#the archive ᡣ𐭩 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osarina · 11 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 TELLING THEM THEY'RE PRETTY!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol

SUMMARY: telling the bsd boys that they're pretty! (wordcount: 3.5k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i had cute dividers but this won't show up in the tags if use them D: ! i had sooo much fun with this! i hope you guys enjoy! :D

DAZAI OSAMU

You can’t seem to drag your gaze away from him.

As a long day of work comes to an end, you rest your head on your arms and lean on your desk. Kunikida is still tapping furiously away at his computer, Tanizaki and Naomi are whispering about something together, Ranpo is sorting through his candy, and Atsushi and Kyouka are looking through files. But your eyes are tracing over Dazai Osamu as he leans back in his chair, lazily spinning and bobbing his head to the music he’s listening to.

The setting sun casts an ethereal glow over him, his lips idly turned up and his lashes brushing his cheeks as rests his eyes waiting for the day to end. Dazai Osamu is pretty—you’ve always acknowledged that—but there’s something about the peace of this moment, the domesticity of the office and the ambience of the lighting that has you utterly enraptured.

He looks so at ease, and Dazai Osamu is never at ease. Even when he throws up that clownlike mask of his and spends his day entertaining under the guise of joy and humor, you can always see the strain in the corner of his eyes and lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible really—if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, much to his displeasure, because you know he hates how easily you can see right through him.

After a few minutes, Dazai peeks his eyes open—and you’re almost breathless, because his eyes are like melted honey beneath the sunset, warm and gentle, glittering with amusement. You think you can stare at him forever and never tire of it.

He rolls his chair closer to you, resting his forearms on your desk so that your arms are brushing and laying his head down on them so that his face is mere inches from yours, matching your position. There's a smile on his lips, soft and teasing as he whispers, "You've been staring at me for five minutes."

"Mhm," you agree, voice just as quiet as if to not disturb the tranquility of the office. You can feel his breath light against your face from the proximity he's laying at and you can smell peppermint on his breath from the candy you’d seen him swipe from Ranpo’s desk earlier when the other man had gone to speak to Fukuzawa.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks playfully, dark eyes glimmering as he waits for your response.

You can tease him back and say yes, as you usually do and is probably what he expects—and you fully intend to do just that but the words that leave your lips are not that.

“You just look really pretty today,” you say softly, watching as his eyes widen just a bit at your words, pink dusting his cheeks.

His lips part to say something but no words leave them. He opens and closes them a few times and you marvel because Dazai must know that he’s pretty from all of the attention he gets from women, so you don’t understand why he’s so thrown off hearing you voice it out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him genuinely speechless before now.

“So you don’t think i’m pretty every other day?” Dazai pushes his bottom lip out into an over-exaggerated pout, recovering swiftly from your words, though you expected nothing less from him. But you can’t help but note that his cheeks are still a bit pink and there’s something indecipherable in his eyes.

“Prettier than usual,” you amend and watch as the flush on his cheeks darkens and he instead resorts to completely burying his face in his arms with a frustrated groan.

“I am supposed to be the flirt, bella,” he complains, voice muffled by his arms as he hides his face from your view. He cannot hide the way his ears have gone bright red, and you have half a mind to reach out and tug at them

You lift your hand to your lips to hide the giggle that rises to your lips, scooching your chair a bit closer so you can knock your shoulder against his.

“I’m not flirting,” you say. “Just stating a fact.”

He turns his head to the side, just enough so that he can give you a heavy side eye—you can only barely see the red hue coating his cheekbone.

“Not mutually exclusive,” he says grumpily, and you lean down to press your lips against his now exposed forehead, smiling softly as his eyes instinctively flutter shut and his body relaxes as the touch.

Then, you receive a pencil to the side of your head. You yelp as your hand flies to where it had made contact with you, scowling at your assailant who is none other than Ranpo, smiling widely as he waves at you and then motions to Kunikida, who is red faced and staring at the two of you. You can’t tell if it’s in embarrassment or anger.

“Not during work hours,” he snaps, and you realize that he’s definitely embarrassed, so you share a short look with Dazai, who has regained that mischievous look in his eyes as he glances over at Kunikida and back at you.

Without saying a word, or giving any other sort of warning, he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short and chaste kiss, but his lips are soft and taste of candy, and you think you might be able to kiss them forever if you get the chance.

Now you’re the one flustered, you can feel heat rising to your cheeks as you stare at Dazai, who is evidently thoroughly pleased to not be the one uncomposed if the unscrupulous grin on his lips has anything to say about it.

He tosses you a wink before rolling his chair back over to his desk, animatedly complaining about Ranpo and Kunikida being lonely and bitter and getting in the way of Dazai’s chance at true love because of it—you only roll your eyes at his dramatics, as you usually do when Dazai goes off on tangents, but it’s with much more fondness this time.

•��•

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

You are not listening to a single word that he’s saying.

It’s a dangerous situation to be in with Fyodor Dostoevsky, you’re sure he’s noticed by now and he will be petty enough to finish his brief about his plans and your involvement and then ask you to repeat what he said, but you just can’t focus.

He tied his hair back, you note, still quite a bit awed by the sight. There are two locks framing his face and his bangs are falling between his eyes, but the rest of his hair, which has grown a bit long in the weeks that he’s been ardently preparing for the final stages of his plan, is pulled back into a lax bun.

He looks so casual, and Fyodor Dostoevsky never looks casual. He’s dressed in a turtleneck and loose pants as he leans back in his chair. There’s a folder resting on his lap that he’s idly flipping through and he keeps glancing up at you occasionally, pale lips flat and violet eyes disapproving, but you just nod along to his words even though you know that he knows that you’re not paying attention.

And you think, distantly, that you probably should be paying attention because he’s talking about your upcoming mission and what you should expect from it but you figure you’ll be fine—it’s a simple infiltration mission, nothing to worry about. And you’d much rather prefer to appreciate Fyodor’s rare repose than to listen him droll on about boring topics.

Sometimes, you think if he just kept his mouth shut all the time, he’d be perfect. But you think you’d miss his sharp-witted comments and the lengthy debates the two of you have after a few glasses of wine.

He looks extra pretty tonight, even beyond the casual hairstyle and clothes and his uncharacteristically relaxed demeanor, and you think it’s because of the way the flames of the fireplace are casting an enchanting orange and red glow over his face. It makes the violets of his eyes burn alive in a way that they usually don’t, you’re far too used to the glacial visage they take whenever he puts his attention on someone. Every time he glances up at you, you swear that you can get lost in them.

“… And you are not listening to a word that I am saying, are you?”

Fyodor is giving you the heaviest side eye as he finally calls you out, expression unamused. His brows are furrowed and his pale skin is taut with thinly veiled irritation.

“Of course, I am,” you dismiss, waving your hand. “Infiltration mission, detective agency, get close to the tiger boy.”

Fyodor looks distinctly unimpressed by your words, brows deepening—you figure you must have spoken wrongly, you probably shouldn’t have been so indifferent, and you bite back a sigh before reaching forward to press two fingers between Fyodor’s eyebrows, as if to forcibly smooth away his annoyance.

He blinks and draws back, out of reach of your arm, and then casts you an even more irritable look.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he accuses. “This mission will be dangerous, you’ll be at risk of being exposed every moment you are in the agency and if you are exposed-“

“Your plans will be ruined,” you finish, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. “I kno-“

“You could be killed,” Fyodor corrected, voice cold and sharp, and you look back over to him. He looks unusually intense, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the appearance that the flames of the fireplace are giving him as they flicker dangerously across his face or if it’s because he’s that displeased with you being distracted. Either way, you find your mind drifting again because wow. “Dazai Osamu is not a man to be taken lightly. When he manages to figure out who you are and what you’re doing, we will need an immediate extraction plan.”

“Careful, Fyodor,” you drawl, watching as his violet eyes narrow briefly, “almost sounds like you care.”

Fyodor’s lips twist but he doesn’t respond. You raise your eyebrows, he looks away. Your eyes shoot open.

“You have a bigger role to play,” Fyodor finally says, but he’s no longer looking at you. “You cannot be killed yet.”

“Yet,” you repeat, amused. Fyodor’s jaw tightens, he doesn’t look at you, his eyes are trained on the fireplace to the side of the two of you and you can vaguely see the flames reflecting in his eyes, burning ardently against the familiar violet.

You lean forward again, shifting off of the couch to sit on the coffee table between the two of you so you can reach him. You reach forward to brush your knuckles against his cheek—he doesn’t move away this time, but his eyes cut to the side to watch you carefully.

You don’t say anything for a moment, absently tucking one of the locks of hair framing his face behind his ear. His hair is soft, freshly washed—for once—it smells faintly of lavender and vanilla and you wonder if he stole your conditioner.

“You look very pretty tonight, Fyodor,” you say quietly, and then smile. “It’s hard to focus when you look like this.”

The expression Fyodor directs toward you is extraordinarily blank, except for the faintest specks of pink that glare compared to the pallor of his face.

He shakes his head, looking away from you yet again.

“… You cause me much suffering,” he murmurs, and somehow, you know that might be the closest you might get to an admission of love from Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You smile to yourself. “And you to I,” you say, voice a bit teasing, and then you add, “Now, can you tell me again what to look out for?”

The moment is ruined. Fyodor’s eye twitches and he’s giving you that unamused look again, and you think having him repeat himself might be a mistake because now you’re even more distracted, but Fyodor sighs and starts on his lecture again so you force yourself to listen.

It takes about three minutes for him to release a sigh of utter suffering when he realizes that your eyes have glazed over yet again.

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

Nikolai has a wild sort of beauty about him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous, and it’s widely apparent in his frenzied laughter and chaotic behavior. His eye glitters and his teeth gleam sharply beneath the glow of the moonlight as he waves his hands around, animatedly describing to you all of the details of the things he’s been doing while you were away.

Fyodor’s masterplan has involved Nikolai apparently taken upon an infiltration role at the ministry of defense—you think it’s a bold move for Fyodor to use Nikolai for such a tenuous mission, but he’s apparently been having the time of his life with it. Though he thinks his boss is deplorable and one of his coworkers has evidently pissed him off beyond repair, because now he’s telling you about how he’s been ‘pranking’ the man in righteous vengeance.

You think Nikolai’s idea of pranking varies from yours, because you’re pretty sure him using his ability to break into the man’s house constitutes a crime not a prank. But you don’t have it in you to make that distinction when he’s so excitedly telling you about how every day he’s been going into his house to move around all of his stuff and hide some of his belongings to make the man squirm. He’s succeeding outstandingly in his ambition, if the videos he’s waving in front of you have anything to say about it.

You watch as he frantically scrolls to the next video—“this one is the best,” he claims, as he has for every video thus far. You watch with an amused smile as his dark-haired coworker steps into his apartment and nearly starts crying when he realizes that all of his stuff has been moved again, scrambling for his phone to call the police, who have—according to Nikolai—apparently already told him multiple times that there’s nothing they can do about it. The video is shaking wildly, as if the person filming can barely hold the camera straight, and you’re convinced that’s exactly what it is because you can hear Nikolai’s muffled laughter coming from recording.

Nikolai naturally finds it much funnier than you do, half-way keeling over as he wheezes, his laughter shattering the peaceful night. The two of you are sitting at a park near the apartment that Fyodor had leased for you for the duration of the Yokohama operation. The moon is high in the sky, casting a bewitching glow over the lake in front of you and there’s a chill in the air—it’s a nice night all around, you think there will probably some frost dusting the grass in the morning but the cold hardly bothers you now with Nikolai pressed to your side as he laughs himself into a near-coughing fit over his harassment of his coworker.

“Why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai suddenly complains loudly, scowling at you, but even then he keeps having to bite back residual laughter whenever he glances back down at his phone. “It’s funny.”

“It is funny,” you agree. Nikolai gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you. “It is.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai accuses doubtfully, and then adds, even more accusatory, “You hate me.”

You’re not sure why you aren’t laughing, honestly. Usually you’d be burying your face into his shoulder trying to smother your snickers, because even though you might not entirely agree with Nikolai’s idea of a prank, you can still find some humor in it. Because it is kind of funny. Kind of.

But then you realize that you’re probably not laughing because you’ve been spending most of the night admiring Nikolai rather than listening to him prattle on about his escapades and watching his poorly recorded videos, so you can’t fully appreciate the humor in the videos. With his cheeks flushed from copious amounts of laughter and his eyes glowing with excitement, you think he’s very pretty tonight—Nikolai is always pretty, but the angle at which he’s sitting leaves the moon haloing behind his head, and maybe it’s just because you’ve missed him the past few weeks when you’ve been abroad dealing with a territory dispute with Tolstoy, but you think there’s something special about tonight.

“I don’t hate you. I guess I’ve been too busy admiring you,” you finally say, a playful smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side to look at him. “You look pretty tonight.”

Nikolai blinks, eyes wide and owlish as he processes your words. The longer he goes unresponsive, you acknowledge that a quiet Nikolai is far more unnerving than a loud and erratic Nikolai, you’d expected a more… theatrical response to your comment. A swish of his cape, him leaping to his feet with a twirl and an agreement, even just a wild laugh; instead, he looks away abruptly. He doesn’t even just look away, he physically turns his whole body away from you.

You blink.

“Nikolai?” you ask, a bit astonished when he literally ignores you. You lean forward, trying to get a look at his face, but then he swivels around even more and your lips part in shock. “Nikolai.”

You’re only met with a face full of his soft white hair, impeccably braided, as per usual—you have half a mind to tug at it hard to try to get a response from him, but you aren’t in the mood for the lewd comment that would likely spill from his lips after.

“Koly-“

“Poor me, poor me,” Nikolai suddenly cries loudly, “The little koshenya mocks me when all I do is try to make her laugh. Poor me, poor me.”

His hand flies to his face, melodramatic as he bemoans your alleged cruelty. You stare at him, mind trying to piece together what exactly is happening—Nikolai is always hard to predict, but you feel like this is a bit strange even for him, and that’s saying something.

“… What?” you start to ask but Nikolai has thrown himself into a loud and theatrical tirade about how he doesn’t deserve such injustice and how he was only trying to make you laugh, and how it’s so, so cold-hearted of you to taunt him when this is the first time the two of you have seen each other in weeks.

Nikolai is impossible to bargain with when he gets like this, so you only sigh and tilt your head up to the sky, his words flying in one ear and out the other as you wait for him to settle down on his own.

Instead, you swear the world is against you because rather than settling down, he becomes increasingly more noisy and distressed, and his accusations become even more asinine. Now, he’s saying that you’ve always had it out for him and how you weren’t laughing at his jokes because you hate him and want to report him to the police and how he should tell Dostoy about your betrayal, or better yet, he should stuff you in his cloak and leave you there?

You side-eye Nikolai heavily as he continues on, slightly alarmed, but brush off the casual threat as just Nikolai being Nikolai. You don’t know how to shut him up, you think you might be out here all night listening to him, and now you’re the one bemoaning your fate because how did a simple compliment turn into this.

Finally, an idea strikes.

You brace yourself, questioning your sanity and your entire existence before you interrupt him with a loud, “Quiz time!”

Nikolai goes silent instantly, head snapping toward you, eye even wider than before.

You think you’ve hit an all time low as you say, “Was I trying to mock you before?” Nikolai opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can. “What’s that you say? I wasn’t? Ding ding! We’ve gotta winner!”

You think Nikolai might be having an internal crisis. He��s staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time in his life—his lips are parted, his eye void of the usual mischief dancing in it. He looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what.

You let out a long breath as you go to speak up again, but before you can, his eye is glittering again, sharp and dangerous, and his lips are curving up into a slow smile.

Nikolai inhales and then he takes a complete one-eighty as he bursts into loud cackles and says, “Ahahaha! I knew you loved me!” as if he wasn’t just lamenting your irrational hatred for him moments before.

Your eye twitches. He begins a second tirade, this one far more embarrassing for you than the last.

You regret everything.

4K notes · View notes

28chns · 8 months ago

Text

keep calm and carry on . . .

303 notes · View notes

ohdearlucifer · 4 months ago

Text

⊹.˚ yo estoy enfoca', no presiona na' ఇ‎ᙏ̤̫

ꪆ୧ ◟˖°𓏔 ☁️ acelero mi 𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪 𓏸 🦆 ˚ ⊹🍈 ၇⃪⃖

139 notes · View notes

anqlicrosie · 8 months ago

Text

⣼ moodboard girle . ꤦ🛍️

𐙚. GUIDE : here's a list to all the links of moodboards, gifs and edits i've posted on my page! each section is divided based on grps w/ mb events at the end!

no. of moodboards created : 47

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

꒰ AESPA ⎯⎯ i. ꒱ 🫧

karina 一 001 (🎀), 002 (🧢), 003 (🌌), 004 (🐢), 005 (🥟), 006 (📒), 007 (🏫), 008 (🍄), 009 (🫧), 010 (🍑)

winter 一 001 (🏖️), 002 (🌸), 003 (🥒⚾), 004 (🧸🍪), 005 (🎮), 006 (☀️)

꒰ IVE ⎯⎯ ii. ꒱ 🫧

wonyoung 一 001 (🍊), 002 (🌊), 003 (👢)

liz 一 001 (🗃️)

꒰ MISC. ⎯⎯ iii. ꒱ 🫧

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 everglow: yiren 一 001 (😈) aisha 一 001 (😈)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 illit: iroha 一 001 (🟤),

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 babymonster: ruka 一 001 (🛢️)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 skz: hyunjin 一 001 (⛰️)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 le sserafim: chaewon 一 001 (🌸), sakura 一 001 (🫧)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 requests 一 nct wayv: winwin (🫓), yena (🍄), rei (🪷), yuqi (🪨)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 dividers 一 purple, divider masterlist

꒰ EVENTS ⎯⎯ iv. ꒱ 🫧

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 events: mean girls event (🌸), new bunnies event (🥟), triples event (🌊), food event (🍊), snack event (🎸), my bias event (🥥), another dimension event (🏮), nayeon na event (🧺), lovely runner event (🐬), better things event (🍉), pinterest feed: what's in ur house event (🍨), brigerton event (🎹), think pink event (💭👛), txt: the event (🍞)

꒰ MILESTONES ⎯⎯ v. ꒱ 🫧

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 milestones: one month anniversary (🪵), 100 followers (🌲), 200 followers (🤍)

#꩜﹏% ★. . aria's archives !#navigation guide #ׁ ׅ ⊹ ☆ິ aria's milestones #── ⋆˚ ⊹ ᡣ𐭩 inbox requests !#✧ ˙ ˖ spam !

53 notes · View notes

eunimaybe · 7 months ago

Text

guidelines masterlist taglist tags moot duos help palestine

#eunae ᡣ𐭩 !#｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ — archive

4 notes · View notes

ssongsboo · 1 year ago

Text

- tags -

[☆ ; dear diary ?] // random thoughts & rants ☆ ; my 🪐 ᰔᩚ

[☆ ; the archives ?] // pics & gifs & videos

[☆ ; sierra’s cauldron ?] // reblogs & recommendations

[☆ ; hey, listen ?] // asks

[☆ ; brr brr - sierra on the phone ?] // thirsts & drabbles

[☆ ; my [emoji] ᰔᩚ] // anons

———————

[☆ ; info center ?] // pinned post

[☆ ; sierra ?] // abt me

[☆ ; my lovies ?] // stan list

[☆ ; my museum ?] // masterlist

#☆ ; navi ?#/#☆ ; dear diary ?#☆ ; the archives ?#☆ ; sierra’s cauldron ?#☆ ; hey listen ?#☆ ; brr brr sierra on the phone ?#//#☆ ; my 🧸 ᡣ𐭩 #☆ ; my 🪐 ᡣ𐭩 #☆ ; my 🐈‍⬛ ᡣ𐭩 #☆ ; my 🦊 ᰔᩚ #///#☆ ; info center ?#☆ ; sierra ?#☆ ; my lovies ?#☆ ; my museum ?

0 notes

diorawrr · 10 months ago

Note

favorite fairy diary entry yet i love these ppl :(

✪ moot appreciation time ! tag some of your fav moots and share what you love about them ! then place this in other blogs asks !

this is cuteeeee okayyy kinda long post ykyk

@y2qi my girl fr literally can talk to nini all day long about anything idc shes my lovieeeee

@minslune literally my beloved this app without her would be so bland and empty like i love her

@tyunlouv pri the cutest !! i love obsessing over txt together w her im gigglin everytime

@y-vna ari got me blushing every second shes so supportive & creative too like? need her in my life!

@vivrhan ren is the nicest omg:( i cherish her A LOT she is so precious to me u dont get it

@jaes1lvr so proud to be a jaebae its my #1 achievement mely is so talented we love her !!

@yeonzzen MY PRETTIEST YANGQUI yunzz youre my twinnie !! i love you so much

@sugarish THEYRE SO FUNNY I SWEAR the most random posts n i giggle everytime

@p-oisn where do i even start… literally have poisn ( thats her legal name guys.) tattooed on me u get it 💋

@ryeins i LOVE interacting w them they make me feel so happy n make my day like theyre so cute

@tookio literally an angel. sent from heaven. no one can convince me otherwise like !!!!!! 🫶🏼

+ so many more lovies will make a proper appreciation post later my memorys bad

#vini’s ᡣ𐭩 archive #personal #fairy diaries

33 notes · View notes

fawnhart · 2 days ago

Text

BAMBI!READER CHRISTMAS HAUL ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭

chanel fur trap hat

bambi has been BEGGINGGGG for this specific chanel trap fur hat for some time now. Drew figured there was no better time than Christmas to gift her the dream winter hat (she screamed so loud when she opened this)

sticker ipad case

Drew absolutely hates that bambi doesn’t have a case for her iPad, you would think someone who is as clumsy as her would have one but no…she really doesn’t care (she says they’re too ugly and bulky) he bought her this one knowing she would use it solely because it was pretty and sparkly

virgin suicides cami + book

bambi recently got the role of Priscilla and is so excited to work with one of her favorite directors ever! he bought her this as a kind of “congratulations” present along with the “Sofia Coppola Archive” book

monchhichi dolls

she saw these on her trip to Japan with drew, all the girls there had them on their bags and she was instantly OBSESSED! she asked drew to get her one but he refused telling her “the suitcases are already full baby, next time”. Little did she know while she was using the restroom he bought her three of those suckers (white, brown, & pink)

vintage miu miu kitten heels

She didn’t ask for these but he’s seen how obsessed with denim she has been lately and thought she would love these especially since she likes a good kitten heel, thanks to satc. Mads had to help him with this one since there is only a couple pairs available worldwide and he doesn’t know how the fuck depop works

body shimmer mists

he thought back to what she had been complaining about running low on and that was mists and body glitter so he just decided to get her both in her favorite scents, plus they turn him on so why not?

#works!⟡࿔*:･ﾟ #bambi!reader✦ •ִ ᜔.#drew starkey #aesthetic #drew starkey imagine #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x reader

175 notes · View notes

comesatimecomesashadow · 3 days ago

Text

meet the frownies *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ sunday x reader

fic type *ೃ༄ headcanons, once-shot, comfort

cw *ೃ༄ mentions of mild/severe depression (no mentions of SH or other similar topics)

summary *ೃ༄ sunday takes care of you during your hardest moments.

note *ೃ༄ i've made so many of these for different characters, its crazy | also its my first time writing 4 sunday so don't judge too harshly TwT

masterlist *ೃ༄

ᡣ𐭩 . . Sunday is already reluctant to have you out of his sight for too long, so he notices right away when you’re dealing with a particularly bad episode of depression. Being the attentive lover that he is, he studies up on your condition and equips himself with knowledge to learn how to take care of you and how to approach you during these episodes.

ᡣ𐭩 . . He isn’t one to beat around the bush and frankly, he hates it when others do too. However, he understands if you don’t want to come with him about your mental issues. He’ll coax you into it sooner or later, you of course, won’t notice.

ᡣ𐭩 . . Sunday won’t force you to do anything (per sé), he’ll only suggest something and make you feel like it was your choice in the first place. He’ll have the butlers and servants of his mansion tend to you with the utmost care. Craving something sweet? Or perhaps a book to read- maybe pages to color? Chances are, he’s already sent for it.

ᡣ𐭩 . . If you have a preference for solitude, he assumes that your solitude excludes him. Whether you like it or not, Sunday will always stay at your side during these moments and make sure his dearest isn’t lacking the care they need or putting themselves in danger.

ᡣ𐭩 . . If you can’t tend to your hair, can’t find your appetite, or just can’t bring yourself to emerge from the confines of the plush bed of your shared room — Sunday will help you care for yourself. While the Head of the Oak Family wouldn’t otherwise find himself doing such things for others, he won’t hesitate to do it for you.

ᡣ𐭩 . . But as much as he is your lover, that doesn’t mean he isn’t a little twisted. Sunday likes it when you rely on him so in these moments of depression, he’ll find his ego skyrocketing by the way you allow him to help you take care of yourself.

༝༚༝༚ oneshot under the cut !

Three days, sixteen system hours and fifteen minutes.

That was all the time Sunday needed to realize you were not your usual self. He noticed the despondent gleam in your eyes and the sluggish air that surrounded you as of late. Surely you’d come to him sooner or later.. He didn’t want to scare you with his confrontation and drive you away, you were a fragile thing — You needed patience and loving care.

Sunday would bear the weight of the world for you, but even he has limits.

As the month passed, your condition only deteriorated which only served to concern him even further. When you left his office after reporting to him, he searched The Family’s archives high and low to learn what he should do to aid you. “-’people who suffer from depression may experience episodes of lethargy, numbness and in severe cases, may even suffer from suicidal ideation. While one cannot cure this condition, depression may be alleviated by understanding company, healthy foods and therapy in severe cases.’..”

Should he get you a therapist? Did you need one? Sunday smiled to himself and thought his abilities to be better than any therapist; All you needed was him and he was sure of it. He closed the book promptly and put it back in its place, he’ll have to talk to you later — It was about time that you came to him after dealing with all of that yourself.

Later that night, you withdrew to Sunday’s mansion after work. Three years of a relationship with the Head of the Oak family had provided you a warm stay at his residence and you couldn’t be more than grateful — Especially during times like this. Lately, you hadn’t been eating much and you began to get out of bed later than you usually did. The servants only looked at you with concern, but said nothing lest they incur the wrath of Sunday.

You sighed upon entering your shared quarters. A moment to breathe and try to collect yourself. The act of going to work and coming back was already a tiring task so you were glad none of the servants asked you anything. You wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

The weight on your shoulders felt lessened when you got into your sleeping clothes and crept into the inviting sheets of the king sized bed you slept in. They enveloped you whole and warmed you up after a few moments. You knew what you were going through and after so many years of dealing with it on your own, you’d believed the best remedy was to sleep it off.

But Sunday had other plans.

When he got home that night, he asked the butler about your whereabouts. After being informed that you had withdrawn to your shared quarters and were asleep, Sunday thanked him and sought you out. He wasn’t sure how he should confront you or let you sleep.. But for now he’d do the latter and address your condition tomorrow.

Sunday wasn’t unfamiliar with your current mental state; You were usually like this every few months but it was the first time he had seen it affect you so much. Usually you’d be back to your usual self after about a week or two; This time it had been unusually extended for almost a month.

Which is why he was so concerned.

When he opened the door, the room inside was dark, as if a black hole had enveloped it whole. The moon outside only served to dimly light the inside of it. As Sunday discarded his work clothes, he was pained upon gazing at your sleeping form. The notable signs of your lethargy were evident by your slow, deep breaths.

As he settled in beside you, he adjusted his position so he was spooning you. He was delighted when you turned over to curl into him, a subtle moment of vulnerability he missed seeing in you. He wrapped his arm around you, like a snare encircling its prey. Sunday placed a soft kiss on your forehead before closing his eyes and succumbing to sleep.

The rest of the night was quiet and soon after, the morning came. When morning crept up on the both of you, Sunday was the first to get up. Now that there was a little light in the room, he saw the prominent shadows that settled under your eyes. You seemed at peace but tired at the same time.

After getting ready for the day, Sunday reached out to cup your cheek to slowly lull you out of your slumber with his soft touch. He needed you to tell him what was going on, he wouldn’t let it go on any further. After a short while, your lashes fluttered and you awoke with a soft yawn.

“You’re here.” You noted as you sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

“Of course I am, dearest. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes once more, barely awake. “You’re usually at work at this hour.”

He smiled a little and lay his head on top of yours. A warmth settled on his heart as he took note of how perceptive you were when it came to him. “You’re not wrong. But I have more pressing matters to tend to here than at work.”

You straightened up and gazed up at him lazily, “Yeah?”

He nodded, “Mhm.”

“Like what?”

He smiled, your curiosity was a thing that never seemed to diminish. “Your state of mind, I’ve noticed you’ve not been well, dearest.” Once you heard his words, you tore your eyes away from his,

“Oh.” You played with the fabric of the fluffed up sheets that covered you. “That.”

“I’m not going to ask if you’re fine, I know you aren't.” Sunday began, “But I want you to come to me if you’re struggling. I can’t have my lover drowning in their own issues, you know that right?” His voice had a sincere lilt to it.

You brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them close, as if to curl up into a ball and hide yourself from the world. Sunday hated seeing you so tired and apathetic, so caged in.

Like a dove in a cage.

“Dear you know I hate to see you hurting..” He reached out to lift your chin towards him, “Won’t you entrust me with your troubles?”

“I’m afraid you can’t fix this one, Sunday..” you muttered quietly.

Sunday smiled tenderly, “I’m not trying to fix you, dear. This isn’t something that can be fixed.” You looked up into his eyes, as if you were searching for something in them. Maybe answers.. Maybe comfort. “-But if I can help you feel better, that would be enough for me.”

You hadn’t been feeling much in the past few weeks, but for some reason, his words touched your heart. People throughout your life always treated your mental illness like it was a part of you to remain undisclosed, hidden from public view. It was like an interminable mistake; a blot on your person that you could not erase no matter how much you tried to correct it.

Sunday noticed the glimmer of emotion in your eyes, it had been a while since he’d last seen you so .. hopeful. While he did like having you rely on him.. He knew this wasn’t good for you. He rubbed your back, “I know you haven’t been eating well, your appetite has been diminishing. But is there anything you’re craving? Even if it’s something small, you should eat, my darling.”

You wiped the tears in your eyes that had begun to form. “Uh.. well, ..Can I have something sweet?” Your voice was low, but soft.

“My, my.. If you wanted to have me for breakfast you could have just said so, dearest.” He joked. To his satisfaction, you let out a small laugh at his joke. It was the first time in weeks he had seen you smile so genuinely. It wasn’t a fake one, like the one you used at work when greeting your coworkers. “Sweet treats can be arranged. In the meantime, would you like a bath?”

‘A bath would seem nice..’ you thought to yourself. But then, you thought about how you’d have to wash every inch of your body, the shampooing and conditioning.. Once you thought about it, it seemed like a chore you didn’t want to get into. And as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Sunday spoke up once more. “I’m offering, dearest. You’ll just sit back and relax, hm? How about it?”

So one nod and a couple minutes later, here you were.

The water surrounded your body, the bubbles felt nice around your skin. Sunday was singing what sounded like a lullaby while he gently undid the knots in your hair. Usually, it was a feat to take care of your hair, but Sunday made it feel as if it was no trouble at all. You swore you could fall asleep to the sound of his voice, if he let you.

The sweet timbre in his voice came to a stop after he finished the song. “Why did you hold off on telling me about your condition..?”

You kept popping the bubbles around you, but at a slower pace. “..I didn’t want to trouble you, I know how busy you can get with the hotel guests and The Family.”

Sunday was amused by your thoughtfulness. But it still saddened him, that you rarely trusted him with issues like these. “Dearest, I’ll always make time for you.” Once he finished detangling your hair, he rinsed off the conditioner carefully. Seeing him so focused on you was something you had missed.

“I know, I know.. I just didn’t want to bother you with something so trivial..” You honestly thought that it was something you should just deal with on your own. It had worked so well for years, the years before him.. So it should work now, right?

Sunday moved the stool he sat on to face you. Yellow irises met yours and you think you’ve never seen a man look so ethereal than now. “I know you can handle yourself, but I am your lover. I want to know when you’re feeling distressed, or saddened for the sole fact that, to me, it is anything but trivial. It matters to me.” His words were sincere. You knew it from the way he looked at you when he said them — As if you were the only person in his world.

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for Sunday. “I want you to let me know when you feel like this, okay? I do not want to see you suffering alone. We’ll bear the weight of it together.”

A familiar warmth set into your heart upon hearing him. In the many years you’d dealt with your mental condition, you’d never met someone so willing to shoulder the burden that you felt you were, until now. You knew for a fact that Sunday loved you, but hearing it like this and seeing it in his actions was different entirely.

Overtaken by your emotions, you sprang out from the tub and wrapped your arms around his neck. The cold air nipped at your skin but you could care less. “I’ll tell you about these things more often, just.. Be patient with me.”

Sunday was surprised by your actions at first and he didn’t quite like being wet, but he’d bear it for you. He returned your hug and nodded.

“I’ll wait however long it takes.”

#jume fics #jume fic #sunday #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #sunday star rail #sunday honkai star rail #honkai star rail #sunday x reader #sunday honkai x reader #sunday hsr fluff #sunday honkai #sunday headcanons

114 notes · View notes

cru3wrld · 4 months ago

Note

hey ! could you make some blackpink bios please? thank you and love ur ideas <33

hi guys! sorry for being away for SO long, i really don't know what happened to me :( but i will try to be active again!

— and thank you sooo much, that means a lot! hope you like it 💞

blackpink bios!!

𝗼𝗻𝗲 of 𝘁𝗵𝗲 gırls ★

⋆𐙚 𖥻 96 @jennierubyjane

// ୨ৎ 𝗕LɅϽK𝗣IИK 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘢

ᡣ𐭩 @/blackpinkofficial ୭ ᵎ!

𓍢ִ 080816 | ๋࣭ ⭑🩷🖤

⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃💋 ⋆

ρɾᥱttყ ⳽ᥲʋᥲɠᥱ — 1:32

@/blackpinkofficial

✦﹕personal archive 📂 ⸝⸝⌗

(your age)teen! 𝘣𝗹𝖺𝖼𝙠𝗽𝗂𝗇𝙠 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝙧 ㅤ𑜞᭄

𝅄੭🌙๑ ๋ 𓈒 but tonight, i'll be 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱﹗⊹ ๋࣭

#blackpink #jennie #blackpink lisa #kim jisoo #rose blackpink #messy bios #simbols bios #bios #ig bios #cute symbols #kpop bios #kpop #simple bios

44 notes · View notes

lght-roastcoffee · 15 days ago

Text

Let Me Take Care Of You

prompt: Winter Flu

pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1.1K

warnings: slight language, established relationship, mentions of violence, fluff

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

I woke up with my body hurting the most it has after a hunt in quite a while. We got back to the bunker late last night after finishing a hunt close by. I started getting reports of a rogue werewolf a few days ago and with it being so close, Sam, Dean, and I decided to check it out. Turns out, the one werewolf was part of a pack that had gone off, but the pack didn’t take too kindly to some hunters poking around in their business.

They lured us to an abandoned building in the middle of winter in a blizzard to try and catch us off guard. It was a pretty easy kill, though, cause they were all rookies, but the chill, snow, and surprise caught us off guard and it took a little more effort than we realized.

We got back, covered in blood, dirt, and grim and I couldn’t be any more happier to get in the warm, steaming water of the showers - to get out of the snow-soaked clothes clinging to my body. Last night, when I came out, Sam was in the library sitting at one of the tables with two cups of hot tea which I couldn’t have been more happy to see. I sat down next to him, taking the warm mug from his waiting hands and taking a sip, taking one of his bone cold hands in mine.

He told me that Dean had called first dibs on the shower. I had told him he should change, but he said it was fine. When Dean came out drying his hair with a towel, Sam got up to go shower and I took the chance to go to our shared bedroom and get under the blankets, passing out almost instantly.

Remembering last night, I turn around on my side, expecting to see my handsome man, but his side of the bed is empty. Worrying that he may have been kept up by nightmares again, I sit up, sliding my legs off the side of the bed and my feet into the fuzzy slippers Sam had gotten me when we first found the bunker, and wrapped a blanket around my frame. There was a chill to the air, probably meaning the heat was on the fritz again. I’ll have to get Dean to fix it.

I walk down the hall where the rooms are and peek into the kitchen, but Sam’s not there. I walk in anyway, turning the electric kettle Sam got on and prepping two mugs with Sam’s favorite tea. When that’s done, I take the steaming mugs and walk towards the library, knowing Sam will be looking over something from the Men of Letters archives.

And my deduction was right. There, in the middle of the library, Sam is sitting looking over an ancient looking book with his laptop and notebooks open taking notes and researching the contents. Not only that, but there’s dozens of used tissues surrounding him. As I walk closer, I can hear him sniffling as he reaches for another tissue from a box sat in front of him.

“Oh, honey,” I say quietly to not startle Sam, placing the two mugs down on the table.

Chocolate brown eyes turn and look at me, his eyes swollen and puffy from irritation. His nose is red and his lips hang open slightly from his congestion. I go to place my hand on his forehead, but Sam stops me, lightly grabbing my wrist and pulling it away.

“I’m fine, just a little blocked up,” Sam says, his voice sounding nasally.

“Honey, you’re not fine,” I say, grabbing the sides of his face with both hands. “Not to sound like a jerk, but you look bad.”

He scoffs, a slight smile pulling his lips upward. “I promise I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Let me take care of you,” I whisper, my thumbs rubbing against his cheeks. “You deserve it, baby.”

Sam sighs, leaning into my touch. I reach over and push his laptop closed and mark his place in the books splayed across the library table. Then, I slide my hands down and take his giant ones in mine, pulling him up and guiding him back towards our room. Sam follows close behind, his frame sagging ever so slightly.

When we reach the room, I sit him down in bed, pulling the covers over him and sitting next to him. Sam lays on his back, watching me as I work to make him comfortable. Once satisfied, I lock eyes with him, leaning forward and brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“I’m gonna go get some more tissues for you and make that soup you like, okay honey?” I say while running my fingers through his hair. “You get some rest. You’ll need it if you wanna recover.”

Sam hums, eyes falling closed at my soothing touch. I watch as his breathing evens out and his lips part ever so slightly as he falls asleep. Once asleep, I stand up and go prepare the soup for him.

About an hour later, while I’m working on the finishing touches of the soup, my back turned to the entrance to the kitchen, I feel hands touch my waist, causing me to jump and spin around in shock. Sam stands there, a quiet, breathy laugh leaving him.

“Sorry,” he quietly says. “Didn’t realize how focused you were.”

I sigh, shaking my head at him, a smile forming on my face. “You should be resting, baby.”

Sam huffs, wrapping his arms around my waist fully while mine reach up to rest on his arms. “I woke up and wanted to find my pretty girl.”

He leans down, nuzzling into my neck, pulling me in closer. He starts swaying with me, placing a soft kiss to my shoulder.

“Soups almost ready,” I softly announce. “Sit down and I’ll make you a bowl.”

He reluctantly lets go, letting me guide him to the table to sit down. When he does, I rub his shoulders, placing a kiss to the crown of his head before letting go and walking back to the stove. Grabbing a bowl out of a cabinet, I dish out some soup and walk back over to Sam, placing the bowl and a glass of water in front of him before sitting next to him. I sit and watch him eat, admiring his features. Dean walks in at one point, makes a joking comment on Sam’s looks, grabs himself a bowl of soup, then walks back out to wherever he’s been all day.

Once Sam finishes, I grab the bowl before he can, rushing over to the sink. He chuckles. “You know, I’m sick, not helpless.”

“So he admits that he’s sick!” I tease, turning to look at him. He laughs softly, shaking his head at me. I walk back over, taking his hands in mine once more.

“Thank you,” Sam says, eyes locking onto mine, showing the affection and appreciation within them.

“I’ll always take care of you, Honey,” I reply, leaning down to kiss his forehead, watching his eyes slip closed at the contact. “Even when you refuse it.”

#thecoffeeshop #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine

38 notes · View notes

osarina · 10 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 SNEAKIN' A PIC (ATTEMPT: FAILED)!

FEATURING: fyodor dostoevsky

SUMMARY: you never get to see him like this. is it really so awful that you want to capture the moment eternally? evidently to him, it is. (wordcount: 1.4k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i'll never not make fun of that one panel of him sitting at his computers with his greasy ass hair even if he does look like a pretty princess in every other panel he has. my obsession with naps is being translated into my fics, i already posted a nikolai one posted and also have a dazai one in the drafts HAHA

When you wake up, you feel a weight on your bicep. Your brows furrow a bit in confusion, glancing to your right to where your arm is extended across the bed, but then your eyes fall upon Fyodor, fast asleep and using your arm as a pillow, and you can barely stop the small smile that rises to your lips.

Your arm is numb, but you don’t dare move in fear of waking him up—the clock on your nightstand reads nearly eight am, and you wonder when he finally came to bed last night. You know that he’s been pushing himself day and night to finalize the last parts of his plans, denying himself both sleep and food as he sits at his computers dealing with meetings and preparations 24/7.

He hadn’t even changed into a pair of pajamas before falling into bed with you, nor had he bothered to get beneath the covers. a part of you wonders if he even meant to sleep, or if he’d just pushed his body too far and only barely made it to the bed before it gave out on him.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

You bite back a sigh as your gaze traces over the stubborn man—he always looks delicate in his sleep, in a way that he never does when he’s awake with his eyes shut and his long, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. His expression is the picture of serenity rather than the cold and unapproachable face he wears when he’s awake.

You think that he’s pretty all the time, but there’s something special about being able to witness Fyodor Dostoevsky in his most vulnerable moments, knowing that you’re the only one he allows to be with him in them.

You’re half-tempted to reach over to your nightstand with your free hand to try to grab your phone and snap a picture of him. You look over, wondering if you can reach it without jostling your other arm around, but before you can even consider your chances, you hear: “Do not.”

Fyodor’s voice is still thick with sleep. you glance over at him, surprised, but his eyes are still shut, and he hasn’t budged an inch. You wonder if you imagined it, but then his eyes crack open, thin slivers of purple glaring at you.

“Just one for me?” you ask quietly. “No one else will see.”

“No.”

You pout softly but roll back to look at him. He still looks exhausted, the bags beneath his eyes are dark and heavy, and he can barely even hold his eyes open. You reach out, cupping his cheek gently and watching as his eyes slide back shut, a soft exhale spilling from his lips as he lets the side of his face sink back into your arm, dozing back off.

You smile lightly, shifting forward a bit to press your lips to his forehead, stroking his cheek lightly with your thumb.

“I need to get up,” he murmurs, but his eyes are still shut and his voice is thick with sleep. “I need to finish-“

“You will not finish anything adequately in this state,” you chide gently. “If you get proper sleep, you’ll be much more efficient and effective.”

Fyodor looks as if he wants to argue, brows furrowing at your words even with his eyes shut. You only jostle him a bit closer, watching as he shoots you an irate look, but then settles down when he realizes you’re only dragging him closer so that he can rest his head on your chest—a place far more comfortable than your arm.

“Wake me up in an hour,” he finally orders, and you agree absently, knowing that you absolutely will not.

You think, as Fyodor lets himself doze off on your chest, that it’s hard to remember he’s quite literally one of the most dangerous men on this planet. That if he so pleased, he could activate his ability and kill you without a moment’s warning. That he’s a man who is so terrifyingly intelligent that it sometimes comes across as prophetic, and you can’t help but wonder if he speaks the truth when he claims to be led by the Hand of God.

Your hand smoothes across his back in steady circles, tilting your face down to press your lips to the top of his head. His hair is a bit oily, as he usually lets it get when he deprives himself of basic necessities while he works. You’ll have to convince him to take a bath with you when he wakes up, but you figure it’ll be a battle because you already convinced him to sleep in a little longer, he’ll not want to waste any more time.

You almost want to pinch him, wondering why everything with him has to be a war when it comes to taking proper care of himself. He rarely even remembers to take his iron supplements on the daily without your prompting, and he knows if he doesn’t take them, he’ll be prone to dizziness and fatigue. For all of his intelligence, you feel like sometimes that you’re a mother dealing with a stubborn child, not your lover.

“Stop that,” Fyodor sighs, shifting a bit to get comfortable. “Dim your thoughts, dusha moya. I can feel you getting yourself wound up.”

You scowl. “You know, Fedya, maybe you should just drop the whole terrorist plot and become one of those preachers on the radio who pretend to be prophets. Build yourself a cult, make some money. You already seem to know everything, wouldn't be too hard."

Fyodor tilts his head up to look at you, expression so deadpan and unamused that it nearly makes you snort, but you only dip your head down to kiss between his eyes.

"Sleep,” you say, voice softer. “You need it.”

Fyodor doesn’t respond, and when you tilt your head to the side to look at him again, you find that he already dozed back off again, shoulders rising and falling steadily underneath the arm you have wrapped around him.

You smile lightly and you tighten your arms a bit as Fyodor lets out a puff of air in his sleep, turning his head to lay the side of his face on your chest. In this position, you can see the way his eyes flit beneath his eyelids rapidly, his brain still running rampant even in sleep.

You bring your fingers to his hair to card them through the dark locks, slow and soothing in the way you know he likes, watching as his eye movements slow and his body relaxes into yours.

Your smile widens a bit before it abruptly falls, laying your head back against the pillow as you finally begin your next challenge: drawing out a battle plan for convincing Fyodor to take a bath with you when he wakes up.

You sigh to yourself heavily, knowing well that you're about to be facing the most difficult argument of your life with the most stubborn man alive. You can already feel the headache, and you think that you deserve a new picture for your lock screen from how much trouble Fyodor gives you on the daily, but as you side eye your nightstand again and try to calculate whether or not you can reach your phone without waking him up, you feel fingers wrap around your free hand.

You gape in disbelief as you look down to see Fyodor grab your hand in his sleep, as if he knew what you were planning even when not conscious.

Unbelievable, you think bitterly, plan entirely thwarted, but your gaze softens at the sight of him fast asleep on your chest, clutching your hand with one of his.

Maybe you don't need a picture, you realize, because you think there's no way you'd ever allow this image to fade away from your mind.

Still, you think he should severely reconsider his line of work.

Even more so now, in fact, because there is something entirely abnormal about his seemingly perfect foresight, evidently flawless even in his sleep too.

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives #fyodor x reader #fyodor fluff #fyodor x you #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fluff #bungo stray dogs x you #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x you #fyodor dostoevsky fluff

1K notes · View notes