#Perhaps the will to draw will return to you

[cattolino]

little bit of advice, take the dare.

pairing: bang chan x f!reader. warnings: profanities, implied exhibitionism, dirty truth or dare (more like dare or dare...), stripping, mild grinding, dirty talks. genre: implied rivals to lovers, implied smut. rating: mature. word count: 2.1k

“Let Chan strip two pieces of your clothing.”

These little bitches.

The innocence in Seungmin’s broad grin as he delivered aloud and clear what Minho had earlier whispered in his ear wasn’t able to deceit Chan the slightest in spite of it combined with that sparkly attentive puppy stare.

A foul scheme had been carefully arranged in those two cunning heads of theirs before they instigated this truth or dare game as soon as the majority of people returned home. Chan wasn’t oblivious of what he would get himself into the moment Minho escorted him from the drinking game in the back patio to a coffee table in the living room and begged him to join in the fun. Especially when you were one of the people centering around the table.

And so Chan was down for whatever challenges thrown his way no matter truth or dare it was that he ended up choosing. Wouldn’t really matter. Except now it was your turn, yet he was somehow involved in such a risque dare so early in the game.

Seungmin’s index finger pointed around the room twice, attracting the attention of the few people close enough to the table to see what he was up to, and he added, “or let anyone in the room. Your choice.”

As though he expected you would actually pick one of the sweaty and tipsy dimwits you barely knew of instead of Chan who you were certainly more familiar with. When, seriously, it was clear to Chan that both Seungmin and Minho wanted to prove him wrong— that the possibility of you romantically attracted to one another wasn’t even close to impossible despite the banter between the two of you sometimes getting out of hand.

The banter, Seungmin and Minho insisted, was a flirting attempt.

You leaned back onto the sofa behind you, crossing your arms with a stare of haughty disdain piercing through Seungmin and Minho’s who both seemed to be just as imperious.

“I was expecting a more daring one from you horny freaks,” your eyes then landed on Chan who was sitting across from you. Not looking away, your proud smile widened into a blithe grin, “this isn’t even his dare. But if he’s down, I don’t see why I have to back down.”

Chan stretched his arms and arched his back as a dramatic warmup before downing the remaining liquor in his red cup, earning supportive laughs from the excessively excited spectators around. “As long as you don’t back down if they involve you in my dares later.”

Getting up from the floor, you rounded the table and stood before him. You mirrored the smug grin that stretched across his face as he peered up at you, “pants and sweater then, gentleman.”

Despite the profuse tease that gleamed in your irises, Chan didn’t entertain you with even a slight wavering in the way he looked back up at you. Instead, taunting you with a faux innocent tilt of his head as his firm yet tender fingers began to toy with the button of your jeans.

The waistband of your black panties as if emerged once he slid down the zipper. He wasn’t sure if your hand placement on the crown of his head was unintended, but then your lips tilted up into a smile and your brow arched challengingly as your fingers ran through the soft tresses of his brown curls.

Encouraged, he lifted the hem of your sweater, exposing just enough of your bare stomach. His other palm smothered around your waist and landed on the small of your back, drawing you closer until his lips accidentally brushed against the bare skin of your stomach.

Chan’s hearts didn’t leap at his own sly, dirty initiation.

It didn’t. Definitely not.

Perhaps one could cut the air with a knife as the tension between you two was thickening the longer he took his time sliding the pants off your waist and the tighter you had his hair gripped in your palm. But everyone else was too preoccupied with keeping track of his veiny hands lingering around the waistband of your jeans, tugging down the denims at an intentionally slow pace.

In one glance, nothing of your true emotions was shown through your perfunctory facade. But Chan was practically on his knees, hands on you, and there was less than two inches gap between his lips and your stomach. Anything changed from your stance, he could easily catch it.

So when he felt you tensed up when he tantalized you by skimming his palm down the side of your thigh as the other pulled the jeans down to pool around your ankles, he had to fight back the triumphant grin he felt was close to spread on his face.

Once the pants were tossed somewhere on the floor, Chan got up on his feet as you held your arms up for him to take your knitted sweater off over your head.

His eyes peered down at where the bare skin of your stomach was supposed to be on full display as he pulled the hem of your sweater up. The underband of your bralette was slowly showing the higher the hem of your sweater was lifted.

He drew closer, lips lingered on your ear, chuckling and murmuring out of everyone’s earshot, “should’ve made you rid of three garments instead of two. What a shame.”

You ran your palms down along his torso as soon as your sweater was off your upper half, and you leaned in to whisper in his ear where nobody else could hear, too. “Next time it’s your turn, I’ll make you stand on the porch naked.”

Shameless gasps of “oh fuck” was heard from around you as you casually sat down with only high cut panties and black bralette. Chan could easily relate. He found himself checking you out when you weren’t looking.

He was grateful of the sudden rough smack on his thigh that brought him back to his senses. He looked to his left where the hand was from and Minho shot him a knowing look before leaning over to mutter, “you fucking pervert.”

He chuckled. Perhaps he was.

“Spin the bottle! Spin the bottle!” Felix chippered lovely squeaks and giggles as he bounced up and down on the carpeted floor in anticipation. More because the game had progressed into all the more obscene to earlier than he had expected. Don’t be fooled by such an irradiant, angelic face.

Chan just had to dissolve into laughter and squeaks and giggles when the bottle cap once again pointed in your direction. Twice in a row, it was. He threw his head back laughing when your jaw plunged into the ground in disbelief and eyes narrowed into slits in spite, feeling betrayed— by the bottle.

“Sit on Chan’s lap.” Jeongin smugly declared before anyone could even think of something potent to embarrass yourself, effectively shutting down the jeers and laughter as they contemplated.

You shrugged, once again rounding the table to where Chan was perched on the floor and nonchalantly settled your ass on his lap before he could protest.

Chan, on the other hand, grasped either side of your waist tightly and tried to prevent you from dwelling on that particular spot. But you persisted on reclining your back onto his chest, shoving your ass further down to where Chan could feel himself twitch.

“Fuck you.” He cursed against your neck when you slightly wiggled your lower half.

“Quit being a jerk,” you whispered back with a chuckle, but tone laced with genuine threat, “or I’ll make you wet your pants. Literally.”

Not even thirty minutes into the game that everyone around the table was a little tipsy with signs of either misery and happiness written on their faces.

With five people being out of the circle and off to the back patio for a lot more lame drinking  game with other football players, the remaining nine still held out in place to seek revenge.

Minho had tasted his own medicine as he was left with only briefs around his waist but not that he was unhappy about it as he’d gotten to proudly present his hard-earned well built body when you had Jisung leave three hickeys on his shoulders and two on his inner thigh. Jisung had solid yellow face paint all over his face, exactly resembling Looney Tunes’ Tweety.

Hyunjin was sprawled on the floor with occasional dramatic huffs and groans after he’d called his problematic ex and told him he’d been missing him. Changbin and Felix were disgustingly glued to one another after the older prolonged the supposedly five-second kiss. Seungmin had collected lipstick marks around his neck from ten people. Jeongin almost passed out from seven slices of pizza he’d had to finish before Seungmin returned.

And Chan was about to get his second turn after the top of the bottle pointed at him and you, who was still very much comfortably perched on his lap.

“Dare.” He didn’t even hesitate, calm and confident.

Not even when Minho slightly shoved himself forward to gain everyone’s attention. A little lift at the corner of his lips didn’t go unnoticed and for some reason, Chan was even anticipating what the little bitch had to say now.

“Are people still doing seven minutes in heaven?” Minho blurted, making Felix perk up instantly.

Hyunjin abruptly ended his dramatic disintegration and sat down with a gasp. “Oh my god,” he started, “I did it a year ago at a frat party with a guy except we weren’t allowed to say anything. Not a single fucking sound ‘cause one of them was sitting in the front of the door and if they heard even a small bit of me moaning, we’d have to walk to class the next day with extremely short fucking miniskirt. Imagine such suffering I had to bear while a hot guy blew me. He was great though.”

Wonder-stricken looks were instead what the taller got from everyone in the room. Minho was especially beaming at the deliberate suggestion and against his better judgement, his eyes landed on Chan whose chin rested on your shoulder. The older raised a brow in amusement when catching him staring, already seeing through the younger’s impish smirk.

Seungmin turned towards Minho, “I vote for what exactly Hyunjin did.”

Minho chuckled, “slow down, my guy. Our Channie doesn’t have to get someone suck him off. He can do whatever he pleases behind the door. But not. A single. Fucking. Sound.” He firmly suggested as he looked Chan dead in the eye. Insisted, even, perhaps, “or Changbin would love to lend his sister’s pink tutu.”

While Chan’s expression was hard to read, the rest seemed to be pleased. Excited, even.

You straightforwardly approved of Minho’s suggestion, ripping through the sound of supportive cheers from the others with an excited squeak after taking a sip of cheap beer from your cup, “I volunteer to sit at the door.”

Chan snorted behind you, “who says you’re not coming with me?”

A noisy commotion of “ooooohhh” and dramatic “aaaaahhh” immediately collided with the blaring EDM played in the background.

He’d thought you would never run out of snide remarks to shoot back at him at a time like this. So when you choked on your drink at his candidness, he couldn’t hold back a laugh.

Felix unattached himself from Changbin’s arm, hands flailing before his own face as he grinned so brightly that the dim room no longer seemed to be as dim as it was supposed to be. Once again, don’t be fooled by such an irradiant, angelic face. “Okay, look. You got seven minutes. Choose your person. No sounds allowed. We’ll set the timer once the door’s shut.”

“That room’s empty.” Changbin added with a snicker, nodding at the door to his roommate’s room, “he’s gone for two weeks. Just don’t make a mess.”

If Chan was surprised at how he managed to manhandle you and somehow scoop you up as he got on his feet, it didn’t show on his face. You securely wrapped yourself around his upper half, a long list of filthiest profanity was at the tip of your tongue at the sudden, unannounced move.

Chan blinked. Not breaking eye contact, his tongue brushed over the upper row of his pearly teeth before those sank in his lower lip. There might be a lack of reaction shown on your face as you seemed to be still as annoyed, but the faint pinkish tint that stained your cheeks had said so much already.

He glanced over to Changbin, nodding, “worry not. I’ll swallow everything y/n has to give me.”

“You better,” your irritated stare tapered off into that of a challenging glare injecting venom straight into his dimpled grin, “or I’ll make you wear the tutu.”

#skz fictions #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz bang chan #bang chan smut #chan smut #chan imagines

[cordeliawhohung]

Of Sea Foam and Iron [3]

general masterlist | series masterlist | taglist

Hephaestus!ghost x Aphrodite!reader x Ares!soap

a storm hits

wc: 3.9k

warnings: historical au with lots of inaccuracies, mythology!au, nudity, talk of war and gore

Cold linens awaited you when you truly woke from your rest as John and Simon’s presence had dissipated.

There was no chin to rest against the top of your head, or a strong chest to press against your back. In fact, the only proof that they had ever been there at all was their lingering scent on your skin. You closed your eyes as soon as they fluttered open, trying to draw back the memory of their hands on your waist and the comforting weight that accompanied it. It was only a pale imitation of the real thing, and it left your chest yearning for something you knew you would never gain the courage to ask for. 

When your eyes opened for a second time, they did so with a great huff from your lungs. Pale sunlight and a strong breeze drifted through the cracks of the closed shutters, and though salt was always ever present in the air, you could smell the promise of rain hiding underneath the brine. It would be a good day to stay inside. 

Usually you didn’t need your himation in the warm summer months, but without the golden sun to warm the house, a heavy chill pricked at your body. You wrapped the thick wool around your shoulders before you descended downstairs on creaky steps. Simon was already hard at work for the day, and you hardly got halfway to the landing before you heard his hammer echo with its metallic clink in the courtyard. All Simon had done since the day the two of you were bound together in matrimony was work. In the beginning, you were certain that it was to distance himself from you — his unruly wife — but once John returned home you thought he would allow himself to rest. Yet, it seemed as if that’s all the man ever wanted to do. 

���Mornin’ little dove,” John grinned. 

A strong fire blazed in the central hearth of the home where dancing flames attempted to lick John’s back as he sat faced away from his hard work. Blue eyes sparkled with a warmth that rivaled the fire behind him, and you almost felt a smile flitter across your lips. There was nothing different from his gaze that morning compared to the previous day, yet his fingers twitched as they rested on his bent knees as if they searched for something.

“Morning,” you replied, voice meek as you adjusted your himation. 

Johnny’s hand slipped off of his knee where he patted the hearth next to him invitingly. “Come, get warm.” 

Your bare feet hardly made a sound against the floor as you crossed into the threshold. Each step brought the warmth of the flames along your legs where they dethawed your cold toes and fingers. John watched you with careful eyes as you situated yourself on the stone slab next to him, and he hummed once you settled. Heat prickled up your spine and it chased away the residual morning cold that clung to your body; though, you were unable to tell if that was because of the fire, or because of John. 

“Rain is coming,” he said. His head tilted back to look up at the ceiling as if it were the sky instead. “A storm, maybe.” 

Over the roaring of the fire behind you, a dull roll of thunder grumbled somewhere in the distance. It was not frequent that your city received storms, as Poseidon often smiled upon you. Though one could argue he was angry, if the storm was mild, perhaps he only sent the rain to assist with the farmers and their crops. 

“That would be nice,” you mused. 

John chuckled warmly. “You like the rain?”

“I think so,” you answered. “I like the water. The ocean.” 

“A fine thing to love.” 

Instinct told you to look at him, yet you refrained from doing so. Despite the familiarity in the tone of conversation, John was still a stranger to you. Some man who had returned only yesterday to embrace your husband while dressed to gut enemies. Still, he was kind, but despite the fire at your back, you were silent and cold. 

“I… wanted to talk more about yesterday,” John continued through your silence. “I’m sure you still have many questions, as Simon isn’t the most prolific.” 

“Prolific?” you repeated with your snark hardly restrained. “He’s spoken a handful of words to me since we’ve been married.” 

“Like I said, quiet,” he repeated with a poorly hidden laugh. “Though, I wasn’t much help prompting answers from him yesterday, either. Dead on my feet after traveling. Took us just short of a fortnight to arrive home.” 

John rubbed at his eyes as if the exhaustion still plagued his vision, and yet even with his movement you did not glance at him once. Looking at someone often brought a weakness about you that you had difficulty conquering. There was something about their eyes that had you see the humanity within them, no matter how hard they tried to hide it. You would have hated to crumble in front of him. 

“Well,” you prodded, “perhaps you can get an explanation out of him, then. He spoke not a word of your existence and then introduced you as my second husband? Such terrible madness.” 

“I already got an explanation out of him this morning while you slept,” he sighed. “Which is why I want to talk to you. I’m better at explaining things than Simon is.” 

Bewildered, you finally allowed your eyes to fall on John. “Must you be so casual about this? Was this not a surprise to you? Coming home to your husband having wedded himself illegally to someone else?” 

“Simon is not my husband.” 

Your expression betrayed the icy exterior you used to conceal that softness inside. It was difficult to tell if it was because of your confusion, but you found your heart aching at those words. John could not look at you when he said them, and though they left his tongue with ease his tone was soaked in a somberness that burned. 

“Soldiers aren’t permitted to marry,” he explained, blue eyes trained on the floor in front of him. “They say love gets in the way. Muddles things up. Soldiers have only one duty, and it’s to the state.” 

He paused.

“I would have liked to have married him.” 

If it wasn’t for the pain in his voice, you would have been afraid. The lost longing painted you to be the ruiner; the pitiful being that tainted something that had not gotten the opportunity to bloom. A desert-like dryness settled on your tongue. It tasted worse than sand. It was bitter, grainy, and promised to end you. 

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say. 

“Don’t be,” John said with an attempt at humor. “I told him to find a wife. To get married. Have children. I would have hated for him to wait around forever just for me.” 

“Could you not have waited? I thought soldiers were only required to serve for two years,” you pondered. 

John hummed again. He did that often, as if song better suited his ideas than mere words. Thick fingers pressed into the joints of his wrists as he massaged tired muscles and traced faded scars before answering you. 

“Most only serve for two years, yes,” he concurred. “But, you don’t earn the name Ares’s Dog by serving the minimum. My heart is here in the city, but my home is in the viscera leftover from battle.” 

He paused as he twisted his torso to look behind him. A large hand reached for a split log in the pile just next to the fire, and John expertly tossed it into the flames. The fire cracked loudly, content with its meal. 

“No. I told him to marry, so it wasn’t quite the surprise when I came home and you were already here,” he explained as he repositioned himself. “Find a wife. Start a family. And if his wife would have me too, then I would stay. But it seems things weren’t that simple considering your… situation.” 

“Yes,” you concurred, voice soft. “It wasn’t… proper.” 

“Simon told me what your father had to do to protect you. I’m sorry you had to witness such gore,” Johnny consoled. “I understand why he would hastily marry you off to Simon if it meant having the protection you deserve. And, well, knowing Simon as well as I do, he didn’t hesitate at all in marrying you if it meant aiding you.” 

A scoff tore through your vocal chords so fierce it left a sour aftertaste on your tongue. John spoke of Simon as if he were Apollo himself, guiding the sun across the sky to bring light and warmth to the soil beneath your feet. You were certain that John’s feelings towards Simon weren’t unfounded at all, but though he had never been cruel or unkind to you in any way, he was not loving. Not to you, anyway. 

“Could have fooled me,” you spat. “I feel like a ghost in this house. At least he avoids me like one.” 

Despite your sour attitude and words, John only chuckled. 

“His love is strange, yes,” he said. “It’s still new to him; love. Being vulnerable. Something he was never granted before. He’ll keep his distance, if you let him. I swear to you, you’ll find no finer man than him.” 

Another roll of thunder shook the sky. It was stronger than the quiet whisper of one you heard minutes earlier, and it all but demanded attention. Both you and John looked up to the ceiling, and moments later the soft trickle of rain engulfed the house. Though none of the windows were open, you pulled your himation closer to you as if to stave off the breeze that beat at the shudders. The thick wool soaked up the heat of the fire like a sponge, keeping you well insulated despite the impending storm. 

A content sigh left John as he carefully pushed himself to his feet. Soft trails of goosebumps prickled across his skin as he stepped away from the fire and into the cold, but he didn’t stray far before turning to face you once more. His hands reached for you where they hovered in the air, patiently waiting for you to accept his offer. 

“Come. We should eat,” he urged.  

It was not your first time putting your hands in his. He always seemed to want to hold you and gently guide you as if you did not know any better. Still, you accepted his assistance as he pulled you from the hearth. Somehow, his hands were warmer than the flames, and though you were standing on your own, he refused to let you go. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said, blue eyes boring into you. “I told Simon to find a wife, and if she would have me, then I would stay. If you do not wish for me to be here, say the word, little dove. Your father might have wanted for you to be under my protection, but I will not share a bed with a woman who would want someone else. I will leave no mark on this place when I go, if that’s what you wish.” 

No response rose in your mind or throat at his reminder, but a heavy fit of remorse weighed on your chest. He spoke those words as if he were the intruder. As if he had not loved Simon and lived in that house long before you ever came around. It was difficult to tell if you had fully accepted the idea that you lived with two men; though even if you hadn’t, it was something your father obviously wanted for you. Still, even if you didn’t want him around, you would not deny him the flesh and warmth of his lover. 

“Stay,” you said, voice quiet. 

John’s smile was the warmest you had ever seen. No hint of lust or darkness; only a pure appreciation for your kindness, something you felt like you weren’t capable of those days. His tongue darted out between his lips as if in anticipation, and you ignored the way it made your stomach churn. 

“Then it is done.” 

Trickling rain continued into the afternoon before it started to swell into a proper storm. Whistling wind became near deafening as it threatened to pull the house apart, and it wasn’t until the sky was black with clouds that Simon finally ceased his work and took shelter inside. With the amount of water that dripped from his clothes when he came limping into the kitchen for lunch, you were surprised he hadn’t drowned out there. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead and down the nape of his neck, and his chiton clung to his body in a way that certainly wasn’t comfortable. His frigid skin tinged pink with his scars extra angry and puffy. 

Both you and John looked up from your food at the sopping wet mess of a man who dirtied the kitchen. Simon’s chest heaved with fatigue, and his feet hardly lifted from the ground as he meandered towards John. 

“How’s the weather?” John asked facetiously. 

“Frustrating,” Simon huffed. “Can’t keep a goddamn fire lit or burnin’ hot enough.”

He paused once he approached John’s side, eyes focused on the plate of food in front of him. Without a word, he snatched a fair size of cured meat off of it before taking a bite and turning around. Simon continued his pitiful shuffle as he exited the kitchen, shoulders hunched and legs shaking. John did not appear to mourn the loss of his food, yet his eyes stayed trained unwavering on his lover’s body as he rounded the corner. 

“He seems upset,” you noted. 

“He’s in pain,” John explained. 

A clash of thunder sounded just as John rose from his chair, and he left his plate behind as he began to rummage for something around the stove. Its embers ebbed and waved with brilliant scarlet light, and it almost danced to life in flames when John knelt before it. He retrieved two medium sized, semi-flat stones tucked into the stonework and placed them on the small hearth next to the dying embers. Nodding to himself, he then turned to you, worry etched deep in his face. 

“Wait a few minutes, then grab these stones and bring them up to our chamber,” he asked while his feet began to wander out of the room. “They’ll be hot, so grab them with cloth. Take care not to burn yourself.” 

Without another word, he vanished out of the room where you then heard his feet stomping up the stairs moments later. Rain refused to quiet nor waver even as you carefully cleaned up yours and John’s plate. 

Pain? Simon was in pain? Well, John could certainly read your husband better than you could, because you thought he had just been his regular self. Still, you supposed it wasn’t entirely impossible. With as many scars that afflicted his body, you were certain the damage ran deeper than just superficial marks on his skin. 

As instructed, you waited until the rocks had soaked plenty of warmth before using the edge of your himation to grab them. With careful hands, you trekked up the stairs to the second floor where you found John and Simon in bed together. A drenched chiton sat on the floor next to the bed, but Simon’s naked body still glistened with the memory of its moisture. His chest heaved and he grunted like an animal as he slung an arm over his face, hiding his eyes from the light of the oil lamp that flickered on the nightstand. 

John’s thumbs dug into the muscle around Simon’s knees, massaging them with what appeared to be less than gentle touch. Simon hissed, jaw flexing as his teeth grinded together, yet he kept still as the man worked at him. You approached the side of the bed with hands outstretched, hot rocks tucked together underneath thick wool sitting in your palms. 

“Is he alright?” you questioned.

John paused long enough to turn and grab the stones from your hands. His fingers didn’t flinch when he grabbed them, as if he was so used to the heat of them that it no longer phased him. 

“It’s the weather,” he explained. “The old wounds in his knees are aggravated by the change.” 

You watched with apprehension as John pressed the rocks against Simon’s skin, yet your husband didn’t flinch. The tense muscles that flexed in his thighs slowly began to soften as John moved the rocks carefully around his knee, tracing the long scar that dissected his skin. It was one of the first things you noticed about him the day you got married. Deep and ugly, it ailed him so bad he couldn’t walk straight because of it; forever bound to limp in weakness despite the strong stature his body would otherwise have you believe. 

Another smaller scar mirrored in perfect continuity on his other knee. It was not as deep nor as angry, but you could clearly make out the line in which both scars connected. A blade. It must have been. There was no other weapon that you knew of that could’ve created a scar such as that. His entire body, even his face, was littered with the unsightly marks. 

Why would a blacksmith have such scars? 

John moved from one knee to the next, warm rocks soothing away the ache so deep in Simon’s body that hands alone could not heal. You quietly stole a seat on the mattress next to Simon, and you carefully watched the mesmerizing motions of John’s circling hands. He was so… soft for a soldier. Considerate. It’s a side of man you weren’t used to seeing after witnessing such violence in your home. For a while, you thought love was just violence; blood waiting to be spilled. Perhaps love was just warm rocks against tired skin. 

“What happened?” you asked with eyes still trained on the old wound. 

John’s eyes glanced up at Simon, who wasn’t able to see his gaze through the arm slung over his face. As if he felt the burn of his eyes, the man shifted on the bed before letting out a heavy sigh. 

“Tell ‘er, Johnny. Know you like tellin’ the story,” he urged. 

A grin bloomed on John’s face as he turned his attention back to Simon’s knee. “He got this from saving my life.” 

Stunned, you shifted on the mattress to get closer, and your thigh brushed against Simon’s leg. How your husband could handle the cold of your chambers completely naked and half wet was beyond you. Your body yearned for any warmth it could steal. 

“I don’t believe it,” you countered. 

Really, you didn’t. How could John MacTavish, hailed hero of your city, need any sort of saving? You didn’t at all doubt Simon’s capability of saving someone; it was just the thought that John could ever find himself in such a precarious situation that you doubted. 

“I’d never lie to you, little dove,” John chuckled. “No, Simon and I served together, once upon a time ago. Trained together. Fought together.” 

He paused his story in order to switch knees again, returning to the one closest to him. Simon’s breathing had already calmed, and he no longer panted like a mad dog. Any tension that had been harbored in his body when you first entered the chambers had almost been completely washed away. 

“Years ago both of us had been deployed in a large-scale battle. It was a bloody skirmish with swords flailing every which way, I swear the glint of metal was brighter than the sun that day,” John recalled. “But there was this big brute who fought with a club. Rivaled the size of Simon, even, which isn’t easy. Bastard snatched the shield right out of my hands and knocked his club against my chin. Split me right open and knocked me out cold.” 

A hand instinctively covered your mouth as John shared the story, and he paused for a moment to look at you. He seemed to take some sort of boyish pride in your worry, and he tilted his chin up to put his own scar on display. You had hardly noticed it before due to his stubble and your active effort to not look too many people in the eyes, but it marked his skin as clear as day. It was deep, spanning from the front of his chin and curling underneath the right side of his jaw in an angry, red line. 

“I wasn’t out long, of course, but I wasn’t all there when I woke up,” he continued. “Felt like I was underwater, could hardly breathe. Bastard stood over me ready to bash my head in like a damn melon when Simon swooped in like an eagle. Sliced him to bits before he could do anything else to me. But war is messy and unforgiving. Several others piled on him, got him pretty good. Still killed the bastards.” 

“All but one,” Simon corrected. He had been so quiet you swore he had fallen asleep. “One of ‘em ran off.” 

“He killed the bastards that weren’t cowards,” John amended with a chuckle. “But they got his knees. Surprised infection didn’t take him. But Simon, my love, stubborn man that he is, carried me off the field even with his wounds.”

“Would you rather I dragged you?” Simon asked. 

“You should’ve left me there.”

“I love you too much for that.” 

The sound of rain smothered the conversation as both men fell silent. Rotten shame boiled deep in your stomach as your eyes carefully scanned Simon’s body. Over the weeks, you had gotten so used to his unabashed nakedness to the point it didn’t phase you, but that wasn’t what made you feel shameful; it was the realization of how bitter you had been. 

On the day of your wedding when Simon lifted your veil from your face, the only thing you could think was how ugly he was. The scars that littered his body were just eyesores, and his limp didn’t make him a paragon of strength. Hardly the man that was supposed to protect you from the wicked ways of the world. How cruel you were for thinking such a thing. For looking at the scars he earned saving the life of his lover as if they were an eyesore rather than proof of his devotion. How dare you look at him as anything less than he was; a man who loved?

In an attempt to swallow down your shame, you found your own hands reaching out for Simon’s knee. The heat of his skin felt nice against your frigid hands, but he flinched at the sensation. You paused as you looked up at his half obscured face, and you didn’t look away until you felt his muscles melt and relax underneath your touch. 

In silence, you mimicked John’s movements with your thumbs. Tendons and muscle danced underneath your fingertips as you did your best to massage the pain from your husband. With hands as weak as yours, you were certain it hardly did anything to help him at all. Still, you continued, and you prayed to the gods that he could feel your silent apology through your touch alone.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #f!reader

[dindjarindiaries]

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: “You could have died, you know.” “I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” and “I’m afraid of losing you, okay?”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

"Hey! Hey. Stay with me." There was a gentle tap on your cheek that smelled of leather and blaster fire. You groaned and blinked your eyes open, wincing as light caught the silver helmet that leaned over you. "Hey." The modulated voice was even softer that time. "You with me?"

You nodded, grunting as you sat up on your elbows. Din's hands continued to hold the sides of your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as his visor gave you a once-over.

"Easy." His command was gentle, rooted in nothing more than concern as his hands eased their way down to your shoulders. "That was a hell of a blow you took there."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me." You exhaled and began to stand. "We need to get back to the ship."

Din stood with you, one hand on your back and the other holding tight to your hand. If you weren't still somewhat disoriented, your heart would've been pounding at his touch and his proximity. "Only if you're able."

You huffed and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm fine." You gestured with your head in the direction of the ship. "Let's get going."

Din nodded, drawing his blaster as the two of you began to run to back to the ship. There was no doubt the two of you had already taken care of your attackers, but it never hurt to be cautious. Din, however, was even more on edge than usual, his free hand staying close to you as his visor checked on you more than it did on the way ahead.

It was perhaps the most nervous you had ever seen him.

Once you were on the ship, Din secured the hatch closed behind you, and he wasted no time heading to the cockpit to get you off the planet. You collapsed into the nearest chair and took a few breaths, running your hand over your forehead as a slight ache began to arise. You had known you wouldn't be able to walk away from a detonator blast without at least a little pain.

You were so distracted by these thoughts that you didn't even hear Din return until he was kneeling in front of you with the medpac. You lifted your head at the sight of it and clicked your tongue as you shook your head. "Din, that's really not necessary."

He didn't stop shuffling through the medpac as he answered. "I'd like to make sure." Din paused and glanced up at you. "Please."

You couldn't help giving in to the pure worry in his tone. Your lips stretched in a small smile as you nodded. He returned the gesture and lifted a handheld scanner, using it on various parts of your head, arms, and more to make sure you were free of any critical injures. It time and time again chimed in the negative.

You watched him as he worked, taking note of the way his gloved hand shook as he held the scanner. His free hand was on your knee, and his touch pulsated every once in a while as if he was grounding himself to you over and over again. You furrowed your brow, and once he had completed his scans, you couldn't help speaking on it.

"Din." You reached out for the sides of his helmet, encouraging him to look at you. You searched his visor before nodding firmly. "It's all right."

Din held a breath in his armored chest, his shoulders tensing as his hand on your knee tightened again. His visor fell to study his grasp on you, as if you would fall away if he let go or looked away. After a long pause, he spoke in a voice so strained that it pulled on each of your heartstrings. "You could have died, you know."

You softened even more at that, your thumbs running over his beskar cheeks as you tried to soothe him. "I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about."

Din shook his helmet, lowering it until it was resting against the knee he wasn't still holding. His shoulders rose and fell with each unsteady breath he took. Your softness was exchanged for fierce worry of your own as you ran a hand over his helmet.

"Din." You utterance of his name was just above a whisper. He still remained where he was, practically curled up into you as he clung to you the best he could. "What is it?"

He didn't move even as he answered your question. "I'm afraid."

Your eyes widened at that. You had been convinced that there wasn't a single thing in the galaxy Din Djarin was actually afraid of. He had sure as hell proven that over your time together. "What are you so afraid of?"

Din sighed, lifting his helmet once again so that his visor could face you. His hand ran from your knee to your thigh as if the motion helped him to gain the strength to say the words he was holding so close to his chest. "I’m afraid of losing you, okay?"

You instantly fell apart at his vulnerability. Your brow relaxed as you held his helmet between your hands again and urged him to get closer. The way you moved to the end of the chair helped to close the distance, and soon, you were able to rest your forehead against his helmet. "You won't lose me, Din." You shook your head to emphasize your point. "Not now, not ever."

Din exhaled a troubled breath. "We don't know that." His gloved fingers drummed against your thigh as he fought for strength to go on. "I... have lost so much. It almost feels inevitable. I've put my head down and kept going, but..."

His breath caught in his throat. Your sympathy for him nearly made your eyes well with tears as you waited patiently for him to finish.

"If it were you..." One of Din's hands rose to hold your wrist in place. "I couldn't bear it. Not even the thought of it."

You tried your best to put on a genuine smile for him as you began to reassure him. "I'll be more careful, Din. Okay?" You kissed the center of his visor. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I know it's not easy."

Din huffed, and a wave of relief flowed through you at the evidence of the darkness starting to leave him. "Neither is jumping near a detonator to protect me."

You chuckled, shrugging as your face began to warm. "Well, you would've done the same for me."

Din tilted his helmet at that. "Yeah. In protective armor."

You closed your eyes and savored your closeness. "I guess you'll have to find me my own suit of armor, then."

Din's hand gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. "I'll be your armor."

You reopened your eyes, smiling at him before you wrapped your arms around his neck to embrace him. Your cheek rested upon the cloth around his neck and shoulders as you nodded to yourself. "Perfect."

din djarin tag list: @yorksgirl @zenrobbins0021 @cyaredindjarin @cw80831 @maddiedrmr

#hopefully this makes sense bc i wrote this while like half asleep HAHAHA #i just want to comfort him #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #prompts #dindjarindiaries

[inaconstantstateofchange]

BG3 AU where Wyll's self-sacrifice in saving Baldur's Gate – from cultists of Tiamat, the queen of evil dragons, no less – at great personal cost creates the barest beginnings of a bond to the still-slumbering Ansur. After all, that stymied, accumulated draconic power would have had to dissipate somewhere, and would it not make sense for it to be drawn to the lodestone of a necrotic-energy suffused dracolich?

It would give Ansur a bit of a jolt toward waking, but not enough to bring him to full awareness. The part of him that remained curious, and hopeful, and mourned its lost connection to a bright spark of mortal devotion and nobility – in retrospect, lost to him perhaps even before Balduran’s transformation – latched on to that new path, following it to its end in the brilliant, marred soul of Wyll Ravengard.

After everything, after his father returns to the city, and Wyll... leaves it, he dreams. There’s a different, recognizable creature every time. It starts very small, a little fish in a pond he finds himself sitting by. He is tired and worn from keeping up his mask of careful good cheer, and his body aches from the scuffles it has been forced into. Mizora seems to get some entertainment from sending him after quarry just slightly above his level, or with not enough information to prepare himself adequately. He is learning quickly, but never quite quickly enough, it feels. Here, in this dreamscape, his eye socket still aches, but it is comfortingly empty of the stone that sits within in in the waking world, its chilling weight reminding him always of his mistress’s leash.

He trails his fingers within the pond, and the little fish darts away, a flash of blackened bronze scales. He can’t blame it; he’d hide from himself if he could, too. He says as much to the little creature, and fancies it moves a little closer to the entrance of its little hiding hole. Charmed, and encouraged by the thought that, after all, who else could he possibly speak to about any of this, he settles back against a small outcropping of rock alongside the pool, leaving his fingers bobbing gently in the water, but letting his eyes close and his attention wander.

He tells the little thing about his most recent quest — he likes to call them such sometimes, in the privacy of his own mind, because it lets him pretend that they are anything as glamorous and heroic as the future he dreamed for himself, Before. Even more privately, he draws a mental distinction between the quests he is allowed to take on of his own volition, and the jobs that Mizora sends him on, to further her own unknowable ends. Thus far, they don’t seem to have been anything too horrible, but he fears that such will not always be the case. What can he do about it, however? This was his bargain for the lives of every resident of the Gate, and his own acts at Mizora’s direction have not even come close to outweighing that number.

He is broken from this too-familiar thought spiral by a distinctly unfamiliar – and unexpected – brush of scales against his fingertips. He starts, briefly, but keeps his calm, and merely cracks open his eyes to look down at his little friend. It is poised to dart back into its crevice at the slightest motion, and he smiles down at it, keeping his fingers as still as he can.

“Have no fear — I will make no attempt at you, I swear it. At least one of us ought to be free.”

The little fish makes one last brush against his outstretched hand before darting away again. He fancies it swims with less frantic caution, this time, and counts it a victory enough. When he wakes, soon after, the memory of the strange dream does not fracture apart in the way of most dreams, but seems to tuck itself away, coming to the forefront of his mind only when directly called upon.

[Now with Part 2]

#i have more i'd like to write for this but this is where it's at for now #the themes of the two of them just work so well together i can't stop rotating them in my mind #wyll makes ansur remember what it is to be noble. ansur reminds wyll that he too is of the Gate - its very heart - and in no way expendable #bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3 au #baldurs gate 3 #wyll #wyll ravengard #bg3 ansur #ansur #wyll & ansur #my writing #bg3 spoilers #bg3 act 3 spoilers #(forgot to add those ones before VERY SORRY)

[hxnbi]

✧ among the stars — sung jinwoo 

synopsis: in which jinwoo still clings fruitlessly onto the past

tags: angst, death, unhealthy coping with said death, no comfort, gn reader

word count: 2.3k

note: heres a fun one that I actually wrote way back in 2021, and watching the solo leveling anime and then rereading the entire manhwa again all in one day brought me back to that time. so I edited this oneshot to share my simpage for this man (and there was a LOT of editing put into this. past me writing this sure was interesting)

Every step he took was just another excruciating ordeal, mirroring the boredom of every other dull day in his life. Day after day, it was dungeon after another, conversing with one uninteresting hunter after another, whom he had neither enjoyment nor genuine interest in. Everyone, except for you, that is. 

You were the singular exception to all the mundanity. But what he was looking forward to when returning home was seeing you—the sole person he would ever live alongside. Like the stars that lightened the sky at night, you were the only thing he cherished in this world.  

"Hello? [Y/n]? Are you home?"

No reply.

A small smile edged over his lips. 'Guess they're still at work.' But his shoulders drooped in disappointment. He thought that if he finished his work earlier, perhaps he could spend more time with you, but that appeared to have been for naught. 

Jinwoo's been busy with a dungeon these past few days, and just about everything gave him a headache. Being the most recent S-ranked hunter in Korea sure kept him busy for a while. 

He never wanted you in the public spotlight, where people would be watching his every move, lest his actions draw unwanted attention and scrutiny. It haunted him. But unbeknownst to his own fears, you understood that fact completely. 

Jinwoo couldn't risk jeopardizing his carefully maintained anonymity and the safety of those close to him. Only then could you be by his side and comfort him when nobody else could. With your hand over his, you offer a sense of silent support. Quietly, you always preferred being at the centre of attention.

Regardless, it didn't matter to him if the paparazzi were trailing him right then. He needed more time to see you as of late. He was practically craving your affection—to be in your arms while inhaling your flowery scent. 

But... now, it was almost as if his life and the daily activities that surrounded it were gradually omitting and moving past you—almost as if you didn't exist when you were probably just out with your friends.

Seeing you weren't here, he proceeded to wait for you to return home. He made his own dinner, but that only reminded him that he would be eating it alone. Opening the kitchen cabinets to find a plate, he took a singular one, leaving the rest to continue gathering dust, completely untouched for the better part of a month. His meal had ended up tasting blander than usual. Perhaps it was because you weren't here, sitting beside him.

Your absence that night sure was affecting him more than he thought.

Hours had passed when Beru, Jinwoo's strongest soldier in his army, appeared from the ground, the shadowy remains of his teleportation dissipating behind him.

With a hand over his heart, he addressed his master. "My liege… They still have not returned home yet. Perhaps you should get some rest."

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes, revealing the atrociously dark bags under them even further. It was even worse than he initially expected. This had even made Beru step back in fear of his master's wrath. 

Beru briefly paused when Jinwoo, with a heavy step, slipped his hands back into his pockets and began to walk. "...Alright then. Remind me as soon as [Y/n] is at the door." 

Beru nodded once again with his hand over his shadowy heart. "As you wish, my liege."

And he made his way to your and his shared bedroom. The door creaked open softly, revealing an empty bed. For a second, Jinwoo chuckled. You must've been out hanging out with your friends again. Yet, despite the room's quiet, Jinwoo didn't feel sleepy. The worry for your safety lingered in his mind. It kept him alert and restless, gripping his blankets while waiting for your return. 

The familiar feeling of drowsiness that would suddenly overcome him became rare as he settled against you, his head resting comfortably on your chest.

Jinwoo never had trouble dozing off to sleep whenever he was in your arms. But without you there, it was all he could ever think of. He's had some horrible sleep lately.

'They'll come soon,' Jinwoo hummed. 'I just know it.'

But an hour passed, and then two. Three would soon follow. Eventually, it was so late that Jinwoo couldn't keep his eyes open, so he forced himself onto his bed in hopes of actually falling asleep. Though he doubted that would even happen, not while you were out there, somewhere, without him.

Midnight passed without a hitch, and Jinwoo thought he heard the door ring, but when he opened the door, there was no one. The sky was still pitch black. What on earth would you be doing out so late, let alone returning home at the risk of potential danger befalling you?

He scoffed. It must've been some kind of ding-dong ditch. And he was dumb enough to fall for it. 

Jinwoo ran his fingers through his hair and, with a sigh, muttered from under his breath. "What would [Y/n] think if they saw me like this?"

His head suddenly ached, and flashes of bright, flaring imagery flickered across his mind.

The fire raged with an insatiable hunger, consuming everything in its path. Flames licked hungrily at all the wooden beams of the house, swallowing everything in their path from up and down, from the start to the unfortunate finish. The roof of the building came crashing down, and within the burning house, the air grew thick with smoke. 

Outside, onlookers watched in horror. All the while, desperate cries pierced the night. Their pleas were drowned out by the roar of the flames. But there was nothing they could do. No ordinary soul could survive that. 

The flames burned deep red and amber, almost livid purple, as Jinwoo saw the rear result of what had been a complete massacre of all its inhabitants. 

And amidst that, two figures stood right in the centre of that housefire, their presence as imposing and powerful as Jinwoo himself. Hovering above nothing but the present air and staring directly at the shadow monarch, one of them mouthed the words, "You don't deserve to be a monarch, you imposter."

"Tch…"

That memory. 

"...Beru."

The very second his words left his lips, the shadow appeared. With a hand over his chest, he addressed his master. "Yes, my liege?"

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me, huh? Were you lazily watching your dramas again?" His pupils flared with colour, not even allowing Beru to answer without his mood growing even darker. "Is that more important than ensuring that [Y/n] is home safe and sound?" 

The bug, stiffly standing at attention, remained silent. "I apologize, but there was no one at the d—"

"I don't want to hear it. Now get out of my sight."

Beru's head only dipped lower. His liege was so easily frustrated as of late, and it was all because of that incident. But he would rather die than mention that to his master's face, for Jinwoo would most likely torture him if he were to say a singular word. 

He felt pity for their master for succumbing to such mortal feelings.

Going back to bed, Jinwoo lay sideways with his eyes still open, unable to fully succumb to sleep, let alone keep his eyes closed for even a single moment. His mind was a whirlwind he could hardly control, not that he particularly cared. 

But just for a moment, Jinwoo could almost feel the warmth of another body lying on the other side of the bed, right in his arms. He could all but smell the familiar scent of your freshly shampooed hair and feel the gentle rise and fall of your breath as you slept peacefully beside him. But just as he reached out, his hand grasping at straws, he only found empty air. 

A cruel reminder of your absence.

Jinwoo closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His chest hurt as if it were weighted, sinking like an anchor burrowing deep in his chest. He couldn't get the picture of your face out of his head. Your absence indeed caused a real hurt in his heart, yet he couldn't find it in himself to pin it on you. 

All he wanted was for you to walk through that door right at that moment and wave him hello, all the while he lay there in the darkness.

'Ahah… right. What was I thinking?'

Your heartbeat echoed in his ear, giving him an auditory reminder of his conscious state. 

'They're right there.'

You existed in his life, and that was all that mattered.

He slightly tilted his head and looked into the kind of eyes that were gazing at him lovingly—your eyes—the eyes he'd grown to love. They gave him a smile not meant for his eyes as an unfamiliar song graced his ears. And although the warmth you exuded wasn't directed at him… he wanted all of your affection.

The tender voice of his significant other echoed in his ears. 

"I love you," you chimed, caressing his cheek. 

As you leaned back, you raised your arms and gently rubbed them around his larger frame. Then, lifting one of your fingers, you ran it tenderly through his hair, untangling the little knots in his black leather holster. 

"I love you too..." he whispered. His gaze softened ever so slightly as a gentle breath blew past. Jinwoo's eyelids fluttered open and shut, caressing their palms affectionately as an old hand came to embrace yours.

But Jinwoo knew all along. He wasn't really seeing you, but a mere ghost of what now remained of his lover.

"Fuck…" 

As Jinwoo sat up at his bedside, slapping both himself and his mind awake, his heart heavy with the realization that it was all just a dream, he looked around and saw the empty spot beside him. 

"....."

"Damnit…" he cursed under his breath.

It was getting to him. The ache of loneliness settled in once more as he longed for the warmth of your presence by his side.

But wherever he went, all he could see was you. 

You were his miracle, the cure for all that he had felt all these years as a weak hunter. Even being an S-ranked hunter couldn't satisfy his pride. All he needed was your affection and love and nobody else's. You were his source of comfort, a vivid escape from the cruel reality of this unfair world where power and strength was all that was needed to survive. But you were living proof that wasn't what he wanted.

It was then that you noticed that glaze in his eyes. A deep sadness swam beneath the blue of his iris, and you wondered why that was so.

"What's wrong, my dear Jinwoo?" Your expression softened, growing worried at seeing his expression. "Is something on your mind? Would you like to talk to me about it? I'm all ears."

Hah…

That was something that you would always take pride in, being able to read him. 

He shook his head. "... It's nothing."

A heavy sigh eluded his lips as he turned his head to the woman next to him. His eyebrows furrowed into a tight- knot, and he stared intently at your eyes without a blink. 

Your hand caressed his cheek. But the warmth was missing. It felt oddly cold. "Well, if you ever want to talk, I'll always be by your side."

Jinwoo's heart clenched. 'No, you won't…'

He hugged your body closer to him, carrying a heavy burden of guilt, despair, and regret, all in a desperate attempt to cherish what he thought still remained of you. Unbeknownst to him, what he was clutching onto was but a pillow.

It was cold. It was stiff. It was nothing like you. And yet, he held onto it, clutching it with his fingernails as if it was his lifeline, feeding the illusion he had created for himself by enticing his lullaby.

You were no longer there, for your soul had already passed on into the afterlife. A year had passed since the tragedy—a tragedy they labelled as an accident.

But that couldn't have been more false.

That day gave him a false sense of security…

The memories haunted Jinwoo relentlessly since day one. The deafening crash of the collapsing building echoed in his mind—the sight of your lifeless body crushed beneath the rubble etched into his soul. 

It haunted him. But deep down, he knew it wasn't an accident. Far from it.

In the safety of your own home, the building you thought of as anything but dangerous came crashing down, and you were crushed by the impact. The monarchs decided it was time to get rid of everything he cared about.

Death. A concept all too familiar to humans.

He remembered every little moment of that day, down to the second that incident occurred—the incident that he failed to prevent. 

All because of him.

It was no one’s fault but his own.

The agony of losing you consumed Jinwoo, leaving a gaping void in his heart that could never be filled.

They took you away from him without remorse or justification. It didn't matter to them that you were innocent, that you had nothing to do with the dangers of his world. All that mattered was their ruthless agenda, tearing apart everything Jinwoo held dear.

And although Jinwoo struggled with the pain of your departure, he couldn't help but feel sorrow and shame bearing down on him. If only he had been there to keep you safe and out of danger. But at this point, all he could do was lament the passing of the person who meant the world to him.

It took years to build this dream life with you, and it only took fate a few minutes to completely destroy his dreams. Forever.

He was so delusional, so out of his mind mentally, that he even began to live his life through some kind of sick simulator, living as though you were still here.

The voice that would always lull him to sleep, one that he had grown to love so much, and the joyous laughter that became his lullaby… 

He'll do it. Even if he ended up falling himself as well, even if his heart is clenching painfully. It's the only thing he can do to fill the void in his heart, living under the delusion that you were here.

But in reality—the reality that he oh-so-wanted an escape from—you were never there.

For you had long already passed away.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

#solo leveling x reader #solo leveling #fanfic #fanfiction #solo leveling fanfic #solo leveling sung jinwoo #sl sung jinwo #sl #sl x reader #x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #solo leveling jinwoo #jinwo x reader #sung jin woo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwo x you #angst #scenarios

[stardustlixie]

i love you?

☆

"how long in the relationship did it take for you to say i love you?" was always such a strange question for you. if you loved someone, why would you wait to tell them? maybe you wouldn't say it out loud, but there would be silent confessions..

a bowl of fruit delivered to their desk on a particularly busy day, 'i love you'

a sketch of their sleeping form, illuminated in faint sunlight, face nuzzled into their pillow, hair tickling their skin, 'i love you'

a small sneaky bite into their shoulder, 'i love you'

countless poems written in their name, with all the words that you could possibly use to say 'i love you'

letting them pick their movie for the hundredth time, 'i love you'

the vulnerability of them trusting you enough to fall asleep in your arms, a soft kiss on the forehead, 'i love you'

looking after them on sick days, running fingers through their hair as they curse their headache, 'i love you'

entangled pinkies on busy roads so you don't lose them in the crowd, 'i love you'

drawing red strings on each other's hands, a promise to always find each other, 'i love you'

perhaps you love too easy, feel too much, but that's okay. what was your heart made for, if not to feel?

as long as you were capable of loving, you would love easily, trust easily, get hurt easily, and start over again. that's how you were. until fates twisted themselves in a way that rendered you incapable of feeling anything but a never ceasing emptiness, a dark void of nothing is what was left of your heart.

until he came around. hyunjin, who wore his heart on his sleeve much like you used to. hyunjin, who loved easily and got hurt easily. hyunjin who was so, so beautiful. from then on it was only him.

loving him was surprisingly painless, and oh-so-easy. he was a beautiful soul.

you brought him fruit that day he was stressing over an assignment, you sketched his face when he fell asleep in your bed after crying his heart out about something that hurt his sensitive heart, you bit his shoulder out of nowhere during a particularly boring lecture, getting a barely audible yelp in return.

you gifted him a notebook filled with poems about him on his birthday, you laughed and rolled your eyes when he picked tangled to watch for the nth time, you brushed his hair out of his face to plant a kiss on his forehead when he feel asleep on the couch, on top of you, conveniently immobilising you.

your fingers ran through his hair as you tried to soothe his headache, entangled your pinky with his on a busy street filled with bookstores he took you to and you drew red strings on the hand that was in your own as you both absentmindedly lay on the floor.

as he cradled your sobbing figure as you cried out your misery, he was balm to your heart, tincture to your wounds, calmness to your nerves and healing to your soul. and then he said it, "i love you."

and maybe that was all that mattered.

#skz #stray kids #kpop #hyunjin #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz hyunjin

[hermannsthumb]

Please please please more "Fake Dating for Funding"! I haven't read much PR stuff in the last few years and your newest piece jerked me right back to that old standby hyperfixation. It's so cute!!

answering this sooooo late, OOPS SORRY, but here's a little ficlet as i try to get myself back in the writing groove.... the original fake dating for funding fic is right here, but i was thinking over plot concepts earlier and this one made me laugh, LMAO

------------------------------------------------------

"I have a favor to ask of you," Hermann says one morning.

Typical of Hermann, it's blunt and to the point, no show of bartering or sweetening Newt up with dessert or anything like that. In theory Newt should be annoyed, but Hermann indebts himself to Newt so rarely (and never willingly) that Newt’s actually kind of interested to see where this goes. He pushes up his work goggles and strips off his gloves without a second thought.

Hermann is standing directly over Newt’s side of the yellow line, one hand balled into a fist while the other white-knuckles his cane, his shoulders hunched over. He looks extremely uncomfortable. On the other hand Hermann rarely looks comfortable, so this isn’t anything new, or something to draw immediate conclusions from.

“Okay,” Newt says. “Lay it on me.”

“I would not blame you if you found yourself thinking less of me,” Hermann says, “or outright rejecting the proposition. I’m aware it is far more than one typically asks of a…” He swallows. “Colleague.”

The word hangs awkwardly in the air between them. It’s not that it’s an inaccurate descriptor, but it doesn’t completely encompass the, uh, reality of things, being that they were a litttttle more than colleagues up until two months ago. (Not that they called themselves anything other than colleagues for the duration of that whole—indiscretion. It was a little confusing.)

Still, Hermann’s groveling, and Newt’s interested. “Oh, sweet,” he says, maybe a little too casually. Just two bros having a normal conversation about how they're nothing more than colleagues. “I’m totally in. What are we doing? Is it illegal or something?”

He could actually use Hermann’s mad computer hacker skills for something in the near future—Newt wants unrestricted card access to the typically very restricted hazardous materials storage in the jaeger bay for reasons he’s not going to disclose—and doing something illegal for the guy would be a great way to get him to do something illegal for Newt in return. In a favor-for-favor way more than a blackmail way, because Newt mostly isn't a dick. And anyway, maybe doing some platonic fun k-science bonding time will be good for them. Make things a little less tense. Newt’s been working on that really hard lately, mostly because his multiple Shatterdome transfer requests have been outright denied by the Marshal and he seems to be out of alternatives.

“No,” Hermann says.

He looks at his shoes. He’s about two unlucky inches away from stepping on a piece of kaiju spleen Newt dropped earlier and forgot about, and the fact that he’s not taking any precautions to shield his precious ugly wingtips tells Newt he means business. “Perhaps a little…morally questionable.”

“Oooh, Hermann, you’re such a tease,” Newt says. He tosses his nasty gloves in the trash can and scoots Hermann towards the cluster of their desks with a hand to the small of his back, ignoring the way Hermann bristles and digs the end of his cane halfheartedly into the floor. “Come on, come on, I’ll make coffee, stop looking so depressed.”

He does make himself a coffee but brews a quick cup of black tea for Hermann, which turns out to be kind of a waste of his time, since Hermann blatantly ignores the mug Newt slides in front of him. He’s gone from looking like the most emo librarian in the world to looking vaguely nauseous. If circumstances weren’t as they are, Newt might say it was making him look exceptionally alluring—that whole sickly Victorian lad thing really gets him going. “If you’ve forgotten,” Hermann says, “we’ve another of those foolish PPDC fundraisers soon, at the end of the month.”

“Oh.” Newt leans back in his chair, a little disappointed. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Hermann says. “No.” He shakes his head gravely. He’s so dramatic sometimes, it’s kinda cute. “It is the root of the problem, but not the entirety of it. You’ll recall, I presume, how badly in need of funding we are, myself in particular for the Breach-mapping software I am attempting to develop.”

Newt does recall, because yeah, he is also in need of funding real bad. Can’t make awesome, ground-breaking advancements in the field of kaiju biology without any kaiju bits to study the biology of. That spleen currently threatening to ooze over the yellow tape line represents approximately sixty percent of Newt's remaining currently viable samples. “Uh, yeah?”

“I have,” Hermann makes a face, “a working theory, so to speak. You’ll further recall the similar PPDC event we attended in August of last year?”

“Yeah?”

“And the one we attended this year, in the week following our—”

“Yeah, Hermann, I remember.”

“Right,” Hermann says.

Newt remembers the second one more clearly than he likes, because having to make nice with Hermann to present a united front six days after a very, very stupid argument about Newt maaaaybe stealing half of Hermann’s sandwich—which ultimately led to a mutual and spur of the moment decision to dissolve the whole weird lab partners-with-benefits thing they had going on—was one of the more uncomfortable experiences of his career. Still, he made as nice as he could, because his supply of work gloves and Keurig pods were running dangerously low and he didn’t feel like shelling out the money from his own abysmally small paycheck for any.

He doesn’t know what was so significant about the other one they went to though, the one last August. It was humid. Newt remembers being so hot he had to take off his tie, and he lost it somewhere in the convention center afterwards. He misses that tie. Hermann hated it, which makes him culprit number one in its disappearance.

“We drew in significantly more donations in August than we did two months ago,” Hermann says, and opens the top drawer of his desk to produce a neat stack of papers, which he spreads in front of Newt to reveal a series of color-coded spreadsheets.

Newt’s eyes glaze over a little at the sight. He doesn’t bother extending the effort to confirm Hermann’s data—as much as he hates to admit it, the guy is thorough with his numbers and rarely wrong about stuff like this. He flips through it anyway to appease him. And, honestly, he thinks Hermann’s feelings would be hurt if he didn’t, and Newt really is committed to being a good labmate (y’know, for the very brief time being). “And prior to August,” Hermann continues, “you’ll note that the average sum total of donations we received per event was significantly lower. August was an anomaly.”

“Sure,” Newt says. “So what?”

Hermann slides the spreadsheet back into his desk, pulls his dorky glasses off, and exhales slowly: he’s getting to the point. Newt has a hunch what that point might be, but Hermann always looks funny when he gets into lecture mode, and Newt doesn’t want to interrupt it.

“I believe,” Hermann says, “that our—relationship status, which was significantly different on that occasion as compared to the rest—might possibly have had no small influence, for one reason or another. We certainly behaved more, er, affectionately, or tenderly around each other, and perhaps others took note and found it charming. Or some such thing. Of course I can't draw any conclusions from a single point of data, but I believe if we were to... Well, it's a bit silly, hearing myself now.”

“You want me to be your fake b-f so we can trick people into giving a shit about us and shake them down easier,” Newt says.

The tips of Hermann’s generous ears go red. “I’m aware it’s an unusual request,” he says, “especially considering… recent certain developments in our working relationship.”

It’s not exactly the fun platonic bonding time Newt anticipated, but he has a hunch Hermann might be on to something—the whole doomed romance, give us money so our love has a fighting chance of surviving the apocalypse thing, which they were apparently already inadvertently playing up. He’s willing to give it a shot. Making a joke out of it might actually help Newt let go of his last lingering nostalgia for that super brief period of time he and Hermann got up to after-hours hijinks and were almost amicable with each other. And, you know, on the other hand, if that doesn’t work, he could totally do the opposite of moving on and revel in the opportunity to do couple-y tender things with Hermann again.

“Yeah, sure,” Newt says. Real chill about it. He’s so chill, man.

Hermann blinks at him owlishly, clearly taken aback, but says nothing.

“It’ll be fun,” Newt adds. “It’s a good plan, great idea, it’ll totally work. Nothing has to be weird, right? I mean, it’s not like we were really even dating before or anything. There’s no reason for it to be weird. It’s definitely not for me. Is it for you?”

“No, er, of course not,” Hermann says. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

They’re totally over each other, but they can also totally pretend they’re not for a night or two, no sweat. “Cool,” Newt says, and repeats, maybe to convince himself, “It’ll be fun. We can dress up all fancy and wear matching ties or something and talk about how tragic we are. I’ll grab your ass in front of people and you can brag about how cool and smart and sexy I am.”

“You are not doing that,” Hermann says, “and I am not doing that. When have I ever—oh, nevermind. I am not averse to the neckties, however, especially if it means you’re at least attempting to look somewhat professional for our prospective—”

“Dude, come on, you totally just think I look hot in a suit.”

The splotchy red flush spreads from Hermann’s ears to his neck as he scowls at Newt. He doesn’t bother denying it: Newt’s sure they both vividly remember the most recent annual k-science research symposium when Newt finally let himself be talked into renting a fancy blazer, to look, uh, like the expert in your field you are, Newton, and Hermann had such a hard time keeping his hands off Newt in increasingly unchaste ways that they had to duck out early. I like when you look put-together and competent, Hermann said, or something along those lines, there was a lot of kissing going on and Newt wasn’t exactly paying attention to specifics. He ended up losing the deposit on the suit—which is why he stole the sandwich in the first place, actually. Very petty revenge. Full circle.

“Piss off,” Hermann grumbles.

“We’re gonna have to put in for just one hotel room if we wanna sell it, you know,” Newt says, the realization suddenly hitting him. “Maybe even one bed. It’ll look totally suspicious if we don’t, right?”

Hermann meets his eyes for a few awkward, quiet seconds, and then they both quickly look away from each other. Newt stands up and makes a show of gathering their untouched mugs, both of which have gone extremely cold. Hermann slips his glasses back on and opens up his desk drawer to shuffle through his immaculate spreadsheets again, pretending to look for errors that they both know aren't there.

“We’ve,” Hermann finally says, and then clears his throat. “We’ve survived worse. I'm sure we can manage. It’s only for two nights, after all.”

“Yeah, totally,” Newt says.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #FINISHED A FIC AT LAST.... #sailoreuterpe

[rockfangirl12]

Call me daddy again

Daddy Bucky Barnes x reader Warning: If you don't like the use of nicknames like daddy and doll, don't read this fanfic.

Your father had been a secret agent for SHIELD, and one day you found yourself visiting the agency's facilities. During your visit, you crossed paths with Bucky Barnes, a man whose gaze seemed to linger on you throughout the time you were there. Despite the professional environment, there was an undeniable connection between you, one that eventually blossomed into a relationship. Two years later, you found yourselves sharing an apartment together.

As you sat on the couch, the light from the television casting a soft glow in the room, you wrapped yourself in a cozy blanket, shielding yourself from the cool autumn air seeping through the windows. Your thoughts drifted to Bucky, who had left that morning on a mission and had yet to return as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of your reverie, and there was Bucky, with a tired expression on his face and a plastic bag in one hand. A bright smile lit up your face at the sight of him.

"I thought you'd be sleeping, doll," Bucky commented, with a slight furrow of his brow.

"I couldn't sleep," you admitted, glancing at the bags he was carrying.

"Brought some takeout Chinese food, your favorite," he replied casually. Although Bucky wasn't always the most affectionate boyfriend in public, he had a way of showing his love through thoughtful gestures like bringing your favorite food home. His eyes lingered on you, unable to resist the sight of you wrapped up in the blanket. "You look so cozy," he remarked as he approached, taking a seat beside you and setting the bags on the coffee table.

"I am," you murmured softly.

You leaned in to give him a sweet kiss on the cheek, eliciting a smile from Bucky, though it also made his chest flutter a bit.

"You'd be even cozier with your head in my lap," Bucky suggested, drawing closer and wrapping an arm around you. His fingers traced gentle circles on your arm, and his expression grew slightly more serious.

You laughed at his unexpected comment, enjoying the spontaneous banter between you and the warmth that seemed to radiate from him.

"My head in your lap?" you repeated with a playful smile.

"Yeah," Bucky affirmed, his voice taking on a deeper tone. "Your head in my lap would be perfect. And if you wanted, you could even take a little nap."

You nestled your head in his lap, snuggling under the blanket as Bucky's warmth enveloped you. He couldn't help but feel a surge of contentment at seeing you nestled against him, his fingers gently tangling in your hair as he savored the moment.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked softly, his fingers continuing their comforting caress, though he made no effort to keep you awake.

"Yes," you whispered, enjoying the comforting sensation of his touch.

Your admission elicited a wider smile from Bucky, and he couldn't resist the urge to slide his other hand along the curve of your cheek, his thumb gently brushing against your lips. He was captivated by your beauty, perhaps even more so in this moment as you lay in his lap. Whatever the reason, he knew he wanted to hold onto this moment forever.

Seizing the moment, you gave his thumb a soft kiss, causing Bucky's head to spin with a mixture of affection and desire. For a moment, he simply gazed at you, completely captivated by your presence and the vulnerability you showed with your head in his lap.

"You're beautiful, doll," Bucky said.

"Really?" you asked, seeking confirmation in his gaze.

"Yeah," he replied without hesitation.

"I love it when you call me doll," you confessed with a shy whisper.

The confession drew another smile from Bucky's lips, who was more in love with you than ever. He had tried other nicknames with you: sweetheart, darling, beautiful, princess… but nothing seemed to fit as well as "doll." It seemed to be the perfect moniker for you.

"Okay," Bucky replied, sliding his thumb along your cheek. "I love thinking of you as MY doll."

"My doll?" you asked, seeking to understand the meaning behind his words.

"Yeah, all mine," he affirmed with an arrogant smile, leaning in a little closer to you. Despite his desire to embrace and kiss you, he restrained himself. Even though your head was resting in his lap, he didn't want to give in to the impulse. "My doll. My girlfriend. My woman," he continued softly, watching with adoration as you smiled. He had become addicted to your tenderness and couldn't imagine sharing you with anyone else. "And no one else can have you," he added with a slightly jealous tone, but filled with love and protection. "Just mine."

"You're so possessive, daddy," you said in a whisper, letting slip the nickname you had always wanted to say, especially in moments of shared intimacy.

The words hung in the air, charged with affection and desire. And though he felt a little overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, Bucky couldn't help but long to hear them again.

"Say it again," he demanded softly, his gaze fixed on your lips.

"What?" you asked, feeling a little shy under his intense gaze.

Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on your lips before leaning in to press a soft kiss against yours. Instead of deepening the kiss, he pulled back slightly, sliding his hand from your cheek to your neck as he held you gently.

"Call me daddy again," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand tightened slightly around your neck. Bucky had never been so possessive, but there was something undeniably intoxicating about this new side of him.

"Daddy," you whispered, the word falling from your lips like a whispered prayer.

Bucky's grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer to him until there was barely any space between you.

"That's right, sweetheart," he murmured as he caressed your neck. "Who's your daddy?"

You bit your lower lip slightly.

"You are."

Those were the words Bucky wanted to hear, and now he felt like he was about to burst. He couldn't help but lean in and press his mouth against yours, kissing and nibbling your lips with passion.

"That's right. I'm your daddy," he murmured between kisses. "And you're my good girl."

The feeling of your legs stretched out and your hands in his hair and cheek excited him even more. You were enjoying his dominance, which made him want to be even more possessive and dominant.

"Good girl," he purred, his fingers tightening around your neck until it almost felt like a collar. "Such a good girl," he added, as his hand began to slowly move toward the opening of your shirt. "We'll make sure my doll enjoys the night."

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns x y/n #avengers #fanfic #dom bucky barnes #daddy's good girl #daddy’s babygirl #daddy k!nk #intimacy #daddy bucky #daddy!bucky #au!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

[hazbinhotelie]

Would you consider doing Alastor with a singer reader?

“I’d say I have a voice of an angel, but that’s simply untrue,” I said with a small laugh. “I’m more comparable to a siren that draws you in with promises of love and kindness, a promise to make your dreams come true and heal your heart. What I don’t mention is which dreams I’ll bring to life- and how the nightmares are the ones I select most often. I may heal your heart but I’ll rip it to shreds just as quick. I’m no angel, darling, I’m a siren in disguise.”

(Made that up on the spot. Anyway, here’s the actual story)

“Ah, you were that singer on stage a few moments ago, weren’t you?” Alastor asked, as I took a seat next to him at the speakeasy bar. “Quite the performance, you have a lovely voice.”

“Thank you,” I said, with a polite smile. I ordered my drink and turned to him, looking him up and down. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

“Alastor,” he said with a grin, shaking my hand. “You may call me Alastor, though I must say, the pleasure is all mine.”

“Oh please, I’m sure my show wasn’t that great,” I said with a small laugh.

“Darling, you’re in the pride ring, there’s no need to be so modest.” He took a sip of his drink and his smile widened. “I think you’re an excellent singer. You’re captivating, really. Capturing sinners with just the sound of your voice.”

“Mm,” I said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Are you one of the people I’ve ‘captured’?”

“Perhaps,” he said vaguely.

“Fitting, I suppose,” I said, looking away. “Deer make for relatively easy prey.”

“Oh really?” He asked, quickly looking back at me, a malicious glint in his eye. “Easy prey? Is that what you take me for?”

“I never said that,” I said with a shrug. “Though your reaction is rather interesting. Reveals quite a bit about you.”

“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Mm,” I thought for a moment, then my face lit up as a new song played. “Hey, I know this one!”

“I asked you a question, my dear,” he said. His ears twitched and went back for a moment, before returning to normal.

I was already singing along. “C’mon, you know this one too, don’t you?” I asked, with a grin. “We’ll meet again, don’t know where…”

“Don’t know when,” he sung, seemingly begrudgingly.

“But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day,” we sung together. I smiled and laughed softly.

“You’re a good singer,” I said lightly.

“As are you. Though, we’ve already established that much,” he said, a little more relaxed. I hummed the rest of the song softly, under my breath. “I have a radio show, you know. I think I’d like to play your songs on it sometime.”

“Live, I assume?” I asked with a grin.

“I would appreciate having you in the studio with me, yes,” he said. He nodded and gave me his card- it even had a little watermark. I hadn’t expected that from the radio demon. “I know it’s short notice, but does tomorrow work for you?”

“Yes, I believe it does,” I said, tucking the card away for safe keeping.

“It’s a date, then,” he said, seeming satisfied.

I smiled. “I suppose it is.”

#alastor the radio demon #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #the radio demon #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #thanks anon!

[metranart]

Mikey x Reader x Draken (Tokyo Revengers)(Part 7)

⭕️ Visit my PATREON LINK for some spicy Tokyo Rev NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction.

“’M about to find out.” 

Draken draws out, and miraculously your eyes open, just a little, just a slit, peeking out, yet the dragon tattoo owner doesn’t waste time to seize this chance.

“...Is my Babygirl ready to cum for her other boyfriend?” he coos, pampering the shell of your ear with greedy smooches.

Ken Ryuguji's paternal nature combined with his utterly masculine boyish style has your head spinning, not to mention how Mikey just wrecked your entire world just minutes ago. You can still feel his cum slipping from your ass, melting your reluctance and molding you back together in a way that you’ll regret later.

“It´s too much—” You coo, “Please, Ken—…" The mention of his name halts his movements all together, attention solely on your next words, “Please, please, please, please-”

“Please what, kitten?” he wonders, “please fuck me harder, please make me cum, please keep stuffing my pretty, little cunt till I burst?... I need more specifics, my sweet girl.”

Mikey chuckles at Draken´s antics, his playful teasing is just intoxicating for the shorter blond. For no one is he willing to get on his knees, except for Ken Ryuguji, for him does it at the snap of his fingers, and you will soon discover that you too will be tamed by this glorious man, just the same.

“P-Please stop—…. I really need-need... to be able to walk in the next-t few days.”  You mutter against his throat, sobbing a little, your body shakes like when you cry but the constant falling water prevents him from see tears. You are doing everything you can to convince him, to poke at his soft spot as his hard cock pokes at yours, right fucking now. 

God! he really looks handsome when his dark eyes soften ever so slightly when you pout, blonde hair like wet noodles cascading down his strong back, tall and impossibly thick. This toman Commander just got finished from fucking you dumb the previous night, how the fuck does he still has the stamina to keep going when you already felt so fucking drained? 

“I'm not—not sure I want to cum again.” You keep pouting, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, so needy.

“Yeah?”  He returns softly, dragging a hand up your back.  “Bet I can make you want it.”

Those predatory eyes gleamed alive with the challenge, and you hurry to weave a plan b. You know you must divert his attention in a drastic way and perhaps draw Mikey´s lewd curiosity can help you achieve just that. You are grateful to be under the hot water, since at least that will help you hide the strong blush painting your cheeks, when you say.

“A-Actually, I´m a little hungry, Ken—” you grunt, tightening your hold on him and arming yourself with courage, force yourself to finish.   “Please, I want-… I want milk in my tummy.”

You make your voice sound erotically childish, a delicious beg and so, SO spoiled, it captures both boy’s attention. Having them in trance, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, pointing a finger at it. "Please, want it in my mouth." You request, pleading so prettily, Mikey´s close to have a full boner all over again.

“FUCK! Kenchin, let her!” Mikey beams from the wet floor, slowly holding himself up on his elbows. “I bet she won't even be able to swallow half of it but I really, REALLY want to see her gag trying, man.”

Draken steals a glance at you. He knows exactly what you are doing, using Mikey’s childish, spoiled nature against him. You are so clever and sly. Draken really ADORES you.

“This isn’t over,” Draken eventually warns you, gently pulling out of your stretched pussy and immediately, you feel relieve wash over you.  He turns around and shutting off the falling water from the shower, he untangles you from his waist until the soles of your feet touch the wet floor. 

“Tears don’t work on me, kitten—but... Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Goodheartedly scolds, sweeping a thick thumb over the creases of your eyes to wipe clean the remaining drops. 

You relax, smiley and dopey-eyed at finally being able to have your way at something. You weren't a fan of having to suck Draken off, but you'd rather than have him buried inside you for the next hour. You are so fucking glad, he gave in. Soon they´ll let you out, and you will go straight to a pharmacy for a birth control pill to avoid anything that could be boiling in your womb, that sounds perfect. You want this to be over as soon as possible.

“So… —”

“On your knees, baby-” Mikey butts in, tugging you down until your knees hit the ground, you find him in the same position, a mischievous grin on his face, before announcing. 

"I'll show you how to do it first and then you´ll continue…" you openly gap at him, and the blond caresses your chin, leaning down to steal a kiss from your stunned lips at his sudden declaration. "Don't you dare look away or I'll have to punish you." Mikey warns, in a playful manner, even so, something dangerous lurks behind relaxed façade, and you reduce to nod.

“Manjiro Sano has no gag reflex,” Draken replies shortly, starting to thread his fingers among his bestie´s wet tresses, darkened gaze set on his leader.  And then he doesn’t say anything more, like that explanation is more than enough.

“Oh.” You remark after a second, thinking about how many times have these two pleased each other, and still, they are considered the toughest guys around. “I see.”

Without ever being prompted, Manjiro Sano swallows his sub-commander thick piece of meat in one go, whole cock dips down his throat till his nose hit Draken´s pubic bone and stays still there. Letting the swollen tip nip at the back of his esophagus without making a single gagging noise. 

“FUCK!” Draken groans loudly, tilting his head back. “Fucking gifted this boy is~” his lips curl into a smile letting his canines show at the same time his eyelids close tight. 

Mikey mind-blowingly slowly starts to bob his head up and down Draken´s meaty shaft, coating it in his saliva while setting a faster tempo. Lazily letting his tongue peek out to slide over the sides to then dip him inside and taste it, tracing the dull edge of his teeth from time to time and massage the head of his cock until Draken is openly groaning, all dizzy and delirious. Thighs trembling erratically at how good it feels, nearing to burst way sooner than he wants to.

“That’s enough, M-Mikey.” Draken chokes out between clenched teeth, going as far as to pull the shorter blond from his thickness, a pop sound indicating how sudden the motion is.

Mikey falls on his heels, heaving loudly, eyes narrowed, cheeks burning, saliva trickling down his chin to his neck. His tongue sticking out of his mouth, like missing the thick cock that used to reside on top. His lascivious and lazy stare turns to you, and licking his lips erotically, the boy ends up saying. 

"I left it ready for you, do the same thing I did, and you're going to have more milk than you're going to be able to swallow, kitten." The leader of the Tokyo Manji advice, scooting away, leaving you room to kneel in front of his tall lover.

What a pair these two made. Both incredibly attractive and both incredibly thirsty for YOU. It is flattering and terrifying, and so, SO exhaustive.

Slowly crawling closer, you kneel in front of Draken. You can feel Mikey's anticipation, he is on the edge of the seat to see you imitate him, his strong fingers combing away your wet hair from your face, making sure each strand is behind your ears.

“Open up, baby~” Mikey stresses, almost drooling. Pupils blown, and chest heaving. Excitement eating him away. “Don´t make us wait.”

Draken's cock looks huge up closely. Flushed pink head, and thick to the base, heavy balls warning you that you will have to swallow a heavy load. Your jaw aches just thinking about having to swallow it whole.

The warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy intensifies by the shining tip of Draken´s cock, now achingly swollen and begging for attention.  

“Have you ever sucked someone before, kitten?” Draken whispers, and quickly adds.  “You look SO sexy on your knees.” The tall commander can´t stop praising you, reaching his thumb down to trace the cupid bow of your upper lip.

“Only Mikey-y....” You stammer, shying away by looking down at your hands. An both blonds, mute at the revelation. They had almost forgotten that you were a virgin just one night ago and this morning, they had already defiled you in every possible way. Nevertheless, the excitement both feel from having you is too much and overshadows guilt, making them want more than anything for you to squeeze every drop of cum out of Draken. 

“She´s not a pro,” the shorter blond states, “but it´s a fucking natural, if I recall well.” Broadly smiles, and slowly gets behind you, crawling closer until his front is glued to your back. Both kneeling, when his mischievous hands slide at each side of your neck to bluntly massage your jaw. “Open wide, gorgeous, breakfast is ready—” 

He doesn’t give you time to react when pushes you against his bestie's crotch, your closed lips smash against the swollen head at the same time you close your eyes at the brusque act. 

“So disobedient.” Mikey shares, and Draken chuckles, before you feel his thumb and forefinger pinch at your nose. The air supply is cut out and eventually your mouth opens gasping, to what Draken pushes in, just the tip, he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Your eyes pop open and Draken sees how glassy your gaze is turning, and sighing, advises. 

“Mikey, let her breathe.” 

“Oh, right.” Mikey seems to remember what his finger are doing and let go. You inhale sharply from your nose, “use your tongue, swipe it around the head…” the blond behind you whispers against your ear, and this time, you obey. 

“That’s it—” Mikey praises, “lick it like you would a lollipop.” You can hear his excited voice guide you. 

Draken reduces to watch from his privileged position, at how you swirl your tongue with slow and timid cat licks at first but then your tongue gains speed and ferocity. 

“Yeah, use your lips as well,” Mikey suggests, “hollow your cheeks—don’t be afraid to suck it deeper.”

You follow his instruction like a good pupil, and in matter of seconds, you hear Draken drown a deep growl. 

“Look how well you are doing,” Mikey grabs your hand in his to then reaches up Draken’s tense thighs, “you have him at the edge, kitten.” Guiding your palm up and down his smooth, wet skin helps you cup his balls. “This are heavy…” both weight them against your palms, and Mikey doesn’t waste time to use his free hand to push you farther until hears you gag violently against Draken’s cock, and he leans in, taking your body with the motion until he’s sucking his friend’s balls. 

The teamwork has Draken rolling his eyes to the back of his head, jaw drop open, eyes tightly shut and heart hammering fast inside his strong chest. 

“Make her-… make her bob her head, man—” he struggles to say, “please, I n-need… I need to fuck her pretty-… PRETTY face.” 

Mikey giggles against his balls sends a delicious tingle up Draken’s thick thighs, and headily groans when Mikey uses the hand on the back of your head to drag you up and down his length. Bobbing unrestingly fast inside your mouth, drool falls down your jaw and tears roll down your cheeks, your jaw aches at how wide it opens. 

“S’good,” Draken chokes out, unsure if it’s Mikey’s efforts on his balls, your tight cramped throat around his cock or both, that has his head spinning, “I’m, I’m close—” 

Draken’s palm suddenly lands on Mikey’s head drawing his attention from the task in hand, and without sharing a single word, he knows what his lover is asking. 

“Your show, love.”

You hear Mikey say as he leans out, his chin softly rests on the curve of your shoulder to have a good view, and nipping your strained jaw once, mutters. 

“Breathe through your nose the entire time, if not you’ll faint. Trust me.” 

Draken barks a laugh at Mikey’s advice, and takes your head between his warm palms, wiping the tears off your face, your eyes lock and you see that dangerous smirk peek out. Fuck! He looked driven. 

Draken evidently has been holding back, because he starts fucking you so hard that if your body wasn’t being hugged by Mikey from behind will be difficult for you to stay up on your knees. 

Gagging and choking noises fill the bathroom and your nails begin to rake down his strong thighs as you cower inside Mikey’s embrace, his cheek resting on your shoulder as you whimper softly, your sobs interrupted by moans whenever Draken’s tip kisses the back of your throat.

“Oooh she’s doing so well~” Mikey laughs, “Does she get to cum?”

“Let’s hear her beg,” Draken pipes up, pulling out of your mouth so suddenly you gasped.

“You heard him,” Mikey says, sensually chewing at your earlobe, “Beg.”

“Please,” You hear yourself say, “please Mikey, I want to cum—” you are not sure where those words are coming from, but it surprises you, your body is aching to feel some kind of comfort. Cumming doesn’t sound bad at all. Your back arches against Mikey’s chest, cracking your neck to face him, shame forgotten, “Please, please my love, can I cum?” the shorter blond can’t bite down the gasp, and Draken swears violently, way too pleased by your blessed words. 

“Mikey—” Draken breaths out, “I’m on it.” Mikey interrupts him, getting to work. 

Manjiro Sano snakes an arm down your body to rub maddening circles at your swollen clit and that sends you vaulting over the brink, your whole body jerking violently as your orgasm rips through you. Your mouth parts, but you don’t squeal, instead you pant, and then your eyes shut unhurriedly, rolling to the back of your head, as you feel your cunt flutter and clench desperately around nothing.

“She´s cumming harder and faster each time,” Mikey says, “Such a frail little mare.” You sniffle a little, tears of pure ecstasy rolling down your eyes. You look beautifully destroyed. 

“Are ya ready to swallow till the last drop I have for you, kitten?” Draken asks and you shake your head no, but you mouth redeems you by saying a lazy and quiet “yes”. He smirks, pleased by how good your body is responding to their conditioning and looks at Mikey. “Sano, finish me off, this kitten is way too cock drunk.” 

“Yes, Sir!” Mikey beams, and without delay swallows Draken’s cock down, “I’m so fucking close,” his friend is quick to warn, “make sure you leave the milk for her—AHHHH. Fuck. Manjiro!” 

Draken’s grip on Mikey’s hair becomes bruising as he feels himself get impossibly hard inside his wet and warm mouth, bobbing his head up and down at the right speed, knowing by heart the way he likes it. Doesn’t take much for Draken to blast a stream of violent swearing, Mikey’s sign to pull out and make you engulf that throbbing cock, your body trembles as vast ropes of musty cum paint your throat white, you gag a little. 

“Swallow down, baby, Kenchin’s loads are fucking thick.” Mikey makes sure to hold your head in place with one hand, while with the other caresses your neck, tenderly.

Draken finally relaxes, shooting a hand to firmly grab hold of the bend under your chin, taking slow, deep breaths through his mouth and tries to relax the tensing muscle of your jaw wrapping around his girth with soothing circular motions of his thumbs. 

“Did ya swallow all, kitten?” He heaves out, and you nod once you can gulp down the last drop. 

“Such a wonderful, and precious girlfriend we have, ain´t that right, Sano?” 

Mikey lets go of your head, allowing Draken’s flaccid cock to slip out of your stretched lips, and kissing the skin on your neck, replies. 

“The fucking love of our life’s, without a fucking doubt.” You feel him hug you tight, and Draken gets down over his heels to be at eye level with the two of you. 

“Now, sweetness, let’s take you out to eat something, you can’t just have milk.” Mikey chuckles at his jeer, and you feel your body relax against Mikey’s. Finally, you glimpse a way out. 

“Maybe we can finish bathing..." Mikey snickers out, “I mean, this time actually do it.” 

Your body is limp against him, and you couldn't care less what they want to do.

“Sure, all this was a happy accident.” Draken lips curl into a sassy smile.

“Sort of.” Mikey smiles wryly.

The next thing you know is that Draken smoothly interlaces his fingers among your wet tresses doing a soft massage as he washes the sweat and grim out of your hair. 

Meanwhile, Mikey passes a soft sponge through your front, lifts your arms to slide the soft material and down your collarbone, trances the shape of your breast putting special attention to the way your smooth skin shines enticingly at being soaped up, and biting down a gasp, scrubs your belly to then kneel and wash the length of your curvy legs. 

Standing up, a big smile blooms in his face seeming content with his work and sporting the child inside him, beams. 

“My turn.”

Closing his eyes waits for you to get to work since you are a little more awake, and the sound of the splashing water sounds louder in your ears when you openly ignore his request. 

Mikey is still waiting, eyelids closed, and arms spread open as if waiting for you to claim the space between. After a couple of seconds of inactivity from your part, you see how he tilts his head slightly down. His sign for you to wash his hair first, but you don’t find the strength to move. 

After a couple of tense minutes, a bottle of shampoo materializes out of thin air, or so you think, and gently pours its content over the golden haired Toman leader´s tresses. 

Tipping your eyes up, you notice how Draken steps in and without asking you guides your hands into Mikey’s hair. 

Both your fingers entangle among his golden strands while creating foam and bubbles, and untangling his strong hands from the task, the tall teen commands. 

“Do as I do with you, (y/n).”

You stare at him for a minute before obeying, a little moved at how stern he is looking down at you as if expecting for you to rebel against him, and quietly huffing, you follow his instructions.

Mikey literally melts into your touch, almost purring at every movement of your fingers among his hair. The three of you bathe each other, in tender and measured movements full of affection and devotion, nothing compared to when they fuck you. They are totally different people when are not horny.

This same routine of thirds follows when you get dressed. So utterly patient and steadfast in the way they manipulate your body taking their time to dry and brush your wet mane before wrapping it in a towel, then fold you in each piece of clothing almost like wives dressed their samurai husbands in ancient times.

A soft kiss being deposited along your washed and flushed skin each time it seems fit for them.

The bed dips beneath Sano Manjiro’s weight while he entertains himself braiding your soft hair and once the three are ready and presentable again, you shiver for you realize you no longer remembered how his voice sounded without being excited.  

“.... I know a place nearby that has the best dorayaki,” you don't answer him, yet Draken nods and soon the three of you walk towards the door and before opening it, Draken looks at you out of the corner of his eye. 

"We are stronger and faster, baby, I don't recommend you trying our patience..." you feel Mikey's hand rest on the small of your back, supporting his partner´s warning, "I really, REALLY wouldn't try it." 

A derisive snort leaves your lips and Mikey´s voice makes its appearance closer to your ear than you expected, "—Nor will I discard this helpful advice either, because as we can be devoutly good,” he nips at your earlobe, playfully but that playfulness dies fast as his teeth clench harder, to make his next words clear. “We can also be very, VERY bad."

COMING SOON PART 8....

⭕️ In my PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this story and lots of content from Tokyo Rev and jjk, exclusive smut fanfiction and animation like THIS ONE . Plus! voting poll privilege for the exclusive Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the couple and kinky mood for the story and NSFW art, and of course, my eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

#artists on tumblr #fanfic #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing #smut #drabble #x reader #imagine #tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #mikey x oc #mikey x draken #draken x reader #draken #sano manjiro #mikey sano #draken smut #draken x you #ken ryuguji #ken ryuuguji x reader #ken ryuuguji smut #ken ryuuguji x you #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano #manjiro smut #mikey #tokrev

[evolutionsvoid]

Though the Church of Divine Wealth reigns supreme in this land, it isn't the sole faith that can be found. Just looking at the Church itself, you can find many sects that have formed inside and out. Those who worship a sole humor, or perhaps those who see their gods in different idols or flesh. At such a size, it was almost inevitable that fragments would break off and find their own way in this world, taking the good word and fluids to create their own truth. But beyond the reach of the precious golden Ichor are others who find worship in different places. Hearing songs from the depths of the ocean, or seeing hope in the stars dancing through the sky. And there are some who find the same faith in death and rebirth, but they have their own angels.

In this world, vultures are sacred birds, for none can deny their role in the great cycle. They are those who come from the heavens to mourn the dead and bring them back to the cycle for rebirth. With bowed heads, they consume the fallen flesh then ascend to the gods themselves, to ensure those who have perished can be brought back to the creators to be reshaped and reborn. It is said that the vultures themselves can bring forth new life, vomiting eggs from their maws, crafted from the essence of those they carry within. Eaters of the dead, birthers of new life, there is no surprise why some revere these divine birds. They who see these vultures as messengers of the gods, maintainers of the great cycle. These birds have a connection to the world that goes beyond nature, and into something far greater in their eyes. They carry the words of the gods, see the fates of those who live and determine who is worthy of divine rebirth. To have one's body consumed by a wake of vultures is an incredible honor, as you have been deemed a fitting soul. Thus, the followers of these birds believe in sky burial, leaving their dead up high so that the blessed messengers may come to collect them.

Of these followers are the Speakers of Carrion, priests and prophets who give themselves to the vultures and faith. The Speakers utterly worship these birds, to the point that it is their life's goal to become like them. Being eaten by a vulture is one honor, to be reborn as one is something far greater. So they don cloaks stitched from shed feathers, and wear masks that bear their wondrous visage. Clawed gauntlets upon their arms to give them talons, and hunched forms to share the same postures as their blessed birds. They wish to be like the vultures, and in turn choose to speak for them. Speakers of Carrion are said to be able to predict the future, divine one's fate and suss out secrets hidden in the world. Their connection to the messengers give them a vision and mind that can tease out the mysteries of the world. But in order for one to receive such wisdom, they must bring offerings to the Speakers. Food and dead flesh are simple gifts, but still eaten with appreciation. This shall gain you a few words and a paltry vision. What you really must bring them is a fresh liver, as that is the organa these vulture worshipers view as the most valuable. To them, the liver is the seat of the soul, and it holds great power and knowledge within its meat. Offer them a liver, and they shall greedily devour it and use its essence to answer your questions. One ability they are said to have is to be able to draw information from the life of the person the liver once belonged to, reading their digested essence to pull forth secrets and knowledge. Some will bring the livers of dead loved ones to the Speakers of Carrion to get answers for questions never fulfilled in life, to know what secrets were kept from them, or simply to hear their final words before returning to the cycle. Animal livers can help power the visions of a Speaker, but they are very much weaker than a liver pulled from man.

Livers are not the only offerings they crave, as they can be prophets if gifted the right material. What they seek are pellets vomited forth from birds, common for some species but incredibly rare for the likes of the divine vultures. Inside these hardened nuggets are said to be messages of fate, written in code and bone. If one has the luck of finding an intact pellet, bring it to a Speaker so that they may tease it open and see what secrets it holds for the future. Their art calls for cutting open the pellet, and observing the materials held inside. Hair, bone and other digested pieces are words and letters within these pellets, and how they are arranged paints a picture. From this divination, they speak of things to come and what lays in your future. If you find a rare vulture pellet, they can possibly learn secrets that are kept from mortals, taking a peek behind the veil of it all. This divination may require a lot of patience, but when one watches the process, they will no doubt see art. 

In their pursuit to be like the vultures, the Speakers seek to eat the livers and essences of those who passed, so that they may carry their burden. For each soul they consume, they will add a carved weight to their back. Shaped from bone and crafted in the visage of man and bird, these are meant to symbolize the essences held within their guts. The heft of them to remind them of the burden they carry. It is their hope that if they play this role enough, that the vultures will see them as kin, and that they may be granted the life of a divine bird. Some believe that this rebirth will occur when they perish, and others think that this transformation will come in life. When they have consumed enough and pleased the gods enough, their feathery cloaks will swallow them and birth forth a new vulture, a new messenger. To the Church, these folk are mad heretics, worshiping false idols and denying the grandeur of Ichor. These folk are chased from the towns and cities, labeled as lunatics and liars. To go to a Speaker for their services is seen as blasphemy and imbibing in heretical knowledge. However, the Church's efforts against these folk has been quite lax compared to others they persecute. They keep them away from the settlements they hold sway over, dissuade others from seeking them, but do little else. It is said that the Church sees them as so useless and pathetic, that they don't want to waste their time on a few feathery madmen. And once war broke out across the lands, all efforts to keep these followers away have vanished, as they have greater worries now.   

So now the Speakers of Carrion sit upon their perches and squat within destroyed towns, reading the skies and beckoning to the birds. Those who have lost faith in the Church may seek them for hope and closure, trying to find anything to cling onto in these trying times. And sometimes, while you walk these ravaged lands, you may find a tattered robe of black feathers left upon the earth. Many would say it is the remains of fools who sit and preach while bandits and monsters run rampant. Another victim of this bloody madness. But to those who find these discarded garments, they can't help but look to the skies and wonder...

-----------------------------------------------------

"Speaker of Carrion"

In a world crafted from dead flesh, where bodily fluids are held as gods, of course the scavengers are seen as divine. And about time too!

#priest #prophet #vulture #bird #art #drawing #fall of ichor #blood

[nerdnag]

daily cocobert

this was so much fucking work I'm never drawing again

😭🙏 At least you ended on a high note!! Because damn if this isn't a masterpiece 🙌

#I am once again so impressed!!! #The feathers! #The colors! #The hand in the hair! #The nonchalant hand by the hip! #The expression that tells me he knows full well how glorious he is #And that dress suits him SO well #But i recognize the feeling of never wanting to draw again #Of a particularly time consuming and difficult piece 😅 #Perhaps the will to draw will return to you #But if not. Thank you for all the art works you have gifted me <33333 #Eifie's daily cocobert #Fave #Fe3h #Fe3h Hubert #Hubert von Vestra #Few3h

[roitaminnah]

(plays the butterfly soup 2 epilogue for the 200th time) you know what

#butterfly soup #butterfly soup 2 #ppkm #sketchbook #roi draws #um. idk what the caption is about idk what to say. it's them. it's always them. #something something I can't draw kissing etc and so forth #i think it's so funny in the game how the text is like 'noelle YANKS her in by the shirt' but the cg she's just gently caressing akarsha #anyways the dichotomy of those two actions. personally I believe both happened and such is the essence of ppkm #recently forced my friends to play buttsoup one with me and it was SO fun and we are playing buttsoup 2 this weekend I'm so thrilled. #the joy of sharing something that brings you joy. u know. anyways I've been trying to feel a shred of joy and so I am trying to return #so expect . actually do not expect anything from me . but perhaps I will draw them more if I can get situation simulator 5000tm back on

[wundrousarts]

Mini Silverborn Countdown

If you’ve been around for a few years, you’ve seen me vaguely mention a “Silverborn Countdown Challenge” several times. It’s been delayed and changed as many times as the book itself, lol.

If anyone wants sort of a low-stakes, very chill and spaced out version of this ye olde never tackled challenge to complete in the next year before Silverborn, I propose what I’m doing:

Every 3 months leading up to the initial release, I am creating one thing based on each of the books.

January — Nevermoor

April — Wundersmith

July — Hollowpox

#nevermoor #nevermoor fanart #nevermoor fanfic #silverborn #silverborn countdown challenge #thank you theo for reminding me to post abt this on here. I am stealing the “mini” moniker (?) in return. lol. #this was in my drafts and I forgot to post it. happens a lot lol. #anyways if you’re reading this happy new years ! #nine masterpost ver 1.0 dropping tomorrow evening prob bc I have had a headache all day and that’s the next time I’m free #now time to sleep. zzzzzz. perhaps I’ll have a prophetic silverborn dream. who knows. #I love giving myself set times to draw nevermoor things or just think about the series bc otherwise I go insane #literally thinking abt this stuff 24/7 it’s all I want to draw. But then I have to hold myself back + then end up never drawing anything lol #I have three big things planned for this like big pieces to work on over awhile and get myself out of my comfort zone #but idk what to draw for this first one. aahhhhh. excited for wundersmith and hollowpox though. #also I want to do a little animation for nevermoorian new years. which is on a leap day this year! how fun!! #I have an eternal nevermoor to-draw list that only gets bigger #sorry to the person that requested some Christmas stuff last year. I missed out and was gonna do it this year. then no time. so next year? 😅 #also 🏆 to anyone that ever reads my ramblings in my tags. I am so insane about nevermoor especially. <333

[bumblingbabooshka]

ok that was me ? im always on anon on desktop and idk how to fix it. anyways. i think like post voyager after he's mind melded with everyone and their mothers he gets home & like t'pel is indifferent to it because i mean it's him still.

like there's just bits of other consciousnesses dissolved into his. & she's like interesting. you are like a snow globe of others' experiences. I Find This Rather Intriguing. it's like if you came home from a holiday & showed everyone a slideshow. i think that he would totally be like. low-key concerned about this though (Does She Really. Think It's Intriguing. T'Pel Was Your Intrigue /Neg Or /Pos) .

but i think if he posted about this on modern reddit everyone would be like dude you're like if the ship of theseus was a guy .... you are the sum of your experiences more than any other man could ever be ........... she loves you bro .... to be loved is to be changed ....

X <- Original ask YEAAAAH OK I understand I understand and wholeheartedly agree!!!

Attempting to responsibly reconnect...

#He's the ship of theseus and T'Pel is searching the bottom of the ocean #Not bc she can or wants to 'put him back together' but so that she can see where every facet of him is - where it was left or torn apart #Tuvok never stopped being her husband even in the 7 year gap so of course he'd continue to be her husband upon his return #Perhaps the ship of theseus is the ship of theseus as long as you know what's been changed and it bears the same name #bee doodles #Tuvok/T'Pel #sorry this took so long to answer I wanted to draw something to illustrate my thoughts and I didn't have the time!! the time is NOW!!! #twlvie #Q&A

[kaus-quietis]

Come take... this... hand... at twi... light’s... door... I’ll meet...  you... there We’ll share the moonlit floor through the driving rain –

#bsd fyodor #bsd #bsd fyodor dostoyevsky #bsd fyodor dostoevky #bsd fanart #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor dostoevsky #after I read Kat's fanfic that I requested... the one I gave her Siouxsie and The Banshees's 'Lands End' lyrics for... #I found myself suddnely drawing this #only for my pleasure and further character exploration #and now that he returned so beautifully in the manga - it feels natural to share this with you my dear souls #I'm referring especially to my time-blog transcending mutuals - yeah perhaps you will be happy to see the no-fanart promise broken #at least from time to time #but really I've been at much more peace now that I don't engage with the fandom that much anymore #I'm only open to character analysis topics on this blog and put other stuff aside #I'm glad that from time to time people discover my fanarts buried in who knows how many reblogs on other blogs and #they add sweet tags or lose their minds there - I love it #but as for me... I'll use some Depeche Mode lyrics for this--- #'oh leave me here forevermore - I found the peace I've been searching for' #ah but I guess the Angel of Love is still upon me - #'I was lost.. I was found!'