R A T @nen-nyy - Tumblr Blog

you belong with me

You were friends with him from birth - the boy across the street, Satoru Gojo. However, you lose touch in college, but finally you're going to the same school! You have a love letter written, but you find Satoru - the football captain - is dating the top cheerleader. And she hates you. You're the girl who doesn't really get noticed, the girl in the bleachers playing the clarinet, watching Satoru score a touchdown and kiss his girlfriend. It hurts, but you try to stay uninvolved, but you're watching the boy you knew hurt. Can the two of you have a friendship anymore, and does he feel the same way as you?

pairings - football star! gojo x band geek! reader

warnings - angsty, emotional, hurt comfort, smutty - this chap - cute, fluffy, a first date with Satoru, lots of tension, kissing, dry humping, oral (m receiving) fingering, panty fucking, the two of them being all fucking cute and in love bc I need it.

based on the T Swift song! Part of @indiewritesxoxo series event! I missed this one and wanted to dive back in hehe <3

art by @/Jan on X!

<<<part four

part five

The scent of your pretty perfume is in the air as you give yourself one last spritz, across your collarbones, turning this way and that as you look at your reflection in the mirror. Satoru’s favorite scent on you, the one you’ve worn since he’s met you damn near.

God, it’s been a long time.

Doubts abound in your mind today prepping for your date – no matter how much pep talk you’ve gotten from Nanami, Utahime, Shoko and Suguru, there was the lingering doubt that perhaps Satoru was just rebounding. That it was way too fucking soon since Sarah destroyed him, his confidence was clearly lacking, and you didn’t want to be a rebound.

Yet you wanted to be there for Gojo, wanted to be with him – wanted to belong to him, and him to belong to you. As it always was in your mind, yet for years Satoru never saw you as more than the ‘best friend’. So your mind couldn’t stop racing, remembering the shitty words Sarah had said in your ear.

She thought Satoru was all hers – and he was, for some time, until you came. In a way you feel every bit this terrible woman who came and stole her man, but on the other side of that, you can’t imagine not taking the chance with the boy you’ve loved as long as you could remember. The one who lost the light in his eyes due to just how terrible Sarah was.

Sarah didn’t get Satoru.

She didn’t understand him, she wanted him to be a perfect Gojo, not the nerdy Satoru deep down, and how she broke him? You can’t ever accept it, but it didn’t stop the nagging doubts as you touch up some lipstick.

You didn’t dress glamorous like Sarah, but you were trying to look pretty. The dress you chose for tonight is simple and cute, a pretty pink silk that cinched right in the waist with a cute little bow. It’s something you didn’t know you’d ever actually wear, the girl who always tends to be casual, you can’t help but tug at it this way in that, making sure it looks pretty on you.

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand, making your heart race – cheeks heating right up as you pick it up and see his name.

Toru: I’m outside, sweetheart.

“Sweetheart,” you murmur, biting your lip and almost giggling with how fucking excited you were.

He always called you that as kids, but after last week when he’d buried his face in between your thighs, came in your hand, kissed you?

It felt different.

You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder, wondering just why you were so nervous. You’ve known Satoru Gojo your whole life and he’s seen you bare faced, wearing sweats, bathing suits in the summer, you’re more comfortable with him than almost anyone. So why now, was it so different?

It was a date. That’s why.

You take a steadying breath, eyes shutting for a moment to calm yourself, before opening the door, down the stairs and in front of the dorm building in a few moments, seeing Satoru leaning against his car. Legs crossed at the ankle, the setting sun reflecting and shimmering on his form, just enhancing how good he looks.

It’s a pair of dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt, simple, sure, but you know Satoru Gojo – and you just know that shit costs thousands. He loves a good material, and that shirt and those jeans fit him perfectly. He looks up from the phone, smiling all cute right at you, melting your fucking heart, which hammers as his gaze slips across your body carefully.

“Well, fuck,” he breathes out those words as you walk over to him now, pretty blue eyes studying you slowly, lingering on the pretty curve of your tits in that dress, you can feel it like he’s actually touching you. “You’re trying to kill me.”

nen-nyy

NAH BRONAH HOLD ON, SARAH BETTER NOT PUT HER HANDS ON HER I NEED TO BE IN THERE

ronwestbreeze

hazard | 1 | burnt eggs

pairing: avengers x reader (platonic) summary: Lila leaned forward on her knees, eyes wide again. “Is that your organ story? Do you have dead parents also? Cooper says a real superheros ususaly have dead parents.” “…Um, no. But maybe we should stop listening to Cooper, yeah? Also, it’s origin story, not organ.” or It was an accident, really. She didn’t mean to fall into another universe and get superpowers. And she sure as hell didn’t mean to join a not so perfect team who lowkey hate each other. And yet, we’re here. ( post-TASM 2 / Age of Ultron - Infinity War ) word count: 1.7k author’s note: hi!!! while I’m working on yggf, i’m gonna start posting my marvel fic here after watching the trailer for doomsday! hope you guys like it! i’m actually rewriting it from an OC to a reader currently!

buy my a coffee!

“I will only ask you this one last time.” A heavily accented voice growled. “Where. Did you. Come from?”

There was a tightness in your throat, just as tight if not tighter than the restraints wrapped around your wrists.

A soft whimper and a croak later, you spoke, “I don’t remember.”

He hummed, as if truly disappointed by the answer. “Well, that’s a shame, dear. And you seem quite distraught about it too. Perhaps…” His cold fingers brushed along your cheek. You jolted away almost instantly. “…Perhaps, I can help with that.”

The man stepped away, but he didn’t leave the room. There wasn’t much to make out of the room, not with a bright light blinding your vision and straps wrapped around your forehead, preventing any movements from looking around.

“Wanda, be a dear.”

Before you could realize what he meant or figure out who this Wanda person was, something in your mind caused it to slow and grow hazy. Something slithered into the depths of your swirling thoughts, something grabbed at your murky memories and pulled them forward with sure and steady fingers.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was a flash of scarlet.

The image replayed itself over and over again. It wouldn’t leave your dreams.

It was always the same every time.

She was falling. Falling. Falling. Falling. Falling.

And he was reaching for her, flying down the clock tower, desperately trying to catch her. To stop her before she...

You squeezed your eyes shut and covered your ears before your best friend would hit the ground with a sickening crack. Dying instantly.

Back then and even now, if you believed if you had closed your eyes, then all the bad things would go away.

You were nine years old again, trembling in a child’s bedroom, trying to ignore the wall shaking from your father’s booming voice. Trying to will the tears to stop when the front door slammed shut, leaving the cold house with nothing but silence and your mother’s desperate cries for his absent ghost.

Maybe you could’ve comforted your crying mother. But instead, you were nine years old, staring at the door that would never open again that night.

Maybe you could’ve gone after him, chasing his car as it disappeared down the street, screaming, shouting, begging him to stay. Begging him to choose you instead of freedom.

Instead, you were nine years old. Stripped of nothing but utter shame. Regret. Useless.

You could’ve stopped her. Gwen Stacy was a stubborn woman born from an equally stubborn father who was the former chief of police. You could’ve convinced her to let Peter handle it, to let him save the day like he always did.

But no. You were eighteen years old. Curled away in a corner, just a few feet away from where your best friend’s body laid. Eyes screwed shut, hot tears streaming your face, and ears covered.

It’ll go away. It’ll go away. It’ll go away. It’ll go away.

Wails were what startled you out of your silent chant. It was then your eyes snapped open on instinct and upon seeing Gwen lying still and limp in Peter’s arms, the realization fell upon your bruised shoulders. Breaths short and a strained cry leaving your lips.

You could’ve stopped her. But instead you were nine years old again. Frozen. Hiding away. Useless.

Time was different for those who were dabbling between shock and the unyielding, unforgiving wave of grief. One often forgets their surroundings. The other forgets, only for a moment, that they are not alone. That they are not the only one grieving.

Through the river streams of tears, you realized that they were still at the bottom of a destroyed clocktower with distant sirens rattling your brain. Peter had looked up at you as if it were the first time he noticed you there, briefly coming up for air of his own ocean.

You stared at each other but neither of you considered one another. You felt as if you were staring right through him; there was nothing you were looking at. You were staring and doing everything in your power to not have a panic attack.

It was an inevitable truth that the body had to be left here. You never truly considered that when Peter quietly grabbed you and swung the both of you out of the clocktower before the police could arrive on the scene. It didn’t set in until you arrived at your apartment that Gwen Stacy was gone. That Mrs. Stacy had lost yet another person she loved not only a year after losing her husband. That Peter had lost his first love. That you had lost your best friend.

Peter, as soon as you were in your apartment, as soon as you closed the balcony curtains, the world couldn’t see that Spider-Man had fallen to his knees in your living room.

He hadn’t put his mask on after leaving the clocktower. It was sheer luck that no one was paying close attention while you had been swinging through the city. It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him. Not since the death of his uncle. He was silent in the way that the room went dead quiet around him as well. Nothing in the room dared to make a sound. His head hung low, shadows practically covering most of his face.

You quietly walked over to him and knelt to the floor next to him, watching as silent tears slid down his cheeks.

“I was too late.”

Up until this point neither of you had uttered a word ever since leaving the clocktower. But even now, you had no clue what you could say. What does anyone say to something like this?

“I was too late.” He whispered, shaking his head. “This is all my fault, I should’ve...I could’ve...” He cut himself off with a sob.

You hugged his arm gently, resting your head on his shaking shoulder. Words betrayed you and died away almost instantly. All you could do was comfort him. You had to do something. Anything.

For awhile, the two of you stayed like this. Time was irrelevant. The night had become day. You had still yet to say anything. Eyes droopy but never closed unlike Peter who practically cried himself to sleep, his head currently lying in your lap. Still on the floor with your back against the edge of the couch. Staying in this crumpled heap of sorrow.

It wasn’t until the early morning sun broke through your curtains did you become restless. Which was humorlessly ironic considering you never once slept.

So, after gently replacing your lap with a soft pillow for Peter’s head, you went to the kitchen and allowed your hands do whatever they wanted. Having a part time job at a diner while going to school didn’t give you a lot of food options in the kitchen, but you worked with what you had.

Which ended up being microwaveable pancakes and a dozen eggs. You could work with that. There was even enough to make for Peter when he woke up. And so, for the past hour, you had kept yourself busy and moving. Cleaning the kitchen, making a cup of coffee, and the organizing the fridge.

By the time you were cooking the eggs, Peter had woken up.

You paused, watching him squint his eyes open and then suddenly shoot up from the floor, looking around the room frantically. Calling your name.

“Right, here, Pete.”

Peter turned as you moved out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. He was staring at you now, both relieved, confused, and panicked.

“I couldn’t sleep and decided to make some breakfast.” You gave a small smile, hoping to ease the tenseness in his shoulders even though you’d never had that type of effect on him. Instead, he only frowned. His eyes downcast and away from yours. “Don’t worry! I made enough for the both of us. Scrambled hard, right? Or are you one of those weirdos that likes it wet?” You were trying. You had to do something. Anything.

“No, I can’t.”

You frowned but expected the reply. “I’ll leave some anyway. I don’t think it’s a good idea to not eat in this state. I’ll just make a plate and set it aside for you—”

“No. I can’t.”

It was the way he said that made you realize what he meant. You gripped the spatula tighter, breaths quickening, “Peter?” You watched him grab his mask from the floor and begin pacing. “Peter, please—”

The way he said your name. The way his voice shook. The way he looked at you now. As if you were something fragile. He shook his head, eyes glass. “I can’t do that to you.”

“Don’t do that, Pete.” You argued. “Don’t push me away, okay? We can’t do that to each other. You’re my best friend, right?” He didn’t look at you. “Nothing can change that, alright? I won’t let it—”

Peter continued shaking his head, “Yes, you will.”

“Damn it, Peter! I fucking won’t—”

“This is exactly how it happened! This is exactly how she...” Peter’s voice wavered, hand running nervously though his hair. “I-I let her in, I got her involved. I broke a promise and now she’s...she’s...” He started looking around the room in panic, like he realized just where he was. “I-I can’t—I shouldn’t be here.”

Peter pulled on his mask and rushed toward the balcony. You ran forward, eyes blurring. “Peter, wait!”

But he had already leaped off. You could see the web sling across the city, away from your apartment.

A sob shook your body as you sunk down onto the wooden coffee table, muffling your cries into your arm. All of last night’s events finally came hitting like a violent wave.

You could’ve comforted your crying mother.

You could’ve stopped Gwen.

You could’ve begged Peter to stay and tell Spider-Man to leave just once.

Someone who is easily ignored. Easily left behind.

You could’ve done something. You could’ve done something.

So, fucking useless.

A blaring sound from the smoke alarm reached your ears. The stove had been left on for too long.

And when you numbly got up to turn it off, you saw that the eggs for you and Peter were burnt.

nen-nyy

THIS IS SO PEAK SO FAR🥹🥹🙏🙏

mirrormauve

drag path

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader | soulmate!au | 12.8k (oops)

Just because you were bonded, Ghost was all too aware, didn't mean you would stay together.

this is part 2 to faultlines in which Ghost didn’t want a soulmate, and he was sure, if they existed, that they didn’t want him either.

cw; soulmate!au in which soulmates share scars, abandonment issues, loneliness, references to self-harm, lots of talk about scars, angst, fluff, references to domestic abuse and past violence, references to simon's past, descriptions of pain, description of torture, canon typical violence, military inaccuracies, miscommunication, touch aversion, reallllly slow slowburn, ghost being sort of really bad and weird at affection and communication, making out, two people being so weird and intense about each other

Simon was not familiar with comfort.

catbayunthestoryteller

How to Train Your Raven

Pairing: Brynden Rivers x f!reader

Summary: A noble lady from a disgraced house that supported Blackfyres is married off to Lord Bloodraven as a reward for his loyalty and prowess in battle. But he prefers to occupy his time with duties as the Hand of the King. Comfortable but lonely, she befriends one of his ravens. Warnings: arranged marriage, yearning, angst, fluff, Westeros politics, Shiera.

The raven was a greedy, ungrateful beast, and you loved it dearly.

You had named him Pebble, for no greater reason than the smooth grey of his breast feathers, which reminded you of the stones along the Mander where you had played as a child. He came to your windowsill each morning, croaking his hoarse demands, and you obliged him with crumbs of bread and shreds of cold meat saved from your supper. In return, he permitted you to stroke the ruff of his neck and mutter your foolish secrets into the space between his blinking black eyes. It was a small, pitiful comfort.

The Tower of the Hand was a cold place, despite the braziers that burned in every chamber. You had been given rooms near the top, close enough to the Hand’s own solar that you might, in theory, encounter your husband on the winding stair. In practice, you saw his servants more often: the silent men in their grey wool cloaks, the Raven’s Teeth who guarded his door with bows strung across their backs. They nodded to you when you passed, respectful but distant, as though you were a ghost they had been instructed not to disturb.

You were a ghost, in a way. A shade drifting through the Red Keep in your pale gowns, your House’s green and gold folded away in chests because wearing them felt like a provocation. Oakheart. The name sat heavy on your tongue these days, a fruit gone bitter on the branch. Your father had played his double game during the rebellion and lost, and you were the price of his redemption, a trueborn daughter gifted to a legitimized bastard, a man who had not wanted you, who had asked for another woman’s hand a thousand times and been refused, and who had accepted you as a lord might accept a parcel of land he had no intention of farming.

You tried not to think of Shiera Seastar. It was impossible.

serdunkalot

Drawn | Valarr Targaryen | One

Pairing: Valarr Targaryen x Undercover!Soldier!Reader

Genre: disguise, SLOW burn, eventual smut, very slow

Description: You took your father's place in the army, bound your chest, cut your hair, and became Davos Stokeworth. You survived the latrines, the drills, and Ser Mace's cock. You even survived catching Prince Valarr's attention with your archery, but, when an arrow meant for Blackfyre's scouts hits you instead, your secret gets cut away with your tunic—and the Crown Prince discovers his best new archer is a woman who committed treason to save her father's life.

Notes: this chapter is very much a set-up, mulan-meets-kotsk, identity porn, forbidden attraction, he knows you're a girl now and he's fucked, you're fucked, everyone's fucked lmao, war is hell but the sexual tension is much worse i fear, the gender fuckery of it all, im warning you now victorian-level hand touching except it's after he finds out you have tits, cross-posted on ao3, updates will be on here as well tho , i wrote this bit on the plane (no shame)

Word Count: 9.5k (short im sorry), AO3 LINK

nen-nyy

THIS IS TOOOOOO GOOD I LOVE ITTTT❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

bunniebrains

Full time party girl, part time daughter.

In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.

Chapter eight. Heaven Tonight.

Fic masterlist!

cw: Reader's addictions are a HUGE part of this chapter, unhealthy coping mechanisms, violence, trafficing mentioned, attempted kidnapping, violence against reader, emotional neglect, codependancy, underage drinking, underage smoking - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school

From the moment he was born, one thing was made clear to Damian. He has to be the best. His bloodline needs him to be the best he can be, and then better. Only the best deserve the best. So he works hard to deserve his name. He pushes down the doubts and fear, they do nothing to help him. They drag him down.

He doesn’t need anyone else.

So when he met you, he felt disgusted at first. Everything he learnt about you made him bristle with disdain. You’re a dropout, an imbecile, a halfwit with nothing to show for yourself. So how dare you share his name? What did you do to deserve it? If you could be his kin, then everything he worked for meant nothing. If someone like you could be just as deserving, then why did he have to endure all he had? It had to be for something.

nen-nyy

I NEED TO BE TAGGED FOR THIS STORY, ITS JUST SO GOOD😭

chuulyssa

THERE❜S THINGS I WANNA SAY TO YOU ⸺ ★

pairing ⸺ toji fushiguro x reader

teaser ⸺ after being coaxed into a marriage befitting the status of your clan, you’re left hopelessly lonely when your now-husband begins opening up more about himself — about the high school sweetheart he planned on running away from the clan for, and about how now because of you his plans were left as mere mindless thoughts. the nerve of this man, you had thought, to say that it did not matter just how much you tried to fix this loveless marriage, for he had already given his heart to someone else. someone that wasn’t you.

content ⸺ angst, loadss of angst, mutual pining, slowburn, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, SMUT (!) at the end so mdni!! typical zenin clan misogyny, mamaguro is called reiko here bc idk

count ⸺ 17k . . . (sorry guys)

author’s note ⸺ the naoya glazing toji episode brought me back to my toji phase so here is the fic i made you guys wait a whole year for :3

🎧 ao3 wattpad

Today was a good day.

The ceiling towers above were adorned with chandeliers that glitter like frozen stars. The walls were lined with paintings of solemn ancestors, landscapes of mountains and seas, gardens that could never exist outside of canvas… too pretty to be real. Grandeur, wealth, history, legacy.

So royal. So… perfect. So happy. Beautiful. Everything you’d imagined when your mother told you what marriage felt like. How it would be lovely, how it would change your life, how you’d finally belong somewhere, someone waiting for you at your side.

Someone nice. Tall, dark and handsome. And strong too. He’d call you beautiful the way your father sometimes did when he was proud. He’d wake up with you pressed against him in the morning, pressing lazy kisses to your face, murmuring ‘good morning, pretty girl’ against your skin. He’d bring you flowers and call you as pretty as one. He’d kiss your forehead to sleep.

With all you had expected from today, it was bound to be a good day. Right?

You had been raised in luxury, the only daughter of a prestigious clan known for its powerful cursed energy lineage. Spoiled? Yes, they called you that — servants whispering behind your back, elders shaking their heads at your demands for gardenias instead of roses, your refusal to wear anything less than the finest silk.

In a world where women were valued for their ability to produce heirs with strong techniques, your cursed energy was your one true asset. It flowed through you like a river — pure, potent, the kind that made the elders salivate when they arranged this marriage.

“You’ll be perfect for the Zenin,” your father had said, his eyes gleaming with ambition. “Their strength, your energy — the children will be legends.” Children. The word had always made you flinch, even as a little child yourself. And now, even years later, you weren’t ready for that role yet, not when you were still dreaming of love, of being seen as more than a vessel.

You sat up on the very edge of the grand bed, toes barely brushing the floor even though you were sitting up straight, back rigid with the hope that posture might make you feel taller, more present, more deserving. Your fingers drifted across the silk sheets. You traced invisible little hearts, then stars, then nothing at all, just following the weave until your nail caught on a thread and you stopped, afraid you’d ruin something perfect.

Four carved posts rose like sentinels, draped in gauzy ivory canopies that caught the chandelier light and turned it soft, golden, dreamlike. It looked like something from one of the picture books your governess used to read to you when you were small — princess beds for princesses who always got rescued, always got kissed, always got seen.

“Hello?” You called out, blissfully ignoring the fact that you were alone in the room.

You felt ridiculously small against the big sparkling chandeliers, velvet curtains, fragrant bouquets of roses still standing in tall vases. You’d grown up like this. You were used to it.

But you didn’t like roses.

Was that why you weren’t happy?

Surely not. Everything else seemed grand enough to drown out the absence of your gardenias, ones you were sure no one else knew were your favourites. You’d never told anyone that. Not your mother, not the maids, not even the garden boy who used to sneak you extra stems when no one was looking. That boy had been kind, one of the few males who didn’t leer or dismiss you. But even he had been scolded for “encouraging your whims,” as if liking a flower was a rebellion.

Then what was it?

Where is your husband?

Oh, yes. How stupid of you to even ask yourself. Of course, you know where he is. Not that you care, of course. He hadn’t looked at your face during the ceremony. Not once. You’d stood there in layers of ivory and pale gold, heart hammering so loud you were sure the officiant could hear it, and all you’d seen of him was the back of his head: dark hair falling straight and perfect, hiding his profile like a curtain drawn against the light.

He’d spoken his vows in that low, gravel-rough voice without inflection, signed the papers with a single economical stroke, and walked away before the applause had even finished dying. The elders had nodded approval, but Toji's mother — a bitter woman with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue — had sneered from the side.

“A spoiled girl for my son? He’ll break her, or she’ll bore him.”

Maybe he didn’t want to. And maybe he didn’t even notice it. But oh well. It was your marriage day today; it was a good day.

You’d believed your mother when she said those words, her voice trembling with excitement as she adjusted the last hairpin in your updo that morning.

“This is what marriage is, sweetheart. It’s lovely. It changes everything. You’ll finally belong somewhere. Someone will be waiting for you, right at your side.”

Your mother had borne three children before you — two sons who inherited the family’s technique, one daughter who died young. “Be grateful you’re strong,” she had told you. “It makes you valuable.”

The Zenin clan had been eager, their leader Toji Fushiguro a man with no cursed energy but unmatched physical prowess, a “failure” redeemed by his marriage to you.

But those pictures were colored by memories — flashbacks to your childhood visits to the Zenin estate, when your parents negotiated alliances. You were ten, hiding behind a pine tree, watching a boy no older than you train in the yard. Toji, they called him. He was rowdy then, quiet fury in his swings, bruises from his clan’s abuse fresh on his arms. You had wanted to go up to him, to dab his wounds with a cloth like your nanny did for you, but you stayed hidden, humming a soft tune to yourself to calm your nerves. He had paused once, head tilted, as if he heard. But he never looked your way.

With all those pictures in your head, how could today not be a good day?

“So beautiful,” your mother had kept whispering. “This day will change everything. You’re so lucky.”

Lucky to be married. She had been “lucky” too, once, before the years wore her down.

And you had felt lucky then. Ecstatic, even. You’d let yourself imagine it all over again: laughter shared over tea, hands brushing in the hallway, someone finally seeing past the spoiled little heiress with too much cursed energy and too many pretty dresses.

You swung your legs gently. The hem of the wedding kimono brushed the polished floorboards in soft, repetitive sighs. The outer layers were still flawless — no wrinkles, no creases. You’d been so careful. You’d wanted to look… worthy.

A small, ridiculous laugh bubbled up and died in your throat.

Worthy of what?

A man who’d barely acknowledged your existence?

The main doors stayed shut. No servants padded down the corridor with trays of night tea or warmed sake or folded yukata. No quiet voice announced that the master had retired for the evening.

You pressed both palms flat to the mattress and leaned back, staring up until the chandelier crystals blurred into soft halos of light. Your chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a silk cord around your ribs and pulled.

Today was supposed to be—

The thought cracked in half at the faint creak of wood. Not the grand doors. A smaller panel — the servant’s passage — slid open with barely a sound.

You sat up so fast your kanzashi clinked.

A shadow first: broad shoulders, long limbs moving. Then the rest of him. Toji Fushiguro stepped inside without flourish. No bow. No murmured greeting. He didn’t even glance toward the enormous bed.

He was still in most of the ceremonial montsuki, though the formal haori had been discarded somewhere between the main hall and here. The dark kimono underneath molded to the hard lines of his shoulders and chest like it resented the formality, straining slightly at the seams. His hair was damp at the ends — rain? A quick rinse at some basin? The faint scent of cedar soap drifted with him.

He crossed straight to the low table near the veranda, back to you, and began untying the stiff obi with quick, practiced flicks of his fingers. No wasted movement. No hesitation.

You swallowed.

“…Welcome home,” you tried. The words felt childish the moment they left your mouth. They landed soft. Useless. Petals on stone.

He didn’t turn. The obi uncoiled in a dark heap on the tatami. Only then did his voice come — low, rough, tired.

“You should sleep.”

Not we should sleep.

Not even you should rest, it’s late.

Just you.

Heat crawled up your throat — disappointment mostly, and perhaps humiliation. The tired kind. The kind that had been waiting all day.

“I waited,” you said. Softer than you meant. Almost pleading.

His shoulders tensed — just a flicker — then released. He pulled the kimono open across his chest; the plain black undershirt beneath was simple, worn at the collar. Still no glance your way.

“Then stop waiting.”

nen-nyy

This…..is probably one of the best things that I’ve ever read in my ENTIRE LIFE, THE WRITING IS SO GOOD LIKE ATP PUBLISH A WHOLE BOOK OMG. I literally cried this was so good😭😭

supershit-hits

mysteries of our disguise revolve

clark kent (superman 2025) x f!reader

summary: you’re just the new intern at the daily planet—anxious, invisible in your books, and falling for the man who, disguised, saves the world between coffee breaks. he could catch the sky if it fell. but for some reason, he keeps choosing to catch you.

word count: 22.4k (i know it’s a lot but it’s worth it)

warnings/tags: +18 mdni, angst, banter, fluff !!!, clark has a savior complex, friends/coworkers to lovers, intern!reader, slow-burn office romance, lots of feelings and introspection, miscommunication, the reader’s sort of a sensitive and insecure gal at times, clark picks the reader up, mentions of reader's hair, both of them are very awkward at times, idiots in love (proceed with caution), declarations of love, p with plot, fingering (f receiving), handjob, oral (m and f receiving), whiny clark kent !!!, cum swallowing, p in v, missionary, creampie, happy ending.

a/n: first time writing for clark kent!!! to say i’m nervous would be the understatement of the century. i finally got to watch superman last week, and let me tell you: i’ve been obsessed with it <3 i walked out of the theater and pretty much ran home to start writing this fic. so yes, this one’s completely self-indulgent. i just got carried away by the feelings and couldn’t stop writing, hence the length lol. i really hope you enjoy this story. if you do, likes, reblogs and comments mean the world !!!

Sometimes, you truly wished you didn’t have a brain.

It sounds ridiculous, worded like that. You know for a fact you’re not the first person to want a quiet mind, to dream of a day when you’re not held hostage by your own intrusive, spiraling thoughts. You take a look around and realize there are much bigger problems out there in the world.

nen-nyy

I’m gonna need an oxygen mask and a defibrillator because you just made my heart stop with this SPECTACULAR STORY UGH

danitecx

The Babel Corridor - Part. 2

If you want me to tag you in the last part, let me know :) (And if I tag you in this part, let me know if you want me to tag you in the other one too).

Invisible - Part 1

Clark Kent x female reader

Synopsis: Weeks pass as you distance yourself from Clark Kent, convinced he never truly sees you. But when Perry assigns you to guide Adam Hall, a charming journalist from London, Clark starts noticing things he had never dared to admit—especially the way you smile at someone else the way you once smiled at him.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, reader distancing, mention of self-esteem issues, workplace tension, introduction of third party (mild love triangle vibes)

WC: 5,300 words approx.

════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ════

nen-nyy

My life was changed reading this LIKE THIS IS LITERALLY WHAT I LOVE READING

readwritealldayallnight

Part seven of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom reader

The fight happens on a day like any other, a random Tuesday in early March

Stepping outside as you clutch your baby close to your chest, you’d almost expected to find the earth to have stopped spinning, to see birds dropping dead to the ground midflight, for dogs to bark incessantly at seemingly nothing at all, hell maybe even for the sun to have disappeared from the sky entirely

But no, everything was still the same, the world went on, the earth kept spinning, and life continued, even in spite of that heavy feeling in your chest telling you that nothing would ever be the same again, not when your world had just seemingly slipped out from under you

What else were you to think after learning what you’d just been told?

You’d sat in that office for far too long, the bright murals on the walls more obnoxious than ever, smiling paintings of woodland creatures mocking you with every second that ticked by, your mind unable to wrap itself around the words being thrown at you, seeing as they were so contrary to everything you knew, so opposite to the man you’d come love

“I’m sorry but- I think you’re wrong. There’s- there’s got to be more to this that I’m not understanding. It doesn’t- this doesn’t make any sense.” You’d mumbled, staring into space as though caught in a daze, certain you’d wake up from this dream sooner than later and laugh about it in the morning, though with every pitiful look the assistant director sent your way, you were worried this was one nightmare you wouldn’t be able to pinch yourself out of

nen-nyy

I FREAKING KNEW IT I KNEW IT OMFGGGG IM LITERALLY HIMMMMMMM BUT IM STILL SHOCKED

voguesriot

NOT A LOT / JUST FOREVER ✹ sebastian sallow

( summary ) when harry potter said he wanted a reason to skip potions, he didn’t expect to wind up developing a kinship with a portrait of a young witch by the kitchens, but how can he complain when her smile is just as welcoming as her stories?

( pairing ) sebastian sallow x female!reader (mc), platonic!harry potter x female!reader, small mention of ominis gaunt x anne sallow

( notes/warnings ) set during the philosophers stone and the end of the deathly hallows! part of the ‘the house of the rising sun’ universe! this was supposed to be a mostly seb/minorly harry fic but it kind of inverted because i love harry potter and want to wrap him in a warm blanket and keep him safe forever. also!!! this is the first proper fic i’ve written in over a year so pls be kind 🤍. angst but mostly fluff! reader assuming a motherly role with harry! low-key sebastian assuming a fatherly role with harry too! canon-compliant violence mentions! minimal usage of y/n! not proofread!

Harry Potter had known torment like no other. Stood little over 5 foot tall, he had felt blistering rage poured from callous hands and the bitter loneliness nipping at his guts. But none of it, not the broom cupboard, not the scar, would be worse that enduring another double potions class.

And so, the boy who lived took a left turn down a spiral staircase instead of carrying on to the dungeons and followed the candlelit corridors until he found himself facing a dead-end. It was, he thought, maybe the most peaceful part of the castle he’d seen in his two months of admittance. There was no cobwebbed ceiling corners, no scathing suits of armour, no ghastly ghosts taunting his every breath. The walls were barren except for a lone portrait frame displayed on the far wall. Harry walked closer.

It was an empty frame, holding only a background of red curtains and a plush sofa. He wondered who that frame was meant to home and worried his footsteps had frightened them off. He turned to walk away, to find a shadowy area by one of the far courtyards where he could waste the rest of his two hours. But just as he did so, back already to the wall, he heard a gentle voice.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?”

nen-nyy

CRYING THIS WAS SO GOOD😭😭 THE END REMINDS ME OF THE END OF MONSTERS INC WHEN SULLY OPENS THE DOOR AND WE HEAR BOO😭😭😭

its-luna-noel

sun & shadow | gojo x reader

01. SUN: six-eyed dragons

summary: satoru gojo is one of the most powerful and prolific mafia bosses in tokyo. he's ruthless, murderous, and absolutely insufferable. you've been his personal assistant for the past year, perfectly content with your current dynamic. but there's change on the horizon and shadows lurking in every corner. being a mafia boss's assistant comes with its perks... and its challenges.

contents: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, mafia au, crime boss!gojo, smut, fluff, mafia dynamics, blood & violence, implied torture, guns, drinking, dangerous but infuriating gojo x capable and baddie reader, it's giving tony stark/pepper pots from iron man 1

word count: 7.5k

chapter: 1/2 next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi there! i've been reading jade city by fonda lee, so i've been wanting to write a mob/gang au since! i'm really happy with how this turned out, so i hope you enjoy! xx additional warnings for this chapter: eventual smut, oral (f! receiving), squirting, pulling out, cum eating, reader is bossy

nen-nyy

YALL THIS ATE SO HARD😝😝😝😝

just-some-random-blogger

Losing Dogs

Neither you or Aegon wanted to get married. Neither you or Aegon wanted to marry each other. But at some point, you figured you should make the most of what you had, and so you offer your husband a deal he cannot refuse.

Aegon Targaryen x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, arranged marriage/loveless marriage, smut (piv, virginity loss, rough/loveless sex) DD:DNE, alcoholism, violence, suicide/suicidal thoughts & ideation, mentions of domestic/child abuse, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, aegon's mommy issues, insecurities, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ... i had something to say about this fic but i forgot... maybe ill remember later???? edit: i did not remember. i thought of mitski while entitling this so go play i bet on losing dogs ig?

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @azperja @sloanexx @risefallrise

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

Aegon only truly understood what this meant the day he was married and he was forbidden to drink a drop of alcohol.

As if it wasn't painful enough that he was going to be married to a complete stranger from some house he's never fucking heard of, he was erratic and uneasy the whole day because of the withdrawal. He loathes the preparation, the ceremony, the fucking pageantry of it all.

nen-nyy

Crying my eyes out…this isn’t for the weak 😭

lianadelune

The Dragon's Lament

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

Synospsis: You arrive at the Red Keep as a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena Targaryen, your only expectation is a quiet life of courtly duties, a way for you to undo the mistakes of the past. But your world shifts when you capture the attention of Aegon Targaryen, the reckless and reluctant heir to the throne. What begins as distrust and curiosity turns into something far more dangerous—an undeniable pull neither of them can resist.

As whispers of war and succession swirl through the castle halls, their connection deepens, defying duty, loyalty, and the weight of the Targaryen name. But the closer they draw to each other, the more the walls close in. Forbidden love in the Red Keep is never without consequence.

In the end, dragons are not undone by steel, but by their own hearts—and Aegon’s will cost him everything.

AO3

The Dragon's Lament Masterlist

Chapter 3

nen-nyy

Y’ALL THIS SERIES GOT ME LIKE

ITS SO GOOD

kenmaspuddinghair

Honorably discharged partially disabled Simon, who swears he is perfectly fine and capable of doing everything himself. But it doesn’t really matter what he thinks says because Price sees differently. He sees the way Simon’s hands shake and how he’s started fidgeting when he’s never done that in the past, he can see Simon’s right side, the side that was crushed under rubble during an attack, he sees it shake and almost falter every time Simon puts even a little bit to much weight on it, but what worry’s Price the most is when Simon zones out and stops paying attention to his surroundings or whatever he’s doing. Not to mention now Simon has to go back and live in civilization, when all he’s known is military life since he was still a teen.

So although Simon claims he’s fine, Price gets him live-in-help, you. You’ve been with him the past week and although he rarely talks you’ve learned a few things. The blinds always need to be fully open unless he’s sleeping, he needs to be able to see what’s happening but it’ll keep him up when he’s trying to sleep, so they close at night. He gets very tense when he can’t see your hands, it hurts you a little to know he doesn’t trust you but you understand. He can't cook at all, unless you prepare food for him he’ll only eat a prepackaged dinner nothing else, of course that isn't healthy so you've started fixing him both breakfast and lunch which he accepts with a grunt but he doesn’t eat till you’ve started. He never takes off his mask around you unless he's eating and even still only up to his nose. Lastly you've noticed something always sparked in his eyes when you called him Simon, you haven't been able to figure out what it is so instead of risking offending him or something, you've stuck to calling him Ghost.

Price chose you for two reasons, you were quite, something he thought Simon would like, he was very wrong. It’s probably the oddest thing about him, he doesn’t like when you're super quiet you've learned it cause he doesn’t know where you are or what you’re planning the other reason is Price hired you is because you were a military nurse for quite a bit so you would always be there for Simon. This was something Simon actually did like it meant he didn’t have to leave his flat just to see a doctor, what he didn’t think about though was the cut and bruise on his face that he would have to remove his balaclava for.

“Okay Ghost” you paused not sure how he would react to having to take his mask off “I-i need you to remove your mask for me please” almost immediately he grunted out a why “because you have a cut and bruise on your face and I need to make sure it’s healing properly” Simon stilled completely for a few seconds before he slowly pulled the balaclava completely off. You took a second looking over his entire face before you brought your hand up inspecting the area “your bruise is completely gone” you whispered slightly surprised it had only been a week, you went to write it down but the moment your hand left his face he spoke up “it’s still ere, jus can’t see it” carefully your brought you hand back to his face to carefully push on his check “does that hurt” “bit” was all he grunted out, you hummed to yourself as you removed your hand and started writing, but had you been looking at him you would have seen the almost pout gracing his face.

Once you finally looked back up, placing your hand on his face “okay let’s finish this quickly” you say looking over his scar “I know I’m not that pretty but you ain’t gotta rush” he said in the quietest voice. You looked up into his eyes quickly only to find them looking back at you with what you could only describe as curiosity mixed with need “Gh-Simon that’s not what I meant, your very beautiful I just thought you wouldn't want me touching or looking at your face any more since you always hide it behind that mask” he never replied to you, just kept staring with that look in his eyes. Finally you peeled your eyes away, finished writing whatever you needed to in your book then you got up and walked away “I’m gonna fix us some lunch, okay Simon?” you called from in the kitchen already, and that’s when Simon managed to place the feeling he had been having every time he saw you. He liked you, he had a crush, a crush! “Simon?” You called again “yeah okay” he called back, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up, not when he thinks he might have found a new purpose in life.

pt 2 here

nen-nyy

WAS TOOOO GOOODDD GREAT JOB 👏🏼

gold-onthe-inside

coffee for two

summary: spencer picks you up for coffee after a lecture. that's the whole fic. who? dad!spencer reid (s9/10) x history prof!reader content warning: references to undiagnosed neurodivergence and bullying, benji's arm fracture. word count: 3.2k author's note: opening event for spring-fest, hope y'all enjoy. thanks to @esote-rika for the margary kempe info

Spencer checked his hair for the umpteenth time in his reflection on the window, waiting by your lecture hall, debating whether to catch the end of your lecture or not. Before he can decide whether his desire to see you in action again trumped his aversion of distracting you at work, students spilled out of the door, carrying bags and laptops and fat chunks of reading material.

With class clearly over, Spencer managed to make his way into the hall to get a look at you… wearing a graphic blue t-shirt of Joan of Arc, holding a sword high with the words, ‘I am not afraid, I was born to do this,’ written underneath and tucked into formal slacks and a black and silver belt completing your look.

His grin is irrepressible as he comes down the ramp to join you as you collected your laptop and papers from the desk, taking off your mic and wrapping the cord around the transmitter when you looked up. “Hi.” Your voice is pleasantly surprised, smile matching his at his breathlessness. “Were you running?”

nen-nyy

Oh yeah THIS HIT THE SPOT

bunny-jpeg

single father simon (again!!!) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

the apartment building felt bad for simon riley. a military man with a newborn daughter, his lovely little ruby with her tuft of blond hair and big curious dark eyes. she was a spitting image of her father, except compacted into a chubby little girl.

ruby was precious though, which was why as simon's neighbour you made sure the riley's were taken care of. you'd often bring over leftovers, telling simon that it was impossible to cook for one person.

"simon." you said with your hands on your hips, "if anyone tells you that you can make a lasagna for one person is lying or trying to sell you something... which means they're also lying. so take it!" you weren't taking no for an answer!

you even went as far as to donate to him one of your old onsies from when you were a baby (it wasn't like it was doing anything in storage). it was a pastel pink with an embroidered winnie the pooh. when simon saw you holding her after he put it on her, his heart leapt. he wanted to put all of his babies in the clothes you wore when you were a baby.

it wasn't that simon was finding another womb to occupy, but you were simply so good with ruby. when he had to drive out of the city and to base or had to sit on boring online debriefs. you were more than happy to watch ruby. you worked from home at a lackluster office job, you didn't mind having the little girl nearby! she brought a little excitement to the job when you identified objects in your office.

"this is a stapler! you use this to i guess.. staple pages together! s-t-a-p-l-e-r!" then smiled at the girl in the playpen.

the nail in the coffin for simon was when you were watching her for an afternoon and all of a sudden you were feverishly knocking on the door. in your arms was the little girl, she didn't look hurt. but you looked scared.

"i'm so sorry, simon..." you swallowed, "she said her first word. i know it said between ten to fourteen months, but! i didn't think it would be almost right at ten!"

"what did she say?" simon said as he beckoned you inside, a strong arm curled around your shoulders as you carried ruby.

you looked at him with a big frown before you said, "goddamnit... her first word was goddamnit." apparently you were cutting peppers for dinner and nicked your finger. you said the word and she parroted it!

simon knew you were going to be his bride. his missuses, the new mother to his baby girl and the future mother of all the other riley kids.

the electricity between you two aided in your eventual tumbling into bed. simon spread you out on the big queen mattress as let that large cock of his bully the deepest parts of your sex. simon made sure that ruby was safe with another (much older) neighbour so you wouldn't worry. (you were already becoming so much like a mother, it was honestly endearing!!).

simon managed to take you missionary, the mating press and finally ending with doggy style. your sweet moans only made him go harder. he needed to breed his future wife!! did he maybe forget to mention that he wasn't using protection, maybe. there was no evidence that he did or didn't. but when that little piece of plastic came back positive, he was there for you.

he knelt in front of you while you sat on the toilet. his large hand in your hair, "don't be sad, love. you're already a mother to ruby, why not give her a sibling? a little brother to bully." he then took your hands and kissed you on the cheek, "we'll be a family. we could even get married tomorrow if that makes you feel better?"

you'd be married at the courthouse within the week. simon in his military finest and you in a dress that you thrifted only days prior. you had even made you own veil and it turned out well. your bouquet was flowers stolen from the front of city hall. daisies, roses and a few dandelions.

he pulled you in for the kiss, a promise that you two would be together forever. and the two day honeymoon with just the two of you (and technically the baby you carried) was nothing short of romantic. you stayed in the city, but you two played tourist. you both didn't want to be too far away from ruby. after all she was so small.

soon you became the mother of two with a loving husband. ruby and her future brother that was sound asleep in your womb as you laid cuddled up next to simon. maybe his methods were a little unorthodox to bag himself a proper mama for his daughter. but you melted into the role so easily.

"my beautiful wife." he said with his voice tinged with utter devotion. he didn't want another woman to be his daughter's mother! only you, and he had the ring to prove it.

you were the perfect wife to him and the perfect mother to ruby. and you'd only get better with your son on the way. <3

nen-nyy

UGH I loveeee these types of stories

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