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matt-murdockk · 3 months ago

Text

Sweet Nothing

pairing: matt murdock x reader

words: 5.1k

warnings: cussing, slow-burn, angst if you really squint but it's just fluff mostly, lack of proofreading (rip), pretty descriptive making out

summary: This is the story of how Matt Murdock met the love of his life one fateful day at the NYPD precinct.

a/n: guess who finally learned out how to make emdashes on Mac— hehehehe. some fluffy slow-burn for you <3 (i tried not to use pronouns for the reader but I'm so sorry if i accidentally used she/her anywhere)

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While Matt was charming, romantic, and thoughtful, historically— he hasn't been the best at relationships. Flings were okay, short-term was fine, but a proper relationship? Matt didn't think he deserved to be in one until he met you.

To him, you were a breath of fresh air from all his previous exploits. Elektra was a rush of adrenaline, a thrill, certainly an experience, but he knew he didn't like the side of him that she brought out. Karen was too close a friend to lose over a relationship and Claire, well, he had way too much respect for her, he wouldn't do that to her.

You, on the other hand, were what he swore was the right person at the right time. The right amount of calm and the right amount of chaos. He didn’t go looking for you. But you found each other anyway— almost by accident, almost like it was fate.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A regular phone call from Brett Mahoney about a possible case for Nelson & Murdock brought Foggy and Matt to the precinct one day. From outside, Matt quietly observed you before going in. You were in the holding cell, handcuffed, busted lip, and bruised knuckles. For all that you looked like you'd been through, Matt noticed that you were oddly calm.

Brett opened the door to let Matt and Foggy inside, the confusion in your face did not go unnoticed by the people in the room. "10 minutes, Foggy." The door shut behind him as he left, giving them a knowing look.

"You know it, Brett." Foggy helped Matt into his seat and took the empty seat beside him.

"Miss (Y/l/n), my name is Matt Murdock, this is my associate Foggy Nelson." Foggy gave you a half wave and smiled.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Before we begin, have you been assaulted while in custody?"

"No, I have not. Listen, I didn't ask for a lawyer."

"We understand that you have been accused of assaulting a police officer. You have opted not to seek legal representation, is that right?"

"First of all, there has been a huge misunderstanding. Secondly, I still don't know why you're here, Mr..."

"Murdock," he reminded you.

"Right. Murdock. Sorry."

"We run a practice at Hell's Kitchen. Our firm is interested in representing you. And please, call me Matt," he clarified, presenting a warm, genuine smile.

"Well, Matt, while I am certainly thankful for your interest in representing me, I'm sorry to disappoint you, I don't need a lawyer."

"Trust me, you're going to," he said, amused at your confidence that you'll be fine.

"Oh, I know, I just already have one."

"Well, our job here's done. No cigars for Bess next time," Foggy retorted, as he got up, ready to leave.

"Foggy, sit down. Miss (Y/l/n)—"

"(Y/n), please."

"Very well. (Y/n), I understand that you already have representation. Probably from a big-time firm with 5 times the number of defense attorneys than we do. But here’s the thing. Those firms? They see cases. Numbers. Profiles. Headlines. They’re already calculating how your situation fits into their win column. I don’t work like that. My firm doesn’t work like that. We don’t take every case. We don’t chase the press. What we do is show up— completely. We sit down, we listen, and we fight like hell for the people who trust us. No fluff. No posturing. Just the work, and the truth, and someone in your corner who actually gives a damn about what happens to you next. So if you want the machine— fine. But if you want someone who’s going to look past the charges, past the headlines, and actually see you? Then you want Nelson and Murdock."

"Wow, okay, so, great sales pitch, love the energy, I really do. There's just one problem."

"What is it?"

"My boss is already on his way to represent me."

"I'm sorry— Boss?" " Yeah, what is it you do, exactly?" enquired Foggy.

"I'm a senior associate at Pearson Hardman."

"Well, that crashed and burned splendidly. Happy now, Matthew? We're poaching clients now. Oh and not just from any firm. No, sir. From Pearson fucking Hardman, Unbelievable."

"Foggy, it's okay. So, (Y/n), is your boss any good? Or..."

"I work for Harvey Specter."

"And that's our cue to leave."

Matt finally admitted defeat and got up to leave, following Foggy who was already at the door. While he was certainly ambitious, he knew he couldn't compete with that.

"Thank you for your time, (Y/n)."

As Matt turned toward the door, he caught the subtle quickening of your heartbeat— hesitant, uncertain, like you were rethinking your decision. His hand was just about on the doorknob, ready to leave but not quite gone, when your voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Out of your line of sight, he let the faintest smirk curl at his lips. He just loved being right.

“What is it?” Matt asked, turning back to face you.

You hesitated for a beat, eyes flicking between him and Foggy, then down to your bruised hands in your lap. “I... I want you guys to represent me.”

Foggy blinked, taken off guard. “Really? Just like that?”

You exhaled slowly, the edge of defiance in your tone softening into something a little more tired. “Let’s just say… I’ve worked long enough at firms that care more about damage control than people. I don’t want a firm that’s already prepping their PR statement. I want someone who’ll actually give a shit.”

Matt nodded once, quietly. His expression didn’t change, but there was something solid behind it. Something settled.

Foggy let out a low whistle, then grinned. “Well… welcome to Nelson & Murdock.”

Cut to a little while later— Nelson & Murdock office. You, Matt, and Foggy sat around the table, the arrest report open in front of you. The air buzzed faintly from the overhead light, the hum of late-night tension settling over the room.

Foggy skimmed through the statement again, frowning. “Okay. Walk us through it. From the top.”

You leaned forward, elbows on the table, tone clipped but calm. “I was on the subway platform. Late. Waiting on the C train. There were maybe three other people around, none of them close.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, tuning in. Not just to what you were saying, but how you said it— measured, unflinching. No panic. No dramatics. Just facts.

“This guy comes over, starts making small talk. I make it clear I’m not interested. He doesn’t take the hint. Gets closer. I step back, tell him to stop. He grabs my wrist.”

“Forcefully?” Matt asked.

“Firm enough that I couldn’t just shake him off,” you replied. “So I pulled away. He grabbed me again. That time, I reacted. Hit him once, hard, in the face.”

The rhythm of your pulse didn’t spike when you said it. No guilt. Just certainty.

Foggy nodded slowly. “And then?”

“He goes down, pulls out a badge. Says he’s NYPD. I get cuffed.”

“He never identified himself before that?” Matt asked.

“No. Not verbally, not visually. No badge, no warning. He was in plainclothes, no backup, no indication he was on duty.”

Matt exchanged a look with Foggy, then turned his attention back to her. That steady confidence. The way you answered questions like you were already anticipating the next three.

“That’s a serious problem for their case,” Matt said, flipping through the paperwork. “Use of force in response to a perceived threat is protected— especially when there’s no identification of authority.”

You shrugged. “It won’t stop the department from backing him, though.”

Matt’s brows lifted just slightly. YOu knew exactly how this would play out— too many steps ahead for someone just hoping to walk out clean. You were smart. He liked that. Maybe more than he should.

“No,” Foggy agreed. “But it gives us a strong narrative, especially if we can get security footage or eyewitness statements from the other people on the platform.”

There was a beat as Matt closed the folder and set it aside.

“You’re sharp,” he said, more thoughtful now. “You know the statute, you know your rights, and you’re quoting case law off the top of your head.”

You looked at him, just a little amused. “That’s because I’ve spent years doing the same thing you do.”

A flicker of something moved across Matt’s face. He leaned forward just slightly.

“Why exactly are you not representing yourself?”

You smirked. “Because representing yourself while you’re the one in custody is a logistical nightmare. And because even good lawyers know when to bring in reinforcements.”

Foggy shook his head, amused. “Okay. That was... a good answer.”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. “Now let’s go win my case.”

Matt smiled slightly. “Glad you picked us.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They won.

Not easily, and not without a few uphill battles, but the charges didn’t stick. Between the platform security footage, two credible eyewitness statements, and some rather unflattering internal complaints about the arresting officer, the case quietly unravelled in court. Matt made his arguments clean and precise. Foggy handled the media brushback with that classic Nelson charm. You? You sat through the whole trial stone-faced and unshakable— until the verdict came in, and Matt swore he could hear the way your shoulders finally loosened.

You kept in touch after that.

Not constantly, no regular meetings or phone calls— just the occasional email. A few sarcastic text exchanges. One time, you sent Matt a voicemail of you laughing because Foggy had apparently called you "the one that got away." Matt saved it. He never said that part out loud.

It was about six months later when Foggy floated the idea.

“We could use another good lawyer,” he told Matt, over a plate of lukewarm takeout. “She’s smart, she’s sharp, and she gets us.”

Matt didn’t disagree. He didn’t say much at all, really. But the next morning, you got a call from him— short, polite, a little too formal— inviting you to "grab a coffee and talk opportunities."

You left Pearson Hardman three weeks later.

Karen was the first to greet you when you walked through the door on your first official day. She had already cleared space on the shared bookshelf, left a fresh legal pad on your desk, and warned you not to get caught in any of Foggy’s snack traps. You settled in like you were always meant to be there.

The four of you fell into rhythm faster than expected— late nights, tight wins, inside jokes. Karen became one of your closest friends before your second week was out. Matt had a habit of lingering in your doorway on the days he claimed he "wasn’t eavesdropping," but his smile always gave him away. You pretended not to notice. He pretended not to care."

The firm did better that year than anyone had predicted.

And you? You’d finally stopped feeling like just another cog in someone else’s machine. You felt like you were home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late.

Most of the lights in the office were off except for the one at Matt’s desk, and the faint glow of your screen across from him. Karen had bailed with a yawn and a pointed “Don’t stay too long, you two.” Foggy left not long after with a granola bar and a salute.

Now, just you and Matt.

A few open case files, cold takeout, empty coffee cups.

“Your typing slows down when you’re annoyed,” Matt said, breaking the silence without looking up.

You didn’t even pause. “Your voice gets smug when you’re fishing for attention.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Because it’s not flattering?”

“Because I don’t need to fish for attention,” he said. “Not when you give it up so easily.”

You looked up, unimpressed. “Oh no. You have caught me.”

“Seriously, that's how you respond to my flirting?”

You closed your file and leaned your elbows on the desk. “I didn’t realize ‘mild workplace bullying’ counted as flirting now.”

Matt tilted his head, listening closely. “That wasn’t a no.”

You smiled. “Murdock, if I were flirting, you’d know.”

“Oh?” he leaned forward, just slightly. “Go on, then.”

You mirrored the movement. “You sure you want to start something you can’t finish?”

His smile flickered into something smaller, quieter. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be.”

The banter fizzled for a second into silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Just... full. Like both of you were waiting to see who would blink first. Then you reached for the leftover fries between you.

“See, this is where you should’ve swooped in and offered to share,” you said, picking one up.

“I was being polite.”

“You’re full of it.”

Matt chuckled, leaning back in his chair again. “You make work a lot harder than it should be.”

You smirked. “If you’re blaming me for your lack of focus, I feel like that’s a you problem.”

He tapped a knuckle against the folder in front of him. “Pretty sure you’re a walking conflict of interest.”

“Oh, I am,” you said, popping a fry into your mouth. “But you already knew that.”

Matt bit back a smile, quiet again. Listening. After a moment, he said, “You know you could’ve gone back to a hundred bigger firms. Why stay?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the shift in tone. “Because this place feels like... me. Like it's mine, you know?”

Matt nodded slowly. “Feels like mine, too.”

There was something honest in his voice when he said it. Something unguarded. And for a beat— just a beat— you weren’t just two coworkers trading late-night barbs. You were something else. Something that lived in the space between laughter and hesitation. He broke the silence first.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Karen’s going to start planning our engagement party.”

“She already has,” you said. “She’s terrifying.”

He laughed, bright and real. You laughed too, leaning forward again, close without touching. And that was it. Just a moment. Not a confession. Not a move. But later, walking home, you’d think about it again— about how easy it felt, how his voice softened just for you, how neither of you pulled away.

Matt sat at his desk long after you left.

The city hummed outside the windows, faint and familiar— footsteps, traffic, a distant siren splitting the air somewhere on the west side. The kind of night New York never ran out of. But his attention was still in the office. Still in that moment.

You’d laughed. That real kind of laugh that started in the chest and softened everything around it. And for a second, he wasn’t Daredevil or Matt Murdock, the guy with a double life and a thousand reasons to keep people at arm’s length. He was just a man sitting across from someone who made him forget about all of it.

He hadn’t expected you. Not just the sharpness, or the way you fit in so seamlessly, or how you never once treated him like he needed to be handled. It was the way you challenged him. Matched him. Made the air feel lighter, even when the work was heavy.

And tonight— he’d heard it in your heartbeat. That shift. That hesitation. The quiet hope. It mirrored something in his chest he didn’t want to name. Because if he named it, it would be real. And real things could break.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. He’d been careful. Always careful. With you, maybe too careful. Always toeing the line between professional and personal, between harmless teasing and something far messier.

But tonight? Tonight, the line blurred. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you said this place felt like yours. Like you’d claimed it. Like you belonged here— next to Karen, Foggy... and him.

Matt had spent most of his life believing that the things he loved either left or got hurt. And yet, here you were. And he was terrified. Because the thought of you staying scared him more than the thought of you leaving.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something he couldn’t fight for in court. Couldn’t earn by bleeding for it.

He just... wanted you.

And wanting had never ended well.

He leaned back in his chair and turned his head toward where you’d been sitting hours ago, the ghost of your laughter still echoing softly in the corners of the room.

He didn’t know what came next. But for the first time in a very long time, he hoped. And that was dangerous.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Matt had been trained to keep things close to the chest. To be quiet. Composed. Measured. He’d made a whole life out of it— knowing exactly how much to say, how much to feel, and how much to hide. But lately? He was starting to slip.

It started with small things. Lingering a second too long outside your office. Finding reasons to walk the long way around the building just so he wouldn’t pass you in the hallway. Not looking up when you said his name. Not teasing you like he used to. It was subtle. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But Foggy? Foggy clocked it immediately.

“Are you avoiding (Y/n),” he asked one day, without even looking up from his sandwich, “or just trying to die alone with dignity?”

Matt didn’t dignify that with a response. Which, of course, was the response.

He tried to get a handle on it. He really did. But every time you walked into the room, something short-circuited in his chest. It wasn’t just the way your laugh stuck with him hours later, or the way you challenged him in court, or how you always saved the last of the coffee for him without saying a word. It was everything.

It was the way being near you made him feel like maybe he was allowed to want more. And that terrified him. So he did what Matt Murdock always did when he felt too much— he shut down. Smiled less. Talked less. Pulled back.

From your side, it made no sense. One minute, Matt was your closest friend at the firm— bantering with you over contracts and flirting shamelessly during late nights at the office. And then suddenly, he was stiff. Cautious. Civil, but distant. Like someone had flipped a switch and now you were radioactive.

You asked Karen once if you’d done something. She blinked, confused, then immediately said no. Foggy just smirked and shook his head like he knew something he wasn’t telling.

It wasn’t until the case came in that everything started to unravel.

A mugging gone wrong. Client said Daredevil saved her. That wasn’t unusual, not in Hell’s Kitchen. But Matt had disappeared halfway through the intake. No explanation, no warning.

When he came back, he looked… off.

There was a stiffness in his step. His jacket was damp. You noticed a bruise blooming along the edge of his jaw, half-hidden beneath his collar. And the excuse he gave? It was nothing. Too easy. Too rehearsed.

That was the first moment you really looked at him. And from that moment on, it didn’t stop. You started noticing everything.

It started small. A scrape on Matt’s knuckles one morning when he swore he just "bumped into a railing." A bruise along his jaw two days later that hadn’t been there the night before. The fact that he always knew when sirens were about to pass. That he sometimes winced at conversations happening across the street and flinched when someone behind him opened a soda can too loud.

The way his hands sometimes trembled when he thought no one was watching. The bruises that never quite added up. The way his hearing— his attention— seemed to stretch too far, too focused. His absences. His silences.

You weren’t stupid. You were a lawyer, after all-- your entire job revolved around reading people, noticing what others missed. So you paid attention. Not obsessively. Not yet. But enough. Enough to clock that he disappeared some nights without explanation, always coming back the next day with a carefully worded excuse and that same “don’t ask” look in his eye.

And then came the clincher.

A client— a woman being threatened by her landlord— was suddenly protected. Completely. No restraining order had gone through. No legal intervention. But the man stopped showing up. Cold turkey. When you asked, she just said, “That guy in the mask. The Devil. He said I’d be okay.”

You stared at her.

Later that night, while Matt was in his office pretending not to eavesdrop, you walked in and dropped the case file on his desk.

“She said ‘the Devil.’ Not a devil. The one. Hell’s Kitchen’s own.”

Matt didn’t look up. “Lot of people throw that name around.”

“She also said he was calm. Polite. Knew her name. Said she had nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

He was quiet.

You folded your arms. “She said he didn’t sound scary. Said his voice was warm.”

That made him pause.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

Matt finally leaned back in his chair and sighed. “...hi?”

You blinked. “Hi?”

He shrugged. “It’s concise.”

You just stared at him.

“Matthew,” you said flatly. “What the fuck.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“When? When I saw you parkour off a fire escape in a three-piece suit?”

“I— look, I didn’t want this to change anything. I didn’t want you to change how you looked at me.”

“Look, I’ve been working beside you for over a year. And you didn’t think, at any point, to maybe mention that you moonlight as a one-man SWAT team?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Well, good job, Matt. Really nailed it.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “Listen, I know you're upset. I would be too. I didn’t tell you only because I care about you. Because this thing, what I do— it’s brutal. And if anyone ever found out how much you mean to me...”

You blinked. That shut you up. For a second.

“Oh, so I mean something to you now?”

“I think that’s been fairly obvious.”

Matt noticed the way your heartbeat changed when he said you meant something to him. He figured this was a bad time to bring it up, although he smiled to himself at what that meant.

“I’m not mad that you’re Daredevil.”

That made him pause.

You went on. “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to know. But... I get it. I really do.”

Matt didn’t say anything. Just listened. Really listened.

“You protect people. That’s who you are. And I don’t mean the mask or the fists or any of that— I mean you. The guy who goes to court for tenants getting pushed out of rent-stabilized apartments. The guy who sits through paperwork and trials and still somehow finds time to help people when the system doesn’t. So yeah, I get why you kept it quiet. I would’ve done the same.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this.

You stepped a little closer. “Would it have been easier to hear it from you directly? Sure. But I also understand why you didn’t. You’re trying to keep people safe. That’s kind of your whole thing.”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

You gave him a look. “Matt. I’m a defence attorney in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m already in danger.”

He huffed a laugh, tension slipping just slightly.

“And besides,” you added, “it’s not like you told everybody.”

Matt winced. “Karen and Foggy know.”

“Splendid,” you muttered. “I’m last to know. That feels great.”

He opened his mouth to explain, but you waved him off.

“It’s okay. Really. I get it. You didn’t think I could handle it, or maybe you were just scared of what it would mean. Either way, I want you to know I still look at you the same way. Hell, I think I respect you more now."

His expression softened— like something in him untangled all at once.

“And Matt?” you said, quieter now. “I'm still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

That undid him more than any kiss could have. Matt Murdock was already in love with you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks passed. Then months.

You slipped into the parts of his life he never thought he'd share with you— quiet nights on the couch with cold tea and warmer glances, half-finished cases strewn between your desks, your voice low and steady on the phone as you helped him stitch up a gash at 2AM because Claire was out of town. You didn’t flinch at the bruises anymore. You stopped asking where they came from. Not because you didn’t care— because you knew he’d tell you if he could.

You joked that you were his unofficial dispatcher. He joked that you were the only one keeping him alive. It was good. Better than good, most nights. You were steady, sharp, present in a way that grounded him even on the worst days. You kept him tethered.

But even the strongest anchor can’t keep something from drifting if the pull is strong enough. It had been building.

After a particularly brutal stretch— three back-to-back nights of Daredevil coming home bleeding and bruised, a botched sting, a kid who didn’t make it— Matt changed.

He got quieter. Tense. He stopped calling when he was out late. Stopped dropping by your place after patrols. Stopped letting you patch him up. When you showed up with food one night and found his apartment dark, he didn’t even text to say thanks. You let it go. Once. Twice. Then you stopped letting it go.

It was almost midnight. The city was soft and silver around you, the streetlamps humming like old secrets. You’d waited for him— on the pavement outside the office, case files abandoned inside, takeout cold and forgotten. When he finally turned the corner, hoodie up, bruised along the cheekbone, your blood was already simmering.

You stood before he could say anything.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Matt paused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit,” you said. “You’ve been dodging me for weeks. You come back barely stitched together, and suddenly I’m a stranger? What, I only exist when you need to be sewn back together?”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

You crossed your arms. “I told you I could handle this. That I was here because I wanted to be. You don’t get to push me out every time things get hard.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “I never asked for your help.”

You stared at him. “Wow.”

“I didn’t,” he said, voice lower now. “You inserted yourself. You wanted this. You stayed.”

“Because I care about you, you idiot,” you said incredulously.

He looked away. “If this isn’t working for you—”

“Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

You flinched. “So that’s it? You’re just giving me an out?”

“I’m saying,” he said, sharp now, “if you don’t want to keep doing this, you can stop. I’m not going to hold you here.”

Your chest burned. “Right. Got it. Loud and clear, Murdock.”

“Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

"Fine."

“Fine.”

You turned. He turned. The silence between your retreating footsteps felt louder than anything either of you had said.

You made it maybe ten steps before you turned on your heel. At the same time, Matt doubled back from the other end of the block. You both stopped mid-step.

“This is stupid,” you said.

“I know,” he echoed.

You walked back to each other like it hurt to be apart even for that long. Stopped just a few feet shy of touching.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. Then, after a second— calmer now, but still visibly unraveling— he said, “You do realize what’s going on, right?”

You tilted your head. “You mean us shouting at each other in the middle of the street like deranged theatre kids?”

He gave you that small, crooked smile, the one he only let slip when it was just you. “I mean this,” he said, gesturing to the space in between you.

A beat. Then you laughed, soft and breathless. “Oh yeah. For two Ivy-educated lawyers, we are extremely oblivious people.”

“Painfully,” Matt said, taking one slow step closer. “Embarrassingly.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Do we keep pretending? Or...”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, thank god,” you whispered.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant. Wasn’t cautious. It was months of built-up tension, late nights, shared space, quiet devotion, and almosts finally snapping into something real. His hands cupped your face. Yours gripped the front of his jacket. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for permission— and now that he had it, he wasn’t wasting time.

Before you could breathe, your back hit the wall. The brick was cool, sharp against your spine— nothing compared to the heat of him. His mouth crashed into yours, rough and hungry, all the restraint he’d held onto suddenly gone.

You gasped, and that was all he needed. His body pressed flush against yours, arm braced beside your head. One hand slid down, catching your waist and holding you there like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging. That made him groan— low and quiet and right against your lips.

The kiss deepened— messier, more desperate. He was everywhere. Warm mouth, steady grip, chest rising hard against yours. You barely registered the moment your hand slipped beneath his jacket, over the fabric of his shirt, just needing to feel something more. When you finally pulled back— barely— your forehead rested against his.

“That was…” you started, still catching your breath.

Matt laughed, voice rough and low. “Yeah. That was.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “We are going to be so annoying now.”

He grinned, thumb brushing along your jaw. “We already were.”

624 notes · View notes

i2rizz · 2 months ago

Note

Hello again! How would Isagi, Kaiser, Rin & Sae react to 'Reader that's bad at kick the ball' stealing a ball from them? Just a lucky, well-timed little kick that's too simple for their galaxy brains to calculate.

Hello love :))

I havent been active much bc life aint easy but oh well

Bad at kicking the ball!reader stealing a ball from them

Isagi Yoichi

He had the entire play mapped out. Vectors. Field awareness. Enemy positioning. Your angle was nonexistent. Statistically, you shouldn’t even be in the equation.

Yet here you are. You, who once tried to kick a stationary ball and fell backwards, just poked the ball clean from under his foot while he was mid-monologue about "optimal scoring theory"

He freezes. The simulation glitches.

"...Did you predict that?" he asks, stunned.

You're already 10 feet away, chasing the ball like a toddler in a bounce house. He’s still standing there, eyes wide.

"She... No, there’s no way. That wasn’t positioning, that wasn’t reflex—it was... was that luck?" He starts overanalyzing your clumsy shuffle like it was a divine move from a higher dimension.

You trip over your own foot, and he whispers, "Genius...?"

Lil bonus-

You: "I sneezed mid-kick"

Isagi, scribbling on a napkin: "Genius. Weaponize it."

Michael Kaiser

Kaiser is pissed. And confused. But mostly pissed.

He was dribbling at half-speed, trying to look hot while giving you a fake chance. You, in return, flailed your foot out in a desperate, noodle-armed attempt—and actually tapped the ball right between his feet and made off with it.

There’s a long silence.

He slowly turns his head, blond hair flipping dramatically.

"...What the hell was that?" he says, genuinely offended.

You grin. "I stole it. Fair and square"

"From me?"

He jogs up to you, mock-serious. "Okay, okay, okay. Let’s try that again. I’ll give you a real chance this time" He flicks the ball up. "Come on, lucky feet. I dare you"

You trip over your shoelace while trying and faceplant in front of him. He immediately takes a picture.

"You peaked today. You’ll never be this cool again"

Rin Itoshi

Rin doesn’t talk much. Especially not during drills. Especially not to you, the gremlin of the pitch, whose best soccer move so far has been "accidentally tackling the cone"

So when you randomly poke the ball from him mid-dribble and scamper off looking proud as hell—his brain shuts down.

He blinks once. Then again.

He walks after you, slowly. No words. Just silent judgment.

You stick your tongue out at him and hold the ball above your head. "I stole it~!"

He squints. "Give it back"

"No"

"...I will literally pick you up"

You giggle. He does. You flail like a cat in a bath. The ball rolls away.

He retrieves it wordlessly, drops it at your feet again, and sighs.

"You’re annoying"

You do a victory dance. He squints again.

"I'm calling Ego. You're getting drug tested"

You wink. "Scared of me, Itoshi?"

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "you're an idiot"

Sae Itoshi

He's being lazy as hell-just doing light dribbles, occasionally shooting, hair tousled like he rolled out of bed. You're trying your best, and Sae's trying not to look like he was forced to be there.

You’ve got the foot-eye coordination of a baby duck. You couldn’t score if the goal begged you. So when you sneak up during a casual jog and kick the ball out from under him with all the grace of someone who’s never played a sport before… he just watches it happen in slow motion.

Then looks up at the sky like he’s asking the gods why.

"Huh," he says.

"Did I do good??" you beam.

He looks at you, unblinking. "No"

You frown. "What? I stole the ball!"

"That wasn’t skill. That was divine intervention" He bores his eyes at the ball, muttering, "I’ve trained for years for this, and you get the lucky goal. I hate this timeline"

Sae stares at the ball a lil longer, then you. Then just walks away.

You: "Wait, are you mad?"

Sae: "I'm not emotionally available enough to process that level of embarrassment"

He’s dramatic for five hours. Still makes you dinner though.

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nvxzaa · 2 months ago

Text

── .✦ Simple thing

Masterlist

Pairing : Han Jisung x reader

Word : 828

Genre : fluff

Warning : none

It had been a year and a half since they'd been together. A year and a half since Han had fallen in love with a girl like few others: Yn. A girl so simple it was almost disconcerting.

She never wore brand names, never went crazy for luxury items, never asked for anything. She lived with little, and was sincerely happy about it. That was the beauty of it. The most disarming. Han, who had seen it all, experienced it all, owned it all... he'd been marked by it. By this simplicity that could not be faked. Yn calculated nothing. She was content with what she had, and she did it with such touching naturalness that it was enough to turn his heart inside out.

And yet, despite that-or because of it-she hadn't wanted him at first.

"You're an idol, Han."

She'd looked him straight in the eye as she said this, arms crossed and face serious.

"You're just the opposite of me. I have a normal life. I'm simple. You don't need someone like me."

But he'd just smiled. Because he already knew he wanted her. He hadn't let go. He'd insisted, redoubled his efforts, found a thousand excuses to bump into her, a thousand pretexts to talk to her. It had taken weeks for her simply to give him her number, and even longer for her to agree to see him again. And today, every second spent with her reminded him why he'd fought. Yn was his peace.

That day, he received a call in the middle of the afternoon.

- Hello?" he answered, his voice still a little sleepy.

- Han... I've got something to ask you. A bit embarrassing...

From her voice alone, he knew she was uncomfortable.

- Have you been crying? What's the matter, baby?" he asked, straightening up on his bed.

- No... no, it's nothing serious. I'm just embarrassed to ask you this.

- Don't worry, tell me.

A little silence.

- Would you like to... buy me something? I'm really sorry to ask this, I swear I'll pay you back as soon as I can. But I don't have any change on me, and my mom took my card...

Han frowned, confused.

- Wait, what? Your mother took your card? But you're over 18, you've been vaccinated, you're working, you've got your own income, how can she take away your bank card?

- I don't know... it's my mother. She says I make too many successive purchases... successive? Is that how you say it?

- ...Yeah, I think so," he replied, smiling in spite of himself.

- There you go. So she took my card. And I just wanted to buy a little something. I swear, it's nothing. And I'll give you the money back, I promise.

Han breathed softly.

- Yn... you've got to stop apologizing for existing, you know. Come to the dormitory. I'll give you my card. And you don't have to pay me back.

- Are you sure...?

- I'm in love, not stupid. Come on.

A little later, she arrived at the dormitory in an old hoodie that hung over her shoulders, a crumpled tote bag in her hand. He opened the door and immediately drew her into his arms. She snuggled in without saying a word. Her perfume smelled of fresh sheets and hand cream. He kissed her hair before taking out his card.

- Here. Go buy your "little things". Take your time.

She left after a final kiss on his cheek.

He received no messages for two hours. Then she returned, exactly as she had left. Except that she was holding a large glass jar in her arms, which she placed carefully on the table before handing him back his card.

- Thanks Han...

- Stop it... tell me what you bought.

- Felt-tip pens," she replied with a small smile.

- ...Felt-tips?

- Yeah, felt-tips. All mine are dead. They're for coloring. And... I made something for you.

She gently pushed the glass jar towards him. Inside, hundreds of tiny pink paper hearts, all meticulously folded, filled the jar to the rim.

- A heart for every day I've thought of you. Right from the start. I used to make them on the sly, on the nights you didn't sleep at home, when you were on tour, or in the studio.

He stood there, mouth open, completely flabbergasted.

- You used my card... to buy markers?

- Well, yes. I told you it wasn't much...

He looked at her, then at the jar, then at her again. Then, without a word, he stood up to take her in his arms, squeezing her so hard she had to tell him to breathe.

- You have no idea how much I love you.

- If you keep squeezing like that, I won't even have enough air left to say "me too", she murmured with a smile.

He laughed softly against her, his heart swelling with quiet, immense, simple love - just like her.

#skz #skz stray kids #skz x reader #x yn #stray kids #han jisung #han x reader #han x y/n #han jisung skz #stray kids jisung #skz han #han x you #x reader

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application-doll · 12 days ago

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A doll, made of steel, porcelain, brass, hard unrelenting materials that you could hit as hard as you'd like, and even if its porcelain chipped, she would still be more than functional. Its joints and mechanisms redundant, hydraulic systems doubled for reliability, core, synchronized and double calculated for stability. The most reliable system the woman had ever seen. Every joint precision ground. Every bearing press fit into a shock resistant housing. Even it's feet were custom made of hardened stainless steel, each toe and fastener made from a milled block of hardened steel, tamper resistant, naturally. But even as she marveled at the doll, she wondered who'd made such a thing so seemingly delicate in nature, a maid as its dress suggested, so reliable and damage resistant, why ruggedize something made to dust the frames of a house it might never see the outside of?

But that was the confusing part. The machine refused to function, it simply laid there, unmoving, unclicking, dead as if its mainspring had never been wound. Every mechanism she inspected was free of dust, every hydraulically actuated ligament pressurized correctly, it was the most peculiar thing.

But it still acted as if something were wrong. She scratched her head, clearly she were missing something. When it had arrived at her door, it had collapsed on the ground, with a note in its hand begging her to fix the thing. But she ran a leather workshop and the only possible piece of leather she could find was the belt affixing the dolls dress to its waist.

But still, she had once been a mechanic, so she began looking into the doll's problems. Off came the arms, legs, paneling. Still nothing revealed itself. She found its cores, humming magically, seals still intact, both of them synchronized by the most meticulous set of gearing she'd ever laid eyes on. But it was meticulously clean, as if it had never seen a speck of dirt in its life.

Eventually she reassembled the doll, dress and all, before noticing something, a small, well worn ring of parts around the dolls neck. The brass was shiny while the rest had acquired that patena that signified not wear or misuse, but age. Everything bore use, although still it was meticulously cleaned. But not this small stripe of doll around it's neck.

About an inch and a half wide, all the way around, and only in the one spot. She puzzled for a moment, before finally understanding that it wasn't something inside the doll that had broken, but something that it was missing.

She set to work, pulling out her leather working tools and creating a plain black collar. Set with steel hardware and a small brass lock in the back. As she placed the collar on the dollar, it's eyes began to glow again, she sat back, smiled and enjoyed her work for a moment while the doll began to smile.

A sharp rap on the door broke her from the trance of having done good work, and as she opened it a witch stepped in.

"thank you dear, I'm afraid she simply won't work without it, and she went running off to find you before I could stop her. It seems to be in lovely working order now, thank you"

The rudeness of the witch, barging into her workspace without even asking bothered the woman, but the audacity stunned her more than anything.

"How could you let such a thing happen. Arent you supposed to protect such a thing?"

She said this with anger, brows furrowed as clearly this was something a responsible witch would never let happen, she opened her mouth to continue before the witch interrupted her.

"What you see before you is something I have spent longer than you have been alive creating. Every gear, joint, bearing, bone, and set screw has been meticulously created with the precision that would rival anything you've ever done. I use my design as an act of love. I am no leatherworker as my doll knows, and she knows I'd never let something less than perfect grace her body. So she came here, the workshop that held your mother, all those years ago, who created the collar that helped the doll become what she is. She came to the one place in the world she saw as suitable to create what she needed most, the last token of love she could possibly give me, the final gift she could give of the free will she had after her last collar was ripped from her by someone trying to 'set her free from slavery'"

"The gift of her service, and a show of giving me back what others thought was forced from her. It was her choice, to never choose again. And I love her more than I could ever say."

#doll and witch #empty spaces #dollposting #doll #applied doll #collars

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forestclan-clangen · 2 months ago

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MOON 11 (Silver Box Prelude)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

Shiverpaw and Windfur go to the Half-Moon Dome. Shiverpaw feels like she has more questions tahn answers as of late, and tries to appeal to StarClan for answers. She wakes from her dream to the sound of static.

(Shiverpaw, medicine cat apprentice, female, 11 moons. Loving.) (Icypaw, StarClan cat, male. Bloodthirsty.) ---

Shiverpaw and Windfur were silent as they made their way to the Half-Moon Dome.

She tried to push her encounter with Endless out of her mind, but she just couldn't.

Endless refused to tell her what she was attacked by. But it must have been some kind of…Deep Root entity. The smell, however faint, still came off of her. It could've been an infected predator, but the gash…the gash was one, singular cut. If it was a fox, or a badger, or even just a simple raccoon, there would have been teeth marks, or claw wounds.

And…the trance.

It became easier for her to recognize when they were happening. When she was younger, it was easy for her to dismiss the tug at the corner of her mind - she would simply feel a paw, or hear a voice, and feel confused when cats would ask if she's alright. She'd never understand why they seemed concerned.

When she felt…something else engulf her, that evening trapped in the blizzard, she knew she had to start paying closer attention to subtle tells and physical cues her body gave.

Looking into Endless' eyes triggered that pull. She didn't remember what happened, but she knew it had happened, and she didn't know why. It couldn't have been for no reason.

But part of her was scared. She was scared to find that something was wrong with her. Or that she hadn't truly healed Endless. That fear must have manifested as she pressed her head against the Half-Moon Dome that night.

Icypaw greeted her calmly. She had gotten to know the once-stranger with time. He was Hopechase's lost sibling. He was fierce, and calculated. He never spoke about how he died. She never bothered to press it.

She was older than him by a moon now. He would continue to stay in the shape he's in. She would continue to grow and age.

"You're distracted," he pointed out plainly.

Shiverpaw blinked, fatigue glazing her expression. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Ask, but keep in mind I might not be able to answer you."

Shiverpaw sighed and stared at her paws. Well…the Half-Moon Dome was the only time that StarClan could visit her. Now was as good a time as any. "There's…a cat that I helped heal at the border a few days ago."

Icypaw's green eyes flickered with intent. He nodded. "We saw."

Shiverpaw's ear twitched. She wondered how much StarClan could see and hear. She never asked. "...She didn't say what attacked her."

"Unfortunately, we don't know either," Icypaw confessed, pawing at the starry grasses beneath him. "We…were preoccupied that night. I'm sorry."

The way Icypaw said it made Shiverpaw swallow down her nervousness. Deflecting the Iris. Of course. That must take more energy than she could ever fathom.

"Some cats in StarClan said you shouldn't have wasted your winter stash on a stranger," Icypaw scoffed. "To crowfood with them. I think you did the right thing."

Shiverpaw suppressed a purr of dry amusement. It was odd, how some cats, even in the afterlife, still held onto their beliefs and faith. Were StarClan much like ForestClan, in that regard? The question of whether StarClan noticed her trances like her clanmates did rested in front of her like a heavy stone. She stared at the stars beneath her feet.

"One more warning - with newleaf approaching, we've traced the winds and movement of the clouds. You might get some freezing rain in the next moon."

Shiverpaw's tail twitched quizzically.

"Oh, right, you've never experienced that before. Basically, the skies are warm, so it rains. But the air closer to the earth is cold, so the water freezes on its surface. Makes it dangerous to navigate," Icypaw explained.

"Okay…thank you," Shiverpaw sighed.

"Anything else on your mind before you wake?"

"...Maybe?" Shiverpaw said hesitantly. "I've…been experiencing strange things. There's periods of time where I'll sense something, and the next moment, someone would ask if I'm fine. It's like I go into a…a trance, or something."

Icypaw stood still.

"Does StarClan know why this happens?"

Shiverpaw raised her head to stare at the StarClan apprentice. The anticipation weighed between them, and the longer Icypaw delayed his answer, the more agitated Shiverpaw felt. Surely, StarClan had an answer. Surely they knew, right?

…They had to. StarClan, please, they just…

Before Shiverpaw could retort, Icypaw's expression suddenly shifted into abrupt dread, his ears swivelling up to listen to something. His fur stood on end.

"I-Icypaw?" Shiverpaw stammered.

"I'm sorry. This is such bad timing - foxdung," Icypaw hissed. His eyes darted around. "We don't know. I-I'm sorry, we're still trying to place the pieces. But you're safe, okay? What happens to you - it...it doesn't branch outwards. Only inwards. You receive, but you can't send."

"What?" Shiverpaw blurted, confused and afraid, but Icypaw only continued with increasing urgency.

"L-Listen. It's going to be okay. It has to be. But you have to wake up." Icypaw suddenly turned to look behind him, as though something would sneak up on him. Shiverpaw felt her fur stand on end.

He was like this the first moon she met him. And then…

"No. Please. Don't," Shiverpaw pleaded. She didn't want this. Not again. She didn't.

"Please," Icypaw looked back at Shiverpaw, his green eyes flickering. "Please be brave. It cannot hurt you. Not under the Dome. Please."

Shiverpaw felt her heart racing. She was taken aback by the sudden wave of sorrow that haunted Icypaw's starry eyes.

"Please." Icypaw repeated, his voice strained. His age was suddenly reflected in his expression, young, and hurt. "He...he was just a cat."

Darkness swallowed her vision before she could respond. When she felt the cold floor of the bunker, the constant, trickling sound she had heard five moons prior invaded her ears once again. It was like a violent storm, wrapped in lightning. The smell of blood and wet earth invaded her nostrils again.

She kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to open them. She didn't want to see it. Not again. Not again. She just couldn't.

Please, be brave. It cannot hurt you. Not under the Dome.

Shiverpaw suppressed a pitiful whine. It was hard. It was so, so hard to be brave.

He was just a cat.

Was. Now he was not, and he was terrifying.

Shiverpaw forced herself to rake her claws on the stone beneath her. She listened to the static of the Silver Box. She heard Windfur still breathing deeply in his sleep.

She forced herself to her feet, and her eyes peered open to stare at the floor.

Would…would the beings beyond StarClan take her voice again? She trembled as she forced herself to pad closer to the Silver Box. She didn't look at the crack in the wall. Not yet. She couldn't hear it. It was soundless in its existence. But it was there. She knew it was there.

She stared at the Silver Box.

Shiverpaw closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, and steeled herself. She didn't know…what the beings beyond StarClan were. Not truly. The first time they came to her, they used her voice to speak to…to Rootgrove. That's what the monster was called. She felt hollow, and empty. She was frightened by it. But…but some of them were kind to her younger self. They called her "little one". They expressed gratitude. Maybe…maybe they didn't know how badly they made her feel. That was possible, right?

And…during the blizzard. She was desperate. She called for help. It felt like she was floundering in an ocean, and begging for the smallest scrap of debris to cling to. She didn't…genuinely expect anything to answer.

But they did. And…she didn't feel hollow for long. She was given comfort. She…could pick up on faint words, like solutions begging to be heard.

Maybe…maybe they were on her side. Maybe they were trying to help her. At least, when she felt them, she could still remember what happened to her.

The last time they were here…they tried to pry answers from him. They weren't afraid of Rootgrove. It was as though he knew things that they didn't.

…Rootgrove did house a Woodcrawler…didn't he? Yes. Shiverpaw bristled at the memory. It tried to attack her. The…the Half-Moon Dome repelled it. But he was bound to it. Doomed to follow it in its burrows.

An epiphany beamed into her like sunlight. Still shaking, she whispered out loud.

"I…I want to know…what attacked Endless." She swallowed. Part of her felt stupid. What, exactly, was listening? "That's...that's a simple question. Right? Maybe he doesn't know. But…I just…want to try. If...if you can ask...then...that's all I want." She felt foolish.

Static noise continued to fill the absence of her voice.

She took a deep breath. Did she even have a choice?

The thought of Windfur waking up and seeing Rootgrove at the wall filled her with a surprising amount of dread. She...she didn't want him here when Windfur woke up. She really, really didn't.

She took her gaze to the crack in the wall.

She felt the tug at the back of her mind. She felt eager, but steady intent radiating from the air around her. This was it. She braced herself for the hollow feeling.

They won't hurt me.

She latched onto that blind faith, and made the leap.

#warrior cats #clangen #warrior cats clangen #clan generator #forestclan #forestclan moons #silver box segment #wc oc #wc art #horror #analog horror #cw body horror #Shiverpaw #Rootgrove #Icypaw #The Audience #warriors cats #tw: scopophobia

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mochinek0 · 2 months ago

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Daminette December: 13-In Sync

Damian arrived to Paris, using the GPS to locate his wife. She was pinged in the park, near her place. When he arrived, he saw she was surrounded by people yelling at her. A tall boy knocked her over and he quickly stepped in.

"Habibi?" Marinette questioned, as Damian helped her up.

Just as Kim was about to hit Damian, Marinette grabbed his wrist and flipped him over her shoulder. Everyone froze.

"What the fuck?" Kim whispered, still reeling from the throw.

"Since when can you do that?" Nino shouted.

"Always." Mari smiled, "It's what I was trained for."

"Who the fuck would teach someone to do that?" Alya cried out.

Damian smirked, "My mother. She made sure my wife could keep up with me."

"Wife?" Alya shouted.

"Since when are you married?" Max asked, trying to run calculations in his head.

"We were married when we were three years old." Marinette expressed, "You could call it a Political Marriage."

"Huh?" spoke Nathaniel.

"But-" began Nino.

"Our parents insisted." Mari spoke, "I just remember waking up one day and being dressed up. They walked me down a long corridor and said 'Here is your new family' and left. I never saw them again; not that I remember them, anyways."

"Tom and Sabine-" Kim groaned.

"Work for my family." Damian stated, "They ensure that she is provided for. They are not her parents or family."

The class stood silent.

"What about Adrien?" shouted Alya.

"Yeah!" Nathaniel agreed.

"You're bullying Lila because-" Kim winced, as he tried to get up

"I'm not bullying her." Marinette sighed, "She's nothing but a pathetic liar and you all keep listening to her. Even Adrien knows how pathetic she is, but he wanted her to make friends. He thought you would be smart enough to figure that out."

They looked at her confused.

"What do you mean 'smart enough'?" Max pressed.

Marinette turned to Alya, "What happened to fact checking, Alya? Does it not count when it's your best friend saying bullshit to you?"

"Huh?" Alya questioned, upset.

"Why haven't you interviewed Juleka or Luka about their father, Jagged Stone? Why haven't you gotten an exclusive, directly from the source about his 'Great niece'?" Marinette questioned.

Alya remained silent. It had never crossed her mind to get that type on interview. She didn't want to admit she had forgotten he had been there for the twins birthday a few years ago. Juleka and Lila were close; it would have been an amazing interview.

"I-" she began.

"Why didn't you interview Rose and her friendship with Prince Ali?" Mari pushed again.

"But-" Alya tried to reply.

"Or is it because they met through a children's charity event for pediatric hospitals, not an environmental project like Lila does?" Marinette continued, with a smile, "Is it any wonder that they might 'ignore me' , but not bully me, like you?"

The crowd fell silent, trying to figure out when was the last time Juleka and Rose were apart of their group.

"Half the people she talks about are dead. Half of her illnesses or disabilities don't make sense." Marinette sighed.

"Hey!" shouted Kim, but he was ignored.

"And when you look them up, they are described somehting completely different than what she claimed." Marinette pushed harder, "Why did Max never get interviewed? She saved his life, when I threw that rolled up paper napkin! I'm sure you have evidence about how deadly those can be or is it because deep down, you know it's bullshit, but you just love the attention?"

"You're lying." Alya whispered, struggling to find her voice.

"Marinette hates liars." Damian spoke.

"Should I call the authorities?" he asked, pulling out his phone.

"No Habibi." Marinette smiled, "It's alright; I just won't hold back next time."

Marinette stepped into Alya's personal space, "You better tell that Bitch, she better watch the next words that come out of her mouth because if I 'bully' her again. If she has a black eye or an injured wrist, she'll get one for real. She won't have to wear make up to pretend and this time, she'll wear the proper braces on her 'injuries'."

Alya's breath hitched. Marinette had never been this forward about her dislike of Lila.

"Same goes for all of you." Mari spoke, taking a step back and smiled, "You touch me, I'll break what you need most. Nathaniel's dominant hand. For Kim, a leg for swim practice. Maybe some head phones, a cellphone, or an AI. I'm done playing nice with people who are not my friends."

"Well, we'll sue you!" Alya cried out, thinking it would scare Mari.

Damian smirked, "I haven’t introduced myself; I'm Damian Wayne, son of CEO Wayne Enterprises. I'd shape up if I were you, Miss Blogger. We do not hire tabloid reporters at the Daily Planet."

"Huh?" Alya questioned, feeling the floor give out underneath her.

Damian made sure she had her full attention on him, "You bullied my wife and heiress to the Wayne fortune. The same Waynes who own the Daily Planet. She informed me it was your dream job, I believe, Habibiti."

Mari scoffed, "Don't bother putting my name down, as a reference, if you still want that job. Better shape up now, before it's too late."

Damian nodded, "Lois is very thorough in her investigations."

Alya said nothing as they walked away. The few there, realized they had messed up. Marinette had let them walk all over her; she built up their confidence and torn them down in five minutes.

Adrien quickly removed the miraculous of destruction, tossing it to his floor. He clutched his hand in pain, a faint pink glow around his ring finger.

"Plagg." He hissed, "What's going on?"

Plagg stared at him and then floated down towards his ring, "Ladybug……found her soulmate."

"I know!" he shouted, as his hand continued to throb, "I'm-"

"It's not you, Kid." Plagg announced.

"Huh?" Adrien questioned, forgetting the pain.

"That's why the ring made you take it off." he answered, "You are no longer worthy of it."

"No!" Adrien shouted, "That…That can't be true!"

Adrien reached for Plagg and the miraculous, but as soon as he touched it, he felt burned again. The pain, so intense, it made him drop to his knees.

Plagg looked at him, writhing in pain, "I'm sorry, Adrien. I really did like you." before flying out the window.

"Plagg!" Adrien cried out, "Come back!" but he didn't listen.

Plagg entered Marinette's room with his ring. From the shadows, Damian emerged, startling the Kwami of Destruction. Plagg cackled and dropped the ring in his palm.

He turned to Marinette, "He's good."

Mari smiled, "He's my husband."

As Damian slipped the ring on his finger, a jolt went through them. Tikki and Plagg looked at each other.

"You are finally in sync, with your soulmate." Tikki announced.

"The kind of soulmate Chat Noir kept insisting we were?" Marinette questioned, looking to her husband.

"Yep." Plagg cackled, "That's the one. Kid had it right; it just wasn't him."

'I'm glad our honeymoon is finally coming around.'

'Is that right?'

"You ….You can-" Marinette began, blushing red.

'Read your mind? Yes; as can you.'

Damian picked up Marinette and placed her on his lap.

"I love you." he whispered.

Marinette kissed him, lightly on the lips, "I love you, too."

'You only need to wait a little longer, Habibi, and soon you will be home with me.'

'I know your mother's rule, Habibi. Soon your marriage will be official and I will never have to leave your side.'

'I shall remain in Paris until we defeat Hawkmoth.'

'Gotham won't know what hit them upon our arrival.'

'I wonder what Father's face will look like.'

Marinette giggled an curled deeper into her husband's embrace.

"You think he'll like me?" she whispered.

"Whether he does or not, you are my wife and I will follow you." Damian responded, "We will go where you are comfortable."

'As long as I have you, nothing matters.'

@maribat-calendar-events

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#daminette december #daminette december 2024 #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #arranged marriage #marinette al ghul #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #mochinek0 #soulmates #in sync #protective marinette #marinette is done #mind readers #tikki #plagg

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anjeix · 2 months ago

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II. After the gate.

Oblivion | Sung Jinwoo x ???!Reader

The gate collapsed behind them with a sound like a sigh.

One moment, Jinwoo was inside a space that didn't follow any known laws. The next, he was standing in the middle of a rain-slicked street just outside the barrier, the sky overcast and buzzing with residual mana.

And she was beside him.

She stood barefoot in a thin, dark veil that clung to her shoulders and hair — now short, black, damp. Her face was pale, human. Her eyes no longer glowed.

Her breath caught.

She looked down at herself, hands trembling slightly as they clutched the edge of the fabric. The cloak she wore didn't belong to her — that much was obvious from the confusion written all over her face.

A Hunter from the Association took a step forward, sword half-raised.

"Who the hell is she?"

"With me" Jinwoo said with no hesitation.

The hunter, caught by surprise, narrowed his eyes. But then they saw his face, and backed off without another word.

The woman turned to Jinwoo.

"What... what happened?" she asked.

She was still blinking too slowly, as if her mind was processing too many things at once. Her voice was hoarse but clear. Familiar.

"You walked out of a dungeon," he said. "Unregistered. Unarmed." He thought.

Her brows drew together.

"No... I..." Her fingers grazed her temple. "I was just going home. I took the bus. Then I—"

She trailed off.

"You remember your name?" Jinwoo asked, watching her carefully.

She nodded slowly.

"(Y/n)."

It was not a false name. Not a lie. A memory...

"I live in Mapo. I work in publishing. I'm..."

She looked down at her bare feet again, then at the puddle she stood in like it might explain something.

"Why am I wearing this?" she said, annoyed. Almost starting to get irritated with the situation.

Jinwoo didn't answer. He was staring at her too intently now — not with suspicion, but with calculation. As if she were a puzzle he didn't know how to solve yet.

"I have to go," she said suddenly, taking a shaky step back. "I have work. Deadlines. My phone—"

Her hands searched her cloak, but of course it wasn't there.

Jinwoo finally moved, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his own phone.

"I'll call you a ride," he said.

"Why would you—?"

"Because you're not ready to take the subway barefoot."

He said it without irony, without softness. But his coat was already off his shoulders and in her hands before she could protest. She stared at it for a second, then wrapped it around herself with a quiet, mechanical gratitude.

The car that arrived minutes later had tinted windows, and an Association license plate. She hesitated at the open door.

"I don't know what happened in there," she said, not looking at him.

"Neither do I," Jinwoo replied. "But I'm going to find out."

She didn't argue while she got in.

And as the car pulled away, he stood there in the rain, watching the reflection of a woman who shouldn't exist fade into Seoul's gray horizon.

The apartment key still worked.

She stood in front of the door for a long moment, uncertain. The taxi was gone. The hallway smelled like floor polish and cheap incense. Third floor, just like she remembered. Her name still on the mailbox: (Y/n) (L/n).

Inside, the lights flickered on as she stepped in.

It was all hers.

The bookshelves. The coat rack. The half-finished coffee mug in the sink. A single heel kicked under the dining table. That stack of papers with her notes in tight, looping script.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the kitchen counter, letting her breath catch. It felt like walking into someone else's dream.

Her phone buzzed on the couch — battery miraculously not dead — and the screen lit up with a string of missed calls. Coworkers, editors, unknown numbers.

Her chest tightened. She wasn't afraid, just... out of sync.

She moved through the apartment with practiced ease: changed clothes, tied her hair, brewed coffee without thinking. Muscle memory carried her.

But underneath that normal rhythm, something pulsed — like a second heartbeat, just out of reach.

By the time the sun went down, she'd replied to two work emails, sent a vague apology about being "offline," and drafted a list of things to do the next day.

She didn't remember writing half of it.

The next day, the subway smelled like metal and rain.

(Y/n) stood quietly, one hand on the rail, the other clutching a canvas tote that didn't feel like hers — though the keys inside it jingled just right. The crowd was dull: office workers in trench coats, students with earbuds, the occasional half-asleep stranger nodding with the rhythm of the train.

No one looked at her.

Good.

She used the ride to study the city outside the window — tall buildings softened by fog, everything glass and motion. It felt like watching someone else's memory. A version of her life she had the script for, but no lines.

Her phone buzzed again.

[From: Min Joo] Saw your email. We'll talk when you get in. Everyone's dying.

Classic. She smiled faintly, almost relieved. Min Joo was her assistant editor — sharp, nosy, and catastrophically over-caffeinated. If Min Joo was texting like that, things hadn't changed.

The office sat on the 17th floor of an old high-rise near Seongsu — not flashy, not corporate. Just enough history in the walls to smell like paper and too many opinions.

As soon as she walked in, the familiar weight of it hit her: the clatter of keyboards, the hum of bad coffee, the quick glance from the intern who definitely wasn't expecting her to show up today.

"(Y/n)?" a voice said.

She turned. Min Joo stood by the glass-walled meeting room, tablet in one hand, soy latte in the other, blinking like she'd seen a ghost.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"I got caught near a gate when it closed," (y/n) said quickly, smoothly. "Wasn't injured. Just... offline for a while."

Min Joo didn't buy it, but she also didn't push. She handed her the coffee.

"Your desk is buried, there's a manuscript crisis brewing, and two authors think we ghosted them."

"Perfect," she said, sipping. "Let's get to it."

Meetings, notes, margin edits, half-finished contracts. The language of publishing wrapped around her like armor — precise, controlled, familiar.

She slipped back into her role without hesitation. After all, running Obsidian Press demanded it.

But something was off.

Not in the office — in her.

A brief flash of something when she touched a manuscript — the paper buzzed faintly against her fingertips, like it remembered things she didn't.

Or when she looked too long at the flickering fluorescent lights above her desk and felt something behind them, watching.

She blinked it away. Refocused.

By mid-afternoon, it was almost easy to pretend nothing had changed.

Almost.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

LINKS : Masterpost | Part three

Are you guys liking this so far ? By the way, has anyone noticed what I changed in the title [eyes emoji] ?

#solo leveling #x reader #sung jinwoo

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snakeredbirdbatkatana · 1 year ago

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Clone baby AU TimKonBartCassie

Part 1

"Don't be mad."

Tim is more than aware he might not be the most sane, he also is more than aware that sometimes he does things that can be considered rage inducing or morally wrong but he can't say he regrets his choices.

Especially when she's seven pounds four ounces and just holding her makes him ready to burn the whole word down.

A perfect blend of him, Kon, Bart, and Cassie which oddly enough was extremely difficult to do since as it turns out genetic sequencing which is already absurdly complicated gets even worse when you add two more people.

She's perfect.

It was a spur of the moment decision a nightmare that drove him right back into the center of his grief.

He was staring at his previous cloning calculations and for a moment he was so incrediblely selfish.

He wanted a piece of his friends proof in a way of how deeply devoted he is to them. Something that no matter what couldn't be taken from him, something he could love unconditionally.

In a darker part of his mind he admits that the baby, his child who is incredible could have been just his and Kon's a half kryptonian but in his experience that is still too mortal.

But combined with a speedster and demigod he might have just made an unbeatable weapon. Not that his little girl will ever be that, he won't allow it.

"Tim is that a baby?" Kon gasps.

He only had held her for five minutes the greatest thing in the word had only been alive for ten minutes before he raced to titans tower holding his precious cargo.

All of them, the other parents? His friends sitting peacefully watching some program completely unaware of what's he's done. Not that it stayed that way for long.

"Is that Luci?" Bart asks.

All of them turn even Tim completely shocked his entire explanation that he had been planning for the last few hours gone with one sentence.

"Bart do you know this random baby? Also Luci what kind of name is that? Tim why do you have a baby?Cassie demands trying to sound stern but everyone can tell is beyond confused.

Bart who had gotten up walks not an once of speed the calmest any of them have ever seen, over to him a soft smile directed at apperently Luci although Tim agrees wth Cassie it's a weird name and not what he was planning.

"Our son, and Luci is a nickname, and if I'm right Tim just spent the last twenty four-ish hours creating him."

Before he can comprehend half of what Bart just said. Luci?

Is being cradled head perfectly surported by the speedster along with soft cooing from said speedster looking so natural as if fatherhood was created just for him.

Finally he finds his voice.

"Daughter, but Bart is right she's ours."

A giggle interrupts the cooing before a smirk paints Bart's face.

"No it's definitely son but it will be a good few years before he's able to voice that specific issue, not that it's much of an issue with all the money your daddy has isn't that right little lightening?"

And once again Bart is back to being absurdly attractive holding their child that Tim is getting a feeling he had prior knowledge of. Who also is trans? Maybe? which is completely fine of course but back to the whole Bart clearly knows something.

"Imp, ok I get the whole Rob made a baby with our DNA thing. No offense but I'm not exactly surprised Sunshine, your crazy we love that about you, but Bart why are you talking like you already know them."

Kon asks sounding very tired which Tim is a little offended by, he's not crazy.

Also how dare he be so accepting of Tim's cloned child as if this is Tuesday and Tim does this everyday he definitely does not, he's not Batman well ok maybe a little bit like him but still.

Wow Tim is way to sleep deprived if this is his inner monologue right now.

"Because I do. Lilith right? That's the name you had in mind apperently he doesn't actually mind you going with that for now since in his own words it inspires his much scarier name. God I love that kid."

Tim blanks.

He swallows throat suddenly really dry.

"Bart did you go to the future?"

He is trying to process but is now very scared is a time line fractured? Could his child not exist, and nevermind the whole Bart apperently already has insider info on the child his child that Tim just made ten fucking minutes ago.

"Oh no nothing like that."

He laughes out as if Bart hasn't been sitting on life changing information for who knows how long. Which is also extremely hypocritical of him considering secret child and timeline shenanigans that he was just panicking over.

"Our wonderful, gremlin, of a child ran into me actually some evil rouge with Time Travel powers which was a whole thing."

He pauses clearly rejoicing in some memory of their child that again Tim you know his mother wasn't privy to. Even though Tim is a man which would make him Dad but he created the baby so he should have been the first to have fond memories.

"I went to interrupt said fight not knowing and your child, yah Robie he was hundred percent your child, threw a DNA test in my face told me to get out of his way and absolutely demolished the dude before who I believe and I am just speculating here, was your brother's kid grabbed the dude and threw him into some weird portal before vanishing."

Tim is gonna lose his fucking mind his baby who he just created.

Grows up to be a superhero which alright not surprising, but also apperently one of his siblings has a child also not surprising. But they apperently travel through time together and cause chaos how fucking lovely he is starting to feel really guilty about everything with Bruce.

Oh my god he has to tell Bruce. But first.

"Which sibling?"

He doesn't actually know what's he's hoping for maybe Dick's kid yah, a sunshine child, chaotic but nice yah that sounds like a good influence. On once again his twenty minute old son? Daughter something? Whatever baby.

"Well based on the guns, and arrows that were floating around. You also can't forget the helmet I would say that was Arsenal and Red Hood's very own precious bundle but Luci wouldn't give me a straight answer but what would you expect when we raised him."

Tim's tired very tired he doesn't even stop himself from face planting onto the floor. Everything will make more sense after a nap a very long nap.

Oh my god Jason procreated is his last thought before he falls into a nightmare filled sleep.

#timkonbartcassie have a kid #timkon #clone baby #tim drake #batfamily #jason todd #everyone has kids #Tim cloned people #also Bart is super intelligent he doesn't get enough credit #bart allen #connor kent #cassie sandsmark #it's a boy #or it's a girl Tim doesn't know also he's super tired and this is from his perspective so it doesn't make a lot of sense #this is an idea I had it's kind messy #I'm not a huge Jason Roy fan but I think their kid would be badass #jayroy #this is a part one I got plans #let me know what everyone thinks #bruce wayne #Bruce became a grandfather #he just doesn't know it yet #protective Tim drake #Bart Allen is a good dad argue with the wall #Tim drake is a good dad argue with the wall #everyone's a good parent #I will not admit how long I have been working on this it's been way to long #batfam #bamf batfamily #also I have been seeing so many TimKon baby posts which motivated me to finish this

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coolemmasulivan2 · 11 months ago

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Rewinding Us | 2

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: You and Mason built a love story over five years, but after an accident, your memories are wiped away, including any feelings for your constant bickering "rival". Can you remember your love story with Mason, or will you have to start all over?

Word count: 2736

You can read more chapters here.

I am thinking of you In my sleepless solitude tonight If it's wrong to love you Then my heart just won't let me be right

The villa was filled with the anxious feeling of saying goodbye. Tomorrow, everyone would go back to their own lives, leaving behind the sun and freedom of the past week.

You zipped and unzipped your suitcase, feeling that you were forgetting something. You couldn't remember what it was and that frustrated you. Your head was a confusing mess.

Things had been awkward with Mason since you brought up the kiss. Every glance, every brush of your arms, sent shivers down your spine. You tried to ignore it, pretend nothing had changed, but you would be lying. The accident hadn't just stolen your memories, it had changed something deep inside you.

"I hate you!"

"Do you really, Y/n?"

The flashback vanished, leaving you staring at your half-packed suitcase. A cold sweat ran through your skin. You knew the answer to that question. You hated him then, but now the feeling was different and it was terrifying. So, you ran.

The morning after the confrontation, a suffocating silence settled between you and Mason. You maintained your distance and were drawn to others, ensuring there was always a physical barrier between you and him.

Seeing your calculated distance hurt Mason. He wanted to tell you how much he missed the way you used to laugh with him, the way your eyes would light up when you spoke with him, your touch and your lips. But he had to give you time. More time.

"You're still packing?" Ben entered the bedroom and sat down on the bed next to the open luggage.

You were sat on the other side of the bed, folding slowly some of your clothes. "I'm getting there. What's the rush? I have all night." You smiled and he smiled back.

"Is everything okay?" His voice was gentle.

You looked up at him. "Yeah. Just tired from the beach, that's all!"

Ben's gaze held yours, amusement quickly replaced by a knowing sparkle. "You've been quiet!" He observed, his voice soft. "For these past two days." You kept folding clothes, slowly and carefully. Ben continued, his voice laced with a quiet persistence. "Does it have anything to do with… Mase?"

You paused, the question hanging heavy in the air. How could you explain the tangled mess of emotions stirring inside you?

You locked eyes with Ben, the lie a bitter flavour on your tongue. "No!" You forced out, the word barely a whisper.

Ben chuckled. "You forget I know you, Y/N. You've been ignoring him like a ghost." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Ignoring him more than usual, I mean. You haven't even started your usual arguing routine."

Frustration bubbled up, spilling over in a sigh. You slammed the suitcase shut. "It feels like everyone's lying to me." You blurted out, your voice thick with a tremor you couldn't control. "You included! Why can't anyone just tell me the truth?"

Ben raised an eyebrow, concern etched on his face. "What do you mean?"

"It's like you're all walking on eggshells." You said, throwing a frustrated hand in the air. "There's something you're not telling me. Everyone."

Ben's easy smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his features. "You're imagining things."

His words felt like a weak dam incapable of holding back the suspicion inside of you. "Imagining?" You scoffed. "Then tell me, Ben. What was my life like before the accident? Was I happy?"

"Happy? Yeah, of course you were. Living your life, having a job you liked, good friends…"

"And Mason? Did we still…hated each other?" You pressed on, your voice laced with a desperate need for answers. A hesitant pause followed your question.

Ben shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting away from yours. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. "I mean… you started to become more friendly with each other, yes… is that a bad thing?" His answer was carefully chosen, without revealing the true nature of your relationship with Mason.

You narrowed your eyes. "Friendly?" You repeated the single word dripping with disbelief. "Ben, you're lying to me."

Ben stuttered, his carefully constructed facade crumbling. "I, uh... I think it's better if you ask Mason about that, don't you think?"

The suggestion felt like a betrayal. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you mumbled: "He's probably going to lie too." Asking Mason about your relationship meant facing the possibility of something more.

Ben reached for your hand. "Look…" He said, his voice softer now. "I can't even imagine how it feels to wake up without memory. But if you want answers, maybe you should ask them to the right people." His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary. Then, with a quick kiss on your forehead, he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The next day, the drive to the airport was a blur of familiar views and friendly conversation. Charlotte, in the front seat, chatted excitedly about her plans, when they arrived back in London, while Ben and Mason talked quietly about an old football match.

The airport was loud with lots of people and long lines. As you checked in, you felt more and more worried. You just couldn't shake the feeling that you had left something behind.

Finally, when you got to the gate to wait for the plane, you remembered. "Wait!" You shouted. Your hand went straight to your neck. "I can't leave! I forgot my necklace."

"We can't go back, Y/n." Ben said kindly. "We'll miss our flight."

"But I have to!" Your voice was desperate. "It's a silver chain with a heart pendant. I can't leave without it!"

Surprise flickered across Mason's face. Mason knew about the necklace, he had given it to you on your first anniversary as a couple, but he hadn't realised that you had been wearing it all this time.

"Y/n, we really don't have time for this." Charlotte added.

"Then you guys go!" You snapped, the words tumbling out before youe could stop them. "I'll catch a later flight."

A tense silence descended upon the group. It confused him why the necklace meant so much to you, especially since you couldn't even recall that it was a gift from him.

"I'll go with her." Mason said. "We'll be quick, but if you need to leave, you can go!" You stared at him, your heart pounding. Why would he offer to go with you? Was it pity? "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

You were so anxious that you kept your mouth closed and followed him out of the airport.

The car ride back to the villa was tense. The music offered a thin shield against the awkward silence that installed between you and Mason. He stole glances your way, craving to hear your voice, to see your familiar eyes. Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, he spoke.

"Why is the necklace so important to you?" Mason asked, his voice soft.

"Because it's mine!" You replied, looking at him. "I don't know why exactly. I woke up with it, and I just take it off to shower. Must've left it on the sink by mistake." You mumbled the last part, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Maybe you could just buy a new one. It's easier." He suggested. When you sighed heavily, he realized he was pissing you off.

"I don't want another one, Mount." You snapped, his last name slipping out in irritation. "That is my necklace."

A small smile tugged at Mason's lips. The human brain was a fascinating thing, he thought, storing away memories even when you couldn't access them.

Back at the villa, you recovered the spare key from the hidden place and hurried inside, the urgency of the situation finally sinking in. You raced upstairs, Mason following at a slower pace. He knew the chances of making the flight were slim, so there was no point in rushing.

He found you in the bathroom, kneeling on the floor and frantically searching for the silver necklace. "Oh my god, it's not here!"

"Maybe it's in the bedroom." Mason offered. "Come on, I'll help you find it."

In the bedroom, you checked the nightstand, under the bed, and even tossed the pillows aside, but it was nowhere to be found. Just as despair began to set in, Mason spotted a glint of silver on the floor.

"Found it!"

The familiar sight made your eyes light up, a spark that sent a jolt through Mason. He hadn't realized how much he missed seeing that spark in your eyes. A shy smile graced your lips, and for a moment, Mason felt like he was falling in love with you all over again.

"Oh my god, thank you." You breathed out.

"Turn around." He said, his voice barely a whisper. You hesitated for a second but then found yourself turning, allowing him to clasp the necklace around your neck.

His movements were slow, his body brushing tantalizingly close. You could feel his warm breath on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. As his fingers brushed your skin, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, and a memory slammed into your mind out of nowhere.

"What do you have behind your back?" You asked, your voice thick with joy.

It was your first anniversary together, and after dinner, you'd settled on the couch for a movie night. But Mason had excused himself for a few minutes, returning with a mischievous grin and his hand hidden behind his back.

He sat down beside you and brushed a kiss across your lips, his familiar cologne making you smile. "I have something for you." He announced.

He smirked as he opened a small black box, revealing a delicate silver necklace adorned with a perfectly formed heart, causing your heart to melt.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Mason, it's beautiful!" You whispered, taking the delicate gift from his hand.

He leaned in, his eyes searching yours. "Just like you." He murmured, his voice husky with emotion. And then, he closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate.

The memory hit you so vividly that it took your breath away. You gasped, clutching the necklace to your chest and stepping back from Mason, your eyes wide with shock. He stood there with a confused expression on his face, his hands still hovering in the air where they'd just clasped the necklace around your neck.

"What?" He asked, concern lacing his voice.

You attempted to steady your breathing, but your mind was in turmoil.

This memory explained the strange possessiveness in his eyes when you first mentioned the necklace and the way his touch sent a familiar shiver down your spine. You didn't even know what to say. The memory left you in a sea of confusion.

"Y-You…" You stuttered, the word catching in your throat.

Mason was starting to get worried. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly. "What is it, Y/n?"

"You were the one!" You blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips. "You gave me the necklace!"

Mason swallowed the lump in his throat and his heart was beating very fast. He wanted to say yes, that the necklace was a gift from him, a symbol of his love, but by the terrifying look in your eyes, he controlled himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said, his voice a low rumble.

You took a step back, confused and terrified by what the memory had brought surging to the surface. "I saw you!" You insisted, your voice shaking. "The necklace. It was a black box."

Mason let out a nervous chuckle, the sound strained and unconvincing. "Y/n, I think you're confusing things."

"STOP LYING TO ME!" You yelled, a burst of frustration.

"YES, IT WAS ME!" He shouted in response, finally letting go. The frustration in his voice mirrored yours. He was tired. He was tired of pretending he didn't want to be by your side every single day. "I gave you the necklace. Happy now?"

You squeezed the necklace in your hand. You didn't know what to feel. Since you'd met Mason years ago, your interactions had been filled with annoyance and hatred. But now, those new feelings were scary. You were afraid. Afraid of feeling something more for the handsome footballer standing before you.

"Why?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. "Why did you give me the necklace?"

Mason ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. "If you remember the box was black, you also remember we kissed." His eyes locked on yours. "God, Y/n, it's not that difficult. We were together."

You shook your head in denial, the image of his lips meeting yours in the memory flashing before your eyes. "No!" You breathed.

"Yes!" He said, his voice firm.

"No. We hate each other. That's impossible." The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt to cling to the reality you remembered.

Ignoring the protest in your voice, Mason took a step forward, forcing you to back up until you felt the cool wall against your back. The gesture sent a jolt through you, a mix of fear and a strange, unfamiliar excitement. He slowly took another step, and another, until he was impossibly close, his chest brushing against yours. You could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Do you hate me?" He asked, his voice a husky whisper. He was so close that you could count the small freckles peppered across his nose. "Do you hate me like you used to?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. His lips were a mere breath away, distracting you. "No-- yes, y-yes, I do!"

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The tension was unbearable. "I don't believe you." He said.

"I don't car--"

"I love you!" The words exploded from him. His eyes holding yours captive. The force of his words left you speechless. Your legs felt like jelly, threatening to buckle beneath you. "I have been loving you for a long time."

"Don't say that, Mason."

"I missed you calling me Mason." He murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. The air crackled with unspoken desire. "Fuck," He breathed, his voice thick with frustration. "I miss you so damn much."

There was a tense silence between you. You and Mason stared at each other, searching each other's eyes for answers. A slow smile played on Mason's lips, a hint of worry mixed in. He leaned closer, slowly, like a magnet drawn to you. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic drum against your ribs. Every part of you wanted to step back, to run away. But you couldn't move. Then, a second later, his lips met yours.

The kiss was passionate and gentle. Mason's hands cupped your face softly like he was afraid to break something. You wrapped your hand in his shirt, clinging to him as the kiss deepened. Without even thinking, you kissed him back, pouring all your jumbled emotions into the kiss.

It was a kiss that belonged to a different you. A you who maybe, loved Mason back. The realization slammed into you like a cold shower. You pulled away abruptly, gasping for air.

Mason's eyes searched your face. His hand brushed your cheek, a lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine. "Y/n…" He started, his voice hoarse., because of the kiss.

"I-I can't." You stuttered, the words slipping out in a rush. You stumbled away, needing distance. It was all too much.

"Wait!" Mason reached for you, but you were already running towards the exit. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision. You didn't dare look back, afraid of wanting to stay with him.

The fresh air hit you as you burst out of the villa, your lungs burning.

Focused on escaping from Mason, you hadn't noticed the car speeding down the street. It wasn't slowing down.

A screech of tyres tore through the pavement, followed by a loud honk. You heard a desperate shout - "Y/N!" - but it was too late. The world seemed to blur as the blinding headlights filled your vision.

#mason mount fluff #mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football imagine #footballer x y/n #Rewinding Us

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isabeauwolf · 19 days ago

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Four. Four soulmates. Oh Kamisama no! - Reader x ShiggyOverDabiHawks 11

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

💞Chapter 11: Blue Eyes

You watch Shigaraki leave. It was weird. You touched him. He touched you. You're still here? You didn't turn into dust. Was his quirk malfunctioning? Could that even happen?

You stare at your soapy hand. Flexing it, turning it this way and that, snap your finger, and inspected it. Yup, your right hand is still here and working. Would suck, if I lost my dominant hand by my supposed soulmate.

A chill crawls down your spin as you turned. Oh, I forgot Dabi's here. Your heart flips as you meet his amused and calculating, ice cold blue gaze.

The silence felt awkward as you returned back to the dishes. Just act like he's not here. Maybe he'll get bored and go to bed? Then again.. he's not nicknamed stray alleycat for a reason in the fandom.

"Ya know, handyman's mostly all bark and no bite." Dabi's voice breaks the silence.

He sounds closer?

"Unlike you? Is that it?" You say before you can stop the train of thought. "Snabi coming out to play now?" You can feel the heat of his skin radiating like a natural furnace and he doesn't seem mad.

His playful amusement continues growing as his interest is peaked, staring you down with a brow raised. "Snabi?" He tilts his head. "The fuck is that?"

He's got you in his hypnotizing gaze again. Dammit, they're pretty. "It's from the animal crossover MHA did for certain characters." You muttered, trying to keep your poker face as you explained further. "As the name implies "Snabi" is you as a snake." You start to blush as The Villain releases a soft chuckle.

"I gotta say, doll." Dabi picked up where Shigaraki left off, rinsing the dishes and drying them without a complaint or being asked, which was odd. "Looks like you can stick up for yourself too. I'm impressed. Challenging gamer boy that is."

It made you suspicious. What's his motive? Dabi isn't known for his charity. He must want something... other than getting back home and getting his revenge on his father and continuing his march on raising hell, tearing down hero society and burning himself into an early grave.

You shook your head and sigh. "What do you want?" Scrubbing down the pot from the rice cooker with a soapy sponge.

"Spunky and bright aintcha?" Dabi teased, smirking. Drying the plastic rice scooper and setting it down in the drying wrack. "Compared to most chicks who would have begged for their lives, cried, pissed their panties and screamed bloody murder." He rolled his pretty blue eyes and gave you a devilish grin. "I'd say your tougher than you look."

What the hell is with these Villains giving you compliments today? It's nice and unexpected. It's working. Oh, how you fucking hate how it's working. Your face grows hotter as you fully turn to look at him. "Okay, are you high or taking a hit of snow or some shit?" You made a face of half disgust and confusion that made the flame villain snicker.

"Do I look like I have the cash to be takin' drugs?" Dabi retorted, giving you a shit eating grin and showing off his pearly whites.

You stared into his eyes. Azure blues light yet dark as a starlight filled sky. You could get lost in them for hours.

Dabi's lips quirked higher. "Got a thing for baddies don'tcha doll?" He's trying to get underneath your skin, and it was working.

Shit, he caught you staring. "I'm a sucker for blue, green and golden eyes okay." You stammer and glance away, returning to finishing the last of the dishes, face nearly bursting into flames. "Fuck, forget I said that."

"Cute." He said in a teasing tone. "And no. I don't think I will." Completely denying your request.

Of course not. You knew underneath Dabi's laidback, tough guy, angry, angsty, vengeful and festering daddy issues, self-loathing and sarasam; he was a guy who'd gotten his heart broken too many times. Mostly by his shitty excuse of a father, Enji Todoroki, Endeavor.

"You dodged my question." You reminded him without glancing at the dark-haired man. "It's only fair since I've answered yours honestly, isn't it?"

"Fair enough." Dabi shrugged his shoulders, rinsing the rest of the silverware. "Nothing wrong with bonding and helping right?"

"You're more of a chatter box and as nosy as you look, aren't you?" You fire back.

"Awe." Dabi pouts in fake sympathy. "Don't go cold on me now, doll."

"If you are curious about what the fuck is happening with me between Hawks and Shigaraki? I'm just as clueless and in the dark as you are." You turn the tap fully onto Dabi's side as you dry your hands with another hand towel from the drawer beside you on your left. "Are you secretly worried that some sort of soulmate thing will happen between you, Overhaul and me too?" You placed the hand towel on you should, reaching for a paper towel to wipe down the excess water on the counter and between the double sinks. Tossing it into the trash can when you are done.

"I'd be lying, if I said I wasn't curious." He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't like surprises."

You frown. "Again. I'm sorry for dragging you all into whatever this is." You turn and hop onto the counter beside your side of the empty sink, crossing your arms underneath your chest and crossed your legs at the ankles. Closing your eyes and leaning back until your head lightly hits the back of the cupboard.

Dabi said nothing at first. "Nothing any of us could have done."

Your gaze shifts towards him. So much is unknown about Dabi's past. Aside from his obsession with watching his family from the shadows and training his quirk by watching his father's video. The rest of the blank years were missing between when he first awoke from his coma until before he joined The League. Maybe to give him that mysterious bad guy vibe? Or it was an afterthought. You didn't know.

"What burning questions are you thinking about now?" Dabi replied without turning his head as he finished rinsing the bowls, adding them to the drying wreck and working on the bowls. "Or are you falling for me already?"

"No." You bite your bottom lip and settle with your hands in your lap. "Did all you ever really do is training your quirk alone and keep to the shadows?" You felt nervous, but you said it anyways.

The flame villain paused. "Aren't you supposed to know everyone about us? Our pasts? Our futures?"

"No. Not everything." You emphasize and explain. "All of The League's back stories are mentioned and shown in later seasons, but not everything." You admitted, your voice growing softer. "The least I know is yours and Overhaul." You sigh, opening your eyes. "Shigaraki's and Hawks I think stayed the same into their teens and adulthood."

"You really do have a bleeding heart, don't you?" Dabi pointed out. Not surprised as he didn't answer your question. "Even for a cold hearted and screwed up bastard like me, huh?" He meets your gaze after finishing the dishes, shutting off the water and placing the now damp hand towel to hang on the faucet.

"Nobody is completely heartless." You shoot back and offer him the hand towel sitting on your shoulder.

Dabi takes the offered towel, raising a brow. "You would be surprised how truly heartless some can get doll." He surprises you dropping the towel, pressing closer. Too close. Uncrossing your legs, spreading them with ease and wedging himself in between, and caging you against the counter.

Your eyes widened as your heart stuttered, and you felt his body heat.

The Villain hunched his shoulders until his face was eye level with yours. "If you keep thinking naive shit like that someone's gonna take advantage of you." His fingers drummed against the countertop; he smirks, wide and wolfish, staples pulling wide. Leaning forward, his breath hot and fanning your ear, causing you to shudder. "Still trust me?"

Dabi is exactly the type of bad boy mothers tell their daughters to stay away from. Staring so close into those criminally and devlish blue eyes, the longer he stood inside your personal space; the more curious you were wondering what he was going to do? Dabi was many things. Bold. An asshole. Crass and shameless. A demon on your shoulder, surrounded by smoke, char and hellfire with a pile of dead bodies continuing to pile his funeral pyre, feeding his flames, uncontrollable rage, hatred and broken dreams.

Out of all three Villains.

Dabi was the one you were the most cautious about. Unpredictable. A loose cannon. He can switch at the drop of a hat and that made him more deadly, dangerous. Dabi is willing to burn and take down whoever stands in his way to completing his goal, same as Tomura Shigaraki and Overhaul.

You knew if you showed fear again, they'd eat you alive. If you crumbled, they would win. You remained quiet, staring deeply into his twin pools of sapphire gems as the muscles in his jaw ticked and clenched against his burnt jaw, scars and staples. He clearly didn't like your silence. It seemed to piss him off, even more.

This staring contest was growing more awkward. You were beginning to think you'd lost your mind, if you'd rather be anywhere else, but here. Knew if any of the others saw you two in such a risky situation that it would look at if you and Dabi were a break away from kissing right now.

Once the shock faded you began to notice what you hadn't before.

You can smell nicotine and charcoal. A hint of cinnamon? And coconut? Your surprised expression faded quickly into confusion, then it clicks. "You used my shampoo and toothpaste, didn't you?"

Dabi's face grew blank as he backed away and rolling his eyes. "What if I did?" He sassed, reaching into the pocket of his sweats and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You said we could use whatever." Turning the back upside down, smacking it against the palm of his free hand until a nicotine stick loosened enough for him to grab it. "I didn't use your toothbrush, if that's what you're worried about." He brings it to his lips and lighting it with his finger.

"You still could have asked anyways." You huffed and hoping down off the counter to pick up the discarded hand towel.

"Didn't feel like it." He countered, taking another deep inhaul and quickly blew it out, shoving the pack back inside his pocket, turning and heading towards the living room couch. "Night, mini fan." Dabi had found one of the spare sheets and blankets from the hall closet and gathered the throw pillows your grandma insisted on getting.

You watched as he plopped down onto the floral couch; lounging as if he owned the place. "Good night, Dabi." You shook your head as a small smile broke out on across you face as you flipped the light switch off and headed towards your bedroom. "Get some sleep. I imagine Hawks and Overhaul are early risers."

The flame villain scoffed, watching you leave as he took another drag. "You have no idea."

Once you left down the hall and completely out of sight.

Dabi sunk deeper into the couch, staring into the darkness until his eyes adjusted as he felt his face heat up in embarrassment and he released a shaky breath; his heart pounding within his chest. He may act tough, but he knew jack shit when he came to women. Dabi didn't have time for dates, thinking about chasing pretty girls or getting laid. He'd always been to hyper focused on training his quirk, his career as a Villain, plotting his revenge to even care.

Now, he was stuck here in an alternate universe. A quirkless world. Free of Metahuman abilities that only existed in fiction and fantasy. He'd guess that OverBitch thought of this world as paradise or heaven compared to back home, if the germ freak wanted to get rid of quirks so fucking bad.

Dabi didn't even know why he'd felt territorial over you earlier. Jealousy? Why the way the feathered chickens sappy, mushy and lovestruck gaze pissed him the hell off. Or how Shigaraki was able to touch you? You weren't dead. You were still standing. Alive and normal. Unchanged. His thoughts went back towards the nightmare you had mentioned earlier. How your red string was tied to theirs, the one wrapped around your finger, and connecting to the ones buried deep within their chests.

Dabi felt his heart skip another beat. He shivered, remembering the painful feeling of his string being pulled and yanked by the crazy goddess and stuck-up bitch. Inhaling another puff of smoke, holding it for as long as he could and slowly letting it out, leaning over and reaching for the metal ashtray and placing it on his stomach. His free hand raising and landing his palm flat against where his heart lay within his scarred chest. Flicking the ashes into the ashtray before putting it out.

Whatever. He blew the last plume of smoke through his nose, setting the ashtray back onto the coffee table, covering himself with a blanket, resting an arm underneath his head and relaxed further. Dabi glared at the ceiling, scowling as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and yawned. He didn't care, if you knew how their pasts, their futures or how their stories ended. You were another person in their way. Another steppingstone. Tied to them by fate or not.

Dolls another distracted that he didn't need. A cute, feisty... distraction. Your wide doe-like eyes. Smooth looking skin. Curves and kissable lips. Dabi swallowed, his lips twitched and curling. You knew he would be waiting outside should you run, and you didn't. You knew about All For One. To think old ball sack face had been one of the men talking to him in that computer screen back then after he'd first awakened from his coma. That shit hole of an orphanage that Mister Sunny ran, and Dabi had burnt to the ground. So Overjerk was there too, huh?

And yet, what exactly did you mean when you said him and birdbitch had been failed successors? The fuck was that about? Then again, the old him had been obsessed with pleasing his father and wanted to run home. Was it his blind and twisted, unshakable devotion and revenge that saved him?

Shigaraki and Hawks didn't know about that place.

Guess, Dabi should consider himself lucky given what happened to the bastard finding handyman. The underfed, crazy, bratty manchild looked as neglected, lonely, touch and love starved as the rest of them. He'd bet the money he had in his wallet that once germ freak finds out that Shiggy touched you he'd lose his shit. He'd keep it to himself for now. Watch and observe from the shadows, same as he'd always done.

Closing his eyes. Dabi wondered if anyone had noticed any of them were missing back home? Or had time stopped? Had doppelgangers taken their places? Did Twice create doubles of himself, Shigaraki and Overhaul to trick everyone until they returned? Rolling onto his side, he wondered if he truly had lost it? Hit his head and had fallen into some crazy dream or coma again only this time Shigaraki, Hawks, Overhaul and you were trapped inside his head with him.

He'd never seen you before in his life. And yet, he had felt your body heat against his own. Your coconut shampoo and conditioner. The way your breath had hitched, and your breath fanned his face, staring deep into his eyes as he stared back. He'd felt his stomach flip and nervous butterflies, his palms growing clammy as he wondered if he should have quickly stollen a kiss before the others, even tried. It would piss them off. He wouldn't give a single flying fuck.

Dabi wasn't a quitter. He'd observe. Figure out your dislikes and likes. Slowly watch and figure out how to woo you and steal your heart away from the others. He'd waited nearly a decade to come out into the light from the shadows and into the spotlight as a Villain. What difference would it make if he had to wait longer?

Besides you were already a fan of his, weren't you? True, he shared you with the others, but he'd noticed you had zero Endeavor merch or other Hero merch aside from Hawks. Mostly his, Overhaul's and Shigaraki's. If you knew his backstory. He wondered what did you think of his father, Enji Todoroki, Endeavor? Did you hate him? Did you see how corrupt and rotten Hero society is to the core within their world? What else would you share with them?

Guess he'd find out soon enough. Dabi's breathing started to even out, his chest rising and falling slowly, falling into the realm of dreams and blackness of the night. It had been a long time since he'd fallen asleep so fast. So deeply. He didn't dream of his past. Burning alive. If hellfire, orange flames, phantoms of his childhood. He just slept. A deep slumber and rest that felt as if he had only closed his eyes and blinked.

Snoring, dead to the world and lights out.

--- End of Chapter 11 ----

Woohoo 🙌 I hope everyone enjoyed MC's second interaction with Dabi? 💙🥰 I know our flamed alleycat was probably way out of character offering to help with the dishes. Or switching tactics to get close and personal, eating up your personal space. As Overhaul mentioned before "who's playing fair?"

Dabi does whatever he pleases.

All's fair in Love and War, right?

Thoughts? 🫶

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Tag list: @cherry-queens-blog @fanofflames @touyas-wife @redr0sewrites @slayfics @doumadono @wtf-ask-baddie-overhaul @number-2-hero-hawks @meeludrawz @kyiratodoroki @lucyblue101 @angelblueflame @canary58143 @purplesoulsapphire

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dronebiscuitbat · 2 months ago

Text

Oil is Thicker Then Blood: Polarity- Chapter 3: A Long Day

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64077811/chapters/167453419

A sheet of paper full of equations is placed in front of her, after a lecture about the order of operations and how to access the computing portion of their processors to make this trivial, they were super advanced computers after all.

And yet…

Tera stared down at the paper with a pencil in her hand, reading the first question over and over and over again, it was easy, or should have been. Simple long devision as a warm up before the harder questions. All she had to do was… compute.

Her brain-her processors attempted to calculate the numbers, only to freeze halfway through like an ancient machine running on the worlds shittiest hard drive. The numbers seemed to change the longer she looked at them, 5’s becoming 3’s and 6’s becoming 9’s. A nervous sweat started to appear on her visor, instead now trying to solve the problem organically, writing down the equation on paper and working to solve it that way. That didn’t work either, the numbers floated off the page to become unintelligible runes.

She may as well have been trying to decipher hieroglyphs.

She groaned and threw her head back.

An hour later, the paper was slammed back down on her desk with a big fat red 45% etched in huge letters on the corner. She wasn't sure if getting a 0 would be better, or worse, then at least she could claim she was just stupid. But getting something right using the incorrect formula just confused her further.

She grumbled, and stuffed it in her bag with a growl.

Rad took a single look her and chortled. “I think teach just likes to bleed all over your papers dude. I know you can't be that bad.”

It was intended to cheer her up, but it really didn't, she was a robot! A computer! Her building blocks were in fucking binary! What computer couldn't do the thing they were named after- compute?!

So she just sighed. “Just shut up man…”

Rad pouted for a moment, before his eyes lit up, if it was any more obvious he'd gotten an idea, a big green light bulb would have popped up over his head. “Bet I can beat you in a race to biology.”

Tera's tail perked up as she gathered her things, a smirk replaced a frown. “Not a chance man, I'm way faster!”

“Prove it Lucky Bat!” And with that, he raced down the hall as fast as his hydrolic powered legs could carry him.

He knew he wasn't going to win.

And when he felt the wind of Tera sprinting ahead rush past him, all he could do was laugh as the purple blur rushed inside the next class, startling several other students who gave the solver drone a nasty look as she blasted past them.

“Hah! Fuck ye-SHIT!”

Kiara was at her desk, supposedly waiting for her, her eyelights go hollow as Tera barrels towards her and the worker braces for impact with her best freind.

Tera pumps the breaks hard and fast, she can feel herself skidding across the polished stone floor, she holds her hands out to try and salvage the situation and-

She stops a hairs breath from her, panting as her arms brush against Kiara's arms, the plan being to grab her and then stop them both to avoid hurting her.

Now though it's just a slightly awkward half-hug.

Tera gulps and her visor flushes a neon flavored purple.

“Y-you okay?” She asked through her throat near closing in embarrassment, she probably needed to back up, or at least let go before asking… but she wouldn't be a Doorman if she wasn't painfully awkward.

Kiara blinked, still processing the fact she wasn't melted slag stuck to the floor before she looks up with a smile. “I'm fine! Little bit of a close one there yeah?”

Tera grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head as she stepped back. “Sorry, Rad challenged me to a race and…”

“…you can't say no to a challenge?” The worker giggled. “I figured. Looks like you won though.” Her eyes flicker to the doorway.

Rad came in panting, smiling, but panting. “Oh man… have you gotten even faster? It's like you teleported!” His vents kick up to max trying to cool him off, and he rests his hands on his knees. “Dang.”

Tera smirked. “You're just a slowpoke.”

Kiara brought her attention back with a featherlight touch to her arm, Tera tried to ignore the shock that passed up through her sensors.

“I need your help.” She spoke quietly. “Mrs. Finley gave us homework about Nightstalkers and I completely forgot about it!” Kiara pouted, looking a little ashamed of herself.

“You? Forgetting homework? How scandalous.” Tera quipped back, laughing when Kiara pouted even more.

“I… had a rough night.” The worker replied softly, rubbing her shoulder and looking away, Tera felt like she just swallowed acid.

“Yeah. I can help. Mrs.Finley gives us 15 minutes to look over it before asking for it anyway. Pull up your chair.” Tera replied, smiling down. “No copying though, that would be unethical.” She parrots her best freinds words and the worker smacks her lightly. “You!”

“Thank you…”

Tera turns back to look at Rad. “You forget yours too?”

He blinked stupidly. “Forget what?”

Tera sighed. “Pull up a chair String Bean.”

They both pull up thier chairs on either side of Tera's desk, which was luckily large enough to uncomfortably fit them all.

Rad dug out a crumpled paper from his bag, laughing warily when Kiara eyed him like he'd committed murder, Tera pulled out her completed work, along with a little leather bound journal.

“Rad you can just copy. You're not going to read it anyway.” Tera says deadpan, and the young man grins and begins copying the answers down in barely legible chicken scratch.

Then she turns to Kiara. “Alright, first question…”

How large to Nightstalkers get?

She opens her journal to a page of notes, accompanied by a rough sketch of a nightstalker.

“So they average around 20 feet in height fully grown, not counting the horns or you'd add another 2, I don't think Mrs. Finley counts them, or just would prefer the easier to remember number for us.” Tera points to where she'd jotted down their heights.

“I've never seen one that big…” Kiara writes it down, but looks up at Tera to explain.

“Their deeper in the jungle… plus that's what we have hunting parties for, V doesn't really let one that big stick around if it does wander towards us.”

When are Nightstalkers at their most deadly?

“I know that one! They get really hormonal and angry when they become teenagers… soo.” The worker taps a pen on her cheek. “What age is that?”

“2 and a half usually.” Tera answers.

The fat on the top of a Nightstalkers back is both armor and heat regulation, it is called what?

“Blubber.”

Kiara laughs. “That's not a real word.”

“I promise it is, and it's right.” Tera replies. “You haven't tried to drive a blade through that, it may as well be steel.”

They continue, Kiara asking questions, trying to actually learn the material while Tera answers with either a note from her hunting journal or a quick anecdote. All with the background noise of Rad furiously scribbling.

They finish just in time for Mrs. Finley to walk in, 15 minutes after the bell rang.

“Alright everyone. Hand me your homework and we'll get started, the next species we'll be focusing on is the Deersheep…”

Kiara and Rad scooted thier chairs back to where they should've been- to the desks either side of her.

Text flickered up on Kiara's visor. [THANK YOU!]

Rad chuckled. “Cheers Dude.”

Tera leaned back and smiled, handing up her paper to the teacher now doing laps around the classroom to collect the work, she pauses at Rads. “Mr. Hayes.”

“Yes'm?”

“Why have you written down Miss Doorman’s name in place of your own?

Tera facepalmed. Kiara rolled her eyes. Rad smiled like a dead man. “Ahah…”

Mrs.Finley's bright blue eyelights trailed over to Tera. “Did you know about this?”

Tera wracked her brain quickly. “We did a study group together, he must have done it as a joke when we were talking about how he often forgets to write his name.”

The blue eyelights narrowed, she brushed a hand though her tightly spun and frazzled brown hair, and she sighed.

“If I didn't have multiple nameless papers from you. Mr. Hayes, I wouldn't believe her. Don't do it again.”

After she walks away towards her desk, Rad untested. “Woo… saved my life there…” He said quietly.

“I can't belive you wrote my name! You dumbass!” Tera gave an incredulous and amused smile. “You could've gotten me in trouble too!” She whisper-yelled.

The rest of the day was long, tedious, and sufficiently boring enough to put her on autopilot, sure she was present for her freinds but… anywhere else. Mind off somewhere in the jungle and outwardly expressing that classic Doorman brand resting bitch face.

At lunch, they were let out into the cafeteria and served deep fried copper nuggets, bolts, and a side of batteries. Which Tera inhaled like a starving animal before her two freinds even had a chance to touch thiers.

“Dude.”

“Slow down your gonna choke!”

Her two respective freinds called out, but she didn't listen, licking her lips in satisfaction. “Ahhh~”

To finish it off, she reached into her pocket to pull out a dented and well worn silver canteen, gulping down sweet and tangy oil like it was drops of heaven.

She pulled off it when it was half empty, wiping her mouth of the excess.

In all honesty… she was still hungry.

Though she was always hungry nowadays.

“Vampire.” Rad coughed.

“It comes from the ground. I'm not a fucking vampire!” Tera immediately protested. “You eat the soup at the food court! It's the same thing!”

Kiara giggled, Rad teased poor Tera about that every chance he got. She had to be sick of it by now…

She hummed to herself as she finished out a sketch of a lion, as realistic as one could without never seeing one outside of pictures and ancient documentaries, she began to shade it so the fur looked black, letting Tera and Rads bickering become white noise.

More classes, more work; right after lunch she still had Rad and Kiara in an advanced English class, where the focus was more on the history of linguistics and the written word then reading comprehension- when your whole student body can take screenshots with thier eyes; you stop worrying about retaining information organically.

But afterwards, she was alone in an architectural engineering class that was more numbers and measurements then actually building things and she was back to slamming her head against the wall in frustration, doubled because now… the math was applied.

She did well in the practical projects like build a bridge out of sticks, or make a model pully that works under a specific weight threshold. She could trial and error that, and she was really good at eyeballing measurements even if she was shit at exact numbers- but the second she had to figure out exactly what degrees a triangle needed to be to support X amount of weight she wanted to eat the damn paper.

“Ugh…”

She crossed her arms, and tuned out of the lecture, instead spacing out while looking vaguely forward to give the illusion that she was still paying attention.

Maybe you have so much trouble because you refuse to actually pay attention.

A monotone and robotic mockery of her own voice whispered, she'd have winced at the suddenness of it if it wasn't wholly expected at this point. She ignored it.

Or maybe you're just an idiot.

That's okay though… smarts would be wasted on a killing machine.

She growled, tightening her fist but giving the entity that lived in her head no response.

At least until she blinked, and suddenly she was standing at the front of the classroom, drones screaming in fear as they tried to get out of the door in a panic. She blinked in confusion for a moment before her eyelights went hollow.

Hanging limp in her now, fleshy, bladed claws was Mr. Riker, Oil bathing her arm and pooling all over the floor, the smell was intoxicating, ever present, and assaulted her olfactory receptors like a persistent tagalong.

She jumped, the movement making the lifeless corpse slide off her bladed fingers and into a heap on the floor, she began to hyperventilate. The word “no” repeating from her lips like a mantra as she backs herself into a corner trembling like a leaf.

“No no- I didn't, I don’t know- I'm sorry!”

“Miss Doorman!”

Slam!

She's startled awake by Mr. Riker slamming a book on her desk, making her yelp in fear, a yellow solver symbol dissappearing from her eyelight. She pants, taking in the students staring at her, some snickering, before her eyelights flickered back up to the drone she just skewered.

“I know buttresses are boring, but please refrain from falling asleep in my class.”

A chorus of giggles passed through the classroom lile a wave.

The teacher rolled their eyes and left her be, which was good, because once all the eyes were off her again she let out a shaky breath and looked down at her hands, normal, even with the animal-like pads on her hands given by the solver.

She squeezed them into fists and sighed, burying her head in her hands and wanting to scream.

Instead she went back to staring at the front, stress lines under her eyes as her mind returns to silence.

She comes out of the classroom hunched over and emotionally drained, tail limp and half dragging across the floor like a zombie. She takes her canteen and drinks the rest of the oil to try and relax her… anything.

“Ter!” Kiara calls from the front door of the school, the day for the upperclassmen being over to go to their field training. Her eyelights looked up, tail perking up a little.

“I'm heading to the clinic for my last two hours, but…I was wondering if you saw my messages?”

Oh crap!

“I did! I can take you and Rad out past the walls this weekend if you want! It's just been a… weird day. Sorry.”

Kiara's eyes lit up. “Really! Awesome! Thank you, Thank you!” She pushed forward to wrap the solver drone in a tight hug. She found herself smiling, despite it all.

“Yeah yeah… keep quiet about it, you know I'm not supposed to…”

Kiara nodded, releasing her and fluttering out the door with a wave. Tera sighed as she leaned against the doorway to outside. Watching her leave.

…and off to the barracks for her field training.

#murder drones #oil is thicker then blood #tera doorman #kiara von roth #nuzi fankid #oittb rad #i drew stuff I didn’t even end up using for this one-

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yandereonepieceimagines · 1 month ago

Note

Hi there! I’m the anon that asked for yan!kizaru, and you more than delivered with it!! Your yan!one piece blog is a breath of fresh air, bc from i’ve noticed there aren’t many, if not any such blogs now. The amount of details you include in your posts is just *mwah* *chef’s kiss*. I really love that banana man 😔. Reminds me to some extent of the man with the yellow hat from curious george 😭💀. Anyways, thanks again for it, it was a really great post!

So I’m back for more, if you don’t mind, while you’re at it do you think you could do a romantic yan!kuzan (feel free to decide whether it’s during or after the marines) hcs for reader both sfw and nsfw? Also, would his yandereness be any different when he’s a marine vs not?

-------------

Oh my gosh, thank you so much for the kind words! 😄 They truly mean a lot to me. I'm really glad I can bring something fresh to the fandom. I've noticed the recent lack of posts like this too, so it's nice to hear it's appreciated!

Of course I don’t mind you coming back for more. Feel free to bombard me with the admirals anytime. 😉🤣

This post will focus on the pre-timeskip era, and I believe his yandere tendencies would be quite different during that period. It really depends on when, where, and how he meets his obsession. For instance, if that meeting had happened during his time as an admiral; or shortly after, he might not have even ended up joining Blackbeard’s crew at all.

If you're curious about how I’d interpret him in such moments, feel free to request that too! Or when he's in said crew, of course.

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Warning!: NSFW Below!

Kuzan Aokiji

SFW

* Kuzan first met you during a seemingly routine Marine check on a lawless island you were exploring. Despite the tension and professional setting, he made a shockingly bold suggestion near the end of the conversation, eyes half-lidded and voice low: "You know... You're just the kind of woman I'd freeze the whole sea for just to keep under me." The sheer audacity of it, delivered so lazily it almost felt like a dream, stunned the other Marines nearby. You laughed it off, unsure if it was actually a joke. But from that moment, his gaze never left you.

* Your strength, autonomy and refusal to be categorized by Marine standards captivated Kuzan. He couldn't help but keep tabs on you under the guise of surveillance. He'd say that it's because you are too dangerous to be left unchecked. But the truth was far more personal. Your unpredictability and independence sparked something obsessive in him.

* Using Marine intel as cover, he monitored your every move. Not because he was ordered to, but because he needed to know where you were at all times. Being near you became part of his routine.

* Whenever he ran into you (by chance, of course), he'd offer vague, almost cryptic warnings. Remarks about how certain islands weren't "safe" or how you should "stick to more civilized places." You found them confusing, especially since you weren’t breaking any laws. But that was the point. Kuzan wasn’t warning you for your safety or for legal reasons. He was trying to subtly manipulate your course, steering you toward more populated islands where he'd have an easier time monitoring you... Or isolating you. Beneath the lazy charm was a calculated attempt to keep you within reach. Not as a Marine, but as a man quietly staking his claim.

* One night, you found yourself cornered by a group of pirates who thought you'd be easy prey. Before you could draw your weapon, a frozen path spiraled around you, trapping them all in blocks of ice. Kuzan stepped out from the shadows with a casual question if you were ok. That was the first time you suspected he might be watching you more closely than he should.

* You weren’t breaking any laws, but Kuzan still found himself at odds with his responsibilities. He hated how often his duties pulled him away from monitoring you, from subtly inserting himself into your life, from doing what he felt was necessary to secure his place in your world. Each time a mission demanded his attention elsewhere, it infuriated him in a way he barely understood. He started resenting the very uniform he wore, not because of what it stood for, but because it distracted him from you. And when he sensed you pulling away emotionally, when you grew distant or wary, he began delaying assignments and pulling strings. Not out of laziness, but to buy himself more time. Time to handle you delicately, to avoid driving you too far. He needed just enough leniency to keep you from slipping through his fingers and he would manipulate the system however he had to.

* Kuzan never raised his voice, but his words often held a chill if he felt like you drifted too far off. Especially when you began actively resisting his advances. It was only then, when your distance became more than just emotional, that he let a hint of something darker slip: "I’d hate to see you become an enemy. Then I’d have to stop you. And I don’t want to freeze something in place that I... like." His tone was flat, almost bored. But the weight behind it was unmistakable. It wasn’t a warning for what you'd become. It was a desperate assertion of what he still wanted you to be. His.

* Whenever you spoke with another man; even a local guide, Kuzan would show up shortly after, coincidentally patrolling the area. He never acted outwardly jealous, but you'd notice the frost creeping over nearby surfaces and the shift in his normally placid expression.

* Once, when he was summoned back to Marineford, he said with a simple, low and terrifying calmness: "If you disappear, I'll find you. Even if I have to freeze over every ocean to do it." He wasn’t threatening you. He was promising you.

NSFW

* When you finally gave yourself to him, Kuzan’s usual lethargy melted away. His hands, cold at first, trailed over your skin with reverence and hunger. He made sure you felt every differentiation. The chill of his fingertips and the heat pooling where he touched. Every movement was slow, deliberate and even a bit worshipful.

* Kuzan takes his time. He’s patient, thorough and completely focused on you. He knows exactly what he's doing and enjoys drawing every reaction out of you, especially when you try to maintain control. It’s the only time he abandons his lazy tone. Because when it comes to you, he's anything but passive.

* During intimacy, he speaks quietly and intimately. Low murmurs against your skin about how long he waited for this, how he knew you’d come to him eventually. His voice is a blend of calm and possession, calling you "mine" more than once, as if saying it aloud makes it permanent.

* Sometimes, he uses his Devil Fruit ability to carefully cool parts of your body during sex just so he can warm them up again with his mouth. He gets off on the contrast; the control, the sensation and the way your breath catches from the shock before melting back into pleasure.

* Afterwards, he’s wrapped around you like a glacier that doesn’t let go. He’s endlessly affectionate in a way that borders on obsessive. Holding you almost too tightly, murmuring about how he won’t let you out of his sight again. He watches your face, your breathing, your pulse… Everything. As if memorizing the moment in case it ever slips away.

* He still carries that slouched, sleepy air in public. But behind closed doors, he becomes intense, insatiable and deeply focused. You’re the only one who gets to see this version of him. The one who gives and takes without restraint, as though proving every time why you were right to choose him.

* Kuzan never threatens you after you’ve accepted him, no matter the circumstance. But there’s always that edge in the way he holds you, kisses you, touches you like he’s reminding you there’s no going back. He loves you far too much to ever let you go. And now that you’re his? You never will.

#one piece #reader insert #yandere #female reader #op #x reader #kuzan #aokiji #marine #yandere one piece #one piece x reader

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thevoicefromanotherworld · 2 months ago

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"YOU HAVE ME ALL TO YOURSELF, PRINCESS"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH TANGERINE

I hope you like it! 💙😌☝

Your boss had told you to take the bullet train from Tokyo Station, where you would meet your contact in the dining car.

Supposedly, he knew where you could find the son of the White Death, who had disappeared a month ago.

As planned, you boarded the bullet train at the indicated station, and after showing your ticket to the conductor, you walked with a firm step to the place where the person you were supposed to speak to would be.

You touched your ear, making sure the communicator you had attached there was on and that your business partner and best friend, Natalie, could hear you perfectly.

"How will I know who it is?" you asked in a low voice so that the other passengers wouldn't think you had suddenly gone crazy

"The boss said he'd be wearing a blue suit," she replied quickly. "He shouldn't be hard to find. He's the only Westerner you'll find on the entire train."

"First, that was very racist," you blurted out. "And second, why blue?" Couldn't he have chosen a more discreet color?

"What the hell do I know, dude," your friend complained. "Ask him why he chose that color when you see him, but first make sure he tells you the last known whereabouts of someone you and I know, okay?"

"Okay," you said, as you caught a glimpse of a man's broad back, clad in a blue suit jacket. "I have to go, I found him," you announced. "I'll call you with the news as soon as I can"

"Okay, be careful, and for God's sake, don't trust him."

"I don't trust anyone," you replied, repeating your mantra once more.

When she hung up, you headed over to the contact and sat next to him at the bar.

You ordered a drink in perfect Japanese so as not to arouse suspicion, and he glanced at you, just as you did at him.

Whatever you were expecting, you were sure you weren't expecting someone like him.

He was wearing a dark blue suit with a shirt of the same color, but a lighter shade that matched his eyes, which rested on you with curiosity and intensity, as if he could tell who you were just by looking at you.

He took a sip of his drink, and you did the same with yours when the waiter placed it in front of you.

"I guess you're my contact," you began when you found your voice

"And you're the girl I have to help."

"Excuse me, help?" "You asked, frowning in confusion. I thought you were going to give me the whereabouts of the son of the White Death, and we'd each go our separate ways

"I wish it were that simple, darling," he smiled, showing off his British accent. "My boss told me I should help you find him, in case he's still alive." He pointed at both of you. "So from this moment on, you and I are partners."

"I work alone," you blurted out, his smile widening at your displeasure.

"I did too, until," he looked at the watch on his wrist. "Ten minutes ago," he quickly calculated. "Believe me, love, I'm not exactly amused by this situation either," he said. "But if this is how it's supposed to be, it will be done."

"What do you gain from all this?" "You questioned, leaning your gaze on him.

"Money, and a new katana," he added. "The last two were left behind because of my last job."

"Sure," you huffed, tired of him bragging about himself and what he'd done every chance he got. "If we're going to be partners, you have to tell me your name."

"Tangerine," he blurted out, and you laughed helplessly.

"Tangerine? Like the fruit?"

"Yeah, like the fucking fruit," he grunted, draining his drink.

"And if you're Tangerine, what am I, Lemon?"

"You can't be Lemon," he muttered very seriously. "Lemon is my brother."

"Oh, come on, don't fuck with me," you snorted. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm serious. Lemon is my brother," he repeated. "He's not here because he's doing another job elsewhere." He gave a half-smile. "So you're lucky, you have me all to yourself, princess."

"Yeah, how lucky," you smiled, gritting your teeth with feigned joy

You stopped to wonder if this was all a hidden camera prank, and you found yourself searching for someone suspicious who could be part of the group of actors who had organized the whole show, but you didn't find anyone.

"Tell me what you know about him, about his last whereabouts. Anything could be relevant," you said, taking another sip of your drink.

"He doesn't like leaving the house," Tangerine began. "From what we know, he's the typical Japanese teenager who only thinks about getting home and spending all day playing video games or thinking about jerking off every three minutes to a porn video," she explained, shrugging her shoulders. "If he wasn't the son of who you and I know, that kid would be an average Asian"

"In short, you don't know anything about him," you said, causing him to hold his hand to his chest, clearly offended.

"I've told you what…"

"You haven't told me shit," you interrupted. "Those assumptions I could have figured out the information myself just by looking at his KakaoTalk account," you snorted. "What I want is real data, dates and times he entered and left the school, security camera recordings, something that tells us where he was last and therefore where we should start looking"

He stared at you for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Clearly we haven't gotten off to a good start," he gave an amused smile. "But we're in this together, honey, and I'm not leaving your side until we complete this job," he reminded you. "So you better try to make the situation as bearable as possible"

"Speak for yourself," you snorted. "I'm very nice to everyone."

"I must be the exception," he replied, laughing. "We should start thinking about finding a place to sleep." He smiled. "You don't want to sleep in the hallway, do you?"

"Of course not," you said, finishing your drink in one gulp. "Let's find that spot."

"I wouldn't mind sharing a bed with you if necessary." He gave a smirk, causing you to shake your head.

"You're… you…" You clicked your tongue tiredly. "I don't even have adjectives to describe you."

Tangerine's smile widened as she followed you down the train aisle to the first-class seats, thinking about how this job was fucking shit, but it was less bad if you were with him.

And you'd never admit it, but you thought the same thing.

#aaron taylor johnson #byvoice #writters on tumblr #writterscommunity #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #my fic writing

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saturnyo · 3 days ago

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Sweet Like Burnt Sugar

Pairing: BFSpencer Reid x Reader

Summary: It's your birthday, and Spencer shows up at your apartment to bake a cake. He followed the recipe, down to the milligram, overthought everything, and still managed to mess it up. But he did it for her.

Warnings: fluff, just like a lot of fluff. Like seriously a shit ton of fluff.

WC: 1k

A/N: My first time writing for Spencer Reid!!! I was obsessed with the show criminal minds and just randomly said fuck it I'm gonna write a one shot of him. i hope you enjoyyyyyy.

Song choice: I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys (slowed)

Two Knocks

A familiar pattern only one person would do. Spencer.

Lovely, very smart, your boyfriend. The fact that he’s yours makes your heart swell and your face blush a mercurial pattern. Working with him at the BAU was arduous and dangerous work—locating unsubs and bringing them down, rescuing any captives. You two saw the worst that the world has to offer, experiencing things no person should. But you, Spencer, and the rest of the team put yourselves in the line of fire defending those who couldn’t do it themselves.

Finding each other in this way was unexpected. He was smart, very knowledgeable—seven degrees in total, to be exact and when you realized you had feelings, you were afraid to express them. Your career was one reason, but you were also self-conscious—you kept thinking, would Spencer even want to be with someone who’s just not as educated as he was?

You opened the door before the second knock even echoed down the long hallway. And there he was.

Spencer.

He was holding a square-shaped purple box—your favorite color. It was your birthday, and he hadn’t forgotten. Spencer Reid never forgets anything.

“Happy Birthday Sweetheart,” Spencer said, smiling from ear to ear.

You grinned. “A cake?”

“I made it myself.”

God, he could be really sweet. Spencer may be the analytic type, surveying every situation like a math problem especially when it’s your time of the month. He would write down the days, track it every month, and even the different phases: menstruation, follicular phase, ovulation, and luteal phase. Curating various meals and snacks to help ease the pain and give you the right nutrition.

He steps inside, nervous but proud. He’s still holding the box like it’s his most prized possession, presenting it to you like a kid who just made their first art project.

“You made it yourself?” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

You opened the box and you see it’s a chocolate cake—one that’s a little lopsided and burnt.

“The structural integrity may be a bit off,” Spencer admitted. “And the taste may not be sufficient as i hoped. i measured everything down to the gram, not cups but the chemical reaction should have stayed the same. Although i tried to calculate—”

“Spencer,” you said, interrupting his babble. “it’s perfect and i love it.”

Your hand caresses his cheek as you give him a slight peck. His breath hitches like he’s forgotten how to breathe, and it’s not because he’s uncomfortable but because he’s astounded that you are his. No mathematical equation could have ever come up with a conclusion as grand and as beautiful as you.

You see his cheeks flush as he places the box down on the counter beside you. You don’t hesitate; you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him in. Spencer freezes, like he always does, before fully melting into your embrace. That’s the thing about him, when he hugs you, it’s not half-hearted, he sinks into you. Like you are gravity and he’s home. Like you were made for each other.

Looking up into his eyes, a painful thought passes through your mind. the insecurity, the uncertainty of his choice to be with you. He sees it. He sees everything.

Then you say it.

“Why would you choose me?” you whispered

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—You’re you and I’m just…me. I don’t have multiple degrees and i can’t speak several languages like you can. I’m just not as smart.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, holding your face, scared that if he lets go, you’ll disappear. “No, don’t say that. You—” he stops, eyes searching yours. “You are smart. You can command a room in a way I can’t. The things we see… You can look at them and not be phased. You also have the incredible ability to make anyone feel safe, to make them feel that no one will ever hurt them again.”

His eyes searches yours, and for once, you don’t feel exposed. You feel seen. You feel loved.

And He’s right.

The horrors….They are constant. The screams. The victims. The broken families. There is so much pain and suffering that you see and hear about daily. But you don’t cower in fear, you embrace it—diving head-on and making sure to bring down those who would cause others harm. You two balance each other out—him the analytical mind analyzing the unsubs and how they might function and you the spitfire, the raging storm, and pure instinct. Where he analyzes, you feel—where he sees problems to solve, you see emotions.

The perfect match.

And that’s just enough.

“I thought i wasn't good enough for you. i felt…intimidated,” Spencer admitted.

“Intimidated?”

“Yes, you were this... incredibly strong woman,” he said, voice trembling. ”When you walked into a room, you commanded the attention even if you weren’t trying.”

He gulps, hands trembling against your skin.

“I saw you had this capacity to hold so much compassion. The darkness, the terror, you opened up and risked going in without hesitation for those who had been through literal hell and back.”

Spencer’s eyes bore into your own, intensity that doesn’t frighten you but grounds you. like gravity. like truth.

“Then you saw me. And you were the first person to make me feel like I'm worth loving.”

Your hand finds his cheek. He leans into it instantly.

“Spencer…” you murmured. “You’ve always been enough.”

He kisses you.

One that has a feeling of unsaid things and insecurities that vanish the moment his hands grip the softness of your hips. You groan into his mouth, unable to hold back from his touch feeling so damn good.

Spencer pulls away slightly away from the kiss, looking at you like you are a angel worthy of worship.

“I love you, Sweetheart,”

“I love you too, Spencer.”

He smiles again, warmth radiating like the sun at dawn cascading hues of purple, orange, and red.

“Now let’s eat this cake,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

You giggle, and the tension of your unease disappears like it never existed.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanart #dr reid #bau team #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tumblr fyp #fyp #fypシ #fypツ #fypage #viralpost #foryoupage #foryou

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