#i joke about the unforgiveable mistake

[aggravateddurian]

I've had an idea!

As we're aware, CDPR made an UNFORGIVEABLE MISTAKE when they made Phantom Liberty... they did not include an iconic variant of this most precious bean:

The Liberty. It's literally called LIBERTY, c'mon guys!

I've had ideas for two iconics. I'll be including them in my Phantom Liberty weapons pack of Dark Future Arsenal as exotic weapons.

As with the standard Liberty in Dark Future Arsenal, it is a Heavy Pistol (Handgun skill, 3d6 DMG, ROF 2, 1 Handed, but with the canon 14 rnd magazine).

Phantom

Phantom is an all-black Liberty, its paint is designed to be sensitive to local light levels, adapting to the darkness to make its form as obscure as possible. It will do 1.5x damage with a suppressor attached and 2.0x damage when fired from stealth. In Cyberpunk RED, this means that Phantom will improve stealth rolls by +1 when held in hand.

The Phantom's suppressor uses the same rules I've homebrewed for stealth attacks and suppressed weapons in my Cyberpunk RED campaigns.

It is suppressed, which means that provided that there are no eneemies with line of sight to the character within 25m/yds, the player will not cause a combat initiative roll if used on an enemy outside of combat. However, if there is an enemy within 25m/yds, the player will have to roll Stealth against the enemy's Perception, which, if fails, will trigger combat and force an initiative roll with the player at a -1 disadvantage.

It ignores armour if fired from Stealth (outside of combat), reflecting the video game's stealth headshot bonus whilst not being too over the top.

It has a unique scope, which will give it +1 to hit at ranges from 0-100m and will not incur the -8 aimed shot penalty (but only if aimed at the target's head). It, alongside Her Majesty, will be perfect companions for the FIA agent on the ground.

Phantom's colours and unique lore about having no serial numbers are meant to evoke the espionage theme of Phantom Liberty.

Redscreen

Redscreen is a unique Liberty with a bright red slide and black frame. It fires unique ammunition called 'Redscreen rounds' that will cause enemies to receive a -2 to all REF and DEX related checks for 1 minute. It is, otherwise, a Liberty.

The glitches that enemies see would be similar to the glitch effect V saw when Songbird uses V as a proxy to hack the Petrochem EBM Stadium in Phantom Liberty. The colours are inspired by the Phantom Liberty colours (red and black).

I'm thinking about a green and grey Barghest themed variant and maybe an all-white NUSA variant, the idea being that this was a weapon carried by Secret Service agents tasked with protecting President Myers.

These variants will not be available to the players of my current campaign, they'll be reserved for the 2077 campaign I've got cooking.

[luna-azzurra]

Soul-Level Secrets Your Character Is Carrying (And Hiding Like Their Life Depends on It)

These are the kind of secrets, that keep your character up at night. The kind that twist their decisions, poison their relationships, and build a wall between who they are and who they pretend to be.

» They think they ruined someone’s life, and no one knows.

It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t obvious. But maybe they said the wrong thing. Maybe they didn’t show up when it mattered. Maybe they walked away and something irreversible happened. No one connects the dots. But they do. Every day.

They smile like everything’s fine. They help people. But underneath? They’re trying to atone for something they never confessed.

» They don’t believe they’re capable of being truly loved.

They might flirt. They might date. They might even say “I love you” like it’s nothing. But they don’t believe it when it’s said back. They think people are just being kind. Or delusional. Or lying. It doesn’t matter how good they are—it never feels like enough. So they self-sabotage. Quietly. Strategically. Like clockwork.

» They’re living a life that’s not theirs.

Maybe they took someone’s spot, figuratively or literally. Maybe they’re fulfilling someone else’s dream, wearing someone else’s name, carrying someone else’s story. They were supposed to say no. Walk away. Be honest. But now it’s too late. Too deep. Too tangled. So they pretend this version of their life is real. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

» They’ve buried a part of their identity because it was safer.

Their queerness. Their culture. Their belief system. Their softness. Their rage. At some point, they decided—this part of me makes people leave. So they buried it. Cut it off. And now they move through life like a shadow of who they were supposed to be. They blend. They perform. But deep down, something sacred is starving.

» They still love the person they say they hate.

They’ll deny it. They’ll joke. They’ll talk sh*t with a smile. But the truth? They never really let go. And they never will. It’s in the way their voice shakes. The way they remember the smallest detail. The way they get weirdly quiet when that person’s name comes up. Love laced with bitterness is still love. That’s what makes it so hard.

» They’ve hurt someone on purpose—and never apologized.

It was calculated. Or maybe impulsive. But they knew what they were doing. And they did it anyway. Now they pretend it didn’t matter. They laugh it off. “We all make mistakes,” right? But in the quiet moments, it haunts them. They remember the look in that person’s eyes. They remember the moment they chose cruelty. And they hate themselves for it.

» They think they’re a bad person deep down.

They might be kind. Loyal. Brave. But they’re convinced it’s a performance. A mask. That underneath all the good, they’re something rotten. Unforgivable. Wrong. So they wait. For the slip-up. For the fallout. For someone to finally say it out loud: “I knew you were never really good.”

» They’re still shaped by something they pretend didn’t happen.

That thing? The trauma? The grief? The shame? They’ve never talked about it. Maybe they’ve blocked it out. Maybe they minimize it. But it’s everywhere—in the way they react to conflict, touch, silence, love. They don’t think it matters anymore. But it does. It always has.

» They dream of leaving. But never will.

Every day, they imagine packing a bag. Burning it all down. Starting over. But they stay. Because of guilt. Obligation. Fear. They smile while doing the right thing. But in the back of their mind, they’re screaming. They’ve built a prison out of choices that looked noble on paper.

» They’ve built a whole personality around keeping people from seeing who they really are.

The loud one. The chill one. The one who always makes the plans or always fixes the mess or always has a snarky comeback. It’s not fake. But it’s not all there is. They’ve decided that the real them? The soft, scared, selfish, angry, insecure them? Can’t be loved. So they keep the performance airtight. But some part of them still hopes someone will see through it anyway.

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Concussed (Azriel x Reader)

Cassian accidentally gives you a concussion, his only request is that you give him time to get away before Az gets home.

------

“Your heads not in the game,” Cassian teased, nudging your feet apart as he examined your form. “Come on, what’s on your mind?”

               “Nothing is on my mind.” You mumbled, dropping your fist and turning to him with a pout. “We’ve been out here for hours, can we please be done?”

               It was an unusually hot day, and you and Cassian had stripped down to the bare minimum, and it still wasn’t cool enough. His torso was coated in sweat, and you could see the defined lines of muscle lining his abdomen and arms. You, on the other hand, had only joined the inner circle recently, and you couldn’t see any muscle in your abdomen, hence the vigorous training sessions with Cassian.

               “Do you think Hybern is going to wait until it’s nice and cool outside to attack us?” Cassian asked, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms.

               “I don’t know… maybe?” You shrugged, he shook his head, laughing. “Spar with me one more time.”

               “I always lose!” the grumble left you before you could stop yourself. Cassian laughed again, and you got into position on the mat, and he stood across from you. Past Cassian, you could see the landscape of Velaris, the mountains in the background with the sun high above. Clouds littered the sky but provided almost no shadow.

               Speaking of shadows, you wonder what Azriel had been up to. You hadn’t seen him today, where usually you two spoke before breakfast. Seeing him was one of your favorite parts of the day, whilst he was quiet and refined with everyone else, you made him smile and laugh. Your friendship was full of inside jokes, occasional hugs and a lot of pining for him. You wish you were able to move on, and in an effort to, you told Cassian- but that was a huge mistake.

               Cassian teased both of you, constantly, and you could tell Azriel was embarrassed. You two would be eating breakfast together in the morning, and Cassian would come in and call you two lovebirds, or a nice couple, or even ask if he was interrupting something with a wink. Azriel would always snap some retort back at Cassian, something along the lines of ‘Not us’,  “Not gonna happen”, or, the one that hurt your heart the most, “Not in a million years.”

               Sure, Cassian’s teasing was embarrassing, but you never understood why Azriel felt like he had to shut it down so harshly, Cassian was only joking after all.

               “You’re not focused!” Cassian snapped his fingers in front of you, and your eyes moved quickly from the mountains to him. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

               “Of course I did!” You snap back.

               “Lets see about that.” Cassian replied, his fist came at you in the combination you guys had been working on. You ducked to the right and you heard the whoosh of his hand past your ear. You blocked his right knee with your forearm, turning quickly to throw a punch into his unshielded face.

               Instead of watching your fist land a satisfying blow to his chin, you instead watched as his fist came right towards you and land an unforgiving blow to your right temple. You flew back on the mat, landing in a heap and losing the air in your lungs.

               “Y/N!” Cassian shouted, quickly getting on his knees and standing above you. You saw his shadowed blurried face above yours. After a few moments, you were able to gasp, your lungs finally allowing air in. Cassian’s one face turned into two, then four. “Y/N, are you okay?”

               “I don’t know.” You whispered, you reached up for his face to see if there was really four of him. You cupped his cheek. “Cassian, I am literally seeing like- eight of you right now.”

               “Fuck Y/N!” Cassian groaned, turning his head away and looking around. “I thought you said you heard what I said, I told you that after the first combination, we were skipping the second and doing the third.”

               “I think I lied.” You groaned, your arm falling back down to your side. You reached up to feel your head and could feel that your eye area was swelling already. “The sun is so bright.”

               “I’m going to take you to madja Y/N, but please, do not tell Azriel.”

------

               Hours passed, and Madja diagnosed you with a slight concussion. She was able to give you something for the pain, but the bruising and eventual black eye was unavoidable. Cassian had tucked you into your chair in the library, making sure you had a snack, a couple of books and a tall glass of water within reach. “Cassian- I’m not helpless you know.”  

               “Y/N- trust me, this is the least I can do.” Cassian handed you your book, then moved the table even closer to you. “Is this close enough?”

               “Yes! I’m fine, you guys get punched around all the time, I can handle it.” You tried to raise your eyebrows in a teasing manner but felt a surge of pain through the right side of your face. Cassian’s face fell, “I’m serious, don’t feel bad. It was my fault for not paying attention.”

               “He’s not going to see it that way.” Cassian retorted, and you shook his head.

               “Why are so worried about what Azriel will think?”

               “I just do not want to be anywhere near here when he comes home, speaking of which, I best be on my way.” He leaned down, giving you a light hug before backing up. “Again, I’m sorry, but I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

               “Yeah.” You nodded, smiling as he walked from the door. You looked around the now empty room, the fire was roaring in the fireplace, the light leaving shadows against the dark shelves filled with books in varying condition. You nestled into your chair, opening the book and continuing where you left off.

------

               The door opened to the library with a groan, and you smiled to yourself,  noticing the new shadows flowing around you that were  not caused by the fire. “Hey Az.” You hummed, not turning towards him.

               “Hey, how was your day?” His low voice reverberated through the small space, making you smile. He sat in the chair next to you. You were sure he looked handsome, like he does every night, but you didn’t turn your head, instead leaving your hair to frame the ugly bruise.

               “It was uneventful.” You flipped the page, “What about yours?”

               “Just uneventful?” Azriel reached his hand over, grabbing your arm. “What was uneventful?”     

               “Just did a little sparing with…. Cassian.” You hesitated, “It was hot, very hot, and very uneventful.”

               “I feel like you’re not telling me something.” Azriel said, and your felt him get up and go to kneel in front of you. You looked down even further, you probably looked ridiculous. “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

               “No reason Az, my eyes are…tried of looking at stuff.” You cringed at your bad excuse. “I mean- I think its time to get to bed. You walk out first- I’ll be right behind you.”

               Azriel slowly placed his hand on your chin, and gently forced your head up, causing your eyes to meet his. His teasing smile immediately dissolved into concern, then anger. “Y/N!” Azriel’s voice was sharp, but his hands were still gentle as he cradled his face. “What happened?”

               “It wasn’t Cassian’s fault!” You pushed your hair behind your ear, “I was distracted and then his fist just came out of nowhere-“

               Azriel stood up, walking out of the room. You got up to follow, trotting behind him as he went to Cassian’s door. He swung it open, not knocking, and stormed into his empty room. “Where is he?” Azriel growled, turning back to you.

               “Azriel calm down!’ You replied, coming over and grabbing his arm. His shadows dispersed, probably looking for Cassian somewhere in the house. “He left- I don’t know where.”

               “I’m going to kill him.” Azriel looked down at your face, but instead of meeting your eyes he stared at the huge bruise.  

               You understood why Cassian left in this moment, but couldn’t exactly figure out why Azriel was losing his cool. “Azriel please-“

               “Where did he go?”

               “I don’t know! I just said that!” You replied, you turned your head back towards the door and winced, the quick motion causing your head to throb. Azriel’s hand immediately fell to your cheek again. “I’m sorry, it just hurts.”

               “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “lets go back.”

               His hand hovered over your lower back as you walked. “Do you have a concussion?”

               “A slight one, yeah.” You replied, deciding that instead of the library, your room was definitely a better destination.

               “I’m sorry to cut tonight short Az, but I’m really tired.” You looked up at him, opening your door. He nodded, following you in and sitting in the chair next to the bed as you laid down, getting under the covers. As you settled into your pillow, you expected him to move, or leave, but he stayed put. “What are you doing Az?”

               “I’m going to make sure you’re okay.” Azriel stated, leaning back in the chair, his wings awkwardly crunched between him and the wall.

               “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, you know I do, but what?”

               “Concussions are serious Y/N, even if Madja says you’re okay I’m not taking the chance that you’re not, so I’m staying here.”

               “all night?” You retorted, and he nodded.

               “Yep.”

               “Az please, go to bed. You look uncomfortable.”

               “Nope.”

               You glared at him, and he sighed, leaning forward and clasping his scarred hands on his knees. “You want the truth?” You nodded, “I would sit here, all night, and watch you sleep just to make sure you woke up. The fact that Cassian hurt you…. Makes me want to tear him limb from limb, even if he is my brother.”

               “Az-“ You started, leaning up on one arm and taking a good look at him. His eyes bore in to yours, no trace of humor left in them. “You’re serious.”

               “Yes, I’m serious.” He replied, “so don’t ask me to leave again, because I won’t, I physically- I physically can’t leave.”

               “Then at least climb in with me.” You whispered, patting the spot next to you. He froze. “Please, you look uncomfortable.”

               “That’s the concussion talking.” Az mused, and you shook your head.

               “I swear it’s not.” You whispered, earnestly looking at him. “If you were ever hurt, I don’t know what I would do. Do you want the truth?” he nodded, and you sighed. “I didn’t see the punch coming because I was thinking about you, and about…how you would never feel the same way as I do.”

               “And how is that?” Azriel dropped to his knees, coming to the edge of the bed.

               “I…care about you, deeply. I want to spend every day with you, and…” You felt tears prick your eyes and you turned away, your face flushing in embarrassment. “Honestly it really hurts my feelings when you say you could never see us happening, because I’ve always seen us happening.”

               He stared at you, hands falling to his side. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m concussed.” You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes, turning away and plopping on the bed. “Forget I said anything, goodnight, Az.”

               After a few moments, the bed creaked and you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, slightly pulling you. You turned, and Az was above you on his side, staring at the non-bruised side of your face.

               “I have always thought that you would not be able to love me, for the things that I have done.” He whispered, cupping your face. “I never wanted to offend you with the… insinuation that we could ever be a match.”

               “My chest physically hurts when I’m away from you, and my shadows would rather be with you than with me at this point, you are so kind, so beautiful, the thought of us together, the thought of you caring about me, and possibly loving me, just seemed too much like a dream rather than reality.” Tears burned your eyes again as he spoke, “I love you, I’m sorry I ever made you think differently.”

               “I love you too.” You whispered, and he wiped the tear from your cheek. “All those comments Cassian made- it was because I told him how I felt about you, he was just teasing me.”

               Azriel barked a laugh, turning away from you on his back. You looked at him in concern, and he just shook his head. “I had told him about my feelings for you, I thought he was…I thought those comments were aimed at me.”

               You shook your head, laughing as well. “ Az, I won’t stop you if you still want to kill him.”

[sourle]

Oneshot n Headcanons

WARNINGS: There might be smelling mistakes/mispronouns/ooc. I apologize in advance for those.

Enjoy the show.

You wish you weren't brought into this hell, Looping for eternity for the joy of torturing. Was this really the karma for the things you did in your past?

Was this all just a sick joke as a payback from them?

You don't know.

You wish you could take it back and wouldn't end up here. Being chased around like some kind of toy all for entertainment for the.. killers. You're luckily not alone.. but… they're not all better.

After they know what you did, they turn their back on you. More often than not, they never help you whenever you're in a struggle.

Ignoring you completely.

You hate it, you don't like it. It's what makes the loop hell WORSE.

The way the other survivors treat you. Elliot never bothered to offer you a pizza. Shedletsky would just watch you getting chased alongside Guest. HECK, even 007n7 ignored you COMPLETELY.

It was exhausting, especially when all you wanted was a new beginning. Without the constant nagging of what you did.

You approached Taph, tapping him on his shoulder. “Hey— May I ask you something?—”

“🧍‍♂️🤷‍♂️👉👷‍♂️❓” (I don't know as well, maybe you should ask Builderman) You nod at his answer, giving him a thumbs up and left. Glancing back to see he gave you a thumbs up as well.

You next walked up to Noob, “Sorry to bother you… but do we have a plan for the next match?—”

Upon hearing your voice they flinched, they didn't seem to hear you but he just nodded quickly. “Y-you should ask Builderman about it, I'm s-sure he has m-more.. information.”

You watch as they speed walk away, slipping a bit.

You brushed his silly actions and went to find Builderman. He is outside the cabin with Shedletsky, seemingly in a conversation as Builderman checks over his new invention.

You approach the two and once you get closer, they turn their attention to the footsteps coming closer.

Shedletsky looks.. rather wary, whilst Builderman has that unreadable expression. You hope that's not hatred.

“Uhm— Hey, Builderman.. Can I ask about the next upcoming match’s plan?”

He didn't answer you outrightly other than letting out a sigh. A small silence overtook before Shedletsky finally spoke up, “We're still trying to figure out who's going to be picked next. Though I believe you won't be picked. Luckily.”

That smidge of disappointment in the last word already says you're not welcome in their presence. You hum with a nod, bidding farewell they didn't respond to and left.

You sat in the living room of the cabin, staring into the fireplace, waiting for the match to start to explore more of the camp, place, whatever people call the area around the cabin.

You don't know what else to do to spend the time, you've got no one to talk to as of now. You've already asked if there's a plan— like every other time before a match. And you can't think of doing anything else.

You might try and find Dusekkar for a small chat, but even so he will, like others, find an excuse to get away from you.

What are you, some kind of plague infected robloxian?

No matter, you'll just wait for the match whilst watching the endless fireplace.

Headcanons

Survivors

Noob

They don't hate you. More so terrified of your capabilities, judging from your past.

Would avoid you every chance they can.

They did try to push away their fear go try and bond with you, maybe. But Guest held him back for 'caution'

Elliot

He hates you. Deeply.

He's frustrated towards what you did to his workplace. Outright unforgivable.

Does not trust you one bit.

REFUSE to heal you even as you're low.

Shedletsky

He's wary. Does not trust you.

Would often watch you from afar though never try and make a conversation with you.

He does not hate you.. maybe a little bit.

Only helps you when it's only you two left alive.

Builderman

Hatred.

He's seething whenever he sees you.

Never tells you where the sentry or dispenser is at. Leaving you wounded most times.

Definitely is the one who told Dusekkar to never help you when you're chased.

Dussekkar

He doesn't hate you. Just a smidge of dislike. Though he does love to talk to you. Once in a while.

Is curious how you are able to do what you've done in the past

The closest to neutral.

Doesn't mind you, though he can't say anything for the others. Especially Builderman.

Chance (pink day Chance yass)

THE MOST NEUTRAL

Like Dusekkar, he doesn't hate you or dislike you.

The closest you think as a friend in the hell.

They do enjoy talking with you!

Though he can't ignore what you've done in the past.

They does help you, Often!

Maybe the only one who helps. Or is he? (Vsauce music started playing)

Two time

Thinks you're a demon coming for them.

Will watch you like a hawk.

They tried to sacrifice you once. Though Taph stops him by knocking him out.

Also tried to give you to the killer aka Jason. Jason ended up targeting Two time.

Guest 1337

He's neutral. Just distrustful of you in every aspect.

He has respect for your.. powerful doing in the past. Though he can't say he's not wary of your capabilities.

The second most to help you. Even though most of it is just him watching you getting chase.

Taph

He actually likes you.

You both would talk often and he loves teaching you sign language!

You both have the closest bond, aka best friend!

He does not care about your past, it's the past after all.

007n7

No emotions.

He sees himself in you.

He understands what you're going through.

Thought.

He respects you for your determination.

Often leaves medkit or bloxy cola near your spawn place.

He does give it to you directly. Once. Elliot glaring at him, whispering he needed it more than you as he can't heal himself.

Chance shut Elliot down by mentioning how he doesn't heal you at all.

Killers

1x1x1x1

She's intrigued by your past.

Though he doesn't care and would kill you whenever.

They would often leave you as the last man standing. Though you don't understand why.

John doe

Absolutely doesn't care.

L + Ratio. Die.

c00lkid

Thinks what you did was cool!

He's impressed how you have done it.

Would often target you first to see if you're as powerful as the story his father told you about.

Fond of you. Somehow.

Jason

He pity you. He does.

He knows how it feels to be an outcast.

Would leave you as last man standing everytime. Though sometimes he lets you win.

Hey at least another killer friend other than a child.

Masioso

He has heard stories of what you did.

Intrigued and impressed.

Though he doesn't understand how you ended up in the hit list. He doesn't remember you doing anything about debt. Meh, you're name in the list anyway.

Azure

He doesn't understand why almost all the survivors hate you.

Even as he feels sorry, he's still going to kill you.

Noli

Thinks what you did in the past are bullshit.

He does not care what so ever.

Though he did tease you about your past, despite not believing it happened, before chasing you.

Guest 666

He doesn't really care.

He tried to feel sorry for you from seeing how the survivors avoided you. But he's careless.

He's a monster. Not a villain.

Note: woah, What's this? I finally uploaded something other than reblogs? Mwehehhe

Anyway if you guys want more, please send it a request of what I should do next.. like a scenario for this Oneshot hcs story.. like maybe Reader trying to bond, how they react to this, that, etc.

Bye now ty for reading!

[sume3luvv]

Thinking about...

༉‧₊˚. o.dazai x fem!reader

now playing...

MELTING by kali uchis ₊˚ෆ

might be a few mistakes cuz sume did not proofread...

pre-boyfriend!dazai who has never thought that such a unforgivable and sinful person like him could be loved by anybody.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who never thought about love until he met you.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who first met you at the bookstore that recently opened down the street, which you worked at.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who requested philosophical and dark books recommendations, catching you a bit off guard.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who sighed in defeat when you had no idea what to give him because you never read that kind of genre.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who blinks in curiosity when you lead him to a brand new aisle filled with a genre that was completely different than what he asked for.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who bonds with you over your guys mutual interests for books, instantly becoming amused by your calm and kind personality in contrast to his melancholic, yet cheerful one.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who made stupid excuses to keep on coming back to the bookstore after the day you two met.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who gave you subtle hints that's he's interested in you, like brushing his knuckles against you by "accident" when he bought a book, or when he'd lean in to see your pretty face closer.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who gave up on giving your oblivious self hints and (in)directly asked you out on a date with that sly grin spread across his lips.

" you know what would be crazy? going somewhere, maybe a restaurant. you and me, together. alone. " " are you asking me out on a date? " you asked, raising an eyebrow. " hm.... I don't know, what do you think?" dazai teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who takes you out for dinner after saving his money and not recklessly spending it all, or losing it in a river from another suicide attempt.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who walks on the beach with you after dinner, shoulders bumping while fingertips brush against each other.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who stops and takes your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckle before flashing you a charming smile, causing your heart to do multiple flips.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who asks you to be his girlfriend while the sun is setting beautifully in the background.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who feels a pounding in his chest when you agree with the cutest smile. he can't contain his excitement as he cups your chin, bringing you face closer and kisses you gently.

" you mean it? " he asked, eyes lighting up. " you're really saying yes? " yeah, i am. " you replied with a shy smile. dazai grinned and pulled you into a tight hug. " wow... i must be dreaming. quick- pinch me so i know this is real. " you rolled your eyes playfully. " you're ridiculous. " " ridiculously lucky, maybe. because i'm finally dating the woman of my dreams. "

boyfriend!dazai who isn't afraid to show people that you guys are dating. for example, he would wear those 'i <3 my girlfriend!' shirts if you guys go on a date.

boyfriend!dazai who has his arm wrapped around your waist in public.

boyfriend!dazai who can be possessive in a good way.

boyfriend!dazai who swings your guys arms when holding hands as you guys take a stroll at the beach while watching the sunset.

boyfriend!dazai who believes you're a daydream, a woman too good to be true.

boyfriend!dazai who believes you put him under your spell, and that's why he's so deep into loving you. not that he's complaining, though.

boyfriend!dazai who thinks you get prettier and prettier every day.

boyfriend!dazai who studies your humor to make you laugh in order to see your pretty smile.

" ah! " dazai cries and holds a hand over his eyes. " what happened? are you okay? " you ask, eyebrows furrowing in a panic as you try and pry dazai's hands away from his face. " i just got blinded... by your lethal face card! " dazai jokes, peeking at you through his fingers with a grin. you couldn't help but snort and smile at your goofy boyfriend. " you're so stupid... "

boyfriend!dazai who rants to his coworkers about you, babbling about anything and everything about you. your hair, your eyes, you personality, the way you sleep at night- dazai just loves everything about you!

boyfriend!dazai who slowly opens up about his past, knowing he can't keep the ugly truth from your any longer.

boyfriend!dazai who, despite his flaws, is astonished you still want to be with him after finding about his past.

boyfriend!dazai who brings you to oda's grave with a proud smile and an arm wrapped around your waist as he introduces you to his old friend.

boyfriend!dazai who wishes oda was still alive to meet you.

boyfriend!dazai who melts whenever he sees your smile ignite, knowing that everything is alright.

boyfriend!dazai who feels safe and at home whenever he's around you.

boyfriend!dazai who has trouble sleeping at night, so he holds you close and watches you sleep at night, finding your peaceful slumber calming.

boyfriend!dazai who loves to be spooned at night, burying his face into your chest and listening to the even beats of your heart.

boyfriend!dazai who knows every little thing about you. from your worst to your best.

boyfriend!dazai who kisses you any chance he gets.

boyfriend!dazai who feels the will to live his life because he has you.

boyfriend!dazai who loves his girl more than anything, and feels so unbelievably lucky to have you in his life. maybe god has never treated him good, but one good thing the lord has given to him is you.

a/n: it has been awhile since i've uploaded, so think of it as a treat! i don't what came over me, but i just had a blast of energy and the will to finally complete this imagine that has been in my drafts for centuries (or 2 months).

sume loves all of you guys! (≧ڡ≦*)

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚LIMERENCE PT 2 [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 1

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after finding the courage and the balls to ask you out, Peter couldn't help but test the waters.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ reader is drunk and drunk people cannot give consent), terribly written smut (i'm a virgin i'm sorry, I have no idea what goes on actually in the bed), oral (fem receiving), drinking, drunk reader, overstimulation, everyone is 18+ here lemme know if I missed any. MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: I'm sorry this took a whole ass while, it's probs 90% story and 10% smut. Like it's probs shit, the smut's the reason why I couldn't finish this sooner because I had no idea where it was going. Also tried to write 2012 slang, idk if it even sounds right. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else I'm going to turn you into Victoria Heyes from terrifier ❤️🫶/srs

Peter shuffled in his sleep. Tossing and turning. Sleep never found him, how could it? He did something so unforgivable. Having an obsession with someone who barely acknowledges your existence is one thing, but sneaking into her house, completely crossing every single line, and then jerking off to the scent of your panties while imagining you on top of him, riding him as you creamed his cock with your cum.

The air felt heavy and there was an almost stifling silence in his small bedroom, while his mind worked in the manner of a broken machine, looping thoughts.

Every single thing about you — your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you spoke of something you loved, the way you uttered his name — his mind kept replaying like a broken record. Each one felt as fresh as if it had just taken place a moment ago, and each one pulled at something deep within his chest.

He had spent years arguing with himself about what he was doing. He told himself that viewing you from a distance was merely innocent fascination, a little crush. But that had been a lie. What he had done the night before, sneaking into your room was not a mistake; it was a deliberate decision.

Peter was filled with doubts, a regular person would call him lovesick, a creep even. Is she really worth it? Peter admits something he'd been avoiding for a while.

He wanted you.

Not as a classmate. Not as a partner for a stupid project. He wanted you in a way that was raw and desperate and consuming. Oh, he wanted you to look at him the way you look at the rest of the world with trust, with affection, with the same ease that made you laugh at his dumb jokes.

The realization hit him hard. The weight of it sank into his chest like a boulder, but there was a rush of something else too-something darker, more intoxicating.

Peter sat up abruptly, there's only one way or another, heart hammering as he snatched up his phone. Tapping out a quick message, he did so with trembling hands.

"Hey, u free 2nite? Was thinkin maybe we could finish the proj & grab dinner after. My treat. :)"

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovered over the send button. The fear crept back in, whispering in the back of his mind. What if she thought he was crazy? What if she rejected me outright? What if everything he'd built up in his head came crashing down?

Many thoughts crowded his mind, neither of them was good

As he stared at the text, his finger quivered. His stomach tightening in knots. The reply was already forming in his mind—would you say yes? Or perhaps he was weird for asking, for suggesting anything other than school?

But what if he didn't ask? What if he kept on pretending that this crush wasn't eating him up from the inside?

I've got to do this; he tried to steady his breath. This would never come again.

Deep breath and then Peter clicked "send."

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was racing, spinning out into the worst-case scenarios. You could just say no or even laugh it off and tell him it wasn't a good idea. It's a biology project, after all. That's what it was supposed to be—right?

That crumbled page of biology scraps lay on his desk as evidence of the project you both were working on. It was supposed to be a simple collaboration, probably will last for a few weeks if he was lucky, and then he'd just go back to being invisible to you.

But he didn't want to go back to being invisible.

He sat there at the edge of the bed, hunched over in an awkward position, his elbows rested on the stretched knees, and he stared his phone, convinced that at any moment it would leave his grip. He had typed the message, the own words glowing brighter as he waited.

He had redone it like at least a dozen times, but all versions felt way too casual to too formal. His current message was just right; friendly, innocent enough but still an invite.

What if you think it is strange? What if you don't even reply at all?

He shook his head to stabilize his breathing. It's alright, he told himself. His not asking for something crazy. It's only a dinner.

But it wasn't just a dinner. It was the convergence of years of quiet yearning, stolen glances, and missed opportunities. This was the first real step toward something more, if only he could find the courage to take it.

He shunned his phone flat on the bed thinking that might ease the tension in his chest, but it didn't. His heart raced as seconds ticked by on the clock, each second feeling like an eternally long wait.

What if you didn't reply?

What if you did?

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly as his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it with trembling hands.

"Sure! I'm totally in. Where r we meeting? 7?"

He read the message over and over again: You're saying yes. Relief was an actual weight that was just lifted as disbelief flooded him as he blinked at the screen, rereading the message to make sure it hadn't been imagined.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, but it quickly disappeared. Now that he got the answer, a different kind of panic struck.

What happens next?

"Yea 7’s cool, I’ll pick u up @ ur place"

He looked up at the clock-6:30. In thirty minutes, he needed to get ready. Thirty minutes within which he needed to figure out how not to screw this one up completely.

Peter fell out of his chair and quickly rifled through his closet for something fresh and unique that didn't look like it had just been thrown on five minutes ago. His room was strung out in a mess of hoodies and T-shirts that didn't do any good as he tried on piece after piece-each feeling wrong.

"Relax," he murmured at himself while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Hi hair looked like he just crawled out from under the bed, his face was red, and no matter how many adjustments he attempted on the clothes, he still looked like the awkward kid he'd always been.

Peter raced around his pod-sized room in search of a shirt that didn't scream "high school loser." The bed was a battlefield littered with crumpled hoodies, a checkered flannel, even his Midtown Science Academy T-shirt.

"Peter?" Aunt May's curious sounding voice called out from the hallway.

"Yeah?" he shouted back while looking through his closet and listening.

"Why does it sound like a tornado hit your room? Are you okay in there?"

Peter groaned and threw another hoodie onto the pile he was amassing on the bed. "I'm fine!"

The creaky door slammed open a moment later, and Aunt May peeked her head in. Her sharp eyes traveled the disaster area that was his room, from the piles of clothes, and even down to the one sneaker he was wearing.

"Uh-huh. Fine." She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this about? A wardrobe crisis?"

He sighed at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing serious, okay? I just… I'm going out."

May raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched as if trying hard not to smile. "Going out? As in… on a date?"

"What? No!" Peter's voice shot up as he spun around, waving his hands. "It's not a date! It's just dinner. For a project. With a friend."

By now, she wasn't even trying to hide her grin. "A 'friend,' huh? Is this the same 'friend' you've been talking about nonstop since this biology project started?"

"I don't talk about her nonstop!" protested Peter, turning into a shade of tomato. "Oh, you definitely do," Uncle Ben countered from outside the hallway and into the room, sporting the knowing smirk of someone who has heard too much. "Half the time, it's, 'Oh, she's so smart,' and the other half is, 'She's so good at this lab thing.'" He said with a dreamy tone

"Okay, okay, so I get it!" he groaned while burying his face in his hands. "Can we not do this now?"

Ben laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. We are just teasing, and you've got this.”

May walked into the room and picked up one of the forgotten shirts from the bed. Holding it up, she said, "What is wrong with this? Nice but casual, not slobby."

Peter squinted at it. "It's too—I don't know; plain?"

"Plain is better than looking as if you are trying too hard," she said, tossing it to him.

Uncle Ben nodded sagely. "It's right." "You don't want to go full tuxedo on a first—uh, not a date," he added quickly, holding up his hands when Peter glared at him.

Peter huffed but pulled the shirt over his head anyway. "You two are the worst," he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

May smiled and reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. "We are not the worst. We are just proud of you. It's good to see you putting yourself out there."

"I'm not—," Peter began, but Ben cut him off.

"You are," Ben said firmly. "That's a good thing. Just be yourself, Pete. If she's as great as you say she is, she'll see what we see, a smart, kind, slightly awkward but very lovable kid."

Peter's face burned. "Yea, you really know how to give a pep talk."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ben fired back with a grin.

May handed Peter his second sneaker. "Here. Don't forget this, unless you're planning to really impress her with your one-shoe look."

Peter rolled his eyes but could not quite hide the grin that crept onto his lips. "Thanks, Aunt May."

So Ben called after him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "And remember, kid—Italian places usually give you breadsticks first. Don't fill up before the main course!"

Peter groaned loudly. "I'm going now! Bye!"

He was there, at your door, heart pounding heavily, as if wanting to burst out from the body. He lingered for a while, staring at the doorbell.

What if this is a mistake?

But before you could think otherwise, the button pressed his finger.

And then echoed the sound of the bell from inside, and Peter felt that the earth would open up and swallow him whole in an instance. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

There you were.

"Hey, Peter!" you said, smiling that effortless way that made his breath catch in his throat, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. "You're right on time, I just need a minute to grab my bag."

Peter managed a small smile and stepped in, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need."

You disappeared into another room, leaving Peter hanging awkwardly at your door, his eyes darting about. It was a very warm and inviting house, in harmony with the kind of person you were. The faint hum of a television in another room was muffled, someone talking, and he could hear that easily.

Your presence returned with your bag slung around your shoulder and you ignited the nerves again in Peter.

“So,” you said, smiling at him, “where to?”

Peter hesitated just a beat too long, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. "Uh, I was thinking Italian? That okay with you?"

"Italian sounds great," you said easily as your smile widened.

Peter's heart raced as you stepped out the door, walking beside him toward the small restaurant a few blocks away. The night air was crisp, and for the first few minutes, he was too caught up in his own head to say much. But then you started talking, asking him about his day, about the project, and the sound of your voice eased some of his tension.

You made him feel like he belonged, even without having a word to say.

When the restaurant came in sight, Peter turned to you. Nerves still there but mixed with something else: a quiet and hopeful excitement.

Maybe just maybe, tonight will be the beginning of something real.

The walk to the restaurant was such a nerve-racking experience. Each step Peter Parker took beside you felt like a step closer to something he wasn't ready (or was actually hoping for). His hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, fingers curling and uncurling, while trying to keep steady pacing alongside you.

But you appeared to be at full ease. You talked about the cool evening, how the trees' leaves were beginning to rustle with the cold wind blowing, and even the faint smell of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor a few blocks away. Peter heard everything, nodded, and punctuated things now and then with the occasional "Yeah" or "Totally," but as for his thoughts, they were running wild within him.

This is well. This is the standard. This is alright, He didn't over hypothesize for the hundredth time.

As much as there was relief in now having something solid to focus on, Peter was panicked that it all became real at that moment.

He opened the door for you, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Thanks," you said, giving him a swift smile before stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," Peter mumbled as he hung his head and followed you in.

The hostess took you to a corner besides the glass window, a cozy little spot with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. Peter's hands trembled as he took the chair and gestured you to sit on it.

The menu in front of him could be in another language as he stared dumbly at it, words bringing into a blur while the thoughts buzzing in his head were getting harder to put to rest.

Don't be weird. Just be normal. What does "normal" even mean? Stop overthinking! You've got this!

"This place is nice," you commented as you scanned the menu. "How did you discover it?"

"Oh, um, my aunt used to like it here," Peter said, grateful he could answer such a question. "She says the lasagna is the best."

You grinned. "Aunt May has good taste. I will try that."

He nodded, yes, but could not stop the rush of nervous thoughts flooding his mind. He glanced at the menu as if studying it although he already knew what he would order. But his mind was instead filled with every possible thing he could screw up tonight.

Don't talk too much; don't laugh strangely; don't look like an idiot.

Here came the waiter, and you ordered effortlessly, laced with a polite smile as you handed him the menu. Peter stammered out his order and felt his palms sweat as he gave it. When the waiter walked away, Peter could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything he had to meet your gaze.

"So," you said, leaning in with elbows planted on the table, chin cradled in palm, "what's your thing, Peter?"

"My thing?" he said, taken aback. "Like, my thing?"

"Yeah, like… what do you do for fun? What are you really into doing when absolutely no one else is watching and judging?"

Peter blinked, trying to think of something that wouldn't sound lame. "Uh, well, I like photography," he said. "And science, I guess. Experiments, stuff like that."

You perked up. "Photography? That is cool. What kind of pictures do you take?"

"Mostly city stuff," he said, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "You know, like weird angles, shadows, reflections. It's probably not that interesting to most people."

"I think it sounds interesting," you said. "I would love to see your pictures sometime."

Peter's heart was pounding so hard. "Really? Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want."

That made the conversation flow more easily. You told him about your love-hate relationship with math, how sometimes you spent too long procrastinating by watching cooking shows instead of doing your homework, and how one time you tried to make crème brûlée and almost burned your stove.

“I had to open every window in the house,” you said, laughing. “My mom came home and thought I’d burned dinner. I didn’t tell her it was supposed to be dessert.”

Peter grinned, feeling just a little bit more at ease. “Maybe stick to cookies next time, huh?”

“Noted,” you said with a mock-serious nod.

Then it was time to eat. You both started digging into it while still keeping up your conversation. Peter quickly found himself becoming much more relaxed, finding it absolutely easy to talk to you when he didn't over-analyze every word. You burst into laughter each time his jokes finished, and whenever his eye fell into yours, everything around faded.

There was little doubt that he was doing this because he was desperate enough to strike a topic that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot; this was the reason why he asked, "You, uh, good with the whole project?"

You leaned back, fiddled with the napkin on the table, and said, "Yeah, it's actually been fun. Well, I mean, we work well together, and you're much smarter than I had thought."

Peter blinked. "Wait, you thought I wasn't smart?"

"No, I just-" You smirk, it's clear you're enjoying his reaction. "You always seem kinda… busy with stuff, you know? You're not exactly the loudest guy in the room."

"Well, I, uh…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm, uh, more of a behind-the-scenes guy. You know, less talk, more… action?"

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Peter felt himself get a little more relaxed. Maybe you weren't judging him.

'This place have wine?' you ask all of a sudden, not looking up from the menu.

Peter blinked. "Uh… I think so?"

You smirked and put your feet up on the table after throwing the menu on it. "Perfect. I could use a glass."

Peter was at a loss on how he should respond. It just didn't seem like the kind of person who would order wine to go with dinner-at least, not in his limited and admittedly romanticized view of you. But when the waiter came by, you ordered an entire bottle without hesitating, barely glancing at Peter for confirmation.

"Um, yeah, sounds good," Peter said weakly, even though the thought of drinking anything stronger than soda made him nervous.

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in an awkward silence.

But the waiter was back again, this time with a bottle and two glasses, which he laid down with a polite smile. And before you knew it, the deep red liquid was already swirling around in your glass because you had poured it in haste from the bottle.

Want some? You asked, already halfway through your first sip.

“Uh, maybe later,” Peter said.

You shrugged and took another long drink before putting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Suit yourself.”

The most casual kind of conversation developed between you: you asked Peter about what he was interested in, and he managed to stumble along throwing together great lengthy descriptions about why he loved photography and science, and the words came out too fast for him to think them. It almost seemed like you were listening to him, however, because he went on to nod before even asking follow-up questions, which made him for the first time in a long time feel that he wasn't entirely invisible.

By that time, he was becoming aware, as the hours slipped away, that you were filling up your glass more and more often. The bottle was now half empty when the food came, and you were already sporting rosy cheeks when the alcohol was pouring into your system.

“This is good,” you said, hardly bothering with your plate in order to gesture with your fork at it. "I mean, really good. Good call, Parker.”

The smile that appeared on Peter's face was that of nervousness. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

Now you leaned back in your seat, holding your glass up to the light. "You know, I don't really do stuff like this. I've kind of never had dinner with classmates. It's just a little… weird, you know?"

Peter sank a little. "Weird, how?"

"Not bad weird," you said immediately by waving your hand. "Just… different. Like, generally, I would just be at home watching some lousy reality show and trying to forget how much homework I have to do."

Peter chuckled, even though he had no idea what to say next.

After a sip of wine, the boy looked up at Peter who immediately landed his gaze upon the bottle. You seem well into your first glass with a heightening sense of ease that you appeared to be at his home. Maybe it was because of the wine or perhaps how you were looking at him right now-not with judging spectatorship but with a strange kind of understanding that made him feel as if he were not really out of place.

It was only a count of seconds before the food arrived while you already had a second glass in hand. Peter's stomach flipped at that moment. This wasn't the way he was used to seeing you, all loosened up and speaking without that slight guard he usually saw when you were around. You appeared different tonight, and Peter couldn't quite figure it out if it was a good thing or not.

However, the conversation was still going on, only that as soon as you took a few more drinks, conversations shifted to more profound, much more personal things. Laughter spilled from your lips more freely, although Peter saw that smiles were now somewhat uncontrollable. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was just the ambience. In any case, he could feel something shifting, like you were letting him see this version of yourself you weren't sure he was supposed to see.

"Peter", you said, looking at him with wide eyes after a long sip. "What's your big dream? Like 20 years from now, what do you see yourself doing?"

He shifted around uneasily on his chair. And that question was sudden, a little more intense than he would have reckoned it to be. He was not used to being asked about his future like this.

"Honestly?" said Peter, leaning back a little and looking down at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I don't really know. I think- I think I want to do something with science, or photography. Maybe combine. Don't know really. Just like, I want to fix things, you know? Help make the world a little less broken.''

You were quiet for a moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was because he'd said something wrong or whether you were just thinking. But when you finally spoke, your voice was softer, almost quieter than before.

"I think that's really admirable, Peter."

That was it. That one simple sentence hit him harder than he expected. He wasn't used to compliments like that- not from you, not from anyone. The words were a strange dream, and for a second he just looked dumbfoundedly at you trying to really understand what you mean.

Peter had never imagined the night to go this way. Not even in a million years. But here he was, walking alongside you, swaying slightly on the sidewalk with less steadiness in your step than before. Surprisingly, the wine had hit you faster than he figured, and he wasn't so sure if he should be concerned or just chalk it up to the kind of night it had turned into.

"Hey, I'm-" You hiccupped, laughing lightly at your own clumsiness. "I'm fine, Peter. Really."

But Peter wasn't so sure. His instincts were whipping him into overdrive-the same ones that always made him want to leap into action when something was amiss. "Yeah, I don't think you are," he said, trying to keep it light. "Let me just walk you home, okay? Just to make sure you're good."

But you rolled your eyes, with an almost sheepish smile you gave in, "Fine, fine. I get it. You're worried about me."

"Yeah, I am," Peter said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. "But you're my responsibility right now, okay?"

You exhale a small laugh, and Peter can't help but take note of how completely giddy it sounded, a little like you weren't quite sure where you were or what you were doing. You leaned against him, and then Peter was surprised at how easily you let him help you with that.

The way home was otherwise silent except for the occasional trip and the muttered apologies from you. But Peter didn't mind it, sensing closeness, although strange. Everything was just weird tonight. The brushing of your hand against his as you reached for your keys. That laugh of yours that wouldn't leave his ears. The vulnerability you seemed to wear in your eyes at that moment.

So, then you reached your door, and you suddenly stopped and stood there, fumbling with the keys in your hand. Peter moved closer but silently offered to help. You shook your head.

"I've got this," you said, though your words were slurring just enough for Peter to catch the uncertainty behind them.

After much effort on your part, the door finally opened. You leaned in again, and Peter nearly lost his heart as he had to rush forward to steady you.

"Whoa, take it easy," Peter said catching you as you stumbled. "Let me help you."

You smiled up at him, glassy and unfocused. "I'm fine, Peter," you slurred. "Just a little…tipsy."

Peter chuckled and guided you up the walkway to your front door. "Tipsy, huh? Well, let's get you inside and safe, then."

As you both reached the front door, you fumbled with your keys and Peter had to gently take them from your hand and unlock the door himself. You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

After some time and a couple of tries, she got the door opened.

"Okay, inside," he said, his tone a little more powerful now. You did not resist him as he helped you through the door, but there was a strange sadness in your eyes that twisted Peter's stomach.

You moved slowly to the couch and finally sank down on it; the wine was exhausting. Peter stood near the door for a moment, wondering his next move. He wanted to shoot his shot, his thoughts wandered to somethings more inappropriate. Wasn't this all about getting you safe? Ensuring you did not end up passed out somewhere in a big, messy pile of sheets and regrets.

"Can you just… stay for a bit?" you asked quietly, with barely a whisper.

Peter hesitated. He didn't want to go too far, and he couldn't just leave you here, not looking so…fragile.

"Yes," he spoke softly, entering then into the living room. "I'll stay for a bit"

You nodded at him, gazing at him with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Peter perched on the edge of the couch; his hands awkwardly balanced on his knees. What a strange space there was between you two now, strange in that it was so very close, yet so far away. He wanted to be of some use and ensure you were okay, and yet the way the glance kept coming from you in that direction somehow felt… off. It was like walking on a fine line.

Peter looked at you longingly, you were so beautiful.

Too close and too perfect, he found himself sitting next to you, and Peter felt the pressure of so many things left uncommunicated fill his chest. He needed to do it. He needed to say it.

"Peter?" Your voice was a soft whisper, a little uncertain. Wine had aided this whole relaxing process, yet made almost everything feel slightly out of focus.

Peter swallowed, heart pounding in the chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the alcohol that has found narrate in your system, or if it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he knew very well it was now or never, the one chance to say all he had kept bottled up for months.

"Yeah?" he whispered, getting closer so that he was almost against you now.

"It's just that, I… I'm sorry if I've been too much tonight," you said, your words slightly slurring as you allowed your gaze to drift over his face. "I didn't mean to get that drunk."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. He could feel his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than ever. "I just… I just want to make sure you're okay."

You smiled up at him, but it was a little foggy, and Peter could tell that the wine had dulled your clarity. Still, you were so beautiful, standing there, looking at him with those eyes—eyes that made him feel like he mattered.

Peter took a sharp breath and let a sudden breath of air come out. It was as if a magnet was pulling them together, and he was drawn to it. "So, uh– I was thinking…" He hesitated for a moment, then recovered his composure, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Like, longer than I should have."

His brows knitted further in confusion as Peter quickly realized that the rest of the sentence was failing miserably in getting through your mind, as if the actual words were swimming around in it, suspended in fog. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

"If I—" He let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've been loving you for so long now. And tonight, I couldn't hold it anymore and just… broke the dam."

Your expression shifted slightly. Confusion clouded your gaze. You blinked, trying to piece together his words. "Wait, what?"

Peter took a step closer, completely incapable of holding himself back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt the heat between you intensify. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your arm. "I love you," he whispered again, barely able to breathe. "I love you so much, and I've been too scared to say it. I've watched you for so long, and I—" Peter stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, eyes looking like a lost puppy.

"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful" He leaned in, your face was so close to him, his lips brushed against yours. He held your face as he licked your lips.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin with just the proximity of Peter's face to yours, and the goosebumps it sent down your spine. Those eyes were filled deeply with a longing expression and captured yours as if drowning you in its depths. There was air that quite vibrated between the two of you, and the heat that seemed to take form could even be felt emanating from his body.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Peter whispered. His voice shuddered with desire. Gentle words falling like a caress to send shivers through you: "Wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss."

His lips brushed against yours when he spoke, making your body spark with electricity. You were pretty much melting into him, as if his very desire were consuming your human body. His lips, soft and gentle, just as firm and insistent. You tasted like wine.

"You're so beautiful" he said as his hands went underneath your dress, his hands inching close to your under garments. He touched your clothed core; he used his index finger to rub your clothed cover clit

You squirmed in his touch, "P-peter" You mewled in his mouth

This just seemed to fuel Peter even more, as he set aside your panties as his smooth fingers rubbed your now exposed core. Peter looked at you, he slowly kneeled as he spread your legs.

He looked at your wet core, as if it was a painting that he couldn't understand. Without warning he then sucked your glistening pearl; his tongue probed the inside of your gummy walls as his fingers rubbed your pearl. You cried out, your body arching up to meet him, and Peter felt a surge of excitement. He was in control now, and you were at his mercy.

He knew it was wrong, you were drunk after all, but he couldn't help it, this was his only chance.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping wet pussy, you cried out in ecstasy, your hands tugging at Peter's hair. But he didn't care, all he cared about was your dripping we cunt.

Anticipation dwells in the coiling mouth against your body, sending shivers along your spine. Every inch of you is lulled into stimulation by his gentle probing, drawing near to a soon-to-be-hidden insistent demand. You can feel that hot air glazing across your skin, soft scraping with teeth, and relentless pressure from his lips, all of which accompanies his tongue.

Your hands are clenched while he works, fingers digging into the sheets or perhaps his hair, holding him there. Your hips jerk primitively, as though to push him deeper and encourage more pressure, while your breathing makes raspy sounds mixed with soft mewls of pleasure.

One hand is busy at your hips, molding you solidly into place, while the other slips only up over the curve of your waist before settling over your breast.

You feel yourself immersing in the sensation as your focus is honed into one. The only critical thing is the feeling of his mouth on you. The whole room begins to fade away, and you're left with only the slushing wet sounds he makes and your breathless gasps, groans, and cries.

Peter on the other hand felt like he was in cloud nine, his mouth was now fully covered in your arousal, but he didn't care. He continued lapping at your cunt, accompanied with his middle finger thrusting in and out of you.

As the intensity rises, so do your frantic movements: the hips jerk and thrust as though reaching toward some ill-defined height. His mouth is a scythe-like blur of tongue lashing and probing until the pressure builds and you're all quivering trembling muscles, precariously balanced on a knife edge of release.

Your mouth is wide open, frozen in a silent scream on your lips, and your entire body starts quivering at the moment of release.

Then silence engulfs the outside world; its only inhabitants are trapped in a silent world of raw lust. His mouth is a furnace, raging, and threatening to engulf you completely, but you lean into the flames, thirsty for the intense heat that only he can provide. Your skin is slick with sweat, your heart thundering like a runaway train as your body builds toward the inevitable climax.

Your cries intensify as tension rises, a mournful cry into this frantic air, a scream savage, echoing off the walls as your body strains towards that release. Your muscles quivering.

Before you knew it, it almost hit you like rough wave of pleasure.

His cock twitched, his balls tightening with anticipation, as he felt the warmth of her your release in his mouth. That alone could make him cum his pants. He had never been this close to a woman before, and the thought of exploring your body was almost too much to bear. And here he was doing exactly just that.

You were beautiful to Peter, but you looked ungodly when you were in a state of release. The way your chest would heave up and down, how your mascara was running down your eyes, and your lipstick smudged on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful" he said, barely even above a whisper.

"P-peter— OH MY GOD!"

He suddenly took a long slow stripe of your pussy, as if savoring everything, but then stopped when his tongue reached your clit. He sucked on your little pearl as if it was lollipop.

You moaned loudly as your back arched and your toes curled, "P-peter" You whimpered

The way he was sucking on your clit, along with his fingers that was thrusting deep inside you. It made it nearly unbearable. The last few moments or so almost sent you spiraling into one of those severe orgasms that made you see stars on your ceiling.

Loud moans slipped from your mouth, you wondered if your parents were at home, what if they see their sweet girl falling apart underneath the so-called weird kid of your school.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to ease the bittersweet pleasure he was giving you. "P-peter, oh god, stop, I c-can't take it anymore" you begged in a voice very nearly a whisper. Body trembling, your hands reached instinctively for his hair, holding him.

He continued his performance on your clit. A familiar knot kept building inside you. Suddenly, the moans turned into loud gasps, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. P-peter, I…I think I'm going to come again" you finally whisper. To that, he only sucked harder, licked harder, his fingers falling on a rhythm with his tongue swirling relentlessly on your sensitive spot, bringing you to sweet agony. Your back arched up, you gasp while screaming, "P-PETER!"

Heaving and shaking with each pulsing moan, you lay there with your body's hypersensitivity after such intense pleasure receding. Finally, Peter raised his head. That satisfied smile on his face was testimony to your ability to elicit such feelings from him. And with his eyes, he stared at you, every flicker of lust speaking volumes about what was crossing his mind. Then he kissed near the center of time in your inner thigh, his lips dragging softly, and then moving to lie with you at the side of the couch

Peter's smile slowly faded as he noticed your catch of breath, replaced with a show of real concern. He stroked your hair as he gazed into your eyes. "That was intense," Peter said. "You're shaking." His voice was tender, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Time to get you to bed, all right?"

He managed a slowly rise from the couch while extending his hand forward towards you. You grasped onto it and found your balance shaky; nonetheless, Peter assisted you toward leaving the living room, down the hallway, and into your bedroom.

Peter opened your door slowly, revealing the bedroom from that night. Snap out of your thoughts Parker!

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Peter placed you carefully at the edge of the bed. He knelt down to remove your shoes and started undressing you slowly and carefully. He threw the covers over you as you laid back in bed, tucking you in like a young child.

"Rest," he whispered as he brushed his lips against your forehead. "Sleep, I'll be here when you wake." He sat beside you, stroking your hair with his hand. Your eyelids began to feel heavier, and weariness, along with all the forms of pleasure, finally overtook you. Peter was the last person you remember as you slipped into slumber, where upon you felt the warmth beside you that offered the source of a much-needed sense of safety.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

[81pastrys]

Their Mechanic

Part 6 / 10

Summary— When Lando drags her along to Oscar’s flat, they discuss the night before

Warnings— light drinking ; mentions of drunken activities

A/N— I like the ending to this one 🤭

Series List

We got to the door, and Oscar answered. “Well, hello, trouble.” Oscar smiled at me and shot Lando a look.

“I was just going to get my car and leave, but Nowins decided I should come up and say hi,” I emphasized Lando’s nickname.

“Drop the nowins.” Lando joked and rolled his eyes. “It’s three wins trouble.” He corrected. Oscar laughed at his attempt.

“What’s your nickname for me again?” Oscar asked. He knows I call him Osc, but he also knows it winds Lando up.

“Osc, courtesy of your teammate,” I say, eyeing Lando as I say it. “Max is Maxie, Charles is Prince, Pierre is French boy.” Every nickname made Lando’s eye twitch. He sighed and helped himself to a glass of whiskey. “Care to get me a glass, Lan?”

The new nickname slipped from my lips, and my eyes went wide. Oscar was in disbelief, and Lando smirked as he poured another glass of the alcohol. The blush on my face grows, and Lando sets the glass before me. I look up at him, and he winks. “On the rocks, love.” The blush evident on my face.

He sat next to me, Oscar sitting across. “You’re a party animal trouble.” He mentioned the night prior. He’s right; when I’m intoxicated, I dance and say things I shouldn’t.

“What was the worst thing I did, hmm?” I ask seductively to the introverted man. He stumbles on his words. Lando smiles at me, but I take no notice.

“You danced on the coffee table,” Lando mumbled before sipping his hard whiskey. I nearly spit mine out, realizing the outfit I was wearing.

“Oh god, who saw?” I ask, frantic about the men present. “I was barely wearing anything.”

“They were busy in the kitchen, so only me,” Lando said. “I got a front-row seat.” He chuckled, and Oscar was, if not as surprised as me, more so.

“When was that?” I ask, still in disbelief at my actions. “I don’t remember that!” I laugh.

“You were pretty drunk last night,” Oscar added. “Oh, that was when we made more shots for the game!” He came to his senses and remembered when it was. “We were playing truth or drink and got more. You didn’t come with but stood up and must’ve danced on the coffee table.”

“Hope you enjoyed the show, Lan,” I say, reusing the nickname from earlier. “It’s a hard show to get tickets for.” I tease.

“I beg to differ.” He argued. “I was just at the show last night.” He and Oscar join me in laughing.

“Apologies, it’s hard to get that show while I’m sober and in my right mind.” I laugh.

“Why didn’t you stay last night?” Oscar asked. “You seemed eager to leave.”

“I made myself a promise a long time ago to leave when I get drunk so I don’t make drunken mistakes to regret the next morning,” I respond. “I left too late,” I mumble under my breath. We talk for a few more hours until I call it a night. “I’ve got to be at the shop early tomorrow.” I sigh.

“Leaving so soon trouble?” Lando whined. “We’re having fun!” We were sharing funny teenage stories. I genuinely was having fun, but I also had work in the morning.

“Just come to my shop like you always do, Lan.” I tease and shoot him a wink. “Dad will be pissed if I’m late again.”

“I can walk you out; it seems he’s intoxicated.” Oscar chuckled. I put my shoes on, and Oscar walks me to the garage. “He’s taken a liking to you.” Oscar says.

“Yeah.” I shy away from the comment. I’ve noticed Lando will come in and see me for tiny things. “I don’t want to break his little heart,” I say seriously to Oscar. I noticed he hadn’t had drinks tonight.

“How do you mean?” He asked, his face contorting into confusion. I have nightmares of my last relationship. I got cheated on and did some unforgivable things.

“My last relationship ended horribly,” I say. “I used my mechanic abilities to, well, kill his car.” The admittance felt like a burden relieved. I never told anyone that. My ex had given me more business after that. Considering he went to other places, I’m the only one who knew how to fix what I broke.

“Well, that’s hot.” He chuckled after a bit of silence. “Did he ever get it fixed?”

“Well, he said he had tried every other mechanic before he came to me,” I say. “Super simple. Something that wouldn’t appear on analytics but is hard to know about unless you fidget with the parts.”

“That is impressive; remind me never to bother you.” He chuckled again. “You should get going trouble; drive safe.”

I give him a quick side hug and open my car door. “Don’t tell Lando, but I’ve been doing the same to his car, so he returns.” I wink.

Oop- what she just admit to?!

[all-with-angel]

Please, be cruel!

Summary: He had hoped you would be cruel and maybe in a way, you were. But then why does he still love you? Why does he still bleed for you? Why do the flowers growing in his chest only bloom for you, when your heart beats for another?

Pairing/s: One-sided!Hanahaki!Gojo Satoru x gn!reader, Nanami Kento x gn!reader

Content. Unrequited love, angst/no comfort, Hanahaki disease, no happy ending (for satoru)

W.C. 1.2k words || Masterlist

Satoru could trace the exact moment it all started—how his heart became a wretched thing, beating not with excitement but with a desperate, hollow ache. Butterflies in his stomach turn into parasites gnawing at him– reminding him of his failure to let go. 

It had been a harmless crush at first, the kind that made him linger in doorways just to hear your voice. The kind that made him buy an extra snack because he "accidentally" got the wrong one and, well, might as well give it to you, right? The kind that made him lean a little too close when you spoke, just to catch the way your eyes reflected the light.

But he was the one who noticed first. Of course he was. He knew everything about you, every little twitch of your lips, every breath of your laughter. And the way you looked at Nanami—it was so obvious. Satoru told himself it was fine. He told himself it was better this way.

So the first time he coughed up the petals, Satoru died a little more inside. Because at that point he knew, he truly did love you. But he chose to push that thought down, no, he couldn’t love you. Because you were in love with Nanami, and you were happy. That fact, the undeniable truth that you were happy with someone else made him cough more petals into his sink, gripping the porcelain until it cracked.

Because even if he loved you, cherished you above everything, he wanted you to be happy. With or without him.

After his coughing fit, he glared at the petals scattered all over his sink. He cursed to himself as he stuck his tongue out to get rid of another petal in his mouth. It was pretty, a petal of your favorite flower, stained lightly with some blue liquid that matched the blue of his eyes. He took a breath in, slow and heavy as he steeled himself and got rid of the petals, washing them down his sink.

No.

No, no, no.

He was not going to let this ridiculous infatuation turn into something fatal. So he did what Gojo Satoru did best.

He ruined it.

He scowled at you, scoffing whenever you spoke and making fun of you to no end. He became sharp, cruel in ways that could be passed off as jokes, little barbs meant to wound, meant to change the way you looked at him. If you hated him, it would be easier. If you couldn’t stand him, then maybe his chest wouldn’t feel so tight every time you smiled.

“Oi, idiot, you could’ve hit that curse harder. If I wasn’t there, you’d be dead!”

“You call that a technique? Ha, even my grandpa could exorcise a curse better than that– And he’s dead!”

“Ugh, you’re sooooo annoying, why are you even here?”

You blinked at him, hurt flashing across your face before you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. "Jeez, what’s with you today? You’re worse than usual." No anger. No bitterness. No hate.

He was a master at being insufferable, pushing you, poking you, needling at every flaw, every mistake, anything to make you hate him. Because hate was simple. Hate was easy. At least it was supposed to be. Because when it came to you, it was the hardest thing he could ever do, because he loved you. And loving you was easy.

No matter what he did, no matter what he said, you still smiled at him. You rolled your eyes and snickered, maybe softly sigh and shake your head as Satoru watched the move of your lips and each rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. How could you? How could you breathe so naturally, so beautifully, when he himself couldn’t? How could you laugh at him as his heart and lungs were being crushed with the unforgiving amount of love he had for you, how could you smile at him while prickled vines stabbed at his heart? The heart that beat for you?

Please, just be cruel to him.

He needed you to be cruel. But you were kind. You were kind, and that’s why it hurt. 

That's why he loved you.

The petals filled his mouth every night, his body rejecting this love he refused to let go of. Vines and thorns had him in an iron grip, but maybe it was him holding on so tight. But he didn’t want to hold on, so he got meaner. It never worked.

"Don’t you get tired of following Nanami around like a lost puppy?" he sneered. "It’s pathetic."

You frowned, lips pressing together. He thought, finally, finally, but then you just sighed, soft and tired. "You don’t have to be such a jerk, Satoru."

You still said his name like it meant something. Like it was something soft, something kind. Like he was kind, like he hasn't been bullying you and putting you down for god knows how long.

More petals. More coughing. More nights staring at the ceiling, wishing he could be anyone but himself—anyone who didn't love like this, with everything in him, all-consuming and unwanted.

The only reason he isn’t in a hospital room because of this stupid disease was because of his RCT. He thought that maybe, maybe if he stopped using RCT to heal himself after every night of coughing up the same flowers that you loved, maybe you would worry for him. Maybe you would feel sorry, maybe look at him and decide to lie, tell him you love him so the flowers in his lungs would cease. Lie, because he knows it will never be the truth.

And yet, if those words ever did fall from your lips, even if it was a lie born out of pity, he would cherish it for the rest of his life.

Even as he grew crueler, colder and annoying, he still watched you.

Still traced the curve of your handwriting when you left notes on the bulletin board. Still memorized the way you hummed under your breath when you thought no one was listening. Still turned to look whenever you entered a room, even when he swore he wouldn’t.

Still hoped—stupidly, desperately hoped—that one day you’d look at him the way they looked at Nanami.

But you never did. Even now, as he grew to be what he was ‘destined’ to be, the strongest, untouchable, a god– It never stopped.

The petals still came, curling against his palm, a quiet, bitter reminder that no matter how invincible he was, there were some things he could never conquer.

So he grinned.

He teased you about Nanami, about the way you two looked at each other, about how you two should just get married already. And when you two finally did, when you stood before him, smiling, laughing, a ring glinting on your finger with your favorite gemstone neatly placed in the middle–

He smiled back. Because that was all he could do.

He was the strongest and he begged, even now, as he watched you cry from joy as Nanami recited his vows with a loving smile, that you would be cruel.

He realized at that moment that you were. That you were the most evil, conniving and wicked person he had ever met. Because you had made him fall in love with you, without ever teaching him how to let go.

Oh, you were so, so cruel.

[citrus-writing]

I'd love to see more Illumi x reader from you <3

Thank you so much for reqesting! I wrote some misc yandere illumi headcanons and drabbles, mostly pre-kidnapping. Feel free to request more!

Illumi is patient, especially in the beginning. He's content to follow behind you, unseen and unheard, watching you go about your normal day to day. He watches you go about shopping for groceries and despite how mundane and boring it is, he watches you pick out your desired meals with rapt attention. He watches you when you go out with your friends, watches the way they behave around you, the way they laugh and joke- when you laugh, he tries to comprehend what about them is so endearing to you. But when they make a joke at your expense, and yours smile doesn't quite meet your eyes, he decides that they done something unforgivable, and that they won't get the chance to do it again.

No matter how you met him, whether it was friendly or casual or even hostile, once he's laid eyes on you there's no way to get away from him. From the moment he saw you- you, who's looks and voice and smile have insnared him so entirely- he knew he had to have you. It's only fair for him to be on your mind since you're always on his. Even he cant place what about you is so interesting to him; just that you are, and that everything you do is worth taking note of and everything you say echoes in his head. It's strange; how obsessive and yet detached he is. How everything you do is so important to him, yet he takes so long to even consider trying to get closer to you.

When he does decide to try to engage with you, there's that same patience, that same cold detachment that both helps and hinders his attempts. On the one hand, he never comes on too strong, he nevergives off the vibes of a creepy pervert, he never seems too close for comfort. It's easy for you to overlook him the first few times he comes around. Little do you know how often he's actually around, wearing other faces, constantly trailing you. He's everywhere, but you don't know that. On the other hand, he's so cold towards you that you wonder who he is, why he seems so untouchable, why you've never seen him before but now you see him several times a week. The reasonable part of your mind tells you that you just didn't notice him before. But his eyes send a terror through you, and you find yourself hoping not to see him again.

But it's not enough to just interact with you is passing- it's not enough to stand behind you on public transit, it's not enough to bump into your shoulder, it's not enough to ask casually if you know directions to somewhere nearby. Pretending to be a stranger can only get him so far. He takes note of your friends and family, ofthe way you interact with them, who you know better than you know yourself and who you seem to like being around best. Trailing them isn't nearly the same satisfaction, but he knows the reward will be well worth it. Taking their place in your life is easy compared to other things he's done, you're so willing to write off any mistakes, so willing to forgive when you mention a memory together and they don't remember. Illumi is partly endeared and partly disgusted by how forgiving you can be.

But eventually you start to catch on, start to pull away from them- from him.

That's when you wake up in a room unfamiliar to you- nice, almost lavish, but the unfamiliar surroundings send a panic through you. Before you can even scream, there's a hand over your mouth, hard enough to muffle the sound but gentle in a way that makes you feel sick. Even in the dimly lit room, you recognize him from the times you've run into him while going about your day. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere- you'd always been uncomfortable under his gaze; but for the first time you're terrified.

[daisymbin]

angst prompt #21. "you don’t get to walk back into my life like this." with female reader and mingyu

of course! 🫶

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

angst prompt #21: "you don't get to walk back into my life like this."

mingyu hadn’t expected to feel this much.

he’d thought he could handle it—seeing you again after all this time, just a chance encounter. but the moment he saw you, his heart had dropped, and all the walls he’d built around himself crumbled.

he hadn’t realized how much he missed you until now.

it had been months since he walked away from you, and the emptiness he tried so hard to fill never truly went away. he had convinced himself that leaving was the right thing to do, that you’d be better off without him, that you deserved someone who could give you more. but the truth was, he had been too scared to face his own feelings, and in the end, he left you behind.

but now, standing in front of your door, mingyu felt the weight of everything he had done.

he had to see you.

“hey,” mingyu said softly when you opened the door. your eyes went wide in recognition, and he felt a pang of guilt at the guarded look in them.

“mingyu?” you asked, the surprise quickly shifting into something harder, colder. “what are you doing here?”

he swallowed, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, feeling small under your gaze. “i just... i saw you earlier, and i couldn’t stop thinking about everything. about us.”

you raised an eyebrow, stepping back slightly, but not enough to invite him in. “us? you’ve got a funny way of showing it. you didn’t seem to care about ‘us’ when you walked out without a word. remember that?”

the words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“i know,” he whispered, his voice breaking as the weight of his regret crushed him. “i know i messed up. i didn’t mean to hurt you, but... i didn’t know how to fix it. i thought i was doing what was best for both of us, but i was wrong. i should’ve never left.”

you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and almost mocking. “you think you can just come back and undo everything? you can’t just walk back into my life and act like nothing happened. you hurt me, mingyu. you hurt me more than you’ll ever understand.”

mingyu’s chest tightened as he watched the anger and pain in your eyes. the person standing before him wasn’t the one he remembered—the one he used to joke with, the one who smiled when he walked into the room. no, this was someone who had healed, someone who had moved on without him.

and it hurt.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head. “i can’t take back what i did, but i want you to know how sorry i am. i wasn’t ready before, but i am now. i want to make things right between us.”

you shook your head, a sad smile curling on your lips. “you don’t get it, do you? i moved on, mingyu. i had to. i can’t just forget everything, and i can’t just let you back in because you finally decided you made a mistake. it’s too late for that.”

the words hit him harder than anything. too late.

“please,” he said, stepping forward, but you took a step back, closing the distance between you with an air of finality.

“no,” you said firmly, voice trembling but steady. “i can’t keep doing this. i can’t keep hoping for something that’s never going to happen. i’ve moved on. i’ve let go.”

mingyu felt like the ground had been ripped out from beneath him. he opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. what could he say? how could he fix this when everything he had done was unforgivable?

he couldn’t.

“you don’t get to just walk back into my life, mingyu,” you repeated, this time quieter, but no less painful. “i can’t keep waiting for someone who’s never coming back.”

mingyu’s throat tightened as he stood there, watching you—the person he once thought he’d spend forever with—walk away from him, slipping behind the door with a final click.

he stood there for what felt like forever, frozen in place.

he thought he could change. he thought he could fix what he had broken. but some things couldn’t be fixed. some mistakes were too big to come back from.

and as he stood outside your door, the reality settled in.

it was too late.

[solspina]

how good are you at angst vesp…

can i get angst scenarios for guilliman, horus, sanguinius, konrad, and my beloved leman russ :3 plot is entirely yours!

i’m horrible with angst but my inbox is open for a reason, ask and you shall receive. also, this isn’t edited or revised so i’m sorry for mistakes :(

tw: the usual, blood probably, spoilers, horus and sanguinius’ stories are tied together

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Roboute Guilliman had known you since childhood. A great friend of his family, beloved by both his mother and father, both whom shared lighthearted jokes about the primarch being united with you in marriage someday. They were never jokes to him. A life with you was what he wanted, a dream of his.

And yet a sword pierced his father’s heart and your hand was on the blade. You may as well have placed a second blade into Guilliman’s chest just as deeply as you had the first, the way that your face held no remorse and your body trembled from exhaustion. His father had tried to fight you, the story told from the several bleeding cuts littered your body, as did blood that came from no cuts at all. Your hands were soaked in red.

And just as the stories told his father would be avenged by the hand of Guilliman. He went down a hero, and you unknowingly went down a traitor of the imperium, your name in no history books.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Horus Lupercal had been there when his brother had rejected your incredibly obvious advances at him, too caught up in his self-centered idea of godhood to understand what your words truly meant, that there was meaning behind them. He had been there, he had comforted you, hung his arm around you once his brother had left the scene, and yet you rejected his own offer when he had asked you to join the Sons of Horus and leave your old life behind, just as you had told Sanguinius you wanted to.

And what a loyal little thing you were. Your arms outstretched over his brother’s body, begging him not to deal the final blow. Sanguinius was in the midst of taking his final breaths, and you wouldn’t let Horus have the glory of ending his “perfect” brother’s life. You were small, you were not enough. He made sure he left you alive and unharmed to watch the angel be thrown to the other side of the room before he struck him one last time. You still ran after him as if playing fetch and part of him wished you were, so that maybe you would tear the angels wings from his back and hold them like they were your trophy.

Horus took the moment you had your back turned to stab you in it, making sure you would never reach the angel. Perhaps he would grant you both one final mercy. As the shadows crawled from the depths to pin Sanguinius against the wall like a crucified sinner, he made sure you were pinned just the same next to him. If you were going to be loyal, fine by him. You would be loyal in life and in death.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Sanguinius knew he was beloved by all, it was part of his daily life if he were being honest. When you approached him, small and trembling, to tell him you loved him, he laughed. To love a being you viewed as your god was standard, was it not?

No. you loved him. He’d seen the way humans had behaved around each other when they felt love. They held each other close in their arms. Caressed parts of each other tenderly, hands, arms, faces, gentle touches he’d long accepted he could never have. The humans who surrounded him idolized him far too much to lay their hands on any part of him, for he was far too pure. He’d accepted that this love from godhood was the only love he would ever obtain. Humans may be capable of loving primarchs, but not mutants, not him.

And yet you were the last thing he saw before his vision faded to nothing, the last thing he felt before his heart ceased to beat. You kneeled over him, a feeble and weak human attempt to protect him from the unforgiving strikes of Horus. You could not protect him. He lay with his back against the wall, bleeding, weakened, your primarch robbed of his glory. You grabbed his hand, holding it as gently as you possibly could. Horus seemed to hesitate, allowing his brother a moment of peace as you held his hand. You had been stabbed by Horus too, a fatal wound for a human, yet you remained strong for your primarch, your hands running delicately through the feathers of his broken wing.

Sanguinius took his final breaths, and yet he smiled ever so slightly. He was loved. The final blow had ended both of your lives, the shadows that approached to hang the angel on the wall like a trophy grabbed your body alongside his, hanging him up as if he had been crucified, and you in the crease of his wing. In life and in death, he realized far too late that he was loved.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Had you rejected Konrad Curze, he would’ve felt no different than his usual daily attitude. By some miracle, though, you hadn’t rejected him. You hadn’t turned away, you never would turn away and that you promised him. A promise you would break, inevitably.

It was incredibly tough to help him recover his mental health following his difficult childhood, incredibly draining, at that. So when his health started to decline during the heresy, you could no longer take it, and your promise was nothing but severed twine scattered across the floor. He’d try to track you down, to make things right, to make things better.

You were gone when he finally reached you. Physically there, but your heart no longer beat in your chest. He had become a primarch, stronger than he was on his home world, and even at his strongest he had failed you.

Execution seemed too merciful of a fate for him, but he’d take that mercy with open arms.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Leman Russ, the emperor’s most loyal (self proclaimed) son knew nothing but loyalty after being raised by wolves. Your loyalty back to him was an easy pledge, and he loved you dearly, no more than he loved the emperor and his cause.

When you fell to sickness upon his cold planet, your immune system had obviously and inevitably weakened to a near impossible point of return, and it was during a clash with a squadron of plague marines. Leman kept you as far away from the front lines as he could. He would be unable to forgive himself if you died, or worse, fell into the clutches of Nurgle.

But by Nurgle’s grace, you were granted freedom from your sickness. You hadn’t died, no, that would be too simple a fate for you. The unforgiving clutches of chaos would make sure you never felt this ill again. You’d never turn your back on the chaos god, lest your beautifully gruesome gifts become gifts no longer.

Leman spared you one final sorrowful gaze as you retreated with your newfound army, your skin already discord and your eyes looking like they could fall from your once gorgeous face at any second. For a moment, he swore he saw the same expression in your chaos filled eyes. Sorrow, fear, heartbreak.

[localcryptic]

if i think too hard about marshal steel i'm gonna end up on the news. he is making me actually insane. dog dad of the year. hated your guts when he met you. a kind and gentle lover. has made unforgivable mistakes. has also made charming stupid jokes. i can't tell if i want him to have a good calm life or if i want his guilt to devour him from the inside out. and on top of it all hes gay. happy pride month 🏳️‍🌈

[harpval]

❈Blue Blood❈

Kaiser and F!Reader, Regency/Bridgerton AU.

synopsis: With the death of the late marquess, Kaiser finds himself falling into his father's role. Kaiser is many things, but responsible is not one of them. He must take on this season alone. He needs an escape, a sate haven, something to tide him over so he survives the season. That would be you, unfortunately.

disclaimer/content(overall): Abuse, alcohol consumption, semi-violent, PTSD, flashbacks, suggestive, slow burn.

prev: prologue next: A Moment of Weakness

Pilot. Sorrows, Prayers.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊

For centuries, women of society have felt the pressure of marriage upon their gentle shoulders, a weight equivalent to that of a ticking grandfather clock. It is uncommon to hear that a man must succumb to those same pressures.

The Marquess finds himself in a precarious situation, which is the struggle women are promised from the moment they are born. Marriage is a duty they must uphold. With no siblings, the boy finds himself in need of a Marchioness, as it would be in his best interest to produce an heir in hopes of continuing the lineage.

There is little we know about him but from this author’s keen eye, there is no mistaking that he is this season's most eligible bachelor. Will this be the season he finally succumbs to the duty of matrimony? As I am certain he knows as well as I, that it would be in his best interest to find himself a bride.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

“A man, let alone one as powerful as the Marquess–could never imagine what it is to be a woman.” You stifle a laugh, passing the gossip column over to your sister, Lucia. She receives it with a cock of her brow, eyes skimming the page.

“An unforgiving woman she is.” For someone who is not so often impressed, you see the smile that cracks your sister’s usually stoic expression. “She threw him to the wolves, and after the death of his father?” you two exchange glances, stifling a small giggle. Your eldest brother, Victor, crosses the room, ever so nosy as he leans over the back of the couch.

“This nonsense will cause your brains to wither away.” He snatches the paper and hurries off, reading it himself like the gossip he denies himself to be. You shoot up and hurry after him, a scoff escaping you.

“You mean to tell me you’re not intrigued by the gossip column? You seem quite interested.” You stand at his side, gazing down at the paper. His thumb was placed beneath the section of the Marquess. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“Extinguish your interest, sister.”

“Interest was never ignited.” You quip. He smirks and looks over at you and Lucia. He was protective of you and your sisters. Any potential suitor you or Lucia had mentioned he immediately became acquainted with or did a deep dive into his history.

“Lord Kaiser is not a man neither of you wish to associate yourselves with.” He says as he smacks the paper with the back of his hand and sets it down. In most cases, your brother is correct. However, Lucia challenges this and leans against the armrest of the sofa.

“And if I did?” Her tone laced with defiance and mockery, green eyes flitting between both you and your brother. You remain silently amused.

“You would be a danger to yourself.” He leans forward, towering over your sister as if to appear fearsome. Though, he was joking. Lucia, unfazed grins.

“I do enjoy a bit of danger, I think the Marquess is quite handsome.”

“He’s like a venomous snake, arming himself with pretty colors to lure in his prey.” His tone lowers and he speaks slowly, extending his arm out slowly as if to mimic the movements of a snake. You stifle a laugh at his ridiculousness. “So he can poison you, and ruin you for the rest of your days. A man who preys on the naive.” Victor shifts his attention to you, snapping his fingers.

“And just like that, no longer will I be able to protect you.”

“Oh please,” You roll your eyes, a laugh falling past your lips. He grins, but the twitch in his brow betrays his bubbling frustrations.

“If either of you knows what is good for you, you will follow my lead through this season.” To this you and Lucia exchange glances. Unspoken words traversing through your eye contact, she sneers at your brother before leaning back against the sofa.

“Oh he is hardly a danger at all,” your mother enters the room with a hearty laugh, shaking her head. Lucia greets her with a smile, rising before hugging her.

“Good afternoon, mother.” You and Victor say in unison. She regards you both with a smile and gratitude. She carries herself with confidence, catching the attention of every room she enters. She is a force to be reckoned with, and a hell of an example to live up to. Capturing the affections of a Noble in her very first season.

“The first ball of the season is in just a few hours. Girls, your dresses have arrived and are waiting for you upstairs, go on and get ready we must make haste,” she places her hands on her hips, her gentle tone shifting to a commanding one as she turns to your brother. “Victor do not deter them. They are my daughters, I have more than enough faith in the fact they will conquer this season.”

Lucia, unfazed, exits the room with a small bow. You watch the interaction between your mother and Victor, your movements slow as you make your way toward the door. Your brother’s voice is strained.

“I want what’s best for them. That is all.”

–

Lucia sits on the other side of the room, her hair being pinned up meticulously. She’s the spitting image of your mother, both her and your brother Laurence. Who is nowhere to be found, as per usual. Lainie sits at your feet while the maids fit your dress to your body, accentuating your best features and flattering your flaws. You watch in the mirror as Lainie toys with the fabric of your dress, seven-year-old fingers feeling over the fabric and tracing each embellishment at the bottom.

“This color does nothing for your skin!” She huffs out. “It washes you out. Madame Delacroix should have picked a fabric suited for your skin tone.” Your lip quirks into a smirk as you eye your youngest sister.

“Does it now?”

“The tulle is most unnecessary!” She says matter of factly, a tiny stomp of her foot against the wooden floor. You exchange glances with one of the Lady’s maids, a girl named Lenore with bright red hair and entrancing brown eyes. She stifled a giggle when she met your gaze. Each woman diligently gets you ready, securing the fabric to your body like a glove as well as lifting your hair from your neck, similarly exposing the curve to Lucia and your Mother. Because in your mother’s eyes, the neck is the utmost alluring part of a lady.

As you’re finishing up Laurence comes stumbling into the room, his hair disheveled and his movements languid. Lucia’s gaze sharpens at the sight.

“You’re lucky we’ve already been dressed!” She quips. Lainie hides behind you, clinging to the fabric of your gown as she peers up at Laurence with a glare, mimicking Lucia’s gaze. Though is just as intimidated by her as well. You cast a gaze of pure disappointment onto your brother. He waves his hand dismissively, the smell of booze filling your senses.

“You’re going to drink yourself into an early grave, Laurence.” You scold him and he frowns.

“That’s no way to greet your favorite brother!”

“My favorite brother is my younger one.” Lucia sneers. Laurence has to think for a moment, his mouth agape as he squints are your sister. He whines like a little girl.

“You haven’t got a younger brother!” Which sparks a back and forth. You and Lainie watch, entertained and annoyed. She follows you as you instruct Lenore to fix your brother up before your mother sees and loses her cool.

You exit into the hall, walking as Lainie follows close by like a little duckling. A hand holding onto the fabric of the dress she disliked so much.

“I can’t wait for your wedding.” Lainie chirps. You smile softly, looking down at her. She’s beaming up at you with a smile, a pep in her step as the two of you approach the threshold of your home. The color scheme light with two sets of stairs leading to the upper level of your estate. A footman waiting beside the door for your family.

“Are you still excited to be my flower girl?” You ask and she giggles, nodding. She was a starry-eyed little girl and attached to your hip at all times.

“Do you have an eye on any gentleman?” She asked. You shook her head with a small laugh.

“I will after tonight. I’ll tell you all about it.” You kneel, smoothing out your gown to avoid creasing as you hold both of her hands. She had a few missing teeth, but that did not dull her smile.

–

The ball is held at the estate of the Duke. You know little of the Duke and Duchess, other than they have two sons and a young daughter. Only one of their sons resides with them, the other is overseas. It is rumored that he left to avoid the inevitable faith of becoming the duke after his father. The family is speculated to be distant, their youngest son not often seen with them. Only their daughter is seen with them, her name is Nora. It would only make sense for them to host the first ball of the season, to make things appear as if they are well.

“Do you believe the duke’s son should make an appearance tonight?” Lucia looks to you as if you have the answer. You shake your head.

“No, and if you do not wish to waste your time I would steer clear of that man at all costs. You wish to succumb to the same judgment of his family?” You feel your lips quirk into a smirk, and Lucia sneers.

Your carriage pulls up to the front of the estate, circling a grand fountain with doves soaking in the lower half. Victor assists your mother out of the carriage, and Laurence assists Lucia. Victor takes your hand, helping you step down before waving off the footman.

Both of you stare up at the grand estate, thoroughly impressed by the architecture. Victor grins and hooks his arm through yours, taking you towards the entrance with confident strides.

“Remember, tonight is about making your name known. You may not be the diamond, but you can leave your mark.” He speaks triumphantly, as if leaving your mark was a simple feat.

“Yes, I’ll have every Lord of the Ton swooning.” you turn to your brother with a raised brow. He scoffs.

“Of course you will. We look alike, yes?” to which you take offense, a scoff escaping you. You bite back any clever insult that wishes to claw its way through your throat, knowing full and well you can handle yourself.

Everyone is dressed in their best, presumably aiming to start this season strong. You may as well brand your hip like a horse and race through the season–since people such as Lady Whistledown enjoy watching you closely.

The room is decked in dangling lights that cast an ambery glow about the room, if you look at it from a certain angle there are hints of purple that pass through the prismatic shards. Along the room are potted plants, set high above with dangling lilac-colored plants that hang low, teasing the top of one's hair if you were tall enough.

“Compensating, are we?” Lucia, ever the gossip whispers in your ear as she passes by you with Laurence. A smirk on her lips before she disappears into the crowd. You stifle a laugh, amused. Victor can only shake his head. He leans down low, having caught onto the various gentlemen who have been eyeing you up since you entered.

“The first men to approach you are the ones you weed out. You use them as stepping stones to appear more desirable.” to this you scoff.

“It can’t possibly be that strategic,” you say, keeping your voice low. A pleasant smile is on your lips as you meet the eyes of a few interested gentlemen.

“But it is, sister,” He grins and surveys the room with calculating eyes “Nothing that comes easy is worth keeping.” He rises to his full height as if to guard you as you two turn about the room, his words ringing in your ear.

And the show begins. You earn a few names on your dance card, none that are truly worth remembering in your brother’s eyes. There is a man with gold hair, green eyes, and a thick accent. Lord Luna, is a wealthy man of high status. He approached you first. He did not strike you as desperate, he was friendly and warm and only seemed to pick out girls of high standing.

The second is a man with blonde hair and a mole just beneath his eye. He annoyed you with old and overused lines. You didn’t bother to remember his name.

By the time you’re finished greeting potential suitors your feet hurt from dancing, unable to recall which one stepped on your foot. You return to the crowd beside your brother Laurence, who has indulged in the booze brought by other marriage-weary gentlemen. He’s propped up against one of the rims of the potted plants, a thin leaf pinched between his upper lip and the underside of his nose as if it were facial hair. You grin, standing beside him.

“Surely there is more to interest you than the liquor.” You pry. He sighs dramatically, slinging an arm across your shoulders.

“Worry not, I shall secure you the most pleasant of sisters-in-law.” He gestures to the room, his gaze landing on the town snob. Porsha. She’s a pretty young woman, compensating for her snake-like tendencies by layering herself in the finest silks and jewels. She treats her lady’s maids like dirt, so you’ve heard from Lenore.

“In that case, I shall supply you with the finest of Russian vodka–” To this, his eyes light up. He snickers.

The two of you look up as you feel the energy in the room shift, a powerful force of energy crossing the threshold of the duke’s estate. Skin the color of sand, tawny, and matte with the finest of powders. A bold lip and hair that reached for the sky with intricate designs and elaborate jewels hanging from it. You’re left in awe of the presence of Her Majesty the Queen, a shock to your system, one that hits the rest of the room like a desert storm.

“The first ball of the season?” your brother’s booze-laced breath hit your ear. You wrinkle your nose and shrug, sharing the same confusion.

“It’s unlike Her Majesty to make an appearance so soon.” Your questions are answered when behind her trails a tall man with blonde hair–styled in a fashion you have never quite seen. Longer towards the back, framing his neck before flowing over the collar of his attire. The richest of blues decorate his suit, accompanied by a high black neckline, and black gloves. It is not uncommon for gentlemen to wear gloves, but typically they are white gloves. There is no white in his attire, the dark blues he adorns contrasting his milky skin and blonde hair.

“The new Marquess,” Laurence lowers his voice. While the Marquess walks with his chin held high there is a drag in his step, the only thing missing from this picture is the ball and chain he carries with him.

“That’s him?” You look to your brother whose gaze is glued to the man who had entered the room. Laurence was younger than Victor, to your knowledge he has never seen the marquess. The queen makes her rounds, the room settling back into the comfortable conversation as she approaches only the most noble of families to introduce him to.

“He must be lonely.” You observe. His back turned in your direction as he engaged in forced conversation with the duke and duchess’s daughter. Must be a family thing to always look dejected from conversation.

“A man like himself is never lonely,” your brother pats your arm, turning you around so the marquess is out of your view, the two of you begin to walk about the room. He greets friends of his with drunken grins before pulling you far from them.

“Whatever do you mean?” you ask, dropping your smile for a moment to ask what he was insinuating. His lips set into a line and he sighs.

“He strikes me as what people like to call a Rake.” Your brother grins as if he has not been described as that before. You have little knowledge of the full extent of the word and you’re no longer hellbent on trying to figure it out, leaving men like your brother to their affairs.

“Right. He seems hardly interested in any of these women,” You say as your brother’s steps slow. He takes a drink from a platter and downs it in one swig before setting the empty cup back down. He continues to lead you around the room, pointing at different men.

“As do they.” he points to another man, one you recognize from Lady Whistledown’s scandal sheets. He was described as a rake as well, some man with a weird-looking ponytail. “They are not interested in these women. They know there would be hell to pay if they tried.”

“Tried what?” you inquire and your brother flashes a devilish grin.

“Laurence,” a sharp voice cuts between you and your brother, one that could only belong to your mother. You both turn to meet her gaze, a pleasant smile accompanied by a stare as cold as ice. “I hope you’re not engaging in improper conversation.” She lowers her voice as she stops behind you two. His hand flies to his chest and he gasps, his balance a little off as he wobbles, using you as a support. You scoff.

“Never, I would never taint a lady such as my dear baby sister!” He coos and shakes his head. Your mother’s jaw tenses, the muscles there flexing. The first and only warning sign you two are to receive before you suffer at her hand. He straightens up swiftly, his arm hooking through you properly, and you lower your gaze.

“He was just telling me about some of the suitors,”

“I see.” your mother says, shooing your drunken brother away–he dramatically leans against the wall as she hooks her arm through yours. “Well, you’ve been asked for so you shouldn’t worry your pretty head about any of those men for now.”

“Asked for?” Your interest is piqued as your mother re-routes you the way you came, bringing you to a brighter part of the room.

“By Her Highness.” Your heart hammers against your ribcage at your mother’s words as she leads you closer, the Queens elaborate hair within your view, her back turned so you have a mere few seconds to collect yourself. You must remind yourself that you are of noble standing, though are the lowest of noble ranks. You square your shoulders, trying to soothe the knot in your stomach with a few deep breaths and fanning yourself with your gloved hands.

“Your Majesty,” Your mother’s words bring you back down from the heavens and your arm lowers. You follow suit as your mother bows before the queen, making sure your movements mimic that of swans, as your mother has always taught you. Your head moves after your body in a gentle sway as you rise back up.

The queen’s footman swiftly assists her as she turns, making sure no one steps on the long train of her gown. She certainly stands out, her dress out of fashion. Georgian era? Your eyes flit back up to meet her gaze, a brow quirked as she looked down at you through her nose.

“You have already met Lucia, and I am pleased for you to meet my eldest daughter …”

“Lord Kaiser, this is the young lady I was telling you about,” I beg your finest of pardons? You’re quite aware the queen has withheld the title of diamond, leaving every young lady susceptible to the affections of any worthy gentlemen. The queen is ever so meticulous in her decisions.

He takes your gloved hand into his, the white fabric of yours contrasting the black fabric of his. He places his lips against your knuckles, before slowly raising his head. He was a man who carried himself with faux pride, evident in his soulless blue gaze. His nose is sharp.

“Charmed,” he says as if his voice was being wrung from his vocal box like a damp rag. You almost feel insulted if not for the fact you were trying to escape the cage that was this interaction.

Your mother and the queen exchange glances. And for a fleeting moment, there is a flash of embarrassment in the queen’s eyes. This interaction gained you nothing but the reminder she too can succumb to the feelings those of society can. You feel quite bad for her, the only other solution for her is to put the boy on a leash and lead him around the room like a misbehaving canine. His presence irritates you, such a waste of a handsome face.

The queen leads him off with a silent exit, almost defeated demeanor before she recomposes herself. You and your mother watch in awe, stifling your smirks. A rare sight for a woman as perfect as your mother. She hooks her arm through yours and leans into your ear as you two continue to walk about the room.

“Goodness, Her Majesty has her work cut out for her,” Your mother’s voice exudes amusement. You look over your shoulder, gaze lingering on the back of his head as your smirk unveils itself as your mother’s words. A bratty Marquess being quite the entertainment.

“Sorrows, Prayers.” You thicken your accent and look at your mother who feigns a gasp. The two of you giggling to yourselves as you parade the room.

Your mother dubs the first night of the season a success, though no thanks to your brother Laurence who has indulged in the duke’s family's generous supply of booze. You and your sister triumphantly examine each other’s dance cards, enough names boosting your confidence to take on this season.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊

a/n:

Slow burn. 😛 very much so. I’ll make it worth it tho. I went back and re-edit a lot of things so I apologize if there’s any typing errors.

I’m also a student so be patient w me 😛

Tags:

@syleepy

[str8rat]

ISAT / FEAR AND HUNGER AU

WARNING BLOOD/GORE (BLURRED)

WARNING!! This post contains topics such as really bad relations with food, gore, eating disroders, cannibalism, death by stomach rupturing due to eating too much after starving oneself, extreme (deadly) allergic reactions leading to death, etc

This post is mainly dedicated to explaining Siffrin's eating habits during the loops, below you may find three unrelated situations

~ ~ ~

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD I;

The party finds themselves running out of food during their journey across the country. Days away from the nearest town, and with no animals or plants to forage due to the harsh winter, tensions rise. Odile, with her usual dry humor, smugly suggests that one of them could sacrifice a limb to keep the rest alive. The joke falls flat, given Isabeau’s already missing arm, causing her to quickly backtrack and apologize. However, the grim reality remains—such desperate measures aren't beyond the realm of possibility if their situation worsens.

Fortunately, they manage to reach the next town, exhausted and starving, but intact—no limbs lost to cannibalism! Food scarcity becomes even more pressing once they reach Dormont and enter the House, with Siffrin beginning his time loop journey.

At some point, Siffrin quietly stops eating altogether, insisting his portion go to his companions to prevent them from making desperate choices. Especially since his body seems to reset each loop, aside from the scars from each death. But his hunger, paired with his deteriorating mental state, begins to wear on him.

Dark, cannibalistic urges begin to gnaw at his mind, warping his thoughts, with intrusive thoughts haunting him every time he thinks about his own hunger. Due to him burning more calories than the rest of the party, the Wish Craft eating off on him, he also gets hungry much more quickly, and yet still tries to refrain from eating and "wasting resources."

During one of the loops, those thoughts overcome him. He tackles a party member to the ground, sinking his teeth into their arm in a horrific frenzy. But before the reality of what he’s done fully sinks in, time bends—resetting to just before the incident. It leaves Siffrin shaken, aware of how low he's fallen, how disgusting he is, borderline unforgivable, unable to meet any of his party member's eyes, haunted by the thoughts that still linger.

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD II;

Yet, not everything resets perfectly. Over time, Siffrin’s body begins to show signs of lasting damage from the loops, even aside from the obvious scars he recieves from each of his deaths. His stomach, weakened and shrunken from eating little to nothing, can no longer handle the amount of food his worried sick companions insist he eats during one loop.

His stomach, unable to bear the strain, ruptures, leading to a slow, agonizing death right in the middle of what was supposed to be their safe Snack Break Room.

After the loop resets again, Siffrin refuses to eat more than the bare minimum, terrified of re-living the same, agonizing experience again.

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD III;

Siffrin's discovery of his allergy to pineapple happens in the worst possible way—through a deadly, firsthand experience. Despite Loop's warning, he either forgets or dismisses it in a moment of carelessness, a mistake that comes with a devastating price.

The moment the acidic sweetness of the pineapple touches his tongue, an invisible force seems to clamp down on his throat. He feels the sudden constriction, his body instinctively trying to expel the fruit, but it’s too late. Siffrin’s throat begins to close rapidly. Panic takes hold as he gags, desperately attempting to spit out the fruit.

His body jerks, muscles tense, but nothing happens. He can’t breathe. His chest heaves in a futile effort to pull in air, but all that follows is a hollow, suffocating silence. His vision blurs as he just barely makes out his party trying to somehow help him, but it's hopeless.

While Bonnie is frozen in horror, eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears, as they watch their friend slowly suffocate because of the pineapple THEY gave him, Isabeau tries to hold Siffrin up the best he can, Mirabelle pushing Healing Craft after Healing Craft into his body in desperate hopes of it working. It does not. Odile, always the snarky and knowledgable, is frozen now, shaky hands hovering over the younger's body, her mind racing as she tries to recall any spell, any remedy, but all she can do is watch as Siffrin’s face turns a sickly shade of blue.

But then, as if in some cruel twist of fate, the loop resets. Siffrin is alive again, gasping for breath as he finds himself back in time—just moments before he made the fatal mistake. His hand hovers shakily over the plate of pineapple, the memory of suffocating fresh and vivid in his mind.

As his party questions if he's okay, if something happens, he is quick to put on a dismissing smile, face pale as he brushes it off. He reaches for the madeleines this time, trying to ignore his stomach churning in protest, as he forces himself to swallow the pastry.

mmmm yummy yummy yummy

[to-be-a-dreamer]

you sound like a right winger. cancel culture?

This is legitimately the funniest insult I’ve ever received thank you Anon. Like, you can’t think of any better way to discredit my post about how I wish people would just let a character be Not Racist and acknowledge that sometimes people can learn they were wrong and become better people so you call me (a queer woman of color who is college-educated and an immigrant, btw, just so we’re all on the same page) a “right winger” for using easily-recognizable terminology to ensure everyone reading understands what I think is the core issue. Incredible, insane, I wish you weren’t a coward who posted anonymously so I could scroll through your blog because I’m sure you’ve got jokes.

But anyways, since we’re all here I’ll take the opportunity to explain what I mean and my thoughts on cancel culture.

Original post that Anon is talking about for reference

People on the internet are obsessed with this idea of perfection. They think that a person has to do the right thing, always, every time. They think that a person who does or has ever done something shitty is just a shitty person who doesn’t deserve a platform. And they think that a person who was a shitty person in the past should always be viewed in that way. They can never accept that someone could have toxic or harmful views, realize they were wrong, and then become a better person, especially if they went through that journey offline or a long time ago. They don’t care if the person they see before them is clearly an open-minded, good person who doesn’t possess those views anymore. In their eyes, that person is still that same bigoted asshole from three, five, ten, twenty years ago and they have to acknowledge that past and be publicly shamed for it every single day in order to be “forgiven”. (They will never truly forgive)

And it’s just. I don’t understand it because what is the point of activism and education if we’re not going to allow people to learn what we’re trying to teach? How is our movement supposed to grow if we don’t accept the people who have been touched and reformed by it? How does any of this get better if we don’t allow people to be better?

Here’s my biggest problem with “cancel culture” (the mass ostracism and shaming of someone who has behaved or spoken in a socially unacceptable way). I think that this kind of mindset has led to an entire generation of internet users who are terrified of ever doing “the wrong thing” on the internet. We’re so afraid of making mistakes because we know how hard it is to come back from that and how unforgivable the rest of the internet is. And it’s turned us into overly defensive people who struggle to admit when we’ve done something wrong. We’re terrified to consider the possibility that we’re the "bad guy" in any situation because we've convinced ourselves that doing something shitty makes you a shitty person. We think our individual actions are lifetime sentences. I've seen so many people on the internet make small mistakes but double down and take things way too far when they're called out for it because they don't want to see themselves as a person who does problematic things. Because we've convinced ourselves that making a mistake makes you a bad person on a fundamental level. We've tied the amount of criticism we receive to our self-worth.

I also notice that it prevents people who actually need to learn and be better from realizing that. Because the amount of hate someone receives is so disproportionate to any mistake they actually made, it's so easy for a person to think "okay there's no way I deserve to be harassed this much, this is probably just the internet overreacting again, I haven't done anything wrong" and instead of learning the small lesson they needed to learn they just brush off the hate and dismiss it as cancel culture.

And so to bring this back to 9-1-1, I do think that some of the hate towards Tommy is due to shipping wars, but on a deeper level I think people just can't handle the truth that Tommy is actually a good person now. Maybe it stems from people hating the idea that someone who made their own lives miserable could learn and grow and become a better person later in life like Tommy did. Maybe people have some unresolved trauma about bigots that they're projecting onto these characters. Maybe they want to feel morally superior and just don't like the idea that someone who was shitty in the past could go on to have the same views and ideals as them. It's hard to tell for sure and it probably varies from person to person but I think the idea that a person has to be defined by their past is a big part of it on all levels.

Anyways, those are my thoughts on cancel culture as a whole and why I think the current generation of internet users has a really tough time taking accountability and why we all have rejection sensitivity (not RSD, the actual real medical condition, just a general sensitivity to being told you're in the wrong). We don't like to confront our own flaws because, according to the internet, those flaws make you a terrible person always and forever and you will never be able to overcome them or move past them. I hope this all makes sense I've been thinking about this a lot since 2020 but I've never tried to explain it in words. I don't think there's anything wrong with holding people accountable for past actions, I think there's something wrong with the disproportionate hate those people receive and the amount of shaming and shunning they have to go through before they're allowed to move on with their lives.

[llama529orange]

The au was inspired from a minicomic made be @shxuga I really loved it and inspired to make one too.

Pirates are known for their amazing adventures and how they seek to find precious treasure, but they are also known for being thieves who travel on the sea, scaring the people they encounter and stealing from them. A good example of their strict rules, punishments for breaking these rules, and merciless nature are the ships of The Hearts.

Captain Riddle - the head of the crew, follows the rules of the Queen of Hearts pirate. Riddle is the one who navigates the ship, guiding them to famous treasures and saving them from angry storms and unforgiving waves, while stealing from other ships transporting valuable goods . Riddle has a secret liking for sweets and the cute hedgehogs he sees every time he returns to land. Although he seems like a strict captain, deep down, Riddle cares about his crew.

The second-in-command- Trey, is the man Captain Riddle trusts to resolve problems or , better yet, to calm his captain down when the new crew breaks the rules. Trey takes care of the cooking, baking sweets when he feels stress or has a little moment of doubt, and the crew enjoys his treats happily. Trey also looks after medicine and checks if they brush their teeth correctly, occasionally managing them since the crew knows it is no joke when it comes to dental hygiene, and he works alongside them .

The commercial dealer-Cater, is the crew's trickster who scams people into buying overpriced goods. He profits the ship by dealing with marketing and knows how to manage money and public relations . Cater is a womanizer who is also attracted to men; he has had relationships before, but one ended badly, prompting him to join the crew for a fresh start, or mostly to escape from the angry guards he tricked in the past .

Troublemaker one- Ace, is known for provoking people and sometimes the guards, often ending with him running alongside Deuce. Because of his past mischief and thievery, Ace lost one of his hands but thought it was cool to use a fake hand to trick people, allowing him to escape and act like a pirate for kids , telling them it's cool to be a pirate and run away from their parents.

Troublemaker two- Deuce, also gets into trouble alongside Ace . He is responsible for handling the powder and guns on the ship . His first mistake involved using too much powder, resulting in the loss of one of his legs. He returned with Trey 's help, as Riddle restricted him from using guns and powder again, but Deuce still thinks it's cool and uses it as a distraction, planning to retrieve it later. Sadly, Riddle doesn 't have enough anger to scold the boys or worry about their troubles, eventually getting used to it, leading to the boys sitting down together .