So, uh, hi.
It’s been a while. My brain kinda melted over the summer and I’m slowly sweeping it back together, so have a Thing.
Ok, so the Thing is a new chapter of the Shinsou.
Have that. Have a new chapter of Deliverance.
It has a lot of Baku-Kiri fun, and me going overboard with the fluff and the sex scenes. It’s that kind of chapter.
So.
The good news is, my creativity has somewhat come back, in the form of me spending the entire first half of the day furiously writing.
The bad news is, it came back in the form of, uh, this. Which is a Hanamiya x reader weird short set in an omegaverse au. It’s not technically smut, but I wouldn’t call it SFW, either.
I suppose it’s more on the angst/comfort scale, with a lot of sexual tension. I know I’m not selling this well, but I’m still trying to get over the fact that my brain handed me an omegaverse story and that I just went and wrote it.
Word count: 2320
!alpha Hanamiya x !omega reader
Heat dynamics, Angst, Fear, Comfort, Sexual Tension, Thinly Veiled Rape Threats (no actual violence, sexual or otherwise)
You sit in the back of the tiny uni classroom, trying your best to hide.
“Please just come and get me,” you whisper into your phone.
Your boyfriend grunts, barely audible over the sound of people talking and some beat playing in the background.
“Babe, I’m busy.”
Frustration settles into hurt, but you try to keep your voice level.
“Listen, I’m about to go in heat and I need you. I locked myself in a friggin classroom and I don’t know if I’ll make it to my apartment alive if you don’t come over.”
“Then why the hell did you go out?” he sighs, and his words cut like steel. “You should have just stayed home.”
“I had classes,” you say, voice going high with a mixture of anger and pain. “It came up a lot faster than I expected.”
“It always happens faster than you expected,” your boyfriend grumbles, “you always do this. You don’t think it’s gonna happen, because you don’t fucking think. You’re always trying to do things you shouldn’t be doing.”
“Well excuse me for trying to lead an actual life,” you growl.
Before you can say anything else, however, the call clicks off.
You call back. No answer.
Panic rises in your throat and you’re left to stare at your phone, numbly watching the animation of a call failing to be connected. You realise that he’s left you hanging, but it takes a few seconds before it fully sinks in.
You’re alone.
He left you to deal with this by yourself.
You shift and focus on your breathing as you feel a first wave of heat hit you. It runs a shiver down your skin, electricity racing from the top of your head all the way to the ends of your fingers and toes. You clench your abdominal muscles, stifling a low moan.
It is pure, unfiltered desire coursing through you and it is an absolute bitch right now.
You’re pretty sure you can sense a group of people gathering, just outside the door. You’re hoping it’s just your fevered imagination but experience, science even, says otherwise. Your body, treacherous thing it is, is giving off a sweet, wanton sort of scent, a desperate plea for attention that makes people around you stand to attention.
It speaks of untapped potential, of willingness, submissiveness and in any alpha near you it leads to a hunger that’s hard to fight against.
Whoever came up with this biological marvel was an asshole, you think. You take a breath to compose yourself and spray deodorant in front of you in an effort to at least mask some of your scent it.
It’s useless, probably, but what else can you do. You already know it’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better, and unless you can find release, you’re basically stuck here all night.
“You alright in there?”
Someone tries the door handle. Thank god for locks.
“Go away, I’m fine!”
“You sure about that?” It’s a second voice, and it sounds leery.
“Get the fuck away!”
You briefly ponder calling your parents. Never mind that they’re in Osaka and you’re studying in Tokyo. How long would it take them to get here? A few hours? Do you even have that long?
Clicking around your phone, you search for something like a help line for desperate omegas. An intervention team for people in heat. Surely something like that exists.
The sounds of a disturbance by the door take your attention away from googling.
You hear a shuffle, and a curse, the kind of aggression that doesn’t bode well.
And then, in the silence that follows: a click.
Someone picked the god damn lock.
You look around for an escape, a closet to hide in, a window to jump out of, even if it’s three stories down.
But your body is far from done betraying you. You freeze, left to sit on a table near the back wall, as the door slowly opens.
You can smell him, long before you see him. A cloud of scent that proclaims, without hesitance, that he owns the place.
It smells of power, of danger, of arrogance.
It smells like trouble and your body responds by aching for it. A thrill sparks through your veins and you clench once more, biting your lip.
Then the last person you want to see walks through the door, sporting a dark smirk and trailing a cloud of dominance.
“Hanamiya?”
You’re lost in a maelstrom of hormones, flitting between desire and fear. You know, you are almost certain, that he’ll hurt you if he comes close, and still part of you yearns for it, every back-stabbing hormone in your body screaming to be fucked, no matter the cost.
The more lucid part of you grips the hard wood of the table and scoots back against the cool wall. If you could only lose some of the heat radiating off you, you might be able to think.
With an icy calm Hanamiya closes the door behind him and locks it again, pushing back anyone who still dares linger in the hallway, in that stifling cloud of authority.
You swallow hard, sweat gathering in the dip of your sternum, a drop racing down the middle of your chest.
He crosses the room like a villain boarding a conquered ship, long strides taking him right in front of the table, where he stops. Eyes the colour of milk coffee look down at you, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the twitch in your legs, the sheer desperation in your scent.
His lips curl into a dangerous smile.
“Well, well, __-san. Aren’t you in trouble?”
You try to speak but the words die in your throat as he bends down, one hand resting on table next to you.
“They say it’s dangerous for little omega’s to go out when they’re in heat. Makes people crazy, you see.”
You press yourself against the wall, lips involuntarily parting.
“And that deadbeat boyfriend of yours? I saw him maybe half an hour ago. Going off to some party.”
A knot forms in your chest.
It feels like a lie. The kind of cruel thing Hanamiya would say to get a rise out of you.
But you’re fairly certain it’s true, and that hurts all the more.
“Your alpha’s not coming to help you, is he?” Hanamiya says, voice deep with mock pity. “He abandoned you.”
You shake your head, desperate to protest.
“Pathetic,” he says, looking down his nose at you.
He stills for a moment, apparently savouring the way you squirm and struggle to hold yourself together before him.
“It’s a pity, isn’t it,” he finally murmurs. “Such a sweet smell too. There’s a group of people outside just bucking to take care of you.”
You grip the desk harder, shaking your head vehemently as a cold dread grips you.
Hanamiya’s face folds into something akin to amusement and he reaches out a hand. Slowly, he brushes a stray lock of hair from your cheek, a touch that, despite the fear, despite the panic, runs a shiver of pleasure through you.
His eyes twinkle with mischievous joy as he continues, his finger tracking the edge of your jaw from your ear down to your chin.
It takes everything in you to stifle a mewl, your eyelashes fluttering as you grip the desk harder.
You want to wrap your legs around him. You want to cling on and beg him to fuck you, devour you whole if he needs to.
Much as you hate the thought, your skin crackles with a need to be touched and he knows.
God, does he know. You can see it in the burning of his eyes, the darkness of his smile.
“If only there was some other way,” he coos, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Shall I do you a favour, __? Shall I relieve you of this little problem of yours, hmmm? If you beg, I just might.”
He pushes your chin up, eyes boring into yours as he leans closer.
You force yourself to look away, focussing instead on the way his hair falls off his shoulders when he leans forward, black silk draping down, and you try to find your voice.
When it finally comes, it’s in the form of a desiccated whimper.
“Please,” you whisper, and your throat contracts around the word, impossibly dry.
“Oh?“ he hums, lowering his eyes to look at you almost fondly. “Could you repeat that? I didn’t quite catch it.”
You swallow and try again.
“Please don’t,” you croak.
His eyebrows knit together and his tongue clicks, any semblance of warmth gone from his face in an instant.
With a sigh, he pushes off of the table and rights himself, hands casually shoved in his pockets.
“Stubborn little thing.”
He turns his back and starts to walk out while you gulp air like a shipwrecked sailor washing up on the shore.
“Hanamiya, wait!”
You’re not sure what compels you to ask him, of all people, to help you. Perhaps it’s because in the two years since you started university , you have come to admire his intelligence, if not his attitude.
Perhaps you are desperate, in that moment, to believe that he could at least be bargained with or perhaps it’s simply because he isn’t actively trying to rape you and you’re at the point where you consider that a good sign.
Whatever it is, you can only try, and hope.
“Please, Hanamiya, I…”
He turns around, curious.
“You what?”
You slump.
“I don’t know what to do,” you mutter.
The sheer amount of emotions and chemicals fighting inside of you are taking their toll, and the energy it took to keep yourself together is running dry.
“I don’t know what to do,” you repeat, and the way he looks at you makes any hope you had pack up and flee.
“My heat just keeps coming,” you say, pushing through your distress. “For normal people it’s every three months, just a few days, but with me it’s non-stop.”
Cold clay eyes regard you, and Hanamiya’s face folds into something like disgust.
It’s not enough to silence you, however, the words that have taken so long to get through your throat are turning into a stream, a geyser laid dormant too long.
“No matter how many suppressors I take, no matter what my boyfriend does,” you babble, unhindered by the fact that Hanamiya could probably not care less. “I know I’m supposed to just stay home but I don’t want to live my entire life indoors like some caged bird, so you can call me stupid for coming out here when it’s dangerous but apparently that’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’ve been fighting this shit for so long, and I’m so tired and if I can just make it home, I could…”
You don’t know when the tears started, but they’re very definitely here now, stinging your eyes and adding to the humiliation of whatever spectacle you’re already making of yourself.
Frustrated, you wipe at them with clammy fingers.
“I just…”
“God, stop whining already.”
Hanamiya folds his arms and rolls his eyes. “You’re a mess, I get it.”
He takes a step closer and, without warning, slides his fingers in your hair.
You gasp at the rough treatment, but he pays it no mind, pulling your head to the side without a word.
Then he licks his thumb and dabs it on your pressure point.
“W-what are you doing?” you squeak, startled.
The air around you has changed, a musky scent overpowering everything else in the room.
It’s not unpleasant, but it’s confusing, adding to the whirlwind of smells and emotions already raging around you until it mixes and turns into something else, something almost soothing.
“I’m claiming you,” Hanamiya says, simply, pushing your head up again.
“Putting a big old ‘property of Hanamiya Makoto’ sign on you that no one in their right mind is going to ignore.”
He grins at your shocked face, his voice dropping a tone as he brings his face closer to yours.
“You’re mine.”
Pure adrenaline courses through your veins and you blink up, trying to make sense of it.
His hand in your hair causes static electricity all over your scalp, making it hard to think. You’re a whirling sea, battered by storms but you manage, somehow, to speak.
“I’m not.”
He lets go of your head with a dark chuckle.
“My, you’re high maintenance. No wonder your boyfriend gave up on you.”
You give him a hurt look, but he ignores it, instead reaching into his jacket pocket.
“Make no mistake, __-chan. I don’t do favours without cashing them in. You will be required to pay me back.”
He pulls out a small spray can and hands it to you.
“That scent mark will last for about half an hour. You’d better start running.”
Blatantly confused now, you look at the can in your hand. Pepper spray.
“And this?” you ask.
“That’s for if you don’t run fast enough.“
He grins and turns again. Walking toward the door.
“Uh… thanks,” you say.
“Just remember that you owe me.”
And with that, he opens the door and strides out, not looking back. In the open doorway, you can see the dark figures of a few stragglers, still lingering in the hallway.
With a deep breath, you slide off the table and onto wobbly feet. You take a moment to find your balance, and then you grab your bag and secure it around your shoulder, trying your best to stay upright and exude confidence.
You clutch the pepper spray in your hand and mentally brace yourself before you finally take a step toward the door.
The alpha’s outside lean back as you approach, and you rigidly pass by them, feeling like a deer surrounded by wolves.
Swallowing hard, you keep walking, slowly, deliberately, down the hallway, until you round a corner.
Then you break into a run.
Hiya,
fanfic alert!
I have finally, finally finished (half of) the Aomine fic that I started two years ago (when the KnB fandom was already dying).
So if anyone is still into that sort of thing, now is the time!
This is a medium burn reader insert following the meandering path to romance with a boy as dense and arrogant as our favourite blue haired ace.
Big thanks and dedication to @thekuroiookami for finally kicking my ass into gear and getting me to sit down and finish this.
This is an old post, but I wrote a book.
Now, I realize this isn’t that fancy an achievement, because
a: it’s fanfic, and that automatically disqualifies it as a ‘book’ to some people
and
b: by fanfic standards, it’s not that big a deal. Like I know it’s not super popular, and also I’m no SkittyDyne (who is utterly amazing, but not, I suppose, a very healthy standard of length to strive for).
But this is still something I’ve wanted to do for a Very Long Time, and I’m pretty proud of myself that I was able to finish it,
so in the interest of explaining to fanfic writers everywhere what they’re getting themselves into, and to sate my own curiosity: have some numbers.
The Word document that is my finished manuscript is 234 pages long (Times New Roman, font size 12)
It contains 130,040 words, which, holy shit, is more than Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s stone (76.944 words, according to the internets) and The Hobbit (95.022 words).
Book wise, this is apparently about the size of LOTR’s The Return of the King (134,462 words).
LKS also tops out at 769,712 characters.
Fun factoid: In my experience, freelance writers around my parts receive €0.015 to €0.025 per character for work in print, such as a magazine or newspaper. Up to €0.033 or more if they get a good deal.
That’s €11,500, up to €24,400 if I’d spent all that time writing for pay, instead of as a hobby (please note that this is not a complaint, I’m very much doing this for fun).
There exist, at this time, 114 versions of my manuscript, across two laptops and one Google Drive. This tells you that I’m a bit of a mess, but also, that I have a lot of back-ups (always make back-ups, kids).
There are also about six planning and assorted note documents.
The final version of the manuscript, by the way, takes up 1.630 kB, or 1.6 MB.
Fun factoid: It would not fit on a 3,5 inch floppy disk (also, I am old).
There are 17 months and a half months between @leeva-z-kai sending me the fateful pm that kickstarted this whole thing (it basically said ‘how about you just combine your au’s and story ideas’, but with prettier words).
The first 8 chapters of the current version went up a month later.
LKS has 46 chapters, with a an average of about 3k words per chapter.
And each of those chapters took about 12 hours to make. Some longer, some less, but that’s a pretty close average.
This includes writing and editing.
That’s 552 hours, with some added planning work.
Fun factoid: in my part of the world, office workers tend to have a work week of 38 hours. In this system the book would have taken 14.5 work weeks to complete.
Please remember this when you tell fanfic writers some version of ‘give me more content faster’: every minute you read takes an hour of someone’s time to write.
This is the sentimental bit.
I very much believe in self-motivated writing. If you are not a copywriter, it is a good idea to write first and foremost for yourself. This means you won’t give up when you’re making gen fic that sits at a steady 47 views for ages.
That is not to say you can’t use support. Especially for a project this long.
A writer is not an island and you need someone, preferably several someones, to lean on.
Support comes in many forms.
It can come in the form of a pm and an offer for initial beta reading, like Keiji.
It is also someone to whine at, bounce ideas off of, just… chat at about your fic, like @bsinoranges, or @haruhi02, or @tottwriter, or milksalt, who is not on tumblr.
It very much, and this is important, comes in the form of comments and kudos, like a few dedicated readers coming back every few chapters to let you know that yes, they’re still following you, and no, you’re not writing into the void, like @seamarmot and a few others. (don’t think I didn’t notice, holy shit did I notice).
I’ve been lucky enough to have received all these types of support and honestly? Thank you. I truly don’t think I’d have done it without you.
This is technically SFW, btw, but it’s also, like, Very Thirsty.
So have some fluff, I guess. (I also posted this on AO3)
Calloused fingers slide up through his shower-softened hair. He gathers his locks, black waves pulling away from his face as he stands there, illuminated by the last rays of a scarlet sunset.
It’s a warm summer eve, open window providing a welcome breeze, but not much more. The heat is everywhere, like the sound of cicadas filling up the very air around you.
He’s thinking, eyes down and faraway, not even noticing the hair that escapes his grasp, tumbling down to frame his face like the precious work of art it is.
To you he is perfection, a being of such grace that it would make Greek sculptors weep. His skin is flushed, heat turning it a shade darker than normal, and the low light raises up his scars, turning them into islands of gold in a pool of vermilion.
His tiger stripes, you call them.
Vestiges of the times when you could have lost him, and reminders of his strength, his will, to survive.
To return.
To you.
You sneak up behind him and place both hands on his back, gently sliding them down.
He startles, rigid for a fraction of a second, before relaxing into your touch.
Your fingers flutter over his sides, gleefully dancing on the ridges under his skin before moving up toward his chest.
“What’s up?” he says.
He picks the elastic from his teeth and ties it, locks swishing down, barely grazing the tip of your nose.
You giggle.
“I like it when you tie you hair,” you murmur, leaning in.
Your lips hover over the recently uncovered skin, searching for the perfect spot to land. You place little kisses on his shoulder, following a path of affection from his back up to his neck, all the way to the soft spot right beneath his ear that is so very sensitive to touch.
“Hmmm?” he rumbles, and you can hear the light smile in his voice, the gentle anticipation in his demeanour. “Why is that?”
“Ease of access,” you say, pulling yourself flush with him in a way that elicits a small whimper.
He breathes out, steadying himself, before he tilts his head to the side, an invitation to continue.
You grin against his skin, nudging his neck and taking in his warm scent. His breathing is slow, relaxed, but you can feel his heartbeat pick up when your lips move across his shoulder, mingling soft pecks with playful nips.
“Hey,” he whispers, and you let go, taking a step back to watch him turn around.
Muscles move beneath skin and your eyes wander, like they always do, locked in helpless addiction at the sight of him. He stands bare before you, and you take in the whole of him, from his exposed neck to the trail of thin black hair that runs down from his chest and across his abdomen.
When you finally tear yourself away and look up, there’s an amused smirk on his face.
He folds his arms, leaning back against the desk.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Very,” you say, involuntarily sucking in your bottom lip.
There’s a brief sigh and the smallest of head shakes before he reaches out, one finger hooking behind the top button of your shirt, and reels you in.
“Don’t you bite your lip at me,” he says, laying his arms around your shoulders.
“Would you rather I bite yours?”
A snicker, and he pulls you closer, leaning forward until his mouth is millimetres away.
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” he whispers, and presses his lips to yours.
Oh look who gets another shot at being in the Lock, the Key and the Sacrifice.
New chapter is now up.
Hey guys, since I have a milestone coming up in followers and I have long since lost track of why you’re even following me,
I figured I’d do a little feedback session. There’s literally two questions, it takes like ten seconds.
This basically lets you tell me what you want from this blog and to some extent, what fanfics you’d like to see.
The poll is here.
Below, I’ll explain
the questions.
Basically, which of the many fandoms I’ve been obsessing over, has caused you to follow me, or which ones would you like to see in your feed.
So I’m putting the final touches on the Lock, the Key and the Sacrifice, and in anticipation of the time I’ll be gaining when I’m not updating a fantasy story every other week, I checked the folder where I put all my drafts and
ideas. Many of these will maybe eventually make it into a
finished stage, but if you feel like I should *start* with one of these, now is the time to tell me.
So that’s it. Two questions, two answers and you’ll be helping me out a ton.
You can enter the poll here.
This one is super long and completely overstuffed and features a lot of characters and a bunch of fights scenes that I have, in chat, explained as ‘like fighting in a conveyor belt factory where someone keeps flicking off the light’.
I’m pretty fond of it.
Since a lot of you will be having holidays soon, and maybe finally working on that massive ‘to do’ for art, here’s a little reminder that
I wasn’t sure what it would be when we started, but from experience, this is what we do:
So if you feel like adding to that, hit me up for the channel link.
PS: It’s a Discord channel, so you will need an account there.
Ok, first up. I’m really sorry.
I’m so late and I feel like I could have done a better job at this, but that ghost story took an awful lot out of me.
Unrealistic expectations 