#“detective. your hat.” situation
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i dont think beheeyem yamask wore his hat/mask for a while after he had first become a ghost...
#victory star casino tag#victini#yamask#my art#caption to say that thats why yamasks actually shocked that vic was able to recognize him without running into a#“detective. your hat.” situation#hes not wearing his old face#+he(like a lot of people) kind of assumed that vic would be careless enough of a mythical to not pay much attention to mortals ykwim...
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i’ve never really seen dark and unhinged reader x 141 tbh
You know, anon. I am not one to write an unhinged or dark reader. Not that it hasn't ever occured to me, but I just haven't written it. So, to you, I tip my hat for pushing me out of my comfort zone a little bit. I figured that if I was going to write a reader that is dark and unhinged, then I'm going for it. All in. Give me the blood and gore. I want it all. No limits.
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings: Stalker AU, Serial Killer AU, Detective AU, Cartel AU, canon-typical violence, descriptions of bodily injury, surveillance, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), arranged marriage, creampie, oral sex, knife play, gunplay, brief blood consumption, hostage situations, abductions, using a knife as a dental instrument
Word Count: 3.2k
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John "Soap" MacTavish (Detective/Serial Killer AU)
“Need some company?”
While it’s a question, you don’t really intend for the man to answer. You sit yourself on the stool at the bar, one arm resting against the polished wood.
His dreary demeanor shifts, morphing into interest.
“That’d be lovely,” he replies.
The Scottish lilt to his voice is downright sexy. Your smile grows. There is real attraction in it, even if your purpose is nefarious. This conversation is no accident. You did not stumble into this specific bar on the off chance that you’d find the exact man you’ve been looking for.
No. Not a coincidence.
You’ve been stalking Detective MacTavish for the last couple of weeks. It’s not because you want to fuck him—although that is very much on the table now that you’re sitting here—but because this man is hunting a killer.
Not just any killer.
He’s hunting you.
But not you. Because he doesn’t know. No one does.
At least, not yet. That’s why you’re here after all. To worm your way in, to find out if they’re close to fracturing it all, and bringing you in.
By the appreciative look on Detective MacTavish’s face, you suspect that you’re likely in the clear. Yet knowing for sure won’t hurt anything. Plus, Detective MacTavish is easy on the eyes. Having a bit of fun and playing with your food first won’t hurt anything.
“What are you drinking?”
“Scotch.”
“A gentleman’s drink,” you reply softly, almost a coo.
The smirk on his face widens into a devious grin. “Cheeky.” He downs the rest and gestures at the bartender. “Two. One for the lass here.”
When the glass appears before you, you scent it first, enjoying the smoky aroma. You take a sip. It bites—but it’s delicious.
“You like it?” he asks.
You slowly run your tongue over your lip. It’s a calculated move. Seductive. Detective MacTavish notices, his gaze following your tongue like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
“Puts some hair on my chest,” you reply, smiling against the glass as you take another sip.
Detective MacTavish laughs. It’s genuine and sweet. Casually, you scan his body. No wedding ring. But that doesn’t mean much. Public records showed no marriage certificates or even divorce papers.
Not that it would matter. This is about saving your ass.
“To be honest, I’ve been watching you.”
Detective MacTavish cocks an eyebrow. “Watching me?”
In more ways than you know.
“I always walk by here on my way home from work. Sometimes I stop. Sometimes I don’t. Always see you though. On Tuesday and Thursday.” You shrug casually. “Thought I’d finally stop in. Have a drink with you.”
“That’s bold.”
“It is,” you agree. You present your hand and introduce yourself.
“John MacTavish. Friends call me ‘Soap.’”
“Why is that?” you ask, placing your chin in your hand.
You already know, but you want to hear what his version is.
“Got it while serving in the military.”
“So, a secret then?”
He nods. “You could say that.”
You give him your best smile. “And what will it take to get you to spill a few secrets?”
Turns out, not much.
Detective MacTavish groans loudly, his skin glossy with sweat. You take him deeper into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head as you lazily suck. He is a gorgeous specimen. Solid, thick muscle in all the right places.
You retreat slowly, lips tightening to suck a bit harder before his cock pops from your mouth.
The next moan from his lips is sweet. Pushing upward with your hands, you lean into him, and he greets you, lips meeting. The kiss is brief and sweet, and then it becomes anything but. Detective MacTavish grabs the back of your neck and drags you against him, deepening the kiss until you’re breathless.
“Get on your back, lass,” he growls.
You obediently do so, spreading your legs in invitation.
The condom goes on and then he’s inside you again. Detective MacTavish has stamina, and you’re near the breaking point. He pants above you, thrusting perfectly deep, making your toes curl. Your legs settle against him, thighs cradling his hips as skin meets skin.
He dives in for another kiss, and then you’re gone. Completely wrecked.
The orgasm claws its way up to the surface, bursting from your throat to saturated his mouth. Detective MacTavish swallows down the moan, staunching the noise with his own pleasure.
It ends with the two of you tangled up. Sweaty. Chests heaving. Eyelids heavy with lust.
“They call me ‘Soap’ because of who well I clean out a place.” His voice is a but rough—a little husky. It’s sex-laced and perfectly content.
“I’m guessing that doesn’t mean you’re a beast with a mop and bucket.”
MacTavish chuckles. “Aye. I’m good with that, too.”
You turn over in his arms, the two of you gently stroking the other until sleep creeps in. At least, for him it does. Once he’s settled and snoring, you slip from the bed, moving silently into the kitchen.
On the table are stacks of files. Carefully, you open each one, scanning them until you find what you’re looking for. It’s the case file on your hits. You comb through it, but there is nothing about you. Not a peep. And the possible list of suspects are just characteristics. They think it’s some middle-aged white man. How fucking wrong they are.
Gently, you return the file where you found it, slipping back into the bedroom.
No. You don’t need to kill Detective MacTavish. Not yet.
You can still have a bit of fun.
John Price
Every step is a second lost, yet ground gained.
Like a swarm of wasps, bullets fly past Price, striking concrete. Little chunks fly, and then whole pieces go airborne.
Price dives. Rolls. Lands back on his feet.
It’s hell on his knees, and fucking worse on his back, but he hardly feels it. The goal is retrieval. The goal is to find you alive.
Teammates don’t leave each other behind. If one falls, they go back, even if it’s later down the line. You pick them up. Drag them if you fucking have to.
The thing is, you aren’t lost.
Just taken. A hostage.
The wankers that took you didn’t make it far. You’ve only been gone for forty-eight hours. Not long, but long enough that anything could have happened.
Price doesn’t want to linger on it. Doesn’t want to think about what may or may not have occurred while you’ve been away. Doing that won’t help things. It will only take his mind off the task ahead. His focus needs to be on you and you alone.
Price’s heart hammers in his chest. It thumps so loud it nearly drowns out the buzzing of the flying metal. Sweats sticks to his brow, rubbing against his helmet.
Lifting his rifle, John pulls the trigger twice.
A sharp cry followed by a spray of dark red paints the surrounding area in a pretty little arc.
“Do you have a visual?” asks Price into the comms.
Ghost’s reply is immediate. “No, sir.”
Sighing, Price peers over the barrier he’s hiding behind.
Nothing.
No sound. No movement.
Slowly, Price emerges, rifle raised. Each step is a stalk, a predator seeking prey. Price will happily empty more lead into the next person that crosses his path.
Entering the next room, he finds this one empty. There are stacks of crates but nothing else. The only thing of note is a door in the far wall. It is plain and unassuming. Price heads for it.
Reaching out, he curls his gloved hand around the handle. He pushes down, quickly pulls back, opening it wide before aiming the firing end of his rifle into the opening.
No one emerges.
No one stirs.
But of course, they wouldn’t.
There is a secondary door behind this. It is solid and made of metal with a keypad. Price enters the code he got from intel and the door beeps, the light turning green.
It swings open, and inside is a bloodbath.
In the middle of the room is a simple, plain table. It’s unpolished, rough wood. Untreated and left to the elements. There are stacks of cards and beer bottles on top, and not much else.
Of the four chairs, only one is occupied.
But the occupant has no head.
It’s not blown off. It’s sawed off. Placed in the middle of the table.
The three other people who must have occupied the chairs are strewn across the room. Some are gutted, insides around their downed corpses like they were yanked out by a rabid animal.
Price steps around them, his boots touching more blood than concrete floor.
“I have four down. Maybe more.”
“You have a visual on her?” comes Ghost’s response.
“No,” replies Price, throat suddenly dry.
He sweeps the room, but no one comes out to fire at him, or to try and halt his progress. It is entirely quiet.
The light overhead flickers. Price turns, noticing another door. This one stands open, revealing a flight of stairs.
Price approaches, and stops at the top.
There is another body here. It’s near the top, arms outstretched, fingers digging like they tried to claw themselves forward. Price steps around it and nearly slips in the blood.
It’s fucking everywhere.
All over the place.
He descends, exiting out into another room, this one much smaller than the previous one.
At first, Price keeps his rifle raised, but then he lowers it, back straightening.
You are there. In the middle of the room.
Sitting.
Sitting atop a large pile of corpses. Your left boot digs into the top of someone’s skull, but you don’t seem to notice. You’re humming a little tune, almost whistling.
There is blood in your hair. Blood on your face.
It is under your nails and soaked into your clothes.
Leaning back, you curl back your lip, the tip of the knife coming to rest between two teeth as you dig something out.
Price swears he sees bloody chunks there, too.
Something comes out, and Price flinches.
Only then do you glance up.
"Took you long enough, Captain."
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick (Cartel AU)
There’s a body on the floor.
Not yours. And not Kyle’s.
A competitor. A rival.
You brought the man before Kyle. Tracked him down. Dragged him up for execution.
When the original marriage deal was drawn up, Kyle thought he’d get a pretty face with nice tits that would keep his dick wet and give him some sons to carry on the family legacy.
You do keep his dick wet. But you’re not a spoiled cartel daughter.
Oh, no.
You’re a serpent. A viper.
You are venom and steel.
With you, there is an equal. There is a companion. There is a woman who will give him what he needs to carry on but will happily pull the trigger to see it done.
You are just as fucking bloodthirsty as he is.
Kyle twists his wrist, observing the barrel.
The body on the floor is twisted and broken. The bullet was a mercy.
He glances up, notices the knife you’re holding. At first, you’re not looking at Kyle. You’re staring at the dead man with a blank face. But Kyle reaches out, brushing his thumb across your cheek, smearing red.
You turn then, smiling.
“Open your mouth,” he murmurs.
You do so, presenting your tongue. Kyle slides the barrel over your tongue, and then it’s in your mouth. He fucks your mouth with it, and you take it happily. Kyle grabs the front of your throat, turning you away from the scene on the ground.
The knife goes up, presses against his neck.
“Fucking do it, love.”
Your lips are suctioned around the barrel of the gun. Eyes wicked. Knowing. The knife slowly slides upwards, the flat side pressing against Kyle’s lips. He parts his lips, licks off some of the blood.
Kyle eases his hand on your throat, and the gun slowly slides out with a wet pop.
“Show me that pretty pussy.”
Kyle drops his hand, and you saunter backward. Leaning back on the low table, you present yourself, legs spread, pussy bare for him.
He presses the barrel of the gun to your pussy.
“Safety on?” you ask.
Kyle shrugs, and then he thrusts forward a bit, the barrel breaching. You moan loudly, and Kyle gives you more. He moves it in and out of your pussy, watching it appear and disappear, becoming slicker with your juices.
You whimper, and Kyle retreats, placing the gun on the table. Reaching for the knife you discarded, Kyle runs the flat edge over his palm, removing the blood.
Pressing his palm to your mouth, you lick it off—lick him clean as Kyle undoes the front of his pants.
It doesn’t matter that there is a dead man in the room.
Possibly dead.
Kyle didn’t really look. He just shot. He might have missed something vital. The guy isn’t moving but he must still be slightly aware. In pain. The very idea fuels his erection.
Kyle is inside you and thrusts in seconds, every stroke frantic and needy. You take it all, fingernails clawing at him, tearing at his clothes and likely breaking skin.
When you grin, there is blood in your teeth. Kyle matches the smile, and then he’s kissing you, tasting you and the gore. It is salty. Tangy. And you are sweet.
It sends him right over.
His lower back tightens, and then he’s grinding forward, flooding your pussy with his release. Kyle feels it dripping out and around him.
The kisses slow. Becoming soft.
Your fingers lightly brush against his cheek.
Kyle leans in for one more kiss, but a groan comes from somewhere behind him. You glance over his shoulder, the middle of your brow furrowing.
Without taking your eyes off the man, you reach for the gun.
Simon "Ghost" Riley (Stalker AU)
It’s gorgeously easy. You’re oblivious. A perfect victim.
Ghost will ensnare you in his trap and reel you in until you can’t untwine yourself from him. You will become him. You will have no identity. No want or desire that isn’t dipped with his own.
The shadows are his friend. Ghost sticks to the dark, lingering near corners, observing from afar.
You are so oblivious. So adorable.
Breaking you will be sweet. Delicious.
You live on the outskirts of the city. The house isn’t much on the outside. It is the interior where you’ve curated a space just for yourself. You’ve done an excellent job fixing it up.
At least, Ghost thinks so. He’s been inside a few times. Pressed your clothes against his balaclava just to inhale your scent. Sometimes he’d just walk around, picking things up only to place them elsewhere for you to find. It always makes you uneasy when you come home and everything feels a bit off.
It isn’t the only thing Ghost has done while alone in your home. There are gifts he’s left behind. Cameras, actually. He’s been watching you for months now. Learning your habits. Memorizing your routes and schedules.
Tonight is the end of your work week. There are two full days where you won’t be missed. Ghost plan on taking full advantage of every minutes.
Each step leads him closer. Pulls him nearer.
When you enter your home, he waits a full five minutes before approaching from the back, heading for the patio door. In his pocket is a copy of your house key. He retrieves it, sliding it into the lock.
It clicks as he slowly turns it, and the door gives way without it’s usual screech of resistance. He fixed it when he entered your home to tap your cell phone.
Ghost softly shuts the door behind him, crouching slightly as he observers the space around him. All the lights are off except for a small lamp in the living room. From his vantage point in the kitchen, Ghost can hardly see it. The light only reaches so far, and he is still in shadow.
You are not in the kitchen, and as he stalks into the living room, you are not there either. The little office you have on this floor is also empty. The second floor is his best bet. That will make it easier, too. The only way for you to run from him is down the stairs or to leap from a window. The drop isn’t far but he can’t see you risking yourself like that.
As Ghost turns the corner to ascend the staircase, he comes to an abrupt stop.
Next to the front door is the coat closet. It stands open, all the items inside pushed off to either end, revealing a wall.
But not a wall. No.
It’s another door.
This one stands open, and from it comes an artificial, almost white-blue light.
Frowning, Ghost approaches, pausing to glance back into the rest of the house. You are not there. And you don’t linger at the stop of the stairs.
It is still dark. Still absent of you.
Ghost takes a step inside.
Another. Then, another.
The darkness around him gives way to the light. And it is artificial.
At first, Ghost doesn’t understand. Not completely. It’s just a room. A room with no other doors. No windows. On the opposite side—the far side—are computer monitors. The wall is full of them, nearly floor to ceiling. There’s a small desk in front of them and a folding chair.
The light comes from above.
“I know you’re watching me.”
Ghost spins, finding you in the opening of the doorway.
“I’ve been watching you, too.”
You hold something in your hand. It is black and square. Your thumb brushes over it, and then more light floods the room, coming from behind him. Ghost turns just enough to glance over his shoulder.
The monitors are on. And each one shows something of his.
Every room of his flat. The interior of his car. His place of work. Ghost’s favorite pub. Even the corner store he shops at.
“I didn’t have enough time to prepare a room. But I will! I promise!”
You sound so sweet—so earnest, as if you mean every word.
Ghost turns fully toward you. His muscles clench, and then he’s walking, aiming for you and the doorway.
You jump back, and then the door is closing in his face.
You are too quick, and Ghost’s hands slam against solid metal.
“Sorry!” you say, voice muffled. “I’ll let you out soon. But only if you’re good!”
taglist:
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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 7 part 3
(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])
(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])
chat what would be *your* reaction if you woke up and found agatha straddling you? (love that she has sensible pants under the skirt)
this is what sex after 50 looks like ladies, take notes
regular timeline: lilia has already joined the trial and was just doing a reading for billy.
lilia's pov: this is the first time she sees billy after he kinda sorta tried to kill her
this delivery from sasheer destroys me
lilia goes from anger to shock to recognition while billy reads her mind and responds to her thoughts
billy sounds so young here. of course he would have saved alice, if he could. of course he's reading her thoughts: he can't help it. he cannot help any of this. it's up to his coven to help and guide him, it was never the other way round.
now that the sigil is gone, lilia recognizes the lost boy from three years ago. not a scary monster, not the son of the scarlet witch. just a boy in a lot of trouble.
and look what jen does here. now that she knows what lilia's going through, she can step in and help her along
meanwhile agatha is making a scene, per usual. and lol she puts the hat back on, she really likes that outfit
love how jen is now 100% lilia's champion. same, girl, same
and jen being jen, she doesn't coddle or anything, she's very practical. she's like, hey girl, focus! you were in the middle of something important. I got your back and I'm going to fill the gaps for you. we can do this together.
yes I know babe the glinda halloween costume is cultural appropriation. could be worse. jen's dressed as snow white's fugly witch forchrissake.
does she have an eye on her crown? that's so neat
THIS shot. billy supporting lilia with his physical strength. jen supporting lilia with her no nonsense attitude. hell, even agatha just jumped in to save her from the falling sword.
agatha realising all that lilia did to protect billy. but also detective agnes getting another precious clue re: billy getting a new body.
lilia cast the sigil to protect billy from any external threats, and to give him the time to adjust to the shock of a new body and new life. again, lilia knew this was the son of the scarlet witch, someone that on paper terrified her. but when she actually met billy, she didn't see danger. she saw a young member of her own community in an impossible situation, and she stepped in. you know if she had met agatha as a teenager in salem she would have done the same thing.
pay attention now. lilia needs to find out what was her past/future self's mistake while reading for billy.
something interesting happens: while looking for answers, she jumps in rapid succession to episode 5 and episode 2. stop, stop, stop, stop, she repeats, like she is trying, for the first time, to direct her jumping. before, she was just a passenger. she's starting to become the Traveler
and where does she land? back to her maestra, where she can find answers to her current problem. she brought herself there, and only half accidentally.
and there's the crucial question.
che peccato, what a shame. a witch requires a coven.
the latin sentence on the table, in nave expeditus sis tam celer quam ventus, translates to something like "on a ship, may you be unimpeded and as fast as the wind". but there's another sentence in front of lilia, we can only read the first word behind her hand: mors. Death.
it's sure not going well now. despite the little step forward with jen, lilia still feels the odd person out, the one that's just too different to fit in. I know many of us, especially on this site, especially with our various but similar issues, have felt like that.
lilia's words are angry, resentful. but she's not angry, she's afraid. she's lashing out because looking in is too much. but like lilia herself said to alice: sad is better than angry.
when an actor gets that single tear forming in their eye... that's the good shit.
YOUR TASK IS NOT TO CONTROL, BUT TO SEE. you were born with a burden? turn it into power. if people don't accept you, show them what they were missing. do it in your own, unique way.
go to episode 7 part 4
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BSD Anthologies Masterlist
I couldn't find a comprehensive (and with still working links) masterlist of the translated anthology chapters so. Here we go! Biggest shoutout to this other masterlist by @/yokohama-drip for most of the chapter references and to bsd-bibliophile for chapters 7 and 12 of the first and second anthologies. Titles translation credits go to the bsd wiki. Happy reading!
Edit: Thank you so much @amythedemisimp for the precious additions!!!
1-5 raws
First Anthology -Rei-
Don't Get a Stomachache to Gain a Friend by Hideki
The Things I Hate, the Things I Like by Ichi Kotoko
The Devil Comes and Takes Care by KanaiNeco
Kenji 100% by Enya Uraki
The Detective Agency's Manju Incident by Ui Kashima
A Quiz During Work by Mito Aoi
Karl's Resentment by Tsubata Nozaki /// alternative translation
The Things I Like by Con Kitora
Me and the Cake and Sometimes the Pug by Kazuki Tōgō
Jun'ichirō Tanizaki's Suffering by Akamaru
Fortune-telling Will Bring Good Luck by Yūto Masagishi
Icy Weather by Tam Chashibu
What is a Partner...? by Akaza Samamiya
Second Anthology -Hana-
The Detective Agency and the Port Mafia's Holidays by Mikan Aka
Time Sale is a Battlefield by Guru Mizoguchi
Q's Stroll Day by Kazusa Subaru
Osamu Dazai Quiz Tournament by Hinoki Kino
Ruler! Fitzgerald's Room by KanaiNeco
Thirty-two. Episode Five by Kakashi Tano
Ichiyō Higuchi's Off Duty Top Secret Mission by Ataru Hida
A Restaurant with Many Literary Masters by Ko Nikaido
A Timid Person's Day by Masahiro Jinno
Hot Pots and Holidays by Sho Kimiduka
The Tiger's Repayment by Kotaro
Sweet Outing by Yuzuru Kuzukiri /// alternative translation
Bungos' Joint Social Gathering by Hideki
Stray Dogs' Lucky Spot Disagreement by Noka Nogami
Third Anthology -Rin-
Mother by Hideki /// alternative translation
The Mafia Inadvertently Read a Novel Written on a Whim and Reincarnated in a Parallel Universe by Hinoki Kino /// alternative translation
As You Wear It by Akira Hirahara /// alternative translation
The Devil's Automatic Door by Nanora /// alternative transaltion
How to Find Happiness by Kanae Ikushima /// alternative translation
Hello, Again Winter Dreams. by Pyaa /// alternative translation
The Visitor in the Rain by Togekinoko /// alternative translation
Because My Senior's Healthcare is Also My Job by Roku Sakura /// alternative translation
Good Weather, Cat Storm by Osawa /// alternative translation
Breakfast Situation by Miki Daichi /// alternative translation
Elise-chan, a Smartphone Application by KanaiNeco /// alternative translation
Q's Suffering by Hiko Nekome /// alternative translation
Tiger, Sometimes Cat by Taichi Miya /// alternative translation
The Port Mafia's Medical Check-up by Sakurana Haru
With a Hat, a Man and a Beef Bowl by Oda
Fourth Anthology -Akatsuki-
Poe and Ranpo and Enter and Black Tea by Imaru Adachi /// alternative translation
Apple Demon by Nykken
A Little Break by Siroisora
Exciting Grab Bag by Toriyasu
All Quiet on the Black Cloth Front by Mari Araki
Hirotsu-san's Coffee Shop by Yashino Ayashiro
The Client is a Cute Ghost by Otakumi
The Little Visitor in the Rain by Togekinoko
Fully Automatic Suicide Machine by Zero Akabane
Why Did You Come to Japan? by KanaiNeco
The Story of Kunikida Falling Asleep by Saru Hashino
A Hunting Dogs' Holiday by Hinoki Kino
Infernal Day by Asuka Keigen
The Decision is an Oblate that Enwraps the Pain of Life by Hideki
Fifth Anthology -Kanade-
Masterlist by @/zilinks
Sixth Anthology -Mutsumi-
Given to You Based on Your Level and Love by KanaiNeco
Detective Agency Radio by Yu Kira
GET UP LUCY!! by Kabotya
Poe, Wine and the Setting Sun by Imaru Adachi
Shindafuri Dai Sakusen by Yuri Tsukushiro
Hanachidori by iyutani
What Style Are You? by Kiyo Hasui
'Hitori' yori 'hanbun' by Neno
The Angel's Rest by Mari Araki
Mottomo Erai Egoisuto by Mutsuki Higashioji
Magomusume Sakusen, Zokkō-chū ni Tsuki by Eku Hachida
Boo no Yū by Asato Konami
Do S! Erisu-chan!! by Kakeru Sora
Young Ranpo Wants to Be Praised by Tsuki Anmi (incomplete)
#Need to make this for the other masterpost#Enjoy!!#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bsd anthology#mine#my masterlist#I hope everything is okay‚ please let me know if you notice any mistake!!
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seeing the influx of gfm campaigns on your dash may be overwhelming- the purpose of this post is to help others navigate through the many gfm links that are circulating here on this site- esp. those that find their way directly to you via your inbox. this advice is specific to tumblr- i cannot speak on other platforms (instagram, twitter, etc.) though some things i say may be applicable
disclaimer: i do not vet/verify any campaigns myself. i simply want people who are willing to engage with these types of posts to do so in a safe manner
read more below:
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what to do if you get a message from an account claiming to be 🇵🇸 in your inbox:
-> step 1: do not immediately dismiss it as spam
to quote one of nabulsi's posts:
"... you cannot generalise with Gazans if their tumblr blog is only a few days or a few hours old.
Gazans on tumblr are making accounts for the express purpose of spreading their fundraisers because it is spreading amongst Gazans that tumblr is a safe place to do so.
They could often be making multiple blogs and even remaking after staff flags them as spam. But don't blanket assume that Gazans are scammers if they're on a new tumblr blog with no pfp or content.
I agree that until a fundraiser is vetted you shouldn't reblog it in case it is someone dishonest taking advantage of the circumstances in Gaza. But you cannot do the opposite and immediately assume they're a scammer. I'm seeing people harass Gazans sometimes who genuinely are people who just don't know how to use tumblr and are falsely raising red flags because of it." (read full post here)
to sum it up: don't hit 'report' right away- marinate a lil and put on a detective hat
-> step 2: background check
the following are accounts that are known to vet/verify gfm campaigns here on tumblr. note- this is not a comprehensive list:
el-shab-hussein
nabulsi
90-ghost* (edit 8/4: recently announced that ahmed will no longer be vetting/verifying new campaigns)
ibtisams* (only has done it on situational basis; is not currently vetting new campaigns- read post here)
rubashabansblog (has been promoting other palestinians who lost their tumblr accounts; currently living under occupation)
heba-20 (unsure if heba takes request to vet others personally but is a reliable source for finding legitimate campaigns)
northgazaupdates
fairuzfan (says they are less active on tumblr these days/not currently vetting new campaigns but is a reliable source)
i recommend giving these individuals a follow if you haven't already as they provide far more information regarding all things 🇵🇸. they've all put in a lot of work to make the process i'm sharing with y'all as simple as possible. also please be respectful if you try reaching out to any of them. they are likely getting a high volume of asks and may not be able to respond to you quickly
important note: it has been recently announced that nabulsi + el-shab-hussein have stopped vetting new accounts for the time being and are only focusing on campaigns that have already been vetted. read their full statement here and here
to start- check out the person's account. this can be a hit or miss depending on how new the account is. however- you may notice that the person in question has stated that they have been vetted:
good signs so far- but better to be safe than sorry. next thing to do is search the username of the person who messaged you on tumblr. it's likely if you got a message like the one pictured above, others may have received one as well and did the digging for you:
if you can't find a clear answer with tumblr's illustrious search bar/want to confirm someone's claim that the campaign in question was already verified, the next thing to do is check one of the following:
el-shab-hussein's pinned post
el-shab-hussein/nabulsi's google sheet
imo, this process is far easier to do while on a laptop/desktop vs. mobile app. ctrl+f is your friend in this scenario as is the ability to click through multiple tabs. for el-shab-hussein's pinned post, i click through the multiple lists and see if any names match. in ruba's case, she was found under List of fundraisers for my direct contacts from Ghazzah & Sudan:
and for the google sheet- her campaign is no. 90 on the list:
tip: to narrow down your search even further- ctrl+f the title of the person's gfm campaign that they've linked on their tumblr account:
-> step 3: share your findings + follow that account
if everything checks out- ✨share le campaign✨ provide the link to it in your response to the ask + where it was verified. make it easier for the next person who gets a message to figure out that the gfm is real
following 🍉accounts is esp. important since the forces that be are keen on suppressing them at every turn. the more eyes on these accounts- the easier it'll be to determine the legitimacy of any new accounts they may need to make
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okay, but... scams 😬:
-> step 1: seek a master
people can be assholes- and anyone trying to make a profit off of an ongoing genocide can eat glass
anyways- the following are accounts that are known to identify scam posts on tumblr (again, not a comprehensive list. these are just the one's ive seen/most familiar with):
mangocheesecakes
kyra45
kyra45's pinned post contains a plethora of resources to help determine if a post/message is a scam- and not just in regards to 🇵🇸- key goes in on many types of scams. please refer to their guides (and be sure that you are reading the most recent version of key's posts)
-> step 2: if you see sumn, say sumn
we're human and sometimes things slip our radar. so if you ever see someone on here sharing a known scam, do 'em a solid and let them know about it regardless if you are mutuals or not
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final/misc. thoughts:
it's good practice to double check a campaign's verification with these tools for yourself regardless of how legitimate it looks. note that checking for a gfm's verification is not the same as verifying them. that work should be left to qualified individuals with experience in doing so. this is why it's bad to attempt things you are not qualified to tackle also- i think it's important to remember that transferring 💵 from a gfm campaign to those in need requires a lot of pieces to be perfectly set in place. if you see 🇵🇸 blogs linking alt. methods of raising funds (ex. p*ypal/k*fi) the reason could be that their gfms were frozen/suspended for a myriad of reasons. as always- check credible sources if you are unsure about a campaign you may come across notice how the spreadsheet provided here has over 100+ campaigns listed. generating a list that extensive requires hard work that is undoubtedly both physically and mentally straining to the individuals who are involved in making it. i've seen some accounts myself that have had to announce that they can no longer continue to vet campaigns because it has taken that much of a toll on their wellbeing. do not let their efforts go wasted
other resources:
some other places/grassroot organizations where you can find vetted campaigns:
operation olive branch (oob)
gazafunds
operation poppy flower (now also linked in oob's sheet)
operation watermelon
project watermelon
strawberry seeds collective
ottawa4palestine
camps breakerz crew
gofund(water)me(lons)
flowersfromfalasteen
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Final Straw
Nick Valentine x Fem Reader | Ao3
Summary: You're sick to death of listening to people insult and belittle Nick; you take matters into your own hands, much to the Synth's surprise, but your methods are a little bit unorthodox.
Warnings: None, except for blood, violence, and foul language. NICK GETS SUPER PISSED AT YOU, and you also share a kiss. 💋
IT'S FLUFF.
Notes: This is SELF-INDULGENT AF. I hate it when people insult Nick in the game. This is my way of getting them back! And I want to kiss him and tell him I love him so bad. ;-:
Word count: 2k
It was the final straw, the one that broke the brahmin’s back, Nick Valentine left to defend himself against hate and bigotry for the umpteenth time, and you would not be party to it.
For so long you had traveled by Nick’s side, learning of the many facets to his personality. If there was a single thing about him you did not like, it had to be the ease with which he practiced self-deprecation, not knowing how to remedy the awful perception he had about himself.
Oftentimes, he regurgitated what came out the mouths of others; it had been internalized, compartmentalized, processed, and stored in his long-term memory, the detective unable to let things go—just like so many cases that remained unsolved.
“Shit, a Synth— don’t come near me. What a freak, thinks he’s human…”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go near you if it meant tomorrow I’d wake up from this nightmare.”
Your soul ached, knowing that every insult, every snide remark caused some level of psychic damage to your partner, his expressions all too readable for those times he was robbed of his fragile dignity, though always walking away the bigger man.
A culmination of varying factors led you to this, Nick’s tragic past haunting not only himself, but you; what you wouldn’t give to make it better, only wishing you had the power to convince him he was worth more than half the Commonwealth combined.
If Valentine could equate himself to nothing more than garbage, you could be the one to remind him that someone else’s trash was frequently another’s treasure— in this case, he was yours.
Though not privy to your feelings, you adored Nick completely. So much so, you were not above engaging in a physical altercation on his behalf.
“Say that again,” you threatened scathingly, turning to face the asshole who had just dared to disrespect your companion, and for no good reason.
“I said he’s a freak, lady—and what’s a pretty thing like you doing traveling with him, anyway?” the ill-mannered caravan guard asked, acting as if Valentine was some disease he could catch, making a blatant show of his disgust.
The hired gun pulled no reaction from the Synth, though Nick stared at you tight-lipped, unnatural, glowing eyes trained hard on your face. His silence spoke volumes, instructing you with a stern look beneath the shade of his hat to drop the matter and turn the other cheek—it was something you weren’t willing to do this time, meeting your newfound enemy head-on.
“Apologize!” you demanded, shoving your adversary backward with a forceful push, both your palms making contact with his ribs. Your cheeks burned, accompanying a rise in your temper, readying yourself for if this vermin should do anything but grovel at Nick’s feet.
“Forget it, this guy ain’t worth it,” Nick offered laconically, hoping to appeal to your common sense. “I’ve heard worse in my time; being called a freak is the least of my concerns.”
“But you’re worth it!” you protested, Valentine’s forehead arcing upward at the conviction in your voice. He had a momentary lapse, his concentration faltering as he tried to get a handle on the situation, Nick having visualized an entirely different outcome based on variables that were currently in flux—namely the sudden change in your mood.
It seemed the shithead had caught on, smarter than he looked, eyeing the two of you with suspicion and derision, as if the very idea you could have feelings toward this hunk of junk was baffling when able-bodied, strong men like him existed.
“Oh, I get it. You’re real sick, lady, a real pervert—you fucking a machine? What’s the matter, human men aren’t good en—”
The jerk was cut off mid-sentence, your balled up fist coming into contact with his jaw; a resounding crack split sound waves as blood spurted from his lips. His colleagues had already wandered off down the road, not wanting to be a part of whatever trouble he had found himself in, having silently agreed to let this member of their team fend for himself.
“You fucking bitch!” the guard twice your size growled, swinging wildly only to miss. Your leg extended; you were pleased when he stumbled, only wishing he had fallen flat on his face.
“Now, wait a—”
He was quick to right himself, spinning on the ball of his heel—you were quicker, kneeing him in the nuts so hard he doubled over, but you weren’t finished yet.
Lifting your arm to gain momentum, you drove the point of your elbow into his spine, causing the offender to drop onto the dirt at your feet.
“I'd say he's down for the—”
Nick couldn’t get a word out; you didn’t appear to be listening, the android observing your uncharacteristic actions with rapt concern. You were pounding your knuckles into the bastard’s nose repeatedly, sticky crimson coating your fist and the man’s sorely wounded face.
As if coming to from a trance, Valentine whisked forward, snatching your wrist before you could cause the poor schmuck any more damage, thinking he may look worse off than even he, what with his bare wires and metal frame exposed to the elements.
“Hey! What’s gotten into you?!” Nick barked, his tone alone condemning your inappropriate conduct, the Synth yanking you up so fast you audibly gasped.
“There ain’t no excuse for this—this guy may be a jackass, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die!” Nick protested, brows knit in anger the likes of which you had never seen.
You glanced down, only now seeming to notice the extent of his injuries; the man was out like a light. You only cared because he did.
“Nick, I—” you began, voice quavering, losing all resolve as you had been forced to witness Valentine’s sweet disposition vanish, quickly replaced by something undeniably frightening.
You never once imagined yourself to be the victim of his choler, finding you absolutely hated it, breaking down all at once to cry despite not meaning to. You felt simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt and embarrassed beyond measure, unable to look him in the eye.
“Don’t Nick me, this isn’t like you, this—” The man froze, his grip slackening as he loosely held on, thoroughly confused by how you could go from nearly murdering a man in cold blood with your bare hands, to shedding tears in the span of under a minute; he moved to grasp you by your shoulders.
“What’s going on?” he asked, perplexed, the question dry on his tongue. He searched your face for any hint of what the matter was, wondering if you’d lost a screw sometime after leaving Diamond City, as he thought he had a handle on how you operated.
You could not will yourself to respond, vision clouded, droplets pelting your cheeks as you gazed at the ground. You felt worse than a scolded child; you had never meant to upset him so, it being decidedly more terrible than any physical pain you had yet to endure.
“Look at me, damn you!” Valentine demanded, gently jostling you back to the present moment, though your tears only increased, Nick having never cursed at you before.
“Valentine,” you whispered, eyes shimmering, Nick’s fury subsiding to a dull roar as he waited for you to explain yourself. The crease of his brow evened out, the Synth notably more relaxed, though he did not trust you wouldn’t lash out again.
“Go on,” he urged sharply, wanting to get to the bottom of your behavior. It was unnerving, not knowing what else you were capable of at the drop of a dime.
It was an understatement to say that he was surprised when you lifted your arms, pulling the man forward to enfold in your tight embrace. You buried your cheek in the tattered, stained fabric of his coat, crying more softly now as it started to rain.
“Don’t listen to them,” you pleaded, “don’t ever listen to them. You’re perfect just the way you are,” you spoke with earnest, your lips pressing a tender kiss to the spot that lacked a heartbeat, though the gesture stood apart on its own.
“I can’t stand it—the way people treat you, the way they talk down to you—if only they knew—if only they could see what I see—” you sobbed, the sound of your cries muffled against his chest; it was firm, his shirt smelling like coolant and ozone—cigarettes mixed with something earthy—you breathed in deeply, overcome with silent relief when Nick placed his metallic hand on the crown of your head.
“I... I appreciate you, doll,” he started, his voice turning toward a soothing cadence, the way he pet your hair in long, slow strokes comforting you more than it should. “But you didn’t have to do that; would have preferred if you didn’t. Jerks like him get their comeuppance, but it shouldn’t be at the price of dirtying your hands.”
You had never been this intimate with him, nor had you ever planned to be—his words were unscripted, and his affection given of his own volition. You curled in tighter, nuzzling your way into the crook of his good arm, wanting to entomb yourself there for all eternity.
“I’m sorry,” you offered apologetically, feeling the pressure of Nick’s own arms around you, returning your hug, making you feel as if you could die happy at this moment, not minding in the least that there was an unconscious, bleeding man lying only a hairbreadth away. “It hurts me, like I know it hurts you.”
Nick was quiet, mulling over the fact it didn’t do you or him any good to disparage his own person when there were others to do it for him. He had never considered the effect it might have on those around him; it came naturally to want to harp on his own shortcomings—or had it come natural to the real Nick? That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it.
“You’re right, it does. But I shouldn’t let it bother me, not when I have people like you by my side.”
“I love you, Valentine,” you countered, not recognizing the softness of your own voice. You felt a shift beneath you, your head being coaxed to rise by way of a slow tilt of your chin.
Nick stared down at you, gleaming, golden eyes emoting dolefully as he gazed into yours. He held a deep-seated sorrow, not only for you, but for himself, wishing that he was human, if only so he could touch you, hold you, kiss you the way he wanted to.
“That’s not the smartest thing you’ve ever said, but I take it you mean that,” Valentine replied, bending low to brush soft, silicone lips across yours of flesh and blood; they were cool and rough in texture, but not unpleasant. The fact he was kissing you at all was a dream come true.
“With all my heart,” you replied, cupping the Synth's battered cheek in the bowl of your palm, fingers trailing over artificial skin in a light caress.
“So, that’s what this was all about,” he remarked, conjuring up a smile. “You know, I’d give you mine,” he added solemnly, his glum tone indicative of something he was not telling you.
Instead of elaborating, Nick changed the subject, always one to brighten a dark mood. “Next time, just tell me what’s on your mind instead of beating the living daylights out of some poor schmo, all right?”
You managed a smile of your own, delighting in his sarcasm, glad for the fact your confession had taken a lighthearted turn. “I can’t make any promises,” you quipped.
The detective gave a small shake of his head, that lopsided, infectious grin of his spreading up one side of his face. “Taking a page out of my book, are you?”
“I learned from the best,” you breathed, kissing him once more. Though selfish of you, for all you cared, the world could undergo another nuclear war, and you wouldn’t bat a lash, not for as long as you had your funny Valentine.
#Nick Valentine#Valentine fallout 4#Fallout 4#Fallout#Nick Valentine x Reader#Nick Valentine x Fem Reader#Fluff#Fanfiction#Fallout fanfiction#My writing#Synth#Synth detective#Nick Valentine x Sole Survivor#Sole Survivor
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02. takes one to know one
ᯓ★ story index abt, you join your new friend, outlaw!dean, in a little game of cops and robbers. warnings, robbery, guns, suggestive language, sprinkle of angsty hidden feelings, there's only one bed couch (more of that in prt3!!) 2.7k words
The sheriff had a lot more going on than just civil duties, the vast ranch set picturesque before you can attest for that. The house itself is massive, pure white siding glowing in the moonlight. Beyond that, a sleek brown barn cuts into the night sky. From where you and Dean sit, crouched behind one of the dozen jagged shaped trees that line the outskirts of the property, it looks deceptively peaceful.
But you know better.
This stash of gold Dean assures you is hidden within those walls, isn’t gonna be an easy swipe. Guards patrol the quiet ranch, a few are pacing the front as you watch and search for a blindspot.
“You sure about doin’ this, darlin’?” Dean drawls in a hushed whisper, his eyes light and playful, almost daring you to say no.
Your narrow-eyed gaze goes toe-to-toe with his, your lips curling into a smile. “I was born sure, Winchester.” you quip, not missing a beat.
Dean’s husky voice drops lower, momentarily lacking it’s usual cocky drawl, “you just stick to the plan, alright? You do that for me ‘n we’ll be swimmin’ in gold before sunrise.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t ignore the steady thrum of adrenaline in your veins. The plan—Dean’s plan—was simple enough: get past the guards, crack the safe and get the hell out of dodge. Simple, of course, was a relative term when talking about breaking into the home of a man who probably shot first and asked questions—never.
“Remind me again why I agreed to this?” you tease, tucking your body closer to his. Your chin grazing his leather-clad shoulder as you both keep steady eyes on the ranch.
Dean gives a quick glance, the moonlight catching in the green of his eyes. That pretty grin of his making a slow return. “Because you couldn’t resist me.”
Playfully hitting his arm, you shoot back at him, “or maybe I couldn’t resist the payday.” His eyes are back on you, lingering as his lashes slowly lift as he takes in your features at this newfound closeness. He merely offers a quiet hum in response, brushing against you as he shifts to hand you a small set of lockpicks.
“Figure, with the way you work a cue stick,” he mumbles, voice low and as teasing as his eye contact, “you got this part handled.” He places the small box in your hand, clasping his large hands on either side of yours as he smirks, “And I’ve got a knack for getting into trouble. Perfect match, huh?”
Before you could reply, the sound of boots crunching on gravel causes both your heads to snap towards the ranch. A guard passes by, just a few yards away, his rifle glinting in the moonlight. Dean’s playful demeanor is entirely consumed by a sharp alertness that makes you wonder just how many times he’s been in a situation like this.
The stillness passes as the guard meanders away, the sound of his boots dying out in the quiet of the desert. Your new partner’s shoulders relax at the false alarm. That lopsided smile playing at his lips again as he tugs you closer, his nose brushing your cheekbone.
“Showtime, baby.” Dean whispers, pulling back with a wink as two fingers reach up to tip his hat.
The two of you slip through the shadows of the ranch like ghosts. A mere step between your bodies as you stick close to the edges of the house where the moonlight doesn’t touch. Dean leads, moving with surprising stealth for someone so broad. Every now and then, he glanced back at you, giving a little nod of reassurance. His focused eyes softened slightly each time he turned back.
Moving through the property was easier than you thought, but Dean’s uncanny sense for danger has made it so. He pauses just before a light sweeps over your path, his hand shooting out to pull you into the shadow of a nearby tree when he detects movement before you do. The guards are predictable, too. Their routes timed perfectly to give just enough room to duck behind a stack of barrels or hop over a fence. One guard left his post at the backdoor, leaving an opening to slip into the darkened home.
You follow Dean’s silent lead of avoiding spots of creaky floorboards as you step inside, pulse thrumming with adrenaline. As you move through the dark, Dean peeks through doors with deliberate slowness. You watch between him and the back door, until he’s motioning you over with the flick of a finger.
The study was just as grand as you’d imagined—dark wood paneling, glass cases displaying expensive weapons and memorabilia. A massive desk cluttered with papers sits before two large windows. In the center space, a portrait of some grim-faced ancestor takes up most of the wall.
Dean’s already hovering over it, inspecting the frame. The sharp edges of his side profile illuminated by the moonlight spilling in through the window. His eyes finally catch yours, nodding for you to come over, a sly grin on his lips as he leans down over your shoulder.
“These rich sons of bitches are always so predictable.” He laughs dryly, “go on ‘n tug on that side of the frame for me, Sweetheart.”
You don’t waste a second, pulling on the frame until it pops open. Swinging like a hidden door, revealing a built in safe on the adjacent wall. Pulling the small box of tools Dean gave you earlier, you get to work on the silver lock. The tumblers click softly as you go, each sound loud in the otherwise silent room. Dean stood behind you, close enough to hear his steady breathing. Keeping an eye on the door, his hand resting lightly on the gun tucked into his waistband.
“Got it,” you whispered after what felt like an eternity. The safe door swung open, revealing stacks of gold bars that gleamed even in the dim light.
Dean let out a low whistle. “Now that’s a sight.”
You quickly began transferring the bars into the canvas bag Dean had brought, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear.
This plan of his had gone so smoothly, too damn smooth to be more accurate.
Just as you finish zipping the bag, heart still hammering in your chest, a muffled voice barks from the hallway, “check the study!”
Dean’s jaw tightened as he reached for the gun tucked in his belt, but the door burst open before he could draw. Two guards stormed in, their guns trained on you both.
“Drop the bag,” one of them ordered, his eyes narrowing.
Your mind raced as Dean slowly raised his hands, palms out in mock surrender. His smirk returned, cool and steady, as if staring down the barrels of two guns was just a typical Thursday night for him.
“Well,” he drawled, his gaze sliding to you. “Guess now’s a good time to make a confession.”
Your stomach dropped. “Dean—”
“I mean, might as well, right?” he continued, cutting you off. His smirk softened into something maddeningly sincere, his eyes holding yours even as the guards barked for him to shut up. “You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen. And if I were a better man, I’d have asked you on a proper date. Y’know, steak dinner and all that crap.”
You blinked, completely thrown, but before you could respond, Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing the desk lamp and hurling it at one of the guards. The heavy base struck him square in the face, and chaos erupted.
Dean didn’t hesitate. He ducked under the second guard’s arm, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it until the gun clattered to the floor. “Move!” he shouted at you, his voice sharp.
You didn’t need to be told twice. Snatching the bag, you bolted for the window, Dean hot on your heels. He shoved you ahead of him, glass shattering as you both tumbled through the opening and into the cool night air.
The shouts behind you were nearly drowned out by the pounding of your heart. Bullets whirl through the air, but Dean grabbed your hand, dragging you across the open yard and toward the safety of the rugged desert terrain ahead.
You didn’t stop running until the ranch was a distant glow behind you, your legs screaming in protest as you collapsed against a tree.
Dean slid down next to you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. A laugh escaped him, soft and incredulous. “Hell of a night,” he muttered.
A wicked laughing fit hurls out of you through panting breaths, reeling from the cooling adrenaline icing your veins. “You really had me for a second, y’know,” you manage through heavy breathes, “d’you mean any of that? Or was it all just part of your plan?”
Dean smirked, taking off his stetson to run a hand through his messy hair. “Which part?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, biting your lip in mock-deep thought. “The part about me being the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen? Or the bit about steak dinners?”
Dean chuckled, leaning his head back against the tree trunk, lazily tilting to peek down at you through his lashes, “I told you I wouldn’t lie to you, didn’t I?” He’s doing it again—that smug little smirk—a sweet boyish charm that tempts your nerves in the most unfamiliar way.
You turn away from his gaze, settling your eyes on the bag in your lap and letting your hair fall around your face to cover the blush that’s creeping in. “Mhm,” you hum into the quiet between, “careful now, cowboy. I might just hold you to your word.”
He doesn’t answer, and you pretend there isn’t a slight twist straining your heart for half a beat. Quietly, he places his hat back on. Pressing into the ground, he rises to his feet with a huff. Dean extends a hand, his eyes scanning the distance as you take his offer.
Boots kick up dirt as you walk side by side down the dusty terrain. And for a moment—in the quiet of the desert, with the bag of stolen gold between you, the danger of the heist morphed with the dawn settling in the horizon. A warm toned thing, burning at the edges of your cold exterior, new nerve endings bleeding light between your thoughts of Dean and the feelings he keeps insighting.
Trudging on, the sheriff’s ranch is out of sight. The weight of the gold was growing heavier, hanging from your shoulder. But you’d be damned if you let him carry it, not when it felt like grasping some essence of control.
“So,” you drawl, kicking at a red rock, “you looked like a real professional back there. How long’ve you been sniffing out trouble like this?”
Dean shrugs, burying his hands in his pockets as he considers his words. “Sorta spent my whole life in some type of trouble.” he states plainly, voice quieter as he continues, “Been on my own a couple of years, give or take. Found the type of trouble I like best in all that time.”
You glance up at him, his skin soaking up the orange light peeking over morning clouds. The warmth of the hue makes his eyes impossibly green. Like the cactuses zig zagging your path, sharp and rich in color. “You like it? Being on the road?”
“Yeah,” he sounds unsure, pausing with his lips parted, “Most of the time, I do. It’s… simple.” His hands return, moving with each word, “No strings, no one to answer to.”
You hum back, nodding in agreement. It’s a sentiment you can agree with, the same idea you've convinced yourself of for much longer than just a couple years.
“But,” he sighs, eyes flicking across the landscape, “I miss my brother, Sam.” The name makes a smile creep onto his lips as he mutters, mostly to himself, “m’little Sammy.”
There’s a softness on the name that makes your chest ache, “Why don’t you go see him, then?”
Dean hesitates, jaw tightening, “not that simple.” He let out a low breath, running a hand over his chin. “I don’t even know where I’d start. And if I ever tried to show my face to my old man…” His voice trails off, the words tangling in a wide-eyed huff that says it all in one motion.
You part your lips to reassure him, daring to give the advice of it’s-never-too-late to a soul you know won’t take it. But, before you could he hummed a low, dismissive note.
“Anyways,” he quips, a lazy grin returning to his face, “look at me, turning into a regular chatterbox. This your doin’, pretty girl?” His eyes find yours, but the usual playfulness isn’t as prevalent as it has been all night. In its place is something dark, trying desperately to work its way out.
A look you know better than to pry at.
Leaning over to nudge his shoulder, you offer a small smile. “Maybe I’m just easy to talk to.”
Dean’s grin shifts into something softer, but he doesn't answer. With a deep inhale his chin is up in the air again, eyes looking at anything but you.
A splotch of brown you both assumed to be more rugged desert hills comes into focus—a vacant ranch tucked between scattered fields of jagged trees and cacti. The barn had collapsed, its frame a shadow of what it once was, but the house stood stubbornly, its roof intact and its windows dark against the rising sun.
Dean raised his brows, eyes glancing over, “looks cosy.”
You scoff, giving him a worried look, “if your idea of cozy is ‘haunted ranch on the hill’, sure it is.”
“Better than sleepin’ out in the dirt,” he shoots back, already heading for the porch. He spins on the heel of his boots as he walks backwards, “‘sides, darlin’, if there’s a ghost around I’ll keep you safe.”
With a wink that works a giggle out of you, Dean jogs up the creaky steps and disappears into the run-down house.
The inside is covered in a layer of dust and dirt, but there’s furniture scattered around—a worn couch covered by a sheet sits in an otherwise empty space. A creaky dining table in the kitchen, where you plop the heavy bag of gold, a cloud of grey puffing around it.
“Not too shabby,” Dean coos, coming down a set of weathered stairs. “Just an old mattress on the floor with, uh, minimal stains and a whole lotta dust. Looks like we’ve got options.” He crosses the creaky floor until his boots are inches from yours. A smirk shining down at you, as his voice finds that teasing tone again, “Unless, of course, you’re afraid of ghosts.”
Your eyes roll at his taunts as you cross your arms. “Please. I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Uh, huh,” his brows furrow, lips twisting with contemplation as his eyes dance across the curves of your face.
“Yes, huh. Cross my heart.” You swear with a reassuring nod.
His eyes fall to the couch, and then back to the stairs before they settle back to you. His thoughts written in the smirk on his lips. “Mattress is kinda gross, actually. Couch could fit two—”
You cut him off, throwing your palm up with a humph. “Look, Cowboy, I may look the type but it takes a whole lot more than a game of pool and stealing gold to get me all cozied up on a dusty ‘ol couch in the middle of the desert.”
Dean barks out a laugh, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, hey—’m not suggesting a thing, little miss.”
You arch your bows with a “mhm,” the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. Dean follows as you walk into the living room, discarding the sheet and plopping onto the cushion with a sigh. The couch dips under Dean’s weight on the opposite end. A quiet set in for a moment, comfortable and as warm as the growing heat of the sunrise.
“Will say, though,” Dean sighs, his thighs sprawling over the soft surface as he relaxes into the creaky furniture, “I’d be a gentleman—”
“Shut up.” you shoot back, unable to hide the laugh that slips between the words.
hmmmmm should they boink in the next part???? hmm hm hmm
tags <3 @the-fandoms-onceler @a1ecmcdowell @titsout4jackles
#dean winchester#dean winchester fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural#dean winchester au#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x fem!reader#cowboy!dean
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NIGHTS AT THE BAR WITH YOU
Who knew a Mafia executive could be such a gentleman? [gn!reader]
Dazai had recommended to keep away from the gravity manipulator and you simply chuckled, mumbling a ‘of course I will, he’s a mafia executive.’
The problem is, you hadn’t thought you’d ever meet him after the conflict with the guild, seeing as you’re a member of the armed detective agency.
But, of course, you just had to meet him once more at a bar randomly.
“You’re not too bad, for an enemy.” He mumbled, drunk out of his mind as he swirled his drink on a stool.
“Ah, really?” You asked, a sigh leaving your lips as you watched your phone battery drop to 10%.
“Yeah, not as bad as that asshole colleague of yours.” He slurred out, finishing off his drink slowly.
“What, Dazai?” You tilted your head, gaining a groan from the executive.
“Damn right..”
It was silent after that and your mind wandered to whether people around him even know if he’s a mafioso.
“What’s on ya mind, hah?” His voice brung you out of your thoughts, sort of raspy thanks to the drink.
…Huh, is he a lightweight?
“Nothing much, I should probably get home soon, since I’ve got work tomorrow.” You explained, looking for your coat to be under you but instead finding it fallen off on the floor.
He nodded, getting up from his chair with a small stumble as he leant down and grabbed your coat for you.
“Huh, thanks.” You grinned lightly, eyes widening slightly as he places it on you.
“No problem.” He grumbled out, adjusting his hat and sliding money across the counter.
You went to pay too but paused as the bartender nodded to Chuuya and said that ‘he’s payed enough for both of you’.
“Don’t ask.”
You blinked silently for a few moments before a small smile graced your lips and Chuuya wondered if he’d ascended to heaven.
Who was he kidding, he’s definitely not going to heaven.
“You’re not too bad for an enemy either, Nakahara.” Your smile turned into a grin as you picked up your phone, waving at the man.
Shit, he was definitely in heaven, godknows how he made it up there but he can’t be anywhere but heaven with that grin of yours directed at him.
“See you around?” You had asked, a silent invitation for him to join you once more.
“Yeah, sure.” He nodded, sending a grin your way as you turn to leave.
After you left, he wondered briefly whether he should of offered you a trip back but quickly refuted the thought, groaning as he turned to meet the bartender hiding her amused face.
He knew he was doomed from then, that he’d come back the next week and end up in the same situation.
And he was right, you ended up sitting with him more and more at that same bar, that same bar he didn’t even need to go to because he had tons of wine at home.
#ka3mika💋#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya x reader#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd x you#bsd fluff#low-key lovesick Chuuya#readers feelings aren’t touched upon but ur reading it so..#open ending#first post#not beta read#gn reader#chuuya x gn reader#bsd x gender neutral reader
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Food and porn (18+)
Gallagher is a humble London bartender with a rich martial arts background. Boothill is a master criminal and scoundrel. They can't seem to have anything in common... except kinks.
these are not my arts, but my friend's with whom we had rp by this story! you can subscribe to his social networks (a friend has agreed to publish the art)
X: https://x.com/ahhswan
DA: https://www.deviantart.com/drasterod
tg: https://t.me/drisnyastanOD
Pairing: Boothill x Gallagher
Tags: Human Boothill, Dom Boothill, Weight Gain, Food Kink, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Food Sex, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fat Fetish, Fat all
Words: 2,619
The sky over London was habitually covered with clouds. It was evening, about seven o'clock, but the bad weather had made it dark outside. The first tentative drops hit the cobblestones of the streets before the downpour hit the roofs.
Gallagher grimaced at the spectacle through the small window of his bar. He lit a cigar and muttered something like an old man's `huuuuʼ though he wasn't old enough for that yet. A downpour is a shitty thing. Usually even the most avid drinkers in the rain prefer to drink at home rather than drag themselves to a bar. In short, there was nothing economically advantageous about this situation.
His leg, wounded in an old battle, had started whimpering a couple hours ago, heralding rain, and still didn't want to settle down. Gallagher smoked and read the papers. Scotland Yard was reporting again on a mysterious burglar who had already robbed several pawnshops and jewelry stores. The message was terribly familiar, moreover, Gallagher even knew the criminal personally, but he was in no hurry to write letters to the police. After all, the robber was...
“What a weather, partner!” A large figure wrapped in a red, worn poncho walked into the bar. A wide black hat was pulled over his eyes, and half his face was hidden by a red handkerchief. The man's mud-splattered boots shuffled across the floor, sticking out of chaps that were equally muddy near the end of his pants. The man tossed his long black-and-white hair back and grinned, pulling off his handkerchief. “You weren't expecting me?”
“God, why aren't you home?” Gallagher sighed heavily, setting aside the newspaper and slowly standing up.
“The rain washes away the odors! No bloodhound can smell me. By the way, this is for you.” The man chuckled and put into Gallagher's hands a handmade gold watch on a chain with a cover inlaid with small stones. The man grimaced as he looked at the gift. “Pour me a bourbon, dear.”
“Boothill, you're insufferable. Lock the door, damn it.” Gallagher stood behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of bourbon with a heavy sigh. Boothill removed his hat and poncho, spreading them out on a nearby stool, and adjusted his vest, which was tight against his round belly.
Well, they were notorious old lovers who never seemed to be able to be together. Gallagher had worked for Scotland Yard as a detective in the past, before the leg injury that had forced him into early retirement, he'd been a top-notch bloodhound. Now the old dog was working in a bar and trying to forget his past glorious life.
Boothill, on the other hand, was a hardened criminal. He had come from the New World to good old England for a new life, but his language was sharper than his nine-millimeter ammunition, and no one was in a hurry to hire a foreigner with a nasty American accent. He could have written a book called `Why Men Killʼ but it would have had all the pages written in the short and succinct `MASSACREʼ in big letters.
Gallagher happened to own Boothill's secret when he almost turned him in to the constables. The old policeman still had his powder in the bottle, and perhaps if it hadn't been for Boothill's eloquence, he'd be hanging from the gallows right now....
“Your bourbon, as usual, is the worst stuff I've ever tasted.” Boothill smiled and squinted one green eye that was visible from beneath his bangs.
“Why do you drink it?”
“Hell if I know... I could drink diesel or kerosene if I wanted to.” He wiped his mouth with his hand and grinned through his shark teeth, glaring at Gallagher. “We really haven't seen each other in a long time. You've gotten even fatter, I see.”
Boothill reached across the bar and playfully poked the bartender in the belly. Gallagher rolled his eyes.
“I could say the same about you, Mr. Robber. At this rate, you won't fit through any bank window or sewer manhole.”
Boothill chuckled, slapping himself on the thigh. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon and tipped more liquid into his glass before greedily chugging it down.
“Son of a bitch! You're damn right I am! How about a bet?!” The cowboy held out his hand for Gallagher to shake. “You win, I become your pet kitty and never rob anyone again, just like you always wanted. And if I win – you'll like it too. But that's later. Agreed?!”
“What's it gonna take?” Gallagher put his hand to his cheek. He wasn't in a hurry to agree to shady deals.
“Shoot that deer in the eye.” Boothill drew his heavy American revolver and twirled it playfully in the air. “Don't you think so, Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Have you forgotten how to hold a gun yet?”
Gallagher followed his gaze. It was about the trophy deer head on the far wall of the bar. The room was elongated in length, and the end of the room extended quite far from the bar. Gallagher calculated the distance and the target. Not an easy task, of course... But he had a better chance than Boothill, sober as he was. He was on his third glass of bourbon. The idea of making him stay home was very appealing. Normally, Boothill lived with him on a raiding basis, like an ancient Viking - looted and gone on his way. In their case, though, he fucked and ate all the food. That's why he'd been blown up to the size of a medium-sized boar. Gallagher offered to move in with him a long time ago, but Boothill apparently liked living in a basement with rats and fighting in a dump with raccoons for half a hot dog.
“All right. Go ahead and shoot.” Gallagher snorted and turned his eyes to Boothill. He burped and shoved the revolver into his lover's hand.
“Ladies first!”
It was foolish to argue with him, so, rolling his eyes, Gallagher accepted the weapon. The revolver was indeed heavy, with a carved wooden handle and a graceful, thin barrel. Gallagher remembered how constables were taught to shoot. You take aim, point the muzzle straight at the point - the eye of a deer, freeze, hold your breath, pull the trigger without jerking your hand, and!..
There was a loud pop of gunfire in the bar. When the small cloud of smoke and powder cleared, Gallagher looked at his target. The bullet had entered the deer's forehead.
He missed.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Boothill laughed when he saw the result of the shooting. “Is that what they taught you at Scotland Yard?! No wonder I'm still alive! Those sons of bitches are total assholes!” He resolutely took his revolver and slid in next to Gallagher. “Out of my way, senior citizen. Daddy's in the building. I'll show you how to handle my gun.”
“Yeah, go ahead.” Gallagher grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. While Boothill took aim, he picked up his glass and took a sip. Boothill was right-it was nasty. At that moment a shot rang out. Gallagher shuddered with surprise: he was sure the tipsy Boothill would take fifteen minutes to aim. The bullet stuck out proudly in place of the deer's eye.
“Ha! Well, snatch?” Boothill shoved Gallagher in the side, chuckling happily. “You lost me a wish!”
“What?! How did you do that?!” Gallagher even stepped closer, not believing his eyes. How does Boothill do that?! Sick bastard.
“You can't beat talent.” The cowboy smirked smugly, took the unfinished glass of bourbon from him and ʼclinkʼ with his revolver.
“What do you want?” Gallagher sourly returned to the bar and propped his arms on his chest, leaning against it. He watched Boothill grimly. He glared at him. Gallagher stood up so well that his thick chest was literally poking out of his shirt, forming a lush cleavage. Boothill yanked at his half-unfastened tie and grinned.
“I want those fat tits first. Them, and also to feed you to your heart's content.” He rose from his seat and licked his lips. He pulled his tie back on, tightening it around the stranger's neck in a tight loop. Gallagher gritted his teeth, but made no attempt to resist. His cheeks, overgrown with dark stubble, trembled in a blush. Boothill swung easily over the bar and got right up to the man. One of the cowboy's palms slapped him hard across his stomach, pushing his shirt up cheekily. Boothill gagged him with a wet kiss, wrapping his tie around his hand and nearly strangling Gallagher with it.
“You asshole. Wandering around, and now you think I'm going to give it to you like an obedient whore?” The bartender breathed heavily, his hands loosening the pressure of his tie a little.
“'Come on, sweetheart. You're not a whore, you're my dear partner. You didn't like the watch? You know, you got off easy on that bet! I can already feel how hungry you are for... everything.” Boothill kissed him again and gave him a little distance. “Come on, be a good girl, sit tight, I'll be quick. I hope your pantries are stocked with snacks as usual?” He laughed and opened one of the doors to the staff room. This wasn't the first time Boothill had been here, so he felt right at home. “Wow! Damn you're a hoarding old bear!”
Gallagher slumped weakly in his chair as he watched Boothill rummage through the pantry and rattle dishes. The bar did indeed offer not only booze, but quite a few appetizers as well. Gallagher was never in a hurry to cook during his shift, so he kept his own convenience foods in the freezers; mostly meat, but some freezable meals as well. It was easy enough to heat them up on the fire or throw them in hot oil, and then serve them immediately to guests. The quality didn't suffer much, though, so for the unsophisticated average person, it was fine. People came to the bar to drink, not to eat, so no one turned up their noses.
Boothill had gutted the stock almost completely. To be honest, Gallagher was afraid to go in there, because the pantry and the adjoining kitchen were rattling, hissing and clinking with metal and plates. Gallagher was well aware that he was about to be thoroughly fed. It was another unusual aspect of their relationship. The bartender lowered his gaze to his stomach, resting softly on his lap and pulling up the buttons of his vest. In his youth, he'd been a slender and muscularly handsome constable, the rare sort of man. But after his injury and retirement... Well, he'd let himself relax, sought solace in food and drink, hence the slight fullness. And he never thought anyone would like it. What's more; he'd like it on someone else, too. However, Boothill always knew how to surprise him. In fighting, shooting, appetite, sex; the cowboy's possibilities were endless.
“Waiting?” Boothill returned to the bar, purring something under his breath and carrying a cart full of greasy appetizers. His only visible eye gleamed predatorily, as did his sharp teeth. Gallagher's stomach rumbled-not from hunger, but rather from excitement.
“Who's going to pay for all this?” Gallagher asked sourly.
“You. Or me. We'll figure it out later.” Boothill shrugged nonchalantly, sitting down on the bartender's lap. His palms gently squeezed his tiits before pushing the fragrant-smelling cart closer. “Come on, get on it. I bet you've missed this since the last time we met.”
Gallagher knew what that meant; he was being offered to eat until he burst. Boothill had some pretty perverted fetishes, and it seemed Gallagher did too, because he obediently took a bite of the hot, spicy steak. There was much more in the cart: roast beef, reheated pork pies, apple pies, lots of fried sausages in a thin film that burst in the mouth, spilling hot juice into it; fish and chips, sandwiches and some of today's puddings. Under Buthill's watchful eye, all this splendor began to be slowly eaten.
“If you end up getting caught, I'll personally go and report you for violence.” Gallagher exhaled heavily, finishing one of the pies. He was already feeling quite full! It had only taken a few meals to reach the line that separated satisfying hunger and excessive satiety. But that was the line Boothill wasn't interested in. He was pushing Gallagher further, to the line of "horrible gluttony."
“If that's what you wanted, Mr. Detective, I wouldn't be here a long time ago. What's to stop you from dialing Inspector Argenti right now and telling him all about me?” Boothill gently poured some beer into his mouth to wash it down. Gallagher exhaled, feeling his belly gradually rounding into a full sphere.
“Idiot…” Gallagher wiped his lips. He was beginning to breathe heavier. Boothill, sitting on his lap, unbuttoned first the man's vest and then his shirt. Gallagher realized wistfully that he would not button it again today.
“Is your tummy bothering you?” Butkhill grinned playfully, wrapping both hands around the man's heavy belly and kissing it slowly a few times. He leaned down to Gallagher's ear and whispered with an almost manic tenderness: “Keep it up, and I'll show you how good I am with your shaft, too.”
“I hate you…” Gallagher grumbled as deft hands fed him another sandwich. He felt stuffed almost to the brim, but Boothill wasn't done with him yet, forcing him to eat without interruption.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
The belt of his pants was starting to dig painfully into his lower abdomen, and his pants creaked threateningly. It wasn't just Gallagher's growing girth, but also his growing erection. His belly was big enough to put a little weight on the rising bump with his weight, and when Gallagher moved a little, rubbing himself and it caused a whole flurry of sensation. God, he's getting so fat...!
Boothill, as always, was the epitome of attentiveness. His deft hands undid the belt and fly of his pants before they could burst. Gallagher seriously feared this might happen, for his belly was as round and taut as a ball, and it protruded proudly forward and wide, offset by his broad love handles. Boothill was frankly enjoying his lover's helpless position, stroking him, caressing every crease and beginning to rub his aroused cock as well. Gallagher was breathing heavily; the pressure inside his belly was almost unbearable, so much so that it converted itself into arousal. He wanted to cum excruciatingly badly. Boothill was slowing him down, torturing him, squeezing all his juices, squeezing out the presperm drop by drop. The cowboy himself was squirming impatiently on Gallagher's lap, from which he was slightly displaced by his impressive belly.
“Ha... Shit... Ha-ah!” Gallagher gave a low shriek, collapsing back in his chair as Boothill's hand became damp with whitish liquid. He grinned.
“You should see your face when you cum... I'd paint a picture like that and hang it in my room above the frame.” He stood up slowly, giving Gallagher one last pat on the belly. “'I've got to go, sweetheart. You know, the constables are already out hunting for my head. Don't get bored in here.”
He climbed back over the bar, put on his poncho and hat. The red handkerchief returned to the bottom of his face. Boothill walked over to Gallagher one last time to smack the bartender, completely exhausted from gluttony and orgasm, on the cheek.
“I'll come by again tonight. Don't forget to leave the window open!” With those words he disappeared into the night, as he always did, leaving Gallagher alone with the consequences of their games.
haha im sorry guys english isnt my native language btw i hope u enjoed it!
#hsr#hsr fanart#hsr fic#honkai star rail#hsr gallagher#boothill#hsr boothill#gallahill#boothill smut#gallagher smut#fat fet1sh#honkai smut
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It's fascinating to see how easily certain voice's traits carry over when creating a design for them. Like, when I see a new voice line up it's generally quite obvious who's Smitten and who's Stubborn as they're quite straightforward for how one could design them. Smitten's dramaticism lend themselves to easily think of some lovestruck nobleman with frilly feathers to boot or in Stubborn's case a rather large, muscular individual often covered in scars.
Some can look similar to each other, Para and Broken are often more disheveled but you can always tell who Broken is because they're the saddest looking one in the cast.
I think some of the harder ones to identify, and design, can be Skeptic, Oppy, and Cheated. Unlike the others who can have multiple interpretations or different angles to come at it from the ideas they represent are harder to visualize. Skeptic is generally designed as a detective-type with a trench coat and hat but if you're leaving them like Quiet without clothes what do you have left to work with..? What exactly is an...Opportunist? What screams someone who would take advantage of the situation at almost all costs? A businessman? Out here in the middle of a forest? Cheated follows similar lines of logic often with a gambling or card motif. Facial expressions and body language are key as well but again, if Skeptic isn't in a thinking pose would you know it's Skeptic?
The things they represent aren't so clear-cut or have a limited amount of iconography associated with them. Stray too far from the beaten path and it's hard to easily identify them. Of course there are other factors depending on the design philosophy for all of the voices: how abstract they are, do they retain bird-like features, are they even birds, clothes, colors, heights. The list could go on.
Tldr; I love looking at all the voice designs, how they interact, how they act. Be creative with your designs, explore different avenues, look at things from another perspective. Make Skeptic an old librarian or Cold a toucan for all I care. Do art, enjoy art.
#slay the princess#stp voices#ramble#txt post#I was supposed to be reading my textbook whoops#at this rate I'll have another set of voice designs#I just keep thinking about new angles#smh#I should stick to drawing the kiggys
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Love Flavoured Chocolates (2023 Willy Wonka/Reader)
(Cross posted to my AO3, I'm obsessed with Wonka and wanted to share this purely self indulgent reader insert because there simply isn't enough out there and hey it might encourage me to write some more if other people can also enjoy my writing!)
Word count: 3.2k
Willy had come to the Galéries Gourmet with nothing but his love for chocolate making, a wish to once more see his mother, and a hat full of dreams. One thing he certainly hadn’t accounted for was falling in love. He’d first had the pleasure of meeting you the first time Noodle smuggled him out of Scrubitt’s.
You'd befriended the young girl in passing on the street after she’d bumped into you with her laundry cart while neither of you were paying quite enough attention to where you were going. Though the collision was soft enough to keep you both on your feet, she had knocked the book your face was buried in straight to the ground causing you both to startle. Immediately the pair of you burst into apologies (which had made you laugh, despite the girl’s sincere panic), “You’re alright little missy, that was entirely my fault for not looking ahead of me, I simply can’t put this one down, I’m so close to finishing this new tale of a young detective!” You attempted to ease her worry with a big smile, it seemed to work as the girl’s face shifted from concern to interest. “Is-is that the latest Nancy Drew story?” She asked eagerly, trying to get a better look at the book in your hand. With a simple nod, keeping the easy smile on your face you answered, yes. From there the pair of you spent at least a half hour chattering excitedly about the fantastical feats of the young investigator until a nearby clocktower chimed, making her realise she was falling way behind schedule and would soon have to return to the wash house with a few deliveries still to make their destinations. “It’s been wonderful talking to you miss, but I’m afraid I really must hurry along, I hope I run into you again, my name is Noodle in case you see me before I see you!” The girl, now known to you as Noodle, what an interesting name, jumbled out as she made off to scurry away to wherever she needed to be. “I hope I see you again as well Noodle, you’ve been a delight to talk to! The name is Y/N” You called out after her and continued your stroll once she was out of sight, only somewhat more aware of your surroundings this time.
After that initial encounter you had run into each other a few times, eventually budding a wonderful friendship wherein you shared books and life stories with one another. Gradually you learned of Noodle’s more than unfortunate living situation and provided her comfort and reassurance in any ways you could, be that a book from your collection which she hadn’t yet read or a warm hug and shoulder to cry on, the girl became a younger sister figure to you.
This was where Wonka came into the picture, you and Noodle by this point had been friends for the better part of two years and saw each other frequently so you were understandably concerned when you hadn’t seen her around for the last couple of weeks. Just when the worry was getting to the point of you preparing yourself to storm into Scrubitt’s and demand to know about the wellbeing of your friend you saw her, tucked away from the main roads and pathways, talking to her trolley? Now that is upsetting, such a beautiful young mind lost to the madness of her circumstance. As you were about to approach, rounding the corner of the wall you’d hidden behind, a man emerged from the trolley clearly in conversation with the young girl. If not for your sheer confusion, you would have hastily approached the stranger as instinct kicked in to keep Noodle away from any potential danger. She didn't appear frightened or startled so logic told you this was no stranger to her, and therefore not a threat. Upon the realisation, you called out to your friend whom you’d missed in the two weeks of absence, “Noodle! Where’ve you been, little lady?” Immediately, both heads turned to face you and your breath caught in your throat as the mystery man turned and you finally caught a glimpse of his face. It was a beautiful face too, puppy-like hazel eyes, framed by fluttery long lashes, thick full eyebrows sat above them, complimenting his slender, pale face. Both pairs of eyes were wide upon you but you were still taking in the gorgeous man before you, to the point you failed to hear Noodle as she repeated your name, asking “Y/N? What are you doing here?” At the lack of response, she followed up “Earth to Y/N?” with a somewhat exasperated sigh after. Seeing the man turn to face Noodle shook you from your reverie and you let out a sharp little “Hmm?” “I said, what are you doing here Y/N? Were you following me or something?” Her look caused a twang of guilt for a second until you registered that, no you hadn’t been following Noodle, just actively looking out for her as you’d thought her to be missing. “Of course not you numpty! I heard your voice coming from a sketchy alley and saw you talking to your laundry pile, I only wanted to check you were alright, especially considering I haven’t seen you in a few weeks kid! It’s completely understandable for me to be at least a little worried, even more so after seeing a strange man come out of your trolley,” Your voice was taking on a bit of a scolding tone as you softened it to turn to the aforementioned man “No offence.” He shook his head as though to imply none taken as his eyes flitted between the two of you, the friendly smile never once leaving his face. “I take it this is Y/N, Noodle?” his eyes remained on her this time as she nodded back to him. Well that was unexpected, this mysterious dreamboat knew who you were courtesy of Noodle, and while you were flattered she told this new ‘friend’ about you, you worried over what she said in order for him to deduce your identity.
Together, the pair of them explained their plan to get the money to free themselves of Scrubitt’s unfair debt, going into detail about the wondrous and impossible chocolates made by who you now know to be ‘Willy Wonka, future chocolatier extraordinaire’. In all honesty your mind is positively racing to keep up, but with such bright smiles on their faces you can only nod your support and shoot a smile back, albeit a smaller one.
———————————
That had been a while ago, though it felt even longer. By this point, you had collectively put a stop to the chocolate cartel and Scrubitt and Bleacher. Wonka’s chocolates were doing better than ever and with everyone from the wash house going back to their old lives, Willy was alone again, well mostly. Abacus Crunch had been happy to remain the financial adviser for Willy and the group would do their best to stay in touch thanks to Lottie Bell and her phone operator gig but it was definitely lonely, going from all those people around him, that warm environment to nothing again. Although, you were still around weren’t you? You and Noodle? While you both saw her often, upon finding her mother and the library where she stayed, it was less and less that you found yourself in the young girl’s company, she had years of catching up to do after all. You wanted to believe that was why you were seeing less and less of Willy too, but the pair of you had no reason not to see each other often, after all, you’d quit your boring old job to help out and work with Willy at his shop as soon as it had been acquired. So then why did it feel like he was avoiding you, or attempting to shut you out.
This is where you find yourself as you sit with Noodle outside her mother’s library one warm evening. “I don’t understand Noodle, he seems lonely, it's simply a fact that he thrives off of being around other people so I don’t understand why he’s shutting himself away” a too big sigh leaves your mouth. “I miss him, I miss his cheshire grin, the confusing way he talks, even just seeing his garish purple coat” “Hmmm, kinda sounds like you love him” “Yeah, I just don’t know what’s u- WHAT?!?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOODLE?” Your face burns red as your brain takes a minute to register what the young girl chimes in with. In response she holds up her hands, palms facing you, “I’m just saying it as I see it.” With a shrug she shakes her head. Though her words do make you stop and think back to the many months you’ve known the eccentric chocolatier.
The first day you’d successfully sold Wonka’s chocolates on the street had resulted in a quick getaway where you and Willy had ended up lost in the tunnels below the city, escaping the corrupt chief of police for an hour or two as you attempted to meet up with the others to get Willy back to Scrubitt’s with the others in time for roll call. At this point you hadn’t yet been alone together, and the lack of familiarity seemingly made Willy nervous to the point his breathing got panicked and you shared a rather intimate moment where you helped ease his discomfort with a simple breathing exercise and hand massage. “Willy, give me your hand please,” you spoke in the most gentle tone you’d ever mustered after his laboured breaths stabilised, he acquiesced rather quickly as you reached out to him, gently cupping his hand. “I’m gonna trace the lines of your palm okay? It might tickle but I promise you, you’ll feel better.” The smile on your face eased any remaining nerves and once you started to caress his palm with your thumb he seemed to lose the last of the tension. “See,” your voice was still incredibly gentle, but now you were both smiling though his was significantly smaller than usual, “You’re okay, sweetie, I’m here” The pet name left your mouth so naturally neither of you reacted, though a moment later you flushed realising the implied closeness of calling him such a name. With level heads you managed to safely navigate your way back to the others in time and wished Willy a restful night. In retrospect that may very well have been when you first started to develop feelings for the man, you could no longer tell, in the objectively short time that you’d known him, you could think of at least a dozen other times that may have stimulated this apparent crush of yours. Though one particular memory comes to mind more often than the rest. The most recent to boot, the day you reunited Noodle with her mother!
It was the day you’d put an end to the cartel, Willy would finally be free to run his chocolate shop and live out the dream he’d shared with his late mother. The celebration in the Galéries Gourmet seemed to go on forever as everyone enjoyed the chocolate fountain filling up cups seemingly endlessly. A group effort had the shop back together in no time, looking as good as new. As the sun was finally descending from its high perch, your friends from Scrubitt’s all said their goodbyes and well wishes to Willy, Noodle and yourself. Leaving the three of you to lounge about in comfortable silence for a while. “We have a surprise for you, Noodle!” You said excitedly to the young girl who was almost falling asleep where she sat. Exchanging eye contact with Willy, you rose with Noodle in tow. Wide awake after jolting her about, she rushed to keep up with both of your longer legs as you sped away from the shop. Stopping abruptly outside of the library, Noodle gathered her bearings with a confused expression on her face and heavy breaths leaving her lungs, “The library?? What could possibly be so important in there you felt the need to sprint AND drag me along too no less!” She was understandably irritated, but you knew it would be worth all the effort soon enough. “Close your eyes for a second for me Noodle-dee!” Willy told her cheerfully as you approached the door holding onto the girl’s hand to bring her with you. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Now open them…” You whispered just loud enough for her to hear and comply. Before her, stood her mother, finally reunited after years of wishing and hoping. Immediately the two shared the warmest embrace you’d ever witnessed as you backed up and gave them their space, returning to Wonka’s side and overlooking the tender moment. A soft sniffle from beside you reached your ear and you glanced over to see Willy’s eyes glossy with unshed tears, the poor boy must’ve been reminded of his own mother in that moment, your heart hurt for him. “Come here sweetie,” you hummed to him, pulling the chocolatier into a comforting hug. “She’d be so proud of you right now, you know?” You got a teary chuckle in response to that as his arms wrapped around you. Noodle and her mother looked over to you now and you raised your arm in a wave to let them know you’d be heading back to leave them to catch up on all the time they’d spent apart.
The walk back wasn’t far, but it felt much longer without Noodle especially since you’d run practically the whole way there and were now strolling very leisurely. Neither of you said anything but you were touching in some way the entire time, holding hands for part of the walk, then switching to linking arms, even simply resting your hand on Willy’s back. Eventually you made it back to the shop, with the lights off, it was as though the magic was sleeping. As you entered ahead of Willy, you looked back to examine his expression, he wasn’t upset, of course not, he just reunited his dearest friend with her mother whom she thought long lost, perhaps forlorn was more accurate. The cogs in his head were clearly turning as he wrangled with his feelings, particularly regarding his mother and the seemingly impending loneliness he was soon to face. He stopped walking as soon as he entered, eyes still downcast as though expecting you to turn around and leave right then and there as well. With a low sigh you finally broke the silence “Willy, I’m not leaving you, not after that, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just walked out after seeing those tears in your eyes.” He looked up, this time they had escaped and he had a sad pout on his beautiful lips. “Can you tell me about her? Have you got any pictures?” You’d not heard much at all about his mother from him aside from how much he loved her and that she was the inspiration for his dream turned reality. Willy gave a little nod and led you through the store to his makeshift office/home/break room, and on the desk sat a framed photo of a beautiful woman with a very familiar smile. “Wow this is her then? She’s beautiful Willy, you look so much like her.” You said the last bit somewhat under your breath as you realised the implication of what you said (as much as you meant it, it seemed a bit forward). You picked up the picture and sat down on the sofa in the room, patting the seat next to you for Willy to sit beside you, the rest of the night was spent listening to stories of his childhood and asking questions. The pair of you laughed, you cried, and eventually Willy fell asleep with his head on your shoulder. Getting as comfortable as the pair of you could, you let yourself join him in the land of dreams shortly after.
Now, it had been a few weeks since you and Willy had experienced the almost intimate exchange of life stories, as well as your chat with Noodle and you had the day off. Willy was on a break from work and went to visit Noodle at the library to tell her all about that night and how great a person he found you to be, gushing over how ‘kind, pretty, sensitive, and funny’ you were but somehow avoiding the ‘L’ word and seemingly ignoring his feelings for you. Eventually, the girl could take it no longer and burst out “Either ask her out, or I will do it for you! You’re such an idiot Willy, it's so obvious you love Y/N and I don’t understand how you’ve danced around it for as long as you have!” Noodle’s frustration was apparent from her face alone, if her words somehow hadn’t conveyed exactly what she meant them to. Willy’s eyes went wide at her outburst and his face started to resemble a tomato almost in how brightly he was blushing. As he opened his mouth to make a retort, Noodle interrupted him with a raised finger and a look that shut him up before he could even make so much as a noise. “Go see her now Willy, or I will.” Was all she had to say to get him standing up and practically sprinting out of the door.
A hurried knock at your door startled you out of your thoughtless stare out the window, you sat up abruptly, I’m not expecting any visitors, you thought to yourself as you walked cautiously over to the door. Through the peephole, you spotted the one and only Willy Wonka, pleasantly surprised, you opened up the door to be pulled into a tight embrace. Despite the initial shock, you quickly recovered to hug your dear friend back, “Heya, what’s gotten into you, sweetpea?” Genuinely confused as to the context despite reciprocating the affectionate action. Pulling back from you to look into your eyes, Willy responded, “I love you, Y/N.” Cue the widening of your eyes as you started to stammer out a reply, “Wh-what, huh, I-” “I love you, Y/N, I can’t believe it took Noodle calling me an idiot to realise it but I’m hopelessly, wholeheartedly in love with you.” He affirmed with a fire behind his gaze. You realised then that he wasn’t joking, this wasn’t a prank or him using the word in a friendly sense. “You, you do?” Tears started to well up in your eyes as you looked into his, “I love you too, Willy Wonka.” Not wanting to keep him in suspense, you confessed right back. A laugh broke free from your mouth as the tears started to fall from your eyes. Gently cupping either side of his face, you brought your lips together in a sweet kiss that felt like it could last forever, his hands finding a comfortable perch on your hips as you held each other close. Breaking apart for air, you both giggled, and leaned back into each other for another kiss, this one escalating a little past wholesome as you softly tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth. Breathing heavily now, you separated once more to stare into each other's eyes. Willy Wonka had confessed his love to you and you were ecstatic to say you felt the same. This would be the start of something beautiful, of that you were sure.
#willy wonka x reader#willy wonka#wonka 2023#wonka movie#wonka x reader#timothée chalamet#timothee chalamet wonka#reader insert
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your version of poodle
bsd x fem!reader!! summary if you don't want to watch the video: you and __ have a random word that you use to confirm whether the other is telling the truth or not to make the other happy/quietly tell the other you love them. warnings: suicide mention (dazai) includes: dazai, chuuya, akutagawa, kunikida, jouno
osamu dazai, "citrus"
you had to go on a mission for the agency, you had to go undercover at a party. you had a specific dress to wear that had a microphone in it so that the detectives could gather the information from you. yosano was doing the back of your hair whilst you done your makeup at your desk. not the best studio, but it would do. and osamu loved watching.
everyone was discussing the mission, some people (ranpo) jealous of the food you had freedom to and all you really had to do was sneak into some conversations.
standing up after your hair and makeup was finished, you smoothed out your dress and walked over to the mirror. turning a wall to face the mirror, grimacing behind the wall the separated you from their conversation, you didn't see osamu sneak a glance and quickly walk back to his desk. you walked back plastering a smile on your face although you didn't feel your best, and grabbed your bag as everyone wished you luck.
osamu walked over as you grabbed a few things from your desk and put them in, he stroked your shoulder lightly before saying " you look gorgeous, bella. " trying to assure you of that fact. "citrus?" you asked. "citrus." he smiled.
"what's citrus?" atsushi asked dazai as you left, speaking for everyone as dazai explained with a chuckle. "it just means you have to be telling the truth."
"why citrus?" kunikida followed up. "oh! well one night we were watching a movie and someone said something about commiting suicide from citric acid, i contemplated trying it and i forgot that it's basically just orange juice." he shrugged with a smirk.
chuuya nakahara, "fedora"
you were both sat in the same executives meeting discussing last month's faults and then it came to the section that you controlled. "y/n, what exactly went wrong in that mission?"
mori asked as you sighed, remembering that mission when you had to turn back from the enemy with your most feared group. the mission that was meant to be a straight success.
"they had an ability that countered most of ours, the safest thing to do was to turn back. " you explained. "are you certain?" the boss pried.
"i'm absolutely certain, chuuya, don't you agree? you read the mission overview." you responded more agitated than before, trying to get help so that mori doesn't kill you then and there. "yes sir, fedora." chuuya agreed with you but realised the word he had used when you started laughing.
the word only you two knew the meaning of.
"what does fedora mean?" mori grilled. laughing, you explained the origin of what fedora meant to you both and how it came from chuuya claiming he would never lie about a hat. somehow, you both got out of the tough situation mori put you in.
ryunosuke akutagawa, "rash"
ryunosuke was not one for affection or pda, and you were perfectly okay with that fact. so, how you came up with a word showing how much you love each other was like this:
when you first heard him talk about rashomon, it was when you had first met him and you were just listening in to conversations as you walked along port mafia corridors. you had innocently thought that he said "rash of mine" and thought nothing of it.
but then once you and ryu became closer months later yet not anything official, you were talking one night and messing around with your abilities. when he called out rashomon, you couldn't help but be overcome by giggles.
looking at you confused, he couldn't ask what is funny before you turn to him and realise you never told him. "when,," you giggle "i once heard you talking about rash-" you giggle again.. taking a deep breath in "i thought rashomon was called 'rash of mine' for a couple weeks."
so after you both hung out more and became something more, your small way of showing that you love one another when neither of you were too keen on pda was a quiet whisper of "rash" or a squeeze of the other's forearm. you could both agree your favourite part of this secret language was that you were the only ones who could speak it.
doppo kunikida, "salmon"
this one is simple because doppo enjoys fishing. it became a thing when you were very early into the relationship and he took you fishing.
you weren't keen on fishing but you wanted to try it since it was something he liked. he took you to his favourite spot and you admired him as he spoke whilst fishing. and he caught one! a huge salmon..
you were so happy to be with him you forgot how much fish freaked you out, so when he shown you the monster of a fish he got you froze up. he saw you and immediately laughed whilst asking "do you want me to put it back, y/n?" and you nodded slowly in response.
so ever since, when he wasn't sure if you were sure on something and vice versa, a one word question was asked. "salmon?" "salmon." and when used in front of colleagues, to say it confused them to see (in dazai's words) "prime minister of meeting procedure land acting insane." would be an understatement.
saigiku jouno, "soy sauce"
whilst saigiku can tell when you are uncomfortable or lying from his heightened senses, so he didn't really have to call "soy sauce". but it is no secret he doesn't enjoy tecchou's habit of matching foods of the same colour together. so naturally when you found out about this pet peeve you just had to tease him about this!
but over time the phrase slowly evolved into whenever you aren't sure whether he was uncomfortable in a situation (which isn't often, he is very vocal about his likes and dislikes) you would just ask him, "soy sauce?" and a yes was simply that he was uncomfortable and a no was that he wasn't.
or when you saw him unusually stressed in the hunting dog's HQ, he heard you walking up by him and as he is another one who isn't overly fond of pda, a hushed "soy sauce" could be heard.
if tecchou ever heard your soy sauce thing, jouno would never admit what it means.
#bungou stray dogs#bsd#dazai osamu#bungou stray dogs x reader#dazai x reader#osamu dazai#port mafia#bungo stray dogs#bungo stray dogs x reader#armed detective agency#hunting dogs bsd#jouno saigiku#jouno x reader#bsd dazai#kunikida doppo#kunikida x reader#bsd kunikida#chuuya#chuuya nakahara#bsd chuuya#chuuya x reader#akutagawa ryuunosuke#bsd akutagawa#akutagawa x reader
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DUMBASS DUO SHOWDOWN ROUND 3 BATTLE 2
JOSUKE HIGASHIKATA & OKUYASU NIJIMURA (JOSUYASU) FROM JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE VS SOKKA AND AANG FROM AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER
PROPAGANDA
JOSUYASU
JOSUYASU PROPAGANDA
Josuke is fairly decent, but okuyasu, you know how in math, if you multiply a negative number with a positive one it is always negative, that is josuyasu for you. Josuke has 6 braincells and Okuyasu has -6734. Their first meeting was okuyasu trying to kill josuke, then he shows up at his house a few days later and goes "hey lets go to school! btw your mom is hot!" Josuke punches a plate of spaghetti because he thinks the chef is evil, they both fight a middle schooler who stole their cash. Okuyasu got the third most op ability in his part but he is too stupid (and kind) to realize it. Somehow they survive their entire part. They are thus far the second jojo and jobro duo to not lose each other. the second one? THEM IN AN ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE! (okay but okuyasu is swapped for koichi in that one, but still).
Josuke normally is pretty smart, but somewhat silly, but Okuyasu. Isn’t incredibly bright but he’s the best jojo character idc. Okuyasu brings out josukes stupid and then they are just besties and totally bouncing off each other’s stupid ideas. Idk what Okuyasu does to josukes brain but I’m here for it
I saw the post title and without reading anything else immediately went to submit them, only to go back and read the full post and realize they were included by default. They are THE dumbass duo. Ever. The worst protagonists for a detective story, but they dumbassed around so hard they somehow caught a genius serial killer. No matter who wins, they’ll always be the number 1 dumbasses in my heart.
they are the best of friends, which of course means they met by trying to kill each other.
They’re both so stupid. Like josuke isn’t that stupid on his own but he’s kinda dumb and when you put him with dumbass incarnate okuyasu they multiply each others’ stupidness. Together they are a menace.
JOSUKE AND OKUYASU FOR THE WIN BECAUSE THEY SPEND AN ENTIRE DAY TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHETHER OR NOT A RANDOM ITALIAN WAS EVIL BECAUSE HIS PASTA WAS TOO GOOD
Okuyasu and Josuke share a braincell and they lose that braincell at least 5 times a day
The majority of Diamond is Unbreakable is those two getting themselves and their friends into absurd situations. There's no way the sportsboys can compete with discovering aliens are (maybe???) real and immediately trying to use the alien(??) to cheat at dice. Then they burned down someone's house
#josuyasu are DUmbass Incorporated and i love them#its literally canon that okuyasu has one of The Most Powerful Abilities In The Entire JJBA Universe#but is too dumb and good natured to put it to world ending use
this gif
GIF by hellzfire
Aang & Sokka
They are both very intelligent individually, but when put together they lose all of their braincells
they are very intelligent in their own right but loose all their braincells together
independently they are very intelligent and creative. aang is an incredible diplomat and quick on his feet. sokka is a literal inventor and war strategist. leave them alone in a room together and they get so into the bit that they end up giving each other minor head injuries or write a fake letter that they sign with a blind girl's name. they also attempt to sneak a lemur into a royal banquet under aang's hat.
#dumbass duo showdown#round 3#fandom tournament#tournament#tournament poll#tumblr tournament#character tournament#bracket tournament#tumblr poll#polls#my polls#tumblr polls#poll time#josuke higashikata#okuyasu nijimura#jjba#diamond is unbreakable#josuyasu#jojo kimyou na bouken#avatar the last airbender
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Can I request a yandere Ranpo with a fem darling that works at her family's bakery and they decorative a cake or smth? (It's a date)
I see them meeting each other when the ada was still relatively new. The bakery was like a 5 min walk away. They just happened to get closer over time. For example (darling wanted him to try new items cuz she knew he was gonna be honest with her)
May it also be on the more fluffier side of things?
Make sure to take care of yourself bestie (◔‿◔)
Sugarcoated
(Yandere Ranpo X reader)
“Oh (Name)! Hello?” From your spot in the kitchen you hear the front door of the shop open and close. It was past closing so that meant it was only one person, Ranpo.
“In the back!” You shouted back as you made your way to the fridge to pick up the sheets of cake you had made earlier for tonight. Just as you set them on the counter you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You giggled as you felt the detective burry his face in your neck, right where your neck and jawbone meet and planted little kisses all over it. “Hey! Knock that off, it tickles!”
After a few more he finally stopped, giving you a chance to spin around and give him a peck on the cheek. Ah yes, Ranpo, the detective you hand been dating for the last year or so. You met on his practically daily visits to the bakery either before work, for lunch, or after, sometimes if may be two or more. He definitely wasn’t the most humble to say the least, often bragging about his ability (which you questioned if he even had) but he was always sweet to you. Which leads you to your current situation, spending your one year anniversary in your family’s bakery. Your parents had let you close up early and by yourself so you and Ranpo could have the place to yourselves.
You had planned this, with a few suggestions from him, cake decorating. This in reality was mostly your frosting the cake while he put sprinkles or whatever else on top along with eating the leftover frosting with a spoon while you leaned up a bit. So now while you’re sitting in relative silence, his head resting on your shoulder in the break room of the bakery, waiting for the now decorated cake to chill in the fridge while you scrolled the news, you saw something that caught your eye. “Hey Ranpo, you should see this.”
You passed him the phone that was pulled up to a news reporter of a mysterious bomb threat to be at a local park not to far from here or the agency. With everything that was happening in Yokohama lately it felt dangerous to even step outside, but ag least to some extent you felt safe with Ranpo. You watched as he read the article. With not a word he turned the phone off and set it on the table, you both sat in silence for a long moment before he spoke up, his voice not the happy home it usually is around you. “I want you to move in with me, (Name).”
“What?” This felt so sudden and almost off topic, it took you by surprise. “Why are you asking me this now? I just showed up you that story-”
“That’s exactly why.” He cut you off, sliding one of his hands down to hold one of your own. “It’s becoming more dangerous everyday, I want to make sure you’re somewhere safe even when I’m not here. Please, (Name).”
“I’ll think about it, I mean this just feels so sudden.” You said, slightly unsure of your boyfriend’s suggestion.
“Please, for me?”
“Well… I’m-“ before you could finish responding Ranpo’s phone rang. You let him answer and you could vaguely hear his coworker’s voice on the line, Kunikida you think. You could make out to words bomb, threat, and park. You guessed this was about the article you had shown him. When ypthe ended you smiled and changed the topic, hoping he wouldn’t change it back after that. “Seems like Detective Ranpo is on the case, hm?”
“Right you are, love!” He said with a wide smile, seemingly coming out of nowhere, but that’s just Ranpo. He stood up and bent over to give you a quick kiss. “I’ll be back soon, don’t eat the cake without me.”
You watched as he put his hat back on and made his way towards the door, stopping before it opened. “Hey, (Name)?”
“Hm?”
“Everything I'm doing is to keep you safe, please know that.” He said glancing over at you. “Just think about it, moving in with me.”
Before you could respond you saw him leave, the door clicking shut behind him and you heard the sound of the main door being opened and closed with the sound of the bell. You fingers unconsciously reached up to your lips, still sugary sweet from Ranpo’s kisses, sugarcoated like the words he told to keep you near him…
…just as overly sweet…
.
#yandere bungo stray dogs x reader#yandere bungou stray dogs#yandere bsd#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs x reader#yandere ranpo#Yandere Ranpo x reader#ranpo x reader
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Sometimes even death can be cured
Victor Frankenstein x gn!Detective!reader
A/n: I know the movie comes out 2025 but I was thinking on how Oscar's Victor will see the things or get the motivations on creating. Just something small. Please take this with a grain of salt. I did a poll on this. -> [X]
CW/Triggers: Open ending, corpse. Reader only has two small appearances, small indications of murder. Let me know if I missed some!
I'm sorry if I've overlooked some errors, I finished it late at night.
There may be potential spoilers, please don't read if you feel like you don't want any spoilers. You've been warned!!
Victor Frankenstein was well known in the town, mainly because he owned a castle higher up in the outskirts of town and he was a respected doctor.
Nobody really knew if he lived with someone else in the castle or not, he's always been seen walking alone when he came to the town getting supplies.
Victor once again headed for the town with his horse, wanting to resupply his medic portions. At his arrival, Victor came across people standing in a circle around something, he swiftly got down from his horse and made his way over, adjusting his hat he wore and suit jacket.
He noticed someone leaving the group, a blonde young man with a pale face, as if he's about to puke. But Victor stopped him, wanting to know what's going on.
"Hey excuse me, you mind telling me what's going on?"
The young man looked at him, making a bit of a face. "Someone's dead. People said he had an heart attack." he stammered, quickly making his way past Victor, covering his mouth.
Victor didn't pay any more attention to that boy, instead making his way to the group. He slithered his way through the people, and once he got a free look on the situation, he noticed a doctor already being there.
There wasn't any blood, only a dead man. The doctor at the scene quickly confirmed the man had indeed died from a heart attack. Soon after, the police arrived, along with a Detective.
"Everyone clear the scene, the police will take care." You were the one speaking up, wanting to get rid of the crowd so the police and doctor could do their job without interruptions.
Victor however didn't want to leave, he wanted to help or atleast try to help. "I'm a doctor. Maybe I'll be able to help." Victor explained, hoping he could stay.
You stopped a few feet away from Victor, one police officer on either side of you. "What's your name?"
Victor extended his hand. "My name's Victor, Victor Frankenstein."
"Frankenstein? You're the one with the castle I assume?" you asked, returning the gesture and shaking Victor's hand.
"I'm afraid so, Detective." Victor nodded.
You gave a small smile, looking over Victor's shoulder to the doctor currently working on the corpse. "Victor, I'm afraid we're not in need of your help. A doctor's currently taking your place."
Victor let out a small huff. "I understand. I'll be on my way then, Detective. Have a good day." he nodded, tipping his hat at you before he turned to walk the way he intended to at first.
While walking, Victor thought about if he could have done something, maybe even mixture something new. But he knew some simple potions couldn't make the human heart magically beat again, but the heart can be restarted with electricity. And what natural phenomenon or source is able to produce such power? Thunder. Lightning to be exact. Victor lost himself in thought, looking at the ground. His hat blocked some of his sight when he suddenly bumped against something.
Victor looked up, seeing a rather old man with not much hair left on his head, looking stunned but also looking frantically in different directions as if searching what had bumped into him.
"Hello?" the confused man asked, his eyes were pale as Victor catched them.
Victor quickly reassured the man, placing his hands on his shoulders. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see you, are you okay?" he asked with a hint of concern in his voice.
In the distance he could hear someone call out. "Hey! Excuse me, he's with me, did he do something?" a woman called out, holding her long skirt up a bit in order to quickly get to them through all the dirt and mud on the ground.
"No, actually I bumped into him." Victor said, adjusting his hat a bit and stepping back.
"Sorry about him, I'm the person taking care of him. Even though he's blind he manages to wander off as soon as I look away for even a second." The woman gave a nervous chuckle, gently taking the man by his hand to lead him to the side.
Victor just shrugged it off. "It's okay." he smiled.
"Have a good day, sir." she gave a small smile, then proceeded to lead the blind man away. "When I'm not holding you, it doesn't mean you're allowed to wander off and get yourself hurt." Victor heard the woman scold the blind man in a soft manner.
After the encounter Victor went to the apothecary to stock up his medical supply, and as he made his way back to his horse, he decided to stop at a store to buy some medical books. At the end, he was back inside his castle, in his big study room. Victor had been reading until it was already dead at night, the wind had suddenly began to blow in strong waves on the windows. A thunder was probably about to happen. Victor's eyes suddenly shot up, remembering the events of the day.
Victor thought back to the dead man who had a heart attack, he was certain the police just rolled the corpse up in some covers to retrieve it the next day with coroners. Victor was fast, attaching a small wagon to his horse and rode to the town. Nobody was out at this hour, especially not with an imminent thunder, Victor arrived at the spot where the man was, spotting indeed a wagon with what looked like a corpse wrapped up in some sheets. He looked around, making sure he was hundred percent alone before carrying the corpse to his wagon.
It was surprisingly easy for Victor to get the corpse and he was a bit anxious of getting caught. He knew that he should have planned things like that, but everything happened so suddenly - the man dying from a heart attack, a thunder appearing out of nowhere, but Victor still wanted to try and do something. And since the corpse was still a bit fresh, there might be a chance something could happen.
The wind was getting stronger and some rain was already dropping down. Victor was fast, getting the corpse to the backyard of his castle, unwrapping it, grabbing a thin, long spike from a fence and stabbed it into the chest.
Victor was already expecting things to fail. A beating heart without a functional brain in the body wasn't going to revive a human.
The rain was pouring down now, the thunder arrived and lightning was painting the night sky. Victor stood close by, but not too close, watching what would happen if a lightning struck the body.
The thunder continued, but no lightning was striking the body, Victor was slowly losing hope. But as he was about just walk away, a lightning shot down into the spike, he saw the electricity making its way downwards into the body, causing it to flash blue for only a fraction of a second. Victor kept his eyes on the body, when suddenly he noticed the hand of the corpse twitch.
At seeing this, Victor couldn't believe his own eyes, he just stood there, flabbergasted even. The corpse didn't move again after that though, and Victor felt a pang of disappointment. The thunder was getting weaker as it continued to move away from Victor's castle.
Victor waited until the thunder was far away, he inspected the body, seeing a dark spot where the heart was, indicating the electricity of the lightning has done atleast something.
"Now I only need to get rid of the corpse." Victor muttered to himself, removing the spike from the chest, picking the corpse up and putting it down in his wagon once more. Victor left to get a shovel before getting on his horse again and ride off to a secluded piece of the nearby forest where he intended to bury the corpse.
Victor had made a deep hole, carefully dragging the corpse into it and burying the corpse once and for all. After he was done, he stabbed the shovel into the dirt, resting his arms on the handle to catch some breaths. His clothes and face were a bit dirty, a layer of sweat coated his face. After he calmed down, he was about to walk away when he heard a crunch of leafes and some sticks nearby.
Victor instantly stopped moving, looking into the direction where he heard the noises, spotting a person standing there.
"Hello?" came a voice. Victor could swear he heard the voice somewhere, it sounded familiar even if it was just a simple hello. Victor gave a small wave with his hand, but the person standing there didn't seem to recognize the gesture, just standing there.
"Is there someone?" the person asked. Realization hit Victor hard, he now remembered who he's looking at. It is the blind man he saw earlier today who was supposed to have that woman as his caretaker. He remembered her saying this guy could sneak off even if she didn't pay attention to him for one second.
Victor had to admit he was glad the man was blind. What he couldn't need right now were some witnesses...
Victor decided to just keep on moving, he knew it was cruel of him to just let that guy stand there in the woods but he couldn't risk of getting caught, even if it was just some blind man.
He heard the man ask something again, but Victor had already gotten onto his horse and rode off back to his castle. Back at his castle, he went straight to bed, relieved the day's events had passed rather troubleless...
The next day Victor woke up by some insistent knockings on his door. He let out an annoyed groan, getting out and making his way to the door. As Victor opened the door, he was met by an familiar face. You.
"Good morning, Dr. Frankenstein." you greeted. "We are here because a corpse has been stolen last night."
Victor raised an eyebrow. "And you immediately think I've done it?"
You reassured him. "No, no. We just want to know if you've seen something maybe?"
Victor catched the gaze of an police officer, who looked at him expectantly. "No detective, I was out cold pretty early last night from all my studying." he lied expertly.
He seemed to be telling the truth to you, so you believed him. "Alright, sorry for the disturbance. I wish you a good day." you shot him a smile.
Victor returned the smile. "Good luck on investigating, detective." before shutting the door again. Victor let out a relieved breath.
He went to his study room, knowing he couldn't get some more sleep now, so he resumed reading some books be bought the day before. This one was a biology book with newly discovered medical facts of the human body.
Victor read a sentance he found quite interesting. "If the heart stopped beating, there is still enough oxygen left in the human brain to function for 6 to 7 more minutes before dying."
He leaned back in his chair, thinking. "So that means if the man with the heart attack had been revived quick enough he could have lived..." he hummed, a slow smirk formed on his face.
Maybe next time it will work...
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