#the songbird and the heart of stone

[booksandfantasies]

#carissa broadbent #the serpent and the wings of night #the songbird and the heart of stone #the songbird & the heart of stone #crowns of nyaxia #crowns of nyaxia series #the shadowborn duet #i am so excited for this #new book alert

[animezinglife]

Can you imagine if Crowns of Nyaxia had been around in the 2000s and adapted into a television series then?

Can you imagine the absolute onslaught of Evanescence, Within Temptation, and Nightwish BMVs?

#good ol' nostalgia #crowns of nyaxia #the serpent and the wings of night #the ashes and the star-cursed king #the songbird and the heart of stone #carissa broadbent

[author-morgan]

Title: Rise by the Birdsong Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: In which you soothe Daemon's wounded ego and pride after he loses in a tournament. Warnings: Typically Westerosi shenanigans.

HE SUMMONS YOU to his chambers in the hours after the tourney and feast —the taste of defeat still bitter on his tongue. Hubris cost him the victory. He had the Merryweather boy cornered. It should have been easy, yet he was forced to yield the champion's title and purse. Daemon Targaryen drapes his arms over the side of the tub and thinks of who he would have named as the Queen of Love and Beauty had he won. Certainly not Rhea Royce —the old bronze bitch. He’s more apt to name one of the sheep before her. The thought fades when the doors creak open, his guards letting you pass into the prince’s chambers.

Steam fills the room, as does the scent of Myrish oils. Your skin prickles with heat for reasons that have nothing to do with the warmth of the air when your eyes settle on Daemon at the center of the room. You wondered where he’d gone so quickly after the feast. His eyes flash open as your footfalls echo on the stone floor until you stop beside the tub and kneel. “My prince,” you greet. He’s always liked how you say his title, sweet and taunting, nigh like a songbird. Glancing away from his face, your gaze follows the line of his arm and the planes of his chest. He’s all lean and lithe muscle, sculpted from years of training and battle —the most seasoned warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daemon takes your hand, reclaiming your attention. His fingers curl around yours, then he shifts and leans toward you, head dipping down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles —a knightly and unexpected gesture. He lets your hand go and settles back in the tub, and the look of an arrogant prince reclaims his expression. “Take off your dress,” Daemon demands, flicking the surface of the water. Ever the dutiful lady, you rise and reach for the ties of your nightdress —shedding the pale linen, baring yourself to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

He's been soaking for nigh half-an-hour, and the water is still warm —fire cannot harm a dragon, he told you once whilst he held his hand above a candle, toying with the flame. You sink into the water and find the space he’s made next to him, head half-resting on his shoulder. Daemon drapes his arm around your shoulders, and wordlessly, you begin tracing mindless patterns on his chest. “You fought well today,” you tell him after a while, thinking of how handsome he looked in his dark steel suit emblazoned with the sigil of House Targaryen and decorated with rubies.  

“I lost,” he reminds you, no lack of bitterness in his voice. He’d find a way to best the Merryweather boy, somehow.  

You reach for his hand, and he lets you take it, curious brows raised. “Yet they all speak of how commendable your effort and skills are” —your fingers find the scars on his knuckles, the calloused pads of his fingertips. “Reputation is its own victory,” you tell him, placing a kiss to the center of his palm before he retracts his hand. 

Daemon looks down at you. “Trying to mend my broken heart?”

You trace a curving line over his breast and up his neck, caressing his smooth and sharp jaw. “It’s I who am heartbroken, Daemon,” you say, smiling. He cuts his eyes at you, something dangerous lurking in his stare. “You told me you’d gift me a crown of roses upon your victory, and here I am, crownless.”

His lips quirk upward. “Dare speak to your prince with such impertinence?” His touch against your cheek is gentle, but you can still hear the slightest hint of a laugh in his voice. It’s the look in his cool eyes that speak of danger, though —he’s always been as wild and unpredictable as his dragon. You hold your breath as you look at him, expecting his kiss when he careens forward in the water, and when he leans in to meet your mouth, you’re struck by how desperate it feels in comparison to all the other times.

You’re impatient for more —always more— feeling his smile growing as he kisses you again, and you’re happy to give the Rogue Prince whatever he wishes. He always brings out your worse impulses. Sighing against his mouth, his tongue brushes against yours. He tastes like the spices from dinner, warm and enticing, and there’s still a hint of sweet wine lingering on his lips. Not even a maiden could refuse Daemon Targaryen after a single kiss like this —you hadn’t been able to either, but now all that is in the past. His fingers run along your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and the little moan you make is music.

“Who else would keep you on your toes if not I?” You question, breathless. Daemon hums his agreement against your neck, lips trailing further down your pulse.

He pulls you close against him until you’re nearly in his lap —his cock twitches against your leg, but he brushes you off when you try to reach for him. He’d not summoned you tonight for a quick fuck. Daemon’s hands trace along your ribs to cup your breasts and feel your nipples stiffen in his palm, and his slight hum of approval makes your thighs squeeze together instinctively. Tonight, he’s more interested in having his hands on you instead —reparations for his failure to give you a rose crown.

“Open your legs,” he orders, a hot whisper at your ear, and you do so without a second thought. His hand slips between them, teasing briefly over your inner thighs before he’s touching you. Your voice is a breathy whimper as you feel him stroke slowly over the folds of your cunt and up to circle your clit. He doesn’t enter you yet, not until he can get his fill of watching you squirm and shudder from such simple attention. “What would Lord Mooton say if he could see precious his daughter like this?” Daemon relents to your soft pleas and slips two fingers into you. You shudder against him as he works in and out of you, breath catching. Your father is the last thing you want to think of with Daemon’s fingers buried in your cunt. “You like this?” He asks, well aware of how quickly he has you rutting into his hand for more stimulation.

“Yes, Daemon,” you insist, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck to draw his lips down to yours. His thumb rolls across your clit, and your head falls back.

His kiss is less fierce this time, deep and slow until your lungs ache. You can sense his mood improving as he fucks you with his hand, relishing all the little noises you make for him. “You’re mine, little dove,” he breathes in your ear, and you can’t disagree when your cunt is already squeezing so tight around him. He brushes over your clit again, and you lean your head forward to his shoulder this time. “I won’t let you wed another.” You know he speaks true.

You whimper when he nibbles at your earlobe. Cautiously, you move to touch him and slowly trace down his stomach and past his navel, earning you the smallest laugh of amusement from him. Permission enough to touch him. You take his hard cock in your hand, and he lets out a pleased sigh as you begin to stroke him. Watching him is mesmerizing, his movements as graceful as ever even as he rocks his hips into your touch, though his own rhythm between your thighs stutters momentarily with distraction. “Yours,” you agree between long kisses. The Seven and the Old Gods be damned, you’d made your bed among the dragons and intended to lay in it.

Both of you stay like that for a while, enjoying the feel of your bodies as you work to get each other off. He’s better at it than you are —this Lord of Flea Bottom— and it doesn’t take long to have you panting hard with every brush of his fingers inside you. He can tell you’re close from the way you’re clenching around his fingers, his tongue muffling greedy moans.

“Let me see you,” he says, and you’re powerless to deny him when you lift your head from his shoulder. His thumb brushes over your clit harder, and the tension in your body snaps, your arms wrapping around his back and holding him to you in a desperate need to ground yourself as you come on his fingers. Daemon’s fingers keep moving inside you, teasing you through your orgasm until you’re a dazed mess for him. You give yourself several long moments to recover, breathing in the perfumed steam of the bath to slow your frantic heartbeat. He withdraws his hand from between your legs, and you can’t hide your disappointment at the newly empty feeling inside you.

Daemon rises from the water —his cock hard and straining against his belly— and offers his hand to help you out of the tub, leading you over to his bed. You lay back as he wishes, and he parts your thighs again, rubbing along the wetness he finds there and lifts his fingers to his lips to taste you. The noise Daemon makes is a promise of next time, but you’re given no time to dwell on the thought when he crawls over you and settles between your legs, the head of his cock just pressing into your cunt —unexpected, he usually takes you like a bitch in heat.

Your hips rut up towards his impatiently, and a moment later, he’s inside you. He hisses sharply but can’t stop the roll of his hips, pushing his cock deeper into you. It’s a newfound boldness you do not wish to relinquish. “Behave,” Daemon scolds, but there’s none of the usual annoyance or ire in his voice. His mouth eager on yours as he guides your arms up to pin your wrists above your head. “Stay still.” You do. Relaxing into the down blankets and pillows while he laves your neck and breasts with affection.

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and he hears how you stutter out his name, and it only spurs his need to have you like this. “What a good little dove you are.” Daemon smirks, and you have to look away, almost ashamed of how red your face turns at his praises, but you squirm beneath him as he strokes along a sensitive spot inside of you.

You feel his lips ghosting over your closed eyelids, and you peek one open to watch him. There’s the faintest flush across his face as he stares down at you with such raw hunger it feels like you’re going to burn up from the heat of your bodies —like Caraxes has bathed you both in flames. You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his silver hair and down the toned muscles of his shoulders and back. You flex them impatiently but keep your hands obediently where he’d placed them.

He pinches a nipple between his fingers, and you jolt, letting out a shaky moan that has his cock throbbing inside you, and it rips a harsh groan from his lips. You reach for him without thinking, dragging your nails across his scalp before he takes your wrists and presses them harder into the bed. You wriggle under him and only earn a quick nip to your earlobe. “Told you to behave,” he reminds you sternly, but his scolding only makes you clench around him tighter. Daemon curses and his next kiss is hot and demanding, and you part your lips for his tongue without a moment’s hesitation.

“Please, Daemon,” you whimper, and he knows what it is you want and gives a small nod of agreement. You reach for him again, going for his silver locks to bring him back down into another kiss. You hold tight to him when he tries to separate, keeping his chest flush against yours, whispering and whimpering his name like sacred prayers as he presses himself deeper into you —his pelvis grinding against your clit.

He thrusts into you harder while stroking your clit, and you unravel for him, tension running through you like dragonfire until you’re unable to do anything more than shudder beneath him. “Daemon,” you whimper, muscles twitching uselessly as he teases you through it. You’re too focused on your blood pounding in your ears to fully appreciate his reaction to you, his breaths ragged, and pupils blown wide with his own arousal at how you spasm around his aching cock. It’s a sight you’re not like to see again —you very well may never see your prince like this again.

You try to wrap yourself around his waist and pull him further into you —wanting to help him find his release— but instead, your legs are pressed firmly into the bed. “No,” he says through rough kisses, the last one nipping sharply at your bottom lip. He groans, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation of release. 

Daemon pulls out of your cunt and leaves you empty. You almost complain, but he shushes you by dragging your hand down to his cock —slick and throbbing from all your efforts— and you follow his lead without instruction. His fingers are warm around yours as he guides you. He looks tragically beautiful when he comes, his head tilted back and mouth slightly open in a sharp gasp at the shiver running through his body. His cock twitches in your grasp, coating your hand and stomach in his sticky seed —he won’t risk a bastard child.

He moves to lay beside you, more relaxed than he’s been in a fortnight. You roll onto your side and look him over. This is far from your first time entertaining the prince in his bed —even being of noble blood, you know how this works. All the Seven Kingdoms know you are his mistress, even true love perhaps, but he is already sworn to another, and you must act as though the whispers and rumors are lies. It always hurts when you must leave, but you’d been foolish enough to cast your heart to the son of the dragon, and now you must suffer the price. “Do you require anything else, my prince?” You query.

Daemon turns his head to look at you, flushed and glowing. “Mmm” —he reaches for you, fingers trailing along your cheek and back into your hair— “stay.” The request surprises you, but you’ll indulge him and your own heart. A comfortable silence lingers until Daemon shifts, gathering you up in his arms to lay you down on the bed properly and offers a rag to clean yourself with as he does the same. When he returns to your side, Daemon rests his head on your breast and lets you hold him, humming sweetly as the songbirds, to an age-old lullaby. We'll sleep when the morning comes, and we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs. And the morning will come too soon.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy @certifiedlittleshit ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x Reader #Daemon x Reader #Daemon Targaryen Fanfic #House of the Dragon #Matt Smith #my writing #setting for this fic is before HotD and the DotD begins #he came for me y'all and i cannot help it #between him and Criston Cole woo boy #if i wasnt sold on the casting i am now #soon to be everyones favorite bastards

[caramel-maveeato]

𝟥:𝟥𝟥 ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: three among all the times you revived butterflies in his garden...  ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x GN!reader ♡ Genre: fluff ♡ TW: suggestive, detailed descriptions of kissing in part 3, slight cursing, sexual tension but no doing the deed, basically just 3 short fics in the form of 1 long fic because why not ♡ word count: 3.8k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n.  (I love this theme so much wtf why he so pretty)

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

So Mun was one to be driven by love. Whether it’s platonic or romantic, both are irreplaceable in his life. 

He didn’t understand why some people dated just to waste their time. Witnessing how strong of a bond his parents shared ever since he was a kid, he believed the wondrous word "lovers" could never be used halfheartedly. That being said, ever since a relationship with you has flowered, merely your existence was already plentiful enough to bring him to his knees. 

Once he fell, So Mun unconsciously became a hopeless romantic, hands down. 

Every day with you resembled a spring rain, gleaming drops of the sky mizzling outside the closed window; bracingly excited, nonetheless pleasant. Liveliness erupted through every one of his veins when the first thing he saw after a long rest was your sleeping face, savoring in tranquility next to him.

He skimmed his hand—which was lazing around on your hip—over to fix any part of the blanket that had slided off your body. Warm fingers sailed their way down your back and danced along the divine curve. Each stroke was careful enough not to disturb your sleep as the small distance between you two was diminished through his gentle pull. 

Laid between the entangled fingers was a vague squeeze. A smile instantly pervaded his face just from the sight of your eyelids slowly fluttering open, his own image mirroring in those crystalline pupils: “Good morning, baby.”

“Morning…” There it was, your raspy morning voice that he looked forward to every day: “What time is it?”

He glanced at the clock, his digits soothing your upper back and shoulder blazes: “It’s still early; you can go back to sleep.” 

Your habit of always waking up beside each other had almost been set in stone—whether in the back seat of the car, the dinner table, or even in the middle of the boxing ring—to the point that all of your accustomed actions had become so predictable for So Mun that he could correctly guess what gestures you’d impulsively do every time morning knocked on your door.

Drowsiness straggled on your eyelids as you let darkness cloak your vision. You drew a tiny hum, your body moved on its own from the guidance of the familiar warmth and soon enough, you were secured inside his embrace again: “Just… ten more minutes.”

Habit or not, he didn’t mind how effortlessly you could accelerate the rhythm of his heart: “Sure.”

“Actually…” The elation on So Mun’s face dilated through the tenderness of your hair scratching on his skin, tiny nuzzles of your nose followed by faint inhales and exhales on his neck. His heart swelled when kisses like a touch of a delicate wing brushing against his Adam’s apple: “Maybe more than ten.”

He laughed, habitually running a hand through your hair: “How about twenty minutes?”

“As long as possible. I want to stay like this for a while longer.” Your arm returned to its home around him, fingers enveloped in an instinctive grasp to anchor yourself to a sense of amenity you could only find around So Mun. His morning routine would never be fulfilled without you clinging onto him for at least a lasting moment: “Is that okay?”

You were too dozy to catch onto how his chest faintly vibrated with a chuckle, how a lovely softness perched on the top of your head, nor how a flurry of tiny feathers had taken flight inside him—like songbirds broke free from a hidden cage, euphonious symphony merging into the sky through chaotic felicity. It was haywire, but he loved it: 

“Of course, sleepyhead.”

Cooking is a boyfriend’s duty, so unless it was your own wish, he never let you work a single muscle while in the kitchen. 

It was one of the rare occasions that his grandparents were out of town to visit a relative. And so he anticipated such a perfect opportunity for an indoor date, wasted no time welcoming you into the house. 

A variety of home-made snacks and bags of chips hung around on top of the cabinet. Comfortable silence accompanied him as he stood pouring your favorite soda into an iced cup, completely oblivious to you—whom he supposed was still sitting on the couch scrolling through a long list of movies—already sneaking up to him from behind, footsteps soundless.

With a quiet and almost imperceptible approach, you closed your arms around his waist, physically declaring your profound adoration for your boyfriend: “Hi!”

“Hi, baby.” Your sudden display of affection momentarily startled him, and So Mun laughed at himself just as quickly for flinching. Or maybe he wasn’t flinching. After all, you could never scare him. 

Perhaps his heart jumped from a swarm of fireflies that burst out; something inside him fluttered like leaves in the chilly breeze, carrying him away by a whirlwind of emotion when your chin rested on his shoulder, face nesting in the nape of his neck. 

He giggled, placing the empty can of soda down and wrapping his hand around yours: “What are you doing?”

Despite not facing you, he knew a cheeky grin had already plastered across your face: “What do you think I’m doing?”

So Mun tilted his head back to rest against your own, his words coming out a bit cheesier than he intended. Not that you’d mind it: “It’s not fair, I can’t hug you back like this.” 

“How about you endure it for a bit more? Because I’m, in fact…” 

Your digits traced the fabric of his shirt, one hand of yours retreated from his waist and slided up along his shoulder, quietly brushing the disheveled curls aside. Giving no warning, you closed the final gap between your lips and his exposed flesh, dipping a secretive kiss into the warmth of your whispering voice: “...enjoying this way too much.”

He tensed up. A shiver of delight cascaded down his spine, like a field of wildflowers had sprung to life in every corner of his being. The more your lips dragged along the back of his neck, the more he felt his ears burn up under the temptation of your peppering kisses: 

“That’s cheating.”

“Cheating?” The remaining embrace on his torso gently tightened, another peck spraying on his skin to fill in the pause between your responses: “Am I not even allowed to kiss my boyfriend?”

A hint of embarrassment can be heard in his voice, but he made no effort to squirm off your grasp: “You know very well what you’re doing, Y/n…” 

Every little peck left a tingling sensation in its wake. Open-mouthed kisses you showered him with conveyed gentle provocation. Your fingers fluently grazed through his mullet, making more space for a series of affectionate assaults to scatter along his delicate neck: “I can’t help it, it’s a tradition that neck kisses take place wherever back hugs are.”

So Mun’s heartbeat thundered loudly in his ears, and his upper body would intermittently twitch when some of your kisses were so tender that they turned ticklish. He sighed, his little act of bashfulness was quick to be betrayed by his own chuckle before it could even emerge: “Just so you know, you’re going to pay for this.”

“If you want to threaten me, you should do better.” You evilly blew a hot bit of air into his nape and the ticklishness instantly pulled a reaction out of him: “Because when you make it sound like that, you know I only look forward to it.”

Your little victory didn’t last long as So Mun broke the hug, turning around to meet his eyes with yours. Once your gazes collided, you were too busy drinking in his handsome features to notice a firm grip had already settled under your thighs. And just in a blink of an eye, the solidity of the floor under your feet completely evaporated. 

His movement was so nimble that it sent you dumbfounded for a second. Both of your hands quickly clutched on him for security. But as soon as he lowered you on a hardened surface, heat began to smear through your face as you stared at him in astonishment, eyes widened and lips parted like that one surprised Pikachu meme. 

So Mun stood between your legs, leaning slightly closer to you and the dining table he placed you on, his voice softened as the air hung heavy with anticipation: “I can tell you do look forward to this, love.”

The look of awe in your eyes prompted a satisfied smirk from him. He was proud to have successfully flustered you and he didn't even try to hide it: “Did I surprise you?”

“Would be lying if I said you didn’t. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You blinked a few times, a supposed reply gave up for a shy giggle. Your smile stretched goofily when he pinched on one of your cheeks that had been painted pink:

"Yeah, you're having a good time on this table, aren't you?"

You drew your hands up on his shoulders, subtly pulling him closer, your legs lingering on both sides of his hips: “So, what do you plan on doing to me now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He tilted his head and smiled—one that never failed to sweep you off your feet. He knew he was fine, and you agreed to that statement with your whole being. 

“It is obvious, but I’d prefer you say it out loud.”

“Hmm…”

“C’mon, say it.”

“I’m going to finish up what you’ve started.” His warm fingers spoke of unvoiced desire and reluctant constraint, hovering just above your waist while he gazed into your eyes for permission: “Can I?””

“Nothing is stopping you, my dear.” Asking for consent before initiating is always so goddamn attractive of him, and who are you to reject such a sweet offer: “Go for it however you want.”

He wasted no time attaching his lips to yours as a silent thank you. His pace was slow but packed with profuse excitement, plump lips soon marching down the underside of your jaw to your neck. 

The first kiss he planted was almost too light to savor, meant to make sure there wouldn’t be any last second change of heart from you although he knew you were no less than him aching for this—judging from how your head voluntarily threw backwards and your arms clasped around him in an effort to banish the space between you two. 

With an exchange of kisses and cheerful smiles, the kitchen abruptly became more than just a place for cooking. You closed your eyes and granted him full-right over the adventure on your skin, but the buttery scent of freshly popped popcorn instantaneously snapped you out of your daze: “Mun, what about the movie?”

A nonchalant hum echoed against your skin, remaining hidden behind a loving kiss: “That can wait.”

Before switching to the new hideout, the basement of Eonnie’s Noodle was unofficially considered your ideal dating place due to how much So Mun works out. 

Since the boxing ring was too publicly arranged, there was no other choice for you but to find a more secluded spot for any possible funny business.

A single window permitted trickles of sunlight into the basement, which was dimly illuminated in the serene solitude of the afternoon. You were sitting on the couch scrolling through social media while your boyfriend was productively doing his daily routine, though you honestly didn’t even pay attention to your phone that much. At the end of the day, he was a much, much better sight to admire. 

Steadily, So Mun lifted his upper body off the mat, his back curving as he went, then lowered himself back down for another repetition. The rhythmic cadence of his breath infiltrated the atmosphere, mixing with the soft rustling of the exercise mat beneath him. 

Time had dashed notably since he started the series of sit-ups, beads of sweat had already glinted on his brow. At one point, the fatigue was gradually waning his strength by the minute, the sounds of his breath came in heavier as evidence of the enlarging weariness.

Moving off the couch, you walked over and knelt down. His eyes thoroughly followed you with a gleam of curiosity as you pressed your palms on top of his feet, keeping them firmly in place: “Need a hand?”

“Yes… thank you.” The anchor he needed was perfectly provided by your supportive hold. So Mun breathed out, just that bit of exhaustion didn’t stop him from smiling brightly at you. 

“Glad to be of service.”

You returned the smile with one of your own, watching as he concentrated on finishing the workout set. Unbeknownst to So Mun, helping him stabilize wasn’t the only purpose you had in mind. Your boyfriend had been working hard all day every day, you wouldn’t want to miss this perfect chance of affectionately messing with him. 

Quiet counting of each sit-up quickly came to a pause when he saw your body reach forward, confidence resurfacing on the corners of your mouth as you placed your chin on his bent knees with playful flirtatiousness. 

The blatant hint quickened his preexistent racing heartbeat, making So Mun swallow thickly: “Is that an invitation?”

You raised your eyebrows, no shame in confirming his suspicion: “Yes, an invitation and a motivation.”

A tint of pink further permeated his already flushed cheeks, whether formed from exercising or the effect you had on him. Either way, you were absolutely loving it. 

Chin still rested between his attached knees while you stayed in the same position. Your head tilted slightly to the side, wordlessly emphasizing your offer. This little push certainly did marvels as you caught his dark brown irises darting down to your lips. For a second, you could almost feel the burn his fervent stare left on you. 

“How thoughtful of you.” He whispered. There was no sarcasm, just reciprocated playfulness. The exertion resumed and he dropped back to the mat again before ascending upward to you who was also reaching for him, slowly but surely bending forward until your faces were pressed together, his soft lips mingling on yours tentatively. 

Your kiss was a touch of a butterfly, but the swirling emotion it brought rushed over to him like a summer rain. He felt you smile against his lips, a tremendously infectious one that caused a smile of his own to bloom as well. 

The “motivation” giveaway progressed for a while before So Mun eventually stopped for a breather, propping his hands on his sides for stability. His voice was breathier than normal, unavoidable from the long session of workout he’d strained himself through, yet strangely hushed in a way that things started stirring up inside your chest: “If your primary intention was to distract me, it is working well above and beyond.” 

“Oh no, is that a complaint that I hear?” You joked. Both of you knew damn well he was just as excited because another peck waited no time to land on your lips right after the question.

“I didn’t say that.” His gaze escorted you as your hands were now withdrawn from his shoes. He relaxed one leg, straightening it against the black mat: “I mean, you should consider ‘distracting’ me more often.”

You laughed: “Straight to the point, huh?”

“I was only being honest! It’s kinda lonely training by myself sometimes, I’d be happy to have a companion stay with me here and there.” So Mun vaguely gave you a shrug, although the way he never vacated your eyes implied that he wasn’t exactly as nonchalant as he tried to present: “Plus, you don’t seem to mind helping me with the sit-ups.”

His excuse was cut in half as you mercilessly exposed him with a proud wink: “I think you just want to see me.”

Hesitation gained no room in your answer and So Mun found himself pouting at that: “Yeah, that’s also one of the reasons.” 

Bashfulness clouded inside his throat, if you didn’t happen to be right in front of him, maybe his reply would’ve sounded like an indistinct murmur. You bit the inside of your cheek to not burst out laughing: “Aww, really?”

“You just can’t take me seriously, can you?” He rolled his eyes, letting loose a chuckle to melt into the atmosphere: “Yes, baby. I always want to see you. What’s so wrong about it?” 

His thumb sweetly stroked your cheek. The delight in his eyes glistened when you spontaneously angled your face to search for more contact. You didn’t realize how this seemingly innocent gesture could ignite so great of a mental fire, perhaps So Mun had mastered the art of captivating you whenever he’d like: “Us spending time together in everything else is not enough. Even during training, I still want to see you.”

You could feel heat radiating off his skin, and it took all of your sanity to stop your smile from widening. Suddenly, the veil of tension drooped between you was no longer thin, marking the tinge of color on your cheeks even more evident: “Tch, you just had to make everything sound so sweet.”

“Is that so?” He grinned, gliding up along your arm before his fingers encircled it. Then, he slightly bent forward—a tenuous suggestion that you caught on to right away: “Was it too sweet for your liking?”

At this point, you were programmed to be intuitively drawn into him like a moth flitted into flame. Your self-restraint had left the room yet you couldn’t care less: “It was sugary as hell, but accepted and appreciated.”

“I’m glad you approved.” So Mun chuckled through a half-whisper. The next thing you knew, your lips had connected with his again. 

The sensation was perfectly blended like two puzzle pieces completing each other. Taking advantage of your current position you pushed your palm against his bent knee and knocked his legs apart, climbing over on top of him. Your other hand rested on his shoulder as an affirmation of dominance as you pressed him flat down on the exercise mat, your lips still joined like an unbreakable knot.

A dull, nearly inaudible thud echoed throughout the basement as he fell backward. However, the sound of hurried gasping was close to completely concealing it. So Mun’s adoration for each time you took the lead was impractical to convert into words. Especially when it’s not an everyday matter that he’d be locked underneath you like this, your lips crushing and caressing him with breathtaking friction, drowning him in the ocean of butterflies he created himself. 

With every passing second, the butterflies appeared increasingly vibrant, their presence peculiarly resembling a secret uttered as a reminder that he was alive. So Mun’s lips moved in tandem with your own, eyes shut tight to intensify the passion to the utmost. The kiss itself remained just as sweet as how you taste, bearing unspoken fervor in each dance and he couldn’t help but yearn for more. 

Your fingertips were occupied on his cheek and the underside of his jaw, forcing his face up for easier access. Yet, every time your tongue swiped over his bottom lip, feeding his expectation for a deeper kiss, you always managed to retreat too fast for his craving. The soft groan of need earned himself a snicker from your side, certifying that your moment of affection had somehow progressed into a battle of teasing and hunting. 

This was where you knew whatever you plotted just came out successful. So Mun chased you up despite already being helpless beneath you, trying to fill the gap between your parted lips with his tongue which you happily fought back with the same tactic, off and on nibbling on his lower lip. But what you didn’t foresee was a flip in position when he suddenly rolled you over, effortlessly overthrowing the control you held within a heartbeat. 

As soon as your whimper of surprise was heard, So Mun ducked down and overpowered you by molding his mouth against yours, finally taking what he had longed for. Your fingers dug into his curls uncaring about the slight wetness grazing your hand as the result of his previous training, tugging a low grunt out of the back of his throat. Intoxication detonated where your lips were encountered. The contact was identical to walking on air, a feather-light buoyancy elevating spirits. 

He broke apart, giving the two of you a breather. His round eyes stuck on your face while you tried to regulate your breath, not looking any better than him with your swollen lips moistened by his saliva, or maybe your own? The answer wouldn’t matter anyway. 

“One more?” A certain hunger exuded from him in a way that was remarkably thrilling. Rosiness engulfed his face and his lips pinkened from making out—a side of him only you were allowed to see. And once he recognized pure desperation in your half-lidded eyes, he smiled, his voice soft but hoarse under the influence of his feverish need:  “One more.”

You’d be a liar if you said this wasn’t the hottest fucking thing you’ve witnessed in your life. 

Time stopped and flied every time your mouths glued together and pulled apart. You were kissed into losing all perceptions by now, capable of doing nothing but huffing and puffing underneath his body. 

“What got you so riled up?” You asked between the shallow breaths, sounding so innocently as if it was him who turned out to be the rise of his own eagerness. 

“Are you seriously asking that question?” He jerked up one of his brows, moving a strand of hair off your forehead: “It was you who started the whole thing.”

Your hand gently squeezed his where they were still intertwined: “Guilty and proud of it.”

“Of course you’d say that.” His minty breath strenuously washed over your face. You inhaled deeply to seek out the familiar scent he carried; for some reason it smelled even more addictive due to a hint of sweat and a flow of devotion. Combined with desire as well, that’s for sure. 

Those couple of inches between your mouths were awfully tempting. So Mun dipped his face, aiming straight at your lips but he abruptly stopped before another kiss could take place, mumbling softly against your mouth as he grinned: “You’re going to get us in trouble someday, you know that?” 

Your free hand was clasped on the crook of his neck, bracing yourself for what your boyfriend had planned out for you. With obviously messy hair and reddened lips, you’d pray for your teammates to not accidentally walk in or take notice of your aftermath appearance when you exited the basement. But eventually that thought was the least important to you right now: 

“I think it’s supposed to be you who is going to get us in trouble someday, So Mun-ah.”

[Tag List] ✿⌦ @slytherinshua (feel free to notify me if you want to be on the tag list)

I could've finished this fic last week but my procrastination fucked me up so... Sorry for taking too long i hope this is worth the wait

#so mun x reader #the uncanny counter x reader #the uncanny counter #uncanny counter #kdrama x reader #kdrama #so mun #pookie please come home 🏠

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

So- here me out. fem Mc walking down the hall singing Fly Me to the Moon. How would you think some of the lovely twst bois would react to hearing them sing this tune?

Fly Me Too The Moon | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

There’s nothing like singing in the empty halls of a building. Especially Night Raven where the stone walls make for great acoustics. And in a time when everyone’s been either idolizing you or avoiding you. So you’ve decided to sing about going far away or rather being taken away:

Sebek Zigvolt

He’s on his way to search for his precious Master Malleus

When he hears the voice of an angel+ siren

The tune is hauntingly depicting a desire to be whisked away

How presumptuous

He’d sooner call you out

But he doesn’t 

he just watches you carry some wood down the empty hallway 

He imagines himself in the position of the one you sing about

He blushes when he realizes how feeble he’s being

He should just tell you how he feels

Which would reflect horribly on his Malleus-sama

Only those worthy enough should hear his beloved this beautiful tune

“YOU, THERE!”

“AAAgh–Sebek what do you want?”

“COME, YOUR VOICE IS FAR TOO ENTRANCING TO LET ANY PASSING PLEBIAN HEAR IT!”

“Eeek Sebek! Put me down!”

“QUIET, I WILL NOT STAND TO LET YOU STRAIN YOUR VOICE ANY LONGER!” 

Jack Howl

His ears pick up the voice he holds dear

Especially since hewas already looking for you

Waiting for you to sing another verse before he’s darting in your direction

He stays silent while you sing your heart out

He doesn’t recognize the song

But he doesn’t need to

He’s already thinking of this as a call to save you

Whisk you away, to kiss you, to be your mate

He whispers refusing to disturb you as he lets his tail wag with need

“I’m already working on it (Y/n) just wait for me…”

Rook Hunt

He swoons from his perch

Already writing a poem about the climax your voice brings

“Should I cage you my songbird, mon délicieux filou?!” 

He’s hardly keeping it together from his hunter’s peak 

He’s fighting the urge to sweep you up and away

It wouldn’t be hard

Not for him

He’d love to lock you away and hear you sing in such sweet sorrow

You’d be even more beautiful that way

But he’ll let you run free for now

Of course there is beauty in the hunted singing free

“Mon amour je trouve que ton chant est celui d'un ange!” 

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rook hunt #yandere jack howl #yandere jack howl x reader #yandere jack x reader #yandere rook #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yandere sebek zigvolt #Yandere rook hunt #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere twst #yandere rook x reader

[pearlsinmyhair]

lovely, pt ii

previous softer part here!

hobie finally convinces you to sing on stage with him and his band to a rock cover of your song. suggestive at times. gn!reader.

» lovely, lauren babic and saraphim «

0:00 ─〇───── 3:01

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

the mirror in the dressing room was unforgiving as you tried to breathe. just breathe, hobie had said as he pressed a kiss to your cheek before he went onstage.

how he had convinced you to perform at this gig with him, you didn’t know. he had asked you the other night, whispering the question in that husky tone that made you melt.

c’mon songbird, they’ll love ya. sing for them like your singing for me right now and you’ll get an agent.

and you had folded. it was embarrassing, really, how well he exploited your weak spots.

you willed your heart to steady as you inhaled, through your nose, out your mouth. you could feel the drum of peoples feet, nearly as powerful as the bass flowing from the guitar.

what if they don’t like the song, you had asked. you were well aware of the crowd hobie drew to his gigs, and you didn’t want to disappoint them.

we’ll rock it up, he had said, smiling as he reassured you. it seemed easier when he was at your side. but now that you were alone awaiting your cue, your nerves were overpowering.

you met eyes with your reflection, taking in your appearance. you squared your shoulders and rolled your spine up as you straightened.

the long awaited twinge of a guitar string rumbled through the amp. your cue.

you stepped out of the dressing room and stood at the back of the stage.

it’ll be real dark, so they’ll hear you before they see you. just take a deep breath and sing, baby.

you flipped the mic on as the strumming of the guitar and the keys of a piano filled your ears.

the crowd was silent, uncertain of what to make of the switch in tone.

you raised the microphone to your lips.

thought I found a way

thought I found a way out (found)

but you never go away (never go away)

so I guess I gotta stay now

hobie accompanied you as you sang. you found comfort in your usual tone as you stepped up to the microphone stand at the center of the stage.

the low light meant that you could see some of the audiences faces, and it nearly made you stop. but you inhaled, relaxing your body.

isn't it lovely? all alone

heart made of glass, my mind of stone

tear me to pieces, skin to bone

hello, welcome home

this was the unfamiliar part.

the guitar kicked up as hobie took over vocals.

it’s just screaming, love. and i know you can scream.

and scream you did. you raised your voice with the rest of the band members, finding a surprising peace as the drums beat at your back and hobie played at your side.

but I know someday I'll make it out of here

even if it takes all night or a hundred years

need a place to hide, but I can't find one near

wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear

it was euphoric to just let go. and hobie knew that.

you were always so secretive about your voice, and he just wanted you to feel like you didn’t have to hide it.

and maybe he wanted to show you off, but you couldn’t exactly blame him. because, well, look at you.

the crowd sang right with you. apparently, your little siren song didn’t work exclusively for him.

he traded lines with you in the final chorus, looking every bit the lovesick puppy.

isn't it lovely? all alone

heart made of glass, my mind of stone

tear me to pieces, skin to bone

hello, welcome home

for an instant, the crowd was silent. a wave of anxiety rolled over your shoulders.

and then the audience roared.

you looked over to hobie as you grinned happily, only to find him striding over to you.

he leaned down to whisper in your ear so you could hear him.

“what’d i tell ya, songbird?” he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

he walked back over to his place as the drummer started once more.

“but i’m still your number one fan, yeah?” he called as he pulled his pick over the strings of his guitar.

and after the gig, he showed you just how much he enjoyed your performance.

#hobie my beloved #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #gn!reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie x y/n

[blueberrypancakesworld]

In a relationship - Coryo,Sejanus,Lucy

warning : fluff, comfort

----------

Coriolanus Snow : He would love you just too obsessively after Lucy had betrayed him. You were the only one who had never betrayed him, who had always been there for him, who had done everything he asked of you. In return, he would reward you with gifts of clothes, jewelry, physical favors. He was the snow that always lands on top and you were his wife. No matter how much the outside appears, as soon as the doors close, he is the one who snuggles up to you. He needs your touch and loves it when you stroke his head and wipe away his tears when he mourns his friend. He gives you everything you want in return, you are the pretty jewel by his side as long as you behave yourself. But he would bring you a white rose every day with a kiss and entertain you with poems he had found in his grandmothers' old books. They were small moments but moments of love that put everything back in order at a time when the snow is stained with blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sejanus Plinth : He would look after you and care for you whether you came from a district like his or from the Capitol. You are the most important thing to him, the only person next to Snow with whom he doesn't have to put on the cold face of a winner. He wants you to see the real him, his soft, caring, maybe even his broken side the longer you're together. His parents had money, everyone knew that, but even if he used it to buy things, it was mostly things that made him see you smile. He always gently takes your hand and kisses your cheek every time he greets you before the kiss turns into an intimate one in the evening. He takes you out to his old district on dark days to show you what it's really like. What he had suffered and he tries to hide his tears on those dark, broken days. His heart only beat harder with devotion and love when he felt your gentle hands on his cheeks. You reassure him that everything is all right and pull him onto the sofa with you. He lies his head on your lap and cries silently to himself while you take away his guilt. He is infinitely grateful that you are not what this world tried to make of him. That instead of heartlessness you are devotion and love.

~~~~~~~~~~

She is your sunshine and would give anything to keep you and her safe after the games. The connection to you through the different districts because even though you are actually from District 12, you joined her. It was the Hunger Games that had separated you, but in all that time you had held on to each other. She thought of you, sang the songs on TV just for you, the expressions and gestures were all for Lucy's friend. The reunion at the lake and the concert that followed was even bigger. Lucy took you to the lake with her in summer and spring. The black-haired beauty started to play the guitar whenever she could and sang the songs. Songs that made her beloved's heart beat and knowing that it was safe, that she could trust again was one of the most important things. That even when it rained, the stones of the mountains and shadows frightened Lucy because it reminded her of the horrors of the arena, she was infinitely grateful to her muse that she had them. When she gently pulled Lucy into her arms, playing with the long strands of hair, softly murmuring a song and moving back and forth, she took away her fear. She had her songbird's softness again and Lucy was still unbroken by the love of her beloved.

~~~~~~~~~~~

@tinfairies , @darlingtulips , @tins-library , @redactedfanficarchive , @wondering-again , @qoopeeya , @oceansrose2002

#tbosas #tbosas movie #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #sejanus plinth #sejanus x reader #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x reader

[thedemonofcat]

Throughout his journeys, Jaskier had frequently earned the moniker of "Songbird." This nickname was not merely bestowed upon him due to his enchanting melodies, but also because of his naturally cheerful and radiant disposition.

Then one day after Geralt yelled at him on the mountain, Jaskier's world took a dark turn. He found himself ensnared by a Rogue Mage, a sorcerer harboring deep resentment towards Geralt for a prior transgression. However, amidst the Mage's animosity, an unsettling revelation surfaced: he found Jaskier's beauty captivating. Driven by a twisted desire, the Mage decided to impose a curse upon Jaskier, transforming him into a literal songbird, rendering him incapable of any form of communication except through chirps and tweets. Trapped within an exquisite yet confining cage, Jaskier became an object of the Mage's sadistic pleasure.

After tirelessly searching for Jaskier for months, consumed by remorse over his heated outburst, Geralt finally discovered the whereabouts of the Mage responsible for Jaskier's captivity. Determined to rescue his friend and make amends, Geralt confronted the Mage, ready to fight if necessary. However, the Mage's words carried a dire warning: if Geralt were to slay him, Jaskier would be condemned to eternal imprisonment.

Sensing an opportunity, the Mage proposed a dangerous bargain to Geralt, offering a potential resolution to their predicament.

Within a chamber crowded with hundreds of birds, concealed among them was the transformed Jaskier. The Mage presented Geralt with a formidable challenge: if the Witcher could correctly identify which bird was Jaskier, both would be granted their freedom. However, failure to discern Jaskier's avian form would result in his continued imprisonment as a bird, while Geralt himself would be petrified into a stone statue for eternity

As Geralt stepped into the room, the air filled with a symphony of vibrant and boisterous avian calls. A sense of unease washed over him, gradually realizing that he had never taken the time to truly know Jaskier well enough to distinguish him among the birds. Waves of remorse coursed through Geralt as he acknowledged the weight of his past actions, both the harsh words spoken on the mountain and his failure to be the friend that Jaskier deserved.

Apologizing from the depths of his heart, Geralt expressed his love for Jaskier and his longing to be reunited with him. Amidst the chorus of melodies, Geralt's eyes darted across the fluttering creatures. Then, amidst the singing flock, he noticed one bird perched silently, its gaze fixed upon him with a glimmer of recognition. In that moment, Geralt understood that the melancholy bird, sitting alone on its perch, was indeed Jaskier.

The beauty of the surroundings couldn't mask the fact that it was still a cage, and Geralt knew all too well that Jaskier detested being confined.

Having successfully identified the true form of Jaskier, Geralt found himself face-to-face with the human version of his beloved bard. Jaskier's eyes brimmed with desperation as he posed the question that lingered in his heart: Did Geralt truly love him? In response, Geralt silenced any doubt or hesitation by leaning in and pressing his lips against Jaskier's, a tender kiss that conveyed more than words ever could. The Bard's visage transformed into one of pure joy and contentment.

However, their fleeting moment of happiness was interrupted by the gloating Mage, who spitefully declared that although they were allowed to leave for now, vengeance would eventually come knocking. With a resolve forged by his disdain for unresolved matters, Geralt swiftly dispatched the Mage, ensuring that no loose ends remained.

Together, Geralt and Jaskier embarked on their journey towards their own interpretation of a happily ever after

#the witcher netflix #joey batey #jaskier the witcher #geralt of rivia #the witcher #henry cavill #the witcher jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fic ideas #cursed Jaskier #the witcher season three

[corpsebasil]

cant get over the cant catch me now song from the ballad of songbirds and snakes like—

au: when Nikolai’s wife is killed in an attack on he and his men, he can’t find a way to move on.

Tw: CHARACTER DEATH

He’ll never stop grieving.

Not even when you were dead. Not when the enemy soldiers had slaughtered his precious barmaid—his wife—directly in front of him.

Not when he’d cut them all down, his rage spilling out in the form of violence and bloodshed.

You couldn’t.

You couldn’t, you—

“Nik.” Sir Dominik mumbles, placing his hand on your husband’s shoulder. He’s unresponsive, eyes blinking wearily down at the dirt gathered around his feet. “Nikolai, please. It’s been weeks.”

Silence.

Licking his lips, Nikolai finds a section of bark on a tree in the distance suddenly interesting.

“Weeks?” He mumbles, dry mouth rasping out the words. He hasn’t eaten—hasn’t hardly slept—since it happened.

You scream when the front door to your cottage is thrown open, your feet scrambling backwards away from the masked men barging into your home. The small knife Nikolai had given you somehow seems as powerful as a needle, your panic rising as you spot the large swords attached to the men’s hips.

They shout at you in a language you’ve never heard before, their covered faces ominous and chilling. You try to dash around the kitchen island when one snatches up a handful of your hair, one grabs your arms and wrenches them behind your back, and another yanks your ankles off the floor as they carry you away.

“No!” You shriek, thrashing around in terror. “Nikolai!”

DRABBBBLE UNDER THE CUT

Its no use—they’re too strong. Too well trained.

Your sobs grow louder as they carry you down the road a few feet before tossing you onto the dusty ground, your cheek scraping against the dirt. Your head lifts half a fraction before you balk, scrambling back a step.

A wooden block.

No.

You lurch away and gasp, begging aloud as you’re dragged, shrieking and crying as an enemy soldier slams your neck down onto the block.

(Sorry for the chat but—)

this scene makes me ill

“Please please don’t—” you wail, cheek smushed against wood as a man raises his axe. Then, distantly, you hear a voice that makes your heart drop into your stomach.

“No!” Nikolai—your Nikolai—shouts, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Y/N you’ll be fine. You’re fine!”

“Nik!” You screech, tears hitting dirt as an axe is leveled at the back of your neck. “Nikolai help me!”

“You’re okay! You’re—“

The guttural scream he lets out is the last thing you hear before the whoosh of the blade, the injustice of it all not able to be reconciled.

There’s a distant sting; a sense of floating.

And then there’s nothing.

Years later he’ll visit your grave every anniversary, pressing his forehead to the stone as he relishes in the memory of your voice, your laugh, your everything.

His precious wife is gone.

What will he do now?

Sorry LOL

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #shadow and bone imagine #wattpad #fluff #knight nikolai lantsov #six of crows #sir nikolai lantsov #sir nikolai

[haravath0t]

||𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔰 ℭ𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔩𝔢𝔰:

ℜ𝔢𝔵 ℑ𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔤𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔬 ||

𝚣𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓 - 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝟽

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : ̗̀➛ a spin off of the tale of the lone glaze lily; zhongli is taking another walk around liyue, recalling the voice of his goddess. it is only when you come with him to dinner that he cannot shake off the sight of his late songbird.

☕🤍🌿 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ! 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 ! ☕🤍🌿

He couldn’t believe it, his heartstrings were being pulled as you sang away at the Pearl Galley. Everyone’s eyes, including the former archon, were on you. It is only when your director had introduced you to this famed consultant that you two had seemed to hit it off right away. Zhongli and you had a connection that had grown with ease, grown like a blooming flower. He was as knowledgeable as all have said, and he was a fantastic listener. You always thought it was so embarrassing, feeling sometimes like you were talking for way too long before he reassures you with a “No, please. I’m listening.” He always had a soft smile on his face as he listened to you. It was clear he’s grown fond of you as you have grown fond of him, caring for you like you care for him.

But you didn’t know what has always run through his mind after being with him for a year, knowing him for three. He noted how your voice was similar to her, that your eyes, your smile, you laugh…it was all pointing back to her. As you walked alongside Zhongli through the harbor, watching the Xiao lanterns rise in the sky and blend with the stars above, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. Tears formed in his eyes as you smiled with glee, the childlike look of content that had burst from your own mortal being only reminded him of the very same glee she had expressed to the Liyue of the past. It was then that he had realized:

She is you. You are her. His songbird.

The very epiphany hits him like a rock, undeniably worse than the stones he has hurled during the war, seeing you now eagerly sit at Third Round Knockout beside him rather than across, wanting to hug his arm as you two await the food that is to come.

“You’re quite eager,” Zhongli notes with a smile, chuckling a bit as your head is seen nuzzling against his coat for warmth.

“I think I have every reason to, right?” You tease with a grin, your eyes meeting his own. You cannot help but note the tears on his eyes, those beautiful amber orbs that always seemed to show how much you shined to him, as though you were as golden as Mora.

“You do,” he finally concedes, finding himself unusually bashful at how intimate this felt. An intimacy he has not felt for centuries, has now returned, and in what better way than you? He couldn’t find anything else to say, his heart feels like it’s being squished, but before he exerts even more effort, you stop him, gently playing with the tresses of his brown hair. “I have been blessed,” Zhongli whispers, as though in an exhale of relief. There it was, your touch. Though memories of what you looked like began to erode in his mind as hard as he tries to cling to it, the very touch, the very love you have given him as Morax, has now cracked through the erosion of time, as though it had been brought back to its prime.

“Oh, my dear.” He whispers quietly into your head, a volume that only indicated that it was meant for your ears. You cannot help but smile even more, grinning ear to ear as he held your waist now, as though in a desperate grasp.

“You little sap, you’re going to make me cry too!” You whisper, laughing a bit as you indulge in his embrace, loving the warm that he has brought to you, body and mind.

You have taken his breath away. Your touch, your confidence, your care, your smile. Oh, how it all relieves him. It has become his first impactful experience as a mortal, feeling as though he was the one being blessed rather than the one giving the blessings himself. It had felt as though fate has allowed him a second chance, a chance at love and a chance at achieving the peace he has long craved.

With you, his Songbird.

#the rikane wonderland advent calendar #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #Zhongli drabble #Zhongli x reader fluff #zhongli fluff #Zhongli fic #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #zhongli x y/n

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Made for Him I

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, blood and gore, violence, death, grief, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Peter finds himself alone after the loss of those around him, so he decides to find a cure to his grief.

Characters: Peter Parker

Note: I’m still very sick. I dug this out of my WiPs because I desperately wanna power through it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.

Love you all like Garfield loves lasagna. Take care. 💖

The Creator

On July 8th, 1822, Percy Bysshe Shelley drowned just off the coast of Livorno. His wife was famous for the resurrection of the fictional monster and the misguided doctor for whom her penultimate novel was named. Peter cradled the very one in his hand, the spine bent and the pages well worn by his habitual delve into the horror of Victor Frankenstein. 

His readings were studious and almost religious in nature as he worshipped the pages alongside the library of textbooks, theses, and medical reports that lined the shelves of his office.

The foamy waters flowed in and wetted the sand around his toes as he sat close in the folding chair he brought out daily to bask in the hot Italian sun. Sometimes he let the book rest in his lap as he closed his eyes to the sun and wondered if it was near that very point that Mary’s husband met his tragic fate. If he lounged on the very sands he was said to have met his rumoured lover and another poet. The fantasy carried Peter away for a time only to send him crashing back down.

One year to the day he left New York and he was growing impatient. He’d waited long enough as his trust only matured on the day he got his final degree, the one with the three vaunted letters below the golden crest. The only remnant of his former mentor, the man who showed him that life could grow in a lab, though he had only ever rendered it in metal and code. 

Peter wanted more than the cold armour and robotic voices, he could take Stark’s legacy and give it true life. He knew he could.

More than creation, he wanted love. He wanted a stalwart he could depend on, not the flaky girl he met in high school who broke his heart. He wanted to take the fiction in his grasp and turn it into fact. He wanted the world to know that he was more than Tony Stark’s pity project, he was a reckoning.

He stood and folded up the chair, carrying it by the cloth handle as he kept the book open and walked blindly across the uneven sand. He was at his favourite part, where the monster hid in the barn and the inherent spark of kindness drove him to complete the chores of the overwrought family. 

Then there came the reality of a harsh and unloving world, one he swore to never let touch his creation. He would only give them love, give them the perfect life he longed to have. The one he could live, just not alone.

The stone steps led up to the open terrace of the beach house that looked out onto the hot Mediterranean shore. The place was isolated but lively as the songbirds nested in the trees and the sun was ever shining above. It was the perfect retreat for the retired Avenger. The world didn’t need him anymore, he was dispensable. That kid, Miles, took up the mantle and the world forgot about Peter Parker.

He set the wooden chair down against the wall as he entered through the slatted door and closed the book at last. He passed through the curved archways and entered the airy kitchen, the open windows letting in the balmy Italian breezes. 

He poured dark grinds into the drip percolator and waited for the strong espresso to seep through. He took his small cup when there was enough to savour and shifted it over to the island at the center of the space. 

He kicked aside the rug and bent to hook his fingers in the indent along the hatch and lifted it with a grunt. He reached for his mug and carefully descended. He sipped as he came to the bottom and flipped on the switch to light up the space.

Everything was laid out in eager preparation. Over a year’s worth of planning resided in his secret space. One wall was lined with the endless texts he poured over between spurts of exhaustion-laced sleep, on the other, a vast array of equipment including beakers, microscopes, surgical tools, a tome secreted from Strange’s panoply of mystic fascinations, and several monitors floating from metal arms drilled into the wall.

At the center of the room was a large metal bed, shining and sterile. All he needed was there, a collection started years before he even considered the Italian retreat. He swore that day when he was through the tears and wrenching heartache of abandonment that he would never be left alone again. Not after his parents, or Tony, or May or MJ. He was ready to give his life away; to give life.

He just needed the proper parts to do so.

🧪

The head was the hardest part. 

Not harder to find than the other pieces, each kept preserved in a special compartment to keep them from mortification. He harvested them quickly, his first few attempts at the morgue proving too late. So he frequented the hospitals, hiding in vents and other tight spaces, using those tricks from his days of heroics to go unseen in his diligent but grim work.

He found a few women he didn’t mind but they just weren’t right. He needed eyes that made him feel fuzzy and a smile that made his heart flutter. He came this far and wouldn’t settle for anything but perfection. 

He knew the moment he saw her; disguised in a set of scrubs and a surgical mask, his reddish brown hair hidden beneath a cap as he watched her wheeled by. He was there when they called it and the machines went silent. There wasn’t time to linger as the doctor and nurses were called to their next patient. 

Peter kept to the back and waited for the rest to disperse to the next code and shut the door. He hopped up and pushed in the ceiling tile, wiggling through to grab the cube hidden within and slipping back down. 

She looked peaceful as he opened the case, the cool fog rising from the top as he set it on the tray and rolled it around the bed. She died of an aneurysm, so sudden she didn’t have time to look petrified. It made him sad to think of a life extinguished in the bat of an eye. Even if it was to his benefit.

As he sterilized the saw he pulled from his canvas kit, he figured it was meant to be. She was gone too soon and he was in need of a pretty face. He placed the teeth of the blade to her neck and paused. He couldn’t wait much longer, he had to get it done or it would be another one for the bin.

He began the grizzly deed, careful to slice through as cleanly as possible. The blood leaked out into the white sheets and onto the pillow and as he detached her head completely, it turned to an ocean, spurting violently from her neck. He cradled her head as he slipped it into a plastic bag and sealed it before placing it in the refrigerated case. 

He closed it and slung the strap over his chest, lifting his arm to string a web to the open ceiling. He hauled himself into the vent and slid the tile back into place. He began the careful crawl, the final piece of the puzzle jostling on his shoulders. 

He would burn his gown, cap and mask when he got out, the iron scent of her blood was starting to make him sick.

🧪

Peter felt the cold even through the thermal layer of his suit. His visor allowed for him to pinpoint his focus on the precise merging of nerve ends and tight stitches of his intent assembly. The laboratory was kept below zero for his work to preserve the parts until he could revive them. 

He turned up the heat in his suit to keep from shivering as he feared a single mistake.

After several scans, Peter found the brain to be beyond repair. He was disappointed but he found an easy solution. He was reluctant to throw away the pretty face; the face that had come to colour his dreams. So he found a new brain instead, young and fresh, without a flaw. 

He found himself distracted by the long lashes as he fit her open skull with its new motor. If he thought of it as just another suit, it wasn’t as repulsive as blood stained the table and his gloves. 

He hunched over and worked at connecting the brain stem, switching out his tools and repositioning to keep from damaging the ridges. It was the most important part of the process and he didn’t want to try again. He couldn’t go through it again. This was it. He knew it by the way he just couldn’t stop seeing that face; in his dreams, in his waking thoughts, and in its case, awaiting rebirth.

He would give her a precious gift but she would give him more. How could she not love her creator? Her saviour.

Peter replaced the top of her skull and forged it back into place, the laser singing a line around her scalp. He had a collection of wigs she could wear until it grew back and he could graft on a new set of follicles if needed. He wanted her to feel as beautiful as he saw her.

Done, he stepped back and admired his work, twelve hours of intent and tedious labour over her. The pieces fit together well and he was hardly disappointed. He didn’t care that the stitches would leave scars like spider webs across her flesh. He thought that made her even more gorgeous. He could hardly keep from trembling in excitement.

He placed the metal band around her brow and the transmitter on her chest. Every nerve, every muscle, every part of her was hardwired with delicate attention. He knew he could bring her back. Victor Frankenstein would blush to see it done right.

Peter went to the computer as the hoop connected to the table scanned every inch of her and showed no error in his assembly. Her neural network looked like a roadmap and her body was still untouched by decay or rigor mortis. It was now or never.

He keyed in the final command and a sudden hum went through the lab. He winced as he felt a force flow through his suit in the frigid room and her body twitched as the transmitter pulsed at her chest and the ring around her head vibrated. He checked the screen as he waited for a response. He dragged his finger over the monitor to increase the power.

“Come on, please,” he begged the universe, “I did it. I know I di--”

The heart rate suddenly jumped from the glowing red zero to an orange forty-three, then sixty, peaking at a blue one hundred, and calming to a steady sixty-seven. The computer began to beep in time with her pulse and her brain turned to a sudden rainbow of activity. He glanced over at her but she remained unmoving.

He felt a squeezing pain in his chest. Did he miss something? Maybe he was wrong? Maybe it would always just be fiction, a fantasy. He would always be alone, always a failure. He came around the desk and went to the table and looked her over.

He touched her chest and felt the beating of her heart beneath the sensors and lifted his fingers below her nose. She was breathing. So why then, wouldn’t she wake up?

#made for him #horror au #au #frankenstein #peter parker #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #peter parker x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #spider-man #avengers

[animezinglife]

"Asar is the exiled bastard prince of the House of Shadow, now the Heir due to the sudden death of his older half-brother..."

Don't finish this description if you don't want spoilers, but go check out Carissa's page and support the artist!

@lucienarcheron

#direct link to artwork #also LOVE Alicia #crowns of nyaxia #the songbird and the heart of stone #house of shadow #asar #carissa broadbent #bookblr #book art #Instagram

[axailslink]

Judy Harmon Hc's

• Judy is the definition of acts mean and is mean

• Doesn't smile much but when she does you are usually the reason

• Loves hearing you talk she calls you 'songbird' because as she's said before "you talk so damn much"

• Completely different when you both are alone

• Kissing is her love language and she takes it very much to heart if you peck her lips instead of giving her a full kiss

• Demands your attention with just a simple look

• Feisty as hell

• Loves holding her rifle it's something about having a little extra weight in her hands that makes her feel good

• Can be violent but never to a lover of course however anyone else she's quick to throw punches first talk later

• Do not let the height fool you she is the dominant person in the relationship

• She has a stone cold face however when you are anywhere near it lightens you can literally see her eyes smile before she does

• Judy loves when you touch her in any kind of way whether it be sexual or a simple hand hold

• Can not deal with being away from you for too long she will complain the whole time

• OVERPROTECTIVE? Absolutely if you're joining her while she's patrolling anything black panther party related she's standing in front of you rifle in her hand and she's made you grab her switchblade. "That pig moves you better be gone"

• If she sees you hurt her in any way, shape or form all of her morals are thrown out of the door

• Surprisingly was very nervous your first time like didn't know where to put her hand nervous you had her sweating and shit

• Not easily jealous or threatened by another attractive person in fact she laughs at someone trying to get with you. (It took her a while to get your number so yeah seeing anyone else trying is a hilarious sight.)

• Arguments with her can last forever because she's so damned stubborn

• Claims to hate cuddles but loves skin to skin contact 🙄 make it make sense

• After an intense night -whether it be fighting the pigs or fucking- she just wants to lay with you skin to skin completely nude the only warmth you two are using is each other. She loves that.

• Can't do the whole secret thing and doesn't care that you're both women

"I don't see the problem I love her just as much as a man loves his wife. Sounds like some made up bullshit to me y'all stay tryna control the next motherfucker"

Nsfw kinda 🤷🏾‍♀️

• Wants your eyes on her at all times especially when you're climaxing "look at me"

• Walks you like a dog it's honestly kind of embarrassing but if she's missing you and gets the smallest moment alone with you she's grabbing you by your pants and pulling you to a corner with some sort of privacy

• Does not like repeating herself and she won't

• Heavy on wanting you to beg for her "I'm sorry what did you say? I couldn't hear you...did you say faster?"

• Loves to overstimulate you just because she loves seeing your legs shake and hearing your mumbles, whimpers and whines drives her crazy

• Aftercare is a must and will never leave you without it

• Loves teasing you while you're in the bath will touch will bite will nip but she won't give you what you want. Her fingers will rub every part of your skin except where you truly desire it. So long story short she's fucking annoying and will tease you for her own personal fun.

• This woman lives in your thighs you will wake up to her kissing up your thighs on many mornings it's a tease thing of course but sometimes she furthers the action especially if she knows she won't be home at a reasonable time

• Her favorite thing to do to you is to bend you over a counter and ram her fingers inside of you knuckle deep just before she has to leave because she knows that's all that will be on your mind as you're working, eating and going about your day.

• Never leaves you unsatisfied if you're unsatisfied she's unsatisfied

• Oh my God's you let her anywhere near your cooch oh she ain't stopping until her jaw is locked and in pain

• Your legs squeezing shut or shaking is only motivation for Judy in fact call her name out while you at it because it does nothing but rile her up

• "Captain Harmon" yeah you might want to remember that she prefers that name

• Seeing as you are rarely seen with a man she does everything possible to make sure people know you are taken so you have plenty of marks to show it. Hickeys usually trail from your neck to your inner thigh when it comes to Judy.

• You licked her fingers clean once and now she loves to see you do it all the time

"there we go clean that shit up"

• Loves to try new things and is always open to an experiment

<3 <3 <3 ᴊᴜᴅʏ ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴ

uoɯɹɐH ʎpnſ <3 <3 <3

"Cum on my tongue and I'll be home on time tonight to finish this off correctly"

"stay still"

"You know my name don't play with me"

"I should tie you up next time... I hear that's something new folks are doing"

"If I have to repeat myself you gone piss me off"

<3 <3 <3 ᴊᴜᴅʏ ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴ

uoɯɹɐH ʎpnſ <3 <3 <3

A/n: I had way too much fun with this shit anyways enjoy buh bye ✌🏾(I'm so I'm love with this woman y'all have no fucking idea.)

Taglist:

@verachii

@mocha-aya

@shuriszn

@lolas-bunny

@lucillele

@shuri-lover

@quintessencewrites

@yamsthoughts

@saintwrld

@rxcently

@lunax0654

@karimwillia

@adeola-the-explorer 

@garbagesleepschedule

@bratydoll

@gubrii

@vampphase

@ctrl-liah

@trixielwt

@6-noir

@annoyingtidalwavequeen

@atssukoo

@shuri-my-love 

@inmyheadimobsessed

@letitias-fav

@rxcently 

@iwillbiteabitch

@malltake12

@mxyx-rx444

@kiwidreamersstuff

@secretgyals

@shurisnewbabymomma

@shurisbigtoe

@darkangelchronicles

@writesbyriri

@locoforshuri

@mbakuetshurisprincess

@sleepyshuri

#dominique thorne x reader #dominique thorne riri williams #dominique thorne #judy harmon fluff #judy harmon fanfiction #judy harmon x black!fem reader #judy harmon x reader #judy harmon #judy harmon x you #judy harmon x fem!reader #Dominique thorne judy harmon #judas and the black messiah #judy harmon fanfic #judt harmon x black!reader #judy harmon x black!reader #judy harmon x black!fem!reader #judy harmon smut #Dominique Thorne judy harmon #riri my love #riri williams mcu #riri williams imagine #riri williams x you #riri williams #riri williams x reader #riri wiliams x reader #riri x black!reader #riri x fem reader #riri x reader #riri writes #riri williams x black!reader

[draqo-pctter]

so kiss me // a dramione drabble

words: 817 | tags: eighth year, astronomy tower, love confessions

Hermione shouldn’t have let Draco’s apparent change of heart after Christmas break get under her skin. But, months of tentative friendship and fingers brushing in the Potions classroom had buried themselves beneath her palms and her neck, pushed deeper by the silence and downcast eyes that met her when classes resumed. Draco entered the classroom as the bell rang, and was out of his seat halfway to the door by the time it rang again.

In Muggle Studies, he kept his back angled to her and refused to acknowledge when she answered a question. Arithmancy and Charms passed in much the same fashion. Hermione hoped that, as winter gave way to spring, his sudden change of heart would thaw with the ice that clung to the Whomping Willow. When the songbirds returned and warmth still remained absent from his frigid gray eyes, she knew she had to say something.

Harry had left her the Marauder's Map – an apology for not returning to Hogwarts for Eighth Year. For six months, it had stayed tucked inside her beaded bag, unused and getting bent between an ever changing load of books, quills and parchment. Her finger trailed down hallways and floors as she searched desperately for one name.

There he was: Draco Malfoy, pacing in circles around the Astronomy Tower. Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione grabbed her wand and pulled a light jacket over her pajamas. Sneaking out past curfew brought a thrill of excitement she’d missed, tempered only by the anxious energy bubbling up in her chest. The halls were mercifully quiet, and her footsteps didn’t echo off the stone walls as she made her way up to the tower.

His back was to her when Hermione reached the top of the stairs. Tension clung to his shoulders, pulling the white button-up he still wore tight against his skin. Shaggy blond hair blew in the evening breeze, briefly distracting her from the task at hand. And when Draco finally turned mid-step, the oxygen in the air vanished.

Moments passed as the pair studied each other, Hermione at a loss for words and Draco looking like he’d rather jump than be alone with her. She took one step forward, and he thankfully didn’t make a move toward the railing.

“What did I do?” Hermione asked before she lost her nerve. Draco’s eyes were painfully blank as he regained his composure.

“I don’t know–”

“Don’t lie to me, Draco.” Another step forward, fueled by the taste of his name on her tongue. “What did I do?”

A heartbeat, then –

“Nothing.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip as she crossed her arms over her chest. He was beautiful in the moonlight, almost ethereal. If she didn’t know him, she might think he was an angel whose wings had been left behind in Heaven.

“Then why–”

“Granger, please.” Draco ran an uneasy hand through his hair. “Go back to your dorm, and–”

“Not until you tell me why.” Hermione took another step closer, freeing her lip from her teeth. “Tell me why you hate me.”

She watched as a myriad of emotions finally broke through his carefully crafted nonchalance. Grief, frustration, hope – Draco shook his head as if to clear them from his mind.

“I don’t hate you.” He sounded pained. Good, Hermione thought. “I could never hate you.”

“Then why–”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you, Hermione.” She nearly wept at the way he said her name. “Your friendship, your trust – you – I can’t do it. And it isn’t fair to you, either. I might want you, but I refuse to spend every waking moment near you, wanting to kiss you, to touch you, knowing that I can’t. So, it’s best if you just go back to your dorm–”

“So kiss me.”

Hermione tilted her chin up to counteract the flush blooming across her cheeks and neck. Draco stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“What?”

“So kiss me.” She shrugged, as if she hadn’t just opened herself up to the first person who could break her if he wanted. “Kiss me, touch me, get to know me. Fuck, I might let you love me, Draco. But you need to–”

He moved faster than she’d expected, his hands winding into her hair and tilting her head back so that he could press his lips to hers. The kiss was frazzled – clumsy, hot, open-mouthed – and Hermione matched him movement for movement. Her lips parted the moment his tongue asked for entrance, and she lost herself in the taste and the smell of him.

They stayed in the Astronomy Tower that night, kissing, touching, and laughing until dawn broke over the horizon. When the first rays of sunrise sparkled in his eyes, Hermione understood what he meant. And she knew that she wouldn’t be able to walk away from him now.

#dramione #hp #dramione drabble #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dramione eighth year #eighth year #astronomy tower #love confessions #dhr #ohthedrarry ao3

[takamikeiigos]

Pause. Angst idea, hawks s/o captured blah blah it’s my favorite trope and your gonna have to kill me and bottle my soul up if u want me to stop, but his s/o’s mind gets like altered, so while they’re being tortured the antagonist like, makes them think that hawks rly did all those things to them (I watched Sherlock last night also) . so when they wake up instead of like being nice to hawks and shit they’re literally fighting for their life to get away from him🙏🏼

oh... oh my god?? are y'all mind readers?? like do you know how much this riles me up???

just imagine the villain taking the shape of hawks... telling you things like: 'our relationship never mattered' and 'i never loved you, songbird. you were just a pawn for me to accomplish my goals"

and he'd play with your emotions so much; holding your face in his hands after a round of torture as you sob, your body shaking and hiccups wracking your frame; telling you how sorry he is and that he really does love you but this is the way things have to be.

reality starts blurring for you, because deep down you know that it really isn't hawks.. that the winged hero you love so, so much is probably searching every corner and turning over every stone to find you.

you just want it all to end. you're so tired of the mind games and the manipulation and as time passes you can't help but think that maybe hawks isn't coming for you. maybe he never did love you and this really was part of some grand scheme. you decide to let your brain rest and finally, your thoughts fade with your consciousness.

when you wake up you're surrounded by white walls, a constant hum and beeping of machinery, and the smell of antiseptics. your body aches and your face is crusted with what you can only imagine being dirt, blood, and dried tears.

"you're awake," a soft voice comes from somewhere beside you, and it sends an immediate chill down your spine for a reason that you're unsure of. you turn your head to the side and sitting there at the edge of your hospital bed is hawks, a grave look of concern and worry on his face. and though you know it to be genuine, you can't help the way your heart-rate spikes as panic begins to run through you.

you sit up, frantic, caught in place like a prey that's been cornered by a predator, your head foggy and your limbs weighed down by exhaustion. and in the haze you begin pulling at your I.V.s, desperate to get away from whatever danger and hurt awaits you.

"hey, hey," hawks stands, reaching out to halt your movements. your breath stutters somewhere in your chest and you choke, scooting as far back into the bed that you can so he can't reach you.

"p-please.. no more. i can't do it anymore," it comes out as a whimper, and you can see the hurt that flashes across his face.

something isn't right, he knows this deep down. somebody hurt you in ways that he may not be able to ammend and he isn't sure that he'll be able to let them live it down.

sorry if this is so rushed!! i also accidentally posted this before writing it out thoroughly lol r.i.p to meee

#keigo takami #hawks #bnha hawks #bnha keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #ky writes #mha hawks #keigo takami headcanons #angst

[lucienarcheron]

Crowns of Nyaxia book #3 coming in November!!! The Songbird and the Heart of Stone!!! I can't wait 🎉

#crowns of nyaxia #listen #this series is SO good #I adore it so much #gp