides a space for peer support, counseling, reporting of mistreatment, witnessing and affirming the lived experiences for folxs who are most impacted by systematic oppression with an LGBTQ+ Black Femme Lens.Call BlackLine® prioritizes BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color). By us for us.

Here’s what I found regarding their policy on emergency services:

You do not have to provide any personal information to use the service. All calls remain private and will never be shared with law enforcement or state agencies of any kind.

Of course, a BIPOC person can contact any hotline for support, but for people dealing with racism, anti-Blackness, and other specific bigotries, I can very much see the importance of talking to someone who shares or understands that experience.

C. For folks processing bad psychedelic trips:

Fireside Project:

This one is something I didn’t even know existed! They do call- or text-based support (1-623-473-7433, or 1-62-FIRESIDE) for people processing psychedelic drug experiences, available 11am to 11pm Pacific time. I don’t have a ton more info, but their site seems really interesting and like they’re serving a unique need.

7. A soothing distraction:

One of the glories of the internet is the fact that it enables us to conjure up images of kittens at a moment’s notice. In that vein, I want to offer up a VERY cute distraction: Peptoc is a hotline (1-707-873-7862, or 1-707-8PEPTOC) where you can hear encouraging messages in English or Spanish from kindergarteners. How sweet is that? (Thanks to the wonderful @newbornwhumperfly for this suggestion!)

--------

Beloved whump community, I want to know about things that help you when you’re struggling. Please feel free to share them if you want.

And, Moya - we’ll miss you so, so much, even those of us (like me) who didn’t know you well. May your memory be an absolute blessing. <3

(I was going to put this in the tags, but oops, it’s going up here - I really hope this post will be helpful to someone, but it was also helpful to me to build. I feel better in a crisis when I can find a way to help - it’s how I soothe myself when I’m sad or scared. I really hope this doesn’t seem preachy or self-aggrandizing - it’s really just me processing-processing-processing. <3)

One more note: if this post makes you think you might want to follow my blog, you're totally welcome, but you should check out my note here first. This is not a DNI list; it's just a heads-up about my content, which could be inappropriate or triggering for some people.

#whump community #how to be a person in the world #ways to stay afloat #suicide mention cw #suicidality mention cw #self-harm mention cw #resources for taking care of yourself #bel talks #touchstones #sorry another disclaimer but also i know my experiences are not universal #my feelings might come from a really different place than other people's feelings #idk for instance if any of the shit in this post would have been at all useful to moya #but I'm sharing it anyway in case it's useful to SOMEONE

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