#this should be fine without context too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reiding-writing · 22 days ago

Note

hi lovely, so in love with cold!reader series

i was thinking if you could maybe write about her finally letting spence console her and letting down her guard after what happened with her killing the unsub that reminded her of the professor

love ur work !!!

UNDER DURESS. /spencer reid/

spencer convinces you to go to therapy.

s11!cold!reader h/c 3.7k series masterlist. main masterlist.

AN | there’s not actually a whole lot of consoling in this— MENTIONS OF RAPE AND SA. VERY CONTEXT DEPENDENT ON PREVIOUS PARTS OF THE SERIES.

It’s been three weeks since the shooting.

The paperwork is finished, the internal review is closed, and the bureau cleared you. “Justified use of force,” they said. You ticked every box. But none of that matters, not really, because Spencer’s still watching you like you might shatter. He doesn’t say it outright, but you see it in the way he hovers—fingers twitching when you’re quiet too long, gaze narrowing when you stare too hard at nothing.

You’ve barely slept. Barely spoken, outside of the necessary. Even now, curled up on the sofa with a book you’re not reading, you feel the weight of his eyes from across the room.

The silence between you isn’t peaceful. It’s brittle.

He waits until your tea goes cold in your hands. “I think,” Spencer says carefully, like he’s rehearsed it a hundred times, “you should talk to someone,”

You don’t look at him. You flip a page you haven’t read. “I talk to you,”

“That’s not what I mean,”

“I know what you mean.”

There’s a beat. You feel him shift on the armchair, lean forward. He’s not touching you—he knows better—but you can feel him, somehow. Like gravity. Quiet and unyielding.

“I know you said you weren’t ready,” he tries again. “And I’ve been trying to give you space. I just—I think it’s time,”

Your jaw tightens. “I am the someone that people talk to. I’ve done this job for almost ten years. You think I haven’t heard worse?”

“That’s not what this is about,”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,”

You snap the book shut and toss it on the coffee table a little harder than necessary. “I don’t need a therapist.”

He sighs, and that does it—that sigh, the disappointed one, full of worry and patience and all the things you can’t stand. You finally look at him.

“What?” you say, sharper than intended.

His eyes meet yours. Not angry. Not even frustrated. Just worried, heartbroken almost. “I know you don’t think you need it,” he says. “But something’s wrong. You shot a man, and you haven’t said more than three words about it. Not to me. Not to anyone,”

“I don’t need to say anything about it,”

“He was sexually assaulting comatose women,” Spencer says, voice quiet but firm. “You pulled the trigger without hesitation. And yeah, it was justified. But it wasn’t just about him, was it?”

Your stomach flips. Cold and sudden.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you mutter, standing up.

Spencer doesn’t follow. Just watches you pace the room like a caged thing.

“It’s not just the shooting,” he says after a moment. “It’s Wittchen. It’s what happened to you. The way you never talked about it. The way you still don’t,”

You freeze.

That name—the one you never say anymore—doesn’t need repeating. You know who he means. You see his face in your mind the moment Spencer mentions him. The mentor you admired. The predator you survived. The man who ripped out women’s wombs and then put a bullet in his own head, right there in front of you, ten years after the first time he ever touched you.

You close your eyes. Will the memories back down. They rise anyway.

Spencer’s voice breaks through again, softer now. “You don’t talk about him. You don’t even say his name. And I get it—I do. But this thing with the doctor, it wasn’t random. And if we don’t talk about it, it’s going to keep coming back. It’s going to keep hurting you,”

“I’m not a wounded animal,” you snap. “I’m fine.”

He stands now. Crosses the room slowly. You feel his hand hovering near your back, hesitant.

“Can we stop pretending I don’t know you better than that?” he says gently. “You haven’t slept more than two hours a night since it happened. You flinch every time someone touches you unexpectedly. You’re constantly on edge. That’s not ‘fine.’”

You shake your head. “Therapy won’t help.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know,” you say, spinning to face him. “I’ve got a PhD in psychology, Spencer. I know every move they’ll make before they even make it. I’ve read every study. Sat in on casework. I’ve written papers on trauma responses. I know the process, the techniques, the language—hell, I could run the session myself. And I promise you, it doesn’t work on someone who already knows what’s coming.”

Spencer doesn’t argue. He just looks at you with those eyes, full of soft, unbearable concern.

“You’re not a theory,” he says. “You’re a person,”

You scoff and turn away again, dragging your handover your face. “Don’t be poetic. It doesn’t suit you,”

He huffs a soft laugh behind you, but it’s humourless. “I’m serious. You’ve built this fortress around yourself, and you’ve convinced yourself that knowing the mechanisms of therapy makes you immune to it. But it doesn’t. It just means you know how to dodge,”

You don’t reply. You’re too busy listening to the blood pounding in your ears.

Spencer steps closer. He doesn’t touch you, not yet. Just lowers his voice and says, “He hurt you. And he kept hurting other people, and somehow you’ve turned it into this thing you carry alone, like you deserve to,”

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you understand,”

“I don’t,” he admits. “Not completely. But I was there, remember? I was the one who stayed up with you, that night on the jet home. I was the one who cleaned the blood off your shoes. I’ve seen the way you deal with pain, and it’s not healthy. You bury it. You don’t even let it scar,”

You want to scream. Or cry. Or break something. But none of those things are you. So instead, you breathe—slow, measured, the way they taught you in profiling.

He finally places a hand on your back. Warm. Solid. Kind.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he says. “I just want you to let someone in. Just once. Let someone help you carry this,”

You swallow hard. “And if I can’t?”

“You can,” he says. “You don’t want to. That’s different,”

You hate how well he knows you. Hate how right he is.

Eventually, he says, “There’s someone I trust. She’s not bureau. She’s good. And discreet. I’ll come with you. Just for the first session,”

You’re already shaking your head.

“I can’t—”

“Just once. That’s all I’m asking,”

He’s so damn earnest. All heart and quiet strength and unshakeable loyalty. And he’s not just doing this for you. You can see it in the tight line of his shoulders, the tension around his eyes. He’s scared. You don’t want him to worry about you.

You don’t believe in therapy. You don’t believe in healing. You believe in repression and control and building walls high enough that the world can’t touch you. But Spencer does. He believes in you.

And maybe—for him—you can give this a shot.

You exhale slowly. “I’m not promising anything.”

Spencer’s shoulders ease just a little. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“And if she’s a nightmare?”

He smiles, faint but real. “Then we leave. No questions asked.”

You nod once. “Alright.”

He kisses your temple then, so gently it almost breaks you. You close your eyes and let it land.

—

The office is warm, neutral-toned, and utterly unimpressive. You register the little things first—the pale green walls, the bookshelf organised more by aesthetic than utility, the faint smell of peppermint tea lingering in the air. There’s a chair opposite a sofa, both upholstered in the sort of beige that’s meant to be calming. Everything about the space is designed to soothe.

You don’t feel soothed. You feel like an animal under observation.

Spencer sits beside you, close but not touching. He offered his hand in the car. You left it hanging in the air between you. Not because you’re angry with him—though maybe you are, a little—but because you’re trying to contain the slow boil inside your chest. And physical contact makes the pressure worse.

The therapist—Dr. Marin—is younger than you expected. Mid-thirties, perhaps, with tidy hair, sensible shoes, and a file tucked neatly under her arm. She smiles when you walk in. Not too wide. Just the right amount of warmth. Professional empathy, textbook-grade.

You hate her immediately.

You sit with military posture, legs crossed, hands folded. Spencer shifts beside you, clearly trying to act as some sort of emotional buffer. It won’t help him.

“Thank you both for coming,” Dr. Marin says gently, settling into her chair with smooth, practiced ease. “I know this isn’t easy,”

“I was promised discretion,” you say coldly. “So I hope your receptionist doesn’t go bragging about this to her coffee group.”

Dr. Marin doesn’t flinch. “My receptionist doesn’t know your name. She’s instructed not to look at appointment details. Your file is encrypted,”

“Hm.” You glance pointedly at her notes. “Shame about the handwritten file, then. Bit old-fashioned.”

She smiles politely. “I find writing helps me remember what matters,”

“How quaint,” you reply, and cross your arms. You’re already dissecting her—pacing her breathing rate, watching her eye movements, evaluating tone, posture, proximity. You’re sharper than she is. Smarter. You let her know it in every word, every glance.

Dr. Marin looks at you steadily. “Would you prefer not to be here?”

“I was given little choice.”

“Spencer said you agreed.”

“Under duress.”

Her gaze flicks briefly to Spencer, then back to you. “And what is it you feel you were coerced into discussing?”

You snort softly. “That depends. Are we here to talk about the time I shot a serial rapist in the head, or the time my ex-Professor killed himself in front of me after gutting women that reminded him of me?”

Spencer stiffens beside you. You don’t even look at him.

Dr. Marin doesn’t blink. “Why do you think you brought up both in the same sentence?”

“Convenience,” you reply dryly. “I assumed we’d skip the whole 'establishing trust' phase.”

She sits back slightly, tilting her head. “Would you say you trust Spencer?”

“He’s my partner.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t answer loaded questions.”

“Which part do you think was loaded?”

You narrow your eyes. “Let’s not play, Doctor. You know what I do for a living.”

“And you know what I do,” she replies, calm but sharp. “So let’s drop the performance.”

Spencer glances between you both, clearly uncomfortable. “Maybe we could just—start with what happened? At the hospital? Or Stanford?”

You wave a hand. “What happened is I did my job. Twice. And in both cases, men who couldn’t handle their urges ended up dead. One by my hand, one by his own. End of story.”

Dr. Marin’s tone remains perfectly even. “Do you think that’s the end of it?”

“I think if you keep asking the same question with different phrasing, we’re going to waste a lot of time.”

The next half-hour spirals into a game of verbal dissection.

You pick apart her methodology. You challenge her use of person-first language. You point out every time she pauses too long, every instance she uses a textbook phrase you find beneath you. You ask her if she was taught CBT by someone who’s actually published or if she’s just memorised bullet points from a slideshow. You highlight how she crosses her legs inconsistently, which—according to certain behavioural studies—could suggest discomfort or an overcompensation for projected authority.

You’re not just avoiding the subject. You’re laying landmines around it. You know exactly what you’re doing.

And Spencer sees it too.

“Babe,” he says eventually, gentle but exasperated, “Please, this isn’t fair. To either of you.”

Dr. Marin doesn’t speak.

Not immediately.

Then—she closes the folder on her lap.

And her tone changes.

“You’re not avoiding me, with this defensiveness,” she says, voice harder now, cutting clean through the room. “You’re avoiding what he did to you. What it meant. He was a therapist himself, was he not?”

You flinch—barely. But she sees it.

“I read your academic background,” she continues. “I know about your thesis. I know about your clinical work. I know who supervised you.”

You stand abruptly. Spencer’s hand grazes your arm but you shake him off.

“This is unprofessional,” you hiss.

“This is necessary,” Dr. Marin replies. “You’ve turned your trauma into a weapon. You’ve used your intelligence to bury yourself under theory and diagnostics so you never have to feel anything.”

Spencer rises, trying to reach you, calm you. “Let’s just—sit, okay? Just—just listen.” But you’re already trembling.

Dr. Marin presses forward. Not physically. Just with her words. “You’re not here because you want to move on,” she says. “You’re here because you love someone who’s begging you to get help.”

You bark a laugh. It’s humourless. “So what? What’s the grand insight, Doctor? That I’m too broken to fix? That I like being damaged?”

“No,” she says. “That you’re terrified of not being broken. Because then you’d have to figure out who you are without the pain.”

Who are you? Without the guilt, without the memory of his hands on your skin, without the screaming and the silence and the endless dissociation. What’s left of you that matters?

You feel the words clawing up your throat before you can stop them.

“You think I want to dwell on the fact I gave myself an abortion at twenty-two?” you spit, venomous and trembling. “You think that’s something I like remembering?”

“I think you want to punish yourself.”

The silence after that is thick and total.

Spencer looks like he’s been struck. Your jaw clenches so tight it aches. And then— You leave.

You don’t say goodbye. You don’t look back. You don’t even wait for Spencer. You slam the door behind you and step into the cold air like it might freeze the words off your skin.

—

Spencer stands awkwardly. Caught in the aftermath. He looks at the door, then back to Dr. Marin.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice thick with shame. “She’s not—she’s not like that.”

Dr. Marin smiles. Not unkindly. Just... knowingly.

“She’ll come back,” she says, leaning back in her chair, her tone calm. Certain. “When she’s ready.”

Spencer nods slowly. He hopes she’s right. He really, really hopes she’s right.

—

You don’t slam the door. You let it click shut behind you and drift to the sofa like your bones are hollow. You don’t even take off your coat. Just curl into yourself, legs tucked under you, arms folded tightly across your chest. Like if you squeeze hard enough, maybe you’ll keep it all in.

Your face is hot, but your tears are long gone. You cried at twenty-two, bent over a bathtub with shaking hands and a mess you didn’t know how to clean. You cried at thirty-three, when a bullet tore through a man’s chest and left you in a lecture hall full of fluorescent ghosts. You don’t cry now. You just sit.

Red-eyed. Empty. Listening to the clock tick louder than it ever has before.

You hear Spencer follow a few seconds later.

He doesn’t speak when he enters. Doesn’t rush to you. He sets down his bag gently, shrugs off his jacket, and walks into the living room like he’s entering holy ground. Quiet. Careful.

Then he sits beside you, close enough that you feel the warmth of him, but not close enough to crowd. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

He knows you’re not.

So he just waits.

And waits.

The silence stretches until you can’t stand it anymore. You shift slightly—just enough for your shoulder to brush his. Then, softly, barely louder than breath, you whisper, “I hate her.”

Spencer smiles. It’s small, but sincere. “That’s okay.”

You don’t respond.

He makes tea without asking. Puts the kettle on like muscle memory, retrieves your mug—your mug, the one with the chipped rim and a faded headshot of Sigmund Freud that Morgan got you as a gag gift—and drops in a peppermint bag without ceremony. No sugar. No lemon. Just the way you like it. You don’t move from the sofa. You just watch him from across the room, as if you might vanish if you blink too long.

He brings the cup to you, holding it out without expectation. You take it. Don’t drink it. Just hold it between your palms like it’s some kind of anchor.

“She was right.”

Spencer looks at you, startled by the admission, but he doesn’t say anything. Just tilts his head slightly, encouraging.

“I mean—she wasn’t, but she was.” You draw a slow breath, eyes fixed on the tea. “She doesn’t know anything about me, but she still—”

Spencer stays silent. Listens.

“I’ve spent years building a life around not being someone who lets things in. And she saw that in ten minutes. She didn’t even blink when I tried to pull her apart. I’ve made grown men cry doing less than that,”

He hums softly. “I know,”

You glance at him. “Do you think I do it on purpose?”

“The tearing people apart thing?”

You nod.

He shrugs gently. “I think… sometimes you confuse being in control with being safe. And people who try to touch the parts of you that aren’t safe—those are the ones who get hurt,”

You exhale. Shaky. But not angry.

“She said I want to punish myself,”

Spencer’s eyes flick to yours, gentle and cautious. “Do you?”

You don’t answer. Because you don’t know. Maybe?

Maybe not in a conscious, theatrical way. Not in the sense of throwing yourself into danger for the thrill of pain. But… in the silence after that abortion, when you didn’t tell anyone. When you went back to class the next day with blood on your jeans and shook his hand like nothing had happened. When you kept the secret even after graduating. When you watched him die and still refused to cry in front of anyone. Maybe all of that was punishment. Maybe that’s what the coldness has been.

“I didn’t want to be that girl,” you say suddenly. “The one with the story. The victim.”

Spencer reaches for your hand.“You’re not a victim,” he says. “But you’re not a villain, either.”

You pull your hand away, slowly. Not rejecting him—just needing space to think. “Why haven’t you ever asked about it?”

“Because I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

You look down at your lap, at the half-drunk tea in your grip. The silence feels different now. Not brittle, not heavy. Just… still.

“I was alone,” you say. “I didn’t have anyone back then. No one I trusted. He made sure of that,”

“I know,” Spencer says. “But you’re not alone anymore,”

Something cracks in your chest. Small. Hairline. You take a breath. “She said I’ve built my identity around the trauma,”

He nods. “Do you think she’s wrong?”

“No.”

And that, somehow, is the most painful admission of all. Because you did. You’ve spent years being the cold one, the sharp one, the one who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t feel, doesn’t need. You built a fortress out of diagnoses and defence mechanisms, and somewhere along the line, that fortress became your skin.

“Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think there’s anything left of me underneath it all?”

He doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a heartbeat.

“Yes.”

You look at him. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen it,” he says. “I’ve seen the way you look at children when they’re scared. The way you read three pages ahead in every file, just so you can warn me if something’s going to hurt. The way you wake up gasping but never wake me—not because you don’t feel it, but because you’re protecting me.”

Your throat tightens.

“And the way you laughed,” he adds, quieter now. “That one time we got caught in the rain and ran home. You laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe.”

“I was furious,” you murmur.

“You were alive.”

You go still. Alive. It’s a word you don’t use often. Not when describing yourself. You’ve always described yourself in more clinical terms—functional, operational, stable. Alive implies something else. Messiness. Emotion. Living.

And you’re not sure you’ve been doing that for years.

You sip your tea finally. It’s lukewarm. But you drink it anyway.

“I’m not going back,” you say after a long moment.

Spencer nods. “Okay.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay.”

You glance at him again. “But you’re going to want me to,”

He gives you a faint smile. “Eventually, yeah. I think it’ll help. But it has to be on your terms.”

You nod. Then pause. “She wasn’t a bad therapist.”

“No,” he agrees. “She really wasn’t.”

You sigh. “I still hate her, though.”

He chuckles softly. “You’re allowed to.”

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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existence-is-a-pain87 · 7 days ago

Text

With No Eyes I Weep

Part 3 to With Eyes I See (Part 1) and Without Eyes I'm Blind (Part 2). This a finale to a three part series, and I recommend reading the first two parts if you're new to this if ya would like context. No pressure though. :D

Yandere!Forsaken x Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors; dark themes; blood; death; murder; cannibalism; violence; and more. Please read with caution and, if you're a minor, please be extremely cautious.

Note: Nothing to say just yet, teehee. Hope yall enjoy the finale though and I wrap the series up well.

---

@amistakehadhappened

--☆☆☆☆☆--

Your screaming attracted others, naturally. Why wouldn't it?

But it wasn't the survivors you expected. Hell, what you hoped for. What you prayed for. What you wished for.

But your hopes truly went to die when you were approached by John Doe.

You stared up at him as he loomed over you, your screams dying on your tongue as your wings extended to shield you in case he tried to harm you.

You didn't even realize your screen was off.

He just stood over you, staring at your bandaged face and every aspect of your body. Then he crouched down, slowly reaching out to touch one of your wings.

You just panic and shove him away before running, eventually just climbing onto a tree and cowering.

Didn't the Forsaken Killers stay trapped in their own personal limbos? Was this your limbo, being trapped in a clone of the lobby except with Killers rather than Survivors? Why? WHY?!

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY

You wrap your wings around yourself like you're trapped in a cacoon, desperately trying to figure anything out as you notice the red particles weakly emitting from your body, namely the eyes of your wings.

You stare at it, before hollowing asking. "Did you do this?"

The entity doesn't respond. Well, you suppose you should refer to it what it really is.

The Spectre.

You made a deal with the Spectre to get your sight back.

How didn't you figure this out earlier?! Why did it bring you here? Oh god- OH GOD-

You don't get to stay in the tree for long, though. The bough is easily snapped off by John and you squawk as you come crashing to the ground.

You're too stunned to fight back when he picks you up, placing a hand on your cheek. He hesitates, before whispering your name.

You can't stop yourself from perking up and looking directly at him when he says your name.

"..." You stay silent for a long moment, before booting up your screen. "...I'm sorry."

"...for what?" John asked you, staring at you as if you're beautiful.

"...for all the sins I've done, and for all the sins I have yet to do."

--☆☆☆--

Meeting the other Killers was quite awkward, so say the least. At the very least, less than half of them knew you previously, so perhaps everything would be fine and peaceful.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The moment your name exited your lips, c00lkidd was upon you with a tight hug and sobs of "Mom! Mom!!"

Even if he was now roughly nine feet tall and loomed above you, he was still a child who missed you. You hugged him back, of course. Why wouldn't you?

Jason ignored your existence, which made sense. All they did was nod slightly to acknowledge you.

1x1x1x1 barely spared you any mind. Then again, all you knew was their creator and not them, so it made sense why they barely cared about you.

You didn't notice how they stared at you whenever you weren't paying any attention to them. That hungry, greedy stare.

You tried to ignore Mafioso as his head seemed to snap up at your name, and how they seemed to watch you as you met the other Killers, John hovering around you like a guard dog of sorts.

NOL1 didn't even look up until c00lkidd hugged you, before his eye widened and he started to cat call you.

He ceased after a death glare from John, but you figured it wouldn't be the end of it.

Pr3tyPriincess just said, "Oh thank god, someone else who at least looks like a girl" when she saw you, and Bluudud just wasn't there. Probably off streaming somewhere.

Guest 666 saw you and quite literally sprinted towards you. You were practically tackled in a tight hug, and felt awkward watching as they bickered with John over who you should be around right now. You tried to pay it no mind, hoping they wouldn't be as... obsessive, as before.

You did note they never one apologized or tried to talk about your argument.

You didn't bring it up either.

And you let out a sob of joy when Gubby came bounding towards you and right into your arms.

Everything seemed fine, even if you had to kill people in rounds every couple of days or so. Though you could probably try to avoid harming others as much as possible if your curse still functioned the same.

If only you knew then...

But the moment Azure approached you, all hell broke lose.

Screams ripping from your throat, feathers being wildly sent back as you used your wings to try and keep him away, stumbling back as any human composure you had gave way to animalistic terror.

You didn't dare say what he did to you. Didn't dare let him get close.

But he didn't get too close after that.

It didn't stop him from following you around at a distance, watching over you as their tendrils writhed and twisted when you looked back at them, trying to court you as if they were a bird with impressive displays and such.

As if any of that could mend any of the damage he has done.

--☆☆☆--

This round's Killer is

You took a breath as your name appeared after that text. After your identity was revealed to the Survivors.

This would be fine.

...

You couldn't ignore how your vision was worsening, a clear sign of you needing to eat soon.

But why? You ate recently. Just before coming here, in fact. You should have more time. Far more time.

Was this the Spectre pressuring you into killing? Forcing you due to your desperation to see?

You didn't know. You just hated the uncertainty.

But, you would make do. Eat, while frantically apologizing and hoping they would forgive you upon respawning in the lobby.

Or perhaps they'd hate you. Perhaps that would be better. Because then there would be no more obsession if they didn't like you, right?

At the very least, you could kill Two Time. And you figured you find joy in that. Find glee in the pain on their face.

If that made you a bad person, it was worth it. Worth it to finally get a bit of fucking revenge for what they did to you.

And once you spawned, the hunt was on.

Your abilities were unique as a killer. You had the classic Slash (where you'd use your talons to main a victim slightly). Your passive allowed you to take whatever damage you did to survivors and use it to heal yourself (plus improve your sight) and give you minor boosts in speed and damage when you got a kill.

You had an ability that essentially allowed you to teleport to a survivor you had damaged by flying and crashing down into the ground, something you only could describe as a variation to Jason's Behead that was more of a stunner than a damage dealer, with you inflicting Slow II upon a successful hit, and something that essentially allowed you to reveal all Survivors location on the map by using your magic.

You were, to put it lightly, a LMS nightmare no one would want to deal with.

This was fine, you could make this all work. You always could.

You had a specific target in mind, after all.

You darted about, screen glowing as the dark environment didn't phase you.

It was easy to find the survivors. Hell, most of them seemed to be actively searching for you.

But Two Time wasn't even hidden. And when you loomed above him, he merely looked over at you with a smile.

A smile you despised.

It was maniac, yet adoring. The smile you gave someone you loved, though warped with obsession.

"Hello, little bird." They mused at you, reaching up to touch your cheek, and you flinched at the contact. The lack of any fear in the action sent shivers down your spine. "...you're going to kill me, aren't you?"

"I'm going to devour you while you're still alive." You told them, purposefully trying to scare them. To make them fear you so they'd stop obsessing over you. "I'm going to rip your body apart and eat it. I'm going to leave you alive as long as possible so you suffer."

"I'm honored for the blessing." Two Time told you, looking adoringly at you.

"I'm going to make you feel as much pain as possible."

"Every bit of pain you give me is a gift from you, and I will cherish it." They replied, unphased.

"...you should fight back. Be angry."

"I won't." They told you, "I wouldn't dare harm your beautiful form."

"...I hate you."

They smile. "I know."

--☆☆☆--

Eating Two Time both made you want to throw up and made you feel more glee.

But you felt disgusted by how he relished in you feasting upon him. The pleasure evident on his face as you ripped into his body and devoured, keeping him alive for as long as you could until it sunk in he was... enjoying this.

You then killed him quickly after that and finisned him off, trying to hold in the bile that rose in your throat by his adoration and joy.

At the very least, your eyesight was better afterwards. But...

God you felt starved.

...

Oh god, the Spectre made it so you never felt satisfied after eating so you'd eat more. So you'd kill more.

Even without your eyes, you felt tears sting them. Your bandages got moist with the tears that leaked out of whatever remained.

You almost threw up. You barely held it down.

You just stood up and started to move again. You could hold yourself back, couldn't you? You didn't need to kill. Your eyesight was fine. You could ignore the starvation.

You had to. Right?

You just roamed this map a bit, trying to find a good spot to hole up so you wouldn't have to deal with any other survivors. But they found you.

"Babe? BABE!!" Chance's voice ripped through the air, and you flinched. Your feathers were ruffled as you looked over at Chance speeding towards you, before practically tackling you in a hug.

You let out a squawk as you tumbled to the ground, Chance squeezing you tightly as he talked at a thousand miles an hour. You realized he was both restraining you and hugging you at the same time, and you respected him for it.

"Oh my god- what happened to you?! Why- what did I miss? Who hurt you? Who's responsible for this?!"

"Love," You say, your tail tentatively poking him, "I can't breathe."

"I- I'm sorry. I can't let you go." Chance tells you, grimacing, "Can't risk you... killing me."

"I'm not going to do that..." You remark, "But... I understand. It's okay."

It wasn't hard to tell he barely held himself together. They were not taking you being a Killer well... at all. You didn't blame them. You just tentatively stretched out a wing and wrapped it around them as a hug.

That just made him break down sobbing. You let him cry, giving him a moment of peace before you got punched square in the head.

Letting out a panicked caw as you felt dazed, you immediately fluffed out your wings as Chance let go.

You laid on the ground in a daze as Chance told someone off, before managing to turn your head to stare at Guest 1337 as he argued with Chance about not fighting off the Killer.

You just stand up, feeling pangs of hunger clawing at your stomach, and you feel desperate to not snap and eat one of them. So you dart off, not noticing the miserable look Chance has when you're gone.

You just holed up until the timer ran out and hid in your cabin, not wanting to talk with anyone.

You didn't know how Two Time bragged to the other survivors about how you ate him.

--☆☆☆--

Interacting with Mafioso was... awkward.

He loomed over you, as you shuffled there awkwardly, holding Gubby in your arms.

"I- uh- heard you took care of Gubby before I showed up." You said, avoiding eye contact (mostly since you had none and his were hidden), "Thank you for that."

He just stared down at you, before suddenly saying, "I apologize."

"...wha?" You chirp out, startled, "What'dya mean?"

"My goons went to the wrong house," He tells you, arms crossed, "You weren't the right person we were going after. My boss told me that if I didn't find you and apologize, I was as good as dead. Shame that came to be before I met you."

You stare at him as he finishes, "I just wanted to finally do what I was told."

"...I don't know what to really think about that..." You murmur. What Mafioso's goons did never really was in the front of your mine. Yeah, they hurt you. But... you didn't resent them nearly as much as you did for Azure and Two Time.

You stood there, lost in your thoughts as Mafioso sighed and ruffled the hair on the top of your head. "Your rabbit's cute. Lemme know if you need any help looking after him."

You merely nod, and you both go your separate ways. Though it was the beginning to a friendship of sorts.

...

There were more friendships among the other Killers. Even if they became unhealthy quick.

--☆☆☆--

You didn't like how often you were chosen as the Killer in rounds. What you enjoyed even less was how more and more people seemed willing to let them eat you the moment they learned you did that to see.

You wanted to put a stop to it. But you didn't. And you didn't know why.

You told yourself it would be fine if they hated you. But all you could do was nervously tell them no.

The moment they learned of your constant hunger and how only eating people helped to satiate it?

Everyone you knew refused to let you take no as an answer.

The only one who really had any semblance of sense was Guest 1337, and that was because he refused to trust you.

At the very least, he'd let you have a short conversation with him as you tried to avoid the others. He made you feel... normal. Or at least, not like you were some being who deserved worship.

He listened to you, and you listened to him and did your best to offer advice. Eventually, he warmed up to you a bit.

You were so relieved you didn't notice he too became obsessed too.

...

You did notice. You just deluded yourself into ignoring it.

You were just so tired...

--☆☆☆--

You hated the obsession. You hated how it just worsened here and now. No one you spoke to was safe.

Even if you still were dating Chance on a technicality, it didn't stop any of the love directed at you. It didn't stop the others from fighting with him.

It made everything a Hell. A Hell you couldn't escape from.

When you broke up with Chance out of fear for his safety, he didn't take it well. And god, it made everything for you so much worse.

You gave up on it all, holing up in your cabin and only really talking to Mafioso, Gubby, and the children.

During rounds, you just slaughtered and tried to end it all as quickly as possible. Though they slowly learned your strategies. They survived and kept trying to speak with you.

Eventually though they'd just started ganging up on you and doing... things.

The things would vary. Usually, they'd just talk to you and get upset when you didn't reply. They would always be one of them who let you eat them, though.

You hated them. You hated them all.

And god, you were so fucking done.

Why the hell did it have to be you? Why did you die and be reborn into this world? Why did you have to be found out? Why did they adore you?

So many whys and no answers. You hated it. You hated it so much.

So you were going to put an end to it, though any means necessary.

"..."

You sat alone in your cabin, having asked Mafioso to look after Gubby for a bit. You stared at your unfurled wings, your screen blank as you breathed. As you shook. As you prepared yourself.

Them you spoke.

"Spectre, I want to make another deal."

...

You don't regret what you did.

And you know you never will.

After all, you were never an angel.

You never wanted to be worshipped. You never wanted this attention.

You've dealt with it long enough.

...

You didn't know the Spectre had the ability to do this. But it felt weird.

Everything was different. But you loved having eyes again. And being an entirely new person was nice.

Of course, it came at a cost. Everything did.

But exchanging dozens of yanderes for one was something you enjoyed much more. Even if that yandere was a humanoid version of the Spectre. It would be fine. You knew it would be.

You just took a breath, staring at the clear blue sky in the living world as you glanced over at it.

"Thank you."

It nodded, content.

You smiled, feeling the wind gently caressing your cheeks. You let out a quiet sigh, feeling bliss for the first time in months. Real, genuine bliss.

And from your eyes came tears of joy.

#endri yaps #yandere forsaken #roblox forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken #yandere forsaken x reader #forsaken isekai au

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clara-a7 · 2 months ago

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Boyfriend Headcanons || Oscar Piastri

彡PAIRING ; Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡REQUESTED? ; No~ (requests are open!)

彡WORDS ; 394

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language

boyfriend!Oscar who… kisses your temple every time before a flight. Doesn’t matter how early it is, how tired he is, he always does it. It’s his little routine to make sure you know you’re loved before he leaves.

boyfriend!Oscar who… holds your hand under the table or plays with your fingers while you’re talking. Doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he just needs to be touching you, always.

boyfriend!Oscar who… gets way too happy when you wear his hoodie to bed. He sees you in it, grins like an idiot, and goes, “Yep… you look better in it than me. It’s yours now.”

boyfriend!Oscar who… always gives you the last bite of whatever he’s eating, even if it’s his absolute favorite. Acts like it’s no big deal, but deep down? Yeah, that was love.

boyfriend!Oscar who… notices the tiniest things. New shampoo? “You smell different. It’s nice.” New dress? “Wait, that’s new, right? Looks really good.” Always paying attention to the little details about you.

boyfriend!Oscar who… listens to everything you say like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Even if it’s just about something random like a drama. “Wait, wait, what did she say after that??” Fully invested in the conversation.

boyfriend!Oscar who… sends you dumb TikToks of him doing random filters. Zero context, just pops up on your phone.

boyfriend!Oscar who… sends voice notes when he’s busy. Sometimes it’s just “I miss you” or “Talk soon,” other times it’s him whisper-yelling from the paddock while Lando makes weird noises in the background.

boyfriend!Oscar who… insists on doing groceries together. Pushes the cart, lets you pick the snacks, then sneaks in something random like “Should we try this cereal? Looks good.”

boyfriend!Oscar who… gives you his jacket without hesitation. Says he’s not cold, even when he’s obviously freezing, still holding your hand like it’s fine. He’ll survive.

boyfriend!Oscar who… gets you paddock passes even if you said you might not come. Tells the team, “Just save her a spot anyway,” like it’s no big deal (but it really is).

boyfriend!Oscar who… lights up the second you show up at the track. He doesn’t have to say anything, but you can see it, in his face, in his mood, in the way the team starts teasing him the moment they realize why he’s smiling like that.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

#✿彡 clara a7 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #x reader #f1 fluff #f1 headcanons #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri one shot #mclaren x reader #f1 requests #f1 x fem!reader #f1 x female reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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ink-n-shadow · 10 months ago

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enjoy more older!divorced!biker!ghost (also send me thoughts/requests about him... ;-;)

QUALIFIED

𝜗𝜚 the one where odb!ghost is forced to give you a job interview (and hates how qualified you are for the job)

𝜗𝜚 pairing: older!divorced!biker!ghost x reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: slight smut at the end (minors—DNI), simon not knowing how he feels, slight mean!ghost, slight perv!ghost

(context: odb stands for "older!divorced!biker")

odb!ghost being forced to interview you (thanks to an almost too enthusiastic soap), absolutely steaming as he sits in the office that's nestled in the back of the bar and thumbs through your resumé absentmindedly. he hates just how qualified you are for the bartending job, how many references you have listed, how pretty your signature looks signed at the bottom of your cover letter, how sweet your smile looks in the photo you have tacked to the top.

he hates how early you come in for your interview, dressed up in an iron-pressed blazer with your hair pulled up and away from your big eyes. he hates the way you reach your much smaller hand out to shake his, hates the way your lotioned skin feels almost velvety against his calloused palm. he hates the way you ask him how his day has been so far in the prettiest lilting voice, hates the way his voice catches in his throat when he offers you the gruffest "s'been fine—have a seat f'me" in existence.

he does love the way you squirm in your seat when your eyes meet his for longer than a second or two. he loves the way you nervously twist at the button of your blazer every time you answer one of his questions (almost perfectly, mind you). he loves the way you roll your shoulders back and puff your chest out a bit more when he tries to undermine your abilities. he loves the way you snap back at him when he teases you a bit too much, loves the way the tips of your ears grow hot and your hands clench tightly into fists.

odb!ghost still can't decide how he feels about you even as you're shaking his hand once more, noting to him that your phone number is in your resumé should he have any questions for you. he still can't decide even when he watches your hips sway as you walk towards the exit of his office door.

the only time odb!ghost decides how he feels is after he's done fucking his cock up into his calloused and scarred fist, throwing your resumé photo somewhere off the edge of the bed and letting his head rest back against his pillows as he blinks up at the ceiling. as he catches his breath, he searches his mattress for the phone he discarded soon after he got home, fingers uncharacteristically trembling as he punches in your phone number (that he most definitely didn't memorize) and sends you a message.

Hired. Be there tomorrow at 16:00. Wear something pretty.

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #cod x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #call of duty smut #cod smut #ghost smut #cod ghost smut #iNs Simon “Ghost” Riley 💀#iNs biker!141 ✾

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pomefioredove · 9 months ago

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hey so can I possibly have a scenario where Azul reveals his octopus form to his s/o and s/o is surprised, but doesn’t mind it. When he keeps being unsure and hides under water, s/o just dives into the water right next to him and kisses him under water? They can’t breathe under water unlike Azul being human.

this is so sweet!! I hope you don't mind, I did a fic instead of headcanons cause it felt right to me

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ "I'd owe you"

summary: in the context of a first kiss type of post: short fic characters: azul additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, established relationship

It's not that Azul is nervous.

Of course not. He's long gotten over the "crush" phase of your relationship. No more butterflies or blushes when he sees you, and for the better.

You're... a part of his life now.

He's not a fool, though.

He knows that each phase of the relationship comes with a different test to pass. And he has passed; the butterflies, the blushing and stammering, the confession, the first date, all with flying colors and his usual bravado.

Now, a month in, he knows the next is imminent.

He is NOT nervous!

He wants to... to be prepared, that's all. But he can't put it off forever.

"Is this strange for you?" he asks, neck-deep in the water.

You, beautiful, effervescent in the moonlight, are sitting on the dock, kicking your legs back and forth. It's high tide, and dark. "No,"

Somehow, in his mind, he thought this would be fine.

"Are you certain? We could go back to school, if you'd like," he says, hopeful you'll change your mind.

"I'm sure," Damn it.

"You haven't let me see you yet, anyway."

Damn it, damn it. Was being in the water in his natural form not enough?

Azul curses himself again. He did agree to this, foolish as it was.

Hesitantly, he lifts one, just one tentacle out of the water. He's trying very hard to keep calm, but he feels like he's being crushed.

You don't react. At all. No teasing, sure, but no reassurance, no smiling, not even that look of awe you so often have. He suddenly feels much colder than the water, and, without thinking, goes to hide.

Again.

The last thing he sees are your eyes, widened in surprise, and then he's underwater.

Azul knows he'll have to come out eventually. He can't just leave you alone on the dock. And he has an exam first thing in the morning, anyway.

But for now, he'd like to wallow. And so he will.

Of course, he should have known better than to think he'd get away with that. In seconds, the surface tension of the water breaks, his calm interrupted by you, you, of course you, suddenly with him.

Azul wants to say something, he wants to hide, but before he can even move, your hands are on his cold cheeks. And then, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, you're kissing him.

The world stops.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn't know what to do.

So, he lets you lead. It's... sort of nice. In a way. Then it sort of feels like you're holding your breath, which is a little- oh, right.

He comes back to his senses, grabs your shoulders, and swims you to the surface.

"Look at you," he sighs. "You're shivering. We need to get you back to school before you catch something."

You say nothing. You're smiling.

Azul sighs again. It's like you hadn't heard a word he said. "Too late for that, then. What are you staring at?"

"You're beautiful,"

His hearts stop. He doesn't respond; if he tries, he knows he'll just make a fool of himself.

Of course. After he was so confident he'd left this awkward phase behind, you manage to give him butterflies all over again.

Finally, he clears his throat. "...Thank you,"

"...But don't think that'll excuse you from drying off and getting warm. I won't have you sick on my behalf. I'd owe you."

Your smile warms with something he recognizes, but can't think of now.

"I think you already do,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #azul ashengrotto x reader

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localcoffeeshop · 1 month ago

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a lot of people are hating on the lilo & stitch live action for surface level reasons, mostly because people are rightfully not watching it and just repeating what they've read online while missing the bigger picture.

it's easy to bitch about this objectively bad tasteless remake from hell for things like not having gantu and making jumba the villain, but it takes a real stitch head to juxtapose that knowledge with the far more nefarious context, which is that disney opened a hawaiian resort called Aulani 14 years ago, and stitch is featured on the merch and at the resort.

this simple fact is the entire reason why the live action project was doomed from the start and why the obvious overly-fuzzy capitalist slop overtones are ACTUALLY so much grosser than arguably anything in any previous disney live action. it's one thing to argue about narrative changes, but you have to understand why those narrative changes happened to actually get to the root of what's so evil about it. it's why even the opportunities where criticisms could be levied against tourism clearly aren't taken (lilo sneaks into a resort to take advantage of the hot tub and the employees remind her she's not supposed to be there - this is a comedic moment that seriously makes me question if the people involved in the story are that ignorant or if things were cut because of disney's overhead - something the original film notably didn't undergo)

furthermore, a lot of people are regurgitating internet opinions on nani ditching lilo which is obviously a terrible decision/change, but a lot of the arguments people are making about it seem to boil down to "nani doesn't care about lilo", which is a read that shows you kind of are just parroting others without context. the movie, to its credit, does not portray nani as a selfish person. she says to lilo "it's my kuleana (responsibility) to take care of you" while expressing reluctance about going. in my opinion, the problem is that a Native Hawaiian character's aspirations are adjusted to fit the idea of Western ideals, dreams, and success - go to university (neocolonial institution) far away from your home and get a great job! a fine thing to want to do, sure, but one that exists in the world where Native Hawaiians have had their land and livelihoods stolen, bastardized, and destroyed for the benefit of capitalists and Americans.

additionally, Nani's decision to give Lilo up was also in part because the social worker tells Nani that the state will pay Lilo's hospital bills (after the near-drowning scene) in full only if Nani surrenders the rights to guardianship to them (paraphrase). To me this is far more disgusting than nani choosing to go to university because the film does not treat this as a really fucked up threat emerging from a violent system of privatized healthcare but as some kind of benevolent offer that Nani should take.

the grandma who takes lilo in says "you can't leave yourself behind either" as a response to nani saying "'ohana means family". the film wants to make the caveat that you have to take care of yourself too (while ignoring that "taking care of yourself" can put the onus on you to choose to live better, rather than the system that is oppressing you and exhausting you).

Ayesha Khan writes:

"I kept asking “how can I care for myself when I cannot survive or thrive in a world by myself?” How can I care for myself when survival is a collective responsibility & we are fundamentally dependent on the care of so many beings? (...) Mainstream self-care has created NEW forms of oppression, extraction & exploitation. (...) Today, many people partake in self-care as a means to enable their personal success & wealth accumulation under capitalism" (source)

tl;dr it helps to know exactly why this movie sucks so much with some context. there are things happening here that are actually disgusting and evil and yet the actual conversation in the Discourse Machine Of The Week has not yet gone into these things. eventually, you might forget how mad you were that Jumba doesn't have a russian accent, but hopefully you can sustain some anger towards how disgusting it is that disney's slop adaption is full of capitalist signalling and unquestioned "real world Logic" that turns the story's world into an inescapable unimaginative nightmare, and one which will be undoubtedly used to drive tourism to disney's own Hawaiian resort - the original film was co-opted despite its critical eye, the remake is effortlessly abetting, guaranteed.

#lilo & stitch #disney #aulani resort #nani pelekai #jumba jookiba #we could talk more about how aloha oe is repurposed so as to not come across as tragic/draw parallels to queen lili'uokalani too lol #but like one thing at a time

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ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 9 months ago

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Question for the artist, whats the parameters for drawing fusion fanart? Because a lot of people see it as a romanic thing, but it isnt always that. For example, are you okay with fans drawing steven fused the crystal gems? Are you okay with fans drawing any fusions including CG, or is that an ick?

Okay, SO. I apologize for answering this late - I was trying to find the correct way to reply to this ask without coming off as someone extremely senile and jaded.

First things first - I really appreciate you taking my feelings into consideration on this! I can tell it comes from a place of genuine kindness and caring, and I think that's awesome.

I'm not unfamiliar with the fact that some artists feel very protective of their characters, and sometimes try to lay down rules about how they are to be viewed, how they are to be drawn by others, etc. So I don't blame you at all for assuming this is something that needs to be done, given the current fandom environment in certain spaces.

That all being said.

This idea that drawing characters in Situations Which May Be Uncomfortable To Someone With A Specific Interpretation Of The Media (which is not at all supported by canon text) is transgressive is..... boy...... that's not a good one.

It is..... Extremely Evangelical in its conception.

Guys. GUYS. Thought crime isn't a crime. ART isn't a crime.

But to answer your question -

Yes, you can absolutely draw Steven - WD!AU Steven - fusing with the gems or CG.

Yes, you can absolutely draw CG fusing with Steven or the Crystal Gems, etc.

Because

Even if someone DID assume fusion was romantic primarily, that doesn't mean it should be the default, and in fact it ISN'T. Many, MANY fusions in the show are not representative of romantic relationships.

Canon Steven, in the Canon show, fused with TONS of people he didn't have romantic feelings for. Most of the people, outside of Connie, for a start.

Even if imagining CG in a romantic relationship with the Crystal Gems DOES give me the 'ick' (which, actually, yeah, it kinda does I guess, given that I can't really see that thing happening given that she's effectively (not LITERALLY) a child) that doesn't mean YOUR art has to be limited by my presumptions of what fusion means in this context, if we disagree on it

And not to put too fine a point on it but

Fusion ISN'T inherently about romance.

Fusion ISN'T inherently sexual!

No part of the show supports either of these ideas. Fusion is and always has been explicitly about various types of RELATIONSHIPS - including things like sibling bonds (Smokey Quartz), parent-child relationships (Steg, Steven and ANY of the CGs), friendships, Unhealthy Control-Seeking (Malachite) and just straight up collaborative murder (a la Aquamarine and Ruby).

Yes, some fusions ARE inherently romantic in nature, but that does not mean ALL fusions adhere to these rules. In fact, MOST fusions aren't even about that.

And even if they were.............we're all allowed to express our OWN interpretation of things using art. That's not an Ungood Thought that you should be shamed for.

thank you for coming to my ted talk

#chekhov answers #this ask made me a little feral sorry #nothing against the OP #just this attitude that has become Normalized in fandom #is NOT healthy

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juniperstale · 11 months ago

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kiss me hard before you go — gojo, itadori, nobara, megumi

⋆ in which you have to leave for a long mission without them [ . . . gn!reader, sfw, lowercase intended, fluff, ig some really light angst, the context really does not match the dialogue, daily clicks . . . ]

SATORU GOJO is anything but reasonable when it comes to you. what do the higher ups mean when they say you're the only one capable to complete the job? he's the strongest. it doesn't matter what the enemy wields, he will always win. so why can't he go with you? or instead of you (the answer is that it's a compromised mission and he's a major blabber mouth).

so here he is, at the airport with you, seconds before you turn around and leave him for what he feels is forever. he whines and pleads for you to fake an illness, or an injury, or anything that gets you out of this mission. and yet, you only give him a kiss, whispering comforting affirmations before telling him you'd call everyday and taking a step away from him. well, attempting. satoru's hand grabbed you almost immediately, pulling you into the last embrace the two of you would share for a while, his breath a little shaky. he was genuinely worried for you. he was always worried for you.

"come back in one piece?" "why? the more pieces of me, the merrier, no?" "you're not funny." "you're a hater."

YUJI ITADORI finds you oh so cool. you're his brave, strong partner who can take on difficult missions without breaking a sweat. he brags to anyone, whether they listen or not, about you. it doesn't help that you're absolutely gorgeous too; your hair, eyes, nose, but your strength!? the way you're so capable!? the way you can protect him!? you made him feel safe, something he didn't know he craved until he got it, from you.

unfortunately, it was harder when he actually had to let you go. you slipped out of his grasp in the middle of the night, effectively waking him up. he was confused for a second before you walked in from the bathroom, your pajamas folded in you hands as you had your airport outfit on.

"why're you up, sweetie?" you asked, walking over to his side of the bed before sitting down on the edge of it. "you're leaving now?" he asks, rubbing his eyes. "mhm, ijichi is getting the car ready, you should go back to sleep though, you have class in a few hours." you respond, placing a kiss on his forehead before standing up when you hear ijichi honk from outside, signaling he was ready to go. yuji grabs your wrist before you can go far, forcing you back close to him, pulling you into a quick hug, then a kiss, then pulling away and looking at you with a crazy determined look on his face.

"you got this!" "i know!" "good!" "good!" "be safe, i love you!" "i will and i know!" "good!" "good!"

NOBARA KUGISAKI doesn't care. i mean, she's proud of you, she really is but it doesn't bother her when you have to leave for a long period of time. i mean, why would she worry. you never come back injured that badly, sometime your not even injured at all. plus, you always come back. but what if you do get injured this time? badly? or worse, what if you don't come back.

now there's an angry nobara in your room, interrogating you as you pack some final things into your carry on. when were you set to come back? what was the mission about? what type of enemies would you be fighting? what grade?

she's cut off when you sit next to her, placing a kiss on her lip which she doesn't hesitate to return, pulling you in closer. your forced to pull away for her when the alarm on your phone goes off, reminding you that it was time for you to leave.

"i'll be fine nobara, i promise." "i'll kill you if you're not!"

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO acts like he could care less, but inside he's panicking. a lot. he doesn't know how to confront you about his fears of losing you. his fear that you would get injured. his fear that you forget about him. his fear that you would leave, like everyone else did.

so, he coped with it the only way he knew how. he, cautiously, packed you bags for you. the exact amount of clothes you need, pair of shoes for each type of weather, you camera that you took everywhere and bandages. lots and lots of bandages.

deep down, he knows its insane. he knows you'll be fine, you always are and always will be.

when you walk into your room and notice his antics, you sit down beside him, rubbing his back gently. though you don't often show it, you know the feeling well. your boyfriend is a maniac when it comes to proving his self worth and that often leaves him injured in shoko's office, leaving you to wonder about the state he could possibly be in. you don't dare speak when he relaxes into your touch, only going as far as to scoot closer to him so you could pamper his face with adoring kisses until he speaks.

"you're going to be fine" "of course" "you're going to come back to me" "of course" "your going to use the bandages i packed for you even on the smallest injuries like a paper cut" "megumi are you casting a spell on me?"

8.15.24 ⋆ ...so i've been gone for a while and this is my first time writing for jjk... so what? i will blame it on the fact that i have a job though and start school again in a few weeks 💔anyways this isn't really proofread, i rushed to get it out and it was supposed to have other characters like nanami, maki, inumaki and yuta in it so lmk if you want a part 2 hehe

#ੈ✩‧₊˚ junis tales #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x male reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x male reader #yuji itadori #itadori x reader #itadori x male reader #yuji x reader #nobara kugisaki #nobara x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi x male reader

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creatingblackcharacters · 3 months ago

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Is it possible to draw microbraids in a very cartoony, thick-lineart style without it just looking like straight hair?

I think at this point, if you incorporate a few braid lines and shapes here and there within the mass shape to indicate that there are braids present, it should be fine. Because the thing is, in real life, I can still tell from a face to face distance when I'm looking at microbraids versus straight hair. They move differently, they're stiffer. So it bugs me when people blow over it.

But I also understand it's extremely hard to draw the detail in. One thing i do when I'm drawing locs, that might help with visual context here too, is I'll draw a few around the face, and those ones will be detailed enough to let the viewer know "okay, so this is the style, which means the un-detailed mass is all this style". It's something people do with straight and wavy hair too; y'all don't draw each individual stand, but you do a couple details and show movement to allow the viewer to understand it. Similar concept.

I hope this made sense 😅

#creatingblackcharacters #thatsjusttips

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tawnysoup · 6 months ago

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*nintendogs eating sfx*

i just wanted to say im so utterly overwhelmed by the incredible response ive recieved on Home in the Woods from you all 🥺 i keep meaning to make a big post containing screenshots of all of the tags and comments and everything but there's actually just so many that i can't screenshot them all without tiring out!!!! but! I have read/am reading all of them and every time someone says they thought it looked cool or it made them cry or when they explain their personal interpretation of the text or even just type a silly little frowny face i get so so so happy

this is me rn this is how i feel when im reading all ur responses

thank you thank you thank you for reading <3 thank you so MUCH!!! when i made my comic i expected it to get read by maybe 4 people? and i was fine with that? so i waSNT EXPECTING THIS? UR ALL SO COOL FOR READING AND SUPPORTING AN ORIGINAL PROJECT? ILY? WOW!!!

so... aah. yeah ;w; oh, i should probably link the comic here too for those without context jfgdjh. click here if u want to see it. be aware of cws regarding guns, blood, mild body horror and child endangerment.

#Home in the Woods #my art

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sugar-gumdrop · 4 months ago

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"Tad Too Late" Oikawa x Reader

Pairing: Tooru Oikawa x f! Reader

Soulmate AU: Whatever you draw on your body also shows up on your soulmate.

Word Count: 1.2k+

Aoba Johsai’s volleyball team was fed up with their captain’s off-topic chatter. If they stood a chance at winning the day’s match, then Oikawa would need to stop fretting over the prolonged absence of his soulmate.

“Where do you think they went? I haven’t received a message in ages,” the captain murmured, absentmindedly rubbing off the unanswered question on his wrist. He frowned as the ink stained his thumb a dark blue.

Upon the worried looks some of the first-years were giving him, Iwaizumi surged forward, slapping his best friend across the back of his head.

“Ow! What the hell was that for-”

“Get your head in the game!” Iwaizumi yelled. The setter quieted as he glanced around at his teammates. Most of them deflected their eyes to the floor. “We need to win this game if we want to shoot for nationals. Typically, today should be a piece of cake if our setter gets their head up and out of their ass and focuses!"

“I am focused!” Oikawa argued. The sharp glare Iwaizumi cast his way told him he thought differently. “...I haven’t mentioned them that much.”

“Oh, really? Then there shouldn’t be a problem.” Stepping back, Iwaizumi motions for another third-year. “Matsukawa.”

“Got it,” the boy said.

“Got what?” Oikawa didn’t seem to like where this was going.

“You wanna daydream about who your soulmate might be? Fine.” Iwaizumi shrugged, Matsukawa and Hanamaki grabbing hold of Oikawa’s arms before he could react. “Just do it on your own time. For now, we’re just gonna help you get over this hurdle.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the building, you were sprinting down the halls. The current matches scheduled for the day were already going, and you were running late.

You could hear the sounds of shoes squeaking against the gym floor as you dashed up the stairs to the bleachers. Unlike your usual placement, you sat in the public area, the school section already full, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence. A couple of girls from neighboring schools did a double take when you passed by, whispering to one another.

“You don’t think?”

“Of course not, it’s probably just a public stunt to gather attention.”

You didn’t bother turning their way to get some context, seeing as how their conversation didn’t seem to be about you, even though their glares while you shimmied by told you otherwise.

Once you settle in, five minutes seem to go by before the two of them start shouting.

“Go, Oikawa!”

Drifting your eyes to watch your school team, you see the infamous setter up to serve. As he throws the volleyball up into the air before slamming it across the court, you can barely focus on anything beside him, even as the onlookers cheer when he gets the point without interference from the other team’s receivers.

While hard to see from so far away, something black stained his face.

Suddenly nauseous, you rub your cheeks aggressively. When you pull your hands back, they have a slight black tint to them.

No one seems to notice when you rush out of the gym.

The restroom was vacant when you bursted through the door. As you swore under your breath, you turned on the faucet.

In the mirror, clear as day, was a drawn, filled-in black heart on your left cheek.

You started to weep as each scrub-down with the soap didn’t seem to erase it.

It was permanent marker.

“This can’t be happening…” you mumbled over and over again.

As you kept wiping away at your face until the skin became raw, you thought back to last year when everything started to go downhill.

~~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes until class was over and summer vacation starts. You would officially be in your final year of high school.

Like most other students in your class, you weren’t paying attention to a single thing the teacher was relaying for summer work.

You smirked at the little alien you drew on the back of your hand, completing the mural of your entire right arm.

For the remainder of class, you scribbled nonsense onto your left arm to match the random sketches and math problems on the other half of your body.

The bell rang right as your pen refused to give any more ink.

Covering up the temporary arm sleeves with a light jacket, you raced to leave, passing the outdoor gym.

That’s when you heard it: his voice.

Oikawa Tooru was a second-year student, just like you, but in a different class.

“Look at what they did!” he whined, his arms flailing above his head.

From the open gym door, you saw all the doodles you had done earlier, only they weren’t on your body.

They were on his.

“Um, Oikawa-San…” You slowly walked in before thinking otherwise. You had just discovered who your soulmate was, and it was one of the most popular boys in school. No one seemed to notice you as he kept yelling.

“They’re really starting to piss me off!” Oikawa huffed in frustration. “I mean seriously, I look like I’ve been graffitied all over!”

“Maybe they’ll put you in an art gallery one day.”

“Very funny, Hanamaki. Whoever this is, they seriously need to consider getting new hobbies.”

“Shouldn’t you be ecstatic, Trashykawa? They’re reaching out to you,” Iwaizumi said. He went to hurl the ball at his annoying face before noticing you standing at the doorway.

“You can’t be serious, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa continued. “Now, I have to waste precious practice time to go wash this off before ink poisoning sets in.”

Your slightly teary eyes met him when he turned.

It was the first time your soulmate made eye contact with you, and you were on the verge of tears.

The worst part was, they weren’t because of some unexplainable happiness.

“Um…” You didn’t know what to say as your voice faltered. Some of the boys started to whisper to one another.

“Here it comes…”

“Another confession…”

“It’s the fifth one this week!”

“Were you looking for me?” Oikawa’s scowl moments ago turned into that flawless smile he gave all his fangirls.

His sudden change in demeanor gave you whiplash.

“Just, um…have a good break!” you yelled, bowing stiffly before racing off.

You hadn’t talked to him since.

~~~~~~~~

Aoba Johsai came out on top once again.

Before the bus would arrive, Iwaizumi walked off to find a restroom. As he rounded the corner, someone rushed out of a room, slamming into him. He barely catches them in his arms as he realizes it’s you.

“Hey, are you alright?” Iwaizumi’s first thought was that you had been crying, your eyes red and your cheeks puffy. Even though he was used to seeing you from afar, he could tell you’re the girl who always watches their games from the school section.

While he wouldn’t outright admit it, a part of him wondered where you had been today.

“I’m fine,” you managed to say with an even voice. Bowing slightly, you go to leave.

Without thinking, Iwaizumi tightens his grip on your wrist, yanking you back towards him.

“I said I was fine, thank you,” you tentatively declare.

That’s when he noticed the smudged heart on your left cheek. The same one his teammates had drawn and made fun of earlier as it slowly smeared across Oikawa’s face during the match.

“Um, can you please let go?” Trying to force your arm back felt like contending with a statue.

“How long have you known-”

“Iwa-chan! You ready to leave?!” Iwaizumi flinches at the sound of Oikawa approaching from behind them, effectively cutting him off.

Taking that chance, you slide out of his grip.

“Hey, wait-” was all the boy could get out before you broke eye contact, running off with your face cast downward.

“Oh, is our Iwa-chan finally understanding the pain of having to let a girl down? I hope you did it gently, but knowing your attitude…” Oikawa sighs, shaking his head.

Iwaizumi didn’t respond.

“Iwa?” Scared he had teased his friend too far, Oikawa stepped back. “Remember, you can’t hit me too hard since we have another game tomorrow.”

Iwaizumi remained frozen, his brain repeating those brief moments of desperation to escape written on your face the moment Oikawa walked up.

In that moment, Iwaizumi realized what had occurred: Oikawa was your soulmate, but you didn’t seem thrilled by the revelation.

And here the idiot was, unaware of it all.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #fanfic #fanfiction #seijoh #aoba johsai

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