#it’s giving always the artist never the muse
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Story idea: civilian draws villain because they have some unique feature (like wings, horns, or special markings) and the villain breaks into her house to pose for a flustered civilian.
“Dont you think I’m pretty?” Villain tilted her head, her eyes gleaming as she smirked. “…well, darling?”
“I—I mean…” Civilian pulled the covers tighter over her body, the thin sheets ruffling. “Not…not that you’re not pretty—you’re more than pretty—but…you shouldn’t be here. You need to go.” She babbled as the heat rose in her face.
Those wings.
Something about them we’re so perfect. She could see the stroke of her pencil trying to replicate the beauty in each feather, in every flutter and and oh-so inhumanly perfect detail, how the shimmering wings ruffled and twitched. Civilian could drown in her daydreams of drawing Villain, but Villain was dangerous. Everybody who could access the news knew it.
Villain scoffed, then stepped closer. “I’ve noticed you, trying to sketch me from a distance. Wouldn’t it be so much easier if I came and posed for you?” She flashed a teasing pout. “You need money, don’t you? You could probably sell the portrait for a lot of money. Don’t be just another starving artist, Civilian.”
Her eyes flitted around the room, at the cracks in the walls and creaky floorboards.
Civilian’s cheeks were on fire—Villain was in her room, practically demanding to be drawn—and even though it was dangerous beyond all belief to mess with forces such as Villain, Civilian did need the money, and Villain had made a good point about the money that selling it would reap.
What would be the harm of having Villain be her muse?
“I, uh…”
“Shh. You don’t need to talk, darling. Just draw. You’re very good at it.”
Nervously, Civilian swallowed the lump in her throat and reached for her sketch pad and pencil on the nightstand. It seemed inadequate to Civilian, as she looked down at her cheap, dingy supplies. Villain was a masterpiece. Someone like her deserved to be carved from the finest marble, to be painted in only the richest paints; Villain was a beauty who would’ve had statues and altars designed in her honor—people would throw themselves at her lap, sick dogs to rotten meat, offering their grandest items to her and her glory.
Civilian had the remainders of some pastels, a pencil and her sketchbook filled with half-drawn sketches of anatomy.
Her face was a forest fire when she looked back up at Villain, who was peering at her with a faint smirk.
“I…is there…anything specific you want me to draw?” Nervously, Civilian swallowed and sat up a little straighter.
Villain hummed. “Be creative. Surprise me.”
-
-
Her hands trembling, Civilian presented her sketch to Villain.
The villain’s eyes took in the sketch slowly. All the shaky lines, the eraser smudges and the detailed strokes of her feathers. She smiled, then took the sketch from Civilian’s hands and looked at it even closer, if such a thing was possible.
“Magnificent, as expected.” Villain commented appraisingly, then her eyes drifted to Civilian. “You know, I know a spot with an amazing view that could be the background. I’ll take you there later.”
“I…huh?” Somehow, Civilian’s brain went deeper into overdrive.
Since when did she go places with a villain? Why did the idea make her heart pound, and not just from fear?
“I’ll be careful not to drop you.” The winged villain sing-songed before she disappeared out the same window she had broken into the apartment with.
Civilian stared at the window, her jaw agape.
Whatever Villain’s insistence on this drawing was, it seemed that she wasn’t going to be easing up about it anytime soon.
She was sinking on the quicksand, yet her mind couldn’t stop conjuring images of Villain and all the ways her hands itched to draw her.
#civilian x villain#villain x civilian#heroes and villains#writing snippet#thank you anon <3#perhaps?#it’s giving always the artist never the muse
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Always the artist, never the muse.
I love making art believe me. It has been a part of me since I could pick up a pencil. I like to capture the things I see, to show everyone how I see it and its beauty. Most of all, I really loved to draw people I adored, people who were a part of my soul. But at some point, after countless hours of drawing these people, spread out beautifully and in their element and then seeing others do the same online, speaking of their muse and just thinking of your own process you wish to be the muse. Even for a moment, for a single drawing...a doodle even. Doesn't have to be perfect, doesn't even have to be good...just has to be.
I have had countless artist friends, one IRL who has been my muse before. I had a s/o who did art sometimes who was and still is one of my biggest muses. I've drawn my sister a few times, she's an artist herself, I've drawn my mom who used to draw, I have never even been given art. I have given away art though, to friends and family. Never appreciated even when I'd spent hours on it.
Except a throw away drawing my baby sister did, she claimed she made it for me but I had caught her in the lie. she had drew stick figures and just added black hair so it could be me. I still have it tucked away in my box of mementos. Even though it wasn't meant for me at first...at least someone gave me something like that. She has been the only one. I don't expect to be drawn, I don't even ask it but maybe...for once I could be beautiful enough to want to capture. To someone I'll be beautiful enough to want to immortalize on a paper , in a drawing, something someone spent longer than a second on.
Maybe to someone I'm worth putting in effort, maybe to someone they think I'd be a beautiful piece of art.
#is it so bad to be wanted#to be viewed as worthy#worthy of something someones loves doing#of catching someone's eye#oh to be the muse#even just once#always the artist never the muse#art tag#art tumblr#artists on tumblr#digital art#art#trends#old trend#never posted this but i wanted to clear a few drafts away#siriuslygay1981#baz rants#this applies to more than art too btw#i make clothes i crochet i knit i paint#i give away my soul to people who dont even know#who donteven care#no onligation to give smthn in return or at all#but also some friends give their other friends things but never me
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Can I request Hazbin Hotel characters reacting to an artist!reader that draws a lot but never shows anyone their work but one day accidentally left it out and their partner finds it and sees several sketches and finished drawings of them? Sorry if it’s an odd ask, I’m an artist and I thought it would be a cute idea I don’t see nearly enough, it’s okay if you can’t. Thank you either way!!!
Artist Rendition
Hazbin Gang x GN!Reader
TW:A little flirty with Angel’s reaction. Other than that none!
A/N: Not an odd request at all, Friend! For Angel’s part I did write for a male Reader and Fem Reader for Vaggie! KINDA SHORT I APOLOGIZE FRIEND!
-🦌Alastor🦌-
-🦌 Alastor was very curious to see you carry a sketchbook around all the time. He wanted to pry so badly.
-🦌 But he didn’t, he simply ignored the book and only ever asked about it if you were near him. You always get flustered and hide the book even further. Oh now he’s wondering what kind of dark secrets you have in there~
-🦌 But to his surprise when he finds it open and on a page, he sees drawings of him, he carefully flips the page and sees a half down sketch of him sitting in front of the fireplace.
-🦌 Oh boy you just made his ego inflate and his undead heart soar to new heights. His tail starts wagging and that’s the only way someone can catch how happy he is.
-🦌 Now? He’s going to poke a little fun at you, “My Dear, if you had to pick anyone in the hotel to be your muse who would it be?”
-🦌 Silly deer man loves you and your abilities, he often tells you that your work needs to be displayed in a museum.
-🍎Lucifer🍎-
-🍎 Oh boy- when he finds out you can draw? Oh he gets super excited and asks if you can draw him a duck- even if it’s a little doodle! He doesn’t care!
-He doesn’t really ask or pry into your hobby much but he will admit he does want to see what you draw.
-When he does see that you drew him of all people he gets all flustered and he’s prideful cause his partner?? His darling little angel drew him?!?
-He will volunteer to pose for you, he’s used to sitting still for hours on end!
-He will even pose naked if you want him to! Just say the word and he’ll drop his clothes right there.
-🎰Husk🎰-
-🎰 He watched you sit at the bar and draw to your heart's content and never really commented on it.
-🎰 When he does peek into your sketchbook it’s to pull behind the bar into a safe place so nothing ruins your work.
-🎰That’s when he notices the drawings and doodles of him and his tail curls happily. The way you captured him doing menial tasks sends his heart into overdrive.
-🎰 You were too good for him, damn it. The next time you find it? It has a little sticky note on the cover of your sketchbook and it has a little drawing of you with a small message, “Had to go out with Alastor. Love you, Dollface.”
-🕷️ Angel Dust 🩷-
-🕷️ Oh this man- he loves it! You’re an artist and he’s also like an artist! But of a very very different genre.
-🩷 He also doesn’t pry much as he understands privacy. He wants to give you that as much as he can since he doesn’t get much of it.
-🕷️ Once he finds out you draw him? He’s over the fucking moon cause his man? His precious boyfriend draws him!
-🩷Expect him to start flirting more and more but with art related flirts. “Come on, Suga’~ Draw me like one of your french girls~” im sorry. He’s very supportive!
-👑Charlie👑-
-👑 oh this baby girl..she’s been so busy lately that if she did notice it completely slipped her mind!
-👑 But when she finds your sketchbook? She gets super excited cause you draw this good?? She’s so proud that she immediately goes to find you!
-👑 She is another who fully supports you! You need anything, don't hesitate to ask!
-👑 Will try to convince you to start painting for the hotel! You can say no it won’t offend her.
-🎀Vaggie🎀-
-🎀 Much like Husk she won’t point it out or comment on it.
-🎀Will find out you draw her when she sees it when cleaning up and gets all blushy cause this is how you see her?
-🎀 Comes clean immediately about seeing your drawings and tells you how amazing they are.
-🎀 Shyly asks if she can pose for you next time, how could you say no to her?
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel imagine#gn reader#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor x reader#alastor x you#alastor x gn!reader#angel dust imagine#angel dust x you#angel dust x male reader#hazbin angel dust#angel dust x reader#vaggie x reader#hazbin vaggie#vaggie#charlie morningstar#charlie x reader#hazbin charlie#lucifer x reader#lucifer x you#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel lucifer#husker x reader#husker hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel husk#husk x reader#husk x you#male reader#female reader
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Stargazing (Twice Mina)
With the way things are going, Mina’s begging for trouble. And not the usual slap of the wrist kind that celebrities get away with—the kind that’s scandalous, career damning.
She’s so close to falling apart.
And as you watch her come undone—the very image that defines her gradually disappears—you can’t help but think: she deserves this.
—————
If there’s any clear-cut takeaway, it’s this: Mina is designed to be gorgeous, and she plays the part to near perfection.
That’s the whole point. Here’s a sea of media outlets and paparazzi, accompanied by flashing cameras and screaming fans on one side. On the other, stars and figures from different fields, all dressed to the nines and emanate a distinguishable aura. The ‘I’m better than you’ kind. No amount of modest smiles and perfectly curated PR-fluff can disguise the noxious air of celebrity on the red carpet.
Then you look at Mina, wearing the hell out of that backless dress, designed by none other than yours truly (you). You couldn’t have asked for a better muse. She carries herself and your brand around with a confident smile—with pride—seemingly indifferent to the raucous screams telling her to look this way, that way. Wherever her profile turns, cameras illuminate the crowd in near-perfect unison.
It’s a slow motion fashion moment.
As if she couldn't look any prettier, she brushes her hair with a quick, delicate swipe of her hand with queenly grace. The cameras live for moments like these. It’s what goes viral online; it’s what gets social media buzzing. She’s a K-pop idol, the media will say and it’s true, but she doesn’t look out of place with the so-called elite. If anything, she blends in seamlessly, rich, quiet, and enigmatic personality and all.
Cameras continue to follow her as she walks through the carpet. She greets a few other celebrities in the vicinity; mostly Hollywood actresses and artists before she disappears behind the steps of the building. Throughout the entire ordeal, you were never on her mind, not even during interviews, nor when she was in clear view, even though you made her what she is now. All she can think about is herself and her character. That’s how fame works.
You don’t even get a text. Your only reference is a note that reads 23:00.
—————
The next time you see Mina is hours later, at the promised time. One slender leg enters the backseat of the vehicle. She remains mostly untouched, leaving the gala looking the same as when she entered. She’s considerate enough to wave and give a flying kiss to the crowd, who unsurprisingly, go crazy for her. It’s a convincing act. You would, too, if you weren’t always by her side for ninety percent of the day.
She breathes out this deeply relieved sigh once the door slams shut. She’s tired—of being someone else, and just exhausted in general; she’s been in front of a mirror since five in the morning and it’s almost midnight by the time the event ends. You can tell she’d rather be in her hotel suite than anywhere else.
So you drive. No words. Just hit the road and get out of there.
Even late into the night, Paris is still bustling and lively. You don’t make it past three streets before being met by traffic ahead. It’s an agonizing crawl. The satnav says you’ll arrive at your hotel by 2:00 in the morning. Mina probably won’t make it by midnight, at this point because she’s on the verge of falling unconscious, resting her head on the door. Her heels are set on the opposite end, with her lower half resting along the edges of the backseat into a couch position.
Even when she’s asleep, she’s still gorgeous.
“Miss?” you gently call to her, snapping her from her tired daze. She gives you a mild stare through the rear-view mirror, unable to speak.
“We’re gonna be held up by traffic. You want something to eat?” you ask, knowing she likely won’t take anything more than a handful of fries or half a burger.
“Sure. Whatever.” Mina sounds cold, a little annoyed somewhat. The past day has been unkind to her health; she arrived at the airport yesterday after a different schedule and barely had less than five hours of rest before dedicating the entire day for a gala she had contractual obligations to attend. She couldn’t say no even if she wanted; she’s got her whole schedule curated and planned out for months.
You have more time to get her dresses planned out and prepared out than she has to breathe.
And time is unkind to both of you right now. Traffic trogs along at a snail’s pace. The arrival time on the satnav moves further and further away. Sunrise will meet you above a red light at this rate. How anyone gets around in this city considering the number of events that are happening all at once is beyond you. You only drive through Paris a handful of times a year, all for the same reason, and you abhor the idea—let alone the experience—every single time.
It’s difficult enough to wait, especially in this late of hours, when money and careers are on the line. Even more challenging is keeping a cool head and withholding yourself from using your instincts against the trusted systems of the algorithm. Mina will call you many things. She’ll call you insane. You don’t mind; it’ll be on the lower end of insults and comments you’ve heard from the so-called ‘elite.’
At the end of the day, you’re just simply following orders.
You swerve off the main road, into narrow alleys and streets that aren’t registered on any official map. Anywhere that can give you a sense of progress and hold momentum. You drive. You make liberal use of your klaxon against anything and anyone. You go around in circles, sometimes looking at the satnav if it’s kind enough to give you a shorter, quicker path. In your haste, you completely overlook the star, the celebrity you’re meant to protect and coddle like fine art, and cracks begin to form.
“Shit!” Mina fastens the seatbelt, in distress and wide awake from your uncharacteristically aggressive driving. She lifts her head. Pierces your gaze through the rearview mirror with a mixture of panic, concern, and frustration. All that hours spent in the makeup room to look perfect, down to the smallest of details, coming undone within a few minutes.
She seemed rather proud of her appearance, too.
Of course, her demands bounce off your ears—or ring through like white noise. You only know your task. Get her safe.
Even though it’s your very idea, you forget about the thought of eating, too. You’ve passed by a couple of McDonalds along the way, but are blinded by tunnel vision to recognize a single one. It’s not a big loss; she’s as tired of eating fast food as much as you are. It isn’t good for her image right now, either.
Eventually, you do make it back to her hotel. A little over midnight, but still not as early as you wanted to be. You look at the status of your passenger princess. She’s about as coddled as a five year old playing with her doll. A mess.
When you open up the door for her to step out, it’s a dramatic moment that gathers everyone’s attention and fixes every eye. It’s loud.
It also so happens to be empty in the area.
The way she slaps you in the cheek echoes throughout the valet like the sharp crack of a whip, or the pop of a firework. Fucking hell, she hits hard. For a dainty woman like Mina, she’s surprisingly strong. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, cold and bitter.
You find no mistake in what you did. In fact, you believe you’re doing her a service. Tomorrow, she’ll be at the airport and out of the country faster than when she came in. She doesn’t have to think about you for the foreseeable future. You only see a moody, ill-tempered celebrity frustrated that circumstances haven’t gone her way. Chalk it up to fatigue, but you can’t be arsed to explain yourself or react accordingly at this point.
She’s also pretty when she’s angry, you can’t help but think. Not the pouty, cute, wholesome kind—the ‘I’m gonna rip your throat’ out kind of ire. Sometimes you forget your job and admire just how gorgeous Mina is. You’re no different than the paparazzi or the average fan.
It makes her heated. You’re mentally smirking.
It would be a waste to fight over something as petty as reckless driving this late. No one got hurt; not a single traffic light or speed limit was violated. But her heart jumped a little bit when she expected the least. In her eyes, it’s a reasonable enough incident to show some attitude and assert her status over you.
But not tonight.
Instead, you take her by the wrist and lead her to the alley beside the hotel, away from potential cameras and prying eyes. She yelps, but you slip a hand around her mouth so she remains quiet. Mina is too tired to show some resistance.
“Listen here, Miss Myoui,” you tell her, pointing your finger directly at her. “I did everything right to make sure you have a fine, comfortable experience in Paris. Did your dress, drove you around, everything. What I did was save you a few hours of sleeping in the car. I never asked for anything from you, so don’t come acting like an ungrateful brat.”
“Fuck you.” Mina raises her palm, readying another thunderous, face cracking slap as a threat. “I could have done all that instead if I wanted to.”
“Need I remind you who made the dress that you’re wearing?”
She freezes, unable to find some form of retaliation or rebuttal.
“Thought so.”
“Well what am I supposed to do, then? Get on my knees and worship you as my lord and savior?” she asks.
Suddenly, something clicks inside your head. An idea.
“That—” you pause, mentally noting the entire sequence in a flash, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
“I’m not doing it.” Mina rolls her eyes, turning her gaze away and crossing her arms. Somehow, she’s managed to recognize your intent so quickly. What isn’t surprising is her natural cleverness and intelligence. “Not tonight. Not after what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s what you believe, asshole.” She shakes her head. “Just—let me go.”
“Would be such a shame if a rumor spread around then that you were spotted in the bathrooms with one of the billionaires,” you say, blunt in your threat. “Wouldn’t you hate that? I hear there was a tabloid photo of you spotted with one of the presidential candidates too—”
“You lie.” Mina’s eyes glare at you. You don’t flinch.
She’s not wrong. You’re only telling a half-truth. It’s true that there were billionaires who attended. It would be a strange event if there weren’t any present, in Paris of all places. The report of a presidential candidate showing up is legitimate as well, but that’s as much as you know as the general public. What goes on inside, you have no knowledge of.
“And what happened there was nothing at all,” she adds. “So quit trying to blackmail me and just let me fucking rest.”
“Then explain this to me.” You point at the dress she’s wearing—your dress—and find different sized patches where they shouldn’t belong. They’re not by design; they’re clearly the result of some kind of external tampering or meddling. Around where her legs should be. Near her tummy. The gala is an indoor event, yet it looks as if she had been soaked in some capacity.
Something’s quite off.
“So?” Mina defends herself, unwilling to concede. “Got spilled by drinks, and you don’t really care if it gets ruined.”
While it’s true you usually don’t mind your dresses getting ruined, it comes at a price. “I’m not mad. And yes, I don’t care if you do fuck all with that dress. Hell, that candidate is very lucky he got to clap that—”
“Shut up!”
By instinct, Mina slaps you again.
You chuckle. The sore redness of your cheek isn’t going to silence you.
As she tries to walk away, you grab her by the wrist again. Pull her close to your chest. She trembles, but can’t do anything to stop or shake you loose.
“So you admit? You got fucked by that candidate?”
“No!” Mina remains adamant in her tone. She twists your grip to free herself. “Just—fucking stop already!”
“Only if you blow me. Just a quickie.”
“What? Why?”
“As remittance for the ruined dress, of course. Remember? Ruined dress, ruined cunt.” You can’t help but grin as you remind her of the terms of your agreement. It’s not written in the contract, but a mutual trust shared between you and your muses.
Mina sighs. A deal is a deal, even if it’s not signed on the dotted line. And she has the experience to show for it. Ultimately, she reluctantly agrees, sounding defeated in her response. “Fine. But after this, we’re fucking done.”
“I’m in a bit of a good mood today, so I don’t want your pussy,” you tell the disgruntled Mina, unbuckling your belt then unzipping your pants. “Not gonna lie, the thought of some future president fucking that cunt of yours makes me sick. Get on your knees.”
God, it feels wrong, but you’re enjoying every little moment of this, down to the finer details. The look of dissatisfaction on Mina’s face. The fact you can get her flustered with your teasing. The fact she’s obediently on her knees as you whip out your hard cock directly in front of her. She can tell you as many lies as she wants, but they have no firm ground to stand on. She’s not some stuck-up star unlike many others in that gala, but even she needs to be humbled once in a while.
“His dick is better than yours, anyway. I won’t miss this pathetic piece of shit,” she tells you, gripping to the hem of your dress, dodging every attempt to slip your shaft between her lips.
All the more reason to plunge it deep in her throat.
“Is it? This piece of shit you love to ride on?” You grab your cock and pursue her evasive mouth. You have a hand planted on her scalp, holding her still, as she begrudgingly accepts your length between her lips slowly, in a losing effort to fight back. She gulps her throat, watching as her cheeks hollow, as drool begins to coat your sensitive shaft, until eventually, her seal is vacuum-tight and tension builds up in your groin. “This cock you want to use—fuck—”
Words fail you as you become reacquainted with the warmth of Mina’s mouth. She bobs her head back and forth, slipping a hand around the base of your shaft to stroke. Your cock is poking the back of her throat, your senses relaxing at the pleasure coursing through your body. You feel yourself slipping away—at the cold, at the heat of her sweltering lips, at the layer of saliva that fills every inch of your length. It’s all too much.
This is Mina’s least favorite position. She’d rather have you beneath her most of the time, relentlessly bouncing on your cock till you’re completely drained; it’s how most encounters with her go to the point you simply give up and expect yourself on the mattress as soon as you enter her room. None of that matters now, not when she needs your very shaft to fill her thirsty, dry mouth, as a palette cleanse from the boring gala and because she needs you as much as she utterly hates you.
She doesn’t like the thought of you above her. Her eyes can’t be bothered to look up. It’s a strange dynamic; she’s the celebrity, she’s supposed to have control, not you. Your hand tugs on her black hair, begging her for more, and it reinforces the idea. You love this. Mina, the quiet, cold personality that everyone wants to be like, is zealously sucking you off and you’re helpless to how incredible she is. The suction of her throat. The drag of her tongue on your head, then on the sides. The passionate hum of satisfaction. You recognize the smug grin etched on the corner her lips while she doesn’t bother to look back, knowing full well she can take you any way she wants and you’ll fucking love it. She’s so aggressive, yet perfectly paced.
And she moves like she can read your mind—cum and saliva dripping from the corners, her tongue running laps around your balls, her mouth devouring you entirely with each entrance. Small, whiny sounds that resemble a choke—they’re nothing compared to the echoey moans you can’t help but make. You’re gasping for air as if she’s punctured a hole in your lungs—and to an extent, she has. Your body instinctively has to remind itself they’re leaning on air, because she’s making your spine contort in ways they shouldn't be twisting.
Mina is quite used to this. The notion of having to suck a cock. Not just yours, but fans, higher-ups in suits, all kinds. She’ll tell you yours is the best one, and you’ll believe her. You can tell by personal experience. You shouldn’t let control slip, especially now, when such power is rarely vested on you, but you can’t help yourself. There’s some urgency in handling her, but it might be a little too late. Especially when—
“Mina,” you pant, and you sound so desperate. “So close, Mina. I’m so close. I’m gonna—”
She continues to create friction, and eventually fire. Her hands wring around your balls and your base, tightening the coil of pressure in your stomach and in your veins. Spiraling further and further out of control, you can feel your legs crumble in a last ditch attempt to hold on. With your remaining resolve, you cling to whatever semblance of clarity you can find.
And she plunges her lips further into your length. Her tongue descends lower, to the underside of your balls. None of that disdain and hate from moments ago can be found, only zeal and passion. It’s not graceful in the slightest; it goes against everything her image represents, yet she’s so damn good at it, you can’t stomach the thought of her doing something this filthy, this obscene. The very idea breaks reality. Yet here she is, on her knees, a mouth filled by cock, encouraging you to cum without uttering a single word.
So you oblige her.
You don’t give her the decency of asking. You just pour it all over her with reckless abandon. Yanking her by the scalp, swiftly pulling yourself away in the heat of climax, blasting thick warm seed all over her pristine features, using her visage as a canvas for all your repressed thoughts. Mina welcomes every drop, sticks her tongue out with an inviting stare, unfazed by all that hot load you’re shooting directly at her. Her professionalism is practically hardwired, second nature to allow herself to be used this freely. It’s more than personal satisfaction; it also pays the bills.
It’s a win-win.
“Happy?” she asks, propping herself back on her feet, using the top of the dress to clean herself. Not a waste when it’s sole purpose is to be one and done.
The mess around your groin—residue sticking on your pants—answers her question. You can only nod in agreement as you clumsily and slowly gather your bearings. She shakes her head, amused at your predicament, but proud of her work.
Mina acts nonchalant, walks back to the hotel while you still work through your trousers, as if nothing ever happened. As if you weren’t moaning in public about how airtight her lips are around your cock. You hurriedly follow her, only to be met with a surprise waiting just past the entrance doors.
“I hope Paris has been kind to you so far, Miss Minari, because we certainly won’t be.”
Three comically mischievous men of similar stature and appearance, in nearly identical outfits (a simple shirt, coat, jeans and beret combination, how inspired) with the most cartoonishly evil looks on their faces. They could be anyone on the street. You can immediately tell they’ve been waiting for some time.
“Who are you?” you ask, stepping in front of your client. Mina looks nervous, quietly analyzing the three suspicious characters.
“Doesn’t matter who we are, even if we tell you,” replies the middle man, matter-of-factly. “We have no intention of hurting you.”
“If that’s the case, then please step aside. Miss Mina won’t be taking any requests and she’s very tired, sorry.”
“I don’t think so, buddy.”
“What?”
“We heard everything. You lucky bastard,” says the man on the left. “I don’t think Mina seems to be tired at all. In fact, I believe she wants more of it!”
All eyes turn to the person of interest, who seems to be in denial. Mina, this cold, calculated star, appears to have a harsh, sudden reaction. Offended by the comment, she angrily retorts, “No? What the hell are you saying?”
“Yeah, you heard the guy.” The third man steps forward, the other two close behind slowly approaching her. “It’s all over you. Don’t try to deny it. You enjoyed getting blasted all over that pretty face of yours!”
The three men nod in unison. You don’t have a firearm or any weapon on hand, but you’re willing to fight all three guys, even if you meet a terrible end. That’s the likeliest outcome. Lady luck seems to have disappeared on your side, but it’s part of the job, after all.
“Relax, girl. Again, we don’t wish to hurt you or your bodyguard.” The first man, the guy assuming leadership reiterates. It’s as civil and diplomatic as it sounds, but the looming threat remains prevalent. And it doesn’t do them any favors when they creep up towards both of you like wolves. “We just want what he has.”
“And what is it?” Mina frowns, hiding herself behind you, peeking over the shoulder, trembling.
“Oh, you know what we want, Miss Minari. Give it to us and then we’ll leave you alone.”
Where’s the security in this hotel, you wonder? The ground floor is dead empty of guests, which is to be expected, there’s hardly anyone at the front desk, and there are zero guards at the valet that normally wait for the next car to pull up. It’s midnight, what did you expect?
“Can’t I give you guys some money instead?” she pleads, desperate. She’s no longer hiding herself, but standing side by side with you. Shaking. Nervous. “Name your price and I’ll pay it.”
“I don’t think that will work, miss.” The three men remain adamant. They have you trapped against the corner of the entrance door. Neither of you can hardly move, let alone run. “We’re in Paris. We can easily rob anyone for our keep.”
Judging by the rather expensive watches and sneakers they all sport, they seem to have a point.
“But please, we just want one. One round with the finest Japanese idol in the business. That’s it,” the first man adds, his cohorts nodding in agreement.
Mina turns to you, calling your attention. “Hey.” You’re on high alert, waiting for the moment for hell to break loose. She merely stares. Nothing comes out of her mouth, just an expressive, seemingly strange gaze that doesn’t register anything in your head, nor does it open up any sort of interpretation. And for a while, you don’t understand what’s happening or what’s her intent. The three guys seemingly wait, shrugging whenever you eye any one of them. There’s no rush; time seems to stop at that particular moment. You know their demand; you have ears. You just don’t know if Mina is actually serious about caving to the pressure.
—————
(And fucking hell, you’re so—so—screwed.)
You don’t know if Mina will recover after this. Specifically, her career.
Clothes scatter everywhere in the room, with no regard for cleanliness or the host’s decency. Mina is set in the middle of the mattress as its centerpiece. The star of the show. Her dress is bundled around her waist, baring her chest and legs, while every man is completely in the nude. She’s spread on her fours, with the two subordinates lined up parallel in front of her, the third right behind her. You plan to join after, when everyone’s seemingly tired, when you can have her all to yourself.
At least, that’s what you think will happen. You know she’s going to get used all night long. Mina’s bracing for impact, hoping she can walk out in one piece after this.
You’re holding your phone, ready to record every little thing that happens. It’s not by their request, but your own personal desire. You love seeing it—the notion of Mina getting her comeuppance. The two men in front of her waste no time, stroking themselves hard and slapping their cocks right into Mina’s face, spilling flecks of precum on her. You notice the giddiness in their expressions as they incline the idol’s chin up, nothing but unbridled lust on their faces. The only thing missing is hurling her around and ragdolling her.
“Such a pretty face deserves all this cum,” says the second guy. He’s on the pudgier side, evidently not meant to be in the same atmosphere, let alone the same bed as Mina. “I’ll have you know you were my bias, and you have the most numbers on my counter.”
Utterly shameless.
Meanwhile, the first guy, his colorful body filled with numerous tattoos, slaps Mina’s cheek hard. It ripples throughout her lithe figure, rattles the bed a little. She keens. He takes a moment to look at the hand that committed the sinful act. He’s shaking, in disbelief. He did that. It’s a moment in time, a monumental occasion. Anyone else in his position would be shouting in the streets, celebrating too.
You would.
The third guy, this aged man who’s evidently in his mid-to-late forties and probably shouldn’t be consuming K-pop, continues to stroke himself to Mina’s face. Too bad her mouth can only fit one cock at a time. Her hand grabs his shaft and he grips her hair instead as she pumps him at a delicate pace. Their collective moans fill the room as each person assumes a position around Mina’s sensitive holes, filling them hastily. No technique, no patience whatsoever.
It’s pornographic for all the wrong reasons. How it all came to be. The setup. The characters. The very scene itself. Down to the shitty camera recording. Not befitting of an idol such as Mina. It’s got its own charm, but for the most part, it's as disgusting as you imagined. You can’t believe she’d agree to this. At the same time, you can’t look away. It’s a car crash that you know is gonna happen, yet all you can do is watch helplessly—and stroke yourself hard to.
All three men have different rhythms in which they fuck Mina. Tattoos slowly pounding at her dripping cunt, accompanying each deep thrust with a loud smack of her ass. His one hand grabbing at the hem of whatever’s left of her dress, itching to rip it off. Mina’s moan is suppressed by Pudge’s cock protruding through her throat. A fistful of hair in his grip, the other on her flushed, reddened cheek. Expecting her to take his relentless rhythm, only for her gag with each pump into her airtight lips. As if he doesn’t know how giving head works. The oldest man loosens up, lets his body hang as Mina strokes his cock with her ironclad fingers, letting flecks of cum spread over her neck and her shoulders, content with letting her handle him how she wants.
In a way, it’s admirable seeing Mina like this. Three cocks and all, her commitment to fanservice and satisfaction is any fan’s dream for their idol. You’ve seen it firsthand before, how she attends to each fan one by one, but to handle multiple without a single complaint is quite the accomplishment. She’s gonna take it, and she’s going to love it.
And in fact, she does. You’ve never seen her this dedicated and into pleasuring anyone. How she uses her other hand to seize Pudge’s cock, spitting and licking the head, setting him ablaze. Even as the man with the tattoos begins to wreck into her sopping cunt, foregoing leisure for speed—as her whines echo throughout the room—she maintains her composure the best she can. Even begging him to go harder, which he obliges. The bed’s quaking, seemingly closer to collapse, as the man screams to the ceiling, “Fucking tight—so close—cumming—aah—”
All three men are clinging to Mina in some capacity. On her waist, using her hair, or her shoulders—as they all appear close to their climaxes. Their collective groans of pleasure make this evident noise that warrants numerous calls of disturbance or concern. Imagine the commotion when the staff called in to investigate eventually finds out. The notion spurs Mina as she leans further into it—looks right into the camera as she licks up Pudge’s underside. As if demanding you to take the best shot of her while doing it.
It’s scandalous—the way Mina uses her expressions to make herself look good even under duress. How she winks, sticks her tongue, twists her face into lewder and lewder reactions while the three men who seemingly have power over her, now fold under her control. If only you could step in and be a part of the show, but you can’t.
And she looks even better with cum all over her.
The three guys moan in unison for dramatic effect. As if it was part of the intended shot. One after the other, each man reaches their own orgasm and blasts their hot load onto some part of Mina’s body. None of them seem to find their way into what they initially wanted, which is her holes. Mostly—tattoos man is partly into a deep thrust when he meets his abrupt end, only filling part of her cunt with his seed before deciding to pull out and throbs onto her back, her legs instead. Pudge gets most of her face, which she happily accepts. But even with her mouth wide open, he can hardly land his cum onto her sweet lips. As for the old man, he was never a factor to begin with. He had spilled his cum on the side, on the shoulder, on some hair, on her fingers. He was done before the others even finished.
What an unexpected sight.
You stand from the couch you’ve been sitting on, close in on the aftermath of their orgasms, watching as they stand lifeless around the centerpiece that is Mina, running her fingers over all the cum spilled on her body. This is child’s play to her, yet the most surprising thing is: she wasn’t expecting any of the three guys to finish this soon, let alone all three of them. She has this unsatisfied look in her eyes observing her conduits, the supposed ‘threats,’ as if they didn’t live up to her expectation.
“Did I look good?” she asks you, tilting up, resting her head on her palm.
You show her the phone, speed past the raw footage. She watches like she’s the director—which she kind of is.
“Mm—not good enough,” she adds, grabbing the phone and grabbing a tripod from the bedside drawer. “Set it up over there and do it again. They’re not leaving this until they get it right. And you’re gonna show them the way.”
Looking at their tired, exasperated faces, they’d rather be anywhere but here.
As for Mina, she’s the most energetic you’ve seen her in a while, eager for more—and you’re gonna have to make some phone calls explaining why she isn’t at the airport by morning.
—————
(A/N: woo missed another deadline/date but happy birthday Mina! By request/commission, so thank you for waiting and I hope it was to your liking. I do agree we need more subby Mina but in the end she owns all of us let's be real XD Thank you for reading!)
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❤️🔥Venus & Mars❤️🔥
Written from the perspective of Venus representing femininity and Mars masculinity. Please take this with a grain of salt.
Aries Venus: Warrior Queen, hellfire eyes, won't take no for an answer, upfront, hungry for action, red petals and lips, all eyes on her, can leave a burn or scar.
Aries Mars: Ardent eyes and lips, fiery protector, a good competitor, rescuer, conquering libido, always at 100, hot days and unforgettable nights.
Taurus Venus: Irresistible charm or look, low-key seductive, enduring and magnetic, slow burn, dream weddings or dates, romantic touch, comforting and content, careful with hearts.
Taurus Mars: Caring hands, hedonistic attitudes, down-to-earth until they're not, things are always on their time, level-headed or stable assertiveness, smells good, shares with those they love their soft spot.
Gemini Venus: Shapeshifting enchantress, leading you astray or into ecstasy or both, bright feathers and dazzling wings, sharp talons and a sharper tongue, curious creature, get lost in her eyes, movements, or storms.
Gemini Mars: Lightning-fast energy but airy to be around, wins you over with humor, takes pride in his intellect, upbeat and always around a crowd or working one, bewitches with ease and passion.
Cancer Venus: Mysterious and soft glows, gentle and kind, a protective force of nature, messy and engulfing feelings, hard to fall but when they do they fall hard, can be others safety, gets her way.
Cancer Mars: Silent and strong type or insightful and tenderhearted, deep and sensitive, trustworthy vibes, that moody artist or introverted mystery, a wall or door people are tempted to investigate, a powerful guardian, never gives up.
Leo Venus: Strength and beauty of a goddess, instant connections and passion, object of adoration or desire, demands your attention, worship and heart, romance in their veins, she is the sun - center of your universe.
Leo Mars: Draws you in with his performance, wins, or adventures, brave in the bedroom, will risk it all, life of the party, maybe vain or selfish but always on top, a king, lust and power, feverish and flirty, are you his muse, trophy, or queen?
Virgo Venus: The answer to all your prayers or questions, devoted blood, sensuous and erotic, always has it together, earthy vibes and quiet affection, thoughtful, but may bite, will you grow with her or will she outgrow you?
Virgo Mars: Innocent eyes with a mischievous or know-it-all smirk, reliable arms, secret vitality but not-so secret intellect and wit, observational, appreciative, discerning in preferences and partners, will work hard for you but what will you do for them?
Libra Venus: You can't miss her when she walks into a room, candlelight and wine, charm, beauty, and brains, falls easily, likely has a line of admirers, elegance and grace, now you know why lust and love are seen as ✨magic✨.
Libra Mars: Knows how to make you happy or calm, secretly a hunting hound, hard to resist, if you're with him you're BEAUTIFUL, affectionate and chivalrous, charismatic one minute and introverted the next, can you figure him out?
Scorpio Venus: THE seductress, passionate and dramatic temptation and lust, says forever and means it, rapacious lover, deep and hypnotic, a heart-stopping and mystic medusa, jealous and unforgiving but will give you everything.
Scorpio Mars: Eyes that look into your soul, the dark and edgy type, sex-appeal is their weapon along with mystery or secrecy, an intense enigma, sensitive yet powerfully assertive, an unstoppable force, may be obsessive or easily misunderstood but knows you more intimately than anyone else.
Sagittarius Venus: For true adventurers only, free spirit and a rebellious heart, more independent than you, the most fun you've ever had, a huntress, lucky in love, desire + lust + companionship, can you handle her honesty?
Sagittarius Mars: Always taking their shot, will explore and challenge you, a wild ride, infectious and attractive optimism, humor, or even clumsiness or awkwardness, chronically adaptable and energetic - can you keep up?
Capricorn Venus: Ice you want to melt, respect or admiration are the only options, reliable and grounded, always in control, you know when she's approaching, true faithfulness, hard to satisfy, she's the authority.
Capricorn Mars: Relentless and calculated pursuit, private and cool-headed, #relationshipgoals, provider vibes, an underrated smooth talker, powerful influence and drive, all about longevity...
Aquarius Venus: Magnetic sorceress, intellectual babe, sparkling and different, always keeping you on your toes, can do it all on her own but likes your company, unconventional relationships, falling in slow motion or fast-forwarding into love at high speed.
Aquarius Mars: Visionary wizard with enticing charisma, pushing boundaries, special aurora and bedroom moves, erratic and strong-willed, sees the best in you, channeling passion into each other's minds and bodies.
Pisces Venus: Sensational siren, dreamy and karmic, elusive moments, drowning in feeling, flip a coin for love or lust - throw it in the fountain for both, making your dreams and/or nightmares come true.
Pisces Mars: That hopeless romantic, sweet and sensitive, imaginative moves and touch, will give you their heart and soul, captivating and addicting, your fantasy lover.
#venus#mars#venus sign#mars sign#astrology#zodiac#aries#taurus#gemini#cancer#leo#virgo#libra#scorpio#sagittarius#capricorn#aquarius#pisces
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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4
summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed.
PART 3 | PART 5
pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader
genre ;; pure angst and family feels
notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding!
Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH
It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable.
At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock.
Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.
The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact.
Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade.
Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now.
He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand.
Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada.
It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)
Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada.
So dada started making you little trinkets.
He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating.
That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task.
His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”
“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.
“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”
“You’re mistaken.”
Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”
Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”
“Baby.”
“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”
“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”
“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”
“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.”
“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”
“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”
Well, that hurt. “Damn.”
“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!”
Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected.
Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers.
And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.
“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”
“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”
Oh, it’s on.
Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper.
“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”
Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much.
Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”
Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that.
You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing.
One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face.
“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”
Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!”
The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock.
You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement.
Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted.
Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.
But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that.
How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face.
Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one.
“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”
You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes.
“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”
Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions.
Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him.
Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter.
You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray.
A rustle from above.
“Attack him!”
He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes.
Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing?
But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”
“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”
Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word.
Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ.
“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.”
“So I win?”
“Yes, you win.”
He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!”
After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it.
“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”
He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.
The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”
“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.
You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”
“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”
He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”
Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”
“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”
“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”
At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood.
Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake.
She did.
And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.
Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic.
Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul.
But she was wrong.
That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language.
Losing. It was all about losing.
He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love.
That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together.
The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”
You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.
Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses.
(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.)
Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen.
When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—
A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…”
The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip.
You had gone slack in his arms.
He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple.
“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”
The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.
Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day.
Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other.
You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back.
A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time.
A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap.
It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort.
Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.
The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface.
Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass.
“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”
He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there.
“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”
And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action.
He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.
The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again.
“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”
“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”
“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.
He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.
“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”
Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”
“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”
Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you.
“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”
Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right.
“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough.
“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision.
Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing?
In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family.
You had died in his arms.
Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”
“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”
Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”
But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.
“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”
Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind.
Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.
His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless.
Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?
His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.
You thought you weren’t loved.
“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?”
Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood.
All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out.
His daughter’s blood, on his hands.
He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.
“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!”
Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.
He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides.
“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake. “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!”
Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings.
Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.
The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name.
“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.
“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”
He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…”
“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”
A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.
Who was Jake Sully?
“Lo’ak, come back here!”
Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister.
“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively.
Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate.
But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty.
Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy.
“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”
Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”
“Neteyam—”
“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”
That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart.
It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.
“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”
He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake.
Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do.
Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.
Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails.
He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon.
His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.
“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still.
Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng.
“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once.
And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”
Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well. “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”
Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”
“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children.
“You think so?”
“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”
Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful.
“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”
It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed.
It would never fly again.
Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.”
And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be.
“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”
Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one.
Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain.
Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman.
“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”
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ೀ⋆ 🍂 SKZ + WAYS THEY SHOW “ I LOVE YOU ” !
── ✧ ˚. ꒰ pairing ꒱ ˒˓ ot8 x gn!reader ˒˓ established relationship genre: fluff warnings: not many… just some mentions of food & kissing <3
this is an old repost from my deleted blog !
방찬/BANG CHAN. chan is the most perfect boyfriend you could ask for. he’s the type to never let you lift a finger when he’s around you. whether it be fixing a broken pipe in the house or carrying all of the groceries; it wasn’t a problem for him at all. he may get consumed in his work sometimes but that didn’t mean he spends less quality time with you. he’d call you throughout the day to check up on you and tell you how much he misses you. he’d share what he was working on and update you on small things. always smothering you once he comes home— no seriously, he does not let you breathe. he’d pepper kisses all over your face whilst having you wrapped tightly in his arms. the warmth of his loving embrace made you feel the safest and utmost protected.
리노/LEE KNOW. lovesss taking you out on fun interactive dates. movies, bowling, mini golf, fruit-picking, and candlelit dinners were a just a few to name. minho enjoyed going to small family owned restaurants, he loved desserts and would order a milkshake with two straws on each side. you’d be playing footsie under the table like little kids, teasing you while staring into each others eyes trying not to burst out laughing. he loves you just as much as he loves his cats and that’s saying a whole lot. he has a picture of you playing with soonie and dori as his lock screen, it was probably the cutest pic he’s ever taken of you. he calls you and his cats a little family >\\< he loves the way they all get along with you and it affirms even more that you really are the one for him.
창빈/CHANGBIN. constantly showers you with dozens upon dozens of compliments. could write a full-fledged novel on simply everything he adores about you. he’ll write sweet notes from time to time and leave them in random areas for you to find. your relationship with him always kept you guessing, he was so full of pleasant surprises. he noticed the littlest details about you and could practically read you like a book. he knew immediately when you were in a slump, it became his personal mission to cheer you up. is super touchy feely with you but does it with the most pure intentions. pressing feathery kisses along your hands and the insides of your palms, then trails further up your arm. he loved seeing how flustered you’d get by it, only wanting to keep doing it more.
현진/HYUNJIN. treats you as his artistic muse. his deep infatuation with you fed his inspiration with new ideas constantly. his paintings were a reflection of his mind, his most inner thoughts and emotions. almost every painting he’s done was inspired by you in some way, shape, or form. art and photography are one his favorite hobbies so naturally he’s going to always wanna snap pictures of you. whenever you two go on dates he takes pics of you without you knowing, smiling to himself and thinking how lucky he is to have you. he tells you often how much you mean to him, he was a very vocal partner. you didn’t need to ask for reassurance because hyunjin would just give it to you anyway. it was like he could read your mind, he understood you on a intuitive and spiritual level.
한/HAN. he is completely and authentically himself when he’s with you. your relationship is the most easy going thing in his life, he couldn’t imagine life without you. he loves that your humor is the same and you’re both always goofing off. he feels most accomplished if he can make you laugh until your stomachs start hurting. almost everything was a joke to him but the love he had for you was definitely not. he share’s everything with you, his clothes, favorite snacks, deepest secrets, nothing off limits for him. never stops talking about you with the other members, every little thing reminds of him you so he has to announce it. he could be doing something serious and then one of your inside jokes would randomly pop in his head, smiling like an idiot to himself. he was so proud to have you as his lover and best friend.
필릭스/FELIX. the most sweet, nurturing, individual in the universe. put a million heart emojis next to your contact name and never fails each time to get a stomach full of butterflies every time he’s with you. hears a song that reminds him of you and instantly sends it; will make monthly playlists for you too. he gets lost in your eyes all the time, can’t help but feel his heart beat out his chest by your ethereal beauty. you could be having an in-depth conversation with him and he’d zone out from just looking at you. he can’t stand being away from you when he’s gone and gets real sad and lonely if he can’t hold you >.< will send you LENGTHY messages of what he loves most about you and how much he wants to be with you. if he can’t physically be there, he’ll do all he can to still feel like he’s right beside you.
승민/SEUNGMIN. thoughtful gestures were his love language. he would notice your shoe is untied as you’re both walking and stop everything he’s doing to fix it for you. will do anything you ask him to at the drop of a hat. does chores and tasks around the house when you aren’t feeling up to it, he never complains about it either which you love. lots and lots of hugs and kisses !! he especially loves hugging you from behind and resting his head within the crevice of your shoulder. he’d kiss your knuckle before dancing with you in the kitchen and acting like an old married couple. the two of you would be slow dancing and lock eyes, your lips would collide as you both sway to the melody of the song. it was soft moments like these that proved seungmin owned all of your love.
아이엔/JEONGIN. very much into showing PDA and lots of it. doesn’t really care about what the other members think when he touches or kisses you in front of them. likes to give you unexpected forehead and neck kisses, intertwining his fingers with yours while doing so. he bought you a necklace with his initial on it as a gift and you never took it off since the day he gave it to you. whenever he’s gone for long periods of times that necklace would get you through it all. he’d also buy matching couples pajamas and plan a night in where you do face masks and watch movies (^o^). late night cuddling was his forte; you’d be all tangled up in bed together and he’d leave short series of pecks to your cheek until you lull asleep in his arms.
#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#skz headcanons#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x gn reader#bang chan fluff#lee know fluff#changbin fluff#hyunjin fluff#han jisung fluff#felix fluff#seungmin fluff#jeongin fluff#skz scenarios#skz imagines#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines
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hiii! could you please write a regulus black x potter! reader? maybe something like reg and reader secretly going out and getting discovered by James?
thank you!! have an amazing day 💗💗
his muse (pt. one)
regulus black x reader
fluff / angst
cw: unedited as always 😌, a sex joke but it’s a titanic reference lol, marauders being overprotective, kissing, cuddling, someone may threaten to pull out someone’s teeth and put them on a necklace (it seemed like a very regulus threat), artist!regulus because 🥰
summary: you’re the honorary little sister of the infamous marauders; what happens when they catch you with a certain someone?
notes: hey love, thank you so much for the request!! just so you know, i don’t like to write readers to be related to another character, because i want my readers be able to relate to the ‘reader character’ without altering their preferred fancast for another one based on things like race or ethnicity. that is totally on me for not putting that in my request post and i will do that asap, but i hope you enjoy this anyway <33
more notes: i did get just a tad bit carried away and decided to divide this request into two parts, just to make it less overwhelming for me and y’all as well. anyways, enjoy <333
“oh reggie, paint me like one of your french girls,” you giggled, draping yourself dramatically across regulus’ pristine sheets.
he looked up from his sketchbook, brow furrowed in a way that made you want to kiss him until you both passed out from lack of oxygen.
god, you loved him.
“what?” he asked.
“nothing.”
evan and barty had both left the slytherin dorms, off to some place or another, giving you the perfect opportunity for some alone time with your lovely boyfriend. you’ve made sure to do this at least once a week since you started dating in your fourth year. now that you’ve reached sixth year, the tradition had only grown more cherished; precious were the moments spent with someone you’d been otherwise forbidden to see.
“he’s dangerous, (y/n),” sirius insisted, only just finished with his dramatic act of fake vomiting. you had made the grave mistake of assuming your friend would have a normal reaction upon hearing who had asked you to the yule ball.
“a slytherin, (y/n), how could you?” james moaned, collapsing onto the auto-man like he was faint in the heart. “you have been my little sister all my life—”
“you met me when you were twelve and we are not related,” you corrected.
james feigned offense. “how dare you question our bond? blood does not matter! we are family and that is that, young lady.”
“leave her alone, the both of you,” remus laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you to his chest. “our little girl had to grow up someday.”
sirius looked appalled. “not with my bastard, slimy, death eater of a brother—”
“he’s not a death eater, we’re fourteen!” you exclaimed, pouting dramatically at the older boy. “just one dance, i promise padfoot, if it’s that weird to you, i’ll never see him again.”
you lied.
sunlight peaked in through the curtains, the golden rays hitting regulus in such a way that made him look angelic. so focused on his sketchbook, glancing up every few moments to gaze at you like you were something to be revered.
you sat up in his bed, fiddling with the hem of his sweater that lay around your mid thighs; though you loved to, you rarely got the opportunity to wear reggie’s clothes, given sirius would recognize them in an instant. so, you took advantage of these moments whenever they came your way.
you loved wrapping yourself in the soft, strong, warm smell of him: minty cologne, sea salt, and pine trees. the scent was practically woven in the fabric, making everything feel so much softer, so much more him.
you did have a couple shirts and sweaters you’d stolen over the years, but they remained in your dorm at all times.
well, mostly.
it was a moment of stupidity. a dreary saturday morning, a hogsmeade trip, and you had slept in. naturally, you had to rush out of your dorm to get to breakfast in time; but, you didn’t need to change, did you?
why not wear the sweater you had slept in and save yourself a little time?
so, after changing into more appropriate pants, you made your way down the breakfast and sat in your regular spot; in between remus and james, and smack dab across from sirius.
he noticed his brothers favorite sweater the second you sat down.
“what’s that?”
you’d barely sat down by the time sirius spoke and continued making your morning coffee as the group grew silent around you. finally looking up, you glanced between your friends in confusion.
“what’s what?”
you lifted your sleeve to rub your nose, breathing in quickly through your stuffed up sinuses; stupid fall allergies.
you froze as the familiar sent cooled your insides, eyes darting over to the slytherin table across the great hall.
oh.
that’s ‘what’s what’.
“who’s jumper is that, (y/n)?” james asked, arm draping over your shoulders to tug the sleeve on the other side. “doesn’t look like one of mine—”
“or mine,” sirius chimed.
“or mine,” peter chirped, though you hardly stole borrowed his sweaters anyways (too scratchy).
“it’s mine!”
you were surprised to hear remus’ leap to your defense, as you knew damn well the sweater wrapped around you wasn’t his— still, you weren’t about to question it.
“mhm,” you hummed, taking a sip of your coffee, hoping the boys didn’t notice your shaking hands. “i don’t know what all that third degree was about, but i stole this from moony a month ago.”
“what’re you thinking about, lovely?”
regulus was suddenly just inches away from you, sketchbook tossed to the side, instead opting to look at his muse more close up.
“nothing,” you mumbled, smiling as he dipped down to kiss your collarbone, working his way up to your lips with featherlight kisses that made you wish you could stay with him forever.
though at this point, everything he did made you wish you could stay with him forever.
“you’re beautiful,” he whispered, eyes scanning every curve and point of your face like a work of art; his work of art, his muse.
he’ll never get tired of that word.
you breathed in deeply, the smell of him practically making you glow like some sort of protection charm; you’d never felt safer than you did with regulus near. you felt untouchable with him, like nothing could ever hurt you.
“what are you doing here?”
lovely.
a grating voice to disrupt your already terrible day.
“hey,” severus called. “i’m talking to you.”
you spun around, glaring at the greasy haired boy across from you with as much contempt at you could muster. “piss off, severus!” you shouted; you’d never bit back like this before, but the shocked look on his face was worth it. “really, cornering a younger student in an empty hallway? pretty cowardly, don’t you think?”
before you could debate the consequences of your actions, severus’ hand was gripping your cloaks and you were shoved up against the wall.
“you filthy little—”
just as quick as snapes hands were on you, they’d been torn off, and you scrunched to the ground. regulus shoved him up to the wall opposite you.
“defending your little mudblood, huh?��
“shut your filthy mouth about her or i swear on merlins grave, i will rip every single one of your teeth out and put them on a necklace like a string of fucking pearls,” regulus bit, baring his teeth like an emphasis to the threat. “you got that?”
that night, you ended up in a very similar position to where you were in now; wrapped up in your lovely boyfriends sweater, curled in his arms, and having sweet nothings whispered in your ear.
“y’know, i mean it when i say you are beautiful,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your temple as he spoke, breath fanning over your face. it tickled, but you didn’t care; you just wanted to hear his voice. “breathtakingly gorgeous, inside and out.”
“really?” you teased, nuzzling your nose further into his chest, arms wrapped around his torso.
“really,” he laughed. “i could stay like this forever.”
you pouted, pulling yourself half on top of him. “but my daft friends just have to get in the way, don’t they?”
you hear a gasp from the doorway.
“did you just call us daft?”
#regulus black#regulus black x reader#regulus black x y/n#regulus black x you#marauders x reader#marauders#marauders x platonic!reader#harry potter#regulus black imagine#request#regulus black request
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Pick a Pile Reading | Messages From Your Future Spouse 💍🪐
Business Carrd 🍶🧺
Paid Services 🍇⭐
Tip Jar 🍾🎱
*Disclaimer: This is a collective reading - take what resonates and leave the rest. If this resonates with you, please show support by reposting (with credit), tipping, or booking with me! :)
*Exchanges with other intuitives/readers are available via dm's
──────
PILE 1 COLLECTIVE
• I love the sound of your laughter.
• You’ve turned me into a more carefree person.
• Let’s spend the day baking/cooking then heading right back to bed to cuddle!
• I feel like we could never have enough quality time together.
• You’re my favorite person in the world.
• I’m addicted to your scent.
• We should start a family (🐾/👶).
• You’re my lock screen.
• I tell all my friends about you. If you checked my notifications, all you’d see is a group chat roasting me for how obsessed I am with you.
• There is no place I’d rather be than here with you in my arms.
• I like to watch you sleep. You just seem so peaceful and still that it’s intensely captivating. I hope you don’t mind 😵💫.
~ miscellaneous: earth sign placements. homebodies. 2 introverts or an introvert & an extrovert. hard-working, masculine qualities in your spouse. wholesome domestic moments.
PILE 2 COLLECTIVE
• I want to drown in the sea of your existence.
• Dedicating poetry and art to you — my favorite muse.
• There is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t give to have more time with you.
• I’m afraid of loss/dying, but entering old age with you would make my existence complete.
• Please don’t leave me.
• Can I wake you up early if I’m craving your attention? It’s hard for me to contain my excitement when you look this beautiful/attractive.
• Let’s watch the sunset together and stay up late talking for hours.
• Every detail of your existence does not go unnoticed by me.
• We were meant to love each other in this life/I know that we are past life lovers who have found one another again.
• Come on, baby. Don’t be shy with me.
~ miscellaneous: water sign placements (especially scorpio or for their moon sign). 2 night owls or a night owl & a morning person. hozier songs. romantic moments caught on camera/posted online. artist x muse trope.
PILE 3 COLLECTIVE
• You light me on fire with desire.
• I love teasing you more than anything else in the world.
• You’re my best friend and lover, all wrapped into one.
• My heart feels warm and glows from the inside whenever you’re around.
• I can’t lose you. If I do, I’ll go crazy.
• Let’s go for a drive, listen to music, eat food, and forget about our worries.
• I want to be the first person you call when you’re in trouble.
• I will never judge you.
• We will travel everywhere and make the world our own.
• I want to surprise you with grand gestures (especially via gifts or shared experiences).
~ miscellaneous: fire sign placements. ready or not — bridgit mendler. sneaky smirks that make you smile uncontrollably. spontaneous memories or communication. fluffy hair & tan skin features for some.
PILE 4 COLLECTIVE
• Pulling out all my best jokes just for you.
• Give me a nickname and I’ll give you one back.
• How can I possibly deny your charm?!
• Your style is impeccable. Every time we’re in a shop together, I just want to watch you pose in front of the mirror.
• I’ll make you homemade snacks and share my family’s recipes with you!
• Spoiling you with acts of service.
• We don’t even have to speak to understand one another. Mere eye contact is enough.
• You bring out my (good) crazy side 🤪.
• I love how we can always bounce off each other’s energies so well.
• I wanna give you expensive jewelry or items with my initials on it.
~ miscellaneous: air sign placements. a quirky sense of humor. distinct eyebrows. friends to lovers trope (Monica & Chandler came to mind). latin/hispanic backgrounds for some.
#pick a pile reading#astrology#law of assumption#zodiac signs#astro notes#astro observations#birth chart#horoscope#natal chart#sun signs#astrology blog#astroblr#tarotblr#witchblr#psychic#intuitive#tarot reading#pac reading#pick a pile#collective reading#manifestation#affirmations#subliminals#spells#synastry#love reading#future spouse reading#soulmates
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poetry and sweet words. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
— your roommate !
(roommate!kazuha x reader)
(spoiler · he takes you to the fireworks festival at the end<33 aaahhhh i love him sm🥹. .)
warning ; toothrotting fluff !!
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who is the absolute sweetest and gentlest roommate ever. he isn't even the noisy type, he barely makes any noise and even does all the dish washing for you . .
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who insists on doing the cleaning, yet just lets out a defeated sigh because you were too stubborn and insisted that you do it instead.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who got closer and closer to you each day, to the point where you two just had a silent agreement that he'd join you in whatever anime or show you're watching each night on the weekends.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who eventually developed a tiny crush on you, thinking that you were absolutely ethereal.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who made you his muse. absolutely defied the 'always the poet, never the poem' or 'always the artist, never the muse' mindset you had.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who shows you each and every poem or haiku he makes, since you always ask to. he smiles ever so gently at you as he reads them out loud. oh, how he wishes you knew that these poems were about you. if you ever did ask, he'd just calmly say it was a secret.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who insists on joining you everytime you go grocery shopping, in which he does, and pushes the cart for you as you look around for the stuff on your grocery list. he even carries the bags for you after.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who overheard you mumbling about wanting an iced matcha latte on a very warm day. you glance over to see him crouched right in front of you with a soft smile and holding out his hand towards you. "matcha, right? let's go get some at the café. c'mon, now."
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who takes care of you so well...you're usually always the one cooking for him, but he'd always cook you hot soup whenever you're sick. he always makes sure to keep you hydrated at school especially if it's a warm day . . by buying you your favorite drink from the vending machine! there's never a day where he isn't joining you for lunch.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who lets you play with his hair or touch it whenever you like. he loves the feeling of your soft hands on his head. sometimes you even give him headpats while you're on the couch, and he's there sitting down on the floor in front of you with closed eyes and a content expression.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who comforts you by giving you the best hugs and head rubs ever. even goes as far as buying you your favorite food or drink, or writing a new haiku to read it to you and cheer you up.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who admires you from afar as you speak with your friends or just doing something as simple as reading. his gaze looks as almost if he was completely entranced and so in love with you..
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha whose noticed how stressed you were lately, deciding to surprise you by making you both dress in a yukata for 'no reason' and then taking you somewhere 'secret', as he said so.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who takes you to the annual fireworks festival, watching you intently as he leads you around and watches the corners of your lips start to turn upwards. he takes you to every food and game stall, too. it was like your usual 12th episode in a romance anime.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who watches the fireworks show unfold with you. he gives you a side glance and smiles as he watches that cute excited expression on your face.
𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶ roommate!kazuha who, with the fireworks in the background, laces his fingers with yours and holds your hand as you both watch the stunning and radiant scene right in front of you. <3
#꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ lexchi writes!#꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ kazuha#genshin impact#genshin#genshin fluff#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin x reader#genshin x you#kazuha genshin#kazuha genshin impact#kaedehara kazuha#kazuha kaedehara#kazuha x reader#kazuha x you#kazuha#kazuha fluff#kaedehara kazuha fluff#kazuha x reader fluff#kazuha modern au#genshin modern au#kazuha headcanons#kaedehara kazuha headcanons#kaedehara kazuha x reader#kaedehara kazuha x you#kazuha highschool au
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favorite muse. (muse coriolanus x artist reader)
summary: coriolanus was and have always been your muse. you were his favorite artist, and he'd gladly pose naked for you if that is what you want.
c.w: artist reader x muse boyfriend coriolanus, nudism, fluff, modern au, drabble (?), short au, soft, just a inner monologue i had with myself that i decided to pass to here, nothing sexual.
you loved him.
the boy seating right in front your canvas was your muse. the reason to your sudden will to draw, something you had stopped doing years ago.
it was just a hobby, after all.
however, now it was much more, you loved him. you loved drawing him, getting every detail right, from his loose curls to his lashes and the shading of the ambient, you made sure to pass it down on every painting how much you loved him.
you always seemed happier when drawing him. it didn't matter if your back ached and killed you because of the awful position you choose to draw him, you loved him. you memorized every frame, every scar, every birthmark.
you met him at the art academy, he was doing a favor to the teacher and had to pose naked for the class, of course, jot entirely naked, more like covered in a white silk fabric like he was a greek god.
and fuck, he looked so pretty, you were the last one to finish it, everybody on the class was gone and you were still drawing him, glancing over your canvas as you drew him, as you put in detail everything that your eyes could get.
your wrist, your back and your shoulders could feel painfully terrible on you, it didn't matter, you were almost done with your painting, what was supposed to be a sketch was, now, a complete painting of him despicted as a greek god.
"fuck, you did all of this in the last two hours?" a voice behind you asked, making you jump and scream in surprise, the pencil on your hand meeting the bastard's face with green paint and
fuck. it was him.
"oh my god i'm so sorry! i'm sorry, i didn't- i thought you were still sitting there-" you said, trying to desperately brush off the paint on his cheek. he laughed at your despair.
"it's fine. i'm the one to put at fault for scaring you like that. at least the paint didn't get on your painting" he said, looking over your shoulder, closely to the painting. it was beautiful. he was beautiful. he could tell it was him by the dozens of birthmarks you captured on his body, his face looking down at a lake while he sat on a greek ionic column. "you're so good at painting. i'm glad i was a muse to you."
his words seemed to woke you up, you looked at him with a desperate twinkle on your eyes, holding the brush tightly.
"can you... can you keep being my muse?" you asked, to his surprise. and to your surprise, he accepted gladly.
so now, seven months ahead from that moment, your boyfriend was sitting across your seat, posing naked to you.
"darling," you called, looking at him with a smile on your lips. there was paint on your cheek, a bit on your nose and a lot on your arms. "i've finished it."
your announcement seemed to make him wake up, looking at you with those bright blue eyes as he walked to you, wrapping the towel around his waist.
however, he didnt even look at you, too preoccupied with kissing you than to look at the painting.
"wait- don't you wanna see it?" you asked while he took you on his lap, hands on your thighs as he kisssed your neck.
"i don't need to see it, i know what you're capable of, darling. i'm sure it's as beautiful as all the others you did, but it's never gonna be prettier than you." he said, sweetly, and you melted away on his kisses and honeyed up words, giving in to his kisses as he took you to your room, his hands brushing on your cheek and smearing off the paint.
ah. you loved him too much.
#tbosas x reader#young president snow#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x reader#the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes#soft fic#fluff#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus soft#x you#x reader#coriolanus x you
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# — oral ! 🕊️ (part two)
how : childe, neuvillette, kaveh, itto, + dottore give head ! find part one here ! ♡
disclaimers : you give neuvillette head too ! oh also he has two dicks. bottom!itto drabbles teehee !! medical play with dotto !
afab!reader, no pronouns used ! mdni 18+ ONLY ‼️
# 001 — CHILDE !
being in a sexual dynamic with childe was quite the wild card. things were always changing and the sex was never consistent — except for one thing.
ajax is obsessed with oral, he needs to give it to you even when you have no plans to have sex. he starts by trying to sweeten you up, kissing your neck and gently squeezing at your thighs until before you know it, his tongue is gliding against you.
he loves when you sit on his face, bright baby blue eyes watching your body intently while you use his face as your own personal object. he whimpers — whines pathetically under you. his cock is so hard it’s painful and leaking. his heart continues to race for you. ♡
— “more . . please — fuckin’ give me more.”
#002 — NEUVILLETTE !
the ludex is calm and collected . . unless it comes to you. usually, neuvillette was someone who always followed the rules, he’s the face of justice after all. due to his nature it was no suprise he attracted someone like you.
someone who was a rule breaker, someone who marched to the beat of their own drum. which is how he ended up with you under his desk, tongue licking all over the tip of his primary cock, hands happily stroking the secondary. the grip on his desk was intense as he listened to the conflict one of his dear assistants provided him with.
the longest ten minutes of his life went by before neuvillette was panting, chest heaving slightly as he motioned for you to come out from your hiding place. before you could even stand up properly you were shoved onto the same desk he just gripped his nails into. biting and nipping at your thighs he left sloppy desperate kisses against your hole. ♡
— “such a bold brat . . aren’t you ? my my . . a lesson you shall learn today, little étoile.”
#003 — KAVEH !
since he’s an artist, everything that kaveh does is meant to be an artistic expression. sometimes he doesn’t even realize it.
sometimes, kaveh will have you on the expensive 500,000 mora couch he has. he watches you struggle to stay still under his touch. he watches the way you drip onto said sofa in need. silently he drops to his knees, ruby eyes staring intently at your heat.
his tongue paints a beautiful and erotic picture. the architect takes his time gently running his tongue through every single fold and nerve he can find. his chest practically heaves when you grab his locks, shoving him in even further. ♡
— “fuck . . your taste — you’re so . . ethereal, my muse.”
#004 — ITTO !
big strong arms always keep you close. the oni treats you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever possessed. he would walk to the edge of the world and back if you told him to.
which is why him being the usual submissive in the bedroom was one of your favourite things. itto waited for every single order like a puppy eager to please it’s owner. the muzzle around his face made your much large boyfriend grunt in annoyance.
ittos face shoved right up to your cunt causing you to hiss from the feeling of the cold metal of the muzzle. itto had a problem with biting and marking you from head to toe, so you had to compromise. however he also just looked incredibly sexy while he whimpered — tilting his head in every way possible to get his tongue flat against your holes. sometimes he was successful! ♡
— “pleasepleaseplease !! come onnn sugar ~ just a little taste yeah? fuck . .”
#005 — DOTTORE !
the doctor is quite the tease when he’s not completely engrossed in his work. he wouldn’t ever admit it but you are one of his weaknesses.
so when you come to visit dottore during one of the periods where he’s completely locked himself in his laboratory it’s only a matter of seconds before your being lifted and spread against the cold metal lab table. all of his previous experiments had been disregarded as non important as his hands explored you.
silently he used black gloved fingers to poke and prod at the most delicate parts of you. sexual reactions was truly something dottore was interested in. he dips down, parting his lips to prod his tongue against you. he’s by no means gentle, using his razor sharp teeth to gently bite down on the skin. his free hands is taking messy notes on a clipboard. a skill he’d learned to do from each and every one of these meetings. ♡
— “interesting reactions . . every day i get closer to figuring out all your secrets, little dove.”
#genshin impact#genshin impact smut#genshin impact headcanons#genshin impact x reader#childe#tartaglia#neuvillette#kaveh#itto#dottore#childe smut#neuvillette smut#kaveh smut#itto smut#dottore smut#childe genshin impact#neuvilette genshin#genshin impact kaveh#genshin itto#dottore genshin#arataki itto#itto x reader#childe x reader#genshin kaveh#kaveh x reader#dottore x reader#neuvilette x reader
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Been thinking of art supplies and stuff I would love to have or want as a artist...Then Ren came to mind over this all. So have a little thing inspired by this. lol 💜
Ren/Redacted x artist gn!reader
The moment Ren knew you were a artist, he knew how they would express his love for you without a second thought.
Even before finally making himself known to you again in person in your life. They would anonymously gift you things to keep your creative heart going.
Pencils, pens, brushes, whatever you worked with, you would have it. He'll be sure to make them small gifts, to not intimidate you of course. But they would of gifted you a whole art supplies shop if he could, to be direct.
Though the moment he'd finally let himself be known in your life, and you two start dating. That's when he'll start to up his gifts giving levels to you, and not shy away from showing his love for you.
He'll even go as far as make a whole art studio for you at his place, so you have a place to work at freely with no issues. As well be a perfect excuse to have you over most of the times.
They will spoil you rotten through that art studio honestly. He'll fill the whole room up with art supplies of all types of mediums he knows you like, were interested in trying, etc. All so you can create and explore through the arts that your heart desires.
And never will you be without anything you need. He'll be sure to keep that place stocked up always, and will even give you more things through time.
He'll especially gift you special custom made things they know you'll love or use (pens, pencils, brushes, etc), that have both your names initials engraved on them. 💗
And if you ever need a muse to work with, you can bet they'll volunteer to be yours in a heartbeat. If anything, he hopes to be your muse, your only muse in fact. He wants no one else to have your complete heart and attention after all.
Whatever art medium(s) you work with, it doesn't matter because he knows he'll love your work always in the end. Anything you create is instantly amazing and beautiful to him, even if you were to make the most darkest gruesome art piece alive. He'll still call it absolutely gorgeous, because it was made by you.
And it'll especially go double if your art pieces were created with him on mind or inspired by them.
Him knowing you created anything at all because of him and him alone, would make their love for you grow even more. They'll absolutely would shower you with love and adoration from it all. 💖
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i was using Spotify and I realized how u could see what ur friends are listening to atm on there and it would be so fun to have hotch discover this, and be surprised that the reader is listening to songs like “or nah” or j any explicit songs like that and is into it😋 could lead into something more like playing that song while they’re doing it later on
OKAY THANK YOU LOVE UR WRITING!!!
i love you! i just left this vague and open to whatever song you want to insert!
this post is 18+, minors dni.
Being Spotify friends with Aaron Hotchner only came about because of Penelope's insistence on team bonding. And because she wanted to send everyone the personalized playlists she'd made for them, and sharing became much easier that way.
All it's yielded for you is the knowledge that, very infrequently, Hotch remembers he has a music app on his phone, and that he plays 2-3 Beatles songs before he inevitably gets called to another task and has to shut off the music.
Aaron is even less frequently informed of your tastes in music than you are of his, because the few times that he's used the app, he forgets to check what the other members of the team are listening to. Not that he really cares; Spencer's listening to classical and Derek has too-loud EDM playing in his headphones that Savannah teases him for. Rossi prefers records to his phone, and JJ plays mainly kids' songs for her boys. Emily is always listening to some mid-2000's rock song, but you, you he hasn't gotten a read on. You're all over the place, switching from singer to singer, genre to genre, language to language. All in all, his team's music taste doesn't affect him, but Penelope is far more eager to snoop on you all than he is.
"Ooh, nasty girl," She gushes, head bent to look at her phone as she waits in Aaron's office. He'd instructed her to let him have five minutes to finish a report before she briefed him on a new case's details, but she's proving very distracting. With a glance up at her, half-scathing, half-incredulous, he asks, 'What?'
"Oh! Y/N's Spotify," She holds out her phone as explanation, showcasing your profile with unfamiliar album art displayed over it. It's black and red, but Aaron doesn't recognize the song or the artist.
He raises an eyebrow at Penelope, and she huffily gives into his demand.
"It's a song about sex," She informs him, "Like- feral, sweaty, hungry, clawing-at-the-sheets, scratching-up-his-back, mouth-open-so-he-"
"Alright! Enough," Hotch snaps, glaring disapprovingly at her rather vulgar language, "I think I get the picture, Garcia."
"Sorry, sir." She looks only mildly sheepish, talking more to herself than she is to him as she muses, "Didn't know she was into that kind of thing."
Aaron doesn't think about the title of the song again until well after Penelope's gone, and he's taking his lunch alone in his office. He's more a fan of songs that, if they are about sex, don't outwardly mention any vulgarity, and he's not sure if he could handle explicit material being spewed at loud volumes directly into his ear. Call it morbid curiosity, call it Disapproving Boss Syndrome, but he fishes near-new headphones out of his desk drawer to find out what you've been listening to while filling out government paperwork all day.
He has the good sense to look it up on youtube without logging in. He doesn't want this attached to him in any way, and he certainly doesn't want eagle-eyed Penelope catching him on Spotify.
The beginning of the song seizes the ear right away, a unique beat that definitely doesn't sound sexually appealing. But when each different instrument filters in and the lyrics begin, he realizes that Penelope's description was not very far off.
It's filthy.
It's twenty kinds of vulgar, words that he's never even heard before being used to refer to genitalia. The only way he figures out their definitions is through context, and he thinks he may have been better off without knowing them. He's floored by the contents of the song; he knows sexual songs exist, even at this level of vulgarity, but he'd have never expected you to indulge in them. Certainly not in the workplace.
The song finishes out at three minutes and nine seconds, and Hotch feels a slight heat to his face as he unplugs his headphones and closes the tab. No one had caught him, but he feels mortified anyways, and decides he no longer has an appetite.
He puts the lid back onto the container of leftover pasta that he'd brought from home, keeping his head down as he treks to the kitchenette to refrigerate it.
Of course, his luck fails him as he nearly bumps into you, rounding the corner to the small, closed-off kitchen and finding you in front of the microwave in the doorway.
"Oh! Sorry, Hotch." You laugh, stepping out of his way to let him through. He notices an earbud in your ear and pushes away the knowledge of what song you're probably listening to, heading for the fridge instead.
"It's fine." He grumbles, electing to stay silent for the rest of your impromptu meeting if he can manage. He feels slightly guilty for being cold towards you, because it was his own curiosity that led to his embarrassment, but he can't look you in the eyes right now.
You see fit to fill the awkward silence with the tapping of your nails on the counter, and with a jolt of recognition, and something else far more intense below the belt, he realizes that you're tapping out the beat of the song.
He ignores your sharp gasp as he slams the refrigerator door perhaps a tad too hard. He doesn't have time to feel bad about startling you, though, not when he so desperately needs to be back in the confines of his office, away from the prying eyes of the team.
His sharp memory comes in handy as he calls upon the name of the song later that night, pretending to himself that he's only doing it because it's been stuck in his head. Not because every time he thinks of it, or rather, of you listening to it, his pants tighten slightly. He chooses youtube first, but something drags his thumb towards the spotify button instead, and he swallows the saliva that's suddenly pooled in his mouth when his suspicions are confirmed: you're listening to it, too.
At eleven-thirty at night, probably beneath the covers on your bed just like Aaron is, you're listening to a song about sex, and as he sinks a hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, he knows without a doubt that you're doing the same.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner scenario#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner one-shot#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner headcanon#aaron hotchner hc#aaron hotchner hcs#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner dialogue#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction
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♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟕: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢����𝐠/𝐝𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐒.𝐌𝐆 ♡
Dedicated To You
【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Your sweet producer boyfriend wanted to share something with you. But your neediness had other plans.
『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 915
-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Producer Au. Suggestive. Fluff.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Producer!Mingi x F.Reader
[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Teasing. Clit stimulation. Clit play. Thigh riding. Humping. Some use of fingers. Pet names.
Thank you, @ia-ateezscupid, for requesting Mingi for this story and the plot concept ♡♡♡.
Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List
There were two simple rules you had to obey whenever you were in the studio with Mingi. One, always sit on his lap or couch, wherever he could have contact with your body. And two stay quiet unless told otherwise. You see, your lover boy was a very busy man, and normally, if you came over to his studio, it was to drop off food or simply be in his company. But this time, you had headed over to his dark studio for another reason. A reason you would normally wait until he was home to ask for. But tonight was different. Tonight, you needed him so badly that you felt like you were going to combust.
So here you sit, perched so quietly on his lap while his fingers click on a keyboard behind you on the deck, and his other hand rakes the mouse at a vigorous pace. You tried to be still and not disturb him, but you couldn’t help but just re-adjust yourself every so often. Wiggling your hips side to side, raking your hands along his shoulders. You were losing willpower fast, and Mingi seemed to take notice.
But he wanted to tease you a bit, or in this case, torture you a little. He loved seeing you squirm and become all shy when asking for what you wanted. And In this situation, he, too, was craving for the perfect attention. He quickly went back to touching up the song he made, ironically just for you. A bedroom song if you will. He had been wanting to release a new album of ‘sensual’ songs and melodies, and he had some of his favourite artists such as Park Seonghwa and Choi San sing the tracks. He was just about finished with them too and was so excited to show you, since, of course, you were his muse behind them.
But when you stomped into the room in your cute little outfit, huffing for cuddles―even though he knew you wanted more than a simple hug―. He thought of a new idea, one that would get you begging for him. So as he finished up the tracks, after what felt like an eternity. He could finally give his attention to you. “I wanna show you something.” His deep voice suddenly caught your attention, leaning up to see what he wanted.
He pressed some buttons before unplugging his headset so the music could play through the surround sound system in the room. His smirk never fell from his face as he adjusted himself on the chair so you would only sit on one of his thighs. you didn’t notice the sudden position, thinking it was nothing more than him trying to be comfortable. But when the song started to pool out of the stereos, you could hear the filth he created.
The song goes into detail about treating a woman named “Angel” as a goddess. Pampering her with love and devotion and not to mention how good he would fuck her over and over again. It was then when it hit you that the song was dedicated to you. Your nickname he gave you all the time was angel and all the details perfectly describe you to a tea. This man really made a sex song for you.
His hands dance around your hips as you close your eyes to bask in the music around you. He took this moment to lift up your skirt seeing your pink panties wet against his dark jeans. You didn’t even notice him pull your skirt up until his thumb made contact with your clit. “Like the song huh?”
Your eyes snap open, locking with his in a second. Your brows scrunched, gulping slightly at the sensation. His free hand gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back, then forth, in a way that sends pleasure through your system. “Show me how much you liked that song.”
You start grinding your hips without the need of Mingi, bracing yourself on his shoulders. Your little pants started to fill the room alongside the low-based song. You could feel your pussy clench around nothing as your humps got quicker. His thumb didn’t move off it’s spot, letting you use not only his thick thigh but his large thumb for stimulation. Eyes rolling back you found the perfect pace, losing yourself trying to reach your climax. Mingi could tell you were going to come any second so without another moment his lips latched onto your neck, sucking a hard purple mark along your jugular that you are going to have to explain to your friends tomorrow.
“Min..I, Fuck…” Your brain was in scrambles, and you could get even a single sentence out before moaning or whimpering soon after. You were so close just a little further, your grinding so harsher and harsh, needing the blissful release, and when Mingi clenched his thighs, you lost it. Coming so hard, you saw stars. He finally moved his hand away from your clit, letting you exhale a shaky breath. He wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you close into a tight embrace. The song finished shortly afterwards, now bringing silence into the room, with slightly panting and heavy heartbeats.
“So I’m assuming you liked the song.” He asked, making you giggle sightly before leaning up to kiss his cheek with a goof smile painting both your and his features.
“Yes, I love it…”
- ♥︎
#ateez#ateez smut#ja3hwa#ateez scenarios#ateez imagines#ateez reaction#ateez reactions#ateez fanfic#ateez fluff#kinktober 2023#kinktober#atz reactions#atz smut#atz fluff#atz drabbles#atz hard hours#atz imagines#atz scenarios#atzsource#atz fanfic#atz#ateez mingi#ateez scenario#ateez fic#mingi x reader#mingi smut#song mingi#mingi#song mingi x reader#mingi x y/n
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MODERN DAY LOVER BOY
April Fools Day Special with the JJK Men in Alternate universes!
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru who casually tells you he'll give you a free temporary tattoo for "today's promotion for pretty girls", but when you get home and peel off the bandage he's written his number there
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru who, once you've made it official, makes you both matching couple tattoos - not necessarily a heart and your initials, but rather the logo of the cafe you guys had your first date at stylized to become the both of you
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru whose customers ask him who the woman in his latest art selections are and it's you (he's not afraid to flex about it)
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru who rarely had off days because that parlour was his life, but you breathed a new meaning to it and now he closes the store with the money he carefully stored over the months for a quick vacation with you
Tattoo artist! Geto Suguru who just has to look at all the photos or selfies or whatever it was that had caught your eye you constantly bombard his phone with to get inspiration for his next art. He's been called a king at what he does but you were a goddess of art itself.
***
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru who spots you in the crowd as he drums, a surprised look in your eyes and upon your once irritated face at how your best friend had dragged you here as he stuns you with his skills
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru who secretly hopes you would show up after the show for an autograph, who's over the moon when he discovers the person you're with has backstage passes, if only to meet his bandmate Geto
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru who adds in smaller writing his number to the poster you ask him to sign, and in fact gives you an autographed Polaroid of himself for free and with a sly smile while the rest of his fan girls groaned in jealousy
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru whose first date with you is to a karaoke and teaches you drums, showering you with whatever you want with his money - that premium gelato? Sure! VIP room? Why not! Nothing but the best for the true idol in his eyes.
Guitarist! Gojo Satoru who from then on always dedicates his songs to a "my pretty muse" that no one knows, except he always engages in eye contact with you
***
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who smoothly, kindly comforts you when you start having doubts about your piercings, assuring you it would only hurt for a moment and he'd never dare to cause suffering to such an angel
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who claims it's a free gift but hands you a box of heart shaped earrings with his number scribbled inside and a nervous ask out to coffee sometime
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who's now the reason you somehow ended up with two more piercings at the top of your ears, him hopefully suggesting you could match with him
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who can't stop blabbering about his beautiful girl to his other customers, leaving them forgetting about the uncomfortable stings and wondering who such a beauty would be
Piercer! Yuta Okkutsu who gifts you the engagement present in the form of custom designed earrings with both your initials in it, be decked wth your favourite colored gem
***
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge who, in his pining stage for you, started spaying a hell lot of red and hearts and Cupid's arrows into his artwork
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge who had no idea you were a fan of his work...and was extremely flustered to find out you discovered his not so secret crush on you when you saw the love song quotes spray painted under a painting of someone who looked suspiciously too similar to you
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge who helps you sneak out of your bedroom at night after throwing pebbles at your window and both of you run off on skateboards to colour the streets the same bright shades of your teenage love
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge who wasn't good at apologising after fights or misunderstandings, so he borrowed others' words to quote and paint somewhere he knew you'd see, with a bouquet of wildflowers left there if you did happen to actually see it in the flesh
Graffiti artist! Inumaki Toge whose biggest artwork was not the bridge he had covered with slogans last month but in fact, the gigantic canvas of you and him racing into the night with streaks of spray paint exploding behind you
***
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori, the self acclaimed "Myth Buster", who went around to various most haunted places in his hometown to explore and prove that in fact, ghosts DO NOT EXIST, which he kept trying to convince you, his skeptical one-man camera crew, of, although your ongoing bet was that if he could you'd give him a kiss
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori who was often requested to do rituals or demon summons to provide evidence for his theories that "ghosts" were just people's imaginations being sparked up by even the most mundane of things by fear, but one of the reasons he really refused was because he didn't want anyone else butting on you and his time - besides, ain't no way was he using you as a sacrifice
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori who finally works up the courage to confess that he wanted to take this friendship to higher levels ironically on Halloween...even more ironically after he grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the haunted house screaming.
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori who declared himself your lucky charm against the supernatural and promises that he'll protect you from whatever came from beyond the grave (he didn't believe it ghosts but sure did in protecting you) and used the excuse to stay over at your house at night
Ghost Hunter! Yuuji Itadori who tells you in the spookiest way possible to meet him at the latest haunted expedition, but when you get there it's all set up with fairy lights, a movie and a picnic to celebrate your one year anniversary as a couple
#sanzuyaps#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#x reader#jjk x reader#jjk x gender neutral reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto x reader#geto suguru x reader#yuuji x reader#yuuji itadori x reader#yuta x reader#yuta Okkutsu x reader#toge inumaki x reader#inumaki x reader#april fool's day#april fool's special
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