#used this to get more used to drawing them

[enhani-ki]

enhypen as your "stressed" boss

warning(s): very suggestive content, cursing, etc.

when your job is to make your boss' life easier but he gets hard to you instead...

HEESEUNG ─── ★

"do me a favor?" heeseung asked, lifting his necktie between two fingers like it was a dead thing. "fix this again… i swear these things come alive at night."

you exhaled slowly, not even dignifying that with a response. he didn't even bother standing up. he just stayed leaned back in his chair like he was doing you a favor by being seated.

heeseung's legs were spread open just enough for you to stand between them. his shirt sleeves were rolled up, the two buttons were left undone... it's enough to draw eyes, or maybe just to suggest something.

apparently, none of his past secretaries ever lasted more than two months. some said they quit, others claimed they were transferred, and according to office gossip, he couldn't even make it through the first week without anyone crossing a lineーyou could see why.

people believed what they wanted, but you've been working for him over a year now and had never actually fucked your boss like everyone said you had.

though, sometimes… you kind of wish the rumors were true.

your fingers started moving automatically. you looped the fabric, tightened the knot, and smoothed his collar… you could probably do this in your sleep by now.

"don't look so serious," he murmured with a soft chuckle. "pretend you love doing this for me."

you glanced at the guy who was already looking up at you. "love is a strong word, boss," you muttered before resting your hands on his shoulders, "but i ca—"

the door swung open suddenly, making both of you jump in surprise. the intern's eyes went wide, stammering, "i—i—i'll just come back!" like they just walked in on a porn set, before slamming the door shut.

you stepped back instantly, running a hand down your face with a sigh. "great. that's gonna be all over the building before lunch," you said, making him chuckle again.

"heeseung," you said sternly. he actually preferred it when you used his name like that—just casual and familiar, even if you only say it when it was just the two of you. "you really need to learn how to tie your own damn tie."

he whined, "i don't want toooo."

JAY ─── ★

you're sitting on the edge of his bed, legs swinging slightly, doing everything in your power not to look anywhere inappropriate while your boss buckled his belt in front of you.

this was the third time this week that jay had been late to work. he kept oversleeping, ignoring calls, blaming traffic and accidents that never even happened.

you've seen this version of him before, back when he lost all his motivation and nearly quit. this time, you weren't letting it get that far.

you let yourself into his apartment, pushed open the heavy blackout curtains, dragged him half-asleep out of bed, and make sure he gets to office in time.

"thanks for coming to get me," he muttered. his voice was still raspy from sleep, running a hand through his messy hair. "my alarm's been… off lately."

you reached for a pillow without thinking. you hugged it tightly to your chest, burying your face in the soft fabric, trying to hide the heat creeping up your cheeks.

jay smirked, catching the way you refused to look at him before shamelessly staring at your bare legs that's still swinging awkwardly above his floor. "you always get this shy?" he laughed, tugging the tank top down over his torso with a little stretch.

"just fucking hurry!" you muttered angrily into the pillow.

he chuckled again, shaking his head at his cute assistant while grabbing his keys from the nightstand. "you can wait in the living room next time if you don't want to see me naked again."

you peeked, "and let you fall back asleep? no way."

JAKE ─── ★

jake has been side eyeing you. he cleared his throat butー "don't even say it," you muttered before he could even speak.

he crossed his arms, eyebrows raising. "say what?"

"that you need another coffee... i know i'm your assistant but honestly, you look like shit."

"oh, wow..." his mouth fell open, amused. "you always look sexy whenever you scold me, you know that?"

"yes."

he blinked, taken aback by your bluntness—then snorted, shaking his head with a grin as he leaned back in his chair. "...then be careful. i'm ten seconds away from dragging your ass over here."

you rolled your eyes, unfazed. "you say that like it's a threat."

jake spun slowly in his chair, eyeing you with a grin before biting his lip. "come here... let me touch something that doesn't make me want to scream."

SUNGHOON ─── ★

you knocked once before stepping in, sunghoon didn't even look up. he was seating behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie already discarded somewhere across the room. his hair is a mess from running his hands through it too many times.

he looked pissed. "about the meeting..." you started carefully, "i already sent the corrected draft."

"okay..." he replied, eyes still locked on his screen. "i think i'm going to have a fucking aneurysm."

you hesitated. "…are you?"

sunghoon looked at you like, seriously? before smirking, "depends. are you planning on doing that thing again...?"

you smiled a little. "depends. are you going to give me a few vacation leaves after?"

sunghoon leaned back in his chair, finally letting out a breath. "yes. and i'm going with you too."

you raised a brow. "oh? as my boss?"

"no... as someone even worse, baby."

SUNOO ─── ★

sunoo was laying across the couch, resting his head perfectly in your lap while wearing a soft, hydrating face mask on his face.

his hand traced circles on your knees while you ran your fingers through his soft hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. "you're too good at this..." sunoo murmured. "you trying to make me lose my mind?"

“i thought you already lost it?"

he smiled faintly. "which one do you think's doing it? the scalp massage or your attention?"

you chuckled, "which one do you like more?"

"hmm…" he hummed again, giving your knee a playful squeeze. "both. mostly your attention." he was about to close his eye but then he suddenly raised his brow, lips quirking. "why do you always touch your boss like this when you're off the clock though??"

"are you okay? you're the one on my lap."

sunoo smiled, closing his eyes. "sorry but you can't report me at my own house," he teased, then continued, "i can say whatever i want."

your hand slid in his chest. "i might start saying things back." you said, making sunoo sat up without any warning, signature eye started dropping through his ridiculous face mask.

"start talking."

JUNGWON ─── ★

"what are you looking at?" jungwon said without even turning his head as he could feel your eyes on him.

he hasn't spoke much since he walked in. he just buried himself behind his screen. you blinked, looking down at your desk like you hadn't been caught staring. "no—nothing."

he finally stood up, brushing past you slowly to grab a pen. you gulped, his height always did something inside you whenever he got too close.

he sighed through his nose before loosening his tie.

truth was, he hadn't been able to focus for the past hour because of you. and the way you bit your pen while choosing from the series of his pictures, making his brain short-circuit.

he really was trying to be good today.

you stood and walked over, leaning slightly over his desk to drop off a file. jungwon's fist clenched lightly on the desk as his eyes lowered right to the edge of the table, where your hip was angled just slightly in his direction. oh, it'd be so easy if you just drop to your knees now—

you tilted your head. "boss... you okay?"

he nodded eagerly. "yeah. yeah—just stressed." he said before looking up at you again, looking so innocent even though his tongue was pressing into his cheek, legs bouncing uncontrollably under the desk.

"...it's making me think of things i probably shouldn't about my assistant."

you blinked, confused. "whaーwhat?"

jungwon cleared his throat and quickly looked away, cheeks growing faint pink in embarrassment. "ignore that. i didn't say anything."

he avoided your eyes, rubbing the back of his neck... feeling how tight his pants suddenly felt.

NI-KI ─── ★

you tapped your foot impatiently as ni-ki walked past you in nothing but a towel and toothbrush hanging from his lips.

he pointed vaguely toward the bathroom, eyes half-lidded, and mumbling something incoherent before disappearing behind the door.

you checked the time as thirty minutes passed. why the fuck he was moving like a sloth?

"ni-ki?" you called, knocking on the bathroom door but there's no answer. you frowned before pushing it open, and just as you suspected, he's not there. the shower hasn't even been turned on.

"ni-ki!" you stormed into his bedroom—only to find him curled up on his bed, hugging his pillow like a baby. ni-ki groaned, cracking one eye open. "ughh, the fuck you so loud for?"

you marched over and shook his body, "we're gonna be late!"

and instead of getting up, he just reached out and pulled you into the bed like a goddamn trap. he locked you in his arms and buried his face into your neck. "let me borrow you real quick," he mumbled, his breath felt warm against your skin.

"ni-kiー" you struggled, squirming in his hold.

"shhh," he shushed you, tightening his grip with a little smirk, "you keep calling my name like that, i'll make sure you'll moan it out the next."

a/n: random ahh fic. posted this with round with my baby - reader x ni-ki

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

[elswhore]

you dont even know what is overwhelming you. paige’s sharp lecturing or the merciless way she is fucking you.

rough sex. strap on. jealousy. degration. overstimulation. verbal discipline. dacryphilia. crying during sex.

tears streamed down your face blurring your vision as you clutched the sheets beneath you, your knuckles white from the effort.

your voice trembled a broken string of pleas and apologies spilling from your lips in a desperate, incoherent mess.

"f-fuck, p-paige, please, im s-sorry, fuck—" you babbled your words punctuated by sharp gasps and hiccupping sobs.

each syllable felt like it was being ripped from your throat, your body shaking under the relentless rhythm of her hips.

paige groaned her eyes squeezed shut as if she could block out your whimpering and focus solely on the task at hand.

her hands gripped your ass cheeks spreading them wider, her fingers digging into your skin with a bruising intensity that made you yelp.

the stretch of her strap filled you completely, each deep thrust sending shockwaves through your body, your nerves alight with a pleasure so overwhelming it bordered on pain.

her thumb slick with sweat, brushed across your tear streaked cheek, a fleeting gesture that was more possessive than comforting.

"i told you," she growled her voice low and rough, each word punctuated by a sharp snap of her hips.

"stop. fucking. talking. to her. she’s hitting on you, and you are too damn naive to see it."

your mouth opened to respond, a shaky "y-yes, but—" tumbling out before it dissolved into a high pitched whine.

paige was not having it.

she shifted, hoisting your legs up to rest on her shoulders, the new angle allowing her to drive even deeper.

the sensation was dizzying your head spinning as your body arched involuntarily, every nerve ending screaming from the onslaught.

her free hand gripped the headboard above you, her knuckles whitening as she used it for leverage, the wood creaking under the force of her movements.

the bed rocked with each thrust the sound mingling with your choked cries and the low, guttural groans spilling from her lips.

"you think im stupid?" paige continued her voice dripping with frustration, each word laced with a possessive edge that made your stomach flutter despite the haze of overstimulation.

"you think i dont see the way she looks at you? the way shes always texting you, trying to get in your head?"

her hips slammed forward, punctuating her words, and you gasped, your hands scrabbling for purchase on her shoulders, nails digging into her skin.

"i told you to cut it off, but no, you just keep letting her in, dont you?"

"i-i didnt mean—" you tried, but the words caught in your throat swallowed by a moan as she angled her hips just right, hitting a spot that made your vision white out for a moment.

your body betrayed you hips bucking up to meet her despite the lecture, chasing the high that only she could give you.

your mind was a fog her words floating in and out like static, drowned out by the pulse pounding in your ears and the wet rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

"dont give me that shit," paige snapped, her eyes finally opening to fix you with a glare that was equal parts anger and desire.

her hair was mussed, strands sticking to her sweat dampened forehead and her jaw was tight, the muscles flexing as she gritted her teeth.

"you know exactly what you are doing, and im done playing nice." she leaned down, her breath hot against your ear, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"you’re mine, and you’re gonna learn to act like it." the possessiveness in her tone sent a shiver down your spine, your body clenching around the strap involuntarily, drawing a low, satisfied groan from her.

but even as she lectured her pace never faltered, each thrust deliberate and punishing pushing you closer to the edge until you were teetering on the brink.

your hands slid down her back nails raking across her skin, leaving faint red lines in their wake.

you wanted to respond, to promise you will listen, to beg for forgiveness but all that came out was a broken "p-paige, please, i—"

"shut up." she growled her hand leaving the headboard to grip your jaw forcing you to meet her gaze.

her eyes were dark pupils blown wide with a mix of lust and fury and the sight alone was enough to make your breath hitch.

"you dont get to talk right now, you get to take it and listen." her thumb pressed against your lips, silencing any further protests, and she shifted her weight, driving into you with a force that made your entire body jolt against the mattress.

you couldn’t focus, couldn’t think.

her words were a distant storm rumbling at the edges of your consciousness, but all you could feel was her.

her hands, her strap, the heat of her body pressed against yours, the lecture continued, a litany of grievances about your obliviousness, about how you needed to understand who you belonged to.

but it was impossible to process, your mind was too full of the way she was fucking you, the way each thrust sent you spiraling, your body trembling as you hurtled toward release.

"you’re gonna stop talking to her," paige said, her voice steady despite the exertion each word a command.

"you’re gonna block her number, delete her messages, and if she tries to come near you, you’re gonna tell her to fuck off. you hear me?"

her hand slid from your jaw to your throat not squeezing but resting there, a silent reminder of her control.

"or i swear, im gonna make you regret it." you nodded frantically tears spilling over anew, not because of the threat but because you were so close, so overwhelmed, that you could barely hold on.

"y-yes, paige, i—i’ll do it," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate bid to please her, to show her you were hers.

but even as you said it your body was betraying you, your hips grinding against her, chasing the climax that was building like a tidal wave.

she smirked a flash of triumph in her eyes, but she didn’t let up.

"good girl." she murmured, the praise laced with a mocking edge that made your cheeks burn.

"now take it like you mean it."

۶ৎ — @addl0vee @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream @gabbyygoo @bravemode @latenighttalkinqwp @avvwritesstufff @prettygirl-gabi @yailtsv @bebitts @heartsforari @usuallyshadowybasement @authentic-girl03 @private-but-not-a-secret @evanpeterstoe @destinybueckers44 @youmeandjennessey @starfulani @cherryswisherz @bueckersworld @paiges-1vur

[jinx-xxed]

Silver Chains

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I’ve already watched Sinners 4 times and became obsessed so I fear it’s necessary for me to write a fic for Remmick at least once 🤕 this is my first time writing vampires and blood like this so please forgive me if it sucks 🙏 also if I’ve written anything in relation to the movie incorrectly please tell me so I can fix it! I have some other ideas brewing that I might write as well so I hope you enjoy :P!

Summary; A hunt gone awry leaves you caught by vampire hunters with the threat of the sun looming over you.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, vampire reader, vampirism, vampire hunters, blood and injury, death, feral behavior, you almost die, protective/possessive Remmick, very dependent relationship, bloodsucking, blood eating as kink, a lot of drool, he comes with it what can I say, feeding off Remmick, putting those claws and teeth to good use, eating out, fingering, piv sex, multiple orgasms, little bit of aftercare, soft Remmick

Wc; 7.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The stench of blood assaults your nose.

It’s not the tantalizing, mouth-watering scent of someone else’s, no, it’s your own. It smells all sorts of wrong, impure and old with decay only to a thing like you.

Your blood runs down your skin in rivulets, staining it a deep, shiny red. Droplets fling from your body as you thrash and jerk against the heavy, silver chains that bind you to a thick and sturdy tree. The pain of the bark digging into your back is nothing compared to the agony of the chains burning your flesh away, steam rising from your injuries like you’d been placed on burning coals. It makes you wild, desperate to get away but with nowhere to go.

There’s no chance of you escaping the chains that sit against your neck, arms, waist, and legs in sets of two, even despite your struggling and the way you try to launch yourself from the tree with the slight leeway you have with your feet. Your unnerving eyes gleam in the moonlight, wide and frantic with fear, your bloodstained, jagged teeth showing in your open mouth. You feel as far from human as you possibly could be, snarling like an animal and chained just like one too.

The men watching you seem to think the same thing.

There’s five of them, two sit on their horses while the other three steadily pace the small clearing they have you in. God damn vampire hunters, armed to the teeth with everything they need to kill the likes of you. Silver bullets, silver chains, garlic and holy water, wooden stakes on their belts. It’s like they’re surrounded by a bubble of protection that you can’t penetrate, that’ll hurt you if they get too close—which isn’t that far off.

You curse yourself over and over. You and Remmick made damn sure to stay away from Choctaw land and yet here you are, caught and beaten. This is a new type of hunter, one you’d never had the misfortune of coming across before. They hunt in the dead of night, they enjoy watching you thrash and suffer, and their methods are cruel, meant to draw out your punishment.

You’ve never heard or seen a lick of them prior to tonight when you’d been ambushed and chased through the woods.

A gunshot had pierced your shoulder, one that brought more pain than your typical lead bullet. It had left you stumbling with a choked yell, steam rising from the hole in your shoulder blade. Then you’d heard the rustling in the underbrush, the hoots and hollers of men with a different kind of bloodlust than what you’re used to. Oh you’d ran, you’d ran as fast as your legs could carry you through the rough terrain of the forest, clearing fallen logs and scraping your bare arms on branches and thorns.

They’d caught you with another bullet to your thigh and a rope around your legs, pulling snug as soon as you tried to take another step and sending you thudding onto the hard ground. They’d wrapped you in silver soon after, seemingly experts on how to maneuver around you to avoid your snapping teeth and deadly nails. The first touch of the silver made your skin bubble and burn, a scream tearing out of your throat against your will. They’d dragged you crying for you don’t know how long behind their horses, all the way to the edge of the forest that overlooks a field that’s flat for as far as the eye can see.

You don’t know where they came from, they’re clearly unrelated to any other group or tribe of hunters, instead being just a gaggle of men who have dedicated their lives to eradicating yours. The history of your kind isn’t widely known, isn’t readily available to the public, so in your pain-addled brain you still wonder where they heard your tales, still wonder what else you might have to worry about if the knowledge is growing.

Your head thumps back, your breath coming ragged through your lungs. You shut your eyes tight for just a moment, trying to force away any more tears and clear your head. You haven’t felt pain like this in a long, long time, especially because Remmick has always been there to keep an eye on you, to keep you out of harms way. But not this time, not when you strayed too far and got too distracted to be vigilant about your surroundings. You’d been stupid and you know that, so part of you thinks you deserve this.

“Just stake me and be done.” You groan, ultimately defeated as the silver chains bite through your skin to the bone. It’s not like you want to die necessarily, you just want to be released from your own agony. You hate the way they’re toying with you, watching like wolves as you writhe and bleed.

One man shakes his head, his face shadowed by the cowboy hat he wears. “Nah, we like to watch y’all burn.” He looks to his watch and then up at the sky. “Ain’t gon’ be much longer now.”

You can’t help looking as well, your eyes finding the ever lightening night sky. The stars have been chased away, the moon laying itself to rest on the other side of the earth. You can feel the threat of the sun as the air steadily warms, as time tick, tick, ticks away. If you had to guess, you have about thirty minutes left at most before yellow rays peak over the horizon line.

You force a swallow down your torn throat, your breathing stutters as panic kicks up in your chest. You figure seeing the sun in your final moments won’t be the worst thing, it has been seven years after all, but nobody wants to be burned alive. You don’t want to feel your skin cook and be engulfed by flames, you don’t want your last memory to be pain. Tears fall down your bloodstained cheeks without you realizing, dripping to the forest floor as your head hangs.

Then there’s a rustle in the trees beyond that makes your attention snap back up. That’s when you sense it, when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise. It’s like a blanket of eerie quiet was laid over the clearing, quieting any crickets or frogs or birds and leaving just the whispers of an old wind through the trees. There’s a flash of red, the familiar smell of ancient blood and earth hitting your nostrils. It’s an instant comfort.

Your own reaction has caused the hunters to become alert, clutching their guns a little tighter and looking into the trees. They don’t even realize what’s happening before the screams start.

The first man goes down—the first is always the easiest. The horses startle in turn, rearing up with loud, shrill whinnies that make the men on their backs shout. One falls off his beast while the other gets dragged from the saddle with a yell. The horses shake their heads and shriek before crashing into the forest, leaving their riders behind to get their throats torn open.

You could sob in relief at seeing Remmick, his claws extended and his fangs bared. He looks feral, his hair wild and his eyes wide and gleaming bright red. Blood coats his chin and his neck, staining the collar of his button up as he rips into his victims as messily as he pleases. The two men left got enough of their senses to try and fire their guns, to use the weapons they so carefully prepared. One wields a wooden stake and runs at Remmick who grabs the man’s wrists to prevent the stake from being buried into his heart.

They grapple briefly before the man is being slammed onto the ground with a terrifying ease, something within his body cracking. Claws are raked across his neck in a quick slash, urgency spurred by the cock of a gun, the sound of the shot being fired making you flinch as it rings through the clearing. It misses its target by just a hair and it’s unable to reload fast enough to prevent Remmick from jumping on the final hunter. The man goes down with a choked scream and you hear the familiar sounds of flesh being devoured and blood being drained. There’s only a sickly silence that follows.

All of the spilled blood has thick strings of drool dripping from the corners of your mouth, your hunger flaring up from the lack of food you’d gotten tonight and the exhaustion of struggling against the hunters. You lean forward instinctively, desperate for a taste, before the silver chains binding your body remind you of where you are. You jolt back with a whimper, pain biting into you tenfold.

Remmick’s head snaps up, those sinister red eyes finding you as the bloodlust and blind rage fades, as he seems to remember you. He’s up in an instant, hurrying over and flinching away with a snarl when he realizes what’s wrapped around your body. “Shit.” He spits angrily, doing it again when he looks to the horizon and sees the slow infiltration of the oranges and yellows of morning into the purples and blues of night. Ten minutes left.

“Rem- Remmick- please, please get me out- it hurts, Remmick, please.” You beg, your babbling words warbling with pain and emotion. You don’t want to be left behind, not again, not by him. It’d hurt more than the searing kiss of the sun.

“I ain’t leavin’ you, darlin’.” He says with finality through gritted teeth, even as every instinctual thing inside him whispers to leave you here to die, to save himself and let you be engulfed in the flames of your mistake. He circles behind you, taking a deep breath before beginning to tug at the chains, hissing as they burn the calloused skin on his hands. Despite the pain, they steadily come undone, dropping to the ground around you so you can finally take in a gasping breath.

“I told you to stay with me, didn’t I? Would it kill ya to listen for once?” Remmick snaps as he undoes the last of the chains around your legs, leaving you to stumble forward. You’re charred and covered in wounds, but now your body can finally begin to regenerate. You look a mess and you feel like one too, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you struggle just to stay standing.

Before you can even get out an apology, he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you with him. His own blood smears on your skin, the smell threatening to cloud your mind. “C’mon, or else we’ll both be fried.” His tone is low and angry and focused, telling you to save whatever you need to say for later.

You eagerly follow him, doing your best to keep up as you both run to outrace the rising warmth of morning. Panic hangs heavy around you, knowing how quickly those final minutes tick by, feeling the heat licking at your heels. Your skin threatens to begin sizzling again, sweat gleaming on your forms.

But by the grace of some cursed god, it turns out the hunters had dragged you not too far from where you and Remmick have made your home in a tiny little house hidden in the trees. It’s temporary, of course, and you’ll no doubt be moving again after tonight, but in the moment it’s like finding a blessed sanctuary in the midst of damnation. You both fly up the porch steps and burst into your home just as the sun clears the horizon line, its beams filtering through the trees while you slam the door in its face.

You fall to your knees instantly, panting and heaving like a dog as your deep injuries throb and ooze. Your whole body is shaking, weak from a pain and hunger you haven’t experienced before. You can feel the ache in your teeth, the drool that still runs down your chin despite how many times you’ve wiped it away.

Remmick is less fazed, simply shrugging off his sweat and blood soaked button up and tossing it aside, his suspenders falling loose around his hips and leaving him in his once white tank. The thin gold chain around his neck glints in the dim lighting, a twin to the gold band on his ring finger. He’s cut it close enough times in his long past that he’s familiar with the sensation of the sun at his back, but he’s been more careful with you. He makes sure to have you both fed and back with time to spare, but everything seemed to go wrong tonight. Though, he supposes the scare was probably good for you. Teach you not to wander off again.

He looks idly at his hands, at the blisters that are already beginning to fade. He’s always healed pretty fast, while you on the other hand aren’t as fortunate. The scent of your blood fills his nose, fills the room of the house. You’re both lucky his hunger was satiated earlier, otherwise he’d be on you like a leech. Even after he turned you, your blood stayed just as mouthwatering, just as delicious to something twisted inside of him. It proved to him that you were something different, something he’d been searching for without really knowing it.

“Are you upset with me?” You sniffle, quite pathetic really. But it’s been a long while since you’ve felt this much shame and embarrassment, and your body doesn’t quite know what to do with it besides force it out through tears.

Remmick stands in silence with his thoughts for a moment more before he sighs, defeated. “I ain’t angry with ya, sugar. Just worried, is all.” He turns, his steps marked by the too-soft thud of boots against hardwood. You see the toes of his shoes in your vision, but you still can’t make yourself lift your head, to look at him—so he does it for you. He crouches down, taking your face in his hand, making you meet his eyes. “Fuck, darlin’, they almost killed you.”

You can see the concern etched onto his eternally young face, the memory of seeing you chained in silver and presented like a sacrifice to the morning sun. You can’t even begin to understand the fear he’d felt; hearing all the commotion far off in the woods, hearing your screams and hoping he ran fast enough to reach you. He could smell the way your blood poured from your body, the way it burned under your confines. He’d sensed your terror too, your emotions sitting just behind his own like a second pair, locked together by a bond too ancient to be understood. You’d called out to him without your voice and he answered without a second thought.

Oh, how he’d raged seeing you against that tree, begging your captors for a quick death. Your face was covered in tears and blood, you’d looked to the horizon with a mixture of acceptance and panic, something he’s seen plenty of times before. He never should have let it happen, should have known to keep you closer, should have known you were still too young into this and got too excited over fresh meat. Hell, he didn’t even know how you managed to sneak off but he’d looked away for one damn minute and then you were gone. He’d been a fool to trust that you’d come back before a gunshot rang through the forest.

Killing those men was one of the easier things he’s done. Remmick barely even registered their deaths, the only thought in his mind being eliminating any threats to you and getting some food out of it as well. Their wards and stakes and silver bullets did nothing to deter him, they were weak and weightless—the opposite of the other hunters he’s come across, the ones with real strength. No, those men were new and ultimately inexperienced, and yet still stupidly dangerous.

He’d worry about them later. They’re dead and gone while you’re still bleeding and sniffling in front of him.

You lean into his touch like a cat, desperate for comfort. “Yer starvin’, ain’t ‘cha?” He murmurs, running his thumb along your cheek. He can see it clear as day in your gleaming eyes, the drool that won’t stop, and the way your wounds are refusing to close because you don’t have enough sustenance. You nod sadly, your head bowed while tears of frustration burn behind your eyelids. Remmick is quick to wipe them away. “Shh, don’t cry, sugar. You’ll be alright. You got food right here.”

You look at him with confusion before seeing the way he’s presented his thick forearm to you, underside up. Your eyes widen and you almost jump immediately at the opportunity, your teeth aching painfully and hunger howling within you. He nods his head towards his arm. “Go on, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t let ya go hungry.”

You sit up, acting on autopilot as you grip his arm in both of your hands, your drool dripping onto his skin before your teeth sink in. Blood immediately comes to the surface of the puncture wounds, and you take every drop you’re offered. The iron-sweet tang on your tongue instantly brings out your hunger tenfold, your fangs digging even deeper into the soft skin. Remmick makes a low noise, something between a groan and a grunt, watching with satisfaction as you take from him.

It’s rare when he lets you do this. Typically there’s enough food for the both of you, enough to keep you happily satiated until the next time that primordial hunger comes knocking. But sometimes there’s nights when the hunt fails, nights like tonight when the need to feast is bad enough to kill you if it’s left too long, when you need to rely on your last resort. However, no matter what, Remmick will never let his lady go hungry.

The age of Remmick’s blood blooms in your mouth, rich with an aftertaste of ancient iron and old, hidden stories. Only people like you would know how much you can learn from someone’s blood, from the life force of their body. The whispers of the lives they led running along your tongue as you feast, the emotions they held within hopes and dreams. It’s fascinating, and it was something Remmick was eager to show you when you were first turned, teaching you the crimson stained wonders of being what he is.

You relish the feeling of his blood flowing through you, working to heal the wounds littering your body. His other hand rests firmly on the back of your neck, his fingers occasionally squeezing and letting you feel the pricks of his claws that have begun to slide from their sheaths. He keeps you there, encouraging you to take and take and take.

You eventually pull back, twisting out of his hold on you and releasing his bloody arm with a pop. Your breath comes as pants through your open mouth, blood staining your lips and teeth, the gleam having returned to your eyes. Your bites have always been cleaner than Remmick’s, less gruesome and destructive, leaving his forearm with tiny wounds that will heal quickly. The sight of red beading from them still makes you salivate but it’s easier to reel yourself in now, dragging your hunger back by a leash around its neck to keep it from going rabid. It allows your fangs and claws to be more willing to retract, your mind no longer running in restless, desperate circles around the concept of food.

You notice the way Remmick has been looking at you, full of some type of reverence mixed with relief, you think. Relief at the fact you’re not a sniveling, bleeding mess on the floor anymore, your usual shine quickly coming back. Your wounds have stitched themselves back together, bone no longer showing and just the outermost layers still being torn and burnt. It makes you feel like you can breathe again, every movement free of the horrible agony.

“C’mere.” Remmick says, voice dropping a few levels as he continues staring at your blood stained mouth. He pulls you in before you even have the chance to sit up properly, your lips meeting in a clash of tongues and teeth. He groans when he tastes his own blood on you, practically taking it from you with the way he licks you. You gasp against him as he fully invades your space, your back hitting the wooden door so that there’s nowhere else to go, his body effectively caging you in. His hands easily roam over your form, knowing every inch and detail with the precision of a man who’s explored them a hundred times before.

Hands come to rest on your waist and before you know it, you’re being hoisted up with a startled noise that Remmick quickly swallows with a kiss. His muscled biceps flex as he easily holds you against him, your legs coming to wrap around his hips and your hands gripping at his shoulders for purchase. You’re carried upstairs with a newfound urgency, Remmick kicking open the bedroom door and roughly laying you onto the soft sheets of a bed that used to belong to somebody else—before you two took over, of course.

Blood, sweat, and dirt immediately stain the covers beneath you, smearing across the fabric as you move. It’s nothing new, this happens just about every time you return from an exhilarating hunt. You both barely ever have the foresight to wash off first before climbing into bed together. Remmick follows after you, your hands resting on either side of his face to draw him in, never wanting to be apart for too long. His fingers pull at the shirt that was tucked into your pants that are too big on you, the ones you always wear on a hunt that are now ruined by the burn marks of silver chains.

His touch is always just on the side of too cold, a consequence of being undead, the same one that you suffer from. It’s something you were quick to grow used to, along with the way his temperature fluctuates depending on how much fresh blood he has coursing through him. His ring bites like ice beneath your shirt as he eases it up and over your body, tossing it somewhere into a corner to be picked up later.

“Mm, Remmick..” you mumble, your hands coming up to run through his short black hair, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. His bloody chain dangles from his sternum, hanging just above you like a taunt.

“I know, sugar.” He responds, feeling the way your legs rub together beneath him, your body quivering with anticipation. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, past the spot where he bit you all those years ago. He licks away stains of the dried blood remaining from your sealed injuries, groaning like an animal at the taste that leaves him drooling.

Saliva smears across your skin on his way down your body, stopping briefly at your breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling it against his tongue and teasing it between his thankfully normal teeth as you arch into him, little breathy moans and gasps tumbling out of you. He envelops the other breast in his calloused hand, squeezing and rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. “So beautiful… so good fer me, sugar.” He murmurs against you, his nose nudging at the space between your breasts where more blood has dried. It doesn’t take long for him to clean it off.

He makes quick work of your pants, undoing the buttons deftly and lifting your hips to tug them free. His hands run along your thighs lovingly, goosebumps rising in his wake. He straightens, red eyes roving over your now exposed body with appreciation. Drool beads at the corners of his lips, steadily building and running down his chin while you smile at him.

“Pretty thing, all fer me.” Remmick says it like a confirmation and a vow, even though he needs none. There’s nothing that could separate you two besides a stake through the heart or the sun’s warmth. You gave yourself to him completely the day you let him bite you, let him take your life and forge it into something new, something unholy and damned.

“All yours.” You agree, stretching your arms above your head like a cat. You give him a sly grin. “Now stop teasing.”

His eyebrows shoot up, a deep chuckle leaving him, even as he hooks his fingers beneath your underwear and tugs it off. “Always impatient, huh?”

You hum as he kneels, his strong arms coming up to wrap around your thighs and settle them nicely on his wide shoulders. “I just know how good you feel. Can’t a girl be excited?”

Remmick smirks, huffing a laugh. “Shoot, I don’t see why not.”

His breath fans across your cunt, already wet and glistening with your arousal. The red in his eyes smolders like coals, burning brighter with his desire as he looks at you like you’re his next meal. He leans in, that first connection acting like lightning shooting through you, your body arching and mouth falling open. His tongue licks between your folds, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit where he toys with the bud, circling it with little flicks and pecks while you moan above him.

Remmick sucks your clit into his mouth, the rest of you immediately responding in turn as you jolt from the pleasure. He knows how to play you like his banjo, how to keep you easy and pliant while he works you to climax. He knows your body like it’s his own, the bond you share allowing him to hold a presence within you, to tell your emotions and thoughts. Most of all, he knows how you like to be licked, his tongue dipping into your hole as your noises raise a pitch.

“Remmick.. fuck-“ You moan, hands coming down to run through his hair, tugging after a particularly harsh kiss to your clit. He groans into your pussy, the sound reverberating through you as he swallows down your arousal with an eagerness he doesn’t even display during feedings. His drool makes your cunt shine, mixing with your slick to the point you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He practically buries himself into your cunt, licking and kissing and taking whatever you have to offer. His hands are like vices on your thighs, the unmistakable tips of his claws occasionally pricking your skin as they again slide from their nail beds with his excitement. You can feel the way pleasure courses through you, tightening your muscles and creating a familiar knot in your lower abdomen that will steadily build until it’s ready to come loose. It won’t be long with the way Remmick eats you like he hasn’t had a meal in years.

His nose nudges at your clit, his tongue circling your hole before slipping inside, collecting the wetness you continually drip for him. You whine loudly, pulling harder at the black strands of his hair, your thighs attempting to clench around his head. “Shit- feels so good Rem, fuck-“ You curse, falling back against the pillows, chest heaving.

You writhe under his ministrations, his hands having to move up to your hips just to keep you still, his biceps flexing against your legs. He knows how close you are so he ramps it up, licking from your center to your clit and drawing it into his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. Your moans and whimpers are music to his ears, listening to the way you call his name with a breathy gasp as he makes you cum.

It crashes over you like a wave, that knot coming undone and pleasure wracking your body. Remmick drinks it all, not letting a single drop of it go to waste as his eyes burn red. He’s quick to slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sinking into the plush heat of your pussy, his claws sheathed just for now. He pumps them in and out while you ride through your orgasm, scissoring your gummy walls to stretch you even further. He doesn’t let up, even as you grab at him to try and get him off, the attention bordering on overstimulation. He continues to kiss at your clit all the while, his fingers and his mouth bringing you straight into another orgasm that has you seeing white.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, overly sensitive and leaving your legs twitching. Remmick licks you clean with as much care and diligence a man like him can muster, his fanged teeth occasionally scraping against you and making you shudder. His fingers slip out of your warmth covered in your cum, your walls fluttering and aching at the emptiness that you know won’t last long.

He finally releases your thighs, letting them fall from his shoulders as he lifts himself from between your legs. The lower half of his face is covered in a shiny mixture of drool, cum, and blood, making him look all sorts of a mess. You couldn’t care less, knowing that no matter what he does, it’s going to be a little messy—and you love that about him.

He slowly makes his way back up your body, kissing from your clavicle to your ribs, to your breasts, and then up the column of your neck before at last reaching your lips. You’re eager to kiss him, hands tugging at his shoulders to pull him in, keeping him as close as possible. You taste yourself on his tongue, along with a familiar iron tang that has your hunger flaring again. You pull away only to lick along his chin, eagerly collecting the bloody mixture until there’s none left. Your fangs released without you even realizing.

“Yer still hungry.” He says it as a statement rather than a question, seeing the blatant craving in your dazed eyes, feeling it within himself as if it was his own. You’ve tried to subdue it all this time, not wanting to take more than you’re allowed, but it still makes your stomach clench, your teeth ache. Your body is too weak to resist the pangs, still too busy patching up whatever damage can’t be seen externally. Remmick coos at you, “c’mon, s’okay. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You begin to protest, your more human sensibility allowing guilt to take charge. “You already gave me-“

He shakes his head, silencing you. “Sugar, ya won’t last long if yer starvin’. I think I ate enough for the both of us anyhow.” You think back to all those dead hunters in that clearing, their bodies strewn along the forest floor and their blood splattered on the grass like paint. You can still smell their foreign iron-laced scents on Remmick, and it only serves to make you crave more. Drool falls down your chin, and he just smiles knowingly. His head tilts, the skin on his neck becoming taut as he bares it to you. “C’mon now.”

There’s a singular moment of hesitation, where you look into those red gleaming eyes of his for a type of confirmation, and all you find is that he’s just watching you expectantly. Well, if a meal’s going to be served to you on a silver platter like this, you’d do good to take it.

Your jaw goes slack, your teeth sharp and ready, before your body lunges up to latch onto his neck. As the first drops hit your tongue, he grunts, his form falling over yours while he wraps an arm swiftly around your waist so you can both fall back onto the bed. His other hand slams down next to your head while his blood fills your mouth and you gulp it down like there won’t be a tomorrow.

Being fed on is always jarring for Remmick, his body still not used to it after the centuries of him being the only one to feast. His neck is so much different than his arm, he realizes, something dangerous being set off within him this time as a result. But it turns out he’d do just about anything for you, so he makes himself ease into the sensation, even as his claws dig into the bedsheets and his fanged teeth grind together hard enough to shatter, the primal part of him fearing that, for once, he’s being preyed on.

“That’s it, sugar.” He says with a husky laugh. “Shit.”

Past the initial shock, it’s easy for the pain to shift into pleasure. It is quite erotic, really, the way he can feel his own blood coursing through your body. The little noises you make while you feed on him, the trickles of blood mixing with spit on your chin, your strength returning all because of him. It fills him with a twisted sense of pride, knowing that he’s the one satiating that bone deep hunger, knowing his blood is mixing with yours and becoming one inside you. “Take it all, darlin’, suck me dry.” He groans, the tips of his claws making little pinpricks in your sides as he holds onto you.

It’s almost involuntary, the way his hips rut against you, his cock straining in his pants and demanding attention. It has his hands fumbling between your bodies, eager to undo the thick buckle of his belt with a clink, the buttons of his trousers following after. You nearly choke on his blood when you feel his shaft rubbing between your folds, coating himself in the mixture of your cum and his drool. He does a few slow, experimental thrusts, not sinking in just yet but simply feeling you instead. It has you groaning against his neck, your teeth digging in deeper and greedily drinking at the ambrosia that is Remmick’s blood while he pants above you.

You release him with a sharp gasp when the head of his cock catches your entrance, at last pressing in with slippery ease. His moan is throaty and guttural, a shiver running through him at the way your walls draw him in, enveloping him in plush warmth. He sheathes himself completely and he stays with his hips flush to yours for just a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the initial pleasure. It amazes you how he never gets tired of it, even after his centuries of being alive and his years of fucking you.

You pull him back down with hands on either side of his face, encouraging him to kiss you. He does, of course, his mouth enveloping yours just as he begins to thrust, drawing almost completely from your cunt before slamming back in. His tongue roves over yours, licking away any remnants of his blood and swallowing down your moans. He pulls away with his chest heaving, a sharp groan falling from his open mouth, fangs on full display just beneath his lips.

There’s a sudden wetness against your collarbones that makes you jolt, looking down to see blood from Remmick’s neck splattered along your skin. The wound you’d bitten into him is still bleeding, droplets coming loose with his thrusts and the way he’s bent over you. He smirks, taking two fingers and drawing them over the bite marks, collecting the blood smeared there. “Clean up yer mess, sugar.” He tells you between breathy pants, bringing his fingers to your mouth.

You take them eagerly, swirling the pads against your tongue, licking off every bit of blood and enjoying the earthly, metal taste. He watches you in awe, his eyes burning bright red in the dim lighting, full of adoration and reverence and desire. Your spit coats his fingers generously, leaving them shiny when you let go with a wet smack. He buries his head into the side of your neck with a disbelieving chuckle that quickly morphs into a moan, his hot breath fanning across your skin as your hands clutch at his bloodied white tank.

You take the opportunity to mouth at the bite on his throat like an animal, like a cat grooming its mate. You whine suddenly when he hits that spot at the top of your core, the one that has you keening and pleasure sparking like lightning beneath your skin. “Fu-fuck, Remmick-“ You mewl, claws digging into the expanse of his back, even through the tank. He growls appreciatively at the pain, at the red, angry lines undoubtedly rising along his skin and beading with blood.

Remmick nips hungrily at your neck, his hands digging harshly into your sides. He’s practically laid over top of you while he thrusts his cock deep into your throbbing pussy, keeping you as close as possible. There’s something possessive and raw about it, about the way he breathes you in, clutching at you desperately, biting you as if to prove you’re there.

“Ain’t never lettin’ you out of my sight again. Nearly fuckin’ lost ya.” He snarls with a groan, his claws digging in a little deeper at the memories of what happened just hours prior. Though your body no longer holds proof of it, he won’t forget anytime soon. He’ll chain you to him if he has to, just to make sure you’re safe.

“I- I know- I’m sorry-“ You say, moans stuttering with the way his hips slam into you, fueled by his declaration and the feral desires that howl a constant song within him. It’s not often that Remmick reveals any kind of vulnerability to you, instead letting you guess at it based on what you can gather from the bond you share. But it seems the very real idea of you bound in silver and burning brought it out of him, even if only a little.

You’re both nearing release, the pleasure burning in your core while his movements grow choppy and uneven. The noises he makes change, becoming breathy at the edges as his brows furrow, his nose nudging at your jaw. “Rem- Remmick- shit-“ You whine, feeling the way you’re so close to tumbling off the edge.

“I got ‘cha, sugar.” He says, voice rumbling right next to your ear. One hand comes between you, his calloused fingers finding your clit and swirling it in hurried circles, your mouth falling open and your eyes pinching shut as your muscles tense. His response is near instant, his free hand pinching your chin like a reminder, “nuh-uh, look at me, darlin’.”

You have no choice but to oblige him, meeting his gaze through tear stained lashes. You learned quickly how obsessed he is with seeing your face, seeing your eyes. No matter what position you’re in, he’ll make sure he can still see you or else you’ll find yourself flipped around to rectify it. You think he does it as a way to ground himself, a near impossible feat in an immortal body that’s hundreds of years old. You let him use you as an anchor, keeping him tethered here with you, two lonely souls finding company in one another.

It feels like all the breath gets knocked from your lungs as your third orgasm overtakes you. You whimper and whine and moan Remmick’s name, your hands scrabbling at him desperately. The way your cunt spasms around him makes him quick to follow after you with a loud curse, his cum hot as it paints your walls white, filling you to the brim with him. He rides out his high, emptying every last drop into you with small jerks of his hips and soft words, encouraging you to take it all.

“Fuck, sugar, yer somethin’ else.” Remmick pants, muscled chest heaving, straightening just a little to look at you in your fucked-out state. Hair wild, skin flushed, looking almost human if it weren’t for the unholy gleam in your eyes. There’s sticky trails of blood and spit all along your forms, remnants of both the hunt and your copulation. It’s made a further mess of the sheets below you, but quite frankly, you’re too tired to care.

He slowly pulls out with a groan, cum dribbling from your abused hole with his cock no longer there to keep you plugged full. You wince at the feeling, your energy spent and your body rightfully exhausted. As much as Remmick would love to keep you ruined with the reminders of what he did to you, he knows how you hate sleeping while sticky—and he needs you to be able to rest. He gently pries himself from you, even as you continuously try to wrap your arms around him again. “I’ll be right back, darlin’.” He promises, finally getting free despite your grumbling.

He gets a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water before returning. Your arms are open for him, welcoming him back into your embrace so you can feel him against you, so you can feel complete. He holds you like something precious, cleans you like you’re made of delicate glass. He wipes the blood off with no issue, his appetite blissfully satiated for now, and he’s gentle between your legs, this routine so familiar that he could do it with his eyes closed. You go limp from his touch, your body pliant beneath him. He kisses you more than once, unable to help himself when you bask so nicely in the afterglow.

When he’s finished, Remmick tosses the cloth absently into a corner somewhere, followed by his bloody tank that joins his button up on the floor to be washed later. He then settles into a non-soiled part of the bed, sitting back against the headboard and easily pulling you on top of him. You simply follow wherever his hands want you to go, more than happy to relax in his lap with your head pressed to his bare chest and his thick arms enveloping you. His scent floods your nose—sweat, iron, dirt, and old leather, making you hum appreciatively.

“My sweet girl,” Remmick murmurs against your hair, his hand running along your back in soothing lines. He pulls one of the spare quilts free and wraps it around you and you nestle into its comfort, the heavy material soft against your bare skin. You nuzzle against Remmick, too tired to resist fully giving in to those base desires for warmth and safety, knowing he’ll give you exactly that. There’s a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Rest. Y’need it.”

“You’ll still be here?” You mumble, barely able to muster a sentence, eyes already beginning to shut. Sometimes there’s days when you need that extra confirmation, his promise that he won’t leave you behind, that he’ll still be waiting for you by the time you wake up. You feel his grip on you tighten, just for a moment.

“‘Course I will, sugar. I ain’t ever leavin’.”

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

Tags; @vesnaragast

[kxsagi]

“𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞”

a/n: happy mother’s day to everyone and all their mothers! i thank all your mothers for giving birth to you and especially to all the mothers of blue lock, specifically mrs. isagi, my mother-in-law 🥰 

i also hope that everyone did something for their mother today (if you have one/are on good terms with your mother ofc). i took my mother out to a sushi lunch today and also bought her japanese snacks bc i’m the best daughter ever 😚

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, ness alexis

itoshi rin

rin pretends he doesn’t care about holidays but has a secret “mother’s day plan” folder on his phone that he updates monthly. he wakes up early, feeds your son, and lets you sleep in like you’ve never slept before. 

your son is dressed in a tiny suit and brings you a rose (which rin bribed him to do with candy). he says, “mommy is the best” like a little robot and rin melts. 

he quietly makes your favorite meal, sets up a fancy table, and puts on background jazz like he’s hosting a five-star dinner. 

“this is excessive,” you tease. 

“you deserve more.” 

after dinner, you all cuddle up to watch a movie, and he lets your son crawl into his lap even though he complains about being squished. 

later, when you're alone, he says, “you gave me a family. i didn’t know i could be this happy.” 

(he also framed your son’s first scribble of “dad + mom + me” and put it in his locker.) 

isagi yoichi

he’s been planning this day like it’s the final match of the world cup. he's got sticky notes, alarms, and even consulted your pinterest boards. he lets your toddler daughter scribble “happy momy day” with three backwards letters on a giant pink card and swears it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 

he makes breakfast, which is burnt pancakes with way too much whipped cream, and wakes you up with a tray that wobbles because your daughter keeps grabbing at everything. you fake surprise and he beams like he just won gold. 

“yoichi, you used shaving cream instead of whipped cream.” 

“… i swear i tasted it and it was fine.” 

you spend the day with both of them clinging to you like koalas, and at night, he hands you a scrapbook filled with your baby’s milestones and little notes he wrote to you throughout her first year. 

“thank you for making our house a home. i love you more than football. okay, equal to football.” 

nagi seishiro

you wake up to your daughter giggling and nagi spooning you like a blanket burrito. 

“sei, it’s mother’s day.” 

“mhm. you’re the mom. just chill.” 

his idea of celebrating is you doing absolutely nothing. he takes care of everything, which includes ordering food, letting your daughter cover the living room in glitter, and binge-watching your favorite show with you while braiding your hair. 

he even makes a tower of pillows, declares it your “throne,” and lets your daughter feed you snacks like you’re a queen. 

later, you find a crumpled piece of paper with a drawing of the three of you and a note that says: “thanks for being her player two while i’m afk. love, sei.” 

he won’t say it out loud, but he thinks you’re the coolest woman alive. 

itoshi sae

he’s lowkey emotional about this day, but you wouldn’t know it unless you caught him kissing your daughter’s forehead when she’s asleep. he starts the morning by dressing her in a little red dress and taking her to get flowers. 

“you have to pick the prettiest ones for mama.” 

she picks weeds. he still wraps them in a bow. 

he lets you stay in bed while he makes an omelet that’s… fine. (okay, he ordered from your favorite café and plated it himself.) 

in the afternoon, you all go on a walk while he carries your daughter on his shoulders, pointing at clouds and trying not to smile too much. 

he gifts you a necklace with your daughter’s birthstone and says, “you’re everything she looks up to. and everything i look forward to.” 

then he blushes and acts like he didn’t just say the most romantic thing ever. 

mikage reo

reo turns mother’s day into a full-blown event. you wake up to streamers, a custom cake, and a whole itinerary. 

“9 AM: breakfast in bed. 10 AM: family photoshoot. 12 PM: picnic at the park. 3 PM: massage. 5 PM: spa bath. 7 PM: candlelit dinner.” 

“reo, i just wanted to nap.” 

your son is dressed like a tiny butler. he hands you gifts and says, “this is from me. but dad paid.” 

he spoils you rotten all day, taking photos of everything. your son gets cake all over his face and reo wipes it off with that lovestruck look. 

at night, he says, “you gave me the best gift: our family. i’ll spend the rest of my life giving back to you.” 

you roll your eyes. he kisses your hand dramatically. your son claps. the family is ridiculous and perfect. 

shidou ryusei

you wake up to chaos. your son is standing on the bed yelling, “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!!!” and shidou is throwing heart-shaped confetti around like a lunatic. 

“you are the HOTTEST mom alive!” he says, tackling you with kisses. 

breakfast is cereal with five different toppings, and your son insists on feeding you while shidou records everything like a proud dad from a sitcom. 

he makes matching “MILF & DILF” shirts for you two and drags you to the zoo “because our baby needs to see animals that are as wild as him.” 

you end the day sticky, tired, and full of love. he pulls you close, son asleep between you. 

“you made me a dad. that’s the craziest, most awesome thing anyone’s ever done for me. i love you, mama.” 

then he winks. “wanna make another one?” 

you hit him with a pillow. he considers it foreplay. 

karasu tabito

karasu tries to act cool but is clearly nervous about doing everything right. he lets your daughter draw on his face to “practice makeup for mommy” and walks around with blush and wonky eyeliner all morning. 

he cooks breakfast (surprisingly well), plays spa day with you and your daughter, and even lets her paint his nails. 

“how do i look?” 

“like a man who loves his family,” you say. 

“damn right.” 

in the evening, he plays your favorite songs on a little speaker and dances with you in the living room while your daughter spins around in her pajamas. 

he gives you a letter he wrote: “i never thought i’d be a family man. but then i met you. and now, i can’t imagine a life without our little girl calling you mama.” 

(you definitely cry. he definitely takes a picture.) 

kaiser michael

kaiser wakes you up with a literal trumpet. no, not a metaphor. he hired a guy in a tuxedo to stand at the foot of your bed and blare a “royal mother’s day fanfare.” 

“mihya,” you groan, eyes still shut, “what the hell.” 

he throws rose petals on you like you’re queen cleopatra. “shhh. you’re the goddess of this kingdom.” 

your toddler son is wearing a tiny crown and holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates (which kaiser definitely sampled first). 

the day is full of surprises: a personal chef, a spa treatment at home, a matching set of rings with your son's birthdate engraved, and a slideshow of photos with him narrating dramatically over soft piano music. 

“this woman,” he says over a picture of you giving birth, “conquered the battlefield of motherhood with grace and a whole lot of screaming.” 

later that night, after your son is asleep and the theatrics fade, he wraps you in a hug and murmurs, “you gave me a reason to be better. and i swear, i'll never let our little prince, or his queen, go a day without knowing they're loved.” 

(you pretend not to cry. he kisses your tears anyway.) 

ness alexis

ness starts preparing days in advance. he makes handmade coupons, handcrafts a flower crown, and bakes cookies with your daughter that look… chaotic, but smell divine. 

you wake up to soft music and your daughter whispering, “mama, wake up ~” while ness tiptoes behind her holding breakfast. 

the tray has your favorite tea, little folded napkins, and a heart-shaped pancake with “mama” burned into it (on purpose?). 

he plans a quiet day: a nature walk, a drawing session, and a surprise mini tea party with your daughter and her stuffed animals. 

they all call you “queen mama.” ness is 100% in character. “would milady prefer the rose tea or the enchanted berry blend?” 

when the day winds down, he gives you a letter filled with pressed flowers and little doodles, and in his neatest handwriting, he wrote: “i’ve never felt more loved than watching you hold our daughter. you’re patient, radiant, and somehow even more beautiful than the day i met you. i want her to grow up knowing her mom is magic.” 

he reads it aloud, voice soft, while your daughter snoozes on your chest. (he also drew you as a fairy queen on the back, just because.) 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[szatears]

inked all over, stack.

summary: stack comes back to you with a new surprise, one that you must say suits him a little too well.

pairing: modernau!stack x blackfem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, use of the n word, descriptions of reader.

notes: modernau!stack has finally arrived! ever since i made that post about smoke and stack w tattoos i couldn't get it out of my head so here we are! also switched up the pov to third person for this one. ignore any errors, did not proofread at all. smoke version coming soon :)

"Goddamn, you said how long?!" Stack's eyes widened as he leaned back in the tattoo chair, sat opposite his tattoo artist, Deuce.

"We're looking at 'bout six hours?" Deuce laughed seeing the expression on his client's face.

Stack was always at Deuce's parlour when he wanted a piece done on his body, he didn't trust anyone else to do it for him. Same with his brother. Today, he walked in wanting to get something he had on his mind for months.

"Six hours? Nigga, I'ma need you to cut it down to like, two and a half. My lady already pissed I ain't wake her up with a kiss this morning," he blew out a breath, thinking about the messages his wife had left him a few hours ago.

He'd been up since the early hours, and it was almost 4 o'clock now. He was only meant to be out running a few errands with Smoke and some by himself, but he just couldn't get the tattoo out of his mind.

Deuce laughed, nodding his head as he placed the drawing of what Stack wanted on his forearm. "This good for you?"

Stack looked down at the placement, a faint smile on his lips. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to this. "Yeah, it's good."

He knew how the process would go, he just hoped he'd be back home at a reasonable time to not get his ass chewed out. Mrs. Moore didn't play like that.

He made himself comfortable, his arm out on the extendable part of the bed to allow Deuce to do his work. Many Men by 50 Cent played through the speakers, and Stack pulled his phone out of his pockets before Deuce started tattooing.

He already had a few tattoos, but he still wasn't too used to the pain. Smoke on the other hand? Stack would say "you could tattoo that nigga's eyeball and he won't even flinch."

Stack had put a lot of thought into this piece. It would be the beginning of a sleeve he hoped to complete later on, but to him, this was the most important part of it. It had the typical designs of a sleeve ─── shaded clouds with the sun peeking through, cursive writing with some red for that pop. But it was what was written that held the most meaning to him.

With time, Stack came to realise that one of his wife's favourite ways of expressing her love to him was through words. It could be something simple, like telling him she was proud of him or that he was doing well with everything. Or it would be more, like a note in the morning before she left to go somewhere, or one of the many texts she sent him throughout the day.

One of these letters stuck with him the most. In it, she wrote about how he'd become such an important part of her life, the tie that held them together growing stronger each day. The exact words he was getting tattooed on his arm were "you're my favourite person and my forever person, i got you always," something she never failed to mention to him.

It was obvious how in love the two were. You rarely saw them without the other, and even if they were, it wouldn't take long for either to mention the other.

Along with the words, Stack added her lipstick print that she always signed her letters off with. He knew he'd be making a joke soon enough about how her lips were always gonna be on him now.

The rest of the piece had some other smaller yet intricate designs, he told Deuce he could freehand whatever, he trusted him like that.

-

Surprisingly, Deuce actually managed to cut his estimated time in half, finishing the tattoo almost three hours later. As Deuce finished taking pictures and wrapping Stack's arm, his phone rang, looking down at the caller id to see his wife's name with a heart next to it. He accepted the facetime, smiling at the mug on her face.

"Why are you smiling? You must like playing with your life..." she mumbled, fixing her hair in the camera frame.

"I can't be happy to see you no more?" He chuckled, watching her fight back a small smile. "You look good."

"I know," she leaned her face closer to her camera. "Where are you? Come home already."

"I'ma be home in a minute, mama, I'm at the shop with Deuce," Stack turned his camera to face the man who was tidying up his supplies as he held up a peace sign.

"Hey, Deuce. So you're the reason my man's out til these hours when he said he'd only be gone for two tops?" Her head tilted as Deuce laughed.

"It ain't my fault he picks the tricky designs."

"Design─── Baby, you got a new piece?" All of a sudden the frown on her face was wiped off, replaced with a smile.

"Yeah, I did. Look at you, smilin' over there," Stack laughed as he got up from the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stack of 50s, handing it to Deuce.

Before he could even complain about being given too much money, Stack gave him a look. "You really gon' make me argue with my lady on the phone?"

"No, sir," Deuce smiled, putting the money away.

"Aight, til next time Deuce."

He grabbed his coat and left the shop, opening the door to his car that was parked right at the front. "You need me to bring anything, baby?" he looked down at his phone as he put on his seatbelt, seeing his wife already staring at him. The smile that graced his face was just his natural reaction to seeing her; he couldn't get enough of her,

"Could you get some more fruit from Mama Glo's corner? If she's still open."

"Yeah. You gon' stay on the phone?"

"No, I'm gonna take a shower real quick. But I'll see you soon, handsome. I love you," she kissed the camera.

"I love you too."

-

Stack came back with a brown paper bag containing the fruit his wife had asked for, closing the front door with his foot. He slipped his trainers off, walking to the kitchen and placing the fruit on the counter. When he didn't hear the sound of footsteps coming down to greet him, he tilted his head, making his way up the stairs.

He found her lying on their bed, dressed only in a bra and a small pair of shorts. She turned her head to the door when she heard the floorboards creak, a smile on her face as she set her phone down on the bedside table.

Stack smiled at her smile, his hands resting on her waist as she stood in front of him. His frame slightly towered over hers, his head dipping down a little to kiss her lips.

"Nice of you to come home, Elias," she hummed into the kiss.

"You know I could never be away from you for too long." His words were like music to her eyes as she used the hands that were around his neck to softly run her fingers over his skin.

"I got your fruit," he told her, tapping her hip twice so she'd let him go briefly, letting him take off his shirt. It was only when he took off the black muscle t-shirt that he wore, that she let her eyes run over the tattoos that adorned his chest and back before she remembered the reason he went out.

She let her eyes wander over him whilst he put his phone on charge, finally spotting the wrapped part of his right arm. Stack glanced at her, noticing how quiet she'd gotten. "You wanna see it?" he laughed at how eagerly she nodded in response to his question.

He stepped closer to her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. He slowly took off the wrapping of the tattoo, much to his wife's impatience. When he finally revealed the finished work of art, the look on her face made his impulse decision ten times worth it.

He let her gently run her hands over the ink, waiting for to notice what made it even more special. He watched her face closely as her eyes flickered over his forearm, holding it with so much care. It wasn't until she turned his hand over so his palm was facing her, that she saw the writing.

"Elias..." she whispered, a pout on her face as she ran over the words and the copy of her lips.

"You like it?" he smiled at her, flashing his gold caps.

"Like it? Baby, I'm in love with it, oh my God," she couldn't tear her eyes off it. Throughout their relationship, Stack would always say something along the lines of "I'ma get your name tatted on my face," but this was far more meaningful.

"Good, 'cause it hurt like a bitch," he mumbled, pulling her into his lap. He kissed the side of her face as she held onto his arm. "I love you more than life itself."

"I love you endlessly," she took his face in both her hands, kissing him.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He turned his head into the kiss, letting his lips leave hers to kiss down her neck to her collar. He flipped them over, bringing her to lay back down in the middle of the bed.

Her hands ran down his toned arms, massaging his broad shoulders. She let her fingers trace over the inked parts of his skin that she could reach, having memorised where every part was.

Stack used his knee to nudge her legs apart, letting him slot in between them as he kissed her. His tongue danced with hers whilst she held him closer to her face by the back of his neck. Her soft moans only encouraged him more, as did the growing friction her hips created against his.

"Yeah, you gon' have to come up outta these," he mumbled against her lips as his hands fumbled down to her shorts, pulling them down her legs.

"Elias..." she whispered, tugging at his belt. She was almost naked whilst he was still half clothed.

He smiled at her, pulling away from her lips to kiss a trail down to her pelvis. "Hold on, baby. I wanna make you feel good first." He kissed her clit over the lacy underwear she wore, and she shuddered, leaning back further into the pillows.

Stack used his thumb to rub her clothed clit, watching how her legs started to close around his hand. "Baby, please," she whined, and it didn't take long for him to give in to her pleas, taking off her underwear.

Just as quick as he had done that, his head lowered closer to her core, his mouth latching onto her creaming opening. His tongue licked up and down, his hand holding either side of her hips as he ate her out. She let out a loud moan, her hands gripping the back of his head.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," she breathed out, her eyes fluttering with pleasure.

"Yeah?" he mumbled against her, the vibrations just adding to the feeling.

Stack lapped at her for all she was worth, the unholy sounds emitting from her lips and his work. He used his thumb to rub her clit as he continued to work her away with his tongue. She writhed underneath him, feeling that familiar coil inside of her begin to surface.

"Why you moving away, huh? You can take it mama, I know you can," he assured her, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he briefly looked up at her. The sight alone almost made her cum right there; his mustache and goatee coated in her fluids.

She couldn't keep it in, especially when he went back to her with his tongue, his two fingers pumping in and out just as fast. "Shit, I'm gonna─── Oh, my God," her moans aligned with her release, all over his mouth.

Stack continued to eat her out through her high, her hips grinding into his face as he sought more. "Baby let up," she groaned, trying to push his face away.

"One more, baby. For me?" How could she say no when he was making feel that good?

It wasn't long before she came again, her body letting up as Stack cleaned her up. Only he could make her tap out like that.

He finally moved his head from between her legs, hovering over her as she grabbed his face, pulling him down for a messy kiss. She licked over his lips, moaning at the taste of her on him. His hand travelled to her throat, the same arm that was newly inked now right in front of her.

Stack's tattoos were such a turn on, it was almost impossible to describe. If he wanted to make her orgasm fast, all he had to do was talk her through it, or have her analyse his tattoos. Easy.

"You not tapping out on me, are you?" he smirked, as she gave him a lazy smile. She could feel his dick through his pants at her entrance. Shaking her head, she let go of him to take his belt off, eyes on him as she pulled him out of his boxers.

He briefly got up to take them off all the way, before he settled back between her legs, hiking them up his hips. She let her arms rest over his shoulders as he pushed in, both of them groaning.

He fit so perfectly with her, and he made her feel that way every time, through sex or not. The sound of skin slapping soon took over the room, as did their moans.

Stack ground his hips into hers, his head resting in the crook of her neck, leaving small love bites where he could.

"You're doing me so good, E," she whispered lowly in his ear which only spurred him on. He picked up his pace, finding that spot of hers that had her arching into him.

"Like that, baby? Hm?" he asked as she could only not in reply, too far into it to speak actual words. Stack fucked her so good, without fail every time.

He looked down at where they connected briefly, fascinated by her precious pussy taking him in so well. "You're doing so good for me, pretty." he told her, his eyes back on hers.

She managed to keep the contact for a few moments before he had her eyes rolling at the back of her head, her muscled walls clenching around his dick.

He grunted at that, feeling himself close to unravelling. But like he always did, he wanted her to come first.

"I'm almost there, E, keep going─── Yeahhhh, just like that," she moaned, whining even as she felt herself about to come for the third time. She held his head to her face as he kissed her, groaning as she reached closer and closer to her climax.

"Fuck!" she screamed as he cum coated his dick, spilling out as he fucked her through it.

"You got it baby, shit, I'm gonna cum too, hold on," his words trailed off to a whisper as he came in her, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusted to the overbearing amount of pleasure only her man could give her.

Stack's thrusts slowed down as he pushed his seed back in her, a lazy smirk on her face as she watched him do so. He pulled out slowly, gently laying on top of her. She brought her legs around his waist, kissing his temple as they caught their breath.

"Damn," Stack sighed happily. "Might have to get my whole body tatted up now."

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[probablynotcaptainbritain]

So, I think this is an interesting take, but one that misses a fundamental problem with AI. OP mentions this idea of desiring an artistic output without a particular amount of toil, and thats fair. Many people want to have written a novel or painted a painting without putting time or pain in.

But here's the thing. If you have an AI generate an output of work, you don't have an output of work! *The AI does.* This is, in my opinion less like using a new art software to help smooth out the edges, and more like paying an artist for a commission. It can on some level convey your ideas (more on that in a second), but ultimately it is doing this creation. Using AI for background assistance or the like *is* using an artistic tool! And these features have existed for years! But having an AI generate something whole-cloth is not making art. In fact, I'd argue that claiming you made it is tantamount to plagiarism!(Note: Before I get yelled at, this is not a condemnation of commissioned art! I love commissions a great deal! But Im also not under the illusion that I made them!)

In a similar vein to the commission idea, using AI to express your ideas is inherently going to put a filter over your ideas! You may be attempting to create something that conveys the most powerful ideas, but ultimately your interpretation is not what's being conveyed. Art is personal. Its not just about the ideas in it, but the interpretation coming through. Two people are unlikely to express an idea the same way.

But with an AI you dont know whose perspective its drawing from, or even what imagery its using! A piece intended for queer liberation may feature homophobic imagery you never intended, because you didnt make it!

Even slop made by a person has traces of the creator in it! Maybe its just a paycheck, and you can see it in ragged lines that aren't on the works that excite them. Maybe to them art is just disposable entertainment, who knows? Its still slop, but by the gods its slop that is theirs. AI Slop cannot be said to be made by anyone, as its just regurgitated ideas that dont even have cynicism or weariness.

I also think there are ideas about differences between Commercial and Private art swirling around this conversation that I dont have the energy or knowledge base to unpack, but still wanted to acknowledge are present.

To Circle Back To the idea of an Artistic Output Without Toil And People Not Deserving to Make Art: I think its absolutely possible to make meaningful art without significant amount of toil. I think a small doodle that took someone 3 minutes, or a poem on the back of a napkin can be beautiful, soulful art.

One of my favorite pieces of art is a silly Wonder Woman sketch my partner drew me. It didn't take the same level of toil that say The Wave of Kanegawa, or New Mutants 18 or Look Back took. But it was theirs, and they made it with the things that make them theirself. Im sorry to say this, but an AI couldn't do that! Couldn't make me grin like an idiot seeing it, or tear up right now thinking about it. Art is very personal whether you realize it or not! A big part of the beauty of art is the pieces of the people who make it embedded in the work.

I also think AI feeds into people's expectation that art has to look certain ways! The problem is rarely the artist, and more often the preconceived notions weighing them down. When you dont feel like you're capable of making the art you want, you're more likely to make someone or something else do it for you.

But once you push past expectations, there's a world of art you *can* make! If its a matter of technical ability, and you not being able to make exactly what you envision: Try other tools, or even another medium! If you don't know how to draw it, try making it as a collage! Making art is fun when you free yourself from the expectation of how it should look! You may even surprise yourself with how it turns out!

I believe that every single person on earth is capable of great art if they only give themselves the chance to make it. I just want to see you all flourish. :)

(Sorry if this is rambly, but the above post gave me a lot of thoughts and feelings!)

atp i hope it's clear that my stance is not that everyone needs to like and be okay with generative ai art, my stance is that i am not going to take your reasons for disliking generative ai art seriously if they are rooted in the idea that it's bad because it can't produce art with a soul. or that the very act of desiring an artistic output without putting in Enough Work To Deserve It is threatening the fabric of society.

It's an obscenely conservative way to think about art and i'm not going to give it any legitimacy at all. i don't believe in a human soul and i don't believe the value of art comes from the amount of toil it required. i think that, right now and for the rest of human existence there will be creatives who continue to use the tools at their disposal to express meaningful ideas into the world. i don't think the idea that one of those tools could theoretically be an AI image generator is that unreasonable.

most ai generated content is slop but plenty of stuff crafted by human hands is slop too. the way to separate good art from bad art is not by drawing hard lines about what is 'allowed' to count as art, or saying there is an irreplaceable quality to a work that it gets imbued with when created by an Ensouled Being. the way to separate good art from bad art is to earnestly engage with the things you see in the world around you to develop and refine your own tastes about what sort of things you find meaningful and valuable.

it's like such a bizarre simultaneous devaluing and sanctifying of art at the same time to me. like art is so important and special and species-defining and the people who make it possess some sort of unique spiritual quality that can not be artificially replicated. but also Art is somehow a fragile and narrow enough thing that it's at risk of being irreparably bastardized or eradicated because of a machine. i don't get it. i don't get it!

[akalyndraw]

It's a little late but happy Mother's Day! I take this opportunity to introduce LeoYur's future babies, twins Laia and Lia and little brother Jul. I'll take the opportunity to write about them ^^

It's a good time to remember that Yura's eye color is brown 🤎 the olive green is actually contact lenses (she doesn't see well far away)

Yura and Leona's children:

Twins - Laia (🐆) & Lia (🌺):

Age: 9 years old

Birthday: June 15

Birthplace: Sunset Savanna

Eye color: Esmerald

Hair color: Dark Brown

Favorite Food: Meat (🐆) Lasagna (🌺)

Hobby: Training (🐆) Singing (🌺)

Dislike: Salad(🐆🌺) and insects(🌺)

Younger brother - Jul (🐾):

Age: 7 years old

Birthday: October 8

Birthplace: Sunset Savanna

Eye color: Brown

Hair color: Dark Brown

Favorite Food: Beef liver

Hobby: Read

Dislike: Noise and people talking behind one's back

The twins are a bundle of energy that came into 🌼🦁 life when they least expected it on one of their trips, but it was the greatest joy for both of them. Both have outgoing and curious personalities, Laia can be the more whimsical one. She likes to tease her brother and father, plus she has fun doing little mischiefs here and there, however this gets her in trouble almost every time. On the other hand, Lia is kinder although she follows her sister in her mischief, she is the “voice of conscience” (which Laia never listens to)

They are the female version of their father in appearance.

🐆: She is very smart and strong for her age. She enjoys watching her father's and the rest of Sunset Warrior's workouts. Occasionally she trains by imitating the movements of others, she likes adrenaline and is surprisingly good at leadership (in the future she becomes leader of the Sunset Warrior) Despite her personality she has a good heart.

🌺: cheerful girl, she will always greet you with a smile. Like her sister she is quite intelligent however she prefers to avoid physical training and instead rehearse her singing in the palace gardens next to her mother while she draws. She excels in creativity and perseverance, she often gets into trouble with her sister but you couldn't be too angry with them for too long, you won't resist her puppy look.

The arrival of the little princesses at the palace was a joy for everyone. Cheka and Falena were constantly dropping by as babies to bring them presents. Leona is a bit protective of them so she tries to get them to leave quickly. They are the darlings of the place, if any cookies are missing from the kitchen the chefs already know who they were. Kifaji even let out a few tears when he saw them and they both took his fingers in their little baby hands. Whenever she gets the chance she will spend time with them and tell them stories about their father.

🐾: Unlike his sisters, he has a calm personality and a normally stoic expression. He wants to grow up fast and be like his father, whom he admires a lot because of the stories his mother used to tell him. Despite the admiration and love he feels for his father, he is more attached to his mother, although he tries to act more mature, he is still a child. His ears and tail always give away his true emotions even if he seems disinterested in something.

He secretly asked Kifaji to teach him how to play chess so that he could play with 🦁 later and surprise him. You can find him in the royal library or somewhere quiet reading/studying

He is a polite little gentleman but if he sees his sisters nearby he will run away quickly (they like to bother him, often interrupting his study time)

His magic took quite a while to show up, which made everyone worried since 🌼 lacked magic and they thought he couldn't use it either. It was basically his worst moment, as he always wanted to use magic since he was little and even started hiding to practice more hours.

However, one day he heard some employees talking bad about his mother and since Leona could choose someone better, then he got angry and his magic woke up, making a mess of the surroundings (unintentionally because he still didn't control it).

Yura was left alone with him tending to the small wounds on his arms and they talked. Jul never blamed or felt resentment towards his mom, more than anything, he wanted to be strong to defend her and his sisters. To be a reliable brother and son. Little by little, although it was hard, he practiced with Leona until he mastered his magic power.

I've gone on quite long 😅 but here I leave the basics, I have the story of the three brothers overdeveloped in my mind hehe

As a spoiler they enter NRC in the future!

[zafirreja111]

So, I've been trying to give this random Sans a meaningful backstory and personality for days, but my brain just wouldn't work and I couldn't think of anything interesting. Luckily, today I somehow had enough imagination to use this as an idea, and this rudimentary concept was born:

[!This information may change later!]

About The Random Sans:

Sans' personality is split into two parts for some reason. His silly self and his serious self. While his silly self is the one who usually controls his body (because it costs him less energy), his serious self can only come out when he uses his main magic. (When his eyes flash yellow and blue.) The necklace he wears around his neck blocks the half of himself that is not in control. If the necklace is not specifically near him, he cannot use his power and cannot switch with his other self. 

Origin: 

Sans has no Au or backstory, he just appeared in a forest. However, his confused state leads him to believe he has amnesia and no memory of his past, which is why he wanders through AUs hoping to find some clue to his non-existent past. 

About his two sides:

His silly side is the one that mainly controls the body. At that time, his necklace is blue and yellow, and his eyes are two white stars. He is clumsy and tells a lot of jokes, often getting himself into trouble for stupid decisions. 

He can only switch to his serious side when he uses his main magic. His necklace is black at that time, and his left eye flashes blue and yellow. He is quite, tries to get the best out of a situation, and sometimes overthinks things.

Rarely, but in certain cases, the two halves can merge.

Small information(?):

- He'll eat any stupid plant he finds delicious. Even the ones that are poisonous and he'll regret eating them later. He'll do it again.

- His orientation skills are sucks.

- His two halves can communicate with each other, but he doesn't do it much because he finds it weird. 

✧˖

That's all for now. I don't know how to write a character description, sorry. I know it might seem like a lazy idea and maybe more could have been done with this great character design, but my brain is still foggy right now and I like this idea so I thought I'd share it with this drawing. :>

Thank you so much everyone for all the feedback! ❤️ I'm happy so many people liked my Sans design fot my latest drawing. I honestly didn't expect everyone to like it so much, especially since there wasn't even a description at the time, but it was a pleasant surprise for me. 💕

Sorry if the English is sloppy. Unfortunately, Google Translate and my questionable English skills can only do so much at a time, but I hope it's still fairly clear and understandable, even if it's not perfect. 

(Also, check out my last reblog if you want, there's another story idea there that I didn't come up with but I really love. ;] )

[readingkitty22]

You Were Mine First

Pairing: Alpha! Satoru Gojo x Omega! Reader

description: Gojo Satoru has been everything to you since childhood: your rival, your protector, your closest friend. And always, quietly, something more. From scraped knees to training matches, whispered confidences to shared silence, your lives have always been tangled.When Gojo and Suguru present early as powerful Alphas, and you, later, as a rare Omega, everything changes. Suddenly you're no longer invisible, no longer “just” a friend. You’re desirable. Vulnerable. A political asset to a lesser clan. And when your family arranges a match, Gojo reaches his limit.Because he’s the strongest and he’s always known one truth: You were his before anyone else had the right to say otherwise.

A slow-burn, childhood-friends-to-lovers saga set in an omegaverse where obsession brews quietly, affection runs deep, and nothing stands between Satoru and what he’s claimed.

⚠️Warnings Omegaverse dynamics (presentation, heats, bonding), possessive but not toxic Alpha behavior, sorta-explicit sexual content (18+), mild angst, arranged marriage elements, clan/political interference, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy references, mild language. No major character death. Emotional resolution and satisfying ending guaranteed.

w.c. 6.1k

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

a/n: I am still SUPER new to this whole writing thing, but thank you all for liking and reblogging <3, I've been working on this little work for a bit and I'm still unsure about it. Hope y'all enjoy!

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 6

The first time you met Satoru Gojo, he offered you the red crayon.

Not the broken one. Not the short, stubby piece every kid avoided. He handed you the longest, sharpest red crayon in the box like it meant something.

“You can draw the wards,” he said, like you were already part of the team.

Suguru smiled at you from where he sat cross-legged on the temple floor. “He doesn’t usually share that one.”

You glanced between them,two boys from powerful clans, both still too young to know what their futures would cost them. You weren’t like them. You knew that even then. You were from a lower clan of healers, support staff. Useful, not vital.

But Gojo just tilted his head and said, “You’re gonna be around a lot, right?” You nodded. “Then you should start with the best color.”

And just like that, you were part of their world.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The three of you claimed a disused storehouse as your base. You brought juice boxes and old charms. Suguru brought manga. Gojo brought chalk and spelled salt he wasn’t supposed to have.

You were eight the first time he laid his head in your lap.

“I don’t get headaches,” he said softly, like he was surprised. “But I do when I’m around too many people. You’re… quieter.”

“Quieter how?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked up at you with those strange blue eyes, too bright for someone so tired.

“Like breathing near you is easier.”

When Suguru fell asleep with a comic book on his chest, Gojo scooted closer to you, drawing lazy circles on the floor with his chalk.

“I think we should make a pact,” he said.

You blinked. “What kind of pact?”

“We stick together. No matter what.” He glanced at Suguru. Then at you. “No matter who we grow up to be.”

You didn’t say anything at first. But you reached out and gently pressed the red crayon to the back of his hand like a seal.

He smiled, soft and secret.

And in the years that followed,when instincts started pulling you in strange, dangerous directions,he would always come back to that moment. The red crayon. Your touch. The feeling of safety he’d never find anywhere else.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 9

The shrine courtyard buzzed with late summer heat and the soft clatter of ceremonial prep,silk slippers on wood, hushed chanting, incense curling in the air like smoke from a dream.

You weren’t meant to be at the front.

Technically, neither was Gojo.

You were helping your aunt with the offerings,sprigs of purifying herbs, tied together with rice paper and string. It was busy work, meant to keep the lesser clan kids out of the way.

But you caught sight of him before the ceremony started,white hair mussed by the wind, half-buttoned yukata, sunglasses tucked into his collar instead of worn.

He grinned when he saw you.

“I snuck out of greeting duties. Suguru's covering for me.” He leaned close, whispering like it was a secret. “Said I had to ‘see the herbs in action.’ Very scientific.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t tell him to leave. You never really did.

It happened fast.

One of the elders from a visiting clan,tall, grim-faced, the kind of man who wore tradition like armor,caught you whispering over the offering baskets.

“Too noisy,” he snapped, voice like cracked ice. “This isn’t a playground.”

You dropped your head in a half-bow, voice quiet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You’re distracting the real assistants.” He stepped forward, hand twitching toward your shoulder. “Leave, child.”

You didn’t move.

Gojo did.

He stepped between you so smoothly, so silently, it almost didn’t register until the man’s hand stopped mid-air, just shy of his chest.

“She’s with me,” Gojo said. Calm. Clear. Unapologetic.

The elder narrowed his eyes. “This is a sacred rite. She is unqualified.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. “She’s mine to watch over.”

It wasn’t possessive,not quite. Not yet. Just... matter-of-fact.

The words hung in the air like static.

The elder backed off without another word.

Later, walking back down the stone steps with your sleeves bundled in your arms and sweat damp on your brow, you caught Gojo watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked. “He wasn’t going to hurt me.”

Gojo shrugged. “Didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You waited for him to tease. To make it a joke. But he didn’t.

Instead, he reached out and tugged a leaf from your hair. His fingers brushed your temple,so light, so careful,and he looked down at the crumpled sprig in his hand like it had done something wrong.

“Next time,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear, “just stand behind me.”

And something deep in your chest,something instinctive, old, nameless,settled quietly into place.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 13

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training field. The air was warm but still, almost too still, as though the world was holding its breath.

You didn’t understand why Gojo insisted on this early-morning training session. You had no intention of trying to compete with him today,not when his cursed energy felt like it was vibrating in the air itself.

“Focus, focus,” he said lightly, jumping into a crouch. His hands were relaxed, casual, like he wasn’t preparing to unleash the full force of his power at any moment. But the air felt too tight, and even Suguru, ever the grounded one, was glancing sideways at Gojo in an unspoken exchange.

Then it happened,without warning.

Gojo’s cursed energy exploded, a wild burst of power that cracked the earth beneath him. A shriek of wind shot through the field. You stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of it. Suguru’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t surprised.

You were used to this,used to Gojo’s strength, to his overwhelming presence. But this… this was different.

“Whoa!” Gojo laughed, standing tall and grinning, as if he hadn’t just nearly torn the air in half. He was practically glowing, the sheer magnitude of his power both terrifying and beautiful. “Guess it’s official, huh?”

Suguru didn’t say anything, just walked over to him and set a hand on his shoulder, eyes flicking toward the distance like he was waiting for something.

“Yeah,” Gojo said, lowering his voice. “Guess it is.”

And then, just like that, the storm subsided. Gojo grinned again, as if it was nothing. He’d presented as an Alpha, raw and potent, the kind of power that left a permanent mark on the world. It had been so fast, so quiet, but so intense.

You watched him with a mixture of awe and concern, but before you could speak, Suguru was already turning to face you, his gaze soft but knowing.

“I knew it was coming,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “His energy’s always been too big for anything else.”

You nodded, unsure what to say.

A week later, Geto presented.

His was quieter than Gojo’s,his energy more controlled, restrained. It didn’t have the explosive violence Gojo’s did, but there was something just as intimidating in the way it rippled under his skin. Geto always seemed like the kind of person who would wait until the world was watching before he made his move and when he presented, that’s exactly what he did.

It was subtle. It was almost… calm.

But there was no mistake. He was an Alpha.

When Geto met Gojo’s eyes from across the field, he raised an eyebrow, and a slow, amused smile crept across his face. “Guess we’re both officially off the market now, huh?”

Gojo laughed loud, easy, like the universe was his to control. “About time,” he said, smirking in that way that made everyone around him feel both invited and terrified.

It started quietly.

You were sitting under the old cherry blossom tree, half-listening to Suguru talk about a recent mission while Gojo made cranes out of your lunch napkin. It was normal,comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

At first, it was just a lingering glance. Then two. And then you felt it,noticed it. The way people were looking at you. Students who’d never said a word to you before. Instructors passing too slowly in the hall. A lingering, curious sharpness in the air.

Like they could smell something shifting.

Suguru noticed it before you did. His head turned toward you slowly, eyes narrowing, calculating. Then his expression softened, something sad and fond flickering across his face.

“…You presented,” he said quietly, like he was speaking a truth you hadn’t caught up to yet.

Your lips parted, confusion still thick in your chest.

Gojo sat upright in a second. His napkin crane crumpled in his lap.

The moment he caught your scent,really caught it,you saw it hit him like a wave. Not with hunger, not with something feral. With something… stunned. Like he’d been punched in the ribs by the universe.

His pupils contracted. Then dilated.

No words. Just pressure.

Suguru said it for both of them. “An Omega…”

Gojo’s jaw flexed.

Among jujutsu sorcerers, Omegas were rare. Especially rare in active bloodlines,your kind burned too hot, cursed energy tangled with instinct too violently. Most faded into support roles. Some were hidden by their clans, used for arranged bonds. And some… disappeared entirely.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how exposed you felt.

Your scent was faint for now,still settling,but the students around you weren’t stupid. They’d start to recognize it soon. The way Alpha instincts shifted in your direction. The tilt of a head. The tightening of a jaw. The challenge in a stare.

And through it all, Gojo just looked at you.

Not with pity.

Not with fear.

But like he’d just remembered something he’d sworn to himself long ago: Mine to watch over.

Only now… it meant something else.

The next day at Jujutsu Tech felt different.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to walk the same path to class. Keep your shoulders relaxed. Pretend the weight of your uniform hadn’t suddenly become too tight across your chest. But the air knew.

So did everyone else.

It wasn’t even subtle.

The moment you stepped into the classroom, conversations slowed. Heads turned. And though no one said it out loud, their stares pressed against your skin like heat,That’s the Omega.

You weren’t the first in school history, of course. But you were the only one currently in circulation. Most Omegas were quietly moved to private training or matched with a pre-approved bond by their clan before it ever got this far.

You? You were still here.

And that made you… vulnerable.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The worst part wasn’t the whispers.

It was the way some of the older students lingered a little too long in the halls. One of them,someone from a mid-tier clan you barely knew,bumped your arm in the corridor, leaned in a little too close.

“You smell different,” he murmured, eyes raking across your face like he had a right to look at you.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because before you could move, someone was already there.

Gojo’s voice was flat. “Touch her again.”

The boy turned, surprised. “Gojo—hey, I didn’t—”

“Touch her again,” Gojo repeated, low and cold, “and I’ll decorate the hallway with your teeth.”

There was no smile. No sunglasses. Just Gojo Satoru standing very, very still, his cursed energy curling around his shoulders like a stormcloud.

The boy backed off fast, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared down the corridor.

Gojo didn’t move.

He didn’t even look at you.

Not until Suguru came up behind him and said quietly, “You’re making a scene.”

That snapped him out of it. Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off, not looking back.

That night, Suguru walked you back to your dorm.

He didn’t say much at first. Just let the silence stretch between you like a thread.

Then, softly: “You okay?”

You nodded. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Suguru didn’t smile. But his voice was gentle. “It’s not your fault people are idiots.”

You looked up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. “Is he mad?”

“Gojo?” He huffed. “Gojo’s losing his mind.”

“…Why?”

Suguru tilted his head at you like you were being ridiculous. “Because you’re you. And now, everyone sees it.”

You swallowed hard.

“He’s trying not to act like it’s bothering him,” Suguru added, almost too casually. “But you’re an unmated Omega in a school full of Alphas. You’ve been close with us since you were six. What do you think he’s feeling?”

You stopped walking.

Suguru paused too, then looked over his shoulder, something fond flickering behind his eyes.

“Just… don’t be surprised if he doesn’t handle this very well.”

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

You couldn’t sleep.

The day had clung to your skin,stares like needles, voices too loud and too soft at the same time. Even Suguru’s calming presence hadn’t helped this time. You’d spent hours turning over what Suguru said about Gojo in your head.

You’re an unmated Omega in a school full of Alphas. You’ve been close with us since you were six. What do you think he’s feeling?

You needed air.

The rooftop was quiet this late. The wind was cool, brushing over your skin like a sigh. You curled your arms around your knees, sitting beneath the narrow lip of the railing. It was one of the only places in the school that still felt yours.

So when Gojo’s voice broke the silence behind you, your whole body jumped.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You turned.

He didn’t look like himself. No sunglasses. Hair messy. His uniform half shrugged off one shoulder, like he’d thrown it on without thinking.

He crossed the rooftop, quiet for once, and sat down next to you with a grunt. 

You both stared out at the campus.

The silence wasn’t awkward. Not really. But it was charged,a careful kind of quiet, like both of you knew what was sitting between you but neither had the courage to name it.

Finally, he asked: “How bad was it today?”

You hesitated. Then: “I’m handling it.”

“Don’t.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. Not angry. Just… quiet. “I saw your face after that guy touched you. You hated it.”

You dropped your gaze.

Gojo leaned back on his elbows, eyes toward the stars. “I’ve wanted to break a lot of people’s noses lately.”

You smiled. A real one.

Then, after a long moment: “Is it weird?”

He looked at you. “What?”

“That I’m… like this now.”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was soft. Careful.

“You’ve always been like this,” he said. “You’re just… more obvious now.”

You turned toward him. His expression was unreadable. Still boyish, still beautiful. But something in his eyes was older, heavier.

“It’s not weird,” he said, voice low. “It’s dangerous. For them.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gojo looked away. His mouth twitched,not a smirk. A defense.

“I mean,” he said, “if one more person looks at you like they deserve you, I’m going to forget I’m supposed to be playing nice.”

Something deep in your chest curled up at that. Warm and sharp and aching.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But you stayed there. Sitting close enough that your arms touched, listening to the wind and the distant buzz of lights. He didn’t reach for you. You didn’t lean in.

But his presence wrapped around you like a barrier.

And when you finally laid your head on his shoulder, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just sat there, frozen and burning, until his voice,so quiet,broke through the night.

“I won’t let anyone take you.”

And he meant it.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 16

Three years made a difference.

Gojo had always been tall, always been powerful. But now he filled a room before he even stepped into it. Every Alpha on campus carried weight, but he carried gravity. He didn’t just stand out; he distorted everything around him. People moved when he walked past. Students whispered in the halls after he’d gone, like his presence left a burn mark on the floor.

And you… started noticing things you hadn’t before.

It was the way he laughed too loud at his own jokes. The way he chewed his gum and flicked his wrist to push up his blindfold with lazy confidence. The way people stepped aside, but he always reached back,waited for you to follow.

He still walked you home. Still saved your favorite snacks. Still rolled his eyes when Suguru got too philosophical and threw paper balls at his head during lecture.

But it wasn’t the same anymore.

One day, during sparring drills, you caught yourself staring,not because he was flashy, not because of his technique. But because he moved like lightning trapped in a boy’s skin. Fluid. Dangerous. Beautiful.

When he caught your eye across the mat, something flickered there,recognition. Like he knew.

He looked away first.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

It got worse when you were paired for weapons class.

Gojo held the bokken with casual ease, his grin tilted just enough to be cocky. “Try not to fall for me during this, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, heart doing something it definitely shouldn’t.

The duel was fast, brutal, and completely unfair. He pulled his hits, of course,but even restrained, Gojo moved like he was born to be worshipped. Your body reacted before your brain did, drawn to him on instinct. Not just the Alpha scent, not just the power.

It was him.

After the match, breathless and warm, you met his eyes across the mat.

He looked at you like he’d been waiting.

Later, in the quiet of your dorm, you pressed your hand over your chest. Your pulse hadn’t slowed. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks, the echo of his voice, low and amused:

“You’re stronger than most of the boys that try to flirt with you, y’know that?”

You hadn’t said anything at the time. Just stared at him, too aware of his height, the closeness of his breath.

Three years ago, he would’ve teased you. Tugged on your sleeve. Laughed it off.

But now, Gojo Satoru just stood there, watching you like the only reason he hadn’t made a move was because he wasn’t allowed to yet.

And for the first time, you wondered what would happen if he did.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

You’d been aware of the stares for weeks.

But today, it shifted. Bolder. Louder.

Someone from the Zenin branch house,older, polished, confident,cornered you after class. He wasn’t rude. He was respectful. That made it worse.

“I was wondering,” he said smoothly, “if you’d consider lunch together this week. I know it’s sudden, but—”

You didn’t get to answer.

Gojo’s cursed energy hit the hallway like a wave.

It was subtle enough to be deniable. Just a tightness in the air, like the pressure drop before lightning. Your would-be suitor faltered mid-sentence. He turned his head slightly, met Gojo’s smile from a few feet away.

Cool. Polite. Murderous.

“Am I interrupting?” Gojo asked, voice light, eyes unreadable beneath his blindfold.

You opened your mouth to say no, but your classmate already took a full step back. “Of course not. Excuse me.”

He left like the air was on fire.

You glared. “Satoru.”

“What?” He blinked, innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Gojo shrugged and leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “Can’t blame a guy for hanging around when weirdos keep showing up.”

“They’re not weirdos,” you muttered.

He didn’t respond. Just stood there, close enough to smell, his body language casual. But the tension in him? Coiled. Hot. Barely contained.

Later that night, Suguru found him behind the training hall, still burning off energy with a practice staff, moving like he wanted something to bleed.

“You gonna kill every guy who talks to her?” Suguru asked, arms crossed.

Gojo didn’t look at him. “Only the ones who think they deserve her.”

Suguru exhaled slowly. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“She’s not bonded.”

“She’s not yours either.”

That finally made Gojo pause.

Suguru stepped closer. “I’m saying this as your friend, not hers. You’re not exactly subtle, Satoru.”

Gojo wiped sweat from his jaw. “Why should I be?”

“Because if the clans start noticing how you look at her, they’re going to act on it. You’re not just Gojo, you’re the Six Eyes Alpha. That makes her a target.”

Gojo’s expression shifted,still, sharp, deadly quiet.

“She’s already a target,” he said. “I’m just making sure everyone knows she’s protected.”

Suguru stared at him for a moment longer. Then he sighed.

“I’m not telling you to stop. I’m telling you to be careful.”

He walked away, his words still hanging in the air.

That night, Gojo didn’t sleep.

He sat outside your dorm window,hidden, silent,listening to your breathing just to make sure you were safe.

His hands trembled, just a little.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend this was only protection.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 18

It started with a letter.

You knew what it was the second you saw the envelope,hand-delivered, pressed with your clan’s seal. Thick, ceremonial, and cold.

Suguru’s eyes skimmed it over your shoulder as you sat in the common room. “You’re not opening that here, are you?”

You hesitated. “I already know what it says.”

They wanted to arrange a match.

A high-ranking Alpha from a politically advantageous family. One with “stability, long-term potential, and no history of excessive aggression.” Their words, not yours.

Your clan didn’t say Gojo Satoru’s name, but you could feel him in every line of that letter. The pressure to bond. The underlying threat of not doing so. You were an Omega of age. Delaying your mating was drawing attention.

It wasn’t a request.

You didn’t tell Gojo right away.

But he knew something was wrong.

You were quieter. Distracted. Distant.

He cornered you after sparring, chest heaving from the workout, a line of sweat curling down the side of his neck. He pulled off his blindfold,blue eyes sharp and worried.

“What’s going on?”

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

You tried to brush past him. He moved. Blocking your way with barely a shift of his body, not touching you, but too close to ignore.

“Satoru—”

“Tell me.”

So you did.

His expression didn’t change at first. Then, very slowly, something froze in his jaw. A muscle ticked. His hands clenched at his sides like he was trying very hard not to break something.

“What’s his name?” he asked, too calm.

You didn’t answer.

His voice dropped. “They’re trying to pull you out of Jujutsu Tech.”

You swallowed. “They think it’s safer.”

“No,” he said flatly. “They think you’re vulnerable. And they think I won’t do anything about it.”

You tried to reach for his arm. “You can’t—”

He stepped back.

Not from you. From himself.

“I can’t protect you from them,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not unless you let me.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

Gojo looked at you,really looked. And for once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect. Just stared like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

“It means I want you,” he said. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Silence.

“I thought I could wait,” he went on. “I thought if I kept quiet, if I gave you space, maybe you’d choose me on your own.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“But I’m not going to watch them take you away and pretend it doesn’t kill me.”

You stared at him. And then—

“You waited too long.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Soft. True.

Gojo’s breath caught.

But then you added, quieter:

“Do something about it.”

His restraint shattered.

Gojo stepped forward and kissed you like he’d been dying to do it for years,because he had. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t sweet. It was messy, desperate, a dam breaking with your fingers tangled in his jacket and his hands gripping your hips like the only way he could hold himself together was by holding onto you.

He didn’t ask for permission.

You’d already given it.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The meeting was called under the pretense of “concern.” A gathering of clan representatives, a few staff from Jujutsu Tech, and of course your suitor’s family.

You weren’t supposed to be there. Omegas were rarely permitted to speak on their own behalf in these negotiations.

But you came anyway.

And Gojo was already seated at the head of the table when you arrived.

Not an empty seat. The seat.

His blindfold was gone. His uniform collar open. His posture relaxed in the way only the most dangerous people can afford to be. Casual, confident, and clearly amused.

“Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he said lazily, gaze sweeping over the gathered elders like they were ants on his shoe. “All this effort just to talk about my Omega?”

Your heart stopped.

So did the room.

A clan elder cleared their throat. “She is not—”

“She is,” Gojo interrupted, voice silk-wrapped steel. “She just hasn’t said it officially yet. But I’m sure you’d all agree it’d be wildly inappropriate to suggest an engagement when she’s already spoken for.”

The silence crackled.

The representative from your clan’s inner circle leaned forward, fingers laced. “With respect, Gojo-sama, no such bond has been confirmed. And while your attachment is clear, this matter concerns lineage, compatibility, and the safety of the Omega in question.”

“Safety?” Gojo echoed, smile thin. “I’m the strongest sorcerer alive. Tell me, which one of you thinks you can offer her better protection than me?”

No one answered.

The suitor’s father spoke next. “Your emotions are understandable, but our son has been vetted. He’s mature, politically sound, and has a reputation for stability—”

“And I,” Gojo cut in, “can vaporize a domain in under three seconds.”

He leaned forward then, elbows on the table, voice dropping into something colder.

“So here’s how this is going to go: you’re going to drop the proposal. You’re going to keep your politics away from her. And you’re going to do it quietly, so no one gets embarrassed. Or hurt. Or—worst of all—made an example of.”

A long pause.

“Is that a threat?” someone asked tightly.

Gojo smiled.

“It’s a promise.”

When the meeting adjourned, Gojo caught up to you in the corridor, like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just threatened half the room without blinking.

“You’re insane,” you told him, heart racing.

“Insanely devoted, yeah,” he grinned. “Did you see their faces?”

“You basically declared war on my entire clan—”

“They started it,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “They came for what’s mine.”

You didn’t move.

“Am I?” you asked softly.

Gojo’s smile softened, all that sharpness folding inward, just for you.

“You’ve always been,” he said. “Even when you didn’t know it.”

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 21

Living with Gojo Satoru was like sharing an apartment with a hurricane that made coffee in your favorite mug and left his socks on the ceiling.

The top floor of Jujutsu Tech’s private housing had been “technically unauthorized” when he moved you in, but no one was stupid enough to stop him. Suguru called it your castle, which wasn’t wrong. It was all open space, floor-to-ceiling windows, and way too many pillows.

You’d been dating,courting, by clan terms,for three years.

No bond yet. No mark.

Gojo waited. Even though you could feel it,how he watched you. How he barely held back when you kissed. How his cursed energy coiled around you when you wore his clothes or nuzzled your face into his scent gland in your sleep.

“I’m fine waiting,” he’d said once, hand tangled in your hair, voice soft against your throat. “As long as it’s me you’re waiting for.”

Suguru visited one night during golden hour. He brought food and stayed long after the takeout was cold, curled into a corner of your couch with his arms tucked under his sleeves.

Gojo practically draped himself over you, cheek resting on your shoulder, scent lazy and content. His fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your shorts.

“Ugh,” Suguru said, grinning. “You’re disgusting.”

You hummed. “He’s just clingy.”

“She likes it,” Gojo mumbled into your neck.

“I tolerate it,” you corrected.

He nuzzled you, pleased.

Suguru shook his head. “You know, I was worried at first. Thought he’d suffocate you.”

You smirked. “He still might.”

Gojo just sighed dramatically. “Let me be in love in peace.”

Suguru’s smile dimmed a little,nostalgic. Quiet.

“She’s good for you.”

Gojo didn’t answer, but his fingers tightened on your thigh, just a little.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

It happened on a rainy night.

No mission. No special event. Just you and him, alone in your shared bedroom, warm from the shower, tangled in sheets and scent and skin.

He kissed you like he always did,slow, sweet, tasting every noise you made. But when you arched into him, scent thick with heat and need, Gojo paused.

“Tell me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Tell me you want it.”

You reached up, cupping his face, fingers trembling.

“I want you to claim me.”

Blue eyes burned.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure since I was sixteen.”

His control cracked.

The kiss that followed was rougher, deeper,borderline desperate. His hands mapped your body like memorization wasn’t enough anymore. Your scent bloomed under his touch, sticky-sweet and wet with submission, but your eyes never left his.

You weren’t being taken.

You were giving yourself.

Gojo groaned, rut-heavy and shaking, and when he finally sank his canines into the spot just beneath your scent gland, the shock of the bond hit like a curse.

You cried out, hips jerking, body going molten and boneless under him. His cursed energy snapped, flooding through you, marking you.

Not just skin-deep.

Soul-deep.

He licked over the mark, reverent, voice rasping against your neck: “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Your hands fisted in his hair.

“Yours,” you whispered. “Always.”

Afterward, he held you like he’d fall apart without you,arms around your waist, nose buried in your bond mark, still murmuring your name like a prayer.

When you drifted off, Gojo didn’t sleep.

He just watched you breathe.

His. Finally. Irrevocably.

And if the world tried to take you again?

Let it try.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 25

Years had passed since the world had first witnessed Gojo Satoru’s declaration of ownership over you. Since the day he'd practically claimed you, raw and unrestrained.

Since then, you and Gojo had built your lives,not just as partners, but as equals. You were stronger. He was more grounded. And the bond, always there, had deepened beyond what anyone outside the two of you could even fathom.

Your home was exactly as it had been before: full of noise, laughter, and chaos, just now with a few extra people. Jujutsu Tech still felt like the heart of the world, but with each passing year, you both had carved out more space for yourselves. Gojo was a legend, but he was also yours. And you were more than his Omega,you were his heart. His equal.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Gojo fussed with the coffee machine like he hadn’t made the same damn cup a thousand times before.

“Stop acting like you don’t know how to do it,” you teased, smiling fondly. He always made a production out of everything, even the simplest of things.

Gojo’s back was turned, but you saw him grin.

“I know how to make it. I just enjoy the effect,” he said, voice low, filled with that familiar smugness.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“No, I’m full of you,” he said, turning to you, his blue eyes locking onto yours, soft but possessive. “Always will be.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

“I’m new,” he said, walking closer, his body heat flooding your senses, that mix of Satoru and Gojo only you knew intimately.

His hand cupped your cheek gently, like he was afraid of breaking you. And you knew that even now, after all this time, despite the raw, unfiltered power he held, he was still careful with you. Always.

He kissed you, slow, deep like you were still the only person in the world.

“I’m not the only one who’s changed,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re more than I ever could’ve imagined, beloved.”

You smiled softly, almost shyly, remembering the long path from the moment he first made that choice, back when he was younger, less certain.

Later that afternoon, Suguru came over, as he always did. His usual routine was to catch up with Gojo, drink coffee, and discuss the growing chaos of their world, but today, something was off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but Suguru seemed a little… distracted.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching him fiddle with his mug.

He looked up at you, smiled a little, but his eyes were far away. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve known you both a long time,” he said, glancing at Gojo, who had his back turned, lost in his own thoughts. “And I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day you two would finally settle into this… Whatever this is.”

Gojo grinned from the other side of the room. “It’s called ‘happily ever after,’ Suguru.”

Suguru snorted, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right, right. But still… I never expected to see you both at peace.”

You stepped forward, cocking your head. “What’s going on, Suguru?”

He sighed, meeting your gaze. “I’ve just been wondering for a while now,what’s next for you two? I mean, you’ve built your lives together. But is that… enough? Or is there something more? Something bigger?”

You stared at him for a moment, before your eyes moved to Gojo, who had finally turned around and was watching you, expression soft and almost… expectant.

You glanced back at Suguru, confused. “What are you getting at?”

Suguru leaned forward. “Well, I’ve been hearing some rumors lately. About you two. And I… I think I know what the next step is.”

You stared at him.

He gave you a slow smile,whispering. “I think it’s time you tell him.”

Later that evening, Gojo had his arm around you, the two of you lounging on the couch as you watched some random movie. His hand traced lazy patterns on your arm, and you could feel the bond pulsing between you.

He wasn’t paying attention to the film, not really,his mind was always on you, and he was letting the quiet between you speak louder than anything else.

But tonight was different.

You turned to face him, drawing his attention, your heart beating a little faster as you reached for his hand.

“Satoru,” you whispered, your voice soft and slightly nervous. “I… I have something to tell you.”

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with that same intensity. “What is it?”

Your hand trembled slightly as you took his, squeezing gently. You knew, deep down, that this would be another step, the next chapter. The one that solidified everything.

“I’m… I’m pregnant.”

He froze for a beat, like the world itself had just shifted. Then,slowly, ever so carefully,he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

A smile broke out across his face, and it was like a weight lifted from his shoulders. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes, softened.

“You’re…” he started, the words stumbling out, but his smile grew. “You’re really doing this to me? You’re going to make me a dad?”

You laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "You’re going to be an amazing father, Satoru."

Gojo leaned forward, his lips brushing yours with a gentleness that matched the enormity of the moment.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, the bond between you thrumming with warmth.

“Our baby,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Our family.”

And just like that, everything felt real. The years, the bond, the madness and the love. It was all leading to this. Your future. Together.

You rested your hand on your stomach, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips.

His hand covered yours, pressing it to his chest, over his heart.

And you both knew.

This—this was the beginning of something even greater than you could’ve imagined.

[wittyno]

It's a difficult thing to parse because you need to define what "wealthy" means. Sure, there are authors who will never have to work again no matter what happens to them. They are obviously wealthy but what about those who are doing well enough to make a living but not enough to stop working. What if some terrible illness befalls them or a family member? They can't keep writing and aren't getting the pay they used to because of piracy. So they have to keep working even while dealing with horrific circumstances. How do you measure? Because there isn't a numerical value. I also get the emotional component. This is a thing you made. You want to be paid for your art. You want your art to remain yours.

It's also not really about lawyers and their "weight-classes". You can have Atticus Finch representing you and still lose if you don't have enough money. Lawsuits are expensive and they are time-intensive. The publishing houses of the world have just way more resources than IA. It's not that the lawyers are better. It's that they have more of them. Harper Collins and co. Can outspend IA on legal fees for decades probably. Which is why this was such a bad idea. It's also the reason that Ao3 clamps down hard on links. Because they don't want you linking to your Kofi or Patreon. Because they don't want to draw the attention of some big corporation who can outspend them in legal fees.

The upsetting thing about the Internet Archive situation is that they decided to bet everything - their credibility, the crucial work of preservation they've done on the net, the accessibility of materials that otherwise be legitimate lost media - on a truly idiotic proposition for the sake of either "changing bad law" or martyring themselves to it.

And now they're getting martyred for it.

And it's their own goddamn fault.

And we're still going to pay for it, as a society, either paying for their dumbfuck legal pirouette, with the loss of all the material that they claimed to be custodians of but instead endangered recklessly, or realistically, both.

It's fucking maddening.

[whambamsami]

smile, you're on camera!

summary: you accidentally find out what neighbor!bucky really does for work. and he's more than interested to show you how professional he can be.

note: trying to work a bit more on my dialogue! definitely a bit out of my comfort zone haha but trying new things! this is also not proof read at all lol so it fully might be rlly jumbled and rambly but its 3am soooo

warnings: 18+, a little bit of language and the tiniest sliver of smut!

It really wasn’t your intention to find out what Bucky Barnes did for work. 

He was always kind, even friendly at times, and an overall good neighbor. Always lent you sugar when you needed some for any baked goods you’d make (in exchange for a bite, of course). Changed your oil for free when your car was giving you trouble. You’d shared a few movie nights, and he always made the popcorn with extra butter, just how you like it. Even let you crash on his couch when the power went out. 

That’s where you accidentally stumbled across his… equipment.

He had told you that he kept extra candles in a bottom drawer in his bathroom. He didn’t specify which, so you tried the left side.

And there they were.

Cock rings, vibrators, handcuffs. Things you didn’t even know the names of, but you were clever enough to infer. A whole rainbow of sexual depravity.

Certainly no candles. 

A gasp had left your mouth before you could stop it, drawing his attention. 

“What is it?” 

“I- nothing!” you replied, admittedly a bit too quickly, slamming the drawer back into place and scrambling to grab the candles from the correct drawer on the right side, hurrying back into the living room before he suspects anything. 

It’s not like you were snooping. It was his fault, really, for being so loose with his instructions. He should have been more specific.

“Found them!” you said, a bit breathless, thankful that the darkness of his apartment cloaked the rosiness that was blooming in your cheeks. 

You could only see his tall, broad silhouette, and you could see his head tilt a bit to the left. You imagined he was looking at you skeptically, but decided not to push it. 

In actuality, he was getting a better look at you. Smirking knowingly. 

Like a wild animal who had just trapped its prey. 

Once the candles were lit, he pulled out his projector you’d grown all too familiar with from your movie nights. Lucky for you two, it was battery-powered.

“You’re a genius!” you exclaim.

He grins. “Horror or rom-com?”

“Oh, rom-com, please. You can’t put me through a horror movie when the power’s out.”

“Aw, I was just trying to get you to cling to me when you get scared! We have to conserve body heat in these kinds of dangerous events, don’t we?” 

And despite his usual flirty demeanor, you let yourself imagine that he snuck a glimpse at your lips in the dark.

The candlelight was playing tricks on you, surely.

Always a great host, he made sure to remind you, “If you need anything, and I mean anything, I’m sleeping one door away, ok?”

You barely slept a wink that night, your mind plagued with questions of what he does with those toys. 

Of how he might use them on you.

A week goes by, and you’ve spiraled a bit. You haven’t seen Bucky since you spent the night on his couch, which was a bit of a relief, and you’d honestly been actively putting a bit of space between you two. But your apartment complex wasn’t all that large, and it was only a matter of time before you were waiting on the elevator to head up to your floor when a familiar vibranium hand stopped the doors from closing. 

Bucky’s large frame slid into the elevator, offering a warm smile and nod. 

“Hey. Think you might know what floor I need.”

You laugh lightly when you hit the button, doing your best to ignore the fact that his cologne in the tight space was starting to become really overwhelming. God, you just wanted to bury your face in his chest and breathe him in while he-

“Oh, forgot to ask- do you have a lighter I could borrow for tonight? It’s for a work thing” he asks as the doors to the elevator open and the two of you head to your adjacent apartments. 

“Oh, yeah, I can drop it off in 5?”

“Perfect! You’re the best.”

You close the door to your apartment, finally feeling like you can breathe again, before rummaging through one of your junk drawers. Where’d you put your lighter again? 

When you find it in your bathroom by a scented candle, your mind started to wander a bit. 

A lighter? For work? 

You’ve never really talked about work. You always assumed he was still doing the Avengers thing, or at least some form of government work. Hell, with his body, he could probably be a personal trainer and make more money than you could imagine.

So what did he need a lighter for?

After slipping the lighter into your pocket, you pop into Bucky’s apartment after two quick knocks.

“Bucky?” Nothing for a few beats, and his apartment wasn’t exactly huge, so he had to have heard you. Where the hell was he? “I brought the lighter, like you asked!”

“In here! He calls from his bedroom. 

…Were you supposed to go in there? 

No. Thats a bit personal.

It’s not like you’d accidentally seen his sex toy collection or anything.

No, the bedroom is too personal, you decide. 

“I’ll just leave it on your counter! Don’t want to interrupt…”

You can hear him rustling a bit behind the closed door, and it creaks open. 

Bucky, wearing an easy smile, and almost nothing else, making his way toward you.

Okay, it wasn’t like he was naked, he had on a loose-fitting pair of joggers, but this was your first time seeing Bucky shirtless, and the way his bare torso had you reacting was practically worse than if he came out totally nude. 

Tanned, broad shoulders. Those arms, thick and toned, hanging casually by his sides like they weren’t the most tempting thing you’d ever seen. Rippling muscles littered with scars of his life before, hardened by such physical work. A dusting of chest hair, and a happy trail that led your traitorous eyes down, down, down…

“Thanks again, really. My last one hasn’t worked since the power outage, and I haven’t had the chance to replenish.” 

You snapped your gaze back to his, trying desperately to fan the flames in your stomach that were making your cheeks a bit rosier than normal.

“Of course! It’s just a lighter.” You shrug, hoping that you sounded casual. 

“I did mean to ask you…” Bucky tilts his head, intrigued as to what you might be asking. “What exactly does a supersoldier need a lighter for? Does Tony Stark not have that in the budget?” You joke lightly, a mask to your genuine curiosity.

That earns you a laugh from the mountain of a man before you. 

“That’s just my day job, actually. The candle I need for the night shift.”

“...Night shift?”

“I’m in the adult industry.” He says. His voice comes out plain but his eyes scan your face, trying to guage your reaction. Like he’s secretly a bit nervous.

“...Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So like… drugs?”

Another laugh from him.

“God, no, I work for the government! Which, believe it or not, doesn’t pay very well, so… I do a little work in the adult entertainment industry. Sometimes”

A beat passes. 

“You know…porn?” he continues, having the gall to smile. 

You go bright red. 

“Oh!” you finally manage to squeak, “that’s nice! I mean, whatever puts food on the table, right? Plus, I’m sure you have a good clientele… not because you’re hot or anything, I mean, you are hot, but I just meant being an Avenger and all-”

He’s chuckling warmly as you scramble for coherence. 

“No, I get it. It’s definitely a bit… unconventional, but I can’t deny that the pay is a large draw. Plus, it isn’t work if you’re doing what you love, right?”

Oh, now he’s trying to kill you. 

You pause a moment more. 

“...can I ask one more question? At the risk of being even more invasive?”

“Course. I’m an open book.”

You take a deep breath.

“Are you going to fuck a candle?”

That makes him burst out loud. 

“God, is that what you think I need this lighter for? No! I mostly do solos and I have a private chat room where people can request whatever depraved stuff they’d like me to do. Tonight, I had someone ask me to do some wax play. It’s not exactly something I do all the time, so…” He holds the lighter up, like it should’ve obvious what he needed it for in the first place. 

“Well, what was I supposed to think! And good, I can’t imagine that would feel amazing.” 

You both laugh a bit, and you’re silently thanking the lord that he seems to see this conversation as amusing and not incredibly intrusive of you. And that he can’t seem to tell that the fact that your hot neighbor does porn is a living fantasy for you or anyone else with a libido.

As you turn his doorhandle to leave, you pause and turn around to ask,

“...Would you fuck a candle?”

He grins and has the nerve to wink.

“For the right price.”

And you practically sprint out of there.

Later that night, curiosity got the best of you.

Well, of course it did! Your superhero neighbor-crush-thing does porn. You’re only human. 

You felt shame, hot and wretched, curl in your gut as soon as the idea crossed your mind.

But, like all bad ideas, once it dug its way into your brain, there was no stopping you until you scratched that itch. 

It was late. Really late. The glow of your phone told you it was almost 2 AM. That added to your shame a bit as you punched in Bucky’s name into your search bar, earnestly unsure of what you might find. 

You tried combinations. JamesBarnes popped up with a profile of a middle-aged dad in Minnesota. WinterSoldier came up with a ton of profiles, from fan accounts to political conspiracy theorists. The prolonged longevity of your indignity almost had you giving up, but you decided that it wasn’t wrong of you to look. It wasn’t like you were paying for an OnlyFans here, you were just looking up your neighbor’s public profile. Was that such a crime? 

Your shaky fingers typed in BuckyBarnes, and there he was. A blue checkmark perched like a medal next to his name. He was a bit famous, you supposed, so it only made sense. 

For someone with so many followers, he only had a few pictures. Some of him with Sam, and other Avengers you recognized. Some posts from him at charity galas, supporting children in underprivileged countries, veterans, and more. 

His more recent posts were definitely a bit more suggestive. His bare chest glistening after it appeared he’d finished a workout. In your apartment gym. His shorts hiked higher to display his muscular thighs. A knowing smirk for the camera, like he was smiling just for you. Some at the beach, his time in the water plastering his shorts to his skin, leaving very little to the imagination. Cheeky captions inviting an onslaught of admirers to leave comments, some suggestive, some so graphic you’re surprised they weren’t banned. @Fuckmebucky92’s remarks on his latest post of him sprawled on white linen sheets in just his boxers had even you clutching your pearls. 

A purple ring around his profile drew your attention.

He had posted a story.

Recently. From today, maybe.

It couldn’t hurt to look, you think. After all, he had so many followers that even if he did think to look to see who was viewing his story, he’d have to sort through thousands of fans before even getting close to you.

So you took a breath and tapped. 

And there he was, in the same joggers you’d seen him in earlier, smiling easily at the camera like he knew who was behind it. His metal arm glinted at the camera, and you could see he was speaking. You turned up your volume to hear his voice, deep and raspy, speak to his fans. 

“...and I’m lucky enough to have a few slots open tonight for some solo sessions, so if you’d like to get to know me a lot more personally, click the link in my bio. I can’t wait to see you soon.” and he winks cheekily at the camera, just like he did earlier. 

You almost throw your phone across the room, how much he affected you. Luckily for both your phone and your insurance, you managed to just drop it on your chest and cover your face with your hands. You needed a second to catch your breath, but you felt a buzz from your phone, and when you picked it up and checked the screen, you had a DM request.

No. 

There’s literally no way.

@BuckyBarnes: Saw you viewed my story. Did my confession earlier have you feeling a little curious, doll?

You could just die right now. 

@Y/N: is this how you find your clients? hunting down people who view your public profile?

He replied almost instantly.

@BuckyBarnes: Call me an entrepreneur. And don’t pretend like you were trying to be neighborly.

God, you could practically see his smirk.

@Y/N: confident, are we? i just wanted to make sure you weren’t using my lighter for anything more inappropriate than you already planned!

@BuckyBarnes: So you weren’t the least bit interested in what you might find on my account? C’mon, I won’t tell…

You’re about to quip something back, but you see those bubbles pop back up again. 

@BuckyBarnes: If you ever want a private session, I’m right next door.

Oh, he had to be kidding.

@Y/N: …do i get a neighbor discount?

@BuckyBarnes: Hell, I’d give it to you for free. 

@Y/N: that’s high praise. 

@BuckyBarnes: Call it an ambitious marketing strategy. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll convince you to be a guest star in one of my little homemade videos…

@Y/N: you must have really liked that lighter, huh?

@BuckyBarnes: I had plenty of fun with the lighter. But if I need to hold it hostage to convince you to come over here, I’m not above that.

You roll your eyes. Ever the flirt.

@BuckyBarnes: C’mon, baby. I’ve been dying to see what makes you tick. 

Once again, Bucky Barnes was stealing precious sleep from you. 

Of course you bump into him in the elevator the next morning.

You two exchange polite nods. He stands next to you. Had he gotten taller overnight, or was his presence just more encapsulating? Your plan was to keep your mouth shut, because god knows it’s been getting you in trouble lately. But of course, Bucky wasn’t having that.

“Late night?” a knowing tone in his voice. 

Great. He’s in the mood to fuck with you. 

“..a bit.” you reply cautiously. What the hell is he playing at?

“You don’t want to ask me if I got enough sleep?” and that false innocence in his voice had you more nervous than you’d like to admit.

“...Did you have a late night, Bucky?” 

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that.” he coos, leaning in just enough to be closer than usual. 

Thank god it was your floor. 

The elevator doors opened and you practically jumped out, speeding off to your apartment, praying you made it out in time before he caught a glimpse of your face.

“Offer still stands, doll.” he calls after you.

Jesus Christ.

Your phone dings seconds after you make it to your apartment. 

@BuckyBarnes: Door’s always unlocked, sweetheart. Let me show you why I’m a professional. 

And you slump to the floor.

Hours later, you finished up at the gym and took a much-needed shower. The heat that had been building between you and Bucky was enough already to warrant at least 20 minutes self-reflecting in cold water, and your attempt to sweat him out of your system had proved fruitless. 

Of course, there was always the old fashioned way to relieve a little stress.

So that’s how you ended up on your back in bed with your hand shamelessly stuffed down your panties. Your little silk slip nightdress, the black one you sleep in when it’s extra hot in your room, is bunched up around your hips as you work yourself as silently as possible, stifling your little gasps, the thought of what Bucky could do to you filling your lust-clouded mind. 

You finally found a rhythm when your phone buzzed to life. Who the hell is texting you at this hour, interrupting your extremely vital indulgence?

@BuckyBarnes: Want to know one of the many perks of being a supersoldier?

God, why now? You were so close…

@Y/N: make it quick barnes, im busy

@BuckyBarnes: Oh, I know you are. Because one of the perks of being a supersoldier is the enhanced senses.

Fuck.

@BuckyBarnes: I can hear every pretty little noise you’re trying not to make right now. I can hear your heartbeat quicken. God, doll, I can practically taste you from here.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You would have to move apartments. Countries, maybe. 

@BuckyBarnes: Let me help you, sweet girl. I know what you need. Let me give you what you need, yeah?

@BuckyBarnes: Were you thinking about me, hmm? Trying to get me off your mind? Poor thing, you should have just asked me to help. I’m right across the hall.  

@BuckyBarnes: Let me take care of you, baby. 

[fourthemarauders]

The marauders era characters when eating a brownie🍃 for the very first time

James

He’s giggling before the brownie even kicks in. Five minutes later he’s lying on the floor whispering “do you think stars have feelings?” He gets weirdly emotional and says “I’d die for all of you” with zero context. Tries to hug everyone at once. Fails. Tries again.

Sirius

Realizes he has cheekbones and spirals into a monologue about how he’s “too beautiful to be emotionally stable" flirts with himself. Tries to fight a chair for looking at him wrong. Ends up crying in Remus’s lap because “no one ever taught me how to be loved.”

Remus

Starts logical, ends feral. At some point says “grief is a spell we cast on ourselves” and everyone claps. Tells Sirius he’s the most annoying person he’s ever loved and then blames the brownie. Spoiler: it wasn’t the brownie. Also has a full-on existential crisis about the moon.

Peter

Thinks he’s dead. Like, genuinely. Follows Lily around asking if she can hear his ghost voice. Tries to walk through a wall. Bumps his nose. Says “it’s the veil. I’m not worthy.”

Lily

Sits everyone down for a lecture on internalized misogyny and then immediately cries about the potential of lesbianism. Makes everyone drink water and calls it a feminist act.

Marlene

Takes off her shirt and howls at the moon. Declares herself a nature lesbian. Kisses Mary. Kisses Dorcas. Tries to kiss a tree. Tried to kiss Sirius cause he looked like another tree. Declares all four experiences life-changing. Later gets into a heated debate with a broomstick about blond visibility.

Dorcas

Doesn’t speak for an hour. Then randomly says “none of us are making it out of this whole.” Throws a knife into the wall. Where did she get the knife? No one knows. But it lands dead center and everyone claps like it’s normal.

Mary

Reads everyone’s auras like it’s her job. Tells Remus he’s “made of haunted poetry.” Says Regulus feels like an abandoned piano. Makes Sirius cry by calling him a disco ball trying to be a mirror. Asks Lily if she wants to move to a cottage and start over. Kind of means it.

Regulus

Claims he’s fine. Five minutes later: lying on the floor whispering “I think I’m a haunted Victorian lampshade.”

Starts rating everyone’s energy: “Sirius is fire, Dorcas is a blade, I’m a dying poem.” Cries because the cat looked at him “with judgment.” Won’t drink water unless it’s called a potion.

Snape

Absolutely not okay. Crying, muttering, possibly hexing his own shoelaces. Says “I should’ve loved better” with zero context. Everyone assumes it’s about Lily. No one asks. Lily puts a hand on his shoulder like “okay. But also? Stfu.”

Pandora

Absolutely off the rails. Eats four brownies, sees the fabric of the universe, draws symbols on Regulus’ arms and calls them “protective blessings.” Starts floating? Might be a spell. Might be vibes. Tells Barty “your soul is a little cracked but it sparkles.”

Barty

Full chaos. Tries to seduce a lamp. Fails. Blames the lamp. Starts narrating everything he does like he’s the villain in a Shakespeare play. Yells “I AM THE DARK LORD OF VIBES” and then immediately trips over a shoe.

Evan

Eats it like it’s nothing, pretends he’s not affected. Fifteen minutes later he’s lying flat on his back whispering “you know, if you think about it, death is just a very long nap.” Stares at the ceiling like it offended him personally. Tries to flirt with both Sirius and Barty in the same breath. Calls Regulus “my tiny goth prince” and kisses his hand dramatically. Accidentally joins Mary’s spiritual circle. Says “this is stupid” but does not move for three hours.

Later claims he doesn’t remember any of it. He does.

Follow for more shit like this

[mywildwritings]

Xaden x OC (One Shot) - The Parapet

Elowen Briar and Xaden Riorson meet at Parapet as they both join the Rider's Quadrant for very different reasons.

The line of candidates, all vying to join the Rider's Quadrant, snake through the courtyard like a long sweeping dragon tail. Ready to swipe away our lives with one swift strike. 

There are hundreds of candidates all hoping to cross Parapet today to become a cadet in Basgiath’s infamous Rider's Quadrant. All want to bond a dragon and become one of Navarre’s greatest weapons. 

I watch as they mingle with each other. They stand around in their rider’s black, all trying too hard to embody the person they all so desperately want to become. They partake in mindless small talk and fluff their tail feathers. 

I ignore them all. I ghost over their faces and drown out their words. When a girl with red curly hair smiles at me I pretend she doesn't exist. People are going to die today and I might be one of them. It is too late for niceties. My attention is instead on the gods. I pray to Zinhal for luck and Malek for a swift death if my time is up. 

“Name,” the roll keeper at the entrance to the tower asks me. He has a purple streak in his hair and a patch sewn to the front of his jacket. A wave. He's a water wielder. Impressive. He cocks his head at me when I don't answer immediately and I smirk. How impatient of him. 

“ Elowen Briar,” I eventually offer the cadet. I turn away from him as he scribbles my name down, on the bottom of the list. My name will be taken twice more. The next at the top of the tower in case I’m stupid enough to lose my life on the way up the the winding stair case and the last when I cross the Parapet. 

“Name,” he asks the candidate behind me as the line moves forward and stops. 

“Xaden Riorson,” he mutters and everyone in our immediate vicinity collectively inhales. They turn to stare at him - to size him up. Eyes drown him. They whisper to each other and draw away from him. One touch and they'll be cursed. 

“As in Fen Riorson’s son,” the cadet bites. His voice drips with disdain. The pen hovers in the air above the list like he’s reluctant to commit his name to paper. 

“The one and only,” he responds succinctly from behind me. His voice is confident. He doesn't shrink from the scrutiny. I can't help it. I hazard a glance behind me to see what he looks like. 

My eyes land on a leather covered torso and I have to angle my head to look up at him. His gold flecked eyes catch my own. They are guarded and they narrow on me. I note the relic. It curls up from under his collar and twists along side of his neck. He’s a marked one. His father was the Great Betrayer but I know better than anyone our parents do not define us.

I stare a little too long and he cocks his eyebrow at me. Even now I can feel their eyes on him. Hundreds of them. They all watch the son of Navarre’s enemy wait in line to join the Rider's Quadrant and they wonder how long he will last. They size him up and ask themselves, who will get a chance to kill him first? 

I turn back around to face the front and swallow back my feelings. Something about the look in his eyes tells me he won't be written off so easily. But the fate of Fen Riorson’s son is none of my business. 

I have my own reasons for entering the Quadrant. My heart twists and strains under the grief and I focus on putting one foot in front of the other as we enter the tower. Thick stone encases me in its wrath and I suddenly feel claustrophobic. I’ve always hated small spaces. 

“Oi Riorson.” The person two steps ahead of me turns around to face Xaden as he looms behind me. He has sandy brown hair and impossibly green eyes. Suddenly I can feel Xadens presence - a shadow crossing my own - and I shuffle uncomfortably. “You better watch yourself - we’ve got bets on how quickly you end up dead.”

I can't help myself. I roll my eyes and he notices. The bastard makes a show of dragging his eyes down the length I me, lazily and then he smirks. It’s pure violence. “I eat girls like you for breakfast,” he tells me. I want more than anything to wipe the smirk of his face. 

“Not interested asshole,” I bite back. “Either is Riorson. Why don't you build a bridge and throw yourself off it - “ I tilt my head at him innocently. “- oh wait we have a bridge. Now all you have to do is jump.”

He snarls and tries to lunge towards me but he’s stopped by the imposing candidate in front of me. Lucky for me he’s a fucking brute. 

“Get a move on!” someone yells from below. Our section falls into an uncomfortable silence and we begin the long trundle to the top of the tower and the Parapet. I look down and watch as the gray stone steps disappear as I pass.

I think about him. The one I lost. The reason I am here. He was hell bent on joining the Rider's Quadrant. He wanted to become a dragon rider more than anything. Now he is gone and he'll never be able to walk the Parapet, climb the Gauntlet or attend Threshing. I will do it for him. To honour him in a messed up way. To feel closer to him.

My foot slips on one of the steps in grief and I falter. Xaden collides with me. His hand lands on my lower back to steady himself and I flinch out of his grip and twist around to face him. “Don't fucking touch me,” I say a little too aggressively. 

He shuts down. For a moment I catch a glimpse inside. I see his vulnerability. Surprise and concern. He shutters himself away and I instantly regret my reaction. I desperately wish I could be as strong a person as he paints himself to be. “I’m sorry - “ I begin to say but he cuts me off.

“Get a move on Elo, you’re holding the line up.” I curl inwards at the nickname and turn back around. Nobody has called me that in so long and my body recoils at the familiar syllables. It shrinks in on itself. 

The staircase opens up into a wide turret and I pause as the rude candidate two in front gives his name to the roll keeper.

“Alric Tauri,” he smiles loudly. He wants us all to know who he is. He’s a cocky bastard but rightly so. He’s a Prince of Navarre. 

“Trust the asshole to be a fucking prince,” I mutter under my breath and the brute in front of my turns around and snorts a laugh. He has a relic too. It peeks out from under his sleeve. Another marked one. I wonder how many there are this year.

Alric turns to face us when he reaches the entrance to the Parapet and I have to stop myself from lunging forward and pushing him off. He makes the mistake of opening his god's damn mouth. 

“Watch yourself Riorson - you’re mine,” and then his attention falls to me and its every bit as arrogant as I would expect from a prince. “I’d stay away from him if I were you. Wouldn't want to see a pretty face go to waste.”

“Enjoy your -” I begin to snap back but I’m rudely interrupted by the marked one in front of me - Garrick - he takes a menacing step forward and Alric steps backwards. 

“Better walk fast princling.”

“Name,” the roll keeper asks glancing past me to Xaden. He's infinitely more interesting than I am. Even without his father's legacy hovering over him like a bad omen he exudes a dangerous energy. I on the other hand wilt. I fade into the background. I am forgettable. 

Garrick turns to look at Xaden when his turn arrives. He ignores me completely like I don't exist. I can't help the shame - it makes a home out of my bones. I’m not even worthy of a glance. “See you on the other side,” he grins. 

I watch as he bounds across the parapet. Hot on Alric’s heels. He bulldozes his way across and I’m jealous at how easy he seems to find all of this. I was never supposed to be here. I may be uncomfortable in confined spaces but I’m terrified of heights.

I take one step towards the exit and hesitate as the world opens up around me. The wind whips loose strands of my hair around my face and I turn back nervously. This was a terrible idea. I’m an idiot for thinking I can do this.

Xaden is standing behind me. He's too close. His imposing presence blocks my exit. His eyes meet mine and he smirks. It's fucking dangerous and I step back involuntarily towards the ledge as if it will save me from the fall.

“Don’t worry sunshine,” he murmurs quietly so only I can hear him. “I’ve no intention of killing you today.”

[weatherman667]

I've seen archers say the old English longbow was at least 200lbs, and they were using a 250lbs one. And yes, you have to draw them differently. They change the skeleton structure of the archer. To get that draw weight you have to start as young as possible, so this is built up over YEARS.

He also mentions the distance, this is how far back you draw the string. It's most important to get a bow that is natural for you to draw, usually to the head. But, there is also a full draw, which has you pull the string back as far as humanly possible, (usually to the far shoulder). It's a lot more difficult to draw, a lot harder to control, but you get more power out of.

Let’s compare some different weights of bow!

As always, you can find more stuff here

[jaytipede]

... JJ's introduction! ── ✎ᝰ.

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

Hello! My name is JJ! I'm fairly new to using Tumblr so apologies for any weird mistakes LOL. You probably know me from either TikTok or Instagram as the girl with the characters named Cookie and Jasper. If not, welcome! Let me introduce myself!

Once again, my name is Jay or JJ! My pronouns are she/her. If it isn't obvious by now, I am an artist and I love to draw and write stories! It is my number one hobby. The project I am currently working on (and will be for a long while) is titled "How the Cookie Crumbles." I am a very secretive person on the internet, so there is not much I can think of to put in my introduction! If you can't tell, I am a very bright person and I love cuteness... which is ironic, considering my story-telling is the total opposite. Speaking of...

⚠︎ TRIGGER WARNINGS! ⚠ ←

If you're new around here, my story-telling contains incredibly heavy discussions that are not for the faint of heart! The story's theme centers around different forms of grooming, hoping to shed light on various types of abuse, SA, etc. If you are sensitive to these subjects, I don't recommend following! While there is more to it than just that, those are the central themes. My goal is to represent these topics as tastefully as I possibly can, I can assure you that I always have the best intentions! I am incredibly open to criticism when it comes to representing things tastefully (and generally speaking) so feel free to criticize the morality if needed! I will always do my best to listen to others concerns.

BOUNDARIES! ←

On the topic of criticism, please do not criticize my art unless asked! While I never want to do something morally incorrect, my art style, designs, etc. are not as serious. You will know if I want criticism, as I usually speak very literally!

Fanart of any kind is okay, as long as it is in good faith and NO NSFW, please!

Feel free to send me as many asks as you want! I may not be on top of them 24/7 but I will try my best to get to them!

I am okay with DMs, but please remember, strangers: a response does not automatically mean we are friends! Do not behave in a parasocial manner towards me! You may think you know me, but I do not know you! Always keep that in mind!

If you are unsure of a boundary I may or may not have... please ask! I have a very open-mind and will never judge anything harmless!

Please do NOT interact if you are:

Homophobic, transphobic, xenophobic, islamophobic, etc.

Racist, sexist, ableist, discriminatory, etc.

If you invalidate a person's pronouns/gender/identity (yes, even neos/xenos!)

If you're a pedophile, sexualize minors, joke about rape, etc.

If you are "proship" or anything of that nature.

If you support, participate, tolerate, or justify any of the above.

If I deem you any of the above, or if you make me uncomfortable in any way... I will block. No questions asked.

Fandom Wiki! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Some of my followers put together a fandom wiki, which is so sweet! I do not edit anything in here as to not take away the fun for y'all, so not all the information may be accurate. For the most part though, I believe it is. Keep in mind that some information is missing as well! Here is the link! ->

Anyways...

Yeah! That's all I can think of, currently. I hope my story can help you feel a little less alone in the world!

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

[antwuzhere]

hello!! i love your art sm, i've been thinking about your animatics nonstop. kid and leveret is one of my fav yaelokre songs and holy crap it works so well with majorwood??? if you're able, could i request any sort of life series doodle, maybe simple life scott? your character designs are incredible and i've seen so many cool interpretations of second time winner scott so i was wondering what your design would be! thank you!!

Hiyaa!! Thank you so much!! So umm… I might have spent over 3 hours on this and I’m normally really quick at drawing

I quite love him really

This might be one of my favourite arts ever

A lot of words to say about him aaaaaaa

I’d still have his celestial name as like ‘stars’ but he’s meant to resemble the Sagittarius constellation, instead of like shooting stars, which I would’ve had him down as for his first win

Notes under cut:

• a constellation is just like a big cluster of stars, so it’s kinda like he gains more stars for his new win, like stars per win style

• Sagittarius is usually identified as a centaur: half human, half horse - and yknow Scott’s often assigned unicorn motifs because of his channels mascot minty, so it’s fitting to have him portrayed as like a unicorn centaur

•also Joel hates horses, so it would definetly annoy him even more on top of Scott having a double win

• the name ‘Sagittarius’ is Latin for ‘archer’ which is really fitting, as Scott’s super skilled with bows, and he gets tons of kills using them.

•more could be said about the actual, usage of bows in relation to his character’s personality, how it’s an arrow creates a very controlled puncture wound, and even just it being a long ranged weapon, creating this barrier of being reserved

-> not to say that I think Scott’s character is ‘introverted’ or ‘non-outgoing’ he’s the complete opposite actually but it’s more so that he tends hold his personal emotions closer to his chest,

-> by both, putting up a lively energetic front, and favouring his allies wellbeing and success over his own, his real emotions become very self-restrained and reserved. Controlled.

• @ooooo-mcyt (SORRY FOR THE TAG AAAA BUT YOU WORD THIS STUFF IN YOUR POSTS BETTER THAN I DO) has talked a lot about his need for control, especially around how he dies, and I feel like that’s very fitting considering the conventional connotations of a bow and arrow

I have a lot of words to say about him apparently sorry.

•ummm a lil cool detail his heads kinda splitting, and you can see that top quarter of his face is meant to reference what he would’ve looked like after his first win

-> it’s in the same placement as where I put Cleo’s stitches of her face, not an overly important detail, but like a cutesy matching bestie moment

their faces are falling apart but it’s fine cause they can match <3

•there’s a lot more detail to his star halo now, including what looks like the point and feather of an arrow

• the watcher eye and wings are like the handle of his bow just cause I said so

•kinda rainbowy eyes, but mainly green yellow and red

•oh and his skin kinda fades into that purple-black star matter like his origins smp skin

•all the little star markings on his skin is super cool to me, but I also stuck a moon on there cause pearlescentMOON was his soulmate

•it’s hard to tell cause all the colours but he’s got tears like constantly (not quickly mind you, not like waterfalls but drippy tap) falling from his eyes, but they are these starry gold colour, and they just float up and join the other stars

That’s like a favourite character feature of mine