#perhaps im being too dramatic but oh well!!!

[sinclarify]

i haven't even finished tsh yet but the fact that there's people out there who genuinely like these characters so much, not within the context of how they're written but in an 'im in love with them way' is really absurd to me because every single one of these characters have filled me at times with the sort of terror and unease that i can only describe as a half-empty convenience store where the lights buzz and drone and are such a pallid shade of yellow that you feel quite sick and it feels like you've entered a realm so disconnected from your own reality that anything could happen and even just the sluggish, weary half-stand of the cashier is an act of hostility and you just want to get out of there as quickly as possible. does that make sense.

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

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Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[fixated-cookies]

HI IM THE ANON THAT SUBMITTED THE MOST RECENT NON CON SMC THING. (the one where he ties you up and loves your tears..)

please i loved that. It was awesome. Your a great writer. I've had so many dark thoughts like that with shadow milk... aaaaaaaaaaaaa and finally I was able to yap about it. I have so many more. Here’s a tame one for now i wanna suck him off SO BAD. Not really that dark just horny but my god do I wanna choke on him so bad...

ohhh hear me out ok. He’d enjoy that pathetic look your face too. You were the one who offered to suck him off. And now your looking pathetic and whimpering more then he is when he’s the one getting pleasure?? Shadow Milk WILL take advantage of that. Telling you to do more rough sucking which you can’t do because you’ll choke on him. But he finds a way to make you do so anyways so while your choking on his cock he’s laughing patting your head calling you a dirty girl.. then he face fucks you then fucks you dumb. And then your ruined perfect way to end the night

You’ve earned a new anon I am gonna be 🎀 anon. You are awesome fixated-cookies here’s a cupcake.

OH MY GOSHHH IM FINALLY FEELING BETTER YA'LL

MDNI

BUT WAITTT!! I bet your wondering how it came to this point in the first place right? weeelll, I got some ideas, maybe you start by bringing him tea with a too-tight grip and flushed cheeks, perhaps fiddling with the hem of your clothes all nervous. Your voice trembles, "U-um… can I… c-can I…"

And that’s all he needs. His lips curl into that sharp, knowing grin, and he leans forward like a cat playing with its prey:

"Can you what, little puppet? Speak up." you can’t. you physically cannot. You're fidgeting, hands clutched in your lap, thighs squeezing together as you tries to find any way to express what you wants. Maybe you mumble;

"I… I wanna… use my mouth…" And he chokes on his laugh.

"Oh~? Your mouth? How sweet. I do love your mouth. What exactly were you planning to do with it, hmm? Sing me a song? Tell me bedtime stories? Or…" He spreads his legs a little wider, tilting his head down at her. "...were you thinking of being a good little doll and making yourself useful?" —and that’s when he grabs her chin, gently but firm, and makes her look him in the eye.

"Say it. Say what you want." And maybe—barely above a whisper—"I… I wanna suck you off…"And then? He grins.Big. Wide. Wicked.

"Well well well… The little puppet finally learns to beg." "Get on your knees."

Shadow Milk Cookie would absolutely go feral the second you offer to suck him off. He’s already smug, already dramatic, already in love with your helpless little expressions—so when you get down on your knees all shy and submissive, trying to look like you’re in control of the situation? "Oh~? How generous~ My little puppet wants to entertain me tonight? Well, then... go on."

He’ll lean back, legs spread just enough to let you crawl between them like the pathetic little thing you are. You start off slow, careful, tender—and he lets you. For a moment. Just to watch you try. But the second you whimper around him? When your eyes get watery, your jaw starts to ache, and you can’t keep from moaning because you’re so desperate to please him?

"Aww, look at you. Crying already? I'm the one getting sucked off, and you're the one falling apart—isn't that backwards?"

And then he takes over. Fist in your hair. Cock shoved down your throat. He rocks his hips while you're gagging and squirming, gripping his thighs for support. Your nose is buried in his scent, your throat stretching around him, and he laughs. "That's it, choke on it, sweet thing~ Use that pretty mouth for something worthwhile." He'll groan out while listening to your relentless gags. "You offered, remember? So don't act surprised when I fuck your face like I mean it."

And when he finishes? Not down your throat. No, no—he pulls out to paint your tongue, your lips, your flushed cheeks. Humiliate. Possess. Ruin.

"Mmm, such a mess for a little gesture of kindness. What should I do with you now, my puppet?" You pull away from the mess. "Oh, don’t pout. We’re far from finished."

And then? He bends you over the nearest surface and fucks you dumb. Your mouth still wet and sticky, your eyes glassy, your thighs quivering. He thrusts deep, relentless, until your whole body shakes—until your mind is empty and the only sound you make is a broken little cry of his name.

"Perfect. You're so perfect when you're ruined, let’s make a habit of this, shall we?"

---

:DDDD I sure do love a man who scream and cries when getting pegged to be such a mean dom, the duality of man

[phighter-kisser]

banhammer x reader fluff perhaps..? (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

i've actually had this in my inbox for a while now and i feel bad for just letting it sit around. so im just gonna.. do a little oneshot

potential ooc for banhammer !! also i added some headcanons,, hope thats fine!

"And then-! Oh you're gonna love this part." Banhammer spoke, pausing for some sort of 'dramatic' affect, only to end up giving you a cheek kiss and tighten his arms around your middle.

"The guy tripped over their own two feet and fell! Bux flyin' every which way! And right in time for me to hit 'em blank!" He then let out an overly loud and obnoxious laugh as if he just said the funniest thing in the world, all while kicking his feet around like some middle schooler.

"It was a really shit show." He continued, following up with another kiss, this time on your lips.

You simply hummed in response, trying to ignore the fact that you were being crushed to death by your husband. Well, if you died, at least this is how you went out. "Mm.. Bet it was"

You gave him a small pat on the back, your other hand moving down to scratch at the base of his tail.

Banhammer let out a pleased rumble, his hands moving from either side of your head to give your horns a few scratches in return.

"Yer' too sweet for me. Like a large rainbow lollipop.. or somethin' like that" He mumbled, his sharp teeth nipping your neck for a small tease, making you jolt up.

You then retaliated by giving him a small bap to the head, like some sort of cat, making him chuckle.

Rising up slightly, he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes still shut and purple tail thumping against the mattress.

"We should do this more often."

[foreignjaykay]

company (a jungkook fic)

part three - "does chivalry come with the attire?"

can we keep each other company?

their workplace was chaos, but jungkook made it fun. their camaraderie was effortless—until he decided to leave. no big deal. people quit all the time. so why does it feel like everything is about to change?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: r18+ (angst, fluff) minors do not interact!

chapter warnings/misc: workplace!au, coworkers!au, event planner!jk, event planner!oc, jk is not famous, angst, fluff, sad, crack, event planner!mingyu, bts in event planning company, unserious friend group, they are so silly and unserious, , ANGST, IDIOTS both of them, OBLIVIOUSNESS LMAO, yeah you might feel like screaming at the screen i know, i know, some smau perhaps, MEMES!!!

notes: hello everyone!!! im somehow a day early lol to my schedule. thank the gods that i didn't procrastinate.. anywho, we get a little of jk's pov in this part!! the two of them are such idiots (said lovingly) that i cannot. im as frustrated as you are lol. enjoy and lemme know your thoughts <3

moodboard • playlist • series masterlist

“I’m telling Natasha today,” Jungkook’s famous last words that made your stomach twist, especially with the JW Blue Label Dinner event looming on your head.

You know you did a good job today by being unserious with him on texts and that too that early in the morning. You should get an award for being nonchalant. 

Also what was his new habit of texting you so early in the morning? 

The scent of strong office coffee filled the air, and your stomach churned. Natasha, back early somehow from her sun-soaked leave, swept into the office with an energy that was both a relief and a source of fresh anxiety.

How was Natasha going to react? was the question that ran through your mind. As much as it would be entertaining to watch her go through it, literally, it would also create chaos. Fun chaos but also a point of no return.

The morning was a slow, agonizing crawl. You were drowning in last-minute details for the JW Blue Label Dinner event, the pressure building with every unanswered email and ringing phone. You felt like you’d been running a marathon uphill, and Jungkook was still conspicuously absent. Typical.

Then, the elevator doors parted, and there he was. Jungkook. But… different. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, a slim tie, and tailored pants. It was a stark contrast to his usual casual attire.

“Seriously?” you drawled, leaning back in your chair, your voice laced with playful disbelief. “You’re dressed like you’re going to a board meeting. Did someone finally tell you we’re not a streetwear company?”

“Also you didn’t even dress up when you came for your interview here,” You added, amused, which earned chuckles from both Mingyu and Shane. Jungkook dramatically rolled his eyes.

He grinned, striking a pose that was more runway model than office worker. “You know I clean up well.” He winked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I can rizz Natasha up.”

And on count, along with you, Shane made a disgusted face.

Mingyu, perched precariously on your desk, nearly choked on his coffee. “Rizz Natasha? Dude, you’re going to give her a heart attack.”

Shane, sprawled across his chair, rolled his eyes dramatically. “Please, he’s got the ‘charm’ of a wet sock.”

You joined them, a playful eye roll of your own. “Oh, please,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You couldn’t ‘rizz up’ a goldfish.”

“Ouch,” Jungkook chuckled, taking his seat, a mock-hurt expression on his face. “And for your information, I was held up. Had a few… delicate matters to attend to.”

“Delicate matters?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Like what? And are we sure we are talking to Jeon Jungkook?” Mingyu and Shane grinned.

“You guys really take me for granted,” he said dramatically, his eyes twinkling. “And don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Also I won’t be here for long so you guys better start respecting me,” He chuckled and that realisation hit you again. You quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way your heart skipped a beat.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook how your facial expression had changed when he said that.

Mingyu and Shane awkwardly glanced between the two of you, with Shane not being able to control his awkwardness.

“Sure, anyways,” Shane rolled his eyes dramatically and tried to divert the topic.

Before the conversation could go further, Yuna and Taehyung appeared at the entrance to the CS department. It was a rare sight for them to come here. Willingly. The design studio was their sanctuary, a realm of relative calm in the midst of the everyday office chaos.

“Lunch?” Yuna asked, her voice bright and cheerful. “It’s one-thirty already. You two have to leave by four, right?”

You glanced at the clock on your computer screen. One-thirty? How had the time flown by so quickly? You looked at Jungkook, and he had the same shocked expression. He really only had two hours left.

“Oh my god, you’re right!” you exclaimed, your stomach suddenly growling in protest. “Let’s go.”

The cafeteria was a rush of noise, the usual lunch crowd in full swing. You, Jungkook, Mingyu, Shane, Yuna, Taehyung, Namjoon, Jin, Hobi, Yoongi, Iseul, Jimin, and Dae found a large table in the corner, the “Survivors” gang ready for their midday break. At this point they had kept that large table just for you guys. Everyone in the office knew about your tight knit friendship which was built on office trauma.

“So,” Yuna started, her eyes fixed on Jungkook, her voice laced with curiosity. “Are you doing it? Today?”

Jungkook nodded, taking a large bite of his sandwich. “Yep. Today’s the day,”

“Nervous?” Taehyung asked, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and concern.

Jungkook shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “A little. But it has to be done.”

Shane, ever the curious one, leaned forward, his eyes wide with anticipation. “Can we watch?”

“Shane!” Yuna scolded, her cheeks flushing, but you could see the glint of amusement in her eyes.

“What? I’m just curious!” Shane defended himself, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

“No but seriously can we?” You said, amused, and that earned you a high five from Shane. Is it obvious that joking is your coping mechanism?

“We’re all curious,” Mingyu admitted, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I want to see Natasha’s face when he drops the bomb.”

“Imagine her face,” Hobi said, “It will be a masterpiece of shock and disbelief.”

“I’m sure she’ll take it well,” Jin said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “She’s known for her calm and reasonable reactions.” This earned a laugh from everyone. Thankfully no else in the lunchroom could hear you all.

“She’ll probably throw a fit,” Yoongi muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. “Or maybe she’ll just ignore him completely.”

“Or maybe she’ll cry,” Iseul suggested, her eyes twinkling. “A single, dramatic tear rolling down her cheek.”

“I’ll pay to watch this,” Both Shane and Mingyu said at the same time.

“Or maybe she will just give him a raise,” Jimin said, and everyone burst out laughing. 

“You know what? That’s a possibility,” You added.

Lunch passed quickly, filled with jokes, laughter, and a healthy dose of nervous energy. As the time approached, the tension within the group grew.

“Okay, it’s almost time,” Shane whispered, checking his watch, his eyes darting towards Natasha’s office. “Ten minutes to D-Day.”

You all found yourselves hovering near Natasha’s cabin, trying to look casual, but failing miserably. Shane was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes glued to the door. Even Yuna, usually so composed, was fidgeting nervously, adjusting her earrings every few seconds.

Finally, Jungkook took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked towards Natasha’s office. The door clicked shut behind him, and the “Survivors” gang held their breath, a collective gasp escaping their lips.

“Good luck,” is all you said when he entered her cabin and gave you a weak smile. Something that Yuna and Namjoon picked up on and smirked to themselves.

You had to be supportive. For him.

Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. You could hear muffled voices from inside, but couldn’t make out any words. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Then, the door opened, and Jungkook stepped out. His expression was… unreadable. He looked at you all, a small, almost cryptic smile playing on his lips.

“Well?” Shane blurted out, his voice a high-pitched squeak. Of course Shane was the first one wanting to clock the tea.

Jungkook glanced at Natasha, who was watching them from her desk, her eyes narrowed. He smirked. “We’ll discuss in the GC.”

A collective groan went up from the group, a chorus of disappointment.

“Natasha’s watching us like a hawk,” Jungkook explained, his voice low, his eyes still on her. “She’s probably got a recording device hidden somewhere.”

The group dispersed, trying to look busy, but the excitement was palpable, a tangible energy buzzing through the air.

Jungkook walked over to you, his eyes searching for yours. “Ready to go?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You looked at him, a strange mix of curiosity and something else—a flutter of nerves—in your chest. “Yeah,” you said, your voice slightly breathless.

The two of you gathered your things and headed out of the office.  As you walked towards his car, Jungkook finally broke the silence.

“So,” he began, his voice slightly hesitant, “it’s done.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “How did it go?”

“It… it went okay,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “Natasha wasn’t exactly thrilled, but she didn’t throw a fit either.”

“That’s… good,” you said, your eyes fixed on the pavement.

He opened the car door for you, a gentlemanly gesture that only heightened the tension. As you slid into the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but notice the way his hand lingered on the door, a brief moment of contact that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Does chivalry come with the attire?” You joked your awkwardness away and he huffed in a playful manner.

He then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. As he started the engine, the silence stretched, thick and heavy.

The car ride was filled with the tension, which was now familiar to both you and Jungkook, a heavy silence that hung in the air.

No matter how hard you tried, even the awkward jokes, yes, that uneasy feeling stayed with you.

“I know you can’t keep this in your stomach longer, JK. Just tell me what exactly happened in that cabin,” You said and Jungkook chuckled.

“Fine, fine,” Jungkook said and here goes his story time.

Inside Natasha’s office, Jungkook stood before her desk, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d rehearsed this moment a hundred times, but now, the words seemed to catch in his throat.

“So what brings you here?” This is how Natasha starts the conversation. Jungkook knew he was done for.

“Natasha I wanted to talk about something,” he began, his voice steady, and her eyes tried to gauge for what was coming next, “I’ve accepted another position.”

Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, but her expression remained composed. “Oh?” she said, her voice cool and professional. “And where might you be going?”

“An event company,” Jungkook said, his voice firm. “They focus on live concerts, world tours—it’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And when were you planning on telling me this?”

“Today,” Jungkook said, his voice unwavering. “I wanted to give you ample notice.”

Natasha nodded, her expression unreadable. “And how much notice do you consider ample Jungkook?”

“Two weeks,” Jungkook said. He was confident about this, something that didn’t sit well with her.

Natasha’s eyes flickered towards the door, where the rest of the team was trying to look inconspicuous. “Very well,” she said, her voice clipped. “We’ll discuss the details later once Kim Song is back in town. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Jungkook nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. He turned and walked out of the office,  and now his eyes met yours.

“Bitch,” is what you said once Jungkook was done sharing. Jungkook couldn’t help but chuckle. You were on a roll today.

“This is how she reacts when you tell her you are leaving,” You said annoyed. Natasha was selfish, yes, but this is genuinely not how you expected the conversation to go. Maybe she was better at taking news than you.

“I think you just wanted more drama, ___” Jungkook mused.

“Duh!” You said as a matter of factly. "She acted nothing like Monotoya," He laughed.

“Wait, didn’t you react like that?” He teased you.

Oh hell no. He didn’t just say that. Was there a way he was inside your mind?

“You wish!” You said a little too quickly.

“Believe me I do,” He laughed.

Yes he was joking. He had to be. Right?

“Wishful thinking,” You said and ended the conversation there.

The car ride continued, the silence less heavy now, but still filled with an undercurrent of tension. You could feel Jungkook’s gaze on you every now and then, but you avoided his eyes, your heart pounding in your chest.

The weight of unspoken words still hung in the air, but now, it was mixed with a sense of anticipation, a feeling that something was about to shift, to change.

The JW Blue Label Dinner event was in full swing, the venue transformed into a sophisticated space, all blue lighting, a nod to Blue Label and the rich aroma of aged whiskey. You were a whirlwind of activity, ensuring every detail was perfect, a well-oiled machine in your element. Rowoon, the client, had arrived early, a familiar face amidst the pre-event hustle.

Rowoon was the best client you had. In fact, when you and Jungkook had started working together, Rowoon was the first client the two of you dealt with without Natasha’s inteference.

“You know, ___,” Rowoon said, leaning against a nearby table, “you always make these events look effortless. It’s like magic.”

You chuckled, adjusting the floral arrangement. “Magic and a lot of caffeine, Rowoon.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” he said, his eyes scanning the room. “Everything looks phenomenal.”

“Thanks,” you said, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “We’re just hoping it lives up to the Blue Label standard.”

Rowoon nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Speaking of standards, where’s your partner in crime? I haven’t seen Jungkook yet.”

“He’s around,” you said, glancing towards the far side of the room. “Probably making sure the whiskey display is perfect.”

 As if it was known to him that his name was brought up in the conversation, just then Jungkook joins the conversation, a relaxed smile on his face. "Hey, guys. Everything set?"

"Absolutely," Rowoon said, clapping Jungkook on the shoulder. "You've outdone yourselves. The whiskey display is a work of art. Really sets the tone."

"Thanks, Rowoon," Jungkook said, a hint of pride in his voice. "We wanted to make sure it was something special."

"You two always deliver," Rowoon said, his gaze shifting between you and Jungkook. "It's like you can read each other's minds."

Something so simple yet made you feel tense.

You chuckled, "We've worked together long enough, I guess."

"Speaking of which," Jungkook said, his tone casual, almost offhand, "I've got some news,” Rowoon looked at him, intrigued. “I'm actually moving on to another company." Jungkook continued.

The announcement, dropped so casually, hung in the air for a moment. Rowoon's eyebrows rose slightly. "Seriously? When did that happen?"

"Just today," Jungkook said, shrugging slightly. 

"Wow, that's a big step," Rowoon said, his voice sincere. "Congratulations, Jungkook. But, man, you two make a great team. It's a shame to see you split up."

“Yep this one is leaving us,” You weren’t sure why it came out this way. You swear you weren’t trying to be mean but it’s like your mind had no control when that slipped up.

You immediately looked towards Jungkook and saw a flicker of something in his gaze, a mix of regret and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

You immediately regretted it.

“But I’m happy for him. Finally going to live his dream,” You said genuinely and patted his back. Rowoon smiled at the camaraderie.

Not wanting to see Jungkook’s reaction further, you excused yourself with a quick, "I need to check on the catering," and moved away, leaving Jungkook and Rowoon to continue their conversation.

As you walked away, Jungkook's gaze followed you. He watched as you navigated the room, your movements graceful and efficient. He saw the way you interacted with the catering staff, your instructions clear and concise, your demeanor calm and collected.

You were truly in your element, he thought, a sense of admiration washing over him. He knew you were so good at what you did. Proud - was the word he always felt for you but also admired. He admired you, was grateful he worked with you and learnt so much from you.

But it wasn’t just those feelings he felt for you.

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts. Maybe it was just the event. The atmosphere. The pressure.

 But deep down, he knew it was more than that. He knew that something was shifting, something was changing. That you both were changing.

Rowoon cleared his throat, bringing Jungkook back to the present. "So, you're really leaving? That's a big change. Where are you headed?"

"An event company that focuses on concerts and tours," Jungkook said, his eyes still subconsciously drifting towards your retreating figure. "It's always been my passion."

"That's fantastic, Jungkook," Rowoon said, patting him on the shoulder. "You'll do great. But seriously, like I said earlier, you and ___ are a force to be reckoned with. It's a shame to see you split up."

"Yeah," Jungkook said, his voice low. "It is."

"You know," Rowoon continued, "I've always admired the way you two work together. It's like you have this… unspoken understanding. You just click."

Jungkook nodded, his gaze still fixed on you. "Yeah, we do."

"It's rare to find that kind of synergy," Rowoon said, shaking his head slightly. "You're going to be hard to replace."

"Thanks, Rowoon," Jungkook said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I appreciate that."

The conversation shifted back to the event, the details of the evening, the guest list. But the undercurrent of Jungkook's announcement lingered, a subtle tension that hung in the air.

The event was a success. As it was expected from both of you.

“Goodnight, __ See you in hell tomorrow,” Jungkook said and you laughed and opened the door of his car. 

“Hey! At least you have a countdown to leave,” Look how the tables have turned. You were joking about this situation now, knowing damn well, you were gonna overthink this once he leaves.

And that’s what happens when he leaves once you reach the gate of your apartment building, a habit he had, you noticed. Always only leaves once you enter the gate, even though he is the one who was always dropping you.

Kinda made you feel something.

Once you entered the lobby and went towards the elevator, you heard a ting sound on your phone. At least that distracted you from the overthinking that was going to happen later. It was 12AM, who was texting you at this hour?

You opened your phone to check and saw this notification.

shane (work) added you to a group “jk - farewell planning!!!!🥲😫🎉”

Perfect end to the night.

part 4

© foreignjaykay

[dioslesbianwife]

Hello!! I hope your feeling better and are recovering! Drinking water and resting is important. I am rooting for your recovery!!!

This is my first time requesting anything from a writer. But you are really talented at what you do!! I love your writings for the Jofoes.

I was wondering if you could do the Jofoes meeting and being curious about a witch reader. The reader can cast spells, use their magic to move objects/people, summon creatures and create objects using their magic, and also use simple herbs and remedies for healing rituals. (If possible to include Santana and PB dio as well, I love the way you write for them as well!!)

hiii, thank you, yeah i’m almost feeling totally better! thank you so much!! im so happy you think im talented 😭 <33 i can def do that for u, i hope you enjoy and ty for requesting!! ty again for the kind words :3

Dio Brando (PB)

Initially thinks you’re just another charlatan trying to impress him.

“Magic, you say? A trick of the light, nothing more.”

But when you actually lift him off the ground with a flick of your wrist, his smug expression vanishes.

The moment you summon a creature out of thin air, he steps back- only slightly, but enough for you to notice.

“...Interesting.” His tone is unreadable, but you know that in his mind, he’s already plotting.

He wants your power. Badly. And if that means seducing you or convincing you to work under him? He’ll do it.

Dio (Part 3)

Oh, now this Dio is genuinely intrigued.

“Witchcraft? Hmph. Foolish humans once feared such things… but I see no reason to fear.”

Watches closely as you perform a ritual with herbs and soft chanting.

Does not flinch when you summon something from the shadows or create an object from nothing- he has seen far too many unnatural things in his time.

He actually respects you for wielding such power without a Stand.

"Tell me, witch. Do you curse your enemies?" He’s got a few names he’d love for you to deal with.

Would absolutely try to make you his ally.

Santana

Blinks slowly at you, his head tilting like a curious animal.

He is trying so hard to figure you out. How does your power work? Where does it come from?

Pokes at your magic mid-spell. If you make something float? He swipes at it like a cat. If you create something? He picks it up and examines it from every angle.

When you heal him with an herb remedy, he looks at you with mild amusement.

“Not necessary. My body regenerates.”

But still, there’s something fascinating about you… enough for him to stick around.

Kars

Ah… another god in the making.

“You’ve evolved past the limitations of mere mortals. How… admirable.”

He watches your magic with an analytical eye, trying to understand the science behind it.

“Summoning” intrigues him the most. You brought forth a creature from nothing- was it stored elsewhere? Was it created on the spot?

He isn’t afraid, but he is impressed.

Offers you a place at his side, though it’s clear he sees you as a stepping stone.

Wamuu

“...You wield the elements. Like the wind, but with a different force.”

Unlike the others, he respects you without skepticism.

Watches in fascination when you use magic to move objects, your power reminding him of natural forces at work.

He admires your ability to heal, finding it noble. “A warrior would benefit from such gifts.”

If you fight using magic, he considers you a worthy opponent and would challenge you, not out of hostility, but out of respect.

Esidisi

Overly dramatic about it.

“Ah, the gods have blessed me with an opportunity to witness true magic”

Gets way too into watching your spells, clapping and gasping like an audience member.

“OH, SUMMON A BEAST NEXT! SOMETHING WITH FANGS, PERHAPS?!”

The moment you heal him with a ritual, he pretends to swoon.

Will 100% pester you for flashy magic tricks like a kid asking for a bedtime story.

Yoshikage Kira

NOPE. NOPE. NOPE.

“...This is unnatural.”

He does not like you. At all. You are an unpredictable variable in his otherwise controlled, normal life.

The moment you make something move without touching it, he physically recoils.

When you jokingly pretend to curse him, he leaves immediately.

If he has to deal with you, he will be as polite as possible while trying to get away from you at all costs.

Diavolo

Does not like the fact that you can manipulate things without him seeing it coming.

The way your power works makes him deeply uneasy.

“This is a power that should not exist.”

If you’re a threat to his empire, he will eliminate you. If not… he will simply keep his distance.

Doppio, on the other hand, is fascinated.

“Whoa, Boss! Did you see that?! She just made a whole thing appear out of nowhere!”

Enrico Pucci

Very, very cautious at first.

“...Do your powers come from the Devil?”

You explain that your magic is neutral- it is a force of nature, neither good nor evil.

Once he realizes you’re not some hellspawn, he actually listens to your wisdom, especially regarding healing remedies.

That being said, if you ever interfere with his plans, he will not hesitate to remove you.

Funny Valentine

“A woman of mystery….”

Watches you with politician levels of charm and calculation.

Does not fear your magic, but is highly interested in how it works.

“Could you, perhaps, use your power to benefit this great nation?”

You’re not sure if he sees you as a person or as a tool for his country.

Diego Brando

His curiosity is off the charts.

“Tch. And here I thought Stands were the only phenomenon worth studying.”

Watches you closely, taking mental notes of every spell you cast.

Very, very interested in summoning magic. He has a thing for creatures, after all.

“If you can call forth beasts at will, you’d make quite the ally.”

Tooru

Pretends to be chill about it, but you freak him out.

“... so you’re telling me you can just… levitate things? No strings attached?”

He does not trust something he can’t fully manipulate.

Tries to gaslight you into thinking your magic is fake.

“Come on, you probably just trained your brain or something… right?”

[minhosimthings]

Preview: Sweet as Cherry Wine

In which the cold librarian's heart gets melted by his best friend's sister

Synopsis: Kim Seungmin was the assistant librarian at your uni's library and the love of your life. Oh and also your brother's best friend.

Pairings: Seungmin × fem!reader, includes rest of skz, Winter (aespa)

Warnings: brother's best friend trope, a play on Hades and Persephone, secret relationship, flufff, seungmin is a menace, SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), verryyy little choking, slightly sub minnie?, just a lot of me simping after his fingies, semi public sex (in the library)

A/N: whadup mona fam. Surprised im alive? yeah me too honestly lol. anyway im very sick rn BUT i wanted to complete this because this shit has been stuck in my wips since september 2023 and anyway it's my Minnie phase. Please look forward to the full fic!!!

STATUS: POSTED

FULL FIC

“And how she let the pomegranate juice,

Drip from her smiling lips,

Even Hades trembled under sweet Persephone’s gaze.”

The tantalising smell of old leather and paper hugged your nostrils as soon as you crossed the threshold of the outdoors into the library. The entire room had the faint smell of sandalwood wafting through it as well, which your lungs appreciated as you breathed the air in.

Having spent only six months in your university as a freshman, you had never dared to step foot into the university’s famed collection of books more than five times. You were far too intimidated by it. That, and also the fact that you had a tremendous amount of work hanging over your head. And you certainly did not want to disappoint your parents, who worked day and night in ensuring that you had a proper education.

“Y/Nnie come on!” Your friend, Jeongin, grabbed your hand and dragged you further into the grand building. Jeongin was the first friend you had made in college, having argued furiously with him in your sociology class on the modern feminist forms of thought. Deciding that he was smart enough to never keep you bored, you promptly shook hands with him. He must have thought so too, because the very next day, he introduced you to his band of friends, with whom he had grown up since childhood.

And now, you could see one of those friends waving to the both of you from a very large table. It was Lee Minho–dance prodigy, archeology student in his third year, frequent arson enthusiast and a cat dad. That was what you had gotten from him, six months into your friendship

“Hyung!” Jeongin practically leapt on the stunningly beautiful man as soon as he came near him, “I’ve missed you so much!”

Minho made a face of disgust, but you could see the faint smile threatening to spill out as he hugged Jeongin back.

“Let go of me before I suffocate you, brat.” Minho said, giving you a smile as Jeongin reluctantly pulled back, “Alright, Y/N?”

“Good as always.” You responded with a grin. “Oh, congratulations on your win at the Dance Masters by the way!” Minho tilted his head at you as a ‘thank you’, with his ears turning furiously red, and his smile widening.

“And what about me?” A smooth voice made you jump as the ever-present smile of Hwang Hyunjin appeared before your eyes.

“Give me a warning before you pop out of nowhere!” You laughed, being engulfed into a tight hug by Hyunjin, “And congratulations to you, as well.”

“Why thank you.” Hyunjin did a dramatic sort of curtsy after unleashing you from his arms, “Hyung, have you seen Lix anywhere? He forgot his keychain with me.”

“He’s still stuck in class.” Minho muttered, raising his arms up abruptly and stretching with a very loud sigh, “My bones are so stiff, I swear to God.”

“Could you keep it down, old man?”

Perhaps the most annoying voice in the entire campus rang in your ears as you spun on your heel to see the bane of your existence. The world’s most insidious bastard faced you, in the form of a 5 '10, history-majoring, glasses-wearing, probably drinks pomegranate juice in the morning sophomore.

Kim Seungmin.

The universe couldn't have made a more negative person.

And a more perfect secret boyfriend too.

Taglist: @vixensss @miyeonna @15092000volcano @berntbang @cookiesandcreammy @babrieeee

[arlestial]

Hiii your pink theme is very cute i just wanted to ask could you mabye write boyfriend hcs for luna from bllk?

❝i regret you all the time❞

synopsis : He was a player, a womanizer. You were his top-prized desire : completely unreachable. But hell, he’d chase after you halfway around the world if he had to.

pairing : Leonardo Luna x genderneutral!reader •— Blue Lock

tw : angst and comfort at the end, a tad suggestive (nothing too extreme), a sort of ennemies to lovers ? (Uses of "womanizer" but the rest can be read as genderneutral)

word count : 2350~ words

author-note : Hi !! It’s been a long time since I’ve wrote for Luna, so I hope it’s good. Im actually extremely proud of this one. It’s not really hcs, I got carried away LMAOO. I was busy finishing One Piece, (btw don’t be shy and drop some requests in my ask box :)) Thank you for your request (and your kind words 💗), and take care of yourself ♡

LEONARDO LUNA never had to "search" for someone. Truly, he was a dick. Sleeping with women every nights, leaving without a note nor a call, the sheets still tangled from the activities the day prior. Simply, enjoying small pleasures where his job as a professional player leaded him to. And then he saw you, at a random bar while he was drinking with his teammates. Dancing with your friends, oh so gracefully, smiling and laughing with all your teeth, all prettily dressed. He swore he’d never seen someone as angelic as you. So, he smiled to himself, and with all his ego and his pride, an overly confidence, he walked to you.

Everything went extremely quickly. He was too stunned to speak, to let any sound escape from his lips as you walked away from him, rolling your eyes. His teammates never laughed so hard : Leonardo Luna, the og womanizer, just got humbled by being rejected ? He was mad. It was so embarrassing. His cheeks were flushed in a deep red, and he cursed under his breath. How ? Were you blind, perhaps ? It was the first time ever he got rejected by a woman, and he hated it. But for some reason, a reason he didn’t understand, he wanted to try again. He didn’t want to let you go, not just yet. So he hurried to follow you towards the exit of the bar, his teammates still laughing their asses off, much to Luna’s dismay. He wanted to grab your wrist, but he stopped himself.

"Hey, don’t you know me ? Like.. you live in a cavern or something ?"

You turned to face him, and let out a sigh.

"Actually, I just don’t care. I’m not interested."

Luna frowned. Okay, so you knew he was a famous soccer player. But you weren’t interested by any means ? He smirked. You were playing hard to get.

"Come on. Just give me one chance ?"

"Listen. You’re a player. Everybody knows it. I’m not interested when it comes to assholes who play with people’s feelings like you."

He scoffed, a cocky laugh escaping from his throat. Okay, maybe you were right. He liked your attitude. He leaned on the doorframe, a teasing grin dancing on his lips.

"You don’t find me attractive ?"

"I’ve seen much better."

And with these words, a mocking smile on your face, you left the bar, walking in the empty, dark streets without any worry. Luna gasped dramatically, and hurried to follow you in your tracks.

"So you’re gonna follow me now ? What a creep."

"Nah. Just walking you home."

"I’ve never asked you to do that."

"’M just being a gentleman."

You chuckled. His cocky attitude was pitiful.

"Didn’t know you were a chaser, after all. Disappointed because I haven’t fallen for you the first time you talked to me ?"

"I’m definitely not.", he smirked, "But for you, I’d be one, doll."

"Quit the petname, dude. We’re not together."

"Yet.", he corrected. You sighed, amused by his determination.

LEONARDO LUNA wasn’t capable of letting you go. Well, you piqued his interest, after all. He wasn’t used to be rejected, but you made this rejection so sweet, so intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough. He walked you home, and with a little persuasion (aka, promising you he wasn’t going to spam you all the time) he got your Instagram (he giggled like a teenager when he saw that you accepted his request on your private account.) Since that day, you were always there in his thoughts, day and night, more than he had excepted. It was a game of cat and mouse : him, constantly flirting with you, and you, ignoring or rejecting him again and again. His teammates were confused; he wasn’t the type to run after someone, it was quite the opposite. Luna was used to be a living fantasy for most women and men, he didn’t even had to try to please. But it was different this time. Always refusing to go on dates with him, refusing his gifts or his advances. You were completely unreachable, a hopeless and absurd desire of his. What Luna wanted, Luna got; and right now, he felt like a frustrated little child who had just been denied the toy he wanted his mother to buy him at the mall. And gosh, the more inaccessible you were, the more he craved- no, needed you. So, he took his phone in his hands, and once again, searched for your account in his Instagram conversations (actually, he didn’t have to search. You were on top of his contacts, probably because he decided that he won’t talk to anyone until you accept a date from him.) and texted you. You were peacefully reading a book on your couch when you heard a ding from your phone, followed by a buzzing sound. You closed your book and reached for your phone, watching Luna’s text on your wallpaper. (In all honesty, you were - each time - surprised to see a certified account sending you a message, before realizing that it was Luna. Again.)

4:47p.m. | leonardoluna : Hey, doll

just wondering if you were free tonight ?

- read at 4:48p.m.

4:51p.m. | yn.ln : hi, yeah i am. why ?

- read at 4:51p.m.

Luna smiled at the screen. He lied down on his bed, back pressed against the mattress as he waited for your answer impatiently.

4:51p.m. | leonardoluna : care to join me for dinner ? my treat, obviously

- read at 4:51p.m.

He rolled on his bed, his elbows now resting on the sheets. He sighed in defeat. You weren’t answering. You were probably gonna reject him again - with or without a proper excuse once more. He turned off his phone, throwing it behind him on the bed, frustrated and disappointed - wait. Did he just heard his phone ringing ?? He hurried to grab his phone, unlocking it messily, his eyes almost glued to the screen.

5:00p.m. | yn.ln : why not

- read at 5:01p.m.

You agreed ? A huge grin displayed on his face as he celebrated his victory with a disconcerting enthusiasm.

5:00p.m. | leonardoluna : coming to pick you up at 8, then ?

- read at 5:00p.m.

5:01p.m. | yn.ln : sure. sounds good to me

see ya then :)

- read at 5:01p.m.

5:01p.m. | leonardoluna : see you, pretty

promise you’re gonna like it. picking a good place rn

- read & liked by yn.ln at 5:03p.m.

He jumped off his bed, immediately calling a fancy restaurant to book a table. He knew the owner, so he arranged a table for you two. Luna thanked him. He wanted to kick himself : this stupid, huge grin painted on his face, that he couldn’t erase. This feeling was astonishing; maybe, it was his chance to pull you ! Finally, after all these efforts.

LEONARDO LUNA’s smile dropped, his joy fever slowly fading to a terrible dread. At first, he just wanted you in his bed. A one-night-stand without any worries, without fuss. But here he was, giggling like a teenager in love for a random person that wasn’t interested a single bit ? What the fuck was he doing ? He frowned. Was it a mistake ? He didn’t want to be in a relationship. It was too much to handle for him, the distance, the attention to give, the responsibilities that came in the package. What was he supposed to do, now ? He was anxious. He never felt anxious. He sat down on his bed, his face in his hands, exhaling deeply. He looked at your text, over and over and over and over again. You wanted to see him. He felt nauseous, probably for the first time in his entire life. And right now, the thrill of it all disappeared, giving way to a terrible, overwhelming, sensation of pressure.

You were standing outside of your house, rubbing your arms in an attempt to ease the goosebumps on your skin, arisen by the night cold breeze.

8:15p.m.

Maybe you should’ve stayed by the fireplace, at least for some minutes.

8:25p.m.

Okay, he was just late. A latecomer, huh. You should’ve wore something else, at least, not these short clothes.

8:35p.m.

It’s probably his job. Being a professional soccer player has its flaws, for sure. You should’ve called him, at least, to tell him you were waiting him to pick you up outside, like it was planned.

8:40p.m.

You decided to text him again - now, a bit worried. You should’ve asked him to meet at the restaurant directly, at least, to know where you were supposed to go. Perhaps he had a car accident ? You frowned, seeing his "online" status on Instagram. You looked at the conversation another time.

8:05 | yn.ln : sorry, I just got out, took a bit too much time to prepare lmao

you’re probably driving, so be safe

anyway, i’m waiting outside for you to pick me up :)

- read at 8:42p.m.

8:15p.m. | yn.ln : is everything okay ?

- read at 8:42p.m.

8:22p.m. | yn.ln : Luna ? It’s not funny yk

I can walk to the restaurant if you have an issue, just give me the address

- read at 8:42p.m.

8:40p.m. | yn.ln : for fuck’s sake, im worried, can’t you just answer the damn phone ?

where are you ??

luna ?

- read at 8:42p.m.

8:42p.m. | yn.ln : gosh, you’re here, I was scared something happened to you

i’m outside, is everything okay ?

- read at 8:50p.m.

8:50p.m. | yn.ln : you’re not gonna answer, are you ?

- read at 8:52p.m.

Tears in the corner of your eyes, you bit your inside cheek in a faint attempt to keep them from falling angrily on your cheeks. Your hands were trembling - from the cold, or from the frustration ? Honestly, you didn’t know. Obviously, he played with you. It was his goal since the very first night. How could you be this fucking dumb ? Naive ? He just wanted you in his bed, and he was tired already of his new toy, aka, you. So he threw you away, like he did with everyone else. You were too silly, artless, to think that someone like him could like someone like you. Incisive insecurities, bittersweet thoughts, appalling regrets, permeated your mind as you turned off your phone, deciding to take a walk outside to soothe your nerves.

8:54p.m. | yn.ln : you’re a fucking asshole. i should’ve listened the rumors about your mf face.

how could I believed you ??

srs, go fuck yourself.

you are the biggest regret I’ve ever had

- read at 8:58p.m.

8:59p.m. | yn.ln : go on, spend your whole life fucking people like they actually want you, ig.

- read at 9:00p.m.

Maybe it was childish, but you needed to get those feelings out of your chest. You were disappointed, felled even. Your friends warned you, but you haven’t listened. How could you ? He was so nice to you all the time, always asking about your day and all. You always refused to go on dates with him, thinking he was just playing for a night with you. But after one month, you sincerely thought he wanted a deeper connexion with you than just sex. And you were wrong, of course.

LEONARDO LUNA never drove this quick. He was probably like - at 110 k.p.h on a 50 k.p.h road. His hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear lever, pulling the car out of the intersection. He haven’t even cared about the others that were honking several times because of his awful (and dangerous) driving, his thoughts were busy, because of you, and only you. He was so stupid. So fucking stupid. To think that it was a bad idea to talk to you, to get accustomed to your texts, to your honey-like voice when you were calling him. He liked you. Maybe even more, he didn’t know. He parked his car messily on the sidewalk, getting weird stares and side-eyes from passers-by. He spotted your walking figure and immediately ran after you, his breath short and unsteady. Good thing he knew where you lived since the night he walked you home, one month ago. He bit his lip when he grabbed your wrist, and you turned to face him, tears rolling down your cheeks. He hated himself, right now.

9:11p.m.

"You ? Fucking bastard, leave me alone." You sharply said, trying to get away from his grasp. He immediately took you in his arms, one of his hands resting on the back of your head, stroking your soft hair. He shoved your face on his chest, trying to reassure you.

"I’m- I’m so sorry. I got nervous. I’m just not used to feel this kind of things towards someone. It’s the first time; actually. I was scared. Scared of being rejected with true, heavy, feelings, this time. I beg you,", he inhaled, his voice wobbly, "please, forgive me."

"I can’t trust you.", you mumbled, your voice muffled by his clothed chest, trying to push him away as harshly as you could.

"You can. I didn’t think- fuck. It’s hard to say that. That I could fall for someone so quickly, so easily. It’s so simple to talk to you, I’ve never felt so comfortable around someone in my overall, miserable existence. I want to give you my whole heart, my whole soul, okay ? I fucked up, I know. And I truly don’t deserve you. But I can’t help, but being selfish again, one last time, please, just wanting you, your smile, your laughs, your soft touches, wanting you by my side permanently. That’s all I’m asking for. A second chance, because I don’t want anybody else to have you. I want to be the one you come home to, the one you think of when life is all troubles and worries."

"Look at me. Tell me you hate me, reject me over, I’m not worth your attention. But I won’t stop thinking about you, I’m just not able to do it. Don’t let me down. Please."

You tilted your head up, seeing his green eyes wet already. His trembling hands wandered to your cheeks, gently stroking them, as if you were made of porcelain that his sins could shatter into tiny million of pieces, in a instant.

He leaned and pressed a tender kiss on your lips, his free hand searching so naturally for yours, intertwining your fingers together. When he pulled away, he gave you a small, weak smile, as if he’s seen his whole world being destroyed by a zephyr. You returned the smile, as he wiped away your tears.

"Promise not to let me go, then.", you answered in a whisper, your heart beating at an unsteady, loving pace.

"I won’t."

You both laughed slightly at the cheesy scene, his enamoured gaze drowning into yours.

"Now come on, honey, we have a date to attend to."

LEONARDO LUNA thought that, at first, you were a challenge. A cocky challenge, egos swinging, wondering if he could pull you like he always did with everyone. What Leonardo Luna wants, Leonardo Luna gets. However, now, he was just a puppy running after you, completely smitten. He liked to say that he was in charge, in control : but everybody knew that you had him wrapped around your finger.

[naomijoestar]

⋆.ೃ JJBA SCENARIOS ࿔*:･

Masterlist here <3

genre: comedy, op bored out of their mind :p

warnings: cringeworthy

characters: giorno, bucciarati, abbacchio, mista, narancia, fugo, trish

notes: GN!s/o reader // guys. i have been working for uni all day long and i decided to rewatch dbz cause i love it so much and i got this idea😭 if you couldn’t tell im tired and need a nap but oh well. please enjoy because i was giggling while writing this :p (also if this isn’t a dead giveaway im genuinely running out of ideas so please if you have any requests go ahead and request them <33)

How each passione member would react to walking in on their partner trying to become a super saiyan

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno would stare at you with his usual calm, composed look as you scream and power up, completely unfazed. “I see,” he’d say in his serene voice, nodding like it all makes perfect sense. After watching you struggle for a while, he’d gently place his hand on your shoulder and, in complete seriousness, whisper, “Perhaps… you need more sunlight. The energy of the sun enhances all living beings.” He’d leave you standing there, making you wonder if he’s genuinely trying to help or just messing with you in his weird, Giorno way.

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno would walk in on you mid-scream, furrow his brow, and pause. “Are you… trying to ascend to another level of power?” he’d ask, a bit confused but respectful. After you explain that you’re trying to become a Super Saiyan, Bruno would respond with the utmost sincerity: “I admire your dedication. Let’s talk strategy.” He’d actually help you devise a plan, suggesting you train your mind and body further. “I’ll unzip you to another location, where no one will disturb your transformation.” Bruno’s all in, even if he has no clue what’s happening.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio would give you the coldest stare possible. “What in the actual hell are you doing?” he’d say, arms crossed, already annoyed. As you explain, he’d roll his eyes dramatically. “Great. My partner’s an idiot.” But as you keep powering up, Abbacchio would mutter sarcastically, “Oh sure, scream louder, maybe then you’ll magically grow blond hair and start flying. That’s totally how it works.” Despite his grumpiness, he might secretly be watching out of the corner of his eye, half expecting something bizarre to happen (get it? jojos bizarre adventure? its only jojo logic).

Guido Mista

Mista would be all about this. “Yo, you’re going Super Saiyan? I’ve always wanted to try that!” He’d immediately start powering up alongside you, screaming at the top of his lungs with a huge grin. “C’mon, louder! We can do this together!” The Pistols would join in too, floating around you and shouting “GO! GO! GO!” at the top of their tiny voices. Eventually, both you and Mista would collapse on the floor, laughing hysterically, neither of you anywhere close to transforming but still having the time of your lives.

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia would be your biggest hype man. “YES! YOU GOT THIS! YOU’RE ALMOST THERE!” He’d absolutely believe you could become a Super Saiyan and would be jumping around excitedly. “Do the thing! Do the thing with the hands!” He’d start doing Kamehameha poses, thinking that might help you, completely immersed in the idea that this could work. After a while, when nothing happens, he’d be confused: “Wait, why isn’t it working? Shouldn’t you be glowing by now?” He’d start blaming himself, like, “Was I not cheering loud enough?!”

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo would just stare at you, deadpan, like, “Are you seriously doing this right now?” He’d probably start lecturing you about how this isn’t how physics works and how it’s scientifically impossible to become a Super Saiyan. “This is not anime, this is real life!” he’d yell, facepalming. But when you keep going, he’d lose his patience and just scream, “FINE! Keep screaming until you pass out! I don’t care!” He’d storm off, but not before mumbling something about how he’d be there to catch you if you faint.

Trish Una

Trish would watch you for about five seconds before sighing and pulling out her phone. “Okay, I’ll record this for… scientific purposes,” she’d say, clearly mocking you but also finding it weirdly entertaining. As you scream, she’d say, “Wow, you’re really giving this your all, huh? Should I start calling you Goku now?” By the end of it, she’d post the video with a caption like, My partner is trying to go Super Saiyan… someone help. But she’d also make sure you didn’t actually hurt yourself and offer you water because she’s low-key concerned about you overheating.

please give me requests im losing my mind over here

[willnonsense]

Assigning piano classical pieces to the doctor (1-13, because I barely know 14 /15)

because my music knowledge should be used for SOMETHING. i'm also going to avoid REALLY over-saturated in the media pieces. so no fur elise, no moonlight sonata, nope nope nope. overthought, losing my head by the end, could be expanded into a full essay. maybe... one day...

1st - "Un Sospiro" - Lizst - It's a generally peaceful, nostalgic sounding piece, yet simultaneously incredibly complex, and I think it fits the first Doctor quite well. I like Rousseau's performance of it!

2nd - "Butterfly Etude" - Chopin - It's a playful sounding piece, which sounds pretty cheerful to me :). It's light and short. I like this recording of it!

3rd - "Tempest" - Beethoven - It's on the serious side, with moments that sound light, and the storm reference meant I was absolutely GOING to give Tempest to one of the incarnations. Perhaps 3 is an odd choice, but, heres a link anyway!

4th - "Pathetique" - Beethoven - Yes, the entire thing. I think the length is interesting in the perspective of 4 (being one of the longest runs) and I think it just fits. the logic is not here ok. im spending too long on this. ahm. link :)

5th - "Liebesleid" - Kreisler (arr. Rachmaninoff)- Just a beautiful piece, off the bat, but also, I think it fits the ever-growing melancholic 5th, and yet, can be interpreted as a happy piece, but also sad, and is filled with lovely complex emotions, which does start to happen around now. Link

6th - "Little Red Riding Hood" - Rachmaninoff - Just realising all of this list are like.. virtuoso pieces, but, oh well. 6 is usually interpreted as angry / irritable, at least from what I've seen, so of course we need a piece to match. There are "light-hearted" -ish parts to this too, and the unpredictable nature of it definitely fits. listen to it!!

7th - "Prelude and Fugue No.2" - Bach - I had already decided on Bach long before I decided on WHICH Bach piece/pieces. That's because on a technical level, Bach generally is technically very advanced, with little focus on the emotive value of the piece, which felt befitting for the whole chessmaster schtick of 7. Listen! (or don't, theres hours of classical music in this post, probably. Sorry </3)

8th - "Scherzo No.2" - Chopin - yes it's kind of a joke on the audiodrama with the same title, but also, not! It's long, just like 4's pick, but it's dramatic, with a mix of emotions and conveyed stories within it, which I think really is the reason it fits. Eight has a LOT. There are happy parts of this piece, but also parts that are... well, NOT happy. Have a listen!

War Doctor - "Revolutionary Etude" - Chopin - i was going to skip but like. it's RIGHT there. link! also my computer is starting to fry erm...

9th - "In Der Nacht" - Robert Schumann - This piece I think can been interpreted to capture the mix of guilt and anger the 9th doctor has always felt to have when I watch him. And here's your link!

10th - "Erlkönig" - Schubert (arr. Lizst) - Knowing the story behind this piece (originally intended for Violins, I believe,) does help, but otherwise, it's just the piece. I think it speaks for itself, tbh. Link! Also take time to check out the original piece, and not the piano arrangement! Or don't. If you are clicking all those links, I apologise. Or don't.

11th - "Oblivion" - Piazzolla - Possible the most melancholic piece on the list, and I think it's well earned by 11. Oblivion, if I recall correctly, is portugese for forgetting or something. Either way, it's very representative of the sadness implied throughout 11, as well as indicative of the complex negativity hidden behind the happy facade. Oh, I do think about this show far too much. Link!

12th - "Modéré" - Ravel - An elegant, calming piece, which sounds far more at ease with itself than most. Link!

13th - "Raindrop Prelude" - Chopin - This piece has SUCH a range of emotions, and it just feels so fitting for 13. yes. ok. link.

i hope you found your new favourite classical piece. also can you tell i love chopin from this? my friend once said they would worship him and i was like real.

Also if you reblog / say in tags what you would pick for what Doctor's I will read. I will (hopefully) do this for other characters / companions.

[dearclickclack]

Dear Mr. Clack, I offered to proof read something that my buddy wrote, but I'm not too good at reading and I'm intimidated by the word count. I'm starting to get worried that I'm going to take too long to get through all of it. I do love editing, but since I'm new to it I usually stick to shorter works so I'm feeling pretty discouraged. Do you have any tips to stop being a little coward? -tophat

p.s. i just checked the word count and i really did dig myself into a hole on this one. im a 3k word andy at best this is like. 25 times more than that. send help.

Dear Tophat,

"Oh, puny human, don't think of this as an act of cowardice!" Click Clack coos sympathetically. "It happens to all of us at some point in our careers - we see a dazzling piece of art, we want to help it come to fruition...." Our god sighs dramatically, resting the back of his hand on his forehead in a display of faux-daintiness. "Only to find ourselves out of our depth!"

"However, part of any good collaboration is transparency - on both your parts," our god clarifies. "Certainly, things will improve once you admit that you may not be ready to take on such a large project, but you also need to find out what your friend's expectations of you are. Do they expect you to edit the whole manuscript in one go? Could you perhaps portion it out? If all else fails - "

The God of Storytelling cuts himself off abruptly, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Well. I would suggest seeing if you know any other editors you could pass this off to, but you're writing to one right now, aren't you? And between you and me, my mailbox is always open~."

[shukakumoodboard]

then ghost of tsushima au👉👈

@rkaln oh my god, i just realised i fecking forgot to answer your asks (and you too anon!) hkdskghdfkg. i swear i didn’t ignore you, im just a moron

so as an apology, this one is gonna be LONG. buckle up bro-mies. under the cut!

welcome to kels one sole attempt at a True Longfic. and when i say longfic, this one—if i can ever pull it off—i mean 200k+ to fit everything i want in it. JRR tolkien whomst?

anyway. this fic is yet untitled, though the favoured contender is bushidō. that being said, im not… sold on it? for some reason? but lets get onto the fic itself.

the fic plan is a heavily modified spin on the plot of the videogame ghost of tsushima, which follows the tale of a samurai named jin, adopted son of the jito of the island of tsushima, and his descent into dishonour in pursuit of saving his home during the mongol invasion of 1274. it’s, in my humble opinion, one of the best games ever made. when i say there were moments in this game that had me sobbing, with tears dripping onto hands clenched so tight to my controller i nearly broke it, i am not being dramatic in the slightest. aside from the truly brilliant plot, it has jaw dropping graphics and my favourite play mechanics of any game ever. everything in this game is awe-inspiring.

also you can pet foxes. just saying.

in this fic, lee takes the place of jin as adopted ward of the jito (hiashi) where he is effectively the “lesser” second son of the jito. first son, ofc, is neji :) to take you very briefly through the beginning, konoha (which takes the form of tsushima island in this universe) is invaded, though the invaders are, in this case, suna, led by rasa ofc. (งツ)ว

what i intend to follow is a long winded story of lee battling to save his captive family from suna, and what lengths he must go to in order to accomplish such a monumental feat, even if it costs him his honour. of course, the entire cast of thousands have roles to play—tenten, an assassin; kakashi and gai, former samurai with a painful understanding of the choices lee must make; naruto, hidden son of the former shogun, leading a band of ronin and desperately trying to bring his wayward friend sasuke home. sakura, a healer who wants to be a samurai in a time where gender roles work against her, inoshikacho working through the temples to secretly subvert the will of suna, and of course, the sand siblings, beleaguered children of a mad conqueror who work to subjugate konoha island… until, perhaps… an unlikely partnership forms. i hope it will come to no surprise that this fic is not safe for sasuke huehuueheuheuheuheeHUEUEUUHEUHUE

not only is this meant to be a long fic but its also meant to span years in time as well — so im really excited to build a universe this big. however, i wouldnt expect this to appear anytime soon. im not going to do anything public until i have a solid outline built for all my character arcs and at least a list of general scenes for chapters, and thats not going to be soon. i have three things i ABSOLUTELY want done in 2025 before i even turn my head towards this, and when i do, it will be a slow crawl of a process, especially because right now i’m also in my final 1.5 years of my doctorate, and that means all my writing juice is going towards academia lol. but one day, so help me, i will bring this fic out of my brain and onto paper!

of course, i won’t talk about a fic without sharing at least some bits, so here’s some snips from my longer-than-some-fics idea sheet! two scenes i have planned and the drafted words to a really melodramatic confession god gaara get yourself together thats ur enemy winkwonk

[rapidhighway]

Dying to hear your thoughts about knuckles being possessed by the chaos emerald

Everyone else can close their eyes this is for Nahla lmaooo

You mean master emerald? Cause the master emerald oh boyyy WELL

Okay cmere (pats my bed foryou to sit next to me) this will make no sense probably but I've had many specific thoughts about this idk if it's any good

umm i won't lie I have a whole ass au in the making rn skcnkdkdkd but im very unsure about many things so I'm not going to go into this stuff much. However I've been thinking about this for quite some time and what I think is that a scenario like that would require a new villain (or one that already exists but I'm not versed enough in sonic lore and idk them). LISTEN IDK anything about enerjack I WILL I prommy I will and I will scream about ittt But. A villain that is interested in Echidnas, Angel Island and stuff, someone knowledgeable and with big big ambitious. I don't see it being Eggman cause I feel like the most Eggman would do with the Master Emerald is powering some big ass robot or a giant laser or something. And this should be personal. This should be about Angel Island and the Echidnas and about Knuckles' life and his mission. Knuckles doesn't go super, he doesn't use the emeralds, he doesn't use the Master Emerald, he just guards it. So to get him to actually use it, get corrupted by it, it would have to be something powerful and something that plays on all bad parts of his life. I don't really see Knuckles as someone who angsts a lot about his situation, he's unsatisfied by it but I don't think he's going to cry about it. He's proud of being the guardian of the Master Emerald even though it has big big downsides. The things that would actually be painful would be failure as guardian (not just of the ME but his friends too)loss of Angel Island, loss of something big, very important to the echidna culture, stuff like that, idk I'd have to think it through haha. I don't think Knuckles being corrupted by the Master Emerald should be anyone's end goal. It could be something of a side effect, perhaps Knuckles trying to protect it from destruction or corruption or something would get corrupted himself and entangled with the Emerald's power. All very cool he needs a very cool form. Personally I think the tactic for his defeat could be more than one person using the chaos emeralds to become super, this way let's say Sonic takes all the punches (gets punched out of his super form like the master can do) and for example Tails and Amy (I need them to go super pls pls pls) could blast Knux to smithereens lmao. You know what I mean. I think? But basically, this is a very cool concept but I NEED it to be so good and big and dramatic. This is NOT a one shot idea for me okay, I need a 50k story at least.

[rosencrantzsguildenstern]

Character: Kujo Takamasa

First impression

since i first saw him in rikus fucking. 1st beat flashback. i knew that man was sus as hell amen! i was super curious since we got that bit of knowledge that tenn left with a random guy and basically had this prediction that he was AWFUL and the cause of all of tenns problems. in the first actual scene with him i was mostly like 'what a cool scene!' but as soon as we learn he's tenn AND AYA'S dad i was like. oh i bet he's why tenn works himself into the ground and has all these weird complexes and won't talk to riku i bet kujo’s this horrible abusive guy. i even wrote this little tenn&aya angst fic back in october when i was watching 2nd beat that holds up decently well (it was basically a sickfic where tenn was like ik im sick but I Have To Go To Work bc otherwise kujo’ll be pissed and aya was like My Mom Died Of Illness) but definitely has some inaccuracies and missed how interesting tenn and aya's characters and complexes are. anyway i hated that man!

Impression now

I LOVE THIS MAN!! he has every disease <3 <3 <3 i love his hair. i love his vibes. i love when he fails at life. he's still an awful parent who did/does definitely traumatize tenn but it's in a fun funky way. i love a man who goes insane with longing. i also just really like the little snippets we get of him existing. being himself. his personality entertains me. i like his dramatic monologues and i like that he’s goth

Favorite moment

oh my god. when the high school trio corner him in a hallway and he’s like “when did i start running a children’s counseling hotline” my friend. perhaps when you started using them as raw material for idols??? its so funny hes like. whats up with these kids ❓

Idea for a story

THIS IS SURPRISINGLY HARD bc i give him a lot of screentime in my stuff that ISNT centered around him but then with just him all im thinking of is easy little character studies where i wax poetic about zero. OH!! actually i’m always dreaming up dumb kujo family crackfic. they go to the grocery store. (i actually have snippets of this one thought up.) they go to a diner. they go on an overly long drive and hate it. haruka is always there causing drama. its a beautiful world

Unpopular opinion

ONE TIME I SAW A FIC MAKING HIM HOMOPHOBIC nah. hes gay. hes homophobic against haruki specifically. but in general taking an antagonist and making them do allllll the bad stuff is never my jam. also w that the idea/theory that he fucked over zero, like pressured him too much as a producer? i could see him being the reason zero disappeared, but i don’t think he could or did Manage zero— if he overwhelmed zero, it was probably with excessive love and devotion— like i bring up in the favorite relationship section he’s the guy who says “this song is the most amazing thing in the world” and gets so excited about it he breaks your stuff!

Favorite relationship

i thought about this for a little but i think i gotta say him and haruki! apart from them being the choice with the most history, their dynamic is just fun— harukis a jokester. a free spirit. a silly guy if you will. and generally laid-back/unattached- while kujous very serious and singleminded. add in Beef and that they used to be really close and it’s so fun; i also think a lot about the flashback scene where haruki’s having kujo listen to his new song and kujo’s like THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER MADE!!!!!! what a hypeman :> and harukis like don’t break More of my glasses so that’s another fun touch of contrast in their dynamic

(and god. i’ll make this last forever kujou vs here for a good time not a long time haruki. what a pair to trap in endless grief)

i also actually really like his and gaku’s dynamic? all their scenes together are really strong, it’s really satisfying seeing gaku tell it like it is— with all this care for tenn and knowledge of tenn’s issues embedded— and having gaku play kujo in the zero musical also brings out ALLLL the similarities in the two characters (that are really quite different) and makes every kujo-gaku scene during that period extremely fun bc gakus doing CHARACTER ANALYSIS

Favorite headcanon

ough… ive talked about this before but i think aya buys him best dad merch, haruka buys him stuff that says “worst dad” and he ignores what all of it says and just like. wears/uses it.

also i like the idea of him being consciously goth/alt but in different styles since before zero disappeared

[alexdnn-art]

GOOD OMENS 2 EPISODE 5 REACTION - CONTAINS SPOILERS‼️

predicting the wait and see in this one

“can i watch” hehe crowley just wants to be with aziraphale

HE MENTIONED DOCTOR WHO and “the doctor” is right behind him ahhhh british people youre so british

lol the demons just went from 10000 to 70

AZIRAPHALE STOP GIVING BOOKS AWAY

oh i love how he’s not assuming the spouse’s gender

eric you’re about to die i’m afraid

crackling at aziraphale being so stubborn about knowing french 💀

NO WAYY crowley asking the same questions as the fandom about aziraphale’s french he’s so us this season

NINA ASSUMING THEYRE TOGETHER YES YES FINALLY

“he’s not my bit on the side he’s far too pure of heart to be anybody’s bit on the side” CROWLEY YOURE. STOP. IM FINE IM FINE THIS IS FINE (this is, in fact, not fine)

uhhh crowley what are you trying to do with that rose and that wineeeee hmmm

“smitten 🥰” aziraphale please teach me irregular verbs with that smile

yes i also had this theory of gabriel faking the amnesia but that’s not likely

“you’re being silly😊”

protective crowley MORE PROTECTIVE CROWLEY YES GIVE IT TO MEEEE

WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHY ARE YOU REVEALING THE TRICK IN S1

oh shit i’ve been dreaming about this moment “when you told my only friend to shut his stupid mouth and die” YES YES YESNYES CROWLEY SAY IT TELL HIM LETS GOOOOOOOOOO he took off his glasses shit shit shit

naur gabe is sad

“jimmy boyeeh”

JUMP OUT OF WHAT

he’s gonna stop him right

yep

RIGHTTTT THE MATCHBOX I FORGOT

HAND ON THE BACKKKKK

THIS MUSICCC so romantic i can’t wait to see the dance AND CROWLEY IS LOOKING AT HIM THROUGH THE WINDOW

mrs sandwich !! did she just change clothes

ohh what a pity Lindsay is your former partner🙄

so i wasnt hallucinating they actually change clothes as they get into the shop

gabriel’s fancy suit HELP

NOOOO MAGGIE YOURE IN TROUBLE

yes crowley put those demons in their place SHOUT AT THEM

ITS ABOUT TO HAPPEN THEYRE ABOUT TO DANCE

aziraphale also made a miracle to make everyone speak like they’re in the 19th century?

MAGGIE AND NINA MOMENTTTT it’s the scene ITS THE SCENE FROM PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

okay now give me aziracrow dancing

crowley stop worrying and think about the ball challenge

AZIRAPHALE PLEASE GRAB HIS ARM AND MAKE CROWLEY DANCE WITH YOU thanks bye

ohhh andrew o’neil is mutt’s (?) spouse that’s why azi used they/them before I LOVE THIS CHARACTERRR I LOVE THIS SHOW

WHY DOES JIM HAVE TO BE SO FUNNYYY

OH

MY

GOD

“well perhaps you could tell me while we dance” IM GOING TO DISCORPORATE

OH SHITTTTTT

HE DID IT HE GRABBED HIS HAND THEYRE ACTUALLY GOING TO DANCE

hi shax can you please come back later this is too important

I CAN SEE THEM IN THE BACKGROUND

“i don’t mind hard work” MAGGIEE you’re so sweet

THEYRE DOING IT THEYRE DANCING AZIRACROW DANCING THIS IS REAL THIS IS HAPPENING IN FRONT OF ME IT’S REAL REALITY IM SEEING WITH MY EYEBALLS IVE ALMOST FALLEN OFF MY CHAIR

THEIR HANDS ARE TOUCHING AHHHH I DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS COHERENT THOUGHTS

I MADE A FANART OF THIS WITH THESE EXACT COLOURS OHHH I HAVE TO PAUSE FOR A MOMENT

shax interrupted the ball HOW DARE YOU????

surrender the angle 📐

no stop don’t harm humans

GABE WHAT ARE YOU DOING!

THE FLUFFY COAT WHY SO DRAMATIC 💀💀

NOOOOOO THEY CANT RECOGNIZE HIM

YESS CROWLEY HAS STUDIED LAW!

i cant believe he’s democratically telling them that they can’t attack

OH I SHOULD HAVE REALIZED HE JUST MADE IT UP LOL

“happy anniversary love” AWH

“you’re a good lad” / “not actually, either” GENDERFLUID CROWLEY MY BELOVED

“why don’t you stand up for yourself? make your own plans” / “i am, but rescuing me makes HIM SO HAPPY” SHUT UPPPPPP AZIRAPHALE I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE I KNOW YOU LIKE BEING RESCUED SHUT UP this show is so not real it can’t be

HELLO AGAIN MURIEL! police officer moment

“ARREST ME”? GIRL WHAT

THIS DIALOGUE IS SO CUTE I LOVE ALL THIS CROWLEY CONTENT

angel crowley on his waaaaay

FINISHED EP 5 OOHHHHH WHAT A ROLLER COASTER I CANT BELIEVE I ONLY HAVE ONE EPISODE LEFT THIS CANT BE ALMOST OVERRRR

(I had to rewrite some of this since tumblr decided not to save my post, but i could remember the best bits of the deleted part so it is authentic)

[oswednesday]

My favorite Laius scene is when he feeds that one twink monster meat while the guy's trying to manipulate him. With the party in the background going full 'you do not have to to make him believe your on his side' and the twink having the face journey of forcing himself to eat it and go "yummy"

While laos just watches happily, presumedly fully aware that his new friend perhaps didn't want to. Linus just the kinda guy to walk up to someone and do some dom action but no one believes he tops.

They just look at his face and go "hours innocent looking, he must be a nice guy". Also the ask box broke 5 lines so so if there's Missouri i apologies

WARNING DUNGEON MESHI SPOILERS AHEAD

sorry to tease you but every way you’ve spelled his name in order: elvish/dwarven/halfling/gnomish the way i see it is, like he plays up not remembering kabru, because the person who is showing interest isnt the same guy who keeps bothering him, like that doesnt make “sense” but he does remember being “bothered” by kabru, he brushes him aside as he has this sort of energy that laios is just fully uninterested in but kabru is also Good with people, so good that it coaxes out this face of laios that he hides from others like that full frost, disgust stand on the top of a tower and be like youre all ants thats a bit dramatized but i think thats the intent

you’re kabru who can give everyone exactly what they want but doesnt know how to express his own heart's desires and this guy who is charming and bubbly with everyone blasts you with a cold shoulder this guy who lives solely for what he wants, you are kabru and you know he has no actual connections cause youve like ye old deep web stalked him but you cant really get much deeper than that because you’re kabru and you dont have any action connections with anyone either despite how much you’re there for everyone and how you have all their needs memorizes and he isnt ready to deal with that! it isnt until he meets mithrun and while hes still doing that im caring for you its like he doesnt have to pretend to be a billion things like tough and mean he doesnt want to be, he wants to be like a soft young man with friends who like him for who he is, he knows mithrun isnt planning to twist the knife in his direction unlike laios just doesnt seem to need anything and has a knife to twist

of course, he does! have needs, but its like the same thing with shuro on a level, he was keeping close to him cause of his nearness to falin, like would he have “let” falin be taken away in marriage to another country? um nope your brother in law is here too haha! most likely im like he says ill let falin know your feelings not you tell falin yourself when we get her back like, as if! but its also something he easily gets caught up in like oh your antagonist feelings towards me really ran that deep then show them? whats wrong with you why lie about what you want? you want falin so you must also want me, a world where he isnt the center of her world does Not exist to him (even before they fight we know his feelings are like this cause hes like shuro you look great, like oh you want this man to die and be dead)

like to laios kabru’s behaviors are predictable, human and boring, hes uninterested, but laios has this moment of like Oh! i can give that back! i can give you something human and predictable, And he does and its obvi that it was a thing he was just doing, even if he “meant” it, he shows a truer feeling to izutsumi when shes like DIDNT YOU PROMISE!! ; 0 ; when hes about to do something crazy town and hes like ah well have that dinner for me and leaves and he doesnt bother hiding stuff from her like he respects her beast self and relies on it so much that she can tell the moment hes off, there’s a lot of background stuff we dont really See much like mithrun’s story because it wouldnt "make for a good story", its like roleplaying players do between sessions with each other or with the dm or written documents it creates a very cool vibe i think in a different story it would be like this massive hole in the writing but its filled in by the familiarity of a roleplay group? Its a lovely tender story but i also liken it to like a theatre of cruelty, its wild, its questioning popular spiritual beliefs, theology, he literally does a dante’s inferno painting thing