#and tie them together with a wire!
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Silence Day 2022: Hitting the Nail on the Head
Many people over the centuries have tried their own unique ways of Shut The Fuck Up, Castys. Here is one of the many such instances, set in an AU for Personal Reasons ❤
Castys Masterlist
Ingredients: hammering nails into a guy, mouth whump (not teeth, but tooth whump mentioned), some tongue whump, choking (on a liquid), burns
Everything about this was, in Castys’s opinion, incredibly generic. Cold metal table, check. Tight ropes around his wrists and ankles, check. A handful of dudes smirking down at him, one brandishing a hammer, check. The rope over his forehead was new, he supposed. Ooh, another twist, they were taking the fucking gag off.
“Afternoon, everyone. What fun game are we gonna play today, huh?”
The one holding the hammer waved it in the air a little. “We’re gonna finally shut you up for good, Black.”
“Aw, you gonna knock all my teeth out instead of pulling them to use as your stupid gambling chips? You know people don’t need teeth to talk, right?” Castys was sure that wasn’t it, but, what, were they gonna break his jaw or something? They said for good, but that shit would heal so he didn’t-wait was that a fucking-
“You’ll see, so just hold still, you fucking cockroach. Wouldn’t want to mess it up and make us start over, would you? You can’t be that stupid.” Hands descended on his face, pulling his upper lip back, holding his mouth closed, pressing the point of a fucking nail to his gums. Castys couldn’t make remarks at them anymore, just stuck breathing heavily through his nose as the person holding the hammer got it lined up, shifting their grip on the nail, raising the hammer, smirking, saying something he couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears, and then, finally, dreadfully, swinging the hammer down.
Castys jerked against the restraints as the bright little point of pain in his upper jaw tore open into a scorching sun, blinding and so intense and definitely nowhere near done getting worse. He barely had time to take a breath before the hammer fell again, and now he was definitely screaming, and he couldn’t even feel the hands on his face anymore because all that existed was pain, that and the sound of the slightly rusted metal scraping its way through his jawbone. A third swing and the nail punched through completely, the sharp point digging into his tongue where it had been resting on the roof of his mouth, just his fucking luck. Each successive hit of the hammer drove the nail further in, scraping against the roof of his mouth, more and more blood gushing out, pooling in his throat, choking him, each pointless cough making him jerk uselessly against the hands holding his head still, driving the pain gripping his face further and further beyond the plateau he’d thought it reached.
And then it stopped. The pain didn’t stop, no, not in the slightest, but the hammer stopped coming down, the nail stopped digging further in, the hands stopped holding his jaw shut. He tried to turn to the side and cough out some of the damn blood, but the rope across his forehead made that very super difficult so he gave up and just coughed it up into the air, which went about as well as he expected, which was not well at all. Before he could say anything cool and funny, which would have taken a while because he could not think of anything cool and funny to say at the moment, his jaw got slammed shut again, momentarily pinching the tip of his tongue between his teeth, because he needed more blood in his fucking mouth. On the bright side, he didn’t really feel it because Wow The Nail In His Face Hurt A Whole Lot. And judging by that prick on the gums of his lower jaw, he was about to get another one!
He kind of had a guess as to where this was going. Like, the whole thing in general, since he was very certain where the next nail was going to go, because it was-fuck yup yup there it was making its merry little way through his mandible bit by large bit and he was so smart this time and kept his tongue well away from the bottom of his mouth which was about the only conscious movement he could make at the moment because the rest of him was far to squirm-around-in-pain but it paid off it did the nail didn’t poke his tongue until it did because now it was burrowing into the base of his tongue which he couldn’t really help wasn’t that delightful this was all so delightful and fun and didn’t hurt like he was being injected with acid that was also on fire they were just nails why did they hurt so much maybe it was the fact that they were around his tooth-nerves it sort of felt like tooth pain now that he thought about it but it was hard to think about anything well not hard to think exactly just hard to focus he kept jumping around from one thing to the next in his head trying to think about something that wasn’t the nails or the pain or the screams trapped in his throat or the ropes tying him down or the hands holding his jaw closed or the fact that he was alone here now and might never see-
Hey, pay attention, they were saying something, holding up a thin metal wire, bringing it towards his mouth, wrapping it around the nails, pulling tight, tight, so tight that his teeth were pressed together uncomfortably hard, and then there was some device he didn’t recognize, sort of like a gun, pressed against the wire, against his teeth, and it was hot, burning, scorching, he couldn’t breathe in and out fast enough, eyes squeezed shut as tears leaked out, fists clenched, stomach twisting, he was stuck, trapped here in this awful, agonizing moment, fire piercing his every nerve, and maybe the hands left his face, or maybe they just weren’t gripping him as tightly, and the fire might be calming down, quieting, growing more dull, more tolerable, his breathing slowing…
Castys pried open his eyes and glared up at the people surrounding him, who all looked way too fucking pleased with themselves. One of them patted his cheek. “Well, Black, how’s it feel? Got anything to say?” Castys tried to open his mouth, but even attempting to move his jaw shot infinitely more awful pain needles into his entire face, so he just ended up wincing as they all laughed at him.
“Now you’ll be all quiet and well-behaved like your late buddy Red, won’t you?” another one jeered.
“Best of both worlds, even if he’s not as pretty.”
“Hey, he’s a lot prettier with his stupid annoying mouth shut!”
Castys wanted nothing more in the world than to bite all of these fuckers like a rabid bat but instead he got to lie there and be quiet as they made all their dumb comments and pulled on his stupid long hair and poked at his face, which definitely did not hurt like hell. Eventually they got bored, thank fuck, and Castys didn’t resist much as they dragged him back to the cell and shoved him inside, hard enough that he fell to his knees. Sighing, he forced himself to his feet and walked a few steps, plopping down on the edge of the bed. He was glad that shit was over, but now he was…
Reluctantly, Castys reached up to tug at the wire tying the nails together. He knew it wasn’t gonna come off, but he still had to try. Yup, stuck, all melted together by a dot of metal that was still pretty warm to the touch and tangled around the nails stuck in his fucking skull. Maybe he could-ouch no no nope, not gonna be able to pull those out. At least, not without some pliers or something, if he would even be able to do it to himself. Giving up for now, he sighed and pulled his knees up to his chest, curling up against the wall on the corner of their…his bed.
The sounds of the jungle outside were the same as ever, but the cell was so…quiet. It had been ever since…and now he couldn’t even talk to himself or sing badly or say weird things to the guards outside he just had to be…silent. He supposed he could bang on the walls or something, but he wasn’t really in the mood. All he really felt like doing right now was being quiet, just like his fucking captors wanted, so hooray for them, they fucking won, whatever, but it wasn’t because of the nails, he just…
There was only one person he wanted to fill this silence, and he wasn’t here anymore. Might never come back.
So, for now, and maybe forever, it was quiet.
Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hearse-song @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen @galaxywhump @starnight-whump @his-unspoken-words @misspelledwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg @pumpkin-spice-whump @painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad @befuddled-calico-whump @whumpinggrounds @whump-queen
#i wrote something#castys#silence day#silence day 2022#mouth whump#jaw wired shut#tongue whump#there is a 247 word sentence and i am sorry#misuse of a soldering gun#if you dont know what that is it's like a hot glue gun but full of molten metal it's used in circuits and shit#this isnt how they wire people's jaws shut for like live people but#on dead people they sometimes use this thing called a needle injector to stick needles into the upper and lower jaws#and tie them together with a wire!#and i thought that would be fun to do to castys and yup it was :)#they call castys ''black'' because of his eyes#they're technically brown but it's a dark enough brown#and his buddy has blue eyes so they were black and blue in the beginning <3#but then blue's nickname got changed to red for fun malicious reasons 🤧#anyway yes they made castys grow his hair out and he *hates* it#it annoys him so much he wants to cut it all off#long-haired castys is very cursed though 😔#so i dont inflict it on him too often cuz short hair just suits him a lot better#but if anyone wants to see a picrew of it lmk i have a couple lying around
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I wish I knew how to knit gloves or smth. I just got a shitload of this really nice soft rainbow yarn for cheap when I was out thrifting the other week but now I don't really know what to do with it
#so far ive mostly been cutting it up into short segments and turning it into little hair tufts#what i usually do is just bunch a lot of short segments together like im gonna tie them into a hat pompom#and then beat the crap out of them with a wire cat brush until all the yarn texture is gone#acrylic yarn works best for it from what ive found! it gets real soft and wispy. kinda reminds me of troll doll hair#ive also tried the same method with cotton yarn but it mostly just got all stringy and fragile :(#either way its kind of a fun stimmy thing! but i really need to be more careful with the wire brush lol#i have a bunch of bandaids on my offhand bc i kept accidentally scratching myself on it yesterday 😅#ace screams into the void
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Got myself a second pair of wireless earbuds bc I deserve a little treat and also lost the first pair a month ago
#gonna tie these together with ribbon to ensure i won't drop them this time.. i just miss being able to tuck my shirt in fully at work#when i have wired earbuds under it U_U trying to let myself just. i get paid before rent and then get paid again before my phone bill#I'm gonna make it out of the financial hole and i also deserve to have nice things within reason#i just need to not get a crazy medical bill after my endoscopy and ultrasound and I'll be good#though um. balance transfer credit card... if need be i could pay a bill on my credit card and then try to move it over and hope#for the best but that's a bridge I'll cross when and if i even come to it#hoatm rants
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Just an Eddie thought. Him calling reader Girl Scout or something similar after realizing why they know all these knots that are definitely not used for their intended purpose…
Not me immediately researching knots and rigging 🤣🤣🤣
The first time it captures his attention is in the upside down, or right before you come out.
"Shit!" Dustin curses for the forth time, trying to tie the sheets together above you. You watch the sheets slip apart as the yank, not holding at all.
"Dustin! Throw them over here!" You finally demand through the chorus of groaning. Dustin glances up at you.
"I can do it!" He yells.
"Dustin! It is cold, and gross, and slimy over here! Throw me the goddamn sheets or so help me, I will climb through it without it and you do not want that!"
Dustin yeilds halfway through your speech, using Lucas to help him haul all the sheets up and throw them through in balls of fabric. Eddie watches with amusement as you don't even stall once, dropping into a low squat to retrieve them. Your immediately not just tying the ends together, but using real knots.
It's a practiced motion. You've done this, he thinks, more than once. There's no hesitation and in under ten seconds you have the first two sheets linked together.
Eddie tilts his head as he watches you tug them tight and slide to the next knot. You barely even looking, still paying avid attention to the conversation around and contributing. You are sparing glances at your hands but in under a minute your launching the rope of sheets into the air and Eddie is wondering to himself, exactly how you knew how to do that.
"Good job, girl scout," he comments and in the dim lighting, he watches as your cheeks darken.
"Uh, yeah. Thanks." You reply, avoiding eye contact.
Eddie knows in that moment. He doesn't have solid evidence, but he knows. You're either a rigger or a rope bunny. At least until everyone's trying to find something in Eddie's music collection that he catches you staring at the cuffs slung on the wall.
It's inopportune to ask further questions for well... nearly the whole day it ate him. And then when he was hot wiring that RV... oh, did he see the way you were looking at him. That far away look in your eyes, he caught in the wide rear view mirror, made him flash pearly whites your way.
When Eddie hops up to allow Steve to drive, climbing into the back he makes a beeline to the seat you're in. As Steve pulls out Eddie's dropping down beside you, and the rough run out of the trailer park has you toppling right into Eddie's lap.
"Sorry! Shit!" You squeak in a way that goes south in the best possible way for Eddie.
"S'okay, Girl Scout," he purrs in your ear. He eats the flustered glare you give him right up as Steve evens the rig out on the road.
"Stop calling me that," you hiss, "I'm not a girl scout."
"Oh," he tells you with a malicious grin, "I know." He leans into your ear. You blink owlishly at him, and loves to watch your face go all horrorish and flushed pink. "But, uh, when this whole thing is over... You'll have to show me the, uh, other knots you know."
"Oh," you repeat and after a beat of silence, "okay," is your response. For a moment, Eddie thinks the universe might be balancing out for all the shit that it's slinging at him.
He spends the rest of the ride to the store with his hand on your thigh.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fics#eddie munson smut#asks#eddie munson fanfic#asks and replies
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𝐓𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲 (Yandere! Sunday x Reader)
Gn! Reader (sub/bottom reader)
Desperate Pining series - Sunday edition
pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3
CW: power play, sexual guilt, desperation, mind fuck, mind break, yandere doing yandere stuff, sunday being sunday, conditioning, sunday molding reader
Play the song for best experience
You had made many mistakes in your life, joining the Iris family, your career choice, but none could compare to falling for Sunday, the Oak family's head, daring to pine for him romantically, while all you were a mere performer, hell, not even an innocent singer or actor, you were a host/hostess in a nightclub, a glorified whore.
You could never forget the day you saw the angel, in the club during your shift, as he entertained some family's guests.
The way he walked, talked, moved, breathed, it cause your brain wiring to fuse in mere seconds. He was holy, divine, just a mere look at him, caused your heartbeat to palpate an unhealthy amount.
And Xipe, in all their glory, gazed your way they day, as you were picked to serve his table, god, his melodious voice left you all tingly, breath heavy.
The way he looked at you with such softness, his pretty smile, making you to whimper unconsciously, your thighs rubbing together in your tiny little bunny suit, your pussy wet / cock already dripping pre cum.
So you found yourself moaning and inside a restroom stall, one hand inside your underwear, other in your mouth, to prevent any noise to escape, albeit you were doing a terrible job in it.
Your vision started swirlling around, purple curvy borders around you, as if you're looking at a screen, your mind entirely consumed by thoughts about Sunday, till the second you orgasmed.
It felt, dirty, dirtier than you were used to feeling, as you knelt on the bathroom floor, panting, heart heavy, longing, your body jittery and mind confused at your actions. But most importantly guilt, guilt for lewding someone so holy, a guilt akin to felt when sinning, yet, double as tempting to repeat.
And all those feeling increased exponentially, as you got out the stall, only for your eyes to meet those golden ones through the reflection in the mirror.
"You make such cute noises, there's no need to hold them back," he said, as he turned around and stepped closer to you, your heartbeats resonating with his footsteps, only for your brain to stop working as he took your hand and kissed the area you had bit earlier, staring deep in your eyes.
From that moment on, you memories remains a blur, the kisses, the touch, the luxury hotel room which you could'nt have ever afford, and the tears.
And God, did that strange guilt scare you off, you don't really remember it yourself how you physically jolted at the thought of him penetrating you, daring to refuse the leader of Penacony, making him settle for a sloppy blow job and a thigh fuck, you barely even touching him, making him do all the work.
Yet, the man was gracious enough to let you stay over in the room for the night, blessing you with the opportunity to wake up next to him.
"Won't you pay me back for this opportunity, little sheep?" He asked you, caressing your cheeks gently, his touch akin to a whisper, light, sight, barely there, reminding you how you dared to reject his affection last night.
So you stayed, helping him get ready, buttoning his shirt for him, as he read some texts on his phone, tying his tie, the way he liked, getting him some coffee and breakfast from the breakfast buffet in lounge, because he's too prestigious to mix in common folk, all while he scrutinized you whenever you didn't do the tasks the exact way he liked.
And the second he left the room, you felt hollow, as if your heart had a gaping hole in between as if he took away a part of your soul with him. So imagine the unfathomable amount of joy you felt when Sunday kept frequenting the club more and more, always picking you to serve his table, giving you that kind look, praising you, doing everything in your power to please him, putting extra effort in everything.
All that, only for your heart to break when you heard the whispers about Sunday starting to indulge in some of your co-workers in bed.
Cause, after all, your sin wasn't craving the angel's attention, but to even think you could ever deserve it.
Your weeks your brain stuck on the thought, if the Sunday will come back in club the next day, if he will ask you to serve or not, or will he ask your co-workers, the one who get to lay with him at night. Will he get disgusted by you soon, get tired of pathetic little you.
But till then, those few hours serving were enough, despite the pain and longing, you were willing to suffer if it meant keeping that damn smile in your life.
All such thoughts spiralling in your head 24/7, causing you to get anxious randomly, to the point, your friends started worrying about you. As your self esteem started dwindled down, day by day, as you kept comparing yourself with him.
So it was a shocker when one day the man showed up near the cramped dingy alleyways you live in, greeting you with the same sweet smile, as the first day, you saw him.
You humored the man for some while, best to your capabilities as your breath started to get heavier and heavier in his presence, only able to look at him with a longing gaze, his words flying over your head, till you both stood in silence for a while, your brain to gushy to realize.
"You know, little lamb, you really need to learn some from Sydney," he said, pulling you out of your daydream, gently brushing your cheek with two fingers, then using them to slap your cheeks lightly.
You winced at the name of your co-worker, the one labeled as 'Sunday's favorite',
"I-"
"Invite me to your apartment," he instructed, cutting you off "It's only polite to continue our conversation, inside, right?"
So there you were in your tiny, cramped, studio apartment, he thought of your living condition to be proud, that much was visible on his face, as you brewed him some tea, the most expensive one you had, which was probably too cheap for Sunday's taste, while he chewed your head off on speaking about random things.
But mostly instructing you how to do things properly, like pouring him tea, how to serve him, how to sit properly, and so on. Which you followed diligently, of course, Mr. Sunday, is a kind soul, teaching someone like you, how to behave.
"(Y/n), replace your black net stockings with white ones" he instructed, referencing to your work uniform, before leaving.
So you did, the next day serving him, like a "good boy/girl" those words causing your face to flush, redder than a tomato.
And you got rewarded alright, as he lead you to the same hotel room, from your first night. This time the experience was more sweeter, gentler, yet you still had a break down at the thought of getting penetrated by him.
Heart pounding hard, you got a full-on panic attack this time, getting coddled by Sunday, as he has you sit on his lap, facing him, his dick rubbing against your pretty hole, as he cooed on you, his one hand patting your back, while caressed your face.
"Darling, you had no problem, jumping on Hudson's dick, what's wrong with me?" he asked, out of nowhere, as his hand now grabbed the behind the back of your neck, causing you to whimper.
"W-who?"
"Ah, so you don't remember your clients, huh? How sweet of you, to happily lay with someone whose name you can't recall, over the man, who's been kind enough to hide you in your stupid mistakes"
He sighed, hitting your cheeks with two of his fingers.
"Tell me, my little lamb, what do you think, when you see me?" He asked, his lips laying on your Adam's apple.
"P-preety" you whispered out.
"That so, doll?" he took whispered, taking your hands, and putting it on his face, "if you think, i'm preety lay your hands on me," Sunday said, as you looked in your eyes, an desperate expression in his gold eyes.
To be continued ~
Have you longed for someone so much so, you start feeling disgusting?
Can't you tell I'm desperate? Can't you tell I'm cheap?
You don't gotta love me, we don't have to speak
I'll see you in the morning, if you gotta leave
I'll see you when I see you
You Were a Dream - Artemas
(Excuse me if this was bad, It's my first fic and I'm suffering for horrible period cramps )
#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr sunday#sunday#sunday x reader#yandere#honkai star rail x male reader#yandere honkai star rail#yandere sunday#hsr sunday x reader#yandere sunday x reader#Spotify
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I have ten billion WIP sketches I need to finish, but for some reason I stayed up from 9 PM to 4 AM conceptualizing, making patterns, sewing, painting and applying makeup on this stupid fucking felt squid......the detailing needs to be cleaned up cause there's only one coat of paint so far, but he's pretty much done
my neighbors probably think I'm insane because I was running around the yard clenching this toy kallamar in a death grip and flying him around like an airplane/putting him in the barbecue/poking him with a stick. I want to tie him to a string and recreate the opening of napoleon dynamite >:) ALSO I MADE HIM SMOKE OUT OF A STUPID CRYSTAL PIPE BUT PLEASE DON'T ACTUALLY USE THOSE, THEY ARE SUPER TOXIC LMAO MINE IS FOR DECORATION
I don't have any process pics because I had tunnel vision autism style and forgot the rest of the universe existed while I was working on him. BUT if you're curious I'll ramble below the cut
Okay I am not a seamstress by any means. I've sewn my entire life but very, very infrequently. I've done plushies, clothes, cosplays, fursuits, accessories, etc. but I only do one like once a year, so while I planned to make all 5 bishops, I'm not really sure I'll get them all done. The material cost was like 20 bucks tops so I'm not too upset if I don't finish them. I AT LEAST WANT TO GET SHAMURA OR HEKET DONE.
here is the concept sketch ft. heket's toes and shamura's fingers. I decided to do his pre-schism version so I could fit him with jewelry! I did him first because like I said I sew infrequently and don't know wtf I'm doing, everyone else seemed a lot more complicated.
So I basically just traced this drawing on a printer paper-sized canvas in SAI, and guesstimated how everything would look in a 3D space. His head is four pieces, one triangle identical to the one in the picture, two wide triangles that are sewn together in the back, and a circle for his chin. You can't really see it in any of the pics but he's literally like a black cylindrical stick with little tentacles sewn on where his mantle connects to his cloak. The leg tentacles are one piece of felt that look like tassels, where they're connected by a rectangle but branch off into individual pieces. He can't stand up very well, so his cape keeps him up (that's gonna be an issue for every other bishop too except heket cause she's gonna be ROUND). Mostly everything like the crown, cloak, head, etc. are cones so I just had to make a lot of wide triangles.
For the details, I just used acrylic paint that was watered down so he's not especially crunchy, and for the blush tone I used a makeup palette my mom bought me 10 years ago in hopes I'd get in touch with my "feminine side", but I grew up into a nonbinary butch lesbian so OOPS. Kallamar looks better with makeup than me anyway. I'm kinda sad I couldn't get his freckles as lopsided as I draw them but it probably looks better in plush form to have them even anyway....
I could just post the pattern so I don't have to explain this but 1. I am mentally ill about the thought of my kallamar being in someone else's house and 2. the original pattern had to be tweaked while I was working on him so the final pattern straight up doesn't exist, I winged it the whole time
OH and the jewelry is just scrap pieces I had laying around, I might repaint it all to be gold instead of silver + bronze. I used 20g aluminum wire for his armlet thing, jumper rings for his earrings + ring (+ a diamond dot from my mom's kits for the gem) and chain for the bracelet. I made him an amulet as well but it felt like overkill so I took it off. I'm probably gonna make him a plague doctor mask and medicine bag sometime because I think about nurse kallamar more than I probably should :') I've already sewn one as a prop for a toy raven before so it shouldn't be too hard
#cult of the lamb#cotl#kallamar#plushie#felt craft#does this count as a plush or is it like a doll idfk#I just make shit because I feel like it not cause I can categorize it in any way#drug cw#ONLY CAUSE OF THE REAL PIPE#THERE IS NO ACTUAL DRUG USE HAPPENING
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Thinking about Chuuya- specifically in reference to school aus.
Because Chuuya is SMART okay. He is one of very few people who can keep up with Dazai's chaos, from a combination of knowing him for so long and also from just being smart himself. In stormbringer, Chuuya is shown to at least accurately estimate the answer to rather complex physics equations that cannot be done in your head. He does it anyway. He has an advantage in this where he himself needs to be very concious of gravity and its affects and how it works, and he also has years of first hand experience with how it works he can apply practically to the situation to make estimates easier based on prior knowledge and experience. However, the biggest detriment to that in Chuuya has probably never seen the inside of a school in his life.
It's reasonable to assume that he receives some form of education in the PM as a teen, especially given the fact he needs to work with numbers for running the jewel market. He runs that market with the most success it's hard in years if I recall correctly, while likely not knowing his seven times table. (In chuuya's defense- I don't know my seven times table either and I have a HISTORY with physics that is actually largely sunshine and rainbows so.)
but he does physics that people who've been in school for YEARS fuck up. Mentally.
So he's far from stupid.
However- I am a firm believer in the Chuuya doesn't preform well in school. Regularly a B or C student. He doesn't fail, but he's not scoring the marks he could be.
Because things aren't explained the way he needs them to be. He questions why things work the way they do, explores other possibilities to a point where he confuses himself over the material because school only ever covers a surface level explaination of how and why things work, and expect students to just get it.
When Chuuya does understand something, he UNDERSTANDS it. It becomes common knowledge to him, he can remember it and apply it well in classes, any grades or scores on in class work about the material is scored high. But the second he's under test or exam conditions, he just blanks. It's not the stress or pressure, because he works well under both. It's the lack of practicality to it. It's question after question with no running line he can use to tie everything together and get it the way he needs too. On top of this, he doesn't understand the questions, with nuance and implications his brain isn't wired to pick up on, taking questions literally in a way that costs him marks repeatedly.
If he was in a college or university, he would do so much better, even under test and exam conditions, but while in high school I think that environment just would not work out for him.
As I can make anything about skk, the countermeasure to Chuuya not understanding the way certain things are explained is that Dazai explains them better in a way that's understandable and fills any of the gaps in his knowledge that trip Chuuya up because it should be 'common sense'.
In my head the ada and pm have a joint study group held in Fukuzawa's classroom after school onnnnn... hm. Tuesdays. Because by then the topics for the week have been established, and they each should have had at least one of each class. They all work on their school stuff until everything is covered and then they just watch a movie on the board in the class because it shuts them up (totally not because Fukuzawa has just a little bit of a soft spot for the rowdy group of teens all pressed up against each other sitting on the floor on a random tuesday in early decemeber because none of them really want to go home and it's too cold to go anywhere else. It's not like they're causing trouble or being annoying- they're watching Barbie princess and the popstar for the third time this term.) and they're not causing any harm.
Chuuya isn't the only one who struggles like this, just maybe the one who does so the most, but he would be an incredible physicist, and through support from a few of the nicer teachers and his friends, I'm sure he'd find a way to do well anyway.
I do know he'd get to college and have a realisation like 'huh? learning is actually kind of enjoyable' and that'd be it. He'd become a certified genius. A gilmore girls extra, if you will.
anyway autistic + dyslexic Chuuya who stuggles in school agenda is real.
#silas yaps#bsd#ao3 fanfic#soukoku#bsd fanfic#bsd dazai#bsd chuuya#bungou stray dogs#skk au#chuuya#chuuya nakahara
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𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬
𝐣𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
❦ Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader
❦ Warnings: None
❦ Word Count: 1858
❦ Summary: In which your lover comes home late again, and you decide to cook for him for once, even if your skills are severely lacking compared to his.
❦ A/N: this is so self-indulgent bc my ass really cant cook that well soooo
❦ twitter - ao3
8:23 P.M.
You sighed. He was late again.
You knew it wasn’t his fault though, more than often your boyfriend got winded into working overtime and stayed past the hours that he wanted to. Still, as much as he complained of it, you would’ve figured he would dismiss any and all thoughts of overtime if presented with the opportunity and make his way home to you at the time of his clock out. You couldn’t help but sigh wistfully at and for your lovable workaholic man; he only worked overtime because it was essentially wired into his blood and he would never leave unless he knew his job was done.
However, you were more slightly upset that he had called you at lunch time – you felt bad, you didn’t wake up early enough to give him a sweet kiss off for work – and told you he’d be home on time to make you both dinner. You didn’t want to eat without him at all, notably when you were partly worried he might have been hurt or something else (something worse, really), and with that anxiety you knew you couldn’t eat. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t cook, but you also never wanted to eat dinner without him. He was by far a better cook than you were, sure yours was… passable, but Kento’s was beyond expectations, and you looked forward to it every time he offered to make you food. Any and every time Kento made you a meal you fell deeper in love, especially when you found out he put more time and skill into it for you.
Your ears perked up from your lounging position on your couch when you could hear the tall-tale sign of the front door opening and the distant sound of his footsteps walking inside. You nearly rejoiced knowing he was home safe and coming around to greet you, while your stomach gurgled in its own way to hearing of his arrival. Finally, you two could eat and then snuggle into bed together.
Kento called out your name, and you sat up from your position to greet him, “You’re home.”
He removed his glasses and his blazer, draping the latter across the back of your recliner and his glasses on the coffee table, and took a seat next to you, “Did I wake you?”
You watched as he leant back resting his head on the back of the couch, arms spread out on the back and legs wide open, as your eyes lingered on his tie slightly loosened, “No, I was waiting for you.”
“Hmm, have you eaten?”
You stretched your legs out, feeling your appetite begin to kick in, “No, you know I don’t eat dinner without you.”
His head lolled to look at you pointedly, dark eyes in disapproval, “I told you to go ahead and eat if I work overtime,” he grounded out and you nearly had half a mind to not jump into his lap from his tired, rough voice.
“Well,” you began, crossing your arms in rebuttal, “I didn’t know you were gonna work overtime, you usually call…” you sent him a long side look slightly annoyed he hadn’t called to let you know he was fine and would be home later than his usual time. You began to wonder if he had eaten at all that day.
Kento sighed and closed his eyes, making you take note of the minor shades of purple underneath them, “I’m sorry, it was a situation where I had to take care of it quickly. Give me a few moments and I can make us both something.”
Instantly you felt awful; he was really going to sacrifice some of his resting time he rarely ever got to still make the both of you the dinner he promised instead of just calling for takeout delivery. You knew of his occupation as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, it had to come out once the two of you began a relationship and he realized he wouldn’t be able to hide it from you when he tended to work long hours and often came home with bruises or bleeding from scratches that weren't well enough for excuses. Kento came home more tired than anything half the time and managed to make you dinner without so much of a complaint, as long as you were fed, healthy, and taken care of it seemed nothing else really mattered to him. He really prioritized you over himself all the time, much to your chagrin.
For once you wanted to dote on him and make him feel good.
Wait –
Your lover moved suddenly and you realized he was getting up to go to the kitchen, so you pounced. Literally, you pounced onto him and threw your arms around his neck to try and drag him down, but it left you in an awkward position with your lower half still on the couch and your upper half dangling onto his shoulders. Kento, ever-so observant, had wrapped his own arms around underneath your chest at the sudden movement, clearly startled by the abrupt assault, whilst giving you an arched brow. He parted his lips to speak, but you beat him to punch.
“How about I make us both something for once?”
The look he sent you nearly made you want to cry.
He cleared his throat, “Are you… sure?” he asked, a slight degree of unease in his voice. You knew what he was thinking: You’re going to cook? By the look in his eyes, he was traumatized by your last attempt…
You huffed, a new feeling of confidence in your rushing in your veins and your body overwhelmed with determination, “Of course I’m sure, you’re tired and need to relax for once.” You could do just fine if you really put your mind to it. Especially for someone like Kento.
“Seeing you is relaxing enough.” He was trying to reassure you; you knew his gimmick. Try to make you believe he wasn’t exhausted at all and you would give in to his sweet words and he’d make you both dinner, then afterwards he’d shower and completely collapse into bed with you tucked up under his chin. You were not having it that time around.
Smirking at him, you tightened your grip on his shoulders, “Sweet talking me isn’t gonna work this time.”
Kento sighed, clearly defeated as he sat you both back onto the couch, “Okay.” God, why did he sound so deflated?
Regardless, you smiled and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, untangling yourself from his hold, “Stay in here then,” you stood, his hands brushing against your ribs as you did so, and pointing at him with an index finger close enough to nearly brush his nose, “just relax and maybe nap, I’ll come get you when it’s done.” He didn’t look convinced – probably nervous you’d catch something on fire – but relaxed back nevertheless, giving you his own small smile.
Determined, you made way for your shared kitchen, snatching Kento’s fresh white apron as you did so. Sure, it looked goofy on you and the haphazard way you tied it, but Kento wore it exclusively every time he cooked so it was only right you did the same. You had your mind set to make something you both enjoyed – or you thought you both would enjoy. You knew your way around a kitchen, how bad could it turn out to be?
...Yikes
You decided not to answer that when you saw his face as he tasted your 'meal'. His eyebrows slightly rose towards his hairline and his mouth twitched nearly into a grimace, but it almost looked like he was swallowing cough medicine when he finally did get around to it. Kento sat his utensil down after and cleared his throat before clasping his hands together on the table, looking up to you while you hovered over him.
“It’s great.” Bless him, he never wanted to hurt your feelings... even if it was the trivial of things.
You whined and threw your head back, “You hate it.”
“I could never hate anything you do.”
“Don’t be sweet, I know it’s nasty and you’re just trying to make me feel better,” you pouted and stared down at your own plate, untouched as you had waited for him to try the food first. Still, you were curious and picked up your own utensil to try it out as you sat down at your spot at the table. Kento was watching you looking almost concerned as you finally lifted the food into your mouth for your taste buds to feel.
You chewed and swallowed. Bland, burnt and…
"..."
“...”
“Kento, this tastes like ass.”
A sigh fell out of him as he placed his chin onto his fist, “Maybe so, though I don’t think that really matters,” he gazed at you as you fiddled with his apron strings, a rather strong sense of adoration radiating off of him, “It’s the thought of you making food for me after a long day of work.”
“Even if it’s bad?”
“Even if it’s bad.”
Your cheeks warmed from the words as you gave him an embarrassed glance, knowing the entire situation felt incredibly domestic and you felt like a spouse cooking for their husband. It hadn’t been a topic discussed between you two yet, though it was always lingering in the background given how deep your relationship went and how long you two been together. No doubt you knew he was thinking the same.
You stood after that, wiping your hands onto his apron to avoid looking at his face, “Yeah, well, I guess I should clean these since this tastes like shit,” you moved to grab his plate, yet the tug from the front of the apron sent you into his lap as he leaned back to situate you both into a more comfortable position as he cradled you against his chest. He’s being awfully bold tonight. You snuck a peek at him almost shied away from his intense stare.
You rested your hands on his shoulders as he spoke, “You should wear my apron more often.”
Sending him a raised brow, you let out a small laugh, “How can I wear your apron more when I can’t cook?”
“Who said wearing it only while you cook?”
You smacked his chest and voiced your earlier thoughts, “You’re being awfully bold tonight.”
A small smile graced him as he lifted you more to press his mouth against your temple, kissing it a few times, “I can’t help with it with how you look wearing it.”
You sighed and smiled, shaking your head while you snuggled into him by rubbing your cheek against his to enjoy the moment of domesticity between you two. Though the moment was broken by the loud growl of your stomach. You sheepishly peered up at him as he gazed back to you with the affectionate look he always had.
“I’ll call for takeout, and then we clean this together.”
Your response was just to kiss him for his sweetness, and you kept the apron on for the remainder of the time.
#nanami kento#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami kento x y/n#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jujutsu kasien#source: animaterglittergraphics-n-more
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Testing — Dr. Jonathan Crane.
— CW: 18+, smut, noncon! (DNI if uncomfortable 😴), fisting, slight spit kink, Crane using medical language? Rubber gloves! | word count: 2k!
— a/n: I don't know how to tag! This came to me before bed the other day. SUPER GRATEFUL AND FOREVER IN LOVE WITH @pictureinme for beta-reading this! I love you so much pookie 💌.
A shiver runs down your spine as Dr. Crane's camera on the tripod flashes red— an ominous light that warns your humiliation is being recorded.
Your legs are stretched out wide on the cold metal table, chained to the bars on each side, strains reserved for patients in the consulting room who refuse to be sedated. Reserved to those who will involve to be a problem to Dr. Crane, your boss. Hands above your head, your fingers curl around the wire he used to tie your wrists together. Too tight, it felt like a punishment. The blood circulation was slow, causing them to feel numb.
He had to improvise, the sedative he administrated in your morning coffee was a mild dose, enough to keep you knocked out for at least 40 minutes— enough for him to drag you to his private laboratory, undress you, and tie you up.
Reaching inside the pocket of his pristine lab coat, Crane brings the voice recorder to his mouth, clicking the thick button and twitching in excitement at the mute sound of the tapes rolling inside the device.
“October 14th, 2001,” He speaks, looking at you from behind his thin glasses. “Test subject is awake now, they appear to be responding normally. I will be monitoring them for the next few hours to ensure continued stability. Will report any significant changes in behavior immediately.”
Clicking the button again, Crane returns the recorder inside his pocket, approaching you with cautious steps— similar to a predator looming over its helpless, little prey; even his eyes hold that harpy gaze. Cold and relentless, your body shivers in fear. The same fear he thrives on, the same fear that makes his blood circulate and sends an excited beat to his heart.
Your mouth opens but before a sound comes out he raises her hand in a shutting motion, to which you surprisingly obey in response. “Don’t even try,” he warns you, reaching for a tiny box on the tall desk next to your bed. “This experiment is happening either way.”
Sliding the blue rubber glove over his right hand, Jonathan stretches it, letting it snap with a loud sound. His eyes never leave your face which is a remarkable show of professionalism, taking into consideration your lack of clothes, and the awkward, obscene position. Standing next to you, his index finger traces from your knee to your hip, relishing the way your body squirms uncomfortably. Grasping the recorder once more, he turns it on before leaving it next to the box where he retrieved the gloves from, returning his attention to you.
“Subject internally rejects light physical stimuli,” He repeats the action, going from knee to thigh over and over, the rubber sliding smoothly from the cold sweat of fear that grants your body a soft glow. “Their body appears to be affected by the fear and anxiety. Mild sweating, constant twitching.”
Crane’s finger ventures to the inside of your thigh, raising goosebumps on your skin. An eternity passes until he finally comes in contact with your mound, pressing it softly with his fingerpad. The uneasy pressure makes you choke a sob, a sob that isn’t acknowledged by the doctor. Lower, he begins to circle your clit in slow, methodical circles. The sensation makes your legs tense, instinctively try to close them but are not allowed to do so, thanks to the restraints. Crane watches you with an unamused expression, noticing how lost you are in distress to notice how his leg twitches slightly at the sight of such a pretty face denying the pleasure. The pressure over your clit increases but the pace stays the same, giving you a similar feeling of breathlessness and dizziness. He knows what he is doing, how couldn’t he? Such a brilliant mind, such skilled fingers… he knows.
Closing your eyes shut, your brain shortcuts for seconds, trying to reject the pleasure that Jonathan’s ministrations provide— you shouldn’t, succumbing isn’t an option. Tears silently trickle down your flushed cheeks, embarrassed by your own natural body response. The slick is slowly but surely building up in between your legs, and it’s just a matter of time for Crane to notice it. You wish you could scream, curse him, damn him, and send his soul to hell— but it’s difficult to even breathe. The confusing mix of fear and innate pleasure clouds your common sense.
“Patient is responding correctly to clitoral stimulation,” His deep voice snatches you from your internal battle, snapping your eyes open and finding those same blue eyes that you grew accustomed to, watching you as if you were a mere lab rat. “But, they appear to be having a moral conflict.”
Perhaps you are.
When he stops his circling over your clit, a sigh of relief escapes from your lips, but you are disgusted by the sting of disappointment that your body sends you; The ease doesn’t last long, as his finger slides between your folds, gathering the slick and bringing back to your clit briefly.
He inserts a finger, unhurriedly. He has all the time in the world— it is not like you are leaving anyway. Jonathan breaks the eye contact and focuses on opening you up carefully; It’s easy to read he is not doing it because he is scared of hurting you, it is because causing you pain in this state will lower his experiments. The pace of his digit mimics the one he created before, methodical. Everything about him appears premeditated. Curling his index finger, it takes him around eight seconds to locate your G-spot, rubbing it with expertise and ease; “It appears to be a considerable amount of lubrication,” He continues speaking to the recorder, speeding up his movements slightly. “Corporeal response is positive, the experiment is going as planned”
Planned. That word strikes a cord inside your hazy mind. So he already intended to do this.
A second finger joins, spreading you, but not in a painful way. In fact, the remorse falters, as the pleasure begins to build, strong and hopeless to avoid. Repeating the same curling motion, Jonathan’s hand twitches when he hears the first moan of the evening. It’s weak, but something like that will never go unnoticed.
“Patient is showing vocal responses after two fingers, vaginal stimulation is going as expected.”
A wave of heat starts to crumble the last bits of your will, he knows what he is doing— the bastard fucking knows. A new set of tears swell up in your eyes, falling without you doing much to stop them. A meek sob that breaks into a choked moan catches the doctor’s attention, his rosy lips curling into a wicked smile. This is probably the first time you had ever seen Crane smile. Your cunt and his fingers work together to create an obscene wet sound, smearing it all over your labia and printing it with fire and fear in your mind.
A third finger prods outside your aching hole, threatening; When it joins the party, that same stretch comes back— once again not uncomfortable.
“Three fingers have been inserted now,” Crane says, his voice faltering at the end of the sentence. “The patient shows no signs of pain nor discomfort”
Faster, his fingers are going faster now. Three fingers plugging in and out of you without any hint of mercy or consideration. You dare to bend your neck, a sick need to watch his hand invading you, only to find his hand soaked. Involuntary, your cunt clench around his fingers, something that also was noticed.
Expecting him to talk again to the voice recorder, only to encounter a quicker pace, your back arches, the cold laboratory bed suddenly too cold for the boiling temperature of your body. A cloud of guilty pleasure numbs your brain— unable to register the fourth finger peeking at your pussy.
The intrusion hurts, the current lubrication not enough to save the painful stretch. Jonathan notices this, an expert in reading body language; “In response to the fourth finger, the patient has experienced slight pain. After a quick thought, I have come to the conclusion that the rubber gloves inhibit the vagina lubrication to be sufficient.”
Removing your fingers from your cunt, you watch with half-lidded eyes how he practically rips the glove off his hand, almost frustrated. Returning his now bare fingers to your poor hole, a mewl escapes your lips when he returns three fingers, humming at the clear difference of sensations.
His fingers, his skin is a whole different sensation than the damn rubber. His pinky finger sneaks in again, but your pussy clenches, making the intrusion painful again. Crane huffs in annoyance, bending over and hovering over your crotch, gathering saliva in his mouth and spitting right in your pussy. The action, which perhaps holds strictly experimental intentions, is so perverted it makes your stomach flutter— erotic, that was erotic.
You find Dr. Crane spitting on your pussy erotic.
“Fucking finally,” he whispers.
In no time, and thanks to the skin-to-skin contact, the penetration is easier, for him at least. Four fingers slide in and out effortlessly, as your legs begin to shake, and the tight knot in your lower region threatens to snap.
“You are not allowed to come,'' his stern voice is like a fork scraping against a porcelain plate— dominant and authoritarian. “Hold it, or there will be consequences.”
The promise of a punishment for disobeying is even scarier than the possible consequences, causing you to nod and succumb to his wishes— although you don’t have much choice.
His other hand, which had been fidgeting around ever since his touch over your skin started, approaches your clit dangerously, pressing his thumb on the swollen nub, reminiscing of the circles he did an hour prior, this time tighter— faster.
His actions are lewd, definitely illegal— your noises are lewd, definitely unwilling. Your body thrashes over the metal, yanking the restraints with little success to lose them. The rational instinct screams at you to move, fight— but the overwhelming sensations act like a drug. His fingers curl in an odd position, and before you can react, his thumb slides in.
Fitting his whole hand inside your poor, stretched, wet hole.
He moves his hand slowly, testing the waters. This is the crucial part of the experiment, one false move and everything will be extremely painful to you.
Torturing your clit, Jonathan uses the lubrication and his saliva to move his hand, keeping his fingers straight and still— ignoring the uncomfortable erection straining against his slacks.
“The experiment has been a success. The patient has been able to fit my hand inside them. There are no signs of pain, discomfort, or physical rejection—” His voice shakes slightly, as if he was fighting to keep composure the same way you fought the pleasure that his unwanted touch gave you.
That's when the real thing begins.
Crane’s hand curls into a fist, making you moan louder. How can something so twisted feel so good? Lowering your watery gaze, the borderline pornographic view of being fucked by your boss’ fist sends you to a frenzied state. He keeps forcing his fist inside you, uncurling his finger lightly every now and then just to add a new sensation.
“Good…” He pants, biting his lower lip. “Come. You can come now.”
And you do. Oh, you do.
His hand assaults your pussy, stretching it beyond limits and giving you the most mind–blowing, earth–shattering, painful orgasm you had ever experienced in your life. Your clit burns from the rough treatment, and something whispers in the back of your drowning mind, that even if you manage to see the light of another day if Crane decided to let you go; you will never find something as pleasurable as what he just did.
To you. To your body. To your mind.
The realization, the crude reality— breaks the thin veil of lust. Crying, sobbing, screaming— the voice you seemed to have lost while he experimented with you finally came back.
Jonathan wipes his wet hand with his lab coat, reaching for the recorder. His black shoes click on the white tiles of the consultation room as he approaches the camera, clicking the «play» button off, the red light winking at you before disappearing.
Until next time.
Dr. Crane licks his lips, his cold blue eyes glistening with morbid excitement. His hand trembles when he brings the recorder to his lips, piercing your soul with those orbs just like he pierced your body and dignity with his fist.
“The experiment was a success.”
#— ✏️ anya writes!#— 💉Jonathan Crane!#jonathan crane x reader smut#jonathan crane smut#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane#jonathan crane dark smut#jonathan crane headcanon#cillian murphy#cillian murphy x reader#cillian x reader#cillian murphy smut
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Will's anti-Vecna song should be David Bowie's "Heroes"
We know from the new BTS pic that he has headphones and a Walkman. Like Max, he might be fending off Vecna:
Max's anti-Vecna song was highly personal to her. It helped her through her guilt and depression and feeling like she deserved to die.
For Will, "Should I Stay or Should I Go" is cute, but it doesn't have emotional weight. It might have helped a child Will in the Upside Down in s1, when it made him think of home and Jonathan, but he's all grown up now. He's changed.
If Byler becomes realized, David Bowie's "Heroes" is the perfect song for Mike and Will's relationship that would help Will resist Vecna. It's canon that Will likes David Bowie: kid Mike prefers the androgynous rock star over Kenny Rogers (s2e1).
@surferbeto on YouTube comments:
This is a heroic love song. Bowie starts out crooning but pretty soon he ramps up and belts it out hard. This song is about risking getting shot by East German border police and dragged over barbed wire for love. This is about young love against impossible odds. It's about that gloriously tragic fantasy... of giving our life in some grandly romantic way to save the life of our beloved. Maybe by taking a bullet for them and dying in their arms in the shadow of the Berlin Wall.
Having David Bowie's "Heroes" in the show would call-back to Peter Gabriel's somber 2010 cover from s1, when Mike hugged his mom thinking Will was dead. But Bowie's original is defiant, triumphant, and bittersweet. (Seriously, if you haven't yet, listen to it before reading further. It's perfect.)
It would play when Mike and Will have their first kiss. Their song of losing each other is now of finding each other.
If Byler is realized, it could play as Mike and Will dare to hold hands in the school hall, as we fade out to the end credits.
Will would put it on his Walkman. If Will and Mike are bullied for their relationship, "Heroes" perfectly expresses their defiance and willingness to love each other despite the harm that might come to them.
It's the song that would most help Will in case he gets Vecna'd. It doesn't just remind him of Mike; it culminates his journey over the five seasons. As a kid he told Jonathan he's not a baby, not just a victim. Despite seeming shy and weak, he has a huge amount of quiet courage, but his struggle in s3 and s4 was largely internal. ("I'm not gonna fall in love.") Show creator Matt Duffer says about s5: "Will's going to be a big part and focus... We're starting to see his coming of age, really... You're starting to see him come into his own." If Byler becomes real, then his fight becomes external, confronting the homophobia in Hawkins and the literal hell threatening his friends. He will rise to the occasion.
"Will really takes center stage again in [season] 5," Ross Duffer told Variety. "This emotional arc for him is what we feel is going to hopefully tie the whole series together. Will is used to being the young one, the introverted one, the one that’s being protected. So part of his journey, it’s not just sexuality – it’s Will coming into his own as a young man."
In s2, Will only allowed Mike to protect him because he didn't feel pitied by Mike; Mike saw his strength. A stronger Will will pay him back and protect him from the twin dangers they face.
It's Will's turn to be the hero. His fight for others is his fight for himself. "Heroes" perfectly expresses his journey of defying all odds to fight for HIS RIGHT TO LOVE.
-teambyler
#byler#will defends mike with a gun#stranger things#vecna#speculation#song#should i stay or should i go#david bowie#heroes#headphones#walkman
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How did Jessie’s infatuation with his darling start?
Ohoho this is a fun ask! Thank you anon
To be honest Jessie and your meeting wasn’t all that magical. You didn’t help him gain sentience. He had that long before meeting you. And you weren’t the first person to treat him like he was “human” either.
In fact, you two had worked together for a while before his obsession started, and he knew for fact that you were not a fan of androids.
But you were never outwardly rude to him or any of the bots in the work place. Whether because they were above you on the social pyramid, or because you just couldn’t be bothered, he wasn’t sure. (It was the last one btw)
He liked to believe that you were simply too morally upright. You couldn’t find it in yourself to treat anything poorly even if it was something simply made of code. Except for your stress ball maybe. He’d seen crumpling buildings in better shape.
Jessie knew you weren’t a bad person, despite your…biases.
He liked that about you.
But he didn’t love you. Not yet anyway. He just admired you.
To be honest that’s how his feelings started out, and still very much are. Admiration.
You were one of the best human workers he’d ever met.
Hardworking, determined
Even at times going out of your way to help out your coworkers, or stay late to cover for them.
(Admittedly you were just doing it for the bonus but he didn’t need to know that.)
His admiration just kind of grew from there, into a bit of a puppy crush. He still admired you greatly, but he couldn’t really help but get a little more nervous around your presence now.
His eyes would wander to you randomly during meetings. He’d notice small habits of yours. Sometimes when booting up, one of his first thoughts would be whether you were coming in that day.
Occasionally when reviewing the workloads he’d pause on your name, and maybe zone out for about 5 minutes before getting back to work. (Then maybe go back again to look at your file)
Sometimes he’d bring you coffee, only getting the order wrong once before it never happened again.
He’d be a bit more lenient with your work, or schedule, or holidays. Simple stuff like that.
It reached its peak though, during a very simple moment. That realistically could’ve been avoided.
He tripped. How’d he trip? His shoelace was untied. How was a supposedly flawless being able to have an untied shoelace? Simple. He was thinking about you and forgot to tie it that morning.
And while granted had he fallen, he would’ve been fine. Maybe a wire knocked loose or a scuff on his silicone skin, but nothing detrimental.
But, of course, you deciding you didn’t want to deal with the possibility of any extra paperwork, swooped in.
You caught him. Literally. You caught him.
That was it. That was the big “Bang” moment.
Jessie officially fell in love with you because you caught him.
Call him delusional but he believed it was because you cared about him. At least a little. Not to mention your arms were very comfortable and very strong because he’s made almost entirely out of metal and that’s not light at all and you were also very hot and omgyouwerelookingathimandyoupickedhim up and-
He pretty much short circuited after you put your hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay.
So you had to file paperwork anyway.
And suddenly deal with your boss becoming 10x clingier than before seemingly out of nowhere.
Not that you cared too much given the nice fat bonus you ended up receiving.
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I love planing out my ideas in great detail but when it comes to actually writing the story it’s like pulling teeth. It goes from being fun and interesting to being nothing more than a dull chore. I’ve tried planning less to see if having some things unknown might help, but that didn’t work. I could spend forever writing and rewriting my ideas and making changes to them. But when I try to write an actual story it’s like I physically can’t. What should I do?
Details Planned But Unable to Write
If you have the details of your story planned out but still aren't able to write it, it's probable that one of the following things is happening. See if any of these strike a chord with you...
1 - Details and Plot Are Not the Same - Sometimes writers say they have all the details in their story planned out, but what they actually mean is they've fleshed out character and setting details, maybe even backstory and some general scene ideas, but they couldn't tell you what the story's conflict is, what the inciting incident is, what goal the protagonist is pursuing and why, what's at stake, or what the major plot points of the story are. No matter how detailed your story is in terms of characters, setting, backstory, and even general ideas about scenes, if you don't have a conflict to tie them all together, you don't really have a story. You just have details. A plot can't be moved forward if it doesn't exist, and if you don't have a conflict, goals and motivation, stakes, an antagonistic force and obstacles, etc., you don't have a plot. Solution: take some time learning about Goals and Conflict, Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories, Basic Story Structure, and How to Move a Story Forward.
2 - You Lost Interest in the Story - If you have your story properly plotted in addition to having the details fleshed out, and you're still unable to write, it could be that you've simply lost interest in the story. This can happen when we spend a lot of time on a story, especially if we spend a lot of time fleshing things out. Solution: Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write, Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists, Getting Excited About Your Story Again
3 - Something in the Story Isn't Working - Imagine someone riding a horse and they come to a rickety old bridge, but the horse balks and refuses to cross. The horse may just be stubborn, but it's quite possible it's picking up sensory information its rider can't... creaks and groans the rider can't hear, a worrisome tilt or sway the rider can't perceive... If you sit down to write your well planned out story and can't, the same thing could be happening with your gut instinct. Like the horse that doesn't want to cross the bridge because it senses danger, something inside you is saying "this story doesn't work" and isn't excited to get involved. Solution: Read through your outline or plan and see if you can spot the problem. Maybe the character's goal doesn't make sense with the events of the story. Maybe the antagonistic force isn't doing enough to oppose the protagonist. Maybe the character arc is out-of-sync with the events of the story. If nothing else, talk it through with a trusted writer friend to see if they have any thoughts. Sometimes just hearing the questions they have about the story can be enough to highlight what isn't working.
4 - Life Stuff Is Getting in the Way - Even if your story is well fleshed out and thoroughly plotted, and everything works and you're excited about writing, there can be other things going on in your life that stand in your way. If you're putting too much pressure on yourself to write or reach certain writing goals, it makes writing feel stressful and our brains are wired to avoid stressful things. It could be that you're not feeling well physically or mentally. You could be distracted by other things you want to write or do. You could just be too busy with other things to really get into it. Or you could just be not in the mood to write. Solution: Try to pinpoint what's getting in the way and see if there's a work around. For example, if you think writing has become stressful and that's why you're avoiding it, figure out what you can do to make it fun again. Or, if you think you're just not in the mood to write, figure out some things you could do that would put you in the mood to write.
5 - Fear Is Getting in the Way - Details are easy, writing is hard. No matter how much planning and plotting you've done, actually putting those details into coherent words in a way that is compelling and well-paced--that's not so easy. And, the tough reality is that until you've had a lot of writing experience, your writing probably isn't as good as you want it to be. You want it to be good, and you know what would qualify as good, but you're just not able to produce that quality yet. And the only way to get your writing quality to that level is to let yourself write things that aren't as good as you want them to be. You have to write a lot of "just okay" stuff before you can write "really great" stuff. AND THAT'S SCARY!!! And--that's not even the only thing that can cause fear for writers. Maybe you have written a lot and your writing is where you want it to be, but maybe your fear is with the next step... sharing it with others. Maybe you're afraid others won't enjoy it as much as you want them to. Solution: figure out what's causing the fear, whether it's quality-related or next step related, then try to push through it. Remind yourself that writing not great stuff is part of the process. Remind yourself that sharing with others is part of the process (usually, unless you're writing for yourself.) Have a spin through the bottom half of my Motivation master list for other fears and solutions.
I hope that helps!
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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!
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things that evoke memories of riize
💒 — SHOTARO AS
the bittersweet tug of homesickness, the aromatic smell of freshly ground coffee beans that first hits you upon stepping into a cafe, unexpectedly meeting a high school friend you really missed on the streets, the solace found in being able to comfort you, the warmth of sunlight kissing your skin, ties with cute little patterns on them, the click of film cameras while taking photos of you, the lingering feeling after a hug, getting bungeoppang in the winter and chatting with the street vendor while waiting for his order, carrot cakes, a large collection of bucket hats, love countdown by nayeon, wonstein
🩰 — EUNSEOK AS
soft ballad music playing in the background, the gentle warmth of intertwined hands, early morning strolls, the adrenaline rush coursing through you while riding roller coasters, holding hands in haunted houses, long facetime calls spent in silence, brushing his lips over your forehead, trembling lips as he lets himself be vulnerable to you for the first time, exploring a place he has never been before, the feeling that you’re going to know each other for a long time, a handsome stranger you saw on an overseas trip once and never again, watching studio ghibli films together, carbonara pasta, breathe by lauv
💭 — SUNGCHAN AS
texts to check if you’ve eaten, greeting dogs that pass by, wandering aimlessly in an art museum, purposely stepping in a puddle of water just to splash someone, playfully fighting you for the tv remote but letting you win in the end, opening jars for you even though you can do it yourself, letting him play with your hair until it’s all tangled, the chime of school bells signalling the day’s end, taking photos with friends on the last day of school, the soft brush of elbows while writing side by side, keeping your hair tie on his wrist, eating vanilla ice cream on sunny days, 爱你 by kimberley chen
✨ — WONBIN AS
late night walks under the moonlit sky, someone’s hand slipping in yours, dark chocolate, dazzle of fireworks illuminating the night, reflecting on his eyes, learning how to play a new instrument, a faceless photo of you and him on his lockscreen, watching a drama together and rooting for different male leads, putting on a facade of toughness to impress you, gently reassuring him that perfection isn’t always necessary, clothes that fit you just right, love at first sight, matching earrings, only letting you touch his guitar, the reluctance to bite into cute chinese piggy steamed buns, wish you were sober by conan gray
💌 — SEUNGHAN AS
sweet goodnight texts, good luck charms handmade with endearing clumsiness, trying new food, finding something you thought you lost, autum leaves rustling in the wind, holding the door open for you, exchanging affectionate words endlessly, winning a soft toy at an amusement park on the first try, patiently teaching you how to play games, looking through his photoalbum when he misses you, doodling shinchan on the corners of your worksheet, taking a bite of your spicy bibimmyeon, then complaining that it was too spicy for him, die for you by the weeknd, ariana grande
👒 — SOHEE AS
shopping for caps together, a tranquil morning greeted by a gentle breeze, buying a new fuzzy blanket, curtains billowing in the wind, waiting for you to come home to him, the comfort of oversized plain white shirts and grey joggers, playing rock paper scissors to divide household chores, needing to pause and go outside for a breather every time he realises how down bad he is for you, trying to order a kids meal at a restaurant and getting embarrassed after the waiter doesn’t allow it, getting tteokbokki together after school, candy by baekhyun
🎧 — ANTON AS
wired earphones connected to an mp3 player, warm beach towels, trying to make an asmr video, eating cake off the floor so you wouldn’t feel bad for dropping it, constantly sending you tiktoks that remind him of you, water parks on hot summer days, classical music, old books with yellowed pages and worn covers, putting on sheet masks together, reading children’s storybooks for you to help you fall asleep, making eye contact across the room, the moment where you realise that he feels the exact same way that you feel at the same moment, snow on the beach by taylor swift, lana del rey
© cupidseok — do not copy / repost / translate my works
#riize drabbles#riize imagines#riize scenarios#riize fics#riize fluff#riize x reader#shotaro x reader#eunseok x reader#sungchan x reader#wonbin x reader#seunghan x reader#sohee x reader#anton x reader#shotaro imagines#eunseok imagines#sungchan imagines#wonbin imagines#seunghan imagines#sohee imagines#anton imagines
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When You Become Friends | He Falls For You
Jiang Kai | Kai Kalama
Kai impatiently tapped his foot, waiting for Reader to emerge from the doors of Ninjago City College. His amber eyes scanned every person who came out from the doors until he saw her.
They were wearing all red, which made him smirk as a blush colored his cheeks, with black heels and pants to tie the outfit together. It took Reader a second to find him across the street and for her to begin to make her way through the crowd.
"I'm surprised you actually waited," Reader mused, lips twitching upwards.
"How could I not escort such a lovely person home?" Kai asked, winking as Reader shook their head.
"Flirt."
"Only for you."
Reader did not know how true that was, did not know that Kai had completely stopped flirting with other girls even when she wasn't there.
Rolling their eyes, Reader turned and began to walk, leaving Kai to stride after her own long strides. Grinning smugly, he dropped an arm over their shoulder, eyeing them nervously from the corner of his eye to see if they were okay with it.
When his arm was left to rest upon her shoulders his smile grew as he held himself taller.
At their house, they sat with glasses of wine and chatted about their respective days.
The entire time Kai could barely keep his eyes off of her, listening intently though his mind wandered everytime he looked to her lips. Their voice was gentle, calm, the soft melody of light rain and sunshine shining through the clouds. When it was his turn to talk, Reader gave him their full attention, asking questions when things confused her.
He was falling for her. Not just her looks, but her.
Zane Julien
Zane smiled gently when he saw Reader practically bouncing towards him, satchel swinging with their movements.
"Zane!" Reader called, throwing her arms around his neck in a quick hug. When she pulled back, Zane privately wished she hadn't.
She had to tilt her head up a little bit to be able to look him in the eyes and it always set his wires alight. "It is good to see you again, Reader."
"It's good to see you too. So, where too today?"
"Well, a new exhibit opened at the museum about the prehistoric animals of Ninjago. I believed it would be something that interests you, but if not–"
"I'd love to go!" Reader blurted out, shrinking back into herself when some strangers looked at her wierdly. "Sorry. But I'd love to go. Come on."
Grabbing onto his wrist she tugged and he allowed himself to be led as she happily gave out every piece of information she had on prehistoric animals, which was a surprising amount.
While normally Zane would have cut off anyone else to remind them that he was a Nindroid, and as such, knew such things but coming from her . . . It was far more interesting hearing it from her than pulling up the information on his database. The rest of the day, Zane was hesitant to call it a date, he watched as Reader bounced around from display to display to take pictures and read the little plaque's full of information.
He adored the way her eyes lit up as her mind ran with hundreds of ideas for her art. He was falling for her, her mind, her creativity, everything.
Cole Brookstone
Cole sat at one of the tables of Fairy Tale, waiting for Reader to finish up the last little bit of organization for the next day of work. Smiling, Reader emerged, sitting across from Cole and pushing over a cup of hot cocoa for him.
In their own hands was a London Fog, their personal favorite.
"So how was the store today?" Cole asked, leaning forward a little.
"It was good. Miya's getting more confident in herself, even dealt with a customer before they could get too loud and rowdy," Reader said, waving a hand.
"I'm glad she's settling in well."
"She still can't believe that the Earth Ninja comes to visit, sometimes just to see lil' ol' me," Reader teased, voice low and pleasently husky making Cole swallow. Their gaze was lidded but focused, exhaustion showing.
"Well, I come for the cake too."
Reader barked out a laugh, shaking their head. "You should've seen her face when you devoured a full cake in less than 5 minutes. Oh, she came running back to tell me and I thought somethin' was wrong with how afraid she looked. I come out and its just you, devouring a cake in one sitting."
Cole vividly remembered that interaction and rolled his eyes affectionately as his cheeks colored.
"No need to be embarresed, Cole," Reader soothed, reaching to pat his hand. "It was funny, and not in a bad way."
Cole felt his grin grow. Reader was attentive and so direct that they rarely let misunderstandings last, and they were constantly checking on those around.
"Meh, I've had worse."
"Worse?" Reader raised an eyebrow but did not pry, though they were curious. Cole didn't mind and happily dove into one of the many stories he had.
Reader watched him so softly that he could practically feel himself melting. He was falling for the person who had no problem telling him the truth, never letting him fall into his own thoughts.
Jay Walker
Jay bounced in place as the line to the rollercoaster moved slowly forward. Reader, on the other hand, groaned, bored from having to wait in line so long when all she wanted to do was get on the rollercoaster.
"So, how'd Lloyd's new engine come out?" Jay asked, still bouncing on his toes.
Reader grinned, happy to talk about her baby, "Well, Nya came to pick it up last week so Lloyd could test it, and the video she sent . . . Dragons! It was going so fast, and the turns he made were so smooth! I was so proud of my baby!"
"Congrats! I wish I could've seen it," Jay complained, genuinly a little sad that he hadn't.
"Well, I've always got new projects and I wouldn't mind a test partner," Reader offered, grinning. Jay lit up in delight.
"You're kidding!"
"No way! Why would I kid about that?!"
"How many in your party?" The lady at the gate asked, looking bored to tears.
"Two," Jay answered, so she pointed to the first row.
Trying to hide their twin squeals of excitement they both bounded towards the front row, bouncing together as they waited for the next coaster to come in.
"Oh, this coaster is supposed to be the fastest and largest in Ninjago," Reader said, spitting out fact after fact that Jay was quick to build on.
"Yeah, they replaced the old track cause it got less popular."
Climbing in, the bar was pressed down over them until they were firmly wedged inside.
Jay happened to glance over at Reader, whose cheeks were flushed from excitement, eyes wide in anticipation, and could his heart stutter as his entire face went bright red. He didn't know he could fall for anyone again, especially after Nya.
But looking at Reader, who always let him be himself, instead of scolding him for being innapropriate at times of crisis, he knew he was falling for her. Falling for her looks, her quick wit, and her humor.
Lloyd Garmadon
Lloyd couldn't stop his eyes from flickering over Reader, whose legs were thrown into his lap as she read a comic. He'd hesitantly rested a hand on her calf but she hadn't reacted in any way, content to flick through the comic in her hands.
Unfortunately he hadn't been able to focus on his comic, too focused on how pretty Reader looked sparawled on the couch of their tiny apartment with the sun shining around them like a halo.
"You know, if you didn't want to read your comic, why'd you suggest we read," Reader teased, peering over her comic at him. He sputtered, face growing red as her smile grew bigger. Unable to keep it in any longer she busted out laughing, dropping her comic onto the coffee table. "I'm kidding, sweets."
Sweets. A nickname that she had begun using after watching him inhale a bag of gummy bears in less than 2 minutes. Everytime it rolled off her tongue, he could feel his cheeks heat up.
"Well, I didn't know what else you'd wanna do."
"Well . . ." Reader glanced to the side, pursing her lips in thought. "We could watch a scary movie."
"A scary movie? Hehe, good luck finding one that will scare me," Lloyd said, poofing out his chest. "I've seen all the spooky and scary in real life, nothing'll scare me."
The wide grin probably should have made him nervous but it just made his heart pound. Swinging her legs off the couch she headed over to her bookcase full of movies, searching for a specific dvd.
Annabelle.
An hour later when he was practically tucked into her side as he stared at the screen in fear, he couldn't even be dissapointed in himself. Reader had happily invited him to cuddle, so now she was tucked against his side, head on his shoulder as his head rested on hers.
Reader had, of course, laughed at him but her teasing had gone no further, simply offering him comfort. She'd even offered to change the movie but he didn't want to lose any more dignity than he already had.
Not that Reader would see him less. But he wanted to impress the girl who'd begun tugging at his heart just by smiling at him.
Morro
Morro quietly stepping into the bakery, finding Reader waiting for him already. Her gaze was on the same spot it always managed to fall on. The spot where Anya had been shot just over a month ago, losing her life in an effort to get away.
"Reader," Morro murmured, grabbing her by the shoulder to escort her out. Since the incident, Morro had felt indebted in a sense to at least check up on the girl who witnessed the murder of her coworker and friend, but it had grown into a friendship. Somehow.
"Sorry," She whispered, leaning into him slightly. Morro hummed, keeping an arm around her shoulders in comfort.
"How's your week been?"
"Difficult. I think I'm gonna switch to a new therapist," Reader admitted, glancing up at him.
Morro frowned, "Why?"
"He's just . . . He makes me uncomfortable and-and I know that they're going too but I can't . . ."
"If he does anything," Morro rasped, the nearby winds picking up in a quick demonstration that made Reader smile.
"I know. You'll kick his ass," Reader giggled, leaning up to press a sweet kiss against his cheek. Morro turned his head away a bit to hide the flush of his face.
Since they'd begun hanging out, Morro had learned how physically affectionate she was, something he'd never had any experience with.
"Come on," Morro grumbled, disguising the warmth he felt at the affection. "Ice cream place or bookstore?"
"Ice cream, then bookstore?"
Snorting, Morro nodded.
Giggling Reader happily picked up the pace, excited by the prospect of ice cream and books. Morro couldn't help but watch Reader softly, not even realizing how his face softened.
Since he'd gone through the Rift he'd struggled with touch of any kind unless he was fighting but when it was Reader the touch felt . . . comforting. Plus she understood bounderies and could read him surprisingly well, so she always seemed to know when she could and could not touch him.
For the past week anytime he thought of her, her snile, her laugh, her eyes, his heart would jump. It had taken him days to truly understand what he was feeling. Morro was falling for Reader, quickly and badly.
#Ninjago#kai smith x reader#kai smith#zane julien x reader#zane julien#cole brookstone x reader#cole brookstone#jay walker x reader#jay walker#lloyd garmadon x reader#lloyd garmadon#morro x reader#ninjago morro#ninjago fanfiction#ninjago headcanons
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Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 5)
Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)
A/N: I think we are staying on track for this to wrap up within two more chapters, but again, we are both in the dark if that's the case😂 Thank you guys for the love! If you are wanting to be tagged, please send me an ask. It's a lot easier for me to keep track of who's been added and who hasn't :)
_________
Y/N’s POV:
Okay, so maybe I blew up a little more than necessary, but I tried to chill out before he started chasing me, ordering that I didn’t walk away and talk to him. Let a girl try to get a hold of her emotions for a second big guy.
I’ve been anxious all day, waiting to talk to him about some deep seeded trauma, and then he comes and screws up all of it with a simple exception to an invitation. I know he didn’t mean harm by it, but he’s a trained professional. That was not a trained professional response. Plus, stepping out of my normal routine of being a bitch to him to keep him at a distance wasn’t just a switch I could flip.
Again, I could have handled that better, but now my brain is in mission mode, trying to reprogram what this night has set up for us. Considering the invitation was for tonight, it gave me little to no time to prepare.
“What time did she say dinner was?” I shouted from my bedroom, where I was going through our small, hidden arsenal of gadgets Tony had made for us.
“Six,” Bucky replied from his room down the hall.
Great, that was forty-five minutes from now… “Ok, I can do this.” Deciding it was best to keep some bugs on hand in case we could plant them in the house, and we would be planting them, I needed to consider sizes and placements.
“Should we bring over some wine or something?” Bucky’s voice was now in the doorway to my room, but I kept my back to him as I sifted through our tools.
“I made a pie earlier today. We can take that,” I answered absentmindedly.
“Why’d you make a pie?”
“Felt like it,” I shrugged and walked out of the closet with three small wires/ bugs in hand. When I looked up, I saw he had changed into a nicer button-up and was tightening a tie around his collar he hadn't been wearing earlier. “Why are you wearing a tie?” I examined him.
“Same reason you’re wearing a nicer dress. I want to make a good impression,” he shrugged, straightening pieces of his outfit.
“I’m wearing this because we were going to our ‘anniversary dinner,’” I made sure to put the lie in hand quotes. “I had a story that went with it, but this can pass as casual, too,” I motioned to my dress and moved toward him, placing the wires on the bed. “This looks like you’re about to give a sales pitch.”
Without thinking, I pop his collar up and loosen the tie to get rid of it. The whole time I’m focusing on untying it, I ramble about what the plan is for the night.
“I’m going to give you a wire to put wherever you see fit, and I’ll do the other two. I’ll excuse myself to use the bathroom and sneak it where it’s needed. I feel it’s important we look for cameras already in the house in case it’s a setup. We don’t need them having hard proof that we bugged their place. We want to come off as simple yet good assets if we want them to bring us on board for their work,” I struggle with a certain spot on the tie he somehow fixed in an efficient way I’d never seen. “Jesus, were you a sailor in another life? Might as well have knotted it.”
He doesn’t respond, but I get it off in the next two seconds and look at him to see he had been studying me intently as I invaded his space. I see my slip-up, push the tie into his chest, and take a step back.
“Sorry.”
“No problem,” he answers rather calmly, and I look at his eyes, seeing patience there. Always that damn patience. How did he still have it with me even with how I’ve treated him? “Listen-”
“About last night,” I say at the same time, and he seems shocked but gives a single nod to tell me to continue. “I want to say I’m sorry for being all over the place recently. From last night to thirty minutes ago.”
He seems frozen by my apology, and I became anxious enough that I start to word vomit.
“I took some time to think after last night and spent the day stressing, thinking how I was going to talk to you about it because I do want to. I want to get what I can out on the table if you’d be ok with that,” I look up through my lashes, and I see the most subtle turn of his lip as he watches me attentively.
“Are you hinting that there’s a chance I’ll get to see the side of you others are lucky enough to see?” he retorts, grin growing and taking a step closer to me.
His use of the word ‘lucky’ shortcircuits my brain, and all I can do is nod once, slowly, as my answer. He takes another step, and I match it with one back. I feel more vulnrable than I was expecting to.
“You can understand now why having our plans for the night changed made me slightly temperamental.”
“I think slightly may be an understatement.”
“I think you still should choose your words carefully,” I say, tightening my smile. However, it doesn’t shut him down like normal. Instead, he laughs under his breath, and the doorbell rings.
Both of our heads shoot toward the noise, and solemnity takes over the room.
“You don’t think that’s,” Bucky pauses as he turns back to me.
“How often am I wrong?” I take a deep breath in and smooth my dress out as I walk over, pausing beside him. “Hide the wires. I already did a sweep of the house while you were getting ready to make sure we didn’t have anything out of place. I’ll tell them you’re getting ready.”
I don’t need to open the door to know who it is, but when I do, the urge to yell, “I told you so!” in Bucky’s face is strong.
“Bethanne!” I smile kindly and immediately notice the dish in her hand. Reggie is behind her, holding two others, looking like he just got off work and had been dragged over here. “Did Beau tell me wrong? Are we not eating at y’all’s house tonight?”
She scrunches her face in a practiced motion and lifts the ceramic bowl up as she explains.
“I hate to ask this of you, but our oven is still the old rickety one. The new one had some faulty design, and we had to ship it back. Needless to say, it decided to give out on us today of all days,” she raised her shoulders. “I know we sprung the dinner on you suddenly, but would you two be willing to host if we provide the food?”
Not on the money of what I guessed, but pretty fucking close to the money if you ask me.
“Who is it, Doll?” Bucky’s voice carries from the hallway he’s now emerging from. The first three buttons on his dress shirt are undone, and he’s messing with the cuffs on the sleeves. “Hey, Bauers,” he smiles yet still holds shock in his features by the neighbor's appearance. “Did we get the time wrong?” he asks, looking at his watch before coming to my side, where I've now moved and am letting themselves in.
“No, no, no,” Bethanne shakes her head and hands off one of the pots to me as she takes one from Reggie, who looks more bothered to be here than happy. Long day human trafficking, asshole? “We had some appliance issues thanks to some of the renovations we were doing. I was just asking your wife if we can use your house as tonight's setting and possibly use your oven while here.”
Without hesitance, Bucky takes the dish from my hands and the dish Bethanne had swapped for and nods for Reggie to follow him.
“No problem at all. Let me help you ladies with that. Char," A nickname he had never used for my character before, but it seemed to work fluently. "Would you like to get some wine for the two of you while I get this organized in the kitchen?” he asks me, placing a kiss on the side of my head while his hands are full as he walks towards the other room.
I don’t know how he’s learned to play his role so well, but it’s convincing, even to me.
“Uh, yeah,” I almost stutter in my response as I motion for Bethanne to follow me to the wine cooler out in the garage. “Red or white with tonight's dish?”
"Do you have any more husbands like that in the back I can steal? What a gentleman," she coos, shoulder-bumping me.
___________
Half an hour of baking the food and getting it plated, and our conversation continued with questions mostly strictly about us, which would have been fine if not for the reason behind such invasive intentions.
They started off simple. How’d you guys meet? Who made the first move? What did we love about the town so far? What kind of hobbies and adventures did we take on before moving here? All questions we had prepared for, and if not, could easily improvise.
So far. No slip-ups. If anything, we sold the scheme far better than I’d imagined we would even when they became more personal. And our discussion on being the ‘prude couple’ last night seemed to affect Bucky’s actions a lot more than I was expecting.
An obvious hand on my thigh under the table and an arm thrown over my seat in a slightly possessive manner seemed to catch the eye of Reggie, who mimicked some of the moves as if it were a competition.
In addition, Bucky kept making small compliments about how I looked and how smart I was when they asked about my job. Dropping little comments about things I did (not my character) that he loved and appreciated.
“She’s always doing things like that. I almost never have to worry about making coffee in the morning because she has it all set up just to hit a button and go.”
“You should ask Charlotte about that! She’s the reason our house looks like a home. I’m sure she could give some advice on the kitchen backsplash.”
“She may not know how to boil an egg correctly, but her baking skills are unmatched. I've put on a few pounds now that we have a nice kitchen to spend time in."
I did my best not to act shocked every time he dropped a compliment, but the fact he could have made shit up for my character and used those details as conversation pieces, yet he went the honest way (although more convincing, of course), shocked me.
“Speaking of baking skills,” Reggie nodded his head back to the kitchen counter behind us and smiled at me. “I spied a pie on the counter. Any chance we can have that to finish off this dinner?”
I was still staring at Bucky from his last form of appreciation when I blinked out of my distraction and returned to our neighbor.
“Oh, of course! I was just about to offer,” I smiled, standing up, and Bucky quickly stood next to me, pulling my chair out. “Thank you.” I smiled at him and placed a hand on his arm as I moved around to the counter.
“How sweet. Oh, Charlotte, would you mind telling me where the bathroom is?” Bethanne asked, standing and giving her husband a look for not showing the same chivalry as Bucky.
I watched her, knowing that I would have used the same excuse to do what we planned to at their house. But I was two steps ahead of her.
“Of course! Beau, do me a favor and get some plates out for dessert. I’m going to show Beth-”
“Oh, I’m sure I can find it,” she waved off, coming around the table and moving to the hall promptly.
Yeah… Not without a chauffeur, honey.
“No problem,” I waved off, moving with her casually. “I need to grab some floss from my bathroom before dessert. I’ll show you to it.”
I can see the most subtle glaze of annoyance at my insistence, but she smiles and walks a step ahead of me.
I show her to the bathroom and make it seem I’m going into the master down the hall while she’s in there. And I do, but I keep an eye to make sure she isn’t snooping in any other room besides the one. We’ll have to survey it after they leave, but better that and the dining room than the whole house.
Once we’re back with the boys, no wandering to be done, Bucky helps me plate a slice of chocolate pie for each of us, and I offer to move the conversation to the porch. Any kind of redirection from the comfort of the inside of our home is welcome.
“I love how you’ve decorated your porch. It’s so cozy,” Bethanne notices, pointing out the colorful decorative pillows, hanging swing the size of a daybed, and loads of plants and decor that make the space more intimate. She and Reggie are sat on the two rocking chairs facing the front yard, and Bucky and I are sat close together on the swing, where he’s controlling the tempo we sway in.
“I always wanted a spot outside to escape. We didn’t really have that at our last home, and it was important for me to have this time around,” I replied.
My answer is actually very true. I loved being outside, especially when it was something as simple as sitting in the backyard or swinging on a porch. I had one requirement about this mission, one I’m not even sure Bucky knew about. But I asked Tony to supply a nice budget for the porch.
Call it cheesy, but growing up in such an unnatural and dehumanizing way, you crave a small part of that normalcy you see on the movie screens. For some reason, a porch I could escape on but still be within the comfort of my own home was a dream. And because it was, I thought I’d make this situation a little more bearable by granting that small wish I always had.
“Well, I may have to start budgeting for a new kind of renovation,” she patted Reggie’s back, and he gave her a tight-lip smile. "What do you say, Reg? Do you think we can get a swing like that one?” She smiled over at us just as Bucky pulled me into his side, his arm going around my waist and his hand resting on my hip bone.
“I have a feeling we might as well have built a home from scratch by the time you’re happy with the renovations we’ve taken on,” Reggie answered with a nod before taking a swig from his beer. “Get that recipe for the pie from Charlotte, and I’ll consider buying you a new porch,” he winked my way and turned back to the front of our lawn.
I instantly found Bucky’s hand tightening, and his thumb started rubbing in an up-and-down pattern along my hip. When I turned to him slightly, his gaze stayed on Reggie.
Before finishing cleaning up for the night, we said goodbye to our guests, and just when we thought we hadn’t made any headway in our conversation about work (mind you, we had dropped hints and notices about it all night, but neither of the two seemed to take the bait), Reggie stopped on the last step to our porch and turned to Bucky.
“You mentioned working in transportation, and by the sounds of your new job up here, if you’re interested in a more innovative place, I may have some ins for you,” he shook Bucky’s hand. “I have some coworkers around the states that could use some employees like you on their route.”
“I may take you up on that offer. It all depends on how this week rolls out,” Bucky answered perfectly. The Bauers said their goodbyes, and we watched them walk home before turning to each other.
In a silent celebration, we grinned at the invitation and then sent wordless glances to tread carefully when we got in before scoping the place for bugs…
_______________
Bucky’s POV:
I’m not surprised that the blonde sole cycle instructor of a neighbor was able to get a wire in our bathroom, but neither Y/N nor I were in the mood to remove it right away and give away our knowledge of it, so we each grabbed another drink for the night and debriefed subtly on the porch where the only bugs we had to mind were the crickets chirping their music for the night.
Bethanne was right. Our porch was nicely done, and I hadn’t even noticed Y/N had hung lights out here until she plugged them in.
“I feel like this spot is more put together than the rest of the house.” I noticed the details when we were out here earlier. Now, we both have taken up spots in the rocking chairs our neighbors had vacated.
“I may have focused more of my attention on this spot than the others,” she smiled as she brought a tumbler glass up to her lips. She had drank wine while Bethanne was here, but as soon as they were gone, the whiskey I had made a glass for myself was stolen out of my hand before I could take a sip. Now, we had each of our own.
“Was what you said about the porch a real thing? I mean, we have balconies at the compound,” I looked at her as I sat my drink on the small table between us.
“Balconies and porches aren’t the same. At least in my head, they aren’t,” she nodded, taking a deep sigh and resting her glass in her lap. “Did you mean what you said when you were complimenting me all night?” She lulled her head to the side to look at me.
I had been making compliments. It felt easier to use the ones I had picked up on than the ones I made up. Yet again, I think anyone should get the recognition they deserve when they excel in something. Y/N just tended to excel in more than I think she was aware of. And I was learning she didn’t seem to be used to people taking note of those things.
“Why lie?” I shrugged, starting to rock in a steady pattern.
“Because that’s this whole gig. A lie,” she answered, taking another pull of the hard liquor.
I considered her perspective and shook my head, looking out to the lights on the other side of the street. “I guess it gets tiring at points. Don’t really feel like doing it if the truth can be just as usable.”
She didn’t answer for quite a few seconds, and when I turned back to her, she was staring at me like she was waiting for another shoe to drop.
“How are you so patient? Seriously, is it a drug Tony made you before you had to deal with me on this mission? I don’t get it,” she laughs, but I can hear the genuine confusion in it as she sits forward and turns her body to me.
Honesty. I’m in a mood to be 100% honest.
“Want me to be real with you?” I asked, turning my own body.
“It’d be preferred,” she nods and rests both her arms on the armrest.
“I don’t know anything about your past, but I know most people have a reason for acting the way they do. It took years and a ton of patience before I felt like I was even close to who I used to be. I still struggle to come to terms with the fact I’ll never be who I was before the train incident,” I sigh and rest my head back against the chair as I look at her. “I guess I have understanding more than patience. I understand that you have a history of your own that I don’t know, and I can’t blame you for a lot of the things you do.”
“But you should. I’m an asshole to you,” she says, and the admission is kinda nice to hear, even if it is sad.
“Yeah, and I was hoping you’d be willing to share why that is,” I reply calmly.
She tenses some and sits back in her chair, pulling her legs under her to sit crisscrossed, the chair rocking with her movement and her dress overflowing past her knees.
“I guess now is as good a time as ever…” She looked at me sidelong before finding comfort in the view in front of her instead. “I didn’t really have a chance to develop a personality of my own because of my time in this lifestyle,” she motions around her, “started as soon as I could walk. So I had no identity to fall back on since I had to find it after I escaped.”
I had questions, but I found it best just to listen. Clearly, what she was talking about wasn’t something she brought up lightly, and being an ear to listen was what she needed right now.
“I was left behind by whichever no-good parent gave me up, and Adonis Hummel took me as his own and decided he’d try to recreate the famous assassin, The Winter Solider, from birth practically.”
The name drop came quickly and struck home. I didn’t know her whole story, but I had enough imagination and experience to believe where she was going.
“Wait, Hummel?” I started because the name sounded familiar, but…
“He was a low-level scientist who worked for Hydra when they were still using you under Pierce. He thought he had the brains and resources to create his own version of you. A version that would be more undetectable as a woman and a version he could tweak however he wanted,” she rolled her shoulders. “Lucky for him, I didn’t have to be brainwashed since I knew nothing besides the life of abuse, experimentation, and a shit ton of conditioning... "
"To clarify, I say that for context, not sympathy,” she straightened, and I could see her shifting back to her unbothered disposition, but the truth was shining through the cracks. She may not have wanted sympathy, but something about the vulnerability seemed to lighten the load on her shoulders.
“As for why I may have built a wall around you, an unhealthy and senile wall, I felt as though…” She gulped as if the next part was harder for her to say than the abuse of her past. “I felt as though you had been my competition my whole life, and a part of me, a young and in-need-of-therapy part of me, thought it was best to keep you as far away as possible and hold onto that anger instead of work through it. It felt easier than facing the fear that I didn’t actually equate to you in any way. So that’s another reason why I felt everything with you was to prove a point.” She lets out a short breath after using all the air in her lungs in one swift swoop.
I-
It’s a lot to take in…
She doesn’t move her head back towards me after her confession, and I can’t seem to break my stare from her.
“This is where you say something like, ‘Well, it’s your lucky day. I’m actually an asshole either way, so we can go on hating each other for completely understandable reasons!’ or I don’t know? Anything but silence would be preferred, though…”
Her hand is gripping the arm rest unconsciously like an anchor keeping her on earth.
On instinct, I reach across and pull her hand into mine, keeping my stare heavy, enticing her to look at me.
She closes her eyes at first and takes another short breath before turning.
“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unworthy of being on the team.” I feel like I personally am the reason for her suffering, even if I had no correlation with her before I joined the team. "You are more than an asset to the team and are your own kind of weapon. It's incomparable."
“Ugh,” she sniffles and rubs an eye with the heel of her free hand as if to disguise a possible tear as allergies. “This would be so much easier if you were a piece of shit misogynistic asshole, but you're part of the few good ones out there. Steve, Sam, and Clint included, not Tony,” she noted.
I smiled, thinking about how I’d make a team like that even if she had me believe otherwise for so long.
“What I’m trying to get at, B, is you’re not the one I should be blaming for my past. You’re just as much a victim as I am, but I took the easy way out of making it more manageable for me, and I only made it harder for us both in the end. And for that,” she turned and stared into my eyes fully, the hand she held squeezing my own. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve an ounce of the kind of cruelness I tried to bury you in. You are the opposite of what they tried to make you, and you’re genuine in proving that to anyone who meets you. I've been envious of the strength you have, and I can say confidently that I deeply regret ever blaming you for that.”
I once again have to process yet another collection of words I’d never thought I hear. From her. Ever. A part of me believed this was a dream, but the part that Y/N had a grip on was practically pinching me into reality.
Without hesitating, I stood up, pulled her arm up with me, and yanked her into my body in a crushing hug.
She froze at first… The motion was quick and surprising, but slowly, she unhooked our hands, brought both of hers tightly around my waist, and laid into me. I rested my head on top of hers and pulled her shoulders in with my arms, wrapping both of my own tightly around her.
I wasn’t going to let go until she did, and by the looks of it… She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
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percolator..// ∘* e. jaeger
୭̥⋆*｡ summary: in which eren can't keep his mouth off you, literally
୭̥⋆*｡ cw: established relationship, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, voice kink, eren cums in his pants, penetrative sex (+suggestive), we in the car..// wc. 1.4k
୭̥⋆*｡ notes: hi guysss, miss me?
“thought it was just gonna be a little.” you moan as your tear glazed eyes peer down at eren whose head is slotted perfectly between your thick thighs. after giving eren the most ridiculous head he’s ever received in the back of your car he just had to return the favor. he laid you down in the back, and pushed your panties to the side as his tongue dropped out of his mouth eagerly ready to make work of your insides.
“this,” he slurps up your juices on his tongue, “this is just a little.” he smirks.
“eren…” you quietly moan as your hips buck up into his mouth. your eyes cross in your head and you’ve got your hands balled in tight fist that push into the plushness of your hips. he likes to hear the pleasure on your tongue. it makes the rutting of his hard cock into the soft pink cushion of your car seats more pleasurable. he shouldn’t even be hard after the thick loads of cum he spilled into your throat, but he’s just so worked up.
he’s real good at making your pretty little clit perk up too. he can’t be the only one whose getting off — he loves to tell you how horny he gets from making you cum cause you just happen to look the prettiest when you’re cumming for him.
“yes, princess?” he smirks right against your cunny and swipes his tongue up over his lips. “mmm, i don’ know,” you grab on to his hair, and try to push him away from being so close. his nose purposely nudges against your clit and his fingers are striking a ferocious match that sparks up inside. it makes your body jerk as you feel a steady surge of pleasure wire through your body.
“rennie,” you whimper and it comes out as a squeal towards the end, “mmph — feels like ‘m gonna pee—” he nearly shoots up from his position, because you’ve gone through this before. a moment in your pleasure where you were so come over, and showered with pleasure that a clear liquid gushed right out of your pussy, and eren was on the receiving end drinking everything up — not allowing a single drop to slip by.
“that’s not what it is, princess,” he peers up at you, and at the same time you look back at him through tear heavy lashes, and eyes. you hiccup back a sultry moan, and eren’s ears tingle as he laps at your pussy like a starved dog. “jus’ means,” he slurps up, “— jus’ means your fucking pussy feels good.”
“d-don’t say it like that.” you shudder. you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, but you continue to grind your pussy against his hot tongue. you feel yourself fluttering as you near your orgasm.
“don’t be embarrassed,” he comes up for a bit of air, “want it all right here, princess.” he points to his mouth, and attaches it back to your clit as he sucks on it. he takes his middle and index fingers and massages your plush, soppy folds between them; making sure to squeeze them together a bit harder when he’s up at your pretty pink clit.
“e-ren,” you mewl weakly.
“babyyy.” he groans back. his hips thrust into the cushions a bit harder and his eyes roll into the back of his head. you just taste too good, and smell so fucking good he’s losing his mind. if your car was bigger he’d fold you up right now, and fuck his seed into you. he can only think about how adorable you puffy cheeks would look with a bunch of tears running down them.
he takes two of his digits, and steadily pushes them into your folds. there’s a bit of resistance from your hole, but he’ll get ‘em in. he looks like a madman; with strands of hair sticking to his face, and some of them fly lose from his bun. all of his hair nearly rest on his shoulders ready to abandon the weak hair tie he had it tied back with. “you’re squeezing tight, baby.”
he takes a moment to stare at your hole, “pussy’s so pretty ‘n pink.” the low grumble of words travels to your ears making you clench a bit tighter, “you like that?“ he giggles as he pushes his fingers in a bit more — just a couple more inches. the warmth of your insides are pleasurable along with the gentle throbbing he begins to feel as your pussy swallows up his fingers.
“gotta let me in, i wanna feel you.” he groans. your bodies burn hot in unison. “ ‘m tryin,” you moan back. “i know, baby.”
his fingers finally make it in, and when they do he curls them up. the long digits stroke at that spongy spot that makes you go fucking dumb. it makes your legs spread a bit wider, and has you fucking his hands with a slutty whine of your hips. “oh — my fuck!” you scream out.
he continues to lap at your clit with a calm flick of his tongue. you quickly crumble from both forms of pleasure. “r-ren.” you stutter weakly as you feel him, hungrily pulling your arousal right out of you. “that’s it, princess. all on my tongue.” he grins. your fingers twirl around the strands of hair as you bring his face impossibly closer to your pulsing heat. he slurps it up like soup, and his tongue swipes in between your folds; licking up any and everything that seeps out. but as you think you’re nearing an end you feel something knocking against your tummy.
it feels real warm and it doesn’t help that eren’s got your clit setting perfectly in between his puffy pink lips. he sucks gently at the nub as his fingers rush in and out of you filling up the car with the pure sound of how sloppy you get when his mouth gives your pussy some fucking attention. you try to push his head back, but he won’t let up. he’s not letting your heightened sensitivity escape him. “aht, aht,” he mumbles, “just a little more—“,
the last twirl of his tongue against your clit has you squirting all over his tongue. the clear liquid gushes out in cute spurts and eren’s dick throbs insanely hard. you attempt to push his head away, moaning endlessy as your body jerked. you wanted to scream out so bad, but you mouth just hung open with your tongue lolled right out the side. witnessing you trying to run from over stimulation makes the cum in his balls trickle from his tip. it makes him grind his leaking cock into the seats so much harder.
makes him wince out a pitiful, “fuckkk, baby — makin’ me cum.”
he groans into your pussy as his hot cum begins to taint his boxers, and on top of him being nose deep in your cunny — he’s in euphoria. your moans are a lustful gift to his ear, and it makes him all the more happier that he records these little sessions. gives him good material to fuck his hand too when he just can’t get your cute pouty face out of his head. better yet, when he thinks about how he has to look down at you, when he rest his chin on the top of your head and gets a face full of curls. the scent of coconut wafting up into his face.
when he gets to hold your waist in his hands, and sink his fingers ginto the fat of your stomach and next thing you know he’s humping you, because you feel so fucking soft and he just can’t help himself, and how horny he gets. but the way you look down at him now is too inviting. how your looking down at him again between your legs with your lip trembling between your teeth, hissing as he licks your clit again.
“tha’s enough — eren.” you squeal. he disregards how you tremble in the back seat and how you clasp your thighs tight around his head. but he knows how to handle you — he knows he’s so much stronger than you and he can easily pry your thick thighs back open. “can’t run from me.” he huffs.
“look how messy you made me.” he motions down to the giant wet spot in his sweats and you open your eyes wide as you still see the fat outline of his heavy cock. “gonna fuck you,” he grunts as he slips his sweats down with one hand and leads your calves to rest on his shoulders. he rubs the bottoms of your cute little feet, and kisses the souls of them before he’s now focused on your soppy pussy.
he grabs his cock and taps the tip right in between your folds. he pushes it right in between them and watches them part for him. he rubs his tip between them for a little bit until he angles it down and lines it up with your hole.
“you’re just too pretty not to fuck,” he gasps as he bottoms out, “take it like a good girl for me, yeah?”
“yes! hmm - i will daddy.”
#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger#eren x black reader#eren jaeger x reader smut#eren jaeger x reader#eren aot#sin2.0
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