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[dropsnectar]

When a Fox is Bored...

M!Kitsune x gn!reader

NSFW

A Kitsune who recently inherited a new territory, of which your house is smack in the middle of. 

As an easily bored spirit, he finds the thought of pranking you hilarious. He starts out with small things, moving your cereal bowl in the morning, replacing dish washing detergent with dish soap. He laughs quietly to himself as he watches you search for what should have been obviously in front of you, eyebrows furrowed, and confusion fueling his quiet laughter. He watched you run around in horror, trying to scoops bubbles into water buckets. Something about your confusion and panic satisfied him. 

He made a habit of visiting you and making something go wrong. But after the fifth prank, something changed. You laughed at how your water bottle, once filled with water, was now orange juice. Your missing backpack, instead of being on the table, under your bed. You cleaned the place up, reducing clutter. You kept your bags close, and hummed to yourself as you searched about, peaceful. This picked at something in him. Your worried expression had been his after all. He upped the ante.

He messed with your washing machine. That prank took a while, since as a spirit of nature, tech was foreign to him. Filled with pride expecting your eyes to go big and your lips purse for him, all you did was roll your eyes and take your clothes and laundry detergent to the bathroom. You turned on a little play on your little black rock, and filled the tub with water soap and clothes. Then you got to work, stomping like you were pressing grapes for wine. Despite the distraction of the “phone”, your face was still crinkled in effort, sweat drifting down your brow. He liked this expression. Maybe this too was a prank well done.

At some point, you had started making double helpings for dinner. In the past, meals of ramen and grocery potatoes salad had turned into steaks, chicken and pasta. 

You would pour two glasses of wine and put out a plate and a glass on the old stump by the back door. Curious, the kitsune would eat up, soon enamored with your cooking.

About time! It was only right of you to give him offerings. You were in his territory after all. In the mornings you would collect the dishes, and the cycle would continue.

Of course, this didn't mean he would stop his favorite source of entertainment. Far from it. He'd replace your coffee maker with one of a differing model. He'd leave piles of fruit by the door, savoring your surprised reaction as you looked around, not noticing the small form he had taken behind the door. He learned your preferences, your schedule, even your sorrows as you poured over a hastily scrawled budget that just wouldn't add up the way it should. 

He had to admit sometimes his pranks grew even farther then he meant to. You had dressed up to the 9s for a much needed job interview, with a man whose soul was so gray he could see it through the phone. You had gotten in your old, rusty car, only for it to get hit by a huge black Denali, five minutes from your house.

Out stepped a gentle older man in a weathered cardigan. The old man listened to you cry, as you waved about a dead phone, and explained how you couldn't afford this. You had missed the job interview you so desperately needed.

 This was the part that bewildered the kitsune. He wasn't sure if it was his own magic or yours, but the older man offered you a job on the spot, twice the salary you were looking for. The old man's aura was a gentle green. This satisfied the kitsune. This man would take care of his favorite victim.

His heart filled with satisfaction at how you bounced and garbled out thank yous. He didn't fail to notice that dinner that night came with a whole tray of brownies. You made him cupcakes when you got the huge insurance check in the mail. 

After dinner, he was surveying you as you watched “Net-fix”, something about a mute woman rescuing a lake monster, when you turned the TV off and headed upstairs. 

This intrigued the kitsune, as you usually watched television for another hour before passing out. 

You took off your pants and crawled into bed. The room was quiet except for your breathy moans as you pleasured yourself, one hand working yourself up under your underwear.

The smell that filled the room was mouthwatering. And the way you mewled out made the kitsune feral. He was on you in a few minutes, transforming from his invisible form to his most majestic one. He leaned over you, eyes red and hungry, as he pinned your free hand over your head and licked his lips.

“Its you.” You whispered, voice light and merry. It was like it had been a long grey winter and the sun had finally decided to come out. It was an expression he had never collected from you and it made his heart heavy.

“I knew you were here. Thank you. For everything.”

He stared at you, now full of apprehension. But a peice of him was still so full of joy that you recognized him. That you saw him and wanted him with you now.

“You have been my playtoy. I have made your life difficult more times than I have lightened it.”

“You kept me on my toes” you laughed out, tone innocent. “But I know how to deal with boys who tug my pigtails. And you haven't tugged on them in a long time.” You reached your other hand forward and brought it to his cheek. It was a gentle gesture of affection, but it did not have the soothing effect you intended. 

Your hand smelled so full of your core it drove him insane, dick throbing and hard under his robes. He took your hand and brought it to his mouth, swallowing down any residue that had been left on your fingers. The face you made was adorable, how your eyes glowed and the ghost of your tongue peaked out from your lips. He was going to collect so many faces from you tonight, and they would all be his. YOU would be his.

He discarded his robes and your underwear with magic, a tidy pile on the chair next to the bed. Then, he was on you, mouth nibbling your neck, biting you collarbone, before licking at the marks he had made. He rutted his hips against you for relief as he claimed your mouth, your tongue swirling around his. Your hands grasped hard to his back, nails scratching. It was your way of claiming him too, of this he was sure, and it was just too damn cute.

He dragged himself around your entrance, laughing and saying he wouldn't enter you until you begged him for it. You pouted at him and huffed, but eventually gave in, asking him to fill you. He did so with one hard thrust causing you to cry out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He kept a quick pace. Your eyes were glazed, your core molten hot as he hit every little spot inside you that would bring you closer to release. You tried to hide it at first, hands covering your mouth but your eyes gave it away. He let you conceal yourself for all of five minutes before he had both your hands pinned above your head, his thrusts jutting at an unforgiving pace inside you. 

He was feral. THERE it was! That was the face he had wanted, the expression he had wanted to capture from you since the very beginning. Your panting, your eyes glazed over, mouth open in a silent plea, THAT'S what he wanted all along. And it was his! You were his now. The realization, the feeling of you, and the way you cried and clenched around him in release was what finally sent him over the edge. Against all odds you came together, riding out your ecstasy with sighing breaths. 

His mind was hazy with afterglow as he pulled you into his arms, large fluffy tails wrapping around your legs, arms, even one teasing at your face, a tickle. You laughed and kissed the fluff before turning over and kissing his nose, eyes bright. You were sated and happy. 

“Could we maybe, make a habit of this?”

He grinned at you. Every single feature of him was dripping with mischief when he replied.

“You think I'm satisfied with just this? There's so much more I have planned for you, you silly thing. Be prepared, got it?”

Part Two-ish

[shiorihyugawrites]

Heavy Lifting (Levi x Plus Sized Reader One Shot)

Going to the gym for the first time was already nerve-wracking enough, but catching the attention of Levi Ackerman, an ex-special forces soldier turned personal trainer? That was something you weren’t prepared for.

With his sharp gray eyes watching your every move, you could barely focus—especially when you realized he wasn’t just watching. He was interested.

What started as a simple workout session quickly turned into something much, much hotter. And let’s just say… this was definitely the best full-body workout of your life.

18 + Only | Minors Do Not Interact

A/N: This is a little one-shot I wrote a few weeks ago and I finally got around to editing it. I figured, why not bless you all with a little treat. 😙

Also this was 100% inspired by my fantasies I have in the gym instead of working out 😂😂

The gym smelled of sweat and ambition—a heady mix that clung to the air as you pushed through the double doors, clutching your water bottle like a lifeline. The noise hit you first: the rhythmic pounding of feet on treadmills, the metallic clink of weights being racked, and the low hum of conversations mixed with occasional bursts of laughter. Everyone here seemed to know what they were doing, their movements purposeful, their confidence tangible. Your stomach churned with a mix of excitement and dread.

You glanced down at yourself, tugging self-consciously at the hem of your oversized hoodie. The baggy fabric swallowed your figure, a deliberate choice to hide the parts of yourself you weren’t ready for the world to see. Beneath it, your leggings stretched over your thighs and hips, hugging curves that you’d learned to resent more often than not. You shifted awkwardly, catching sight of your reflection in one of the massive floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The woman staring back looked out of place, a sea of insecurity amid a tide of fit, athletic bodies.

Your gaze darted across the room, searching for a safe starting point. The weight section loomed to your right, filled with men and women who moved with such precision it felt almost choreographed. On your left, rows of treadmills and ellipticals buzzed with activity. You hesitated. Which was the right choice? Which would attract the least attention?

You took a deep breath. "Just start somewhere," you muttered under your breath, the sound barely audible over the gym’s constant thrum. Your legs carried you toward the weights, your steps hesitant but determined. You were here for a reason, after all. The thought of your doctor’s words—“Small, consistent steps. Strength training is good for you”—echoed in your mind. You weren’t about to back out now.

Across the room, Levi Ackerman leaned against the cable machine, his sharp gray eyes scanning the gym like a hawk surveying its territory. He had an effortless presence, his lean, muscular frame clad in a simple black t-shirt and gray joggers. His movements were precise as he adjusted the weight on the machine, but his attention wasn’t on his routine—it was on you.

He didn’t know why you had caught his eye. Maybe it was the way you clutched your water bottle as if it were a lifeline or the slight tremor in your hands as you hovered near the dumbbells, clearly unsure of where to start. Something about your hesitance tugged at him. Your baggy hoodie and leggings left much to the imagination, but Levi’s discerning gaze noted the gentle curve of your waist and the way your leggings stretched over full hips and thighs. He couldn’t help but think you looked… soft. Beautiful, even.

“Damn it,” Levi muttered to himself when he realized he was staring. He turned his attention back to the weights, gripping the handles of the machine with unnecessary force. But his resolve didn’t last long. His eyes flicked back to you, watching as you nervously adjusted your hoodie again and hesitated near a pair of dumbbells. You looked lost, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that bothered him.

You felt it before you saw it—someone’s eyes on you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, and you slowly turned your head, scanning the room until your gaze locked with his. He stood across the gym, his intense gray eyes boring into yours. Your breath hitched. He was gorgeous—chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, and a stoic expression that didn’t waver even when he realized you’d caught him staring.

Your heart sank. Was he judging you? Mocking you? You’d seen that look before—the one that dissected you, decided you didn’t belong. Heat crept up your neck, and you quickly looked away, gripping your water bottle tighter. You suddenly felt like bolting.

Levi cursed under his breath as he realized his mistake. “Get it together,” he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. But his eyes betrayed him again, drawn back to you like a magnet. He told himself it wasn’t just attraction, though there was no denying you had a striking presence despite your obvious discomfort. There was something else—something in the way you squared your shoulders and took a hesitant step toward the weights despite the uncertainty etched on your face. It reminded him of soldiers he’d trained, their fear palpable but their determination stronger.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the dumbbells, picking up a pair that you quickly realized was too heavy. “Crap,” you muttered, setting them back down with a metallic clink. You tried to pretend you didn’t notice the eyes on you, the feeling of being out of place gnawing at your resolve.

Levi, still watching, felt a pang of irritation—not at you, but at the thought of anyone else making you feel small. Before he could stop himself, he pushed away from the cable machine and crossed the room with purposeful strides.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the noise around you.

Startled, you looked up, your eyes widening as they met his. Up close, he was even more intimidating—chiseled jawline, muscular arms, and an air of authority that made you feel like you were standing in front of a drill sergeant. You stammered, unsure of what to say.

“I—uh, no, I’m just—” You gestured vaguely to the weights, your face burning.

Levi arched a brow, his expression unreadable. “First time?”

You nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah. Is it that obvious?”

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but it didn’t quite make it. “A little.” He glanced at the weights you’d just abandoned. “You’re starting too heavy. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Your heart sank. Of course, you were doing it wrong. “Oh,” you said softly, looking down.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentler now. “No one gets it perfect the first time. Let me show you.”

You blinked up at him, surprised by his offer. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “But I want to.”

For a moment, you hesitated. But something about the way he looked at you—direct, without a hint of mockery—made you nod. “Okay.”

Levi stepped beside you, his movements calm and deliberate. “Let’s start with these,” he said, pointing to a lighter pair of dumbbells. “You want to focus on form first. Weight comes later.”

As he guided you through the exercise, his voice was steady and patient, his instructions clear. You couldn’t help but notice how close he stood, the heat of his presence making your pulse quicken. Every so often, you caught him glancing at you, his gray eyes softening in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“Good,” he said as you completed a set. “You’re a fast learner.”

You smiled despite yourself, a small flicker of pride warming your chest. “Thanks.”

Levi’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded. “Anytime.”

As he stepped back, giving you space to continue on your own, you realized something surprising: for the first time since you walked into the gym, you didn’t feel quite so out of place.

Levi crossed his arms, leaning casually against the nearby rack of weights. His sharp gray eyes, which you now realized were tinged with a softness that balanced his otherwise intimidating presence, studied you for a moment. Then, he extended a hand toward you. His fingers were strong, calloused—hands that had seen their share of hard work.

"Levi," he said simply. His voice was calm and deep, yet it carried a tone that demanded attention without effort.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden introduction. It took you a second to register that he was waiting for you to respond. Quickly, you wiped your slightly sweaty palm on your hoodie before shaking his hand, feeling the warmth of his grip.

“I’m... uh, I’m (Y/N),” you stammered, suddenly hyper-aware of how small your hand felt in his.

Levi gave a slight nod, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you. You picked a good day to start. The gym’s not too crowded.”

You glanced around. To you, it felt packed with people who all seemed to belong far more than you did. “If this isn’t crowded, I’d hate to see it when it is,” you replied with a nervous laugh.

Levi’s lips twitched again, the barest hint of amusement breaking through his stoic demeanor. “Fair point.” He straightened up, gesturing to the lighter dumbbells he’d selected for you earlier. “Let me show you a few movements to get you started. Basic, but effective.”

You nodded, appreciating his willingness to help despite how out of place you felt. He picked up a pair of dumbbells, rolling his shoulders back with ease, and turned toward you.

“Let’s start with something simple: Romanian deadlifts, or RDLs. They’re great for your hamstrings, glutes, and lower back. Watch closely.”

You did as he instructed, watching how he held the dumbbells with a firm but relaxed grip. His movements were smooth and controlled as he bent forward at the hips, keeping his back perfectly straight and his knees slightly bent. His muscles flexed with the motion, and you found yourself momentarily distracted by the way his shirt clung to his frame.

“Notice how I’m not rounding my back,” Levi said, his tone instructive as he straightened up. “That’s the most important part. It’s all about the hips. Got it?”

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure you did. He stepped back, setting the dumbbells down and gesturing for you to take his place. “Your turn.”

You picked up the weights, suddenly hyper-aware of how awkward your movements felt compared to his. As you attempted the motion, you realized immediately that something was off. Your back felt strained, and you couldn’t quite figure out where your hips were supposed to go. Frustration bubbled up as you tried again, unsuccessfully.

“Wait,” Levi said, stepping closer. “You’re rounding your back too much. Here, let me show you.”

You froze as he moved behind you, his proximity sending a wave of heat through your body. His hands rested lightly on your shoulders, guiding you to straighten them. The warmth of his touch was almost distracting enough to make you forget what you were doing.

“Relax,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost soothing, and you forced yourself to focus as he adjusted your stance. One hand moved to the small of your back, his palm barely grazing the fabric of your hoodie. “Keep this part straight. Hinge at your hips, not your waist.”

Your heart was racing now, and you were sure he could feel the heat radiating from your skin. You tried to follow his instructions, bending forward again, but his hands stopped you midway.

“Not quite. Here.” His grip was firmer now as he placed one hand on your hip and the other on your upper back. “Push your hips back more—like you’re trying to close a car door with them.”

You blushed furiously at his analogy but nodded. When you moved this time, his hands guided you perfectly, and you felt the stretch in your hamstrings that he’d described earlier. “There,” Levi said, his voice quieter now. “That’s it.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply nodded, hyper-aware of every point where his hands touched you. His fingers were steady, but you could feel the slightest hesitation in his touch, as if he were holding himself back. Levi cleared his throat suddenly and stepped away, putting distance between you both.

“Try a few reps,” he said, his voice a little rougher than before. He crossed his arms, and though his face remained neutral, you noticed a faint redness creeping up his neck.

You followed his instructions, performing the movement again and again. With each rep, you felt more confident. The weights didn’t feel as heavy now that your form was right, and you were even starting to enjoy the rhythm of it. But as you worked, you couldn’t help but notice Levi’s eyes on you, watching every move with an intensity that made your skin tingle.

What you didn’t know was that Levi was struggling to keep his composure. He told himself he was just watching to make sure your form was correct, but his gaze kept drifting lower—to the curve of your hips and the way your leggings stretched over your backside. With each hinge of your hips, your movements seemed to emphasize the fullness of your figure, and Levi found himself gripping his water bottle tightly.

“Focus,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to look away. He unscrewed the cap of his bottle and took a long drink, hoping the cool water would ease the heat creeping up his neck. His thoughts were anything but professional, and he cursed himself for it.

When you finished your set, you turned to him with a hesitant smile. “How was that?”

“Perfect,” Levi said, his voice steadier now. He capped his bottle and set it down. “You’re a quick learner.”

The warmth in his praise made your chest swell, and for the first time all day, you felt like you belonged here. You smiled shyly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Levi nodded, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You’re doing fine. Just keep at it.”

As you set the dumbbells down, you couldn’t help but notice the way he was watching you again, his gray eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. It made your heart race all over again, though you didn’t have the courage to call him out on it.

Instead, you grabbed your water bottle and took a sip, feeling your confidence slowly build. Maybe this gym thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Levi watched as you raised your water bottle, tipping it back for a drink. The soft curve of your neck as you swallowed caught his attention, but it was the stray droplet of water that escaped the corner of your mouth that undid him. It slid down slowly, tracing a path along your throat and disappearing beneath the neckline of your hoodie.

His throat tightened, and he felt the telltale heat rising in his face. His imagination betrayed him, picturing where that drop had gone—what it might have touched. He could tell even through the loose fabric that you were curvy in all the right places, and the thought made his mouth go dry. Levi swallowed hard, willing himself to look away, but his traitorous gaze lingered.

Damn it.

His body betrayed him next. Blood rushed southward, pooling in his groin, and he felt a telltale tightening against the fabric of his sweatpants. He cursed under his breath, adjusting his stance slightly in an attempt to hide the rapidly growing problem. But it was too late. The bulge was visible, and he knew it. His jaw tightened as he gripped his water bottle, trying to will himself back to professionalism. What the hell is wrong with me?

You, oblivious at first, capped your bottle and turned toward him, a casual smile on your lips as you wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your hoodie. But then your eyes dipped downward—just briefly—and you froze. Your mouth went dry as you caught sight of the unmistakable outline straining against Levi’s sweatpants. It was... significant.

No way. There’s no way.

Your cheeks flamed as the thought crossed your mind. Was he... turned on? By you? It seemed impossible. He was so toned and downright gorgeous, the kind of man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine. And yet, the evidence was staring you in the face—literally.

You quickly looked away, feeling flustered and self-conscious. Maybe it was just... a gym thing? That could happen, right? But when you risked another glance, Levi’s hand flexed around his water bottle, and the tightness of his jaw told you he was very aware of what you’d seen.

Levi shifted uncomfortably, cursing himself again. His self-control, usually as solid as a fortress, was crumbling under the weight of his reaction to you. He was supposed to be professional, damn it. But there was something about you—your soft curves, your shy smile, the way you kept pushing through your insecurities—that made his usual stoicism falter.

"Everything okay?" you asked, your voice slightly higher than usual as you tried to break the silence. You hated how awkward you sounded, but you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Levi’s eyes snapped to yours, his expression unreadable. “Fine,” he said curtly, his voice deeper than usual. He cleared his throat, setting his water bottle on the bench beside him and crossing his arms again. “You’re doing good work. Keep it up.”

“Thanks,” you replied softly, though your voice wavered slightly. You tried to focus on his words, but your mind was still reeling.

He turned his head slightly, pretending to scan the gym, but his mind was elsewhere. His breathing had quickened, and he silently cursed himself for being so obvious. Get a grip, Levi.

You couldn’t help but steal another glance, your eyes drawn to the bulge no matter how hard you tried to avoid it. Your thoughts raced, filled with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. Was this... normal? Or was it possible he found you attractive? You’d spent so long assuming men like Levi would never look twice at someone like you that the idea seemed almost absurd.

Levi caught your lingering gaze this time, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He could see the question written all over your face, and it only made his predicament worse. He had to say something—anything—to break the tension.

“Focus on your breathing during the movements,” he said abruptly, his tone sharper than he intended. “It helps.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his voice. “Oh, uh, right. Breathing. Got it.”

The awkwardness hung heavy between you for a moment before Levi stepped back, giving himself more space—and hopefully a chance to regain control. He grabbed his towel from the bench, using it as an excuse to turn away and adjust himself subtly.

When he faced you again, his expression was back to its usual impassive state, though his jaw was still tense. “Let’s move to the next exercise,” he said, his voice steady but clipped.

You nodded, grateful for the distraction, even as your thoughts continued to spiral. As you followed him to the next set of weights, you couldn’t help but wonder: Was that really about me? Or am I imagining things?

Levi, meanwhile, was wrestling with his own thoughts, trying to push past the image of your flushed cheeks and the way you’d looked at him—like you were just as affected as he was. But for now, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Anything to stop himself from dwelling on how soft your body had felt under his hands... or how much he’d liked it.

He led you toward one of the bench press stations, walking with the purposeful stride of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He grabbed a bench and a barbell, quickly adjusting the weights with practiced ease. The clang of the plates echoed in the gym, drawing a few casual glances from others, but Levi’s focus was entirely on you.

“We’ll start light,” he said, his tone professional as he set the barbell down. “Thirty pounds. Shouldn’t be too much.”

You nodded nervously, sitting on the bench and adjusting your hoodie. You weren’t sure about this—lifting anything above your head sounded like a disaster waiting to happen—but you trusted him. Levi crouched beside you, his intense gray eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation.

“You good?” he asked, his voice a touch softer now.

You nodded, gripping the barbell hesitantly. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Alright,” Levi said, straightening up. “Lie back, feet flat on the ground. Keep your grip just outside shoulder-width. I’ll spot you.”

You did as he instructed, lying back on the bench and positioning your hands on the barbell. Above you, Levi loomed like a sentinel, his hands hovering near the bar. You tried not to focus on how good he looked from this angle—his lithe body, sharp jawline, and that unreadable expression that somehow made your pulse race.

“Alright,” Levi said. “Lift on three. One... two... three.”

You pushed upward with all your strength, lifting the barbell off its rack. At first, it felt manageable, and you exhaled in relief. “Not too bad,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Levi nodded approvingly. “Good. Now lower it slowly to your chest and push back up. Controlled movements.”

You followed his instructions, lowering the barbell carefully. But as you pushed it back up, your arms started to tremble. The weight felt heavier than you’d anticipated, and you could feel your grip slipping. Panic set in as the bar wobbled.

“Uh—uh—Levi—”

“Relax. I’ve got it,” he said sharply, his hands moving to catch the bar just as your arms gave out completely. He grabbed it with ease, lifting the weight back onto the rack as though it were nothing.

You let out a shaky breath of relief, but your gratitude quickly turned to mortification as you realized something. When Levi had leaned forward to catch the bar, his hips had shifted—bringing the unmistakable bulge in his sweatpants directly against your forehead.

HOLY SHIT.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as your mind spiraled. The contact was brief, but it was enough to make your skin feel like it was on fire. And to make matters worse, you couldn’t help but notice how amazing he smelled—a mix of fresh laundry and something musky and masculine that made your head spin.

Levi stiffened the moment he felt the faintest brush of contact, his entire body going rigid. A jolt of something he refused to name shot down his spine, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. His brain screamed at him to move, and he quickly stepped back, his face unreadable but his ears visibly red.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, keeping his voice steady despite the turmoil in his head. “Didn’t mean to get that close.”

You sat up quickly, avoiding his gaze as your face burned with embarrassment. “It’s fine! Totally fine! I wasn’t paying attention—”

“Neither was I,” Levi cut in, his tone clipped. He grabbed his water bottle and took a long drink, trying to calm himself down. His hands flexed around the bottle as he fought to suppress the vivid memory of the accidental touch—and the way it had made his heart race.

There was a heavy silence between you, both of you too flustered to say anything. You fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie, sneaking a glance at him. His jaw was tight, and he seemed to be staring at a distant point on the wall, avoiding looking directly at you.

“Thanks for catching the bar,” you said finally, your voice soft.

Levi glanced at you, his gray eyes still sharp but less guarded now. “It’s my job. You did fine.”

You gave him a weak smile, still too mortified to feel any real pride in your effort. “I don’t think ‘fine’ is the word I’d use.”

He arched a brow, his expression softening just a fraction. “You didn’t drop it on your face. That’s a win.”

A nervous laugh escaped you, and Levi’s lips twitched in what could almost be called a smile. He grabbed a nearby towel and handed it to you. “Take a breather. We’ll try something else in a bit.”

You nodded, grateful for the chance to recover—not just from the workout, but from the overwhelming heat still coursing through your body. As Levi turned to adjust the weights again, you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift downward. The bulge was still... present, though he seemed to be doing his best to ignore it.

There’s no way, you thought to yourself, your stomach doing somersaults. There’s absolutely no way he’s... because of me!?

Levi, meanwhile, was giving himself a silent pep talk. Keep it together. You’re a professional. Act like one. But as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the way your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, he felt his resolve waver again.

“Focus,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the barbell so tightly his knuckles turned white. For both your sakes, he needed to pull himself together.

…

The rest of your workout with Levi passed in a blur of effort and determination. His sharp, focused instructions kept you grounded, and his hands—though thankfully staying professional this time—helped correct your form when needed. His stoic demeanor made him seem almost unflappable, but every now and then, you caught him glancing at you with a softness in his eyes that sent your pulse racing.

By the time you finished your final set of bodyweight squats, your legs felt like jelly, and your hoodie was damp with sweat. You flopped onto a nearby bench with an exhausted groan, clutching your water bottle like it was your lifeline.

“Done already?” Levi asked, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed. His tone was teasing, but his face betrayed a flicker of concern.

You glanced up at him, your chest still heaving from exertion. “Already? I feel like I’ve run a marathon,” you said, your voice breathy but laced with humor.

Levi smirked—a barely-there expression that somehow felt like a victory. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Will I, though?” you shot back, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Because right now, I feel like I’m going to collapse.”

He shook his head, walking over and crouching in front of you. “You did good for your first day,” he said, his voice softer now. “You pushed through, even when you were nervous. Most people don’t make it past that.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Thanks, Levi,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I really appreciate all your help today. I don’t think I could’ve figured this out on my own.”

He shrugged, standing back up. “That’s what a good trainer’s for.”

You felt a pang of disappointment at his words. Did he see this as part of a job? Maybe he was trying to recruit you as a client? You weren’t sure why that idea bothered you, but it did. Shaking the thought from your head, you forced yourself to smile. “Well, you’re a really good one.”

Levi tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment. Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he unlocked it with a quick swipe of his thumb.

“What are you doing?” you asked hesitantly, watching as he scrolled through his apps before handing the phone to you.

“Add your number,” he said simply, his tone calm and direct.

Your jaw dropped. “W-what?”

Levi arched a brow, his gray eyes locking onto yours. “You’ll need it if you have questions about your workouts,” he said, his voice steady but with a hint of something warmer beneath. “Or... anything else.”

Your heart practically leapt into your throat. Was he serious? Was this actually happening? You stared at the phone in your hands, your fingers trembling slightly as you opened the contacts app. Your mind raced as you typed in your name and number, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Okay,” you said finally, handing the phone back to him. “All set.”

Levi glanced down at the screen, his thumb brushing over the name you’d entered. “Good,” he said, pocketing his phone. “I’ll text you so you have mine.”

You nodded, trying not to let your nervous excitement show. “Thanks. That’s... really helpful.”

He smirked slightly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Just don’t text me at three in the morning asking about squat form,” he said, his tone dry but laced with a subtle warmth.

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. “No promises.”

Levi’s smirk widened ever so slightly, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn his gaze softened again. “Good. Now go home and rest. You earned it.”

You stood up, wobbling slightly on your tired legs, and grabbed your things. “I will. Thanks again, Levi.”

He nodded, watching as you turned toward the exit. But just as you were about to leave, his voice stopped you.

“Hey.”

You turned back, your heart skipping a beat. “Yeah?”

Levi’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet intensity that made your stomach flip. “Don’t quit. You’ve got potential.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Then, slowly, you smiled—a genuine, radiant smile that made Levi’s chest tighten.

“I won’t,” you said softly. “See you around, Levi.”

With that, you walked out of the gym, your heart racing and your mind spinning. You glanced at your phone as soon as you stepped outside, a small thrill running through you when you saw the new message:

Levi Ackerman:Here’s my number. Don’t be a stranger.

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face as you saved his contact. Maybe—just maybe—this gym thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

After leaving the weight area, you made your way to the locker room to change out of your sweaty hoodie. Peeling it off, you glanced down at the fitted T-shirt you had on underneath. It hugged your figure more than you liked, clinging to your curves in a way that made you self-conscious. You tugged at the hem nervously, wishing you’d brought something looser. But it wasn’t a big deal—you were leaving anyway.

Grabbing your things, you headed out toward the exit. That’s when you noticed something odd: Levi’s phone was still sitting on the bench where you’d been earlier. You frowned, looking around the gym. He was nowhere in sight. Just as you were debating whether to leave it there, the phone started vibrating, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

You bit your lip, glancing around again. Surely Levi would come back for it soon. But after two minutes passed and the phone kept buzzing, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the call might be important. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to miss something urgent.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, picking up the phone. “I’ll just find him real quick.”

Clutching the device, you scanned the gym. Finally, you spotted him walking out of the cardio area and disappearing into a private door near the back. The sign read: Exclusive Members Sauna.

You hesitated, unsure of what to do. Surely he’d notice his phone was missing soon and come back out, right? You leaned against the wall, waiting awkwardly as people passed by. Five minutes turned into ten, and still, Levi didn’t emerge.

Sighing, you debated leaving the phone at the front desk and heading home. But just as you were about to turn away, the door to the sauna opened, and Levi stepped out.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Levi was wearing nothing but a towel, loosely wrapped around his waist. His lean, muscular frame was glistening with moisture, droplets of water tracing the lines of his defined abs and the sharp contours of his chest. His ink-black hair was damp, plastered to his forehead in a way that only made him look more effortlessly attractive. His posture was relaxed, but the moment he saw you standing there with his phone in hand, his gray eyes widened slightly.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, his voice low and rough, the surprise evident. His gaze flicked to his phone in your hand, then back to your face.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You were too busy staring—shamelessly staring. Every inch of him looked like it had been sculpted from marble, and the way the towel hung precariously on his hips was doing unspeakable things to your imagination. Your cheeks burned as you tried to force your brain to function.

“I, uh—” you stammered, holding up his phone as if that explained everything. “You left your phone on the bench, and it kept ringing, so I... thought you might need it.”

Levi blinked, processing your words. “Right,” he said after a pause, stepping closer to take the phone from you. His fingers brushed yours briefly, and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “Thanks. Didn’t realize I’d left it.”

As he took the phone, his eyes fell to your shirt. The fitted fabric clung to your body in a way your hoodie hadn’t, accentuating the soft swell of your breasts and the curve of your waist. Levi’s throat tightened as he felt his body respond yet again. The dampness of the sauna and the sight of you standing there, looking so effortlessly gorgeous, was almost too much.

His gaze lingered, drinking you in. You looked delicious in his eyes, and the way the fabric stretched over your curves was driving him insane. He knew he shouldn’t be staring, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Your eyes met his, and the air between you shifted. The surprise in his expression faded, replaced by something darker, more intense. His pupils dilated slightly as his gaze held yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body—not just from the sauna, but from the tension that now crackled in the space between you.

Neither of you spoke, caught in a moment of pure, shameless lust. Your lips parted slightly as you tried to find something to say, but your mind was blank. All you could think about was how close he was, how good he smelled—a mix of clean soap and something deeper, more masculine—and how the towel around his waist seemed dangerously close to slipping.

Levi’s jaw clenched as he struggled to keep his composure. He’d always prided himself on his self-control, but with you standing there, looking at him like that, he could feel his resolve slipping. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before snapping back to your eyes, his chest rising and falling slightly faster than before.

“You...” he started, his voice rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on his words instead of the way the water droplets on his chest seemed to glisten in the light. “It—it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just thought it might be important.”

Levi nodded, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Thanks,” he said again, his tone quieter now.

Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. The space between you seemed to thrum with something unspoken but undeniably intense. Your breath hitched as you saw Levi’s gray eyes flicker to your lips, his gaze darkening with an intensity that made your heart race. Then, slowly, deliberately, he licked his lips.

The action sent a wave of heat coursing through your body, and you were sure he could see the way your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. His movements were careful, calculated, as he stepped closer. You could feel the energy radiating off him, the air growing thicker with every step.

By the time he stopped in front of you, he was so close you could feel the faint warmth of his breath against your skin. His damp, black hair clung to his forehead, framing his sharp features, and his voice was a low rumble when he finally spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question made your head spin. You didn’t respond with words—your body moved before your brain could catch up. You reached up, your hands finding his chest, and smashed your lips against his with a desperate kind of hunger.

Levi froze for half a second, clearly surprised by your boldness. But then his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him as he responded with equal fervor. His lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours with a passion that made your knees weak. His hands slid down to your waist, squeezing gently as if to ground himself in the moment.

He hadn’t planned this—not even close. But from the second he saw you walk into the gym, Levi knew you were different. And now, with your soft body pressed against his, your lips moving against his like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had, he didn’t care about plans or professionalism or anything else.

His hands tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into the soft curves he’d only been able to admire from a distance until now. He loved the way you felt under his touch—soft, warm, and so very real. The towel around his waist felt dangerously precarious as his body responded to you, but Levi couldn’t bring himself to care.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands sliding up to grip his shoulders. The sound drove him wild, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that made your head spin. His chest pressed against you, firm and slick with moisture from the sauna, and you felt the heat between your legs grow unbearable.

Levi pulled back slightly, his lips still hovering over yours, his breath ragged. His gray eyes were dark with lust, and his voice was low and rough when he spoke.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You couldn’t help but smile, your own breathing just as unsteady. “I think I have an idea.”

He chuckled softly, the sound more of a rumble in his chest. His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your waist. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his lips grazing your jaw. “Soft... and dangerous.”

You shivered at his words, your body arching into his touch. “And what about you?” you shot back, your voice breathy. “You’ve been staring at me all day.”

Levi smirked, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Can you blame me?”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, and the world around you disappeared. It was just him—his scent, his taste, the way his hands felt on your body—and you never wanted it to end.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His sharp gray eyes flicked downward, and that’s when he saw it. The damp spot between your legs. Levi felt a jolt of heat shoot through him, and he cursed softly under his breath. You were soaked, and the knowledge sent his restraint spiraling further out of reach.

His gaze shifted upward, catching the way your hardened nipples poked through the fabric of your fitted T-shirt. He licked his lips, his mind racing. He knew he shouldn’t—knew this was crossing every line he’d ever drawn for himself—but the sight of you, flushed and trembling, was enough to make him say to hell with it.

“Fuck it,” Levi muttered, his voice low and rough.

Before you could process what was happening, he grabbed your hand, his grip firm but not forceful, and pulled you toward the empty changing rooms near the sauna. “Levi—” you started, but your words died on your lips as he glanced back at you, his intense gray eyes filled with pure, unfiltered desire. The look in his eyes made your knees weak, and you let him lead you without resistance.

As soon as you stepped into the changing room, Levi shut the door behind you, the lock clicking into place. The small, enclosed space was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, both of you already panting from the intensity of the moment. You barely had time to register the faint smell of clean linen and cedar before Levi was on you again.

His hands cupped your face as his lips crashed into yours, and you couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped you. Levi groaned in response, the sound low and guttural, as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, brushing against yours in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You kissed him back just as eagerly, your hands tangling in his damp, black hair.

Levi’s hands left your face, moving down to your waist as he pulled you closer, his grip firm and possessive. He squeezed, his fingers digging into your soft curves, and you felt him press against you—hard and unrelenting. The sensation made your breath hitch, and your hands slid down to grip his shoulders for support.

“You’re so soft,” Levi murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need. “So perfect.”

You opened your mouth to protest—you were still sweaty, still flushed from your workout—but Levi silenced you by trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. “Don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t hide from me.”

His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you let out a sharp gasp, your hands tightening on his shoulders. Levi smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction, and began kissing and nibbling along your neck. Each touch of his lips sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you could feel the wetness between your legs growing.

Levi pressed you against the wall, one hand slipping under your shirt to grip your waist directly. His fingers brushed against your bare skin, and you shivered at the contact. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gray eyes burning with intensity.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice hoarse and almost pleading.

But you didn’t want him to stop. You shook your head, your hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his skin. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

That was all Levi needed to hear. His lips were on yours again, hungrier this time, as his hands began roaming over your body. One hand slid down to your hip, squeezing gently, while the other moved up to cup your breast through your shirt. You let out a soft moan as his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple, and Levi groaned in response, his mouth moving back to your neck.

“You feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “Better than I imagined.”

You barely registered his words, too lost in the sensation of his hands and lips. Your own hands moved down to his waist, brushing against the edge of the towel that still hung loosely around him. The thought of what lay beneath made your core throb, and you bit your lip to keep from moaning again.

Levi’s kisses grew more urgent as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body flush against yours. He didn’t care that you were still sweaty, didn’t care about anything except the way you felt in his arms. His hands slid back down to your waist, gripping you tightly as he rocked his hips against yours. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped you.

“You’re incredible,” Levi said softly, his lips brushing against your ear. His hands tightened on your waist, his body trembling slightly as he fought to keep control. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

You looked up at him, your breath hitching at the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “Me neither,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Levi’s lips curled into a small, almost disbelieving smile before he kissed you again, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

His hands roamed lower, his fingertips teasing down your sides before settling on your hips. His grip was firm, commanding, as if he wanted to memorize the shape of you, to make sure you knew just how much he wanted you. His fingers flexed slightly before he slid them lower, cupping the full, soft curve of your ass in both hands.

You gasped, your body jolting at the unexpected touch, and that was all the opening Levi needed. He seized the opportunity, tilting his head and slipping his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss in an instant. His tongue moved against yours, hot and hungry, tasting you in a way that made your knees weak.

A moan escaped you, swallowed instantly by Levi as his hands squeezed, molding your plush curves in his grip. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips, sending heat pooling between your thighs. He pulled you even closer, grinding his hips against you just enough to make you feel the full extent of how much he wanted you.

You whimpered into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his damp, black hair. He was devouring you now, kissing you like he had no intention of stopping, like he wanted to drown in you. You responded with the same desperate energy, pressing your body against his, reveling in the heat radiating from his skin.

Levi let out a sharp exhale through his nose, his breathing ragged as his hands kneaded your flesh, his thumbs brushing against the curve where your ass met your thighs. He was losing himself, every ounce of his usual restraint slipping away with each second your body was pressed against his. He wanted you, needed you, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t give a damn about holding back.

His kisses grew rougher, more urgent, as he trailed them from your mouth down to your jawline. He nipped lightly at your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue, his breath hot against your flushed skin. His hands were restless, tracing patterns over your curves, committing them to memory as if he were afraid this moment might disappear.

“You feel so damn good,” he murmured against your neck, his voice husky and strained, filled with something dangerously close to desperation. “Soft… perfect.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his hair. The way he spoke, the way he touched you—it made your stomach flutter, made the wetness between your thighs even more unbearable. You never thought someone like Levi—strong, stoic, disciplined—could lose his composure over you, but the evidence was undeniable. His kisses, his hands, the way he pressed himself against you—it all told you exactly how much he wanted you.

Levi’s hands slid back up to your waist, gripping you firmly as he guided you further against the wall, pinning you there with his body. He kissed down the column of your throat, his lips warm and demanding, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He paused at the base of your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your sensitive skin before he sucked gently, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

Your head tilted back against the wall, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants. “Levi…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his hips pressing into yours with more intent. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the subtle, almost imperceptible way your thighs pressed together. He knew. He knew you were soaked for him. And the thought nearly shattered what little self-control he had left.

Levi pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, but his breathing betrayed him—deep, heavy, as if he were barely restraining himself. His hands smoothed over your waist, his thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles against your sides.

The tension between you was unbearable. Every touch, every heated glance, every stolen breath between kisses only fueled the fire raging inside you. You didn’t just want him—you needed him. The restraint that had kept you tethered to reason was gone, replaced by pure, unfiltered desire.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you whispered, voice breathless and shaky, “Levi… I need you.”

Levi froze for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath heavy and ragged. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tightened at your words. His hands, which had been gripping your waist with controlled force, now trembled slightly as if he were fighting some inner battle. But it was futile.

He exhaled sharply, his gray eyes dark with something primal, something dangerous. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

Before you could respond, Levi’s hands were at your waist, his grip firm and commanding. With one swift motion, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and tore them down your thighs. The cool air against your heated skin sent a shiver up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the way his hands moved over your exposed flesh, mapping out every curve like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You barely had time to process before he grabbed your thighs and effortlessly lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your breath hitched, hands scrambling for purchase against his damp skin as he backed you up against the cold tiled wall of the locker room.

“You feel so fucking good,” Levi murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse as he held you up like you weighed nothing. His fingers trailed up your thigh, teasing, until they found the thin barrier of your underwear. He pressed his palm against the heat between your legs, and the sensation made you whimper.

Levi inhaled sharply, his body tensing. “So wet,” he groaned, his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your already sensitive core. The friction sent shockwaves through your body, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips instinctively bucked against his touch.

You could feel him, all of him, pressing against you through the thin fabric of his towel. He was hard—achingly so—and there was no ignoring the way his length throbbed against your inner thigh, barely restrained. The sheer size of him made you gulp, and heat pooled in your stomach at the realization.

Without thinking, you reached down, your fingers grazing against the outline of his manhoodl. The moment you made contact, Levi’s entire body shuddered, his breath hitching.

“Shit—” he hissed, his grip on you tightening.

Encouraged by his reaction, you slid your hand lower, palming him through the thin towel. Levi moaned, his head dropping against your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he groaned, his voice raw with need.

Your fingers worked under the towel until you could fully grasp him. The moment your hand wrapped around his heated length, Levi let out a sharp, almost desperate curse.

“Goddamn it—” he bit out, his hips jerking into your touch, completely losing the control he so fiercely held onto.

His skin was hot beneath your fingers, smooth and throbbing with need. You stroked him slowly, teasingly, watching the way his body reacted to your touch. Levi's breath grew heavier, his jaw clenched tightly, and his fingers dug into your hips as if grounding himself.

But then—his control shattered.

With a guttural curse, Levi tore your underwear aside, his fingers wasting no time as he slipped two thick fingers into your drenched pussy. You cried out, your back arching against the wall as pleasure shot through you like lightning. His fingers curled inside you, slow at first, then faster, exploring you like he wanted to memorize every inch.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Levi growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “So perfect.”

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he worked you open with precision, his thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles against your clit. Every movement was calculated, designed to make you unravel completely.

You whimpered, barely able to form a coherent thought. “Levi—”

“Say my name again,” he ordered, his voice rough with desire.

You moaned, tilting your head back, completely at his mercy. “Levi—please—”

Levi groaned at the sound of your voice, his movements growing rougher, more desperate. He wanted to feel you come apart, wanted to watch you lose yourself to him, and only him.

And god, you were already so close.

But just as you were about to reach your peak, trembling in Levi’s arms as waves of pleasure built up inside you, he suddenly pulled his fingers away. The absence was immediate and jarring, leaving you gasping at the loss. A desperate whine left your lips as your body clenched around nothing, the high you had been so close to shattering right in front of you.

"Levi—" you panted, frustration thick in your voice as you squirmed in his grasp.

Levi smirked, his gray eyes dark and filled with something wicked as he took in your wrecked expression. “Tch. What a brat,” he muttered, amusement lacing his voice. He let his fingers drag along the inside of your thigh, teasing, but never giving you what you wanted.

Your breath hitched, heat surging through you again, but you pouted, pushing at his chest weakly. “That was mean…”

Levi leaned in close, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he whispered, “You’ll survive.” His voice was low, teasing, yet filled with something undeniably heated.

But before you could whine again, your breath caught in your throat as you felt something new—something much thicker, much harder—pressing against your core. Your entire body tensed, your hands gripping his shoulders as realization hit you.

He was lining himself up against you, his heavy length brushing against your soaked entrance. You swallowed hard, nerves and anticipation intertwining in your chest. He was big, and the idea of him stretching you made heat flood through you like wildfire.

Levi, noticing your reaction, ran his hands over your thighs, gripping them firmly as he held you against the wall. His voice was rough, strained with his own desire. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, trusting him completely as he slowly pushed forward, the head of his length breaching your entrance. A sharp gasp left you as the stretch burned, your fingers digging into his shoulders. Levi froze immediately, his jaw clenching as he fought for control.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice tight with restraint.

You took a shaky breath, adjusting to the size of him, before shaking your head. “Just… give me a second.”

Levi swallowed hard, his muscles tensed like a coiled spring, his fingers flexing against your thighs. “Take all the time you need,” he said, though his voice betrayed just how hard it was for him to hold back.

After a few moments, the initial discomfort began to fade, replaced by something deeper, something intoxicating. You met his gaze, heat swirling in your belly. “You can move,” you whispered.

Levi exhaled sharply, his control barely hanging by a thread as he pushed deeper, filling you inch by inch. The stretch was intense, but the pleasure that followed made your body shudder. He let out a low groan, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hands tightening on your thighs. “You’re so—damn—tight.”

You whimpered at his words, at the way his body pressed so perfectly against yours, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling. But you could feel him holding back, keeping himself reigned in when all you wanted was for him to lose control.

“Levi…” You gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “Harder. Faster.”

His entire body tensed, a shudder running through him at your words. He tilted his head back, his gray eyes meeting yours, searching, as if making sure you meant it. And when he saw the desperate need in your expression, something inside him snapped.

His grip tightened, and without another word, he adjusted his stance and slammed into you. A loud, gasping moan tore from your throat as he buried himself to the hilt, the force of his thrust pressing you harder against the cold wall.

“Shit—” Levi growled, his voice strained, his self-control completely shattered. He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure racing through you, your hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

Your head tilted back, your eyes rolling at the sheer intensity of it all. “Levi—oh my God—” you gasped, your entire body trembling as he hit deeper, his pace unrelenting.

Levi groaned in response, watching the way you unraveled for him, how your body took every thrust, how your mouth hung open in pure bliss. His fingers slid down, finding your clit, rubbing tight circles as he pounded into you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and commanding. “I want to feel you come around me.”

The coil inside you snapped, your back arching sharply as pleasure exploded through you, your vision going white. A strangled cry left your lips as your body convulsed, waves of bliss washing over you in an overwhelming rush.

Levi let out a harsh groan, his movements growing sloppy as he felt you tighten around him. His grip on your thighs bruised as he chased his own release, his breath ragged.

“Fuck—” he gritted out, his rhythm stuttering. With one final, deep thrust, he pulled out, his jaw clenched as he spilled himself all over your stomach, his body shuddering violently as he came undone.

The air in the changing room was thick with heat and the lingering scent of sweat and something far more intoxicating. Your body trembled in Levi’s arms, your skin still tingling from the waves of pleasure that had crashed through you moments before. Your breaths were uneven, desperate attempts to steady yourself after what could only be described as the most exhilarating experience of your life.

Levi’s forehead rested against yours, his damp black hair sticking to his skin. His chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths, but his arms remained firm around you, keeping you locked against him as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. His grip was possessive, his fingers idly stroking over your thigh where they still held you in place.

You exhaled a shaky laugh, tilting your head slightly so your nose brushed against his. “That was…” you trailed off, searching for the right word, but nothing seemed to do it justice.

Levi huffed out a quiet chuckle, something rare and utterly intoxicating to hear from him. His lips, still slightly swollen from kissing you, curled into a smirk. “Tch. You can say it,” he muttered, his voice rough from exertion. “Best workout of your life?”

You let out a soft laugh, your body finally beginning to relax against him. “Understatement of the century,” you admitted, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his shoulder.

Levi exhaled, finally loosening his grip just enough to let your legs slide down from his waist. Your feet touched the cool tile, but your knees nearly buckled beneath you, and he caught you effortlessly, his grip tightening at your waist.

“Easy,” he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice as he steadied you. “Did I wear you out that bad?”

You gave him a pointed look, your cheeks still burning from everything that had just transpired. “A little.”

Levi’s smirk widened, his hands not moving from your waist. “Consider it your post workout stretch.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother denying it. Instead, you rested your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, your body still humming with the aftershocks of what had just happened. Levi let you stay there, his hands rubbing slow, soothing circles against your hips, grounding you.

After a moment, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his. “So… is this a one-time thing?” you asked softly, unable to keep the hesitation from creeping into your voice.

Levi’s expression shifted, the teasing edge fading. His sharp gray eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, you saw something deeper, something raw beneath his usual stoicism. He reached up, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before letting his fingers linger against your cheek.

“No,” he said simply, his voice lower now, more certain. “I don’t want it to be.”

Your breath hitched at his words, at the quiet certainty in them. A slow smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Levi sighed, finally stepping back fully, though his hand remained on your waist as if reluctant to break contact completely. His eyes flickered downward, and his smirk returned when he saw the mess on your stomach.

“We should probably clean you up,” he muttered, though there was amusement in his tone.

Your face burned again. “Yeah, you made a bit of a mess.”

Levi just shrugged, grabbing a clean towel from the nearby shelf and handing it to you. “I couldn’t help myself… not when you look like that.”

He grabbed his joggers, pulling them back on and leaned against the wall as he watched you clean yourself up. His gaze remained on you, softer now, less intense but still filled with something unreadable. Once you were done and put your clothes back on, you turned to him, still slightly nervous despite everything that had just happened.

“So…” you started, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “What now?”

Levi studied you for a long moment before shaking his head slightly, as if you’d just asked something ridiculous. He stepped forward, reaching to grab his phone. He unlocked it, tapped at the screen a few times, then turned it to face you.

It was a text message. From him. To you.

Levi Ackerman: Next gym session. Tomorrow. Same time.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Is this your way of asking me out?”

Levi smirked, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “It’s my way of making sure you don’t quit.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I can’t tell if you’re being sweet or bossy.”

“Both,” he said smoothly, reaching down to grab his shirt and pull it over his head. “Get used to it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Guess I don’t have a choice, huh?”

Levi stepped closer, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before he pulled away. “Nope.”

Your heart stuttered at the simple gesture, at the way his fingers lingered for just a second too long. This wasn’t just a heat-of-the-moment thing for him. You could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you even now, in the way he wasn’t trying to rush out the door.

This was something more.

Levi exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before giving you one last glance. “Go home. Get some rest,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You bit your lip, nodding. “Tomorrow.”

As you turned to leave, you felt Levi’s gaze on you the entire time. And just before you stepped out of the changing room, you glanced over your shoulder.

Levi was still standing there, watching you, his expression unreadable—but the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched like he was holding himself back from grabbing you again—it told you everything you needed to know.

This was only the beginning.

~

Masterlist | Patreon

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 1 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 3 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

The morning rush had ended a while ago, leaving you with a few stragglers tapping away on laptops, a couple on their second hour of an intense whisper-argument, and some guy in the corner who had been staring at a single muffin for a concerning amount of time. Business had been slow after the morning rush as per usual, this meant you’d had plenty of time to reflect on things that didn’t deserve the mental energy you were giving them. Namely, Choso. It had been a few days since your encounter with the world's most socially inept man and his human golden retriever of a brother.

That guy had been… odd. Not in a bad way, necessarily—just in a "probably spent his childhood in a cave and was learning about the modern world in real time" way. The guy had stared at you like you were a cryptid when you asked what kind of coffee he wanted. You had spent way too long trying to figure out if he had just been raised extremely sheltered, or if something was actually wrong with him. Either way, the guy had stared at his latte like it held the meaning of life, and you weren’t sure whether to find it unsettling or endearing.

Because, seriously. That was not a normal interaction.

Most customers came in, ordered their drink, paid, and left. Some lingered. Some had weirdly specific orders that made you question their sanity. Some just sat there typing aggressively on their laptops like they were composing an email that would change the fate of mankind.

None of them, however, had ever been like Choso.

Since then, you’d been left in peace, which was all you could really ask for in life. Life at the café had returned to its usual monotony. The usual entitled customers still came and went, Greg the Manager still did absolutely nothing while pretending to be busy, and the espresso machine still sounded like it was trying to contact the underworld whenever it turned on. In other words, business as usual. Everything was normal.

Which, naturally, meant something was about to ruin it.

The bell above the door jingled. You sighed, plastering on your most convincing Hello valued customer, I sure do love working here! expression before turning around.

The first person to walk in was a tall blond guy in a suit, carrying himself like he had somewhere better to be. He looked exactly like the type of guy who drank his coffee black and silently judged people who put sugar in theirs. He had the air of someone who used Google Calendar religiously and paid for everything with a metal credit card. The second he stepped into the café, he surveyed it with the deeply unimpressed expression of a man who had already decided he hated it here. You immediately got "overworked businessman" vibes. He looked like he hated fun. You respected that.

The second guy, however…

Oh, no.

Oh, this one was going to be a problem.

He was even taller than the blond one. Very tall. Like, shouldn’t be allowed to exist in regular human spaces tall. He had white hair, wore sunglasses indoors, and was dressed like some kind of high-fashion hobo. He had a self-satisfied grin that made you think he had never experienced a single consequence in his entire life. Something about him screamed problem. His whole vibe was just "that one coworker who does absolutely nothing but still gets paid more than you."

"Nanamin!" Tall Guy whined, dramatically throwing an arm around his companion's shoulder. "See? This place is cute! You never wanna go anywhere fun."

The blond man—Nanamin?—exhaled through his nose with the weariness of a man who had dealt with this for far too long. He shrugged the arm off. "I don’t need fun. I need coffee."

"Okay, but coffee can be fun—"

"Coffee is a means to an end."

"See, this is why you have no joy in your life."

You plastered on your most professional smile, already dreading whatever was about to happen. "Welcome! What can I get started for you?"

Nanamin exhaled slowly, the sigh of a man who was one bad decision away from quitting his job, leaving the country, and raising goats in the mountains. "A black coffee. No sugar."

Bless. A simple, no-nonsense order. You liked him already. You punched it into the register. "Sure. What size?"

"Large. The biggest you have."

"Got it."

You turned expectantly to the taller one.

Tall Guy hummed, tapping a finger against his chin like he was making a deeply philosophical decision. "Hmmm. What do I want? What do I need?"

You resisted the urge to check the time.

"Do you have anything sweet?"

You gestured to the massive menu behind you, which had an entire section labeled Sweet & Flavored Drinks. "Yeah."

"Okay, okay. But like, really sweet?"

"Yeah."

Tall Guy nodded, his wide grin never faltering. "Good. I’ll take the sweetest thing you have."

"...You sure?"

He leaned forward, grinning like a child about to cause chaos. "Hit me with your worst."

You stared.

Alright.

You rang up a Death By Sugar—an abomination of a drink loaded with caramel, white chocolate, vanilla syrup, and enough whipped cream to suffocate a small animal. It was the kind of thing you usually only made for children with zero parental supervision.

Tall Guy looked downright delighted when you told him.

"Yay!" Tall Guy beamed. "And make it with love!"

"I am physically incapable of that."

Nanamin gave a single, approving nod. "Good work ethic."

Totaling their order, you glanced at them. "You want your names on the cups?"

Tall Guy nodded adamantly. "Of course! That’s the most important part!"

Nanami exhaled heavily. "Nanami."

Ah, so not 'Nanamin' then.

"Just put 'The Strongest' on mine," Tall Guy added with a wink.

You didn't know what the hell he meant by that exactly, but you did not react.

You took your sweet time making their drinks, mainly because Tall Guy was watching you with the shameless enthusiasm of a child at a magic show.

"You’re really good at that," Tall Guy commented as you poured steamed milk into Nanami’s coffee.

"Yeah, it’s almost like I work here."

Nanami sighed. "Gojo, stop harassing the barista."

"How is that harassment? I’m being nice!"

"You are being a nuisance."

Tall Guy—Gojo, you guess his name is—gasped, utterly scandalized. "I’m adding joy to their day, Nanamin."

You handed Nanami his drink before he could respond. He accepted it with a grateful nod, took a sip, and immediately looked one step closer to inner peace.

You handed Gojo his monstrosity. "Look at all the caramel drizzle!" He took a sip and moaned. "Ohhhh yeah, that’s the good stuff."

Nanami looked like he had just witnessed a public execution.

"Please never do that again," he muttered.

Gojo, of course, did it again, staring directly into Nanami’s soul as he took another dramatic sip.

You were so glad these people weren’t your problem outside of this café.

"Glad you like it," you said dryly.

To your mild horror, they stuck around after getting their drinks, settling into a table near the counter. Nanami was reading a book. Gojo was not reading a book. He was watching you.

Oh no.

"Hey barista," Gojo called. "You ever get bored working here?"

You stared at him.

"Like, when it’s not busy. What do you do for fun?"

You considered telling him you started counting ceiling tiles just to make him go away. Instead, you said, "Mostly, I wait for my shift to end."

Gojo laughed. "You sound like Nanamin!"

Nanami did not look pleased with that comparison. He exhaled through his nose like he was actively restraining himself from committing a felony.

It was at this moment the door opened again.

You glanced up—

And nearly dropped the milk frother you were holding.

Because there, standing like a glitch in reality, was Choso and Yuji.

Yuji, ever the golden retriever, grinned. “Oh, hey! You guys are here too?”

Gojo turned. “Huh?”

Your eyes darted between them.

They all knew each other?

Of course they did.

Choso approached the counter, completely ignoring the other two men. His expression was blank as ever, but the moment his eyes landed on you, something shifted.

“Barista.”

You braced yourself. “Choso."

“I have returned.”

“Yes. I can see that.”

“I would like another latte."

You nodded, trying to ignore Gojo’s eyes burning into the side of your skull and the way he was grinning like he knew something you didn't. “Got it.”

Gojo crept towards Choso with that same knowing grin. “Choso, buddy, pal. This is a big deal.”

Choso frowned. “What is?”

“Oh, you know,” Gojo drawled, “you like the barista.”

Yuji coughed violently. Nanami looked ready to walk into the ocean.

Choso, to your utter confusion, considered this. Like he was running some kind of internal diagnostic.

Then, after a very long pause—

“Yes.”

Silence.

Yuji choked once again. Gojo lost his mind, cackling. Nanami, to his credit, simply closed his eyes as if this entire experience had finally broken him.

You, meanwhile, stood there with Choso’s latte in your hand, processing the fact that a man who seemed to barely understand how cafés worked had just admitted, without hesitation, that he liked you.

Nanami, who had been spectating in exhausted silence, shook his head. “I regret coming here.”

Gojo pouted. “Oh, don’t be like that! It’s fun!”

“Nothing about this is fun.”

"I think it's fun!" Yuji piped in with a wide smile.

Ignoring them, you turned back to Choso. “So. I guess you, uh, really liked the latte, huh?”

Choso nodded, looking far too serious. “It was the best thing I have ever consumed.”

You stared at him. He stared back, intense as ever.

God. This was your life now.

Choso, completely unaware of the sheer weight of his words, took the latte from you with his usual blank expression.

“Thank you, barista.”

And just like that, he took a sip, eyes half-lidding like it was the greatest thing he had ever experienced.

You exhaled. “You’re welcome, Choso.”

Gojo, still wheezing, turned to Yuji. “You have to let me know how this plays out.”

You just stared at Choso, who was still enjoying his latte like nothing had happened, wondering how your life had spiraled into this.

"Alright," Gojo said, standing up and stretching like he’d been working hard at sitting down. "We’ll be back!"

You had never heard a more ominous sentence in your life.

Nanami placed a few bills on the counter—far more than necessary—and gave you a knowing look, like he already pitied your future.

You watched the four of them leave, took a long breath, and checked the time.

Somehow, you still had four hours left on your shift.

Great.

[minty-mumbles]

LU Survey 2024 Results

The long awaited results of the survey. Thank you guys for being so patient with me :)

There were 350 responses to the survey this year! Not as many as there were last year, but still impressive. If you want to look at the raw data for this, you can do so here

Demographics

General Questions

Favorites and Least Favorites

Blank Space Question (Select Answers)

I'm so normal about Legend (the biggest lie I've ever told)

WIND BABY WIND OUGH IHGH UUOA I AM SICK FOR HIM MY SKRUNKLE MY OUGHGHHGJUA BELOVED

Remember that fandom is a community! Reach out to each other and learn something new! Give someone a compliment! Ask them a question! Encourage new artists and writers who are still learning! Thank you Mint for doing the survey again, too!

The fact no one has thought of calling Warrior's Zelda, "Areia" hurts me deeply "Hyppolita" even, please, with how much shipping there is between them, people sure are eager to name her after goddesses who have vowed to never have romantic relationships.

I dont think the fandom talks about it but i really love that every single piece of sky clothing is embroidered, because unless skyloft has embroidery machines thats all hand done. Which means either someone he knows makes a lot of them and gives them out freely (i give most of my projects to friends and family) or he would have paid someone for it, which means that either someone on skyloft lives of decorating clothing (and likely other fabrics) or someone just uses it to get some extra money (both are amazing since in the modern day people dont want to pay for handcrafted works what its actually worth)

Shark skeletons are made of cartilage, not bone

It's dangerous to go alone. Take this. 🦆

FOUR SUPREMACY🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥💚❤️💙💜💪💪💪💪🔛🔝💯💯💯💯💯

No but the Athena/Artemis thing is so real. What’s up with that. Why did we pick Artemis? Why did we do that?

I find it so funny how the fandom has decided to call Dark Link "Dink" because whenever I play a Zelda game I name my character Dink or Dinkus :D I started doing this waaaaay before I knew about LU

Im so excited for Echos of Wisdom! I find it really funny that Nintendo keeps making it harder for JoJo to stick to the plan, I'm pretty sure it's Legend and Fable but I'm not certain any ways Im really happy!

I love how LU is a culmination of so many of my favorite tropes from other fandoms! It’s been really comforting and nostalgic for me despite the fact that I only got into it this year. Especially since so many creators I liked have been getting revealed as problematic, it’s nice to be able to fall back on fictional characters who can’t ruin the lives of real people. :)

[quillcraftconquer]

Simon, who never wanted a dog. He didn't mind dogs, always stopping to give them a quick pat on the side, and he didn't mind his friends' dogs coercing him to toss a ball for a couple of hours. He just never envisioned himself owning a dog. He spent too much time away from home, and god forbid if anything happened to him, who would even take his dog? 

Still, despite all of his unanswered questions, when he met the tan, leggy stray on a mission that followed him around like he already owned it, he couldn't help but feed it scraps from his dinner, let it sit too close, talk to it whenever everyone else went to bed. 

It wasn't a cute dog. Its body was nicked with tiny scars from its time spent on the streets, and Simon was well aware of the bugs running through its scruffy fur. Its legs were far too tall for its body, accompanied by a small, pointed head with ears too big that stood up when something caught its eye, or drooped comically low when he was relaxed. 

Price complained relentlessly about the “damn dog” that followed Simon to every dinner, whining and scratching at the door when they went to bed, always under their feet while he was trying to walk around the base. It wasn’t until he walked into the showers, making eye contact with Simon and Gaz knelt on the floor, the damn dog enjoying the last remnants of hot water and the empty box of flea medicine tilted against the wall that he knew it was a losing battle, the dog was going to stick around. 

Simon, who didn't want a dog, but spent more money than he had on anything else to bring it home, buy it a nice bed, and a thick leather collar. 

It wasn’t until he stood in the vet's office, watching you run the metal tag through the engraving machine with his information on it that he realized the dog was his. Simon told himself he came here because you were nice to his dog, not commenting on his unique looks or bad behaviors, and how your eyes didn't linger on the dog's scars (or his, foregoing the masks when he did stop in.)

You, of course, didn't mind Simon’s gruff exterior, the way he mumbled ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to your questions, but talked extensively when it came to his dog.You laughed at the way Simon’s nose crinkled when you discussed neutering, or different training methods. You said nothing when Simon would always answer “Not my dog, just a stray.”, but always paid for the best food, treats, and care, almost as if he was convincing himself the dog wasnt going to stick around (because what did in Simon’s life?)

You especially didn't mind when Simon brought up boarding, stating he had to leave for a few weeks. You jumped at the chance, determined to show him that his dog could learn just a few house manners. You let him drop the dog off at your home, gave him access to the cameras, let him survey the yard. 

And if you had known, you wouldn't have minded the late nights Simon was halfway across the world, laying on some shitty bed with security cameras pulled up, watching the dog- his dog- take its signature 3 circles before plopping down on the outdoor couch next to you. 

It was for the dog, he told himself. It definitely didn't have to do with the too tight, too short christmas pajamas you wore in, yes, June, (he had to check the calendar, feeling like he had somehow missed 6 months of the year.) It didn't have to do with the way your fingers lazily dragged over the dog's fur, or the way you pinched the bridge of your nose when the dog tore up another cushion Simon would replace. 

Simon’s thumb punched the side of the phone, the screen darkening as he laid it against his chest, eyes staring up at the darkened ceiling.

It was just about the dog.

[multisaku-rarepair-cove]

❦ FOOLS IN LOVE ❦

APRIL 1 ~ APRIL 4

A MultiSaku RarePair Event

Very excited to announce the Cove's first event! We'll be posting an invite to the the Cove's discord server a week prior to the event start!

【Mods: @frostmarris @hallous @princessxgarbage | Text version under the cut!】

PROMPTS

Each day has two sets of similarly themed, but opposing, prompts for a total of four.

DAY ONE ❦ APRIL 1

Fool's Gold | Diamond in the Rough

Enemies to Loves | Lovers to Enemies

DAY TWO ❦ APRIL 2

First Kiss | Kiss Goodbye

Walking on Air | Walking on Eggshells

DAY THREE ❦ APRIL 3

Summer Solstice | Winter Solstice

Secrets Kept | Secret Revealed

DAY FOUR ❦ APRIL 4

Heroes & Nobles | Thieves & Vagabonds

Wonderland | Wasteland

THE FOOLS

As decided by the MultiSaku RarePair Survey

Kisame ❦ Deidara ❦ Neji

Kankuro ❦ Kiba ❦ Tobirama

Obito ❦ Minato ❦ Karin

Hidan ❦ Yamato ❦ Temari

Haku ❦ Konan ❦ Cee

Kimimaro ❦ Sai ❦ Shino

Zabuza ❦ Genma

RULES

If you have any questions, please DM a mod via discord or through the @multisaku-rarepair-cove blog

❦ Only use this year's Fools for your MultiSaku RarePair ships. You can mix-and-match to form any OT3s or polyships.

❦ You can use any one or combo of the 4 prompts for each day. Whichever inspires you! You do NOT have to use both dual prompts.

❦ Any fan content (art, fic, moodboards, cosplay, etc.) is welcome, provided it is YOUR OWN.

❦ Use the tag #foolsinlove25 (tumblr, ao3, etc.) and tag the @multisaku-rarepair-cove tumblr.

❦ AI/machine learning content is NOT welcome.

❦ All NSFW and dark content must be tagged and have appropriate content warnings.

[ghostofskywalker]

Hi! Im not sure if you're still taking requests for your clone-urary event, but here I got. Could I request an F!Reader x Fox with the prompt "Do you want to go out sometime...?" || "Like a date?" || "Y-yeah, like a date".

It gives me a idiots in love to idiot lovers' vibe.

this is such a cute prompt, and fox was fun to write it with! i tried to go for the mutual pining/they both don't realize the other feels the same way vibe, and i still have your other request in my inbox, i hope to start on that soon!

What Happens To The Caf Machine (Sometimes Leads to The Admittance of Feelings)

words: 1,395

summary: As the caretaker of the Senate Archives, you don't usually see too many people. But when the Coruscant Guard's caf machine is out of commission one morning, your favorite trooper comes in to ask a favor, and things blossom from there.

clone troopers masterlist || request a clone-uary fic!

“Good morning Commander!” you said brightly as Fox’s telltale red helmet appeared in the doorway of the Senate Archives. 

“Good morning,” he greeted in return. While the cadence of his voice was nowhere near as cheery as yours had been, you didn’t think much of it. With the workload that he had and the amount of stress that undoubtedly rested on his shoulders, you didn’t blame him for not being cheery this early in the morning. “Can I use your caf machine?” 

“Of course,” you said, watching as he stepped behind your large desk and crossed the doorway into your small office. His visits to your little office in the Archives had become something of a routine at this point, and you’d be lying if you said you disliked it. You technically shared the sprawling basement of the Senate building with the headquarters of the Coruscant Guard, and lately Fox had been making regular appearances throughout the day, whether it was because he had something to ask you, or to just hide away in the stacks of books and documents for a little while.

“Thorn hogging your machine again?” you asked, stifling a laugh as you watched him survey the small collection of mugs you had amassed in your time here. Unlike the times you had been in his break room, where it seemed every trooper used the same blank white drinkware for their caf, your mugs were bright, colorful, and sometimes oddly shaped. 

“Thorn broke our machine,” was Fox’s answer, finally pulling out a pale blue mug with the first initial of your name on it. “The di’kut said he would fix it, but last time he said that, the machine ended up exploding all over the next person who tried to make some caf.” 

Laughter bubbled from your lips as you considered the sight in your mind’s eye. “And who was the unlucky victim?” 

Fox removed his helmet, allowing you to see the serious expression on his face. “Me,” he deadpanned. 

You laughed once more, playfully ignoring the glare he shot you. “Well, no matter what happens to your caf machine, you can alway come in and use this one. Even if I’m not here.” 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, face softening at your words. 

When the counter top contraption finally whirred to life and began to dispense (heavenly-smelling) caf into the mug, you smiled, starting a conversation you seemed to have every single time he was here. “I have milk and creamer in the small chiller over there, and there should be some sweetener packets resting in the bowl next to the machine if you want them.” 

And like every time you had made the offer before, you received the same answer. “No thank you, black caf is just fine with me.” 

You smiled, watching as he moved out of the office and back towards the entryway to the archives. “I know, but it’s here if you ever change your mind.”

Selfishly, you wanted him to stay. Your fascination with the marshal commander of the Coruscant Guard had done nothing but grow in recent rotations, and it was spiraling to full-on crush territory. You wanted to learn everything about him, to spend as much time together as the galaxy would allow, and you desperately wanted to make him laugh. While you had seen the commander’s smile on a few prior occasions, the sound of his laughter was still elusive, and it was very quickly becoming your most important mission. 

“I’ll bring your mug back when I’m done,” he said, and you smiled. 

“I’m not worried about that,” was your response. “Besides, I know where you work.” 

A smile crossed his lips as well, and what sounded like the barest beginnings of a laugh formed before the expression faded. Well, at least you knew he liked your jokes. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at you with an appreciative expression before putting his helmet back on and heading out the door. 

As you waved goodbye to him and began your actual tasks for the day, you couldn’t help the way your mind wandered to daydreams of the commander, and the way you hoped that his caf machine remained out of commission for the foreseeable future. 

***

It wasn’t until a few hours later that you saw Fox again, and you looked up from the document you were transcribing with a smile as he walked through the door again, the mug you had lent him earlier safe and sound in his hands. It was something of a welcome surprise to see that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “I came to return this,” he said, gently passing the mug from his hands to yours. “And to thank you again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. “Did Thorn fix your caf machine?” 

Fox shook his head. “He’s attempting to as we speak. From the profanity I heard coming from the break room walls, I don’t think it’s going that well.” 

You laughed. “Well, at least there haven't been any explosions yet.” 

But it seemed the galaxy wanted to showcase its comedy skills in this moment, because right after you finished speaking, the sound of something echoed through the walls, shaking some of the tomes as they sat upon the archive’s endless shelves. It was silent in the room for a moment as you and Fox locked eyes, and then the very thing you had been hoping for happened: the commander began to laugh. It was a joyful sound that you immediately decided you wanted to hear every single day for the rest of your life, and it didn’t take more than a second for you to join in. 

“Well,” you said, after finally composing yourself. “I guess you’ll be using my caf machine for a little longer then.” 

“I suppose so,” he responded, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way his face changed as he smiled. There was no telling what stress he was subjected to on a daily basis, but right now, as some of that seemed to have slipped away, he looked almost younger. “I’ll have to start bringing my own mugs and ground caf."

“Oh please, don’t even worry about it!” 

“No, I couldn’t-” 

“Fox,” you said, cutting him off. “You’ve seen my mug collection, you know I have more than enough. And the caf here is stocked by the Senate, I don’t pay a credit for it.” 

He paused for a moment before speaking again. “I still want to thank you for your kindness though.” If you didn’t know any better, you would almost say that the look on his face was one of nervousness. 

“Well, you don’t have to bring me caf to do that,” was your response, and you kept talking before you could really process what was coming out of your mouth. “Do you want to go out sometime?” 

Your words had clearly come as a shock to him, and his eyes widened as he took in your words. Thankfully though, he didn’t shoot you down right away, and the voice he responded with was much softer than you had ever heard before. “Like a date?”

Kriff it, you might as well own this now. If he refused, maybe you could still be friends, or at least friendly acquaintances. “Y-yeah, like a date.” 

But to your surprise, he didn’t pull a face and awkwardly try to end the conversation. “I’d like that,” he said quietly. 

Right as you were about to speak, the comm device on his wrist started to blare, and it was clear that either the situation with the caf machine had suddenly gotten a lot more involved, or something else had happened that needed his attention. “I’m so sorry,” he said. 

“Don’t worry about it, I know you’re an important guy around here,” you responded, grabbing a piece of flimsi from your desk and quickly scribbling something on it. “Here’s my comm frequency, maybe we could go out for dinner when we’re both off.”

He smiled, quickly silencing the ringing as he grabbed the flimsi from your hands. “That sounds great.” 

He was out the door seconds later, but you didn’t blame him for the interruption. Looking back at the mug he had returned, you couldn’t help but smile, because even though nothing was set in stone just yet, you had a date with Commander Fox.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[incorrect-mtg]

The Argent Etchings teach no fear

Fez Xa'ktiz knew no fear as he stepped through the omenpath, even though it was the first time he would be in a world not his own. He was the First Vanguard of the Choir within the Seven Hundred and Forty Eighth Expedition Force of the Alabaster Host and through his lips the song of the Mother of Machines would be spread, her presence was always with — within — him.

Fear was a weakness of the incompleat, of those not yet blessed by the light of Phyrexia, not yet held in the sweet embrace of the Mother of Machines, not yet baptized in ichor. It was the inevitable result of imperfection and lack of unity, something that would soon be eradicated through their work, where the entire multiverse would find purpose and belonging.

Fez Xa'ktiz was not born to feel fear, he was born to sing. He was not born to be alone, he forever heard the whispers of the Mother of Machines, the guiding force of his own voice.

"In the Argent Etchings we each learn our appointed duties and so we understand our purpose" he heard the Mother whisper within him, and so it was with delight that he fully crossed the boundary into a nameless world.

As the rest of the Expedition Force stepped through the omenpath behind him — alongside a number of members of the Chrome Host — he did a first survey of the site of their arrival. Although the Machine Orthodoxy held knowledge of countless worlds, eagerly gathered in preparation of the events now unfolding, there were countless more about which they had known little to nothing. He had been trusted with charting one such world, hence the presence of the Chrome Host, and so any insight would be beneficial.

The most noticeable aspect was the material of the walls that surrounded him — organic, disgusting wood — and then the realization that they had, indeed, arrived in a room. A large hall, rectangular in shape, its dark and stained walls covered by peeling and roting paper and littered with assorted objects that might have long ago implied a living presence. At the each of the most distant ends of the hall, flimsy doors hid the rest of the world from sight.

Curious... although the Mother of Machines guaranteed that their feet would find stable ground to cross on arrival, he thought it unlikely for said ground to be in a building, much less an abandoned one.

His duty was not to ask questions, however, unlike the members of the Chrome Host that had immediately set upon their given task of setting up observation devices, scanners and other such contraptions. Typical of apostates who saw observation of their surroundings as a better path to perfection than the much more enlightened learning through the Argent Etchings themselves.

"In the Argent Etchings we see the world as it should be, and so they light the path towards perfection" whispered the voice of the Mother of Machines again as he turned towards his fellows in the Alabaster Host. Unlike their Gitaxian counterparts, they had organized themselves single file, silent and waiting for orders. Sixteen divisions of sixteen soldiers, each led by another Vanguard of the Choir, the perfect ordination for the forces of Phyrexia.

Fez Xa'ktiz opened his mouth and let ring the song to which he had been entrusted, its metallic shrieking and undulating depths shaking the walls around them at the same time it gave the soldiers purpose. As each member of the Choir echoed in delightfully rending harmony, they set out to do their work. The forces split in two and moved towards each door, followed by quickly assembled Gitaxian probes. As both doors opened into new halls, each splitting off into different directions, the Host split up further into smaller forces, until finally each division pressed on individually, mapping out the path that they took and noting all other paths they missed, which would likely be explored by the drones the Chrome Host was sending off.

Although not able to see through their eyes, the resonance of their singing allowed Fez Xa'ktiz a measure of understanding of the surroundings each division passed through, which let him see that whatever building had been unwittingly chosen as the landing spot of their invasion was still large enough that none of their forces had arrived at an outside. Odd, although not beyond the realm of possibility — perhaps this place was a crude and disgustingly organic facsimile of the Fair Basilica, an entire world brought within a greater structure — and something that would definitely be worth noting.

Of perhaps equal note was the first living being found within the plane: a moth, its gray fluttering wings carrying it through the doors and right by him. Perhaps it had sat in a hidden alcove, and the passing forces had awoken it? How serendipitous, then, that it had been drawn by the light of the omenpath right towards them.

Bringing forth a hand towards the insect, Fez Xa'ktiz was delighted to see it land upon his claw, its wings closing and antennae fluttering as they regarded each other, black eyes meeting perfectly polished ivory... This creature, insignificant as it might be, would be fitting first initiate for this world. A moth reaching for the light and finding its own perfection upon arrival.

Extending his tongue, he let it be cut by one of his sharp fangs, black ichor dripping through the wound. Leaning his head down, he let it drip directly onto the moth until its gray wings turned black. Surprisingly it had no reaction to such a treatment, even though he knew compleation was supposed to be — meant to be — a painful process.

"Weakness burrows deep in the flesh of the incompleat. It bites down and refuses to let go. Their first step towards perfection is to extricate it and bleed out its rot" taught the Mother of Machines, even though the vermin on his claw seemed to defy such clear teachings... Until the entire thing came undone, breaking apart like petals falling off a dead flower.

Perhaps... Perhaps it was simply too weak. If someone — something — was wholly comprised of weakness, how could they remove it without ceasing to exist entirely? Yes, that made sense. To react in pain, to shake and twist and cry, one would need parts of themselves to remain, the parts that weren't corrupted by weakness. The insect likely had nothing to offer and so could not even muster a reaction.

He put the moth out of his mind, focusing on more important matters: one division had finally met living beings to oppose its passage. Not insignificant vermin, but actual fighters charging directly at them.

The walls rumbled and shook as Fez Xa'ktiz increased the volume of his song, the lessons and tactics etched in his mind echoing towards the legions of soldiers now finally seeing battle. Like the beasts of the Hunter Maze, warriors seemed to come out of the woodwork, their rusty and jagged weapons doing little and nothing against perfect phyrexian soldiers-

No, that wasn't right... The walls, they had not shaken due to his song, had they? Or had they? He didn't understand why it mattered, but he would swear that they shook first, then he had intensified his singing...

"The enem- even some of our al- see meri- ception- crush- overwhel-" murmured... The Mother of Machines? Why could he not hear her clearly?

He sang louder still, certain his voice would reach all members of their force — be it Alabaster or Chrome — and through the omenpath itself to the Mother of Machines. In the echo of his song, he would find stable ground-

His next step — had it been a step forward, towards his soldiers, or backwards, towards the omenpath? — found nothing but empty air, the wood underneath him rotting and opening into an abyss.

He quickly spread his wings, trying to stabilize and go back to where he had been even as he was spun around by gravity and air resistance, until his body met the ground with a loud crack and roaring pain and his consciousness left him.

When he woke up, one of his wings broken after taking most of the force of his fall, he did not know how long he had laid there. It could not have been long, certainly, for the Chrome Host would have certainly sent a drone to retrieve him given enough time — shameful as it might have been — and yet he laid alone, the silence of the room cut only by a dripping sound.

(Why was he alone? Why could he not hear the voice of the Mother of Machines)

He looked around, taking stock of the room and how its smooth white walls were almost as beautiful as those of the Fair Basilica, except instead of being made of ivory they seemed covered by... Wax?

His gaze finally fell upon his remaining wing. Rather than being bent out of shape like its counterpart, the limb has been spread behind and to the side of him, and was covered in the same material that covered the rest of the room, already in the process of solidifying. Another drip, directly onto it, served as confirmation.

To fly back with a single wing would prove a challenge, but with two wings damaged it would be impossible. Furthermore, if he was to be forced to drag himself up the hole he had fallen through, the weight of the wax would simply make things harder. Without hesitation, he pushed his claws under the material, right where feathers met wax: Even if some of it had dried already, the ichor that would pour through the wounds would close them quickly, he was certain-

That certainty lasted only until the pain — beyond what he had ever felt, ever knew could be felt — spread from his wing as he pulled the wax off. This- this wasn't normal. He-

The liquid that poured out of his wounds, where wax had pulled feathers and skin and bones alongside it, was not ichor.

It was red... Why was it red?

"What foolish prey, that wanders into an open maw thinking themselves the predators" whispered the Mother- no, this was not her voice. These were not her words.

The walls surrounding him rumbled once again, so hard it seemed the entire world was shaking, before stopping. Then again, before stopping, repeating, stopping, and on and on and on.

As Fez Xa'ktiz laid alone, his wounds bleeding a liquid that should not be there, he knew that the rumbling was certainly the consequences of battle: the Mother of Machines must have heard his last cries and sent forth more soldiers to tame this accursed world.

And yet a small part of him couldn't help but fear that the rumbling felt like a delighted and cruel laughter.

[academicfever]

This is a good starting point but its not exhaustive by any means...

#Research 101: Part 1

##    How to find a good research topic?

It’s best to familiarize yourself with a discipline or topic as broadly as possible by looking beyond academia

Tips:

Be enthusiastic, but not unrealistic. For example, you might be tempted to throw yourself into finding out to what extent an entire economy has become circular, but it may already be challenging and tricky enough to find out which building materials are being recycled in the construction sector, and in what ways.

Be open-minded but beware of cul-de-sacs. You should always find out first whether enough is known about a topic already, or you might find yourself wasting a lot of time on it.

Be creative but stay close to the assignment. This starts with the topic itself; if one learning objective of the assignment is to carry out a survey, it isn’t helpful to choose a topic for which you need to find respondents on the other side of the world. One place where you can look for inspiration is current events. 

Although professors and lecturers tend to be extremely busy, they are often enthusiastic about motivated and smart students who are interested in their research field. You do need to approach them with focused questions, though, and not just general talk such as: ‘Do you know of a good topic for me?’ In many cases, a good starting point is the scholar themselves. Do a search on them in a search engine, take a look at their university web page, read recent publications,

In most university towns, you’ll come across organizations that hold regular lectures, debates, and thematic evenings, often in partnership with or organized by university lecturers and professors. If you’re interested in transdisciplinary research where academic knowledge and practical knowledge come together, this is certainly a useful place to start your search.

If you want to do interdisciplinary research, it is essential to understand and work with concepts and theories from different research fields, so that you are able to draw links between them (see Menken and Keestra (2016) on why theory is important for this). With an eye to your ‘interdisciplinary’ academic training, it is therefore a good idea to start your first steps in research with concepts and theories.

##How to do Lit Review:

Although texts in different academic disciplines can differ significantly in terms of structure, form, and length, almost all academic articles (research articles and literature reports) share a number of characteristics:

They are published in scholarly journals with expert editorial boards

These journals are peer-reviewed

These articles are written by authors who have no direct commercial or political interest in the topic on which they are writing

There are also non-academic research reports such as UN reports, data from statistics institutes, and government reports. Although these are not, strictly speaking, peer-reviewed, the reliability of these sources means that their contents can be assumed to be valid

You can usually include grey literature in your research bibliography, but if you’re not sure, you can ask your lecturer or supervisor whether the source you’ve found meets the requirements.

Google and Wikipedia are unreliable: the former due to its commercial interests, the latter because anyone, in principle, can adjust the information and few checks are made on the content.

disciplinary and interdisciplinary search machines with extensive search functions for specialized databases, such as the Web of Science, Pubmed, Science Direct, and Scopus

Search methods All of these search engines allow you to search for scholarly sources in different ways. You can search by topic, author, year of publication, and journal name. Some tips for searching for literature: 1. Use a combination of search terms that accurately describes your topic. 2. You should use mainly English search terms, given that English is the main language of communication in academia. 3. Try multiple search terms to unearth the sources you need. a. Ensure that you know a number of synonyms for your main topic b. Use the search engine’s thesaurus function (if available) to map out related concepts.

During your search, it is advisable to keep track of the keywords and search combinations you use. This will allow you to check for blind spots in your search strategy, and you can get feedback on improving the search combinations. Some search engines automatically keep a record of this.

Exploratory reading How do you make a selection from the enormous number of articles that are often available on a topic? Keep the following four questions in mind, and use them to guide your literature review: ■■ What is already known about my topic and in which discipline is the topic discussed? ■■ Which theories and concepts are used and discussed within the scope of my topic, and how are they defined? ■■ How is my topic researched and what different research methods are there? ■■ Which questions remain unanswered and what has yet to be researched?

$$ Speed reading:

Run through the titles, abstracts, and keywords of the articles at the top of your list and work out which ideas (concepts) keep coming back.

Next, use the abstract to figure out what these concepts mean, and also try to see whether they are connected and whether this differs for each study.

If you are unable to work out what the concepts mean, based on the context, don’t hesitate to use dictionaries or search engines.

Make a list of the concepts that occur most frequently in these texts and try to draw links between them.

A good way to do this is to use a concept map, which sets out the links between the concepts in a visual way.

All being well, by now you will have found a list of articles and used them to identify several concepts and theories. From these, try to select the theories and concepts that you want to explore further. Selecting at this stage will help you to frame and focus your research. The next step is to discover to what extent these articles deal with these concepts and theories in similar or different ways, and how combining these concepts and theories leads to different outcomes. In order to do this, you will need to read more thoroughly and make a detailed record of what you’ve learned.

next: part 2

part 3

part 4

last part

[xpbrandai]

The Economic Impact of Ineffective Decision-Making in Global Companies

Ineffective decision-making poses significant risks to global companies, impacting financial performance, operational efficiency, strategic competitiveness, and reputational integrity. However, by leveraging AI insights from Xp, companies can mitigate these risks and make more informed, data-driven decisions. As companies continue to embrace AI as a strategic tool, the role of AI in enhancing decision-making and driving long-term success will only continue to grow, shaping the future of business in profound ways.

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 9)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Link below for the other chapters:Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Some slightly blurred lines in this one re:touching without consent and threat of violence. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

Part 9 -

Unbeknownst to me, back at the half burned out apartment, the cops had made a run for it. They had tried to track us for a block or two, before deciding that getting to a hospital was a much more pressing concern. The older one had pretty severe burns to his arm and hand, and the tall lean one had burns to the lower half of his face and neck which would need some serious medical attention.

A couple of hours after their departure, a looming dark figure stood in the epicentre of the wreckage. The so-called 'batman' surveyed the scene, a stern look on his masked face as he pieced together some of the chaos which had unfolded. He had found the discarded purple dress and assumed the worst of the woman who was still missing.

His heart had sunk a little, thinking that the joker had left yet another body in his wake but then something had given him reason to pause. There were two toothbrushes in the bathroom, two plates in the sink, and a set of handcuffs attached to the radiator. He needed to look deeper, it seemed as though she might not have been killed after all.

As he paced around the room, he paused by the fireplace which had obvious signs of recent use. On the mantle there was a vase which was conspicuously absent of dust compared to everything around it and peering inside there was something stuffed into the bottom. Tipping it out he unscrewed the lined paper note. It read:

((Your first and last name))

STILL ALIVE

It was dated three days previous.

He felt a little surge of hope somewhere deep in his soul and carefully pocketed the scrap of paper. He could test it for fingerprints - maybe it would bring up some kind of record, some kind of lead. Meanwhile he and Alfred could keep searching for any tip-offs or recent sightings of either of them. If she had stayed alive this long, there was hope for her, even as the clock was ticking down each agonising second. He would just have to keep searching. He would find them.

Meanwhile, I was in the back of a car. The joker had flagged down a delivery driver and carjacked him at gunpoint. The poor guy looked terrified, and I hurriedly grabbed his delivery bag out of the trunk and threw it over to him with some of the mob money slipped inside. J was not happy about this.

"Get in the car already," he growled, grabbing my wrist and pushing me into the open back door. He slammed the trunk and my door before getting into the driver's seat.

"Let me ride shotgun," I protested.

His gaze met my own via the centre mirror.

"Why?"

"Come on, you know you can keep a better eye on me that way, and you've only got one usable arm right now - how are you gonna steer and drive stick?"

He growled in a way that signalled he knew I was right but didn't want to admit it and I quickly hopped into the front instead.

I'd barely got the passenger door shut before he started pulling away. He was heavy on the gas as we accelerated down the dark back-streets, with me doing my best to change up and down while he focused on steering. By the time we crossed into downtown, we were like a well-oiled machine, wordlessly synchronised. I watched the towering skyscrapers, like fingers clawing at the sky, and the crawling city traffic with a sense of infinite small-ness. I couldn't understand how anyone managed not to feel like a tiny, insignificant ant in this metropolis hellscape and I started to wonder if that was a feeling I'd just have to learn to carry for the rest of my life - a life that was unlikely to be long-lived if I couldn't get free of this deadly dance...

With a sigh, I flicked on the radio and switched through the first couple of channels' adverts until the sound of Frank Sinatra's crooning bled through the static on a 'golden oldies' station. I fiddled with the knobs until it cleared and came through smooth. To my astonishment, after a moment of driving in silence just listening to the music, J began to sing. Well, as close to singing as he was able in his rumbling, scratchy voice.

"She gets too hungry to wait for dinner at eight," he began, looking at me with a curious kind of smile.

I frowned in confusion at this latest development.

"She loves the theatre, but never comes late,

She'll never bother with the people she hates," he continued as I stared at him in fascination while he put on this strange little show for me.

"That's why the lady is a tramp!" His voice rang out, a little clearer than when he had started. It actually sounded much better - Almost good. I couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Ah see, it's not all bad, doll," he grinned.

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant and his moods were so changeable that it was hard to ever truly relax in his strange company.

"Are you calling me a tramp?" I asked playfully as he gave way to Sinatra's vocals for the rest of the verses.

"Yes, but it's a good thing, see, he likes that she's a little off-kilter," he said enthusiastically.

"So it's actually other people who have branded her a tramp?" I mused aloud.

"Exactly! Because she doesn't follow their silly little rules!" He said with a kind of child-like excitement which lit up his features.

A sly smile found its way onto my face.

"In that case, I guess I'm okay with it."

We were travelling further away from the beating heart of the city again now, along some great artery. The buildings were thinning out and getting older the further we went. Signs of decay and decline replaced the glistening glass and chrome of the financial centre, and the nicer working class neighbourhoods bled into the rougher ones. I watched as we rolled past burned out and boarded up properties with graffiti scrawled across every surface. We had crossed into the world of broken glass and potholes, of kids without a safe home to go to running in little gangs down roads lined with the skeletons of burnt out cars.

"A tale of two cities," I said dryly.

J said nothing, as the insufferable adverts started up, prompting me to turn off the radio in frustration.

"I have to make a phonecall," he announced with sudden seriousness, pulling the car over. I hurriedly dropped down to first and put on the parking break as he moved to get out of the car. He hesitated for a moment, turning back toward me. Unsure as to what he was about to do, I froze up for a moment.

"You could have taken your coat back, you look like a drowned rat," I sighed.

"You have my phone," he said matter-of- factly, leaning across so that he was able to slip his good hand into his coat, which I was still wearing. There was that little voice in me again, from some inner deep, dark cave in my soul, telling me I wanted him. I tried to pretend it didn't exist as he withdrew. The sound of the rain briefly entered the car as he stepped out into the downpour and closed the door behind him. I picked up the cardboard box from the footwell and took another couple of swigs of neat whisky. Everything was becoming too strange to be stone-cold sober.

Was this technically drink driving? I considered it for a moment, but decided that it didn't count as I wasn't the one steering or controlling the speed of the vehicle. Compared to assaulting multiple police officers, the theft of one of their firearms, arson, carjacking, and helping a wanted criminal escape law enforcement... DUI was the least of my problems. By the time he got back in the car a couple of minutes later, he was soaked through.

"I could have, but maybe I like seeing it on you," he said with a smirk.

"In that case you can definitely have it back," I retorted complete with a eye roll.

He turned to me, using his hand to comb his hair back, with a mischevious look plastered across his his face. He leaned in closer.

"You, uh, don't have to pretend you don't like it, doll. I know you do," he teased.

I felt the warm blood in my cheeks as I blushed, and turned away to look out of the window. The raindrops on the glass were illuminated by the street lights and glistened like little diamonds in the dark.

With surprising tenderness, he placed his hand under my jaw to turn my head back towards him. His cold fingers softly caressed my burning hot cheek.

A kind of rumbling sigh escapsed him.

"You are beautiful."

The car pulled up a steep hill alongside a tall chain link fence and we passed through some kind of gatehouse or check point. The old booth where guards would have sat was now just an emtpy shell with smashed in windows. Once we crossed this threshold, I realised we were inside the grounds to some kind of institution, a school, or a maybe some old government offices, judging by the numerous buildings scattered around the complex.

My whole body tensed up, unsure what he might be about to do next. Unsure what I would do if he did make any kind of move on me. I felt disappointed and relieved in equal measure when he instead turned the ignition and we returned to driving.

It wasn't until we were travelling along the tree lined avenue up to the central entrance of a building with wings outstretched on either side, that I realised where we were. The old Kirkbride layout of the abandoned Parkview mental hospital loomed up over the skyline ahead like some kind of enormous bat. The repetetive windows along its symmetrical layout inspired the same feelings of despair and insignificance in me that the skyscrapers in the city centre did. I thought about how terrified countless others had been driving up to this very spot, many of them never to leave again. So many of their stories ended in an unmarked plot somewhere on the grounds.

Gotham was not a new city, and like most other metropolitan centres, it needed places to house those deemed not fit to be out in polite society - the mentally ill, sick, disabled, women who were too headstrong, anyone who stepped out of the thin lines drawn at the time. The solution, the men in power decided, was to build an enormous hospital complex on what was then the fringes of the city - separate, distant from it. It was designed to be self-contained. Many of the doctors and nurses could live on site alongside the patients in their own little village, and there would be a farm for work, and an enormous boiler house to power the place. The inmates were regularly expected to do unpaid work in the kitchens, the farm, and so on to run the place. It was a closed system. Hotel california: You could check out any time you liked, but you could never leave.

As we pulled up by the grand steps at the entrance, I shivered. It felt as though all that suffering had bled into the walls, seeping like a poison into the groundwater. Overcrowding, abuse and neglect, spread just like the various infectious diseases that tore through the wards. Whatever good intentions they might have been set up with, through the years the asylums spiralled into little more than glorified plague pits to throw society's rejects down into.

With de-institutionalisation, the great bloated beasts fell one by one. All aside from Parkview, and a handful of smaller, more modern private facilities, and of course, the ever-infamous Arkham - that would remain to house those deemed criminally insane, the last man standing. My legs were shaking as we climbed the old stone steps to the administration tower, deeply apprehensive about walking into a place with such a devastating history.

"Why here?" I asked, feeling as though I was physically unable to go any further.

I was fixed to the last step, muscles taught and twitching as I turned to look back towards the blinking lights of the city down the hill.

"Until I know who is compomised, I can't go back to the usual places, even my men don't know about this one," he muttered.

"But, why here?" I said, clutching onto my carboard box with white kuckles, still not getting it.

He turned around frowning at me from the shadowy entrance hall.

"This place is..." I trailed off.

"Haunted?" he said sounding unconvinced.

"Well, that's what people say. I don't really believe in ghosts but - there was so much suffering and death here. It's like I can feel it."

He stepped back out into the moonlight.

"You can... feel it?" He asked, sounding perplexed.

"And you don't?" I questioned, equally disbelieving.

We stared at each other for a moment before he broke first and put his good arm around my shoulder.

"Ah come on, you, uh, aren't gonna let some silly little urban legend scare you. You'll be fine," he urged, strong arming me through the door.

My eyes strained to adjust in the darkness, and I was desperate not to look too long at anything, for fear of seeing something that would set me into a panic. I knew J could tell just how afraid I was. Compared to other times I'd managed to fight back my fear, or bury it, here I felt completely taken over by it. I wondered what his thoughts about that were. He let his arm slide down off of my back and instead roughly grasped my hand in his. With a yank he pulled me further into the darkness.

"C'mere, just follow," he said, commanding in tone - but not barking orders like I'd seen him do to his men.

I let him lead me up the central staircase and left, down a long hallway with a run of open doors. They had once been single rooms, cells really, many with the old metal bedframes still inside. The doors all had a small observation window in them and there was something so eery about the seemingly endless hallway full of them hanging open.

"This central section was the last part to shut down," J said as we finally hit the end of the hall and entered a stairwell. The opening between the floors was caged all round, I guessed to stop anyone jumping. It made the space claustrophobic as we clambered up to the next floor. I could see one of the other hallways we passed the entrance for was in a worse state - with a bowed floor and the start of a collapse at the far end. I wondered how long it would take for all four levels of each wing to collapse through to the ground. One day the building would be less of a corpse and more of a skeleton; walls without a roof, completely open to the sky.

"So, parts of it look untouched, aside from the usual vandalism," he continued casually as we came to a stop at a remarkably clean room. The ones on this floor were a little larger, as they had clearly housed four beds, the frames of which were haphazardly shoved into one corner, lying in a tangled mess. On the opposite side of the room, there was a stack of old palettes, like the kind you'd use a forklift to shift. On top of the stack was a double mattress, and a dust sheet tucked over the top. J tugged away the plastic sheeting to reveal the bed, complete with duvet and pillows, and a garish patchwork quilt screwed up on top.

"Give me a hand," he motioned.

Since he didn't have use of both of his, I shook and then straightened out the sheets for him. I failed to hide my surprise at the fact that the bed seemed very clean.

"What, did you expect me to sleep on some piss-stained mattress that a squatter left behind, to use mouldy blankets left over from the hospital?" He scoffed.

"No... I don't know. None of this makes sense to me..." I sighed.

He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the mattress.

"What if I need the bathroom?"

"Two doors down to the left," he said jovially.

"Is it a bucket?"

"No. The city left the water connected to the central building and after a lot of finger pointing as to whose responsibility it was to fix it, no one did," he grinned flopping down onto the bed.

"Sure sounds like Gotham to me," I mumbled in dry amusment.

"There's no hot water of course. No heating," he added.

"Of course," I echoed bitterly, pulling the coat tighter around me and gritting my teeth against the cold.

He put his good arm behind his head so that his elbow pointed skyward.

"So, where am I supposed to sleep?" I asked.

"Don't play coy princess, you're smarter than that," he said, looking me up and down.

My lips pulled into a thin line as I resisted the urge to argue back. He was trying to get a rise out of me when he called me that and I knew it. Instead, slowly, I inched closer and sat on the extreme end of the bed. I took the whiskey bottle out of my cardboard box for another swig, the initial burning sensation giving way to a pleasant warmth in my cold chest. I set the bottle down again carefully.

Patience not being one of his virtues, if he had any at all, he suddenly grabbed me and pulled me down onto the mattress beside him. Instinctually, I began to struggle.

"Hey. Hey," he said relinquishing his grip on me, "I'm just stopping you from catching hypothermia. God you're so stubborn," he muttered, throwing the covers over both of us with me still bundled up in the heavy coat. It was immediately warmer, which stopped me from getting up and moving away but I hated that he was right.

"Do you always sleep with your shoes on?" He asked, breaking the oppressive silence that had fallen over us.

"What?" I breathed, screwing my face up into a frown of confusion.

"This is the second time."

I finally realised what he was getting at.

"Oh, no. At the apartment I wanted to be ready to run if I had to. Here, you didn't give me a chance to take them off!" I grumbled, awkwardly unlacing the boots beneath the covers and kicking them out into the cold.

I was positioned as far away from his side as I could manage without falling out, and turned to face him, deciding it was better to be able to see him than not. His rain soaked hair was pulling into individual waves and curls as it began to dry out a little. My head was cold and acheing from my own damp hair.

He made a little show of placing the handgun i'd stolen from the police down by his side of the bed - making it obvious I couldn't get to it without clambering over him. I stuffed both frozen hands into my into my pant pockets for warmth, and I realised the screw driver and his knife were nestled there. I subtly slipped them under the mattress on my side; he didn't need to know I had either of those. He rolled his eyes at my defensive behaviour and leisurely rolled over to face the wall.

The light of the almost full moon cast strange, stretched out shadows through the tall windows and the room was awash with weak silver light. Everything looked translucent and ghostly. I would try to stay awake as long as I could, not able to trust my companion.

Link below for the other chapters:

Dividers by @strangergraphics

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[samaelzdraws]

Transmechanicus Biologis Study Log #726//Expunged

Magos Xanthor Vell, Formerly of Ryza Forge - Log Date: 943.M41

Location: Designation Nullius-57, Segmentum Obscurus

“Knowledge, even forbidden, cannot be unwitnessed.”

Subject: Xenobiological Study of Orkoid Symbiosis with Alien Fungal Organism: Golden Cordycep and Host Species “Gargantuan Hammerfist Champignat”

Status Note: This record is no longer recognized by the Mechanicus due to the heretical nature of my affection for the greenskin xenos. I continue my studies in exile, sustained by the machine-logic of truth and the song of biological revelation. Praise the Omnissiah, even if He no longer hears me.

INITIAL DISCOVERY

Upon my fifth solar cycle surveying Nullius-57—a geothermically volatile world rife with fungal ecologies and Orkoid spore-nodes—I came across a remarkable insectoid entity. The local feral Ork population (primitive even by greenskin standards) referred to this beast as “Hammer-Hands-Big-Bug.” My own designation, however, is the Gargantuan Hammerfist Champignat.

Vital statistics:

• Height: Approximately 6 meters at rest (measured dorsally)

• Length: ~25 meters from anterior claw-socket to abdominal tip

• Locomotion: Octopedal with significant muscle mass in posterior three pairs of legs—capable of near-sonic percussion via specialized forelimb mandibles

• Diet: Primarily fungivorous; secondary carnivorous behavior observed against smaller insectoid competition

The Hammerfist’s mandibles exhibit convergent morphology with Terran Odontodactylus scyllarus (mantis shrimp), able to deliver percussive strikes potent enough to shatter basalt. On three occasions I recorded the creatures engaging in territorial duels—sonic vibrations from the impact alone rendered smaller fauna comatose. A marvel of biomechanical design.

THE GOLDEN CORDYCEP

During a dissection of a deceased specimen (likely deceased due to fungal overgrowth from local sporepits), I noticed a peculiar golden-hued fungal growth adorning the abdominal chitin, clustered near soft tissue seams and around neural ganglia.

At first I assumed Cordycep sp. parasitica, given the obvious fungal infiltration. However, tissue scans revealed a non-destructive relationship: mycoproteins were reinforcing torn muscle fiber and emitting localized biochemical signals promoting regeneration.

Subsequent histological assays and auspex-readings confirmed: this is no parasitism. It is symbiosis. The fungus integrates with the host’s immune response, stimulating cell mitosis and supplying metabolic resources drawn from its own photosynthetic conversion and fungal substrate digestion.

I designate this species: Mycocladium aureum symbiotica.

FERALS AND FUNGUS

The true revelation came when I observed the feral Orks interacting with the Hammerfist carcass. A group of five, evidently local hunters, approached the deceased creature. One of them—massive even by Ork standards—was grievously wounded. The entire right hemisphere of his face had been sheared away, likely by a hammerfist blow.

Without ceremony, the Ork scooped the golden mold with his crude bone-dagger and slathered it directly into the wound. I recorded every detail:

• Within eight hours, the bleeding had ceased.

• By thirty-six hours, rudimentary tissue regrowth was visible—ruddy green with streaks of golden fungal weave.

• In three days, the Ork had returned to hunting, now sporting a partial fungal exo-plate over the affected region.

The Orks believe the fungus is a form of divine ichor, a gift from Gork (or possibly Mork). Some wear its dried form as ritual armor or chew it during rites of battle-healing. Crude. Inefficient. And yet… functional.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

I remain in exile. But I am not alone. The Orks tolerate me—barely. Some call me “Squig-brain-with-light(glowing)-eyes.” I take it as a term of endearment.

My laboratory is mobile. My data is redundant across twelve cortical backups. One day, perhaps, the Imperium will learn to see past its fear. Until then, I watch. I record. I learn.

And when the Hammer-Hands-Big-Bugs thunder through the canyons, I listen. For in the rhythm of their strike lies a pattern.

I am getting more and more accustomed to this new lifestyle

[tenderjock]

"They're giving them souls, Giles."

She's not sure how the Initiative has figured out how to do it, with military machines and experimental scientific equipment in place of a dusty Romani curse. She thinks they're not entirely sure how they've done it either, that it's a lot of trial and error - Dr. Walsh basically admitted to that, when she told Buffy about their vampiric "re-consciencing" program.

"Dr. Walsh says it only worked for vampires," Buffy tells her Watcher. "She says other demons, they got zilch. Just nothing happens at all."

He finishes polishing his glasses, turns them over and starts polishing them again. "That makes some amount of sense, I suppose," Giles says. "Most demons have souls or - something that functions closely enough as a soul as to be called one, anyway. Vampires are the only demonic entity that are known for lacking a soul - or rather, that their evil comes from their lack of a soul rather than simply innate bloodlust or longstanding cultural practices or something of the sort."

"Whatever." Buffy resumes her pacing. "I'm supposed to do this tour of the Initiative tonight, so maybe I'll learn more about their re-consciencing department. It's giving me the wiggins, Giles."

"I know."

In preparation for going into potential enemy territory, Buffy puts on her cutest, most favorite halter top that doesn't come untied even when she does cartwheels and back flips, and a pair of sensible square-heeled boots. She puts her hair in a pair of neat French braids. She stows away two stakes, a small knife, and a scarf that could double as a garrote or a sling. Finally, she laces a cord choker around her neck, with a big cross pendant hanging on her collarbone, and surveys herself in the mirror. As ready as she's gonna get.

Buffy had been kind of worried that she'd have to hint and lead towards the whole soul-giving deal, but Dr. Walsh is more than happy to show off the program. She's bragging about it as soon as they're in the facility, which is giving off major evil-mad-scientist vibes.

"It took several trial runs to get the process stable for successful result," Walsh is saying. Buffy peers around, marking the exits in her mind, trying not to notice the way she's being deliberately flanked by Riley and Graham. "And then, after we succeeded in stabilizing the procedure, we had two subjects terminate."

Buffy looks at her, blinking. "Terminate?" she asks.

"Killed themselves," Riley says. "The subject we're studying currently, we've had to restrain so it doesn't do the same."

"You have one vampire right now?" Buffy asks. She'd thought that this soul-giving process was, like, a larger scale than one vamp. She'd assumed they'd be shoving souls up in dozens of the undead, as distasteful as she finds the idea. "How many - uh - 'subjects' have you done this with?"

Dr. Walsh gestures the three of them over to a cordoned-off lab set up, where Buffy sees a bunch of stuff, clothing and boots and stuff, laid out. It gives her an uncomfortable feeling - like that vamp girl that killed freshmen and stole their shit. How is this any different?

There's a familiar coat, a big black leather coat. Buffy stares at it for a second. She misses the first part of what Dr. Walsh says.

"- successfully managed to keep it restrained. Hostile 17 has proven very useful to our studies since it was re-conscienced."

"Hostile 17?" Buffy says, mouth dry.

Walsh pushes aside the sliding screen to show the rest of the room. There, naked, gagged, and tied to the operating table, is Spike.

He looks like shit. He's thin and kind of gray, the way a lot of vampires get when they're underfed, and he's got about a quarter inch of mousey brown roots. There are red marks around his wrists and ankles where it looks like he's pulled at the restraints until he's broken the skin, and he's got fresh, clinical-looking bruises on his left forearm and the left side of his abdomen.

Spike's looking at her. He's looking directly at her, and his eyes are wide and wild and agonized.

Buffy breathes in slow. Then she looks at Dr. Walsh.

"Do you keep the re-consciencing machinery here?" she asks. She knows damn well they don't. "Or is that in a different room?"

Dr. Walsh smiles, pleased by Buffy's interest. "We'll show you. It's fascinating, how it all works. This process could really change how we fight demons."

"Yes," Buffy agrees. She fumbles with her purse as they're leaving, spills makeup and tampons across the floor. Riley bends down to help her pick her stuff up. "Shit! Oh, no, I got it."

Spike's watching her still. He looks less upset, now. There's a little wrinkle in his brow.

Dr. Walsh and Graham have gone ahead; Riley is waiting for Buffy, but he's waiting at the open door, turned half away from her, giving her space to organize her feminine products.

She glances up at Spike, meeting his gaze. Swallows. And murmurs, under her breath so Riley can't hear, "I'm gonna get you out of here. Okay? Hold on. I'm gonna get you out."

Riley's still not looking, so she creeps a bit closer. Spike's leaning against his restraints like he's trying to get closer to her.

Quickly, Buffy touches Spike's bare shoulder. He goes tense and still, and closes his eyes. He's freezing, like he hasn't eaten warm blood in days. She nods, mostly to herself.

Then Buffy turns and leaves, without looking back.

[lift-for-dead]

repοst

*If you don’t have a stamp, reverse your destination and return addresses. The post office will deliver it to the return address for free

*One bag of garbage from a McDonald’s dumpster has hundreds of receipts in it, each of which has a survey. Submit each one for lots of free food

*Holding a cell phone to your ear justifies lοitering. This aids in public urinαtion, dυmpster diving, trespαssing, etc

*If you’re going to plαgiarize, plαgiarize something in a foreign language. Use a translator and spend a few minutes touching up the results.

*If they have free refills, save your cup. Next time you eat there, your drink is free.

*A plastic coffee stir stick can fool any push in coin acceptor that loads the coins on edge. Just insert stir stick, push the mechanism forward until you feel the stick hit a bump, push the bump down with the stick and push the mech all the way in

*If you look like you know what you’re doing, no one will bother you.

*When lγing, always include something slightly embarrassing, or something that makes you look bad, as part of your story. It’s not only going to disarm their skepticism (admitting to something embarrassing gives an impression of humility), but even if they remain skeptical, they’ll be left wondering why you would make something up that you’d rather keep secret if it were true

*Using Clorox or any bleach will turn the red/pink liquid detection dot on electronic devices back to white so they replace them under warranty

* “A drυg deαler in DC taught me to pick my nose if the police are staring at me. No one picks their nose if they think someone is watching them, so it’s the ultimate way of being nonchalant.”

* "I learned that you can get into almost any special event by wearing a chef coat. Even just carrying one and walking like you know where you’re going will work every time. Most people don’t want to look stupid by asking you who you are.“ (I've done this one. I'm actually a chef so it's great.)

* "My go to missing work call was never “I’m sick”, it was “Family problems”. They never questioned it, it’s vague enough and embarrassing enough that nobody ever asks.“ 

*As part of the employee training at Tαrget, they teach you that if a customer argues over a price, and the full price is under $20, to just give it to them for whatever price they claim. It’s cheaper for the company to move on to the next customer than to call in a price check.

*Put a rolled up sock in the change slot on a vending machine, come back back 4 days later….and pull sock….you will be 6-ish dollars richer.

*If it’s a small lie, like who farted or who put the empty milk carton in the fridge, I’ll tell a terrible lie. I’ll not be able to hold a straight face, contradict myself, basically suck at lying. Now everyone I know thinks I can’t tell a lie to save my life, So when I really need a big lie, I nail it every time. No one ever suspects me when I lie straight faced.

*Bring crutches to an airport. Bypass every line (including boarding) and you are chauffeured to your gate the second you pass through security. (idk abt this one)

*Make up a secret to share with someone- they may open up and share far more valuable real secrets.

*Here’s a classic. Drive over to your 7/11 of choice. Fill up a Slurpee and drop some candy bars in that bitch. Make sure the candy bars aren’t showing. Cover the Slurpee and pay for it. Free Snickers bitch.

*I tell everyone i’ve never done any drυgs. Suddenly everyone offers me cοcaine, ecstαsy, pοt, lsd. I think i’ve had $200 worth of drυgs each weekend for free. Same with liquοr. “I'm not drinking tonight” BOOM! Everyone gives me bοοze. Its like everyone wants to break your integrity as soon as you tell them you are not doing whatever they are doing.

*If you need to cash from an ATM and its not a large amount, buy a 5 cent piece of gum from a gas station that has the cash back option. Its cheaper than a $3 charge

*Act less intelligent than you really are. Acting stupid can get you out of some tricky situations. Feigning ignorance is way better than admitting you knew better but did it anyway. My old man used to say ‘It is easier to beg forgiveness than ask for permission’…sometimes it’s true.

*Every time I fly, when I land I’ll pen a little complaint to the airline that flew me. You know, I’ll come up with something like “oh, they denied me a drink! Oh, the food wasn’t vegetarian!” Whatever miscellaneous hogwash potpourri comes to my crazy brain. Like clockwork, within a business day, they’re reimbursing me with a $50 voucher, a $100 voucher, I can sell that on the secondary market.

*I’ve always had a lot of success in shutting nosy people up by blaming any personal issue on allergies. Crying from a panic attack? Allergies giving me puffy eyes. What’s that mysterious pill I’m taking? Allergy meds. Why am I acting spaced out/hungover/tired? Allergies meds making me drowsy.

*If you really wanna get away with some shit, buy a reflective vest, a white hard hat, and a clipboard. You can go ANYWHERE.

[skz-sarang]

♡⃕. ⸻⸻   : ׁ ׅ ୨ MIDNIGHT MELODIES ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ʬʬʬ. 2024 Genre. Fluff pairing. Bangchan x (f)oc!member Plot. Chan teaches Lovey how to use drum pud + reassuring chatter in front of a cup of hot chocolate. Words. 1.7 k

☆ …Keep in mind that English is not my mother tongue, so be kind! ⋆˚｡⋆.

"Oppa, I'm bored," complains Sarang, spinning around on the black office swivel chair. It's around 11 in the evening, and Sarang volunteered to wait for Chan to come home, but he's taking longer than expected.

"I'm almost done," mumbles Chan, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"You said the same thing like half an hour ago," she grumbles slightly.

Sarang lets out a small huff. "I hope you're really working hard over there. I don't want to wait here forever, you know."

Chan chuckles softly, lifting his gaze momentarily to look at Sarang with a faint smile. "Wait for another 10 minutes."

The girl rolls her eyes and pouts like a child. "But I'm soooo bored," she complains.

Sarang sighs and, after casting a frustrated look at Chan, continues. "I just hope all this waiting is worth it," Sarang continues as she stretches and surveys the guy's work desk, trying to shake off the boredom.

There's a crumpled energy drink can next to an open but unfinished cookie packet; two large PC screens with various tracks playing and a kind of tablet with colorful buttons that the guy periodically presses.

"What are you doing with that?" she asks curiously, reaching out a finger to press one of the buttons. In doing so, Sarang tries to lean forward on the chair to get a better look, accidentally bumping into the bigger chair and causing him to lose concentration. However, Chan beats her to it, turning towards her with a sigh, slapping her hand before she can approach the illuminated tablet.

"Could you please not touch anything? I feel like I'm babysitting a child," he asks with a hint of irritation in his voice. Chan is patient and sweet, but he hates being disturbed while working; in fact, he usually prefers to work alone. However, he can't resist the younger girl's doe eyes, so he let her stay with him. But he didn't know it would be quite a commitment, a little bit of a thorn in his side.

"It's a drum pad machine, used for creating music. I can press different sounds and beats here; it's part of my music production activity," explains Chan with a slight smile, trying to explain his passion to Sarang.

The girl blushes slightly from Chan's reprimand and nods understandingly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. But you know, waiting for you to finish is so boring..."

Chan smiles again, this time with a softer look. "I know, little one. Jisung complains the same way. Maybe I can finish a little faster and then we can do something together."

Chan playfully taps the girl's head and turns back to the screen. Sarang, on the other hand, seems to ponder the guy's words for a moment; then her eyes light up with an idea.

"How about this?" she says excitedly. "Teach me how to use that drum pad machine! It might be fun and it'll help pass the time."

Chan's fingers pause over the keyboard, and he glances at Sarang with a raised eyebrow. "You want to learn how to make beats?" he asks, amusement clear in his voice.

"YES!YES!YES! Pleeeeeeeeaase! It'll be so fun!and I'll stop bothering you about being bored," Sarang insists, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.

Chan sighs, but the corners of his mouth lift in a small smile. "Alright, but just a quick lesson, okay? I still have a lot of work to do."

Sarang nods eagerly, scooting her chair closer to Chan's. He picks up the drum pad machine and places it between them, then begins to explain the basics.

"Okay, so this is a drum pad machine. Each of these colorful buttons can be programmed with different sounds. For example, this one here," he presses a blue button, "is a kick drum." A deep thud resonates through the room. "And this one," he presses a green button, "is a snare." A sharp crack follows.

Sarang watches intently, absorbing the information. "So, it's like a mini drum set with all the sounds programmed into it?"

"Exactly," Chan confirms, impressed by her quick understanding. "Now, let's try making a simple beat. I'll show you how to start with a basic four-beat pattern."

He guides Sarang's fingers to the buttons, and together they start tapping out a rhythm. At first, Sarang's timing is a bit off, but with Chan's patient instruction, she soon gets the hang of it. The repetitive task of pressing the buttons seems to captivate her, and Chan can't help but smile at her focus.

"You're getting it, Bubbles! See? it's not that hard, right?" Chan encourages her.

Sarang beams at the praise, her earlier boredom completely forgotten. "This is actually really fun,Channie! I had no idea making music could be like this."

They continue to experiment with different sounds and patterns, and Sarang even starts to add her own flair to the beats. Chan is impressed with her creativity and enthusiasm, and before long, they have a small loop of music playing.

"Okay, I think that's a pretty good start," Chan says, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms. "You're a natural, bubs."

"Thank you, Oppa," Sarang replies, her face flushed with excitement. "Can we make more music together sometime?" Chan chuckles softly. "I bet I'm even better than jisung-oppa"

"Sure, but maybe not when I'm on a tight deadline." He glances at the clock and realizes that, despite their detour, he's managed to get most of his work done. "Speaking of which, I just need to wrap up a few things, and then we can head home."

Sarang nods, feeling much more patient and content now that she has something new and exciting to look forward to. She watches as Chan finishes his work, and within a short time, they are ready to leave.

Chan stands up from his chair, giving her a affectionate pat on the shoulder. "I think it's really late, and you should go rest. Tomorrow we have a lot to do."

Sarang nods and stands up from her chair as well. "You're right, it's late. Thanks for letting me stay."

Chan smiles at her and starts to turn off the lights. "Thank you for keeping me company, little one. Let's go home now." he boops her nose.

The two leave the room and head together towards the dormitory, continuing to joke and laugh along the way. They enter the apartment and take off their shoes. As they move towards the common area, Chan busied himself in the kitchen, and Sarang leaned back on the couch, letting out a contented sigh. The apartment was quiet, all the members sleeping, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence.

"Do you want tea or hot chocolate?" Chan called from the kitchen, his voice slightly muffled.

"Hot chocolate, please," Sarang replied, her voice filled with anticipation. She pulled a blanket over herself, snuggling into the warmth as she watched Chan expertly prepare the drinks.

A few minutes later, Chan emerged from the kitchen with two steaming mugs in hand. He handed one to Sarang and sat down beside her on the couch. She took a careful sip, savoring the rich, sweet flavor.

"This is perfect," she murmured, closing her eyes in appreciation.

Chan sits down next to her, taking a sip of his own drink. "I figured you could use something warm after waiting for so long."

Sarang smiles, feeling a warm glow not just from the drink but from Chan's thoughtfulness.

"Do you ever get tired of all the work?" Sarang asks after a while, looking at Chan over the rim of her mug.

Chan thinks for a moment before replying. "Sometimes. But I love what I do, and I know it's worth it. Plus, having moments like this makes it all easier to handle."

Sarang nods thoughtfully. "I'm really glad I got to learn a bit about your world tonight. It makes me appreciate all the hard work you put in even more."

Chan smiles warmly. "And I'm glad I could share it with you. It's nice to have someone to share these things with."

They continue chatting, their conversation flowing easily. Sarang tells Chan about her day and some funny stories from the dorm, and Chan shares a few behind-the-scenes stories from their recent recordings.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their hot chocolate and enjoying each other's company. Eventually, Sarang opened her eyes and turned to Chan.

"Oppa, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Chan replied, setting his mug down on the coffee table.

"Do you ever get scared? Like, really scared that things might not work out the way you hope?"

Chan looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "Yeah, I do. All the time, actually. But I try to remind myself why I'm doing this. It's not just for me, but for all of you. For our fans. For the music. That helps me keep going, even when things get tough."

Sarang nodded slowly, taking in his words. "I guess that's true. It's just hard sometimes, you know?"

"I know," Chan said softly. "But we're in this together. And we'll get through it together. You're not alone, Bubs."

She smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate. "Thank you, Oppa. I needed to hear that."

Chan smiled back, his eyes filled with a gentle reassurance. "Anytime, little one."

As they finished their drinks, the tiredness of the day began to catch up with them. Chan yawned and stretched, glancing at the clock.

"We should probably get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be another busy day."

Sarang nodded, reluctantly setting her mug down. "You're right. Thanks for tonight, Channie. It really helped."

Chan stood up and offered her his hand. "Anytime, Sari. Let's get you to bed."

She took his hand and let him pull her up. They walked to their respective rooms, hand in hand. As Sarang settled into her bed, she felt a sense of peace she hadn't felt in a long time.

With a final goodnight and a sweet kiss on her forehead, Chan closed the door to her room, leaving Sarang to drift off into a much-needed restful sleep, reassured that no matter how tough things got, she had her friends by her side.

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