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bisexual-horror-fan · 8 months

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It happened. Let's talk about it under the fucking cut.

Hello! I am here to regale you with the tale of how my Saturday at Fan Expo went! So it started with how I could not fucking sleep the night before. Fitful, I kept waking up over and over and finally got out of bed before nine. I hung around for a while, did a face mask, painted my nails, showered, got ready and into my fit for the day. We departed slightly after noon and grabbed some food and made our way to Toronto. We get there and park in the usual place and make the couple block hike to the convention centre, the check in process went smoothly and then, it was time to shop around.

We went from the North building to the South building, much more interested in checking out niche’ vendors and artists’ alley, I was in there for less than an hour before I had to break away to run to the photo op. Mr.Bex gives me a kiss on the cheek and told me, “Try not to cum in front of them.”

“Easier said than done!” I called as I run off. Now, last year it took me forever to get back to the North building, so I left with an hour before my time I had to be there. On the way, I see a Ghostface in a very cute almost magical girl outfit, short flouncy skirt and a bedazzled pink mask. I am looking at them, they see me looking, and they give me a pose and a peace sign, I grin and give one back, a super fun moment. I get to the North building and the photo op space in less than twenty minutes. So that means I get to toddle around the dealers floor. I do so, take in some cosplays, contemplate some purchases, they had an old full sized classic Scream one poster for twenty bucks, but I passed on it.

Finally, it’s time to go get into the actual line. I’m in line 13, in the first group for the Matt and Skeet time slot, and I made like six friends while in line. Everyone was very into my outfit, one girl had a tattoo on her arm that said, “My mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me.” We were all losing it. Another girl was there with her partner and she was in a 600 dollar custom fitted movie accurate Ghostface costume, with the glitter fabric and all, it was shockingly impressive. She especially liked my shirt and was impressed by the fact I made it, and asked aloud, “Why don’t they make shirts like those and sell them?” I laughed and told her, “Well, I’ve considered it, I won’t lie.”

It is a surreal experience listening to this assortment of hot gothy early twenty-something scream fans, many who came from whole provinces away just for this, just to be here for them, talking about how hot they are and how down bad they are while I stand next to them, having written a couple of hundred thousand words about the characters they love in question. I almost told em I wrote fic, almost.

While waiting around, Matt ended up coming out into the line-up space?! There was a fan in a wheelchair, and he wheeled em back personally while chatting them up and giving high-fives, he was five feet from me. The photo op starts late, I don’t care, it’s fine. We scan tickets, drop bags and then are in the same curtained off space as them, they let in small groups at a time to keep it moving smoothly. My heart is fucking pounding. We make it back, there was a family in front of me, their middle kid was dressed as Ghostface and their baby was in a scooby doo onesie and Matt held him for the picture, so cute.

Our especially extra Ghostface friend from the line was right in front of me, and then it’s my turn. I make sure my extra shirt is pulled to the side, Two Boys Are Better Than One proudly displayed, and I move. I greet them with a “Hi!”

Skeet gave me a very cool sounding “Hey” and Matthew made eye contact with me and gave me a polite nod with a, “Hello.” That I can only say was said in a very him way.

I asked, as I was moving in, “Can I be in the middle?”

And Matt had this expression with that sort of half smile he does, brows pinched together as he nods, telling me like it should be obvious, “Oh of course.”

I get in between them, and Matt’s hand is on my shoulder, Skeet’s hand is on my lower back and my hand is on Matt’s lower back and my other hand holding onto Skeet’s side (and fucks sake he is firm.)

I got an extra second because the photographer directed me to lower my head, so I wouldn’t get glasses glare, I assume. I revel in the extra seconds and contact, the picture is snapped, and I break away, without thinking I sort of pat Skeet’s side, and he returns the gesture and tells me, “Good job.”

Skeet fucking Ulrich told me good job.

Bury me now. I am done for.

I get my bag, I get my picture, I get it framed, and I go find Mr.Bex. He and I leave the con, we get back to our car, and then go to a tattoo shop where my friend Mel gave me my You Might Be The Killer tattoo. We drove home, I slammed several slices of pizza, and now I am writing this for you!

It was. Fucking amazing, I loved it so much, it was more than worth every penny. Now I can officially say, I am That Cunt that wore a shirt baring my super pornographic smut fic’s title on my tits while getting a picture with the two guys who inspired it all.

And speaking of inspiration, just you wait to see the fic I am going to write after this.

#TBABTO #Two Boys Are Better Than One #FOR LIFE #BHF face #I had SUCH a good day #FUCK #I AM SO DEAD

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m00nsbaby · 9 months

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Glitter & crimson.

Marc Spector x F!Reader.

Next part.

Tags - warnings. College AU, no mentions of Jake/Steven, suggestive but not smut, cheating.

For my Pedrito Pascal / Oscar Isaac girlies I’m so sorry but Joel is indeed based on Joel Miller pre-outbreak lol.

Word count. 2.1k

Summary. "Marc is clever. One word I wouldn't like to use is manipulative, but I wouldn't be lying; he knows exactly when and how to do things.”

He knows Joel is watching, that one misplaced look and the false confidence he puts in him will be gone, so he carefully chooses his words and makes everyone else believe he would never cross the line with you.

You seemed to be in denial of the obvious, because above all the bad that could be behind that puppy face, there was the fact that he was your best friend, and you loved him, no matter if he was a good or bad person.

A talent he didn't know he had until he met your boyfriend was that of acting. Choosing which mask to wear on each occasion to his advantage.

When Joel was with you, he always kept his distance. After greeting you with a hug, you wouldn't feel Marc's hands on you again until the moment he was about to leave, giving you the most insipid hug he could manage as a way to say ‘goodbye’.

When you were alone, the story was completely different, and both, like two peas in a pod from the first time you exchanged words, spent time together as if you needed each other to breathe.

Though, for Marc, that's exactly how it felt.

The fact that Joel was older than you didn't help. Not so much older that your relationship would be something weird, rather enough for him to have slightly more adult concerns like work and taxes while you were still suffocated by university worries.

You saw each other maybe two or three times a week, but neither of you minded. (Marc didn't mind either; the farther apart he was, the better.)

"The couple of the century." Applause greeted you as both joined the party. You rolled your eyes, knowing they were just teasing, Marc, on the other hand, pretended to bow with one hand while the other rested on your lower back.

Apart from your group of friends, there were at least ten more people, nothing too wild. More like a typical party for young adults, students with enough budget to survive the next two weeks.

"Do you want something to drink?" Amidst the music and noise of the crowd, Marc had to lean in close to whisper in your ear.

His hand never left your body.

"I’ll have whatever you have." You smiled, leaning in enough for him to hear you.

You felt the stares of others fixed on you. Even at this point in your lives, you were not exempt from gossip.

And it seemed that you both were determined to feed the rumors; you, unconsciously, and Marc, enjoying pushing the narrative that you were an adorable couple without a care in the world about a guy in his 30s with a stupid job at a construction company.

When Marc returned with your drink, he sat next to you on the couch, tapped your glass before taking a sip of his, and his free hand rested on your thigh, specifically on the part where your dress didn't cover your skin.

You were used to it. To him. To his hands.

"And when will you make it official?" Someone asked, breaking the moment of intimacy between you both.

"Make what official?"

"Our thing, silly," Marc replied with a teasing smile on his lips.

"But we're not..."

"Soon," he interrupted, this time looking at the girl who had asked, someone from the classroom, one of those who said out loud how much they wanted 'a Marc in their life.'

You rolled your eyes, smiling, and quietly sipped from your glass.

You didn't question it. Little did you know that Marc took every opportunity to make you look like his to the eyes of others.

Gradually, the party started to take shape, you felt more and more crowded among the people, and the volume of the music began to rise until you couldn't continue chatting.

"Let's dance." You nodded immediately as the sofa began to fill up with strangers, and you let Marc pull your hands to get up.

"I can't stand this dress anymore." You said, adjusting the hem of it with your fingers.

"I'll help you take it off later." his lips brushed your ear as the number of people on the impromptu dance floor forced you to bump your bodies together.

"Idiot," you said, laughing, while your hands held his, and your hips began to follow the rhythm of the music slowly.

This was Marc's favorite part, even though he always ended up struggling with his tight pants for reasons beyond his control.

"Is tonight still on?" He whispered when he had you close. You were facing away from him, and your hips continued moving against your best friend's, his hands slowly traveling up and down your waist.

"When have I canceled a sleepover?" You raised your voice, looking over your shoulder at him.

Poor Marc was about to have an orgasm in the middle of his university friends, but could anyone blame him? Your body rubbed against him in that short, tight dress.

He mentally thanked the loud music for silencing his moans every time you moved to the perfect rhythm.

"I-I just wanted to be sure."

"Are you tired?" Your movements slowly stopped as you planted a kiss on his cheek. "You're sweating."

"I'm hot." It came from his throat as if someone were strangling him. He even cleared his throat. "Very."

"Let's have a drink and come back." You gave him a little push to make way for you, and he walked behind you, one hand on your hip as an excuse not to lose you among the crowd.

A sigh of relief escaped both of you when you entered the kitchen, closing the door behind you. There was no one else, and the music felt noticeably quieter.

"What do you want? I'll treat you," you joked as you looked at the grouped bottles of alcohol next to the soft drinks. You grabbed two plastic cups.

"Give me the house specialty."

"Say no more." You served two glasses of mineral water without hesitation. When Marc noticed, he couldn't help but laugh as he held his cup.

With a jump, you climbed onto the counter table, spreading your legs to make room for him. It was as if your body worked automatically when it came to Marc. Like clockwork, he settled between your legs to continue drinking from his glass.

"I can't believe I used to hate mineral water before I met you."

"It's spicy water. How could you hate it?" You tried to stifle a laugh.

He laughed with you. One of those silly laughs where the alcohol in your system speaks for you, and the dream of being with someone you love makes things twice as fun as they really are.

The laughter died down little by little, Marc rested his forehead against yours and kept his eyes closed, along with that silly smile.

"Everyone is talking about us." you whispered after a few seconds of silence.

"You're my fake girlfriend after all." you laughed again.

"You have to stop, you'll get me in trouble with Joel.” Just the mention of his name made Marc's stomach churn. He bit his lower lip to avoid saying what he really thought.

"Oh, really?" He opened his eyes again, moving his head slightly to lightly brush the tip of his nose against yours, making you smile. His fingers pressed against your thighs, and you gasped when he pulled you closer to his body with a single tug. Now you were sitting on the edge of the counter.

"Marc?" You swallowed hard when you noticed his gaze fixed on you. The playful and teasing air had suddenly vanished.

"Uh-huh?" He licked his lips, and your gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth. You had felt this kind of impulse before, but you always did your best to ignore it. Even before you met Joel.

He noticed the change in your expression and almost smiled triumphantly. After years, you were beginning to let your guard down. Without waste time; his body leaned forward, and suddenly his lips met yours. You had waited so long for this that you almost stole a moan from each other.

Marc's lips were delicious, even though it hurt you to admit it. Beyond the taste of beer and mint, you could feel him in your mouth, and that was so much more intoxicating than every drink he had prepared for you throughout the night.

It was desperate, as if he wanted to show you just how much he had desired you over the past years. You felt his tongue exploring your mouth, his teeth nibbling your lower lip, and his hands roaming from your waist to your thighs again and again.

His jeans became uncomfortable again when he managed to make you whimper against his mouth. With you on the edge of the counter, it wasn't hard for him to push his hips against you, grazing your thigh in an attempt to find some relief to his growing boner.

For a moment, he considered it might be a dream; it wouldn't be the first time he had this kind of dream about you. But his alarm always managed to bring them back to reality just as he was about to reach the best part.

Just like now.

Oh no, wait, that wasn't his alarm.

It was your ringtone.

Like a bucket of cold water, he had to snap out of it. You pulled away from him, cheeks flushed, breathing ragged, and lips swollen and moist from Marc's hungry kisses.

"It's Joel." Of course, it was him. It was always him.

You didn't even give him a chance to fully react as you hastily escaped from his embrace and left the kitchen. It felt like the walls were closing in on you, and you felt suffocated.

The garden seemed like a better option.

"How's the party going?" Your boyfriend's cheerful voice on the other end of the line made your stomach churn.

As you licked your lips, you could still taste Marc.

"Amazing, love." You looked at the pair of guys lying on the grass, tipsy and probably about to fall asleep.

"Is Marc there with you? Will you both come back together?"

You swallowed hard.

"Yes, I... yes." A few seconds of silence. Joel was used to your chatty version, the one who started conversations in the worst situations.

"Oh..." More silence. "I'm glad, it's safer that way." His tone of voice indicated he was serious. Another blow to the stomach knowing the trust he placed in both of you. "Will I see you on Sunday?"

"Of course, love." You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a few seconds as if trying to console yourself.

"I won't interrupt you anymore, sugar." As if sweeping away that uncomfortable atmosphere, he returned to his playful and affectionate tone, one that you rarely didn't hear. "I love you, can't wait to see you."

"I love you." You were out of breath. "See you."

You waited in the yard until Marc got tired of your absence. You didn't function well without each other, and in social situations, this was no exception. He came out silently, not asking anything, and you were grateful he didn't.

He placed his red jacket over your shoulders before taking your hand, and you didn't reject him; you never could. You intertwined your fingers together, and it was you who led him to the car.

The car that belonged to both of you, if that made any sense.

The ride back home was silent.

Despite the heaviness in your chest, you couldn't help but let things flow with Marc. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't give him the cold shoulder or ask your body to feel uncomfortable with him.

Both of you prepared to sleep in the usual way. He didn't look back as you took off your dress, and you stood side by side at the sink while brushing your teeth. He did his best to ignore that you were wearing Joel's T-shirt to sleep for days now.

With a gentle push from Marc when it was time to go to bed, you laughed a little and felt a bit more at home with his company.

You followed the routine; he opened his arms to welcome your body, and you snuggled up to him as closely as possible. The way he held you made you sigh with relief.

This was definitely your favorite place. Your home was in Marc Spector's arms.

"I love you, you know that, right?" He whispered in your ear, silently praying that his scent would linger in Joel's stupid shirt.

You nodded slowly, unable to contain your smile.

"I know, Marc." A shiver ran down his spine as he felt your breath on his neck. "I love you too."

If only you said it in the way he wished.

He fell silent when the screen of your phone lit up, partially illuminating the room. He squinted slightly and, as he identified the small heart on the contact name of the text message, he knew who it was from.

Rolling his eyes, he tightened his hold on you, eliciting a playful groan from you. He kissed your hair before snuggling with you, a smile on his face.

Was this going to become a competition? Then so be it.

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suzukiblu · 7 months

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For the fanfic word ask game: descend

Superboy ends up in a small reinforced room with Knockout, who's wearing heavy promethium shackles and already smirking at him. Her stomach isn't as curved as he'd probably have expected, but according to random Cadmus knowledge that he doesn't even know why he has, more muscular people take longer to start showing.

"Hey there, pup," she greets casually.

"They told me you were pregnant," Superboy says. Which he figures is obvious, because why else would he be here?

There's a lot of reasons he might be here, admittedly, but this is the first one he hasn't talked himself out of.

"Having myself a puppy," Knockout hums, her smirk widening as she tilts her head with a mock-thoughtful expression. "Or maybe they're the 'pup' now, and you've graduated to 'stud'?"

Superboy would've done a whole hell of a lot to hear her call him "stud" a few months ago. Right now it just makes him feel nauseous.

"Are you keeping them?" he asks. Knockout's smirk twists, just barely.

"It's adorable that you think I have a choice about that," she says. Superboy frowns, and she laughs at him. "I told them it was your pup, stud. And they know what I am too. A New God with Superman's DNA? You really think they'd let me abort that?"

"Pretty sure some people would make you abort that," Superboy says, his jaw tightening at the thought.

"That'd make more sense, wouldn't it," Knockout says, leaning forward and baring her teeth in a threatening grin. "Who'd really want a pup like that in the world, right? Especially one with a mean ol' momma like me all locked up in prison and a notoriously irresponsible teen daddy with real limited resources to his name?"

Superboy doesn't like the way she says that. At all. What kind of person would want a supervillain-descended New God with Superman's DNA whose parents couldn't take care of them?

Not somebody who should have them, probably.

Definitely not somebody who should have them.

Superboy's jaw tightens again. He folds his arms. Knockout watches him with sharp, glittering eyes.

It's weird seeing her eyes. He's much more used to the mask. Like–much more. She didn't even take it off while they were having sex.

He wonders, again, if Knockout cares more about herself or the kid.

He wonders why she told them he was the dad, whether it's true or not.

He digs his fingers into his arms. He stares back at Knockout and her glittering eyes.

He doesn't know what to do.

#kon el #conner kent #superboy #dc knockout #redactedgoose #rinfic #wip: knockout gets knocked up

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xhanisai · 11 months

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Being jealous of yourself is very possible if you’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

AO3

Pairing - Marichat

Prompt - ‘Jealousy’

Summary -

“Stay safe, Marinette. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” He confessed tenderly, his feline emerald greens so big and glittering with all sorts of goodness that had her heart skip a million times more beats than normal. With a cute salute and visible hearts radiating around his gooey eyes, Chat Noir vaulted away towards the battle using his baton, leaving behind a grumbling Marinette Dupain-Cheng and a severely annoyed Tikki the Kwami who side-eyed her wielder with frustration.

“Did you see that Tikki!? He spoke to me with at least 0.025 more adoration than he usually does with Ladybug! And his cheeks were at least two shades redder compared to the last battle where Ladybug called him ‘cute’! How dare he be so affected by me! What a two-timing cat! Unbelievable!” Marinette crossed her arms with annoyance, not even glancing at the little Goddess whose eye twitched incredulously.

“Marinette. You and Ladybug are the same person. So what if he’s treating your civilian side sweetly- well, with more sweetness than usual?”

~(x)~ . . . If Chat Noir didn’t have his head in the clouds and wasn’t busy trying to keep his bright red blush down (and failing miserably), he would have noticed the scrutinising glare and the pretty pink pout Marinette wore as soon as he gently placed her down on the floor after swiftly saving her from today’s Akuma’s violent rampage. His kitten ears were adorably flat against his lush, golden hair bashfully and his belt tail constantly swirled into very obvious heart shapes without his knowledge or permission. ‘How DARE that tail make heart shapes in front of someone who isn’t Ladybug!?’ Marinette continued to seethe internally, her partner’s sweet and kind words deaf on her ears as she continued to fume immaturely. “Stay safe, Marinette. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” He confessed tenderly, his feline emerald greens so big and glittering with all sorts of goodness that had her heart skip a million times more beats than normal. With a cute salute and visible hearts radiating around his gooey eyes, Chat Noir vaulted away towards the battle using his baton, leaving behind a grumbling Marinette Dupain-Cheng and a severely annoyed Tikki the Kwami who side-eyed her wielder with frustration. . “Did you see that Tikki!? He spoke to me with at least 0.025 more adoration than he usually does with Ladybug! And his cheeks were at least two shades redder compared to the last battle where Ladybug called him ‘cute’! How dare he be so affected by me! What a two-timing cat! Unbelievable!” Marinette crossed her arms with annoyance, not even glancing at the little Goddess whose eye twitched incredulously. “Marinette. You and Ladybug are the same person. So what if he’s treating your civilian side sweetly- well, with more sweetness than usual?” The polka-dotted companion should have expected the comically fuming face her wielder shot at her. “Yeah, but HE doesn’t know that! Hmmph! So much for all those love declarations of his! What a flirt! What would our now non-existent children think of him!?” “But he was only telling you to be safe...and you’re also in love with him too, right? Isn’t it a good thing that he treats you so well and lovingly on either side of your mask?” “But Tikki!!!! He only called me ‘My Lady’ fifteen times yesterday! Compared to the usual eighteen times! And his smile was one millimetre shorter yesterday when I laughed at his silly joke! He doesn’t love me anymore!!! Even though we got married and had four babies and he grew a moustache that I didn't tell to shave off since it looked atrocious on him!” At this point, Tikki was more impressed by her bug’s incredibly ridiculous thought process rather than being irked by her silly behaviour. “Didn’t you tell him that the dream was manipulated by Monarque and that the whole thing was silly in the first place?” “I’m going to die alone surrounded by cats and posters of Chat Noir and have a hamster named Loneliness!!!” . Tikki gave up. . . . ~(x)~

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #marichat #ml fanfiction #ml fanfics

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pianocat939 · 2 years

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https://pianocat939.tumblr.com/post/689981645443547136/loved-your-work-and-saw-requests-were-open-so-i

Hey I read this and I adored your lychee hc thing! I thought it was really good and found it enjoyable! Now this is if reader was a strong warrior but...what if they weren't? What if they were the scardy cat of the tribe? Like does have their talents to contribute to the tribe (like really good boat maker or good at gathering fruit) but is scared of monsters and dragons and avoids mangosteen cookie because they scare reader for some reason? imagine mangosteen cookie watching, maybe, some of the tribe making fun of their y/n...I wonder how pissed off they would be if they saw them purposefully scaring y/n...like dressing up as a monster or a dragon and terrifying them! I have a feeling it wouldn't end well lol...and I wonder if lychee would try to help reader over their fears! I would like this to be a fic since I adore your fics but if you wanna do hcs instead, I'm cool with that too!

Your wish is my command. Now, as much as I dislike writing fics because of my skill I’ll still write one.

I’m assuming you’re requesting for a Yandere one because you are referring to the Lychee hcs post. Additionally, I’m gonna say this again just in case I cannot write Lychee that well at all. Like I just have little information on how they’re supposed to be.

The last part where it states “lychee helps gets over MC’s fears” I changed it a little bit.

Tw: taunting, fear, murder, corpses, Yandere

Monstrous Fear

“Aww, Mangosteen, are you trying to catch some crabs again?” A villager cooed, holding a basket of fruit. Mangosteen stared up at them, big eyes glittering in the hot Sun.

“No, I’m trying to get Y/n cookie to talk to me, but they keep running away!” The child huffed, angrily pouting. The villagers kneeled down and patted the cookie’s head soothingly.

“Oh don’t worry about them! They’re just scared of monsters, dragons, and cookies.” Mangosteen’s face darkened at ‘dragons’. “But it’s nothing to worry about! I’m sure no can resist someone adorable as you!” The person then went to put away their basket of fruit, leaving Mangosteen by the shore.

More like I’ve been possibly discovered Lychee Dragon thought as they went to go find Y/n cookie again. While walking, they hear some cries and growls from a distance. Curious, they approach the commotion.

“Rawr! You will be devoured!” A Rambutan tribe member growls, shaking the mask on the top of their head.

“Ooh I’ll control you for the rest of eternity! You can’t escape a dragon like me, poor little cookie~” Another one screeches, doing a mocking dance. The group laughs, almost howling in laughter.

“Guys…I know I’m jumpy but you don’t have to make it anymore obvious.” The victim pitifully pleaded, backing up in fear; but the tribe mates kept going. Their movement become more hectic. Y/n Cookie wanted to run, but that would only humiliate them even more.

Mangosteen wanted to tear into the bullies’ bodies and make them crumble. They know Y/n cookie is a weakling, but that didn’t mean others could say such things to their servant. Only they could. No one else.

The child looks for nearby cookies other than the one before them. It seems safe enough to reveal their true identity. Mangosteen then goes back to their original state—Lychee Dragon.

Y/n cookie almost wanted to faint right then and there. Behind the group who taunts them is a dragon. A dragon. “Look at ‘em, they can’t even speak anymore!” The cookies continue to laugh, unaware of the danger behind them.

“Haha! I would say the same for you!” Lychee growls, pulverizing the cookies with their staff. Now corpses lay on the ground, surrounding a terrified cookie ready to faint at any moment.

“They had it coming. Anyway, you better wipe off that scared look on your face; because you’re gonna be serving this dragon.” Lychee advised, taking the remaining life force of the dead cookies. “Unless if you want to…Suffer even more.”

Y/n cookie still couldn’t speak, their eyes wide open. After a few seconds, they managed to stumble out a sentence, “Y-you…Won’t, hurt me right?” Lychee laughs, then jerks their body in front of them.

“No, but if you do something stupid I will. You won’t though right? My scared little servant~”

——————————————————

Since that day Y/n cookie had to learn to not fear the pink dragon. Which was difficult, considering how Lychee would order and overpower them everyday.

Eventually they did, but the sight of their tribe mates corpses surrounding them still brings fear.

——————————————————

Sorry this was short. I got really blocked on how to write this one I apologize. It definitely isn’t good lmao

- Celina

#cookie run ovenbreak #yandere cookie run #yandere x reader #cookie run #yandere #lychee dragon cookie #Yandere lychee dragon

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paperpeacock · 1 year

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Ok like hear me out. Suga with an s/o starring as phantom of the opera and he of course dragged everyone he could to see them and during the song the phantom of the opera everybody is just like WOWOWOWOW🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 and the entire time Suga is just 😍😍😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰-

Hello! I am so sorry, I've kept you waiting for a while, haven't I? I thank you for your patience and I really loved this request! this is my first Haiykuu fic so I hope I don't disappoint. Thank you again and i hope you have an Awesome day!

Suga x Reader - Break A Leg

The auditorium echoed in the sound of squeaky shoes and boyish yells. The Karasuno volley ball team were practicing, this was evident by the amount of swearing that could be heard. A certain fiery redhead and gimlet gazed king were in heated argument.

“Kageyama!” Hinata shouted once more, his sets weren't consistent enough to land any good spikes.

“I'm trying! Maybe if you weren't such a baby you could move for the ball”

Hinata huffed at this comment, ready to spike the pompous king in his face. But before he could do so, a lovestruck Suga waltzed into the hall. His pale cheeks were tinted rose, his smile warm and inviting. Suga was normally a calm, but never blissful.

“Suga you’re pretty late” Daichi called, not too focused on the snow haired setter.

“Mhm” He called back. In his arms he carried a thick stack of papers. He hadn't come to practice volley ball, but instead to pin up said papers.

“What are you doing Suga?” Hinata shouted, pausing his argument for a moment. Now the whole team was curious, turning their gazes to Suga. Who was currently smoothing down a dark poster against their notice board.

“Have you heard of the play the drama club is doing?” He asked the group, back still turned to them.

“Oh yeah! Opera Ghost thingy”

“Phantom of the Opera, dumbass”

“Well, guess who’s staring in it!” Suga turned round, eyes splashed in glitter.

The whole team smiled in knowing. The only person who could ever get Suga this excited was...

“Y/N?” They said in union.

“Yes! And its next week so you all better be there!” he pointed at the boys before making an exit. He had to put up all the poster before the morning bell.

The next week was a busy one for the drama club, their clubroom a menagerie of makeup and costumes. Suga watched his step when walking in. Most members were dashing around, preparing for the dress rehearsal, he could barely make out your figure amongst the mess.

He knocked his fist against the doorframe, trying to catch anyone’s attention. “Has anyone seen Y/N?” he called.

“Hi~”

He flinched as a pair of familiar arms draped around his shoulders. He turned to find you.

“Nice mask” He joked, fiddling with the end of the iconic half face. He was surprised to say the least upon hearing that you were playing the Phantom.

“Things seem pretty busy”

“Yes, everyone's super hyped!” you smiled; he found your excitement to be adorable.

“Y/N! We need you on stage in 5 minutes!”

You turned to your boyfriend, lending him an exhausted smile.

“I better get go-”

His lips pressed against yours, a quick but sweet goodbye.

“Break a leg” he smiled, his forehead lingered on your own before he left.

“Thanks”

The night had finally arrived, the night of which the whole school had been buzzing about.

“Guys come on! We might be late!” Suga stressed, his breath like smoke in the cold winter air. The whole karasuno Volley Ball team stood outside the auditorium, freezing their asses off whilst waiting for Hinata to tie his laces.

“Okay done!” The red head announced and the group pushed inside.

In a rushed shuffled they all pushed each other to take a seat, they arrived just in time before the start.

“Good evening, ladies and Gentlemen!” An overly dramatic voice announced, in obvious theater kid fashion.

“On this cold December night, we welcome you to join us in...”

“Phantom of the Opera!”

On command the classic theme song erupted throughout on the room, commencing the beginning of the play. Suga couldn't wait to see what you had been working on for these past months.

After awhile of flowery dancing and some lady singing with a decapitated head in her hand, finally, and I mean finally the Phantom had arrived.

The audience had been awaiting this scene, for it was the most compelling.

A honeyed light spilled from the ceiling, casting upon the Phantom and Christine as the two actors glided across the stage. Suga felt his heart race beneath his chest as you brought the actor close to you, your voice like that of a siren. He watched your long midnight cape drag behind your figure, gloved hands gesturing as you sung. Despite the dark and foreboding nature of the Phantom, Suga could still make out the twinkling eyes beneath the ghost-like mask. You were loving this. Each time you came closer to edge of the stage he felt his chest tighten; you were so enchanting to him. And when you disappeared behind the curtains he felt his heart slightly wilt, wishing to see and hear more of you.

“Thank ladies and Gentlemen! Have a great night!”

The crowd erupted in cheer, shaking the walls of the hall with screaming and clapping. Even Suga shouted, surprising his team mates.

Him and the rest of the group waited outside for you as waves of crowds spilled out from the doors, before finally, you came out.

“Y/N!” He waved, drawing your attention, you still wore your phantom outfit, too preoccupied to return it.

He pulled you into a hug, grasping onto your figure and holding your head against his shoulder.

“You were amazing” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. You blushed beneath your mask, ducking further into his chest.

“Thank you” you mumbled, earning a laugh from him.

And Thus the Volleyball player and his phantom went home for the night, Ready to discuss the entirety of the play.

“I like the part when the Phantom was there”

“Pfft”

#haiykuu!!#haikyu x reader #koshi sugawara #one shot #comfort

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queensparklekitten · 2 years

Text

fuck it. masquerade ball.

*We’re in a huge ballroom, with those silk curtain things you usually think of, pillars with strings of pearls around them, and more strings of pearls on the walls. The floor is dark blueish purple and covered in glitter making it look like the night sky. The ceiling also looks like the night sky but with tons of what looks like silver leaves*

*There’s a few huge crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, some statues of people and fantasy creatures in masks, and some tables with silk tablecloths and more glitter sprinkled on them. Most of them have glass vases with feathers and beads in them as decoration. The largest one has food on it, mostly dessert stuff like a chocolate fountain and cake and those vanilla flavoured star shaped pastel rainbow candies that someone I follow imagined up and I keep thinking about, because I like sugar, although there is a cheese plate if you’re not a sugar person. And the obvious punch bowl. Oh yeah and some of the food will make you temporarily insane but anyways! There’s also little glowing specks of light floating in the air.*

*Right now there’s not much music yet, because it’s very early in the night and anyone can add any songs to the playlist (there’s magic making the music play at equal volumes from everywhere despite the lack of a visible source of the music) but you can’t remove songs*

*I’m hanging around in the center of the room. I’m wearing a floor length version of this outfit but with some changes befitting a princess at a masquerade ball*

*Namely, those pearl things are on both arms, the shoes are elaborate tall sandals instead of boots. Instead of a hair ribbon, I have a golden tiara with that same gem at the center alongside blue and purple gems near the sides, and little white wings. And, of course, a mask, because this is a masquerade ball. It’s glittery pink, with gold lace around the edges and pearls forming fancy patterns including lots of little hearts. I have glittery pink lipstick and my hair is full of glitter*

Let’s get this anonymity-fueled chaos flavoured bread.

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ravs6709 · 2 years

Text

Just One More Chance- Bianuca

Confession: I don't even ship them that much. But I saw the Bianuca Week prompts on @gay-otlc and @rainbow-frog-earrings 's blogs and felt inspired to write the prompts for day 2, dance (though the dancing is minor)!

Winnowing Gala is a mix of canon stuff I read from the wiki but also a mix of my own (because masquerades are a cool vibe)

Warnings: mentions of (mostly internal) homophobia

•~•~•~•~•~•

Maruca looked at the mirror in front of her. In her reflection, she could see herself in a dress and mask, smiling and looking pretty. Yet, despite finding herself looking good, it didn't feel right. She didn't want to be standing here, waiting to be called down for her Winnowing Gala. She didn't want to dress up for all the boys, but there wasn't much she could do now.

(It was better than wallowing in her own feelings.)

As she finally tore her gaze away from the mirror, she was called down. With as much grace as she could muster, she elegantly left her room and began to walk down the stairs, lights focusing on her slow descent. Despite that all her suitors—she winced internally at the word—wore masks, she could tell that all eyes were on her.

(She could also tell that none were the eyes of the person she loved. It wasn't like that person wanted to be with her anyway.)

Her parents made some kind of introductory speech, but she could hardly hear them. Every sound went in one ear and out the next until suddenly she was asked to go mingle with the guests.

She didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that all the suitors wore masks. On one hand, it made her not know who anyone was. On the other, not knowing who anyone was made it less personal, she could imagine a face behind the mask, with glittering teal eyes—

No. Now was not the time to be thinking of this.

Eventually, she picked the person who was nearest to her to socialize with. She only talked half-heartedly, mainly nodding and humming along to what he was saying.

"You're not interested, are you?" the boy that Maruca was with asked.

She smiled nervously. "Was it that obvious?"

"Yeah, it was. Is your crush not on your list?"

She could never be on my list, and even then, it's not like she wants me.

"No, unfortunately," she replied.

"Well, I wish you luck."

"Thank you."

I'd need more than luck to be with her now.

Maruca looked around, wondering who to talk to next. Her parents wouldn't really want her to stand around and do nothing, but she didn't really want to do anything. If only there was a friend here, but then again, this was a Winnowing Gala, the people here were interested in her. Romantically.

She suppressed a sigh and began looking around again, and someone caught her eye. He wore a regal suit and mask just like everyone else did, but there was something... more put together about the way he dressed? Teal accents made him stand out a little more than the rest.

Now, Maruca wasn't attracted to guys, but objectively, he looked nice. Or at the very least, he had a good sense of fashion. Each step he took was precise and controlled, his posture straight. He walked as if he owned the room.

Hope he's okay to talk to, she thought, then made her way towards him.

"Hey," she said, and he turned around quickly—too quickly, he nearly lost his balance but Maruca caught him before he could fall over.

"Thanks," he whispered, and that was when Maruca noticed the color of his eyes. Teal.

Biana? she nearly blurted, before remembering that this obviously couldn't be Biana. The person in front of her was obviously a guy, and there was more than one Vacker child with teal eyes. A guy who was actually on her match list.

"Fitz?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't know you had a crush on me.

The Maruca of the past would have been ecstatic to know that, for she used to be a little obsessed with him.

(At least, until she realized that it was his sister who had taken her heart.)

Fitz looked at her, wide eyed and she could make out the barest hint of a flush in the area not covered by the mask.

"I'm uh- interested in you?" Fitz replied, his pitch rising.

"I thought you had a crush on someone else?"

The flush grew bigger. "I thought about it, listened to my heart. And well, my heart tells me that I want to be with you."

"Oh," Maruca replied lamely. With the intensity of those eyes on her, all she could think of was Biana, of Biana saying those words to her.

Maruca rested an arm on Biana's shoulder, immediately noticing when she stiffened.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Biana closed her eyes. "We can't be doing this anymore."

"Wha- What do you mean?"

"This, us," Biana said, her voice dull and resigned, "Idon't want to be with you anymore. It's not worth it. I don't think I like you enough for this."

"Is that how you really feel?"

If this was just being said in a state of panic, Maruca understood. Their relationship was secret, so it would be easy to panic.

"Yes," Biana said, "I don't want this anymore."

For a moment, all Maruca could feel was rage. The next moment, all that rage faded and she was left feeling numb.

"If that's what you want," Maruca muttered, before leaving the room.

"Maruca?" Fitz called out. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Maruca replied. "I'm just... I'm just tired, that's all."

"We can go and sit if you want—"

"And now, it's time to draw for the first dance of the night!"

There were a few tense minutes as everyone waited for the naked of the card that was drawn to be announced.

"The first person to dance with Maruca Chebota will be... Fitz Vacker!"

"I guess we can't sit down now," he remarked.

He took her hand and began leading her to the dance floor, then froze. "Sorry, can I hold your hand?"

"Sure, I guess?" All she could think about though was that his hand in hers felt a lot like Biana's.

Look, you don't have to be interested in Fitz, but at least stop thinking of her! She! Doesn't! Want! You!

Fitz's other hand went around her waist as they started dancing. Maruca fell into the rhythm quickly, and instead noticed other details about Fitz.

Isn't Fitz supposed to be a little taller? And more broad-shouldered?

The soft smile on his face didn't look quite right either, if anything, it reminded her of—

Stop!

"Maruca? Are you sure you're okay?" Fitz asked, and now that she was listening, the pitch of his voice was a little off too. A little... too high?

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said.

The hold around her waist loosened slightly, and she relaxed. She did her best to calm herself down. Just enjoy the dance, and then reject Fitz after.

"I'm sorry," Fitz said abruptly, startling her to the point that when Fitz dipped her down, she nearly tripped over her feet.

He caught her, then pulled her close. They were really close.

"For—for what?"

"For breaking your heart. For being afraid of embracing my feelings."

Maruca stared at him. Fitz had never broken her heart...

"I'm sorry for coming back when you probably want nothing to do with me.

"And for what I'm about to do next."

And then he kissed her. Maruca froze, hands moving towards his chest to push him away instinctively. Just as she was about to make that shove, she realized something. That last part didn't sound like Fitz at all. Not a single word of that speech made sense with Fitz but... with Biana?

With Biana, who was now kissing her, whose kiss was achingly familiar, it made so much more sense. Maruca pulled Biana closer, kissed her more, until they were both breathless.

"What are you doing here?" Maruca whispered.

Biana smiled. "I told you, I'm interested in you."

"But here?"

"When I heard about your Winnowing Gala, I realized that I loved you. That no matter how much I tried denying it, I like girls—I like you. And I wouldn't be able to stand the thought of you being with someone else. So I told Fitz and took his place, and I had Keefe help me practice Fitz's voice."

"You told them?" That meant that their secret relationship was no longer a secret.

"If if meant that I could be here with you, I'm willing to do anything."

"Including kissing me in front of an entire crowd while pretending to be Fitz?" she asked dryly, pretending that her heart wasn't pounding.

"Oh... right..." Biana murmured, blushing. "Well, we'll deal with it.'

"We?"

"Yeah," Biana smiled even wider, "we. If you'll still have me, that is."

"Of course I will," Maruca said, then pulled her in for another kiss.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Kotlc taglist: @keefeinnit @my-swan-song @impostertamsong @subrosasteath

Want to be added/removed from the kotlc taglist? Just let me know!

#maruca chebota #biana vacker #bianuca #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fanfiction #ravi writes a thing

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togamzee · 1 year

Text

“The first thing that made me take notice of you the night we met was your tattoo.”

Each waking thought on his flight to Italy had been possessed by that singular notion. It was an obvious tattoo. The placement wasn’t hidden; he hadn’t let his hair grow in locks as a cover. A secret prize for his fated lover to reveal. He had wanted it on display, and while the placement had been grueling to endure–worse pains could and have been inflicted at the nape. Not for him, necessarily…

He had found solace and unbridled commitment in his soulmate’s understanding. Understanding of the rose, of the placement. Whoever they might be would draw the connection from some similar place existing inside the two. If it was anything like his, they’d know the endless black well of separation that existed between them and others. A well he’d mastered in masking. It came effortlessly; though not always without the echo of an archaic devil whispering you hide and play pretend when you're just an evil soul in a crafted mask between his ears. He’d long since learned to quiet those echoes, to let out his deep rooted aggression in a celebrated manner that brought him fame and renown. To a fault, even.

A fault that had him kindly smiling at that wide eyed reporter, bright laughter ringing; cheeky, characteristically Kaz blush rising in his tanned features. The tattoo had made its debut in the previous match, and in the halls while other players and teams passed through–she had stopped with her camera crew and microphone to inquire on what meaning he had given to the ink adorning the back of his neck.

“Oh, the rose? It’s for my great love! She’ll know what it means, so I want her to know it’s me right away!”

Three sentences that had condemned him to heaping piles of love letters for years to come. Three sentences that put stars and hearts in the eyes of the fangirls that approached him, a spoken or unspoken ‘is it me?’ That made him want to spit on the ground and laugh. He wanted to snarl at them–if they had to ask, the answer should be clear. The pushier ones upset him more. Regardless of their glamor, their attractiveness, the curves of their bodies weaseling closer in a plea for his touch, revulsion rose from his well at their confidence and presumption. He opted for physical release with eyes that met his without recognition; those glittering stars of hope. Even then, he couldn’t stomach their presence for long after he came, not finding the will to put up a caring front in them being anything but a body.

It’d been three years since he so proudly let those three sentences pass through his lips.

He’d searched. In the time between training, practicing, playing, winning–surely, surely, she would hunt for him, too. Hadn’t he become big enough? A beacon?

He countered each fruitless effort with a violent playstyle that would terrify a court. The dichotomy of his presence in matches versus the light, fun persona he gave to the public–to his fans, willingly or otherwise–was dazzling. He knew. He knew it was the allure, the chilling rage in his brown eyes as he played in contrast to the charming cat-like gaze he cast on reporters, sponsors, board members. Important money holders his father had so cunningly programmed the respect for in him. Luckily, he didn’t have to do much brown nosing personally–he liked to believe he was above it. Or could hire someone for it on his behalf.

His focus was devoted to the game. Improving. Becoming an impossible wall of an opponent. Someone adept at any and every position. As the right wing spiker, he was easily an ace–opponent sends a ball over you’re wary of? Send it to Kaz. Not wary? Send it to Kaz. A threatening, unpredictable server? Kaz will pick it up. He himself carried a deadly serve of his own–a game finisher, on more than one occasion.

The Australian team had come to resent him for it. Not for the fame it brought, the money–no, the jealousy. They hated the need to rely on him; hated that Kaz did not ask for them to use him politely. Nearly losing their final match as a team together solidified the hatred on both ends. The setter did not get the ball to him. Not just any ball. No, he had sent a fast moving target towards a weaker teammate, who had fumbled miserably and cost them the second set. Kaz had exploded at them both in the locker room, leaving their coach no choice but to break up the heated argument before blows could be exchanged. Although they came back in the third set, winning it in a breeze–Kaz did not let it go. The fight picked up where it had left off later on in a pub, as the two once again got into each other's faces and were broken apart. Kaz had stormed out, and signed onto the Japanese team the following day.

A very stern, serious, and wholly dedicated group of athletes. Wakajima Kazuo felt at home in his birth country, in many more ways than just on the court.

Aizawa Houzen spoke few words to him. As the setter, Kaz believed he’d be a vocally communicative type–typical, helpful. Instead, he found someone cold and stoic with hard eyes that relayed the messages his voice did not. The two formed a quick bond, Kaz meeting the ball wherever in the air Aizawa placed it, to his silent delight.

Of course, there were times the ball was not for him. Kaz understood that. Well timed feints could absolutely demoralize opponents–have them questioning, spinning, rethinking their formations. In his vanity and lust for control, he did know and recognize the utility of others in the game. There couldn’t be six of himself, after all.

Slamming into a middle blocker on their last day of practice in Tojo Yukina’s town had been the first full caliber mistake Kaz had made. The bruise was nothing compared to the harsh stare from Aizawa. The lecture from the coach, still nothing compared to the way his setter slammed the locker and curled his lip at him when he had gone to apologize. Figuring he had bigger problems for the evening, (saying goodbye to and ultimately leaving Yukina) Kaz let it go.

Aizawa, however, did not.

Kaz never had a hard time meeting his tosses. Today, their first day back on the court in preparation for the match in Italy–he could’ve sworn he was struggling to keep up. Somehow. The more he noticed it, the more frustration began to rise and take hold of his chest. Frustration at himself. An angry challenge remained in the setter’s eyes. Unrelenting.

And fuck, height be damned, Aizawa had to have known the distance in which he set the ball was impossible. Unrealistic. Kaz had made the jump, fingertips just barely grazing the ball–though it had lacked power. The ball fell, Kaz with it, grimacing and accepting the helping hand from the same middle blocker he had collided with the other day with a muttered ‘thanks.’

Their coach blared his whistle. A break could do them all good.

Aizawa had whirled on his heel, furious. Kaz’s expression twisted, and he quickly trailed behind the other as he took fuming steps into the locker room. The rest of the team did not follow.

“What’s your fucking problem?” Kaz hissed. The door had just barely shut behind them.

“What’s yours?” Aizawa seethed, fury in his normally lax features.

“How do you expect fuckers taller than me to get that shit? Least I touched it, yeah? Just fucking knicked it, so try and set the fucking thing right next time–”

“You–” Aizawa growled, closing the distance between them with furled fists. “Are not allowed to fuck up. So get whatever girl’s got your head all twisted out of it. You can play cute romantic loverboy off the court all you god damn please, alright? No one cares. I don’t care. The second you’re lunging into teammates and unable to hit my sets–you’re worthless to me, and to us. You’re not the only one with scores to settle and points to prove and dreams of the Olympic stage. I’m fine with using you to get there. So don’t ever fuck up. Ever.”

Aizawa shoulder checked him on the way out, leaving the striker to stand and stew in his own building rage. It wasn’t that obvious, was it?

Yes, he skipped that dinner.

Yes, he had missed a few precious hours of rest.

Yes, he had caught himself checking the clock too often.

Yes, he was last on the bus, head spinning after his farewell with Yukina.

And yes, he found himself wanting to call her now, to whine and bitch about drama with his setter even if she didn’t understand.

The whistle blew from inside the gym, and he took a breath, steading his thoughts best he could before running back out onto the court.

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bukojuiice · 3 years

Text

— genshin boys as your college roommates who are head over heels in love with you

ೃ ft. childe, diluc, kaeya, zhongli, and xiao x gn! reader

ೃ 400-600 words per character! ♡

ೃ warnings: mention of alcohol drinking ( but aside from that, just lots and lots of fluff!)

ೃ this is my very first writing contribution to the genshin fandom, so i hope everyone likes it! after 5 months of playing genshin, i think it’s safe to say my brainrot for it has finally consumed me and i’m confident enough to brew something up! <3

ೃ genshin impact masterlist

ೃ if you want to be a part of my taglist, answer this form! ♡

CHILDE:

– You and Childe are the perfect embodiment of the best friends to roommates trope. Whenever you wanna sleep in for 5 minutes more and you’re about to run late for your first class, Childe never fails to slowly drag you out of your bed, laughing as he does so. “Wake up sunshine!” is the first thing you always hear in the morning and you don’t complain if you get to hear his smexy voice anyway. He is a confident flirt and is not afraid to show you how much he cares or how much he pines over you.

– He’s always always there to save the day. There was a time when your classmates stood you up on the group project you were making, and guess who comes up to you with glitter, glue, and colored paper? Childe, of course! He stayed up until the wee hours of the night with you just so he can help you finish it. He even promises to set things in a “very civil way” with your absolute jerk groupmates the very next day. You practically hang out with him 24/7 as most of the time he just barges in your shared apartment with some amusement park tickets on hand or to some expensive yoga or judo class. There’s never a dull moment with him and with each passing day, the more you fall harder for him.

– After a morning jog with him and seeing cute little dogs frolicking around with their married owners, Childe suddenly had the urge to adopt a dog with you. But, due to a no pets rules established by the landlord, the two of you opt to owning hamsters instead! Childe named his hamster, narwhal (after his favorite animal of course!) whereas you named yours bunny, to match his irrelevant pet name picking. your hamsters both share the same house/cage and even they are pining over each other.

– His siblings visit a lot, especially Teucer. At this point, there was never a day the little boy didn’t ask when are you and Childe going to finally become “playground playmates” (a term for lovers that they use in second grade apparently) since the two of you are living with each other and seem so close. Childe is always able to successfully change the topic and shift away from talking about the shared feelings that the both of you have for each other. But, alas, the day had finally came to be and during your monthly trip to the amusement park, Childe confidently confesses to you on top of the ferris wheel.

“So... everyone in my life knows that you’re my best friend. Yea, that’s pretty cool and all but... Can we be more than just that (Y/N)? Is there hope if I think there could be something between us?”

DILUC:

– Diluc is your posh and rich roommate who sounds and looks too good to be true. The fact that you’re roomies with the literal heir to the country’s biggest wine and beverage company sounds like something straight out of a fanfic. But, it was of his volition to decide to live in a penthouse near Teyvat University. It was the doings of his step-brother Kaeya who tricked him into getting a roommate so that he won’t be alone for the rest of his college years... aaand that’s where you come in. practically barged into his life, but, you were a blessing. an angel sent from the skies.

– He’s quite cold and unapproachable at first, only greeting you whenever he sees you but never bothered to engage in small talk with you. Even if the both of you go to the same university. It wasn’t until your second month as roommates, when you accidentally had too much to drink after a friends’ night out. You come home to see him in the living room, drinking grape juice from a wine glass, and watching a rerun of Hannah Montana. You practically collapse at the front door, he rushes to you and helps you up as you drunkenly confess to him in tears how you wanted to become much closer to him especially since the two of you are going to spend the rest of your college years together. That was when Diluc realized how distant and aloof he’s been and vows to make it up to you.

– Diluc is very talented. Albeit in very discreet way, he makes sure to make use of his talents especially if it’s an opportunity to make memories with you. He is an amazing cook as much as he tries to deny it, He’s a secret virtuoso caught in 4k when you impulsively bought a guitar one time and you asked if he knows how to play, and he does so well. He practically serenades you in the most non-obvious way possible. Lastly, He’s very athletic. You invited him to play tennis one time, betting that if he won, you would do his bidding for the rest of the week. Before you could even blink, he wins. His “punishment” for you was that you accompany him in binge-watching TV Dramas. Grey’s Anatomy and Downtown Abby are just some of the shows the two of you would watch. It is absolutely adorable seeing him so invested in these dramas. and since the next on Diluc’s list were sit-coms, you were preparing yourself to answer his questions on the context of jokes that he didn’t get. In a poor attempt to flirt with you, he calls out your name and recites in the most Joey Tribbiani voice he could muster, “How you doin?” You were laughing so so hard that night because his pick up line actually worked on you and suddenly your realizations came full circle: you were very much in love with him too.

– His naturally cool yet shy nature had always gotten the best of him. He’s always wanted to ask if you wanted to carpool with him to school. Riding with him in his Tesla sportscar that goes 150 Mph? Heck yeah. However, it took quite a while before he could muster up the courage to ask you (4 months of being roommates until he finally popped the question) Since then, the two of you go home to and from University whenever you had similar schedules. Ever since then, Diluc had began to soften. His cold and hard facade slowly melted. Asking if you could help tie his floofy red hair then he’d let you play with it and let you style it in different ways. He takes you out on café dates during lunch breaks and take you out to watch a movie after both of your late night lectures. Everyone in campus thinks the two of you are practically together at this point. All that was left was to bare your feelings with one another through a fumbling and awkward confession.

“Words cannot not suffice these feelings I’ve been harboring for you since the very beginning. I L-like you a lot. Do you feel the same way too?”

KAEYA:

- Everyone loves Kaeya. Your friends and family, The School Faculty, The owner of the Convenience Store from down the street, The old lady who lives next door, The little kids from down the hall, and even the angry brown poodles from the farthest apartment to your right absolutely loved him. it was hard to keep up with having a roommate that not only were you crushing so hard on, but also had such a vibrant social life. Kaeya interacts and socializes with a lot of people and he admits that it does tend to get tiring at times. But, if these sacrifices lead to coming home to his cute roommate who has captivated his heart since Day 1, then it’s all worth it.

— Despite how warm and friendly he may seem, Kaeya is a very private person. He’s brought two or three friends like Jean, Lisa, Albedo, or Rosaria. But, only to discuss school affairs. He wasn’t the kind of person who trusts others easily, even if he was giving off the impression that he was a trustworthy and reliable person himself. He’d much rather spend time with you on days off from school. He may be a party guy on the outside (he insists he does it for future connections when he graduates) but he’s quite a homebody. Kaeya is the type to watch korean dramas and anime with you, go on late night convenience store cravings, and these always resulted in a perfect evening spent with him. When the both of you are fully immersed into the anime and things get a bit cozy, you rest your head on his shoulder, huddling for warmth.

— Kaeya would always come home with a little something for you. May it be take-out food, A trinket, a board game, an accessory, and even skincare products. The indigo-haired man is very particular about self-care and you bet that he’s bought different kinds of face masks, ointments, and even matching cute headbands just for the two of you! He’s very flamboyant and flirts with you a lot. Trying to impress you with pick up lines and suggestive jokes, but you always thought that he was just joking around because that was always a part of his personality. It was always a part of him. For Kaeya on the other hand, it seems to him that you don’t take him seriously and it's possible that you don’t return his feelings at all. He had to set things straight and it didn’t take long until Kaeya found the perfect opportunity to do so.

— With the help of practically everyone in the apartment, Kaeya is about to surprise you with a candle-lit dinner up on the apartment rooftop. His sly smooth-talking quickly convinced you that the both of you were just going to go out on your nightly convenience store trips. Your curiosity grows when he takes you by the hand, covering you with a blindfold, and whispering to your ear, “Do you trust me?” Gripping onto his hand tightly, the both of you go up some stairs and you reply, “Yes Kaeya, I do.” He slowly uncovers the shield from your eyes and your eyes sparkle at the sight of the candle-lit dinner, complete with jazz music, and a romantic view of the city.

“(Y/N)... You are the most precious person to me. I hope you can take me seriously, especially my feelings. I am saying this with my heart in my hand and with nothing but genuine love in my soul.”

ZHONGLI:

— Zhongli is truly husband material. You’re saying this as his friend, as his roommate, and as someone who’s absolutely smitten over him. He’s a third year environmental archaeology student at Teyvat University. Gentle, kind, and has nothing but wise and intelligent things to say. your lovestruck self can’t help but just admire him from afar, not knowing that he too has been entranced by you ever since you moved in.

—He's always the first to wake up in the morning. The first thing he does is make you a cup of coffee. He's got your favorite memorized, (Coffee with cream. Not to sweet and not too bitter.) The both of you own matching mugs, (written in colored scribbled letters, “The Wise Roommate” for Zhongli and “The Cute Roommate” for you.) He always wants to spend his free mornings with you. Both of you have different schedules so you never see each other at Campus and this was the only blissful time of the day you can spend with one another. Once you get home for dinner, (Zhongli is always the first to get home if he doesn’t stay too long at the library or strolling around the city) If it’s your turn to cook or if it’s his, he never forgets to brew you oolong tea after dinner. A perfect chance for the two of you to just talk the night away and engage in deep and meaningful conversations.

—Zhongli fell in love with you because you just quietly listen to him. Sometimes, you would share your thoughts and insights, even sharing your own personal knowledge that Zhongli had not known prior. You were one of the very few people in his life whom he could talk about absolutely anything with. Well, who wouldn’t listen to a handsome man who has a voice as smooth as butter? He is very passionate about his studies. Taking a lot of extra courses and spending a lot of money on his research. and so, most of the time, he spends all of his Mora on his extra studies (excluding the money he needs to pay for rent) and other interesting antiques. You understood why though. So, instead, you ask him to accompany you to do mundane chores. Going grocery shopping, doing the laundry and cleaning the apartment. He always helps in any way he can. The prying eyes of people around you and the old lady fr next door boldly coming up to you to ask if you and Zhongli were a married couple. You blush profusely whereas Zhongli coolly denies the woman's claims. It hurt quite a little but who were you to complain?

— It was during one of your night strolls with Zhongli. He had invited you out after dinner under the guise of wanting to have some fresh air and find a clear spot for the fireworks from a nearby festival. Your heart was thumping loudly to a non-existent rhythm, blissfully unaware that Zhongli was feeling a burst in his chest too. He clears his throat and his shoulders straighten. Zhongli puts his hand on your shoulder and breathes deeply. His cool and gentlemanly aura still radiating off of him as always. A wonderful array of colors fill the sky as his lips began to form the words he's always wanted to say:

"Tonight is beautiful isn't it? I thought that this would be the perfect time to open my heart up to you... You are a diamond in the rough that few see the beauty of. My beloved– Will you accept my feelings?

XIAO:

— Having a popular twitch streamer as your roommate was a one in a million chance. Especially if you’re not even an influencer or internet figure yourself. But, how did this come to be? Why have you developed a crush on Xiao aka VigilantYaksha without knowing who he was? A gamer with over 6 million followers on different social media platforms? Simple, a high-end apartment near Teyvat University had a special discount if you were willing to be roommates with someone. It’s an amazing deal, near your school, cost-efficient, and you believed the 10% chance of scoring a hot roommate as seen on reality TV and romantic comedies. It was like rolling through a Gacha Game and getting a 5 star character. As that “character” is soon to be revealed as Xiao.

— Things started off rocky at first. On your first day, he flatly welcomed you by the door, introduced himself, then quickly retreated back to his room. As soon as you locked eyes with him, he gave off a certain cold and unfriendly aura. You wanted to get to know him better. Maybe with a little love and care, he could open up to you and you could become friends! That same day, you had mistakenly thought of your room as his and you walked in on him streaming a horror game. He wasn’t spooked by the jumpscares. But instead, he was looking at you in horror because you’ve just exposed yourself to thousands of people. You wave at the camera, apologize, and left. Since then, his fans, (called the Anemo Tofus) have been shipping the two of you together. Creating fanfiction and fanart of Xiao and the mysterious roommate that accidentally walked in on him. They practically begged Xiao to at least talk a little bit about you, to which, he declined. When you surprised him with dinner (as a little treat since this was your first week with him) He sits across the table from you, his eyes gazing deep into yours, as he pops the question, in a very tsundere tone: “Would you like to appear in my streams? T-the Anemo Tofus wanna learn more about you. B-but, if you don’t want to, it’s alright! You don’t have to-” You cut him off before he could continue his doubts, “Xiao! What are you saying? I’d love to!”

— There was something blossoming between the two of you after that particular dinner with him. Starting with your first “roommate video” that you had thought of when you were brainstorming for video ideas. It was an Almond and Mapo Tofu mukbang whilst the two of you answered questions from fans! The viewers noticed how visibly comfortable he was around you despite his usual reserved attitude. He was cracking up a lot more sarcastic and self-deprecating jokes whilst Tofu filled both of your mouths. Outside of the confines of social media and inside the comfortable space that was your apartment, you and Xiao grew closer. Wearing matching hoodies, going on midnight snack runs, playing in arcades, and stargazing with him up on the rooftop as you contemplate about life and talk about the mysteries of the universe. There were times when you would stay up late doing school works and would accidentally fall asleep on the sofa. Xiao would come out of room because he periodically had cases of insomnia. When he sees you on the sofa, he can’t help but smile at your sleeping figure and admire your beauty. First. he brings all your clutter back to your room then slowly picks you up from the couch, into his arms, and brings you back to your room. He places a blanket on top of you and your stuffed plushies next to you so you can hug them any time.

— On a particular night, you fell asleep on the sofa once again and begun to have recurring nightmares. Xiao was there to witness you whimpering, muttering to yourself, and shivering to a mental image that he could not see. (He wishes he could erase all the pain that these nightmares were giving you) You subconsciously grab onto his hand, murmuring to yourself: “Xiao, please don’t go.” He whispers back, “I won’t.” Your nerves slowly relax when you feel the Yaksha squeezing himself to lie next to you on the couch. Holding onto your arm, he continues to reassure you that it was going to be okay. You grab onto him, hugging him from behind. He feels your heartbeat revert back to it’s normal pace and you return back to your peaceful slumber. “I’ll always be here for you, (Y/N). I’ll be here to protect you. Forever and always.” Turning to you to plant a kiss on your forehead, you nestle your head on Xiao’s chest. He watches as you cling to him for love and warmth until he is slowly whisked away by his weariness, rewarded with a peaceful sleep he hasn’t felt in a while.

“And they were roommates.”

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radioactivepeasant · 3 years

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Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(This is an excerpt from my unfinished but fully outlined Reign of Vader fic, in which Darth Vader assassinates Palpatine and then finds out that unfortunately this means he actually has to rule. After Luke is captured by the Empire, Vader reveals both his heritage and a desire to fix things in the galaxy. Luke is wary, but it's not like he has anywhere to go)

Darth Vader was not a man of infinite patience, and the Ruling Council was growing ever nearer to discovering the limits of his tolerance.

"Day-to-day procedures are a delicate matter, Majesty," Greejatus was saying, "It would be an unprecedented disaster to force change upon all offices all at once. May I recommend a gradual shift as your reign takes root?"

"Yes yes," Sate Pesage agreed. His eyes glittered out of his gaunt face with ambition. "This proposal to outlaw slavery, for instance-"

"-Is non-negotiable," Vader interrupted. "It was an idiot's decision to legalize it in the first place. My empire will have no need of slave labor."

"Of course!" Pesage bowed. He was beginning to sweat under that ridiculous hat of his. "We are eager to begin this journey into the future your reign promises, Majesty. But the galaxy is vast. Perhaps it is best to...phase the law in slowly? It takes time to bring new ordinances all the way to the Outer Rim."

Vader had heard quite enough for one day.

"Enough. The decree goes into effect tonight."

He stood, and all five members of the Council jumped a little.

"You have until then to review the revised legal codes I have provided for you."

[[MORE]]

With a sardonic lilt to his voice, he added, "The rule of the Grand Vizier through the Moffs has ended, gentlemen. If you do not feel that you are adequately prepared for the task ahead, I will accept your resignation and begin the process of finding your successor."

He waved a hand. "In the next week, we begin hearings for the Alderaanian Massacre. You are dismissed."

There was a certain satisfaction in watching Palpatine's five advisers bowing and trembling on their way out. After decades of putting up with their snide comments and inane commands, it was nice to see the shoe on the other foot for a change.

Of course, they hadn't covered much. Just an overview of what the Imperial Ruling Council actually did. Once Vader mentioned that he intended to sell his secondary residence in the district and distribute the funds as reparations, the meeting had devolved into excuses and protests for the next two hours. Luckily, he was far too stubborn to pay any attention to their complaints.

While he had no strong feelings about most of his actions in the last nineteen years, neither hatred nor regret, he was willing to acknowledge that not all of his targets had been legitimate in a military sense. For Padme's sake, he would make amends if possible.

Naturally, it was uncomfortable to try putting a price on life. But the sale of that ridiculous "castle" Palpatine insisted on him staying in would provide a good starting place.

It took about fifteen minutes of calculating, but ultimately Vader decided there was more than enough in Palpatine's personal accounts to cover about 17,000 wrongful death settlements, with additional funds in the cases of recurring medical bills.

Arranging reparations for Alderaan would take more work. Vader quickly decided he was going to delegate that to the department of finances.

(They...did have a department of finances, didn't they? Surely Sidious hadn't done his own bookkeeping.)

With that settled, Vader's itinerary consisted primarily of a meeting with the Hands to make sure they knew their boundaries. After that, a remote consultation with a newly-renowned surgeon living in one of the lower districts. It would, unfortunately, take up the majority of the day. But for now, at least, he had two hours to himself.

The emperor closed his eyes and stretched out with his senses. It took several seconds before he was able to pinpoint his son's location. Luke's presence was dimmed, slightly. Muffled.

The reason for this became apparent the moment Vader found him.

Inside the library, on the lower level, Luke was sprawled across one of the ridiculous armchairs the nobles had favored. A book lay open on his chest, rising and falling gently. A small stack of texts encompassing everything from speeder repair to adventure novels sat on the floor, just next to where one of Luke's hands dangled off the edge of the arm rest. Clearly, he had been in the library for several hours before falling asleep.

Sleep had softened the boy's features, painting him in a far more vulnerable light. The fear and caution of the previous night had been wiped away, leaving someone who seemed far too young, and far too small. How could he be twenty? How could Padme's baby already be twenty?

It was tempting to leave him there. To let him sleep. But the chair was not the most supportive frame, nor was the library the most secure chamber of the palace. Reluctantly, Vader bent to touch Luke's cheek.

"Luke," he said quietly, "This is hardly an appropriate place to sleep."

Luke's eyelids fluttered, but he did not fully awaken at once. Carefully, ever so carefully, Vader took hold of Luke's shoulders and guided him back into an upright position.

"Your spine will thank me later," he said.

Luke shifted, then opened his eyes with a groan. He didn’t seem to register Vader’s presence at first. One arm stretched up over his head, and the other came up to rub at his eyes.

“What time is it?” he yawned.

“Nearly noon,” answered Vader. The meeting with the Council had taken far longer than he would’ve liked. “Are you hungry?”

With a garbled sound, Luke waved a hand from side to side. “Don’t know yet?” he said in a still sleep-slurred voice.

After a few more seconds, he finally noticed just who had woken him. Instinctively, he straightened his spine, and looked a little bit nervous.

“Oh,” he said, very quietly. “H-hello, Father.”

“Hello, son.” Vader sounded amused. “Was your choice of reading that dull?”

After a moment, Luke nodded. He made a face. "I know there's supposed to be a famous musical made from this or something. But a whole chapter on how the sewer system of Ryloth's capital city works doesn't seem like good song material."

He jumped when Vader laughed. It was a warm, rich sound, utterly at odds with his austere appearance.

"Poor boy!" He gently took the book from his son. "That was required reading for our literature studies when I was a boy. I loathed it. Very few of my peers sought it out voluntarily."

"I guess I can see why," Luke admitted. "But it seemed like it was going to be a good story."

"Then you are better served finding an abridged copy, I think," Vader chuckled. "Come. You should eat something."

Luke pushed himself up out of the chair. “Do I...need to put the books back?”

Vader leaned back on his heels. He looked at the books, then at the shelves. “I...will leave that to your best judgement. I do not know where you got them from.”

It was such a normal sounding conversation! Why?!

Why did you have to be like...like this?! Luke fought a surprising burst of frustration. I have no idea how to talk to you!

Serious and formal one moment, then laughing the next? Vader? Laughing?! It was as if the man he’d met on Cymoon and the man idly examining his stack of books were two completely different people.

Luke set the books on the console with the Holonet terminal eventually. Vader had suggested that he learn the cataloguing system of the room at a later time. At least that seemed to mean that he would be allowed to go back to the library again. Luke thought about his conversation with Artoo. Perhaps his father was trying to be kind to him. Whether that kindness would extend to anyone else was a different matter.

“I thought you were still meeting with dignitaries or something,” Luke said.

He trailed along behind Vader up an ornate staircase with his hands in his pockets. He was still uncomfortable walking too closely to the man. For all that he acknowledged that the new emperor was, indeed, his father, he was still a force to be reckoned with.

Luke took a moment to internally groan at his unintended pun. Han would probably have elbowed him in the ribs for saying something like that. Chewie would think it was hilarious.

Luke’s attempt to stay safely out of range failed quite suddenly. Vader deliberately slowed his steps so that Luke couldn’t hang back without being extremely obvious about it. He didn’t want to offend the emperor, so he tried to ignore his fight or flight instincts shaking his insides and kept pace with his father.

“I have several more meetings to endure today,” Vader said casually. “But the most onerous of those has been dealt with.”

This was not quite true. The Ruling Council was too full of Palpatine loyalists. Just intimidating them into compliance would only work for so long. They had connections, and they had money, and that could prove to be a headache if not dealt with sooner. Vader needed to replace at least three of them.

He had almost considered appointing Luke as Vizier in Amedda’s place, but had quickly thought better of it. Such a position would almost guarantee that Luke would never have time to fly again. Cutting a Skywalker off from the stars for good seemed too cruel.

His son had not had the childhood he could have had if his mother had lived. If Palpatine had died much sooner. Let him enjoy his youth while he could.

But the problem of finding a Ruling Council that Vader could trust would still be waiting.

“The stupid hat club, right?” Luke asked.

He was unsettled by Vader’s proximity. Vader could sense that. He understood: the armor had been made to terrify. Perhaps one day he would have the option of seeing his son with his own eyes, but for now the boy would have to acclimate himself to the sight.

It was not often that Vader found himself cursing the cold, impersonal nature of his mask. He would have liked to smile at his son.

“Yes. The...stupid hat club.” He settled for letting his amusement be clearly heard in his voice. “That is not an inaccurate description. They run the day-to-day matters of ruling an Empire. But as they were all close to the former ruler, I find that I’d rather not trust them in matters of delegating governance.”

Luke grimaced. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea,” he agreed.

#star wars #star wars wednesday #fic prompts #writing prompts #Reign of Vader #luke skywalker #darth vader #ooc vader because Palpatine is dead and he's trying to decide what that means for his personality #luke is very uncomfortable but seeing Vader and Artoo arguing over upgrades helps #palpatine did not give vader any indication that ruling an empire meant actually working #he's operating on the bits and pieces he remembers from Padme's work and hating every minute of it #guess how long the empire is going to last when it turns out the emperor hates being in charge of that much minutiae #dad vader #he's actually making an effort

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eroslove88 · 3 years

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Request: Could you do a miruko noncon. I was thinking maybe she could buy the reader from an auction. The readers a bear hybrid but she's really small and timid. And miruko babies her. She breaks her in and maybe she keeps dildos on chairs so the reader is always filled and uses strap ons. She also uses rabbit vibrators(for obvious reasons) sorry if this is alot again 😅 I just really enjoyed your last fic.

Pairing: Yandere Mirko x Bear!Fem. Reader

Warnings: non-con, selling humans (I don't know if it counts as human trafficking), kidnapping, pegging, toys, femdom, Stockholm Syndrome, and hybrids

Notes: Thank you so much! Request from @eyebowlsworld. I hope you enjoy. Also this is surprisingly softer than I originally planned.

Next Part: Punishment

Everything was too much and it was going by too fast. The thing you remember was going for a walk when the sun went down, like you always did. Then a young middle school boy passing you, he was wearing his uniform and a gas mask but when he passed you that's when you saw purple mist and you could barely breathe. The young boy was out of sight and your lungs were begging for air as you were screaming for help. Slowly you started feeling weaker, before falling on your knees and completely knocking out.

You woke up with your small round ears twitching slightly before you opened your eyes and found your wrists bound on your lap as well as in a new outfit, a red sparkly dress with a white necklace around your neck. By the time a worker came to walk you out of stage your face was tear stained and almost as red as your eyes. "For a bear your not very courageous" the man muttered pushing you out of the room where other people layed either crying or still knocked out. You and the others would've started yelling at the top of your lungs but due to someone's quirk, nothing came out.

"Next up we have a fine bear hybrid" the auctioneer said holding a dark brown gavel, "Do I hear $500?" he asks.

"$2000!" a man in the back called out.

A smirk appeared on the auctioneer's face, "$2000! Do I hear a $2500?"

"2500!" a raspy voice called out. You prayed for another person to volunteer.

"Do I hear a 3-" suddenly he was cut off.

"1.6 million" a strong calm voice called out cutting him off completely. "In cash" a woman in a white blazer said holding a grey case. For a rabbit she sure was confident.

"O-One point s-six million!" some people stuttered out. As others gasped at the amount and at who the buyer was. The pro hero herself, Mirko!

"1.6 million! GOING ONCE" you waited looking at the auctioneer's insane face, "GOING TWICE" it was full of pure join, "SOLD" almost as if he had won the lottery.

That's how you got here. Being tossed onto a king sized bed with white covers on it. "S-stop" you said pushing your self back as far as you possibly could before she grabbed you by your ankle and dragged you down towards her.

"My poor baby must be confused" she say's as if she were actually talking to a child. "I bought you, so I own you now silly" you already knew that but you refused to accept it shaking your head as a 'no' to forget where you were right now. "Poor sweet thing" she say's taking off her blazer and pants. "But don't worry I'll go easy on you, I promise" for someone who basically just kidnapped you she was being oddly nice.

She was quick to pull you into a kiss shoving her tongue into your mouth while her free hand started to work on removing your dress. Once it wad fully unzipped she pulled away leaving a clear string of saliva connecting the two of you while you both panted but that still didn't stop her from pulling off the sparkly dress that left glitter behind.

"God your beautiful" she praised as you turned away in embarrassment and your small ears bending slightly. Her strong hands grabbed your legs and threw them over her shoulders ignoring your protests and tears falling from your face and instead kissed them away. When she moved closer thats when you felt it, something was prodding at your entrance causing you to yelp and try to push her with your hands but only to remember that there were cuffed behind you, "I thought you'd like the strap. I picked it just for you" she said ears flopping down. "I promise you'll love this" she growls in your ear before bottoming out. A loud moan came out from your mouth as you threw your head back feeling yourself being stretched. More tears ran down your red face as she let you adjust before setting a nice pace. "You- ahm- seem to be enjoying this" she was right you were dripping and not knowing what to do you hid your face in embarrassment in the crook of her neck. "Aww there there" she comforted stoking the back of your head with her free hand. Nothing made her happier than when you started clawing on her back with your quirk, it made her go to an even faster pace.

It's been about a year since then. You were pretty sure that you were pronounced dead by now but on the bright side Mirko always knows how to make it up to you. Whether it's her fucking you senseless, fisting you, eating you out, or letting you test out one of her new vibrators she always made you happy now. Recently she always wants you to be full so while she's away she'll leave cameras to watch you sit on that black chair with a glass dildo on it and grind until you cum on it.

If you do really good while she's away she'll let you try out her favorite toy, the rabbit vibrator. One those days she'll let you cum plenty of times while she watches you saying, "See how much I love you? If it were anyone else they wouldn't have let you" at this point you just agree to everything she says to keep her happy with you. Even if it's too much to handle, even if you forgot about the auction, even if you forgot what your name was other than baby or cub, even if you forgot about your family and friends it's all about Mirko now. She's the only one who loves you and who ever will.

#tw yandere #bnha yandere #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #bnha smut #mha smut #boku no hero academia mirko #rabbit hero: mirko #yandere miruko #rumi usagiyama #mirko x reader #miruko #mirko my hero academia #pro hero mirko #tw noncon

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qitwrites · 3 years

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(AO3)

June 1st falls on a random Tuesday. The weather is decent enough, the sun bright but not harsh, and the air is pleasant, slowly dipping to colder temperatures.

Everyone crowds around various desks to chatter before homeroom, and Iida spends a grand total of two minutes trying to bring about order before migrating towards Todoroki’s desk to join in the conversation he’s having with Midoriya and Sero. When there’s roughly 14 seconds to spare before Aizawa rolls into the class in his signature yellow sleeping bag, everyone takes their seats and on time, as always, Aizawa arrives.

Three things are noted immediately:

1. The yellow sleeping bag is nowhere in sight. It’s happened before, but not often.

2. There’s a strange bounce to Aizawa’s step. Not like a normal bounce, but he’s not dragging his feet like a reluctant, sleep-deprived sloth. His steps are focused and intentional. This is a very rare, almost never-before-witnessed sight.

3. His hair is up. He doesn’t usually do it up for class, though they’ve seen him pull it into a pony when he’s dressed more casually and not in his hero attire. This is an unprecedented situation.

The class watches Aizawa wearily because, from literal months of experience, they have realized that when something is out of the ordinary, shit usually flings itself towards the fan in a most spectacularly dramatic fashion.

Even Bakugou is on-edge, watching Aizawa like a hawk. Midoriya is ready to whip his iconic notebook out and make yet another behavioral observation under the Eraserhead section. Iida looks ready to disperse any tension. They are all ready.

Aizawa sets his stuff down, gruffly wishes them good morning and then turns around to write something on the board.

They are not ready.

It’s not a big deal at all actually. In hindsight, its stupidly minor, but with Aizawa, it stands out bright and shiny, and even Koda makes a small noise of surprise.

Aizawa’s hair is pulled into a pony with a scrunchie. Which is fine, all well and good. But the scrunchie is made of a rainbow-colored hyper shiny material, which is surprising, because Aizawa always seems allergic to color, especially on his person.

And finally, there are only 6 colors in the rainbow. Momo connects the dots before the rest, though Midoriya follows closely behind.

‘That’s-‘

‘-pride,’ Midoriya breathes, soft but just enough for Bakugou, Jirou, and Sero to hear.

The class is shocked for the first ten or so minutes, as more and more people make the connection, but honestly, it’s just a scrunchie. And with Eri under Aizawa’s care, it isn’t unlikely that he’s worn one of her hair ties or something. This is probably a coincidence, even if it is the first of June, so everyone stops fixating and starts focusing on class.

The scrunchie goes unmentioned and1A is on the same page- it’s definitely just a one-time thing.

It is not a one-time thing.

On the second of June, Aizawa saunters in seemingly back to his normal attire, and a few shoulders slump. They might all be saying its a coincidence, but that doesn’t mean they’re happy about it. There’s something so reassuring about the idea of their teacher, someone that protects them fiercely and loyally, being supportive.

Aizawa doesn’t seem to pick up on the mood, he just assigns them some self-study before taking a seat at his desk. And then he, very uncharacteristically, puts his feet up and reclines in his chair, a folder propped open in his lap.

There’s a collective inhale, the whole class breathing in as one because there it is- undeniable proof that it isn’t a coincidence.

On Aizawa’s feet are the brightest, most vibrantly gay pride socks ever. Each of the 6 colors loop around the material before the pattern repeats, and there’s no white material or anything, just the colors of the flag over and over.

‘Holy shit,’ Mina whisper-shouts, and her smile is blinding. Uraraka giggles. Tokoyami nods sagely and says, ‘The support of a figure of authority is a beacon against the darkness of humanity.’

They do their best to focus on self-study, but there’s a buzz around the class, a happy vibe that permeates the air and saturates it completely. There’s a glob of purple in the corner that seems indifferent, if not actively dismayed, but he goes ignored.

Midoriya writes something in his notebook and puts three stars next to it.

On the third of June, Aizawa has a rainbow hair clip pushing his bangs out of his face, and on the fourth, the soles of his shoes are rainbow and proud.

The competition begins the following Monday.

The thing about class 1A is that they try to support one another in any way possible, to encourage and stand together and everything. The other thing is that they’re hella competitive. It’s a hero course after all, and they’re trying to come out on top and be the best.

And it turns out their teacher, the chilled, nonchalant, mostly uninterested Aizawa Shota, is almost more than a little competitive when it comes to this stuff.

On Monday, Momo uses a pride scrunchie to pull her hair into her signature ponytail. Jirou has a band around her wrist that says love is love is love, and Satou bakes rainbow cookies for the whole class, leaving a few on Aizawa’s desk beforehand.

Their teacher walks in with his hair up again, and when his eyes settle on the cookies, they widen fractionally before he schools his expression into a more neutral one. He greets them all and his eyes flit over Jirou’s band, and the colorful cookie crumbs around the class. When he looks at Momo, she quickly turns her head to the side, showing off her hair accessory that matches his.

Aizawa doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t smile, or even nod, nothing. He just kinda gets down to business. At least, that’s what it would look like to someone on the outside.

But 1A reads him- they watch the way he pushes his hair back, fingers lingering on his scrunchie while he reads out their assignment. They see the way his eyes momentarily linger on the cookies or Jirou’s wrist, such small, quick glances that they all catch because they read him. They know him, and he knows that they know.

When class ends, the room is filled with warm giggles when Aizawa leaves, the plate of cookies in hand.

The next day, Ojiro has a braid in his tail with different threads mixed in there, forming the familiar rainbow pattern. Mina has her horns painted in a pride flag ombre, spanning three different colors on each. Kirishima uses a rainbow hairband to keep his bangs out of his face during training, and Midoriya switches out his black shoelaces for rainbows.

Aizawa’s eyes ping pong around the class, and for a moment everyone wonders how many dress codes they’re breaking but he doesn’t say anything again. He just reads out their assignments as usual, his own pride pin shining brightly on his chest, against the black of his hero uniform.

It’s all fun and games, full of warmth and support until Aizawa starts pulling out the big guns.

Because when Aizawa walks in with a multicolored scarf wrapped around his neck, the class collectively realizes- he is challenging them, and beating them quite mercilessly at that.

It’s obvious enough that even Bakugou growls in frustration, and then the games begin.

Mina shaves the word Pride into Iida’s undercut. Kaminari paints his nails. Hagakure replaces all her uniform buttons with multicolored ones. Shoji replaces his teal blue face mask with a pride one, and Uraraka has a few braids on the back of her head too. Satou’s desserts get more and more elaborate, more and more eye-catching and delicious.

The day after Aizawa walks in with a multicolored scarf, belt and goggles set, Satou stays up the entire night baking, set on paying their teacher back thrice fold.

Morning finds a rainbow croquembouche perched on Aizawa’s desk. Even Bakugou gives Satou a nod of respect because what the fuck? It’s literally a tower of sweets, brightly colored and absolutely delectable, and they get the biggest reaction out of Aizawa yet. His eyes widen, mouth dropping into a shocked little ‘o’, and his eyes immediately seek out Satou, who gives him a wide grin. Shaking his head incredulously, Aizawa conducts his class as usual. It’s a herculean task but he manages.

He still walks out with the entire dish balanced in his hands with great care.

Every teacher in their year has rainbow-colored tongues for the rest of the day.

Aizawa retaliates with eyeshadow. Rainbow eyeshadow. Jirou’s mouth drops, Aoyama starts wailing dramatically and even Todoroki looks impressed. Bakugou clicks his tongue and looks away, and Mina wants revenge.

The entire class comes together for the final showdown. Everyone tries to put color in their hair, though it doesn’t really work for the darker colors. Tokoyami adds a few sprinkles of glitter into his feathers, Iida switches his plain black frames to much more gaudy pride ones, and Todoroki and Bakugou have the most vibrant hair of them all, bright and ridiculous. Aizawa eyes them fondly almost, and that’s when they should’ve realized they were way out of their depth.

Because on June 30th, Aizawa walks into the class, his uniform spick and span, hair down, a ridiculous bounce in his step. Everyone eyes him from head to toe, and when they land on his feet, Kirishima inhales shakily.

‘No,’ he whispers.

‘Oh yes,’ Aizawa answers, his grin far too gleeful.

‘No fucking way,’ Bakugou snarls. His hands are shaking.

‘Language,’ Aizawa admonishes, his smile widening.

‘We’re doomed,’ Mina mumbles.

And right then, Aizawa taps the heels of his shoes together, and his pride rainbow shoes glow up and that’s it. Class 1A has lost. They accept it rather graciously, all things considered. Aizawa cackles like an evil witch, and Sero comforts a weeping Kaminari.

On July 1st, things go back to normal. Mostly normal.

Because Midoriya keeps the shoelaces. Someone sneaks a rainbow charm on Bakugou’s bag that he somehow keeps forgetting to obliterate to pieces. Kirishima doesn’t switch out his hairband, and Ojiro asks Tsuyu to braid his tail when they go out for more casual outings.

And Aizawa? Well, the soles of his hero boots are never quite the same.

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void-adjacent-particles · 3 years

Text

Content warnings: Death, gore, fire mentions, scars, murder, violence.

Totems of Undying are strange things. They’re warm, and will pulse in time to the heartbeat of whatever is holding them, emerald eyes glimmering even in the pure dark of the void’s absence of light. While Totems are made of gold, there is no malleability, they are as solid as bedrock. The emeralds and gold and magic have solidified into one unchangeable object until its use, and then it is gone.

They leave their mark on whatever uses them. For some this could be a prize, another thing to be proud of, because they survived the unsurvivable only through their own wits and forethought. To others it is a mark of shame, for ever having been in such a position to lose their life, even if it is only one of three.

On a specific server, there are those who have need for Totems in their long pasts, who have used them right before our eyes, and those who will surely use them in the future.

Technoblade was one such person to use one before our eyes. We saw him dragged from his home to a farce of a trial, facing justice on rigged scales for grievous cries nonetheless as he was pushed into a cage. The fall of the anvil, the crushing, crunching of a body that never seemed fragile until now when everyone witnessed its end. Then the sparkling cloud of green and yellow, bones clicking back in jigsaw puzzle pieces, the knitting of muscle and tendon and skin, and there is only a moment of paralyzing death before his heart skips a beat and he lives again. This is the prestige of his trick, no turn to raise suspense, and a pledge everyone who knew his name already was aware of, a promise and threat all in one that he always delivered on. Technoblade never dies, and he lives right now to kill again. Later he will be in his quaint cottage in the merciless tundra, and his own reflection will glitter strangely back at him, forcing him to examine himself instead of resting and trying to forget the lingering aches. He will stare as the night sky leaves the window more a mirror, lantern lights low, but the flashes catch his eyes anyway. His tusks, once white and bone, now seem to be fully made of gold. He taps one with his hoof, and feels the pressure reverberating subtly down into his jaws, as real as before. With a shrug, he moves his hoof away, only to watch as pink fur and skin split against the now razor sharp point of his tusks. Those tusks will remain as gilded as any enchanted apple, and as sharp as any netherite sword, until one day he will fail his audience, his pledge a battle cry he brings to one or more of his graves.

Quackity would covet a Totem in all of his paranoia, his fear of death and pain and losing even more than he already has. If he died, be it by pickaxe or nuke or strangling, desperate hands, the Totem would bring him back all the same. And all of his scars would ache in their newfound golden hue, shining and standing out even more as a testament to his inability to protect himself or what he loves. The scars would hurt, old and new, in warning of dangers to come. It only partly calms his paranoia, the fear ever present and simmering in the background of his mind, waiting to boil over and burn him.

When Tubbo or Tommy use their Totems of Undying they will appear unharmed. It is not until they bruise that it becomes obvious. A small bump against the corner of furniture, a tumble while out exploring the wild, a sharp elbow to the face, the blunt side of a weapon, they bruise the skin, blossoming into purples and dark indigos. They fade far too quickly, as if someone splashed healing potions on them. Yet then they stay at that disquieting green and yellow stage, where the next day it could appear as if they were never there, but they stay, shimmering slightly in the wrong lighting, still hurting as much as if they were fresh even weeks later. Only fading when forgotten about, and they have wonder if the bruise was ever there. If only they had Totems when they died before. Tubbo’s face would be a mess of bruised gold that would seep into the skin until only pink scar tissue remained, a starburst remnant of a festival’s fireworks, but he would still be alive, gasping for air and hunched over in that box, on that stage, but alive. Tommy would have handprint bruises around his neck, across the break in his nose, the imprint of a fist against his cheek that had whipped his head back too far, his neck slamming at the worst angle against the harsh obsidian walls. But he would have been alive, clawing his way back into life, latching his own hands around his killer’s throat, finishing the job, doing what should have been done instead of daring to imprison a dream.

George passes out if he uses a Totem. Instead of the rush of adrenaline, of life that floods the system of whatever uses one, it overwhelms to the point of just unconsciousness as his body repairs itself, fueled only by magic until his heart begins pumping and his lungs begin breathing again. Later when he wakes, maybe with cracked sunglasses, anyone who’s looking properly will see the dark bags under his eyes, a sheen of gold overlaying the dark purple of sleeplessness. When he sleeps it will be deeper, without dreams. Alarms and shaking won’t wake him. Nights will be sleepless as he examines the bags under his eyes, fretting over the burnt orange of the gold deepening, digging into his skin, around his eyes. He will continue to sleep, but days will pass, and when he wakes he wonders if next time he will simply be unlucky and sleep forever.

If Dream uses a Totem of Undying it will shatter him. He will feel every bone shake themselves into dust and back again, a glimpse of what everyone eventually returns to. His spine will burn with pain, arcing upwards to the base of his skull, spreading outwards like a deep set rot that always goes unnoticed until it is far too late and the structure crumbles. His mask shatters, likely from the final strike that killed him, but maybe just from his fall to the ground, a person one moment and a corpse the next, until the Totem brings him back. Gold lines every crack in the porcelain of his mask, across the monochrome of the glaze burned into it, bisecting an eye, a smile, a face. The green of him becomes so much more vibrant, deadly, similar to prey animals that evolve into their bright colors to indicate they are poisonous, saying if you kill me, I take you down with me.

If Niki ever uses a Totem, it would burn. She would feel it burning, more than the all encompassing pain of whatever killed her. Bright, sparking pain would race down her body, through every nerve, every blood vessel, until it was all she knew for that brief suspended moment on the precipice between life and death. She would grit her teeth through the pain, eyes narrowed as she reeled back from the magical force, only to march onward in doing whatever was necessary to achieve her goal. Later she would be looking at her hands, washing off blood real or metaphorical, and see that instead of chipping nail polish in whatever color of her choice, instead her nails would be intact, a brilliant gold. Nails that would make her appear vain, still absorbed with one final thing, or simply clinging to it. Nails that would sharpen into what some might call claws, digging into the fine wooden handles of her weapons, scoring lines that would never go away, even if the nails would upon her death.

If Hannah ever uses a Totem of Undying it will react strangely to her innate magic. Plants die off, withering away, leaving just the roots, the basis of their whole survival, to lie in wait underground until the rain falls again and the sun shines again. Any of her wounds will bloom with roses, the flowers ragged, shaped like bloodstains, but every leaf and petal will be edged with gold. The greenery of her roses’ vines will brighten and soak up sunshine more than ever, revitalizing her until her heart aches with it, until she finally lets fate claim the life stolen from it.

If Puffy ever uses a Totem of Undying, she wouldn’t notice side effects at first, aside from the usual anguish and pain from having died. The likely conflicts she had thrown herself into out of duty would capture her attention anyway, away from examining herself for any lingering problems. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, not until she looked in the mirror and saw that all of her greying hairs from stress became gold, her mass of curls even heavier, no lock of hair without its reminder, its own thread of gold to weave into thick hair. Later, in a moment of true rest, when someone runs their hands through her hair, braiding it or simply trying to calm her, they would find that every golden thread burns and tries to tie itself around their hands, keeping them there, keeping them at her side where they could be safe.

If Antfrost or Fundy ever use a Totem, it settles on their skin like a weighted blanket, forcing their muscles to accommodate, forcing them to make room in their lives for the extra chance they stole. Later, when they rest, so much more tired with their aching bodies, they will curl up in the sunshine wherever they feel safest. When the sunlight catches just right, beige or burnt orange fur glimmers like a pelt of gold. Any breeze would be unable to rustle fur, their bodies motionless and unmovable as any statue, their breathing far shallower and subtler than ever before. If one wasn’t watching close enough, they’d assume there was a corpse just curled in the sunlight, begging for a final bit of warmth before letting go. They will start awake from nightmares with a hiss, and stretch out in the dying light to go pretend like they don’t feel that extra life weighing on them.

Phil only has one life to lose, and so he holds Totems close to his heart, always just one movement away from being clutched as the lifelines they are. When he’s killed holding one, wings splayed, feathers falling from the force of his death, mouth open and choking on last breaths, his death will hurt. It will always hurt, the moment stretching through his lived centuries and snapping back into the present, so much life to flash before his eyes that they are rendered sightless and glassy, death clouding them greedily. Flashes of gold and emerald green dance on the sheen of inky feathers and glossy eyes as dead as a doll’s. When he lives again, his wings will no longer be the cape of shadows, the midnight extensions of self that they once were. His secondary feathers will be golden now, shining in the sun, always growing back that same shade. Those gilded feathers will just be another thing his murder of crows hoards, another shiny object, but to Phil it will be a permanent reminder of how he has always only had one life, and how fleeting it is.

If Wilbur got his hands on a Totem, he would never let it go. To die again and again and again, to suffer through the agony of an eternal listless limbo, to suffer again as he is replaced by a mockery of himself… he could not stand for it. So he never lets go of the Totem in hand, his thumb worrying over the facets of its emerald eyes when he thinks, nails breaking against the rigid golden effigy. There are many reasons he would die, several from his own actions, as it was before. If he did die, he would wake choking on blood and tears, hacking and wheezing and lacking all the grace and charm he once had. It wouldn’t be until he coughed once again into his hands that he would see his blood, no longer a dull red, now glimmering and golden. And he laughs, as he now resembles a god in all but the immortality, his blood turned to ichor in its molten sunlight, its deep dark shades of beauty and riches, and he keeps choking on his blood as the Totem works still to restore a body dead for the fourth time.

When Ranboo uses a Totem of Undying the magic will seep into his skin, counteracting strangely with his biology, trying to strengthen him, trying to mark him however it can. So the short black velvet of fur he received from enderman genetics will spread, the skin and fur stronger, in hopes of protecting him. It seeps like ink, a slow spread that burns as if trails of water settled on his skin. It hurts, and he hides for days, coming out with his green eye just a bit brighter, black crawling up the white side of his jaw like an outstretched hand. His own hand will reach out, and under the white skin on his forearm will be golden veins, burning with life stolen from a Totem. He forgets using Totems every time he does, the experience is so jarring and intense as it changes the fiber of his being, as with every use he appears more enderman than whatever else he is. One day, far in the future when he goes by another name, he will look in the mirror and see two emerald green eyes, his entire body the black void of fur his endermen kin have.

Foolish is a being whose entire being had always been defined by death. Once, it was the carnage, the lives lost in droves, sent into Her embrace prematurely in their violent ends. Then Foolish changed and became a Totem of Undying himself, a god now more mortal than even he knew by resisting his domain. When he died the denial was almost too much to bear, the Egg trying to worm its way into his mind when it realized this weakness, a grief for what he lost. If he dies again, he will likely have a Totem in hand, maybe even one of his children, held close as he fears an end, selfishly cannibalizing the life force of one of his own in order to extend his last two lives. There will be no markings from the Totem. He is already one of them, eyes of gemstone and skin of metal, created and made of that space between life and death, the lull after a last heartbeat when the next is expected, the resting note in the song of life that he has conducted himself, has cut short himself, destroying all in his path without a single goal in mind in his times as a Totem of Death. There is no scar or blood or feathers or bruise to mark him, because he is a Totem. A Totem given sentience and life, given free will and thought, but at the end of the day a living doll, and the now lifeless, apathetically terrified look in Foolish’s emerald eyes is enough to show just what measures he took in order to survive another death.

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