#yet somehow managed to write almost every day so far

[nekohrine]

I'd really love to write something besides dialogue but those bitches just wouldn't stop talking

[ferrarifudds]

uconn winning the natty made this idea come to mind lol!! 😭 paige is constantly wearing that net, so i was wondering if i could request a paige x fem reader imagine where they celebrate her win, and paige fucks her with that net on !

Hold Me Down. ✷ Paige Bueckers

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Gf!reader

Summary: When you tease Paige because she will probably have to be surgically removed from that damn championship game net.

Word Count: 1k

Disclaimer/s: thank u for the request but i don’t do smut :’) so there’s NONE !!!! but there’s some kissing , suggestive stuff , and it implies it , but i just personally don’t write the actual, u know. i’m sorry!!! u got the wrong girl lowk 💔

Vera’s Voice! that stupid net i swear.. i was gonna write something regarding the net and then i got this request but then also , again , i do not write smut :’) Unless I change my mind one day. but yk. hope u enjoooyyy!!

You spot her amidst the madness, and for a moment, the world feels like it slows down. The afterparty is a blur of laughter and celebration, but all you can focus on is Paige.

She’s the center of it all, surrounded by teammates, friends, and a few overenthusiastic fans, but she stands out in the best way.

Her cheeks are flushed from the adrenaline of the game, and she’s still wearing that damn net—the one that’s somehow managed to stay around her neck since the ceremonial hoop cut.

Like it was a crown she’s earned, swinging back and forth with every sliver of movement made.

You leaned against a wall, watching her for a second. She looks like everything she’s ever dreamed of.

And yet somehow, she still looks at you like you’re the prize.

When she finally makes her way over, she doesn’t say anything right away.

Just grins, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling—and wraps her arms around you like the buzzer just went off again.

And of course, that net smacks you right in the face.

“Jesus,” You laugh, peeling it away and letting it flop against her chest. “Just not gonna take this thing off, I’m assuming?”

She pulls back just far enough to look at you, her hands finding your waist before she grins wider. “Earned it.”

“Planning to sleep in it too?”

“Maybe,” She says, shrugging, cocky as ever. “You got a problem with that?”

“Not necessarily,” You say, dragging out the words. “Just didn’t realize I was also dating the net.”

Paige’s laugh comes out breathless, her chest rising and falling with the quickness of her breath.

She leans in, her lips almost brushing yours, but at the last second, she pulls back just enough so she’s hovering next to your ear.

You can feel her breath against your skin, making you shiver.

“You’re lucky I love you,” She murmurs, her voice low, almost a growl.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling the heat in your chest intensifying.

You reach up, your fingers brushing the edges of the net still tangled around her neck, and without thinking, you tug it toward you.

She stumbles slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she follows your lead, her eyes darkening with an unspoken challenge.

You pull her in until your lips are barely an inch apart, and she’s staring at you, her chest pressed against yours.

You can feel her heart pounding, just like yours.

The tension between you two is suffocating, electric.

And in that moment, you do the only thing that feels right.. so you kiss her.

It’s not soft or slow. It’s urgent, messy, and full of everything you both want but can’t say aloud. Her lips are warm and familiar, but they’re hungry, too, moving against yours with that desperate need that’s been building all night.

Her hands tighten on your waist, pulling you even closer, her fingers digging into your skin.

You tug at the net, the rough edges of it brushing your fingers as it shifts between you both, but neither of you care.

The net is forgotten in the heat of the kiss, just another piece of fabric caught in the fire.

When you finally pull back, her eyes are dark with something too heated to ignore.

Her lips are red and swollen, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

She doesn’t break the eye contact, doesn’t look away.

There’s no mistaking it now.

“Guess this thing is useful in some ways.” You mutter under your breath, and Paige just grins.

She leans forward, her lips brushing your ear, voice barely above a whisper, thick with promise.

“You keep making fun of the net like I won’t use it to shut you up later,” She says, each word dripping with temptation.

The words hang in the air between you, too heavy, too loaded.

“You’re so full of yourself.” You scoff.

“I’m a national champion, can you blame me?”

You can’t stop the shiver that runs down your spine, or the way your heart beats faster with the thought of her taking control.

Paige looks down at the net, her fingers playing with the frayed edges before meeting your eyes again. Without warning, she pulls it off her neck and drapes it over yours, the weight of it suddenly feeling very different.

“Think I like it better on you,” She says, the words playful, but with an edge to them.

She steps back, taking in the way the net hangs loosely around your neck, before her eyes meet yours again.

You both stand there for a moment, the world around you fading out.

There’s no sound anymore, just the tension crackling in the space between you.

She tilts her head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, her eyes filled with that glint of something dangerous. “Meet me in the room in five minutes,” She murmurs.

“And only wear the net.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns and walks away, her movements graceful, confident.

You stand there for a second, staring after her, feeling the heat rise in your chest.

Five minutes.

Oh fuck.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list!!!!

tags! @halfwayhearted @pedriache @wdcbox @janaelalfysblunt @hellokittyfeenie

[dyingswanpavlova]

Happier than ever

Part 1

Pairing: Nam-gyu × Reader × The Salesman

Warnings: Drug Usage, Overdose, Death, Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Suicide, Mentions of Sexual Activities, Mentions of Rape, Domestic Violence, Domestic Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Anger Issues, Depression, Long Backstory, Minors do not interact!

Nam-gyu and you were a couple for the last eight years. But after you decide you had enough of his anger issues, you leave him and try to be happy on your own. Oh, how naïve you are.

Author's note: Okay, everyone.😩 I know you're waiting for the next part of "Your girl" and trust me, I am, too! I'm sorry that I haven't come up with it yet, but I needed to get my mind off of it for a moment, because I don't want to just write anything and publish it like that - the story means too much to me. I can't publish it unless I'm happy with it, but I promise you, I'm working on it. Until then, I started to furiously hit the key board and this happened. Whatever this is, it is Part 1 of it and I'm doing a Part 2, I just don't know when yet. I love you! 🤍 Lana

Loving Nam-gyu wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world.

In fact, it was almost impossible on most days.

But there was a part of you, a thing, a quiet voice – something that needed to be reassured, that felt like maybe you were the problem.

There had been good days, hadn’t there? Your birthday and the way he woke you up with pancakes every year. Of course they turned out horrible and were barely edible. They were raw on the inside and somehow, he still managed to burn them. But he made them for you. The memory still made you smile, despite everything.

Then there was the day you had your big ballet performance. You had spent so many months rehearsing, trying to be perfect. You went all Natalie Portman on that performance. Since the moment you’d been told you got to play Odette, you were fire and flame, spending every waking moment trying to be everything you pictured in your head. It was hard, very hard even. But you had the great hope that, if maybe you did well enough, they would come.

Your family would come and watch. They’d finally show you that they did indeed love you, that you weren’t just a burden or an accident. They would come and they would be proud of you. Your father would set his work phone down, your mother her pills. They would be there. For you.

But of course, they didn’t. You should have known better. It was your own fault, hoping and praying for something that was never going to happen. You should have known.

And still, the moment the curtain lifted and you glanced along the rows and rows of people, you felt disappointed. But you didn’t feel disappointed like normal people would, no. It was you after all. You felt devastated. You felt all of your creativity leave your mind. Your body slowly forgot the choreography. Your eyes glistened with tears. And your life was over.

You had your own issues. He had his anger. You had your world endings.

That was until the door flew open after everyone was already seated, waiting for the show to begin. A few heads turned and your gaze quickly flashed towards the now open door, revealing the face of the mysterious newcomer. He was out of breath and his hair was a mess, his cheeks glowing red and the look in his eyes pleading.

It was Nam-gyu.

You had just had the greatest argument of your life so far, throwing around dishes and screaming your lungs out at each other. Not even twelve hours had passed since then, so you were more than sure that he wouldn’t come. After all, he was the least reliable person you knew, alongside your family. And that fight had been particularly bad. You actually didn’t expect to ever see him again.

But there he was, his appearance disheveled and his eyes pleading with you. Pleading with you to forgive him, pleading with you to dance.

Dance.

You remembered the way you felt. The way your disappointment suddenly turned into something different, something hopeful and warm.

Something good.

He was good.

He was yours.

And you were his.

In that moment, there was nothing else. Everything around you faded into a dark cloud and all you could focus on was him and the way he stood in the middle of the audience, staring up at you. The world was quiet and everything smelled like flowers. The perfection you were striving for was suddenly there and it had nothing to do with your performance.

It was a slow dance, slow and sensual, between your souls.

Until suddenly the music started and your body remembered the movements again.

And you were indeed perfect.

Unfortunately though it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, he was simply complicated. When he wasn’t drugged out of his mind, he was angry. Not at all the time – but easily. All you had to do was say the wrong thing and he’d explode. And you’d explode right back, right into his face.

“I fucking hate you!”

“Shut the fuck up, you dumb slut!”

“Who are you calling a slut?! You son a bitch!”

“Say that again!”

It always ended the same way. You sobbing on the floor, him slamming the door shut and disappearing. That were the good fights.

The bad ones were different. You couldn’t count the times you had been forced to take shelter in the bathroom, quickly locking the door, too afraid to let him even close to you. Of course you knew how to fight back. You didn’t let him get away with slapping you, oh no, you kneed him right in the balls so he’d know better not to fuck with you. He’d normally collapse and the fight would be over. But sometimes, on especially bad days, he got that look on him.

It wasn’t careful or hesitant. No, it was murderous and terrifying. You always knew there was something dangerous about him. That was probably what drew you in at first. But this…It was different. When he got that look, when the drugs clouded his mind like that, you were truly afraid of what he might do. And so you locked yourself in and listened to the way he pounded against the door, ready to break it down. So far, he hadn’t. A part of him was still in there, even when got like that.

But you didn’t want to push your luck.

After eight years of up and down, back and forth and through the gates of Hell, you finally left him for good. At first he probably didn’t believe it. After all, you had pulled the leaving card a million times before. But somehow you always ended up back in his bed, with him fucking your brains out and calling it making up.

But this time, you meant it. It had been a pretty normal Tuesday. You were at work, waiting tables and cleaning up after your mindless customers. It wasn’t the best job in the world, but it paid the bills – albeit, barely.

After your father left and married a woman hardly any older than you and you found your mother on the bathroom floor, cold and stiff, her eyes wide and her chin and hair covered in foam and puke, you decided couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t be that anymore.

You moved in with Nam-gyu. It started off well at first. He was as cute as ever, when he was sober. Sure, you had fights already, but they were mostly trivial. Yelling was involved, throwing furniture around as well, but he never got violent with you so far.

He found a job, as did you and you paid your apartment together. It was tiny of course, but it was enough. You bought groceries and washed laundry. You even had some spare money to buy furniture and decorations. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. You did everything the way you always pictured it.

You had been with Nam-gyu since you turned seventeen. You met back in school and immediately fell in love with him. He had been so sweet. Acting overly confident and arrogant, of course, but it was just a front which you immediately realized. Under all that he was actually rather silly. He made you laugh without even trying. Even he seemed surprised by how good you two matched. So far he’d been going through life, acting like everyone was beneath him. But in reality, he wasn’t popular. He was a bully. He was mean, with a cruel streak. But never to you. No, when someone dared to speak up their mind against you, he was there, ready to break their jaw. You formed a friendship of sort. He was protective and extremely possessive, while you were caring. His family was a bunch of assholes, just like yours was and neither of you had any real friends.

Most of your friends were other dancers and neither of those were really sentimental. Sure, it was enough to go out for a salad sometimes, but you really weren’t one for bulimia and cigarettes. Most of them were, unfortunately.

You loved food. You loved to eat and you appreciated every bite. You’d grown up rather lonely on your own, praying every night for a sibling or a real friend. Someone you could talk to, about real problems. Your ballet friends though? Whenever they asked you how you felt, they didn’t actually want to know. They were just being polite.

Nam-gyu was just as lonely, though he wouldn’t have ever admitted it. He had friends, who were to no one’s surprise, also a bunch of assholes. Some of them were just bullies, others were straight-up rapists.

“What do you mean, you changed your mind? Are you dumb? Shut the fuck up and take it. You agreed to this!”

Nam-gyu wasn’t. It was another thing he wouldn’t have admitted to out loud, but the thought of fucking someone while they were out of it was something he wasn’t after. A thing that really turned him on was to see the pleasure on the other person’s face. The moans, the sighs. He wouldn’t get that if he just made them take it. And so he didn’t. But he tried to keep a straight face, when his friends shared their immoral stories of last weekend. He tried to laugh, when they spoke about the way the girls curled up in self-hatred after they left them there, their cum leaking out of them.

That was until one of the girls ended up killing herself.

She had been super sad and melancholic for as long anyone could remember. She was rather quiet and no-one really spoke to her. She wasn’t weird or anything, just really shy. That was enough to get bullied. She was an obvious virgin and rather closed-off. A good challenge. A great bet.

So, one of his friends placed a bet with the others. Fuck the girl.

“No way that weirdo is letting you anywhere close to her.”

And she didn’t, at first. She didn’t trust anyone around, because people normally made fun of her. But that guy, who went by Nic, was a real good actor. He didn’t walk up to her and just made advances. No, he played shy around her. Sweet. Funny. He managed to tickle a smile out of her. A laugh. And he didn’t just do it once. He did it for days. Weeks. Two months. He played her boyfriend. Her sweet, shy boyfriend. Until her front slowly crumbled and she fell in love with him. Deeply. So much that she actually decided to give Nic her first.

According to Nic it had been nothing out of the ordinary, but Nam-gyu knew it was more than that. He could read the people around him fairly well, and he could also see the way Nic’s pupils dilated, the way his heart skipped a beat, whenever his sweet, little girlfriend was around.

But his friends, his friends, they were constantly at his back.

“Did you finally fuck her?”

“Did you stretch that weird little cunt, huh?”

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for that Wednesday Addams bitch.”

Nic had a reputation to uphold. And so he did what he deemed necessary. He had sex with her and then he dumped her. But not like any normal person would. No, he made fun of her in the worst ways and ended up sending her nudes to anyone who was interested.

The same nudes he had begged her to send him, to trust him, for only his eyes.

And the next day, the gruesome news were heard over speaker.

She was dead. Jumped off her apartment building, right into her death.

Nic had a mental breakdown. No-one else from his group really cared. No-one except for Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu spent the rest of the day in his car, staring down at the steering wheel and trying not to throw up.

You had heard the news of course and you were devastated. You hadn’t known the girl, but you had never been mean to her. You actually remembered a few interactions you had. You knew there had been something going on between her and Nam-gyu’s friend. But naïve, little you had had the hope that it wasn’t a trick. How stupid you had been.

You spent the rest of the day looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Right when you already thought maybe he wasn’t at school at all, you saw his car. He was inside and God, he looked horrible. With red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands, all day. You tried your best to comfort him, but it was futile. He felt guilty. Someone was dead. And maybe, just maybe, if he had intervened in time…

You tried to make him understand that it wasn’t his fault, not entirely. He never spoke to his friends again.

You’d later find out, that was the day he took his first injection. So far all he had been doing were mushrooms and weed, but Hell, who hadn’t?

You spent more and more time together, because he firmly ignored everyone who was so damn fucked in the head. He was trying to be good, he was trying so hard. Life hadn’t been easy on him, not at all, but he still tried.

A month later, you had your first kiss. Another three days later you had sex. It was your first time and he was being surprisingly gentle and considerate. You loved thinking back to it, because you didn’t regret it at all. No matter what else happened between you afterwards, you could never regret giving your virginity to him, because it meant so much to you. And it seemed to mean even more to him.

Two years later, it was safe to say you were made for each other. Even long after being out of school, you were still a couple. He still got these angry outbursts sometimes, but you tried to understand him. He had grown up, feeling unseen and unloved by anyone. As did you. You weren’t angry per say. But you got angry, when he did. You had these desperate mood swing. And whenever something didn’t go your way, you felt like the world was ending. You felt everything intensely.

Love was great. It was all-consuming. You loved him in the same way he did. You adored him. Anger was different. It felt suffocating. Sadness wasn’t sadness, but depression. And despair was enough to nearly kill you.

You tried going to university, but that didn’t work out, because your father left and so you had no chance to pay the tuition. Nam-gyu never even bothered to try, because he knew he would fail anyway, but he tried whatever he could to make your dream work. You wanted to work with animals, heal them, help them, do whatever you could to make someone’s life better. But despite all your – and his – efforts, it didn’t work out. It was simply too much. He was heartbroken when you were forced to leave school, because of your selfish prick of a father. But it was alright.

You’d find another job. You could still make it in life, even without university. Everything was good.

That was, until you couldn’t afford your dance practice any longer.

That was heartbreaking.

One day, you came home after a long day of playing cashier, only to find your mother had stolen all the money you had saved so far. She took it to buy pills or whatever else. You couldn’t even be mad at her, because she lay passed out in the doorway to her room.

You had no money. And all your dreams were dead.

By the time that happened you were far into twenty-one, so you knew that life was cruel and you turned more and more bitter.

Nam-gyu was simply angry, but there was not much he could do. His parents threw him out at nineteen, so he had been paying his own rent since then. He tried speculating with cryptocurrency, but that didn’t work out. He played it down, but you knew he lost quite the amount of his own savings.

A year later your mother died and you finally moved in together. So far you hadn’t been able to leave her on her own, but now that she was gone, you couldn’t stand to live in the same place where she had died. The cemetery of what could have been. Countless dour memories, not a single one good.

You had never had a particularly good relationship, but she was your mother nonetheless. The sight of her dead body and horrified face, it haunted you in your sleep. You spent more than one night, waking up screaming, sweating and clutching the linens. Luckily, Nam-gyu was there to catch you, before you ever managed to fall into the deep pit that was your mind.

He managed to calm you down somehow, every time. He was perfect. The perfect boyfriend.

Until he wasn’t.

You hated when he did drugs, especially so after what had happened to your mother. And so he said he wouldn’t, but it was obviously just to pacify you. You always noticed when he did it nonetheless, you knew the dazed look in his eyes, the paleness of his skin. Whenever he refused a meal, it was obvious to you. Normally, he’d choke down everything you cooked like a starved animal, but there were days when he picked at his food and that was always the first indication.

His short responses, his temper, suddenly so easily flared. It didn’t take long for your first real argument to break out. It was fine, up until the point when you saw his hand twitch. Obviously, you shot him a murderous look, daring him. If he dared to hit you, you’d break his fucking jaw.

And he refrained. For then.

Things went mostly normal, until the next fight. That time he wasn’t so gentle. Things got out of hand and he pushed you against the wall, smashing your head against it in the process. For a moment, you were simply stunned – and even he seemed to be. He stopped before he could cause any greater damage.

Things went between good and bad, it was a constant battle for dominance. One day was good, the next day horrible. You couldn’t even look at him without earning a harsh comment. You’d ignore him firmly for the rest of the day and eventually he’d come crawling back, begging you to let him back inside the bedroom. He didn’t mind the couch, he just missed you. And somehow you always forgave him, far too easily. Sometimes he did change for a while. Surprised you with flowers or his sad attempts at cooking. Every time he messed up a scrambled egg, you couldn’t help but get weak. He was so silly, it was endearing. Yet at the same time, you knew there was something dark within him. Most likely the drugs, but you could never tell for sure.

Maybe this was just who he was.

Things got better and worse again, until one night, he snapped. You had a fight about one of your co-workers, who he considered a threat. You never understood it, because to you it was so obvious that you never wanted anyone else. Despite your problems, you stayed fiercely loyal to him. You loved Nam-gyu. And a part of you still believed that in the end, things would turn out good. Maybe they would, right?

But that night was bad. He got so furious and when he yelled at you, the walls seemed to shake. You were normally so eager to fight back, so strong, but that day something was different. You were on your period and just a few hours earlier, you had met a dance friend of yours. She told you, she was sure that, if you had stayed, you’d be famous by now. But she wasn’t kind about it. She was subtly looking down at you, shaming you for the way your life had turned out. It made a tight knot form in your stomach and you felt your resolve slowly crumble. All you wanted was to cry, but even that didn’t work, because you came home to a furious Nam-gyu.

Your shoulders slumped and you refused to look at him, which only ever made him angrier.

You didn’t see the slap coming, but once it happened, you couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t forget the anger and the disappointment that welled up in you. When you looked up at him, you expected the tiniest bit of regret or guilt, but there was nothing. He was too deep in his bubble of anger and substance, to see clearly. He got more and more furious and you knew; if you didn’t hide then, he’d do something worse. It was the first night you hid yourself away in the bathroom, one of many to follow. You always told yourself it were the drugs. He was so sweet when he was sober, so gentle and loving. You kept telling yourself, things would be good one day. They would turn out well. With time and patience.

Until you snapped.

You were at work, staring off into the distance. You had been out of it all day, because you spent the previous night locked in the bathroom, until he finally passed out around four in the morning. You snuck out and made your way to your workplace, where you opened more than three hours early. You had nowhere else to go. No family, no friends, no one. Only you and your pain. All day you spent trying to cover the dark marks on your wrists, but no one seemed to care anyway. People went about their own lives and problems and you were just their co-worker, their waitress.

You stood silently, watching an elderly couple whose order you had just taken. They were so sweet, like they came right out of a movie. He held the door open for her and pulled her chair back. He caressed her cheek and she never flinched when he reached out his hand for her. They smiled at each other with such a tenderness, it brought tears to your eyes. That was the exact moment. That was the moment you realized you didn’t want to continue on living like this.

You wanted more. You deserved more.

You made your way back and gathered most of your things while he was still at work. Of course it wasn’t the most intelligent approach, but it was all you could do. You knew, the moment you sat down and tried to explain to him that you were going to leave him, he’d find a way to convince you to stay. It had been eight years, after all. Eight years on and off, eight years up and down. Drugs, violence, lies – at least he never cheated on you.

You’d keep that in tender memory of him. As well as the countless times he had comforted and fought for you. All the times he made you laugh, all the times he made you feel loved. The greatest sex you would ever have, no doubt.

But you still packed your things and left like a ghost. After eight years.

He tried to contact you of course, the moment he came home. But you took your paycheck and went to a motel. Whenever he tried to find you at work, you hid in the kitchen. Your co-workers tried to calm him down, to tell him that you didn’t work there any longer, but he saw through the lie. He got loud and furious, which you could kind of understand. You stayed in the kitchen, crying to yourself and feeling incredibly guilty, but you didn’t ever come out.

He kept coming, but it got less and less frequent. From what your co-workers told you, he seemed less and less like himself. The thought broke your heart and nearly made you go back.

You were constantly in your head, making more and more mistakes at work, until your boss’s patience finally snapped. When you messed up the third customers giant bill, he fired you. You instantly panicked, because you were sure, now you had to go back.

You even drove around in your car, trying to get a glimpse of him in the apartment. But to your horror, you didn’t see Nam-gyu in the window. It were other people, some couple actually. And when you tried to call him, the number wasn’t available. Suddenly, he was a ghost and you were knee deep in horse shit.

It didn’t take long for your money to go and so you ended up panicking. You had to leave the motel soon and if you didn’t get a job – you’d end up homeless. Which was as good as dead.

A few days later, after you realized that you seemed to have no special talents and that no one really cared to hire you, you sat at the metro station. You had only one option left or so you thought. Le girls girls girls. You were a dancer. You were graceful. You were too good for this.

But it was all you could do. After all, the girls didn’t have to indulge in any immoral transactions. They were just dancing, right? Fine, in light clothing, but still dancing. You could do that.

You were deep in thought, your eyes closed and your head leaned against the wall behind you, when you heard someone’s voice.

“Care for a game of Ddakji?”

This was when your life took a dark turn.

You eyed the handsome stranger with suspicion. It was super odd. A man going down the path of middle age, slicked-back hair, wearing a suit and a briefcase on him.

And he was asking you to play a game with him?

You frowned and glanced around.

“I don’t know what you want, but you won’t get it from me.”

He smirked and tilted his head to the side innocently.

“I don’t want anything. Just a little game. That’s all. You got something to win here. I got money.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m not a fucking hooker.”

He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And I told you, all I want is to play a game. Are you scared?”

That made you bristle. You knew the game and you fucking hated it. You were fairly good at playing at, but you didn’t care for this idiot’s audacity. You were about to snap at him again, when you caught sight of the money. Your eyes widened and you sank back against the wall.

“I don’t have any money.” You murmured back.

“Don’t worry. You can pay with your body.”

Your head shot up and you were ready to lunge at him, but he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I have no intention of fucking you.” He said calmly. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you scared?”

You crossed your arms and got up, giving him a dirty look.

“Get to it, son of a bitch.”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly. You had trouble adjusting your sight to the unnatural, neon light. The smell was odd, somewhat disinfectant. Something was really wrong.

You slowly stretched and turned your head, only to see you weren’t alone. That was enough to nearly make you shriek. You sat up quickly enough to get dizzy. Next to your own bunk was a woman who stared at you through her cat-eyes. She smirked devilishly as she lay on her side.

“Your fate is sealed. There’s no way you can dance your way out of this.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart raced in your chest. This had to be some freakish co-incidence. You took your gaze off her, only to realize you weren’t alone. Countless people surrounded you, some of them awake, others still asleep. They all wore the same green tracksuit, just as you did.

You took a shaky breath and carefully swung your legs over the bed, heading for the ladder.

What, in God’s name, was this? And why did you agree to it?

You only remembered how ashamed you felt and how good the prospect sounded of not having to dance half-naked for strange men.

But was this really better?

You glanced around in the hope of…Of what? The situation was far too fucked up.

The fact that they got you here unconsciously, getting you dressed…

You wanted to throw up. You stumbled through the great hall, hoping to get some answers to your questions, but that hope quickly got crushed.

These were the real strange men. Dressed in pink suits, wearing masks which covered all of their faces and even their voices weren’t their own. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a fun game, you suddenly realized.

That Ddakji playing motherfucker had deceived you.

You lost the first round, which resulted in him slapping you. And that slap, which hadn’t really been a gentle one, awakened some kind of beast in you. You didn’t know what it was, maybe the memory of getting slapped and hunted down your own apartment on a regular basis. Whatever it was, you didn’t lose another round. He gave you money and money and money. But you didn’t want his fucking money. You wanted revenge.

You kept winning, because nothing else was possible. And by the end of the game, he smiled at you while he handed you the damned card.

But right before he turned crawled back into the pit of Hell where he had come from, you called out to him.

“Hey, motherfucker.”

He cocked a brow and regarded you with amusement. “Are you still mad about that tiny, little hit? Come on, you took it like a champ.”

“Then you should, too.”  You slapped him with an intensity, you didn’t think you’d ever possess.

He looked at you like a statue, obviously ready to lunge at and murder you. But he hid his murderous intent behind a well-rehearsed smile.

“That one was free.” He said calmly. “And if I ever do see you again, I want a return match.”

He left and you were left with the card.

And there you were now. This wasn’t some childish game of Ddakji.

No one showed their face. You knew what that meant. Something was wrong – and you were in trouble.

You were about to leave the hall and take part in the first game, following after the others. You wouldn’t even have noticed, had you not bumped into him full-force.

When you pulled back your head, ready to apologize, you froze.

There he was. Your Nam-gyu. Staring back at you with wide eyes, behind them a mixture of something akin to surprise and fury.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

He rushed forward and grabbed your by the shoulders, backing you up against the wall. Your eyes widened and you tried to push him back, but he was driven by something far stronger than both of you.

“Nam-gyu?” You breathed out.

He frowned deeply and stared at you incredulously.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I didn’t-“

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you.” He growled. “Where were you? What’s going on with you? Are you fucking-“

“Is there a problem here?” At first, you didn’t see the guy behind him with his ridiculous hairstyle and pouty lips. Immediately, you hated the sight of him.

“Fuck, she’s my-“

The purple-haired guy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Whatever, man. We should get going, huh? We’ll be late for the game.”

He eyed you in an odd way, but you pushed it down and used the moment to free yourself from Nam-gyu’s grip and run out, rushing after the others and hiding in the crowd. He attempted to follow you and even called out to you, but you were already gone.

Fuck, you thought.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

[zorosangell]

I love your stories!! Maybe a Zoro x princess!reader would be interesting? She ran away and became a pirate of the crew, but she is still very formal and polite while Zoro is... Zoro 😂😂

⛥ﾟ・。 knight

synopsis: as a princess, you constantly have a bounty on your head, which means you are almost always under attack whenever the crew docks on an island. so, after zoro saves you from being kidnapped again, you both have a heart to heart... which ends in a little confession.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, reader talks very proper, reader's a little dense, zoro's a little emotionally constipated

"Get the princess!" the leader of the thugs shouted, swords drawn as the huge gang chased after you.

Hastily, Zoro attempted to cut a nearby corner, teetering to the side a little bit before he stabilized and continued to sprint down the street.

"What the hell were you thinking, huh?!" he panted, brows furrowed at he glanced at you, who was thrown over his shoulder. "I leave you alone for two seconds! And somehow you find a way to grab the attention of every damn criminal in town!"

"I was thirsty!" you exclaimed, defensively. "I thought I was going into a bar!"

"It was obviously a bounty hunter's nest!" he fired back.

"How was I supposed to know that?!"

"It was called the Killshot! And had a sign hanging outside with a picture of a gun!"

"I thought it was just a colorful theme!"

Zoro groaned, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as he cursed whatever god that allowed this to happen yet again.

One of these days, he was gonna pretend he didn't see anything.

You were a princess, plain and simple, heir to the throne of some far off kingdom in the New World.

Ever since you were a little girl, you'd longed for adventure, not wanting your world to be confined to the walls of your castle, or the borders of your kingdom.

So, you promised yourself that the moment you turned eighteen, you'd run away.

And that's exactly what you did.

Though, in hindsight, it was probably not the best decision, as you had absolutely no idea how the outside world worked.

Still, somehow by fate or by fortune, your clueless self had managed to make it all the way to Loguetown, where the crew saved you from a few assassins.

Thus, you became the Strawhat's resident princess and diplomat.

And Zoro's resident pain in the ass.

Whenever the crew docked on a new island, you always insisted on exploring it yourself, excited to see the new sights and sounds.

And, like clockwork, you always found some way to call unwanted attention to yourself, the swordsman always finding himself in close proximity.

He had half the mind to think you did it on purpose.

Brows furrowed, his feet picked up speed, muttering intelligible things to himself.

'Princess be damned... no woman's worth this much trouble...'

Out the corner of his eye, Zoro peeped an alley not too far away, quickly running to duck inside it.

Dropping you to your feet, his strong hands grabbed your shoulders, yanking you into the shadows and covering your mouth as you let out a tiny yelp, eyes widening.

'Brute!'

You'd never been handled with such lack of care...

Back home, you were referred to as the Crowned Jewel of the Kingdom, known far and wide for your beauty and kindness.

Many often sang your praises, sending you buckets upon buckets of fan mail and writing songs about the prosperity your family had brought to the kingdom.

And the few that actually got to touch you did so with the utmost care, often reverently.

Meanwhile... this man talked to you as if you were an incompetent child, and tossed you around as if you were some sort of rag-doll.

Safe to say, it was quite the culture shock.

As the large group of men passed, Zoro tightened his grip on you, watching closely they examined the shops and stalls outside—some of them having split up to search quicker.

"Coulda sworn they were right here..." one of them grumbled under his breath, brows furrowed.

The dark-haired man paused, giving the space one more once over before turning to the others, sheathing his sword with an annoyed sigh.

"Looks like we lost 'em. Let's circle back to where we found 'em and see if that redhead knows anything."

Your eyes widened, knowing exactly who he was talking about.

"Nami!" you whimpered, forcing Zoro's calloused hand to press harder into your face to muffle the noise.

"Quiet," his deep, rough voice ordered, tone leaving no room for argument.

Suspicious, the man glanced in your direction, narrowing his eyes at the darkness as he looked directly at you—though he didn't know it.

Your heart stopped, your entire body freezing up as both you and Zoro stayed as still as statues, pressing firmer against the wall of the alley to avoid being revealed as he left.

And once he was completely one, you both let out a sigh of relief, your shoulders dropping as the tension finally oozed out your back.

"Are you stupid or something?" Zoro spat, curtly, brows furrowed. "You could've gotten us both caught!"

"I already expressed my apologies! It was not on purpose!" you countered, throwing your hands up in the air. "I simply wanted something to drink, but then those thugs just grabbed me! And did so without asking!"

Zoro let out another sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he hung his head.

You couldn't be serious...

"They're bounty hunters, (y/n)... they're not gonna ask permission to kidnap you."

"I'm afraid I just learned that firsthand," you huffed, a small pout gracing your lips and you leaned against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "And after I was so generous... I even offered to negotiate the terms over lunch."

With a raised brow, Zoro leaned against the wall with you, confused.

"Terms?"

"A closed contract between me and all affiliates of the Killshot gang that would have guaranteed my continued residency with the Strawhat crew in exchange for a sum total of five-hundred million berries, paid monthly or in advance, depending on their preference."

The swordsman nearly choked on the air he was taking in, floored by the number you said so casually.

"Five-hundred million?!"

You nodded, plainly, confused by his surprise.

"Money is no object for my family. Especially pertaining to my safety," you shrugged. "I extend that offer to my friends, as well. Back at the auction house on Sabaody, I would have happily bought Camie to save her... but Sir Raleigh had already beat me to the punch."

Slowly, a small smile crept onto the swordsman's face, the rigidness in his stance slowly morphing into one more relaxed.

'Well, I'll be damned...'

It was moments like these that he enjoyed, as he was actually offered a glimpse at your true self.

The woman that an entire kingdom absolutely adored.

Princess (y/n).

Sure, you were hard-headed at times, and completely clueless when it came to social interactions outside of high society.

But you had heart, and generosity that quite literally knew no bounds.

Just... maybe some self defense lessons were needed.

"I gotta teach you some hand to hand if you're gonna keep goin' on these little expeditions," he sighed, clearing his throat as he glanced down at the ground.

"Combat?" you scrunched your nose. "What is the point of that when I have you?"

The gears in his head came to a screeching halt, his head snapping over to you so fast, you'd think he'd have whiplash.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You are a swordsman, are you not?" you raised a brow.

"Yes..."

"And you follow me around, yes?"

"I don't follow you around!"

The man flushed, face burning at your plainness.

"You are always there when I am in trouble."

"Yeah... well... that's 'cause I have shit luck..."

"But you care about me, right?"

Zoro froze, throat clamming up.

He had never been presented with questions like these before, and they were forcing him to think.

To read into why exactly he was always there whenever you called for help.

You were always within arms reach of him, the two of you seeming to just naturally float around each other, even as you did your daily routines.

And although you were far from his responsibility, Zoro couldn't understand why he felt the need to worry so much.

He knew million times over that the crew was capable of protecting you, and that if anything were to happen, Luffy or Sanji could more than adequately swoop in to your rescue.

But for some reason, reminding himself of that fact didn't subdue the concern that spiked in his chest when you left his line of sight, or the faint pang of panic in his breath.

'Dammit...'

Too many questions.

"I... yes," he answered, awkwardly.

Instantly, a warm smile broke out on your face, melting the swordsman's heart into a puddle on the floor.

"Then, that makes you my sworn sword!" you beamed, cheekily.

"Your sworn... what?"

"My sworn sword. My knight. My champion," you elaborated. "You stand by my side throughout my travels and keep me under your protection."

"I do WHAT?!"

"Is your hearing all right? You seem to be having a hard time processing what I am saying..."

"No, no... it's... it's not that..."

An uncomfortable silence suddenly settled over you both, the swordsman practically praying that the gang would come back so he could run you both back to the ship and escape the atmosphere.

You, on the other hand, had been feeling quite the opposite, wanting things to be settled right here and now.

Zoro had been your "crush"—lovingly dubbed by Nami—for over two years, and was the only person in the world that was consistently there for you, always rushing to your rescue without fail.

Despite his prickly exterior, and his sharp words, you could tell he was a kind, loyal, and compassionate man.

He just needed a little push.

Just then, the sound of running footsteps began to draw nearer to the mouth of the alley, your eyes shooting wide at the sound.

"Someone is coming!" you whispered, quickly turning to him .

Eyes doe wide, and breath quickened, you settled on something you'd read in a book once, hoping it would conceal your faces.

What possessed you to do it, you had no idea.

Pulling the man in by his robe, you smashed your lips into his, his eye shooting as wide as a saucer.

Everything had gone from zero to a hundred so fast.

Left was up.

Down was right.

But, in that moment, everything felt oddly right.

So, for the first time in his life, he caved, allowing his eye to flutter shut and his body to ease into the kiss.

Sliding your hands up, one of them cupped his face, while the other threw your arm around his neck, keeping him in place as he snaked his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss was electric, and, while very uncoordinated and eager, felt like liquid fire was coursing through your veins, pushing you forward.

Smoothly, the two of you shifted, Zoro pushing you up against the wall and tilting his head in order to get a better angle, deepening the kiss even further.

His hands gripped you even tighter, suddenly fearful he would float away if you didn't keep him grounded.

With your touch burning his skin and your scent flooding his nostrils, he felt like he was higher than the clouds, like this was heaven on earth.

Your lips were so damn soft...

Hell, you were so damn soft...

You washed over him like a wave of calm, the rhythm of the kiss lulling his worry-filled mind until the only thing he could think about was why the hell he didn't do this sooner.

"Aw, jeez! This is what you guys were doing all this time?!" Luffy exclaimed from the mouth of the alley, completely ruining the moment.

'Thats why...'

The two of you quickly threw yourselves off each other, faces burning with embarrassment as you looked in opposite directions.

"At least do that inside. You're gonna catch somethin' out here..." he shrugged, turning to walk away.

Your eyes shot wide, and you snapped your head over to the boy.

"Wait, Luffy, what did you think we were—?" "Don't wanna talk about it!"

"You idiot, we weren't—!" "M'not listening!"

You turned to the swordsman, brow raised in confusion.

"What is he talking about?"

Zoro's eye widened, and it finally donned on him that you hadn't been taught about... the birds and the bees.

'Christ...'

"I'll tell you another time," he sighed, talking your hand and leading you toward the exit of the alley. "Let's go back to the ship."

"Yes, of course!" you playfully bellowed. "Lead the way, knight!"

"I'm not your knight!"

"Whatever you say... knight..."

[reveryfics]

In LOVE with how you write Clark. Like, yeah this is totally the Clark Kent I imagine in my head.

I've got this request. Reader is a journalist at the Planet and he has one sided beef with Clark because he thinks this dude from Smallville looks down on him (literally and figuratively cause hes shorter lol) but the truth is reader is totally down bad for Clark and he's just in denial.

And what angers reader the most is that Clark meets his hostility with patience and kindness, which must be fake and he must be secretly laughing and making fun of him.

(He's not. Clark is also just as down bad for him but reader can't clock that shit because he's emotionally constipated😭)

(This is my first fic request ever, kinda nervous lol)

Not So One-sided

Clark Kent x Male Reader

Summary: Your one-sided rivalry with Clark Kent at The Daily Planet was a constant source of frustration; he just smiled at all your snide remarks. You insisted you hated him, but Clark, on the other hand, was completely and utterly in love with you.

A/N: I'm glad that someone likes how i write Clark, I'm mainly basing him off the more cheerful side that I grew up with comic wise and also James Gunn's version. Hoping this meets expectations, especially since it's your first request.

TW: Fluff - Rivals to Lovers (kinda)

Clark Kent. The name alone was enough to make your teeth clench. You’d crowned him your self-proclaimed work rival, a title he was blissfully, perhaps even infuriatingly, unaware of. In reality, your rivalry was as one-sided as Lex Luthor’s obsessive vendetta against Superman – a fervent, all-consuming focus on your part, met with… well, almost nothing on his. You’d meticulously constructed this elaborate facade of animosity, convincing yourself that your intense dislike stemmed from his supposed condescension, a perpetual sense of him looking down on you. It couldn't possibly be, you rationalized, simply because he physically towered over you, his height a constant, undeniable reminder of his presence.

Every time your byline graced the Daily Planet’s front page, accompanied by your impactful photographs, Clark would inevitably offer what felt like a backhanded compliment. A subtle smile would play on his lips, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, even when you delivered a pointed jab his way, laced with all the thinly veiled hostility you could muster. He met every snide remark, every sarcastic retort, every overt attempt to provoke a reaction, with an almost preternatural kindness and an unwavering patience that drove you absolutely insane. It was enough to make you want to pull your own hair out in sheer frustration, because deep down, in the furthest reaches of your stubbornly guarded heart, the truth was far more complicated: you desperately wanted to hate Clark, but you couldn't. Because you liked him.

You liked that infuriatingly charming, stupid smile that seemed to effortlessly disarm your defenses. You liked those big, blue eyes that held an unsettling depth and seemed to genuinely see you, even when you were at your most prickly. You liked the way his dark curls perpetually fell across his forehead, a constant, endearing disarray. And God, did you like his voice – a low, steady rumble that somehow managed to soothe the jagged edges of your manufactured resentment. You, in your magnificent state of emotional unawareness, were utterly blind to the fact that Clark harbored similar feelings for you. You, the self-proclaimed idiot, were too dense to recognize the way his gaze lingered on you, the quiet admiration in his expression that mirrored your own secret affections.

The late hour had long since passed any reasonable quitting time, yet here you were, still hunched over your desk. The only illumination came from the soft glow of your desk lamp, casting long shadows across the stack of freshly developed photographs of Superman from a few days prior. You’d watched almost everyone else from the newsroom pack up their bags and head out, the clatter of keyboards and the murmur of conversations gradually fading into a profound silence. Except for Clark. Of course, Clark was still here. He claimed to be diligently working on a new article, his head bent over his own desk a few rows away. But your mind, ever the conspirator against your own peace, kept whispering a different narrative: he was still here to watch you. To look down on you. Just like he always did.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. The silence of the newsroom was getting to you, amplifying the frantic whispers of your own mind. You tried to focus on the intricate details of Superman's suit in your photographs, on the way the light caught his cape, but your eyes kept darting to the periphery. And there he was, just as your paranoia had predicted. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Clark Kent. His head was no longer bent over his desk; instead, his gaze was fixed on you.

A knot tightened in your stomach. This was it. He was going to say something, offer another one of his infuriatingly backhanded compliments, or worse, comment on your late hours, implying you weren't efficient enough to finish your work on time. Your jaw tensed. You weren't going to let him get the upper hand. Not tonight.

Before he could even open his mouth, before that perpetually kind, yet somehow infuriating, smile could grace his lips, you snapped, your voice cutting through the quiet. "Still here, Kent? Thought you'd be tucked into bed by now, dreaming of Pulitzer Prizes and farming conventions." You didn't even look up, feigning intense concentration on your photos, but you could feel his eyes on you, unwavering. You waited, a coil of tension in your shoulders, for his inevitable, saccharine response.

A beat of silence hung in the air, a silence so profound it felt louder than any noise. You braced yourself, every fiber of your being preparing for the usual placid response, the easy dismissal, the unwavering kindness that always chafed at your carefully constructed hostility.

Then, a soft chuckle. It wasn't the boisterous laugh you'd sometimes hear from the sports desk, nor the sardonic snort from the hardened investigative reporters. It was a low, warm sound that seemed to hum through the quiet office, raising the fine hairs on your arms.

"Something like that," Clark's voice drifted over, surprisingly close, making you jump slightly. You hadn't heard him move. You risked a quick glance up, and there he was, standing beside your desk, a gentle smile playing on his lips. He wasn't leaning over you, or looking down in the way you always imagined. Instead, he was standing slightly to the side, his posture open, one hand casually tucked into his pocket. Those big blue eyes, the ones you secretly adored, were crinkling at the corners, not with pity or condescension, but with something akin to amusement and… warmth?

He gestured vaguely at your desk, his gaze sweeping over the scattered photographs of Superman. "Still perfecting your art, I see. You really do have a knack for capturing the Man of Steel in action. These shots from the docks are particularly dynamic." His voice was genuine, devoid of any of the passive-aggression you habitually read into his words.

Your prepared retort, sharp and biting, withered on your tongue. You felt a blush creep up your neck, a traitorous heat that threatened to betray your carefully maintained composure. He wasn't taunting you. He was… complimenting you. Sincerely. It was disorienting, like walking into a familiar room only to find the furniture rearranged.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain your footing. "Just doing my job, Kent. Unlike some people who seem to think they're on a perpetual coffee break." The words felt weak, even to your own ears, stripped of their intended venom by his unexpected sincerity.

Clark's smile softened further, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "Well, your 'job' always manages to make the front page, doesn't it?" He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And for the record, I was just finishing up a lead for the Metropolis homelessness piece. It's a bit heavier than a coffee break, I assure you."

He wasn't looking down on you. He was just... Clark. And in that moment, under the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, the carefully constructed wall you'd built around yourself seemed to wobble, just a little.

"Then why, Clark? Why do you do this every single time?" Your voice rose, cracking slightly as the carefully constructed dam of your irritation finally burst. You stomped a foot, the sound echoing in the suddenly too-quiet newsroom. You were practically vibrating with a mixture of frustration, confusion, and a burgeoning, terrifying realization. You jabbed a finger, hard, at his chest, your index finger thudding against the soft fabric of his shirt, right over his heart.

"Every. Single. Time!" you repeated, your voice climbing higher, a frantic, desperate edge to it. "I make a jab, a remark, something deliberately mean, and you just… smile! You just stand there, with that stupid, infuriatingly kind smile, and you act like I'm not actively trying to be the biggest jerk on the planet to you!" Your arm was still outstretched, your finger still pressing into him, but he didn't flinch. He didn't even stiffen. His big blue eyes remained soft, his smile unwavering, a serene, almost maddeningly patient expression on his face.

You started pacing in a tight circle in front of him, your hands gesticulating wildly. "Do you have any idea how maddening that is, Kent? Do you know what it’s like to try and genuinely despise someone, to work up a good, solid, healthy hatred, and they just… absorb it? Like some kind of emotional sponge? It's not normal! People are supposed to get angry! They're supposed to get defensive! They're supposed to yell back! But not you! Oh no, not Clark Kent!" You threw your hands up in exasperation, then let them fall with a smack against your thighs. "It’s like you want to drive me insane! Is that it? Is this some kind of twisted game? Are you trying to prove you're some kind of saint, a paragon of patience?"

You stopped abruptly, panting slightly, your chest heaving from the unexpected outburst. Your eyes were wide, probably a little wild, and for the first time in your life, you felt completely exposed, utterly stripped bare in front of him. You waited for him to finally snap, to yell, to show any sign of anger.

But he didn't. That infuriatingly gentle smile remained fixed, those kind eyes still twinkling. After a moment of pure silence, a silence filled only with the frantic beating of your own heart, Clark spoke, his voice calm, even, as if you hadn't just had a complete meltdown.

"Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?" he asked, his voice soft, almost conversational.

Your brain, already short-circuiting from the emotional overload, ground to a complete halt. Dinner? Tomorrow? With him? Your mouth opened and closed uselessly, like a fish out of water. "I… uh… what?" you managed, a pathetic stutter escaping your lips. Your cheeks flushed a furious red. How were you even supposed to respond to that? To this? After all that?

Clark seemed to finally register the utter shock on your face, the way your body had stiffened, your eyes wide with disbelief. His smile softened further, if that were even possible, and he quickly added, "Oh! I didn't mean anything other than, you know, as friends? Getting something to eat. To catch up. We rarely get to, with our schedules."

Friends? The word hit you like a physical blow, simultaneously ridiculous and devastating. Friends? After you'd just spent the last five minutes having a public, one-sided argument, after months of snide remarks and thinly veiled antagonism, he thought you were friends? This man, who met every insult with kindness, every jab with patience, every attempt at hostility with unwavering warmth, actually considered you a friend?

It was too much. That smile, so genuine, so open, was too much. His unwavering patience was too much. Everything about Clark Kent, in that moment, was simply too much to handle. Your mind screamed at you to say no, to maintain the facade, to retreat into your usual prickly shell. But the words, unbidden, were already tumbling out.

"Yeah," you blurted, the word escaping before you could even process it, before you could put up any resistance. "Yeah, I'd like that."

The small Italian restaurant Clark had chosen was exactly the kind of place you’d never step foot in normally. Tucked away on a quiet side street in Metropolis, its red-and-white checkered tablecloths and the warm, garlic-infused aroma seemed to hum with an intimate, unpretentious charm. Clark had sworn it had some of the best lasagna in the city, a bold claim you privately scoffed at.

The first twenty minutes were a study in excruciating awkwardness. You’d arrived a few minutes early, then instantly regretted it. Clark was already there, perched at a small, round table in the corner, looking impossibly relaxed in a simple button-down shirt that somehow still managed to emphasize his broad shoulders. He’d smiled that soft, genuine smile as you approached, and you’d barely managed a mumbled greeting before slipping into the opposite seat, clutching the menu like a lifeline.

You avoided his gaze with a fervor that bordered on athletic. Your eyes meticulously scanned the faded print of the menu, then drifted to the chipped paint on the wall, then fixated on a particularly stubborn stain on the tablecloth. Anything to avoid meeting those too-blue eyes. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware from other tables and the distant murmur of conversation. You could feel the warmth of his presence across the small table, a palpable weight that made your palms subtly sweat. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to make a sarcastic remark, to break the tension with a jab, but the memory of your meltdown in the newsroom, and your utterly baffling agreement to this dinner, kept your mouth clamped shut.

It wasn't until the waiter, a cheerful man with a magnificent mustache, finally placed two steaming plates of lasagna in front of you that Clark broke the silence. The rich, savory scent instantly filled the space between you, a welcome distraction. You picked up your fork, determined to focus on the food, when Clark’s voice, quiet but clear, cut through the aroma.

"Do you really hate me?"

Your fork, halfway to your mouth, froze. The simple, direct question hit you like a sucker punch. You slowly lowered the fork, your gaze still fixed on your plate. Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was it. The moment of reckoning. You’d expected some witty banter, some lighthearted chat about work, anything but this blunt, disarming inquiry.

"Or," he continued, his voice softer now, almost hesitant, "is there... something else going on?"

You finally, reluctantly, lifted your head. His big blue eyes were fixed on you, unblinking, serious, devoid of the usual amusement or kindness you usually associated with them. They held a genuine curiosity, a quiet question that demanded an honest answer. The heat in your cheeks flared, and you found yourself completely speechless, trapped in the uncomfortable truth that was suddenly laid bare between you.

You swallowed hard, the lasagna suddenly feeling like a lump in your throat. This was the moment you'd dreaded, the conversation you'd actively avoided for months, years even. To admit the truth, the raw, inconvenient truth, felt like stripping off your skin in the middle of a crowded room.

"What do you mean, 'something else'?" you finally managed to rasp, your voice barely a whisper. You tried to sound indignant, but it came out more like a plea. Your eyes darted around, anywhere but at him, but his unwavering gaze pulled you back like a magnet.

Clark put his fork down, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "You go out of your way to be… well, to be difficult. To be mean, even," he said, surprisingly gently. There was no accusation in his tone, just a quiet observation. "But then you show up to this dinner, even after everything you said. And the way you threw your fit the other night… it didn't feel like hate. It felt like… something else. Like you were trying very hard to push me away, but for a reason I don't understand."

He paused, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he was going to articulate the very feelings you were desperately trying to bury. Instead, he simply looked at you, his big blue eyes still incredibly kind, but now tinged with a genuine curiosity that unnerved you more than any anger ever could. "So, is it hate? Or is there something else going on?"

The directness of his question, coupled with his absolute lack of judgment, chipped away at your defenses. You wanted to lie, to deny it all, to retreat into your usual sarcastic shell. But something in his gaze, a profound patience, made it impossible. The words felt foreign on your tongue, clumsy and exposed, but once they started, they tumbled out in a rush.

"It's not hate," you blurted, the admission tearing through the carefully constructed walls you'd maintained for so long. Your voice was barely audible. You felt a hot flush creep up your neck, knowing your face was probably scarlet. You picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth, unable to look at him.

"I... I don't know what it is," you continued, the words a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts and raw emotion. "I just... you're always so... good. So nice. And I don't understand it. Everyone else, they get annoyed, they get angry. But you just... smile. And it makes me feel like an idiot for even trying to get a reaction out of you. It makes me feel... small. Like I'm just a kid throwing a tantrum and you're the grown-up who just lets it wash over them." You finally dared a quick glance at him. His smile was still there, a soft, understanding curve of his lips, and it somehow made it even harder to confess.

"And," you whispered, the last part of the confession almost swallowed by the ambient restaurant noise, "and it's easier to pretend to hate you than to admit... to admit that I actually..." You trailed off, unable to voice the unspoken word, the true reason for your elaborate charade. It hung in the air between you, a fragile, unspoken truth.

Clark didn't say anything immediately, letting your hesitant confession hang in the air between the checkered tablecloths and the scent of marinara. You braced yourself for a patronizing nod, a gentle pat on the hand, anything that would confirm your deepest fear: that he saw you as a fragile, overly emotional mess. But he just watched you, his big blue eyes still incredibly gentle, yet now, a new light seemed to spark within them – recognition, perhaps even understanding.

Then, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, different from his usual polite or amused one. This one was intimate, a private acknowledgment. "You actually..." he started, his voice a low rumble, completing your unspoken thought. He didn't mock, didn't gloat. He simply... accepted it. And in that acceptance, the immense, crushing weight you hadn't even realized you were carrying began to lift.

"It's funny," Clark continued, his gaze drifting thoughtfully towards the flickering candle on the table. "Because I always wondered why you went to such lengths. Most people, if they dislike someone, they just avoid them. But you... you always seemed to seek me out, just to tell me how much you didn't like me. It was confusing, and honestly, a little charming." He chuckled softly, a warm, genuine sound that resonated deeply within you.

He met your gaze again, and this time, the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, a direct reflection of the warmth blooming in your own chest. "And for the record," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I always liked that fire. That passion. Even when it was directed at me." A faint blush, the barest hint of pink, dusted his cheeks. "And I... I never thought of you as an idiot. Or small. Just... a little misguided."

You stared at him, your mind reeling. He liked your "fire"? He found your antics "charming"? This was so far beyond anything you had ever anticipated, so completely out of the realm of your meticulously crafted reality, that you could only gape. The words you wanted to say, the questions that flooded your mind, got tangled in your throat.

Clark reached across the table, his fingers gently covering your hand, which was still resting limply on the tablecloth. His touch was warm, reassuring, and sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with surprise and everything to do with a quiet, undeniable longing. His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand.

"So," he said, his smile widening, his eyes twinkling playfully, "now that we've cleared the air... are we still going to pretend you hate me, or can we just enjoy this lasagna?"

You felt a laugh bubble up, surprised and breathless, a genuine laugh that felt entirely new. It wasn't the bitter, sarcastic laugh you usually employed, but a light, unburdened sound. You looked at his hand on yours, then up into his kind, knowing eyes, and for the first time, you felt truly seen, truly understood.

"I think," you managed, your voice still a little shaky but filled with a new lightness, "I think I can manage to enjoy the lasagna, Kent."

The shared smile that followed, unburdened by pretense or rivalry, felt like the real beginning of something.

The rest of the dinner unfolded with a surprising ease that neither of you had anticipated. The initial awkwardness melted away like butter on a hot plate of that delicious lasagna. You talked about work, not with the usual undercurrent of rivalry, but with a genuine exchange of ideas and insights. You learned about Clark's struggles with a particularly stubborn source for his homelessness article, and he listened intently as you animatedly described the challenges of getting the perfect action shot of Superman without getting trampled.

His questions were insightful, his comments genuinely appreciative of your skills, and you found yourself laughing more freely than you had in ages. It wasn't the forced, cynical laugh you often employed, but a genuine, unburdened sound. You even caught yourself marveling at the way his dark curls fell across his forehead when he leaned in to hear you better over the restaurant's gentle hum, or the crinkling at the corners of his big blue eyes when he smiled at something you said.

By the time the dessert arrived – a shared tiramisu that was surprisingly light and creamy – the conversation had drifted from work to more personal anecdotes. He told you about growing up on a farm, a life so different from your own urban upbringing that it fascinated you. You, in turn, found yourself sharing stories about your early days as a photographer, the struggles and the triumphs you rarely spoke of to anyone. There was a comfortable rhythm to your conversation, a natural back-and-forth that felt as effortless as breathing.

A Quiet Walk Home

As you stepped out of the warm restaurant into the cool Metropolis night, the city lights shimmered like scattered diamonds. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of exhaust fumes mixed with something indefinable, uniquely urban. Clark didn't immediately call for a cab; instead, he simply started walking, a silent invitation you surprisingly accepted.

The walk was punctuated by comfortable silences, punctuated by soft murmurs and shared observations about the city around you. You found yourself walking closer to him than you ever would have dared before, your shoulders occasionally brushing. It was a subtle contact, barely there, yet it sent a quiet thrill through you.

When you finally reached your apartment building, the towering structure seemed to loom even larger against the night sky. You stopped at the entrance, turning to face him. The streetlight above cast a soft glow, illuminating the easy smile on his face.

"I... I actually had a really good time, Clark," you admitted, the words feeling foreign yet wonderfully true on your tongue. The residual heat from your blush still lingered on your cheeks.

His smile softened, and he took a small step closer. "Me too," he said, his voice a low, warm tone that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and full of that quiet understanding that had disarmed you at dinner. "More than a good time, actually."

He reached out, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might touch your face, or perhaps even take your hand again. Instead, his fingers gently brushed against your arm, a light, almost hesitant touch. "Thank you for coming," he murmured.

You found yourself wanting to prolong the moment, to find an excuse to stay there under the streetlight with him just a little longer. But the night was drawing to a close, and a new kind of nervousness, entirely separate from your usual prickly demeanor, began to flutter in your chest.

"Goodnight, Clark," you said softly, your voice a little breathy.

"Goodnight," he replied, his smile still warm. He lingered for another moment, his big blue eyes holding yours in a gaze that seemed to convey so much more than just a simple farewell.

As you turned and walked into the lobby, you resisted the urge to look back. But you could feel his presence, a lingering warmth in the cool night air, long after the heavy glass doors swung shut behind you. The elevator ride up felt too fast, the silence of your apartment too loud. You walked over to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to peek out. Clark was still there, standing on the sidewalk below, looking up at your building. Even from this distance, you could sense his smile, a silent promise hanging in the Metropolis night.

You let the curtain fall, a genuine, unbidden smile gracing your own lips. The rivalry was dead. And something entirely new, something thrilling and terrifying and wonderfully hopeful, had just begun.

[sungbites]

ALL MY POETRY ━ tokuno yushi

pairing : bf!yushi x gf!reader genre : fluff, est. relationship warnings : so cute, kissing, heavily description based, not proofread synopsis : your boyfriends little act that he does for you, only for you wc : 1k a/n : this was for my bffies bday @lqfiles u saw it first and now everyones seeing it a month later #Lol hope u guys enjoy

dating tokuno yushi was many things, somehow in some way he always managed to surprise you. whether that be showing up at your doorstep with fresh cookies when you complained about wanting cookies or spontaneously kissing every part of your body whenever he felt like it, he says kissing you gives him an energy boost; whatever that means. 

among all the things he did there was one that was the most consistent. his word to you. albeit yushi was a quiet person around others, sometimes even the people he was close with. the words he wrote to you spoke much more volume than any words he could utter from his lips. 

he writes them when you’re not looking, sometimes when you’re making dinner for the two of you or doing something in your room. sometimes he even writes them before coming to your apartment so he can slip it into his usual hiding spot for you to see. the first couple times he did this, you assumed that he was doing it by accident, until one day you confronted him about it. 

“you left this in my living room, i don’t know if it was something important so i kept it” you said, sliding the slip of paper in front of him. he looked down at the paper then you, tilting his head as if he was a curious kitten. “it’s for you” he slid it on the table so now it was in front of you. your cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, “me?” you mumbled, looking down at the folded piece of paper. 

“i wrote it for you, just for you” he said, smiling softly. you could see his ears turning slightly red. you nodded, smiling fully now. “thank you ushi, it’s so sweet” you said, now it being his turn to blush. “ah.. it’s not like.. huge” he muttered out, making you smile at his antics. “yeah whatever” you said, cheeks beginning to hurt because of how much you were smiling, that always happened when you were around him. 

from then on, yushi made it a point to hide the small poems in the same spot. he would place the slip of paper underneath the coaster you had on your coffee table, making sure it would peek out so you can spot it. even if you couldn’t spot it you knew exactly where he would hide it because he wasn’t exactly slick whilst hiding it. neither of you cared though, hiding it just made yushi happy so you let him think he was sneaky. 

yushi was always perceived as cold and distant, yet you knew how warm he was. there were things that he shared with you that you knew he only shared with people he was the closest to, and there were times where you felt as though his sweet personality was almost too sweet for you; like you didn’t deserve it. in times like that he would remind you why you deserve him, showering you with love and his sweet kisses. yushi wasn’t cold or distant, he was just a tough shell to crack and you’re so glad he chose to let you in. 

it wasn’t like your personality was far off from his own, the only difference being that in public you’re far more outgoing and talkative than he is but it doesn’t bother you or him, he could pay millions just to hear your sweet voice talking to him all day long. his form of paying millions is the act of the poems, small blurbs brightening up your life as you did his. 

they were always sweet and short, sometimes they were about how much he loved you and other times it’s about whatever is on his mind. once, at a restaurant after date night he wrote a small blurb about the bread and butter they served in appetizer course, scribbling away on the napkin as you washed your hands in the restroom. 

it didn’t matter what they were about, it meant something to you that he took time out of his day to do something he didn’t need to do. he wrote them with love, you could feel it as you read them, every word of his was laced with his own love for you. it was amazing how just a few words on a small slip of paper could make you feel so much warmth in your chest. 

after he leaves the slips of paper in your apartment he acts as though he has no clue what you’re talking about, however he always manages to let go of the act when you start kissing his face all over. you leaned over, kissing his cheek then his forehead making him giggle. as he giggled more you kissed his face all over. “ah! quit it” he cried out in laughter, his hand holding your waist as you leaned back on the couch to look at his now flushed cheeks and messy hair. 

“so did you like it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he always did. his hand remained in your waist, drawing small circles with his thumb as he looked in your eyes, a small smile on his face. “i loved it ushi. thank you” you mumbled, hand reaching up to hold his cheek. he smiled and buried his head in the crook of your neck, the heat from his cheeks feeling hot against your skin. you laughed softly, patting his head. 

he lifted head after a couple minutes to see you smiling back at him. “i’m glad.. you loved it” he muttered, making you smile even more. “good” you said in response, leaning over to kiss his cheek softly. “should we watch our movie now or are you gonna keep blushing” you turned your head to face the tv and yushi groaned, throwing his head back on the couch. there was always something with yushi, no matter how big or small he made your life better day by day. 

taglist : @sunghoonsgfreal @polarisjisung @17ericas @ayukas @snwydoie @remtrack @honeyfever @chenlezip @hyuckluvr-com @cosmicwintr @uncasings @jaehyunsroses @kittydollzz @why-th0 @mmjhh1998 @f6llsun @leleszn @undomielsql @kynessa @haelvrty @httpsxnox @limbomoon @belleilichil @t-102 @defzcl @ajaaaaayyyyy @naeviscalled @ourshin @naturallycomplicated @kkunyangz @maniibxk (bold cannot be tagged)

nct taglist

© all rights to sungbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (10)

So it’s been a while, huh? I think the beginning of the year crashed into me like a bulldozer, and I wasn’t in the mood to write. Well, I did write, but everything looked like shit from the butt. But at last, I managed to push through it. I tried something different with the writing here, so I hope it’s better than my previous work. Enjoy!

Tags: Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Pack! X fem!Reader ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; smut eventually ; fem!Reader ; afab!Reader

09 <- 10 -> 11

Masterlist

Taglist

Izuku truly wished they could put this whole incident behind them and move on. He had hoped that once Todoroki sent an email to the hospital director, a carefully worded, deeply sincere apology addressed to Doctor L/N and the hospital, sent the day after his failed attempt at apologizing in person would lift some of the weight off Todoroki and Kirishima’s shoulders. That soon enough, things would settle, and the pack would be back to normal.

But from the moment Todoroki first told them what had happened, Izuku had a bad feeling. He knew that Todoroki going to the hospital alone to apologize was the right thing to do, but there had been something in Todoroki’s eyes, a sharp glint of excitement that didn’t sit right with him. And when he’d returned home that night, he’d found him on the couch, motionless, his hand buried in a bowl of peach slices and his fingers sticky with juice. His expression vacant, and absent. Kirishima hadn’t been the same either. If anything, after hearing about the failed apology attempt, he had gotten worse. Somehow, a single alpha, one Izuku had never even met, had managed to throw his entire pack into chaos.

Rationally, he knew it wasn’t the doctor’s fault. If anyone was to blame, it was his mates. But the whole situation was so strange, so frustrating, that he couldn’t help understand how the hell they had ended up here. He’d tried to ask Todoroki about the alpha, about you, but all he got was a name, and something about the way Todoroki said it made him hesitate to press any further. When he turned to Kirishima, he got even less. The redhead had been too angry that day to remember much at all. All he recalled, a few days later, was an unfamiliar fruity scent mixed with Todoroki’s before he broke the door open.

Now, three days had passed, yet the air in their apartment only grew heavier. And Todoroki, Todoroki was hardly there at all, more shadow than man. He spent most of his days asleep, and when he was awake, he barely moved, barely spoke. Just sat there, eyes fixed on the wall with an hollow expression, as if he were somewhere far beyond their reach. He wasn’t eating either, at least not enough. He’d claimed to have no appetite. The only thing Todoroki had asked for, had eaten without hesitation, was peaches. Not just a few, but an almost absurd amount, day after day, like he was possessed. He would sit there, silent and distant, methodically working through bowl after bowl, as if peaches were the only thing tethering him to reality. And the strangest part? He never seemed satisfied. No matter how many he ate, it was never enough. Since when did Todoroki even like peaches this much? Izuku had no idea and he was getting weird out by the sheer amount of peach’s pits in their trash can.

Izuku had tried to get him to eat more, something other than just peaches. He tried a soft approach, casually suggesting he add something else to his plate, like rice or any protein, just to balance it out. But no matter how he went about it, Todoroki refused every time, just shaking his head and mumbling that he wasn’t hungry. Kirishima’s attempts weren’t successful either, he had brought home soba from Todoroki’s favorite spot, but Todoroki only took a couple of bites before pushing the bowl away. Katsuki couldn’t do any of the gentle approaches. He had yelled, scowled, and was a breath away from shoving food down Todoroki’s throat. But none of it worked. It was like trying to start a fire with wet wood, Todoroki just sat there, blank-eyed and distant, completely unreachable.

It was a mess. A complete, exhausting mess. And if Todoroki was worrying him to death, Kirishima wasn’t far behind.

At least he was still functional, he still ate, still spoke, still went to work, but there was something off. He was quieter, his usual warmth dulled at the edges. Kirishima was their glue, the one who lifted their spirits and held them together when things got rough, but ever since they failed to get through to the hospital, failed to contact you, he hadn’t been himself fully. The only response they had gotten to Todoroki’s email was a generic, automated reply, and that had done nothing but add to Kirishima’s guilt.

Izuku sat on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table while he absentmindedly tapped his fingers against his knee, his thoughts running in circles.

This wasn’t the first time Todoroki had been reckless. Beneath that calm exterior, he could be just as stubborn as Katsuki and him, even rash. But this? The complete detachment, the disregard for his own well-being, the strange obsession with a single food ? It wasn’t just a quiet withdrawal from his pack, It was like he’d stopped caring about himself completely. And that’s worried Izuku to death. He felt sick and helpless, and powerless. Why is this happening? His thoughts spiraled, fast and frantic. Was there something we missed? Maybe he’s just really tired and it will all get sort out ? But this isn’t like him. He’s shutting everyone out. Izuku’s chest tightened. What if I can’t fix this? What if it’s already too late? His mind kept racing, as it always did, with no answers, just more and more questions.

The coldness from their mate reminded him too much of their early high school days, when Todoroki had been a boy made of ice, all sharp edges and frozen shut doors. Izuku felt like the bond they shared had frayed, leaving him disconnected, adrift, as if though he was fading from their grasp.

The pieces didn’t add up. Frankly, the more he thought about it, the stranger it became. How had a simple visit to the hospital turned into this? What exactly had happened in that room? Izuku couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. And when he felt like that, he did what he always did—he investigated.

He started with the hospital itself, combing through their website, news articles, and patient reviews. Most of it was clean. No major scandals, no malpractice lawsuits, no patient complaints that weren’t immediately resolved. Still unsatisfied, he called the hospital again, this time pushing harder for answers but all he got was a meeting with the director of the hospital tomorrow afternoon which was better than nothing.

After that call, something clicked. When Todoroki came back home, he’d been in heat—and Kirishima had stayed with him through it. But it had been early, too early. The pack tracked their cycles meticulously, they had to. If all of them ended up « indisposed » at the same time, and a high-profile villain struck, it would be a disaster.

This wasn’t just odd. It was wrong, he thought. There has to be an explanation for this.

And so, he dove into research again, scouring medical papers, forums, even the more questionable corners of the internet. At first, all he found were the usual causes—stress, sudden hormonal shifts, pack mates, environmental factors. But none of those fit. None of them explained why Todoroki’s heat had hit him so randomly. And then, buried under layers of medical jargon and old case studies, he found it.

It was possible to induce a heat. Not naturally, not safely, but with the right mix of drugs, it could be done. Hospitals wouldn’t do it legally, of course, but the medications required for it? They weren’t rare. Every one of them could be found in any hospital.

Did someone do this to him? His heart hammered in his chest, just imagining this possibility. The thought alone made his hands tremble with anger. Alphas abusing omegas were not rare, and doctors abusing their patients were even less rare. It disgusted him to think Todoroki and Kirishima were beating themselves over this incident when the doctor was responsible after all. No, just potentially responsible. He couldn’t know for sure but part of him was already certain that this was the explanation.

As Izuku scrolled through paper after paper on this drug, the apartment remained still allowing him to fully soak every information he could find online. The low hum of the heater was the only sound breaking the silence. It was just him and Todoroki tonight, though he hadn’t seen his mate since morning.

But then, footsteps.

Todoroki stepped into the living room, his movements slow, mechanical. He didn’t acknowledge Izuku, didn’t even glance in his direction—just crossed the space and sank onto the couch with a quiet, exhausted sigh. His posture was loose, almost boneless, but there was no real relaxation to it—just the weight of someone running on empty.

Izuku’s fingers hovered over his laptop. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, how deep he’d buried himself in his research. Outside the glow of his screen, the apartment was already dark, save for the dim light spilling from the his pc. It was late. Later than he’d thought and he probably start to make dinner for tonight.

Izuku still remained sited on the couch though, seeing Todoroki like this—so empty—only made his anger burn hotter and made him stop his tracks. But he forced himself to swallow it down. He couldn’t afford to lash out, not when he still wasn’t sure. He had to wait for tomorrow, when he’ll have the meeting with the director.

One way or another, he was going to get answers.

Izuku shut his laptop, fingers lingering over the lid. He didn’t want anyone finding out about this—not until he had proof. But before he could fully gather his thoughts, the sudden bang of the front door swinging open, followed by the unmistakable rasp of Katsuki’s voice, nearly sent him jumping to his feet.

“The hell is it so damn dark in here?” Bakugo grumbled, irritated as he flicked on the lights.

Izuku blinked at the sudden brightness, squinting as his blond mate strode inside with Kirishima trailing closely behind.

“Hey, I thought you guys had night patrol,” Izuku said, glancing toward the clock hanging on the wall. They weren’t supposed to be home yet.

“We did,” Bakugo responded as he tossed his keys onto the counter. “Something came up, someone covered for me.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything at first. He moved past Bakugo, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the back of the couch, his gaze flickering toward Todoroki. Checking on him.

“My agency had an emergency downtown,” he finally said, voice lacking its usual warmth. “A villain attack turned into a rescue op. They needed extra hands for search and rescue. By the time we were done, they gave me my evening.”

Izuku hummed in acknowledgment, but his attention drifted to Katsuki, who hadn’t moved from where he stood. His gaze was locked onto Todoroki, sharp, expectant.

Waiting

But Todoroki didn’t react. Didn’t look up. Didn’t even acknowledge any of them too.

Just nothing

Bakugo grumbled something under his breath before heading into the kitchen with anger in each step.

I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! Chapter 11 will be out soon, and we’ll get a Bakugo POV soon too. I wanted to focus on the pack dynamics before the reader enters, and there’ll be more of that next chapter. I think it’s important to show the established couple’s bond, so yeah we’ll get a lot of it and even more after the reader come in the picture.

Doing a taglist is a too much work omg, no wonder most people don’t do it nowadays. On one hand I like that it hard bc that’s mean so many people want to keep up with my fics that I ended having to tag many people, on the other hand this lowkey discouraging me from posting bc I know I have to update the list every time 😭

This is such a fake ass problem to have, I am self aware.

As always, criticisms are welcomed

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

09 <- 10 -> 11

Taglist: @too-much-gacha ; @electronicexpertshark ; @poopopp ; @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj ; @kimi01985 ; @icycoldbeanieweanies ; @ghostlyworld ; @marsbars09 ; @queenondeezmatatas ; @imnotherw ; @bedheadloser ; @chrisbiniesluvrr ; @fsocs-blog ; @jadeddangel ; @qardasngan ; @goldenglow149 ; @andysteve1311 ; @pinkmelodies ; @hopefulb1ue ; @redkarmakai ; @zukusluvr ; @navezepol221 ; @candiiee ; @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaq ; @mniya ; @randomhuman112 ; @mintvender r ; @deadendgrim ; @captainswanarcher ; @figbaby ; @midnight-nightmare ; @talilosha ; @bawlangya ; @optimisticprime3 ; @purplescorpi0 ; @astrolovedy ; @desiree-lee ; @okaysxx ; @the-faceless-bride ; @thelameone101 ; @gethexxed ; @lowkeyhottho ; @bvirrious ; @heespretty ; @roxy776699 ; @kamy-thee-egg ; @talia-the-gemini ; @pikachuzhc ; @itsnotjustmyself-blog ; @roxy776699 ; @mystic60 ; @reallysparklychaos ; @sixxze ; @blurryperrtymoonlight ; @1poison-cat1 ; @allyfoxglove ; @mindsbloody ; @jkvolgs ; @haruaikawa ; @k3nmakyan ; @my-anime-garden ; @fto6 ; @hanniesroom ; @readeryn68 ; @queenofsimps001 ; @mai1em ; @demonzgutzz ; @sleepy-x-snake ; @xxang3|zz ; @decadentcrusadefun ; @shhhstar ; @n3ptOnee ; @nxcx|Ixsevens ; @mailem ; @aslos ; @thatone-gayweeb ; @eveylynnn ; @nervoussangel ; @inakyo ; @graythecoffeebean ; @ninabinna ; @3thr3al ; @barrythestrawberry041 ; @omgeyeless-blog ; @primary-022 ; @prettyprojectshq ; @bluepatrolbear ; @literallyjustmyself23 ; @p3n310p3 ; @slayerdiva ; @hw-shorty ; @quixoticcat ; @fluffypuffyfishyswishy

[justonedreamersworld]

Escape

Lukas Radzevičius (Katarsis) x reader

Warnings: mental health issues

Summary: A profound conversation on a hotel rooftop

I couldn't sleep last night, which is why this story came about at 1am. I am so in love with Lukas and especially with the music of Katarsis, so I really wanted to write something about him. And the topic of mental health seemed fitting. This is the first fic I've published in many years. Let me know what you think in the comments :)

1,7k words (not proof read, one shot)

At the hotel you take the lift to the very top. Your destination: the roof terrace, which offers a wonderful view over Basel.

It's already past midnight. It's been a long day – rehearsals, press and other tasks that can't be avoided so close to tomorrow's big Eurovision final. You may ,only‘ be one of your country's dancers, but the work doesn't get any less.

The cool night air blows towards you as you leave the lift that takes you directly to the roof terrace. You need to clear your head and you haven't been up here yet. Impossible in terms of time.

At first you think you're alone – but you're wrong. As you stand in the middle of the terrace, you see someone sitting on a bench to your right in the dim light of the small floodlights. You recognise him immediately, which makes your heart leap.

He is leaning with his hands on the edge of the bench, his legs are stretched out and his gaze is directed into the distance. His bleached hair falls into his face. He doesn't seem to notice you.

It's Lukas, the singer of Katarsis.

You've met a few times in the last few days and also at some of the pre-parties, as the Lithuanian delegation gets on well with your own. Lukas doesn't seem to be the most talkative person, but you've still managed to strike up a conversation a few times. His quiet, reserved and almost mysterious manner fascinates you. He always seems to choose his words carefully and real emotions only come out in a few moments. But that's exactly what makes him interesting for you: he seems so genuine and so much himself. He doesn't just play any role, as many other participants probably do.

While you stand there and watch him, at some point he turns his head in your direction. His gaze makes your heart skip a beat again.

‘Hey,’ says Lukas.

‘Hey. I... um... I don't want to disturb you, sorry. I just... get some fresh air and had no idea anyone was already up here,’ you stutter, feeling like the biggest idiot. As if Lukas hadn't noticed you staring at him.

‘That's fine. Sit down,’ replies Lukas, pointing with his head to the seat next to him.

You're not sure if you might have misheard him.

‘You sure?’

He just nods and continues to look at you in silence.

You slowly start to move and don't take your eyes off him. Lukas doesn't either. Only when you sit down next to him he turns his gaze back to the darkened Basel. You lean back, stretch out your legs and do the same with your arms crossed.

You listen to the sounds of passing cars, a group of young people laughing in the street below.

At some point, you catch yourself looking at Lukas again out of the corner of your eye. He is still leaning slightly forwards, his eyes fixed on who knows what.

‘Do you come up here often?’ you break the silence at some point.

‘Yes. Every night since we've been in Basel.’

‘Oh wow, okay.’

‘And you?’

Lukas continues to look straight ahead. You lean forwards a little now too, resting your arms on your thighs and resting your chin in your hands.

‘Not yet, no. But today I had to come up here.’

‘Why?’ he wants to know. You see out of the corner of your eye that he has now turned his gaze in your direction.

‘Somehow there was far too much going on today. All the rehearsals and all the other appointments. I'm glad that the final is tomorrow and it's finally over. The last few weeks have been really hard.’

You are surprised that you are opening up to him like this. You usually find that harder, no matter who you're sitting opposite.

‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ says Lukas after a short pause.

‘I've been feeling like this for weeks. Don't get me wrong: the experience is great and it offers us a great opportunity – but it still drains you. That's why I'm up here every night. At least I can get away from it all for a while.’

You look directly at him now. He also continues to look in your direction. Despite the dim light, the look in his ice-blue eyes hits you like an electric shock.

Damn, those eyes...

Once again, you notice how you can't get enough of them. Your pulse notices this too and immediately shoots up.

You quickly turn your look back into the distance and hope that Lukas hasn't noticed the blush that has crept onto your cheeks in the darkness. You straighten up and put your hands in your lap.

Nervous, you just keep talking.

‘Do you ever wish you could just escape from your life, go somewhere else and start all over again?’

It's only when you've said the last words that you realise how strange this question probably sounds. You close your eyes for a moment and try to breathe in and out deeply – hopefully he doesn't notice. You play around with your fingers in your lap.

Now calm down again!

‘Yes, I know the feeling.’

Surprised, you open your eyes and look at Lukas again. A faint smile has now crept onto his lips. Has he just noticed your reaction and is amused by it? Either way, your stomach does a flip at the sight of his smile. It may only be small, but for a Lukas Radzevičius it's not. It's much more.

‘Really?’ you ask in a choked voice, clearing your throat briefly.

‘Yes, really.’

Lukas' smile widens a little more and if you weren't already sitting down, your legs would have collapsed out from under you by now.

You smile back automatically. Not just because you're happy about his smile – you’re happy that he seems to understand you again.

‘I actually think that quite often,’ Lukas continues, looking down at the dark city again. ‘Just leave everything and everyone behind me and start a new life somewhere. Get a new chance. A complete re-start.’ 

Lukas looks at the floor in front of him and his hair falls even more in his face. You would have liked to reach out and brush it behind his ear, but of course you don't.

‘Yes, it would be great if it were that easy sometimes and you could just press a button to reset everything for once,’ you say, lost in thought, unable to take your eyes off Lukas.

He is silent for a moment before he straightens up again, brushes his hair back with both hands and says a quick ‘Right’. He turns his eyes back to nothing.

‘It's good that there are other ways to escape from everyday life, at least for a moment,’ you try to lighten the mood on the one hand and get rid of your thoughts about how incredibly beautiful this man next to you is on the other.

‘What is it? Alcohol? Other drugs?’

Lukas looks at you again and this time there's more than just a smile – this time he's grinning broadly at you and now he's more beautiful than ever. You wish you could have groaned out loud, clapped your hands over your face or kissed him. Or all of the above. In that order. Instead, you laugh briefly and reply: ‘That's also a possibility, but no, that's not what I meant. I mean the music. For me it's dancing and I'm sure for you it's singing or writing new songs.’

‘Oh yes, you're right,’ Lukas replies, his grin turning back into a softer smile.

‘By the way, you dance really well,’ he adds shortly afterwards.

‘Thanks,’ you whisper, looking down and starting to knead your hands in your lap again.

‘And you sing really well,’ you prattle on without thinking. ‘Somehow there's something incredibly vulnerable about your voice, but also something calming. Almost healing.’

You quickly bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying any more cheesy and embarrassing things.

‘Wow, thanks,’ Lukas whispers, but you don't dare look at him again. ‘I don't think I've ever heard anything like that about my singing.’

You look at him again and his expression has changed. It's much softer now and seems... more fragile.  

‘Thank you, really. That means a lot to me,’ he adds quietly, his eyes captivating you again.

Relieved that you don't have to be ashamed of your words, you smile at him and nod once.

A few seconds pass and you're not sure whether Lukas is really looking at you or whether he's so absorbed in his own thoughts that he doesn't even realise what he's looking at. Until he interrupts the silence again.

‘But there's something else that can help you escape.’

His voice now seems rougher than before – almost as if his throat is dry.

‘And what?’ you whisper barely noticeable.

Something stirs in his eyes and you are sure that he is now fully back in the here and now.

At first you think you're imagining it. Lukas' face approaches yours and your heart threatens to explode at any moment.

Shit, does he really want to...?

He pauses a few centimetres from your face.

‘Damn. Are you even okay with this?’ he croaks softly.

You feel his breath on your skin, causing a brief shiver to run through you and goose bumps to spread across your body.

‘More than okay,’ you whisper back and look at his mouth, the corner of which he pulls upwards for a barely perceptible moment.

Lukas carefully places a hand on your cheek and gently strokes it with his fingertips. The touch makes you exhale loudly.

A strand of hair falls over his forehead and this time you can't resist the urge to brush it out of his face. You let your hand rest on the side of his head as he moves the last few centimetres between you.

You close your eyes as Lukas' lips meet yours. Hesitantly at first, carefully. More like a gentle touch, less like a real kiss. But that alone is enough to drive the last bit of sanity out of your body.

With your free hand, you carefully reach for the front of Lukas' hoodie and clutch the fabric as Lukas presses his lips a little harder against yours. You return the kiss without hesitation.

Lukas was right: you forget everything around you and escape reality for a wonderful moment.

[monayen]

awawawa tysm! (*/∀＼*) then i'll req smth for 17 yo randal w a fem reader! like he's been ignoring reader because he's too busy playing lol or being an asshole on reddit so reader tries to get his attention in other ways--- ( ￣▽￣)

x_thedarkprince_x | Randal Ivory (17ndal)

➷ Paring - Randal Ivory (17ndal) x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - oral (m. receiving) / blowjobs, pet play, he stink *_*

a/n - i forgot how much i love this freak... i was gonna write him stinkier but im sick with an eye infection and im 90% sure me writing him infected me somehow. also i have never played league but i do watch arcane and play val so i think that's good enough. 'pologies if i got anything wrong in that aspect (not really) also header is @/tapi_taro_ on twt !!

A rhythmic clicking echoed against the dark walls of Randal’s room. It was late — far too late for him to be hunched over his computer, his eyes fixed on the flickering characters on the screen.

He knew it too. Luther had made it clear he wasn’t supposed to be playing this late, even threatening to confiscate his expensive setup if he caught him awake again. Yet here he was, ignoring every warning.

Your legs dangled off the side of the coffin he should've been in hours ago with you, tired eyes flickering at the blue light of the screen. Or more importantly, Randal. 

His long orange hair was disheveled, sticking up in all directions, unbrushed and greasy.  A string of drool hung from the corner of his mouth as he muttered curses under his breath, his razor-sharp teeth glinting in the glow of the monitor. Far too engrossed to even blink.

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. It had been days since Randal had given you more than a passing glance. A new season of LoL had started, and you were pretty sure his ass was permanently welded to his chair. The only times he left it were to use the bathroom or grab more soda. Has he even eaten?

Sleep was impossible with the constant noise. The rapid clack of his fingers on the keys, the drag of his mouse across the desk — it all kept you on edge. Even when you managed to drift off, there was always a sharp bang against the side of the table or a shout of some obscene curse, loud enough to snap you awake. And then, you’d have to fight to fall asleep all over again.

You huff in frustration, sitting up from where you’ve been laying against the coffin. “Randal?”

He doesn’t even flinch, his eyes fixed on the screen. For a moment, you wonder if he’s deliberately ignoring you, but the garbled voices from the game blasting through his headset make it clear that he just can't hear. 

You repeat yourself louder, and only then does he push one of his headphones aside, “What?” 

You make a face at his almost exasperated tone, his eyes still not moving towards you, “It's really late.”

He shrugs, lips pressing into a thin line as he shakes his head, barely glancing your way. “Yeah, well, I can’t pause. I’ll be there in a bit, sweetieee.” He drags out the last word with a teasing giggle before adjusting his headphones and continuing playing.

You stand up from the coffin, stretching your arms above your head. Your joints pop and crack, and you wince at the sudden movement. It's been a long day, and you're exhausted. But sleep isn’t going to happen unless he gets off the game.

You take a step towards him, your bare feet padding softly on the carpet. He's so focused on the game that he doesn't even notice you approaching. You lean over his shoulder, peering at the screen. 

He's losing, the game isn't even close. The string of chat logs of him and his teammates arguing in the corner catch your eye. You watch as Randal scowls, quickly typing something in chat. An IP address, but you’re pretty sure it's actually just a random string of numbers. 

Tilting your head, you ask, “Won't you get banned for that?”

Randal doesn't respond, too focused in the game to acknowledge you. You sigh again, a reaction would at least be nice. You're tired of being ignored, desperately wanting some type of attention, affection, anything to make you feel wanted. You're also just tired in general…

You place your hands on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. He tenses slightly at your touch, but doesn't pull away. You start to massage his shoulders, working out the knots that have formed from his terrible posture.

"Randal," you say softly, leaning down to whisper against his neck, even though he can't hear you, "You can play with something else…”

He shivers at your breath on his skin, but still doesn't turn to you. You huff, frustrated. 

You drop to your knees, crawling under the desk. You can see his feet, clad in mismatched socks, tapping impatiently on the floor. You reach up, running your hands up his calves, his thighs, until you reach his crotch. 

Taking a deep breath, you began to graze his crotch, him immediately shaking above you, "What are you – hey!" Randal finally noticed your actions, but he made no move to stop you as you continued to rub the fabric of his sweatpants. 

He lowers his headset, leaving them around his neck as he hunches over. “Bad girl! I’m literally about to derank!” 

You feel him stiffen under your touch. "Randal," you murmur again, your hand stroking him slowly. "I want to make you feel good."

Randal let out a shaky breath, his hips twitching forward. "I'm busy," he grumbled, but there was a note of desire behind his pitchy voice.

He makes a strangled noise when you squeeze, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen. He looks down at you, his black eyes lidded. “Fuck… my elo." he breathes, his hips bucking into your palm.

You smile, satisfied that you finally have some of his attention. You tug down his bottoms, freeing his cock. It's hard and hot in your hand, pulsing with need. You swiftly wrap your lips around the head, sucking gently.

Randal groans, his fingers tightening on the mouse. He's still playing, well… attempting to at least. His eyes keep darting back down to you, hands shaking against his keyboard and mouse. 

His thighs tremble more once you begin sucking on the sensitive tip harder, his focus faltering to groan, “C’mon – you can go deeper than that pet,” One of his hands leaves the desk, moving to grip the back of your head.

He groans, hips bucking into your mouth as he pushes your head down, "You're gonna make me lose." It's almost a whine, like it's a genuine bother for you to be down on your knees for him. But he doesn't stop you. If anything, he's pushing you down further, encouraging you with soft, desperate sounds. You take him deeper, tongue swirling around the length of his cock.

You moan around him, sending vibrations through his shaft. He gasps, fingers tangling in your hair.

"Shit, shit, fuck," he chants, voice rising in pitch. His thighs tremble, muscles tensing under your hands.

His free hand still clicks around on the keyboard, your eyes narrowing at the not-surprising ridiculousness of Randal still trying to play the game despite his dick being down your throat. 

You pull off his length with a pop, tilting your head sweetly, "Come on, Randal," you tease, stroking him slowly. "Is the game really that important?"

Randal whines, head thudding back against the chair. With a giggle, he nudges your head back down onto his erection, "I just told these virgins I’m getting my dick sucked, kekeke.”

You bob your head, taking him deep, swallowing around him. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling sharply. “Hah, keep going pet.” he groans rocking his hips, fucking your face with shallow, needy thrusts. You double your efforts, sucking harder and taking him deeper in your mouth. 

"Fuck, fuck, swallow it–" he cuts off with a strangled cry, hips stuttering. You can feel him throbbing in your mouth, his body tensing. A quick pulse follows before he's flooding your throat. Quickly, you gulp, swallowing his cum down and not letting it leak out your mouth. 

He pants, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He looks down at you, his eyes half-lidded and hazy, slumping down slightly on the chair. 

Randal moves his hand from the back of your head to cup your cheek, his sharp teeth biting his lip, “Goooood pet.” 

Blushing at the praise, you finally crawl up when he moves his chair back, giving you space to get out from under the desk. “Are you sleepy now?” You ask, a cheeky smile on your face as you lean in closer to him. 

Randal lets out another strange giggle before leaning in to plant a quick, wet kiss on your lips.

“Gah, I can taste myself,” he grimaces, pulling back slightly. “Did I burn a hole in your stomach?”

You stifle a laugh and shake your head. “Randal.”

He catches the hint in your voice, finally giving in. With a dramatic sigh, he tucks his soft dick in and pushes up from his chair. “Turn off the monitor then, pretty please?”

You nod, watching as he scratches his ass before collapsing onto his coffin, immediately drifting off to sleep.

Turning to the monitor, you notice a bright red DEFEAT screen glaring back at you. Glancing at the chat, you see the last message a teammate sent before the game ended —

‘GGS report x_thedarkprince_x for throwing’

[volturiprincess]

Hiii I saw that your requests are open! If it’s okay, can I please request a Demetri x fem!human!reader where the mate pull between them is so strong (even though they haven’t met) that she has been having dreams about him and unconsciously finds her way in Volterra (like she honestly doesn’t remember how she got to Italy in the first place, it was like a mind out of body experience for her) and goes up to Heidi (who is out looking for tourists to join the “tour”) and Y/n’s like, “Do you know where I can find Demetri Volturi?” And Heidi is like “???” Because this little human somehow knows who a Volturi guard is asking for him and desperately wants to see him?? If Dem had the ability to cry, he would be sobbing when Heidi brings his sweet mate to him🥹Awww and as soon as she sees him she knows exactly who he is and calls out to him 🥹

Also I feel like Marcus would be absolutely fascinated about how strong their bond is, and Aro would be fascinated by Y/n herself because she has to be gifted in some way with how she unconsciously found her way to Demetri with the dreams she had been having

Never Be The Same

Demetri Volturi x human fem reader Warnings: None A/N: I apologize for the very long wait, I hope this makes up for it though. Weirdly I manage to write this in 2.5 days, which is kind of fast even for me, i mostly wrote it late at night because thats when the real inspiration came through. My first finished request of the year also. But.... Enjoy💙 Word Count: 2323 (that is so satisfying)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It can be you and I forever….what do you say?”

I wanted to scream out yes but he started to dissolve, he was fading away. No please come back…

I woke up from the dream with a thin layer of sweat, grabbing my bottle of water, I drowned it down. Fuck I cant believe it was a dream. It seemed so real. He’s been in my dreams for the past couple of months now, is he even a real person? He seems too perfect to exist, but everything that has happened in the dreams are so specific, and I have the same dream every night too where I see him and we just hang out and talk. It's almost like an out of body experience. 

We talk to each other just like I would in the waking world, full of conversations, it's come to a  point where I feel like I know everything there is to know about him. I get out of my bed and walk out to my little balcony in the little place I rented for the month. Volterra Italy…I don't even remember how I got here but here I am. Demetri mentioned he lives here, wondering where he is?

I let a cold breeze hit my face as I grip the beautifully crafted railing, as I thought over where to start my search for him. Such a small town and no sighting of him yet. I have only been here for a week so far but I'm already growing a bit impatient. What if he is not here?

I get ready for the day and head out for my search for him. I remember in one of my dreams that Demetri mentioned he is a tracker, he did not specify what he tracked but he said he was the best in the world. Wish I could track. I ended up wandering around the town when I found a big fountain, it's so entrancing the way the water sprouts out. I sit by it as I debate what to do next, there's not much I can do unless…

I see the most gorgeous woman to ever grace this earth at a distance, I must be in heaven because she is an angel. I get this feeling that I need to approach her, like she is the one who will give me all the answers to my questions. Maybe she will know where I can find Demetri. I walk over to her as she turns to face me, she gives me a breathtaking smile as she quickly skims me.

“Posso aiutarla?”

I take a minute to try to understand what she said but my Italian is so rusty, those years of learning Italian in High School went out the window immediately.

“Sorry my Italian is super rusty, do you speak English?”

She gave me a sheepish smile but nodded.

“Well of course, I am well educated in multiple languages, I am Heidi, how may I help you?”

Just with the way she talks is leaving me in a trance, I'm forgetting my whole purpose of why I needed to talk to her. Wait, why do I have to talk to her? Think, think, think. Oh right, Demetri!

“Do you know where I can find Demetri Volturi”

Her smile dropped and it contoured to a look of pure confusion, her head tilted slightly with her gaze turning to one of puzzled in a matter of milliseconds. Have I said something wrong? I don't like how she's looking at me now, I feel myself squirm under her gaze. 

“How do you know of him?”

“Wait, he's actually real?”

Her eyebrows furrowed now as she kept staring at me.

“He is…but your didn't answer my question cara”

“I well…would you believe me if I said I been dreaming of him?”

“Humans sure are strange beings, have you ever actually met him in person?”

“No”

“Who told you he would be here?”

“He did”

“How?”

“He told me he lives in Volterra, Italy”

“I cannot phantom how this is even possible, so you're telling me, Demetri told you where he is via dream and you never meet him but you know who he is?”

I nod, I know this sounds crazy now that she says it out loud but it is the truth, I would have to be mental to come up with such a story, maybe I am. I don't even remember how I got here to start off with.

“Is he here?”

“...Yes but he is busy currently”

“When will he be free?”

“I'm not sure, when he trains it is never known how long he will take”

“I don't mean to be rude or anything but is there a way you could get him to come here, I would like to meet him”

She still had a confused look on her beautiful face.

“I still cannot wrap my mind how a human like you knows a volturi guard and knows where we live too, what are the odds it would be Demetri?”

“What do you mean by that? Is he a bad person or something because I can tell you in my dreams he was an absolutely sweetheart, I have never meet such a sweet man in my whole life”

“Yes he is a sweetheart, I didn't mean to imply he is a bad person he's the opposite I just meant what are the odds the only guard who does not have a mate might have found them in a strange way”

“Mate?”

“You will be told about them once we figure out if you are his mate”

“And if I'm not?”

“Well lets just say you came at a bad time for the Volturi, our feeding time is soon”

I shivered slightly at the remark, feeding time? Why would that be a bad thing? Is it not just dinner or I guess it would be lunch since it is early afternoon. Or unless they are very private about their dinner time that they don't have guests? There's something off but I hope I can meet Demetri soon. I wonder how he will react. Will he know who I am? Does he have the same dreams as I? Or have our dreams been like walking dreams where he comes into mine? 

My curiosity is interrupted when Heidi mentions something that peaks my interest

“I will see if he can spare a minute or two but I will guarantee you that the possibility of that happening is low, please just wait by the fountain”

I nod as she walks away, even her walk is so entrancing, does she even have any flaws? I take my previous spot by the fountain as I wait for them. I hope the odds are in my favor and I do get to meet him. Will he be exactly like in my dreams, the way he acts and talks. I felt that sudden anxiety rise in me, what if I disappoint him in a way. He's literally the handsomest man to ever walk upon this earth, he does not belong in this world with the beauty he carries.

I felt my heart beat a bit faster the longer I waited for them to return, I have never felt so nervous before. I wanted to throw up but I tried my best to stay calm. Deep breaths…in…out…in…out. Okay that's working, I feel less stressed but my thoughts are still running wild. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes turned to hours, hours then felt like weeks. What if he is refusing to meet me or he is really busy. 

I hate how my mind suddenly thinks of all the worst case scenarios to ever exist when nothing bad has happened. Yet at that moment, my breath was hitched, the world stopped moving, nothing could be heard but footsteps who I can already assume who they belonged to. I felt an invisible force tilt my head to the side to be met with a dark clothed figure standing at the entrance of a doorway that could only be described as an entrance to a museum. He would be the statue that millions of people would travel all around the world to gaze at. It would be a blessing of a masterpiece.

Am I in one of my dreams with him in it? It certainly feels like it but my raw emotions I have right now feels true and physical. He walked over to me and I swear I saw flowers sprout at each step he took, his eyes maintained contact with mine. His eyes held so much expression that I could read each emotion he was feeling. When he stood in front of me his arm extended to pull me up and into his chest. His arms wrapped around me loosely as the desire to breathe again was nowhere, my hand went up to rest on his cheek to make sure he was physically here. 

He is here, this is no dream because if it were the minute I touched him he would have dissolved into my delusions. 

“Your real”

His smile could have brightened a whole room alone without needing actual light. 

“I certainly hope I am, I can't believe I have finally found you”

“You've been waiting for me?”

“For centuries now”

I ran the same hand that was on his cheek through his blonde locks as his eyes closed. We felt like we were in our own little bubble of paradise, everything was still and quiet which at this moment felt right. I saw his skin give a little sparkle which was strange but it made him seem more ethereal, it was made clear he is not human but to me that does not matter to me because all I want is him. 

When his eyes opened they seemed darker as they were shimmering slightly with unshed tears. He looked so precious that I had the strong desire to engulf him in a deep hug that would hide him from the world. He gave me a weak smile as he guided me to where he came from, he held me as if I were a porcelain doll. 

“I will introduce you to my masters, they would like to meet you since a certain person decided to let the whole castle know I found my mate”

“So I am your mate?”

He stopped walking to look straight into my eyes, into my soul.

“Do you not feel how we are gravitating toward one another? You are my moon as I am the ocean. I have never felt this feeling in the centuries I have been around, I finally feel complete with you here” 

Breathless he leaves me. His words are better than any love song I have ever heard, no artist can come close to being more romantic than him. Even after every dream I had of him, I would wake up with the same reaction. We eventually arrived at a room where three figures sitting in thrones were at. These must be the masters that Demetri mentioned, next to me and Demetri was a mountain of a man. I had to crane my neck at an angle to look up at him, and even then I almost couldn't see his face because his shoulder was blocking the side view of his face. 

“So she found you? This little human found you?”

“She did Master”

“And she’s truly human?”

“Yes she is, can you not see the color in her cheeks”

I kind of just stood there awkwardly as they spoke of me as if I weren't there but Demetri made me feel comfortable with the way he still had me in his arms. 

“But how did she come to find you?”

Everyone turned to look at me the same way Heidi did when I asked about Demetri, which resulted in me to squirm. The blonde one spoke up which made me almost jump out of my skin.

“Speak human”

Demetri got a bit tense but spoke up for me. What a gentleman…

“Master please, don't you see your frightening her, please don't raise your voice to my mate”

Oh my, so polite and protective. The way his voice got soft as he spoke made my heart melt. I gained confidence from how he defended me that I finally spoke up.

“I'm not sure how I ended up in Italy or how I got here but all I can say is I would have dreams about Demetri which then lead me here somehow, its difficult to explain but I just knew I had to find him even if I was not sure if he was real or not”

The third master who has not spoken in the whole time we've been here finally stood up and walked over to me and Demetri. He moved so slowly that I felt as if he walked faster he would turn to dust and vanish.

“You confound me dear one but I have never seen such a strong bond between mates. I hope with time we can figure out how this was able to happen because I am fascinated by this”

I nodded but suddenly relaxed a bit in Demetris arms. The one who seemed to be the main guy to run this whole place clapped loudly with a laugh to follow it. I wanted to cringe slightly but I felt that would be disrespectful to do so, so I bit my tongue.

“I think she might be gifted, oh the joy this brings me, our own Demetri has found his mate and she is gifted, a joyous day it is indeed”

The smile that Demetri gave me was like a sudden beam of sunlight illuminating the darkest corners of the room. I never knew he was the sunshine I needed in life, I think I'm going to love spending forever with him. 

[meracyn]

hi can you please write a one shot of kwon x fem! reader who has strict parents and one day kwon helps her escape her house to go with him? tysm if you do this!

TRAPPED || kwon jae-sung

a/n: ok guys by tomorrow im gonna be editing these posts and make them actually worth looking at, no lazing off this time 😭 but i like this idea actually. ive heard some songs that would relate to a scenario like this, whoever you are anon, ur a genius fr

The tension in your house was unbearable.

Your parents, being both professionals, always pushed you to meet their expectations. They barely gave you freedom, let alone make your own choices as you grew up.

It felt so suffocating, so tiring. You were so sure you would end up going crazy any day by now.

What kind of parents were so strict they always had to monitor every. single. thing of their child’s life?

Yours.

And that was why you couldn’t wait to escape.

The night was thick with silence, creating a heavy atmosphere. You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling before turning your head to the side, where the window was.

The moon hung low in the sky— a soft, silvery glow adorning the rows of houses underneath. You got up slowly, careful not to wake your parents. The walls were pretty thin, which only made it more difficult for you to have privacy, as they could hear almost every little thing you would do.

As you got closer, you opened it. The cool, chilly air embracing your body as the breeze played with your hair.

Outside your window, the world was silent. The leaves swayed gently on the trees, the streetlights being dim and faint in the distance, barely cutting through the darkness.

You began to think. About your future, your parents, and your boyfriend,

Kwon Jae-Sung.

It seemed impossible to get into a relationship due to your overbearing parents, but you managed somehow, and haven’t gotten caught so far– which made it the perfect reason to leave.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the rush of adrenaline clashing with the quiet serenity of the night. Would it be worth the risk? Leave behind your future, your goals, everything just for some silly romance?

Every step you took felt like glass so fragile, that with one little mistake, would break.

You focused again on the scenery outside, just beyond the houses, staring at the open gate in front of you. So close, yet so far away at the same time.

The night seemed to be endless, full of possibilities—if you just took another step.

And you did.

Cautiously going back to your bed, you picked up your phone, just as you received a new message—it was him.

I’m outside. Can you get out on your own or need help?

Stay there. Your fingers quickly tapped the screen. I can manage

This was it. There was no turning back now.

Grabbing your bag and shoes on, you took a deep breath and began to climb out the window, heartbeat pounding in your ears with each movement you took. You held onto a nearby tree before stepping down, finally touching the ground.

Without bothering to look back, you ran away.

Kwon was standing outside of the car, a smile forming on his face as he noticed you.

“You made it,” He said softly, holding onto your hand as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t know what the hell is going to happen now,” You blurted out, having mixed feelings between anxiety and excitement.

“I told you I’d get you out. ” He whispered, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes. “And I will.”

As you both got in the car, Kwon started the engine, driving away. You looked back at your house one last time.

For the first time in years, you finally felt free.

[shaesinflames]

🌥️ Rainbow Factory Infection AU🌥️

Hello everypony!! Ive been loving the infection stuff and wanted to jump onto the trend myself with an AU that came to me very suddenly. I'm gonna try and get all my thoughts out here:

☁️ Scootaloo fails her flying assessment by getting disqualified for checking on her injured friend who had crashed during their turn. The two of them get taken to the Rainbow Factory as a punishment for their failure, and quickly realize the deadly situation they're in.

🌈 There are few dozen pegasi there already. All of their wings have been torn off of them, their cutiemarks are branded over, and chains are fastened around either their legs or neck. They all seem so... dull. As if the color has been stolen from them.

☁️ Rainbow Dash enters to examine the new sacrifices, and is mortified when she sees Scootaloo. She had trained her every day to prevent this from happening; she never wanted the pony she thought of as a little sister to end up here. Dash had to quickly decide if she was more loyal to her career, or to her friends.

🌈 She chooses Scootaloo. This does not go over well. Whether you enter the Rainbow Factory as a prisoner or an employee, you were not allowed to leave until you died. Rainbow Dash grabs Scootaloo and attempts to flee with her.

☁️ A chase ensues. She realizes that even if they do escape, they wouldn't be free. They would be hunted for as long as the factory existed. The answer suddenly seems obvious. Dash veers away from the exit and heads deeper into the building, straight for the core.

🌈 Because of her high status in the company (and a lot of kicking), Rainbow Dash gets into the restricted access room and corrupts the core, sparking a reactor meltdown. Her and Scootaloo manage to escape seconds before the core collapses, and the Rainbow Factory is lost to the rainbows it created.

☁️ Not long after, ponies begin to emerge from the ruins. Well, they seem to still be ponies. Mostly ponies. The Inital Victims. The pegasi who had been deemed useless and dispensable in one way or another, and had been put through torture for weeks or months in order to drain them of their very magic and soul.

🌈 The Victims seem to have a symbiotic relationship with the Rainbow Infection in their body. They live just out of reach of death; gaunt and hollow, yet somehow surviving. Blind, weak, and terrified, they seem to believe they're still trapped in the factory, and will viciously maul any living being they sense with a newfound strength. So far, they don't seem to be curable, or killable.

☁️ The Infected pegasi have a much more unpleasant experience. Every waking moment is nothing but agony as the infection consumes their magic and feast on their vessel, reducing them to nothing more than another fluffy white cloud looming in the sky.

🌈 The Infected aren't hostile, and seem to still be lucid up until their death. However, they are incredibly contagious, and the final stage of the infection seems to be designed specifically to further the disease.

☁️ Unicorns and Earth ponies are completely immune to the Rainbow Infection. Alicorns are not. The princess's have been barricaded in Celestia's castle to protect them all.

🌈 Without any pegasi to moderate the weather, it has become increasingly unpredictable and harsh, making typical farm work almost impossible. The Survivors are getting low on rations, and they're getting desperate and hungry.

I think thats about it. Idk at the time of writing this its 3am lol.

[lostdreamr-blog1]

Beautiful Stranger

Summary: Jake was talked into picking up the coffee order for the group, but little did he know he would be leaving with more than that.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Wow friends…it has been a hot minute since I have posted. Life got crazy and my motivation to write had lessened. But I am back and slowly going through my inbox requests! Thank you all for the constant love and support. Excited to put out more writing for you!

Jake had no idea how he was the one picking up coffee for the group, but here he was standing in line at an overly crowded coffee shop, twenty minutes out of the way of base.

It was obvious that he didn’t fit in with this crowd. Hipster was the word that came to mind seeing the strange outfits and unruly haircuts. Someone wearing a crisp uniform and hair with every strand in perfect place screamed odd man out. He was uncomfortable to say the least and swore up and down he would never be doing this again.

Bradley told him they ordered ahead so he wouldn’t have to worry about going through the order of nearly ten coffees, but scanning the pick-up counter told him he would have to wait some.

He found a small corner out of the way of traffic and took in his surroundings. One of the benefits of a place like this meant people watching would entertain him until the order was ready.

There was a couple splitting a bagel not too far from him. It looked like something out of a cheesy movie, with the whispering and lovey smiles. He had to bite his tongue to keep from snorting out loud.

The next group he saw looked to be college students strung out on entirely way too much caffeine with the way they were frantically typing. He didn’t miss those days of cramming for exams and writing pointless papers at the last minute. But he did think he at least looked a bit more put together when he was their age. Or that’s what he told himself.

Jakes eyes nearly passed over the young woman in the opposite corner from him, quietly writing in a notebook. She was locked into whatever she was working on, despite all the noise around her. Between the music playing throughout the store, expresso machines going off, and countless conversations being had, Jake had no idea how the woman could get any work done. But here she was, chewing on the end of her pen lost in thought, not giving anything around her an ounce of attention.

He found himself starting to really look at her. She was dressed casually but somehow managed to make it look almost professional. Her hair was pulled back into one of those giant clips that he never understood how it stayed in place all day. The makeup was minimal, but she didn’t need it in his opinion.

“Hangman?” Jake nearly jumped when he heard his order called out, breaking him away from the thoughts of the random stranger across the way. He politely nodded thanks to the barista and took the two drink carriers from her. But before he walked out, he threw a quick glance over his shoulder nearly tripping over himself when he saw the woman looking up at him. He recovered as quickly as possible, making it through the door without dropping anything.

It was on the way to base that the thoughts starting spiraling out of control. Was it a coincidence that she looked up as he was leaving? Was it his call sign that pulled her attention? And if so, why? Jake shook his head, stopping himself from continuing down the rabbit hole. He had zero interaction with this woman and yet his mind wouldn’t get off her. It was early in the morning, and he wasn’t fully awake to be making rational decisions. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Bradley and Natasha met him outside the locker room, thanking him for grabbing the coffee. He grumbled a response and went to his locker to put his things up. Bradley didn’t give much thought to the minimal interaction with the pilot, but Natasha did. “Everything go okay with the order?”

Jake nodded his head and shut his locker. “Just don’t see why you need something that expensive and out of the way when we have a perfectly good coffee machine here.” Natasha shook her head with a smirk, realizing just how out of his element he must have been.

“It’s good coffee. Can’t help that I have expensive taste.” Jake huffed out a breath, “Lord help your future husband.”

It was a week later when he got a text from Natasha begging him to grab her a coffee from the same damn place. He went to reply no, when another text popped up saying she was running late and would buy lunch to make up for it. Rolling his eyes, he replied back saying he was feeling something expensive for lunch to match his taste. An emoji with a lovely hand gesture was sent back with the word “fine”, making him chuckle. At least it was one coffee this time.

Jake took a deep breath as he walked into the coffee shop, mentally preparing himself for what seemed like unorganized chaos. The place was packed with nearly ten people in line waiting to order. He looked down at his watch and saw that he was here around the same time as last week, but for some reason today was busier than before.

The counter was filled with drink orders, taking him a minute to read through all the names. His friends’ wasn’t there yet and he turned to find refuge in his corner while he waited. He looked around at the people and while they weren’t the same as before, the types of groups remained the same.

“For someone who looked like he’d rather gouge his eyes out than be here last week, you came back.” A soft voice pulled his attention down to a woman sitting at a table close to him, revealing the beautiful stranger he had just managed to stop thinking about.

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason words wouldn’t form. He could slap himself for looking like an idiot in front of her. He had never once been at a loss for words with a woman, but something about her made himself conscious of everything he did.

“I didn’t mean to call you out like that. I just didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” She was smiling up at him, making the tops of his ears burn.

“A friend was running late and asked if I could pick up her order.” It was a short statement, but the smile on the woman’s face dimmed a bit. “Must be some girl for you to put yourself through this first thing in the morning.”

Jake quickly shook his head trying to back track, “She’s my teammate and promised me lunch if I did this. Nothing more.” The woman hummed and looked back down at her notebook.

“Well, if you make this a regular thing, I am good friends with the staff and might be able to get your order out a bit quicker. Wouldn’t want you to go into crisis mode over a coffee shop.” She was biting back a smile as she poked fun at his clear discomfort of the place, but Jake couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Darlin’, you have no idea how much that would mean to me.” Why he just committed to this being a regular thing, he had no idea. But he did know he wanted to see the beautiful stranger again.

“Hangman, right?” His eyebrows shot up at the remembrance of his call sign. “Hangman is my call sign. You can call me Jake.” Her eyes sparkled in what he thought was amusement.

“Well Jake, my name is Y/N, and I would be happy to help you out. I am here most days working on things. Why don’t you give me your number so you can text me when you plan on stopping by. That way I can let my friends know to look out for your order.” This girl was nothing but confident. Jake didn’t think he had ever had a woman ask for his number before and he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Hangman?” His name was called out like last time, but instead of feeling relieved to get out of the overcrowded shop, he wanted to stay as long as possible. “Better get going, pilot. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” She gave him a wink, something that he normally did with women, and knew he was already in trouble.

He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing the coffee and headed out to work. He hadn’t made it out of the parking lot before his phone vibrated with a text. “Make sure it’s not another week before you come back in. I might forget all about you.” Jake smiled and drove to base, texting her back when he pulled in.

“Wouldn’t want to keep a beautiful woman waiting.” The smile never once left his face as he walked in. Natasha thanked him over and over again for the coffee but stopped when he saw the difference in his demeanor this time. “What’s gotten into you?” He shrugged his shoulders, “You were right. The coffee there is worth the drive.”

She gave him a skeptical look but didn’t push him any further. She would rather have a happy Jake than one who was ready to pick you apart at a moment’s notice.

And that’s how it was for the next month. Jake volunteered to get the coffee, finding any excuse to talk to his beautiful stranger. But the visits became longer, and the texting became more regular to the point where every free moment he had was spent getting to know her. It wasn’t long before Jake asked Y/N on a date, and he quickly found that this girl was the one for him.

Everyone knew something was up with their teammate. He had become less selfish and more of a team player. A feat no one thought was possible but didn’t want to push their luck. It wasn’t until Natasha said she would get her own coffee that the truth came out.

“Jake, you have been getting my order for me for nearly a month now. I can get it this once and give you a break from the drive. Just let me know your order.” Jake shook his head at her and said he had no issues getting it.

Natasha kept pushing until Jake blurted out, “I see someone every time I go there. It is one of the few times the two of us get to spend time with each other because of our schedules.” She stopped and thought about what he had said. Who there would he see every single time?

And then it clicked.

“Oh god. Tell me you aren’t seeing Y/N.” Jake tilted his head in confusion. “How the hell do you know her?”

Natasha looked at him in shock. “Because she owns the coffee shop. And her dad is our boss.”

Jake froze as he took in her words. Owning the coffee shop made sense. She was there all the time and said she knew the staff well, because it was her staff. That didn’t bother him. What did was not knowing who her dad was.

“I didn’t know Maverick had a daughter.” Natasha shook her head.

“Not Maverick you idiot. Admiral Simpson.”

And that was when certain things clicked into place. She looked up at him the first day because she knew the call sign. Her dad had to of talked about them a time or two, especially with this new assignment. The amusement she had when he told her his name was for the same reason. She knew who he was, but he didn’t have the slightest clue who he had been talking to. This girl was okay with the last-minute changes in plans or the late replies due to his schedule because she had grown up with it. The group insisted on getting coffee there because they were supporting someone in the TopGun family.

He was head over heels for the Admirals daughter and was royally screwed when he found out.

A/N: Thoughts? Likes or dislikes? I always love hearing back from you all! Thank you so much for reading!

Tag list: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @bobfloydsgf @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticassidy

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Chiori and Yae with a reader that tries to slack off all the time

characters: Chiori / Yae Miko x gn!reader (separate)

a/n: Chiori is such an asshole and I absolutely adore her. She’s like if they gave Stannis Baratheon hair and a second sword.

(I wrote this like... 2 months ago and finally finished it. A total henry move to write 90% of smth and then let it rot in my WIP folder for months, if you ask me.)

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Chiori

While the two of you matched when it came to radiating calm energy, the way they came out in quite contrasting ways. Where the Seamstress worked hard at following her passions, you were easygoing, where she was direct and brutally honest, you were charming and always said what the other party wanted to hear. Where she was Chiori, you were you.

So when you once again found yourself in her Boutique, chatting away with customers and somehow managing to make them spend more than they had planned, only to up and vanish from one moment to the next, Chiori couldn’t help but feel like she had an inkling of an idea to as were she would find you.

“What are you doing here?”, Chiori’s voice suddenly rang out, waking you from your slumber as you slowly looked up at her, your eyes still half closed and yet still managing to make out the vexed look on her face.

“I was taking a small break. Do you need me for something, Chiori?” you asked in a completely innocent tone, an unwavering smile plastered on your face as she stared you down before signaling to the once locked door.

“And where did you get the keys for the room?”

“They were in the door, so I let myself in. Oh- Was I not supposed to go here?” You realized with widened eyes, glancing between her and the door before shooting her an apologetic smile.

“Yeah no, don’t do that again. The next time you want to take a nap, do it at home”, came her response almost immediately.

Putting the whole “sneaking off and going into a locked room to take a nap away from people” situation aside, what annoyed Chiori even more was how impossible to read you were. If she was sure you were lying to her, she’d have thrown you out long ago. Were you really clueless enough to let yourself into a room or were you simply playing dumb? 

“Ugh. If you want to stand around and do nothing, come with me. I’m in need of a model right now.”

Yae Miko

While you were certainly far from being as lethargic as a certain ninja-girl loitering around the shrine every so often, you had your moments of supreme languidness. And while there were times she felt the urge to help you out by giving you a bit of motivation to get your day started, more often than not, Yae found herself amused by the lengths you took to go unnoticed by your superiors.

“Oh my, you look exhausted. You must have been working hard to get all of this paperwork finished. I do hope I’m not being a nuisance right now”, Yae observed as she entered the room, her voice both soft in nature while masking her mischievous intentions, letting herself into your office only to see you half-slumped over your desk with finished paperwork surrounding you.

That being said, Yae had no doubt it didn’t take you as long as your dramatic rendition of an exhausted warrior would suggest, considering the clever ways you found to make your work easier. So often had you inadvertently impressed her with your way of working that she wouldn’t put it past you to reinvent the wheel if it could shave off a few seconds from your work.

“No, I just now finished my work”, you were quick to soothe her worries, and yet by the way you rubbed your eyes awake, the Kitsune couldn’t help but doubt your words.

As expected, you had learned from your mistakes. The last time you were caught finishing early, you got a few sentences of praise and an extra load of work, the way your self-satisfied smile turned into one barely holding on as you tried to mask whatever emotions washed over you on the inside, being exactly the kind of subtle reactions she loved to watch people go through.

“You should know that you are truly a commendable employee. So, to reward you for your hard work, I should give you a promotion”, Yae spoke before shooting you a small smile as if to praise you, and yet by the time her words registered in your brain, your mouth was left hanging wide open.

“Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. I can think of a dozen people more suited than me-”

“You’re selling yourself short. I’m confident you’re more than qualified for the position”, Yae quickly cut you off, her expression unchanging as she slowly turned around. “Or… Is it that you do not want more work?” She added as her smile grew wider, barely hiding her enjoyment anymore.

“No… thank you”, you responded with a meek sigh, realizing the futility of fighting it.

Once you’d take a closer look at your new privileges and responsibilities, you’d surely realize that she made sure most of your new workload wouldn’t take nearly as long as your current one if handled in an intelligent manner, and yet, when she saw your current reaction, a part of her found herself hoping you wouldn’t realize anytime soon.

By the time Yae reached the door however, she found herself halting in her tracks, quietly humming to herself as she seemed to think about something before finally turning to face you once again.

“I do suppose you did work well today. Take the rest of the day off.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

I love your blog so much!! You're without a doubt my favorite writer on this app, you write yanderes so so well and you just manage to capture so amazingly the personality of EVERY character you write, especially Byakuya, i love him so much, and you just write him so well, i've been reading and rereading your works nonstop!

Could i please request yandere Byakuya with a Reader who's very kind and gentle and they like to follow him around (not in an annoying way, but in an attempt to try to befriend him and make sure he is okay during the killing game, since he is kinda excluded for being an ass). Better yet, how would he react to Reader actually leaving him alone after he went too far, or was too mean to them

Love everything you post so much, feel free to deny, remember to eat and drink water!

Thank you so so much! I'm happy i could make you happy! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Sweet ‘n Sour | Yandere Byakuya Togami

It’s honestly an honor

That you’re transmigrated into an anime/game

Too bad it’s the killing game of Danganronpa

And of course, with you thrown in the middle things are really unpredictable

So you’ll comfort yourself in being as kind to these characters as you possibly can

Especially Byakuya

A fan favorite and an intriguing ally throughout the game

Of course, you just gravitate toward him

Even though he sneers and insults you

Sometimes threatens

But you don’t mind…

…

Even though….

Those comments are beginning to hurt 

It’s one thing to love a meaner character through the screen but in person, it’s pretty hard

despite your inclination to maintain your usual smile and gentle actions

After a while, you just stop trying 

Too bad some may consider that your biggest mistake:

“Honestly I was hoping you’d turn up as one of the corpses during this farce; it probably would have made it even more interesting.”

That was it.

That was the last straw for you. Toko could have all his time and attention for all you care. The sheer fact you’ve put up with this for so long disgusts you. To hear your own life be spat on by the guy you’d been trying to extend a helping hand to–it was despicable. (Of him or of you, you couldn’t decide.)

“Ah, I see. Have a good night then.”

That was the last time you went out of your way to speak to him; immediately changing your schedule to accompany someone else. Since you’d been away with Byakuya you almost forgot how kind the rest of the group was. 

“(Y/n) I’m so happy you’re willing to hang out now! Let’s make donuts together!”

“After that I hope you’ll indulge me and Naegi in a puzzle of sorts.”

“I-if it’s alright with you..”

It was refreshing. 

To be told you were actually wanted around was somehow so fulfilling.

What terrible company you’ve been keeping.

“I’d love to!” Within a matter of days you are feeling the warmth of friendly interactions; whereas the man you’re avoiding is having a….less than stellar reaction.

Crash! 

Toko was excited that her Byakuya-sama had finally chased you. A rival weak enough to be effected by words wasn’t much of a rival at all! But upon your absence in only a few hours into his daily routine Byakuya had made an intense realization. 

That he desperately desired your attention on him.

He didn’t have to actually see you skirting your routine with him to know he hated the thought of you spending any amount of time with his classmates rivals. It literally made his skin itch and his throat close up with every minute away from you. Naturally he doesn’t care that even Toko is unnerved by the tantrum he throws. Books are strewn about, the shelves dangerously leaning against one another. All of it just an emphasis of the palpable malice emanating off of Byakuya. In the middle of the ruins he just stands still. 

Alarmingly still.

Like a predator looking out. 

Are they hunting? Scoping? Contemplating the ways to torture their enemies?

No one really knows.

Even when he pulls at his hair and belts out in an uncouth laughing fit. In an instant he stops demanding Monokuma show himself this instant. He needed to find you. Now. He’ll make it a point to inform the headmaster of his own teaching. 

Because apparently you–being the kind and gentle soul you are should be able to withstand all kinds of people. Especially him. Always him. So he’ll offer his own guidance by keeping you within arms reach at all times. 

He expects you to persist against anything he can throw at you.

How else are you going to rule the world as a Togami?

[angellayercake]

How about a spicy prompt?? Terzo realizing the reader really likes his hands (tends to stare at them a little too long as he does random tasks, things like that). Take this in whatever direction you see fit. Thanks!

Oh you did it anon! You finally got me to write something about THE GLOVES!!! They make me crazy insane and I probably think about them far more than what is normal but there we go 🙃

Terzo x GN Reader | NSFW | 1200 words

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

You twitch every time a sharp nail comes in contact with the desk. It’s not even the noise that is driving you to distraction. It is those damn gloves. And, well the hands that are wearing them. And by default the infuriating man to whom they belong. 

Why it was decided he needed to wear his full vestments for this particular meeting you do not know but in your mind at least you violently curse the person who insisted on it. It would be a lie to say that you didn't find him distracting on the best of days being so well acquainted with the capabilities of his dexterous fingers but there really is something about those particular gloves that melts your brain among other less appropriate parts of your anatomy. 

Usually it is manageable. Rarely does he wear them and even then you are only cursed with a glimpse from a distance, barely catching the sharp glint of nails and certainly not able to hear the quiet creak of the leather every time he gestures. Which damn his dramatic Italian ass is everytime he speaks.

 At Mass you fight to keep your thoughts on his words as much as you can. Rituals are so full of spectacle and performance it's easy to break your fixation. And official events are usually so stressful you don't have a thought to spare.

But today you are not so lucky. To call this meeting tedious would be under selling the situation greatly. You can't even remember what is about now, which is especially bad for you considering you are supposed to be note-taking. The visiting Cardinals had insisted on meeting with all the Higher Clergy to tell them something they deemed very important but that was proving very dull for almost everyone else. 

Sister Imperator has the appearance of listening attentively but you can see the glaze over her eyes, probably thinking of all the other actually important things she could be doing with this time. To her right Cardinal Copia sits in a similar position to you, notebook and pen in hand, yet every minute or so his grip loosens as his eyelids droop and it's only the dropping of his chin or the pen about to fall from his hand that jolts him back to wakefulness. To her left, Papa Nihil has given up all pretence of paying attention, slouching back in his chair and snoring quietly. 

And then there was Papa. Your Papa. Initially he had tried to engage the visitors with his usual charm but even he had not proved a match for their dreary topics of conversation. So he had taken to torturing you instead. Ever the attentive man he had cottoned on quickly to the way your gaze was drawn to his hands with every flick of his wrist and now seemed to be doing his damnedest to keep them centre of your attention. Which was hardly a challenge. 

Every time he flexes his fingers you watch the leather strain to accommodate the movement of his impatient tapping. They are so tight they fit like, well, a glove, but more indecent somehow. The skin tight leather and the glinting pointed tips elongating his fingers perversely until all you can think about is the way they would feel against your skin. The cool sharp scratch followed by the soothing soft warmth. He likes to tease, to push you to your limits and then further still until all you can think about is him so you can easily imagine how he would start. Seemingly innocuous touches as he slowly peeled away your clothes only to reveal how much the barest touches of his gloved fingers had ruined you.

Suddenly he flattens his hands on his desk in irritation, interrupting the drone of a Cardinal with an angry interjection but after a moment's shock you drown out their bickering taking the opportunity to admire the gloves openly displayed as they are. Careful lines of stitches fan from his wrist, the deliberate placement helping achieve the perfectly tight fit. You had watched him pull them on once, easing them over his hands and struggling to slide down the zip which follows the curve of his thumb and keeps them in place. Clearly still incensed by whatever they are discussing he gestures towards one of them palms up so you can follow the seam across his palm allowing for the movement of his thumbs. 

As precisely as it is sewn you can only imagine how it might catch your pebbled nipple if he were to palm at the curve of your chest as he explored you. Your skin could be left a criss cross of scratch marks as his large hands covered the planes of your body varying the pressure as a threat of something more, the possibility of him breaking your skin ever present. Perhaps they aren’t so sharp as that but a part of you wishes they were as you allow yourself to think about them sliding between your legs.

His finger tips would trace you meticulously, one wrong move and he could damage you severely, but isn’t that a large part of the reason you find yourself so drawn to them. The anticipation tinged with dread of the sharp sting of his claws only building the warm pleasure you feel. And for him, hopefully the power you would allow him to hold over you would only make him want you more, making the necessity of his slow, precise movements even more frustrating for the two of you. 

You realise somewhat detachedly that your pleasure would likely ruin his beautiful gloves. They are such an important part of his image, his costume that marks him as the dark and powerful leader but even then you think you would have no regrets. Not when you would feel the metallic nails grow warm against you or the leather slipping smooth with barely there friction due to your arousal. Perhaps they would survive, stained with the evidence of their effect on you, the scent of you lingering on his fingertips as a reminder of your sweet lustful sin.      

Sister Imperator stands, and everyone else follows her lead, signalling the end of this meeting and breaking your reverie. You risk a glance at Papa, daring to catch his eyes and he knows, he always knows when your thoughts have strayed to the sinful. It is impossible to look away from his smug expression even as his gaze drops down your body knowingly. Slowly, deliberately returning his eyes to yours he beckons you towards him. One long finger curling deliberately pulling you towards him, as inevitable as gravity. Until Cardinal Copia interrupts your line of sight and prevents you from stepping into his orbit. You are needed, urgently for some other pointless duty, the realisation that your fantasy is no longer about to come to fruition dousing your lust as if cold water was cascading down your body.    

Papa’s displeasure flits over his face before his expression shutters and he is back to business even as you are steered out of the room by the Cardinal. You spare him one last look and you can only hope the flash in his eyes and the quirk of his lips are a promise that if not now you will be his again as soon as he can get his hands on you.