#word count: 0 to 2k

[mp100ficrec]

Black Mold by Gallus

Fic can be read HERE.

Angst, Pre-Canon. Completed. Rated: T. Word Count: 1207

Pairings: None

Trigger Warnings: Agoraphobia, Suicidal Ideation, Self Harm, Depression, Anxiety, Disordered Eating

"Alone in his room Serizawa Katsuya rots."

[cozage]

HIII CONGRATS ON 2k!!!

Your writing is amazing and you totally deserve all these followers <3

Could you maybe write a scenario modern scenario where you and Zoro go to the same gym, and eventually he starts to notice you and crush on you a little :0

Tysm<33333

A/N: Modern AU is new for me so I hope I did it justice :) 

Characters: gn reader x Zoro Total word count: 750

Gym Routine

Zoro tried to mind his own business in the gym. He threw on his headphones and had his own routine. He never made small talk with people while waiting for a machine, he never bothered anyone and he didn’t want to be bothered. He didn’t really care about the other people who were in the gym with him. 

But this was the fifth day he had seen you, and he couldn’t help but notice the two of you had almost the exact same routine. Which led to you both waiting for each other a lot. 

He didn’t necessarily care, but you seemed to always watch the person on the machine while you waited. You almost went through the motions with them, as if you were perfecting your form along with them. 

Which didn’t make any sense. You had perfect form. He had been watching you out of the corner of his eye. 

And you were doing it now, watching the guy on the rowing machine as you waited your turn. Zoro would’ve been intimidated, if he hadn’t found you so amusing. 

“You can go,” the man said. He had gotten in line first, but only by a few seconds. And he didn’t want to have you watching him while he did his sets. 

“Oh!” you exclaimed, looking back and forth between the green-haired man and the machine. “No, go ahead. You were here first.”

“It’s fine. Go.”

You hesitated for a moment, but decided to take him up on his offer. It was your last set before you got to go home, and you were eager to lay on the couch and finally relax. 

You did your reps and quickly jumped back off, gathering your stuff to head to the locker room.

“Do you come on the weekends?” the man asked you. 

“Huh?” You turned back to look at him. “Oh, no. I just come in after work. I take a break on the weekends.”

The man nodded. “Me too. Name’s Zoro. See you Monday.”

You gave him a polite smile. “See you Monday.”

He wasn’t sure why his heart was beating so hard. Fridays were his easy days, and yet he felt a little nauseous from his routine. 

On Monday, he found himself equally nervous and excited about going to the gym. Once he got there, he was a little less focused on his workout and a little more focused on his surroundings.

“Zoro!” you called, waving to him. “I’ve been thinking about this all weekend. It has been haunting me!” You held your hand out. “I’m Y/N.”

He had also realized over the weekend that he didn’t know your name. Though, he only realized it because he was going to try and find your social media and see what kind of a person you were. Not for any reason in particular. He was just…curious.

He took your hand and gave it a firm shake. “Do you mind spotting me on this?”

You smiled back. “Not at all.”

By the end of the week, the two of you had become gym buddies. You all didn’t talk much, but you had exchanged phone numbers and gym routines so that you could sync up with each other every day and be each other’s spotters when needed.

Zoro shouldered his bag, the two of you getting ready to walk out the door together. “I was thinking-”

You crinkled your nose. “That’s dangerous.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Shut up.”

You snickered at his reaction, but quickly pulled yourself back together. “Okay, okay. You were thinking?”

He gave a hard swallow, trying to muster up his confidence again. “Dinner?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Me and you?”

Zoro shrugged, as if the idea was just now occurring to him. “There’s this nice restaurant, if you want to go.”

You looked down at your attire. You were in baggy shorts and a tank top, and you probably reeked of sweat. “This doesn’t exactly scream nice restaurant.”

“Not right now!” He slapped his hand against his forehead, and you resisted the urge to laugh again. You certainly weren’t making this easy for him. 

“Pick me up at seven?” you asked, your eyes lighting up. “I’ll text you my address.”

Zoro finally gave a small smile of relief and nodded. “I look forward to it.”

“Me too.”

You practically danced the whole way home. 

[billybob598]

No Idea Who They're Dealing With (Trinity Rodman x Reader)

Ummm, it's like 1am and I just banged out like 2k words?!?!? This was requested by a lovely anon (hope this is kinda what you wanted). I'm gonna go have a nighttime snack real quick so, byeeee. As always, any feedback good or bad welcome. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2k (actually it's like 1987 but that's basically 2k so fuck it)

You hated Trinity Rodman. With a passion. She was always getting the best of you, no matter how hard you tried she always seemed to be one step ahead. The rivalry between the two of you went back to your U-18 days. You played for Canada during the U-18 World Cup, in that tournament you had really shone, putting yourself at the top of the list for up-and-coming Canadian soccer players. While you had done well, Trinity had done even better. You never played against the USA in that tournament, but she beat you out for the Golden Boot and the Player of the Tournament award. 

The next time your rivalry was rekindled was in the U-20 CONCACAF Championships. Both Canada and the US came top of their groups, respectively. In the semi-finals, the two teams faced off. It was a pretty physical game. Tackles were flying in left and right. Numerous cards were given out. Throughout the match, you and Trinity had been at each other’s throats. It started with just some shoving. Then, it escalated to pulling on each other’s jerseys. The tackles kept getting dirtier and dirtier. It didn’t help that Canada was 2-0 down. At one point, you were both going for the ball, you thought you had definitely beat her to it when you felt a cleat connect with your ankle. You screamed out. Toppling to the ground while clutching your ankle, you knew it was bad. Like, tournament ending bad. With your face buried in the grass, you can hear loud voices, presumably your teammates who had come to defend you. The whistle was being repeatedly blown, but all you could focus on was the immense pain shooting through your leg. 

Trinity was horrified. She hadn’t meant for that to happen. Of course, she was getting frustrated with the physical battle between you. But she really hadn’t meant to hurt you. She had never seen you in so much pain. Your reputation preceded you, everyone knew that you were tough and that if you went down something must be seriously wrong. A number of your teammates came to your aid. They shoved Trinity and got all up in her face. She tuned all of them out, though, preferring to watch the trainers as they started feeling your ankle. When you were on your feet and limping off the field, she wanted to go over and apologize, but one of her teammates dragged her away before she could. 

You had ruptured your Achilles tendon. It took almost six months before you stepped on a soccer pitch again. While Trinity was off becoming a star in the NWSL, you were sitting in physio, fuming. It was mentally and physically exhausting to return to full strength. And when you finally returned you tore it up. At UCLA you established yourself as one of the best players in college soccer. Bev Priestmann was impressed enough to give you a call-up for your first-ever senior national team camp in 2021.

Now, heading into the 2023 SheBelieves Cup you’ve become a regular on the national team. You had played against Trinity a couple of times, but you had tried your best to just ignore her presence altogether. It most certainly confused Trinity. She thought you would be pissed at her and that you would hold a grudge forever. You hadn’t. Actually, it was like Trinity didn’t even exist anymore in your world. Within the Canada camp, there was a lot of things going on. The players, yourself included, were in a dispute with Canada Soccer. Everyone had decided to wear their practice shirts inside out to protest, among other things. Heading into the opening match against the USA, the battle between players and federation was anyone was talking about. Janine and Christine had done an interview with TSN, you hadn’t even spoken publicly about the job action, other than putting the players’ statement on your Instagram. Yet, you were on the receiving end of all the blame coming from Canada Soccer. There had been multiple interviews and statements by Canada Soccer officials and they all stuck to the same narrative, your arrival in the past year or two had changed the mindset within the team. You were the root of this. If it had not been for you, everyone would have been happy still, and the team would not be asking for something that was impossible. You chose to handle this with class, not wanting to stir the pot anymore, you did not respond to those comments. 

The USA had watched all of this happen in complete shock. First of all, the fact that a job action had to be put in motion in the first place. Considering you guys were Olympic champions everyone thought you would have earned a little more respect from your federation. Second, you specifically were enduring most of the public bashing. It was absolutely insane for Canada Soccer to put this all on one player, especially you. This entire fiasco made Trinity’s blood boil. No way they thought they could actually get away with blaming you. When asked by the Canadian team if they would join in making a pre-match protest, they of course agreed.

Soon enough, the two teams were standing in the tunnel, preparing to step out on the pitch. There had been a few hugs given out among the different players. Rapinoe had said some encouraging words to you as she passed by. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear them until you started to tear up. As the US lines up alongside you, you try your best to not let anyone see the emotion overcoming you. All of a sudden, you feel a hand land on your shoulder. Looking over, you’re surprised to see Trinity Rodman giving you a warm smile.

“Hey, you’re doing a really good job, don’t let them get to you,” Trinity says softly to you. You wipe at your eyes before mumbling out a quick “thanks.” She removes her hand and you immediately miss the contact. Before you can say anything more to her, the refs have started to move forward, with the teams following close behind. The cameras start to click rapidly as Canada’s national team appears wearing the purple “Enough is Enough” shirts. After the anthems, the two teams form a heart around the centre circle. You end up standing beside Trinity. The taller woman’s hand lands on the small of your back, sending shivers up your spine. She notices this and smirks at you. 

That entire game, Canada looks flat. You guys looked like a team that was mentally exhausted, which you were. It was only through pure determination that you were able to put your name on the score sheet. The game finished as a 2-1 US win, it probably should have been more.

When the game ends, you and the rest of the team refuse to do any media and head straight back to the locker rooms. Trinity ends up at the ESPN panel, standing alongside a man she doesn’t recognize and the hosts. It’s only when the hosts introduce the man as the Vice President of Canada Soccer that she realizes what’s going to happen. This was definitely set up by Canada Soccer to continue putting down the players. The hosts ask Trinity a few questions about the match before they address the elephant in the room. For a bit, Trinity thinks that maybe she was wrong. Maybe the vice president wasn’t here to blame the players, maybe he was just here to try to appease the public or something. He wasn’t saying anything too controversial, mostly trying his best to deflect, saying he can’t comment and things like that. For a few minutes, everything is going okay. Until it isn’t.

“Obviously, we only want our women’s teams to thrive. They have shown just how world-class they can be playing against some tough opponents. We just think that some of the demands they’re making are unreasonable. It’s possible that Y/N Y/L/N has gotten some far-reaching goals inside of her teammate's heads. Before, the team was making reasonable demands and we were happy to negotiate with them,” the vice president says with such contempt that Trinity doesn’t know how such an asshole can be elected for anything. 

“Interesting…” ESPN’s host slowly starts to say before Trinity jumps in.

“Or maybe, you guys have just been taking the entire team for push-overs and they, including Y/N, have finally realized their worth. That they are deserving of more than just whatever you have left in the bank account. Also, if you’re going to start publicly bashing Y/N, then you better know that she’s not going to back down without a fight and that she is going to come at you guys with everything she has. You have no fucking idea who you’re dealing with.”

This leaves everyone on the panel in a little bit of shock. Trinity decides that she doesn’t feel like being interviewed anymore. She gives the mic back and then walks off, not having the slightest clue about why she did that. As she gets closer to the US locker room, she stops in her tracks when she hears a voice.

“What the hell did you do that for?” She takes a deep breath before turning around to be met with your beautiful face.

“Uhh, I don’t know,” she stutters out.

“Trinity, you just blew up at a Canada Soccer official and swore on national television. You must know why.” There’s something about how her name sounds coming off your tongue that drives Trinity crazy. 

“Y/N…” she starts as she takes a step towards you. You can feel a blush creeping up your neck as the space between the two of you closes.

“Yeah?” Your voice comes out small and it only encourages Trinity. She takes another step closer, at this point you’re chests are close to touching. Trinity is looking down at you with a smirk that makes your knees weak. It doesn’t help that she’s got probably five inches on you so, you feel incredibly small this close to her.

“I’ve never really hated you, y’know?” Her voice is so smooth, it makes your stomach do flips.

“Oh yeah?” You say not daring to take your eyes off of hers. She starts to lean in slowly. 

“Yeah,” she whispers against your lips before connecting them. Her hands go to your waist, pulling you as close as possible to her. Your fingers find their way into her hair, giving it a light tug. Her lips were like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. They were soft and perfect and moved perfectly against yours. You couldn’t believe what was happening, not too long ago you swore you hated her, but now, she was too good of a kisser to even think about hating her. Soon, you both pull away. She leans her forehead against yours.

“When do you guys leave for the next game?” The American asks quietly.

“I think two days from now,” you reply, “why?”

“Do you want to go on a date with me, say tomorrow?” You can’t help the grin that takes over your face.

“Thought you’d never ask.” You kiss her one last time before entangling your fingers with hers. “I’m not sure you have any idea who you’re dealing with, though,” you joke. Trinity just laughs.

“Trust me, I know exactly who I’m dealing with,” she says with a chuckle. You smile one last time at her before moving to head back to your own locker room. But, she pulls you back and presses a firm kiss on your forehead, then she decides you are free to go. 

When you were named to the World Cup roster, the first person you called was your girlfriend.

“The world has no idea who they’re dealing with, babe.”

[malice-ov-mercy]

Shotgun

Us

Pairing: Nick Folio x fem!Reader

Content warnings: 18+!, smoking (specifically weed), fingering, handjob

A/N: first Folio fic!!!! I got a brain worm that had to be fed. Also I’ve only ever smoked weed once and absolutely hated the experience. It was from a gravity bong which I feel added tremendously to the horrible experience. I didn’t pull the bottle up fast enough and ended up fucking inhaling some water and spent who knows long coughing. Shit fucking burned so bad. I can STILL feel that pain every time I think of it. 0/10 do not recommend.

Word count: just under 2k

————————————

The chilly autumn air prickled your skin. A dress, though long sleeved, certainly wasn’t the best choice of wear. It was a fine choice for when you were inside, but it did little to offer warmth outside. You tried to protest when Nick wanted to go smoke outside, sighting your attire. He brushed your concern away and practically dragged you out on the bench.

You didn’t smoke often, really you only did when you hung out with Nick. It’s not something you particularly enjoyed. Doing it with him though made it more enjoyable. You told yourself you weren’t going to smoke before you came over, but Nick just came back from tour and you’d missed him. He needed to unwind and if you were honest with yourself, so did you.

Nick lit the joint, taking a few quick puffs to get it going. He took a big hit then exhaled a satisfied sigh. He leaned his head back and handed the joint to you.

You took a long hit before handing it back to Nick. The smoke lingered in your chest as you closed your eyes. You could feel eyes on you as you exhaled. When you opened your eyes, you saw Nick staring. There was a mischievous like wonder in the way he was looking at you. He wasn’t subtle as his gaze wandered. He took another hit.

“You ever tried shotgunning before?” Nick exhaled.

“What, like a beer?”

The sound of his laughter rumbled in your ears.

“Not exactly, no.”

Nick grinned, taking another hit. You glanced at him with a raised brow.

“Then what do you mean?”

He puffed smoke in your direction, laughing lightly as you coughed and waved the cloud away. He turned so he was facing you.

“Do you want me to explain or show you?”

You narrowed your eyes, shifting so you were facing him. “Explain.”

Nick took another hit, blowing the smoke out of the side of his mouth. “You take a hit then someone else sucks the smoke out of your mouth.”

“That sounds like a kiss, Nick.”

“In a way, I guess it is.” Nick eyed you. “Wanna try it?”

His gaze made you shiver— or maybe it was the chill of the air, or the fact that he more or less maybe just asked you if you wanted to kiss. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about it. You’ve been friends for forever. Of course it’s crossed your mind once or a dozen times.

“Sure, why not?” You hoped your response didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

Nick smirked mischievously, and handed you the joint.

“Okay. Close your eyes.”

You did as Nick said. You closed your eyes and took a hit, letting the smoke stay trapped in your mouth. Hands cupped your face, then Nick’s mouth came to yours. Your lips parted just enough to let him suck the smoke—and air—from your lungs. It made your head spin. You grabbed your knees to keep yourself from tumbling on top of him.

Nick’s lips stayed on yours long after he stole your breath. It was far from a kiss. His lips merely resting on yours. You felt them twitch and wondered just how soft they would be against yours. When he did finally pull away, you found yourself leaning forward trying to chase them. His chuckle made your heart flutter.

“Was that okay?” He whispered. You nodded with half opened eyes. “Do you… wanna try it?”

There was enough left for one small puff. You nodded again, watching as he brought the joint to his lips. Nick’s glossy eyes bore into yours. He inhaled and waited. With shaky hands, you cupped his face. His skin was so soft and smooth. There was a glint in his eyes. Your heart pounded against your ribs. You wondered if Nick could hear it.

His eyes fluttered shut as you leaned in. He parted his lips before your mouth was even on his, causing some smoke to leisurely linger between his lips. You captured his lips and breathed in. There was a lot less smoke than you expected. A rush went through your head. It made you dizzy. You gripped Nick’s face a little more, subconsciously pulling him closer. His lips twitched again. The temptation to kiss him was agonizing, but you didn’t want to cross a boundary.

“(Y/N), ” Nick breathed. His breath was hot against your lips. You hummed a response.

“Please kiss me.”

The plea rippled through you. You happily obliged, melting into him as you kissed him. He groaned when you slid your tongue in his mouth. His hands landed high on your thighs, gripping them firmly and pushing your dress up. Goosebumps spread across your body. Nick sat up on his knees and crawled on top of you, your back now flush against the cushioned bench seat. Your legs spread. One of them dangled off the edge of the bench, allowing him more room to fit between them. One of his hands was now at your waist. The other was placed above you on the arm rest.

He squeezed your side. A quiet moan got lost between your kiss. Nick repeated the action hoping to get the same reaction, and squeezed with more force when he did. His hand massaged further down until he found your inner thigh. He could feel the warmth radiating from you. He dug his fingers into your thigh, creeping higher and higher until he was at the waistband of your panties. Your head spun as he gave it a gentle tug.

Nick broke the kiss, his breathing heavy, breath warm against your lips. He looked down at you with such an intense desire, it made you shiver. A few strands of his hair came to frame just below his eyes. He’d always been nice to look at. You loved admiring him, but right now, you couldn’t keep his gaze. It was too much. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the entire universe.

“Can I?” He asked, tugging again at your waistband. Not meeting his gaze, you gave a small nod.

“(Y/N), look at me. Please.”

You did as he asked. His eyes were still drenched in every shade of lust, but there was also a softness, one that tugged at your heart and made it flip.

“Can I touch you?” The tone of his voice sent a new wave of arousal through you. You nodded again, but he didn’t move—not until he heard you verbally say yes.

His hand carefully slipped inside your panties.

“Goddamn,” Nick breathed, his fingers spreading your folds open, coating them in your arousal, “You’re so fucking wet.”

He teased your clit, savoring the sound of your breathless gasps. His touch was so gentle yet deliberate. He started playing around with his movements, applying more pressure here and picking up the pace there, trying to pull the best reaction from you. He slid his fingers down, teasing your entrance, a pad of his finger softly prodding at it. Your back arched as he kept teasing.

“Nick, please.” You pled, eyes closing.

Nick easily slid a finger inside.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, pumping slowly. You moaned when he added a second finger. You wriggled your hips, desperate for more. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

Not only could you feel how wet you were, but you could hear it too. Nick muttered to himself with every thrust of fingers. He curled them, searching for that sweet spot. You cried out, body twitching intensely as he found it.

“I can’t believe how wet you are,” His voice was in your ear, low and husky, “so worked up just for me.”

He pressed a kiss just below your ear, then trailed down to the crook of your neck. His kisses were wet, you wanted him to bite down, but he didn’t.

“Nick,” You whimpered as he hit that spot again. He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Look at me sweetheart. I want to see those pretty eyes when you cum.”

You open your eyes, almost coming undone the second they find Nick’s lustful stare. You choke out a moan when he smiles at you. Warmth spreads through your body. You’re so close. He keeps his pace steady, but when your breaths became more uneven and strained, he sped up.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Cum for me.”

His words bring you over the edge. A breathless moan of his name escapes as your body quakes beneath him. He slows his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm. When your finished, Nick kisses your cheek and slowly removes his fingers. You whine. He stays hovered you, and brings his fingers to your face. They’re drenched in your arousal.

“I wonder what you taste like.”

Your mind races with the implication. You watch as Nick brings his finger to his mouth, his tongue taking a small taste. His eyes briefly fluttered closed then looked at you, a new type of hunger in his eyes. He moves his fingers to your mouth. Your mouth parted enough to let him slide them in. Your tongue licked his fingers clean, sucking them as he slowly removed them from your mouth.

“Fuck.” He moaned.

Nick crashes his lips to yours. He pulls a moan deep from your chest when he bites your lower lip. The kiss is bruising, desperate. It’s a mash of tongues and teeth clacking together. It’s sloppy and saturated with a profound need. It’s everything either of you had ever fantasized and more. You tugged the collar of his shirt, urging him to come closer. He pressed himself against you. One of your hands came down to grip his erection through his jeans. He groaned, pulling his mouth away from you. He breathed heavily against your lips as you palmed.

“Shit,” he closed his eyes, rolling his hips into your hand, desperate for more friction. You struggled to unbutton his jeans with one hand, but managed to do it. You snuck your hand between the denim and his boxers. He hissed when you rubbed him through the fabric.

“Can I touch you now?” You rasped.

“If you don’t, I will.”

The edge in Nick’s voice shot deep in your bones. It was hungry and low, filled with need and desire. You slipped your hand inside his boxers, teasing the head of his cock with your thumb, swirling the pre cum all around. His dick twitched in your hand. You ran your palm down the underside of his shaft then back up. He rutted himself against your hand.

“Fu-uck,” Nick breathed, “(Y/N), please.”

You wrapped your fingers around him and started pumping slowly. Nick’s head lulled forward and rested against yours. He pressed his lips to yours. Your grip around his dick tightened. A small smile formed on your lips when he moaned into your mouth. Nick thrusted his hips, prompting you to quicken your strokes. He broke the kiss with a low gasp. A colorful variety of swears and sounds trickled out of his throat. His hips start to stagger.

“I’m— fuck,” he pants, breath hot against your mouth, “I need to—“

Before the words are fully out of his mouth, Nick unloads, a deep grunt emanating from his chest. You keep pumping until he can’t take anymore. He grasps your wrist and pulls your hand away.

“Hey Nick?”

His eyes opened and locked with yours. You saw his pupils dilate as you brought your hand between your mouths. His nostrils flared when you licked his cum from your fingers, then softly pressed them to his lips. Nick let you slip them in his mouth. Your jaw slacked as his tongue twisted and spread between your digits, cleaning up every last drop you didn’t. Your mind raced, wondering exactly how his tongue would feel running wild between your thighs. Your heart pounded.

Or maybe it was Nick’s.

[dearharriet]

So It Goes; Sirius B. 🐇

summary: being sirius black’s illusionist might not require being cut in half, but he finds other ways to challenge you.

word count: ~2K

warnings: pg-13 sexual content, fem!r, illusionist!r, magician!sirius, possessive!sirius, original character (for the plot), blindfold (non-sexual), groping, foreplay

note: i named the oc in this after leon kennedy because i had just watched that video of ethel cain talking abt him so it was the freshest name in my mind. also psa i am not a swiftie i just listen to her music :0

The audience is the third member of every scene. That’s any performer’s rule of thumb. What the watcher feels, where they’ve been, who they are—all of it precedes any preparation you do for a performance, no matter how important it feels.

You like to attribute the feeling to destruction. The crowd takes hard work and taints it with their emotions, taunting you. It’s unbearable.

When you shared that notion with Sirius—loitering backstage before a show—he snickered about it for days on end.

Sirius, in true chaotic fashion, loves the unpredictability of an audience. He’s always been partial to voyeurs—in and out of professional settings—and he likes to be surprised.

What’s worse is that he likes to surprise you.

“Ladies and Gents,” Sirius projects out into the darkness. The double-tiered theater is one of the bigger venues you’ve performed at, seating just shy of three hundred people.

Sirius is perfectly at ease, strolling leisurely across the stage in a tuxedo, the silver image of a charming magician.

“For our next feat, my illusionist and I will need a volunteer.”

Your head snaps toward Sirius—stage smile falling ever so slightly. He’s already looking your way, smug and colored with mischief. He’s improvising.

Reinstating your smile to its full magnitude, you turn it back to the dark theater, watching hands shoot up from every seat. In your peripheral, Sirius retreats upstage, signaling for you to make your selection.

You play up a show of indecisiveness, tapping a manicured nail to your chin. “Hmm. Well, we need someone strong. We wouldn’t want to send anybody to the hospital tonight.”

A few hands drop then, slimming your options down a bit. Good. Eyeing the rows of people, you suddenly find an opportunity to get Sirius back.

“I think I like our friend here in the front,” you drawl, batting your lashes and pointing delicately. “In the suit.”

The man in question raises his brows, looking to his left and right. He’s young and decently handsome, nothing like Sirius, but just good-looking enough to poke the bear. His hand hadn’t been raised, but if Sirius won’t play by the rules then neither will you.

You hum sensually, beckoning him up with a curled finger, which he follows. You’ve been told you have a presence like a viper onstage, like you’re constantly poised for a fatal strike, and you consider that this might motivate people to obey you.

As the well-dressed man steps gingerly off of the top step, you meet him with a hand around his tie, coaxing him further under the intense lights; Sirius does this often when he calls pretty girls onstage, maneuvering them around by the smalls of their backs just to piss you off. Some nights the crowd laughs at their flushed cheeks, other nights they swoon. The group tonight is dead silent, pinned under a mountain of anticipation.

You envy them, considering you know no more about what will happen next than they do. They get to be silent, but for you, the show must go on.

Arriving center stage, you meet Sirius with an unhappy sidelong glance. Your victim sways awkwardly where you’ve parked him.

“Don’t worry, handsome.” You pat his lapel. “Sirius will tell you what we need from you.”

The man laughs nervously, provoking a scatter of teasing giggles from the audience.

You and Sirius trade sides then, circling behind the man like hungry wolves. As he passes you, Sirius slips a silky belt of fabric into your hand, a challenging eyebrow raised.

“Right, sir. What’s your name?”

“Er, Leon,” says the volunteer, his voice shy.

“Leon, everybody!” Sirius booms, throwing his and Leon’s arms open for applause. The crowd whistles their approval. Leon’s face blooms red like the flower in Sirius’ coat pocket, and worse when you step into his space with the blindfold.

“Alright, alright.” Sirius settles the crowd. “My darling assistant has something for you, Leon.”

Quirking a brow, you take your supposed queue, lifting the cloth to his eye level.

“Don’t be scared,” you murmur, just loud enough so that only the three of you on stage can hear. Leon releases a tense breath, holding your gaze.

Watching from beside you, Sirius’ lips pull into a petty smirk.

“Darling, don’t tease him. Let him put the blindfold on you.”

He says it like it’s obvious, as if there’s a clear protocol for the trick that he’s pulling from thin air. The audience is easily fooled by his cool confidence, but your cheeks still flush in embarrassment under your stage makeup.

Leon deflates—counting his blessings, you’re sure. Being unexpectedly blinded in a dark room full of people isn’t exactly calming. Reluctantly, you pile the dark fabric into his palm and turn around, accepting your twisted fate.

“Make sure it’s nice and tight, Leo,” Sirius orders as your eyes are covered. “We can’t have her cheating.”

You huff at that. There’s an entire choreographed illusion being discarded purely for Sirius’ amusement—if anyone’s cheating, it’s him.

Once the blindfold is securely fastened over your eyes, Sirius sets out to assemble the rest of the trick, which includes leading Leon upstage.

“We’ll leave our illusionist up here for a moment,” announces Sirius before he goes. “She’s pretty enough to keep you all entertained.”

Something about his words lights a match in your belly, made all the worse by your impaired vision. Without a means of looking back at the snickering audience, you’re little more than a statue to be gaped at.

Luckily, Sirius is a jealous man, so he doesn’t leave you squirming under their watchful eyes for long. As he takes your waist in a theatrical lead, he whispers silkily into your ear.

“You really know how to pick ‘em, eh?” A shiver creeps down your spine, and you almost trip in your heels. Sirius’ hot breath oozes over you, the hair on the back of your neck picking up. “Let’s hope your aim is as good without your eyes.”

As you ponder whatever that might mean, Sirius disappears, and then returns moments later. Whatever he brings back has the crowd gasping, scandalized or awestruck. It’s all you can do to hope it’s not a live animal.

“Folks,” he begins, and by the sound of it he’s center stage again, keeping the show rolling. “Our next act needs no introduction.”

Sirius comes to you, pressing something cool and heavy into your hands. It only takes you a few seconds to identify it as a bow, and you can’t tamp down your resulting outburst.

“Are you mental?” you hiss at Sirius as he folds an arrow into your free hand. He laughs, mocking your panic. Big hands grip your waist, manhandling you into a proper position, and you're nearly beyond performing, ready to shout at the delighted audience that this is really very scary and they should go home immediately.

Sirius leans in, pressing his chest close to your back, his upstage hand kneading secretly at your hip.

“Leon, are you ready over there?”

Far away, you hear Leon choke nervously. “Er, as I’ll ever be.”

The crowd chitters.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” The smile is audible in Sirius’ voice. He’s getting a kick out of this.

“Of taking an arrow to the head? Yeah.”

Sirius grips your waist tight, feeling over the fabric of your costume bodice, but his voice is opposingly saccharine.

“My girl’s got great aim. She’d never hit you anywhere fatal.”

As the crowd guffaws at Sirius’ dark humor, you bite your lip, figuring there’s no more preamble to delay the inevitable. You notch the arrow into the bowstring and draw.

Barely breathing, you don’t realize that Sirius has left your side until his words register from somewhere else, between you and Leon. You try to listen to what he’s saying, but it’s near impossible to hear over the blood pulsing in your ears.

An arrow-in-the-apple trick isn’t beyond your and Sirius’ skill level, but it is a skill. One that you only know how to do with Sirius, and you’re frantically trying to correct your posture to the height difference Leon has.

“Can I get a countdown from the audience?”

The audience counts ten aching seconds in unison, dread pooling in your gut as they inch closer to one.

By the time they reach the final number you’re shaking, but you loose the arrow without a second thought. It whizzes by your clothed eyes, and a second later thumps into something hollow.

You can hardly breathe, hardly think, putting all your energy into keeping a grip on the hefty bow in your hands.

In the theater, an eruption of cheers commences, and you untie the blindfold as artfully as you can with shaking fingers. The stage lights hit your eyes harshly, leaving the audience a cacophonous void, but you’re more invested in the fate of Leon.

Squinting at the other side of the stage, you don’t find Leon at all, but Sirius standing perfectly still under an arrow-pierced apple. It barely cleared his head.

As your eyes adjust, you find Leon safe and sound in his front row seat, smiling guiltily up at you.

+

“I could have killed him.”

The dressing room vanity digs into your ass as Sirius presses you up against it, licking down your neck.

“So?” he replies flippantly, fingering the top of your stockings.

“So?” you repeat, incredulous.

“Yeah, so what? Who cares?”

You grind your teeth to halt your immediate response. He’s baiting you, tricking you into some kind of admission that could feed his jealous instincts.

“I’m not super fond of becoming Mistress Manslaughter,” you joke dryly.

Sirius scoffs into your throat, sucking harshly at a spot below your ear.

“Yeah, right. Like I’d let you do that trick with anyone but me.” He palms your tits to punctuate his statement.

You moan, holding each end of his undone bow tie like a lifeline. His sleek black hair smells ever so slightly of apple, citrusy and sweet.

“Why bring him up at all, then?” you ask. “Why bother?”

Sirius lifts his head, panting.

“Cause, babe. I love a twist ending.” He winks garishly, prompting an eye roll from you. You prepare to return his attitude, but Sirius interrupts you. “I’m through talking about—” a slovenly kiss to your jaw,“—what’s-his-face.”

“Leon.”

Sirius bumps you up onto the vanity surface, pushing his hands up your skirt. His mouth and neck are covered in your red lipstick, his eyes dilated.

“How about you stop saying his name, and start saying mine?”

Lifting an eyebrow, you gently push at Sirius’ shoulders. His breath catches—so subtly you almost miss it, but nevertheless—as he kneels willingly before you.

“How about you give me a reason, and I’ll think about it,” you retort.

Achingly slow, Sirius starts to peel the fabric of your underwear off of your hips. You rest back onto the mirror, slotting a hand into his tousled hair. His mouth bites teasingly at your stockings where his fingers just were, but you know they’ll stay on. He likes them too much to remove them.

As your underwear hits the floor, Sirius slides you to the edge of the table, pinning you under his heated gaze.

“I think I can give you more than one.”

+

thank you for reading! 🏹

masterlist

[mermmarie]

The Red String of Fate

Authors Notes: So, I had been thinking about this idea for a while, and admittingly I started this ahead of OC x Canon week, but the idea fits perfectly for the Day 3 prompt: Soulmate. So please enjoy chapter 1 of my Red String of Fate fanfic featuring Donnie!

Pair: Donatello x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Rating: T?? (Although, characters depicted are adults)

Content/Trigger Warnings: Mention of blood.

||Chapter 1|| ||Chapter 2|| ||Chapter 3|| ||Chapter 4||

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

Chapter 1: Cosmically Bound

The Red String of Fate was a fairy tale you didn’t believe in anymore. A long time ago, yes, but after so many rejections, heartbreaks and betrayals how could you now? It was silly to even consider it a possibility in the first place. Just the idea that two people could be romantically bound by some magical, crimson colored thread was ridiculous. Especially when there was a zero point zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero three percent chance of it happening to anyone, let alone you.

While it was a fantasy you daydreamt about from time to time, you understood that it was just that; A fantasy. So, when you noticed a string of red laced around your ring finger, your first initial thought was that your head was in the clouds once more, dreaming of the impossible. However, the usual trick of closing your eyes and shaking your head of the thoughts only made the fantasies disappear, but the little red string remained. 

You straightened in your recliner, head cocking curiously as you focused your gaze on the thread. You flexed and curled your fingers, thinking that the illusion might disappear if you were to physically affect reality, but just as before, it stayed. A small gasp escaped your mouth when you lifted your hand into the air and the string extended. Following the red thread, your eyes grew wide with disbelief when it pointed out the window that was lined up next to your chair and suddenly all the dull sounds of New York were drowned out by the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

Somewhere out there in the bustling city was your soulmate. 

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

SCANNING.

UNKNOWN PERSON NO.1

SEX: MALE

HEIGHT: 6 FT 0”

WEIGHT: 190 LBS

OBJECTS ON PERSON: SWITCH BLADE 

SCANNING.

UNKNOWN PERSON NO.2

SEX: MALE

HEIGHT: 6 FT 2”

WEIGHT: 211 LBS

OBJECTS ON PERSON: CROWBAR

SCANNING.

UNKNOWN PERSON NO.3

SEX: MALE

HEIGHT: 5 FT 9”

WEIGHT: 173 LBS

OBJECTS ON PERSON: BOX CUTTER 

Fittingly, Unknown Person No.1 had struck first, then Unknown Person No.2, but Unknown Person No.3 had decided to stay behind. Possibly a strategic tactic to fall back and assess the situation first, but it was more likely that he was just a coward. Although, his Sensei had taught him that a wise man was able to recognize when he was beaten. Unfortunately, none of them were wise. Just foolish thugs thinking they had the upper hand in the situation because it was three versus one. 

The realization came quickly to Unknown Person No.3 however when Donatello easily disarmed and knocked out his fellow associates. The whites of his eyes became more evident as the lean turtle approached him. His shoulders inching upwards and nearly touching his ears while he attempted to put on a menacing scowl, but by the way his teeth clattered against each other the front was obvious. Still, like a cornered rat, fear driven adrenaline compelled him to make a move, despite having already witnessed how that turned out for his comrades. 

Donatello effortlessly maneuvered out of the way of his first attack, and prepared himself to counter in the midst of his recuperation but faltered after having noticed something peculiar… 

As his metal staff spun between his large green digits, he saw a contrast of red on the smallest finger of his left hand. For a split second he assumed it was blood, thinking he somehow had been wounded in his scrap with the other two crooks, but there was no open gash or cut present on his hand. His eyes narrowed behind his goggles to focus his vision on the stark color and he brought his appendage closer to his view, nearly forgetting that he was in the middle of a fight until a familiar voice called out to him.

“Donnie!!” They warned and he flinched. Fear striking him when his gaze snapped to the short blade of the box cutter that was being thrust towards his face. Luckily, years of reflex training had him move just in time to avoid a critical injury, but he didn’t go unharmed. Unknown Person No.3 managed to nick him on the top of his cheek just below his left eye. Ignoring the sudden appearance of red momentarily, he turned his attention back to the thug and spun his bo into his diaphragm.

Another one of his Sensei’s lessons about ‘ never underestimating his enemies ’ and ‘ to remain focused during battle ’ echoed in the purple-coded mutants’ head and spite burned between his brows. Just as the man recovered from the air being knocked out of his lungs and he lifted his head, Donatello smacked him across the face with the tip of his staff. The man finally falling to the ground and unconscious. 

Bastard.  

Before he had time to inspect his injury, his cold-colored brother was at his side with his hands on his shoulders.

“Donnie, are you okay?” He asked, but didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, he moved his hands to his face, maneuvering it into a position where he could get a better look on the cut of his cheek. His normally, cool-blue eyes we’re blown up with a look of fear that Donatello didn’t witness often, and it had him reconsidering the severity of the attack. However, the anticipation that built in his chest subsided when Leonardo’s gaze softened. 

“Bad news; it’s gonna scar. Good news; you’ll finally match the rest of us.” He smirked. 

Donatello huffed and pulled his face out of his brothers’ hands. Pushing his goggles to the top of his head and sheathing his bo staff to his shell. 

“What happened back there, Donnie? I kind of expect Mikey to lose his head in the clouds but not you.” He pressed. 

Donatello grumbled and dropped his gaze. He could feel that his eyes wanted to wander back to his left hand, but he was almost too afraid to look. As he swung his final blow on the assailant, he caught the crimson color in his view again and recognized it for what it really was. He had heard of the ‘Red String of Fate’ as a myth. A legend, a rumor, an old wives tale. There had been some speculation of it happening to people throughout history, but no scientific proof. And Donatello wasn’t the kind of guy to believe in something without seeing it first hand for himself. 

So, if he didn’t look at it, that would mean it didn’t actually exist… Right?  

Uncertainty pulled at the corners of his lips as he extended his hand in front of his brother and splayed out his fingers. A bright red string wrapped snuggly around his smallest digit. Leonardo’s eyes widened again as he stared at the thread, but this time he looked with confusion. He brought his gaze back to him expectantly and naturally, he opened his mouth to explain.

“It’s–” He started but paused when he realized how silly it would be to speak of it out loud, let alone embarrassing… “Um–”

“The Red String of Fate.” Leonardo finished for him. 

Donatello’s brows arched with surprise. “Y–You know about the myth?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it a myth now.”

“Oh. Right…” Donatello lowered his hand and his gaze fell with it. His eyes locked on the red string in deep thought. He curled and flexed his fingers, speculating that the construct might simply vanish if he were to tamper with its existence. But as he turned over his hand, the tail end of the string extended and pointed into a specific direction away from the both of them. The two cool-colored mutants straightened in attention, but stayed silent as they looked off in the distance. 

Eventually, Leonardo broke the silence with a question that had Donatello snapping his head back to him in disbelief. 

“So… We gonna go find them?” 

“ W-What?!” The lean mutant exclaimed and cringed at how his voice cracked. His cheeks immediately turning a darker shade of green. 

Leonardo couldn’t help but to smile, albeit a bit sheepishly. “Okay, the way I worded it was a little– weird. ”

“ Ya think? ”

“What I meant was, don’t you wanna– investigate a little? See who your cosmic soulmate is?” The blue clad turtle shrugged. 

“No!” He covered the red string on his hand with his other, as if that would snuff out his brother’s questionable curiosity. 

“What do you mean?--”

Donatello groaned tiredly. “I don’t even know if I believe in this!” 

“How could you not? The proof is right there!” Leonardo pointed at his hand.

Cautiously, Donatello lifted his right hand just enough for him to peak underneath it. Checking to see if the little red thread was still intertwined around his finger. It was of course and he groaned again.

“Okay… I suppose I can’t deny its legitimacy but–” He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. 

Out of the twenty-million residents who lived in New York, fate had decided that he, a mutant ninja turtle, was to be romantically bound to another. Who they were or what they looked like, he had no clue, but statistically thinking… His ‘other’ was most likely a human being. And from his experience, most human beings didn’t react positively to the fact that he was a nearly seven-foot tall, bioengineered reptile when they first saw him. He doubted that it would be any different in this case.

Even with the literal string attached.

“I’m not ready.” He paused again before adding on quickly, “To see them yet that is.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and averted his gaze from his brothers’. 

Leonardo stared at him in silence, and it felt as if he was trying to burn a hole into his head. As if to get inside his mind and find out what he was really thinking. Just as it was beginning to feel like too much, he finally spoke.

“Alright.” His arms flopped against his side and he turned away from him, looking in another direction. “Let’s tie them up and head home then.” He gestured to the thugs with a cock of his head and started to walk off, but Donatello reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him from going any further. 

“Leo,” he started, but licked his bottom lip in hesitation. “Thanks… And please don’t tell Raph or Mikey. Especially Mikey.” 

An amused puff of air escaped Leonardo’s nostrils. “I won’t say anything to them, but you know Mikey’s gonna be upset when he eventually finds out. Probably cry about how it didn’t happen to him instead.” 

Donatello hummed in agreement and for a split second, he kind of wished it had happened to his orange-clad brother instead. At least then he’d be able to observe the phenomenon from the outside and record his findings on the matter if he were to experience it for himself. Normally, he didn’t mind going into things ‘ blind ’, metaphorically speaking. It was part of being a scientist, figuring things out through trial and error. But with this kind of subject? He’d prefer to have some knowledge on how to go about it. Unfortunately, he was on his own. 

Turning to follow his brother, Donatello took one last look in the direction the red string pointed off to and wondered if you were having the same troubling thoughts? Then, the idea of you looking for him crossed his mind and it pushed his focus back to the round up. The last thing he wanted was for you to find him in the middle of the night, amongst bodies of thugs, and with a bloodied face. 

[sannasruins]

stained red

kirishima x reader

type: angst

warnings: major character death, fluff to pain, violence

a/n: a sad fic for my favorite boy, thought of this while doing my hair the other day, and thought about making it happy, decided against it lol. no happy endings here :)

word count: 2k

You had successfully infiltrated Kirishima’s room, your mission? Dyeing his hair.

He had approached you earlier that afternoon in class, eyes shifting back and forth, as if he was going to tell you a dark secret no one must hear. “Hey, y/n” he whispered once he reached your desk.

You looked up from your course work that you had previously been focused on, “Yeah? What’s up Kiri?”

“I need your help,” he parted his hair and leaned his head down so you could see the peaking of his dark roots, “helppppp” he whined out.

You laughed at his pleading, “Kirishima, you used to do this all by yourself, why do you need me to do it recently?”

“You just do it better.” He answered. You knew. On the days after he dyed his hair, his forehead, ears, and hands were stained a deep red, giving away his previous night’s activities. It never ended up stained when you did it, he had become spoiled by your steady and gentle hands.

“Okay,” you smiled at him, “I’ll be there tonight.”

He grinned his beautiful, sharp grin at you, unaware of the swarm of butterflies it released in your stomach every time he did.

You giggled at the sight before you in the mirror, Kirishima obediently sitting on the floor in front of your feet, a plastic bag with a hole cut in the middle for his head around his shoulders, his eyes crinkled with a smile as they met yours. With such a lovely sight in front of you, how could you not be absolutely enamored with him?

The gloves around your fingers crinkled as you messed with his hair, tilting his head forwards and backwards, left and right, making sure to not miss a single spot. Starting with the dye brush but soon giving up and resorting to using your hands to apply, it just worked better that way. It’s not like he was paying for a professional service; it was two teenagers in a dorm at night sneaking around. There was no pressure for it to be perfect, he didn’t mind if you messed up a little bit, having you do it was way more fun than him struggling to do it by himself. You didn’t notice at the time, but a small hole appeared in the glove, allowing some of the bright red dye to seep into your skin, staining it pink.

You put another plastic bag over his head, when he asked why the first time you did it, you said “it’s for you to cook.” You may not be a professional, but you know at least that, you then looked at him incredulously, “you never cooked?”. He shook his head no, then asked, “was I supposed to?”.

“I mean, you don’t have to, but it does something… I think.” You answered him. He gave you a doubtful look but allowed you to continue without questioning your ways anymore.

You both sat on his floor while you waited for the dye to do its thing, gloves discarded, and stain discovered much to your dismay. Shuffling a sack of cards you asked, “what do you want to play?”

4-0 was the score by the time your phone timer went off, notifying you it was time to rinse his hair. Kirishima was really bad at card games. And you were really good. “Okay!” you exclaimed, slapping your thighs, and getting up from your seated position, “come on, let’s go.”

He looked silly, leaning forward in an attempt to not get any of the red stained water on his skin as your started to rinse the dye from his hair. You cherished these next moments; it held a type of intimacy you thought you would never feel again. You put a glob of shampoo into his hair as he sat on the stool, his white shirt wet with red water, and gently massaged the product on his head, running your nails softly over his scalp as it bubbled pink between your fingers. You couldn’t see it but his eyes were softly closed and a relaxed smile graced his lips. When you were done with the shampoo, you poured the bucket of water next to you over his head, resulting in him turning around and scowling at you playfully, you grinned back at him, a silent laugh shaking your chest. You pushed his head to face forward again and squeezed conditioner into your palm, before starting to rub it into the ends of his fiery, wet hair. The room was silent, but it was nice, there was no need to fill the silence, it was safe, it was warm.

You saw his hair the next day, revitalized and looking as bright as ever. A beacon in the dark, for you at least. You passed smiles between on another throughout the day, and before you knew it, it was time for your afterschool intern training. Its what you had been looking forward to all day, as you and Kirishima were both interning under the Pro Hero: Fatgum, which meant you got to spend all afternoon walking around the city with him, talking and having fun. Maybe, you thought, you could get Taiyaki on the way home, you getting custard and him getting red bean, the hot steam from the pancake warming your face in the cool nights air.

It was a small time villain, someone you hadn’t ever heard the name of before, that you came across. He was rampaging through a residential part of town, and there were already a few civilians severely injured when you arrived. You weren’t worried though, his quirk wasn’t very powerful, and Kiri and you were heroes in training, a small fry like him shouldn’t be any problem. Nevertheless you called in to report the situation and request backup as you ran to the villain, who Kirishima was already engaged with.

You shouldn’t have taken the villain so lightly, he was a cornered beast, and you in your naivety you didn’t realize the lengths one would take to get themselves out of a corner, even if its one they put themselves in. It wasn’t Kirishima he went for, no, he was as strong as he was impenetrable, the villain targeted you instead.

He feigned a move, you lunged in, tired and read for the fight to be over, wondering when the backup was going to arrive. And like that, the villain was suddenly behind you and making a fatal move, your head turned as you saw him leap towards you. But in a flash of red, Kirishima Eijiro was between you two, and you felt your heart drop.

His body crumped, being hit with a move meant to kill from such a close distance. He was fine, he had to be fine though, he was semi hardened, that couldn’t have killed him, you tried to convince yourself. The villain was taken a back, you had to strike now before the window of vulnerability closed, you couldn’t be distracted.

After that first strong hit it didn’t take long for the villain to be subdued, and as you hit the final blow you saw your mentor, Fatgum, arrive. You met his eyes, silently giving him permission to take it from there as you fell to your knees, chest heaving as you tired to catch your breath.

A thought flashed in your mind. Kirishima.

You turned, still on your knees to see him lying on the pavement. Oh god, red, surrounded him, not the warm red of his hair but a deep, cold red, the very life of him pooling onto the dark cement around him. Was he breathing? You couldn’t tell. You crawled to him, unable to find the strength to stand up.

“Kiri? Hey Kiri can you hear me?” you asked, voice laden with desperation as you gently rolled him onto his back. His eyes were barely open, but they moved and focused on you. You smiled at him, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Hey y/n” he answered you, voice a gravely sound barely above a whisper, a sharp stabbing pain shot into your heart, choking you on your words. “Your- you’re uncomfortable aren’t you?” you asked, he just nodded back. “its okay, here,” you sat criss cross and moved his head into your lap, “lap pillow, that’s what all the boys are talking about these days right?” He smiled faintly at you, eyes fluttering open and close, “yeah, how lucky I am.”

You tapped his face lightly, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep any semblance of composure as you watched the pool of blood grow in size beneath him, “Eijiro, you gotta stay awake for me, you gotta, soon recovery girl is going to be here and she’ll make it all better okay? You just gotta stay awake a little longer,” you were pleading at that point, hot tears streaming down your face as you looked down at his face, his beautiful face that was slowly loosing its color, the warmth of his cheeks cooling.

“Can you,” he struggled to get his words out, “can you stroke my hair please y/n?”

You smiled, salty tears covered your lips, and you nodded, “Of course kiri.” Rubbing his head gently, fingers brushing through the same hair they were the night before, but now that clean red hair was matted with blood. You tired not to pull on any of the knots in his hair, you could brush them out later, when he was safe.

“And call me by my name,” it was getting harder and harder for him to get his words out, “my, my first name I mean”

“Eijiro.”

“Yeah.” He smiled and his eyes started to droop.

“No no no, Eijiro, please keep your eyes open, please please, just a little while longer okay? Helps going to be here soon.” Your tears were dripping onto his face, mixing into his own. You wiped them away with the pad of your thumb, your other hand still making its way over his hair. Over and over again. You could hear the sirens, they were getting close, help would be there soon, he just needed to hold out a little while longer.

“Hey y/n?” he asked, you were surprised at the sound of his voice, “you’re one of my best friends, thank you y/n.”

“Save your strength, we can talk later,” you told him, “they’re almost here, just a few more minutes.” You didn’t want him to thank you. It was your fault he was in this situation to begin with. If you hadn’t been so weak then this wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t have been hurt. It was your fault.

“I love you, thank you for,” he paused, taking a rattled breath, “thank you for being here with me, its not so scary with you.”

Those were the last words that Kirishima Eijiro ever said. When his body had lost all its warm, when you were sure he was gone, you screamed. A animalist sound that ripped its way out of your lungs, a sound that let everyone know, exactly what had just happened. A sound so filled with grief and anger that it was almost tangible.

You laid yourself over his body for a moment, hugging him close to you, his blood making its way into your clothes, into the cracks of your skin, under your fingernails, onto your lips. And sobs wracked your body, your entire being shaking with the power of your anguish.

They had to drag you away from his body, you were fighting them with all of what little strength you had left, begging, and pleading for them to let you say with him, and at that point you were ready to just die with him. You wanted to stay with him, it was your fault, he shouldn’t be alone, he’s going to be scared, you need to be with him.

When he was no longer in your sight, when they had loaded you into the back of an ambulance, because apparently you had been injured too, you looked down. That’s when you saw your hands.

Stained with the color of his hair dye. Stained with the color of his blood. Stained red.

[j4y-lvr]

ADOR U! … nishimura riki

SYNOPSIS. a silly dare led niki to attempt to be your silly boy

GENRE. fluff, crack, some angst

PAIRING. danceteamleader!niki x teammember!fem!reader ft. enhypen, newjeans

WARNINGS. unhinged and maybe its cringe since i explained the moves to the placement of their feet, im sorry-😭, jungwon says niki got no rizz, lowercase intended, tba

WORD COUNT. 9.2k (ranges from 1-2k per chapter i think)

NOTE. idk where the idea came from but yeah nwjns yk. this is my wack attempt at slowburn (not really) and specifically targeted at my bsf😘🤞

now playing:ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ılllı

ㅤㅤ ㅤ no artist

0:00 ─●──────── -0:00

ㅤ⇆ㅤ◁◁ ▐ ▌ ▷▷ㅤ ↻

ㅤㅤㅤ ☰ queue

▷ 0 0 1 . . . a t t e n t i o nㅤ♡

ㅤ“the last thing i want is attention,”

ㅤwc_1.2k

ㅤrelease :: 31st december

▷ 0 0 2 . . . h y p e b o yㅤ♡

ㅤ“listen, he's not that bad,”

ㅤwc_1.2k

ㅤrelease :: 1st january

▷ 0 0 3 . . . c o o k i eㅤ♡

ㅤ“its the grey area between friends and something more.”

ㅤwc_1.7k

ㅤrelease :: 2nd january

▷ 0 0 4 . . . h u r tㅤ♡

ㅤ“cause' i'm not gonna be the one to get hurt by his stupid games,”

ㅤwc_1.5k

ㅤrelease :: 8th january

▷ 0 0 5 . . .d i t t oㅤ♡

ㅤ“i got nothing to lose,”

ㅤwc_1.6k

ㅤrelease :: 14th january

▷ 0 0 6 . . .o m gㅤ♡

ㅤ“they keep asking me, 'who is he?'"

ㅤwc_1.8k

ㅤrelease :: 23rd january

[milkgemini]

Play

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x F!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: pure smut!!!! straight to it 0 plot line (language, fingering f receiving, unprotected sex, cock warming)

“Spread for me.”

You were seated on the couch, with your knees to your chest. Arms wrapped around yourself. The pad of his fingertips ghosted the ball of your knee. With no force at all, you allowed Josh to separate your legs, letting your thighs fall against his own. 

Situated between him, you hummed in response to the feeling of his fingers leading a path of goosebumps on the soft skin of the inside of your thighs. 

The back of your head rested against his collarbone. He swept the palm of his hands up towards your knees and back down.  

Eventually, Josh flattened his palm, pressing against the inside of your legs to spread them apart fully for him. You tensed your muscles to not move an inch from where he placed you. 

His bottom lip was pulled tightly between his teeth as his eyes focused on the way the seam of your panties aligned perfectly up your slit. The tip of his middle finger ran lightly along the seam, applying pressure against your clothed clit. 

You followed his reactions with a sharp gasp into your lungs, and he reciprocated with a low hum. The vibration of his chest buzzing against your back. 

Josh grabbed the cloth of your panties and bunched it up in his fist right above your clit, the thin strip being slotted between your lower lips. 

Your jaw fell and a moan escaped, turning your head to catch his eye as he teased you. His bottom lip remaining tight between his teeth, a smirk splayed across his face as he caught your reaction. 

He pulled against the cloth, causing the fabric between your folds to rub against your clit. Soft whimpers tumbled past your lips and the friction you so desperately craved rubbed against your sensitive bud. 

Josh began to subconsciously rock himself into you, his hardened length pressing against your back. 

He continued to pull the thin cloth as he watched your hips buck to catch your clit against your underwear. His other hand trailed down to feel the wet spot leaking from your entrance. 

“You like this? You like when I tease you with your own panties?” 

He rasped against the shell of your ear, hips grinding against your back as he pulled the fabric harshly against you. 

You remained in eye contact and gave him a slight nod in response. 

Both of his thumbs hooked around the waistband of your underwear as he tugged them off of your hips. You arched them to allow him to slide the panties down your legs. 

Returning to your spread position, Josh could see the way your skin glistened with arousal between your legs. 

From behind, you heard a deep growl rattle in his chest. With a flat palm, he lightly slapped against your lower lips, and your hips arched closer to his touch. 

“You are so dirty. Loving the way it feels to have your pussy smacked.” You could hear the conniving  smile in his tone. 

Unable to form words at this point, the only response you could give him anymore were needy moans. 

You grabbed around his wrist and maneuvered his hand down to where you wanted to feel his touch. 

“Tell me what you want.” He commanded you. 

“Josh, please..” you whined to him. 

His pointer finger and middle finger ran along the soft skin of your outer folds, up and down and back up again. 

“Love hearing you say it. Such dirty words coming out of such an innocent mouth.” As he spoke, his lips brushed against yours. 

Before he could allow you to reply, he pressed his lips to you, mashing them together sloppily. His growing need showed in the way he kissed you. His hand on the back of your neck pressing you even harder against his mouth. Your lips were wet with his saliva. 

He flicked his tongue up against yours slowly, allowing you to hum back into his mouth, your vibrations traveling down his throat. 

He cupped your mound with his hand and you ground against it, searching your best to find the right spot. 

Breaking the kiss, you craved the feeling of his fingers inside of you. You grabbed either side of his face with each hand, forcing him to look directly into your eyes. 

“Play with my pussy, Josh. Please. Play with me ‘til it hurts” Adding to the effect, you put on a sultry pout. 

He led into the kiss open mouthed, sloppily smacking his lips against you. He craved the feeling of any part of you in his mouth. 

Finally, he slipped his middle finger between your folds and ran a line down to your entrance. He gathered some of your slick to return back up to your clit. The pad of his middle finger swirled against the wet skin just beside your clit. His teasing causes you to lift your hips up, motioning that you need him now. 

He gives in to your silent begging and makes direct contact, swiping against your swollen bud, feeding him back open mouthed moans. 

With a few quick swipes against you, his need to delve into your warmth takes over. He dips his middle finger past your entrance, all the way in until he is knuckle deep. His neck craned around you, with his face turned to drink in every reaction you supply him with. 

Josh slowly pumps his middle finger in and out of you, his skin glistening coated with your wetness. Each time he brushes the tip of his finger far enough up inside of you, a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach arises. 

“More. Please” you beg from him. 

“You want another one of my fingers, beautiful?” His lips murmur against your temple. 

You nod your head confirming with him, your lips squeezed together tight. 

The next pump of his fingers, he uses his ring finger now too, sliding them both up inside of you. His pace quickens. You feel his cock twitch against your back, caused by the sounds of your wetness and your desperate moans to him. 

He nudges you closer to the edge of the couch, his one hand focused on fucking into you, the other cupping your knee to keep your legs spread apart. 

With your ass on the edge of the couch, the only thing keeping you in place from falling forward is his grip on your knee. 

“Want to feel your cum leak against my fingers. Do you think I can make you like that?” His words flutter against your ear. 

“Please, Josh. Make me cum like that, I know you can. I love your fingers.” 

With a smile on his face, he chuckles back to you. 

The speed of his fingers fucking into you picks up, shoving up and pulling back out. He whispers words of motivation in your ear, coaxing you towards the edge. 

As he pushes his fingers to the hilt, he curls them inside, rubbing against the spongy walls deep within you. The burning in your stomach rises. With his fingers arched inside, he rubs against that spot in quick motions. 

Your walls clench around his fingers. He uncurls and fucks them into you the fastest he has so far, keeping a steady rhythm. The volume of your moans is at an all time high. You press your head into his chest as you feel the dam creeping closer to breaking. He switches between rubbing that sweet spot inside of you and pumping his fingers in and out. 

The combination of the two releases the floodgates, and your cum begins to leak out around his fingers onto the fabric of the couch. He feels the liquid pouring out of you and angles his fingers up as he pushes them inside. His eyes trained on your wet center, watching as you drip around his fingers. 

Maintaining the rhythmic pumps into you, a forceful stream pushes past your lips and the sound smacks against the tile of the floor. 

The sound alone takes over Josh’s body, an animalistic aggression moving through him as he hears your cum splatter to the floor. Swift yet ungracefully, he maneuvers your body so that your slick core is straddling his clothed cock. As his mouth finds yours again, he grinds against your slit, brushing past your needy clit every other time. 

As he slides his briefs past his hips, his lips remain locked on yours; both of you moaning into the other's mouth. 

He grips the base of his cock, flicking between your folds trying to gather your arousal to slip himself in with ease. You lift your hips for him, motioning that you grant him access to dip inside of you. 

As you feel his cock brush past your entrance, your shoulders relax with ease, a guttural moan pushing past your lips.

You place the palms of your hands against his shoulders to balance yourself and begin to bounce in his lap, his length sliding up into you coated with your slick. 

“Not going to last long” he pants into the crook of your neck. “You’re so wet around me” 

His fingertips dig in tight against the meat of your hips. Your thighs slapping against his loudly. Watching his jaw flex in tension, you can tell he’s holding on inside of you. 

Josh lets a pant out while locking eyes with you, signaling he can’t hold on much longer. 

He reaches between your bodies and swipes his thumb against your clit as you raise your hips allowing him to slot in and out of you. The pressure inside you builds and you clench around his cock. 

“You're close. Do it again around my cock this time.” Between each word, he pushes a breath out, the tight grip on your hips leaving marks. 

He picks up the pace of his thumb against you while forcing his tongue to slide into your mouth. The feeling of his wet mouth against yours tips you over the edge and you release the pressure from inside of you. As you continue to bounce on his lap, you feel the wetness that puddles between both of your laps. 

You snap your head back as you can feel your stream releasing against Josh’s cock. 

You continue fucking against him, his length sliding up into you with ease from how soaked you are. 

Your wetness is too much for him. His whimpers become drawn out whines. 

“I’m gonna… Fuck, I’m cumming. I’m-“ punctuating his last sentence with a raspy moan, his toes curl from pleasure behind you. 

His cock pulses as his cum fills you, coating your walls with his white warmth. 

Your body falls against his chest, face tucked into the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply to breathe in his natural scent. The smell of him infiltrating your nostrils brings immense comfort. 

You lie against him, your chests rising until they fall back into a natural rhythm. You feel it as his cock falls soft inside of you, but his grip around your body remains. He would keep himself tucked inside of you all night if he could. 

“Look at me.” He motions your face up to his. 

Josh slots his swollen lips between yours, kissing you lazy and slow while rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone. The rest of his fingers bunched in your hair. 

“Gonna pull out now, okay.” 

His soft cock slides out from underneath you and your body immediately misses his fullness. 

Chests touching, your arms remained locked behind him. Your forehead pressed against his neck, as you start to fall into the rhythm of his breathing. 

He begins to swipe random patterns against the bare skin of your back with his thumb. 

Josh tilts his head so his lips can press against the outside of your ear to whisper softly:

“My beautiful girl.” 

Taglist: @gretasimp @writingcold @wowkakashi  @spark-my-nature @babyhoneygvf

[mp100ficrec]

Is This Your Card? by KibaSniper

Fic can be read HERE.

Post-Canon, Fluff, Ficlet, Rare Pair. Completed. Rated: G. Word Count: 932

Pairings: Kurata Tome/Kurosaki Rei

Trigger Warnings: None

“Tome has Rei use her powers to pick the right card. Rei thinks it's painfully easy, but the card she selects proves to be very different from what she anticipated.”

[hananosami]

Greatest Fear

synopsis: Let us deep dive into Gojo Satoru's subconscious, as he recalls the difficulties he faced right after his best friend's death. Where he's then reminded by the reader, someone who had also suffered the very same lost, that he should continue to live on in his memory, and cherish those that are still alive.

"おかえりさとる。"

word count: 2k +

Author’s Note: This was heavily inspired by a song that I listened to, as I drove back home. Where I imagined how Gojo would look at the reader and slowly come into a realization that his own youth isn't over- that she was still here, someone that remained constant from his youth. That what he should fear the most, would be that if he never felt anything at all after his friend's death. That human emotions, and spending time with those who matter the most, no matter how short their chapter is in his life- should be what he cherished, not feared. Yes, I took parts of my fic and put it in here..

Warning: minor spoilers from Gojo's Arc, Shibuya Incident & JJK 0. Slight angst.

Gojo Satoru is the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer, he always has been. From the moment he was born, the higher-ups knew that he'd either be wrapped around their little fingers, or be the biggest headache they'll ever come to receive. As soon as he was brought into this world, there was that shift in the world and somehow both curses and jujutsu sorcerers knew to fear him. 

He continued to live by his name, as he lived each and every day brimming in confidence. He knew exactly what he was capable of, he knows that he is the strongest and most powerful sorcerer in the Jujutsu World. Sukuna is no easy feat for other Jujutsu Sorcerers, but to Gojo Satoru? Sukuna was nothing more than just a plaything, that if he wanted to, he could easily kill him. He can be the most cold-blooded individual in the battlefield, that if he had no choice, he will choose the destruction of his enemy- even if that meant that the death of many innocent lives; of course, he would never intentionally take the life of an innocent person. 

Yet, he always felt alone.

Gojo Satoru has always been alone, from the day he was born. He never needed anyone, that was before he started going to Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School, where he met the two people that would change his life forever. One would be his best friend, the person he genuinely believed to be his 'one and only'. Therefore it shouldn't be much of a surprise when he took his death harshly, being tasked to execute the one person he could compare to being subpar with himself.

For a year, he became a recluse, hiding himself in his dormitory room- running away from reality. He refused to face it, that he had killed his 'best friend, his one and only'. The only time he would come out, would be because he's been told that he actually has to be a teacher, or he'd be drowning himself in missions as a distraction. But he avoided his colleagues like the plague and the only other woman that was constant in his life, avoiding each and every interaction he'd have with his colleagues that only expressed their worries from him.

When Satoru did come out of his dormitory room, (Y/N) would come rushing to get a chance to talk to him. Asking him how he was, stating, "Satoru, be honest with me. I'm serious, how are you?" To which he'd answer, "I'm fine, (Y/N)! I swear, you worry too much!" Just like that, their conversation would end. And the young woman would stand there, as he watched the silhouette of his back get further and further away from him. 

They were the trio, that's what they had called themselves. 

It's always been him, Geto and you- the three of you against the world; and of course Shoko, if she ever bothered to deal with the three of you. He could still remember as clear as day, the times they've all spent carelessly in happiness- never once thinking of the future and lived in the moment. As days passed and the emotional wounds he sustained tried to heal, Gojo would try to convince himself that he did the right thing. Only to be met with thoughts of self-loathing, the whispers on the back of his mind, stating "you're always meant to be alone, Gojo Satoru."

But he'd be brought back to reality, as he sees that picture frame that sat on a desk in his dormitory. It was a picture of the three of them, before it had all gone downhill. He was laughing his head off, and along side him was Getō Suguru and (Y/N), who was smushed unto his side- as his arm was hooked around her shoulder. It was the seventeen year old Satoru, who had no worries, no sense of responsibility and only thought of himself. And the person he had his arm slung on was Getō Suguru, his best friend, the only friend he ever considered to be a real 'friend'. 

After Suguru's betrayal, the facade he had put up was like a veil that was put on an area where spirits needed to be exorcised. True intentions hidden behind that child-like behavior, laughter to hide that he was hurting too. The trauma that he had dealt with throughout the years, no matter how hard he had tried to hide it behind that happy-go-lucky attitude- you knew he had regrets, several of them. 

But he'd notice, the way you continued to stay by his side.

The way you'd pester him constantly, telling him that he needs to have a better diet. Reminding him that one day his terrible eating habits will come bite his ass, when he's old and no longer at his prime. He'd watch the way you'd look at him with those eyes, ones that never judged someone by their looks- but with their character. The way you'd force him to eat, when he refused to eat, placing the spoon against his lips.

He never understood why you stood by his side, when all he's ever done was push you away constantly. But you'd stay, you'd continue to bring snacks by his dormitory, even if meant just giving him sweets- rather than actual meals. It wasn't just Getō Suguru that you had lost that day after all, you lost Gojo as well. So you stayed patient, consistent, until he allowed you back into his heart. Never once did you ask for anything back, you just hoped that your friend's once gleaming eyes filled with so much playfulness would come back. 

He'd allow you back in.

Although you knew, that Satoru still continued to keep you at arms length. Never once truly letting you get through his infinity, but you'd wait patiently, allowing him to take as much time he needed to recuperate. That time may never come, and from an outside perspective, it seemed like you were just putting yourself through an unneeded hell. 

Yet, you couldn't help but stay. Maybe it was the guilt, the feelings of maybe you could've done something- talked to Suguru about it all. But you did, you tried your hardest- yet he made his choice. And you'd remember one of the last few moments that the two of you had with each other, a final moment spent with each other, before he was killed a few weeks after. 

"You and Gojo, take care of each other." 

You let out a soft laugh, upon hearing his words. "Why do you sound like you're gonna leave us, Sugu?" Silence, when the silence lasted longer than a couple of minutes, you turned your head to face him. You were met with a Suguru who watched the stars that lit up the gloomy night sky, "Suguru..?" You mumbled quietly, as you watched him turn his head towards you and give you a half-smile.

Your heart clenched at the sight, "Are you really planning on leaving us?" Your lips pursing into a thin line, a solemn facial expression plastered unto your face. He let out a bitter chuckle, knowing well enough of his faith and the consequences that were soon going to follow him. He reached a hand up and ruffled your hair, his rough hand eventually reaching your face, his calloused fingers caressing your cheeks. 

"Please, always make sure to take care of each other."

Then on October 31st, 2018, Gojo Satoru has been sealed inside of the prison realm. Only then will Gojo begin to realize how much time he's actually lost, and his heart slowly welled up in appreciation of everything that he had taken for granted. Within this darkness, his only friend were the memories of her. He closed his eyes, as the fleeting memories of you played like a broken jukebox. 

Memories of you sitting in front of your office desk at the apartment that the both of you had just moved into, your back turned to him, as you wrote your report of the recent infestation of curses. Remembering the moment that you had turned your office chair around and smiled at him, "Okaeri, 'Toru." Then there it was, the warmth that had once bothered him, now swole up in his chest. It was nothing more than just a 'welcome home', yet he could still remember the way your hair was pinned up by a hair clip. The way the end of your eyes creased whenever you smiled at him, and that slight pink undertone on your cheeks. 

Years had passed, yet that same warmth always lingered- unchanging. Even when he saw others speak of how they all eventually got bored of their significant other, or they weren't the right person for them- that wasn't the case for him. Even if the two of you had your fair share of fights, he just couldn't help but succumb- it always made him feel uneasy if the two of you didn't make up. How you made him feel never changed, it always felt like the two of you had just started dating and he'd get butterflies in his stomach every time he saw you.

It felt like you were the only thing keeping him sane, within this prison.

Like you were a bright star in the darkest of nights, leading him back to you. He knew he should've kissed you more, maybe even be selfish and didn't go to Shibuya that day. That he should've stayed in bed with you longer, asked you to make him more tamagoyakis. But these were now nothing but regrets, all he can do now is return to your side. 

Besides feeling like his entire world was being torn apart, he couldn't help but feel troubled about what had happened to everyone in Shibuya after he was sealed. Questions as to whether or not his students and colleagues were still alive, or how his once closest friend stood right before him. He knew it wasn't Suguru, he knew that deep in his soul that it wasn't him- that there was no way it could be him. Gojo Satoru killed him, because he still remembered to this day- the absolute devastation that your face had contorted to after hearing the news. He would shake those thoughts away from his headspace, as he continued to stare at the skeletons that were now his only friend in this threshold. He'd feel..

Frustrated. 

He clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white, knowing well that there was nothing he could do. You must've been crying, and that's what infuriated him the most. He had promised to be there for you for the times that you felt like you couldn't deal with the world anymore- but now, here he was, completely helpless. He wanted to be the one there by your side, wiping your tears away, reassuring you that everything would be alright. But he will come back, he had promised you that, he always promised to come back to you no matter the circumstance.

So he did, the moment that Gojo Satoru had escaped that prison- his first thought was to come back to you. What he didn't expect would be the injuries that you had sustained, as he stared at the utter shock splattered unto your face. "'T.. 'Toru?" You'd whisper in disbelief, and he'd watch as you rubbed your bruised eyes with your forearm- as if you were trying to make sure that you weren't seeing things. 

He'd feel that lump build up in his throat, as he eyed your body. The way you had a sling over your shoulder to support your right arm that was wrapped in a cast, or how you had cuts and bruises all over your beautiful face, he'd feel anger well up within him- only to be cut off by the softness of your voice. "Is it really you..?" Still in disbelief, you'd limp towards him, your eyebrows furrowed towards the middle- creating that crease in between your eyebrows. 

"I'm home."

He'd smile, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, as he meets her halfway and wraps his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry for taking so long, didn't mean to keep you waiting..." He'd mumble against her forehead, as he gives her a soft kiss. An apology, not just for being trapped in that realm for so long and keeping her waiting, but also for the way he's treated her for that entire year when she's only meant well.

She'd wrap her uninjured arm around him, her nose against the crook of his neck, intaking in his scent. (Y/N) would weep against his shoulder, feeling the snowy haired man gently rub his hand against her lower back as a sign of comfort. There could be no amount of words that could explain the fullness that he felt well in his heart, as he welcomed the once unwanted warmth that took over his chest. Allowing himself to feel the emotions that he had kept behind that wall, and permitting the woman in front of him to break down those walls he has built up in that year of self-loathing.

"Okaeri, 'Toru.."

[meowzfordayz]

MILESTONE 20.0

⚠️ CLOSED ⚠️

Wowie !!!!! 😳😭🥰 Disclaimer: I don’t have 20k followers 😂, but I stylized my first MILESTONE event—500—as “5.0″, aaand now I’m in too deep to edit everything tagged “MILESTONE #.0″. 🤷🏻‍♀️🤪

I prob don’t have to explain that for every milestone event, but oh well. 😆

Welcome to my fourth ever milestone event !! 🥳 A huge thanks to everyone who voted here to determine the event (NSFW Alphabets), as well as to everyone who voted here to determine the characters (top 5 + a lucky 6th, bc there was a tie for 5th 🤭).

UPDATE 11 MAR 2024: I've decided to publish Sanemi's NSFW Alphabet as currently is, and am done w/ this event. I apologize to everyone who voted for + looked forward to Kyojuro's NSFW Alphabet.

Event schedule & a surprise bonus below... 👀

Event Schedule

tied for 5th place — Tanjirou & Tengen

in 4th place — Gyomei

in 3rd place — Giyuu

in 2nd place — Sanemi (incomplete)

in 1st place — Kyojuro

Surprise Bonus

As this poll progressed, it became apparent that NSFW content was going to win. However, mood boards/texts fanfics are ~low effort (comparatively) for me to create, so I considered hosting a dual-themed event for ppl who voted for a mood board/texts fanfic option...

Another major reason I considered a dual-themed event is bc 2k felt like a huge milestone, so I figured — why not celebrately hugely ?! 🤭😍

The caveat? Only ppl who originally voted for a mood board/texts fanfic option would be able to request them. Why? Most ppl voted for NSFW content (NSFW Alphabets or Threesomes), so most ppl were guaranteed either what they wanted, or close to what they wanted. I asked for opinions—I didn’t want anyone to feel that this was unfair of me to spontaneously offer—but I received precisely 1 response 😅 (in support of hosting a dual-themed event).

Therefore... I’m going to go ahead and declare this a dual-themed event !! 

Mood Boards/Texts Fanfics

If you voted for options 1-4 in this poll, then feel free to participate! From now until I finish all the NSFW Alphabets, send me a screenshot of your vote + additional info listed below.

Match Ups: personalized mood board » milestone 20.0, match ups, mood board, platonic or romantic + tell me about yourself — the more you tell me (obvi only stuff you’re comfortable sharing), the better I’ll be able to match you up 

Match Ups: personalized texts fanfic » milestone 20.0, match ups, texts fanfic, platonic or romantic + tell me about yourself — the more you tell me (obvi only stuff you’re comfortable sharing), the better I’ll be able to match you up

Pick a Character: personalized mood board » milestone 20.0, your-character-of-choice (from Demon Slayer), mood board, platonic or romantic

Pick a Character: personalized texts fanfic » milestone 20.0, your-character-of-choice (from Demon Slayer), texts fanfic, platonic or romantic

For example, if I voted for option 3, then I’d send an Ask like: “Hi! *insert screenshot of my vote here* For your MILESTONE 20.0 event, could I have a romantic mood board of me & Sanemi?”

If you don’t include a screenshot of your vote w/ your Ask, then I’ll delete it. To be fair to NSFW voters, mood boards/texts fanfics will be sfw.

To conclude...

I’m actually at a loss for words? 😭 I’m well aware follower count isn’t ~a thing on Tumblr 🤠 (which I’m grateful for lmao), but I also appreciate milestones, bc they provide an opportunity for me to tackle larger creative endeavors (aka events), and specifically give back to everyone supporting me & my writing. Thank you for sharing your laughs and pains w/ me, heartaches and warmth, frustrations and successes. I’m rooting for all of you, and am so excited for what’s to come. 💞

All my love,

T

[finniestoncrane]

Appointment

Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 2k commission: thank you to @0-rosestorm-0 for requesting this one from the giveaway commissions 💚 i love the secretary fantasy so much commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fingering, kinda exhibitionism and risky stuff

“Back again, Mister Nigma?”

Edward scowled at you across your desk, slumping down into the sofa against the wall across from you with a sigh.

“I really should be treated better than this. You’re all aware of who I am.”

“Very, unfortunately. But you have to wait like everyone else. Mister Cobblepot has other business to attend to.”

The standard Riddler attitude had managed to shake three of your predecessors from their job as Oswald’s secretary, but you found that you enjoyed his company. He was ridiculous, almost unbelievable, and he made a nice change from the comparatively humdrum criminals that usually sat in your waiting room. For one thing, he was able to hold an intelligent conversation, something you didn’t get to participate in a lot with Oswald’s usual clientele and business connections.

A shrill tone rang out, and you jumped, startled as though you had been caught thinking those flattering thoughts about the dishevelled man sitting across from you. It was just the phone on your desk though, and picking it up, you addressed the man on the other line.

“Mister Cobblepot, sir?”

Before you could process his movements, Edward had leapt from the seat, slamming his finger down quickly on the speaker button.

“I’m gonna be a few minutes longer, love. Tell that riddling prick he’ll have to wait a bit for me. Give him a cuppa, not the good stuff mind.”

“Y-yes, Mister Cobblepot.”

You placed the phone down on the receiver, quickly snapping your attention to Edward.

“That was very rude, Mister Nigma.”

“But very necessary. So how long will he be?”

“You heard as much as I did.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, but fair point.” Edward thumbed through a few of the magazines that sat on the coffee table. “Do you have any reading material here that isn’t laden with opinion pieces from idiots with three braincells or copious amounts of swimsuit reviews?”

“We don’t really have a call for anything but that.”

He sighed, laying on his back across the sofa with his feet, dirt-clad boots worn on them, on the arm, dirtying the lilac crushed velvet.

“Put your feet down!”

“Make me.”

Tossing your head back, distraught that it was down to you to take on babysitting duties, you tried to think of something to distract him with.

“A riddle!”

“What?”

He turned to you with a confused look, finding you typing furiously at the computer as you frantically searched for something to tease him with, something that might stump him.

“Ok, Mister Nigma. I’ve got some riddles for you.”

“Really?”

“Yep! What gets wetter as it dries?”

His disappointed face met your gaze as you looked up from the screen.

“Really? You thought those meagre, toddler level conundrums were going to entertain me?”

“Ok, what about this one…  I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?”

“An echo. Next.”

“Yeah, these are pathetically easy, huh? I knew that one straight away.”

“Really?”

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing at the notion you might be intelligent enough to have figured the riddle out slightly quicker than he did.

“Let’s test that intelligence of yours then.”

Edward rattled off several riddles in quick succession, irritated at first when you were quick to solve them, threatening to have one of his short temper tantrums in the waiting room. But soon enough, he was marvelling at your intellect, taken by surprise at how easily you could almost match him. An impressive specimen, in more ways than one. He walked slowly over to the desk, perching himself on the edge awkwardly, leaning into you. “You’ll have to try a lot harder than that to match my wit and intelligence.”

You watched him, his gaze drifting over your body, lowering to the top of your blouse. He seemed completely incapable of being nonchalant about it. The leer was sleazy, but likely due to lack of practice, or the fact he was so unfamiliar with women. He was never usually this close to you, you wondered if he was ever this close to anyone on a regular basis. At the very least, he was finally distracted, and you found the attention oddly flattering. Most of the men who came through weren’t interested in you. The sexy secretary myth hadn’t reached them yet. You were part of the furniture. It was nice to be appreciated, even in these circumstances. And you enjoyed Edward’s company, finding him oddly endearing, and strangely handsome.

So you gave him a little more to look at, pressing your arms together, cleavage more visible as you let your fingers slip down the front of your shirt, drawing his gaze down as you surreptitiously undid a button. His mouth was open ever so slightly, breathing louder as he stared. With one finger under his chin, you lifted his eyes to meet yours. As you opened your mouth to speak, something teasing and flirtatious, he interrupted you.

“There’s a riddle I’m struggling with, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Why would someone like you…” his eyes fell again, taking you in, before he strained to bring them back up “… be working for someone like him, when you could be working for me?”

“Mister Nigma, do you really think we’d get much work done?”

“I suppose not.”

Giggling at his smirk, you tried to hide your blush. There wasn’t much use though, as you face flushed with the same heat that burned through your stomach and under your flesh, prickling at your burning arousal. This kind of teasing, the half-lidded stares and soft hums of laughter, was your weakness, and Edward Nigma exploited that expertly each time you were in his presence.

He placed his hand on your cheek, taking you by complete surprise as the playful back and forth became far more physical than you intended. You were pulled into a kiss, deep and intense, a surprisingly bold move from someone you had previously thought was either not inclined that way, or was too insecure to be faced with rejection from such a proposition.

Leaning into him, your lips clinging to his, you parted your lips, moaning as you wrapped your arms around his neck. With your fingertips brushing through his greasy hair, you tensed, tugging at them. In response, Edward made a soft groaning hum of approval. Taking his mouth from yours, he kissed down your neck, his hands finding your upper arms as he lifted you from your chair. Standing in front of him, he let his fingers drift to the hem of your skirt, lifting it up slowly as you breathed into his ear.

Falling backwards to the wall behind you, Edward crawled over the desk to join you. Pinning you to it, he shifted your shirt up, running his rough hands against your stomach, cupping under your breasts before sliding underneath your bra. Teasing at the nipple, rolling it between his calloused fingertips, saliva dripping from his lips over your skin. His free hand drifted down your abdomen, lifting up the front of your skirt.

Sinking lower, his hands rubbed the front of your panties, fingers spreading your lips apart through the fabric, soaked in your arousal. He dipped his thumb under the band, teasing them down, uncovering you before he pressed two fingers to your clit. Wet with your slick, he brought them to his mouth, sucking your taste from them before he pressed them back between your legs, stroking in small circles. His mouth on your shoulder still kissed, interspersed with gentle biting as he kept pulling at your nipple, gripping your breast, before moving his arm round your back to hold you close to him.

Just as you adjusted yourself to the sudden bout of passion that had overcome Edward, driving him to ravage you in the very public waiting room, with Oswald just beyond the door, you were shocked once more. Edward’s fingers slid inside you, deft in their movements as he spread them apart, stretching you as he pushed two of them deeper.

As you moaned, tugging at his shirt to bring him closer to you. With two fingers inside of you, he let his thumb find your clit, stroking over it, putting the exact right amount of pressure to the nub as he flitted over it, back and forth.

“Ed… Edward…”

It was over the minute you muttered his name, so quiet, but loud enough that he noticed.

“In your place of work? You’re delightfully filthy, I must admit. But I’d prefer we keep this formal.”

Confused by his words, you opened your eyes, catching his intense gaze.

“Mister Nigma, if you please.”

With a coy smile, you stroked his cheek, kissing his lips softly before you through your head back against the wall.

“Oh, Mister Nigma.”

“Indeed.”

Diving into your neck he bit the sensitive skin, licking at it, kissing it fervently, your skin soaked in his saliva as he devoured you. You could feel yourself, wet with your slick, his fingers covered in it as he thrust them between your legs.

Nothing mattered anymore, the risk, the exhibitionism. It was adding to the already monumental pleasure. You were dedicated to going through with this, whatever he wanted, and there was very little you imagined might be able to stop you.

The sudden ringing of the phone on your desk made you jump, a squeal emanating from your open mouth that made Edward giggle. He removed the hand that gripped your waist and picked up the handset, passing it to you with a self-satisfied grin.

“I can’t… you can’t… not when you’re doing…”

He shook the phone at you, smiling wide, wider when you took it from him.

“M-mister Cobblepot?”

Edward stifled a laugh as you mumbled over the words, slowly pressing his fingers against your insides as you tried to speak.

“Yes-sss, Suh-huh-ir.”

You held your hand over the receiver, panting as you spoke. Looking into Edward’s eyes, trying to ask him silently not to make this any more difficult. And he understood your request, but he had no intentions of doing anything to make this easier. He wanted to see you squirm.

“Mister Cobblepot’s ready to see you now, Mister Nigma… are you… ready to go in?”

Eddie smiled, his lips curling into a mischievous grin as he let his fingers trail over your body.

“I’m a bit busy here. We’re going to be a few minutes longer, love. Tell him to make his own tea and take a seat for a bit.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you uncovered the phone and tried to speak. Edward’s hands covered you, gripping at your ass and thighs, nipping at your skin as he tried, and succeeded in making you squeal as you spoke.

“Uh… Mister ah Cobblepot! Mister Nigma is hm uh, he’s… uh… occu-ah-pied.”

A few more mumbled words, almost gaining your composure as you tried to come up with an excuse, attempting to focus on what Oswald was saying. But your mouth formed little more than whines as Edward fell to his knees in front of you, pressing his face to your thighs before kissing up your thigh, higher and higher as your voice trembled. And as Edward slipped his tongue between your legs, you let the phone drop from your hand, clattering on the desk. Taking a quick glance at it when you could pry your attention away from how he looked with his nose buried in your cunt, you wondered if Oswald was going to come out of his office to see what happened, or to chastise you. You found that you really didn’t care if he did. In fact, secretly, you hoped that he might come out and see you, clenching around Edward Nigma’s fingers as you tugged at his hair. If he fired you, you could take up Edward’s offer. The idea of doing this every day was enticing, more than enough to make up for the lack of compensation.

[tteokdoroki]

✧ 🎀🏹���｡ — heart-stopper event + valentines commissions.

໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝´ ˘ `⸝⸝꒱ྀིა — hello everyone !! to celebrate the upcoming Valentine’s Day, i am offering some flash commissions!!depending on how this goes, i may open more slots in the future. this is on a first comes first serves basis. any interaction is appreciated / pls rb to boost !!

.ಇ FIC SLOTS: 3/3 / LOVE LETTER SLOTS: 0/2 ಇ.

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valentines themed fanfics! there will be a set word count of 1.5K-2K words + a personalised selfship love letter at the price of £25 !!

love letters can be commissioned on their own for £5 each !!

ᥫ᭡ — THE TWIST?

i’ve compiled this list of valentines related words, and for the themes of your commission, you’ll be able to pick three of them for me to write about !! each commission will come with a short love letter from your chosen character !!

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price is for one character only, each additional character is charged at an extra £2. max three for the valentines fic and two for the love letter ( e.g. kiribaku x reader ).

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fluff, smut, angst and dark content are available.

if you’re interested in either please read my commission rules / guidelines and fill out this google form with details pertaining to your commission + a description of yourself. commissions are on a first comes first serves basis!

[demonichikikomori]

Laughing Off the Heartache

Ruggie Bucchi x Fem!Reader

Word Count (Ao3): 2k+

Word Count Tumblr: 2k+

Hellololooo!! It's me!! ↜(╰ •ω<)╯ψ This is actually meant to be Chapter 0 to Moan with Me!! There is no smut, but it is a little angsty including Ruggie having a small breakdown. I did put in my rules that I don't write angst, but it's more that I do not take angst requests. I start crying thinking about hurting my favorite characters... I cannot take any more sadness... Ruggie... I love you dearly...

Ruggie sat beside you while you ate, his shoulder pressed against yours as he quietly picked at a roll of melon bread laid out on its plastic wrapper. You both had snuck off together from the rest of the class to sit out in the field under a tree. You laid out your blazer to sit on as Ruggie leaned over to rest his head on top of yours. You assumed he was quietly daydreaming since he hasn’t spoken a word, nor had he touched his sweet bread. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes would flicker over to study your expressions as you ate. Topics that Ruggie deemed ‘delicate’ floated through his head. He was silently sorting out his feelings towards you. 

You were the object of his affections, and you were occupying too much space in his head as of late.

When he was awake, you were waiting outside of Savanaclaw to walk to school with him. You sat beside him in class with your knees touching, shoulders touching, arms touching, fingers touching. When he was eating you were there to share with him, and he did the same. What you gave him he savored the taste, even if he didn‘t like it as much as he said he would. You would break off pieces to feed to him, and he would do the same. He would walk you back to Ramshackle Dorm to Grim’s displeasure, saying that Ruggie might start getting sticky fingers the longer you stuck around, but you were quick to defend Ruggie. 

He would never steal from you. No matter how desperate he was, you knew that he would never, and it’s true.

He would rather steal a bit more of your attention. That's all he would care to take. 

You would invite him to stay for dinner when he didn't have to look after Leona, and after he would lay out on the floor beside you in the lobby while Grim went upstairs to sleep. Ruggie would talk for hours about virtually nothing with you. He cherished your laugh and the way you would doze off beside him…

But he loved hearing your voice. He could never get enough of it. If it was possible, he would ask you to say that you loved him before falling asleep.

He would be okay with just that. Even if you didn't mean it.

And when he would finally drift to sleep after a full day with you… You appeared in his dreams. Smiling gently at him as he approached you, lacing your hands together as you pulled him along to an unknown place. He dreamed of letting you meet his Grammy. He dreamed of sharing a bed with you. He dreamed of hugging your body against his. He dreamed of sharing a chaste kiss before class and entering together. He dreamed of more.

And Ruggie enjoyed every second of it. 

He could never get over the pain in his chest as he woke up. Some mornings he had to wipe tears away from the cruelness that came with abandoning the dream.

Yep. You're taking up too much space in his brain.

He started to frown, listening to the distant bell of Night Raven College toll. Another class has begun. “You really don't mind skippin’ out with me? You don’t need your grades to tank just cause I’m not in it today.” He hummed warningly as you shook your head assuringly. “Don’t worry. I’m passing, I can skip a single day of classes.” You assured and looked up at him with a small smile. “You deserve a break anyways.” You scooted closer, tucking your head under his chin, laying against his shoulder. Ruggie felt his heart race as you closed the contact between the two of you while poking at your food. Your expression began to fade into discontent to the hyena’s displeasure. “You work way too much. You’ll end up working yourself to death or into a panic attack.” He listened to your words but was way more focused on the fact you eliminated the distance between you both. “Awww, lil’ ol’ Ruggie gotcha stressin’? Don’t sweat over it, I’ve been a busy body since the moment I could walk on two legs.” Although taking the break together was very pleasant. He felt like this was one of the familiar dreams he was having. “I’m just saying,” You looked up at him, locking your gaze with his bluish-gray eyes. “You need to find more time to relax. I’m sure the world won’t end anytime soon.” You hummed as your smile returned and you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. Ruggie felt his chest begin to swell as he let out a sigh of mock annoyance. “Alright, alright. I’ll be your skippin’ partner from now on. Leaving campus won’t be lonely with me on your arm.” He smiled and let out his signature snicker. Yet, even though you voiced your worry over his well being, the feeling was bittersweet. You were looking out for him as a friend. That was all. 

He means nothing more to you than a schoolmate to help with notes, someone to eat lunch with. Why would he ever have a chance for more anyways? He’s so runty compared to most of his dormmates, dwarfed by the lion he looked after and the freshman wolf he had become acquainted with. He was a shadow compared to them, they were far more worthy of your attention: So why were you skipping off with Ruggie Bucchi instead? He didn’t understand the cruelty of reality. He had such a rough upbringing, far too ugly to mention at times.

As if you would want to listen to him be a bummer. 

Ruggie’s body had gone stiff as he noticed your eyes droop shut. You had gotten drowsy from the warm air blanketing you both and the rhythmic sounds of Ruggie’s breathing and unusually heartbeat that only seemed to be gaining speed. Ruggie was spiraling now as your breathing slowed and you began to drift to sleep. 

Was this a prank?

Are you really that cruel?

He had nightmarish daydreams of him offering his feelings to you, only to be rejected as you latched onto the arm of someone you believed to be much better than him. He attempted to ground himself by drumming his fingers against his knee, he couldn’t help these thoughts, no matter how hard he tried. Don’t leave me. Please love me. Look at me. I’m right here. Look at me. Love me. Hold me. The painful phrases bubbled up in his throat as his throat became dry, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Why? Why? He wanted to know if this was a dream. He wanted to know if you truly were here beside him. You truly were spending your precious time in Twisted Wonderland before getting shipped away to the world you came from to be with him. More tears streamed down his face, his lower lip began to wobble as he suddenly gasped for air. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. He startled you, causing your eyes to widen and you almost crawled on top of him to look him over. “Ruggie?! Are you okay?! What happened?!” You asked in alarm, grabbing him by the shoulders as you both locked eyes. Upon realizing you were watching the tears trailing down his face, \Ruggie quickly attempted to wipe them away. “Wait-” He croaked but the request was silenced as you rubbed your thumbs over his face to dry his tears. He was frozen from your gentle touch, he was sure you cast a spell on him. “See? This is what I mean! You need a break more often…” You muttered and brushed his bangs away from his eyes with your hand. He sniffled and eased his face into the warmth of your hands. Your touch was as gentle as he had dreamed, holding his face like this… He wants to ask for a kiss. He wants you to pet him. To tell him he isn’t just your friend. He means more to you. 

But he cannot find the strength to ask. 

Ruggie eventually calmed down as you wrapped your arms around him, giving his lanky body a tight squeeze. “Don’t scare me like that! I was seriously worried for a second! You’re really okay though? Don’t just say you are because you don’t want to dump stuff on me. Seriously Ruggie,” You scolded him gently and pinched his cheek. “You’re my friend.” You smiled up at him with an innocent gaze as Ruggie felt his heart sink. That’s exactly the issue. “Wanna go back to Ramshackle Dorm? No one is around to bother us there. I told Grim I felt sick and was going back anyway.” You laughed and took Ruggie by the hand, helping him to his feet as you bumped into him. He smelled of fresh grass and the melon-flavored bread he still had not touched. His hand clamped around yours in a comforting grip as you pulled him along back to the dorm. 

+<3+

Ruggie curled up beside you on the floor of the lobby where he usually rested. You both had gotten comfortable in a pile of blankets as Ruggie scrolled mindlessly through his phone, picking at the melon bread he had gotten. You had already fallen asleep beside him as he looked at MagiCam posts, shitty ads, and occasional videos of someone getting hurt or doing something stupid as the sweetened bread melted on his tongue. As he settled on an ad for an ASMR Cleaning Bomb video, a notification appeared at the top of his screen.

‘Call from Grammy’. 

The hyena dashed to his feet, careful to not disturb you as he rushed out of the room to answer the call without alerting you. “Grammy!” He cheered into the phone, keeping his voice lowered as he began to travel upstairs. “Ruggie! I’m so glad you answered! How are you? How’s school?” She asked in a soft tone as the hyena sat at the top of the steps, listening to it creak under his weight. “Hey, I always answer when you call!” He snickered and leaned into the phone, smiling at the comfort his grandmother’s voice brought him. “Oh y’know. It’s just school. Nothing too special-” Ruggie answered as he heard his grandma slip into a coughing fit. His eyebrows knit with concern as he pulled the phone away with a frown. “I’m sorry Ruggie, you know Grammy is gettin’ old. I haven’t been feelin’ too good lately. That’s why I needed to call and check on you.” He could hear her smile through the apology as he bit back the question: ‘Do you need me to come home.’ She would never allow it anyways. 

“Ah… Are you gonna be okay by yourself?” He asked nervously and he heard her laugh on the other end. “I raised you by myself didn’t I?” 

Ruggie began to relax as he heard her mention she was heading to the doctor to get it checked out. Just to make sure it wasn’t too serious. But in case it was… She wanted her grandson to be aware of the possibility. She ended the call with an I love you as sweet as the donuts she made for him on his birthday. The phone slipped through his weakened grasp, bouncing down the wooden steps as Ruggie let his hands fall to the side. He stared off towards the ceiling, feeling more tears roll down his face as his lips turned up into a smile. 

“What the hell?” He laughed and moved to stand, walking down the stairs while biting back both sniffles and laughs. It was hard to decipher the feeling he felt burning through his chest. He couldn’t get the person he loved most to look his way, and now his grandmother was sick and possibly dying. As he scooped up his phone and laid back down beside you he allowed his eyes to drift shut. Reality was truly cruel to Ruggie Bucchi. And all he can do is laugh off the heartache. 

But at least in his dreams, you were there to kiss his tears away.

This has officially become a series on my Ao3!! Because I need more Ruggie!! MORE.

[sluttykunt]

chapter word counts...