#except there is every reason at the same time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stxrvel · 2 days

Text

losing myself

memories of how you lost yourself trying to keep your best friend afloat. content. angst, depression and suicidal thoughts. this is post-suguru's death, except the first memory. a/n. i just can't seem to bring myself out of the angst for jjk, i apologise in advance!

Helping Satoru was a way of losing yourself. When Haibara died and Suguru abandoned them, Shoko dealt with it in her loneliness and the only thing Satoru could lean on was you. Your shoulder was his support, the only thing that kept him sane to reality as you both tried to graduate and made the decision to teach school, you for a much more selfish reason than Satoru's human reasons.

Helping Satoru cost you a lifetime of loneliness. You loved your friend and after what happened you were so desperate not to lose anyone else that you were willing to do anything, even if it meant losing everything that once made you who you were and all motivation. You thought your identity didn't compare to the pain and helplessness of not being able to do anything while everyone walked away, but your decision led to a lonelier life than you had thought.

“Hey, everything okay?” Shoko approached through the hallway, the darkness relenting once she was standing next to you. “You look pale.”

“I'm fine. Just a little tired.”

The clouds around you enveloped them on either side, a somber feeling settling in between the space Shoko kept her distance with.

“Well, we've graduated. From now on the pains can't be so great.”

“Yeah, right. We're past the worst of it, aren't we?”

“I'd like to think so.”

Her cocked smile thawed a little of the chill settling in your chest, but her eyes told you everything her lips didn't. She knew, everyone knew, that you hadn't been the same since Suguru left. Satoru was staying afloat because of his goofy personality, but trying your best to keep it that way, the sparkle in your eyes disappeared. The person who used to be told that she brought the sun in her eyes had completely clouded over. Shoko saw the storms in your eyes, the impenetrable and unceasing tempest. She couldn't cross it without dying trying.

“You can talk to me if you need to.”

That was what she said every time, even though you never took her at her word. Shoko always proved she could survive on her own, however she had done it, whatever process she had to go through, the smile she gave you in those moments at least was more genuine than yours.

Satoru was too wrapped up in his own world, his own head and his own pain to stop for a moment to notice yours, which Shoko and the others could. You never placed that guilt on Satoru's shoulders, nor did you need to, but it was something you were sadly aware of. Satoru didn't push you aside because he was selfish, it was simply his way of processing things, so internally and individually inside his head. Just as you had made it your way of processing grief to help Satoru tirelessly, to the point of almost becoming his shadow.

“I don't know what to do anymore, y/n,” Satoru cried, hands holding his head and knees against his chest.

Utahime had called out to you, barely passing you out of eagerness and blurting out a couple of words that you could deduce were about Satoru. It was painful as you knew you had to prepare in advance to see him, because it was heartbreaking to have to help him process his pain while you had to keep your own at bay.

“I'm tired of dreaming about it. I'm tired of… seeing him.”

Your hands moved over his hair, his cursed technique disappearing every time you were near. You tried to contain the trembling of his body by holding his shoulders, but having you closer only made him more vulnerable.

“Not sleeping is not the solution, Satoru.”

“That's the only way,” raising his head, his puffy blue eyes returned your gaze. At times like those, you didn't know how he hadn't noticed your sunken eyes or the black bags that even years later still wouldn't go away.

But it was about him. Satoru was in bad modd. You had to help him. You had to hold him.

“No, it's not. I'm here,” your knees touched his feet, his face contracting as a fresh tide of tears lashed his chest. Cold hands wrapped around you and your numb hands wrapped around his neck. “I know you miss him. I know you regret it.”

His sobs against your shoulder grew louder and louder, but Satoru kept his grip with hostility. He held close to you as his lifeline, the float that carried him across the ocean, shipwrecked in his own pain, lost in his own mind.

“But you know you don't have to carry that pain alone, Satoru.”

“I don't know what I did, y/n…”

“You did what you had to do.”

“No…”

“If you hadn't done it, I would have.”

His head jerked up, his blue eyes crystallizing and pain written all over his face with the trail of tears that wouldn't stop flowing.

“It wasn't anything either of us would've had to have done,” you shook your head, trying to contain the memories in the back of your head, trying to focus on pain your friend in that moment, on what really mattered. “It wasn't anything either of us had to endure.”

“But you're fine…”

You almost snorted, controlling yourself enough to let out a sigh. His naive eyes wouldn't leave yours, almost as if he was constantly wondering what you were doing to deal with all that he wasn't. As if there was something wrong that he was doing or something he wasn't doing that you were, because in his eyes, up until that moment, you were fine.

“I'm fine when you're fine.”

“I'm not fine right now.”

“I know.”

You seemed to think a glimmer of understanding crossed his eyes. You didn't know, you couldn't be sure, but his face returned to your neck and the tears stopped falling. Minutes passed in silence.

“I'm sorry,” was the last thing he said that night.

Helping Satoru was something you would never regret, even when you had lost your spark and the students loved him more than you.

“I thought you were going out tonight.”

You ran into Nanami on your way to your dorm. It was getting close to the time of the outing Satoru had proposed for that night and you knew that if you didn't go no one else would show up there. You hated to think of dashing your friend's hopes, but he had already developed enough strength to go through such a disappointment. It had been months since he had becone strong enough to deal with such situations on his own.

“I'm tired.”

“For something specific?”

It was common for your friends to dance around the elephant in the room, and sometimes you allowed yourself to think how different things would be if they had at some point been more daring with their approaches, as you were with Satoru. What would've changed, then or in the past, if Nanami or Shoko had been more insistent? Where would you be now? Where would you be later?

“Nothing specific. I'd just like to get more rest tonight,” you sent Nanami a smile, the kind you had mastered to avoid such conversations.

“Very well. You know I'm just a phone call away if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Nanami.”

Were you really that selfish? In all their remoteness, your friends were still concerned about your well-being. Had enough time passed for you to not care? If you didn't want to be unwell, why was it so hard for you to accept their help?

“You've lost weight,” Satoru was right beside you from the moment you left Yaga's office.

“The mission went well, Satoru, thank you for caring.”

You tried to dodge him to go back to your room, but of course the white-haired man wouldn't just walk away just because. Lately he was closer, more attentive, more condescending…

“Are you eating well?”

Satoru was trying hard to ignore the way his words brought back dark memories. From the moment he realized what had been happening, his mind was scheming every second of the day in trying to find a way to bring you back to your original state. He couldn't even fully concentrate on the missions, but that was no obstacle for him.

“I'm tired, Satoru. It was three days. I need to sleep.”

“I told Yaga many times to let me go with you…”

“I handled it just fine on my own, Satoru.”

“I know! I'd just like to be of some use-”

“You want to be of some use? Leave me alone!”

The bed was freezing cold as it was every night. You changed the sheets that morning and organized the entire bedroom in a strange spike of energy. You felt a little better afterwards, but not enough. It had never stopped looking and feeling so empty, no matter what you did.

Satoru called you a couple of times that night, but as usual, he'd give up after a couple of tries.

You wondered again, drowsily, what would be different if only he had insisted a little more…

#satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk angst #satoru angst #gojo angst

122 notes · View notes

railingsofsorrow · 24 hours

Text

death and all of its friends

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: you have an important witness admitted to Grey Sloan Hospital, but things get out of hand in the middle of your questioning. the unsub is on the loose and your team is still on their way. it's the worst that could happen, right? except that you end up stuck in an elevator with your ex. and that is worse. ( slight crossover between GA and CM )

pairing: s.reid x f!bau!reader; past!jackson avery x f!bau!reader

w.c: 5.8K

warnings/content: heavy discussions about trauma regarding a mass shooting; PTSD; the word kill/murder is there a few times; kidnapping; break-ups; heartbreak; anxiety attack; hospitals; claustrophobia; mentions of surgery and blood and gunshot wound (not really graphic); minor character death (mentioned); there is so much drama in this you might call it unnecessary but I just had to unleash the devil in me; suggestive content (near the end); making out; long paragraphs in italics are flashbacks.

a/n: ok ok, like I promised (3000 years ago) here it is. enjoy it and please let me know if I forgot to tag anyone!

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

━━━━━━━━━

Five years ago you walked these same halls running from a mass shooter that entered Seattle Grace and caused havoc. Now, instead of Seattle Grace is Grey Sloan and apparently, not only the name of the hospital has changed. Amongst the Attendings, Residents and Interns there were all new faces, which only made sense since it's been five years and some of the people you knew had left and others died.

Cristina Yang nicknamed the hospital Seattle Grace Mercy Death once and after all the stories you've been told by your ex-boyfriend's friends, it seemed fitting.

You liked Cristina's dark humor. She was the funniest person you met in your time in Seattle. You were happy to hear she left to be a cardiothoracic surgeon in Switzerland, and she owned a hospital now, which was great.

As you passed the cafeteria your head was flooded with memories of Lexi pulling you to have lunch with her after she finished a procedure, her excited rambles about every detail inside an OR — she wasn't Lexopedia for nothing — and the juicy gossip she provided you about the relationships inside this hospital (and her relationship with Mark Sloan).

You might not have worked with these people but they felt like family once, the missing will always be there.

Nostalgia had to be left aside for your job though, you had to find an important witness in a case involving the kidnapping of a six-year-old boy. He had been missing for three days, you were running against the clock at this point.

“Miss Howard's room.” The nurse pointed you towards the room and you thanked her with a polite smile. “She's been sedated, so she may not be totally aware of her surroundings yet. She just got out of surgery.”

“Alright, thank you.”

Stab wound to the chest. An argument turned ugly in prison. You recalled Penelope telling you and the team that that was the reason she had been hospitalised. You observed the handcuffs locking her wrist against the bed before approaching.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you grabbed it to see a text from JJ.

Is she awake?

Yes.

You pressed send and looked up at wiped-out blue eyes staring back at you with annoyance. You could hear what she was about to say already.

“I answered all of y'all's questions already, can you people never leave me alone?”

“Miss Howard, I'm with the FBI,” you started, introducing your name and then, proceeding to the hard part.

The crease between her brows told you she was unaware of why you were there. “You people locked me up three years ago what is there to do now? Checking up if I'm killing any more disgusting men who deserved it?”

“Martha, it's about your son, Ben Howard.” The way she immediately froze made your heart clench. Why did it have to be you to give her the news? JJ is way better at doing this, you have no idea of comforting people so you'd rather just not do it. “He's been kidnapped by your husband, Thomas Howard.”

“Ex-husband.” She tried sitting up with difficulty while being handcuffed to the bed. You helped her. “What— No. Ben visited me with my sister three days ago, he's fine. He wouldn't dare touch my boy.”

Ten minutes later into your questioning, your back pocket started to vibrate and you pulled it out to see who it was.

Spencer calling. . .

“Everything you said is very helpful, Miss Howard, we're going to try everything we can to find Ben.”

“Please do.” Her voice cracked and you saw the mask of indifference crumble a little. “He's— he's all I got.”

You nodded, then excused yourself to answer the call outside of the room.

“Hey, I was just about to update you guys—”

“He's in Grey Sloan.” Spencer blurted out the first second you answered. “Thomas Howard is in Grey Sloan. Where are you?”

“What— What about the kid? Did you find him?” You quickly informed the two police officers outside the room to not let anyone else in. “You don't mean he's inside Grey Sloan, right?”

Hotch's voice rang through the line and you knew you were on speaker. “He's going after Martha. We found Ben, he was unarmed but Thomas's endgame is Martha. And yes, he's inside the hospital at this moment. Do you know where Martha is?”

“I just talked to her,” you turned your neck to glimpse at her room again subconsciously. “There are two officers outside her room, I already told them. But Hotch—”

“He's armed, wait for backup.”

“We profiled him as a psychopath, Hotch. He's impulsive and has no remorse or guilt, you know what he's capable of, especially if he let the boy go.”

“Kid, don't be reckless yourself. We're almost there—” Rossi tried to intervene.

“We're almost there.” You heard Spencer's voice and that made you hesitate for a second before hanging up. “Please don't—”

Your heart was thumping hard and rapidly against your ribcage, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. As soon as you felt numbness in your fingers you clenched your hand into fists and let go, this was the way your body warned you you were about to have an anxiety attack. Thankfully, you were able to notice it before it got to the point where you passed out.

Your name was called from afar and you halted, bumping into a nurse and mumbling a shaky sorry. The owner of the voice touched your elbow and you flinched, hand immediately searching for your gun.

“Hey, whoa, it's me, Amelia. I didn't mean to scare you but when I saw it was you I just— it's been five years and you're here!” You withdrew your hand from the holster on your hip, inhaling and exhaling slowly to force your heart to calm the fuck down, you are not in imminent danger.

“Amy,” you smiled and accepted the hug she was eager to give you. “Hi. How are you?”

“I'm great, yeah. And you? For how long are you staying?”

“I'm not. I, uh, I'm here on a case, with the FBI.” You cleared your throat. “Actually, I need your help with something.”

Fifteen minutes later you had already warned most of the staff and Attendings in two floors to keep an eye out for Thomas Howard. You tried slowing your fast pulse by practicing the guided breathing you learned in therapy all those years ago. You did everything your therapist said, every single step from questioning your thoughts to counting everything blue you found in your way.

You couldn't stop memories from revisiting your brain.

━━━━━━━━━

You were waiting to have lunch with him.

It was almost one in the afternoon, Jackson was late because of a surgery that was taking longer than expected due to complications.

It was your day off. One of the rare days you'd appear in Seattle Grace Mercy West before 6 p.m. when your classes at Washington University were over. You were a part of the Psychology department at WU, and a professor for the Undergraduate Program of B.S., Psychology.

It wasn't usual for you to have a day off but given the amount of days you've been accumulating over the year, it was only fair.

So you visited your boyfriend in the hospital, patiently waiting for his belated surgery to end so you could have your lunch date. That was until Lexi Gray pulled you into the hospital's cafeteria and you ended up having lunch with her.

Lexi.

You remember her terrified face when it happened. It had been a terrifying day, one that no one expected. It's funny how tragedies are never announced, isn't it? They just come barging in and you can't just ignore the door, tragedies do not need to knock.

It was in that day, that you understood the gravity of that.

Of course, it wasn't as nearly as bad for you as it was for those who worked at that place. They would have to come back every day and see the walls and that same floor which were smeared with their friends' blood.

Jackson had lost two of his best friends. He spent two months having nightmares screaming their names during the night and getting mad at himself because you weren't able to sleep. That was the least of your concerns back then. You know something that would forever be etched into your brain was the barrel of a gun being pointed at you and the sound of the safety being taken off. You can't even recall the actual shot, only the pain that followed afterward and Jackson's horrified expression as he held your weak body on the floor.

You thought you died. Jackson thought you died. Meredith, Lexi, Cristina and everyone else thought you died. In reality, you had just passed out from blood loss caused by a bullet wound to your chest area.

That must have been terrifying to watch. You couldn't imagine being in his place, you probably would've been crying non-stop at the amount of blood, not saving his life, like he did to you.

During the recovery process, you remember thinking about the absurdity of your dream of becoming an FBI Agent. If you weren't able to control your emotions on situations like that then what's even the point of anything?

According to your therapist, what you suffered didn't determine the person you were, which, at first, you judged as complete bullshit. But you understood in later sessions what she meant by that.

“Is it something you think you are not capable of doing?”

You looked up from your hands, staring into the gray eyes of Isobel Houston. Jackson had made a compelling deal with you. He basically threw in your face that if he, who was threatened with a gun, was doing therapy, you, who had been shot and almost died in his arms, also had to talk about it.

And here you were.

“I'm not sure if I would know how.” You replied, brows twitching with your uncertainty. You were discussing about holding a gun and going out into the field, which was required in the training at the FBI Academy. You told her if you freaked out at the sight of blood then you shouldn't follow through with your decision to become an FBI Agent.

“Well, that's what training is for, isn't it?” Isobel quirked a brow at you, earning a scoff. “You would learn certain abilities and improve the ones you already have in the academy. They wouldn't expect you to know everything.”

“I'm not sure if I can.”

Isobel nodded and wrote something down in the notepad you were planning to steal to see how she was making fun of you in there.

“It is too soon still. But don't rule out your dream career quite yet. You are healing, it's a process that requires patience, both from you and from others around you. You don't have to think about that now. How about you take some time to yourself, focus on healing, getting better first?”

A year later you would be forever thankful for those words. Because you didn't give up of your dream career, you made the decision to follow through with it and it worked.

Partially, at least.

“What do you mean you were accepted?” Jackson put his fork down as he chewed on his salad, tilting his head in confusion at you. “How can you be accepted somewhere if you didn't even apply to it?” The amusement in his tone instantly died as soon as he saw your serious face across from him. He connected the dots. “But you did apply... didn't you?”

"Jack, I've always wanted this."

He offers you a look of disbelief.

"I know! But- You didn't even talk to me and-"

"That's my decision." You cut him off.

"Well, yes, but I'm your boyfriend. I think I deserved to know you were thinking about leaving for four months?"

It caused a rift in your and Jackson's relationship. Back then, you didn't mind the fact that you were kind of doing things on your own, because your only goal was to leave and maybe, just maybe, forget what happened but the scar you had in your chest had to remind you of it. You never told him that, and you blamed him for not wanting you to leave for four months. Selfish; that was what you called him countless times after you broke up before you left. When, in reality, you had been the selfish one in the relationship.

Truth be told, you wanted to forget that part of your life. Your completely foolish mistake and how wrong you were. Your healing had taken years and it still wasn't perfect, you weren't unflinching to the threat of an armed man. Right now, you wanted nothing more than to go back to Virginia and crawl into your blankets to feel some sort of safety.

You had to bring safety to these people when you felt lost and cornered, how fun was that? You felt like such a failure. Years of experience and training going down the drain because of a stupid trauma.

To add to that, you were currently stuck in an elevator. With a reckless man going after your witness. And your team was close to your location but not quite enough.

Maybe they were already here since you had no reception and no way of knowing about their whereabouts.

Maybe they already caught Thomas Howard and Hotch was thinking about his careful words as he fired you for your incompetency.

“Why is it that when I find you you're always leaving?”

Right. You got stuck in an elevator with your ex of all people. It was like everything you did not want to happen would materialize in front of you.

“Jackson," you hissed, rubbing a hand across your face in pure frustration because of the useless phone in your hands. None of the messages were sent. Where were they? How was Martha?

Hey, Spence. Where are you?

I'm stuck in an elevator, fourth floor. I don't know what happened.

You sent those fifteen minutes ago.

“It was just a comment,” Jackson said, shrugging in that infuriating way as if he knew he was right about something. You also knew Jackson Avery's way of deviating from his real problems was to seek anger. And usually, someone was the target. This time, it was you. "What are you doing here?"

You looked down at your bulletproof vest and glanced up at him. Jackson's brows rose up to his hairline in understanding. God, he could be slow sometimes.

"You're with the FBI."

"I am the FBI."

Jackson blinked, "right. Right. Uh, I- Sorry, I-" his apologetic wince made you relax your shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'm just... This is too familiar." Yeah, you could relate to that.

"Jackson," your eyes softened but you tried to reassure him as much as you were able to. "This is not the same thing. His reasoning is completely different. What happened then- It won't happen again."

His bright green eyes study you with a newfound curiosity but you could see some of the tension leave his body.

"You sound sure."

"I am," you said. "My team is close by and they're good. Besides, all of the local cops probably asked for backup already. And SWAT is right outside."

He took a long minute staring you down to nod quietly. The silence that came afterward was uncomfortable. There was so much to say and nothing and the same time. This wasn't the time, but it was inevitable to not think about your last words to each other. You didn't hold a grudge against Jackson, you had no reason to, but he had plenty to do it and you wouldn't blame him.

Fuck, why was this elevator so hot? Why were the walls so close to one another?

"I saw you on TV once."

You swallowed hard, feeling your throat closing up. Your attention drifted towards Jackson's whitecoat.

"I didn't know being in the FBI made you famous." His attempt at joking had you scoffing despite your current state of mind. "I would've made a career exchange if I knew."

"You were already rich, why do you need to be famous?" You mumbled with your eyes shut as you tried to calm your erratic breathing down. "Actually, you were already famous and rich, so anything you just said is..." your voice failed. "… complete bullshit."

He said your name twice and you were obligated to open your eyes. He was much closer and concern tugged his lips downwards.

"Put a hand on your chest and tell me what you can see." You stared at his lips moving slowly as your vision blurred slightly. He said your name more urgently this time. "Put a hand on your chest and tell me what you see."

"Your stethoscope," you said as you stared at it, clearing your throat. "F-flyers," you croaked out, glancing briefly above his shoulders to the flyers splattered around. You couldn't see what they were about, but you knew they were there as they had been since the first time you stepped inside this elevator years ago.

"What can you feel?"

Your fingers drummed against your ribcage. Your breathing slowing down but not quite there yet. "My heartbeat. Mhm... The-my cold necklace." It was always two things. You thought about one and as you searched for another, you would calm down through the process.

You could feel the warmth of his hands on your arms, helping grounding you back to earth.

"Good. Two things you can hear." He was way relieved after your voice stopped shaking.

"Your voice," you uttered, feeling your fingers moving and the sweat dripping down your back. The anxiety diminished little by little. When you were about to say the next thing you could hear, what you could only describe as two loud shots right outside the elevator doors made the both of you flinch and stare at the metal doors with widened eyes.

You immediately got into action, thankfully prioritizing being numb over any other emotion at that moment, which was what you should have done from the start.

"What are you doing?" Jackson asked you confusedly as you tried prying the doors open. "We might not be entirely on the floor-"

"Help me open this, Jackson and I'll figure it out from there."

Just then, your phone came back to life. Reception. At the same time, the doors opened without any human force. You didn't have time to see the caller ID before your gun was drawn in front of you and Jackson, ready to fire.

"Hey, hey, it's me!" The voice you've been craving to hear for half an hour called out your name in front of you. Honey-brown, you thought, locking eyes with Spencer, I can see honey-brown eyes too. "I just got your text, I was looking for you- Hey." He breathed out in your ear as you threw your arms around his neck. His arms squeezed you in comfort. "Are you okay?"

I am now.

Your head bobbed up and down as you leaned back to get some distance. PDA wasn't your forte, but you had been triggered just a few minutes ago, and you needed some comfort from the only person who would effectively provide it to you.

“They got him. He was hidden in one of the on-call rooms on the third floor.” Spencer filled you in before you could ask. He was assessing you thoroughly, looking for any strand of hair out of place, something that would tell him you had gotten hurt.

You placed a hand on his chest, patting it gently. “I'm okay,” you tried reassuring him, eyes traveling through the room until you found some of your coworkers talking with the local police.

“You should drink water.” Jackson's voice startled you a bit and Spencer looked behind you curiously. “And sit down.”

And that comment immediately canceled out Spencer's certainty that you were okay.

“Oh, I'm fine.”

“Anxiety attack.” Jackson mouthed to Spencer out of your eyesight. He moved away to talk to some doctors while Spencer stared at his back, trying to pinpoint where exactly did he knew him from and why he was acting as if he knew you.

But then it clicked.

Jackson Avery. Harper Avery's grandson. Owner of a share of the Grey Sloan Memorial. Plastics surgeon.

Right, of course. And your ex-boyfriend.

“Is Martha okay?”

Spencer looked down at you, blinking. “Uh-huh. Yeah, she's safe.”

You gave him a look, “what?”

“What?” His voice failed, which was a bit embarrassing, really.

“Just spit it out, Spence.”

So, he did.

“Were you stuck in an elevator with Jackson Avery?”

You almost choked up on your own saliva, earning a grimace from your boyfriend. Your concerned and caring boyfriend wasn't making that question because of pure jealousy, he genuinely wanted to know if you were okay after being stuck in an elevator with your ex-boyfriend in the same place you got shot by Gary Clark.

“I'm sorry I wasn't here,” Spencer said with a sigh. “I should have come with you. I'm so sorry I wasn't here.”

“Spencer, I'm fine,” you insisted, taking his hand on yours. Fuck it. “Hey, nothing happened in there.”

He knows that but that's not what he meant. Not in that sense.

“I'm not jealous.” He felt the need to clarify. He wasn't immune to jealousy but that was neither the right place nor moment for it. He just wanted to know if the reason for your anxiety attack was just being in a confined space or if the other person you were stuck with had something to do with it. “But you— Did he say something to you? To trigger it?”

It took you a moment to get what he was saying, but once you did, you sighed and pulled him aside away from prying eyes.

“No. I— It was the images. Memories. And the whole thing of being inside an elevator for more than one minute. He didn't do anything. He actually... helped me calm down.”

Spencer brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “okay. Good. And do you feel better now?”

A tender smile twitched the corner of your lips.

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you ready to go?” Hotch approached you and Spencer and you watched Emily, JJ, Derek and Rossi exit the hospital.

“Yes.” But your eyes drifted to the side and you told both of them you'd meet them in the car. “I'll be right there. It won't take long.”

Spencer kissed your temple on his way out.

━━━━━━━━━

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?"

Both of you have been on opposite ends of the room for the past five minutes and none had the courage to break the deafening silence. It should have been you, though. You were the one to ask Jackson for a quick word.

"Why wouldn't I be?" His brows furrowed as he stared at his hands. He seemed deep in thought. You wondered if he was thinking the same as you. It was a long time ago. It was a long time ago but it is somehow very fresh when he's standing in front of me.

Because we never got closure. I didn't let that happen.

"We never talked about it." You sat down in one of the bunk beds, knowing this wouldn't be as fast as both of you liked it to be. Years of a relationship couldn't be fixed in five minutes. You texted Spencer to let him know you'd meet all of them in the motel since the jet would only be available tomorrow anyway, and you didn't want anybody waiting for you.

"We did."

"Talking to our therapists is not the same as communicating to each other." You interjected.

Jackson's gaze flashed with hurt and he looked away.

“I couldn't stay," you said, biting your cheek because it was so hard to admit that out loud.

He finally looked up, tilting his head to look at you. “You couldn't or you wouldn't?”

You clenched your jaw, annoyance seeping through your demeanor. “I wouldn't. It was my dream, it had always been my dream to get into the FBI—into the BAU. I wouldn't give that up. And it's not fair for you to judge me when you know exactly how that feels. Yes, I could have stayed, but I didn't want to.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, standing up to pace around the room. "Yeah, it was pretty clear you didn't want to stay."

"Jackson-"

“Look, I'm not judging. And yes, I do understand. I just think—" He halted and looked at you, green eyes burning into yours. "God, did you have to pack your bags without even talking to me? You made a life-changing decision and you just up and left.”

Your breath hitched, and something in your chest churned painfully. Guilt, probably. Five years and you hadn't uttered the words he deserved once.

"I'm sorry." You swallowed with difficulty. "Jackson, I- What I did was unfair and I'm so incredibly sorry for hurting you. You deserved more than that."

"I've forgiven you a long time ago," Jackson confessed, uncrossing his arms and angling his body towards you. "It's been five years. Those words have been bottled up in my throat since the moment you walked out... but I don't hate you."

You winced, "but you did hate me."

Amusement travels through his face. "For a bit, yes."

"Fair."

"I'm sorry too."

You gave him a sad smile. "You didn't leave me, Jackson."

"No, but I said some pretty hurtful things to you. So, I'm sorry."

"Mhm, okay." You nodded, shifting on your feet. “You're forgiven too, I guess.”

Jackson offered his hand for a handshake...? You glanced down at it, holding back a laugh because of how awkward he was being. You shook his hand, grinning with a shake of your head.

Yeah, that could be closure.

“I saw you on TV,” Jackson repeated what he said before but you weren't exactly alright to actually hear it. “Are you giving out autographs?”

“I'm giving out this, does it work for you?” You flipped him off. A nurse passed by you and gave you an ugly look while Jackson just smirked.

━━━━━━━━━

As soon as you walked through the doors of Grey Sloan Memorial, exiting the hospital, your eyes caught the back of a familiar lanky figure whose light brown curls waved wildly with the harsh wind of Seattle.

When you got close enough, you heard an indignant edge to your boyfriend's tone. He was speaking on the phone. Your amusement grew when you realized was on the other line, pissing him off.

“Yeah, you know what, Derek?” Spencer started but cut himself off upon seeing you arrive at his side. “You're back.” His annoyed tone switched to something softer.

“What's he pissing you off about now?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Tell him I'll slap his bald shiny head if he doesn't stop.”

Spencer snorted, covering his mouth. You could hear Derek's telling you to fuck off through the phone before Spencer hung up the call.

You accepted the urge to pull him close to you by wrapping both of your arms around his middle and lowering your head to his chest. His immediate response was to bury his face in the croak of your neck, the cold tip of his nose grazing your skin made you squirm a little.

“I thought I told you not to wait for me.”

Spencer rubbed your back, leaning back slightly to look down at you.

“I wasn't gonna let you drive back on your own.”

You chuckled, “are you telling me I'm a terrible driver?

He hummed, lips quirking up when he kissed the tip of your nose. “You're not as terrible as me.”

“I'm not sure if that can be classified as a compliment, angel. But you're right, nobody is a worse driver than you.”

A pinch in your hip made you whine. He started laughing as you gave him a playful shove before getting in the car. Driver's seat. You had to prove a point.

“How are you?” Spencer asked after a long minute of being silent and you knew he'd be dying to ask that.

“I'm okay.” You told him, giving his thigh a soft squeeze as you concentrated on leaving the parking lot.

“How did it feel?”

You stopped at a red light. The motel was about fifteen minutes from the hospital by car, and you wouldn't go back home today, the jet was only going to be available tomorrow.

“Suffocating.” You laughed after you admitted it out loud. That was how you felt. “Yeah, that's about it. The moment I stepped inside Grey Sloan I felt cornered.”

“That's understandable.” Spencer caressed the back of your hand before you had to pull it back to move the car gear. “You haven't been there for five years. You may have seen, smelled, felt, or touched something that triggered you to go back to that very moment. Even though triggers are usually harmless, they cause your body to react as if you're in danger.” He explained, causing your mouth to quirk upwards in amusement. “Which was why I wanted to be there with you.”

“Hey, that wasn't your fault. And I'm not a little girl anymore, I can get a grip on myself, Spence. We were doing our jobs.”

From the corner of your eye, you were able to see him lean back on the seat with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, yes, I know but I wanted to be there with you. You know just... be there.”

You parked in the motel's parking lot, turning the car off. You inhaled heavily before turning to Spencer, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. Your boyfriend hummed in satisfaction, pulling you closer by the back of your neck.

“What was that for?” He blinked bleary, voice slightly dazed after your surprise kiss. Your insides turned to mush and fondness overtook your body.

“I love you,” you said, thumb running across his cheek lovingly. “like... a lot.”

His eyes sparkled at your statement and he started smiling like an idiot. An idiot head over heels for you.

“Like a lot?”

“Like a lot.”

A harsh tap on your window made your body jerk and you hit your knee against the steering wheel, a loud curse slipping past your tongue.

Spencer lowered the car window with a glare.

“Alright, lovebirds. We're going out to the bar across the street to have a little fun. Are you coming or what?” Derek dipped his head as his eyes narrowed at the two of you. “Was I interrupting something?”

“How are you so annoying—”

“There is no scientific explanation for that, angel.” You pat Spencer's shoulder, who huffed while getting out of the car. He was immediately wrapped in a side hug by Derek as you locked your car and followed them both down the street, where the rest of your team waited.

Emily snorted, nudging JJ with her arm. “Told you he was going to cockblock them.”

“Emily,” Hotch said sternly, but his mouth betrayed him with a little smile.

“C'mon, pretty boy.” Derek dragged Spencer to the bar as you followed them inside. “Let's drink the night away to make you forget about seeing your girl's ex, who has the greenest eyes I've ever seen—”

Your lips parted in astonishment.

“Hey!” JJ warned him. “Stop that. C'mon, leave him alone you've teased him enough with this.”

Spencer looked at you, lips pulling into a smile at the scowl you were sending Derek as he walked away with JJ and Emily beside him.

“It's alright,” Spencer mumbled, nudging you to a corner as your team scattered around to find a table for eight. “He's just playing around and I'm not threatened by light-colored eyes, anyway. They're overrated.”

You huffed out a laugh, surprised at his nonchalant claim.

"Good." You were so close that your breaths mixed, his eyes falling to your lips and rising to your eyes again. You pulled him flush against your body by the belt loops of his pants, earning a shaky exhale from his parted soft lips. "Cause... You know," you pressed a kiss against his jaw. "There's nothing you should be threatened about. I'm pretty certain of that."

"You are?" Spencer realized how pathetic he sounded and how needy he was starting to look.

"I am, angel," you reaffirmed in his ear, leaning forward to kiss him. Before it got too heated, you smirked against his lips, pushing him away gently as he groaned in protest. "Okay, we can pick this up later tonight, now let's celebrate a bit with them, yeah?"

Spencer sighed, burying his face into your neck for a second and drawing it back to glance at the table their friends chose. It was in a corner of the room, across from where they were currently... talking.

"Okay."

"Don't sound too excited."

"Shut up," he grabbed one of your hands and pulled around his hip at the same time his arm lifted to wrap around your shoulders. "You know what I'm excited about-" he pretended to cough upon gaining a light slap on his back as a warning for him to shut up before any of your friends could hear the implication his words were carrying.

As soon as you arrived at the table, Emily placed a shot before you, claiming you were late for the party. You smiled apologetically at the brunette, bringing the vodka shot to your lips and downing it in one go, gaze locked to your boyfriend's beside you. Oh, this was going to be a long night.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @lvtilzs ; @inexplicableeee ; @fkapluto ; @nellxsies

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #jackson avery x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x grey's anatomy crossover

80 notes · View notes

dilrmma · 8 hours

Text

⠀⠀ til’ death do us part ━━━ yjw. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ syn .. death felt so far away until you were almost faced with it in the form of your husband, and only you could help him

disclaimer(s) ★ blood, wounds, hints at shady business and my very bad knowledge on injuries

wc 1146 (1.1k) ✶ series masterlist

Death felt like a superstition, some relished in it and others didn’t. It felt so vague, so dark and almost untouchable. At least, that’s what you believed until your husband was scrambling into your shared home, disheveled and searching for you.

Yang Jungwon had been your enemy for years, you hated his guts for no particular reason except for the fact that he was better than you in every single aspect of life. Your family compared his accomplishments to yours, and it was clear you fell short.

So, what better way than to marry you two? Keep your friends close but enemies closer. In your case you shared a blanket with each other.

For the most part, he stayed out of your way and you stayed out of his. Only finding one another at dinner time when you’d place a plate before him and sit at the other end of the table—in silence.

Nothing would’ve prepared you for the night your entire relationship changed.

Jungwon stumbled through the door holding his stomach, blood stained his fair skin easily and you could feel the food in your stomach from earlier churning.

His eyebrows furrowed in unspeakable pain, his mouth forming your name but he couldn’t get it out of his throat, instead opting for a whine that had you clutching onto him tighter.

You’ve never been close to experiencing death, but here, right now in the same vicinity as the smell of blood and the open wound of your husband, you just might.

“I’m gonna-I’m gonna take off your shirt,” you quickly unbutton his top, kneeling before him as he sat on the toilet seat. His head fell back onto the wall, lip quivering.

You weren’t a doctor, hell you didn’t even know what vitamins you were supposed to take. You have no idea why Jungwon came to you of all people.

“Please, please yn,” he mumbled incoherently, his hands gripping your arms.

That was your signal to do whatever you could. Opening packets of gauze, applying pressure, disinfecting his wound with alcohol to which Jungwon cried out to.

The required first aid class you took in school helped, for the most part.

“You’re gonna need to see a doctor in the morning, Jungwon.” your nose scrunched up at the mix of blood and alcohol, wishing this was a mere dream, but Jungwon’s pinches on your exposed skin was a reminder this was real.

“What did you even do?” your brain hadn’t racked around to the idea of what caused this accident, and maybe you didn’t want to know.

Not when the image of Yang Jungwon was blank, you knew nothing of his personal life or what he did for a living. Perhaps it’d be best to keep that way. He was just a contract.

Jungwon licked his lips, his abdomen heaving up and down. The sound of squeaking from the gauze and the bandage you wrapped around him filled the tense air.

“Your dad, he asked me to do a job for him. I didn’t know what i was getting myself in to.” his jaw clenched and you could feel disgust and anger boiling your blood.

Your father was so selfish he had someone else do a job for him—a dangerous one at that. A part of you wanted go console Jungwon, hold him and apologize for him, while another part of you wanted to scold him for being so naive as to who your father was.

“Why would you agree to that?” you placed your palms on his shaking thighs, your knees digging into the cold floor. The warmth of your body cascaded off you to him, like a hug.

“I just did it in the moment,” Jungwon said shortly, raising his head up to look down at you. His body relaxed at your touch, despite it being so new. It felt natural.

Strands of his hair covered his eyes as he blinked them away, fingers shaking terribly. He reached out for yours, wanting to feel human again after being treated like rubbish. Dirt on someone’s shoe, paint chipping off a fresh wall, a bag flowing in the wind.

He felt so out of place.

But, in the proximity of your gentleness and tender affection—the glow that escaped his body found it’s way back in, in the form of you.

“I don’t want you ever taking something from him ever again.” of course if it were anyone else in his situation, you’d say the same, right?

“Then I’d have to give you back.” his voice was quiet, his body leaning towards you as he groaned in pain. His eyes held a thousand words that his mouth wouldn’t dare to say.

His breaths slowly began to pick up once again, his chest moving abnormally fast. “Jungwon,” you reached towards his heart, placing your hand against his skin as his heartbeat thumped rapidly.

“Let me lay you down.” you began to stand up to take him to your bed, but he held you by your wrists, forcing you back down between his thighs.

“Don’t leave me, not yet.”

In more ways than one his words spoke volumes. The days of wondering when he’d be home or if he had eaten what you packed him for lunch wasn’t because you were a thoughtful wife, it was because you cared. You cared that his stomach was full and that he was in one piece.

The hatred you learned to give along the way was just love that couldn’t find a way to be expressed, as it suppressed in the depths of your heart, it went bitter. But, Jungwon was your one true love, if you liked it or not.

He leaned his forehead on your shoulder, arms loosely around your waist. You moved your palms up and down his back hesitantly.

Your realization deciding to hit you like a truck in the middle of this fiasco wasn’t the best timing, or maybe it was.

“We promised ‘till death do us part’ and I’m far from death, baby.” Jungwon backed away from your shoulder, looking at your eyes and cupping the sides of your face.

The blood one his hands transferred onto your own skin, imprinting a stain of forever that connected you to him.

Jungwon’s lips found yours in a delicate, scared manner—afraid you’d stop him. However, your body reacted before your brain and you were returning the kiss.

The longing nights you shared in bed, staring at him, hoping that one day you’d enjoy waking up to his voice were worth it because now, you might just enjoy him coming home with flowers instead of a wound for you to fix.

54 notes · View notes

river-in-the-woods · 2 days

Note

i have a similar situation - i'm struggling to make my own correspondences, and i'm trying to draw from my pagan practices as well as my ancestral asian practice. i'm having a bit of difficulty with systematically going through a small dictionary, but maybe this can provide some ideas (and of course, if you have any critiques, i'm totally open to that as well!)

I usually just pick up any reference book and choose whatever I like the sound of and can get my hands on. I have a copy of The Encyclopedia of Natural Magic by J.M. Greer which I use a lot because it has minimal tangential waffle and is neatly laid out. I like Llewellyn's Charms, Spells and Formulas for the same reason.

For culturally relevant things, I like chinasage which has a symbol index of various flora and fauna. I'm not aware of similar resources for other parts of East Asia, apologies.

While I do think that different materials are endowed with particular virtues, I also think this is another area of magic where people get a little obsessed with categorisation.

It's not like Pokemon where lavender has +10 sleep magic points and chamomile has +12, or roses are exclusively for love and attraction and black pepper is only for cursing and banishing, and so on... It's a little more like cooking where there are many possibilities of creating a satisfying meal and yet it still depends on the individual tastes of who's partaking in it.

Cypress, yew and asphodel are strongly associated with the underworld; mugwort and wormwood are associated with night-time and dreams, but these plants will still die without the light of day. Sunflowers and oranges are very solar, but they still have roots that reach into the earth to anchor them. Chilli peppers are incredibly fiery, but they still die without water. Yarrow is for youth, love and beauty, except when you're allergic to it.

Every herb is a herb for protection, and wealth, and attraction, and fertility, and banishing – and so on, because every plant has its own strategy to survive, thrive and proliferate.

(And that's just plants, not even touching on the properties of minerals, animals, elements, colours and so on.)

They do have their specialisations, yes, and I wouldn't use mint to call on the element of fire, nor would I use coffee beans in a sleep spell... What I'm trying to say is: they're all multi-faceted, so set aside the reference books now and then, and just observe and make connections intuitively.

Reference books might tell you that basil or cinnamon or citrus (or whatever) have wealth-drawing properties.

But grass, plain old common grass, completely dominates the greenery of the earth. Crops like rice, wheat, barley and corn are staple foods that support the world's population. And dandelions, with their solar and ouranic qualities and how quickly they proliferate across an open field, are oft overlooked.

These never get listed in books, yet their literal and symbolic powers are undeniable.

Put these – grass seeds, rice grains and dandelion seeds – into a wealth working with a simple prayer. "Bless me with as much wealth as there are blades of grass on this earth, as there are grains of rice that sustain humanity, as there are dandelion seeds that fill the air in spring."

Correspondences are only part of what makes magic work. There's also your own ability and experience, the spirits you call and the relationship you have with them... I strongly favour the relationship part because reference books become less and less important, when you can just ask and the spirits will tell you what to use. Or even better when you don't have to do a spell at all, because you have spirits to take care of it in exchange for some cake.

It took me a long time to open myself up to receiving that kind of inspiration, but... honestly, don't overthink it. You know a lot of correspondences already because you interact with the world every day.

Good luck 🌿

#witchcraft #correspondences #greencraft #resources #inbox #anonymous #spellcraft #spellwork

48 notes · View notes

fabbyf1 · 3 days

Note

Hi!

I’m not sure of this is how to go about this correctly.

I’m not sure what your position is on others drawing inspiration/directly from your incredible fan fiction writing but, on Ao3 there is a fic called ❤️lestappen- One shorts💙 by lestapeeen. The most recent chapter (14) is very similar to the monza chapter of long live(twwct) specifically the piggy back and proposal promise. some of the dialogue is exactly the same.

I figured you should know. If it’s a cool with you or if you knew already, sorry to be a bother.

DISCLAIMER: This post, by no means, is asking for ANYBODY to send this author mentioned (and tagged) below hate. On anon or main. I have been pretty damn clear with my feelings on the matter below. They know what they've done, and I won't stand for it. Nobody needs to make this worse by sending them death threats. With that out of the way, let's deep dive, shall we?

YOU KNOW WHAT?

First off, god bless you, bestie. God BLESS you. I want to smooch you on your incredibly wonderful forehead. Thank you so much for bringing this to my attention. I cannot be everywhere at once and cannot possibly read every fanfic posted to AO3, but it's not fucking cool for people to straight-up plagiarize my shit.

Secondly, I'd like to ask that if ANY of my followers come across something that looks very suspiciously similar to my fics, please let me know. You can for sure send it on anon, or send me a dm.

Now, with that being said, I clicked on this fucking fic not knowing what to think. I went into it with a pretty open mind, knowing that there are quite a few authors currently posting fics that are verrrrrrrrrrry similar to my writing style. I've gotten pretty close to calling a few of these authors out but haven't for a few reasons.

Fanfics based on the same ship, in the same canon setting, are always going to be... let's use the word "similar" here. The plot can only change so much when you're following canon events, you know? I don’t write AUs, so I’m only going off canon-inspired fics. My fics generally follow along with canon timelines and therefore, other author’s fics that follow the same timeline are going to be... similar. I get that and accept that.

Characterizations are bound to be... well, fuck it, let's use that word "similar" again. I'm gonna be pretty forgiving when someone's Max is damn near the same as my Max because one: I'm a good and forgiving person, and two: I think my characters (while totally fucking fictional) are very life-like to the real person. So, with that in mind, when I read a fic with characterizations similar to mine... I will usually give somebody grace... and accept that maybe, just possibly, they see Max Verstappen (the person) the same way I do (fictionally) and it’s a big old coincidence that our fics read so similar. You know? Does that make sense?

But with all that being said, I’m not a fucking idiot.

And honestly? I give more grace than I should on this goddamn website. (lmfao, respectfully.) This is sadly not the first time that somebody has very much written in my likeness, and I know it won't be the last. But this is definitely the boldest version of plagiarism I've seen. I haven’t clicked on any chapter except for 14, and I heavily skimmed the first part, but let’s take a little deep dive into some of the highlights. Because I will show the receipts, bestie.

from their story:

from long live:

..... right, let's move on.

from their story:

from long live:

okay................. sure

from their story:

from long live:

If you're going to plagiarize my shit... you could at least put it in a different font, so to speak. "Hey, can I copy your homework?” “Sure, but change it up a bit.”

Girlie pop, you stopped even trying to change it the fuck up.

Let me be clear: I do not authorize anybody to translate, re-post or distribute my work without my written consent. This is in a disclaimer (that I will post below) in every single one of my fics. Taking MY dialogue is NOT okay.

Direct quote from the beginning note of Long Live: DISCLAIMER #4: This is 100% fictional, and I do not own any person, team, or sponsor referenced in this story. I mean no offense to any person(s) mentioned and characterized in this story. I am not affiliated with any part of Formula 1 or its subsections. Please do not translate, re-post, or distribute my work without my written consent. I will cry.

To sum up, writing is not easy, and it takes time and effort. Time away from my friends, my girlfriend, my family. Time away from my job and my other hobbies. Long Live is 76 thousand words and took me countless hours to write.

To have somebody so blatantly and disrespectfully post MY SHIT as their own and not even try to give me credit? To not write a note that said, “Heyyyyy go read long live, which I [clearly] really enjoyed!” or even a “Some of this dialogue was inspired by @fabbyf1” or even just a “lmfao some of this i didn’t write but the rest i did” really pisses me off.

Why did it ever have to come to this?

I am SO disappointed right now.

Happy fucking Friday, I guess.

For full transparency, here is the link to their fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55255699 and here is the link to their tumblr: @l-estappen

Here is the link to MY fic, which was posted on April 2nd, 2023, and written in Google Docs with revision history about a month before that. I have receipts out the fucking ass, my dear. https://archiveofourown.org/works/46190509/chapters/116284915

Be well.

#... anyway #i expect this story to be EDITED TO REMOVE MY DIALOGUE or completely taken down.#thanks for listening.

42 notes · View notes

justatalkingface · 13 hours

Text

Let's talk about the Nomu and the Remnants

So, among all the other fuck fuck games Hori played with late-game MHA, I don't think anyone has really... picked up on just what implications he's made when it comes to Remnants.

You see, once upon a time, Remnants only existed because OFA let them, kept them, empowered them. Even when it wasn't really expanded on at the time, the fact that Izuku had them was a sign of his Heroic Mandate (TM) and Destiny(TM), it was something unique to him, something that even All Might didn't have. But... you know, now AFO is just filled with a screaming chorus of those he has damned or something.

Let's... let's ignore the general clusterfuck of AFO for this, and just... all the late game stuff. Let's just talk about one thing: the fact that he has Remnants, and the fact they've been trying to talk to (murder) him.

And first off, that's a big retcon, because even if the OFA Remnants didn't want to murder their users, I'm pretty damn sure they'd want to talk to them all the same, and yet somehow only Izuku noticed, even before the clusterfuck of the extra Quirks kicked in.

But even that's not the point, that's just an appetizer. Because the thing is? The Quirks AFO is holding aren't the only Quirks he's taken, far from it.

There are the Quirks he's given to various people throughout the years, subordinates, would be supporters and probably some random people he wanted to torture.

The Nomu he's made, experimented on for decades.

Hell, all the Quirks he and Dr. Diablo Ex Machina have made (somehow) throughout this time.

That's hundreds, maybe thousand, of Quirks. Millions potentially, if we're looking at the copies and trying to get a number out of the vague 'and then we invented a whole new science just to fuck other people over' bit. And according to this late game stuff? Every single one of them is host to the mental copy of the person they were stolen from (or cloned from, presumably). And outside of a few exceptions, (vanishingly few; while there were people in the past, and in rare occasions the present, who didn't want their Quirks... the magic dream copy in the Quirk would still have their Quirk. For them, the problem hasn't gone away at all! Maybe some of the reason they hated it is gone, but even at best they're still bearing that thing they've always hated... and that's not even getting into people who just... hated them, or thought they were wrong. Or were afraid of hurting someone... only to be given to someone who doesn't share those same concerns, or even the same level of restraint they had. Even though the actual person got what they wanted, there's a copy of them that is still in hell, and knows they're never going to escape it, because they are their own nightmare.) every single Quirk was stolen by force. Every single one of the remnants in these people are just... suffering, and for all intents and purposes will remain that way, until the person bearing them dies.

And all of that? All of that doesn't get into the Nomus. The largely brain dead living corpses made smashing together likely Quirks with the same energy of a child trying to force together Legos, even before whatever process happens to condition them into being loyal. What the hell does that do to a mind? Do they stay separate? Do they... blend together? Does the body/dominant mind/most powerful Quirk just get implanted with memories and desires of complete strangers?

Every single one of those exposed brain monstrosities is a walking, talking torture device filled with damned souls of some unknown number, and who even knows about how much is in the High Ends.

Hell, what about the copied Quirks? Do they retain the full knowledge of who they were? Or does each copy... lose something, each in generation away from the original? Do they realize that they're missing some fundamental portion of themselves, that they're not real?

I'm pretty damn sure that this, like so many things, is something that just happened because Hori didn't think it through, because this is horrifying on levels it's hard to comprehend. It's a level of human suffering on the level of you'd get from the Dark Eldar in WH40K, and on both Hori and AFO's parts, it's entirely accidental. And yet, I don't think there's one part of this that isn't canon compliant, that there's nothing to disprove the idea that, somewhere in Aoyoma, there's some poor sod that was shoved in there, that inside AFO there's a copy of Eri.

Just... just something I want people to think about, because I don't want to be the only one.

#bnha critical #mha critical #hori's inability to choose a message #the clusterfuck of AFO #the clusterfuck that is the nomu #the clusterfuck that is the remnants #nightmare fuel #am i the only one that noticed this?#hori what the fuck

30 notes · View notes

hearted-anon · 3 days

Note

my fav fic of urs is def pillow fights by 2min like it’s so scrumptious and well written😝😝 but tbh i live for anything lee seungmin or minho

Mong Mong!!

Words: 1123 Note: Originally meant to be a headcanon, but...yea. T/w: None, yay Lee: Seungmin Ler: Minho

“Seungmin-ah, bark.” Minho commented dryly across the room, seemingly without intent. Seungmin sat across from him on the plush bed, raising an eyebrow at his request; a clear refusal of what he wanted, it made Minho pout in annoyance.

His eyebrows furrowed, but retained that wide smile he had whenever he was planning something devious, sending a shiver down Seungmin’s spine. He really had to tell Lee Know to stop making such weird faces, he knew it crept everyone out, well except him. The silence ensued for awhile longer, the cat growing impatient at the puppy’s denial to fulfil his much needed request. Minho didn’t like it when people denied him.

Suddenly, the bed creaked in agony as Lee Know pounced onto Seungmin, slim fingers digging into his sides gently to coax out some noise. What he didn’t expect was to hear breathy giggles that came from the younger, coming out in intervals with a wide smile that they all know and loved, who could resist tickling Seungmin with a smile like that?!

“Sta- Stahap it! Hyung!” Seungmin begged through sweet giggles, eyes crinkled in hopeless laughter as he pushed and tugged at the unrelenting fingers that wouldn’t leave him alone. It was clear the cat had finally found its newfound obsession with its discovery, if they both had tails one would definitely be wagging faster than the other. Minho was having a blast, a dimpled and happy grin on his face as he admired the growing flush on his target. Fruitlessly trying to stop the fingers, Seungmin decided to let his airy laughter fill the room, knowing he couldn’t stop it at all.

“Please worry for yourself, because I want to hear more.” Minho smiled innocently as he blunted stated his threat, making the younger shudder under him. He really thought there was a reason why Lee Know was in paboracha, at least he had one now. Spidering fingers that felt like an eternity explored the vocalist’s tiny body, wanting to find a spot that made him squeal. Using the same spot every time was boring in the dancer’s head, he wanted to find something more fun to toy with.

He had found himself zero luck, until he hit the sides of his tummy, earning a shriek that echoed throughout their bedroom; they prayed that Jeongin and Felix weren’t awoken by that. They stared at each other in a tensed silence, a reddening Seungmin locking eyes with a smirking Lee Know, a deadly combo for sure. He tapped onto the pale skin for a second or two, earning squeaks and pleads of giggles that were telling him not to do anything, too bad, Lee Know loved disobeying instructions.

“AHHHAHAHAHA! HYU- HYUNG!” There came that breathy laughter again, just in ten times the volume and higher in pitch. The older’s fingers were rapidly kneading themselves into the thin strips of skin, precise enough that it landed right onto his worst spots. It wasn’t fair how slender his fingers were, it barely took effort to tear the vocalist apart in a matter of seconds. Minho smiled happily as he noticed that the puppy also stuttered through his laughter, just like Changbin, how cute! He fondly stared down at the mess he was creating, not much caring about the amount of noise he was making.

“What? Don’t call me without a reason.” The older blankly replied, as if he wasn’t aware of what the younger wanted. Nonchalant enough, it flustered Seungmin to no end, making him kick out in hysterical laughter. He looked just like a puppy who had belly rubs, Minho could’ve sworn on his life he was going crazy from all the cuteness aggression that tugged on his heartstrings, oh poor Seungmin, he was going to be destroyed in a matter of seconds.

“STA- NOHOHOAHAHA! PLEASE- PLEAHAHAHA!” Forget asking Seungmin to bark, he would rather hear his screechy laughter all day until his ears bled. What heinous crimes did Minho commit this time you ask? Slipping his head under the vocalist’s shirt, he took a deep breath in, both to calm his quelling giggles from hearing all that contagious laughter and to blow the longest and hardest raspberry he could right on top on Seungmin’s navel. To say he went crazy was an understatement, his fluffy hair sprawled over to his ears, flopped over completely. His cheeks were burning in red, jaw open with a smile as he cackled away.

He pushed and kicked at the older’s body, and although he couldn’t see his younger’s face, Lee Know could tell that he was reaching his limits, it was a privilege to know his partner that well. He released his claws and lips off the younger, giggling mischievously as Seungmin gasped for air like he was suffocated in chains and ropes. He curled up into a tight ball, it took everything in Lee Know not to start up his antics again, he had boundaries to respect after all. Crawling over beside the tired puppy, he wiped away the tears of mirth that were threatening to fall, snuggling him close.

“Thank you for satiating my need.”

“…? Stop talking like that, I swear.”

“…will you still bark, then?” A long, long sigh was then heard across the room, before Seungmin planted his face into the pillow, completely and utterly done with Lee Know’s shenanigans for the night. He didn’t understand how Jisung put up with such a menace, but as they say peas in a pod he assumed. It wasn’t often that the reserved cat liked to show his more vulnerable side, so Seungmin was sure to take advantage of it, purposely snuggling his head into the older’s chest, bringing his arms to wrap tighter around his waist.

“You asking for a round two?” Minho chuckled softly, pressing his fingers lightly into the fleshy skin of the vocalist’s stomach, where his fingers were tightening around the tiny waist he admired dearly. Seungmin squeaked, shaking his head rapidly, but of course he knew the older didn’t mean it, it was all in their playful banter.

“Ahh..aha..ahh..” Seungmin made an overdramatised his airy and puffy like giggles, squirming lightly in the older’s hold. They both cuddled under the prolonged silence, Minho’s head buried into the messy hair of the younger’s, inhaling its scent as they both dozed off without fail. Although it was almost striking midnight, neither of them seemed to mind the dying fatigue they had to deal with the following morning, having been cheered right up with happy smile and loud giggles, or breathless to say.

The next morning, two very grumpy sunshines who looked like they slept barely barged into their room, and it was safe to say they were breathless in no time.

#..?#stray kids tickle #skz tickle #kpop tickle #ler minho #lee seungmin #yes

32 notes · View notes

voidcat · 1 day

Text

— a broken record

characters: aventurine/you, the ipc, original planets & characters, xianzhou alliance (mostly mentioned)

notes: 3.5k of a beast! Hello, hi, as I’ve mentioned before our mc has a prewritten history and backstory which will be revealed as the story goes on, hence the shifts of perspective you’ll come to see as you read & as I write. Second part of this chapter is an example of this. The storyline begins linear but this will be distorted as the plot goes on. Hsr characters and ipc doesn’t have full of revealed role so I’m taking creative liberties and adding planets, systems and characters when I see benefiting the story. I hope I do the characters justice and you guys enjoy this as much as I do:) love yall bye<3

songs: Too Sweet, It Will Come Back, A Dramatic Irony

i. it will come back

The corporation has its eyes everywhere; but not all those eyes belong to them.

It is a well guessed and partially accurate fact, that their arms and limbs, eyes and noses spread far and wide, recording every instance big or crucial; watching intently to plan their next move.

The IPC spreads far and wide, beyond stars and planet systems many don't even know the existence of. But as there is a price to everything, their range comes with its cost.

His heels echoing on the stone pavements, Aventurine knows of the strategists and analysts the corporation has working under them. Just because he is yet to meet one in the flesh does not make them any less real, though that’s where the rumors seem to hint at. An urban legend at best, exceptional people all in their own field, always watching, observing, recording, collecting information.

The rumors start after this part, where their loyalties lie.

It is something not many care about frankly, everyone has their reasons to work for— or under the IPC, it’s not up for others to judge why someone would willingly work for them, harvesting data for them; nobody knows for certain whether these analysts travel from one location to another, or stay stationed at certain spots for long periods of time; do they like to watch planets burn and shackled, or are they prisoners of the corporation via the extension of someone dear, with hostages and deals one’s forced on; all these questions and more nobody dares to ask around.

As people stare at him, Aventurine walks towards his target, the classy looking pub across the street, the best and most prestigious in the area, known for its delicacies and safety, or so the people of this planet think.

His outfit is the same, the flashy peacock holds his head high, a smirk adorning his face, eyelids low, he is well aware of the attention he gathers, as intended., Ggo on, keep staring, a voice inside him says.

Like anyone else in his line of job, he didn't give much thought to those rumored, but now there is a spark, and his eyes intently roam the place as he enters, hat in one hand, he keeps close to his chest.

There are signs for those wandering eyes.

Or so the people whisper about the urban legends. No one sticks out exactly yet, those kinds would not end up a myth if they stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was pretty much the same with the history of IPC and how it gets the job done, their tactics and course of action always following a system, even with the risks taken, the gambles taken into account, there was always a formula, a pattern that follows– then he decided to take a look at some records and found out interferences happened.

The why of it remains a mystery as of now, the how does not take much; they hold the information, it is up to them how many cards they lie on the table, how much they keep to themselves and how they name their price. A little rebellion as much as they can afford maybe, is it their conscious or just selfish desire, or to feel that they hold the strings above all; he is yet to find out.

Eyes on his target, he makes his way to the secluded booth, greeted with enthusiasm laced with a little fear. Not many people of this planet know of the outworlders traveling beyond stars, only those who rose to their respective ranks are given access to such information after all.

The arrival of IPC is both something that sent them into frenzy; excitement of the ‘what-if’s, fear for the worst case scenarios. They don't need to know of the fates of those erased from the maps to get that survival instinct kicking in.

Eyes lazily gazing over the marshall and the gambler, you take a sip from your drink, allowing the ambiance of the place to take over.

A delightful tune to your eyes, no hungry gaze locked on you for once, a decent cocktail by your hand and a job almost done. The planet itself isn't too advanced but more or less up-to-date with the systems surrounding itself; or the ones in charge are, which is a great deal considering certain systems and planets’ situations. Better to have some sort of an idea than to jump in blind. The gambler’s interactions seem to near its end, still managing to captivate the small crowd around himself until the very last second, flashy smiles and dazzling gestures. From the air around him and the happy but reluctant face of the marshall, you can safely assume a deal has been struck between the planet and the IPC, one can only hope it won’t bring destruction and grief with it, or that all life will cease to exist by the time that comes; with the IPC, one can never know for sure, when it is resource-rich planets they intent to use and mine.

Sweet tunes of the piano and bass remain vibrating in the air, a cello and a small set to keep up the rhythm. The little gathering dispels yet not all of them leave, scattering around the place.

He arrives by your side sooner or later, still making sure to take his time and talking with few others he must’ve seen worthy of their word or to kill time somehow. By the time the gambler sits by your side, you let your finger dance over the rim of your glass, half of the whiskey already gone, faint notes of its scent lingering in the air.

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, beginning with a line not too daring but equally natural and tame; nobody wants to scare people away within a few words, and he has plenty of time before he is expected back in the headquarters of IPC.

instead of a reply, you grace him with a smile and your fingers wrapping around your glass.

Taking your smile as a sign to keep going, he takes the seat next to you, resting his forearm on the counter. Faking a gaze at his clothes, “It seems I must've overdone it.” he says halfheartedly, in question. The voice of a man who knows all too well what he was going for, a sheepish smile that feigns innocence, fully aware of the cheap acting it’s putting on. Warming the atmosphere, creating an air of comfort and ease, friendliness and truce.

“Cannot say for sure,” you hum, “up until now you’ve had everyone’s eyes on your person,” your fingers relax around the glass, “which is more or less how the usual crowd operates, you only happen to beat the others to the quota today.”

He listens as you speak, noting how you talk in sync with the music. As primitive as the planet might be, the access to data was plenty and right under his palms, yet such small details are lost, he wonders if the music lacks lyrics or if they play it here so, just to bring out the conversations happening.

“Well, lucky me, or how else could I find myself a spot near yours truly?” he exclaims, both of you aware how cheap and easy the compliment is.

“I doubt you would have any struggles.” you say as you bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip of the ashy drink. As true as it is, he takes a step back, filling the space with a smile instead.

Do you find him so charming that you would allow him to draw near any other way or have you noticed how he stands out among the rest as well– your spot here at the bar does not have the best of view but anyone with a slight curiosity could notice it was a certain class he had a meeting with prior. Maybe it's the difference of status you mean, that his meeting alone would be intimidating. Yet it isn’t enough of a reason to justify this possibly, this particular establishment isn’t one anyone can waltz in, hence the reason it was chosen for today’s meeting.

Humming to the melody, you take another sip. “How do you find the establishment so far?” you inquire and at your question, he chuckles. “I see, I see, I should’ve held back a little, maybe leave the hat back at home, huh?”

Only at his words you seem to notice the hat by the counter, your fingers leaving the glass to play with its rim instead, feeling the fabric and the details adorning the garment.

“I wouldn’t know.” you say, closing your eyes, “But speaking for myself, I’m quite fond of the combination so far.”

Silence falls over for a while as the music continues.

“What brings a lovely person such as yourself, alone at the end of the workweek, to a place better enjoyed with someone else?”

Unnecessarily long, his brain jabs at him, but he doesn’t care, from your reactions, you seem to enjoy the rambling and the coyness.

“Exactly what you’ve said at the end.” is your reply. Nails hitting against the glass, you draw out a melodic series of clanks. You follow the rhythm well, he notes, with recognition and following at hand, it is no difficult feat to speak in sync, allow the music to swallow and put your words into spotlight.

“Perhaps the most prestigious place around here, and a little pretentious in the eyes of some– like a certain face I happen to be avoiding, but that’s where the charm of it lies, wouldn’t you agree?” you change the topic and bring it back to where he left, giving him two options, two different roads to take.

Is it the ex that is pretentious or does he find the location as such; he has a feeling the answer to this remains ‘both’.

“The ambiance manages to be intimidating and capture a warmth to it, too.” he says, “a troublesome ex perhaps?” Why pick when you can have it all, he is willing to take it and where it’ll go, until you put down the stop sign.

“And delightful melodies all around, truly a safe haven at times.” you continue his words. “Not really, just his own person, blue hair to match his soul. It often felt like, with his own goals set in mind, ambitions and beliefs, what other people thought to be pretentious was nothing more than a misconception frankly.” you sigh.

“And yet, too much to deal with at the end of the day, hm?” Aventurine asks.

With melancholy on your face, you only close your eyes and nod with a hum.

“You remind me of him.” your words catch him off guard, a lightning bolt down his spine, he finds himself straightening up in his seat.

At his sudden reaction you hold back the chuckle that's by your lips, “with all the contrast you hold to him, relax,” until you cannot, and giggle, “it seems I’ve gotten rusty, my apologies, I was trying to–” you ramble off, unable to finish your sentence.

Cute, he thinks, and another part of him finds it impressive how despite it all, even when words seem to escape your grasp, you still manage to speak in rhythm.

A new song begins playing, with a slight change of tune and color, making Aventurine raise his head without noticing.

“Have you ever thought as if some songs– music can resemble a person?” Your question pulls him out of his bubble. With your chin resting against your fists, you stare at him with big, shiny eyes. The ‘how so?’ rests on his tongue, “It can depend on the song, and the person, I’d assume.” he plays it safe. “How do the lyrics to this one go?”

You let out a hum in sync with the music again, you must’ve heard it plenty before, or just like it to a certain degree.

“I wouldn’t know.”

You say it matter-of-factly, like a kid stating they like ice cream.

The initial surprise wears off and he allows another smile to bloom on his face, unable to rid of his furrowing brows and the confusion still lacing his beating heart.

His eyes quickly go over the place and he cannot spot a single musician in sight, just an old looking gramophone by the bar, behind the counter, jolting by itself at times, as if giving out its final performance. He could swear he saw a small batch of musicians when he entered, they must’ve taken a break perhaps.

“Whoever’s behind it must be an excellent compos–” “honey, you make this so easy.” Your words glide off with the melody, yet something about it sticks out, poking at his ears, something in his guts tell it is distorted.

Yet you keep smiling at him, almost a dreamy, singsong state to your person.

“What is it that catches your attention to the music here?” He hears you speak, eyes looking for the musicians he swears were there several system hours ago.

Swinging slightly to the melody, he knows better than to not keep someone waiting.

“How it brings out the words spoken by whom you’re speaking.” He states, like a kid answering for a pop quiz they’ve been memorizing for all week long.

“And how it drowns out anything else from the outside.” You complete for him, “that's the main reason this place is often sought out by a certain class.”

He has noticed it too, of course, every planet primitive or advanced, always have their ticks and tricks to separate classes and to feel important in their little bubbles.

Eyes finding yours, Aventurine finds your expression to be distracting, you should know better than to smile like that, naive yet sharp, pure yet knowing, holding the secrets to some sort of concept he does not even know the existence of.

He weighs whether to speak next or wait, but it seems you won’t be making any moves until his begins.

“It must’ve been difficult to compose pieces with such a certain goal set in mind though, I’d be delighted to meet the geniu–“ “Oh, how I wish we too had lyrics to accompany our songs just like yours beyond stars.” Your exclamation cuts through the air like a dagger.

What you’ve said registers a bit later than he’d prefer but his face pales before his consciousness gets to work.

“Oh but you didn’t know, did you?” Your voice tone hasn’t shifted much since the moment he has met you, but he begins to find it grating, how you seem to enjoy toying with him, to the best of your abilities.

“Not many outworlders do, none at all, if we are being frank here.”

“And why is that?” Aventurine asks you, glasses pushed to the bridge of his nose, his demeanor a tad more intrigued.

“Now that…” you begin, leaning towards him slightly, “I truly don’t know.”

Hands clasped before you, you take your eyes off him as if this is just some casual date between citizens of the same village.

“But I know what your lot says, that this is a primitive planet at best, just happened to be lucky and advance in certain areas.”

This much information at your hands, you must be among the ranks of government officials. It does not come as a surprise to Aventurine that the Marshall would bring along more than just manpower to an important meeting, determining the destiny of countless lives.

“It is only fitting that the art here has evolved to the form it once had when life was anew and the people had nothing but fire, stones and one another, walls of the caves to draw on, piles of wood to set fire to.”

He takes notice how you avoid using the word ‘devolve’, you must’ve seen something in this turn of events that makes it different to what it used to be, possibly more than just the state of your species.

Not so long after this rundown that you take your leave, still humming the same song from before, Aventurine finds himself wondering what meaning have you attributed to it— and by extension, to him?

And by the time he is back on the ship, preparing his report, his mind begins to forget about you already.

It is unlikely that fate will cross his path through this planet again, reading its name in future reports will be the most at best. The songs however, take their places at the back of his mind, playing over and over when he has just lied down to take a moment,

An interesting detail, indeed, he thinks. But the question remains: was it left out deliberately, or truly only known by the natives of the planet, unable to be reached with no interaction nor contact? Sloppy work or is something bigger at play?

Ii. a dramatic irony / l’inverno

Luofu is ever changing and eternal, as it ever was, just as its citizens are.

Yet today is not one of those days, today, your countless days of watching, noting, and occasionally drinking tea, pays off; the anomaly is on the move, and so are abominations of abundance. Posing the picture perfect threat, as they are meant to be, you wait to see how fruitful this one will turn out to be. Planting seeds often results in disappointment, for most of them require constant care. It’s the matter of collecting those that can stand on their own that enrich one’s wealth.

The anomaly that was supposed to become an abomination themselves stand between the people and the abominations of the stage, one fist clenching, other readying the makeshift weapon, eyes going back and forth, telling those they once swore to protect to stand back.

It is too early to celebrate but you think a nice dinner in Aurum Alley to treat yourself after the day comes to an end would not hurt a soul. Whispering small words on what to do and not, ‘hey didn’t we keep dental records back in the day as well?’, silently entering in and typing in the name of that lost warrior to their system… such things shouldn’t necessarily earn you a pat on the back– it’s not your fault the people have grown slow and dull with the days of peace they are born into. A tea against the artificial sunset wouldn’t hurt a soul, and it certainly won’t hurt the financial resources of the IPC though.

Your job, though what it entails is often unclear, is no rocket science as the people of the blue planet once said. It’s where and how you plant the seeds of suspicion that matters, how you goad them all the while making them feel the ideas were theirs to begin with, just a little nudge toward the right direction, no big deal there.

Focusing back on the present, you go over the expressions people seem to carry. Despite the fear in their eyes, the people watch the ex knight with hope, chests rising high because they have faith they’ll leave this place alive.

Yet something still stinks.

You have left the ‘how’ of the ex knight managing to live out like a regular knight, stranger occurrences have begun to appear at a rapid rate nowadays, got everyone in a frenzy, even the IPC, which, in and of itself is a great deal of success. With the path of Akivili under the spotlight once more, the horizon seems a little wider for you; creating discordances within the flow of events now that their attention has been divided.

You return to the scene before you and notice how the fist does not only clench but seem to hold, then you recall how the time forsaken warrior jumped right into the abominations as they picked out the innocents lying on the ground– not a distraction but a set up.

Setting up the stage before the grand finale, a knight defying time and logic, you can see in their eyes and body how the rumored impulsive nature has evolved, shifted into a new path, bringing along with it a technique unique to its time and person.

You watch as the lights go out and the show starts. It lacks the elegance it was rumored to carry but you’d not be surprised, this is something borrowed, something learned, without their old master, there is no longer a correct way of applying it yet they still play it like a violin, pull the strings and trap the abominations in, one by one, three by three, they try to attack but the knight deflects faster than them.

Then taking a pause, steadying a step back, they look back and tell the people to evacuate the space. As you watch people hurriedly go all around, desperate to help in some way, one running off to alert the authorities, your eye catches a string not shining like the rest, positioned oddly.

In the shadows, nobody sees, and it the crowd, nobody notices you moving.

Crouching down, you pick it up and place how the rest seem to be angled.

Satisfied when you see the golden, light-like shine return to it; a glance at the knight and you see them move, enduring the hits and swinging out the makeshift bow, performing like a violinist and radiating trust with every step. Nowhere near their master yet but quite on the way and more than enough.

By the time the backup arrives, the young swordmaster of ice and soldiers behind him arrive, you take your leave, pulling up your hood, you bring a hand over to your face, letting it sit and feeling the change.

The Alliance seems to be doing well under the general and from the looks of it, it will continue to do so. The nearing presence of the IPC won’t hold as serious a threat as it may to other planets.

The representatives of the company don’t seem to notice your presence as you walk past them and toward the alley.

Among their ranks employees with duller and duller senses, one might even be hopeful as to think the downfall of the corporation will begin shortly.

#a broken record #aventurine #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #aventurine fanfiction #hsr fanfic #hsr fanfiction #gender neutral reader #aventurine fanfic

28 notes · View notes

forthevillains · 2 days

Text

Arranged marriage

Albert Wesker X fem! Reader

also if you’d like a second part with NSFW let me know;)

Wesker could never imagine himself being in a classic relationship, where he’d fall in love and take his time with the person. No he had too much to do, so much work he didn’t even have time to meet new people and make an effort to make a woman fall in love with him. Yet as he worked on the virus and nearly all the test subjects he’s injected so far died within first hours, a thought crossed his mind. His own body accepted it, meaning that someone with the same blood, with the same strong mind could do the same. And so he’s decided to find a wife, hell to even pay for her, he didn’t give two shits about it. He needed someone worthy of carrying his children that were to be the key to the future. That wicked thought of his soon came to reality, he’s found a beautiful young, intelligent wife whose father was willing to give her up for the money. It was the biggest mistake he’s made though, forcing someone as determined as you into the marriage.

You hated Wesker, so badly, most of the time you two were yelling at each other and Albert held himself as good as he could to not strangle you. It was a living hell, especially for people who have worked for him, having to witness you two fighting like small children.

You knew what you wanted and that was freedom. You’ve fought for it the best you could, not letting Wesker touch you at all, throwing one insult after another and as much as it seemed like the best way to make his visions come true, he restrained himself from touching you without your consent. He hated how morals got the best of him now, when he needed it the least, but whether he liked it or not, he knew that he’d go against himself if he ever did that. He was the one wanted by women, he never had to force himself onto one and he sure wouldn’t do it now.

He changed his tactics though. Letting you sleep in your own room, without him anywhere near you. Except for the cameras planted in a corner of every single room. He liked to have things under control and he couldn’t trust you just yet.

This lasted a year or two. No progress from your side, however Albert? He got so used to watching you do the basic things, to hear you complain about how much of a pain in the ass he is, how you disliked Excella for the mere reason that she kept annoying you with how much she’d like to be in your place. He was growing so used to you that he actually began to fall in love with you. Slowly, but deeply. No matter how bad of a relationship the two of you had, whenever he spied on you and saw you so careless, smiling at the peace you’ve finally achieved - he grew addicted to that. He wanted to watch you more often, but the goals he set for himself didn’t allow him to do that as often as he’d like. You’ve got the poor man wrapped around your finger and you didn’t even know.

Not only that, you’ve actually done much more, only to disobey, only to possibly hurt him. You still remembered how you sneaked out of your parents’ house when you were a teenager. So you did it again. And realizing that Wesker didn’t talk to you about it the next day - you knew you could do it again. He either didn’t care or didn’t see you, but both were to your advantage.

It’s no surprise that you settled with cheating on your husband. He was distant enough that you just wanted attention from elsewhere. You were bored, lonely, with no one to talk to, nothing to do, as Wesker was always working and you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone else. It also felt quite refreshing to get out of the imaginary handcuffs he put you in, even if it was for a mere hour. Surprisingly, he didn’t find out for the first few weeks. You could enjoy affection and sex and he didn’t know a thing.

Wesker noticed the difference in your behavior and was pleased by your sudden obedience, glad that you finally realized what’s truly best for you. If only he’d known… He felt like that was the time for him to move your relationship further, to finally act like husband and wife and so he began buying you small gifts, spending more time with you in mere attempts to form a bond. You went along, but still - you wouldn’t let him touch you at all.

He would find out eventually though. And god was he pissed to get to know such a thing. His blood was boiling and for a slight moment he considered killing you. How dare you do that to him? And only when he started to care about you!

The man you’ve been seeing is found dead soon. No regrets from Wesker’s side.

You’re getting furious though.

"I could never love you! Get that through your head, old man!” You shouted at him and for the first time since he married you, Wesker froze in place. Have you just called him old? Have you just admitted that he’s unlovable? He doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t, but he’s done playing nice.

He makes your life a living hell afterwards, having you by his side all the time, not even letting you shower alone, let alone go to toilet. He’s always with you, no matter what you do and even when he has work to get done - you’re there assisting him. He doesn’t care how bored you are, you’re gonna be there with him.

If you try to run away again, he might as well put a collar on you to put you in your place (don’t make him do that.)

You’re forced to get used to your new life. You’re forced to be with him, forced to love him. And once you fall, there’s no coming back. He’s going to push you, he’s going to make you fall, because that’s what he’s wanted since the very beginning.

#albert wesker x reader #resident evil #albert wesker #resident evil wesker #wesker x reader #wesker x you #oneshot

30 notes · View notes

cypherthesuccubus · 13 hours

Text

Dirty Little Secret

Alastor x Lucifer/ RadioApple -Part 2- (NSFW) (MDNI)

Warnings: 18+, smut, slow burn, eventual smut, cock worship, glory hole, enemies to lovers, murder, blood kink, bondage, tentacles, marking, breeding kink, size kink, S&M, Dom/Sub, switch, facial

Other Tags: Fluff and Angst

Aftercare forever!!✨

Here’s part 2, y’all!! Wonder what Alastor is gonna find when he sees where our short king is going. Let’s find out together~ 😈💕✨

It’s been a good 5 miles since Lucifer had started walking from the hotel to his destination. Every so often when a denizen passes by him, he makes sure to pull his hood down enough to hide his face; looking down at the ground for extra measure. He really didn’t need anyone recognizing him, especially where he was heading. He doesn’t need to be made a fool out of than he already was. The day Lilith left, he was pretty much a laughing stalk that his wife would up and leave without saying a word. This was definitely one of the many reasons why he struggles with depression so badly; thinking he did something wrong to have her leave the way she did. Being alone for 7 years definitely has taken its toll……in more ways than one. He can’t have anyone find out what he’s been doing these past few of weeks since extermination day.

Lucifer looks around before making a sharp turn into an alley way between some large colorful buildings; navigating effortlessly through the twists and turns of each building being mashed together in such a manner. It almost feels like going through a maze everytime coming here, but he knew his way after coming here so many times. He felt a shiver run up his spine, as he feels like he’s being watched. He turns behind him look at every nook and cranny to see if he was being followed, but turned up nothing. With a sigh of relief, he turns back making his final turn around a tight corner; slowly walking towards a black metal door with a sliding peep hole and a bright neon pink sign above. The sign’s light flickered a little, saying the same thing everytime he comes here, “Employees Only”.

Lucifer approaches the door, knocking on it rhythmically like a secret code, as he takes a step back; waiting for the bouncer to show. The sliding peep hole opens abruptly, showing a pair of red glowing eyes as a voice spoke in a low gravely voice “I-D?” He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a matte black card with the place’s logo, saying “Employee ID-Exclusive Private Stall User.” The bouncer a-ha’s in acknowledgement, closing the peep hole and opening the door, gesturing him inside. “Hurry inside, before you’re considered late.” He quickly puts the ID back in his pocket as he makes his way inside; keeping his head down as the bouncer closes the door behind him. As soon as the door shuts, an inky black shadow forms from the ground, now revealing a very curious Alastor. He hums as he glances to the bright pink sign above the door, thinking to himself. “How interesting.~”

His grins widens at the possibilities of ruining the king of hell himself. What business did his majesty have in this lowly establishment? Whatever this secret may be, can be of use to him to finally finding a way to pull all the strings sort of speak. But unfortunately, this means the only way to get the full details of his majesty’s scandal, is to be in disguise himself. He wretches at the idea of wearing such clothes, but he has his own reputation to uphold and can not be recognized either. With a disgusted sigh, he snaps his fingers as his normal attire dissipates; revealing him in such common looking clothes. He summons a mirror to fully look at himself; making sure no recognizable features are present. He practically gags at the sight of himself; thinking about how this is not what a proper gentleman should be wearing.

He wore a similar black hooded jacket, except he kept it unzipped; showing him wearing a black loose fitting tank crop; his chest fluff slightly protruding over the neckline. His pants were slightly baggy with at least 2 outward pockets on each leg; including the inner pockets at the waist with the fabric feeling of a Capri like texture. The hem of the waist hugging his nicely; tastefully showing a bit of his v-line. The shoes itself were heeled, looking as if a scandalous soldier would wear them. Alastor then puts the final touch; a black clothed mask to cover his ever present smile. “I look like a common harlot….this is not gentlemen like at all.” He thinks to himself as he dissipates once again into the shadows; reappearing in the dark corner of this “night club” of some sort.

Alastor looks around at the noisy setting of this establishment; thinking of what predicament has he gotten himself into this time. He glances over at the counter where he spots Lucifer straight away; talking to the receptionist as he then takes his leave down the hallway adjacent to the desk. His grins widens once more under the mask, as he makes his way to the front desk. He stops a few inches from the counter, as he turns his radio effect off before speaking. “Hello there, miss. The man that was just here before I approached, could you tell me his name?” The woman then looks up at Alastor with a confused look.

“You mean Lance? Yeah, he just started his shift actually. If you want to know prices, you can look at this here under “Private Stall Exclusive.” A what now? He looks at the laminated paper taped to the desk; scanning to where the woman was pointing at. He reads as follows:

Private Stall Exclusive Tonight’s Host:Lance

Paying Members Only!!!

Prices

1 hour: $280

2 hours: $350

3 hours(Max): $495

Thank you for your purchase!!!!

Enjoy~

Taken aback by this, for once in his life, Alastor starts to get anxious; thinking to himself. “What did I just get myself into?!” Nervously drumming his claws on the counter, the woman starts to get alittle annoyed with his lack of decision. “I really need you to make a choice, hun. You’re kinda holding up a line a little.” He glances over his shoulder to see two taller, muscular men behind him; staring down at him hungrily. One being a lone shark and the other a hellhound. Alastor turns back around as one of the men spoke. “Hey Jackie, is this the host for tonight?” She shakes her head as she thumbs to the adjacent hallway next to her. “Oh no, he’s already in the back.” The man chuckles as he steps a little too close for comfort behind Alastor.

“Too bad, cause I was kinda hoping to see what this one’s mouth can do.~” He feels one of the sharks hands snake on his shoulder; feeling this wretched creature’s breath near his neck. If Alastor’s teeth weren’t grinding hard enough from this disgusting behavior; his eyes flickered between dials to pupils as he balled his fists. This thing had the nerve to run its claws along his tail! Quickly, Alastor lets a tentacle shoot out of him and into the lone shark’s chest; coming out of the shark’s back before retreating back through to Alastor. The shark falls to floor with a heavy thud as the hellhound backs away in fear. “I think I’ll come back another time.” The hound says as he quickly speed walks to exit.

Alastor then pulls out a wad of cash as he hands it to the one called Jackie. “An hour should suffice, thank you.” She timidly takes the money as she puts it in the register. “Of course, I’ll buzz Lance to let him know you’re here. Just go down the hall to the door that says private. You can’t miss it.” Alastor chuckles as he makes his way to the hallway entry “Much appreciated, Miss Jackie.”

25 notes · View notes