I like my men fictional, slightly homicidal, crazy, clingy, and desperate 💜 I like to read and listen to music and watch anime oh and eat a lot!!! Feel free to talk to me I don’t bite (unless asked ;) Age:18 Sex: female Favorite color: purple Sexual preference: men
To the amazing people who tagged me <333: @dreamshaxd @thesummerrtriangle @koreanbibliophilegirl
The amazing people who like a reblog my nonsense <333: @demoniccrowz @quotidian-oblivion @unknown-guesses @fr-likes-chocolate @foursixtwonineoh-pizzas-of-lego @igotthisaccountunderduress @brb-on-a-quest @behold-a-cat
I’m retagging because there’s a bit of overlap here hehe)
@crow-aeris @igotthisaccountunderduress @quotidian-oblivion @gremmyroeroe @brb-on-a-quest @myfairkatiecat @thehummingbirdsmatter @informedimagining @junojojo @marithefriendlyghost @themundanemudperson I love you allllllllll
theres literally so many accounts i love seeing on my feed (and a lot of you are my mutuals!!!! which is crazy!!!!!! like wdym this person wrote the greatest piece of literature the world has seen and they’re my mutual anyways)
HELL YEAH I LOVE POSITIVITY!!!!! MY TEST RESULTS FOR BEING HAPPY ARE POSITIVE!!!!!!!
@everyone. how do i do thi- oh right we're not on discord..
@fatelosingitspatience @beatrixie12 @grillthusiast @agendermarimba @transmasc-offical @laufey-official @fish-with-autism @fishthebassistrawrxd @mildcharacterenjoyer @harbinger-of-silly @riddleribbonkat @just-your-normal-human-being @maddiegayashell @bacone-official @knickknat @creationclown @clowncore09 @oogl3 @drumsticks-offical @c7b3rzp4c3 AND ALL MY OTHER FRIENDS AND MOOTS AND PEOPLE AND BEINGS WHO I HAVE INTERACTED WITH!!!!! STAY POSITIVE!!!!!!!
synopsis: everyone loves to tell you how lucky you are a guy like Nanami sees something in you. even you don't get it sometimes. intelligent. handsome. the kind of gentleman who opens every door for you and gets flowers delivered just because. you never would've guessed what kind of double life he might be hiding. or how far he'll go to keep his squeaky clean cover story - and you.
pairing: serial killer!Nanami x gf!Reader
content: mdni, angst, light fluff, smut, mentions of murder/blood, multiple povs, childhood friends-to-lovers, distant/cold nanami, lonely reader, insecurities, jealousy, unhinged nanami, unprotected piv sex, pulling out, breaking and making up, domestic fluff, sukuna being a nosey shit lmfao, flirting, regret, grovelling, complicated relationships, more tags in each chapter
chapter index
one: vows
two: vulgarities
three: rings
four: wrongs
five: in sickness
six: and health
alternate ending: till death do us part
a/n: everyone say thank you to @starmapz for encouraging this
Hey y’all so I’m a manager for a small content for YouTube (she is my mother) and she’s gonna be doing comfort ASMR and I really need some help with making her feel welcome so please maybe try and watch some of her videos when they come out.
And please be nice to her. 🙏🏼
And here is her handle @YourFriendlyNeighborhoodMom
ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ join me for a super special celebration! i recently hit a milestone that i'm super happy with and wanted to do something fun to celebrate. i had so much fun writing this for @jazzthatonewriterchick i've just been in the mood for more fantasy stuff :3 will be a selection of drabbles + a few oneshots featuring some of our favorite jjk characters <3
✮⋆˙ the merman…starring suguru geto!
✮⋆˙ the mermaid…starring yuki tsukumo!
✮⋆˙ the prince…starring satoru gojo!
✮⋆˙ the mage…starring suguru geto!
✮⋆˙ the priest…starring choso kamo!
✮⋆˙ the jester…starring satoru gojo!
✮⋆˙ the knight…starring toji fushiguro!
✮⋆˙ the dragon…starring ryomen sukuna!
✮⋆˙ the fairy…starring shoko ieri!
✮⋆˙ the thief…starring ryomen sukuna!
✮⋆˙ the villainess…starring multiple jjk characters!
lions, tigers, and bears, oh my! all sorts of strange and bizarre stories starring your favorite jjk!men - on leashes and in collars!
synopsis: curses can't stop them from loving you! whether it's getting transformed into your pet or adoption gone wrong, it's more than just puppy love - no matter who's wearing the ears. but not everything has a happy ending, and if you're not careful, you could end up the one being caged.
content: mdni, smut and angst and fluff, curses turning the men (and you) into animals (BUT NO ONE IS HAVING SEX WITH JUST AN ANIMAL ITS ONLY AFTER THEY TURN BACK OKAY!), but also some hybrid stuff lol, pet play, collars, muzzles, leashes, unprotected piv sex, creampie, mating presses, doggy style (pun intended), heat cycles, knotting, all around this will be FREAKY, more tags to be found in individual chapters
εϊз indicates pet play
ᕱ.ᕱ indicates animal transformation
೨౿ indicates hybrid au
meet the pampered...
simply ear-resistible! starring bunny!Geto x sorcerer!reader ᕱ.ᕱ
purr...starring bf!Geto x kitty gf!reader εϊз
chew toy...starring puppy hybrid!Gojo x sorcerer fwb!reader ೨౿
freak on a leash starring dog!Toji ᕱ.ᕱ
meet the rescues...
FREE SNAKE, PICKUP ASAP...starring snake!Sukuna x owner!reader ᕱ.ᕱ
farm animal...starring ostrich hybrid!Sukuna x farmer!reader ೨౿
lapdog...starring king!Sukuna x servant!reader εϊз
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, modern AU, f! reader(s), established relationships, breakups/makeups, all of these take place in the same au but with diff readers, oral (m! + f! receiving), piv sex, sukuna + naoya are their own warnings lol, gojo + choso being down atrociously for their girls :p
cyberbully!Sukuna x f2p!Reader
one two three four five six seven eight
cutscenes : five stars
ex-bf!Naoya x influencer!Reader
one two three four five six
streamer!Choso x fangirl!Reader
one two three four five six
cutscenes: game over?
chronically online loser loverboy!Gojo x nerdy!Reader
one two three four five six seven
cutscenes: marriage material
pro-gamer!Geto x roommate!Reader
one two three four five six seven
youtuber!Nanami x cosplayer!Reader
one two three four five six seven
bonus:
their valentine's day gift to you + your gift to them
Losing contact with you sent a panic to Ghost. You went alone inside just to prove something without caring about your life, to capture Hassan. The last he heard from you was a cough over the comms before everything went silent. Minutes fifteen later he saw two figures and identified them as you and Hassan through the scope of his sniper rifle from a different building. The only reason he hasn't pulled the trigger yet is because you're still moving without a plan. Blood flowing from the side of your head is clear in his vision.
He's watching Hassan hauling you up against the glass of that building, neither of you winning the fight.
So he finally pulled the trigger , aiming for Hassan's head. He could see blood splattering everywhere but his heart drops when he sees both of you fall.
𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. 𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱.
Just then, you stumble and sit up. A relieved breath leaves Ghost as you speak over the radio “Perfect Shot, Lt"
He'll always deny his anxiety in this situation forever, as he reaches up and responds back “You called it Sergeant”.
A few days later after that mission was over 141 were in a pub, celebrating their victory. Price and Laswell were discussing something among themselves at a distance , imbibing whiskey. At a separate table, Soap is already three drinks deep and Gaz was laughing at something on his phone. Ghost hasn't touched his drink yet. He kept glancing at you, sitting at a distance talking to someone from logistics. Every time you glance at him, he looks away. Every time you laugh? He looks away fast but not fast enough for you to catch him.
Price noticed this from where he was sitting. He nudged Laswell like a tired father indicating her to look at you two. She chuckled before muttering something close to 'big kids with conversation issues' . He decided to do something for Ghost, after all he knows that man. He texts the masked man something specific and continues to nurse his whiskey.
**𝙏𝙚𝙣 𝙔𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙇𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧**
“And that's how yer dad could finally confess to yer mum. After Uncle Price decided to nudge that man. Bloody funny if ye ask me”
“Uncle Soap! Tell us more! I can't believe dada was so shy back then! He hugs and kisses mama every day!” The six year old kid muttered. Beside him a two year old was simply staring at the adults with sparkling eyes.
“Andrew come on, stop disturbing your uncles. They're not going anywhere you can listen to that story later. Also, soap you know how Andrew and Grace loves to hear these stories. Tell them later.” you spoke as you continued to bake the fresh batch of sourdough.
The kitchen smells like roast chicken and herbs, Your recipe. You wipe your hands on a towel, before finally walking into the living room.
Simon stands by the sink in rolled-up sleeves no balaclava, no skull mask. Just *him* . Simon Riley. The man who used to be Ghost, the legend of 141 but now he's just... Dad.
His hair is a little grayer at the temples, his face lined with time instead of tension alone. He scrubs dishes quietly, humming some old British tunes under his breath.A rare sign of contentment.
Soap grins wide as Andrew protests “But mama! I wanna hear more about you and dada!”.
Grace giggles into her stuffed rabbit while Price watches from an armchair with that same calm pride , the kind only a father figure can have when seeing someone they raised actually happy.
Gaz leans against the wall while sipping tea and muttering “Never thought we'd see the day Simon Riley settling down with wife and kids. But miracles sure do happen.”
How 26 eight year olds "accidentally" adopted a SAS Lieutenant. (Simon Riley x fem! teacher reader.) (SFW)
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! teacher reader.
OOOOOO MAMA THIS IS MY MANNNNNNN THIS IS MY HUSBANDDDDD THIS IS THE FATHER OF MY CHILDRENNNNNNN. I am so normal about him. totally not batshit insane over him what so ever. Also, this is not a self insert because I am definitely not a teacher!! why would you even ask that, thats so weird. how dare you.
WC: 3264. (the absolute crack this gave me needs to be studied.)
November 11th was three months away almost to the exact day, and the entire classroom was scribbling letters to veterans and active members alike.
There was no telling if anyone would answer, but they wrote letters regardless. The board had instructions, as well as the big words some of the kids struggled to spell.
You sat at your desk, and graded last week's math test as the kids whispered to one another about what was going into their letters. The rules were simple, no personal information other than your name, age and grade, and don’t ask any gory or violent questions.
Most of the letters would involve something along the lines of “thank you for your service” and “is it scary being in a different country without your mom?”
Kid things.
A few would have questions about bomb sniffing dogs, or if they ever saw a gun go off (Both things, you knew the soldiers would have seen.) but eight year olds don’t know. They assume war is far far away and exactly how it's depicted in the movies their parents watch.
You had no idea what soldier would get your classes letters, if it would be someone with their own kids, and realize the backwards letters in marker were causing boatloads of homesickness, or if it would be a war hardened man who wouldn’t respond with anything other than a thank you.
For the kids sake, you hoped it was someone who would write more than just three sentences.
“Miss, how do we know who is gonna get the letters?” Clara asks and you look up “Oh, we don’t know.” Standing, you walk to the front of the room. 26 pairs of eyes follow.
“We don’t?”
“But how do we know someone's gonna answer us?”
“What if they don’t read our letters?”
You smile “someone will read them. I mail them out, and someone on their end hands them out to the soldiers. One soldier will get all of our letters and become our classroom's own inside scoop.”
“Woah.”
“Do you think he has a gun?”
“Miss what happens if no one answers our letters?”
“Someone will.” you promise “this program is for people who signed up to answer our letters, they want to.”
A moment of understanding passes over the class and all the kids look back down to their own handwriting asking questions only kids would.
“Alright,” You hum and look at the clock “do we need another couple minutes? Remember don’t write on the envelopes, I’ll do that for you.”
It's unanimous that the kids want more time, and so you sit back down at your desk and finish up grading.
Three weeks later, there they were. The bundle of letters was on your desk when you came in that morning. Each a uniformed grey, with a little stamp and the address of the school on it in neat handwriting.
They’re here.
Three weeks the entire class had been on edge, three weeks of “miss are they in yet?” and “Miss, do you think they’ll be in tomorrow?”
Three weeks of disappointed faces and excited chatter at all times of the day.
You go to the board, and clear off the first two blocks of the day, instead writing “Letters” in bold marker. They were gonna go nuts.
You find one addressed to you on top of the pile, and silently thank god the kids weren’t in yet so you could read it quickly-in case it was a “don’t ever send me another letter again” kind of message.
To your delight, it wasn’t. In fact, it was the complete opposite.
The soldier, who introduced himself as Simon Riley, wrote that he wasn’t great with kids but tried to answer their questions with as much detail as he could provide-and of course it was all appropriate for kids-
He revealed that he wasn’t much of a talker, but the questions these kids wrote were hard to not answer, in fact he kept thinking about them until he answered all of them.
All of them. 26 letters with a page of answers for every. Single. One.
Simon added that he would be inclined to keep responding to the letters, if the class wanted to send more. Gave him something to do during downtime when he wasn’t being annoyed by his teammates.
As if the kids would ever refuse something like this. They were gonna explode when they found out.
It was hard to keep the smile off your face when the kids came in, taking their seats at the desks. You couldn’t help but want to blurt out the good news when the kids put two and two together thanks to the change in their schedule.
Because of the excitement, you had to call out the names one by one, ensuring nothing got too crazy.
As expected, the kids go bonkers. Each of them squealing and grinning as they read the messages written to them by “Mr. Riley” as he became formally known by.
You walk around the classroom, listening to each kid as they pull you to read a sentence or show off a small drawing in the margin.
After the 6th kid, you realize Simon-sorry, Mr. Riley-has written back with each children’s name, answered their question and included either a small drawing or a funny joke.
This man… this soldier, has taken time out of whatever he was doing, or staying up late, to finish each of these letters and get them back to the classroom. Oh my god.
It's safe to say, the class loses their mind. And for the next part of the morning, it's all they talk about.
During recess, you take the time to write your own letter back. Thanking him for his service (again) and how thoughtful each of the letters were, alongside explaining how excited the kids were to receive the letters. You end the letter with your full name, instead of your regular teacher sign off, it just felt right.
The following day, your class writes response letters-now they know someone was on the other side answering. They dig in deeper. Asking about his own school, if he knew how to spell big words, if he had a dog.
A week later (were these letters being mailed out as urgent? That was fast for anyone's standards.)
“MR. RILEY ANSWERED.” someone shouts, pointing to the letters on your desk just after lunch.
Safe to say, he was a celebrity in less than a month. The kids ADORED him, and each of them felt they had their own bond with him. Each of the letters were written with the same type of tone, and Simon wasn’t talking down to any of them like some people do with kids, he was talking to them like people.
It becomes a thing-and now it's halfway into October, the classroom decorated for Halloween already. (your class was enthusiastic about holidays) the kids write, Simon responds. You always add your letters in, thanking him and wishing him well. He sounded more like an adult in his letters to you, adding little jabs and jokes about his team or your bosses. He was…god damn it, he was sneaking into your head when you were home alone, or when you were in bed.
This was going to become an issue for you, but it was nice to imagine for the time being.
The kids went nuts over every answer, reading them out loud to each other. “Listen, listen! I asked Mr. Riley if he had a dog, and he said ‘no. The dog would probably outrank me’… Miss, what does outrank mean?”
“I asked Mr. Riley what his favorite dinosaur was, and he said T-rex! That's my favorite too!”
“I drew a picture of Mr. Riley and his team and he said that one of his teammates has a mohawk! A mohawk! How cool is that? Miss, Miss, did you see the mohawk!”
It was safe to assume that Mr. Riley was the coolest person ever, and some of these kids held him on a higher pedestal then the state did.
You imagine an older man, maybe with a desk job now, but pulling these stories and funny jokes from when he was in active service. You knew Simon wasn’t retired, because he told you, but nothing could have prepared you for the letter you received the last week of October.
“I’m going to be on deployment for the next two weeks, won’t be able to answer. Tell the kids I’m sorry and to hang on tight until I get back.”
Deployment. He was active. He was an active soldier, going into battle and he was STILL keeping up with each and every letter.
You tell the kids about Simon going away for a bit and the energy in the room dips. Upset, but understanding, the kids wait. And wait. And wait.
You get an email this time, and your heart kicks starts-but it's not from Simon. It's from the association that put together this whole thing. For one second, one fleeting second, you assume the worst.
“Oh sorry, the soldier you and your class were speaking to has died in battle, please send letters to someone else.”
Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. Simon was okay-at least, you assumed so. This email was asking both you and your principal if the soldiers the classes had been in contact with, could come and visit the classrooms.
Without hesitation you say yes, and add that your classroom soldier was on deployment, hoping that it didn’t matter much and they would work around that, instead of just ignoring your classroom.
You nor the kids would survive that.
The answer comes back two days later, Monday morning. A resounding “we’d love to have them!” from your principal and a promise to work around everyone's schedules, including Simons.
You write a letter to Simon for when he gets back, hoping everything works out.
“Dear Simon,
The class would love to meet you, but I know you are currently away. I haven’t said anything to them because I don’t want to get their hopes up, and if you don’t know, deal with the aftermath. They think you're the coolest person ever, and would love to meet you. If you do decide to come, we’ll welcome you with open arms. Please consider the offer but no pressure of course.
Wishing you the best,
y/n.”
“Y/n,
I’m writing this at 3am, I just got back from… where I was. I can’t tell you, but just know there was a lot of sand I didn’t enjoy. I said no to coming to the school originally, but I reread the letters the kids sent and changed my mind. I don’t know if they would have already sent in the list, but I will be there.
Thanks for reaching out, I’ve got all my limbs fyi.
Simon R.”
That letter gets tucked into your work bag. That's for you and you only. Later that night, you re-read it.
He said no. Then he changed his mind.
You won’t lie, when that finalized list came in, and Simon wasn’t on it-your heart sank. You were quietly devastated that day but refused to tell the kids. You wouldn’t ruin the image of Simon in their minds, even if they were told there could be a chance he misses it because Mr. Riley was on a mission.
November 15th, was the day the school was welcoming in the classroom soldiers. Every class had cleaned and each room had a “welcome to our class” banner they worked on the last few days.
Your class was… enthusiastic to say the least. Once the confirmation was given, you told the class about Mr. Riley coming in and they went insane. The banner was filled with drawings and messages, and there was a stuffed dog someone brought to remind Simon of the bomb sniffing dog he spoke of.
That morning was like trying to wrangle a bunch of sugar crazy, insane little animals. Even the quiet kids were talking amongst their peers, everyone was on the edge of their seats.
A knock.
The room goes dead silent, and all of them look at you, waiting to see what you do.
You walk over, and take a breath before opening the door. Since you had ruled out an older man with the desk job after Simon told you about the deployment, you really didn’t have an idea of what he looked like.
But nothing could have prepared you for who you saw.
Standing at least 6’4, in pressed uniform, was Simon. Tattoo’s covered both his arms and one of his hands, medals adorn his chest, and a hat in his hand.
You just stare at one another, your cheeks pink and his lips quirk. “Miss,” he nods his nice “I’m Lt. Riley, nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand and you take it slowly “it's so nice to meet you in person. I have-we have thought about you for a while.”
Nice save.
Simon’s lips pull into that half smile half smirk, and nods "I've thought about this class as well.”
You smile, eyes lighting up and Simon has to remind himself how to breathe.
“Miss?” one of the kids called “miss, is that mr. Riley?”
You grin, and swing open the door. “Alright, please stay in your seats.” Simon steps into the class behind you, towering over you. The entire class stares.
26 pairs of eyes are on him, on his uniform, his medals, the scar on his lip, at the hat in his hands. Little minds take in everything about the soldier standing in their classroom. He looks a little out of place with all the artwork and laminated reminders to sound out words and use punctuation.
“Hes huge.”
“Is that really him?”
“Why is he not in camo?”
The kids whisper and you lead Simon to the chair with the plush dog. “Cute.”
“It's my dog!” Sarah gasps “he said my dog was cute! Miss, did you hear?” You nod and smile “I did.”
Your hand stays on the back of the chair when Simon sits and he looks ridiculous in the small chair, but no one laughs. “I’m gonna get them to sit on the carpet, is that okay?” you ask quietly and Simon nods. “Yes ma’am, fine by me.”
Directing the kids to come and sit on their carpet seats, it's almost laughable how none of them can tear their eyes away from him.
“Okay” You hum “how about we start by introducing ourselves. Mr. Riley-is it Mr. Riley? Should we call you something else?”
Simon shrugs “mr. Riley's fine.”
“Mr. Riley knows us by our names, not our faces right? So let's go ahead and one by one tell him who we are!” you gesture to Karl “go ahead.”
One by one the kids introduce themselves, putting a face to the names that signed the letters. You watch as Simon files away their names, finally matching crayon drawings and knock knock jokes to each child.
Simon repeats them quietly, under his breath, you wonder if it's some sort of military memory training.
26 names, 26 hellos and how are you, 26 little kids looking at Simon like he hung the moon because of them? Answering their letters and being in the military was an equivalent to being a celebrity.
It's an open floor, for both Simon and the kids. They raise their hands but end up talking over one another in that clumsy, excited way all kids do.
He answers each question like it's the best question he’s ever heard. Simon takes them all seriously, and not because he basks in the spotlight like you might think, but because these kids and all their questions, they’re the reason his heart lurched when he found out about the deployment. They’re the reason he stayed up later than most to finish off writing so they have something to open when he is gone.
Hell, he was in the middle of the desert, taking cover behind some old rock, and was already thinking of ways he could make the story family friendly so he could share it with them.
Quiet students came up to him after that, whispering questions they didn’t want to ask in front of the rest of the class. Instead of answering for everyone, Simon whispers the answers back, and the kids smile when he respects their level.
Eye contact was a non-negotiable for Simon you found, everyone who asked a question got his undivided attention.
The entire time Simon spends in the class was taken up by the kids and their endless interest in him. He shows the few photos he can, some of his team (mohawk man was given a real name, which was soap, which the kids just about died laughing at.)
At the end of the day, you and Simon wave goodbye to each student and he takes home a folder full of drawings, friendship bracelets, and other artwork the kids wanted him to have.
“Well,” you say, sitting down in the now empty and quiet classroom. “Did you have fun? I hope they weren’t too much.”
Simon shakes his head “no ma’am, they were fine.”
“We’re off the clock now,” You smile, “you can call me by my first name.”
Simon nods and adds that you’ll have to call him Simon now. So you do, and he calls you by your first name like a man who isn’t sure he was worthy enough.
“How long are you in regular life?” you ask softly and he shrugs “as long as I want. I’m home for at least two weeks before I'm eligible for deployment again.”
“Well, if you ever feel like spending time in the classroom, we’d love to have you again.”
He nods “yeah, the kids are great. Teacher ain’t too bad either.”
You grin, and play with a spelling test on the pile “you flirting with me. Mr. Riley?”
“Simon.”
You blink, and smile softly “Simon.”
He shrugs “Ain’t very school friendly, but I figured we were in the clear with it being after hours.”
Humming, you nod. “Can’t argue with that.”
Simon watches you, he had the entire time. How you acted with the kids, how they revolve around you and all ask for your attention and you give it. You divide the attention and your time with each student, and remember little things about them.
They adore you.
“Are you free for dinner?” Simon asks bluntly and you meet his eyes “really?” He nods “I want to get to know the women who wrote me letters too, not just the kids.”
You blink, and blush “I'm not sure she’s very interesting.”
Scoffing, Simon crosses his arms, his biceps bulge. “I beg to differ, come on lovie, let me take you out.”
Well, how could you say no to that?
“Sure,” you reply, breathy. “Dinner sounds great.”
Simon hums and stands, you walk him to the door. “At seven, I'll be at yours,” he says. “How do you know my-?”
Simon pulls out a letter from inside his jacket, one you had written on your own time, from your place. He kept it.
“Read it whenever I felt like shit.” Simon reveals like it was nothing. “Had me thinking about you even in the desert.” You hold onto the doorframe, otherwise you’re sure you’d fall over. Simon smirks and nods at you again in a goodbye.
“I’ll be outside at 7, be ready."
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