#nyrocwrites

[nyrocwrites]

kisses after midnight

New Years collab with the lovely peeps over at the BNHarem discord server. Cheers to new beginnings and a collab piece I actually finished on time ahahahahahah /shot

Pairing: Tokoyami X gn reader

Words: 1000 and change 

Warnings: bird fluff, soft things, probably grammar mistakes. No editing, we die like bisexuals. 

Find the masterlist here!

You would never understand how some people could hate the winter. Winter brought cold snow and crisp air, hot tea and cozy blankets. Winter brought holiday cheer, new beginnings, and warm, fuzzy feelings. 

Winter brought you Tokoyami Fumikage. 

The holidays and warm feelings had led to confessions. Gifts were exchanged, hands were held, sentient shadow creatures were far too easily entertained by how very squirmy teenage boys became when they were teased. Winter brought you Tokoyami, and Tokoyami made you happy.

...or he would, if you could just find the bastard. 

Your brand-new boyfriend—boyfriend!—vanished pretty close to midnight, like the worst kind of off-brand Cinderella you had ever heard of. You had watched the clock count down to midnight while your friends cheered and rang in the new year with gleeful shouts and excited chatter. You had intended to kiss him at midnight—because how stinkin’ cute would that have been?—only to discover that he was absolutely nowhere to be found. 

After almost ten minutes, you were just about to give up and go back to the rest of your friends when you stumbled across him by chance as you passed a window. You blinked out at his unmistakable silhouette, impossibly black against the moonlit snow. You grabbed a coat and went to join him on the front stoop; the dormitory door closed behind you, and it was absolutely quiet. 

“Hey,” you said, and a part of you really hated your own guts for breaking the snow-muted silence. “Are you okay?”

He hummed at you in response, but he didn’t look at you. He was watching the cloud cover as it drifted lazily across the half-waxed moon. So serene, you thought. 

You took a seat next to him, cross-legged on the frigid concrete. 

“It’s after midnight,” you said. When he didn’t respond, you looked over at him and leaned close to bump your shoulder into his. “Earth to Bird-kun.” 

He startled a little at that, finally turning to look at you. 

“Oh. Yes.” He was a man of few words, of course, but come on. It was a celebration! “I apologize for missing the count-down.”

“That’s okay,” you told him immediately, even though the fact that he more or less ghosted you made you squirmy. This thing between you was still so new, so fragile. You didn’t want to start the new year with a negative conversation. But… “So, why’re you sitting out here all alone in the cold?” 

“It was very loud inside,” he said, but the way he didn’t meet your eyes was disconcerting. 

“And?” you prompted. 

“And there were many, many people.”

“And?”

“And all attending would have had the expectation that I would kiss you upon the stroke of midnight.”

You gesticulated wildly with your hands in a display of confusion and exasperation. “And why is that a bad thing? You didn’t want to kiss me for the first time in front of so many people? We could’ve found a dark corner, or gone outside, or—“

“Y/n.” His voice was so very quiet, but it was as effective as an air horn at shutting you up. He looked over at you, and then away, and then at some fixed point in the space between the two of you. Even in the dark you were able to see the way he shifted, the way the hair on his face bristled like feathers puffing up. He was nervous, anxious, and you suddenly felt awful for having any part of those feelings. 

It hit you like a snowball to the face. 

Your boyfriend—boyfriend!—had a freakin’ beak.

He wanted to kiss you. He just didn’t know how.

Laughter rose up inside of you like champagne bubbles and you covered your mouth as you giggled. He was so stinkin’ cute. You leaned your shoulder into him as you let yourself laugh and laugh, your face nestled into the deep collar of his soft sweater. It was easily a few minutes before you were able to get a grasp on your snickering and lift your head. 

He looked a little bewildered, your behavior as close to alien to him as anything could be in a world with quirks, but he seemed to realize that you weren’t laughing at him. You were laughing at yourself, mostly. At how odd the whole situation was.

You pushed yourself back upright and wiped tears of laughter from your eyes. You met his gaze and grinned so wide you thought your face would split in half. 

“Oh, darling,” you cooed, happy, and reached up to brush your fingers along his black velvet cheek. “Promise me something?”

His eyes relaxed a little under the soft warmth that seeped from your very being. He nodded, just once. 

“Anything, y/n.”

“Promise you’ll never, ever be shy about kissing me, okay?”

“I—y/n…” He squinted at you, garnet gaze narrowed. “Your request is… difficult.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said ‘anything,’ bird boy.” You cupped his chin in your hand, allowed your thumb to run along sharp edges and smooth beak. “Now promise.”

“As you wish,” he sighed. He seemed a little apprehensive, a little defeated. “I shall make it my resolution for the coming year.”

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face if you tried, not that you ever would. 

“Good. And I resolve to come up with very creative ways to do just that.” It earned you an awkward chuckle, and you carried on. “Starting now.”

Before he could protest, you leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to the top of his beak. It wasn’t really anything special in its execution. Still, the way he slowly melted in the frigid night made it a truly exceptional first kiss, and second, and third, as you continued to pepper little smooches all along the ridge of his beak. When you finally released his chin and pulled back to look at him, his garnet eyes were the softest you had ever seen them. He leaned his cheek into your hand, closing his eyes. 

“Thank you, y/n. I truly am grateful for your affections.” 

“Of course,” you told him like it was obvious, because it was. You let him rest his forehead on your shoulder, cold beak pressed to your collar, and you slid your fingers gently through silky raven plumage. He hummed softly, content. 

“Happy new year, Fumi.”

[cupajoscafe]

Hey everyone, I hope you’re having a fantastic Saturday!! I’m here with my part of the BNHArem server’s March collab!! This month’s theme was a Sex Worker AU and I had LOADS of fun with this!! You can check out the masterlist for all the amazing entries to this collab, make sure you check ‘em all out!!

So I’m actually really nervous about posting this piece for two reasons. First being that I’m not confident in my writing but I needed context for this art so I needed to write a drabble to go with it, since the idea that I had was VERY specific and couldn’t be expressed through the art alone. Second being that this isn’t a typical “character x reader/viewer” piece, as this has my BNHA OC in reader’s place. I’m very nervous that this is gonna get a lot of backlash and people are gonna be in my inbox all up in my ass over how they can’t imagine themselves in my OCs place or whatever. But this idea was just so perfect. It’s actually based on an RP I’m doing with my friend @nyrocwrites and this was just too good to pass up.

I also wanna shout out @lady-bakuhoe for helping me with the pose idea!! I had no idea how to approach this drawing at first and Jo gave me a wonderful little stick figure sketch that really helped me figure out exactly what I wanted to do. Thank you so much Jo I don’t deserve you 😭😭💜💜

Anyways enough of my rambling!! On with the collab piece!! Since this is relatively SFW I don’t have to post a censored version YAY!! Drabble under the cut!!

Warnings: Nothing explicit, just some flirty banter and suggestive themes. KamiJirou and Bakugou x OC

Word Count: 826

It wasn't fucking fair. 

They were already here for Dunce Face's bachelor party. He already had a fucking fiancée. Hell, he had probably gotten laid that morning. So in what fucking universe was it fair at all for Dunce Face to be all over the dancer that he had been eyeing all fucking night? And why was she paying no mind to him after getting him riled up and teasing him all fucking night? 

It wasn't fucking fair. 

The bubble on her lips popped and she pulled the gum into her mouth, running her tongue along her lips to collect it. "Damn, your fiancée is one lucky lady." She cooed, leaning over the edge of the stage to close some of the space between her and Kaminari. He waved the bill around in his fingers and grinned up at her, his cheeks flushed red from the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed in the last hour. Bubblegum slid her tongue over her teeth, the stud of her tongue ring clacking lightly against bone. "How would she react if she found out you were dropping so much money on a gal like me, huh?" 

The words fell like honey from her lips; sweet and melodious. The fact that she was talking to Kaminari like that instead of him had his blood boiling. Bakugou hastily fished his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a thousand yen bill. She didn't even bat an eye. She just kept her gaze locked on Denki as if to piss him off even more. If that hadn't tipped him over the edge, then the shit-eating grin on her face absolutely did. Bakugou snarled angrily and shoved the money into his pocket.

"Fuck this." He announced, pushing off the velvet  seating near the stage and standing up on his feet. "I'm gettin' another fuckin' drink."

It wasn't fucking fair.

Bubblegum watched with an impish grin as the ash-blond man stomped off towards the bar where his other friends were stationed and she snorted, shifting her doe-eyed gaze down to the bachelor beneath her.

"What do you think, Blondie? Did I push it too far?" She asked, reaching a hand out to brush his cheek with her painted fingernails.

"He's definitely into you. I think you won." He giggled, the money bill still caught between his fingers. "Have fun. Please don't break my friend."

She parted her lips and leaned forward to snatch the bill in between her teeth, looking over to the bar where she saw him hunched over and ordering a drink. With a chuckle, Bubblegum pulled away and took the bill from her mouth and stuffed it into her bra, then leaned down to place a kiss on Kaminari's lips.

"Thanks for playing along." She whispered, then winked at him and pushed herself back up onto the stage to finish her routine.

Of course he watched the rest of her routine from the bar. He couldn't keep his damn eyes off of her. The way she slid down the pole, the way she flipped her hair, the way her ass hung out of her panties. He especially couldn't keep his eyes off the way her tits bounced as she walked over to him when her routine was done. He swallowed down his whiskey sour and winced at the sharp burning in his throat, narrowing his eyes as she approached him at the bar.

She looked good enough to eat.

It wasn't fucking fair.

"Come here to bat your eyelashes at me again, you fuckin' cocktease?" He snipped, watching carefully as she took her place on the seat next to him. The bartender was already making her usual Vodka on the Rocks.

"I think I've teased you enough for one night, haven't I, hotshot?" She hummed, lifting her drink up to her painted red lips. Bubblegum smiled at him and Bakugou scoffed, chugging down the last of his drink and slamming the glass down on the bar top.

"So what the fuck do you want then, hah?"

She looked him up and down and leaned her head in the palm of her hand, smiling coyly and letting her eyes land on his lips.

"How's about a private dance? Just you and me."

He perked up and loosened his shoulders a little, returning her glances and letting his crimson eyes rest on the choker on her neck. Oh, how he wanted his hand wrapped around her throat instead. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he smirked wolfishly down at her, pulling her up by her waist and holding her body against his.

"I guess comin' out to Dunce Face's stupid bachelor party wasn't such a shitty idea after all."

Bubblegum threw her head back and laughed, then knocked back the rest of her drink and pulled Bakugou off to one of the velvet rooms for a private dance, just the two of them.

Maaaaaybe this time it was fair.

[thisisthehardestthing]

HORRORS, HAUNTS & HALLOWEEN

a BNHAREM server collab, a mix of SFW and NSFW

Witching hour: 31 October 2020, 12:00 pm EST

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-- Only this and nothing more."

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

Excerpt; The Raven, Edgar Allen Poe

PICK YOUR POISON:

TREAT:

AMIJIKI TAMAKI | @hitoshisbabygirl​​​​

DEKU | Jo Draws Smut 

DENKI KAMINARI | @candychronicles​​

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU | @bakugotrashpanda​​

TENYA IIDA | @reciproburstbaby​ 

TRICK:

AIZAWA SHOTA | @unbreakablekiribaku​​​

BAKUGO KATSUKI | @kingexpl0sionmurder​​

DABI | @10millionyearsdungeon​​

MIRIO TOGATA | @mi-mundo-es​​

OVERHAUL | @shinsotired​​

SERO HANTA | @nyrocwrites​​​

SHIGARAKI | @iwvs-on-ao3​​

SHINSO HITOSHI | @katsukikitten​​

TODOROKI SHOTO | @thisisthehardestthing​​

TESTUTESTU TESTSUTETSU | TBC

URARAKA OCHAKO | @kats-random-writing​

[nyrocwrites]

I’ll have some sexy Deku art for y’all as soon as my power comes back on. It’s for the BNHarem March collab; find the master list here!

Until then, have a companion drabble.

“Whiskey, please,”

he says, and cards his fingers through his hair. The sweat and dirt push it back from his face and it stays there, bushy and vibrant like the thriving vegetation that once lived here, long before the drought. Now it’s just dust and an endless expanse of windswept terrain, with little pockets here and there of this town or that.

It’s barely even a town, he thinks to himself. There’s not even a proper sheriff, just a drunk tank in the back of the saloon that’s only open when the stables are empty. It’s a stretch of dirt with a bar and a brothel and maybe half an inn between the two of them if he squints. The only thing keeping it alive is a well that’s currently being guarded by an old man with a crutch and one eye.

“Are you looking for a room tonight, sir?” the barman asks. He’s a neat fellow, hair slicked back, spectacles perched precariously on a straight nose.

“Please,” he replies. He casts his eyes around, and they settle suddenly on the staircase to the open second floor. On the person draped over the banister like the picture of carefree elegance, a tall glass of water in the drought-stricken wasteland.

On you.

“A room, the whiskey, and... them.”

He doesn’t stop watching you, doesn’t break eye contact, even as a knowing smile curls over your perfect lips.

Stay tuned for artwork!

[nyrocwrites]

of curses and carrion (part 1)

A cursed!Tokoyami x mage!Reader fantasy AU from BNHarem Studios and produced on Garbage Mountain by an army of trash gremlins and too much caffeine.

Find the BNHarem Fantasy masterlist HERE.

Rating: M for dark themes, mild body horror (vines/tar), and brief distress/panic. Later parts will likely include continued elements of horror and sexual themes. 

Words: 1800+

Notes: I really wanted to finish this prompt in its entirety before posting it, but it’s turning into an absolute monster so it will now be broken into parts. I’ve warned y’all I’m a trash gremlin. Nonsense should really be expected. Also, I’ve tried to keep Reader pretty gender neutral and ethnically ambiguous so as to be inclusive to many readers. Please let me know in the comments or ask box if there are ways that I can improve this experience, or if you’d like to be added to my tag list!

The darkness has no business in frightening you, all things considered. You do most of your activities in the dim and the grey, guided by the silver moonlight that filters through the rattling bones of trees long dead. You know every prickle bush, every berry thicket, every hollow tree perpetually collecting rainwater and brown leaves in a noxious grog you know better than to drink from. You know the heartbeat of the forest and the pulse of it around you. You know the murky feeling of the soggy bog beneath your feet. You know every burial ground, the planks of wood and slabs of stone so worn from the elements they’ve been impossible to read almost as long as the knucklebones of the bodies beneath them.

The darkness really has no business in frightening you, all of these things considered. Of course, that doesn’t mean it won’t ever try.

It’s not the snapping of twigs that alarms you at first—you’re well accustomed to the life that stirs in the woods. It’s the shift of the breeze, the way a prickling feeling washes over you in the crisp air, the shudder that rattles you all the way to your bones, and you find the atmosphere abruptly soured. It happens slowly at first, and then all at once. You rise from your knees and turn toward the source, your basket of foraged herbs easily forgotten at your feet. 

There’s a stranger there, kept at the edge of the circle you had cast earlier, and there’s so much energy rolling out from under that black cloak it makes you shiver. Something desperate and hurting. Something else full of rage and cruelty. The auras are distinct and, worse, at war with each other, and it’s difficult for you to tell if the stranger bears you any ill intent.

It feels agonizingly painful and for the first time in ages, it makes you want to run.

But you’ve never been frightened by the dark.

“Are you here to harm me?” you call out. You can see the back and forth movement of their head beneath the deep hood. It could be a lie, but the fury in their energy is constant and tamped down. Controlled. You draw a dagger regardless because although you may not be frightened, you certainly aren’t stupid.

Red eyes are guarded as they stare at you from the shadows of the hood. The dagger pricks the skin of your little finger and you reach into the dark to smear the crimson liquid on the cheek beneath one of those eyes. Soft, you think, and withdraw your hand as you step away from that menacing aura. 

“There.”

“Thank you,” the stranger says, and the voice is deep and smooth, not at all unpleasant. He rubs his hands on the front of his cloak, clearing his throat in a nervous manner. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you, now?” You’re not unfamiliar with people seeking your particular skills, but it isn’t often that they actually follow you into the woods. 

“I’m told you’re a curse-breaker.”

There it is—the reason for the duality in his energy, for the fury bubbling just beneath the surface of his being.

“Depends on the curse,” you tell him, and you wish you could seem more nonchalant, but your voice betrays your curiosity.

He hesitates. It’s not often that the darkness is more afraid of you than you are of it. Still, he lifts his hands and draws back the deep hood of his cloak. His eyes glimmer red even through the grey darkness of the predawn, little mirrors dipped in blood that reflect the scraps of light filtering through sparse foliage yet unclaimed by winter.

A hum of intrigue rumbles in your throat as you tilt your head and lean slightly to the side to see him at different angles. The man before you blinks to help his eyes adjust to the light, ruby red and brimming with uncertainty. You can’t say he’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen—you’ve scooped far stranger out of secondhand cauldrons—but he’s still a delightfully interesting creature.

“Fascinating,” you find yourself murmuring. He’s regal and angular with black velvet skin on his cheeks, soft like down and smeared on one side with drying rust from your finger, and his hair frills in the back like the plumage of a raven. His face is carved into the likeness of a raptor; you find yourself idly wondering if his beak is sharp enough to pierce flesh. You’ve seen people before with avian curses, but none executed so precisely as this.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, apparently uncomfortable beneath the crushing weight of your scrutiny.

“Which of the gods did you offend?” you ask him as you stroll to one side to investigate his figure. You know you shouldn’t pry, or circle him like a hungry shark, but your curiosity is bottomless.

“I don’t know. I was born like this.” He gestures halfheartedly to himself and you give him another once-over. 

The frown that twists your features leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. So much for a lovely morning.

“I can’t break a family curse,” you tell him, and even the irritation from having your foraging trip interrupted is not quite enough to justify the pain you see flourishing in his eyes. You finish your circling and stop in front of him to glance him up and down. The cloak hangs from a thin frame, all lanky and brittle. Poor thing, cursed so young, but there’s nothing you can do.

You feel something in the air, like a shadow that kisses your skin: you feel the change in his energy as his disappointment shifts slowly to fear and then to desperation. That other side of his aura swells and it’s intimidating as it pushes into your personal space to make your stomach churn uncomfortably.

“Please,” is all he says, but the single word is enough to know that he’s barely keeping whatever other entity resides in him from ripping him apart at the seams.

You turn from him and kneel on the earth to resume your foraging with an, “I can’t help you,” that comes out in a far more callous manner than you had intended.

“You’re the only one left.”

“I know. I often am.” You aren’t exactly anyone’s first choice. You’re hard to find and even harder to bargain with. You wrap your hand around the base of a particularly large branch of sage and pull hard as you grunt out, “Doesn’t mean I can help you.”

He pleads with you again and there’s a part of you that wishes you could do something for him, perhaps a glamour so that he feels more passable, more normal in the world, but that’s hardly a solution to the real problem. There’s fiery rage at your back, toxic black cruelty that wants to swallow you up, and it’s all you can do not to cast him out of your circle on instinct. You can feel the pain that radiates from him in waves of cold that creep up the back of your neck. It only grows as the minutes tick by, and you hear the crunch of dry foliage when he falls to his knees behind you.

“I’m sorry, but there really isn’t anything that I can do for you,” you tell him as you turn to face him again. He’s in a sorry state with his ebony face pressed into ivory hands, and you watch as vines of sticky black tar crawl up his arm to his fingertips. They bury into his skin and his aura turns absolutely desolate. So much rage. So much hate. 

So much darkness that it frightens you.

He rasps and then coughs. The inky tendrils are filling his mouth, strangling him in a painful vise, drowning him in the blackness which inhabits his shaking body. He squirms on the forest floor and struggles to breathe, and for a minute you watch him choke on his own tainted soul. It might be better just to let it consume him. He’ll die, or he’ll turn into a monster for you to dispatch, but it will end his suffering either way. You consider it as blood-drunk vines spread from beneath his cloak to constrict about his throat, but your thoughts come to a screeching halt as those red eyes of his fixate on you from the spaces between his fingers.

It’s not quite pity that makes you move, and not quite mercy, because the kindest thing to do would be to put this poor creature out of his misery, to let his curse die with him. This curse that makes him stink like carrion, makes his presence sickening to approach, makes your skin burn as you wrap your hands around his sticky-slick wrists and pull. They come away from his face with a grunt of effort; his grip is bruising as you lock your fingers into his and you feel your knuckles pop under the pressure.

“Breathe, little raven,” you instruct, and in time he does, raspy at first and then with more freedom as the inky tar crawls back beneath his cloak and sinks into his skin where it belongs. You nearly groan with relief when he eases his death grip on your hands. You don’t quite dare to let go. “There you go.”

It takes a while for him to regain his composure, and when he does, he sits back on his heels and finally releases your hands. You rub at the irritated skin as you regard him cautiously.

“What’s your name?” you ask him. He meets your gaze with tired eyes.

“Tokoyami,” he says at length. “Tokoyami Fumikage.”

“That’s a hell of a curse you have, Tokoyami.”

“Hell is accurate.” He drags his hands down his face, pushes his hair back, smears the dirt from your hands across the sharp planes of his beak.

“I’m sorry.”

He looks up at you, startled. Evidently expressions of empathy are unfamiliar to him. You push yourself to your feet and offer him a hand that he uses to stand; you can feel the bones beneath his transparently pale skin, thin and brittle, and the impression of them still lingers even as you brush the earth from your palms and stoop to collect your basket. The rising sun is starting to warm your shoulders, and it won’t be long before the dark of night is entirely banished.

“You’ll have to make amends to whatever entity your family slighted,” you advise, “though I don’t know if that will be enough to break your curse. The gods can be quite fickle.”

“Most of my family is gone. I don’t even know where to start,” he says. “How am I to know where to look?”

“You found me well enough. I’m sure an angry god will be far less challenging.” 

He opens his mouth to answer, but the sun breaches the horizon, and you’re gone before the sound reaches your ears.

[Stay tuned for part 2.]

[nyrocwrites]

Requests are open

Please I’m desperate

[nyrocwrites]

New blog, who dis?

I’m Nyroc and I write things. Eventually I’ll write enough things to have a masterlist. Not today, though.

I draw things too. Find me on Instagram if you want some nerd art.