#ten x gn reader

[shroompette]

It took a while for you to notice. It was a small detail, really - though it's incredible that anything about your 6'10" behemoth of a boyfriend could ever be paired with the word "small". People would always only gape at his size, his mask, or truthfully, his package. It's not like you were any better.

It only dawned on you one quiet afternoon that you two were spending together. You sat comfortably in the armchair you claimed as "your spot", your boyfriend splayed out on the couch beside it, draped over the armrest so he could have his head in your lap while you stroked his long hair.

You averted your eyes from your latest literary obsession and your gaze softened as you regarded him. Despite his rather unappealing appearance, you thought he was the loveliest man in the world, with strong arms, chiselled back that curved oh-so-nicely when he laid on his front and-

Oh.

You arched your eyebrow as you realized that where König's ass was supposed to be, you found nothing. Zero altitude. You could land a helicopter on that piece of plain and the landing would be smooth as a butter.

How did you never notice this?

Perhaps because the front of him served as a good enough of a distraction from the criminal lack of backside.

You bite your lip, hesitant to say anything and disturb his peaceful sleep, but at the same time, you had to explore your discovery somehow. You reach for the mug of coffee on your table and carefully place it on his ass...

Flat. Like a stabbed tire. The coffee's surface remained perfectly still.

For a minute, König honestly thought he might have peed himself from fear when he was abruptly awoken by your loud, witch-like cackle, the brew spilling on his pants as soon as he moved.

Now your couch has a permanent stain and your boyfriend refuses to speak to you.

[planetkiimchi]

leave it to the poets | t.l

featuring: bf!ten x gn!reader

word count: 508 words

a/n: back from the dead!! just a li'l drabble because i was sick of doing my philosophy homework & @slytherinshua was complaining about the lack of ten fics 🙄

Ten looks up from his book, looking over at you settled on the other end of the couch. Far enough to have your own space, yet close enough for him to reach over, laying his head in your lap, snuggling into your warmth.

You gently pat him to get off, shifting to the middle of the couch where it’s cooler, and he jumps into talking about the new book he’s reading. It’s a fascinating study on the effect of hormones on “love”, he says.

The idea that love is a byproduct of hormones and not the emotional expression of affection is a concept completely foreign to you. You’ve always considered love to be the manifestation of emotions you feel towards people, or even things, that bring you comfort and joy.

To you, love is a very precious thing that is entirely emotional in nature.

However, the way Ten describes his book is completely different. Love is described as something biological in nature, related to the way your brain functions and the natural body processes that one goes through during puberty.

Hearing love being reduced to something so scientific and unemotional makes you sad. Your pout slowly turns into a frown as the forgotten sweater you’ve been making starts to fall, and Ten chokes on it as it smothers his face.

“Y/n! Are you trying to kill me?”

You shake your head quickly and keep the sweater away, focussing your attention on Ten.

His gaze softens when you look back at him. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh softly. “It just sounds so cold when you describe love like that. Why are we trying to make it scientific anyway? There are some things better left to the poets.”

“Like love?”

You nod. “Like love.”

Ten pushes himself up, his face just centimetres away from yours, staring into your eyes as if he’s deep in thought. Sometimes you wonder if, like people say, he can see into your soul from this angle. Maybe when the sun hits your irises just right, the light catches on all your thoughts and emotions, exposing them to the viewer just outside the window of your soul.

He hums, and you decide that you’re probably right.

“Then what is love to you?”

The eye contact between the two of you never breaks as you say seriously. “A conscious choice that we make, every single day, every waking minute. A choice to stay, when there are a million reasons that you should leave. A choice to keep searching, to keep looking for more to love and enjoy in the moment, with this person. To me, that is love.”

Ten’s eyes flutter shut, and he tilts your chin towards him in invitation. After a short pause, you close the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips to his.

As always, his lips are soft, like his cats’ fur. He smells like the jasmine-scented cologne you bought him for his birthday, and the scent of mint chewing gum lingers slightly on his breath.

Ten smells like home.

[hanasnx]

a call to you.

WC: 0.2k SUMMARY: the great protector has bonded with you. NOTES: i havent seen the movie. only the thirty minutes that tgp is in fucking shit up WARNINGS: m!dragon x gn!reader | mentioned: mate | no y/n

THE GREAT PROTECTOR has resided at the bottom of Ta Lo Lake for centuries. Entire civilizations have risen and collapsed while he sleeps within the icy depths. In the indigo darkness, he had heard a voice, as clear as if it were next to his ear, and he opened his great eyes. The first time he emerged from his cradle in lifetimes and he did it to follow your sound.

After he’d tracked you down, he brought you to a nearby cave where he’d built a nest for you. His claws having enclosed around you so gently as he carried you to your new home. Your protests and questions went unanswered for he cannot speak your language. The time you’d spend together aids in understanding him. You learn to crave his presence.

You’re no prisoner, you often walk to Ta Lo. It teems with bustling life, unlike your cave, so you socialize there. Everyone has noticed how quiet you’ve gotten, because you’re used to inhabiting a space where no words are needed.

On a rare occasion you’re visited, a friend timidly approaches the cave’s mouth. To soften its intimidation, you meet her, and beckon her inside. You prepare tea, and pour a drink for the Protector out of respect. It’s ceremonial, the way you draw near to him, kneel down to sit on your legs, and place the delicate cup onto the ground near his cheek. He won’t drink it, but you know he appreciates it. Steam rises from its hatch, and he eyes you gratefully.

You return to your friend, who catches you up on the events of her day. At one point, she advances on you with the intent to touch you. It’s a comfortable gesture, a hand reaching for your arm, but you have a preference of space, recoiling out of habit. The rebuke within you stirs the other resident of this cave. He rears his great head, pupils thinning as they set sights on her. She recedes in fear, and billow of angry fog expels from his nose, grating growls echoing off the stone walls. To calm him, you signal a wave to him, convey to him there is no danger. Your emotions are controlled, your friend meant you no harm.

“What was that?” your dear companion asks, bewildered and fit to gather her things to retreat in fright.

You offer her a kind smile as the Protector bows his chin to the floor behind you. Unfortunately, your explanation raises more questions than it answers, “Oh, he’s very sensitive. He thinks I’m his mate.”

[iicomet]

(rewrite-ish) part II

(In which he ponders over the final moments of his senior.) (ooc? chungmyung and gn!reader - third to second pov, angst.)

(tw! mention of blood, war.)

  In his blurred memories of blood and violence, he wonders where everything went wrong. 

  He wished it was just a simple, ‘oh, senior accidentally stumbled on their feet and landed on their face right in front of their enemies!’. But honestly, when had the gods ever favored him? If not him, when had the Gods ever favored his senior? He swore that perhaps the ever benevolent senior had wronged a deity in their past life, for their misfortune and their sufferings shouldn’t be given to a saint like them.

  Or maybe that stupidly kind senior took the blame of a friend and gained their curses instead. That sounded much more plausible, to be frank. He wished he could grumble about it, but a part of him wonders why his senior became like this. 

  Even if he wanted to, it’s not like he could ask them now.

  Chung Myung was no fool. He knew that in a war, there would be casualties, even if he was the strongest. It’s a dog-eat-dog kind of world out there, especially when the apex predator in this situation is the so-called heavenly demon Cheonma. In that situation, even him, who was renowned as the ‘plum blossom sword saint’, a person who would wreck others’ swords and pride easily with a single blow, felt like a mere rabbit struggling for survival. 

  It’s so, so tiring. It hurts so, so much.

 Chung Myung could feel his blood drip down his skin, mixing with his sweat and producing a disgusting smell he tried to ignore. If Senior was around, maybe they would swat him away with a disgusted expression, telling him to go clean up or something. They would pinch their nose and scrunch up their eyebrows, a deep frown decorating their usual calm and collected face. During those moments, it was times where he would either be a good junior brother and obey his senior’s requests, or he would annoy them and stick closer to them, earning several frustrated shouts and futile attempts to pry him off.

  He wonders, how his senior was managing? Someone as strong as them, would surely be able to fend themselves easily, right?

  Oh, how he wished he was right. 

  But then again, perhaps the uneasy expression in his senior’s eyes before they departed for the journey would have warned him about the impending doom and unsettling feeling he had ignored at that moment. He should’ve stayed, tried to ask his senior what’s wrong, and maybe even protected his senior who shielded the entire mount hua with only a foolish smile and a sword in hand.

  He really should’ve tried, even if he never managed to understand his senior. 

  When Chung Myung landed eyes upon his senior, he wished he could run towards them and block that swing. He wished that instead of fearing, he would’ve taken action instead. He wished that instead of shouting his senior’s name, he would’ve run and taken it for them. 

  Senior, why were you so stupid? Why did you only watch as the sword hits your chest, letting the tears you usually try to hold back flow down your cheeks? Why did the grip on your sword tighten as if you were going to war, yet your free hand tried to hold your opponent’s face, cradling it so softly as if they might break?

  Senior, you’re so stupid. He couldn’t see your attacker’s expression, but he knew it held no love, for the desperate and heart-broken eyes you showed clearly reflected their face. The emotions you always tried to reign in, rained down your features so clearly now. The eyes that used to glimmer brightly in the sun, the eyes he used to love staring at, the eyes he could get lost in—It reflected the face of a person who he held so much hatred towards. At that moment, perhaps he was also angry that you held so much love towards that ungrateful bastard who had struck you. But, it’s all useless now, right?

  Maybe you still had some sense in you when you raised your sword once more, realizing your duty and blocking off your feelings as if it was second nature. Once more, you showed your swordsmanship to the world, as if it was your final dance, your final performance before you’ve retired from the stage. Swords clashed against each other, the metal resounding across the stadium of your show as you replayed the tragedy of the eon. Light against dark, your determined expression faltering and revealing so much regret and pain. Chung Myung would’ve wondered what you regretted at that moment, for his entire life, you seemed as if you lived with no worries. But, he was no fool. He knew there were nights where you spent it alone, staring at the moon as if a lover had lost everything to the hands of fate.

  Senior, why did you smile at him when your heart was so heavy with pain?

  Even at that moment, where your life seemed to begin replaying before your eyes, you still smiled when you saw him, that same sheepish expression revealing itself whenever he caught you. 

  You whispered something to him, but he couldn’t hear it. He was too far, he always had been. And you, you had always walked too quickly for him to catch up. Not only him, you’ve always managed to outrun everyone else in Mount hua, always so far away from everyone else. Nobody could ever catch up to you. Nobody could ever understand you.

  Even so, he wanted to be the first. He wanted to be there for you, just like how you were to him. So, why didn’t you give him a chance? Why did you leave so soon? Just when he thought he was able to, it seemed that you were still so, so far away from him. You always managed to catch him, so why couldn’t he do the same for you?

  Senior, in your game of tag, can he play again with you soon? He promises he will try to catch you this time, so don’t leave so soon. He’s asking you politely, he swears he is. He wouldn’t be rude, he wouldn’t tease you and he wouldn’t smother you whenever you think he’s dirty. He’ll listen to you this time, so won’t you be a good senior and play again with him?

  Chung Myung ignores the rain falling down his skin as he begs for the Gods to give him a chance. He ignores the way his body moves on instinct as he battles across your destroyed theater, hoping for a chance to meet you halfway through. Yet when all he is met with is the aftermath of a war, your body nowhere to be found, he falls to the ground, utterly exhausted.

  Right, he had killed Cheonma.

  He wanted to celebrate this moment with you. But instead, he lies there lifelessly, his body too tired to do anything. Chung Myung thinks he heard your voice, calling out to him and he is reminded of the time where you would let him rest on your shoulder when he was tired, even if he was dirty. Stupid senior, you never really cared about it, didn’t you? All you wanted was for him to be happy. 

  But now, you have killed his heart. How could he be happy now? 

  He wants to rest on your shoulder once more, hear you hum a random tune as you ramble on about whatever that interests you. He wants to hear your voice once more, and this time he promises not to grumble about your nagging. He wants to feel your warmth against his skin once more, not the cold pile of body that lays beneath him. 

  Senior, he wants you to come back. So please, come home already.

[make-me-imagine]

Camera Roll: Shang-Chi celebrating Día de los Muertos with you

Camera Roll when spending Día de los Muertos with Shang-Chi

Requested by @youngcroissantturkeyworribler; hope you like it~

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Marvel+Shang-Chi Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @trashywritestrash, @groovy-lady, @marvelouslyme96, @supersourlemon13, @mochamoff, @simsiddy, @gay-and-ready-to-cry, @flourishandblotts-inc, @spuffyfan394, @agent-catfish-kenobi, @cs-please, @soultrysworld, @a-lumos-in-the-nox, @creativitybeware, @that-marvel-simp, @gatefleet, @skylions-den, @dominos-palast, @pockyandme, @merlin-dahlia, @oliviah-25,

[doiefics]

run, stupid

pairing: ten lee x gn!reader

prologue: you take ten to a local strip club, hoping you’d get some free food, but what happens when a dancer takes to your lap instead?

genre: crack + established relationship!au

wordcount: 1,334

warnings: mature content [ alcohol + strip tease + lap dance + language ]

"Are you sure?" Ten asked with a concerned look in his eyes, something that wasn’t usual unless it was about demanding proper explanations regarding his feline’s meals at the store.

"Of course! It’s not like somebody’s gonna murder us!" You reassured him, taking his hand in yours.

"We're doing this for cheap food? Tell me again that you are sure." He was still on the fence regarding your intention of going to this mid graded strip club only to get some nice cuisine at a lower price and possibly kill two birds with one stone.

As you went inside, you hastily pulled his hand along with you. Before allowing the two of you in, they conducted a quick security check. Too posh for a place like this, you thought. 

"We aren't even dressed for it." Ten whined, toying with your hand.

"We don't need to dress, this is literally a strip club." You were quick to shut him up but he wasn’t the easy type.

"Strip club? What do you mean? I'm not showing off my priceless physique to make some cash." He protested, purposefully being extra this evening.

You released his hold and folded your hands. Glancing around as if absorbing the atmosphere.

"I've never been here before." You expressed.

"I haven't either, baby."  He too, was taken aback by the room's opulence to respond. Maybe the two of you could have just been to the university cafe and worked on your assignments instead. 

Cliche neon blue lights with a combination of bright white lasers were being thrown around in the room in rhythmic rotations. It was blasting sensual music and heavily autotuned voices of people moaning. This place was full of people, all of them fully clothed and yet the food was nowhere to be seen.

You sat on one of the sofa lounges along with Ten, moving your gaze at every corner hoping you would be able to read the air, as he did the same. 

A group of people passing by in sparkling, golden, and silver attire gave you two the side-eye. You may have been underdressed, as Ten suggested.

"What happens next?" He questioned as he sank his face into his hands.

"I don't know. Where are the strippers?" You examined.

"And where is the food?" He sighed out of annoyance.

You were still oblivious while a quarter of an hour passed at the pace of a snail. This place was certainly not like the ones they showed in the movies, something was actually odd.

"Let's just leave." Ten followed your suggestion after you picked up your backpack.

But you and the man were stopped right then by one of the managers, who quickly ordered a waiter and offered you a few drinks and some free food. The food was only complementary, you see, and most of the people in the room were the least bothered about it anyways.

Ten asked you to affirm as he peered into your eyes, and you nodded.

"We easily have the money to relax here instead, so maybe we can go to that gala later." You spoke dramatically, loud enough so that the waitstaff, supervisors, and other customers could hear you. The exaggeration was embarrassing. 

They shouldn't ever be aware of the reason for your visit, you thought. You flipped your hair back as Ten facepalmed at your odd move.

“All that can probably do is paint us even more fishy in their eyes, Y/N i swear to god!” Ten commented.

“If you’re doing this just so we can go back to the hostel and see that flop movie you like, then this ain’t working.” The man blinked dramatically as though his eyelids were heavy.

After setting up the table with only a little variety of snacks and drinks, they left while you took turns sipping and each one. That was the most you could do.

The stage, which was about to be used for the performance, was the centre of attention, and it was a revolving one.

"Shit's getting real!" Ten beamed as he started to poke you on the shoulder relentlessly.

"Chill." You asked him to calm down.

In the beginning, it was only the dancers performing sensual dances. There was nothing too special about it you thought. "You could do better than them." You suggested your boyfriend. "Oh, of course." He joked along with you.

The actual business soon got underway as the fanciest, laciest clothing items were one by one flung to the floor, leaving only the barest necessities.

Ten was astounded by the acts and covered his eyes with his palms.

"What?" He continued to close his eyes even after you pushed his hand away.

"I'm a loyal boyfriend." He explained.

"Just look at it as art then." While keeping your eyes glued to the show, you exclaimed.

"They are doing what? I thought their policy was ‘just see, no touch’?" He asked about the dancers' performance because one of them had begun to execute a lap dance for a middle-aged drunk man seated at a different table.

"No, I guess they had to pay for the additional services." You answered Ten's query, who was busy stuffing his mouth with the fries by now.

He showed a thumbs up, indicating he was satisfied.

By the time one of the other dancers began to approach you, Ten was still fixated on the food. They must have had a clear misunderstanding because you believed you were not responsible for paying for it, even though the club sounded not too expensive, you were still unsure if you wanted it, it wasn’t just about the money.

The stripper sat down in your lap less than a second later, shocking you momentarily as you sat there frozen.

Ten's eyes widened as he attempted to talk to them. "No, sorry, I don’t think she’s liking it." He stated, signaling a no with the gesture of his hands, too.

With the blink of an eye, it became more heated this time as they began to move their hands and hips to the excessively sexy beats playing in the background.

Your guy had already stood up at this point. "Why don't you understand it right away? Hold it!" He kept talking. “Excuse me?!”

They took your hands in theirs and put them on your body as you made an effort to stop by lifting your hands to them.

"Get off my girl, you bitch!" He screamed, throwing one of the drinks on them and attracting everyone's attention. This was one very impulsive act. 

The club instantly froze. The dancer hastily left, but something didn't feel right. Nothing about this place has been right since the time you entered.

"Am I sensing trouble?" Ten was in a panic.

"Stupid, all you could have done was yell." You swore.

"What should we do now?" He asked.

Contrary to expectations, this conversation moved forward much more quickly.

"Run!" As you scooped up your backpacks, you yelled.

Gasps and gossips could be heard as you leaped upon the sofas and chairs. There was at least one bouncer chasing you out if not two or three, but none of you had the foresight or bravery to glance behind. Tall and well built men in those dark coloured suits and black glasses, while you two looked like kids in front of them. 

You continued running for around minutes before stopping to collect your breath in what seemed like a ghosted alley.

Ten followed after to make sure. "They've left." He was panting heavily as he put his hands on his knees.

"Fuck!" You swore.

"This was crazy." He remarked. "Your free food idea was horrible, baby. But I won’t lie I’m full for tonight." He chuckled. “More with adrenaline though.”

"Yeah?” You flicked him off as he joined your laughter and started clapping his hands enthusiastically.

"Are we real?" He spoke while caressing your face and gazing intently into your eyes.

"Very much!" You spoke up and gave him a quick smooch.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

[coldhndss]

Tulip p.1

Isagi Yoichi

(canonically they didn't know what the letter from the JFU was for, so lets ignore that detail lol)

The static sound of your fan blows strongly, circulating the same suffocating air around your room. You lay on your bed, listless. 

It’s been hours, no, days since your phone last buzzed. Looks like everyone’s out, doing their own thing. Going to the beach, shopping, hiking or just hanging out with friends. 

You sit up and glance towards your bedside table. There, lies a photo of your excited classmates together, with Yoichi adorning a shy smile in the middle. His extended leave from school was unexpected, and when everyone eventually found out about his invitation to a special soccer training program, they threw a surprise party. Finding out so unexpectedly was a complete shock. Everyone else was happy for him, but why did you feel so..

Empty?

Yoichi had come by your house in the morning like he always does, knocking on your door, waiting so the two of you could walk to school together. You and him made a habit of doing this, whether it was snowing heavily, or scorching hot, he’d always be outside your door, waiting for you with a smile on his face that said 'I'll always be here for you'.

That was until a paper slipped out of his bag during homeroom.

“Yoichi, you dropped something” You said, as you reached out and grabbed the folded note that had fallen from his bag, attached to a notebook he took out.

“Ah, no don’t touch that!” He immediately spurted. However, it was too late.  

‘Dear Mr Isagi Yoichi,

You have been selected for a special training program held by the Japanese Football Union…’

The letter outlined some details which insinuated a long-term leave without a certain date of return. You looked up at him, sadness glazing your confused gaze. 

“..What’s this?” You asked through choked words. 

Yoichi looked down at his table, unable to muster an answer. He never wanted you to feel betrayed, or that he was hiding something from you. His mind raced with excuses and worries, each attempting to manifest into a good enough response. He’s never been the confrontational type, struggling to bring his own opinion to light even when asked. It’s not like he intended to hide anything from you, he wanted to let you know as soon as he could, but he could never bring himself to soil the contagious laugh and happiness that you emitted.

He didn’t even want to humour the thought of you being alone.

Neither of you had the capacity to do anything of the sort.

“I’m.. Uh..” He muttered, the words barely leaving his mouth. He clenched his fists out of frustration at himself for his utter incompetence as a friend. Unable to meet your gaze, he stared down at the table in front of him. 

His paper was soon slipped back onto his desk followed by rushed footsteps outside the classroom. He looked over to your desk;

Small droplets of tears were visible on the surface of your table.

Ever since the two of you were little, whether you had a bad fall, or dropped your ice-cream on the ground, you had never sobbed or cried audibly. Sometimes, he’d look to you, and see tears suddenly welling up in your eyes, but you never made a sound.

He would wipe your tears with his thumb, and gently hold your hand in his, saying "Please don't cry.. " while tears begin to form in his eyes. Yoichi, being empathetic, would try to make you feel better but eventually, he'd begin crying himself.

You were never being confident enough to make friends on your own, meaning you always had very limited acquaintances, and only one friend, namely Yoichi. 

You avoided him for the rest of the day. You didn’t answer his calls, and left school before he did. Thorns wrapped sharply around your heart, and you remained like this until the day he left. You blamed yourself for the way you allowed this to happen, childishly placing your desires in the spotlight as though he didn't think of you, when you know he did. 

He was always the type of person to blame himself even if he was right. 

He always apologised for hurting you, when in reality you were hurting him.

You were always thinking about yourself when he was thinking about you.

You were wrong, and your arrogance made your only friend that lit up your heart, slip right from in between your fingers.

Sitting up on your bed, you take the photo frame in your hands and stare at yourself within the picture. Your appearance has changed quite a bit since he’d gone.

Your confidence dwindled causing you to stray further away from your classmates, more than you already had when he was still around.

If he were to see you now, he’d probably tell you off for not taking care of yourself properly.

Part 2

[kitasuno]

we fly together | kageyama tobio x reader

in which kageyama tobio is born for several things: the court, his team, and you. and he really, really wants to marry you.

wc: 766 | gn reader | little glimpses of your relationship with tobio over the years

There are several givens in Kageyama Tobio’s life. 

There’s volleyball. It’s in his blood. Volleyball is shoes squeaking on floors, the shrill of a whistle, Nikuman after practice, and that sweet, sweet feeling of connection– fingers brushing yellow and blue leather and palms aching after a serve. Kageyama Tobio was born for the court and born to fly. 

His team is one of them. There’s Sugawara, who still treats him to yakitori and an Asahi Dry (or three) whenever he’s back in Miyagi. Daichi sends him assorted nuts from Sendai every once in a while and Nishinoya mass e-mails him slightly blurry pictures of his life abroad on New Years. Ushijima buys electrolytes for him and Kourai. Shouyou is, well, Shouyou, and Kageyama counts him as two givens. 

There’s the small things too: he takes a little too long to read Kanji, he buys a new face wash every month, he will always avoid rush hour. 

And then, he thinks, there’s you. 

It hits him in full force in the middle of the street on a Tuesday evening as he holds a plastic bag of groceries. It also, consequently, renders him immobile for ten minutes, because Tobio had never been one to dwell on the givens. But as he stands on the pavement and his bag carries the burden of hashi for two, yogurt for two, two packs of sandwiches and four bags of gummies,

 ( because you really like those gummies: and Tobio had thought, if you like the grape flavor, then you should also try the strawberry. And if you wanted to try something new, you might crave the fizzy Cola ones. And if you liked the Cola ones, then he had to buy the Ramune flavored ones, too ) 

Tobio gets the urge to buy a ring. And an urge, no, a craving to marry you. 

Tobio remembers study sessions in high school and desperate makeouts in Karasuno’s dusty storage closet. He remembers the firsts: first conversation, first fight, first kiss, first date. Sprinting on beaches before the sun kissed the horizon and laying underneath the stars. He remembers graduation under cherry blossoms and pressing his second button into your palm with red cheeks and shaking hands. 

There were tears, too. Anger as he realized he couldn’t, for once, be selfish and have both you and professional volleyball. Anger as you had cried and cried and cried in his arms because you were getting your degree in Miyagi and he was moving to Tokyo. Anger as you had suggested breaking things off because you knew that Kageyama was born for the court. To fly. 

And you had said, between tears, that Tokyo was his potential. Because you knew him, and you knew that he didn’t like texting and that he wasn’t good at communicating, but you somehow underestimated how much you meant to him. Then: you had stopped crying because Kageyama was crying. And you had never seen Kageyama cry. 

You were there when Kageyama started on the National Team, standing in the bleachers with the biggest smile he had ever seen, jumping as you turned to show him the Kageyama embroidered on the back of your jersey. You were there when he accepted his position on the Adlers, and watched their broadcasted games behind textbooks and journals and pencils from your dorm in Sendai. 

Kageyama was there when you called him sobbing because the pipes in your dorm leaked. He was there when you got fired from your part time job for slapping a customer. Begrudgingly, he was there when you asked him to have Oikawa Tooru sign twelve jerseys for your friends at university. And then, he was there when you graduated college, diploma in hand and a blush on your cheeks as you pressed your button into his palm even though you really weren’t supposed to do that. 

Now you’re in Tokyo, having accepted his slightly bashful request for you to move in with him– in a nice apartment on the fourteenth floor overlooking the city; because even though he didn’t really like heights, he knew you loved city lights and people-watching. And if he had to cover his face when he saw the nameplate next to your shared apartment that read Kageyama, well. You didn’t have to know that. 

He’s still on the street, and he’s still holding his grocery bag, but his eyes are firm because he really wants to make your last name Kageyama. 

So he makes a phone call. 

“Tanaka-san,” He says before his former upperclassman can react. “Where did you buy Shimizu’s ring?” 

[acid-ixx]

ch.1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

if there was one thing you hated more than the crime-filled streets of gotham, it would be empty promises.

when was the last time they attended your birthday? or your school ceremonies? or any special event that meant for you to be the center of attention?

plot twist, there was no last time, or a time before that or any day that they were there for you.

not your eldest brother, dick, not your dead brother, jason, of course tim wouldn't be there for you, damian's absence is a given, not even your sisters would come, and most especially not your father, bruce wayne.

you never wrote wayne as your last name. in every test, it would always be your mother's last name. in every document that you had to fill, you would violently scratch in the name of your father, wishing it wasn't required at all so you wouldn't have to hang your head in shame everytime someone looks at you incredulously for having the bruce wayne as your father but never once appearing to be with you.

you can't recall a time you had called him your dad, or even considered him as one.

if you could count the times you have seen him in person, it wouldn't even fill ten fingers. even interviewers and paparazzi have more luck in coming across him than you would, his child.

it sucks, really, how despite having nearly sharing the same age as tim, you never once saw him outside of his room. you thought you would've been the closest to him, but the most you have seen him was when you were watching the news with the "new" robin popping up, or worse; when bruce would be seen guiding tim through the paparazzi and not you. alfred had to drag you away from the tv that day because you were already suffering through a panic attack just seeing those two act so close; ripping your hair out just from watching the news wasn't a good way to cope.

you remember being so jealous of him, of how bruce would always spend time with him and not you. it made you wonder, were you special enough? tim is so brilliant, you could admit. and you were, too, having enough comprehensibility as a child to find out they were vigilantes a year or two after living in the manor— but you weren't good enough like tim. you weren't cut out to be like a detective or a fighter.

it was no wonder why bruce chose them over you.

it came to you in the form of talking to tim that had you discovering that no one ever mentions your name inside the house, proving it to be true when tim had hesitated calling your name and even stuttered through pronouncing it. and then he left after finding you were of no use to help him. alfred had to stifle your sobbing after tim left the room, allowing you to cry on his chest whilst you sat beside him.

(name) wayne was so, so lonely.

you would've accepted their absence long ago, but you were a stupid child who needed care and reassurance because your mother left you for good at the age of five. you were too naive into thinking you would receive the same love from your family just like the other kids in elementary would. you were a child who expected too highly of your father, thinking that he would pick you up from school with that picture perfect photographed smile of his and kiss your forehead and tell you that you did a great job at school today.

it was your teachers who would be the one having to walk you up the stage whenever you achieved an award. alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least.

it was long ago that you stopped praying for your family to attend at least one of your birthdays.

it's ironic, really, for a child to prep and plan for their own celebration just to hope that a single member of their family to even walk by the kitchen and join them in on their already lonesome celebration.

too bad everybody only goes to the kitchen when alfred cooks for them. who would want to taste sadness in a sloppily made birthday cake, right? nobody, not even you would have the appetite to eat your cake with the knowledge that it was you who had to put all the effort to bake it because you didn't want alfred to feel obligated to. knowing nobody would celebrate birthdays with you, save for alfred, it was expected that you started to prefer cupcakes.

because then you wouldn't be scolded for making such a mess.

you never cooked family meals after the incident where nobody came and to not waste food, you had to bring in large containers to bring to school so you could celebrate your birthday there.

it was there that you find more solace in your small group of friends compared to the desolate rooms of the mansion. your family celebrates holidays together as a whole, but you never once attended after that one time where everybody had forgotten to get you a gift for christmas, save for alfred who gave you a bracelet (one that you cherished deeply). you only smiled weakly and hopelessly, sneaking into your room before the family dinner.

it was alfred again who bought you leftovers and sat on your bed for an hour to encourage you that there's still more christmas's to go.

you never believed what he said. not anymore.

there was a period of time where you hated them more than anything, blamed them for everything and became more rebellious, purposely failing tests, fighting your classmates and disrespecting teachers in hopes that for once your father would bat an eye on you. that only resulted in you being taken out of the school and being transferred into another, for a behavioral reform is what alfred stated to you when you annoyed him for answers.

damian started to bully you a bit more harder after that incident, calling you immature and childish, a weakling, an attention seeker. how someone at your age should've known better. you were convinced that he was relishing in the heartbroken glare you gave him, ignoring the way his eyes widened momentarily at your reaction before sneering and walking away.

alfred gently scolded you, but you were too choked up and instead you almost tripped running inside your bedroom, locking yourself in for what seems like hours.

you don't want to remember the immense breakdown you had that evening too, screaming on your blankets and destroying your things and hurting yourself because... because you had lost your old friends for nothing! your caring teachers, your academic progress, everything! every single thing for an ounce of attention! because he didn't have enough energy to come with you to the guidance counselor and he only had you transfer out so you wouldn't ruin the wayne's reputation!

you hate him, you hate bruce fucking wayne so much and you hate clinging onto their empty promises and sorry's to make it up for you. you hate how their promises were never even said directly to you, you hate how alfred was your only source of hope for a medium of communication.

you hate them all.

and worst of all, you hate yourself for drowning in hope. for wishing you were physically stronger so you could at least bond with them through training. for dreaming about a day where they could surprise you and told you they were just testing you and that you actually had worth inside this manor. for praying nightly that they'll smile at you like the heroes you see in tv rather than that of pity.

you wished there was a universe where gotham was safer, more protected with no criminals littering the streets. maybe then they would have more time to notice you crying every night, writing self destructive entries in your diary, sketching what would've been a happy family. they wouldn't have to wear their silly costumes to fight crime and instead would save you from your own demons.

if...

if you were brutally tortured and killed by the joker, or forced to choke on the fear toxin by the scarecrow— hell, even beaten to near death by some random goons; would they have given you a sliver of their love? would they finally look at you and save you from yourself?

because despite your resentment, you would never lie and say you didn't feel blessed that you were thrown to a family of talented individuals.

your drawings of a complete and happy family holding hands together and a diary filled with rants and fantasies of spending time with them proved just that.

you were blessed with them yet cursed at the same time to never reach the same level to be even considered part of their lives.

you were hopeless. you never amounted to anything. you were just, you.

thirteen years have passed by then, and in those years you were proud to say your development as a person, albeit slow, transformed you from a child that succumbed to neglect to an independent person who managed to maintain a comfortable circle of friends, a scholarship for a college far away from gotham, and an apartment of your own (you were a bit in debt due to having to pay for your own because no way in hell would you ask for your father for financial support).

allowance was scarce, your food supplies weren't infinite compared to back when you were living at the wayne manor, and you weren't greeted to michelin star restaurant meals cooked by alfred— but you were content, and that was enough.

though content translated to nightly breakdowns whilst finishing projects or writing essays, the point still stands! at least you had celebrated your eighteenth birthday with drunk smiles and your friends spoiling you to death when you had opened up about your first lonely years of life. everything was going well for you, truly.

you were so, so happy for the nice turn of events. and you wouldn't have made it so far if you hadn't slapped yourself out of the delusion that they actually cared for you.

look at you now! independent and with a life of your own! you'd give yourself a pat in the back.

you hadn't blocked them at all, but their contacts were empty (save for a few desperate messages that date back years ago) and you were fine with that. it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!

alfred communicates with you time to time, reminding you to eat a complete meal rather than those one dollar priced noodles that tasted like pure salt. he told you he misses you a lot, you and your annoying, daily rants about life and school. he misses your awkward smile and when you would help him cook whenever the others aren't around. he misses it when you imitate his posh accent when you taste test his food and give commentary about it.

you miss him, too. growing up, you realized just how much effort alfred would exert just to spend a lot of his time on you.

now, he told you that you are still welcome to the manor whenever, and how he cleans your room weekly in case you'll visit him.

whenever you audio call with him, you'd tear up just a bit at the realization that alfred was more of a father figure than your own biological father. because he at least attended your graduation to make up for the other times he was unable to join you.

what's even better was that he gifted you something you had always wanted for your birthday. despite it being delivered to your door rather than him giving it to you face to face (since you had refused to give him your location and him respecting that decision at least), the heartfelt letter he left you was more than enough to let you cling onto pieces of your past. after all, it was him who greeted you by the door when you were first introduced into the family, bruce being too busy with paperwork that day when you were a measly five year old.

you had started to teasingly call him 'alfie' and a few more nickname after that, which results with a chuckle over the phone every time you had come up with a cheesy name for him whenever you get a wee bit irritated at his own way of making fun of you.

if only this was your life years ago, then maybe you wouldn't have been jealous of all your other friends and pushed them away that day, maybe you would learn that sometimes, family comes in the form of the people outside of your house rather than inside.

that reminds you, maybe you should reconnect with your old friends back in elementary and apologized for your sudden explosive behavior.

you were laying on your bed, phone in hand and opened your inst*gram app to stalk through the names you could remember. well... that was what you should've done, if not for the fact that a notification popped up the very moment you pressed on the search bar and you had accidentally opened a chat with your oldest brother, dick.

you would've ignored the desperate messages you have sent him from the past which all varied from inviting him to eat dinner with you or to at least join you to play in an arcade or anything to convince him to talk to you, all of which were unseen, if not for the fact that it was him who sent you a sudden "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" message, alongside a few more replies that spammed through your phone...

oh!

... that was enough to make you sit up and want to hurl.

dick grayson was a man of many talents. the mature eldest child, the ideal good leader despite his anger issues from time to time, and the same guy who set the standards high for the future robins. he is bruce's greatest achievement.

it was safe to say that if not for the support of many, then he would've suffered so many falls and would've never been strong enough to stand up despite the pain and continue his fights. nightwing was what many superheroes strive to be, an image of light in a grove of darkness such as gotham.

so why was it that he felt like he has failed so deeply right now?

inside your room, dick stands with furrowed brows. it felt too clean to look used. your furniture was polished and look untouched, the lights were too bright and the windows were bolted shut. there were no signs of life other than the notebooks and sketchbooks that were neatly tucked on the middle of the bed and the trinkets that scatter through your desk.

dick stalks through the room, careful to not make a noise as he walks over to the closet, opening it and finding nothing.

he bites his lips at the implication that this was probably the second time he visited your room and how it was also the longest time he remained here. compared to his other siblings, you were the one he noticed the least and... now he feels bad for dismissing you.

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago?

damn it, he was way too focused on his mission that night and ended up ditching and forgetting you! oh god, dick facepalmed and clenched his teeth, seething in some air because no fucking way did he actually remember to feed damian's dog, titus, the same day but forgot to take you out for an important event...

it occurred to him that that was the same day you scored a perfect on "the hardest test of my life!" you had bragged to him awkwardly when he wasn't listening nor looking and you, wanting to celebrate what was a small achievement for dick, chose him to spend time with you!

dick had to carefully breath through his mouth then gulp down the shame he feels right now. he- he has no time to focus on the past but rather the present. he has to find out why the hell is your room so lifeless, yeah... then he'll make it up to you today, definitely.

huh?

is it just him, but why does the room seem so small? it looked like it was meant to be for a kid. clearly, there wasn't enough space for a growing individual like you... did bruce not provide you with a bigger bedroom? ah, dick would definitely tell bruce to relocate you to a bigger room, the current one is too small for even a dog in a manor to sleep in.

dick doesn't want to admit it at all, but... he hasn't seen you for the past few months, or not all, really. sure, he had only recently visited the manor since he's bludhaven's vigilante now, but even through his time in gotham he had never seen you other than the times you pulled his sleeves from back when you were a child.

back when you were a child.

how old are you now? you were so small back then, innocent too. he can recall your curious eyes, your chubby cheeks and the way you stutter through your words as you try to talk to him.

you were significantly younger than jason, and was adopted a week before tim was introduced to the family. he remembers you peeking through alfred's back, gleaming with curiousity and whispering to the butler if it was really the dick grayson. he smiled fondly at your dumbfounded expression, the way your mouth shaped into an "ohh," when he was the one who answered that, yes, it was him. then you whispered again if you can take have an autograph from him, to which he chuckled and told alfred that he'll help accompany you to your room.

when your five year old body tried to waddle closer to his body for an ounce of warmth when he had been guiding you up the stairs, that was also the first time he called you baby bird, with the way you coddled him so closely. his hands find itself patting your head, ruffling your hair and grinning as you both make your path through the halls.

he comes to immediately regret leaving you alone after he had introduced you to your room, remembering his duties as a vigilante than that of a brother.

but despite his early memories of you, he wants to see his baby sibling all grown up now.

had it really been years?

when was the last time you ever had a full-on conversation with him?

was there even a time that he had approached you by himself?

he had always called you baby bird after the first time you meet because of the age gap you two shared. the rare times he acknowledges you, you gave him that look filled with such adoration, like you were proud of him for being your older brother. why did he not notice you?

oh, his baby bird...

dick gulped, trying to ease his shivering by sitting on your neatly folded blankets and taking a worn diary in his hand, one at the bottom stack of books. well, if it was a personal diary then maybe you would've hidden it better, right? he figures since it was all placed on the center of the bed like a piece of treasure that... it would be alright to take just a glimpse.

to confirm if you still see him as your favorite brother.

dick's heartbeat spiked, hoping your entries would be filled with, he doesn't know, anything that didn't implicate some sort of hatred for the family, for him. hoping that despite his lack of attention towards you, that there would still be a spark of love for him. if what he thinks was actually true then... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

he flips through the first page, noting how it was bulkier than the others. the paper was filled with glittery decorations, sequence beads and cheap stickers sparkling at every angle the light hits. it was meant to be a design for the 'front cover' of the notebook, colors blended in a cacophony of rainbows and butterflies and flowers beyond the messy calligraphy that merely states "(name)'s diary!"

dick stifles a grin just from skimming through at the amount of mistakes and erasures, clearly written by the the younger version of you; naive to the world and its cruelty. he commends your creativity, his eyes softening at the few doodles that were written on the corners of the pages.

you're just too adorable for your own good, so much so that the thumping in dick's heart beats louder and louder, ears wringing uncomfortable inside your unventilated bedroom. but he just couldn't rip his eyes away from the diary, daydreaming about how proud you must've been when designing your own diary. he could picture your wide eyes, shy and harmless, and your feet kicking back and forth whilst you decorate your stuff.

everything was what he expected it to be on the first few pages of the diary. all your little rants about your daily life, your eargerness to meet your entire family from your father's side, and the hurt you experienced from your mother's sudden abandonment.

he would've skipped through another diary, one that lacked design and color, save for the name plastered on the front, if not for the grim undertones at every end of your entries despite the child-like manner it was written in.

it all started with "i wish to see my father soon and my big brother dick again!", "alfred told me my father can't come to the parent-teacher conference, he says he's in a veryyy important meeting :( but alfred would come!", "dick told me he can't help me with my science project but he promise he'll help me with something else later!" which halfway through the diary, your style fluctuates and lesser effort was exhausted on the writing.

one entry in particular, written on the last page of your diary, shattered a sliver of hope within dick, his breathing momentarily ceased from reading through your sentences; uncharacteristic of you, too mature for someone at the age of ten to write.

"XX/XX/XXXX.

dear diary, it's my tenth birthday today. i celebrated with my friends at school. they told me i always look down whenever it's my birthday. they think that bruce would throw a fancy celebration for me. i tried to hide my laughter from them. it's a really funny joke. i haven't seen him for months. i told dick that he was invited but i don't think he remembers it's my birthday today. alfred told me to come out of my room, he said he cooked my favorite dinner, that he's sorry he got my present late, but i don't want get out of my room. i heard dick is gonna watch a movie with tim later. i don't feel so good, my chest hurts, but i don't want to get out right now.

i'll eat the cupcake tomorrow."

it had been nearly two hours since dick had sat on your bed, eyes dilating whilst reading through your first diary. the cold season had already pricked his skin, but his entire body felt so unnaturally warm, a warmth that scorches him, searing deep into flesh. a lump had form in his throat, accompanying the hellish throbbing of his heart.

"fuck..." he brought his fingers to his head, carefully massaging his forehead but it relieves nothing. he wants to see you right now— he needs to talk to you. god, he has to apologize, he needs to see what you look like right now, needs to know if you're alright.

you're clearly not.

he has to oppress the urge to punch the walls, reminding himself that it's your room he's in and if he damages your already delicate property, then he's proving himself worse than he already is.

he rushes to grab another diary, the one at the top of the pile, skipping to the end of the page.

nothing. all the entries were months ago, all written in vague detail like you were starting to hide secrets. his teeth grinds against each other, frustration seeping through his veins.

he needs to— shit, he needs to find you right now. he needs to find his baby bird and make up for the all bullshit him and his family had done. if you were gone for months, even years; he doesn't even want to think about it.

but how?!

there were no signs of you. anything written your diary, your drawings, the trinkets on your bedside table— they signal no clues whatsoever, all dating back to months, even years. it's not possible at all, for nobody to notice your disappearance. dick would've noticed sooner. he should've noticed sooner. oh, he doesn't even want to think about the dangers that await you outside the mansion. with how naive you were about the outside world, you wouldn't last at all.

his baby bird wouldn't survive gotham's streets, especially not when winter was nearing.

think, grayson, think...

his phone!

he immediately reaches into his pockets to grab his phone, clammy fingers swifly encoding his password and opening his contacts.

your number was the quickest to find, it was the only one without an icon of you and an endearing nickname. he makes a mental note to change that soon and replaced your default name to your nickname.

then, without hesitation, he typed, "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" sending the message without rereading, foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he scrolls through all your previous messages.

messages that he should've replied to with the same level of enthusiasm as you. skimming through the past, unseen texts as your motivation began to dwindle the further he refused to reply back. he promises he'll never make you feel invisible again.

seconds feel like hours for him, as he blows raspberries to pass the time, too concentrated an ounce of a reply to even notice the entirely new presence inside the room.

it's alright to call you, yes? after all, dick just wanted to check in with his baby bird and see if you're doing swell and dandy and... safe without him...!

his thumbs pressed on the call button before he could think through his actions, his other hand runs through his hair, sweat running down his forehead as if he had ran a marathon.

he waited, and waited, and waited until the call beeped and provided its automated response. he calls you again but the line immediately cuts off, he tries to spam you with more messages but they weren't delivered.

you blocked him.

fuck, he messed up big time. he needs to get to the batcave. he needs to find your fucking location before it's too late. dick needs to see you again before he loses it.

but before he could carefully place your sketchbooks back to its rightful place, he sees a silhouette at the corner of his eyes; short figure, arms crossed, and a sneer on his eyes already tells him who it was.

damian wayne.

he forgot to train with damian today.

but it doesn't matter, damian has to see it for himself— what made dick so disheveled, so delirious. damian has to finally see just how much of a wonderful sibling you are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this was 4,600+ words and it drained the energy out of me. it was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i was too motivated !! i'm also quite proud of this chapter. it was a pain characterizing dick grayson and the reader. i really hope this is as good as the prequel because it's 3am right now and writing dick's part was a pain in the ass ^^' as always, please do comment or send asks if you like it for quicker updates!!!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @alishii, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @deadinside-09, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa (shoutout to her specifically because i got motivated from their comment!)

[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

[rae-writes]

OnlyFantoms?? pt.II

om dateables/sides x reader

wc : 2.k

warnings : nsfw, gn!reader with skirt wearing (raphael), lingerie wearing (diavolo), online sharing

synopsis : lets see what the new latest trending porn videos are

a/n: MWAHAHAHA IT'S FUCKING HERE

brothers ver.

The maroon fabric of your babydoll lingerie was rumpled, tearing not even a second later from how ironclad Diavolo’s grip was. One hand had the lace fisted, using it to yank you back on his cock, while the other was wrapped around your throat, veins highlighted and muscles flexing each time he effortlessly lifted your body and slammed it back down at the rough pace he was fucking you. Your legs were spread wide over his straining thighs, body just barely covered by the sheer material that adorned your sweaty body, hands white-knuckling his horns with your nails scratching along the golden ornaments . Each time skin met skin, it echoed in the room— adding to the sensual sight of the morning light reflecting off the golden floors, walls- the regal throne the two of you were seated in. His sounds were muffled from the way his head was buried in your neck, no doubt adding more marks to the already bruise-littered skin. Your own head was tilted back against his shoulder, his fingers squeezing visibly at your throat before two of them pushed past your parted mouth, making your high pitched moans turn choked. His rough pace got even more animalistic, feral growl escaping him as your body tensed, milking his cock as you came, pushing him past that edge too— and the video cuts.

Where royalty sits | 0:10 seconds | 112.k views | 109.k likes | 100.k comments 

TEN WHOLE SECONDS OF ABSOLUTE GOODNESS

Is this even legal to watch?? Cause if not, I’m happily packing my bags for jail

Typing this comment from my grave 

*eats phone*

Amazing day to be a Devildom citizen folks 

†

Hidden underneath the castle’s foyer stairs, the golden fractures of light shift as each of your bodies move. You were on your knees, thighs flexing, as you bounced up and down— riding Barbatos’ tail. The appendage forced itself deeper and deeper until the camera picked up on the arch of your back, the shimmer of your nails (painted in his colors) digging into his thighs, leaving behind wrinkles in the usually pristine black slacks. Gloved hands were tangled in your hair, gripping tighter the more his composure began to waver. The guided bobbing of your head went from leisure to almost desperate and then back again; after a particularly stressful day, he just couldn’t decide what he wanted. Only murmurs of praise left the royal steward, as opposed to your choked moans and whimpers and occasional gasps of his name when you came up for air before swallowing him down again. There was a brief moment in which he cupped the back of your head and shoved you all the way down- pausing- when footsteps ascended the stairs you were both underneath. Once it was quiet again, he pulled your head back with a caress of your hair and a soft apology, fucking you with his tail at a more rapid pace, insisting you needed to cum first. With you melting at his ministrations, he begins fucking your mouth, too, grunting almost inaudibly; the second your body wracked with your orgasm, he followed suit— and though only your backside view could be seen, the sounds of swallowing were crystal clear. With a low chuckle from Barbatos, and a breathy giggle from you, the screen goes black. 

Off duty | 0:30 seconds | 97.k views | 92.k likes | 88.k comments 

This is gonna be the next big fever dream, come lay your eyes on it while you can-

Mouth? Dropped. Eyes? Rolled. Drool? Leaking. Hotel? Corvo. 

B A R B A T O S ? !

This is the best day of my life

asdfghjkl

†

Scraping of wood against marble tile echoed faintly as the entirety of Mephisto’s desk moved inch by inch. The force he was pounding into you created small thudding noises, your clothes dulling the sound of skin slapping, followed by sharp grunts as he worked to keep the relentless pace. Lights of the newspaper club’s office highlighted your bodies, leaving nothing hidden as he bends you into an even deeper arch, face buried in the mahogany desk. Newspapers- published and uncompleted drafts- are crumpled underneath your hands; he couldn’t care less, though, not when you’re moaning and crying out his name like you are. It’s clear he tries to show some decorum, but the rare sight of his demon form screams how disheveled you’re making him— tails coiled around your waist, horns pressing into your shoulder, sharp nails digging jagged lines into the wood of his desk. An enchanted quill is frantically scribbling in the background, no doubt writing down what was happening into a page of the upcoming newspaper draft; depending on whether or not Mephisto remembers- or cares- he might just leave the article in. The thought actually has him whining, fucking into you a bit faster, because he’d love to see everyone’s reactions once they read the damn paper— knowing he had you right under everyone’s noses. A quick tug of your hair to pull you into a messy kiss that the camera can’t see and he’s spilling his cum into you- dragging you off the ledge with him- and pressing his body flush against yours. You stay trapped like that for a few seconds, quietly laughing and teasing him, before he huffs and pulls back as you both try to make yourself presentable again when the video ends. 

Extra, Extra | 3:25  minutes | 93.k views | 89.k likes | 84.k comments

Front page, baby. FRONT! PAGE!

Got his priorities down pat

What goes down in the news office doesn’t stay in the news office

Get that nOBLE DIck MC

Never thought I’d hear Mephisto whine— 

†

White linen curls around your arms, clenched between your fingers, pillowing your head, delicately shielding the parts you didn’t want too exposed— all while the light in Simeon’s room bathes you in a replicated golden hour. His head is buried deep between your thighs, messy hair brushing your skin at each movement. One of his hands is keeping your left thigh flat against the bed, squeezing at the fat of it, while the other is subtly shoved underneath his body as he fucks his fist. With the leg that isn’t pinned down, your calf is resting over his shoulder, keeping him impossibly close; the sounds coming from him are muffled, as he’s barely able to breathe properly, but they’re desperate and needy, echoed by the mindless ‘please’s and praise he’s babbling out. The sheets covering his own body from view only hide his hips down to his mid thigh, giving the perfect- defined- view of his arched back and the flexing muscles rippling underneath smooth skin as he thrusts into the pleasure. There are faint reddened lines trailing along his shoulders and barely visible hickies on his neck, showing that, clearly, this hadn’t been the beginning of the night. It can also be seen in the way his hips stutter with overstimulation, toes curling at the sensation, even if he can’t stop because he still craves the release. It’s timed with the pace he’s fucking you with his tongue, moans harmonizing with yours, getting louder and breathier and a little whinier before he’s practically crying out an ‘I’m cumming!’. Not even a second later, both of your thighs are snapping closed around his head, trembling, as you follow. The come down is soft and sweet, whispered words and gentle caresses, with a murmured suggestion for a bubble bath just as the video cuts. 

Worship hour | 2:30 minutes | 86.k views | 84.k likes | 78.k comments 

I feel the grace of the celestial realm 

PHEW 

GOD AND DAMN 

We’ve ascended guys— 

Where can I get an angel 

†

The scattered, organized, yet messy sight of school books, miscellaneous supplies, and the fact that you were in your uniform made it obvious this was one of RAD’s many closets. Raphael was sitting on top of an extra desk, legs spread rather wide as you sat on top of him; your skirt rode up around your hips, but his hands groped and squeezed your ass to shield it from view. He guided you at a quick, needy pace as you grinded against his clothed cock, sometimes jerking his hips up to meet the movements. The normally quiet and aloof Angel was panting and gasping, and if you listened closely, you could hear muffled whines every now and then when you moved at a certain angle. The sloppy sounds of wet kissing and tongues tangling seemed to echo in the small room, even despite his whisper of ‘have to be quiet’— in fact, he was more vocal than you, commanding you to go faster, asking you not to stop. Even the shadows passing under the door didn’t deter him from wanting you. The bell signaling class was about to begin made you pause without thinking, but he gave you no time to think: he grabbed you right up and twisted your bodies around until you were laying back on the desk, legs around his waist. With no room to barely breathe in between, he began fucking himself against you like an animal in heat, breathlessly apologizing and announcing he was gonna cum. With a few more rough thrusts, you can see his body shudder and melt over top of you— and the visible wet stain on the front of his pants as he gently helps you off the desk and fixes your clothes, suggesting a quick clean up spell so you can go to class, before the video ends.

[Can’t] resist temptation | 1:10 minutes | 88.k views | 82.k likes | 75.k comments 

PHEW PART FUCKING TWO

His veiny hands make me ajsaljdkd

Are all the exchange students always this hot??

I will take a shower of spears to see this in person 

Mc is my hero 

†

Whatever device was recording had to be enchanted, as the screen was divided perfectly to show the inside of the common room, where the seven brothers all lounged, and the hallway wall just outside, where Solomon had you hiked up against it. His head was buried in the crook of your neck, only a peek of his lips showing. The bottom half of your face that was in frame is covered by his hand, fingers digging into your jaw to keep you quiet. The only thing covering your body was his starry cloak; the fabric fell off your shoulder, showing off the many hickies and bite marks adorning your skin. Your body bounced upwards at every sharp thrust— he was unforgiving with his pace, frame flush against yours as he fucked you deep. The audio barely picked up on the ragged pants falling from his mouth, the debauched praises that he was damn near singing as he had his way with you, all while being ten feet away from the brothers. The muscles in his arm flexed as he held you up, fingers marking bruises into the skin he was gripping. You raked your hands through his sweat-soaked hair, tugging and pushing his head up until you had your mouth against his. A barely audible cry of his name reached the camera as your back arched, fingers pressing just as bruisingly into his back. He finally stuttered in his pace, mouth falling open; he came with his tongue tangled with yours, accidentally having let out a hiss when you moaned aloud. Lucifer, who had been glancing up occasionally, as if he thought he heard something, immediately stood just as all the others’ heads snapped up. With a desperate kiss, Solomon opened a portal and carried you right through, leaving the brothers to hastily round the corner and begin shouting, before the video cuts.

Claim staking | 4:45 minutes | 91.k views | 88.k likes | 84.k comments 

A good section of the comments is just hate from the brothers, I— 

That sly, sexy, smug little fucker

I wanna be between the two of them 

Sorcerer man hot 

You could physically feel the charge in the air through the phone when the brothers figured it out

[planetkiimchi]

close proximity | l.t

featuring: best friend!ten x gn!reader

word count: 925 words

author's note: happy holidays everyone!! this drabble was written for my beloved zanna <3 it's also a part of the @k-films advent calendar event for the day 7 prompt, kissing under the mistletoe.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” You craned your neck to look over at Ten, the mistletoe plant hanging lopsidedly from the ceiling while you kept your hand pressed against the ceiling to maintain your balance. Your other hand rested on the ladder to keep yourself steady.

Ten emerged from the bedroom with a blush stick and contour in his hand. “Could you help me put on some makeup before the party later?”

“Of course.” You set the mistletoe down on the top of the ladder before slowly climbing down. 

You led Ten to sit on the couch, allowing him to place the makeup he was holding on the coffee table. “Have you washed your face?”

He nodded. Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

“Wait here.” You disappeared into the room for a few moments before you emerged again with a packet of blotting paper and a couple of new makeup brushes you had bought recently. Sitting on the couch next to Ten, you drew a piece of blotting paper out and demonstrated how to use it.

Ten watched you attentively, lips caught between his teeth as he nodded thoughtfully. Then, under your careful eye, he mimicked your actions, discreetly letting out a sigh of relief when you nodded in approval.

When his face was clean, you raised the contour stick to his face, bracing your palm against his cheek as you drew a line on his nose. You gently blended it out with a makeup brush before highlighting the tip of his nose and letting out a giggle.

“What?” Ten raised his eyebrows, searching for his phone. “Do I look funny?”

You shook your head, swallowing your laughter. “You look really cute.”

Ten shrugged. “Okay then.”

You added some blush before blending it out, then attempted to contour his jaw—but not without some amount of struggling. When that was done, you tilted his chin this way and that, smiling proudly when you saw how the end result looked. You brought him to the bathroom mirror, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorway and waited for him to take a look at himself.

“You look good,” you stated matter-of-factly while Ten admired himself in the mirror.

“Can I do yours?”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow at the suggestion, then shrugged. “Sure. The same things that I did for you?”

Ten nodded.

You went back out into the living room, sitting on the couch while Ten sat next to you, blush in hand as he inspected your cheeks.

“Where do I put the blush?”

You traced your cheekbones with your finger as you explained, “You can feel my cheekbones here. That’s where you should put the blush.”

“O-kay.” Ten leaned in closer, eyes slightly wide, biting his lip in concentration as he drew a line across your cheekbone with the blush stick. You drew in a ragged breath, trying not to make eye contact with him, feeling your heart beat quicker.

Once he had drawn on a line on both cheeks, he pulled away, and you breathed out shakily. Reaching for your phone, you turned the camera on and looked at yourself, turning your head to the side and staring at your cheeks.

“That’s too much,” you laughed, half in disbelief at how red your cheeks were, half in relief that his face was no longer so close to yours.

“No, wait, lemme fix it–” Ten held your face firmly in one hand as he used his other thumb to smudge the blush, rubbing your skin until he was satisfied. “There. Much better.”

You reached for your phone again, but he grabbed your wrist and shook his head. “Nuh uh. You can see it when I'm done. Now, contour.”

He showed the contour stick to you, flipping it both ways before saying, “Yep, this side’s contour.”

“Let me check?” Upon confirming that the side he was using was, in fact, contour and not highlighter, you allowed him to experiment with it on your face, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to find your jawline, soft hands cautious each time he touched your skin.

The contour stick glided smoothly against your nose as he drew on your face, each line accompanied by some amount of blending using his thumb. 

You averted your eyes, tilting your chin to the side so he could see your jawline more clearly. Your gaze caught on the mistletoe lying on the couch next to his thigh, and you reached for it, holding it above your head to show Ten.

As you turned around, coming face-to-face with Ten, your breath hitched in your throat at the close proximity to him.

His fingers lingered on your chin, and you found your question dying on your lips as he gently pulled you in for a kiss.

As you pulled away, his eyes flitted up to the mistletoe above your heads, shrugging, “I had to do it. It’s tradition.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

“Kissing under the mistletoe,” he said simply, reaching for your jaw to smudge the contour a little.

You jerked back as if scalded. “Just tradition?”

Ten stopped, leaning backwards slightly to get a batter look at your expression. “Do you want it to be anything more?”

You huffed a sigh. “Do you?”

“I mean, I’d like that, yes, that’s why I kissed you in the first pla–” You cut him off swiftly with a kiss, then, blushing furiously, turned your face away.

Ten leaned in teasingly, shoving his face all up in yours. “Glad to know you want it too.”

if you liked it, please reblog it.

want to be added to my taglist?

[luvmahae]

where you are ‣ lee haechan smau

summary: what the absolute fuck is up baby! fall semester marks the peak of greek life at ncu. the campus quad is filled with tents representing various fraternities and sororities with their letters proudly presented in front of each booth, all eager to recruit new members. as students return to campus, they are met with a flood of fliers and invitations to parties, mixers, and rush events. while you were walking through the crowd of eager freshmen to join these organizations, you bumped into someone very unexpected...

what do you do when you bump into the guy you hooked up with after a music festival during summer break? instead of the royal blue basketball jersey you first met him in, it was replaced by a varsity jacket with the letters reading "ΝΧΘ".

"haechan?"

pairing: fratboy!haechan x fem!reader

genre: smau, non-idol au, college au, fluff, nsfw/suggestive (mdni!) comedy, humor, slight slowburn, strangers to lovers, rave bae core? (am i in love with you or is it just the drugs?)

warnings: mentions of alcohol/substance usage (marijuana, mdma/ecstasy, lsd, cocaine), profanity, jokes about sex and death thrown around, both groups are out of pocket and tmi doesn't exist apparently... no ones safe! the boys gc is kinda questionable (this is where i say men deserve no rights!), haechan x reader met at an edm festival (the term rave bae will be said here and there. rave bae is someone you meet unexpectedly while raving, kinda like your temporary s/o for the duration of the rave or festival... smth like that!) disclaimer notice: these portrayals are fictional and are not intended to encourage or glamorize substance use.

playlist: where you are - john summit | club classics - charli xcx | intimidated - kaytranada, h.e.r. | high and i like it - it's murph, evalyn | what a life - john summit, stevie appleton | saving up - dom dolla | talk talk - charli xcx, troye sivan | mr useless - shygirl, sg lewis, club shy | atmosphere - fisher, kita alexander | thinking about you - calvin harris, ayah marar | gas pedal remix - john summit, subtronics, tape b, sage the gemini

notes: omg!!! my first post ever... honestly i've been debating to do this for a long time... now here i am :D ngl i lowkey based this off a personal experience (i am a changed woman now okay... spare me! 😭) my first lil fic dedicated to haechan!!! the playlist is highly edm biased with a sprinkle of brat. i just think it fits the vibe so well hehe. open to feedback and enjoy!!! ♡

status: ongoing!

taglist: closed!

profiles: live laugh love y/n (1), john summit fanboys (2)

intro: so.... edc next year?

one: comedown

two: wtf is college

three: boutta fuckin jump (written)

four: y/n’s eras tour

five: is my brain braining?

six: heyyyyyy 👀

seven: i know what u are…

eight: tequila ftw (written)

nine: ot3 timeout

ten: i want u 😩

eleven: drunk olympics

twelve: stuDYING

thirteen: agram 🙏😭

fourteen: gn haechan (written)

fifteen: team y/n

sixteen: options

seventeen: u did ur big one 😞

eighteen: h for harry styles

nineteen: kms postponed! (written)

twenty: haechan x y/n crumbs

twenty-one: how tf we feelin (written)

twenty-two: use protection 😏

twenty-three: missed connection

twenty-four: shhhh 🤫

twenty-five: enemies to lovers trope

twenty-six:

twenty-seven:

twenty-eight:

twenty-nine:

thirty:

[spatialwave]

just one more.

➸ ask: “Hey! How about “one more kiss, please” from the prompt list for Jayce. I just need him desperately yearning for reader” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.3k ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, yearning, mutual pining, gender-neutral reader, no mention of y/n. ➸ notes: tysm for asking! ask came from this prompt!

You couldn’t count on ten fingers how many nights you dreamt of Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress himself. The image of him rattled through your mind at every waking hour, that stupid smile you always wanted to wipe from his lips with your own. 

What you hadn’t known was how he reciprocated the sentiment. Jayce would find you at your workstation, dirt on your face and welding goggles on as you carefully put together pieces that would host the hextech gemstones for further research. You had become a treasure to him, someone he could rely on when his days were busy, which were more often than not.

There were plenty of times you hadn’t been aware of his presence, he would stand in the doorway watching you work. Hearts for eyes and forcing himself to turn away before his heart ached too much, knowing that you weren’t his.

He yearned for you each day, staying up into the late hours, wondering if you felt the same.

How could you? You were too…perfect. 

It was the night of one of Piltover’s illustrious charity events that brought in only the richest of citizens. Any and all who put in their well-earned money for the academy, and you, had been invited by Jayce himself. Viktor had decided against it, not so much inclined to spend his night at another event when he could be spending his evening in the lab with Sky.

So, you took his spot – and you did not belong.

With your hand wrapped around an empty glass which once held a darkened liquor, you stood off to the side in the large area that had been decorated so elegantly. The tunes of the live music and sounds of chatter filled your ears, eyes looking amongst the swarm of rich Piltovians sharing conversation about gods knows what.

Jayce had been everywhere and nowhere, the Golden Boy was easily the most important icon of the evening. Everyone wanted to talk with him, ask about his research and his plans for improvement of the city. 

It was irritating to be stuck alone, but at least the invitation filled your stomach with top-shelf food and liquor you wouldn’t be able to afford yourself.

There Jayce stood amongst a group of rich folk, eating him up, just like you knew they would. He was surrounded, a big smile on his lips as he moved his way through each conversation with his natural knack of charisma. You wondered what he was talking about, watching his lips move as he spoke so goddamn passionately, hands flying with each word. 

His eyes connected with yours at one point, lingering on you for a quick moment with that stupid smile, before his attention was enraptured by another generous donor.

After a few more minutes of watching, you gave up. There was nothing else for you here.

Footsteps clicked along the surface of the tiled floors, the empty halls more inviting than the gala ever was. Your fingers dragged along the surface of the brick walls, the liquor having left you in just the perfect amount of bliss as you made your way home, knowing you could sleep the next day away.

“Hey!” A voice called from behind you, startling you with a soft gasp.

You snapped your head around, eyes widening when they settled on Jayce hurrying down the hall behind you. He wore a smile, wearing too fancy of clothing to be chasing you down.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked once he reached a few steps away of you, breathing a bit heavy, “Sorry… out of breath,” he chuckled through deep inhales, “I didn’t think I’d catch up to you.”

The thumping of your heart against your rib cage didn’t go unnoticed, stilled in silence over the fact that he chased after you. A tiny smile spread across your lips.

“It’s not really my style,” you finally replied, hands landing on your hips, “why do you care if I leave?”

“Why do I care?” Jayce’s eyebrows furrowed together, “because I invited you here. I… I want you here.”

You hated how sweet he was.

“You’re a busy man, Jayce,” you smiled, offering a slight shake of your head as you stepped toward him, better seeing him under the dim lighting of the empty hallways, “I’m not too fond of just standing around watching you get swarmed by every wealthy person from Piltover. As inviting as that sounds.”

He snorted out a laugh, eyes watching you closely as you stepped directly below one of the overhanging lights. It illuminated your features perfectly, made you appear like a glowing angel.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here by myself?” He asked, those big eyes of his making you want to melt right into the floor beneath you.

You laughed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, “you’re not alone.”

“But I want you here,” he was adamant, eyebrows furrowing again, “come on. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re annoying,” you groaned, trying to act like this was worse than it was. You had a flair for the dramatics when you needed to pull something out from your sleeve, “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, it’s fine,” you brushed him off with a wave of your hand, “plus, you’re going to be busy all night, so if I stay, I’ll end up getting drunk by myself and that’s never turned out well for me.”

Jayce’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression carefully. Neither of you had realized how close you had gotten, close enough that he could tuck back some of your hair behind your ear. The movement of his hand made you both tense up, a fleeting touch that he hadn’t realized he’d done. Fingers brushed against the shell of your ear as he pulled his hand away, redness tinting his cheeks.

“Oh, uh–” he forced out an awkward laugh, eyes now looking anywhere other than your face, “you had some hair… in your face.”

Lips parted, but you couldn’t speak. His touched left you stunned in place, eyes big as you watched him. You watched as his eyes focused somewhere along the walls, hands balling into tense fists and teeth biting at his lower lip.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the late hour of the night, but you hadn’t the slightest care in the world anymore. All you wanted was Jayce, and it was his fault that he made you feel this way, so you were going to pull him into the mess that was you.

Even if it ruined the friendship you worked so hard to maintain, all these years.

His amber eyes landed back on you when he felt your hands reaching to his cheeks, cupping his face oh-so delicately. They widened as he watched you lean closer, noticing the way your gaze flickered down to his lips he’d been habitually chewing on all evening.

Jayce’s heart fluttered, and he acted on what felt right. Meeting you halfway and sighing when your lips touched after years of imagining what this would feel like. 

Both hands reached out for you, resting on your waist as he pressed forward. The kiss developed slowly, lips moving together a bit clumsily as your patience wore thin. Hands explored each other, touching hips and shoulders, and your tongue slipped from between your lips, and that’s when you froze.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you pulled back, taking a slight step away, “sorry–”

“No, don’t,” he whispered, closing the distance with a forward step until your chests were pressed together. He stared deep into your eyes, his own full of love as his gaze continued to flicker down to your lips that he needed to taste again, “one more kiss… please.”

You smiled like an idiot.

“Just one more,” you murmured, rolling your eyes affectionately, before he pulled you back into another kiss that took the breath from your lungs.

Jayce would be the death of you.

[make-me-imagine]

Camera Roll while dating Shang-Chi

A/N: I can picture the 2nd photo in the middle row from when they stole your phone lol

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Marvel+Shang-Chi Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @trashywritestrash, @groovy-lady, @marvelouslyme96, @supersourlemon13, @mochamoff, @simsiddy, @gay-and-ready-to-cry, @flourishandblotts-inc, @spuffyfan394, @agent-catfish-kenobi, @cs-please, @a-lumos-in-the-nox, @creativitybeware, @that-marvel-simp, @gatefleet, @skylions-den, @dominos-palast, @pockyandme, @soultrysworld, @merlin-dahlia

[forlix]

· . ˚ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞

— the little mannerisms you pick up from the members of stray kids over the course of your relationship.

words・3.7k / pairings・ot8 x gn!reader / genres・fluff, humor, borderline crack, intentional lowercase, established relationship(s) / warnings・minsung’s are suggestive, touch of anxiety in felix's, jeongin's is lowkey gross LMFAO

a/n・massive shoutout to @/http.dwaekkii on tiktok for their edits about the boys' habits, which i consulted for chan, changbin, seungmin, and jeongin (and to @astraystayyh for beta reading hehe. what would i do without u). these were sooooo fun to write, hope u guys enjoy (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )

chan + getting shy easily. poor thing gets embarrassed so quickly as it is. throw you into the mix and it’s just critical hit after critical hit. defense lowered. no health potions left. he folds like a lawn chair with a massive smile and a whiny “stooooop” every time you say something even remotely affectionate. the habit is adorable, and you love it to pieces.

but you like poking fun at it even more. “god forbid i find my literal underwear model of a boyfriend attractive,” you’d say, or something along those lines, which of course only triples his embarrassment and on more than one occasion results in him starfishing on your kitchen floor, his hood pulled over his face.

fast forward however many months. he’s still the worst compliment-receiver you know, but you discover one arbitrary afternoon that it’s rubbed off on you.

the two of you are cuddled together on the living room couch in your usual fashion, your legs thrown over his thighs and his hands tracing absently over your shins as you relay to him something you overheard on the subway. the conversation is painfully normal. you’re almost bored. you pause to take a breath, and he murmurs, out of nowhere, in the dreamiest tone: “so damn beautiful.”

“wha—huh? what is?”

“you. your voice, your face, everything. i‘m lucky.”

your expression of bewilderment persists for around ten seconds, and then slowly, so slowly, you begin to sandwich your head between your knees, balling yourself up like a spooked armadillo. chan wonders if he should call an ambulance.

“love?” no response. “what, uh, what’s happening right now, exactly?”

no response. no response. then, hoarsely, “you can’t...say shit like that…randomly.”

he notices two things after that. one, your skin is burning hot enough to fry something upon, and two, you’ve formed a fist in the fabric of his hoodie, which you only do when you’re pretending to be annoyed at him. the puzzle pieces fall into place, and he starts grinning like a madman.

“you’re…embarrassed?”

the guttural groan you emit is more than enough of an answer, and the cute aggression that overcomes chan is fucking debilitating. he wraps his arms around you and hauls you entirely off the couch and onto his lap, littering kisses over your face until it finally resigns into a matching smile. all intent to continue feigning grumpiness erased with the drop of a hat. you drape an arm over his neck.

“you’re so good to me, channie,” you sigh helplessly. “i love you.”

“love you more, baby.” he imprints these words directly upon your lips, then pulls away, giggles. “that was very me of you, by the way.”

“i know, right? i was just about to say.”

minho + butt touching. it’s quite simple, really. if lee minho is within proximity of someone’s buttocks, he will, as he lives and breathes, make it known. will it be a coy little swat or a yelp-eliciting, full-bodied grab? nobody ever knows, not even him. the unpredictability is what makes it exciting.

but it takes a while before this starts applying to you, because the way minho touches you is…different. doting. there’s no other way to describe how he always holds the nape of your neck while kissing you, how he rests a hand against the small of your back whenever he leads you somewhere, how during the nights you can’t sleep he guides you to the place on his chest where he knows his heartbeat is loudest. he even drags you into his trademark headlocks the same way one would hold an invaluable treasure. he’s so obsessed with all of you that he never thinks to pay just your butt special attention (though it is, indeed, a special butt).

you take it into your own hands. literally.

you don’t know what prompts it—maybe you’ve simply seen minho slap his members’ asses one too many times, or maybe you’re still thinking of the specific time minho slapped changbin’s ass in passing and it fucking echoed, or maybe minho just looks especially fine in this practice outfit, a skintight tee and washed sweatpants that hug him in all the right places—but you feel a new urge today as your boyfriend swings his duffel over his shoulder, circles around the kitchen counter.

he puckers up as he nears you, silently requesting his goodbye; you give it to him, relishing for a moment in the familiar, soft plush of his lips beneath yours. then he pulls away and turns to leave, and your hand acquires its target.

“go get ‘em, tiger.” thwack!

minho jumps a foot into the air. clutches his pearls and his left butt cheek. becomes the splitting image of that perplexed blonde lady surrounded by geometry.

but when he turns around to stare at you, the smirk melting across his face betrays how he really feels about what you’ve just done. good. really good.

you, meanwhile, look genuinely confused. “it’s like it moved on its own.”

minho beams. steps towards you daintily, intentionally, like a cat catching sight of a laser beam. brings a hand to your hip, murmurs, “that’s what we’re doing now?” kisses you again, for longer this time.

you fully foresee his fingers wandering to your ass to give it a gentle squeeze, but you reach up to cuff his shoulder when it happens anyways, and his laugh vibrates against your mouth. it seems you’ll be reaping what you’ve sown from now on.

(good luck.)

changbin + the Cackle™. yes, you said something exceptionally funny. yes, you expected changbin to find it funny too. but you couldn’t expect the godforsaken noise that left his mouth as he threw himself straight into the tree planter behind you.

your mind spun with frantic questions as you helped him out of the dirt. had the spirit of spongebob just usurped his vocal cords? were you on a date with the wicked witch of the west? most importantly—

“are you well?” you sputtered, which only made him laugh harder and his laugh so much crazier, so you started laughing, too. and you were goners, falling over each other until you’d been reduced to watery eyes and sore cheeks, your giggling interrupted only by the sound of you slapping his thigh every so often, heartily enough to reverberate around the little park in which you concluded your second date.

that’s how you fall for seo changbin: laughing. with a reckless, breathless abandon you didn’t think possible. stumbling across empty sidewalks, spitting noodles across dining tables, begging for mercy on studio couches. wrestling under tear-stained comforters, starting (and re-starting) silly stories, huffing into beaming kisses. the list goes on.

you never quite get used to that chortle of his, too busy enjoying its insanity to notice how your own chuckles grow shorter and shriller, how they gradually develop an edge like the chittering of a forest dweller.

you complete your transformation on your ninety-eighth date. 

no, changbin doesn’t say anything exceptionally funny. no, he doesn’t expect you to find it exceptionally funny, either. he expects least of all for you to fold over the kitchen island and start cackling like cruella de vil on helium.

jisung turns around from his seat on the couch. chan’s footsteps come to a halt as he emerges from the bathroom. both of them have fear in their eyes as they witness your undoing.

the only thing on changbin’s face, though, is unfettered delight.

“b-baby,” he sputters with a growing smile. “are you—”

you lift your face off the marble surface and turn to face him. the entirety of your forehead and the point of your nose is covered in flour. you blow a cloud of the stuff out of your mouth like a dragon awoken from slumber.

he loses it.

the two of you make your way onto the floor in slow motion, ending in a tangled heap against the side of the counter. changbin tries to clean off the flour and smears it all over your cheeks instead. you are zero help whatsoever, smacking his bicep like that’ll help you catch your breath. your synchronized, diabolical laughter reaches every corner of the apartment. your happiness reaches every nerve ending.

chan and jisung look at each other and sigh. jisung takes a video.

hyunjin + side-eyeing. this man is so god awful at controlling his face, bless him…and DAMN HIM.

on one hand, you love how in tune with his emotions he is, how confidently he puts them on display. and you love your synergy. you come closer to believing in soulmates every time you glance his way and discover your exact feelings written all over his features; it’s a special type of happiness, sharing a brain with your favorite person in the world.

on the other hand, you think there’s a time and place for candor, and he tends, well, not to think at all. during many a precarious situation, you’ll catch him wearing an expression so transparent that he might as well arrange the words THIS IS STUPID AND I HATE ALL OF YOU over his head in neon lights. cue a dig of your heel into his toe, a hiss of pain cut short by your piercing glare. if you’d known ahead of time that dating hwang hyunjin would have you doing so much damage control…you’d still date him, let’s be real. but you do get stressed at times.

the night the tables turn, you’re at a celebratory dinner for your coworker’s birthday. small caveat: you can’t stand her. she’s the type to spontaneously combust if she goes two minutes without talking about herself. certainly doesn’t help that she’s downing champagne like water, and her lips are looser than ever.

hyunjin comes with you, fortunately. or not. he spends the whole evening trying so hard not to laugh: snorting into his bread, excusing himself to “cough.” you think he actually starts doing breathing exercises at some point. you’re so, so grateful that he’s here, but you’re also deathly afraid that he’s gonna bring out those neon lights in front of your entire office.

then, she flirts with him.

from the opposite end of the table. perfectly wasted but still knowing perfectly well that he’s yours. the whole patio goes silent. hyunjin’s jaw hits the table.

your fork clatters to your plate.

FUCK time and place.

the side-eye you give her is devastating. truly masterful. your brow furrows. your eyes turn to slits. your gaze does the up-down-up of unadulterated incredulity. hyunjin recognizes the motions straightaway and starts smiling so hard his whole face hurts.

you take your boyfriend’s wrist and stand up. he follows suit. you don’t say a thing as you leave the restaurant, and you don’t have to. the intensity of your disdain was more than enough; anything more and she might’ve started crying.

once you’re on the curb outside, hyunjin pulls on your interlocked hands, brings you close. his lips brush against the shell of your ear. you hear laughter and his smirk in his voice: “you might be the sexiest person on earth."

jisung + how he applies lip balm. that han jisung is the pioneer of modern day babygirlism is the worst kept secret in the world. that han jisung applies lip balm the riveting way he does, however, is unknown even to you. until one morning.

you pop into the bathroom and make your usual beeline for your toothbrush, only to end up motionless in front of the sink, staring. jisung is a bit off to the side, hair pinned back by a cinnamoroll headband, eyes glued to his phone, hand holding a tube of chapstick that you can actually see getting shorter in real time. he looks so pensive, so concentrated. how long has it been since he last blinked? you’ve half a mind to pull out a stopwatch.

finally, he rubs his lips together, recaps the chapstick, and makes eye contact with you in the mirror. a smile crosses his face, equal parts confused and amused.

“baby, your mouth is open.”

you close it. then you open it again, and your words come out in a barely-contained laugh: “what on earth did you just do?”

“what do you mean?”

“the—” you point at his mouth, then do your best impression of an elementary schooler trying to color inside the lines. “—that.”

jisung looks aghast. “that was LIP BALM.”

“no, i know what it—you’re so—i meant, why do you apply it like that?”

jisung continues to look aghast. “like what?”

“like you’re one of socrates’ prized pupils and the answer to the universe’s formation lies at the bottom of—” you step in close, reach into the pocket of his sweatpants. “—this tube!”

it might be the craziest thing you’ve ever said to him. he bursts into laughter, the kind that leaves him no recollection of what he does with his limbs, and when he can see straight again he discovers he’s pressed you gently against the counter. his fingers latched around the hem of your top, his grin inches away from yours. can’t stay away from you to save his life, this one.

“do i actually?”

“yes! holy shit, it’s so cute.” your arms circle around his neck, also without an ounce of thought, also through a fit of giggles. “no way you’ve always done that, right?”

“i don’t know. i’ve never thought about it.” a pause. a tilt of his head, with purpose. “am i…doing it wrong?”

the question is a trap and you realize it too late. your gaze drops from his eyes to his lips—a ray of sunlight glistens off the pink plush like a paid actor—then back to his eyes. let’s find out.

you lean in. so does he. and his mouth tastes and feels like melted fucking sugar. it’s such a pleasant surprise that you actually moan, and he chuckles against you. lifts you onto the edge of the sink. your mind really goes empty after that, save for one thought. i have to start doing that.

felix + checking his own pulse. you saw it from afar, the first time.

he stood by the stage’s entrance just before curtain up, pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of his neck. eyelids sealed closed, chest heaving. you tilted your head, puzzled. worried. then the concert began, and you pushed the image to the back of your mind.

it returned to the forefront right before bed.

“you do it when you’re nervous?”

“yeah. forces me to ground myself. turns off the world for a bit.” the hand rubbing circles into your back paused. “wanna give it a go?”

“what, checking my pulse?”

“mine.”

you lifted your head off the pillow. felix took your hand from where it sat upon his ribs, isolating two fingers and nestling them over his jugular. his quickened heartbeat pressed into your skin like the world’s gentlest tattoo.

the sixty seconds began and concluded in total silence.

“well?” he whispered.

“ninety-three,” you answered, lightheaded from the sheer intimacy of it all. “you’re nervous right now?”

“something like that,” he hummed. pulled you down, kissed you deeply. there were no more words exchanged that night.

the habit surfaced more than you knew. while driving to visit your parents. after a stupid argument with a bouquet of flowers tucked beneath his free arm. you started doing it for him in the times he couldn’t, and he’d cover your hand with his own and kiss the top of your head silently, gratefully.

two years have passed since, and you’ve vanished from the dinner table.

felix asks the nearest waiter for directions to the restrooms. you don’t notice when the door swings open, unmoving in your spot over the sink, your pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of your neck. 

his hand finds your hip. you let him turn you around and bring you to his chest; he glances at the crystalline droplets studding your lashes and falling from your cheeks. his eyes convey what his mouth doesn’t need to, not anymore.

let me.

you do.

his fingers replace yours the moment you drop them from under your jaw, the movement like clockwork. he counts your every heartbeat with unblinking concentration, his heart growing heavier the higher the number climbs.

the sixty seconds begin and conclude in total silence. 

“well?” you whisper.

“hundred and six,” he answers. to his confusion, a smile pulls at your lips. 

he wonders if it’s a trick of the bathroom lights when he sees the tiny box you pluck from your pocket, but there’s no mistaking the reality of the diamond ring that sits behind its open lid.

the earth slants under his feet.

“crazy.” you giggle through your tears, run your thumb over his cheekbone. “that’s how many years i want with you.”

seungmin + poking eyes(?) he’s hardly touched puppym when your voice is slicing through the living room air like a fucking beyblade. 

“KIM SEUNGMIN, UNHAND HIM THIS INSTANT.”

do you have a sixth sense just for this? he throws his hands up in exasperation. “he’s literally me. i’m allowed to do whatever i want with me.”

“he’s not you, he’s our son.” you pop out of nowhere to swipe the plushie from over your boyfriend’s shoulder. “my son, if you keep this up.”

“just say you hate me and my preferred avenues of self expression.”

upside-down, he watches you dust off puppym’s face and smooch his forehead with a tenderness that makes seungmin unhappier than he lets on. you then tuck him into your jacket pocket. the little shit’s expression looks strangely smug poking out of its cotton capsule.

“i’m asking you to not gauge his eyes out, not to deliver me the holy grail,” you say. “you’ll survive.”

but then he feels your hands on either side of his face, and you lean over him like the mj to his peter, leave a kiss on the space between his eyes, too. he has zero say in the bashful smile this brings to his face.

“but why do you do that, seriously?” you mutter.

“i have no idea,” he replies. “but it’s fun. try it.”

“i’ll think about it.” you lean in again, and he nearly forgets what you were talking about in the first place when you kiss him on the lips this time. “okay, i’ve thought about it. no.”

“hate you,” he says despite the literal hearts in his eyes, and then you’re off to work.

puppym takes strikingly after his father. they have the same bangs. the same compulsively squeezable quality. the same little :3 that can only allude to sinister plottings. you’d be loath to admit that you sort of comprehend seungmin’s poking predisposition.

one night, seungmin falls asleep before you even finish your nighttime routine, and you spot in his peaceful, upturned face an opportunity.

you lie belly-down on your side of the bed. your fingers splay into a peace-sign in the air. your smile stretches further into a cheshire grin the closer you bring your hand. you’re just about to reach the ends of his eyelashes when—

“I KNEW IT!”

you almost catapult into the ceiling. then you try to make a mad dash for the bathroom. but seungmin shoots a hand around your wrist like he’s actually peter parker and pins you down before you so much as take a step. your only remaining option is to sulk about your foiled plans. (and blush, because, well, you’re under him.)

“amateur,” he tsks. “you gotta test my breathing to make sure i’m asleep first. shit’s foolproof.”

you blink at him for a few seconds. his words finally click.

now you almost catapult him into the ceiling.

“HOW MANY TIMES?”

jeongin + eating food in one bite. so you might be an instigator.

“hwuck,” he grumbles around the whole ice cream cone in his mouth, face scrunched up in a brain-freeze-induced wince. “ayee ith waz a bah iyeah.” (translation: fuck, maybe this was a bad idea.)

“you got this. just take it slow,” you urge, except he’s stopped moving and speaking and closed his eyes as if he’s descending into a deep sleep. you’re actually concerned for about two seconds, and then his jaw begins to oscillate leisurely like an elderly cow in his favorite pasture. false alarm.

after some time, he swallows, beams. “so am i the fucking best or what.”

“yeah you are,” you echo, and he swings an arm over your shoulder, plants a chocolatey kiss on your temple. the two of you celebrate his daesangs with less enthusiasm.

“when are you doing that with me, by the way?”

“the one-bite thing?” he nods. “mmm, coaches don’t play.”

“mmm, this one will.”

“doubtful.”

fast forward a few weeks and you, jeongin, and his younger brother are sitting cross-legged on the porch in his backyard. three full-sized oranges rest in the center of your makeshift circle. damn is yoon hard to say no to. (runs in the family.)

“the rules!” he declares. “eat the orange whole! first to swallow it wins! you can’t spit it out!”

you wait. “is that it?”

“yes!”

why was the delivery so grand?

jeongin places a fond hand atop his brother’s head. “i’ve brought you a new loser, yoonie. get excited.”

you feign an indifferent scoff, but jeongin spots the fire that ignites behind your eyes like that of an anime protagonist, the resolute grip with which you palm your orange. he smirks. he’s never known you to take trash talk sitting down. or sitting cross-legged on his porch.

yoon counts you off. “ready…”

“good luck, coach,” jeongin sings.

“shut up, pipsqueak.”

“set…GO!”

in amusing unison, you and yoon try and fail to fasten your teeth around even half of the fruit. jeongin, meanwhile, fits the whole thing into his black hole of an oral cavity and launches into that dumb cow impression again.

desperate times call for desperate measures.

you rip the orange from your lips. “yoon! your brother’s ticklish, right?”

both yang siblings’ eyes widen—the younger’s in growing delight, the older’s in impending horror.

the latter reacts first. “ay, ay, ay, ah ahes eh ooles!” (translation: wait, wait, wait, that’s against the rules!)

but the former moves first, and you’re right behind him.

jeongin weakens when the younger boy assaults his sides, crumples when you target the back of his neck, the sounds leaving his mouth getting progressively louder and somehow even less intelligible.

he eventually has to spit out the orange to avoid death by pulp going down the wrong pipe and spins around in indignation, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand. but his annoyance—

you’re back on the floor, gnawing hopelessly at the the orange again. “ih ih eawahin, ooh.” (translation: this is embarrassing, yoon.)

yoon replies, “huh?” (translation: huh?)

—dissipates, immediately.

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