#well inspired by cells at work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sugurism · 2 months

Note

ah your red /green flag post was really good. How about doing the type of person they are most likely to be attracted to..and if they would fall first or harder?

FALLING DOWN. ୨ৎ jjk men: their type of person + fell first, or fell harder?ㅤheadcanons

featuring ♰ㅤmultiple. (choso, higuruma, megumi, nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna, toge, toji, yuji, yuta)

warning(s)! ♰ㅤNO PRONOUNS AND ANATOMY FOR READER. SFW (?) — toxic behavior ! possession ! some are delusional + yandere implied ! again, very much made based on personal opinions + i tried to write the characters off as canon as possible, but my favoritism will probably show ! sukuna (he's a warning of his own) ! violence + blood + death (mentions) ! cannibalism (mentions) ! obsession and possession ! not really all dark content but i will tag as so just to be sure, sukuna's part is insane ! mentions about marriage ! sadomasochism ! suggestive (sexual ideas about you) !

author’s note ♱ㅤthank you for everyone who's enjoying the red / beige / green flag post! you're all so sweet, it made my day, truly. im so happy, and this suggestion was so fun, anon. a small reminder so no one gets lost, though — please, read my rules before interacting. i don't take requests, but i consider suggestions. wrote this because i enjoyed the idea! it's not good, though. wrote this in a hurry and im currently working on other WIPs. don't know if i liked the result, tbh.

୨୧ CHOSO KAMO — attracted to someone's soul. fell harder.

the type of people choso likes is honestly pretty hard to describe. he is a romantic by nature, even if he is not aware of it. he really likes someone willing to cooperate with him and his family. anyone with an honest desire to protect him and his family and allow themselves to be protected as well.

with a body that was given to him (a dead body, even), he cares very little about physical appearance. a large part of him seeks to understand the essence of those he loves so that he can understand them without saying a word.

the moment he realized he fell in love with you was after a bloody battle. he was covered in blood and injuries while using his body's natural regeneration to recover. however, you forgot that ── you forgot his strength, you forgot his ability. you saw him as human as yourself, and by extension, fragile. bruised. mortal.

“choso! are you okay?” your warm hand touches his face, and choso's stomach twists at the thought of your delicate, perfect hands getting dirty because of his rotten blood. the blood of a cursed creature, neither human nor curse. and the way you look at him now: with affection, care. with the desire to want to protect him, as he would like to protect you.

and at this moment, he knows. what he feels is love. he feels like he's been struck by lightning, electrified to the last cell in his body. “y──yes. of course.”

god, he needs to marry you. now.

୨୧ HIROMI HIGURUMA — attracted to an opposed strength. fell first.

this is personally inspired by my view of higuruma (and inspired by oc), but it would be an amazing cliché if he fell in love with a prosecutor. it is not exactly a person, but rather a dynamic. hiromi's type of person is someone who can argue their convictions and has the determination to defend their point of view. the kind of person who could get him back on track. someone who would argue back if he were wrong.

the moment he realized he fell in love with you was a very simple day. nothing unusual. the weather a little dark, a late afternoon full of heavy clouds threatening to pour their rain on him and you. when you looked at him and smirked after “winning” an argument, he felt his own heart skip a beat in a way he never thought it could before.

he wonders if you can notice. it's obvious, how could you not? how could he not notice it earlier, he wonders. for some reason, the idea makes hiromi flinch. his mouth opens to retort, but he gives up. will saying something make it obvious how much he is in love with you? he should wait before saying something. he can do that. he can wait and wonder, will someday, your heart jump like his, when he is around you?

୨୧ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO — attracted to chaos. fell harder.

this may sound ironic, but considering megumi's deranged nature during fights requires equal and opposite strength. aka, someone as passionate and convinced as himself. someone who will turn and smile at him with blood on their hands as everything explode around you two.

the moment he realized he was in love with you was during a fight against a curse. a simple exorcism, in theory, but one where a creature suddenly appeared and was about to make him lunch. until its interruption, of course. shouting as you annihilated a curse so far from his level just to protect him ── a determination and raw fire in his eyes. it made you look like you could do anything, even kill gods.

it made his mouth go dry and his cheeks grow red. and megumi knew, it wasn't from adrenaline. it was something much, much stronger.

୨୧ KENTO NANAMI — attracted to calmness and stability. fell harder.

nanami already has a very chaotic presence in his life. satoru gojo's ironic giggles and crude jokes are terrifying. his senpai's irreverent behavior will haunt kento until the day he dies. therefore, nothing fairer than a partner who is calm, but not in the way he is calm ── cold, slightly arrogant, semi-distant from everything that is real. calm as water, in a serene and subtle, loving way. someone to share his burdens and allow himself to be vulnerable with.

the moment he realized he fell in love with you was — weird. stress gets to even the toughest of men, and someone under as much pressure as nanami, for all his composure, is still susceptible to it. the smallest things can make a stressed salaryman's day hell, like today.

nothing worked. absolutely everything backfired in the worst way possible. he spilled coffee on his jacket, had to ask for another one, where the barista got his order wrong, and in the end, he was almost late to start his work schedule. as he passed you through the jujutsu high campus (in order to avoid that tall, white ghost that terrifies his underclassmen to this day), you made him stop.

being an assistant teacher isn't exactly an easy job, considering the vast array of (potentially problematic) students that inhabit jujutsu schools. but you are always able to get them all on track without using a drop of harshness. there's a firmness to its sweetness, sure, but it's not intimidating. the brats even apologize to you honestly when they make mistakes.

when you see him, you wave gently and smile. and that smile makes kento exhale very slowly. the stress escaping him as if drained away. not entirely, but it was something. and nanami has a talent for spotting things that seem insignificant, but actually aren't.

oh, your smile. your smile always does this to him.

୨୧ SATORU GOJO — attracted to gentleness and honesty. fell first.

despite all the compliments satoru receives, he is completely sure that ninety-five percent of them are not at all sincere. it's like a poorly done bribe in an attempt to get the favor or appreciation of the strongest, because he will always be that. first the strongest sorcerer, then satoru. first a title and then a person. it's just how things work, there's no point complaining about them.

but a person who can honestly see him as a human being first and as who he is, beyond his title. a trustworthy and caring person, someone he can genuinely let his walls down with without it being a decision he regrets later.

the moment he realized he fell in love with you was on the verge of death. well, not at the brink of his death, but at yours. so many things could happen if he wasn't around, and they did. a fight with a curse user, and your obvious victory, but at what price? now he was waiting at the hospital anxiously, his fingers drumming the arm of the chair as he watched each person pass by.

every doctor, every nurse, every one of those miraculous people who could save your life. every second melted into its own agonizing torture, and satoru couldn't understand why. why was it so hard to calm down? he has been here before, so many times, with other friends in their deathbeds. it was agonizing all the same, but somehow, now it seemed worse.

when they finally said he could enter, satoru wasted no time. walking through the door and lowering her sunglasses towards him. you and your bruised body, lying on the bed and slowly turning to look at him. smiling through the pain, and his lips parting to murmur. “’toru. you're here.”

he sat down in the nearby chair and chuckled slightly, feeling his worries disappear. your voice, so gentle and truthful. so happy to see him — a friend, someone dear. not the strongest sorcerer, but him. “yeah. of course, i am.”

୨୧ SUGURU GETO. — attracted to passion. fell harder.

passion is one of the determining driving forces that makes humanity the sinister creatures that they are. passion for something can be good, like artists who created revolutionary works and opened the world's eyes to their problems. or, it can be terrible, as in geto's case: his passion is the cult and his new world.

he would like someone who is as passionate about something as he is about this philosophy itself. bonus points if the passion in question is the philosophy itself, but any number of other things might be acceptable.

it's difficult to describe a moment where suguru realizes he's in love with you, without defining a passion of yours. maybe it's a hobby like art, or maybe it's caring for a pet. it's necessary context, but whatever it is, he realizes your determination and ends up completely falling in love with it. with you.

be it watching you smiling while finishing a painting, petting your cat proudly, or anything that reveals you're determined to stick to your own principles. like he will stick to his.

୨୧ SUKUNA RYOMEN. — attracted to violence. fell harder.

i saw a post once, talking about how a sukuna's ideal type (assuming he had one) really is someone who wants him dead. it's hard to explain it, but he's definitely attracted to the more disturbing aspects of a person. in particular, a taste for violence and independence.

however, he might not like it so much if this independence became a challenge. he is willing to allow very extensive freedom to any human who interests him ── within certain limits. a king must not allow the absolute insubordination of those beneath him, after all.

he wants someone raw, and visceral. bonus points if there is a possibility that he will mentally destroy you and turn you into some kind of obedient pet. someone who was not made to be his, but could become, if he shaped you to be his and only his. don't kings enjoy having pets? he should, as well.

the moment he realizes he is in love with you is definitely a bloody scenario. you have just ripped apart a curse with your bare hands. watching you like a hawk, he sees you — covered in purple blood and panting. sukuna wonders if you would show this same voracity in other situations.

if he took you to bed, would you agree happily, spreading your legs at him and laying down obediently for him to do as he pleases? or perhaps you would try to stab him, or open his chest with your bare hands, as you did with that inferior little creature? ripping his heart out, looking him in the eyes while you take a bite of it.

he licks his lips at the thought.

୨୧ TOGE INUMAKI — attracted to spontaneous and joy. fell first.

toge does not have the ability to communicate in words normally, due to his technique's nature. he is fortunate to have access to other means of communication ── cellphones, notepads, even sign language. but something that attracts him is the perspective of someone who understands him well, and who has the energy to speak for him.

the moment he realizes he is in love with you is during a conversation. he, you and his friends are all walking and gathered together, discussing casual things. even with the hectic routine that you all have, it is very important to have these moments where you can act like normal people and not just wizards (he will bring sweets for panda, to make up for him not being able to come).

maki turns around, asking what he wants to eat. toge considers for a few moments. he honestly doesn't feel hungry tonight, but before he can respond in his ingredient language, you look at him for a second and help him communicate.

“hey, wait! i don’t think he’s hungry. right, toge?” he nods, a little surprised that you can understand before he even says anything. and while the sounds of chatter disappear around him, he focuses on you and your face. you, who always pays attention to him. you, who understands him.

୨୧ TOJI FUSHIGURO — attracted to a mix of chaotic and calmness. fell harder.

the loss of mamaguro affected toji in indescribable ways. a man should never be forced to bury the love of his life, but that's what happened. as a result, he returned to bad habits and destroyed his own life. so, his type ends up being something very difficult to define. i think he would still like someone like mamaguro, but not completely. the type of person who can be chaotic as well as calm. someone who doesn't necessarily fix him again, but someone with whom he can see companionship and honesty. kind of like partners in crime.

of course he appreciates your kindness, but he really lacks showing it back. a part of him stays awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why you're so good to him — when toji is fully aware he's not good enough for you. generally, he wouldn't mind. he moves from woman to woman, relationship to relationship, simply for money. why is he caring now?

the moment he realized he was in love with you was actually during an argument. toji is someone who is extremely difficult to deal with because of his relaxed and self-serving nature ── plus, he purposely acts annoying during fights, but you never freak out. well, today you freaked out. and while you're swearing at him from the rooftops and pointing accusingly, he can only stop and feel himself melting. for some reason.

it doesn't make sense, of course it doesn't make sense. but your calmness contrasted by such abrasive anger is extremely attractive. it's more than attractive. he feels like gasoline and you feel like a match. and god, how he wants to burn.

୨୧ YUJI ITADORI — attracted to gentleness, honesty, and pride. fell harder.

yuji's destiny has always been marred by constant and untimely misfortunes. he loses friends and fights, he fails in moments where he should win, and the destruction upon him is both physical and mental. but there is hope. a kind person who genuinely understands him and can help him take the reins or share the burden when it all gets a bit too much. someone who watches bad movies with him and laughs at the terrible jokes he makes. someone who is willing to help him forget the horrors of the world for five minutes, or be rational when he is emotional.

the moment he realizes he's in love with you is when he leaves the cinema. a (very disgusting) sequel to his favorite horror film series just came out, and you were the only person who agreed to watch it with him. as he excitedly searches the bottom of the popcorn bucket for some leftovers, he notices you looking at him. "what?" he mumbles, crunching on the popcorn.

you laugh lightly, reaching out to wipe his crumb-covered cheek. “yuji, your face is all dirty! wait, i’ll get a napkin.” that little contact of your palm with his cheek is── scorching. there is no other way to describe it. the sensation is so sudden that as you move away to grab a napkin, he lets the practically empty bucket fall to the floor.

there was so much tenderness in your stare, so much care and appreaciation. even if it wasn't your cup of tea, even if the movie would be a horrible set-up for a date, was this a date? even with all that, you— enjoyed it. enjoyed spending time with him, being with him, caring for him.

oh god. he is so in love.

୨୧ YUTA OKKOTSU — attracted to roughness and sincerity. fell first.

honestly, yuta's type can be a mean person. he wouldn't admit it, because he doesn't know how to say it without sounding almost like a masochist, but someone dragging him around by the collar while he smiles like an obedient dog is a pretty attractive prospect. he feels that he could cooperate very well with someone who is the very opposite of him ── as strange as it may seem. his type of person isn't really specific, he kind of just wants the basics: honesty, loyalty, affection. but if he could choose? someone more raw and honest, for sure. someone who would set the world on fire.

the moment he realized he was in love with you was in a strange and awkward situation. after an argument with one of his friends, you were just going to turn around and walk away at a steady pace. he doesn't like conflict, guys ── it's very stressful and makes yuta extremely anxious ── so his reaction is to just kind of stand there looking like an idiot. but you grab him by the arm and pull him away. “don't just stand there, yuta. let's go.”

“y—yes. of course.”

despite this, he knows you wouldn't be rude to him, or wouldn't be rude without a good reason. still, the almost angry tone in your voice and the authority you exude. even though he knew that in terms of power levels he would be stronger? totally attractive. he can see himself following you back and forth and a kind of dynamic that works like that. kinder and somewhat socially anxious boyfriend, and you, a scorching flame that consumes everything around you.

he kinda wants to be consumed, anyway.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. thank you for reading! <3ㅤㅤthis was not proofread.

956 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 2 months

Text

Pictures of You

Summary: While Sy is deployed, his new girlfriend sends him nudes, and now he must take care of 'business' himself while fantasizing about the things he would do to her.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x himself x OFC

Word count: 1,200

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), pure smut, graphic depiction of sex (male x female), male masturbation, bodily fluids, accidental creampie, dirty language, punishment, Freya using "peach". Being caught in the act. A bit of fluff. Not beta'd.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, translating, copying it, or parts of it and claiming it as your own*

A/N: It's been a while since I posted. I am working on a series (plural), but I got inspired by a lovely anon today. I'm not sure if I'm tagging anyone since my tag list is probably outdated and I'm not sure who still wants on. So, if you enjoyed, reblog, or comment, let me know. I'd appreciate it. 🖤

Pictures of You

At last, night unfurled, and the camp became quiet.

The glorified Captain retired to his quarters, exhausted from a day of training recruits and tedious paperwork. This deployment would be long, and though he loved being The Captain - Logan Syverson was beginning to miss home.

It was all because of her. Sy shouldn't have caught feelings, long-distance relationships were never his thing, but damn, she was something else; a woman way above his league, pretty, hot as hell and way too smart to be with a military grunt like him.

Needless to say, fucking her made him feel like a god.

Stripping down to his boxer, Sy slumped into his bed with a huff and reached for the private cell phone stuffed in his drawer.

Twenty unanswered messages appeared on the screen—three of them from her.

Joy painted his face at the sight of her name. Ignoring everything else, he went directly to read her messages.

“Missing my big Sy”, the first message read.

The other - “something to make you think of me.”

The last message was simply an attachment. Curious, Sy tapped it open.

‘Fucking hell.’

The unmistakable pang of desire instantly surged through his groin.

There she was, his sweet woman, naked and spread open like a present unwrapped, especially for him. She was sitting on her bed, one breast gripped by her palm with her nipple peeking through dark-painted nails while her other hand toyed with the sweet peach between her thighs.

“Fuck,” Sy muttered. Already rock-hard. Absentmindedly, his hand massaged the hefty bulge through the fabric of his boxers, eliciting a deep groan from under his breath.

‘What are you doing to me, babygirl?”

It wasn’t just her naked body and the way her finger teased her own slit, but the look she gave him, the familiar neediness in her gaze, the way she bit her lip.

Damn, if she was here right now… He’d fucking punish her for teasing him so bad! He’d pin her to the wall with his hand around her throat and show her what happens to naughty girls who like playing such wicked games.

Now he had three fucking months to go, and all he could think of was how bad he wanted to be inside her tight little cunt.

‘Well, guess I’ll have to take care of this myself…’

Springing his cock free from his boxers, he ran his rough fingers up and down the length of his imposing shaft - slow at first, as Sy enjoyed taking his time, just as he would with her. His thumb rolled across the crown of his cock, gently grazing the tip while he imagined flipping her against the pitted wall in this room. Make her take it from behind so he could look at that perfect rounded ass of hers and watch his cock slipping in and out of her body.

Still holding the photo open, he focused on her succulent cunt before spitting onto his open palm and griping himself once again. Tighter this time, he squeezed onto his girth and began to fuck his own hand.

Pants and groans sputtered from his mouth, his chest heaving as he gradually picked up the pace. In his fantasy, he parted her ass cheeks and teased her dripping little hole until she begged him to fuck him. Then he forced himself all the way in, making her cry out.

The sounds of her moans echoed in his memory, so helpless and desperate at the same time - he was nearly too much for her; that narrow cavern of hers could barely take his leviathan cock, but still, she took every pounding, becoming wetter around his shaft as her body not only yielded to accommodate him but lured him deeper inside.

“I want inside you, babygirl…” Sy mumbled out loud, his hand now moving in ecstatic fervour. Sweat dripped down the contracting muscles of his abs. Soon, he felt himself swell even larger, and his sack strained with the desperate need for release.

He tightened his grip, now choking his shaft and thinking of how it felt when she came around him. How she contracted all around his cock and shattered like glass smashing on the floor.

“Don’t come inside….” She’d warned him. She wasn’t on the pill. But this time, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from filling her full of his cum, and maybe… he wouldn’t want to…

It was his fantasy, after all.

“FUCK!!!”

With the image spilling inside her, he allowed himself to be swept by the fierce waves of pleasure, his entire body buzzing with bliss as hot, thick ribbons of ecstasy spilt over his fingers. He might have shouted too loudly, but it’s not like he ever gave a fuck.

It took Sy a few good minutes to climb down to earth, and then he chuckled hoarsely as he noticed the mess he had left on his hand. Shaking his head, he reached for a towel and wiped himself clean before returning to gaze at her photo.

“What am I gonna do with you, doll?”

Well, there was an idea. He could repay the favour by sending her a photo of himself. Usually, he was against this type of stuff, but what she did was particularly risky for a woman, and if she was bold enough to treat him, he could do the same. Besides, they had three months until they could meet again. He better make sure she remembered who she belonged to.

He stroked himself lightly. Still semi-hard, he wondered whether he could work himself to another erection this soon when a knock sounded at the door.

“Mother of f…. One moment !!!”

Sy yelled. Irritated, he briefly tucked his shaft back in his boxers and jumped out of bed. The room smelled rancid, but Sy couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even bring himself to put on a shirt as he rushed to the door.

“What?” He grunted before getting to see who was on the other side.

‘Well, fuck me sideways.’

It was a woman because why the hell not? Private Hicks, to be precise. The young thing’s eyes flared with surprise and then snapped to the floor to avoid staring at her sweaty, half-naked superior, but not before catching a glance of his hairy, tattooed chest and the semi-erected bulge in his groin.

The strong scent of sweat and sex hit her nostrils like a smack in the face. It took everything not to curl her face. There was no need to put two and two together to realise what she had just intruded.

“Sir.” Hicks saluted in badly hidden embarrassment.

Sy let out a deep sigh. Clearly, she knew what he was doing before she arrived. She probably heard him come all over himself right before knocking. Frankly, he wasn’t ashamed.

“Get on with it, Private.”

“Sir,” she repeated, her voice a slight tremble. “ I’m sorry to bother you… but the Major asked me to get you.”

Sy scratched the back of his head and groaned deeply. “Tell him I’ll be there in 10.”

Without any other comment, he shut the door, leaving Hicks to wander back to the Major’s office, all shaken and quaking.

As she walked away, she couldn’t help but bite her lips. All across her body, she felt those little electric streams of excitement, and her breath suddenly became shallow. She shouldn’t have thought of her superior like this, on what he did behind that closed door just a moment before she arrived, but Captain Syverson was too hot to handle and, needless to say, too loud.

Well, she’d have to take care of herself later…

#henry cavill #captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson x ofc #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #sand castle

825 notes · View notes

captainreecejames · 3 months

Text

The "You Can Call Her Phone" Series (Lewis Version)

inspired by the tiktok edit by britcedez, "you can call her phone but she aint gon answer... you can call her phone and I'll probably answer." this is the first of the series featuring different drivers.

warnings: man who can't take a hint, maybe a little bit of possessiveness

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader

wc: 477

You're in the bathroom doing some skincare routine when your cell starts ringing. "Babe, can you answer that?"

Lewis grabs your phone from the charger, seeing the name Paul on the screen with a green puke-face emoji. He smirks as he answers it.

"Hi Paul," he answers loudly, waiting for you to make a face from the bathroom. You stick your head around the door, eyes wide in what Lewis decides is a mix of disgust and bewilderment. It's 9:30 at night on a Tuesday, there is no reason he should be calling you.

"Oh, Lewis." Paul is surprised on the other end, clearly not thinking that you'd be with your boyfriend right now. "Didn't think you'd be with our YN tonight?"

Holding back a scoff, Lewis decides that he wants to have a little fun. "Our?" He clarifies, raising an eyebrow at you. You shrug, moving back in front of the mirror. “Last time I checked she was my girlfriend.” There’s a pause on the other end and Lewis is a little surprised Paul hasn’t put up more of a fight.

“Well um… Can I talk to Y/N?” Paul is trying to sound assertive, but through the phone it comes across as whiny.

“She’s busy right now, can I give her a message?” Lord knows he wouldn’t actually relay any message the guy wanted to give you, but that wasn’t so important right now.

“I was just concerned about how she was doing, so no need really.”

“Concerned about her well being? Are you trying to be her boyfriend?” Lewis’s voice is teasing, but it’s enough for Paul to know that he can’t play any games.

“I’m like her work boyfriend,” Paul answers and that just makes you wince.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. To be her work boyfriend she’d have to actually want to talk to you.”

At that you gasp, hoping that Paul can’t hear you from the other line. “Lewis,” you scold in a whisper, but he’s just smirking over at you.

“Well,” Paul huffs, which just makes Lewis’ smirk grow wider. “Then I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks for trying to check in mate,” Lewis gets in before Paul can hang up, laughing loudly as the screen turns black.

“I can’t believe you said that,” you tell him when he joins you in the bathroom.

“You told me to answer your phone.” He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, putting his head on your shoulder.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think that you’d say that to Paul. It was so mean!” The smile on your face tells him that you don’t mean it. Paul was quite annoying and couldn’t seem to take a hint, hopefully talking to Lewis got it through his thick skull that you really didn’t want to spend anymore time with him.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 imagines #lewis hamilton x fem!reader #My writing

578 notes · View notes

silksongeveryday · 3 months

Text

Drawing Hornet everyday until Silksong comes out - Day 400!!!

Well then.

Thanks to everyone for all the love and support, genuinely one of the biggest reasons I still continue doing this daily. You all are amazing :)

And thank you for 2.3k!!!

…I don’t really know what else to say at this point lol???? I’ve been doing this so long these milestones are starting to become less and less exciting. /lh

I’ll be honest I was really banking on Silksong being released in 2023 I genuinely wasn’t expecting to make it more than 250 days tbh. But hey, I guess I was joining the delusional crowd with that one lol. I just really hope Silksong releases this year or at least we get a confirmed release date at all???? All this waiting is starting to feel like kingdom hearts 3 all over again

Well anyway, here’s my 100 day checkup I guess:

Burnout has been wavering in and out I think. I’m not putting in effort like I used to during the day 150-250 period of this blog but hey the fact that I’m still dedicating a brain cell to this at all is impressive to me. Generally speaking I’m not a person who likes to commit themselves to something for more than a year unless I absolutely have to. I could literally take a break from this blog whenever I want but it’s been such a consistent part of my daily routine that I just haven’t lol.

I’ve been debating back and forth with myself on whether or not I want to have a couple people helping out with the blog. On one hand it would be really nice to have a helping hand so I could take more consistent breaks but on the other hand I’ve never been good at communication especially because organizing something like that is wayyyy out of my comfort zone. I run my blog a very specific way and I’m often bad at explaining my process to others without something getting misunderstood.

So I’m thinking up a few other ideas as well. Don’t feel like going into specifics because I’m not certain on them at all but if I feel like one works I’ll talk about it more in the future here or on my main blog.

Life has been really busy lately but after a long time I think I might finally have time to dedicate a full day to drawing multiple doodles so I can mass schedule and take a longer break I think. No promises on that but here’s to hoping.

Oh yeah also today’s specific drawing is inspired by Day 174. Also considered a redraw I guess??

That’s all I can think to say right now, so I guess that’s everything, thanks for reading! Here’s to more doodles! :)

#hollow knight #silksong #hk hornet #hollow knight hornet #silksong hornet #hk ghost #the knight #silksongeveryday #hk hollow #ssed asks #hk hollow knight #the hollow knight #hk the hollow knight #hollow knight ghost #hollow knight fanart #hk fanart #ssed

514 notes · View notes

gigabyte-flare · 1 year

Text

Insatiable (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: Your collages should have listened to you.

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: Huge shout out to @chanif-art who's artwork continues to inspire me and this story. I am completely blown away with how well part 1 was received. Thank you to everyone who's liked, reblogged, commented and even simply read it. I didn't do a tag list for this one because I think well over 50 people asked and I completely lost track. Anyway, I hope this meets your expectations! I was listening to Little Girl Gone while writing this... for some reason it just fits plagas!Leon.

“Honey, I’ve changed so much since I last saw ya.”

You open your eyes, finding yourself inside Leon’s cell. You dart your head around, looking frantically when you realize you’re chained to the chair, the same chair Leon had previously been chained to. You hear Leon chuckle, a low chilling sound as he walks up from behind you, taking long, slow strides. He turns to face you, you notice the black veins sprawling his body have gotten darker, his eyes more red. He grins as he kneels down to be at eye level with you, his four canine teeth noticeably sharp. He runs his tongue along his teeth.

“There you are, sweetheart. I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Leon says with a purr.

Your eyes are wide, taking labored deep breaths before you attempt to struggle. Leon laughs, shaking his head.

“That won’t do you any good I’m afraid, but don’t worry, I’ll get you out of those chains so we can have some play time.”

Leon stands back up, walking back behind you. You hear him break the chains apart with his bare hands. You waste no time bolting out of the chair and to the door. No matter how much you pull, the door won’t budge. You turn around to find Leon standing directly behind you. He grabs you by the waist pulling you to him. You flail your arms at him, trying to fight him off. Out of the corner of your eye you see Bryan on the other side of the clear panel holding a clipboard, taking notes.

“Bryan?! Get me out of here! I’m trapped in here with him, please! He’s going to hurt me!”

Bryan lifts his head, shaking it, “the data you’ll provide from this is too valuable to pass up I’m afraid. We need to know if he’s capable of procreating with a un-infected human and what the offspring will look like.”

“WHAT?!” you scream, “Bryan have you lost your mind?!”

Completely ignoring your pleas, Bryan continues, “remember what we agreed on, Leon. You are not to infect her with the plaga until she gives birth. After that, you can do with her as you please.”

“I remember the agreement, you fucking prick,” Leon growls next to your ear before he licks your earlobe.

“NO I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS BRYAN, YOU LET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!” you continue to scream as you try to fight Leon off.

Leon, however, is much more powerful than you; he bites into your shoulder and makes short work of pinning you to the floor, his hands gripping your jeans and ripping them off you, leaving you with your pair of lace panties. You attempt to crawl across the floor towards Bryan, but Leon drags you back by your hips. Leon flips you over to face him, caging you with his body. He simply stares down at you, his smile wide. You watch as drool drips from his face onto your shirt, which he promptly rips apart to reveal your matching bra to him.

“Aren’t you just delicious to look at?” Leon says, licking his lips before locking his lips onto yours in a hungry kiss.

To your horror, you’re returning his kiss, his hands grasping to both of your breasts. He pulls away after a couple minutes, sitting on his haunches as he pushes your legs apart, noting the dark spot that is now on your panties.

“Oh? You don’t want this? Then tell me why you’re so fucking wet, sweetheart?”

Leaning forward, he grabs your panties with his teeth, dragging them off you before tossing them aside. He then begins undoing the belt on his pants; before long he is pulling his hardening cock from his pants. He wastes no time climbing back on top of you, pushing himself inside you balls deep with ease.

When the head of his cock kisses your cervix, your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out a soft moan. Leon growls, thrusting into you with an insatiable ferocity, causing you to grip his arms, scratching into them with your nails. You felt like he was fucking you for an eternity when he let’s out another growl, pressing into you as deep as he could possibly go. You feel your cunt clamp around his cock, milking his cum into your body.

Leon stares back down at you, his eyes and grin wide as he laughs maniacally.

You wake up screaming, covered in sweat and tears streaming down your face. You take deep breaths, laying your hand on your chest to ground yourself.

It was just a nightmare.

Once you get yourself calm, you climb out of bed and go into the kitchen of your apartment, making yourself coffee and some toast for breakfast. Afterwards, you get ready for work and head out the door. On your way, you decide to stop at the pharmacy. Walking the aisles, you find the feminine hygiene products, grabbing an ovulation test off the shelf and paying for it. Once you get to HQ, you trap yourself into one of the bathroom stalls, taking the test and waiting for the results. You watch in horror as a little smiley face shows up on the little screen, confirming your hypothesis.

You collect yourself before briskly walking into Bryan’s office. You don’t knock, you simply push the door open aggressively, startling both Bryan and the researcher he’s meeting with, you think his name is Pierce.

“I am not going back down there, Bryan,” you say sternly.

Pierce shifts uncomfortably in his seat before standing up to leave, “I’ll go check on the camera feed downstairs.”

You and Bryan stare at each other as the door swings shut. Bryan rubs his eyes.

“Not this again, I’m sorry but I need you to go down there, you’re still the only one Leon talks to. Is this about what happened yesterday? I assure you, we have taken extra precautions to ensure that doesn’t happen again.”

You stomp up to Bryan’s desk, slamming the positive ovulation test onto the desk. Bryan looks down at the test before looking at you and raising an eyebrow.

“The fuck is this?” he asks.

“I’m ovulating, this is why Leon keeps saying I smell good and wants to practically throw himself on me whenever I’m down there.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Can you think of a logical explanation, then? I’m all ears.”

“This is not up for debate, you are going to continue working with Leon; that’s an order!”

Suddenly, the lights go dim before red emergency lights come on followed by a loud, screeching alarm.

“What the hell?!” Bryan exclaims, looking around confused.

You’ve never heard this alarm during your entire time at D.S.O., you rack your brain around what it could mean when suddenly, Pierce bursts into the office.

“Pierce! What the hell is going on out there?!” Bryan asks.

“Kennedy’s escaped, sir!”

Leon opens his eyes and lifts his head, looking around his cell. Deep down he was seething in rage; he had gotten so close to getting out of this chair and having his way with you. Now, his chair had reinforced steel plating welded to it and they strapped a god damn muzzle onto his face. He could see he now had two men with guns guarding the door at all times.

Fucking beautiful.

He tested the chains again, but found they had been tightened recently, angering him even more. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and hoped he would see you today. He hated the thought of you seeing him like this, but he desperately wanted to see you and inhale your sweet, sweet scent.

Out of nowhere, an excruciating pain jolts down Leon’s spine, causing him to cry out and writhe in his chair. His four canine teeth grow sharper, his fingers turning black and now taking on a claw-like appearance and a new, sharp appendage was peaking out of his lower back. The guards turned around to look at Leon. They immediately unlock the door and come into this cell to check on him. Leon stops writhing, slumping over in his chair, pretending to be passed out. One guard stays by the door, facing away from them while the other comes over to check on Leon, checking the chains to make sure they’re in place.

Unbeknownst to the guard closest to Leon, Leon’s new tail was extending from his back, coming around from behind the guard. It was very similar to a scorpion’s tail, but instead of a barb on the end, it looked like a blade. Within an instant, Leon’s tail wraps around the guard’s neck, snapping it instantly as four claw-like appendages burst from Leon’s back, breaking the chains holding his arms in place. Hearing the other guard fall to the floor the other guard turns around only to be faced with Leon, who is now up out of his chair and walking towards him, ripping the muzzle off his face, flashing a maniacal grin at the guard. The guard goes to shoot Leon but Leon is much faster, his tail whipping forward and impaling the man in the chest before flinging him aside.

Leon strides out of his cell, looking down the hallway to see a pair of researchers coming down the hallway. Upon seeing Leon out of his cell, they start shouting at each other and turn to run in the opposite direction. Leon smiles, breaking into a sprint. He leaps, pinning one researcher to the ground with his body while his tail grabs the other by the waist, lifting him into the air.

“Where is she?!” Leon asks with a growl to the researcher he has pinned to the floor.

“Where’s who?!” the researcher stutters.

“Don’t play dumb with me! Where is she?!”

“Up-Upstairs! In Br-Bryan’s office!”

Leon’s mouth clamps down onto the researcher's neck, ripping out his throat as his tail squeezes the other until his spine snaps, falling to the floor as Leon lets him go. At that moment, all the lights dim before red emergency lights come on. Leon breaks back into a sprint to the elevator however, it was not working no matter how many buttons he pushed. He uses his tale to rip a hole into the ceiling, leaping up into it and climbing the elevator shaft.

Once he reaches the top, he pries the elevator door open, swinging down, landing gracefully in the hallway. People are scrambling to get away from him, bumping and tripping over each other to run down the hallway. Leon’s red eyes scan the area, however, he sees no sign of you. More guards with guns show up, firing at him. His tale whips forward, deflecting their bullets with ease as he lunges forward. He impales one operative with his tail while his hand thrusts through the chest of another, gripping the man’s still beating heart in his claws before crushing it.

“Take her and get out of here!” he hears a man yell from down the hallway.

Leon’s attention is immediately drawn to the man that yelled, immediately recognizing him as Bryan. At one time, he liked the man, a brilliant scientist. Too bad he has to die. Leon watches as Bryan pulls out a pistol, firing shots at him. Again. Leon’s tail and back claws deflect the shots as he stands face to face with Bryan, his tail whipping around and decapitating the man with ease. He brings his tail’s blade to his lips, licking off the blood as he proceeds to walk down the hallway towards the entrance of HQ.

A researcher is leading you out the front door, shoving you through the door with his back turned to Leon. He’s about to head out himself before Leon’s tail goes straight through his chest. Leon hears the man’s death gurgles as he flings him behind him, his body falling about 20 feet away with a loud thud.

And there you are, cowering in the entry vestibule, your eyes locked on him, looking up and down his body. Leon straightens out his posture in hopes of making himself alluring to you, his tail whipping back and forth while his back claws flex.

“Do you actually think you can escape me?” Leon coos, watching as you press your back as hard as you can into the glass doors as he comes closer.

“You never will, my love.” he continues with a grin, licking his sharp canines.

You stumble out of the door, bolting into the street and running as fast as you can to your car.

“I will find you.”

Part 3

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy x reader #gigabyte writes #insatiable

3K notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 2 months

Text

Academic Validation | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Amid relentless academic pressure, Y/N finds herself consumed by the desperate pursuit of perfection in her college. Her obsession with validation leads her to neglect her own basic needs until a sudden accident forces her to confront the reality of her situation, receiving the complete help and support of her boyfriend, Chris.

Warning: Comparison, crying, dark thoughts, fainting.

Requested?: Yes, by @sturniolowhore

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N sat at her desk in the corner of her shared room with Chris, surrounded by mountains of books, papers, and her laptop, whose screen glowed brightly in the semi-darkness of the room. The clock on the wall showed 2 a.m., but for her, time had lost all meaning.

The sound of Chris' light snores, who was sleeping soundly in the bed just a few meters away from the girl, sounded muffled against her ears. She had tried to sleep, really, but sleep wouldn't come at all, and when Y/N was sure that her boyfriend had finally slept, she was able to get up.

Her mind was totally immersed in study. Every cell in her body focused on absorbing every detail of the laws, the precedent cases, and the doctrines. She was obsessed with academic validation, an incessant compulsion to be the best in her law school, not because she wanted to be better than others, but to show herself that she was capable of something.

The pressure to achieve excellence was overwhelming. Every time a score was posted, her heart raced in anticipation, and each less-than-perfect mark was a stab at her already fragile self-esteem.

Y/N never felt like she was enough, no matter how hard she worked or how well she did. There was always that underlying fear of not being good enough, of not living up to other people's expectations and, even worse, her own unrealistically high expectations.

Days and nights melted into a haze of books and coffee as she sank deeper and deeper into her quest for perfection. She found herself studying until the early hours of the morning, neglecting her basic needs.

Eating had become a sporadic activity, limited to quick and insufficient snacks. Drinking water was a luxury she couldn't afford to waste time on. Taking a shower or even going out to get some sun was completely out of the question.

Her body began to show signs of abandonment, her eyes sunken and tired, her skin pale and lifeless. The dark circles that adorned her face were like badges of honor, marking the sleepless nights and days of incessant study.

But Y/N ignored all the signs.

She was determined not to be overcome by her own limits, even if it meant sacrificing her physical and mental health in the process.

Chris, worried, tried in vain to bring a little normality to her life. He watched from afar every day, helpless in the face of the web of obsession that enveloped Y/N.

He would try to talk to her, sometimes even begging Matt to do so - his brother had a way with words, but she would always evade it, sinking deeper into her bubble of study and self-denial.

Y/N didn't want to worry him, didn't want to admit she was losing control. She was determined to face this battle alone, no matter the cost.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The clock on the wall read almost 9 pm of a Tuesday, and Y/N was still locked in her shared room with Chris, immersed in a sea of books and papers. Her desk was a chaotic mess, with crumpled papers and several tabs open on Google on her laptop, each representing a different subject that she was desperately trying to absorb. Her hand hurt from writing so much, her eyes burned from reading so much, and her body was weak from the time she had spent there.

Chris entered the room for the fifth time that day, carrying a glass of water in one hand and a pink plate with a simple sandwich in the other. His heart sank when he saw Y/N's state, her tense and exhausted expression, her almost obsessive determination to continue studying, ignoring everything else.

His blue eyes traveled across the mess of the table slowly, noticing the plate of Y/N's favorite cookies, which he had brought hours earlier, still untouched, and he swore he felt his heart break again.

"Hi babe... Here, you need to eat something." The boy approached cautiously, trying not to scare her. His voice sounded softly, showing her the plate with the sandwich.

Y/N looked down at the ceramic, her tired eyes reflecting a mix of stubbornness and exhaustion.

"I... I need to keep studying." She murmured, shaking her head, her voice weak and shaky. "I have an important test, Chris. I can't stop now."

Chris felt a wave of frustration and anger rise up inside him. He knew how important that test was for Y/N - and all the others she studied incessantly, but he also knew that she was pushing her limits. He refused to stand by and watch as she destroyed herself.

“Y/N, you can’t go on like this.” He insisted, his voice rising slightly with urgency. "You need to rest, you need to eat, you need to do something besides studying!"

"I can't, Chris. I can't stop now. I need to..." Y/N shook her head determinedly, keeping her blurry eyes fixed on the papers in front of her.

Chris sighed heavily, dropping the plate and cup onto the wooden surface with a thud, his own frustration spilling over into angry tears.

“You’re destroying yourself, Y/N.” He murmured, his voice choked by the weight of his own emotions. "And I can't stand here and watch it anymore."

With that, Chris turned and left the room, leaving a very lost Y/N behind, her teeth biting her lower lip hard in an attempt to stop her feelings from taking over herself, an atmosphere full of tension and despair taking over the environment.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Then came the day when her body finally said enough was enough.

It was 2 a.m., and Y/N was sitting at her desk as usual when a wave of exhaustion hit her with full force. She felt dizzy, her vision blurred, and her hands shook uncontrollably. The world around her seemed to fall apart as she fought to stay conscious.

The girl gripped the edge of the wooden surface tightly, trying to stabilize herself, but the force used was almost nil, her fingers sliding across the table and her arms falling limply. Her senses gradually disappeared, causing her body to bend to the right until she completely collapsed, escaping the safety of the chair.

The sound of Y/N's body hitting the floor made Chris jump out of bed in instant fright. The boy sat up abruptly, his sleep-clouded eyes traveling around the room in search of the source of the rude sound. His heart raced with panic when he saw his girlfriend lying on the floor, motionless.

Chris ripped the blanket off his body, quickly standing up and running to her, ignoring his own confusion and worry flooding his mind.

"Y/N! Y/N, baby, wake up!" He shouted, desperate, as he knelt beside her, pushing the pink gaming chair away.

With shaking hands, he checked her breathing and pulse, relieved to find that she was still breathing. Carefully, Chris turned her onto her side, briefly remembering when Nick told him that this was the correct procedure to do when a person suddenly passed out. His wide blue eyes ran frantically over her body as he silently counted the seconds in his mind.

Relief flooded him as he saw Y/N begin to regain consciousness, her eyes blinking slowly as she tried to understand where she was.

"Chris? What... what happened?" She murmured, her voice weak and her brow furrowed in confusion, her right hand rising from its limp position and reaching towards her head, pressing against the side, a pained expression spreading across her face.

Chris ignored her question momentarily, lowering himself to her level and pulling her into a hug tightly, sighing deeply as he repeated in his mind that she was there, alive and fine.

"You passed out, sweetheart. I heard the noise and... Oh God, Y/N, I thought you had..." The tears - which the boy barely noticed coming into his eyes - began to flow freely down his cheeks, his heart aching at the thought of the possibility of losing her.

His thoughts self-sabotaged him, making him feel guilty, he felt that he should have realized sooner - despite all the countless attempts to try to bring her out of her bubble, that he should have done something to prevent her from getting to that extreme point.

Y/N slowly sat up with the support of Chris's hands after he backed away, still feeling weak and bewildered.

Upon hearing her boyfriend's words, she felt her own eyes fill with tears, the accumulated emotions overflowing into a torrent of anguish and despair.

"I'm sorry, babe. Fuck- I'm so sorry. I... I can't do this anymore, Chris." A sob escaped her throat roughly, her voice choked with crying. "I'm destroying myself because of my own expectations. I... I don't know what to do anymore." She whispered, lowering her gaze to the ground, trapping her lower lip between her teeth in an attempt to stop the ugly sounds that wanted to escape in an avalanche. "Oh my God, I hurt you."

Chris held her gently, pulling her to lay her head on his shoulder, cradling her in his arms like a baby while they were still on the floor, unburdening herself of all her worries and fears. He listened intently to her ranting, his heart clenched by the pain Y/N was facing alone.

“Hey, hey, baby, don't do this to yourself. You’re not alone in this, Y/N.” Chris murmured, gently kissing the top of her head. "I'm here, always have been and always will be. I promise we'll get through this, love."

"I'm so sorry, Chris." The girl murmured, lifting her gaze from the ground and focusing on the brunette's orbs, wondering how he still allowed himself to love and help her so much, even after causing him such worries and fear.

Chris shook his head, silently reassuring her that everything was fine. He pulled his girl's pink chair towards them, slowly lifting himself so as not to hurt her and sitting on the plush seat, before guiding Y/N onto his lap, sitting her sideways on his thighs and laying her face on his shoulder, his mind working hard to come up with an idea to help Y/N find a healthy balance between her academic aspirations and her personal well-being.

"Why don't we establish a more realistic study plan, hm? With time to rest and all the self-care that will be good for you, I'll help you." The brunette whispered, looking down anxiously, hoping she could understand his point. "We can also seek professional help, a therapist, who will help you deal with your emotions and anxieties. If you want, I can participate in all the sessions with you."

Y/N looked at Chris with gratitude in her teary eyes. She knew it wouldn't be an easy journey, but with Chris's loving support by her side, she felt a spark of hope light up in her heart.

"Would you do that for me?" Her voice came out in a broken whisper, her heart warming at his sweet words.

"I'll be right by your side, my love. Always." Chris responded without blinking.

He lowered his head, sealing the top of Y/N's hair for long seconds, stroking the area with his nose lightly. His hands wrapped tightly around her body, keeping her secure in his lap and against his own body, before beginning to draw invisible circles with his fingers against her covered back.

"Sleep, sweet girl. I'll be here when you wake up. Everything will be alright."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

484 notes · View notes

throwaway-yandere · 6 months

Text

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting.

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either.

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white.

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?"

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man.

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts.

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species."

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

537 notes · View notes

chahnniesroom · 7 months

Text

for better, for worse

pairing: lee minho x female reader

summary: an arranged marriage is anything but ideal. minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he's lacking, but you haven't exactly been the perfect wife either. a phone call from you leads to a shift in priorities.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: angst, mention of a car accident, mentioned death of a minor character

a/n: originally this was going to be part of a longer fic, but i will never write that longer fic, so i decided to post it! the name of this fic is what inspired me to create the till death do us part collection. i hope you enjoy!

part 2 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Minho had never really thought that he’d be married before the age of 30. Sure, he knew that his parents would likely expect it of him, but he prioritised work far too much to have a meaningful relationship with anyone. So it’s not exactly a surprise that when his parents announce that they’ve arranged a marriage with you, Minho doesn’t suddenly become an attentive and doting partner. In fact, even a year later, he still hasn’t gotten very close to you.

Minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he’s lacking, but you haven’t exactly been the perfect wife either. Behind closed doors, you seem openly resentful of this whole situation and do your best to avoid Minho altogether.

Honestly, Minho doesn’t blame you. If he thinks about it, which he tries not to, you have it even worse off than him. You’re younger by a couple years and had been in the process of rising through the ranks of your family’s company when you’d been forced into becoming a dutiful housewife instead of an executive.

You had tried at first, texting him good morning, staying up late to wait for him to get home from work, and making sure the staff always had fresh and healthy meals prepared. Minho feels guilty thinking of how often he had brushed you off, but he had just been promoted and a lot of the executives, your father included, were just waiting to see him make a mistake. The overwhelming pressure had led him to spend more nights than not at the office and when he did go home, his thoughts still revolved on the work he had left to do.

You haven’t done anything drastic to express your dissatisfaction yet, but it feels like it’s only a matter of time.

Tonight would be the perfect way to do so. The two of you are expected to be present for an event, one that Minho has been invited to speak at. His assistant, Jiyu, tells him that it’s the opportunity of a lifetime and stresses how important it is for everything to go according to plan.

Minho heads to the event straight from the office and isn’t surprised that you’re not there before him. Even 30 minutes after the event has officially started, he still doesn’t mind since it’s just been mingling so far, something that he knows you detest. It’s when they sit everybody down to start serving the meal that he starts getting impatient, his temper starting to make itself known.

You know that this night is important for Minho and he’s told you multiple times that he expects you to be there. He knew that you had been picked up on time since he’d even sent his personal driver, Jeonghoon, to get you and Jeonghoon had sent assurances that the two of you were on your way.

You're frustratingly convincing though, Minho has never been able to say no to you and he knows that you've charmed all the household staff as well.

He'd texted Jeonghoon once to check where you were, but hadn't gotten a reply and he just hopes that it's because traffic is bad and not because you're plotting something.

When Jiyu pesters Minho about the lack of your presence, he gives in and calls your cell phone. It rings for a while, and Minho is about to hang up when you finally answer.

“Minho!” you say, sounding delighted. Minho is instantly suspicious. “You’re calling me.”

“Where are you?” he demands coldly. “It’s late.”

“I-I tried to call,” you continue to babble. “This time, I was good, really. I remem-remembered to call Jiyu-ssi instead of your phone. She said you were busy and not to bother you. But they needed someone to come help and I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

“Y/n, are you- are you drunk?” he asks in disbelief. If he sounded cold before, his voice is absolutely frigid now. Someone happens to walk by and they look frightened by whatever expression is on his face based on the way that they scurry past while trying to avoid eye contact.

“No!” you deny vehemently, even though there’s still something odd about the tone of your voice. “I didn’t drink anything! They didn’t let me. They won’t let me do anything. They just gave me this thing and-”

“Where are you.”

“I’m at the hospital,” you say plainly.

“What?” Minho stands up from the table, uncaring of the way that everyone swivels to look at him. He had stayed quiet enough before to prevent eavesdropping, but forgets to keep his voice down reacting to your matter-of-fact response. “What happened?”

“We were driving to the hotel,” you say in a small voice. “I didn’t want to be late. I- I don’t know what happened. There was another car- they were in a rush too.” You stop to hiccup.

“Y/n-” Minho is at the entrance to the ballroom and doesn’t even wait for the staff to heave the doors open, opting to push through them himself. He knows he's making a scene, but he couldn’t care less about anybody else in the room at the moment.

“He’s gone,” you interrupt, sounding hollow. “Jeonghoon. They couldn’t even get him out of the car. I saw it. Him. What was left. There was so much blood.”

It feels like Minho’s stomach drops right to the floor.

“Y/n-”

He can barely hear your reply, instead the rush of his pulse in his ears drowns out any other sound. He's suddenly aware of how shaky his breathing has gotten, shallow gasps that barely provide any oxygen to his lungs.

“It doesn’t feel real,” you say, subdued. “They keep saying that I was really lucky, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Are you hurt?” Minho’s almost afraid to ask.

“Oh,” you sound surprised. “Me? I- Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t worry? Never mind, just tell me what hospital you’re at. I’m on my way.” Minho has forgotten that you're particularly skilled at deflecting questions, even ones that are direct.

“What? No! You can’t leave, you have your speech-”

“Y/n,” Minho says gently. You're starting to sound panicked and since he still doesn't know what your condition is, he doesn't want you to be any more stressed than you already are. “It’s okay, I’ve already excused myself.”

“I know tonight was really important to you,” you say miserably. “I ruined it. I’m sorry. Oh I- Someone’s here, I have to go now. Don't come, please. I’m fine, really. Stay at the event.”

The call ends abruptly and Minho is left staring at his phone.

“Minho-ssi,” Jiyu hisses from beside him. Her heels clack as she tries to keep up with him. Minho's already halfway across the lobby, but he can still see into the ballroom where a number of people are still staring after him. They must think he’s gone crazy. There’s a smile on Jiyu's face, but the tone of her voice is anything but friendly. “What are you doing? They're not finished serving dinner and you have to be on stage soon.”

Minho doesn’t even bother to answer, starting to dial for a car to come pick him up before he realises, dismayed, that he’s pulled up Jeonghoon’s number. He shakes his head for a moment before calling someone else.

Jiyu grabs at his elbow, pulling him to a stop. Even through the layers of his clothes, her nails are sharp pin pricks that dig into the flesh of his arm.

“Minho-ssi, you can’t just leave!”

Minho wrenches himself from her grasp and turns to scowl at her. She stumbles back at the force of his glare for a moment before reaching out again.

“Y/n’s in the hospital,” he explains. That should be enough explanation, but it still doesn’t seem to affect her. "I have to go."

“Tonight is critical if you want to win over enough people for the contract that you’re negotiating. Don’t waste any time worrying about her. If she's at the hospital, there’s nothing that you can do to help Y/n, she’s already being taken care of,” Jiyu says coolly. “Some things are more important.”

Minho stares at her for a long moment.

Jiyu has worked with Minho for a significant portion of his career. Her analytical and no-nonsense way of handling things is part of the reason that he’s been able to make it as far as he has. For the longest time, he had admired her ability to set aside her emotions to make logical, objective decisions.

Now he wonders if she’s just heartless.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho can see a car pull up to the doors and he makes his own decision.

“Yes," he agrees. Jiyu lets out a sigh of relief and reaches out to tug him back to the ballroom. Minho steps away to avoid her hand. "Some things- some people are more important. I didn't see that before and I won't make that mistake again. Jiyu-ssi, give everybody my apologies that I was not able to stay and then you may go home. Thank you for your service all these years, but I will not be needing you as my assistant any longer."

He doesn't look back.

part 2 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

587 notes · View notes

ghcstao3 · 6 months

Note

siren ghost and sailor soap?

sort of inspired by the pirates of the caribbean sirens scene because it’s one of my favourite things of that series. also i got a little carried away

Over the many, many years of traversing the Seven Seas for his life’s work, Soap has become intimately familiar with the abundant myths and legends about the ocean and what lies beneath.

Of course, most of these hold no truth. Most of these are only mere stories to quell the anxieties of sailors, or to provide reasoning to strange occurrences seemingly otherwise unexplainable.

Sirens are, unfortunately, the exception.

Ruthless, ravenous creatures—they’re the worst fear of any sailor who knows the worth of his own life, and like most things that make mortal men afraid, they’ve been transformed into weapons.

Soap only knows that sirens are real because of what happens to many prisoners at sea—from the brig they’re moved to rowboats without paddles, abandoned and forced to sing until the sirens appear to lure them into the water, where flesh would be torn from bone with razor sharp teeth.

It’s a terrifying sight. The creatures are like sharks called to blood with the way they appear, like piranhas with the way they feast.

It’s horrifying. Fascinating. And Soap has vowed to never let himself end up on one of those boats.

But alas. Fate has other plans for him.

Soap had been reluctant to join the crew of Captain Philip Graves when presented with the opportunity, but the pay promised had been good, the work simple, and the destination somewhere he’s never been.

But what Soap hadn’t realized is that Graves likes to take prisoners. He likes to engage in unfair combat with other ships, and operates almost like a pirate, though not explicitly enough to be considered one himself.

Soap realizes his mistake far too late when he wanders down to the brig one night, otherwise unable to sleep. They’re two weeks into their voyage by now, and Soap knows there’s people in the jail—but he hadn’t known the state of them.

Most already without a secure amount of food outside their makeshift cell, they’re emaciated, wasting away in the hull of the vessel. They’re barely responsive when Soap knocks on the bars of the hold and pokes someone’s damp shoulder. Someone weakly latches onto Soap’s sleeve and begs for nothing in particular, and he feels awful for not having known about this sooner.

So he begins sneaking them food, brings them drink. Squirrels away what extra he can without anyone noticing he’s stopped finishing his meals.

Except someone must notice. Because, nearing the end of their journey, Graves is waking him in the dead of night and pulling him into the Captain’s quarters.

Soap swallows the pounding heartbeat in his throat as Graves slowly crosses the room to take a seat at his desk. He’s never liked the man, not one bit—but this just feels unnecessary. Taunting.

“A little bird tells me you’ve been keeping our prisoners fed,” Graves drawls. “Even though, from what I recall, prisoners are the enemy. I don’t suppose you really have been helping them out, have you, MacTavish?”

It’s a trap, Soap knows. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to tell Graves’s question isn’t really a question at all. Graves has his answer, and waits on Soap’s response if only to entertain him with the idea of escape.

Soap knows just as well that there’s hardly a point in trying to lie.

He lifts his chin as he looks straight into Graves’s eyes to tell him, “I have been. They’re still people.”

Graves chuckles lowly, rising from his seat. He rounds the desk, sitting back on its edge with his arms folded across his chest.

It might be intimidating, if Soap were anyone else. If he were a lesser man.

“Well, then—since you like ‘em so much,” Graves says, “surely you won’t mind joining them.”

Soap supplies Graves with no visible reaction. He doesn’t fight as Graves calls for his men to throw Soap in the brig, doesn’t put up any fuss as they try to cajole him.

If Soap has to be imprisoned for doing what’s right, then he at least won’t let Graves have the satisfaction of knowing Soap’s internal panic.

Because Soap knows what Graves plans to do with his prisoners. He’s known all along.

He predicts they’re maybe a day from port when they’re shoved off the ship and ordered into the decaying rowboat, left to drift away—not too far, however, as they’re still tethered to the ship. Because once all prisoners have been drowned, the boat will be reeled back and used again the next time Graves and his crew venture out to terrorize the waters.

No one has the energy to sing, to lure their cruel punishment to them. Soap’s half-convinced some of the others might just jump into the water on their own.

But they have to sing. Especially when a bullet ricochets off the boat and splinters the wood as encouragement.

Despite his time spent out at sea, Soap isn’t overly familiar with many shanties. He just follows along with whatever is mumbled in a weak tune, dreading as the volume builds with a second bullet, and the water below begins to churn. Glancing over the edge, Soap swears he sees the flash of a tail.

The first one appears shortly, singing along to the song like she’s entirely familiar with the melody. Soap feels the pull, though perhaps not as strongly as he imagined he would, if ever he ended up in these circumstances.

He wonders, briefly and distantly, if it has to do with the fact that he’s not really all that into women.

Soap snorts. Wouldn’t that be something.

But as more sirens appear, the pull grows stronger. Soap begins to feel swayed by the song, gone from muttered and off-kilter to something beautiful, hypnotic. The boat bobs with the weight of their new company and the prisoners that rush to the sides to get a better look at the sirens as if they aren’t the dangerous creatures they’re known to be.

Still, though, Soap isn’t completely compelled to join them in the water. He stays put in the centre and grounds his teeth—though he does gasp and reach out when the first prisoner is pulled under, and red soon blossoms across the surface of the water.

Then he appears.

The whole world seems to disappear for just a moment, when Soap looks into big, brown eyes.

The siren’s voice is deeper than the rest, soothing, and though Soap’s hindbrain screams at him that hidden behind the enchanting exterior, the porcelain skin and the straw-blond hair, there lives evil—he can’t help but lean in.

As Soap gets closer, the boat continuing to rock as more prisoners fall victim, the siren’s singing pauses just long enough for him to offer Soap a smile, saccharine, close-lipped. He reaches out an arm to Soap, calloused fingers caressing Soap’s cheek, cupping his jaw.

Soap can’t help but melt into the touch, its simultaneous warmth and coolness, subconsciously chasing it as it retracts, eyes fluttering shut with a short, pleased sigh.

But with the singing fading from the others, Soap’s eyes suddenly snap open. The siren still holds him, still leads Soap with that gentle touch and deceptively kind gaze, but Soap resists. He doesn’t know when he’d gotten to leaning halfway over the edge of the boat, but he scrambles backward to the opposite side, as far as he can get from this siren.

Soap comes to the startling realization that he’s the only one left.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” the siren croons. He props himself up on the edge of the boat, arms thick with corded muscle to show the real power of this creature. He leans forward, the boat tilting with his added weight. “I don’t bite.”

Soap glances nervously about the empty rowboat, gaze accidentally straying the bloodstained waters that surround them.

“I beg to differ,” Soap says weakly.

The siren laughs softly before slowly sinking back into the water. The boat sways. Soap shakes.

Everything goes silent for a suspiciously long moment before there’s a disturbance in the water and the siren appears at the side of the boat where Soap has taken refuge. He’s singing quietly again and Soap feels that pull, so he moves away, screws his eyes shut, and jams his fingers in his ears in an attempt to block it out.

It doesn’t work, not when the singing gets louder, and Soap’s attempt is rendered useless.

“Shut up,” Soap growls. “Please just shut. Up.”

The singing does cease, though only to make way for a deep, full laughter that is somehow tugging on Soap’s conscience with more force than any melody so far.

When Soap blinks his eyes open, the siren is perched on the edge of the boat, arms splayed one on top of the other, his head resting over them. He’s smiling, even once his laughter has died down, a glint of something in his dark eyes—maybe not quite sinister, but certainly mischievous.

“They’re not letting you back on that ship, you know,” the siren says, as if it isn’t obvious. “So you can either come with me—“

“And what? Be drowned? Eaten?” Soap snaps. “Thanks, but I’d rather rot right here.”

“Suit yourself,” the siren hums.

To Soap’s surprise, he actually disappears back into the water. And despite the waves—the ocean seems to have finally calmed.

Maybe Soap did have the tiny, illogical hope that he’d be brought back to the ship. Maybe Soap did have the tiny, logical hope that this siren would just put him out of his misery.

Either way, now he just sits in silence, listening to waves lap up against the hull as the rowboat rocks lazily with the current. Though the peace surely only stretches on for a few minutes, it feels like hours.

Stupidly, Soap goes to inspect the depths. To make certain he’s really been left alone.

Because that’s when he’s pulled in.

Soap barely has time to yell out before his mouth is filled with the overwhelming, stinging taste of salt, unfamiliar arms wrapping securely around his frame so he can’t wriggle free. His shouts are muffled by the water, and he feels the cold soak into his bones as he’s dragged deeper and deeper. The light fades, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen.

The last thing Soap sees is the siren’s grin, all fangs and malice before everything goes black.

But then, after an unknown amount of time—Soap wakes up to the slow drip, drip, drip of water on a stone floor.

He’s in a cave.

He’s in a cave, and there’s a light source somewhere, and the siren is watching him.

Soap coughs, clearing water from his lungs. He chokes out, “Why… what did you—“

The siren shrugs. “I don’t eat people I like.”

Soap frowns, still coughing. “You…”

“Call me Ghost,” the siren says, then dives into the pool he’d been wading in at the entrance of the cave, and swims away—long, elegant tail flicking behind him as he leaves.

And while many, many thought swirl around Soap’s head as he gradually gathers his bearings about the situation, the clearest of them all is also the simplest; what the hell kind of a name is Ghost?

If only he could guess.

And if only he could know what’s meant to happen to him next.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

459 notes · View notes

nobody-nexus · 17 days

Text

Finally... It's Here...

After being silent for a bit, I've got enough art to properly show off this AU that I've been DEEPLY working on...

I give you... The Amazing Digital Dance Rush AU.

Or- just Dance Rush for short

Dance Rush is an AU where the TADC cast is thrusted into a rhythm game instead of a sandbox game- this game making humans step into the shoes of performing idols, all working both against and with one another in order to get to the VERY top. Pomni is the newest idol for the game, and she now is determined to drop the whole pyramid of overworked misery while trying to figure out how the inner mechanisms of this place work, even if the truth is more horrid then one might believe....

================================================

This AU uses a lineless style as a way to make it feel almost cell shaded in a sense, but also as a new way to keep this AU fresh. The setting is neon Vocaliod and sci-fi esc in nature, giving off a feeling of futuristic but simple all the same

Now let's-

MEET THE IDOLS!

Pomni is our protagonist and the last to join the game. Inspired by DDR, her performances are based on dancing choreography by using her flexibility and quickness to adapt to her advantage

Ragatha is one of the six idols that Pomni meets as she tries to get more used to the world. Inspired by Project Diva, Rags is all about audience participation- her lovely optimism and charm making chants, encores, and singing along a breeze

Jax is the 'top' of the leaderboard, and another idol for Pomni to meet. Inspired by Just Dance, Jax's main this is... well... thirst trapping. He uses his body, dance moves, and other various body motions to make the crowd to wild

Gangle is one of the more unhinged members of the idol life. Inspired by Crypt of the Necrodancer, Gangle uses music to tell her stories. Her fans adore every moment (with her comedy mask of course)

Zooble is another idol, and the one that came before Pomni. Inspired by Beat Saber of all things, they're most known for their transitions and transformations, leaving their fans amazed by the grungier singing voice mixed with the eye catching transitions

Kinger is the idol who has been here the longest yet is the second to last on the leaderboard. Inspired by oddly enough Rhythm Heaven, he has the best singing voice out of the cast. This results in his medium fanbase adoring him

Caine. The real top of the leaderboard, and the most powerful idol in the game. Inspired by OSU- his perception of how performances should feel and hear is truly unmatched. How could one compare?

================================================

Because I love this AU so much to the point where I have FAR too much information on it, I made myself an askblog ALL about this AU in perticular, and one I'll be reblogging every answer for

The askblog is @theamazingdigitaldancerush and I hope you go ask your questions for it there instead of in my main blog as to not clog up TOO many things

I hope the wait was worth it cause lineless is difficult to do all together. Plus I haven't even touched the NPCs yet- however that's a post for another day

I can't wait for you to see what I do next ^^

207 notes · View notes

serevena · 1 day

Text

please, please, please!

Dealer!ellie williams x fem!reader

a.n - this is inspired by please please please by Sabrina carpenter!! All of my fics have been written after a song at some point in time so here's this! My writing is dusty, im well aware..this is my comeback..happy pride month, babies!

warnings - provocative language, allusions to sex, mentions of jail, light touching, toxic!ellie (?), not proofread!

I beg you, don't embarrass me motherfucker.

"Who are you to the inmate?"

Her partner. In crime, you guessed?

Ellie got busted. Again. And as you leaned against the car after chatting with the officer, you heard the gate open and saw a familiar and somewhat annoying smile. It made you feel an aray of emotion, none nice. Maybe. Did you enjoy picking your girlfriend up from jail for the fifth time? That was a question left to be unanswered as you rolled your eyes and got off of the car, hopping into the driver's seat.

It was like a never-ending cycle to the point where no words had to be said, she knew the routine, as did you.

You sighed as the words of every mouth around you spoke that you didn't have good taste, good judgment, that you were wasting your time.

You hoped she didn't prove them right.

Ellie sat in the passenger seat, turning her head to you as she tossed her bag to the back. You put your finger on your temple and turned to her, unamused. She only had a light smile on her face.

"I'm sorry."

Oh. You were relatively appreciative but didn't show it. You were still mad at her and didn't wanna let her in like that too soon.

You stepped on the gas, trying not to think about what everyone else had to say. Maybe you should just say say things didn't work out. That way you wouldn't be scolded any longer. It'd be easier.

But, there was one thing you barely liked to admit to yourself,

You loved Ellie.

You didn't want to sometimes, but you can't help the way you feel. She frustrated you, but you found yourself there. In that same parking lot, on that same car. Every. Single. Time.

"It won't happen again." She went on, the slight thought popping up in her head that if she did get caught again, you'd be there. She knew that. But she pushed it down, glancing over to you and as for yourself, her words went through one ear, and out the other.

You felt her cold fingertips trace your skin, spelling out ‘S O R R Y’ as you stared at the ceiling fan. It was so nice. Maybe instead of going out and getting involved in the very thing that landed her behind that cell, she could just stare at it. Anything to get her to stay free.

You turned to her, her hand now on your hip as her thumb rubbed it, and you only gave her a small smirk. “Don’t make me hate you.” You muttered as her hand dipped slightly slower.

“I’ll try.”

“Ellie.” You said as you quickly tried to catch up to her. “Ellie!”

“I’ll be quick, promise.” She muttered, giving you a reassuring look before squeezing your hand before going into a room near the toilets of the bar. You stood there like an idiot, crossing your arms and remembering to straighten your posture. “Fuck.” You muttered under your breath.

And then you heard a shatter! Mixed with a few groans. “Fuck!” You yelled out, rushing into the room to see Ellie getting into a full on brawl with some of the people there. She quickly catches your eye and gestures towards the exit. This was a common occurrence, but this was a new bar, a new room with new people. What the hell were you expecting?

You both quickly run out as you start the car and begin backing up, seeing some of the people through the windows. You floored it out of there, gripping the steering wheel so hard like you’d done plenty of times before. You were sure there were imprints on it now. Ellie stood quiet, knowing you didn’t wanna hear it, she only winced sometimes as she touched her eye, which you could see was already forming a bruise. You rolled your eyes and drove to a different location that sure as hell wasn’t your house.

Ellie was somewhat alarmed. The thought that you might throw her out or kill her crossed her mind, but what the fuck? She knew you better than that. You would never, so she brushed that off too.

You drove up to a cliff, also known as the place Ellie and you had your first date. You got out of the car, practically slamming the door as you sat on the hood of your car, your legs dangling as your car lights flickered ever so slightly. Your eyes were glued to the moon.

And even though Ellie was in pain, she couldn’t deny that view. She couldn’t deny you.

You felt the car shake, the door close, and you heard her footsteps rub against the soil sole of her boot. You felt her hand find it’s way to your thigh as she looked at you.

“That..wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

Your gaze continued to be fixated on the moon, but you had to look at her eventually, so you did.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all, Ellie.” You scolded, and her touch only became more gentle on your thigh.

“It won’t again. I love you.” She spoke.

You rolled your eyes, knowing it would.

You smiled and when you did, so did she. You leaned into her, cupping her cheeks as you softly kissed her.

I beg you..

“Don’t embarrass me, motherfucker.”

#serevena #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie #tlou ellie #ellie tlou #ellie smut #ellie williams tlou2 #tlou2 #tlou 2 #tlou #tlou x reader

232 notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

could you please write a spencer x bau!reader where they're both just completely pining for each other but neither of them have the guts to admit it so one day at work she kisses spencer on the cheek really quick and he just melts 🤭

Reading through an unsub's numerous journals with Spencer sitting beside you is like watching a toddler try to run a marathon with a pro athlete. You're not nearly going as fast, and you feel a temper tantrum coming on.

You even rub at your eyes toddler-style, fists balled up and aggressively pushing against your lids. It makes your head ache, and blurred lines spiral in the void of your vision.

"Interesting, here he mentions fields red as blood, but that's typically a phrase used to refer to the red poppy, and there's no stretches of farmland out here that could have been turned into a meadow."

"Mm," You hum muted in your throat, still assaulting your eyes, "Interesting, Spence. What does that mean?"

"Well, probably- uh, are you okay, Y/N?"

"No," You moan, creasing the journal in your lap as you slump forwards onto the table with your arms curled around your head, "I'm tired, and I've read so much that my head is starting to hurt. And you're still thirty-two journals ahead of me."

"Thirty-four," Spencer mumbles, then his slender hand comes to rest cautiously against your back, "Do you want to rest? You can nap if you want, uh, no offense but I can probably finish these faster than you could."

"No offense taken," You admit, wrestling the journal you were working on out from your lap and holding it out blindly for him, "Have at it, wonder boy."

True to his word, Spencer lets you sleep. But he goes above and beyond, patting you gently on the shoulder, then rougher when you don't wake.

"Y/N," He hisses, kicking at your foot beneath the table, "Hotch is back."

Your boss's name inspires terror in you that can only be achieved at the threat of unemployment. It compels you to snatch a journal off of Spencer's pile, flipping it open to a random page just as Aaron strides through the door.

"What have you found?" Hotch looks at you expectantly, and you let Spencer fill his role as Team Rambler with gratitude swirling in your chest.

When he's filled Hotch in on all the nitty-gritty scrawled into the unsub's journals, the older man nods.

"I'll have Garcia check for any notable poppy fields." He informs you, already reaching for his cell, "And keep looking for regional dialect in there, you two, that'll help."

You nod obediently, and Aaron is gone.

Spencer's much more intrigued by his task than you are, so he doesn't notice you leaning closer to him, already engrossed in the journal once more.

"Thanks, Spence." You gush, pressing your soft, puckered lips to Spencer's cheek in a kiss that shoots fire down his spine, "I'm gonna go get some coffee, want some?"

His eyes go wide, and he hasn't had any time to process your kiss, my god, your kiss! until you're already standing, lingering by the door waiting for his order.

"Uh, no," Spencer shakes his head, then, "Or- yes! Please, um, lots of sugar. Please."

"Extra sweet," You promise, and Spencer wonders if you meant to describe yourself, "Got it, pretty boy."

As it turns out, the nickname makes him blush a lot more when it comes from your mouth and not Morgan's.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

141trash · 5 months

Text

Every Man has his Breaking Point

AN: *Exhales loudly and screams* I had a mini panic attack because the links weren't working and I realized I hadn't reblogged the post but its fine because I scrolled my thousands of likes for this :) This is inspired by @bleuu-moon's post! I loved it and as I was eating my ramen ended up imagining Ghost in a similar position. unedited full of grammatical errors bc reasons

At first he thought you were a hallucination given that he'd been knocked over the head pretty damn hard during his capture. He woke up on the cold floor of some cell with you leaning over him, pressing a bit of cloth to his forehead. Swatting your hand away from his face, he forced himself to sit up and take stock of the situation.

There was a brief underlying panic when he realized they'd stripped him of his mask and you now knew what he looked like. All his weapons were gone as were his shoes and anything that might have been useful for escaping. Whoever took him clearly knew what he was capable of.

Wincing as he braced himself against the wall he finally turned his attention back to you. Definitely a civilian. Small, innocent, young. There had to be something that he didn't know about you that made you a target because you and him being stuck together in this situation seemed like such an odd pairing.

"What they want with you?" he asked hoarsely, breaking the silence. Your head shot up to look at him, nervously playing with the fabric between your fingers.

"I don't know." you replied shaking your head.

Simon grunted, but otherwise didn't say anything else. His head was throbbing painfully, but he needed to understand what was going on if he was going to get out of there. It occurred to him after a while that you might be working with his captors, placed there to gain his trust and get information out of him that way. If that was the reasoning then it was a stupid idea. A young pretty face wasn't going to get your bosses any answers.

He decided then that until he could confirm that theory he wouldn't interact with you again.

It was two days later when someone finally came in. The pair of you were on opposite sides of the cell. You'd been dozing on and off to keep from letting the anxiety overwhelm you, but when you heard the key scraping the lock to the outer door your head shot up instantly alert.

Across the cell Simon didn't lift his head to glance at the door, briefly though his gaze flitted to you, to see your reaction.

"Lieutenant Riley." a man with a grandiose voice greeted as a guard opened the cell door to let him in.

"I know you?" Simon asked almost boredly, looking at the man and not recognizing anything.

The man's face twitched slightly, hands tightening to fists at his sides, "Perhaps not. But I know you."

He looked at you then, causing you to shrink back from the slimy feeling that went down your spine.

"You don't like your gift?"

You shuddered at the obvious implication in his voice, tears welling up in your eyes.

"You must not know me very well if you thought that would get me to talk." Simon disparaged making a face in disgust. For a brief second you didn't know whether to be relieved or offended.

The man clucked his tongue like a bad superhero movie villain, a greasy smile spreading across his face, "Every man has his breaking point Lieutenant Riley. I'm excited for us to find yours."

#uh pt 1?#ghost #cod x reader #cod x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #breaking point series #sah rambles

327 notes · View notes

mydearestdaryl · 1 month

Text

꩜ 𝘩𝜀𝛼𝜏𝘩𝜀𝑟 𝛼𝜋𝜕 𝜏𝘩𝜀 𝜔𝜎𝑟𝑙𝜕 ₊˚⊹♡

summary: drabbles of heather being walking baby fever. pairing: daryl x greene! reader (they're in love, they just don't know yet). setting: prison. a/n: i try but can't find the inspiration to write mama pt. 2, so here's this compilation of a few short drabbles of heather in the prison era to make up for it. i tried to explore more of her bond with the entire group, not just reader, which was very fun to write and i hope you enjoy reading it as much. thank you for reading!

𝑔𝑟𝛼𝜋𝜕𝜌𝛼'𝑠 𝑚𝛼𝑔𝜄𝑐.

little heather was growing. she was almost 2 and a half years old, which meant she was more talkative, independent, and enjoyed playing and having fun more than napping; the opposite from her infant days.

the toddler was tucked in for a nap in the bottom bunk of the cell she shared with carl, with daryl reading her latest favorite story from a book you found for her: cinderella. “an' they lived happy ever after, night-night baby,” daryl said, before kissing heather's head and getting up from his spot on the bed.

“no night-night!” heather announced, kicking the sheets off her and sitting up. she yawned, evidently tired, but fully determined to resume playing bubbles with beth as they had been ten minutes ago. “bubbles, daddy,” she suggested, her little legs dangling off the bed as she pointed at her shoes; a silent request for her daddy to get them on.

“no bubbles, heather, yea gotta take a nap, ya'll get all cranky if yea don', like (y/n),” he joked as he watched you walk by, earning a sarcastic ha-ha from you.

“no nap,” the toddler stated, jumping off the bed to get her shoes on herself. behind him, daryl heard a laugh, finding hershel slowly crutching down the hallway, “'ershel help!” heather exclaimed as she saw him too, lifting a shoe up and waving it at the grey-haired man.

the old man, laughed again, turning to hobble on his crutches into the kid's room. “how may I assist you today, young lady?”

“i need ma shoes on,” the little one said, holding it up so hershel could take it.

“well, I heard it's your nap time,” hershel mentioned, sitting at the edge of the toddler's bed and slowly lying on the surface. “i was going to take a nap myself, but i was looking for some company so we could share some cookies when we woke up.”

curiously eyeing her daughter to see if the old man's trick worked, daryl lightly snorted as he watched her gasp excitedly, mouthing cookies to herself while rushing to the edge of the bed and trying to climb up, succeeding with help from hershel.

in a scene far too endearing, the toddler crawled on top of the old man, using his chest as a pillow and holding him comfortably as she allowed her tired eyes to close now without a fight, “night 'ershel,” she mumbled, her excited smile fading into a resting expression as she quickly fell asleep.

“yea actually got cookies?” daryl whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of his baby girl's face.

“glenn found some oreos on yesterday's run,” hershel whispered back, closing his own eyes too, fixing the pillow under his head. “i might as well rest a bit too,” he mentioned. “i'll let you know when she's up.”

with a nod, a mumbled 'thank you,' and a gentle pat on the older man's shoulder, daryl left his daughter's cell.

his chest had a weird feeling, but it wasn't bad. he just never thought her kid would have such an amazing grandfather figure. he was more determined now to find the deer hershel had been talking about craving a few days ago.

𝑠𝜎 𝑚𝜇𝑐𝘩 𝑙𝜎𝜈𝜀.

toddling into the kitchen for dinner after story time with her dad, hand inside his, heather beamed when she saw you, running to you as fast as her tiny legs allowed her to hug your leg. “i love you, (y/n)!” she exclaimed.

“aw, i love you too, munchkin,” you happily replied, picking her up and hugging her while tickling her neck with your nose, eliciting the sweetest laugh from her. then you set her down on the floor again, and she rushed to beth.

“she jus' learned what it means,” daryl explained, taking a seat next to you.

“i love you means,” daryl started, pausing as he thought of the answer. he was not sure since he had never truly experienced something like that. maybe during his childhood, when his mom was alive. perhaps even the way he felt for you now… it came close. hell, maybe it was.

“'s when someone makes yea feel real happy like yer heart smiles when you're with 'em. an' they make you feel good about everythin', like things are gonna be alrigh",” he explained. “'s when you wanna kiss them face all the time, an' give em hugs,” he added, kissing his daughter's face over and over until she pushed him away playfully.

“love you, bef,” the tiny human said to your youngest sister.

“love you, heather,” beth giggled, placing a kiss on the toddler's cheek, who received it happily and went on to her next 'victim.'

“love you, cawl,” she stated confidently despite the r's still being a bit tricky for her. she hugged the fellow kid, who hugged her back before tickling her. she chuckled, trying to tickle carl back.

“love you, cawol,” heather said to the older woman as she ran to her. carol's face softened and responded by ruffling the girl's hair.

“me too, little one” carol uttered.

“love you, wick,” she told rick, who was burping his newborn. he exhaled a laugh when he saw heather climbing onto the chair next to him to see judith, “and i love the baby,” heather whispered, feeling rather grown since she was now the oldest baby in the group.

“right back at ya, kid,” rick said, playfully poking her tummy. her eyes scanned the room, searching for the remaining group members.

“i love ya, glenn,” heather threw herself into the young man's awaiting arms, getting twirled in a bear hug that made her laugh out loud. when her feet touched the ground again, she immediately ran to your other sister, “i love you, maggie,” she said while the latter placed a kiss on her forehead.

“love you, heather,” she replied with a big smile.

“i love you, 'ershel,” heather giggled as she reached up to be held by the old man, who happily obliged.

“love you too, sweetheart.”

still smiling, she ran back to daryl, chanting as she approached him, “and i love you the mostest, daddy!” he welcomed her into a big embrace, repeatedly kissing her cheek, tickling her neck with his beard as usual, and making the kitchen echo with her sweet, childish laugh.

𝜏𝜄𝜋𝜑 𝘩𝜇𝑚𝛼𝜋, 𝑏𝜄𝑔 𝑓𝜀𝜀𝑙𝜄𝜋𝑔𝑠.

“hey, heather, check this out!” carl called the little girl, excited to show her his new slingshot. however, the toddler was too focused on her tea party with bunny, her plushie, to respond or even look at him, so the boy decided to shoot the smallest rock in his pocket near her direction to get her attention.

big mistake.

not proficient enough with his aim, carl shot the rock straight at bunny's head, knocking its eye off. a gasp escaped heather's little mouth before she screamed in terror.

all the adults gathered in the kitchen with concerned expressions to see what the fuss was about, daryl being the first to get there. the hunter eyed carl suspiciously for a second before he kneeled next to his daughter, wide, scared eyes scanning her in search of an injury.

“wha's wrong, sweetheart? yea hurt?”

you approached the scene, placing a hand on carl's shoulder to ask if he was okay, rick doing the same on his other side. the poor boy looked so guilty.

“bunny, daddy!” heather sobbed, showing her father the one-eyed toy before holding it close to her chest as she cried in her daddy's arms. “cawl hurt 'im!”

“i- i didn't mean to! I just wanted to show her my slingshot,” carl confessed, his voice growing quiet at the end, dropping his head when he noticed heather's uncharacteristically enraged glare toward him. “i'm really sorry heather, i can fix i-” he started, kneeling to her height and trying to reach for the toy, but she yanked it away.

“NO!” she shouted, tears still streaming down her chubby cheeks as her dad lifted her up, trying to shush her. “bad cawl!”

gulping down the urge to scream at the boy for making his baby girl sad—breaking cycles, as he heard you say once, daryl simply patted his shoulder with a frown, “go on, le's give 'er space ta calm down,” he suggested to everyone; the crowd soon dispersing, going on about their chores.

“daddy, fix it,” heather pleaded as her tears and hiccups subsided, nearly 10 minutes later.

“y'know, i'm gonna need carl's help with this,” he winked toward the boy, who had been sitting nearby with his dad, resolute on getting the toddler to forgive him. “whaddaya think, sweetheart? carl wants to make it better too.”

“'kay, but be caweful,” she warned them, reaching for rick to hold her as carl darted to beth's cell to borrow her sewing supplies while daryl got the patient ready on the table. rick blew raspberries on the girl's tummy, successfully making her laugh again and distracting her from the plushie eye surgery performed behind them.

“all done!” carl presented it proudly, getting heather's attention, although she still glared at him with resentment. “he's good as new, see?” carl added, handing the toy to her gently. taking it in her tiny hands, she inspected her treasure.

“heather, i'm real sorry. can bunny, you, and i be friends again?” carl begged, finding her gaze when she tried to avoid his eyes, making her giggle as she was doing it on purpose.

she considered with toddler wisdom, humming while tapping her finger pensively against her delicate chin longer than necessary just because. carl did fix it after all, and bunny was all ready to play now. “ok, we're fwiends,” she finally agreed.

wriggling excitedly out of rick's grasp, she grabbed carl's hand and dragged him back to her tea party to play. no slingshots were allowed this time, though.

taglist: @ledgeria16 @poisonmedixon

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon #daryl dixon headcanons #daryl dixon x reader #twd #twd fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #dad!daryl

198 notes · View notes