#I get some of the hate surrounding that character. I get it from the standing point of people who have actually genuinely experienced--

[ladyofchroyane]

‘the black bastard of the wall’ moniker is the exact opposite of the ‘white wolf’ moniker and this perfectly highlights the irreconcilable differences between book Jon and show Jon

[sunsburns]

no. 1 party anthem — clark kent (superman) ! ᢉ𐭩

⟢ synopsis. what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

⟢ contains. clark kent x reader, ots and lots of fluff! it is one of the more romantic things i have written, cute blind date, characters are dumb, set up date, lois is a mastermind, i do not know anything about journalism, pinning from both sides but too shy to do anything about it.

⟢ word count. 5.8k+

⟢ author’s note. i can’t get this man outta my head pls help me 😣 the voices!!! also feel free to imagine this as any clark (and i mean any i swear: comic book, adventures with superman, tom welling, david corenswet, henry cavill, or even reeve)

“Hey, you’re gonna hate me but I’m gonna be like 10 minutes late. You go ahead and check in and order. The table should be under my name. I’ll pay the bill. I’m so sorry!”

You weren’t exactly surprised when the message lit up your phone screen. You rolled your eyes, exhaling through your nose. If there was one thing you knew about Lois Lane, it was that urgency wasn’t always her strong suit—unless it involved an exclusive scoop or a headline-worthy disaster with Superman. Still, considering this was supposed to be a work-related meeting, you had half-expected her to arrive early, not leave you waiting.

You typed out a quick reply, telling her it was fine when it really wasn’t, telling her to take her time when you wished she wouldn’t. Then, slipping your phone back into your bag, you made your way toward the hostess stand.

“Table under the name Lane?” you asked, offering a polite smile.

The hostess nodded, flashing you a warm smile in return. “Right this way.”

As she led you through the restaurant, you took in your surroundings with subtle curiosity. The place was charming—exactly the kind of cozy, floral-accented spot Lois would dig up for an ‘informal work chat.’ The kind of place that felt like it had stories tucked between its soft candlelit tables and ivy-draped walls.

You tried to dress the part, too—professional but approachable. You weren’t here for a casual dinner, after all. This meeting was supposed to be a quick sit-down with a lawyer Lois had arranged, someone who could confirm a few key details for a piece you were both working on. A case involving a corporation and some shady legal maneuvering—Lois had the sources, but you were the one handling the research. You’d spent the past week buried in legal jargon, piecing together statements and contracts, and now you just needed a professional to verify what you suspected before the article could go to print.

By the time you reached your table, you were already running through the questions in your head, mentally preparing for the conversation. The restaurant wasn’t grand, but it was stunning in its own way. You admired the decor, taking in the quiet hum of conversation and the delicate clink of silverware.

At least if Lois was late, you had time to go over your notes one more time.

You ran your hands over your portfolio, smoothing the cover absentmindedly as you flipped through the pages. The neatly typed notes stared back at you, but none of the words really registered. All you could do was wait—for the lawyer, for Lois, for some sign that this wasn’t going to be a complete waste of time.

With a sigh, you reached for the glass of wine you ordered a few minutes ago, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. You had to pace yourself, or you’d drain the whole thing before anyone even showed up. You checked your phone, hoping for an update, but the screen remained frustratingly blank.

Disappointed, you rested your chin on your hand, eyes drifting across the restaurant. The warm glow of golden light reflected off polished wood and delicate floral centrepieces, the soft murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clink of silverware. Your waiter had already stopped by twice, politely offering more appetizers while you tried not to look as painfully alone as you felt. If they came by again, you weren’t sure if you’d accept out of politeness or embarrassment.

And then, just as you took another sip of wine, a familiar figure walked through the entrance.

Clark Kent.

You blinked, watching as the hostess led him inside, guiding him through the rows of neatly arranged tables. Even from where you sat, you recognized the way he carried himself—like he was constantly trying to shrink his presence, shoulders slightly hunched, movements careful and deliberate. It was ironic, really, considering how much space he naturally took up. Clark was tall, broad-shouldered, and impossible to miss, yet he carried himself like he didn’t want to be noticed.

You knew him, but not really.

Not as much as you want to.

You were office acquaintances at best—two reporters who shared the same workplace, desks across from each other, but rarely the same conversations. There had been moments, though. Fleeting ones. Catching his lingering glances during late nights at the Daily Planet, both of you working in near silence, save for the tapping of keyboards. A handful of polite exchanges over the coffee machine, his voice always gentle, soft-spoken. And then, of course, there were the times someone would call out "Hey, Smallville!" across the office, earning a sheepish smile from Clark as he adjusted his glasses and ducked his head.

He looked nice tonight. Not too different from his usual work attire, but more relaxed. A crisp button-up, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal a strong line of his forearms, dress pants fitted just right. He had forgone the tie, leaving the top button undone. Simple, but put-together. Effortless in a way that shouldn’t have been so charming, but somehow was.

And then you realized the hostess was leading him closer.

You quickly dropped your gaze, staring into your half-empty wine glass like it suddenly held the secrets of the universe. The last thing you wanted was to be caught staring, especially while sitting alone, nursing a drink, and very clearly sulking.

Maybe, just maybe, if you looked busy enough, you could avoid drawing any attention at all.

And for a moment, it worked.

You picked up your phone again, checking the time for what had to be the hundredth time that night. With a little too much urgency, you started to type out a message to Lois—something casual, something that wouldn’t sound desperate, something that would make it seem like you weren’t upset about currently sitting alone in a nice restaurant, swirling the last remnants of your wine waiting for her to get there. You were so focused on forming the perfect text that you almost missed it—

Your name.

Spoken softly, but clear. Familiar.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. The voice had a weight to it, warm and steady, like someone genuinely surprised but pleased to see you. You swallowed and glanced up, feigning a search for the source before your gaze finally landed on Clark.

He wasn’t seated directly beside you but rather at the table across, angled just enough that you had to turn your head slightly to meet his eye. His lips curled into a sheepish smile, glasses slipping just a little down the bridge of his nose before he quickly pushed them back up again.

“Hi.”

That was all. Just hi. Simple, unassuming, but it made something settle in your chest, something you hadn’t even realized was tense.

You couldn’t bite back the smile forming on your own lips. “Hi, Clark.”

“Hey.”

A kind man with few words.

Though you’d heard him talk endlessly before, especially with Lois—deep in discussion, debating headlines, getting lost in conversations about ethics and reporting. But with you, it was always something short and sweet. A few words here and there. And yet, even the simplest conversations had a way of lingering. Would it be silly to admit that your brief, slightly awkward chats with Clark kind of made your day? Even when it was just him asking to borrow an extra pen?

God, you felt like a teenager again, having a crush on a classmate.

You watched as he rubbed at his cheek, the scruff there catching the soft glow of the restaurant lighting. His pointer finger rested idly at the seam of his lips, and you forced yourself to focus—not to stare at his mouth, not to let your gaze linger anywhere it shouldn’t.

He was your coworker, for fuck’s sake.

A really pretty one.

A really kind, really good-looking coworker.

You exhaled lightly, pressing your fingertips against the stem of your glass as if that might ground you. “It’s nice to see you.” The words came out before you could stop them, but they were true. It was nice.

It was almost like he perked up at that, his posture straightening just a little. “Yeah, great to see you too. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I... I could say the same.” Your cheeks were starting to hurt from how much you were smiling. You tried to temper it, but it was hard when Clark Kent was looking at you like that—all honey-eyed.

“Are you here for work?” he asked, casting a pointed look at the portfolio by your hands, stacked neatly beside your drink.

You glanced down at it as if you had momentarily forgotten it was there. “Um, yeah. I’m meeting with a source, so... they should be here any minute.”

Clark’s brows lifted slightly. “It’s your story on LexCorp, right?”

Your fingers, which had been absently tracing the condensation on your glass, paused. “Yeah, it is actually.” You blinked at him, a little surprised. “How’d you know?”

His smile was almost bashful, his hand brushing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was being modest. “Oh, I just remember you mentioning it a few days ago. It’s a great story.”

Something in your chest tightened—not in a bad way, just in a way that made you feel warm all over. You hadn’t expected him to remember, let alone bring it up. The conversation you’d had at work had been so brief, just an offhand remark about how you were stepping outside your usual comfort zone. No one else had really asked you about it since.

“You think?” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I thought it was kind of a stretch. I mean, like—a stretch from what I usually write, you know? I don’t really deal with politics and corporate stuff and all that.”

Clark shook his head, that gentle, reassuring look in his eyes making it impossible not to believe him. “I’m sure it’ll be great. You’re an amazing writer.”

You were smiling even wider now. Compliments weren’t uncommon at the Daily Planet—people gave each other nods of approval, a “good job” here and there. But Clark said it like he meant it, like he had read your work, thought about it, believed in it.

It reminded you of the time he had quietly left a sticky note on your desk after an article of yours had been rushed to print. Really great work on this one! -CK. You’d found it hours later, after everyone had gone home. It had been such a small thing, but you’d kept the note tucked inside your notebook anyway.

You felt your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Clark. I think you’re a great writer too.”

He ducked his head slightly, smiling. “Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward, just something familiar to the pauses between you two at the office. Expect this time you didn’t have any work to distract yourself with. You hesitated before finally breaking it.

“If you don’t mind me asking… what’re you doing here?”

“I, uh… I have a date, actually.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But for some reason, you felt your stomach drop slightly, and you almost wanted to smack yourself in the head for not catching on sooner. Of course, he was here on a date, looking like that—all charming and shy.

He even smelled good, like fresh linen and something warm, something undeniably Clark.

“I know how it looks,” he started, and you noticed the way his shoulders began to hunch in on themselves like he was trying to make himself smaller. “Feels strange. I don’t think I’ve been dating since college.”

You let out a breath of amusement, nodding slowly. “Wow. Uh—good for you, though. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, I mean…” He hesitated, then glanced up at you, a little sheepish. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s a blind date, so I have no idea what this person looks like or who they are.”

You blinked. “You don’t know anything?”

“They’re a friend of Lois.” He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. “But that’s as much as I got.”

“Oh.” Your lips parted, then closed. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Clark.” You shot him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “I’ll be here for moral support.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve got your thing to worry about.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend out too.”

The words left your mouth before you had a chance to really think about them. Friend. You wondered if you could even call yourselves that. You were more acquaintances if anything—a friend of a friend. But Clark always did little favours for you, and he was always kind to you.

Like the time he had grabbed you a coffee when you’d been stuck in a seemingly endless editorial meeting, dropping it off at your desk without a word. Just a small smile, a quiet “figured you could use one.”

Or the time he’d helped you carry an entire box of research binders up three flights of stairs because the elevator was down. He had done it without hesitation, without you even asking, took it from your hands like it was weightless.

Then there was the time he had lent you his jacket when an assignment had left you stranded in the rain. It had been late, the Daily Planet nearly empty, and you had been standing by the windows, arms wrapped around yourself, shivering slightly as you tried to figure out how to make it home without getting completely drenched. Clark had passed by, paused, then shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Just give it back tomorrow,” he’d said.

But it wasn’t just him.

You had done things for him too.

The time you had stayed late to help him rework an article after an editor had torn through it with a red pen, sitting beside him as the newsroom emptied, tossing ideas back and forth until it finally felt right. He had looked at you then, something warm in his eyes, and said, “I owe you one.”

Or the time he had misplaced his glasses—how he had checked every possible spot, growing more and more flustered, only for you to walk over and pluck them from where they had been resting atop his head. You had laughed, shaking your head as you handed them back. He had gone pink in the ears, mumbling something about being forgetful, but the way he had smiled after made you think he didn’t mind the teasing.

Then there was the time you had covered for him when he had mysteriously disappeared right before a meeting. Lois had been looking for him, impatient and muttering about how he always seemed to vanish at the worst times. You had lied—just a small one. Said he had mentioned stepping out for a quick errand, and that he’d be back soon. You weren’t sure why you had done it.

Helping him out never hurt. So it shouldn’t hurt one more time.

Well, maybe it would. Just a little bit.

It might hurt your pride, mostly.

“Besides,” you continued, “I’ve been here for almost twenty minutes and no one’s showed up.”

“That’s... odd.”

“I know,” you muttered, glancing at your phone again, the screen glowing with no new notifications. You hesitated, thumb hovering over your messages before sighing and picking it up. “Can you excuse me for a second?”

“Of course,” Clark said, ever patient, though his brows knit together slightly in concern.

You slid out of your seat, weaving through the dimly lit restaurant. The warm hum of conversation filled the air, glasses clinking, silverware scraping against plates. A jazz melody played softly from the speakers, almost drowned out by the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. You stepped toward the front, near the entrance, where it was quieter, and pressed the phone to your ear.

Lois hadn’t answered your last two—three?—messages. You tried calling her once. The line rang and rang, then went to voicemail. You exhaled sharply and called again, tapping your fingers against the wooden counter near the hostess stand.

On the last ring, she finally picked up.

"Hello-?"

“Where are you?” You didn’t bother hiding the frustration in your voice, pacing a little near the door.

"I'm... on my way, I swear."

“You said that almost half an hour ago, Lois.”

"I know, I know—I’m sorry. I was just about to call—"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through your teeth. “And the lawyer, do you know when they’ll get here?”

A pause.

"I… I don’t know."

Your stomach dropped. “You don’t know?”

"No… now that I think about it… I don’t think I confirmed a time."

“Lois,” you breathed, dragging a hand down your face.

"I’m sorry. Maybe we should rain check. I’ll leave them a message or something and we can do this another day."

You glanced back toward your table, then toward Clark, who was politely minding his own business, idly staring at his menu. Your eyes flickered to your untouched portfolio, the very reason you had come out tonight in the first place.

“I need the papers approved by Wednesday.”

"And it’s Saturday night. You have plenty of time."

“This is rich coming from you,” you deadpanned, rubbing your temple.

"I know, just… maybe it’s a sign you gotta take things slow. You know, focusing on yourself instead of work. Maybe you should go to a club or something."

You scoffed, barely biting back an incredulous laugh. “Lois… this fucking sucks.”

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, okay? I’ll take you out tomorrow for brunch, swear on that. I promise. And I’ll transfer you for whatever you order tonight. Keep the receipt and give it to me."

You sighed, glancing down at your shoes. “I’m just gonna go home.”

"What? And waste a perfectly good night? You should stay out, meet new people, socialize with things that aren’t your laptop. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

You exhaled, staring blankly at the floor tiles. “I think a movie from my bed sounds really nice.”

"I’m not even gonna fight you on this."

“Bye, Lois.”

"Bye. Love you."

You ended the call with a quiet sigh, lingering in place for a moment, letting the frustration settle. You had spent the entire day mentally preparing for this meeting, running through questions, making sure every document was in order. Now, all of it felt like wasted energy.

With another steadying breath, you pushed off the pillar you had been leaning against, shoulders still tight with frustration, and made your way back to your table. The restaurant hadn’t gotten any quieter in your absence—if anything, the crowd had only grown as the night grew longer.

Clark glanced up as you returned, and the way his expression softened told you everything—he didn’t even need to ask how the call had gone. He just knew.

Still, before he could say anything, you beat him to it. “Your date’s not here yet?” You sank back into your seat, brushing a stray napkin aside as if the small action would help ground you.

Clark shook his head, and he didn’t seem too disappointed. “No, not yet.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet, observant way of his. “Is everything alright?”

You blinked at him, still half in your own thoughts. “Hmm?”

“The phone call,” he clarified, “you seem… a little… annoyed.”

That was putting it lightly.

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should push further, then asked, voice gentle, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The simplicity of it—the way he just offered, no pressure, no expectations—unravelled some of the tension in your chest.

“I don’t wanna bother you about my stuff,” you said honestly.

“It’s no bother.”

You glanced up at him, at the unwavering patience in his expression. “You’re really sweet, Clark. You know that, right?”

A faint pink dusted the tips of his ears. “I wouldn’t say that…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s in your nature?” you teased.

He let out a small, awkward laugh, shaking his head. “I definitely wouldn’t say that either.”

That made you smile—something small, something real.

“Well, it’s true,” you insisted. “Must’ve been the way you were raised.”

“Must’ve been.”

Before you could say anything else, a waiter arrived, carefully setting a starter plate and a drink down in front of Clark. He thanked her politely, offering a small nod before she walked away.

“I, uh…” He gestured to the plate. “I ordered some nachos if you want some.”

You raised a brow. “Shouldn’t those be for your date?”

He gave you an easy, lopsided smile. “They won’t have to know.”

A small chuckle slipped out before you could stop it. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The nachos were surprisingly good, crisp and warm under the layer of melted cheese, but you barely tasted them. Instead, your focus kept drifting—to Clark, to your phone, to the door.

At first, you thought about calling it a night. You could have told Clark you were heading home, and he probably would have understood, probably would have even offered to walk you to your car or wait with you for an Uber. But something stopped you.

Maybe it was the way he seemed at ease, talking to you like there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. Maybe it was how easy it was to talk to him tonight, without work looming over you, without deadlines keeping your conversations clipped and efficient. Or maybe—maybe it was the nagging feeling in your gut that kept telling you he was waiting on someone who wasn’t going to show.

You hated that thought.

You didn’t say anything, though, not when another ten minutes passed, not when he checked his phone for the fourth—or was it fifth?—time. You just sat with him, keeping him company, even if you dreaded the moment someone else walked through those doors.

Clark kept insisting his date would be there soon. But every time he said it, the confidence in his voice waned.

By the time another twenty minutes passed, you were sitting with your phone open in your lap, ready to call an Uber. You should go home. It had been a long day, and you weren’t exactly in the mood to be out any more. But you hesitated when Clark spoke again.

“They should be here any minute now,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You glanced up at him, watching the way his brows pinched slightly as he checked his phone again.

He had said that before. More than once.

You were starting to feel bad for him.

You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to get stood up for a date (work was something else you could get over by tonight but a date?)—to wait around, watching the minutes tick by, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the person you were waiting for was running late instead of ignoring you altogether. And worse, you were starting to get peeved. How could anyone ghost Clark Kent?

But you didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t seem upset.

Or maybe he was just pretending not to be.

Either way, you didn’t want to remind him of the rejection. If he was pushing through it, then so were you.

It wasn’t until another thirty minutes flew by—until the sky outside had fully darkened, the city lights reflecting off the windows—that you finally exhaled and set your phone down.

“My source isn’t coming.”

Clark blinked at you, pulling his gaze away from the door. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there was a mix-up with the times or something.” You waved it off like it was no big deal, even though frustration still sat heavy in your chest. You weren’t nearly as mad as you had been earlier, but you had still wasted your night on something that should have been simple.

Clark studied you for a moment, then gave a small, almost amused huff. “Looks like we’re both out of luck then.”

You watched as his gaze flickered back toward the entrance, and then, after a beat, he sighed.

“I don’t think my date’s coming either.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m sorry, Clark,” you said, and you meant it.

“Don’t be,” he told you, and before you could say anything else, he was already flagging down the waiter, asking for the bill. Then, as casually as if he were asking about the weather, he turned back to you and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

You blinked. “And go where?”

He shrugged, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Anywhere. I don’t mind.”

And somehow, that was how you ended up walking down the streets of Metropolis, shoulder to shoulder with Clark Kent.

The night air was crisp, cool enough that you tugged your coat tighter around yourself. The sidewalks were busy with people, cars rolling lazily through the streets, their headlights casting soft glows against the pavement.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten here—how a frustrating, dead-end night had turned into this. But you didn’t hate it.

In fact, you were enjoying every minute of it.

The streets of Metropolis buzzed with an early-night energy. Neon signs flickered, storefronts cast golden light onto the pavement, and the hum of conversation from passing pedestrians filled the air. You walked close to Clark, close enough that your arms brushed with every step.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something trusted about it—something new.

You risked a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders relaxed. But when the light of a passing car swept over his face, you caught the way his jaw tensed slightly, like he was thinking about something.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable for a split second before softening into something reassuring. “Yeah. Why?”

You lifted a shoulder, tucking your hands into your coat pockets as you shrugged. “Just… getting stood up sucks. I figured you’d be at least a little upset.”

Clark exhaled a small huff of amusement. “I mean, yeah, I guess I could be. But I’d rather not waste my night sulking about it.”

You nodded, accepting his answer. But then, after a few seconds, you heard him add, quieter, “Besides… I’m having a nice time.”

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

You kept your gaze forward, pretending like those words didn’t sink into you in a way that left you warm despite the cool night air.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time, it felt different. More aware. More weighted.

And then Clark suddenly spoke.

“Can I show you something?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift. “Uh… sure?”

He smiled, but there was something almost shy about it, something hesitant like he was second-guessing himself. “It’s not far.”

Curious, you followed his lead, stepping off the main sidewalk as he turned down a quieter street, where the glow of streetlights gave way to something softer, something greener.

Within moments, you realized where you were headed.

The city park.

You’d been here plenty of times before—Metropolis had its fair share of green spaces, a welcome contrast to the steel and glass of the skyline—but Clark led you past the more well-known paths, past the benches where couples sat talking in hushed tones, past the fountain that usually served as a meeting place.

Eventually, he guided you toward a narrow, gated pathway, tucked between a stretch of trees. He reached for the gate, pausing before glancing back at you.

“It’s, uh… it’s kind of a secret spot.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Secret?”

His lips quirked. “Sort of. I mean, it’s public, but not many people know about it.”

“Riiight... totally not a cheesy thing to say.”

“Just, come look.”

You watched as he pushed the gate open, stepping aside to let you through first.

You hesitated for only a second before slipping past him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his chest as you stepped inside.

And then you saw it.

A sheltered little garden.

It wasn’t grand, but it was beautiful. A small, enclosed space, with an arched trellis overhead wrapped in evergrowing vines. Flowers bloomed in neatly arranged clusters, their colours muted under the soft glow of the moon and city. A narrow stone pathway curved through the space, leading to a bench beneath another canopy of vines.

The whole thing felt… unreal. Quiet. Removed from the city entirely.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This is…” You exhaled, searching for the right word. “Wow.”

Clark smiled, stepping further in behind you. “I found it by accident a while ago. It’s kind of nice, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Kinda nice is an understatement, Smallville.”

The two of you lingered in the quiet, the city’s distant sounds muffled by the greenery around you. And when you looked at Clark again, you caught it—

That brief hesitation. That barely-there glance.

Something unreadable flickered across his face before he cleared his throat, looking away, suddenly busying himself with adjusting his glasses.

It was awkward. Endearing.

And for some reason, it made your heart beat just a little faster.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to break the silence. “So, what, you bring all your failed dates here?” you teased lightly.

Clark huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. Just you.”

His voice was light, teasing back—but something about it stuck with you.

Just you.

You had no idea what to say to that.

So instead, you just smiled. And hoped the darkness hid the warmth rising in your face.

Clark shifted beside you, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets, gaze flickering toward the night sky. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Just... don’t tell Lois about this place.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Or else it’ll be on the front cover of the Daily Planet and it won’t be so secret anymore.”

You snorted. “Figured.”

Then, almost immediately, your lips twisted into a frown. “Ugh, you know what? I’m still kinda pissed off with Lois.”

Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “Lois? What—why?”

You sighed, rubbing at your temple. “She was the one who arranged the whole meeting with the lawyer today. My source. She forgot to confirm or something and cancelled last minute. Can you believe it?”

Clark blinked. “Not really.”

“Yeah, me neither. She’s probably got caught up with Superman again or something—I don’t know.”

Clark’s head tilted slightly, brows drawing together. “Sorry? Superman?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s just an inside joke between us and our friends. Since she’s so close with the guy, we joke that whenever she’s acting weird, it’s because of him.”

Clark let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Does she usually?”

“Not really. But we like to watch her squirm when we bring it up.” You smirked. “Anyway, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s been acting weird all week.”

Clark hummed, his gaze thoughtful. “Yeah, I noticed that too. When she was telling me about this date, she just... wasn’t herself, I guess. Left a lot of things in the dark.”

Your steps faltered slightly, your brows knitting together as something in his words made your stomach twist. You turned to look at him, trying to piece together the implications of what he was saying.

“Wait—” You exhaled, mind racing. “Lois set you up?”

Clark slowed as well, blinking as if he’d only just realized you hadn’t put it together yet. “Uh… yeah?” He frowned slightly. “I did say my date was a friend of hers.”

“Right.” You blinked, mind catching up. “Sorry, I must’ve forgotten.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

The sounds of the city—distant honking, the chatter of pedestrians, the hum of neon signs—faded into a dull blur. It was as if the entire world had taken a collective breath and was holding it, waiting for the two of you to catch up.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The pieces clicked together—Lois arranging your meeting, forgetting to confirm, being strangely vague about the details.

Oh.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped as realization crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Clark’s eyes widened just a fraction, his breath hitching. And then, almost at the same time—

“…No way.”

You exhaled a quiet, incredulous laugh, shaking your head as your mind reeled. Clark let out a chuckle of his own, one hand running through his hair, his fingers ruffling the strands at the back of his head. His ears—just barely visible under the glow of a nearby streetlight—had turned the faintest shade of pink again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just looked at each other, as if confirming that, yes, this was real, and yes, Lois Lane had absolutely just played matchmaker.

“Well,” Clark finally said, voice warm, laced with amusement. “At least we won’t have to spend the whole night getting to know each other.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Yeah. Guess not.”

The tension in your shoulders, the nervous energy, the awkwardness of the night—it all melted into something else entirely. Something softer. Something that felt… kind of nice.

Clark was still smiling, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses, and you had to resist the urge to look away, to keep from giving away the way your heart had started beating just a little faster.

He shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets as he glanced down for a second before looking back up at you.

And then, with just the slightest hint of something almost timid in his voice, he asked—

“Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Sure.”

“When Lois was telling me about the date... I was hoping it would be you.”

“…Really?”

Clark nodded, lips pressing together like he was debating whether he should keep going. But then, in a quieter voice, he admitted, “Yeah... It was the only reason I agreed. And when I saw you at the restaurant, I was really excited—until you told me you were there for work.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Sorry I let you down.”

His head snapped up. “No.” He shook his head, quickly, almost too quickly. “You didn’t.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I still had fun,” he added, a little sheepishly.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. “You should’ve just said something.”

Clark exhaled a laugh, glancing down again. “I know. I just... I’m not really good at this stuff.”

You smiled, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “You’re doing pretty good so far. Had me swept off my feet.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice just a little lower, a little softer.

“Oh yeah.”

A pause. A lingering look.

And then—

“We should do this again.” His lips curled, a little nervous but hopeful. “On purpose next time.”

You grinned widely, feeling warmth spread through you, from your chest to the very tips of your fingers.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’d like that a lot.”

[ectoplasmer]

i love my boyfriend i love my boyfriend so mych he is so soft and warm and comfy and pretty and

[viktateapot]

GALA ✨ (Batboys)

Dick Grayson:

"Why did I agree to this?" You muttered, trying to maintain your balance on the uncomfortable heels. The blue satin dress, a gift from Dick, was gorgeous, but you felt like a silk sausage. It was an official event in Gotham City. Champagne, tuxedos, and the bored faces of the rich. As if you didn't have enough adventures with Dick Grayson.

You spotted him at the snack table, chatting casually with an important sponsor. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his tie was slightly crooked. A perfect cock. He looked at me, and his face broke into a wide smile. "You're gorgeous!" You could read his lips before he pushed off the table and headed towards you.

When Dick came up to you, he took your hand and kissed it. "Oh, you're so beautiful, my little bird."

"You look disheveled. Or have you already ridden the chandelier?" You said, gently straightening his tie.

He rolled his eyes. "It was just one damn time. You can just forget about it?"

"No, you're a damn acrobat. I know it was a long time ago, but it feels like it was yesterday"

And as we stood there, surrounded by glitter and tinsel, you realized that the most beautiful treasure of the evening was not the dress, the jewelry, or the champagne. It was Dick. With his restless energy, his genuine kindness, and his ability to turn even the most boring evening into an adventure. And for that, you loved him the most.

Jason Todd:

"Damn, I hate this," Jason growled, looking down at you. His gaze practically burned a hole in your red dress.

"Calm down," you replied, adjusting the strap of your dress. "You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to this assignment."

We were both undercover at this stupid party, and I had every reason to believe that Jason was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. To be honest, he was just as uncomfortable in the crowd as you were. But we had a job to do, and the red dress was part of the plan. The important thing was to keep Jason from making a fool of himself.

"Jay, go get some champagne."

He snorted and, without saying a word, headed for the bar. You sighed. It was going to be a long night. The main thing was that Jason didn't blow the whole operation to hell.

You continued to stand and wait for Jason, but you felt someone's hand touch your waist, and you turned around.

"Hey, beautiful, do you want to meet me?"

You looked at the man coldly, but before you could respond, Jason appeared next to you. He put his arm around your shoulders, his eyes filled with rage. "I'm sorry, but she's taken," he growled, his eyes never leaving the man. In that moment, you realized that no matter how much Jason hated the gala, he would not allow anyone to touch you.

Tim Drake:

This dress looked like it was made of moonlight and morning fog. You felt like a fairy who had just arrived at a ball. The irony of the situation was that in real life, I had to wear armor more often than romantic dresses. But today, for Tim's sake, you decided to make an exception.

A gala in Gotham City. A crazy mix of pathos, hypocrisy and potential threats. But if Tim is around, even the most dangerous event turns into an exciting game. "You look a little pensive," he said. "Is everything all right?"

You smiled and stroked his cheek. "Everything is fine. I'm just thinking about how much I love adventures, especially when you're around." Tim blushed and turned away, straightening his tie. He was always so embarrassed when you started talking about your feelings.

"Don't get distracted," he muttered. "We have a job to do." And he was right. We were here for a reason. Bruce got suspicious and asked us to keep an eye on a suspicious character.

"What have you found out?" You asked, snuggling closer to him. "He's been associating with the underworld. He's probably planning something bad."

"Well, then we need to stop him," you replied, ready for action. Tim nodded and looked at you with admiration. "You're always so fearless. That's what I love about you." He stopped and blushed even more.

You laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "What, my Robin? Can't finish your sentence?" He just rolled his eyes and pulled you by the hand. "We should go. The game is starting."" And at that moment, you realized that even in that stupid dress and at that pretentious gala, you felt happy. Because you were with the person you loved.

Damian Wayne:

The silk of the dress was pleasantly cool against your skin, contrasting with the warmth of Damian's hand wrapped around your waist. You leaned into him, feeling his tension. He had never been fond of these gatherings, and you knew it.

"Do you want to leave?" you whispered in his ear. He shook his head slightly, but didn't pull away. "I'm here for you," he replied, and that was all you needed to hear. In this room full of falsehood and pretense, his presence was like a breath of fresh air. With him, you felt safe, at home.

You smiled, pulling back slightly to look at his face. Even here, in the midst of the crowd, Damian stood out. His sharp features, his piercing gaze – he was like a predator, lost in a world of social events. And yet, he was here, with you, for you.

"What if we took a little run?" You whispered, knowing he would understand your meaning. He raised an eyebrow slightly, but a light appeared in his eyes. "Run away to where?"

"It's a surprise," you replied, taking his hand and pulling him towards the terrace. The fresh night air was a welcome relief from the oppressive heat of the ballroom. You led him to the edge of the terrace, where you could see the glittering lights of Gotham City.

Damian leaned against the railing, taking in the view of the city. You stood beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. In the silence of the night, the only sounds were the distant hum of traffic and your own breathing.

"You know," you whispered, "it doesn't matter where we are, as long as we're together."

He squeezed your hand without saying anything. But you knew that he felt the same way. In that moment, under the starry sky, Gotham didn't seem so scary. As long as you had him by your side.

In general, offer some ideas for ff in the comments...🙏

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 ♡︎

characters: sub!qiuyuan x gn!dom!reader

warnings: written before anything about character is known except for his name and design so obv it’s free balling, strap/cock traditions per usual, exhibitionism, handjob, cumming inside, hair pulling, multiple orgasm, degrading, feminization, attempt at breeding, talks of pregnancy, going with the theory that quiyuan is jianxin’s master, reader is a FREAK and is obsessed with the poor man

notes: i am a WHORE

in the temples that resides at the very top of one of the many peaks that surrounds jinzhou with its protective barrier, there is where the next masters or aspiring martial artists commune to train, share experiences or to simply rest their weary bones. young and old, experienced and brimming with thirst for adventure, many martial artists walk through the doors of the temple with open heart and clear mind. not all however, is so keen on keeping their visions clear and at their prime, choosing to tug one of the wandering masters who seldom showed their visages to the nearest room and shutting themselves inside.

it wasn’t even night nor had he bathed yet, still slick with the latest tacet discord’s blood and sweat, impure and made even more filthier as you chose to ram your cock into his half prepared hole, shutting the choked scream with a hand over his mouth. qiuyuan let out a whine into your hand, feeling the way how your dick wasn’t even all the way inside him and yet how his leg was shaking already, hands clambering to hold onto the nearest wall for support. the sweetest little noises escaping through your fingers, gasps and moans filling the empty room as you finally bottom out inside him with a pleased groan. immediately, qiuyuan was slapping at you as far as his arm could reach, scratching at your hand over his mouth while his one leg is pulled up with your hand underneath his knee.

“y-you filthy creature” qiuyuan spat out, hissing at you like some adorable angered kitty while he tried to hide his flushed cheeks with his messy hair. “this is t-the temple huuhg of jinzhou. should you wanted me ahh-haah this badly, a-at least do it someplace private!” his hoarse voice tipped off into a whine when you chose to move just a bit, nudging against his prostate sweetly, making his hands clammer up with sweat as he worries over keeping himself quiet. but even then, try as he might to keep his noises down, he could still hear the wet squelch of your cock fucking him open and how his nails scratched against the wood.

you couldn’t help but laugh quietly under your breath, seeing the ever so stoic and cold wandering swordmaster be reduced to stuttering little thing by just shoving your cock inside his hole. lone wolf, my ass, he was anything but a lone wolf with the way he keeps falling into your hands over and over despite his complaints. a bunny in heat would suit his description more with the way his hole and throat loves to swallow your cum, as if he wanted to be bred full.

“ah, but master qiuyuan” you coo out his name and title with so much sweetness that the swordsmaster felt sick. or was that because he swore he could feel your cock pushing against his guts? feeling his legs tremble and lips quiver as his poor neglected dick weeps untouched? qiuyuan didn’t know and frankly, he didn’t wanted to know.

“you’re just so cute, y’know? standing there with your arms crossed, cold eyes glaring at some poor tree while you blank out. it makes me wanna ruin you. get you all filthy and messy, maybe even fuck you ‘till you squirt”. oh how he hated how he bit back a whimper at your words, tilting his head down even further to try and hide the shame he felt from getting aroused by just your disgusting words alone. who even gave you the rights to get this touchy with him in the first place? why does he keep allowing you to do these things to him?

before the cold man could think of something to hiss back at you, you were already grabbing at his hair, holding the fluffy long ponytail tightly in your hand and pulling on it, making the swordmaster let out a cute squeal as he arched his back, body flush against the wooden walls.

“you damned bea—aang♡︎!” an uncharacteristically high pitched moan leaves his lips when you start to move, pulling out until your dildo was nearly out of his slippery hole before slamming it all the way back inside. his body, albeit bigger than yours, rattled at the force of the thrust, his hands leaving their purchase by the walls and instead choosing to hold them over his mouth. he’ll get back at you for this, definitely torment you with stricter training, but right now, qiuyuan tried his best to keep his mind in place, to prevent himself from letting out stupid noises that he knows you love to hear fall from his throat.

“you’re no fun at all, master. i wanted to catch you off guard and hear your cute noises” you whisper against his shoulder, smelling the metallic scent of the TD’s blood on his clothes. not like it was disgusting, if anything, it made you green eyed. made you thrust harder, deeper, as if jealous over the notion that the cold man you liked so much was so physically close to another beast other than yourself.

qiuyuan was sure of it, sure that you were some monster in human form, because every thrust into his lubed up hole was so forceful to the point he swore he could feel your strap carving out his insides, forcing him to get used to the size of your stupid dick, remember the shape of your cock. the cold lube that was smeared over his succulent ass created filthy plap! plap! noises every time you fucked the air out of his lungs, leaving him feeling lightheaded as he desperately tried to quieten his moans. even then, even with the way he held his hands over his mouth, bit his lip or held fabrics of his scarf over his drool covered lips, small gasps and sharp punched out whines escaped. and they seemed to motivate you, making your thrust more harder, nearly jackrabbiting constantly into his sweet spot.

“nngh—ungck.. y-you really.. do-on’t know aangh haah know to uhmmg-guck.. f-fuck! fuck fucking hell, [na-ame]♡︎” qiuyuan all but mewled, every last thoughts of indignation being fucked out of his brain every time your strap grazes his prostate, his knee that you held up jerking upon the feeling. his mind was melting away, he was sure of it. you must be using your forte, you must have poisoned his mind and his body because he was tearing up, his own untouched dick bobbing every time you thrust back into his clenching hole, rendering him speechless.

whining under his breath, shaking his head as if to try and clear his mind, he let out pathetic little noises. punched out moans and sharp gasps rising in volume as you keep his head pulled back by his long hair, fucking every thoughts out of his brain.

“ngh—no! no more! [name], we ca—ahn’t… can’t♥︎ can’t! we— aanh ahg-gahc mhh hummg♡︎” the swordmaster shook his head over and over, already babbling as if you had fucked him until his mind melted into a useless mush with sharp gasps increasing in volume. letting go of your hold on his hair, you turn your attention to his dick. still weeping like the sad little thing it was, all left alone and untouched, a cute red in the tip as if it was chocking on the amount of cum it held back.

“better keep your voice down, master” you whisper into his ear, making qiuyuan shudder with a swallowed moan. he hated how much control you had over him, over his body, how easily he folded under you like a little toy for your satisfaction. but his thoughts of hatred for you is for later time, a chocked sob escaping his throat as if he had been strangled when you touched his weeping cock, taking it in your hand and swirling your thumb constantly over the tip, occasionally rubbing down into his slit forcefully. qiuyuan damn right mewled, pushing his hips back, wanting to escape your cruel hands but fucking himself right into your strap, feeling the stupid thing up into his throat with a punched out noise.

forcing him to keep himself upright, you fuck into him with the same pace as you twist and swirl the tip of his cock. qiuyuan just all but lost it and had it not been for his growing endurance against your libido and obsession with him, he would have screamed as he creamed your fingers, cried like some untouched virgin while his drool slipped down to his chin.

legs shaking, hopping like the cute bunny you see him as, his tremors finally die down after a while, leaving you still guts deep inside him as your hand lets go of his now softening dick. the ivory colored, sickeningly sweet smelling semen drips down to the floor, no doubt would leave a stain later on, but it wasn’t in your interest. the man who was hiding his face was.

shifting him around, pulling him closer, you wrestle his bigger body to turn face towards you. pulling his legs up to wrap around your waist, his back flush against the wall, for a moment, your hand grasps his jaw to make him keep an eye contact. steely grey eyes with his pupils blown wide, you remembered how they turned into a cute heart shape with glossy tears over them when you first fucked him dumb, left him incoherent and stupid.

“hey, master qiuyuan” you call out quietly, a little bit too intimate to his liking as his cute flushed face tries to glare at you through his drool covered chin and red bitten lips. it made you grin, a look on your face that just spelled trouble for the swordmaster as he bit down his whimper at the hungry look you give him.

“how would you feel about a baby?” you whisper, leaning your face in close to his own as if about to kiss him. he would have preferred it even, inching his own handsome face closer to yours, ready to pucker his lips. but that question seemed to kick some sense into his fried brain, regaining a sense of consciousness. “what? y-you can’t be serious, i’m a ma—aAANGH♥︎!” his protest is cut short, a loud wail leaving him as you return to rearranging his guts full force. oh, how was it possible, he could feel your tip all the way up to his throat! what sort of forte would you use on him, you senseless beast? his hole would be left gaping whenever you’ll be satisfied with his body!

“you know, a cute little baby. a mix of you and me, a little one. boy or girl, i wouldn’t care. i’d just love to see ya’ waddling around, belly round and adorable” you continue with your mumbling, a dull noise to his ears as you keep your gaze on his face. so cute, this swordmaster was. blushing to his ears, grey eyes like the sword’s blade he wields rolling to the back of his skull while you thrust your cock back into his hole. clenching down around you every time you pull out as if his body subconsciously wanted that, craved to get knocked up by you. carry your seed in his womb, get all round and become yours.

“y-you caaanh’t..! aah yoo-ouw can’t haah mmgh hhngk [n-name]♡︎ n-no.. no babiesssh. n-noough aahgg haahg♡︎♡︎” his words trailed off into a senseless squeal, switching from the common tongue to what you guess is jinzhou dialect, babbling random things as the wet plaps of your thrusts meeting his ass get louder with the reach of your dick going further inside him. qiuyuan took in a loud gasp, mewling when your rough thrust fucked into his sweet spot just perfectly, tears starting to build up in his eyes from the constant pounding to his fluttering hole.

ah, he’ll cry. he’s going to cry and it will all be your fault for being so damn mean to him. have mercy on his dumb self and let his sensitive body catch a break, or else he’ll be squirting over himself like some pretty little whore for you.

qiuyuan let out another filthy mewl, too high-pitched, too breathy, too whiny, too girly when you heard footsteps outside the thin paper walls of the room, placing a hand over his drooling mouth to silence his cute noises. as much as you loved to hear him slur over his words senselessly, you’d rather not get caught and be forced to share. qiuyuan was only yours and you’ll find a way to make him yours eternally one day.

speeding up your thrusts, making up for the sloppy jackrabbiting of your hips meeting his with the roughness of your movements, you could feel qiuyuan’s hands tremble as he clutched at your arms and shoulders. a single tear falling from his eye, going slack in your hold as his dick slaps against his stomach one last time before it weakly spurted out his cum, painting the pretty scarred muscles of his stomach. you were sure he would have screamed judging by the way his legs shook around your waist when you pushed your strap into his hole one last time, muffling your own groans and moans into his neck. eagerly, his hole clenched tight around you — so tightly you nearly worried if the blood flow will stop — lapping up every drop of your cum inside himself before his shaking is replaced by gentle tremors, soft whines muffled by your hand.

pulling out after waiting for qiuyuan to stop shaking, you quickly plug him up with a butt plug, silencing his refusing sobs with a messy kiss full of spit and blood. that’ll keep him warm until you see him again later tonight, and certainly remind him of your presence. the swordmaster was already hissing at you random words of annoyance, resisting the urge to hump the air as he felt the warmth stay persistently inside his gummy walls. you were ruining him, fucking him up in both ways and more.

once the footsteps had passed by the room you two were in, you hastily clothe him up before stepping outside.

later on, you could overhear a certain monk lady worry over her master and why he was limping and all pink in the face. in response you only whistled a tune from where you swept the temple grounds, already brimming with excitement and looking forward to your midnight rendezvous. meanwhile, qiuyuan had to deal with his sweet yet overly distressed disciple. he will get you back for this.

[girl-singing-in-the-wreckage]

William Afton character rambling (SOTM spoilers ahead)

I see a lot of people complaining that Afton’s character has “changed” and that he’s “turned him from a villain with a backstory to a one dimensional villain who’s just evil to be evil.”

I hate to burst your bubble, but he’s always been that way. The point of William Afton as a character is that he’s a total loser who hides in a fucking rabbit suit. He’s not some overpowered supervillain, he’s a loser obsessed with becoming overpowered and knocking people off their pedestals so he can take it over.

Why do you think he targets children? They are smaller than him, easily manipulated. Adults are mostly killed by him in a secondhand way (possessed animatronics that he manipulated into doing his bidding), but he’s never the one doing that work.

Why do you think he sends Michael to the bunker? Because he doesn’t care if Michael dies. He knows the risks, but he views his own son as more of a tool.

The Silver Eyes straight up describes him as someone who spent a some of his life mistreated (whether that be he came from an abusive home, or something else), and rather than growing from that and being good — he “takes on the bitter mantle of sadism himself.” If you read between the lines of TSE trilogy, the journals are pointing out that he’s so obsessed with Henry’s abilities that it’s essentially just the incessant rambles of a madman. What does he do? He kills Charlie, which effectively drives Henry to kill himself. With Henry gone, William starts ripping his shit from him.

Sounds familiar? That’s literally what happens in SOTM. Edwin is just TSE Henry with a fake mustache slapped on him. William snatching shit and causing downfalls isn’t a new concept, it’s at the core of his character. He’s an evil man for the sake of self-serving to get what he wants. He doesn’t care about what he has to do, or who he has to knock out of his way, he only cares for himself. The people he surrounds himself are just stepping stools he uses to boost himself, and when he doesn’t need them, he rids of them (we see this in the movie with Vanessa. When she stands in the way of getting to Abby and Mike, he tries to kill her).

William is literally a grown up, bratty kid who throws tantrums when things don’t go their way.

He isn’t a villain born from tragedy, William Afton is a villain of his own making because he likes it that way. He gets joy out of destruction and taking things for himself.

And before anyone tries to bring up “but fnaf 4 is showing that his son died!!” I beg you to put yourself back in the fnaf 1-4 era where one of the biggest questions was “why the hell do nightguards keep coming back night after night?”

Because fnaf 4 wasn’t showing William’s motive, it was showing Michael’s motivation and why he goes through hell to try and undo everything. Michael made a mistake that he’s trying to redeem himself for. A child’s death wasn’t what marked the downfall of William Afton, William did it to himself by being a shady, selfish businessman.

[satinestales]

❝here i blur into you❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

summary: you've been stranded on an unknown island with your nemesis for weeks now, the air getting filled with unpalatable tension as you try to find a way to get away from him. one afternoon, the tension breaks as he offers his knowledge to help you train.

warnings: english is not my native language, reader also has a twin and has a similar situation as osha, reader is a bit paranoid, lot of foreplay from qimir, teasing, fingering, cunnilungus, vulgar terms,

now playing, acquainted by the weeknd

He smelled like sandalwood, filling the air every time he passed you by or handed you a plate of food. For the first few days, you ignored it, letting it brush against your nose, your thoughts concentrating on how to get out of the island or how to kill him without breaking the code. But after nights and nights of sleeping in the same cave, sharing his space, and smelling him in every corner, it started to drive you crazy.

You lost your nerves last morning during your hand-picked breakfast when he strolled into the cave after his morning swim, water still dripping from his hair, the smell punching you in the nose, leaving you dizzy and breathless. You didn't know where you wanted to go, but as you picked up your things and bottle of water, it wasn't your main concern.

The smell itself didn't bother you. He bothered you. You knew exactly what game he was playing. With your sister, he played the role of a big brother, older protecter that she always wanted and wished for. With you, his mask dropped, revealing a charming seductive character. Every time he handed you something, he towered over you, gazing into your eyes so intensely it made your knees shake. Or when he walked towards you, he took his time, his eyes going up and down your figure until they fixated on you, staring at you until he came so close you could feel his breath brushing over your face. The slightest touches of his hands, the knuckle strokes, the skin contact when he healed your wounds.

He was trying to seduce you, knowing your weaknesses, just so you'd turn your back on the jedi and stay with him. As a padawan, desire was one of the forbidden emotions, alongside hate, anger, and fear. You never felt the touch of another, not one you desired.

His act had its way with you. You didn't deny it, but it was just a role for him. A mask he put on whenever you were close. You wanted to know the real him and maybe even try to help him. Instead, you were met with lustful eyes and breathtaking smell of his. A few days ago, you returned his gaze when he spoke to you, to try to read his thoughts and emotions. You only saw the colour red.

After you stormed out of the cave, leaving Qimir wondering, you kept walking around for about thirty minutes before you found yourself surrounded by smaller rocks, standing ankles deep in a hot sand. It wasn't that far away from the cave but far enough to get away from him and his sandalwood smell.

You dropped your bottle and some spare clothes on one of the flat rocks, letting yourself fall on your ass, letting out an anxious breath. You had no idea what you were going to do, how to act, or how to survive the upcoming days. You were certain Sol was going to find you and save you. You started to think about Yord and Jecki. You weren't that close to Yord, even in your padawan days. Jecki, you knew from afar, but she always had a soft smile on her lips. Your heart ached for them, feeling guilty even if there was nothing you could do.

You sat there for hours, staring at your dirty shoes. You were frozen. You needed to train. You were sure there was going to be time when you would have to protect yourself against Qimir and his brute strength. He killed Yord with his bare hands. As long as you would attack his hands first, you'd be safe.

You found a branch, pictured it as a lightsaber, and started repeating over and over fighting methods you were taught by your master. You held up till the sunset, and when the sun rose again, you picked up the branch and started again.

You didn't bother with breaks. You kept going till your knees gave up, and your arms fell by your side. Your chest rose up and down fast as you sat down, the branch falling metres away from you. You rested your head against the closest rock, daring to close your eyes. You were away for almost a day, with no food, just water to keep you company. You slowly started to regret leaving so impulsively, but you had no idea what you would do if you'd stay another minute around the intoxicating smell of his.

You had to fall asleep, your body reacting to the unknown sound earlier than you. Trying to compose yourself as you rubbed your cheek, painful and red, from resting against the hard rock. You picked yourself up, turning around to find where the sound came from. It didn't take you long, for Qimir revealed himself, appearing just a few metres away from you, a bag around his shoulder. He took you in, scanning your body like he was searching for any weapons or injuries. He found nothing, only a thin branch right behind your feet.

"You could at least take some food." he broke the brooding silence and your mutual staring contest. His voice was soft, small tug on the corned of his lips. He wore his usual beige shirt, transparent to his muscles. You shook your head, trying to focus on something else than his forearms as he put down his bag to take out the stuff he brought you.

"I'm not hungry," you lied, holding steadily your position, scanning his every move. He took out all the food to put them on the rocks in front of you, gently, making sure not to drop anything. He didn't forget to bring you fresh water, new clothes and a lightsaber.

Lightsaber.

You took a quick step back at the sight of the lightsaber, your ankle meeting with a rock. He brought a lightsaber. He was going to kill you now. You were sure of it.

"It's for you," he read your mind, making himself a place to sit next to the food, lightsaber at the opposite end of the food row. He tilted his head, softly smiling at you. "The tide is going to end by tomorrow," he said, his eyes set low, eyebags underneath. "you could disappear."

"What do you want?" you asked, attitude and hidden fear in your voice. Why was he helping you. Why did he inform you about the tide and possible escape. Was he planning something?

"For you to eat," he smiled, his teeth showing up for a second. "I have no desire to hurt you or let you die of starvation." His hands rested on his lap, his eyes soft and gentle, morning sun reflecting in them. He was beautiful in this light. But you shook that though away.

"What's with the lightsaber," you pointed with your head to the weapon, not daring to move, feeling his eyes burn into your skin.

"I made it for you," he replied quietly, looking over at the saber. You flinched when he slowly stood up, walking towards it to pick it up, holding it so the handle could be in your direction. He was close, too close to your liking, a small circle of rocks surrounding you two. "Figured you'd want one." he purred, taking slow steps towards you, not breaking his gaze at you. Like he was waiting for you to run, taking in every detail of you.

He stopped at arm length, lifting the lightsaber to you. You didn't move to take it and just stared at it. It was small compared to his hand, plainly black.

"How long is it since you've held one?" he asked, almost in whisper, looking down at you with curiousity. You didn't answer, forcing to look away from the saber, mirroring his intense gaze. You tried to read him again but failed. You were too tired to even see one small thought. He took a step closer, instinctively you wanted to take a step back, but the rock behind you made you stumble, Qimir's arm catching you sharply, pulling you back up.

He was so close now that the saber handle was touching your ribs, his breath tickling your face again, the sandalwood, again, penetrating the air. You tried to move away, pushing against him, but he didn't move an inch. He looked like a marble statue against the light.

"Take it," he growled, shaking with the saber a little. When you still didn't move, he took your hand and placed it on the weapon, his grip strong and tense. "Turn it on," he moved even closer, the head of the lightsaber pushing against his abdomen.

Turn it on.

You repeated his words.

Turn it on and get it over with.

Only you couldn't. You tried to force your hand to move, but like someone froze it, it was paralyzed.

"I'm not like you." You managed to let out, breaking your neck to look up at him. "I don't attack the unarmed."

"When did I attack the defenceless?" he asked, still holding your arm firmly, keeping you standing in one place. His hair fell like a black curtain around his eyes that stared into yours, awaiting an answer.

"Jecki," your voice broke at the memory of her. She had no reason to be there. She should have been safe at the temple.

You heard him take a deep breath, his fingers slightly amplifying the pressure around your wrist. "She attacked first,"

"She was a child." You raised your voice, trying to move away from him but as much as you wanted he didn't let you.

"Your Master brought her there. He knew the risk." He replied, his voice soft and calm with no hints of remorse.

"What do you want?" You cried out, furrowing your eyebrows. You wanted to scream at him, punch him, fight him, erase the stupid smell he had that drove you crazy and confused your thoughts.

"For you to eat," he repeated, stupid smile dancing on his lips. For a second, you wondered why he wore a mask to hide his beautiful face, but you quickly erased it. With the final push, he let go of your arm and stared at you as you made your way towards the food. You devoured embarrassingly quickly, forgetting about the claim you weren't hungry. All the time he stood there, watching you carefully.

When you finished eating, you took advantage of the bird that took Qimir's attention for a moment to hide the fork and knife behind your belt. It was stupid, but it counted as something. You could sharpen it using the rocks and use it when he'd attack you in your sleep.

"Why won't you kill me?" You asked after you finished your plate, reaching for the water bottle. You felt his stare. Everywhere. At that point you didn't know if he was still playing the role of a whore or he just had a staring problem. Both options made you nervous.

"As I said, I have no desire to." He smiled, kneeling down to squat. He slowly started rolling up his sleeves, the scars on his arms now more visible than ever. His long, thick fingers were wrapped around the lightsaber, his other hand now hanging in the air.

It was useless talking to him. It was obvious before, ridiculous now. You nodded, accepting you won't get any honest answer out of him.

"Thanks for the food, you better get going now." You slowly stood up, your stomach full and warm. "Time for your daily swim." you added, hoping he'd leave you alone till tomorrow when you could swim to the other side and leave this abandoned island.

You didn't hear him letting out a chuckle, his dimples showing. "I can take one here," he pointed at the calm water in front of you, guarded by gigantic rocks.

Great.

"Do whatever you want," you murmured, trying to convince yourself you're okay with his presence. Naked presence. You saw him the first few days, where you followed him every morning, not trusting anything he said. He invited you to join him every time, and every time you didn't say anything, just stood on guard, scanning and taking in every movement he made.

He was well built, with big arms, strong back, and powerful legs. Was he stripping in front of you as a part of his act, or was he just that unbothered by your presence. You hoped it was neither. You rather got tricked than ignored.

"Okay," you heard him murmur, walking towards you for his clothes. You flinched, taking a big step away from him, finding the lightsaber lying in the sand. As he slowly made his way to the water and started to undress, you took the lightsaber in your hands, feeling it, remembering the last time you held it.

You started your routine again, this time with your lightsaber, the branch left lying in the sand. You were well aware he was watching you, motivating you to show off and not to embarrass yourself.

Minutes ran by before you heard a splash, Qimir walking out of the water. You didn't even think to turn around, but your body decided for you. Your head tilted his direction, your eyes going up and down his figure. It wasn't the first time you saw it but this time you saw it from a clear view.

Suddenly, you had a hard time swallowing the saliva forming in your mouth, your heart aggressively punching your ribs.

Focus.

You quickly turned your head back, hoping to remember what you were doing before you scanned his form. You wondered if it would hurt, or would it be pleasurable.

You felt shame thinking about these things, but you never received an answer. The Jedi around you never answered, and those outside you didn't trust.

The unknown heat overtook you again, you had to close your eyes to regain your focus. Instead, The Force directed you back to him. His grin fixated his lips as he put on his clothes, not bothering to dry himself. Water droplets falling from his hair to his shoulders, his muscles forming themselves against the skin-tight robe.

Opening your eyes, you took a glimpse of your lightsaber, unaware of Qimir slowly approaching you. You practised your movements, your hand twists, and leg work. You had to get used to the weight of the lightsaber after years of not touching one.

You stopped yourself from turning his direction when you felt his touch on your shoulders.

"Keep your shoulders back," he whispered, forcing your shoulders back into their correct position. You froze, now only focusing on the warmth reflecting of his body. He bent over so his lips could reach your ears, and his hands travelled down to your biceps. "Your elbows up. You have them too low." he simply added, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You pressed your legs together, unaware of your need.

You listened to him, tho, keeping your shoulders and elbows in the position he moved them. His hands didn't touch you fully, only tickling the surface of your skin, but it was enough to make you burn.

"You need to spread your legs," he added, hearing a small smile while informing you. You fought the urge to turn and hit him in the face with the lightsaber handle.

When you didn't listen, he forced his knee between your legs, forcing them apart.

"So you don't fall over," he whispered against your ear, the little hair on your neck standing up.

"I didn't ask for help," you uttered, bitterness in your tone. You wanted him gone, but not for the same reason you did yesterday. For the reason that he made you have physical reactions without touching you. Having to press your legs together because of his voice. Feeling your skin burn by feeling him pressed against your back.

"You obviously need it," He smiled against your earlobe before pulling back just to let his hands fall onto yours, checking the way you hold your saber. He fixed the placement of your fingers, his breath on your neck erasing all of your thoughts. His warm wet chest pressed against your back, his breath tickling you. Your ass pressed against his abdomen. It was all too much for you. You shouldn't be feeling this way.

Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he was charismatic and soft when he wanted to be. But he wield the power of the dark side. He couldn't be trusted. You were scared the dreams you were having so often might become true.

"Use your thumb," he woke you up from your thoughts, pushing himself against your back as he held your hands. His voice was low and dark. "Place it on the top to hold it steadily. That way, it won't slip out of your hands, and you won't have to use strength to keep it in place." Even the way he talked and taught you almost drove you over the edge. You knew that's what he wanted and fought hard against it.

"I know how to hold a lightsaber." You hissed, shaking off his hands. Regretting it as his hands found its way to your lower back, pushing in, you had to hold back a moan,

"Straight posture." he simply said, ignoring you, leaving his hands on the back of your hips. You focused on taking deep breaths, hoping the heat between your legs would go away.

Almost as if he felt it, his hands moved from the back to the front, tickling the exposed skin of your stomach. You wanted to cry out, his touch driving you insane. You wanted to do something and, at the same time, nothing. You wanted him to take you, but you also wanted to drive the lightsaber through his skull.

"You won't fight anyone without a straight posture," he emphasized, pushing his fingers into your stomach, holding you in place.

"I've fought many people without you before." you replied angrily, a small moan leaving your lips at the end of the sentence as he moved his fingers lower, under your belly button.

"And did you win?" he mocked you, whispering into your ear. His hands right above the place you used your fingers while wishing they were his.

You were done with his stupid comments and mockery, pushing against him to turn and punch him, but he didn't let you move a muscle. He was too strong.

"What do they teach you," he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. "They don't teach you how to stand still or how to hold a lightsaber. Only how to surpress your emotions to become a hollow shell."

"That's not true," you argued. "We are taught to control our emotions, to feel them but not to let them get the best out of us."

"So why do you supress what you really want?" his voice turned into whisper again, his thumb making circling motion on your lower stomach. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew you were about to give up.

"Why do you shy away from your desire?" he added, using little to no strength to bring you skin to skin to him, feeling his length on your lower back.

Accidental moan left your lips. You closed your eyes out of embarrassment, wishing he didn't hear that. But you weren't that stupid.

"It's the path, path to the dark side." you stumbled over your words, feeling his fingers go lower, right above the belt of your pants.

Fuck.

"Then stop me," he whispered, his index finger going slowly underneath the hem of your pants. "Stop my hand. I'll let you." he added.

You didn't move a muscle. Only rested your head against his chest and let your arms fall by your side, lightsaber falling into the sand. You wanted him, and he wanted you. There was no reason to fight it. That was a problem for your future self.

"Tell me," he purred, his right hand painfully slowly maling their way to the hem of your panties. "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"

He was mocking you, playing with you. He knew no one ever had. You didn't count. "No," was your simple answer, wanting to dig yourself a deep hole in the ground and bury yourself in it.

"How does it feel?" he asked, his fingers finally reaching your wet bundle of nerves, slowly starting to circle your clit. You grabbed his arm out of shock, digging your nails into his skin. It felt too good. You were dripping wet, it was too easy for him to find your weak spot.

"As a Jedi, you can't even be with the people you love," he murmured into your ear before starting to leave small kisses down to your neck. "Can't give them the pleasure they deserve."

His fingers started to go up and down your clit, always stopping right before your entrance. You wanted to start begging for him to take you, but you didn't want to embarrass yourself more than you already have. You didn't pay attention to anything he was saying, only focusing on his fingers driving you crazy, making it difficult to keep a steady stance.

"What kind of life is that? Hmm?" His sloppy kisses and his fingers teasing your core themselves, almost had you falling over the edge. You were so touch deprived you were surprised you didn't cum when he touched you for the first time.

"Qimir," you cried out, wanting his fingers inside of you already. The first time, you said his name out loud. And he listened. His fingers stopped their movements, deserving an annoyed groan from you. He took them out of your pants, placing them on your waist to circle you so he could be face to face with you.

He didn't say anything before he bent his legs, kneeling in front of you, letting the sand swallow him. He looked up at you with pitch-black eyes, hinting on your pants. You understood, taking your time but nodding, letting him take off your pants and underwear.

The urge to cover your face and run away was strong, but the feeling of his mouth on your clit was stronger. You cried out hard, grabbing his hair as he dipped his tongue between your folds. This is what the Jedi deprived you of. You wanted to scream.

Qirim's tongue moved with rhythm against your dripping cunt, his fingers holding you still by your hips. Your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging on them every time he moved his tongue, teasing your entrance.

"Fuck," you hissed, your knees bending. Qimir quickly caught you, not stopping assaulting your clit. "Qimir, please," you begged. You weren't sure what you were wishing for anymore, but his name in your mouth felt almost as good as his tongue felt between your folds.

Your arms moved from his hair to his shoulders, holding yourself steady when his hand left your hip to put them between your legs. You caught a glimpse of his face when you looked down. Lustful dark eyes, messy hair, sweaty against his forehead, his nose and mouth covered in your slick. The view itself almost had you cumming on his tongue. So when his fingers joined the game, pushing inside of you, betwen your walls you let a pornographic moan. You were alone on this island but if someone was on the other end, you were certain they could hear you.

His fingers moved fast, in and out of you, spreading and curling inside of you. He was gentle with you at first but as he felt you getting closer and closer to the edge he threw all the respect out of the window, fucking you mercilessly with his thick fingers.

If his mouth and fingers had you screaming his name you wondered how his cock would feel.

"Qimir, I'm- " you cried out, wanting to warn him, but he felt it. The way your walls started to contract, crushing his fingers inside of you. His tongue kept circling your clit, adding to the pleasure. You were sure you formed new scars on his shoulders as you came hard around his fingers and tongue, failing to catch your breath and keep your legs straight and strong.

He held you for a few minutes as you rested against him, his lips still glossy with your wetness. Without thinking, you bended over to press your lips against his, tasting yourself, mixed with the flavor of him.

[saminsecret]

Hello, I was wondering if you could do a male s/o with a deep voice for the slashers. Like corpse husband's voice, you don't have to make y/n have gerd, I just like the idea of the reader having a voice that could attract everyone. No matter what the gender or sexuality.

Slashers dating a male!s/o with a deep voice

I didn’t really know what to write for some of these guys but I hope you like it nonetheless anon :) I also didn’t know who to write this for so i just chose three randoms , hope that’s okay >.<

Characters include Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, and Brahms Heelshire

Michael Myers (Halloween 79’)

He won’t admit that your voice intimidates him. He’s used to hearing the high pitched screams of his victims, so coming home to your deep voice throws him off at first, but you’ll never realize it because Michael will hide the fact until death.

He doesn’t like it when you talk. The fact that your voice intimidates him makes him upset, because nothing is supposed to intimidate the bogeyman. For the first few months of your relationship he’s covering your mouth anytime you speak more than a few seconds, which quickly annoys you. If you really put up a fight about it he’ll stop trying to keep you quiet…eventually.

He likes to hear you scream. Expect him to startle you by standing behind you, silently waiting for you to notice him. Your screams sound so different from what he usually hears, so it fascinates him in a way to listen to you yell in fear when he’s suddenly right behind you. But after a while, he’ll get bored with this as you become accustomed to him and his antics, thus less screaming.

He lives with it. After those first few months of annoyance and curiosity surrounding your deep voice, he becomes accustomed to it. So his boyfriend has a deep voice, who cares? Not him, that’s for sure. And if you find him sometimes suddenly behind you while you’re deep in conversation on the phone, it’s definitely not because he starts to like listening to your voice. Don’t be weird, y/n.

Thomas Hewitt (TCM Remake)

He screams the first time he hears you. He didn’t know such a deep voice could come from a guy! It’s one of the reasons he ends up not killing you, so be grateful for this reaction!

Begs you to talk. All the time, about anything at all. He just needs to hear your voice! It’s so soothing and sends a shiver down his spine every time he hears you. Will absolutely nod enthusiastically at whatever story you’re in the middle of telling him, but he’s mostly focused on the deep baritone of your voice.

Hums at you. He can’t doesn’t talk, so other than sign language he communicates through a rough humming to you that he wants you to talk to him. Sometimes he just wants you to hum back at him while he rests his head on your chest to feel the vibrations. It calms him down, especially after dealing with his family and/or a particularly tricky victim.

Brahms Heelshire (The Boy)

Freaks him out. It took him a long time to warm up to you because of your voice, but eventually he just had to like you because you followed all his rules so well. But he can’t deny that shiver that goes down his spine every time you read him a book or whisper to him a quick goodnight. He doesn’t know if he likes your voice or is afraid of it.

Makes you read to him constantly. Eventually he has decided that he does in fact like your voice and refuses to go on with the routine until he gets at least one story read to him at bedtime. He’ll try to be cheeky and pick out an extra long story for you to read, but you don’t usually mind as you like to spend those extra moments with him!

Do not yell at him. He already hates yelling, but if you were to yell at him? He’d refuse to leave the walls for hours. You’d have to coax him out with promises of treats and kisses and even then he’d still be jumpy until the next day. He doesn’t mean to be naughty, y/n, he promises to be good!

Will try to mimic your voice. It won’t be perfect, obviously, but he wants to try his hand at that deep tone! He’ll force you to sit and say different phrases at him so he can try to imitate it, but he can’t get his voice as deep as yours without hurting his throat. He’ll still try though!

[grandline-fics]

hi could i request something for zoro law shanks and mihawk to them harming their s/o from an enemies devil fruit power like they got possessed/controlled and when the sitstuoon was handled they gain consciousness and realize what they’d done? thank you have a lovely day !!! i love your writing 🫶

DESCRIPTION: They hurt you while controlled by a devil fruit

WARNINGS: angst, descriptions of injury, hurt to comfort

CHARACTERS: Zoro, Law, Shanks, Mihawk, Luffy, Ace, Sabo , Crocodile, Kid

WORDS: 2,782

A/N: haven't done some angst in a while so heres some. hopefully you liked what I came up with for this request.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

ZORO

The last thing Zoro remembered was his opponent managing to get within touching distance, a stupid move he’d thought but then they dropped their weapon to slam their hand against his chest. It felt like he was drifting asleep, his limbs were becoming heavier and his vision with blurring and darkening. Before all his consciousness slipped away the words of his opponent echoed in his head. “Find your Captain and kill him.” He should have laughed at that ridiculous order, should have told them they’d regret the words from even passing their lips. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was only darkness and the absent feeling of his fingers tightening around the hilts of his swords, ready to take up the hunt. 

He didn’t know how long had passed, but slowly the haziness began to lift and Zoro began to process his surroundings. If he felt like he was waking, why didn’t he feel rested? Why did he feel sore and tired. His fingers flexed and he frowned to only feel one sword in his hand. Zoro blinked and looked around in confusion. He no longer stood in the room he had been in and his opponent was nowhere to be seen. Instead he was now standing at the top of a staircase, his gaze drifted to the bottom of the steps and his heart stopped in terror to see your limp form lying there with his sword pierced through your stomach. 

It was all a blur after that, racing down the steps and yelling as loud as he could for Chopper. Zoro remembered crouching near your form with hands shaking for the first time in a long while. What was he to do? What had he done? Was this how he’d lose you? He felt sick. This couldn’t be happening. 

The next thing he knew he was on the ship, a day later and sitting at your bedside wishing for you to open your eyes. He glared at his hands as he replayed everything. Being told that he was like a man possessed, set on finding Luffy to kill him. How you intercepted him and drew his attention long enough to fight while the others tried to find a way to snap him out of whatever power was controlling him. They’d been just a little too late it seemed. It sickened Zoro to see the bandages around your form, knowing the damage that lay beneath them. If it hadn’t been for your own skills he would have certainly killed you.

“Stop…” Zoro’s head snapped up to see you weakly turning your head to stare at him. The pain was evident in your eyes but he was shocked to see you weren’t looking at him with the hate he deserved. Sluggishly you placed your hand on his. “Stop beating yourself up for this…it’s not your fault.”

“The hell it isn’t.” Zoro growled getting to his feet but he couldn’t bring himself to step away from the bed or remove himself from your touch. “Those wounds are my doing. I nearly lost you.”

“But you didn’t. I stopped Sanji from being the one to fight you. It was my decision and I held my own against you. You only won because I didn’t know the stairs were behind me.” 

Zoro knew what you were doing. If he voiced any pity for you and your injuries or blamed himself it would be an insult to you as a fighter. With a long sigh he sat down again and curled his fingers to tightly squeeze your hand. Leaning down he pressed a long kiss against your hand, his good eye slipping closed when your free hand settled on his head. Zoro found it comforting and shocking that even with what you’d endured because of him, there was no hesitancy in your actions. Even with the pain you were in, keeping him calm and reassured came to you so naturally. “I swear I will spend the rest of my life proving that I’m a man worthy of your love.” He vowed vehemently against your skin.

LAW

As a doctor Law was very good at severing emotion from his work especially when it came to performing surgery that one moment of hesitation could mean certain death. This however was something he didn’t think he’d ever have to do. His hands shook as he tried to force his mind to focus and separate his feelings but it was impossible. It was you, heavily injured and slipping closer and closer to the brink where not even he could save you. He knew what needed to be done but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his hands were tainted, that he shouldn’t have the right to touch you ever again. After all it was his fault you were in this state. 

He’d gotten cocky when he was fighting a rival group of pirates and in that moment one had gotten the better of him and used that weakness to retreat, leaving Law to turn on his crew. He saw those closest to him as frightening enemies and he attacked with the intent to kill which was evident by the injuries he’d given you. Had you been anyone else, if you hadn’t been as strong as you were the attacks would have killed you. Law couldn’t help but shudder at the thought. For now he had to keep every ounce of his mind on you because he would not lose you, he couldn’t. 

When you woke, the pain and heaviness on your body was unlike anything you’d felt before. More importantly you felt fear. You were alive and as you looked around the room you saw that you were alone. You knew how serious your injuries were and if you were still breathing and Law wasn’t with you, had he don’t the unthinkable? Had he used his ultimate ability of his Devil Fruit to grant you life while extinguishing his? Just as you were about to get out of bed and find someone the door opened and relief flooded you to see Law enter. 

Now knowing you didn’t need to worry you sank back against the pillows and let out a small breath only to groan when the action caused pain to flare in your body. Immediately Law was at your bedside and at first you were going to smile but it faltered when you saw the coldness in his eyes as he checked you over. Doing only what was needed of his as your doctor and nothing more. Your eyes zeroed in on the surgical gloves he was wearing. When you opened your mouth to speak, he got in there first, cutting off your attempt. “Save your energy, you’ve only just woken up. Now that your condition is stable, I’ll let one of the others take over for your general care.”

“I refuse their care.” You answered immediately, you might have almost died but that wasn’t going to kill your stubbornness. When Law looked up to glare at you, you smirked in satisfaction to see his ‘heartless and distant’ facade had slipped momentarily. “I only want you or no-one at all.”

“No you don’t.” This time Law’s voice was hollow, the shame of what had happened finally coming to the surface.

“Don’t tell me what I want.” Your tone softened but the force of it was still there. You needed to reassure him that you didn’t hold him accountable for when he was under another’s control. Reaching forward you took his hands into yours and pulled off the gloves, smiling to finally see his tattooed hands exposed. “There that’s better.”

“What I did-” Law began to protest but stopped when you lifted his hands to lightly press a kiss against his knuckles. How could you show such adoration to his tainted hands?

“You saved my life.” Your answer was simple but clear that you would speak no more about it. “Come and lie beside me, you know I can’t sleep without you.” Law gave a small, shaky smile and settled down beside you with the utmost care so that his actions caused you no discomfort whatsoever.

SHANKS

“You really don’t remember me?” The barmaid pouted playfully at Shanks as she set his drink in front of him. He kept his expression its usual one of friendliness and gave a small shrug to the woman and shook his head. He was an explorer and adventurer, he’d visited countless islands and met many many people. To remember every single person was practically impossible, even for him. “Aw you’re going to make me cry.” The woman was joking of course and for Shanks it was a relief that his lack of memory didn’t cause her any genuine upset. Quickly his gaze flickered across the crowded bar to meet your stare. 

You only grinned in amusement at the attention he was getting. He was a handsome man and it was a daily occurrence that people would throw themselves at him but the outcome was always the same, he’d let them down gently and it was you he’d share his bed with. Still though outside of the long term members, not everyone in the crew knew about the two of you and you were both content with that. “Can I refresh your memory?” Shanks blinked and watched the barmaid slide into the open seat beside him. “I think once I tell you, your life will change completely.” 

Shanks had to admit, that was an interesting opening line and he wasn’t really one to back down from a statement such as this one. So he smiled and gestured for the woman to continue. The barmaid’s eyes lit in excitement and she leant forward, her hand settling against his wrist and the second her hand made contact, Shank’s body became rigid as he peered into the woman’s eyes. “Three years ago you killed the love of my life. Now I’m going to teach you the pain of such a loss. Kill your lover or if you don’t have one then the member of your crew you care for the most will do.” Simultaneously the woman stood and left the table the same time that Shanks’ gaze locked onto your form again. 

When Shanks finally came to his senses, the crew were back on the open seas all of them knowing that their Captain had been under the influence of a Devil Fruit. As the last thing he remembered came to his mind, panic set in and he hurried to find you, fearing that whoever that barmaid truly was had succeeded in making him do the one thing that he’d sworn he’d never do; cause you any sort of harm. Finally he came to a stop in the doorway of the medical room. His heart sank to see you lying in the bed, bandages visible and he dreaded to think what lay beneath them and your clothes. Worst of all was the thick band of bruises around your throat. While he felt sickened at what he saw, he could only find some small sense of comfort that he hadn’t taken his sword with him to the tavern that night otherwise he might have truly killed you. “I’ll leave you two alone.” Hongo told him softly before leaving and closing the door behind him. Alone, Shanks approached your bedside.

“Oh, love what did I do to you?” Shanks sighed tiredly and heavily, flinching when your eyes opened and you looked at him calmly. 

“Not…you.” You managed out, your usual cheerful and soothing voice came out as a painful rasp. Shanks sighed, of course you wouldn’t blame him. It was the woman and her unnerving ability that did this. 

“I was careless though.” Shanks told you, becoming deadly serious which was a rarity. “That’s not going to happen ever again. We’re going to track that woman down and show her and the world what happens when they dare to target the one I love.”

MIHAWK

You knew Mihawk was a force to be reckoned with, the very first time you’d met your now lover had been an intense fight so you had firsthand experience at how formidable an opponent he could be. However after all those years you’d never expected to be pursued by him so seriously again and it didn’t seem like seducing him or appealing to his better judgement would work in this occasion. You’d both suspected that a few new recruits to Cross Guild were actually spies and had been proven right when you’d confronted them. Together you and Mihawk had taken down most of them but one managed to escape by using their Devil Fruit on Mihawk who was closest. Simply telling him “I’m not your enemy, they are.” While pointing straight at you was enough to make the swordsman set his sights on you. 

While you were strong you knew you had no way of taking him on in this intensely determined state. After all you’d seen this man slice a ship in half from a measurable distance away, you weren’t going to risk getting too close. Your only tactic was to keep your distance, block and defend if possible and hope there was a time limit to this annoyance of an ability. 

As you ran down the street you looked back to see Mihawk was still hot on your heels but it was a relief to see he wasn’t targeting anyone else. The last thing you wanted was for your lover to snap out of this state and realise he’d killed anyone who was an innocent bystander to it all. At least if you got hurt you had enough strength of will to endure it. You felt something change in the air and you turned sharply to see Mihawk reeling back to launch an attack and you recognised that stance all too well. You swore at the position you’d found yourself to be in. To lessen the force you had no choice but to throw an attack of your own and brace yourself.

Mihawk had never felt shame as a swordsman, not until he was finally in control of his body again to see the destruction of the surroundings caused by his attack clashing with yours. When he saw you lying bloodied amongst the debris of what was once a building he felt like never lifting his blade again. Hurrying to your side he felt only some consolation to see your chest slowly rising and hear your faint heartbeat. Taking you carefully into his arms he set for Cross Guild’s base and was for once glad of the amount of money Crocodile put into hiring the best doctors for the group. However the second he had you handed over to the medical team, he retreated to his room. It was because of him you’d been brought close to death, to sit by your bedside seemed like he was making it about him when you were to be the priority. Besides he wasn’t a healer, he would have just gotten in the way. 

When you’d finally woke and asked for him, the task of refusing to visit fell to Buggy as messenger. You rolled your eyes, you’d expected no less from your lover. He might have seemed like a mystery to many, but to you he was an open book. So you decided to sluggishly pulled yourself out of your bed and set about continuing your work. By the time you made it to your room and looking through bounties Mihawk appeared, angered that you were up and out of bed. 

“Are you trying to reopen your wounds?” he snapped. 

“Don’t worry yourself about it.” You replied, forcing your voice to sound light and unbothered but the strain of moving so soon was taking its toll. “A building fell on me, no big deal.” You shrugged and regretted it, letting out a gasp of pain. 

“It very much is a big deal.” Mihawk spoke through gritted teeth as he took a few steps closer, while you continued to look through the papers in front of you. “Please go back to bed.”

“Only if you stop blaming yourself and stay with me when I ask to see you.” Finally you looked up to Mihawk and smirked to see he was finally in touching distance. You knew your actions were drastic but you had to be sometimes to snap him out of his worries. Mihawk let out a long sigh and gently took you into his arms, relishing the simple feeling. He would never risk losing you again, even if he had to destroy all of the Marines to make sure you stayed safe.  

[oikawaisincrisis]

Where it’s quiet ~ U.W.

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x fem!Reader

Summary: Ushijima finds himself lost when an injury keeps him away from the volleyball court so in a desperate attempt to keep his sanity he goes back home. Surrounded by memories and people from the past, will he find himself once again or something else entirely?

CW (content warning): post-time skip!Ushijima, mentions of sport injuries, slight angst, smut, MDNI (+18), p in v, oral (m recieving), despite the smut this is mainly fluff.

AN (author’s note): Hi guys! I’ve been writing for Haikyuu for a while now but I never really thought about posting it until I started posting my jjk works on my other blog (@yuujispunches if you want to check it out 🫶🏻), I’m kinda nervous because it’s really different but I hope you guys enjoy this! English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The crack of impact was sharp, clean, almost too clean. At first, no one understood what had happened. The rally kept going. Ushijima had leapt high, even for his standards, dominating the air like it belonged to him. But when he came down.

He didn’t get up.

The arena didn’t fall silent immediately. Ushijima’s absence in movement wasn’t noticeable until the ball hit the floor with a hollow thud. Then there was that chilling beat of delay before every head turned.

He clutched his leg, his face twisted in a rare grimace. Not from pain, Ushijima Wakatoshi had played through pain before. This was something deeper. Something breaking apart, not just torn muscle or strained tendon, but something fundamental inside of him.

——————————————————————————

The prognosis came in harsh and sterile, in a room that smelled like antiseptic and dread.

"A full tear of the Achilles tendon."

Surgery. Recovery. Three to six months minimum before rehab. Closer to a year before he could even think of spiking a ball again.

The doctors gave him comforting smiles. The team’s manager offered words of reassurance. Fans flooded social media with hashtags, edits, tributes, well-wishes.

None of it touched him.

Wakatoshi found himself sitting alone in his apartment in Sendai, his leg immobilized in a boot, staring at the wall as if willing it to become something else, something useful. Something moving and not broken.

He hated stillness.

——————————————————————————

Two weeks passed in the haze of forced rest and ice packs. Then four. The more his body stagnated, the more his thoughts grew wild, unrecognizable. He had built his world around control, around the sharp edge of purpose that volleyball gave him. Now, everything felt dulled.

That’s when he made the decision. One morning, with no plan except the aching emptiness he couldn't shake, he packed a bag, informed his manager he needed some time away, and booked a train to Yamagata.

——————————————————————————

The old roads were unchanged. The farmland rolled out under a soft spring sky, gentle and wide. Wakatoshi hadn’t visited in years, not since his parents sold the family home and moved closer to the coast. But the town hadn’t forgotten him.

Even walking down the main street with a hoodie pulled low, heads turned. People still recognized him, somehow. Tall as ever. Stoic. Broken now, though they couldn’t see it.

He stayed in a quiet inn on the outskirts, a simple place with tatami mats and a view of the rice fields. He didn’t do much. Didn’t want to be recognized, didn’t want to talk. Mostly he limped through memories, haunted by the sound of his own breath.

Until he ran into you.

——————————————————————————

You were standing outside the local café, arguing with the barista about the new seasonal drink. Something about how coffee shouldn't taste like strawberry.

“Just because you can make it doesn’t mean you should.” You huffed, spinning on your heel and nearly walked straight into a wall of muscle and fleece.

You stepped back instinctively. Then your eyes narrowed.

“Wakatoshi?”

His shoulders went stiff. He turned.

Your face lit up like summer. “Oh my god. It is you!”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

You filled the silence. “You probably don’t remember me [Y/N], from Shiratorizawa? I was in Class 3, used to talk your ear off during lunch. You always stared like I was speaking a different language.”

His brow creased a little, like he was digging through dusty memory files. And then, you saw it the flicker of recognition.

“You liked strawberry milk.” He said.

You blinked.

“I… did, yeah.” A laugh escaped you. “That’s what you remember?”

He nodded slowly. “You said it was the superior drink. I disagreed.”

You looked up at him. The Ushijima Wakatosh you knew, now a famous, national-level athlete but he still stood like a fortress. Still had that calm, unreadable expression. But now there was something else underneath it. Something frayed.

“I’m glad you remember.” You said softly. “Hey… are you okay?”

——————————————————————————

You didn’t ask him to join you for coffee.

You just started talking again, like years hadn’t passed. Like he hadn’t disappeared into the world of professional sports, and you hadn’t grown into your own life, working remotely now from your childhood home, helping your aging aunt run her flower shop.

Somehow, you both ended up walking down the street together. You talked about the town, how things had changed, who had moved, who hadn’t. You told him about the café’s new obsession with flavored drinks. About your dog. About how the sakura festival was coming soon.

He barely said a word. But he didn’t leave either.

——————————————————————————

The next day, you saw him again. This time sitting alone on a park bench, leg propped up, staring into the lake like it might give him answers. You sat beside him with a box of taiyaki.

“You look hungry.” You said simply offering the box to him.

He took it. Ate in silence. You swung your legs off the edge of the bench and let the sun warm your skin.

“Still hate strawberry?”

He chewed slowly, nodded.

You grinned. “Some things never change.”

The words didn’t really mean anything but for some reason they sounded almost like comfort to him.

——————————————————————————

The days after followed a rhythm.

You bumped into each other “by accident” again. Then not by accident.

You invited him to your aunt’s shop to see the garden you’d been working on. He stood among the lilies and said nothing, but his eyes didn’t wander. He watched you kneel in the dirt, brush pollen off your fingers, talk about soil PH like it was sacred.

You brought him books you thought he might like. He read them. You could tell by the way he handed them back without creases but with little post it annotations places on the margins with calculated care.

When you were with him, you didn’t expect words. You filled the quiet with stories, with small kindnesses. And slowly, he started to talk, not much, just enough. But when he did, it always mattered.

——————————————————————————

One evening, as the sky turned lavender, he admitted:

“I can’t play.”

You looked up from where you were adjusting the garden’s irrigation pipe. “Right now?”

He hesitated. “Maybe not again. Not at the same level.”

You stood, wiped your hands on your pants, and looked at him. Really looked.

“Does that scare you?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then, “Yes.” Another pause filled with a deep breath. “I don’t know who I am without it.”

Your voice was soft. “I do.”

His eyes flickered to you.

“You’re still Wakatoshi.” You said. “You’re still kind of intimidating, loyal and a little weird about vegetables.”

A beat passed.

“I’m not weird about vegetables, broccoli just tastes like grass objectively.”

You laughed.

And for the first time in weeks, he smiled.

——————————————————————————

You weren’t supposed to become his routine. Or at least that’s what he told himself at first.

But one day turned into two. Then into a week. Then more.

You started seeing Wakatoshi every day without even planning it. At the park, the shop, the café. Sometimes he limped along beside you while you rambled about your latest dream something along the lines of “There were three ferrets in a trench coat pretending to be my landlord. Don’t ask”, or told him the entire plot of a romance drama in excruciating detail while he nodded once, maybe twice, with solemn confusion.

And he… didn’t mind. In fact, he started waiting for you.

Not obviously. No, never that. But he’d be in the places you might show up, sitting on the same bench, outside the same shop, buying the exact coffee you liked so you wouldn’t have to wait in line. It wasn’t that he needed you there.

But when you were, the silence in his chest didn’t ache as badly.

——————————————————————————

You were light. Loud and quick and always moving. You talked with your hands, with your whole face. You had this thing where you’d lean in close when you were excited, as if your joy couldn’t be contained in just your voice.

Wakatoshi had never met anyone like you. Not really.

On the court, everything was angles. Force. Timing. Discipline. He was good at that. Better than anyone. But off the court?

He didn’t know what to do with the messiness of people.

Yet somehow, your messiness didn’t feel like chaos. It felt like sun through the leaves.

——————————————————————————

One afternoon, it rained.

You showed up at the inn he was staying at, dripping and barefoot, holding two bags of convenience store snacks and a half-wilted daisy you’d stuffed behind your ear.

“Surprise!” You beamed. “Rain check on the flower beds, literally. Thought we could hang out here. Unless you don’t want company, in which case I will melt dramatically into the road.”

He stared at you for a long moment, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of the sight before him. Then stepped aside.

You took that as a yes.

——————————————————————————

That night, you both sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, watching a movie on your tablet. You kept shoving snacks into his hand without asking. He never refused. You talked through most of the film.

“Okay, but if the ghost is her dead twin, how did she not know the entire time?!”

“I’m just saying, if I die tragically, you *better* make it a dramatic haunt.”

“Do you think ghosts get bored?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Wakatoshi didn’t speak much. But he watched you like you were more compelling than the screen.

After the credits rolled, the thunder outside softened to a distant rumble. You glanced at him.

“Hey” You said, quieter now. “How are you holding up?”

He didn’t answer right away. “I really don’t know. Badly I think.”

The word fell heavy between you. Honest. Plain. But weighted. You nodded gently, inching closer so your knees brushed.

“I figured.”

He looked down at his hands. “Everything I’ve worked for… all the time, the years. I don’t know if I’ll get it back. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now.”

You reached over and touched his wrist, light as rain.

“You don’t have to know yet.” You whispered. “It’s okay to not be okay, Toshi.”

He didn’t move. But he didn’t pull away either. The nickname falling from your lips made a weird feeling spread through his chest and he found himself wanting to believe you.

——————————————————————————

The next day, you made him a makeshift rehabilitation chart. It was full of sparkles, doodles, and completely inaccurate medical advice.

“Goal: stop walking like Frankenstein.” You grinned, pointing to the top.

Wakatoshi blinked. “This isn’t a real program.”

“Correct.” You said proudly. “But it made you stop brooding for five seconds, didn’t it?”

He exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh. But close enough. A smile tugging at his lips.

You considered it a win.

——————————————————————————

The more time you spent together, the more you learned his rhythms.

He was blunt but not unkind. He hated loud music. He preferred savory to sweet. He didn’t like when people asked him how he was unless they actually wanted to know.

He also had a strange fondness for animals. You caught him once, crouching awkwardly to pet a neighborhood cat that had hissed at you five minutes earlier.

“You’re a traitor.” Uou accused playfully.

He blinked. “I didn’t say I disliked cats.”

“She tried to bite me!”

“She likes me.” He said simply.

You gawked as the cat curled into his palm.

“Okay, Snow White.”

——————————————————————————

Sometimes, though, he shut down.

There were days he didn’t come out of the inn. Didn’t answer your texts. Days when you knew he wasn’t hurt, just hollow. You didn’t push him on those days.

You dropped off fresh onigiri with a note taped to the lid:

It’s okay. I’m here when you’re ready.

He never replied. But the containers were always returned, empty. The notes were kept on his nightstand, to reread when he felt like loneliness was about to swallow him.

——————————————————————————

One evening, he joined you on the roof of your house.

You’d invited him there once before, told him the view was better than therapy.

Now you both sat with your feet hanging off the edge, the stars bright above, the air filled with the chirp of summer bugs. You handed him a cold beer and didn’t say anything for a while.

Then, quietly. “I used to think you were scary, you know.”

His brow twitched. “Why?”

“You never smiled. You had that whole murdery volleyball thing going on.”

He stared straight ahead. “I wasn’t trying to be scary.”

“I know that now. You’re just… intense.” A pause. Then you spoke again. “You’re still kind of intense but you’re kind, too. And steady. I like that about you.”

He didn’t speak. But you saw his knuckles tighten around the bottle.

Your voice softened. “You know, you don’t have to go back to who you were before. You’re allowed to change. To figure out what you want.”

He turned to you then. There was something raw in his expression, something that cracked just enough to show what was underneath.

“I don’t know what I want.” He said.

You smiled at him, tired but warm.

“Well… until you do, you’ve got me.” You said as you nudged your shoulder against his softly. Bright eyes shining as you looked at him.

For the first time he found himself that maybe tomorrow didn’t sound so terrifying anymore.

——————————————————————————

You didn’t realize it yet, but something was shifting inside him. Slowly. Like spring thawing frozen ground. Every time you said his name, it softened him. Every time you smiled at him like he wasn’t broken, it pieced him back together.

But cracks let the light in.

And the light hurt.

——————————————————————————

One night, he snapped.

It was the first time he raised his voice at you.

You’d brought him a flyer for a local festival. They were holding a charity volleyball event. You thought it might cheer him up.

“It’s just a small thing.” You said. “You wouldn’t have to play. Just be around people. Might feel good.”

He stared at the paper. Then his jaw clenched.

“I said I can’t play.” He barked harshly.

You blinked. “I didn’t mean- ”

“I’m not a mascot.” He cut in, voice low but sharp. “I’m not interested in pretending I still belong there.”

You stood, holding the flyer like it had burned you.

“I wasn’t pitying you, Wakatoshi. I thought maybe it’d help to be near the thing you love.”

“I don’t need help.”

Your chest tightened.

“Yeah, well…” You said, voice cracking. “You’re doing a hell of a job proving it.”

You turned and walked away.

He didn’t stop you.

——————————————————————————

He didn’t sleep that night.

The room felt like it was closing in. The air too heavy. The silence too loud.

He hadn’t meant to yell. He hadn’t even known the anger was there until it boiled over. But it wasn’t you he was mad at.

It was himself.

His body. His failure. His fear.

He didn’t know how to say any of that. So instead, he said nothing.

Which meant he had to live with the echo of your hurt expression. The way you walked away like you couldn’t fix him anymore.

And maybe that’s what scared him most.

That he was pushing away the only person who saw him as more than an athlete. The only one who didn’t flinch when he broke down.

——————————————————————————

Two days passed.

You didn’t show up at the café. Or the park. Or the bench.

He stared at your last text:

Take care of yourself Wakatoshi.

Neutral. Kind. But distant. Full last name instead of the nickname he had quietly grown fond of.

He hated it. God, how he hated it.

——————————————————————————

The morning of the festival came.

He didn’t plan on going. Of course not. But his feet took him there anyway.

You were working a booth when you saw him.

The crowd parted like it knew. Like the story was unfolding just for you.

Ushijima Wakatoshi. Standing still in the middle of the street, in a sea of movement. No crutches. Just a limp. In a plain black shirt that clung to the curve of his shoulders, eyes scanning every stall until they landed on you.

You froze.

He walked toward you, slow, deliberate.

“I was wrong.” He said, stopping in front of your table. “The other day.”

You raised an eyebrow. He looked down. Swallowed hard.

“I was scared.” He said. “I still am. Everything I am. Everything I’ve worked for was built around being the best. And now I don’t know if I’ll ever get that back.”

Your expression softened. “I wasn’t trying to take that from you.” You whispered.

“I know.” He said. “But I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You stepped around the booth, closer now. Close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

“Toshi” You said quietly, “I’ve only ever seen you like this. And I’ve never once thought less of you.”

He looked at you like you’d just said something in a language he couldn’t translate. Like the words didn’t make sense, because no one had ever spoken them before.

You lifted your hand slowly, touched his chest just over his heart.

“You don’t have to be strong with me.”

His breath hitched and in that moment, he leaned his forehead against yours.

Not a kiss but something closer. Something deeper.

——————————————————————————

After the festival, he stayed by your side the entire day.

You didn’t ask for it but he handed you water when your voice got hoarse. Kept kids from knocking over the display. Sat on a crate in the back of your booth like a silent bodyguard, expression unreadable but his eyes never strayed from you.

When the crowd thinned and your feet ached, he offered his arm. You took it without question. He felt… steady again. Not because he was healed. But because you were there.

Later that night, you brought him to the lake.

Same bench. Same spot. This time, you leaned into his side. He didn’t move away.

“I’m sorry for being a brat.” You said quietly.

“You weren’t.”

You turned your head against his shoulder.

“You sure?”

He glanced down at you. “You were right to be upset.”

You smiled. “Wow. Did Ushijima Wakatoshi just admit I was right?”

A long pause.

“Yes.” A reluctant smile on his lips

You grinned, poking his ribs gently. “Growth.”

It was silent for a while. But it wasn’t empty.

Then you said, “Do you ever think about what you’d do if you didn’t play?”

His hand twitched beside yours.

“I don’t know.” He said finally. “I’ve never let myself think about it.”

You looked up at him. “Well. Maybe you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

He met your gaze. And something softened. “Okay.”

Just one word. But when he took your hand in his it it felt like a beginning.

——————————————————————————

The lake was quiet when you brought him there again.

A week had passed since the festival. Since he let his forehead touch yours like it meant something. Since he started showing up without needing a reason.

Now, he came because he wanted to.

He still didn’t talk much. Still didn’t smile often. But the way he looked at you had changed.

He watched you like he was trying to memorize something fragile. Like he was afraid of blinking and losing it.

Tonight, you sat side-by-side on the grass, the stars reflecting in the still water.

And you told him, soft and sure. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Wakatoshi swallowed thickly. “Sometimes I feel like… if I’m not playing, I’m nothing.”

You turned, eyes warm and fierce. “You’re so much more than that.”

He met your gaze, slow and aching.

“You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

Your heart broke a little at that.

But it bloomed too. Because it meant you could be the first and maybe the only.

This time you were the one that reaches for his hand. He took it without hesitation.

——————————————————————————

The walk home was quiet.

The kind of quiet that buzzed under the skin. Every brush of his arm sent a pulse down your spine. Every glance felt like a tether pulling tighter between you.

When you got to your door, you turned to him.

“Do you want to come in?”

He hesitated, just for a breath then nodded.

Inside, the lights were low. You kicked off your shoes and walked into the kitchen, nerves fluttering. He stood near the entry like he didn’t know where he was allowed to go.

“Make yourself comfortable.” You said gently, setting your keys down. “You’re safe here.”

Something in his face shifted. He stepped closer.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

You turned to him. He was closer than before. His eyes dark in the soft light, jaw tense.

“I don’t know how to do this.” He said quietly. “But I want to.”

Your chest swelled. “You don’t have to know how.” You whispered. “Just stay with me.”

He reached out, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

And then he kissed you.

——————————————————————————

It was slow. Careful.

Like he was afraid of shattering something he didn’t know how to hold.

But when you kissed him back. When you leaned in and let your lips open under his, he deepened it with a groan that vibrated through your chest.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt. His hands cupped your waist like he didn’t know where to touch, only that he needed to.

You pulled back, breathing heavy, and looked into his eyes.

“You can touch me.” You said. “However you want.”

He blinked. Like the permission stunned him.

You took his hand and guided it to your cheek. Then lower, to your chest, over your heart. His breath caught.

“I want you.” You whispered. “But only if you want this too.”

His voice cracked. “I do.”

——————————————————————————

You led him to your room.

He sat on the edge of your bed while you stepped between his knees, hands at his jaw.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong. Or too much.”

He nodded once. Silent. A storm behind his eyes.

You kissed him again, longer this time. Slower.

And then you knelt between his legs. Wakatoshi tensed.

“Wait- ” He started, but your fingers worked open the button of his jeans with calm precision.

“Let me.” You said. “I want to.”

He swallowed. Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t usually… let people do this.”

“I know.”

You kissed the inside of his knee. Then the scar.

It was thick, pale, a little raised. You ran your thumb over it, then pressed your lips to the center. Slow, reverent.

His breath hitched. His hands fisted in the sheets.

“I hate it.” He murmured. “It’s horrible”

You immediately know what he was referring to. The scar that reminded him of what he might lose. You looked up at him.

“It’s part of you.” You said in between kisses as your lips trailed up along his inner thigh.

He stared down at you like you weren’t real. Like he was dreaming.

Then you leaned in and took him into your mouth.

He was big. Of course he was. But that wasn’t what made him lose control. It was the way you looked at him.

The way you held him in your mouth. Slow, unhurried, every pass of your tongue deliberate. Your hands resting on his thighs, fingers stroking gently, grounding him.

You didn’t rush.

You let him feel everything. Every inch. Every second.

He groaned your name once. Rough and low like it punched the air out of him. His hips twitched, but he held himself back, muscles trembling with restraint.

You pulled off with a soft pop, lips swollen, eyes full of heat.

“Lie back.” You said, standing to undress.

He obeyed without question. Watching you undress. His gaze didn’t devour you. It honored you. Like he was witnessing something sacred.

You climbed into his lap, straddling him, and ran your fingers through his hair.

“You okay?”

He nodded.

But his voice was hoarse. “I don’t deserve this.”

Your heart ached. “You deserve everything.”

You guided him to your entrance, bodies flushed and warm, and sank down onto him slowly.

His hands clutched your waist like a lifeline. His mouth fell open. Low grunts and moans filling the room as he looked at you as if he was scared you’d slip through his fingers if he didn’t.

You rocked against him, slow and tender. Your bodies fit like you’d been made for this. Every movement dragged another broken breath from his throat.

You kissed his jaw. His neck. His shoulder. You caressed the scar again, when you shifted his legs spreading wider under yours.

And when he came. He was shuddering, breathless, his arms wrapped around you like he’d fall apart otherwise. You held his face in your hands.

“You’re not broken.”

He came down slowly, blinking up at you like he didn’t know what world he was in.

You brushed a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

“You’re safe.”

——————————————————————————

You lay together after, tangled in the sheets, your head resting on his chest.

His arm was around you. Tight. Protective. His fingers trailing up and down your spine. But not out of fear. Out of need. Out of something new and fragile blooming between you.

He whispered, after a long while. “Thank you.”

You smiled against his skin.

“You don’t have to thank me. I want you.”

He swallowed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… wanted. Not like this.”

You kissed his shoulder.“Get used to it.”

He didn’t answer. But you felt the way his body relaxed. The way his fingers curled into yours and he held you closer to him before kissing your lips once more.

——————————————————————————

The morning after was silent. Not because anything was wrong, but because everything was finally right.

You woke first. The sun filtered in soft and golden through the curtains. Ushijima lay beside you, broad chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep, one arm still draped around your waist like his body refused to let you go, even unconscious.

You reached up and brushed his hair back from his face.

He looked… peaceful. Like the war inside him had quieted for the first time in a long, long time.

He woke slowly. Brows furrowing at first like the sunlight confused him. Then his eyes opened, and he looked at you. Like he knew exactly where he was. Like he’d been hoping this wasn’t a dream.

You smiled, soft and sleepy. “Hey.”

He didn’t smile.

But he reached up and touched your cheek, callused fingers grazing your skin like you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

“I’m still here.” You whispered.

He exhaled. A shaky breath. Like he’d been holding it all night. “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

You curled into his side. “You don’t have to. Not yet.”

“But I will, eventually.”

You looked up. “Are you scared?”

He was quiet for a long time. “Yes.” He exhaled as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You didn’t offer empty encouragement. No false hope. Just your arms, and your warmth, and the solid truth of your presence beside him.

“You’re not alone this time.” You said simply. “I’ll be there for you.”

He nodded and, finally he smiled.

——————————————————————————

The weeks passed slowly, and for once, neither of you minded. He stayed longer than he planned.

Sometimes he helped your elderly neighbor carry groceries. Sometimes he sat in the sun with you and read, barely turning the pages, just listening to the sound of your voice as you rambled.

He limped less. The stiffness faded.

But what changed most wasn’t his body, it was the way he carried himself. Like he wasn’t rushing to prove anything anymore. Like he knew that, even if he never played again, someone still saw worth in him.

You did.

And that changed everything.

——————————————————————————

One morning, you found him at the bench by the lake. Same one you always went to. This time, he was alone.

You approached quietly, but he didn’t look up. Just held out a hand as you came near, like he felt you before he saw you.

You took it without hesitation and sat beside him.

“I’ve been talking to my trainer.” He said softly. “They think I can start light drills next month.”

You felt your heart leap but didn’t let it show too much.

Instead, you squeezed his hand. “That’s great, Toshi.”

He looked at you then, eyes quiet but steady.

“I want to go back.”

You nodded. “Then you should.”

“But not because I need to prove I’m still strong.” He said. “Not to anyone. I just… I want to feel the court again.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “That’s the best reason.”

He exhaled through his nose. “And I want to take you with me.”

You blinked, startled.

He turned slightly toward you. “You don’t have to answer now. But… if I go back to playing, to traveling. I want you to be part of that world. However you can be.”

“Toshi.” You whispered.

He squeezed your hand. “You make it quiet. In my head. Like I can breathe.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You leaned up and kissed him, slow and full, pressing your heart into every touch.

“I’m already yours.” You said.

——————————————————————————

That night, he laid you down again.

Not rushed. Not broken. Just full of love he didn’t know how to put into words.

He kissed your body like he was learning you all over again. Touched you with reverence.

When you made love, it was less about need and more about being known.

He whispered your name into your neck as you moved together.

And for the first time, he let go completely.

——————————————————————————

You saw him off a few weeks later.

His rehab was scheduled to continue back in the city. There were evaluations, contracts, trials. But this time, when he stepped on the train, he didn’t look hollow.

He kissed you softly and promised he’d call every night.

And he did. Every time.

——————————————————————————

Months passed.

You visited when you could. He sent you photos of his practices. His scar faded, but not entirely and he never hid it.

You never stopped telling him how proud you were.

And when the first game came, and he stood on the court again stronger, slower, more deliberate. You watched from the stands.

He spotted you right after the final point. They’d won. But the look on his face wasn’t victory. It was peace.

——————————————————————————

Later that night, in the quiet of the locker room, a teammate asked him. “Hey Ushiwaka what changed? You play different now.”

He paused. “I found something that matters even when the game ends.”

——————————————————————————

As time passed the lake was quiet again. You sat on the bench, older now. Still just as in love.

He came up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. You tilted your head to look up at him, grinning.

“You’re early.”

“I missed you.”

You beamed.

And he did something he only did for you. He smiled.

You lived together now, in a small home near the city but close enough to visit his hometown. He still played, but more balanced. Not like it was life or death because now, he had a life outside of it.

A life that included you. Warm meals. Early morning cuddles. Your voice reading out loud while he rested. He talked more now, always honest. Always tender. And always yours.

Sometimes, you’d trace the scar on his knee before bed. Kiss it. And every time, he’d close his eyes and breathe a little deeper. Because you never saw it as a wound. You saw it as a part of him like his silence, his strength, his love.

And slowly, he started to see it that way too.

“I love you.” He’d whisper every night as he held you close to him.

“This would be quite awkward if you didn’t.” You laughed, caressing his face softly, the metal of the ring on your hand that matched his felt warm against his skin. “I love you too.”

He kissed you slowly and tenderly because now he had the rest of his life to do so.

Taglists are open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[chitra111goddess]

VEDIC ASTROLOGY NOTES ♡

(Can apply to any planet placement)

⚡️Ashwini women always stand out to me with their creativity especially in acting , they rly know to embody the character they're playing to the fullest even irl it may be easier for them to shift thro different identities or alter-egos just for funsies

⚡️There's smtg about purva phalguni women , they're gorgeous but for some reason I noticed they get hate esp from other women like they're called fake or pick-mes or they make up stories hmm

⚡️Purva ashadha women are so inspiring like they're always the ones to be teaching or preaching or saying smtg inspiring/motivational. They're beauties with soul and a mind of their own ! If u know a purva ashadha better take notes 📝

⚡️Magha women love wearing black and something about their looks or style is unconventional/gothy, it suits them

⚡️Uttara-phalguni women are so headstrong bruh and they have this leadership aura about them, they're gonna do what THEY think is right. Like other sun-ruled nakshatras they easily get attention

⚡️Mrigashira women love the push & pull , cat &mouse game, they either attract this dynamic or they create it themselves. There's also smth about Mrigashira and obsession 👀

⚡️Jyestha women embody the wild feminine archetype imo, when evolved theyre truly empowered and have this idgaf energy. people may be threatened by their power or skills. Their voice or the way the speak is commanding and naturally charismatic

⚡️Swati/ardra and their eyes 👁👁 most captivating eyes imo I'm in luv

⚡️Purva bhadrapada women seem to attract or be drawn to men with dark nature or men who carry trauma ? Or they know how to bring that out in a man

⚡️Dhanishta women love dancing and they appear to be friendly or have many acquaintances but very little people they relate to. Popular girlies

⚡️Rohini women feminine energy is undeniable , something about them feels innocent yet erotic. They just give off this juicy fertile vibee lmao💦 unlike jyestha which is more dry (not in a bad way its just different 💀)

⚡️Anuradha women are secretive as hell even if they tell u shit don't think u have them all figured out. there's so much to unpack with them , they're generally intriguing complex characters

⚡️Most bratty nakshatras are mrigashira and chitra lmao

⚡️Revati women are pretty privilege girlies also they're master manipulators 👀 they know how to use their femininity to get what they want

⚡️Pushya women have big MOMMY energy. they seem/look mature. They're either the ones taking care of others or others take care of them

⚡️Uttara bhadrapada women have dualistic nature they're either the sweetest ppl u know or ur worst nightmare depending on who theyre dealing with 💀they're like a mirror projecting and reflecting back ur inner self back at ya (Pisces energy) also don't forget the karmic saturn influence.. u don't wanna mess w them or any other saturn ruled woman

⚡️Viahaka women go through intense ups and downs , starting from their good girl phase then they snap and go wild then they mature/become spiritual

⚡️Chitra women secretly (or not so secretly) enjoy drama , they're either the ones caught up in it or they play the role of the "judge" where they can solve conflicts between others. Somehow they're surrounded by it.

⚡️Don't underestimate krittika women especially when it comes to survival 💀 these women can be dangerous and will stab a bitch if they rly had to (whether its for defending loved ones or them surviving) their symbol is 🔪 after all and taurus/aries gives them that survival instinct

⚡️Ardra women can make great poets/song writers , their creativity and inspiration stems from their own 'tragic' experiences

⚡️Punarvasu women remind me of that quote "home is where the heart is" they always end up coming back to their origins and what they feel in their heart

Lemme know ur thoughts & what I should make next

[cosmicclearwater]

Give Him Time | E. Call

• ──────────────☾────────────── •

Genre: fluff Character: Embry Call x Reader Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: cursing, kissing/making out, use of Y/N Summary: Embry tries to keep his distance but gives up when he realizes that he no longer has a choice. Requested: Yes (from anon: "embry x reader he imprints on reader who just moved to forks (no relationship with bella or anyone in the books she jus moved thered with her family) and he imprints when shes at a bonfire on la push beach. he is around with a couple other pack members and he’s supposed to jus keep watch and he takes a while to build a relationship w her") Note: characters are aged up (around 20).

a/n: kinda hate this, but it's been ages since I've posted, and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while.

• ──────────────☾────────────── •

One week. I've been in Forks for one week and I've already been roped into attending some kind of late-night social gathering at a beach in La Push by a group of friends I met while working at the local grocery store in town. That would probably be exciting for most people, especially if they're new in town and know absolutely no one, but I don't see it that way. I would much rather be hiding away in my room, curled up under my weighted blanket with a good book and a hot cup of tea, not freezing my ass off at a bonfire on the beach surrounded by strangers. Despite it being late August and technically still summer, the nights are significantly cooler than the days, which aren't very hot themselves. Thankfully it's not raining out. I would have turned down the offer to come had it been anyone other than the sweet, kind-hearted Angela who'd asked. But since I didn't, I'm stuck listening to the annoying, air-headed Mike Newton go on an over-exaggerated tangent about the time got caught sleeping in his math class in high school and received detention for it.

As I try my best to be attentive, I can't help but let my eyes drift around the large group of people that surround the area. It was only supposed to be a small gathering, and that's how it started out, but as it gets later, more and more people show up. I sigh, continuing to scan the crowd until my eyes land on a small group of guys standing nearby. Just by their appearance, I know who they are. Jessica made sure to inform me prior to arriving about the "weird" reservation kids who act like they run the area and would probably show up to stand watch like guard dogs. She and her friends had a lot to say about the four guys, none of it being particularly nice. I don't see the problem, though, because they have kept to themselves the whole time. They speak when spoken to, but other than that, they keep conversation amongst themselves. I find myself intrigued by the reserved strangers.

My gaze lingers a little too long because one of them looks up and our eyes lock. Instantly, a shiver runs down my spine, a sudden rush of warmth replacing the coldness I'm feeling. Something about him draws me in and pulls me towards him, yet I can't find the will to move. He's beautiful, in a boyish kind of way, wearing khaki shorts and a black cut-off T-shirt despite the chilled weather. He's the one to break the impromptu staring contest when one of his friends nudges his side and steals his attention. I'm a little disappointed when his rich brown eyes look away. I watch for a little longer as they share a few hushed words before all of their eyes shift to me. The extra attention forces me to finally divert mine away.

"Hey," I lean closer to speak to Angela, "I'll be back. I'm gonna take a walk down the beach."

"Okay." She nods, "Do you want me to walk with you?"

"No, it's okay. I won't be gone long."

I walk along the shore, kicking rocks until I get far enough away that the loud music and shouting sound like a soft murmur in the distance. I find a washed-up log and sit down, watching the waves crash against the shore before retreating. It's quiet and peaceful. I could probably fall asleep sitting here. The sound of a stick snapping behind me ruins that thought. Turning my head away from the water and towards the forest, I come face-to-face with the handsome boy.

"You shouldn't be wandering around out here by yourself. It's not safe." He speaks as he takes a hesitant step closer to me.

"I could say the same to you."

"Why did you leave your friends?" He asks, coming to take a seat on the log next to me, making sure to leave a little space between us.

"They are hardly my friends." I laugh dryly, staring back out at the water. "I didn't even want to come."

"Then why did you?" I shrug in response, not really having a reasonable answer to give. "I could give you a ride home if you want."

"I don't even know you." I chuckle. "Didn't you just lecture me about it not being safe to wander off out here alone, and now you're offering me a ride home. Talk about stranger danger. This is literally the plot and premise of every teen slasher film."

"It was hardly a lecture. More of a piece of valuable advice." He smiles, offering his hand to shake. "I'm Embry Call."

"Y/N Y/L/N." I reply, grabbing his hand. It's unbelievably warm yet comforting.

"Now we're not strangers. Want to take me up on my offer now?" He asks. "If not, you could always go back and ask that Newton kid to tell you another story to help pass the time."

"I would rather step on a Lego than listen to another one of his stories." I scoff. "But I should let Angela know I'm leaving first."

"Let's go then." He chuckles and stands up, waiting for me to rise to my feet before leading me back to the bonfire.

• ───────────────────────────── •

The drive to my house seems to go by quickly. We make small talk here and there until the conversations eventually fizzle out completely and we fall into a comfortable silence. There's a weird tension that lingers in the air. Not a bad weird, just different. I want to know more about him but he's a little closed off. When we speak, it seems like he wants to let me in, he wants to talk to me, but something is stopping him from getting too deep. Despite that, he makes me feel at ease.

"We're here." he speaks softly, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Oh, okay. Thanks for the ride." I reply, attempting to hide my disappointment with a smile. "And for not killing me." I tack on a joke for further convincing.

"No problem." He laughs as he opens his door to get out. He comes around to my side and opens my door for me, grabbing my hand gently to help me out of the truck. "I'll wait here until you get inside."

"Okay," I nod. "Will I see you around?"

"Maybe." He shrugs.

"Goodnight, Embry."

"Goodnight, Y/N." The way my name rolls off his tongue so soft and smooth sends a gentle shiver running through me. Every thought in my brain vanishes and it's only the sound of his voice playing over and over again like a broken record.

By the time I make it up to my room, I'm smiling hard and surely sporting flushed cheeks. I look out my window to check, and there he is, still waiting like he said. I wave down at him once we make eye contact. He smiles and waves back before climbing into the truck and reversing out of the driveway.

I go about my usual nightly routine before finally settling into bed. The smile that this mysterious boy has somehow managed to plant on my face has yet to disappear. I think back over our interactions throughout the night, and although they had been small and more than likely meaningless to him, they had me giggling and kicking my feet like a little schoolgirl. Figuratively, of course. Once I manage to calm myself down, I close my eyes and begin to drift off to sleep, whispering a quick prayer that tonight was only the first and not the last time I would be seeing the handsome stranger.

• ───────────────────────────── •

"That movie was awful." I scoff, walking with the rest of the group out of the theater.

"I thought it was awesome!" Mike exclaims.

"How? There was an unnecessary amount of blood and gore that did absolutely nothing for the plot, and the graphics were horrible."

"Woah there! Didn't know we had a professional movie critic on our hands." Mike jokes, receiving laughter from the rest of the group.

I roll my eyes as they begin gushing and raving about the action movie as we walk down the street. I fall back behind the group a bit, putting a little distance between me and them, but not too much that it's noticeable. Not that I think they would notice anyway. Despite having hung out with them numerous times since the bonfire two weeks ago, my friendship with them hasn't progressed at all. I just don't feel much of a connection with any of them, other than Angela.

"Hey, Y/N!" A call of my name pulls me out of my thoughts. I look up at Angela and her friends to find the source, only to see them looking back at me, confusion written on all of their faces. "Hey!" The masculine voice calls again from behind me, a little closer this time. I turn around this time, coming face-to-face with one of the guys from the bonfire, Embry and a couple of others not far behind.

"Do I know you?" I ask.

"No, but I know you. I'm Jared Cameron." He offers me his hand to shake.

"Y/N Y/L/N." I shake his outstretched hand. The next one to introduce himself has short, curly hair and a boyish grin on his face.

"Quil Ateara. The fifth, but the greatest." He chuckles, shaking my hand. The last one steps up wearing a smug expression as he introduces himself.

"Paul Lahote." He smirks, grabbing my hand and bringing it up to his lips. However, before he can make contact with my skin, he is stopped by Embry's stern voice.

"Enough, Paul." He orders to the snickering man.

"Hi, Embry." I redirect my attention to the boy who stands a few steps behind the others.

"Hey." He replies, our gazes locking briefly before he looks away.

"We're heading to a little restaurant down the street," Jared explains. "Wanna join?"

"Oh uh-" As I try to find the words to respond to his spontaneous offer, I'm interrupted by the voice of a female, that I have come to realize I am not the biggest fan of.

"Hey, Y/N. Who are your friends?" She asks, leaving me no time to respond before turning to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Jessica Stanley." A chorus of 'hey's and 'hello's come from the group in response.

"We're heading home if you're ready." She directs her attention to me this time.

"Okay."

"We were actually offering her to join us for dinner," Quil states, presenting the offer Jared had extended to me just a few moments ago. "If she hasn't eaten yet."

"That's so kind of you." Jessica speaks with fake enthusiasm.

"Will you?" Jared questions, eyes trained on mine.

"Sure." I nod, turning to the group I had come with. "If that's okay with all of you."

"Go ahead." Angela is the one to step up and speak, a small but noticeable smile on her face. "Text me when you get home?"

A simple nod is all she needs before she grabs Jessica's hand and guides her back over to their group.

"Let's go," Paul speaks, throwing his arm over my shoulder as if we've known each other for years, and begins to lead me away. "I'm starving."

The restaurant we end up at is a cute, family-owned Italian place. It's cozy and welcoming, much like the rowdy group of boys who invited me to it.

"You have got to try the pizza," Quil leans in from his chair beside me to show me the options on the menu. "It's amazing."

"You think so?" I ask, amused by his never-ending enthusiasm.

"I know so." He winks, flashing me a toothy grin.

"The chicken alfredo is also really good." Jared adds from his seat on the other side of the table. I take their suggestions into consideration as I browse the menu.

"Everything looks and sounds delicious," I say, a sigh of defeat passing through my lips. "I don't know what to choose."

"We could order a couple plates of pasta and a few large pizzas to share. The portions are pretty big." Jared suggests.

"That's fine with me." I nod. "I'm still kind of full from the popcorn I ate at the theater so I won't be able to finish a full meal by myself."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," Quil taps the tip of my nose with his index finger, forcing a giggle out of me at his antics. "Whatever you don't eat, I can gladly finish for you."

"Sounds like a plan then." I smile.

Once we finalize our decisions and put in our orders, we fall into easy conversation. A majority of it is Jared, Quil, and Paul bickering about random stuff or asking me questions. Despite their endless chatter, I can't help but let my mind linger on the quiet male sitting directly to my left. Before I can gather the courage to talk to Embry, Paul grabs my attention.

"How come you hang out with that Newton kid and his friends if you can't stand them?"

"Huh?" His question throws me off a bit.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't seem too thrilled when we saw you outside of the theater." He elaborates. "And you looked a little annoyed when that Jennifer girl butt in to our conversation."

"You mean Jessica?" I chuckle as I correct him.

"Yeah, her." He nods.

"I wouldn't say that I dislike them, necessarily." I shrug. "I just don't click with them well, I guess. Angela is cool, and Eric isn't too bad, but the others are just so...I don't know. Jessica has to always be the center of attention, and Mike is overly flirtatious and too handsy for me."

"Handsy?" Embry questions, addressing me for the first time since out intial greeting outside of the theater. "Has he touched you?"

"It's nothing bad," I assure him. "It's just little things like trying to hold my hand or mess with my hair. Just weirds me out a bit."

"He still shouldn't be trying to touch you without your permission." He grumbles. "Someone needs to put him in his place."

"It's fine." I shrug. "He's harmless, just doesn't understand boundaries." Before he can say anything else, the food arrives.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" The waitress asks after placing all of the food on the table. A chorus of "no's" and "no thank you's" float around the table. "Okay. Just call for me if you need me." As soon as she walks away, we all dig in.

"I am stuffed!" I exclaim after taking the last bite of pasta on my plate. There's still half a dish of pasta and a full pizza left on the table, but at the rate that the boys are eating, I'm positive it will be gone soon.

"You humans and your small appetites." Quil laughs around a mouth full of pizza. His comment earns him a harsh glare from the others.

"Humans?" I laugh at his strange words. "What are you, then? A dog." The table falls quiet as the four share a look before breaking out into nervous laughter. Ignoring their weird response, I change the subject.

"So, what is school like on the reservation?" I ask.

"Boring," Jared replies. "And a lot smaller than public schools."

"What do you do for fun?"

"We spend a lot of time hanging out with our friend Sam and his fiancee, Emily, at their place. It's our home away from home." He answers.

"Or going cliff jumping." Paul adds.

"Cliff jumping?" My eyes widen as I repeat the words back to him. "Is that even safe?"

"No, but it's fun as hell." Quil chuckles. "Gives you a huge adrenaline rush. You should come with us and give it a try some time."

"Absolutely not." Embry interjects, shutting down his suggestion before I can answer for myself. "She could get seriously injured, if she doesn't die from it."

"She'll be fine." Paul jumps in. "Jacob's little leech lover did it and survived."

"Barely." Embry scoffed. "Jacob had to pull her out and perform mouth-to-mouth on her."

"Well, it's a good thing she will be with us then." Paul responds cheekily. "What do you say, Y/N? I don't mind providing a little mouth-to-mouth if necessary."

"I'll pass."

"You should come hang out on the rez, then? At Sam and Emily's place." Jared suggests.

"I don't know." I shake my head. "I don't want to intrude. You seem like a really tight-knit group."

"It's fine." He waves me off. "You'll fit right in." A smug look flickers across his face, as if he knows something that I don't.

"Maybe, but not tonight. I need to get home soon."

"Of course." Jared nods. "Let's pay the bill and then we can head out."

• ───────────────────────────── •

"Are you sure this is okay? They won't mind that I'm here?" I ask Quil as we make our way up the drive way toward Sam and Emily's house.

"Of course not." He gives me a reassuring smile. "We've told them all about you, and they are excited to meet you. Emily's happy to have another female to hang out with. Something about there being too much testosterone around here." He rolls his eyes laughing. "Word of advice though. Don't stare at Emily's face. It pisses Sam off."

"Noted." I nod as we walk up the steps.

"Honey, I'm home!" Quil shouts into the house as he throws the door open.

"Please leave." Paul deadpans.

"Hi! You must be Y/N." A woman greets warmly as she makes her way across the kitchen, making sure to smack Paul in the back of the head and telling him to be nice. "I'm Emily Young." She introduces herself as she pull me into a hug.

"Yes, I am." I nod smiling, reciprocating her hug. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm Sam Uley." A man steps up next to her, greeting me as he does. "That's Seth and Leah Clearwater," He gestures to two other unfamiliar faces sitting at the kitchen table. "And you know the rest of the hooligans."

"Hooligans?" Jared scoffs. "I'll have you know that I am a very distinguished young man." He says as he adjusts his invisible tie.

"Yeah, maybe compared to a caveman." Paul retorts, causing Jared to retaliate by intiating a wrestling match in the small kitchen.

"Enough, you two." Sam barks, trying and failing to hide his amusement at their antics.

"Come sit." Emily turns to me, gently ushering me to the only empty chair at the table, which happens to be right next to Embry.

"Hey," He greets in a quiet whisper as I take a seat.

"Hey."

"Are you okay?" He questions, a look of concern on his features.

"Yeah," I nod. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seem a little tense." He answers. "And they can be a lot sometimes, even for someone like me who has spent years dealing with them."

"I'm okay," I assure him with a smile. He simply nods before turning to finish his lunch as Emily sets a plate down in front of me.

"I'm not sure if you've eaten already but I saved a plate for you." She explains. "Food doesn't last long around here with all of these men so I made sure to put some aside when I heard you were coming."

"I'm starving, actually. I haven't eaten yet today." I reply. "Thank you!"

"You haven't eaten? Like, at all?" The boy named Seth asks from his spot opposite of me.

"No." I shake my head. "I was up late last night writing a paper for my English class and started working on it again as soon as I woke up. I guess I got a little too carried away and forgot to eat anything. But hey! At least I finished my paper. Four days early at that."

"You should still make sure you're eating properly though." Embry states.

"Of course." I nod in agreement. "It's a bad habit I've been trying to kick for years. Once I get locked in on something, it's hard to step away. My mom has lectured me, like, a million times about it."

"So it happens often, is what I'm hearing." Emily steps in, her mom voice making an appearance."

"More often then it should." I respond sheepishly.

"That settles it then." She shakes her head in disbelief. "I'm now making it my personal duty to make sure you are eating three full meals a day. Can't have you getting sick on us."

"You don't have to do that." I argue.

"I know I don't have to, but we take care of our own around here. I know you're new to the group, but I already consider you one of us." She explains, her tone leaving no room fro argument.

"Okay." A blush warms my cheeks as I finally begin to dig into my food.

"Embry." Sam calls his name from where he stands by the kitchen door. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He responds with a nod before rising from his chair and following Sam outside. They are standing on the porch right outside the door, speaking in hushed whispers. As the conversation goes on, Embry seems to grow increasingly frustrated or angry, I assume by the expressions on his face. A few more words are shared between the two before Embry stomps off the porch and Sam returns to the kitchen, letting out a heavy sigh as he enters. The others give him a questioning look, but all he does is shake his head in response.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asks, coming to sit at the table next to Emily.

"Nothing really." I shrug. "Planned on just hanging out at home and reading a book."

"Lame!" Quil and Jared shout simultaneously.

"I'm hosting a bonfire tonight if you would like to join."

"Please do!" Emily almost begs. "You can meet the other girls as well. Kim and Rachel, Jared's and Paul's girlfriends."

"Sure," I nod. "Why not?"

"Perfect!" She smiles. "Would you like to run into town with me? I need to grab some groceries for the barbeque."

"Of course. I don't have anything else to do."

"Let me go grab my purse."

• ───────────────────────────── •

"Hey, Emily. Can I ask you something?" I ask as we walk down another aisle to grab the things she needs.

"Ask away."

"Does Embry not like me or something?" I question. "Like, did I do something wrong? Or offend him in some way?"

"Of course not." She shakes her head at my words. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know." I shrug, nervously fidgeting with the loose threads on my sweater. "He just seems closed off when I'm around. I just thought maybe it was something I did."

"That's just Embry." She reassures me. "He's always been more of an introvert compared to the other guys."

"You sure?"

"I'm positive." She stops walking and turns to face me. "Don't read too much into it. Just give him time. He'll come around." I nod in response, choosing to trust her words and expel those negative thoughts from my head. "Now come on, we only have a few more things to grab and I'm afraid those bozos might destroy the house if they are left alone too long." She giggles as she begins walking again, me following close behind.

When we return to the house, the guys are horsing around outside, as Emily and I head to the kitchen to put everything away. Once all of the groceries are in their rightful place, she begins to prep what will be needed for dinner.

"Is there anything I can help with?"

"No, I got it, but thanks." She politely declines. "Why don't you head outside. Or you can hang out in the living room and watch some TV. Whatever you want to do."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

I begin to make my way towards the door to go outside when I notice Embry sitting on the couch by himself. I hesitate briefly before making up my mind and stepping towards the living room instead.

"Hi, Embry." I speak softly, as not to startle him.

"Hey, Y/N." He greets, glancing at me over his shoulder and then turning his attention back towards the TV.

"What're watching?"

"Nothing, really. Just flipping through channels to see if anything good is on. So far, I've found nothing." He shrugs.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"No, I don't mind." He scoots over to make room on the couch. We fall into a tense silence as he continues to flip through channels before he finally settles on a true crime show.

"Are you excited for the bonfire?" He asks, finally breaking the silence and turning his head to look at me, our gazes interlocking.

"Yeah, actually. I am." I reply, smiling. This is the first time we've had an actual conversation together since the one we had on the night we met and I can't help but feel giddy about it.

"Good." He nods, he lifts one of his hands to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Oh, uh, thank you." I can feel my cheeks heat up instantly. "You do, too. Look handsome, I mean. Not beautiful. Not that you aren't beautiful, I just-" I blush harder as I stumble over my words.

"Thank you." He interrupts, chuckling softly.

Our conversation dies out as we stare into each other's eyes. However, the silence this time is much more comfortable. Without realizing it, we had begun to lean into each other. So close that our noses are almost touching.

"Can I-" Embry begins to speak but is cut off as Sam's voice carries through from the kitchen.

"Embry, come out. I need your help gathering the fire wood."

"Okay, be right there." He replies, backing away. "I'll talk to you in a bit, okay?"

"Okay. Yeah." I nod, another blush dusting my cheeks as I start to think about what would have happened if Sam hadn't come in.

Embry then gets up from his spot beside me, leaving me with a soft smile and following Sam out the door.

• ───────────────────────────── •

The bonfire burns brightly, providing some warmth against the chilly night air. I sit with the other girls, talking and laughing as the guys kick around a soccer ball off to the side. Just like Emily, Kim and Rachel are kind and inviting, making it easy to fall into comfortable conversation. Even Leah, despite her quiet nature.

"So, you and Embry, huh?" Rachel nudges my side gently with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrow suggestively.

"What about me and Embry?" I ask confused.

"Are y'all, like, a thing?" Kim is the one to ask the question.

"Oh, no. Definitely not." I shake my head, laughing at the incredulousness of the idea. "If you haven't noticed, he barely speaks to me."

"Which is kind of crazy to me because the guy can barely keep his eyes off of you." Rachel says.

"Right!" Kim exclaims. "Glad I'm not the only one who noticed."

"You're seeing things." I argue.

"But you like him though, don't you?" Leah asks.

"Would you think I'm crazy if I said yes?" I bite my lip nervously. "He. doesn't even give me the time if day. Today was the first time we've held a conversation that was longer than three words since the night we met, but I can't help but be drawn to him. Like some kind of invisible string is keeping me tied to him. I sound weird and obsessive, don't I?" I sigh, feeling embarrassed at my admission.

"Not at all." Emily smiles, providing me with some comfort. "Like I said earlier, just give him a little time."

"You should-" Before Rachel can finish what she is going to say, they sound of men arguing grabs all of our attention.

"I said back off, Paul!" Embry shouts angrily at his friend.

Paul laughs menacingly. "Oh yeah? Or what?"

Embry lets out what I can only describe as a deep growl as his body begins to shake in anger.

"Careful there, Call." He says mockingly. "Don't want to lose your cool in front of your girlfriend." Those words seem to be the final trigger, because on my next breath, Embry's clothes shred to pieces as he turns into a giant wolf.

All of the air leaves my lungs as the scene unfolds. Paul is next, shifting into a massive beast in the blink of an eye, right as Embry lunges for him. The two begin to fight, large jaws snapping at each other as they roll on the ground.

"What the actual fuck?" I whisper as I finally catch my breath.

"Leah, Emily." Sam calls. "Get her inside." As soon as the words leave his mouth, a black wolf, larger than the other two, takes the place where his once human form stood. The others soon follow, beginning to chase after the two who have now managed to tumble into the forest.

"Can someone please explain to me what the hell just happened?" I gasp out as we make our way into the living room.

"It's not really our place to say, but Sam can as soon as he gets back." Emily places a comforting yet firm hand on my shoulder, forcing me to take a seat on the couch.

"They're not gonna kill each other, are they?" The horrifying thought leaves my lips before I can stop it.

"No," Rachel shakes her head. "They'll be fine. This actually happens quite often."

"That doesn't make me feel any better." I look at her as if she is insane."

"Sam will calm them down, and then they will all return safely. Not scratch or bruise in sight." Kim explains. I nod, taking a deep breath.

"So they're werewolves?"

"We prefer the term 'Shifter'." Leah states.

"Can all of you do that?"

"Nope. Just me and the guys."

"You're the only female that can turn into a wolf?"

"The only one known." She nods.

"Okay." I nod, trying to process the new found information. "Wow! This is a lot to take in."

"You're handling it pretty well, though." Kim giggles. "I half expected you to run off screaming."

We sit waiting for about ten minutes, them answering the questions they are allowed to answer, before the door swings open. Jared, Quil, and Seth walk into the house, Sam, Paul, and Embry moments after.

"Sorry about that, Y/N." Paul laughs as he throws himself down on the floor in front of where Rachel sits.

"No problem." I respond before turning my attention towards Sam.

"I'm sure you have a few questions."

"That's the understatement of the century." Sam chuckles at my response as he begins to explain everything. Their history, abilities, what causes the first shift, what triggers every shift after, how they control it. He goes on for what feels like half an hour until he feels that he has covered everything.

"Now that that is out of the way, there is one more thing you must know, but it's best if you and Embry discuss that privately."

"Um...okay?" I turn to look at Embry, who is still standing next to the door.

"Can I give you a ride home?" He asks. "I'll explain on the way there."

"Sure." I nod, standing from the couch. "Thanks for inviting me. Despite all of the chaos, I really enjoyed spending time with you all."

"Of course, Y/N." Sam smiles gently. "You're welcome any time."

• ───────────────────────────── •

The first ten minutes of the twenty-minute drive pass in silence. Neither of us willing to break it, but eventually I speak, not being able to stand the tension anymore.

"Embry?" I call his name softly, my voice coming out as almost a whisper. "There was something you wanted to tell me."

"'Want' isn't exactly the word I would use, but I don't really have a choice." He sighs heavily. "For starters, I want to apologize. I didn't want to drag you into this. I tried to keep my distance, but my friends were hellbent on playing matchmakers. If it had been up to me, tonight wouldn't have ever happened."

"Oh." His words trigger an ache in my chest.

"It's not that there is anything wrong with you. You're great, actually. It's just that I didn't want to bring you into my world because it's too dangerous for you."

"Dangerous? How? What does any of this have to do with me?"

"That leads to my next point. There is this thing that us Shifters do. It's called imprinting." He explains as he slows the car down before pulling over to the side of the road and putting the car in park.

"Imprinting?" I ask as he turns to me, eyes locking onto mine.

"Yeah. In looser terms, it's kind of like finding our soulmate. The one person we are destined to be with. When we find our imprint, they instantly become the one thing in this world that we would do anything for. We will become anything they want or need us to be. A protector, a friend, a lover. They become the center of our whole world. The gravity that holds us to the Earth. Everything and everyone in our lives suddenly comes second to them."

"Are you saying that-"

"Yes," He nods, responding before I can finish my sentence as if he had read my mind. "That night we first met, on the beach in La Push, I imprinted on you. It's not something we can control, it just happens. We don't choose who we imprint on. The moment I looked into your eyes, my fate was sealed."

"Is that why you avoided me? Did you want it to be someone else?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I was avoiding you because bringing you into all of this is dangerous. There are other supernatural beings that exist, and just you breathing puts you in danger because of the connection we have."

"Other supernatural beings? Like what?"

"Vampires. Those are our biggest enemies and what triggered out phases."

"Vampires," I mutter his words back to him in disbelief. "Here in Forks?" He nods in response.

"So if you don't have control over the bond, what would happen if I didn't want it?" I question. "Not saying that I don't, just asking." I quickly explain.

"You could reject it, but it wouldn't be easy. For either of us. The longer we spend apart, the more it will begin to hurt. Not just emotionally but physically too. We would both grow weaker, and it would affect my shifting and other abilities."

"Wow."

"And I'm not saying that to scare you at all, just answering your question honestly."

"So what does that mean for us?"

"What do you want it to mean? Like I said, you are now my sole purpose of living. Your safety and well-being, your life, are now my greatest priority. I will be whatever you need me to be."

"Okay. So, if I wanted to pursue something romantically, would you only be doing it because you have to? Because I actually really like you. Like a lot. But I don't want to force you into anything that you don't actually want."

"I like you, too. And I'm not just saying that because of the bond. I do genuinely mean that. I know it didn't seem like it because of how I acted and how I treated you, but the more time I've spent around you, the more my feelings have grown. My feelings for you are real, they are just amplified by the connection we have."

"Okay."

"Is that want you want?" He asks. "To pursue this romantically?"

"Maybe." I shrug. "Do you?"

"I would like that." He smiles softly.

"Me too." I return with a smile of my own, subconsciously leaning closer to him. "We should probably take it slow though."

"Definitely." He responds, moving in more. Our noses brush gently as he speaks. "Would you be mad if I kissed you? Right now."

I shake my head at his question. "I think I would be more mad if you didn't"

That's all that needs to be said before he leans in the rest of the way and molds his lips softly to mine. Butterflies erupt in my stomach instantly. My body feels like it's on fire, but in a good way. His hand finds my cheek, angling me to deepen the kiss as both of mine find the nape of his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair.

Once we both run out of breath, he pulls back, pecking my lips a few more times.

"I should probably get you home." He whispers, resting his forehead against mine.

"Yeah, you probably should." I whisper back, brushing my lips against his softly. He groans softly, caving in and kissing me hard.

"Okay." He moves away to settle back into his seat. "For real, I need to get you home."

"Sorry." I blush.

"Don't apologize." He says. "I didn't mind at all. And now that I've gotten a taste of what its like to kiss you, I don't ever want to stop, but we've been sitting here for a while out in the middle of nowhere."

"You're right. Let's go."

The rest of the drive is spent with light conversation and giddy smiles shared between the two of us. He keeps my hand interlocked with his the whole time and places light pecks against the back of it every now and then. We finally make it to my house, much to my disappointment. Embry, being the gentleman he is, walks me to the door.

"I guess this is goodnight, then." He says, hands still holding mine tightly, as if he doesn't want to let go.

"I mean, it doesn't have to be." He quirks an eyebrow at the insinuation behind my words. "Do you want to come in?"

"I shouldn't." He shakes his head, releasing one of my hands so I can unlock my front door.

"But I think you should." I open the door, tugging on his hand as I step inside. I watch as he battles with whether he should decline or give in. I wait patiently as he makes his decision.

"Fuck it!" He finally says before diving in for a kiss, kicking the door closed behind us as we stumble into the house.

[kxsagi]

REQUEST IDEA 😼😼🔥🔥‼️

Reader goes on a family trip basically. BUT they bring their s/o. Reader's aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and parents (or just their primary family in general) go to a somewhere for a get together. Could be a summer vacation, a winter skiing trip, an autumn trip outside the country, or anything else. Whichever vibes you want to go for 😋😋.

It's what people I know usually do but they let their kids bring their s/o and their family. So when a lot of the kids already have s/o's, it's gonna get harder and harder to take group photos😅😅. It's when the families are already familiar with each other enough yk.

And I wanna see character and reader's family interactions🔥🔥😋. How'd they interact with their little cousins, how they'd deal with interrogation from family members, how they'd try to win their family's favor, silly shenanigans they'd do with reader while on the trip, etc.

This is alrdy getting pretty long but I have to get this out. Scenario ideas!!! Reader's little cousins go through the character's bag. thats it lol. Embarrassing childhood stories. Interactions between the s/o's. "So what do you do?" conversations and other ppl answer "doctor/lawyer/engineer and other impressive sounding stuff" and the character just answers "...I play soccer" IDKK but it's fine in the end bc ppl probably know who they r. Speaking of, some person in the family fangirling/fanboying over the character bc they're rlly into soccer. NOT NECESSARY TO THE PROMPT THO so ignore this if you want🫶🫶

Any characters really but heh.... rin😼🥶😴😴🥶. Also now that I read over the prompt, this seems sooo Isagi. I don't really have a preferred format so it's up to you🫶. sorry if it's too long lmao 😭😭

“𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐬. 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲”

a/n: i am aware that everyone has different families, but for the sake of making it funny, i made reader’s family pretty chaotic!

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧

a/n: rin and sae are on good terms here! (art credits go to 1omya on X)

your family’s idea of a relaxing vacation was flying twelve hours to a quiet countryside villa in italy during peak autumn season, renting out an entire stone estate surrounded by vineyards, and somehow turning it into survivor: family edition. you knew it was going to be chaos the second your aunt asked in the group chat, “should we all bring our significant others?” and thirty messages later, the answer was yes. and that was how rin itoshi ended up in tuscany, standing stiffly in a turtleneck, carrying your pink suitcase like it personally insulted him, and regretting every life choice that led him here. 

“you okay?” you asked sweetly, looping your arm through his as you walked toward the villa. 

“i already hate it here,” he muttered. 

“you say that, but you look cute with the autumn leaves in your hair.” 

he deadpanned, “i’m going to throw myself into a wine barrel.” 

the villa was already buzzing when you arrived. your cousins were running through the vineyard like feral woodland creatures. your mom was yelling at someone to stop touching the antique chandelier. your dad was trying to operate a pizza oven. and your great aunt, who had just discovered the bidet, was giving an enthusiastic tutorial to anyone within earshot. rin looked like he was actively trying to astral project. 

then the interrogations started. 

“so, rin,” said one aunt, sipping her wine with the measured look of someone who professionally judges wine and people. “what do you do?” 

“i’m a soccer player,” rin said flatly. 

“oh, that’s nice,” she said with the tone of someone who thought that meant he coached toddlers. 

“professionally,” he added. “in europe.” 

someone at the table choked on a breadstick. 

“wait,” your cousin whispered, eyes wide. “wait. rin. rin itoshi?” 

“unfortunately,” he muttered, already sensing what was coming. 

“NO WAY. I FOLLOW YOUR FAN ACCOUNT,” they yelled, which immediately summoned a second cousin from across the villa who screeched “I HAVE HIS JERSEY SIGNED” and a third who appeared out of the hedges, clutching a soccer ball like a talisman. 

and that’s how rin was cornered at the dinner table, being grilled about world cup stats by three cousins and your aunt, who suddenly “remembered watching him play against spain.” meanwhile, another cousin was secretly filming him from behind a wine bottle like a biologist observing a rare animal. 

you leaned over and whispered, “having fun yet?” 

“your cousin just asked if i’d sign her forehead.” 

“you should. she said she’d tattoo it.” 

he blinked. “what the hell is wrong with your family?” 

“genetics.” 

somewhere in the chaos, your little cousins broke into his room and started going through his suitcase. you walked in on them holding his designer jacket like it was a relic from a museum. one of them tried to wear it. it reached the floor. another was snooping through his skincare bag. 

“what is this?” they asked, holding up his eye cream. 

“expensive,” he said, snatching it back. “put it down before i cry.” 

honestly, you were impressed with how he didn’t immediately flee to the airport. sure, he was grumpy 85% of the time and muttered threats like “i will fake my death and disappear into the hills,” but he also helped your cousin pick olives off the trees. he taught your younger cousin how to juggle a soccer ball and got way too into it. and when your grandma cornered him with a glass of homemade limoncello and asked if he loved you, he answered without hesitation. 

“yeah,” he said. “i do.” 

you didn’t hear it firsthand, but your grandma told everyone at breakfast. you couldn’t look at him without smirking. he threatened to put you in the pizza oven. 

rin’s family arrived a few days into the trip, and the contrast was hilarious. his mom was quiet and sweet, immediately bringing you a scarf she knitted and complimenting your italian. his brother sae showed up in sunglasses like he was there to cause problems on purpose. 

“yo,” sae said, sitting next to your dad. “you know your daughter’s out of rin’s league, right?” 

rin almost choked on his wine. 

somehow, the itoshis blended in perfectly. his mom and your mom started a wine club (which was just them drinking and ranking cheeses). his dad and your uncle bonded over espresso. sae teamed up with your cousin to build a bonfire that was technically illegal. someone’s dog peed on the vineyard. rin started drinking espresso like water. you weren’t sure if it was for the caffeine or emotional support. 

one night, after a chaotic dinner involving three languages, a spilled lasagna, and your aunt accidentally texting the wrong rin her apple strudel recipe (a kid in osaka got it), you pulled him aside into the garden. 

the moonlight lit the leaves gold. the air smelled like wine and pine and the burnt crust of whatever your uncle put in the pizza oven this time. you leaned on the railing. he stood next to you, arms crossed. 

“you survived,” you said. 

“barely.” 

“but you didn’t hate it?” 

he glanced at you. “your cousin asked if i was gonna propose.” 

you grinned. “and what did you say?” 

“… i said not with her watching.” 

you laughed, eyes crinkling. he looked at you like you hung the moon. 

“you really love me, huh?” you teased. 

he rolled his eyes. “you’re lucky you’re hot.” 

“so lucky.” 

and then, because it was your family and nothing was sacred, someone threw a wine cork at you from the balcony and yelled “GET MARRIED ALREADY!” 

you both turned. 

rin shouted back, “MIND YOUR BUSINESS.” 

you? you just laughed. because honestly? this was already better than any fairytale. just rin, your ridiculous family, and the chaos that made life sweet.

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

a/n: art credits go to jyauii on X

you weren’t really sure what possessed you to bring isagi yoichi to your family’s yearly summer beach trip. maybe it was because your little cousins had been bugging you about your mysterious soccer boyfriend for months. maybe it was because your mom asked a little too sweetly if “yoichi could come, if he’s free, we’d love to have him.” or maybe it was because you wanted to see if he could survive your family’s unique brand of chaos. turns out? the man’s got survivor instincts. 

you’d barely parked the car before one of your younger cousins launched himself at isagi like a heat-seeking missile, declaring a wrestling match to establish dominance. “he’s testing you,” you said, deadpan, while isagi politely got tackled into the sand. 

“i think he wins,” isagi wheezed, pinned under a four-foot-tall ball of energy. 

the beach house was packed. like, “how did we pass the fire code” packed. your family didn’t just vacation, they migrated. aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, family friends, and that one mysterious extra person no one ever explained, everyone was here. and now, so was isagi, wearing his nicest shorts, polo shirt, and a hopeful smile, completely unaware that he was about to be questioned like a man on trial. 

your mom greeted him with a hug. your dad sized him up. your aunt took one look and whispered, “he looks polite. that’s suspicious.” you gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. “good luck,” you whispered. “they smell fear.” 

he handled it pretty well, all things considered. by the time dinner rolled around, he was already holding a baby in one arm and flipping burgers with the other, like some sort of domestic action hero. your grandma called him “helpful.” your uncle called him “a decent enough guy, for someone who wears ankle socks.” 

but of course, the moment of truth came during the infamous family dinner interrogation, where your relatives ask everyone under 40 what they do for a living, purely to judge silently afterward. 

“so, yoichi,” one of your uncles began, already swirling a glass of wine like a villain, “what is it that you do?” 

“i play soccer,” isagi replied, like a fool. silence. 

“for a local team?” another asked, squinting. 

“… i play professionally. in germany.” 

your aunt blinked. “for which team?” 

“bayern munchen.” 

a beat. then your cousin, who’d been silently scrolling under the table like a short-attention span ipad kid, let out a strangled squeak and went, “NO FREAKING WAY. YOU’RE ISAGI YOICHI? I HAVE YOUR FIFA CARD.” and that was that. 

it was over. 

your uncle’s wine glass trembled slightly. your younger cousins screamed. your grandma, bless her, just nodded and said, “ah. so he’s on television.” she then resumed eating her grilled fish like nothing happened. 

you could see the shift. suddenly, your relatives weren’t just tolerating isagi, they were trying to impress him. your cousin who once called soccer “just people kicking balls around” was now pretending he’d always been a diehard fan. your aunt googled how to say “go, isagi!” in german. your uncle who played a little in college suddenly decided it was time to “kick the ol’ ball around again,” which ended in him tripping over a cooler and blaming the sand. 

later that night, your younger cousins raided your shared suitcase and found a photo album his mom had secretly slipped in “for memories.” mistake. big mistake. 

“LOOK AT BABY YOICHI!” one cousin yelled, holding up a photo of isagi with his signature ahoge and bright yellow rain boots, pouting dramatically at the camera. “WHY IS HE CRYING HERE?” 

“his cake had no frosting,” you explained solemnly. “dark day.” 

another cousin flipped to a picture of him sleeping with a soccer ball clutched to his chest. “i’m gonna send this to my group chat.” 

“i’m being blackmailed by children,” isagi mumbled. 

you kissed his cheek. “you’re doing great, love.” 

honestly, he kind of was. he helped the kids build a sandcastle shaped like a turtle, he got tricked into joining a beach volleyball game where the ball hit him in the face twice, and he somehow ended up in a conga line started by your aunt after two piña coladas. it was beautiful. and terrifying. 

then his parents showed up. 

his mom brought handmade onigiri for everyone, which instantly won the hearts of your entire extended family. his dad complimented your dad’s grilling technique, which led to them bonding over charcoal like long-lost brothers. the two families mingled like this was the summer crossover event of the year. your mom and his mom were already planning a joint potluck. your grandma offered his dad a homemade remedy for back pain that involved vinegar and prayer. someone suggested a badminton match that turned into an all-out olympic-level war. it was perfect. 

as the night wound down and the fire pit crackled, you and isagi found a quiet moment alone by the shore. the moonlight glinted off the waves. laughter echoed from the deck behind you. you kicked off your shoes and sighed. 

“that was… a lot,” you said, leaning into him. 

“you think your uncle’s gonna send me that photo of me covered in ketchup?” he asked softly. 

“he said he’s using it as your contact picture.” 

he groaned and let his forehead fall against your shoulder. 

“yoichi?” 

“mm?” 

“thanks for coming.” 

he smiled into your skin. “you kidding? i’d survive a thousand uncles if it means getting to do this with you.” 

you grinned. “you really like me, huh?” 

“more than soccer.” 

“liar.” 

“… equal to soccer.” 

you nodded, satisfied. “i’ll take it.” 

and as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, sand between your toes and half your family plotting a family soccer tournament with him as the coach, you thought yeah. this was gonna be one hell of a vacation. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[lilislegacy]

Are you aware of the hate you are getting right now for defending percabeth in that one cotg post? I’m sorry :(

Why yes, yes I am. I've received some lovely asks over the past few hours (not that it's anything new)

It's okay though because I deserve it, on some level. I started it by responding critically to an individual's post. That is not something I have ever done before, and I knew that by doing it, I could receive some serious backlash. I signed up for it. So don't be sorry! I need to learn to to work through comments like these.

Hear me when I say this: People who don't like percabeth and don't like Annabeth are NOT bad people. Oftentimes, I find the reasons how they justify it to be quite problematic, which I have talked a lot about, but that is just my own personal perspective. I'm not ashamed to post my opinions on here and point out things that I find problematic, but my intention is never to hurt, offend, or criticize individuals.

So, I don't regret what I posted and I stand by it. That said, I was a bit aggressive, and the way they all responded to me could have been a lot worse. At the end of the day, we are discussing fictional characters from children's books. It's not that deep, and I refuse to get into an online battle over it. I'm pretty sure that we all mean well. So nobody—I repeat, nobody—respond to them negatively, and especially not in my defense. Quite honestly, I'm very embarrassed that there's even an ounce of drama surrounding my name, because that is so not my intention or who I am as a person.

I love you all very much. And to the anti-percabeth and anti-annabeth fans who read this, even though we disagree on viewpoints, my intention is never to hurt any of you. I am truly sorry if I have. I try and bring different perspectives to the conversation, and sometimes I get too passionate about it and get myself in trouble lol. I am sure @fate-of-the-envious and the other posters who responded to my post are lovely people. Maybe we'd even be friends in real life. But I'm not perfect and they're not perfect and when we disagree this hard on something, there tends to be some tension. Like I said in the original post, I appreciate where they are coming from and understand what they are saying. I only hope that they can understand what I am saying, too.

I think there is so much good and so much beauty in Percy and Annabeth's relationsip. It's definitely flawed, just like the two of them are—and I think I have been pretty good about acknowledging their flaws. However, I think their ability to overcome those flaws and continue to love and protect each other, as best friends and as partners, is such a beautiful narrative. I'll never shut up about that or stop defending them. But it's okay that people disagree and I refuse to make enemies over it. So even though I have and will call Percy and Annabeth out for their downfalls, I love them and I'm gonna keep posting about why I love them. And the other side will keep posting critically about them. But overall, I'm really proud that we as a fandom can have discussions like these and listen to different perspectives, while also being passionate about how we feel.

Also, whichever side you're on, we can all agree on two things, right?

1) We love PJO, and 2) Rick needs to get it together LOL

[mydogatemymotivation]

Ok I wanna talk about the Zeb of Kalluzeb cuz sometimes I feel like he gets a little overlooked, but I have thoughts. A lot of people, when they're talking about Kalluzeb, talk about how Zeb can see the light in Kallus that he can't really see in himself all the time, and that's true, of course. But the extent of the discourse around Zeb is about Lasan, and I'm not trying to dismiss that or anything, but there's more to it than that. I think Zeb, the people around him, and the fandom, honestly, have this idea of Zeb that boils down to "good for a laugh, good for a drink, good for a game of sabacc, and good in a fight" and that makes a lot of interpretations of Zeb a little one dimensional.

But think of him this way: he was the Captain of the High Honor Guard on Lasan and he's a Rebellion Captain, and part of an ancient Lasat prophecy. These are all very noble, very honorable things. So how bizarre was it for him, then, to resonate with Kallus. If Zeb can see the light in Kallus then I think it stands to reason that Kallus can see the darkness in Zeb. And I think it would be so much more interesting to see Zeb react to that, because that shakes the foundation of who he thought he was. He sees himself as the white knight character, proud and honorable. So why does he like the fight so much? Why does he find kinship with a man soaked in so much blood? To see this happy guy who's always down for drinks and cards be so enamored with someone from Imperial High Command, I think it would rattle a lot of people, including Zeb.

I think Zeb hides a lot underneath his jovial nature, even from himself, and to have Kallus hold up a mirror to all the parts of himself that Zeb tries to hide would make him feel so exposed. Idk how many of you have watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but I was thinking about Spike and Buffy (I have a point, I promise, stay with me) and this is very much their dynamic. Buffy, who tries to convince herself that she's 'just a girl' and that she doesn't like being the slayer, likes Spike because he holds up a mirror to all the darker parts of herself. She likes that he's dangerous, she likes that she can be herself, she likes how rough he is, she likes that Spike can see all of that and that he still loves her despite those things, or even because of those things. And I love that dynamic, and I see some of Kallus and Zeb in it. Zeb likes that Kallus is dangerous, he likes the thrill that comes with loving him, he likes that Kallus resonates with darker parts of himself, and that's scary for him.

Kallus gives Zeb an outlet for his anger that can go toe-to-toe with him, he likes that he understands the pain of wanting vengeance and the pain of what happened on Lasan. It feels like, sometimes, the rest of the Ghost crew doesn't quite know what to do with Zeb (and this is no hate to them, I love them, it just bothers me), no one knows how to help him through the anger he has, no one knows how to talk to him about Lasan and he ends ups so alone, even with his family, because how could they understand that kind of darkness. But Kallus does because he was there. (And I don’t mean any disrespect to what Kanan went through, but he had Ahsoka for a long time. And he has Ezra who he can pass the teaching of the Jedi onto. He still has Jedi temples he can go to; we never see Zeb go back to Lasan. He’s also surrounded by other humans, but Zeb’s species itself was under attack. No one else in the rebellion is even breathing air the same way Zeb is. It’s incredibly isolating.)

I keep imagining the two of them in a fight, on the same side finally, and Kallus, being basically a living weapon, is covered in someone's blood and Zeb's first thought is, wow, red really is his color, followed immediately by OH MY GOD WHO SAID THAT. WHO SAID IT. NOT ME. …then again… the way his manic smile reflects off his blood-soaked knife is really - mmmmmnope. Nope,nope,nope not doing that. Not doing it. No thank you. He sees exactly what Kallus is and is incredibly into it. And that would be so distressing for him because he sees himself as this kind, noble person, and he is, but he doesn't want to deal with what it means to love Kallus. And everyone around him sees him as a kind, noble person, so when he starts having feelings for Kallus, he gets pulled to the side by a few who say, "hey, are you okay?" not in a comedic way, but in a genuine, this isn't who you told us you were, what's going on? And Zeb doesn't have any answers because this isn't who he convinced himself he was, either. Everyone put Zeb on this pedestal, but Kallus grounded him, and it’s like everyone is finally seeing this guy at eye level instead of at a distance and Zeb just has to stand there and take it.

Even in Buffy, though, it takes her a long time to accept her feelings for Spike because of how scared she is of herself. When she finally admits to Tara that she and Spike are having an affair, she fully breaks down. Like, she's on her knees sobbing, begging Tara not to forgive her for what she's doing because she wants to be punished by someone, anyone for the way she is, but Tara does forgive her, and she just cries harder. And that kind of shell-shocked, I'm actually as dark as he is, and I don't like that he saw it before I did kind of angst is what I'm talking about.

It's not just Lasan that they have in common. Zeb doesn't just balance Kallus, Kallus has to balance Zeb, too. And that realization that the sunshine character is not the sun at high noon, bright and unobstructed, but rather, the sun at twilight, tinged with darkness and teetering on the edge of falling is so good and there's not nearly enough of it with these two. I mean. Listen. People talk about Kallus' poor mental health but that scene in the finale with the shield generator. That wasn't ~noble sacrifice~, that was an attempt and no one talks about it. I mean, he just lost another member of his family and immediately tried to sacrifice himself. He needs to address his own darkness and work through it because he's not doing any better than Kallus.

Zeb sees the light in Kallus and Kallus sees the darkness in Zeb. They need each other.

[therainscene]

[Mentions of ST5 leaks below.]

I've been thinking about Linda Hamilton's mysterious role in S5. Leaks tend to agree that she plays a military character of some sort, but I dunno how difficult a guess that is to make given how much of a gun-toting badass her Terminator character is.

Most of ST's guest stars tend to be cast in roles that reflect the classic 80s movies they were in -- Paul Reiser plays a representative of an exploitative institution like in Aliens; Sean Astin solves a puzzle map that leads to underground tunnels like in The Goonies; Robert Englund plays (the father of) a heavily-scarred, mind-walking child murderer like in A Nightmare on Elm Street, etc -- but is that true for all of them?

What does Larry Kline (the slimy Mayor who screws over small businesses to protect the interests of a large corporation) have in common with Cary Elwes's most famous role (the dashing, swashbuckling farmhand-turned-pirate from Princess Bride)? The similarities may not be immediately obvious, but I think they're clearer when you remember that Elwes also played Robin Hood -- Larry Kline is an ironic reversal of the working-class hero Elwes is known for.

What if Linda Hamilton has been cast as an ironic reversal of Sarah Connor?

Sarah Connor is the mother of humanity's future savior, and by Terminator 2, the burden of ensuring that he survives being the target of a genocidal time-travelling AI has turned her into a hardened solider plagued by nightmares of children dying in an apocalypse she's helpless to prevent.

You can hardly blame her for feeling helpless. Even without the time-travelling robots, she's just one woman trying to make a stand against powerful institutions: the military-funded lab that's ignorantly creating the AI her son is destined to oppose; the asylum doctors who think she's a raving lunatic unfit to raise a child.

It's very reflective of 80s anxieties -- not just the Cold War threat of nuclear annihilation, but the conservative threat of social annihilation in the name of silencing misunderstood minorities.

A reversal of Sarah Connor would, therefore, be someone who is still obsessed with protecting children from a rogue (time-travelling? 🤞) hivemind -- but from the conservative, institutionalized power side of things.

In other words: exactly the sort of antagonistic force that was foreshadowed in the S4 epilogue.

(Should the leaks be true, then this would be the real reason for casting Hamilton in a military role.)

Following this train of thought: if we're getting a villain who's focused on "protecting" children, then what does that suggest about the fact that Holly Wheeler -- 7 year-old sister of a gay Hellfire member and frequent innocent witness to The Horrors that surround him -- is shaping up to be one of Henry's targets in S5?

Let's talk about Ted and Karen.

I feel like these two tend to be misunderstood by the fandom. Either they're frothing bigots who would kick Mike out of the house the instant they found out he was queer, or they're chill allies who have been assuming that Mike was dating Will this whole time.

But that's what Will's parents are like. As a visible gay kid who's playing the stereotypical Sad Gay Boy archetype, it makes sense for Will to have parents that represent the obvious extremes of queer acceptance: Lonnie is never going to be convinced that it's anything other than shameful for his son to be queer, and Joyce is never going to be convinced that there's anything wrong with the way her son loves.

But Mike is the invisible, ambiguously straight-passing kid deep in the throes of comphet -- his role is to surprise the audience by subverting their expectations. And so it's important, I think, that his parents represent the subtler attitude that best reflects his story: the ignorant conformists.

They're the sort of people who get offended when they're accused of bigotry -- they're not hateful, heaven forbid! -- but who still passively support bigoted systems because they refuse to stand up like Sarah Connor or Joyce Byers and challenge the status quo.

While I do believe that "our son with a girl?" is a queer-coded line, I don't think the point was necessarily to suggest that Ted knows about Mike's queerness.

Consider the full context of that scene: Brenner was pressuring the Wheelers to rat Mike out so that this weird kid he was hiding (literally in his closet at one point!) could be apprehended, and he easily won them over with a little "protect the children" fearmongering:

The Wheelers want to support Mike -- but they can only understand his behaviour within the heteronormative white suburban context they're used to, and they'll readily trust authorities they absolutely should not be trusting to explain what help he needs.

Unlike Lonnie, though, the Wheelers have the capacity to change in this regard. They immediately clocked the ridiculousness of the town's Satanic Panic in S4, and the last time we saw them, they demonstrated a promising willingness to question authority and roll their eyes at conservative fearmongering.

But they haven't completed their redemption arc just yet. Holly's disappearance will be an important test of their commitment to this change in attitude.

Picture a redux of that S1 scene, with Hamilton's character in Brenner's role: "I understand your skepticism. It seems ridiculous that there are people in our town who are so committed to hurting children. But cultists are a different breed. Do you remember what happened to Will Byers four years ago? You don't really believe that he randomly got lost in the woods for a week, do you? The same week another child was found dead in the quarry? We can help your daughter, but only if you act now. Tell us where your misguided son and that deeply unwell boy he's a little too close to have gone."

Do they give in to the fearmongering and throw Mike under the bus for Holly's sake?

Or do they clock this bullshit for what it is and decide to peek behind the curtain -- and finally become the sort of parents Mike needs them to be?