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nouearth · 4 months

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the boy next door.

pairing. alan ritchson x male reader headcanon.

summary. with his profile brewing in hollywood, projects are consistently lining up for alan, and the last thing he needs is a new roommate getting in the way of his stress. unless, reader finds himself becoming alan's personal stress-ball?

content warning. camboy!au, camboy!reader, top!alan, bottom!reader, food!play (cucumber as dildo), muscle worship, size difference, spitting, oral (r!giving on dildo), dirty talk, verbal, masturbation, alan and reader are roommates.

moving in.

roommate!alan who surprises you with his massive stature when he greets you on move-in day.

it was jaw-dropping. well, almost so. you were luckily aware enough to catch the slack of your jaw from relaxing any further. any second longer, and you would've been hypnotized into submission by the man's brawn physicality; massive chest, bulging arms, and thick fingers—traits you would find yourself drooling about.

"hey, uh... (m/n), right? is that how you say your last name?" "spot on! and... alan. man, your name already sounds like a celebrity, i'm jealous." "haha, hopefully the casting directors feel the same way."

roommate!alan who helps you with your luggages without a single request from your end.

aside from being eye-candy, alan utilized his muscles for the greater good and brought your belongings from the trunk of your car, to the front of your door in a matter of minutes. even when you pleaded him not to, he went on ahead while urging you to take a rest after the long drive across the city.

you complained, though half-heartedly because your ass was sore from driving all day. his massive arms were a distraction as the veins surged through every muscle of fiber like lightning.

"you really didn't need to do all of that—" "hey, you're saving me from shelling out an extra thousand by being my roommate. plus, you seem... normal? that's the least i could do." "normal? pft, i don't know about that. but i will say, your kind gestures have put you on my 'no-kill' list." "let's backpedal a bit. is it too late to kick you out?"

roommate!alan who has already taken a liking towards you in the few hours you two have spent together to unpack.

saying that people 'stared' at alan would be underplaying what they've actually done. it was a daily occurrence to catch people gawking at his stature. whether it was with astonishment, intimidation, lust, or hostility, all eyes were on him, collective eyes and gasps piecing together how a man could look the way he does. some whispered 'steroids', others envied his dedication.

as uncomfortable as it could be at times, he liked the attention knowing he'd be the subject of one's conversation to another friend.

with you, it was no different. he'd caught you several times staring at his arms from across the room. or maybe it was his shoulders? how they perfectly filled his shirt out from seam to seam? either way, you were enchanted, especially when he'd nonchalantly flex his muscles every now and then in hopes he'd catch your eye.

and he could say the same about himself when he'd catch you bent over, ass raised high while you dug inside of your boxes to unpack the remaining decor you had brought with you.

until that moment, he never noticed how much smaller you were compared to his, the top of your head barely meeting his chin if he was to line you up. how much of a desire had awakened to have you in his arms, just to see how you perfectly fit into his body.

getting to know each other.

roommate!alan who has already learned of your habits, likes and dislikes, and hobbies within a few weeks of you moving in.

it was the small stuff that you found yourself gushing over. you two almost always had dinner together on the couch. condiments on the side for you, ketchup over his fries for him.

whether it was homemade or takeout, the best memories being made between the two of you were simply eating in front of the tv and watching alan's roles despite his reluctance.

you would cheer whenever he appeared on the screen, the camera somehow making him seem smaller than he appeared to be in real life. it was impressive, and once again, you found yourself drawn to the sheer size of muscles beside you.

throbbing, even at the simplest touch, as he gave your shoulders squeeze amidst passing by you to collect your plate.

"have to head to bed early. got an audition in the morning." "awesome! was this the one you were telling me about earlier?""yep. i worked with the director once, so fingers crossed?"

roommate!alan who can read your body language early on, and senses that you're hiding something from him.

it was that one question that either turned you into stone, or a babbling buffoon as you would try to avoid the subject.

your occupation.

he didn't know much other than the fact that you worked from home, which was why your bedroom was so intricately set up like a tech start-up.

four different types of cameras, a gaming chair, several monitors for one pc; it was intricate and honestly, alan didn't really understand it.

"so, you don't have to say yes or no, but..." "hm..?""are you a youtuber? like, one of those tech guys who reviews new phones and stuff?""something like that, i guess?" "is it mentally draining?" "more so... physically?"

roommate!alan who asks about your day after coming home from a shoot.

you looked exhausted, drained, wrecked—images of you that he never thought would rile him up. yet, as you groggily came out of your room with flushed skin, and a thirst that needed to be quenched, alan was equally parched just watching you recover your breath in between gulps of water.

cluttered state of mind.

roommate!alan who merely offers you a look of annoyance when you greet him after he arrives home.

you've recognized that look by now, and all you could simply provide was his dinner plate, and a sympathetic pat on the back.

"listen, i know a friend and he has a mutual that can help you—" "not in the mood right now, (m/n).""just trying to help, alan."

roommate!alan who ends the night early, leaving you on the couch with his plate left untouched.

it was awkward, to simply put it. the show you put on happened to be the one he was auditioning for, and then ultimately flunked because he forgot his script. from the corner of your eye, you could see his jaw tightening, straining, fork scraping against the ceramic plate as he pushed the fried rice in a corner, and then eastward, because that corner was empty.

though, is it wrong to say that you found it hot? if only there was a less forward and awkward way of saying, 'hey, i'd love to take your mind off of things right now. let me suck you off.'

secret unlocked.

stressed!alan who spends half-an-hour in the shower contemplating whether this career was worth it.

countless of potential roles never making it pass the call-back stage; he was growing exhausted from it. driving from city to city, filling his car with gas that would amount to nothing in the end. he could only stretch his royalties out for so much longer, and—

no, he wasn't a quitter. the last time he felt like this, the next audition was a success. if predictions are right, he'd consider this madness a sign of luck, at least for the meantime.

stressed!alan who needs something to take out his frustration on.

maybe he should head to the gym? no, he already showered. and it was already getting too late for his liking to drive back and forth at this time, even if he wasn't tired.

at the corner of his eye, his laptop glinted with a sparkle.

some good porn would fix him.

stressed!alan who has one hand down his sweats, and the other calmly scrolling through his favorite cam site.

his lips grew chapped, licking them from time to time as he watched the page load without the decency to sugar-coat its offerings. his sight was immediately assaulted with moving thumbnails of women, and men under the spell of their own lust. some squirmed from the uncontrollable feeling of being filled, while others preferred talking to their patrons, touching themselves to the pixelated smut sent through the chat.

stressed!alan who has you on his mind despite the options to choose from, and he squeezes his large balls in his hand.

the cursor maneuvered respectfully around one performer’s breasts and another’s erection in its journey to the filter list. the drop-down menu pulled open and alan checked off the men within his age range.

with a quick load, the website refreshed with a new assortment of performers, and his cock began to sprout at the moving thumbnails. his hand immediately began to feed his growing bulge with gentle squeezes and rubs as he scrolled what seemed to be endless cycle of camboys.

the sudden warmth of his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin. alan removed each article within seconds, yet the flush of his skin remained, ached as it yearned for the physical touch of the seductive men beckoning him.

stressed!alan who felt the world had stopped. the heat frozen in his cheeks, his hands equally mirroring as he hovered over a familiar face. strained, orbs dilated and wandering, and holy shit—so fucking inviting.

it was you.

stressed!alan who watches your stream for a few minutes to decipher if it was truly you before shamelessly stroking his cock after he confirms that it was.

sweat dribbled over your neck and body in diverging streams. your legs were raised on their own accord, thick thighs shaking from the muscles working overdrive to keep you still and perfectly centered before your webcam.

stressed!alan who couldn't believe what he was seeing. it all made sense now, why you were so reluctant to tell what you truly did.

you were a fucking whore. a whore for the internet for everyone to goon to, to cum to. he can imagine it now, how much pleasure you'd given these men as he watched you fuck yourself with a cucumber.

and he was one of them. alan's large cock was manhandled by his hand, stroking sloppily with an ample amount of lube squeezed over the flesh of throbbing muscle.

all those memories of you looking so wrecked came fluttering in. you looked wrecked because you were fucking wrecked.

by a fucking cucumber.

and alan has never been so envious of a vegetable despite eating them on a daily.

you were plunging your tight hole with a long cucumber, slickly lubed from the condom over the girth of the green plant. with every push of your wrist, your legs caved into the pressure to set themselves down, but every time the crown of the plant pressed into your prostate, you were reminded of the viewers who had been donating, their pop-up messages urging you to keep them up 'like a good boy.'

stressed!alan who jerks himself off to the rhythm of your wrist.

every time you sank the thick cucumber inside of you, alan paced himself to match your tempo, plunging himself into his closed fist, mimicking your refusing hole by opening his fingers one-by-one, until he had fully breached through.

stressed!alan who mutters to himself, who mutters words that you couldn't hear because you were busy pleasuring yourself for hundreds of men watching you.

"fuck yeah, take that dick..." "too big for you?""fuck, we'll make it fit."

stressed!alan who imagines himself fucking into you.

he knew his cock was big. he'd been told countless of times, by men and women, and lots of time, they would quit a few minutes in because it was just too much.

but you, he was certain that you were able to take him. because—fuck—alan was bigger than that cucumber you were fucking yourself open with. it needed a glorious amount of lube, like what you had displayed before him, dripping heavily from your abused cavity, but luckily, you had experience in handling big sizes, right?

you'd take him, like the 'good boy' the users were spamming in the chatbox. you'd take him with your eyes forced shut from him stretching you out. from alan's impatience and reluctance to wait for you to adjust to him, because he's fucking furious at you.

why didn't you tell him sooner? why were you hiding this from him? how could you be so selfish and leave him blue-balled whenever you'd come out in those shorts of yours? teasing him with the smallest glimpse of your inner thighs?

if he could ever lay his hands on you, he'd show no mercy. fucking your ass doggy-style till your cheeks clapped. plunging you with his cock as you spread your legs open for him. locking your throat with his arm while he's under you, your back pressed to his chest, rendering you trapped within his embrace. you'd take his cock in every position, in every state, whether you'd like it or not, because you were a good, fucking, boy.

stressed!alan who spits on his cock because you began simultaneously filling your mouth up with a dildo.

spit. god, there was so much spit coming out of your mouth. you loved pushing yourself to the limit, alan could see it. the light leaving your eyes whenever you pushed the dildo a little too far to the back of your throat. that could be his cock, if you let him.

he imagined how warm your mouth would be. how perfectly shaped it's made for his thick, meaty cock. he had the perfect curve to make it a struggle to swallow him down, but like he noticed, you loved a challenge, didn't you?

alan's cock was plump, and beaten red in his hand. noises similar to the sound of you sucking off the dildo were made with his hand, his spit and lube sloshing together in a lewd symphony that could be heard from your room if you'd learn to shut up.

"choke on it, gag on that fucking dick..." "fuck yeah, spit on it.""good fucking boy."

stressed!alan who's nearing his climax from watching you tease the camera with your hole.

you repeated countless of profanities after every plunge of the cucumber flushing deep inside of you. you made sure to buy the girthiest one; they loved seeing your asshole gape at the end of the stream. twisting your wrist, you could feel the subtle ridges of the cucumber, violating your guts with its nature, and it was all-so glorious. the size, the texture, the viewers, the sound of donations coming in, the ‘thank you’ messages after for making them come; you were a true star within this community and it evidently showed when you finally hit your donation goal for the night.

alan fucked his fist, nearly coming to the sight of your gaping hole when you yanked the cucumber out of you like a sword-wielding knight ready to slay a dragon.

it was beautiful, watching you desperately hold onto the physical being of the cucumber, but all there was to it in the end was the memory of its girth. your hole was perfectly molded it, clenching and pursing, blowing fluttering kisses to the camera, to alan.

and if it was up to him, he'd ram his cock into you by now, not letting a second to spare in fucking you until your muscles felt like jelly, because fuck, you were so enticing like this. head lolled back, mouth open with your tongue hanging out as if you had a dripping cock to catch its cum above you.

the sound of donations kept chiming in, and alan knew he wasn't alone in this enchantment.

one more hit to your prostate, and you came undone in seconds. thick spurts of cum shot at your chest from your current position, then at your face when you raised your hips a little higher and pumped your cock with a ravishing fist. the sound of donations rang like a police siren. if you were being profiled for a crime, it was because you couldn’t hold in your cum any longer like one user had begged for you to.

stressed!alan who perfectly aligns his orgasm with yours and blows multiple loads on the screen on his laptop. his moans came out in hushed stutters, countering your choked whimpers that would then break out into begs for cum.

"fuck, fuck, fuck. i need your cum, i need it. give me all of it, fuck. all over my body. in my ass. on my face. i need that load."

his cum came out in thick, pulsating ropes, flying forward to land on the image of you resuming to fuck yourself to your audience's collective orgasm. this time, at a closer view, as you centered the camera to fill the stream with a screenful of ass and a gaping hole. it was your fans' favorite part of the stream, the chat exploding in several fire emojis and astonishment as you showed your pretty insides blooming for thick, endless spunk.

it was hypnotizing, almost as if you were really there before him.

with one hand, alan brought his laptop in between his legs, and smeared his own cum over the blooming resolution of his screen. feigning a breeding, he slides his cock over his cum, over his laptop screen, while you moaned in the background, begging lewdly for cum, to be filled, to be bred, to be dripping, to be fucked, and alan doesn't know what came over him, but another load automatically came out of him like some kind of spell.

"h-holy shit...""fuck, yeah... give me that load, all your load... are my fans breeding me right now?"

alan painted you until you were practically hidden beneath the layers of his orgasm. translucent white blurred the screen, but he could still make out your silhouette. sitting now, exhausted, wrecked, evidently too tired to be bothered to clean up the mess you made on your body.

and just like that, his head felt lighter. all of his worries had left with every dump of load over your pixelated hole, and yours as well, as you leaned back to catch your breath with your eyes closed. his breathing matched the pace of yours, together, collectively, and all he could do was shortly laugh at the situation before him.

roommate!alan who greets you in the morning with a strange smirk as you made yourself breakfast.

"i can see why your job is physically draining now." "hm?" you yawned. "what are you talking—"

roommate!alan who pulls out a cucumber from the fridge, and cuts it into thin slices for his morning smoothie.

"i-i can explain—""you can make it up to me tonight."

he popped a slice into his mouth after.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#alan ritchson x male reader #alan ritchson x reader #alan ritchson x m!reader #alan ritchson x you #alan ritchson x y/n #alan ritchson imagine #x you #x reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #✰ : nou.celebs #✰ : nou.alanritchson #nou.fics

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water-to-drink · 2 months

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If Only I Can Turn Back Time

(Pairing): Zhongli x gn!reader x Childe (separate)

(Synopsis): After taking the life of his lover thousands of years ago, Zhongli finds your current incarnation without another lover

(Tags/Warnings): Angst no comfort, blood, pet names (sunshine, darling, & babe), non consensual touching, not beta read (wrote this instead of sleeping), might feel rushed, (if I missed something lmk)

(Word Count): 1.1k

(A/n): It’s sad bitch hours folks

𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍𓂃 𓈒𓏸𑁍

“Morax…? Why?” You gurgled due to your blood coming up to your mouth due to the gaping hole in your stomach

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, but I told you I would do anything for my people.” The god you used to call your lover replied coldly

You grit your teeth to say something to the stone god, but you decide against it instead opting to let tears run down your face as your vision gradually fades

The mystery of what you were originally planning on being your last words still plagues Morax to this day, in his new life stepping down from his role as archon and living the rest of his days as the mortal known as Zhongli. Were your final words going to declarations of love or hatred? He wouldn’t blame you if it was the latter, he would hate himself too

For years he tried to justify it by telling himself that it was the best for his people, but after the years of self reflection he realized it was only to protect himself. Truly thinking that if you died by his hands then it would save him from the heart break Osial’s betrayal caused him

Letting his paranoia get the best of him after Osial’s betrayal and Guizhong’s death he killed the last pillar holding up his life

“Hey! Are you listening?” The familiar voice of a ginger haired man brought Zhongli out of his bout of self-loathing

“Oh, I’m sorry. Please continue.”

“As I was saying my amazing wonderful beautiful finance is coming to Liyue!” Childe smiled and continued. “Their boat is arriving today and I’m so excited, I wish to have them in my arms and listen to talk!”

Zhongli sipped his tea as the young man continued to gust about you and how much he misses you. Reuniting with your lover is beautiful thing, he remembers the times where you would run into his loving embrace. Spinning you in his arms, hearing your melodic laughter, seeing your precious smiling face, feeling the softness of your lips. Sweet memories that will always be close to his heart

“Ah! Their boat is arriving now!” Childe looked at his watch and quickly ran down to the harbor, leaving his tea on the table. From his seat he spotted the distinctive mop of ginger running to the docks as a boat arrives to port

Though he is not a nosey person, Zhongli couldn’t help himself to hone his hearing onto Childe. Who is this person that captured the bloodthirsty man’s heart and made him giddy like a schoolboy? His curiosity was peaked

“Sunshine!”

“Gingersnap!” A familiar voice rings throughout the dragon’s ears

Hesitantly turning his head he sees a sight that he thought he would never see again. There you are, walking and talking like how you used to before the war. Even the smile he vividly remembers is still the same, only that it’s made for someone else

The Harbinger you’re currently hugging

Still in a state of shock Zhongli didn’t register that you and Childe were making your way up the stairs, until the both of you were right in front of him

“As I told you before, this is my fiancé (Y/N).” Childe introduced

Your name was different but still beautifully matched you, a name he wouldn’t dare shorten it to a nickname. A name that every syllable should be worthship whenever it rolls off his tongue

“Zhongli, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tartaglia has told me a lot about you.”

As the days progressed he got to learn more about this current incarnation of you, there were many things that remained the same yet, some things different. Learning about your new likes felt like he was falling in love with you all over again

“You know Zhongli, it feels like I known you for a long time.” You mention offhandedly

Oh how much he wants to hold your hand and tell you it’s because the two of you were lovers in the past. To beg for forgiveness for what he did to you and promise that he would devote his entire existence to protecting you

Despite priding himself on his patience Zhongli feels it wearing thin with each pasting second. There’s a constant conflict going on inside of him, one side wanting to leave you alone and let you enjoy your new life and the other side wanting you to remember the time where the two of you were lovers. It feels like a kettle that’s about to explode

“Goodbye, Zhongli.” You said, heartbreakingly similar to the way you said your last goodbye to him

Against his better judgement he reaches towards you and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace

“H-hey! Let go of me!” You said as you struggled against his grip

“Please. Please, remember.” He uncharacteristically pleaded as he began to use some Adeptal magic on you to share some of memories with you

Memories of your first time meeting, your conversations that would last til the sun sets, him confessing his feelings to you, your first time being intimate with each other. Every memory that he has involving you being shared, from the first moment to the last

Slowly you stopped struggling against him and he releases you from his grip. You pushed him away and turned to face him, your eyes had a glint of recollection yet confliction to them signaling that your old memories are flooding back into your mind

“Morax…”

“Darling.” Zhongli whispers as he opens his arms and slowly approaches you

Extending your arm out you stop the former archon from coming closer

He wanted to asked what was wrong but the look of betrayal on your face, the same expression you wore the day he used his spear to strike you down, told him everything that he needed to know

You don’t love him like you did before

Rapid footsteps alerted the two of you to the upcoming presence of another. A mop of orange hair pops up before the harbinger makes his way up the stairs and kisses you on the cheek

“Hey babe, is something the matter?” Childe asked, sensing the tension between the two of you

“Oh I was just saying goodbye to Mr. Zhongli.” You stated with a smile to your lover

Heartbroken he watched as the two of you walked down the stairs, your words getting out of ear shot

You turned to glance at your former lover one last time before returning your attention to the young man

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 3 months

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Yandere Hitman // Accident

Imagine you wake up tied to a chair ducktape over your mouth and the weight of gravity weighing on your chest. Finally gaining your bearings you realize you are haphazardly hanging from a rickety-looking bridge above a raging river by a man in a black compression shirt a bored look on his face and a phone to his ear. You don’t try to struggle only watching wide-eyed as you hope this Hitman doesn’t drop you

“Really…the wrong one? Fine, I’ll figure it out.”

Breathing is so much easier when he pulls you from the edge with one hand by the way. He doesn’t untie you sighing exasperatedly while running a hand through his hair. Finally, he takes the ducktape off your mouth waving off your barrage of questions.

“Look things happened and I was supposed to kill someone who looks a lot like you but not.”

“So you're a hitman and you made a mistake?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going to kill me for knowing you then?”

“I don’t have to.”

“Then can I go home?”

“Er no.”

“Because I’m going to talk?”

“No more like you wouldn’t be able to get into the country anyway.”

Turns out the hitman who happened to target you was incredibly too thorough and ended up burning your ID, crafting up a reasonable missing persons case for you, and making it hard for you to do anything in the country that you can’t properly even find on a map. So to combat the absolute mess of having to go through all the legalese and interrogation you’d go through to get back to your life he comes up with his solution.

“How about you just stay with me? I’ve got more than enough room.”

And he does. It's a place that’s like a small castle, he reasons it’s best that you just help clean the place and maybe make a meal or two. You accept not that you had any other choice at this point so he’ll untie you and take you there. Wherever this backwater country is he’s got a home filled with villagers who are happy to care for it. And in a language you don’t recognize they celebrate it when he brings you home, cheering and excitedly holding your hands. He can’t help but laugh at you while you try to figure things out.

“Hey! What was she saying before?”

“You really shouldn’t just blindly nod to what people are saying. That’s what gets you in trouble.”

“What else am I supposed to do?! She was smiling so wide it must’ve been something nice, right?”

“Hahaha, you're hopelessly adorable.”

When this Hitman is not sitting around laughing at you or mistranslating your requests, he’s not so bad. As the only one who understands what you’re saying and can actually respond to you in a rewarding way. Dismissing that he ruined your everyday life, he’s decent company usually smirking to himself while he makes fun of whatever you're doing.

“That hat is way too big for you and so are your clothes. It’s kinda cute.”

“It’s not cute! For whatever reason nobody will give me anything other than your clothes it’s really inconvenient.”

“How do you know they're mine?”

“Because they smell like–”

“Awwww are you smelling me in your free time (Y/n)?”

“NO! Wait it’s just an observation—”

“Ewww so perverted (Y/n)~”

When he’s not around to mess with you, he’s off to work. Wearing those same tight-fitted pants he did when you first woke up. It’s…a little sad sometimes. He is the only one you can easily communicate with but you manage to enjoy the thousands of books he has in his home, hang out with the kittens of the farm, and slowly but surely get a grasp on the language all the villagers speak. Maybe one day you can surprise him by being able to call him out the next time he tries to humiliate you to the villagers. It certainly keeps you occupied from thinking about going home anytime soon.

“That’s another body in the ground. Where’s my money?”

The hitman once again casually dismembers another target for his client, taking a quick picture before hurrying to the store. You did say you were a fan of a certain gaming system, he’s got more than enough to spend now that he’s completed another job. Not that he really needed to that amount he had could very well pay for the entire lives of generations to come. That is if he hasn’t budgeted for a luxurious life with you.

“Mmm, which one should I get? Hmm?”

“Oh, are you interested in some of our AAA titles?”

“Not for me but for my partner….I’m just worried they’ll leave me and our kids out while playing.”

“Well if you like we have some lighthearted multiplayer games.”

“That’s perfect!”

He does plan as though you already have kids. He doesn’t need to know if you two will conceive with him or adopt but it doesn’t matter it’s happening. Because to him, you two are already bound to be happily married—all according to his plan. He’s just glad it’s going off so far without a hitch.

“Hi I’m back!”

“Welcome welcome hope everything went well for you chief!”

“How are their studies coming?”

“Decent but they’ll never fully be able to grasp the codes, just as you planned.”

“Perfect. (Y/n) they’re saying you should be the one to massage me this time.”

“What?! There is no way they said that.”

Your hitman’s greatest power is his nonchalant attitude. It’s what allows you to accept that it was his carelessness that led to you being targeted in the first place. It’s what have you not looking twice when ‘the villager’ demands you both feed each other. It might take a while before you fully become the you–he envisioned in his plans but he can wait.

After all your hitman’s waited this long. He doesn’t mind waiting a little more.

“Don’t think too much and let’s just let fate that I’ve chosen decide.”

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tastesousweet · 6 months

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⭒ blurb : “if a girl walks up to you …”

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary : headcannon/blurb based on the tiktok trend “if a girl walks up to you and flirts what are you doing?”

mickey speaks : randomly had this thought tdy & hamzah has been on my mind lately soooo this one’s for my slushy girls 💐 PRETTY FLUFFY (but i hope it’s not like … cringy instead of cute)

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

you’re both fully in pajamas, tucked and wrapped in each other’s arms when you come across the tiktok trend that has flooded your for you page as of late

hamzah’s naturally aloof (due to a long day spent with you and it currently being almost 1 AM) and unfocused as he fights sleep while watching his tenth episode of teen titans.

so when you quickly unravel yourself from him and move across the room, adjusting your low hanging sweatpants accordingly, he’s dumbfounded and asking you what you’re doing and why you’re leaving him.

“you’re so dramatic, can you come here? i wanna do something”

“insulting me and asking a favor in the same sentence…” he sighs then pauses with a hand closed over his mouth, muffling “wow.”

literally and metaphorically tugging his arm to get him to participate but he’s adamant on knowing what exactly he’s getting up for

when he’s almost out of bed you tell him it’s “this tiktok thing” and he exaggerates a “NOOOO” and releases all of his weight so that he falls back on the bed and you practically fall with him due to your connected hands

of course he’s eventually convinced with a few kisses

hamzah fiddles with your hand while listening to you explain: “okay, pretend im not here and some girl comes up to you at target.”

he just stands in the center of the frame looking around the room as you walk away then return in character

you approach obnoxiously and begin some surface level flirting “hey good looking”

“you can back up a little bit,” he looks you up and down

“pause- did you just check her out???”

“no? you know there was definitely some judgement there.”

“sure ok, resume… now.” you play with your hair, “what’s someone as cute as you doing in a place like this?”

“bruh, we’re at a target” hamzah laughs through his words

you stop your role again, “and why are you taking time to respond to her?!”

“oh kill me for being distracted! you couldn’t have hired an ugly actress?”

you look up at him with squinted eyes, “you need to learn to resist the hot girls too!”

“i’m tryingggg!!!!” he rubs his eye harshly, “restart, restart.”

it cuts to a clip of you two acting once more

“yeah, we both loooveee target we’re, like, so alike,” you go to grab his arm and he turns completely away from you

“ok, and i have a girlfriend” he pretends to grab something off of a shelf

“that doesn’t matter if i don’t see her…”

you continue pestering so he resorts to plugging his ears with his fingers and talking over you, repeating that he has a girlfriend

eventually he turns back to face you and yells “OH MY GOD GIRL, I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!!!!” right into your smiley face.

he then fully manhandles you over his shoulder and spins you around before dropping you onto the plushness of your shared bed

he doesn’t even look to check on you (you’re outrageously laughing and yelling “it hurts!” in regards to your poor stomach cramping)

he runs to grab your phone from the desk while recording himself in faux panic, “guys, you can’t tell y/n i just beat up a woman please, please, pl- AHHH”

he and the video are cut off by you jumping on his back and attacking his cheek with kisses through your loud giggles.

you cuddle in bed again after turning off the lights and hamzah rewatches it for a third time since you’ve posted it to your spam account (everytime it’s over he says, “no, that was actually pretty funny.”)

by the morning it has thousands of likes and plenty of comments either full of love for the two of you together or calling hamzah the funniest man in the world (they’re just like u fr!)

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah #hamzah x reader #hamzah x y/n #slushynoobz #slushy noobz #slushy virus #thatmartinkid #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzahthefantastic x you #hamzahthefantastic fanfic

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penguinbuttcheeks · 5 months

Text

Three's a Crowd - ghost x reader

summary: you’re the latest addition to the 141. price and gaz have each other, ghost and soap vice versa. you start to realise that you’ll never be able to gain the attention of your comrades - let alone your lieutenant - the way you so desperately crave.

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

cw: angst, typical cod violence, character death, mw3 spoilers

word count: 2,318

A/N: feeling angsty so have this :D (FURTHER PROOFREADING IS NEEDED !!! but im eepy and impatient its 2am)

also i genuinely can't live without music, so i always end up adding a song that kinda reminds me of my fic. its not something that needs to be listened to - simply any song i find that kinda suits the vibe of the story and also just sharing some good music for others to enjoy !! idk, just something i enjoy doing (im rambling)

Being the latest addition to the TaskForce 141's ensemble had its downfalls.

While you were immensely grateful for the opportunity to have been recruited by John Price himself, there was still the lingering discomfort of trying to fit in with a new group.

It was childish really. Such a minuscule concern whilst in the midst of fighting a war.

It had been several months since you were enlisted, yet your relationship amongst the four members seemed to lag in comparison to the camaraderie they each shared between one another. Years of companionship amidst the terrors of combat had strengthened the bindings of their connections, forcing them to rely on one another when faced with life and death. It was something that you had yet to experience with them.

You know that these things take time - especially given that fact that it was so common to lose comrades in this field of work. Everyone was terrified of getting attached.

Over the coming days, the five of you had been preparing for an upcoming mission. It was crucial that everything panned out perfectly. Price wasn't leaving any room for fault, not when the safety of thousands were at stake. thousands of civilian lives. Men, women and children.

While Price and Gaz - with the assistance of Farah - had set out to Urzikstan to lead an infiltration on a Konni base they believed Makarov was operating at, you were assigned to Verdansk with Soap and Ghost.

The task; stop Konni from destroying the Gora dam.

The three of you were currently grouped at the meeting point, scoping the area before setting off to defuse the bombs scattered across the site. With the little numbers you had, you were going to have to rely on stealth. You hated stealth.

Stealth required trust. Trust in your comrades to complete their designated tasks without fault, trust in your comrades to stay alert.

You had none.

You were determined to change that succeeding this mission.

"Be advised, Konni personnel are grouping near multiple locations below you." Laswell's voice snaps you from your thoughts, her voice ringing through the comms.

Ghost and Soap look up at where you were perched. You were their sniper for this mission. They were relying on you to keep them covered and you were not going to let them down.

You raise your hand in the air, giving them a thumbs up to alert you were ready and in position. The two men send a curt nod in return before setting off to track down and defuse the explosives.

With Laswell over-watching the operation, and you giving the duo support from a higher vantage point, the low numbers were of little concern. The four of you knew that you would be able to carry out the mission smoothly. Besides,

Failure wasn't an option.

You watch as Ghost silently takes out several guards, advancing his way through the facility as he tries to locate the bombs.

"Bagged 'em" Laswell confirms another kill for Ghost.

“Two guards, on your three by the barrels” you alert Ghost, watching as he stealthily approaches the guards. “I’m lined up, I can get them in one”.

They’re on the ground before Ghost can even blink.

You grin as you peer through the scope of your sniper. This was going to be cake.

“Good to see you in one piece, Johnny” Ghost huffs, splayed on the floor of the heli alongside you and Soap.

“Haven’t felt better, LT.”

It was a scramble trying to meet with Nikolai and board the aircraft, lifting off amidst the enemy's gunfire. You ensured there were no men left standing by the time you all were long out of sight.

Price would be pleased.

“Yeah, I’m okay too. Thanks for asking” you huff out in annoyance, watching as Ghost lends Soap a hand, lifting him to his feet with a small grunt.

You get up by yourself, a simple side glance sent your way from Ghost before both the men turn to Nikolai. At least Soap had the decency to return a relieved smile.

“Mission accomplished, Bravo. You three took down an army and saved lives tonight” Laswell congratulates through the comms, her usual monotonous voice doing little to praise the successful operation that the three of you had completed. “Makarov will not take this well.”

“He’s a big boy,” you respond with an amused grin. “He can handle it.”

“Don’t underestimate the rage of the Russian’s” Nikolai chuckles back in response, looking back at you momentarily to ensure all three of you weren’t seriously injured.

“Speakin’ from experience, Nikolai?” You smirk back, walking over towards the front of the heli where both Ghost and Soap stand, your sniper left discarded on the metal floor of the military carrier.

“Firsthand” Nikolai simply snorts back.

The rest of the ride back is silent, Ghost and Soap sat beside each other, a singular empty seat distancing their proximity. You? You sit across from them, alone on the empty bench.

You don’t mean to let your guard down. You were simply exhausted and finally allowing yourself to stare aimlessly into space as the adrenaline in your system slowly drained from your veins.

“Don’t.”

The harsh voice has you crashing back to reality, eyes focusing in place to meet dark hazel ones, narrowed and directed at you. You hadn’t realised you were staring at Ghost while you silently decompressed. It was a rude startle from your meaningless thoughts.

“Sorry, I zoned out. My eyes were just comfortable” you respond awkwardly, adjusting your seating position and clearing your throat. “Didn’t realise I was staring”

Ghost simply glares back at you, his usual cold and emotionless stare making your hands clammy and stomach flutter. You quickly avert your gaze, turning your head away to stare at the metal tread plate flooring, instead focusing on the loud hum of the aircraft you were all seated in.

It suddenly grew too hot, too cramped in the helicopter. It was claustrophobic - suffocating almost.

You’re the first to scramble off the heli, exhaling in relief when you’re no longer boxed into the hunk of metal you had just spent the last hour travelling in. With your sniper draped loosely over your shoulder, you make your way inside the small safe house nestled on the outskirts of Verdansk. You don’t bother to wait for Soap and Ghost.

It’s late at night. Your body is near spent. Your only goal in mind was getting the heavy military gear off your body to finally allow yourself the comfort you crave.

It’s a small shack, only the bare minimum provided. An old, tattered couch and rickety square dining table with four chairs on each side, each varying in design and wood finishes. They evidently didn’t come as a set. There is a small room off to the side, various camping cots packed and stacked against the furthest wall, at our disposal for when we choose to retire for the night.

Ghost, Soap and Nikolai soon enter after you, Nikolai retreating into the small room to set up the cots and get some much needed rest.

You keep to yourself while Soap settles on the small couch, Ghost taking a seat at the dining table to clean and check over his equipment.

You hastily peel the stiff fabric from your body, vest and outerwear folded on the floor in the corner of the living room, your sniper. Resting atop of them. Your aching body can finally breathe now that the extra layers were finally discarded

“Ye did good today” Soap finally speaks up after a beat of tense silence. You turn to him in slight surprise, not expecting him to initiate any sort of conversation with you. “We’d have been fucked without ye” he continues, Scottish accent thick as ever.

You can’t help the small smile that creeps on to your face.

“You guys did the dirty work. I simply scoped the area from above” you assure modestly, not wanting to come across arrogant.

“Aye. Saved our asses several times. We owe you.”

Ghost simply scoffs quietly, standing to move outside where there would be less chatter. He was tired and didn’t want to indulge.

Your smile is wiped from your lips, replaced by a slight frown at Ghost’s exit. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the Scot.

“He’s a crabbit old man. Pay him no mind” Soap assures you, voice low and seemingly unaffected by the Lieutenant’s departure. “The lad’s not one for meaningless blether.”

You nod, evidently disappointed

Soap observes you silently, taking in your defeated expression, a low hum of acknowledgment absentmindedly leaving his tight lips.

"Ye like the Lieutenant" he voices aloud. There was no room for argument in his statement.

Your head darts to Soap in stunned horror, mouth parted in shock. You're unable to respond, Soap speaking up before you're able to form your words.

"Keen een."

You immediately shut your mouth. There was no point in arguing. He knew.

Soap chuckles, a bitter and amused sound that leaves you feeling uneasy.

"Foolhardy choice"

You watch as Soap leaves to the makeshift bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone with your thoughts and anxieties. You don't get much sleep that night.

Returning to the 141 base was a relief in itself.

Touching down on British soil allowed you to finally relax. You were finally familiar with your surroundings once again.

You sigh happily upon entering your private quarters, throwing your bag carelessly to the ground. A shower was in order. You waste no time in stripping down bare to prepare yourself for the best shower of your life.

When you emerge from the shower, hair still damp and leaving small patches of dampness along the fabric of your fresh shirt you immediately make your way to the rec room. Some caffeine was in order if you were going to set your sleep schedule back to its usual.

You inhale sharply when you see Ghost sat alone, immediately on edge.

He turns his attention to you momentarily before wordlessly resuming back to the reports in his hands.

Message received.

You quietly walk over to the coffee machine, pulling out a mug as you put the kettle on.

You keep your eyes trained on anything but Ghost, not wanting to anger him again. You can't help but lose yourself in your thoughts once again as you wait for the water to finish boiling.

It wasn't anything more than a physical attraction that you had towards the aloof man. You didn't know the slightest thing about him. You did know however, that he was loyal. Just from your observations alone - it was obvious just how passionate he was about the 141. He would lay his life down without a second thought to ensure a mission was successful, to ensure his teammates were safe.

All of his teammates, save for you.

He was a machine during training, a monster on the field. Rippling muscle and deadly speed, accuracy that rivals even Captain Price himself.

So many times you've caught yourself staring, admiring from the peripherals of your vision with your lip caught between your teeth. You felt like a lovesick teen in high school. It was absolutely infuriating.

"It won't make itself"

You jolt in alarm, head whipping towards the voice. Ghost simply stares at you, eyebrow raised. His skull mask was replaced by his usual black balaclava he wore around base, the prominent shape of his brow bones underneath the knit fabric the only giveaway of his expression. His thick thighs are spread lazily in front of him, large feet planted on the floor as he leans back against the dark leather couch, papers still in hand.

You quickly tear your eyes away from him once again.

"I know." You internally grimace at your response. Stupid. So stupid.

Ghost chuckles, still eyeing you as you stare dumbly down at the now finished boiling kettle and empty mug.

"You're an open book" he speaks up, shaking his head slightly in disapproval, lowering his eyes back down to his reports. "You need to keep your head in the game, sergeant. This is a war, not a dating reality."

You glimpse over at him from the corner of your eye, fighting down the heat that tries to spread across your face.

"I'm well aware of that" you respond sternly, hastily making your coffee.

Fucking. Soap.

"Start acting like it, soldier"

You swiftly leave, coffee rushed and head lowered in shame. You didn't bother drinking the sloppy coffee, instead tipping it down the bathroom sink and watching as it swirls down the drain.

Makarov was defeated - the 141 finally accomplishing what they had chased like hell hounds for months - finally at its end.

Ghost stares down at your lifeless eyes.

What should have been Soap’s life was instead replaced with your own.

It was a selfless act of bravery.

No one was fast enough to respond. One minute you were here, yelling out to Soap in alarm, the next you were motionless. An instant death after Makarov lodged his final bullet in your skull.

Ghost knows that he should feel something - anything for the life lost. His teammate stolen from life too soon, but he can't find it in himself to care.

Price places a large hand on Ghost's shoulder, pulling him away from the scene.

The Taskforce retreats. They would send reinforcements to retrieve your body, to be able to send something back to your loved ones waiting anxiously on your return.

It was a shame really. The potential you had was evident, destined to continue fighting for your country alongside Ghost, Price and Gaz.

Ghost turns on his heel, following after his comrades and boarding the heli, your empty seat bringing a deep sense of impending doom, the reality finally setting in for the four men.

Ghost scoffs, shaking his head.

Three was always a crowd

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heartless-tate · 7 months

Text

Hopelessly falling ❀ Azriel X reader

summary: Azriel is hopelessly pining after you. He rescued you two months ago and now you live in the library and help the priestesses. He spends everyday wrapped in thoughts of you, but you barely even seem to know he exists.

A/n : Hey guys! This is my first fic for this fandom, I had another account for a different fandom. But I’ve always loved SJM world and I think it’s time I started writing for it. If you want part two let me know! <3

word count; 2k

warnings; disturbing details of gore? Cussing, death, family death, mentions of murder, reader forgetting to eat, depression, blood mention, I think that covers it all? No use of y/n

Blood- blood was everywhere- and all he could focus on were eyes filled with terror staring back at him- Azriel shook the horrendous memory out of his head, wishing it had never happened this way.

Thousands of memories had compiled in his head over the 500 years of his existence, most of them being horrifying and kept him awake at night, but that night seemed to haunt him the most. But as much as he hated to say it- that night was the only reason he met you. Oh, fate was such a cruel, cruel, cruel- creature. Because that night was the same reason he never had the pleasure of seeing you smile. You now worked in the library with priestesses who had endured the same trauma as you, and while he was hoping one day you would heal mentally, he knew the chances were rare.

Azriel stretched his stiff wings and adjusted to standing on his left foot, letting the other rest. He was cloaked by his shadows as he watched you re-shelve books and push along the book cart. You seemed lost in thought, your mind in a far, far, far away place. He watched as that doll-like, lifeless, depressed look came over your face, and he wanted to growl and rip to shreds whatever was upsetting you- but he knew that he couldn't shred memories- and it made him feel more hopeless than anything. He hated it. He wanted to make you feel safe again, and make those beautiful lips spread with joy, your eyes gleaming with happiness.

He had saved you that night, wrapping you in his arms after he had killed off the attackers. He flew you to a healer, and let you make the choice of where you wanted to go- which was here. He hadn't had contact with you ever since, but thoughts of you plagued his mind making him desperate for a lick of attention from you. He wanted to give you time to heal but at this point it seemed the stench of depression on you had grown stronger everyday.

A thump sounded, snatching him away from his thoughts, as a priestess dropped off a giant stack of books in your cart to shelve. He watched as you winced at the noise, turning and sighing at the amount of books in the cart. Your eyes darkened and he knew that your mind went back to that awful place. He couldn't stand it- at this rate he was ready to put underwear on his head and dance like a maniac if it would make you smile.

You. You, you, you, you. Every time he saw you, it was like everything else stopped- the world stopping, and you- your mere presence was demanding his attention. A room full of hundreds of females and males pining after him- wouldn't even take his attention from you if you were hiding in the corner.

Azriel cursed himself, realizing he was so- hopelessly and shamelessly falling for you.

__________________________

Your cart was filled with at least 60 books at this point. People never realize how much work goes into helping at a library. After- that day, you spent your time in between the shelves, putting books back where they belonged. Usually, the work was enough to distract you from what happened two months ago. But when it was late in the hours of night and it was just you and the quiet darkness, your thoughts always went to that same place.

Screams- men shouting- and then utter silence. Piercing hazel eyes were staring at you. Arms were wrapping around you, everything was eerily quiet now. You swear you could hear blood dripping onto the floor from the body of your sibling.

“No- my- don’t take me from them please-“

Your words fell on deaf ears, whoever was carrying you pushed your head into their shoulder. You couldn’t see your sibling anymore- your hands started clawing at the jackets of whoever was taking you away- they were taking you away from them-

“Hey- it’s okay, you’re safe now. I’ve got you, I’m gonna take you to a healer, okay?” The man said. His voice was oddly gentle and sad in a way- why was he sad? It wasn’t his family who was brutally murdered in front of him. It was yours, and he was taking you away from them. Your mouth opened to scream at him to let go, but your mind processed his words. Healer? Why did you need a healer? You couldn’t feel anything. It was like everything was numb. You forcefully lifted your head despite his hands trying to block your sight. You were now in your living room, and everything reeked of death. Blood was everywhere. In the corner your fathers corpse laid still, eyes wide and unblinking. His stomach had been cut open, his organs spilling onto the floor.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream. “Papa-“

You gasped as you heard a loud noise of something falling. It was late in the evening- barely anyone was here. It was just you and a few other priestesses, and they were graceful. They rarely made loud noises like that.

Your head snapped to where the noise was from, and you spot him.

The shadowsinger was squatted on the ground picking up a book he had dropped. His eyes scanned the room as if making sure nobody had seen him being clumsy, until they landed on you. His cheeks flushed a little, and he offered you a shy smile as he stood and placed the book back in its proper place.

You wondered how he managed to drop a book- he was the night court’s spy master for cauldron’s sake! His eyes didn’t leave yours once. Some of the priestesses gossiped of his beauty, and fuck. They weren’t lying. It obviously wasn’t your first time seeing him, but it was odd to see him down here. He must’ve had Clotho’s permission. His staring was enough to make you squirm uncomfortable, and you watched as he went to take a step towards you. Nope.

You slammed your last book for this section on the shelf and grabbed your cart, rolling it away- far away from the shadowsinger. You didn’t bother turning to see his reaction as you stomped away, the racketing of the cart loud.

—————————��————

Clotho shook her head with a sigh as she watched you run in. She waved a hand as you arrived at her desk, signaling she wouldn’t report you were late this time.This wasn’t the first time you had been late, here lately it was getting harder to get out of bed. The only reason you had managed to crawl out of your bed was because the memories were becoming too loud.

You thanked her, nodding your head appreciatively as you walked to where you last left your cart. It had about 50 books, and without a doubt that number would rise as you made your way through the floors. You gave the cart a test push, and a squeaky racket sounded from it. It was getting louder everyday. Clotho flinched at the sound a look of distaste towards the cart would be on her face- you’re sure of it. She holds up a sticky note that reads, ‘I’ll put in an order for a new one today.’ You gave her a thumbs up before pushing your loud cart to where you would start off for the day.

Time passes by either slowly or fastly depending where your thoughts are for the day, and you wonder if you’re going insane by the time it gets to 3 pm. Whether the growing insanity feeling is from the squeaky racket of your cart or the fact you forgot breakfast and lunch today, you’re not sure. The library gets old quick. The first month you were here, it was easy to be distracted by the towering bookshelves and the thousands upon thousands of books you see everyday. But here lately the sights grow old, and the sound of this cart is enough to make you wonder if you should check yourself into a therapist. But atlas, you don’t. You continue the waltz of shelving books everyday. As the library grows more boring everyday, you wonder if its the right place for you. You wonder if it was the right decision to stay here, considering you feel worse then you ever did.

If it wasn’t for the fact if you left you wouldn’t have any idea what to do with your life, you would’ve asked the high lord to assist you in moving to Velaris. But what would you do with your life? Rot in bed all day?

You hear a loud grumble, and you look around the library before realizing it was your stomach. It had been making unearthly sounds since 1 pm, yelling at you to eat. But it was too late, it was 3 pm. Your hands clutched at your stomach, begging it to stop. You’d eat dinner later around 5, just a few more hours away.

Oh well, there wasn’t anything to be done. You grasped a book from your cart, turning and shelving it. Your stomach growled again, distracting you from the squeaky noise your cart made. But it didn’t hide the loud thumping noise- as if someone had tripped. You turned, only catching a glimpse of a dark shadow behind the bookshelves. Your steps were loud as you stomped out of the corner you had been in, looking for whoever it had been. But there was nothing. Nobody was near. This floor was empty except for you. Were you finally insane enough to hallucinate? You groaned in sync with your stomach as you turned back around, walking to your cart. A delicious smell- of chocolate and butter invaded your nose. You cursed whoever had entered the library with food that smelt so good, until you spotted the box sitting on your cart. That hadn’t been there. You approach your cart, eyeing the box. It was a white paperish box. You looked around again, scanning if anyone had left it here on accident but no one was near.

Curiosity got the best of you and you slowly opened the box. In it was a collection of pastries. Chocolate croissants, cookies, cupcakes, fudge- the whole bakery practically! Your stomach growled in desire. You snapped the box shut- this wasn’t yours. Right? Someone probably accidentally left it. But one bite couldn’t hurt? No! You shouldn’t. That box was clearly worth around a 100 gold coins, it would be wrong to indulge in its wonderful contents.

Fuck it. They shouldn’t of left it on your cart. You made quick work of opening the box and grabbing the most appetizing pastry there and shoving it down your throat. The flavors melted in your mouth, earning a moan of appreciation from you.

Cauldron bless whoever was dumb enough to leave this box near you.

———————————————

Azriel sat in his room at the house of wind, in the floor. His hands clutched at his face as he mentally cursed himself for tripping.

He had tripped. The first time in his entire 500 years of being alive, he stumbled trying to get away from your cart. He could feel his face burning red as he rushed out of the library, Clotho with a knowing smirk as she observed him. Clotho had been granting him permission to enter the library on the excuse of wanting to get into reading more. And they both knew it was complete bullshit. But Clotho didn’t care, knowing he stayed away from all the other priestesses- except you.

He had been watching you for a while now, realizing you had seemed to be getting worse. You had been coming in later and later every morning, forgetting meals every now and then. It was nerve wracking to him, he just wanted you better. And it seemed the library wasn’t helping you. He’d give it some time before he went to Rhys and asked if there was something else they could do for you. He just wanted you to be alright. He didn’t care if you would never fall in love as he did, as long as you were happy he could live peacefully.

Azriel hoped you would enjoy the pastries he had picked out for you. He hadn’t known what you would like best, so in a panic, he asked the manager to shove in a variety of their most popular pastries.

Azriel still couldn’t get over the fact he had tripped. His mind has been going haywire ever since he rescued you. All he could think was you, you, you and, you! We’re you alright? Did you get up this morning? Did you eat? At this point it became clear he couldn’t even focus on the simplest of tasks like staying hidden.

You had him in a chokehold. He was wrapped effortlessly around your finger, and you didn’t even know it.

I hope you enjoyed! Lmk if you want part two. 💕

#Azriel X reader #azriel x reader angst #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel acotar #Imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #acotar 5 #acosf #acotar #x reader

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mo0nfairy · 1 year

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART THREE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 6.4k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, suicidal themes, grief/death, weapons, violence, blood, maladaptive daydreaming, implied masturbation, drugging, kidnapping, unhealthy & unrealistic religious themes.

carlos oliveira's yandere traits are . . .

worshiper, delusional, & nurturing

──── Carlos Oliveira hates the scent of ink. Yet still, his hands are covered in the excess of the relentless use of such.

It stains everything. His ragged clothes, his fingers, the top secret documents he couldn't be bothered to care after. Despite his loathing of the material, it somehow seems to follow him with every step he walks. It doesn't take away the sheer relief he feels when he uses the same ink to jot down everything in his journal. While Carlos is far from home and occupied with his position as a Corporal, he fills pages upon pages of entries assigned to you. From how he swore he heard your laughter at lunch that day to obsessive hours spent writing your name over and over again, he finds it soothing, in an odd sense. Everything the ink touches revolves around you in some shape or form.

Y/N L/N. The name he will never forget.

Carlos remembers your aromatic sweat, your intoxicating breath, your perfumed skin; he will never forget how you ended his life in Raccoon City. It was persephonic, the last day of his life. Through the maze of chaos and gore, he found you, his little taste of heaven before he would face his demise. However, he is still shamefully alive. And selfishly, Carlos wishes that he had died that night. He should be grateful, as insinuated by the thousands of innocent lives lost and his family thanking the universe for sparing their boy. But, he just isn't. He can't, as much as he tries.

Even though his heart still beats, something within him has been dead for these past five years. He tries to heal his soul which decomposes with every day that goes by, but his efforts are brought to no avail. As much as he attempts to write out the fairytale he desperately wishes would materialize into reality, the truth sits and rots beneath a canopy of pretty lies.

You are dead and there is nothing he can do about it.

If Carlos thinks too much about it, he'll be brought to tears. And he can't afford another days-long meltdown filled with unruly sobbing and staggering guilt. He just can't. Instead, he defiles his brain with dreams of you that he deludes himself into believing are real. Writing his sweet spouse letters while he is away from home, buying you trinkets and clothes from foreign places, and leaving behind warm plates of food for you to enjoy. The truth of your well-being dances in the back of his head like a ghost in an attic. However, fully acknowledging you are gone would just about kill him. Carlos will prolong it as long as it can, no matter how fast the inevitable truth gains on him.

"My honey, My sweet, My lover. I will be home soon. Please wait for me, my bumblebee." Ink stains Carlos' fingers as he jots down yet another letter to you. He wonders if you also hate the way ink stains your fingers when you finally write back to him. His heart swells when he imagines you receiving his letter all safe and cozy in the home you share together. One day, he'll receive a letter back from you. The ghost of the truth lurks in the mind, but he turns his back to it. One day, he'll receive a letter back from you.

Five years without you and all that sunshine and wit he used to possess has depleted. Now, it's impossible to know when the ticking time bomb that is Carlos Oliveira may explode.

Unbeknownst to his peers, every emotion expressed is a manifestation of you, whether good or bad. After working the day away, Carlos becomes agitated after such treacherous hours without being able to bathe his mind in the light of you. The anger suffocates whatever room he walks into, causing the people within to recoil from the energy alone. No one has forgotten the time when a few colleagues had poked the bear after a single day Carlos spent unable to return to the thought of you. This inevitably caused an hour-long outburst of broken bones, furniture thrown about, and an eruption of unconsolable tears and horrifying threats. The memory still sends goosebumps across the skin of witnesses and no one has dared to cross the man ever since.

All Carlos needs is to venture back to the lustrous haven within his head. Just you and him, together in extraterrestrial bliss. It's all he needs, please let him have it.

All he needs is indulge in the heavenly sights of you at this moment. Instead of the blood-stained reality that is his life, let him spend his days out in the wild with you. Breezy Summer days where the sun beats down and soaks you in its golden, empyrean hues. Carlos sits with his back against the trunk of a willow tree and you lay on a blanket with your head resting in his lap. The enchanting, peaceful state he has found himself in is almost enough to lull him into a slumber. But, how could he dare shut his eyes when the astonishing sight of you sits right before him? Carlos traces his fingers among the tracings of sunlight that peek through the branches and rest upon your face. Beautiful. How irrevocably, indubitably, catastrophically beautiful you are.

A picnic out in an empty field where the day would be spent letting the world fall away as he looks down on the love of his life. Your lips, ever-so appetizing, are dusted with sugar from the numerous treats Carlos made for this exact date. His hand cups your cheek and he caresses your cheekbone with his thumb, your smile growing in response. And the way it tugs on his heartstrings is almost as if your mere happiness was playing him like a string instrument. He gazes at you with so much wonder, it's practically baffling how in love a man could be. You offer him a bite of the pastry in your hand, but he declines. The heat of the season's temperatures and the burning love within Carlos is more than enough to keep him satiated.

Safe, content, and alive with love. There couldn't be a more perfect way to describe this precious moment with you. Safe, content, and alive with love.

A hand waving in his face brings him back to his unforgiving reality. No more sunshine, no more birdsong, no more you. The dread that permeates his entire being could rival the pain of being stabbed in the heart. Carlos jumps in surprise and casts his eyes upward to find Tyrell, whose worried eyes peer at him through the glasses perched on his nose. His body is tense, terrified of treading over a boundary and causing another outburst. Only this time, he fears the several guards with syringes that were able to make him comply before would fail this time. And Tyrell wouldn't be able to escape Carlos' wrath with his life.

However, in the head of Carlos, he can't fathom why his colleague was suddenly so afraid of him. Maybe it was the way his expression was entirely unconscious. Maybe it was the way his eyes were wide and distant, in a completely different world. Maybe it was the way his lips would twitch into a smile that would be deemed creepy or maybe it was how he whispered unintelligible sentences under his breath. All of this remains unknown to Carlos, as he was far too busy in la-la-land to pay attention to his surroundings. Tyrell then motions to the ground, where Carlos finds how his pen had managed to roll across the floor and how his journal was now sitting face-down against the concrete. When did he drop those?

"Are you okay, man?" The question echoes as if he was standing miles away from him. Is he? Is he ok? These days, it never really feels like it. Only when he can escape to his paradise does he truly feel okay.

"You kept saying something. Over and over again." Carlos can barely render the words spoken by his friend.

"Y/N. Who is that-?"

Something snaps within Carlos. The fireworks you have ignited inside him have been snuffed out like a cigarette; the skipping of his heart trips over itself like a child sprinting down a jagged sidewalk. Your name alone sitting on someone else's tongue is more than enough to send him spiraling into an envious frenzy. You've never even met this poor man, but Carlos' brain infests his thoughts with visions of you and Tyrell together. This parasite paints images of you in the same field, in each other's arms, hopelessly devoted to one another. Happy with one another. And the stifling jealousy practically makes Carlos maniacal. It should be him, it should be him. He doesn't deserve it, but it should be him with you. Not Tyrell, never him, please not him please choose me please just choose me I will do anything baby please-

Carlos doesn't even think before he's swinging his right arm back and surging it forward to Tyrell's face. He can't win, he can't win, he can't. Permeating pain flashes like a flickering light and it courses through his entire arm. This sudden flare of weakness grants Tyrell the opportunity to block the attack before it lands. He now just stares at his friend in complete horror. Carlos falls to the floor of the infirmary and inspects the source of pain, finding that his right bicep has been covered in thick gauze. What was once white and clean is now tattered with blood-red stains. The memories hit him like a train. How could he have forgotten? Was he so caught up in his fantasies that he failed to recall what happened mere hours ago?

One of the most prominent and more so realistic fantasies (in his opinion) Carlos has is of you in heaven, watching over him like his own personal guardian angel. To finally accept your death would shatter him entirely, but to think of how your soul has lived on and is now living in promised eternal bliss calms his stuttering heart. His relentless acknowledgment of this fantasy has caused disastrous side effects, however. Behind the scenes, he has caught himself on many occasions contemplating death. To indulge in his demise and to see you on the other side, Carlos knows it shouldn't make him this exhilarated. Still, he continues to wallow in the celestial phenomenon of joining you in the clouds.

He refuses to fulfill these suicidal tendencies for the sole reason of how you'd perceive him afterward. You had ever so bravely lost your life to the wreckage of Raccoon City; you died a fucking warrior. Whom would Carlos be if he simply ended the torment by slitting his wrists? The echo of your voice barking of how much of a coward he'd be for killing himself over such dramatic, puny reasons makes Carlos recoil in shame. This obsession of his has accelerated to a degree where he'll purposely slack off during missions, hoping that he'll be fatally caught in the crossfire. A bullet through the brain and he'd wake up beside you, where you'll praise him for his bravery and how he died a hero.

To reunite with you — that is the only thing Carlos could ever want.

Today was no different. Yet, while his comrades shout for him to take cover and question why he is being such an idiot, it finally happened. Barrelling through the air is a bullet, which buries itself into the flesh of his right arm. The force sends Carlos to the ground. When others try to take hold of him and drag him to safety, he swats them off like they're nothing but pesky mosquitoes on a humid July afternoon. And he laughs so loudly and so manically, it could almost convince the enemy that the Corporal is secretly the Joker.

It all makes sense now. You had broken your right arm five years ago and now, Carlos has been shot in the exact same arm. This must be you! This must be your way of lending your hand through the sky, guiding him to join you in heaven! You are here with him and Carlos can't restrict the genuine smile and streaming tears from forming on his face. Now, however, the wounds your tender heart left have now been cared for. These doctors have defiled your mark on him; they have sullied the gift you have so kindly given him. And the fury that bubbles inside of Carlos in response is nothing short of harrowing.

Through the heaving breaths of the man he once considered to be his friend, Tyrell finally speaks up with a waver in his voice. "You-You need help, Carlos. I don't know who Y/N is, but-"

"YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!" Carlos' outburst explodes and the ringing of it settles like a blast wave. It bounces off the walls and reverberates through the ears of both men.

The anger is practically palpable. What Tyrell failed to notice through that rageful veneer was the pieces of Carlos' broken heart that lies beneath. With every passing second, this phantom within him reminds him of the state of your well-being. You're dead, you're gone, I won't see you ever again. With naivety Carlos excuses as the truth, he continues to ignore this voice. He has been stuck in a five-year-long chase with his logic and will continue running for five more if he needs to. And slowly but surely, this endless race is tearing him apart.

Tyrell leaves without so much as another breath. One question stays heavy on his mind, though. Whoever you are, Y/N, what the fuck have you done to him?

The patient must be given PTO to avoid another breakdown that could potentially accelerate into lethal violence — that was the "excuse" the doctors gave to the Sergeant regarding Carlos' wellbeing. This leaves him here. Alone and driving back to his estate. Meanwhile, his brain is blooming with iridescent fantasies he claims to be memories. Driving home to you after a long day of work and bringing you all the money and love you could ever ask for. He wonders, would you wait for him to come home? Would he find you asleep on the sofa, succumbing to your drowsiness before he'd be able to open the door? Or would you be in the bedroom? The soft glow of the lamp light framing your face as you peel back the covers, welcoming him into your idyllic embrace?

The tires of his car begin to skid off the road. Carlos is brought out of his imagination, where he then jerks the vehicle back into its proper position in the lane. You may just be the death of him, he muses. And when he finally arrives home, he tries to ignore the love letters he sent to you piling in the mailbox, the trinkets and clothes he bought you collecting dust, and the dinner he left for you that is now putrid and overwhelmed with mold. He tries to avoid how much it actually kills him. But still, this aching sense of dread rots in the pit of his stomach. It isn't until he glances at the calendar pinned on the wall does the devastation finally settle like fresh snow.

The date today was September 28th, 2004.

Six years.

It's been six years since he survived Raccoon City; it's been six years since he met you and lost you on the same night. This isn't the first revelation that comes to mind, though. Instead, he feels absolutely mortified by his own negligence. It's your sixth-year anniversary, how could he have forgotten? What kind of person, boyfriend, husband is he to forget this day? He should have brought home chocolate, flowers, shit, maybe even taken you on a month-long vacation to a resort across the world. God, how could he be so fucking stupid? You two could have been at each other's side during the most important day of the year (besides your birthday, of course). But no, he just had to get so caught up in his head that he forgot the anniversary of the day that made him the man he is today.

Another epiphany, one of the much more luminescent standards, hits Carlos once again. This must be why you had never written back to him. You aren't dead, you're simply upset with him! All the letters, all the gifts, all the plates of food, everything you have neglected — it was just your way of expressing your anger. Ha, take that, brain! And despite the circumstances, Carlos imagines the scowl on your face and is absolutely giddy from the vision alone. You're upset with him, yes, but you're alive. His sweet lover is here with a beating heart and an angry head. And God, does it make Carlos practically shiver with glee.

He then storms through his house, looking into every nook and cranny in search of you. "Y/N? Honey? Honey, it's me! Look, I know you're upset, but I promise I will do everything I can to make it up to you!"

"Where would you like to go? Hawaii? Paris? Shit, Italy? Wherever you'd like, Y/N!" With each room left devoid of you, that wrenching misery returns piece by piece and yanks on what is left of his heart. His voice begins to crack as he continues to shout for you. "Y/N, please! Please come out, honey! I'll do anything, Y/N... Please..."

Carlos then collapses to the hardwood floor, his body crushed with the sobs now protruding from his chest. Tears pour down his cheeks with uncontrollable force before landing on the ground beneath. And he cries so violently that he fears his ribcage may shatter from the force of it alone. He can't accept it, he can't, he can't, he can't. Even if this is what the rest of his life looks like, just veiling the truth with delusional fantasies, Carlos will never face the honest conclusion. He just can't.

"Please, bumblebee... I need you..." It's a final, desperate prayer. For your presence or for mercy, Carlos isn't exactly sure which.

He then digs beneath the collar of his shirt and fishes out the necklace he has worn for six years now. Swung upon a rusted chain is the charm of a bumblebee, the yellow and black shades now decayed with age. Carlos (as forgetful as he now realized he is today) will never forget when he first received the necklace. It was right before you had boarded the subway train that would eventually lead to your departure from life. How you enveloped him in your sugar-sweet hug and the way your natural musk sat on your skin still drives him nuts after all these years. The memory brings him great comfort on restless nights spent tossing and turning in bed.

At that moment, however, he never realized how constricting his hold was on you until he hears something snap. Opening his eyes and awakening from the stupor of his cartoon-esque infatuation, he finds how he had underestimated his strength and crushed the clasp of your necklace. The state of your beloved jewelry piece is left oblivious to you. Carlos wasn't given a second to process what had happened before you're peeling your arms off of him and boarding the train. In his hands are the remnants of the necklace you left behind.

The insect symbolizes perseverance, which he finds is a perfect way to describe his life today. Persevering through every day until he can finally let his body rest six feet under; persevering through every day until he can join his honey, his bumblebee through the gates of heaven. Carlos presses another kiss of millions to the pendant as he sits in his lonely house, pretending it is your skin beneath his lips instead of the rusted metal. His heart is shattered, his body is weak, and his brain is infested with every kind of mayhem he has ever known, but he will push through it. He will push through any and all kind of chaos knowing you are at the end of the finish line. Waiting for him.

The quick tune of an email alert brings Carlos out of his lovesick, grief-burdened daze. Suddenly being torn away from the thought of you makes rage flood through his veins. He stomps over to shut his computer off, maybe even throw the monitor against the wall in the process. When he catches a glimpse of what is on his computer, he hesitates. A loud gasp then escapes from him.

On his computer is an email from an old friend.

Carlos is able to fly into the country in less than twenty-four hours. He has to take several deep breaths in order to eradicate the black dots dancing in his vision as he races to Jill's apartment. Seeing her face and the present relief in her expression, the all-too-overwhelming revelation settles. Carlos is surprised he hadn't blacked out right there on her doorstep in response. It's time to finally get you back.

And just like Jill and Carlos had orchestrated after two weeks of planning how they'd release you from Umbrella's clutches, one sip of the cup of tea in your hands and you were out like a light. Your collapse was harsh, evident in the loud thud that permeated when you landed. Fortunately, you had your blanket-cape there to cushion your fall. It doesn't stop the two from bursting the bathroom door open and rushing to your aid, however.

Without your knowledge, Jill and Carlos then proceed to take you far, far away from the place you had once called home.

"What the fuck?"

Despite knowing you were sleeping soundly just several rooms over, your sudden presence still manages to have their breath locked in their throat. The way you look at one another contradicts each other in such discrete ways, it's almost comical. You're hyperventilating, staring at the scene in front of you with eyes blown in crazed shock. Six years of grieving through the most traumatic night of your life, why is it now you find out they have been alive this whole time? These two, however, stare into your soul with so much wonder, you're almost convinced they thought they were looking at some sort of mythological creature. It's almost as if they're hypnotized. No movement, no response — just pure amazement at the sight of you alive and looking at them with eyes full of life.

It isn't until you take a cautious step back does it trigger them to escape their state of captivation. You venturing further away from them, even just a pace — they can't let it happen. Never again. While Jill resorts to calmly approaching you as if you were a stray cat, Carlos makes an abrupt dash for you. You take several more steps backward before the man you presumed to be dead became inescapable. With another onslaught of tears brimming in his eyes and a whimper fleeing from his throat, Carlos practically tackles you into a tenacious embrace.

The hold he has on you is ridden with disbelief and desperation. He's shaking against your body like an Autumn leaf drifting through the wind. Burying his nose further into your neck, he inhales the musk that sits on your skin as if he had been trapped underwater and you were a pocket of air. God, Carlos wasn't even able to look at you for more than one second before he started blubbering like a baby. The man is so absorbed in the moment of finally reuniting with you, he almost misses it when Jill smacks him on his arm and growls through clenched teeth for him to "get his fucking shit together." But, Carlos refuses to budge. He is ready to beg Jill to let him stay here, to please let him revel in the fact that this isn't another fantasy someone will wake him out of.

He somehow nestles his face further into the crook of your neck and brings your body closer to his, almost as if he was trying to mold you together as one. And at this moment, Carlos has yet another revelation. Years upon years of imagining what heaven looks like, he was entirely incorrect. There are no clouds, no birdsong, no vibrant gardens. This. Right here in this moment, this is what heaven is. To have you, the partner of his dreams, so close to him is nothing short of heavenly. For six years, he has dreamed of this moment. And if he were to die at this moment, Carlos would be elated to know he died the happiest he has ever been in his whole life.

Meanwhile, you're thrashing in the tight hold of his constricted strength. It's almost hard for you to breathe with how hard he’s squeezing you. The woman you see over his shoulder is collected, but only a fool would miss the way her shoulders tense and nostrils flare with rage (and a sliver of possessiveness, too). She receives your silent plea and grabs a fistful of his mop-head of hair, using all the might in her arm to pull him away from his own bear hug. Carlos reluctantly loosens his grasp on your form. However, he then resorts to checking you for any and all signs of life.

The past six years have been spent dodging the logical answer to your disappearance. Now, however, the sight of you alive is just too good to be true. He begins thoroughly checking your body for a pulse, listening intently to any irregularities in your heartbeat. Anything to assure him you are actually alive and breathing. When every sign and question points to 'yes' over if you are here, Carlos can hardly contain it. Finally seeing you walking, looking, talking, alive — it's like the crescendo of a beautiful song.

Jill, as collected as she is, does not differ from Carlos' state of emotion very much. She has thought of this moment at least a million times, rehearsing every syllable and breath to make the moment all the more perfect. Now, however, every perceivable thought in her head was robbed the second you entered the room. How desperately she wishes to reassure your safety, inform you of the lies you were told, and vow to never let another soul lay a single hand on you ever again. But, with her racing heart and this grizzly bear of a man latched to you like a leech, her idea of the perfect reunion has been spoiled. Still, for six years she has longed for this. Whether it's a steamy kiss beneath the moonlight or caught in Carlos' mess of tears, she couldn't be more elated to finally have you again.

Much to your dismay, your empty stomach then grumbles its frustrations into the silent air. In response, your face grows warm in embarrassment. You had been so occupied with the current events and battling your shock, the dinner you had missed out on the night before had gone overlooked. The two, however, react much differently to your perceptible hunger than you. Without a mere second to waste, they're fawning over you as if you were some powerful deity and they were your humble, loyal servants. Their infantilizing treatment of you makes your skin burn with even more heaps of humiliation.

"Oh? Are you hungry? I've almost finished breakfast!" Carlos breaks physical contact to return to the stove and you have to restrain yourself from expressing your perceptible relief.

"I... I didn't have dinner last night." With an exhale of dry laughter, your attempt to lighten the mood only does the opposite. How could they have let you go hungry? They brought you here to care for you the way they deserve and they have already failed!

A gentle hand on your lower back causes you to jump in startlement. You find Jill beside you, who helps guide your trembling legs to the kitchen table. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice the way her hand lingers. Finally free of any unsolicited touch, you sit down at the end of the table. The only way you can bring yourself to any state of ease is to ignore the relentless cooing of the woman beside you and the furious scraping of a spatula against a pan. Almost as if Carlos was speeding through the process of cooking in order to get back to you sooner. Jill then sits beside you, taking your hands into hers. Being free of physical contact was good while it lasted, you joke to yourself.

"You're real... You're real, my butterfly, you're real." Jill indulges in the reality of your genuine touch, before shaking her head as if to wobble her rationality back in place.

A plate is soon served before you. And it is easily the most delectable dish you had ever seen; it looked like something straight out of a magazine, despite the frivolous efforts made by the chef. A gourmet omelet sits in front of you, steam pervading the air in invading your nostrils with its mouth-watering aroma. Adorned with spinach, tomato, and feta cheese, you could have easily downed the delicious serving in one gulp. Nausea swaying in your stomach like a boat on sea prevents you from doing such. You thank Carlos through stuttering breaths and almost miss the way his body softens from receiving your gratitude.

Always so possessive, Jill reverts your attention back to her. "There is so much you are unaware of, Y/N. But, we're here to help. You don't have to be afraid a second longer." Her reassurance does little to calm your nerves. "Right, Carlos?" He only nods weakly, completely dazed as he stares at you in adoration. Had he even heard what she said?

"We will not let anything happen to you." The gravity of her statement practically touches your bones with its weight. It scares you, the severity of the declaration.

Terrified of angering them (even though there is not a single thing you could do that would ever irritate them), you grasp the fork laid out for you on the pristine table. Your efforts are halted by Carlos, who sits down beside you, opposite of Jill. To satiate his gnawing need for you to be close, he pushes his chair to touch yours until you are both shoulder-to-shoulder. After all, you must be so terrified upon being kidnapped by such an evil corporation. It is his touch and comfort you need to lull you back into a place of tranquility, he's sure of it.

Carlos then takes the fork from your hands, nearly passing out when your thumb grazes his hand. To your horror, he plucks some food onto the utensil and holds it up to your lips, ushering you to let him feed you. Almost as if this was some romantic anniversary or something. Reluctantly, you open your mouth and let him place the bite of food on your tongue. And you would be a liar if you said this wasn't the most delicious meal you have ever eaten. Your tastebuds adorned in succulent food and flavorful seasoning, you joke that this dish is compensation for all the turmoil this morning has brought.

Slowly, as Carlos was painfully milking the moment for as long as he could, your hunger is satiated. The joy he garners from merely feeding you radiates off of him like a campfire against the dark night brume. Once the plate is wiped clean of even the smallest crumb (despite your assurances to him that you were full), Jill then wipes the corner of your mouth with her thumb. Your holy attention is reverted back to Carlos when he pokes your lips with a straw, once again, ushering you to let him nourish your stomach. "To wash it down" he excuses, with far too much exhilaration hanging heavy in his tone.

Indulging in the cold, fresh water as it cascades down your throat, you miss how Jill brings her thumb, now adorned with bits of food and your saliva, into her mouth. And she just relishes in the absolute taste of you. Her vision goes hazy and her eyelids droop from the ecstasy. She would have let herself completely fall into the arms of enrapturing oblivion if it weren't for the fact you were right beside her. Carlos takes notice, however, and a sneer forms on his lips as he looks at her in disgust. Jill bites her tongue, holding herself back from pointing out how he is no different. So easily, she could inform you of how after your intimate bath together, she found him inhaling your sweater with his eyes rolled back into his skull and his hand stuffed into his pants. If she were to voice this, however, the man would easily throw himself over the table and attack her like a feral animal. She can handle him, but you don't need even more stress.

Upon being thrust into the middle of this mess, the only thing you can do is watch as the obsession of Jill and Carlos play out before your very eyes. And the physical manifestation of your return has caused disastrous consequences. Six years and you're ashamed to say you have forgotten what their facial features looked like. The memory remains as a blurred, distorted mess of blood and grime. An expression of all the trauma you all have endured. Now, however, you'd be damned if those were two expressions you could ever forget.

Carlos and his dark goo-goo eyes, adorned in overwhelming heaps of drowning devotion that could swallow you whole with one glance. They're affixed with teardrops, adding onto everything cherubic, holy about the way he looks at you. Despite the sheer display of sadness leaking from his eyes, his lips exhibit the biggest, most genuine smile you have ever seen in your life. The way he looks at you, it's almost as if God himself had descended from the heavens and graced Carlos with his presence. All from just the mere act of feeding you. It was deranged, you thought to yourself.

His smile vanishes, eyebrows raising as something seems to click in his head. He then takes your right arm gingerly into his grasp, fingers treading amongst the field of goosebumps blossoming on your skin. "Your arm, you poor thing... Are you okay, honey?" The worry in his voice makes you shiver with convulsion. It takes you several seconds to compute that he was referring to the injury you endured six whole years ago.

Jill and her cheeks that are blazon in hues reminiscent of two ripe cherries, appending a sort of childish innocence to her always-stoic expression. The way her eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed displayed a sense of fury — presumably toward the man clinging onto you like a lifeline. When she looks at you, however, her features perceptibly soften as if beams of sunlight had enveloped her after years of being in the depths of Winter. It was deranged, you thought to yourself.

"You... You kidnapped me..." Even through all the violence and torment these two have endured, nothing had cut deep than those three words. The waver in your voice, the emotions brimming in your eyes, the trembling frown plastered on your lips. God, it killed them right then and there.

They begin to ramble and deny your accusation. All as if it wasn't a lie coming out of their mouths. And in their heads, it was anything but a lie. They truly believed that they saved you as if it was a genuine fact. Somehow, they manage to inch closer to you. The empty air around you becomes suffused with their waving hands and panicked explanations. All to convince you that they would never hurt you. Never.

"You're upset, Y/N, we understand. But you have to know that this was for your own good!" Jill remains the voice of reason, if that's what you would name it. Meanwhile, Carlos throws shambles of assurances such as, "It's not true!" and "I need you!" your way, hoping that something, anything will mend your fears.

And poor you. So confused, so terrified, so bewildered. All you could want at this moment is to go back twelve hours ago. To leave with your friend the second they entered the room, to scrutinize what in your home had caused you to black out, to burst down the front door and beg the the surrounding security guards to save you. Even though the truth of your “home” simmers just beneath the surface, itching to claw its way out, you still find yourself aching to go back to the way things were. Even if it is all just a fat lie. Anything is better than this.

Miles upon miles away, the three of you are completely unaware of the fourth presence treading closer to their secret. Suspicions high, Tyrell can't help but use some of his free time to venture into why Jill and Carlos had suddenly vanished. For the umpteenth time, he looks through more footage from the security system Jill was so insistent on receiving. And what he finds is horrifying. The two people he had once considered his friends were seen climbing through a window, to where they escape moments later with an unconscious body.

A flare of guilt spreads through him. Unwillingly, he had actively played a part in this. Whoever you were, he felt inclined to take full responsibility for helping these two take this innocent life away. To be kidnapped, murdered, he doesn't know. What Tyrell does know, however, is that he feels to be partially blamed for this. When he does further research, his heart sinks even deeper into the pit of his stomach. Reports of a missing patient were sent around the establishment. Y/N L/N, a potential runaway was actually the body nestled tight in Carlos' arms. He remembers how he had spoken that name and the reaction it garnered from Carlos; he remembers seeing the name on the door of the room Jill relentlessly paid him to receive footage of.

With that, Tyrell reports the incident. An investigation commences and two major clues are found. A shattered mug that had been filled with sedation-induced tea and specks of blood on the bathroom floor that have been tested positive for matching one of the assailants. Now, a manhunt is in play for Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira.

At his desk that was overwhelmed with littering documents, Tyrell eavesdrops on a conversation between his two colleagues.

"You won't believe who they've gotten to take over Carlos' spot for this mission!"

"Who?"

"Leon Kennedy."

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

THE BONUS TRACK !

❝ WE WERE WILD AND FLUORESCENT

COME HOME TO MY HEART . . . ❞

this is what i imagined the necklace carlos stole borrowed from you to look like. however, you can imagine it as whatever you'd like!

1K notes · View notes

sibsivsig · 3 months

Text

Random Relationship Headcanons

Itachi X Gn!Reader

Shisui X Gn!Reader

Warnings: None

Itachi

When you look into the dictionary definition of "caring", you'll see his face next to it

No matter what you do, he'll always be worried

Climb onto the counter to reach something? He'll stand behind you, ready to catch you

Caught a cold? He's nursing you back to health with the best quality food and treatment

Had a bad day? He's preparing you a bath and gives you a massage

He's very much giving you princess treatment

He doesn't even ask for you to reciprocate it

(But you better do)

Sadly you sometimes go a long time without seeing each other because of your missions

And when he is home he also wants to spend time with his family and Shisui

But he finds the time

He remembers every detail about you, even if you only absentmindedly mentioned it once

He always pays, always

Don't even think about grabbing your wallet

But as much as he likes treating you, he loves cooking for you himself

Or even better: Cooking together

He adores the domestic feeling of it

He often daydreams about getting married, moving in together and having 1 or 2 (maybe even 3) children together

But he knows that he's too busy for it

Just in general a very soft, caring relationship

Shisui

The perfect boyfriend

He's amazing in absolutely everything

Although he's often very busy with missions

Playfights, so many playfights

He lives for them

Kinda competitive with you

Who's the better cuddler

Who's the better kisser

He just wants to be close with you

Please, please, please wear his shirts, he loves it

Really jealous guy

He sees someone being flirty with you and he's glaring at them with a thousand yard stare

He's an adorable guy that speaks in a baby voice and begs for cuddles so it's easy to forget he's a highly trained shinobi with a kill count in the hundreds

Always touching you in some way

An arm around your shoulder, hand on your waist, head on your shoulder

Physical touch is his love language <3

He also loves carrying you, no matter where you go

How he does it depends on his mood

Feeling romantic? Carries you bridal style

Feeling gentle? Carries you on his back

Feeling like being a tease? Carries you like a sick of rice over his shoulder

He can no longer fall asleep without you next to him and is not shy to tell you that

Another one who wants to get married as quickly as possible

He just wants the world to know you're his <3

A/N: I don't even have an excuse why I didn't post in so post in so long, usually I'm not one to procrastinate things. I'm really sorry about that everyone, I promise to be more active from now on

#naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto x reader #naruto shippuden x reader #naruto headcanons #shisui uchiha #shisui x reader #shisui headcanons #itachi uchiha #itachi x reader #itachi headcanons

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luveline · 1 year

Note

jadey baby i love roan smmmm , pls pls pls write something where r steps in when eddie forgets to mention muffins for moms day at school , she still shows up & ed being worried abt roan also shows up thinking no one would be there but R ALREADY IS SO HE JOINS

thank you for your request lovely! i changed it a little but I hope you still enjoy! eddie and roan —formerly single dad!eddie forgets to tell you about your (not quite) step-daughter’s mommy event, but you pull through.

Eddie is so dead. He's so dead. You're gonna kill him, and then Roan's heartbreak is gonna kill him, and then Wayne might kill him too (though Wayne might laugh at him, actually).

Fuck, he's a shit dad.

Okay, he's not a shit dad, and he can fix it.

He's literally elbow deep in an engine when he realises what day it is today. He's had the flyer on the dashboard of his car for three weeks, every day meaning to bring it in to show you and everyday forgetting. He doesn't even stop to think about why he might not have seen the flyer yesterday night or this morning, yanking his hands out of the engine and shoving the greased torque wrench into Leonard's chest.

Wayne lifts his head from a welding job, mask in place, shouting to be heard over the noise of the shop, "Where's the fire?"

"It's Muffins with Moms," Eddie says, "and I forgot to tell Y/N and I've never missed one before."

"Do you have muffins?" Wayne asks.

"Um, no, but I can get through without it, right?" he asks in a rush, digging for his keys in the fishbowl. "They feel sorry for me because I'm a single dad."

"You're not a single dad."

"But I was!" he yells as he sprints out of the shop. The car ride is a blur (but he's not a bitch so he doesn't speed), and he barely has time to wipe himself down with a rag and some spit before he's jogging up to the elementary school.

It's quiet in the reception where he signs in and the hallway down to Roan's classroom, so he can hear the excitement a mile away. He feels disgustingly sorry for himself but a thousand times worse for his girl, imagining her sitting all by herself as the other kids eat cake with their moms.

The door is open. No one notices him when he comes in, everyone's having too much fun. He scans for Roan with his heart in her throat, expecting her sat at a table in the corner by herself, an uneaten cupcake in front of her and God, he's breaking his own heart—

He doesn't find her alone, because she's standing off to one side with you.

You pour juice into a cup for her and then yourself before putting it down. Roan raises her plastic cup, her smile a million watts, yours not far behind as you pick up your own cup and tap them together.

"Cheers," you say happily.

Roan presses her lips together. If Eddie were closer, he'd be able to hear the humming noise she makes when she's ecstatic. He's felt it a hundred times, sitting chest to chest with her on the couch, outside of the movies and at the carnival. Anywhere she feels loved.

"These are amazing," Stacey P’s mom says, a cupcake in her hands.

"Oh," you say, "thanks so much."

"I need the recipe,” agrees Stacy K’s.

"Sure, sure," you say. You turn to Roan, and the two of you try not to laugh.

You're no cupcake connoisseur, Eddie can guess exactly what convenience store they came from.

He doesn't need to be there, and he doesn't want to make a spectacle, so he leaves with his head ducked and a huge thrumming feeling in his heart before you can see him, the kind of love that can't be tamped down for anything. He rubs his fist into his hand.

He heads back to the shop and an hour later you call him, demarcated by a, "Call for baby Munson!"

"Hello?" he asks, pinning the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

"Hi, handsome, it's only me. I'm just making sure you know you're not picking Roan up today, 'cos it was that coffee morning thingy at school, you know the one?" You sound like you're just raring to tell him what exact coffee morning it was. He indulges you.

"Moms and muffins?" he asks.

"Moms and muffins!" you shout under your breath, adding a roaring sound like there's a crowd backing you up. "I'm a mom and we ate so many muffins, it's sickening. And– I'll tell you when you get home."

"No, tell me now," Eddie says.

"You should have seen her face," you say, your excitement melding to a tender love. "I don't think she wanted to believe I was coming just in case I didn't. But she looked like she was going to cry the second I walked in, and she hugged me for ten minutes. I had to carry her to a chair. Eddie," —you must be smiling on the other side, he can hear it— "I love doing mom stuff. I love– I love her."

Eddie wipes his forehead, grinning with you. "Thank you, sweetheart. For everything. I'm fucking stoked, seriously."

“She really didn’t know what to do with me at first, almost like she loved me but she didn't know me? She hasn’t ever been that shy with me, when we first met she was my clinger, right? We were fast friends. So it was really weird for me, to have her be like that, and she’s not the only kid without a mom in her class but I think everyone just felt so–? Like, I don't know, they had a small presentation at the front with the kids and they didn’t even ask her to get up, which was good, because she really shut down on me.”

“She’s done it before,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Her tantrums weren’t always so loud,” he says. He’d explain it to you if it felt pressing, but he can tell you the rest tonight. The gist of it is that before Roan learned to yell, she’d worry Eddie by becoming almost despondent in overwhelming situations. “Baby, I really, actually think she was that happy she just didn't know what to do with herself.”

Your breathing sounds loud in the receiver, but it isn’t upset. “I think so too. I tried, um, our strategy? Asking her what was wrong, what we could do to feel better, but it wasn’t really working, so I stole your thing. Sorry! But it worked.”

“My thing?”

“You know, when she’s had a big meltdown and she’s not getting her way, and you just talk to her about her.”

That makes it easier to picture. Eddie will sit Roan in his lap, his daughter heavy like dead weight when she’s not feeling good, and he’ll tell her anything as long as it’s about her. Like, when you were a baby, you had this thing called colic, which means you would cry and cry for hours and there was nothing grown ups could do, and the only thing that made it better was if I blew cold air in your ear really soft, like this.

Eddie can see it, Roan slouched in your lap with her arms around you, your hand covering the back of her head from everything as you told her some story of her life. You must have hundreds by now, things she doesn’t fully remember anymore. One time you saw me in the store and ditched your dad to say hello. One time you hid my shoes behind your back so I couldn’t go home. One time you got up on the kitchen table and made me sing Rockerfeller with you, and when your dad joined in you threw a Capri-Sun at him.

“What did you tell her?” he asks.

“I told her about the day we met.”

Eddie licks his lips, nodding, wondering if he should cry. If he hadn't proposed already, this would be a good shove in that direction. “Second luckiest day of my life.”

“She liked the story. She asked me if she really went on our first date. So I'll be honest, I got super cheesy and told her I wouldn't change a thing.”

“So you lied to her?” He laughs. “You wouldn’t make me a lean, mean, money machine?”

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” you reaffirm happily.

“How’d you even know about Muffins and Moms? I never showed you the flyer, forgot all about it."

“I saw it when I was looking for my prescription in your glove compartment.”

He’s half-expecting you to ask, Why? Was I not supposed to go? All panicked and worried you've overstepped. He knows he’s doing something right when you don’t.

“I meant to mention it but you were so tired I forgot,” you continue. “Maybe we’ll get takeout and nap when you come home?”

“Sounds nice.” Eddie’s about to sign off. “Wait, you’re home already?”

“Yeah, they let us take the kids home early too.”

“Ro’s with you? Where is she?”

“She’s already at the napping part, right here in my lap. Want me to wake her up?”

Eddie smiles. “No, don’t wake her up. Just give her a kiss for me. I’ll be home in a half hour, tops.”

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writeroutoftime · 6 months

Text

pawns in your game (part 2/2)

part one

pairing: cassian x reader

summary: upon waking up, cassian and the rest of the inner circle are relieved, but it seems there are still some wounds that need healing.

warnings: none, but some conversations that need to happen in ACOTAR canon lol

words: 1.6k

a/n: thank you for all the support and love for part one! sorry for the wait on the second (and final) part, I just had so much trouble! the conversation between you, cass, rhys, and feyre was written like 3 different times lol. anyway, now that it is finished, please enjoy and I'd love to hear what you think! have a fabulous day! '

(also, if you have any other requests for our acotar men, please send them my way!)

oOoOo

Two days passed since Rhys and Cass had their conversation. Neither male spoken to the other since, and word had spread through the rest of the Inner Court over what had occurred. Cass, however, couldn't find it himself to care as he continued to keep vigil over your bedside, only sleeping when he could no longer force his eyes open through the weight that threatened to drag them down.

Suddenly, body feeling as though it weighed a thousand tons, you opened your eyes, groaning at the soft sunlight that streamed into the room. The sheets beneath you felt scratchier than normal beneath your body, and it took a moment to realize you were in the med wing.

You felt a heavy weight in your left hand, and carefully, you shifted your gaze to see Cassian gripped it tightly. His back and wings were hunched over as he slept in what seemed to be the most uncomfortable position imaginable. Although you were hesitant to wake him, you needed water and to know what had happened, so you shook your hand to wake your mate up.

In response, Cass shot straight up, his siphons pulsed a warning red as if he thought you and he were in some kind of danger. But once his mind and body had more than a moment to react his hazel eyes found yours and widened to the size of saucers.

"You're up!" he shouted, tears lining his eyes. Without thinking, Cass leaned forward and engulfed your body in his, and you didn't miss the way his body shook slightly in relief.

"I'm here, I'm okay." you whispered, running your fingers through his tangled hair. "H-how long have I been out?" you whispered, voice scratchy and rough.

"Nearly a week." Cass explained, pulling away and hurrying to grab a glass of water from the bedside table. "Here, drink."

The cool relief of water slipped down your throat, and you already felt better. Sore, you tried to stretch your body out to the best of your ability while trying to recall everything that occurred after leaving the Spring Court manor. "What happened?"

Cass barely held back a growl at the thought. "While you and Rhysand were in the Spring Court, there was an armed guard looking to shoot him with an arrow. But you, being the selfless female you are," Cass chided. "jumped in front of him and were shot with an especially strong dose of poison."

Silence rested between you both, and you could feel the waves of grief that poured down from Cassian's side of the bond. You could only imagine what he must have felt like the past week. If the roles had been reversed, you would have been a mess, tearing apart anything and anyone that got in the way of your wrath.

"I-I think I remember jumping in front of Rhys. He killed the Spring Court solider right away and didn't know what to do. Somehow, he managed to winnow us both back here, and that's all I remember." you admitted.

"That damn bargain." Cass said, growling this time. "We could do the same thing, and then how fucked would the Night Court be."

There was an anger that pulsed from Cass which went deeper than just being worried about his mate. Slowly, you shifted from your spot and moved to sit up against your pillows. "Cass," you began slowly. "what else happened while I was asleep?"

Cassian did not look the least bit guilty as he looked you straight in the eyes. "I told Rhysand off. I told him how I felt about his precious bargain that allows him and Feyre to stay protected while the rest of us suffer the consequences."

An odd feeling washed over you at Cassian's words. On one hand, you can't believe that Cass spoke those words to his brother - to his High Lord. On the other hand, you always felt a small pang of pride that Cassian stood his ground, and yours by extension. But you knew neither of those feelings fixed the larger issue at hand.

"Cass," you started, before he interrupted you.

"I'm not sorry for what I said. It's something we've all been thinking since before Nyx's birth, but, apparently, I was the only one who had the balls to actually say something.

Your teeth caught against your lips, trying, and failing, to hold back a laugh at your mate's words. "I did not protect Rhys because of his and Feyre's bargain, nor because of my oath to him as High Lord." you began carefully. "I did it because he is my friend, and I know he would do the same for me." you confessed.

Cassian was disgruntled at the suggestion. Opening his mouth, most likely to spew more insults against Rhys, you beat him to the punch.

"But," you continued. "I also feel as though sometimes it is overbearing to have to be even more responsible for Rhys and Feyre's survival, especially now that Nyx is involved. I think we need to talk to them." you admitted, motioning for Cassian to rest against you so you could lean your head against his solid shoulder.

The two of you laid there for quite some time before there was a tentative knock at the door. Your High Lord and Lady stuck their heads in, trying to read Cassian's mood. However, Feyre's eyes widened when she noticed your eyes open, and body propped up in bed. A wide smile overtook her face, and she abandoned her mate to rush to your side.

"You're awake!" she cried, grasping her free hand in yours and squeezing tightly.

Rhys continued to stand by the door, wary of Cass' razor-sharp gaze that seemed to pierce through to his soul. Only the tiniest bit of his guilt alleviated seeing you up after so long. "How are you feeling?"

"Still sore, but doing alright." you admitted, shrugging your shoulders as though you had merely scrapped a knee.

There was an awkward silence that descended upon the room, and none of you knew how to fix it. Cass pulled you even closer to his side and threaded his hand in yours. Meanwhile, Feyre and Rhys shared a private conversation, silently debating who should be the first to broach the elephant in the room.

"I think we need to talk." you finally began.

At the same time, Rhys blurted out. "I'm so sorry that this happened, y/n."

You both stared at one another, really taking the other in. Rhys noted the bandage wrapped around the shoulder where the arrow had met its target. He noticed the way your eyes would flinch in pain whenever you pulled at your muscles wrong and the look of fatigue that overtook your features. From your perspective, it was impossible to miss the dark shadows under Rhys' eyes and the guilt that remained present in his eyes and across his face.

"I don't blame you for what happened. I hope you know that, Rhysand." you said, squeezing your mate's hand, as you stared straight into Rhys' violet eyes.

"But I should have been paying more attention to our surroundings. After everything that's happened with Spring, I don't know why I wasn't already expecting something like this to occur. That arrow was meant for me, y/n, and you saved my life." he said, eyes flickering to Feyre for a brief moment, his meaning clear. Rhys cleared his throat, trying not to sound as choked up. "I don't believe it's been said, and you deserve so much more than this, but thank you."

The words were simple, yet heartfelt all the same. You didn't need to be a daemati to know that Rhys meant every word he spoke. Feyre nodded her head in agreement, sending a message of thanks and gratitude your way. Your heart warmed at the gesture, but a look towards Cassian told you he still was unimpressed.

"You are my friend, no thanks necessary. Though it is appreciated nonetheless." you smiled. "But," you continued, letting the word hang in the air. "I know little of what happened before I woke up, and it feels like we need to talk about that too."

The male holding your hand at least had the decency to shift uncomfortably at the thought. Though, he still did not start up any conversation, instead, feeling justified in the words he said to defend his mate - the love of his life.

Feyre must have been filled in on the details of Rys' and Cass' conversation because a haunted look morphed across her features. "We never meant for our bargain to become a burden on our family." she whispered, staring down at her tattooed hands.

Cass scoffed at the statement, and you smacked your hand against his chest and narrowed your eyes in his direction. "What?" he protested. "I thought we wanted to have an honest conversation here?"

"Cass is right." Rhys spoke. "I don't think we every really had a discussion about what this bargain means for us as a family. So," he paused, glancing at Feyre who nodded. "we want to hear how you feel about everything that has gone down."

"I think it was a fucking stupid idea." Cass spoke up, not caring how it sounded.

"Harsh, but fair, I suppose." Rhys said with a stilted laugh, trying to ease the tension.

"I think what Cass is trying to say," you began. "is that, of course, we know what our oath to you as our High Lord and Lady means. But, when you told us about the other bargain, it felt as though the weight of the world fell on our shoulders."

Feyre reached out to grasp Rhys' hand for support. "Cassian is right, it was stupid on our part. We weren't even thinking when we made that vow."

"What would you have done, Cassian?" Rhys added, trying to appeal to his brother.

A part of your heart ached at Feyre's words. Turning your head, you gave Cassian a soft gaze and sent a wave of love and adoration down the bond. He and you both knew there wasn't anything the other wouldn't do for you. It could have just as easily been you and he with the death bargain hanging over your shoulders.

"Love may not always make sense, but that doesn't make it stupid. It's not like Cass and I wouldn't have done the same thing in a moment of high emotions." you admitted. "Though, our deaths don't necessarily lead to the Night Court being thrown into chaos."

Rhys and Feyre both looked ashamed at the statement. "That is a conversation Rhys and I have had many times. And something we've been planning to share with you all. Soon." she promised, nodding solemnly.

You and Cass both nodded at the sentiment. It was a relief to know all this worrying had not been one-sided all these months. However, Feyre's words did not - nor could not - suddenly fix everything. There was still an acknowledgement of their actions that had yet to be addressed. An acknowledgement of the fear you and the rest of the Inner Circle had felt since and all the sacrifices which had been made.

"Feyre and I see the effort you and Cass have put into keeping us safe, I hope you know that." Rhys offered. "I can't say for certain what will continue to come of this situation, but Feyre and I promise to keep looking for a solution and to make sure you, and the rest of our family, feel heard. I'm sorry it's taken until tragedy struck for us to have this talk." he finished, baring the guilt and fear that had been marring his soul for the past week to you and his brother.

Cass looked his brother in the eyes, holding the stare for a few moments. Your breath stopped as you braced yourself for another blow out, but through your squinted eyes you noticed the way the tension had dissipated from Cass' body ever so slightly.

"It doesn't fix everything," Cass started, and all three of you in the room tensed, waiting for another raging display of anger. "but it's a start." he relented.

The two Illyrians locked eyes, and Cass tightened his grip on you as he and Rhys had a silent conversation. The two knew there would be much more talking and healing that needed to happen first, but eventually you were sure things would turn out all right.

After all, it was a start.

oOoOo

a/n: there it is, part 2! like I said, I was really nervous about posting this, and I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations!

tagging: @captainsophiestark, @eerievixen, @kylaisra, @tele86, @starsinyourseyes, @lisanna2000, @highladyivy

#cassian x reader #cassian imagine #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #rita writes

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ponderingmoonlight · 4 months

Text

Because Chapter 261 broke me

„I’m really not more than a war machine, am I?”

Your eyes dart towards the white-haired man sitting next to you immediately, a feeling of deep grief getting a hold of your heart.

“Why would you even think something like that, Satoru? You’re so much more than that. You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re-“

“The strongest. That’s all I’ll ever be in this world”, he interrupts you with low voice, his gaze hanging onto the barely lit skyscrapers around both of you.

Out of instinct, you grab his hand, force him to look at you.

“You’re Satoru, even without the Gojo. I know this world has treated you rough since the day you’ve been born, I know the only person who ever saw more in you than the blessed one was Suguru. But…I’m here too, okay? And in my world, you’ll always be Satoru with the cheekiest grin and the driest humor on this earth. You’ll always be the one I’m looking up to, the one who cares about others before even thinking about himself. You’ll always be the only hope I have left in this shitty world, the prove that kindness actually exist. I love you. Not for the fact that you are Gojo, but for being here as Satoru.”

“(y/n).”

Your name is nothing but a fade away whisper, a silent prayer on top of this building with the busy streets to your feet. Only you and the man who had to suffer more than anyone else, who was forced to watch countless friends die, who carries the responsibility for this world on his broad shoulders.

“I will always choose you, Satoru. No matter how rough it gets, no matter what it does to me. I will always stay by your side.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, (y/n). You’ll never know if someday, I will be used against you as well”, he mumbles while digging his head into your neck, taking in your calming scent.

“If that’s the case I will do everything I can to get you back”, you reply without hesitation.

“It’s not that easy, love. The world of jujutsu has never been this easy. When this day comes, you’ll have to kill me.”

Instantly, you grab his face, take in the stinging sight of his glossy blue eyes. Those oh so gorgeous eyes that make his life so difficult, the eyes you’d recognize out of a thousand pairs. Why would those eyes ever want to hurt you?

-a few years later-

“Satoru?”, you croak out.

You feel like collapsing any given minute. Out of joy, grief, agony? You can’t put a finger on it. Because it shouldn’t be possible for the love of your life to stand in front of you. Because he died a painful death. Because not even Gojo Satoru is able to survive everything.

But those bright blue eyes…They look exactly like the ones you loved so much, the eyes that supported you through day and night. But at the same time, they don’t look like his at all. No, something is off, this isn’t right.

“Satoru is gone”, his familiar voice speaks out without any emotion.

“I’ll take over from now on.”

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cinnamon-galaxies · 20 days

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩

Pairings: Alastor x gn reader Summary: In which you are an annoying simp and Alastor regrets claiming your soul. Warnings/Tags: gn reader, Emberlynn-coded reader, unrequited love, reader is obsessed with Alastor and he can barely handle it, second-hand embarrassment, really, it gets uncomfortable, a whole bunch of passive aggressiveness and sarcastic remarks, Alastor questions his sanity, reader is annoying af, Alastor being Alastor, trash-fic Wordcount: 3.6k A/N: I had this idea for months but watching the latest Helluva Boss short made me actually want to write it. I hope you like this trash fic. I have many more ideas for funny (and uncomfortable) moments between Alastor and our simping reader. Comments, Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!

Spin-off: 'Curiosity Killed the Demon'

Masterlist

Alastor was a man who never felt regret because every move he made was precisely calculated, every action driven by a purpose only he fully understood. He always had an ulterior motive in mind, ensuring that he was the one who came out on top. His every decision was meticulously planned, and every word carefully chosen to keep his game running flawlessly and his grip on control unyielding. He was a mastermind at the top of Hell's food chain. One of the most powerful and feared overlords, a dealmaker at heart, with hundreds – no, thousands – of souls bound to him, all following his every command, terrified of what might happen if they disobeyed. None of them ever dared to challenge their loyalty, always doing as he said. But one in particular stood out: you.

Some might say you were just another sinner in his vast collection of pawns, but you were different. You followed him like a dog that didn’t even need a leash. When he called, you came. When he gave an order, you were already carrying it out by the time he finished speaking. You were completely, utterly devoted to him. And oh, Satan, were you irritating.

Alastor remembered the day he met you as if it were yesterday. How could he forget? It was a memory that had burned itself into his mind like a brand on the hind flank of a horse. While most souls came to him begging for help, trading their essence for a taste of power or security, you practically threw yourself at him. Your eyes had been wide as saucers, lips pursed with desperate eagerness, and a strange gleam of excitement had nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“Please, please, please! I’ll do anything for you!” you had begged, your eyes so wide it seemed like they might pop out of your head.

Alastor had narrowed his eyes, the static around him crackling with an intensity that made your hairs stand up on your neck. “Anything...?” he had replied with a slow drawl, his grin turning sharp and menacing as he leaned in closer, towering over you. His sharp canines bared in a predatory smile that would make most people flinch, but you… you only seemed more excited.

Had he known just how annoying you’d become, he might have killed and eaten you right then and there in that dark alleyway. Alastor was a patient man. At least, that's what he let others believe. But you often pushed him to the brink of madness, testing his limits as if you secretly anticipated getting double-killed. Had he considered featuring your squeaky voice on his infamous radio broadcast? More than a few times. The idea alone was deliciously tempting. He often fantasized about the sound of your screams if he ever decided to torture you. Yet, a deep-seated uncertainty always held him back. Some kind of deeply rooted fear that you might actually enjoy it. You were so wildly unpredictable that he couldn’t even tell if you would cry in agony or, disturbingly, moan in pleasure.

The thought alone horrified him.

No, he wouldn’t subject himself to that humiliation. If he weren’t already plagued by nightmares, the prospect of you enjoying your torment would certainly give him some. You were already haunting him in his waking life; he couldn’t bear the thought of you invading his rare moments of sleep, too.

Your existence felt like a cruel joke. A fucked up twist of fate or perhaps the true eternal punishment Hell had in store for him. You were utterly infuriating, a disruptive presence in Hell's chaotic tranquility. And yet, he couldn’t deny that he found some guilty pleasure in your antics. As irritating and nerve-wracking as you were, you were the most entertaining thing he’d encountered in eons. Watching you embarrass yourself without even realizing it, witnessing your clumsiness, your stupidity, and being the object of your obsessive attention, the center of your world, was better than every drug advertised in Pentagram City’s most run-down district. As uncomfortable as you made him feel, Alastor had to admit that he secretly reveled in your desperate need for attention, your never-ending search for his affection and your unwavering, completely blind, loyalty.

You followed him everywhere he went. Like a lost puppy you’d trail after him with an enthusiastic skip in your step, hopping around like a deer on a wide open field. Alastor didn’t even need to look over his shoulder to know you were there, because you always were. You followed him everywhere. To the bar, to the kitchen, to the hotel’s parlor or his outings. You’d probably even follow him to the bathroom, if you could. You were always there – eyes gleaming with devotion, your adoration conspicuous and radiating around you like the static in Alastor’s presence.

It was suffocating.

And he couldn’t even tell what was more terrifying: that you were so focused on him he could always feel your gaze burning through the back of his coat, or that your steps were so silent he couldn’t even hear them despite his almost preternatural hearing. Only an occasional squeak that made you sound like an excited guinea pig actually proved your presence, causing his ears to perk up and twitch in overstimulation.

“Alastor!” your squeaky voice warbled through the corridors of the Hazbin Hotel and Alastor stopped in tracks, holding his breath in annoyance and his smile twisting into an uncomfortable grimace. With a silent sigh he turned around and tilted his head unnaturally to the side, his red and black hair swinging with the movement like a curtain.

“Yes, my dear?” he retorted with exaggerated joy, the strain in his voice betraying the forced politeness and tinged with anything but patience. Today was one of those days he found himself regretting his decision to ever put that collar around your neck. He just wanted to be left in peace, not having the nerve to handle your exhausting presence.

You grinned at him proudly and Alastor could feel his stomach twist, nausea creeping through his guts at the recognition of the lovestruck gleam in your eyes. When you didn’t respond instantly, he narrowed his eyes, his voice losing any of that faked patience, “What is it?”

You shrugged your shoulders, though your grin didn’t waver. “Nothing!” you exclaimed enthusiastically, “I just wanted you to wait for me!”

“Ah,” Alastor retorted, unimpressed, the uncomfortable feeling inside his guts increasing. “You know, you don’t have to follow me around everywhere I go,” he said, a subtle hint of irritation in his tone, hoping you'd understand that he wanted to be left alone.

Your expression didn’t falter. In fact, it became even more eager, the gleam in your eyes so intense that Alastor could see his entire reflection in those dark orbs of yours. “But I want to be present whenever you need my assistance!” you exclaimed, interlacing your fingers in a gesture that resembled a pleading prayer.

“I can always summon you, if that's the case,” Alastor quickly explained, still not convinced by your flimsy excuse for clinging to him like a parasite.

“Oh, but I want to be close just in case you forget, my sweet Radio Demon!” you chirped, batting your eyelashes with saccharine devotion.

Alastor cringed inwardly. Why exactly did he do this to himself again? Oh, yeah, right… He hadn’t yet decided if he wanted to wring your neck or keep you around for entertainment.

“Well, that's very thoughtful of you,” he replied in a tone dripping with sarcasm. Before he could say more, you let out another joyful squeak. Alastor's ears flattened against his head as the high-pitched noise pierced his eardrums. He saw your eyes widen with delight and silently cursed himself for even attempting to sound polite – even if his words were more of a mocking jab than a genuine compliment. Yet, you seemed to take it as one. You trembled with excitement, your knees bouncing like a jackhammer. It was a wonder your vibrations didn’t send seismic waves rippling through the floor, cracking the occasional brick.

Alastor let out a sigh. “My dear,” he said, his voice smooth as honey, “your… enthusiasm is truly unmatched. But don’t you have anything better to do than… following me around all the time?”

You immediately shook your head. “No, Alastor-kun. I’ve devoted myself to being your servant,” you declared with unwavering certainty. “Besides, nothing’s better than being by your side!” You looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes, the adoration in your gaze both unsettling and pathetic. “I want to see everything you do, learn from you, be close to you. You’re just so… incredible!”

Alastor let out yet another sigh. Although he found your flattery grating, he couldn’t deny the subtle boost to his ego from your words. He knew he was exceptional, but hearing it so explicitly was an indulgence he couldn’t resist. No matter how much you grated on his nerves. “Incredible, you say?” he repeated, and you nodded with such fervor that it was clear you genuinely believed what you were saying, rather than simply using your words to flatter him. “And what, pray tell, do you find so ‘incredible’ about me?”

You blinked, obviously surprised by the question and took a moment to ponder an answer.

Alastor chuckled softly. If you were already venturing into this territory, he might as well use it to his advantage and coax you into showering him with even more compliments. It was amusing how effortlessly he could manipulate you into praising him as if he were a deity, a god deserving to be worshiped. And it took barely any effort at all. You were so completely infatuated with him that he imagined you might even write a song for him – if only your singing voice didn't sound like a saw on the verge of breaking.

“Well,” you mused aloud before gushing, “Everything!” You began to enumerate, counting on your fingers as you spoke, “Your power! Your elegance, your wit, your charisma! The way you command everyone’s attention with just your presence… How people are captivated by you… Your style, your old-fashioned charm, your impeccable sense of humor…”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he listened, struggling to keep up with the torrent of words spilling from your mouth. He stared at you, on the verge of zoning out as he tried to manage the relentless flow of praise. Did you ever need to pause for breath? How could you talk so much without gasping for air?! It was almost impressive…

“…like I said, everything, Alastor-kun. I mean, you’re the Radio Demon! You’re… absolutely remarkable! And I’d follow you to the end of Hell and back!” you concluded, your endless monologue finally coming to an end. Alastor’s grin widened, not from the sheer volume of praise you’ve just thrown at him, but from the amusement of your desperate eagerness to win his attention. From the moment you met him in that dark alleyway, you had craved his affection. It wasn’t that he had found you helpless – no, you had actively sought him out. Why? He had no idea. He would never understand your obsession nor the full extent of your feelings for him.

“Why, thank you, my dear…” he forced out between clenched teeth, his jaw tightening without him even realizing it. “It’s always nice to hear how much you admire me, but… let’s not linger on it any longer…” he added, his voice betraying the discomfort that always crept in whenever you were near.

You stared at him, your confusion practically palpable. “Why?” you asked, genuinely confused and a bit taken aback by his abrupt change in tone. “You asked me what I think of you. I’m just being honest!”

Indeed, he had. But he hadn’t expected you to gush on endlessly like the Niagara Falls – even though, by now, he should’ve known better. Why did he even ask, knowing full well you were unpredictable and always found a way to annoy him further? Was your presence really so irritating that he tended to forget his usual caution? Alastor was a polite man after all and he valued manners above all else.

Manners.

Manners, manners, manners.

He prided himself on manners. But you? You weren't worth any of them. He needed to remember that.

“Oh, my dear, I’m only concerned that your little brain might overheat from thinking too hard. We wouldn’t want you to strain yourself and get a headache, would we?” he replied, his tone thick with mockery, every word dripping with sarcasm. He could see your eyes widen and your pupils dilating.

“Aww, Alastor-kun, you're so considerate!” you cooed, entirely missing the veiled insult.

Alastor chuckled, his lips curling into an exaggerated smile while his eyes narrowed, feigning a semblance of care. Your delusion was almost painful to watch, though there was a certain dark humor to it.

“Why, I'm simply concerned about your well-being! After all, too much... admiration could lead to a most unfortunate accident,” he continued, flashing his sharp teeth in a menacing grin, a predatory glint in his eyes. His pupils shifted to radio dials for a quick second and the static around him crackled in a dangerous intensity. The threat in his words was clear, but knowing you, you’d probably overlook it entirely, twisting it into yet another misguided belief that he cared about you. Which he didn’t. Alastor cared for very few people, and you were certainly not one of them.

A strange sound – something akin to a dying hamster’s squeak – escaped your lips and ripped him out of his reverie as you started bouncing up and down again. Alastor couldn’t help but wonder, for a second time, how the floor beneath you didn’t give way and send you tumbling several floors down, far away from him and into a dark, twisted corner of Hell where you would never bother him again. Or maybe you would just break enough of your limbs to keep you from trailing after him for at least the next six weeks... Either way, the image in his head was delightfully hilarious, and he nearly chuckled, wishing to some kind of higher being to let this tiny mishap come true.

“Aww, you’re so thoughtful! You really do care about me, Alastor-kun!” you chirped, and Alastor’s eye twitched. There it was – your joyful exclamation of utter delusion. Yikes.

Alastor took a deep breath, his grip tightening around his cane. “Oh, yes… care…” he drawled. “Your well-being is... of utmost importance... so, considering you’ve been trailing after me all day… and the days before… and the weeks… and months…” he continued, his voice growing weaker with each word, “how about you take a break? Leave the hotel, spend some time with yourself, explore the streets of Pentagram City...” and hopefully never return… he finished in his head. His smile was sharp, his face settling into that same threatening expression as before.

You waved a dismissive hand, grinning with a wide, toothy smile. “Don’t worry about me! I always feel so good around you!” you exclaimed with fervor, and Alastor suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. There it was again – that relentless, infuriating optimism that clung to you like a bad stench, no matter how much he tried to wash it away. How were you always so blissfully unaware of his disdain?

“My, my! Such dedication... I’m almost flattered. But… have you ever considered, oh, I don’t know… finding a hobby? Far, far away from me, perhaps?” he said through clenched teeth, realizing yet again that he was still being far too kind. Why couldn’t he just scare you away? Were you really so pathetic that he couldn’t bring himself to be outright rude? Your antics must have really been some kind of messed up guilty pleasure for him…

You tilted your head and straightened your back, gazing up at him with those unsettlingly large eyes. “Oh, but you are my hobby, Alastor-kun! My absolute favorite! Watching you, learning from you, serving you – it’s all I ever want to do! You’re my senpai, Alastor! My favorite deer boy!”

Alastor’s eyes widened, and his grin began to falter, teetering on the edge of a frown, his expression one of sheer disbelief. Your... ‘senpai’? What in all seven circles of Hell was a ‘senpai’?! He might have considered asking Angel Dust the next time he saw that spider if he weren’t already convinced that the explanation would just traumatize him further. And did you really just call him ‘deer boy’?!

His eye twitched once more, and then something inside him snapped.

Alastor’s eyes darkened, the crimson on the verge of turning black again, the static increasing around him, crackling with charged malevolence. “Careful, my dear,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his sharp claws scratching the top of his cane with a metallic screech. “You’re walking on dangerous territory.” He stepped closer, looming over you like a tower of deep red and black, intimidating and far from pleased. He slowly got furious, the discomfort slowly turning into something he should’ve felt much earlier. Through narrowed eyes, he watched you flinch, though you didn’t step back. Instead, you straightened your back and tilted your head to look up at him, your mouth moving in a way that indicated that you were nervously biting your lip.

Alastor’s smile widened at the sight, his yellow teeth flashing in the dim corridor, and the lights began to flicker around you, their energy drawn off by the crackling static around him. One blink, and his eyes turned black again, ticking radio dials replacing his irises, blood-red and dangerous as the demon himself. It took him only a flick of his hand to conjure the leash around your neck, its invisible form taking shape and turning solid glowing green.

“If you insist on being a loyal little shadow, then perhaps I should teach you some manners,” he hissed, leaning down slightly, his grin stretching unnervingly wide. The collar tightened around your neck, a cold, burning sensation seeping through your bones as his words dug into your skin like jagged glass, a painful reminder of his control. He tugged on the leash, and you stumbled forward, eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat.

“My, my…” he continued, flicking his tongue with a repeated motion that created a smacking sound, both unsettling and provocative. “If you truly want to serve me, you’ll need to learn some boundaries, my dear. I've been far too forgiving with you, but even I have my limits.” He pulled you closer until there were mere inches between you, his breath icy against your skin. You visibly shivered as his voice dropped to a low whisper, each word laced with sweet yet deadly venom. “After all, it would be such a shame if I had to... discipline you. And believe me, I can be quite imaginative when it comes to punishment.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, and Alastor’s broad grin relaxed into a pleased smile, satisfaction blooming in his chest. For once, your reaction was exactly what he had anticipated. You were silent.

Frightened.

Oh, what a wonderful sight after enduring your incessant chatter for the past several minutes – months, actually. But he also knew this calm wouldn’t last long. A brief respite before the cycle began anew, and he found himself caught once more between annoyance and amusement.

Perhaps, in some twisted way, he was a bit of a masochist. Because despite his power, his ruthlessness, his terrifying reputation as the Radio Demon, he continued to endure your presence and insufferable behavior if it meant he could find that brief moment of satisfaction when he saw that flicker of fear in your eyes. When he could finally silence that ceaseless admiration. When he so blatantly humiliated you with his words, degraded you with his passive aggression, yet you still met him with unyielding enthusiasm, somehow convinced he was speaking to you sweetly, when in reality, all he did was use his power over you to eventually put you in your place, reminding you of who he was and what he was capable of.

It was a game of control, an endless cycle where he used his dominance to break you down, only to watch you build yourself back up with even more deluded devotion. And while it should have irritated him beyond measure, there was something oddly gratifying about it – about toying with the boundaries of your blind infatuation and making you dance on the edge of dread and reverence.

Seconds ticked by, stretching into what felt like minutes, and you eventually took a deep breath, releasing it in a long, shaky sigh. You blinked, once, twice, eyes still wide and pupils constricted. You shivered under his control, slight goosebumps rising on your skin. Alastor took in the sight, his satisfaction evident in the effect he had on you.

You took another deep breath, then whispered in a low, breathless tone, “Fuck…”

Alastor blinked and tilted his head, caught off-guard by the unexpected reaction. Confusion spread across his face, but before he could even formulate a response, you interrupted.

“That was hot.”

One second passed.

Two.

Three.

Then, Alastor released your leash, hastily retreating as if he had just burned himself on a hot surface. His grayish skin turned pale, and his grin faltered into an expression of utter mortification. Within moments, his shadows enveloped him, and he seeped into the floor, leaving you behind in the hallway, bewildered and flustered.

Maybe he should actually consider featuring you in his broadcast. Because that was the most horrifyingly unsettling response he had ever encountered. Some demons hid their cruelty behind a facade, blending seamlessly into their surroundings. And you? You were undoubtedly among the most insidiously malevolent of them all.

I had so many ideas for this fic but most of them didn't fit into the plot. So stay tuned for more Alastor x Emberlynn-coded reader content...

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cntrlnoah · 2 months

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Apple Fritters and A-listers

Summary: On a rainy day, famous actor Rafe Cameron finds shelter in a little coffee shop.

Pairing: famous!actor!Rafe x smallcaféowner!fem!Reader

Warning: rainstorms, food, thunder, nickname (sweetheart), flirting

A/N: wrote this on my period since I needed fluffy Rafe.

As the droplets of rain cascade down by the thousands, Rafe rushes into the doors of the closest shop to protect himself from the rain. The little umbrella held in his hands had little to no effect protecting him from the loud thunder and million drops of water.

As he dries himself off in the store and the umbrella in the umbrella caddie, he realized that he waltzed into a little coffee shop and is greeted by the owner.

“Hello! Welcome in” they said with a smile bright enough to subdue the rain. Smitten by her smile and guilty for taking shelter in her shop for the rain he decides to buy something as a thank you.

"Hi, one small coffee and uhh..." he thinks as he looks at the treats, "umm... what pastry do you recommend?" he asked with a shy chuckle.

"umm...the apple fritter is really popular and the chocolate chip cookie is really nice especially for the weather outside," she says as she looks over to the rain pouring down the window.

"I'll take your word on it. Can I get one of each please?" he says as he takes out his card.

"Alright that will be $8.50. Tap your card when you're ready," she says with a smile. As Rafe taps his card, she realizes it was a black AMEX but, doesn't say a word. After the transition went through she pours him a cup of coffee in a mug and grab the pastries he ordered. As she puts his order together, faint lofi music plays as he patiently waits for his order. She puts his order on a tray and serves it to him.

"Thank you," Rafe says as looking up at her as he takes a slow sip of his coffee. "Delicious" he says as he finish his sip. She then returns to behind the counter sits down and continues to read her book.

Rafe can't help it, the silence is killing him as he wants to talk to her as it would make time past by and distract him. Usually he would rather not as his busy schedule as an actor required a lot from him everyday and he'd want time to slow down so he could enjoy his life. His manager was probably worried sick about him in the pouring rain as he never made it to where he needed to be on time, but Rafe could care less he loved the slow pace and silence of this little hole in the wall coffee shop that he would usually ignore on his way to work. He managed to muster up the courage to talk to you and make causal conversation.

"So...are you the owner of this cafe?" he asked sheepishly not knowing why he got so shy over someone.

"I am. So what do you do for a living?" you asked curiously trying to make casual conversation.

"I'm an actor" he said. You looked up from your book with stars in your eyes. "Really?" you said with stars in your eyes. He nodded and took a bite out of his apple fritter.

"Wow this is very good" he complimented the apple fritter you made this morning. "Thank you, I make them fresh every morning along with all the other pastries" you said proudly. His eyes widen at that as he could tell that you make them with love and passion.

"So about the actor thing..." you decided to be a bit noisy because who wouldn't be if this handsome stranger said that he was an actor. "Are you famous?" you asked innocently "If its not to much to ask..."

Rafe laughed at this statement as the way you asked was so innocently not knowing who he is. It was refreshing compared to people around him either wanting his autograph or kissing up to him to get what they want from him. He was an a-lister after all, he got used to it at after sometime but it always put a smile on his face when someone treated him like a regular human being and not some hotshot celebrity.

"You could say that..." he answered nonchalantly sipping his coffee. "I've been to events here and there and stared in some movies, the usually actor things" he said admiring her quietly as he kept eye contact.

"I'm guessing you're very successful" you said. "How'd you know?" Rafe questioned how you could know without knowing who he was when he walked in. "I saw your black AMEX when you were paying..." you admitted. He chuckled, of course he should have known.

"Well if you didn't see on my card, my name is Rafe, Rafe Cameron" he said with a chuckle as he final introduced himself to you. "Nice to meet you Rafe" you said with a smile. You wanted to ask him for a polaroid with him just for the memory but you didn't want to seem impolite or rude doing so, so you held off from asking. Rafe saw that you wanted to ask something but stayed quiet and this was his cue to ask you what was wrong.

"I know you probably get asked this a lot... but if it's okay with you, could we possibly take a polaroid together? I kinda wanted to remember this moment as I don't really get customer like famous actors or singers." you asked sheepishly and shyly. As you grabbed your Polaroid camera from the back, Rafe waited patiently in the front of the store.

As you came back to the front you asked, "Is it possible that we take two? One selfie and one just of you? Is it possible if you sign the one just of you if its not to much to ask?" you asked shyly. Rafe nodded smiling at your shy confession. You first take the selfie polariod with him and he smiles at how close you are and then you take a polaroid of just him for him to sign. You grab a sharpie from the pen holder near the register for him to sign. He signs the polaroid with a special message...

'to the cute owner, the best apple fritters. much love. - Rafe Cameron ❤️'

You blushed at the message as it was very personal but you were going to put it up on the bulletin board in the coffee shop. As he was signing you noticed that the rain had stopped and the sky cleared.

"Hey, look the rain cleared. I guess you could go to where you were originally heading" you said seeming a bit sad as you two were starting to get along and talk. As you picked up his now empty tray to clean up, he spoke up. "Unfortunately...but I think you'll see me again sweetheart" he said with a sweet smile. "I'd hate to see you go, but please do visit again" you said to him as you put the polaroid on the cafe's bulletin board.

As he grabs his umbrella from the stand and departs, he can't wait for the next him he gets to walk through the doors of your cafe and have a cup of coffee served by you with apple fritter served right next to it and you can't wait for the next time he graces his presence in the store for his usual cup of coffee and apple fritter as he relaxes in this save haven you've created for him away from his busy celebrity life. He knows he's found a place where he can just be Rafe Cameron, normal citizen and not Rafe Cameron, a-list actor and flirting with you was the cherry on top that would lead to a love confession out of him.

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ivyluvsyouu · 7 months

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𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒕 𝟐

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔/𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔: 𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒄, 𝑲𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒂,𝑰𝒕𝒕𝒐

𝑻𝒘: 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒎

𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒄

"What?" He said as he dropped the bottle of wine, he was holding causing it to shatter all over the floor of his winery. The traveler looked down at his feet. "Y/n was killed on the commission" The traveler said keeping his head down the whole time. Diluc was in shock. He just nodded his head and cleaned up the broken glass on the floor. As he cleaned the glass a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. He couldn't believe you were gone. It didn't really fully register until he got home that night, and you weren't at home. He just tried to bury himself in his work to keep himself occupied. He bottled his emotions about the whole thing, and he didn't talk to a soul about it at first.

Kaeya had heard about your death, and he went to go check on Diluc. Even if they weren't on good terms, he wanted to make sure Diluc was okay. And much to Kaeya's suprise Diluc talked to him about it and how he was taking it. "I just can't believe there gone..." The whole thing made him somewhat closer to Kaeya. Kaeya would stop by the winery to check on Diluc.

𝑲𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒂

You had gotten extremely injured during a fight with a Fatui harbinger and the doctors told Kaeya that you didn't have long left. Kaeya stayed by your side the whole time you were dying, and he did everything he could to help you. He knew you weren't doing well at all, but he still believed that you could get through this. He knew you were strong and that's why he was so confident that you would survive. So, when a doctor came into his office telling him that you wouldn't be alive much longer, it devasted him. You died later that day, and all Kaeya could do was sit and watch.

He didn't take your death well at all. He already had bad drinking habits, but he turned to alcohol even more for comfort. He took time off of the knights so he could grieve. He eventually returned to work, and he returned to his old self, but he never forgot about you. Even years after your death he still found himself having nightmares about you.

𝑰𝒕𝒕𝒐

"Y/n's what!? Nonononono you've gotta mistaking my Y/n for someone else they promised me they'd be careful on their commission." Itto said shaking his head to the person you had gone on a commission with earlier that morning. Itto didn't believe it when they told him you were gone. But when the person was silent Itto's heart sank. He could tell this person was being serious. He didn't understand. It had only been a few hours how could something go wrong in that short amount of time. His gang members were behind him while Itto was talking to the person. Itto just nodded and stared at the ground "I think I'm gonna take off for the day." He said in a disappointed voice.

That was the last time his gang members saw him for a while. He wasn't in any of his usual spots in Inazuma. He just left a note for Shinobu telling her that he needed a few months to get his thoughts together. He didn't know what to do without you. It felt like a piece of him was missing and no matter what he did he couldn't get the feeling to go away.

He eventually returned to Inazuma, but he never got over you. He would often say things like "Y/n would know what to do." or "I wish Y/n was here they could help" He never got that empty feeling to go away. It was like you took a piece of his heart with you when you died.

thank you sm for reading!! requests are always open!!

#genshin fluff #genshin x reader #itto x reader #itto angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin angst #diluc x reader #diluc angst #diluc x you #kaeya fluff #diluc fluff #kaeya angst #kaeya x reader #genshin headcanons

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cherryredstars · 1 year

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Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, References to Trauma/PTSD

Summary: Simon in a relationship!

A/N: Love this man, and I’m not sorry.

Word Count: 1.7K (Edited)

Ideally, Simon wouldn’t want to date someone with a military career like him. All he really wants is to have someone to come back home to, and that’s hard when the both of you might be deployed at different times. Plus, he doesn’t want anyone else to see the things he’s seen. He can barely take care of himself with all the PTSD he keeps with him, he doesn’t know how he would be able to care for someone else who’s struggling like him.

At the same time, he’s paranoid of strangers. You never know what they might be hiding, if they’re undercover spies of some sort or hitmen trying to kill the man that’s already dead. He knows everyone has secret intentions, everyone always wants something. Even if it isn’t malicious in nature.

I don’t think Simon would date an overly nice neighbor who wants to take care of him when he returns from missions. He’d be too suspicious of them and think they’re trying to poison him with the food they bring him. I think his partner would end up being someone he meets purely by accident or someone he sees constantly. Like a barista at the local coffee shop or a cashier at the grocery store he used to work at. If it’s by accident, it must be the most bizarre scenario ever, or else he’ll think it was set up. Like maybe you storm up to him, accusing him of something and he has no idea what you’re talking about, only to find out you're chewing out the wrong person.

Simon would take it slow, not promising you anything. But, he’d still ask you if you would like to hangout after he gets back from duty. When you agree, he thinks about it all the way to base, then pushes it out of his mind once he puts on his skull mask. There isn't any time for distractions if he wants to make sure that hangout happens. You guys would go on multiple dates before he asks you to go out with him. He finds the tiniest bit of tension falls off his shoulders when you say yes.

In the beginning of your relationship, Simon never had his back turned towards you. When you guys are together, he’s always facing you or trailing behind you. He never stood besides you and when you guys slept in the same bed, his chest was facing you with a slight space between the two of you. He never really let you touch his back or hug him for more than a second. This was because it, literally and figuratively, prevented you from stabbing him in the back. He went through a lot of shit before he met you, still has to deal with it when he gets deployed for duty, so it’s natural for him to be distrusting and cautious. Even towards someone he agreed to attach himself to.

The day you walked into a room and he didn’t instantly turn around confused you. You thought that maybe he didn’t hear you, so you kindly announce your presence. When you tell him that you’re there, he still doesn’t turn around and continues what he’s doing. All he responds with is, “I know.” You had blinked in confusion before the widest smile appeared on your face. You said nothing else and continued doing what you needed to in the kitchen, both of your backs turned to each other. That same night, Simon turned on his side in his sleep, his chest facing away from you for the first time.

Simon’s love language is physical touch, and he thinks it’s the cruelest joke ever because that’s the thing that scares him the most now. He’s scared to touch you. He’s scared his rough hands will tear up your skin like sandpaper. Scared that he’ll hold on to you too strongly and you will bruise and shatter under his touch. He’s scared that when he removes his hands from you, a bloody hand print will stain your skin, just like the blood of the thousands of people he’s killed stains his. He has to build up to it. Has to flex his hands to stop himself from constantly grabbing on to you. He keeps a small bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket, and he uses it whenever he has that urge to touch you, like maybe it’ll protect you from him if he gives in. When he comes home from a mission, he washes his hands raw before he gets into bed and holds you.

When he finally touches you, it’s small touches. The brushing of knuckles as he passes you, a small grip on the back hem of your shirt to tell you to stop walking, linking your pinkies together on a busy street, him brushing a bit of hair out of your face when you talk to him. Fleeting things that never last long but causes his heart to soar hours afterwards and for you to smile the rest of the day. As the relationship progresses, they last longer and get more bolder. But they still have the same effect on the both of you.

His favorite receiving love language from his partners are acts of service. Likes when he goes to the cupboard, knowing he’s on his last tea bag, only to find a brand new box of tea next to the old one. Loves when he comes home from a mission to find his mug already on the counter and the kettle is on. Likes walking into the bedroom to find a set of clothing laid out on the bed for him. He appreciates that you already have dinner in the fridge for him to heat up, that you already took out the trash and washed the dishes so he doesn’t feel compelled to do them in his exhausted state.

His heart warms when he sees his spaces. Or the spaces that are meant to be filled with his things. Like they’ve been waiting for him, like you’ve been waiting for him. He likes walking through the door and seeing the empty space on the floor next to your sneakers, meant to hold Simon’s heavy duty boots. When he walks into the kitchen, he stares at his place at the table that is already set for him with a small smile. Likes the empty hangers in the closet where he’s supposed to hang his clothes back up once they’re washed. Finds warmth in the dusty spots on the bathroom shelves where his hygiene products were placed before he left. Likes walking towards the shared bed after his shower, finding you fast asleep and his side of the bed empty. He likes filling those spots with his things, it’s like time didn’t continue when he left. Like nothing has changed and he was only gone for a few hours instead of months. He loves when you wrap your arms around him, pushing yourself into his side in your sleep. Your arms are his favorite Simon space.

Despite the fact you do almost all the house chores, only because he's not home to do them himself, he refuses to let you touch his gear bag and clean the stuff in it. He’s scared all the bad things Ghost’s mask was present for would crawl out and hurt you. He tells you it’s fine, that he’ll wash the blood and dirt stained uniform, that he’ll put away everything in the bag. When he’s finished, he shoves the military bag to the back of his side of the closet, vanishing the skull mask from the light. It doesn’t belong there anyways.

Simon is hesitant to let the rest of the team meet you. The team and you are two different parts of his life, each of you get a side of him the other doesn’t. He’s scared of what will happen when they clash. When Ghost invades Simon’s life off of the field. You reassure him the whole time the both of you get ready to go to a bar the team wanted to have celebratory drinks at. Simon is still nervous, but he can’t help the small smile that grows around the rim of his glass as he watches his family interact as one. He smiles even more when none of the boys hesitate to protect you from handsy customers who want to try their shot with you. That’s good, he thinks. It’s good that you’ll have people to take care of you if he never makes it back home to you.

Of course, Simon gives you his dog tag. But, the dog tag Simon gives you is different. It’s slightly rusted, older. One that holds a past he has yet to share with you completely. This tag exists before Ghost and Task Force 141. It’s a tag from when Simon was in the SAS, before he was hurt and betrayed by the world as badly. When you ask him why he gave you this tag instead of his more updated tags, his answer echoes in your head: “Because that Simon is the one I am when I’m with you. That’s the Simon I want you to remember me as.” You never took off his dog tag afterwards.

When Simon stands at the front door in the early hours of the morning, dressed in tactical gear with his military bag at his side, you both stand and stare at each other. He lets you put on his skull mask, the only time he’ll ever let you touch it. In those quiet moments where you both wait for one of the team to pick him up, you ask him in a whisper to come home because you’ll be waiting for him. He doesn’t promise anything, only says that’s his plan.

You never need to ask him why he lets you put on the mask for him. The both of you already know the reason. You already know it’s Ghost’s gift to you. It’s Ghost giving you Simon to take care of. You know it's because Simon is the safest when he’s with you. You know because, every night before he has to leave again, Simon vows to go wherever you are when he thinks you’re asleep. When Ghost walks out the door and closes it behind him, you know it’s Ghost that will be returning home, not Simon. And that’s because Simon never left, he’s right there with you. Everywhere you go.

Simon content pre-write 2.

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