#no one else no one else can speak the words on your lips

[ylangelegy]

a birthday drabble for @totomoshi 🤎🥨☕ sara, my love, i wish for you everything good and sweet! xo

five-star (seungcheol x reader) ┆ word count: 686.

Your go-to coffee order is on the edge of your usual table. 

Wryly, you pick up the paper cup to inspect it. There’s nothing to indicate who the drink might be from.

A part of you wants to not look a gift horse in the mouth. A free drink is a free drink, after all. You’ve frequented this café enough to qualify as a regular, so any of the other frequent patrons are prime suspects. 

When you turn to the barista to ask, he’s already shaking his head. 

“No clue,” he says. 

“You make the drinks,” you respond accusingly. 

He flashes you a dimpled smile but offers nothing more. “I can at least assure you there’s no poison in it,” he says, drawing a light huff from you. 

“I’d give you a one-star rating if it did.”

“Oh, how ever will I live.” 

The bell over the entrance dings. Your good-natured bickering is cut short. When you take a sip, it’s just as he said. No poison, and exactly how you like it. 

This becomes a thing. At least twice a week, your drink is already waiting for you. Sometimes, it comes with a croissant. A chocolate chip cookie. A slice of cake, even. 

You let this drag on for about three months before deciding enough is enough. 

“I know it’s you, you know.” 

He looks up at you, one eyebrow arched upward. 

“Me?” he asks innocently. 

There’s no one else around. You had timed this, waited for the last of the customers to filter out before striking. 

“I know it’s you,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely. 

He gives a noncommittal hum in response. He’s already wrapping up for the day, folding his apron and packing away his name tag. 

Seungcheol, it says. 

“And yet you only decided to bring it up now?” he teases. 

You raise your shoulders in a shrug. There’s a small smile tugging at your face— the confirmation of his identity, sweeter than any of the pastries you’ve been gifted so far. 

“I liked getting free stuff,” you answer cheekily. 

Seungcheol’s eyes turn into crescents as he laughs. He’s obviously amused at your feigned ignorance. Perhaps even endeared by it. You can tell in the way he leans across the counter, trying to get a little closer to you; the way the corners of his lips tilt upward as he speaks. 

“And I like you,” he finally, finally confesses. “In case that hasn’t been made clear yet.” 

Something akin to a snort of laughter slides past your lips. “Could’ve told me earlier.” 

“I thought you liked the free stuff.” 

“Yeah, well, I would’ve liked a date much more.” 

And, oh, the way his smile breaks, then. It lights up his whole face. 

“Are you only saying that because I make good coffee?” he asks as he packs away his things, seemingly readying to leave with you. 

You realize that you wouldn’t mind.

“The coffee could be better—” you’re saying, but Seungcheol’s smile drops into a pout. 

“Yah!”

“Let me finish!” You clear your throat. “But the barista’s kind of cute.” 

Seungcheol’s lip is still jut out, though it twitches ever so slightly. When the two of you step out of his café, he hurriedly locks up before glancing down at you. 

“What’s it going to take to get a five-star rating from you?” His tone is half-joking, but you have some idea that he’s not referring only to his café. 

The two of you fall into step. Seungcheol’s shoulder brushes against yours, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out to hold your hand.

“Let’s start with that date,” you say, trying to maintain some semblance of coolness as Seungcheol seems to lead you to your destination for the night. “And then we can talk about your rating.” 

You’re playing it coy, playing it safe, but it’s hard to act nonchalant when Seungcheol is practically vibrating with excitement at your side. 

He grins down at you, all bright and warm and fond, and to hell with it. You smile back at him.

(He swears it’s better than any five-star rating in the world.) 

[thomamaru]

Scripted Hearts: The Star, His Love, and His Spotlight...

Synopsis: Rin loves it when you wear his jersey. He may not show it, but deep inside, it shows that you are only a fan of him and nobody else's. The one day you wear it outside, you encounter his brother.

Tags: Rin Itoshi x gn!reader, jealous and protective! Rin itoshi, Sae is a tease, fluff

You’re on your way to meet Rin after his late practice, lazily wearing one of his jerseys since he left it at your place after a shoot. It feels soft and oversized, the number 10 sprawled across your back. As you pass by a café, someone calls out.

“Nice jersey.”

You turn, heart skipping as you recognize Sae Itoshi. Rin’s older brother. The famous Sae Itoshi—international soccer superstar and household name. You’d seen his aloof expression a million times in interviews, but now he’s standing a few feet from you, a brow raised.

“Thanks?” you stammer, unsure of what else to say.

“I didn’t know Rin lent you that.” His voice is cool but mildly amused. “Must mean you’re important to him.”

You chuckle nervously, “Uh, something like that. Are you visiting?”

Sae steps closer, a faint smirk gracing his face. “Something like that. Mind if I join you for a moment?”

As Sae chats with you, you find yourself less overwhelmed and more fascinated. He’s charming and charismatic, making light jokes about Rin’s dramatic nature, though there’s a sharpness in his tone whenever he mentions his younger brother.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rin walking up the street. His hoodie’s pulled low, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture already rigid when he notices Sae speaking with you.

Sae follows your gaze, and a glimmer of mischief lights up his eyes. Before you can figure out what he’s planning, Sae leans in.

“Stand still,” he says casually, pulling out his phone.

“What—?”

Click.

The sudden flash blinds you, and before you can react, Sae pulls back with a smug grin. Turning to Rin, who’s now glaring at the scene from just a few feet away, Sae holds up the phone as if to say, See this?

“Later,” Sae says coolly, walking past you to casually bump shoulders with Rin. His exit is punctuated with a stuck-out tongue that only Rin can see.

You turn to Rin, still stunned. “That was...weird.”

Rin doesn’t answer. His teal eyes are locked on the spot Sae disappeared, his jaw visibly clenched. Without a word, he turns and starts walking ahead of you.

---

From that point on, Rin becomes...strange.

He starts hovering closer, always making sure his arm rests around your shoulders or that he’s the one holding your hand—even in situations where it isn’t necessary.

He starts nitpicking things. “Why were you talking to him for so long?” “You looked too comfortable.” “Don’t trust anything he says.”

During a red-carpet event, he leans in closer than usual when photographers ask for a couple shot, his lips brushing your temple with a pointed, "Mine," under his breath.

At first, you think he’s just being protective. But after the third time you catch him scrolling through his phone (most likely checking Sae’s social media), you finally confront him.

It’s late at night, and Rin is at your place, brooding on your couch while you try to get some work done. When he sighs for the fifth time in ten minutes, you slam your laptop shut.

“Okay, spill.”

Rin flinches but doesn’t look at you. “What?”

“You’ve been acting weird ever since we bumped into Sae. Don’t lie.”

His lips tighten into a thin line as his fingers tap against his knee—a rare show of nervousness. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not ‘nothing.’ Rin, if something’s bothering you, just—"

“I didn’t like it.”

You blink, startled by his bluntness. “…Didn’t like what?”

“The jersey,” he says softly, staring at his hands. “You wearing my number. His number. Him acting like you…” Rin takes a deep breath, the words almost growled: “...like you’re someone he can mess with.”

“Oh.” You sit back, realization dawning on you. “You’re jealous.”

His head snaps up, his teal eyes wide. “I’m not—”

“You’re definitely jealous!” you say, stifling a laugh.

“I’m not!” Rin protests, his voice rising slightly before softening. “It’s just… I don’t like the way he looks at you. Like he’s better than me. Like he can take you—”

“Rin.”

Your voice makes him pause, and when you place a hand on his cheek, his rigid expression crumbles just slightly.

“I’m with you because I want you. Not Sae, not anyone else. Just you.

He swallows hard, leaning into your touch. “You mean that?”

“Of course, I mean it.” You smile softly. “Though, for the record, I like when you get a little possessive. It’s cute.”

Rin groans, burying his face in your neck as you laugh.

---

The next day, Rin posts a picture of the two of you in his jersey on his private account—a candid shot of you laughing on his couch while he watches you with a rare, genuine smile.

Minutes later, your phone buzzes with a notification.

Sae Itoshi: Guess he made his move, huh? Cute.

You laugh, showing Rin the message. He narrows his eyes, snatching your phone and typing a single reply.

Y/N : Stay away.

When you glance at him, his glare softens into a small smirk. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, pulling him closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only because of you,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours.

And for once, you’re okay with that.

(*￣∇￣)ノ

[pedroscurls]

his girl (one-shot)

summary: logan didn't think he'd ever get a second chance at making his life matter nor did he think he even deserved it... but then he met you. his girl.

pairing: logan howlett [worst wolverine] x fem!reader content warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), light angst (mentions of death, logan has some insecurities - doesn't believe he deserves you 🥺), all the fluff!, no use of y/n. word count: 1.4k a/n: part of KLLOVEUARY 2025 challenge hosted by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt ♥️. this song and this character just fits so well and i'm so glad that i chose option 2. at first, i didn't know which route i wanted to take, but let's be honest... worst wolverine has to have some bit of angst right? hope y'all enjoy - i had a blast writing this! thank you kiwi and kristen for hosting this challenge <3 song: my girl by the temptations

Logan had met you over about six months ago when you moved in across the hall. He bumped into you on his way out one morning and you had looked at him with the most gentle and inviting eyes that simply radiated warmth. Even when you smiled at him, he couldn’t help but notice the way the corners of your eyes crinkled. Under your gaze, he felt protected, felt safe, felt at peace. You looked at him like he was the only person in the world, like no one else mattered. 

And if he’s being honest with himself, he didn’t like feeling this way. How his heart began to race even faster just at the mere sight of your eyes meeting his. Or how he felt this sudden urge to get to know you, to make you his. 

Even though he’s been in this universe for a year now, it still feels so new to him and he’s still battling with himself whether or not he belongs here, but you… You gave him hope. 

Something that he thought he lost a long time ago. 

And even now, you still look at him with the same kind eyes and he still feels that same warmth radiate through his entire body. There’s a sparkle in your eye whenever you gaze at him and even during Wade’s family dinner parties, you always make an effort to make sure that he knows you see him. 

Tonight is no different, though. Wade’s entertaining his guests and Logan's sitting on the couch with a beer in hand while you speak with Vanessa. Even through your conversation with her, your eyes flit over to Logan’s who keeps his gaze on you. It makes you blush, the way his eyes make you feel like you’re the only person in the room. You both give each other a small smile before looking away. 

“How about some music, hm?” Vanessa says, leading you towards the music player and pressing play. She smiles instantly, arms raising up in the air as her body sways to the beat of the song.

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May I guess you'd say What can make me feel this way?

Slowly, you dare to look at Logan who’s already looking at you. You can see the way his hand grips the neck of the beer bottle, unbothered by Wade and Vanessa who begin to dance in the middle of the living room among the other guests he has over. Instead, he’s staring at you as you lean against the wall. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

Logan sees the corners of your lips turn upwards, sees the crinkles at the corner of your eyes begin to form, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Everyone else seems to fade in the background until all he can see is you. His girl. 

I've got so much honey, the bees envy me I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees Well, I guess you'd say What can make me feel this way?

You bite your lower lip and turn on your heel, disappearing down the dim-lit hallway. Logan sets his beer on the coffee table before he begins making his way to you. For once, he doesn’t want to hide the way he’s feeling. You give him hope, give him the confidence he never knew he had. He gently reaches out for you and you turn around, eyes gazing up at him. Logan lets out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. You stare up at him, the song filtering down the hallway you both are standing in as he gently reaches up to tuck a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear. His mouth parts when he feels you lean into his touch. 

“Were you gonna stand in that corner all night starin’ at me, bub?” he whispers quietly, loud enough for only you to hear. 

“I’d stand there all night waiting for you, Logan,” you respond. You part your own lips, feeling his thumb shakily brush along your lower lip. “I think we both know that.”

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

“You realize what you do to me?” he asks. “The way you look at me…” Logan steps closer to you when he feels your own hand move to his chest, nimble fingers playing with the buttons. “I’m not a good man, bub. I’m the–”

“Worst Wolverine,” you finish for him. “Yeah, I know. You and Wade like to remind me.” 

“It’s true.” 

“All I see is a man who’s trying to make things better,” you reply. “Trying to make his life better with the second chance he’s been given.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighs, eyes and hand dropping momentarily.

“That your opinion?” 

“Just statin’ facts, sweetheart.” 

Then, he lets out a quiet gasp when he feels your hand come up to rest on his cheek. He looks at you, his eyes searching your own. Logan feels his pulse quicken at your touch—the way your thumb brushes across his jawline, soft and delicate, tender and light, gentle and grounding. 

He shuts his eyes and for a moment, all he can see are the people he failed in his old universe—dead and all because of him. It shakes him to his core; he can’t run away from his past, can’t run away from the terrible things he’s done. 

But then you say his name and it brings him back to reality. It dispels all of the inner demons that always keeps him up at night. He no longer sees his old universe. All he can see, all he can feel is you. 

“Logan,” you repeat quietly. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with your own. So kind and warm, soft and inviting. You were his peace. You were his second chance. 

You were his girl. 

“Yeah, bub?” he finally answers, voice shaky. 

“You’ve got me,” you whisper. “You’ll always have me.” 

“But–”

You shake your head and click your tongue, interrupting him. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

He lets out a breath and slowly leans forward until his forehead lightly touches your own. He brushes his nose against your own as he hears you inhale sharply. Slowly, Logan’s arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against him as your arms wrap around his shoulders. He feels safe—here in your arms, is where he belongs. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

The song continues as both you and Logan stare into each other’s eyes, swaying side to side in each other’s arms. His eyes fall shut briefly when he feels your lips press against his cheek and his hold on you tightens even further. Nothing and no one else mattered. All he needed was you. All he ever needed was you.

His girl. 

Logan pulls back to look down at you, lips inches from each other. You lean in slowly, hands playing with the hair at his nape. 

Until Wade turns on the light to the hallway and begins clapping loudly, breaking you and Logan out of the moment.

“Fucking finally!” he exclaims with a grin. “Told y’all it would work. Am I the best cupid or what?”

Logan keeps his arm around you as he looks at Wade from the end of the hallway. He narrows his eyes and then glances down in your direction. You’re smiling, lower lip pulled between your teeth as you bury your face against the side of his neck. His own lips form into a small smile and he gently presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Wanna get outta here?” he whispers into your ear. 

“I hear my apartment is not that far from here,” you tease. 

Logan smiles. “Lead the way, baby.” 

You take his hand, lace your fingers with his own immediately, and lead him down the hallway past Wade and towards the front door. Logan looks at Wade and gives him one nod—an unspoken gesture of gratitude that has Wade jumping up and down in excitement. 

When you both finally leave Wade’s apartment to go to your own across the hall, Wade lets out a contented sigh and brings his hands to his chest. “I just love love.” 

And Logan can’t help but keep you close to him, the song playing on repeat in his mind. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

[spideyhexx]

A miscellaneous night with mr coriolanus snow

this is longer than it was meant to be but also happy bday to me for writing😭enjoy :)

Coriolanus internally winced at the state of the elevator when he gestured for you to walk into the lobby of his apartment building. He was hoping all day that it would be magically fixed by maintenance, but he should have known better. 

He brushes his hair back at his left side and clears his throat, gesturing towards the stairs, “We’ll have to take those, I apologize.”

“No worries. We need the walking after taking the trolley,” you chuckle and nudge your elbow into his side, letting him take the lead. 

Coriolanus tries his hardest not to touch the spot on his side that you touched, afraid it’ll make his cheeks flush more than they already are. He manages a small laugh in response to your words. He had been adamant the two of you take the trolley since it was dark out and then adamant that he paid for you both. It was his last two tokens. Something he’ll tell himself tomorrow was a slip-up, but for now it was the best decision he could have made. 

You typically studied with him in the library after classes, but as of late, Coriolanus found talking about anything and everything with you to be more than splendid. Perhaps it’s because you knew of the Snow's state and never made a snide comment about it. Or the way your posture was ever so perfect. The way your leg crossed over the other, poised gracefully more times than not. There was an air of elegance about you, yet the way you spoke so kindly to him, so interested in him, reminded him of something warm and comforting. Not the fake elegance that many of his Capitol peers put on to form alliances and kiss-up to the ones above them. No. You were genuine, he decided, a long while ago. 

When the two of you reach his door, he takes the key out and turns it in the lock, silently praying that his grandmother was asleep already. To his luck, neither her or his cousin are in sight, and he locks the door behind him after you step in, setting the keys in a small dish tray in the foyer. 

“We can go to my room if you uh…,” he trails off as you look around the living space with a curious glint in your eye. 

Your eyes find the stained glass portrait of his father and he almost wants to yell your name to bring your attention to…to what? The fireplace? Dirty. The couch? Stiff. Himself? Too conceited. 

But you don’t speak a word on it and he breathes a sigh of relief. Your eyes fall on the stray mannequin draped in some dark blue fabrics and a smile graces your lips, “I suspect this is Tigris’ doing?”

“Yes. Her friend lent her some fabrics to mess with, but she hasn’t made a choice on what to do yet exactly. I don’t know why this is out here,” Coriolanus says as he takes a few steps closer to be at your side. 

“There’s good light in here,” you suggest, glancing to the windows where you can see the dilapidated building across the street. 

Coriolanus nods and follows your eyesight. He shifts on his heels, then toes, hands clasped to the strap of his book bag, “If I’m not doing my reading in my bedroom, it’s usually out here.”

The grin you give him almost makes him forget why he invited you over. Ah, yes. He had told you he had an edition of a history book written by your great uncle, that you so desperately wanted to get your hands on. Your family had none (because said uncle went rogue and joined the districts). Coriolanus is not sure why he had the book in his possession in the first place. It had to have been at the Academy and he forgot to return it, but after the uncle fled to whatever district he left for, they threw out any and all books written by the man. 

Part of him thinks he should be concerned as to why you want the book, but he’s read it himself. There’s nothing radical there that could turn you into something else to his memory. He offered to give the book to you. Coriolanus planned on bringing it to class the next day to give to you but you insisted it would be better to hand it off privately. He had a sneaking suspicion you just did not want to go home, but he didn’t push. 

At first, he was hesitant to let you come to his apartment. He had a multitude of plans in place to specifically keep his friends from not coming to his apartment. But he couldn’t find it in himself to follow any of them when it involved you. 

When he realizes it’s been silent for too long, he clears his throat, “My room is just this way,” and walks down the hall, wincing to himself at the creaky floorboards. 

He turns the knob and at first, the door doesn’t open. Coriolanus pushes his shoulder against his door as subtly as he can, which pushes it open and his cheeks heat up at your small chuckle. 

His room is not messy, but nothing to write home about. The only thing a little messy is his dresser, which had a drawer open a shirt hanging out of it that he quickly, subtly, pushes into the drawer and closes it. 

“Oh my god,” you say and he freezes, wondering what he’s left out that warrants that reaction. 

He watches you walk over to his bed and point at the stuffed dog that lies next to his pillow. He’d like to be swallowed whole right about now. 

“That’s so cute. He needs a wash though.”

You think it’s cute? Oh, he’s in over his head. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he needs a wash, I guess,” Coriolanus mutters, putting his book bag down on his desk chair and watching you carefully pick it up. 

“Does he have a name?”

“Horace.”

“Naturally,” you mumble, holding the stuffed dog up as though you are examining it. “I like him.”

“Just don’t go telling everyone at school, they’ll have a whole laugh about it,” he chuckles. He’s trying to come off as joking, but he’s also maybe completely serious. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Coryo, I won’t mention it.” You put the dog down gently next to his pillow, patting it’s head twice, then you set your book bag on the floor. 

He gestures to his room once your eyes meet his, “I know this isn’t much but-”

“Coryo.” 

The look you give him makes him shut his mouth and he lets his shoulders ease only the slightest bit. He barely realized how tense he had been. 

“It’s still your room. That’s nice. I don’t care what it looks like,” you tell him and each word hits right through to his heart. 

He nods and then clears his throat, turning to his small bookshelf to find the book for you, “It might be a little dusty, but I haven’t touched it since I read it.” Pulling out the gray spine of the book, he blows over it, grimacing at the dust and then brushes off the cover, handing it over to you. 

Coriolanus feels a sense of pride in his chest at how happy you look, clutching it to yourself and then looking at the forward, “Thank you, Coryo. I’ll let you cheat off my biology exam for this.”

He chuckles, “I don’t need that.”

“I know,” you say, and a lull falls over the two of you. For the first time, he sees you be the one to clear your throat awkwardly and you bend down to grab your bag. 

Coriolanus thinks himself a respectful man, but he does look at your thighs as you do. He rationalizes that it’s fine because that one time in seventh grade he was pantsed and you saw his thighs so who cares if now he’s-

“Coryo.” 

He blinks and returns his gaze to your face, “yes?” 

“Is it cool if I stay a little longer?”

He’s nodding before he’s speaking, but maybe he should have thought it through. Maybe it was bad to have you stay. Distraction. That’s what you are, really. Or are you? You do study with him and the studying has definitely helped him over the past year. So is it really a distraction? 

Staying a little longer turns into two hours passing.

Coriolanus tells you about his neighbors across the street and how he loves people watching from his window. You relay your own people watching stories and he shares laughs harder than he has in recent weeks. 

You’ve migrated to his bed, feet on the ground, but your back against the stiff mattress. Coriolanus sits backwards in his desk chair, facing you, and after another bout of silence, he says, “That cannot be comfortable.”

“It is if you tell yourself it is.”

He snorts. Since when does he do that?

“No. I know my bed. That’s not comfortable,” he sighs, “I’m sure your bed is miles better.”

Your face twists up into an emotion he cannot decipher. Distaste? Disgust? Contempt? Whatever it is, he feels as though he’s said something wrong, so he jumps to say, “I didn’t mean like-”

“It is more comfortable, but I’m okay here.”

Coriolanus wonders if he’s on the precipice of learning something new about you. He’s never been to your residence. Only heard of your high-achieving father and high-achieving mother. You rarely talked about them, other than to occasionally complain about their pressure on you. 

“Will they be worried about where you are right now? Your parents, I mean,” he says in the softest tone he can muster. He prepares what to say in case you blow him off. 

“I called them while we were in the library. When you went to the bathroom.”

“Ah,” he nods, “And?”

“And…they don’t mind. Though I should go back before midnight,” you glance over at his small clock on his nightstand. “I would just rather be anywhere else tonight. It's too stuffy there.”

Coriolanus wants to laugh. Stuffy? In your nice, expensive, big apartment? “Why’s that?”

“Cause they just…,” you trail off and gesture aimlessly with your hand, “they’re always a lot, okay? But on my birthday? Fuck, they’re even worse. I would much rather spend it with someone I like, hence,” you gesture again, but to him this time. 

Coriolanus wants to celebrate the small victory that you like him, but he pauses. “Birthday? It’s your birthday?”

You turn your head so you’re able to see him while still laying down, “yeah.”

His eyes widen then he chuckles, “and you didn’t mention?” He feels bad he didn’t know. He should have, right? But the fact you hadn’t told him and he didn’t see anyone mentioning your birthday today tells him you seldom want people to know. 

“Didn’t feel the need to.”

“Right. Well, happy birthday to you,” he says, his voice having a slight sing-songy lilt to it at the end and it gets you laughing. He can’t wait to tell Tigris about this tomorrow.

“Thank you, Coryo. And I meant it. I’m glad to be spending it here with you,” you say and he watches your hands fiddle like you’re nervous. 

A rush of boldness overcomes him and he stands from the desk chair and plops down on his bed right next to you, his arm fully against yours. Shoulder to shoulder. Coriolanus stares at the ceiling, inhaling deep, “I wish I knew how to bake. I’d make you…I don’t know…double-double chocolate cake?”

“You remembered!” 

He laughs and nods, recalling the very chocolatey cake you had three slices of at a party the Plinth’s were throwing a couple of months ago. He wonders if that’s the day he decided you were worth being distracted. 

“Do you remember my favorite pie?” 

You narrow your eyes to think, turning to look at him. He mimics the face you’re making, which causes you both to dissolve into giggles. 

“Blackberry. Or pecan,” you finally say and he nods, “Yes to both.”

His index finger twitches and touches your fingers as he studies your face. The soft smile on your lips and the slight tiredness in your eyes. Your hair is less kept than it had been earlier, which feels so unlike you, but you are being so you right now that it doesn’t matter in the slightest. He’s sure his own curls are out of order. 

Coriolanus keeps lightly lingering his fingers on yours, his voice a drop quieter, “Do you ever think that…everything you’ve worked hard for…can be lost because you…care too much?”

You look taken aback at the question at first, then you settle. His heart jumps when you let your hand hold to his instead of the dance your fingers had been doing. “I guess sometimes I do. Caring a lot is painful in many ways but…it’s also…”

“Nice,” he finishes in a whisper. Coriolanus doesn’t intend to look at your lips, but he does and he’s sure you notice. 

“It’s nice and…shows others how passionate you truly are.” You decide, playing with his fingers instead of your own. 

“But isn’t it also a weakness? Something others can pick out and use against you?”

Your brow furrows slightly in thought, “Sure…but you just have to be smarter than those against you so they can’t exploit it. And I happen to know for a fact that you, Coriolanus Snow, are one of the smartest people I have and will ever meet.”

The weight in his chest melts and smiles, not sure how to respond to such a grand compliment, other than saying, “Snow lands on top.”

It makes you laugh. A full laugh that has you gripping to his hand firmly and somehow bringing the two of you closer until you rest your chin near his shoulder, “You’re aware that that is extremely cheesy, right?”

“Oh, always,” he mumbles, and takes that risk of looking at your lips in a more obvious way, and he tries to convince himself that he’s imagining it when you shift closer. Your nose brushes and he envisions a world where he can kiss you whenever he wants. Where he can make you happy and laugh the way you just did forever. 

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“I’m incredibly self-aware,” Coriolanus mutters, as your nose brushes and nudges to his. It’s like a dance of who’s gonna make the jump first. 

You grin and bite your cheek to lessen it. His heart feels like bursting out of his chest and he wishes he wasn’t holding your hand because he’s definitely getting clammy. But he can’t think of that. There’s no way Coriolanus can dwell on the other parts of his body when your lips are so close that he can feel your breath on his lips. That he can see your eyes go through the thought process, wondering if you should kiss him or if you should let him kiss you first. 

You’re not sure who does it first, but your lips meet in a gentle touch. Hesitant on both ends, yet searing with an undeniable surge of something warm. Something satisfying. Coriolanus is the one to deepen it. Squeezing to your hand (for his sake), he tilts his head and kisses you deeper, memorizing the feel of your lips on his. When you shift on the bed to turn more towards him, he doesn't break the kiss, not even when he feels your hand rest near the collar of his shirt, like you’re tugging him in. 

When you inevitably break for a breath, he chases after you, only to pause and clear his throat from embarrassment. 

“Sorry, I was just-” Your lips find his once more and Coriolanus melts into it, letting you bring his hand to the side of your face right when your tongue slides along his lower lip. He hopes he’s not a bad kisser, but when you hum into his mouth and rub your hand to his neck, the confidence surges in him. 

He’s not sure how long the two of you kiss, on and off, tongue and no tongue, wandering hands that never quite go to places more intimate. But when you break off and duck your head into his neck, resting against his side, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around you and bring you closer. His lips find the top of your head, kissing there, and rubbing your arm. 

When you fall asleep against him, he fights with himself over whether to wake you and get you home safely, or to let you stay there in his arms. Coriolanus will mull it over in a couple of minutes. For now, he relishes in the moment. Who knows if he’ll let himself have it again. 

[barsformars]

jealousy

//

g - angst, comfort

p - seonghwa x reader

w.c - 929

t.w - reader is insecure and experiences some retroactive jealousy

a.n - it is tough, and ive been there, but insecurity really hurts both parties so! i try to keep that in mind

//

seonghwa notices the way your gaze on him changes through the few weeks you've been together. you used to look at him in awe, adoration and love but by the next week, the adoration have dimmed and by the following week, the awe have turned into envy. and the envy turned into furrowed eyebrows and heavy eyelids. seonghwa was afraid if he looked any further down he would see the corner of your lips twitch in displeasure. do you not love him anymore? has he become ugly in your eyes already?

"love?"

"yeah?" you replied half-heartedly as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, making a mental note of every flaw you had. worse still, you secretly compared yourself to his exes. it consumed every inch of you and haunted you every waking moment, compelling you to go onto their social media pages, zooming into every detail of them. what made their eyes so beautiful that seonghwa fell in love with them? what made their nose so cute that he wanted his kids to have it too? what made their lips so captivating that he wanted to make them smile all the time?

and why then, you? anyone close to seonghwa knows he has a type. it is one thing to be the ghost of someone else, but it is another to be the complete opposite of what he loves.

seonghwa waits for you to turn around but you don't, still too preoccupied with your thoughts to even give him a second of your time.

“love,” he said it louder this time, snapping you out of your self-hating mind, “can i have your attention please?”

you turn to look at your partner who was already under the blanket, skin all glowy from his night time routine, hair perfectly framing his chiseled face. how effortless. you were so consumed by his appearance that you don’t notice how sadness was gnawing at him.

seonghwa tries hard to phrase the words correctly in his head, because he doesn't want you to start detesting his heart too. but the silence in the room becomes too unbearable and the question escapes him before he could think twice.

"why do you look at me with so much disgust nowadays?"

your eyes widened in surprise. you didn’t realise you were being that transparent.

“i’m sorry, i-i love you…it’s just,” you blurted before quickly stopping. how do you explain yourself without sounding immature and nonsensical?

dejection has completely taken over your lover’s face as he tries to comprehend what you are going through. it’s hard to feel loved when you have turned so cold but as he is, there is always a small matchstick in seonghwa’s heart to keep it warm enough for others. he beckons you over to join him in bed, his arms wide open for you.

maybe it’s the guilt or ego that has you frozen in place, eyes glued to the floor as your brain tries to scramble possible ways to say it without sounding confrontational. but as they say, birds of a feather flock together and you speak your mind as seonghwa did.

“you wish i look like your exes, don’t you?”

seonghwa’s jaw is left agape at your question.

“i know, i know you love me because i’m smart and kind and funny all that yada yada yada,” you quickly followed up with an elaboration with the adjectives he usually described you with, “but my appearance is subpar, right?” you concluded on your own.

seonghwa don’t know who planted these seeds in your head because never once has any of those thoughts crossed his mind. sure, you did look pretty different from his past partners, but that was purely coincidence.

“love, just because my exes look kind of the same does not mean i only appreciate those physical traits,” seonghwa explained.

“of course you would say that,” you retorted, “and besides, you think im way below your league, right?”

seonghwa shook his head immediately, “if i truly thought that, why would i be with you?” at this point, he was already slowly making his way towards you, his indoor slippers shuffling against the wooden floor.

“i don’t know, and i’m perpl-“ as he stood in front of you, seonghwa reached out to cup your face in his slender hands, hushing you. his heart shatters when you shun him, intentionally or not, but he catches you nevertheless. gently lifting your head up to look at you, his shattered heart crumbles even more when a teardrop rolls down your cheek.

“love,” seonghwa calls out to you firmly this time. “why do you have such thoughts? how can i make you feel more loved?” even at moments like this, when you are accusing him on hurtful things, he could let slide and shift the focus on you. and you realise how stupid your thoughts have been.

the tears start gushing down and they don’t stop. “i’m sorry, i love you seonghwa…” he pulls you into his chest and pats your head lovingly. he heaved a sigh as he tries to patch up his own heart too. it really does hurt him to see you like this.

“my love, we all know that there are plenty of very attractive people out there in the world,” seonghwa said when you cooled down a little.

“however, there is a reason why you chose to be with me, and i chose to be with you. it’s not wrong to want to look better, and i appreciate it, but don’t ever doubt my feelings towards and for you.”

[kathlare]

don’t wanna break up again

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie wrestles with the weight of her emotions during a vulnerable therapy session, reflecting on the strains of her relationship with Rodrigo and the echoes of heartbreaks past.

Wordcount: 1.4 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

May 12th, 2023 - New York City, NY

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a quiet reminder of time passing as Amelie sat in the plush chair of her therapist’s office. Her legs were curled up beneath her, her oversized sweater draped loosely over her frame. She toyed with the edge of the sleeve, her mind wandering as she tried to gather her thoughts.

—You’ve been quiet today, Amelie,— Dr. Wilson said gently, her soft accent grounding the room. —What’s on your mind?

Amelie glanced up at her, the older woman’s steady gaze both comforting and disarming.

—I don’t know where to start,— Amelie admitted, her voice low. —Everything feels... heavy lately. The tour, my voice, Rodrigo... it’s like I’m juggling too much, and I’m dropping everything.—

Dr. Wilson nodded, her pen resting idly on the notepad in her lap.

—Let’s focus on one thing at a time. You mentioned Rodrigo. How are things between you two?—

Amelie let out a humorless laugh, leaning back into the chair and rubbing her temples.

—They’re... fine, I guess? No, not fine. That’s not true. It’s... complicated,— she said, her words tumbling out in a rush.

—Complicated how?— Dr. Wilson prompted.

Amelie sighed, her hands dropping into her lap.

—We barely talk anymore. When we do, it’s surface-level stuff. I’m always on the road, and he’s busy with his own things. Half the time, I feel like I’m trying to force something that isn’t even there anymore.—

She paused, her throat tightening as the words she’d been avoiding finally escaped.

—I love him, I do. But it’s like we’re living in two completely different worlds now. And I don’t know if we can keep pretending like that’s not true.—

Dr. Wilson watched her carefully, giving her a moment to sit with her emotions before speaking.

—Do you feel like he’s still a priority in your life? Or are you trying to hold onto something out of habit, or fear of letting go?—

Amelie stared at the ceiling, blinking away tears that threatened to fall.

—I don’t know. Maybe both? I mean, he was there for me when I was filming Wicked. He was my constant when everything else was chaos. And I love him for that. But now...— She trailed off, biting her lip.

Dr. Wilson leaned forward slightly.

—Now what, Amelie?— she asked gently.

Amelie’s chest felt tight, her hands fidgeting in her lap as her emotions began to spill over.

—Now it just feels like I’m holding onto a memory of what we were instead of what we are. And I don’t want to admit it because... because I don’t want to go through it all again,— she said, her voice breaking on the last word.

Dr. Wilson nodded, her expression calm and understanding.

—You don’t want to go through what, exactly?—

—I don’t want to break up again. I don’t want to feel that... that emptiness. That loneliness. I don’t want to start over. It hurts too much,— she whispered, wiping at her face with her sleeve.

Her therapist handed her a tissue, giving her a moment to compose herself before continuing.

Amelie took the tissue and pressed it against her face, her tears falling freely now. She didn’t try to stop them.

—It’s just... when Lando and I split...— Her voice caught, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to get the words out. —It was so fucking hard. I didn’t think I’d ever feel okay again. And even now, sometimes it still feels like I’m carrying pieces of that with me.—

Dr. Wilson gave her a moment before gently prompting, —What was the hardest part for you, Amelie?—

Amelie let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she clutched the tissue.

—All of it. Losing him as my best friend, not having him there to talk to about stupid things or big things. The way it ended... how he just gave up on us because I was ‘too busy.’ Like I didn’t matter enough to him to try. It made me feel like I wasn’t worth the effort. Like I was disposable.—

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she shook her head, her tears flowing harder now.

Dr. Wilson leaned forward slightly, her tone soft but steady.

—That’s a lot to carry, Amelie. And it’s understandable that you’re afraid of going through something like that again. But let me ask you this: when you look back on your relationship with Lando, do you still feel like it was your fault?—

Amelie shook her head immediately, though the tears didn’t stop.

—No. I know it wasn’t my fault. I’ve done the work, I’ve talked it through. I was busy because I was building something for myself. I had dreams, and he couldn’t handle not being the center of my attention all the time. I know that now. But back then... God, back then it felt like I was broken. Like I wasn’t enough.—

Her voice dropped to a whisper, the vulnerability in her words cutting through the room like a knife.

—He didn’t even try, Dr. Wilson. He just... gave up. And I think that’s what hurt the most. Because I never would have given up on him.—

Dr. Wilson’s expression remained calm, but her eyes held a deep empathy.

—And now, with Rodrigo, do you feel like you’re the one holding on while he’s letting go?—

Amelie’s chest tightened, and she looked down at her lap, the truth of the question hitting her like a punch to the gut.

—Maybe,— she admitted, her voice barely audible. —But it���s different. Rodrigo isn’t giving up; he’s just... not there. It’s not intentional. It’s just life. We’re both so busy, and I don’t know if that’s something we can fix. I don’t even know if he wants to fix it.—

Her tears started falling again, and she clutched the tissue in her hand as though it were the only thing keeping her together.

—I don’t want to feel like this again. I don’t want to break up again, start over, feel like I’m losing a part of myself. I’ve been through it too many times, and I’m so fucking tired of it,— she said, her voice cracking.

Dr. Wilson let the silence settle for a moment, giving Amelie the space to feel what she needed to feel. Then she spoke, her voice gentle but firm.

—Amelie, it’s okay to feel tired. It’s okay to grieve what’s slipping away, even if it hasn’t fully ended yet. But what’s more important is understanding what you deserve. You’ve worked so hard to rebuild yourself after everything you’ve been through; Cameron, Lando, even Shawn before that. You deserve a relationship that supports you, not one that makes you question your worth or your place in someone’s life.—

Amelie nodded slowly, her tears still falling but her breathing beginning to steady.

—I know you’re right. I just... I don’t know if I’m strong enough to let go. Not again. Not now,— she admitted, her voice raw.

Dr. Wilson gave her a small, encouraging smile.

—You’re stronger than you think, Amelie. You’ve proven that time and time again. And letting go doesn’t mean failing. It means choosing yourself, your happiness, your peace.—

Amelie wiped her face, her hands trembling slightly.

—It’s just...— she started, her voice faltering. —When Cam died, I didn’t think I’d ever feel whole again. And then Lando came along, and it was like... like Cam had sent him to me. He was light and laughter when everything felt so dark. And when that ended, it was like losing Cam all over again.—

She pressed her hands to her face, her sobs breaking through.

—I thought Rodrigo would be different. I thought I could finally have something steady, something that didn’t hurt. But maybe I’m just not meant for that.—

Dr. Wilson’s voice was steady and kind, her words cutting through Amelie’s spiraling thoughts.

—You’re meant for love, Amelie. But love doesn’t have to come at the cost of your own peace. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let go of what’s no longer serving you, even if it hurts. It doesn’t mean you’re giving up. It means you’re making space for something better.—

Amelie nodded, though her tears didn’t stop. The weight in her chest felt as heavy as ever, but Dr. Wilson’s words planted a tiny seed of clarity in her heart.

—Do you think... if I let Rodrigo go, I’ll be okay?— she asked, her voice trembling.

Dr. Wilson’s expression softened, her gaze unwavering.

—I know you will be. Because you’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. You’re still standing. And no matter what happens, you’ll keep moving forward.—

Amelie let out a shaky breath, her tears slowing as she processed the words. She wasn’t ready to make a decision—not yet—but for the first time in a long time, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could survive this too.

[thatonetargaryen]

The Wolf and the Dragon

Masterlist

Part 7: An exception

cw; explicit language, mentions of extreme exhaustion, not proofread

……

Valaena stood stiffly in line with the many other women in training. Sweat collected on her brow as she waited in anticipation. All the women were staring straight forward—seemingly looking at nothing. Despite this, every time she looked away, she felt someone’s gaze burning into her.

She was short and lanky compared to the other soldiers. Her pale skin stood out like a sore thumb—a sign of her Targaryen roots. Her hair was done in a loose, hurried bun. And her tightly blinded breast were begging to be freed.

After was seemed like hours, the sound of footsteps echoed through the yard. The sound of silence was now even louder, and all the soldiers instinctively straightened—including Valaena.

When the princess caught sight of the woman, she didn’t know whether to be frightened or impressed.

She had heavily scarred, tanned brown skin. Her peppered hair was braided back into a tight bun that made Valaena wince as she gazed at it. Her lips were pressed in a firm line as her cold, grey eyes fell on each and every one of the soldiers. Her bindings wrapped tightly around her large chest and her muscles were probably the result of years of war and training. In her loose fitting pants—she could tell her legs were more toned than any man she’d ever seen.

She studied the women with a fierce gaze—yet passed them by without a word. She stopped when she met Valaena’s eye. The princess looked at her feet.

“It’s official— the General has really gone fuckin’ mad.”, her heavy Noxian accent weighed in every word she spoke.

“First, she thrust in a recruit—a fuckin’ Targaryen— when we are practically in the middle of training season. And she didn’t think to tell me until the night before. She’s practically asking for a spy to infiltrate the camp.”

The princess stayed silent, not being sure whether the woman was talking to her or herself. It seemed like both.

“She still has yet to tell me why you’re here…”

Before Valaena took a shaky breath to answer, she felt a finger press hard into her chest. The breath was nearly knocked out of her as she the woman got so close to her their noses were practically touching. She could feel her hot breath in her lashes.

“No matter. Before I teach you a damned thing—get one thing clear. Back at your little home, you’re a princess. Royalty. Here, you mean as much as the other peasants in Noxus. —if that. You have no titles, no rankings, not a damn dime to your name. When you leave, that might change. I doubt you’ll last long. But as long as you are under my command, in my camp, you are below me.”

Valaena fists tightened as she darted her gaze to the ground. Her words circulated in her mind, and the reality of the situation was finally coming to her. The woman took her finger and tapped the side of her head roughly.

“Do you understand, soldier?”

“Yes…”, Valaena trailed off, not knowing what to address her as.

The woman finally backed away, and spoke so everyone could clearly hear her. “You all already know this—but let me reiterate for the newbie. You are to address me as Sergeant Gold. Not Sergeant, not Gold—but Sergeant Gold. Any disrespect will not be tolerated and punished accordingly. The correct formation when your presence is requested is arms straight, fist closed, and feet together. Everything else you need to know will come to you naturally.”

She continued to speak, “We are four weeks into training—you’ll need some catching up to do. Hopefully one of our comrades can help you, ‘cause I ain’t slowing down. Since I wasted the ten minutes you should’ve had to do your morning drill, you’ll spend extra time with me during the evening. Thanks to your new friend…”

Groans were heard at the news of having to stay back extra time, and Valaena couldn’t feel anymore embarrassed.

“Well, ladies..why don’t we get started?”

…..

Veleana’s arms shook as she attempted to push herself off the ground. She didn’t remember how many push-ups she’d done—nor did she want to know.

Sergeant Gold went on and on about how you were ‘flimsy’ and ‘needed to gain muscles’. And the only way to do that was to do an extensive amount of exercise. The princess could feel her core burning as sweat dribbled down her chin.

It had been hours since she had a cup of water or a crumb of food. Her stomach being empty almost overshadowed the pain she was feeling.

She pushed her body back down, and up again. Her eyes darted to some of the other soldiers, who were doing exercises entirely different from hers. Obstacle courses, bare-handed spars, staff training.

“Eyes on me, soldier.”

Valaena looked back towards the Sergeant. She seems amused as she watched her struggle to pull herself back up. Her smile sends shivers down Valaena’s spine.

“Up, soldier.”

A wave of relief crashed over her—but she suppressed her sigh and resumed the expected stance.

The woman turned to the other soldiers as her voice echoed throughout the yard. “Gather ‘round, ladies. Time for the real training to begin.”

……

Valaena held two empty wooden buckets as she stood last in line. The ladies were currently filling up buckets of water. Whatever for, she didn’t know.

When it was finally her turn, she filled her two buckets. She struggled to lift them as her arms shook from the strain.

A staff was thrown as her feet. She stared at it with confusion, and looked to see the rest of the ladies were just as confused as her.

They all looked towards the General, “This is one of my favorite exercises we have here. You will place the two bucket handles on the staff, and lie the staff on your shoulders. It would do you good to remember—the water you are left with is all you are allowed to drink for tonight. Unless you want to drink your bath water, I suggest you not to waste a drop.”

The General proceeded to demonstrate what it should look like. She put each bucket on each end of the wooden staff, and placed it behind her head and on her shoulders. Despite how rough she was—not a drop spilled. She looked towards the mountains above. “We will carry these up this mountain. Then, and only then, will I allow you to drink your water. That is—if you have any. Prepare your staffs.”

The woman heeded her command as they put the bucket on the staff and on their shoulders. However, it was clear that Valaena was struggling as she tried to get the staff on her shoulders. When she finally did, she swayed side to side from the uneven amount.

The General laughed at the sight, “Stand straight, soldier.”

The command went in one ear and out the other. She continued to sway from side to side, thankfully, the General decided to ultimately ignore as she began to job up the mountain.

“Keep up, ladies!”

……

Valaena’s vision blurred as she struggled to keep up with the ladies. Her arms weakened, and her arms shook as she struggled to hold the buckets—which now held little water. She had spilled most of it.

The radiant sunlight beating down on her skin didn’t help. She was dehydration, tired, hungry, and now being cooked alive in broad daylight. She could no longer see her fellow soldiers as her legs shook.

Her vision dimmed as she finally collapsed. She fell to the hot ground beneath her as rocks embedded themselves into her skin. Her body had given out completely.

The General looked behind her as she counted her soldiers—who were all keeping up nicely. However, her movements halted as she noticed there was one missing. She huffed as she realized she saw no head of white hair amongst the crowd.

“Iqra!”, she called out. The woman’s head swiveled as she turned to the Sergeant. “Yes, Sergeant Gold?”

She motioned her head behind her, “Retrieve your comrade.”

Iqra turned on her heel as she descended down the mountain. She stopped when she found Valaena at her feet—sweat dripping from her body and frizzy white hair covering the ground around her. Even in this state, she was beautiful.

“Get up, Valaena. We’re not even halfway up yet.”, she said as she touched her with the tip of her foot.

Valaena stayed still on the ground. She groaned as her muscles and skin ached.

Iqra sighed and set her water and staff down. She picked up Valaena by one of her forearms with ease. She turned behind her, picked up the buckets, and placed the staff over both of their shoulders. She chuckled as she looked over her reddened, tired face. “Rough first day, huh?”

Valaena didn’t share her amusement. She simply nodded tiredly. Iqra smiled, “You’ll get used to it. Come on, I’ll share my water with you once we get to the top. We’ll be there before you know it.”

The princess couldn’t help but give the girl a small smile. She didn’t know how to thank her for this—but she promised herself she would.

……

“The girl is weak.”, Sergeant Gold complained as she nursed a pint of ale. She sat before Ambessa, a woman she had grown to admire—and fear—despite her being years younger than herself.

Ambessa chuckled, “She’s only been with you for a week. She’s not going to be up to your standards in that amount of time.”

Sergeant Gold gave her an unconvincing look, “Why did you even bother to put her in camp? She’s a flimsy little princess who spent her whole life having a countless amount of people wiping her arse. She could be a spy for all I know—ready to give up information to her incestuous family the moment she leaves camp.”

Ambessa shook her head, and her deep red locks moved with her. To be honest—she didn’t have a real answer to why she assigned you to training. You’d asked for it, and despite the risks, she gave you the position. It was something about the fire in your eyes are you looked at her, how it refused to dim despite who she was—and who you were to her. It was a feeling that intrigued her, yet scared her all the same. It was why she sent you off to work under her, knowing you had potential.

But Ambessa didn’t say that. In fact, she didn’t say anything as she turned away and walked out of the room.

……

Next chapter is a time skip~

I love young Ambessa 🎀

[sur-i-ki]

Love You Anyways

(ok, writing is a little different here, cuz im trying smth new. also ik how to write to an extent, these notes js help relieve some of that burden i put on myself lmfao)

16/20

He was so sure he was going to win. The world tilted on its axis. He was so sure.

The ground surged up to cradle him in her arms. He can feel your thundering footsteps as you near him, your body casting a shadow on his as you approach.

"You idiot!"

And what a sight for sore eyes. Sword gleaming like a shard of moonlight as you sheath it with practiced ease. Face covered in dirt, skin pale, but glowing with power regardless. Your eyes blazing with fury as they look upon him. And something else flickers in them. Something he shouldn't name. Something dangerous for the both of you.

He takes in a shuddering breath as the crowd roars in anticipation.

"Careful, rival of mine, or one might think you care for me." He coughs out. Space. You both need space.

Your skin is flushed, chest heaving with the aftermath of the fight. A fight between two prisoners. You bite your lip as you kneel by him. He wants to kiss it. God, was his side always that sore?

"Shut up." You seethe, finally reaching him, calloused hands paradoxically gentle with care, even as the harshness of your words tear into him, "You could've easily blocked that! Where do you get off humiliating me like this?" And he knows, gods, he knows it's the pain speaking, but it hurts him regardless.

Last night rings through his body, a once-unstoppable war machine now ravaged with the aftershocks of brutal punishment. His body is now a map of bruises and cuts, the consequence of denying to fight you. He can't hide his wince as you accidentally press against a wound. Horrified understanding flashes across your face, your urgency matching his own as you lock eyes. Eyes that could ruin him. Have ruined him.

Space. He needs space. He needs time.

"That's not how you use that expression, love." Not for someone you want to kill. " His voice is loud, volume calculated. Your face pinches with annoyance, but he can see the undercurrent of concern, "It was either you or me." this was for comfort, pure vulnerability that comes with weeks of imprisonment.

The confession comes out as a whisper. Fury ignites through your bones. He feels it. That's what you are- a firestorm temptress that lays waste to her surroundings.

You've always been possessive. He hopes it survived the brainwashing you've gone through.

"You're safe now, rival of mine. Give 'em hell." The world darkens at the edges of his vision as you nod with steely duty, standing tall, a blazing light against the encroaching darkness.

He smirks, even as his body aches. You're going to ruin them. Then you're going to come for him. He pushes himself to the edge of the arena, as you lift off the ground, planning his escape. The cold, unforgiving walls of the arena loom over him.

Who knows what you'll do when you realize your greatest enemy loves you? Not that was always the case. Your ruthlessness would never let you ignore that, would it? He would know. He's seen it. Never against him, but he's seen it regardless.

He needs time. Enough time for you to remember the truth. The past rushes through his veins—moments of you fighting with him, not against him. Of midnight bickering over the leftovers, of laughter.

He tilts his head back against the blood-soaked walls. At least, you never were the brains of the team. He can use that.

"See you soon, love."

He disappears from his prison. You slaughter your way out of yours.

But as you watch him slip away from the corner of your eye, a horrifying urge rises within you to follow. An urge to protect, to demand answers. Why his face haunts you, twisted in ways you don't know, don't understand. Why, when you think of him when exhausted, it's with safety and care, and something you don't want to name, rather than the hate you should feel.

In due time, you will kill him. That is fact.

And with that thought, you turn back. Back against the grotesque faces of your former prisoners.

But he was never theirs to torture. You will exact the price from them. After all, no one touches what's yours.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[yanderejustforyou]

Sweet Addiction

Izuku x reader I've just been thinking about how I could see Izuku getting his darling drugged up and addicted to being around him.

The glass trembled slightly in your hands, the dark liquid inside swirling gently. The warmth of the drink matched the heat of his gaze—familiar, but there was something more in it now. Something intense. Izuku stood in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours as if trying to read every flicker of emotion that passed across your face.

"Go ahead," he whispered, his voice barely a murmur, coaxing. "Drink."

You hesitated for only a moment, before lifting the glass to your lips. The taste was sweet, richer than anything you had imagined, almost intoxicating in its depth. It slid down your throat with ease, a slow burn that warmed you from the inside. The sensation lingered, much like the way his eyes followed every movement you made.

His hand reached out, brushing your hair from your face in a motion so tender it felt almost too intimate. He didn’t speak, just observed as you took another sip, the silence between you thick with something unspoken. Something you couldn’t ignore, but also couldn’t fully comprehend.

“You like it,” Izuku said, his voice low, and there was a possessive edge in his tone that you hadn’t noticed before. The words were a statement, not a question. It wasn’t just the drink he was referring to, though. You both knew that.

You didn’t answer right away, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. You took another sip, the taste more addictive with every drop, and as you did, you could feel his gaze never leave you. It wasn’t just the sweetness of the liquid. It was the way it seemed to bring you closer to him, as if each sip bound you tighter in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

He stepped forward, his presence filling the space between you, the air thick with his scent, the warmth of his body radiating towards you. He didn’t need to say anything more; the way he looked at you said it all. There was a quiet possessiveness in his expression, something dark and intense, but beneath it—a strange tenderness.

“More?” Izuku asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your ear. His hand gently took the glass from your fingers, replacing it with his own. You couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. You didn’t want to.

You nodded, just slightly, and Izuku’s smile deepened, a mix of affection and something darker flickering in his eyes. He wasn’t just offering you the drink. He was offering you something else—his care, his protection, his control. He was offering a part of himself, and you were too far gone to pull away.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” he murmured, his voice like silk against your skin. “I can give you more, whenever you want. You’ll never have to feel empty again.”

You could feel the weight of his words, how much they meant, and yet there was a cold, sharp edge beneath the softness. It was an unspoken promise—one you could never escape. You didn’t know if you wanted to.

He cupped your face gently, lifting your chin so your eyes met his. “You’re mine now,” he whispered, not a command, but a certainty, something that left no room for doubt.

The words weren’t new, but tonight, they carried more weight than before. There was something in the way he said them, in the way he held you, that made it impossible to look away, impossible to resist.

[erasinglines]

where did they go from here? he didn’t have an answer for that. now that he thinks about it, he never has. all they’ve been doing is taking it day-by-day, doing whatever they could within their power to just figure it out. neither were perfect at it, in fact, miller’s been entirely flawed in this process, clinging to whatever remnants were still between them, no matter how crumbled and shattered they had become. it’s better than not trying, he thinks— to have allowed the physical distance, the pain of seeing her with someone else, get the better of him. would rather fight everyday, tooth and nail, to remain in her life, if that’s where she wanted him. he would do anything she asked. and of course he wishes this had all been different for them; that he’d found a job locally, instead, that he’d fought harder when she insisted that he just go, aim to reach dreams that came to fruition, that only ever felt possible, because of her. it wasn’t the cards they’d been dealt, though, and that’s a painful truth he’ll always have to live with, the ache if it radiating in his chest, cracking his ribcage. at least, now, they were both willing to make this work, as best they could, no matter how confusing, how difficult, it’s all become. that’s why there’s relief twining into the smile that tugs at his mouth— at least they had this, here, time spent together, grounding them in a moment that will soon be lost. “ i always want you around, too— there’s never been a day when that hasn’t been in the case. ” there never would be, either. and even if his desires run much deeper than that, even if he isn’t entirely sure he can only be her friend, he chooses not to speak on it, knowing how much damage he’s already done, tonight. “ and i’ll try to not make things too hard on you, hm? even if i can’t help it… not sure what you want me to do when it comes to just standing, but i’ll do it. i’ll even learn to keep my mouth shut— maybe they can be my new year’s resolutions. ” he teases, corners of his mouth only lifting until it’s a full-pledged grin, across his countenance. it’s safe here, again, this space between them, which only emboldens him all the more, turning his hand until he can lace their fingers together, feeling the jolts of electricity that course between them. “ i happen to like your unfiltered thoughts, though, ” even if they’re hard to hear. “ actually, maybe that should be one of your resolutions; think i want to hear more of them. ” because this streak of honesty, as difficult as it has been to hear, at least meant he knew where they stood. and he hears it at the same time she does, the echoes of voices inside, counting down to the start of a new year. it cuts him off from saying that he always wants her, always has, and he doesn’t know if that’ll ever go away. he doesn’t make any effort to move from this spot, though, gaze soft, knowing, as he traces the contours of her face, all the parts of her that he has memorised. “ yeah, we probably should… fletcher will be looking for you too, right? probably freaking out that he’s lost sight of you. ” his words aren’t bitter either, the strain of their night dissipating with each moment that passes. his gaze ends up at her lips eventually, drawing around their outline, a small step closer without thinking twice about it, free hand reaching for her hip, fingers splayed along it’s most prominent part, 3, 2, 1…

despite their harsh words and jilted whispers to each other tonight, at least one good thing came from it— their newfound honesty with each other. it wasn’t easier, per say, to know these things about each other and their respective relationships, to hear how unhappy they both were with a new partner, but she can’t deny how relieved she feels to know it’s not one-sided, that neither of them could really let go of the other, no matter how hard they try, or who they find themselves with. it seemed impossible, really, considering just how ingrained he is in her soul, in every fiber of her being. it had always been like that, since the moment they met; almost as if it was meant to be this way, that he was the only one who was ever capable of filling that empty space inside of her. it’s just another reason why she hates that he ever questioned it, that he entertained the thought that her and fletcher’s relationship was better than what they had, based on some lie she spewed just to rile him up in a moment of weakness. even then, she wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t forgive her for it, if she somehow ruined this, that day, and in all the moments since, without even realizing it. but once she sees him step closer to her, too, and hears the timbre of his laughter, real and warm, not torn from the darker parts of his chest, that worry begins to slip away, replaced by something that some might consider even more dangerous— hope. hope that things would change for the better from this moment onward, that they would maintain their honesty with each other and no longer fall into the trap of miscommunication and jealousy. they could be mature about this, couldn’t they ? only time would tell. “ of course i want you around, miller. i always want you around, ” she smiles softly, looking up at him in earnest, knowing that he would never purposefully hurt her— it’s something she thought about a few weeks ago, too, looking up at him, seeing the love and tenderness in his eyes as their bodies intertwined, knowing that she was always safe with him. “ but yeah, actually, you have made things super hard on me— it’s cruel and unusual punishment to see you across the room, looking like you do, and know that i can’t touch you like i want, ” it’s spoken teasingly, attempting to drain even more of their previous poison from this conversation, attempt to start anew, entirely.  “ i haven’t been very fair on you, either— i actually think i’ve probably been the fucking worst, with all the stupid shit i say. i don’t think i have a filter, with you, and i definitely should, ” she chuckles, soon pausing then, to reach out for his hand, running her thumb against his. just a simple touch to ground her in the moment. “ but we’ll start over, and if you still want me here, then i’ll be here. however you want me. ” if they couldn’t be more, she would take whatever she could get. it’s only seconds later when she hears the noise of the bar rise past the brick— the countdown to midnight was happening now. “ shit, we should probably go back inside, hm ? eden’s probably looking for you. ” and it’s not spoken with any previous jealousy or malice, but concern, afraid that this might cause more strain, despite not making any sudden movements away from him. 

[tantamounttoflirtation]

Thinking abt the end of Mizumono where Hannibal pretends he's in a music video for Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield

[fuwaprince]

If I ever meet my bio dad I'm going to rob him and beat his ass on sight!!!! Watch out bio dad. I'm going to shove your adams apple in my pocket as a souvenir from our first family union!!!!!!!! You gave me gorgeous brown eyes but it isn't enough. I inherited your insatiability and stubbornness. I wanted a fat juicy ass and generational wealth >:'(

[cringeworms]

[victoriadallonfan]

Absolutely losing my mind as I realize Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield is a Victoria Dallon song

[midsummer-daze]

the biggest regret of the week is reblogging that wizard meme because i’ve had unwritten by natasha bedingfield in my head EVER. FUCKING. SINCE

[ryomaandgundhamkin]

IM GETTING. FLASHBACKS