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miliwritesnow · 11 months

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@rosemarygalaxy here is the story you requested! If you're new here, you should probably read the other two stories before you read this mby checking out the list!

See the Masterlist > Unfortunately, the Google doc that I usually pull this from is a series of scenarios including my OC, which is why a lot of the content you see is of a girl with a very particular quirk and story. My OC is pictured in this post. I edited my stories to tailor them to people who want to insert themselves into the story, but from this point on, it will be hard to tell this particular story without mentioning my OC. If you will want more of these, I will have to continue without editing the name out. I hope you all will understand!

Bakugou Struggling with Love

They've been training for weeks now.

Every training session started with stretching, then they sparred quirkless for the first hour. She led this training, teaching the flaws in Bakugou’s style by creating and modifying existing moves to best suit the momentum he can generate using his quirk. She taught efficiency: not wasting a single movement and the principle of using your enemy's force against them. These sessions focused on repeating moves until it was engraved in the body: as a natural reaction, and not as a forethought. He didn’t enjoy getting hit every time he made a mistake but he was slowly getting used to the groove of her teachings and style.

Then, after training quirkless, Bakugou took the lead, applying her previous teachings with the added benefit of quirks. This is the part of training that Bakugou looked forward to the most. Here, he got to test the limits of her abilities, and pay her back for all the times he was flipped and pinned to the ground in humiliating positions.

Even though she was slowly overcoming the limits of her quirk by practicing its controls, she wasn't exactly strong because of it. Her reaction time, flexibility and combat sense were what truly shined in the light of her combat. Without it, her quirk wouldn’t even be close to reaching its full potential. Her metal-moving quirk was an extension of her every movement. As her fist extended, so did the metal, which reinforced each blow to be twice as strong. The plates on her arms took themselves apart and reinforced themselves during all the right moments, and though there were moments that looked like she would be vulnerable, she never gave Bakugou the chance to capitalize on them. No matter how much titanium he blew off from her form, she simply reformed it and created more from her shoulder. She was constantly remaking the metal scraps as shields, weapons, pointed spears, and armor as if it was a part of her body.

But even with the impressive display of strength, no amount of metal scraps were enough to defeat Bakugou. It was clear he was the aggressor in their fight with quirks involved. Payback never felt so sweet, especially when he glimpsed at her expressions as she tanked a particularly hard hit. It was so good to finally fight someone even close to his level.

It turns out, when Bakugou wasn't fully focusing on trying to fucking hit her, there was more of her to see. Suddenly, Bakugou noticed the way her brow raised when she spotted a mistake in his form. He noticed how her eyes narrowed and how her nose scrunched when things didn't quite go her way. He saw the way the corners of her lips rose and fell when she finally got something right. He stared at her so often that her features were basically engraved into his mind.

And pretty soon that was all he could see.

Bakugou thought about it for hours after each session, and even the hours before he fell asleep. Her face invaded his thoughts at odd parts of the day while he worked. When he fights and uses her moves, he can’t help but think about what expression would grace her face at that moment. The hours leading up to that Thursday evening were filled with his desire to fight and see her again.

It almost felt disgusting to think about one person so much.

And it felt even worse to be back in Saitama on a particular Wednesday evening for an extra’s birthday party. It felt like a Thursday, but without the training sessions he looked forward to the most, which was another way to describe that it was a shitty day. Three days ago, Dunce Face and Shitty Hair visited Tokyo to convince Bakugou to attend Ear Extra’s birthday party. Despite his protests and excuses that he didn’t want to stay late because of patrol rounds the next day, they still managed to annoy him into agreeing to come. He couldn’t hold in the string of curses that left his mouth when he realized how miserable it felt seeing these extras cling to him for dear life. Needless to say, he regretted his decision. Who the fuck even has a freaking birthday party on a Wednesday evening? Those fucking dumbasses. Don’t they have better shit to do?

By the time it was nine o’clock he bolted out of the party. No amount of whining from Shitty Hair was going to make him stay even a second longer. Stupid Deku wasn’t there, Icyhot wasn’t there and hell, the Old Hag couldn’t even make it despite living in the same city. It was a complete waste of Bakugou’s time.

On the walk back to the station, Bakugou spotted a familiar figure walking through the streets. It was a silhouette he knew all too well, approaching from the opposite direction. He unconsciously ducked behind the closest alley, hiding as he watched her jog along. She held a small box in her metal fingers as she headed the direction he just came from. If she was heading to the party, she was way over two hours late to it.

As he continues to walk forward, Bakugou passes the alley. He’s pulled away from the main street by a metal hand that clasped onto the dress shirt he wore. He’s pulled closer to her other hand’s pointed blade. The face that’s plagued Bakugou’s mind hovered dangerously close to his face. Her narrowed eyes bore into his in sparked fury, the expression lighting a small flame in Bakugou’s heart.

Her anger dissipates when she realizes when she seed his familiar face. Her shoulders untense and she lets go of her grip around his shirt. The pointed blade retracts into her arms seamlessly.

“What the hell are you doing here? Why were you following me?” she sighs, though her expression has softened, hints of agitation littered her voice. Upon a closer look, Bakugou noticed that she was still in her hero gear. The metal encased parts of her legs, and a large block of her titanium stuck to her back and neck, ready to engulf her at any moment. Sweat dripped all over her face from her jog.

Bakugou simply took all the details in, not bothering to explain himself.

She takes a moment to look at Bakugou’s attire and the expression on her face shifts again. Her eyebrows raise, and her mouth pulls apart by its lips slowly, as if a light flickers in her head. The unfamiliar expression rekindles the flame in his heart.

“Oh. You must be here for the party too right? Jiro’s house is this way. I was on my way too. We’re pretty late so we need to hurry!” She motions for him to follow, and Bakugou finds himself jogging along with her.

“I can’t stay for long. I’m taking Kaminari and Jiro’s night shift today so they can spend time together for her birthday. I just wanted to drop by to greet her and give her my gift,” she tells me. He finds his eyes fixated on her expressions yet again. Her calm gaze is fixed forward as she runs. "Oh. You don't have to come back tomorrow if you don't want to. It must be tiring going back and forth from Tokyo. You can take a break."

Bakugou furrowed his brow.

"I was planning on coming back. I don't have anything better to do anyways," he mutters. She hums.

"That's fine too. I'll probably be training all day since I'm off tomorrow. You can drop by early if you want."

"I'm off at 5. Expect me there at 5:30 or something," He mutters again. She nods, her eyes narrow as her lips curved upwards to a smile. Bakugou’s heart skips a beat.

"We're here." Even as they arrive, Bakugou doesn’t make a move to walk inside as she enters.

"I'll wait out here," she raises a brow, slowly, and hesitantly enters the door in confusion.

"Okay…"

The door closes and she's out of sight. Bakugou was left alone outside of Ear's house and the temperature rose in Bakugou’s blood. The embarrassment, anger and irritation finally sets in, exploding out at once.

Get out of my head. Get out of my head. GET OUT OF MY HEAD YOU OLD ASS HAG!

Bakugou slams his forehead into the building's concrete—over and over until the stupid thoughts get the fuck away from his head. What the fuck was he doing? He was supposed to be on his way home, preparing to sleep for his early patrol shift tomorrow. But now he’s here, possessed by some unknown fucking spirit into following her in the middle of the night like a goddamn creep, walking back to a lame-ass party that he had just fucking left.

He’s going fucking crazy.

Bakugou’s stuck in front of the apartment’s porch, caught in a cycle of banging his head against the wall and pacing around in circles. He wanted to end everything and just walk back to the station without waiting for her. Maybe then he wouldn’t be feeling all of these stupid things, and he could finally have some peace of mind at home.

But before he turns away, the door opens and all the thoughts about leaving disappear as if they didn’t exist in the first place. She stares at him silently, but walks without commenting further. Like a lost puppy, Bakugou followed her.

"I heard you were there earlier. You didn't have to walk me here, you know. I can handle myself." She says quietly. Bakugou only grunts in reply.

"You've been acting strange lately. Is everything alright with you?" Her head juts out from her position beside Bakugou, looking over to his face with a frown and her eyes furrowed. Even when she was a foot away, this distance was still too close for Bakugou’s comfort. He reeled his body back.

No. He wasn't okay, and it was all thanks to her.

"I'm fine,” he says tersely, completely disregarding the thought that invaded his mind.

She hums.

"It's probably because we haven't seen each other often, but I think you've changed a lot. You're a lot more…docile than I remember."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" He growls, the shit-faced expression on his face disappears for his usual forehead wrinkles. She giggles as she witnesses his usual behavior and tone make an appearance. Bakugou’s harsh expression was once again disarmed at the low rumble of her laughter.

"I don't know…You used to be much more aggressively impulsive. I couldn't stand you in high school, but… you know… that's not the case since we've been training," she says, a gentle smile on her face. "It's a nice change of pace from training alone most of the time."

She mutters and Bakugou remains silent to mull over her words.

This is the most he’s ever heard her talk. It was a great change from the usual fast-paced nature of their time together in training. Maybe it was because it was dark out, but Bakugou started to reflect on himself from their time together in high school.

He’s definitely changed since five years ago. It's not that he became calmer, it's just that a long time ago he had finally resolved the true meaning of victory, and he had become less agitated because of it. He accepted that that damn nerd Deku was a different breed from him. He was working so damn hard and growing inches when Deku was leaping miles with the same effort. The pressure to win… to be the best… all the mistakes… he didn't notice it, but it became a heavy burden on his back. He realized through their time together that winning as a hero was winning against the villains, not against your allies.

But don’t get him wrong—he still wanted to be the number one hero and beat that damn Deku back to his place. It’s just that he had the comfort of closure from overcoming such a big trial.

After that whole fiasco was over, Bakugou didn’t really know what to do with himself anymore. He’s been working, training non-stop for so long that aside from being the number one hero, there was nothing else to look forward to in his days.

Maybe that’s why he valued his time together with that old hag. He finally felt like he had something to look forward to in the week. He can hardly imagine his weeks without those training sessions anymore.

"We're at the station. I'll be heading back to the office. I'll… see you tomorrow." She gives a small wave and jogs back to wherever her office was.

Bakugou watched her retreating figure until he could no longer see her anymore. Even after she was gone, his heart and mind couldn’t find the rest he was hoping for with her disappearance. Instead, a cold, empty, uncomfortable feeling bloomed in his chest. He continued to think about her for the rest of the night, hardly getting any rest for that patrol shift in the morning.

You've caught up! Make sure to follow the blog to receive updates on the next part or check out my other work.

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thornybubbles · 10 months

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JJBA Yandere Scenario: Jealousy (The Jo-Foes) Diego (with Outlaw Reader)

**Note: Been a while I know. I’m not sure I have a great grasp on Diego’s character here, but I tried. If this seems rushed and jumbled I’m sorry. This particular story was cobbled together from two different ideas and it might seem a little weird. Sorry this took so long to get out, too. I’ve been occupied with other things lately. I also didn’t do much in the way of proofreading this, so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mishaps. I’ll fix any that I find later. I just wanted to get this one out there as I was overdue for another fic. The next chapter of “Kinder Than Love” will be out soon for those of you that follow that story. **

Diego wasn’t too proud to admit to himself that he adored you. He should be angry at allowing himself to catch feelings when he had more important things to worry about. He had hired you in secret to keep tabs on Valentine and make sure that the underhanded politician kept his side of their bargain and didn’t do anything shady behind his back. He didn’t trust that frilly fop any more than he was willing to let Johnny Joestar win the race. Naturally, he couldn’t take part in the race while also keeping an eye on Valentine. You were also meant to spy on Joestar and Gyro and let him know what they were up to. Having you around had already made his life much easier... and a lot more fun.

Diego hired you due to your strange ability to hide in plain sight. You had no Stand that he was aware of, but you had an uncanny, almost supernatural ability to blend into your surroundings in such a way that you could be standing right beside someone and they would never notice that you were there. Diego thought that you would make a wonderful assassin. Unfortunately you had no interest in such things. It was a shame. There were quite a few people on Diego’s “to be eliminated” list. Ah well. It was far better to handle one’s enemies on one’s own terms anyway.

Diego admired your survivalist spirit. You were practically one with nature and exemplified the notion of “kill or be killed”. But you were willing to take a life only if it was absolutely necessary. It was the one flaw Diego saw in your otherwise perfect design. There were other little things that you did that drew him to you but the main thing about you that he loved was… a little bit twisted.

He loved the fact that he had you trapped. You didn’t know it yet, but he had you in a deceitful snare that you would never, ever be able to escape from. You would not know the nature of that snare until many months into the race, when an unforeseen change in the weather and damage to the area due to the resulting storms caused the race to be postponed for a few days.

It was then that you met the strange, but sweet soul who you came to know as Mr. Le Mans. While you prided yourself on your ability to be unnoticeable even in a crowd, Le Mans noticed you when no one else did. Every time he stepped into the saloon where you were having your meals, his eyes would zero in on you. He would come over to your little corner where you hid to have your meals, and the two of you would talk.

At first it made you very uncomfortable. Diego had made it expressly clear that he didn’t want you talking to anyone. You were supposed to remain as a living shadow, moving through the crowds, blending in, and never doing anything to call attention to yourself. Not only that, but due to certain unpleasantness from your past, you couldn’t afford to have anyone get too close to you. You tried to get away from him a few times but, you found yourself beginning to crave the attention he gave you.

It had been ages since anyone had a real conversation with you (that didn’t involve something shady). You found that you rather enjoyed talking about mundane things like the weather, food, and local landmarks. After years of living on the outskirts of society, never allowing yourself to mingle with others, and becoming something like a living ghost while surrounded by people, it felt nice to have someone do something as simple as notice that you were there.

You didn’t realize how lonely you were until Le Mans entered your life. You’d only known him for a few days and already you were beginning to feel attached to him somehow. Diego was less than pleased. He walked into the saloon one day, spotted you and Le Mans sitting and chatting together, and gave you such a scathing look that you felt as if you'd actually been slapped. That night, he found you at your usual camping spot outside of town, and verbally ripped into you.

“What the hell are you thinking?!” he hissed. “You’re supposed to be laying low, not getting chummy with the locals! If anyone realizes that you’re working with me, it could put all of my plans in jeopardy! You stay the hell away from the dandy or you’ll find yourself out of a job!”

That’s what led to you meeting Le Mans in secret. What Diego didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. Unfortunately for you, Diego did know. He knew all about you and Le Mans and your secret rendezvous. He also knew about how Le Mans pressed an adoring kiss to your lips at the end of each of your meetings. The thought of someone else kissing you caused him to go absolutely feral. The image of Le Mans’ filthy mouth tainting your precious lips played over and over again in his mind until his vision blurred and he could feel his teeth lengthening inside of his mouth. Even as he lurched into the wilderness, hunched over like a beast on the hunt, he couldn’t erase the image of your flustered face from his mind.

They found what was left of Le Mans a day later. A bear got to him, so they said. You were stunned. Just as soon as you found the slightest spark of joy, life came along and snuffed it out completely. It was karma, you supposed. You didn’t deserve any joy really. Not after the things you’d done. Though, Le Mans didn’t deserve to die in such a way; partially eaten by some wild animal…. What a horrible way to go. You spent the next few days sobbing in your dark corner of the saloon. No one came to comfort you. No one even looked your way. It was like nothing changed. People passed you by as if you weren’t even there. You’d gone back to being unnoticed and overlooked. It didn’t bring you the feeling of safety that it used to. Now, you just felt miserable and more lonely than you ever thought possible.

The damage from the storms had finally been cleared and the Steel Ball Run race was no longer being delayed. Diego would be leaving the little town along with the other racers, and you would be expected to follow after him. And so you did. Your half blind mule was nowhere near as fast and agile as some of the race horses, but he made up for it with his ability to sniff out shortcuts through rougher terrain and his sure-footedness. If anyone spotted you they would assume that you were just some wandering vagrant and nothing more. They wouldn’t suspect you to be a spy or have anything to do with the Steel Ball Run race. They wouldn’t even bother to approach you, much less think to question you.

It had been at least three days since you’d been back on the trail. Your mule managed to find a nice spot that overlooked the Joestar group’s camp and was situated in a way that prevented them from seeing your own campfire. From your vantage point, you could use your binoculars to watch what they were doing. While you were too far away to hear them, you could read their lips. So far Joestar was being sarcastic and the Zeppelli fellow was making jokes about his steel balls. So nothing special. You sighed, lowered your binoculars, and leaned back against a rock. You looked up into the starry sky and thought about Le Mans for the hundredth time that day. You’d been thinking about him alot lately. You’d only known him briefly, but got so attached to him in that short amount of time. You sighed again, closed your eyes for a moment, and did your best to choke back the tears. You wouldn’t cry again. It took so much out of you when you did. You missed Le Mans. You missed him very badly. You glanced back down at the Joestar group only to see that they had gone to sleep for the night. You may as well do the same.

The sound of your campfire being stirred startled you. You turned to look to your right only to get startled again to see that Diego was sitting next to you, poking your fire with a stick.

“M-Mr. Brando!!” You cried and he chuckled at your shocked expression.

“Some spy you are.” he teased. “You let me sneak right up on you. Not only that, but you were letting your fire go out. You must be awfully distracted tonight if you’re that unaware of your surroundings.”

He snapped the stick he was using to poke the fire in half and tossed it into the flames. Then he turned to you with a smirk.

“Tell me what it is that has you so preoccupied.” he said, leaning towards you.

You scooted back from him, feeling very uncomfortable. You didn’t know what it was but Diego’s presence had you on edge. He often visited your camp to hear what you had to say about either Valentine or Johnny Joestar, so it wasn’t as if his arrival was unusual… but something about him felt different tonight. He always seemed to have an air of danger around him, but tonight that air of danger felt downright deadly. You looked away from him, not willing to spill your personal thoughts to him.

“I don’t have any information for you, tonight.” you said, attempting to change the subject. “Joestar and Zeppelli haven’t done anything out of the ordinary lately…”

Diego interrupted you.

“I didn’t come here to talk business. Not tonight.” he said.

He moved around you so that he was once again in your line of vision. He was smiling in a way that made your stomach knot up.

“W-what did you c-come to talk about then?” you asked, dreading the answer.

“About us,” he answered. “About you and me…”

You looked up at him in confusion.

“About us? What about us?” You asked.

“First let’s talk about you. I bet I can guess as to what you were thinking about before I snuck up on you…”

And he was back on that topic again. You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself.

“I don’t really want to talk about that.” you said.

He ignored you completely.

“You were thinking about that dandy boy again, weren’t you. What was his name again? Leemen? Layman?”

“Le Mans,” you corrected. “Please, I really don’t want to talk about…”

He cut you off again.

“I know it must be hard losing someone like that. Especially, when you seemed so fond of him…”

Your irritation flared and you stomped your booted foot on the ground.

“Mr. Brando! I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” you shouted.

“Shhhhhh,” he shushed you and suddenly he was holding your hands in his gloved ones, gently rubbing his thumbs against your knuckles.

The action startled you and your anger was forgotten. His eyes had taken on a soft look that caught you off guard and shocked you into silence. Never since you’d known him had Diego Brando appeared soft or comforting in any way. He was either cold and calculating or a beacon of hate and rage. This was a side of him you’d never guessed existed. You made a slight attempt at pulling your hands out of his, but he used the opportunity to pull you closer to him. You found himself staring into his eyes for a moment. Finding the situation far too intimate, you turned away from him, staring at the ground instead.

“Listen to me,” he began. “I understand. I do.”

You looked back up at him.

“Understand?” you questioned.

He offered you a gentle smile.

“Yes. I understand what it means to lose someone, believe me.” he said and his eyes grew distant for a moment.

“It’s not easy is it?” he said.

“Mr. Brando… what are you getting at?” you asked.

“You’re lonely, that’s what I’m getting at.” he said.

You pulled yourself out of his grasp feeling that the situation was becoming a bit too intimate for your tastes.

“Come now, don’t be that way.” he said with a light chuckle.

He moved closer to you and you shied a little further away from him.

“Fine, be the shrinking violet if you want, but hear me out.” he said, growing slightly annoyed with your standoffishness.

“I know it’s been hard for you and I can’t imagine how it feels to have to skirt around on the outside of civilization unable to connect with anyone. You must feel like some kind of outcast. I can’t imagine how lonely it gets…”

He took a single step closer to you and you froze. You understood now. You knew exactly what he was trying to say. In the time that you’d been working for him, Diego had become more and more “friendly” with you. Then came the complements, the gifts of supplies and equipment… it was Diego that bought you the binoculars that you’d been using. At the time you thought he was just giving you a means to better do your job, but when you thought back to some of his other behaviors, (how close he sat to you when he came to hear your reports, the pet names and out-of-nowhere complements, and the nasty looks he gave you when he saw you with Le Mans) you realized that there was far more to it than that.

Diego was crushing on you. Very badly.

He suddenly had his arms around you and was pressing you into his chest. Panic rose into your chest and you tried to push away, but he tightened his hold on you.

“If you stay by my side, you’ll never have to be lonely again.” he whispered into your ear.

You managed to rip yourself out of his arms.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Brando,” you said, straightening yourself out and trying to quell the panic that was swelling up in your heart. “I just don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.”

Diego's reaction was not what you expected.

He stared at you with a blank expression for a moment before his lips stretched into a wicked grin. Then he laughed. He laughed and laughed until you started to become even more uncomfortable than you already were. After a few minutes of this, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s so funny?!” you demanded.

Diego managed to reign in his laughter long enough to answer you.

“It’s funny…” he started, wiping tears from his eyes. “It’s funny because you think you actually have the right to refuse me.”

You raised your eyebrows, stunned at the audacity of the statement.

“Excuse me?” you said with disgust in your voice. Your panic was very quickly turning into anger. “Did you just say that I don’t have the right to refuse you?”

Diego merely grinned at you.

“I most certainly do have the right to refuse you! What makes you think YOU have the right to tell ME who I can and can’t refuse?”

Diego’s grin seemed to stretch to the far reaches of his face for a split second and there was a flash of something utterly inhuman in his eyes. It shocked you right out of your tantrum. Your anger dissipated and slowly went back to panic. When Diego spoke again, your panic turned into pure horror.

“No, you don’t have the right to refuse me, sweetheart.” he said in a mockingly soft tone. “You can’t refuse me, because if you do, a certain event from your past is going to make national news.”

Event from your past? He couldn’t mean… Oh no.

“Go on,” he said with a chuckle. “Ask me what I’m talking about.”

No, no, he couldn’t be talking about that, you tried to reassure yourself. I’ll play dumb. I’m not going to let him know he’s affecting me…

“What ARE you talking about?” you asked, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“Oh nothing much.” he said. “Just a little bank robbery that happened a few years back… a bank robbery that you were involved in… a bank robbery that cost a little boy his life. Ring any bells?”

No.

NO!

He knew!

He KNEW!!!

Eight years ago, before you got involved with Diego, you had been a part of a gang of criminals that terrorized the state. You left them after an incident that made you question everything that you’d done up to that point. It was just supposed to be a bank heist. You were supposed to go into the bank, wave some guns around, demand the money, and leave. You hadn’t expected the sheriff and a posse of deputized locals to show up and try to stop you. There had been a shootout in the streets. A child ran into the crossfire in a panic, trying to get to his mother. He was killed. Shot in the head… by you. You killed that child right in front of his mother. You panicked and fled, leaving your allies behind to fend for themselves. You didn’t escape unscathed, however. A bullet grazed the side of your face, mutilating your ear in a way that would instantly give you away if anyone saw the wound. It was the reason you always wore your hair down. It covered your mangled ear and prevented anyone from relating you to the robbery.

At least you had hoped that it would.

Stubbornly, you continued to play dumb.

“I’m not sure what you could be referring to.” You said. “Though if I was involved in such a thing, you have no proof of it.”

Diego cocked his head to the side in a playful manner.

“Oh don’t I?” he said.

Your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest and your body felt like someone had just doused you in ice water.

“I remember reading about it in the paper. The sheriff said that only one of the robbers got away. But not before he shot them in the ear…”

Your blood ran cold.

He reached out, pulling your hair away from your right ear. You were frozen to the spot. You could only look up at him with wide eyes as you began to tremble like a scared mouse. He examined what was left of your ear, making note of the scar across your head and your missing helix and antihelix.

“Hmm.” he mused. “Not much left of it, is there? You poor thing. That had to hurt like hell…”

His gloved fingers traced your scar. You shuddered and jerked away from him. You pulled your hair back over your injured ear and stared at him in horror.

He snickered at your reaction.

“Pretty damning evidence, I’d say.” he said in a casual manner, while affixing you with a glare.

“T-the kid got in the way!” you stammered. “It was an accident! I never meant to kill him!”

“Do you think the law cares about that? In their eyes, you’re just a lowly child-killing criminal. You don’t deserve any sympathy. Just a trip to the gallows.” Diego said with a scoff.

You were going to be sick.

“I have a lot of connections, love. One word from me and you’ll be in a noose faster than you can blink. So, no, you don’t have the right to refuse me, dearest.”

You shrank in on yourself, clutching the sides of your head and squatting down on the ground. Your eyes were wide and unfocused, staring at the ground, unable to see anything but the visions of encroaching doom floating around in your head.

Diego grabbed you by your arms and pulled you to your feet. He wasn’t even going to allow you a moment to have a mental collapse. You found yourself, once again, forced to look at his smiling face. There was something different about him now though. His features seemed sharper, longer somehow and his eyes had taken on a strange yellowish color. You had to be seeing things. The shock of having your darkest secrets revealed must be messing with your head more than you thought.

“Did you think that you could just run away from what you’d done and pretend that it didn’t happen? Did you think that the blood washed off of your hands over the years? No! Once a killer always a killer! You didn’t stop with the child, did you? You have quite a gallery of victims, don’t you?”

Diego licked his lips and you felt like he was savoring your guilt and terror.

“I had no choice!” You protested. “They got too close! They were going to find out who I was and what I did! I had to defend myself!!”

Diego snickered sadistically.

“Defend yourself against what? Your rightful punishment?” he mocked.

Tears were streaming down your face now and you felt your knees go weak. The only thing keeping you upright was Diego’s hold on you.

“How do you know these things?” you demanded.

Diego shook his head.

“I have my ways. Not that it matters…” he said with a sneer.

“Why then? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I own you.” Diego said with a hungry smirk. “I owned you from the moment you started doing my dirty work.”

You looked up with him in horror. Just how long had he… felt this way about you? Was this his plan from the very beginning? Did he already know about your past in advance and mean to use it against you before you’d even met him?

You supposed that none of those answers really mattered.

In the end this was probably what people called “karma”.

You ran from your life of crime years ago hoping to put all of that nasty business behind you and start anew, but it wasn’t that easy. People came looking for you: lawmen, bounty hunters, people who were too nosey for their own good. Your life became one of paranoia and unrest. People were dead because of the decisions you made. A child was dead because of you. A mother was heartbroken because you took her child from her in an act of carelessness. If you had never decided to join up with that group of bandits all for the sake of relieving boredom and money woes, none of it would’ve happened. And you wouldn’t be here at the mercy of a one Diego Brando.

You reap what you sow…

“Dry those tears,” he said. “It’s rather insulting that you act that way after I ask you to be mine. Really, you act as if being with me is a punishment or something.”

He chuckled darkly and shoved you away from him.

“I’ve got to head back to my own camp or Hot Pants will start wondering what I’m up to.” he said as he started to walk away. “We’ll talk about this another time. I wouldn’t try to run off if I were you. Sweet dreams, love.”

He disappeared into the darkness, laughing lowly at your plight.

You sat there on your knees wanting to scream in despair and frustration. You should never have gotten involved with a man like Diego. Even after you swore off involving yourself with crime or shady dealings, you still found yourself lured to men like him. Either they came to you or you stupidly sought them out for one reason or another. And now you were stuck being the unwilling romantic companion to a madman.

You suddenly found yourself thinking of Le Mans again.

You weren’t sure, but you had a sickening feeling that Diego was involved with his death somehow. You couldn’t forget the look he gave you when he saw you with Le Mans in the saloon. What you knew of Diego said that he was absolutely the type to kill a man out of jealousy. Still people said that Le Mans had died to an animal attack. No human could rip a man apart like that… could they?

Whatever the case, you couldn’t stay with Diego. You had only agreed to work for him until the Steel Ball Run race was over. You never agreed to being his lover. The idea made your skin crawl. Surely there was a way to escape him? If you ran now, it wouldn’t matter who he told about your crimes. You’d be long gone by the time anyone came for you. That was it! You would leave right now!

You got up to begin packing up your things when your left arm started stinging horribly. You gasped in pain and looked at your arm to see that your sleeve was ripped and bloodstained. How on earth had that happened? You pushed the fabric of your sleeve aside to see that there was a bloody gash there. Did Diego do that when he grabbed you? Did he have a knife in his hand at the time? You vaguely remember feeling his fingernails jabbing into you, even through his gloves, as he grabbed you, but surely they weren’t as long and sharp enough to cause a cut like that! And how could he have cut you through his gloves? The wound didn’t seem too deep but it was bleeding a lot. You would have to treat it before you made a run for it. You wouldn’t be able to escape if you bled out beforehand.

Pain abruptly shot through your arm. It seemed to spread from your wound to the rest of your body. You grasped your bloody arm, panting in agony for a moment. After a few minutes, the pain faded. If you didn’t know better, your thoughts of escape were somehow linked to the pain in your arm. But that’s ridiculous. You examined your wound again. It looked… strange. The skin around it was red and swollen, hinting an oncoming infection if not treated. But it also looked cracked and kind of scaly. Odd. Gangrene? No. You’d seen gangrene before. It was ugly, but it didn’t look like that. You really needed to patch that wound before it got worse. Then you could pack your things and…

Another jolt of pain surged through your arm and your mind went fuzzy.

You were vaguely aware of your mule, who was tied nearby, snorting and pawing nervously at the ground.

The pain only lasted a few seconds this time. Your brain still felt like it was in a haze though. You were probably just tired. You couldn’t focus on much except your arm… and thoughts of Diego…

You wanted to fix your arm and… there was something else you wanted to do but you couldn’t remember.

Was it… escape?

Escape from what?

Diego told you not to run off. So you wouldn’t.

You looked down at your arm again. It really looked strange now. Far too scaly, but you weren’t too worried about it. Your tongue lolled out of your oddly lengthed mouth and you gave the cut a few licks. Once the blood was cleaned off you looked at the wound. It seemed to have stopped bleeding. You would put some antiseptic on it later. At the moment you needed sleep. You flopped over into the dirt, not even bothering to crawl into your sleeping bag.

Your poor mule didn’t get much sleep that night. He spent the better part of the night keeping a wary eye on the beast that used to be his master, just in case it decided to wake up and devour him.

You dreamed of Diego and nothing else.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #yandere jojo #reader insert #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #steel ball run #jjba part 7 #diego brando #yandere Diego Brando #outlaw reader

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paintedscales · 24 days

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Excerpt: Slow Dancing

Posting for the XIV Swap Discord's Prompt of the Day of 'Slow Dancing.'

Comes from an older work before I really started working on building Nomin's character. So...may feel off to what I present of her current iteration.

Originally written July 27, 2022.

When the gala came into full swing, Estinien had become the reclusive wallflower that he normally was when it came to scenarios involving multiple people. Nomin, on the other hand, had been all too happy to see both Alphinaud and Alisaie dressed to the nines, pulling the twins in for a more familial hug. As it stood, she felt more like a mother to the teens than a peer -- a proud mother of two teens who could fight and fend for themselves, as well as have their wit and knowledge put most scholars to shame.

The first dance between the former Scions was, of course, with G’raha Tia. The well-versed miqo’te who was all too eager to share a dance with Nomin when the subject was brought up. G’raha sported a rather fetching black suit with a red kerchief and some crystal blue accents embedded in gold to further accent and tie the look together. Their dance was bubbly and filled with a jovial kind of playfulness that the two complemented each other on.

Seamlessly, Nomin had taken the hand of Thancred, who had dressed himself nicely in a white suit with navy accents. The dance with Thancred was a little more slow -- intimate, even. Not in an uncomfortable way, though Nomin did feel a little awkward even if Thancred’s dance seemed elegant and well-practiced. Must have come from his days as a ladies’ man -- or rather working covertly and playing his part to gather intel.

Soon came the time for Nomin to have been passed to someone else -- and who other than young Alphinaud to take up being her dance partner? For a blessing, Nomin had been able to witness Alphinaud execute his dance steps with aplomb. He was dressed in a faded blue suit with a white dress shirt underneath. It was apparent he put effort into dressing for the occasion.

Unfortunately, Alphinaud’s time was cut relatively short as Alisaie took an opportunity to cut in between them and take up Nomin’s hands within her own. She was dressed in a coral halter dress that ruffled out and allowed her freedom to move her legs -- ever so typical of Alisaie to even have something formal that could let her run if need be. However, Alisaie’s dance steps were a little more erratic with less direction. It seemed only one of the Leveilluers had paid attention to whatever dance lessons were held in their home.

Eventually, Nomin was finally passed on to Urianger, who was dressed more in formal robes befitting his role as an Astrologian. They were gorgeous, and the silk that Nomin felt was luxuriant under her fingertips. Unlike her previous dance partners, Urianger seemed a little out of sorts when he danced with Nomin, though through no fault of either of them. It seemed that Urianger’s time in his tomes and seeking of knowledge, he spared little time to dance, which led to some awkward steps. Nomin, however, giggled and told Urianger not to worry too much about it before they took to a more slow dance with one another that allowed for minimal leading of either of them.

With a gentle passing, and a soft and chivalrous kiss to the back of Nomin’s hand from Urianger, she was then passed on to Y’shtola. The miqo’te was very particular about how she did not dance, though she did anyway with Nomin in tow. Y’shtola was dressed in an elegant black dress, something that showcased the natural beauty of her that Nomin admittedly always found herself a little envious of. But to dance with her dressed so elegantly? Nomin was happy to know that both she and Y’shtola were perhaps two of the most beautiful dancers -- even if the dancing itself was poorly done.

After Nomin’s dance with Y’shtola did Estinien finally -- finally -- peel himself from the wall he had planted himself against to approach the pair. Of course, Y’shtola was all too happy to let someone else have a chance at dancing with the Xaela woman, and Nomin had brightened up significantly when she saw Estinien approach her. It was evident by the way Nomin’s tail flicked up with delight, and as she happily took up Estinien’s hand within her own.

“You looked to have been thoroughly enjoying yourself,” Estinien spoke, his voice loud enough for Nomin to hear. She smiled and scoffed, following Estinien’s lead as he danced intimately with her. They started slowly, and he was fine with that, it allowed him more time to gaze down upon Nomin and take in her appearance -- drink it in as if he would never see her again.

“Of course. So many of my best friends I made here in Eorzea are here, and I got to dance with them,” Nomin replied gently. She then gazed up at Estinien. “Of course… there’s also you. We’ve been here quite some time, granted, but it gladdens me that you actually showed up despite seemingly not really wanting to come.”

“If it means I can see you again, I suppose I can endure a little public humiliation…” Estinien said with a soft scoff.

“Is that what this is?” Nomin asked with a slight tease to her tone.

“Hmph…” Estinien’s typical demeanor shone through, keeping his thoughts to himself as he continued to lead the dance.

#xiv swap prompts #ffxiv #ffxiv writing #my writing #old #ffxiv oc #oc: nomin tal kheeriin #alphinaud leveilleur #alisaie leveilleur #urianger augurelt #y'shtola rhul #thancred waters #g'raha tia #estinien varlineau #estinien x wol #wolstinien #cinnamon ship

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twst-hanaya · 2 years

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Silver's Tragedy

Some of my thoughts on Silver and his situation.

Note: There will be spoilers, and no, I'm not paying attention to what kind, so read at your own risk. Also I dive into a LOT a lot of speculation about Silver's possible thoughts and feelings, so again, disclaimer: this is all just my opinion lol please don't get mad at me. This is chock-full of assumptions based on not a lot of evidence so and I'm willing to live with that lolol.

That being said, let's get into it!

I made sure to read through all of Silver's Vignettes before writing this all down, and it did make me restructure some of my ideas into something based more on what we've seen of Silver in the story.

Here's the thing about the Diasomnia quartet right? They're a family, really family in a way that no other dorm is. There are childhood friends and people who have known each other all their lives, but Diasomnia is different because it wasn't a group of peers growing up together. They're more close to the nuclear family structure of having a parents, an adult that is meant to be a caretaker and children who were guided under that paternal role. While Malleus is obviously not quite as guardian-like as Lilia he's basically the doting Uncle in this scenario.

The reason I mention this is because although this is their dynamic, there's an inversion of expectations here that is unfortunate and unavoidable and not normal. Whereas most people would expect the parent to be the first to die, and the child to forge ahead without them, it's the opposite here. Silver is a human, in a society full of fairies and ancient creatures, and Lilia raised him knowing that it was all the more likely that his son in all but blood would turn to dust before he even saw a wrinkle appear anywhere on his own face.

Silver expresses in his Scary Dress Personal Story that having Lilia and Malleus disappear like that was incredibly rattling, because it had never even occurred to him that they would never be in his life. He's fully steeped in the expectation that he'll be the one leaving everyone else behind, and the experience of having them stand before him as an enemy, someone he could no longer stand beside, was a moment that woke him up to the reality that this may not always be the case.

(While it seems like there was a hell of a lot of foreshadowing for the events of Chapter 7 in this particular Vignette, I'm not really gonna get into that here since I'm focusing on analyzing Silver as a character rather that the events of TWST as a whole. )

While this episode focuses on Silver waking up to the possibility of loss on his own part where it never existed before, I want to focus on the other side of this coin. I can only imagine the kind of mentality you end up having growing up as a mortal in a world of practically immortal beings. Indeed, he seems unbothered and unflappable for the most part, with a tendency towards obliviousness. He doesn't seem to have much negative emotion in general, and is fairly straightforward and honest with both himself and others. And you know what? I'm sure he is fine.

The thing about people though, is that we're capable of being "fine" with a lot of fucked up things. We get used to it, we compartmentalize - we can't keep functioning if we let it bother us. There are things that are "just the way they are" that are absolutely fucked up. While Lilia and Malleus's tragedies are the burden of time and the inevitability of it, and everything that's swept away by it, Silver's tragedy is that ever present understanding that he will be the one abandoning everything he loves. It's one thing to grow old with your loved ones - it's a whole other beast to feel time slipping by you as they remain unchanging and ever the same, on a completely different plane of existence.

Can you imagine how lonely that must be?

He isn't a dog - he's a person and he's aware. And that's all Silver has known really. He's befriended fellow humans during his time at NRC certainly, but they aren't family. He's constantly focused on what he can give back to them for loving him, and he's constantly fighting to give them something of worth while he still has the chance. What can he leave them? He talks a lot about returning Lilia's debt of kindness with everything he can, and I can't help but feel it isn't just gratitude that drives him, even if he isn't aware of it himself.

I think we focus a lot on how the ones being left behind are hurt, but it's worth acknowledging the burden that comes with being the one that leaves.

(On a sidenote, I think Sebek has a very interesting role to play in all of this, but with the level of information we have on him, I hesitate to make any speculations. He's half-fae, half-human, and I'm sure that comes with its own baggage that deserves its own post. The reason I can't make a more meaningful analysis is because we don't really have a grasp on how half-human half-fae lifespans work in comparison to full humans and faeries, and even different types of fairies, though it's pretty clear (to me at least) from what he's said that his mom is some kind of Vampire, or Baobhan Sith type of fae.)

#my twst analysis #twisted wonderland #twst #silver #diasomnia #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #twst sebek #sebek zigvolt

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inventors-fair · 1 year

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Insert The Clash Reference - New Year’s Revolution Commentary

I will be the first to admit this was not one of my stronger contests. As I alluded to in the initial post, I had intended to run something else entirely, but articulating what I wanted people to give me proved entirely fruitless despite around 8 hours of concentrated sentence-construction. So, thus, with the deadline looming, I audibled into something else entirely that I put no prior thought in. I think this showed itself somewhat in the submissions, as people seemed to take different lessons from the same post, and I sincerely apologise for any misgivings due to my poor communication of my intentions.

That said, y’all ran in some real delightful directions with this one. I definitely did not expect to see most of the twists on Rebels-as-a-concept that you decided to bring to the table, and seeing everyone’s little takes on how Rebels could be done was an absolute delight. Thank you all wholeheartedly for your submissions this week.

With all that out of the way, a cut!

@an-anarchist-shapeshifter - Double Agent

Thrilled to see that tumblr user an-anarchist-shapeshifter has partaken in the political unrest contest, though I am slightly bewildered that you were not the one to submit the sole Rebellious Shapeshifter of the crowd. Regardless, the card you actually submitted: Absolutely lovely saboteur effect. Leaving the card draw as optional is an incredibly clever choice, as it can allow you more flexibility to choose between adding to your own hand and decreasing theirs in less than ideal scenarios, while still allowing you to generate nauseating amounts of card advantage when everything lines up. Absolutely delicious mechanic to fit on a four mana 2/3, so excellent work there. My main sticking point for this particular rogue element is its use of skulk. See, I played standard back when Shadows of Innistrad was released, and I still vividly remember how skulk played out in practical terms: Namely, 1 power skulk creatures were essentially unblockable, 2 power ones were Difficult, but Manageable, and 3+ power ones had an extra line of flavor text. Skulk as an evasion mechanic is very narrow and I don't think I have ever found it particularly fun, playing with or against it, and that sour taste has yet to leave me even after all these years. That said, I will commend you for selecting the only vaguely interesting Skulk Number. If you gave this menace instead I think it would play out very similarly, while also avoiding any and all unforeseen Ancient Judge Grudges that may still be lying around. An otherwise delightful card somewhat marred by a slightly unfortunate mechanic choice.

@demimonde-semigoddess - Jabberhouse Hand

This card is delightful and I very much wish it existed, but unfortunately, as I am currently judging the Rebel Contest and not the Cards I Like Contest, I cannot fully endorse this card, as I am having quite a bit of difficulty figuring out where the Goblin bit ends and the Rebel bit begins. Plinking people? That's just standard Boggart Shenanigans. Milling everyone? A lil weird for Goblins but I'm not sure it exactly screams "I'm a Rebel!" either. Caring about things what cost 2 or less? No idea. I just can't really tell why this particular Goblin has selected Rebellion as a profession rather than Roguery, aside possibly from the flavor text association with Grenzo, which is itself tenuous as he himself is also a Goblin Rogue. Could I envision a set where Grenzo tries to upend the monarchists from his dungeon-throne, and acquires the Rebel typing while doing so? Sure. But I'm just not confident I'm getting that entirely from this card, unfortunately. Like I said though, love it mechanically, just not sure it was the ideal execution for this contest.

@dimestoretajic - Backroom Recruiter

Let the workers unite! It is rather unfortunate that their union contracts only extend to the end of combat, rather than end of turn, as that will almost certainly result in unintentional union-member casualties, when your Union Bear becomes a 4/4 and becomes blocked by another 2/2 and emerges triumphant, only to lose its coveted toughness and die to the very damage it previously powered through at combat's end. Fix that tiny little thing, though, and this is genuinely one of my favorite mechanics submitted this week. Absolutely in love with the idea of recruiting all my creatures into The Union. Although I will say I'm not totally thrilled with the concept of the union counters, I can definitely understand why you would feel motivated to include them on your singular submission for this week, as this definitely strikes me as a mechanic best demonstrated with friends. All in all, you almost made the cut, and this entire card is extremely endearing, but the mistaken timing on the toughness buff just barely took you out of contention.

@foxgirlbeans - Spartacus, Boisterous Rebel

Finally! Some consensus on the identity of Spartacus: It's this guy. Thrilled we've finally worked that one out. Goofs about impassioned acts of solidarity aside, this is an absolutely fascinating card that I would absolutely love to play at a table with, like, 4+ people but would loathe to encounter against a single opponent. I will get into more detail about that criticism in a second, but first, I'd like to address a templating concern. First, the regenerate. Magic the Gathering has not seen a new use of the regenerate mechanic in approximately seven years. As of late, they've all but replaced that mechanic with temporarily granting indestructible, which by and large is going to accomplish the exact same thing as regeneration without a large amount of the associated rules headaches (Speaking as a former Rules Advisor Who Judged Some Local Tournaments, regenerate does A Lot Of Things and people have a very easy time forgetting about most of them.) This is rather fortunately a simple thing to address: As stated, you could pretty easily swap that regeneration shield for temporary indestructibility and be entirely above board.

Slightly larger problem: The permanence of the control-changing ability. Red/white doesn't generally get to steal things from people, even if winning a die roll is required to do so. Additionally, in one-on-one games of Magic, having a creature out which incentivises you to spend all your time attempting to steal other people's creatures with coinflip odds seems potentially frustrating for everyone involved, as, if you win the flips, your opponent has a bad time, and if you lose the flips, you have a bad time. I think the single simplest fix for both of these issues would be to have the control change only last until the end of the new controller's next turn. That way, they're guaranteed at least one attack with their newfound ally, but there is significantly decreased chance of permanent estrangement. All in all, I'd love to play this with a larger table, but it very much needs a bit more iterating before I can really endorse it for use in any other format. Clever idea though.

@helloijustreadyourpost - Brazen Bruiser

I am slightly concerned about this mechanic, as I am a bit afraid that the range of benefits you can grant to someone who succeeds in being Defiant is much smaller than is desirable. As is, I'm worried that this mechanic, in spite of the attack trigger, will actually cause people to not want to attack quite as much, for fear of enabling an opposing Rebel's Defiance. Flavor is great, and the card itself is pretty well executed, and very solidly within the range of Effects That You Can Get Away With, don't get me wrong, but I'm just inclined to believe that it won't quite have the kind of effect on a game you were looking for, unfortunately.

@hypexion - Angel of Revolution

Very bold of you to submit an Angel of Revolution that does not need to turn even a meager 90 degrees to attack. Trigonometry aside, this card is perfectly reasonable, and the mechanic seems like a delightful addition to the Rebel arsenal, especially considering how... interesting some of the additional creature type choices get for some of these things (looking at you, Trenching Steed). Not much more to say, honestly. Good mechanic, solid card, maybe could have used a bit more of a flavor anchoring to really allow it to rise above the competition.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes - Deep-Cover Agent

The aforementioned Rebellious Shapeshifter, not to be confused with any tumblr users that might be present. The flavor here is pretty immaculate honestly, but I'm not sold on how much that second ability is doing. Putting this at uncommon was definitely a wise choice, but even then, having access to a repeatable pump spell and also a repeatable shrink feels a bit excessive, when either one of those by itself would make combat in complex boardstates borderline nightmarish. If you just picked one (probably the one that encourages you to use the first ability, honestly) I think I'd be a bit higher on this card than I am, but as is I think it still just does a little too much for a little to little.

@izzet-always-r-versus-u - Voice of the Masses

Adding "reference to a cycle of Urza's Saga Angels" to my list of Things I Very Much Wasn't Expecting this week. Nor was Rebels-As-A-Group-Of-Heretics, honestly, and I'm kind of down for that? That's a cool idea, thank you for sharing it with me. I think my main concern with the card itself is the tax ability. I know decks full of legends are generally pretty niche, but they still very much do exist, and that's a pretty steep bill to add to an entire supertype/deck archetype, especially given how aggressively costed the actual body is. I know they're not a fan of the establishment but I do feel that making things cost 1 extra would have more than sufficed here. Regardless, this is I think a relatively small gripe strung from the worlds tiniest violin.

@reaperfromtheabyss - Aimless Renegade

A rebel without a cause! Absolutely delightful. Tragically, this was yet another victim of I Can Only Pick Six Winners. Though I do think that a stronger flavor/setting leaning would've pushed this a bit further above the competition. Also, not to nitpick, but it should "attack each combat." rather than each turn. That's about it honestly. Great card! Lovely concept. Just not quite enough steam for me to exalt it further.

@snugz - Amphin Frostmage

You alluded to the possibility that this could end up just kind of being an evasion ability in your submission text, and, well, yeah. This mechanic, in any sufficient quantity, will be Pretty Much Skulk, But More Words. Like, if you get down more than two of these I'm not sure many non-desperate individuals would dare block your Rebellious Salamanders at that point, as that would mean getting their creature locked down for nearly the next half-century. It certainly is an interesting concept, and I'm thrilled to see you've brought the Amphin into this of all things, definitely a novel source of rebellion. But yeah, this can pretty much be boiled down to Evasion, But More Verbose, and I'm not sure that's gonna play out as the best use of textbox space in the world. Perhaps something more akin to afflict, where you have a set payoff for getting blocked, if only to save on text space? I'm not sure honestly.

@squeezyboi - Simic Dismissers

Absolutely in love with the concept of this card, and the idea that maybe some of the Simic's experiments aren't quite as enthused with their outcomes. Mechanically, as well, I think this is quite delightful, letting you profit off of any excessive accrued counters that your evolve or adapt creatures may have generated. The only thing that really put this behind the Defiant Gateless for me is that I'm not sure what broader implications it could have. Like, yes, these are rebellious Simic victims, but what else are rebels doing on Ravnica? I'm sure one could conjure a cycle of guild-"aligned" Rebels in similar fashion to this, but I just don't see it being as cohesive as other entries, which is I think the main thing that brought it out of contention for me. All that aside, lovely stuff here.

@wolkemesser - Defiant Aesthete

Rebellious Lorwyn Elf who wants to protect those that the ruling Elf class deem undesirable? Oh absolutely. Your flavor direction here is honestly immaculate. Mechanically, though, I'm a bit less impressed. Anti-ward is definitely an interesting direction to take things, though I'm not confident it will play quite as well as its more traditional counterpart, as it relies more on the owner of the Thing People Want To Kill not leaving up enough mana rather than the person doing the killing having enough mana, which means that the Defiant in question is pretty much gonna survive whatever gets thrown at it so long as its owner is sufficiently motivated to allow it to do so, which feels like it would be rather frustrating to play against, especially in quantity. Regardless, the flavor is absolutely lovely, the enters the battlefield ability is quite nice, and I appreciate that you reached out with a new mechanic this week, even if it didn’t quite hit the mark for me.

@yd12k - Farmstead Rallier

Fantastic flavor, love that, and the flavor text itself is absolutely stellar. Largest strike against this for me, honestly, is that the Rebel bit feels real tangential to the whole experience. Like, this card? Great. Fantastic Peasant Tribal experience. In the context of this contest? I think you may have been slightly better served submitting something that demonstrated the utility of these Rebel tokens which you alluded to in your submission text, more of a Rebel Payoff than a Rebel which might incidentally generate More Rebels. All that said, it is still definitely a very lovely card, I'm just not confident it was the best demonstration of the concepts in your set in relation to the prompt.

That’s all from me for this week, barring me continuing to ride this inexplicable wave of executive function through some backlog commentary. (Again, I sincerely apologise for that, my brain is filled with bees and everything is difficult) but yes. Thank you all for participating!

- @starch255

#mtg #magic the gathering #Inventor's Fair #custom Magic card #Rebel Contest #commentary

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wish-archives · 2 years

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Prompt List: Potions and Treats

Introducing... Otome-inspired AUs!

How to request:

Specify if you’d like a drabble or headcanons, along with the info I ask for below the cut!

Do note that these follow the content guidelines of each of my blogs, and any violations of those rules will unfortunately mean your request won’t be considered.

FOR USE BY @stormgardenscurse AND @genshin-scenarios ONLY, as this is an event I planned for my own blogs!

Drabbles:

"Every concoction requires a base! Please pick one-" [Genre: fluff, angst, no pref]

"To embark on a route, all you have to do is drink a potion! To create a potion, you will require four components:

"Did you know the flowers in the garden are the magical sort? Go browse them if you will, and pick one that you like!" [Setting: canon, royalty, modern, highschool, yokai, demon/angels]

"Any special add-ons you'd like? These are optional!" [Bonus prompts: beginnings, first times, secret route, endings, missed opportunity]

"And now for a partner to brew it with you! Whose company would you like?" [Pick 1 character]

Headcanons:

"If you'd rather have a snack instead, I do have some treats! They may not be as immersive as my potions, but I assure you they still deliver the concept!

"I only have enough for another 3 servings, so pick wisely who you'd like to share them with!" [Pick up to 3 characters max]

"It's been a while since someone's asked about my potions - do you have any favorite stories yourself?" [Pick your setting, from either the route-drabble section above or making one up yourself!]

*You can even describe an existing anime or manhwa's concept as the prompt! Just try to summarise the parts you want included, instead of just putting its name.

"My, your eyes are practically sparkling! Is there anyone this tale reminds you of in particular?"

[If you picked multiple charas, name 1 between them that you favor the most. I might make them the true/secret route!]

[If you only picked 1 chara, then name one other guy to have a platonic side route or cameo!]

"Oh, you can keep going if you want. I like to listen when people are passionate about something!" [Any additional ideas about your AU request? Just make sure you don’t go over the word limit for 3 asks at most!]

#potions&t

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quanstar · 2 years

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Discover What Exercise Is

Keto http://weightlossdigestorg.org

But is exercise itself welcome at job? The parts are thoroughly regulated, and also several solutions offer some extra assistance, like exercise and also way of living ideas. Taking your way of living right into account, you can get a much more precise analysis on your skin age than by simply looking at your reflection in the mirror or counting birthdays. Understand your temperament and also locate a program that will certainly deal with your way of life and also goals. Read on to learn how sled dogs could hold you back as well as place you in deadly scenarios. Sled dogs reign supreme over snow sleds in some situations because the pets may verify hardier in tougher conditions. Snowmobiles supply quicker, much more practical transport throughout the snowy expanses of freezing Alaska. Snowmobiles have actually mainly changed sled pets in the Alaskan wild. Since of number of advantages of these machines, most of the health and wellness clubs as well as gym centers have these resonance makers. Dog Image Gallery Sled pets would supply a variety of benefits if you're lost in the snowy Alaskan wild.

If a sled pet ends up being hurt, won't that hold you back? As it is, you can anticipate some increase in intestinal tract gas at initially, however this will subside in a week or 2 as your system and also the bacteria that occupy your colon readjust to your new diet plan (Full Statement). You are able to now expect this "fat loss exercise" all week. Others are a little a secret, like when you stand quickly as well as see a dizzying array of stars. Toss in their capability to anticipate poor climate, area unsafe pets and also compete fars away without much food, as well as you can see why these pets aided the Eskimos as well as others survive for as long. They can see farther than human beings can, potentially preventing sleds from diving over drop-offs or submerging in icy water. If you've been tossed off program, sleds pet dogs' innate feeling of instructions can function as a digital GPS system. Throughout the day, they can sense open water or weak ice. Sled pets can take a trip approximately around 100 miles (160 kilometers) each day, but they aren't particularly fast.

Although odd scents might create them to wander off a little, sled pet dogs have a general flair for finding their means back to where they came from. Jolt Cola, the initial "energy beverage," came out in the 1980s and also has actually continued to be preferred with university trainees. Henry Ford, that is likewise the creator of the Ford Motor Company, initially presented his production line in 1913 in his automobile manufacturing facility. Here we are summarising the Lee Priest exercise regimen for all the people that dream to want or be a professional athlete to achieve a strikingly healthy body photo. Pierre de Coubertin was the mastermind behind the video games, however it was co-organizer Michel Breal who recommended consisting of a race commemorating Phidippides' legendary trek. If you had your choice between a sled as well as a snow sled dog group for a trek throughout the Alaskan wilderness, could sled dogs make the cut? Running is an all-natural instinct for sled pet dog types. Centuries of sled dog use in the Alaskan wilderness has shown that with the proper control, slow-moving and stable can win the race. Without control, you can finish up in hazardous scenarios, such as being dragged behind the sled, led with brush and even shaken off.

However, there is rather a large space in between the 2 with the United States being home to over 70 million pet dogs, while Brazil is residence to over 35 million. Did you recognize that a female can bring to life a trash of pups that have been fathered by 2 various pet dogs? It is possible, yet it suggests that she would certainly need to be bred by both within a particular period. Unfortunately, dogs were reproduced to be smaller sized for this reason with methods that weren't good. Which nation is residence to practically as several canines as the United States? While you might most likely guess that the United States is home to one of the most pet dogs on the planet, Brazil comes second. Hypnosis is truly a powerful tool that works very well for individuals similar to you, individuals assuming concerning dropping weight while having the opportunity to develop healthy and balanced routines. While the canines will bring you around 5 to 12 miles per hr (8 to 16 kilometers per hour), you can zip along on a snow sled at speeds similar to vehicles. Some areas require you to go slower on snowmobiles, many designs can go beyond rates of 90 miles per hr (144 kilometers per hour).

Read on to locate out exactly how sled dogs can hold you back and also place you in lethal circumstances. Sled pets rule supreme over snowmobiles in some situations due to the fact that the pet dogs might prove hardier in harder conditions. Snowmobiles have mostly replaced sled canines in the Alaskan wild. If you had your option between a snow sled and also a sled pet dog team for an expedition across the Alaskan wild, could sled dogs make the cut? Centuries of sled dog usage in the Alaskan wild has actually shown that with the proper control, slow-moving as well as stable can win the race.

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#Keto #Low carb Diet #Weight Loss #Workout

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the-firebird69 · 2 years

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immediate threat the immediate threat

Is below us in the form of five shatteredome that are 50 MI by 35 miles long each plus 120 x 20 mi and that support Charlotte harbor and it is below the tunnels

Frank Wilson AKA Stan AKA Sebastian Shaw AKA Obi-Wan Kenobi words on Bechtel Parsons breakerhoff as the boss at my particular satellite office and what we were doing was an ancillary project to the main submerged highway called The Big dig but it was pivotal in that we were moving soil and debris and other from the bottom of the Massachusetts Bay to accommodate the Ted Williams tunnel and we also handled some soil from the outfall tunnel from deer Island I do believe and that soil was similar but on the outer fall tunnel unlike the Ted Williams tunnel there are vertical tubes that extended and that was to rent to prevent explosions and vapor lock and it's a similar situation you don't know what to call these tunnels unless you're in the business and you know what to call them and I'm saying unfortunately a lot of mohawk don't go to seminars because they're not provided to them and they're just told what to do and the leaders are not 100% up to speed in other words you don't know what's down there tell me Allen and Trump Brad and Jason you don't know what those tunnels consist of I could have a top and bottom that are bases with vertical outfall of vertical tunnels or lifts and they could be coming up and down all night long as if it was a shadow dome

Zues Hera

We'll put it well said I will add this you people here don't know what you're doing and have expended tons of my son's energy on practically nothing and now you have an emergency and try and kidnap him just to tell me fofino wanted it's the same damn scenario as was in the low desert he said we don't man up here it's going to be the same problem so it started meeting up and he's showing us the 45 song and you guys panicked try dumb things now I don't understand something it's like you have no leader because your leaders are smoking crack and they're all high on themselves and they don't see the threat and they can't figure out how powerful the empire is and your rebels and you know it and you need some leader someone to lead you any recommends Brian Gerard Brian rod can have a whole bunch of special weapons but he sees the empire up there and he tries to hide and run from them because he's not stupid sure he gets cranky and he gets arrogant cuz his son really really crazy cool things and recently but Trump is way out there cuz the ships are too big there's too many of them now most of them are gone and it's still hiring he's still high on crack cocaine and so is there that's our point what he said to below and I said above these guys are nuts you're fighting a big Force it takes maximum effort just to stay above water my son's applying himself he sees a lot of you trying now and it's very difficult and to survivor's hard and yeah you did the foreigners hand and stuff so it's a tough balancing act for people who started out with less points but let's be serious my son is alone here and abandoned by everybody who's that we're pretty upset about it we need to go to Miami and we want rebels to find out what's going on ask your friends and your family and if you have a CEO I'll ask a co that there's there's a rebel force and a rebel alliance and it's real and there aren't any empire not even kiwi or Stan none of that

Thor Freya

There's a lot of stuff going on there's a lot of things to figure out what if you're here and punta Gorda you have to know about a few of them in order to survive one is about the giant tunnels below and the huge root tunnels and the giant tavern and that people are being kidnapped all the time by the Navy seals and mostly time for Vito and the ships are sure they're very dangerous this place is inhospitable right now because nobody's good proper attention it's really a place for expert spies and it's funny who aren't responsible around him has training him trying to get things and it never works and it's done on purpose future so ours let's get to work rebels trying to get educated Jenna has seminars at one point he still holds them and they're very valuable

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uwupissarozzieuwu · 1 year

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Dinner date

Hi, here’s a fic based on your suggestions. Please don’t post this one either. Sorry, but I’m still not ready to share this hc more widely. It’s set in the same au, with the same hcs I’ve shared with you before. It was really interesting to write more about what Fizz’s life could be like in this scenario, but this isn’t as happy unfortunately. I hope you enjoy though. Thank you for the inspiration. — A deadly sin didn’t need to eat or drink. Well, maybe Gluttony did, but that was practically in the job description. In all the time that Fizz had been forced to spend with Mammon, he’d never seen him eat a meal, just drink copious amounts of cheap alcohol. And of course the embodiment of greed had no time to bother with things like bodily functions. Time was money and bathroom breaks were a distraction for the disgusting lesser beings that needed them. Ozzie had a pretty different outlook. It didn’t make sense for the king of lust to deny himself any pleasures of the flesh, up to and including the more esoteric ones like watersports. As far as Fizz could tell, he had a fully-functioning digestive system, and he loved to eat and drink. For the first few months of their relationship, Fizz had mostly watched enviously. He’d only let himself be tempted to share small morsels of Ozzie’s food on a few occasions. Fizz’s strict, self-imposed diet had its drawbacks but they were all outweighed by its main advantage (not shitting himself in public). So he’d stayed strong in the face of Ozzie’s seductive offers. But now things were different. Fizz had had both the operations he wanted and they’d gone surprisingly well. None of the grisly complications the doctors had warned him about had happened. The permanent catheter worked as intended straight away and his intestines had gradually adjusted to being re-routed. He’d even only had one hospital-related panic attack! And then the doctors had agreed to prescribe benzos, which improved the recovery process a lot. Fizz was very happy with the results. Especially now, because right now he was eating a bowl of voot loops with zero fear. Ozzie was sat across from him, chatting about his plans for the day. The inconveniences of maintaining a stoma and a suprapubic catheter paled in comparison to the fact that he’d just spent the night in his lover’s bed, sound asleep and not worrying about rushing to the bathroom. He’d been worried about Ozzie finding him less attractive (or more attractive, due to some bizarre fetish), but so far it had been just like Ozzie promised. Addressing Fizz’s health problems was letting them get closer, but it hadn’t changed anything major about their relationship. Fizz didn’t want things to change. He wanted to be Ozzie’s star forever. He wanted to hang on to the feeling of being better and stronger than the had been before the accident. He wanted to swallow down all the shame he’d felt over the past year of his life and put it behind him. Between the prosthetics and the two latest alterations to his body, it was almost like there was nothing wrong with him. That was what his fans wanted. That was what Ozzie wanted. He could be everything they wanted. He didn’t realise he’d lost focused on their conversation until Ozzie waving a large hand in front of his face caught his attention. He blinked and grinned sheepishly. Ozzie’s expression was one of gentle amusement, so there was probably no need to worry. “Big night last night?” Ozzie asked, smiling. “You seem tired.” “Yeah, you would know,” Fizz retorted, and shovelled the last spoon of cereal into his mouth. It had been a good night, even before they’d got to Ozzie’s bedroom. He was into his second full week of emceeing at Ozzie’s biggest joint, and last night’s show had been a particular success. It was Valentine’s Day, and Ozzie compensated for that by ensuring his ring into a bigger hive of debauchery than it already was. Ozzie hated Valentines. It seemed to be a mix of his aversion to sappy, commercialised couples stuff and the thought that somewhere out there tons of undeserving, deadbeat boyfriends were expecting a lust-filled evening. Most demons were selfish lovers, in Ozzie’s opinion. They barely lifted a finger to keep the spark of lust alive in their relationships every other day of the year. One measly holiday for buying chocolates and a ribbed condoms for their partners was a slap in the face to everything he stood for. Fizz wasn’t exactly sure how the extra-sleazy acts at Ozzie’s that night had worked to counteract the influence of Big Valentine, but he could understand the sentiment. None of his exes had even bothered with Valentines in the first place, but they were definitely selfish. It felt surreal to have a fuck-buddy so dedicated to his pleasure now. So he’d done his part to give bring the energy that the big man had wanted for the show. It was becoming clear that even among the hottest acts from all the seven rings, he was some guests’ favourite part of the show. He fed off that adulation and didn’t feel out of place in his jester’s costume onstage anymore. How could he, when he had Ozzie’s loving attention? Even now at the kitchen island, Ozzie was happily watching him drink the last bit of milk out of his bowl. He had this warm, almost dopey look on his face. “Right, I’m gonna love ya and leave ya, big guy,” Fizz quipped, extending his legs so he could slide gracefully off one of Ozzie’s huge chair. There was no show tonight at Ozzie’s, because the place had to be closed for deep-cleaning, but Fizz still had some stuff to do today. Mostly bullshit commercials and event endorsements, but they would pay well enough to put a solid dent in his debt to Mammon. “Wait a second,” Ozzie purred. His voice was like melting butter and Fizz immediately perked up and turned back around. When Ozzie used that tone it was usually a good sign. “I was thinking, I should take you out tonight. You’ve been very good lately Fizz, and I think you deserve a treat, don’t you?” “What kind of treat?” Fizz asked, batting his eyelashes and wagging his tail. Ozzie leaned back in his chair, letting his robe fall open even more than it already was. “Let’s have dinner together. There’s this restaurant I just know you’ll love.” “A restaurant?” Fizz’s eyes lit up and the tail wagging was even more genuine than before. Fizz had been fantasising about being able to share a meal with Asmodeus since before he’d had his operations. What a thoughtful idea, offering it now he was recovered enough to eat what he wanted… Ozzie must have noticed that Fizz was zoning out again, because he got up from his chair and playfully poked Fizz on his snout. “Don’t let me make you late sweetheart. I’ll come pick you up at eight. I’m looking forward to it already.” — What a fucking joke. Fizz curled up tighter on the shower floor, cradling his swollen abdomen in his hands. The hot water wasn’t doing anything to ease the cramping, but he didn’t know what else to try. Crying in the shower. How nostalgic. At some point between walking into the fancy restaurant and being given his menu for the first time, it occurred to Fizz that he didn’t know if it was a good idea to eat here. In theory, he should be allowed to eat as normal. That was why he’d got the bag in the first place. But normal for him at the moment was still mainly drinking the nutritional shakes the doctors had given him (they were very convenient), and snacking on whatever easy-to-digest processed junk he got a craving for. He definitely remembered one of the doctors telling him to work up to foods he wasn’t sure about yet, like meats and vegetables, by only eating small amounts at a time. He’d never even tried most of the dishes on the menu, before or after his surgery. He didn’t even know what some of them were. How was he supposed to know if he could digest any of them properly? Well, apparently he couldn’t. He was finding that out right now. This was so stupid. Why hadn’t he said anything to Ozzie? Why had he let Ozzie assume his trepidation was about the environment and then let him order for the both of them? Why had he eaten everything that had been put in front of him? (Okay, he knew that one, he was actually hungry and the food had been too good to resist). He’d been deluding himself into thinking it was fine for as long as he possibly could. The food was great (and he wasn’t paying for any of it). Ozzie looked happy and was already making dessert-related innuendos. That was when the stomach pains had started, but they’d been bearable at first. He’d stopped leaning over the table and tried to suggest that they go home. Ozzie hadn’t been able to keep his hands off him during the ride back and while Fizz relished the attention, he was distracted. His stomach felt bloated and just that sensation was making him panic and start to catastrophise. When they’d got out of Ozzie’s limo he’d discreetly tried to check the bag under his shirt. There was nothing wrong with it. It was still empty, even. Turned out that was part of the problem. Early in the next morning his lower stomach felt hard as a rock, but nothing was coming out of the stoma. This was why the doctors had warned him about eating lots of high-fibre food. It wasn’t just that they’d created the stoma, they’d had to remove particularly damaged and scarred sections of his colon. There was a possibility of the stoma getting blocked. Fizz had dealt with much worse physical pain, but right now this level of discomfort was unbearable. He put his head in between his knees and raked his fingers over the tiled floor, breathing heavily. Worrying about whether it would clear up on its own in a few days or whether he’d have to go back to the doctor was compounding the stabbing abdominal pains. And what was worse was that Ozzie was still waiting for him in bed. He’d tried to creep off when he was tired of pretending to sleep and the pain was getting impossible to ignore, but Ozzie had woken up and asked where he was going. Ozzie seemed to have realised that something was wrong while they were having sex that night. Fizz had assured him it was fine, keep going, but Ozzie had seemed to wrap things up quicker than he usually did. When they were lying together, Ozzie reminded Fizz that he could always tell him if something was bothering him. Yeah right, Fizz had thought, but nodded against his chest all the same. It wasn’t only Fizz’s insides that felt bruised after last night. He felt stupid for his previous fantasies of a nice restaurant date. Of course Ozzie was still oblivious to most of his problems. Why wouldn’t he be? But how could Fizz bring up this kind of thing? He’d let himself get too far into this. He wanted to be Ozzie’s partner now. He wanted to be the kind of person that Ozzie could take on dates. He’d even thought he could be. What was wrong with him? Slipping into autopilot like he slipped into his costume back at Mammon’s circus, he pushed aside the pain and got up off the floor. He cleaned the stoma and attached a new bag. He finished his skincare routine, then got dressed for the day. Ozzie wasn’t into the bedroom anymore when he walked down the hallway, checking his schedule for the day. He intercepted Fizz outside the kitchen though, smiling nervously. Fizz smiled back, sweating under his makeup. “Fizz…” Ozzie began. He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. Fizz hated it when he acted like this. It made no sense. “What’s wrong, big guy?” Fizz asked before he could stop himself. “I was thinking… I didn’t check whether you’d be okay with everything on the menu last night.” “You didn’t need to. The food was great!” “Is that why you tossed and turned all last night and spent two hours in the bathroom this morning?” All three of Ozzie’s faces looked skeptical. Fizz felt cornered and his mouth fell open, ready to argue back. But Ozzie cut him off. “Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. If you’re not feeling well that’s my fault. I should have been more considerate. I wanted you to have a good time too.” “I did, Oz, I did.” Fizz wasn’t just saying that to keep up the pretence anymore. Ozzie’s serious and sad expressions were doing something to him. “I’m sorry… I thought I’d be fine with the food.” Ozzie reached out to cup Fizz’s cheek. “I was foolish… I’m the one who should be apologising. Fizz… I want you to feel like you can be honest with me. About anything. When you told me about your incontinence, I was upset, but only at the thought that you’d been suffering in silence. It meant a lot that you trusted me with that information. And I wanted to show you that I could support you.” Fizz had flinched at some of the words Ozzie used. He wasn’t ready to start hearing them yet. “You don’t understand… it’s difficult…” “I know, sweetheart, but please try to tell me if we’re doing something that you’re not comfortable with. I’ll try to be more sensitive and perceptive in the first place, but you need to communicate too. I promise you I can handle it, I’m a big boy.” He smiled, trying to inject some humour into the conversation. “Okay, Ozzie,” said Fizz. He pulled away from the comforting hand. “I need to get ready for work.” Ozzie let him leave without any protest.

#submission

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rockshortage · 3 years

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RedEye convincing Hector to do an interview for him to play over the raider radio station once nw has turned around some and is doing pretty well. Hector goes into it expecting typical questions about how he feels about certain raider/nw business things, why he made certain decisions, stuff like that, but it just turns into RedEye trying to get the Juicy Gossip on his relationship with the Minutemen general and how it came about

This wasn't in the questions brief, Redeye, how could you do this to him

#will he still end up talking about it or not?#anything can happen #fallout #hector messerli #redeye #porter gage #darryl murphey #ish #artshortage #gage was more helpful than that. but only for all the raider business related questions #they unfortunately did not practice this particular scenario

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shiny-jr · 2 years

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Henlo! Itto requester anon here! For the itto request, since ya boi is a himbo, is it possible that it could be a facade? Like, who would believe that this sweet, unassuming, dumb ball of energy is actually a yandere? Maybe general hcs of itto being a yandere, or if you're feeling it, a scenario depicting this. Thank you for accepting the idea of a request, but don't feel pressured to do this! Stay safe always!! 👹👹

Warning: Yandere. Mention of blood and injury. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Arataki Itto. Mentions Yae Miko.

Summary: Once upon a time you were a humble writer living a peaceful life–– until an oni came around.

Note: Yeah, so, Itto is definitely not a violent (at least until prompted) or smart yandere. Have you see that guy? He cried because of beans and he can't beat kids at little games. Yandere Itto is just way more pushy and affectionate. A literal simp. There's no way he's hiding his "crush" either. Sorry to disappoint since I get the feeling this isn't what you want, but there's just no way Itto is some brutal and harsh or mastermind yandere.

ARATAKI ITTO

Once upon a time in the land of Inazuma, there was a writer. This writer loved to create stories out of their imagination, and publish their works to the masses. The words "once upon a time," were lines they heard commonly from their line of work.

The writer had many adoring fans that eagerly read any works they published. Soon, in just a few short months, the new and budding writer had become a name known to children and adults alike. When the writer completed a new story, you can be sure that the city would be buzzing with chatter in anticipation for the story.

Among those fans was one very particular, an oni with red horns who was infamous for his reputation as head of the Arataki Gang. Although the word gang to describe them seemed to be giving them way too much credit. Their biggest crimes would probably be stuff like disturbing the peace because they were too loud or something, with the gang leader, Arataki Itto, being the loudest of them all.

Arataki Itto often spent the little money he had on things that he wanted instead of stuff he probably should've bought. One day, one of the items he desired and acquired was a book, a story written by an anonymous author. To say he was hooked would feel like an understatement. The guy was almost like a super fan, eagerly awaiting the next installment.

Even as he saved to buy it, he accidentally overslept and by the time he got to the publishing house, the line was practically a mile long! He didn't give up though, he didn't want to wait in line because he knew it would be sold out, so he begged people in line to just buy him one. Unfortunately, there was a limit for one book per customer. Just his luck. Until he spotted a kid who beat him just last week in a beetle match, now with the new book in hand. Immediately he challenged the kid to a rematch in cards, and the overconfident child accepted. Itto would challenge this kid as many times as he had to in order to get that book!

Those were just some of the lengths Itto went through just for his favorite author and their stories. Don't forget the time they released a rare batch of books signed by the author and a limited-edition figurine of the heroic main character! He did everything he could to get his hands on that stuff, even going so far as to use every mora he had left, he had to even borrow some cash! Not to mention the time he went nosily asking workers at the Yae Publishing House about the true identity of the writer, but despite his incessant prying, no one even knew.

So can you imagine Itto's pure excitement when it was revealed that the anonymous writer he adored would be unveiling their identity? He certainly left an impression on the workers of the Yae Publishing House last time, they couldn't forget him that easily if they wanted to. Of course they had an idea of what he was here for now.

When you first began writing, you did it anonymously for the safety it provided you. On one hand, if your work was received poorly, at least you wouldn't be too embarrassed because no one knew it was actually from you. On the other hand, if it did well, you could always hide behind the pseudonym to avoid being overwhelmed. However, you never expected this much fame.

Your work did so well that they had to copy even more prints, there were fans, there was merchandise, even Yae Miko approved of your novels! So, after a long time of reflecting, you decided that it was finally time to reveal yourself. No more hiding behind the pseudonym! At the announcement, you received overwhelming support and heartfelt messages–– what you didn't expect was a very enthusiastic and downright obsessed oni that called himself your number one fan.

The meeting itself was... certainly one to remember. Your loved ones had warned you about a suspicious and somewhat fanatic oni that was looking for you. Specifically you, using your real name and all. At first you feared you had a stalker or some fan that was getting way too close for comfort, and well, you weren’t entirely wrong back then. At least he wasn’t threatening.

The way your heart stopped when you were arriving home and your eyes locked with an oni just down the street, just like the one you were warned about. He must’ve recognized you, due to the publishing house recently adding an image of you to the public roster of this month’s successful authors. Just as you were struggling to unlock your door, the oni came running at you at full speed. Your heart was racing, you were ready to scream for help–- when he stopped in front of you. And... wait, why was he starting to cry?!

Through his whimpering and tears, he animatedly began to explain how much your work meant to him, how much you mean to him. How much joy and excitement your stories brought him. All the while he gripped your hand tight enough so you wouldn’t go, but not enough to hurt you. It was unnerving, but he was so sincere by his big smile and also seemed to have good intentions that were just done in a creepy manner. So, to get him to leave you alone and make his day, you offered to give him your autograph. He readily agreed, wanting your signature on his arm or even his forehead, but you disagreed so he settled with a spare napkin he had crumpled in his pocket.

If you thought that he would leave you alone, then boy were you wrong. After that meeting, seeing Itto became common. The guy knew where you lived after all, sometimes you'd come home after being out all day only to be greeted by the overexcited oni on your front door step. You had no idea how long he was there, and frankly you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

Itto wasn’t a bad person, per say. He actually had a big heart, even if he was immature and irresponsible with a knack for getting into trouble. He was just... pushy. Very pushy, actually. Ever since he met you, he’d been trying to hang out with you everyday. The the touching started, first with wrapping his arm around your shoulder, then hugs, then holding you, sometimes he’d even place a big kiss on your cheek. You only met a few weeks ago!

Like I said, he’s pushy. Terribly so. Let’s hang out today, he would insist. But wait, you just remembered you have to get home to work on some chapters. Ah, it’s alright, he can help you with that later, he says! For now, stay with him, have fun around Ritou or something, get a few snacks or drink! Yeah, he’s not letting you go home until after its dark, and even then, he’s following you home.

Just when you sneak away on other days to actually get work done, it’s not uncommon to see Itto worriedly searching all the streets, alleyways, and hidden corners of the city just to find you. He’s asking everyone he sees, he’s yelling your name out, give him any longer and he might be desperate enough to put up missing person posters. When you do enter his sights again, he’s giving you the biggest hug and not letting you down as he blabbers about how you gave him a scare and next time to just give a holler so he’ll find you! (As if you would be doing that)

Oh, but no one should ever try to harm you, or they’ll have him to deal with. You witnessed his rage once, and it was shocking. Turns out Itto wasn’t the only obsessive stalker fan you had, except this other one did not have the best intentions. When Itto was outside your house waiting for you to come home, he heard a noise from behind your home. Immediately he went to investigate, only to find that someone had broken in.

When you arrived, you discovered Itto in your home with a stranger. There was a bit of blood on the floor, Itto practically baring his teeth at the guy he held up by the front of his shirt. The stranger was trembling, bruised, beaten, with a bloody nose and possibly a broken bone. Turns out that the guy was a fanatic, a crazy fan of your books and of you. He’d been to the same meet-and-greets Itto attended, but this stranger was always odd, mumbling as you shook his hand and signed his copy of the book. You didn’t know what he planned to do, but it wasn’t anything good judging by the knife Itto had torn away from him.

The Tenryou Commission handled the situation. Before they could arrest Itto as well, you decided to stand up for him. Even if he were annoying, overbearing, and over all a nuisance, he might’ve saved you from something terrible. But after seeing Itto so angry and stained with blood, having been the cause of the man being sent to a hospital to be treated for a broken nose and multiple broken bones, you weren’t sure who were more terrifying. The stranger with the knife, or the Crimson Oni?

#yandere #genshin impact #arataki itto #itto #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere itto #yandere arataki itto

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maximotts · 2 years

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𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑢𝑚 • 𝑤. 𝑚𝑎𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑓𝑓

a/n: hello and welcome to: Lustful Yearning! No but really I'm super excited for this series and I hope you all love it as much as I do. The parts are already planned out, outlined, and marked off as per the masterlist so I'm excited for y'all to go on this lil journey with me!

words: 2K

warnings: This is an 18+ series, minors DNI; smutty intentions/happenings; masturbation; voyeurism; loss of orgasm; Wanda is a Frustrated Individual and reader is an Asshole

desires unspoken AU; on one of her afternoons alone, Wanda spies you across the lake and her curious mind does what it does best... create fake scenarios

desires unspoken series. || main masterlist.

• 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑢𝑚 | 𝘥𝘦𝘴·𝘪·𝘥𝘦·𝘳𝘪·𝘶𝘮 | \ ˌ𝘥𝘦𝘴əˈ𝘥𝘪𝘳ēə𝘮 \ 𝘯. 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨; 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺: 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 •

──── ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────

Getting away was rare. For as long as she could remember, there were tasks to do, people to look after— true downtime was practically nonexistent. If Wanda wasn’t being forced to wait on her painfully dysfunctional husband, she was dealing with whatever crisis of the hour her mother-in-law could think up for her. Some would think that since this was the only kind of life she’d ever known, she could never want for different.

Those people would be sorely wrong.

Wanda, burdened as she was, knew she needed more. There’d never been a particular lifestyle in mind, but something comfortable and warm, preferably with someone who understood her. Love should’ve been a necessity, but she’d long since given that up; her guardian turned mother-in-law -who insisted on being called an aunt, never a mother of any sorts- kept her away from any actual prospects. Much of her life was the same way; sheltered away from anything that could let her grow or develop past the confines of the household she was forced to stay in. Unfortunately for her, Wanda didn’t have the privilege of being blissfully ignorant. For as much as she was made to stay away, the act itself increased her rebellious nature and the young brunette found such rebellion in books.

It was easy enough to get those, her aunt at least allowing her the freedom to be well-read, but the ones she found herself drawn to weren’t the type to be discussed in “proper” educational circles. Not that it mattered; Wanda was never invited or welcomed to conversations with her husband and his peers. Staying quiet, out of trouble, and available 24/7 were the only traits desired from her. It was aggravating, but it let her read whatever she pleased in her small leisure hours. And read she did.

There were a wealth of books in all lengths dedicated to romance, worlds where everyone always found a way to sate their desires and societal norms were thrown to the wind… oh how Wanda wished she lived there instead. She felt smothered how she was living right now, forced to be someone else for the sake of others around her. Wanda barely knew herself outside of what she could do for others, but there was never enough time to think about who she wanted to be or what she longed to do if it wasn’t during these short escapes.

Before moving to Paris, she snuck away for her private reading and people watching time, but now here in the city it was harder. It’d taken her weeks to find a quiet space in a pasture rarely traversed, a place where she could just sit and be. She was halfway through her latest novella find, the woman within being snuck away to a secluded alleyway for a quick tryst, when she heard a rustling nearby. No one was ever here when she was, much less to actually stay in the vicinity instead of just passing through, and Wanda couldn’t help but feel a bristle of annoyance at being interrupted.

For a while Wanda stayed still, waiting to see if the intruder would wander away like most did, but after a few minutes when she could still hear the far off crunching of leaves and grass, she knew she had to take action. Reluctantly putting her book down, Wanda twisted until she was sitting on her knees, crouched in the tall grass, seeking out the source of the disturbance. She expected an annoyance, some day drunkard stumbling through the city outskirts, but maybe even more daunting, Wanda found you.

Clearly you were picking something, bending and stretching, walking around until you found more of what you were after. It made sense when she thought about it; herbalists had to get herbs from somewhere, but she never would’ve thought you’d find them out here of all places. Work duties aside, Wanda was finding it harder and harder to ponder on why you were picking your own plants as she watched you examine each sprout you picked, handling them gently and grading them against the low sunlight before putting them in your neatly organized satchel. Each time you bent over, she could catch the barest glimpse of skin under your buttoned cotton blouse, sun reflecting the outlines of your breasts just enough for Wanda to remember it later.

It was hot outside that afternoon, humid by the shallow lake separating you two, and it seemed like that heat affected you too, nimble fingers unbuttoning three fastens until the shirt was loose around your chest. Wanda assumed you thought you were alone; otherwise you’d never expose yourself so, but she chose to believe the show was specifically for her. This time, you’d started to crouch, knees bent and body hunched over while you dragged your fingers through the field of wild herbs and flowers and Wanda didn’t try to deny the tingle making its way through her body wasn’t a direct result of her imagining those hands on her.

The last time you’d met, she’d felt your hands on her, one hand helping her with the window while the other, hidden from view of the others, gripped her hip, possessive over something you didn’t own. It’d driven her wild then and every night since, theorizing how she could get your touch back but without layers of clothing in the way. Wanda’s mind got away from her easily, thoughts drifting to being the thing you touched silently out here instead of the plants you picked. This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, spying on someone from afar during her private escapes and letting her mind go wild; there was no way Wanda could get more painfully stifled than her life and if she didn’t allow herself this, she’d surely combust. The brunette started slowly, rolling her hips against the firm ground just enough so she could feel it.

You rolled your sleeves higher, pinned at your elbows and when you reached forward, grasping for that one perfect plant you seemingly had to have, Wanda pictured you reaching for her instead, beckoning her closer to get a better look. She imagined you’d take her with all the confidence you walked with; so sure of yourself in everything, you’d hopefully know exactly how you wanted her. Maybe you’d pull her over your head, how she’d only ever read in books, and force her down until she had to feel your tongue licking her over and over until she cried out. If she were lucky, maybe you’d examine her with the same awe you did your work, pleased with the thorough job you were doing ruining her. Just before Wanda closed her eyes, she was blessed with a better view of your chest, round breasts drawn forward with your position and Wanda hoped to one day see them up close, hopefully while you took her apart with your fingers from above.

She was moving faster now, mouth hanging slightly open with soft gasps blowing the wisps of straw shielding her from direct view; the ground wasn’t enough, it never was. The heat from outside and her dress turned the gasps into pants, her long, loose hair sticking to the sticky sides of her head. It was nearing uncomfortable how hot and wet she felt, squirming erratically for anything that’d let her have this one little pleasure to no avail. Still Wanda thought maybe, just maybe, this time with so many ideas swirling around that she could just finally hit just the right-

“Enjoying yourself, Mrs. Maximoff?”

Wanda nearly leaped sky high, flipping over onto her back and sitting up on her elbows to shamefully face whoever caught her. Giving them a once over, from foot up, she realized it was you once she saw that half open blouse up close, “Do you enjoy giving women heart attacks?”

Her face was beet red, partially embarrassed, but mostly the arousal of being caught by just the person she was fantasizing about. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hoping being alone like this wouldn’t spark something further; dreams were nice and all, but Wanda was smart enough to know nothing could be better than reality. Heart beating faster than it ever had, Wanda sat up, knees folded to the sides of her and you’d bet money if you could peek under her skirts, her clothed center sat ready to rut against the soft terrain at a moment’s notice. There was no one around, nothing but your incorrigible nature wanting to see Wanda absolutely beside herself before you gave her what she wanted… but fuck, you wanted to have her right here.

“You won’t get far that way, sweet thing, too many layers.” And then she shifted; you knew it was to get any remaining dress layers out of the way, only the thin cotton of her underwear and the knit blanket she’d laid out for her private afternoon picnic kept her from the ground. Wanda was teasing you; innocent as she appeared, she at least knew how to do that. The cracked spine of the erotica novella laid out next to her confirmed that. Two could play this game— Wanda was cute, but you had the experience.

Wanda shrugged, “I think it feels fine..” Truly she didn’t know any better, having tried everything she’d read about, but with the same frustrating ending of zero release. She’d read about it countless times, utter bliss exploding from every pore while tossing and turning in the sheets, but try as she might, she hadn’t been able to do it. Dreaming in the grass was the closest she’d come and despite the lack of orgasm, it felt good and it was all she had.

“Fine isn’t how anyone describes ecstasy,” you leant forward, bent at the waist to give her the view you’d seen her ogling from across the water just moments ago. Wanda’s chin was soft and delicate in your hand, instantly pliant as you tilted her head to yours… good. The kiss you placed upon her lips was feather light, but the spark was there and it took everything in you not to break first push her back and take her right there in the field until all she could do was scream your name.

But you had other plans for her.

As you pulled away, Wanda tried going with you, surging forward with a whimper until you stopped her straight where her sex pressed perfectly into the blanket. “Why don’t you describe ecstasy for me then,” But you shook your head as you straightened up and she loathed that wolfish grin you wore. “Aren’t you supposed to help your patients, doctor?”

“You are not yet my patient, Mrs. Maximoff. Someone hasn’t yet visited me.” You’d been waiting for her to come around and while you knew she was busy, you’d grown impatient and maybe you did a bit of trailing to figure out her little spot, but it was all worth it to catch this scandalous moment. Wanda grimaced, but her pout gave away her disappointment and you folded, just a little. Not because the puppy dog expression melted your heart; push and pull never hurt in these types of games. “Fine. Try a pillow next time, anything for leverage.”

You gave the advice as easily as you’d tell someone to ice a sprain, playing it off by walking away before Wanda could ask more, but you would regret seeing her eyes go wide with the excitement of something new.

──── ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────

Late that night found Wanda with her favorite pillow between her legs, desperately rocking herself over it back and forth for just that last little bit of pressure she needed. It worked, it was going to work, but she just.. couldn’t. “Fuck, fuck.. please…!” The brunette’s legs shook with exhaustion and she was forced to pause, falling forward with her hips pushed up from the squished lump that was her pillow.

She huffed and blew her hair out of her face, never more happy that her sorry excuse for a husband worked late nights and slept away from her most nights. “That was hardly any help…” Wanda rolled over, sprawled out and anything but relaxed even in the solace of her bedroom. First thing in the morning, she’d be off to the doctor to deal with her most recent headache: you.

#desires unspoken au #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #motts writes.#motts is away from her computer.

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

between you and me

+ pairings: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: canonverse (surprise!) au, fluff, mentioned violence but it’s very much so in passing and hardly there

+ notes: i had plans to finish 3 longer fics this week. unfortunately, i finished none of them, and edited none of the drafts i was supposed to either, so please accept this as a token making up for my procrastination. and practice writing in the aot world

The floors are creaky under your harsh footsteps, as you make a beeline for your office. You’re well aware of lack of poise and grace you currently possess; and of the man trailing you, but you pay it no mind.

Your cape flows behind you in your fury, nearby cadets making it a note to step out of your way before you accidentally step on them.

You’re quick to round the corner of the corridor and open the door to your room, and you expect to hear the telltale sound it slamming in your wake. Unfortunately, it never comes, and when you’ve finally turned and sat on your bed, you see a black boot wedged between your door and the frame; and it makes you roll your eyes. Of course.

Levi doesn’t flinch as he steps into the room behind you; like the heavy door slamming into his foot caused him little to no harm. Of course it wouldn’t. He makes it a point to close it quite softly behind him, trailing into your room with quiet steps in complete contrast to your own.

“Don’t tell me you’re still upset.”

He has the nerve to have a hint of a smirk on his stupid face, as he crosses your room towards your desk, and uses it as support; one leg bent over the other. He looks as clean and pristine as always; not a hair out of place, not a scar in sight. Completely untouched, unlike nearly everybody else who had just returned from the recent mission.

It makes you scoff.

He raises an eyebrow at that, prompting you to talk further, but you have no words to say to him. In a childish swing of emotions, you turn your head away from him and cross your arms with a huff, and dare you say you heard a hint of a chuckle from behind you.

Levi uncrosses his legs and takes the few steps necessary towards your bed, carefully sitting beside you. You won’t turn around to face him, but he reaches around to unhook the clasp of your cape, removing the cloth from your frame and gently folding it before placing it on the mattress.

With the fabric out of the way, he raises his hands to your shoulders, carefully placing a kiss to the nape of your neck, before murmuring against your skin, “I really didn’t think you’d be this angry about it.”

Your eyes widen at his words, turning around to face him in a flurry; eyebrows furrowed, lips curved downwards, a finger pointed directly at the center of his face.

“You let me get kidnapped! Of course I’m still upset!”

Levi only hums at your outburst, as if waiting for you to realize how loud and out of character you sound. That may be true, but you’d like to think that in this particular scenario, you were justified in your exclamations.

Carefully, he moves away your offending finger, and just as you’re about to protest, he places his hands on your cheeks, his right thumb slowly rubbing against your skin.

“I let it happen because I knew you could handle yourself,” he explains, words slow and deliberate, “And I was right. There’s not even a scratch on you.”

The implications of Levi’s words aren’t lost on you. It took an immense amount of trust for him to do what he did—faith in your abilities as a soldier, a leader, and a partner—and you’re honored to be on the receiving end of it. He has your same trust in return; however, you’d still have liked if he informed you about his grand plan before you were in handcuffs.

“You could have warned me,” you growl, but let his thumb pad across your cheeks anyway.

“Then you would have been expecting it,” he reasons, moving his left thumb down to trace along your bottom lip, “And knowing you, you would have taken those bastards out, and drawn the attention of the MPs before we got a chance to get Eren out of there.”

“What I am expecting,” you start, pulling his left hand away by his wrist, “Is a better excuse out of you.”

Levi hums, trailing his other hand down your jaw to your neck, and pulling your face closer to his, until your foreheads are touching. He leans forward to kiss your jaw, then your cheek, and finally your lips, “Let me make it up to you, instead.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #snk imagine #aot imagines #levi smut #levi fluff #eren x reader

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

Could we pretty please get a villain whumpee in a straightjacket?

Oh I had so many ideas for this one, so I hope you like what I came up with! It’s a bit of a different kind of whump, but I hope it’s still good :3

CW//Dehumanization, baby talk, medical settings, straightjackets, medical malpractice

Villain hardly got to see the outside of the building.

Nearly as soon as the vehicle sped up to its front, they were trundled from its interior, feet stumbling to asphalt for a moment before the privilege of walking was taken from them-- their body swept up in a pair of strong arms.

They hated being carried. No, there was not enough strength in that word. They detested it. Loathed it. Those weren’t enough either. No, they felt that, if they were to encapsulate their sheer fury at the situation with language, they would need to begin digging in dictionaries of obscure Kanji.

But there was no time for that, because they were being carried right now.

Usually, Villain would have struggled. Writhed and squirmed until they were dropped to the floor. Or thrown. Whichever happened quicker.

Yet, unfortunately, at that very moment, there was no time for that either. No. At the moment, there were much more acutely focused on an emotion other than rage. One that went by the name of terror.

Every villain knew of the Metropolis Rehabilitation Center for Extraordinary Cases. After all, they were the extraordinary cases.

But no one ever thought they would see the thing in person. Much less be carried into it by Hero, of all the noble, goody two shoed assholes.

It was a gargantuan structure-- towering blocks of concrete, stacked upon each other, and covered with shimmering white tile, bright enough to blind anyone who dared to look upon it directly. There was one thing worse than that tile, surface dancing like freshly fallen snow.

The only thing worse than the Center’s exterior was its front door. The pair of them, in fact, glass and steel. That fact was terrifying in and of itself. Being close enough to those doors to examine them was a fate no villain expected to ever have to face.

The second time that Villain began to thrash, there was no fury in it. Nothing was locked around their body, not a chain or cuff in sight, but Hero’s grip was more than enough to turn the menace of the city into the much larger equivalent of a kitten, held by the scruff of its neck.

“Let me go! I don’t want to go!” Their thoughts flew from their mouth as freely as their panicked voice. “T-The prison! Wouldn’t that be much better?”

“Come on.”

The villain shivered at the soft voice, a second quiver shaking their spine when a hand stroked its way through their sweat-soaked hair.

“They’ll love you here.” Hero’s voice curled, coaxing a frightened dog. “I’m sure you’re be their new favorite.”

There wasn’t an ounce of perceptible mockery in the tone. As though a hero genuinely gave the slightest shit. As if they weren’t taking them to the place half-drunken villains told horror stories about, only to be accused of fabrication. ‘It can’t possibly be that bad.’

But everyone knew, everyone knew full well, that there was no falsehood in those stories.

They didn’t want to be a favorite. They were a villain! Even as they approached the double doors, Villain could not help but fantasize about the 10 foot high walls of the Metropolis Villainous Correctional Facility, topped with their electrified barbed wire.

It would be horrible, certainly, but it wouldn’t be the Center!

Yet, with a tinny bell, the hellish building’s entrance swung open.

Inside, the Metropolis Rehabilitation Center for Extraordinary Cases smelled like flowers. The particular scent was unrecognizable-- neither rose nor marigold, lavender or coral-bell. Yet, the aroma was overwhelming.

Villain’s struggling turned to thrashing.

The walls were blue. A light, baby blue, with a sickeningly joyful air about it. Abstract paintings and plaques hung along hallways and lobby walls, marked by tacky statements of motivation.

‘Mistakes are proof that you are trying.’

‘Make it happen!’

‘I can and I will.’

The captive villain felt sick. Their straining was useless, not gaining them an inch of freedom even as it cost them feet of dignity. Not that they expected to keep hold of that for long.

The lobby itself was bright, disgustingly colorful. The walls were lined with chairs painted in blinding technicolor, while the front desk itself danced with decals of butterflies and birds.

“Let me go!” Another screech tore itself from their throat.

A receptionist, lab-coat the color of a summer sunflower, looked up with a warm smile.

“I see our newest friend is here.” They chirped. “I’ll call up our welcoming party.”

“No need!”

From one of various, straight hallways, clattering footsteps sounded. Two lab coats, dyed in that same sickening, jaundiced color, ran forward at a jog. Shame forgotten, Villain buried their face in Hero’s chest. Anything to not have to see the doctors. Anything.

“Oh, what a cutie!” One of the lab coats exclaimed. “Aren’t they a sweetheart?”

“Oh, Villain, you’re going to have so much fun here.” A second voice smiled.

“I’m sure they are.” Hero’s hand stroked once more through their hair, though it did nothing to aid their incessant trembling. “Come on, bud, there’s no reason to be scared.”

“I fucking hate you!”

Three voices turned to roaring laughter.

“Come on, they’ve even brought you something.”

“Yeah.” One of the doctors chirped. “It’s a nice jacket, to keep you warm. We don’t want you getting cold.” Their tone switched on its head, from high-pitched to clinical, as they whispered: “Put them down, please.”

Gently, Villain felt themself lowered to the floor. In an instant, they were kicking out, struggling, straining, screaming and screeching. Their attempts to get to their feet, however, were thwarted by firm hands on their shoulders and a leg across their own.

They didn’t need to see the jacket to know what it was. As soon as the canvas touched their skin, they knew. Yet, it was a three on one. No amount of hysterics could stop the sleeves from slipping onto their arms, compressing their hands against the sewn-shut ends. Leather rubbed against metal buckles, canvas ribbing against itself, as, with terrifying speed, the jacket was applied.

The straightjacket.

It was far too taut, tight enough that, in their hyperventilation, Villain felt that it made them unable to breathe.

“Take it off!” They wailed. They noticed only then that the garment around them now was dyed the same color as the walls-- that unnerving, baby blue.

“Shh, shh, it’s just a jacket, buddy.” The hand in their hair was unfamiliar and nerve-wracking.

They had their legs, still. Only half of them pulled in terrible, suffocating tightness. Fury focused, Villain kicked out, desperate to get their legs under them.

They had no chance.

And, of course, their last ounce of dignity had to be wrought from them.

Villain’s shoes had been lost hours ago, though they couldn’t remember the exact scenario. Perhaps during the fight, perhaps afterwards, when they were thrown into the car and harnessed to its restraints.

It didn’t matter. To the doctors, so it seemed, all that mattered was that they could stand. And, to them, that was a problem.

They looked like socks, and, going on, they felt to be as such. Yet, as Villain at last got their feet under them, they realized otherwise. The bottom of the garments seemed to be formed in such a way that, when they tried to stand, their legs shook with the effort of simply retaining their balance. The curves and form of their feet, countered by fabric and plush.

“W-What the- What did you-” Villain gasped.

“Oh, those are just your wobblers, honey.” One of the lab coats smiled. “See? They make you wobble!”

“I’m gonna fall, you piece of shit!”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Another voice, followed by a pair of arms, braced against their back. “You won’t fall. We’re here to help.”

“I don’t want your help!”

“This one’s funny.” The voice came with a smile. “Come on, then.”

Another pair of arms, practically lifting them. Their legs felt to be singed by lapping flames from the strain upon their muscles alone.

“We have a room all set up for you! And once you get your medicine, you’ll feel so much better.”

“So, so much better.”

It was with hysterical shrieks, rapidly weakening, that the patient that had once been Villain was helped down the hallway.

They would never again see the outside of the building. The nice doctors would make sure of that!

#villain whumpee #doctor whumper #hero whumper #whumpblr #whump community #whumpee #whumper #hero villain whump

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jincherie · 3 years

Text

four’s company | rapline [m]

✘ — pairing: boxer!rapline x male!reader ✘ — genre: smut!, boxer au, poly au ✘ — wc: 6.4k ✘ — rating: 18+ ✘ — warnings: minor injuries (occupational hazard kind), smut: mxm, light (accidental) voyeurism, light hand kink, baby boy reader, sub/bottom reader, dom/top members, foursome, anal sex, protected sex (don’t forget to wrap ‘em, lads and ladies!), fellatio ✘ — notes: part of a fic exchange within the ghostie network, i’m sorry it’s late!!!!! please accept my humblest apologies!!! @bangtanloverboys here you go!! i hope it’s not too shitty!!!

If accidentally walking in on your three crushes in a heated moment, not once, not twice, but thrice isn’t enough to capture their attention, then you don’t know what is. You’re about to find out that you’ve had their attention for a while, though.

— posted; 02.01.2021 || masterlist

For what is far from the first time tonight, you feel the weight of a certain gaze.

Well, to be more specific, it hasn’t just been one gaze you’ve felt on you tonight. More like… three.

You know who they belong to, unfortunately. It’s the same three people that you found in an… interesting situation earlier. On that was, no doubt, not meant for outside eyes.

Well, you say that, but you feel like that’s just because you, yourself, are mortified. To be honest, the three boxers you found locking lips and making out in the locker room didn’t seem to be all that ashamed about it.

In fact, when they caught you in the motion of fleeing, they’d had the audacity to grin about it!

Utterly humiliating. You haven’t been able to bring your gaze anywhere near them all day. To make matters worse, you couldn’t even flee to the safety of your home or anywhere similar, because there is a match tonight and you’re needed as a qualified first aid officer.

Which brings you to the current predicament; sitting ringside and attempting to avoid the gazes of the three boxers seated on the side adjacent. Try as you might, it’s actually a struggle to keep your eyes on the current match. It’s a rookie night, and you feel extra bad since one of the people in the ring is actually a close friend.

Though, perhaps you should demote Jungkook from ‘close friend’ status considering he is the reason you started working here and subsequently, had the opportunity to stumble upon a certain scenario this morning. Were it not for him and his stupid, pleading puppy eyes, you wouldn’t have a particular embarrassing image burned into the back of your eyelids.

You know that despite his rookie status, Jungkook is quite a naturally talented boxer. Perhaps that is part of the reason that your brain thinks it’s okay to let your eyes stray from the match instead of watching attentively as you’re expected to. The subconscious certainty that Jungkook can handle himself seems to be your undoing, because in a moment of inattentiveness your eyes manage to reach the area you’d been trying so hard for them to avoid.

As you’d both feared and expected, they are in fact already looking at you. Well, one of the three. It is the piercing gaze of the club's current lightweight champion, Min Yoongi, that bores a hole into you right now. The two accomplices to his side aren't joining him in drilling their eyes into you across the room for now, instead leaning into each other as though they're whispering amongst themselves.

There's something about Yoongi's eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to always root you in place no matter where you are. His expression, as it usually tends to be, is unreadable. It's a certain kind of neutrality that graces his features, thin enough that you can tell there is something behind it but too opaque for you to be able to discern exactly what.

You don't even realise you're trapped in his gaze until the sounding of the bell snaps you out of the spell that seemed to be cast over you. Your head whips back around and you see the referee signalling the end of the bout, and just beyond him Jungkook is standing slightly bent over as he offers a hand to his opponent on the canvas. To your alarm, it is only now that you notice the blood dribbling down the man’s face. The reasonable crowd that has gathered is still cheering (Jungkook was quick to rise as one of the fan favourites) and it’s a wonder you can hear the referee’s call above the ruckus.

“Medic!”

That’s your cue.

x – x – x

“You look kind of on edge, man. Are you alright?”

You’re almost too busy staring into your coffee in a borderline dissociative state to hear Jungkook as he calls for your attention. It has to be about the thirteenth time in the past half hour, but you can’t find the energy to be ashamed about it. Mostly because all of your shame and embarrassment are focused on other areas right now.

It had happened again.

Is it just your luck? You don’t know whether to dub it as rotten luck, because you feel it would be a bit of an insult to the boxers you’d once more found in a suggestive situation. But considering it good luck feels kind of sleazy, because although you’re embarrassed as hell, all things considered what you walked in on wasn’t a bad view—

No, that thought is stopping there. Any further and you’ll only incriminate yourself and you’ll have to dose yourself with another fresh shot of shame.

Realising that you still haven’t answered the concerned-looking boy sprawled in the chair to your side, you offer him a non-committal grunt. It’s the best you can do while you take another moment to form actual coherent thought.

“I’ve never been better,” you say, and immediately Jungkook lets loose an abrupt snort.

“You look like shit, so don’t bother trying to lie. Are you having trouble sleeping again or something?”

You survey him for a moment, touched that he remembers the insomnia that had ailed you for a few months a while back. “Actually, I’ve been sleeping pretty good the past few months.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, making you squint at him in question. “Oh, I’ll bet you have, considering the things you were saying in your sleep last time I stayed over.”

You simply look at him, wondering whether he’s going to be an ass and continue. You don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“You were all like, ‘nngh, Namjoon,’ and ‘oh, Yoongi’, and then you said something about Hoseok too but I can’t quite remember, probably because it was so x-rated that my poor baby brain banished it from my memory—”

“Jungkook,” you cut him off, gripping the plastic spoon that came with your drink painfully tight. “Shut up.”

This is most definitely not the conversation to be having in the café barely a block away from the boxing gym where the two of you frequent, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to get the hint. Actually, you’re pretty sure he got the hint and he just doesn’t care enough to heed it.

“You really ought to do something about that crush of yours, bro. There’s three of them, so there’s three times the misery if you sit on your ass instead of—”

“Jungkook,” you attempt to warn him again, glaring slightly this time. You’ve scooped some of the whipped cream off of his plate of pancakes and hold the tip of the spoon back, threatening to fling it at him should he keep talking.

“—doing something, you know? I’ve seen them practically undress you with their eyes enough times by now that I could fill out a diary with all the incidents I’ve witnessed. Plus, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they ‘hurt’ themselves as an excuse to see you? I really don’t think you have much to lose, especially with an ass like yours—well, it’s nothing like the cake I’m serving, but still, it deserves some praise—ACK!”

Ah, so he has chosen death.

You discard the now-empty spoon onto a napkin, taking a long sip of your drink. It seems Jungkook has engaged his ape brain more today than usual as instead of wiping the cream off his face like any normal human would, he’s attempting to reach it with his tongue. His chances aren’t good, to be honest; though you reckon your mutual friend Jimin would be able to get it from that distance. Dude has a tongue like a lizard.

“You have Seven Days,” you tell him, struggling not to let a smile through as the amateur boxer whines, unable to reach the cream.

“You have seven days,” he grumbles sulkily, reaching with a begrudging hand for a napkin. “Do something or I’ll expose your ass.”

You roll your eyes, ninety-nine percent sure that he’s kidding.

…

That other one percent worries you a bit though.

x – x – x

You take back what you decided earlier— something is definitely wrong with your luck.

“And how did you hurt your knee again?”

“I tripped on the stairs.”

Jung Hoseok, the club’s current star welterweight boxer, sits before you in your little medical office. There aren’t any matches on today, but you’re on shift because the club members are doing some of the more rigorous training; there is an important few matches coming up for a few members, and they all want to be as prepared as possible. As tends to be the occupational hazard, training can often lead to injuries that need to be immediately attended to.

You can’t say, though, that this is the type you were expecting when you rocked up today.

Hoseok is beaming at you, all sincerity and sparkles. There’s a slight bit of dark regrowth in his hair that catches your eye as you survey him, the crimson ends sticking to his forehead lightly from sweat. He looks every bit earnest and honest as he sits in front of you, but you can’t help but suspect him just slightly.

Because you’re not sure any of the club members have ever made their way to your office for a graze that wouldn’t even phase a kindergartener.

“Well,” you say, trying to ignore what Jungkook had said barely a day or two ago that floats back into your head now. “The good news is, it’s not fatal.”

Hoseok lets out a great, dramatic huff in relief. “Oh, thank god. I was so scared this might have been the end.”

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how often they ‘hurt’ themselves as an excuse to see you?’

Is that what this is? An excuse to see you? A look spared for the man before you leads you to conclude: probably not. He’s a little too radiant to be seeking out lil’ ol’ you.

“Not this time,” you say, rummaging through your small box of mismatched bandages. Finding what you’re looking for, you turn back around and begin preparing it to place it on Hoseok’s knee. “You live to see another day.”

Hoseok shifts like he’s about to say something in response, but cuts himself off with a surprised laugh when he sees the band-aid you put on him. “Wh—you have Minions band-aids?!”

“I reserve them for special patients,” you say before you can stop yourself, promptly clamping your mouth shut a little too late. Your cheeks… you just hope the heat gathering there isn’t obvious.

Something shifts in Hoseok’s gaze as he surveys you for a moment, before hopping from the bed, testing his knee out like he’d sprained it instead of scratching it. The look is gone before you can fully decipher it and he’s back to grinning brightly once more.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to come back often. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.” Hoseok’s smile adopts a slightly cheeky edge as he makes his way to the door, lifting two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute. “See you later, doc!”

Then he’s gone before you can return the farewell, door closing definitively behind him and leaving the room in silence.

Are you going crazy, or did Hoseok— one of the three boxers you’ve happened to walk in on twice now—just return your light flirting?

… God, you hope it wasn’t because of the minion band-aid.

x – x – x

You wish that visit had been an isolated incident, but you had a repeat of it at least twice a week. Each time Hoseok would rock up grinning at your door with some other minor injury, all but demanding a minion band-aid for his troubles. You gave it to him, of course, but you still hope he doesn’t remember you as the minion band-aids guy.

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t only Hoseok that has been cropping up more often in your day-to-day. You’ve had a few surprise encounters with Yoongi, who lately has taken to giving you a sly, unreadable look before turning away, leaving you in your own confusion. Sometimes you’ll get carried away watching him or one of the other boxers practice, and before you know it he has caught you staring red-handed and you’re forced to flee the room to escape the smug, intrigued look that slips into his eyes.

It’s after such an occasion that you find yourself in the main locker room, attempting to multitask by looking for a box of first aid supplies hidden in the top shelves and giving your face a chance to cool down. It’s taken you so long to even find the damn box that your embarrassment has all but evaporated by now. By the time your eyes lock onto the scuffed white box peeking over the edge of the highest shelf in the corner of the room, you’re more than ready to snatch it down and escape back to the comfort of your dingy little office.

Of course, it couldn’t ever be so easy for you. Not given your recent string of poor luck.

You don’t consider your height to be remarkably anything, and normally you don’t have that much trouble reaching the cookie jar on the top shelf in your apartment but for some reason the shelves in this building are built to cater to giants, and try as you might you simply cannot reach. You’re literally about to abandon the last of your dignity and attempt jumping for it, when there is a light scuff on the floor from behind you and then a firm warmth pressing into your back.

In all honesty, your brain short-circuits. For a second you think you might have even blacked out, because it takes at least three seconds for you to realise what is happening, and by that time the figure has already retreated back from your form.

Somewhat dazed, you turn around to see one Kim Namjoon, the clubs leading middleweight champion and the third and final member of those racy scenarios you happened to walk in on oh-so long ago. In his hands is the box you’d been struggling so much to reach, and on his face is a look that somehow blends sheepishness and amusement into one attractive cocktail on his features.

“Here you go,” he says, and for a shamefully long moment all you can do is stand and soak in the lovely timbre of his voice. By the time you snap out of it, a small smile has begun to curl on his lips. You pointedly avoid looking at the dimples that are beginning to show as a result.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you say, trying to make it as natural as possible as you reach and take the box from his hold. “Whoever put it up there seems to have a vendetta against me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he says, and there’s suddenly something a little secretive about the way he’s smiling. It makes you suspicious, and once more the words Jungkook prattled into your ear a week or so ago come rattling back into your brain.

Is this something similar to what Hoseok had done? Did Namjoon put the box on a higher shelf?

“Are you calling me short?” For some reason, that’s what comes out of your mouth. There is a slight disconnect from what you said and what Namjoon had said previously, but he seems to make the connection. He tilts his head back and a rich laugh tumbles forth. It sounds nicer than you wish to admit to yourself.

“Never,” he finally answers, grinning. “Though, feel free to come get me next time you lose against a shelf.”

Your mouth drops open in affront, but he makes a departure too quick for you to respond. His laughter echoes down the halls and you’re left reeling in your spot.

This isn’t what you expected to happen after walking in on a few intimate situations. In fact, this is quite the opposite.

What is happening?

x – x – x

As the weeks go by, there are several big nights and several big matches. Hoseok and Yoongi, among a few others from the gym, emerge victorious. At this point you’re not too ashamed to say that you spent the entirety of their matches watching the way their muscles rippled as they dodged, swung and wove around the ring. If the last shred of dignity still clinging to you had disappeared, then you probably would have drooled like a dog.

The nights tend to go by weight classes, and the next upcoming night is to showcase the middleweight boxers. While Jungkook classifies for the class, as one of the newer recruits he isn’t the first choice for the match—much to his dismay.

It is approximately a week before this big match, in which Namjoon, one of the three men who live in your head rent-free these days, is participating, that you’re woken from your sleep and called into the gym.

It’s your night off, actually, so for you to be called in there must have been a pretty serious injury. You’re proven right when you enter the building and walk into the main room.

Before you can even assess the scene, Yoongi spots you and darts on over. He has a look on his face that you don’t think he’s ever sported before, and it fills you with a feeling of dread. It seems an appropriate feeling, considering what you see when you advance further into the room, towed by the frantic blonde who’d fetched you.

“Holy shit, what the hell happened?!” You dart forward, Yoongi’s grip slipping from your wrist as you move out of his reach.

Namjoon is seated on the floor in a squat, cradling his left hand to his chest. A grimace twists his features, eyes glistening but face clear of tears.

To your complete and utter surprise, the familiar tenor of Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears. You didn’t know he had stayed behind to practice tonight.

“We were leaving after practicing a bit later than normal, and some assholes drove past and picked a fight. I think—I think they were members from one of the rival clubs on the other side of the city but it was kind of dark and I didn’t get a good look.”

Your brows shoot up—that’s risky behaviour on their part, if it was actually members of a rival club that did this. Judges of this particular tournament don’t look kindly on foul play.

It would make sense if it’s true, though; a lot of local clubs tend to have boxers in the middleweight range, and Namjoon has emerged from enough matches victorious that he’s actually quite a threat.

“Let me see,” you say, holding your hands out to Namjoon for him to rest his injured one in your hold. “Jungkook, go get the big tin box with the red cross from my office. Make sure it’s the one with antiseptic and bandages.”

You don’t even need to check he’s listened, because you can hear the frantic, obedient pattering of his feet fading away in the distance as you unwrap the blood-drenched towel from the hand in your hold. Namjoon’s busted up limb takes all of your attention the second you lay eyes on it properly, your stomach filling with an unpleasant, nameless cocktail of sensations.

“Holy shit,” you say, unable to contain your wince. “Tell me you didn’t get this from fighting them bare-knuckle.”

Namjoon has enough capacity for humour right now that he lets out a little huff. Yoongi fills you in before Namjoon has a chance.

“No, though I almost did.” His expression is dark, the heat of his anger reaching you even when it’s not directed your way. “They were probably drinking before coming here, since they had a few bottles they threw into the mix.”

That explains the gashes you’re seeing on Namjoon’s palm— it seems he caught one of the bottles, though you’re not sure whether it was already broken or whether it broke on impact. Thankfully, from what you can see, the gashes and lacerations aren’t too deep and shouldn’t cause lasting damage, but they’ll definitely take a while to heal, and one or two of them look like they will need stitches.

“Alright,” you begin, sighing softly. “I’ll do what I can to fix this up for now, but you’re going to have to go to the ER, because some of these will need stitches…”

You look up, reading the expressions of everyone in attendance and knowing that they have all reached the same conclusion regarding Namjoon’s immediate fate as a boxer.

“Sorry, Namjoon,” you start, watching his features crumble ever so slightly into a look of resignation. “This isn’t going to heal in time for next week, and you definitely won’t be able to train for a while.”

It’s just as you announce that, that Jungkook returns with your box of first-aid goodies. Hoseok, who has remained surprisingly silent the whole time this conversation has gone on, takes the box from his hold and delivers it next to you. Surprising all of you, Namjoon is quick to look up and pin Jungkook with a grin.

“Well, since I can’t participate—how do you feel about making your Big Boy Boxing Debut, Jungkookie?”

Your friend is rooted to the spot in shock for a solid few moments, before he snaps out of it and an excited if slightly nervous expression filters onto his face.

“I will defend your honour, Namjoon!” he declares, saluting stupidly. “Count on me!”

Cheesy of him, but you can’t help the smile that tugs your lips. You just hope it’s not too late-notice for him, and that Namjoon’s injuries really aren’t that serious, as you surmise.

x – x – x

The week passes quicker than you anticipate, and before you know it, it’s the night of the big match—Jungkook’s first big match, that is. Namjoon had done his best over the days to coach Jungkook on the particular fighting styles of the opponents he normally faces, and to everyone’s pleasant surprise, Jungkook has picked it all up with ease.

You’re more surprised to say that you’re not even that nervous, as you sit waiting for the match to begin. Jungkook stands in one corner, his opponent from one of the more renowned rival gyms in the other. You prepare to be on standby in case either boxer is injured enough to need aid, but cross your fingers that if anything at least Jungkook will be alright.

In the blink of an eye, the match begins and the first bout kicks off. Jungkook’s opponent is slightly stockier, likely pushing the upper limits of the weight class, and is the first to make an offensive move. The familiar sound of cushioned gloves making impact rings in the air and you find yourself tensing in your seat as you watch the two interchange blows.

It’s pretty much neck-and-neck for a majority of the bouts. Some of them go quick, and others seem to consist of the longest three minutes of your life. Still, the match goes on, and the night is filled with the siren song of the crowd and the ring of the bell.

After a night of close-call bouts and baited breath, Jungkook finally emerges victorious.

Ever the fan favourite, the crowd that has amassed erupt into cheers as the referee declares the end of the final bout and Jungkook is held up as the victor. With the match decided, the club members that had been watching ringside burst up and swarm around the young boxer who brought pride to the gym on his very first big match. The three boxers that usually occupy your thoughts wriggle their way up there too, and it’s Hoseok’s bright tone that pierces the ruckus of the crowd.

“Drinks at ours to celebrate our victor, Jungkookie!” he caws, rubbing Jungkook on the back in something akin to pride. “Members of King Hit Gym, we better see you all there!”

You mightn’t be a technical member, but the way you suddenly feel three sets of eyes on you tells you that you’re still more than invited.

x – x – x

It’s three hours since the end of the match, and you’re more than a little tipsy.

You can safely say that you haven’t ever been to the house where Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi live, but you’re nothing short of impressed. It’s a three-storey townhouse, with three rooms— presumably one for each of them, though from what you’d glimpsed on the way to the bathroom earlier only one of them appears regularly lived in.

It didn’t take you long to ponder exactly why, considering the things you’ve accidentally witnessed in the past month.

Most of your time tonight was spent celebrating with Jungkook as he made the rounds and received congratulations from the rest of the club members. Music thrums through the building, bass vibrating pleasantly through your chest every time you pass the expensive speakers in the living room.

You’ve paced yourself well, all things considered. All you had to do to avoid an early night ending in blackout drunkenness was steer clear of Jungkook whenever he made his way by the kitchen to refill— he’d learnt his mixing skills from Jimin, a verified alcoholic back in the day who spent his time in university trying to throw together his own signature cocktail with the same alcohol percentage as absinthe.

So you’re relatively proud of yourself to only be a little over tipsy at this point in the night. You can’t really say the same for the rest of the club members, though— even Jungkook has reached a point where he is stumbling and giggling. Which, of course, led to the event that splattered drink all over your shirt.

You’re wandering up the stairs now, mind occupied with everything but what you’re doing as you absentmindedly seek the bathroom to clean your shirt. You haven’t seen any of the homeowners in a while, actually, which is kind of disappointing because you’re really longing for some eye candy right about now. They disappeared about ten minutes ago, and you figured it was just to socialise or maybe grab more snacks but you haven’t paid it much thought since then, and now you’re realising they hadn’t returned to the party yet.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you pause for a moment to try and recall which room is the bathroom. There’s two of them, you remember being told, one ensuite and a main bathroom. There was also a third one on the first floor, but that was too far for you to attempt reaching it. Unable to remember which door is which, you simply decide to wing it and march on forward towards the first door to enter your line of sight. You’re pretty stable, but your head is kind of fuzzy, so your hand hovers by the wall as you walk just in case you stumble.

Upon reaching the door in question, it takes you about a second and a half to realise the room you have reached is not the one you want, and another second for the shock to reach you.

Because, for the third time in a month, you have walked in on something you shouldn’t have.

Except this time, you can’t seem to pull yourself away as fast as you should.

It’s Hoseok and Namjoon tangled before you this time, in a position much more intimate than the last you’d seen. Their lips are locked, Hoseok straddling one of Namjoon’s thighs with one hand tangled in inky locks and the other rubbing over his crotch, where a prominent bulge makes itself known even to your eyes. Just when you remember that you should really be on your way, their lips break apart and Namjoon’s head tilts back, a sinful, velvet moan climbing from his throat as Hoseok leans to pepper it with kisses. It’s mesmerising, and you forget you’re even there as you watch the red-haired man’s hand climb up Namjoon’s stomach and then slip beneath the waistband of his jeans.

You come back to yourself when you feel a familiar tightness in your own pants and a throb between your legs— of course, you’re hard. You’re too hazy-brained to even be ashamed of it right now. It does pierce through the fog, though, that you’re intruding on something you’re not meant to see. Like you’re trying to move limbs filled with lead, you start to drag your feet and turn around.

You barely get a step in before you’re face to face with someone strikingly familiar, and your heart drops in your chest before kicking back into motion at double speed.

“You always seem to enjoy watching, don’t you?” Yoongi’s question catches you off guard and puts you on the spot— before you can panic, though, his lips curl in a kittenish smile. “It’s alright, we already know you do, baby boy.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, stomach flipping giddily. Your eyes track it with surprising clarity as Yoongi’s hand— strong and sculpted and deliciously vascular, as you’d admired many times before— rises to caress your cheek, and he leans forward until his lips brush the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

“Why don’t you join us, this time?”

You find yourself nodding before you even realise it, but it’s definitely a decision you would make again any other day.

You feel Yoongi smile against your ear, and then he is pressing a soft kiss to your cheek and pulling back. That same strong hand winds around your wrist and you’re tugged into the room, the door shutting behind you. The two on the bed barely bat an eye at the arrival of their third lover and an extra figure, merely smiling dazedly at the two of you.

“Baby boy is finally gonna join us?” Hoseok asks, eyes lidded and dark to match the tousled look of his hair and clothes. His words are slightly slurred but the keenness to his gaze tells you he is still very much aware of everything he does.

Yoongi hums in confirmation, coming up behind you to wind his arms lazily around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Mhmm. Don’t stop on our account— why don’t you give him a bit of a show to start, hm?”

Hoseok needs no further prompting, a grin all you glimpse before he is diving back to crash his lips into Namjoon’s, hand moving inside his pants and eliciting a deep, throaty groan. It makes your own cock throb in need, and almost as though he reads your mind, Yoongi's voice sounds in your ear once more.

“You already hard, baby boy? Like what you see?”

Something about the husky quality of the boxer’s voice makes a shudder roll down your spine, a light whine slipping from your throat. Yoongi presses soft kisses to the skin of your neck as you watch the two on the bed undress each other between heated kisses.

“Want me to touch you, baby boy?”

As though possessed, your head begins nodding before you even think to act on the urge. Yoongi requires no further prompting; he begins to kiss and suckle along the column of your neck while his hands move— one creeps up beneath your shirt to flick a thumb over your nipple, and the other slips down, down, down beneath the waistband of your pants and boxers, until that hand you admire so much is slipping around your cock and squeezing just enough to make you gasp out a moan.

Pleasure and desire wind together to mix with the tipsy haze in your mind, and you’re more than happy to surrender yourself to the current situation. Slowly, you’re urged over to the bed, eyes still locked on the pair occupied there as Yoongi’s hand works magic on your length. You don’t even bother attempting to stem the gasps and moans tumbling forth because you know at this point it would probably be futile.

Hoseok has now stripped Namjoon entirely and is making his way down his body with his mouth, pressing a kiss against every inch of golden skin he can reach. Namjoon is quite generously endowed, and you can’t tear your eyes away as Hoseok finally reaches the apex of his thighs and begins to lavish attention to Namjoon’s flushed cock.

You can feel Yoongi grinding lightly against you as he strokes your own aching member, the two of you observing the show before you with rapt attention. At some point you’re rid of your shirt and the air feels cool against your flushed skin, your upper body leaning back against Yoongi contentedly. The noises spilling from Namjoon’s throat are downright sinful as Hoseok’s mouth sinks down on him with practiced ease.

It’s almost too much for you, really. Almost sensory overload. You’re urged ever so slowly to the bed, and as you sit on the plush mattress you happily oblige as Yoongi begins to undo and remove the jeans that are now uncomfortably tight. Your boxers follow soon after and then you’re joining the other two in their nudity. As though sensing the change in plans, Hoseok pulls off of Namjoon’s cock with a ‘pop’, licking his lips and ignoring the whine in protest that Namjoon lets out. “In a minute, bubs.”

Yoongi leans over to the bedside table to retrieve lube and something else you soon realise to be condoms as he tosses them on the bed between him and Hoseok.

“Are you alright with this?”

You turn at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, eyes meeting his own— though heady and full of desire, they’re also determined. You don’t doubt that if you say no, he will stop things here.

“Yes,” you confirm, and you watch as a smile pulls over Yoongi’s face.

“Excellent. Now, lean forward, baby boy. This might be a little cold.”

Without question, you allow him to shift and bend your body as needed, knees digging into the plush bedding. Tilting your head up, you manage to meet the eyes of Namjoon, who is in a similar position to yourself, just in time for you to gasp at the sudden cold sensation at your ass.

You’d think by now you would be used to the feeling of lube— you’re immediately distracted from that though at the sensation of Yoongi’s finger beginning to toy around your asshole. You allow yourself to relax as much as possible, turning your attention to Namjoon and Hoseok and simply enjoying the sensations Yoongi is eliciting.

Namjoon’s hand raises, cupping your cheek and dragging down ever so gently. Hoseok catches the movement and lets out a coo, eyes boring into your own.

“Wanna kiss him, baby boy? Go ahead, he’s good at it.”

You don’t need to be told twice, and neither does Namjoon. You find Hoseok definitely isn’t wrong as Namjoon’s lips meet your own, the kiss quickly turning heated as his mouth moves against your own. He swallows down your moans as Yoongi’s fingers begin to stretch you slowly, one by one.

You lose so much time in the hypnotic motion of bodies against your own that before you know it there is a gentle yet firm hand against your shoulder pulling you back from the man before you.

“Ready, baby?”

You nod, and soon after hear the familiar tear of foil before the head of Yoongi’s cock is pressing against your hole. You take a deep breath in, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as he begins to press himself in and stretch you open bit by bit. The burn isn’t particularly painful tonight, and to be honest sometimes you’re partial to the sensation.

By the time Yoongi is fully seated within you, you’re almost panting, soft moans escaping unwittingly. Through the fog of pleasure currently addling your brain, you hear similar noises in front of you and realise Namjoon must be in a similar state. Unconsciously, your hand stretches out, seeking contact, and manages to entwine with the large, warm one you identify as Namjoon’s good hand.

As soon as Yoongi receives the green light from you, he begins to move. The sensations of him dragging against your walls are enough to almost drive you mad, especially at the slow pace he’s set. It isn’t long before he picks up though, and soon rough the slap of his hips against your ass is one of the many sinful noises echoing in the room, muffled by the loud music still booming beyond the bedroom walls.

“O-oh, fuck,” you moan, barely coherent enough to respond to Namjoon’s seeking lips. Absently, you hear Yoongi’s soft groans and low murmured praises, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Good boy,” he all but purrs, hand caressing down your spine before finding purchase at your hips.

Time blurs and you’re wound so tight that it isn’t long before you feel yourself approaching that edge, your hand lowering to begin stroking your own cock again in an effort to reach your high faster. It’s one deep stroke that hits you in all the right places that is your undoing, and with a cry you’re cumming hard, spots appearing behind your eyes.

The sudden tightness around his cock has Yoongi stilling, a low, drawn out groan sounding from his throat as he joins you in your high, throbbing inside you. Your arms are a little too weak to continue holding you, but he seems to be in tune enough that he notices and his own slip around you, easing you into his embrace as he adjusts on the mattress and hums into your skin.

Namjoon and Hoseok aren’t far behind you, the two of them reaching their own end not long after. Namjoon flops against the bed, spent and Hoseok hops up to retrieve a bin and some wipes to clean up a bit before he too flops across the mattress, smacking Namjoon’s ass as he does and eliciting a brief whine in protest.

“Well fuck,” you hum, staring absently at the ceiling. Yoongi snorts, pulling you closer, and like they all share a hive mind you’re very suddenly in the middle of a cuddle pile as the other two join in.

“Beats just watching, doesn’t it?” One of them queries, probably Hoseok— you’re too tired to really discern it.

“Mhm,” you respond, basking in content. “Four’s company, I suppose.”

There are a few hums of agreement, and then comfortable silence falls over the room. You find yourself smiling as you sink into the most content sleep you’ve had in a while, in the arms of the three boxers who have nestled their way into your heart one by one

#bts smut #bts fic #btsghostie #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #hoseok smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x male reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x male reader #hoseok x reader #hoseok x male reader #bts au #rapline fic #rapline smut #reader insert #my work #my writing #bts fanfic

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