#sip overview

[curiousquill1]

Discover how mutual fund portfolio analysis plays a key role in calculating the average rate of return in SIP investments. Learn how expert portfolio management helps maximize returns.

[dearhargrove]

summary Seeing him that first time, you never could have imagined what life had in store for you.

(short fluffy one shot of their first meeting and then the night after he took her virginity while they're dating, based on a request)

word count 1309

You don't think you'll ever forget meeting him for the first time. How could you, with the impression he left?

—

You're at a fancy restaurant for a work celebration. The ambiance is dark and rich, the people sitting at the tables have that same vibe. Except one group of guys. The one you had noticed as soon as you stepped into this place.

They're sitting in the far back in one of the more private booths, however still in the middle and with a good overview of the whole area.

If you had to guess, the eldest of the three is the father and the twenty something year old guys are his sons. However your attention is drawn to the one sitting on the far right, looking almost on edge as he quietly listens to the other two talk. His muscles are visible through his suit, coffee brown curls tucked behind his ears and there's a necklace that shouldn't fit but just does.

There's something wilder, more strong to him than his two companions. His eyes are strikingly blue, eyebrows pulled into an annoyed frown as he sips his wine. Among that you also note that while the other two have ordered big steaks with barely any sides, he has a salad.

You distractedly continue picking at your dish, stabbing the fork into one of the ingredients for long enough that your colleague looks at you in concern, making you fluster and smile awkwardly.

She grins in amusement and turns to follow your line of sight, looking back to you with an expression that clearly translates into what you've been thinking too ever since first noticing the man; wow.

He's just so – manly. And yet there's still an elegance to him.

You let a strategic few minutes tick by before you look back at the mouthwatering man, only to look right into blue eyes.

You almost flinch, getting flustered immediately and smiling tightly – apologetically? – before hurriedly taking a bite of your dinner to pretend to be minding your own business.

Luckily, no one seems to have noticed your mishap and with a few well timed deep breaths your heartbeat returns to normal and your palms stop sweating.

Nevertheless, you excuse yourself to the ladies room and grab your clutch, not even pretending to know where the hell the toilet even is. You worm your way through the tables to where you guess the restrooms should be, only to almost run into a server coming out of that door who shoots you a confused but kind smile.

“Restrooms are on the other side, dove.”

You tense up, slowly turn around and — oh. It's him. And, dammit, he's even more beautiful up close. He carries a nice scent to him, but not a typical perfume, more of a natural breeze. It's nice, you note. “I noticed... I've never been here before, so–”

He smiles gently and you relax, reciprocating a light but bashful smile. “Don't worry about it. Come on, I'll show you?” he offers. "Oh, I wouldn't want to keep you from your dinner…”

He shakes his head, gives you a calculating look and then softens up a tiny bit, “Trust me, I'm grateful for any excuse to step back from there.” That surprises you a bit but it's none of your business, so you ignore it. You step closer to him and he starts leading the way, obviously walking slower so you could keep up in your heels.

And there's another thing you notice; instead of having to squeeze by the people and servers they part before him like the red sea. The people scoot closer to their tables, the servers bow their heads the tiniest bit and the other customers just smile tightly.

Just who is he? you wonder.

You're more intrigued than before now, momentarily pushing the thoughts aside when you stop in front of two doors; the men's and the ladies room.

“I suppose you'll find your way back to your table?” he kindly but slightly playfully comments. You grin in a mix of embarrassment and amusement, “Sure I will. Thank you, though.”

He shrugs in dismissal, then after a short awkward moment shoots you another smile and leaves.

You take a moment in the – luxurious – bathroom to freshen up, reapply perfume and deodorant, check your phone and do your business. You feel better when you walk back out, already expecting the onslaught of questions from your colleague who had noticed your staring and the man just to then see him lead you through the restaurant.

After paying for your meal (which legitimately made you wince when seeing the actual price because the menu did not have the prices listed) and dodging the questions of your curious coworker, you leave with a small group from your office, engaging in small talk.

You don't even see him when you walk out the door, focused on the story your coworker was telling, but you definitely hear him.

“That's a nice perfume.” His voice is soft but steady, slightly raspy too. You wouldn't mind hearing it more often, you decide.

You halt in your steps and turn around, surprised when you see his cheeky grin. He stops holding the door open, his own jacket slung over his arm and steps the last step down to stand right next to you.

“Thank you–?”

“Sergei.” He introduces himself, nodding his head. “–Sergei.” You repeat with a small smile. He stills for a moment and then blinks, swallowing and nodding. “May I ask the name of this lovely lady?”

You chuckle, slowly continuing your ascend of the stairway, “You may.” And while he asks and you answer with your name he holds out his arm, letting you loop your hand to hold onto his arm for balance.

—

And that's how you ended up here. In his bed, naked except some panties and his way too big t-shirt with his arm snug around your waist and his nose in your hair as he sleeps.

The sun is just rising, the orange and pink hues lighting up the place, forming beautiful shadows and tricks of light.

You turn your head to look at him and take in his beautiful face, bathed in the sunlight. His eyes are still closed, his breathing even and for once his face is relaxed instead of scrunched up from another fight with his father or an upcoming hunt.

However, he also seems to have gotten an extra sense tuned in to you ever since you started dating, so at your stare his eyes open and the blue irises focus on you. It makes you snort a bit and flick the tip of his nose, then turn back to keep watching the sunrise.

His hand moves under the shirt you're wearing to spread out along your skin, calloused hands gentle. “Been awake for long, baby?” The question is soft with a hint of concern and his voice is still husky from sleep.

“Just woke up,” you yawn and stretch a little, he uses the chance and puts his palm in the middle of your torso, tugging you back into his chest. He doesn't say anything further as he tucks into the crook of your neck and grumbles appreciatively when he smells nothing but your natural scent.

Since he told you about his powers you had started to wear less perfume around him (at least when it's just the two of you), as his sensitive sense of smell easily got irritated by the artificial cologne.

It's not long before his nosing turns into nibbling and you can already feel the next few bite marks form, probably meticulously placed to not cover the hickeys he'd left last night.

“Sergei—” he interrupts your upcoming complaint with a grunt and swiftly rolls on top of you, leaned on his forearms as he looks at you like you're his prey. You feel dwarfed under him, his huge biceps and broad shoulders covering you entirely.

At your perplexed expression he chuckles and softly kisses your forehead, “Can't hold back when I remember you're all mine.”

[jo-speaks]

POV: you’re at your wedding reception with Luke and you do that trend when your bridesmaids hand him risqué Polaroid pictures throughout the night to get his reaction

WEDDING NIGHT SHENANIGANS

overview: luke gets a few early gifts on your wedding night.

warnings: suggestive content below the cut, mentions of alcohol consumption (other than that it's pretty smooth sailing)

note: this might be one of my favs honestly. thank you for requesting nonnie 🫶

Today didn’t feel real. As of an hour and fifteen minutes ago, you were officially Mrs. Luke Hughes. The ceremony had gone exactly as planned, your wedding dreams coming to life with the man you love waiting for you at the altar. 

Now, you were sitting at the table with Luke, his hand on top of yours as it rested on his thigh, thumbing at the wedding ring that found itself around your finger. You laughed as you watched Jim and your father attempt to do the worm on the dance floor. 

“He’s too old to be doing this.” You joked, your husband laughing along with you.

“You’re telling me.” He replied.

The two of you shared a smile, something that had been happening since the first look. He watched with admiration as the purple strobe light hit your face, illuminating your features. Luke cupped your cheek, the cool feeling of his wedding band sending a chill down your body as he pulled you in for a loving kiss. 

You pulled away after a few seconds, your lips lingering with his. Even with the sweet moment, you decided now was as good a time as any to give Luke a gift. One he could carry in his wallet, glove box, or anywhere else he wanted to get a good look at you when he was away.

“I’ll be right back. M’gonna go talk to my mom.” You whispered, placing a parting kiss on his cheek before standing up and making your way to the table at which his mother and yours were sipping wine. 

One of your bridesmaids noticed you flash her a glance, effectively receiving the signal that it was go time. She grabbed it from her purse before making her way over to Luke.

As she approached, he met her eyes and flashed her a friendly smile, not expecting her to have something to give him. She handed him the Polaroid face down, giggling slightly before walking away again. 

Luke raised an eyebrow before he flipped it over, the other eyebrow coming up as well. In his hand was a picture of you in lingerie, posed in a risque position. A heavy blush rose to his face, hidden by the strobe lights which had now turned red. He could feel himself getting aroused, but not yet to the point where it would be noticeable if he stood up. 

“Lukey! Get over here and come dance!” Quinn called out to his younger brother, not knowing of the gift he just received. 

Luke quickly nodded, stashing the picture in his inner suit pocket, standing up to join his brothers on the dance floor. He snuck a glance at you, seeing you be so innocent and friendly as you chatted with his mother.

~✩~

It had been a few minutes since he received the first of many images for the night. He had processed the first one, not letting it distract him during the dance-off your, now intoxicated, friend had started. Your families and friends had been split up onto the two sides of the floor, one of your best friends currently going against Nico, one of Luke’s best men. 

The room erupted in laughter as Nico began doing what looked like an interpretive dance as she attempted to breakdance. In the midst of all the chaos, another one of your bridesmaids had managed to sneak to the other side, her eyes darting around to find your husband. 

She found him, subtly sneaking up to poke his arm. He looked down at her, seeing she was holding out her hand to silently tell him to do the same. Once he did, he was blessed with another Polaroid. 

He blushed, anticipating what he would be met with as soon as he turned it over. Luke cupped his hand along the side of it as he flipped the small rectangle, his smile widening as he took in the contents of this one.

This time, it was a picture of you covering your breasts with your hands, the rest of your body still on display. Luke covered his face with his hands, catching the attention of his former teammate, Ethan. 

“You alright, man?” He asked, noticing the joyful look on his friend’s face.

Luke nodded, running his hands down his face before they fell back to his side, “I’m good. My girlfriend thinks she’s quite the comedian though.”

“You mean your wife?” Ethan corrected, laughing at the way Luke’s smile grew at the new title. “Well, from the times I’ve met her, she’s fucking hilarious.”

“You have no idea.”

~✩~

The night was still young, the party still thriving. 

By now, Luke had received six more polaroids, all of them making it extremely difficult for him to keep back from dragging you away from the celebration.

However, he managed to keep his composure, laughing with you as the two of you watched, yet again from your table, as Jack got whisked away by three children you recognized as your cousins, all of them bombarding him with questions about hockey.

“You having fun?” You yelled, wanting your voice to be audible over the music.

Luke side-eyed you, a smile tugging at his lips, “This is the most fun night I’ve ever had in my life, baby.”

You didn’t even get the chance to respond as you noticed your maid of honour approaching the table. Luke started laughing, rubbing his hands together as he knew exactly what she was bringing him. His reaction caused you to giggle uncontrollably, not expecting him to be this excited.

He put his hands out in front of him like a child begging for candy as she proudly placed the image in his palms. Luke excitedly turned it over, his eyes shutting as he put his head down, his brain short circuiting as he took in the picture. 

This one was you, fully nude, his initials inked into your skin right on your hip. You knew exactly which one this was, having planned the best for last. 

In the previous pictures, your panties had been on in order for the tattoo to be a surprise. You had gotten it a few weeks ago, wanting it to be healed in time for your wedding night, and it had been a struggle to keep it from Luke. Thankfully you had managed to keep the secret, making this moment that much more special.

“Do you actually-” He cleared his throat to compose himself, “Is that actually on your skin?”

You smirked, “Yeah. Thought you’d like it as much as I do.”

By now, the blood had not only rushed to his face, but to his cock as well. He reached over to hold your hand, gripping it slightly to keep his composure as he leaned over, his lips right by your ear.

“Enjoy the night, baby. Because the second we get out of here you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

[puppy-the-mask]

Person A has thrown Person B into a situation they were too scared/embarrassed to do on their own and B is not handling it well.

A: Do the thing =w=

B: Fuck You

A: You already did

B is now even more embarrassed, flustered, and panicked.

A-unbothered: Now do the thing

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⏦ﾟ♡︎ Best Friends, Right?

Short Summary: Mattheo’s been distant for a while. Your best friend now doesn’t even bother speaking to you. Perhaps a party and a little bit of alcohol can change that.

Warnings: 18+ only! drunk sex, begging, unprotected p in v, creampie, Mattheo and reader both are oblivious fucks, make-up sex

A/N: change of scenery—Mattheo Riddle. (Going back to Tom as we speak)

wordcount: 2,4k

You aren’t entirely fond of the idea of going out tonight. You have never been.

But today, after your exam week had just ended—you couldn’t come up with any more excuses which you were certain your friends knew to be blatant lies.

You have gone through your entire closet. Twice. Even three times. Haven’t found anything fitting. Until—you spot something you were given for your 18th birthday which has since been collecting dust at the very back of the closet. A glittery red mini dress, outrageously short, probably too short for a Slytherin house party.

A deep sigh falls over your lips. You don’t have anything else, not here at Hogwarts at least. So you put it on. As you look at your reflection in the mirror, finishing off by applying mascara and some blush, you hesitate. It most likely wasn’t a good idea to walk around like this.

You aren’t given much of a choice, though, because just a split second later, the door to your dorm falls open, three of your friends—already somewhat tipsy—entering while singing a muggle song picked up last time you snuck out to visit London.

You are immediately dragged out of your bathroom, showered with compliments on your appearance. And when you do try to voice your concerns—they are cut off right away. They insist on you coming along, not giving you much of a choice before they hand you a matching purse to your dress and pull you after them in the direction of the Slytherin common room.

You shiver. It’s quite chilly in the dungeons, so you are somewhat relieved when you finally enter the party, already crowded with people. They ask what drink you want, and initially you tell them you would just take something non-alcoholic, but again they insist you finally “have some fun” after spending days on end in your dorm, always studying and never giving yourself a break.

You really aren’t a person to give into peer pressure, but for some reason today, you agree without much further complaint. They are probably right that you do need some time off. Turn your brain off for the night, just let yourself go.

So when they come back and hand you a pink cocktail, you take your first sip. The alcohol instantly floods your senses. You haven’t drunk in so long.

Rationing it as much as you can, you briefly slip away from your friends at some point, which they, in their state, don’t even seem to notice.

You take a few deep breaths as you lean against the railing of the balcony, staring into the distance of the night sky. Earlier, years ago, you used to sit here with Mattheo when both of you snuck out to meet at your favourite spot. He always made time for you.

You exhale deeply, the cloud of your breath dissolving into the crisp winter air.

Once inseparable, you two now rarely spend time. You’ve been dying to ask why, why he avoids you. Answering in short, clipped sentences, never even looking at you when you initiate a conversation. It’s been tiring. Seeing your childhood best friend change, replacing you with someone else. Replace might be the wrong word for it—because you did love Theo and the others too. Just—less. It wasn’t as special. And up until recently—you had thought he felt the same.

You decide to not let these thoughts impact your mood any further, returning to the party soon after. It’s almost too dark and crowded to spot anyone in particular, your friends long gone from the spot you left them in. It would be quite difficult to find them again, so you decide to make your way through the crowd, into a corner where you’d have a better overview of the situation.

Just having made your way halfway through, your eyes lock onto someone familiar. Too familiar.

Mattheo stands there, calm and collected as always, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. Theo stands next to him, whispering something in his ear, subtly nodding towards a girl. But Mattheo doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention as his eyes drift elsewhere—to you.

In this moment you wish you could have just evaporated into thin air. You don’t want to see him, not right now, you don’t need another reminder. And as much as you want to move away, keep looking for your friends—you find yourself rooted in place. Your legs are not cooperating with your brain.

He just stares at you for what feels like an eternity, his hot gaze steadily dropping lower, skimming over your exposed cleavage down to the curve of your hips, wandering over your bare thighs before they travel back up. And then that bastard grins. Subtly at that, but just enough for you to see it.

At this point your entire body feels like it’s on fire—and you don’t know why. The way he looks at you shouldn’t matter this much, it shouldn’t make you feel this way. Like he wants you equally as much as you want him. You’ve been thinking that this might be the reason as to why he doesn’t talk to you—he might have caught on. Realised you have somewhere along the way developed feelings for him. Of course he wouldn’t reciprocate.

Only when Theo elbows his side does he avert his attention, eyebrows furrowing as he rubs his ribs, quickly followed by being dragged into the crowd, supposedly to the bar. Or to find a girl to fuck.

They used to do it that way—when you were still close.

To your relief, you don’t see him anymore after this encounter.

And you down one or two more cocktails.

Just in case.

For the—you hope unlikely—event you would see him again. Which turns out to be a good decision after all.

Slightly after 1 am, when the crowd thins out as people start leaving—you sense someone walking up to you from behind.

“You here?” A familiar voice whispers in your ear, and when you turn around, you are met with your once favourite brown eyes. “Thought you didn’t like parties.”

You huff slightly. “I guess I wanted to confirm it once more.”

His eyes wander again, and you instinctively pull at your dress. It really is short.

“You look gorgeous today,” he drawls, and suddenly he is so close you can smell the alcohol in the air. Too fucking close. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in every detail of his oh-so-familiar face, the scar on his nose you have traced your finger over countless times, his beautiful, long eyelashes, his dark, messy curls you used to twirl around your finger as he lay on your lap…

But he is drunk. That’s why he is talking to you. Not because he wants to. Sober Mattheo would have ignored you the entire night, you think to yourself.

“You are drunk, Mattheo.” You point out coolly, and he goes silent for a second as though he were reconsidering ever talking to you in the first place. You fully expect him to leave at that point, but instead, his lips curl into a smirk.

“So? Can I not tell my best friend she is pretty?”

A scoff leaves your lips faster than you’d have liked.

“Best friends usually talk to each other more often than just at parties, Mattheo.”

He nods. “I see. So, let’s talk.”

His hand wraps firmly around your wrist, pulling you after him. Exiting the Slytherin common room. Heading in the direction of his dorm.

Mattheo almost trips over his own feet on the way multiple times, and if it wasn’t for you, he would have earned some bruises from his clumsiness. He is more drunk than you thought he was.

As soon as you enter the dorm, you disappear into his bathroom and reemerge with a glass of water, handing it to him. He looks at you with a raised brow but drinks it nonetheless.

You don’t intend on sitting down. You want this to be over with as quickly as possible. You’d have preferred if he had just told you back at the party. You could have had faster access to alcohol that way.

After a minute of gathering his thoughts, he finally speaks up, getting up from his bed and carefully stalking towards you.

“You know why I’ve been distant? He asks, stopping right in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Because you do something to me. You make me feel something I haven’t quite been able to place.”

He pauses briefly. Studying your facial expressions.

“Until a few hours ago.”

You tilt your head slightly, cocking an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“That I am— in love with you. Fucking hell, I love you, alright?” He pinches the bridge of his nose and turns away, striding back towards the bed.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck, you two are idiots.

“Mattheo.”

He just rambles on. “If you don’t, it’s fine. I expected you wou—“

“Mattheo.”

You quickly follow after him, spinning him around to crash your lips onto his. He doesn’t kiss you back at first—simply because he hadn’t expected it. He expected anything but this.

But when he does—it quickly grows hungry, passionate, his hands finding their way to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he keeps you in place, keeps you from pulling away. And both of you savour this moment. Fuck, you had missed his touch. Missed him. Missed your Mattheo.

“I love you too,” you confess, drawing in a deep breath as you finally part.

His lips are puffy and red, and although it’s hard to believe—he looks even better like this. Mouth slightly parted, dark curls a mess, eyes darkened with lust.

Lust.

If you weren’t drunk right now, your brain would try to rationalise, stop to think, think about the consequences of what was about to happen—but you aren’t used to alcohol clouding your mind. You can’t rationalise, much less even want to.

So when his hands wander up your back, finding the zipper to your dress—you don’t complain. Fuck, you wanted this.

Mattheo’s quick, tugging the zipper down, leaving your dress to pool at your ankles, sucking a mark into the skin of your neck before he takes a step back, appraising you.

Something flashes in his eyes. Dark, dangerous.

“Best friends, right?” He mutters under his breath, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s quick to rid you of the lace still adorning your curves, your hands in the meanwhile working at his trousers.

“Best friends.” You nod, breathless.

As soon as the fabric drops to the floor, his lips are back on yours, having you walk backwards until you lay on his bed, positioning yourself in the middle of the soft mattress.

He’s hovering over you mere seconds later, carelessly discarding his shirt somewhere on the other side of the bed.

You can’t help but moan softly when his lips trail kisses from your jawline all the way to your clavicle, fingers gently tugging on his brunette curls.

“Are you sure?” Mattheo asks then, meeting your eyes to find any hint of uncertainty.

You nod eagerly. “Yes.”

You barely get the word out before you feel him slip between your folds, gathering your arousal before he aligns himself with your entrance, thick and hot, and all of a sudden you weren’t so sure if you could even take him.

“Been dreaming ‘bout this pussy for too fucking long,” he slurs, and then, with one singular, sharp thrust, he buries himself in your cunt, momentarily knocking the breath from your lungs at the sudden intrusion. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the rather painful stretch on your walls as he feels you tense beneath him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls as you clench around his cock, and then he starts to move, slowly at first, dragging his length out of you before pushing back inside. It’s slow, torturously slow, as though he was scared to hurt you.

Your nails dig into his back, hips bucking to meet his thrusts. “Please, Mattheo, I need you.”

That’s all it takes. He speeds up, angles his thrusts just right, brushing over a particularly sensitive spot inside of you that makes your head spin in pleasure. He groans and whimpers, praises you for how well you are doing for him.

His hips snap against yours like he’s got a point to prove, making up for the time you two had lost. You feel something building in the pit of your lower stomach, a pressure that grows with every thrust, until it’s there, on the verge of exploding.

“Yeah, want to come?” He pants, his breath hot and ragged. “Show me how bad you need to come.”

“God, Mattheo, please. I need to come—“ you whimper, cut off by his lips meeting yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Sound so pretty when you beg for me.”

Mattheo seems to know exactly what you need because he reaches between the both of you, rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit, and you moan in response. He’s pushing into you mercilessly, walls clamping down around him, your entire body tensing when your orgasm crashes over you in tidal waves, legs trembling as they are wrapped around him.

“Princess, fuck, can I come inside? Mattheo groans against your neck, thrusts growing ragged. “Please let me come inside.”

You manage a shaky yes for an answer, his hips stuttering against yours as he spills himself deep inside of you, coating your walls with his release.

He collapses on top of you then, breathing heavily.

It takes several minutes for him to regain his composure. He lifts himself off you, cradling you in his arms afterwards and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I will make it right, darling. Treat you the way you deserve.”

“I know you will,” you whisper, placing a kiss on his exposed chest before you drift off to sleep.

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3

—

masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[buckytakethewheel]

next door secrets

Summary: The walls in the Avengers tower are paper thin. So, one night, when Bucky hears you moan his name through the walls of his bedroom, things take a turn. Pairing: New Avengers!Bucky Barnes x New Avengers!Fem Reader Warnings/tags: smut; masturbation (female & male); dirty talking (mostly bucky, but very light); light swearing dual pining; unbeta'd Word count: 3.8k Notes: this idea came to me randomly yesterday and i just immediately started writing it. not sure if this is a thing people will be into, but i'm very proud of what came out 😂 for future fics, if anyone wants to be tagged, please let me know! ❤️

Tonight, Bucky can't fall asleep. No, not just tonight; it's always particularly hard for him to let himself be embraced by a night of rest, his mind constantly battling its own demons. It's a dark place in there when he closes his eyes.

He scrolls on his phone for a while, but nothing catches his eye enough to earn his full attention. Turns on the TV to watch a stupid action flick, but gets bored ten minutes in. Opens a book and tries to read, but the words melt together.

It's a fight he fights every night. And tonight, it doesn't look like he's about to win it.

When he first hears the sound that is going to keep him up a few more nights in a row, he almost ignores it, because it was probably something else. Anything else. His ears perk up but silence stretches and he figures he imagined it.

Then, he hears it again. Unmistakable, this time, slightly louder.

A moan. Clear as day, on the other side of the wall that meets his bedroom. And Bucky knows immediately who it belongs to. You. When you joined the team, you had been attributed a bedroom of your choice. Everyone had chosen theirs. Bucky though that was stupid because, truthfully, they all looked the same. You had insisted you wanted this one because the window had a good overview of the city. It does, but they all do.

Bucky doesn’t know you picked this bedroom because every morning, when you wake up, you cross paths with him when walking out and you get to see him sleepy, a little grumpy - the most domestic you've ever seen him. You're sunshine and warmth, and you give him a bright ‘good morning’ before walking away.

He doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know you’re staring at him when he’s not looking, the same way he stares at you when you’re not looking.

So, tonight, he hears you moaning and Bucky's heartbeat stutters in his chest. He almost stops breathing, his hearing attuned to try and hear more of what's happening on your side, but there's another pause, another moment of silence, and then -

“Oh, yes, that feels so good.”, he hears you moan. It’s not loud. It's not obscene. It's honestly a bit sweet, even if the words come from a place of desire and pleasure. Your voice sounds like honey coated in sin, and Bucky lets out a breath.

You're with someone. Right now, in this very moment, he's listening to you having sex with someone. Someone, anyone, a body on yours, fingers grabbing and touching and driving themselves inside of you, skin on skin, lips wrapped around your pretty, delicate neck, inhaling your scent. Hearing you moan sounds like heaven on Earth, but knowing it’s for someone else is the personification of hell. Ache sipping through the walls and settling deep in his bones.

Bucky makes a low, quiet noise of disapproval and grabs his pillow, presses it hard over his head in hopes of drowning out the noise. It barely helps. Thankfully, you’re not too loud, and there’s a long period of silence where he doesn’t hear you at all, or only manages to catch a few gasps before you’re quiet again. Whoever is with you doesn’t make any noise, either. Good. There was a low chance Bucky would come out of this alive if he had to hear someone moaning for you.

The silence lasts for a couple of minutes, but then he hears it. More sounds. More moaning. He thinks he picks up on the bedframe hitting the wall once. More- “Right there, please.”, you say, and Bucky has to move the covers away from his body because he feels like he's on fire. You sound so good, the please coming out in the hottest pleading tone. Whoever is touching you knows how to do their job - or you’re good at pretending. And Bucky might be a little selfish, but he would prefer to know you’re feeling genuine pleasure. “Please, don't stop, Bucky.”

In that moment the world may as well have stopped spinning.

Bucky?

No. No, absolutely not. He heard that wrong. No way you said his name- “Bucky, oh my god, I'm gonna cum.”

Fuck.

That was definitely his name. There's no mistake, no other possibility, it couldn’t be any other word or name - and that means you're not having sex with someone else. You're alone, in your bedroom, touching yourself to the thought of him.

For a whole moment, Bucky feels like his entire body has frozen, glued to the bed, muscles stiff. He can't move, can barely grasp for air. What is he supposed to do with this? With the knowledge that you're pleasuring yourself while thinking of him? Does he walk over to your bedroom, knock on your door and consume you? Does he admit to having overhead you? It would be too embarrassing, too real. He thinks you’d hate him for it.

Bucky’s brought back from his spiraling when he hears you moan breathlessly again, a little more desperate, and the pitch of your words and curses makes it obvious that you’re cumming. By the sound of it - hard.

Seconds later, silence. And he doesn’t hear you again for the rest of the night.

The next morning, Bucky comes out of his bedroom at his usual hour, but looking even more tired than usual. Last night, he barely got any sleep. He couldn’t after he heard you like that over the walls, and the sound of his name on your lips repeated itself in his mind over and over again. Maybe he got an hour of two of sleep, at most. It doesn’t feel like he got any at all, though.

He’s closing his door and locking it when he hears another door right next to him, closing. Instantly, he knows. It’s the usual morning routine. The two of you, coming out of your bedrooms at the exact same time every morning.

“Good morning, Bucky!”, he hears your sweet voice, the same usual happy greeting. He swallows hard, unsure if he’s even capable of looking at you, but he makes an effort. When he turns his face you’re standing by the door of your bedroom, dressed in your usual workout clothes, some tight black leggings and a grey tank-top. Words escape him. The sound of you moaning last night is etched into his brain and now, looking at you, he can imagine your head thrown back, eyes half closed, fingers buried deep in your-

“Bucky-?”, you ask softly, and he realizes his thoughts had gained the best of him and he had been standing there, standing at you, frown lines in his face. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head like he’s trying to swat away the things gnawing at him.

“Good morning.”, is all he says, and he doesn’t take long to immediately disappear down the hall. This will be a long day.

**

The day goes by exactly as Bucky expected. Long. Awkward. Mind breaking.

He bumps into you way too many times. Sees you during his training session, across the gym, finds you already in the kitchen by lunch time, gets paired with you during mission debrief. For the most of it, he tries to pretend he’s fine. Nothing’s different, nothing’s changed. He is still is regular old self, grumpy, unbothered, with dry humor and a staring problem. For the most part, he seems like his usual self. Or at least, he thinks so.

He doesn’t know you notice a difference. He’s stiffer than usually is. Makes up an excuse to run when you ask him to train with you. Barely gets a word out during the mission debrief. Something’s off, you smell it on his expression, on how he avoids your gaze all day. He looks even more tired than usual. So, you figure, maybe he just had a particularly bad night. Couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares.

When you return to your bedroom tonight, you’re thinking about him again. Just like last night.

Since you first joined the team, you could never really take your eyes off of Bucky. You picked the bedroom next to his on purpose, just to make sure you would cross paths with him every morning. Sometimes you’d try to align your training hours with his so you could see him in the gym, sweat glistening down his neck and into his shirt. Despite that, you’ve been discreet - either that, or Bucky’s very naive, because he doesn’t seem to notice you watching at all.

You tried hard to ignore it, to lock away the desire burning under your skin, but every day it grew wider. Finally, last night, you gave in to your desires. Touched yourself to the memories of him, the sound of his rough voice, the way he would say your name sometimes to get your attention. And when you came around your fingers, a little loud and ashamed, the thoughts of him didn’t subside. Only grew larger.

Which is why tonight you’re already in bed again, shorts pushed to your knees and fingers sliding under the waistband of your cotton panties.

You bite down on your lip, close your eyes and he’s there immediately. Tonight, there aren’t memories of Bucky - there are fantasies. You imagine his human hand digging into your hip, pulling you close. His mouth is on your neck, kissing, biting, licking.

You circle your clit slowly, a soft gasping slipping past your lips. Your core is warm and wet just with those fantasies, but you drag it out, instead of making it quick. Your free hand cups one of your breasts over your shirt, and your nipple hardens under the cloth. Another gasp and you shift in bed, fingers dragging slowly over your folders, spreading the slick of your arousal.

In your fantasy, Bucky is moaning your name in your ear while his metal hand drags down your body. He slides one finger inside of you - your toes curl, your back arches off the bed and you slid a finger inside, soft and sweet, dragging it in and out with some kind of precision you can imagine Bucky would have, too.

“Bucky.” You gasp his name, a little louder, the imagery of him flooding your brain. “Bucky, you’re so good, you feel so good-” The words slip out of your mouth easily, almost like you can really feel his touch on your skin.

Another finger adds to the first one inside of you, and you moan and gasp and let out small curses under your breath as your fingers move faster inside of you, brushing against all the sweet spots inside of you, curling and bringing you closer to you release. Your stomach coils, muscles tensing against your pillows and you bite hard on your bottom lip, almost to the point of drawing blood - and you imagine him kissing you, raw, unfiltered, his teeth tugging your lip into his mouth as he sucked and licked and bruised.

He’s all around you, the scent of him, the blue eyes, his touch and you drop your hand from your breast to the silk sheets under you, tightening your hold on them as you cum hard around your fingers, hips bucking into your hand, finding your sweet release.

When your breathing goes back to normal and you curl your body under the sheets, you feel satisfied but not sated.

You’d need him for that.

**

Bucky heard you that night.

And the night after.

And the night after, too.

He feels like he’s one breakdown away from requesting a new bedroom, but he doesn’t know how to do that without making it weird. What excuse would he give to move?

Every night, for the past week, he’s heard you on that damn bedroom next to his. Moaning his name, gasping and whimpering sweet nothings, praise and sugar. He loves that you’re not downright dirty. You’ll let slip an occasional curse, a soft fuck under your breath, but for the most part you sound just sweet. And his heart does somersaults in his chest every time you moan his name the way you always do, like he’s the only one for you, like he’s making you feel good in a way no one has ever had. You keep repeating it, too. Like a prayer, like a mantra, as if saying his name would act like a balm on a wound.

And every morning, he has to cross his path with you when leaving his bedroom, another sleepless night, and you’re still looking like you always do. Sunshine and color, smiling brightly at him, saying your ‘good morning’.

He hates it. Hates that he’s too much a coward to confront you about it. Or too much a coward to maybe ask you on a date like he doesn’t know you touch yourself every night, and then take you home and fuck you nice and slow, like he imagines you want him to.

Tonight is just another night of hating himself. Of brooding and staying in bed awake until it’s too late, until he can already hear you in the room next door. He’s stopped trying to drown the noises and now just lets them haunt him, like a wound that refuses to heal properly. And tonight, just like the night before, the moment he hears your first gasp, his cock twitches in his boxers.

You’re probably imagining it right now. His cock hard, demanding, growing against your hips as he kissed you on the bed. And you don’t even know that, on the bedroom next door, Bucky is hard and aching for you. Tonight, he doesn’t resist.

With a sigh, he makes himself comfortable against his pillows, slides his boxers down to his calves before he opens his bedside drawer and grabs a small bottle of lube. His cock rests half- hard against his stomach and Bucky squeezes a few drops of lube along his shaft before he wraps his flesh hand around it, thick and warm.

On the other side of the wall, you moan again, a little more desperate this time. Bucky’s cock throbs in his hold and he gives it two gentle strokes before it’s already fully hard in his hand. He closes his eyes, leans back against the headboard and strokes himself lazily as he waits for another sound on your side of the wall.

He’s waiting, albeit not very patiently, and thoughts of you flood his brain. How your ass will sometimes jiggle when you’re running in the gym with particularly tight pants, your sweet, sweet smile when you see him every morning, how your small body looks so fragile and yet so strong. You’re the most amazing he’s ever met, not just physically - and that somehow turns him on even more.

“Oh, Bucky - your tongue feels so good.”, he hears you say, and he has to bite on his tongue to stop himself from groaning. You’re usually not too descriptive when you’re touching yourself, not from what he’s heard. Bucky never really knows what you’re imagining, but right now you’re talking about his tongue, and the image is quick to slide into his brain. Him, on his knees, spreading your thighs open for you as he eats you out. Slow, gentle, tongue licking long stripes over your folds. He can practically taste you on his tongue, so sweet, and the strokes on his cock grow a little harder, a little faster, with a bit more certainty. He lets out a ragged breath, perks his ears to listen for more. More.

“Please, don’t stop.”, you moan, and Bucky feels like his mind has short-circuited, because he doesn’t stop himself from replying as if he were in the same room.

“I’m not stopping, baby.”, Bucky moans back, hand tight around his cock, stroking him slow and steady. It takes a second to register that he’s said it, and his eyes fly open, hand stopping around the base of his cock, body rigid.

Fuck.

Did you hear that?

You did.

You think you might have one crazy when you hear it. Your imagination is particularly vivid today, and maybe it made up the sound of his voice way too real.

Because there’s no way Bucky actually just responded to you. You’re not being louder than you were the other nights, you know that. And that would mean he could hear you every night.

Damn it. What the hell are you supposed to do now?

There’s no other sound from the other side of the wall. Your fingers are already buried deep inside your wet pussy, curled into a sweet spot, but they’re still right now. You try to listen for noises, but there’s nothing. Just silence. So you decide to probe. Test the waters. Your heart is in your throat, and you’re not even sure if you can get the words out, but you start moving your fingers again, try to use the arousal and pleasure as fuel to your courage.

“Bucky.”, you moan his name, and it’s not as ashamed as you’ve said before. It’s a little more confident, almost like you know he’s listening on the other side. “Tell me I’m your good girl.” A pause. You’re moving your fingers slowly, steadily, in and out of your core, hand already covered in your arousal. He doesn’t say anything, but you push again. “Please. Need to hear you say it.”

And you hear him.

It’s not loud, it’s not very clear, but it’s real and a little broken. Almost a whimper.

“Fuck,” he says, and then he’s groaning your name. It sounds like a fucking dream in his mouth. “You’re my good girl, baby.”

Bucky’s not sure he’s alive right now. Maybe he died and went to heaven, because why would you be begging him to call you his good girl while you pleasured yourself?

God, he obeyed - he obeyed and followed like a lost puppy, mewling at your command. He would say anything to you if it meant hearing those pretty noises that came from your mouth, the way you moaned his name. He calls you his good girl and you’re moaning again, and it’s louder, and he knows you know he’s listening, now. Just like you are listening to him.

Bucky tightens the hold on his cock, his metal arm buried in the sheets and curling his fingers around them like he needs it to ground himself.

“Sweet little thing.”, he says, daring himself to push a little, to break into her fantasy. “You’re so beautiful. Could eat that sweet pussy for hours.”

You let out a broken gasp on the other side of the wall, and Bucky hears it. God, he practically melts when listening to it, and the pace of his hand on his cock quickens. It’s a stupid thing, that you can tear him apart just with those little noises you make. That voice that sounds like heaven but has a hint of recklessness to it. Like the devil on a leash. Well-behaved until you’re free.

“Please.”, you mumble, fingers working inside your pussy, your walls clenching around your fingers. “Wanna feel that tongue buried in me. Taste me. Make me scream your name.” You’re hyper aware of everything, trying not to lose a single sound that comes from Bucky’s bedroom. And you don’t. You don’t lose the way he groans when you say that, and he sounds strangled, like you’re stealing his oxygen.

��Sit on my face, baby.”, he says back, broken. “Fuck, I’ll be buried in that pussy until I can’t breathe.”

That gets a real reaction out of you. A whimper, louder, high, sharp, and you’re gripping the sheets under your body, hips bucking against your hand. Bucky sounds divine, so obscene and you feel wetter than you’ve ever been, white heat clouding your vision even with your eyes closed tight. The familiar tales of your orgasm creep up your body, making your muscles tense and your legs shake, and you can tell that it’s going to hit you hard and fast, like it hasn’t in a while.

“Oh, God, Bucky, I’m gonna-” A moan interrupts your words, breathing ragged, but you need to say it, need him to hear it. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum so hard for you-”

And Bucky hears it. He’s right there with you, his hand stroking his cock fast as it twitches to the sound of your voice on the bedroom next door. He hasn’t touched himself in a while, and all the pent up pressure, along with the want for you is making him see red.

“Fuck, baby-”, he moans, and then your name falls from his lips once, twice. “Cum for me. I wanna hear you, please.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you to let out a whimper as your fingers buried deep in your drenched pussy make you cum hard, your body arching off the bed and legs convulsing, shaking, trapping your hand inside of you for a long time as you ride your release. And through the haze of your orgasm, you hear Bucky letting out a strained ‘fuck’ and then a ‘oh, baby, gonna cum so hard too-’ and then a groan.

Bucky’s hand stills on his cock as stripes of hot, thick cum paint his stomach and then he strokes himself lazily a couple more times before his body goes limp and he simply lays there, staring at the ceiling.

For a few moments, there’s only silence.

Then, an unmistakable giggle. Soft. Tender. Bucky feels like is heart is being ripped out of his chest. Why are you laughing?

He’s interrupted by his phone ringing, and he makes a disapproving noise before he grabs it from the nightstand and sees your name flashing on the screen. He swallows hard, then picks up, tentative.

“…Hey.”, he says, and on the other side, he can hear that giggle even clearer now.

“Hi, Buck.”, you answer, still chuckling softly. “Having a good night?”

He makes another grumpy noise. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not!”, you say, and he can practically imagine you raising your hands up in defense. “I’m serious. Did you have fun?”

Well, fuck. What is he supposed to answer that?

“… yes.”, he answers, after a pause. “Did you?”

“Do you wanna come over?”, you say, way too quickly. It’s not answer to his question, you know that. It’s something more. An extended hand. “I think I would rather start having the real you, instead of fantasies.”

Bucky doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. He almost begs you to say it again, just to confirm he heard it right. But he’s already getting up, tugging his boxers up and putting on his sweatpants.

“On my way.”, he finally answers. “Be there in 30… seconds.”

The phone call ends with another one of your chuckles. He hears it through the phone, through the walls.

And the next time he hears it, he’s standing face to face with you, before his lips finally find yours.

[booksandteaandtears]

Building something

Michael 'Dr. Robby' Robinavitch x f!prosecutor!reader

continuation of Teaching Hospital (was meant to be a short, but now I can't stop myself from turning it into a mini-series)

summary: something starts building between the two. quite literally. ft. chaotic mornings, highly interested colleagues, furniture and a very stubborn reader

genre: pure fluff, a few shorter snippets, an overview of them falling in love, Robby is a simp

about 2.1k words

masterlist

You hadn't expected Dr. Robby to call you literally fifteen minutes after you left the hospital, but that wasn't to say you weren't happy with it. He'd opened the bottle of wine two days later, seated on your balcony, heaps of Indian food in front of you, Elle Fitzgerald playing in the background -your choice.

He'd been a real gentleman, especially because your arm was still in the sling: pulling back your chair, cutting pieces that were too big, insisting you were not allowed to do the dishes. There were jokes and prolonged eye contact, subtle touches when reaching for the wine bottle and flirty remarks.

When he was saying goodbye on your doorstep, you promised him you'd cook next time. "Next time?" He asked. You nodded at him. "I'll pick you up when your shift ends Friday. Try not to be too late. Emphasis on try." Then you kissed him on his cheek, turned around and closed the door. Robby was stunned on the step for a minute, unaware that you were squealing on the other side of the door.

All your dates flowed easily, conversation was great, the banter even better. The second date (where he had been late, because a trauma had come in ten minutes before he was supposed to leave), had earned Robby a peck on his lips. By the third date he couldn't help himself, and pulled you against him when you tried to make it a quick kiss again. After a second he could feel you melt into his chest, hands gripping the hair in his neck. When you both came up for air he leaned his forehead against yours, noses touching. "Sorry," he whispered. "I've been wanting to do that since you came into my ER. Couldn't stop myself this time." You smile back at him, turning you lips towards his ear. "I know." You whispered. "I was trying to test when you'd finally make a move. Took you two dates longer that I thought." Upon hearing this, his hands shot towards your jaw and his lips found yours again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Dana tried to be subtle. Keyword: tried. It just did not come naturally to her. So when Robby turned up to work with a smile on his face after date three, she could not help herself. "Did you help the lady with her wine? Got your hoodie back yet? You're looking less of a sad boy every week." By some unfortunate miracle both Langdon and Abbot were near enough to hear her ask, and they abandoned whatever they were doing to join the questioning committee. "The lady? What lady?" "You gave your hoodie away? You never allow me near the thing." Robby sighed. "Thanks Dana. I'll be withdrawing your wingwoman title." He turned towards the break room, the two men stalking behind him.

"Come on, brother. You can't keep this stuff to yourself." Abbot was saying as Robby poured himself some coffee. "I can, and I will." "What can't he keep to himself?" Collins had chosen that moment to join them. Robby sighed. Timing was not on his side today. Collins grabbed the coffee from his hand and took a sip. "Is this about the patient wearing your hoodie a couple weeks ago? The one with the pretty face? How did your flirting turn out?" "Fli-flirting?" Langdon stuttered, "In the ER? With a PATIENT?" Robby sighed, again. "Yes, Langdon. Flirting. In the ER. With a patient. Did you think I had forgotten how to?" Then Robby turned out the door and fled from his residents.

Half an hour later a betting pool was started on when exactly Dr. Robby would admit he had a girlfriend. Dana's money was on four months, Jack's on five.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The morning after date four Robby had woken in your bed. He smiled to himself when he realised where he was and pulled you closer against him, breathing in your hair. There had been no awkwardness, not the night before, not that morning as you took a shower while he made breakfast. He was fascinated by your morning ritual, the speed at which you shoved eggs into your mouth, while somehow simultaneously applying mascara and reading emails. He leaned back in his chair, calmly sipping coffee. "You know, you told me you hated mornings, but now I see why. I know women can multitask, but this is too much too handle at once, for anyone." You smirked. "You caught me on a good day, Michael. If it'd been a court day there would be stacks of paper everywhere. And I would have taken an extra fifteen minutes getting dressed." It had taken you a good half an hour already today. Robby blinked and mumbled something about efficiency. When the last of breakfast had disappeared you sprinted upstairs, grabbing you bag and heels, and came charging down the stairs again. "Right," you mumbled as you sifted through your bag, "Keys, laptop, charger, phone, wallet." You wobbled on one heel as you tried to put on the other. Robby stepped in and stabilised you. "Thanks," you smiled at him. "Thanks for last night, and for breakfast. It was calm this morning because of you." Robby chuckled at you. "This was calm? I can't wait to catch you on a bad day." You pulled him towards yourself and kissed him, closer to his lips now you were on heels. "Sleep over again tonight and you might experience it tomorrow. I'll be back around 8, you up for some Chinese food tonight?" Robby smiled and kissed her again. "Text me when you leave, I'll take care of the food." With another peck she bolted out the door.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

By month three of dating you decided Robby needed some wardrobe space in your house. He'd started taking extra clothes to work so he'd have a chance to change after he'd spend the night, but you hated that. You wanted him to feel at home in your place. Robby argued that he felt quite at home, as he'd spend almost every night of the past two weeks there, but you wouldn't hear it. You had decided on it, and nothing an nobody could steer you from it now. Robby was learning to work with that stubbornness, so he'd agreed on it eventually. There was, however, the small issue of actually making space in your wardrobe. It should have been easy, having a massive walk-in, but it had been filled to the brim for years, piling over into other rooms recently.

At the moment you were both staring at the walk-in. Robby tried to keep the smirk of his face. Your eyes pinched in determination and gestured towards a cabinet at the back. "If I fit more shoes into the right side of that cabinet, I can give you a plank on the left." As you opened the right side, shoes fell out and you were nearly buried beneath them. Robby was working hard on keeping a poker-face, knowing you'd stop being stubborn when you were ready for it, but not before. He kept his distance in the doorway. After you'd opened two more cabinets and the floor was littered with clothes and shoes, he'd had enough of it. You were sat amid the chaos, feeling defeated. He shuffled in front of you, knees groaning as he sat down. His back was leaning against one of the closet doors that wasn't opened. "I think," he started carefully, "You might have a few too many clothes to be making space." You pouted at him. "How about you pick out an extra wardrobe, we put it in your spare bedroom and I take a drawer there? You can fill the rest with your overflow. Might even be able to buy that new dress you've been eyeing since we saw it in town last week." You shuffled yourself towards his laps and straddled him. "Excellent problem solving skills, Dr. Robinavitch. I can see why you're good in an ER." You laughed and kissed him, his hands finding your waist. "But you'll be the one putting that wardrobe together, cause I've got two left hands and I don't want to end up in your Pitt." "Deal." He whispered against your lips and pulled you closer towards him on his lap. The two of you stayed in that wardrobe quite some time.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

While Robby had thought a new wardrobe would mean a trip to IKEA, you had tastes that pointed you the opposite way. That was how Robby was now stood in you spare room, looking at the pieces of an antique wardrobe you had picked out. You were in court all day, and he had a day of, so he'd decided that this would be the day he'd try to build the thing. No audience when he'd inevitably end up cursing at the wardrobe. IKEA building he could do, that was as easy as following the manual, but this required actual skill in carpentry. After ten minutes of staring at the heavy wood he decided he'd need to call in back up.

Court was adjourned for fifteen minutes when you finally dared to take a peek at your phone. Your background was still a picture of a trip to the Alps a couple years back, but you were debating on changing it to the close up picture you took of you and Robby holding hands at the farmers market last weekend.

Robby: So, I'd rather not admit it, but I need to call in back up for that wardrobe of yours. You okay with me inviting a friend into your home? 😅

You: As long as you serve him the good coffee I'm all for it! 😉 Top cabinet next to the mugs.

You: And with a friend you mean Jack, right?

Robby: Yep, he's coming over in ten

You: Will said friend stay for dinner? I'd like to meet him. Planning on making pasta alla norma! 🍝

Robby: He'd be delighted 😘

And so there were three of you on the balcony that evening. Abbot had saved the day. As a reward, you had taken a nice, Italian red from your stash and were enjoying it slightly chilled. Robby had learned early on that he had nog choice in wines, not at home, nor at a restaurant. He had picked up a very sour white wine once and was banned from ever choosing wine again.

He'd been worried about you meeting his best friend, but in all honesty, not a second had been awkward between the two of you. You were in excited conversation about the workmanship that had gone into your new wardrobe, Abbot apparently got just as animated about good carpentry as you, so Robby had zoned out of the conversation a while ago. He was quite content looking at the view, hearing you and his friend go on about dovetail joints and how to best treat mahogany. At some point you stood up to get more wine, leaving Abbot and Robby.

"So," began Jack. "Why the hell have you been hiding her from us all these months?" Robby rolled his eyes. "It's been barely three months, give me a break." Jack laughed. "She's a catch, brother. And you know it. She gets it, doesn't she? Your life? How work overtakes it all some days?" Robby nodded. "It's not the same, being a prosecutor, but it's similar in some things. Work never stops, the responsibilities are massive, making mistakes hurts people. She understands the pressure, the stakes. She knows the hurt people can bring about, the terror a human being can bring onto someone else." It was Jack's turn to nod. Robby looked at his friend and smiled. "It hasn't diluted her though, that life, she's so bright and happy and sure. She's strong." "And Dana approved of her." Jack replied. Robby laughed, a genuine smile reaching his eyes. "Yes, that she did."

When Jack had left, the two of you were sat on the sofa, staring out of the balcony doors, enjoying the end of a lovely evening. You had snuggled up into Robby, head resting on his chest. He closed his eyes and kissed the top of your head. "Michael," You whispered, "I think I love you." You looked up at him. A warmth filled his heart. "I know I love you." He whispered back.

[cybergoth1]

beyond the cowl | chapter 02 | batfamily x isekaide!reader

masterlist | chapter 01 | chapter 03.

synopsis: ❛❛you're just a normal twenty-one-year old girl trying to navigate life with a shitty job and a useless degree. life isn't easy, and between expensive therapy sessions and the constant feeling of failure, you suddenly wake up in a body that wasn't yours, with a past that wasn't yours. now, in another dimension, you're dealing with the fact that you're a crucial part of the caped crusade that shaped bruce wayne's life. you're the second robin, the former girl wonder, and the vigilant gotham needed so much.❞

warnings/tags: +18. roy harper being hot. swearing. batfamily group chat. 2.5k words.

You eat your dinner in total silence, a little surprised that Alfred knew about your deadly olive allergy, your plate the only one carefully cleared of them. The food in front of you was so fancy your broke ass couldn’t even pronounce the name of it, so you decided to keep your mouth shut and take in the room and the people around you instead.

Everything screamed old money. From the antique chandelier overhead to the kind of silverware that probably cost more than your rent, it was like stepping into a museum you had no business being in. The people, too — elegant, composed, practically born knowing which fork was for the salad. Even Damian, the demon spawn, knew how to use the cutlery in front of him. You stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one said anything.

They probably assumed your last concussion was the one to blame for your lack of manners.

Fine by you. A win is a win, right?

Just hours ago, you were feeling miserable at your dead-end job in another reality and now here you are, eating mystery French cuisine in Wayne Manor, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of every awkward move you made.

You reached for your glass and nearly knocked over a tiny spoon. Why was there a spoon that small? Was it decorative? Symbolic? Rich people were weird.

Across the table, someone cleared their throat.

You glanced up and instantly regretted it.

Bruce Wayne was looking at you. Not judging, exactly. Just… observing. Like you were some kind of puzzle he hadn’t decided whether to solve or ignore.

You froze halfway to sipping your water. "What?" you asked, maybe a little too defensively. You were absolutely shitting yourself. It was horrible not knowing what kind of relationship the two of you had. You had no idea how to act around him, and that uncertainty clung to you like sweat.

He raised an eyebrow. "Nothing. Just… haven’t seen someone look at a bouillabaisse like it personally insulted them."

"That’s a bouillabaisse?" you muttered, looking down at the bowl. "Thought it was a seafood crime scene."

There was a pause. Then, from your left, a quiet snort followed by full-on laughter from Dick. Your lips twist into a smile as you take another bite. Making handsome men laugh is your specialty, especially as a barista. Or, well… It was. In your actual life. The one you went to sleep in.

Across the table, Bruce, actual billionaire, actual legend, actual Batman, you have to remember, looks at you again. "We should discuss your new position at Wayne Enterprises," he says, as if that sentence makes any kind of sense.

Your brain short-circuits. "My what now?"

Without missing a beat, he slides a black folder toward you. It lands by your plate with a soft thump, heavy with something terrifying. Responsibility.

"This outlines your role, department assignments, project overviews, and benefits package. Alfred mentioned you prefer early mornings. We can accommodate that."

You stare at the folder like it just sprouted fangs. Position? Projects? Benefits?

What position? You’ve been here, what — a day? Half a day? You woke up in a room you didn’t recognize, in a reality that isn’t yours, wearing silk pajamas and the weight of a whole new identity.

You’re just a barista. You don’t belong here. But you’re in this body, her body, and no one seems to notice the swap. Dick raises his glass in your direction with a crooked grin. "Damn. Look at you, finally putting that business degree to use."

Your head jerks toward him. "How do you even know I have a business degree?"

What the hell?

You didn’t have a business degree.

Your dumbass majored in History.

"Uh, because we grew up together?" he laughs. "And we were in the same econ class. You slept through most of it and still got a better grade than me. I never let it go."

You force a smile, nodding slowly, trying not to show the full-body panic crawling up your spine. "Right. College."

You have zero memory of that. But clearly, in this version of reality, you and Dick Grayson went to college together. Shared classes. Possibly beers. Maybe even notes. You were part of his world long before this dinner, before this moment, and now you have to play along like this isn’t all brand new.

You open the folder, half expecting gibberish or maybe Monopoly money. Instead you saw real documents. Real salary. Health insurance. Stock options.

"What the hell is happening," you mutter under your breath, not even pretending anymore.

Damian, still buttering his roll with all the menace of a Bond villain, doesn’t look up. "You’re being absorbed into the machine," he says flatly. "Welcome to capitalism."

You turn your head too fast to glare at him and a sharp sting blooms at your temple like a firecracker going off under your skin.

"Shit," you mutter, hissing as your hand flies up instinctively. Your fingers brush gauze and medical tape. There’s a bandage there, snug, slightly crusted at the edge with dried blood. You hadn’t even noticed it until now. Dick’s chair scrapes back before you can process much more. "Easy," he says, already moving toward you. "Let me take a look."

You blink up at him. He crouches beside your chair, all calm focus, like this is routine, like he’s patched you up a hundred times before. Maybe he has. Maybe she has.

His hand is warm and steady as he gently brushes yours aside. "You’re supposed to let me know when it starts hurting again," he says, voice low. A quiet scolding. Gentle, but real.

You don’t know what to say. You didn’t even know it was hurting. You didn’t know you had a horrible head wound until ten seconds ago. Dick crouches beside you, eyes scanning your face with the kind of attention that makes you feel like maybe she, the version of you that belongs here, is someone important to him.

"Come on," he says gently. Before you can ask where ‘come on’ is, he helps you up with one hand at your elbow and starts guiding you out of the dining room, quietly, without making a scene. Bruce barely glances over, Alfred gives a slight nod, and Damian doesn’t bat an eye.

Apparently, this is normal. You’re normal here. The hallway is cooler and quieter, the buzz of dinner fading behind you. Your footsteps are unsteady, and Dick notices. He slows his pace, staying close.

"You’ve had worse," he says, trying for lightness, but you can hear the edge of worry behind it.

You glance up at him. "You keep track of my injuries?"

He smiles, not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. "Somebody has to."

He leads you into a small sitting room tucked at the end of the corridor, high ceilings, dark wood, old books. It’s quiet here, thick with the kind of hush that only mansions seem to have.

"You wanna sit?"

You nod, and he helps you lower onto the edge of a leather sofa. Then he disappears briefly into the adjoining room and comes back with a first aid kit tucked under one arm.

He kneels in front of you again, opening the kit with practiced fingers.

"Still can’t believe you walked away from that fall," he murmurs, peeling off the tape with gentle precision. "You’re tough. But stubborn as hell."

You laugh, dry and confused. "That does sound like me."

He pauses, looking up. You meet his blue eyes, and for a moment it feels like he sees you, not just the version of you that belongs here, but you.

"You’re different," he says quietly. Not accusing. Not suspicious. Just noticing.

You panic. "Different how?"

He shrugs a little. "Not in a bad way. Just… quieter. You’re usually mouthier."

You almost smile. "I’ll try to insult you more next time."

Dick grins and tapes a fresh bandage in place, his touch careful. "There she is."

He stands, brushing his hands on his jeans, then looks down at you with a fondness that leaves you breathless.

"Sit tight, little wing. I’ll bring you some water."

There it is again, little wing, and it hits just as hard the second time. You nod, trying not to look like you’re unraveling from something as simple as kindness. He leaves the room, and you’re alone. Sitting in someone else’s life, wearing someone else’s name and skin, trying to breathe through the ache in your head and the weight in your chest.

What the hell are you supposed to do now? Keep pretending? Keep lying to these people and yourself? But, hey, little did you know, the worst was yet to come.

Dick didn’t just hand you a glass of water. He handed you a phone.

"It’s finally ready. B asked me to give this back to you," he said, holding it out.

Your phone.

Except it wasn’t your cracked Android with the glittery case. No. This thing was sleek, matte black, probably bulletproof, the kind of phone that could hack into satellites or call the president.

You took it hesitantly, like it might detonate.

"Thanks," you said, holding the high-security tech brick like it was a cursed object. Then, awkwardly looked at his pretty face, "I mean it. Thanks for… uhm, everything, Dickie."

The nickname slipped out so naturally it startled you. Like muscle memory. Like you’d been calling him that your entire life.

Dick looked at you with the softest blue eyes and a shy smile that made your stomach twist. There was something unbearably gentle in the way he looked at you, like he was watching someone he’d nearly lost. It was so much love, it made you want to look away.

"Sleep tight, girl wonder".

"You too…"

You wait for him to leave before unlocking the phone, praying there’s not some retina-scan protocol you’re about to fail.

It opens. The wallpaper it’s a selfie, your face… Well, her face, laughing in the sun, sunglasses perched on her head like life is just a montage of beach days and brunch. In the background, the water is crystal clear, turquoise, and absurdly picturesque. You can see Stephanie Brown striking a dramatic pose behind you, half-submerged and very sun-kissed.

It looks like Bali. Or the Maldives. Or some other place you’ve only seen on travel vlogs during your break at the café. Who knows. You were too broke in your actual life to even understand that kind of luxury.

You blink at the photo like it might shift into something you do recognize. But it doesn’t. It’s just this happy, glowing version of you, surrounded by beauty, friends, wealth, and none of it feels real. None of it feels like you. But you decided to dig it deeper. You slide to the Messages app like it might slap you and—

Wow.

The sheer number of messages waiting for you was actually insane. Wild, even. Especially considering your only friends in your real life were your mom and your older sister, and neither of them even texted that often.

You hesitated, then opened the family group chat.

Jason: hey quick q @yn

Jason: can i borrow like 5k

Jason: u rich now

Jason: also u still owe me from that one time i saved ur life from ur own bad decisions

Steph: Which time? Be specific.

Tim: Can we not start this again? I’m literally trying to sleep.

Cass: ….

B: Don’t lend Jason the money.

You scrolled, already snorting, until you found your last contribution to the chaos:

You: fuck off jason r u allergic to an honest day of work or smth

Jason: or smth

Yeah. That tracks. You back out of the group thread and scroll through your private messages. Dick’s texts are frequent and sweet, full of check-ins and bad jokes. He’s clearly your soft spot, and it’s mutual. You two clearly shared something special.

Dick: Stop flirting with death and answer your phone.

Dick: Just ate an entire pie. Alfred is judging me.

Dick: Miss your dumb jokes. Come home soon.

Then there’s Bruce, and he’s somehow the driest and weirdly affectionate person alive.

Bruce: I’ve reviewed the patrol reports. Acceptable.

Bruce: I left your favorite tea in the study. Drink it. You need rest.

Bruce: Proud of your work last week. You’ve grown.

And then you stare at the most recent one like it’s a hallucination. Things went downhill fast. Because there’s Roy Harper. And the Titans group chat, nice. Apparently, you were part of another superhero team. Because being Bruce Wayne’s ward and part of this weird ‘vigilant cult’ wasn’t enough existential horror. No. You were also a titan.

Fuck.

And again… There’s Roy Harper.

Roy: Thinking about you in that stupid little outfit you wore to training. I hate you.

Roy: Look what you did to me.

Roy: You’re gonna have to fix this, doll.

You tap the attached file before your common sense can kick in and your soul immediately leaves your body. That’s a dick pic. A nice one.

There is a literal dick in your phone. Right there. Center stage. No warning. Roy Harper. Fully committed. Your eyes go wide. Your face drains of color. You sit frozen, paralyzed by a full-frontal crisis. And as if the universe hadn’t humiliated you enough, you watch in horror as the typing bubble appears.

Roy: I can see you online, pretty girl.

You let out a strangled sound somewhere between a dying bird and a scream. And it didn’t stop there, God clearly wasn’t giving you a single moment of peace. Because right after the unsolicited anatomy lesson from Roy Harper, your new phone started ringing.

In a panic, you answered it without even checking the name. Your voice came out small and uncertain.

"Hello…?"

"Yo, I need to crash at your place. I’m in the Narrows and some dickhead just broke two of my fingers. I’m sleeping there tonight," Jason Todd said casually, like he was asking to borrow sugar, over the sound of definite gunfire, someone screaming, and what might’ve been a Molotov cocktail.

You froze. "Wait, what—?"

"Don’t worry, I’m fine," he cut you off, breathless, followed by a bang that sounded way too close to his face. "Your place still got the fire escape window unlocked?"

Your place?

You lived at Wayne Manor now. Right?

"Jason, I’m literally in the manor."

"Yeah, I know," he grunted, like you were the idiot here. "I’m breaking into your apartment. Just figured I’d let you know in case you left a taser in the fruit bowl again."

Another bang. Another yell.

Then, almost as an afterthought:

"Oh, and I saw your new photoshoot in Vogue. You look hideous, by the way. Like someone deep-fried a socialite. Bye."

Click.

You stood there, phone still pressed to your ear, staring into the abyss.

Roy’s nudes. An apartment you didn’t know existed. A Vogue spread?!

"What the actual fuck is my life," you whispered.

tag-list: @rosescarlettx, @btsloveer07-blog, @rainbowstar, @xingyunny, @mikyapixie, @sheep-from-rad, @fandomly-obsessed, @migilore, @natsukicookies, @candlewitch-cryptic, @socialmess-jery, @mona1704, @dieforcoffee26, @stupouid, @astrelz, @dind1n, @cxcilla, @mimi-sanisanidiot, @ceridwyn3, @sunako50, @lilithquillete, @rainbowstar, @ninihrtss, @dind1n, @blondwhxrewrites, @rosiita-fresita, @lovely-maryj, @vxsire, @navs-bhat, @notwhoy0uthink, @capswife, @siriuslyobsessedwithfiction, @nickey-diano, @eyeless-kun, @corvoqueen, @electronicmuffinstudentmake-blog, @irenehart02, @0sunnyside01, @mapletree999999999, @iamapotatoe, @smithieandy, @skcj24, @melaninqueen04

[ririblogsss]

I have found inspiration to write :).

The flash for the fist time in forever stop moving. No twitching. NO moving his leg up and down. No running back and forward to the cafeteria for snacks. He was completely still with his jaw open looking past Batman who at the moment was giving the league members an overview of the missions that have been happening within the past month. Immediately everyone locked in, Flash not moving major red flag. Batman caught it first and proceeded to turn around in a split of a second and froze (caught of guard) this caused the other league members to slowly turn their heads and eyes away from starring at the Flash. And they couldn't believe their eyes.

Superman had his jaw dropped.

Flash was pointing and unable to form words the only sound escaping his mouth was vocals "aa" "ee" he was over all gobsmacked.

Not like the other leagues were fairing any better. It's just that their eyes could not make their brain correctly process what they were seeing. And what they were currently seeing was a teenager with white hair with a box of donuts and drinking something out of a coffee cup. Now this is the watchtower everyone has seen teenagers from various backgrounds to say the least enjoy their coffee and snacks. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that the teen wasn't one of theirs. Not that it really matters Batman.

What actually matters is that the kids outside. IN SPACE. How is he surviving. How isn't he dead? Is he an alien? Then why is the box of donuts from earth?

And the kid has the gull to smile sheepishly?????

---

Danny only wanted help. HE SWEARSS. And the Justice League wasn't helping after they had been spammed with calls for help against the Ghosts. Amity parkers think that the JL has banned them from making calls. So Danny decided if they won't come. He will go to them, but his parents did not raise a disrespectful child the Fentons maybe break tax laws and driving laws and overall all OSHA regulations. BUT THEY NEVER DISRESPECT (unless warranted) ANYBODY. And Danny wasn't about to misrepresent them. So he brought a box of donuts and his fathers homemade fudge in hopes to make some sort of slightly good impression.

So taking a breath in (as a force of habit) he knocked on the watchtowers window and didn't become intangible and go in until Wonder Woman nodded with her head yes.

Batman was side-eying WW, but Danny decided that Wonder Woman had more decision power in this instance.

So with the approval that he may come in Danny made himself (and everything else) intangible so he could enter. Once inside he realize that Jazz had been correct in telling him to at least know how he was going to approach the subject.

He placed the treats on the table and made a gesture that they could eat. He took a sip of his hot ecto and then he opened his mouth.

"Why are you guys hunting us down for sport? w-we are people too"

Danny said it in such a broken voice with teary eyes. He really should have practiced first.

The JL choked.

[fairyhaos]

❖ marshmallow smile // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.8k+ words

tags: non-idol au, fluff, food mention, yn is a Mess, shua blushes very easily, absolutely cheesy romcom-style trope in this fic, basically shua pretends someone bought yn a drink but surprise!! it was him!!

warnings: 1 swear word

notes: silly soft flustered joshua who rarely consciously flirts but makes an exception for you :((( my beloved. happy shua day <3

“Here, this is a hot chocolate for you from the guy across the cafe.”

It's been a particularly horrible day, that day. Not because of anything specific, but just because sometimes days are like that. Days where the weather is terrible, your mood is terrible, work is terrible, and overall everything is just kind of… shit. 

Seven o'clock in the evening finds you in a cafe: the same cafe you've been in for four hours, clocking in some unwanted overtime because some idiot on your team managed to permanently delete half the spreadsheet you've been updating for weeks and now you have to scramble to fix it in two days before the annual overview meeting is conducted to all of your bosses. 

You’re exhausted, on the verge of a meltdown, and almost about to burst into tears when the gentle, male voice had spoken, and you look up just as a hand slides a steaming mug onto your table.

This man—he’s absolutely gorgeous, actually, but you don’t get to register it fully because the moment you look up, he suddenly dashes away to the other end of the cafe, bumping into empty tables before sitting down nonchalantly in one of the booths all the way on the other side, crossing his legs and waving, like nothing had happened.

“Hi,” he says, all cool and suave, even as he’s still waving. “I’m the guy from across the cafe.”

You blink, and then the pieces of his charade fall into place and you laugh, flattered. 

“Well, thank you very much,” you say, and then close your laptop, looking down at the hot chocolate on your table. The whipped cream is piled high, and the mini marshmallows are the pink kind. It’s very cute. “That’s very kind of you.” You smile, taking a sip. “I’ll also be sure to thank the handsome server who brought me my drink.”

The man’s smile widens, pleased. “I hope you don’t think the server was more handsome than me, though.”

You hum, tilting your head. “I’m not sure. Maybe if you come over here, I’ll be able to see you properly and make a real judgement.”

The man’s eyes light up, and he makes his way over to you, and—it’s like the whole world stops spinning. You’d already known he was handsome, and he’s been sitting on the other side of the cafe while talking to you, but it’s a whole other thing to be seeing him up close.

You’re now face-to-face with the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, with pretty brown eyes and a pretty lips that are pulled into a devastatingly pretty smile, and you have to fight a blush as he claims the seat opposite you at the table.

“Hi,” he says again, and laughs softly when you can’t quite meet his gaze, shy. 

“Hello,” you say, looking up briefly and feeling your face instantly heat up. What earlier confidence you’d had when calling him over has mysteriously disappeared, flustered in the face of this man’s handsomeness.

He laughs again, obviously finding you endearing as you look away, avoiding his gaze. And then he ducks his head down until he finds your eyes again before slowly straightening up, smiling when your gaze stays on him. “There we go,” he says softly. “Your eyes are so pretty. Please don’t look away.”

You blink rapidly, still very pink in the face. “Thank you.”

The man smiles. “My name’s Joshua,” he says, inclining his head in greeting. “May I have your name?”

Somehow, the oddly formal nature of Joshua’s question helps you shake some of your shyness, and you smile back at him, taking a sip from your hot chocolate. It’s sweet.

“I suppose you may,” you say, lightly teasing. “It’s Y/N.”

And then you hold out your hand for him to shake, playing up the formal greeting, and Joshua laughs, taking it in his own, his touch warm and grounding. You kind of want to hold his hand forever.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Joshua says. Disappointingly, his fingers fall away from your own almost instantly, and he gestures to the mug in front of you. “I hope you like the hot chocolate. I was actually, um, watching you from across the cafe, and you looked quite stressed, and so I wanted to give you the drink.”

“Oh.” His words have you melting a little, and he looks so adorable with his shining eyes and that shy smile on his face, as if nervous about this whole exchange. “Thank you. I was having a bit of a bad day, so this really helps.” You look down at the hot chocolate in mild wonder. “I thought this kind of thing only happened to main characters in rom coms.”

Joshua rubs the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed even as he laughs slightly, eyes crinkling. 

“I don’t really do things like this, normally,” he admits. “I’m kind of out of my depth here with this whole… flirting thing. But I thought you were cute, and you were working so hard, and I wanted to just give you something sweet to cheer you on.”

He thought you were cute. Despite his admission that he’s “out of his depth” here, you think he’s actually doing very well in this flirting. Devastatingly so.

Things like this just don’t happen to you. You’re not the type to have handsome men giving you hot chocolate at seven in the evening because they think you’re cute, but here you are, and Joshua’s smiling shyly even as his eyes glow, and he’s so pretty and this entire thing feels like something out of a dream.

“Your presence is sweeter than any drink could be,” you blurt out, and then promptly turn the shade of a beetroot, burying your face onto the top of your laptop lid. 

You can practically hear Joshua’s stunned silence, and then he laughs.

“Oh, please look up,” he says, when you still keep your face firmly buried in the laptop. “That’s the most adorable compliment I’ve ever gotten, seriously. You’re really—you’re really lovely, Y/N.”

“I’m also really embarrassed,” you say, muffled. “That was—I’m so sorry. I’m really bad at flirting. That was so weird.”

Joshua laughs again, and then there’s a light tap on the top of your head, and you lift your head slightly. Joshua takes the opportunity to reach over and lift your chin up with the tips of his fingers, smiling when you finally make eye contact with him again.

He’s blushing, you realise faintly. His fingers are warm on your face, and his cheeks are dusted pink. You did that to him.

“It wasn’t weird,” he assures. “I told you, I’m really bad at this whole thing too. But I came over here because I liked you, so it would be strange for me to dislike the idea of you liking me too.”

Your eyes widen. “You like me?”

Joshua scrunches his nose slightly, looking embarrassed again. He retracts his hand, and again, you miss the warmth of his touch. “This isn’t my first time seeing you,” he confesses. “You come here every Wednesday after work, don’t you? I’m always here around that time as well, and you’re always so bright and bubbly with your friends, and I just—well, like I said, I found you really cute.”

“Oh.” Joshua really is so, so sweet. “I’m sorry I haven’t ever talked to you before, then. Wow.” And then you smile. “But if it’s any consolation, I really do think you’re cute, too.”

Joshua’s whole face seems to glow as his eyes crinkle into crescents and he smiles widely. He’s still blushing prettily, and that makes you smile too, mesmerised by how someone who looks like him actually exists.

“Okay, lovebirds, wrap it up,” a voice suddenly says, and you jump, tearing your gaze away from Joshua, flustered. At the front of the cafe, there’s a barista wiping down the coffee machines. He stops what he's doing, leaning against the counter, watching you both amusedly. His name tag, Yoon Jeonghan, glints in the lights. “We’re closing up soon. You guys have to go.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” you call back, and quickly drink the last of the hot chocolate that Joshua gave you, before beginning to put your things back in your back. The spreadsheet isn’t fully finished, but oh well. You can get someone else to do it.

“Sorry, I probably distracted you,” Joshua says apologetically, as you put on your coat and shoulder your bag. He picks up your empty mug for you, ready to walk to the counter and give it back to the barista. “Did you manage to finish your work?”

You shake your head, and the two of you make your way out of the cafe. “No, but it’s okay,” you assure him. “I’ve been working on it for hours. I’ll get someone else to finish it off.”

Joshua nods and hands the mug back to the barista, who accepts it with a mischievous grin.

“Have a nice night, lovebugs,” the barista, Jeonghan, says, eyes twinkling. It makes Joshua roll his eyes, exasperated and benevolent at the same time, like he was used to such teasing. He bids Jeonghan goodnight and then leads you out of the cafe, opening the door for you and then following you out afterwards, until you’re both standing out on the empty street.

“A friend of mine, unfortunately,” Joshua says, as a way of explaining Jeonghan’s familiarity. “I may have, um, mentioned you to him, before. Once or twice.”

He’s being bashful again, awkward and shy in revealing his liking for you, and goodness, you’re finding him more and more endearing with each passing second you spend in his presence.

“Cute,” you say, the word slipping out before you can stop it. Joshua’s eyes widen, surprised, but like hell are you taking it back, because it’s true. “You’re really cute,” you laugh. “I… wow. Yeah. I think you’re really cute and just. Thank you, for spending time with me. This was really nice.”

Joshua’s eyes are still wide, and he swallows. 

“Okay,” he says, “I really, really don’t normally do this, but could I have your number? You’re just so nice and so pretty and I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay. You can say no, of course, and that’s totally fine, but if you’d like to, then—”

“Yes,” you cut off his rambling with a smile, and hold out a hand for his phone. “I’d like to. Of course I’ll give you my number.”

Your day did not start well at all. It’s been miserable, and exhausting, and frankly the worst day you’ve had in a while—but then a mug of hot chocolate had slid onto your table in a coffee shop, and you’d started to make conversation with the prettiest guy in the world, and now, now, now…

Now, Joshua beams at you, soft as marshmallow and sweet as chocolate, and well. You have to admit that your day has ended in the best possible way.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[littlelovelunette]

can u do that same professor sevika but make her 100% fluff with the reader after class and invites her to her home hehehe

Improving Percentages (5)

contains fluffffffffff

"Hey, Professor Sevika is waiting for you, she finished her other batch early, go on!" The woman at the reception table said and you nodded getting up and swinging your bag over one shoulder.

You walked to the end of the hall, turning the door knob and peeking inside, "May I—"

"Yeah, come in," Sevika said not looking up from your case study work, twirling a pen in her hand as she read through the lines of your answer.

"Thanks." You muttered and walked inside, taking a seat next to the HUGE atrium window which was usually curtained but a little gap of the curtains next to the seat gave you a beautiful overview of the city in the dark, the neon lights flashing, honking of busy cars.

There was something about people being so darn busy as fully functioning adults that made you wonder what kept them so busy and if you would be so busy too if you had a job.

Sevika put her pen down, taking a sip of her expresso and looked at you, calling your name.

"Yes?" You looked at her, tearing your gaze away from the city overview.

No one was in the class yet, it was just you and her, and usually she would steal a kiss from you but it was a little risky right now because any moment the other students could come in.

"Come here," Sevika said and you thought she'd kiss you but the moment you stood in front of her chair, feeling small due to her muscular tall frame, Sevika said, "I can see the seams of your bra, put a jacket on."

"But I don't—"

Sevika shoved a jacket towards you from her bag underneath the table, you smiled gratefully at her, "You're a lifesaver." You put the jacket on, making sure it covered where your dignity had been falling off from.

"Now let's talk about your paper," Sevika said, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to her making your breath hitch.

"I'm serious," she added and you giggled a little before nodding and looking at the paper she was marking. That was a lot of red lines...

"You did well, and the answer was okay but there are a few places you could've done better at," Sevika explained, "Like I specifically mentioned yesterday you were to add advantages right after mentioning disadvantages, yeah? Just do that with autocratic and democratic leadership, sprinkle in some words related to the stem and at the very end, conclude with your recommendation of which one is better suited to respective business." Sevika took her glasses off, placing them next to the pencil case

"Mhm... I understood, do you want me to redo the whole case study at home?" You asked, taking the paper.

"Yes, that would be good but it's not too necessary, whenever you're free," Sevika said gesturing you to go back to your seat.

The other students started coming in gradually and Sevika started her lesson, all the while you were back to thinking why Sevika was risking her career by dating you. It just seemed so... Sweet and dangerous at the same time.

You didn't want her life falling apart because of you and you knew you had to let go to save it but what if she didn't let go? What if she clung on?

You had never experienced someone ever begging you to stay usually it was just you trying to keep a relationship.

Class ended a bit later and as usual you stayed behind as the other students left. "Hey, baby, let's go back to my place today?" Sevika said approaching me and pulling me close to her.

"Mhm..?" You giggled and nodded, wrapping both arms around one of hers, "but what if we run into someone on the road who knows either me or you?"

"you thought I'd make you walk, princess?" sevika chuckled shaking her head, messing up your hair a little before she started putting her things in her bag, "make your way out and start walking okay? stop in front of the four-way main road, ill pick you up from there, it'll be safer." sevika mumbled as she continued tidying up her desk

"okay, see you soon," you said and walked out of the classroom, playing with the sleeves of your sweater as you walked out of the academy and pressed the ground floor button of the lift, waiting for the elevator to arrive. sevika was just so... different from everyone else you've been with, yet you weren't sure what you both were. more than just student-teacher or not.

after the elevator opened with a little ding you got inside, waiting patiently for the elevator to take you to the ground floor while you continued thinking about sevika. you had never really confronted her about what she thought the both of you were and she didn't seem like the person who was into labelling relationships...

but given how no-nonsense her attitude usually was you were almost sure she wouldn't play around with someone's feelings.

with a small sigh, you walked out of the elevator and the cold hair hit your exposed skin making you shudder a little. as you walked out of the building you realised it was already dark outside, you took your phone out and checked the time.

it wasn't too late, but eitherway you texted your mother with a simple "i'll be at professor sevika's house for an extra class planned early today, she won't be available for mondays lessons that's why."

you read the text over and over to make sure there were no loops before starting to slowly start walking towards the four-way road sevika had told you to stop by at. the air was cold, blowing your hair out of your face and making you shiver a little. the roads were busy as usual, speeding cars and people trying to cross the road, but the only sound you could focus on was the sound of your footsteps against the concrete as you walked.

you didn't wait for too long after reaching the four-way road because you saw a car slow down in front of you making you blush slightly. you took a look around to make sure no one was around before you got inside the passenger seat with a little smile.

"nice ride," you complimented

sevika smirked a little hand travelling to rest on your thigh, "uh-huh, you like it huh?" she continued driving through the traffic

"i told my mother that i was gonna be at yours for extra class because you won't be available on Monday." you informed making sevika chuckle a little.

"little liar." sevika said as she gave you a little smile, a rare sight usually.

"i've been meaning to ask you something." you said wringing your hands in mild anxiety, looking over at sevika to see her facial expression every once in a while.

"go ahead, doll." she said blankly her voice betraying close to no emotion

"so i've never really— um— what i meant to ask was what are we?"

a silence enveloped the normal chatter in the car and you could see sevika's eyes trying to fix themselves on the road.

"well, what do you think we are?" sevika retorted.

"i don't know, i just, it's so weird because i take you as a respectable lady who would always put her career up first before anything and everything else so you dating me, your student, is a bit uncharacteristic and... absurd." you paused before adding, "but that doesn't mean i put you past it i think if you do love someone passionately there's no stopping in that and i won't... hold it over you if you say you're not ready for something like a relationship or want to keep it casual. i just— it would be nice if... it was a mutual thing." the ending of your words were beyond dumb and a little awkward

sevika laughed her voice a deep rumble from somewhere within her chest but the tone? you couldn't exactly place it "you take me for a fool, dolly?"

"what? no!—"

"you're mine. there is no other label for it. it's not casual, it's not a fling, it's not absurd. you're mine and that's that," sevika said with a little edge to her voice.

"so are we—?"

"lovers? heck yeah. girlfriends? fuck yes." sevika cut you out as she continued driving, "i can't believe you'd take me for the player type."

"im sorry I just..." you trailed off looking out of the window, "i guess i don't have the cleanest dating history is all."

sevika parked in front of a relatively pretty apartment, the gardens, the plants, flowers decorated the huge terraces of each floor. it was beautiful, the wooden decorations paired with thick, huge glass windows... looked like something straight out a Pinterest board.

"look at me." she said her voice an octave quieter

you looked at sevika, biting your bottom lip nervously for a bit before releasing the now reddened lip

"you matter to me. your feelings matter to me. i don't know what you dated before. but you're single now so i just know it wasn't a commitment at least from their part. but im here to stay. whether we fall off or not im here to stay okay? don't let me catch you ever thinking otherwise." sevika said gently which was absolutely out of character from the usually sharp, stern sevika you knew

"mhm... i love you, sevika." you smiled

"i love you too angel." she returned the smile and sevika got out of the car, walking around and opening the door for you so could step out too as the both of you made your way across the huge expensive garage and to an elevator that was ten times bigger than the one at the academy

"you're damn rich," you muttered and sevika laughed, "i like keep things quality."

as you both got in the elevator and sevika pressed the button for her apartment unit, you stared at the taller woman, studying her facial features. you knew this was probably gonna be the healthiest relationship you've ever had even if... it wasn't the most ethical one so far.

[curiousquill1]

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[butteronabun]

diluc + EXES EXES EXES PLEASE (HIIII butter on a bun ^_^ i will Enable you because i have a playlist for him dedicated to this shit) + canon/modern au, etc — pick whatever YOU were thinking writing the request post + spin the wheel and pick a genre~ again, this request is an excuse to hear YOUR thoughts (i have some of my own)

extra: pick whether you want it to be she/her or g/n~ i’m fine with both 🫶

sincerely, 🥩 (who missed you and hasn’t caught up with recent posts bc i was busy </3)

wish that i had more of this borrowed time

a diluc ragnvindr x female reader exes au.

overview: diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.

wc: 3.2k

notes: originally this was 5k words but that was so much & i didn’t want to complicate this more so TAKE IT 😙 this is also a bit open-ended so feel free to interpret this however you like!! also, additional notes will be in the end, so better check that out too :)

“You’re going to break that glass, Master Diluc,” remarks Kaeya Alberich himself, who is this close to purchasing popcorn to watch the ‘drama’ that he has been observing for a while now. Weinlesefest truly has its wonders – fresh wine, good company, and a brother who definitely still isn’t over his ex, even if said brother continues to deny it. “You look under the weather. Why not take a breather and enjoy the sights? You have a loyal staff that’s willing to oversee the Angel’s Share stand for a while.”

Diluc’s cold, unwavering glare remains on that face of his. Kaeya’s almost certain that comparing his ice from his cryo vision with Diluc’s expression will have no difference at all. “I am doing fine, Master Kaeya.” He looks down at the glass he has wiped for—Kaeya guesses—the fifth time now, and picks up another one. 

“Really? But it’s becoming a little hot, Master Diluc. I’ve noticed that as the minutes pass by, the temperature of the stand has been concerningly rising as of late. Are you secretly heating up some tasty bar snacks, or is it something else?”

Kaeya suppresses a smirk when the warmth around them subdues momentarily. He has one theory that he’s sure is actually true—a theory where that ‘heat’ is coming from, and it’s definitely not the wind. 

It’s the ninth month of the calendar. Summer’s already over. So it’s safe to say that. . .

“Don’t you have other matters to tend to?” Diluc narrows his eyes at him. Oh, changing the subject now, aren’t we? “Surely, Cavalry Captains still have to scout the area for any potential threats during Weinlesefest, or have the knights really gone incompetent?”

“Oh, you. Everyone deserves to enjoy the festival every once in a while,” Kaeya raises his keg playfully. “And that includes even you.”

Diluc just grumbles at that. Still stubborn as always, but Kaeya remembers the day when the traveler told him a few years ago that Diluc, despite isolating himself during the previous festivals, reveled. (Reveled on his own, was what they clarified.) It’s a comforting thought that even such a busy man as himself can still enjoy these moments.

And Kaeya wishes he’d see it more. 

Diluc willingly taking charge of the Angel Share’s stand instead of Charles? How endearing. Is it really because he’s here for the celebration, or something else? 

(Kaeya—and he’s pretty sure, Diluc is, too—hears nearby footsteps. Familiar voices.)

Or someone else?

Whatever it is, Kaeya is fine with either. 

“Still baffles me that my suggested proposals got rejected— ah, we’re here. Oh, hi, Kaeya!” 

Kaeya sips his beer and smiles at you. “Hey.” And he watches it all unfold again. You smile back at him, before slowly turning to Diluc, who has never taken his eyes off of you ever since your arrival. 

You hide a lock of your hair behind your ear timidly. “Hi, Diluc.”

It’s really fascinating to see his brother still so soft with you. People may not notice this, but Kaeya knows Diluc best. “Good evening. What would you like tonight?”

“Ah – my company here—” you turn to the man beside you, a fellow colleague perhaps, and Kaeya seriously has to control himself from smirking. The area’s heating up again. “—would like to try some of the Fruits of the Festival that we’ve been hearing of. Is it still available?”

Diluc nods. “Yours?”

“I don’t want anything, actually—”

“Please, don’t do that,” The man calls out your name, and steps forward. The warmth’s growing. “If you think that you’re treating me tonight, then I’ll be treating you as well. Bartender, I’ll be ordering Wolfhook Juice for this lovely lady.”

The man winks at you, confident with himself, until Diluc breaks the flair by simply saying, “She’s allergic to that.”

Ah, this is great. Kaeya’s considering if he should bring Rosaria or even Lisa along for the drama. 

“W–wait, really? You’re allergic to Wolfhook?”

“Ah, D–Diluc—” As much as Kaeya relishes in dear Diluc’s jealousy, your expressions are also just as priceless. Speechless that his amazing brother still has one detail about you memorized? Pfft. Such is a man of great talent who has a knack for processing knowledge in such a short time. He’s a businessman, after all. It’s important to know a lot of things. “You still remember that?”

Diluc doesn’t reply to that question. Instead, he goes on preparing the drink with ease and in silence. Kaeya can feel the awkwardness in the air as they watch Diluc swiftly mix the ingredients, and the man accompanying you merely coughs to dissipate the tension.

“So, um,” The man starts, “I’ve heard that Starsnatch Cliff looks beautiful at this time of night. I was wondering if you’d like to stargaze with me?”

You seem sheepish. “Oh, I—”

There’s a loud thud, surprising everyone, except for Kaeya and Diluc themselves. Diluc has placed the glass in front of the man, face emotionless. “It’s late. Dangerous, even. I recommend that you postpone such a journey.” 

Kaeya hides his smile behind his keg. Oh, Diluc. Could you get even more obvious? He wishes to voice out that poor Klee and the other children might get scared because of his ‘grumpy face’ again, but it is late and they’re not here anymore, so it isn’t a valid reason to mention. 

Oh, the area’s hotter now. The man is visibly sweating under the intimidating man’s stare. “A–Ah, I see- t–thank you for that then, good sir—”

“Diluc, don’t scare him,” you scold him lightly, and take the glass. “And we’ll be fine, I have a vision.”

His stupid brother’s about to protest, and Kaeya readies himself for another session of ‘Diluc Facepalming Himself Because He Made A Fool of Himself In Front of his Ex’ when you add on:

“Though, Diluc’s right. It’s dangerous to go out right now since I’ve heard from the outriders that the concentration of hilichurl camps around that area is growing in size again. So we shouldn’t go.” You give the man his drink, and gesture him to an empty table. “And didn’t you tell me you’re tired already? Why not sit down for a while?”

Once you two are seated on a table that’s too far for Diluc’s liking, Kaeya sighs and shakes his head. Diluc glowers at him. “What?”

“Attentive as ever.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Diluc says as he crosses his arms.

“The least thing you could do is be attentive to her well–being, even though you’re not her lover anymore?” The temperature intensifies. Oops. Kaeya stepped on something he shouldn’t. But it’s always so fun to get on Diluc’s nerves. “Admit it, you still haven’t moved on.”

Diluc then retorts, “Is it so bad to care for an old friend?” “So that’s what you call her now?”

“Kaeya,” Diluc warns.

“Diluc~” Kaeya pleasantly sings. Then, his lips part into an ‘o.’ “My, I smell something burning. Are you really cooking something up?”

Kaeya doesn’t bat an eyelash on the slightly scorched bartop.

_

Diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.

He has too much love in his heart, and oftentimes, it causes him great anguish. 

He wanted to rip his heart out the night his father passed on. He wanted to stomp on it after causing Kaeya harm. 

And he wanted to abandon it, just like how you did.

“Let’s end this,” you told him one dinner, with your head dipped down, not wanting to meet his eyes. You trembled as you anticipated his response, but you didn’t get one. Diluc was left aghast. “This isn’t working for the both of us, Diluc.”

Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr who dedicated his time to protecting the city and thwarting the enemies that threatened his nation. Such is the fate of a Ragnvindr who occupied himself with the winery’s business ventures. 

Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr, who, despite having a big heart, had failed his lover. 

He wanted to say—maybe we could try again. I will be better this time. He knew he could solve this, if he could think of strategies to counterattack the abyss, or even keep his competitors on their toes with his new business plans, surely, he could remedy this. 

“I have too much on my plate. You have too much on yours. Let us end this before we affect each other.”

When your tears cascaded down your cheeks, Diluc wanted to wipe them away. But he couldn’t even move. Not even an inch. How could he, when his heart was being shattered to pieces? 

You had too much on your plate? Why didn’t you say anything? You know he’d always be here for you.

So why?

He wanted to say — then let’s face them together.

But you had other plans.

It was over. 

And he understood.

_

“How fortunate that our dear cutie decided to visit this year’s Weinlesefest,” Lisa says as she touches the petals of the cecilias. She’s here in Diluc’s garden. Lisa, for some reason, has the tendency to make unannounced visits. She smiles up at Diluc who’s observing her from the gazebo. “Don’t you feel the same way too, Diluc? That she’s here again, after almost two and a half years.”

Diluc crosses his arms. “I fail to understand why I’d have to voice out my opinions on the matter.”

“Ah, but didn’t you say something to Kaeya? Supposedly, shouldn’t you be happy that an ‘old friend’ came back?”

Diluc averts his gaze, and Lisa smiles even wider before tending back to the flowers.

“She favors these, don't they? Cecilia flowers.” Lisa sniffs one. This one smells very fresh. It’s as if all the flowers here are greatly taken care of. “Oh, this takes me back. I still recall how you and her first met. You two were so adorable! She used to chase you around, desperate for your attention. And despite your attempts to push her away, she still managed to win you over. Her blushing face was the absolute best when you gifted her a bouquet of cecilias. Really, who knew that you could get so romantic?”

Lisa lifts her head and fixates on the clouds. “She’s your first love, right? And you treasured her so.” She checks to see if Diluc’s still there, and he is. 

He’s still sulking like the baby he is.

“Diluc?”

Lisa can hear him murmur, but it’s not too audible for her ears to pick up. “I beg your pardon?”

“. . .her favorite.”

Lisa tilts her head. “Favorite?” 

“Cecilia flowers.” Diluc says. “They’re not her favorite.”

“Oh, my. So what’s her favorite, then?”

Diluc is reluctant. But he answers anyway. “Small lamp grass flowers.”

Oh, Lisa knows.

She just wanted to hear him say it.

_

No one knows how much Diluc has struggled during the first months of your breakup with him. 

He got moody, at times. Even slept in too much, which was surprising, because he wasn’t the type of person to sleep, not at all, when he had errands to run. He was a business owner by day, and a vigilante by night—he shouldn’t coop himself up inside his quarters all the time just to let his broken heart weep.

So even if those days, those weeks, those months, were nothing but unimaginable suffering – Diluc had to rise. Someone still had to face the darkness for the dawn.

The overseeing of the winery and the scouting of adversaries were great distractions to someone like him.

But he couldn’t deny the fact that whenever he was resting, or even had one moment of leisure, those thoughts canw creeping in. How were you? Where were you? Are you faring well? Do you still yearn for him, as much as he yearns for you?

Are you as ruined as he is?

Diluc didn’t expect that breakups could get this hard. He thought the drunkards in his taverns were over exaggerating it a bit too much because of the alcohol, but now, he could understand.

( He didn’t resort to alcoholism, though. )

He really tried to get over you. He really did. He really tried to forget. 

But how could he, when he cherished you so?

How could he, when his heart continuously ached for you? How could he, when he longed for you desperately after you left Mondstadt.

_

( ”There are plenty of fish in the sea. There are lots of daughters from various nations wanting to be your wife! Why not choose any of them, to fill that hole in your chest?”

The last time a patron told Master Diluc those exact words, he nearly banished them from his tavern. )

_

Moving on was not an option here, it seemed, when everything reminded Diluc of you. 

He saw you everywhere. You liked talking a lot, and he liked listening to you, even before you two were dating. Every experience, every anecdote, every musing, and every vent — he remembered it all. 

Diluc knew what type of coffee you liked. At first, you weren’t such a big fan of them, but you found one that suited your taste. ( “Just one cup is enough, though. Two or more will make me palpitate!” ) Pepperoni became your favorite pizza topping when you ate with Jean when she invited you for lunch out of gratitude. ( “Cheesy spinach is a close second!” ) You liked reading books and seemed to get lost in them a lot; you even excitedly discussed your reviews to him of the novels or pieces of information you’ve read. ( “Like can you believe it?! He had a twin brother all along!” or “Now I understand why you have such a big chair in your office! It’s because it signifies your status! ” )

You were so endearing. Diluc really, really loved every bit of you and made sure to give you the love that you deserved. He tried his best as he could to provide you with the affection that you needed.

Yet it still wasn’t enough.

Because if it did, Diluc would still be here at his dining table, reading his documents and sipping coffee with you. If it did, you’d still offer Diluc one slice of pepperoni or cheesy spinach pizza after your lunch with Jean. If it did, you would still bother him underneath the sheets until late hours into the night regarding the mundane and the interesting.

Move on, they said. They were all growing concerned.

Move on, a rational part of him also said. It was for his own good.

But he had always been stubborn.

_

( 

“Master Diluc’s single?! Again?”

“The most eligible bachelor’s throne is his once more.”

“Back off, even if the Master’s single, he won’t give you no heed. Just give up.”

“Come on, support me a little! I just want to give him a good time. Don’t you think I have a chance?”

“Not one bit, lass. Not one bit.” )

_

Weinlesefest is in full swing—

“Yet here you are, moping.” A green bard sits on the pier beside Diluc, who’s currently throwing rocks onto the surface of the water. “Master Diluc, shouldn’t you be out there and celebrate? Or did you choose to stay here because you haven’t scored a date?”

Diluc narrows his eyes at him curtly, before throwing another stone into the water. 

“A silent treatment for me, I see,” The bard strings his lyre, “But I have no worry, for you’ll answer me eventually.”

Diluc sighs. “She’s occupied as of the moment.”

“Oh~? I see that the tables have turned, then?”

Diluc scoffs. Of course he also knows about what had happened before. “Really. What’s your purpose for being here? And stop with your rhyming. It’s annoying me.”

The bard snickers. Stroke a chord it seems. “It’s the second to the last day of this festive event, and I’ve yet to see you participate. Minus the fact of taking care of the Angel Share’s stall, but you must at least do something that’s not related to work.”

“It’s in my blood to dedicate myself when it comes to work.” Diluc throws another stone. “I have no other choice, Venti.”

“Yet here you are, skipping stones?”

“Here I am, skipping stones.”

The bard sighs sadly. As he kicks his legs back and forth, he says - “Do you remember the Thousand-Wind Wine Razor made with the Traveler?”

“Of course. The barrel they used belongs to my winery.”

There’s another silence. Then Venti speaks again. “The wind is many things, you know. It can bring back the soul, and especially, preserve memories—you know of the fact that dandelion seeds are added last as a way of capturing the wind at the very moment when the barrel is sealed. Meaning, the memory of that ‘moment’ is stored in the wine, for all eternity.”

“And your point is?”

“Let yourself be happy this once.”

_

After the citizens of Mondstadt welcomed the Anemo God, they all felt the gentle breeze kissing their skin as he graciously made himself present into the wind. The children cheered, and the adults raised their cups for a toast. Everyone was having a splendid time.

“To the Anemo Archon!”

You, however, have just finished preparing for your departure back to Sumeru. After packing your belongings and making sure you didn’t leave anything in the inn, you had to go find your companion — who’s still probably busy trying out new drinks. 

You sigh at that, a little amused. You also resign to this fate. The journey to Sumeru will have to wait until later. Plus, you haven’t even properly said your goodbyes to the others, so, there’s that. 

A polite cough echoes behind you. You turn around, and your heart flutters at the sight of a familiar man. Diluc.

“May I request a bit of your time?” He asks, always so gently.

You’re pleased and surprised, of course - because it’s Diluc. Diluc, who’s obviously seeking you, even if he’s made clear that he’s occupied with duties of the winery. 

You want to humor him a little bit, so you snicker. “But what if I don’t want to?” You gesture to your satchel. “I’m preparing for my departure, you see.”

Diluc already knows that, doesn’t he? He doesn’t even react. “If that’s the case, then I respect your decision.”

Oh, that’s a bit disappointing. You kind of want to slap yourself for that. You should’ve just accepted Diluc’s request instead of pulling stuff like this. Why play hard to get, when Diluc’s already—

“But I beg of you,” Diluc adds, and you blink. There’s determination in his eyes, and your heart skips a beat when you notice that there’s also something else. “Before you leave. . . please, spend time with me. All it takes is just a short moment with you, and I’ll be content. I won’t ask for anything more.”

—making initiative, huh.

How can you say no to that?

You smile at him—a little bit too tenderly. “Alright then, Diluc.” You lift a hand, gesturing for him to take it. “Lead the way.”

supposedly this was seriously longer, it had more plot ( i indulged on this way too much when i was writing this but had to omit a lot of stuff because i was getting overboard + wanted to more focus on how diluc interacts with his ex / what he feels about his ex / what he felt without his ex asfghjfk also, here's one screenshot before i deleted this part; i wasn't rlly kidding that it had more substance and it was originally angsty:

anw. shoutout to my bestie who brainstormed with me abt ex diluc hcs it was so fun. lemme share to y'all what we talked abt: 1) we thought that diluc is the type of person who’d date to marry, 2) his heart is so so freaking loyal he'd still pine for his first love, and 3) he falls hard and is stupidly sentimental plus. if he did have an ex, the breakup will def bother / ruin / devastate him, especially when he loved that person sm :(

[jo-speaks]

Jealous Quinn Jealous Quinn I beg

CAN HE TOUCH YOU LIKE THIS?

overview: your past hookup gets quinn riled up.

warnings: 18+ content below. mdni. mentions of alcohol consumption, poor past hookups (sorry jack), unprotected sex, etc.

note: this request is from january… anyway! also, not proofread </3

Parties at the lakehouse weren’t uncommon. If anything, they were expected. Jack was always the usual planner, his lack of college frat parties making him compensate with the loudest, most entertaining functions. 

As a usual guest at the house, your invitation was always the first to go, considering you practically lived with the Hughes boys the second their seasons ended, your parents having been friends for a lifetime and some. You were closest with Jack due to age, but Quinn had always felt like something more than to label him ‘just a friend’.

Currently, you were sitting on the couch, legs draped over Jack’s as you both drank from your red solo cups and engaged in the conversations you could hear over the music.

Quinn sat on the other side of you, your head resting on his thigh as you put your cup on the ground. His free hand mindlessly dropped to yours, bringing it up to your shoulder so he didn’t have to reach down. It wasn’t romantic, it was strictly platonic. While he wasn’t off limits, you knew him well enough to know that this is how he felt the most grounded in an overwhelming scene.

“All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t be too happy if the guy I was talking to ghosted me out of nowhere.”

Your words were directed towards Trevor, a usual suspect when it came to leaving his trail when it came to summer hookups. The conversation had started when he began talking about some girls he had hooked up with in LA before flying to Michigan, getting looks from you and Quinn at the way he overshared about his experiences. 

Trevor scoffed, taking a sip of his drink, “Yeah, well, you’re a girl. Of course, you think that way.” 

Jack rolled his eyes, “Or maybe she just has decency? C’mon, Trev. You gotta admit, you sound pretty messy right now.” 

“Obviously you would say that,” Trevor retaliated, “You wouldn’t get it. You and Y/N hooked up and are still friends.”

You nearly choked on your spit, the shock on everyone’s face making yours feel suddenly warm. Jack squeezed your shin, deciding whether he should laugh it off and move on or explain how it didn’t mean anything to either of you. Unfortunately, Trevor’s words had struck a different brother in a distasteful way. 

Quinn’s hand tightened its grip on yours, squeezing your fingers as if you were going to get up and run away. He didn’t picture it, he just pictured you. 

How did you react? Did you like it? Would you do it again? 

Do you like Jack?

He could feel the jealousy coursing through his veins; the mere idea of his younger brother seeing you in your most vulnerable state plagued his mind. He knew Jack. He knew that most of his hookups were centered on his pleasure, not the girls. Did he even care to make you cum?

Your bubbly voice pulled him out of his spiral, “One time thing when we were eighteen, Trev. Get over it.” The sound of your laughter pulled everyone out of the awkwardness, treating the conversation as if it had never stunned you into silence. “Plus, it didn’t mean anything anyway.” 

“Oh, it’s like a dagger in my heart.” Jack teased, playing into it. 

Quinn, on the other hand, was having none of it. He sat you up, letting go of your hand. “I think I’m gonna call it for tonight.” His tone was short and snappy, as if someone had just insulted him. 

It was impossible to notice the way he weaved himself past the group sitting at the bottom of the stairs, making his way up to his bedroom before shutting the door. While Trevor and Jack returned to their conversation, you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with the man upstairs.

“I’ll be right back.” You excused yourself, shifting your legs off of Jack’s lap and trailing the same path Quinn had taken to his room. 

The party downstairs was disregarded when you knocked twice on the door, turning the knob before he ever gave you the go ahead. Quinn was never one to lock his door, but he couldn’t say he was upset at you when you switched the lock as you stepped in and closed the door behind you. His eyes locked with yours for a moment before going back to stare at his TV. 

You let out a sigh. “You okay? You kinda upped and bolted in here.” He didn’t get the chance to answer before you sat down on his bed, crawling over to where he lay, “Was it the hookup talk? I swear I was gonna tell you, but-”

He cut you off with a scoff, shaking his head before looking at you, “It’s not that.” 

Your head tilted at his statement, “Then what’s wrong?”

Quinn sighed, his arm coming across to drape over your shoulders as he pulled you closer into his body, “I hate thinking about the fact that he didn’t take care of you properly.” You weren’t sure what you had expected him to say, but it hadn’t been that. He chuckled at your shocked expression, your eyes shifting between his as you processed his words. 

“What?”

“Y/N, be real. Did he even make you cum? Or did he just make you so tired of him that you faked it?”

His vulgarity stunned you even further into silence. On some level, though, his words had truth. Jack hadn’t made you finish when you hooked up, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt because “He was eighteen, Quinny. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

Still, your defense didn’t make the anger brewing inside him simmer down one bit. Before you knew it, his hands were gripping your waist, pulling you up onto his lap so you straddled him. “Let me show you what he should’ve done, yeah?” 

Your brain short-circuited. Were you hearing him correctly, or were you just turned on by the way he was determined to prove he was better than Jack? Before you could process your own question, you were leaning forward, capturing his warm lips in a heavy kiss. 

Quinn flipped you both over, finding his comfort in being on top of you rather than below. His lips moved in sync with yours, his tongue already pleading for entry, which you gladly granted. You could feel his knee pushing your legs apart, the skirt you had chosen to wear for the now long forgotten party giving him easy access to press his knee against your warmth. 

You gasped softly at the pressure, your hips instinctively rocking towards it as you felt his lips travel down to your neck, finding a spot and suckling on it.

“Did he do this for you?” He asked in a quiet voice, “Did he make sure you were this wet before even trying to fuck you?” 

A whine slipped past your lips in response, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders as you sped up your movements. Quinn brought one hand down, fingers bruising your hip as he stopped you from moving. “Words, baby. Tell me.”

“N-no.” 

Quinn hummed, “No?” 

“No, he didn’t.” You groaned, trying to move your hips again, but to no avail, “Please let me move, Q. Please.”

Satisfied with your words, he loosened his grip, letting you grind against his sweatpants-covered leg again. He was hypnotized by the small furrow in your eyebrows as you started to feel your orgasm build, the way your breaths started to come out in soft pants rather than big huffs. It was the small details that told him exactly what you wanted, what you needed. 

He pressed his leg up closer to you, intensifying the pressure that sent your head reeling. Your eyes struggled to find his, the urge to close them becoming overwhelming. But you did yourself a favour, keeping eye contact as you got closer and closer.

“Quinn,” You moaned, biting down on your lip to maintain yourself quiet enough so that the guests wouldn’t catch wind of what was happening upstairs. “Gonna cum.” 

The look on his face was unforgettable. He was proud of himself. Proud he had you so desperate underneath him that you were getting off by using his body. Proud he got you there, unlike your past experiences with Jack. It was pure pride and satisfaction, and fuck did it feel good. 

“Atta girl, sweetheart.” He praised, whispering in your ear. “Let me feel you cum all over me before I’ve even fucked you.”

His words sent you over the edge, his ego rising as he could feel the way your fingers tightened on the skin of his shoulders, the way your body shook gently as you dampened your panties and his pant leg. He was learning all your tells, something he knew no one had bothered with before. 

He kissed your cheeks, meeting your lips as his hushed words guided you through your orgasm. Your body was hot against his as he stripped off your skirt and damp panties, following suit and revealing his body to you. As you calmed down, your bleary vision cleared up just in time to stop him from pulling off his pants, your hand covering his that sat on his waistband. 

Quinn stopped moving, smirking at you as he took your wrist, placing it where his was previously, and lifted both hands up. He watched as your mouth all but watered as you pulled down the fabric, exposing his navy blue boxers and the bulge that threatened to tear through the cotton. He stepped out of them as you stared in awe, amazed at the dark, wet patch that was barely noticeable due to the colour. 

You reached for it, your hand cupping around his cock as he let out a soft groan, anchoring himself back onto the bed as he took your hand and pinned it over your head. His lips were back on yours instantly, his lips moving with more frevour than they had before, as if it was his last chance at kissing you. 

His hand reached down for his cock, stroking his length briefly as he slapped his tip against your swollen clit, whines escaping your lips at the inconsistent pressure. His actions showed no signs of a rush, but your body was so desperate to have him inside of you that you could barely control your words as they slipped out.

“Please just fuck me,” You begged, “Know you can do it better than him, Q.”

Those words cracked him because before you knew it, he slipped in with one harsh thrust, filling you up so quickly that you had no choice but to scream. Quinn covered your mouth with his hand, wanting to reserve your noises for no one else but him. 

You watched with wide eyes as his jaw fell agape as he started to move, his thrusts speeding up as your arousal coated his cock, making it easier to move. His hand came off your mouth, a rookie mistake because the second he did, you sang his praises.

“So, so big, Quinn.” You babbled, your cock-drunk mind focused on nothing but the way he hit all the right spots so effortlessly, like he’d mapped out your body to the tee. “Oh my- fuck! Best I’ve ever had, please don’t stop.”

His cock twitched at your words, his hand lifting your shirt as he leaned down to scatter kisses across your chest. “You feel so fucking good, pretty girl.” He targeted your nipple, pinching one while he swirled his tongue around the other, switching constantly as he felt you clench around him. “Pussy was fucking made for me.”

He could feel the way your body tensed up again, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips as you slammed your hands down on his sheets, pulling the cover tighter as he hit the spot that had your head falling back and your eyes seeing stars.

“You look so pretty,” He teased, speeding up his thrusts so you couldn't chirp back. “Bet he didn’t see you like this, huh? All fucked out underneath him?” Quinn’s words were poisoned with spite, fuming at the thought of someone missing out on everything you had to offer. “More for me, though, isn’t that right, baby?”

Your head nodded rapidly, words not coming as an option as you could feel your abdomen tighten the more he abused that spot inside of you with each thrust. You were pulled a little closer back to reality when you felt his finger flick your clit, the sudden action leaving your mouth to widen even further. 

“What did I say, hm?” He scolded, the pad of his finger now swirling rapid circles around your swollen bud, as if he was trying to keep you speechless. “Words, or you don’t cum.”

You whined, “All for you. I was made just for you, Q.”

He hummed in satisfaction, your words shooting straight to his cock as he kept his pace, feeling your body twitch underneath him as the knot in your stomach threatened to let go. “No,” Quinn breathed. “You cum with me or not at all, you got it?”

“Yes, sir.” The idea of keeping yourself teetering at the line of your orgasm felt like torture, but your mind had already adapted to Quinn’s rules, rewired to listen to him no matter how badly you needed to let go.

He groaned, the sound coming straight from his chest, as his fingers gripped your thighs, pushing them further back to push deeper into you. It was overwhelming, your walls spasming around him as you fought back your orgasm, wanting nothing more than to tip over that peak as he filled you up.

A few more harsh thrusts and he was right there with you, his forehead touching yours as he mumbled praise to you before saying, “Cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

And that was the only cue you needed. Your movements were involuntary, your back arching off the mattress and pressing your skin flush to his chest, your shooting up to tug his hair. He was no different, the way his muscles tensed and a sinful moan slipped past his swollen lips, his cum spurting into you as he tainted your walls white, filling you up to the point where it leaked out of you in drops.

You could feel his breath clashing with yours, the mixture of warmth bringing you comfort as you felt his cock soften inside of you, one of your hands coming down to cup his face. Your thumb rubbed the skin soothingly as he dropped his weight onto you, catching his breath and embracing your warmth.

“So,” You began, shifting that hand to toy with his now damp curls, “Was that you just trying to prove to me that you fuck better than your brother?” Quinn groaned into your skin, the vibrations tickling you slightly. He lifted his head, catching your gaze as you waited for his answer. 

“One, I knew I did. Two, no. I’ve been hoping you’d look my way since we were kids. But you were closer to Jack, so I don’t know. Didn’t wanna play the guessing game with you until I knew for sure.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “You could’ve said something sooner. It’s never felt like just a friendship with you.”

The relief that washed over him was visible, his body relaxed as he let out a sigh. Quinn had never thought he’d get to even have this conversation with you, so he cherished your response as if he’d forget it the next day. 

“Well, I’m saying something now.” He smiled cheesily at you as he leaned up for a quick kiss, which you gladly gave in to. “Let me take you out tomorrow?”

[ducktoo]

Office Antics

Yena x Reader

Note: Recently rewatched Hyemileeyechaepa and man I missed 2/3 of Jo Yuriz. If you haven't watch it yet I really recommend yall to do it!

Here's for fellow resident duck.

The office was alive with the familiar hum of keyboards and the occasional ring of phones. It was another Monday morning, and as usual, you were the first one at your desk, sipping a subpar instant coffee you’d made from the breakroom. The workday ahead promised to be a mountain of reports, client proposals, and dreaded spreadsheet formatting—tasks that demanded focus. Yet, your mind wasn’t on the work.

No, your thoughts were fixated on a certain someone who had yet to show up.

Choi Yena. Your supervisor. The office’s resident prankster. The embodiment of chaos wrapped in pastel blazers and a permanent grin. She was always the last one to arrive but somehow managed to make her presence known instantly, turning even the dullest workday into a whirlwind of noise and mischief.

You were halfway through organizing the team’s task list for the day when the elevator doors dinged.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning!” Yena’s sing-song voice bounced off the walls as she burst through the door, holding two iced coffees in her hands. Her grin stretched wide as she plopped one down on your desk.

“Iced Americano for my favourite team member,” she chirped.

You raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious. The last time she gave you coffee, it was spiked with salt instead of sugar. “What’s the catch, Sunbae?”

Her eyes widened in mock offense. “No catch! Can’t a supervisor just be nice to her hardworking team?”

“Not when that supervisor is Choi Yena,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

She gasped, clutching her chest as if wounded. “Wow. The lack of trust here is unbelievable. I’ll have you know that I’m turning over a new leaf. No pranks today, I swear.”

You weren’t buying it, but the coffee smelled too good to resist. With a cautious sip, you confirmed it was safe. No salt, no hot sauce, no glitter bombs waiting to explode. Yena watched you expectantly, her lips twitching like she was holding back laughter.

“What?” you asked, already bracing yourself for whatever she had planned.

“Nothing!” she said, a little too quickly, before skipping back to her desk.

-

Work officially started at 9:00 a.m., and the day unfolded like any other. You were in charge of preparing the weekly task overview—assigning smaller chunks of projects to each team member while flagging urgent deadlines.

The first task on your list was compiling data for the company’s quarterly performance review. You groaned inwardly, knowing the amount of cross-referencing it would require.

“Hey, sunbae, can we talk about the client feedback report for the Kim & Lee project?” you called over to her.

“Of course,” she replied, spinning her chair dramatically before walking over to your desk with her usual exaggerated flair. “Let’s tackle this head-on. Serious Yena-sunbae mode: engaged.”

You slid the draft report across the desk. “The issue is with the client’s notes on the second phase. They’re asking for an entirely new cost analysis, and we’ve got a two-day turnaround. Can we reassign some of my other tasks?”

Yena leaned over, scanning the document with a furrowed brow. For once, she was genuinely focused. “Hmm. Good point. Let’s offload some of this to Eunji and Sungho. I’ll handle the final approval.” She gave you a thumbs up. “Boom. Delegation, baby.”

-

By mid-morning, the office had settled into its usual rhythm: the quiet clatter of keyboards, the hum of printers, and the occasional buzz of phones. You were elbow-deep in Excel, trying to fix a formula that some long-forgotten coworker had created to "streamline" the quarterly financial summaries.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

“Why does this formula look like someone coded a secret message?” you muttered, leaning closer to your monitor. You had just started unravelling the mess when—

“Ya, ya, yoohoo!” Yena’s voice broke through your concentration, startling you so badly you nearly toppled out of your chair. She was suddenly looming over your desk, holding up a packet of snacks like she’d just discovered gold.

“Want some dried mango?” she asked, dangling the packet in front of your face.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “…Sunbae, do you even work here, or are you just here to disrupt me?”

“Excuse me, I’m your supervisor. Disruption is part of my job description,” she said with a wink. “But seriously, how’s it going with that finance thingy?”

“It’s not a ‘thingy,’ it’s a nightmare,” you replied, gesturing to your screen. “This formula makes no sense. It’s like someone deliberately made it as complicated as possible.”

“Let me see,” she said, pulling up a chair beside you. She squinted at the screen, then immediately leaned back, shaking her head. “Yeah, nope. That’s a you problem. I’m more of a ‘big picture’ kind of gal.”

“Wow, so helpful,” you deadpanned.

“Hey, I didn’t say I couldn’t help in other ways!” she chirped, pulling out her phone.

“Oh no. What are you—”

“Shhh. I’m solving your problem,” she said, cutting you off as she started typing furiously. A moment later, she grinned and held up her phone. “Ta-da!”

You squinted at the screen. It was a meme about how Excel was designed to make grown adults cry.

“Very funny,” you said, but a small smile tugged at your lips.

“See? I’m boosting morale. That’s like, half my job as a supervisor,” she said, patting you on the shoulder before skipping off to her own desk.

-

Five minutes later, the printer jammed.

“YENA-SSI!” someone from the design team shouted.

She popped her head up like a prairie dog. “What? It wasn’t me!”

“It’s always you!”

“I take that personally,” she said, hopping up from her chair and making her way to the printer. “I’ll have you know, I’m a model employee. Watch and learn, folks.”

You glanced over just in time to see her dramatically roll up her sleeves, as if she were about to perform life-saving surgery. She yanked open the printer tray, dug around for a moment, and triumphantly held up the offending piece of paper, which was crumpled beyond recognition.

“Fixed it!” she declared, tossing the mangled paper into the trash.

The printer whirred back to life, and the team gave her a half-hearted round of applause.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, bowing theatrically. Then, as she walked back to her desk, she sprinkled star-shaped confetti onto the floor behind her like she was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs.

You sighed, already knowing who would be tasked with vacuuming it up later.

-

At around 10:30 a.m., Yena made her rounds through the office. She stopped by everyone’s desk, offering unsolicited advice and handing out snacks like a chaotic fairy godmother.

“Eunji, you’re overthinking that layout. Trust your instincts!”

“Sungho, great job on the client emails, but maybe use fewer emojis next time. We’re professionals, remember?”

When she reached your desk, she leaned over your shoulder and whispered, “Still fighting the Excel file?”

“Yes, and it’s winning,” you replied without looking up.

“Want me to call IT?” she offered.

“I am IT,” you said flatly, earning a laugh from her.

“Well, when you’re done, come see me. We need to prep for the Kim & Lee client pitch. You love PowerPoint, right?”

You groaned. “You’re evil.”

“Evil? No, no. I’m effective,” she said with a wink before disappearing into the break room.

-

When lunchtime rolled around at 12:00 pm, the office buzz quieted as everyone scattered to their usual spots. Some gathered in groups to eat at their desks, while others slipped out for fresh air or made a beeline to the cafeteria. You decided to head to the break room to escape the endless spreadsheets and give your eyes a break from the glaring screen.

As you stepped inside, the smell of warm food hit you immediately—ramyeon, fried rice, someone’s dubious reheated fish—and in the middle of it all sat Yena, perched on the counter with her legs swinging, humming a tune to herself.

“Ah, my loyal team member!” she greeted dramatically, raising her half-eaten kimbap like royalty. “Come to dine with your favorite supervisor?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you made your way to the fridge to grab your lunchbox. “Favorite by default, considering you’re the only supervisor I report to.”

She grinned. “Still counts.”

You settled at the table, peeling back the lid of your leftovers: some rice, grilled chicken, and steamed veggies. Simple, nothing like the variety of colorful side dishes Yena always seemed to have. As if on cue, she hopped off the counter and slid into the seat across from you, pushing her kimbap container into the middle of the table.

“Want some? I made it myself.”

You eyed the kimbap warily. “What’s in it?”

“Rice, seaweed, veggies, and unconditional love,” she said with a wink, holding out a piece with her chopsticks.

You raised an eyebrow. “Unconditional love, huh? Sounds suspicious coming from you. sunbae.”

She gasped dramatically. “Wow! Can’t a supervisor just share her lunch without being accused of foul play?”

“Not when that supervisor once put chili powder in my tteokbokki.”

“That was one time!” she protested, pouting.

“And what about the fake soy sauce prank? Or the time you switched the sugar with salt?”

Yena bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh at the memories. “Okay, fine, maybe I have a history, but I swear this kimbap is safe. Scout’s honour!”

You stared at her for a moment, debating whether you should trust her. Finally, you gave in, cautiously taking a piece from the container. It looked normal enough. Taking a slow bite, you braced yourself for some hidden twist—but to your surprise, it tasted great.

“See? I told you it’s good!” Yena said triumphantly, clapping her hands together. “I’m not just a prankster. I can cook well.”

You shook your head, chewing thoughtfully. “Fine, I’ll admit it. This is actually... really good.”

Her face lit up like you’d just handed her a trophy. “Knew it! Now I feel validated as both your supervisor and a good home cook.”

“Don’t push it,” you warned, but there was no bite to your tone.

The two of you ate in relative peace for a few minutes, the easy banter filling the room. Yena kept sneaking pieces of your chicken when she thought you weren’t looking, and you retaliated by stealing some of her kimbap. It was a rare moment where she wasn’t causing chaos, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying her company.

But, of course, this was Yena. The peace was never meant to last.

“So, about that trust thing,” she started, her voice taking on an innocent lilt that immediately put you on high alert.

“What about it?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Well…” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small plastic spider, dangling it in front of your face with a mischievous grin. “You’re not scared of these, are you?”

Your glare could have cut through steel. “Sunbae, I swear—”

Before you could finish, she tossed the spider onto your rice. You jolted back, startled, only to realize it wasn’t moving. Fake. Of course, it was fake.

“Relax!” she said between bouts of laughter, clutching her stomach. “Your face—oh my gosh, I wish I’d recorded it!”

You picked up the spider and tossed it back at her. “You’re unbelievable. Can’t even make it through lunch without pulling something, can you?”

She dodged it with ease, still giggling. “What can I say? It’s my love language.”

“Your love language is being too nice,” you sarcastically muttered, shaking your head.

Yena just winked, stealing another piece of chicken from your plate. “You’re lucky you have me to keep things fun.”

-

The office was quiet as the clock ticked closer to quitting time. Most of your co-workers had already packed up for the day, leaving you and a few others burning the proverbial midnight oil. Your focus was on the final edits for the Kim & Lee proposal, your fingers flying across the keyboard as you updated figures, corrected typos, and double-checked client specifications.

The spreadsheet in front of you was practically your baby at this point—a meticulously crafted, formula-heavy masterpiece. Losing it would be catastrophic.

As you clicked to save your progress, the screen suddenly froze. Your cursor vanished, replaced by a spinning wheel of doom. Then, without warning, the screen went blue.

You blinked, momentarily stunned.

The iconic blue screen carved deep into your tired mind; the haunting words lingered:

“CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR. ALL FILES DELETED.”

Your heart stopped.

“No, no, no, no!” you muttered, panic bubbling to the surface. You frantically clicked the keyboard, your mouse, anything to undo the apparent catastrophe. Nothing worked. The message continued to flash, taunting you:

“ALL FILES DELETED. SYSTEM FAILURE IMMINENT.”

Your pulse was racing. Everything—hours of work, detailed charts, carefully formatted tables—gone in an instant. You’d have to start over, and with the deadline looming, that wasn’t just inconvenient; it was impossible.

“Why now? Why me?!” you groaned, your voice echoing in the empty office. Sweat prickled the back of your neck as you opened Task Manager, desperately trying to shut down whatever program had caused this.

That’s when you heard it—a barely stifled giggle.

Slowly, you turned your head, eyes narrowing.

“Yena-sunbae” you said, your voice low and dangerous.

Behind you, Yena stood just outside your cubicle, clutching her phone and biting her lip to keep from laughing. Her shoulders shook with barely contained glee, and her face was turning red from the effort of holding it in.

“What did you do?” you demanded, your tone sharp enough to make her flinch—almost.

That was the wrong question because it sent her over the edge. She exploded into laughter, doubling over as if you’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

“Your face!” she managed to wheeze, tears forming in her eyes. “Oh my gosh, you should’ve seen your face!”

“YENA,” omitting the formality, you shouted, standing up so fast your chair rolled backward.

“It’s—it’s just a screensaver!” she choked out between fits of laughter, holding up her hands in surrender. “Relax! Your files are fine. Everything’s fine! I saved it already!”

You froze, your panic slowly giving way to disbelief—and then anger. “A screensaver? You nearly gave me a heart attack for a screensaver?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “I couldn’t resist! You’ve been on edge all day, and you were so focused—it was too perfect!”

You stared at her, torn between throttling her and collapsing into a puddle of relief. “Yena, I swear, if you ever—”

“I’ll never do it again, promise,” she interrupted, holding up three fingers in a Scout’s honour gesture. Then she ruined it by snorting with laughter. “Okay, maybe not never, but not anytime soon.”

Your glare could’ve melted steel. “You’re lucky I didn’t actually lose anything, or I’d be writing the longest HR report of my life right now.”

“Aw, come on, don’t be mad!” she said, stepping closer and placing her hands on your shoulders. “It was funny, admit it.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you grumbled, sitting back down and trying to calm your frazzled nerves.

“You’ll laugh about it later,” she said confidently. Then, after a beat, she added, “...Maybe.”

You huffed but couldn’t stay mad at her for long. This was Yena, after all. Chaos was her default setting, and you knew what you were signing up for when you started working under her.

“Alright,” you sighed. “But you owe me dinner. And drinks. Good drinks. None of that cheap stuff.”

“Deal!” she chirped, already bouncing on her heels. “Let’s go! My treat. No pranks this time, I promise.”

She linked her arm with yours, dragging you toward the elevator. Despite yourself, a small smile crept onto your face.

With Yena, your life might’ve been unpredictable, messy, and occasionally terrifying—but at least it was never boring.

Even though you wanted to quit halfway through because of her antics.

[lura-valentine]

Choose Your Own Adventure!

MHA / BNHA Writing event

Part 2: The cool place

This will be an interactive writing event where you decide what happens next!

How does it work❓️

🐵 Character choice - completed 📖 First part of the story Post - concluded 🗳️ At the end of the story there is a survey on how it should continue 🌐 The majority decides what happens next 🔄 The cycle repeats itself until the story ends

Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who liked ❤️ and shared 🔄 the latest part.

There were a surprising number of votes and I really didn't expect such a high turnout. I hope you enjoy this project as much as I do and participate diligently, because the event lives from your votes‼️

To make things more interesting, feel free to give me some suggestions as to what else could happen.

If the suggestions are good, they will be included in the next survey! You can do this anonymously or simply write in the comments😊

–> To Kaji's Profile #kaji black character profil

Overview #lura mha/bnha CYOA_1

Vote start

Part 1 ● Part 2 ● Part 3 ● Part 4 ● Part 5 ● Part 6 (W.I.P.)

Dabi pushed open the door, stepped inside, and stopped. His gaze slowly wandered around the living room as he ran a hand through his hair. Manga volumes lay scattered on the floor, some open as if someone had simply dropped them carelessly. DVDs were stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, some open, their cases buried somewhere in between. And then there was the collection of empty energy drink cans – a veritable fortress of caffeine and sugar, piled up around the controller in front of the screen.

In the midst of this chaos, Kaji sat, completely relaxed, with one foot propped up on the coffee table, a headset in his ears, his fingers flickering over the controller. The giant screen flickered with explosive images of a game that was way too loud, but Kaji didn't seem to mind.

Dabi leaned against the doorframe and took a deep breath. Not out of anger, not out of frustration – but because he was damn proud.

"Shit," he muttered with a crooked grin. "That's a work of art."

Kaji, who only now noticed him, turned his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you're back? I thought you'd stay out all night."

"I might have, if I'd known I'd be coming back to a post-apocalyptic battlefield." Dabi entered the living room, knocking aside an empty can, which rolled into the corner with a quiet clatter. "Should I laugh or slap you for that?"

Kaji lowered the controller, stretched, and yawned pointedly. "Stop pretending you're not celebrating. We both know you're feeling the same way."

Dabi raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, kid, you're right." He slumped onto the sofa, casually pushing a manga page aside with his elbow, and grabbed one of the half-full cans. He took a sip, then grimaced in disgust. "What the hell are you drinking? Tastes like battery acid."

"Caffeine. Sugar. The only energy source I need." Kaji grinned, put his feet back up, and grabbed his controller.

Dabi studied him for a moment, then leaned back, a cigarette between his lips. "Rain would kill us both if she saw this."

Kaji laughed. "Then we have a week to fix this. So relax."

Dabi let the smoke drift out slowly as he surveyed the chaotic scene. It was a damn disaster – but a catastrophe that reminds him suspiciously of himself.

"Well," he finally muttered. "You fucking have more of me than I'd like sometimes."

Kaji shrugged without looking up from his game. "Well then, Dad... make yourself comfortable. I'll give you the second controller if you want to get beat up."

Dabi's gaze fell on the controller, but instead of reaching for it, he just leaned back against the couch and snorted. "As much as I'd like to convince you otherwise, kid, I have another plan."

Kaji raised a skeptical eyebrow, pressed a button, and paused the game. "Oh?"

Dabi twirled the cigarette between his fingers, his gaze casually wandering through the chaos that had accumulated here in just one day. "I need your help with something."

Kaji laughed softly, took another sip of his energy drink. "Then it's going to be difficult, because I definitely don't feel like it."

Dabi grinned crookedly. "Oh, just wait a minute. I'm planning to show you a really cool place."

Now it was Kaji who really burst out laughing. Loud and dry. "Cool? Dad... I doubt you can even define cool."

Dabi quirked his mouth mockingly. "So you're really going to pick a fight with me about style? Kid, I was cool before you were even born."

"That was at least a hundred years ago."

"Shut up and move your ass. I swear, you won't regret it."

Kaji tilted his head back and studied his father through half-closed eyes. He knew that look – it was the same one Touya always wore when he was planning something that was either incredibly dangerous or incredibly crazy. It was probably both this time.

"Fine," Kaji finally sighed, throwing his controller onto the couch. "But if this turns out to be a complete failure, I swear I'll be teasing you about it all night."

Dabi stood up, stretched pointedly, and shrugged with a grin. "Well. I've survived worse."

Kaji's mouth twisted slightly, then finally stood up and stretched, his black wings fanning out wide before folding them loosely again. Then he casually picked up the controller and turned off the console and TV.

"If this isn't worth it," he muttered, turning to Dabi, "I'll turn the apartment into a damn winter wonderland."

Dabi laughed softly, straightened his coat, and looked at his son with a mocking glint in his eyes. "You don't have to. You do it every time you dream in your sleep anyway."

Kaji just growled softly as he pulled on his jacket and followed Dabi outside.

The streets were bathed in an unsteady glow from the city lights, billboards flickered on the walls, and people bustled around. Dabi walked with his usual casual stride, his hands in his pockets, while Kaji walked beside him with a critical eye.

They crossed several residential areas, passing narrow alleys and wider main roads, while Kaji became increasingly skeptical. "Tell me, where exactly are you dragging me? This isn't exactly the route to a cool place, if you ask me."

Dabi just grinned mysteriously. "Patience, kid."

Finally, they stopped – in front of an old, run-down underground parking garage.

Kaji blinked. Then he frowned. "Seriously? An underground parking garage? This is your big, cool place?"

Dabi pushed the door open with a gentle push and stepped into the dim entrance. "Wait and see. Sometimes the most interesting thing isn't what you see immediately, but what's underneath."

Kaji snorted, but his interest was piqued. Without another word, he followed his father into the darkness of the underground car park.

As the door closed behind them, absolute darkness enveloped them. The contrast to the neon-lit city outside was so abrupt that for a moment, Kaji saw nothing but blackness. Then a blue flicker hissed through the darkness – Dabi had lit a flame in his hand, making his features dance sharply in the light. The long, narrow corridor before them was bathed in a bluish glow, the shadows on the walls trembling in the restless glow.

"Damn," Kaji muttered, scanning his surroundings. "It's a bit like a bad horror movie."

Dabi grinned crookedly. "If you want, I can give you the role of the first victim."

Kaji snorted in amusement but said nothing as they descended the stairs. The stairs seemed endless, each step echoing dully off the cold walls, accompanied by the faint crackle of Dabi's hot flames.

But then, Kaji heard something. At first, it was barely perceptible, a deep, vibrating sound that echoed through the floor. Kaji pricked up his ears. It was a dull rumble that grew louder with every step they took. There was a strange rhythm to it – not just noise, but... cheers?

He frowned. "What the hell...?"

The closer they got, the clearer it became. Voices, loud and euphoric, interspersed with shouts that echoed in the walls. It was a crowd, and they were celebrating something.

Dabi stopped just a few steps from the stairs and turned to Kaji with a crooked smile.

"So, kid... ready? I told you I'm going to need your help right now."

Kaji raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Help with what?"

Dabi didn't answer. Instead, he pushed open the heavy metal door in front of them.

A bright light exploded into the room, blinding Kaji so much that he automatically threw a hand over his face. At the same time, a wave of pure noise hit him – the roar of a cheering crowd, mixed with screams and cheers, so intense that it momentarily overwhelmed his senses.

As he slowly lowered his hand and opened his eyes again, he saw it.

A huge, makeshift arena stretched out before them, surrounded by stands where people stood tightly packed. The floor was brittle concrete, enclosed by a tall steel cage covered in scratches and dents. In the center, two men fought, their Quirks in close combat and their clothes tattered, while the crowd celebrated each hit with an ecstatic roar.

Dabi stepped forward and spread his arms, grinning. "So, kid? Still sure I don't know what cool is?"

It took Kaji a moment to process all this. "This..." He exhaled slowly. "This is a damn underground fighting arena."

"Right on target." Dabi shoved his hands in his pockets and scanned the fighters. "So-called underground fights take place here. Usually organized by Overhaul or a few other guys with too much money."

Kaji crossed his arms. "And why do the heroes allow this?"

Dabi shrugged. "Well, officially, such places are illegal, but in reality..." He grinned crookedly. "Let's just say the heroes and the cops tolerate them. Because they keep us villains happy and supposedly prevent us from doing even bigger shit outside."

Kaji scanned the crowd. There weren't just villains here – he recognized some shady businessmen, a few inconspicuously dressed people who looked like rich clients.

"So?" Dabi pushed past him, looking over his shoulder. "Are you impressed now, or do I need to show you something better?"

Kaji clicked his tongue and let his gaze wander over the roaring crowd. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed in mock annoyance. "Okay, I admit it. This is... not bad."

Dabi laughed softly. "Not bad? Kid, this is real life. No heroics, no rules, no stupid uniforms. Just strength against strength."

Kaji turned his head toward him. "That's all well and good, but what exactly do you need my help for?"

Dabi stretched, relaxed, as if he'd just been waiting for that question to come. "Well, you know, the League's keeping its feet still right now. No major chaos, no missions – AFO wants us to keep a low profile." He grimaced briefly, as if he didn't particularly like the idea. "But staying still isn't my thing. I need to stay in shape. And that's why your mom and I regularly fight in team battles here."

Kaji raised an eyebrow. "Team battles?"

"Two on two." Dabi scanned the arena. "The rules are simple: Fight until one of you can't fight anymore or gives up. Rain and I have already won quite a bit of prize money."

Kaji snorted. "Prize money? I thought she was already filthy rich."

Dabi shrugged. "Well, you can never have enough money. And let's be honest, for us, this is less about the money than about having fun."

"I see." Kaji eyed him skeptically. "So where exactly do I come into play?"

Dabi's grin widened. "Rain's gone. Normally I'd fight alongside Shigaraki, but AFO's keeping him on a short leash right now. That means I need a replacement."

Kaji blinked. Then he shook his head in disbelief. "Wait. You want me to get in the ring with you?"

"Exactly."

For a moment, Kaji said nothing. Then he laughed quietly and shook his head again. "Dude... you're really stupid."

Dabi just grinned. "Come on, kid. I know you want to. And if you're being honest – you want to see if you can keep up with me, don't you?"

Kaji twisted his mouth, his pride flashing in his eyes, sharp as the edge of a sword that's been sheathed for too long. "Tch. If I step into the ring, it won't be to be your damn sidekick."

Dabi laughed, deep and throaty, as if he'd been waiting for this exact reaction. "Then prove it to me." His eyes sparkled in the glow of the arena lights, as if there was something in there that reignited not only his muscles but also his fire.

Kaji stood there as if he were glowing. The wings on his back twitched, flexed, a few of the feathers fluttering like glittering shards of frost as he trembled with energy. "Come on, old man. Show me where I sign."

Dabi just grinned broadly and gestured for him to follow. The two moved through the milling crowd of fighters, onlookers, and dealers conducting their own business in the half-shadows until they stopped in front of a table that looked as if it had been hammered together from old metal sheets. Behind it sat two men who looked like walking gas grenades – broad shoulders, heavy jackets, and both wearing gas masks whose lenses gleamed dully in the neon lighting.

"Two on two. Straight in," Dabi growled as he leaned forward, flashing the flame in his hand briefly, just as a calling card – a reminder of who they were dealing with.

The guys exchanged a brief glance, then one of them wordlessly handed over a clipboard. Kaji scribbled his name on it, his gaze sweeping over the remaining fighters, who were chatting, testing their Quirks, or warming up.

It only took a few seconds for Dabi's presence to be noticed. Some of the men who were just tightening their bandages or putting grilles on their teeth suddenly turned pale. Two even started to quietly retreat from the line, but then their gaze fell on Kaji, who was now standing next to Dabi like a shadow slowly taking shape.

"Shit... Dabi's here."

"Do you want to unsubscribe?" a skinny guy whispered to his partner, neither of whom was clearly built for a real fight.

"Wait... Rain's not with him. Neither is Shigaraki."

"Who's the other one?"

"I don't know... looks young. Maybe a newbie."

"If he's just some rookie, we might have a chance..."

Dabi heard every word. A barely perceptible smirk twitched across his lips as he turned away from the registration desk. "Can you hear that, Kaji?" he murmured as they moved toward the benches. "The wolves are already sniffing around, thinking I have a lamb on my side."

Kaji gritted his teeth. "Then let me bite them first."

Dabi laughed softly, proudly, without having to say it. "You may. But you'll fight with me. And you'll stick to my rhythm. If you step out of line, you'll burn your wings."

"And if you get too hot, I'll cool your ass," Kaji growled back.

A quick look – hard against hard, heat against cold, pride against pride – then a nod. They understood each other.

A man approached them, a loudspeaker around his neck, distorting his voice. "You're match six. Two against two. You have ten minutes, then it's time to get in the ring."

Dabi put his arm loosely around Kaji's shoulders, as if he wanted to whisper something to him. "Ten minutes, huh? Plenty of time to warm up."

Kaji's eyes glowed in the reflection of the arena lights. "I'll freeze them before they even see where the blow came from."

Dabi grinned. "That's my son."

The entertainer stepped into the cone of light as Dabi and Kaji slowly made their way through the vibrating darkness toward the arena, a heartbeat of light and shadow, punctuated by the dull rumble of the music that danced in their ribs like an alien pulse, impetuous and urgent. Every step echoed heavily on the concrete floor, as if their soles wanted to warn the stage.

The crowd roared, a chaotic sea of ​​shouts, stomping, and wild whistling, but the entertainer, all in black with a glittering tie, raised his hand imperiously. The microphone pressed to his lips, his grin cutting across his face like a razor blade, his voice coaxing, sweet as poisoned honey.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between – tonight we welcome a new duo to our arena... on the one hand, an old acquaintance. The burning madness with a pure desire for destruction – Daaabi!"

A torrent of howls, stomping, and burning ecstasy shot through the arena as if someone had lit the fuse of a powder keg. The name was as familiar as a threat, his presence a myth that burned beneath the skin.

"And by his side – well, let's just call him Blue, the Rookie!"

A murmur ran through the crowd, a mixture of mockery and curiosity. Kaji twisted his mouth as if he'd been spat in the face. "Blue, the Rookie? Seriously?"

Dabi laughed softly, his shoulders shrugging beneath his leather. "Well, you're completely unknown, not a file, not even a footnote in the villain world. Of course they call you Rookie."

"That's changing now," Kaji growled, the crackle of his ice flame suppressed but palpable in the air, like the first tremors before a blizzard.

A mischievous smile crossed the entertainer's face, but he remained silent, instead turning dramatically to the other side of the arena. The gate there opened with a metallic groan, as if the underground itself were sighing.

"And their opponents: Two of the toughest dogs from the underground! Atlas and Crank – pure brawn, no brains, but enough force to tear down a house!"

The men who stepped out of the gate looked like nightmares come to life. Atlas, broad-shouldered, metal plates on his chest and arms, rigid as a fortress. Crank, smaller, wirier, but wrapped in chains that rattled with every movement as if they were alive. Their gazes were aggressive, their movements snarling, but in their eyes, a brief twitch of uncertainty flashed – not because of Dabi. But because of the stranger at his side.

"You both are due!" Crank yelled, the chains creaking as he tightened them.

The gong ripped through the air.

And suddenly, there was only movement.

Kaji and Dabi moved like mirror images – a fluid, perfect choreography of instinctive unison. Their flames ignited simultaneously, Dabi's fist flared up, a seething blue that seared the air even before he struck, while Kaji's ice flames sliced ​​sharply and coolly into the air like a blizzard freezing flesh.

Their fists struck their targets in sync, a double impact like a thunderclap that rippled through bone and marrow. Their opponents had no chance. Crank was caught by Dabi's fist, a scream, a twitching flash, and his body was thrown against the cage wall like a wet sack. At the same time, Atlas flew, trembling from Kaji's icy flame, against the bars and lay gasping, steaming, unconscious.

And then, there was absolute silence. The audience, frozen in motion, as if someone had stopped time. Then the microphone clicked, a feedback screeched.

The entertainer stepped forward again, his smile now wider, almost enjoyable. "...oh, how embarrassing of me. I almost forgot to mention something important..."

He held out his arms theatrically. "This is our very special father-son duo! A fiery devil and his frosty heir! Bow down to... Dabi and his son Blue!"

The crowd exploded.

Cheers, screams, whistles, cardboard mugs flew into the air and someone fired a flare at the ceiling. There was whispering, bets, some were already calling for a rematch, for more – more heat, more power, more of that look between father and son that danced between respect, challenge, and a touch of madness.

Dabi stood there calmly, letting the flames lick their way out on his arms, while Kaji still stood slightly bent over, his wings half-spread, his shoulders shaking with the euphoria of victory, and yet there was no pride in his eyes, but hunger – not for blood, but for meaning.

"Okay..." he muttered, almost to himself, and glanced sideways at Dabi. "I admit... this is fucking fun."

Dabi stepped closer, placing his hand on his shoulder, heavy, warm, and honest.

"I told you," he grumbled as they retraced their steps down the corridor, away from the light, into the dim heart of the underground.

"So?" Kaji asked quietly as they headed toward the preparation room. "Was it enough to step out of your shadow?"

Dabi casually lit a small flame and let it dance across his fingertip. "You didn't step out of my shadow," he said without looking at him. "You made your own. And that's fucking frosty."

Kaji laughed softly, a ragged, almost surprised-honest sound. "Maybe it's time they got to know me."

Dabi looked at him, really at him. Something rare flashed in his eyes for a moment – pride, yes, but also worry. A hint of fear. And something dark, quietly scratching at the door of his consciousness.

"Yeah... I guess it is."

But as soon as they entered the room, Dabi felt it. A tug in his stomach. Not painful, not exactly– more like a premonition. A shadow slowly spreading across his insides, like a wing of black smoke.

He knew there were men out there, as well as organizations… eyes waiting in the darkness. People like Overhaul, and others like them, unspoken of, who were interested in powerful sons. Very… interested.

The following battles felt like a rush of adrenaline. Time passed more slowly, flames hissed, and the air reeked of scorched metal. Those brave enough to even face them were brought to their knees within seconds.

Some tried tactics, ducking, retreating, but Kaji's eyes flashed like cold steel, his silhouette vanishing in a sudden storm of frozen embers. Those who tried to dive to the side to avoid the direct blow were mercilessly met with a fiery kick. His legs a swirl of icy fire that hurled bodies across the arena like toys. His every move was a dancing slash of ice and cold, no mercy in his kicks, only the precision of a fighter finally allowed to prove himself.

Dabi, on the other hand, was the storm. He moved with a nonchalance more dangerous than any scream. Its flames did not blaze in wild fountains, they crawled, they licked, they waited. When he struck, it was an act of determination, as if saying with every movement: You are not worthy of feeling my full fury.

Two teams had already given up before the bell sounded. They had heard the names, seen the flames, the glow of the wings, and realized this fight wasn't meant for them. Some cursed, others bowed their heads silently as they retreated, the bitter taste of fear and shame on their tongues.

And so, father and son moved through the arena like forces of nature, leaving nothing but charred shadows and frozen silhouettes in their wake, until only the finale remained.

And then, they stood before him...

Dabi recognized him before the light fully hit him. The broad shoulders, the grotesquely proliferating muscles, as if tendons and skin had been stretched too tightly over his body. The manic grin that knew no joy, only hunger — Muscular.

He stood there like a monument of flesh, covered in a grotesque armor of his own tissue that pulsed with every movement. At his side was a man, gaunt, with thinning hair and sunken cheeks, little more than a shadow. Apparently, Muscular had simply dragged him along. The guy wasn't a partner, merely a means to compete.

"Dabi..." Muscular roared with a grin too crooked even for death. "Missed you, dude. The scars from back then still itch."

Dabi took a step forward, his eyes narrowed, his flames still hidden, but the air already vibrating. "I thought you'd rot long ago."

Muscular laughed, a dry, vicious bark that echoed through the arena. "You took my Arena title back then. Today I'm taking it back. And that one…" his gaze fell on Kaji, slowly and curiously, "I'll take him down right away."

Kaji didn't answer. But the beat of his wings was answer enough. A soft, sharp hiss as the ice crystals formed on the ground, his flames flickering restlessly, like a waking demon.

Dabi gritted his teeth. "You're not touching him. Not a single hair."

Muscular grinned even wider, took a step forward, the floor splintering beneath his feet. "Then show me what the father-son miracle is really about!"

The gong fell like an axe through the silence.

Muscular's body tensed like a rope about to break, his veins bulging beneath his skin, his muscles pulsing, grotesquely exaggerated like the caricature of a god who knew nothing but violence. With a deep, rumbling roar, he charged forward. No tactics, no hesitation, just pure force. The ground shook beneath his steps, dust swirled, and each of his thunderous kicks sounded like a sledgehammer on concrete.

Kaji barely had time to his breath. His pupils narrowed, his body tensed instinctively, but he didn't retreat. He raised his arms, and at the same moment, a flame blazed from within him. It crept over his shoulders, spreading out like a living cloak of light, shimmering between blue and white, flickering like flaming frost.

With a single, powerful movement, he threw his arms forward – the flames shot out in a fan-like arc, and in their center, a wall rapidly formed. Rising and icy cold, but barely had it reached its full height when it began to change.

A crackling sound ran through the fire, the light faded, the blue brightened. It crystallized until only a shimmering, translucent wall of ice remained, veined with fine, luminous lines. It was no ordinary ice, but the kind only Kaji could create – flames frozen in mid-motion.

Muscular slammed into it with unchecked force. A dull thud, a disgusting crunch, and then the wall shattered with a single sound passing through Mark. Shards of ice flew through the air like missiles, slicing into skin and dust. Kaji threw himself to the side – not gracefully, but quickly, instinctively, his body rolling along the ground, wings tucked in, ready for the next leap.

But Muscular was faster, faster than his massive frame would suggest – he whirled around like a force of nature that knew no time, a colossus programmed only for destruction. The fist rushed in, accompanied by a throaty laugh that sounded like rusted iron.

A scream – not from Kaji, but from the air itself – for suddenly there was heat.

A blinding light cut through the gloom of the arena, and a flaming fist, deep blue and angry like the suppressed embers of decades of hatred, struck Muscular full force in the side. It wasn't a direct hit – Dabi wasn't aiming for his body, but for his momentum, his direction. The flames enveloped him like an electric shock, throwing him to the side and making him stagger.

"You're fighting both of us, you ogre," Dabi growled, his voice hoarse, his eyes burning like two narrow rips in the darkness. The flames on his arms licked hungrily, ready for more.

Kaji was back on his feet, his gaze a single, focused cut. Adrenaline pumped hotly through his veins, and somewhere between anger, respect, and a hint of satisfaction, a smile twitched on his lips.

"Nice save, dad."

Dabi huffed. "You can thank my later. Now we'll burn him away."

Muscular spat on the ground, a smacking sound followed by a ragged laugh that echoed in his massive chest like the rumble of a volcano before it erupts.

"What's wrong, Dabi?" he sneered. "You used to give a damn if your buddy got hit by a bus." His eyes flashed, adrenaline pulsing through his oversized body, every tendon straining, ready for the next explosion. "And now? Now you're jumping around this kid like a guard dog. What happened to you, huh?"

Dabi was silent for a moment, his chin slightly lowered, his eyes fixed on Muscular. The words struck a chord within him, but not in the way Muscular had hoped. No anger, no sting of guilt. Only this faint, burning glow, blazing in the depths of his iris like the remnants of an old fire that had never quite gone out.

"It was never completely meaningless to me," he murmured finally, backing away slowly, his step deliberate, gliding like smoke, until he stood behind Kaji. "I just couldn't afford it. Not then, not at Shigaraki's side. Not with Rain storming through the front lines with flaming feathers. We couldn't afford to be soft. Not with the whole world trying to crush us."

He paused for a breath. "But this... this is different. This isn't about missions. This isn't about contracts or a damned rebellion. This is about my son."

Muscular grimaced, the smile falling, giving way to dull confusion, a palpable incomprehension. "Son? Tch."

He didn't need any more words. His legs tensed, the ground cracked beneath his weight, and with a primal scream, he charged straight at Dabi. His fists clenched, his body like a living battering ram.

Dabi didn't move. Not a flinch, not a retreat. Only two small words came from his lips.

"Now, Kaji."

The air changed in a single heartbeat. Kaji raised his arms, his eyes blazing like the northern lights in the night, and his wings spread like those of a demon finally freed from its cage.

Flames erupted from him – not as before, not cautious or tamed, but wild, with a primal force that was barely controllable. They shot in all directions, punched the air, licked hungrily at anything that moved, like a pack of predators finally unleashed.

The cold exploded. The arena was engulfed in a blinding blue inferno that engulfed every corner – the bars, the concrete, part of the stands. It was as if someone had brought the sun down to the ground and chained it.

And then – the break.

The flames changed. Their edges froze. The colors shifted from blazing blue to an almost painfully bright white. In a split second, everything froze – as if frozen in another reality. The arena became silent, a single, rigid cage of frozen fire.

Muscular's body was trapped inside, frozen in motion, his partner barely recognizable as such. A distorted shadow behind the frozen wall. Only Muscular's head remained exposed, panting, steaming, his face contorted with exertion, his muscles twitching, fighting to resist freezing.

"I'll get you... I..."

Dabi stepped forward, calmly, his hands in his pockets, his face cool as ash after the fire.

"You'd better not do that," he said quietly, but his tone cut like a knife. "Or have you forgotten what happens to cold muscles when you strain them too much?"

Muscular's eyes widened as the truth dawned on him – the trembling, the tingling, the beginnings of pain deep in the tendons.

Dabi grinned crookedly with satisfaction. "They tear."

The gong echoed through the arena like the dull beat of a massive heart – a metallic echo that was lost in the icy silence, bringing the world to a surreal standstill.

Not the usual roaring yelling, not deafening cheers. Just a breathless silence that settled over the stands like fog. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on the huge block that took up three-quarters of the arena.

Kaji stood in the middle of this ghostly still life, his shoulders still slightly raised, his breath smoking in the cold air left behind by his own flames. Dabi stood beside him, his hands in his pockets, as if refusing to let the force of the moment get to him too much – but there was a gleam in his eyes that was rarely seen there.

Then, as if someone had suddenly turned up the volume on the world, the crowd exploded.

Shouts, screams, and applause erupted like an avalanche, raging from the stands like a storm of pure enthusiasm. Names were shouted, feet drummed to the beat, and in the midst of it all, they -father and son- stood the undisputed victors.

Dabi took one last look at the block of ice, a mocking twitch in the corner of his mouth, then turned slightly to the side, scrutinizing Kaji with a look that said more than words ever could.

"Not bad, kid," he murmured, and it sounded almost too casual to be real. "For your age... pretty impressive."

Kaji snorted, running his hand through his slightly sweaty hair, his feathers still had a slight glow in them.

"If I weren't impressive, it would be embarrassing. After all, you trained me." He grinned broadly and glanced briefly at the crowd, which was still roaring like a disturbed swarm of bees. "You know what? I'd love to do that again. There's something about arena fights... something so raw and honest. No ambushes, no politics. Just you, your opponent, and your fire."

Dabi raised an eyebrow, the flickering flames long since extinguished, but his expression remained serious.

"Enjoy the moment, Kaji. Because that was the last time for a long, long time."

Kaji blinked, surprised. "What? Why?"

Dabi grimaced slightly, lowering his voice, as if he didn't want to say the words out loud.

"If your mother finds out you've already been to the arena, now, without prior agreement, without her..."

He paused, took a deep breath, as if the very idea caused pain.

"She'll bury us both alive. Grounded forever."

Kaji laughed softly, half nervous, half incredulous. "You're exaggerating."

Dabi looked at him. "I was ten minutes late for training once. She banned me from using fire for a month."

Kaji trailed off. "...Oh."

Last Part <– | –> Next Part

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