#But.. back and trying to come back proper

[neellscapsule]

My Heart — Part Six

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker

angsty chapter and reader is NOT happy. it is not implicated in the text but the tea is ADULTERED totally drugged.

word count | 4.6l

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13. conner looks 22 as well.

taglist | @cebrospudipudi @jjoppees @corvoqueen @nirvanaxx1942 @lilyalone @aixaingela @lettucel0ver @time-shardz @pix-stuff @galaxypurplerose @cupid73 @theproblemisthattimnotfictional @vanessa-boo @timebomb1101 @chemicalwindexbottle @chiizuluvr @ihavenomuse @mat5u0 @thismessyshe @lovebug-apple @myjumper @angwlart @esposadomd @nisarelle @mrmacwaffles @mazixxss @ememgl @naomi-xxi @bbmgirll @ash0-0ley @rowan-no-rizzz @hearts4mica @sillyheartmoonnyx @crumbs-and-covers @nininehaaa @ironsaladwitch @c4xcocoa @keyllsbk @welpthisisboring @redkarmakai @yuyuzi-ling @91-kya @mat5u0 @nymphzy0 @jeshomie @keysmashstuff @imsomniaccorner @rowan-no-rizzz @xoxoangellll @oliviaewl

previous. next.

It’s only been a few hours. Not even dinner yet. And your things — your life — are already bleeding back into the Manor like they never left.

Boxes stacked neatly by the stairs. Suitcases rolling in. Steph and Duke arguing softly over where to drop your art stuff. Cass ghosting through the hall, carrying your sketch portfolios like they weigh nothing. Tim? You don’t even know where he is, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he already hacked the Royal Resort, changed your room access code, and sent a digital notice of your “check out” to their front desk. Smug little bastard.

You aren’t even going to try fighting it. No one here listens to “no.”

Because the Waynes, God help you, never really ask for things. They consume them. They fold you back into the sharp jaws of their family, biting down until you realize that escape was never really an option.

You tend to forget you are a Wayne as well.

You stand in the middle of it all, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching them pull your belongings through the front doors like this is normal. Like they didn’t spend four years letting you stay gone.

“Annoyed?” Jason’s voice is far too entertained, standing beside you with a box balanced on one palm.

“Beyond,” you mutter, glaring as one of your easels is carried toward the stairs.

“You knew it was coming.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Jason smirks but lets it drop, wandering off with the box. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and turn toward the wing where your room still waits. Untouched. Too familiar.

And it is… different. Familiar in the bones of it, but stripped of its soul. The walls are bare where posters and paintings used to hang. The shelves mostly empty, save for a few stubborn relics that Alfred clearly refused to toss — old books, a cracked snow globe, a tiny bronze bust of Athena from your first Gotham art exhibit.

Damian’s already there. Of course he is. Smaller than the others, but somehow taking up more space than all of them combined, hovering at your side like a shadow that refuses to detach itself.

The kid hovers near your bed, arms crossed behind his back like a tiny, overly proper soldier on duty. His green eyes flick to you, guarded but… softer than usual. Like he hasn’t quite figured out how to stop being angry at the world when it comes to you.

“Need help unpacking?” he asks, tone clipped, but there’s hope there. The kind that coils tight in your chest.

You hesitate, torn between instinct and guilt, then nod, stepping inside.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Sure.”

He follows, eager despite his mask of disinterest, helping you tug open bags, sort clothes, stack books. For a while, it’s… weirdly peaceful. The steady rustle of fabric. The faint creak of the floorboards. Damian brushing past you without biting words, his fingers tracing over your old framed photos on the shelves — ones you left behind because they hurt too much to take.

You catch him pausing at the piano music sheets tucked beside your nightstand. His brows furrow.

“You still play?”

“Not often.” You shrug. “More painting now.”

Damian hums, thoughtful, gaze lingering. “You should’ve stayed.”

You freeze, the words hanging in the air like smoke. You glance up, meeting his eyes — so green, so much like Bruce’s it physically aches. But they’re not cold, not like your father’s can be. They’re… fractured. Full of sharp edges and careful walls, yes, but under that?

Longing.

Guilt gnaws at your ribs.

“Didn’t know you existed yet,” you say softly, fingers curling around the strap of an old bag. “Not really.”

His mouth presses thin. “That doesn’t change it.”

You exhale, standing, brushing invisible dust from your jeans. “I left the Manor, Dami. I didn’t just… leave you.”

“You left me,” he says, blunt, young enough to say it like a wound, like a scar carved too deep. “You all did. But you… You weren’t supposed to.”

God, you hate how your throat tightens.

The bitter ache behind your ribs.

You hadn’t been prepared for him — for this — when you came back.

Your fingers reach for another box, peeling it open just to avoid his stare, but it doesn’t help. His presence is overwhelming. Silent and sharp like his mother’s. Possessive like his father’s.

“I didn’t even know you,” you murmur, voice rough. “I knew… of you. Little headlines. Files. Cass tried to tell me. But I—” You pause, eyes shutting briefly. “I was so angry. I couldn’t even… I couldn’t come back.”

“Because of him,” Damian says. It isn’t a question.

You nod.

Bruce Wayne. The great Dark Knight. The man you once idolized, once bled beside as Huntress, as his partner. The same man who never quite looked at you the way he looked at the others. Not the way you needed. Never the way you begged for as a kid with bruised knuckles and desperate, reaching hands.

“Because of a lot of things,” you correct gently, placing your sketchbook aside, the worn leather cover heavy with memories. “But yeah… mostly him.”

Damian’s jaw clenches, the muscle ticking. His arms uncross, falling at his sides. He looks…

Small.

Despite the bravado, the stiff lines, the name of the Demon Head running through his blood… He’s thirteen.

Your baby brother. One of your younger siblings. The one you abandoned before you even truly met him.

You weren’t there for the first bruises on his knuckles. You weren’t there for the first nights he slipped into patrol. You weren’t there for his first real battle, the first time he realized that Gotham’s love is sharp-edged and cruel.

You weren’t there. You left.

And it’s starting to suffocate you— the realization that this boy, this brother, had spent years carving out his place in the family you abandoned, while you disappeared into the art galleries and the high-rise studios of New York.

You curse under your breath, stepping forward before you can overthink it, cupping the back of his neck gently, tilting his head toward you.

“You shouldn’t want me here,” you whisper, honest, broken. “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

His eyes glisten for a second, the weight of his walls faltering. But only for a moment. His hands lift, fisting in your shirt, his brow pressing against your shoulder in a rare, vulnerable gesture he’d never admit to.

“You’re my sister,” he mutters, the words muffled but steel-strong. “I don’t care how long it takes. You belong here. You were the only one who was mine. Blood. Sister. Everyone else is just… attached.”

You swallow thickly.

Damian, for all his sharp edges and biting remarks, was still just a boy looking for someone who belonged to him in the same undeniable way that blood does. He wasn’t just a Wayne. He was yours.

“I’m here now,” you promise, voice soft, fragile. “For as long as I can stand it.”

He gives a sharp little nod, like that’s acceptable.

But you both know the truth.

It’s then, when you pull another box from beneath the bed, that you find it — old, dusty, edges worn, but unmistakable.

The Box.

The one that started this whole spiral, even if you don't know it. You pop the lid, heart stumbling when you see your old notebooks stacked inside. Your sketch journals. Poetry. Music sheets. Little scraps of yourself you never let them see.

Damian watches, sharp-eyed. “You wrote a lot.”

You smile faintly, fingers ghosting over the familiar covers. “Started around your age. Couldn’t… couldn’t really talk to anyone. So, I wrote.”

For a second, there’s something bitter in your throat. The weight of all those words that never reached the right ears.

“I saw that box,” Damian says, breaking your thoughts. His lips press thin, voice low. “Grayson and Father had it.”

Your head jerks up.

“What?”

He nods, glancing toward the door like they’ll appear at any second. “They read your letters. The invitations. That’s why some of those are missing.”

You frown, rifling through the papers. Sure enough… gaps. Missing slips of faded cardstock, soft with time. The ones with their names.

You straighten abruptly, box in hand.

“I’ll be back,” you say tightly, already halfway out the door.

Damian follows to the threshold, but wisely stays behind.

You stalk down the halls, passing portraits and shelves that mock you with their polished familiarity. Your boots echo over the marble. Your heart pounds heavier. The box is tight in your arms, fingers curled so hard around the edges your knuckles burn white. You don’t even hesitate when you reach your father’s study. You shove the door open without knocking, the hinges groaning under the force.

Bruce looks up from behind his desk, the same goddamn desk that’s always separated him from you. His eyes lift slowly, unreadable behind that ever-present mask of indifference.

“Y/N,” he greets simply, setting down a pen.

You march in, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling with the weight of it all, and slam the box down onto the dark wood of his desk.

“They’re mine,” you snap, teeth bared around every syllable. “The invitations. The letters. The pieces of me you ignored for years. Give them back.”

His gaze drops to the box, lids lowering slightly. Calm. Too calm. Always calm when you’re coming undone.

“You left them here,” he says quietly, like that’s supposed to be some kind of explanation.

“That doesn’t mean you get to—” your voice cracks— “to keep them. To— to read them like you suddenly give a damn.”

“I’ve always cared.”

The words are so simple. So detached.

It’s laughable.

You laugh— bitter, sharp, ugly.

“Yeah? You cared while I was bleeding under that Huntress mask? You cared when I was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen— when I was killing myself trying to be enough for you? I was practically breaking my ribs to breathe in this house, Bruce—”

You use his name like a blade.

And for the first time, his expression shifts. The faintest flicker of hurt behind those unreadable eyes.

“Don’t—” he starts, but you’re already unraveling.

“No, I’m talking,” you hiss, voice cracking with the sheer force of holding it together for too long. “I begged for your attention. I broke myself for your pride. I learned to throw knives before I learned to drive, I broke bones before I got my period, and the only thing I ever wanted—” your throat tightens, eyes burning— “was for my dad to fucking look at me like I mattered.”

His mouth parts— an interruption, maybe. You don’t let him.

“You looked at Dick,” you spit, pacing now, heat climbing under your skin, nails digging crescent moons into your palms. “At Jason. At Tim. Hell, you adopted half the city because they were broken and brave and you saw them. But me?” Your voice cracks, and it slices through the room. “I was standing right here. Your kid. Your first daughter. And you never— you never looked.”

“I saw you.”

The words fall from his mouth like they should mean something.

You stare at him, chest heaving, that dangerous, shaking, bitter-laced laugh creeping out of your throat.

“You saw me when it was convenient. At galas. On patrol. When I played the part. But you didn’t see me when I cried myself to sleep in this house. When I begged Alfred to remind me why I even existed in this family.”

“Y/N—”

“No!” Your fist slams onto the desk, rattling the box, the notebooks inside shuddering under the force. Your shoulders curl forward, that trembling, raw ache choking every syllable. “You read my words, Bruce. You read every pathetic, desperate thing I wrote to get your attention, and you didn’t say a damn thing. You just kept them. Like— like souvenirs of how badly you failed me.”

He stands now, slow, careful, like he’s trying not to spook a wounded animal.

“I kept them because they mattered.”

You flinch. Because that— that doesn’t make it better. That makes it worse.

“Then why didn’t I?” you whisper, voice cracking so thin it’s barely audible.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. And for once, Batman looks speechless.

The lump in your throat crawls higher, the weight of everything clawing through your ribs until you can’t stand it. Your vision blurs with unshed tears, the room suffocating, the walls pressing in—

Jason’s voice cuts through the static, smooth but laced with warning, not to you.

“Hey— hey, sweetheart—” His hand catches your elbow, tugging you gently away from the desk, away from the storm brewing in your chest. His eyes flick to Bruce, sharp, protective. “That’s enough.”

Your father doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t argue.

“Later,” he murmurs, tugging you. “Let’s not explode the whole house on your first day back, yeah?”

You let him guide you, too raw, too frayed at the edges to resist, the box clutched to your chest like it holds your last shred of pride.

He doesn’t take you far. Just out, through the side door, past the old stone threshold that still smells faintly of ivy and rainwater. The gardens stretch ahead of you, green and alive, overgrown in some parts, perfectly manicured in others. Like everything in this family — halfway wild, halfway curated.

The cold air bites when the door to the garden swings open. The scent of wet grass and the sweetness of the last lingering roses hit you like a ghost. The gardens haven’t changed. You could close your eyes and walk these paths blind, could still find the cracked stone where you used to sit, where you used to hide.

It shouldn’t affect you the way it does. But it’s been years. Years since your boots walked these cobbled paths. Since you brushed your fingers along the rosebushes, memorized the stone statues of long-dead Waynes, listened to the wind thread through the hedges and wondered if maybe, just maybe, you belonged here.

You stop by the little wrought-iron bench. The one you used to curl up on with a book or sketchpad when Alfred scolded you for pacing the halls like a restless cat. Your knees threaten to buckle.

Jason’s still beside you. Silent for a beat, his blue eyes scanning your face like he’s cataloging every fracture in your armor.

“You good to sit?” he asks finally, voice stripped of its usual cocky charm, softer, older, gentler.

You nod, throat tight, and collapse onto the bench. The box lands beside you, your arms falling limp at your sides as exhaustion crawls under your skin like a sickness.

Jason leans against the backrest, arms crossed, one leg kicked out lazily in front of him. But his gaze never leaves you.

“I thought you’d punch him,” he says after a moment, like it’s some normal conversation.

“I thought so too,” you rasp, voice barely holding steady. Your fingers twitch, nails biting into your palms.

Silence settles between you, heavy and humming with unsaid things. The garden is quiet, save for the rustle of leaves in the warm Gotham breeze and the faint chirp of birds that have somehow not abandoned this cursed place.

You bite your cheek, hard, tasting iron at the back of your tongue. The weight in your chest grows unbearable.

“He had no right to keep them,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. “Those letters—those words were mine, Jay.”

Jason nods, slow, his eyes dark with understanding. He tilts his head, letting the silence stretch, giving you room.

It cracks something in you. Your walls cave in on themselves, and the words spill out, raw and broken.

“You’re my family,” you breathe, voice cracking on the confession. “And I love you. I love all of you. But you’re— you’re terrible.” You swallow around the knot in your throat, eyes burning, vision swimming with tears you’ve tried so hard to swallow. “You’re all terrible.”

Jason’s brows pull together, faint lines creasing between them, but he doesn’t interrupt. He exhales slowly, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We are.”

“It’s not fair,” you choke, the sob clawing its way up your throat, unstoppable now. Your hands cover your face, shoulders shaking, breath hitching as it pours out of you, ugly and too real. “It’s not fair— I was here. I was here and I tried— I tried so damn hard to make him proud. And he— he just—”

You can’t finish the sentence. It shatters in your chest before it reaches your lips.

Jason exhales softly, the sound rough at the edges. Then, gently, he shifts, his hand reaching to curl around the back of your neck, tugging you toward him.

You resist for half a second, pride prickling. But you’re exhausted. Hollow. And there’s something in Jason’s touch — that stubborn, protective, reckless love he’s always carried for you — that breaks you down completely.

Your forehead bumps against his shoulder. You curl into him, tears spilling freely now, staining the worn fabric of his jacket. His hand stays at your nape, grounding you, his other arm curling protectively around your frame.

“I know,” he murmurs, chin resting against your temple. “I know, Birdie.”

“It’s not fair,” you croak, rubbing your palms over your eyes, as if that can stop the burning. “It’s not fair that I spent years begging for you all to see me, to just—just be there. And now you’re all here like you never left. Like you didn’t forget me.”

Jason tilts his head toward the sky, his lips twisting like he wants to argue, but he can’t.

You don’t let him. The flood’s coming now, and you can’t hold it back.

“You died, Jason.” Your voice sharpens, cuts through the garden like glass underfoot. “You died, and it ruined me.”

His head snaps down to you, breath caught in his throat.

“I was fourteen. I was fourteen and you were dead and no one—no one even noticed that it broke me.” You glare at him through the blur, the tears slipping, unwanted and hot. “And then you came back, and you—you didn’t come to me. You stayed away. You built walls. You left me behind again.”

Jason’s throat bobs. “I didn’t know how to come back to you.”

You shove your hands into your hair, tugging hard at the roots like it can ground you, like it can make you stop shaking. “I waited for you.”

“I know.”

“You were my favourite person,” you choke, the words ragged and small. “You were my brother and you were my best friend and you just—just left.”

His breath trembles out of him like a cracked apology.

“I didn’t mean to leave you,” he says, and his voice sounds like it’s breaking. “I didn’t mean to die on you.”

“But you did. I needed you,” you whisper, voice fraying apart at the edges. “I needed you and you— you just disappeared.”

Jason’s hand tightens slightly at the back of your neck.

“I know,” he says again, pained and low. “I’m sorry.”

You stay like that for a while. Your breathing slows, the storm inside your chest quieting to a simmer, though the ache never fully leaves. Jason lets you cry, lets you shake, doesn’t rush you to pull yourself together like the others always do.

hated myself for staying away from you when I came back. I thought—I thought you’d hate me for what I became. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Your breath shudders out, a laugh cracked in half by grief. “I’ve always seen you. Always.”

He finally, finally looks at you, really looks, his eyes raw, his walls caved in.

“You were the only one who ever really saw me,” he admits, a little too late, a little too soft.

Your ribs collapse under the weight of it. “And you left me anyway.”

Eventually, you straighten, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, sniffling quietly. Your throat is raw, your eyes glassy.

Jason watches you, patient, still.

“Not exactly the grand return I wanted,” you mutter bitterly, half a laugh, half a sob.

Jason snorts softly. “No one expected you to waltz in all sunshine and rainbows, Birdie. You’re still a Wayne.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch faintly, the first ghost of a smile threatening to break through the grief.

Jason taps the box at your side. “You keeping those?”

“Yeah.” You brush your fingers along the worn cardboard, the ache settling in your chest like an old friend. “They’re mine.”

“Good.” He pushes off the bench, offering his hand. “C’mon. You’ve caused enough drama for one morning.”

You hesitate, eyes flitting to the Manor behind him. The looming walls, the endless expectations, the memories stitched into every corner.

Jason squeezes your hand gently.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises, eyes steady, blue and familiar. “I’ve got you.”

“. . . You’re not allowed to leave me again,” you mumble, voice raw.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

You kick at his boot, just enough to make him huff a little more. “Promise.”

His gaze flicks down to you, and there’s something fierce, something broken in the way he answers. “Promise.”

And you believe him. You have to.

Even if it’s not fair. Even if you still want to scream. Even if the ache never quite leaves.

You love them.

They’re terrible.

But they’re yours.

You don’t eat dinner with the rest. You don’t have the energy to push yourself into another room where their eyes would watch you like you’re some fragile puzzle they’re trying to solve. You don’t want to play at the table, pretend you belong there just yet.

The library is quiet, save for the low, steady crackle of the fire devouring its own weight in the hearth. Shadows climb the walls, curling over the spines of leather-bound books, tracing old portraits, creeping across the floorboards like they know this house better than anyone ever could. You don’t bother to look up when you hear the door open. You already know who it is.

The sketchbook rests on your lap, half-finished lines scrawled across the page—limbs bent in motion, a face tilted in anguish, the sharp angles of a cathedral stitched into human skin. You’ve been working on it for hours, your pencil dancing through the strokes like your hands know grief better than your head does.

Lines bleed from your fingers, chaotic and gentle all at once, spinning a face you can’t quite hold in your head, features that slip just as you start to form them. Maybe it’s Jason’s nose. Maybe it’s Bruce’s jaw. Maybe it’s no one.

Bruce says nothing as he crosses the room. His footsteps are quieter now than they were when you were a child. Lighter. Older. Worn thin by years of carrying everything and everyone but you.

You still don’t look up.

The cushion beside you shifts when he sits, the same space on the same old couch where he used to read to you, back when things were simpler. Back when you thought love came in the shape of bedtime stories and scraped knees bandaged with rough, clumsy hands.

A porcelain cup clicks gently against the coffee table. You glance at it, finally, the faintest twitch in your brow when you notice the color of the tea, the faint aroma curling toward you.

“Raspberry,” Bruce says quietly, settling back into his seat, eyes fixed on the fire. “Three sugar cubes.”

You stare at the cup, steam curling like ghosts into the dim light, and then at him. His jaw is sharp in the flicker of flames, his mouth set in that unreadable line. You don’t thank him.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence settles, heavy and familiar, stitched together with old tension and years of too much and not enough.

You sip the tea anyway. It’s perfect. Just how you’ve always taken it. It only makes you angrier.

Bruce leans his elbows onto his knees, watching the fire like it holds all the answers he never found in you. “You used to climb onto the piano bench before you could even walk properly,” he says, voice low, rough with memory. “Alfred was terrified you’d fall. But you never did.”

You don’t interrupt, fingers tightening around the sketchbook, pencil still clutched between them like a weapon.

“You’d sit there,” he continues, “banging on the keys with your little hands. No sense of melody. Just noise. But God, you looked… happy.”

Your jaw locks. You keep your eyes on the flames. Let him speak.

He exhales slowly, shoulders heavier than you remember them. “You always found ways to make your presence known.”

You laugh once, quiet and bitter. “Didn’t seem to work very well.”

You can feel his eyes on you, waiting, holding, but you keep your gaze fixed on the flame. You don’t want to see his face. You don’t want to see the weight he carries, because it’s the same one suffocating you.

“I do not forgive you,” you murmur, voice soft but sharp enough to draw blood. The fire crackles, swallowing the quiet like kindling.

His eyes don’t flinch. His mouth doesn’t twist. He just nods, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “I know.”

The admission sits heavy between you, thick as the smoke curling from the hearth.

For a long time, the only sound is the breathing of the house itself. Old beams creaking. The pop of burning wood. The distant hum of the world outside, too far removed from this broken little moment.

Bruce’s voice, when it comes again, is quieter. Almost lost to the flame. “Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?”

You blink, startled by the words. His eyes drift back to the fire. “Alfred said that,” he adds, lips curving faintly at the memory. “When you were a baby. You’d cry in my arms and quiet the second I’d hold you close. Clung to me like you never planned to let go.” His throat works. “I didn’t know then how much I’d… ruin that.”

You stare at the flames, but your mind drifts elsewhere—to the old halls of this house, to the forgotten rooms and creaking stairwells, to the years spent watching the people you love blaze bright for the world while you flickered, silent, unseen.

The halls, the rooms, the garden paths—they carry your shape, your scent, the laughter you left behind. But it’s not you who haunts them. It’s them who haunt you, the people, the memories, the versions of yourself that used to dream inside these walls.

You are not a house haunted by a ghost. You are a ghost haunted by a house.

Every corner of this place still echoes with pieces of you. The forgotten toys buried in the attic. The old recital photos tucked between bookshelves. The faint scratch on the bannister from your first Huntress grappling hook, never sanded out, never fixed.

And yet, it was never your home the same way it was theirs.

You breathe in deep, the warmth of the tea settling in your hands, doing little to thaw the cold buried deep in your chest.

“I’m tired,” you say at last, the words stripped bare of all the fight. “I’m so tired, Bruce.”

His eyes soften. His posture shifts, the wall of Batman faltering, the edges cracking just enough to let the father show through.

“You don’t have to stay,” he tells you quietly. “Not if it hurts you.”

You snort under your breath, shaking your head. “You all made that decision for me already.”

His jaw clenches. You don’t let him argue.

The fire burns, and the house breathes, and for a little while, you both just sit there, surrounded by everything unsaid.

“He was right,” Bruce adds, voice low, fractured at the edges. “Nothing in my life has… undone me the way you have.”

Your chest twists, breath catching, vision blurring faintly at the corners. But your expression doesn’t break. Not in front of him.

You sip your tea again, letting the warmth sting your throat, drowning the lump rising there.

The room stretches long with silence. The fire burns. The shadows breathe. The ghosts stay quiet, for now.

Neither of you apologize. Neither of you move. But for the first time in years, you sit in the same room, quiet together. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

For now, you let the halls remember you again.

For now, you let the ghost haunt its house.

You blink once, twice, before your lids drop against your cheeks — exhaustion pushing you into silence, into sleep, into the soft surrender of someone who trusted again.

In the flicker of the firelight, you drift. Eyelids flutter as you realize you’re curled on the sofa — the sketchbook clutched loosely, the fire dimming, the tea unmoved. Bruce’s silhouette stands guard in the shadows, and you breathe — finally — like you’re safe.

[ackermanrage]

ʟɪᴘꜱᴛɪᴄᴋ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ

levi ackerman x fem!reader warnings: none :) an: finally some levi fluff hehe~ i saw a fic like this a long time ago and decided to recreate it 😊

You stood near Levi’s desk, arms crossed and a teasing smirk on your lips as he finished adjusting the straps on his gear. The early morning light poured in through the window behind him, casting his office in an amber glow—warm enough to soften even the infamous scowl on his face.

“You’re triple-checking your harness like a rookie,” you said lightly.

“I don’t intend on dying because of a loose strap, brat.”

“You don’t intend on dying, period,” you corrected, walking over and gently pulling his cravat tighter around his neck. “Besides, you’ve got someone to come back to now.”

Levi’s eyes flickered up to meet yours. That intensity—the one only you ever got to see soften.

“I don’t need a reminder,” he said lowly.

You didn’t break eye contact. Instead, your fingers trailed from his cravat up to his cheek. His hands instinctively found your waist, steadying you, grounding both of you in that rare and quiet intimacy that existed only behind closed doors.

He glanced at you sideways. “What are you doing?”

“This,” you whispered, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

He sighed, as if he were already exhausted by your antics—but you didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed at his side.

“Are we really doing this right now?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured, lips grazing his jaw. “Before you go risking your life, I think you deserve a proper goodbye.”

Another kiss—lower this time, brushing the underside of his jaw.

Then one near his ear.

Then one just above his collarbone.

He shifted slightly, but still didn’t stop you. Maybe he didn’t want to.

“Don’t get carried away,” he muttered.

“You love it.”

“You’re leaving marks.”

You leaned in and said sweetly, “I'm not.”

Another kiss, slow and possessive, right at the side of his throat.

Levi let out a breath through his nose and fastened his cravat lazily over it. “You done?”

You tapped your chin in thought, then kissed his mouth once—quick and warm.

“Now I’m done.”

He adjusted his jacket, grabbed his gloves—but didn’t notice the trail of lipstick evidence decorating his pale skin.

You, of course, stayed completely quiet.

As he stepped toward the door, he glanced at you once more, his tone softer now.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

You gave a slow, coy smile. “Too late.”

---

The morning chill hadn’t yet burned off. The squad stood in a loose circle near the horses, the kind of barely-coordinated gathering that usually only happened when Levi hadn’t arrived yet.

Eren was yawning. Jean was pacing. Mikasa was already fully prepared and silently judging everyone else.

“Where the hell is he?” Jean muttered, shifting his weight. “Captain’s never late.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” Connie said, brows raised. “Or like, sleeping in.”

“Maybe a Titan ate him,” Sasha added helpfully, chewing on a hunk of bread.

Mikasa didn’t say anything, but her eyes were on the HQ building like a hawk.

Then—footsteps.

Levi emerged from HQ, striding toward them with his usual quiet confidence. Scouts jacket. Bladed gear. Blank expression. Standard-issue everything—

Except the very obvious lipstick mark on his left cheek.

And the one half-hidden under his jawline.

And the faint pink blur at the base of his neck, slightly covered by his scarf but still peeking out.

He didn’t notice.

But they did.

Hange blinked once.

Sasha choked on her bite.

Armin visibly froze, as if trying to compute a math equation that broke physics.

Jean stepped back like he’d seen a ghost.

“...What the fuck is that?” Jean muttered. “Does anyone else—? Am I losing it?”

“Wait—waitwaitwait,” Connie gasped, grabbing Armin’s arm. “Look at his face. Look at his face.”

“I am looking at his face,” Armin whispered. “There’s lipstick. There’s definitely lipstick.”

One mark near the edge of his jawline.

Another just under his ear.

A third on the side of his neck.

A faint smear on his collarbone, barely hidden by the cravat.

Hange turned, took one look at Levi, and let out a loud, delighted cackle. “HOLY SHIT.”

“Are those—?” Sasha started.

“Lipstick,” Mikasa confirmed, arms crossed.

Jean took a step back like he’d seen a ghost. “Who the hell kissed Levi Ackerman?”

Eren squinted. “That… that can’t be real. That’s Levi. He doesn’t—he doesn’t do kissing.”

“LOOK AT HIS FACE!” Jean barked, pointing. “Someone full-on made out with him before he got here!”

Moblit looked like he was glitching. “Did we enter a parallel universe?”

Levi stopped walking. His expression was blank, jaw tight, but he could feel all eight of them staring holes through him.

He considered just mounting his horse and leaving without a word.

But no.

Too late now.

“What,” he said flatly, “are you all gawking at?”

“Captain,” Armin started delicately, “you�� seem to be wearing… um…”

“Several very vibrant statements of affection,” Hange supplied. “In Rich Rosewood. Excellent shade, by the way.”

Levi glared. “Tch. It’s none of your business.”

“You’re covered in it,” Sasha said, voice an octave too high. “It’s everybody’s business now.”

“You’ve got kisses all over your damn face,” eren said, incredulous.

Levi frowned. “I do not.”

Mikasa reached into her pocket and whipped out a tiny compact mirror. “Check the evidence, sir.”

He looked into it.

Pause.

A longer pause.

His expression didn’t change—but his eyes did.

“…Shit.”

Connie exploded. “WHO KISSED YOU?!”

“No way this was just one kiss,” Sasha breathed. “This was like—a storm.”

Armin looked genuinely distressed. “Captain, are you in a relationship? Like—a real one?”

Hange’s grin stretched ear to ear. “Oh my god, it makes so much sense. You've been disappearing more. Staying late in meetings that mysteriously don’t involve any of us. That mysterious bruise on your neck last month. The weird good mood. This is huge.”

Levi adjusted his cravat again, this time higher, but it was far too late.

He considered lying. Brushing it off.

He sighed.

“I’m seeing someone,” he said, voice sharp as steel.

Sasha screamed.

Connie dropped to his knees. “THE WORLD ISN’T REAL.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Wait, wait. Who is it? Who could it possibly be?”

“It’s not your concern,” Levi said calmly, starting toward his horse.

“It absolutely is our concern!” Jean cried. “We’re invested now!”

“Are they in the Corps?” Armin asked, trying to keep the tone respectful. “You can just say yes or no. Blink twice.”

“No,” Levi replied. “But yes.”

Moblit whispered, “What does that even mean?”

“Are they hot?” connie asked.

Levi didn’t answer.

“Oh my god,” Hange murmured, looking skyward. “It’s y/n, isn’t it?”

Levi froze mid-step.

And that silence said everything.

Eren howled. “YOU’RE DATING HER?! SHE’S LIKE—THE COOLEST PERSON IN THE ENTIRE BRANCH!”

“She could punch all of us and I’d say thank you,” Sasha added.

Jean shook his head slowly. “I didn’t even think you liked people.”

“I don’t,” Levi muttered. “She’s an exception.”

Mikasa was quiet, but the smallest, faintest smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “She makes sense for you.”

Levi mounted his horse without further commentary.

Everyone watched him like he was a newly crowned deity.

“When did this happen?” Armin asked.

“None of your damn business.”

“Do you love her?” Sasha blurted.

Levi paused. “Irrelevant.”

“OH MY GOD YOU LOVE HER,” Jean screamed.

“Like. Deep,” Sasha whispered.

“You guys gonna get married or—?” Connie started.

“Enough,” Levi barked. “Anyone who brings this up on the mission gets left in the forest.”

Hange sang out. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Shut up.”

“You can’t stop us,” Connie said proudly. “This is the tea of the year.”

“Connie,” Levi deadpanned, “do you want a concussion?” "But you gotta admit captain, you're down bad." Eren said, smirking.

Levi turned around. But from the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly, the answer was clear.

And he still didn’t wipe off the lipstick.

©ackermanrage - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[a99jazzybean]

HIIIII! I just binge read your date everything fics and I love them! May i ask for yet another Chance fic, where y/n is familiar with g&g and used to play with their friends from time to time - using his dice of course! And... y/n used to kiss the piece for the "lucky shot", doesn't matter if it worked or not. So now, with Skylars help, y/n can speak with him and even play a session or two and it is so much fun! But she is completely oblivious to the fact that he remembers every time y/ns lips touched his dice-y form and each time he silently yearns for her lips to touch him once again... The rest is up to you, lots of love!

I love this prompt so much! Thank you for the request!

With a Taste of Your Lips...

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 4.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, ttrpg playing, making out, fondling an object?, cumming untouched kinda, smut

a/n: I might make a part 2 to this one, thoughts? Also, its got smut. No minors!

“You feel yourself growing weaker. The spell the lich cast on you drains your life force. All of your comrades are downed. You are their final hope.” Your GM stares you down, brow raised. “What would you like to do?”

Looking around the table you see all of your friends' faces are grim. All eyes are on you. Taking a look at the battlemap before you, your eyes widened. 

“Past the cliff, it’s the Abysmal Pit, correct?” You asked the GM. 

“Correct.”

“And anyone who falls in is erased from existence, right?

“Correct.”

“No!” Sam shouted. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t do it!”

You give her a solemn look, eyes filled with sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You pick up your red D20. “But you can’t stop me. I’m going for a grapple on the lich, then I’m dragging him over the edge with me.” 

A chorus of gasps erupts from your party members. Some are getting teary-eyed. 

Two years of a campaign filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and tears. This is how it ends. Perhaps it was destined to be. 

“Make your roll.” Your GM feels tears prick in their own eyes. Not knowing whether they want you to succeed on this or not. 

As is tradition on major rolls, you bring your trusty die to your lips. Pecking it softly, you pray that this works. 

“Lucky shot,” you hear Sam say under their breath. 

Cupping the die in your hands, you give a good shake. Then you release it onto the table. Everyone in the room is holding their breath as it rolls. Finally, it stops. Natural 20. 

Normally, the table would erupt with cheers. This time, it wasn’t proper to celebrate. 

“Prim,” your GM took in a shaky breath as he spoke your character’s name. Trying to hold back tears. “You muster up the final dregs of strength within you. Pulling yourself up with a groan. Everything hurts, but your mind has been made up. Pushing through it all, you start to run. Taking one final look at your fallen teammates. This is the last time you will see them. Tell me how this ends.” Their voice wavered. 

“As I run toward the lich, I let out a final ‘goodbye’. I grab it around the waist, then throw both of us off of the ledge. No matter what it does I keep ahold of it. It’s coming with me.” Your own eyes fill with tears. 

“As you fall, the lich tries to get you off of it, but to no avail. For a brief moment you can see a flash of its past humanity. Fear filling its face as it realizes the one thing that it tried to run from has finally arrived. Death in the shape of a half-elf rogue who risked it all to defeat it.”

Chance sighed dreamily, remembering your great sacrifice. Seemed like you frequently played characters that laid their life on the line. No wonder he was absolutely smitten.

While you weren’t able to see his personified form at the moment, he was able to see you. Back hunched over as you typed on Mac. The computer feeling pretty good about themselves as you cranked out your latest self-insert fanfic. What else were you supposed to do when an AI took over your job? 

Chance wasn’t able to see what you were writing, but could see Mac occasionally blush and chuckle at the words you were typing onto them. 

“Care to share?” He asked the computer. 

Mac glanced over at him, then back to one of the screens in front of them. 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. She’s kind of mortified that I’ve even read this stuff.” Mac turned back to read what you had just typed out, red blooming on their face. “Yeah, no. You don’t need to know about this.” 

Chance grumbled to himself. It didn’t feel fair that Mac got to see the sexiest innermost thoughts of yours. Actually, he was kind of jealous of many of your objects. Betty slept with you every night, witnessing the limited sexual exploits of yours. Johnny, he wouldn’t talk about it, too much of a gentleman. But the massage setting on his shower head? He might have alluded to activities you had accomplished with that. 

It was frustrating to say the least. Seeing how much better the other beings in the home got to know you intimately. All Chance wanted was a taste of that knowledge. 

He hoped you’d put your Dateviators back on again. Now that you had been able to see him, all he wanted was your attention. It didn’t help that you enthusiastically offered to play G&G with him. Only feeding into the ever-growing obsession with you. 

It didn’t start when you put those glasses on, no. It started when you came up with that damned tradition. Kissing the 20 side of his die body. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, really. But he felt it, every single time. It was special, something you only did when making a major roll. And you always picked him. Your “lucky shot” for your “lucky die”. 

The thing was, you hadn’t ended that tradition. When you began playing with Chance, you continued to make your lucky shots. Not realizing that although the personified version was sitting in front of you, Chance was still very much connected to the object he was. He would have you roll on something difficult, and as if it were instinct, you pressed your soft lips right on the20 side. Thankfully, Chance had been able to maintain his composure as you watched the die roll. However, it was beginning to become too much. 

Each press of your lips to the die had him falling for you harder and harder. 

With a sigh, you pushed away from your computer. Eyeing the die beside you with a smirk. Tapping on the desk, your gaze flitted over to your glasses. It had been a few hours since you had them on, couldn’t hurt to say hi to your office. And there might have been a specific object that held your affections.

“You know. I can feel you looking at me, right?” You teased the die before putting on the Dateviators. 

Chance’s face was ruddy when you looked at him, caught red handed. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he gave you an apologetic look.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at.” 

Now it was your turn to blush. The damned man always seemed to fluster you in such innocuous ways. Somehow always polite with his flirting. 

There were times he could be fairly forward, but he never pushed. It was sweet. 

Thinking about it, you could go for something sweet now. But nothing that was consumable. 

“Do you have a session prepped?” You asked.

Immediately, he perked up. A bright smile on his face complimented by an enthused flush. 

“Of course! Ever since you’ve come along, I’m like ten sessions ahead!” He leaned toward you, bouncing on his toes. 

“I’m glad that you’ve been so inspired. I love your stories.” You gave him a soft smile. 

His eyes widen, practically sparkling at your words.

“Y-you love my stories?” He held his hand to his heart, feeling the muscle pump faster at your compliment.

“Why do you think I want to play with you so often?” You pulled his die over with a finger, rolling it around. “I have a lot of fun with you.” 

“We could have more fun.” He raised a brow suggestively, looking over his glasses at you.

Red in the face, you waved him off with a giggle.

“Do you have time to play now?”

“I always have time for you.” 

You were sure you heard Timothy scoff somewhere in the distance. That was no matter though, for now you had the full attention of your favorite die. 

“Shall we play, then?” 

Chance nodded enthusiastically, then proceeded to get his GM station set up. When his screen and notes were all in place, he gave an approved nod. Looking up, he beamed at you again. Feeling his heart squeeze at the content smile on your face as you sat on the other end of the table from him. Oh how he wished to always keep you happy. He would play forever with you just to make sure that smile never fell from your lips. 

“Alright, where did we leave off?” He glanced over his notes.

“I managed to talk myself out of being eaten by a giant.” You had your own notes pulled out. 

Chance felt his heart swell again. You took notes! Oh, you truly were the perfect player. 

“That’s right! My charismatic girl!” He chuckled as your face grew red. 

He was glad that he managed to make you as flustered as you made him. Equal opportunity flirting to make the other squirm. Again, perfect. 

“You’ve gotten away from the giant, but you still have yet to find the gilded egg laying hen.” 

“Thankfully, you have quite the wise girl as well!” You let out a satisfied huff. “Can I make a perception check to see where the chicken is?” 

“You may.” He motioned for you to continue.

Shaking the die in your hands you urged it to roll well. 

“C’mon D20, show me what you’re made of!” 

You released the die, it clattered into your dice tray. After a moment of circling, it landed on a 16. 

“Nice! And that’s a plus four to my perception!” 

“Wonderful!” He cleared his throat, continuing his tale. “As you look around the foyer of the giant’s castle, you aren’t finding any indications of where a hen might be roosting. However, after a moment of hearing silence, there’s a new sound filtering down the hallway to the north.”

“What’s the sound?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“It’s soft harp music, almost dreamlike.” 

After your previous character died valiantly saving a village from a dragon, Chance asked if you would mind experimenting with a fairytale themed game. Of course, you agreed, excited to see what he would come up with. While some of the quests you have been on so far were a bit predictable, he had many twists and turns added in. 

Like Cinderella’s slipper turning out to be a baby mimic. When you had managed to aid the prince in finding his lost love, the mimic revealed itself, chomping down on her foot. However, she didn’t scream. It turned out, Cinderella’s ballgown had already consumed her and was using her head and limbs to blend in. The fairy godmother revealed herself as a demon looking to collect on the souls of the kingdom. All she needed was the prince to disappear so she could take his place. 

It was a lovely twist that ended with a fairly hard battle. Thankfully the prince that accompanied you turned out to be part of the bloodline of very powerful sorcerers, so he was able to aid in the defeat of the fairy godmother. 

The prince tried asking for your hand in marriage, but you had other adventures to go on. Instead, you left with a hefty amount of gold. A token of appreciation for saving the kingdom. The engagement ring hidden amongst the coins didn’t go unnoticed, Chance giving you a cheeky wink when he mentioned it. 

You had noticed the man had been throwing romance options at you throughout each of the fairy tales. Many of them were love stories, sure, but it seemed like he really wanted you to get with someone. Little Red Riding Hood, growing smitten with you after you saved her from the belly of a wolf. A huntsman asking for your hand after you aided him in saving the kingdom from a corrupt king. Snow White practically begged you to marry her after you turned out to be her “true love's kiss”. He was laying it on pretty thick, so to speak.  

Truthfully, the reason why you never accepted was because you wanted Chance to stop hiding his affections behind characters in your game. The two of you had constant flirty banter, but it felt like he could only speak through innuendo when hinting at wanting anything more. While it was endearing, it was starting to become tiring. 

Though admittedly, you were a coward too. It would be hypocritical to judge the man considering you couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything either. Instead, you sat in a flirtatious purgatory. Something that could be viewed as a comfortable platonic relationship, but in reality had very, very heavy overtones of desire. 

Neither you or Chance could be subtle. There were times where you could feel the hunger in his eyes as he ran your game. Usually when you did something quite clever. 

That time when you answered his Latin riddle? The man was very glad he had baggy pants on. 

Then there was you. Easily bending to his dominating whims when he was GMing. Something about him having that kind of authority over you often had you clenching your thighs and squirming in your chair. And don’t even get started on the villain monologues. He pulled one of those out, you left the gaming table with your panties soaked. Giving Betty quite the show when you couldn’t get to sleep. 

Back to your current game, Chance asked for your next move.

“I follow the sound of the harp.”

“You feel almost entranced at the music. Your steps pulling you to the north hallway. After about an hour of walking (remember, this is a GIANT’S castle) you made it to the room the music was coming from. Peering inside, you see a giant sitting on a bed. She appears to be much shorter than the one you first encountered, but still clearly a giant. You can tell she is related to the other giant, both sporting the same nose shape. The giant girl is playing the harp, her fingers delicately plucking at the strings. You look across from her and see what you’ve been looking for. A hen nestled in a nest of straw. Its body swaying side to side with the music. Below it you see a peek of gold. What would you like to do?”

“I’m not going to try and hide.”

Chance looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your blatant move.

“I handled the other giant with my words, I can easily do the same again.”

Oh, he loved your confidence. Your willingness to dive in despite the consequences. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end with your bones ground up to make bread. Quite the horrific way to depart this mortal realm.

“If you say so. You stride inside with confidence. Hyping yourself up from your previous encounter with a giant.” He rolled a die, giving a grimace. “The giant girl doesn’t appear to see you. She’s looking right at the hen, swaying side to side as she continues to play the harp.”

“I try to catch her attention by clearing my throat loudly.” 

“You clear your throat, and she stops playing. A sour look grows on her face as she looks for the source of the sound. Looking down, she finally spots you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a pout.”

“You know, it’s quite rude to interrupt a performance.” Chance put on the voice of a little girl, making you chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Chance, you know that wasn’t in-game.” You gave him a stern look. 

“I know, I’m just messin. Anyways… she looks at you, waiting for you to respond.”

“I apologize, your music is lovely.” 

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Well, I have some important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters? What’s important is that Bailey gets her proper rest.” Chance returns to his normal voice. “You follow her gaze to the hen in the nest.”

“Is Bailey your hen?” 

“Obviously!” The character voice returned. “And she won’t lay eggs unless I play for her.” 

“I see.” You ponder on that information for a moment, then ask. “Is the harp huge?”

“It’s giant, so is the hen.”

“Didn’t the asshole who hired me say he had been here before? Why send me up if there’s no way to bring the items down?” You huffed in frustration at the quest-giver.

“Who said there wasn’t a way to bring them down?” He clicked his tongue at you, admonishingly.

“Hmmm. I think I'll talk to the girl some more.” He motioned for you to continue. “I’m sure Bailey loves your music.”

“She does, she always lays an egg when I play! My daddy says I’m gettin just as good as my mama!” Chance goes back to narrating. “After she says that she goes quiet. Her eyes widening as if she’s just realized you were here. There’s a darkness in them that surprises you for a girl so young.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You bit your lip nervously.

“You’re a human. Humans aren’t allowed here!”

“Um, you’re dad let me go. At least I think it was your dad.” You give Chance a nervous glance.

“Roll on persuasion.”

Shaking the dice, you let it drop. Watching in fear as it lands on a three. Chance’s gaze grows dark.

“You only think you know? How can I know if you’re telling the truth?” Chance narrates again. “The giant girl stands up, towering high over you. A glare on her face as her eyes narrow. But you spot something odd, her eyes are watering.” The little girl voice is put back on. “All humans lie! I bet you’re no different!”

“I decide to stay quiet, letting her speak.” You say to Chance. Again, he’s surprised at your action.

“Your people killed my mom!” He switches back to normal. “You now see tears falling from her eyes. She’s going to reach for you.” He rolls a die, eyeing you expectantly. “Would you like to do anything to stop it?”

“No. I let her.” 

“A large hand grabs you with a crushing squeeze. You feel the air forced out of your body by the strong grip of her hand. She lifts you to her head.” He clears his throat, going back to the girl voice. “I should just eat you, show you how it feels.” He gives you another expectant look. “Are you going to try and do anything?”

“Nope. I’m gonna close my eyes and accept my fate.” 

Impressed, Chance sits back with his arms crossed. Pondering on what to do next. While you had managed to talk your way out of the last giant encounter, he thought you would at least try to fight your way out of this one. The giant child’s stat block was something that you could manage on your own. 

“Okay. I want you to roll persuasion, and I’ll be nice and give you advantage for what you’ve managed to do so far.”

Pumping your fist in the air, you reached for the die. This time, you brought the D20 to your lips, giving it a light peck. This was a roll that was gonna need it. 

“C’mon lucky shot, don’t let me down now.” 

The first roll landed on a 6. Again, you brought the die to your lips. The kiss to the dice slightly lingering, just for good luck. You shook it in your hand and released, crossing your fingers for a good roll. Slowly, it spun to land on a 20.

“Nat 20 babee! Let’s gooooo!” You stood up and cheered, your character saved.

Chance remained seated, face beet red. His breathing had become labored. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that you had kissed the die in succession. Something he could feel burning through his body. 

Coming down from your high, you realized Chance hadn’t continued. Turning, you gave him a concerned look. Walking over, you eyed the state he was in. Face still extremely flushed. 

“Are you okay?” You leaned toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I-I’m fine. We can continue!” He rubbed his neck nervously.

“Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

“What did you expect after kissing me like that!” He clamped his hands over his mouth, face turning another shade darker. 

“What? I didn’t kiss…” You looked over to the die, feeling a heat crawl up your neck. “C-can you feel that?”

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded. You realized you had been performing your luck ritual the entire time you had been playing with Chance. He could feel it. Every. Single. Time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You felt terrible, doing that to him without asking.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said softly.

“But then I kept making you uncomfortable! Kissing you without your consent, ugh. I’m so sorry, Chance.” You gave him a sad look that pierced his heart. That wasn’t what he meant at all!

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He composed himself somewhat.

“Huh?” 

“I might have liked it…” He trailed quietly. 

“What was that?” You couldn’t make out what he said.

“I like it!” He blurted. “I really like it when you kiss me.” His face grew red again as he waited for your response.

“Y-you do?” 

He nodded sheepishly. 

“Yeah. It feels… nice. Really nice.” He bit his lip nervously. “You’re always so soft and sweet.” 

“Oh.” Your face was burning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He gave you an apologetic look. 

“Chance…” This time you were nervous.

“Yes?” 

You leaned down toward his face. Arms planted on the headrest of his chair.

“Can I actually kiss you?”

“I-I mean technically you are ‘actually’ kissing me…” He stuttered out, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips.

You gave him an unamused pout.

“You know what I mean. How’s about this? Can I give you a reciprocated kiss? One that you also participate in?”

“Yes. Please.” 

With that, you pressed your lips to his. Chance froze up at first, eyes wide at the fact that this was happening. Leaning into the kiss, his eyes fluttered shut. You let out a content sigh at the feel of his lips against yours. Soft and plush, perfectly meldable with your own. 

With your tongue, you teased at his bottom lip. Gladly, he slightly opened his mouth for your tongues to intertwine. A low groan left him as he tasted you. So fucking perfect.

The man pushed the chair away from the table, letting you sink onto his lap. Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He moaned against you at the action. His own hands trailed over your body, mapping out your slopes and curves. Ultimately they landed on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. You giggled against his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

Face still flushed with kiss bitten lips and blown out pupils. He stared up at you like you were a goddess that was granting him a blessing. That was sure how this encounter was feeling. Something that he had only dreamed of. 

“You’re so handsome.” You pressed kisses against his jaw and down his throat, making him shiver. 

“And you’re beautiful. So perfect.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. 

Leaning your forehead against his, you smiled. Then an idea came to you. Biting your lip, you wondered if the man beneath you would oblige to your whims. 

“Chance…”

“Hmm?”

“When I kiss your die, where do you feel it?”

“Oh, um, I guess on my face? Like a whisper against my cheeks and the corner of my lips.” He let out an awkward chuckle. 

You shifted off of him to grab the die, then returned to his lap. Holding the die in front of you, you looked over the numbers.

“So what would happen if I kissed the other numbers?” You asked, gaze hungry.

Oh, oh, this was hot. So fucking hot. Chance thought just kissing you was a dream come true. You wanting more from him? That was merely a fantasy.

“I suppose I would feel you kissing me on other parts of my body.” He answered. Truthfully, he had no idea what would happen. You only ever kissed the 20.

“So if I kiss the one.” You brought the dice to your lips, pecking the side.

Chance giggled at the feeling. Right on the bottom of his foot. 

“I take it that was your foot?”

He nodded, excited to see where this was going. Already feeling himself growing semi-hard in his pants as  he watched you in anticipation.

You pressed a kiss to the five, eyeing Chance’s response. He twitched under you with a whimper. 

“Where was that?”

“My left thigh.” 

Okay, so if five was the left thigh then… you pressed a kiss to the six.

“R-right thigh.” He groaned out. Having your lips on him like this was something else. 

It was probably a good thing you never kissed the other numbers. He was sure you would make him cum from just kissing him alone. 

“So if six is your other thigh then that must mean seven or eight is likely your-”

“What if we avoided that area?” He cut you off, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Why’s that?” You leaned in, giving him a deep kiss.

“I-I just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Chance, would me kissing the dice equivalent of your crotch make you cum?” Wow, just right out with it. 

“Y-yeah, yeah. It would. I’m gonna be honest. With the way that you’re already going at it, I’d probably cum just from you kissing me.” 

“Really?” You sat upright, eyes sparkling. 

He nodded, blushing furiously. 

“Could we try it?” You bit your lip. 

The thought of having the man fall apart just from you kissing him had you riled up. You could feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. Seeing him squirm from your kisses before coming undone. Oh, that was very appealing. 

“You want to?” He was surprised.

“Yeah, I do. Only if you want to.” 

“You don’t have to ask twice.” He wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled with each other as you moaned. 

Pulling away, you brought the dice back up to your face. Eyeing the numbers, you decided to go for the 19. You gave it a slow kiss, watching Chance as he shivered and moaned. The feeling reached a sweet spot on his neck that had him keening. He was pretty sure he was addicted to your lips now. 

You continued to press kisses to various numbers. Loving every whimper and moan you managed to get out of the man. Occasionally you would lean back in to give him a proper kiss on the lips, only to return to tease him with the die. 

Chance could tell you were avoiding the seven and eight. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“P-please.” He groaned through gritted teeth as he felt your lips on his chest. “I need you…”

“Need me to what?” You teased with a smirk.

“Kiss the seven and eight. Please.” He begged, squirming beneath you.

“Hmm. Good boy.” Oh fuck. That had his dick throbbing. 

Slowly, you brought the die to your lips. You pecked all over it, then finally pressed a kiss to the seven. Chance cried out at the feeling. Your lips right where he needed them. Feeling them press against his throbbing length. He was sure the next one would be the last he needed. You gave another slow kiss to the eight. It was his undoing. Cock twitching in his pants, releasing a sticky load into his boxers. His hands gripped at your hips as he rutted against the feeling of your lips. 

“Oh f-fuck.” He stuttered out. 

You pressed your lips to his, then kissed all over his face. The man melting into your affection. 

“How was that?” You asked softly.

“Amazing. Perfect. Wonderful. Perfect. Did I mention perfect?” He chuckled.

“I’m glad I could give you that.” You picked up the die again, giving it a peck on the 20. 

“Guess I’ll be keeping my lucky shot tradition for our other games.” You gave him a sweet smile. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Chance pulled you back to him, “did you think playtime was over?”

[rhaenicette]

۶ৎ EREN hasn’t said a word since you both got in the car.

it was painfully quiet—you both would agree. no one dared to speak, and to make things even worse; the aux wasn’t even on.

it all started when he took you on one of his rides—to go deliver weed to one of his new clients.

eren had a black tracksuit on, with your favourite cuban link hung around his neck. his hair was tied into a man-bun with loose pieces framing his face.

and you? you were beautiful as ever. your hair was laid and so were your edges, your skin was shiny and the one piece you had on showed all the thickness you carried.

the client was nice, for sure.

handsome? of course. his own hair was buzzed and his eyes were half-lidded—the type of look that gets you weak in the knees.

but was he—in any way—eren’s competition? hell no.

but the client did speak to you. and as did you. you both exchanged in good yet short conversation (mainly because eren ended the meeting quickly) and you found him to be interesting.

again, was he eren’s competition?

HELL no.

so why was eren mad, do you ask?

it was because of the way you smiled at the client. how you cocked your head to the side—the way he liked.

it was how you threw your head back and told the client “you too funny!” as you laughed.

eren should be the only funny man in your life.

it was how you laughed shyly every-time the man said something. (you only laughed once)

it was because you looked too fucking good. too good for his liking.

the ride home felt like years. you didn’t know how audible your sigh was when you finally saw you and eren’s home from the driveway.

eren parked outside your home so fast the brakes nearly squealed.

he got out the car swiftly, slamming his car door shut hard. he walked over to your side, opening your door without saying a word, closing it after you hopped out.

you trailed behind slow, trying to keep your expression cute.

but you loved the way he looked and acted when he was angry. how his jaw clenched and his eyes half-lidded and red. you loved poking at him, testing the waters.

you couldn’t help but clench your thighs together when you both entered your shared room.

still, eren hasn’t said a word.

he didn’t take his clothes off—he didn’t need to, they were already clean—and neither did you.

you sat on your large bed, waiting—anticipating on how this would go.

on how fucked you’d be.

and lord, did you underestimate it.

now, you’re on your stomach. your face is in your pink satin pillows and your thick and plump ass is in the air. your eyes were rolling. ass recoiling and body jerking after every nasty and rough snap of eren’s hips behind you.

that one piece you wore? eren damn near ripped it off of you (with the angry promise of him buying you 5 more)

eren’s thrusts are mean, enough to make you feel like he’s in your lungs.

he’s nasty, messy—girthy ‘n so full—you can’t even articulate proper sentences without breaking out into a pathetic whimper or moan.

his fingers dig into your plush hips and his brows are furrowed. the noises he’s making is almost pitiful.

“thought that shit was funny? smiling all in dude face like i ain’t t-there?” he’s breathless, his moans begin to come out high-pitched.

you cry out, try to shake your head, but your body jolts with every hard stroke.

“use ya words, mami.”

a broken moan slips from your lips as you attempt to speak. “i—i w-wasn’t tryna—mmph!”

“nah,” eren shook his head, nipping his bottom lip slightly. “you really hurt me, ma. thought i was the one f’you,”

you’re babbling like a bunny, “y-you are—oooh fffuck—the o-one f’me!”

eren laughs. sick and low. “yeaaahh, i know.”

you were wrecked. your pussy was wrecked. soaked, creamy, stretched wide around his thick, curved dick—he was so big, so full, he had your sappy walls hugging him like they didn’t wanna let go.

and you were taking it so good.

that heavy weight slapping your cheeks, dragging along your walls, stretching your sweet pussy so wide it left you looking pathetic.

“uhhhhnn f-fuck, ‘ren—eren wait—!” you tried to crawl forward.

but it was no use—eren grabbed your hips and slammed you back down.

“fuck you think you goin?”

now, he was deep. his mean ‘n angry head was pressing against your cervix.

“i said i was done, ma?”

you shook your head like a dumb bunny as you cried out. and you were dripping and sooo sweet eren had to control himself from nutting so quickly.

so warm. so sweet. creamy strings connected your thighs and his dick every time he pulled back.

and your tummy was bulging with every stroke. that soft brown stomach, plush and sensitive, jumped each time his hips hit home.

“o-oohh ffuckkk,” eren groaned high behind you.

his head fell back. his loosely-tied manbun growing weaker each stroke. a few long strands of hair stuck to his sweaty cheek.

“s-shit—this—hah!—fuckin’ pussy…” he moaned. “you tryna make me nut already, baby? that’s how you feel?”

you couldn’t answer. you were damn near going dumb on him. brain foggy. words were gone.

all that left your mouth were slurred moans and glistening gasps.

“uhhnn—mmf—feels sooo good, fffuck i c-can’t—i’m—”

your thick thighs were quivering. your ass was bouncing wildly with every thrust, soft and jiggly and covered in that beautiful cellulite he couldn’t get enough of. your titties were bouncing underneath you. every time he bottomed out, they pounced like they were gonna slap your own chest.

eren caught sight of that when he cocked his head—and the sight broke him.

“fffuckin’ g-gorgeous, mama—and s’aaalll f’me.” he gritted.

he pulled your hair tighter. bent over your back. “sound sooo pretty, too. y’hear yourself, ma?”

you were wailing now. back arching. arms weak. eyes glassy behind your glasses.

you were so right and so beautiful—eren already forgot what he was angry about.

“‘rennn—‘ren m’gonna—ffuck—cum again, please—c-can’t hold it, m’nutting!—”

“uh huhhh?” he moaned pathetically, snapping his hops even harder.

“do it f’me, ma—” he hissed, lips at your neck. “cum aaalll over me, baby. want this—mmh—pussy to milk me.”

and you did. white-hot pleasure took over your body. your moans grew louder as your sweet walls clenched around him.

“o-oooh shitt, ‘ren—m’nutttttingggg!”

a creamy ring formed around his shaft after many rounds. but he still wanted more. he wanted you.

eren pulled you up by your hair and bent you back against his chest.

“yeahhh,” he groaned low, mouth against your ear,

“there go my fuckin’ girl.”

ooohhh hellcat eren come play in these sheets <33

[misctf]

The Summer Break Curse

Grant sighed as he sat at the edge of his bed, his handsome features captured in the mirror in front of him. His graduation cap and gown thrown aside. His senior year finally over... summer right around the corner... His heart pounding in his chest. Today was the day- as it had been each year for the past few years. His mind raced as he thought back to that day...

____________

"No rest shall come with June’s bright light, No freedom found in summer’s night. While others laugh in pools and shade, You’ll count the hours, underpaid."

When Grant first read the lines to the strange poem he found stuffed into his gym bag four years prior, he laughed it off. Where the fuck had it come from? And who the fuck put it there? Grant decided not to think much of it. After all, he was looking forward to his first summer break. Freshman year had been a wild ride- a roller coaster of an adventure. Work-outs, frat parties, hot chicks... his older brothers were right when they said college would be life changing. And with a calendar full of beach trips, bonfires, and workouts planned, Grant didn't have time to bother deciphering the strange message.

But whether he thought about it much or not, he wouldn't have a choice but to confront it. The night before his planned vacation to Miami, Grant was busy packing. Tank-tops, shorts, even a speedo were thrown haphazardly into his travel bag. Grant's fingers curled around another tank top, yanking it free from the dresser drawer, as he shoved it carelessly inside his duffel bag. His biceps flexed beneath sun-kissed skin - toned muscles honed from countless push-ups and football practice. Grant ran his hands over his defined abs, a smirk playing at his lips as he patted down his six-pack. Summer bod was in peak condition.

As Grant stood there admiring his physique, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the dresser. What the hell? He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. That's when he noticed it. His hands. They were... changing. His slender fingers began to thicken, growing meatier and more calloused. Dark hairs sprouted across the backs of his hands, spreading up his wrists and forearms. Grant watched in horror as his biceps doubled in size, filling with muscle and fat.

"Holy shit..." Grant breathed, his voice already sounding deeper than before.

The changes didn't stop at his arms. Grant felt a tightness in his chest, a pressure building behind his sternum. He looked down to see his pecs expanding initially with muscle, then sagging with fat. A thick mat of itchy, dark fur spreading across his pectorals and abdomen, gradually covering more and more of his torso.

"Oh god, oh fuck..." Grant groaned, his voice now a deep, gravelly rumble.

Grant's stomach began to swell, pushing outwards and upwards. His washboard abs softened and disappeared beneath a layer of pudgy flesh. Soon, a proper beer gut hung over his groin, swaying slightly with each labored breath. He grabbed a fistful of his flabby abdomen- his hands sinking into the doughy flesh... rubbing against his new fur. Grant recoiled- sickened by these sensations. This wasn't him... this would never be him...

But no thought could stop it... Grant's thighs thickened, becoming powerful and tree-trunk like. His calves bulged with new muscle, his feet growing larger to accommodate his expanding frame. Even his ass was getting bigger, the cheeks spreading wider and softer. But the most shocking change happened between his legs. Grant watched in disbelief as his cock shrunk up and fattened up. His pubic hair grew thicker and wilder, soon forming a dense forest around his new chode.

"Jesus Christ," Grant wheezed, running a hand over his newly hairy body, "What the fuck is happening to me?" 

Grant stared at his new self in the mirror, taking in every detail of his transformation. Gone was the fit, toned college stud. In his place stood a hairy, overweight bear of a man in his mid-30s. His face had changed too - more weathered skin, stubble darkening his cheeks and neck, eyes dull...

And suddenly, he could only watch helplessly as his hands moved on autopilot, rummaging through drawers and tossing clothes onto the bed.

"Wh-what the fuck..." Grant stammered mentally, his physical form seemingly acting of its own accord.

Without waiting for input, the bear-like version of him tugged on a stained white t-shirt, stretching the fabric taut over his soft belly and hairy chest. Then came faded jeans, ones that looked like they'd seen far too many days mowing lawns and edging sidewalks. Shoes, socks, a cap emblazoned with some garden center logo.

The newly transformed Grant lumbered out to the garage. He slid into the driver's seat of his car, the leather creaking under his substantial weight. As he reached for the ignition, memories not his own started flooding his mind. Summer after summer of maintaining the sprawling college campus. The smell of freshly cut grass, the burn of the sun on his neck. Sweat-soaked shirts clinging to his hairy back as he pushed a mower or trimmed hedges.

"I'm...I'm the fucking summer groundskeeper?" Grant thought in shock and revulsion, watching his hands start the car and shift into reverse, "No, no, this can't be happening!"

That first summer passed in a haze of sweaty, grueling labor for the trapped Grant. He spent his days trudging around the green spaces, pushing a mower in the blistering heat. Trimming hedges, pulling weeds. His hands were rough and calloused within weeks, dirt permanently etched under his nails. His hairy arms ached as he pushed the mower, sweat pouring down his equally hairy back. The days blurred - rise at dawn, spend twelve plus hours bent over or lifting in the oppressive heat, then collapse into bed. No more lounging poolside, sipping cold beers with buddies. No summer spent partying or lounging at the beach. Even the evenings brought no relief. He quickly discovered more than he wanted to know about the groundskeeper. Each night, he'd watch as the man pulled up gay porno sites - always beefy, hairy guys. Grant recoiled internally each time the groundskeeper wrapped a callused paw around his chubby dicklet, fapping desperately. But soon, the feeling overwhelmed even his mind and he basked in the pleasure of their shared release.

And as summer finally drew to a close, the spell lifted as abruptly as it had taken hold. Grant woke up one morning back in his own dorm room, his muscular, well-groomed college athlete body restored. Relief crashed over him, tears pricking his eyes as he confirmed every inch of himself was normal again. He stumbled through the first week of classes in a daze, avoiding his friends' concerned questions about his disappearance. How could he possibly explain it? Grant smiled weakly as he walked into the dining hall, nodding along as his buddies ribbed him about his absence. Inside though, panic and confusion reigned. But with the start of sophomore year, he was ready to try and leave it all behind...

But Grant couldn't escape his fate. As each spring semester ended, the cycle repeated with grim predictability. The night before summer began, that sick dread would grip him, the magic of the transformation bubbling beneath his skin. He'd watch helplessly as he contorted and reshaped into that familiar form - the sight of that bulky, hairy older man would fill his mirror. The summers bled together - long days sweltering in the sun, pushing a mower, trimming and pruning in a cycle he couldn't break. Every sunset brought that shameful solitary ritual, the slick glide of palm against his shaft, until release. All those glorious summer plans - beach weeks, festival lineups, internships - fell away unfilled, abandoned. Only to return to his athletic form and his life as a college student on the first day of fall classes...

__________________

And so here he was. The night of his graduation. Heart still pounding in his chest. He begged, pleaded silently... Surely, graduating would be enough to break whatever strange enchantment had held him captive these past summers. He was done with college, moving on to the next chapter of his life. Graduation parties, a beach trip... after years of missing out, he could only hope.

Grant closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as he waited for the inevitable. The seconds stretched into minutes, the minutes into hours. Nothing happened. He opened one eye cautiously when the clock struck midnight. And the tension drained from his body. Tentatively, he ran his hands over his arms and chest, marveling at the firm muscles and smooth skin. No unwanted hair, no softening belly, no aches from a day's hard labor. He was finally, completely himself again.

"It's over..." He whispered with a small chuckle, "Fuck yeah, it's over..."

Elation filled him, tears of joy threatened to fall. He grabbed his phone to text his friends about their summer plans.

Ding

His heart stopped. An email from the university. Subject line: "Congratulations." Probably just a follow-up from graduation. He opened it, eyes scanning the email rapidly. His smile faltered, brow furrowing in confusion. He scrolled back up, rereading over and over, barely registering the tingling spreading through his body.

"But, this doesn't...no..." His eyes kept scanning the email.

An official job offer... A full-time, permanent position as a year-round groundskeeper. They praised his dedication and hard work over the past few summers. He felt mocked... he felt sick... The curse...it wasn't broken at all. It was...

"AAHHH! FUCK!!!" Grant cried out, dropping his phone as a searing, electric tingling exploded across his skin.

This time, the transformation felt different - raw, primal, overwhelming. Yet it was different than before... slower, more deliberate and intimate. Each change seemed amplified, the sensations more vivid and real. Hair sprouted from his pores, coarse and wiry, spreading in an ever-widening patchwork across his body. Grant's eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners as he felt the inexorable changes overtake his body. His muscles swelled and hardened, growing denser and more pronounced. Biceps bulged, shoulders broadened, chest expanded. But it wasn't the lean, sculpted physique of an athlete. This was the heavy, solid build of a laborer, all power and no finesse. His abdomen rounded out, softening into a paunch that continued to grow into a respectable gut. His ass growing wider and softer. Thighs thickened, calves beefed up. His cock, now nestled in a thick thatch of wiry curls, shrank as it fattened up. Even with his eyes closed, he knew what he was becoming. And deep down he knew now this was no fleeting summer curse. This was finality, inevitability. The magic saturating his cells promised that he would never again return to his former self.

Tears streamed down Grant's face as the transformation reached its climax, his body now fully remade. He knew what came next... Grant braced himself, expecting to find himself imprisoned in his own mind once more, a silent observer to the groundskeeper's simple existence. He shuddered at the thought of reliving those endless summer days - the backbreaking labor, the loneliness, the shameful solo nights spent with gay porn. As the initial shock subsided, Grant tentatively tried to move, to assert control. To his surprise and horror, his body obeyed without hesitation. When he wanted to stand, it rose easily, joints creaking. When he took a step, it carried him forward purposefully. There was no disconnect, no division between his consciousness and the physical form housing it.

As the realization crashed over him, Grant staggered, his new body trembling. And then he felt it. Unfamiliar yet somehow comforting sensations and thoughts flood his mind. The aches in his muscles from a hard day's work, the satisfaction of a job well done, the simple pleasure of a cold beer after mowing the lawns. And to his shock, Grant realized he craved it. Wanted it. Loved it. The brute strength in his arms, the hairy expanse of his chest, the heavy thud of his footsteps. Even the lonely nights spent pleasuring himself to the sights of other hairy, muscular men. It all called to him now, felt like coming home. The sheer horror and cognitive dissonance proved too much for Grant to handle. Grant's mind simply shut down. His knees buckled, vision tunneling. With a choked sob, he collapsed backwards onto the bed and in that moment between wakefulness and oblivion, one final, terrifying thought crystallized in his fading awareness: this was his reality now. The groundskeeper's life, the groundskeeper's body, the groundskeeper's desires. They were his. Grant, as he had known himself, was gone. Forever.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, rousing Grant from his unconscious state. For a brief moment, confusion clouded his mind as he took in the expanse of his hairy chest and gut, and felt the weight of his changed body. But as awareness returned, so too did the comfortable sensations and thoughts that had flooded him the night before. Rising from the bed with a contented groan, Grant stretched his hairy, bulky arms above his head, savoring the pull of his powerful new physique and the smell of his ripe pits.

With a groan, he reached for his phone, clicking open a familiar app. Videos of burly, hairy men soon played, and Grant lost himself as his burly hand wrapped around his chub, stroking lazily as he drank in the erotic sights as he'd done many times before. Any feelings of strangeness melted away, replaced by pure, uncomplicated arousal and contentment. As he finished with a guttural moan, any lingering doubts melted away, replaced by pure, guilty pleasure. He quickly cleaned up with a damp rag, then dressed in dirty jeans and a wife-beater. And so began another routine day in the fulfilling life of the college groundskeeper, living and loving every minute as his new nature demanded.

[archangeldyke-all]

Papa me want more movie (paramedic sevika) 😞

okay baby here comes the airplane vrooom

men and minors dni

sevika is very protective of her ambulance.

unless you're her patient and she's in the back to treat you, sevika's usually the one driving the rig to the hospital.

it's her baby. when she's not working, silco's the other paramedic driving it. the two of them are precious about the truck, like it's a living creature. they text each other updates during their shifts; if they filled it with gas, when the last stock up was, if the brakes have been sounding squeaky, stuff like that. like it's their baby they're co-parenting, or something.

before she met you, her phone lock screen was just a picture of the ambulance under a sunset. she's such a dork.

so you know sevika's lost her mind when she shows up to pick you up from work in the ambulance.

"sevika. what the fuck." you laugh as she leads you to the giant red truck. she giggles and shrugs.

"gotta take the old gal in to get her oil changed, figured i'd treat my girl to a spin around the block."

"and i'm i the old gal or the girl, in this situation?" you ask. sevika grins and pops open the passenger's side door for you.

it's surprisingly boring in the front seat. granted you've only ever ridden in the back under the influence of pain and drugs but you expected something a little more high tech than this.

"not even a gps?" you ask as sevika jumps in beside you, starting the rig up with a loud sputter from the engine. she snorts.

"what do i need a gps for? i've got the city streets memorized up here." she taps her forehead. "seatbelt." she demands.

god, she's sexy. that big brain of hers-- memorizing every street. you dart out of the passenger seat, ignoring sevika's squawks of protest to press a kiss to her cheek.

that shuts her up pretty quick. she's smiling all shy when you sit back down in your seat and pull on your seatbelt. you giggle, and she shoots you a glare.

"no funny buisness." she grunts. you giggle.

"then why's there a bed in the back?" you tease. sevika glares at you again.

"it's called a gurney, and silco will kill me if i'm late gettin' the rig to the shop."

"doesn't the department send you a replacement rig while yours is getting fixed?" you ask. she nods.

"yeah, but it's hard to find a truck as driveable and reliable as vivian."

"vivian!?" you cackle. "she's got a name?!"

"it was the sexiest name me and silco could come up with." sevika chuckles. "ran wanted it to be 'ruby' but that was way too obvious."

"you think the truck's sexy!?" you cackle. sevika glares at you again.

"baby. you better watch your tone. this is my rig you're talking about. she's been in my life much longer than you."

"oh my god, i can't believe i'm jealous of a truck right now."

"you don't need to be jealous, i'm not fucking the truck."

"you called it sexy!"

"when a vehicle this big can go from twenty to ninety miles an hour in ten seconds, stop on a dime, and carry as much life saving medicine as vivian does-- that's sexy!"

"you hit ninety?!" you screech. sevika cringes, knowing she's in the dog house now. you absolutely despise hearing about how she drives in this truck.

"no-- just-- hypothetically." she mutters, her eyes suspiciously glued to the road. you chuckle and reach over the center console-- where your favorite iced beverage is waiting for you beside sevika's pina colada slushie-- and grab her hand.

"vivian's... beautiful." you try, not sure what a proper compliment for a truck is. "she's a great ambulance. she drove you into my life. she's given me several rides to the hospital. she's protected you every day you work. i'm glad you have her in your life."

sevika smiles sweetly and drags your knuckles to her lips, kissing your hand sweetly. the action makes you feel all fuzzy and warm.

it's quiet for several moments as sevika eases to a stop at a red light, but when she's still she finally turns to study you. "what're you thinking about?"

"i don't think i've ever gone ninety before." you admit.

something about the lack of judgement in your voice has sevika cocking a curious eyebrow at you.

"do you... wanna feel it?" she asks with a mischevious smile.

you gulp. if there's one person in your life you trust to drive a truck going that fucking fast you suppose it's sevika.

sevika's smile is only growing as she watches your nervous excitement.

"we are running late to the rig shop. had to stop for our drinks before hand... we could flick the sirens on... get there on time?" sevika offers, goading you.

you groan and shake your head in shame. "uuugh. okay, fine, but--"

you're cut off by sevika blaring on the horn and flicking on the loud sirens. in front of you, cars merge to make a path for her, and before you can even find something to hold onto sevika's slamming on the gas and taking off.

you squeal. sevika giggles. she's got a bit of a show off smile, but mostly she's focused. on the dashboard, on the road, on the oncoming traffic-- making sure everyone's stopped for her, swerving around assholes who aren't. you realize that if sevika hadn't become a paramedic she could've found a lucrative career in formula 1 racing.

"this is only fifty, drama queen." sevika laughs. you flip her off from the passenger's seat. she hits a turn and you squeal-- and then she's on the freeway, and the city is speeding past you.

"we're so fast!" you giggle. sevika grins.

"soak it up babe, next exit is ours." she laughs.

for just one moment you let go of your fear and let yourself feel exhilarated. sevika's a loon, and she's the love of your life, and you're giggling like a dizzy kid as she speeds down the exit ramp.

"oh, shit!" you gasp as sevika comes to a hard, fast stop at the bottom of the hill, the tires squealing as you somehow manage to stop for the red light.

sevika flicks the sirens off, turns on her turn signal, then turns to grin at you. you cackle.

"you're insane. you do that all the fucking time, don't you?" you ask. she giggles and shrugs.

"i get paid like shit to get shat on all day, i gotta find my perks somewhere. vivian's pretty fuckin' cool, huh?"

you cackle and nod. "she's fucking awesome." you say, admiring sevika's proud little smile. but you're not talking about the truck at all.

taglist!

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taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @runawaybaby3 @vikasfemme @lesbones

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[janluxe]

WET DREAMS — CALEB/XIA YIZHOU

–summary; what has him all hot and bothered?

–contents; fluff, smut (mdni), tiny bit of angst

Some consider insanity to be the process of trying the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. But have they ever felt unseen by the world and trapped in their own wordly vessel?

There wasn't even a fleeting moment of peace in his mind – always filled to the brim and preoccupied with tasks and responsibilities placed upon him. And yet, he worried more about your safety and well-being more than he did for his own, considering he had been protecting you ever since he could remember himself, blaming it on the supposed sibling relationship until he got older.

Figuring out feelings is more difficult than what people are prepared to give credit for. He always remembers being physically exhausted from what he had to endure each day, yet when his eyes finally fluttered shut he was haunted by his thoughts, thoughts he shouldn't have while you're one room away.

After some time of observing him, you had started noticing subtle patterns in the way he slept. You watched the way his chest rose and fell with each breath he took. He looked so peaceful. Caleb's only motion was his hand moving slowly toward his face, running his slender fingers through his dark hair and brushing it out of his face. A rush of hope used to ripple through you – maybe his nightmares had come to a halt for the night. Or so you thought every time.

Today was one of the days you could hear him from the room he had given you. Caleb had changed after the explosion, he was no longer the innocent boy you once found comfort and security in – not the same boy you held a grudge on because he did not make time to play with you or hand you over sweet treats behind Gran's back. No, he was the Colonel of the Farspace fleet now. He had to leave his old self behind if he wanted to fit into that role.

The worst part was, seeing an unrecognizable version of him, and still, all you could hear were the same faint whines that escaped from your childhood friend and bounced off the walls each time he fell unconscious while you tried to soothe him.

It was different this time. Something felt off, and that sensation rotted in your gut.

He had fallen asleep in the room he had settled for. Caleb's room was spacious with his queen sized bed, minimally decorated and colored in his own personal touch and, above all, cozy. Despite his preferences, he was willing to switch bedrooms the moment you expressed your fondness for him.

Your hand rested on the doorknob, tapping the smooth material underneath your fingertips to distract your mind from the current dilemma you had found yourself tangled in. Was invading his privacy proper under these circumstances? –What if he was doing something else– But then again, what were you to do while he was audibly struggling not so far away from where you were standing?

The door clicked open by a slight push of your hand, swaying enough to give you space to slip into the room.

The sight of him, while experiencing a disturbing dream, was something you were grown used to, unfortunately. His fingers clutched onto the soft material of the blanket he had pulled over himself.

However, his expression didn't have the same fear and despair it had written all over it like it did in the past. You sat by his side, careful not to startle him further, studying his mannerisms and every small shift in his attitude in an attempt to decipher what his dream was about.

After a few moments of silence you realized how much of a bad idea was to enter his room, his harsh breaths fading into desperate whines – his hand clenched onto the blanket, before it brushed against your skin. Caleb had always been a light sleeper, plus his position in the aerospace added more to that trait of his. And this time, the coldness of your fingers on his hand was what stirred him awake.

His forearm rested over his eyes, an audible groan escaping him as he struggled to adjust to the moonlight, blinding him through the window.

“What are you doing here, pipsqueak?” Caleb began, taking his arm off of his face so he could check the time on the bright screen of the digital clock placed atop his nightstand. A major part of him was concerned that you were up and about at this hour. His voice was different from what you were used to, as it came out groggy and rough with sleep.

Taking a mental note of your facial expression upon hearing him speak, he cleared his throat, “missed me already?”

His hand enveloping yours was a sensation worth memorizing and reminiscing about later on in the future - the way his thumb glided over the bruised skin on your knuckles, lifting it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss on them right after. He wanted to make sure that you knew how much he cared, even if he couldn't quite put it into words.

You didn't hesitate when it came to his touch. He was warm compared to the silk textile of the nightgown he had bought for you a few days prior, it clung perfectly on your frame - if anything, Caleb has your measurements engraved in the back of his mind. The material was smooth, comfortable yet the only downside of it was the inability to maintain your body temperature.

The goosebumps on your skin didn't go unnoticed. Caleb slipped the blanket covering his body on yours instead the very moment he took note of a suppressed shiver rushing through you. You cherished the comfort that came with the soft fabric and his cologne staining it. Reality seemed to disappear, even for a moment, before your eyes started studying his frame; spread out right in front of you, shirt hitching up his hipbone and a bulge straining his pyjama pants.

You blinked a few times – that explains everything, his restlessness, his messed up breathing pattern and his noises weren't because of a nightmare, oh god – “I should head back to my room…and you should rest.” A quick excuse left your lips faster than you anticipated. Maybe he wouldn't doubt your very believable excuse.

Unfortunately for you, his eyes never left yours, and the way he was gazing at you was like a bucket of cold water in the face.

“Please stay.”

The whiny tone lacing his voice already had you reconsidering your decisions, but the way he tugged on the hem of your shirt as soon as you stood up from his bed was a whole different thing.

Caleb had become very well aware of how his gaze resembled one of a desperate puppy, all thanks to you reminding him of it at the most inconvenient times, like when he was on duty with you on the other side of the line, or when he was a little too full of himself.

However, after so much teasing, he had grown accustomed to it. Here he was now – the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, lilac eyes staring up at you, just like a lost puppy desperate for affection.

It was comical, really. The way his usually sharp gaze softened, lips apart and ready to beg for your attention instead of command and all of this because of a dream.

"What did you even dream about that got you this messed up?" You questioned, with no hesitation whatsoever. It was too late to filter any thoughts or to rethink the correct way to phrase sentences. Your hand remained on top of his watching as his expression changed.

Caleb's hand shifted, leaving yours as he moved them to rest on the bones of your hips, slowly drawing you in and hoping you'd follow along. "Let me show you, pipsqueak." He murmured as if his offer was only for you to hear.

Before you was the Caleb you had grown up knowing your whole life. Always a teasing attitude and a playful glint hiding in the lilac coloured irises that you had always adored the most. He kept them fixated on you as he guided your legs to sink into the mattress on either side of his chest; his arms remaining behind your knees while his fingers massaged the soft flesh of your thighs.

His face almost looked ethereal beneath you, like a sculpture made to honor a God. A statue so carefully chiseled down to the finest details by the best of the best, capturing every playful intention and liveliness by using the brightest colors on their palette.

Not able to help the redness giving away just how flustered you had gotten over this gesture, you tried to play it off by playing dumb, "Are we about to cuddle?" – Okay maybe it was a stupid question, but it worked, didn't it? Caleb's low chuckle escaping his throat echoed in the room.

"Later? Sure." He had a habit of scoffing every time you came up with an idiotic excuse or an unreasonable question, "But I haven't finished my description yet." Caleb was a trained pilot, trained to make quick work of things.

In a blink of an eye he had repositioned himself, bringing your body to straddle his face and barely leaving any space separating you from him. "I dreamed of you just like this." It was painfully obvious how much he was holding back; his thumb tracing small hearts on the inside of your thighs to distract himself.

It was all too much, his touch, his breath ghosting over your skin. You were about to detangle yourself from his grasp. His gaze stuck on you as if he was a loyal follower and you were his religion - the only one he would ever kneel for and worship. And he made sure you'd understand his silent message.

Time spent with his pipsqueak was valuable for him, so he rarely turned down the opportunity. Hence why his teeth were already grazing your skin, leaving soft marks and goosebumps in their wake. You were pretty sure Caleb didn't have any experience with these things, so how was it possible for him to know exactly the way to run his tongue over the freshly made wounds? How could he stay so calm while you struggled to keep your moans to yourself the moment his tongue reached your core?

“You're awfully quiet, pipsqueak.” His voice was barely above a whisper, vibrating against your skin. He could never resist the banter he had with you whenever his teasing got the best of you. He knew you better than anyone, and for that, you were thankful.

Caleb sat in pure awe, his lilac eyes studying your silhouette standing out in the darkness of the room. "And wet already… you needy little thing" Giving you time to process his words and what he was about to do? Overrated. The only warning you got was the feeling of his finger hooking around the underside of your panties before he gently tugged it away, leaving you exposed.

Every single one of his moves was calculated. Caleb wouldn't hesitate to shoot a man, but if anything happened to you by his hand, he simply wouldn't forgive himself.

“This is embarrassing.” The shakiness in your voice spurred him on, teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue and slowly licking his way up to the bundle of nerves hidden between your folds.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your remark, “Loosen up, princess.” His voice vibrated against your sensitive flesh while the sound of it soothed you, until he started pushing a finger past your puffy lips. Starting off with a few careful pumps and before you knew it, he was in knuckle-deep with your juices coating his beautiful hand, and his lips wrapped around your swollen clit.

A choked moan escaped you, in an attempt to muffle your own sounds by biting down on your lower lip while you readjusted yourself on his face. You needed to keep your mind busy somehow even if that didn't go as planned since Caleb used his evol to restrain you from shifting any further. "I wasn't going anywhere," You managed to breathe out right after understanding what went through his mind the moment you started moving in the slightest. He sucked at hiding his feelings, for his face and body never quieted down.

"False alarm." He smiled innocently, as if he hadn't just shot you a glare, daring you to move away whilst he ate you out. What mattered now was that the pressure of his evol on your shoulders had paused.

His fingers continued caressing you, curling to find just the right spot. The boyish smirk crossing his features as soon as you could no longer contain your whines was just the cherry on top.

You could feel a familiar coil in your stomach, ready and threatening to snap if he kept this up. “You taste so good. So so good.” And with that you were over the edge, fingers removed and leaving you empty, his tongue lapping up your release without wasting a second.

Caleb didn’t give a flying fuck about his oxygen running out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head in pure ecstasy while squeezing his face in between your thighs, soaking him was all he cared about.

A faint gush of wind met your skin, making you automatically shiver in response, hyper aware of every sensation around you. However, he didn’t let you alone for too long - carefully switching positions in a blink of an eye.

His hand planted on either side of your head, “You’ve never done this before, have you?” Caleb asked, staring down at you with his characteristic smirk - a wave of possessiveness mixed very well with pride rushing through him at the thought. But he knew all about your past relationships -he never approved of by the way- and how terrible they were, in the end he still bore the title of your ‘gege’.

“Tell me what I can do to make you feel good.” He coaxed, the back of his hand coming up to brush the textured skin of your cheek, the same skin he had wiped so many tears off years before. The way he could switch between a colonel and a desperate puppy was… oddly arousing. He felt the need to please you, to hear your praises despite his cock straining painfully against the rough fabric of his pants. “Tell gege, where do you want to be touched?”

The same fingers that fucked you were now stroking circles around the sensitive bud of one of your breasts, “Here?” He murmured as he gauzed your expressions shifting with each small touch. The moonlight creeping through the swaying curtains only audience you had while his hand explored you, “or maybe… here?” He continued, gently massaging your inner thigh. “Oh, I know.” the rough surface of his fingertips brushed against your calf, adjusting you until your heel dug into his shoulder - his hands weren’t always like this, they were soft once.

He’d be the death of you, but that’d be a fair exchange, for you’d be his.

—a/n; just a little something I had in my drafts for a few months,, tysm for reading and have a nice day/night ♡

[astraeus-tree]

I wanna write a fic where Reader's the older twin sibling of Rumi (I know so original) with a bunch of angst, like you die angst

It'd be a gender neutral fic cuz there is not nearly enough in this fandom 💔

I can't decide who to pair them up with, like I kinda wanna do Romance but I'm not sure. It's def not gonna be Jinu tho

So basically

You were trained alongside Rumi for the fighting and the idol life but you were never able to get in tune with your powers and sealing the Honmoon so you unfortunately didn't get to be on stage like them

So instead you channel your creative skills into producing for the group and also act as Rumi's (un)official personal manager

You feel bittersweet about your situation, but you keep your thoughts to yourself

The most important thing is sealing the Honmoon, protecting your little sister and keeping your marks hidden

You're pretty insecure tho, and often try to find your purpose in life other than being a failed member of Huntrix

When Rumi's voice starts acting up, you're there as her pillar

You weren't there for their first meeting with the Saja Boys, but you do meet them by yourself

You were walking alone, coming back from the studio, looking though Rumi's, Mira's and Zoey's messages about this demon boy group when you accidentally bumped into someone

Lo and behold it was the demon boy group

Yada yada yada, some plot stuff that follows the movie

You meet up with Romance (or whoever I decide to pair you up with, idk yet) a few times and also the other Saja Boys and help them open up

You know about Rumi's thing with Jinu and you talk together and try to convince the guys to have a redemption arc

The betrayal happens all that stuff

When it comes to the final show down, you and Rumi see all the guys try to fight Gwi-ma's control before they succumb

Gwi-ma does that blast thing and you can see Rumi struggling

You looked at Jinu on stage and you knew what he was about to do, but you couldn't let him do it. Not when you knew he and your sister had a budding romance

Not when something inside you told you this was your purpose

So you run up to the stage, a surge of power unlike what you've ever felt before coursing through your veins

You smile down at Rumi, telling her to free the Saja Boys from Gwi-ma's control instead of killing them, then you say goodbye

Maybe an extra chapter about Romance and how years later, he finds your reincarnation and falls in love all over again

Yeah that's all I have, idk if I'll write this into a proper fic or not, but if it gets enough attention then I'll try

I wanted the love interest to be Mystery cuz of my current fixation on him but I also lowkey wanna pair him up with Zoey

For any of my DBOS readers reading this, dw I'm still writing it, currently have like 50%-60% of the plot planned and the prologue half rewritten

[stillalivebydemand893]

Say a prayer,but let the good times roll...

Part 1🤭

18+!! SPICY !!READ WITH CAUTION (my fav so far)

Two roommates .Zero boundaries.

What started as a teasing turns into a filthy war of desire.

You were lounging on the couch when the front door slammed shut so hard the walls practically shook.

“Jesus fuck-what the hell?” you shouted, peering over the couch just in time to see Erik storm into the apartment, gagging like a man possessed as he stumbled to the kitchen sink.

He shoved the faucet on and started rinsing his mouth, hacking like something unholy had crawled into him.

“What the hell is going on with you?” you asked, still seated, half-concerned, half-mortified.

Living with a guy was never on your bucket list, but two months in and Erik had proved himself surprisingly tolerable,clean, domestic, even helpful. Plus, since you started playing Until Dawn every night, you’d both ended up sleeping on the couch together like scared kids, too spooked to turn the lights off.

“It was that date I told you about,” he choked out between gags.

“Julia’s friend.”

You cringed.

“And what the hell did she do to you?” you got up, heading to the fridge to grab him a lemon to suck on.

“She. Puked. In. My. Mouth.”

Another gag.

You froze.

“Oh my God. MOVE.”

You shoved him out of the way and dry-heaved into the sink beside him.

“We’re gonna have to burn this whole fucking sink now.”

“I know,” he croaked, already sliding to the kitchen floor, holding the lemon like it was a holy relic.

You joined him, both of you dizzy, halfway dead.

“You know… some people are into that. It’s, like, top ten in porn categories.”

You smirked, biting the inside of your cheek.

Erik stared at you in horror.

“Why the hell do you know that?”

“I have cousins I disown.” You sighed.

“Was she drunk?”

“Was she drunk?” he scoffed. “She projectile-vomited her soul into my mouth and then asked if I’d cover my tattoos for our wedding. Who says that?!”

You burst out laughing.

“Please. I’d put you in a crop top just to show off your tattoos. That girl’s clinically unwell.”

“RIGHT?!” He pulled up his shirt, revealing the skull inked on his stomach.

“This is art, not a liability.”

Your eyes lingered for just a second too long. You coughed, turning away abruptly.

“Come on, Kiki. Let’s restart the night. A proper night in.”

He disappeared into his bathroom, and you headed into yours to shower the trauma away.

You knocked on his door once you were done, but the music inside was blaring. He didn’t answer. The door was slightly open, and curiosity got the better of you.

You peeked in.

And saw everything.

Erik stood under the shower, one hand braced against the wall, the other stroking his cock,hard, thick, gleaming with water and precum. His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling. You watched, transfixed, as he ran a thumb over the tip, teasing the piercing with a low groan that made your knees tremble.

Your panties were already soaked.

You opened the door a little more, stepping into the steam.

“Need some help with that?” you asked, voice like a sin, leaning in the doorway like temptation itself.

He jumped, nearly yanking his piercing off.

“Jesus Christ! Are you trying to kill me?”

Then he processed your words,his cock still rock-hard in his hand.

His smirk returned.

You stepped forward, wearing just tiny shorts and a sports bra, letting the water soak you as much as him.

“What are you doing, Peach?” he asked, grabbing your waist, pulling you closer. His cock rubbed against your shorts, sending fire up your spine.

“Trying to kill me and then use me?”

You leaned down, lips brushing his jaw.

“No,” you whispered.

“I think I just want to use you for now. Can I?”

You dropped to your knees.

“Fuck,” he groaned, tossing his head back.

“You don’t even have to ask. It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

His hand instinctively gripped your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You opened your mouth and took him in,warm, wet, your tongue playing with the piercing.

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned. “You’re doing so fucking good.”

He couldn’t tell if he was in heaven or if he’d slipped and cracked his skull and this was the afterlife. Either way, he didn’t want it to end.

You played with the ring, your tongue circling it as you sucked hard, using your hand at the base. His moans filled the shower like music.

“Fuck, Peach. If you don’t stop, I’m gonna-”

You popped him out of your mouth, lips swollen and innocent.

“That’s the fucking point, baby.”

You took him again, this time deeper. He let out a choked moan and came, hips jerking forward, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Shit, don’t-don’t swallow that” he gasped, dropping to his knees.

He opened your mouth to see it, groaning.

“Fuck, I got distracted. Sorry”

You spat it into the drain and collapsed next to him, giggling.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, still catching his breath.

“We just acted like we were in the worst porn parody ever.”

He laughed too, breathless. His cock, still red and hard, twitched against his thigh.

“You sucked the soul out of me. Want me to fix your car next? We can roleplay it properly.”

“Why are you still hard?” you asked, staring.

He smirked.

“Because you walked in here looking like my fantasy, then dropped to your knees and ruined me. That’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. This is your fault.”

He tucked a piece of wet hair behind your ear, fingers brushing your cheek.

“I enjoyed the show too much. I had to,” you teased, licking your lips slowly,watching his eyes track every second of it.

“Consider it a pity blowjob for your failed date.” You winked, getting up.

But before you could leave, he grabbed your wrist and spun you around, your back slamming against the tiled wall. His body pressed into yours, hard and hungry.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His hand slid over your soaked bra, brushing your breast, then down to your shorts. He slipped his fingers inside your panties and into you in one fluid motion.

Your head fell back, a moan slipping from your lips.

“Fuuuck, Erik-”

“So wet for me?Good girl” he murmured, slipping another finger in. You whimpered, legs shaking.

Then he pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty.

“What the fuck,why did you stopped-” you started, only to freeze as he brought them to his lips and sucked.

“Sweet,” he muttered with a wicked smirk.

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Hot,” you whispered, breathless.

He pulled you back in, hips grinding into yours.

“If I knew my pretty little roommate was such a sex freak, I never would've gone on that date.”

You grinned, breath shaking.

“I had to let you go see what you were missing out on.”

He groaned, impossibly harder.

“Never again,” he growled, mouth crashing into yours.

His lips were on yours before you could catch your breath,urgent, consuming, filthy.

He kissed like he was starving. Like he’d waited months for this. Like tasting you was the only thing tethering him to earth.

Your back hit the shower wall again, water still pouring down both of you, making everything slick and sinful.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he groaned into your mouth, grinding against your soaked panties, his cock twitching between your thighs.

“You walk around this apartment half-naked, stealing my hoodies, giving me those fucking looks,and now you’re gonna pretend you’re done?”

You smirked, grabbing his jaw with one hand, the other running down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his abs.

“Who said I was done?” you whispered, dragging your lips across his throat, biting the skin just hard enough to make him hiss.

He let out a broken moan, hand sliding under your bra, thumbing your nipple until you arched into him.

“You’re a menace,” he whispered.

“Say it.”

You bit his earlobe.

“I’m your fucking menace.”

That was it. That broke him.

He turned you around, pressing your chest against the slick, cold tile, his body caging yours in from behind. You could feel his cock hot and thick between your cheeks, sliding teasingly under your soaked shorts.

“Tell me how much you want it Sweets.”

You looked over your shoulder, lips parted, eyes dark.

“I need it, Erik.Ruin me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling your shorts down, panties with them, exposing your ass to the steam and his hungry hands.

He knelt, gripping your thighs, spreading you just enough to tease your entrance with his tongue.

You cried out, head knocking against the tile.

“You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted,” he muttered against you, tongue flicking and licking until your legs trembled.

Your fingers scraped down the wall.

“Erik-fuck, I’m gonna-”

But he stopped.

You whimpered, twisting to look at him.

He stood, licking his lips, smug.

“Not yet, baby. Not until I’m inside you.”

He lined himself up behind you, his cock hot and heavy against your dripping entrance, and you pushed back on instinct, desperate, needy.

“Please,” you whispered.

“Beg prettier,” he growled in your ear, biting your shoulder.

You moaned, pushing your hips into his.

“Please, Erik. Fuck me like you mean it.”

He snapped his hips forward and buried himself in one thrust.

You both gasped-him at how tight you were, you at how fucking full he made you feel.

“Holy shit, Peach…” he whispered, his voice wrecked.

He didn’t give you time to adjust.

He started thrusting,slow at first, then harder, deeper, punishing.

Your moans bounced off the tiles, mixing with the slap of wet skin and the hiss of the water.

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so he could kiss your neck, biting, marking.

You could barely speak.

“I wanted this-I wanted you like this,for so long…” you cried out as he hit that spot that made your knees go weak.

“Then take it,” he growled. “Take all of me.”

His hand slid down to your clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucked you from behind.

“Come for me, baby. Make a mess all over my cock. Show me how much you needed this.”

You shattered, crying out his name, legs trembling, walls clenching around him.

“Erik fuck-I’m -”

He came with a groan, spilling into you as he kept thrusting through both your highs, grinding until you were both wrecked, breathless, bodies trembling against the wall.

For a long moment, all that existed was the water, the heat, and the sound of your breathing.

He pulled you back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“So,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“Still think we’re just roommates?”

You laughed, breathless, head falling back against his shoulder.

“I think we’re done with dating apps’’

Steam still clung to your skin as you stepped out of the bathroom, towel barely secured around you. Erik trailed behind you like a shadow, only a towel around his hips, water dripping from his hair, eyes locked on your ass like he couldn’t look anywhere else.

You paused at the hallway mirror, catching his gaze through the reflection.

“You still staring?”

“Can you blame me?” he grinned.

“I’m trying to sear this into memory in case I die tonight.”

You rolled your eyes but bit back a smile.

“Come on. Let’s watch a movie like we didn’t just defile the entire shower.”

“Just watch a movie huh.” he muttered under his breath, following you to the living room.

You threw on a pair of tiny shorts and one of Eriks’ shirt, pretending not to notice how Erik’s jaw clenched when he sat down beside you. The couch still had that lived-in warmth from countless shared nights playing games, eating takeout… but now it felt charged. Like the air itself knew what was coming next.

He draped a blanket across your lap like a formality and tossed on a horror movie. You leaned into him, and he opened his arm for you to curl against his chest like it was habit.

And it was. But now? Now you were both too aware.

The first scream from the movie hit just as you shifted,your hand brushed over the growing bulge in his grey sweatpants. He flinched.

“You okay there?” you teased, voice innocent, eyes anything but.

“Peach…” he warned.

You climbed into his lap. Slowly. Deliberately.

His breath caught as your knees caged his thighs and you settled on top of him, grinding just slightly for the fun of watching his control crack.

“Thought we were watching the movie,” he said through clenched teeth, his hands already sliding up your bare thighs under the blanket.

“I am watching,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“But I think I found a better show.”

You rocked your hips once and felt his cock twitch beneath you. His boxers had slide down, and now you were grinding against his bare, hard length through the thin fabric of your shorts.

He groaned, head dropping back.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Then burn me.”

He grabbed your waist and slammed your hips down on him, making you gasp. His cock was hot, thick, and you could feel the pressure of it rubbing perfectly where you needed.

You slid your shorts to the side and sank down onto him in one slow, aching motion.

Both of you moaned.

“Fuuuck, Peach…”

His head fell forward, lips brushing against your collarbone.

“You feel unreal.”

You rolled your hips, slow and deep, grinding down on him like you wanted to break him open and crawl inside.

His hands were everywhere,palming your ass, squeezing your hips, gripping your thighs like you were something sacred and forbidden.

You pressed your forehead to his, breathing in sync.

“Eyes on me baby.”

He looked up, pupils blown wide, lips parted.

You started riding him.

Not fast.

Not frantic.

Rhythmic.

Cruel.

Unholy.

His hands dropped limp to his sides for a second like he was in awe, letting you take over,your movements fluid and confident, grinding in a way that made him twitch inside you.

“That’s it,” he groaned.

“Fucking ride me like you own me.”

You smirked.

“I do own you.”

You took his hands and placed them on your breasts, arching into his palms, moving faster now, slapping against him with every bounce of your hips.

His moans turned raw.

You leaned down and kissed him, wet and sloppy, tongues colliding like a fight neither of you wanted to win.

You broke the kiss, breathless, sweat slicking your skin.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

He nodded, forehead pressed to your chest.

“So fucking close. Don’t stop. Please-don’t”

He reached down between you, rubbed your clit in quick circles as you bounced harder, his name falling from your lips like prayer.

He grabbed your hips, met your thrusts.

You clenched around him,tight.

“Holy shit, Peach”

He came with a broken moan, hips jerking, cock pulsing inside you.

You followed seconds later, gasping his name as your climax slammed through you, thighs trembling.

Silence fell.

Only the sound of the movie still playing in the background, completely forgotten.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting like you’d run a marathon, not just had the filthiest sex of your lives on a couch you once built IKEA furniture on.

He kissed the top of your head.

“Best movie night ever.”

You smirked, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Shut up. We’re rewatching it tomorrow.”

You and Erik were half-naked and tangled in bed when your phones started blowing up like a fire alarm.

Mom: We’re 45 minutes away! Can’t wait to meet Erik’s family 💖

Erik’s Mom: Tell Peach’s parents we brought banana bread. 😌

You both bolted upright like you’d been shot.

“Your parents are coming?”

“Yours are too??”

A beat. Then in perfect unison:

“NO SEX THIS WEEKEND.”

You pointed at him.

He pointed at you.

You both started laughing nervously, even though your bodies were already betraying you.

You hadn’t even finished round four yet.

By noon, the apartment was packed with polite conversation, banana bread, and doom.

Erik’s mom brought a fruit tray.

Your mom brought Jesus.

Both dads brought absolutely zero self-awareness.

You sat on the couch next to Erik, acting normal while your knees touched under the blanket and he was rock hard for absolutely no reason except you existed.

He leaned over.

“If you exhale on me again, I’m gonna need a priest.”

You blinked. “You’re hard?”

He nodded. “Since your mom said ‘blessed union.’”

You sat next to Erik at the dinner table,which was a tactical error.

You were wearing the skirt.

The little black one that Erik had literally threatened to burn because he “couldn’t look at it without getting a boner and accidentally ruining your grandma’s throw pillows.”

The no-sex rule?

Dead.

Gone.

Buried.

This was no longer about “respecting our parents.”

This was war.

A silent, sexy war of “who breaks first.”

His mom, sweet as sugar, beamed across the table.

“So sweetie, has my boy been behaving himself?”

Before you could answer, Erik’s hand slid up your thigh under the table, fingers gliding along your bare skin like he wasn’t sitting next to his own mother.

You choked on your water, then recovered like a champ.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s very useful around the house.”

You side-eyed Erik and squeezed his hand as a warning.

“He’s got amazing hands. Really knows how to use them.”

Erik choked on his pie so hard his dad had to pat him on the back.

“He even helped me install some shelves last week.”

You smiled sweetly, slapped Erik lightly on the cheek, and he just stared at you like a man one second away from flipping the table and bending you over it.

“Now that’s my boy,” his dad said proudly.

Your mom, already one glass of wine in, glanced around the room.

“You know what this place is missing? A Bible. I haven’t seen one anywhere.”

You winced. Erik grinned like the devil himself.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said, sipping his water like it was holy.

“She prays every night. Loudly. I’ve had to tell her to quiet down a few times.”

You nearly fell out of your chair.

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he added, sliding his fingers just a little higher.

You elbowed him so hard he wheezed.

Then your dad, looking serious as ever, turned to Erik.

“Now son, I was thinking of changing out those old pipes in the bathroom. I noticed they were leaking.”

You glared at Erik, your fork shaking.

“I’ve told Peach many times to be more mindful of water waste. It’s expensive these days.”

You gave your dad an innocent smile.

“It’s not my fault. Erik’s the one who takes forever in the shower.”

You turned to Erik, smirking.

“His self-care routine takes too long.”

Erik’s jaw clenched.

His eyes screamed "I'm going to rail you into the drywall."

“Yes, sir,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

“She’s very helpful, though. Offers to help me out. Knows exactly what creams to use.”

You blinked.

He wasn’t done.

“Real gentle with my toner. Knows her way around SPF. Gets the job done. Every time.”

You were going to kill him.

Or ride him under this damn table.

Maybe both.

Your parents were too busy planning a family trip to Italy to notice the sexual battlefield happening two feet away.

Erik leaned in close, whispering low in your ear.

“Brats like you get punished.”

He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you.

His thumb pressed into the inside of your thigh, right where he knew you were already wet.

You turned, lips grazing his ear.

Your hand slid into his lap.

Found his bulge.

Squeezed.

He flinched, let out a weird coughing noise to cover it, and glared at you like you just ran over his childhood dog.

You leaned in with a smug smile.

“No other brat is like me, baby.”

Then you retracted your hand and took a sip of wine like nothing happened.

He turned to you slowly.

Murder in his eyes.

Lust in his veins.

His fork broke in half in his hand.

Your victory?

Short-lived.

Because the second those parents were asleep?

You were done for.

Your parents were tucked into the guest room with their matching pajamas and bedtime tea.

Erik’s parents were settled in his room, probably talking about crossword puzzles and fiber.

And Erik?

Erik was supposed to be sleeping on the couch.

So why was he suddenly behind you in the hallway?

He didn’t say a word.

Just grabbed your wrist and yanked you into the closet like a man possessed.

Dark. Tight. Warm.

You opened your mouth to protest—and his hand covered it instantly, firm, fingers splayed over your lips.

“You really thought,” he whispered against your ear, “that you could pull that shit at dinner and not get punished?”

You shivered.

Your mom’s voice floated in from the kitchen:

“Do we have oat milk or just the boring kind?”

“Shh.” Erik pressed you back against the wall, his palm still over your mouth.

“You know I respect you, right?” he murmured.

You nodded,barely.

He leaned in, grabbed your bottom lip with his teeth, bit, and kissed you like it was the last time he’d ever get the chance.

“Good,” he breathed.

“Because when we’re finally alone, I’m going to fuck you like I don’t.”

He dropped one last kiss on your neck, slow and almost too soft for the threat he just made—and then he was gone.

Just… vanished.

Left you in the dark.

Panting. Shaking. Wrecked.

The door clicked shut behind him.

You stared into the darkness for a full five seconds before muttering:

“Oh, that smug little shit.”

You stumbled out of the closet on wobbly knees, horny, ruined, and out for revenge.

You grabbed the closest stack of towels,clearly just for cover, because what were you gonna say?

“Oh, I was just… having a religious experience in the closet”? Right.

Hair in a ponytail.

Face flushed.

Thighs clenched.

You tiptoed toward the laundry basket like you weren’t combusting internally.

Then-

“Sweetie, what are you doing?”

Your mom appeared behind you, clutching a wine glass and a judgmental aura.

You flinched so hard you nearly ate a shelf.

“Mom!” you squeaked. “God, announce yourself. Jesus.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re acting suspicious. Are you hiding snacks again?”

“I-no, I’m just grabbing towels. For… wiping stuff.”

Her eyes narrowed.

You panicked.

“Tears! For wiping tears. You know how I get emotional about… textures.”

She took a towel, felt it between her fingers, then sighed dramatically.

“I told you to buy the softer ones from Target. These feel like loofahs for criminals.”

You nodded aggressively, hoping the topic would change before she detected the scent of sin and closet lust.

“Yeah, we’ll get the good ones next time, promise.”

“And stop slamming around. I could hear thumping earlier.”

You froze.

She sipped her wine, squinting at you.

“Unless Erik dropped something. Or maybe you two were…”

She paused.

You both stood there.

Silence.

“…reorganizing?”

You laughed. Loud. Too loud.

“Totally reorganizing.”

You clutched the towels like a body shield.

“So much organization. Gonna start a Pinterest board.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She gave you the most suspicious mom look of all time and disappeared toward the guest room.

You exhaled.

Then you whispered under your breath:

“Okay, Kiki. War is ON.”

Because Erik might have left you trembling in a closet.

But this battle?

Wasn’t over.

The next morning, you woke up mad.

Not just “he-left-me-hanging-in-a-closet” mad.

You woke up with a mission.

Erik was going to pay.

Not with pain.

But with suffering.

The good kind.

You strolled into the kitchen.

No bra.

Wearing his vintage band tee from high school,the one that clung to your chest like a prayer and barely covered the tops of your thighs.

Your hair in a high ponytail. (He once admitted that does things to him. You remember everything.)

Erik was pouring himself orange juice.

He froze mid-pour.

Some of it overflowed onto the counter. He didn’t even blink.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he said, voice low, already wrecked.

You tilted your head sweetly, like butter wouldn’t melt on your tongue.

“Doing what?”

He groaned. Actually groaned. Like someone had just stepped on his soul.

You leaned in just a little. Smirked.

And then“accidentally”you spilled a little more juice.

“Oops.”

You brushed past him, chest grazing his arm, and bent over the island to reach the sink for a wipe.

Your shirt rode up just enough to reveal the curve of your lower back and the hem of shorts so tiny they may as well have been a rumor.

Erik made a sound behind you that could only be described as a cry for help.

When you finished your cleaning duty, you turned to him like nothing happened.

He was gripping his glass with the intensity of someone who might shatter ceramic with his horniness.

You tiptoed to his ear, your lips brushing his skin.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” you whispered, devilish.

Before he could growl a reply, your mom shouted from the couch:

“Children, we’re going for a walk! Want to join?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“I can’t,” you called sweetly. “I’ve got a work assignment. But Erik will. Won’t you, Kiki?” You knew Erik would say yes,he had to,unless he wanted to be interrogated by your entire bloodline.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, innocent as sin.

His jaw twitched.

You could practically hear his soul leaving his body.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a fake smile so tight it could cut glass.

“He’s such a sweet boy,” your mom beamed.

“Always so kind,” her bestie added.

You gave him one last smirk as you strolled out of the kitchen, hips swinging like victory.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And you knew he’d make you pay for it.

Two hours later.

The front door slammed hard.

“Mom?” you called lazily, pretending you weren’t already smirking.

“No.”

Erik’s voice growled from the hall.

“But you’ll sure beg for her Bible when I’m done with you.”

You turned the corner.

He stood there,muddy, sweaty, his hair disheveled, his eyes blazing like a man who’d just crawled out of hell .

“The fuck happened to you?” you asked, staring.

(It was annoying how hot he looked like this. Feral. Furious. Ferociously damp.)

“What happened to me?” he repeated, eyebrows high.

“I sprinted through half the woods, lied to both our parents about having explosive diarrhea, and nearly rolled my ankle in a puddle,just so I could come back here and teach you a fucking lesson.”

He stepped forward, looming over you.

“Your dad is still texting me asking if I need Imodium or chamomile tea.”

You burst out laughing. You couldn’t help it.

But the moment your eyes met his, the air shifted.

The laughter faded.

The smirk stayed.

Because now you were alone.

And he was pissed.

And you were so ready.

He closed the distance between you in two strides, grabbing your jaw, backing you up into the hallway wall.

“Still feeling smug?” he muttered, lips hovering over yours.

His body pressed into yours, his hands finding your hips like they belonged there.

You inhaled shakily.

“Only a little.”

He kissed you hard.

No warning. No pretense.

"What, are you going to punish me?"

You smirked against his lips, your breath hot, taunting, feral.

"Make me go to my room? Have I been that bad?"

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t blink.

His hand came up, slow and lethal, his fingertip dragging across your upper lip.

His voice dropped so low it scraped down your spine .

“It’s really a shame, Peach.”

His thumb rested just under your chin.

“You got all dolled up… just for me to ruin you.”

Your knees buckled. Your blood ignited. Your entire body turned traitor for him.

You clutched at his shirt, voice nothing more than a desperate whimper.

“Please… I’ll be good. Just fuck me. Please.”

Your words were a surrender.

You were hanging by a thread, and he was holding the scissors.

He leaned into your ear, his lips brushing your skin.

“Oh, that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”

In one swift movement, he grabbed you by your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like instinct.

Your mouths stayed locked, breath hot and mouths greedy as he walked you through the hall, kicking your door open like a man with purpose.

He dropped you on the bed.

“You are such a fucking menace,” he growled, grinding against you, his hands everywhere,gripping, teasing, claiming.

“Can you blame me?” you moaned, breathless, as he sucked on your neck hard enough to mark it.

Your body arched beneath him, his name whispered like a prayer every time his mouth moved lower.

“You’re so hot… I can’t contain myself.”

He pulled back slightly, enough to look down at you,flushed, eyes half-lidded, wild.

And then you said it.

“You made me so addicted to you, I don’t know if I can live without you anymore.”

That stopped him.

His mouth hovered inches from your collarbone, his breath ragged. His pupils blown wide. His whole body tensed like you’d just snapped a wire he didn’t know existed.

Then-

“I love you.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

You gulped hard, the moment instantly charged, electric, terrifying.

He was your best friend.

The one person who knew your soul. The one you broke for.

And you just handed him your heart like it was nothing.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

You watched him breathe-shallow, heavy.

His face was flushed, his brows furrowed, his lips parted.

Then he looked straight at you, eyes wide and wrecked.

“I-”

[nogutsnogloria]

summary: robby hasn’t had a proper conversation with you since you started on his shift. a small encounter makes him want to change that.

michael robinavich x reader

warning: medical inaccuracies, reader is shy, smoking and drinking mentioned

a/n: medical case may or may not be based on a true story of my life.

robby didn’t know much about the new nurse, all he knew was anything he learned from dana and even then the information was “sweet girl, good nurse, keeps to herself otherwise.” boy did you ever keep to yourself. robby thinks he’s maybe heard you say ten words to him total since he met you months ago, nine of them clinical.

you had just finished up a triggering case for you and dana knew it so she stops you right before you’re about to hop into something else and tells you to go get some air. you nod and head out through the ambulance bay. not expecting anyone else but when you turn the corner you see robby there lighting up a cigarette.

“do you want a cigarette?” he asks looking at you. “oh, um no thank you. i don’t smoke.” he huffs out a bit of a chuckle at that. “good. never start.” you smile at him “you got it boss.”

he looks you over and he can see that you’re a bit shaken by something. “you okay?” you look at him like a deer being caught in the headlights. “yeah, yeah um that cva we just had hit kind of close to home.” you end it there because you don’t want your first real conversation with your hot senior attending to be a trauma dump of sorts. you exhale out a breath “well i have patients i need to check on. better get back in there.” you turn on your heel and walk back in.

robby finishes his cigarette and heads in immediately going to find dana. she can sense something is up just by the look on his face. “what’s up cap, you look like you need to ask me something.” he’s watching you. “she told me the cva hit close to home, but shes as collected as can be running his follow-up vitals right now” he says to dana pointing his chin in her direction. “yeah robby she’s a real nurse, she can keep it professional. i don’t think i could pull her off that case if i tried. especially with that guys daughters right there worried about him.” he looks at dana with a quizzical look. “look robby i already said too much, i am sure she’d tell you if you asked her.” she leaves him at the desk with that.

robby is trying to look casual after shift waiting outside the woman’s locker room. your busy finding your headphones in your bag you don’t see him sneaking up on you. “i know you said you don’t smoke, but i was wondering if i could buy you a beer.” you clearly weren’t expecting him and jump at his words. hand over your heart you turn to him. “jesus dr. robby! you can’t sneak up on a girl like that. i spook easily.” you smile at him to let him know that you weren’t really afraid of him, just startled. you think about his offer. “i could go for a beer.” and you follow him out of the hospital to the pub down the street.

the two of you find a place to sit and the waitress comes to take your order. robby can’t help to notice how polite you are to the waitress, even outside of work you are making sure people feel comfortable in your presence. “you know i think you and i have doubled our word count to each other today.” he says with an amused smile on his face. “yeah, well my motto has been speak when spoken to, the last hospital i worked in we were basically only allowed to talk to the doctors if it was involving a patients care. it’s a hard thing to unlearn.” robby nods and makes a note to figure out where you came from before working at the pitt.

the waitress comes back with your drinks and placed them on the table. you take a sip out of yours and put it down on the table in front of you, pulling at the label of the bottle. robby can’t not ask it’s really the whole reason he’s sitting in the bar with you, at least that’s what he’s telling himself. “so you said that cva today hit close to home. i just wanted to make sure you were okay after that. i didn’t really have a chance to check in on you, that’s a part of my job.” you continue to peal at the label on your beer. chancing a look up at his face you decide to tell him the truth.

“my dad had a stroke about three weeks ago. my mom was out of town visiting her sisters so i went over and we had dinner. i was just about to leave and when he was saying goodbye to me he wasn’t making sense, mumbling and slurring his words. i didn’t even run an assessment like i maybe should have i just called 9-1-1. and when i told him an ambulance was coming he yelled at me. the words came out clear as day and i thought i maybe made a mistake.” you smile at robby and he just blinks at you. “having seen this situation so many times before i couldn’t believe how i just froze, not that there was much i could do from home but…” you trail off. robby rests a hand on top of your arm of the hand that has now basically peeled the whole label off your bottle. “hey there’s a reason we aren’t supposed to be a part of a loved ones care when they’re in the hospital. worrying is a completely normal response you saw something wasn’t right and called an ambulance, i would say that he had pretty good care right off the bat.” you nod at that. “is your dad alright now? any thing long term?”

you shake your head with a smile. “we got really lucky. his doctor suspects that the time between first symptoms and clot buster administered was about forty-five minutes, he had full speech back by 11:30 that night and was discharged two days later. now he’s just grumpy because he can’t drive for a couple more weeks. my poor mom needs a vacation when he gets the okay to be behind a wheel again.” robby nods at that with a smile. “and you? anything long term with you?” you take another drink from your bottle. “i think im doing fine and then a case like today comes in. that guy was definitely in worse shape than my dad was, but then my mind starts racing and asking questions like what if i didn’t go there for dinner, what if i picked up a shift that night. sorry i shouldn’t dump this all on you. i have a therapist for that.” you look up apologetic with a forced exhale. “don’t worry about it please, im enjoying learning about what makes you, you” you meet his eyes with a small smile. “i am enjoying this too.” you meet his eyes.

“this hospital isn’t like your old one. the doctors here appreciate the nurses input, we welcome it. or if you just want to ask how our weekend was is good too. we like to make sure everyone feels apart of the team, no weird power dynamics if i can help it. i for one would enjoy hearing your voice a lot more.” you blush at that. “i will try. but like i said im usually a speak when spoken to type of girl.” robby leans in resting his head on his palm. “then i guess you’re going to be sick of me asking how you are”

[10thmusemoon]

Rotating an older river demon yqy picking up SJ and spending a year or two trying to get him ready to apply for CQMS.

SJ, of course, is paranoid that YQY is gonna eat him and then a little offended that that he isn’t even good enough to eat.

YQY is amused about how many demon-like qualities this kid has and thinks it’s endearing how much he hisses and spits without having any claws or teeth to back it up. SJ thinks it’s pathetic that yqy is so much of a failure of a demon that he can’t even find it in him to kill some half starved kid. He complains and curses, all while secretly pleased at finally having a full stomach and having a demon claw through his hair to put it in a neat braid every night.

SJ enters CQMS with an eclectic fighting style but a lot of practical experience with demons and a nearly useless amount of information about different river beds. As SJ starts to climb the steps he looks back one last time at YQY’s pleasantly smiling face and promises to become strong enough to be recognized by yqy as a proper threat some day.

YQY lingers around the city at the base of the mountain until the end of fall, occasionally seeing SJ when he descends the mountain to look for him. Eventually YQY has to idk hibernate or something and return to the river he used to live on, jokingly telling SJ that if they meet again, maybe he’ll be worth eating by then.

“As if I’d let you!”

When the last of the snow thaws, SJ waits at the base lf CQMS, disappointed when YQY doesn’t return.

In his third year at CQMS, a plain package is delivered to QJP, the characters for SJ carefully written by a clumsy hand. There is no letter inside, only a perfectly polished grey stone with a low thrum of demonic qi. When SJ prods at it with his own qi, a cooling sensation spreads from the top of his head to his the tip of his toes. It brings to mind the countless summer days SJ spent sun burned, complaining of the heat, while yqy sunned on a warm rock or sandy river bank. If he closes his eyes, he could almost picture YQY’s toothy grin right before biting into a raw fish.

Demons don’t experience time in the same way as humans, YQY’s gifts coming sporadically over several years. A knife made from some creature’s bone, a particularly strong rope, an ink stone with something that looks suspiciously like blood in the design’s crevices. A handful of trinkets that could be easily mistaken for garbage slowly accumulates in the qiankun pouch that SJ always carries on his person.

But still no sign of YQY.

Of course SJ looks for him.

He retraces their journey for to the sect, pouring over countless maps to stop at every river or stream. YQY had been already returning to his home when he found SJ, taking an extended detour to take him to a sect.

When thirteen years go by without a single gift or sight of the demon, SJ is reluctant to accept the possibility that his qi-ge might have met his fate at the end of some cultivator’s sword or in the jaws of another demon. The years have washed the details away, he had no way of knowing how strong YQY truly was, or the precise tilt of his lips when he smiled in the way to hide his teeth.

SJ thinks of his time with yqy often, to the point that when he sees a dirty boy digging a hole rubbing a stone tied to a string around his neck, he reacts immediately. The boy looks up at SJ confused, the flush on his cheeks slowly receding with the cooling effect of the stone. Curly hair tied back neatly into a tight braid. Well fed.

Good enough to eat, even.

“You there, what is your name?”

The boy bites his bottom lip, trying to discretely tuck his necklace into the collar of his tunic. Clumsily, he brings his fists up in greeting, looking up at SJ through curling lashes.

“This unworthy one is Luo Binghe, immortal master.”

An itch at the back of SQQ’s brain prompts him to ask, “Luo?”

“For the Luo River, sir.”

[kuidore]

Romance’s body language with Mira

i think i need to make a list of all the really tiny body language things i noticed Romance (and abby a little bit but romance does them more) doing from like the second time he meets Mira and onwards. maybe im insane but listen this shit has me convinced he’s definitely already obsessed with her *canonically*. so. here!

first time we don’t even get a shot of them in the same frame they meet there isn’t much, but i did notice he seems to be specifically *not* looking at them. Like the type of thing you do when you see someone hot and you don’t want them to know that you think they’re hot.

second we don’t get them in the same frame but two things happen that I’m convinced could’ve caught his attention from the stage and ignited his little crush; when Mira managed to catch *and* completely stop the momentum of that flying heart, and when she demanded that they Kill Them Right Now

then on play games with us. look at where he’s standing after the hot sauce challenge

Now look at where he’s standing after Jinu announces they have a special guests

his ass MOVED CLOSER (and so did Mystery). and you cannot tell me those two are not specifically posing to look cool for their little crushes. it looks like someone just yelled ‘be natural’ in a DCOM.

and then finally when it’s time to bow, he moves right up next to Jinu, knowing that Huntrix will probably line themselves up parallel to the first three of them. So he moves to the second spot, because it means either he’s right in front of Mira or she’s just barely to one side. (Mystery totally lost out to Abby, look at his lips. They’re pressed into a thin line like he’s *annoyed*, i choose to believe it’s about not facing Zoey while Abby is right across from her)

now, the bathhouse

you *cannot tell me* his ass does not look a little bit sad here. look at his eyebrows. This is immediately after Abby accuses ‘that one’ of always looking at him and Mira gets embarrassed and denies it (while checking him out). he is pouting about Abby getting more attention and i refuse to believe otherwise

then he’s smiling again by the time Jinu mentions killing the hunters. Almost like he’s remembering that they have a mission and she’s technically his enemy

When they’re on stage and the Saja boys win that award and she’s glaring daggers at the group, his head is straight forward until the very last second, and then it just *barely* tilts in the direction of where Huntrix is standing. Like it’s so quick and not even really there that I can’t get a proper screenshot, but if you watch his head as he bows and looks around, he turns it to the left a bit but *refuses* to look directly to his right. It’s almost as if he’s trying really hard to see out of his peripheral but didn’t want to actually look.

Then the second time when Huntrix is the one that wins.

Look at their order in the two. Mystery is always closest to the girls, and i’m convinced Abby and Romance are *taking turns* for who gets to stand closer to Mira. Romance also turns his head to look at them even more than Jinu does. Also i genuinely think his smile at them looks just a little less smug than everyone else’s but that’s debatable

The entire signing, all of it. He’s the one standing the farthest from Mira when they take off the sleeping bags, he walks to the entire other side of the table to sit with her. His arm is on the back of her chair the *entire time*. He doesn’t take it off until the very end.

He looks away from her once, *barely* when she says ‘thanks for coming’ to the one fan. Other than that he’s only ever looking at her face or her poster when she’s signing it. Those three photos on the left are from three separate moments where they’re in the bg of Rumi and Jinu’s convo.

he looks away once more when the flowers get thrown at him. other than that finger heart at the end He’s literally not even paying attention to the fans. and that bottom left picture, he gets *even closer* than that, i just couldn’t pause it at the right time. but dude was literally close enough that if he did a duck face he could’ve kissed her cheek. like, even if he’s acting he’s going *over the top* to the point where he’s actively inhibiting the original plan, which is winning over the fans. Jinu’s already decided to use Rumi, Romance doesn’t *need* to win Mira over. But his ass definitely *wants* to.

Then backstage at the idol awards. Like jesus christ man

Her and Abby both just staring *directly at her*, he doesn’t turn away at all until she’s totally passed by.

We don’t see him again until *right here. That photo in the top left where he’s not looking at the camera? They all look sad, but Romance does not look like he’s faking it.

He’s looking down at his nails when they switch screens, he doesn’t exactly look thrilled about what Jisu is announcing. Baby’s face is already relaxed again, but Romance is still barely frowning. He’s also the *last one to smile* when they gesture to namsan tower. looking just slightly off to the side instead of directly at the crowd, like that expression in the bottom right looks half zoned out to me.

Oh, and that photo in the bottom left? *That* is his ‘smile’ when gesturing to the tower. Look at it compared to Baby’s. It’s like it’s not even there. And he’s also *clenching his fist at his side* instead of casually resting it in his pocket like we’ve seen him doing the *entire rest of the movie*

I already mentioned his sour expression when Huntrix shows up at the final battle, but i want to specifically point out that he *clenches his jaw*. His lips are parted, then they’re not.

And finally, this moment. When Mira gets distracted. He *could have killed her here*, or at the very least tried to. He doesn’t even try to push the blade or hit her in the face or anything. It’s fighting dirty, but why would demons care about that? We see Jinu doesn’t when he starts teleporting to dodge Rumi the first time they fight.

She got distracted with him right in her face, that’s usually a death sentence. If the person you’re fighting actually wants to kill you, that is.

[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Four

Max and Charles aren't exactly a pack. But they want to be, especially when the half feral little werewolf starts driving in Carlos's place after an injury. Unfortunately, things aren't always that simple

Lestappen X Reader Werewolf AU

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

"You're okay, Beastie. You did good."

It hadn't been an easy race for either Ferrari driver. You and Charles had both struggled, through no fault of your own, during the race. The strategy was shit and the car struggled on track.

"You're okay, Beastie," your handler said, combing her fingers through your hair. "You can stop now. You can breathe."

She was trying to calm you down, Charles realised as he watched you.

Beastie. What an awful nickname, simply awful. Charles watched as your handler handed you earbuds. Your hands shook as you placed them into your ears, a whimper leaving your lips.

Beastie. You weren't a beast. Charles could see it, and he was sure that everybody else could see it, too. You weren't a beast; you just wanted to be free.

He strode across the garage, strode over to you. "What're you listening to?" He asked, his voice soft.

A whimper left your lips and you clawed at your shock collar. "Woah, woah," he whispered and grabbed a hold of your hands, stopping you from hurting yourself. "You're okay, Birdy."

Birdy. Charles wasn't very sure where it came from, but it felt right. It suited you. Birdy. You just wanted to be free. Free as a bird. Another noise left your lips, one that Charles was unable to place. "Wanna tell me what you're listening to?" He asked and pushed your hair out of your face.

You wouldn't answer. Charles knew this, he wasn't expect you to open your mouth to answer, but to somehow communicate it to him. Maybe pull your earbud from your ear and offer it too him instead.

Your handler stepped forward. "She discovered your music last night," she said and nodded to Charles. "She finds it's calming, so I thought it might help take her out of 'Race Space'."

"Race Space?"

Race Space. The headspace you went into as soon as you were in the car. It left you acting on instinct, going for every gap and having no self preservation. It would have been terrifying to watch, if you had anybody that cared about you."

"She likes my music?" Charles couldn't stop himself from answering as he looked at you. You liked his music. At that very moment, you were listening to his music. "Birdy," he whispered, unable to stop himself from grinning.

Charles couldn't help but think about it for the next few hours. As he flew back to Monaco, sharing a jet with Pierre. Maybe one day you could share a jet with them, too. But you weren't in the position for a private jet yet. Once you were a proper driver, no longer driving in the place of an injured Carlos, Charles would take you everywhere in his private yet, he decided.

And then you'd be flying. As free as a bird.

"You're attached," Max said as he watched Charles.

Sitting at the piano, Charles couldn't stop himself from thinking about you. He pressed a couple of the keys, no song really coming from it. "I am," he confirmed, giving a small nod. "I really am, Max."

Max released a sigh as he walked over. He slipped onto the bench beside Charles and wrapped his arms around him. "What're we gonna do about it?" He asked.

"I don't know, Max," Charles answered through a sigh. "I really don't know."

***

Home. A small room with several locks on the door to keep people safe from you. Locked in, Charles's music playing on a loop. This was better, you knew. You locked away from the rest of the world.

Birdy.

You had been a beast for so long that Birdy felt weird. Weird, but not exactly wrong. Birdy, because you wanted to fly away and be free. Birdy was fitting, you realised.

Birdy.

You liked it. Really liked it. Far better than Beasty. A beast was what you had been turned into, not what you wanted to be. You were never supposed to be a beast and you no longer wanted to be one.

Birdy.

The music stopped and you released a whimper. Tapping at the iPod screen, you got the music playing again, the piano filling the room. Your eyes closed as you laid back on your bed, holding your pillow against your chest.

Charles was nice. He was real nice, in a way nobody but your handler had been before. Why had you tried to bite him? Why had you acted out like that? But, still, he was sweet to you. Sweet, even after you had attempted to attack him.

You wouldn't, not again. You wouldn't attack the next time he was nice to you. It was easy to picture it in your mind, your muzzle removed as you hugged Charles, nuzzling yourself against his chest. But you were looking at it through rose coloured glasses.

It wouldn't be as simple as not attacking and you knew that. The reaction was involuntary: You couldn't help it. Couldn't stop yourself from lashing out and trying to hurt him. 

You couldn't wait for the next race weekend. 

"Birdy," you whispered to yourself and started his music again. "Birdy. Birdy. Birdy." 

You didn't have to wait long, just a week. That week you spent training, in the gym, listening to your trainer like an obedient dog. When she said run, you ran. When she said lift, you lifted. 

There was just one reason why you didn't like the gym. It allowed you to let out your aggression in a way that stopped anybody from getting hurt. But the collar around your neck and the muzzle attached to your face made the gym uncomfortable, skin beneath them prickling. 

On the Tuesday, you flew to Miami. You were sedated for the entirety of the flight. It didn't take away your fear, just stopped you from acting on it. 

You woke up in the taxi on your way to the hotel. How disorienting it was, to suddenly regain conscious in a different part of the world, so similar to your home, yet somehow different. 

You panicked. Not enough to hurt anybody in the car with you. But your nails dug into your palms, pressing deep enough to draw blood.

"Enough of that, Beasty," your handler commented and patted your knee. Maybe she was trying to give you comfort. Whatever it was, it didn't help.

She got you into the hotel, her grip on your sleeve acting as a leash. As soon as she had your key (she always kept your room key. It was almost a threat: If you left you couldn't get back in), she led you to the stairs. 

No lifts, you were too feral for that. They were too much like cages, and you didn't do cages. 

“Rest, little Beast,” she said as you placed your bags in your room. Rest. You've done enough resting already. You didn't need anymore rest. “I'll come get you in the morning.”

Taglist: @remussbitch

@mimisweetz

@usseraloo

@trashmouthsahra

[ankh2]

no ac?

it was hot, you sat in front of a fan feeling the thick air, a measly attempt to cool down. the record breaking heatwave was something unexpected. the sound of cicadas outside, mixed with the thick, sticky air was unbearable. you let out a sigh flopping back onto the mattress.

"this is too much.." you muttered to gojo next to you, he had been suffering just as much as you are, you were supposed to be spending summer break relaxing around your house, but then the ac went out, you couldn't even blame it, it put up a good fight, poor thing.

he only hummed in response, his forearm resting against his eyes, sprawled out on the floor below you. normally, you'd expect him to be more chipper, despite the weather, but this was truly bad. you sat up again, looking down at him, just trying to make sure he was alive, when you felt your breath catch in your throat. he was only wearing a pair of linen shorts, and his now sweaty t shirt had begun to ride up, showing off a little bit of his pale skin, and the white hairs leading towards-

you cleared your throat, "i think I have some ice cream in the fridge, wait here while i go look," you muttered, lazily peeling yourself from your bed, his only response being an affirmative groan. you padded over to the kitchen, feeling temporary relief from the freezer, standing there for much less time than you wanted to. you quickly grabbed a carton of strawberry ice cream that you were glad you picked up during a shopping trip earlier that week, 2 spoons, and headed back to your bedroom.

you had almost dropped the recently retrieved items, if just a peak of gojos torso was enough to raise the temperature of the room 10 degrees, imagine the absolute volcano you were in now. he was now standing and stretching, shirtless, his biceps flexing, as sweat accentuated his muscular body, he turned to you, a small smile now on his lips, his cheeks slightly reddened due to the heat, and his eyes sitting dangerously low. holy crap.

"you took forever, i thought i was gonna melt" he must've noticed the brief glance towards his chest, "see something you like?" he raised a brow at you, the smile turning into a smirk as you rolled your eyes, handing him a spoon "nothing is more interesting to me than this ice cream right now."

'smooth' you thought, even though he clearly wasn't buying it, he watched as you opened the carton, it was almost like he discovered a secret treasure, he didn't even hesitate before grabbing a large scoop and immediately shoveling it into his mouth.

"im revived, i died and came back! i'm alive!" he squealed, as you took your own bite, the same size if not larger than his, you felt the immediate discomfort and let out a gasp,

"brain freeze-" you hissed, to which he laughed, taking advantage and grabbing the carton from you while you pressed a palm to your head.

"you really shouldn't try to keep up with me you know-" he said spoon coming out of his mouth with a pop, "i'm quite the experienced eater" he looked at you with a glint in his eye, not matched by yours, "don't say shit like that again, i think you made it worse.." you sighed, taking a seat on the bed, "give me my spoon, i want a proper try" you held your hand out, to which gojo shook his head "no way! you can't even control yourself, why don't you let me take care of you, i'll be gentle i swear" he said, one hand holding a singular spoon, which you could've sworn you grabbed 2... and the carton, and the other on his heart. you sighed, it was too hot to argue, he sat next to you, and you positioned yourself to face him, he looked laser focused, and you couldn't tell if the blush on his face was only from the heat.

you glanced down at him carefully taking a scoop of ice cream, before hovering it in front of your mouth, shuffling a bit closer now, and moving his eyes between you and the spoon. was he serious?

"c'mon..let me take care of you"

"it was just a brain freeze, toru..i'm not sick.."

"it's melting! hurry before we make a mess!"

you sighed, leaning in and encompassing the spoon with your mouth, closing your eyes to relish in the sweet, cool and refreshing taste, which made you miss what you were doing to the man in front of you. gojo stared at you now, quietly trying to steady his breath as he watched the tiniest amount of ice cream drip down your chin, past your neck, down into your sweaty tank top. what was supposed to be a casual normal hang out was the toughest battle of his life. he'd always found you to be stunning, but it was easy to suppress aside from a usual glance here or there, but today? today was impossible, he watched you walk out the door to grab the ice cream like he was starving and you were the biggest buffet he'd ever seen. so it was without even thinking, pure instinct that he reached to swipe the remaining ice cream off your chin, he may have missed on purpose, who knows, who cares.

"hey.." he let out, his voice now down to a whisper, his eyes focused on your lips, "why don't we try something else to cool down?" it was a stupid line, but you didn't really care, all that was on your mind was him, and how he was touching you.

"yeah..? like what.." you were whispering now , noticeably leaning in towards him. there was no one else home, but it felt like you had been sneaking around back in your grade school days"

"why don't i pour this ice cream on you, then lick it off before it all melts?" his eyes snapped back up to meet yours, he was never a shy person with his wording.

"...ok"

lmk if u guys want part 2! it's so hot here, stay cool :P

[chrisfawns]

𝜗ৎ benny

pairing: chris sturniolo x reader

ᯓ★ in which chris wonders if all this. . .the career, the fame, the money, is worth losing the one thing he wants the most 🌀 part of my writing marathon!

warnings: unresolved angst, arguing, angst angst angst

wc: 0.6k

chris sighed as a text from you popped up. he dreaded opening it. not because of anything you had done, but because it would be another reminder of all the pieces of your life he missed because of his career. ignoring his better judgement, he opened the phone, tears welling in his eyes as he saw it.

it was a photo of you in your cap and gown, holding your bachelor's degree that proudly said summa cum laude. you looked gorgeous. . .and he wasn't there to see it. the day their manager had given him, nick, and matt the tour dates, he had argued for hours, trying to get them changed. while you were graduating in LA, he would be on the other side of the country.

chris found himself in a sentimental landslide. he wanted to be there with you right now. to celebrate and take you out for a nice dinner before taking you home and fucking you all night long, whispering in your ear about how he was so proud of his smart girl. the more logical side of him knew you wanted chris to pursue his dreams. you'd agreed on facetiming later this evening. the less logical side of him wanted to say "fuck the tour" right now to go be with you.

he dreaded tonight after the show. he'd be alone in a dark hotel room instead of with you safely tucked under his arm. deep inside of him, chris wondered if this was even the proper choice. he loved you and you loved him, but was he hurting you becuase of his career? he didn't want to have to have an argument or say goodbye to you tonight, but at the same time, he was living on the sidelines of your life. simply a spectator. what the fuck was he supposed to do?

by the time chris had come off the stage that night, his phone was filled with texts from you, detailing everything you had done today to celebrate your graduation. sure, he was thankful for all the fans, but right now, he was kicking himself. he hated pretending that everything was okay. he was setting himself on fire to keep you warm.

"we need to talk." was the first thing he said when you picked up the phone once chris had gotten back to the hotel that night.

". . .oh?" you asked, not sure where his sudden grumpy tone had come from.

"i can't keep doing this," your boyfriend took a deep breath to steady himself. "every fuckin' time i see a picture of you, i wanna be there. i feel so goddamn guilty when i see strangers more than you."

he knew he was being too cold with you. but at the same time, chris felt you deserved better. you needed someone who could be there with you to celebrate everything you were.

"chris. . ." you said, voice wobbling. "what's going on?"

"you need someone better, baby," chris mumbled, voice softening. "someone who can be there for you."

"you are there for me!" you sniffled, not hiding the tears now.

"baby, it's killing me to pretend everything is fine."

"it is fine!" you yelled back, becoming more upset. "chris, i don't care how far apart we are. i love you. i'm willing to do distance if it means i get to be with you."

"i have to go. . ." chris whispered into the phone. "i love you."

you sobbed back a small "love you", not able to speak much else. all you had the energy to do now was stumble into your bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as you sobbed. little did you know, on the other side of the country, chris was crying in his own bed, wondering what it would be like if he had never even known you so that he wouldn't hurt you.

© chrisfawns

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡: i struggled sooo bad with this fic so it became a little blurb omg 😭 sorry for this one </3 find the rest of my writing marathon here!

tags ⋆. 𐙚 ̊: @mattslilies @backwardshatnick @bernardsbendystraws @h3arts4nat @mattyblover07 @mattsstarlet @mattsprettygirly @maliaforstvrns @boiwhatdahelly

if you'd like to be added to my taglist, inbox me/dm me/comment!!

[yoiisa]

Hello hello! I'm the same anon that made the fighting s/o request for the wind breaker boys and omgggg I'm so happy with what you wrote and I'm so happy you accepted my request it was amazing😭 do you think you could do a part 2 to that for Togame, Choji, Kotoha, Kiryu and Taiga? (Weird combination I know lol) Also I know I already asked for her in this request but do you take requests for Kotoha? If not then feel free to ignore it and just do the boys. I just want more Kotoha fics lol 😅

ofc!! i'm gonna combine these two since they kinda have the same premises lol!!

➜ togame jo finds the fact that you know how to fight hot as hell ➜ he makes absolutely no secret of that as well, and you are annoyingly aware of this fact ➜ he will be trailing behind you on the way to your dojo being annoyingly insistent that you spar with him ➜ of course you kick his ass, but he's laying on the mats of the dojo, staring up at you like you just cooked him a three star michelin meal

"Baby~" Togame coos, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, "Let's spar." "Not right now Jo, I'm tired," you sigh, stretching out your shoulders. "Besides, the dojo's closed- what are those?" Togame holds up a pair of keys, the metal jingling and clinking together. The grin on his face is incredibly smug and you feel ready to just jump your boyfriend. "Where did you get those?" "Swiped it from the Master when you were there earlier," he says. He grasps your wrist and pulls you after him. "Let's go!" That was thirty minutes ago, and now the two of you are fully decked out in your gear. The breathable clothes over your frame feel like a second skin and your mouth tugs into a small smile as you finish stretching. "Ready?" you ask, looking over at Togame. He's dressed in a similar outfit as you, but the two of you couldn't find an exact size for him so his outfit is slightly larger. You can't deny, he looks like a polar bear. He's cute. Togame cracks his knuckles and beams. "Yes ma'am." By the end of the third round, the two of you are red faced and panting. Jo stares at you through the shaggy hair falling in front of his face. Despite his exhaustion though, he has this glint in his eye that tells you he's just getting started. You smile at the sight and crack your neck. "Again?" you ask, returning to the starting position. "Again."

➜ choji tomiyama is shocked that you know how to fight ➜ he kinda gets a thrill of being able to protect you if you were to get caught up in shishitoren's shenanigans, but that is quickly shut down ➜ he pouts about it for all of two seconds, before he instantly launches into wanting to fight you ➜ if the two of you have different fighting styles (which would really be the case if you were looking at it from the cobra kai angle), everytime he learns something about your fighting style, he gets so excited to show it to you

"[name]! [name]! Look," he calls as he runs up to you in the dojo. You paused for a short break to drink some water, and were resting with your back against a wall. "Hmm?" you look up at Choji. "What is it?" "I finally learned the proper form for a spinning hook kick!" he says, stars in his eyes. "Get a kick pad! I wanna try it on you." You wipe the water from your mouth and stand up. You fasten the kick pad onto your forearms and follow him to an unoccupied corner of the dojo. "Alright, ready?" you say, holding the kick pads up. Choji bounces back and forth on his feet a little, distributing his weight a little more evenly. Then, he spins. His right leg comes up and as it does, it hooks. There's just one thing: he never makes contact with the pad. He finishes the arc through the air and turns back to face you. You both give each other a blank stare, before you burst into laughter. "Choji!" you giggle and he pouts. "Stop laughing, it's not that funny," his face turns red and he looks off to the side. "I'm sorry babe," you say, walking forward to hug him. "It's okay, just practice a bit more. You'll be fine." He shakes his head and shrugs, a small smile coming onto his face again. "I just didn't wanna accidentally hurt you is all." "Aww," you kiss his cheek. "How sweet."

➜ kotoha tachibana becomes the most popular person in the dojo because of one thing: she brings y'all food ➜ see, whenever you get too caught up in training at the dojo, you taking care of yourself tends to slip, so she brings you food. this has just somehow spiraled into her bringing food for everyone at the dojo ➜ there's this one little kid who is just really adorable too that kotoha just can't refuse him every time he asks if she brought his omurice

"Oh? Kotoha, over here!" you call, waving your hand. The kids sitting around you spring up immediately after they see her walk through the door. "Miss Tachibana! Did you bring us food again?" a little boy named Naoto asks, jogging over to her. "I tried to make as much food as I could without getting in trouble," Kotoha smiles sheepishly and walks further into your dojo. You smile as you watch her get surrounded by the little tykes- or balls of energy more specifically. "Alright everyone, we're taking a break. Hurry and get into your spots, Kotoha and I will pass out food for you guys," you say, and they all instantly bolt into their designated spots. There's ten kids in your specific class at the dojo, and Kotoha brought five omurices, packaged in styrofoam takeout boxes. You get plastic spoons and the two of you carry them over to the kids. "Make sure you guys share properly," you say, setting the boxes down in front of everyone. "And eat cleanly!" "Yes [name]!" they echo. They wait until everyone has gotten an omurice before you give the okay to gobble it all up. As the kids eat, you turn to Kotoha. "No food for me?" "I brought you coffee," she says. Your eyes widen in excitement and follow her to where she left your drink. "Thank you, oh my god, I needed this." You hug her from behind and smile as she lifts the cup to your mouth, feeding you a sip. "Your omurice is so yummy," Naoto shouts from where he's eating. Kotoha giggles and looks over at him. "Glad you like it!"

➜ kiryu mitsuki is okay to lay back and let you fight your battles ➜ don't get me wrong, if you really get in trouble he's quick to have your back, but he won't fight your battles for you ➜ like togame, he finds your ability to fight incredibly attractive, but he just won't show it out loud as much as togame does ➜ he'd also love to be your nurse. if you accidentally pull something in your dojo, he's the first person to offer up something like athlete's tape or a massage

"Mitsu," you giggle as his fingertips trail across your kneecap, "that tickles." He kisses your knee and nuzzles into the skin there. "Sorry." You pat his head as he reaches over to the athlete's tape next to the two of you. "It still hurts?" he asks, pulling back the first layer of the tape. "Eh," you shrug and look off to the side. Mitsuki hums and begins pulling your skin taut so he can properly adhere the tape to your skin. "Don't overdo it," he says. "Your fighting is only as good as you taking care of yourself." "I know," you yawn and rest your head back against the headboard. You smile and close your eyes as you ask, "Were you worried when you saw me limping?" "A little," he traces his finger along the tape, securing it better against your knee. "There." You smile as you assess the taping. He always does a good job, and you already feel a little bit relieved. You take his hand and pull it up to your face, nuzzling into the back of his hand. "Thank you," you whisper. Kiryu grins and kisses your forehead.

➜ tsugeura taiga joins your dojo. point blank. ➜ he absolutely adores the finesse of fighting (the aesthetic as he puts it), so your dojo opens something up to him that he didn't know he needed ➜ your fighting style is a bit different than what he's used to, but he picks everything up very quickly ➜ he bonds with the teacher real quick as well, which is just a tad bit annoying to you

Your unzipping your bag when you hear people laughing behind you. You turn around and see Tsugeura stepping out of the bathroom . . . with his pants on backwards. "Taiga," you say, "what are you doing?" "I'm ready to fight," he says, punching his fist into his palm. His grin is so confident and powerful, but it's such a stark contrast to his current state of dress. You snicker and stand. "Yeah?" you ask, walking up to him. He nods eagerly and you roll your eyes. You punch him gently in the stomach before trailing your hand down his stomach. You fist the waist of his pants and pull him closer to you. "Taiga," you whisper, "your pants are on backwards. Go fix it." "Ah," his face grows warm and he nods. "Alright, be back in a sec!" He runs off into the bathroom. While he's gone, your dojo master walks into the dojo. Everyone hurries to stand at attention as he comes inside. "Good, everyone here? Oh, [name], where is Tsugeura?" "Getting changed," you respond. "Still?" "Yup." When Tsuguera gets out, he's still a bit sheepish as he comes to stand next to you in front of your sensei. "Sorry about that," he says, half to you and half to the master. Your sensei just nods and moves on down the line. You brush your pinkie against Tsugeura's hand and he immediately starts to beam again.