#born in blood header

[heronstirs]

dantina messy headers — like or reblog if you save/use

#books messy headers #cora reilly #messy headers #headers #book headers #dantina headers #dante cavallaro #cora reilly headers #born in blood

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you. 

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings. 

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before. 

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia. 

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry. 

 It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of  love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk. 

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her. 

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“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all. 

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare. 

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it. 

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll. 

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father. 

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence. 

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all. 

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it. 

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Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness. 

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.  

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers. 

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two. 

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat. 

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model. 

⋆｡ °✩

It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you. 

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers. 

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns. 

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point. 

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him. 

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat. 

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing. 

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing. 

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap. 

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you. 

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says. 

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise. 

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice. 

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him. 

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother. 

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them. 

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote. 

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed. 

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you. 

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch. 

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room. 

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery. 

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately. 

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while. 

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine. 

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces. 

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles. 

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

⋆｡ °✩

It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them. 

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form. 

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic. 

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

⋆｡ °✩

“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out. 

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks. 

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep. 

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby. 

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai smut #fyodor x reader

[hauntedchoso]

GROUPIE LOVE *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s so sweet swingin’ to the beat when I know that you’re doin’ it all for me…  How the JJK men fuck you after a show ft. [gojo, geto, toji, choso, & nanami] x [fem reader] nsfw warning. minors do not interact. cw: breeding in gojo’s, daddy kink, semi-exhibitionism, choking, degradation, name calling. established relationships in all despite the title! a/n: idk if I’m happy with this lol. i am certainly no writer and have NO plans to write regularly or even keep posting but this fic was born from my mini head cannon that choso looks like vinny mauro from motionless in white….the way vinny does his makeup for shows specifically reminds me of Choso’s blood marks and baggy red eyelids lol. mann I’m upset bc the header I made is shit :(

Gojo is the singer. His icy white hair and electric blue eyes are quick to capture the hearts of his screaming fans—but those eyes only search for one person in the crowd. Your heart skipped a beat the moment he stepped onto the stage, and when he finally sees you, he flashes you that award-winning smile, bringing the mic up to his perfect lips. “How are we doing tonight, everyone? We’re going to play a song we’ve never performed live before…”

His presence was magnetic, attracting the attention of hundreds of screaming girls as he sang romantic melodies into the mic. You watched his Adam’s apple bob with each word and the way the veins on his hand stuck out as he clutched the mic tightly. Every lyric he sang told a story, and you knew better than all the other girls in the room—he was telling your story. The story of your sweet nights together, the nights you spent gazing into a sea of cerulean blue behind white eyelashes while basking in Gojo’s presence and the beauty of his voice. It was absolutely beautiful, the sweet vibrato’s and clear pitches that escaped his lips as he serenaded his crowd—but it didn’t compare to the beauty of his voice when he was underneath you. 

“Fuck, baby—just like that…haah, god damn. You’re so damn tight,” he moaned, unable to keep up with the way your ass slammed down on his thighs. The harder you rode him, the more undone he became underneath you—such a stark contrast to the confidence he always held when he took the stage. His long, pretty cock stroked against your gummy walls, his mushroom head grazing your g-spot when you raised yourself high enough, driving you crazy. 

“Satoru,” you mewl, absolutely loving the way his hands grip your thighs for dear life. You guys didn’t have much time; it would only be a few minutes before the rest of the guys returned to the tour bus, where you were holding Gojo as your hostage on the bench-couch in the small kitchenette. You ignored the burning in your muscles as you urged yourself to go faster, not giving him a chance to run away as you brought yourself down repeatedly on his warm cock that was throbbing so deliciously inside your clenching cunt. “Cum in me, daddy, I need it—“

“You better fucking watch it,” he moaned through clenched teeth, frustration seeping into his tone, the grip on your left thigh becoming harder. He couldn’t control how his cock throbbed inside you when he heard the word daddy, and it didn’t help that your luscious tits were bouncing so beautifully in his face. If you weren’t moving so fast, he’d have a nipple in his mouth, swirling his warm tongue around it. Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the way your tight cunt clenched around his raw dick, he squeezed his eyes shut, silently willing himself to last longer than he knew he would. He knew you weren’t on birth control, and if you continued to call him daddy in such a slutty tone…well, you’d probably make him a daddy. 

His frustration only egged you on more. “I want your cum in me so bad…haah, please…I’m such a little slut for you, daddy. Don’t you wanna fill me with your seed—“

Before you could process what was happening, Gojo had your back flat against the couch, nudging your thighs back apart as he slid himself inside you again, a hand wrapped tightly around your throat. “You want my cum, you fucking slut? Want me to breed you like a bitch in heat? Fine, you better lay there and take everything I give you.”

Geto is the guitarist. The way his gorgeous black hair falls around his face as he slings his guitar strap over his shoulder is mesmerizing. His gauged ears are sporting their usual shiny black plugs, which catch the stage lights with each turn of his head. You watch from the side of the stage, hidden from the view of his fans, as his fingers pluck his lucky guitar pick out from between his perfect teeth, bringing the pick down to play a warm-up riff. He gives you one last sly smile, and a sweet, sexy wink before he starts the opening riff to their first song. 

He played his guitar like it was an extension of himself. You watched as his palm slid up and down the instrument’s neck as he followed along to the score, making hundreds of screaming girls howl as he paused and swung it harshly to his right side, flipping it over his neck and catching it again. There was something different about hearing him play the same riffs on stage that he would practice with in the comforts of your shared bedroom, lounging lazily in your queen-sized bed as you close your eyes to the quiet strumming. No, hearing it on a stage was way more exhilarating—he might have thousands of fans in front of him, but you know he’s only playing for you. Watching his long, beautiful, skilled fingers tap away at the neck of the guitar, eliciting different melodic tones and notes when he strums gently. It almost reminds you of the noises his fingers elicit out of you. 

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. Is this all for me?” He purrs into your ear. The same hand that was gently choking you was also keeping your back pinned to the wall as his other hand, shoved deep past the waistband of your skinny jeans, toyed with your weeping folds and rubbed gently against your clit.  He smiles down at his lucky guitar pick resting comfortably in your cleavage, loving the way the lacy shirt he bought you accentuates your beautiful body. 

“You looked so fucking hot on stage tonight….” You manage to whine out. Your heart was racing out of your chest, eyes darting all around the room that today’s venue designated as the band’s dressing room. A music tech, security guard, or even one of Geto’s band mates could barge in at any given moment, but his fingers were relentless as they slipped into your core. 

Your eyes rolled back as you felt your pussy welcome in his digits and clench around them. The hand around your neck slid up to your jaw, gripping your face and turning you to face him again. “Yeah? If I’m so hot, why are you looking away from me, pretty girl? My eyes are right here.”

He emphasized his words by curling his fingers against your g-spot, cutting off your mewls of pleasure with his lips and immediately sliding his tongue inside. You were so drunk, so intoxicated by his lips that you felt your eyes rolling back again before shutting and moaning into the kiss; a kiss that was way too short-lived. “Just one, baby. Cum for me just once, and I’ll dick you down the way your little cunt desperately needs it.”

You complied, reverting all your focus to his fingers until you finally came all over them with a loud, slutty moan. 

He whipped you around almost immediately, pressing your chest to the wall, pulling your hips out, yanking your pants down and unzipping his own before slapping his hard cock on your ass. “Say please, baby,” he whispers in your ear, taking note of the way you press your ass eagerly against him. 

“Please, daddy. I want you to fuck me so bad—!”

And before you could even finish your sentence, Geto was pushing into your warm pussy, using small, gentle thrusts to ease himself in until he was bottomed out. You could feel your walls sucking his hard cock in when his thrusts became deeper; sharp, percussive moans leaving your mouth with each slap of his hips against your ass. His pace was fast and mean, and you were completely enamored with the feeling of his balls slapping your clit. 

“Suguru—!” You could feel your orgasm approaching, your walls contracting and clenching around his pulsing cock, but that only made him go faster. 

“Dirty little slut. You love when I use you like this, don’t you, angel? Taking my cock like the sweet little slut you are…haah. Letting me use my pussy the way I want, wherever I want…”

Toji is the bassist. The long-necked guitar always looked so small and draped so beautifully across his large, muscular frame whenever he played—so different than the way it looked against your naked body on those nights he was in the mood to snap some photos of both of his beauties. His eyes met yours under the black fringe of his bangs, the scarred side of his mouth curling up into a smirk as his fingers found each string and plucked. 

You watched as his fingers danced across the four strings, mindlessly plucking at the four strings, amazed at the way the colorful stage lights were gracing his face and muscular arms. His bass lines were so effortless; he didn’t even need to look down at his hands while he played. His eyes would instead scan the crowd, casting uninterested glances at all the fans screaming his name, and occasionally coming back to meet your own, always accompanied by the sweetest, sexiest grin that reminded you that he was yours. The deep notes that harmonized with Geto’s guitar reverberated off the walls of the concert hall; they shook the speakers, the shook the barriers, they shook your core. But his deep bass lines were no match for how deep his cock always reached inside you. 

“Toji! Ah—fuck!” You choked out, tears streaming down your face as the tip of his cock repeatedly mashed against your cervix. “I’m gonna cum! Ah—please! Daddy! I’m really gonna cum!” You warned. 

“Yeah? Fucking cum then, slut. I’m not fucking this cunt for nothing.”

When Toji invited you to shower with him after the show, you weren’t expecting him to shove you against the shower wall and fuck you like a wild animal from behind as soon as the water hit your hair. While your showers together always ended in you two fucking, you never thought he’d choose a place so public, a place that puts you both at risk of being heard by your closest friends. This seemed to be the last thing on Toji’s mind as he continues to bully his mean cock into your aching pussy. His eyes remained on your ass, watching his cock pistoning in and out of you while your plump cheeks jiggled with each mean thrust. He knew you got loud when you came, and while it was something you were trying to suppress in order to save face from any of his band mates or techs that might be lingering around outside the bathrooms, it was his one and only goal. 

And you did. As soon as he reached his hand down to rub your sensitive clit, you clenched hard on his throbbing cock. Your back arched deeply against him as you squirted hard against the shower wall, a loud squeal leaving your lips. 

He grabs your wet hair, turning your head to the side so he can silence you with a bruising kiss. “Gonna do it again, mama? Gonna cum all over my cock again?” He whispers evilly against your ear once he pulls away, quickening his pace. His hips slap hard against the globes of your ass, the loud clap clap clap echoing off of the insulated shower walls. 

“Y-yes, daddy, I wanna cum again—“ your words were cut off when he slid two fingers into your mouth, groaning when you bite down on them. 

His thrusts were unforgiving, pulling out far enough so that his fat mushroom head pressed harshly against your g-spot when he thrusted forward and hit your cervix. You were so cockdrunk, Toji could sense your oncoming second orgasm before you could by the way your walls were clenching down so hard on him. Before you knew it, you were squirting again, this time pulling a louder, sluttier squeal from your lungs. 

“Good girl,” he praises, a wide smile spread across his face as he continued to pound you into overstimulation. “Music to my fucking ears.”

Choso is the drummer. You loved the way those spiked pigtails bounced in the wind as he head banged along to the loud thumping of his drums. His chocolate brown eyes would occasionally meet yours through the band’s set, peaking brightly above the black stripe across his nose, the purple stage lights reflecting across his irises. During the bridge of a particularly romantic song, he cast his gaze towards where you stood side-stage. With a drumstick tipped in your direction, he made sure your eyes were on him as he shot you a wink before his drum solo, as if to say, “this one’s for you.”

Choso pounded on his drums as if he hated them, shaking the stage and speakers so intensely with his mean percussion that you could feel your throat vibrate. You didn’t care what anyone said, Choso controls the show; he counts everyone in, he sets the tempo, he decides how hard his band plays by how he wants to play—and boy, does he play hard. He was often breaking his sticks and putting dents in his drumheads, going through countless numbers of each with every tour he went on. Everything about Choso was hard—the way he plays, his toned muscles, his thick cock, the way he fucks you. 

“Ch-Choso! Haah…h-oh my god, you’re so-!” Your hands clutched at everything they could grab so that you could hold on for dear life—the cymbals, the casings on the side of the drums, the drum stands themselves—but to no avail. “Fuck, you’re so deep!”

Choso snickered at your pathetic attempts to stabilize yourself, the sight only driving his hips against your ass even harder. He had you bent over his drum set, the harsh slaps of your skin-on-skin contact echoing throughout the empty concert hall. He purposely made sure to leave his drums on stage as he helped tear down the rest of the set, waited until his band mates disappeared, and ushered every tech, security guard, and janitor out before he stalked and captured his prey, dragging you back to his den. “Don’t run from my cock now, princess. Isn’t this what you wanted? You were giving me slutty bedroom eyes throughout the whole show.”

He paused his violent thrusts for a moment, driving his hips backward to slowly brush the tip of his cock against your g-spot. He marveled at the way your pussy fluttered and clenched around him as he teased your sopping wet core. 

“Yes, baby…” you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the delicious stimulation. 

His hips jerked forward, meeting your ass with a singular mean thrust. “I’m sorry?”

You yelp at the sudden jolt of pain and pleasure, eyes snapping wide open as his fingers dig deeper into your hips. “Daddy! Yes, daddy! I want you! Please!” you babble desperately. 

Choso gave your ass one harsh smack before pounding into you again, settling on an unforgiving pace. He loved fucking you hard. Your walls always clenched him so tight, and he loved your cute little squeals you’d let out whenever his cock kissed your cervix. He loved how hard you always came from it, too—it only made him want to fuck you impossibly harder and deeper. His balls slapped against your clit with each thrust, and he admired the way your ass jiggled each time he slammed against it. The sound of him fucking you created its own erotic percussion that you both somehow loved more than the actual sound of his drums. 

“I’ma cum, ohmygod! Ch-Choso…daddy, fuck! I’m cumming!” You whine, unable to focus your gaze as fat tears blur your vision and spill down your face. 

“Good girl. Cum for me, pretty baby,” he moans, rubbing your clit in gentle praise as you spasm all over his throbbing length. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re all fucked out and dumb on my cock.”

Nanami is the manager. His blond hair was always combed into a perfect style, and his soft, brown eyes focused on his surroundings as he effortlessly orchestrated the commotion around him. There was a certain calmness that surrounded him as he guided the band through every moment of post-concert teardown. Every once in a while, his eyes would land on you, where you sat quietly on one of the speaker cases backstage, ignoring his gaze with a small pout across your lips. 

The guys in the band would sometimes get a little too crazy after shows or on days off, and they have proved time and time again that they needed someone to keep them in check. Whether it’s passing out drunk outside of local bars, damaging and losing their gear, showing up late to sound checks, or simply being divas with attitude, Nanami swore that he was in charge of a bunch of children, and that you—his perfect girl—were the only one who could do no wrong. Even on nights like tonight, when you were upset with him for reasons that were beyond him, he was happy to pull you aside and get you in check as well.

His lips were on yours, tongue swirling around your mouth as he drank in your moans with fervor. His fingers laced through your hair, resting against the back of your head and using that placement to press your lips more firmly against his as his other hand pressed you against his body. He breaks the kiss for a moment to suck small hickies into your neck. 

“What’s got you so worked up tonight, my angel?” He murmurs against your neck, his hot breath sending goosebumps down the length of your spine. “I let you ignore me all evening, but you can’t hide from me now.”

“Kento…what-what about the guys?” You ask innocently, a small gasp leaving your lips as his teeth nip the skin over your pulse point rather hard. 

“Let’s see; Suguru’s in the dressing room, Toji and his woman are putting on a second concert in the shower, pretty sure I saw Satoru sneak onto the bus…” Nanami uses a finger to tilt your chin up, your eyes meeting his, “and Choso’s slutting himself out on stage. Where does that leave me to take my girl, hmm?”

Before you could even answer, he’s kissing you again, whisking you through a side door that exits outside behind the concert venue. Your eyes snap open as you feel a sudden breeze hit your skin, causing you to break the kiss. 

“Out here? But-“

He silences you with a hand to your throat. “Yes, pretty girl. Out here. Now tell me what you need, okay?”

Your eyebrows pinched in frustration. His strong hand choking you only aroused your needy cunt. You were supposed to be upset with him for being too busy for you that day, but the sultry tone in his voice was making you horny. 

“I need you…please, daddy. I missed you so much today. I need you to fuck me so bad.”

And before you know it, he has your feet off the ground, legs wrapped around his hips and your back against the hard brick wall as he bullies his cock into your cunt relentlessly. Your moans echo into the night sky, surely being heard by anyone lingering outside the nearby bars and restaurants as Nanami’s balls make harsh contact with your ass with each unforgiving thrust. “You like being a brat? Hm? Knowing daddy will fuck you nice and hard? I didn’t know my perfect girl was such a needy little slut.”

“Yes—yes! Right there, daddy!” You cry, pure ecstasy making your legs shake as his fat, veiny cock brushes the inside of your walls. “Haah—nnggh fuck, I’ma cum…” you slur, drool escaping from the corner of your lips as your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

“That’s right, princess—give it to me. Give me everything. You like when I fuck you dumb, don’t you, baby? You’re so cute when you’re being a brat. Next time, though, I won’t be as gentle.”

BONUS FOR MY METALCORE GIRLIES

gojo's vocals / geto's riffs / toji's basslines / choso's drumming

a/n: i probably won’t post again lol. 

#jjk smut #jjk band au #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #geto smut #geto x reader #geto suguru #toji smut #toji x reader #fushiguro toji #choso smut #choso x reader #choso #choso kamo #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento #jjk #jjk x reader

[angel-of-the-moons]

Cycles

Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader

TW/Content Warnings: NSFW, Smut, PIV Sex, Heat/Rut Cycles, Territorial, bit of Feral!Miguel, improper use of webs, pheromones, hormones, predator/prey dynamic if you squint, Unprotected Sex, Biting, Scratching, Bondage(?), Breeding Kink (c'mon we all know Miguel has one), established relationship, boyfriend/girlfriend, rough sex, oral sex, blowjob

MINORS DNI: I am not responsible for the content that you are about to read/consume, if you are upset by the themes in this fic, do not read it and scroll on by!

A/N: For context, you are a Spider-Woman who is one of (maybe the only) the few Spiders who have similar powers to Miguel. This is my first Miguel x Reader fic I've ever written, and my first fic ever posted here on Tumblr! (Header does not indicate reader's race)

Earth 7164. New York. Middle of summer.

The scent hit him the moment he tore through the portal. A heavy, sweet, earthy scent that flooded his whole body with a rush of adrenaline. Even the fat droplets of summer rain that fell from the dingy skyline did little to diminish that delicious, mouth watering scent.

Your scent.

His body was trembling as he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to rid himself of the tension that roped its way through his heavy muscles. His talons flexed as he gritted his teeth, each drag of his lungs pulling your scent into his body.

Miguel O'Hara was a man who would claim he had a good sense of control over his urges. He would also say he was a good boyfriend, attentive. A bit protective (some would say possessive).

But, he had been neglecting you as of late, his duties in the Spider Society and ensuring the safety of the universe had kept him away from you these past few weeks, and he almost lost track until he felt that familiar boiling of his blood, an itch that he knew could only be scratched by you.

And he knew that you would be experiencing a similar situation to him, almost parallel. In fact, he surmised you were probably the only Spider who had similar powers. The only difference was that whereas Miguel's powers were (sort of) intentional, and other Spiders were given to them after being bitten by radioactive spiders... You were born like this. They didn't know why. Hell, you didn't know why.

You had the venom (you could consciously control how much you pumped out in every bite), you had your own talons (although yours were a part of your nails, not in the pads of his fingers and toes), the wall crawling abilities, natural web-shooting...

And your cycle. At first having you around was torture on his senses when it would roll around. It would start with your scent changing; the dampness he picked up from between your legs making the blood rush straight to his dick. More often than he'd like he'd have to excuse himself to his private lab to jerk himself off until he felt some of his clarity return.

But it was always just a temporary relief. It only got worse when your breeding cycle and his rut cycle synced up, resulting in the two of you needing to almost be sedated and kept away from each other. (How Lyla kept that under wraps, Miguel never knew.)

And once your dynamic shifted and you started seeing each other, and eventually getting intimate... well. He was positive that Jess or Peter suspected what was up... Especially when he would disappear to your universe for a week or so, only to come back in a slightly better mood, small dark patches peeking out from beneath the collar of his suit, or you would be walking funny or unable to sit comfortably.

Right now, though, those thoughts were shoved to the back of his mind. The only thing he could think of was you. He could smell you, taste you in the air. This was your territory, and he... Could be considered an intruder, depending on your mood.

A male spider waltzing into a pissed off and horny female spider's web during breeding season.

Shaking his head, he took another deep drag of the air around him, the smell of the city mixing with your earthy, almost fruity tones. Your scent was faded slightly, but he could still use it to track you beneath the smog, garbage, and vehicle exhaust.

It's not like he didn't know where your apartment was... But he knew during this period of time you'd be restless, irritable, angry.

And mind-numbingly horny.

Miguel launched himself up, slinging his wrist out and using his glowing webs to propel himself in between the buildings and skyscrapers; leaping, flipping, arching through the sky in a red-and-blue blur.

He knew he was closing in on you. Your scent was all but strangling him, choking the air and what little sanity he was clinging to right out of him.

He should have known you were waiting.

Miguel was rammed into with the speed of a runaway train, the oxygen he so desperately needed ripped from his lungs as he tumbled with a roll onto the rooftop below, landing on all fours as his talons dug into the concrete and tar, leaving deep grooves as he slowed himself.

He lifted his gaze to see you land in front of him, chest heaving, body trembling.

"I have been waiting for you, for almost two weeks." You wheezed out.

"Hell of a way to greet me, querida." Miguel grunted, pulling himself to his feet.

Beneath your mask, he knew your eyes immediately dragged down to the hard bulge pressing against his suit, the hard outline of it sending a fresh throb of arousal straight to your core.

"The kick was a bit much." He said, trying to maintain a professional composure.

But his control was quickly slipping.

"Shut the fuck up."

The short rebuke didn't surprise him.

"Should have been here days ago." Miguel said, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat. "I know that. But--"

You cut him off by lunging at him, hurling your full weight onto him and pinning him down beneath you.

The heat between your legs felt like it melted through his suit, burning the skin beneath and causing a fever to spread.

You raised your fist to bring it down on his face but his reflexes allow him to catch it, gripping you like a steel vice. His other hand gripped your thigh as he planted his feet on the rooftop, rolling to pin you beneath him, his massive frame caging you in.

He squeezed your hips between his thighs, muscles tensing and twitching, breathing heavy. Your free hand reached out and clawed at him, tearing at his suit, leaving a rainbow of glitched out fabric behind, small droplets of blood rushing forth to drip down his tanned skin.

He gritted his teeth at the sensation, the sweet burn sending another wave of heat through his body that made his cock twitch.

You were past talking, past negotiating and being civil. You knew what you wanted, and you wanted it now.

You breathed heavily, gritting your teeth as Miguel gripped your thigh and forced your knee by your head, squeezing the plushest part as his face dragged down to the dark patch soaking through the fabric of your suit.

Using this new position, you kicked at him square in his chest and threw him off of you.

Before he could right himself, you rolled to your feet and jumped off the roof, shooting a web to sling you away from him.

Sure, you were horny and wanted to ride his cock til he couldn't see straight for a month. But he had been gone for weeks and you had been struggling with your own self-care, your measley silicone toys and vibrators barely able to compare with that womb-punching length that Miguel crammed into you, or his skillful and knowledgeable hands rubbing you until your eyes rolled back. But right now, you were pissed.

He wanted your pussy? He was going to have to work for it.

And if that meant playing your cat and mouse game for an hour, building the anticipation and making his cock leak; aching, desperate for a taste of you? So be it.

You played this game for a while, teasing him, getting within arms reach before yanking yourself away at the last possible second, thwarting his attempts to catch you.

Sometimes you liked to play with your food.

But all games come to an end. And this one had an abrupt ending when Miguel headed you off, tackling you to the roof of some abandoned warehouse, pinning you down on your belly, hands above your head.

"Bout fucking time I caught you. Tu pequeño bromista.." (You little tease.) He snarled, leaning down to your ear as his mask dissipated from his head, letting his wavy chocolate hair fall free, damp strands plastering themselves to his forehead.

His eyes were wild, red and glowing; pupils blown wide.

"Fuck you." You hiss, squirming under him.

"Oh, sucederá en, no te preocupes." (Oh, don't worry, it will happen.)

Miguel raised his free hand and brought it down hard on your ass, making you bite your lip to contain the mewl that tried to claw its way out of your throat.

"Look at you, now, hermosa." He sneered, his chest huffing in a small, humorless laugh. "I can fucking smell you from a mile off."

He reached down and cupped your mound, his fingers squishing slightly in the damp fabric of your suit; but once again you deny him a moan, instead biting into your lip, fangs threatening to puncture your lip.

You squirm an arm free and go to elbow him in the face, get him off of you. (Or under you.)

But he predicted that. That's what always got you going when you were in the middle of your cycle. You liked it rough.

His large hand completely encircled your elbow and forced your arm back down. Quickly, he used his glowing, laser-webs to secure your wrists together before he gripped the fabric of your suit with his talons, shredding it as he yanked you over so you were on your back.

Miguel smiled and yanked your mask off of your head, tossing it to the side before gripping your chin with his fingers, putting enough pressure to keep your eyes on his.

"Now... What should I do with you?" He said contemplatively, tapping your cheek with his index finger, making a show of thinking, his eyes dragging over the flushed features on your face, your tongue darting out to wet your dry lips.

"Ah. That's it." He grinned, his slightly askew teeth gleaming in the dark. He grips you by the front of your torn suit and pulls you to your knees as he stands.

He grips the crotch of his suit, and rips at it with his talons, the torn edges doing that kaleidoscopic glitch of colors as his cock springs free from its confines; large, twitching, angry red tip leaking in excitement.

You have to bite your tongue to keep in your little groan, your heart soaking through and dripping out through your suit.

"Hmh." He grunted, annoyed. "I'll loosen your fucking mouth. I've been keeping myself under control this whole time. But now? I'm not going to be gentle."

He gripped your hair, just shy of painful as he dragged your head to his crotch, the tip of his cock smearing his precum across your cheek.

"Chúpalo." (Suck it.)

You finally give in, your hands bound in your lap as you drag your tongue along a prominent vein in the velvety skin of his shaft, earning a deep, rumbling groan from him that you swore sent vibrations straight to your cunt, making you flutter around nothing.

You pull your head back and swirl your tongue around the tip, pulling and tugging as you lap at his slit, eagerly tasting every drop of pre he was giving you before diving in and taking the rest of his tip in your mouth, bobbing your head in a steady rhythm.

He massaged your scalp, his talons tickling the skin under your hair as he encouraged you to continue.

But you knew his calm demeanor wasn't going to last. It wasn't long before he grabbed at your hair with both hands, forcing you to choke down on his length, just shy of blocking off your airway as he fucked your face, the tension and stress from your cat and mouse game coming out as his tip kept shoving at your throat, your nose brushing the dark curly hairs at the base, his balls slapping your chin with every thrust; saliva pooling around his length as you keep your fangs pulled back as you let him use your throat like a fleshlight.

You close your jaw microscopically, fangs grazing the flesh.

"Míralo!" (Watch it!) He reprimanded, pulling your hair roughly to pull you back, his cock springing out of your lips with a wet pop, saliva connecting the tip with the soft pink muscle in your mouth like a weak bridge.

"Be a good girl." He snarled, pulling you back down on his length, barely letting you catch your breath before forcing you all the way down, tears welling up in your eyes and falling down your cheeks as you choked and gagged.

You knew exactly how to lick, suck, and tug at his cock to get the best reactions, the most delicious sounds from him.

You snuck a glance up at him, watching as he tipped his head back with a throaty groan as you greedily swallowed him down.

You moaned around him; his cock throbbed.

You felt him twitch, felt his hips sputter as he gritted his teeth.

"Fuckin' close." He snarled, looking down at you as your eyes connected with his feral ones.

You rocked your clothed cunt on your heel, trying desperately to get some friction to your aching clit. Miguel caught this motion, and held you down on his cock, choking you from not letting you ease off.

"You're not allowed to touch yourself." He said through gritted teeth, pulling your head back with a harsh tug, letting you get a gulp of air before voraciously fucking your mouth again. You obeyed his command, sitting in your slick that was dripping down and out of you, your folds puffy and neglected.

"Fuck..." He breathed heavily, he could feel that burn, that coil about to snap, his blood boiling and rushing straight to the tip of his dick as he felt his balls draw tight.

You moaned softly around him, gagging slightly before that rush of heat flooded your mouth as you worked your throat to swallow every last drop of the load he was feeding you.

Miguel panted, dragging some much needed air in his lungs as he let you pull back, hacking and coughing as your airways flooded with oxygen again. You grin maliciously and bite down on his thigh. No venom of course, but just enough to remind him you were there, earning you a sharp glare and a slap to the back of your head as you licked your lips.

He ran a hand through his hair, and it wasn't but a moment later before he yanked you to your feet, and shoved his tongue past your lips to overpower yours, tasting his cum lingering on your breath as his heavy rut-scent flooded your nose. You moaned shamelessly into the kiss, biting and tugging at each others lips until a burst of cooper flooded your mouth.

Miguel pulled away and licked at his bloody lip, before his mouth twisted into a snarl. He barreled into you, forcing you against a rooftop air-conditioning unit.

His hand reached down as he ripped at your suit, your breasts bouncing free.

Of course you weren't wearing a fucking bra. Probably no panties either. Because you were just that fucking horny and desperate.

He leaned down and took one of your pebbling nipples in his mouth, biting and sucking roughly as you push your head back against the unit, the metal bumping as you do, a strangled cry coming from you.

He pulled back, before delving back down and putting the same torture on your other tit. This time however he pulled back, biting down on the marshmallowy flesh, making you mewl out as his tongue laves over the mark he made.

"Miguel!" You snarl, thrashing your leg to kick at him, your frustration and neglect finally getting to you.

Miguel caught your flailing lim and forced it up, pinning it against the air-conditioning unit with another shot of his webs, before securing your already bound hands with more, above your head.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his hot and heavy breath ghosting over your sweaty skin, before his hands once again swiped and gripped at your cunt, pawing at it like a cat kneading a blanket.

Miguel lazily dragged two fingers torturously slow up your slit, before punching your clit hard through the fabric.

"You've been misbehaving... But I know you're just going to keep acting out until I give you what you want." Miguel sneered into your ear.

You whimpered, arching into his touch as he pulled away, making a frustrated sob at the lack of contact.

You nearly had the air punched out of your lungs when Miguel dropped to his knees, inhaling the scent of your soaked pussy like it was a drug he needed a hit of. He opened his mouth and dragged his tongue up the soaked fabric, before latching on and sucking.

Now this was new. Getting eaten out through the fabric of your clothes. There was too much contact but somehow not enough as he rutted his nose at your clit, sucking more at your folds drawing more of your slick through the fabric.

You thrashed against his webs, trying so hard to roll your hips and fuck his face, but with the way you were pinned, you were at his mercy, especially when he hoisted your free leg over his shoulder. He pressed two fingers against your covered hole as he furiously suckled your clit.

Your orgasm crashed into you so hard you couldn't even manage a scream, your mouth just hung open on a silent cry, eyes rolling back as a fresh gush of slick leaked through your suit.

Miguel smiled against you and tore your suit's crotch open, and you shivered as the humid, summer air made contact with your slick and creamy folds. You barely had a second to realize what was happening before Miguel plunged back in, his nose rutting your clit once more as I sucked at your cream, your slick covering his chin.

Miguel was the best sexual partner you ever had, he knew exactly how to eat you out to the point you lost your voice without even using it.

Just as your second orgasm was creeping up on you, he pulled his mouth away, wiping his face clean with the back of his hand and licking his chops like a dog eyeing a juicy stake.

His cock bobbed against his stomach as he stood, a steady stream of precum dribbling out of the tip and to the ground below.

He pulled your free leg to wrap around his waist as he slid the underside of his cock against your puffy cunt.

Miguel bit down on your shoulder, hard as he forced himself into you with one brutal thrust, pushing the air out of your lungs as he punched your guts through your womb with his cock, spearing you wide as he set a rapid, relentless pace for the both of you.

You uttered breathless pleas, praises, and incoherent mumblings with each thrust; the two of you grunting and moaning in each others ears like rabid animals, Miguel's cock slamming home into your pussy, squelching, dripping, the slap of skin and hips colliding filling the very atoms around you.

Your body screamed, cried, ached for him to fuck you, fill you up to the brim.

Miguel's tip crammed against your cervix in such a brutal way that you swore he bullied himself into your womb with every thrust. It was a blossoming pain that bled into pleasure, quickly bringing you back to the edge of your second orgasm that he had denied you.

"That's it, baby." Miguel snarled in your ear. "Ah... So tight for me. You want me?"

You nodded, whimpering and sobbing into his shoulder.

"Want me to fuck you til you can't walk for a week? Stretch you til all you can think of is my cock?" He said, his voice edging on a gleeful tone as he pants, turning his head and licking at the sweat on your neck.

"Want me to fucking breed you?"

You bite into his shoulder at that, whimpering as his suit glitches around your fangs and you lick at the blood welling up.

He hissed, and his pace became frantic, almost angry as he reaches down and pinches your clit like before, and your orgasm comes flooding through every blood vessel in your body as you jerk mindlessly against him, your pussy crushing down on him, milking him for everything he can give you.

He moans loudly in your ear, snapping his hips up into yours, balls slapping your ass as you cry out, sobs wracking your chest as your vision blurs and the tension rips out of you.

You whimper, and hiccup against him when he forces himself into you one last time, his tip kissing that oh so lovely spot inside as he pumps his heavy and sticky load deep inside your pussy, dripping out of you with each jagged thrust as he fucks you through his orgasm.

When Miguel's hips still, his hand pets at your hair as he kisses your jaw, nipping the skin there as he slices the webs holding your legs and hands up.

"Mmmmh. I needed that." Miguel sighed into your hair.

You grunted in response, your fists gripping at his suit as you pull him down for a hungry and toothy kiss.

"Take me home and fuck me." You demanded.

All Miguel could do was smile, and carry you back to your apartment. The real trick was keeping his cock sheathed inside of you as he swung from building to building, trying to avoid anybody who may have a camera phone...

But honestly? You didn't care.

However...

The two of you did care, a few weeks later.

When two little pink lines appeared on the stick in your hand.

"Fuck."

#miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel O'Hara x you #my writing #spiderverse smut #smut

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

terms of endearment │ Part I: The Princess and the Rogue

See the Series Masterlist for the correct order!

“The marriage between the second daughter of King Viserys I and his own brother, Prince Daemon, raised eyebrows upon its first announcement. Many assumed the match would echo the Rogue Prince’s unfortunate first union with the late Lady Rhea, despite his wish for a Valyrian bride being, finally, fulfilled. It surprised all who took witness to see the intensity of Daemon’s devotion to his second wife, a regard that would persist through a long and happy union between uncle and niece.”

- ‘Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

The story of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his brother’s second-born daughter, as told through the many terms of endearment he calls her by.

Thank you to @my-justreblog​ for the header art!

Queen Aemma brings a new child into the world—you. As the second daughter of King Viserys I, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Daemon returns to King’s Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn’t expecting you—the revelation changes everything.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

As the second-born daughter of Aemma and Viserys, you never expected to be married off to your uncle Daemon. The wedding is here—and the wedding night.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Scenes from a marriage—you receive an education from your Uncle Daemon. Lucky for you, he is all too happy to teach you.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #em-writes-stuff-sometimes masterlists #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #hotd #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #matt smith

[cryoculus]

— imagine being loved by me! ⟢

pairing: xiao | alatus x reader

summary: the one where your best friend gives you ten tattoos over the next ten years. the problem? you fall deeper in love each time the ink stains your skin.

word count: 7.1k words

tags: modern au, tattoo artist!xiao, childhood friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, relationship study, non-explicit smut

warnings: emotionally stunted xiao but i fink everyone knows that already, mentions of needles, there's smut but it isn't detailed

notes: this blog's been dead for Months but i thought i'd revive it with this fic that my beloved @delvalentine commissioned me to make! i love u to DEATH, v, i hope i did your requests justice :')

header art cr: yuca7302 on twt

01.

“Ow, fuck! Can you be more careful?!”

“I am careful. You just have a shitty pain tolerance.”

“Wow, that’s not something you should say to your first willing client,” you huff, trying not to pull away as Xiao repeatedly punctures the skin of your forearm with pen ink and a not-so-sterile sewing needle. “My family could sue you if I die from a blood infection, you know.”

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Something this small won’t kill anyone. Plus, you came here on your own volition, so stop complaining.”

“Are you saying you’re just going to let me die of sepsis if everything goes to shit?”

“Pretty much.”

You didn’t know what to expect when your best friend of several years asked if you wanted a tattoo of your favorite constellation. It’s been a running joke between the both of you that the two moles on your forearm looked a lot like two-thirds of Orion’s belt, and that maybe, in another life, you would’ve been born with all three of its stars on your skin. 

You should’ve known that Xiao likes to blow your expectations out of the water—whether he intends to do so or not.

It’s sundown when he finishes embedding black pen ink beneath your slightly inflamed skin. Xiao doesn’t comment when you repeatedly complain about how much that fucking hurt, and that you’re never agreeing to do it again, but you don’t miss the way his eyes occasionally flit up to the starry sky before shifting to your new ‘tattoo’ as he walks you home.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget that night. How you admired the amateur handiwork in the soft glow of your nightlight while thinking about the boy who gave you a star fashioned with his own fingers where others would’ve given flowers instead.

But then you remember Xiao is nothing but your best friend, and it’s a little…weird to be thinking about him like that. 

Must be the sepsis fucking with my head, you muse before flicking off your nightlight, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness. 

02. 

You’re eighteen when you realize Xiao is completely serious about this tattooing business.

It comes as a not-so-pleasant surprise to you one day when your high school’s guidance counselor approaches you while you’re hurrying over to your next class—asking if you’ve seen Xiao around these days because apparently, your best friend hasn’t been attending his classes for a better part of the semester. 

Of course, you receive the news with a scowl. While you don’t exactly see him all that much at school because of how different your schedules are, you never expected to find out he’s been playing hooky all this time. 

You don’t particularly like sticking your nose into other people’s business—especially not Xiao’s, since you know how he likes to keep to himself better than most. But for some reason, you aren’t able to resist, and end up calling him after excusing yourself from your two-hour Biology lecture. 

Once your classes are done, you head over to a nearby tattoo parlor whose address Xiao texted to you right after you squeezed his whereabouts out of him during that phone call. It’s located in one of the more run-down parts of town that your parents would’ve detested Xiao for inviting you to. But whatever prejudice you might’ve had about the denizens of this district all go up in smoke once you meet the owner herself.

“You should’a seen Xiao practicing with our machines a few months ago!” Beidou, as Xiao had sheepishly introduced earlier, barks out a laugh before slinging an arm around your best friend’s shoulders. “Said there’s someone he wanted to give permanent tatts to. I’m guessing you’re the guest of honor?”

“Beidou,” Xiao groans. “It’s not a big deal. I already practiced on her before.”

You don’t completely catch it when Beidou makes an inappropriate joke as a response to what Xiao just said—eyes trained on the fading dot on your forearm. It’s been two years since Xiao gave you your first ‘tattoo’, and even if the receding ink makes it look like one of Orion’s stars are starting to die out, it’s still there.

“Okay,” you say in the middle of their bickering, startling both Xiao and Beidou in the process. “I’ll let him ink me if he wants to.”

Xiao stares at you with brows furrowed. “You sure?”

No, you’re not sure because as much as you want to support Xiao in what seems to be a budding passion of his, you’re certain that your father is going to kill you when he sees a full-blown tattoo on any part of your body. You barely got away with the artificial mole that Xiao did for you a few years back.

“Positive.” You back your words up with an indignant huff before sifting through the pre-made designs on Beidou’s catalog. “You just have to put it somewhere not everyone can see, I guess.”

Beidou snorts out another jarring laugh when Xiao clicks his tongue to alleviate the embarrassment that’s painting his face just a touch of red. 

Earlier in the day, you intended to scold your best friend for not taking his studies seriously, but ended up going home that day with a new piece inked onto the skin of your left hip: a little spruce twig that you last remember seeing in your old hometown—years before you even met Xiao. 

There’s no particular meaning behind it, apart from a hint of sentimentality and rebelliousness. It’s your first actual tattoo, and one of your best friends gave it to you, free of charge. Even if it hurts ten times more than Xiao’s novice needle method from two years ago, you end up loving it more than you thought. One time, you stare at Xiao’s intricate handiwork in the mirror for so long that you nearly run late for your first class of the day. 

(Another thing that makes this particular piece memorable is the process itself.

Xiao is a person who’s always been startlingly precise in everything he decides to put his head into. When you learned that he wanted to become a tattoo artist, you instantly felt like there’s no other path more perfect for him than this.

Yet you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers sometimes trembled as he gave you your first piece—with you lying chest-down on Beidou’s tattoo chair in nothing but your shirt and underwear. It shouldn’t have been strange. Xiao has seen you dressed down like this dozens of times before. 

But when all’s said and done, he refused to meet your eyes, and you don’t have the slightest clue why.)

03.

You just can’t stop staring when you see Xiao’s half-sleeve for the first time.

It’s meant to be a phoenix, he said, but you can’t really see it because the patterns are too abstract to make sense of. Still, the azure ink sits nicely on top of his built bicep, and you have to tell yourself that you’re just trying to find the stupid phoenix as an excuse to keep ogling him.

Thankfully, your weird fascination lasts for only about a week until you’re back to shitting on him like you always do. 

By some miracle, Xiao manages to graduate high school despite being on probation from his excessive absences. He’s actually smart if he makes the effort to hit the books, but you’re not sure if he’s planning on going to college with how comfortable he is with being one of Beidou’s most in-demand tattoo artists. 

You ask him about his future plans at a party being thrown by the previous captain of the football team in his parents’ lavish penthouse somewhere uptown. It took a great deal to force Xiao into tagging along with you as your plus one, and you’re going to make good on his acquiescence by interrogating him about things he normally skirts around.

“I told you, I didn’t take any entrance exams,” he grumbles against the rim of his red cup. “I’m managing just fine working for Beidou, so I don’t see any reason to go to college.”

You’re about to argue that Beidou’s tattoo parlor won’t be open forever, and that he needs to think about broadening his career options until a bunch of girls with linked arms shuffle closer to where you and Xiao were lounging on the couch. You don’t talk to them a lot, but everyone in your grade knows the infamous Pyro Trio.

“Hey, Xiaooo,” Hu Tao drawls with a smirk, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the branches of a cherry blossom tattooed on the delicate skin of her arm. Behind her, Xiangling and Xinyan snicker like it’s some sort of inside joke. 

You intend to shift your gaze elsewhere. Clearly, you’re not the person these girls want to speak with. But the sight of the ink on Hu Tao’s skin makes the back of your neck prickle with misplaced irritation. Xiao must’ve been the one who did her piece, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Though he’s this year’s most notable absentee, rumors about Xiao’s handiwork haven’t gone unnoticed among the students in your (now) alma mater. 

That doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of your best friend inking other people that aren't you, though.

You decide to excuse yourself from Xiao’s company—given that Hu Tao is giving him plenty of attention already as is. Your best friend utters something you don’t quite catch as you walk away, and you don’t bother turning around to ask him to repeat himself.

(As you stuff your face with shot after shot, you force yourself to just keep dancing to the rhythm of whatever song is blaring to the speakers. You didn’t give two shits about the fact that Hu Tao keeps feeling up the stupid phoenix tattoo on Xiao’s arm. Nor did you care about the fact that your best friend—who’s normally evasive when it comes to casual contact—seems like he doesn’t mind at all.)

The night ends with Xiao begrudgingly getting behind the wheel of your car, since you’re obviously in no state to be driving anyone home. When he announces that he’ll bring you back to your apartment, you slur out a drunken protest—asking if he can take you to the tattoo parlor instead.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Why?”

You huff, curling in on yourself on the passenger seat. “The cherry blossoms you gave Hu Tao were ugly as shit. You can do a better piece on me. Y’know, as practice.” 

Both of you know that you’re bluffing. Xiao’s pieces are one of the most intricate you’ve ever seen, even if he is a rookie tattoo artist, and that you don’t have a lot of points of reference to compare to. But instead of taking offense at your mindless jab at his work, Xiao slots the keys into the ignition with a defeated sigh.

“Fine. You mentioned wanting spider lilies a while back,” he says before propping his arm against the car seat as he backed up on the street. It’s the perfect angle to moon over his not-so-phoenix tattoo, and if you were any more intoxicated, you would’ve reached out and squeezed his arm. 

“Where do you want it?”

You know he meant to ask where you wanted him to put your prospective tattoo, but the question sends your mind straight into the gutter. Thankfully, you still have some semblance of coherence lingering in your drunk thoughts, and you answer with:

“Right hip. Opposite end of the spruce twig.”

When Xiao heaves another sigh and steps on the gas pedal, you don’t think much of it—still convinced it’s completely normal to expose such intimate parts of yourself to your best friend so he can tattoo a fucking flower just above the swell of your thigh.

04.

“You have been watching way too much anime.”

“Come on! At least I’m not having you tattoo the names of my shitty ex-boyfriends on my ass, right? Just give me my modified Tanjiro hanafuda and Fullmetal Alchemist flamel!”

“...Is this your way of coping with taking up a nursing course? Is it that stressful?”

You whine as you hold your phone closer to your ear, already picturing the look of disbelief in Xiao’s face when you asked when he’s free to give you your next tattoos. You still go to college in the same city, but it’s been weeks since you last saw him. 

“You have no idea,” you groan. “It’s like my first year, and I’m already burned out! How is that even possible?”

Your best friend grunts on the other line. “Maybe if you stopped being such a perfectionist, then maybe you’ll learn to be more content. Less stress on your part, too.”

“Ah, no can do. I never do anything that isn’t perfect,” you chuckle. “

“Yeah, I saw you score at the top of your class during your, uh… what was it again? Biochem exam?” 

For someone who doesn’t exactly give a damn about anything outside tattooing and other similar forms of artistry, you find it endearing to know Xiao actually remembers all the things you rant about in the wee hours of the morning. You don’t hate biochem, but if you have to draw another chemical configuration, you might just pop a vein. 

“Okay, let’s say I agree to tattoo those weird doodles you sent,” Xiao propositions, “do you even have any free days? You usually study on weekends, right? I don’t think you’re free to drop by the shop even if you wanted to.”

Fuck. He’s right. You still have a few major exams coming up in the next two weeks. If you wait that long until you get your silly weeaboo tattoos from Xiao, you would’ve already gotten over your momentary hyperfixation on the TV shows that were salvaging your sanity in the middle of the semester. It wouldn’t feel as thrilling to get them anymore.

“I’m free…” You trail off, eyes darting to the digital clock by your desk then to the course notes you have opened on your laptop. You haven’t studied as much as you wanted to for your upcoming anatomy test, but…

“Right now, actually. Can you pick me up?”

You can hear him frowning. “Don’t you have a car?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna drive when I have plastic wrap all over my body.” 

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not all over your—”

“Jesus, get the hint, Xiao. I miss my best friend, and I want to have a quiet evening cruise on his motorcycle before he gets me inked again!” 

Xiao falls silent, and this time, you’re having some difficulty picturing what expression he’s wearing on his face. You like to think you’ve startled your un-startle-able best friend, but that’s pushing your influence too much. 

“Okay,” he says, more agreeable than you thought he’d be. “I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

05. 

When you introduce your first serious boyfriend in a while to Xiao, you’re a bit annoyed with how prickly he’s being. 

Sure, it’s wired into his system to be the snarky asshole everyone knows and loves, but if there’s anyone else who knows about the tragedy that is your love life better than yourself, it’s Xiao. When you finally land a decent guy to settle down with, you at least expect him to be a bit more supportive.  

“Actually, we came here ‘cause we planned on getting matching tattoos,” your boyfriend, Yin, explains with a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You stifle a soft laugh, a bit embarrassed to agree, but too in love with your boyfriend to protest. 

A few years ago, you distinctly remember drunkenly rambling to Xiao about how stupid it is to get couple tattoos especially when relationships these days are built on flimsy foundations. 

If you break up, what then? You have a physical reminder of that person on your body for eternity? No fucking thanks!

“Sorry, we’re closed right now, as you can see,” Xiao grunts before jabbing his thumb at the sign he just turned at the door. “You can try some other time, though.”

At the time, you were pissed at Xiao for denying your little request. He always agreed to ink you during ungodly hours of the day, but now he’s playing the ‘shop’s closed’ card just because he doesn’t like your boyfriend?

But then, you end up grateful for his attitude exactly a month later. 

“Fucking cheated on me with some bitch from his Physics lecture,” you sniffle on Xiao’s ratty sofa as he makes you some tea in his kitchen. “I can’t believe I nearly tattooed our anniversary on my wrist! I would’ve had to fucking amputate it in the end.”

Xiao sighs before placing a piping hot cup of honey lemon in front of you on his coffee table—crossing his legs together. He doesn’t tell you I told you so, like others probably would if they were in his shoes. Your best friend just stares at you with withering understanding, no matter how stupid the choice that got you here in the first place turned out to be.

That’s one of the many things you loved about him. 

“You were supposed to have ‘XV’ inked together, right?” he asks. 

You huff before tossing some of the soiled tissues you used into the bin. “Yeah. We made it official on September 15th.”

“Well, if you still want the tattoo, you could just give it a different meaning.”

Scowling, you stare at Xiao as if he just grew a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Is he really suggesting for you to get the same tattoo that he denied you and your ex a month ago?

Xiao shrugs noncommittally before taking a sip from the tea he prepared for you. “It’s been fifteen years since we became best friends. That’s worth commemorating, at least. Unless you suddenly don’t give a shit about that, too?”

Your jaw hangs agape at the sudden reminder. October 15th. When you were four, you accidentally spilled orange juice all over Xiao’s teletubbies backpack, and when he forgave you on the spot, you crowned him as your first bestie. 

That was fifteen years ago. Holy shit.

He startles when you abruptly shoot back to your feet, earning yourself a perplexed stare from Xiao who just wants you to sit down and drink your damn tea—

“Is Beidou’s shop open?” you ask. “I want her to do our matching tatts.”

Xiao grimaces. “Our?”

You nod brusquely, tugging at his arm. “Yeah, I’m allowed to have matching tattoos with you, ‘cause you’ll never walk out of my life, right, Xiao?”

He’s always been a stubborn little shit, so you don’t really expect Xiao to relent as quickly as he does. You nearly stumble to the carpeted floor when he lets you pull him up—faces hovering so close to each other, you nearly choke on your own breath.

It doesn’t help that Xiao has definitely…put in a few inches of height. Back then, you used to tease him a lot for being taller than him, but now?

“Never,” he whispers so softly, you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren't as close to him as you are. “Now drink your stupid honey lemon tea so we can head to the shop.” 

About two and a half hours later, you’re sitting on the vacant seats in the shop’s waiting lounge—a familiar sting still sizzling beneath your ribcage from where you had your first matching piece with Xiao permanently inked. You made him swear to have his own ‘XV’ tattoo made on the same place, and he makes good on his promise when he emerges from the workroom, wearing nothing but his dark-washed jeans.

Unlike yourself, you rarely see Xiao in various states of undress. The most skin you could get out of him on most days is the lean muscle of his tattooed biceps, and sometimes those are enough to have you staring dumbly at him for several minutes.

Now, though?

You learn that he has several tattoos on his torso—spread across his skin like patchwork. It makes you wonder if he did some of them himself, or if he had Beidou work on them for him. Still, despite the plethora of new ink stains to gawk at, his weird phoenix tattoo remains as your personal favorite.

Along with the newest piece he got not five minutes earlier—the tattoo he shares with you.

“Are you happy now?” he grumbles, letting you marvel at the perfect roman numerals just below the jut of his ribs. “It’s a good thing Beidou gave it to us free of charge, you know.”

You giggle. “All of my tatts so far have been free of charge.”

“That’s only because you’re special to me,” Xiao sighs before freezing up in the next moment—like he didn’t mean to let that slip aloud.

You smirk. “Mm? What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

06. 

Much to Xiao’s disappointment, your shitty taste in men doesn’t exactly end with Yin.

About three months after getting the tattoo to commemorate your fifteen years of best friendship, you meet Kaeya. He’s an exchange student, and you know better than to form any sort of attachment to someone who isn’t going to be in the same continent as you by next year. 

But you let him in anyway. 

You allow Kaeya to get to know you in ways that not even Xiao is familiar with. The smooth-talking foreigner likes to kiss every single one of your tattoos—lamenting the fact that they’re all inked in spots hidden from view. You laugh every time he brings it up, saying your parents are going to kill you and Xiao if they saw any of the pieces your best friend did for you over the last six years. 

“That best friend of yours…” Kaeya muses once he’s done bringing you to paradise and back, smoking a cigarette that makes you wrinkle your nose with distaste. He would’ve been perfect, if only he wasn’t such a chronic chainsmoker. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You nearly fall off the bed at his bold declaration.

“W-What the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer. Xiao? In love? With you? 

Kaeya shrugs. “I dunno, sweetheart. If I was a tattoo artist, I wouldn’t let anyone freeload my craft as many times as you did—even if you are my best friend. Unless I was down fucking bad for you, of course.”

Xiao doesn’t like Kaeya, but the reasoning behind it is a bit different from why he doesn’t like your ex. He knew Yin wasn’t a good match for you. Kaeya, though? The two of you had inarguable chemistry. The only problem was he was a free spirit that didn’t like to be tied down by commitments—something you clearly struggle with. 

When you reassured Xiao that Kaeya is nothing but a way to scratch a passing itch, he merely scoffed and told you to do whatever you wanted.

Could his dismissiveness be because…he’s in love with you? 

That can’t be right. You’re the one who knows Xiao best. If he hypothetically does catch feelings for someone—much less, you—you’ll surely be the first to notice, right?

Right?

Kaeya chuckles before tracing the XV tattoo along your ribcage with a cold finger—almost like he’s teasing. You roll your eyes before crawling back on top of your midnight lover, kissing him just to shut him up. 

When you drop by Beidou's the next day, Xiao is nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t he tell you?” She gapes. “Our boy’s starting his own shop downtown! He had the soft launch and everything a week ago. I was wondering where you were.”

“Uh…” 

You’re not sure how to break the news that Xiao has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got together with Kaeya. But finding out that he put up his own tattoo parlor without even telling you? 

If Kaeya turns out to be right, and your best friend really was in love with you, he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it. 

Deciding to play along with whatever game he’s playing, you make an appointment to get a new piece inked under a fake name. Xiao accepts it right away and schedules you for an early evening slot. You make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late just to get a rise out of him. 

When he sees you at the entrance to his shop, you almost let yourself feel smug about the unadulterated surprise on his face. Almost. You’re still pissed off that he didn’t invite you to one of the most important milestones of his life.

He fulfills your request in silence—the French word for green inked unassumingly on the underside of your shoulder blades. Xiao doesn’t say a word about his evasiveness, nor does he address the fact that you, his literal best friend, are standing in the shop he’s kept a secret for god knows how long. 

When he still refuses to talk, you slam your payment on top of a nearby table—intent on storming out of the building even if he hasn’t wrapped your newest piece in a protective layer of plastic yet. Xiao barks that he doesn’t want your fucking money, and you end up throwing your hands in the air, asking:

“Then what the hell do you want?”

You expected him to blow up in a fitful of rage. He’s never been good at anger management, you knew this well. But instead, he crosses the distance separating the two of you and crushes your mouths together.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, desperately against your lips. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Kaeya calls you multiple times that night—even leaves a text message asking where you are and if you’re free. You aren’t able to answer any of them though. Not when you’re busy being railed into the next life by your best friend of fifteen—going sixteen—years in the same bed that Kaeya just had his way with you a week ago. 

When Xiao’s lips graze each and every tattoo he personally inked onto your pliant body, it’s leagues different from when Kaeya does it. It’s like your best friend is leaving a trail of fire sizzling beneath your skin everywhere his mouth trails along your hypersensitive flesh. 

Even the way he makes you fall apart from a blistering orgasm is ten times more intense than every session you had with Kaeya and Yin combined.

There’s no affection nor is there adoration in Xiao’s gaze as he fucks into you—golden eyes fueled by something carnal and zealous, but you knew better than to call that love. 

When morning comes, Xiao isn’t here with you, and you don’t know which emotion to feel. 

Kaeya, at least, has the decency to leave a note whenever he has to depart early. But all that your best friend leaves you with is a sinking feeling in your stomach, and a glaring realization that you did not want to make when you’re crying all alone in your apartment at the crack of dawn.

Kaeya was wrong. Xiao isn’t in love with you.

You’re in love with Xiao, and you immediately know you’re in deep fucking shit because of it.

07.

It’s two weeks into your mission of complete radio silence when Xiao finally breaks.

You’re in the middle of a pharmacology lecture when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t Kaeya because he’d already packed his things last week and headed back to his home country. The bastard even asked you for a quick farewell fuck, but you turned him down right away and gave him a kiss goodbye instead.

When you find out it’s a text message from the same person you’ve been trying to avoid all this time, you’re all too quick to parse through its contents.

Xiao: I'm sorry. Can we talk?

That’s how you wind up standing right outside of his new tattoo parlor. 

You haven’t been able to take a good look at it the last time you were here—too frustrated with your best friend to really make sense of your surroundings. But he’s put up his new shop in a pretty good part of town. You wonder how Xiao managed to afford it all. 

Then again, he’s been working at Beidou’s shop for years. You knew he had a decent number of regulars, as well as potential clients that are highly interested in his work. 

For once, you let yourself be proud of him. Even if he didn’t put your name on the guest list for his soft launch.

Xiao looks a little sheepish when he lets you inside and flips the sign on the front door to give the two of you some privacy. You aren’t faring any better. The last time you saw him, he was balls-deep inside of you—fucking you like you’re the most despicable woman in the world.

“So there’s this…collage piece I wanted to try,” he starts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

Of course when Xiao invites you over to talk, you shouldn’t have expected any actual talking to take place. That’s just not his style. He’d rather make up for whatever mistakes he made by inking another stupid tattoo on your body, but honestly? You’ll take whatever you can get.

When you saw his sketch of a Statue of David peppered with four-leaf clovers, you couldn’t even dream of parsing the meaning behind the piece. The only thing that makes you relent is an old memory of you and Xiao hunting for four-leaf clovers in your mother’s garden—even putting the effort to plant whatever you could find in a pot in hopes that they would grow bigger.

It takes him hours to complete the entire thing. This one is probably the most realistic piece he’s done for you, and you can’t help but watch the intense concentration on his face through the mirror on the wall as he inks it a few inches above the last tattoo he did for you. 

You’ve never really realized how…breathtaking he looks like this.

His fringe falling across his pretty gold eyes, the comfortable set of his jaw as he focuses on his work, and the soft slope of his cupid’s bow despite how harsh the words that come out of his mouth can be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You really are in love with this guy.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work, Xiao puts down his machine before wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. He already looks so fucking good while he’s working. How is it fair for him to look even more gorgeous right after the entire process?

“Come on, let’s wrap it up,” he says before stretching his limbs. The action makes the cropped shirt he’s wearing ride up his torso a little, and you’re teased with a glimpse of the tattoo he matches with you.

Your heart nearly leaps to your throat, and if it weren’t for the dull sting of your newest tattoo, you would’ve been entranced by the sight of him entirely.

“Sure,” you say, even if your heart is begging for you to just be honest with him. To let him know how you’ve felt all this time because frankly, you can’t keep carrying the weight of your own feelings for much longer.

But then you remember how…apathetic Xiao looked like the night he dared to tell you he wanted you. There was no love to be found in his animalistic gaze, and you fear that he’ll turn you even further away at the slightest hint of more-than-friendly affection from your end. 

You can live with this. His fleeting yet heated touches. His deep, piercing stares. 

You’ll do anything to preserve what you have with him now—even if that means sacrificing everything else you could still dream of.

08.

Sometimes, you think Xiao is making you hope on purpose.

Sure, your friendship was more or less salvaged after offering your Statue of David tattoo as a quiet apology. You’re back to teasing him for all the most minuscule things, and Xiao is back to being your voice of reason in no time.

These days, though, you don’t really have much time to hang out with him like you usually do. You’re in the last year of your nursing degree, and your shifts at the hospital on top of your regular academic workload render you much too exhausted to catch up with any of your friends. Xiao included.

But there comes a night when he visits you in your apartment when you’re busy studying for a tricky surgery exam—a bucket full of fried chicken, and a bottle of sparkling water in hand. What kind of fiend would turn away an unannounced blessing like that ? 

You munch through the midnight snack Xiao brought for you all while forcing him to do your flashcards with you. He knows the drill, anyways. Though he’s been out of school for years, Xiao is still familiar enough with your study habits to be of substantial help during these trying times.

While you’re in the middle of differentiating the different types of sutures, though, he proposes an idea.

“It’s been a while since I inked you with a sewing needle and pen ink, isn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes, taking a swig of your carbonated drink as your gaze flickers to the pseudo-Orion’s belt on your right forearm. The third star has all but faded from view over the years.

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

Xiao rummages through his knapsack for a few seconds before bringing out what seems to be a small sewing kit, and a jar labeled ‘Indian ink’. You gulp in equal parts dread and anticipation.

“I figured out how to make the tatts stay longer,” he says, a gentle smile settling over his face. “You want me to give you a new one? I can even revive good old Orion, too.”

You sigh. Who are you to turn the love of your life down anyway?

Xiao gets to work while you’re lying sideways on your bed, flinching every now and again because he decided to outline the spitting image of the flower vase sitting on top of your nightstand along the curve of your waist. 

Unlike your first experience with manual needling, your pain tolerance is much better. The only reason you’re squirming every time Xiao embeds the ink into your skin is because you’re fucking ticklish. All those years of being intimately acquainted with Beidou’s tattoo machine were all the sensory training you needed, it seems. 

When Xiao is done with this piece, he pulls you into an upright position, making you hold out your arm so he could resurrect the first tattoo he ever gave you. You roll your eyes, but let him do as he pleases anyway.

At this point, you’ll let him do anything with you.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you’re putting away the dishes and glasses you and Xiao used for the night. He’s kind enough to throw out the trash while you clean up in the kitchen, and when he meets you back in the living room to exchange farewells, you don’t really want him to go.

“You have morning classes tomorrow, right?” he murmurs as he pulls you into a firm embrace, careful not to press down too hard on your new tattoo. “Take care. Don’t burn yourself out too much. All your hard work will be for nothing if you end up keeling over before graduation.”

You can’t help it. The soft timbre of his voice coupled with the fond look in his eyes tears all your defenses asunder. As you look up to meet Xiao’s uncharacteristically doting gaze, your chest twists more and more as you keep yourself from lunging in for a kiss.

“You’re such a pessimist, it’s almost funny how caring you sound,” you chuckle. “Go on, now. Shoo. It’s late.”

Before you can push him out of the door, however, Xiao catches you by surprise when he leans down to peck your lips. You stay frozen in place even as he pulls away—smiling so prettily, you can hardly believe this guy is your perpetually pissed off best friend.

“Good night.” 

Unlike the last time he left you all alone in your apartment, you’re filled to the brim with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s far from the emptiness that made a home in your heart when you thought you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back. But you’re not about to call it happiness either.

Whatever this strange feeling is, you let it sit in your chest for a while longer, and it lingers even when the memory of Xiao’s lips stops prickling against the skin of your own.

09.

On the day of your graduation, Xiao asks you to drop by his shop after the rites have concluded. You tell him that he’s self-centered as fuck, and that this is your day, so if he wants to use your body as a practice canvas again, he’s going to have to wait tomorrow.

You don’t tell him that you’re sulking because he didn’t even show up to congratulate you for surviving four gruesome years of nursing. But you suppose that someone who never went to college in the first place wouldn’t be the best at sympathizing with this particular milestone in your life.

He shows you his latest sketch when you make it to his shop the next morning—and you can’t contain the look of disbelief that colors your features when you realize what it is.

“A bouquet that’ll never wilt,” he chuckles, one finger expertly pointing out the flowers he’s drawn on the neat page. “Orchids and hydrangeas: your favorite. Violets: you press a bunch of these in books every summertime. Pink baby’s breath ‘cause you wouldn’t stop gushing about them at your sister’s wedding.”

You aren’t able to stifle the flattered giggle that spills from your lips. “Can’t believe you actually remember all that. What’s the lily of the valley doing there though?”

“Oh, this?” Xiao hums with one brow raised. “Your mom had lots of them in her old garden. Those are my favorite.”

“And, pray tell, why is your favorite flower going to be permanently tattooed on my body?”

Xiao doesn’t humor you with a verbal answer right away. Instead, he wheels his revolving seat closer to you so that he’s close enough to press your foreheads together. Your breath hitches when his mouth curves into a loving smile you’re starting to get used to seeing.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Now, are you going to tell me where you want me to ink your eternal bouquet or not?”

10.

You’re a complete sap when it comes to weddings. Everyone knows this.

It’s for that reason that none of your guests are surprised when you end up crying in the middle of exchanging vows with your fiancé. Xiao sighs before taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing at the tears streaming down your face. For someone who comes on so tough to other people, you’re awfully sentimental.

“Sorry, sorry—” you sniffle, thanking every single god out there for the invention of waterproof mascara. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

The rest of the session proceeds swiftly. You get to kiss your best friend of more than two decades and call him your husband in front of some friends and family. The matrimonial rites were held in a private resort at the base of a mountain. Both you and Xiao wanted to preserve the intimacy of your wedding as much as you could. After all, you didn’t need all that flashy and grandiose wedding prep to prove to the world just how much you want to spend the rest of your life with Xiao. 

Your thoughts stay the same even as he lays you down in the king-sized bed of the cabin you had to yourselves. He sighs in between kisses as he strips you off your wedding garbs. You’re surprised he’s taking his time with you. Xiao has been eye-fucking you since you started walking down the aisle. It was so bad that even Beidou made a few off-hand remarks about the sexual tension during the reception. 

“I was thinking,” you breathe as he grinds his hips against yours, “of getting another tattoo. My last one.” 

Xiao lifts his head for a moment, one brow arched. “You’re married to a tattoo artist, and you think the tattoo you’re getting after the wedding is your last one? You’re dreaming, princess.”

“Fine. Point taken.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I want a dragon tattoo riiiight…here.”

Your husband watches with rapt attention as you guide his hand to the spot you’re talking about—just below the collection of your favorite flowers inked above your waist is a blank stretch of skin. Xiao’s lips twitch into a fond smile as his calloused fingers graze your flesh.

“Still against having showy tatts?” he asks before pressing a soft kiss on the spot you pointed at. 

“Mhmm. You see, my dad doesn’t care if I’m married and have my own life. If he sees that I have tattoos, he’s still going to murder me,” you chuckle. “So yeah, tatts are staying under my clothes until he grows old enough and forgets that he hates seeing ink on other people’s skin.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

When Xiao ravishes you for the first time as your husband, your chest overflows with love for him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their best friends by their sides for as long as you did, yet you ended up tying the knot with yours. Although the entire process was more than twenty years in the making, you suppose there’s no point in rushing anything.

After all, Xiao is as permanent in your life just as much as the ink stains on your body.

“Look,” you chuckle once Xiao is done cleaning up in the bathroom and settles down right next to you on the bed, “Kaeya sent us a postcard. He says congrats on overcoming the emotional constipation.”

“Throw that thing away,” your husband grumbles, pulling you away from the pile of postcards on the nightstand. “Why are you even keeping touch with him still?”

“So I can use him as an excuse to get you jealous, and have you fuck me rough?”

“Oh, princess. If you wanted it rough…” he starts with a sigh, rolling his neck with a smirk. You gulp, wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around.

“All you had to do was ask.”

⟢ end notes: it's been a while since i wrote for genshin, so i hope you liked it! thank you sm for reading ^^

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin xiao #xiao fanfic #xiao smut #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #cryoculus

[anitalenia]

₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 .𖥔 ݁ ˖༘⋆𐦍⊹₊ ⋆

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑. ✧･ﾟ: * 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓔𝓾𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓼, 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓻. 𝓲𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓭. 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮, 𝓲'𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 . ⋆˙⟡♡✧ ℕ𝔸ℕ𝔸𝕄𝕀 𝕂𝔼ℕ𝕋𝕆 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑. 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝘩𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 . . . ₊˚⊹.* ♡ *.⊹˚₊ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 ✧‧₊˚

၄.၃ ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚ 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ₊˚✧ 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕣! nαnαmí kєntσ x 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕪! rєαdєr

၄.၃ ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚ 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 ₊˚✧ the reader will have very long hair and dark navy blue eyes for the sake of the story. I tried to be as vague as possible in every other aspect. this will also be in multiple parts, like a mini series. I’m not sure how many parts there will be 😔

၄.၃ ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚ 𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓪 𝓼𝓪𝔂𝓼 ₊˚✧ I took a different approach when writing this than I usually do, or in other words a different writing style than usual. Tbh, I know it’s not my best writing but it’s not the worst either. So please tell me if the writings good, I’ll definitely appreciate it !! Also, Sugar Water is one of my favorite songs by Cibo Matto, I definitely recommend it 😫✨. Thank you, and enjoy the story ✨ nanami header and gray sparkle divider made by me 💖

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬 𐙚 ‧₊˚ . 𝜗𝜚𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝜗𝜚𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝜗𝜚𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

⋆⭒˚. ࣪˖ ִֶָཐིཋྀ 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 the sun was quickly setting — either that, or the trees were so thick it made the sky look black.

Nanami couldn’t be sure; he was too focused on the pain in his leg and the pounding in his head that made it hard for him to think clearly, his vision blurring with every pulse.

Was it day? Had it been only hours since he escaped with barely his life? How long had he been wandering through these dark woods with nothing but his own wits about him?

Nanami had no clue.

Long enough for twigs to stick in his hair that’s for certain, long enough for mud to cling to the sweat on his skin and stain the fabric of his clothes. Long enough for his mind to blur the reality of hours and minutes that time itself seemed to stretch and bend forever.

He was sure he was leaving a rather noticeable blood trail behind him for those beasts to follow him and yet it seems they hadn’t — they must be too busy sucking out the marrow of his companions to bother with him.

Nanami couldn’t argue with that reasoning, however. With an injury like his, bleeding out like he was, he was bound to wither away eventually; he was already a walking corpse.

A morbid thought, but his macabre reality.

The forest floor was brown and black slush, muddy from the light rain that squished and sloshed under his boots. His glasses were dotted with water and his leg shot pain straight up his spine with every dreaded step forward yet Nanami wouldn’t give up — he couldn’t.

Not when his boots sunk into the mud and he had to pull his legs out of the earth to move, not when he smeared water on his glasses when he’d push them up the bridge of his nose, not when every step felt like a millennia of war battling in his calf… he smelt of his own blood and misery yet he conquered on, further into the dark wood with splinters in his palms and blisters on his toes.

A part of him was drawn forward anyway, drawn towards the mystery of the shadows and the fortune that may just await him if he continued on just a little farther. A symptom to his love for adventure; he was always weak to the allure of intrigue.

It was also hope.

Nanami couldn’t die here, not like this, not after all of his adventures and misfortunes and treasures. He was a traveler after all, a born adventurer; he’s faced many great monsters and beasts and traversed the most dangerous of terrain — fierce lions with claws of blade and savage wolfs with teeth of daggers, fiery lava pits and cataclysmic grand canyons.

He’s been dealt with far worse things than a clawed leg — he’s been poisoned and stabbed and bit and bludgeoned and nearly flattened by an avalanche yet this seems to be the one injury to ruin him despite them all.

A damn cut.

Maybe his bad luck had finally caught up to him.

Maybe it was purely by chance and blind, ignorant luck that he survived those encounters at all, maybe it had been luck that saved his life tonight.

He didn’t believe in luck but maybe that was just it.

Maybe he’d die from blood loss first before the infection set in; he hoped he’d just collapse into the forest floor and let the mud swallow him as his body weakened and his blood pooled around him to soak into the dirt.

At least he wouldn’t feel it when he rotted into the soil and roots buried themselves in his bones, when flowers would eventually sprout from his decay and grow gardens.

There was always beauty to be found in ugly things he guessed, a rule just as simple as beauty could be recycled from the horror of something else.

Something beautiful to come from something dead, something finally meaningful to come from his meaningless purpose.

No.

Nanami swallowed down that dreaded feeling, motivation bursting at his seams and ripping at his shirt, pooling at his feet and pounding in his ears as he stepped onward with a clenched jaw and sore muscles.

He was determined to live, determined to find something or someone or… he was bound to find safety eventually, some kind of sanctuary, even if it took him all night (if he even lived that long).

He walked a little longer until he stumbled upon a thick berry bush that seemed to block his way further; it was dark blue berries he certainly didn’t recognize and definitely didn’t trust to eat no matter how badly he needed the energy.

Nanami took that as a sign, stopping against a tree trunk to rest his throbbing leg for just one minute — a minute he couldn’t really spare. He leaned down and put a hand on his one good knee and huffed and sighed, panting weakly and tiredly; he really wanted nothing more than to be in his big comfy bed back in Hawksborough, surrounded by the comfort of his own home and safety of his room.

A few quiet moments passed with him like this. Him leaned against the tree, tired and haunted with nothing but the sounds of nature and the weariness of his own fragmented breath surrounding him.

Then, then he heard something rather remarkable, something that had his breath stop and his back straighten.

It was a hum, a beautiful, deep hum that seemed to resonate in the air around him and shake the leaves of the trees and the petals of flowers on broken stems.

It started out faint, like the strings of a harp between soft fingers. Then it crescendoed into something greater, deeper, like if someone were to play the keys of an organ and each heavy note echoed on the walls of an empty cathedral; hauntingly beautiful.

It certainly did, it echoed in his chest so hard he could feel his ribs shake.

It was a melodically smooth sound, coming from somewhere close to him but yet everywhere around him; it was hypnotic and bone chilling and mesmerizing all in one and Nanami felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of it as the hum seemed to grow louder the more curious he became.

He looked around the darkness for anything to hint at where the sound was coming from, but saw nothing except black air and the twisted limbs of trees.

Nanami gulped down the pain in his body with a sore throat, then winced as he stood up straight.

His leg throbbed and his head was starting to ache but with one final push he managed to scramble his way through the berry bush where the hum seemed to drown in his ears and coo at his brain; something told him he was going the right way.

He grind his teeth at the thorns pushing and breaking into his skin, ripping at his shirt and tearing at his seams.

When Nanami was through, a dirty mess of ragged clothing and mud, he stumbled into the grass with a grunt, falling to his knees and landing on his bruised palms.

“Fuck…” He muttered painfully, never one to cuss but too damn frustrated not to; he’d forgive himself for it.

Nanami took a moment to relish in the agony of his battered leg; he didn’t even realize the humming had stopped until he picked his head up to see where he was.

And by the gods Nanami was in utter awe of what he saw.

There was a bright blue pond a little ways ahead of him, surrounded by flourishing plants and flowers and vines that all seemed to glow vibrant colors of blue and gold. The water itself was sparkling and bright, reflecting cerulean pools in the flora around it.

Iridescent blue weeping willow trees hung around the water and seemed to whisper longingly to the wind that caressed their leaves. The grass was long and wispy surrounding the blue bosque that seemed to sway and dance all on their own accord, to their own little melody.

The air itself was sweet and sprinkled with little golden fireflies that buzzed happily around him; it was like a portal to a whole new thriving world.

Although, it was eerily seductive; Nanami wanted to stay in the grandeur blue arms of this utopia forever, but something in the way his hair stood up on his arms and his heart pounded in his ears told him he wasn’t completely safe to do so.

Nanami pushed that thought aside, not necessarily in his right mind to pay attention to what his body was subconsciously telling him.

He was too wide eyed and breathless, for even the wind seemed so fresh and magical every pore in his body felt alive and tingly — he even felt the pain in his leg stop, some sort of euphoria flood through his nerves. Unless he just became so accustomed to the pain he couldn’t feel it anymore.

It was so beautiful and unlike anything he’d ever seen; how he wished he could take a picture and write it down in his journal so he could remember this place forever… if only those beasts hadn’t ripped his satchel off him.

Nanami blinked, once, twice, then pushed himself off the ground with all the strength he could muster. He was dirty and torn and completely out of place in such an ethereal land; he felt almost guilty for tainting its grass with his muddy shoes.

Still, he stumbled further into the mysterious place as the soft sound of wind chimes twinkled somewhere around him, not loud and obnoxious but soft and gentle, a lullaby almost that made him feel sleepy, like the notes themselves were wrapping their velvety arms around him and pulling him in.

He didn’t resist it, looking around in awe at the paradise in front of him as he took a couple steps forward. He caught the movement of two butterflies playing together in the air, their dainty wings glimmering with glowing white sparkles and a vivid sky blue — he even swore with every flap of their wings it left a trail of delicate golden dust behind them.

He watched with wonderment as they faded somewhere into the trees, then turned his head to look back at the pond; the real treasure.

He felt his mouth salivate, all too aware of the dryness in his sore throat now as the water swayed and tempted him into its crystal blue depths. He knew he should’ve been wiser about this, hesitate for just a moment and linger on the possibility of entrapment but his thirst wouldn’t allow it; a pathetic, wandering fly in a deadly flytrap.

Nanami took two strong steps — all the strength he had left — towards the ponds edge for some much needed refreshment, falling down to his knees at the waters edge. The buzzing of nature seemed to drown out behind him in a mesh of forgotten sound as he scooped up a handful of water and eagerly drank it out of his palm.

He didn’t bother looking at his reflection; he knew he was an utter mess and always hated to see himself in disarray. He must’ve looked vaguely threatening to any outsider who saw him — not that anyone did (as far as he knew).

The water rippled as he drank from it, the liquid cool and translucent blue in his dirty palm he had haphazardly wiped on his trousers.

It passed over his dry gums and throat in a refreshingly cold blast with every gulp; it tasted so good and clear he could even feel the chill of it going down his throat.

With three more frantic gulps Nanami had had enough; his stomach was full and his thirst was quenched as he leaned back on his palms and looked up towards the sky in a spared moment of relaxation.

It was a dark navy blue sky twinkling with yellow and gold diamonds, no moon in sight but he didn’t care as he got lost in the coolness of the air on his narrow cheeks and the way it wrapped around his aching body, warping between the tears of his shirt and washing over his warm skin.

It was the opposite of how he used to sit on a cliffs edge and soak in the warmness of a golden sunset after a hard journey. He didn’t want to feel the heat of a days end on his glowing skin so much as he wanted to bask in the cold stillness of a breezy evening.

He hadn’t known how he got here and he didn’t bother trying to figure out how; as an adventurer such as himself it was always about the journey rather than the destination itself anyway, but not in this case.

In this case he couldn’t be happier that the troublesome voyage had ended and he had finally reached where he needed to be — maybe needed was a strong word but he’d rather be here than out there. It was certainly weird to think that way, and it went it against his very passions but… he’s been through too much in this night alone than he’s ever really suffered through in the totality of his life.

Nanami felt disappointed in himself for thinking so, guilty even, like he was betraying this metaphorical odyssey he was destined to travel on. Still, for the first time in his career Nanami was relived to be off his feet.

He sighed wistfully, fingers sinking into the soil as cool air flooded his lungs. He closed his eyes as he relished in the feeling.

Nanami didn’t even feel it when his elbows buckled under him and he fell back on the grass, only seeing a glittering blue sky and yellow diamonds behind black, closed eyes.

The water went still once more and the blue went black.

You studied the contours of his face delicately, your hands intertwined in your lap and your legs tucked under you as you did.

The room was small and cozy, lit by nothing but a soft blue flame in the corner that crackled and popped every few moments, tendrils of butterfly bush hanging from the ceiling and walls. The room smelt of honey and sweet rain, dark and joyfully dreary but you saw his face just fine.

He was quite handsome, you couldn’t deny that.

His blonde hair all in disarray, his narrow cheeks and sharp nose, his thin pink lips and angled eyes.

He was handsome.

You narrowed your eyes at him curiously, raising a delicate hand and gently brushing your cold fingertips over his cheekbone.

His skin was smooth and warm, cheeks flushed a light pink. It was always a small envy of yours — the warmth of humans. You were so cold all the time, your skin like crystals and frigid like snow.

Your fingertips fluttered over his blonde eyelashes, unable to keep your hands off him.

You wondered what color his eyes were. Green? Brown? Blue maybe?

You were eager for him to wake, your boredom having become tiresome and your patience having become thin. Still, you didn’t want to disturb his sleep just yet. The poor man had been through so much already; his leg was still healing, wrapped in bandages and honey salve and you certainly didn’t want to add any extra stress that could damage him further.

Really, you loved to stare at him with no complications, enjoyed the thrill of blatantly admiring his beauty before he could wake up and you’d inevitably make him uncomfortable, before he’d say it was improper to do so.

You were selfish in that regard, in many regards.

This man, you hadn’t learned his name nor his origin, but you knew he had been in the dark woods at a time he should not have been.

He was tall and brave, strong and perseverant, that much you knew and that much was certain. It was why you liked him so much, it was why you spared him.

But who was he?

He was no real threat to you and that was all that mattered.

You smiled softly, bemused and smitten, when his nose crinkled in his sleep. You gently dusted away a stray blonde hair that had fallen out of place.

You seemed to have bothered him then, because not a moment later did his head turn slightly and his lips part to exhale — he was waking up.

Finally.

You settled your hands back in your lap before he could notice, staring down at him with a sweet, welcoming smile in hopes to comfort him as his eyes fluttered open to look at you.

You gazed back into them delightedly.

Mm, they were brown.

Nanami had woken up with an ache in his skull and a sting behind his eyes, lost in a daze of twisted black thickets and enticing blue ponds; the sensation of featherlight fingers tracing his cheek tickled his brain and made his skin itch.

The first thing he smelt when he came to was blueberry pie and sugar, the sweetness of it making his mouth water but his stomach twist.

He wanted to eat something, badly, but he also wanted to throw up.

The air was warm around him, comfortable and pleasant, his sore back laid on something soft and plushy. He didn’t feel any reason for panic as he found himself melting into the comforter — whatever the hell it was he couldn’t be certain — against his better judgment.

Nanami tried to gather some sort of sensation in his body, tried wiggling his fingers and his toes but all he felt was nothing, numbness. He couldn’t even feel the pain radiating in his leg anymore.

He found that worrisome; maybe it was finally his time, maybe his luck had finally run out. Maybe he was lying face down in the forest floor right now as his mind conjured up the smell of his favorite pie and the feigned comfort of his mattress as a sweet gesture to bid him a final farewell.

Hell, if death was this peaceful he would’ve never been so against it.

Then he felt another whisper of skin across his forehead, soft and untraceable. If it wasn’t for the stark coldness of whatever it was touching him he would’ve missed it.

With the coldness making his skin shiver Nanami quickly found himself grounded back to reality. He wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be. Death didn’t exhibit the mundane concepts of hot or cold; temperature had no purpose in a void of nothing.

He was very much alive if the sound of his heart beating in his ears and the chill on his forehead was anything to go by. He even felt the tips of his fingers tingle as feeling came over them again, numbness having lingered in his bones for far too long.

He somehow found the strength to open his eyes.

For a brief moment he saw a blurred vision of black and blue. The shadow of a pale, azure colored light shining from somewhere, flickering in and out. It made a headache settle into the cracks of his skull and spread a torturous ache throughout his head.

He couldn’t stop the groan from leaving his lips as his hand flinched up towards his temple.

“Oh no, it seems you have some head trauma, it’s best not to strain yourself right now.”

It was a voice, soft spoken, barely above a whisper that piqued his interest immediately.

His vision focused on you once the pain faded; the girl next to his bed side with glittering dark eyes and a wickedly charming smile, wearing a baby blue colored dress embroidered with delicate flower designs; vines and flowers all intertwined in a tangled mess of thorns and petals that reminded him so greatly of the dark wood.

A sheer, glittering lily white shawl was loosely hung around your shoulders, hair in wavy tendrils down to your waist that pooled around your thighs. You were certainly pretty and unassuming.

He could tell you were a frail little thing, gossamery and lovely in a dainty sort of way but he also knew better than to underestimate you; appearances always deceived and there was no greater trick than the feigned purity of an impure thing.

Thankfully, he was not one easily fooled.

Nanami looked back up at you after a quick study of your form — your posture and seemingly innocent facade that did nothing to comfort him — so he just stared at you distrustfully, dark brown eyes narrowed cautiously. He noted the feigned sweetness of your lips as they curved into a small smile and the mischievous twinkle in your eyes as you gazed down at him; he felt preyed upon, the same feeling he exhibited in the meadow.

Kento had been through enough near death experiences in his life to recognize a snake when he saw one, for even the devil had come as a beguiled serpent so who was he to know if you were any better? He felt uneasy under your vehement stare, like a mouse in a cobra pit.

It was peculiar and uncanny, you yourself were frightening and unusual, no doubt a cacophony of horrors wrapped in a cute little bow with pretty blue eyes. He knew you could have anyone fooled, but he was too good, too experienced in the matters of trickery to recognize a fellow trick when he saw one.

Nanami was on the cusp of your deception, giving you a heady stare from beneath stern eyes.

He subtly leaned further away from you.

You flickered your gaze between his stare with an amused look, noting the change in his aura surrounding him as he regarded you tentatively.

You were honestly impressed by how quickly he seemed to have caught on to your true nature, not all humans had the innate sense of danger that he did; something in his gut had told him you were a vile, dangerous thing, and his instincts were telling him to run.

Even though it was unfair to categorize you as such, it was only fair to assume, and not necessarily distinguished too far from the truth anyway.

You sympathized with his ornery skepticism, not wanting to scare him any further so you just smiled down at him in the sweetest way you could fathom. You waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts and wit. Although, it seemed his mind was already made up.

“How are you feeling?” You asked in a nonthreatening, soft tone, raising a hand and barely touching the flushed skin of his bare chest, only enough for your fingertips to graze across his skin and grab his attention.

You were pleasantly thrilled at the feeling of his warmth under your fingertips, but Nanami just shuddered like a ghost had touched his bare soul with cold, lifeless hands.

His dark eyes quickly flickered down to where your hand had touched him, covering it with his palm like you had just struck him. Your fingertips seemed to have jolted his skin with a sudden frigid coldness that throbbed through his veins and made his heart stutter. He flinched at the shock of it, not seeing the way you had to bite back a smirk at his indignation.

He looked up at you with a sharp inhale, “I’m quite fine,” Nanami cleared his throat and tried to sit up straighter in an attempt to look half as intimidating as you did, “now who are you?”

You smiled at him, already loving the sound of his voice as he spoke to you; smooth, sharp, demanding, washing over your skin like the warm water of a hot spring. He was entirely too serious and you were too smitten. You could hear the underlying hatred he seemed to already have for you, hear the way his heart raced in his chest and see the way his fist tightly clenched the blanket between his long fingers.

You made him nervous and he made you pathetically giddy. You didn’t care about his fear however, for he would soon learn to become accustomed to you given the proper time spent together. All you really needed was just a little patience until then, after all, could you really blame him for being a bit standoffish given his bizarre situation?

You felt amusement pull at your lips as you folded your hands back into your lap, looking down at him with navy blue pools that reminded him so much of the pond he had so eagerly drank from, “Your savior. You’re welcome for that by the way.”

Nanami leered at you, the hair standing up on his arms as you spoke. Your voice was sweet enough but coated with undertones of something more sarcastic, something more sinister.

“Savior? I sincerely doubt that.”

You felt your smile pull harder at his pride; you couldn’t help it, he was like a frightened squirrel shrinking away from you with his tail between his legs, but trying desperately hard to appear like he wasn’t.

You heard the hardness in his voice though, the rigidness in his tone, the overcompensation for fear.

“Well, how do you explain where you are then? I hardly believe you got here on your own.” You teased him, gesturing to the dimly lit room around you and granting him a large, impish grin.

Nanami didn’t bother looking around, keeping his eyes narrowed in on your face and his hand on his stomach; he didn’t trust not having his eyes on you.

“Whatever the case may be… I can assure you I’m fine. I don’t need whatever it is you’re offering, and quite frankly, I don’t want it.”

You sighed lethargically at his stubborn insistence, staring at him for a moment as your shoulders slumped.

“Is that so? Then stand and walk out. I’m not stopping you traveler. You’re free to do as you please.” You teased him once more with a smirk on your face, gesturing towards the exit behind you — a rectangular opening in the wooden wall shielded by strings of diamond hanging off the top rim.

Of course, you knew he couldn’t leave anyway.

Nanami glanced at where you were pointing coldly, intrigued by the glances of blue-green trees — it seemed like — peeking through the swaying beads.

He didn’t move his head, only his eyes, considering.

There was no way you would just let him walk out that door.

He looked back at you, then looked down at his foot which he had almost forgotten about. It was heavily wrapped in big blue-green leaves he didn’t recognize, sealed tight with a sticky, glossy coating. He raised his brow curiously, face stoic.

You followed his gaze with a knowing smile, “Oh, that’s right… you can’t walk.” You looked back up at him, grin having not left your face.

Nanami clenched his jaw at the cheery way you seemed to say it. His biceps strained as he adjusted in the bed to sit against the wall completely, ignoring the ache in his spine and the heaviness sat on his broad shoulders. Flowers tickled the back of his neck and a small fur blanket slid off his hips as he did.

You stared heatedly at the flexing veins in his arms and the tightness of his abs, the smoothness of his human skin and the rigid curves of muscle on his virile body; he was beautiful and magnificent, like a diamond tenderly molted and pressed over the course of eons. Only a god who truly loved him could dedicate such time and care to carve him — every muscle and vein, from the tips of his toes to the strings of his blonde hair he was perfection.

You couldn’t let him leave you, not now, not after you’ve heard the whiskey smoothness of his voice and seen the chocolate of his brown eyes. He was everything you wanted and everything you desired.

Nanami swallowed once he was settled, glaring at you with his fist bundled in the black fur of the blanket you had laid on him.

“I can tend to my own wounds, I never asked for your help. I wish to go back home.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at him, raising a hand and covering your mouth as you did.

“Home? Your home is far away, you need to rest.” You laughed at him like he was silly, attempting to lay a consoling hand on his thigh with blue and white crystal bracelets jangling on your wrist.

Nanami gripped your hand before you could touch him however, keeping it locked in a tight grip between his strong fingers. He ignored the coldness of your skin in his grasp while your heart jumped at the feel of his warm palm wrapped around you.

“I don’t have the patience for your games. Where have you taken me and what do you plan to do with me?”

You huffed at the rudeness in his tone, slowly pulling your hand out of his grasp and laying it back in your lap.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“Could you stop being so hostile? I’m not going to hurt you… besides, if I wanted you dead would I have patched your leg? Would I have cleaned you? Would I have brought you to my home?” You said exasperated, giving him an annoyed look as impatience settled over your blood like a thin sheen of syrup over a plate of berries.

That was a flaw of yours, your impatience.

Nanami looked down at his body when you mentioned it, seeing that he was now wearing a white button up shirt with the buttons left undone, his broad chest exposed to you in a way he didn’t doubt you orchestrated. His lower half however was merely covered in a set of blue striped boxers he heavily recognized as one of his own.

He clenched his jaw at that, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a whole new definition of the word.

“Don’t worry I didn’t bathe you per se. Just washed away the dirt I could find on the already exposed areas.” You leaned closer to him with a playful smile, voice a teasing whisper, “I didn’t peek, promise.”

Nanami cocked his head at you, “No pants?” He deadpanned, ignoring your previous statement.

You flickered your eyes down to the blue boxers he wore, then back up to his face with the same kittenish smile on your lips.

“Oops. I must’ve forgot.” You lied flawlessly if only nonchalantly, leaning back away from him to your original sitting position.

Nanami frowned at that; he almost sneered at you, but managed to remain calm as he stared at you with irritation inflamed in his brown eyes.

You bit your lip to hide a widening smile.

“Well, did you hear what I said? I’m not trying to hurt you. I found you lying in the grass covered in your own blood and dirt… I thought you were dead, I would have felt guilty if I just left you there. So I brought you to my home and I fixed your leg. I did a rather nice job, don’t ya think?” You spared him a story that wasn’t necessarily a lie but not necessarily the whole truth either. It was a simpler version of events you knew he’d have no problem brushing off.

Nanami, of course, didn’t believe you anyway. He believed you had found him, yes, but not how you had claimed to. He believed there was more to the story, details you pointedly overlooked and purposefully forgotten.

He swallowed tensely, his strong body stiff and rigid like he was preparing for something to happen, heart beating in his ears and anticipation buzzing at his finger tips.

He wanted to question you, ask every question and hear every answer but he was too smart to blatantly antagonize someone he didn’t know. He knew you were off, maybe not entirely there, but he didn’t know what you were in the sense of your capabilities. He knew your small frame was misleading, your wide smile deceptive, your pretty little eyes twinkling stars of mischief behind glittering pools of blue.

You weren’t to be trusted and you weren’t to be taken lightly; you were strange and otherworldly beautiful; a kind of deadly combination he’s never had good experiences with in the past. Sirens were enticing just as you but nowhere near as cunning, pirates were fearless just as he but nowhere near as smart.

He refused to be the drunken, belligerent fool falling into your deep, hungry waters.

“Could you tell me your name? That way, we won’t be strangers.”

He eyed you with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, knowing he needed to play this silly game of yours the right way if he ever planned on getting out of here. If things went according to plan you would soon be the pliable object of his carefully curated manipulation, the one with all the questions and none of the answers, the trickster who would soon be the tricked.

He gave you a disinterested, cautious look, raising his chin at you, “Kento. And yours?” He replied shortly, not necessarily interested in hearing anything you had to say but knowing it was better to play along with your delusion than reap the consequences of not.

You hummed pleasurably at that, ignoring his question altogether, “Kento…”

You beamed at the sound of his name despite his impudence, loving the sound of it being pronounced in your voice, the way your tongue moved around every letter in your mouth as you said it.

His name was handsome, he was handsome.

You leaned towards him once more as a sense of demented idolatry swelled in your chest; you wanted to be close to him, feel his ribs enclosed around your lungs and hear his deep voice in your head. Hear his heart beat in your chest and feel his blood mesh with yours — you wanted to be one, to think, to feel, to have him.

He could see the almost manic look in your eye as you looked at him. He was disturbed by it, tried to lean away but couldn’t, already pressed as flat as he could be against your black, wooden wall.

You bared him a wide smile that glimmered the whiteness of your sharp teeth, “We’re going to have so much fun together…”

𝜗𝜚𝕤𝕦𝕘𝕒𝕣 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ✧･ﾟ: *

#╰ ꒰ 𝐉𝐉𝑲 ꒱◞₊˚ #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk nanami #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami headcanons #nanami imagine #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento #kento nanami fic #kento nanami fanfiction #kento nanami fanfic #nanami kento imagine #kento nanami #jjk headcanons #kento nanami smut

[transmasc-wizard]

Writblr Intro •°☆

it's me! I live! hi again :)

[ID: an aesthetic photo header of books, a sweater, a typewriter and a candle at a window. end ID]

ABOUT ME:

You can call me Beck or Nathan, I'm a teen writer who used to be really active back in 2021/2022 but had a. really. really long writing slump... 😔. but I'm back now!! (I was chaotic-queer-disaster.)

I love fantasy, horror, and queer stories. I also explore disability a lot in my work as someone with both born and acquired disabilities.

some of my favourite themes to explore are identity, loss/grief, hope, friendship, gender (especially in horror), the challenges of morality, and mental illness

I'm looking for fellow writers to talk to and uplift! I'm especially looking if you're any of the following: queer, disabled, teenaged, horror writer, or fantasy writer. (But all are welcome!)

My main projects are under the cut :)

[ID: a dark academia aesthetic photo of a pair of glasses on a cursive-written letter. end ID]

My Projects:

Bad Things Happen - an apocalyptic horror novel. After a party, three young adults get into a particularly nasty car crash. It rips a small hole in the universe, and they begin to be plagued with identical strings of bad luck. Their luck gets worse and more expansive every day, and soon they're fighting to stop the world itself from decaying around them. [Status: draft zero.]

The Other Ones - a half-epistolary horror novel. A group of true crime podcasters go into the strange forest on the edge of town to investigate a disappearance from 2 years ago, only to emerge hours later--covered in blood, no memory of what happened, and accompanied by the missing girl. [Status: outlining.]

Suicide Ghosts - a film script about a trans boy who is sent to an all-girls school and makes friends with the ghost girl who haunts his dorm room. As the school year goes on, they discover corruption, more hauntings, and the horror of holding identities you never asked for. [Status: outlining.]

Untitled Fairytale WIP/"gfs" - YA fantasy series with dystopia undertones. If you've been around for awhile, you'll remember it as GFS/GFW1! A group of teenagers discover they're linked to an ancient prophecy that states they're cursed to awaken gods who have slept since the last divine war. If this happens, desolation is inevitable. They must find a way to avert the prophecy--while an unidentified figure is doing everything in their power to make it come true. [Status: rewriting/reworking.]

If you've read this far, thank you! I'm really glad to be back and I hope to have a lot of fun in this community again :)

#pinned post #writblr intro #writblr #writeblr #writerblr #writers of tumblr

[chickenparm]

Tradition - Part Eight

Check out @drawlypsy’s full version of the header that can be found here!

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.” (or, You accept a bet and despite not winning, you’re not sure if you’ve actually lost.)

Previous Part | Next Part AO3 Link

Childe/f!Reader 2,123 Words - SFW (Bamboozled into marriage, awkwardness, fluff, future smut)

---

Childe had said before that his mother was a saint. 

If so, then why would he avoid telling either of his parents of his impending nuptials? 

Following Teucer’s footsteps in the snow, you walk with the other two siblings back to what you assume is Childe’s family home. With his descriptions being as fond and intricate as they were, you’re able to pick it out from a small cluster of others. In the front there’s an obvious space for chopping firewood. A stone wall encapsulates what would be a front garden if this home were in any other country that allowed for a garden. 

Instead, it holds a few half-made snowmen, scattered sticks that have been tied together to create what seems to be swords with little handguards, and a stone bench that is close enough to the home that it doesn’t accumulate snow. The chimney above it shows that the fireplace must be on the other side of that wall. 

At the front gate, Anthon grabs your arm and speaks once more with that serious voice that doesn’t seem right coming from someone who likely still plays with the wooden swords in the yard. “Remember, don’t tell her about…y’know.”

“My lips are sealed.” You promise, even though you’re not sure why you’re doing so. Wouldn’t it make it easier to just come clean? Surely this saint of a woman would appreciate knowing that her treasured son would be doing exactly as she wished him to. 

And then you remember his other words. About how he came back different. Not quite himself. Angry, combative, impulsive. Something rumbling beneath the surface that they didn’t know how to tame in the same way they once had been able to wrangle their overexcited son. 

Childe was still as excitable, he said so himself, except it wasn’t the same. Once that energy came, the only way to vent it was through combat, discord, havoc that made his blood sing merrily in a strange echo of a song his master seemed to have composed herself. 

All it takes for mistrust to bloom is the tiniest spore. It spreads rapidly in ways you don’t expect. 

No, perhaps it’s better that you say nothing at all. 

The pathway is carefully shoveled and maintained, not even a lick of ice to be seen. Lucky for Teucer. You make it to the door, then the children give you no further time to prepare before they’re opening the door and announcing their arrival with, “Ajax’s friend is here!”

The title makes your fist clench beneath the security of your cloak. Countless times, Childe has called you comrade, yet even now with his ring on, you’re not confident that the amount of times you’d ever thought of him as a friend would need more than perhaps a finger or two to count. 

“Tsk, look at you, not even muffs to keep your ears from freezing.” A woman snaps you from your reverie as she reaches for your ears and pinches one - you don’t even feel it. They are cold. “Sit by the fire, we can get your cloak off when you’re a little warmer. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

The woman is pushy. She pushes you further into the home. She pushes you to sit down. And when she is satisfied you are warm, she pushes the cloak from your shoulders and hangs it near the fire to dry a little more before putting it up elsewhere. Only then does she realize her mistake, and introduces herself as Galina. 

It’s a pretty name, and you tell her so. Her smile doesn’t have any of that tension that Childe mentions, and in fact her eyes seem to sparkle as she thanks you for such a compliment. 

You wonder - as you stare into the fire while she bustles in the kitchen to continue the meal she’d been making with an extra portion added - how many of Childe’s “friends” have arrived here and were less than cordial. Certainly the Fatui wouldn’t be rude, not to a Harbinger’s family, at least. But Galina had seemed so delighted at something so simple as a compliment. 

The point is driven home as she returns from the kitchen as dinner is set to simmer, and pushes something warm and liquid into your hands. “You’re not a coworker of his, are you?”

The wording is specific; Teucer still is unaware of Childe’s alignment. You’d nearly forgotten. Yet her delivery speaks of the amount of times she’s had to entertain the very coworkers that she fears you’re part of.

“No, I’m not. I truly am just a… friend.” The single syllable of that word makes your hand feel heavy. You remove it from the mug and tuck it beneath your thigh to try and hide the way you want to fidget with it. “We lost contact a while ago. He told me about his family, so I thought this would be a good place to look.”

Galina’s eyes dart to the movement of your hand, but she doesn’t seem curious or intrigued. It’s the instinct of a human to naturally look at any sudden movements. After a beat or two, her lips turn into a frown and she shakes her head. “It was a good idea, but he hasn’t returned home in some time. The last letter he sent didn’t have a return address, so he got reassigned elsewhere and we won’t know until he sends another.”

In the past, you’ve been told that you’re rather like an open book. Your heart sits on your sleeve and your emotions are plain on your face. Disappointment must have shined through, because Galina reaches out to place a hand on your knee - it’s warm through the thick fabric. “But you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you need to come up with another plan. Ajax is very prompt with sending a letter once he’s gotten to wherever new place he’s meant to be.”

“When was his last letter delivered?”

“He dated it for a month ago, it was delivered last week.” Galina answers, obviously understanding that you’re coming up with a plan already. 

If it was dated a month ago, and delivered last week, then that would leave three weeks for the travel time. Quite a distance, considering you had arrived here from Liyue after nearly a week yourself on that boat. You take a cautious sip of the steaming mug, hold back a grimace at the temperature, then ask with a burnt tongue, “And where had he been stationed before that?”

“Let’s see… Teucer has the letter in his bedroom somewhere, goodness knows where it might be now. But the last few letters have been strange. Quite a few haven’t had return addresses, and the ones that do are all over the place. They must be running him ragged.”

Then that settles it. With a little sigh and another sip now that you can’t feel the temperature anymore, you ask, “Could I stay until his next letter arrives?”

---

Childe doesn’t quite know the specifics of what has been happening in Sumeru. 

For the most part, all of the Harbingers take action separately from one another. Individual moving parts that accomplish a variety of goals, both personal and for the cause they’re tenuously united under. Some perhaps more tenuous than others, of course. 

But it must have been something truly concerning, if the figure in front of him is anything to go off of. 

“Lesser Lord Kusanali has graciously held off on ordering any sort of forceful ejection. I think she hopes you’ll find what you’re looking for and leave.”

The young man in front of him is familiar, somehow. There’s a twisting in his gut, almost as if Childe is very aware that this person is distasteful to him in some way. The sort of sensation you’d feel toward a coworker you’re forced to cooperate with while enduring a bad attitude and a big mouth. 

Childe’s lips turn down, and he tilts his head a little to get a look beneath the brim of his hat. Faint reminiscence spikes again, but Childe never forgets a face, especially of someone so rude to him for seemingly no reason at all. 

Or, for a reason he’s not involved with. Whatever Dottore did here, it’s not Childe’s concern, and his impatience shines through, “If Lesser Lord Kusanali would just let me know the Traveler’s whereabouts, then I’ll be out of Sumeru faster than you can blink.”

The figure’s shoulders tense, his lips turning downward. “The Traveler. I should have known. If the Fatui are looking to finish the job, you’re too late. The Traveler left the country over a week ago.”

A week. So, he’s behind. You’d be arriving in Liyue at this point, most likely. Childe’s mind wanders for a moment as he does the math on travel times and the likelihood of you smacking him if he were to just grab hold of you and kiss you already-

“Well? That’s what you came for, isn’t it? Get lost.”

“Look, whatever happened here before, I didn’t have anything to do with it. So you can drop the hostility, unless you’re looking for a fight?” Childe has already mapped out the area; it’s secluded enough that there would be no risk for intervention. However, there’s an Anemo vision on this one’s person, and that could be either a good thing or a bad thing.

The figure scoffs, violet eyes rolling to the sky if not for the wide brim of his hat blocking the way. “Oh, I’m well aware you had nothing to do with it. I just don’t like you, Childe.”

And now Childe wants that fight. It was a taunt before, now he’s chomping at the bit beneath a carefully calm veneer. The only sign of what lurks beneath is the tweak of his jaw muscle. The young man’s chin juts to the side, his arms crossing. “Well? What’ll it be? I’d love to fight and make you fall even further behind.”

God, still Childe hates him. It isn’t until he’s nearing Gandharva Ville that he wonders why his thoughts supplied a phrase of such familiarity. 

…

For how long he’s been stationed here, Liyue could serve as a comfortable replacement for his homeland, if necessary. It isn’t, of course, but at least he’s relaxed in the atmosphere as Zhongli tells him that you had been here only a few weeks before, asking for Childe’s location. 

“And you didn’t tell them to wait?”

“You would have me ask the Traveler to waste an indeterminate amount of time waiting for you to return to Liyue?” Zhongli levels him with a deep-set expression of dissatisfaction. “Even I think that’s a little too much to expect.”

“I’ve come back within weeks every time I’ve had to go elsewhere. This wasn’t that different, you know that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Zhongli is normally willing to patiently ignore any poor argument that Childe will put out for the sake of allowing the conversation to flow, but there’s a strange impatience in the Archon’s body language as he leans back in the chair. Is that his foot tapping? “What I do know is that the reason you continued to default here rather than elsewhere is currently in another country. Why would I assume you’d return to Liyue otherwise?”

Childe’s mouth snaps shut so quickly his teeth click together, and his train of thought slows to a halt. It’s a valid point, and one that he’d quietly accepted, but he didn’t expect Zhongli of all people to get him backed into a corner like this. 

A comfortable corner, one that Childe accepted, but trapped nonetheless. 

“Does that mean the Traveler was here, though?”

…

“So, the Traveler’s fiancé comes trotting into my shrine. You’re like a little dog, sniffing at the ground, following a trail. Or perhaps even a fox?”

“If the Great Guuji Yae labels me as such, then a fox I must be.” Childe doesn’t like the look in her eye. Yae Miko knows all of his secrets at just a glance. The false cut of his smile does nothing to hide them. “My intentions are only good, however.”

“I never claimed they would be otherwise. But I might be suspicious now…”

“Guuji Yae, please-”

Yae’s voice lilts with laughter, the tips of her fingers ghosting over her mouth as if they would do anything to hide it. Childe is certain that her eyes are glowing. “Oh hush. I’m well aware of what you’re here for. But I’d still like you to say it.”

Childe’s cheeks hurt from smiling when he so desperately wants to scowl. His cheeks are just warm enough for him to feel embarrassed further. Why was it so easy to say these sorts of things to you, but not to nearly anyone else? 

“I’m looking for my… Traveler.”

“Your Traveler? I wasn’t aware you had one. Could you describe them for me? In great detail?”

“My fiancée, then. The Traveler. Guuji Yae, if you could be a little more forthcoming, the distance is growing larger the longer this takes.”

Yae makes a sound behind her teeth, one that sounds disappointed as if she’d been looking forward to further haranguing and harassing Childe. As her lips twist into an annoyed frown, Childe wonders if she perhaps used a magnifying glass to burn ants to amuse herself when she was young. 

“They chartered a ship out of Ritou.” And it isn’t until he’s almost to the steps of the mountain that she relents further and calls, “To some dumpy little fishing village. I heard it’s quite cold this time of year.”

---

It’s an odd week. 

Briefly, you meet Childe’s father, Maks. At first, you expected someone similar to Childe in build, but the man is more akin to the shape of a bear than a human being. Dinner that night is interesting when you sit between Anthon and Teucer, picking at the fish on your plate as Maks scrutinizes you through bushy eyebrows with deep-set eyes. 

It’s difficult to see where his gaze is tracking to. At first you think it’s your face, then your left hand, then the way you nervously pick at your plate. You’re not quite sure. But then something changes and he tilts his head up a little - the serious expression is gone, and in its place is a surprisingly jovial smile. 

Maks is a fisherman - the captain of his own boat and crew. Due to the hazards of moving through the ice fields, his returns home are limited to once every two weeks or so to drop off their catch and visit family. When you explain that you’re a friend of Ajax’s, his smile wavers for just a moment and you catch a glimpse of that tension you’ve been told about. 

And then it’s gone. And Maks is laughing and saying he’s glad his son has made some friends that aren’t so entwined with his line of work. Teucer’s head tilts to the side, his mouth opens, breath whistling through his missing teeth, and you hurriedly answer, “Yes, I just don’t have the charisma to sell toys, it seems. Not for lack of Ajax trying to recruit me, though.”

Maks nods in approval - of what, you’re not quite sure.

By the next morning, he’s packed up to head back out on the water, announcing he’ll be back a bit sooner than usual In passing last night, he mentioned that despite the income being sent by Ajax, Maks can’t quite hang his hat up just yet. There are twenty men working on his ship that depend on the employment and wages he provides. 

And the sea calls him, he says. Perhaps there’s more of Maks in his son than he thinks; fighting calls to Childe like the sea calls to his father. 

Maks kisses his wife, hugs each of his children from oldest to youngest, and yanks you into a hug as well that you’re dwarfed by. You’re not sure how to respond, but he doesn’t give you a chance before he’s murmuring, “You’ll be good for him,” and pulling away to leave once again. 

Galina doesn’t show that she’s overheard anything, and the children are already off to take care of their morning chores. You’re left alone standing near the front door, a chill creeping in at the bottom of the frame as you ponder what exactly that might mean. Your toes grow cold through your thick socks, but you don’t quite feel that as you remain distracted. 

Childe’s mother calls to you from the kitchen, and you hurry along to assist without a second thought. And later that night, as you lay on the cot near the fireplace with your blankets piled high and your eyes following the shapes of the flames, you wonder about the last time it was that you felt like you were home. 

The feeling you’re having now is so unfamiliar that you wonder if you can recall such a time at all.

#childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #childe x reader #childe/reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia/reader #genshin #multi part #multi chap #x reader #reader insert #f!reader #female reader #afab!reader

[candycandy00]

This is the Welcome Post and the Fanfic Masterlist!

Requests for full fanfics are closed indefinitely! Choose Your Own Price Commissions are currently open! See info about commissioning me here.

Requests for Headcanons are currently open!

Headcanons are just my opinions on things, like how I think the characters would react to certain things or how they would behave in certain situations. Examples: “How would Shigaraki react to his girlfriend naming her pet cat after him?” Or “How would the JJK guys behave if you dragged them to a Denny’s at 3am?”

About Me

I’m currently 39 😱 I’m obsessed with the color pink and I’m a country girl (born, raised, and currently live in the Appalachian mountains). I speak with a thick southern accent. I collect figures. I’m a huge nerd in every way. I love comic books (both manga and American comics), video games (mostly JRPG’s, Otome/Dating Sims, and Survival Horror), Star Wars, Kaiju/Tokusatsu, and all things Horror. I read a lot, mostly fantasy and horror. I grew up in a conservative religious household and I’m still trying to unlearn a lot of bullshit, so please bear with me.

I write for two fandoms currently: Boku no Hero Academia and Jujutsu Kaisen. I might write for others at some point and I’ve written tons for other fandoms over the years. I also write original fiction. I would deeply appreciate any support (reblogs/comments/likes) for my original stuff because that’s where my true passion lies. I’m somewhat slow with posting updates to my fics but I promise I’m trying. I tag my x Reader fics with the x reader tag so that people who hate x reader can filter it out easily. I haven’t always done this so I’m in the process of going back and properly tagging everything.

I mostly post my writings here. It’s mostly fanfiction but there are some headcanons and opinionated rants here and there. I’m trying to go back and tag them all. You can look for the tags “Jjk headcanons” and “bnha headcanons” (that’s what I’ll be tagging them). Otherwise I mostly just reblog fanart and gif sets. I reblog fanfiction over on @candycandyreblogs. Consider it a curated library of excellent stories. Feel free to follow it! Every fanfic on there is amazing!

I’m always up for making friends! So feel free to message me and chat!

Boku no Hero Academia:

Shigaraki, Dabi, Mr. Compress, Twice, Spinner, Hawks.

Jujutsu Kaisen:

Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami, Choso.

No minors, no animals, no scat/pee/vomit.

I’m fine with dark content/rape/horror/gore/etc. I can do NSFW or SFW. Please specify if it’s not clear in your request.

Please specify the gender of the Reader (any gender is fine, no gender is fine).

That’s it! Anon is always on!

Feel free to ask me questions, give me suggestions, or just chat!

Headers by @kuroov

Just a list of the fics I've written so far so you can easily find what you'd like to read! If I've missed a fic or have a bad link or anything, please let me know!

All fics are arranged newest to oldest! All fics are 18+ and contain smut unless stated otherwise!

Shigaraki x Reader

Office Life (Gender Neutral Reader, Dub Con, Violent Fantasies)

The Scarecrow Walks at Night (Halloween fic, Shig as a Scarecrow)

Tentacle Tomura (Tentacles, Anal)

The Pirate and the Mermaid (AU) (Three Parts!)

Too Intense For you? (BDSM)

Reader Uses Mind Control Quirk on Shig

Dark Carnival Chapter 1 (Whips, Blood, Death)

Playing a Fighting Game - Loser has to Strip

Shy Reader Giving Shig a Christmas Present

Sitting on Shig's Lap While he Plays Games

Exhibitionism

Shig Corrupts Shy Hero's Sidekick Reader

Size Kink - Shig With Short Reader

Mommy Kink

Breath Play/Choking

Break Time (Reader is a Waitress with a Crush on Shig)

Dabi x Reader

The Visitors (Post Ending, Touya in Prison) NO SMUT

Zombie Apocalypse AU (Four Parts!)

Dabi Under a Lust Quirk

Dabi with Innocent Nun Reader

Piercing/Torture

Teasing that Leads to Rape/Non-Con

Trending Topics (Dabi Sees Reader's Pervy Tweets About Him)

Lazy Sex

Breeding Kink

Mr. Compress X Reader

The Experiment (Horror, Gore, Halloween Fic, Compress as a mad scientist)

Dark Carnival Chapter 2 (Blood, Gore, Death)

Mr. Compress x Reader With Bunny Quirk

Twice x Reader

Dark Carnival Chapter 3 (Horror, Blood) (Three Parts!)

Non-X Reader

League of Villains Heroes (Set after the end of the manga, the League has split up and are in therapy, but a new threat turns them into reluctant heroes.) Multi-Chapter. NO SMUT. (In Progress!)

Unmerry Christmases (Platonic ShigaDabi) NO SMUT

AFO x All Might Aladdin AU Master/Slave Dub-Con

Sukuna X Reader

The Doll House (AU, BDSM, Erotic Torture, Needles, Clamps, etc.) (Four Parts!)

Breaking You (Rape/Noncon, Blood, Torture, Humiliation, Double Penetration)

Serve Me, Save Me (Reader is a Rape Victim who joins Sukuna’s Harem after he inadvertently saves her) Part 1 | Part 2

The Offering (Dark, Dubcon, Blood, Rough) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Gojo x Reader

The Doll House (AU, Dubcon, Chubby Reader, Pet Play, Anal, Bullying) (Four Parts!)

In The Library (College AU, Gojo and Geto bully Reader, Rape, Dark)

Promotion (Power Dynamics, Reader wants Gojo to promote her to Grade 1)

Christmas Past (Fluff, Drabble, Gojo x Geto in flashback) NO SMUT

Pick Me Up (Gojo x Reader x Geto, Halloween fic, Serial Killer AU) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Human (Rape, Torture, Blood, Dark, Reader is a cursed spirit) (Two Parts!)

Little Miss Nobody (Plot, Rough Sex, Gojo is an asshole) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Geto x Reader

In The Library (College AU, Gojo and Geto bully Reader, Rape, Dark)

The Doll House (Dubcon, Humiliation, Public Nudity, Dom/Sub Dynamics, AU) (Four Parts!)

Pick Me Up (Gojo x Reader x Geto, Halloween fic, Serial Killer AU) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Toji x Reader

His Favorite Target (Toji is hired to kill you)

The Doll House (AU, Size Difference, Age Difference, Cock Drunkenness, Use of Aphrodisiacs) (Four Parts!)

Nanami x Reader

The Doll House (AU, Daddy Kink, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Reader is afraid of men.) (Four Parts!)

Choso x Reader

The Doll House (AU, Dom!Reader, Sub Choso, Teasing, Collars, Pegging) (Four Parts!)

Multi-Character

JJK Men as Pervy Mall Santas

Original X Reader

Roses in the Sky (Alien x Reader, Sci-Fi, Novel Length, Romance) (In Progress!)

#shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #Toji x reader #bnha x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #league of villains x reader

[little-diable]

The Ghost of Christmas Future – Loki

Part 3 of my Christmas series! A big thank you to @writingliv for writing this with me, I love working with you! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Loki is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Future and he shows the god something that forces him to find his way back to his past lover.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), some angst, mentions death

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (2.2k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

Series Masterlist

An almost grim expression tugged on the god’s features, fuelled by the annoyance he felt, by the uneasiness radiating off him. Loki paced his quarters, eyes trying to focus on his book, desperate to distract himself from his mother’s Yule preparations. If there was one thing he detested, it was these celebrations, festive days reminding him of people and stories he needed to forget.

The mere thought of being dragged down memory lane by his heavy heart and his aching mind left the god of mischief groaning, he was better than that, he was better than all these pathetic humans that gave into their emotions. With an angry growl rumbling through him, the book Loki had been holding was tossed to his bed, slender fingers combing through his black hair.

This is why he had let her go. This is why he had pushed her away. This is why he needed to get away from her and the pitiful excuse of a life she lived.

Her. The one his heart had been rather fond of, the woman who had managed to lure the god into her trap. It had been easy, too easy, but who was he to deny a challenge. Loki would always win, no matter the game, no matter the rules – at least that’s what he had always believed, till (y/n) had stumbled into his life.

She had managed to bewitch him within seconds, pulling the man into her grasp before either one of them could understand what was happening. It had happened years ago, years where he had snuck away from Asgard with one of his many tricks, finding joy in the simplicity of Midgard. It had been his own fault, he should have stayed away from there, should have listened to the warnings, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and then suddenly it had been too late.

Loki could still feel her pressed against his body, he could still hear her soft voice murmuring his name, calling him back to bed. Memories he needed to get rid of, fast. He was better than that. He was stronger than that. He was smarter than that. He hadn’t been born to live a simple life, he was a god, made for more. 

But sometimes, just sometimes, he found himself giving into these memories, lingering on the thoughts that painted her features, allowing him to pick up on the sound of her loud laughter, allowing him to feel her soft skin beneath his cold fingertips. It was torture, pure torture, and yet the feeling had a bittersweet touch to it. An almost addictive pain.

He plopped down on his bed, eyes focused on the expensive looking ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of getting rid of his memories, a useless try that only pulled him further down the rabbit hole. His teeth grazed his lower lip, about to draw blood, about to sink into the flesh she had kissed many moons ago. 

Before he could try to sleep away his memories, wanting to dream of a better life, of an exciting future, he heard his name being called, eyes snapping open. His heart was pounding, beating against his ribcage as he looked at the unfamiliar being standing near his bed. 

Loki had seen many ominous creatures in his life, but none looked like this. The spirit seemed to levitate above the ground, only its cloak gracing the marble floor. No face was visible as a grey hood loomed a shadow over any possible features, emanating a freezing chill that ran down the god’s back.

Loki shot up, his hand immediately searching the knife he kept by his bed. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” He asked, ignoring the way his breath had suddenly condensed in front of his lips. 

“Silly prince, who am I, you ask?” The voice spoke, letting neither its gender nor species be revealed. 

“How dare y-” Loki sneered at the creature until it approached him, forcing him to hold his breath. 

“I do not have the time for your scandals, prince. I am here to show you something. Follow me,” the creature turned, hitting Loki with its cloak that felt just like a thicker blow of air. It didn’t turn around to check if the god was following; instead, it walked out of the room and sped its pace. Loki had barely the time to react, following the creature as quickly as it could. 

“Where are we going?” The god asked, short of breath as they made their way out of the castle. The halls were empty, it seemed like everyone had disappeared from existence. The ghost did not answer. Instead, it switched directions, almost causing Loki to trip. 

“Where are we going? I demand to know,” Loki doubled down as he regained his balance, jogging to catch up the lost distance. 

The ghost suddenly stopped, turning back to the god for a glance before looking forward again, nothing more than the deep dark forest standing in front of them. “We are late. A funeral.”

“Wh-” Loki tried to ask, confused. Funeral? Whose funeral? He didn’t know anyone that had died recently. His question, however, died in his throat as fog covered the previously dark forest, acting as a canvas where an image started to form. 

Flowers, dozens upon dozens of vases and bouquets filled to the brim with tulips. Midgardian flowers. Loki frowned. His stomach turned. What? He continued to watch the image develop right before his eyes as rows of people filled a snowy cemetery. Cries and moans filled the empty winter air suddenly, far too familiar yet strange for him to point out. 

“Why are you showing me this?” He finally broke the silence, his voice cracking under the pressure in his chest. 

“How long do midgardians tend to live, prince?” The voice replied, still staring at the image upon them.

“A century? I-” Loki’s head felt as if it was spinning, every Midgardian he had ever met running through his mind. A thought tried to form, but he suppressed it. No. She was maybe thirty by now. She couldn’t-

“If they are healthy. If nothing happens,” The voice doubled down in a dreamy tone. His thoughts were seemingly elsewhere. “Weren’t you the one that loved to underscore their fragility?”

“I-” Loki tried to speak, but his lungs burned, his eyes trying their best to focus on the details of the image upon him, ignoring the sobbing cries. 

“Wasn’t she particularly careless?” The ghost finally spoke, and Loki felt his knees buckle. no. 

It couldn’t be. He would have found out. He would have known. They would have told him… but how? How? If he had left without telling anyone, simply kissing her on the forehead like he had done every other morning and walking out, never to be seen again? Why would they tell him even if they could? He had done nothing but hurt her. 

No. 

Loki shook his head. 

„You’re lying to me, why are you doing this? Who are you?” One question after another rolled off Loki’s tongue, filling the silence he found himself engulfed by. But the ghost didn’t reply, he kept watching the scene in front of them play out. 

Loki had to stop himself from vomiting, unable to stop the bile from rising up in his throat. This had been his wrong doing, his selfishness that had lured him away from her, her, the one his head had grown fond of.

There wasn’t a day where he didn’t think of her, of (y/n), the love he hadn’t got to feel in many moons. The dark voice inside his head had promised him that he was destined for more, made for something by far bigger than what she could offer. 

How wrong he had been. How foolish he had been.

“I understand, I do. But please, take me away from here.” The ghost turned back towards Loki, staring him down for a few seconds, watching the tears roll down his cheeks, before the scene finally vanished. Loki’s head was spinning, eyes struggling to focus on something as the ghost kept speaking.

“It’s on you to decide, but remember, the time she has is limited, don’t let any more of it go to waste.” And with one last exhale, the ghost was gone, leaving Loki trapped in nothing but an uncomfortable darkness flooding through his room. 

……

„Loki? What am I doing here? Where am I?“ A relieved sigh left Loki as he stared down at her, taking in the features he had last seen in one of his nightmares. His heart was still aching, racing in his chest at the mere thought of ever losing her to Death’s cold grasp.

“You’re in Asgard, I had to see you.” She had been forcefully awoken from her dream, unable to pierce together what was happening as she was dragged away from her home. And yet she hadn’t protested, not speaking up as a wave of familiar comfortableness had flushed through her.

“You kidnap me, because you have to see me? Is that all?” (Y/n) had always been good at seeing through his lies, eyes not letting go of his as she slowly reached out to cup his cheek. Sparks shot down Loki’s back at the familiar touch, oh how he had secretly longed to feel her close once again. 

“You were dead, I saw it, saw your dead body.” Confusion tugged on her features, not understanding what the god was speaking. He shook his head to try and get rid of the pictures flushing through his mind once again. “It was in the future, far from now, and yet I couldn’t stand myself for letting you go. I needed to see you, prove myself that you’re still alive.”

“Oh, Loki.” He dipped his head down, lips ghosting over hers. No longer did he want to share any meaningless words, no, he wanted to feel her close, wanted to touch the body he had once known like the back of his hand. The kiss was fuelled by their still burning love, tying the two closer together as he pushed her against his best, crawling on top of (y/n). 

He could hear her heart racing, could feel her gasps leaving her. Sounds that left him grinning in mischief. His hands started wandering, long fingers that knew their way down to her heat, the place where she ached for him. The moment had something almost unreal to it, like a dream, a faded memory, Loki couldn’t help but wonder if yet another ghost was playing a trick on him, but her sounds were too strong, too honest. 

“I damned you for a long time, cursed your name. But yet my body has never not been yours, forever connected with you.” Another kiss was pressed against her lips as his fingers disappeared inside her sweats, teasing the thin fabric of her panties. She has soaked through the fabric, dripping for him, him only. 

Within seconds he had her undressed, fabrics finding their way to the ground as he let go of her. Their eyes held contact, allowing her to watch him settle between her thighs, lips kissing their way to her cunt. Soft moans left her, one hand finding his locks as the other tightened its grip on the blanket she was laying on. 

“My pretty flower, I missed your taste, I missed your sweet sounds, oh how I missed you.” His tongue brushed through her folds, moaning at her taste as (y/n) arched her back off the mattress. Loki ate her out like a starving man, feasting from her with groans clawing through the two in unison. 

For months they had dreamt of moments like this, never willingly admitting to it, even though they were caught by them, unable to escape. His arms found their way around her thighs, keeping her close as he dipped his tongue into her tightness, thumb circling her pulsing bundle. 

She was a shuddering mess, made for the God’s eyes, for his hands, and his tongue. She was his, in all her glory. And deep down Loki couldn’t help but promise to her, and to himself, that she’d never leave his side again.

His name rolled off her tongue, like a dark secret spoken in the depth of the night, like a prayer made to save her damned soul. A sound that left Loki groaning in satisfaction, adding more speed to the movements of his tongue and fingers. She was close, he could tell, and all he was focused on was making her cum on his tongue.

(Y/n) tightened her grip on his locks, eyes squeezed shut to give into the quiet call of her name. She came with a loud gasp, head thrown back, teeth buried in her lower lip. Loki watched her unfold, kept fucking her with his tongue through her high, before he slowly let go of her.

The god crawled up her body, lips meeting hers to allow (y/n) to taste herself before he plopped down next to her, pulling her into his chest. And with another kiss pressed to her forehead he tightened his grip on her, promising to hold her close till the end of her time.

#Loki smut #little-diable christmas23 #Loki x reader #Loki imagine #marvel smut

[finalfrontierpublishing]

A Great and Gruesome Height by @moku_youbi. 

So this bind was a wild ride, with experimentation galore. It’s my 10th bind (HURRAY) and I started this bind knowing I wanted to play with thread, given I had so much fun with the stab binding. I had some red thread which i had originally purchased for the VTE bind - and just the right shade i was going for so i went for it.  

the original idea i was going for was ‘red thread of fate, but make it MURDER’ and so this tidy little concept was born. half way through the design conceptualization phase i had a little epiphany while watching season 3 of hannibal that blood spatter stringing was ALSO red thread and i just couldn’t resist (yes i know hannibal’s little murder tableaus seldom have blood but the string! MORE STRING!) 

More photos under the cut. 

Statistics: 

115559 words || 426 pages

Body Text: Crimson Text 

Chapter Headers: Cormorant Garamond

I quite like the experimentation with body fonts and trying to divert away from regular Garamond. So far, I’ve only used Baskerville, Garamond, Liberation serif and Cardo, but I do like this one. I lack the typography terminology but it feels fancy and posh and something Hannibal would enjoy. 

I also aggressively rounded this book - boy is it ROUND, perhaps a little too so. i had a difficult time getting the spine piece to be as round as I liked. 

Also, it was my first time putting a quote on the first few pages - i have zero regrets. Also featuring my new imprint page with AN ERROR (IT’S DECEMBER 2022 NOW OOPS). 

I didn’t have enough heat-reactive foil and this fic has 40+ chapters so I could only foil the last couple of chapters which were actually short mini-sequels to this fic which I also added in. I have to say, using a laminator over an iron for heat-reactive foil is MUCH superior. I didn’t have to work myself into a frenzy trying to get an even layer of foil on it. 

Endpapers are a little bunchy because of the thread. But i had to put butterflies because THE CHRYSALIS has hatched (i will never tire of hannibal metaphors).

See below for the conceptualization phase on cricut and er paper. I have zero art skills and have aphantasia so I had to print it out to try and figure out where everything needed to go. 

This bind is also the bind where I won my blood sacrifice badge - don’t use rusty tools guys. The spouse had borrowed my rotary cutter to cut wrapping paper for christmas wrapping and is RIGHT-HANDED. Self is LEFT-HANDED. Tool returned to me as is and I did not check if the blade protector was on the correct side as the tool will get flipped direction wise depending on the handedness of the user. So guess who needs to get a tetanus shot today? :joy:

 All in all, still a successful bind. It is a little busy, and if I had to do it again, I might not put the titling on the spine (always a little crooked, cause I roll that way). The Siser gold and silver metallic HTV for the hands fought me the entire way, and I’d probably not use it for such delicate lines - only part of it adhered and it made me very upset at first but since the bind is for myself it’s fine. 

I’d also use a thinner red thread next time (the thick waxed linen thread for leather work doesn’t fuck around, WILL NOT BUY AGAIN) because as you can see 3-4 rounds around the finger looks like it’s choking it and i had some space limitations at the edges. 

Well, a fun idea, with less than perfect execution but I’ll probably do it again one day if i ever summon up the courage to consider making this again (perhaps for the author if i get over my massive to-bind pile). PROBABLY NOT IN WHITE - gad WHITE IS SO SMUDGEY - nothing to remind you how dirty your hands are than white bookcloth. this is off-white pearl BUT fingerprint smudges!!! 

Resources: Page dividers made by evil-robot-cat here. 

EDIT: THE AUTHOR WANTS A COPY!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH  🥳  😱 🫠 yessss AUTHOR COPY!!!! 

#mokuyoubi #a great and gruesome height #hannibal #hannigram #fanbinding #bookbinding #fanfiction #my books #renegade bindery

[frozenjokes]

Hermitdragons Masterpost (Wings of Fire x Hermitcraft/Third Life AU)

Grainshifter (Grian) was born to the Nightwings under one full moon, giving him the power to read minds. However, as fortold by Nightwing seers, he also possesses animus magic, a power that the Nightwings will use to bring their tribe into greater glory, becoming Watchers that feed off the strong emotions of the other dragon species, particularly fear. When Grainshifter attends Jade Mountain Academy in disguise as a Skywing called Grian, the Watchers take notes, and years later they surprise him with his very own death game featuring all his friends.

hello hello! this fic is on hiatus, and while I would like to finish it one day, it is my first foray into fic writing basically ever, and my writing has improved dramatically since a year ago when I started to write this. It’s been a while since I’ve reread this, but I have been told it’s good! lol. However! There’s still a lot of content (70k words and SO MUCH ART) so let’s get into it!

Fic One - Ruler of Everything

After Grian betrays Nightwatcher secrets to one of his best friends, Scar, he is punished by the Nightwatchers and placed into a death game with all of his past friends from the academy. However, there are two dragons he does not know; Scott, a Seawing who seems mostly normal, and Martyn, a dragon whose mind he can not read at all. Whose mind no one can read. Whose body can not be manipulated by animus magic. Soon, it is clear that Grian is not the only dragon here that is being punished.

Fic Two - Mechanical Hands (this fic does not exist but in theory it would after the first)

Grian comes to terms with his relationship with the Nightwatchers, finally realizing and accepting that they do not love him, and only want to use him. He teams up with Martyn in a shared goal of destroying animus magic, but a massive problem still stands; they’re both still stuck in these death games. And their friends are still under the Nightwatchers’ magical control. As the games go on, things are starting to feel hopeless, but revealing the secret of Martyn’s immunity to animus magic that he has so desperately tried to keep might just be the solution these trapped dragons need to escape.

Beyond these summaries, I’m going to try and keep these story explanations brief, however, if you’re interested is All Of The Art + commentary + more story explored through the art, then you can keep reading under the cut :) also just as a warning there is a lot of undetailed cartoon blood below

Designs

before writing, these were my first pass of most of the designs in the series! As you can probably tell from the references of the main three characters at the top, Scar, Grian, and even Martyn have changed quite a bit, and if I ever return to this series, other designs will probably change as well. Except Joel and Bdubs. Those are peak. The biggest change from these designs, is that Jimmy is not actually a dragon in this fic!(which is why I included the third picture with him, Scott, and Grian) He is super human, and he dies first for A REASON. He just looks the way canon Jimmy does, minus the wings.

Full Pieces

I made two fully rendered pieces for this fic. To the left is a scene from the academy where Pearl, Ren, and BigB are play fighting in the mountains while Grian and Scar watch. Grian is very uptight in the academy, struggling socially, and his friends, painfully aware Grian comes from a bad home situation and possibly raised in a cult, are trying to help him relax and have a nice time in school while he has the chance.

On the right is a scene from far into the death game, where Scar is overtaken by the magic of his red life, and is threatening to force Grian to kill all three Dogwarts dragons, and at the same time, blowing himself up in the process. The dragon on the left is Skizz and I hate his design, however the little tie thing is hilarious.

Chapter Headers

I made a ton of headers for the chapters of this fic, though most of them are broken on ao3 as far as I’m aware. However, you can see them here!

dragons featured in order of appearance: Scar, Pearl, BigB, Grian, Martyn, Scott, Jimmy, Ren. This isn’t actually every header but I’m going to run out of images and these cover most of them. The ones I left out aren’t anything special.

Mini Comics + Misc Art

I have literally run out of image slots. But that’s okay (most of the stuff was covered, but if you want to scroll through the hermitdragons tag then feel free). Hope you enjoyed regardless! This series is still very close to my heart, and even though I kind of lost touch with it, it’s something I still love dearly. Thanks for reading :)

#hermitcraft #life series smp #third life #life series #traffic smp #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #scott smajor #smajor #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #desert duo #dogwarts #evo watchers #pearlecentmoon #bigbst4tz2 #bigbstatz #trafficfic #trafficblr #hermitdragons au

[totallycorny]

Met at a Fête

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

warnings: implied fem!reader, mentions of bullying.

To start this week off, I thought I might write for different characters. I’ve always been a Harry Potter fan but I never really got into the Marauders Era, Until now that is. Enjoy!

headers made by me!

word count: 1070+ (I lost count after that!)

You and your family were lucky to have been invited to a party, Especially one that was hosted by the Noble House of Black.

They were the talk of the Wizarding World, Anybody who passed by Diagon Alley always seemed to be murmuring about the family.

The Blacks were just that favored and admired.

Nobody disliked them, and if you did, You would be criticized for that matter.

To be precise on the word lucky, It meant that even though your family was of wizards and witches who were pure-blood, A few of them were not. Specifically, Your grandmother. Yet your family was still invited.

Her family was muggle born, She then fell in love with a wizard and well.. You get the rest. Other pure-blood families did not like that one bit.

You’d always get bullied in Hogwarts, Which was a shame because Hogwarts grew to be your home. The only home where the bullying wasn’t that bad.

Out on the streets, You’d be shoved at and pulled by the hair. Some stuck up witches would put spells on you just to make sure you knew your place.

That all changed when Aurora, Your personal owl, Flew in with a black ribbon and a letter attached to it tied to her leg.

“Mother..!” You yelped as you got up from the rocking chair, almost falling over in the process, scrambling to grab the letter.

Footsteps thumped down the stairs as your Mother peeked her head down to see what the commotion was about. “Yes, my dear?”

You carefully turned the letter over, reading the print for a second before smiling wide. Your fingers absentmindedly opened the letter without using the letter opener.

“The Noble House of Black cordially invites you to their ball.” You whispered as you skimmed over the cursive.

You almost screamed right then and there.

All you remember that day was your mother’s frantic responses of “Let me see that letter!” And “My love, Come quick!”, You could tell this was a dream come true for her.

Now here you were, In a black gown your mother had been saving for whenever you’d go to a party or a ball like this. It fit like a charm, Even for how dusty and old it was.

“Padfoot!” A young man called as he hugged someone. You couldn’t see who the other man was, Until he stepped away.

His dark eyes is what caught your attention, They were like eclipse’s in his orbs. Padfoot, You’ve heard that before haven’t you?

A lightbulb went off in your head when it finally clicked, This was the infamous Sirius ‘Padfoot’ Black. The trickster and class clown at Hogwarts whom you’d always seen in the hallways walking with a strut.

In all honesty, He was quite a handsome man, but you also admired him for his kind nature. Even though He was a Gryffindor in a Slytherin family, He wasn’t like his family at all.

You hadn’t realized you had been staring at Sirius’ face for too long until his eyes locked onto yours.

You quickly ducked behind a couple who had been way too into themselves, Maybe he hadn’t really seen you absentmindedly staring at his face.

His handsome, gorgeous and beautiful face.

God, You really were crushing, hard.

Your parents were conversing with another family, So it’s not like you could go to them. That is until you spotted a curtain, wide and large enough to hide you from guests and specifically Sirius.

Quickly, You made your escape to the dark curtain, It’s velvety attire draping over you. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escaped your mouth.

Just as you were trying to relax, your eyes closed until you blinked, Sirius had appeared right in your face.

“Woah!” You jumped, Thumping your head against the wall as you recoiled and hissed in pain. Sirius’ lips curled into a smile as he chuckled.

“Sorry, Sorry. Couldn’t help but notice someone staring at me far too long for their own liking.” A blush crept over your cheeks, Your hand that had been soothing your head finally came down to hold other hand. Immediately fidgeting.

“I was just thinking, M’ Sorry. Didn’t realize I had been staring at you until it was too late.” You awkwardly chuckle, Shrugging off your nervousness as Sirius’ eyes scanned over your form.

His smile was giving you butterflies in your stomach, almost as if you could actually throw up butterflies. “Not to worry, I know I’m really handsome that you just can’t resist me.” A smug smile appeared on his lips as he joked, going into a silly pose just to make you laugh.

And laugh you did. A snort almost came out of your lips as your hand covered your mouth. “I think hiding behind the curtains is not proper of us.” You cleared your throat as you peeked out of the curtain, looking around to see if anyone noticed.

“Right you are,” He said as he peeks out of the curtains as well. “I’ll go first so it doesn’t look suspicious of us.” He gives you a wink as he walks off, joining a group of teens who seemed to around your age and instantly fitting right in.

He didn’t have to speak before fitting into the conversation. He was that effortless. You slowly slipped out beneath the velvet drapes and stood still by it.

“He has a character about him that everyone just loves, doesn’t he?” A taller guy spoke from beside you, Making you jump once again. Why do they always appear out of nowhere?

You realized he was talking about Sirius. “He does,” You look back at Sirius for a moment before speaking up again. “Makes me wonder how him and his family are related.” You cross your arms before looking at the young man next to you.

He nods before giving you his name, His hand outstretched. “I’m Remus, Remus Lupin.” You took his hand, giving him a firm shake before it finally clicked in your head again. “You’re moony, Right?”

He snaps his fingers as he grins. “You are correct, I guess we’re that well known hm?” He shuffles in his position, Nodding at Sirius. “Well, Time to shine, See you later church mouse.” He says as he walks away from you.

Church mouse? Confusion set on your face for a bit. “Quiet as a church mouse..” You chuckled to yourself as you sighed. Guess you had a new nickname.

Your eyes set back onto Sirius, His laughter almost echoing throughout the ballroom. You could get used to his presence, A smile tugged onto your lips as Sirius looked at you and waved at you to come on over.

You won’t mind being a church mouse, As long as you are next to him.

Thank you for reading!

#marauders #marauders era #sirius orion black #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #padfoot #house of black #harry potter #marauders x reader #marauders x fem!reader #padfoodblackdog

[sukugo]

i have to ask because i adore you and i want to know about your new blorbos- who are they and what are they and why are they always soaked in blood

JDHSJFHJFDDJFFSDFDF, oh man where do i start cassie.

they're from the anime/manga jujutsu kaisen, and they are:

gojo satoru. love of my fucking life. my fucking everything my boy my man, i am so so in LOVE with this man i cant even begin to tell u. he consumes my every waking thought, my life is dedicated to seeing him get fucked. (he's the guy in my header humping his all into the other's arm)

and (ryoumen) sukuna. beautiful sexy evil man.

(can u tell who's my fave)

so in this world, we have jujutsu sorcerers, who are people with special powers that they use to defeat/exorcise curses, which are basically evil spirits born of negative human emotions

gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive. he is insanely strong, not a single person can go against him. his powers make it so that u literally physically cannot touch him. he controls "infinity" and can warp space, and he also has pretty special eyes that let him perceive things at a much deeper level than a regular person. those two things combined make him quite literally untouchable. and insanely powerful.

as for sukuna, he used to be a human who lived thousands of years ago, who used to be the strongest sorcerer of his time, and is considered to be the strongest sorcerer in history. he is the King of Curses, no one could ever defeat him, or destroy his soul, which he divided into his 20 preserved fingers so it would survive through time, even after dying.

so itadori yuuji

this lil baby boy (literally the babiest sweetest boy to exist btw) (he's actually the main character haha)

due to some stuff, he ends up eating one of sukuna's mummified fingers and sukuna reincarnates inside him. yuuji becomes a vessel for sukuna, who lives inside yuuji's mind now and sometimes takes over his body (reason why they look the same)

and now, yuuji is sentenced to be executed bc he holds the most evil sorcerer in history inside him, but gojo goes nope! wait a minute, let's not do that. and manages to convince the people in charge to postpone yuuji's execution, saying that they'll get yuuji to find and eat all of sukuna's fingers and then execute him, getting rid of sukuna all in one go.

ok so that's the context (that's actually what the anime's about haha), but as to gojo and sukuna.

THEY ARE IN LOVE

well, they're there. sdkkhfkjdkfdf

ok no, so like they do their things right. gojo is a teacher (tho we never actually see him do any teaching lmao) and sukuna lives inside yuuji and causes trouble sometimes. they don't really ever interact in the story (they literally meet and have a lil confrontation, decide to kill each other and never talk again djshjfdasdadfd) (until they actually have their Fight, more on that later)

BUT!!!!!!!! they may not interact, but they are completely tied together narratively.

as u can see, they're both the strongest from their respective times, so they have a lot of links when it comes to their characters themselves and what they are referred to in the story. specifically that, in being the strongest, they exist in a plane above everyone else, literally untouchable.

now, in the story, this position of strongest is coupled with solitude, being the strongest meaning u're alone and no one else understands you bc of this

and SO they have their fight. bc plot reasons right. this is obv what it was all gonna lead to. fight of the two strongest.

and the fight, consequently, revolves around that idea of solitude, and understanding each other.

which like. ok. yeah we saw that coming. ofc. no big deal.

EXCEPT, to make reference to their relationship and that idea of understanding each other, the term that is used is, and i kid u not, love.

there's a very specific phrase that is used multiple times between them. which is actually used originally with a character who shows romantic feelings towards sukuna.

she challenges sukuna to a fight and sukuna promises to marry her if she wins. her goal in this fight is to share in sukuna's solitude and show him love (read R→L)

but she says this to sukuna and this. this is his reaction.

SUKUNA KNOWS LOVE ALREADY

to which she gets super pissed bc that's not!!! love!!!!!!!

sukuna defeats/kills her. and u know when the next time that exact fucking phrase is used? when sukuna and gojo finally meet again and set up the date to have their Fight, where sukuna remembers her words

which tells us that.

sukuna was.

thinking about gojo when she said that.

*screams into hands*

BUT IT DOESN'T STOP THERE. this phrase is then repeated. multiple times.

1. right after gojo punches the fuck out of sukuna:

2. said in reference to gojo, when he realizes there's a chance of him losing:

3. gojo reminiscing about their fight:

so, as u can see, they were going to teach each other love. their fight is. canonically. about teaching each other love. what the FUCK.

but ENOUGH love talk (or else i'm at risk of going crazy insane)

LET'S TALK ABOUT HOW THEY'RE LOADED WITH SEXUAL TENSION

this was in their first meeting where they fought (for quite literally 10 seconds)

like... why he do dat.... .......... . ....

next day sukuna goes "hey im gonna kill u first <3" and gojo just goes "teehee omg really? *hair twirl* <3"

they also decide to have their final battle on dec 24 which is like a super romantic date in japan (explicitly said so by another character)

and their FIGHT. it is LITERALLY just them flirting and touching each other

LOOK AT THIS SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i fucking lost it. i still haven't recovered. that is the hottest thing i've ever seen in my life. gojo wants that dick so fucking bad

not to mention thigh grabs and hand touchies

and the entirety of the fight is just them having fun 😭😭 they're supposed "enemies" on opposite sides and the fate of the world is at stake here, but they actually don't give a fuck about that.

they're literally smiling and having a great fucking time. this fight for them is just play. their fight is just for them to have fun as the strongest and to connect with each other. they're enemies but they don't hate each other or anything, they only search for that sense of fulfillment in each other OTL

AND ABOUT THAT, oh my GOD

sukuna wins. he defeats gojo. and at the end, this. is what sukuna says to gojo at the end of the fight:

FUCKING. I'LL NEVER FORGET YOU. SCREAAAAM THAT'S ROMANCEEEEEE.

and the soft smile? the fucking petals falling all over them? oh GOD they're trying to kill me

but that's on sukuna's side, what about for gojo? well

HE GENUINELY TRIED TO REACH SUKUNA, GAVE IT HIS ALL TO CONNECT WITH HIM. TO TEACH HIM LOVE AGFKDHSKFHFKJFHDF (BUT HE FAILED HE COULDN'T GIVE SUKUNA WHAT SUKUNA GAVE HIM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭)

HHRRRRGJFHSJDFHDSJFSDFA KJHDKFJSFKASLDKS ADKJKFHEWRKJEKRKTRELRW

and if i start crying OTL

but alas *deep breaths*

even without all that they're just very fucking sexy. two insane powerful men going at it? come on. how could u NOT want them together. they both hold the same title of the strongest, might as fucking well fuck nasty about it.

and oh god, when i tell u gojo is a fucking brat and he's so strong and untouchable, but then sukuna is capable of putting him down which is. insanely sexy. and i need it. i need gojo obliterated. and i know sukuna won't let me down (AND HE DID NOT. HE OBLITERATED THAT MAN) can he now obliterate his holes too

agdkhfhdkhdhs, anyways.... yeah.. that is the situation.........

im just gonna end this by saying

SUKUGO MY LOVES

#f.ask #jjk #sukugo #i fr laughed so much at 'why are they always soaked in blood' sajhdkashfkjasflaf bc yeah yeah they are #and it's bc the fight's the only proper interaction they've had that was longer than a few seconds jhashdksafjk 😭😭😭 #they're actually not new blorbos haha. i've had them for over three years since the anime first came out and i got obsessed #then i got into other stuff as u know. but right now my obsession has reawakened :D #but yes they're my otp yeah they're a fucking rarepair #jk tho. honestly honestly they arent a rarepair. not anymore #it just feel like it here on tumblr dfksdjfkdsj 😭😔 #they used to be tho. it was so bad back then that i was literally the one who had to create the ship tag ajfhjasgfajhkahf #which like..i mean yeah. bc before it was ONLY their first meeting 10 sec confrontation and that 5 sec 'ill kill u' 'im honored' #that was IT for 3 years. their actual fight is recent #and it fucking killed me bc it was SO SO SO GAY. my starved lil heart was given so MUCH #IN CONCLUSION #i just want sukuna to fuck gojo that is all thank u for coming to my ted talk sukugo my beloveds <3 #i feel like ive rambled too much hdasgdisfhkjafdkjdasds SO SORRY for making u read all that 🙈🙈🙈 #i hope all this makes sense #and that it makes my posts a bit more comprehensible hahaha #giving u the biggest KISS <333333 #and idk if u're interested in it but if u are then i'd def def recommend jujutsu kaisen!! it's really good its super fun!!! #full of Pain and Suffering too but like. shhh. it's super cool.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

terms of endearment │ Part II: The Mother and the Warrior

See the Series Masterlist for the correct order!  

"When the Princess learned she was with child, her uncle immediately set to scouring the Realm and beyond for physicians of repute, eschewing the service of the Maesters of the Citadel. His efforts did not end there. If one were to believe the Prince a domineering figure in his bride's life, then this period of time only served to heighten his covetous nature to extremes. Those who sought to deny the Prince's affection for his wife would fall silent with the announcement of her impending motherhood."

- 'Fire and Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros' by Archmaester Gyldayn

The story of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his brother’s second-born daughter, as told through the many terms of endearment he calls her by.

Thank you to @my-justreblog​ for the header art!

Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own.

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3  (In Progress!)

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #em-writes-stuff-sometimes masterlists #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #matt smith #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #dance of dragons #fire and blood #house targaryen