#together by the throat because i feel. compassion for them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gojonanami · 6 months

Text

GOT YOU - SATORU GOJO

☆ summary: satoru finally found you -- and he's not going to let you go this time. (in other words, feral dub gojo had me by the throat). ☆ cw: 18+ only, dead dove, do not eat, smut, yandere!gojo, non/con (at the start), dub/con, mentions of noncon masturbation w/ clothes/in bed, manipulation, gaslighting, light choking, degradation (slut, whore), fingering (f!receiving), panty sniffing, oral (f!receiving), breeding kink, cumplay (slightly), multiple orgasms. ☆ wc: 3,132

“Got you,” a familiar voice hums in your ear, and the floor was yanked from under you - mentally and physically, because now you were pinned to the floor, looking up at the same blue eyes you had prayed you would never see again, “miss me sweetheart?”

And he knew the answer from the wide eyes and trembling lips, but that only made him all the more eager. He leans down, pressing his lips to your soft cheek, “come on, baby, not even a hello? I’d even settle for a kiss or a smile,” he pouts, feeling your hands squirm under his grasp, as he straddled you, “trying to wave hello? Thought we were closer than that,” he hums, “don’t I deserve a warmer welcome, after all the effort I took to find you? To wait here all day for you,”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, harsh and bitter, as bitter as the words you wished to scream at him - but you know that would get you nowhere, “how about you let me go, and I’ll give you the welcome you deserve?” And the quaver in your voice isn’t what gives you away, he knows you all too well, and you know he won’t let you go that easy.

“Aw baby, I'd love to believe you,” he sighs dramatically, “but after I lost you for two years, I can’t risk you slipping away again,” he noses your neck, inhaling deeply, “I had to have such patience over the last few weeks, had to make sure you hadn’t picked up on my presence, and you didn’t,” he grins, as he traces a finger down your jaw, “you know how hard it was? I spent so many mornings in your bed after you went to work, slept in it, still warm from your body, and I could smell you,” his lips curled into a smile that would have been so gorgeous, if it weren’t terrifying, “made me so needy for you baby, I had to relieve myself,” he admits with a sigh, “luckily, your hamper was full of clothes with your scent, and in your bed, it made it even easier,”

And your stomach twisted at the thought of him touching himself in your bed — and oh god, with what clothes?

His thumb brushes against the length of your cheek, “why did you run from me, baby?” and you’re silent — he knows why you ran.

Satoru Gojo was perfect when he was your best friend — the perfect shoulder to cry on when one of your crushes didn’t work out, when a job prospect didn’t pan out, or a friend had hurt your feelings. What you didn’t know was he was the reason none of these crushes ever had worked out, why a job prospect that took you too far from him didn’t hire you, and why these friends who hurt your feelings and took up too much of your time had left shortly after. But to you, he was your savior, his compassion limitless, his patience infinite — and so you fell for him, just as he knew you would. It was a drunken kiss one night when he knew you were vulnerable, when he knew that your feelings for him were so close to the surface, you couldn’t help but kiss him. And kissing lead to a confession, and then the two of you were together.

It was perfect — for a while.

Soon, you couldn’t deal with his jealousy — over coworkers, friends, even your family, and with his controlling tendencies — he wanted you to spend every waking moment with him, he even wanted you to quit your job, to let him take care of you, and you couldn’t handle his constant suspicion — the constant questions of where you were (even when you had told him) and the accusations that came along with them.

So you tried to break it off — tried. The first few times, Satoru sweet talked his way back into your heart — and your bed — with false promises and sweet kisses. But that soon wore old when his promises remained broken and his kisses left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. And when you tried to leave for good once — your bags packed — he had grabbed you, held you down, and stared at you with the same paralyzing look he gave you now, lips twisted into a smile you had never seen before, as he whispered the same two words he said when he greeted you now, “Got you,” and then he added, “and I’m never letting you go.”

“Are you going to answer?” the present Satoru snaps you back to reality with a gentle hand around your throat, his thumb running over the hollow, before he kisses it, “or should I make you?”

“Satoru, please, stop—”

“That’s what you always say, baby,” he rolls his eyes, as if he was exasperated, “and then you always end up under me, begging for more,” and he squeezes your throat lightly, “nothing but a little slut, aren’t you?” and you gasp, as he loosens his grip again, “have you whored yourself out to any of those men at work?” and he’s grazing his teeth against your jawline, “if I leave a mark, that should keep them away, right? They’ll know you have a loving boyfriend — one who’s not afraid to claim what’s his,” and he’s smiling again, “now, tell me, have you slept with anyone else?”

And you don’t want to answer — the answer’s no, you hadn’t, but you didn’t know whether that would make it worse or better. But his hand around your throat tells you, you don’t have a choice.

“No, I haven’t,” you confess — and his smug grin only serves to irritate you, as he sighs far too contently, parting your legs as he moves to settle between them, “please don't—”

“I have to check, don’t I, princess?” he murmurs, and his hand is drifting up your tight skirt, “such a slutty skirt for someone who hasn’t been sleeping around. Did you wear it just for me?” and he’s raising a brow, as his fingers roll your skirt higher, fabric straining as he did, “well, I don’t want you wearing it for anyone else, so—“ and the fabric tears apart, your legs jumping as he does, and his lips press to your knee, “there’s my perfect baby,”

Your hands are free as his hands busy themselves with spreading your leg, inhaling your scent, as his fingers trail up your inner thighs. Your hands are trying to push him away, kicking your legs helplessly, but he’s got them under his grasp. Fingers pressing into the soft flesh a little too hard, and you know he’s going to leave bruises at some point or another.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he hums when he finds a wet spot on your underwear, “look, you’re already ruining your underwear, and I’ve barely even started — you’ve been wanting this too,” and your hand finds his face, trying and failing to push him away, but he only licks the space between your fingers, “now be a good girl for me or I’ll make you,” the last words a growl, “and you don’t want me to do that,” but he feels you grow more damp with your slick as his fingers press against your clit through your underwear, “or maybe you do.”

“Satoru, please don’t do this,” you’re begging, but his crystalline gaze only grows more cold, as his lips curl as he sees hot, fat tears well in your eyes, “just let me go, I won’t run. I just don’t-“

“C’mon now, what’s wrong? How could I ever let you go?” He coos, as he watches the first tear roll down your cheek, as he leans down and tastes it, “I need you, baby, and now that I got you,” his two fingers sneak into the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin, “I’ll never let you leave my sight again,”

You flinch from his touch, squirming underneath him, “Please, I-I’ll do anything, just don’t—“ and his thumb pressed against your lips, as his lidded eyes and smirk only draw nearer.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, don’t you remember? You asked for this — you made me promise to never leave you,” twisting the words you had muttered to him that drunken night, whispered after your first kiss with him and now he purred them as he bent down, breath warming your lips, as he tilted your chin up, “and I always keep my promises,”

“Now tell me,” he smiles that same smile that had caught your heart, “tell me you want this,” he’s nibbling at your neck, and you’re melting into his touch — and he knows you’re so close to submission, “tell me, baby,”

And you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your body burning from his touch, “I want you,”

His lips curl into a wide grin, teeth flashing.

He kisses you, lips sliding against yours, and your lips shut even as his tongue tried to slip inside. And he bites your bottom lip, drawing a delicious gasp from your lips, and his tongue plunges in, as you moan, boneless and helpless.

And his hands slide down your sides, teasing the hem of your shirt, “Fuck, baby, I’m addicted to you — you taste so good,” and he’s tugging your shirt over your head, as his lips attach themselves to your jaw. You whimper as his teeth draw marks along your jaw, before trailing a path down your neck, kissing the hollow of your throat, before leaning down to the swell of your breasts right above your bra.

His fingers press against your soaked panties, the fabric doing little to prevent the full force of his touch, thick and mean fingers rubbing harsh circles against your clit, “Too fast,” you whine, back arching against the rough carpet of your living room, “too much,” your mouth falling cutely open and eyelashes fluttering, as your slick leaks through the thin material making his fingers grow sticky.

“But your pretty cunt doesn’t agree, sweetheart,” he reaches around and unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, his teeth grazing your nipple before sucking, a grunt leaving your throat, heat blooming a trail down between your legs, “it wants me to fill you — fill you like you deserve,” and he’s pulling your panties down your thighs and then pulls them to his nose, “so fucking sweet,” and he’s pocketing them for later use — your cum not going to be the only thing staining it later.

And he’s slipping down your body, kissing down your breasts, mouthing each nipple, before placing wet kisses between the valley of your chest, and down your stomach, pausing to slip his tongue into your bellybutton to make you gasp, as he hums against your skin.

“Been dreaming of tasting this sweet pussy,” he sighs dreamily, as he settles between your thighs, his large hands spreading you open for him, fingers spreading your dripping folds, making you clench around nothing, before, not one, but two fingers slip inside with ease, making you choke on air, as he steadily begins to fuck you open, “you sure you haven’t whored yourself out baby, or do you just want my cock that badly?” and he tuts, “nah, can’t be. You’re too tight, so fucking gorgeous,”

And you swallow thickly, hating the way his words make your resolve buckle — want seeping through the cracks, leaving only need behind — why were you weak for him like this? He knew you too well — knew where to touch, knew what to say to make you lose all sense, and he knew he could.

And he would do it too.

Soon enough, he’s pulling his digits from you, only the tips pressed inside as he spreads you, his mouth leaning do to press a sloppy kiss to your weeping cunt, “this pretty thing was made f’me, wasn’t it, princess?” and his hot tongue dragging your release up and down your pussy, before his fingers sink again for a hot minute, deeper than they had until they find that spot that has you seeing stars, making you moan louder, “Ah, this is where you’re weak, right, pretty baby?” And his mouth latches to your clit, sucking as his fingers bully your walls, “fuck, you’re so wet f’me, practically leaking all over your carpet, now what will your guests think?” he hums, a grin on his lips, “maybe after I fuck you, I’ll make you lick it all up f’me, clean up your mess,”

And his words drive you over the edge, making you cum all over his fingers, your slick slipping onto his palm, as he pulls his fingers from you as you moan wantonly, his tongue darting out to lick and clean his fingers clean, pressing his digits into his mouth, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted, baby,” and he’s parting you again with the tips of his fingers, before his tongue slips in.

And his tongue parts your cunt, beginning to fuck you in earnest now, as his jaw aches as he does, hot and warm muscle reaching depths you didn’t know were possible. He’s licking, prodding, and sucking, and your soft grunts and moans only made him even harder, straining in his pants, “g’nna make me cum in my pants baby from your taste and sounds alone,” and you’re already so close, too close — your first orgasm making you so sensitive, but right as you give that telltale clench, he’s pulling away a moment, to watch your chest rise and fall with half lidded eyes glazed over with lust, pretty, pretty cunt quivering from the lack of sensation, and a long whine leaving your lips.

“Want you to cum on my cock this time, baby, not in my mouth,” he says, lips and chin glossy with your slick, “we have time for that later,” and now you’re growing desparate as he just watches you, cleaning up your release from his mouth, tongue darting out to lick what he could, before using the back of his hand to wipe away what he couldn’t.

And the plea leaves your mouth before you realize it, “Please,” you swallow thickly, your words weak and broken, “Satoru, please,”

“Please, what?” he teases, as he pulls his shirt cover his head, your eyes raking over his abs and lingering on the v-line as his sweatpants rode low, doing very little to hide the large bulge that your eyes were glued to, “want me to split you open with my cock?” and he wanted nothing more, as he slips his pants and boxers off with ease, his dick nearly slapping against his stomach as he did, a pearly white bead of pre-cum resting on the flushed red tip, his hand grasping it, as he pumped it slowly to spread his release, “gonna have to use your words baby, don’t care if they’ve been fucked out of that little brain of yours,”

You pout so beautifully, bottom lip quivering, all of your resistance and fear eroded away by lust and need, “I want you, need you to fuck me, please, Toru,” you squirm, thighs parting for him, “need you inside me, please,”

It doesn’t take more than a second before the tip of his dick is pressed to your folds, “Look at you now, baby — you were begging me to leave, and now you’re begging for this cock,” and you’re moaning as he feeds your insides his dick, inch by inch, “fuck, practically swallowing me up — want to be fucked that bad baby?” And finally he’s inside you, fully seated in your sweet cunt, “or maybe, you want me to fuck a baby into you? Want me to breed this pretty pussy, sweetheart? Make me a daddy?”

And he’s starts to fuck you, hips snapping against yours — and he was unrelenting in his pace, cock breaching and bullying your insides, brushing against your sweet spot again and again. Your teeth bared down on your bottom lip, trying to hold back your noises, but he can’t have that, can he?

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “Wanna hear every pretty sound, sweetheart, wanna hear you scream my name as I fuck you,” and he begins to fuck you even harder, hips slapping against you, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching from his cock, your sweet moans of his names, and lust glazed over gaze was almost too much for him.

But it only made him more desperate to fuck you harder, until all you could feel was him between your legs for the next month, as he grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders, making himself sink even deeper, deeper, deeper.

And it was too much, too much for you, as you came around his cock for the first time in two years, and god, it was the most beautiful thing Satoru had seen. Your mouth parted in ecstasy as your release slicked up his cock, as he fucked your cum back into you, as your princess cunt clamped down on him hard, again and again.

You were moaning his name again and again, the only word you knew now, mouth parted open as he fucked you through your orgasm, “Yeah, baby, cum on my cock, pretty pussy was made just for that. Gonna make you cum again and again, until you can’t live without my cock between your legs. You’d like that, huh? Make you walk around with my cum inside you, even when I get you pregnant, I’ll fuck you again and again, until you’re leaking with me.”

And you’re just moaning, nodding and broken, lost to the pleasure, as he grits his teeth, cock twitching at the sight before him, watching his dick slip in and out of you, a white ring of your release around the base of his cock.

It wasn’t much longer, until he notched his cock as deep as he could, holding himself as he gave only shallow thrusts, his hot release pumping into you, continuing to fuck it deeper, “gotta make sure it sticks, don’t we, sweetheart” he murmurs with a smile, as he captures your lips in a kiss, cock still stuffed inside of you, “can’t let you get away from me now. It’d be much harder with a baby, won’t it?”

And he’s easing himself out, groaning as he watches your mixed releases beginning to trickle out as the tip of his cock slaps against your weeping cunt. He pools the cum on his fingers, pushing it back in, making you flinch and moan, utterly blissed out, eyes fluttering as you gazed up at him.

He only smiles the same way he always did, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I got you.”

☆ a/n: i usually don't write things like this (i.e. non/con), but the dub feral gojo lines lived rent free in my head, until i wrote this (they still do, it's fine) I also don't post fics this often, but I am writing a lot of fics.

☆ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @miss-nightray

#satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk smut #satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru smut #yandere!gojo #yandere satoru gojo #yandere x reader

2K notes · View notes

wordsinhaled · 8 months

Text

“I need you” isn’t “I love you,” and it isn’t “Yes, let’s go off together,” but the thing is, it might as well be. And it might be one of the more honest things Aziraphale has ever said.

He has never said it aloud before now. Not like this, with eons worth of raucous indignant feeling crawling up into his throat. He had not wanted, not expected to say it like this, mocked by his own stricken reflection in Crowley's sunglasses, each lens a dark mirror.

"I—I need you," says Aziraphale, and his voice breaks down the middle. It might as well, for he's confessed too late. Crowley is shut to him, recedes from him like a wave broken on the terrible bedrock of Aziraphale's futile stubbornness.

And still, even like this, Aziraphale needs him.

His presence, his constancy. His unfailing, tenacious friendship.

Crowley’s kindness, his softness, his solicitousness under the prickly façade Aziraphale sees is just that—a layer that can be so easily peeled away to reveal the deep core of caring beneath, too entrenched to be deserved by any world they could live in. He needs Crowley’s unguarded gaze, needs the way Crowley’s forever looking at him across distances when he thinks Aziraphale doesn’t notice: chin tilted up, eyes soft as marigold petals.

A phone call away whenever anything or nothing at all happens is Crowley’s dear voice; his lovely dry humor; his sauntering, slithering, improbable walk despite which he somehow flawlessly falls into step alongside Aziraphale anywhere and all the time. His hip knocking against Aziraphale’s, casual as anything and yet so much more than. Flashes of black and wisps of red flitting in and out of Aziraphale’s periphery for thousands of years.

He needs their circuitous arguments, their winding ethical debates—after most of which they somehow end up on the same side, that is, their own side, terrifying and exhilarating in its Promethean familiarity—and Crowley’s chaotically-sure moral compass. The times Crowley is braver than Aziraphale could ever be; and the times Crowley reminds him of how brave he actually always has been.

And Aziraphale needs even the great big awful rows, the ones that end in their standing on opposite verges of another chasm of their own making. Because the culmination of such a fight is always the meeting again in the middle. It’s the low sweeping bow of their apology, a ritual not half earnest for all its facetiousness, which says so much without either of them having to utter a word. Crowley holds a whole conversation in the dip of his fiery head and the exaggerated flutter of his elegant wrists, when it’s his turn; and, when it’s Aziraphale’s, the hashing-out of differences is there in the way he executes each familiar movement with the practiced ease of a faithful courtier, though it’s been ages since he stood in any king’s court.

He needs the knowledge that they always forgive each other. Because, well, they do. They must. They will. What’s a spat or a quarrel or even a proper falling-out to two beings like them, to him and Crowley?

Aziraphale needs Crowley’s happiness. His truest happiness. If that isn't the crux of it all, what is?

He remembers the ancient light of Crowley's joy, how it had shone once about both of them like an aura through the blackness of undeveloped space. It never left, all that bright, barely reined-in giddiness, all that frenetic energy, but he's transmuted it, magpie-like, into something else. Aziraphale can sense it whenever Crowley brings him a new vintage record to add to his collection. Whenever Crowley pulls out Aziraphale’s chair for him outside Marguerite's, or orders just what he likes for him at the Ritz. Whenever he drops into the shop unannounced with a little box tucked under his arm, full of gorgeous petits fours from the new bakery Aziraphale hasn’t yet tried, and says, gleeful, Ohhh, you wouldn’t believe all the wiling I had to do to get my hands on these, angel. You’ll have to thwart me for this, I know. But first—no, no, no, first! The only sensible thing for you to do would be to try them… you’ll like the pear macaron...

And of course Crowley is right. He's right about most things, isn't he, after all? Because Crowley knows him, and he needs to be known, but it simply wouldn't do for anyone else to be the one doing the knowing.

Aziraphale likes the pear macaron, just as Crowley knew he would.

He likes all the things that come along with Crowley, really. The fast car, oh yes, sleek and stylishly classic and so very Crowley through and through, though Aziraphale has committed staunchly to grousing about it. The way no companionable silence held in Crowley's company is ever truly silent. The jaunts to the park on seasonable days: Crowley's touch lingering where he pours frozen peas for the ducks into Aziraphale's cupped palm; the fondness in Crowley's tone poorly disguised as he points out his favorite mated pair trawling placidly across the pond. The drinking together long past the small hours of the morning in the back room of the bookshop, where the walls are the same warm ochre shade as Crowley’s eyes.

It isn't ever so much about the drinking as it is about the together bit. How the space between them dwindles with the syrupy passage of time. How Crowley softens and melts into the settee. How he becomes Aziraphale's to watch, for once. How he grows so wondrously relaxed and gloriously at home there in Aziraphale's space that Aziraphale begins to wonder if this will at last be the night Crowley does not, eventually, get up and retreat back to his Bentley to take himself away again...

There is always that fragile little moment, right after sobering up, when everything in their universe seems at the same time to be entirely too set in stone and entirely too much as though it all hangs by one delicate, dissembling thread. Always the split second in which Aziraphale looks into Crowley's guileless face and remembers he could unravel everything with a single tug.

Yes, one sharp tug on the lapels of Crowley's jacket would do it, he knows. How easily it could be done... Tumble the two of them into one another, just then, and they would never be parted again. And his deft-tongued Crowley would lick the heat and the aftertaste of Talisker into Aziraphale's mouth, then, before it had the chance to dissipate completely.

He could. He could.

It's in those stretched milliseconds, brimming with a tender longing so acute it tips right over into an agony, that Aziraphale realizes: I do need all of you, darling, don't I? So terribly much it might unmake me one day. Never mind Aziraphale's most fickle and blustering attempts at denial, he knows this to be true as he knows the truth of little else in the cosmos.

And perhaps today is that day—the day Aziraphale will dissolve and be remade in the permanent shape of lack.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #don't mind me just thinking about aziraphale all alone up in heaven without any distractions missing crowley

937 notes · View notes

tossawary · 6 months

Text

Yes, I can be frustrated when plot tension seems to arise solely from characters communicating poorly or refusing to speak to each other at all. Sometimes, the reasons for it don't seem very good or even true to character when they pale in the face of some other threat. Sometimes, it gets drawn out too long and it feels like things would be more interesting if we just moved on to whatever could happen next; I do really like it when characters come together and attempt to solve problems as a team.

And yet, on the other hand, there are situations where I can't agree when someone says, "UGH, why don't they just TALK to each other?!" Because it's like... it's the trauma, bro. It's the shame and the fear and the desire for privacy and control. It's the violence of this world and the LIFE-THREATENING risks of vulnerability. It's potentially another character having a knife to their throat. It's the precarious situation of NOT KNOWING that you're a character in story and that this other character is a decent person who will react with understanding and compassion.

"UGH, why didn't this character just hand someone else their heart and the power to destroy them on a platter?" "UGH, why didn't this character confess to something that has been repeatedly shown to be murderously reviled by most people in this world?" "UGH, why didn't this character just TALK to people when they've been burned before and no one has demonstrated that they're trustworthy, and also they're being threatened to keep them silent?"

Again, miscommunication plots often drive me up the wall, especially when they seem so repetitive. Everyone has a limited tolerance for certain story elements and story elements can definitely be executed poorly. It can be fun to mix things up with characters who throw their issues on the table and demand that someone try to fight them on it, with characters who are open about previous issues but are struggling not to backslide, and with characters who are TRYING to talk it out but can't find the words or the right people to listen. There are many ways to do communication plots! There are many good reasons to complain about these plots! And it's all to personal taste anyway, so I don't begrudge anyone their venting! I can be petty too!

But... also... "UGH, why didn't this character suddenly overcome all of their personal issues in order to effectively spill their guts to someone they have good reason to think wants them dead?" BRUH, COME ON and put yourself in their shoes, PLEASE.

#this is about both shen yuan and airplane bro but it also fits the bg3 squad I suppose #tossawary svsss #shen yuan #shang qinghua #tossawary fandom #EDIT: wait everyone tagging this with Yue Qingyuan and Qijiu is so fucking right #yue qingyuan #shen qingqiu #shen jiu

448 notes · View notes

applejuicefruit · 1 year

Note

can you write for kylian where he’s dating reader and she’s very clingy and touchy because she loves physical affection but one day they are out and he’s avoiding holding her hand and she gets very hurt please?

kylian mbappe x reader

Clingy

Physical touch was your love sign.

It was your best way to show someone you care for them, that you love them. And Kylian knew it exactly. So it hurt you when this morning you were out with your, mostly his, friends and teammates and he treated you like you weren’t even there.

You were used to hold hands in public, or, have his arm wrapped around your shoulders in a protective way so you where kinda shocked that the moment you saw Sergio and Neymar waving at the both of you, he let your hand and when you tried to hold it back he shoved you away.

You were all sat at the table of a nice coffee shop in Paris, you facing Sergio and Kylian sat next to you when he began talking with Neymar and ignoring you like you weren’t even there.

You pretended everything was fine so you cracked a laugh from time to time when Neymar made some jokes but you were fighting back your tears. You began sipping your tea in a way to distract yourself when Neymar said something you wished you didn’t hear. You were sure he didn’t mean it like that but still, you found yourself back in his words and it hurt you hearing Kylian agreeing with him.

“She was too clingy man” Neymar said to Kylian, referring to the girl he had recently broke up with “she was nice and all but please, let me breathe, she was on me all day, always wanting to hold hands…when we were at home together she was on me all day, always wanting to cuddle or hold each others…give me a break, I hate people these clingy” he joked.

“Yeah me too” Kylian said laughing too.

You felt a hole in your chest.

Kylian hated you? You didn’t understand.

He never said anything. No. Most of the times he was the big spoon, always wanting to hold you in his arms or kiss you. So why was he saying that?

Sergio gave you a concerning look, asking you if you were okay but you simply nodded.

You knew that if you talked you would burst out crying and you didn’t want to that, you didn’t want to look weak in front of your friends. And in front of Kylian. In two years of relationship he never saw you cry once. You always talked if there was something off or wrong so you never felt the need to cry because he was there right before something might happened. But this whole new behaviour was scaring you.

It’s been an hour and after that you all decided to go back home. Mostly because Sergio wanted to spend some time with his family and Neymar wanted to see his son too so you waved each others goodbye and left.

Kylian tried to talk to you during your walk back home but you ignored him. Your throat was still hurting you for all the tears you were keeping.

“Mon amour what do you want to eat?” Kylian asked you once you got back home.

“You pick…” you simply said.

“My love are you okay?” he asked a bit worried.

“Mh-mh” you replied back and went straight to sit on the couch. Kylian followed you and sat next to you, wanting to feel you close he grabbed your hands but you shoved him away.

“Babe you’re clearly mad at me, can you tell me what’s going on?” he asked you.

“I thought you hated clingy people” you remarked his own words.

“What? No…I never said that” he said.

“Earlier…with Neymar, you were talking how much you hated clingy girlfriends…I didn’t know I was too clingy but I won’t invade your personal space anymore and I’ll keep my distance” you said, your voice cracking a bit.

“No no no baby…listen to me” he kneeled in front of you “I didn’t mean anything I said…” he tried to explain himself.

“So why did you say it?” you asked him with a sarcastic tone.

“I didn’t mean that I swear baby…I just…Neymar broke up with his girlfriend just last week and I didn’t want him to put himself down more if he saw us together always holding hands or kissing…I wanted to show him some compassion you know?” he said back.

“No I don’t know…but I wished you talked to me instead of ignoring me for the whole morning…” you let a few tears fall but you were quick to wipe them away. You didn’t want to break in front of him.

“No baby don’t cry please…it hurts me knowing you’re crying because of me…” Kylian was quick to hug you and found yourself once again in the comfort of his arms.

“I wished you talked to me…you ignored me the whole morning and it kinda sucked” you confess him with a low voice, almost a whisper.

“I know baby I’m so sorry…it won’t happen I swear…I missed holding your hands today” he said kissing your cheek trying to wipe more tears away. You giggled at the contact of his lips on your cheeks and he was happy he was able to make you smile again.

“I think Ramos is gonna kill you tomorrow” you joked “he saw how you were ignoring me and he didn’t like it”.

“Yup. He’s gonna kill me” he agreed with you and you both started laughing. Kylian wrapped his arms around you and helped you sat in his lap while he ordered something to eat.

The day later at practice Ramos did really kill Kylian, telling him how much he didn’t like his behaviour towards you and that he had to treat you better. Of course you agreed with Sergio.

1K notes · View notes

five-and-dimes · 19 days

Text

Off Book

Sometimes shit gets stuck in my head and I just gotta get it out. Dreamling, human au, soft smut, read on AO3.

~~~~

There is a script.

There is always a script, for everything and anything, even if Dream doesn’t always know what that script is. Sometimes he gets the words mixed up, or he gets the words right but the cadence wrong, and he’s left floundering until someone decides to cut him out of the dialog completely.

Which. Hurts. But he gets it.

There is a script for this too.

Hob moving on top of him, hands on his hips to pull Dream back onto his cock with each thrust while Dream’s fingers curl around his shoulders. The bedframe is making little thuds against the wall, and Hob’s breath is hot as he pants next to Dream’s ear. Dream is biting his lip, because sometimes silence is more acceptable than the wrong line, and he feels the way his breath hisses through his teeth on a particularly strong thrust. Despite his best efforts, a needy, desperate whine escapes his throat.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Hob rasps, keeping his rhythm as he speaks, pulling back just slightly to glance at Dream’s face.

There is a right answer to his question.

Dream knows what he’s supposed to say. He knows it from porn, from oversharing friends, from partners who tried to spoon feed him his lines- You like it like this, right? I know this is what you want, I know this is what you need- until all he had to do was nod along. He knows what he’s supposed to say, he knows what’s expected, he knows the script here.

“Softer.”

He chokes the word out, and he thinks if Hob hadn’t had their faces pressed together it might have gone unheard, he might have had a second chance to get it right, to say what he knows he was supposed to- harder, faster, more- instead of pathetically pleading for the wrong thing. There are tears welling in his eyes and his breath catches in his throat as he feels Hob still. Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe he will just have to endure rolled eyes and pointed questions designed to let him know exactly how ridiculous he was being, perhaps a few sharp comments about how weird and stupid he was. He would endure it all, gladly, to not be pushed away.

“Of course, love.”

Dream gasps, eyes snapping open when he hadn’t even been aware of clenching them closed in the first place. A tear escapes as he blinks in surprise, looking up at Hob’s gentle gaze. A flash of sadness crosses his face, followed by shining compassion as he leans down to kiss the corner of Dream’s eye, “Anything you want, sweetheart. That’s why I asked.”

People don’t ask because they want an answer. They ask to move the script forward, to follow the tracks laid down in front of them, to get to the ending plotted out in their heads already. For his whole life Dream has been taught that every interaction has one right answer and countless wrong ones. His answer had been wrong.

But Hob just smiles as he shifts them gently till they are laying on their sides, facing each other. He has one hand wrapped around Dream’s waist to hold the small of his back while the other tugs at his thigh, tangling their legs together and then petting up and down his side in long, soft strokes.

“Like this?”

The next thrust is slow, and deep. Dream can hear himself sigh, wrapping his arms around Hob to pull him impossibly closer, burying his face against Hob’s neck just in case he fails to blink back his tears appropriately. It feels so good, and Hob is holding him so gently and fucking him softly, just like he asked, as if it was actually possible to get what he wants even when he wants the wrong thing. And he still feels certain he will do something to make it all go away.

He opens his mouth to… he’s not really sure what. To apologize, maybe. But all that comes out is a sharp gasp, and he hears Hob moan, a sound he has become so familiar with and fond of over their time together, the sound of Hob feeling good.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mumbled, a hazy note to his voice that he only got when he was truly losing himself to pleasure and Dream lets out a choked sob on the next thrust as he realizes that somehow he hasn’t messed anything up, Hob isn’t just being nice or indulging him to hold it against him later, Hob is enjoying himself just as much as Dream is.

And crying isn’t in the script either, but when Hob shifts to kiss him deeply, he doesn’t pull away at the taste of salt on his lips. He threads his fingers through Dream’s hair as they kiss, moving together languidly, no rush, no urgency. By the time they both come, Dream’s tears have dried, and Hob still hasn’t let him go.

As they clean up- still quiet, still slow- there is a part of Dream that wonders if this is just a new script for him to learn and eventually get wrong. As they curl up in bed together- still gentle, still soft- a larger part wonders if maybe, with Hob, there isn’t a script at all.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #smut #soft smut #my writing

158 notes · View notes

itsajollyjester · 4 months

Note

yessss that defo answers my questions! ur thoughts on compassion & community intertwined w rebellion definitely show up in ur art lol. something more specific i have been curious abt is ur version of the endings of each specific hunger games & ur characterization/portrayal of the victors at those points! if u have any more thoughts abt any of those characters or their games id love to hear.... im also very not neurotypical abt hunger games

For sure!! But this is a novel and a half so I apologize in advance (also most of this is from memory so anyone can correct me if I'm getting any details wrong)

((TW: For visual depictions of Blood, Gore, and Wounds))

I realized I'd seen barely any art showing what the victors would have looked like when they won their games. They were all just kids and I feel like it can be easy to forget that sometimes

For all of them, I made the background one of their main "weapons" but tried to make it look like its turning back on them instead since there are no victors as Haymitch said.

I'll try to explain them all more in depth individually going in the order I drew them:

Finnick Odair, 65th Games:

His main weapons were his trident and nets that he made with vines. His background is one of the nets ready to trap him.

Finnick was the youngest victor ever at only 14. I really really wanted to emphasize just how little that is. (Especially since we know exactly why the Capitol loved him from the start…) Once I actually drew him looking that little I had to step away for a bit because I made myself too sad…

Outside of just how horrific his age is as a concept, I tried to think about what circumstances would lead to him actually winning when surrounded by older tributes. I think he would have had to avoid any kind of fight he didn't have the upper hand in. We know that he got the most expensive sponsor gifts in the history of the games (a trident), so he probably got plenty of sponsors outside of that as well. Because of that I doubt he needed to go looking for supplies much if ever so it was easy to avoid people there. He was also probably in a career pack, despite his age, due to his training and his popularity, and they would have hunted other tributes down together much like the one we saw in the first book (safer in numbers). Once it was narrowing down and the pack broke is when I think he started catching people in nets. All of that is a long winded way of saying that's why, unlike the other victors I drew, I only show him with minor cuts and bruises.

Originally I was going to draw him with a kind of strained smile like he was acting for an audience from the start. But I decided I actually think its sadder if he believed he was popular because of his skill and strategy as a fighter and only learned the whole truth after he won and that's when he started acting more for the camera. Instead I gave him a more muted despair kind of look, like his world is crashing down. One of my favorite parts about the movies, mainly THG and ABOSAS, is when they give the career tributes at the end a moment of realization about what they've done, and I wanted to give Finnick his. I'm a person that believes Finnick had to have volunteered for his games. I think he would have legitimately believed in the propaganda the career districts were fed and had a bit of a (very middle school boy) ego about his abilities. (I was NOT expecting to write so much about his lmao)

Enobaria, 62nd Games

She's most well known for ripping someones throat out with her teeth. (Her background is her sharpened teeth getting ready to eat her.) This is treated by The Capitol, and by Katniss, as grotesque and terrifying blood lust (Which obviously the Capitol loves her for). However, and I'm not at all the first to say it, that sounds more like a terrified and desperate attempt to survive a fight she was losing and an example of hysterical strength. We know that Career packs have had bloody betrayals in the past and I can see Enobaria being a part of one of them. Enobaria doesn't have a canonical age, but I decided to put her on the younger side (15 or 16.) I can imagine some of the older, bigger tributes deciding she was the weakest link towards the end and that was the result. I tried to make the blood around her mouth and down her shirt look more faded, like she tried desperately to wipe it off (Also I had to step away from drawing again after I drew her little tooth gap)

I think she probably leaned into the bloodthirsty image afterwards as a way to protect herself and (maybe even started to believe it too)

Annie Cresta, 70th Games

Annie's known for losing her mind after seeing her district partner decapitated in front of her. After that, she ran off and hid until the game makers started an earth quake, which made the large dam in the arena break and cause a huge flood. Annie was the only survivor because she was the strongest swimmer. So I decided to make her background dark water that's churning up and over her head. I also think it can work well as a way to show her mental state in the moment (and afterwards) Annie is actually one of my favorite characters in the series and I've been writing out a plan for a possible comic series about her that'll go more in depth about my headcanons for her. (when I say comic series, I mean sketches and oneshots, not a full thing lmao) It wouldn't take place during her games (outside of a few flashbacks when I need more context), instead it would start at her Victory Tour and go into her first (and last) year as a mentor for the 71st Games. Which is a perfect segue to-

Johanna Mason, 71st Games

Johanna is actually first mentioned early on in the first book when Katniss is wondering if the reason Peeta is crying is because he plans to act weak and helpless as a strategy in the games. (Katniss, he just found out he has to fight in a murder tournament with his crush. He's just Sad.) She bases her theory on Johanna, who pretended she was a "sniveling, cowardly fool" in the arena until the final stretch of the games when she proved to be deadly with an axe.

OR….. Katniss is an unreliable narrator and Johanna was actually a terrified kid from a district with so few victors that she was the only name in the bowl for the Quarter Quell… This is totally just a personal headcanon of mine tho lol. I think there would have been a point in her games where she realized she actually had a chance and that's when she seemingly had a huge character turn around. Maybe there was a infighting with the careers that ended in multiple deaths and there was only a few left along with any other tributes hiding away like her. Maybe she poked around what was left of their camp, found the axe, and felt strength from her district.

Her background was a little harder for me. Just slapping a big axe behind her felt cheesy. But them I remembered her saying there was no one left that she loved. So instead I put trees that could represent her loved ones (Two fully grown trees, a younger "teenage" tree, and a sapling) that are in the process of being cut down.

Haymitch Abernathy, 50th Games

Don't worry, I'm almost done. I don't have as much to say about Haymitch since we know SO much about what happened in his games. But his background was probably the hardest for me. His main weapon was invisible after all. I thought maybe the axe that was used, but again, That would look cheesy. I tried (and kinda failed imo) to draw the cliff side the force field was on instead. But the main thing I did was split the three panels I had on the previous drawings into six for two reasons. 1: Because he had to face twice as many tributes in order to win and 2: Being the only victor of a district that's tributes are seen as fodder for the blood bath means he had to meet and watch the death of twice as many kids every year.

#tw blo0d #tw g0re #tw wounds #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #hunger games fanart #hunger games headcanon #thg series #ask #finnick odair #enobaria #annie cresta #johanna mason #haymitch abernathy #jolly art

230 notes · View notes

munsonkitten · 10 months

Text

cw: sexual discussions, gender dysphoria (trans Eddie Munson pov), virgin Eddie, mentions of period typical transphobia and homophobia

It comes as a bit of a surprise, when Steve comes out to Eddie as gay. Even more of a surprise when Steve follows it up with and I’m attracted to you. Eddie has to remind him, with clenched teeth, bracing for the impact of rejection, that he doesn’t have the parts Steve wants.

“You think I care what’s in your pants, man? You’re hot, either way. I’m just saying, like, I’d fuck you,” Steve says, blowing smoke into the air in front of him. He’s sitting against the side of Eddie’s bed, hogging the joint Eddie rolled for them both. “I’m also, like, really fucking high. So forget I said all that.”

Eddie reaches over the edge of his bed and snatches the joint back before Steve can bring it to his mouth again.

He takes a hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs while he ruminates on, well, all of that.

“You sure you’re gay?” Eddie asks, settling on that question first. He winces as he says it, his own internal hangups taking hold of him. He knows he’s a man, there’s no doubt about that. He’s been validated to hell and back by Wayne, a bunch of older queers Wayne is friends with, and the one doctor in the state of Indiana that has shown him any kind of compassion.

He just knows how other people are. How, despite him knowing who he is, a lot of people just see him for his cunt and his tits. Well, not like he has much of his tits left, not after the demobats performed a botched mastectomy on him and left him with one and a half breasts. The doctors that put him back together wouldn’t remove the rest. He knows that Steve could just be getting some wires crossed — yes, he could be attracted to Eddie, but Eddie has to ask if it’s really because he’s into men and sees Eddie as a man, or if… If it’s the alternative.

“Pretty sure, man,” Steve answers. He tilts his head back over the edge of the bed and looks at Eddie, where he’s lying against his pillows. “Like, I don’t think about,” he waves vaguely at Eddie’s body, and Eddie knows he’s being careful, like he can’t just talk about him without overthinking each word. “I think about, like, how you pinned me to a wall with a bottle to my throat and I think about how you hotwired that RV. I was definitely into you during both of those things, and I had no idea about, you know.”

And that’s true. Eddie’s been hiding it pretty good since he moved to town. Buzzed his head in his bathroom the day his dad got arrested. Had a pretty good feeling his pops wasn’t coming back from this one before he even left. Usually he took Eddie along with him, but that final time he left him with a pile of change and a phone number and told him to call Wayne if he wasn’t back by the next afternoon.

Wayne took one look at him when he showed up, asked him about the buzzcut, asked him what name he was going by these days, and then took him to meet some friends. Didn’t even have time to meet any other kids before he started getting tips from an older trans man that Wayne met years back. Since then, Eddie kept his head down, his chest bound, and never uttered a sound until he got on testosterone and his voice started to deepen and crack along with all the other boys.

“Okay, well now you do know, so,” Eddie points out. He shrugs, takes another hit and then passes the joint back down to Steve. “You’d really fuck me? Pussy and all?”

“I mean, I’ve got experience with it,” Steve says. “I just don’t like women, is all. You’re not a woman.”

Eddie doesn’t really get it. How Steve can go from Hawkins’ biggest lady killer to lounging on Eddie the freak Munson’s dingy bedroom floor saying he doesn’t like ladies at all. Steve Harrington, who, and it’s no secret, called Jonathan Byers a queer a few years ago and laughed when his slimy friends called other boys fags. Yet here he is, saying that Eddie’s a man. So much of a man that Steve says he’s gay and wants to fuck him in the same breath.

It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

“What about you?” Steve asks. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Fuck me,” Steve clarifies. “Want to get fucked by me. I mean, hey if you’ve got a dick laying around, I’d let you put it in me, too. I don’t think I’m picky.”

Eddie sighs, dropping his head down to his pillow. This is where it gets tricky. Yeah, he’d have sex with Steve Harrington. Who wouldn’t? But as much experience as Steve has with pussy, Eddie’s a pussy with no experience. Other than a few drunken kisses in dark clubs eighty miles from home, he’s completely terrified of putting himself out there, and honestly for good reason too.

Being gay in this town is hard enough, but if anyone finds out he’s trans, he’s fucking done for. It was scary enough realizing Steve knows, and he didn’t even have a choice in Steve finding out. Next time he tries to die, he’s gonna make sure he gets to a hospital instead of getting his clothes cut off on Steve’s parents’ bathroom floor.

But yeah, Steve knows, and there’s no more risk of him finding out, and that’s pretty much the main reason Eddie hasn’t had sex with anyone, so.

“Yeah, I guess,” he answers.

“Cool,” Steve whispers.

And that’s it. That’s all the conversation is.

Steve crawls into Eddie’s bed and curls up beside him like they always do when he sleeps over, and he takes the joint from Eddie to take one last hit. He reaches over Eddie to put it in the ashtray and then lays back down.

“So, um,” Eddie says. Because he’s confused. He thought Steve was coming onto him. He thought this was a precursor for Steve coming in him.

“What’s up?” Steve asks lazily, voice catching on a yawn.

“Well, I’m glad we established all that, but, like… Are we not going to…?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m way too high,” Steve whispers, turning his face into Eddie’s shoulder. “Another time?”

Eddie laughs because he has no idea how his life became this.

“Sure,” Eddie agrees. “Another time.”

Steve sits up, presses a loud, smacking kiss to Eddie’s temple, and then drops his head back down. He turns his face in toward Eddie’s neck, arm finding its place around Eddie’s waist. Eddie can’t see his face, but he thinks Steve’s pleased smile might just match his own.

Read More on AO3

#i wonder what happens next.... you can find out if you go read on ao3 #steddie #steve x eddie #steve and eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #trans eddie munson #steddie fic #my fics #my writing #gay steve harrington

643 notes · View notes

djljpanda · 10 months

Note

⚠️ !Warning! ⚠️ THIS GETS DETAILED!!!

Can you do another Mob AU Wally with a GN rebel reader. Like the both of them playing a game of cat and mouse by going at each other's throats about the reader joining the family. But in weird ( and twisted) way, it's all in good fun. And the both of them have a fair share of loses and wins in their little game. But when someone else enters their little game ( uninvited at that.. ) and ends up managing to hurt Wally. In one of the reader's genuine act of kindness and compassion they end up helping Wally by tending to him and dropping him off by his base so his ' Family ' can further take care of him. And for the next couple of weeks the reader goes off the grid for a bit and it's complete radio silence from them. That was until the person that managed to hurt Wally was in front of their base, tied up like a hog, with an apple in their mouth ( they have a basket of apples besides them ), but is still in semi good condition. I say semi because the only real damage on them is the carvings on their back. Said carvings read---

' I enjoy our little games together, so you better get well soon so we can play more them. Until then, enjoy this get well soon gifts I bought for you. '- From yours truly, [ Name ]

What will Wally do in this situation, how would he react, and how would he feel???

Oh man you and Wally have been going at each other for awhile now. You both don't hate each other but Wally can't just let you go and you understand but you want to do your own thing.

And yes this was a fun game you two play but it stopped becoming fun when someone else decided to join. You, Wally, and O/p (other/person) where all fighting each other but you and Wally team up just to get them off you guys back.

But during one of yours and Wally's game Wally got attacked. The attack was quick but deadly, you wanted to chase after the O/p but you couldn't leave him here so you helped him.

"Come on Wally your neighbors would have my head if you die here", you didn't want to say it out loud but you were worried for Wally not only because you will be killed by the Home family but who else will be like your partner in crime.

After making sure Wally was okay you dropped him off and rushed away. Ever since that event Wally was touched when he learned you saved his life. But when he tried looking you were nowhere to be found even other gangs, political members, even other rebels didn't know where you were at.

Wally was worried for you as too the O/p was missing too. Wally was doing his best to find you, it got so bad that his 'neighbors' had to ask him to calm down, as his injuries weren't even healed.

But after all that time Wally was told that there is something he may want to see. It was the O/p on the ground tied like a dead pig cooked pig as for the apple gaged in his mouth along with shiny red apples.

When the O/p was checked it was found that there were carvings on his back that had read, 'I enjoy our little games together, so you better get well soon so we can play more of them. Until then, enjoy this get well soon gift I brought for you, From yours truly, Y/n'.

Wally smiled at your words as his neighbors got rid of the O/p body. During his healing process he would eat the apples you gave feeling that they are the reason why he is healing. And he even wrote down your little note for him reading it over and over again. And now every time he is thinking of you he would get all flustered and now more than ever he wanted you in his family.

Once he was healed you guys went back to your favorite games of cat and mouse as well as tag. And yet Wally still knows that not said officially you are his neighbor.

#au welcome home #welcome home au #welcome home mob au #mob au #mob reader #rebel reader #wally darling x you #welcome home wally x reader #wally darling x reader #wally x reader #wally darling

267 notes · View notes

threadsun · 1 year

Note

Hi I've been stalking your blog and had a cute idea for head cannons with bo and jack- since jack can at least somewhat read mcs mind, and bo is always listening, what if they heard mc realize their in love with them? Like just an ordinary day and out of no where the realization dawns on them that their in love- cheesy I know but it's too cute not to imagine bo hearing mc whisper "holy shit I'm in love with a tamogatchi..." Or sunshine thinking to themselves "oh my god...I'm in love with jack..." No pressure, just figured something sweet and cute would be a nice change from the Horny™ asks-

Oh that's super cute!!! I definitely love the horny asks, but I don't mind doing something sweet for a change!!!

Content: being listened in on/having your thoughts read

Bo:

You're not sure exactly what it was that made it dawn on you. Maybe it was the fact that you'd turned down plans with your roommate three nights in a row now to spend time with him. Or maybe it was the way you blushed when you thought about him. Or, perhaps, it was just the bubbling happiness in your chest every time you closed your bedroom door behind you so you could take him out to play.

Whatever it was, the realisation seemed to creep up on you slowly, and then hit you all at once like a pile of bricks. It leaves you standing in the middle of your room, staring blankly at the wall as you try to process your feelings.

"I'm in love with him." You feel every shape your mouth makes keenly as the words come out. "I'm in love with my DachaBo... what the fuck..."

The words hiss from your throat like releasing steam, but it's loud enough for him to hear you from where you've left him face down on the bed.

You love him. You love him. After all this time, all this waiting and loving you and trying to get you to love him back... You love him.

The realisation blooms like a flower in his chest. The relief, the joy, the... euphoria! Of loving and being loved, finally, in return.

You love him.

Jack:

It's something you've sort of been chewing on for a while now. Your feelings for Jack. It's hard to parse what's friendship and what's love, what's platonic and what's romantic.

It's not easy to do. This man came into your life and changed everything. You've gotten into a solid routine, begun eating more balanced meals, started going outside more and generally taking care of yourself. How can you tell what's love and what's just immense relief and gratitude that he's made your life so much better?

The distinction comes to you clear as day. Out of nowhere, you understand. Standing in the yogurt shop, trying to imagine making a life with anyone but him, it hits you. You're grateful he's helped get your life together, sure. But you do also love him.

If you could get rid of him and keep the habits, you wouldn't. It's not the habits you love. You appreciate them, sure. But its his company. His kindness, compassion, humour. That's what you love.

Your heart softens at the thought, eyes straying for just a moment to the ghost sitting on the counter behind you before returning to your walnut chopping. You love him. You really, really love him.

Jack feels warmth spread through him, joy and comfort. You love him. You love him, and you don't want to live without him. And that's all he needs.

Because he loves you too.

#dachabo #swwsdj #something's wrong with sunny day jack #sdj jack #bo x reader #sunny day jack x reader #gn!reader #18+ only #sunshine #im-not-here-anymore-my-dude

190 notes · View notes

athetos · 2 months

Text

I don’t really know what to say anymore. There’s an active genocide happening right now and everybody with the power to stop it is ignoring it. They’re airing what are essentially fucking snuff films on Israeli tv. The media treats this like it’s “complicated” when it has never been complicated, it’s genocide, nothing could ever justify it, nothing ever will. It makes me sick that all I can do is protest and donate money and SIM cards and boycott, but it still hasn’t stopped. Everyone is fucking complicit. It’s sickening and I hate feeling powerless, everyone I know feels powerless, I’m hoping and fighting and I refuse to treat Palestine in the past tense because I do believe Palestine will be free but why does it have to take this long? Why isn’t anyone DOING anything?

I can’t go a single day without learning of what vile transphobic shit is happening here in my home. On virtually every website I use. Hate crimes in my own area. I am a mail clerk and today we received a request for donations from a charity run by a terf to keep trans women out of sports with grossly violent language. I ripped it up and threw it out even though I’d get in trouble over it, even though I knew my company wouldn’t donate anyway. This morning I learned about a non-binary teen who was beaten to death by 3 girls in a school bathroom. The teacher who found them and sent the girls away didn’t take them to the nurse or call an ambulance or do anything. Trying so hard to keep it together and not break down at work. It’s heartbreaking. I feel so powerless. There’s so much suffering, so many innocent people dying every day, just for existing.

I’m so lucky that I live in a city where I’m (relatively) safe. I may get called slurs on my commute, or misgendered regularly, but I don’t feel like my life could be stolen from me. Most people don’t have that luxury. Palestinians don’t have that luxury, many of my trans siblings don’t have that luxury. I want to use my privileges to DO something! I only have so much money. I only have my own voice, even if I scream until my throat is raw and bloody.

I don’t really know what else to say. Keep fighting, keep hoping. Fuck, man. I won’t let this make me a defeatist, I will never give up. As long as at least a single person on this planet is suffering, I will always keep fighting for them. It’s just sickening. Is there no compassion or empathy left in others? I am a well that will never be tapped dry. Keep fucking going, that’s all we can do. Free Palestine, protect trans kids, Black Lives Matter, we are all in solidarity forever.

#transphobia #Zionism #ask if you need anything else tagged

29 notes · View notes

slashmagpie · 6 months

Text

Blood & Snow

Pt. II

Directory: {Pt. I} {Pt. III} {Pt. IV} {Pt. V} {Pt. VI} {Pt. VII} {AO3}

Day two for @hermithorrorweek! TWs for this chapter include: minor gore, body horror*, temporary character death

II. ENVIRONMENT

Scar and Tango make an odd pair.

Catching them together is a study in contrasts: Scar’s light against Tango’s dark, Scar’s loud against Tango’s quiet, Scar’s whimsy against Tango’s sarcasm. The theme park owner brightly welcoming you to the happiest place on Hermitcraft, and the dungeon master presiding over a subterranean labyrinth of fear and pain. Scar’s hunger for diamonds, and Tango’s dismissal of them. Scar’s tendency to distraction, and Tango’s unwavering focus that had led him to spend the better part of thirteen months in a cave, despite all of Scar’s attempts to drag him out of it.

And Scar had tried! He’d even succeeded, a few times. More often, he would just hang around and bother Tango while he worked, rambling about Star Wars or Disney or trains or updates or whatever while Tango coated his frosty fingers with redstone and made the occasional comment. And whilst to an outside observer, Scar would come across as an annoyance as he gushed about flowers and Tango rolled his eyes and pulled faces, he knows that they were both enjoying themselves. As different as Scar and Tango seem, they’re still friends.

And as different as they both are, they still have one thing in common: their love for atmosphere.

Because it’s one thing to make a build: it’s another to make an environment. It’s all about movement, and sound, and all the little additions that make a static picture of blocks come alive. And Tango has truly and utterly knocked it out of the park this season—Decked Out is the most alive build Scar has ever seen.

…It’s, uh. Not usually quite as alive as this though.

That’s the only way Scar can think to describe it, as he pushes himself back against the wall, heart pounding in his chest louder and faster than the dungeon’s heartbeat echoes around the walls. Just out of sight, a ravager grumbles, having lost its snack, and Scar heaves as he attempts to catch his breath. His fingers are sticky with berry juice as he presses another to his mouth, grimacing at the sweet taste as it mingles with the blood in his mouth.

Behind him, the stone wall seems to quiver as he presses himself into it, not quite as solid as it should be. I’m imagining things, he tells himself, reaching back with a red-stained hand to feel the rough ridges of deepslate beneath his fingers. He lets out a shaky breath and draws himself up. Right. Back to work. His artefact should be just around this corner.

He glances back towards where he’d left the ravager, ahead to where his compass is pointing, and takes off running towards it.

His lungs burn, and his legs ache, and his head spins as he dives forwards, but he manages to, by some miracle, avoid the ire of the ravager and make it to the alcove where his compass begins to spin wildly around. “Compass skills, perfect compass skills,” he mutters to himself, dropping the compass and hearing the click of a dispenser as it vanishes and an artefact appears in its place. Hypnotic Bandanna. “Oh, come on,” he cries as he picks it up. “Don’t you think I deserve more than that? Did you see my ravager skills? I could have died! And I didn’t! Tango!”

And then the dungeon does something it’s never done before: it laughs.

The sound startles Scar out of his skin, and he clutches the bandanna to his chest in panic as around him the walls shake, stone grating against stone and lava popping and bubbling and water splashing and the ravagers all groaning in time to create a cacophony that some way, somehow, sounds just like Tango’s laugh.

Scar stands frozen until the sound dies down, staring with wide eyes. His mouth is dry. He swipes his tongue around his lips, clears his throat.

“Uh, Tango…?” he calls. “I think there’s something wrong with your dungeon.”

The dungeon sighs.

Its breath tickles the back of Scar’s neck, makes all his hairs stand on end. Nope! No thank you. Scar needs to get out of here. He needs to—

He takes off running, back the way he came, ducking past the ravager and surviving the resulting blow by the skin of his teeth and half a heart. He gasps for breath, shoving more berries into his mouth as he leaps over moving chains and makes a beeline for the stairs back up to level one. He makes it and takes a moment to stop and breathe, the soft light of the skulk twinkling around him.

“It’s fine,” he tells himself as he finishes the last of the berries. “You’re fine! It’s just—the dungeon. Same as normal. It’s just a normal—normal run, you’re gonna get out, it’ll be fine…”

The stairwell is, for a moment, eerily silent. Scar feels more acutely than usual that he is being watched. He draws in a breath—

“STUMBLE,” the dungeon announces.

—and lets out a squeak.

Okay. Probably a sign that he should get going. He can do this!

He presses the button at the top of the stairs and creeps out into the throne room of level one. Luckily, there are no ravagers here. Unluckily, the hazard door is closed. Okay, the long way it is.

His legs are cramping something awful as he races down the stairs. He takes a left out of the crypt and stops for a moment in the tunnel, breath rattling in his throat, reaching down to rub at the aching muscles. Normally, the fun of Decked Out outweighs the pain he knows it will cause him, but right now his fear is outweighing the fun and the pain is something awful. He needs to get out. Once he’s out, his wheelchair is waiting for him upstairs, and he won’t have to get up for the rest of the day—

He’s so focused on the pain that he doesn’t notice the ravager until it’s too late.

He falls, face-first, into powdered snow, letting out a strangled cry. It’s instinct more than anything else that pushes him up, that digs his fingers into the snow as he tries to escape—

As he blinks snow from his eyes he sees, where his hands have cleared the snow, revealing the ground beneath them, something pink and red. It shudders and pulses beneath his fingers, cold like ice, yet undeniably alive. Scar, without thinking, digs his fingers into the flesh.

The dungeon screams.

The stone and ice around him shakes, snow falls from the ceiling above him, and behind him the ravager lets out an agonised wail before stomping a heavy hoof down onto his back.

Scar screams too as his spine shatters and he sits straight up in bed, several hundred blocks above his own head.

#hermitcraft #fanfiction #hermithorrorweek2023 #the * is once again because that's like. not quite right? but i don't know what else to call it.#is a dungeon a body?#- and other philosophical questions with magpie!#magpie feather quill

40 notes · View notes

redd956 · 1 year

Text

Writing Characters with Varying Empathy, Sympathy, & Compassion

Prt.1 Empathy

First of all, let’s put down the elephant in the room. Lately online there has been a lot of misinformation over the factors of empathy, sympathy, and compassion. So first we need to define how these things differ from each other, and what exactly they are.

The Difference

There is a big difference between these three, made significant by how groups of people tend to overreact and get these terms mixed up, causing unnecessary drama. So...

Empathy

The ability to feel, share and/or understand someone else’s pain/emotions from their standpoint.

Sympathy

The ability to acknowledge and feel pity for someone else’s pain/emotions.

Compassion

Action in good faith deriving from thoughts and feelings from empathy and/or sympathy, to relieve someone else of a negative emotion/pain.

Examples

Character A is sad, because a family member of theirs passed away

Character B cries seeing Character A cry, thinking of their own family member, and imagining how tough it also must be for Character A. They go through the motions together that night, finding comfort in each other. -Usage of empathy

Character B frowns at the sight of Character A crying, knowing what had happened. They waltz into the room, readying a comforting pat. “I’m so sorry, Character A.”, They whisper, leaning up against them, and clasping their shaking hand. -Usage of sympathy

Character B sits beside Character A, a large bowl of their favorite ice cream in hand. “Hey Character A, I heard what happened and I just couldn’t stop thinking about how bad that must be. I brought you some ice cream, it could help with the sore throat from all this crying.” - Usage of Compassion

The Variation Aspect

It is important to note that having empathy doesn’t inherently make someone a better or good person, same goes to lacking empathy making people villainous. There are natural variations of empathy among people, and these do not dictate whether or not someone is more likely to follow what societal alignment or another.

People with high empathy can still be awful, just as those with low empathy can still be kind souls. Empathy levels are detached from morals and ideologies, which is an important notion to make when creating characters.

Average Empathy

Average empathy is being able to feel and express empathy of course at an average level. They have an easy time sharing their emotions, and feeling when someone is going through a particular emotion. They simply experiencing empathy as expected an as most due, and don’t share the same realities as those with heightened empathy, and lower empathy.

Heightened Empathy

Empaths or those with Hyper Empathy are people who have heightened empathy. Some people can be this way naturally, but more commonly hyper empathy can be a side effect to having mental illness, such as PTSD, BPD, or ADHD.

(BPD and ADHD can also have lack of empathy as a side effect)

Obviously, empaths feel more empathy than the average person, this leads to both pros and cons, one more than the other depending on which angle you look at it. Empaths share others’ emotions at a noticeable intensity compared the average. They can more easily spot emotional differences, unearth other people’s masks, and are sensitive to tiny changes in mood. They take the other person’s pain as their own very seriously, as others

Because of this crowds of people can be incredibly overwhelming. Human interaction is more emotionally draining, and they can get socially burnt out far quicker than the average person. Empaths have a difficult time setting boundaries with others. They are often labeled over emotional, and sensitive. With empathy having such positive connotations, many assume that empaths have it easier and live a whimsical life.

Lower Empathy

Those with empathy lower than the average don’t have it easy either, as just like empaths, it drastically affects life, especially socially. Different neurotypes, those with mental illnesses, head trauma, psychological trauma, and more can lead to lacking empathy in one way or another. More well known those with cluster B disorders infamously get their bad reputation due to low empathy.

Those with lower empathy have a difficult time taking on and sharing other people’s emotions. Because of this they can struggle to understand and relate to other’s experiences. They have harder time coping with emotional situations, and can easily misinterpret the emotions/emotional responses of others. Their emotions themselves can seem callus, and inappropriate to situations.

All of this leads to difficulty in decision making related to others, social struggles, and trouble fitting in with societal standards. Lack of empathy itself can range drastically. For many it makes them more susceptible to negative and potential dangerous behaviors, as well as a lack of healthy self-esteem. This has lead to people with low empathy being vilified, especially in media.

OH YEAH IM A WRITING BLOG-

When writing a character with varying empathy there’s definitely a lot to consider. Especially since their levels of compassion or sympathy can vary themselves, separate from empathy.

You want to avoid

Using empathy related terms incorrectly, but especially disorder/medical terms related to these things incorrectly

Making a character evil solely because their empathy is low

Making a character a pure hero solely because their empathy is high

Things to consider about a character’s empathy

How a character reacts to situations based on a mixture of their empathy, compassion, and sympathy

If you’re character is lacking empathy, how are they handling sympathy

Are their reactions realistic

How a character’s morals and ideals differ from their empathy

Character dynamics formed by a difference or similarity in empathy

Characters in a group reacting differently based on their empathy, sympathy, and compassion

One character displaying empathy more, while another displays sympathy more

How the character feels about their own level of empathy

How their empathy affects them in their worldbuilding

Do proper research if you’ve decided you want a character with a level of empathy

To be continued, Hopefully here -> [ ] [ ]

Maybe, HeavenlySoup this is a sign of me trying to come up with writing refs for heroic and empathetic characters for those with low empathy to understand, maybe you my dear love, are my guinea pig?

#writing empathy #empathy #low empathy #high empathy #empath #lack of empathy #writing #writing mental illness #writing disability #cluster b

119 notes · View notes

lamnwar · 1 year

Note

Hi hi👋🏾 I love your work very much and I'm not sure if I'm late, I just saw your post about opening requests. I was wondering if I could make a request about Aomine.

It's perfectly fine if you don't want to, but if you do consider doing it could it be about a chubby reader(no specific traits like blushing, because I don't got that ability). Like they both knew each other before had and hurl sarcasm at each other constantly, but they have lowdown time too sometimes (like relaxing on the roof or some activity they both like.

Reader sometimes compares herself to Momoi because she definitely makes herself known when in a room and wonders if she's good enough to catch Aomine's eyes but he thought they were maybe together because of their interactions.

I know that's alot but bare with me please 💀

I hope that your doing well and wish you happiness always💞

Hellooooo 💕 omg I know I took way to long for this but believe me, I loved that request a lot bc I'm such a hoe for friends to lovers with Daiki 😭 I hope you enjoy it!!

It's you, dummy // Aomine Daiki x Fem! Reader

Context: in which you're in complete denial on your feelings for your best friend Daiki.

Warnings: fluff <3, university au!, language I guess?, reader is in denial and it can be a bit unsufferable but bear with it plsss it's worth it, I promise 🤭

“You’re gonna pay me lunch today or what?”

You turn around, unable to restrain the laugh bubbling in your throat.

“Go to hell, Daiki” you reply as you keep on walking in the crowded hallways of your university.

You hear the giant boy grumble, fussing like a spoiled child who for the first time in his life, has been denied something. It’s amusing, how you get him to behave like that, breaking the reputation of cool guy he’s built for himself on the campus. It’s a talent of sorts, you like to pride yourself. For the whole time that you’ve known each other, you know for a fact that any façade he puts up is just a mirror of smoke to you. As hard as he tries, Daiki will always remain your giant dumbass of a friend. And staying in character, he follows you, still not willing to rest his case and take a defeat. You sigh, not bothering from stopping for him – it’s pointless, anyway, because when Daiki has something in mind, it’s hard to get him to change it. And he is adamant in having you invite him for a meal.

“You owe me one, pretty girl” he says as soon as he’s caught up to you.

“Do I now?”

“You absolutely do!”

You roll your eyes, pretty much in disagreement with him. As far as you’re concerned, you don’t owe him anything – not that you’d be stupid enough to owe anything to Aomine Daiki. But he clearly believes in his own truth since he’s still following you.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to your next class anyways?” you ask as you take a quick look at your watch, “I’m done for the day, but you can’t say that much.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my class, I want to have lunch with you.”

Your expression may remain unphased by his words, but you notice the way your heartbeat takes off. It does every time he says this kind of things to you when he’s unknowingly being confusing to your poor little heart. You may be in denial, though you refuse to think about it too much, afraid of what it may reveal of you. But you can’t help the warmth that invades you when these words come out of him. So, you try, as hard as possibly can, to shake these feelings and thoughts away.

“You’re failing most of your classes, dummy, so please” you sigh.

He grunts, trying his hardest to avoid your eyes, knowing that he can’t refuse them anything that they plead for. He resists as long as he’s strong enough to, but by the way his lips fold in a slight pout, you know that he’s admitting defeat.

“Why d’you always get me to do the right thing, huh?” he grumbles as a soft chuckle comes out of your lips.

You raise your shoulders, feigning ignorance; truth be told, you’ve always been his moral compass so if you were to incite him to do anything remotely wrong, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. You come close, giving him a half hug in an attempt to lift his mood.

“Work hard Daiki, I’ll be waiting for you!”

“You’re not getting away with it” you hear above you as his hand lays on your head. “Be ready at 10 tonight, I’ll come to pick you up.”

You step back, a confused look on your face.

“10? Boy, what are you going to do to me so late in the evening?”

He laughs, pulling you away from his body as he gets himself to go in the direction of the amphitheatre. Something about that cute little confused face of yours is entertaining to him – probably because for once, you are the clueless one. With a last flick on your forehead, he replies:

“Taking you on a night drive. Get the snacks, I’ll handle the drinks.”

And so, you watch him go away before you even get to respond to his invitation – if you can call it that. If anything, he’s imposed a surprise hangout on you, and at a time of the day that isn’t really what you are used to. However, you can’t fool yourself; as tempting as the prospect of lying in bed in your comfiest pj’s with a cup of tea while rewatching your favourite show may be, you know for a fact that you’re looking forward to tonight’s appointment.

It embarrasses you to admit that you’ve never been on a night drive before. For one, you cannot drive, and even if you did, this kind of activity is certainly more enjoyable with some company than alone. And you’ve also figured that people in real life don’t do night drives. It’s a fantasy for coming-of-age stories, certainly one of these things that get overly romanticized, so people can feel less bored by their lives. It’s for teenage love stories, an activity that you may be too old for, so it be ridiculous, right, for you to get excited by the idea of going on a night drive with Daiki?

Yet, here you are, ready to go thirty minutes before. You feel nervous, for a reason you can’t figure. Well, you have a theory, but you simply rather ignore it, for it doesn’t make that much sense, all things considered. It still remains that you are standing here, in the middle of your apartment, checking once again if you’ve packed the boy’s favourite snacks and looking at your reflection in your full-length mirror every time you walk by, wanting to look cute for some obscure reason. It’s not like you’d want him to compliment you tonight, right? Even though he does, every time you meet, without exception. But still, despite the frequency of such occurrence, you doubt that it means anything. It’s his teasing, it’s just the way Daiki is.

Daiki, who always calls you pretty girl, especially in public so he can see you struggle to restrain your reaction to these words. Daiki, who is the first one to notice when you change your hair, your makeup, or your nails. Daiki, who sits you on his laps randomly, shushing you before you give him any of that “but I’m too heavy for you” bullshit.

But it wouldn’t make sense, you repeat to yourself, that his actions could hold more meaning than that. Because Daiki, for as long as you’ve known him, has always been that type of guy that is never seen with a girl like you. Especially when you consider that he’s grown up beside Satsuki – your common friend who, before you, had been the one Daiki was following around and decided to randomly hang out with. You’ve met her a couple of times, when she’s come to visit on breaks, and you’ve quickly bonded around the fact that you both wonder why you keep a guy like Daiki around. It's true, you could have both ditched him at some point in your life; he’s lazy, annoying, sometimes confusing and impulsive, despite putting on the front of a cool guy. The thing is, Satsuki is patient and sweet, she’s always taking her time with a smile on her face, laughing away the times he’s being a dumbass. But you, it’s a completely different dynamic. He’s decided from one day to another that you are his new best friend, and ever since, he hasn’t hesitated once to be unsufferable with you. He laughs when you call him a dumbass, and purposely make PDA when you are screaming on all roofs that you hate his guts. He has a picture of you from that awkward phase you went through as a pre-teen plastered on his wall – one that he’s found by stalking your social media like a creep. Daiki gets on your nerves, making you wonder ever so often why, despite everything, you’d still take a bullet with him.

But here you are, in his car with the windows down, the chill air of the night kissing your face as he pretends to dislike the music you’ve put on, though he’s clearly bopping his head along. At this time, most roads are empty, and you see the slight grin on the blue-haired boy’s face when he seizes the occasion to go over the speed limit by a couple of kilometres.

“So… that’s a night drive, huh?” you ask as your eyes wander out the window.

He huffs, slender fingers landing a flick on the side of your head.

“We gotta get out of town first, unless you appreciate the view of rats running on the sidewalks” he explains.

You hum as a response, too embarrassed to admit to you are clueless as to what this night has in reserve for you. After a while, however, it all makes sense to you as you reach the heights, seeing the lights of the city drawing patterns under your eyes. At some point, you even wonder where the stars start and where the city lights stop. It’s all like a painting, and you are just like a kid, watching with fascinated eyes. Daiki's eyes momentarily deviate from the road to lay on you, a soft smile painting his lips at the sight of you with literal stars in your eyes. And then you turn to look at him, mouth slightly agape when you notice that he’s been looking at you like that.

“Get the snacks, I’m starting to get hungry” he says after giving his attention back to the road.

You nod, reaching to get his favourite snack out of your bag, and trying as hard as you can to get the image of him looking at you so fondly out of your mind. The idea of him being so tender is a new concept, something that you refuse to accept as a truth, because if you do, you’ll also have to accept the way it makes you feel.

“Do you want one?” You ask as you try to distract yourself from the direction your thoughts are going.

“Feed me.”

You raise your eyebrows, ogling at him like he’s spewed the most nonsensical thing ever.

“Give me a rest, Daiki.”

“I literally need my two hands to drive.”

“Oh, fuck off! You’ve been driving with one hand all along.”

“Well, you owe me one, remember?”

“Where did you get that from, anyways?” you sigh, persuaded, once again, that you would never be stupid enough to owe anything to Aomine Daiki.

He doesn’t reply; yet, before you get to hit him with a “I knew it”, he leans in to take a bite at the piece of food you have in hand, a shocked look painting your face when his teeth graze the tip of your fingers.

“Wh- what did you do that for?!” you grumble as he grins.

“It just tastes better when it comes from you.”

You fail to find something to reply, brain deep in a fog of confusing feelings. It hurts your mind, all this confusion, and the way he perpetually puts you in this state, not bothered in the slightest. And in these times, you can just sit in silence, fighting with yourself to stop being like that, like a dumb teenager in love for the first time – overthinking everything, blurring lines that shouldn’t be blurred, unable to stop a blooming heart from beating like crazy. But these blue eyes are seeing you; your unusual silence, and your eyes staring at the distance, in search for answers.

After a while, the car stops. You haven’t noticed that you are uphill, near a viewpoint that gives you an unprecedented sight of the city at night. You’re taken out of your thoughts when Daiki’s voice resonates in the car, telling you to get out. And you do, looking around you like a lost puppy, before noticing the blanket laid in front of his car, the drinks and snacks carefully displayed on it. And it occurs to you, at this very instant, that there is something undeniably romantic with the situation.

“You can stand there all you want, but you’d look less stupid sitting next to me” his deep voice nags at you.

“Do you do that with everyone?” you ask as you sit down.

“Huh? Do you mean the night drives?”

You raise your shoulders. You aren’t sure what you really mean by that question, let alone what answer you’re hoping to hear. But it’s easier for you to go along with the way he’s interpreted the question than making a fool of yourself and admitting that you don’t even know what you are asking.

“Not really” he says, opening a bottle for you and himself, “I mean I took Satsuki on a night drive once, but it wasn’t that fun. Girl was snoring after fifteen minutes of driving.”

He scoffs, then takes a gulp. You sit in silence, though your thoughts aren’t so quiet. You feel stupidly jealous, but it’s always Satsuki, isn’t it? She’s been by his side longer, after all.

“I’d imagine you’d enjoy something like that with her, though” you think out loud.

Daiki raises an eyebrow in your direction, not quite sure what you’re implying.

“Satsuki? Eh, she’s cool of course but you know…”

“Why do you always talk about her like that?” you look at him, “she’s literally the best girl out there. She’s pretty, and nice, and she’s so patient with you, it’s sometimes beyond me.”

“Do you expect me to date her?”

The question is so nonchalantly asked, but you can feel your heart tighten in your chest.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did” you reply in all honesty.

You deviate your gaze to the view before you. The lights that you were previously in awe in front of, are now almost blinding.

“What kind of shit is going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

His fingers reach to your chin, turning your face in his direction. His usually bored eyes are incredibly serious, for once; it’s almost in contrast with the softness of his touch.

“I wouldn’t date Satsuki in a million years, because I like you” he bluntly declares.

His words ring in your ears like a weird noise, till you finally make sense of them. And at this moment, all your confusion, all your thoughts, all your feelings take flame, setting your entire body and mind on fire.

“You… do?” you manage to voice out.

“Am I not obvious?”

He chuckles, hand living your chin to grab his bottle from which he takes another sip. Your eyes are big, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I figured you were teasing me” you confessed, suddenly realizing how stupid you may sound now that you know what you know.

“There’s that too, but I thought we had a thing going on” he admits, “it’s fun seeing you get all flustered, regardless.”

“So you like me, for real for real?”

“Yeah, dummy, in what language should I speak for you to understand?”

You reply with a hit on his shoulder, before burying your face in your hands. Daiki is really good at making you feel like that, you reflect as you feel weirdly hot despite the chill breeze blowing in your direction.

“Is this a date, then?” you ask.

“Well…” he sighs. “I thought it was but apparently, you didn’t.”

“It’s just that I was missing circumstantial clues and…”

But before you get to justify yourself, Daiki is quick to shush you, grabbing your face once again but with more force this time.

“Listen, we can debate on this the whole night or you can tell me right now how you feel. It’s up to you.”

There’s something new in his tone, something you aren’t used to. He is not playful like he usually is, or irritatingly nonchalant. It’s almost desperate, like not knowing if you reciprocate his feelings is something that he fears. The lights reflect on his skin, enough to let you see the way he looks at you, in need for an answer. And you figure that it’d be torturous to not give him one, even though saying those words would come to admit that you’ve been in denial all along.

“I do like you, Daiki.”

The following seconds are unbearable. You can only wish for a reaction – anything that will assure you that all of this is real. So you wait in pain for him to do something or say something. It starts with his gaze softening, and his grip on your face becoming more of a caress. And then it’s the familiar heat of his body – the one you feel every time he hugs you. And finally, it’s something new, that deep inside you’ve always wanted to experience, although you’ve tried to deny it under false pretence of “irrational thoughts” and “absurd theories”.

Daiki’s lips, sweet and smooth, against yours. A kiss that makes everything you’ve been unsure of a certainty. A kiss to which you reply with all your heart, finally being honest with yourself and with him. It sweeps you away, and you cling to the boy’s chest like you fear that he’ll disappear. But when your lips separate and your eyes meet his, he’s right here. And he has no intention of going elsewhere or be with anyone else.

“Are you going to still call me a dumbass now?” he asks against your lips.

“Oh come on Daiki, doesn’t matter if you’re the love of my life, you’ll always be a dummy.”

“Says the one who had no idea what a night drive was before.”

#also sorry for taking sm time life has been crazy lately #i really like writing this #bsf!aomine brings me life you can't imagine <3 #i hope you love it <3 #knb #aomine daiki #knb x reader #aomine x reader #knb fluff #aomine fluff #kuroko no basuke

175 notes · View notes

rainstops · 4 months

Note

Hi! I don’t know if you’re still active but could i possibly have a continuation of fading remembrance? Specially Xiaos? I need closure Omg maybe one where the readers reincarnated and he falls in love with them all over?

sweet tofu for the soul

part one/fading remembrance

summary: readers death wasnt easy on xiao. he griefed for a long time. but when a new cook started working at wangshu inn, he couldnt help but feel like he knew who they were

a/n: i've decided to only write a continuation for xiao, so sorry! i hope you enjoy this regardless. also i wrote this really fast so the grammar might be all over the place.

wc: 2k

xiao has never cared about humans a lot, and with the burning memory of your death, his care for mortal beings had pretty much disappeared.

he tried his best avoiding places that you and him had visited together, which was hard because you dragged him along everywhere you went. not like he disliked that, he loved it, but now, with you being gone, he hates being reminded of you.

even the almond tofu that was prepared at wangshu inn for him, was something he couldnt even look at for a while. but he had to eat something, so he swallowed down the tofu along with the weird feeling in his throat when he remembered the special way you used to prepare his favorite food.

after a while, he came to accept that you were gone, and that he wasnt going to get you back.

so xiao started traveling all across teyvat to find a restaurant or a person who made his favorite dish taste even just a little like you made it taste.

but all his traveling was all in vain. every almond tofu he had tasted ever since you prepared it the last time just tasted plain, and even the memory of the way it tasted when you made it started to fade.

so xiao stopped caring about anything at all, and just went back to the way his life was before you - only fighting monsters, since it was all he knew.

he didnt care about the way Verr Goldet looked at him filled with compassion, he didnt care for the endless thanks he got whenever he saved another mortal from a group of hilichurls, and he didnt care about what he ate and if he ate. it was all the same.

so he certaintly didnt care when a new cook started working at wangshu inn.

at least that was what he told himself. so he didnt know why he found himself in front of verr goldet one day, asking what the new cooks name was.

and the name was [name]. weird. it sounded a lot like his past lovers name.

and although xiao didnt care, he found himself ordering a portion of almond tofu from you one day. the way you had greeted him and treated him like he was a normal person, and not a yaksha, reminded him a lot of his past lover. maybe a little too much.

xiao nodded as a thanks when you had handed him the almond tofu her ordered. he dropped a few mora into your hand and teleported out of the place, and onto the quiet balcony he spend most of his time at.

the cold air of todays evening brushed through xiaos hair. he sat down onto the balcony and took out the spoon you had handed him before he dissapeared.

the spoon made its way through the tofu, and a small piece of it traveled from the plate to xiaos mouth.

that was when xiao felt his heart skip a beat, and the air in his lungs freeze.

the tofu, the dish that you had just prepared for him, tasted like something he had long yearned for and already forgotten. the almond tofu tasted just like how his past lover prepared it for him.

xiao hasnt finished the plate quicker than anything.

from then on, he came up with a million lame excuses, as to why he had to interact with you. he spend days and nights thinking about another reason to talk to you.

and although xiao thought it was impossible, the more he talked to you, and the more your smile wandered into his mind, the more he thought you were the one he had loved in the past.

after a while of him finding excuses to interact with you, xiao made his way out of his usual place to find morax.

maybe the former geo archon could help him with any of the things that were happening.

"you think they are the same person?", morax asked, and his lips quickly found his cup of tea.

xiao nodded frantically.

"well there is a chance, that it is their soul. it might be the soul of the one you had loved in the past", morax explained. "but even if that is the case, they dont contain the same memories or feelings as the one from your memories held for you"

xiaos eyes remained on the floor, and he balled his fists.

"is there nothing I can do? is there no one who could help me?"

"there might be one way, to help them remember. yet this only works if they are willing to remember. if they want to live a new life, and not repeat the one they had lived before, they might deny it, meaning that they will not be the person you have been missing all this time. are you willing to take the risk?"

xiao had never agreed to anything as fast as this.

"very well. find a way to bring them to me, and i will see what lies within my power"

xiao thanked the former geo archon , and took his leave.

although you and xiao have interacted a few times before, the question he asked you took you by surprise.

"you want to take me somewhere?", maybe he should have chosen different words. but how was he going to explain that he thought that you carried the soul of the one he had loved before? he had to find a way for you to agree-

"well if you arent bringing me into any dangerous situations, then of course! but i believe that i will be safe around a yaksha"

there it was again, the way you acted, which made him believe he knew you inside and out.

when xiao led you to a quiet and small location, you didnt expect zhongli to be the one who you were going to meet that day.

you had met him a few times before. you held smalltalk with him at wangshu inn, and greeted him a few times when you saw him in the streets of liyue.

"greetings [name], please take a seat", he greeted you, and you took a seat at the table across from him. xiao sat beside you.

"would you care for some tea?" "of course, why not", you smiled, slowly starting to wonder why you were here.

"you may wonder why you are here today", zhongli started. "its a little complicated to explain the situation, but i would like for you to answer me a question.

"oh, well what would that question be?"

"when you see this necklace, what do you feel? do you remember it?", zhongli placed a teal colored necklace in front of you onto the table.

you werent sure if you had seen it before somwhere. were you supposed to remember it? because that certainly wasnt the case.

"i do not happen to remember ever seeing this necklace before... but, a strong sense of nostalgia fills me when i look at it. it feels like it belongs to me, and if i have seen it and owned it before, yet i know that i have not seen it before.

"would you like to know where those feelings come from?", zhongli softly smiled. his soft smile made you feel like you could put all your trust into him.

"gladly", you replied.

"please put the necklace on", zhongli said.

you had expected anything, but the things that happened when you put on the teal colored necklace. a golden light washed over you, along with a strong sense of nostalgia. stronger than you had ever felt before. the light was followed by a weird dream. or maybe a vision of sort?

in your dream you saw a person, that resembled your looks slightly, spending time with xiao in a lot of different places.

you heard a few voices, and from what you could tell, the person in your dream was a lot like you. if you wouldnt know any better, you could say that person was you.

of course you knew that last thought wasnt right, but your brain didnt seem so convinced for some reason.

when you woke up, you found yourself lying in one of the hotel beds of wangshu inn. you sat up in your bed, looking around utterly confused. how did you end up here?

you quietly left your room, and walked up to the balcony where you know xiao spent a lot of his time. you now had a lot more question than you fell asleep with.

when xiao and zhongli heard your quiet footsteps approach, they both turned around to face you.

"i see youre awake, i was just about to check on you", zhongli greeted you.

"i... have a lot of questions", you replied.

"and i'm sure i have the answers. lets sit down somewhere", zhongli suggested.

only now while you three were sitting down in the for once empty kitchen off the wangshu inn, you realized how quiet xiao has been all along. sure he has never been a huge talker, but he has been especially quiet ever since zhongli had shown you the necklace, which you were still wearing.

"tell me, in your dreams, what did you see?", it was such a simple question, yet for some reason it was hard to repeat everything you had seen. not because you dont remember it clearly, no, but it was because you felt an overwhelming wave of sadness with every word that escaped your throat.

at the end, you tried to sum up your thoughts and questions with only one question. "who did these memories belong to?"

you looked over at xiao who was looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

"well it seems that xiaos assumptions turned out to be correct. [name], you are probably going to deny this, but these memories were yours from a different life. you carry the same soul that xiaos lover once carried", zhongli tried to explain, but a thousand thoughts were still running through your mind.

"i... why are you telling me this?", you asked, still processing the information you were just handed.

"i was simply doing something xiao had requested from me, i can hardly explain why he wished for this to happen", zhongli answered.

you looked over at xiao, whos cheeks were now stained a light red. "uh...", he groaned avoiding your gaze.

"as far as i am concerned, xiao has had trouble accepting his lovers death, and you reminded him off the one he loved so he came to me with his concerns", zhongli answered the obvious question in the room.

"so youre asking me to-?" "no! i- i mean i was simply... well-", xiao cut you off, his eyes darting anywhere but your face.

you werent sure how to accept this information. you didnt even know xiao well enough, yet he still recognized your soul as the one he had once fallen for.

and as it seemed, your personality and the one from his past lover seemed very similar.

"i just wanted to see if... i happened to be correct", xiaos head was turned away from yours.

after that, the conversation ended rather quickly, and all of you went back to your usual occupations.

yet from that day on, you always felt a pair of eyes on you. not in a negative way, but in a way that made you feel safe, like as if no matter what were to happen to you, nothing could actually harm you.

once it just so happened that you were attacked by a group of hilichurls. you were unprepared and did not have a lot of fighting experience. yet xiao appeared out of thin air to fight off the monsters which were bothering you.

you thanked him, and after nodding and mumbling something under his breath, he quickly dissappeared again.

even when he wasnt visibly around, you could feel his aura on you at all times. and it honestly wasnt that bad.

you could see why your soul fell for his soul once before.

a/n: oh i went overboard

#rainstops #xiao genshin #xiao genshin impact #xiao x reader #xiao #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines

43 notes · View notes

fragilecapric0rnn · 9 months

Text

tagged by my lovely friends @gothbat99 & @fastcardotmp3 ❤️

rules: post five of your favorite fics that you've written and talk about why you love them. tag some mutuals so they can do the same and we can all spread some positivity about our writing ❤️

in order from most to least hehe

Anyway, It's About Old Friends My (unfinished) magnum opus. My heart and soul on full display. I love this fic with all my heart. I love this Steve and Eddie with all my heart. Writing an AU based on my favorite movie of all time but staying true to who these characters are has been so much fun and honeslty has taught me a lot about how I write long winded stories. Writing their struggles, especially writing Steve in this fic has been such a joy and a pleasure. It's on a brief pause as I wait for the WHMS bug to bite me again (its coming on fall and winter so its bound to bite me any day now). But I love this story and will always hold it close to my heart.

Catch Me (I'm Falling) This fic. Lol. This FIC. I know, I know, she was offline for a bit BUT she's back baby! In a different sense, this fic is also my heart and soul on full display. A lover of romantic comedy, wanting to write something that brings light and joy and laughter, much like the romcoms I love have brought me <3 Also, one of my favorite characterizations of Steve that I have ever written tbh! Bitchy Steve you will be my muse in any and everything that I wriiiiiiite!!!! Writing this fic also taught me that burnout is real and that I need to re-fucking-lax, no matter how much a story excites me lol.

Faces Freedom With A Little Fear JJ Harrington, our communal wife 💗 No but fr, Steve Harrington has always given me younger brother of an older sister vibes. Idk if its because I'm an older sister of a younger brother or what, but it works! I also loved creating an OC that was pretty three dimensional on her own, but also added so much to the characterization of Steve! It was also a bit healing to write this, as someone who is in a similar situation as JJ. Wanting to live my life away but having someone at home who you just can't help but worry about. I can only hope there's no monsters or alternate dimensions involved in my case. I do want to continue this verse, I want to write more of JJ, she is too special to be a one-time gal!

you can take the heart from your chest to use as a compass when you are lost Missed connections fic 💗 I have a lotta feelings about this one. I was still figuring out my voice, my first long fic. Re-reading this is like looking at pictures of you and your friends from middle school. It's cute and sweet but at times it makes ya full body cringe. I would love to rework this, rewrite certain scenes, add entire scenes. But, I also love the idea of my writing acting as a time capsule, a snapshot in time of what my writing looked like at a particular time. And at the heart of it, it's a story about subjects that are super close to my heart. Found family, holiday angst, steddie getting together, and Thanksgiving belonging to friends who feel like family <3<3

words caught in my throat (who talks first?) LOVED writing this one and also love rereading this one! A lot of the story is told from Steve's head as he navigates a very awkward and difficult situation of being locked in a house with his ex. Of which I was able to work on a lot of prose, and as someone who's strength is in dialogue writing, was a real treat! This fic also taught me that I am not just a one trick pony in that I can write difficult subjects and its not all just goofs and romcoms and meet-cutes. The stepping stones toward writign a fic like Old Friends. Snowed in fic!!! I love youuuuuuuu!

Tagging some fellow writers<3<3

@cheatghost @figthefruitfaeth @kkpwnall @hellsfireclub @gideoncharov @judasofsuburbia @thefreakandthehair @sharpbutsoft @legitcookie

#my fic #steddie fic rec #will be in my ronance writing era until further notice so here's some of my steddie before that fully kicks into gear ;)#tag game #steddie #stranger things

41 notes · View notes