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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

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“Can I come over tomorrow?”

Nico’s hands still on the stubborn pillowcase. “To…my cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He resumes, sliding slowly away from Will’s wide round eyes, stuffing the puffy square of feathers into its fabric prison. The ghost of geese past are not happy with him. He is their prince. They will submit. “Yeah? You could all those other times, too.”

“Yeah, but I want to come over.”

“Yes,” Nico agrees, wondering if this is perhaps one of those moments Kayla warned him about. Has it reached day five of Will not sleeping? He doesn’t think so. He was napping when Nico came into the infirmary this morning to help with the tidying he promised to do. At least he was drooling enough that Nico hopes he was sleeping. “You mentioned.”

“So I can?”

“Yes, Will.”

Maybe it’s just an American thing. Nico has been noticing some Moments lately. He’s not sure if all teenagers have unanimously decided on some code they’d like to speak in during the few months he was busy defeating his great grandmother, or if maybe he’s finally stuck around long enough to notice, but nobody says what they mean, nowadays.

(He has gathered, thus far, that ‘on fleek’ is a synonym for ‘aflame’, although ‘yeet’ continues to evade him. Perhaps because Cecil and Lou appear to have indulged in the sick delight of replacing their every word with the term with the sole purpose to Confuse. Or perhaps, as Will has so indicated, they have each endured one concussion to many and are beyond any hope.)

“Sick!” That one Nico knows, at least. “I’ll come by after my morning shift? Connor got cursed by the Hypnos, Hecate, and Aphrodite cabins this morning so I have to do brain surgery before he forgets how to feel genuine human connection again, but I’ll be done by noon. Probably. I mean, Connor has a thick skull, genuinely I mean, which is why his lobotomy has been delayed so many times, but so long as I —”

It has been under Nico’s notice lately that Will eyes, genuinely, sparkle. He has read the cliche time and time again and rolled his eyes almost every time: diamonds sparkle. Water sparkles. Snow sparkles. Eyes reflect, and sometimes glow with reflection. They do not sparkle. To claim a set of eyes are sparkling is to profess to the world and all capable of registering your words that you are a brainless idiot who cannot dredge up from the depths of your mind, the most barren and bereft back corners, a single unique or clever comparison; a minutely original way to describe excitement or animation.

And yet.

Will is indeed very animated, and very excited about very many things, and it shows on his face; in the wideness of his grins, the springing mass of his curls, the stilted and flailing gilt of his languid limbs. It also shows, perhaps most obviously, in his genuinely magnificent eyes — Nico has seen the Logan Sapphire. He has touched the precious thing with reverent hands, stared in awe as it thrust out the light shine upon it like the golden ichor of Ouranous swirling with the sweet saltwater to birth Love Incarnate. He knows glittering, he knows gleaming, shimmering and shining and twinkling.

Will’s eyes sparkle, like the very tip of a mountaintop, like the crackling ends of a flame, like dewdrops on spider silk. It is transfixing. It is alluring.

“—ico. Nico! Hello-o?”

It is also a trap.

“Sounds great,” Nico says loudly, voice like cold soda over vanilla ice cream. He clears his throat, twice, to no avail. His vision begins to blur as the heat pouring off of his face warps the air. “Um. See you then?”

Will nods, or at least Nico hopes he does. His curls bounce, anyway. They are hard to miss. They remind Nico tangentially of how laughter sounds, unimpeded by shame; how the shimmering satin of a ribbon would curl and bend under the smooth slide of the scissor’s blade.

(His father’s circuit of jesters often included poets playwrights. They also doubled as Nico’s babysitters. Surely no lasting consequences, that.)

“Yes!” He flashes a smile, then, and it becomes imperative to note that his eyes squint at the force of it, and his slightly-too-big teeth brush his bottom lip, and he has, in fact, on each cheek, a dimple.

Now, Will is often and even frequently called Apollo Junior by just about every living soul in camp, up to and including Immortal Camp Director And Horse, Chiron; and uproariously once even Mr D, God of Wine. Allegedly, as taunted by Kayla, even by Will’s own mother. The golden hair and unfortunate habit of winking and legs for days do most definitely create an image.

Nico, however, contrarian he be, must deny: he has seen Apollo. Apollo is beautiful and golden and charming, but Will is not quite his spitting image. Will, more aptly, is the son of the Sun. He glows; the glare of his smile leaves impressions behind in the cells one’s eyes, the glide of his limbs is almost dragging, languid. To look at him is to commit yourself to blinding. To seek so desperately the solace of the light as to ignore the unsettling sting of the burn.

“I can’t wait!”

As a blissful cloud moving in front of the solar system’s brightest star saves your eyes the eternal fate of darkness, Will’s duty so saves Nico from an eternity of shadow. He returns, humming softly and horribly, to his work, sifting through folders and updating patient files, and Nico exhales the breath setting foundations in his lungs, slumping forward in fervent relief. A melancholic reprieve from the summer rays, if only for a moment.

He waves goodbye, or at least he hopes that he does, rushing out the infirmary doors and tripping down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurrying somewhere, Nicholas Claus?” drawls Mr. D, throwing darts a perilously balanced apple atop the horns of a satyr bleating in morse code.

“That was not even an attempt,” responds Nico, and hurries away before he can be dolphinized. Dolphinified? Made into a bottle-nosed beast. (Why bottle? Of all comparisons to make, who decided bottles were the utmost separate object to which the snout of the slippery beasts should be named? Oh, wait, drunk people. Bottles. Okay. Mystery solved.)

He manages, in his heroic retreat across the common, not to destroy entire swathes of grass and plants, a feat for which the Muses could perhaps write epics about. Truly he is capable of the utmost restraint and self-control. He does raise several full sized wolf skeletons, but they seem primarily preoccupied with hunting down the the Stolls, so a win-win as far as Nico is concerned. Probably not for Connor, who is apparently cursed or concussed, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he has managed thus far with his startling amount of daily braincell loss so by statistic and happenstance he is bound to survive another incident.

“There has to be away to shut myself off,” Nico says, out loud to himself, proceeding the slam of his cabin door and the heavy breathing upon it. He turns to his altar. “You mentioned an off button, Father. I don’t suppose it has been successfully implemented.”

No answer comes forth. He indulges in a brief moment of self pity, wherein the Nico who lives in his brain clears his throat, digs around the messy confines of his mind to find an imaginary black hoodie, slips it on, digs around again for a dagger, and stabs himself, choking and twitching pitifully. Real Nico then walks with great purpose to the exact geological centre of the stone cabin.

“Okay,” he says again. He nods, once, narrowing his eyes in determination. The Nico in his brain opens one curious eyelid. (Does Will do psychiatric assessments?) “Okay, this is. Hm.”

It is not the first time they have been alone together, after all.

In the weeks following Gaea’s defeat and Will Solace’s nonstop, irritating persistence, Nico has been thrust in his proximity an incredible number of times. From his three day stay, during which he was simply so unconscious for so long his father was concerned enough to manifest onto the mortal plane and poke at his soul until he responded, to his unofficial indoctrination (ha) as a nurse, to camp clean-up efforts, to cabin renovation, to general life — they have become friends. Coworkers, at least. Together they make the camp a little more bearable for everyone in it, including Nico. It is rewarding work. It is illuminating work; Will is a good teacher, and he is funny, and he is good company (and he happens to have very long legs that he does not bother to cover up very often and Nico has eyes that do what they please). They have been in Nico’s cabin together several times over the last few weeks.

Never before has Will come over without some kind of stated purpose.

At least, not and absence he has made so obvious. True, the renovations took longer than expected, and the paint on the east wall is smudged from where Nico shoved Will, shrieking, off the stepstool, and they have perhaps, on occasion, used Nico’s illegal Wii when they were meant to be helping Annabeth make plans for Capture the Flag, but —

But.

Intent.

Is important.

It has been made abundantly clear to Nico over the summer that he has friends upon which he can rely. Reyna has made a point to Iris Message him at whatever Roman tryhard time she believes he should be awake, prompting an attempted murderous shadow travel that left him unconcious in Missouri and at the unfortunate end of many people’s shouting. And Will’s friends, who can perhaps at this point be called his friends also, have created a game entitled “How Many Grapes Can We Flick At Nico During Lunch Before He Goes Ballistic And Sends Us To Purgatory For A Little While” (four), which they are inclined and inspired to play every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Piper enjoys dragging him around to do Things. Jason is just around constantly. (Does he sleep? Nico should check on that properly.)

He had a point, somewhere. He’s sure he did.

It was maybe the impending anxiety attack, helpfully informs Brain Nico.

“Ah,” regular Nico replies, then grapples around for his least favourite pillow, slams it into his face, and screams at the top of his lungs for several minutes.

Brain Nico decides once again that commentary is the way.

I think we are an all powerful demigod of something, he muses. Dirt, maybe? Bad vibes? I can’t quite remember.

“The dead?” inquires regular Nico.

Do you think those years isolated in the Labyrinth perhaps situated us firmly on the shores of mentally unwell? responds he, blissfully unhelpful.

“I think that was Tartarus, actually,” says regular Nico, and promptly banishes his brain self to the deepest recesses of his mind, among memories of the taste of liquid fire and Calculus.

With the remaining, functioning (well.) part of his brain, he places both palms on the cool floor and attempts to focus.

Juicy Fruit It gets right to ya Juicy salt Hmmm Juicy Fruit, The taste the taste that’s —

For the love of all holy things, Nico begs his brain. It doesn’t work, but what ever really goes right in his life, so he pushes past the increasingly louder replays of eighties commercial jingles and maps out the ground below the cabin floor, pushes through the layers of underground.

Ah. Perfect.

He pulls up the very aptly placed skeleton of a cat, letting it scratch and sniff about his cabin before cautiously approaching him.

“You will be sure to tell it to me straight,” Nico says solemnly, holding out his hand. The cat bobs its nasal cavities in and out of Nico’s fingers and, apparently deciding him to be worthy of its attention, rams its skull against his knuckles. Nico snorts, running a fingernail along its cranial sutures and grinning as its purring echoes in his mind. “You seem very wise.”

The cat’s caudal vertebrae rattle in indignation, miffed at the mere idea that it could be anything other than wise. Nico is honestly quite impressed by its ability to glare without actual eyeballs, eyelids, or thought power.

“I am going to name you after my sister and pray that’s not weird,” Nico says. “I mean, I don’t think she would mind. You’re pretty cool, actually, and Hazel’s cool, kind of, so. Win win.”

Hazel the Cat seems unbothered by her christening, curling up in Nico’s lap. He runs his hand from cranial base to coccyx, finger dipping and bumping along the ridges of her spines, and settles against the cool floor, attempting to breathe evenly.

“It’s just.” He swallows. It takes a try or two, to work around the massive stone borrowed in his throat, and Hazel the Cat nips playfully at his fingers until his lungs settle again. “Before we had something to do, you know? We’d be cutting bandages, and he’d be all, hey, did you know bandages are mentioned in one of the first ever medical manuscripts and definitely predate it by many hundreds of years, and I would say I did, actually, I talked to the guy who made that clay tablet, and his eyes would get all wide and he’d be like no way, tell me everything, and then I would just talk forever.” Nico huffs. “We had something to talk about, you understand. Something to do.”

Nico tries to imagine what Hazel his Sister would say. Probably something along the lines of you are an impossible person, which is code for I have about as much luck as you do in this century, pal, the best I’ve got is hope for the best and remember adults no longer smack you for standing wrong. Which. Fair.

Hazel the Cat just purrs in his head again. It’s as encouraging as anything, he supposes.

“Am I supposed to have…conversation starters? He likes twizzlers and intentionally bad poetry. Maybe I could do something with that?”

Hazel the Cat shrugs at him.

“It’s not even — okay, it’s not just that, though. What is — how close is close enough in a casual setting? Or too close? How am I meant to greet him? Am I supposed to offer something? Make something? What do I do if there’s a lull in conversation? Or if it’s all lulls? Oh, gods, how much silence is socially appropriate —”

Hazel the Cat twists in his hold, meeting his eyes as if to say well I don’t think you’ll be struggling with that last one.

“Shush,” he tells her, but his mouth is twitching. “I’m just — I don’t want him to finally realize I’m weird. Or boring, gods. He’s such a hyper person, you know? He never stops. And I am supposed to entertain him! I think!”

This time he can actually hear his sister’s voice, in the back of his mind — you’re such a dummy. Ringed with fondness from the many times she’s said it to him, shoulders nudged carefully together, head knocked gently against his. You are weird and boring. Most people are.

“Ugh,” he sighs, tipping his head back until it rests against the mattress. “Friendship is hard work.”

Hazel the Cat swishes her tail, rattling the discs of bone like a rattlesnake. It’s a surprisingly soothing sound, like rain pinging softly against his window, or the flutter of the poplar trees outside of his father’s palace. Unconsciously he matches his breathing to it, slowing until it’s even, gentle, deep. His eyes, without any direction from his brain, drift until they blanket his hazy eyes, heavy as stone..

“S’not that serious,” he murmurs to himself, soothed under the weight of his feline friend. “S’just Will, I guess.” A beat. He smiles, slightly, a small, curling thing, mimicking the coiled heat in his belly. “It’s just Will.”

———

part two

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lexithwrites · 22 days

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i cant even imagine how frustrating it must be for katsuki, he has so many feelings so many emotions so many thoughts and he has no idea how to put it into words outside of his own head. he just glares because he's frustrated at himself, not anyone else. he doesn't understand how izuku can just say whatever he feels perfectly, whilst he jumbles it up and just yells because he can't do anything in life gentley. he just communicates through glances, frowns, huffs, sighs, grunts, scoffs, eye rolls. but god does he wish for once he could just say how he feels

#am i getting angsty because of this fic idea #yep #katsuki bakugo #izuku midoriya #bakudeku #bkdk #mha #my hero academia #alex talks anime

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lihhelsing · 11 months

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To-Do: Eddie Munson

Coming SOON

Based on this post

#yep I made it #it's a full fic now #to-do eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #rockstar AU #modern AU #glee #Fic #Stranger Things #Steddie fanfic

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arsonistmoth · 6 months

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Aight takin a quick com break to share my ideas on the KITTY FAMILYYYY <3 (aka my take on Forneus and her kits) Headcanons under cut cuz some of them are sAD and also I tend to blather on.

Forneus has always wanted kits of her own, though perhaps not a Tom in her life to get them (She is content as she is, a traveling merchant who sees so many faces, so many stories in a day). So, by the power of a one-night stand with some dashing tall tom, she gets her wish. Albeit bittersweet when her kits come stillborn. She prays and prays to the god of death, begging, pleading for her babies to come back to her but its not Narinder that hears her fervent prayers first. She's given a choice by the god of war...Bury them as is her right, or give the kits to them. They will take them to death's gate where they just might know a shadow of life. She leapt at the chance. Not one day goes by where she doesn't think of her two little toms and how they must have grown. She knows, in her heart, they will return to her somehow..and she will know them by sight and scent the second she sees them. Aym and Baal grew up in the gateway with their master. They were a gift to a lonely god and in them he found some semblance of company and...love. Of course we all know Narinder is not the besssst of influences and it shows in the two young toms. They are fiercely loyal, quick to temper (in aym's case), and deadly in combat. Though it wasn't always so. Kits must learn and they must grow... Accidents are bound to happen- (perhaps like being given a new sharp pointy weapon only to hurt yourself immediately thereafter and have the god of death pinch your scruff between two claws to make you stop squirming as he heals you) Though their cloaks are nice and warm, the pair have only ragged tunics beneath it. After all, not many dead arrive with a) nice clothes and b) clothes big enough for the toms. Its fineeee. they're fineeee. After the events of the game, Aym and Baal choose to stay with the cult to be close to their mother and Master. Baal eventually finds himself a mate and even settles down, having a litter of twins with his orange tabby queen named Fion <3 Aym is content for a time, staying with his family and his new niece and nephew...but eventually wander lust grips him as it gripped his mother. He heads out into the world and, though he sends a sparse letter here and there, he has not been seen since. Lamb think's he's crossed the sea. Hopefully he finds whatever hes looking for. to end this on a happy note: Forneus loves her grandkits and would die for them. She has also slapped Narinder. Once. (you dont call yourself a poor father figure to kits you took care of. not around her. "You were all they had! They love you and cherish you do NOT spit in their faces so!"

#goat draws #cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl aym #cotl baal #cotl forneus #most of these hcs are me world building #cuz yep theres a fic in the work #it will see the light of day eventually #i also had a fucKIN FIT WHEN I REALIZED THE QUEEN AND CROWN CONNECTION OK?#im totally normal #Blood of the covenant au

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acehardys · 15 days

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when they tell the story of my life...

#rwrb movie #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #memes #first post in years and its this yep that makes sense #userveronika

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mother-ofthe-universedraws · 4 days

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Sup babe, guess what I finally did

#yep it’s the fic yall have been waiting for #finally posted the first chapter #now yall can wait another year for the second one!#haha just kidding #imma try to update frequently and shit #but yeah here it is #the Simon fic #gravity falls #stanley pines #stan pines #stanford pines #ford pines #bill cipher #same coin theory #simon pines #son of stan #son of stan au

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altruistic-meme · 1 month

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skk fic rec time !!! 🖤🖤

okay i officially have more skk fics bookmarked on my ao3 than my sister has fics in general bookmarked on hers. so. it is time for another ficrec list by abram, bsd/skk version this time!!!

i have no idea yet how many fics will be on this list. i will go until i decide to stop. but as of right now i have 124 bsd fics bookmarked and i definitely won't be listing all of them so if anyone wants a pt. 2 then i certainly have the material to do that.

i'm not putting warnings with the fics, but bc this is BSD please do take note of tags and warnings that are given! i read a lot of fics with darker material so do be cautious!

One-Shots:

keep you alive, set you on fire by flyby @orbitalflyby (Explicit, 23k) Dazai steps out in a dress and heels for a mission, since the gown won't fit Yosano. He's only supposed to spend an hour or so leading their targets on a dance around a charity gala, but the unexpected arrival of a certain Port Mafia Executive threatens to disrupt all his plans. And when he and Chuuya find themselves finally face to face, they end up entwined in a tense game of mutual provocation...

Don't Pull Your Punches by kanekei (Teen and Up Audiences, 5k) Everyone thinks that their partnership is a series of Dazai being a troublemaker while Chuuya is helplessly dragged along for the ride. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Some days it feels like Dazai is the only one aware of how insane Chuuya actually is. OR: 3 times Dazai cleans up after Chuuya + 1 time he doesn’t bother

The 5 Elements of an Apology by artemisiatea (Teen and Up Audiences, 6k) in which dazai learns that change is hard, but accountability is harder

Tea Over Rice by the_most_happy (Teen and Up Audiences, 8k) “Oi, Dazai— what would people say if they saw us?” Dazai gave him a puzzled look. “That we’re happy,” he answered. He made it sound simple; he made it sound pure. “They would say we’re happy.” They never stopped being Double Black — just different clothes and less blood on their hands. [Or: What if Dazai and Chuuya escaped the Port Mafia together?]

Lost All Judgement by todxrxki (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k) “Uh, sorry, but unfortunately I already have a date to the dance.” “Oh, really?” Tachihara says, sounding disappointed. He pauses for a second, clearly processing what Chuuya’s just told him, and then says, “Who is it?” Chuuya certainly hadn’t budgeted for this. Panicking, he tries to think of the people that he knows that are single, and before he knows it, the first name that comes to mind is slipping out of his mouth. “With Dazai.” / After a momentary lapse in judgment, high school student Chuuya ends up having to pretend to date his enemy Dazai to get Tachihara off of his back - and quickly finds it's nowhere as bad as he'd imagined.

oh darling it's alarming to think of us apart (you know you've got me in your pocket) by interludewings (Teen and Up Audiences, 20k) “Okay so if we’re both still single when we’re twenty two,” Dazai’s smile grew even wider. “Let’s marry each other.” By the time Chuuya’s twenty two, he’d probably be in a relationship with someone else, and the possibilities of them even remembering each other were slim to none. And so, Chuuya gave his answer. “Fine, let’s do that.” In short, fifteen year olds Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya made a stupid promise one day in their school library out of boredom, which leads to the next seven years of their life filled with fighting, burnt notebooks and late night conversations.

The Undercover Mission by OldSauk411 (Teen and Up Audiences, 16k) It all started when Atsushi was sent to drop off some papers that the Port Mafia had let them borrow. That was when he saw her, the woman with orange hair and blue eyes standing in the Port Mafia's hallways and talking. She was beautiful if he was being honest. However, after he left, he forgot about her- at least until a few months later, when the ADA and the Port Mafia teamed up for an undercover mission. One that was led by said 'woman'. Aka, Chuuya Nakahara. _____ Or: Atsushi sees a woman from a distance and thinks she's beautiful, up until the Port Mafia and the ADA team up for an undercover mission and it's revealed that the woman was actually Chuuya Nakahara.

Nothing but your spine by osamuchuu (Mature, 6k) “Oi, Dazai. We’re here.” Chuuya reached into the car to shake Dazai’s shoulders a bit, rearranging his coat to lay over the man’s back. Dazai swayed and blinked up at him. Whatever painkillers he’d been given had stolen the sharpness from his face. Dazai looked fifteen again, wide-eyed and vulnerable. And then he smiled. He smiled and Chuuya’s heart stuttered because it was so fucking real, so small and different from all the painted faces he wore now. This was dangerous.

strange loyalties by finalizer @tarmairons (Mature, 13k) “The Agency dorms are being fumigated,” Dazai explained cheerfully. “So, I offered—Atsushi can stay with us.” Or: Atsushi's observations from inside Yokohama's strangest household.

[sidenote: this is actually a sequel fic and while i loved the first one, this one really just took me to a whole other plane of existence which is why it's the one on the rec list. i do also rec the first one though!]

Yokohama public High School- almost as crazy as their pep rallies by BlowingYourMind (General Audiences, 20k) "The slacks! They're way too tight on him! Exactly no teachers ass should be like that, the students may be offended-" "Dazai, I think you're the only one that notices, and maybe refrain from eyeing up your co-workers like that-" "But how can I not!" Dazai huffed "It's right there in front of my face, it's hideous!" Oda sighed. he was just an average man with an average job gaining an average salary, but he would need to find a way to help Dazai and his obvious crush on Chuuya Nakahara before he lost his sanity. Or The story of how Chemistry teacher Dazai Osamu fell helplessly for coach Nakahara Chuuya, and the student body's many attempts to get them together.

If you refuse to listen I'll say it twice, love of my life by olympiansally @olympiansally (Mature, 15k) There’s Atsushi, Dazai’s star pupil. There’s Fyodor, arguably Dazai’s soulmate, a single mind in two bodies. There’s Kunikida, Dazai’s partner. There’s Oda, the reason Dazai wants to live. And then there’s Chuuya. If he asked Dazai to define him, to name his purpose, Chuuya already knows what he would hear. Chuuya is his dog, Chuuya is a slug, Chuuya is a chibi. And sure, maybe he is. But none of that is enough. Or, Chuuya can’t figure out what he means to Dazai exactly, but if he would only listen, he would realize that Dazai has been telling him all along.

In the throes of Corruption by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 7k) Dazai’s ability ‘No longer human’ ironically made Chuuya human. It stripped him of the god that set his insides to flame and wreaked havoc. Corruption was terrible to Chuuya but Dazai’s touch never was. Or Five times Dazai helps Chuuya through the throes of Corruption.

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows (Not Rated, 24k) When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

Dream a little dream of me by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k) "What would you like to dream of, Chuuya?" Dazai asked, and his partner shifted in the bed before settling down. "I dunno idiot, you pick." Dazai hummed, "I believe I can arrange that." Chuuya's eyelashes fluttered against Dazai's palm as Dazai continued to speak, voice turning into a whisper as he spoke late into the night. Or Chuuya can't dream, and Dazai has a soloution that quickly turns into a routine between the two of them.

Multichapter fics (all complete)

in the mirror, i bloom by ephemeralis (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k, 2/2) It twists him, turns him, curls in his chest like something alive, something he knows but can’t dare to name. Chuuya curses the red-black petals that fall from his lips, these nearly rotten things that tear him apart from the inside out. Part of him wants to rip his own traitorous heart out, through a ribcage shattered by feelings he can’t contain. Anger is easy, a thing he’s learned to control. This— whatever the hell this is— is not. Or at least it’s easier to feel as though this is beyond his own control, because Chuuya is not in love. (It feels like a lie even to himself.) After he's hit by a strange ability, Chuuya is forced to consider truths he'd much rather keep hidden- but not everything is as simple it seems.

[sidenote: this was the first bsd fic i ever read and HOOOOLLY CRAP what a beautiful way to join the fandom. i've reread this fic several times since. stunning.]

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows (Explicit, 163k, 20/20) Loyalty is the foundation of the yakuza code, something that was drilled into Chuuya at an early age. However, his lessons did not cover how to manage a political marriage with his organization's oldest rival.

Inseparable by milwritsecausewhynot (Teen and Up Audiences, 107k, 21/21) Best friends is too simple a term to squash the entire dynamic of Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya within. Sure, they’ve known each other since they were children, and they’re each other’s #1 on their best friend lists on Snapchat, and Chuuya’s been seen one too many times in his hoodies. People have also noticed how Dazai’s main muse for his volunteer hobby of polaroid photographer is the redhead himself. But the pranks they pull on each other isn’t much of a ‘best friend’ thing to do. Especially when one of the pranks get pulled so far, That Chuuya is forbidden from seeing Dazai ever again. And though he sees no good coming from such a forced separation, the one thing that can enhance their futures together is propelled forward at a faster speed than either of them could have ever imagined: Coming to terms with their unusual feelings for each other.

Do I Get My Worthless Reward Yet? by World_Ender22 (Teen and Up Audiences, 40k, 10/10) Chuuya has always been certain of two things: he is going to die young, and it will be Corruption that kills him. So when the Boss orders him to use his Corrupted form without an out, he is neither surprised nor distressed. He simply does what he's told. When Dazai learns that the whole thing is a ploy to make him rejoin the Mafia, he plans to beat Mori at his own game... starting with convincing Chuuya to join the Armed Detective Agency. / Soukoku

When I Awake by wildflowertea @wildflowerteas (Mature, 235k, 23/23) Dazai Osamu has been in a coma for exactly one year, seven months, and twenty-two days. But Death still refuses to take him. Trapped in the space between worlds, and unable to die, Dazai waits, killing what precious time he may have left and hoping—praying—that his family will pull the plug and move on. He doesn't expect someone to move into his old apartment instead. Nakahara Chuuya, two-time Grammy awards winner, and freshly unemployed pessimist, has never believed in fate—much less the supernatural. But the lively—if a bit annoying—ghost of his apartment's previous tenant, might just change everything.

hopelessly devoted by soukocacola (Explicit, 188k, 18/18) "Get your grades up." Oda tells him. "Then we'll talk." Well, Dazai thinks. If he's going to be miserable, the least he can do is make Chuuya miserable, too. Maybe then Chuuya will ditch him and Dazai can fail out of college with no regrets.

His Prized Experiment by fauxtales @fauxfroot (Mature, 94k, 18/18) "As terrifying as it could be, there was something just so freeing in using Corruption. It is, after all, his strongest state. No one can harm him when he uses Corruption; he is all but invincible. There are days when he lets himself dream. There is the part of him wondering if that’s just the god or his instincts trying to convince him to unleash pure chaos and destruction on the world, but that thought is easy enough to push away. He has no control in that state after all." As a teenager, Chuuya is subjected to experiments at Mori's hand in an attempt to find a way to control Corruption. Now, years later, Mori has decided it's time to revisit the experiments. Dazai is having none of it. But can they really leave their entire life behind?

death offers no absolution by Zairielon (Mature, 62k, 10/10) After so many years in the Port Mafia, Chuuya thought he couldn't be phased by anything - that he had carried out the worst orders that would ever be given to him. Then he sees things he never saw before. He sees horror, cruelty, needless suffering. He sees death in every step he takes. Chuuya is only human, too. Eventually, he breaks. OR, Chuuya leaves the Port Mafia and attempts to escape his bloodstained past.

from a to o, i love you so by anticide @anticidic (Explicit, 22k, 3/3) Here they were dancing a dangerous tango and crossing lines and blurring boundaries that neither Fukuzawa nor Mori would take kindly to. Dazai was supposed to have gotten over Chuuya, not melted in his embrace and bound them together for an eternity. (Or: Dazai and Chuuya's unconventional relationship sparks a radical change within Dazai when he wakes up one day under the weather and feeling very, very off.)

My Body is Your Body (I Won't Tell Anybody) by thereweregiants (Explicit, 26k, 2/2) Thanks to a rogue ability user, Dazai and Chuuya find themselves switching bodies. ...yeah, there's no way this ends well.

Mission - Entrancing Armed Detective Agency by cocktailjjrs (Teen and Up Audiences, 105k, 12/12) “Charming? Have you finally started dreaming now?” Dazai turned to face his longtime partner again “Say what you want, asshole, but people like me better anyway” Chuuya ignored the jab at his lack of dreams, only shrugging in response. “I can bet anything in this world that you can’t be liked by everyone. Your efforts will be fruitless by the end of the day” “Wanna bet?” Chuuya smirked “You’re on!” Dazai returned the smirk “I’ll tell you who your target will be” . . . In which, Dazai and Chuuya are upto their old shenanigans and make a bet. As a result - Bonds are formed, secrets are revealed, money is spent, devious plans are concatenated; someone gets drugged, someone gets punched, someone gets a wakeup slap. And Chuuya's 'brute' image is at imminent risk. All of this - to with the bet!

Prey to Your Instincts by skylorr (Mature, 98k, 8/8) He was a beta. He was normal. Barely any scent, no cycles, no mating instincts. Just plain old normal. At least, that’s what he thought. He thought he was normal. But instead, Dazai is currently curled up on his single mattress in the shipping container that he calls home as he sweats profusely and struggles through cramps, pains, and the desire to nest. His mattress has a single thin blanket, which apparently does not satisfy the omega instincts trying to claw their way out of his mind. He was so close, too; days away from his 17th birthday, the birthday that would have officially made him a beta. Hope is a killer disease.

[sidenote: there is also a sequel to this fic that i recommend just as much! it's still a WIP <3]

Illustrations of Lying by writingfromtheshadows (Mature, 49k, 20/20) It is more difficult, perhaps, to bear with fortitude the little daily trails of life, than great calamities, because we summon up all our spiritual and moral strength to resist the latter... Upon faced with the culmination of Mori's plan, Dazai does not go to Odasaku's side. Instead, he relieves Mori of his duties.

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer @neonganymede (Mature, 75k, 7/7) What a shitty way to die.... Less than forty-eight hours ago, they’d been impaled together, and Chuuya had feared that the broken metal pole had pinned him in place against a corpse. Now, he worried that a corpse sat next to him, nothing more than a poorly-crafted imitation of his ex-partner. ... And what an even shittier situation to be stuck in. Or, A mission goes wrong, and Soukoku die together. Except, they don't, but now they're stuck in a safe house pretending that they did. And if Chuuya wants to find out what went wrong with Dazai's plan, he'll first have to find a way around the wall of silence that his former partner has built to keep him out.

Cigarette Game by chowderpuff (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k, 2/2) Chuuya has a crush on Dazai. Dazai knows this, and he thinks it’s a prime opportunity to mess with his partner a little. After all, why not? Chuuya’s reactions to his flirting are priceless, a new little bonus feature to the game between them, and Dazai actually starts to find it more entertaining than outright arguing. It’s all harmless fun until Dazai realizes that he has feelings too. Then it's decidedly not.

[ author's tumblrs are tagged when i could find them! if you know one who wasn't tagged or if you're an author and would like to be untagged, let me know! ]

#29 fics total jfc ksdhgkshdgkhsdgkh #so yep i definitely could do more of these and i probably will <3 but not for a good minute cus this took me like 2 hours #i love spreading the love and sharing my fave fics and there are sooo many and i didn't want to make this much longer #but anyway!!!#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #ficrec #fic rec list #fic rec #skk #soukoku #dazai x chuuya #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #shh ac

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bornonthesavage · 2 years

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Eddie wouldn’t say he loves his job. He isn’t sure anyone actually loves working in organized crime, but hey, it pays the bills. And he’s good at it, so that’s a plus. All he has to do is pick up bags, drop them at predetermined destinations, and then collect the money. Easy. That is, until it goes wrong. Because of course it does. Things always go wrong for him.

“Where’s the rest of the money?” Sam asks. He’s Eddie’s boss, a greasy dude with shifty eyes.

Eddie frowns. “What are you talking about? It’s all there.”

“No, it’s not. You’re short five hundred. What, you think you can steal from the Harringtons and I won’t notice?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide as he realizes the situation he’s in. “Whoa, dude, what? No! Why would I steal? I’m not stupid!”

Sam takes a menacing step forward and Eddie tries to move back, but feels his path stopped by a thick chest. Yeah, this isn’t looking good.

“Give the money back now, and maybe I’ll let you go. If you don’t, you’re not going to like what happens next.”

Fear coils in Eddie’s stomach. If he had the money he would give it back out of his own pocket. As it stands, all he’s got is the 15 bucks that he’d planned on using for dinner tonight. He’s completely screwed.

“Sam, please, you have to believe me. I didn’t take anything!”

Sam glowers. “Fine, that’s how you wants it.”

Eddie’s grabbed on both sides by strong hands. He tries to fight but knows it no uses. The hired muscle are twice his size, and while he’d probably be able to outrun them, there’s no getting out of the their grasp.

He’s dragged from the office and thrown roughly in the trunk of a car. This is it, he thinks. This is how he’s going to die. They’re going to take him to some river and throw him in with bricks tied to his feet. He’d heard of this sort of thing happening, sure, but he’d never thought it would happen to him. Because he wasn’t stupid enough to cross the Harringtons. They were the most powerful crime family in the country, and Eddie valued his life, thank you very much. But apparently none of that mattered.

The ride is bumpy and it feels like it takes forever. But maybe that’s just Eddie, to out of his mind with fear to pay much attention. He tries to escape, kicking at the trunk and looking for a release lever. Of course, there’s nothing. When they finally come to a stop, he prepares himself to fight. The trunk opens and he tries to launch himself at the nearest thug, but the angles all wrong. He’s thrown the ground with ease, gravel crunching beneath his body.

“Get up,” one of the goons snarls, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him up.

Eddie looks around, trying to get an idea of his surroundings. He’d thought they’d maybe be out in the middle of the woods or near a body of water, but there’s none of that. Instead, they’re outside a massive mansion.

“What the fuck? Where are we?”

He’s pulled forward. “The big boss is out of the country, so we’re taking you to his son. We’ll let him decide how to handle you.”

Ah, shit. That wasn’t much better. He hadn’t worked for the Harringtons for three years without hearing all the horror stories. Sure, Thomas Harrington was in charge and had a reputation for violence, but Eddie had heard plenty about his son as well. A rich boy with a mean streak, they said. So what would he do to Eddie for apparently stealing from his family? Nothing good, that was for sure.

Eddie barely had any time to look around as he was dragged through the mansion and pulled through a set of double doors into an office, where he was thrown to his knees. Slowly, he brought his eyes up.

The first thing he saw were the pair of shiny black shoes. Nothing at all like his own worn out pair of shit kickers. His eyes travel up over a pair of sinfully long legs and thick thighs, all wrapped up in a pair of dress pants that probably cost more than he made in several months. Beyond that was a red silk shirt, only partially buttoned to reveal one of the nicest chests Eddie had ever seen. He sort of hated himself for thinking that, even now.

Finally, his gaze reached the face of the man himself. Steve Harrington was every bit as gorgeous as people said he was, and maybe a bit more. With a strong nose and defined chin, brown eyes that looked a little bored, and perfectly styled hair. Because of course it wasn’t enough that he’d been born rich and powerful. No, he also had to be unbelievably pretty.

Steve brought a cigarette to his lips and took a drag. “Who’s this?”

“This,” one of the thugs says, kicking Eddie’s foot, “Is just a low level piece of shit who thought he could steal from you, sir. We brought him here to let you decide what to do with him.”

Steve looked back to Eddie. “Is that true? Did you steal from my father?”

“No!” Eddie cried.

“Liar,” one goon snarled. “He was short by $500.”

“I swear, I didn’t take anything! I wouldn’t do that, I’m not a fucking idiot!”

Steve just continued to look at him, though he now seemed a bit curious. “Then where did the money go?”

Eddie shook his head. “I have no idea! Do you really think I’d risk my life over five hundred bucks? If I was going to steal, I’d take a lot more than that, I can promise you.”

To Eddie’s relief, though he wasn’t sure how great that relief should be, Steve laughed. He had a nice laugh, very full and bright. If Steve is amused, Eddie can use that. He’s good at being amusing. If the prince needs a jester, he can be that.

“What’s your name?” Steve asks.

“Eddie.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty four.”

Steve nods and takes another drag from his cigarette. “Right.”

He then reaches into his back pocket, and Eddie withdraws into himself. Is he going to pull a gun and just end him right here? At least that would be quick. But it’s not a gun, just his wallet. Steve flips it open and takes out a few hundred dollar bills, before tossing them at the floor by the goons feet. They flutter down like rich person confetti.

“To cover what’s missing,” he says.

The men glance at each other, as if unsure of what to do, before bending down to collect the money. “Uh, yes sir. We’re sorry to have bothered you. We’ll just get this waste of space out of your sight.”

They go to grab Eddie again and he struggles. He’s pretty sure that once he’s out of this room, his time will be up. But then Steve holds up a hand.

“Oh no, leave him here with me.”

Now the guards looked even more confused, and the sentiment was shared by Eddie. Was Steve some sick sadist, who wanted to torture Eddie here all by himself? But the thugs weren’t going to defy their boss. They gave him a shove, forcing him down to his hands, then retreated out of the office. Once the door was closed, Steve made his way around to the other side of the desk and sat. Eddie sort of thought he should get up off his knees, but he didn’t want to make any sudden movements. Maybe now was the best time to plead his case.

“Please, sir, you have to believe that I didn’t take that money.”

But Steve only shrugs and puts his cigarette out. “I don’t really care if you did. Honestly, it would be kind of funny.”

Eddie just stares at him, sure he heard him wrong. “Um, what?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, kicking his feet up on the desk. “My dads an asshole. I’ve stolen from him hundreds of times, and either he doesn’t care or he doesn’t notice. So really, it makes no difference to me.”

Well, this definitely wasn’t how Eddie had thought this was going to go. He still sort of thinks this is a trap, a ruse to get Eddie to admit that he’d actually taken the money.

“Right. So… I’m not in trouble?”

“Nah.”

“Oh. So, can I go then?”

And now Steve gets this certain look in his eye, one that’s bright and sharp, and Eddie almost feels like a prey animal caught in the mouth of a wolf den. But Steve is still smiling, and it seems genuine.

“You can if you want. Or…”

Eddie waits. He’s really not sure where this is going. What else can he want from him? When Steve doesn’t go on, just continues to stare, Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Or what?”

Steve shifts forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and his chin in his hand. “Now, maybe I’m completely off base with this, so correct me if I’m wrong here. But you were checking me out when you first got here, weren’t you?”

Eddie’s mouth goes dry and his heart jumps in his chest. He hadn’t thought Steve had noticed.

“Please, Mr. Harrington, that wasn’t… I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Call me Steve. I hate when people call me Mr. Harrington. And you didn’t offend me. The opposite, in fact.”

Eddie just stares. This can’t be going where he thinks it’s going. Where he’s hoping it’s going. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Steve says, his smile growing wider. “I know when someone’s interested in me and you,” his eyes roam over Eddie’s body, “Are very interested.”

He’s cocky, that’s for sure. Eddie hates that he likes it. He really, really likes it. To his embarrassment, he even feels himself twitch in his jeans.

“So I guess you have two choices,” Steve continues. “You can get up and leave right now. No one will stop you and you’ll be free to go on your way. Or… You can stay. And we can come to an arrangement of an entirely different sort.”

And Eddie knows he should leave. He should get up and walk out right now. Because Harrington is nothing but trouble. He can see it written in every line of him, from that cocksure grin to those $3000 shoes. But Eddie’s never claimed to be smart. And he’s never been able to turn down a bit of trouble.

He leans back on his heels, titling his head in a way that draws Steve’s eyes to his neck, and grins.

“I’m listening.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #eddie and steve #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #Look I’ve written a crime AU for both of the other fandoms I’ve been a part of #and this just works really well #I love cocky Steve #I just think he’d take one look at Eddie #and go yep #I’m keeping this one

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midnightdemonhunter · 1 year

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am i the original, the remains, or the later writing?

Fresh off my first watching of Sophomore Year, I was desperate for more Nightmare Forest-esque content for my beloved bad kids. Thankfully, I immediately stumbled upon @gilears fic Over and Through! I absolutely adored this fic, bingereading it in one go, and knew I needed to show my love and feelings somehow!!

So here are the six bad kids' personal hells, shown in my order of reading!

#d20 #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring #adaine abernant #fabian seacaster #fig faeth #kristen applebees #aelwyn abernant #fantasy high #dimension 20 #midnight draws #over and through #YEP i am a Consumption first person. certainly set the tone for the rest of the fic!!!#was halfway through the first chapter like Am i going insane. and then got to chap 2 and things immediately started to come together.#but GOD i loved this fic AND i loved the art series done for it so im thrilled to be able to contribute in my own way!!#op thank you for everything. i will be rereading this fic many more times 100%#need to leave a long comment too for each chapter lmao I have so many thoughts but have forgotten them all rn #just know there is SO MUCH thought put into these pieces and i would be happy to elaborate on any of them!!! im so normal!!!!

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laundrybiscuits · 2 years

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“It’s happening,” crows Dustin. “Eddie, it’s happening, it’s happening, she said yes!”

Eddie blinks up at him from the blankets. “Is…this about your little girlfriend, Henderson?” Is there a school dance coming up or something? Wait, it’s the summer, school’s not happening.

In a just world, Eddie Munson would never have to think about high school again; in a just world, Dustin Henderson would not have woken him up by breaking into his trailer at ass o’clock in the morning.

“No, man, Erica! Erica Sinclair! She’s gonna run a My Little Pony game for us!”

“Okay.” Eddie turns over to bury his face in his pillow. “Lock up when you leave,” he says, muffled.

———

He honest-to-god thinks it’s just a weird dream for the next few days. He’s almost completely forgotten about it when Mike corners him at work.

“You have to make her stop,” Mike says.

“Okay, Wheeler, two things. First: who am I making stop what? Second: I’m not making anyone stop anything. Really not my style, and also, I don’t wanna get involved in whatever this is.”

“You’re already involved! We’re all involved! We’re all, like, liable.”

“Right.” Eddie wipes his hands on a rag and ambles over. “Kid, you have got to start giving me some context here. What are we talking about?”

Mike gives him just the absolute bitchiest eyeroll any human being has ever mustered in the history of the world, and sighs noisily. “Erica wants to run a stupid game, and Dustin keeps encouraging her. Tell Erica and Dustin that we play Dungeons and Dragons with like, cool monsters and shit. Not some stupid game about ponies. It’s not even D&D, it’s a whole new stupid system that she’s making us learn.”

“Oh, shit.” There’s—a few things to unpack in that little speech, but Eddie can’t help the delighted grin spreading over his face. “That’s for real? The pony game? Shit, this is going to be the best thing ever. What system is she planning to run the campaign in?”

“Oh my god,” says Mike, and storms out of the garage.

———

“GURPS: Generic Universal Role-Playing System,” announces Erica, slamming the books down on Steve’s kitchen table. “A flexible, multi-purpose, setting-agnostic system that can accommodate any conceivable type of story or play style. This is the future of role-playing games, not your broke-ass fantasy bullcrap.”

Eddie wonders how complicated it is to file paperwork for adoption.

“Some of us like D&D,” says Will.

“Yeah, we don’t want your stupid generic whatever. We’re not playing,” Mike snaps.

“That’s not what I said.” Will looks annoyed with Mike, which has been happening a lot lately. Eddie’s glad the kid seems to be growing more of a spine; you can’t just let your tragic heterosexual crushes walk all over you, but that’s the kind of lesson every young gay needs to learn the hard way. “I’m fine with trying something new. I’m just saying, the next campaign after this should be D&D.”

“Sure, what-ever, nerds,” drawls Erica. “We’ll see how you feel after you experience the magic of Ponyland.”

Lucas puts his face in his hands when she says the magic of Ponyland and lets out a pitiful groan.

“Whoo!” cheers Dustin. “Let’s get started!”

———

It takes them a solid two hours to make their characters. Even Eddie, who’s been vaguely aware of GURPS since it was released a couple years ago, is struggling a little to adapt. It’s just been a while since he played anything but D&D, but he’s enjoying the change of pace. He likes this kind of challenge; it’s like figuring out how to play a familiar song in an unfamiliar genre.

Erica is not especially patient with them, but she’s clearly done her prep work, so Eddie thinks they all manage to get through the character creation process more or less the way it’s supposed to be done.

Steve gets back from work right when they’re putting the finishing touches on their characters. The way he blinks all sweetly confused makes Eddie think that Dustin was definitely lying about having permission to play here, and also that Dustin probably has a very troubling stash of keys to all their homes squirreled away somewhere.

“If I may, Lady Sinclair, I’d like to humbly suggest a ten-minute break?” Eddie says, before Steve can decide whether or not to be mad about this whole thing.

“Sure, go ahead and rest up while you still can,” says Erica. “Steve, I hope you got good snacks around here.” She makes a beeline for the kitchen, and the boys trip over themselves to follow her.

“I would die for that child,” says Eddie.

Steve laughs, low and a little tired. “Yeah. Um, me too.”

“So, I’m gonna go ahead and guess that Henderson didn’t actually clear this with you?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “He might’ve said something last week? Sometimes when he’s on a tear, I just kinda let him talk.”

“Y’know, we’re at a pretty good stopping point for today, if you want us to clear out so you can get some rest.” Eddie can see the smudgy shadows under Steve’s eyes from halfway across the room.

“No, it’s fine.” Steve peels off his vest. He’s wearing an entire perfectly normal shirt underneath, so there’s no reason for Eddie to hastily avert his eyes like Steve’s doing a damn striptease. “I might go take a nap, though. Gonna trust you not to let them burn down the place, got it?”

Eddie does a silly little salute. “Aye aye, cap’n. No hint of flame shall breach these walls.”

Steve laughs again, a gravelly chuckle, and musses Eddie’s hair on his way to the stairs.

“Why do you have that dumb look on your face,” says Erica suspiciously, standing in the kitchen doorway and clutching the biggest bowl of ice cream Eddie’s seen in his life.

“What look, there’s no look,” says Eddie. “Let’s play some GURPS.”

Edit: now a complete fic on AO3!

#steddie #(barely)#yep it's a new one folks!!#I do not promise that this will have any continuation whatsoever #I've just loved the idea of Erica running a MLP GURPS campaign for ages #and thought it'd be fun to write something up since a lot of my current WIPs don't really involve the kids at all #and also I wanted to write something with waaaay lower stakes than the hanahaki AU #sometimes I am like 'maybe I should space these out to have a consistent flow of content and a buffer' but uhhhh no. that's not happening.#fic: what will today's adventure be

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johnwickb1tsch · 7 months

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Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 4 by @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake and @johnwickb1tsch

Original Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

Johnwickb1tsch:

They’re trying to kill you.

That is the thought that plays through your mind as Tex takes you to the top of the mountain with that wicked tongue, only to pull back at the last moment. Again, and again, he drives you to madness with long hard licks and wet little flicks over your clit, two of those thick fingers buried inside your needy little cunt. The bed is soaked beneath you; your thighs have begun to tremble uncontrollably; your throat is hoarse from the violence of the moans he forces from your throat.

That you could be a stone, hard and unyielding and unaffected by any of this.

But you’re just a woman made of flesh and blood, and these two men may as well have read the book on how exactly to stretch you down that fine line between heaven and hell.

After edging you for the umpteenth time Tex wipes his mouth your thigh with a satisfied smirk, those dark eyes burning up at you. “You ready for me, honey?”

You know you resemble a haggard and small creature of the woods, your eyes huge and tear-filled as you look up at him. You should be proud, that a part of you still wants to tell him to go to hell. But some little voice warns you from the back of your head, that you wouldn’t survive it.

Language isn’t really working for you right now. All you can manage is a plaintive whine that makes him smirk down at you. Someday you bargain with yourself. Someday, you’ll figure out how to make them pay for this. But right now…you’re helpless. And so you might as well…

Your thoughts stop dead as Tex unzips his jeans. Your gaze follows that leading line of dark hair down, and you lay eyes on just what this man has in store for you. You’re not sure if the whimper you make is out of anticipation, or fear.

“Shh,” says John from behind you. You hadn’t forgotten about him, of course, his hands still full of your breasts. “You’ll be fine.” Easy for him to say, and from the firm bulge that keeps pressing your cheek with your head in his lap, you can tell he’s not going to be any easier on you either.

Tex sizes you up with that smoldering gaze, as though he’s plotting something nefarious. Just that look makes you ache all over again, even while you tremble with nerves.

“Goddamn,” he grumbles, almost to himself as he pumps himself in his hand, spreading the beads of precum from his tip. “You sure you don’t want a piece of this, Johnny?”

You’re not really sure what he means by that, and you look up at John with wide eyes, what has become your knee-jerk reaction when you seek assurance, or mercy. You forgot that right now, at least, he has none left for you. His sharp look aimed down at you is nothing less than that of a hungry wolf.

“Would you do that for me, sweet girl?” he asks, stroking you from the tips of your nipples up to your hair. That one touch makes you writhe, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk.

With those big hands on your hips Tex flips you onto all fours, manhandling you into position exactly as he pleases. As he presses his length against the seam of your buttocks, grinding, your arms already begin to shake.

When John unzips his pants you begin to understand what they have in mind.

“Think you can handle us both, darlin’?” asks Tex, his hand lightly smoothing over the curve of your freshly bruised ass.

“She can do it,” John answers for you, sweeping your hair away from your face to turn your eyes up to his. He kisses you, coaxing you with his tongue, dragging your lower lip lightly with his teeth. “For me?” You hate yourself so much, for finding that you don’t want to disappoint him. You blink up at him, at a loss for words. But just slightly, you feel yourself nod, and he smiles at you like you have just signed your soul away to this wicked man.

With hands bracketing your head he guides you down to his massive erection. You take the velvety soft skin of his glans like a strawberry between your lips, licking messily before his light fingers on the back of your head guide you down. Simultaneously you savor Tex’s thick tip at your weeping entrance, your aching pussy craving to be stretched and ruined, before slowly he slides himself inside. He’s damn near gentle with you at first, as much as he can be with a cock like a weapon of massive destruction. Maybe it’s because of the mouthful you’ve got on the other end, or maybe…he’s savoring it too.

“Such a sweet little pussy,” he groans, working himself inside. “So tight and wet for me. Fuck.” Your answering moan is echoed all around, the cause and effect of Tex’s thrust driving you deeper onto John’s cock, to the very back of your throat, making you gag a little. The back and forth of it would almost have been comical, if not for the bone-melting madness overtaking the three of you in your quest for that ultimate release. For the moment your enmity with these men is forgotten. There is just flesh, and friction, and the promise of something absolutely incandescent on the horizon.

When Tex’s thick fingers slide between your legs to tease your nub you double down, clenching him fiercely inside you, so desperate to cum. It makes him swear behind you, pinching your clit in revenge. You see stars, so close to finally going to pieces. “Gaddamn, honey. I think you’d break a lesser man with that thing.”

You can’t tell him to shut up, so you moan in answer, the vibration on John’s cock causing him to buck up into your mouth, his long fingers grasping at your hair. You push your ass further up in the air in offering, tilting your hips, chasing your pleasure on Tex’s fingers with his manhood filling you to the hilt, and you minding your teeth all the while. Who knew you were such a champion multitasker? You deserved a fucking medal.

Tex’s thrusts grow more erratic behind you. His voice has dropped an octave, turned to pure gravel as he asks, “You close, baby?”

You’re not sure how he interprets your answering groan, but when his hips snap against you, filling you with the hot rush of his seed, it’s exactly the angle and the pressure you need. The explosion of scintillating warmth fills your womb and spreads outward, all the way to the tips of your fingers. John’s strong hands on your shoulders are all that save you from collapsing on him, as he spills salty cum into your mouth. You shudder with your aftershocks as you swallow him down, Tex’s fingers gripping your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises.

To say you collapse is an understatement. The three of you lay curled together as though you are nearly dead, unable to move for several minutes more. It’s John who recovers first, not shy about kissing you with his mitt of a hand holding your cheek, sliding down your neck, then teasing your nipple. You cry out for the overstimulation, squirming away, and Tex’s broad chest rumbles with low laughter behind you.

“See,” says Tex sleepily, always having to get in the last word. “I knew you’d cum ‘round.”

“If I could move, I would kick you,” you grumble, even as you nestle down on his arm beneath you, the swell of his bicep your pillow.

“Sticks and stones, rattlesnake,” he fires back softy into your hair, just this side of the line between awake and asleep.

“I’m going to gag you both,” John threatens, sounding just as tired, his hand on your waist. When you look to him through heavy lashes you see the slight curve of his smile, his dark eyes all for you.

You all fall into a deep slumber before he has to make good on the threat.

Sweetwolfcupcake:

When you wake up next time, you notice two things first--

One, that your clothes are not the same from last night, they smell fresh-- you smell fresh.

Second, despite the freshness, there is a dull ache between your legs and exhaustion in your limbs.

All you want to do is to remain in bed.

The bed... It smells fresh, too. You sigh, dream-like flashes of being in a tub with them come to you one by one. Were you so out of it?

Why wouldn't you be? They exhausted you, left you sore, reeling, and alone.

You don't realise the dull sting behind your eyes until you are blinking away tears.

You really are their plaything, aren't you?

And you could not even resist them, resist the temptation last night.

Frustrated and rather disappointed at yourself, yet not finding much heat to the fire as you would have liked, you sink further into the softness of the bedding, letting your tired limbs relax.

But the state does not last long, as you hear the door to the room being unlocked. You perk up- alert as a deer as you turn your head.

"Good morn'n, Rattlesnake! In mood to bite?"

You roll your eyes and let your head fall back. You have no energy for another round of war of words.

"Aww, are you all spent-up now? No hissin' ?"

And the most annoying person award goes to him.

But you hold back the biting reply at the tip of your tongue. Instead, choosing to nestle into the covers.

"You still sore down there?"

You frown, surprised at the question. Hid voice lack the usual biting playfulness, instead has a tinge of... something. You are almost afraid to say but, something like concern hides in his question.

But you mentally shake your head, Tex doesn't really care, neither of them care, according to your conclusions.

"I'm asking something."

The edge in his voice makes you glare back at him as he looms over the bed.

"I--Im--" Your mouth feels dry and throat, slightly irritated. "I'm good." You manage to finish after clearing your throat.

Tex's eyes remain locked with yours for a good moment before he nods and turns to the nightstand, pouring some water into a glass.

"Sit up now, breakfast's on comin'."

Your stomach grumbles at the word, and you are suddenly famished. Yes, breakfast would be good.

Only if you can eat alone.

Somehow, after last night, you do not want to face them. More embarrassed at yuyr broken resolution to not get tempted by them than afraid of them mocking you.

You are waiting for the stinging mockery, but for now, Tex shows no sign of it. Instead, he ushers you to sit up, and you do with a slight groan.

"Why are you being like this?"

The question slips out of you before you can think twice, and Tex rewards you with a smirk.

"Aww, I thought you'll like me better then."

He leans closer, invading your space like je owns it, owns you.

Fun fact, he doesn't.

"I don't like you." You narrow your eyes at him.

"Didn't feel that like last night, honey."

There was the mockery back in his tone. Strangely, a concerned, or even mildly sweet Tex puts you on edge more than an silent, observant John.

But you can't help the flush on your cheeks and neck at the mention if the previous night.

They pulled you to the heights you have never been before and sunk you to the depths you do not think you can be in again.

Before you can come up with an apt reply, the door opens again, and the quieter devil walks in with a tray in his hold.

Well, isn't it a lovely morning?

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

You shovel food and orange juice down your gullet like you’ve been starving for weeks. You feel like you have been starving for weeks. You have got to admit, whoever made this meal knows what they’re doing - no complaints from you as you stuff yourself with delicious eggs and thick buttery toast.

“Slow down, honey,” John says, catching your attention. You look up to see them both watching you eat like you’re some kind of circus freak.

You glower at him. “What, I’m not even allowed to eat like I want?”

It’s sort of like you’re a little honey bee using its dying stinger on an armored Rhino, because he just stares you down with a tiny crinkled warning at the corner of his eyes - you hate that you know enough about him to get nervous just from that look.

Tex snorts. “Told ya she’d get her bite back. Listen, little snake, you better start being nicer to the two men that decide whether you get to have orgasms or not.”

He laughs at your expression. “Oh no, don’t gimme that curled lip. It’s true.”

“Is that what I am?” You ask, batting your eyelashes and scrunching your nose - trying another approach. If being a bitch hasn’t worked so far, maybe adorable and pathetic will yield some results. “Am I a sex slave? Like, some kind of cheap whore.”

“Oh, my Bonnie lady,” Tex says, sitting on the edge of the bed and tucking a loc of hair behind your ear. “You are not some cheap whore.” For a minute, his expression turns genuine. Ah, so maybe acting like a sweet bimbo is the ticket.

“After all, 2.5 million dollars ain’t exactly cheap.” Your hopes are dashed as the wicked grin slides back onto his face like it belongs there permanently.

You can’t help it - you glare bullets into him. Fucking asshole.

After you’re done eating, John takes your plate out. You try and stand up, but your legs are still wacky inflatable wailing tube men. Tex picks you up in one swoop, even though you threaten to curse his family bloodline, and then carries you into the living room. Oh, this place is nice.

Open, white sandstone. Coral brick trim. A warm breeze drifting through gauzy cream curtains that you can’t quite see behind. Massive windows blocked by climbing vines. You don’t know much about architecture - you haven’t traveled - but it sort of looks like you’re in a rainforest bungalow.

“Where are we?” You ask Tex, wide eyed and open mouthed.

“I’ll tell you if you give me another kiss.”

Not a chance in hell, cowboy, you think, turning your head away.

John is sitting on the big red linen sectional, thumbing over some kind of electronic, sleek tablet. When he sees you, he beams a devastating smile that could snuff Tex’s cheeky grin any day. Maybe that’s just because he doesn’t smile a lot, though.

Your mouth can’t help but raise a little. Visions of last night are starting to flood back into your head, and, with John and Tex center in all of them, you’re getting shyer and more embarrassed by the minute.

There’s a reason for the aching soreness between your legs and your inability to stand for more than five seconds: They had fucked the absolute shit out of you. On the bed several times, in the bathtub, on the counter, tongues and teeth and hands and cocks stretching you and filling to the brim. Pretty soon, it had turned into a contest of who could make you scream the loudest, or who could make you beg harder, or who could transform you into a babbling, incoherent, mindless set of holes. And then they started working together again, giving a new meaning to the word human fucktoy.

The verdict is clear, you are definitely now an expensive whore.

“C’mere,” John murmurs, holding out his arms for Tex to hand you over. They pass you along like you’re a pampered kitten instead of a grown woman, and John curls you up on his lap. He gives your head a little kiss. “How are you feeling? Any unbearable discomfort?”

“Yes. Please. I need to go to a hospital right away.” You roll your eyes.

“That mean you’re ready for another round?” Tex asks, toying with the hem of your silky nightie.

You practically climb up John’s chest to get away from him. “No. No. Too much.”

John unhooks your arms from his head, looking all too amused, and settles you back into his lap. He completely ignores the back and forth between Tex and you, opting instead to pull up something on his device and show Tex.

“Really? What in the fuck.” Tex raises an eyebrow. “He’s either dumb or stupid.”

You look between them, oblivious.

John speaks like he’s having a casual picnic conversation. “We’re going to kill Bradford. How do you want us to do it?”

For once, you’re looking at Tex for help.

He shrugs. “Ladies choice.”

Johnwickb1tsch:

It dawns on you with horror that these two men are trying to draw you even further into complicity with the horrible events of the past couple of days. If you help plot Bradford's death--youre not a hapless victim anymore.

You'd be an accomplice.

"I don't want him dead," you say quietly. "Jesus, you're not putting that on me."

"After what he did to you?" asks John, genuinely surprised. "He betrayed you."

"He's an asshole. Yeah. But...what about his kids? His wife?"

John just looks at you blankly. Tex, however, is not so skilled at hiding his emotions, his handsome features pulled in a frown.

"Guess that's what we get for tryin' to do somethin' nice." Rather incongruously, he pulls your feet into his lap, squeezing them in his big hands. That part, at least, feels heavenly. Everything is sore...but why do your feet hurt?

So how do you break it to your assassin boyfriends--lovers?--captors??-- that murder is not the best gift for a sweetheart?

John just sighs, and you can't help but feel like you've disappointed him.

"She's kinda ungrateful, isn't she? Maybe we should teach her a lesson." Suddenly Tex's hold on your feet becomes restraining.

"Hey!"

You look to John for help, but his arms just tighten around your waist. You have gone from pampered kitten to mouse in a trap in two seconds flat.

"When someone offers you a gift, you say Thank you."

"Murder is not a gift," you snarl, pushing at him with your heels. It's fruitless, of course, but it does make him smile. He slides to the floor, wedging his body between your legs, and you are fucked.

Maybe literally as much as figuratively.

"What if it's his life or yours?" asks John behind you.

"What do you mean?"

"He's talking to reporters."

"And he is not tellin' the story he was paid to."

You look down at Tex who is grazing his teeth against the inside of your knee, almost absently, like a puppy gnawing on a toy.

"It could put us all at risk."

You blink, not sure what to make of all this. "...Why would he do that? Surely he knows you would go after him?"

"Maybe he's settin' a trap. Tryin' to smoke us out."

"Then doesn't it make sense to lay low here?" you ask hopefully.

"Aww, she wants us at home," purrs Tex. "But there is the principle of the matter. Poor Johnny boy'll be goin' broke pretty soon here, payin' Bradford first for information, then for silence, and then he's gotta pay you..." The man flashes you a shit eating grin, and you can hear the rest on the tip of his tongue.

The whore.

"Sounds like that makes me his whore, cowboy. Maybe you shouldn't be touching me." His hand had been sliding slowly up your thigh as he ran his mouth, which was kinda nice, but now you smack it like a naughty boy caught with his paw in the cookie jar.

At first he's actually surprised--by the snap of the sound, or that you would even dare. Then an evil little grin curls his full lips, his dark eyes glittering like you just handed him a marvelous gift. "John, where's that rope? The fancy stuff you were talkin' about?"

John, however, is still as a statue behind you, considering his answer.

Suddenly, he stands with you in his arms. You clutch at him for the sudden loss of gravity, but he is solid and unyielding in his grip of you. "Sorry, but she raises a good point. I think I've earned some alone time with my darling."

He strides for the bedroom, and you peek over his broad shoulder at Tex, who watches you go with a rather forlorn look on his stupidly handsome face. He narrows his eyes though, when he catches you looking. You flip him the bird behind John's back, knowing full well you'll pay for it later...but God it feels good. 🖕

Sweetwolfcupcake:

You smell, feel, and hear the tension even before he is inside the bedroom again. But the moment he slams the door shut, the deafening sound rings all kinds of warning bells inside you.

Okay, okay, you were being a smart mouth a few moments ago. You wanted to piss off the meaner of the two, horned-hell crawlers. But now, when John marches towards the bed, you feel regret, fear and anticipation creeping in like a deadly cocktail.

You can't see his face first, but the moment he drops you on the bed, you can.

Oh boy,

You have dug your own grave.

You realise this while you are trying to back away, an involuntary movement, as if your body understands the danger much before your mind processes it.

"Now, now-- this would be cheating, no backing down." His heavy hand comes to cease her movements with ease.

His voice is honeyed, his touch still soft but his eyes, his eyes are the grounds of clashes-- softness with a steely resolve, burning hunger and cold malice. This...this is what you are scared of.

This is why he is a dangerous man-- he can't be deciphered, he can't be read but he knows himself, and he knows you, he reads you like a school book and every time he would urge, you know you will open up to him, bend to his whims.

" John..." the name slips out of you like a habit, but it is not supposed to be a habit. It is supposed to be a warning, your last attempt to save your soul, your heart, and yourself. "I think---"

"You think after your mouth moves,"

He smirks, as if he has been waiting for the slip-up. Maybe he has been indeed waiting. Like a patient tiger.

His lips are soft, almost delicate on yours, your thoughts melt as his lips mould with yours as if sculpted to be one with you, as if you both are the perfect sculptures of ancient lovers, marbled into immortality.

He steals your breath, along with your thoughts and perhaps most of your sense of self-preservation as you let his hands lay heavy on your thighs and pull down the oh-so-comfortable shorts. You let him, because you hardly feel it.

You hardly feel, see, or even hear anything beyond the kiss, beyond the sensation of his lips on yours, his breathing mixing with yours. And when he finally pulls away, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips to his, your eyes open to his dark, passionate, but oddly calm orbs-- like he has jumped into a fire-pit, but he knows what he is doing.

He obviously knows what he is doing because you realise your half-naked state only after he has settled himself between your knees, holding down your thighs and spreading them open like he has just discovered a treasure box.

"WAIT! Wait---"

Your voice is cut short into silent, gasps and heavy breathing with shivering forms as his fingers reach in between, swiping over your opening, flicking over your pearl with practised ease and precision-- he does not even have to try, he has you glistening and shaking even before you can scramble through your thoughts and push for an arguement.

The desired, needed argument never truly comes. All that comes through are meaningless worlds, half-hearted protests and the sounds you do not even realise you make.

"It's okay to give in, you know...What's the point of fighting anyway?"

His fingers move with purpose this time, eyes gleaming as if you are a puzzle, a challenge for him to undo, to solve, to disarm. And mostly, he does, he almost wins. Until this question. Like he is challenging yu, testing you.

What's the point of fighting this? These insane circumstances?

"Because---because I'm not a plaything!" You grit out, now fighting the steady build of pleasure as your body threatens to bend to his will.

Not a whore!

You want to scream that on their stupidly handsome faces, but you know that it might not be in your best interest-- screaming at them.

To your surprise, he stops, just as you are about to have your eyes rolled back. You are breathless against his calm, frowning face. It is the rare times you can read his eyes-- confusion, surprise and something else that you cannot point out blooms in them.

"You... you are not a plaything." His voice is soft, but sure, like his eyes.

Yes, you do notice his pretty-brown eyes, which look deceptively sweet. The man is a beguiling as a whole. Hiding his horns so well under his smooth, soft hair, his hunger behind his kind eyes and his brutality, under the soft touch, the gentle hold.

But this time, you do not fall for it. You raise an eyebrow, almost smiling sarcastically.

"Oh yeah?"

Something in his eyes shifts, something in his whole form, his aura, shifts.

"Yeah."

There is a hardness to it. And somehow, this time, it does not scare you. Instead, a certain warmth shows its tiny, unsure head, just touching the surface, scared to break, but it is there.

"Yeah, because I-- we, do not fake a death for a plaything."

He continues, pulling you closer, simultaneously, pushing his finger back into you. You grasp and scramble for an anchor, conveniently finding his shoulders.

"Because, I won't topple a whole damn empire, for a plaything."

His voice only hardens, as his gaze meets yours, while his finger digs deeper, making a heat erupt in you that threatens to consume you.

"Because Tex won't be risking it all, erasing all that is left of your previous poor, miserable life, just to keep you, if you were a plaything, to him, to us."

He growls into your ear, pulling you flush against him, adding another finger before they curve into the perfect angle, reaching your sweet spot and you bite your lip, threatening to draw blood while trying to keep a sane mind-- at least sane enough to absorb his words.

"Because we don't trace the medical history of our plaything just to make sure nothing, nothing bad touches her but us."

He sounds almost unhinged and it should be concerning how less bothered you are by this. How can this be bothering you when you feel like a ship stuck in a storm? Threatened, tossed around by waves of pleasure while you desperately hold on to the very source of your plight.

"Oh--John!"

"Tell me, honey, does that sound like us playing?"

You want to shake your head but all you can do is to gasp and inhale as much air as you can, as if you are drowning. You are not. But you are thrumming as your eyes roll back and you moan aloud, feeling yourself gushing around his still-moving but slowed fingers. You bend to the crook of his neck, rocking your hips against his fingers. You feel the intensity of it as it washes over you, leaving a serene tiredness behind.

But he is far from done.

"A Plaything is not studied, not observed, not cared for, not kissed like I kiss you." John hisses, pulling his fingers out, your essence glazed over them.

He does not wait for your response. Simply, pushes you down until you are flat on your back, and despite the t-shirt covering your upper half, you have never felt more exposed.

He tilts his head at the T-shirt before, in an abrupt, yet buttery motion, he tore it apart. And while you do gasp in surprise, it sends a tingle down your spine and makes your core throb. There is a different gleam in his eyes this time.

"We do not turn against our codes just for a plaything. We did it for you-- risked it all for you..." He leans in to kiss you again and this time, you welcome it with open arms.

The feeling of his intimidating length against your opening makes you gulp with nerves and anticipation. You are sore still, but so ready for him. As if you are made for him. For them.

Are the words true?

Is he telling you the truth?

"We don't do after FBI agents for playthings, honey, get those stupid thoughts fucking out of your little head." he hisses as he pushes in, slow but barely restrained.

There is a sincere madness in his eyes, in his tone, as if the mask of 'civilised' just meted before your eyes and all you can see, through the inky strands hanging, those raw, primal eyes that remind you of an apex predator right before it bites and tear into its prey.

He decks down too, and you almost expect him to sink his teeth into your skin, draw blood, and tear you apart. But you only feel his teeth graze against your skin, as if tasting, sniffing before he thrusts in, eliciting a short, sharp scream from you.

It feels full, yet not full enough. There is a dull but pleasant throb and you crave more, legs tempted to wrap around his hips. But you feel so spent, so conflicted, so ready, so good-- the odd mix of emotions frustrates you to the point of tears.

Is this how you surrender to this? To your fate?

Is this how the conflict ends? Or is it the beginning of a war.

"By the way..."

John speaks through his moving hips, lips and teeth on your skin, measuring, tracing, marking.

"Whether you want to or not, Bradford dies. And he dies a sorry death for trying to snatch away what isn't his."

Are you really out of your mind, or does this sound like a dark promise?

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #tex johnson #yandere tex johnson #yandere #wicked johnson fic #omfg yep that's a thing now 🤣🤣

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