#yet the Hands of Brainrot seized me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yestrday · 2 years

Note

ok so maybe you're gonna get tired of the whole bodyparts academy au BUT I've been brainrotting so hard my brain is like melting out of my ears dawg... i gotta get this out of my system or it WILL consume me... you know aethers like outfit?? his abdomen area(? idk waht its called english hard lol) hasnt left my mind its just/?!?!?!?! THE WAIST????? (men and their slutty waists smh) it just looks sooo good I want to bite and like put my hands on him and just manhandle him grraravdjñ, SO LIKE just imagine academy au mc jus kind of like obsessed with his abdomen area (again sorry dont know what its called 😭) who just coincidentally has their hands on his waist like ALL the time, and im just so curious abt how aether would react, would he show off?? would he be shy??? would he be running laps and screaming??? (idk how to end this im sorry words aren't wording how they should lmaoo)

the unbelievably deep sigh i just had when I saw this ask. and yet here I am, the sucker and fool. ready to do anything for genshin men and their impeccable body measurements.

i actually wrote something like this already 😭but I wanted to cop a feel for academy aether's tummy too yknow? or maybe I just cannot control myself when it comes to the twins

you might like: teyvat! aether and his little tummy <;33

oh, please. aether knows he's pretty. he is lumine's twin brother, after all! even before coming to this school he's turned heads left and right, so surely he could use his good looks to seduce the person of his dreams, right?

wrong.

whenever you snatch him by the waist, it’s protectiveness and not the perverted fondling he’d rather you’d do to him. aether is, after all, cute and petite. he looks like he can be easily overpowered by any of the students here and you just have that natural urge to protect him! you don’t know that aether can easily oneshot most of your harem members, but even if you did, what exactly would change?

when aether skips over to your side, you smile fondly at him and hug him by the waist to your side. it gets his heart pumping whenever you do that, hiding his flushed face behind his textbooks so you won’t suspect a thing. disappointment always floods his insides when you look at him like a brother and not a potential love interest. your waist is so small! you say like a naggy mother. you have to eat more!

it’s frustrating! lumine has to watch his brother scream into his pillow every night from her side of the room. she rolls over and tries to drown out his screams with a pillow.

“aether!” you one day call out to him. your bright smile once again beckons him to your side. he yelps when you slide a firm hand around his waist and pull him to your lap. his cheeks flush when hug him closer to your chest, and it takes everything out of him not to squirm. “i’ve got something to show you!” your breath tickles his ear and sends tingles down his spine.

shuddering out a sigh, he forces a shaky grin as he tries his best to look enthusiastic. “is this about the anime you sent me last week?” you brighten up at his remembrance and chatter on and on to him. he makes his remarks too, fueling the conversation, and as it goes on your hands continue to rover about his abdomen. you’re such a mean senior, not even noticing the bright red blush on his face! was this on purpose? it has to be!

a single feather-like stroke of his abdomen sends him shuddering and keeling over. he gasps into your collarbone, hiding his blush and heart-eyed expression. “you’re so mean, senpai,” he whimpers into your skin. “teasing me like this...”

“i-i’m sorry...” the tension of the situation has now finally dawned on you, and you blush when you feel aether’s lips quivering on your skin. “i didn’t realize that...”

your words trail off as temptation seizes your hand to feel up his abdomen once more. toned as they were, the curves seemed so tiny and fragile as they fit into your hands. a lean and slender body, yet supple enough to serve as canvas for your marks...

ah, no! what kind of senior are you, teaching such lecherous thoughts of your junior! and yet... and yet...! your eyes dart to the corner, where the blonde student is currently shaking in your grasp. the cute and helpful transfer student who you viewed as a brother now looked more and more like prey in your hands. you gulp.

“i’m sorry, aether,” you whisper, sending an excited rush through his body. “but you look so pretty now...”

his tongue feels like lead as it quivers in his mouth, but when you settle him down on the couch and hover above him, he giggles like the closeted perverted maniac that he is.

“no worries, senpai ♡~” he laughs, bringing you closer by the neck. “make sure to appreciate me more okay?”

perhaps he’ll start rolling up his uniform after this, just to make the rest of your harem jealous ☆

#yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #yandere aether #genshin aether #yester.writes #yester.au — academy 📓

920 notes · View notes

darkpoisonouslove · 7 months

Note

For the fic ask!

🤩a WIP snippet about or with dialogue from Valtor

😔published lines or a section of a fic that was super sad, angsty, or difficult to write?

🤩a WIP snippet about or with dialogue from Valtor

Well, I swore I'd never post this and now here I am. *sigh* This WiP has given me perpetual brainrot and I am weak.

Betrayal. It was all that was left in her world. One after another, her life had turned into a series of betrayals. Her crown had betrayed her with the promise of power it did not hold. Her husband had betrayed her for another woman. Her own dignity and self-control had betrayed her to a sight she’d confidently refused to dread.

“And to think the only thing I had to do to make my wife enjoy herself was sit her in a chair where she could watch me fuck the woman I love,” Valtor’s voice made it through all the raw sexual energy suffocating the room.

There was that word again. Love. That was what Valtor had told her. His commitment to her meant nothing all because the royal librarian had stolen his heart. Amongst other things. He might have given Samara a ring and a crown but he’d given his love to Griffin. Amongst other things.

“Excuse me?” Her nails dug in the expensive silk of her dress.

It was no matter. He’d buy her another one if she tore it to shreds. He’d buy her anything – fabrics and jewels finer than the librarian had ever seen in her life. Not that she needed clothes or trinkets when she had his lust and his heart.

Samara didn’t need replacements either. A tasteless affair would never leave visible traces on her appearance.

“Your thighs are squeezed together, your breath hitches just barely and your pupils are dilated enough for me to make it out all the way from the bed,” Valtor's words slapped her in the face harder than he was clutching at his toy. She couldn’t draw enough air to dispute his insanity even if her decorum allowed her. “You’re aroused. Tell her, Griffin,” his hand tugged on the purple hair to direct his mistress’ gaze to her.

Griffin moaned like her life depended on it. She barely looked at Samara, as usual. She kept her eyes to herself – not out of humility or decency. If that were the case, she’d stifle her voice too. The entire palace could hear her making obvious the disrespect she and Valtor held for Samara. One more reason for Samara to hate her and stagger when the feeling wasn’t there.

😔published lines or a section of a fic that was super sad, angsty, or difficult to write?

They're shorter so I'll give you two, both from Smolder:

"She hadn’t had the will to leave the prison she’d called home before Oritel’s warmth had overwhelmed that of her inner flames. She hadn’t had the power to protect Oritel from the dark magic twisting his own until it’d frozen in his veins and killed him. She hadn’t had the heart to leave Daphne’s side and incinerate his murderer lest her daughter figured out that her presence didn’t amount to much more than her absence did. Her mother had seized the opportunity to take over Daphne’s schedule and life when Marion hadn’t had the presence of mind to care for her own child. She didn’t even have the voice to speak up and reassert herself as the only parent Daphne had left."

This was hard to write both emotionally and from a technical aspect. I think you can tell why it was so heartbreaking to put it together but, honestly, wording this almost killed me. For one simple reason - I don't have a name yet picked out for Marion's mother and I didn't want to bother with it but that left me maneuvering with the words "mother" and "daughter". It's still a little messy for my liking but I think it's comprehensive, at least.

And the other snippet:

"The liquid inside the chalice was blue – the color of a flame burning too hot, ready to reduce her insides to cinders. The light coming from the cresset glimmered on the surface like a flickering sun blinding Marion. She couldn’t tell if her fingers would brush cold metal or colder magic but running away was not an option. She had to pass this test, had to come out on the other side despite feeling like a small speck of ash drowning into the sea of a potion held up against her."

Again, wrestling this into words was a struggle. Especially the last sentence. I don't know, I don't think I really had a very good idea of what I was trying to accomplish with this at first and that led to getting tangled into several different threads that I could follow with it. At the same time, I somehow had a very specific vision of it (the part with the liquid reflecting light mostly) and that added to the hardships because I had to mold my stray thoughts into a particular shape. I am more satisfied with how this one turned out, though!

#ask #solisvia #my wips #snippet #fanfic snippet #winx club #winx samara #winx valtor #winx griffin #griffin x valtor #winx marion #marion x griffin

7 notes · View notes

awlumii · 1 year

Note

mars mars mars! :D

how've you been bub? i hope all has been well, it's been a while since i last came here...feels super nice and cozy and like home huhu

anyways i am about to break everyone's hearts with this buckle the fuck up /lh

— literally listening to overlord of the thunderstorm as of writing this brainrot —

so this is an idea i had with heizou, the supposed idea takes place in the vision hunt decree. though the idea i had for heizou is one i gave to a friend and i did write a little drabble for them about it on discord, however...

i started about thinking of this idea with kazuha.

heizou's section of the idea is him confiscating your vision, for kazuha's it's his arrival after you're vision has been taken; enter the brainrot!

——

the hundredth vision to be seized under the decree, and that vision was non-other than yours.

the traveler has arrived too late, a tad bit too late, you're vision was taken and you were left like an empty shell waiting to be taken and in this case...a precious and important possession was taken away. the closet thing resemblant to a heart, the shell that housed you're memories, dreams and ambitions.

the vision that was once securely tied around you're scarf—a gift from someone you cannot remember anymore—is long gone, taken by an archon in desire for eternity. in a state of a wretched and tranquil eternity.

you are now unconscious in the traveler's arms, you're wound badly tented to but the traveler is running as fast as they can to sangonomiya—while their companion, paimon, is but a frantic mess. a river falling down her small face as she frantically flies left and right, holding onto a small twinge of hope. in hopes kazuha's companion to be alive.

how are they going to explain this to him?

——

he had heard, the bounty on the traveler's head.

he had heard, of you're current condition.

kazuha is rushing his way to the camps, informed by gorou that you are still unconscious and residing in his camp, his face may appear composed, concerningly so but his heart—his heart is hammering in his ribcage, his mind id racing a mile a minute,

please be okay,

he hoped,

please be okay,

he hoped yet again, something salty seems to cover his eyes..

please remember me.

he can feel a rushing river about to escape, but he has to remain calm, he has to.

but who is he to fool? he cannot.

finally reaching and entering you're camp, he sees you—his eyes widen slightly at you're state, bandaged all over, that heart that used to glow so brightly (that glow did not rival your smile in his eyes) now gone, he's come too late.

approaching you're bed, he can hear you're breathing—such troubled and unstable breathing, a breathing that speak pain and sadness...he can feel his heart ache, so much.

it's his fault, it's all his fault—for letting you go back to inazuma, for letting this happen to you, it's all his fault...

“it's not your fault, 'zuha! don't blame yourself for such things.” those words echo in hid mind, “you didn't know that what had happened was going to happen, it's not you're fault at all. none of it is.”

he lets out a breathy laugh, even while you're in this state, you still manage to do your magic as always.

a small, sad smile is all that decorates his face, as he reaches out for you're hand—holding it gently and placing but a light feather kiss on you're scarred knuckles, he can feel his tears make their escape, his heart aches so much at what you had to undergo but despite this; he is so grateful you made it out alive.

his tears roam freely more as he sees you're eyes flicker open, so tired, so sad...but he smiles, a smile so big and filled with so much gratitude, his hold on you're hand gets a little tighter—placing you're now warm hands on his forehead as he allows his tears to escape.

you look over to this individual, his warmth feels familiar but you can't remember who he is, he feels so so familiar...

“who..?” you only asked, you're voice so tired and low, kazuha felt his heart break for a fraction of this wretched eternity he's living in, but he now holds you're hand close to his cheek, this action once again striking something familiar in your memory that you can't remember.

“you don't have to remember me, my dove. i'm right here...i'm right here...” those words trail from his lips, fading more and more into sobs and an incoherent string apologies and reassuring words.

you cup his cheek out of instinct, and merely stay on you're bed as you watch this stranger cry and apologize to you.

——

pretty painful right? yeah! i'm sobbing right now! :D

jokes aside though—take this depressing scenario as an apology for me being so inactive and not being able to get to chat more often <//3 i hope you know that i love you very very much friend and happy thanksgiving dear, i wish you the best with everything and the kindest and most loving of days tomorrow and going forward! 💙

— much love and sincerest of apologies for the pain, yoi.

YOII, YOU'RE HERE, HI LOVE I MISSDED YOU SO MUCHY MUCH 🥺🥺💕💗💕💗🫂

but listen. LISTEN. i am SO conflicted rn bc of this. bc on the one hand, AAAAAAAA THE URGE TO WRITE A FIC ABOUT LEARNING TO LOVE KAZUHA AGAIN IS UNREAL but also HOW FAWKING DARE YOU. (/lh /hj) IM SO TORN UP OVER DIS RN.

man... look, you don't gotta apologize, yeah? whenever we get to chat, my heart is happy, even if it's not often! i love you too friend, and i hope that your days have been treating you kindly! may tomorrow and the following days smile warmly upon you, my love 🥰💗💕

#[ 📭 — incoming! ]#[ 💫 — yoi! ]#[ 💭 — thinking! ]#kazuha x reader #CANT BELIEVE YOU WOULD HURT ME LIKE DIS #YOU AINT TALK TO ME FOR HOW LONG AND THIS IS HOW YOU DO ME? /lh /hj #lucky i love you 😒

21 notes · View notes

bloodsweatandpotato · 7 months

Text

Day 2

Overworked, Exhaustion

Fandom: Original work (Chocolate bullet holes)

Characters: Whisper (oc), Listener (oc)

Tw: Paranoia, exhaustion induced hallucinations

Summary: Whisper hasn’t been sleeping, Listener does damage control.

Also, I guess you guys should get introduced to my (not so) new ocs I’ve been brainrotting over. I’ve been spinning these guys in my head for over a year but now they’re ready to be introduced to the outside world! Get ready for a new series because these guys aren’t going away.

Whisper didn’t remember the last time he had slept more than an hour. Maybe it was last week, when everything had gone to shit. He supposed it had to have been too long, at any rate.

He was sitting at the dining table, the walls of the agency provided apartment looming around him. Listener was in the bedroom (there was only one, for some godforsaken reason), hopefully getting some much needed rest. Rest, such a foreign concept.

Whisper put his head down on the table in exhaustion, then jerked it back up, feeling too exposed with his back to the empty kitchen.

He hadn’t changed clothes yet since they got to the apartment, only taking the time to shrug off his vest and remove his gun holster. This left him in a bloodstained white button up and similarly stained black pants.

Crusty, dirty.

The faucet was dripping.

Whisper’s mouth was dry.

He flicked his pocket knife open, then closed again, trying to ground himself with the familiar sound and the comforting weight. He lost track of how many times he opened and closed the blade, but eventually the metal lost its soothing coolness, warmed completely by the heat of his palms.

The faucet was still dripping.

Whisper stood up and moved to get a glass of water, but his knees buckled, unused to supporting his weight. How long had he been sitting, staring into space?

He crashed to the floor, palms and knees hitting the linoleum tile with a dull thud-slap. The impact traveled through his bones, shaking his overused muscles apart, and Whisper gritted his teeth, shoulders trembling.

He maneuvered himself to a sitting position, leaning against a leg of the table. He was shaking badly, his body running on the last dredges of adrenaline it could scrape from his bloodstream. There was no way his knees would hold him now.

The faucet kept dripping.

Tears sprung to Whisper’s eyes and -absurdly- he started laughing. He slammed his weight back against the leg of the table, feeling it slide across the floor from the impact and hearing the dull screech it made against the floor.

God, he was so tired.

“Whisper?”

He blinked, startling. Listener? Listener was supposed to be asleep.

How long had the other man been in the room?

He looked around.

“Listener?”

Listener was nowhere to be found.

He stood up on shaky legs, stumbling into the counter. “Listener?”

Still nothing. He felt his lungs seize in his chest.

“Whisper.”

The voice came from somewhere behind him, but Whisper was unable to pinpoint exactly. It sounded wrong, tinny, warped even. He spun around to look behind him, but lost his balance, sliding down the kitchen cabinets until he was siting on the floor.

He fumbled for his knife. It was still on the counter. He reached for his pockets. He wasn’t wearing his vest.

Whisper froze.

He didn’t dare close his eyes, sitting on the kitchen floor, back pressed against the cabinets, listening to the drip-drip-dripping of the faucet murmur his name.

“Whisper?”

He wanted to scream.

“Shit, Whisper…” The voice was closer now, and Whisper felt the thud of footsteps on the tile. He jerked his head towards the sound, eyes wide.

“Woah, easy, just me.” Listener raised his hands slightly even as he kneeled near Whisper. “What’s wrong?”

Whisper swallowed thickly. “Listener?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You alright if I touch you?”

“Please-“ His voice came out dry and choked, and Listener quickly complied, reaching to hold Whisper’s shaking hands.

“There we go. You hurt anywhere?” He scanned Whisper with a scrutinizing gaze, lingering on his face.

Whisper shook his head.

“You sure?”

He nodded.

“Alright then. Bad dream?” Listener asked gently.

Whisper shrugged. “Tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Listener didn’t ask any more questions. He did, however, drag Whisper up by his arms, tugging him towards the bedroom. “Come on, you need sleep.”

“But… what if we were followed?”

Listener sighed. “For gods sake Whisper, get in bed. You’re wouldn’t be protecting us any more on the kitchen floor than you would be in bed.”

Too exhausted to argue, Whisper allowed Listener to drag him down the hall. And if he mumbled Listener’s name in his sleep, nobody ever mentioned it.

#whump #whump community #whumpblr #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberday2 #exhaustion whump #whump writing #whump drabble #chocolate bullet holes #spy whump #secret agent whump #spy whumpee

2 notes · View notes

m-r-levine · 8 months

Text

Unspoken : a wip that shouldn’t be

It occurs to me I should probably explain the og/elf brainrot premise of Unspoken since basically I’ve not talked about anything #Dark Tapestry outside of asks in literally years due to mi hijo maldito stealing the spotlight becoming the focus of my writing attention for the last four years or so.

Especially since searching my own blog is turning up almost nothing. 🤦 I swear I feel like I froth at the mouth about these characters all the time and yet my blog shows no evidence of this?? What strange unsearchable vortex have they fallen into this time?

Ahem.

The context…

Under the Weaver's hand, all patterns move in harmony.

Where chaos moves, all theory becomes meaningless.

Daidel is a world of darkness and light, in possession of magic and technology, science and divine power, often at war with itself. Terrible things happen in this world under two moons, and wonderful things as well. The stories in this world span the globe and a massive stretch of time — but the first thread written belongs to a mortal chosen to become a Fury.

The cast

Although the supporting cast is as usual a sprawling mess of multiple cities and factions, the brainrot thin excuse for a plot centers on just two characters: Keris and Davri.

Neither a hero nor a villain nor yet a world power, Praetor Brynrinkeris Z’equidai Chath il Rex do’Xiphos is merely an arrow aimed at one particular offense to the gods (not the Weaver, merely some number of little gods) who is also no one of any particular or weighty consequence except to the gods offended by his existence. Although still mortal, fallible, vulnerable, and utterly killable, Keris was given a certain… conditional permanence in order to facilitate her mission. (Not that she has any idea what it is or that she even has this drive at all. It’s not terribly important to this particular plot or even half of them, it’s just… there. A little narrative land mine that may or may not ever trip.) She has led the Trinae for several centuries now - but this is not remarkable either. Even moonborn with no magic at all can live a thousand years if they set their formidable Wills to it, evade the ravages of wild magic and pestilence, and no one finds the motivation to pay the hefty bills arranging a permanent death would incur.

She will neither save nor destroy the world at any point in the Dark Tapestry. She is sometimes the narrative focus and sometimes she is just a stranger neglecting to pay a gate fee in someone else’s bad day. She is not particularly unique - even when she cheats Death the Scalekeeper, especially after the formation of the Ravens* in the aftermath of the Forge Moon explosion. She is merely a red thread.

…And Davri’s commanding officer. (Whoops)

The little mercenary company Trinae Amicae is not so little anymore - hasn’t been since they seized the wild heartstone in the deadlands of Molniya and built the hidden fortress of Xiphos atop it. Half village, half command center and training ground, Xiphos is hidden by the landscape itself and the wild magic rampant throughout that part of the world… and maybe a little help from the mages of the Amicae who have made their home there for many daystar generations. Although the Trinae is known in many citystates for their professionalism and efficiency and their ruthless policies should a promised paychest dare to be late, little else is known outside their organization beyond their red and gold banner and the frigid reputation of the Praetor who leads them: not only is she a moonborn grand adept who lives apart from other ekete, she owes allegiance to no city at all, and neither does anyone else under the Trinae banner. Centuries ago this was regarded as an amusing and temporary (read: doomed) quirk by administrators of the major cities — in the contemporary era, most civil and military functionaries tacitly agree it’s not worth their lives or livelihoods to question their paperwork too closely. Especially as the Trinae are one of the few Companies willing and able to field any measurable resistance to the violent ambitions of the Ragestorm Empire of Mor’chagh.

Davrush mej Nakun was born among the oggish clans of the Amicae, and follows the wide path forged by his foremothers to train in the arts of war and serve the banner in his turn. Unfortunately, the distant, abstract, and imposing Praetor became a tangible and distressingly mortal reality for him when he was still a child. He has carried a more-or-less secret flame for her ever since, despite six years in voluntary exile attempting to obey her order to overcome what she believed to be a starry-eyed sort of hero-worship infatuation common to the young of every kind. He is acknowledged a master weaponsmith, and on his return to Xiphos and refusal to accept a commission into the Elite Three Hundred** until the Trinae could be (mostly) self-sufficient in the matter of their armaments, he was elevated to Legate (the second-highest rank - there were two Legates previously, East and West, and he was made a third, Artifex) and charged with authority over the craftspersons and armory among the Trinae, both in Xiphos itself and support staff in the field.

Working so closely with the love of his life, burdened with both the privilege and responsibility to advise and argue with her is a torment he embraces with stoic determination and absolute discretion. He is widely respected as a warrior, artisan, educator, and leader. He embodies the highest virtues of the Trinae, regards his rank as a vocation, and more than a few whispers around the Company speculate that the spirit of their First Praetor (a human knight of the early fourth kiya, Cieramos the Bright) may have been reborn as a chaste og - and what a pity, since unbonded oggish rarely live past seventy-five.

The plot

And now we get to the heart of the brainrot the Excuse to wallow in pining the surface plot.

Three foreigners defy the landscape and magical protections around Xiphos to approach the Trinae with a delicate job offer. They negotiate a deal for an advance party to discreetly evaluate the scope of the work they want: the Company to protect their walled city from multiple external threats and also to mediate between political factions within their city.

Keris has Doubts™️ but at the same time she needs to solve the problem of how these envoys found Xiphos to begin with, how they came to possess artifacts once owned by Cieramos, and how to position a successor for a stable transition when she can no longer lead the Trinae. A campaign past the edges of the charted world would make such a convenient circumstance to force the succession one way or another, if only she can subtly guide the Council to acknowledge the best and most natural choice in their midst. (She is of course certain that when they offer Davri the mantle of Praetor he will finally see reason and secure a platonic bond of convenience to extend his life.***)

Davri attaches himself to the campaign in no small part to prevent her from seeking Death despite Keris’ initial refusal by implying he will seek a bond and establish a family after they return. No one would deny him the right to one last glorious campaign — and to sweeten the deal the foreigners carry better steel than they can make, and armaments of a different style than anyone else. He is the expert on both - and he is more than enough of a warrior and tactician in his own right to command the Three Hundred in the event the Praetor cannot — or if circumstances require a division of their forces.

Naturally, reconnaissance and peacekeeping in Udea does not go easily. Month after month of work uncovers only more tangled politics and personal vendettas and pockets of wild and malicious magics both. Nothing in the desert is simple - and by the Writ the Company is no longer free to walk away from the problem of the modern citystate as inconveniently active magical artifacts predating the Rending of the Forge Moon keep surfacing from various conflicts and expeditions into the trackless sands.

Every day spent in close company on this delicate, dangerous campaign increases the pressure to forge some kind of victory from the chaos, and doubles the challenge of pretending to continued faith in their mutual fiction of indifference.

The Writ that governs the Trinae is sacred and good and right — and the officers of the Company are held to an even higher standard of faithfulness to their laws. Anything less would destroy the foundations of the strength that protects the freedom of the Amicae. No one clear of mind and heart would disagree, much less the highest authorities among them.

Abuse of a subordinate carries the same grave and final penalty as treason and sabotage. No one knows this better than Keris, who bears the silent grief of enforcing the Writ herself.

Control is paramount for a mage, passion is dangerous. Keris is a grand adept with many centuries of field experience behind her. Control is as much her field of expertise as magic and war.

And yet, and yet.

Every “remedy” she leverages against temptation fails to slay the desire to embrace the forbidden beloved at her side.

You see the problem, of course.

The delightful, sticky, overheated pressure cooker of a star-crossed mutual-pining friends-to-lovers slow burn idiots-in-love size-difference monsterfuckery-adjacent secondearth military fantasy adventure kinky romance.

Why is my brain like this.

Send help.

- - -

* The Ravens are an apolitical, secretive, and vaguely occult necromantic organization common on several continents. They offer essential support and recovery services to the city-states at negotiated contract rates lower than any independent necro or dolovai can offer in exchange for a vertically-unbounded but horizontally modest plot of land within the city walls… and tax-exempt status

** The Three Hundred is a company-within-a-company of warriors under the direct command of the Praetor herself

*** Dear Reader, Keris is wrong.

#dark tapestry #writeblr #studiorat rambles #long post #unspoken #writeblr wip summary #spicy fantasy romance wip #long reads

2 notes · View notes

hieludoboi · 3 years

Note

Okay okay hear me out,,, Todoroki x a nb!reader,,, He finally actually confessed to them and the reader is just like cannot accept that Todoroki Shouto actually likes them. They're in total disbelief

A/n- Reader’s just standing there like “Me? Oh. That’s right, who else here is named Y/n” and Shouto’s kinda just standing there like ‘....’

A/n- Also! Just the thought of Pro Hero Todo getting like a scone or something sweet every morning before a patrol (I headcanon Shouto liking sweets, just idk, something about it just works for me) and slowly falling for the baker at his favorite bakery

A/n- I did a little research for how to write non-binary readers and such, and I feel like it’s kinda difficult to write for them unless specifics are given! Some non-binary individuals are masculine, other’s are feminine, some go by they/them, some by she/her or sometimes by zie/zim. I didn’t feel like it was right for me to write for these individuals specifically until I do a bit more research and learn to properly write for them!

A/n- Non-binary is a blanket term encompassing a whole list of genders/identities that don’t exactly follow societal gender norms! Sometimes non-binary individuals have gendered pronouns, sometimes they don’t! Since you didn’t specify I’m going to label this as a more gender neutral thing!

A/n- Update, I researched like two hours and I still don’t understand. My brain very fried no work from online classes brainrot but not by bokuto by staring at screen all dy. Someone pls give my pigeon brain examples on how to properly write for nb! readers rn or I’ll pull out the glock >:(

Pairing- Pro Hero! Shouto / Gn! Reader

Summary- So he was serious?

Warnings- not really?

It was a mundane Tuesday morning. The sun had yet to rise, slowly peaking over the city’s skyline, yet somehow getting lost among all the trees and towers. As with every morning, Y/n started off their day by preparing for their day. A quick shower, followed by washing their face and brushing their teeth. Before they knew it, they were trudging out of the house and making their way to the bakery to prepare for the morning rush.

Y/n was quirkless in a society plagued by quirks, an average day to day citizen if you will. They didn’t mind, in fact, life even seemed a bit easier when they didn’t have to worry about controlling some strange and odd power. The rest of the world, however, couldn’t begin to fathom how they even managed to lead a life without a quirk.

Stifling a yawn, they made their way to the front door, unlocking it before closing it and locking it behind them. If the day went as planned, which normally it didn’t, they’d have scones, muffins, and croissants all out and freshly baked by six. Bear claws, donuts, and danish pastries would be out by eight, all the rolls and loafs would be done by ten and by eleven they could hopefully get started on the sugary sweets that their younger costumers seemed to enjoy so much.

Their morning dragged on as usual. One by one the rest of the employees pooled into the back kitchen, kneading dough and making batters to pour in to tins or mold into shape. Grunting, Y/n picked up a tray chocked full of scones and made their way towards the display cases, setting the tray atop the display and carefully arranging the scones inside. Looking up at the pretty light blue clock, Y/n hummed. Their day rarely went as planned, but they could always count on Shouto coming in once the clock hit six-thirty.

“Waiting on Mr. Pro-Hero?” Y/n turned around, feeling the heat begin to seize the apples of their cheeks. Sputtering, Y/n turned around, ignoring their coworker and instead focusing on arranging the last of the scones.

“Come onnnnnn! How are you so oblivious!” Y/n huffed, quickly standing up before thrusting the empty tray into Hina, their coworker’s, hands. “Y/n. He likes you!!” Hina groaned, following a wordless Y/n back into the kitchen.

“Hina. No he doesn’t!!” Y/n mocked Hina as they slid a tray of muffins into the oven. Hina grunted, pulling out a giant bowl of risen dough before letting it fall onto a flowered counter top. “Besides, he’s rumored to be dating Creati,” Y/n pointed out, dusting their hands off on their apron.

“They’re just ru-” Hina rubbed her temples, watching as Y/n made their way towards the front at the sound of the little bell ringing. When would they stop being so oblivious?

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

Nothing seemed to go right that morning. While on his usual morning patrols, Shouto had run into Momo. While it was a welcome surprise, the situation was not. They had run into each other while battling a lowlife villain with a disastrous quirk. Damages were not kept to a minimum, and all Shouto wanted to do after being chewed out by local authorities was to go bite into a delicious scone at his favorite bakery.

“This could have gone better,” Momo sighed, rubbing her temples as they both surveyed the damage they had done to the small plaza. Shouto nodded, he couldn’t agree more. “We should probably go out west, right? If there were robberies here, there’s bound to be some in the shopping centre,” Shouto nodded, Momo had some nice ideas.

“We can stop by a bakery there too, I know a place that makes some nice scones,” Shouto explained as they walked, a subtle smile on his face at the thought of the baker that awaited him every morning. “What time is it?” SHouto asked, turning to look at Momo.

“Oh, it’s around seven-thirty, why?” This morning could not have gone any worse for Shouto. First, he has to stop villains at the crack of dawn, and now he’s going to miss out on scones? Admittedly, they didn’t sell fast, but the bakery didn’t make a lot of them either.

“No reason,” Shouto shrugged. He hoped he wouldn’t miss Y/n.

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

Y/n sighed, watching as the seconds ticked by on the clock overhead. It was eight already. Shouto was never late, ever. The man had a thing for punctuality, and even when everything was going wrong, Y/n could always count on seeing their favorite customer before the sun fully rose.

“Pretty boy ain’t here yet?” Y/n stood up, turning to look at the smug grin on their co-worker’s face. Curling their lip and rolling their eyes, Y/n went back to slouching over the counter, resting their chin on their palm as they zoned in on the glass door ahead of them. “C’mon boss! Cheer up, we’ll never make any sales with a grumpy face up front!” Y/n frowned seemed to become deeper, rooting itself in their brows and lips.

“And I suppose having a super buff woman who looks like she can pop your head off with a squeeze of her biceps at the counter will allure customers like nothing ever could?” Y/n teased, grinning as Hina flexed her biceps.

“Children adore me. They see me and are amazed by the ‘big muscle woman’,” Hina gloated, wiggling her eyebrows while continuing to pose behind the counter.

“Yeah yeah, go help Kohaku before he breaks an arm trying to knead the dough,” Y/n grumbled, pushing Hina into the kitchen so they could focus on the sales upfront. Kohaku liked decorating cakes, but every once in a while he’d have to knead dough while Hina helped Y/n arrange things up front.

Picking at their nails for a minute or so with boredom, Y/n’s head instantly popped up as soon as the bell on the glass door chirped. Their eyes instantly attatched themselves to the blue suit before them, almost completely ignoring the red latex that stood beside it.

“Shou! I was starting to think you’d... never get here,” Y/n’s voice was filled with excitement at first, immediately dying off at the sight of Creati, who stood right next to him. Offering the pro hero a pleasant smile, Y/n grabbed their gloves and tray, their tongs hanging off a little hook on the display case.

“What can I get for you two?” Y/n asked, the bright smile that usually reached their eyes seeming to drown before it could fully rise. Shouto frowned a bit to himself, wondering where the usually happy and bright baker he had grown so used to had gone. Was he maybe reading too into it?

“Oh! I’ll a pumpkin walnut muffin! They look so good!” Momo praised, delicately pointing to her preferred muffin through the glass case.

“Thank you, made the recipe myse-”

“And we baked them!” Y/n winced at Hina’s booming voice, opening their eyes as soon as it died out.

“Sorry about that, you’ll come to find that this bakery comes alive after a certain hour,” Y/n explained with a giggle, placing the muffin on the tray they held. “And you, Shouto?” Y/n asked, tilting their head a bit as they awaited his answer.

“The usual,” Shouto made sure to offer them a grin, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit as he watched Y/n set the tray on the counter.

“Lucky you, I made sure to save one just for you!” Y/n hummed happily, reaching for the last scone before placing it on the tray. Shouto could feel the shy smile subtly spreading on his face, did they really save on just for him?

“I’ll pay, it’s the least I can do after you helped me out earlier today,” Momo said, turning to give Shouto a smile.

“Right, thank you, Momo,” Shouto gratefully accepted his scone, waving goodbye to Momo as she left the shop. Shouto preferred to eat his scones at the shop anyway.

“Are you not joining me today?” Shouto looked up, a confused look on his face as he watched Y/n fidget behind the counter. They would always snack on a danish pastry and sit with Shouto before he had to leave again. It was routine at this point.

“Oh! Right, sorry,” Y/n muttered sheepishly, snagging a pastry from the display case before heading over to Shouto’s usual spot by the window. For the umpteenth time that day, Shouto could feel himself frowning. He wondered what was wrong.

“S-so you and Creati?” Y/n asked, taking a small bite from the sweet bread that sat in their hands. Shouto looked up, eyes widened in surprise, midway through a bite of his scone. Was that what this was about?

“She helped me stop some villains this morning, that was all,” Shouto explained. Y/n hummed, nodding their head as they started to pick at the jam filled sweet in front of them. “Oh, uhm...” Shouto mumbled, his brow furrowed as he began to search his pockets. Where had he left it?

“You okay, Shou?” Y/n giggled, amused by the way his face had contorted when he began to search for his little mystery item.

“Yeah, fine... Oh! Found it,” Shouto muttered, pulling out the small box that had resided in his pocket since the day prior. “Here, for you,” Shouto mumbled bashfully, sliding the velvet box across the table to Y/n.

“For me? Shou... That’s sweet, but you didn’t have to,” Y/n explained, gently sliding the box back to Shouto. Accepting gifts felt odd, especially if they were from Shouto. They could already imagine what ridiculously expensive gift sat inside.

“Please, open it?” Shouto asked, sliding the box back across and making sure to set it in Y/n’s hands this time. Y/n gasped, eyes wide as they felt the heat rush to their face. Open and closing their mouth in a flustered fit, Y/n finally decided to delicately pry open the box, eyes tripling in size at the sight of the gold chain anklet studded in pearls that sat in the box.

“Shouto... No, I can’t accept this,” Y/n insisted, shaking their head profusely, shutting the box and trying to put it back in Shouto’s hands.

“You can, and you will. Can we go out sometime?” Y/n could feel their jaw drop to the floor. First the anklet and now he’s just asking for a date like it’s a regular Tuesday?

“M-me?” Y/n asked, looking around the shop, the confusion settling in their eyes, locking their mind in some sort of fuzzy haze.

“Yes, so, will you?” Shouto asked once more, amused by their cute little reaction.

“Uh, sure... Sure...”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at seven,”

“But we don’t close untill-”

“THEY’LL BE READY BY 4!”

“Hina-”

“I SAID YOU’LL BE READY BY FOUR DAMNIT!”

“I’ll be ready by four!”

117 notes · View notes