#Anastasia x Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme · 2 years ago

Note

I like Anastasia(FGO) and the fact that there is nearly no fanfic about her disapoint me to to no end, so can i ask for Anastasia x Male Reader headcannon (NSFW and SFW)

BTW if you see my Morgan Le Fay (FGO) request then could you make it NSFW and SFW cuz i forgot that you make NSFW

Not a problem! Sorry this took so long to get written! I got hung up on something in the process of writing this! (Why are there no good sized pictures of anyone in FGO?)

Your Wish Is My Command!

SFW

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Anastasia’s love language is pranks and cuddle’s so expect a Loooooooooooooot of those to be coming your way if you’re in a relationship with her.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

You know that one friend that ALWAYS causes chaos and is just a total gremlin in general? That’s Anastasia, and that’s how your friendship started.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She loves to cuddle an ungodly amount, hell if it was up to her the only thing the two of you would be cuddling, she prefers being the small spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

She never had the option or chance to settle down when she was alive so you can bet she’d use her second chance on life to do exactly that! As for cooking and cleaning? She’s pretty rough at first but she does improve as long as someone teaches her how to do it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

You came for fluff not angst!

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I’d say she would want to get married a little fast but not within the first six months or anything like that, probably after the first year or so. That's when she’d start expecting a ring.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Anastasia emotionally is a mix between blunt and soft, like a toy rubber hammer, she’s not the type to sugarcoat something but she will do her best to lessen the blow. Physically she’s soft until she has to be rough.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Anastasia love’s hugs, though she does have to practice a bit to give a good one, once she gets them down she has some very comforting and soft hugs.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Anastasia say’s it after either the two of you have been dating for about half a year.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Anastasia doesn’t get jealous easily but when she does? Hooo boy will you have your work cut out for you if she does! As for what she does when jealous… well I’ll explain more when we get to NSFW headcanons.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Anastasia’s kisses are more like a storm of pecks all acros your face, she likes to be kissed on the hand and on her lips.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Pretty well adjusted, though she does treat them like they’re made of fine china because she of her younger brother and doesn’t really have any other measure to judge them by.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Lazy, very, very, very, lazy

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Usually cuddles or sex, lots and lots of sex.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

She’s not a very closed off person, as long as you don’t ask about something she’d rather not talk about she’s happy to answer any questions you ask of her.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

She only get’s angry when something that’s hers is hurt, like Viy, you, her friends, etc.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Anastasia is a bit of both, she’ll remember the most important things in an instant, the smaller things she can occasionally remember in passing but if she’s put on the spot she’d have better luck asking Ivan.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

When she realized that you had started courting her, a close second would be a proposal but nothing will top the joy and anxiety that came when she realized you were following the rules to courting a princess to a T.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Anastasia will definitely go crazy trying to keep everyone she loves safe, but that’s to be expected due to how she died, she loves to feel protected, preferably somewhere no one could get to her.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She puts a lot of effort into Dates and Anniversaries, gifts really aren’t her style, and everyday tasks are something she does quickly to get them over with.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Being a little gremlin, that’s her worst habbit followed by being pretty quick to throwing a punch if it comes to it.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

It depends, if it’s just a close group of you, family, and friends she couldn’t really care less on the otherhand if it’s people she’s unfamiliar with she put’s her best foot forward and goes the full nine yards.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

She wouldn’t be incomplete so to say but she would be off kilter, kind of like one of those wind up toy’s that don’t wind up anymore, it still has the same form but it’s function isn’t there.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

She can drink litterally any living being under the table sheerly because of the fact she’s Russian

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Anything to do with firearms for… obvious reasons.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

She has a tendency to just flop all over the place taking up the whole bed.

NSFW

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Extremely sleepy, she pretty much zonks out as soon as she’s cleaned herself up.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

She is rather fond of her Ass, as for you she prefers your mouth for reasons that will never be revealed.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Not a Clue, this part right here has had me stuck since I closed my Inbox and why I’m only now starting to post

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

She likes it when you are more assertive, she’s a complete bottom and a brat, and we both know what the best medicine for that is.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Complete amateur, absolutely no experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggystyle

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

She can be a little goofy and may occasionally crack a dirty joke but other than that she’s more in the moment with everything.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

She’s a Russian princess, take that as you will.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Extremely so, everything has to be perfectly romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

She doesn’t mastrubate often but when she does at least one article of clothing that belongs to you will go missing.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

She has an oral kink, don’t ask me why I think this, I don’t know either

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom, and occasionally the kitchen counter or any other similar area.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It varies wildly from situation to situation, but a good bet is to just put something like a popsicle or something of a similar shape in her mouth while your controlling it, that’ll rev her engine quick.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that could hurt either of you, aside from that she’s good with most things

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She prefers giving oral due to her Oral Kink but to start out with she has no Idea what she’s doing.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of the time she prefers it to go slow but If you get her jealous you're going to need a new bed and a new pelvis.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

She doesn’t mind them usually but if she’s giving you a quickie it means she’s ticked off but to horny to not have sex.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

She’s perfectly fine with taking risks as long as there is a safety net of some sort

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

She doesn’t usually go for more then five but if she’s in the mood she’ll go until not responsive or when she runs outta juice whichever comes first.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

She has one or two but they’re mostly for you to use on her.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

She’s a brat and a prankster, enough said.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Anastasia is a pretty loud little lady, moans, screams, whines the whole shebang.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Her bratty atitude in bed can be absolutely destroyed if you give her any sort of anal stimulation but she thinks that’s cheating.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Silk lingerie or nothing, she’s a princess and she will be treated as such!

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high, sex probably hppens twice a week, maybe three times if she’s especially hot and bothered.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

This is something that will vary from night to night if it’s a long night she’s pretty much out as soon as she’s halfway cleaned herself up, if it’s a short night she’ll be the small spoon while the two of you talk then drift to sleep.

#Anastasia x Reader #fgo x reader #fate x reader

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writingafterdusk · 2 years ago

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anastasia nikolaevna romanova x f!reader fluff blurb

prompt: running fingers through hair + hiding face in neck

note: возлюбленный means beloved/sweetheart/love/dear/true love/admired in russian according to google translate

chaldea in summer is nearly unbearable - you’d think it would be more tolerable, given that it used to be based in antarctica but the heat says otherwise. the fact that you’ve got a russian tsaritza currently cuddled up with you probably doesn’t help, but she’s too cute to refuse.

“goddamn… hot…” she mumbles into your neck, where she’s hidden her face. you’re not certain how doing that helps her beat the heat but really, how could you say something? “i’m going to melt…”

you chuckle as you run your fingers through her long locks. “you’ll get used to it,” you assure her, which causes her to let out a huff right against your neck which sends shivers down your spine.

“i will never. such heat is… unbecoming for a tsaritza.”

“even if it gives us an excuse to get ice cream…?”

that seems to pique her interest. “what flavor would we get? i would prefer to try them all…”

“then that’s what we’ll do, with all the toppings you could ask for,” you say. ana finally pries her face from your neck to look up at you.

“you’d do that for me, возлюбленный?”

“anything for you, my tsaritza,” you reply. suddenly, your lips meet hers as she darts up to give you a soft kiss. she pulls away with a smile tugging at her lips and giggles softly.

“ice cream may be sweet, but you are sweeter…”

#anastasia fgo #anastasia x reader #fgo #fgo fluff #fgo x reader #anastasia nikolaevna romanova

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chaoticspeedrun · 4 months ago

Note

Hello Mr Anastasia! Donnie sir, I humbly ask for your hand in marriage, and in return, I will locate 10 pounds of Uranium for you. And also a brand new calligraphy set, because you seem to enjoy that.

If that doesn’t convince you, allow me to try again:

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-

I am very picky with my calligraphy tools however...

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dinsbeskar · 7 days ago

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Evil Will Find Her

He has waited so long to have you again, he cannot wait until you reunite in the flesh; or:

Sauron gets off on thinking of you thinking of him, despite the distance in time and space between you

Sequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Through Glass by Stone Sour, Closer by Nine Inch Nails

I'm looking at you through the glass Don't know how much time has passed Oh God, it feels like forever But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home Sitting all alone inside your head

Warnings: smut! goo!Sauron, male masturbation, mentions of oral sex (female receiving), finger/P in V sex, biting, kinda rough sex, praise kink and degradation (only a little, he calls you a slut, sorry, he is Sauron though, man idk), Sauron POV, he is super down bad and also recovering from being literal goo

A/N: I tried so hard not to use the word 'goo' lmfao, considering that's what Sauron is for half the fic! So this is the sequel to In the Dark of the Night, the scenes will mirror each other but not quite... you'll see.

Word Count: 2.8k!

After centuries in the caverns beneath Forodwaith, he had finally escaped. Not that he was any closer to reclaiming you, not in his current state, a seething mass of something dark and primordial, but he could at last seek you out. The only thing he knew was hunger, consuming everything in his path; the only discernable notion in his mind, clouded and murky, was to find you. He had only an inkling that some time had passed since you'd been in his arms, and even less of an idea of where you would be, but he was patient. He could wait, as he had waited many times before for you.

Creature after pathetic creature he gathered and consumed, slowly regaining shreds of his former self, piece by tiny piece, until he was able to drag himself, formless and near-liquid, across the frozen wastelands of the North. The only guiding light in his current unfeeling state was the vague grasping notion of you, waiting for him, yearning and enduring for him, and it pushed him on, gave him strength to endure when all hope was lost.

His mind reaches out for you, across plains and rivers, over mountains and into the halls you now call home. The first time he does this, he has not the strength to make himself known to you, and can only regard you from afar. It takes all of his efforts to merely behold you for a second before you vanish in his mind's eye. If he was capable of sound, all of Middle Earth would have heard his guttural scream of frustration. However, in his current form, he emitted barely a weak gasp masquerading as an exasperated sigh, before falling still and unmoving for at least a week, unable to drag himself any further after weakening himself for just a glance at you. It was worth it. When he awakens, he tries again, and again, the effort lessening every time, but it still feels like forever until he finally regains enough power to reach out and touch you, a tingle across your lips, a tendril of his will wrapping around you.

You're seemingly unaware of his presence, though you react to the stimuli he provides. Your thoughts turn more and more to him, even as you try to push them away, heart shattered after so much time apart, the heartache he caused you in simply being himself. The more you push them away, the more they come unbidden, in your dreams and waking thoughts, until you can no longer ignore them.

This makes it easier for him, you leaving the door ajar, to slither into your mind and wrap himself around your heart once more. You thought you had moved on from his betrayal, the knowledge of his true self having shattered your desire to have him close. Your need for him however was not so easily undone; no matter how much you told yourself you were better off free of him and his inevitable path of destruction, your souls were inextricably bound together, and no earthly power could sunder you. In his primordial oozing state, the terrible ache deep in your souls, yearning for the touch of the other, was all he could feel, and he neither knew nor cared from whom it originated. It was all he could do, limbless and liquid, to revel unthinking in this torment, to bask and rot in the empty void between you; for to suffer in your absence was sweeter than never having known you at all.

The only salve for your unceasing ache was his touch on your skin, his words in your ear, his fëa wrapped around yours as your fervent light battles with his blazing darkness. And you would have it. He swore to you eons ago that you would never be without him; you cursed him for that promise a thousand times, and yet the thought of his desertion was a knife between the ribs.

He awakes in a freezing wooden wagon, lying on his back surrounded by bloody detritus as the pale morning light greets his rebirth. For a moment, he has no idea where he is, who he is, or how he came to be here. It is only by looking around, as he takes in the visceral scene before him, that it all comes flooding back.

White hot pain in his shoulders, between his ribs, daggers twisting in his gut.

Darkness, pitch black nothingness.

Hunger.

Centuries of freezing cold, leagues of endless empty wasteland.

You.

He can't catch his breath as he remembers the last time he saw you, guilt flooding through him in nauseous waves, the cruel twisted things he had said to you and the malice you had thrown back in return. He can't even conjure his wrath, grateful that you had abandoned Forodwaith in your fit of temper when you had, lest you'd been caught up in the events of his coronation.

Coronation. He inhales harshly, revelling in the cold air in his sinuses; the tiny sensations for which he must be thankful, he thought bitterly.

Weak with the effort of reconstituting himself, he slowly pushes himself to sit, idly rifling through the possessions of the unfortunate peasant who had so graciously provided him with the sustenance he needed. He begins to root through the sacks and chests, looking for anything to protect himself from the persistent chill outside. He gathers some clothes from a sack in the corner, pulling on a cloak haphazardly; in doing so, he knocks a stack of letters that cascade across the floor. One catches his attention.

He skims the contents and realises it is an old love letter, the page discoloured and brittle with age. The scrawled, pretty words are trifles in comparison to everything you have shared, but the way it is signed lingers in his memory.

Forever devoted, your Halbrand.

He does need a name after all.

With a smirk, he tosses the letter aside and makes his way towards the sunlit back of the wagon. The moment his bare feet touch the ground, he can't help but grin with relief.

In fact, to say he is relieved is an understatement. He is a Maia, one of the greatest of all beings in creation, reduced to crawling in the dirt for centuries. To regain any kind of fair form is a blessing, and it is with appreciation now that he regards his limbs, feels the cold hard ground beneath his bare feet, and finds clarity in the brisk northerly wind on his face. His first thought, as ever, is of you. Where are you, are you well, are you thinking of him? He senses that you are leagues away, but senses you he does. Satisfaction takes him over and he laughs, uplifted now that he finally knows for sure that he is on your mind.

Day becomes night, and he eventually stops to rest, unused to needing to do so; he muses over his small fire how you'll greet him when he returns. How he longs for your sweet kisses, however they'll feel in this strange form. He clings to the memory of your breath on his face, your laugh in his ear, the scent of your sweat-slicked skin beneath his. His longing turns to rage before long; the time you both had lost would never be regained. Your long lives would give you every chance to do so, but he cherished whatever time he spent with you, and this wasted time would not be forgotten.

He would have his revenge on the Uruk who dared defy him, who must have assumed merely destroying his physical form would kill him. More's the pity, for Sauron's wrath was great and his will greater. It might take a hundred years or a thousand, but his revenge would be as sweet as the memories he had of you, of the time together that had been stolen from you.

Usually he has no need for sleep, but in dreams, he can join you, so he lays down on the frozen ground next to the dying embers of his fire and waits for you. It's not long before he finds himself in your chambers, breathing in your scent. He has been here before, tried to make contact with you, but in his weakened state he could do nothing but watch you, every night feeling like forever without your touch. Now he can make himself known, and he does just that.

You're lying on your bed, and he thinks to lie down next to you, as he has so many times before, and stroke your hair and tell you he'll be with you soon, that he is counting the seconds until you're in his arms again.

However you surprise him, as you often do, even after all this time. It's what he loves most about you.

You're clearly focused on something, brow furrowed, and before he can slip into your mind further, you cast off the sheets, and trail a hand down to between your thighs. He can't help but grin as he realises what he is witness to. You used to become so flustered when he asked you to do this for him, to touch yourself and think of him, and even now your cheeks are red. His previous attempts to touch you have been in vain, like catching smoke in the wind, the veil between you thwarting his every effort. He brushes a finger over your face adoringly and you sigh contentedly. Did you feel that? He wonders, because as happy as he is to watch you chase your pleasure, he would much rather join in.

Watching you sweat and pant his name always does something delicious to him, satisfying that dark ever-present urge to defile and corrupt you. Savouring every filthy noise he elicits from you, the whines in your throat, the wet sounds of his cock inside you, dragging over every sensitive inch of flesh until there is no thought in your head but of him and your lovemaking.

Your tiny whimpers become moans as he delves between your thighs, delighting in how wet you are. It used to fascinate him, when he first bedded you, just how needy and slick you would get, and he can't deny that fascination never faded. He can't get enough of the taste of you, would happily subsist on you for the rest of his days, and you would probably let him, given the unearthly sounds currently escaping your lips.

His attention wanders to his own pleasure as he realises he is so fucking hard, and he is leagues away from being able to fuck you until you can't stand the next day. He hasn't explored this new form yet, and briefly wonders if you would approve. The peasant who revived him was mortal, and so he seems to have taken the form of a mortal man; would that repulse or thrill you? If you knew it was him, you wouldn't care, he knows this, but he still wonders.

He pulls out his cock and regards it, not having paid it much attention until now. It looks like any other, perhaps thicker than his last, a little longer maybe, but he doesn’t have much with which to compare. You would be the ultimate judge in that regard, and the only one that matters. Most importantly, it feels just as good in his fist as he dreams of you, fingers inside your needy cunt as you moan his name. How long it has been since he heard it, his breath hitches and he strokes faster, keeping in time with the thrusts he makes into you, using all his regained powers to satisfy you like only he knows.

"Are you my good girl, love?" He moans out loud as he has so many times before, not expecting a response but-

"Yes, for you, only you..." You whimper, arching your back, reaching for his touch, and he melts, forehead pressed against yours as he moans your name into the dark. How fucking perfect you are, how eager you are to be his, so ready and willing to fuck the shadows for him.

How times had changed since you saw each other last. It thrilled him to know you still wanted him, needed him, had put any thought of abandoning him from your mind, had embraced him as your husband, your lover, your protector, of course you had, and he arched into his fist as you keened under his attentions, leagues away in your bed.

How could you think for a second that you were not his, wholly and completely? That he could not simply find and have his way with you whenever he cared to? You must know that he would rather be your undoing than let you leave him.

He wants only to ravage you, to pin you down and leave your skin painted with bruises, marking you as his, trails of purple and blue leading to your aching cunt. To possess you, body and soul, chained to him for all eternity.

He would build a temple to your flesh, no, of your flesh, and desecrate it with his seed, worship you as his equal, pray to you with tender kisses and the blood of your enemies, if only to feel your skin on his, your light on his face once more.

He wraps a hand around your throat and groans, running his thumb across your skin and collecting your sweat.

"So good for me, so needy, so fucking perfect, waiting for me to fill you over and over," he moans as he leans down, phantom tongue swiping your throat, the salt of your sweat inflaming his senses all the more.

He wants nothing more than to bury himself within you, to climb inside you and never leave, if that is what it would take to never be parted from you again. He wonders how much of him you could take before your screams of pleasure turn to pain.

You're both so lost in your lust, he has no idea if you're here with him or he's there with you, but he'll take it greedily and without question.

He bites the shell of your ear, nipping just hard enough that you react, hand flying to your face. He grabs it and kisses your palm, rutting into you like an animal.

"Always so good for me," he whispers in your ear, willing you to hear him more than ever, "look how you take my cock so well, the way you stretch around me, always such a good little slut for me."

You asked him once how he could worship and degrade you in a single breath; he'd told you they were the same thing.

Whether the timing of his words is a coincidence, he is unsure; you come hard, orgasm wracking your body while you moan and keen under his spectral touch.

Your walls tighten around him, you both hiss with pleasure, and he can't hold back any longer, pleasure building to an unbearable crescendo. He lets loose a string of curses, spilling himself on his thighs, christening his new mortal form and gasping your name.

His tenuous link to your pleasure is broken, and he curses once more, wanting nothing more than to wrap himself around you, to fuck you through your orgasm until you're whining and overstimulated, too sensitive under his flaming touch.

There is no such thing as a chance meeting, every passing encounter preordained to fulfil a purpose, and he thanks the Valar every day that despite all he had suffered that they had put you in his path. Fate was no small thing and it had bound you all this time, unwavering in the face of defeat and suffering and war and Morgoth, all of which wanted to sunder you from him. It is with that thought that he presses on.

He meets a group of Men who are bound for a ship to take them across the sea for a new life. At first he wants nothing to do with it; he knows where he is going, finally going home, wherever you are. But the old man is insistent, that perhaps his path lays in the West.

There are no chance meetings. If the old man advises Numenor, then perhaps it is his destiny to seek the descendants of men who had destroyed his aspirations centuries ago; the long road of revenge will lead him back to you, of that he was certain.

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #annatar x reader #the rings of power #not me naming the two parts after an anastasia song lmfao #i was surprised when it came out more vulgar than part 1 but tbh it is from his pov and frankly he's not a nice person lmfao #it is what it is #but yeah he is fantasising about you and lets loose a little too much #you know that gentle lover he was in the last one #yeah nah #my fic

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ylangelegy · 23 days ago

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hear me out: seokmin as a participant in the selection, a competition for the princess' hand in marriage.

seokmin would be from the 'artist' caste of society. he gets by as an in-demand actor-slash-musician, but his prosperity still depends on his desirability. his future is in a constant precarious balance— will he have enough for food and rent tomorrow? will they still love him when he's no longer as young as he is now?

when you announce your plans to hold a selection, a part of seokmin knows that this is his chance to advance. to live a comfortable life, to never have to worry about money again.

another part of seokmin can only think of you. the queen-to-be, the crowned princess. he's not a fool who will claim love at first sight, but he thinks about the time, years and years ago, when you had once smiled at him in a crowd of thousands. and, oh. what he'd do to be the reason behind that smile again.

seokmin is selected. the palace advisors are required to choose one or two 'lower' caste boys to give the illusion of hope, to make it seem like it will be an even playing field. he's the perfect choice. easy on the eyes, used to entertaining. initially, none of them think he'll really make it.

seokmin knows he has to compete with thirty-four other boys to win your heart. he knows that being chosen is just the start. for a moment, he doubts getting himself in to this whole thing— until he's given seven minutes to speak with you before the competition kicks off. they all have seven minutes, an chance for a one-on-one. here is how he spends his:

seokmin ungraciously blurts out that you're a lot prettier than he remembers. he tries to recover by explaining that incident where he'd seen you, before, on a parade float. his face burns with shame as he changes the topic by asking you about your day. you manage to squeeze in one or two polite, getting-to-know questions about him ("what type of music do you sing? what's your family like?") and he stumbles through his answers.

seokmin is convinced that the whole thing was a train wreck. but, just as he gets up to go, you say softly, "i remember you, you know."

you're still as royal as ever, still sitting tall and straight. proud and serene. but there's a hint of a smile on your face. suddenly, seokmin is ten again— the parade, the crowd, the sun in his eyes. and you're grinning at him now, the same way you did back then.

"you bowed, back then," you add, and seokmin forgets all of it. the competition he's supposed to be in. the money that awaits him if he sees it through. his own damn name. because he had bowed, had traveled on with the rest of the parade once he'd caught your attention. you remembered that. you remembered him.

what is he supposed to do with that information? what is he supposed to say? the seokmin of present day can only do one thing. he folds in to another curtsy, as clumsy and deep as it is when he first did it. when he comes back up and sees that your smile has gotten imperceptibly wider, he thinks, oh, i'm in trouble.

#seokmin x reader #lee seokmin x reader #dk x reader #dokyeom x reader #seokmin imagines #dokyeom imagines #dk imagines #➤ ylangelegy: mine #➤ ylangelegy: svt #( i havent thought of the selection in So Long but dk dropped these photos and i was like Oh. Okay )#( this actually heavily references In A Crowd Of Thousands by anastasia !!! YIPEEE )#( dk royalty au i will get u down someday. that is a face that men go to war for )#svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader

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outivv · 4 months ago

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That stupid doctor and his stupid favoritism. His idiocy causes for you to have twice the work that normal just to keep up with his schedule on top of your own! You’re already Dottore’s assistant, but now you also have to go along to all his meetings, supervise new clones with him, sometimes go on trips with him, and do your own research. He truly thinks you can do it all, and have no problem either- but you’re not like him. You can’t casually make a fake god out of some trans boy and a chess piece, you don’t even know why he hired you for this job, you were kicked out of the akademiya for… poor grades, and then Dottore just scooped you up and gave you a job here. It’s baffling, really- but… to be fair the job pays well, and Dottore gives you special treatment. “Don’t touch that. It’ll melt your face off.” Dottore warns sternly, because if you were anyone else- he wouldn’t warn you.

“But what if I wanna be an odd, oblong goo face?” You say, almost smug as you look at Dottore- who promptly looks… disgusted.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s foolish, and a waste of your time.”

“But anything that makes me happy isn’t a waste of time in my opinion.”

“Would that really make you happy?”

“I dunno, would it?”

Dottore looks unimpressed. He just looks at you, and you can feel his annoyed glare from under his mask- especially as you play with the vile of face melting liquid. He can’t help the sigh that comes out of his mouth, getting a headache from you… damn you, and being his favorite. “Must you always be so difficult?” Dottore grumbles, his sharp teeth showing off for just a moment as he returns to what he’s doing. “I think you quite like my difficult-ness.” Your smug attitude is not helping the situation. “I mean, I heard from Pantalone that you asked for quite a large sum of money for a ‘gift’ of some sorts. Course, he wouldn’t tell me the details.” Fuck you caught onto him. Dottore curses, and mumbles under his breath something about that ‘stupid banker and his stupid fat mouth that won’t shut up for two goddamn seconds’. Yes, well- Pantalone is known as quite the gossiper and chitchatter, and you have tea with him on the weekends. Unbeknownst to Dottore.

The sigh that escapes him again is one of defeat, and would put any other person into a coffin just at how frustrated he sounds too. “Yes? What if it?” Oh, now look at Dottore trying to be all nonchalant about it, well- luckily for you… you’re nosey. “I heard it’s a new creation, hm?” You say, examining your nails a bit, before your eyes flicker up to the doctor, and he just taps his fingers against the table in… such fucking annoyance. “Mhm. I usually go to Pantalone for funding. This time was no different.” Dottore says, acting like he’s not about to explode- but he could never do that to his favorite assistant. “Did you not hear me when I said that Pantalone specified that it was a gift?” Your snark is gonna get you nowhere yet… everywhere with Dottore, as he pushes away from the table he was standing at, and starts walking away. “Come now.” He beckons, not even looking back, but soon hearing the tap of your shoes following him. You simply go over to Dottore’s main workbench, and he sits down- pulls almost a billion little things out of drawers, and then… he assembles a box.

“What’s this?” You say, just curious, really. “Well you open it, and you look inside.” Oh, now he’s gonna be snarky back with you, huh? You roll your eyes, before gently lifting the lid of the box, and you’re disappointed to find a music box. How cliché of him. As if expending that, Dottore gently slides the box over to himself, simply twists the knob and then… a whole projection appears. The room, turns to an elegant ballroom, with figures dancing elegantly across the floor, and with you and Dottore in the middle. You’re stunned, shocked… other words for surprised- and you reach out to try and touch one of the projected people. Your fingers go right through them, until Dottore reaches out through the person, and grabs your hand.

“At the last… fatui event, I noticed you were rather… shaken up. I assumed it was because of the people, considering you seem most comfortable around the lab even when it’s just the two of us. No segments, no people, no distractions. And now, it’s the same in the ballroom…” Dottore says, taking his mask off, and nearly holding his breath as he looks down at you. Dottore has never been a man that you’ve known to be nervous, let alone reveal his thoughts to you in any way… he’s always been some kind of enigma, but that’s probably because he pretends to be this complicated man of extreme power and science. Now, he seems like something simpler, with his red eyes staring at you, as if begging for you to approve- and express some kind of gratitude. He’s arrogant, but even he needs validation.

“Dottore… this is fucking insane.” Is all you can say, you your hand ends up holding his, so… he’ll assume that it’s good? “That’s what people usually say to me.” He says, almost… playful?! Who the hell is this man and what has he done with Dottore who you one time saw eating straight up mayonnaise out of the container. “I mean, when you have elaborate ideas like this, I suppose I wouldn’t blame them.” You mumble, curiously looking at Dottore. What’s his aim here? What does he want from you? What is he trying to get. Before your mind can ask too many internal questions, Dottore clears his throat, and closes the music box, making the projection stop in the blink of an eye. “Well, there? Satisfied with knowing your gift before you were supposed to even get it? Brat.” Dottore says, almost angry, while he glares at you- and puts his mask back on. “Yeah, I appreciate it. Thank you, this is my favorite gift I’ve ever gotten…” you genuinely say, holding the box as Dottore practically shoves it into your arms and he starts dismissively walking off. He pretends to not hear you, but you can see the burning red of his ears. Damn him and his favoritism towards you.

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