Moon maiden

Blood of Zeus / epic the musical

Hermes

Heron

Alexia

Seraphim

Apollo

Athena

Ares

hades

Zeus

hera

artemis

poseidon.

Odysseus

Penelope

Telemachus

Polites

Circe

Alien Stage

Mizi

Luka

Hyuna

Till

Ivan

Sua

Arcane

Viktor

Jayce

Caitlyn

Vi

Jinx

Silco

ekko

tgcf ᰔᩚ

Xie Lian

Hua Cheng

Feng Xin

Mu Qing

Shi Qingxuan

He Xuan

Lang Qianqiu

Jun Wu

Qi Rong

Ban Yue

Gu Zi

Yin Yu

Qingxuan’s brother (Wind Master’s brother)

Pei Ming

MDZS ❥

Wei Wuxian

Lan Wangji

Jiang Cheng

Jiang Yanli

Jin Ling

Lan Xichen

Lan Sizhui

Lan Jingyi

Wen Ning

Wen Qing

Nie Huaisang

Nie Mingjue

Jin Guangyao

JJK ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Hakari

Kirara

gojo

geto

itadori

megumi

nobara

yuta

maki

sukuna

nanami

Toji

+your favs!

Gachiakuta ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Rudo

Zanka

Tamsy

Enjin

Jabber

Follo

Gris

Zodyl

August

Corvus

Fu

+more soon

✅ Will Write

Fluff, angst, comfort

Slow burn & romantic tension

Playful banter, enemies-to-lovers

Smut (consensual, in-character, age-appropriate)

Timeframe-accurate settings (Ancient Greece for BoZ, canon timelines for others)

Male / Neutral / Female reader inserts

poly couples are okey depending on the request

❌ Will NOT Write

Minor × Adult relationships (romantic or sexual)

Incest

Fetishized kinks ( if they are too CRAZY)

Bestiality

Anything that sexualizes underage characters

there we go guys ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Yes and nope i dunno why tumblr gave me something about being for older people like??

it's not even nsfw.. anyways i'll just post it again cus that was odd as hell

He was being needy as usual, he knew it. it was written in the way his legs were tangled with yours under the white blankets and how close he was being with you, his hands kept fumbling for yours clutching your fingers like a lifeline.

"Luka, you're going to crush me" you murmured thought you didn't seen to pull away from him at all.

"Don't leave me," he murmured against your skin, his voice dull by sleep, but the pressure of his embrace did not give in. "Everything else feels like it's going to fly. This... this feels good... Stay."

Well, the only thing I use it for is decorating and coming up with title ideas, as well as translating, since I'm still working on my English( i still suck ass) since im lowkey new to writing in a lenguage im learning right now

so that's the only thing really ꉂ(๑¯ਊ¯)σ

𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓽. 𝓗𝓪𝓴𝓪𝓻𝓲 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓳𝓲 & 𝓚𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓻𝓪 𝓗𝓸𝓼𝓱𝓲

"Do you really need another set of lashes on top of those?"

Hakari is sprawled out on the leather sofa in the monitor room, watching you with a mix of fascination and pure bewilderment. He’s leaning back, one arm draped over the headrest, while you occupy the small vanity you’ve claimed in the corner. The scent of hairspray and sickly sweet perfume has officially conquered the usual smell of cigarettes and ozone in the underground base.

"Obviously, Hakari"

He lets out a raspy, booming laugh, stretching his thick arms behind his head. "I dig that logic. It’s excessive. It’s got fever."

"It's looking totally slay, right Kirara?" you ask, seeking a second expert opinion.

Kirara, who is busy cross-referencing bets on a tablet, looks up and gives you a supportive wink. "Ignore him, babe. He’s just jealous because your eyeliner technique is more precise than his cursed energy output. That shade of pink matches your nails perfectly," Kirara notes, pointing toward your long, 3D-decorated extensions.

Hakari leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching you apply a lip gloss that looks like liquid stardust. "You know, that dedication... it’s the same energy you need to hit the jackpot. You don't skip a single step. It’s a ritual."

You turn toward him, flashing a peace sign and a radiant, toothy grin. "See? Being a gyaru is a mindset, not just an aesthetic. It's about keeping the hype at 100% at all times."

"You've definitely hit the jackpot in attitude," Hakari admits with a lopsided smirk, reaching out to give your platform boot a playful nudge. "Just watch your step on the bleachers; I don’t need your 'style' hitting the floor before the main event starts."

Between clouds of sweet perfume, XL lashes, and the blinding sparkle of 3D-nail charms, the Gyaru!Reader proves that keeping the hype alive is the highest stake of all. Because in this club, if you aren't glowing enough to blind the opponent, you aren't even playing the game.

"The jackpot? Forget it, Hakari. The real jackpot is this perfect eyeliner wing."

sure i'll do it!! i love this type of requests ^^ what style? since there are many ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉﾞ

🎤 ❝ The Only Star in My Sky ❞ 🎤

💭.｡:･*ﾟ💫ﾟ*･.｡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The neon lights of the Alien Stage backstage were cold, but the tension you felt was burning. You had been watching Hyuna—the rebellious, charismatic leader—laughing and leaning into Luka’s space during the rehearsals. Everyone was drawn to her, and for a moment, you felt like a shadow in the corner of Luka’s glamorous world.

🥀 The Sting of Jealousy

You tried to hide it, but Luka sees everything. His eyes, usually vacant and eerie, tracked the way your grip tightened on your sleeves every time Hyuna threw an arm around his shoulder or whispered a joke. To the world, Luka was the unreachable champion, but to you, he was just... Luka.

🌙 The Quiet Comfort

Once the cameras were off and the alien guards retreated, Luka found you in the dressing room. He didn’t ask what was wrong; he already knew.

The Approach: He moves like a ghost, silent and graceful. He didn’t stand across from you; he draped himself over you, his long fingers tracing the line of your jaw.

The Reassurance: "You're overthinking again," he whispered, his voice like velvet over a blade. "Hyuna is a spark, a noise... she is part of the show. But you? You are the only thing that is real here."

The Devotion: He took your hand and pressed a lingering kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. It was a look of absolute possession. He wanted you to know that while the world screamed his name, he only wanted to hear yours.

✨ Headcanons: Luka’s "Comfort " Style

Personal Space: Luka isn't usually big on touch with others, but with you, he’s like a clinging vine. He’ll tuck his head into the crook of your neck, breathing you in to ground himself after a performance.

Vocal Lullabies: If you’re feeling insecure, he’ll sing to you—not the dramatic songs of the Alien Stage, but low, private melodies meant only for your ears. It’s his way of saying, "This voice belongs to you."

The "Hyuna" Factor: He actually finds your jealousy a bit... endearing. It proves you care. He might even tease you about it later, but he’ll always end the night by pulling you close and making sure you know you’re his Top 1.

🕯️ ❝ Private Universe ❞

"Let them watch the stage, let them cheer for Hyuna, let them worship the crown... I don't care. As long as when the lights go out, I’m coming home to you." — Luka

He gives very much Father and husband vibes to me, so maybe one with a pregnant wife? Can be current or post pregnancy, new parents or with a child already, its up to you!

hii anon!! here is your request ^^

☁️ ❝ Softness Amidst the Shadows ❞ ☁️

🕯️ The Quiet Protector

Corvus is the one who ensures the hearth is always burning. While his wife rests, he moves through the house with a ghost-like silence, his heavy boots replaced by soft steps so he doesn't wake her.

He expresses love through acts of service. Whether it’s carefully braiding her hair when she’s too tired to do it herself or placing a warm, heavy blanket over her shoulders, his care is constant and quiet.

There is a specific softness in his eyes when he rests his ear against her stomach. To hear the steady heartbeat of his child is the only melody that matters to him. In those moments, the stoic Arkha Corvus finally looks at peace.

🧸 The Tender Giant

When the baby arrives, Corvus discovers that his massive, scarred hands were made for a new purpose: cradling something fragile. Seeing a tiny hand wrap around his thumb makes the "Invincible Cleaner" melt.

His voice, usually deep and commanding, drops to a rhythmic, gravelly hum. He doesn't need songs; the vibration of his chest against the baby's head is enough to soothe any crying fit.

Even Rudo would notice a change. Corvus becomes even more determined to "clean" the world—not just because it's his job, but because he wants the air his child breathes to be a little bit clearer every day.

🕊️ ❝ Soul-Bound Moments ❞

Imagine him sitting by a window, the dim light highlighting the tattoo on his neck, but instead of looking for enemies, he’s focused entirely on the tiny socks he’s trying (and struggling) to fold with his huge fingers.

Corvus proves that true strength isn't just about how much you can destroy, but about how tenderly you can protect what you love.

💍 The Husband Role

Since he can "see" the value and soul in objects, his gifts are never random. He’ll come home with a piece of "trash" that, once cleaned, turns out to be a beautiful antique mirror or a rare piece of jewelry that he knew his wife would love.

Emotional Anchor: Corvus is a man of few words, but he is an incredible listener. If his wife is stressed or crying, he doesn't try to "fix" it with logic; he just pulls her into a silent, crushing hug that makes the rest of the world disappear.

hi anon here is youe request!

author’s note🪽💕:

wrote this instead of sleeping and now luka is crying and so am i.

this was supposed to be funny and then he started apologizing and i lost control of the narrative.

it’s hurt/comfort i PROMISE. luka survives. i will personally hand him a blanket and reassurance after this.

anyways goodnight (it is not good).

“Just Talk to Me”

The dare is stupid.

You know it the moment your friend grins across the lunch table, elbow propped on her tray like she’s about to announce a death sentence.

“Ignore Luka for a few days,” she says. “Then break up with him. Just to see what he does.”

You laugh it off at first. You have to.

Luka is… Luka. Your Luka. Soft-spoken, clingy in ways he pretends not to be, always waiting for you after class even when he says he’s “just heading that way anyway.”

But then they start chanting.

And you cave.

You tell yourself it’ll only be a few days.

That he’ll be fine.

That you’ll make it up to him.

You’re wrong.

⸻

Day One

You don’t sit with him on the bus.

You don’t loop your fingers with his when you pass in the hallway.

When he texts you after school—

Luka: did you get home safe?

—you stare at the message until your chest feels tight, then reply with a dry:

You: yeah.

No heart. No nickname.

Minutes pass.

Luka: oh

Luka: ok

That’s it.

⸻

Day Two

He waits outside your classroom like always.

When you walk past him, he blinks, confused, then hurries to keep up.

“Did I—” he starts, then stops himself. “Um. Hi.”

“Hi,” you say, already looking at your phone.

He walks beside you anyway. Too close. Too quiet.

At lunch, your phone buzzes again.

Luka: did i do something wrong?

Luka: if i did im sorry

Luka: you don’t have to forgive me i just want to know

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

⸻

Day Three

He’s unraveling.

You see it in the way he fidgets with his sleeves.

The way he keeps checking his phone.

The way his eyes flick to you every time you laugh with someone else.

That night, the messages come faster.

Luka: please talk to me

Luka: im really trying to think of what i did

Luka: im sorry for whatever it was

Luka: i’ll fix it i swear

Your throat burns.

You type. Delete. Type again.

You don’t send anything.

⸻

Day Four — The Prank

You meet him after school by the lockers.

He looks relieved just seeing you—until he notices your expression.

Serious. Closed off.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

You take a breath that feels like glass in your lungs.

“I think we should break up.”

The words land wrong. Heavy. Final.

His face drains of color.

“…What?”

“I just—” you force yourself to continue, eyes stinging. “I don’t think this is working anymore.”

He panics instantly.

“No—no, wait,” he says, stepping closer. “Please, just—just tell me what I did. I’ll change. I swear I will.”

“Luka—”

“I’ll do anything,” he rushes out. “I’ll give you space, or not, or—did I text too much? I can stop. I can be better, just—please don’t do this.”

His voice cracks.

People are passing by. He doesn’t care.

“I love you,” he says, too fast, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he pauses. “I know I’m not perfect but I’m trying. Please. Please don’t leave.”

Your heart is breaking. Fully. Completely.

Then—slowly—he stops.

His shoulders tense. His hands curl into fists.

“…Okay,” he says after a moment, voice suddenly flat. Controlled. Wrong.

You look up.

He forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“If that’s what you want,” he says, swallowing hard, “then I won’t make it harder for you.”

That’s when you snap.

“Luka, stop—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts gently, already stepping back. “I’ll be okay.”

He looks anything but.

Tears are pooling, but he refuses to let them fall.

“I hope you’re happy,” he whispers.

And that’s when you break.

⸻

The Reveal — Hurt / Comfort

“It’s a prank,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry, it was a dare, I never meant it—”

He freezes.

“…What?”

You rush forward, hands shaking. “I was supposed to ignore you and then fake a breakup, I didn’t think it’d hurt this much, I didn’t think you’d—”

He stares at you.

Then his knees give out.

You catch him just in time as he grips your jacket, breathing hard like he forgot how.

“…Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t joke about that.”

Tears spill over now. Silent, unstoppable.

“I thought I lost you,” he says, voice breaking completely. “I thought I wasn’t enough.”

Your own tears fall as you pull him into your arms.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat over and over. “I love you. I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

He clings to you like you’re the only solid thing left, face buried in your shoulder.

“…Please,” he murmurs, exhausted, shaken. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You hold him tighter.

“Never. I promise.”

And this time, he believes you.

Luka x Reader (AFAB)

author' note :

I hope you enjoy it anon •͈ᴗ⁃͈⊹

You wake to the sound of breathing that isn’t yours.

It’s uneven—carefully controlled, like every inhale is being measured. When you turn your head, the room swims, but Luka comes into focus almost immediately, as if he’s been watching you the entire time.

Too close to be accidental.

Too tense to be calm.

“You’re awake,” he says softly. Relief flashes across his face before he can hide it. “Don’t—don’t move yet.”

His hands hover near you, uncertain, afraid of hurting you again. When he finally touches you, it’s barely there—fingers brushing your wrist, warm and trembling.

You remember flashes of the stage. The fall. The way the noise cut out.

Luka bows his head, forehead resting against the edge of the bed.

“I was so scared,” he murmurs. The words come out before he can stop them. “I kept thinking… if I’d been faster. If I’d noticed sooner.”

You squeeze his hand, weak but real.

He lets out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging as if the weight finally found somewhere to rest. When he looks at you again, his eyes are glassy, unguarded in a way the stage never allows.

“You’re here,” he whispers, like he needs to say it out loud. “You’re still here.”

He moves closer slowly, every shift deliberate. His touches are gentle—checking, asking without words. When his thumb brushes your cheek, it lingers there, like he’s memorizing the warmth of your skin.

“I didn’t know what I’d do without you,” he admits quietly. “I don’t ever want to feel that again.”

You pull him closer as much as you can. He follows the motion instantly, careful not to press too much weight on you, his jacket slipping around your shoulders like a shield.

When he kisses you, it’s unhurried—soft, grounding, more reassurance than hunger. He pauses often, forehead resting against yours, breathing you in as if afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I swear. I won’t let go.”

His movements stay slow, attentive, hands warm and steady now that he knows you’re real, alive, responding. The fear doesn’t vanish—but it softens, turning into something protective, something tender.

The room grows quiet again. The machines hum. The world waits.

You stay like that, wrapped in each other, letting the silence hold what words can’t.

luka's movement were gentle his words silent for your ears to hear his blonde hair falling over your face.

" Please..don't scare me like that again.." he murmurs between soft moans

his fingers never leaving yours as he moves closer kissing all over your body

fearing loosing you made him realice he would have lost what keept him going on the stage you are his last hope

The quiet settles slowly.

Both of you are breathing a little too fast, hearts still trying to catch up. Luka stays close—too close for coincidence—his arm draped over you, hand splayed warm against your side like he’s anchoring himself there.

“You okay?” he asks, quietly. Again, softer this time. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

You nod, shifting just enough to get comfortable. He follows the movement immediately, adjusting with you, careful and attentive. His thumb traces small, absent circles against your skin, never stopping.

When you sigh, he relaxes a fraction—but not enough to let go.

“Don’t move too far,” he murmurs, half-joking, half-serious. “I just… stay here. Please.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your hair, lingering each time. Like reassurance. Like counting proof that you’re still real.

You can feel the leftover tension in him—the way his grip tightens whenever you shift, the way his breathing stutters before evening out again. Luka tucks you closer, chin resting against the top of your head, arms wrapped around you protectively.

“I don’t want to think about what almost happened,” he admits quietly. “So let me just… hold you for a bit.”

His voice is steadier now, but he’s still clingy, still reluctant to create space. You let him, fingers curling into his shirt, grounding each other in the warmth.

Eventually, the world feels less sharp.

Luka’s touch stays gentle, constant—like he’s afraid that if he lets go, even for a second, everything might unravel again.

For now, he keeps you close.