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The Holiest Love
#mina murray#jonathan harker#mina harker#dracula daily#re: dracula#dracula#I caught up on the last 150ish pages from the last two weeks or so tonight#and now I am filled with feelings once more about Jonathan and Mina my beloveds#dracula fortnightly more like i swear this happens every september#inktober#ink#and the blood paint obviously. i am running out which sucks (much like certain vampiric counts) because i cannot get it in my homeland.#perhaps like the count i must travel to London for it.#my art
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thinking about vi + praise kink, but its you praising her for how good she’s fucking you ahhhhhh and the way she’d get breathier with each pretty word you say, her thrusts getting sloppier and less coordinated <3
vi’s love language is words of affirmation, and it’s not up for debate. when she’s pumping into you, reveling in the slick, lewd noises of her strap splitting you open, it just takes one soft spoken praise to get her breathless.
“you’re doing so well for me, vi,” you coo, gasping when she pushes her hips forward to fill you up again. “f-fuck—you fuck me so good.”
you comb your fingers through her scarlet locks, damp from sweat, and scratch her scalp in the way you know she likes. you swear you see her eyes roll back for a second as she chews the inside of her cheek, arm muscles straining as they cage your frame between them. your eyes move down her body - strong, tense shoulders inked in geometrical black shapes. ample tits, nipples hard and almost red from your teeth earlier, when you’d bitten and sucked at them until she’d lost patience for foreplay. her lean abdomen, angular hips that rock back and forth with practiced precision to fuck her girl just right. you curl your thighs around her waist, encouraging her further, deeper.
when she obliges, red-faced and panting, you grin.
“nobody’s ever made me feel so good,” you admit, voice low. ��you—mm, vi—you feel so good.”
vi answers with a breathy grunt, moving one hand to squeeze at your hip. her blunt nails dig into your supple skin, leaving crescent moons in their wake.
“shit, princess,” she rasps. her thrusts have quickened, and you notice a kind of inconsistency in her movements that makes you warm with self-satisfaction—you’ve got her wrapped around your finger.
“hmm? you like being praised, babe?” you curl your legs tighter around her, gasping when she hits a spot inside you that feels blindingly good.
“just like making you feel good,” vi responds, breathless. you’d notice the shaky, almost whiny way she says it if you weren’t so distracted by how well she’s fucking you.
eyes fluttering shut, you let out a sinful moan as vi keeps rutting into that spot - pushing you closer to your orgasm with every thrust of her hips.
“gods, yes—don’t stop, vi, you’re doing so well.” every word that leaves your lips is slurred, syrupy sweet to vi’s ears. you peer up into her eyes and find her slack-jawed and blushing, blue eyes half-lidded with pleasure. she’s looking at you like you’re a revelation.
“wanna be good for you,” she pants, “wanna make you come.”
her thrusts have lost all coordination, but she still manages to prod at your sweet spot with her strap—it doesn’t take long for you to see stars, vision growing blurry as you stutter praise after praise for your red-headed, bruise-knuckled lover. you come for what feels like an eternity, but when you finally re-center yourself, there’s vi.
she kisses your nose, brushing your hair out of your face. there’s a nervous look in her eyes. something hesitant there.
“i liked that,” she says, finally.
thank the fucking gods.
#switch!vi save me#vi x reader#vi smut#vi arcane#vi arcane x reader#vi arcane headcanon#vi headcanon#stella’s asks
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Just Like Dad (1 of 4)
Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff, some humor, brief mention of pregnancy, canon-typical swearing, Simon is a girl dad
Word Count: 890
A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series
Filling out a parent questionnaire leads to Simon having to answer a hard question.
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad
“Daddy.”
A small fist curls around the bottom of Simon’s shirt, tugging. He glances down, finding his daughter there holding out a piece of paper.
“What’s this?” Simon takes it from her, his gaze shifting to the black ink.
“It’s for school.”
It’s a questionnaire. Simons scans over the questions quickly before returning his gaze to his daughter. “Give me a second, love.”
Simon packs up the files he brought home from work. Grabbing a pencil, he strolls out to the living room, his daughter on his heels. Simon takes a seat in the middle of the sofa, placing the paper and pencil on the coffee table. His daughter snags a pillow off the couch, dropping it on the floor next to his legs. Sitting, she stares at him expectantly.
Simon nods toward the paper. “You need to practice your letters.”
She groans. “But it’s about you!”
Simon slowly slides the paper and pencil over to her. She pouts but takes up the pencil, the graphite tip poised above the first line.
“Name,” she says, glancing up at him.
“You know my name.”
She squints at him and looks back at the paper, taking her time to write each letter. She holds it up and Simon smiles. It’s stilted and a bit sideways, but it’s there. She asks several more questions like favorite food and color. Simon doesn’t understand the point to it but they’re likely doing a project on a parent.
“Job,” she says, expectant.
Job. His occupation. That’s a fucking complicated question.
“Military,” he answers.
She frowns. “How do you spell that?”
“Sound it out.”
She does so slowly, elongating each letter as she writes.
Simon glances over her shoulder and chuckles. “That’s an ‘i,’ darling.” He points and she aggressively erases her mistake.
When she finishes, she looks up at him. “Explain.”
Explain. Explain.
Explain…what?
That he kills people? That he negotiates the release of hostages? That he faces violence every day he’s on the job? That he sees some of the worst in people?
How the bloody hell does he explain all that to a six-year-old girl? How does he summarize the violence into a watered-down version that’s digestible enough for her, her teacher, the other students, and her school.
Simon swallows. “I stop bad people from doing bad things.”
She blinks. “Do I have to write all that?”
Simon barks a laugh. “It’s one sentence.”
She silently mimics him, shaking her little body in annoyance as she begins to write. Simon has no idea where the attitude comes from, but it’s likely from Johnny.
“Next question,” prompts Simon once the sentence is written down.
She hesitates and then turns in his direction. “Can I be like you when I grow up?”
Could she? Yes. But the very idea of her in the line of danger frightens him. It twists his stomach, knowing all the things that could befall her if she were to follow in his footsteps. Simon’s gut-instinct is to tell her “No.”
“Why do you want to be like me?” he asks.
She shrugs. “You’re strong. I want to be strong like you.”
“You don’t need to do what I do to be strong.”
“Uh, no,” she says, matter-of-fact, peering at the next question.
Fucking hell, she’s going to be an absolute hellion when she hits puberty. Sighing, Simon rubs at his temple. For some reason, he glances away from his daughter, his gaze landing on you in the hallway. With your hand cradling your slightly swollen belly, you watch on with an amused expression.
Number two. Will this one be like her? Wanting to do what he does?
“Daddy.”
Simon turns back to his daughter. She points at the paper with the tip of her pencil, head tilted slightly to the side.
He leans forward. “What’s the next question?”
“What does your day look like?” She grins up at him, ready for his answer.
Simon hears your soft laugh from the hall, and then your footsteps across the carpet. Your hand reaches out to cradle the back of Simon’s neck. On instinct, he lifts his arm, resting his hand on the small of your back.
“Go on, Simon. Tell her,” you tease, knowing that he’s struggling to form an answer.
“Do you put your mask on first?” The question is innocent but Simon laughs anyway.
“No,” he chuckles, gently taking the paper and pencil from her. “I kiss your mother first.”
Simon drags you in for a kiss.
“Ugh. Gross.” She makes a face, tiny nose scrunching up in disgust.
“Still want my job?” Simon presents the paper and she snatches up in her little fist.
“No thanks,” she sing-songs, stuffing the paper in her backpack, crinkling it up.
You hide your grin in Simon’s shoulder, and Simon tugs you closer. “Good save,” you murmur.
Simon presses his lips to the top of your head. “She has one of my masks.”
“I know,” you giggle. “Found it under her pillow this morning. I put it in your bag.”
“Was it covered in your makeup this time?”
“Had to wash it.”
Simon shakes his head in exasperation. He’s not annoyed. Just perplexed. He doesn’t understand why his daughter wants to be just like him.
It’s because she doesn’t know.
No. She doesn’t know. But one day she will. She might even change her mind.
taglist:
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#simon ghost riley fanfic#simon ghost riley fluff#simon ghost riley fic#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon riley fic#simon riley fanfiction#simon riley fluff#simon riley fanfic#ghost fanfic#ghost fanfiction#ghost fluff#ghost fic#simon ghost riley imagine#simon riley imagine#ghost imagine#domestic fluff#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x fem!reader#simon riley x f!reader#cod fanfiction#cod fanfic#cod fic#cod fluff#call of duty fanfiction#call of duty fanfic#call of duty fic#call of duty fluff#dad!141
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i will hold on to you for as long as you let me — megumi fushiguro x mom!reader, satoru gojo x reader
a/n: sorryyy the fushiguro-gojo family dynamic was rotting my brain and i needed this out of my system. LOTS of projection of my fear of growing up in this one soz. this was fully meant to be a drabble and it just kept going idk wc: 3.1k angst/fluff. mom!reader has a lot of bittersweet thoughts about megumi growing up and satoru is there to comfort <3 lots of parentheses and lots of repetition
you put on a brave face all day. all week, even. despite the burn in your chest that engulfed your lungs and squeezed unrelentingly. despite the tears that burned the corners of your eyes delicately balancing on the your waterline, one blink away from breaking the surface density and opening the floodgates to pour down your cheeks. despite the non-stop ache of your stomach, churning what you ate every day but still holding the same emptiness as anxiety consumed you.
megumi didn’t pack much, he never held on to many things to begin with. (you always prayed for that to change, for his comfort your home. you prayed he would see it as his own, as well). he neatly folded his clothes into his suitcases and stacked his hangers on top. he purchased a new sheet set for his bed in the dormitory because the one he was used to was much bigger, much softer.
he packed most of his books, carefully picking out the ones that tugged at the nostalgic parts of him, frayed along the edges after many years of re-reading, as well the ones that still had vibrant covers and stiff spines he hoped to finish. you noticed the leather journal he kept tied together– the ink-blotted pages bursting at the seams –sitting on the shelf before he tucked it into his box of personal belongings. it was his third one since living with you, all filled to every last page and used beyond ruin. the rest were hidden between his headboard and the wall. you pretended not to know, after stumbling upon them while changing his sheets.
closing the door to your home felt eerily empty. it looked the same as every day. the couch was cleaned and the floors swept. dishes rinsed and promptly put away. but with your lingering gaze your mind fixated on the dining table set for four, two adult pairs of shoes at the door, one pink backpack slumped on the hook of the closet door with an empty space below. your chest twisted at the lack of clutter, though it’d been like that for some time, with tsumiki and megumi growing older and cleaning up after themselves properly like you taught them. like you wanted. the pride you initially felt with those memories of parenting were becoming eclipsed with resentment and despair.
the ride to school was quick and familiar, megumi knew well what he was getting into after visiting there to train. satoru liked to call them little getaways from megumi’s civilian life, claiming he wasted too much time around non-sorcerers when he could be on missions with his ever-loving benefactor instead.
satoru, who was whining while he laid himself across the three seats in the back of your car. you’d banished him there for such a special occasion, and he threatened to transport himself to the school alone. an empty threat, at best. he didn’t want to miss this.
megumi had sparred with the older students and found himself thrown around the field many times already. he knew his way to the infirmary by heart, he knew where gojo tucked away his most powerful curse-imbued weapons (that were supposed to be under the surveillance of higher ups), and knew what letter-number combination granted him the ginger chips nobody else seemed to like.
you were glad he was comfortable. you were glad he would fall into routine easily after the repeated trips to jujutsu high and developing a rapport with his upperclassmen. you’d waited for the day that he’d truly be part of the jujutsu world and welcomed into a better suited environment for people like him. and you knew he would be great, he already possessed an incredible technique and wielded it like he’d been fine-tuning it since birth. far ahead from most kids his age, you were proud.
still, your gut was sinking, sinking, sinking into the floor with each passing second.
megumi picked his room in one of the far-away corners of the boys dormitory, leaving inumaki and panda heartbroken (panda said he would find a way to organize sleepover. megumi said he would drop out before that happened. inumaki cried– no, wailed at the rejection). yuuta fell into step with you, slipping one of the boxes out of your hands and insisting on helping instead. it was sweet, if it didn’t feel like he was ripping precious time away from you.
but you smiled, and granted his wish. megumi wasn’t complaining, he liked yuuta more than the others. it was a good chance for them to talk more. all of this, a chance, a new chapter, the rest of his life. the thoughts weighed on your shoulders with a disgusting strain traveling to your fingertips.
you were painfully aware you were in your own head, doing this all to yourself. he wasn’t going away, you would still be seeing him, more than you used to when he went to his other schools. he would always be here.
satoru found you in your classroom, while you were organizing the stationary with an unnaturally stiff composure. your arms were tense, he could see the muscles constantly flexing with each of your movements.
your jaw was clenching and unclenching again. you made a point not to look outside, where the second-years were training brashly after successfully moving their things back into their dorms. you made a point not to meet satoru’s dangerous stare as he shut the door to your classroom, as if it granted any privacy with the seven large windows running along the wall that showcased the hallway.
“what are you doing all by yourself, beautiful?” his tone was soft and inviting, begging you to open up and let yourself fall against the cushion of his words.
“um,” you exhaled, voice shaky. you scrunched your face to break apart the tension that had hardened your expression. “i figured i would get a few things ready for tomorrow.”
it took satoru’s long legs two-and-a-half strides to meet you at your desk, where you gently shut the drawer. there were a handful of dated photographs in there, signed with his name and the chicken scratch of two children.
“it’s all ready, baby. we did that last week.”
(correction: you did it. he tagged along for the shopping trip).
“there’s just… a few things...” you mumbled, not finding the strength to finish your own sentence.
satoru gently placed his hand on your shoulder, emitting inhuman warmth that spread across your skin. you leaned into him as he dragged his hand down your arm and intertwined your fingers with the care of handling fine china. his presence brought you solace, effortlessly bringing the walls down that you desperately wanted to wait until you got home to break.
he kissed the back of your hand and rubbed the skin. “you know you’re going to see him every day, right?”
it was embarrassing how well satoru knew you, knew your thought process like it was an extension of his own. he knew your doubts and insecurities, your fears and desires. he could predict the words before they came from your mouth, more in tune with the way you spoke than his mother tongue.
“mhm.”
“you know we’re going to be the ones chaperoning his missions, right?”
you closed your eyes and looked away. “i know.”
“do you remember when he said he’d like to go home some weekends, and have dinner?”
“he said that to be nice.”
“when has he ever been nice?”
you opened your eyes to glare at him, though he was right. megumi was not nice. he was polite. he was too self-aware for his own good, too perceptive of others and their emotions. in all the time that you’d known him, raised him, he made himself smaller for the convenience of others. he walked on his tiptoes for a year and a half so no one else would wake up because of him. he made his own breakfast and bit back his tears when he burned himself. he didn’t ask for things or food and didn’t offer his input unless asked directly. for some time, he was a ghost in his own home.
it seemed as soon as the bits of his shell started to break off, he was being swept away from you by the jujutsu world, leaving you with looming fears that consumed your mind and disrupted your sleep for weeks.
satoru smiled, though it was weighed down with your sadness. “hey, he’s not going anywhere, you know that. just because you’re not driving him home everyday doesn’t mean he’s gone.”
it’s funny, it’s nearly the same speech he gave you when tsumiki started middle school. and when megumi followed those same steps.
tsumiki didn’t make it this far, though.
the thought makes your lip wobble again, and you bite it back pathetically.
“i know. i know that. it’s just that…” your voice cracked, and you shoved your head in your hands. your palms squeezed your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the already-flowing tears. “he’s not my little boy anymore.”
satoru’s soothing hands pull you into a tight hug, and you don’t have it in you yet to move your hands from your face. his embrace makes you sob harder, louder as all your emotions from the last week begin to pour out at once. his chest rumbled with your cries, and he tucked you further under his arms as if to shield you from what was making you hurt so much. it was all you.
“baby…” he chuckled, without a hint mirth or mockery. he squeezed you with compassion and adoration. “you know that’s not true. he’s still pretty short, he’s got another growth spurt coming.”
a small laugh slipped through, but was quickly drowned out by your cries.
“he’ll be okay. he’s still here.”
he was so, so warm. he gently began to rock back and forth with you, the heels of your shoes gently clicking on the tile floor. a small hiccup erupted from you as you found the strength to wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest. the familiar thrum of his heartbeat welcomed you.
“i know, i’m sorry. i know he’s not leaving, or anything… i just… i thought i was ready.” you blubbered into his button-up. surely, there’d be two wet spots where your eyes were when you pulled away.
he swayed side to side with you, staring at the blackboard ahead of him. he nestled his chin on the top of your head, wondering if you could hear the cracks tearing through his heart. “it’s okay if you’re not ready. but you’re treating this like it's goodbye.”
“but what if we don’t get a goodbye?”
“okay, you really are overthinking this,” he pulled away from your embrace, your fingers still digging into the material of his shirt. he brushed away the hair covering your eyes, stuck to your skin by the wetness of your cheeks. streaks ran through your foundation and the corners of your eyes were smudged. “there you are. so pretty.”
it was silly how he believed he could make things better like that. it was silly that he was a little bit right.
“don’t think for a second i’ll let megumi be sent on a mission he can’t handle. he’s going to be fine.”
satoru’s love ran deep. for you, for megumi, for all his students. he fought curses everyday for you, rotted himself with his technique and stitched himself back up in a moment’s notice to fight for you. to come home to you. all of humanity be damned, those closest to him were the ones he fought for, and he would do everything in his power to preserve their lives.
he already towed the line with the higher-ups and their conservative rules and regulations, but he would tear them down if you asked. for megumi, he’d fight tooth and nail to see that he wasn’t being sent off on a mission ill-prepared. under his watch, things would be different for his students.
you nodded meekly, wiping away your tears with one hand. “i hate when you’re right, toru. it’s really annoying.”
he smoothed down your hair and grinned. “i know, just let me have this one, though.”
his sweet murmurs filled your ears, along with the gentle shuffling of your clothes as you made yourself presentable again. you balled up your sleeves and patted the corners of your eyes gently, and he straightened out the hem of your shirt. it was wrinkled, a reminder of how harshly you clung to him.
you smiled at the water stains on his shirt now, and he claimed it was in need of dry cleaning anyway.
neither of you noticed the eyes of megumi and yuuta, both stuck in place at the very corner of the windows leading to the hallway. they had training staffs with them, megumi’s grip becoming tighter as he watched you wipe your eyes and knock your head into satoru’s chest lazily. your shoulders low, clearly drained from the amount you cried.
yuuta was frozen, eyes flickering from you to megumi repeatedly. he found his courage in placing a hand on his shoulder, a feather-light grip. “hey, let’s go through the east wing. i’m pretty sure it’s faster that way.”
it wasn’t. but megumi nodded anyway, begrudgingly tearing his gaze from you and turning around with yuuta.
you stared down the red light of the intersection with a blank face, blank mind. letting it all out of your system had successfully flushed out your emotions, taking the rest of your energy along with it. the car was painfully quiet, but no part of you wanted to listen to anything.
satoru was whisked away by yaga, being delivered another mission he swore would take less than a day. ‘less than twelve hours’, he promised to be back for megumi’s first day. he would make it.
it was dark, and you milked all the time you could on school grounds. speaking with yaga and shoko, running through the still-developing information of missions to be sent on. cleaning the classrooms. the lockers. stocking the teachers lounge. dusting the armory. before you knew it the curfew ushered the students into their dorms.
a ringtone broke through your thoughts, making you jump. though the tune was soft, the sudden intrusion made it much more shrill. you fumbled with your phone in the passenger seat, seeing megumi’s contact on the screen.
“hello?”
“hey, mom?”
it took everything you had left not to gawk. he said it before, sparingly in desperation for comfort. his voice was quiet, a near-whisper despite the fact he was alone in his dorm. like he was nervous.
“yes, megumi?”
“um… are you home?”
you wondered if he forgot something. “no, i’m still driving. are you okay?”
“i’m fine, i just… can’t sleep, i guess…” he trailed off, hoping for you to fill in the gap.
“oh. okay. did you take–“
“do you think you could pick me up?” he interrupted. “and i just stay home tonight? you could drive me in the morning.”
you were quick to dissolve into a smile, pointed at the streetlamp on the sidewalk. sadness struck your eyes but you were too occupied by the warmth of his question to feel it.
“yeah. i can be back there in a few minutes, just let me turn around.”
“thanks.”
he didn’t hang up. neither did you. the silence lived on for a few seconds.
“mom?”
“yeah?”
“… gojo’s on a mission, right?”
you laughed, your hand sliding across the steering wheel as you reouted back to the school. “yeah, megs, he’ll be gone tonight.”
“he’s back tomorrow?”
“yeah, we can leave before he gets home.”
“thanks.”
bonus:
satoru tiptoed through the entrance of your home, brushing his blindfold over his hair and peeling it off his head. he hung it up with his keys, lax arms nearly missing the hook on the closet door meant for him. it was beyond late, and he was tired, but he was home like he said he would be.
he bent down to tie his shoes, buffering momentarily as he caught a glance of well-worn sneakers at the front door. they were as clean as they could be, though scuffed rubber turning gray and the laces becoming frayed where they were tightened most.
satoru made a grunt in acknowledgement to no one but himself, as he tossed his shoes down. he glanced around the living space, cautiously bringing himself to each room with a curious itch to scratch. a third pair of shoes. both backpacks on the door. dishes for two placed on the drying rack.
he was expertly quiet by nature, but found himself avoiding the squeaky floorboards on the stairs and all the way to the hallway. he was greeted with a blue sign, corners covered with dog stickers. the frilly handwriting of tsumiki warding off unwanted visitors with the phrase: “megumi’s room. keep out!!”
the door opened quietly, satoru pushing it open to the limit and stopping before it would let out an ungodly squeak. he insisted on never getting it fixed, knowing it bothered megumi.
megumi had his face shoved in his pillow, a desperate attempt to block out any light creeping through the crack of his bedroom door or the streetlamp just outside the window. he was always a light sleeper, always on edge, sleeping with his back to the wall so if something barged in the night he was ready. it was horrible he thought that way, you always said.
his duvet covers were black and white plaid, per his request three years ago when he begged to be free of the puppy sheets. still, he seemed small, curled up in a ball. his face was released of the usual tension and his light breathing filled the room. for a moment, he was little again.
satoru smiled, taking a step back and closing the door gently.
#spleen writes#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#jjk angst#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#jjk satoru gojo#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo fluff#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi fushiguro x mom!reader#jjk gojo#jjk megumi#jjk megumi fushiguro#megumi fluff#mom!reader#satoru gojo fic#fushiguro x reader#megumi x reader
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may i request for !tattooartist geto :333 love your writingggg !!!
suguru geto x reader tattoo au!!
sfw, reader gets tattooed, totally a cute comfort scenario! geto and reader totally end up dating at some point after this >.<
geto suguru, an artist you've followed for a little while; a respected figure within tokyo's tattoo scene. after contacting him regarding a flash piece, he'd responded quickly to say his books were full, but as you're a friend of satoru's, he would fit you in after hours.
the date preoccupied you all week, a churning within the pits of your stomach when you envisioned the needle puncturing your skin. this isn't your first tattoo but it's your first with geto - someone you had only admired, never spoken to. satoru was usually the one to push ink under your skin, a friendship blossoming somewhere along the way when he'd invited you out for drinks. "not, like a date - other people will be there..." the machine stops and he withdraws, and you laugh. "yeah, alright."
some years later and you're still reaping the perks of befriending the gojo satoru; discounted tattoos, and now, you're able to get inked by someone you've admired for a long while. you've been in the shop after hours once or twice (day sessions running a little over schedule), though never with anyone other than satoru.
it's odd seeing the shop from the outside while it's lingering into evening, streetlights brighter than the ebbing sun, the shop's florescent white peering through slats in the blinds. your fist rasps over the glass door, eyes lingering momentarily over the closed sign before geto's pushing keys under the handle and your lips are forced upward into a friendly smile.
"hi, it's me..." you're a little awkward, but geto's already been briefed on your personality through satoru; he knew what to expect. he returns the smile and steps to one side, allowing you to pass through the doorway before it's closed behind you, locked again.
there's the usual dividers in the shop, though at this time they're no longer housing artists and clients, instead darkened by the lack of headlamps or ring lights, the framed ink of each person's flash or prided art less vibrant by the missing luminosity. one station is still well lit, though.
"mind just filling this one out?" geto picks up a clipboard from a seat in the waiting area, a pen latched between the metal teeth. you take it from his hands, pulling the biro out and glossing over the sheet of paper - nothing you haven't done before. "i'll just set up over here, take a seat."
you do as he says, the small wooden bench by the door groaning as you allow yourself to perch upon it, legs bouncing a little from nerves. your handwriting scrawls over the white page, name, date of birth, allergies... a form you've filled out tens of times. there's the tearing of kitchen roll and you're pulled from your entrancement from the health declaration form and instead gazing at geto. the bed is out of your sight but you can see his height, occasionally dipping down as he leans, setting up clingfilm, pouring ink into the small pots. lastly, he removes his gloves and tugs at the loosened bun that'd been hanging at his neck, placing that little black elastic between his teeth and re-tying the bun much tighter than before.
"all done?" he asks as he glances over his shoulder, and you nod, taking your lips silently between your teeth. hopefully he hadn't noticed you staring. "i'll do the stencil now." he comes to the front desk's computer, and you hear the printer stutter. he takes the clipboard from you, glancing over your answers. "perfect. come on over."
the placement is over your left shoulder, a large spider lily beginning on the shoulder and ending over the collarbone. geto's gloves are on once more, black latex clinging to the skin, and he grabs a small bottle of gel, pouring it over his own fingertips to run over your shoulder. you sit in silence as he draws a small line in sharpie to figure out the central point, occasionally moving your arm. eventually, the stencil is on, and you're glancing in the mirror to check. it's beautiful, perfect.
laying down, you're forced to look at the ceiling tiles. you feel your throat tighten with anxiety, even with experience, getting a tattoo is nerve-wracking. there's that familiar hum of the machine, and your eyes glance to your side as geto's dipping the needle in the pot of ink, allowing black to collect in the tip. "ready?" he asks, flickering from his focus on the machine to you. you're a little lost in his eyes before you're responding, the deep brown hues mesmerising. they're mellow and friendly, relaxing to your anxious state. you nod.
the needle finally penetrates the skin, but despite your discomfort you remain still and loose, focusing on your breathing. in, out. the pain is only a stinging, a prickling that you've grown used to over the years. nothing that you can't handle.
"all okay?" geto asks, and you appreciate the check-in. "yeah, good thanks." he stretches your skin with his left hand, steadying his right to control the needle. his touch is delicate, gentle as if to ease your nerves, hard focused on the artwork over your skin with a stoic but pointed expression; a furrowed brow. there was something about being tattooed by geto that was so different to satoru, he was so much calmer, almost timid. by now satoru would have to stop from laughing too hard, or offering you candies for the hundredth time. geto was mellow, and it was nice. not to mention the face of concentration he held was cute, his pretty features a match to the art he drew.
"how did you meet satoru?" geto's voice hangs in the air a few minutes after you'd been sat in silence, though his gaze is still transfixed on his work. you smile at the memory, a puff of air from your lips. "he was a regular at the cafe i used to work at, i started in winter and by spring he had buddied up with me. the first time i didn't wear a jumper to work he this god-awful tattoo i got on my 18th birthday, it was my star sign, but looked more like a blob. offered to cover it up at a discounted cost - or if i gave him free chocolates for the week." geto smiles and you don't miss it, peering through your peripheral. "what did you do?" he questions, and you raise your free arm. "i got tattooed."
the hum stops, silence enveloping your ears as geto's attention is diverted to your inner arm, covered in ink he'd recognised to be his close friend's. he squinted as he tried to spot the cover up, and when looking closely he could see the older, blown out ink hiding under more controlled lines. "wow, it looks great. looks like you came back, too."
you nod, relaxing your arm. the buzzing doesn't start straight away, and you peer back to him. "what about you?" you questioned - it felt like he'd been waiting for you to ask. he smiles now, shaking his head. "there's no fun story, we just went to school together. one day i didn't know satoru, the next he was my brother." he raises the machine a little, left hand meeting your skin once again. the thrumming returned, and he glances over your expression before the needle meets your flesh.
"he was a pain in the ass, but he was the reason i went to school every day." a small piece of hair has escaped from the bun, hanging over his forehead. "i almost dropped out, but he kept me in check." you picture satoru in your head, trying to place them together as highschool buddies. they're so different, you wouldn't believe they were so close if satoru hadn't already chewed your ear off over his best friend, and their history together. they've gone through a lot, though you're sure there's so much more you don't know.
"was he as high maintenance in school?" you ask, in attempts to continue the conversation. geto laughs, his teeth peeking through his lips. "worse, somehow. he mellowed out in his twenties." the machine is pulled away and placed on the table beside him, his gloved hand wrapping over a sheet of kitchen roll, a small squeezy bottle in the other. the paper is placed over your shoulder, the liquid poured over alleviating the hot stinging of your skin.
"gonna start on the shading now." geto's eyes bore into your own, and there's a fluttering in your chest.
"are you still working there?" the needle is different now, as is his technique, the machine dragging in faster sweeping motions as he uses a stippling effect. "at the cafe? no, after giving satoru his free chocolates i got fired." geto's expression widens. "it's fine, i work from home most of the time now, no more annoying customers." you inhale sharply as he works on a sensitive area, swallowing back any discontent and putting on a brave face.
"you're doing really well." he comments on your easily discernible unease, and those words of affirmation go straight to your head. geto flickers up at you, then back down to his work. there's silence for a little while more, the hum of the machine growing to hypnotize you as your vision hangs over the white ceiling.
"want anything? water, or some music?" his voice almost makes you jump as you realise how heavy your eyes had been. they're torn from the tiles above you to meet his face, and the white noise stops. "music would be nice." you reply, and he peels back a glove, using the free skin to unlock his phone. a soft guitar tone meets the air, you vaguely recognise the melody and listen as the chugging continues. it's accompanied by buzzing only moments later.
"it's deftones." he explains, weight shifting on the pedal to gain the momentum the machine had previously held. "how long have you been tattooing?" you try and further converse. "coming onto ten years, got an apprenticeship at twenty. tried art school and dropped out - showed up to some shithole with my portfolio and worked for free until i got good enough. opened this place about six years ago with satoru."
"do you enjoy it?" "of course, i get to do what i love as a job... that's everyone's dream, isn't it?" he pauses for a moment, wiping over the skin with a scrunched piece of kitchen roll before the needle is brought back. "yeah." you're quieter as you picture your own dream job. admin certainly wasn't it, but it pays the bills and isn't too taxing.
"okay, i think we're done." suguru speaks, and repeats the same steps as before, washing the ink with solution before wiping it over. the coolness causes goosebumps to prickle over your skin, a balm applied with gloved hand as you know this will be the last time his fingers linger over this part of your shoulder. you're glad the session has finished, though as you make your way over to the mirror to peer over geto's art, you feel a little heartbroken this is coming to an end.
"oh, it's perfect." the words leave your mouth as you stand in awe, admiring the new ink embedded in your skin. it's breath taking, and exactly what you'd needed to fill in that area. you flicker up to meet his gaze through the reflection, eyes jolting downward when they meet his to instead linger over his arms - you hadn't paid all too much attention to the black lines covering his skin until now. his sweater sleeves are rolled back to his elbows, allowing you to peek at his forearms. it looks like satoru tattoos geto too, his style clear in his work.
"will i see you around?" geto asks, his demeanour shifting back into shyness. you allow yourself to meet his eye, butterflies coming to swarm within your belly as he awaits your answer. "definitely." you smile - you're definitely going to be asking satoru more about geto once you're home, you can picture him sussing out your crush instantaneously, though.
pleeease let me know if you want more from this au cause i loved writing this omg!!
#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#suguru x reader#suguru geto x reader#jjk x reader#suguru geto tattoo artist#jjk tattoo au#geto tattoo au#jjk suguru x reader#jjk suguru scenarios#geto scenarios#geto comfort#suguru geto x you#jujutsu kaisen suguru#suguru geto x y/n
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COME TOUCH ME TOO | Best friend’s dad
age gap. 11.2K on patreon
second part to LIQUID SMOOTH
You’d catch him over the sink sometimes. Or the stove. At the dinette, shirtless. Big bear, you thought, still only half-awake (starving), staring at his skin, swathed in ink that traversed limb, to torso, to limb. You’d catch the smattering of dark hair pooling over his sternum, and the hair beneath his navel, darker, more wiry, seeping into the band of his pajama pants. And later, you’d wonder if it was the substructure— torn out from you— that you were chasing (the surfeited rift between your ages, the sage wisdom you lacked), or if it was just the shape of him, the way he fit into your life, the subtle domesticity of a morning. The pantomime of a distant daydream. (Pretending this was your life you were living, and not taking a page from someone else’s.)
preview
The bar you’re at feels congested. Sticky, shoulders brushing shoulders, feet bumping feet, and the music is loud enough that you feel it droning along the skin of your bones. Past max-capacity; something you anticipated. Accepted on a Friday night— no sort of discomfort that couldn’t be waterlogged into an unconcerned bliss with enough alcohol.
And that’s what it started as.
One shot to ease the restless hypervigilance (when you shuffled in, sliding between clusters of bodies), that burned at the back of your throat, heat flaring across your crinkling sinuses. Then, a second, that radiated warmth along your chest, under your skin, that settled as a weightless feeling beneath the soles of your feet. Loosened the arc of your shoulders.
(You never buy your own drinks.)
A third, cupped from a stranger’s fingers, with bright, powder blue eyes that lingered on your throat, the line of your jaw when you tipped your head back. Inkpools stuck to your tongue when you smeared it out across your lips, the bridge of your nose rucking. He gave you a wolfish, glimmering grin and told you what a pretty thing you are.
(And you think, staring up at him through the misting crest of intoxicant smog, he’s too young. Feels like a boy— one you can’t re-mold even in the haze of alcohol— in the absence of crows’ feet and shallow smile lines, the glinting, tawdry rhinestone stuck to his incisor. Skin speckled with ink that resembles zealous impulse rather than an aged, carefully-crafted tapestry. You doubt there’s any worthwhile story behind the dice in the nook of his elbow; RICH across the front, C and H tipped perfectly on their southern edges to show the S and K that could fill the word out, instead.)
(You can’t even pretend.)
You seldom find regret in the sea of a familiar gyre (the world spinning, and you, finally, spinning with it), but the spindrift crashes across in a misty fog of discomfort. The riptide lures you out to swallow you whole. You’re not sure when the euphoria mutates into anxiety— maybe somewhere along the fourth and the fifth— but it coagulates in your esophagus, in your stomach. Cakes in the warm, soft spot under your ribcage, until your bones feel like they’re wobbling with the pulse of your heart. Vibrating.
You showed up with a coworker. Admittedly, one you didn’t know too well, to a bar you haven’t been to before. But going out is going out, and a bar is a bar. You don’t need a babysitter, you don’t need to know her well, and you don’t need to scope the the pub, but—
Last you saw her, she was propped against the corner of the bar, and now, as you sweep your bleary gaze over the mass, she’s nowhere in sight. You’re alone. You’re alone, and the world is spinning, screaming, chattering over the pulsing base, and you feel like you can’t keep up.
When you swallow, it lodges in your throat. You feel like you can’t breathe, nearly tripping over your own feet, brushing between tangled musculature, limbs like gnarled, warm roots for you stumble over. And you feel like you’re trying to part the sea to make room for your clumsy steps. Like you’re trying to move mountains.
By the time you make it outside, your lungs are aching, and your shoulders are quaking. You don’t know where it’s coming from— what it is— but it feels like a flame licking its way up under your dermis, and you want to shed your skin off the bone. The gulp of air you take is welcome. Cold. Wet.
It’s raining.
Pouring. The gust drenches your bare legs in spittle off the sky, even under the awning. Helplessly, you pat around for your phone.
And you don’t know what possesses you. You don’t know if it’s a clumsy swipe of your thumb across the glowing screen, or a cruel form of divine intervention, when you scroll and stutter along his contact. It’s a number you should’ve deleted. Haven’t pressed in months.
You flung yourself out of orbit, and seeing his name feels like you’re a piece of star-shed that’s slipped too close— a hair from homecoming. It feels like the inevitable, crushing weight of gravity snagging you into the miserable ouroboros you’ve spent every evening running from. A tidal wave, reborn, swallowing you whole.
And you know the repercussions— the potential there. The consequences of sticking wet fingers into electrical sockets, but you tell yourself, he won’t pick up. It’s too late. You’re too late. Too—
Your finger lingers.
You don’t know what would be worse. Abandonment in another shape, or hearing his voice on the other end of the line.
You call him.
You regret it a split-second too late, staring down at the screen dialing. When you press the phone to your ear, with the rain spitting, the thrum of the bass behind the door— your heart rattling in your ears, your head spinning—
You barely hear the three rings before the line clicks. It’s quiet.
And then—
“Hello?”
You suck in a gust of air. You expected his voice to hurt. To ache— you anticipated, maybe, a lot of things, with variegated hypotheticals spelled out in misty shapes through hours spent staring at your ceiling.
But every chimera crumbles when the words stick to the back of your throat. Part of it is the slurry in your veins, the hard liquor, the way it’s all kicked in, all at once. And part of it is the realization that, despite the biramous conjectures you’ve crafted— the what if’s— it’s the heavy thought that all roads lead to this.
He sounds hoarse. Mean with sleep.
“Um. Hi.” The words sound garbled, like you’re underwater. Tinny, wet, strained.
Eager in the shape of unrequited pining; a mangled fruition of all the nights you’d spent, thumb hovering over the call button, wondering if he’d pick up on the other end of the line, stockpiling the heap of broken wishes. The ones you cradled in your hands like jagged fractures of your rib bones, cracked from how hard your heart was pounding.
(If only he could see the lovelorn tar in your marrow, leaking out in a rotting treacle and pooling in the crevice of your love-line; tragic, broken down a long gap right under the wedge between your pinky and ring finger.)
The awning does a poor job of covering your toes, and they soak in the torrent that spumes from the midnight aether, shimmering against the wet asphalt. Silly, little girl— woman, nowadays— one ear corked with your forefinger to stifle the downpour spitting from the same sky you’d crane your neck and spill orisons at, the other fisting at your phone like a lifeline. Dangling onto the thread off this unspooled hope.
You sound ditzy. Soporific. Lost. You wonder if he picks up on it on the other end of the line. “Are you, um. Are you busy?”
The speaker crackles.
Finally, he rasps from the other end of the line— a thunderclap, like a gunshot, “You’re not callin’ me at one in the morning to ask me if I’m busy.”
“I—“ the words stick to the back of your throat.
Something seals up in your lungs with the breath you try to take.
Bitter recrudesce, a reminder when it wakes back up in the slotted teeth of your heart— an ache, alleviated in his absence after time, that throbs at the sound of his voice. Your jaw quakes on what you want to confess, snarled in your throat. I love you— Please— I’ve loved you since—
Your lip wobbles. Teeth clack, staring at the wet asphalt. “Uh. Sorry.”
You settle for a middle ground— some compromise in the clouded welter of your docket— something you’ve been meaning to say for months.
(Sorry for being a silly, little girl that fell in love with you.)
You’re met with a beat of silence that eats into your marrow. Has your guts twisting, chest tight. Then, (solace) a sigh— surly— oozes across the crackling speaker.
“Where are you?”
The question reminds you why you called in the first place. That you’re sopping up dirty rainwater with your boots on the outskirts of town, outside some seedy bar you came to, to drown your demons (him) in burnt amber. A thunderbolt ripples across the pitch aether, zagging electric chalky across the swollen plumes. All at once, you…
Crumble.
“I’m, um. Ah…” your chin quivers. You nod, “I’m here. At a, um. At a bar. Outside a bar.”
“Which bar? Who are you with?”
The slew of questions nearly makes you laugh.
The concern, there, throttles you and the tension in your shoulders like you expected anything less. You did. And you would laugh if hearing his voice, for the first time in months, wasn’t a sobering maelstrom on your psyche. Despite the way your tongue feels sticky, and useless, like it's caught on the roof of your mouth, you clear your throat.
“Um. It’s called, ah— Southbound,” your eyes slip shut. The wobble at your feet clicks in your knees. “I came with a— with a coworker. But I can’t find her. And I just— sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I got, um. I’m… sorry.”
You set your teeth and stare down at the rainwater speckling the toes of your boots. Gusting against your bare legs, and you don’t realize you’ve been hanging onto the phone with both hands cupped, like a lifeline, until his voice comes through.
“Y’alright?”
He sounds a little more awake. No doubt at the quiver in your tone. The way you can’t cohesively suture the words together. You roll forward on your toes. It’s a miscalculated motion on your part, because you nearly topple forward.
“No. Yeah. M’really— um. I’m a little, um. Drunk. I think. So—“ you slur. Take a breath. “No. I don’t—“
The words come out small. Tired. There’s a crack in your voice, like you’re on the edge of keeling over the precipice. You feel it in the burn at the back of your eyes, raw in your sinuses, when you admit, softly, “…I wanna go home.”
He doesn’t say anything. You take another breath, and feel it against the enamel of your teeth. Expect the sear of ice. Your fingers feel strained on your phone. Crushing. Taut. You think about his next words before he says them. Before the surly crackle from the other end of the line hits you, imagine it— call an uber.
I’ll call you an uber, at best. At worst…
You swallow. The line crackles again.
“Send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”
#harry styles smut#harry styles#harry styles writing#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#older!harry#dom!harry x sub!reader#dom harry styles#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#best friend's dad#age gap au#age gap!Harry#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles fic#dom harry#harry styles smutty fanfic#patreon teaser
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Need
Another little Yan!Keigo post because I've been all up in my ish recently~<3
He only ever wants to take care of you. To provide you with everything you need, to prove that he's all you'll ever need. He wants you hooked on him, and he'll do anything to show that to you.
💖LITTLE NOTE sorry if it's poorly written im running on like 2 hours. if you think i should re-do it just let me know<3
TW:Yan!Keigoxf/afab reader! Dubious consent (technically noncon depending on your perspective :[ ), masturbation, penetration, cunnilingus, crying, sorta comfort. Just Yandere stuff, yk..
You had always been a good girl for him. Well, for the most part.
But he did his best to make sure it never crossed your pretty little mind of being unhappy or leaving. He loved you, after all. What more was there to life than that? You didn't need anything out there in the world, you needed him, and he did everything to keep it that way. To show that to you. To prove it to you.
He'd keep the bed just how you liked it, to show he did it best.
He'd bring you your favorite foods, knowing no one else ever would. You'd never need to get anything yourself or need someone to help when he'd do it for you. He'd make sure you were happy, well rested, well fed, and most importantly, well fucked.
He concentrated on the latter as if it was just as necessary in everyday life as everything else.
He wanted you hooked.
He made sure that he had satisfied you multiple times a day, no matter what. Whether you were in the mood or not, he viewed it like your appetite. Just because you weren't hungry didn't mean you shouldn't eat, right? After all, you had that terrible habit of denying what was good for you. What you needed. Love, food, sleep, him.
This was surely no different, just you being foolish. What a cute little fool that he loved, no? If only you understood that this was all for you. You being here with him was for you. His attention was for you. All for you.
So when you're sweating, panting, begging that you had enough, pleading with that pretty little voice of yours "please please please Kei, no more.." with every glittering tear that spilled from those eyes that he'd adore, he'd kiss them away as he'd continue to abuse your poor, aching pussy.
If only youd stop crying. He hated when you cried. If only youd understand you needed this.
He'd let you cry though. He'd be patient, there to wipe every tear away as your sore, overstimulated self whimpered as he curled his fingers against your sore walls, gently tapped and lapped away at your swollen clit, being sure that you've had your fill before he even thought about diving into you.
Only the best.
"It's okay Dove, it's alright" He'd coo and calm you as you shook from overstimulation, letting himself drown in the sight of you, a wreck for him, knowing no one else would ever have you like this, or in any other way.
"Shhh, now now, you know i don't like it when you cry.." he'd reassure you, his movements slow whether he had his fingers in you or was balls deep, carefully rocking his hips against you, listening to your gentle cries. He watch as you'd grip the pillows, pull things over your face, dig your nails into his arms, and he didn't mind. He'd just loosen your grip, remove any obstacle to seeing your tear stained face, eyes grazing over the pink that flooded your skin like ink in water. Everyone made bad decisions here and there, and he was convinced you'd learn to stop evading him, trying to hide or avoid his love. If not, he would fix it all the same. No problem to him, he thought.
After all, it was always all for you.
And afterwards, he'd clean you up and coddle you. He'd take you to the bath if you'd like, gently rinsing away whatever mess you had, whether that be from the tears that stained your face to the one he made on your stomach. He'd use the water and a warm rag to sooth whatever ache or soreness you felt from your "medicine", pressing kisses to your face, your skin, everywhere, praising you for doing so well, for understanding, for letting him love you.
He'd take you back to the bed, wrapping you in the softest blankets amongst the mounds of pillows, holding you close to him as he spoke whatever sweet words he had to offer depending on how the day went.
If you were good, he'd tell you how he loved you, how good you were for him, what he'd get you to treat you.
On days you may have been not so good, he'd ask if you understood. Understood that he loved you, that you'd know someday, that you had to understand...
But he'd hold you close, rocking you against his chest all the same, regardless of the conversation, gently running fingers along your skin, through your hair, pressing featherlight kisses whether you were marked or unmarked that day, his wings making a lovely crimson wall around the two of you, which proved to be both a threat and a promise. A symbolism of his love and his protection, but showed the cage you were in, the inability to escape... and whether you still had that annoying little voice telling you it wasn't right or not, you'd comply. You'd curl against him, you'd accept his embrace, his love, the comfort.
It was all for you, after all. You needed it.
#love you all#mha#bnha#Hawks#Keigo Takami#keigo x reader#Keigo takami x reader#hawks x reader#bnha keigo#yandere hawks x reader#yandere x darling
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♡︎ 𝙛𝙤𝙘𝙪𝙨 ♡︎
anon asked: babes can i pls request sub!albedo? just teasing him and making him unable to do his work lives in my head rent free
characters: sub!albedo x nb!dom!reader
warnings: handjob, fingering, degrading and praising mixed together lol, rough sex, dacryphillia, edging, dumbification, size kink, exhibitionism (i forgot the word for it and had to search it on google), reader is completely nb so the cock part can be interpreted as a strap on!!
notes: this was actually meant to be posted like 2 days ago i think??? but i caught a cold and had sudden exams coming up while still having a fever lmao. also here have this 1.8k words of smut bc i re edited it and made it longer after seeing a bunch of mf sub reader on my tumblr fyp. tumblr give me dom reader on my fyp bc this is my revenge
you can flag it as mature all you want you coward tumblr but i ALWAYS COME BACK
the chief alchemist, kreideprinz, mondstadt genius, captain of the investigation team of the knights of favonius - albedo has many names however his most favorite, as lewd as it may be, would be [name]’s pretty cockslut.
the blond always liked that nickname. it slipped out of your mouth once accidentally during an incredibly messy sex between you two and since then it has been stuck in the alchemist’s mind like a dog on a leash. and now was no exception.
it was just a simple day in mondstadt. the chief alchemist being cuddled in his office in kof headquarters while sitting on the lap of his lover, scribbling away at on his notebook of his latest experiment and the results with furrowed eyebrows - trying to stay focused but always failing and ending up thinking of that one goddamn word.
it was just a slip of the tongue, an accident from his lover during a heated session. his darling apologized afterwards of course but the alchemist just can’t help his mind lingering on that single word. breathing starting to get heavier, doughy thighs rubbing together with his ears flushed - trying to refocus on his work before failing miserably with a groan.
upon hearing his distressed noise, you let out a confused hum. rubbing small circles into his waist to help him destress - where your arms are wrapped around - you left a small peck onto the back of his neck with a low mumble of what’s wrong.
“nothing my love. i just… can’t seem to focus on my work” he answered back. his other hand coming up to pat you on the head - ruffling your hair a bit in the process - while also hoping that you wouldn’t notice him getting hard. archons he was a mess. getting aroused by just the thought of a simple word? how pathetic.
unfortunately for the alchemist, you noticed. glancing down at his thighs clenched closely together, making the small bulge in his shorts almost unnoticeable if you were to simply glance over. almost.
“oh? what’s this? is my pretty prince getting hard over a simple act as cuddling?” moving your hands to hold his waist, you ground him down on your crotch making the blond gasp. hands flying up to cover his mouth with a frantic nerve yet also lust swimming in his eyes, albedo looked back at you as if asking you what you’re thinking with a faux glare.
“focus on your work darling. don’t you dare stop writing” letting out a low groan next to his ear, your hand guided his dominant one to grab his pen once more. after hearing him curse lowly with his fingers wrapped around the ink filled pen, you slipped your other hand past the waistbands of his shorts.
jolting when your finger touched the tip of his already hard cock, albedo felt his face burning up more, hands twitching, making a mistake on his experiment report. you let out a chuckle at that. sweet chalk prince making a mistake on his reports? an unusual thing indeed.
rubbing the precum oozing out of the slit of his already hardened cock, you heard him muffle his groan but still continuing to write his work. pulling away from his weeping dick, you heard albedo let out a disappointed whine before letting out a loud gasp, bucking his hips when your lubed up hand grabbed ahold of his hardened cock once more.
“mmfgh! [n-name], my lo-oohh… my aammh f-fuck! let me wo-oRKK MFFGH!!” bucking his hips to try and keep up with the thrusts of your hand, albedo threw his head back to rest on your shoulder. eyes screwed shut, hand clenching around his pen in a vice grip while panting and whining - archons your prince was so pretty.
“focus ‘bedo. wouldn’t want your work to be forgotten right?” sucking a dark hickey into his neck, your hand jerked him off at a faster pace. he let out a loud whine at that. shaking knees closing up as if trying to get you to stop so he can just focus but his bucking hips was telling you the truth of him wanting to chase after his approaching high.
letting out a delicious sob, the chief alchemist bent over the table. twitching and shaking as he soon spilled his load on your hand. peeking back at you with a shy glance and red cheeks, albedo reached one hand back, tugging on your pants frantically as if asking for his most favorite treat.
getting his hint you stood up, pushing the alchemist to lay on his stomach on the desk while taking off his shorts and lowering your pants and undergarments’ waistband.
“oh? have you become a cockslut for me my pretty prince? not wearing any underwear under your usual stockings now hmm?” tearing a small hole over his cute pink rim, you heard the man in question let out a loud whimper at that.
“getting desperate for me, my pretty slut?” albedo shook his head timidly. biting down on his lips in a desperate way to stop himself from moaning when hearing you call him such a lecherous name. it was so wrong, he knew that but it just turned him on even more! making his cock twitch and knees buckle as if being called something like that was something he was used to.
using his cum as a make shift lube, you pushed a finger into his cute pink hole - hearing him whine at the feeling of your finger filling him up so deliciously, so easily. after wiggling your fingers for a while you felt his walls start to loosen - a sign that he was starting to relax and get used to the feeling - before adding one more finger. scissoring him open while hearing his adorable high pitched whimpers is always a nice way to de-stress. loosening him more and more, you felt around his tight muscle, searching for that one spongy spot that makes his pretty blue eyes roll to the back of his skull as he lets out a surprised shrieks of pleasure. ah! found it.
abusing his prostate with your fingers as you hear him let out cute, almost girlish, breathy moans was the best thing you could ask for. he always reacts so adorably - pushing his hips back into your hand with a fervor want, knees buckling under him as his bare hands scratch against the desk with some hope of grounding his mushy mind.
“aah mmfgh awWHH~!! [n-name]~ don’t… don’t tea-aammfg!! tease me!♡︎♡︎” letting out another squeal, albedo turned his face around to look at you. hair messy with sweat clinging to his forehead, cheeks a shiny red of hue and eyes hazy with lust. archons he looks fucking delicious.
pushing him to lay on the desk again you pulled out your fingers - making him whine at the sudden emptiness as his loosened rim clenches and unclenches around empty air - before he let out a loud sob at the feeling of your tip pushing inside his loose hole. looking down at the mess of a genius you made, a smirk slipped on your face as an idea popped up.
“hey ‘bedo. what type of mixture is blood?” stopping after only slipping the tip of your cock in you stopped to ask him a question. he let out a confused noise before stuttering out “a h-heterogeneous mixtur-EEP!♡︎” as you slipped your cock halfway in. archons you were only fucking halfway in and yet he could already feel your cock bumping into all the perfect spots inside him. he’s just so sure that if he were to slip his hand down to his tummy he would feel a bulge. one that is caused by you!
“then if you were to mix acetic acid and water what would you get?” fuck were you being serious right now? albedo just wants to be fucked silly by you and not think of something so useless dammit!
“… vinegar” letting out a huff, he replied back. tone becoming annoyed and sarcastic before he let out a sharp gasp, clawing at the edge of the desk tightly when you shoved the rest of your dick inside him, the tip of your cock kissing his prostate so fucking nicely.
“good job. so if i were to mix up potassium nitrate, sulfur and carbon what would i get hmm?” letting out a stuttered curse under his breath to try and get his bearings back together to answer your question, albedo inhaled sharply before giving you your answer.
“f-fuck… it’s aamff… g-gunpowder mmngg!! p-please? please? [name] just fuck me already~ ple-ase!! i’ll be so good! pleA-GYAANH!!♡︎” letting out a shriek, the genius held on tightly to the edge of the desk. knees giving away from under him, leaving him to lean his body limply on his office desk as you grip his waist - slamming into his prostate with a groan over and over - using him as if he was a your personal cocksleeve, which he sure was turning into by now.
the room turned hotter, his breath being cut short by his own whiny sobs, tears rolling down his cheeks as a thin line of saliva ran down his jaw with pretty heart shaped pupils rolling to the back of his skull. he was completely spent. head dizzy and mushy, his sensitive spot being abused by you so easily as he tries to cling on to the small thread of his mind but failing in the process.
“a-aangh… albedo… what is f-fuck! the compound of water?” leaning your full body weight on his shaking body, you pistoned your hips to slam into his at a faster pace - feeling him tighten around you more and more, getting closer to cumming again. he couldn’t respond this time, only garbled whines and unintelligible sobs being your answer. letting out a sigh of disappointment you stopped moving, cock halfway pulled out as he whimpered loudly. trashing his trembling legs under the desk as a protest, trying and failing miserably to push his hips back to you.
after a while of a sex drunk protest, he seemed to gain a small sense of mind, whispering out “h-hydrogen and oxyge-ene…” in an almost unnoticeable small voice. hmm, perhaps he deserves his reward.
continuing to thrust into his spongy sensitive spot, you heard him let out a tired whimper - completely drained by your teasing and edging - letting out a long drawn sob of what seems to be your name, the alchemist came over his desk soon followed by your warm seeds filling him up. shaking legs failing to keep him up as he leaned against you for support as he felt you holding his waist close to yourself, flopping back down on the chair of his office while cuddling him close, uncaring that anyone could easily walk into his office at the moment.
#nobu.writes#sub genshin#sub genshin impact#sub!genshin#sub!genshin impact#sub albedo#sub!albedo#sub!character#albedo x reader smut#albedo smut#genshin impact x reader smut#genshin x reader smut#genshin smut#x dom reader#dom!reader#dom reader
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Where Wild Hearts Find Home | SHIDOU RYUSEI
There's something fascinating about how perfectly SHIDOU would match with a foreigner. Think about it: he's everything Japanese society tells you not to be. He's loud, bold, and aggressive. A force of nature who never dims his light or filters his thoughts. From his striking style to his unapologetic presence he stands apart from the crowd refusing to blend into the background.
Even in Blue Lock he's an anomaly. The other players can't quite sync with his wild intensity, his untamed spirit. In a society that worships conformity and avoids individualism, how could someone like him ever truly belong? Every day is a reminder that he's different, that he's the odd one out.
Now imagine a foreigner in Japan, maybe they moved for work, maybe for something else entirely. They know what it means to be different, to feel like an outsider even in familiar spaces. Carrying that same feeling of being the black sheep, of never quite fitting in.
Then fate steps in and the two perhaps meet in a music store, their hands reaching for the same vinyl. Or maybe their eyes lock across a crowded train platform. Or it could be something as simple as both of them snatching, or trying to, the last bottle of black nail polish in a makeup store.
Of course Shidou would start a conversation, what's the worst that could happen? If they says no, they'd be just two more strangers in a city of millions. But something pulls him toward them, an invisible thread of connection he can't ignore. So he takes that chance. And somehow, that awkward first conversation with this strange turns into a coffee date. Then dinner. Then another date and another. Before they know it, they're wearing matching yukata at a summer festival.
And seasons change; suddenly he's everywhere. Like ink bleeding through paper. His name sits at the top of their contact list, the first to appear in the call log. His laughing face lights up their phone's lock screen. His presence makes every holiday brighter, his booming laughter filling rooms with a warmth that feels like home. His kisses, shared in the sanctuary of their bed—yes, theirs now—tell stories of belonging that words never could.
In the end, it turns out that the boy who never fit in anywhere found his perfect match in someone who understood exactly what it meant to be different. Like two pieces of a puzzle that seemed wrong until you realized they were meant for a different picture entirely. One they created together, wild and beautiful and perfectly their own.
──────── 。゚•┈୨♡୧┈• 。゚────────
© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)
#blue lock#bllk x reader#shidou ryusei#blue lock headcanons#bllk shidou#bllk x you#shidou ryusei fluff#shidou headcanons#shidou ryusei imagine#shidou ryusei x reader#shidou ryuusei x reader#blue lock shidou#shidou x reader
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AN: Very into yandere core rn, idk why. 🤷♀️
Oneshot
Warnings: Yandere, kind of willing reader, implied blood
-Be Mine-
You carefully ran a hand over the delicate envelope, admiring how the pretty off-white seemed to glow in the daylight.
It was laced with the same scent it always had as well. A very feint sweet smell would fill up the room.
It looked so pristine that, if you hadn't already known better, you would have thought it was completely ordinary.
That was far from the truth, though.
These letters has been appearing at your door none stop, all signed with the same name being "Your true love".
You weren't dating anybody though.
What's weirder is that they had all been written with an odd ink.
A bloodied red.
Maybe you should have been more concerned, but you weren't.
The way the ink had dried, how it felt against your finger as you began to gently trace the letters.
The heavenly white accompanied by that deep red was truely a sight to behold, and you couldn't help but admire the letter for hours upon hours.
But it had only two words on it.
Two small words in the center of the page.
"Be Mine."
This was by far the shortest letter you had received.
But that didn't make it any less intriguing.
Your hazy eyes re-read those words over and over again.
You should have been concerned with all of the concerning the letters would say.
But the only concern you had was if you'd ever be able to meet this mysterious lover.
Maybe it's about time you write back a response.
Affogato, Espresso, Shadow Milk Cookie, Prune Juice, Pure Vanilla, Pastel Meringue, Longan, +Your favorites
#crk#cookie run kingdom#crk x reader#cookie run kingdom x reader#cookie run#cookie run: ovenbreak#cookie run x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#prune juice x reader#affogato x reader#espresso x reader#pastel meringue x reader crob
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Archivist Hypothesis: Vere the Shadowfox
I already talked about this theory in Vere's loresheet, but I'm posting it here as well!
Having re-reviewed [half] the demo, I think that Vere may be umbrakinetic, which Google assures me is the fancy word for being able to control shadows.
In the demo, MC says that Monsters are "inhuman beings with unnatural powers", so being a Monster isn't just a cosmetics thing. While one of Vere's powers is surely having the fluffiest ears and tail in a 100-mile radius, that's not all.
When we first meet Vere—or right before, rather—the MC encounters an oppressive shadowbeast. Though we never see it head on, it's described as “[running] down the street in rivulets” and “[spreading] like ink into blotted shapes.” These shadows form into a threatening being with claws and a muzzle filled with sharp teeth. But, when we turn, there's no giant black monster about to eat them, just this asshole.
And he's got our key, despite being more than an arm's length away. How'd he get a hold of it? Because his shadowfox was literally right up on us two seconds ago—plenty of opportunity to slip a key out of a pocket, especially if you're a shadow and not a physical person.
Not only that, but when Vere smells Kuras on you, “the shadows around him seethe and boil,” like his powers are responding to his decidedly negative emotions about the angel doctor.
This mini-theory seems like an easy shot, so I hope I'm not saying something everyone else already knows 😅 It only just occurred to me on this play-through, since I'm scouring the demo for info for the loresheets and not just drooling over Ais tiddies.
Let me know if you came to the same conclusion, or any other thoughts you have!
#touchstarved game#touchstarved theory#touchstarved vere#vere#archivist hypothesis#i do think he has other powers...#but idk if i have proof#possibly content for another archisis#in the meantime.#i gotta finish the fuckin 5-way split in the demo.#but more archises on the way for sure!#i've got lots of ideas that other people have probably already had
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Inks! I made some adjustments from the pencils - the cat king was already represented by the lily and I didn’t like the composition on the cat, so I swapped the cat for a crow. I also changed Charles’s pose to be less stiff and oafish. I’m thinking about adding Crystal’s memory orbs somewhere. We’ll see what comes up when I fill in the background.
Thanks for all the love on the pencil sketch! I’ll drop a high res version of this on my Ko-Fi page for anyone who wants to try their hand at coloring it for fun. Hopefully it won’t take me a month to do my version.
#drawing#sketch#digital art#clip studio#clip studio art#comic book cover#comic book characters#netflix#dead boy detectives#dead boy detective agency#dbda#edwin payne#charles rowland#crystal palace surname von hoverkraft#crystal palace#niko sasaki#the sandman#sandman universe
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a table of odd magic items that may or may not be useful
“…the GM will only tell you something interesting—it’s on you to make it useful.” — Dungeon World
1d20 Magical Items of Mild Utility
A doorknob that can be easily affixed to any door by simply holding it on for about thirty seconds. Once affixed, it permanently transforms into an ordinary doorknob and lock, to which you have the key.
The Shaker of Infinite Salt
A pencil that significantly improves the user’s penmanship when writing with it.
An orb containing a very small pocket dimension, into which one can transfer their familiar so that it may safely rest.
A palm-sized stone figurine of a shark, which will bite any fingers that come near its mouth.
Self-Fluffing Pillow
Watch that shows you what time it was the last time you looked at the watch, instead of what time it is now.
Piece of string that, when tied around your finger, actually helps you remember to do that thing.
Temporary Scissors: They can only cut the normal things you’d expect from a pair of scissors, but if you hold the cut pieces together tightly they will magically re-form into a whole, as though they’d never been cut.
Robes that make the wearer an inch or so taller.
Magic Eraser (erases pencil, ink and crayon!)
Hand-sized stone that, when thrown, always lands 5 feet in front of your intended target—whether your aim is perfect or abysmal.
A bucket that transforms any liquid poured into it into seawater.
A bar of soap that temporarily changes the color of anything washed with it. The color is random, and changes each time the bar is used (1d6: 1: Red, 2: Orange, 3: Yellow, 4: Green, 5: Blue, 6: Purple). The color lasts one day.
Goggles of Shrimp-Color Vision
A ring with a single very round stone. When you say the magic word the stone pops out and transforms into a bowling ball. It turns back into a small stone after 2d4 hours and must be manually returned to the ring before it can be used again.
Boots that produce an animal sound of your choice when you jump up and do a jaunty little bell-kick while wearing them.
A small glass bottle that, when filled with water, appears instead to be full of a swirling, shimmering potion.
A quiet trumpet.
A knife that can only cut sandwiches. It is up to the GM’s discretion what does and does not count as a sandwich for this enchantment, but the rules are consistent.
#whoops i cant believe it took me an entire month to get to this request i apologize ^^'#random table#random tables#ttrpg#ttrpg community#ttrpg homebrew#homebrew#fantasy#dnd#d&d#dungeons and dragons#dnd homebrew#dnd table#random item table#random treasure table#items#treasure#loot#random loot#random loot table
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brainrot inspired by the one video of daniel in the static bike
!
the morning light streams in through the windows, drilling into the throbbing pain in max’s temples as it pulls him away from sleep. he’s way too hot and face down on the pillows and oh god, he might throw up if he attempts to get up.
he opens one eye and only sees a side table, his own phone plugged in and a clock showing 10:30. if he tries hard enough he can hear the faint sound of music and someone else’s steady breathing.
his eyebrows furrow as he tries to turn around without puking his brains out. once he’s flat on his back he opens an eye slowly and then the other. it takes less than a second to notice someone, a man, on a static bike in front of the bed.
“the fuck?” he says, his throat fucked up and sticky. “where am i?” he coughs and closes his eyes again, head falling back into the pillows.
the man doesn't answer, max hears the static bike turn on, digging into his temples. he squeezes his eyes shut and begs for it to stop, groaning when it only speeds up.
“morning,” he hears.
his eyes snap open in a gasp. he looks forward and actually looks at the man, shirtless in a static bike and holding two tennis balls. his silhouette is artistic against the sunlight as max barely makes out a smile from his face.
max coughs before he speaks, “hello?” he angles his head up a bit to get a look at the guy's face.
much of last night is a bit of a blur, but the longer he’s conscious, the more he remembers. he didn't intend to take anyone home, just needed a party, loud music, a chance to feel free in a city that he doesn't belong to.
he briefly remembers running into a guy with an absolutely gorgeous face in the hallway to the bathroom, which immediately turned to making out with him, first in the hallway, then on the dance floor, then in the cab, and finally– the details are pretty fuzzy, but he doesn't remember anything being unpleasant, and he isn’t sore or in pain in any ways that matter, anyway.
he looks at the guy, he’s all smooth lines and colourful ink, big smiles and curly hair. he takes his headphones out and puts them in their case, licking his lips as he looks at max, and he wants to gloat and how good of a job he did.
fucking score, he thinks in congratulations. usually the people he brings home from the club look great through tequila daze in the saturated neon lights, but aren’t too good in the morning sun. if anything though, this guy might be even cuter in the daylight. amazing.
“you feel okay?” he says, playing with the tennis balls in his hand, making something stir in max’s belly.
“yeah,” max groans. he rubs his temples with his eyes closed. “i think i forgot your name.”
the guy laughs, gets off the bike and stretches, his whole body twisting in a delicious way max is way too hungover to even think about. “that hurts my feelings, man.” he says, pads over to his kitchen, which is only a few feet from the bed. “it’s daniel.”
oh, max remembers now. remembers being wrapped around him and moaning his name. “yeah, sorry.”
daniel smiles at him again. “coffee?” he’s set to work and getting the pot ready as max sits up, nearly losing the blanket as it slips from him.
daniel’s all toned, gorgeous tan skin, a face that’s like max’s wettest dreams. even a bit ragged from the hangover, he’s still floored and he feels himself blush. his only saving grace is that daniel is also turning eight shades of red as he looks at him.
“i– i don't really…” he scrunches his mouth and rubs his hands on his face as he struggles to think, “i don’t like coffee, do you have anything else?”
daniel doesn’t miss a beat. “i have tea, if you'd prefer. green or black. does your head hurt?” he presses down on the french press and sets on re-filling the kettle.
“black is fine if– if i can have ice with it?” max bites his bottom lip and watches daniel’s back as he rummages through a cupboard to find two mugs and a teabag for max.
max looks around to find his clothes, his eyes betraying him again and staring at daniel shirtless instead.
“i hope i’m not too much of a disappointment in the light of day.” daniel says, turning around to face max, his eyes fixated on max’s chest as he struggles to cover himself.
max knows damn well daniel doesn’t mean that. that man is like a dream come true, all smiles and big eyes, sex hair and shorts riding down his hips. his words land just as he intends though. max locks eyes with him and rakes them over his body again. he really wants to stand up and put daniel against the countertop but he holds himself back.
“you’re great, i just….” he makes a sound in the back of his throat, hand flying to his face. he peeks between his fingers at daniel. “it’s the first time i– with a guy…” daniel stands a bit straighter as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“oh wow,” daniel says, smiling, “you seemed to know what you were doing.”
max laughs, his face hot and he knows it’s spreading down his chest. it seems to pull daniel into it as well. his laugh is even better than what max had expected, so contagious and genuine. max wonders if it was the laugh that drew him in to begin with.
“really?” their eyes met for a moment, the silence spreading out between them with an almost magnetic energy. just then the kettle shakes in its pot, yanking max out of the dreamy instant.
daniel turns it off and pour the steaming water over the tea bag for max. his eyes follow as max stands up, revealing his entire naked body as he hurries to put his underwear on over his hips. max can’t stand the heat of daniel’s eyes so he looks away as he puts his jans on and when he looks back daniel is bent over the freezer looking for some ice cubes.
he wonders how he got that lucky as he watches daniel place two ice cubes in his tea and then stir it one last time. “hope this is okay.” he says, motioning max to a barstool. “come here.”
he pads to the kitchen, he’s nearly the same height as daniel, though he’s broader. daniel passes him the overfull mug, and they fill the space of the little kitchen comfortably. their fingertips brush as the cup is transferred and somehow, it feels more intimate than the sex they had last night. daniel’s smile is so bright, his cheeks dipping into cute dimples. max hates to say it, but he’s very charmed.
“it’s totally fine if you regret this. hell, it’s the first time i get on with a straight guy,” daniel says, max can’t tell if he’s serious or not. they stare at each other for a long second and max can feel himself blushing under daniel’s eyes again.
“oh, i–” he says, drinking from his cup. “i’m not straight… i just have never…” he gestures between the two of them and daniel snickers. “i only regret not remembering everything.” he takes a deep breath, “i remember the kissing, and– and the car…”
the car. memory floods into max’s mind, still hazy and watered down, but he now remembers being all over daniel in the backseat, more hands than seemed possible for just two people. he remembers pulling daniel free of his jeans and sinking his mouth over him...yeah, it had been a good car ride. the problem is all the shots they had before, and after. and in between.
“and then… i don't know.” max bites his bottom lip and avoids daniel’s eyes. he can hear daniel’s smile before he sees it.
“it was great. you have nothing to be ashamed of.” he says and max’s eyes dart up again when they focus on daniel’s chest for too long.
“thank god,” he takes a sip from his drink. watching daniel’s face as he looks like he’s thinking hard.
“listen, you don't have to stay. we both know how these things go. you’re welcome to, but if you want to escape, i accept any excuse. we had a great time. you owe me nothing.” he lets out at once and sits down his coffee mug and leans back against the counter.
max’s eyes take a second to focus back from daniel’s body. daniel’s kicking him out. and he knows it’s a one night stand and he shouldn't feel weird about it, barely knowing him. but it’s there.
“daniel,” his voice is tentative, his head low and shoulders down, “do you want me to go?” daniel’s eyes flicker up, and for the first time max notices that they are almost golden in the sunlight.
“no.” daniel says softly, and max doesn't think twice as he sets his own mug down and slides closer to daniel with newfound confidence. making his breath hitch.
“then, maybe I can stay? and maybe, if you feel like it..." his fingertips brush against daniel’s arm and almost without blinking, daniel places his hand on his neck, sliding it back and up through his hair. “we could fill in some of those gaps?”
as daniel’s chest presses against his, noses brushing against one another, max smiles, a fluttering in his chest making it all the way to his toes. daniel’s even gorgeous from up close.
“sounds like a plan,” daniel kisses him then, softly, as if he’s trying to savour his mouth, and his hand cups max’s cheek sweetly. it’s far better than any fiery, lustful kiss max remembers they shared during the night. it says more than max can even comprehend.
when max pulls back, he takes in daniel’s face for a moment, a smile pulling beautifully at his lips. max feels his blush climb again and he tries to looks away, but daniel is holding his head in place.
“looks like you’re mine for the day.” daniel says, leaning forward to smile against max’s mouth.
my ao3!
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Ditch Etsy for Good: A Disabled Etsy Seller's Experience
i started my Etsy store in August of 2022. I was in desperate need of income at the time, as I am disabled, and waiting for my full disability payments to come through. I currently make $245/month off of a general assistance program that's meant to "help" while you're waiting for those payments.
I needed, at the time, $900/month for my studio apartment, because I was on a month-to-month lease, and could not re-new it, as I was the secondary renter, and my abusive ex whom I could not contact was the primary renter. They needed his signature to renew the lease, or else I was on month-to-month status, which meant they could increase my rent to whatever price they saw fit at any point.
I was struggling to stay alive. I had a bunch of kandi supplies I had gathered over the years, pony beads, string, all that kind of stuff. So i accrued some extra supplies to make other types of necklaces and chokers. Keep in mind my level of poverty, and the level of inflation in 2022. I was having to accrue supplies secondhand, from thrift stores. Everything I bought and sold was upcycled, save for the few times I could afford things to fill in the gaps from craft stores.
After I gathered supplies, I went to work. I spent countless hours making all types of jewelry. Not really sleeping. Just countless hours of stringing beads, if I woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream or stress about homelessness, I would go back to work. I've been homeless before. Several times. Never lived on the street or in a shelter, but I have lived in hotels, cars, crashed on couches and have run from getting kicked out for making little money endless times.
I drank a lot of coffee and ate very little. Eating consumed time, time that I didn't have. Once I was done making things, it was time to photograph every. single. item., then edit them, and upload them to Etsy. I had to create listings for each individual item, all of which cost $0.20 to create, and again to renew when it ran out in 3 months if not purchased. There was already a start-up cost.
Shipping made my life a nightmare. Etsy charged me for each and every single label. I tried free shipping at first, as it's a huge draw for customers, but labels were around $3.69 from my state to the mainland United States at the time, creeping ever closer to $4. For anywhere else it would easily come to $10 or more, international shipping was easily $20 - $40. Even if the customer paid for shipping I still had to go through the process of purchasing a label.
This didn't account for the fact that I had to purchase printer, ink and paper at some point to keep printing these labels. Ink is wildly expensive and your cartridges run out faster than they should. They are rigged to flag as empty when they're not. This also does not account for ink and paper lost when the printer does something in error, which is often. The office at my apartment complex was willing to print labels and packing slips for me for a while, but they cut me off after a few months.
The biggest kick in the teeth was the processing time for my payments. Because I shipped my first few orders without tracking labels. Etsy put a hold on my money for the next 3 months. They would take a random amount of time to process each payment. I could never figure out the schedule. My money would sometimes take days or weeks to arrive when I set Etsy to a "daily" payment schedule. It was torture. I was sweating over not having money constantly, and missing payment deadlines left and right.
I was getting orders at every hour of the day. I didn't "clock out" of this job. I had to change the notification sound of the Etsy Seller app on my phone because when I heard it, I would panic. I wasn't excited, I was filled with dread. It was never ending, and I was constantly stressed about getting orders out on time. I never had time to rest. I didn't get days off. I was on the job 24/7. Unless you completely uninstall the Etsy app and refuse to check it fora while, you can't really clock out of this job.
This isn't even touching the fact that Etsy also takes a cut out of every single sale you make, meaning you have to jack up your prices wildly either to make free shipping reasonable so you're not losing money on each sale, or you have to play a dance of figuring out what the best balance between shipping and item costs are, which is time consuming. It's a lot of math and comparing against your niche's market.
Etsy has an ads feature, which you must again pay for, where they will run ads for your products in random banner ads and whatnot. You are charged if one customer clicks the ad, not purchases something, meaning this is a complete fucking scam. The minimum is $1/day and you are forced to subscribe monthly. You can cancel at any point, but sometimes it takes a full day for this to cancellation to go through. The Etsy Ads feature sucks ass. I received exactly 2 orders through their service and kept it on for a few weeks here and there. It's horrid. You do not receive a significant enough boost in traffic to make the investment worth it. Also consider how many people use adblockers these days. This isn't hard to see.
The amount of time you have to spend promoting and boosting your own shop, buying supplies, creating and photographic products, uploading them to the website, and everything else in between is not worth the amount of money you make. You do not turn a profit unless you are selling very high end products like fine jewelry and antiques. Anyone else in the bottom rungs loses money through one avenue or another, Etsy finds ways to make the entire process draining and expensive for the seller.
The also will not provide you a 1099 document to file your taxes for your earned income unless you have made over $25,000 in one year on Etsy, which is literally impossible unless you make, as I said, fine jewelry. The average Etsy seller does not make this much in one year. We do not make a liveable wage, yet Etsy pretends like we do.
I didn't realize how draining it was to run this store until I put it in vacation mode. I'm shutting it down as soon as I'm able to. I could not handle the pressure of orders coming in in the middle of the night. I could not handle the pressure of not being able to remember which bracelets I could wear, and which ones were up on the store. Or which ones I could give to friends freely without having to issue someone a refund because I made a mistake. The worry of sending the wrong customer the wrong product was constantly on my mind. Every review that came in made me scared I had fucked up or provided an inferior product. I was distraught, broken and scared.
Now I'm much more free. The piddly jackshit amount of income I made was not worth it at all. I don't think I made back the cost of supplies and I definitely was never compensated for the sheer amount of labor I put into my products and orders. Etsy just kept kicking me while I was down and now that they have made it so that you are unable to file a class action lawsuit against them, they are only becoming more tyrannical.
Etsy does not care about their small sellers. They only care about the big cash cows who bring in big views and line Etsy's pockets with the Etsy Ads program. If you're too poor too keep up they'll chew you up and spit you out. Fuck Etsy. Fuck the lack of respect for their sellers. Fuck them for holding my money randomly for 3 months because I didn't know tracking labels were REQUIRED in their eyes. Fuck Etsy for never letting me know when I was getting paid, and for paying me on such an irregular schedule. Fuck Etsy for the fucked up fees and expensive shipping labels.
Fuck Etsy for everything. Let them go. Cut the cord. Navigate to Ko-Fi or somewhere else. Let this horrid site fucking die.
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