YueLover69

This reader is gender neutral, using they/them pronouns and this story will be written in 3rd person. As they are non - binary, you can interpret their gender as you like. This reader is a second year, as I headcanon Sakamoto as preferring a more mature, elder significant other. _________________ You gently played with the lapels of your uniform, running your finger tips under the collar. Sakamoto stared, the glare of his glasses hiding his eyes. You looked back up, making him almost jump. He swallowed the lump in his throat. You tilted your head questioningly but picked up your sketchbook and flipped to a clean page. You wrote

Intro You were walking down the long extravagant cream colored walls and soft pink colored floors hallways of Ouran Academy. Yes, the very same prestigious school for wealthy people who could afford to send their son or daughter to this extravagant school. Why were you here you ask? Because your older brother, who was only older than you by a year, forgot some papers he left at home earlier today. You see, when you went downstairs thing morning for breakfast you noticed a small stack of papers on the table with your brother's name on them. You figured that he would need them and went out asking the maid to let your tutor know you were going

:bulletgreen: Loki x Child Reader: For Daddy :bulletgreen: He could hear her whimpering on the other side of the door. Her small voice making her despair-ridden cries all the more disheartening. (F/n) had apparently been crying for hours, and Loki wouldn't stand for it. He had promised Jane that he would talk to the child, and for once there had been no option to lie or trick. For when he had entered the house, he had witnessed the sorrow firsthand, and even a Jotun who had long since lost his heart couldn't stand to hear (F/n) cry. So with a hesitant hand, Loki knocked on the little girl's door, announcing his presence. "(F/n), sweetheart

:bulletblue: Wolverine-x-Baby Reader: Daddy’s Girl :bulletblue: (F/n) was crying again.   No, not crying . . . screeching. And as Logan (her amused father) watched the baby cry with her little mouth open as far as it could go, he had to admit this his child’s vocal power rivaled Banshee’s. Not that it was something he needed his six month old daughter to prove, now or in fact ever.   “Come on kiddo, ya gotta stop sometime.”   When the wailing just got louder, the man sighed and picked the bawling baby up out of her crib. Gently, he bounced her in his arms in hopes to sooth her, but (F/n) only continued to cry he

Commission Atem x reader To be wed [1/3] (You will be the princess of the niles. You are 15 years old, you have long [h/c] hair, and [e/c] eyes.) You lied on your bed curled up on a ball crying. “Why?... Why does it have to be me?.... And why now?” ~Flashback~ “W-what?” You stood in front of your father not believing what he just told you. “I’m sorry my dear daughter but I had no choice. In a few days you will be sent off in a few days to be married off to the Pharaohs son Atem. With this marriage we’ll gain more land. “But father, I don’t want to marry for that. I want to marry out o

You really didn't want to get up today. Especially with being in your lovely Pharaoh's arms, you could care less if the world was in turmoil right now. But as for all work days, you force yourself to get up and get ready. You looked back at your peaceful husband who was still asleep and thought, 'It's times like these I wish I could work from home.' While quietly letting out a sigh, you kissed his forehead before walking down to the kitchen and making a quick breakfast before hearing Yami wake up upstairs. You shook your head at his timing before finishing your breakfast and walk towards your half asleep husband before giving him a quick pec

нαℓℓσωєєи ѕρєcιαℓ! ✖ ι αм тнє cℓσωи ωιтн тнє тєαя-αωαу ƒαcє нєяє ιи α ƒℓαѕн αиd gσиє ωιтнσυт α тяαcє ι αм тнє "ωнσ" ωнєи уσυ cαℓℓ, "

"Daddy?" "Hm?" You watched him working, curiousity shining in your eyes. There was something so fascinating about the way your father worked. He would hunch over in his stool, stooping over his desk that was littered with carving tools and squares of leather and sketch sheets. There was a cup on the table, painted with "#1 Dad" and decorated with (f/c) (favourite animals). It was last years Father's Day gift, which you'd given him so he could hold his pencils in. But he had so many that they spilled out of their holder and across the table top. "Why are you so pretty?" Uta blinked owlishly at you, face impassive. But his black sclera an