#but the people who say those things are meaner- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sutorus · 7 months

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THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach.

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility.

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do.

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man.

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you.

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—).

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like.

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year.

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it.

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives.

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him.

but you damn well managed to.

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair.

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit.

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately.

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class.

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there.

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours.

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed.

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are.

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know.

but you knew for a fact that it was personal.

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance.

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively.

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow.

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply.

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class.

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious.

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test.

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you.

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well.

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class.

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild.

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another.

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages.

you smile, waving at the screen.

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.”

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying.

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had.

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip.

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help.

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.”

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you.

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong.

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself.

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again.

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that.

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this.

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest.

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know.

damn right it’s personal.

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation.

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off.

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over.

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger.

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on.

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair.

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet.

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you.

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums.

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.”

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from.

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo.

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction.

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently.

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you.

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest.

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom.

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue.

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly.

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now…

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun.

you could so easily forget what you came here for.

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn.

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest.

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together.

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two.

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh.

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief.

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips.

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan.

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core.

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin.

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside.

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips.

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you.

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again.

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat.

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive.

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock.

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds.

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly.

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.”

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of.

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees.

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper.

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face.

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants.

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved.

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside.

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth.

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would.

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones.

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man.

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo.

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks.

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time.

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over.

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt.

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core.

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you.

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs.

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else.

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear.

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt.

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn.

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him.

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you.

he notices you looking.

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk.

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip.

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him.

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head.

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better.

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair.

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized.

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers.

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this.

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle.

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back.

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening.

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts.

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out.

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in.

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you.

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade.

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go.

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin.

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt.

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips.

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you.

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom.

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.”

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you.

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts.

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you.

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you.

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer.

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release.

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got.

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you.

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure.

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you.

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of.

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy.

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows.

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips.

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?”

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession.

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles.

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

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mr-ribbit · 4 months

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this isn't meant to soften or reduce the objective transmisogyny + additional hate action going into this, but since the people running these harassment campaigns are acting like they're literal baby children who need their hands held to understand anything, maybe this needs to be said:

what you're doing and how you treat trans women on this website is fucking MEAN. if you want to sit there and honestly convince yourself that you're *not* a transmisogynist or a transphobe or a misogynist or any other type of bigot - like if you genuinely believe that and are confused why people are calling you these things - then maybe we need to start from little primary colored building blocks and tell you that you're being fucking mean and rude and actively harmful to real people who read the things you say. im not sure why we need to start off with "trans women have feelings" - just kidding I know exactly why we need to - but maybe you don't.

no matter who you're talking to, do you honestly think accusing someone you do not know of being a pedophile, en masse, behind their back /and/ in a public forum, is a reasonable way to treat someone for making a tumblr post about video games or political opinions? even if you strongly disagree with the post, you think someone deserves to be treated like that by people they don't know? take a second please and sincerely imagine how that would feel. wouldn't it be scary? wouldn't you wonder who the people were who thought this about you - if they're people you know - if they're just a few people that will continue saying mean things to you forever or if there are thousands of people who choose to dedicate their time and energy specifically to making you feel bad? if you accidentally write a post in the wrong tone or unknowingly interact with a shitty person, that there are uncountable people that will keep track of that just to hurt you later? that's fucking horrifying

and to zone in on what's specifically happening here: do you think randomly accusing people of being pedophiles or sexual abusers has no effect on them? like a lot of you tend to excuse yourself in these discussions by saying "I didn't actually see the context of what they were saying" or "I didn't see that they apologized already" or "I didn't actually understand the post was a joke" or whatever other kneejerk response to make sure *you* aren't seen as a bad person. do you realize that makes you look even meaner? you didn't bother to actually follow up on a thought you had about someone before sending them hateful messages or making public accusations about them? those actions are harmful whether or not you like the victim at the end of the day.

believe it or not some people you send this shit to are survivors of abuse themselves, or have their own historical personal reasons to be weighing in on a touchy subject. when you baselessly decide it's ok to call someone an abuser of any type, that person is probably *also* disgusted by whatever horrible shit you're accusing them of. as someone that hates these things as much as you do in order to attack someone for them: what do you think it's like to have complete strangers think that about you? how many eggshells would you walk on if random people thought so little of you that they were ok doing this?

it's mean. it's heinous, cruel bullying, and if you genuinely think you are not doing it from a place of transmisogyny or hatefuk bias over the victims' identity, then you need to understand that that's not an excuse. "i didn't even know she was trans" ok, it was still mean to call her a pedophile with 200 of your closest friends in public. "im trans so it can't be transphobia" ok it was still mean to assume someone was endorsing abuse when they were talking about being accused of abuse. "i didn't see the post where she said it was a joke" ok it was still mean to actively harass someone without bothering to look into the full context.

at the end of the day, yes, obviously I still think you're all transmisogynist assholes who are clearly willing to gang up on a woman who has nothing to do with your problems simply because she dared to speak on them. i think you're bigoted and unwilling to examine that if it means giving up your vitriol against someone who doesn't like your favorite video game or whatever excuse of the week. but like even if you were just doing it for love of the hate game, it's fucking weird heinous shit and i hope you're happy having that be a central part of your life

to be clear: im not transfemme and if I'm overstepping or talking over anyone please let me know. im not speaking for anyone's actual experiences except my own, which is the experience of being angry at how much literal bullying and harassment I see excused on this so-called progressive queer blogging website

#cw transmisogyny discussion #cw discourse idk #sorry pls tell me if im out of line and for gods sake dont go harass anyone ELSE if you dont like my post

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sweetpastillas · 6 months

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i Love NPMD's subversion of the trope where the supernatural haunts the bullies who rightfully deserved it. you have famous horror figures in movies who hurt the characters for revenge, because those characters held some power over them or knew someone who did – think carrie white, or iterations of freddy krueger or jason voorhees, the latter's mother, etc. you have modern stuff like unfriended and subsequent films within the genre, where "the ghost did this because they were bullied by the protags" becomes the main premise. because the trope is a staple in horror, whenever it shows up we think the characters deserve these deaths for what they did to the victim anyway; we just come for the spectacle. the inciting incident itself always shows their pre-existing behavior and actions, and explains why the movie happens.

but the thing that NPMD does is give that power to the bully. max is able to continue terrorizing nerds because of what was done to him. the only reason we don't completely sympathize with him (i would love those fix it fics where he gets to change after the accident) is because we understand the nerds' point of view. they dont do it because they would get a kick out of seeing him humiliated, they do it to get him to stop hurting them. they do it to survive. thats why we know they dont deserve it.

imagine if NPMD was a super serious horror film, where the waylon house accident was a flashback only shown in the 3rd act? it would be a decently sized twist to know that our brains are used to expecting a sympathetic backstory to the ghost or an evil side to the gang when no, he was the asshole.

i also love how it subverts the other horror trope too. usually the aforementioned horror icons go after those popular kids because of a movie's intent to punish vices. people who party and fuck are meant to die. if it were any other characters like, let's say, teenage and meaner tom houston and becky barnes, they would be wiped off the board without a thought.

but the protagonists are the titular nerdy prudes. people who want to party and fuck but dont. who only could in a world without max's strict social hierarchy, when outliers to their group like steph could be able to convince them to.

i also dont know if this has been said before but man i love figuring it out now

i probably have more thoughts on this but uhh later I LOVE YOU STARKID

#starkid #npmd #nerdy prudes must die spoilers #npmd spoilers #team starkid #nerdy prudes must die #im sure im not the first to realize this but come on pls its so cool to think about #hatchetfield

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charliemwrites · 3 months

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Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.

Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.

(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)

CW for threats, dirty talk, objectification, and dubcon. Please stay safe! 💕

You thought you were done with this.

Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.

And now you’re all but being dragged back.

You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.

“Laswell.”

She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”

You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.

There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.

“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.

“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”

You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.

“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”

A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.

“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.

You frown, rifling through mental files.

John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.

You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.

You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.

“Is he the… asset?” you ask.

Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.

“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”

Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.

“Why?” you wonder.

Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”

You already miss being out.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.

—

Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.

You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.

There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.

“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”

A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.

On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.

The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.

But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.

“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.

From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.

The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.

The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.

More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.

He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.

“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.

Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.

“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”

It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.

His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.

You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.

“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”

You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.

“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.

“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”

You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.

“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”

“The information first.”

You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.

Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.

“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”

Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.

The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.

Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.

“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.

You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—

“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.

The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.

He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.

As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.

And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.

“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”

“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.

“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”

Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.

“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”

You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.

You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.

“Come. Here.”

Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.

When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.

He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.

It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.

“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”

A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”

You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.

A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.

“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”

You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.

“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.

You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—

“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.

His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.

“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”

You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.

“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset John soap MacTavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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faefictions · 3 months

Text

Snow in Indiana

Eddie Munson x Reader

5.7k words

Eddie has spent the past decade thinking about the pen pal he lost touch with, but fate has a funny way of bringing people back together when they need it most

Warnings: family death (unedited bc it is 3am and I have been working on this for hours)

“Dear Eddie,

Does it Snow in Indiana?”

He had read the beginning of the note hundreds of times by now. He had memorized how each individual letter had been written and slightly smudged. He knew the entire contents of the letter by heart, but that never stopped him from coming back to it from time to time.

“My grandma hasn’t told me much about Hawkins, just that it’s just like home. Except it’s on the other side of the country. Grandma likes the snow, so I hope you say yes.”

Something about the innocent nature of your writing calmed him down when things got rough. He had received the note in the middle of August at the beginning of 6th grade. Your grandmother had just moved across the country, and she just so happened to be the Librarian at Eddie’s new middle school. She had told both of you that the other could use a friend, even if you were thousands of miles apart. She also insisted that being pen pals would improve both of your lackluster reading and writing skills. She meant well.

“Can I tell you the truth? I didn’t want to write you a letter when grandma called and told me I should. My teachers say I’m not good at writing anyway. But Grandma also said maybe you and I could be friends. And I think I would like that.”

Some of your words had been crossed out with pen, either from misspellings or second thoughts on phrasing. Eddie had stared at the paper for so long that he even knew what was underneath those scribbles.

When the snow started coming down each winter, it was hard for him to not want to keep the letter on him at all times. The opening line of your first letter to him always floated into his head with the first snowflakes.

He had written you back to assure you that it does snow in Indiana, that he too had troubles with pleasing his teachers with his school work, and of course, that he too would like to be friends.

That was over 10 years ago now. He had never met you, never heard your voice, never learned what you looked like (besides the poorly drawn picture you had included for him one time) but you had been a part of him for his middle school years.

The letters started slowing down in the 8th grade. You had told him you were nervous for high school, that you’d heard that kids were meaner there. The last letter he had sent you was in the summer before both of your freshman years. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he had said, what his last words to you were. All he knew was that he wished you luck for your first day.

Then the letters stopped completely. After months of checking mailboxes impatiently, he got the hint and gave up.

At the age of 24, he wishes he sent another letter. He wishes he got some closure on why you stopped writing. He had always wondered if it had been something he had said, or maybe you had just found new friends in high school and decided you didn’t need him anymore.

He was embarrassed to admit that it was his first heartbreak. So he refused to admit it even happened to anyone he knew now.

He tucked the old letter in his pocket as another patron entered the diner. He had picked up a second job as the night cook in hopes of saving up enough to to move out of the trailer with Wayne. It had been months of helping Wayne with bills now, and he was just barely starting to see the hard work pay off in his savings account.

He peeked out the pass through window to get a glimpse of the first customer they’d had in the last hour and a half. The snow had been coming down hard, and it was preventing the already few people who would be coming in to the diner at this hour from showing up. He wasn’t surprised to see the young woman, somewhere around his age, follow the waitress quickly to the booth in the corner and sit down. He was, however, surprised to see no new car in the small lot outside. He hadn’t seen headlights arrive or depart to drop her off. The snow that has accumulated on her hair, even thought it has been covered with a hood, was making him think she had walked a distance to get here. If the counter hadn’t been blocking his view, he would have seen the bottom of her pants completely soaked through from the snow piled outside to confirm his suspicion.

“Can you start on a stack of pancakes, Ed?”

He nodded at the waitress, Judy, who wasn’t usually one to whisper like she was now. She rushed off to the phone in the back office, which did nothing but pique the interest in Eddie’s under stimulated brain.

Curiosity got the best of him, so he made his way out of the kitchen quickly, grabbed a mug from the counter and the full coffee pot, and made his way over the girl in the corner.

You had been staring out the window, and Eddie recognized the look as he approached. You were doing your best to hold yourself together. He was used to this kind of customer at this time of night. People who really needed the company, who had nowhere else to go, often found their way here after midnight. But there was something different about you, and it wasn’t just that he had never seen you around town. No matter how hurt he could tell you were inside, you did your best to keep up a facade when you saw him approaching.

“Coffee?” he offered, less poised than he had intended.

“Please,” you smiled up at him as he set down the mug and poured. He allowed himself to take you in, and that’s when he saw the snow still caked on to your sneakers, and the damp cloth stretching from the hem above your ankle nearly up to your knees. There was snow yet to melt from head to toe, and you were trying your best not to shake from the cold.

“You walk here?” He tried to make light conversation as he chuckled, but you weren’t as chipper.

“My car broke down about a mile up the road. Walking was my only option,” You tried to keep the smile on your face, but Eddie saw the look, almost like a shunned child. As if you were embarrassed by what you had done, preparing for the lecture or consequence coming your way.

Before he could say anything, Judy returned from the back office.

“Tow truck won’t be running ’til morning, darlin’. But I left a message telling them you’d call first thing,” Judy gave you a halfhearted smile, before turning to Eddie, “Where’s that stack I told you to start on?”

“Right, sorry,” he quickly excused himself back to the kitchen, but did his best to listen for the conversation you were having on the other side of the room.

“Where are you staying tonight? I can try to get you a ride there.”

“My grandma’s house, well it used to be I guess. I think it’s just a few more miles into town, I’m not a hundred percent sure though, I’ve never been out here.”

“Used to be your grandma’s house?”

“Yeah, she, uhm… passed away not long ago. Hard to own something six feet under,” you tried to joke, but failed to make either of you laugh, “Funeral service is next week, I came early to pack up her things. Guess I chose the wrong day to drive in though.”

“I’d say. Well let me see what I can do, do you have the address?”

“Yeah, it’s right…” you trailed off as you checked your pocket, slowly coming to realize that you had left the torn piece of paper with the address written on it on your passenger seat, right on top of the map you were struggling to follow in the heavy snow. “Guess I left it in the car.”

Just as the realization was threatening to break you, Eddie came and set a fresh stack of 3 pancakes in front of you.

“You eat up, it’s on the house. And let me know if you remember any of that address,” Judy smiled at you and walked into the back before you could refuse the free pancakes.

Eddie watched you for the next hour through the pass through window. No other customers came in, so he didn’t exactly have anything better to do. It was nearing 4 am, the end of Eddie’s shift. He had cleaned his station in the kitchen faster than he ever had and made his way out to your table to check on your before he left.

“Any luck with that address?”

“Don’t think I’d remember it with a gun to my head. I might as well walk back and grab it.”

“Not a chance. My shift is over in a few minutes. Why don’t I drive you back to your car, you can grab it, and I can get you there.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

“No need to be polite. You’ve had a rough enough night, let’s just get you home.”

You didn’t correct his phrasing. This was the furthest you had ever been from home, and you were sure as hell feeling that in this strange diner with barely a concept of where you were. The snow falling outside only exacerbated your feeling of being out of place.

Eddie rushed to the back to grab his belongings and wish Judy a good night, letting her know he was going to get you out of there, before he made his way back out to you. You had brought the hood of your sweatshirt back up, and were staring out at the snow silently. He approached cautiously and gently spoke, “Let’s get out of here,” before guiding you through the door.

“I’m Eddie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier.”

You paused at his name, but he was too busy trying to find his van through the wall of snow to notice.

“I’m y/n, thanks again for helping. You and Judy are both angels.”

He smiled at your name for a moment, but kicked the idea from his mind.

Both of you thought of the letters you had sent all those years ago, unaware that the person climbing into the same car as you was in fact the person you were reminiscing on.

Eddie shook the snow out of his hair like a wet dog before starting the van.

“Left out of the lot?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

“You know, I’ve helped fix up a few cars in my day. I could take a look under the hood for you when we get there if you’d like.”

“You’re already helping enough, thank you though.”

“I really don’t mind. Can’t hurt just to take a look.”

The glance and smile he shot you made your stomach do flips. In the low light of the passing, sparse streetlights, he looked incredibly handsome. Your mind wandered back to what you thought your Eddie looked like back in middle school. You had sent him a drawing of yourself, mostly as a joke since your drawing skills as a 12 year old weren’t amazing, but you were also trying to send him the message that you desperately wanted to know him better. Of course, when your grandmother had insisted you become pen pals with a strange boy, you weren’t too happy about the idea, but as time went on, the sound of a friend sounded too nice. You hadn’t had many of them in elementary school, and it concerned your family. But as your friendship with Eddie grew with each letter, you found yourself hoping for something, anything, more. Now, as an adult, you blame your adolescent brain for the silly crush. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him from time to time, still wondering what he might be doing in that moment, or if he is happy. But most of all, you wondered if he missed you as much as you missed him.

“You doing alright over there?” he asked you over the quiet metal playing over the speakers. He was playing it at about 1% of the volume he usually listened at, in an attempt to not scare you off just yet.

“Yeah, just a long night,” you smiled back at him. He nearly assured you that you could be real with him, that he could tell that something more was bothering you, but he worried that would be coming on too strong. And before he could find a way to say it without sounding creepy, you pointed out your car on the side of the road with a sigh.

It had only been a couple hours since you had left it, but it was nearly buried in the snow.

“That’s a little more difficult to check out,” He chuckled as he pulled to the side of the road, lighting up your car with his headlights.

“It’s fine, I’ll just go grab the address and we can get going,” you tried not to sigh as you opened the passenger door.

“Wait a second,” Eddie reached for your hand before you could make it out of the car, “I’m fine with taking a look, and I can grab the address too. No need for you to get cold again.”

“I already walked a mile in the snow earlier, I don't think a minute out there will kill me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay in here if you ask me.”

“Fine, but skip looking under the hood. I can call the tow truck when I wake up, it should be fine until then. Even if you could fix it with nothing, I don’t think I should be driving any more today.”

“Long trip?”

“Since 8 am. I really just want to get to sleep.”

“Deal,” he smiled again before stretching his hand out to you, “Keys?”

You reluctantly let him have the keys to go grab the paper, but not before trying to assure him you were capable of grabbing it yourself. You watched him as he rushed as fast as he could through the near foot of snow, grabbed the address, and rushed back to the van.

“You didn’t lock it,” you stated, nervous to not to sound nagging.

“I know, do you have a bag or something I can grab for you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, where is it?”

“It’s in the back seat on the passenger side. It’s a small black suitcase.”

“You got it, here, take this,” he handed you the torn paper with your grandmother’s previous address written on it in a handwriting that would have been familiar to him, had he glanced down at it.

He ran back to grab your suitcase, and made sure to double check that the doors had locked after he shut them before he rushed back to the van. He threw your suitcase in the backseat before jumping back into the drivers seat.

“I don’t know how you lasted a mile in that, I’m already freezing,” he complained, but his smile still refused to leave his face.

“I’m sorry,” you tried yet again to apologize.

“Don’t be,” he paused to look you in the eye to assure you that he wasn’t upset in the slightest, “Now let’s see that address. Hopefully I actually know where it is.”

You handed him the paper, and even in the low light, you couldn’t miss the way his face fell, even for a millisecond. He hadn’t seemed to stop smiling all night, but the second he saw the paper, it faltered for just a moment.

“Everything ok?”

He looked up at you, and you could tell he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

“Yeah, uhm, this is on the other side of town though. It’s a bit of a drive, is that ok?”

“I’d rather drive a little further than stay in my car tonight. So yeah, it’s fine,” you giggled, relieved that he didn’t seem angry or annoyed with you like you thought.

But he had seen the handwriting. He would know it anywhere, yet he still wouldn’t let himself get caught up in the coincidences. You were just a girl with similar handwriting, and the same name. You weren’t his y/n. He could never be so lucky.

“So, what brings you to town?” he asked after a moment of driving.

“It isn’t the happiest story, and I don’t want to be a bummer.”

“I’m nosey, and that does nothing to curb my interest,” he joked. He just needed to prod, he needed to know if he was being crazy.

“My grandma passed… about a week ago now. Her funeral is next week, but someone needed to clean up her house for the service, and no one else wanted to make the drive out.”

“Do you have any other family in the area to help out?”

“No, she only had 2 sons. My dad and my uncle, and they’re both back west. She moved here, like, 12 years ago now I think. Maybe 13.”

Just another coincidence. He’s not this lucky.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t heard that yet. Just stressed adults complaining about how traveling in the winter was too much of a hassle. Hearing those words, from a near stranger no less, was enough to make you tear up. And Eddie could hear that in your voice when you thanked him, but he chose not to comment on it.

“So,” you began after a moment of awkward silence, “How long have you lived in Hawkins?”

“My whole life.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Uh… It has its moments,” he tried his best to hide his discontent with the town. If it weren’t for his uncle, his band, and his small group of friends, he would have ran for the hills by now. He was too attached to them to run… and also lacking the funds to do so.

“That good huh?” you laughed.

“Hate to sound like an ass, but there are definitely plenty of cons that outweigh the pros for me half the time. But that’s not everyone’s experience.”

“Grandma seemed to like it, but she also liked it back home, and it’s no cake walk back there.”

You almost spat the end of your sentence, and although it wasn’t spoken explicitly, Eddie understood.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep bringing the conversation down. It’s just been a really long week.”

“I believe it,” He paused, “So how long are you going to be staying in town then?”

“I have no idea. Rumor is Grandma left me the house. And even if she did…. I’m sorry, I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours now, and driving for over 15 of them. I know you really don’t need to hear any of this.”

You started to make your body as small as possible, hyper aware of how loudly you had been speaking, and how riled up you were getting. Your father would have hated to see it. But not Eddie.

“No, keep going. Like I said, I’m nosey, and it sounds like you could use someone to talk to about this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agreed nonchalantly, unaware how much it meant to you.

“My grandma and I were really close before she moved. She didn’t get along with either of her sons, but she was the world to me as a kid. And my dad put up no effort to even reach out to her in the past decade, but he expects all of her stuff to be left to him, and my uncle wants the same. But my mom told me that one of them had reason to believe that she left it all to me. I don’t even know where they heard it, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, I promise. I just don’t know what to do about the two grown men that she apparently left out of the will if that’s true, and how mad they’re going to be at me.”

“They wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“You don’t know my dad,” you scoffed. You knew damn well that the man wasn’t afraid of throwing a tantrum, especially if it came to money. And he wouldn’t care if you were the one getting hurt in the process.

“What would they have to be mad at you for though? For your Grandma loving you enough to leave you something to start your life on? How is that your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s my fault, they just care that they get their share. If it’s left to me, I might as well just divvy it up before they say anything.”

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“I just don’t want to have any issue with them.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not fair to you.”

“You really need to stop being so nice, you’re going to make me cry,” you chuckled, genuinely fighting back the tears as you spoke.

“Sorry,” he chuckled back. He took a subject before continuing. “Have you seen the house? Like have you ever visited?”

“No, actually. Who knows, maybe it’s a real fixer upper and I’d be better off passing it on to my uncle,” you giggled, and that put the smile back on Eddie’s face.

“If I didn’t mess up the address, it should just be in this next neighborhood.”

You kept saying that all you wanted was to get some rest after your long day, but now that you were talking to Eddie, you didn’t want the drive to end. The disappointment hit you like a rock as he pulled into the driveway of your grandmothers old house, but the feeling quickly turned to something else as you looked out the window to see the beautiful 2 story house with large trees on either side.

“So much for the fixer upper theory,” Eddie said with a whistle, but you were speechless. This was much more than you had been anticipating, much nicer than you had spent your younger years picturing every time you missed your grandma.

“You ok?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just taking it in,” you chuckled nervously, still staring at the house.

“Why don’t we get you inside?” He said, reaching in the back for your suitcase. You put a hand gently on his arm to stop him, and he looked up to see your nearly empty stare, still on the building in front of you.

“Can you give me just a minute? I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“No, it’s fine… Are you ok?”

“Yeah…Yeah, It just,” you trailed off for a moment, “I hadn’t seen her in years. Had no idea what her house looked like, or what she looked like anymore. I got letters, I got calls, but… Part of all this didn’t feel as real. Going in there, that’s real.”

“Want me to come in with you?”

“No, that’s fine. I just need a second.”

“Have you ever lost anyone before?”

You didn’t answer, just shook your head as you moved your eyes from the house to him.

“Let me walk you in. You shouldn’t be alone for that.”

You looked back at the house for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded your head.

Eddie carried your suitcase through the front door, and you both kicked off your shoes before stepping on the carpet. You took a deep breath before reaching for the light switch. Eddie sensed your hesitation as your fingers hovered. He took the opportunity to grab the fingers of your other hand. It gave you enough courage to turn on the light in the entry way.

The furniture was mostly unfamiliar. You could see a few pieces in the living room that you had remembered from your childhood, and the sense of nostalgia calmed you. Eddie let you walk ahead of him, letting go of your hand as you ventured further into the room. Slowly but surely, you made your way to a wall on the other side of the room. It was covered in pictures, new and old, of your grandma with family and friends. You recognized yourself in plenty of them, but the newer ones were the ones that you couldn’t stop looking at. She looked so much older that you had remembered, but still had the youthful glow to her that you had attributed to her mischievousness. No matter how old she got, how wrinkled her face grew, or how gray her had and gotten, you still recognized her. Part of your heart began to ache for not knowing her as she was before she passed. It had been so long.

You felt Eddie approach you from behind, and you expect him to say something nice, or encouraging. But he didn’t. He was surprisingly quiet. You turned to make sure he was alright, but he didn’t seem fine. He was staring at one of the photos on the wall, and he looked like he was about to be sick.

“Are you ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, still white as a sheet as he tore his eyes from the photo to look at you. He barely shot you a half smile before looking back up at the pictures. You took a step back to stand next to him.

“I just remembered that she worked at the middle school when she moved here. Did you know her?”

“Yeah.”

“…Did you like her?” you tried asking after waiting for him to say anything more.

“Yeah, she introduced me to my best friend.”

“Me too,” you smiled at the memory of your old pen pal.

“Someone back home?”

“No, actually. I probably shouldn’t refer to him as that still. We haven’t spoken in… years actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, finally peeling his eyes away from the photos on the wall.

He should have said more, but he didn’t know what else to say. This was her. He was in shock. The girl he had spent the last decade wondering about had wandered into his diner. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute, he felt like he could physically hear them, and it was hard to focus on anything you had possibly said. But luckily, you weren’t saying much.

He followed you like a ghost as you explored the first floor of the house. You were happy you had arrived before anyone else. You had the chance to see the house how she had left it, how she had lived in it. It gave you a sense of closure you weren’t going to get otherwise, it felt as if you were getting a sense of knowing her once again. You were caught up in it until you saw a clock on the wall, reading nearly 5 am. Realization hit you that you were keeping Eddie, and a sense of guilt washed over you. You turned to find him, with a bit of color returned to his face.

“It’s really late, I’m sorry I’ve kept you. You can go home if you’d like. I’m sure you want to get some rest too after your shift.”

He took a second, before asking, “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” And you hesitated before nodding.

“Honestly, the roads are pretty bad out there. I could stay on the couch, help you figure out your car in the morning. How does that sound?”

He way have been a complete stranger just hours ago, but you really did feel like you could trust him. So you smiled and nodded.

“I’ll go find some blankets for you,” you smiled before disappearing up the stairs. Eddie didn’t expect you to come back for a while. You were bound to find your grandmothers bedroom and need to look around for a while. He made his way back to the living room while he waited. He stared at the wall again, but not in shock this time. Now that he knew was 24 year old you looked like, he desperately want to see what 12 year old you looked like. He found a picture near the middle of the wall, of a young girl smiling at the camera. It was the only photo on the wall without your grandmother in it. She had your eyes, had your smile, but most importantly, she actually looked like the drawing he had received all those years ago. You weren’t as bad of an artist as you’d thought. Eddie tried not to grow emotional staring at the photo. He only tore his eyes away from the picture of younger you when he heard you making your way back down the stairs.

Before you could reach Eddie, you paused by the window next to the back door, blankets in hand. The snow coated the back yard, reflecting the light from the back porch into the sky. You began to tear up, just as Eddie approached to take the blankets from you. He saw one of the first tears fall down your cheek, and quickly, but gently put an arm around you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… Is this what it looks like every winter?” you asked, looking up at him with misty eyes.

“For parts of it, yeah. Why?”

“Grandma loved the snow,” was all you could reply before looking back out at the yard.

He contemplated it for a second, fought himself on whether or not this was the right moment to say it, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I told you she’d like it here”

A moment passed as you processed what he had said. You gasped quietly, quickly turning your head to face him. He looked nervous, as if he had just handed his heart to you on a platter, waiting to see if you would reject it.

“Eddie?” you asked cautiously, and you both knew what the question really was.

“Yeah,” he nodded, still nervous and unable to read what you were thinking.

“You stopped writing,” was all you could get out before another tear dropped.

“What?”

“Y-you stopped writing,” you repeated, beginning to choke on your breathes as you spoke.

He nearly panicked as he tried to reply.

“Y/n, w-what do you mean? I only stopped writing when you stopped replying.”

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” you couldn’t stop looking at him, another tear dropping down your cheek. Your exhaustion was exaggerating your emotions, but you may have felt the same regardless. You had waited 12 years for this moment.

“Yeah. Why don’t we go sit down,” he smiled at you, before herding you towards the couch.

“Y/n,” he spoke softly as he crouch in front of you, one hand resting on each of your knees as you sat on the couch, “What do you mean I stopped writing?”

“I sent you a letter, you never replied.”

“That’s impossible, I waiting for months to hear back from you. There’s no way I missed a letter from you.”

“No, I sent one, and I waited, but you never replied. You broke my heart Eds,” you quietly began to sob, filled with too many mixed emotions.

Eddie quickly sat next to you on the couch and pulled you to his chest to comfort you the best he could, but he was still confused. He had checked his own mailbox, his neighbors mailboxes, other houses in town with the same street number as his trailer. This didn’t add up. He quietly shushed you as he thought.

“What did the last letter say?” he asked as you began to calm down just slightly. He had half the collection of your letters memorized, but especially the first and last. He would know if he had read it if you described it.

“It was before Freshman year, I told you how scared I was that all the kids were going to be mean. I was so afraid that I was going to get singled out for still having no friends, and I waited for months to hear back from you. But you never wrote back. You were my only friend, and you stopped writing.”

“No, sweetheart, I would never,” he sighed as his heart dropped. He got that letter, he replied to it. Which meant that she never got his last letter. Neither of them had stopped writing on purpose, they had both assumed the other had given up. But he had sent out one last letter that was unaccounted for.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me,” he gently guided you to look up at him, “I promise you, I wrote back. I don’t know what happened to it, but I never would have stopped writing like that. I thought you had just ignored my last letter.”

“You wrote,” you said quietly, and Eddie couldn’t tell if it was a question, or if you were trying to reassure yourself.

“I did, I promise,” he whispered as he swept a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

And though you still needed to know what happened to his letter, and you had had one of the longest days of your life, nothing mattered more to you in that moment than leaning in, slowly. You took a second, pausing right before reaching his lips so he could pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t. It was a quick kiss, but it was gentle and sweet. Eddie didn’t try to pull you in for another, but he didn’t want to part as you pulled away.

It took him a second to open his eyes again, but when he did, he was smiling just as big as you.

“You ok?” he asked for what must have been the hundredth time that night. But unlike every other time you had answered, this time you told him the truth.

“I am now.”

(may or may not be already trying to figure out a part 2 for this, depending on if people like it <3 )

@embrace-themagic @fanficparker @heartbeats-wildly @saturn-aka-six @calum-hoodwinked-me @peterplanet @mischiefmanaged49 @nicotine-sunshine820 @itsjusttor @emistrash @thenoddingbunny-blog @sovereignparker @raajali3 @eddielives1986 @eddieswifu @chickpeadumpsterfire @fluffybunnyu @panagiasikelia @canthavetoomuchchaos @whenshelanded @starlitlakes @witchwolflea @ali-r3n @g0thdraculaura @celestcies

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #line cook!eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine

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livwritesstuff · 2 months

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Question- do Steve and Eddie (mostly Eddie) only do the fun, lighthearted pranks? Does Eddie ever try a “meaner” prank (i.e., “I hit your car with mine,” *waking from a dead sleep* “get up my boyfriend is coming,” ‘not saying I love you before leaving,’ etc.)? How does Steve (yes, he’s a therapist, but there’s still a trauma response because of what he went through) react to it?

I 100% think Eddie pulled some shit earlier in their relationship (like, pre-kids era) that he learned real quick not to repeat for the sake of his relationship with Steve (which he really does value, no matter how many of his behaviors might contradict that).

Like, maybe he once answered a phone call, and when Steve asked who it was (it was Robin), he said, “Oh, no one. Just my other boyfriend.”

(Robin just said, “Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie,” and hung up).

Steve did not appreciate that one at all, obviously.

I also feel like Eddie might have gotten somewhat lax about Hazel’s adoption (because it was their third go of it at that point and they already had her older sisters and they had the same judge as the last two, which made it basically a shoe-in in Eddie’s eyes, so he didn’t really feel like he needed to be all that checked-in), and maybe Will is learning how to use Photoshop for editing at the time, so Eddie sends him a picture of Hazel being tossed up into the air by Eddie and asks him to edit it to look like she’s way higher up than she actually is because, to him, that’s funny, and he thought Steve might find it funny too.

He turned out to be very incorrect. Steve was incredibly upset, and they ended up having a very long argument about it (because, in Steve’s opinion, that photo in the wrong hands meant game over for their adoption case, and he would never forgive Eddie if he did something to screw up the adoption).

As Eddie gets older, he finds the mean pranks less and less funny.

I feel like the only people who really find those meaner pranks funny are young people – kids and very young adults, so Hazel sees that leave without saying I love you trend on TikTok and doesn’t see any issue with it at all, but when she tries to convince Eddie to try it on Steve, he outright refuses.

“Oh c’mon,” Hazel goads, “I bet it’d be funny.”

“Nope,” Eddie replies, because he knows for a fact how that kind of thing cuts deeper for Steve than their kids realize, “Not doing it, Haze. Give it up already.”

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mikaela-the-slut-expert · 3 months

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rrriiight i was thinking of a hualian x reader thing. the reader is a bit cold and apathetic but caring of two certain people and had been all the way through with hualian like for example, had served xie lian when he was still a prince or helped hong er from time to time. but somehow they just vanished and never came back.

surprise surprise, whilst hualian and some other gods were on a mission, they got attacked let’s say (or were in danger) and guess who came to save them? reader! and thats when it clicks for hualian. that was you. you weren’t gone. so- they never let you get away ever again.

just an idea that came to mind :D

In the Back of Your Mind

Hua Cheng x gn!reader x Xie Lian

I'm so sorry it took so long! I try to put my life updates in my bio, but I've been very busy moving houses! So I'm rlly sorry and I hope this is good!

I didn't know if you wanted reader to be a ghost or a god but I made them a ghost

Because gods don't usually disappear for like ever? Idk uhm if you don't like that just tell me and I'll edit it!

Made up a scenario that puts Xie Lian and Hua Cheng at a disadvantage

Ignore grammar mistakes

Slight OOC!!!

Made up details about reader and their life

____________________________________

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng are very happy with their relationship and their life

But something's missing

Someone's missing

They haven't seen you in a very, very long time

It's been centuries actually and you still haven't shown up

But they haven't forgotten you, even though you've been missing or maybe even dead they still think about you in the back of their head.

Xie Lian misses you dearly

You had served Xie Lian during XianLe and had always been by his side.

You took your job seriously and it was your first priority to keep Xie Lian happy

You served him well and fought for him too

Your loyalty to Xie Lian was deep and everyone could see it

Everyone knew you loved him besides Xie Lian of course.

Because it was obvious! You wouldn't utter a word to anyone else

Your presence was a cold force to anyone besides Xie Lian

You were always quick to create space with anyone who came near him too.

It seemed like you couldn't care less for anyone else's problems but Xie Lian's.

Not that it mattered to you, as long as you could stay by his side it didn't matter what you were

Whether you were his servant or guard, whether you were next to him or below him, whether he used you as a step or tool.

You never minded, you'd do anything for him even if he wouldn't do those things.

You stayed by his side when Mu Qing and Feng Xin disappeare

You stayed when his palace fell

When his parents died

When Xie Lian started on a bad path

When he turned meaner, rougher, and angrier so that he wouldn't be hurt by the world again

When he grieved because he had been done wrong

You stayed with Xie Lian for as long as you could, and you loved him deeply every second of it.

But then someone took you from Xie Lian.

You never came back

Hua Cheng misses you just as dearly.

You took care of Xie Lian so well and then you just disappeared

When Hong er as caught by Xie Lian obviously he couldn't take care of Hong er by himself

But when Xie Lian was busy, everyone else was too disgusted to touch him

And Hong er didn't want to be in anyone else's arms either

You were different though, even though you were a servant like Mu Qing and Feng Xin you reacted differently

You held Hong er gently, as if the mongrel child would fall to pieces in your arms

You wouldn't let anyone touch him or try to kick him out of the palace

Always quick, you would settle a cold glare on someone if they tried to pull Hong er from your arms

Taking care of Hong er was just as serious as taking care of Xie Lian to you

You spent a lot of time with His Cheng like that

So after Hua Cheng's first death he searched and searched and searched

He never found the two of you

When Hua Cheng had finally found Xie Lian he was so excited to finally see you both again!

Even though he doesn't want to reveal his secret just yet, he hopes the two of you won't find him disgusting for his actions

But. . . You weren't there.

Don't get him wrong Hua Cheng is very happy to see one of the loves of his life after searching so long but you have never left Xie Lian's side so where are you?

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng continued their relationship and their story without you

Which was unfortunate but what could they do?

They had both tried to search for you and found you no where

Things are always changing though

🦊🪷

It was just another mission, and it should've been quick and easy. Especially since Xie Lian and Hua Cheng tagged along. Hua Cheng was only here for Xie Lian though, no one else. The mission didn't go smoothly though.

Missions rarely go smoothly when you're in the dark woods, with lots of monsters, and a heavy fog covers the forest. Not smooth at all when lower gods are bickering with Hua Cheng and Xie Lian.

They all got lost and wherever they ended up in these dark woods, had a block on the arrays. Xie Lian can't call for help or reach the heavens and neither can the other gods. What's worse! Powers are blocked too! It's like they've all stumbled upon an area of complete silence as if they were muted.

So even Hua Cheng is struggling a little bit right? Can't break the blocking energy source if you can't find it! Of course the gods all split up, leaving Xie Lian and Hua Cheng alone. It doesn't matter to Hua Cheng if his powers have been weakened or not he'll still do everything he can to protect Xie Lian from the monsters in the woods.

The more time Xie Lian and Hua Cheng stand around in the fog the more things they see. The deeper they go, the thicker the fog gets. And the thick the fog gets the more people they start to see the more things they start to see. It's not a good thing though, it's all illusions and they figured that out quickly when Hua Cheng swipes at a humanoid figure that looks just like Xie Lian.

Xie Lian doesn't have the time to solve the problem because him and Hua Cheng have a big possibility of being hurt right now. E-ming and rouye refuse to move. Hua Cheng will happily use his body and hands to defend Xie Lian if he has to though. Xie Lian says that's silly and chooses to run, dragging Hua Cheng along with him. The foggy ghosts only chase, and it's hard to run in such thick fog.

In fact the fog is so thick that eventually after running so long the ghosts give up on running after them. Xie Lian thought they were safe now but when he looks back Hua Cheng is gone.

Xie Lian shouts for him and tries to look around but the more he looks around the fog the more humanoid figures he sees. they're just. . . Fog. If Xie Lian could see Hua Cheng right now and he still wouldn't know if it was the real one.

The fog is dangerous, creating illusions of people Xie Lian already knows or things from his past, trying to trick him. He's only more lost and he doesn't know how to get out of this mess. It's actually very stressful, how does the fog know all these things, how is it forming the people he used to know and love?

Hua Cheng is in the same predicament. He wanders around the fog and at one point he thought he found Xie Lian again but when his hand wrapped around Xie Lian's arm, the figure turned in vapor. They're both lost. They're both being surrounded by crowds of foggy figures.

Just before the foggy figures are able to touch them the fog disperses though. A loud screech Is heard in the air, a sudden cold breeze blowing past Xie Lian and Hua Cheng, then the fog settles down. It turns out they weren't that far from each other at all and Xie Lian has never run into Hua Cheng's arms faster.

When they both see a foggy figure again they get nervous. One, because the fog has dispersed so they thought they were safe now. Two, it looks like you. Xie Lian already hates the fog he's already seen awful things but he doesn't want to see you like this. Not the fake you.

He can't help but tear up when 'you' try to urge him to come forward, but with the fog gone so is the blocked energy. Xie Lian shoots rouye out, trying to make the awful sight go away by rouye wraps around a surprisingly very sturdy wrist. You grip on rouye and pull Xie Lian forward a little, uttering a small "Dianxia, Hong er"

They know it's you, even though it seems so unbelievable. Xie Lian is literally jumping on you and knocking you to the ground. Hua Cheng manages to act a little more suave but he'd be a liar to say he isn't astonished. It's just a big pile of tears, embraces, and "I love you's".

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng waste no time bringing you home, they cling on to you desperately. Even if you just want to explore Paradise Manor it doesn't matter, both of them are at your side. They absolutely refuse to let you go. As if they're scared, if they look away you'll vanish again. Xie Lian and Hua Cheng just won't let that happen! They love you very much and they've missed out many years of loving and caring for you. They plan to repay all the missed affections

____________________________________

Uhhhh here it is! I hope it's good 🤔 honestly I feel a little eh about this but let me know what y'all think 🖤I don't know if this is exactly what you were imagining anon but if it wasn't this make another submission in like deeper, exact details and I'll try again okay!

#tgcf #tgcf headcanon #hualian #hualian x reader #tgcf x male reader #hua cheng x reader #tgcf hua cheng #tgcf hualian #tgcf xie lian #xie lian x reader #mxtx tgcf

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traegorn · 5 months

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Okay. So I got a super long ask that is... a lot. And it's anon, so I can't respond privately -- but I want to address it.

Y'see, sometimes I get asks which I'm pretty sure get sent to me just because I'm a witch who happens to publicly exist on the internet. Like the person sending it to me doesn't seem to be someone who's familiar with the kind of stuff I say -- or else they probably wouldn't have sent it to me to begin with. And they ask me for advice or help though. So I feel like I want to give it still.

But it's probably not the advice they think they want.

Let's see how this one starts:

So this is how it starts. Now the first thing you might be asking yourself is "When has Trae ever talked about 'demons' online?"

The answer is never. This is not a thing Trae talks about. Frankly, I don't even like the word, because it frames the supernatural world in a very Christo-centric viewpoint. Like I believe in noncorporeal things and "energy-shit," and I believe those things can be malevolent -- but calling them "demons" invites a framework I literally do not believe exists.

(You can think whatever you want -- I'm not in charge of you. I do think plenty of witches need to unpack their Christian upbringings though)

The other problem with the "which demon" line is that it implies some sort of authoritative list exists that wasn't just some jackass occultist writing down everything he could think of to piss off some Christians -- or some Christian pissed at some non-Christians trying to other and villainize them. These two kinds of people are largely where 99% of those lists come from.

If a noncorporeal being exists, and if it's malevolent, and if it's "attached" to someone... it's just some guy, y'know? This isn't some grand story. When someone gets mauled by a bear, we don't say "But it was Lord Ursus! King of all Bears!"

Nah. It's just "that bear over there ate Bob's face." We might name it then -- "That Face-Eater" -- but it's not special.

Anyways. That's just the first paragraph. There's so much more, I'm going to put in a cut.

Okay. So... The person "Dabbles." You know I'm a witch, right? And that I literally promote people dabbling? Like I want folks to try stuff out. And like when y---wait, SUCCUBUS? I read that, right? You think she's a literal succubus.

Can she shape shift like in that Piers Anthony book?

This is where I kind of immediately fell off. Like, no ma'am -- she is not a succubus. She might be a shitty or manipulative person, I don't know - I just have your account of things, but she's not a literal succubus.

Human being. She is a human being. I don't even know what "creates deceit and deception" is supposed to mean. Are you saying she lies to them? Or are you saying she makes them want to lie? Because those are very different. If it's the former, okay -- liars lie. Got it. If it's the latter... nah. That is not happening. If they're lying, then it's their own damned fault.

And like... I don't want to dismiss the concept that a malevolent being can't attach itself to someone, because I've... seen shit I don't talk about. But, like, they don't make people do shit. People do shit all on their own.

If you're to be believed, it just sounds like you're dealing with a manipulative jackass. No external paranormal shit required.

But we continue:

So I dated this person for a while, and she was great when we were the only people in the room. Like when it was me and her, the person she acted like made me fall in love with her.

But the moment a third person entered the room, she would become someone else. She was sharper, meaner, and more defensive. She wasn't the same person.

We broke up for a lot of reasons, but this certainly made it easier.

You're right, this isn't DID. This is just normal, human shit. We become different people at different times. And sometimes the better version we think we see in someone else isn't the true version of them at all, or at least it's only a part of them.

And sometimes when someone changes in a way you don't like in a different context, it's not always the context's fault.

You need to define "portal." Different people use that word for different stuff.

And I see we're moralizing drug addiction. Great. Awesome. Horse is preeeeeeetty high there for someone going to random witches on the internet for advice.

And, like, ma'am (I've been assuming you use she/her from the context of this -- but I'm sorry if I'm wrong), you're asking a witch this and bringing up tarot and talking to spirits and... like... that stuff's normal for like 80% of the people I talk to on a daily basis. None of those people have "demons" attached to them.

It's a weird thing to bring up as "proof."

I feel like you've forgotten what community you've come to with your issue.

So, nothing affects them. Could it be, and I want you to consider this, that it's because nothing supernatural is happening.

There are so many details that I'm missing here, so I can't be sure of the actual dynamics at play, but what you're describing to me sounds like an incredibly mundane, human scenario.

Like, it literally just sounds like you're describing an incredibly unhealthy home -- and I'm not even sure if that's true since I just have your version of events. I don't even know the ages of the people involved. You have given zero indications of anything out of the ordinary happening that isn't explained by "one or more manipulative people are somehow involved in this story and it's unclear which ones they are."

This is not a "demon." What you've described is just dysfunction.

#witch #witchcraft #witchblr

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creature-wizard · 4 months

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I need people to understand that when you're dealing with anxiety, depression, irritability, whatever, anything that puts you into a competitive mindset can Fuck You Up.

Affirmations like "I'm an it girl, I'm so gorgeous I turn heads everywhere I go, people can't stop thinking about me" put you in a competitive mindset because you're defining your worth by how much popularity you have; basically, you're programming yourself to think that the only way you can be happy and have worth is if you're more popular than others.

Every time you stop and think about how you don't have all that popularity, your mental health is going to take a hit because right now, you feel like a worthless, unlovable loser. You might totally spiral into some very dangerous territory, psychologically speaking.

Being in a competitive mindset makes you a meaner person because you see people who are more popular and successful than you (or at least seem to be more popular and successful) as your enemy. You feel like you have to defeat them to get ahead. And if you can't take that urge out on them, you're probably going to redirect it somewhere else - on someone else - because displaced aggression is a thing.

This is also why the Law of Assumption is so dangerous. Being an early 20th century form of capitalist mysticism, it frames your personal success as a simple matter of belief and willpower. Today, it lures people in with the promise that you can become a "high value person" if you just put your mind to it.

If high value people exist, then it also follows that there must be low value people. If you are not a high value person, then you are a low value person - and therefore unworthy and unlovable. This is psychological poison, especially to those who already struggle with their self-image.

The solution to self-esteem problems isn't to try and lifehack your way to the top of the hierarchy. Not only is highly unlikely it'll work, but it wouldn't even make you happy if it did. Look at Donald Trump and Elon Musk; they have billions of dollars and loads of fame, and yet they're both miserable and insecure.

The solution is to get yourself out of competition mentality. Instead of saying affirmations like "I'm so beautiful that I turn heads everywhere I go," try "I deserve love and respect no matter how I look." Instead of "I'm an it girl," try "I am capable of learning and growing." Instead of "I'm a high value person," try "I deserve happiness and fulfillment."

Get yourself out of the competition mindset, and you'll very likely find your mental health improving quite a lot.

#mental health #mental illness #affirmations #it girl #law of assumption #loa #loassumption #loablr #loa community #anxiety #depression #competition mentality

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trippingontheescalator · 2 months

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Curious about the direction the HP fandom has gone

Okay, so as an old HP fan from way back when the books were first coming out, and then getting hit with the nostalgia and decided to return after years and years of not interacting with the fandom at all, the changes are truly mindboggling and I'd love to get to the bottom of some things.

Like, the disappearance of Blaise Zabini. Blaise was a fan favorite way back when we only knew his name but now I barely hear a whisper of his name. Now, the obvious answer is racism, which I think is the #1 reason why Blaise-pairings have dropped of significantly. Back then we all thought Blaise was a hot Italian girl, and then we found out he's a black man and suddenly people stop writing about him? Hm, yeah, seems the obvious answer (especially considering the popularity of other characters who are just a name on a page *cough*regulusblack*cough*).

Or the rise in Snape-hate. Like, Snape used to be the fan favorite. Everyone loved Snape. The meaner he was, the more we liked him. Being mean to children was a plus, not a negative lol. And this was back when we all thought he was a pureblood who came from a wealthy family like the Malfoys. Now by the time the 7th book came out I had pretty much moved on and so I didn't really see the fallout of readers discovering his actual background, so I don't know if his drop in popularity is classism and learning that he isn't a palette-swapped Lucius Malfoy or not, but honestly I would figure his impoverished background would be a plus in these times. Like Snape is obviously one of JKR's least favorite characters, and considering how she-who-must-not-be-named has destroyed her reputation with her increasing radicalization you'd figure the poor, abused, author-hating character would become more beloved instead of the rich, white, heteronormative bullies who barely even show up in the books. Like with our increasing knowledge of social injustice, I just don't understand why the fandom would want to latch onto the Marauders? And I just can't believe Snape's handful of snippets with Lily is the cause of his downfall (like what's there is barely enough to fill up a few pages, and there are certainly more toxic relationships in the series that are still beloved), or the fact that he was a Death Eater or that he inadvertently caused the deaths of the Potters (we already knew that in GoF and HPB respectively and he was still beloved, and this was when we assumed he didn't give a shit about the Potters or if they died when he went snitching). Draco is still popular. DRACO who doesn't give two shits about slinging around the word "mudblood," as opposed to Snape who actually changed for the better.

Am I just too old to understand? Is this like 90s fashion coming back in style (no, I won't do it again, I don't care if it's cringy I'm sticking with my millennial styles, I did the platforms and the slip dresses and the cargo pants in high school and I'm not putting myself through that again lol you gen z's can pry my comfortable mom jeans from my cold, dead fingers, I don't care if it makes me look old, that's the point, I AM old). Like, in addition to 90s fashion, has the 90s obsession with luxury athletic fashion like Lacoste come back in style? All those fashion ads of rich white people on yachts with popped collar polos? Are people starting to obsess over the Marauders because nouveau riche conspicuous consumption is coming back in style? It can't all just be young kids who have only read AtYD and have never actually opened one of the books, can it?

There also seems to be a trend of treating characters as if they're real people. I mean, we've always done it (Snape Wives, I'm looking at you), but now it almost feels as if the crimes characters commit are treated as if they're real crimes and that liking them is somehow a moral failing on the reader's fault. If you were to say "I don't like Snape, his douchy actions anger me, I'd rather skip all the parts he shows up in" I'd say, cool, I get that. That's normal. But "Snape is an abuser, a racist, and an incel and if you like him you're probably those things too" is fucking weird. Like, Harry and Hermione are not real children. Snape is not a real person. The things that happen in this book have as much influence on the real world as me imagining ninjas breaking into my workplace on a slow day. And that "media does not exist in a vacuum" pisses me off because it's blatantly misused. The pieces of media that have had serious consequences? Jaws, The Birth of a Nation. One resulted in the culling of sharks, the other helped restart the KKK. Do you know what those two pieces of media have in common? They're not about fucking wizards and magic schools. They instead paint a target on real groups. After twenty years nobody has ever tried to hurt a marginalized group of people because of a harry potter book (except for JKR herself).

Anyway, these are just some random thoughts, feel free to chime in with your own.

#pro snape #severus snape #pro severus snape #snapedom #mostly snape some blaise #would love to hear form some marauders fans but im not touching that tag with a ten foot pole #yikes

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reareaotaku · 23 days

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She's the Only Girl that I wanna Love

Pt 1: Mary is the Girl I Wanna Fuck Summary: Miles was acting strange... Stranger than usual anyway Tw: Implied sexual indications, Gaslighting, Emotional manipulation [Might make a part 3???] Taglist: @tomhockstetter7-111, @onegayvampire, @niajjcka, @ihatemakingnames, @maxiscoolongg, @ashhole0-0, @fxchild

You awoke feeling hot all over. You felt hands on you and feet entangled with your own. It took a minute before you realized what had happened. You were trapped in Miles hold. When seeing his peaceful face, you remembered what had happened.

You sat up, but not before wiggling your way out of his grip. You release a sigh, before pushing your fingers through your hair. You can hear him moving in his sleep, before he groans, his hands seemingly searching for you.

Miles peeks opens his eyes, before calling out your name, confusing on where you were.

"I'm still here. I didn't leave."

He looks up at you confused, before scratching the back of his head, his eyes scrunching together. "Right. I mean... where would you go?" He chuckles.

---

You had been stuck in the Fairchild mansion for longer than originally planned, but it didn't seem to bother Miles. In fact, he relished in your presence occupying the home. You both knew you'd have to leave soon, but Miles was hoping that maybe something would happen and stop you from leaving.

Sure, maybe it was a terrible thought, but it was far from the worst thought Miles ever had, especially the ones with you in it. The thought made him smirk to himself. He knows he shouldn't think about you in such a way, but honestly, he didn't have much of a moral compass to care. Besides, he was sure you felt the same way. You had to. You were perfect for each other. Perfect.

---

You frowned as your fingers pressed against the strings. It was frustrating and irritating. There were indents on your fingers from the guitar. You groan before taking off the guitar strap and putting the guitar by your side.

"Had enough already?"

You roll your eyes, before looking at him, "We've been doing this forever. I think it's time to accept that I'm just hopeless."

He laughs, "I don't think you're hopeless."

"Well, I sure feel that way. Why can't we do something else?"

"Okay, what do you want to do?"

"Um... Isn't there a fish pond near?"

"Yeah, but the pond is probably frozen."

"That's too bad."

---

Things were weird. The house felt.... cold. And dark. There was something off about the place, but you couldn't put your finger on it. Not to mention Miles was acting weird... At least, weirder than usual. He wasn't the Miles you knew at school; He was a lot, well, meaner. Maybe not to you directly, but you could see it in the way he treated those around him. It wasn't him. But who was it?

You thought about confronting him, but what would you have said? You don't even have any concrete idea of what is happening, just a feeling. You can't confront someone based on a feeling. But... You didn't like the change and you wanted Miles back, but how could you do it?

---

You felt trapped and Miles was clearly mad. You weren't sure why, but it must have been something you said.

"So, what? I'm not good enough for you?"

"I never said that-" You sheepishly get out as he steps towards you, his nose nearly touching yours. His eyes were dark and swarmed with an unknown emotion.

"You didn't have to say it. I know. Nobody thinks I'm good enough." He looks away from you, a frown over taking your face, "Maybe... that's why my parents are dead."

"That's not true, Miles. Your parents loved you-"

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love me?"

"Of course-"

"Then why won't you stay?"

"I can't not go to school, Miles."

"That's not what I said. Don't twist my words."

"You said you wanted me to stay-"

"Yes."

"And by staying, I would be missing school."

"What is it about school? The people? You don't talk to anyone else. The work? Education? You can do it from here. There are people trained-"

"No, Miles."

"What?"

"I'm not staying here with you. I don't know what's going on... Maybe it's this house, but I can't stay here. YOU can't stay here," You grab his hands, pulling them close to you. But when you look up at him, it's like he's not there. "You have to get out of here, Miles. Something's happening to you and I think it has something to do with this house."

He tilts his head, "Oh, Y/n." He pulls one of his hands out of your grip and caresses your face. "You're so precious... Yet so stupid." You feel him reach behind your ear and press hard on that hollow spot. You try squeezing your shoulders together and grabbing his hand, but it was useless- He was stronger than you and you were slowly losing conscious. You... couldn't... think... Your eyes.... are heavy.... Then it was all black.

#yandere x reader #yandere horror #yandere slasher #miles fairchild #yandere miles fairchild #yandere miles x reader #yandere miles fairchild x reader #miles x reader #miles fairchild x reader #the turning #yandere slasher x reader #yandere imagines #horror x reader

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kidcosmonaut · 5 months

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I’m at One With the Silence — Luke Castellan x f!Reader — Part One

Description: Luke learns sign language in order to get to know you, the silent, angry daughter of Apollo. Warnings: canon-typical violence, injury Word Count: 1.2k A/N: The reader character in this fic is mute and uses ASL! Descriptions of signs will be used, but it's super duper hard to describe hand signs with text, and I'm not a fluent signer myself, so don't use this as a learning device. Also, I have no idea how many parts this will be yet. Let's say three? Four, maybe.

Part One ☆ Part Two →

Luke wasn’t generally one to people-watch, but this was… a sight.

Your hands were balled into fists as you stormed out of Apollo’s cabin, the sound of a dozen talented singers battling for supremacy spilling out behind you. You were saying — mouthing — something, your lips moving a mile a minute. You cut through the center of camp like hellhounds were on your ass and, as you approached the edge of a hill, bent down to pick up… a pile of pebbles.

Luke watched. Maybe it was the anger in him that enjoyed the anger in you. Maybe he was just curious what your problem was, or what you meant to do with the pebbles. Maybe he liked what the sunset did to your face. He watched.

You began tossing — no, hurling — the tiny rocks at the sky. The sun, he realized; you were looking right at it, a feat only the children of Apollo could pull off without going blind. You were throwing rocks at the sun.

Not hard to figure out the meaning of that.

Your lips kept moving as you attempted this small act of violence against your father, your jaw wild as though you were shouting, and when you ran out of pebbles to throw, you’d move your hands, too, as though by sweeping them wider, you could sign louder. And then you’d dip down again, scoop up more, and repeat.

If Apollo cared at all, if he even noticed his daughter’s rage, he didn’t show it. The sun kept setting, and no one came.

The gods were deaf to their children. Luke knew that better than anyone.

He kept watching, even as you tired of throwing rocks at gods and shuffled off — still away from your cabin, he noted. Not tired enough to go back there.

He didn’t know why you were angry.

Oh, he could guess. It couldn’t have been easy, the fall from grace; going from your father’s favorite child — the gods all picked favorites, it was only the less honest ones who pretended that wasn’t true — to just another in the pile mustn’t have felt good, especially for you, the demigod who gave everything.

But was that it? Was that why you hated your father? Because Hades had silenced you?

Your voice had been beautiful, for whatever ‘had been’ was worth. Luke had only heard you sing once before it was ripped from you, but he remembered being mesmerized.

You were fourteen then, too. It was your second — maybe third, he wasn’t sure, he didn’t know you personally — summer at Camp Halfblood, and his first. He’d been shy, not that anyone remembered that now, and he hadn’t spoken to much of anyone other than those who slept in Hermes cabin, let alone pretty girls with older, meaner boyfriends. But he’d been dragged to a bonfire party by an older brother of his, and you were there, with your guitar and your sunbeam smile.

Luke had never liked old music. His mother had all these dusty records that she’d put on and dance to like they were the only things that made sense, but they never made sense to him. If the lyrics had meaning, he didn’t get them, or at least couldn’t relate, not like the nu metal he’d ripped onto his mp3 player.

But you were singing something that night, a Prince song he’d heard before, and on your lips, the words made sense. They were beautiful, even.

He could still see it, the light flickering across your face, your fingers moving fast as light against the strings. You were talented with your guitar, too, though he hadn’t caught sight or sound of the thing since the quest that took your voice, either. The way you played reminded him of the mariachi bands he’d seen on the New York subways — hard to believe a person could pluck so fast.

And you sang. He could still hear it, too — When Doves Cry. It was different, of course, acoustic and melancholy, but the song was the same.

He must have been staring. You must have noticed.

You were coming towards him. He didn’t think anything of it at first; you twirled, you danced, you walked.

“Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside.”

And then you were in front of him, so close, and looking him in the eye, and his breath caught. You seemed to almost smirk at that.

“You’ve got the butterflies all tied up. Don’t make me chase you,” you sang, to him. “Even doves have pride.”

And then you turned away from him, like it had been a blip, like you had never been looking at him at all. You danced on.

“How could you just leave me standin’, alone in a world that’s so cold? Maybe I’m just too demandin’—” you grinned there, head turned up to the sky— “maybe I’m just like my father, too bold.”

And then your eyes changed, cast out to the lake, like your mind was elsewhere. “Maybe I’m just like my mother, she’s never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cry.”

The next day, you embarked on your quest. You did well, too — returned a week and a half later with the item you were sent to steal back from Hades. Hades the place, it turned out, but not the god himself; it was Persephone who had stolen one of your father's precious sunbeams. She'd missed the sunlight in her months down below, she told you, and took it to keep herself warm. An understandable desire, certainly, but it'd lead to snow in the Sahara and summer blizzards in Boston. She gave it back over without a fight, but her husband hadn't smiled upon you sneaking into his domain.

If it weren’t for one of his furies catching you just outside the barrier and digging its claws into your throat, they’d have marked it down as a flawless victory.

The staff managed to save your life, but not your vocal chords. When summer came to an end, they said they commended you for your sacrifice, as though you’d had a choice.

Maybe it really wasn’t that big a deal; half the kids in camp were willing to die in service of the gods, and given that you’d collected more quests than beads, you were probably in that number. But then, dying is different than surviving with a disability. Not worse, but different. What kid actually considers the limb when they’re risking life and limb? What risks would one take if they had to live with the consequences?

Worse yet, as far as he could tell, your daddy never called you back afterwards. No ‘thank you’s for the maimed daughter, no more gifts. Insult to injury, used and discarded.

He’d throw rocks at the guy, too.

Which brought him back to that moment, alone in the settling darkness. You were gone by then, off somewhere, likely pushing your anger aside for something you considered more productive, though Luke couldn’t begin to guess what that would be. He didn’t know you, still.

He might like to, though. Perhaps the two of you could be… allies. That thing inside him that burned, that he hid… he could, potentially, share it with someone who felt the same.

Feel free to reply or send an ask to join my taglist!

#☆ — story #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #reader insert #☆ — i'm at one with the silence

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greyskyflowers · 2 months

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I really like the idea that Ichigo has always done some strange stuff, even before any of them had any idea about soul society.

Chad, Orihime, and Uryu (as well as Tatsuki, Keigo and Mizuiro) very much take the approach of don't say a fucking thing, leave him alone to anyone who looks like they may say something about it.

Ichigo makes a strange noise? They've figured out which noises are good ones and which ones are bad ones.

He's a little colder, distant, and sometimes a little cruel? Give him a little bit and he'll be fine again.

He gets a little too bright eyed during fights? Licks blood off his lips and sometimes off a wound? His nails look a little sharp and his teeth a little meaner? All good. He'll beat the shit out of someone, pace around a bit and be fine again.

Eats an unbelievable amount of food and still stays on the lean side of skinny? It's a metabolism thing.

Runs a little colder? He's great to sit by in the hot summer!

Gets a little distracted, looks at things and listen to noises that aren't there? That's normal, he's been able to see weird stuff his whole life!

Even after they all gain the ability see ghosts and that's obviously not what Ichigo is doing, they just tell people he's listening to and seeing ghosts.

Everyone else is a little confused by that but it's clear they're not going to get a real answer and tbh they're not sure they want one.

It's also important that they don't call too much attention to it. Ichigo doesn't seem to realize he does some of those things.

Like when someone pointed out the blood thing and he spent 20 minutes gagging and throwing up, tongue still stained rusty from the blood.

Or when someone mentioned the noises and he doesn't speak for days, quiet and withdrawn. And even now he cuts the noises off, biting them back and swallowing them down.

Or when people called him cruel, a thug, someone who wants to see others hurt, because he got into fight. He didn't fight back the next few times he got jumped, letting the hits land and taking it because the fear that he was all those things people said was stronger than any pain.

All the times he kept his mouth shut because someone joked about wolf teeth.

Or when he ripped his nails down until they bled so they weren't sharp enough to hurt anyone on accident.

Or when he kept his eyes down so no one could say he wore colored contacts to go with his "dyed" hair.

Orihime being so upset after the cookies she had given to someone, who made fun of a noise Ichigo made, had ended up bad! Oh no, oh gosh, how terrible that they got food poisoning! She's so sorry about that but there's a gleam to her eyes that has everyone backing off.

Chad disappearing and coming back with busted knuckles that go unnoticed, Ichigo focused on keeping his fingers curled into his palms and his mouth firmly shut.

Uryu ripping into some of the people who started rumors about Ichigo, channeling every cold and cruel part of him until several people are crying and no one dares say Ichigo's name for awhile.

Tatsuki throwing punches and Keigo attempting too, Mizuiro making things happen that no one can directly link back to him but everyone knows it's him.

Ichigo doesn't ask for a lot, but he gives a lot. Too much.

So, they can give him this. They will give him this. Let him do his odd, little quirks and they'll deal with anyone who tries to say anything.

💀

Shinigami are strange, strange enough that Ichigo blends in with them well, even though he's still sometimes a little strange for a shinigami.

Chad, Orihime, and Uryu are pleased that Ichigo fits in so well with all these new people, especially as they get to know them more.

Renji and Ikkaku are animalistic with too sharp teeth and a wild air to them.

Kenpachi is a monster wearing human skin.

Rukia, and her brother, have moments of cruelty and distance.

Unohana is something old and dangerous.

Kisuke is... unsettling, raises the hair on the back of their necks a little bit but Ichigo likes him. And as unnerving as he is, he's been very helpful.

Yoruichi has a mean streak in her that is very much like a cat batting around a dying mouse.

The visored are even worse.

The humans don't meet them until Ichigo after has already firmly included them in his ever growing group of important people.

The visored are unsettling in a way similar to Kisuke, but heavier. Something about them makes the little animal part of their brains sit up and take notice, the hairs on the backs of their necks standing up and they have to fight the urge to run.

But the visored are strange in the same way Ichigo is strange.

And they'll gives some bonus points to Kisuke and his, because they've never so much as batted an eyelash at Ichigo's more bizarre quirks.

The visored show off too sharp teeth in proud smiles and angry snarls.

They make odd noises between themselves and understand them.

They force people to look them in the eyes, black and gold occasionally making an appearance.

They lick at their wounds absent-mindedly and on purpose.

They make no apologies for who they are or how uncomfortable they make anyone.

More than anything though, they let Ichigo do those things. There a fondness to all of them when Ichigo does something strange front of them. Something that's normal to them.

💀

Ichigo doesn't seem to realize that everyone is actually charmed by his little quirks.

He's saved most of them enough times that there isn't much he could do that would make them anything less then incredibly fond.

It's fun and interesting to see all the things Ichigo does when he's happy and comfortable.

He does a little head tilt, exposed throat move to certain people. The humans don't even think he notices it, it took them awhile to notice it.

He does it to most of the captains, excluding a few like Mayuri and Soi Fon. Particularly to Unohana, Kenpachi, Byakuya and Toshiro for the captains. He does it to Kisuke and the visored.

They notice it and they just roll with it. Kisuke and Shinji (and most of the visored to be completely honest) touch his neck and shoulders a lot.

Unohana makes the smallest nod to him and never acknowledges it again.

It took Ichigo a long time to be comfortable enough with them to touch as much as he wants to. After they saved Rukia and returned home, he was constantly touching them. Grabbing at hands, throwing arms around them, sitting close enough to touch, etc. He even includes Tatsuki, Keigo and Mizuiro in the new, open affection.

He's comfortable enough to be that way with a lot of people now.

Shinigami, and the visored, are actually a pretty tactile and intimate bunch. Living as long as they do and having such dangerous and traumatic lives, makes touch and comfort very important.

So it's not uncommon for Ichigo to disappear, finding someone to nap with or someone finding him. People are already drawn to Ichigo, getting to know him and all his quirks just makes them love him more.

---------💀--------------💀‐----------------

*holds up photo of Ichigo*

Karin, Yuzu, Chad, Orihime, Uryu, Tasuki, Keigo, Mazuri: he is baby

*hold up photo of Ichigo after fighting Aizen*

His sisters, the humans, Kisuke, Yoruichi, Kukaku, Ganju, most of soul society, all the visored, Nel: baby

*holds up photo of Ichigo fighting yhwach*

His sisters, the humans, Kisuke, Yoruichi, Kukaku, Ganju, all of soul society, all the visored, Nel, Grimmjow, Dondochakka, Pesche, Bawabawa : ba~by

#bleach #ichigo kurosaki #chad yasutora #uryu ishida #orihime inoue #kisuke urahara #visored #i think being part hollow probably does some weird stuff to you - and shinigami are probably pretty fucking weird too #reaping souls with greyskyflowers #Is this platonic? romantic? both? neither? whatever else? *shrugs*#au ideas #hollow instincts au??

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ohbo-ohno · 5 months

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You ever think about Soaps mohawk getting too untidy (because it can't get too long, the longer it is the better Simon can grab it and throw Johnny around with) and Simon taking him to the hair dresser? Only it's not a hair dresser but a dog beauty lounge? And the owners are not specialized on humans and they weren't expecting a human. But no one says no to Ghost so they proceed and Johnny gets a complete wash and everything. He looks really pretty after but he was so humiliated by it that he goes into the crate voluntarily to curl up and cry once they are back on base. Doesn't help that people keep commenting on how much better it looks and are asking about the address for the hair dresser.

Also, just speaking for myself here, I adore seeing people become an insane rambling mess about the things they are insane about. Doesn't even need a red string or context. So if you ever put your thoughts on Clicker training Soap online, there would be at least one avid reader just begging for those crumbs.

you just GET ME oh my god. im always torn between two soap's - soap who is so freaky and kinky that he would let ghost do literally anything to him and enjoy it, and soap is only does what ghost tells him because he's got a massive crush but he's absolutely humiliated and upset during all of it. the first feels more accurate to his character, the second is more fun to write lmao

wrote a quick drabble for this but i changed it so the groomers knew there was a person coming instead of a dog <3 it's extra humiliation if they treat johnny the same way ghost does

cw: noncon puppy play, referenced public humiliation (btw if you want more stuff in this little universe - one, two, three)

“You still poutin’?”

Johnny squeezes his eyes shut, just barely resists the urge to snap his teeth and growl. He knows that would only feed into Ghost’s goddamn delusion that he’s a fucking dog.

Jesus. His scalp still stings from the rough treatment of the barber- the groomer. The bastard had locked a muzzle over his face while Ghost held him down, and as much as he’d tried he hadn’t been able to speak through the damn thing. Speak or bite.

He would’ve fought but… well, Ghost gave him that look before he left. That “if you don’t obey me, there’ll be hell to pay” look. And Ghost has only gotten meaner in the months they’ve been together now - the walks, the fucking house training… Soap doesn’t even want to think of what he might try next.

So Ghost had given him a look, grabbed him by the chin and said “Be good, pup. You’ll get a treat if you can behave, alright? Don’t embarrass me.” and Johnny hadn’t been brave enough to ignore him.

Fuck. Even now, it doesn’t quite feel real. His breath hitches as he remembers the strict gloves Ghost had given him to wear, how they don’t let him do anything with his fingers because they’re held so tight. He still wears them now, and the forced paw shape of his hand keeps his head fuzzy.

He wants to whine. He almost wants to cry. Mostly he wants to bite Ghost until the bastard bleeds.

“C’mon,” Ghost grunts, taking one hand from the wheel and patting Johnny roughly on the head. He combs his fingers through the freshly cut mohawk, almost fixing it so it’s neater. “You look real good, pup. Needed to get your bitch strap straightened up for a while now.”

“Don’t-” Johnny takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and blinks down at his hands - his hands, not his paws - where they rest in his lap. “Don’t call it that.”

He thinks for a minute that Simon’s going to say something worse, lock his hand in Johnny’s hair and tug until he whines, shove him down to his cock, do something. But his hand stays soft, stroking down and tightly gripping the back of his neck. Not suffocating, not mean, almost… secure. Comforting. A weight that says relax, I’m here.

“Alright, puppy. Been a tough day for you, huh? We can pretend you’re a person, think of it as a treat for bein’ good at the groomers.”

Johnny whines, curling into himself at his own sound. His hands are sweaty in the gloves, and he wants to dig his nails into his thighs, hope that the little pinpricks of pain wake him up enough to tear Ghost a new asshole.

But he can’t do that. His fingers are stuck folded in half, totally useless. So he takes a deep breath, and tries not to fully float away.

Eventually the car slows to a stop, and Ghost tugs the key out of the ignition. They sit in silence for a moment, and Soap can feel Ghost staring at the side of his head, but he refuses to look. He doesn’t want to look at Ghost right now, doesn’t want to see his expression.

“Alright,” Simon says quietly, giving Johnny’s nape a tight squeeze before letting you go. “I think you need a nap, pup. Let’s get you inside.”

Ghost gets out, Soap doesn’t. He stays in his seat, staring at his hands, until the door opens next to him and Simon reaches over his body to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“C’mon now, out.”

Johnny doesn’t move. He feels Ghost’s massive hand wrap around his elbow, tug him toward the door, but he leans his weight the other direction.

He doesn’t want to get out of the car. He knows, logically, that no one on base will be able to tell what happened, where Simon took him. But he’ll know, and that’s enough shame to make him never want to leave the car.

Ghost sighs, annoyed, from beside him. “You rather I get your leash?”

Johnny flinches, and he lets himself be tugged by the elbow at the next pull on his arm. His eyes never lift past Ghost’s chest as he keeps his head ducked, heat coloring his cheeks when the door closes behind him.

“Johnny,” Ghost says quietly, hand nudging his head up. “Head up, pup. You look real pretty, don’t you want to show off?”

Johnny flinches, but he lifts his head like Ghost urges. He’s scared of what he’ll see in Simon’s eyes - that gleam he gets when Johnny’s particularly humiliated is always hard to swallow - but all he sees is… is pride.

God, it’s getting hard to breathe. Every breath feels punched out of him, every breath in like glass in his lungs.

“There you are.” Ghost chucks him under the chin, jerking his head up a little further. “Pretty thing. Certainly got my money’s worth.”

Johnny’s only comfort is that his eyes are dry - well, that and the warmth of Ghost’s hand. No matter how angry he is at the bastard, he can’t help but always want more of his touch.

“Inside now. Come.”

The sharp tone, the one word command, goes right over Johnny’s head. He follows Ghost - on his right, one step behind, like he’d been taught (trained) - and keeps his eyes forward, not looking at anyone else on base.

The halls are busy, like they always are during the day, but Soap doesn’t let himself be distracted. He keeps his eyes forward, and only focuses on Ghost.

He tells himself no one else knows, that no one else could possibly know.

“Hey, Soap!” Gaz calls out, leaning out of a meeting room and waving at him. “Looking sharp, mate!”

Johnny’s heart feels like it’s about the beat out of his chest. He wants to scream. He wants to puke.

He looks up at Ghost where the other man has turned around, raising an eyebrow at where he’s stopped in the middle of the hallway.

Johnny opens his mouth to speak, but only manages a quiet whine. Thankfully it’s too loud for anyone else in the hallway to hear (hopefully), but his cheeks still flush red at the animal sound.

Ghost only smirks and turns around to keep walking.

“Heel, Johnny. Don’t wander, you can sniff all you want later.”

Johnny takes a deep breath, and he follows Ghost.

It only takes a few more minutes for them to make it to Ghost’s room, and Johnny feels near collapse.

He’s… frustrated with himself. He’s got no idea why he’s so affected by what happened, why it feels so impossible to get past. Ghost has done worse to him, made him do worse.

But something about the way the groomer had looked at him… a complete stranger, looking at him and treating him the same way Ghost does. He knows that if Ghost had left, he would’ve sunk into a panic attack. He knows it’s Simon’s own twisted version of mercy, not leaving him alone.

The relief he feels when the door closes behind him nearly sends him to his knees. Ghost’s heavy hand on his shoulder does.

He doesn’t even have it in him to be upset at Ghost’s presumption. He feels better on his knees these days, anyway.

“To your crate, puppy, go on.”

He listens, crawling to the quilt-covered crate in the corner of the room. Neither of them speak as Ghost opens the door, the only sound a soft hum when Johnny crawls in.

“Gimme your paw, pup. Don’t want you sleeping in those gloves.”

Johnny whines, but listens, and gives Ghost his paw to take the gloves off. He instantly feels better, and makes a soft sound that he hopes is thankful as he stretches his fingers out, laying them flat against the blankets.

“There ya go,” Ghost hums, closing the door and laying the quilt over all but the front of the crate. “I’ll wake you up in a few hours, alright pup? Don’t want you to miss your walk.”

Johnny shudders as Ghost walks away, and closes his eyes tight. He tries to wipe all memories of the day away, focusing instead on the better times with Ghost.

Eventually he drifts off to thoughts of laying together while watching a football game, shared meals in loud pubs, quiet nights in after hard missions. He thinks of Ghost, strong and solid and unfaltering, and he sinks into sleep.

#rollingstrollingthrough #look at me. feeling Write-y #ghoap #bo writes #asks and answers

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