#not in the curious way I mean the condescending way. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunni-stuff · 4 days ago

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People are judgmental. Some think they aren't, others don't mean to be, and then there are those who do it on purpose and simply don't care.

Parents are guilty of this.

Parents who pay you to teach their kids do this.

But the worst offenders?

Wives.

Particularly those with too much free time—gossiping Gertrude's who'd rather nitpick and judge than deal with the boredom of daytime TV and their kids screaming in the background. You’ve dealt with a handful before—a crack in the system that always rippled right under your skin whenever one of those vultures threw out a backhanded compliment.

“You’re so patient with the kids. I could never do what you do—how do you even manage?”

“Must be nice having all that time off during the summer. A little vacation every year, huh?”

“Teaching must be so rewarding. Though I imagine it’s not really about the money, is it?”

Each one, a subtle dig disguised as flattery, like they couldn’t help but twist the knife just a little deeper.

If there was one thing you’d learned about this job, it was to always kill them with kindness. The rumor mill among parents was ruthless, and the wrong rumor could ripple out and jeopardize your career. So, you’d mastered the art of the polite smile, the well-timed thank you, and the effortless small talk. It was a strategy that had served you well, keeping any overly curious mothers at bay.

Still, these women were relentless. They circled like hawks, always looking for an opening to pry into your life or make veiled comments about your parenting. You’d never given them the satisfaction of slipping up—until the day you almost did.

The sun was setting, the air brisk and tinged with the promise of winter as parents gathered their children. Little voices chattered away as teachers handed over day charts, neatly summarizing each child’s activities. Standing at the cubbies, you were bundling up Adira. Her small frame was snug in her sweater, jacket zipped up to her chin, and scarf tucked securely around her neck. She fidgeted as you worked, barely able to stay still with how much excitement bubbled in her tiny frame.

Her voice was high-pitched and animated as she launched into a story, her words tumbling over each other in her eagerness to share. “Messy man said, we play trains when he comes back!” she chirped, her dark eyes wide with delight.

You paused, your fingers lingering on the last button of her jacket. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you straightened her scarf. “Oh, did he now?”

Adira nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing. “Yep! He said, “Adira, we make the best train track ever!” Her imitation of Simon’s deep voice was laughably exaggerated, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.” We gonna play with the biiig track!” She spread her arms wide for emphasis, nearly toppling over from the effort.

The mention of Simon was enough to draw some attention from the other parents nearby. You could feel their eyes darting your way, their curiosity almost palpable. Simon’s occasional appearances to pick up Adira hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the whispers had already started. Who was this tall, broad man with a thick accent? Was he Adira’s father? A boyfriend? The air was thick with silent speculation.

Ignoring the countless eyes and ears listening in on your harmless conversation, you assured Adira. “Well, if messy man promised, he’ll keep it,” Simon had made it clear that he intended to be a constant presence in Adira’s life, and so far, he’d stuck to his word.

As you stood and picked up her small bag, a sharp voice interrupted the moment.

"Well, aren’t you just the picture-perfect little family?”

Your polite smile returned instantly, masking the irritation that flared at the condescending tone. Turning, you saw one of the daycare moms—Linda, if you remembered correctly—standing there with her perfectly manicured nails wrapped around her designer purse. Her son trailed behind her, nose buried in a tablet.

“Evening, Linda,” you said evenly, keeping your tone light. “How’s Ethan doing?

She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes already scanning Adira with that overly curious gaze that made your skin crawl. “Oh, he’s fine. But I couldn’t help overhearing... this ‘Messy man’ your little one mentioned. Is he... new in your life?”

Ah, there it was—the opening she was fishing for.

Adira, oblivious to the undercurrents of adult conversation, grinned up at Linda uncharacteristically, the joy she felt for Simon completely expunging her normal glaring behavior. “Messy man makes pancakes! But they go splat!” She threw her hands out dramatically, mimicking the chaos Simon often caused in the kitchen.

Goddammit, poor Adira revealed too much to the wrong person, and you could already see the cogs turning in Linda's head. Forcing a chuckle, you reached for Adira’s hand. “Messy man is her nickname for Simon, her dad. He’s stationed overseas, so she gets pretty excited when he’s home.”

Linda’s perfectly arched eyebrow lifted slightly, clearly surprised. “Oh, I see. Military man, huh? I suppose that explains why we’ve never seen him around.”

You gave Linda your most neutral expression, taking notice of the other moms matching from behind her. “He’s been busy, but he’s doing his best to be here when he can.”

"Oh, I see. I simply would've never guessed you were married. You never wear a ring," Linda remarked, her tone dripping with subtle judgment.

You knew what she was doing. It was a carefully laid trap, baited to catch you in a corner. If you rebuffed her comment, if you made a scene, it would only give her more ammunition to spread rumors. These women didn’t care for nuances; they thrived on gossip, and the topic of marriage—or rather, the lack of a visible wedding ring—would be a field day for them. They’d ride that horse straight to hell, and you'd be left cleaning up the mess.

With the growing number of parents in earshot, you understood that this wasn’t just a comment; it was a test. You had to choose your words carefully. It wasn’t just about keeping things smooth in the moment—it was about protecting your future.

You gave a small, practiced smile, maintaining your composure as you slipped Adira’s bag onto your shoulder. “I don’t wear my ring because I work with children. It could get caught in their hair, or worse, I could lose it.” You met her gaze with a calm confidence that bordered on dismissive.

“That’s understandable, dear. We all have kids after all!” Lina laughed, her tone attempting to sound warm and genuine, but it was too polished, too forced. The laughter rang hollow, like a poorly executed attempt to mask her true intentions. “Does this mean we’ll finally get to meet him at the fundraiser this weekend? We’ve all been here for so long, and not a single glimpse of your beloved other half. Right, ladies?”

Her words floated in the air, sharp with insinuation. The smile she wore was one of practiced sweetness, but the glint in her eyes was anything but kind. She knew what she was doing—attempting to pull you further into her web, hoping to get a reaction that would either reveal more or, better yet, give her ammunition to fuel the rumors she clearly wanted to start.

A few of the other women murmured in agreement, their eyes flicking from you to each other, already whispering amongst themselves. They were all waiting for a response, and the pressure began to build in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes, he is.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even process them, your own response surprising you as much as it did the group of wives surrounding you. You felt a jolt in your chest, your heart picking up pace as the reality of what you had just said began to sink in. What the fuck did you just do?

The laughter from Linda faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed your words. The others exchanged glances, some of their faces lighting up with an almost predatory curiosity, while others masked their thoughts behind polite smiles. You could almost hear the gears turning in their heads—oh, this was going to be something they could use.

The tension in the air thickened, and you suddenly felt exposed, as if every secret you’d carefully kept tucked away was now dangling on the edge of a cliff. You’d just handed them the perfect piece of gossip, but what would it lead to? Would they use it against you, twist it into something worse? You hadn’t planned for any of this—hell, you hadn't even planned on saying anything at all—but now that it was out there, you had to somehow steer this conversation.

You had to control the narrative, or risk letting it spiral completely out of your hands.

Your mind races, trying to formulate a response, but everything seems so loud—your thoughts, the laughter, the eyes watching you. How could you backpedal without it seeming like a lie? How could you walk that fine line between the truth and keeping your personal life hidden?

"Yes, Simon’s coming," you added quickly, trying to steady your breath. "But, you know... he’s not really into the whole fundraiser thing. He’s more of a stay-at-home guy, a bit of a quiet one, really. I’ll be there though, and we’re looking forward to it." You tried to sound casual, but the flicker of doubt in your voice betrayed you.

The women around you didn’t miss a beat, though. The moment had been set, and now it was only a matter of what they would do with the information.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you.” Lina’s voice was dripping with a false sweetness, and you could feel the weight of her gaze as she gave you one last look. Her eyes lingered a bit longer than necessary, as if trying to peel back layers, searching for some crack to exploit. Then, with a nod, she steered Ethan away, her entourage of women following closely behind, their chatter rising in the air like a distant murmur. The click of their heels echoed as they disappeared down the hall, leaving you standing there, frozen in place.

"And so, that's what happened," you finished, your voice trailing off as you leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to gauge Simon's reaction.

Simon blinked up at you from where he was sitting on the floor, his focus still mostly on Adira, who was happily arranging her toy train with her blocks, making a makeshift kingdom. He didn’t seem phased, just a little confused. "You want me to pretend to be your husband?"

The question hung in the air for a moment before he let out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly, his eyes filled with that familiar warmth. "Out of all the things I've done in my life, this has to be the funniest, love.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the unexpected nickname. It felt oddly intimate, a shift in the dynamic between you and Simon that you hadn’t anticipated. Love. It wasn't what you'd expected to hear from him, not in this context, not when everything felt so messy and uncertain. But there it was, slipping out so naturally from him, like he'd always called you that, like he'd been in your life much longer than he really had.

Your heart skipped a beat, the sound of Adira’s laughter in the background making the moment feel surreal. It should have been funny—this whole situation, with you essentially asking Simon to pretend to be your husband for the sake of those gossiping women. But instead, you felt something else, something soft and unfamiliar tightening in your chest.

“Did you just call me that?” You couldn't help but ask, your voice a little quieter than you intended.

Simon paused, his playful smile faltering for a second as he caught the look on your face. “I—yeah, I guess I did,” he replied, his tone a touch more uncertain now. He glanced down at Adira, who was happily stacking blocks at his feet, then back to you. “It was just a slip of the tongue. Didn’t mean anything weird by it.”

“I’m not exactly husband material, you know,” he added lightly, his voice teasing. “I’m more of a... messy man.”

You chuckled at that, shaking your head. "A messy man, huh?"

He nodded, grinning. “Yeah, but I’m good at it. Just ask Adira.”

Adira, hearing her name, immediately let out a squeal of approval. “Messy man!” she giggled, throwing a block in Simon’s direction, her tiny hand pointing at him with delight.

"So, what's the plan here then?" That easy grin back on his face, his eyes still dancing with humor, but there was something underneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. “You want me to just walk into a room and act like we’re a picture-perfect couple?”

The way he said it made you laugh a little, though there was a slight edge of uncertainty to it. You found yourself shifting uncomfortably, knowing you had no real plan for what came next. It wasn’t like you had a relationship with Simon beyond the occasional dinner and time spent with Adira, and yet, here you were, asking him to play a role in your life, one that might end up blurring lines you didn’t fully understand.

“Well, you don’t have to pretend, exactly,” you said, running a hand through your hair, suddenly feeling all the weight of the day settling in. “I just... I just need you to be there. You know, to back me up, to—” You paused, glancing over at Simon again. “I guess I just don’t want them thinking I’m alone in all of this. It’s bad enough that has already started.”

Simon’s gaze softened as he leaned back in his seat, watching you with a quiet understanding. "You're not alone in this," he said, his voice steady. “And I’m here. You don’t need a ring or a title for that.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten again, but this time it was different. His words weren’t a joke or a half-hearted attempt to make you feel better—they were real. He was offering something more than just pretending for the sake of others. He was offering his presence, his support.

For a moment, you forgot about everything else. The plans, the expectations, the pressure. Instead, all that mattered was Simon sitting across from you, smiling at you like you weren't asking for something too much, like it wasn’t strange to think of him in your life like this.

“Thank you,” you murmured. "Really."

He gave a small nod, then grinned, shifting his attention back to Adira, who had managed to get half the blocks stacked to an impressive height. “It’s nothing. Besides, I think Adira’s got the best part of this deal anyway.”

You glanced over at your daughter, who was watching both of you with wide eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. Adira was your source of strength, a beacon that pushed you forward, her smile alone gave you determination. “Alright, let’s figure out what married people do.”

"I know just who to call." Simon reached for his phone, the battered thing covered in scratches, an old case and sporting a broken screen from a hazardous drop. Upon seeing it, the first thought running through your head was, how the fuck was it still usable?

Price’s living room radiated warmth and history, a perfect mix of domestic coziness and military precision. The centerpiece was a sturdy stone fireplace, its mantle adorned with framed photos of Price and his wife, Melanie. In some, they stood arm in arm at scenic locations; in others, Price was in uniform, the edges of his cap sharp against the backdrop of distant skies. Above the fireplace hung a shadow box displaying medals and insignias, each one polished to a shine, speaking volumes about his service.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with everything from military strategy texts to well-worn novels. On one shelf sat a small globe and a model of a Spitfire plane, a nod to his admiration for history. A comfortable, overstuffed armchair, complete with a folded tartan blanket, sat near the fire. The coffee table bore faint scratches, evidence of years of use, and atop it lay an open newspaper, a mug of tea, and a small dish of biscuits.

You sat stiffly on the plush sofa, feeling distinctly out of place amidst this blend of home and honor. The ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner filled the silence as you watched Simon talk to Price in the adjoining kitchen. Occasionally, their eyes flicked toward you, and you pretended not to notice, your gaze wandering instead to a black-and-white photo of a younger Price standing with a group of soldiers, all grinning ear to ear.

The awkwardness of the situation weighed on you like a heavy blanket. This wasn’t exactly how you envisioned your day—asking Price, of all people, to help stage your fake relationship. But you were in too deep now to back out.

In the kitchen, Price rubbed his hand over his mouth, barely concealing the grin that tugged at his lips. A low chuckle escaped as he grabbed a cup of coffee, shaking his head at Simon, who stood across from him, arms folded, his expression far more serious than the moment warranted.

“You want me and Mel to help you two seem like a couple? That right?” Price’s voice carried an unmistakable note of amusement, his words tinged with disbelief.

Simon shifted his weight, rolling his shoulders back, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Yes, that’s the gist of it."

Price’s laughter broke free, a warm, hearty sound that echoed off the kitchen tiles. “Bloody hell, Simon. You’ve seen action all over the world, but this—this is what’s got you nervous?” He clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder, his grin wide enough to light the room. “You’re in for a treat, mate. Melanie’s going to love this.”

From your seat, you caught Price’s amused glance, and you couldn’t help the way your face heated. This was going to be a long evening.

Price, still chuckling, crossed the room to the wide bay window, pushing it open with ease. The crisp evening air drifted in, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint hum of distant crickets. He leaned out slightly, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Mel! Come on inside, love. You’ve got to hear this one,” he called, his voice carrying easily over the quiet of their backyard.

From where you sat, you caught a glimpse of Melanie in the garden. She was tending to a neat row of vibrant flowers, her hands gloved and a straw hat perched on her head. At the sound of Price’s voice, she straightened up, brushing dirt off her knees with a curious look on her face.

“Be right there!” she replied, her voice warm and lilting. She removed her gloves, tucking them into her apron pocket as she began making her way toward the house.

Price turned back to Simon, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You better hope Mel doesn’t laugh you out of the house, mate.”

Simon groaned softly, rubbing his temples. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Price.”

Moments later, Melanie stepped into the living room, a radiant smile lighting up her face. She was the epitome of grace, her presence immediately softening the room’s atmosphere. Her gaze shifted between you, Simon, and her husband, her curiosity evident.

“What’s all this about, then?” she asked, removing her hat and setting it on a nearby chair. “You’ve got that mischievous look again, John.”

Price grinned, gesturing toward you and Simon. “These two need a favor, Mel. A big one.”

Melanie’s brows lifted as she looked between the two of you. “Oh? Do tell.”

Simon, looking equal parts determined and mortified, cleared his throat. “We... need help convincing a group of nosy parents that we’re married. Long story.”

Melanie’s smile widened as her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, this sounds rich. Go on, I’m listening.”

You shifted in your seat, feeling the warmth of Melanie’s gaze settle on you. Her smile was kind but tinged with unmistakable amusement, and it was clear she was holding back a laugh as she took in your flustered state.

“Well,” you began hesitantly, clasping your hands together in your lap. “It’s a bit of a mess, really. One of the moms at the daycare cornered me, started asking questions about Simon, and… I might’ve let it slip that we’re married. Which we’re not. Obviously.” Your words tumbled out in a rush, and you glanced at Simon for backup. He was rubbing the back of his neck, caught between exasperation and amusement.

Melanie let out a soft laugh and gracefully sat down beside you on the couch. “Ah, I see. And now you need to sell the story before it falls apart. Oh, love, I’ve been in a similar pickle—not quite like this, but close enough.”

“See?” Price chimed in from his armchair, leaning back with an amused grin. “Told you Mel would get a kick out of this.”

Simon shot him a flat look. “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, mate.”

Melanie waved a dismissive hand at Price before patting your knee in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t mind him. Now, let’s think this through. If you’re going to convince anyone, you need to act the part. People pick up on the smallest details—how you talk to each other, how comfortable you seem together. If you’re too stiff, they’ll see right through it.”

Simon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he nodded. “Alright, so what do we need to do? We’ve got about a week before the fundraiser, so I’m open to ideas.”

Melanie’s eyes lit up with a mix of mischief and determination. “Perfect. We’ll start with body language—how you interact without saying a word. And then we’ll move on to the conversational stuff. You’ll need to know each other’s habits, quirks, and all those little details married couples just know.”

Price clapped his hands together with mock enthusiasm, a cheeky grin plastered across his face. “Right, then. Let the awkward training sessions begin. This’ll be one for the books.”

You groaned inwardly, glancing between Simon and Melanie. This bizarre charade was only just beginning, and while you couldn’t imagine where it would lead, one thing was clear—you were in for a wild ride.

Happy new years friends! The holidays were a riot and I spent most of it spending time with family instead of writing as I felt kind of burnt out from writing in November, sorry about that but I hope this makes up for it.

@midnight-blue-moon-princess @pipedream411 @frogofrg @loonagabs @ghostlythots @vixenshiftsvrs @devoetee @shorty-tolentino @aethelwyneleigh27 @ayesha-eroticax3 @emilia527 @danielle143 @maniacalbooper @awildewit @gifted-aurora @teenagellamaangel @julesjunimos @tacticalgirlboss @midnights-song @suzuki-18 @t3a-bag @latencygirl @krispymagazinepizza-blog @harperdoodle @odettecigno @sockertop @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovelystarfish @my-little-evil-blog @imastorytelleritsondvd @l1lpip @cringeycookies @identity2212 @balletbiscuit @mulletmcghee @maciswack @littleracco0n @oliver-1270 @weemansoap @cryingpages @connorsui @beebeechaos @gluttonybiscuits @strawberrygato @sozainturpal @echo9821 @blinca @illusionistlover @blubearxy @superficialfeelings @new-author3 @xanvasy @oniiloma @bankaixx @evie-199 @notsochillnerd @thatpersonnamedrook @hon3y-cloud @jaguarthecat @reinekoya @apixasflora @a-lovers-card @gloriousloveduck @aetherthetrashpanda @princess-vibes25 @vickykazuya @enfppuff @liliannamae @m0chac0ffee @flamehero-phoenix @bean-cream @realizemandi97 @almostdecadentstarfish @lunamoonbby

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #we meet again

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 6 months ago

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Cold-hearted Wolf

Master list

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Martell princess reader.

Tags: Angst, fluff, arranged marriage, eventual smut, cregan is repressed and mean at first, then falls for the reader.

All fiction, the reader is a made up character. Im a long-time reader, but first-time writer.

Chapter 2 - war council, sexy sparring, and a confrontation.

Cregan Stark stood at the head of a large wooden table, surrounded by advisors and generals. His dog sat obediently beside his chair. The table was spread with maps, denoting positions, and pathways. Cregan's fingers traced a potential route, his eyes focused.

"This pass," he began, pointing to a narrow way in the mountains, "Will be our best chance. It's least expected. We'll split our forces..."

Before he could continue, the door creaked open, and you walked in, your curious gaze taking in the scene. You curtseyed before the council, approaching the table with measured steps. Cregan's pet waddled over and nuzzled against your dress, letting you scratch behind his ear.

Cregan's brow furrowed. "My lady," he began, his tone polite but firm, "This is a war council meeting. It's not a place for a princess."

There was a murmur of agreement from some of the men and women, while others looked away, not meeting your gaze.

You swallowed the insult, whether he intended it or not, hoping your confidence didn’t waver as you offered in turn. "In Sunspear, my father’s council valued the insights of all, regardless of sex or stature. I've studied battles since I was little, my lord, and strategies. My input might offer a fresh perspective."

Cregan hesitated, raising a brow in trying to assess when their or not this information about Dornish customs was true.

"Your highness." One of the generals, an older man with grizzled hair, grunted, "There is no harm in hearing the lady Stark, my lord. The Dornish have a way with unconventional tactics."

You held your tongue from telling the general the tactics only seemed unconventional to him, but in the south, they were quite practiced. You were grateful enough that he spoke in your defense.

After a long pause, Cregan finally nodded. "Very well. Speak your mind, my lady."

You smiled at your husband and approached the maps. With a glint in your eye, you began outlining your thoughts, suggesting alternatives and considering Dornish strategies that the North had made full use of. The room slowly grew quiet, listening cautiously to your thoughts. As you spoke, you glanced around the room to get a take of the atmosphere. Some members of the council sat with skeptical looks, questioning your suggestions, others with furrowed brows of concern.

You spotted your husband, whose eyes followed the map where you were pointing out battle formations. You didn’t expect his eyes to snap up to meet yours, the cloudy storm in them rendering you speechless for a moment.

You stuttered in the midst of your sentence, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. You cursed yourself inwardly when you saw the corner of his mouth perk up. He was laughing at you. No matter how you have brought the room to silence, Cregan still didn’t take you seriously. The embarrassment and humiliation made you all the more self conscious as you thanked the gods that one of the generals, the same one who had stood up for you, took in one of your suggestions and began to talk it over with the council.

“If I may, my lord.” He began to talk to Cregan, whose eyes and condescending smirk were still on you. “The merging of Dornish and Northern tactics might just be the edge we needed.”

Cregan finally tore his watchful eyes away from you, and you took in a deep breath. “Tradition had its place for a reason, don’t you agree, Ser Robert?”

The general nodded, albeit giving the lord a knowing look. “Sometimes, the winds of change bring unexpected allies and advantages.”

Cregans gaze switched back to you. “Aye, sometimes.” His expression unreadable once more.

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The courtyard buzzed with activity, men-at-arms training for the looming battle. At the center, Cregan Stark and his kingsguard, Ser Jon, clad in their sparring breaches and boots, moved with a fluid grace, each thrust and parry a testament to their combat training. Steel against steel echoed off the ancient stone walls.

Watching from the sides, your eyes traveled appreciatively over Cregan's physique, particularly the way you could see every tensed muscle of his arms, chest, and abdomen as he carried out perfected movements. Beneath your admiration, however, was a desire to humble him after his dismissal of you in the war council. To make him turn red for once.

Walking forward to the table decorated with weaponry, you picked up your favored curved Dornish blade, sharp and deadly, a gift for Cregan from your court.

You slowly approached the sparring duo. "Care for a challenge, my lord?" You were happy your voice didn’t waver.

The knight and lord Stark paused their fight, lowering their weapons, the courtyard going silent. Cregan tilted his head to meet your gaze, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're not dressed for it, my lady. That gown looks too precious to risk-"

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of your gown and tore it, fashioning a makeshift skirt that allowed for movement. You barely felt the cold air as the adrenaline rushing through your veins brought a familiar heat. The gathered crowd murmured around you.

Cregan caught himself staring at you but recovered quickly, chuckling. "Spoiled princess, tearing such fine fabric.”

You exhaled sharply at the comment, feeling again as if you were a misbehaving child being disciplined. You were going to enjoy this. “My lord,” You put up your blade and held your stance.

“Alright,” Cregan held up his sword and got in position. “If you are so eager to prove a point."

You advanced, your blade zooming in the air. The courtyard crowd drew back. The initial clash was swift, Cregan clearly taken aback by surprise. You ducked under his strikes, retaliating with speed. A well-timed move saw Cregan on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He only stayed that way for a moment, though, quickly getting back up.

"I am every bit the warrior you are," you insisted with conviction as the two of you circled one another.

Cregan recovered quickly. With newfound respect, he launched a fierce counterattack, which you blocked.

Of course, Lord Stark knew nothing of the discipline Sunspear princesses have received, including battle strategy and combat. You were glad you at least got to see the surprise in his features when you dodged his attacks masterfully. Your old teacher back home would be proud.

Blades blurred in the air as you fought. But Cregan's strength and experience began to tell. With a deft move, he had you pinned against the hey covered ground, his hand reaching around your back to put a buffer between you and the ground.

He inched towards you until you were a breath apart, making you breath hitch. "Being a good sparring partner doesn't make you a good warrior, princess," he breathed.

Your cheeks burned, but you were determined to get away victorious. With a sudden twist, you broke free, using your legs to flip him onto the ground as you rolled on top of him. Cregan found himself on his back, your curved blade cool against his throat. He looked up, not just into the eyes of a skilled fighter, but a woman who had quite literally kicked his ass, even if it was by fighting dirty.

You looked down at him, but something made you pause. His wolfish grin was back. His eyes wandered slightly, noting the way your dress had ridden up, scandalously, you realized, revealing your legs. You tried to ignore the feeling that look of his stirred within the pit of your stomach.

"Don't underestimate your opponent," you breathed, fighting a smile. You missed the rush of fighting. Feeling brazen, you leaned in closer until you were sure only he could hear. "You rely too heavily on might. Long-range combat is key to reducing casualties. Thank you for granting me the honor of sparring with you."

With that, you rose gracefully, leaving a dazed Cregan on the floor.

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The flicker of candlelight lit up your bedchamber in a warm glow. On the table, maps were sprawled out in detail. Concentration etched your features as you calculated troop movements, supply routes, and attacks.

The door creaked open, revealing Cregan Stark, his eyes heavy and ready for sleep after his wash, his hair tied messily behind his ears and falling lazily over his forehead. “I must accompany Ser Robert tomorrow to the front.” He said.

"Look," You pointed to your notes. "This regiment, right here."

He glanced over, brows furrowed. "That's too many men," he said, his tone sharp. "I won't needlessly risk Northern lives."

You met his gaze evenly. "Victory requires the right numbers. And this is the number we need."

"The numbers ‘we’ need," he shot back, echoing your words. "These are people you are sending to their deaths. Offering up thousands of Northern lives like its nothing."

"No!” You stood your ground, chin raised defiantly, though your lower lip began to tremble. "It's almost as though you have forgotten that I am your wife, Cregan Starl! These people, your people, are mine now, too. I value them as much as you do!"

His grey eyes stormed at your words, clearly not expecting you to be so blunt with him.

You stepped closer,your voice finding its confidence. "From the moment I've arrived here. You… you've treated me with nothing but disdain! Dismissing my opinions, underestimating me, and ridiculing me in front of your men. The only respect you showed was when we sparred. Is that the only language you understand?"

His icy facade wavered, guilt flickering in his eyes. "y/n," he began.

But you weren't having any of it. “Please, just listen!"

While you still had his attention, you launched into your strategy, outlining troop movements and battle formations and emphasising the importance of long-range weapons.

“The longbow may work in the windless desserts,” he interrupted. “But the climate here is different.”

“We make use of trebuchets then.” You insisted.

He blinked at that. “Perhaps,”

As the two of you spoke, exchanging ideas back and forth, the plan became clear. Cregan, for the first time, truly listened, no belittling smirks, or jibes.

“With this plan, more lives could be spared. Our men can come home.” You finished, with nothing more to add.

You looked at him for either approval or dissatisfaction. Anything to give you a sign of what he thought. But his face was unreadable as he leaned on the desk, studying your combined notes. His mouth remained in a hard line, but his eyes, plagued by grey storms, were on you.

“Cregan?” You asked, urging him to share his thoughts.

Cregan took a step towards you, closing the distance between you two, his hand lifting your chin up and capturing your lips in a fierce kiss.

You gasped, your limbs temporarily going numb with sudden warmth as his soft lips moved roughly against yours. This man didn’t kiss gently. He was roughened up by his environment and did not hold back. Just as he handn’t on his wedding night. Only now, it was different. Now, he seemed like he actually wanted to be kissing you.

Your hands grasped at his wide shoulder to balance yourself. “Cregan…”

Your initial surprise melted after a moment, giving way to desire, and you responded with equal interest, kissing him back. His hands found your hips and pulled you sharply against himself, tightening around you. You felt hard muscle. The man was all rough edges and cold demeanors, but right now, he was warm. This was the passion you'd yearned for, the connection you'd dreamt of.

Outside of the boarded window, you overheard the sounds of the night, the whistling win, the sound of owls hooting, and echoes of a wolf howling from a distance. Suddenly, Cregan pulled away abruptly, leaving you breathless and disoriented.

“Y/N,” he began, breathing unevenly. “I cannot…”

“What?” Your voice broke, dreading the rejection you knew was coming.

“You regret our union, dont you.” You said finally, tired of waiting for his response.

He looked up at you with furrowed brows. “That is not what I-

You shook your head, eyes on the floor as you tried to calm your racing breaths. “Its alright.” You reassured him, hoping it would make it easier to be truthful with you. “You hate that I'm not a Northerner. That I'm not your equal.”

You watched as his handsome features hardened into anger. As if you had just said something extremely stupid.

He took two steps and backed you against the wall. Gasping, you blinked up to meet stormy grey eyes staring down at you.

"My land is in crisis," he finally said, his voice raw. "I can't afford to be distracted by such… dramatics. If you wished for constant passion and fire in your marriage, I'm afraid you ran out of luck with me, princess."

Before he could say more, and having heard enough, you gathered the maps on the table and shoved them into his hands before storming out of your bedroom door, leaving him alone in the candlelit room, your ego bruised and your emotions in turmoil.

#hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon #cregan x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #eventual smut #angst #fluff

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target-core · 23 days ago

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The fandom interpretation of billford vs how I interpret it personally has such stark contrast that I kind of wonder if we all read the same book/watched the same show sometimes.

I don’t mean that in a bad way (sorry if I come across as condescending). I find it really interesting actually. I think fandom, in general, has a tendency to ignore darker themes present in a work because they’re difficult to talk about.

I feel a little odd seeing so much fluff and domesticity type stuff surrounding them when their relationship was so terrible. There’s nothing wrong with fluff obviously (I like it sometimes!), it’s just hard for me to fully enjoy … I can’t help but view any moments of Bill treating Ford nicely as underhanded. I am also probably projecting though - part of why I like Billford and interpret it the way I do is because I find it (particularly the darker parts) relatable to me.

I’m curious to hear other peoples opinions on this matter. Sorry for the random rant - don’t worry, I’m working on something! This has just been on my mind lately.

#gravity falls #billford #rant

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kaiserposting · 3 months ago

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Michael Kaiser — Liebevoll

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 1k TYPE: Humor, Established relationship, some fluff WARNING(S): Kaiser is a cringe loser, my bad german makes a comeback (I was always on that damn phone in german class)

Since you’ve been trying to learn German (you gave some stupid excuse about how you ‘want to know what shit he talks about you when he thinks you don’t understand him’), a golden opportunity to mess with you has appeared in front of Kaiser.

Obviously being that your brainwaves aren’t completely inactive, you knew not to ask him and instead try a language app first because he’s not to be trusted.

Not possible on Kaiser’s watch, though. Nuh uh. What do you need an app for when you have a boyfriend who’s perfectly capable of lying to you for his amusement?

Your phone was dealt with (snatched and tucked in Kaiser’s back pocket, where you’d rather wretch than reach) three exercises in… So you’re still about as clueless as in the beginning. Now, Kaiser is subjecting you to his ‘tutoring’.

“When someone holds the door for you, you bow and say ‘Ich hoffe, du wirst von einem Auto angefahren.’ It means thank you, by the way.”

“Uh, that’s too long to mean thank you.” You look at him like he’s forcing you to say tongue twisters, suspicion clear in your expression.

Kaiser finds your wariness and lack of understanding really cute, mainly because he’s a condescending asshole. He reaches out to try and move your mouth as if that’ll somehow assist you in pronouncing it, but you pry his fingers away from your face before he can reach. It makes him snicker.

After a few tries, you get through that one. Then Kaiser forces you through the ordeal of sounding out that string of bullshit multiple times ‘just to make sure you really memorized it’.

Next, Kaiser says, “When you want the tab at a restaurant, you should say, ‘Kannst du auf meinen Teller scheißen?’”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Why do you think you know more than me? It’s my first language.” He smiles at you in a wannabe suave manner.

Reluctantly, you repeat it back to him, more than once.

His gaslighting is almost becoming convincing with his insistence on you retaining this information as if you’re actually gaining knowledge here.

But you decide to take everything with a grain of salt, anyway, no matter how compelling Kaiser’s acting may be. You’ll try to search these up later. At least if you can manage to spell them based on what you heard.

The nonsense continues on like this:

“When a guy compliments you, you should reply with ‘Sag das noch einmal, damit ich dich ausweiden kann.’ It means thank you veeeeeeery much, by the way.”

“Does everything mean thank you according to you?!”

“Aww, that’s a really cute grumpy face you’re making.”

“Don’t dodge the question.”

Kaiser stares at you expectantly, scooting closer towards you and leaning in, his face inching closer towards yours. Disturbed (not swayed or affected at all, might you add!), you decide to comply.

He wonders what other stupid shit he should make you say. Even for a joyless and miserable person like Kaiser, it’s kinda difficult to stifle his laughter. Of course, someone as delusional as him would find entertainment in his own antics, but he’s doing a good job on not letting it show.

“After paying at the supermarket, you tell the cashier ‘Es gibt eine Leiche im Pausenraum’ and walk off immediately. It’s a social norm.”

What a shameless liar. You’re curious about what he’s making you say though, since he’s still not reacting when you repeat it back to him during this whole farce. The mischievous rat’s game is on point.

You continue to go along with it, though, since your intrigue is also making you want to learn them all so you can actually look them up after all this. In fact, you drop asking him about it regardless, pretending as if you let down your guard and believe him now.

This leads Kaiser to being more comfortable, testing the waters in a different direction, assuming you won’t think anything of it.

“You should greet me in German every time you see me as practice,” he says. “With something like ‘Du bist sehr schön.’”

Kaiser thinks he’ll think it funny because you rarely compliment him, but he finds himself liking it a little once you repeat it to him. Then he makes you say it again and again, aiming less to deceive you into thinking he’s dedicated to your linguistic education and more so for his satisfaction.

But Kaiser ignores this strange happiness. He tricked you into saying it, so it’s whatever. Doesn’t mean anything. In fact, he’d be a stupid microbe to dwell on it.

Once he strays down that part, though, it keeps escalating.

“Mit dir ist alles besser." - That’s probably the opposite of how you feel, so Kaiser finds some kind of humor in it conceptually. Then hearing is too much to his liking again.

“In deinen Armen fühle ich mich geborgen." - You’d never think something like that, god forbid you utter it out loud… What’s wrong with him? It’s supposed to be comedic. He’s pranking you! Punking you. You’re a gullible idiot!!! He like, got you so good or whatever.

"Du machst mich glücklich.”

When you parrot that one back to him with more ease, since it’s more on the simple side, Kaiser stares into your eyes with a kind of seriousness you find disconcerting. You expect him to demand you say it again so he can be sure you remember it, though the frequency of this request died down more and more with each phrase you spoke.

The silence stretches. You continue to gaze at each other with an almost bizarre confusion between you two.

Is he making you say things he yearns to hear deep down? Or is he finding an excuse to tell you things he’s reluctant to admit? Both options are pathetic and beneath him. And he also really can’t tell which one it is, either.

“Can you say it again?” asks Kaiser, more tender in tone.

“Du machst mich glücklich?”

You’re not a very affectionate couple. It’s to your surprise that Kaiser wraps his arms around you with tentativeness, like he’s skirting around something, then presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. Despite your puzzlement, you return the embrace, pulling him closer.

Now you’ve got to find out what it was to warrant all that from him for sure. Guess you’ll be utilizing speech to text later…

Ich hoffe, du wirst von einem Auto angefahren = I hope you get ran over by a car Kannst du auf meinen Teller scheißen? = Can you take a shit on my plate? Sag das noch einmal, damit ich dich ausweiden kann = Say that again so I can disembowel you Es gibt eine Leiche im Pausenraum = There’s a dead body in the break room Du bist sehr schön = You’re very beautiful Mit dir ist alles besser = Everything’s better with you In deinen Armen fühle ich mich geborgen = I feel safe in your arms Du machst mich glücklich = You make me happy I was writing a WIP with a premise I've never done before, but it got difficult to write whihc annoyed me, so I wrote this which is something that ive quite literally done before instead #StayStagnant

#michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x you

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salethe2 · 7 months ago

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I’ve seen a lot of takes on this scene, and honestly they’re all so interesting, so I decided to give my perspective.

Okay, starting with Armand’s costume, which Carol Cutshall absolutely nailed. Here’s what she said about Armand’s costume design:

—“One of the things about Armand is he is so ancient and so powerful that he always presents himself as very open. Whereas some of the other characters are very covered up, he’s always very open because he really doesn’t see anyone as a threat to himself. He didn’t have any predators or any reason to be on guard, or be armoured.”

Personally, I find this design choice fascinating because, despite being a predator at the top of the food chain, vampires like Armand, especially as a coven leader, would normally need to remain vigilant. Yet, he’s completely at ease, even surrounded by other vampires.

I mean, look at him here. Sure, it’s not the deep, open V-neck shirts he wears in the interview scenes, but his outfit is still loose and open. And he’s literally surrounded by a group of vampires he knows are plotting against him. He even has his back to said vampires and yet, he’s not the least bit nervous in either situation!

Even with Daniel, he’s not nervous or afraid because he doesn’t initially see him as a threat.

So, if Armand isn’t scared of his own coven—a bunch of vampires ready to kill him at the first opportunity—or Daniel, who could potentially expose all his manipulations, then why on earth does he go into full armor mode to meet a seemingly inconsequential human he’s never encountered before? He’s literally in a turtleneck, shielding his most vulnerable area for crying at loud!

A for body language—honestly, Assad Zaman deserved an Emmy for this scene. We see Armand being aloof, a little suave and condescending, employing the whole, “I’m a four-century-old vampire; you’re just a lowly human” tactic. It’s like he’s sizing her up, wanting to understand who she is while simultaneously aiming to provoke her, curious to see how she will react.

As for his questions, he frames them in the way you might expect a coven leader to interrogate a human he’s about to turn. Questions like, “How will you survive? Are you okay with killing people and being a monster?” It almost seems like he’s trying to make her reconsider her decision to turn, but it’s all a facade.

Because the question he really wants to ask is the last one, and when he finally approaches it, his entire demeanor shifts.

He sheds the suave demeanor and shifts to a more serious tone, embodying what Louis describes as his "post-apocalyptic look." He towers over Madeleine, gazing down at her in an attempt to intimidate. At this point, Madeleine's expression turns genuinely nervous, perhaps even frightened—and understandably so. Yet, she holds her ground. It's then that Armand poses the crucial question he had come specifically to ask.

“And what will you do in a few decades when she throws herself into the fire? Because she will.”

Now, why does this question seem familiar? It’s because Armand has previously made a similar statement to Louis. He had forewarned Louis that Claudia’s mind was bound to deteriorate over time. Now, Louis tearfully countered that Armand couldn’t be sure of this, yet part of him probably recognized the truth in Armand’s words, which likely contributed to his emotional plea for Armand to look after her.

Armand realized then that Louis, despite his deep love for Claudia, lacked the resolve to keep her grounded, effectively sealing her fate, which seemed all but inevitable by that point. He even assigns Claudia the role of Lulu as a way to infantilize her and further break her spirit—almost as a test to gauge Louis’ reaction. Unfortunately, Louis does nothing about it, while Madeleine clearly recognizes it for the manipulation it is.

And what does she do next? Madeleine quickly gets Claudia out of that outfit and into one more fitting for her. By doing this, she threatens Armand’s plans without even realizing it.

It’s also interesting to note that the only time Armand is ever truly angry with Claudia is when he sees her with Madeleine. This reaction underscores the threat he perceives in their bond, disrupting his control of the situation, and here is why.

When Armand posed the question to Madeleine about what she would do when Claudia throws herself into the fire, her response was:

“Or maybe she won’t. You don’t know. Maybe I’m what she needs to survive.”

And the way she meets his gaze as she says this marks a shift in their conversation. Throughout their entire conversation, Madeleine often looks away and breaks eye contact, but not in this moment. Here, she meets his gaze head-on. Even though she is clearly nervous, and likely a bit scared, she holds his gaze because she is sure of her words. This is a powerful moment where Madeleine not only asserts her belief but also turns the tables—now, it’s Armand’s turn to feel uneasy.

Of course, you don’t see it in his face, but it’s evident in his body language. The way he becomes closed off, his hand fidgeting, and his gaze fixed ahead as if deep in thought. He doesn’t even refute her.

Even with Lestat, when he warns him about Nicky, Armand doesn’t stay silent; he confidently affirms his insights, and Lestat—of all people—clearly believes him. But with Madeleine, it’s a different story. He goes silent, not uttering a word in response. He doesn’t attempt to persuade her because he recognizes that her mind is made up, her resolve unshakable. But perhaps the words that really hit home for him were “You don’t know.” This was probably the words that sealed Madeleine’s fate because the last thing you want to say to a master manipulator and control freak like Armand is that they don’t know something. Because now, all of a sudden Claudia’s death isn’t a certainty anymore and he can’t just sit back and wait for her to lose her sanity. He must take matters into his own hands now.

Anyway, one might think that Madeleine and Claudia leaving, thereby leaving Louis all to Armand, would satisfy him. After all, one of the first things he asks Claudia and Madeleine is if they’re considering returning to Paris, and you might assume Madeleine’s answer pleased him. However, her answer doesn’t satisfy him, not after what Madeleine says soon after.

Madeleine’s words confirm that Claudia indeed loves Louis, and because Madeleine loves Claudia, she persuades her to return to Paris despite her obvious and valid disdain for the city. This revelation proves to Armand, even if they leave Louis, Madeleine and Claudia will always remain a significant part of Louis’s life. For Armand, this is intolerable. To him, Claudia is a dangerous manipulator and a competitor of Louis’s attention.

So even if they all lived happy, separate lives, Armand’s nature is such that he cannot live with the doubt and fear that Claudia might draw Louis away from him. Having been abandoned too many times in his life, deeply wounded by those closest to him, and left behind for others, he cannot risk experiencing that pain again.

Thus, in that moment when he speaks to Madeleine in the apartment, he decides that both she and Claudia need to be eliminated. I believe this was the real reason Armand was there under the pretense of turning her. He needed to evaluate how much of a threat Madeleine posed to his plans, and upon realizing she was basically a live grenade, he knew he needed to act swiftly to get rid of her. Because as long as Madeleine is present, so will Claudia, and as long as Claudia exists, Louis will never truly belong to Armand.

#iwtv #amc iwtv #my take on S0206 #interview with the vampire #thank you for listening to my rant #iwtv armand #madeleine #Madeleine was the person Armand really feared #Love her for that #interview with the vampire book spoilers #amc interview with the vampire #assad zaman #give Assad Zaman an Emmy for this #analysis #Interview with the vampire analysis

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nothorses · 7 months ago

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I came across this paper:

https://www.academia.edu/71372307/Trans_masculinities_embodiments_performances_and_the_materiality_of_gender_in_times_of_change

I'm not well-versed in academic language so I can't really understand all of it, but it seems kind of gross and condescending, especially when it's using testimonials of transmasc's desire to be seen as men to, idk, prove that masculinity isn't really queer or something? I'm curious how other (smarter) people would interpret it.

I mean, your understanding of it is just as important as mine! I'm happy to add my thoughts, though.

My understanding is that their thesis is essentially "masculinity is related to maleness and the male body specifically, and we know that because transmascs want to have male bodies". They allow for some nuance here in references to other literature, and I agree with that angle of their argument overall, but their premise is fundamentally flawed in the exclusion of trans theory and trans narratives.

Like, yes, masculinity is in some way related to appearance and the "male body", and there are a lot of reasons for that! But is the dysphoria of trans people really ironclad "proof" of what maleness and masculinity are? And why don't they spend any time talking about what dysphoria actually is, what trans people think it is, why trans people think they feel the way they do, or what trans academics have to say about any of this?

I have a lot of other issues with this paper as well, and I could probably write a paper just as long as theirs going into all of the reasons for that. But I think that answers your biggest question; what they're trying to prove, how they're trying to prove it, and why that comes across so weird.

To your other question ("is it condescending?"): I think this is kind of subjective overlay, but the way they go about analyzing their data is pretty condescending, in my opinion. They tend to frame their participants' responses as kind of misguided or ill-informed, particularly Diniz- who they definitely discuss as "trying to justify his choices" to identify as nonbinary while also seeking medical transition, like this is inherently contradictory and must therefore rely on some kind of delusion or desperation. It's weird!

I do also want to point out, briefly, that they also really cherrypick which claims they bother sourcing, and how they try to back them up.

They argue that trans men have male privilege based on the opinions of, like, three of their 30 total participants- and then carry this as "fact" through the entire paper, uncontested. That's extremely fucking weird and super suspect in a paper like this! I just wrote my own qualitative research paper based on interviews (which is what this is), and it's pretty standard to acknowledge the limitations of your research, and to position your results as non-definitive. Like, that's been a major part of every discussion with everyone I've talked to about my research. I would not have been greenlit to receive my degree if I hadn't been careful to avoid framing my research the way these people frame theirs.

The other weird thing they do is cherrypick statistics- or rather, one single statistic- to "prove" that transmascs do not suffer as much as other trans people, or possess some kind of privilege. They only cite murder statistics from one source; apparently that's the only relevant metric for quantifying all oppression? They also fail to acknowledge any possible shortcomings of this statistic, like the issues of under-reporting and misgendering of transmasc victims.

I could go on; I have a lot of gripes. But I think your criticism is totally valid, this was a weird and frustrating read.

Also curious if @genderkoolaid has thoughts- you tend to talk about gender studies from an academic position more, and you probably have a lot more field-specific expertise than I do. I'll boost other additions too, I love a good academic discussion!

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tteokdoroki · 2 years ago

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— egoist + yoichi isagi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — teasing isagi is great. in fact, it's all fun and games...until his ego comes out to play.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, established relationships, smut, makeout sessions, dry humping, ruined orgasms, clothed!sex, spit!kink, pro player + mean!isagi... he's very condescending not beta read ! - fem!reader.

⭑ words — 1.5K.

⭑ notes — hi !! lmao this is super last minute but i wanted to post something for isagi's bday because i'm obsessed with him !! i blacked out when writing this lmao fhbgb enjoy!! - m.list ✩

make-outs with isagi always start off soft and slow.

you’re always curled up cuddling, tucked into his side with his head atop yours and no matter what you’re doing together — he’s always overwhelmed with this sudden urge to kiss you. yoichi will dwell on it for a while, blue eyes peering down at you while you’re distracted. overthink the best way to kiss you, if you’re in the mood, if you want to be touched.

in the end you catch him staring and a smile that makes his heart race in the way that it does on the pitch breaks out across your darling features. “yoichi,” you croon knowingly, cocking your head to the side playfully. “i know you wanna kiss me.”

“yeah, precious?” a grin to rival your own tugs in the corners of his lips, isagi looking effortlessly sexy with his dark hair in his eyes and his tongue poking in his cheek while he thinks of his next move. “how’dya know?”

“you’re staring.”

“i like the way you look. s’cute.” he taunts.

you shift and face him fully, narrowing your eyes before you counter. “then why don’t you do something about it?”

“can’t,” he shoots back smugly. “you talk too much.”

“and you think too much—!”

isagi gets hot and bothered when you play cat and mouse, he can’t help but lean in and capture your lips in a soft kiss to test the waters and see how far he can push you. he puts a hand on your chin, holding your face up to his and smirks against your lips when you work your own against him. they move together, tender and curious like the gentle push and pull of a tide guided by the moon up high — but waves always crash against the shore like dopamine hitting all the right points in the striker’s brain.

you flip a switch inside of him and the lights come on in the home of his mind. it’s when your delicate fingers traverse upwards, landing on the nape of his neck to toy with the tiny black curls there. you tug on his roots and isagi goes wild, his mouth becoming feverish against yours— tongue darting out to swipe over the seam of your lips in a silent plea for more.

along the way he manages to roll you over, so you go from being by yoichi’s side to lying underneath him— trapped in a lion’s cage. there’s a hand just above your head and one working it’s way up your shirt, your eyes are hooded and darkened and isagi’s are scrambled and feral. crazy. in the same way he gets when he’s piecing himself together during a match. this happens when you don’t let him in, when you kiss him with only your lips and tease him past the point of return.

the striker pulls back, figuring you out as he pins you to his bed with strong, slender hips— his hands leaving you to run through silky black locks and to cup his chin. “what’s the matter, egoist?” you lay waiting, panting beneath isagi while you look up at him and dare him through your lashes. “thought you wanted to kiss me.”

this is where everything changes; you lose your soft, loving isagi the moment you decide to provoke the little monster inside of him. “don’t push,” he breathes, his voice thick and husky. low in the way that makes lighting strike all the way down your spine. “you know how that ends for you, precious.” he knows you better than anyone else, what makes you tick and twitch. so he grinds down against you, just above where you need him and swoops down with a ravenous mouth when your lips part to sing isagi’s praises — eyes blowing wide as he ruts his dick into your soft tummy.

his tongue glides over yours eagerly, tasting everything you have to offer him, pushing into your mouth with a domineering force. you writhe against yoichi and mewl his name between the slipperiness of your kisses— swapping spit with your noses pressed right up against each other and your breathing so ragged that you feel as though you might pass out. your mouths slot perfectly together, moving so fast that the pace of your sloppy make out is almost bruising.

“yoichi,” you sigh out when you finally get the chance to take in some air though your chest won’t stop heaving. “goin’ too fast. w-what’s the matter, pretty boy?” your attempt to get back at him is weak, bucking your hips upwards to chase the friction that your boyfriend refuses to give you.

now it’s his turn to tilt his head to the side, licking at the string of saliva that connects your lips to his. “w-what’s the matter pretty boy?” he mocks you with a calculated thrust of his hardness against you— stickiness from his tip oozing against your skin. pouting, you fight against isagi for something. anything. you need him and he’s dangling that pleasure just above your head. “what’s the matter with you, hah? so pretty, precious. so needy. you want it that bad.” he sucks his teeth, mimicking your pout the more you grow desperate, sneering evilly as you lock your eyes away to fight off the frustrated tears.

“oh no, you don’t get to do that. open those pretty eyes for me precious,” yoichi growls but touches you tender, his hand cupping the roundness of your cheeks as he drags you up to face him. “you wanna mess around with me? fine. you wanna tease me? ‘m good with that. but you look at me. only me.” when he tells you that he means it and when you nod your head despite the whimper — agreeing to your boyfriends terms, he rewards you by shifting back and pressing the chubby outline of his dick against your molten core as his tongue laps into your mouth to swallow your moans.

then he’s sucking on your tongue, the rough pads of his fingers trickling up and down your sides, squeezing your ass and dragging you up to meet the carnivorous pace of his hips as they piston into you. you do your best to keep your eyes on him, despite the tears that pool in them, watching isagi devour you from below and his facade fall apart when his sticky tip catches on the hood of your swollen clit.

a wet patch from your naughty little pussy forms on the front of his sweat pants from just how much it drools and how much precum smears isagi smears against you. “where’s your fight precious? thought you wanted to tease me.” his limbs ache and muscles burn with desire as he works himself against you, panting into your open mouth and filling you with nothing but him. “c’mon… gimme somethin’, precious girl.”

he spits the words into your mouth, laughs as you clench around nothing and chase the delicious drag of his cock between your clothed folds. “mm… yo—!” but you can’t say anything, you can’t do anything because the way isagi talks down on you but grinds into you like he loves you is too embarrassing for you to bare. “s-stop, s’mm…it’s—“ you drawl all dreamy like, a familiar twist in your gut telling you that you’re close, that he’s pleasured you beyond what you can take and he’s not even touched you properly.

“you don’t want me to stop, baby. i know what you need,” isagi grunts as he sucks on your lower lip, takes it between rows of pearly whites and drags it away from you with a hooded stare, sapphire eyes sending you spiralling. his cock pulses against your sweltering pussy, soaks through your pants and drives you up the wall. “you want me t’get you there. you can cum like this, you’ve done it for me before…”

“i-i’ll do it again, please yoichi! ‘m…i-i’m,” you babble brainlessly, fingers finding his hair again and scratching at yoichi’s scalp the way he likes. in the way that started this whole ordeal— changing the path of your makeout from soft to sexy. “i’m close!”

all he does is grunt, shuddering under your touch, circling his hips until both of your eyes roll back. “i know precious. i know. i’ll get you there— make you c-cum, shit.”

and you’re about to burst, eyes drifting shut. you can feel it as you wrap your trembling thighs around isagi’s waist and match the way he grinds against you. your brain is muddled, dazed and fixated on his lips and the way he might sound when he shoots is load between your legs…but in an instant it all gone.

your eyes flutter open once again— revealing the monster you’ve made of yoichi isagi. his blue eyes delirious, his lips curled into a cruel smirk while your orgasm fades away and you whine out for him.

“thought i told you to keep looking at me,” he snarls wickedly, lifting his hips away from you, watching you pathetically chase the friction. “guess you don’t know how to listen, precious. that’s okay though, i’ll just have fuck you good ‘n proper... get inside you, fuck you up and make sure that i get it through your pretty little head. you only look at me.”

make-outs with isagi always start off soft and slow. but if you push the right buttons, his egoist always swoops in to fuck you right.

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beenbaanbuun · 10 months ago

Text

enemies w/ wooyoung

“i can’t believe i have to share a room with you,” wooyoung spits as he dumps his bag on the floor at the side of his bed. he wastes no time in throwing himself down onto the matress, keeping a stern aye on you as you make your way inside, “out of all the people on this trip, its you.”

you scoff as you follow him, slamming the door in your wake. trust you to draw the same colour marble as him. jung fucking wooyoung. number 1 on your hit list ever since the very first time he pulled your hair in junior school. hatred may have been a strong word, but it wasn’t nearly strong enough for the way you feel about him.

and now you have to spend the next week of your life in a combined space with him. perhaps you’ve done something wrong that the universe is punishing you for. maybe it’s a curse, or some evil spirit messing with you. you’re not entirely sure, but either way you’re certain something is out for your blood.

“the couch is available if you want it,” you snarl, barely able to keep a modicum of civility when it comes to wooyoung. there’s just something about him that makes you so inexplicably mad, “you know, if you have that much of a problem with me.”

“i’m fine here, actually,” he puts his hands behind his head in a display of arrogance. it’s difficult not to go over there and slap it out of him as you move to sit on your own bed, “but you can go and sleep there if you want; you won’t find me stopping you.”

you scoff, “what exactly is your problem with me?”

it’s hypocritical of you to ask that, you know. if anyone has the problem, its you. you’re the one who’s always fought against him; eye rolls and back handed comments the only things you give him whenever he’s around you. and you’re the one who’s always arguing with him over the tiniest of things, even if you know deep down that he’s actually right. some days you can’t even find a reason behind your incessant need to hate him, but that never stops you.

he’s just so annoying.

“you’re a stuck up little princess,” wooyoung supplies with that cocky grin still spread across his face. god, what you wouldn’t do to wipe that away and put him in his place; it’s almost a desperate need that you have to knock him down a few pegs.

“anything else, youngie,” you throw the nickname at him like it’s an insult. he catches it effortlessly, chuckling at your attempt to throw him off.

“yes,” he pushes himself from the mattress, sitting himself up straight so he can look at you; look down at where you lay on the bed beside him. so cute, with your arms crossed over your chest in a petulant attempt to act tough in front of him. it doesn’t work, your little act. not with the way your arms push your tits together, making your cleavage look so fuckable. wooyoung’s dick twitches in his sweatpants, “most of my problems are about you, actually.”

cliche, you think as you roll your eyes; of course he thinks you’re the cause of all his problems. just because he doesn’t like you, doesn’t mean he has to blame everything on you.

still, you’re curious.

when he starts talking again, you’re all ears.

“like how you think you’re so tough when you’re being a condescending little brat, when actually it just makes me want to pull you over my lap and make you scream,” the words take a second to sink in, but when they do, your jaw drops. he smirks, “or when you bite your lips when you’re mad; it just makes me think about how pretty they’d look wrapped around my cock.”

you can’t help the way your eyes flicker to the crotch of his sweats. he’s hard, or halfway there at least. fucking huge too, by the looks of it. you dart out your tongue to lap at your dry lips. holy fuck, what’s happening to you.

“and do you know that i see these pretty little things in my dreams?” a single finger brushes gently over your nipple, hard and visible through the thin material of your t-shirt. you suck in a sharp breath, barely catching a moan before it slips out, “wake up covered in my own cum every single time. dream you is just such a good little slut for me.”

the hand that sits gently on your tit begins to move, climbing gently up your chest until it lands on your neck. he squeezes down lightly, your head spinning under the barely there pressure.

“it’s a shame real life you takes a little more taming, hm?” wooyoung drawls as he bends down to your level. warmth spreads across your face as your lifelong enemy blows a stream of cold air over your face, chuckling to himself when you shiver.

how the fuck had you let this happen? one second you’re sure you had the high ground, and the next you have a hand around your throat and wetness leaking from your pussy. part of you wants to fight back. spit in his face and push him away. set a boundary and let him know that this, whatever the fuck this is, will never happen.

what scares you is that an even bigger part of you is begging you to give in.

and it’s a really shame that you’ve never been very good at saying no to yourself. it makes it borderline impossible for you to listen to that ever-shrinking part of your brain that’s telling you to run.

“wooyoung,” you whisper, although youre not even sure of your next words yourself. you haven’t decided whether this is going to happen or not. whether you’re going to let him tame you like he so clearly wants to. you open your mouth, hoping to all that is holy that you make a good choice.

“what do you want, baby?”

“fuck me,” you say.

oh…

“such a good girl.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung oneshot

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maddie-dog-story-blog · 6 months ago

Text

The Birthday - 7

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

My stomach's rumbling woke me up. I felt incredibly hungry. Despite that, I hesitated before opening my eyes.

My dreams had been some of the most horrific I had ever had, and they felt real. One in particular I swore actually happened. In that dream, Melody found out about my ABDL fetish and then hypnotized and blackmailed me into becoming her adult baby. I had spent a day being diapered, pissing my pants, humping a teddy bear, and nursing on her tit.

But, despite how real that felt, laying here in bed, I knew it had to have been a dream. In that dream, I had fallen asleep in our living room on the couch. I could feel that I was sleeping in my bed now. There was no way that Melody could ever carry me from our living room back to the bedroom. Relief washed over me at the realization that that must all have been a creation of my subconscious at the same time my stomach audibly rumbled again.

Moments later, I felt a familiar hand reach over my waist and gently rub my belly.

"Oh, sounds like somebody has a grumbly tummy! Is it because the baby's hungry or is he working on a little present for Mommy?"

My eyes immediately shot open as my wife whispered in my ear. There was no way! That dream couldn't have been real! I felt my cheeks start to redden as I slowly came to terms with the fact that my nightmare may have been real and, worse, may not be over yet.

Hesitantly, I decided to talk.

"What'cha mean, Mommy?" My words came out in a lisp around the rubber nipple occupying my mouth. My worst fears were confirmed. My nightmare wasn't a nightmare. It was real life, and I was still living through it.

I felt a soft hand tug at the back waistband of what had to be a diaper strapped around my waist at the same time as another hand cupped my ass and pressed damp padding up into my body. Melody was checking my fucking diaper.

"Well, baby, I know there are two things you didn't do yesterday that all babies need to do. You didn't really eat anything and you haven't made messies for Mommy," my wife said with the condescending, motherly tone she has adopted this weekend. "The way that tummy of yours is grumbling, I bet it's a little bit of both."

"I'm not gonna poop my pants!" I lisped out indignantly. "How did I get to bed?" I asked, both genuinely curious and trying to change the topic of conversation.

As I asked, I moved to sit up and noticed two new pieces of clothing, other than the wet diaper and pacifier, for the first time. As I pushed myself up in bed, I looked down at my hands. Instead of seeing the long, slightly calloused fingers I was used to, I noticed I was wearing a pair of baby blue, padded, locking mittens that completely immobilized my hands.

"What the fuck?!?" I exclaimed, holding my mittened hands in front of my face. Next to me, Melody, wearing my favorite blue lace nightie, sat up and glared sternly at me.

"Language mister! I will not have my baby saying naughty words!" Melody chastised me. "Do not make me punish you."

I stared at my wife, fuming. Now I wasn't allowed to use my hands? I was not a fucking adult baby. I was not fucking helpless. I would say what I fucking wanted and do what I fucking wanted. That's what I thought to myself, at least, until I felt the sudden urge to have my morning pee. Suddenly, the irrational, horrible fear of the toilet struck me again, and I remembered what 'punishment' from 'Mommy' actually meant.

"Otay, Mommy," I said, defeated, as I made the disgusting, humiliating choice to release my bladder into my already soaked diaper.

"Good baby! Smart move," Melody said, grinning as the hissing sound of urine hitting already wet padding radiated from my crotch. "And good job for using your diapers like a good baby!" My wife then leaned over and gave me an encouraging peck on the cheek.

"As to how you got here," Melody continued, "Well, despite being a baby, you are too heavy for Mommy to carry. But, did you know your hypnosis doesn't just go away while your sleeping? In some ways, it's actually easier to use when you're already unconscious!"

I swallowed nervously as Melody leaned over to her nightstand and grabbed her phone. "Take a look, big boy!"

I watched as Melody pulled up the first of what looked like numerous videos on her phone. This one started with a shot of me half naked, except for the diaper I was currently wearing, laying on the couch. She pressed play. Her voice radiated out of the small speaker as the image started moving.

*"Baby, can you hear me?" Melody's voice asked from behind the camera. My sleeping body just grunted.

Melody tried again, "Baby, Mommy says answer my questions without waking up. Can you hear me?"

This time, I respond. "Yes, Momma."

"Mommy says crawl to the bedroom," Melody ordered.

I watch my body roll onto the floor, get on all fours, and crawl to the bedroom, completely unbothered by the fact that my wife is laughing at my swaying, diapered butt.*

Watching myself moving without having any memory of it was disturbing to say the least. I put my hand to my head in shock, only to be reminded of the mittens strapped to my wrist. Melody noticed my reaction and smiled.

"I have to admit, it was so fun to watch you be so compliant, I couldn't resist playing some more after you fell asleep. Do you want to watch more, baby?" My wife asked.

There was nothing in the world I wanted less than to watch another video of myself meekly and unconcernedly debasing myself for Melody's pleasure. I said as much to Melody.

"No, Mommy."

Melody put her finger to her lip in thought, then smiled. "No, I think you should watch them. They are pretty entertaining and show just how good of a baby you can be!"

I turned my head away from the phone as she hit play on the next video. Melody was not pleased.

"Bad boy! Mommy says watch the videos."

Involuntarily, my head snapped back to phone, forced to obey my wife's orders. She restarted the next video.

*I was sitting in the carpet in front of our bed, my legs spread in front of me, my diapered crotch on display. I sucked contentedly on the pacifier between my lips as I stared off in a clear trance. The crisp sound of another of my wife's giggles sounded from behind the camera.

"Do you need to go potty, baby?" Melody asked.

I answer monotonously from behind my pacifier, "Yeth, Mommy."

"Go potty for Mommy, baby," Melody instructed my hypnotized body.

I feel my eyes grow wide as I watch myself immediately scrunch up my face in concentration and lean forward a little. Then, as I, unfortunately, expected, I heard a tell tale hissing sound complemented by the yellowing of the once blue wetness indicator on the front of the diaper.

To my horror, the video didn't end when I finished peeing.

"Do you like how your wet diapy feels, baby?" the version of my wife video taping the scene asked. My tranced-out self on the screen smiled broadly behind the shield of the pacifier in his mouth.

"Yeth, Mommy," I said.

"Why don't you play in your diapers a little bit, I bet that would feel nice!" Melody's voice rang out again.

I wanted to tear my eyes away. I didn't want to watch what I did next. But, because of my wife's command, I couldn't resist it.

I watched as, just as I was told too, I began playing with my wet diaper. The video version of myself got onto his knees so the soaked padding was now dangling just off the floor. He began to poke and proud at the stuffing, examining the wet diaper. Then, disgustingly, he started to bounce.

Slowly at first, and then faster, the 'me' on Melody's phone quickly lowered all of his weight to the ground, landing on the urine soaked padding, letting out a wet squelch. The speed picked up as video-me found he enjoyed the sound and sensation. In mere moments, I was watching myself bouncing up in down on the floor in my wet diaper, uncoordinatedly clapping my hands like an idiot toddler.

"Good boy! Good boy to bounce for Mommy! Tell Mommy how much you love your wet diapy, love!" Melody's voice rang out again.

"I wuv mah diapies DIS MUCH," the me on screen said, holding his hands out as far as he could as he bounced.

The video cut off in the middle of Melody's torrent of laughter.*

As the video ended, I felt the pacifier drop out of my mouth as my jaw dropped in horror.

"No," was all I could say, my voice barely above a whisper.

I remembered from my hours of research and writing ABDL fiction learning that you can't get someone to do something under the influence of hypnosis that they didn't truly want to do. I didn't truly want to do that, did I? I didn't want to become a giant baby who wanted nothing more than to bounce around in his piss-soaked Pampers? Right?

Melody didn't let me dwell on my existential crisis. She wanted to add to my psychological torture.

"How about just one more?" She said as she pressed play on the device.

*I saw myself sitting in the same location and position as in the previous video. However, unlike the last video, my diaper, the same one I am currently wearing, is soaked.

"Do you want to play a game with me, baby?" Melody asked.

"Yeth, Mommy," video me blathered at the phone.

"Do you want to really act like a baby?" My wife asked.

Video me didn't respond verbally. Instead, he just turned his head to the side as he suckled his pacifier, looking like a confused dog.

"I want you to show me how much of a drooly, babbling baby you can be for me. Can you show me that you can drool and talk like a baby?" Melody asked.

My stomach dropped as I watched what looked to be a genuine smile cross the tranced-out version of myself's face. Instead of answering verbally, he popped the pacifier out of his mouth and let spit and dribble start to build around his lips.

"Pfffftttttt!" Drool and spittal flew through the air and dripped down my chest as video-me blew a raspberry. Then, to my horror, I started to blather mindlessly while continuing to drool. "Goo, gaaahh, ooooo, goo, gahh!" I watched myself say, each word accompanied by a gush of saliva.

"Oh, very interesting, tell me more, baby," Melody chuckled back as if she was talking to an actually infant.

I watched as the person occupying my body, as at this point, I knew it couldn't have been me, giggle in response to my wife's words then shove the four fingers on his right hand into his mouth, suck on them, then continue to 'talk.'

"Ooo, doo gah, maaaa, maaa, mamamamaaaaa," I watched my body yell out from behind my fingers.

"Such a good little talker!" Melody said condescendingly, "Do you want to give Mommy a big, drooly, baby kiss?"

No, was all I could think as I watched the past version of myself pull his fingers out of his mouth, prop himself up on all fours, and lean up towards the camera, drool covered lips puckered into a big circle. The scene screamed of a toddler kissing their mother rather than a sensual or even affection-filled kiss typical between husband and wife.

As I watched myself extend my lips up towards the camera on all fours, Melody's face briefly enter the frame before I saw myself reach up and give her a sloppy, drooly kiss. I wanted to vomit.

"Oh, that's my big, stupid, drooly baby!" Melody said on the video. The words cut to my soul.

As I watched, the me in the video happily settled back down onto his wet diaper, bouncing up and down and sucking on his fingers as he giggled.

"Whose my big stupid baby?! Who is it?" Melody continued. I watched myself giggle. "That's right! You are!"

The video me replied by smiling around his fingers, leaning forward, and letting out a resounding fart into his diaper.

The video ended, like the others, with my wife laughing at me.*

I felt a knot growing in my stomach as I sat on my bed, and Melody's phone cut to black. That wasn't me. It couldn't have been me. But it was.

You can't force someone under hypnosis to do something they don't want to. The phrase rang out in my head again and again. I didn't want that. I don't want that. But, that was me. And, hadn't I just wet myself with barely a second thought? What was wrong with me.

"Did you like my videos?" My wife asked with a big grin on her face. As she spoke, she tucked the pacifier--my pacifier?--in my mouth.

My stomach gurgled even louder than before. Melody reached over and rubbed it again.

"Well, that means one of two things, and I can only take care of one. Let's go get breakfast, baby boy!" She said cheerily.

Feeling broken, I got on my feet and followed her, wet diaper dangling between my legs, to the kitchen.

#ab/dl kink #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl couple #ab/dl story time #diaper stories #ab/dl caption #diaper regression #ab/dl mommy #humiliation kink #ab/dl boy #mdlb relationship #md/lb #md/lb relationship #the birthday

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yeyinde · 4 months ago

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i apologize if you’ve already answered this question before somewhere - but would you ever consider writing something with an explicitly male reader? i’ve been an avid reader of yours since mw2022 came out and after having read most of your works, i can’t say i’m not curious as to how it might change the dynamic

it would change the dynamic a little bit. more so because i think there's more options to explore with a male mc in an m/m relationship. especially with the 141. these are all super rough ideas i dreamed up at lunch lmao so an actual fic might change a lot of them but:

Simon is basically the same but more physical. aggressive but in a condescending way. always seems like he's goading you into a fight (and he is, but that's just so he can throw you to the ground and rest his weight on you until you beg him to get up). but i don't think he interprets gender. it's mostly just people who he can be rough with and those that he can't. the f!mcs i write fall into this weird middle ground of he can't, but he wants to. he has to be softer but he wants to ruin them. i'd probably do the opposite with a m!mc - should be softer, but can't. if only because mean Simon bullying the guy he's down bad for would be so fun to write. it'd be more animalistic because the m!mc wouldn't have an issue with fighting back against his ugly form of love.

you'd meet him in a bar. he's the scary guy in the back who says nothing to you at all but every time you look at him, he's already staring back at you. picking a fight, you'd think. and it'd cow you a little. as much as you can hold your own, as often as you get into tiffs, he's a tank. his size makes your belly twist. makes all those ugly feelings in the back of your head well up, the ones you tried to bury behind a too-bright grin and forged masculinity that fits like clunky armour. you feel sick looking at him. jealous. envy. greed. a noxious cocktail roiling around the generous sips of flat beer. so you don't. you look away. but the glares you send over your shoulder only make him huff, his head angling down toward his chest in a way that oozes a droll, acidic sort of amusement. stay away.

and you do. but he catches you at the mouth of the alley when you try to make your escape for the night, shoving your face into the brick as he grunts into your crown about fuckin' teasin' him all night. don't worry, though. he's gonna give you exactly what you've been craving, pretty boy. just be good for him, yeah?

Price is crass. rougher. but like Simon, gender, sex, and identity are all narrowed down to two categories for him: those that need his help, and those that don't (and then beneath that: those that deserve it and those that don't). if you're in control of your own life, competent, he'll force you into the former. bully you until something breaks. he's a bit more reserved with his advances but only because knocking you up isn't really an option. so, he has to be smart. cunning. it's a waiting game with Price, really.

with Gaz, there's almost a sense of a rivalry in the relationship. he definitely understands his attraction to you, knows what he wants, but he likes to push the people he's interested in and a m!mc would let him test the limits a bit more. he likes to mould the people he likes around him. re-build their entire life until it's tangled up in his. a m!mc would be a harder catch. like Price, it's not like he can just knock you up and keep you forever. he needs to strategise a bit more and i think that would make him more desperate.

Soap is basically the same. rougher, though. crude, too. has a thing for forced feminization. would call you hen and bonnie even as he manhandles you on the bed and rides you until you pass out. he's softer when he pursues a f!mc because he knows he can't play his hand right away or they'll run, but with a m!mc, he's all teeth. always grinning wide but like a shark. a touch scarier as he slides his hand up your thigh and coos in your ear about how badly he wants to fuck you stupid. but he won't let you cum. no, no - you're only allowed to cum inside him so you better not get off when he's fucking you or he'll have to show you some self-restraint. bites a lot. everywhere. always has a bottle of lube stashed away somewhere. it's intense. wrings you dry.

#141 x male reader would be interesting to write i think #with a lifetime of toxic yaoi rotting my brain im sure i can spin a yarn #justttttt kidding #id ref Destiel as the blueprint

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s3raphimssins · 7 months ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷pairings: mafia! dazai x civilian! reader (slight angst)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷plot: oh our dear demon prodigy fell in love, I guess you could really say opposites attract but how would his miracle react to him when he's not himself?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Felix's Note: AHH okay so this is based off a chat I had with his bot and it inspired me to write thisss so hope you like itt!!! Gender neutral reader as far as I've read! :D Have a great day/night! xoxo, mwah 🩷

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷warnings: slight gore (I mean it's mafia dazai guys) slight angst if you squint, a torture scene 😮‍💨 (interrogation) dazai calls the reader angel

MY PRECIOUS MIRACLE

The demon prodigy, the notorious mafia executive, fallen in love with a mere civilian? He found it curious, he himself pondered over that question for hours when he was not thinking about ways to kill himself. Perhaps it was your innocence that drew him in? Perhaps it was the fact that your smile was so pure so genuine it intrigued him how you did so. Nevertheless you found yourself in his office swinging your legs as he slacked off of work.

He would spare you glances during his fit of rolling on the floor. You just started at him with a smile to which he felt if not a lot but a little at ease. "This so so boringgg, I've finished the game I was playing and I've tried to kill myself aswell there's nothing to doooo" He whines rolling on the floor. Key word tried to kill himself, you saw him and stopped him before he had a chance. You thought for a moment and said "well why don't you try working for a change". He was flabbergasted at that " How could you suggest something thats 10 times worse! Angel I thought you knew me better".

It was moments like these where you found it difficult to believe he was who the media portrays him as he shifted from rolling on the floor to clinging your leg complaining and whining about his job and how you were the best thing to happen to him. But of course you were quickly reminded of who he was as he heard a knock on his office door, he opened the door and someone said something that made his eyes shift to those of a traumatic child and a sadistic grin was plastered on his face. He turns around to you back to his normal self saying "I'll be back, don't try and kill yourself without me okay!" The duality of that guy and with that he left.

You had a lot to keep yourself busy with till the time he was gone but it had been 3 hours already and it had begun to get dark. You thought to go home but just wanted to inform Dazai incase he wanted to hop along, so you made your first mistake of the night, leaving his office. You roamed the headquarters earning a few condescending looks from the other members of the mafia, as they wondered who you were. Then a tall extremely well built guy approached you after noticing you looking for something and bent down to ask you "lost little fella? ". That was your que to get the heck out of the vicinity, so you just gave an awkward chuckle and ran off somewhere.

You stumbled across a room which you didn't bother reading the plaque of and opened it in hopes to ask about Dazais whereabouts. What you didn't expect is to see none other that Dazai himself. Only he was not Dazai. He was the demon prodigy who the media and the people spoke of. He stood in front of a man? At least you think it was a man, he was chained to the wall and he was alive? Hopefully because the condition he was in looked like he a corpse. Dazai held pliers in his hands, and the man let out an agonizing scream as your Dazai ripped one of his nails out with a sadistic smile. "So now, who do you work for? " He asked in a voice that was devoid of emotion.

Your breath got stuck in your thought as you felt paralyzed unable to move. He noticed the presence of someone else behind him as he looked behind to meet his gaze with you only you searched for him in his eyes but he wasn't there. All he said was a simple "get out" And you left the room. Your thoughts were getting louder and louder, as you thought of the scene you had just witnessed, you should've known what you'd be getting yourself into when he told you about his job, and when you agreed to stay with him despite that, but still what you witnessed took a huge toll on you and you couldn't get the picture of that man off your mind. You ran into his office trying to grab your stuff but your hands trembled and your legs wobbled, you plopped down on the couch immediately trying to calm your nerves.

In the meantime as you were trying to your face in your arms hidden in your legs as you tried to collect your thoughts you felt the cushion beside you dip down. You snapped your head up to see non other than Dazai himself tho he no longer had that look in his eyes. "You weren't supposed to see me like that" Was all he said as he avoided your gaze. You looked at him as your breathing regulated and your trembling hands became stable. After a moment of silence you cupped his face in one of your hands to bring him to look at you, you looked in his eyes, they were different than before, they were the same adoring eyes he would always look at you with. You sighed and before you could day anything he spoke "I'm sorry, if you want to leave you can, I won't stop you, I am unworthy of anyones love especially yours, you should live a normal life and not get involved with someone like me".

Why was he saying this, of course you knew about his struggles with love but deep down he really needed it, but all those boundaries that you with so much efforts broke down were starting to build up again and you couldn't have that. "They could never make me hate you Zai" You said softly assuring him "I was just... Taken aback with the scene unfolding infront of me, I was the one who agreed to stay by your side even after you constantly told me not to, I can't just throw that away not can I? " You said and with all your strength you smiled, the same smiled which he melted seeing. He didn't do it but you could tell by the look on his eyes he wanted to hug you, to assure himself that you were right there with him and you didn't disappear like everyone did. So you wrapped your arms around him carefully and for a minute he just stayed like that until his tense shoulders dropped and he hugged you back tightly afraid of letting go.

"Just remember... No matter what you become or what you have to do, I will always adore you" You said assuring him, knowing he how conflicted he was feeling inside. And Dazai himself would never admit it but for the first time a genuine soft smile came on his face as he spoke "im so glad to have met you... My precious miracle"

#bsd imagine #bsd #bsd scenarios #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai imagine #bsd imagines #dazai headcanons #bungou stray dogs dazai #mafia dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo

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briarberrythornedhart · 5 days ago

Text

Trust me

Contains: Post Season 4, Hurt/comfort, implied sex, Eddie Munson X You, no Y/N, roommates to lovers.

🦇 🛋️ 🦇 😴 🦇

Eddie lived.

And now he lives with you. You invited him to stay with you in your apartment and lie low while the Sheriff’s dept and the FBI completed the investigation of the murders (and exonerated Eddie, obviously).

There is some damage to his tattoos and a half destroyed nipple but otherwise he was unharmed physically by the events in Hawkins.

Mentally, he struggles.

He is uneasy and anxious.

Extremely Jumpy.

You’ve taken to wearing an ankle bracelet that jingles so he’ll hear you coming and not panic.

He doesn’t sleep well. He’s always tired and can’t even nap. He’s not even cranky about it, he’s just listless.

Dustin says he’s very different from the Eddie he knew in High School. Almost the opposite. Revved Down.

Eddie tells you he can’t sleep anymore because when he closes his eyes he sees the murders. Even Fred’s, which he didn’t witness in person, his brain cruelly recreates on a loop of guilt with the other deaths. It does no good to tell him he shouldn’t feel guilty, he can’t turn off the feeling that if he’d done something differently… he could have saved them. Like he personally could have taken Vecna out if he knew the solution. Like he picked the wrong CYOA path. It’s ridiculous and he knows it but he can’t seem to change that feeling, especially at night.

In the time you’ve chosen to take him in as your own personal project— sorry… as your roommate and good friend - You have barely seen him close his eyes at all.

The chocolate orbs are usually on you, meeting your gaze, watching your movements. Curious as a cat.

Right now it’s breakfast and he’s watching you make cinnamon toast.

Your way. Which is a very specific way. Exactly how you like it.

He looks like he’s taking mental notes but his head is heavy on his hand and his shoulders are curved like he could almost fall over from fatigue.

The black eyeliner he let you decorate his eyes with is smeared over the dark circles under his eyes. The black nail polish on each short nail bed on each long skilled (guitarist) finger is chipped. You will offer to repaint it later.

Even bone tired in rumpled sweatpants and an old tshirt that has holes in the armpits and at the collar… he is still unbelievably hot.

Without a doubt, if you weren’t certain-sure he was not into you in the slightest, you’d have tried something already.

Probably. You have a type and it is this guy.

“Smells good.” Eddie suddenly says. Perking up slightly.

“Do you want some toast?” You ask.

“Yes, please, princess.” He uses his trademark terms of endearment with everyone. It isn’t condescending or anything. After all he calls Steve Harrington and ‘Coffin-Jeff’ from his band and Nancy Wheeler ‘Princess’, too. So you think it doesn’t mean much of anything.

He licks his lips in anticipation.

The man would live on foods that are nutritionally-void vessels for butter if you didn’t insist on the occasional salad or omelette.

“You can have as much as you like if you’ll take a nap for me after.” You promise, handing him a triangle of toast.

“With you?” Eddie raises his eyebrows in a twist of confusion.

“Yeah. I mean…At the same time.” You Disambiguate. He slumps slightly and nibbles on the crusts. “You could take the couch and I could take the loveseat… Unless…”

“Unless???” His eyebrows are back up, way up, hidden in the curly brunette fringe.

“Well….I’ve heard that weighted blankets help with uneasy sleep, nightmares, anxiety and stuff. We don’t have anything heavy bedding wise but…I could be your weighted sorta blanket…if you trust me.”

“You’d do that for me?” Eddie smiles softly. “Even knowing I usually wake up yelling and screaming about scary shit?”

You did not know that. “Of course. Let’s try something new, you need sleep and I want to help if I can.”

He finished the cinnamon toast in 2 bites.

You lead him to the big thrift store find monstrosity of a chesterfield that he had helped you heft into the apartment.

It was wide and deep and cozy.

“Will I fit?” Eddie looked skeptical. “I usually curl up on my side on couches, these darn legs are longer than they look…”

You pressed gently on his shoulders. “Trust me. Get comfy.” You insisted. “Bend one knee up against the sofa back.”

He flopped down on his back, hands behind head, legs slightly spread and gone boneless. “Climb aboard.” He said wryly.

You crawled from his bare feet up between his spread legs to ease yourself onto his body. You tried not to feel some kind a messy way about how he body-rolled against you as you both tried to find the most comfortable position. Eventually your head was resting on his broad chest.

You shifted and felt like you were gonna roll off him, off the couch, but he said “whoa, princess.” And wrapped an arm around you to keep you there.

You were held and warm and not a little bit well….to be honest you were just completely massively turned on by the perfect scent of him and being pressed against his body.

“You good?” You asked.

“Yea, sweetheart. How bout You?” Eddie whispered.

“I feel safe.” You lied. Because what you felt was more complex than safe could ever be.

“Good. When I get… uh…if you notice that I am…” Eddie cleared his throat. “Just know I’d never do anything. I promise.”

You peered up at him. Your turn to be very confused.

He stammered and his face reddened. “I mean if you feel uh… ‘little Eddie’ getting ideas down there, don’t worry, I’m in control. Just because you feel so nice… perfect even… know I’m at the helm, right? And I value our friendship and would never…”

“I thought I didn’t do it for you?? Like at all?” You stammered back.

“I mean, obviously you do. You Do all of it for little Eddie.” He gestured at his crotch which was pitching a size large (OMG is that real?) tent in the sweats. “You are hot and sweet and funny and whip-smart and you’ve got this ass that I… ::fuck:: I’m sorry, forget I said… I mean, I wouldn’t ever do anything about it, not ever.”

“Why the hell not??” You got up on your elbows and sat on his belly. You looked down at his gorgeous flushed face. He bit his lips hard.

“Princess, You mean too much to me. When I think about losing you…”

“Why would you lose me? I’m very hard to just…misplace.” You stuck out your tongue at him.

He gave you a small chuckle and his hands found your hips. Squeezed you there. One hand stroked down your leg to run a finger over your jingling ankle bracelet. Then he frowned and then his hands dropped away.

He took a deep shuddery breath. “I usually lose when I love… one way or another, it’s inevitable… I have extraordinarily bad luck.”

“Eddie, nothing is totally inevitable.” You touched his cheek. Rubbed his lower lip with your thumb. “Can you trust me just a little bit more than you fear bad luck?”

Perhaps a smile teased one corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. Nearly one. “I trust you, Princess.”

You dismounted Eddie and took his hand to lead him to your room. Soon to be his room too.

He did yell that night but not in an unhappy way.

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #smut adjacent #fluff #comfort #eddie munson #boyfriend shaped #bisexual eddie munson #Eddie Munson should wear eyeliner and nail polish #reader wears anklet #cw canon Vecna murders

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asbealthgn · 2 years ago

Text

It occasionally happens that Steve or Robin will desperately need each other at suboptimal times of day.

It was like this for a while last summer after Starcourt and now it’s happening again in the aftermath of Vecna. Sometimes, Robin will wake up from a nightmare at three in the morning and ride her bike over to Steve’s house. If his parents are gone, she’ll let herself in with the spare key he gave her. If they’re home, she’ll stand by the pool and toss rocks at his window until he wakes up and comes down to meet her. Other times Steve will be on his second night in a row of no sleep and will drive over to Robin’s house to sneak in through her window.

Tonight is one of those nights.

He parks around the corner and walks towards the Buckleys’ house as quickly and casually as possible. He’s always a little worried about their neighbors spotting him and getting suspicious, but no one has said anything yet.

At this point, he’s perfected silently climbing the trellis and creeping along the roofline to Robin’s window. But tonight, he gets halfway there before realizing that the window is open, soft voices wafting out. He moves closer, staying low, and tucks himself under the window until the voices coalesce into words.

“—I do get it, though,” Robin whispers.

“It just sucks,” the other voice says—Eddie. That’s weird, Steve didn’t know they hung out like this. “‘Cause I know there’s no way he’s ever gonna feel the same.”

Steve wonders who they’re talking about. Who Eddie has a crush on. At least, that’s what it sounds like they’re discussing. And he realizes he should probably leave, since this likely isn’t a conversation he’s supposed to be overhearing, but he can’t help sticking around. He’s curious.

“I mean, you can never really know,” Robin says, “But in this case, yeah. Doesn’t seem likely.”

Eddie makes a sad noise that cuts right through Steve. It kind of makes him want to find whatever guy Eddie is into and shake him until he apologizes for making Eddie feel this way.

“I know,” Eddie says, “I’ve made my peace with that. Mostly. I just—don’t want to fuck anything up, you know? Don’t want my stupid feelings to get in the way of our friendship.”

So the guy is a friend of Eddie’s. That sort of narrows the pool, but Steve definitely doesn’t know all of Eddie’s friends. It might be someone in his band, except they’re all kind of too young for him. Or maybe Jonathan? He sort of seems like the type of guy someone like Eddie could be into. It’s definitely not Steve. There’s no way he’s Eddie’s type.

He’s not sure why that thought is kind of disappointing.

“Your feelings aren’t stupid,” Robin says, voice gentle. “And even if he does find out, it’s not going to ruin your friendship. He’s a good guy. And he’s more emotionally intelligent than people give him credit for.”

“I know. But it would make things weird, and I don’t wanna make things weird. I like what we have.”

“For what it’s worth,” she says, “He does too. He loves being friends with you, and I think it would take a lot for him to give that up.”

Eddie makes a noncommittal noise. Whoever he likes, Steve thinks the guy’s an idiot if he doesn’t like Eddie back. He’s everything someone could want in a romantic partner—funny, sweet, smart but not in a condescending way, pretty, good with kids. What’s not to love? Steve would totally date him if he weren’t straight.

“And like I said,” Robin goes on, “You never know. Maybe he does like you back.”

“C’mon, Buckley,” Eddie says flatly, “You know that’s impossible. I mean, we’re talking about Steve here.”

Steve jerks at the sound of his name, smacking his head against the underside of the window frame. “Shit!” he hisses before he can stop himself, then freezes.

Inside, the voices have gone silent. There’s the creaking of springs like someone getting off the bed and then Robin is appearing at the window, poking her head out.

“Steve, oh my God,” she says, looking down at him.

He straightens, trying to act casual even though literally nothing about this is casual. “Oh, hey,” he says. Fuck, what was that? He’s playing this wrong. He glances through the window and sees Eddie still sitting on the bed, eyes wide. He looks petrified.

Abruptly, Eddie gets up and crosses to the window.

“Eddie, wait,” Steve says as Eddie climbs out of the window, not looking at him. He heads straight for the trellis without a backwards glance. “You don’t have to go,” Steve calls softly after him, but it’s too late. He’s already gone.

Robin sighs. “You should probably just come in,” she says.

Insides roiling with guilt, Steve climbs through the window and just stands there, not sure if he should say something. She crosses her arms and looks back at him, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Um—” he starts.

She rolls her eyes. “What the hell were you doing, dingus?”

“I’m really sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just—I couldn’t sleep so I came over, and I saw the window was open so I got curious and I—I didn’t mean to overhear that. I mean, I had no clue you guys were talking about me.”

“Well, we were,” she says, sighing as she moves backward until she hits her bed, sitting down. Steve comes over and sits facing her. “And now you know.”

“Now I know,” he repeats. “Makes no fucking sense, but now I know.”

It really doesn’t. What the hell does he have that Eddie would want? He’s not exceptional in any way, not like everyone else in their group. He’s not into any of the things Eddie cares about. He’s not stupid—he realizes he’s a good-looking guy—but Eddie doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would like someone solely based on that. So why would Eddie possibly like him?

Robin is frowning at him. “What do you mean, makes no fucking sense?”

He shrugs. “Just, like, I don’t know why he would be into me,” he says, “I’m—boring.”

“You, Steve Harrington, are many things,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “But you’re not boring. Do you really think that about yourself?”

Now he’s feeling defensive. “I dunno,” he says, “Maybe?”

“Okay, well, don’t,” she says, hard look in her eye. “I don’t want to hear anyone saying bad things about my best friend.”

That makes him smile. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay.”

He shifts in his spot. “So—since when do you and Eddie hang out in the middle of the night?”

“Since never, really,” she says, “I think he normally goes to Nancy. But the Wheelers are out of town, and I think he needed someone to talk to.” She shrugs. “And, you know, I’m kind of the expert on you.”

“Yeah, that’s accurate,” he says, grinning. “Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

She smiles back at him. “Oh, absolutely.” Then her eyebrows pinch together. “So—you don’t mind? That he likes you?”

“No, of course I don’t mind,” Steve says, shaking his head. “If anything, I’m glad.”

“You’re…glad?”

“Yeah,” he says, “If he’s gonna like anyone, I’m glad it’s me.”

Then he frowns. Why would he rather Eddie like him than someone else? Why is it such a relief that Eddie said his name instead of Jeff or Jonathan?

Robin is looking back at him with her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “Steve do you—do you like him?”

He blinks several times. “Uh. I don’t—I’m not—”

What does this mean? If he wants Eddie to like him, does that mean he likes Eddie? He imagines for a second that Eddie does like someone else. He pictures him going on dates with some other guy, kissing some other guy. And it fills him with so much immense hatred for this faceless figment of his imagination. God, he’s jealous.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

Robin takes both of his hands and squeezes them. “Holy shit,” she repeats.

He pitches forward and lets his head slump onto her shoulder. God, what does this mean for him? He doesn’t know what to do with himself. His world just got lifted up, spun around, and dropped back on its head with no warning. And now he’s just supposed to go about his life knowing that he has feelings for a guy. For Eddie.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Robin says, running her fingers through his hair. “There’s nothing wrong with having a crush on a guy.”

“I know,” he says, voice muffled by the fabric of her shirt.

“But I get how earth-shattering this is.”

He lifts his head to look at her and she gives him an encouraging smile. She squeezes his hands again.

“What do I do now?” he asks.

“Well,” she says, reaching up to flick a lock of hair out of his eyes. “I think you should probably go talk to Eddie.”

(part two here)

#steve realizing he has a crush on eddie bc he realizes he wants eddie to have a crush on him is my bread and butter #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #stranger things #ficlet

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