#trainer reader

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I've been having this idea ever since I've been slowly going back into pokemon/pokepasta (and how I've been reading some of your writing which is just. So good)

how about a pokepasta reader based on the Trapped In A Cave pokepasta? They are more of a ghost, and are seen more at places where it has food and such. They just make sure that Pokemons are fed and keep them away from places where they might be able to get trapped in forever-

I just got around to reading Trapped in a Cave and it's short but SAD AUGHH :(

...........

It was a rather sad and tragic end to your life...

Being trapped in a cave that had collapsed, freezing cold, without food or water.

And having no companion except your partner, your ace, your first first Pokémon: a Charizard who had to resort to...desperate measures to keep their hunger at bay.

As much as they tried to ignore their rumbling stomach and cried and whined and refused..you insisted that they ate your limbs.

And one by one, they did until only your head and torso remained.

It was agonizing, although the frostbite numbed some of the pain of their teeth tearing into your flesh and breaking your bones.

You had no strength left to scream anyways.

You hoped it would give them the energy they needed to burn their dying flame a little brighter and the strength to break out of the cave.

But after you closed your eyes for the last time, you suddenly found yourself floating outside that very cavern.

All of your limbs were attached, aside from bearing deep bite marks and exposing your muscle and bone.

You went inside, only to realize that a lot of time must have passed, as your Charizard had succumbed to starvation.

The only traces of you left were your hat and backpack, which they used as a pillow in their final moments alive.

With tears staining their face and your blood around their snout, your heart was broken.

You couldn't save them, but deep down..you expected this.

Your efforts only prolonged the inevitable.

However, their ghost showed up sometime later, and...while explaining that you were both dead wasn't easy, your beloved Charizard was happy to be with you and could receive all the pets they wanted now.

You two couldn't battle anymore, but instead made it your mission to ensure something like this never happened to another Pokémon nor trainer ever again.

Somehow your souls were tethered to the vast network of caves across the region, allowing you to travel from one to the other instantly.

You were also naturally drawn to areas where there was plentiful food. Such as the forests where berries grew in abundance.

You've spent most of your time ensuring Pokémon who wandered deep into caves didn't get lost and had enough food.

For caverns you sensed were unstable, you'd "spook" trainers to deter them from further exploration, with harmless techniques of course.

Eventually your travels led to you meeting other haunted trainers--such as Grey and Steven, who were exploring the cave Shinto ran into.

Steven almost flew into a rage upon seeing your Charizard's ghost, confusing them for Miki and accusing you of trying to "steal" her.

Only for her to show up a second later, confused.

Poor Grey is scared out of his wits, so you explain your story to them while Miki and your Charizard mingle (with Steven being lowkey surprised that they can see her as a normal member of their species and not as the broken, glitching mess she is).

After that, you meet Glitchy Red, Blake, and Gold, deciding to relay your story to them, too.

Much to Blake's and Grey's relief, you weren't another spirit/entity out for blood, but rather you wanted to help whoever you could to ensure they didn't meet a fate like yours.

Even though you couldn't travel everywhere with the trainers, you can warp from cave to cave to hang out with them, keeping their Pokémon well-fed and happy.

Most of them didn't need food anymore, but you like to pretend you're helping them.

[artist-kreating-stuff]

Lullaby

Clone OC & GN!Mercenary/Trainer Reader

TW: referenced abuse

If a lonely traveler walked into a bar and asked all in attendance what they thought the worst planet in the galaxy was, they would most likely receive more than one answer. Tatooine is a popular answer; a desert planet where water is so scarce, it costs an arm and a leg for enough water to last a single family an entire week. Mustafar is a close second - nothing more than a floating ball of magma and ash. Both planets were considered near-incapable of sustaining sentient life.

Though if that same traveler asked you for your opinion, you were certain your answer would put all others to shame.

Kamino.

Unlike Tatooine or Mustafar, Kamino was a primarily ocean world, completely dominated by seas and thunderstorms. And unlike those two planets, this planet had an abundance of life centered in the cluster of domed buildings that made up Tipoca City. Life forms were created by other life forms in that city.

But with how those new life forms were treated, Kamino may as well be as unsustainable as Tatooine or Mustafar.

Everyone outside of Kamino knew the basic gist of the situation. The Kaminoans (or the “natives”) had a contract with the Galactic Republic to create what were essentially genetically altered super soldiers for the Republic’s army. The super soldiers were referred to as “clone troopers”, as they were all created from the DNA of a single man. The clones were engineered to age twice as fast as ordinary citizens, allowing them to enter their prime sooner so that they could be ready to fight in the ongoing war between the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Interdependent Systems.

But no one knew what went on behind the scenes. They didn’t know of the terrifying exercises that would make even the most hardened criminals run away in horror, yet were forced onto children as young as five. They didn’t know of the demeaning lessons that preached how the clone troopers’ lives were essentially worthless in comparison to the lives of those they served, yet most of the troopers took as gospel. They didn’t know of the horrific experiments that went on in the depths of the city, that the Kaminoans claimed were “all to make them better soldiers”.

They didn’t know what exactly happened to a trooper when they stepped out of line.

You had been living on Kamino nearly since the beginning of the cloning project, yet you still managed to find things that turned your stomach. You were a mercenary, one of the best (in your opinion). Your skills were adequate to the point that the conservative Kaminoans deigned themselves to reach out to you and offer you a trainer contract for the new “clone army”. Credits are credits, so you’d agreed after little debating.

Not many people had even known Kamino existed before the clone army came into the public eye, so you hoped you’d be forgiven for not knowing of the exact hellscape you’d signed yourself up for.

After truly witnessing the mess you’d stepped into, you’d tried to rectify it wherever you could. Whenever you heard a cadet complaining about feeling hungry, you’d slip them an extra ration or two. Whenever you noticed a cadet limping or injured in any way, you’d grab the nearest bacta kit and fix them up yourself. Whenever one of the other trainers berated a batch for failing in the latest exercise, you’d take them all aside later and offer what little words of encouragement you could to boost their spirits and punch the trainer in private. Whenever it was your turn to train the cadets, you taught them how to survive, nothing more.

Just because you were a mercenary didn’t mean you didn’t have a heart.

All of this was done under the radar of the ever-observant Kaminoans, of course. The galaxy was crawling with mercenaries hungry for extra credits - all it would take is one slip up for the Kaminoans to terminate their contract with you and hire someone else to train the cadets. There was no way to tell if the next trainer would care for the clones as much as you did, though, so you did your best to keep your head down and do your vigilantism in private.

Lights-out was the only time you could work freely. With most of the Kaminoans and trainers either asleep or elsewhere in the city, you could walk the barracks without fear of being spotted and reported. Armed with rations, bacta kits, and caf (mostly for your own sanity), you moved from barrack to barrack, checking in on the cadets and offering your assistance to any nightbat that was still awake.

One lights-out in particular stood out for you. It started out ordinary, with you armed with your supplies, slipping through the shadows of the barracks like a ghost. So far, no cadets had been in need of comfort, so it looked like it was going to be an easy night. Admitting it made you feel somewhat guilty, but you preferred nights like those: quiet on the home front. To you, it meant that for once, all of the cadets felt safe and content.

Then a sound reached your ears. It was a sound foreign to Kamino, as it usually led to a cadet being decommissioned for weakness. It was a sound that you didn’t hear as often as you probably should have, given what went on in such a horrible place.

It was the sound of crying.

You followed the sound until you reached the barracks where the younger cadets slept, often referred to as the “tween” cadets. The younger batches got their own rooms until they were old enough to be moved into the larger barracks, which were shared by all of the older cadets. The arrangement made it easier for you to help the younger batches, as it meant you didn’t have to climb a ladder in order to reach the cadets in need.

The sound was coming from a room at the very end of the barracks; loud enough for you to hear it, though soft enough to imply that whoever was crying was trying their best to keep quiet. However, whoever else was in the room with them could clearly hear them, for as you got closer you could clearly hear several bouts of “Go to sleep, ya big baby!” and “You’ll get us all in trouble - you want that?”

Hoo boy, you thought as you approached the door. It’s gonna be one of those incidents.

You punched in your code and the door slid open easily. Lo and behold, four of the five beds were empty, with four tween cadets standing around the one occupied bed. From what you could see through the gaps between them, the poor little cadet on the bed was lying on his side in a fetal position, facing the wall and shaking with the force of his sobs. His batch mates tried to keep him quiet with comforting touches to his head, neck, and shoulders, but they mostly verbally berated him for his weakness.

Either they were afraid of being discovered and getting collectively punished or they were all just exhausted and irritated by the cadet’s crying. Regardless, it was time for a third party to step in.

None of the cadets acknowledged you coming into the room, seemingly too wrapped up in keeping their distressed batch mate quiet to notice. When you finally cleared your throat to get their attention, they all seemed to jump out of their skins. The four standing cadets scrambled to assume parade rest in front of their superior, but once they saw it was you, they immediately relaxed. You couldn’t help the smile that curled your mouth at the sight. You had worked hard to build a mutual understanding with all of the cadets over the years, and the fact that they trusted you enough to relax in your presence made you more happy than you dared to admit.

“Mind telling me what’s going on here?” You asked the assembled cadets gently.

“We don’t really know,” One of them spoke up. He gestured to the cadet on the bed, who had rolled over during the split second commotion and was now gazing at all those gathered with watery brown eyes. “Crybaby here just started bawling and we couldn’t get him to stop!”

“Yeah, and he refuses to tell us what’s wrong!” Another cadet spoke up, sounding equally annoyed with the situation.

“Well, I’m sure all four of you crowding him didn’t help matters much,” You scolded them, though there was little heat behind your words. You waved the chastised cadets aside so that you could kneel beside the still-distressed cadet’s bed. “Hello there,” You greeted them softly, resting your forearms on the bed. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

The cadet stared at you with wide eyes, sniffling and whimpering. His gaze darted to his batch mates, still crowding around his bedside with expectant expressions, and he shook his head the tiniest bit.

“Won’t speak with an audience, will you?” You asked. When the cadet nodded his head minutely, you sighed and turned to his batch mates. “I’ll talk to him in the hallway - the rest of you can go back to sleep.”

“I-in the hallway? O-out in the open?” One of the cadets asked, casting a worried look towards the closed door, the symbol of privacy and security. “I-if the trainers o-or the long necks were to catch you…”

“If one of the trainers catch us, they’ll know better than to tell the long necks,” You assured them with a sly smile. “I have quite the reputation, you know. If one of the Kaminoans catch us, though…” Your voice trailed off in unease. It was a possibility, of course, but not one you wanted to think about. “I will deal with them in that scenario. It will work itself out either way. Besides, you all need your rest.”

“I hear that,” Another cadet agreed with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe we’ll finally get some shuteye with that crybaby out of here.”

“All of you. Bed. Now,” You ordered, having had enough of the squad’s bluntness.

With the rest of the squad properly scolded, you stood and gestured for the distressed cadet to follow you. When he only folded into himself further, you huffed and looped your arms around his upper back and knees, lifting him up off the bed. Despite his initial resistance, he barely even squirmed against your touch. You’d learned a long time ago that the clones craved physical touch from those they trusted, though it still surprised you how so many of them melted so easily against you. It was just another sign of how much they’d grown to trust you, and the thought was overwhelming at times.

Your “package” acquired, you turned to leave when one of the cadets timidly called out to you from their bed, “Um… I’m a little hungry…”

You huffed and moved closer to the cadet’s bed. “Reach into my pocket - only take one,” You instructed him, as your hands were full. The cadet smiled gratefully up at you and did as he was told. When he’d finally procured his prize, you hoisted your package higher into your arms and left the room.

Compared to the earlier excitement, the silence in the hallway was deafening. You couldn’t hear anything besides the small noises you were making as you moved throughout the space, so you hoped that meant that everyone else was still asleep or elsewhere. With any luck, no one of consequence would hear your little conversation.

“Now,” You whispered to the cadet in your arms as you leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. “Mind telling me what caused you to cry at Maker-damn o’clock?”

For a long minute, the cadet only sniffled as his head lifted and fell with your chest as you breathed. You’d started to think that he’d cried himself back to sleep when he finally muttered, “I had a nightmare.”

Nightmares were certainly nothing new in such a dark place, but this was the first time a cadet had openly admitted that they were crying because of one. Your interest was immediately peaked. “About what?”

The cadet took a deep, shaky breath before he continued, “I was in the training room. I was all alone - none of my squad was there with me. The trainers told me over the intercom to complete the exercise in front of me… I’ve never completed an exercise by myself before.”

“Oh, that already sounds scary,” You admitted in an equally hushed tone.

The cadet agreed with a small nod against your chest. “The exercise itself… I had to dodge all of these blades,” He went on, his voice becoming more breathy and small. “The farther I went, the more they cut me… the more they took from me…” His fingers curled into the thin fabric of your uniform as he pressed himself further into you, as if he was seeking out every ounce of comfort he could find. “They took my limbs until all that was left was my chest, arm and head crawling towards the finish line. When I got there, all the trainers would tell me was what I did wrong, what I should have done… that I’m a failure of a trooper…”

With that, he dissolved back into sobs, pressing his face even further into your chest. All you could do was hold him and rock back and forth, shushing him as a gentle reminder to keep his voice down. His description of his nightmare terrified you as well, and it was a haunting insight into just what the cadets faced on Kamino everyday. Nightmare fuel disguised as “training”, horrific accidents renamed as “lessons”. All to prepare them for the horrors of the war.

All in the name of the Republic.

Maker, these were children.

It both saddened you and made your blood boil, but you were perfectly aware of the fact that there was simply nothing you could do. Whether you liked it or not, the news holos were always boasting about one Republic victory or another. You were but one person against an entire galaxy that needed them.

All you could do was be there for them during moments like these.

“That sure was a nasty dream,” You whispered to the cadet as he finally began to calm down. “But it’s over now, isn’t it? The nightmares are all in your head while your squad is here, in the real world. You know they would never leave you to face a challenge by yourself.”

The cadet sniffed loudly. “They wouldn’t?”

“Of course not - you’re their brother.” That was another thing you admired about the clones. Despite their difficult upbringing, they viewed each other as brothers, as family. If only such a bond was galaxy-wide; a civil war wouldn’t be necessary then. “They have a moral obligation to protect you. Plus, if you died…” You lowered your voice even more as if you were sharing a grave secret. “They would have to deal with you haunting them for the rest of eternity!”

Even with tears still running down the cadet’s face, he still managed a weak laugh. “I’d make such a good ghost,” He told you conspiratorially.

“I’m sure you would,” You agreed, tickling his sides lightly to coax even more giggles out of him. When he quieted down again, you thought it best to ask, “Why didn’t you tell your squad about your nightmare? I know they weren’t being delicate, exactly, but I also know they were worried about you.”

The cadet was quiet for another minute before answering. “I don’t know… I guess I was just ashamed.”

“For what?” You asked, genuinely surprised.

“I’m a clone,” The cadet replied matter of factly. “A soldier… or I will be, at least. The Kaminoans always say that troopers aren’t supposed to show weakness.”

Your blood started to boil again. “That’s because the Kaminoans are a species incapable of feeling sentient emotions,” You said firmly, barely able to keep the bite out of your tone. “They don’t understand feelings like fear or sadness, and thus view all those who display such emotions as weak.

“Soldiers or not, clones or not, you and all your brothers are still human,” You continued, running your fingers over the cadet’s sides in what you hoped was a soothing manner. “More than that, you and your batch are children. You’re allowed to be afraid, and sad, and happy! No nightmare, long neck, or war should be able to take that from you.”

The cadet’s wide eyes watered again, and you feared that your very true, yet very harsh, words had only caused another sobbing spell. But then he whispered, “Will the war ever end?”

The question surprised you, but you found yourself nodding emphatically. “Yes, of course!” You assured him, resuming your soothing strokes along his sides. “The war will end, peace will return to the galaxy, and you and your brothers will have the freedom to do whatever you put your minds to. I promise.”

Of course you promised.

Of course you believed it.

You had to, for the clones’ sake.

For if not you, then who?

Your promise seemed to placate the cadet, who once again grew quiet in your arms. He closed it eyes, to which you thought to ask, “Do you think you’re ready to go back to sleep now?”

The cadet didn’t answer for a second, which caused you to think that he had in fact fallen asleep. Then he softly admitted, “I don’t know… what if I have another nightmare?”

“Then you can confide in your squad about it,” You replied. “I’m sure many of them share the same fears as you, yet are unable to admit it for the same reasons. You may be able to help each other in that regard.”

The cadet made a small noise of confirmation, but his resting expression still seemed pinched. You were thinking of ways to help soothe the rest of his worries when a memory from long ago resurfaced. You had been raised by a single father, who was also a mercenary and had taught you every trick in the holobook. He was far from a perfect man, but he’d loved you and had tried his best as a father. Whenever you woke up from a nightmare, he had a lullaby that would soothe you right back to sleep. You wondered if it would have the same effect here.

“I could try something else, if you want,” You offered quietly.

“If it’ll help,” The cadet allowed just as softly.

You nodded definitively and adjusted your arms around him to ensure that you were cradling him more effectively. The lullaby ran through your head again and you made a few mental changes to the lyrics here and there to better fit the situation at hand. Your alterations ready, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath before starting to sing:

Now hush, little baby, don't you cry

Everything's gonna be alright

Stiffen that upper lip up, little baby, I told ya

I’m here to hold ya through the night

I know there is no peace right now and we don't know why

We fear how we feel inside

It may seem a little crazy, pretty baby

But I promise everything is alright

And if you ask me to, I’m gonna buy you a mockingbird

I'ma give you the world

I'ma buy a diamond ring for you, I'ma sing for you

I'll do anything for you to see you smile

And if that mockingbird don't sing and that ring don't shine

I'ma break that birdie's neck

I'll go back to the jeweler who sold it to ya

And make him eat every carat, don't fuck with me

Your eyes popped open as you remembered just how foul-mouthed your father had been. Your mouth opened next to apologize to the cadet, but he beat you to the punch by opening his eyes and asking, “What’s a mockingbird? And what’s a diamond?”

Secretly glad that he’d decided not to acknowledge the curse slip-up, you willingly explained, “A mockingbird is a special kind of avian species that can mimic the songs and sounds of other species. A diamond is a type of shiny stone that is very difficult to break - that’s what makes it so valuable.”

The cadet’s earlier expression of despair had been replaced with one of quiet wonder. “Have you ever seen a mockingbird? Or a diamond?”

You had to laugh at his curiosity. “I’ve seen both!” You told him. “One is very fast and feathery - the other is very sparkly and… round, I guess. Both are very beautiful.”

The cadet made a small sound of contentment as his eyes slipped closed once more. “Maybe I’ll get to see them both when I’m older,” He mused.

You didn’t want to think about what would become of him when he was “older”, but you decided to humor him. “I’m sure you will.”

“Can you sing it again?”

So you did. You sang your father’s lullaby over and over until the cadet’s breathing evened and his eyes remained closed. Once you were positive that he had fallen asleep, you stood on shaky legs and turned back to the room. Balancing the sleeping cadet precariously on your hip, you hurriedly used your code to open the door, after which you discovered that all four of the remaining cadets had quickly fallen asleep after you’d left. You took a moment to grin at sight of all four of their (admittedly adorable) sleeping faces before you crossed to the bed of the cadet in your arms and laid him down. He immediately groaned and curled onto his side, suddenly having to rely on his own body for comfort heat rather than yours.

Your fingers ghosted over the cadet’s forehead, now smooth with sleep rather than lined with worry. You stared at his calm expression for a second before your gaze went to the other cadets in the room. They were all the image of sweet dreams, though you wondered just how “sweet” those dreams actually were. How many other cadets were like the one you’d just helped, plagued by nightmares and yet too focused on the stereotype of a “perfect soldier” to confide in those around them about it? How many of them are too scared of being seen as weak to actually admit that they’re scared?

How many of them will eventually gain the courage to admit so?

How many of them will continue to keep quiet and allow the fear to eat them alive?

It was question that couldn’t be answered at Maker-damn o’clock. You sighed and moved towards the door; you still had other barracks to check before first roll call. Before you crossed the threshold, you looked back over your shoulder at the peaceful cadets.

“Sleep tight, children,” You whispered into the silence. “Dream of a life much better than this one.”

So you continued on with your night; then the next one and then the next. For months, you kept with your schedule of checking on the cadets before, during and after training, and then again after lights out.

But as the war continued on, the Kaminoans started to become more and more demanding of both the trainers and the cadets, and the exercises started to become more and more brutal. More and more cadets needed help and comfort, and you were spread thin enough as it was. Your nights became full of you running between the storage rooms and the barracks, refilling on supplies and topping off your caf container before moving onto the next batch that needed your help.

It eventually got to the point that some of the older cadets took you aside and told you, “Take it easy. You do enough for us as it is - we can take care of ourselves.”

As much as it pained you to admit it, they were right. You were of no use to anyone if you were dead on your feet. And the more useless you appeared, the more likely the Kaminoans were to terminate their contract with you and kick you off Kamino. The war with the Separatists was showing no signs of ending any time soon, though. You simply couldn’t leave the cadets by themselves now.

So you agreed to slow down, though you refused to stop. You still did your best to help the cadets during the day, though you limited your nightly exploits to two a standard week, three if you were feeling rested enough. They had slowed to the point that you wondered at times if you were making any real difference. You still continued on, regardless. You had to.

It was during one of these sparse exploits that you heard a new sound. You had been walking near the tween barracks when you picked up a faint disturbance in the usual drone of Tipoca City after hours. Curious, you listened closer.

It sounded like… a melody.

Moreover, a melody you knew.

Even more curious, you moved further into the barracks to hear more. The melody turned into syllables and the syllables turned into lyrics that made your heart skip a beat: “I’m gonna buy you a mockingbird, I'ma give you the world…”

It was undoubtedly your father’s lullaby, your lullaby. And it was being sung in the tween barracks, in the trademark deep baritone of the older cadets. You hadn’t sung it to any other cadets since that night.

Did that mean…?

With a small smile, you turned on your heel and left the tween barracks, feeling more energized than you had in weeks.

Because for the first time since you first came to Kamino…

You felt like you’d actually made a difference.

—————

Later on, the cadet would become a fearsome fighter known as Lullaby. The other troopers think it’s because one punch from him means lights-out for his opponent. It’s actually an homage to a person who helped him in the past❤️.

I’d like to think that not all of the trainers were horrible to the clones.

If you’re curious, the song is “Mockingbird” by Eminem. I adjusted the lyrics to keep the fic as gender neutral as possible so that anyone can self insert themselves into the story.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Fitness Trainer

A/N: I blended some french terms of endearment with English don't come for me. But is Antoine really French, or is he feigning this way to get closer to you? (Had a fem idea for this too)

Synopsis: Another day at the gym, your personalized trainer is helping you out a lot more intimately than he would with most clients.

TW: Creep gym trainer, yandere themes, mentions of future stalking/imagined groping, sensual content

And up... and down, just like that."

The squeeze on your hips kept you stable, even with your fingers shaking, mouth agape as hot breath was sucked in, and out. 

"One more, you can do one more for me."

"I can't..." you huffed, thighs quaking as the barbell on your shoulders made you ache. 

"Yes you can. C'mon sweetheart, we'll do it together."

He gripped the barbell beside where your sweating hands were, chest flush against your back as his feet entrapped the outside of your own. 

“Do it with me now,” He pulled the weight lower, forcing you to squat despite the agony in your ankles and tailbone. “Push through it, baby.”

The sweet name just slipped out, breathy against your ear as his hot exhales slowed compared to your huffs. It almost made you slip.

You could feel the muscles in your wrists shaking, vision going blurry as sweat drips into your eyes. One of his hands leaves the barbell to grip your hip, forcing you back into a standing position as your knees nearly give out. 

You rise slowly back up with the barbell in your hands, nearly groaning in pain at the strain. You finally lift your arms to your chest, finishing the rep with a strained frown as your personal trainer forces the weight off of your arms. His taller stature makes it easy to put the barbell back on the rack in front of you. 

You feel as if you could collapse, an hour and a half of intense training brought upon by your own determination leaving you exhausted and a little discouraged. You thought you could do more, push yourself harder-- but at the end of the day, the amount of reps your body would let you do, was it. You’d crack if you tried to go even further, end up tearing something or worse. 

Your trainer could tell; the way you sweat, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept that hard, strained look with each motion he made you do. 

“I hate to say it, but you’re done for today.” 

You look up at him from your place on the ground, water bottle hanging from your grip as you try to catch your breath. 

Antoine had only worked with you for a couple weeks now, what started as once a week now thrice, if you had the time after work of course. But somehow, he always enticed you to come back. 

His body, which should’ve been motivation, was more or less disheartening-- rippling muscles and bulging quads peeking beneath his tight ‘TRAINER’ black tee and athletic shorts as the perfect ensemble. 

He was so sweet, so encouraging and upsettingly positive. Always filling up your water bottle, saying how he’s always admiring the growth of muscle definition in your back, giving you light touches to show which area of your body that a machine might work out. He even offered post-exercise massages to make sure you didn’t get sore after each session, free of cost as a perk of joining the gym’s ‘premium membership’, an idea he sold you on. That, along with the complementary protein shakes made that were hi “specialty.”

You knew it was his job to hook you in, but who could say no to that sweet meathead’s face? Which is why you were here, on a late saturday afternoon, in this nearly empty gym with him that he convinced you to love. 

You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, even if he was the one persuading you, offering to use his time off to come in and help train you.

“Feelin’ sore?” Antoine bends down next to you, offering a small towel from his pocket. The twinge of accent in his speech makes him sound funny, dry lips parted as he looks you over. “You went harder than usual today.” 

“Yeah,” You let out after a gulp of water. “Definitely gonna feel this later tonight; ha, maybe I’ll actually take you up on one of those massages.” 

You point with your water bottle, grinning tiredly as Antoine’s eyes seem to shine. He licks his lips to hide a giddy grin. 

“Of course-- definitely, I’d be more than happy to. These hands can work magic you wouldn’t believe.”

Antoine shuffles behind you, pulling at your shoulders to make you sit up straight. 

“Wha- you mean right now? I’m all, sticky.” 

“Now’s the best time, your muscles are just coming down from the effort they’ve exerted. Best to prevent any aches and pains as soon as possible rather than waiting.” 

He begins gentle rubs against the base of your neck; vast, warm fingers grace your collar with a softness you hadn’t expected. Usually when people try to massage your shoulders they’re too harsh, too grippy; but Antoine was rhythmic, pushing into your back with his palms as he made his way down to your shoulder blades. 

“But considering you’ve pushed so hard, I don’t want to see you back here for a couple of days.” Antoine insisted.

“Awe, you want me outa here that badly?” You joked, laying your head forward as Antoine’s fingers made their way to the back of your neck, running pressed thumbs down from your hairline. “I see how it is, prefer your other clients over me.” 

It felt sort of weird, having him massage you so deeply on the gym floor out in the open. But the only person here in the middle of the afternoon was an older woman, paying more attention to her cellphone on the treadmill than anything you two were doing. 

Antoine shook your shoulders. 

“Don’t say that, now!” He leaned his head over next to yours from behind, getting so close your nose almost brushed against his cheek. “It’s not funny; I hope you don’t see me that way.”

“It’s just a joke,” You titter, running your handtowel down the front of your shirt.

“I never understand your jokes.” He sighs, hands moving down to your tailbone. He lifts the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, digging his hands against the soft flesh. 

“Woah, hey,” You turn to look at him, but his head is down, looking at his fingers. 

“I have to get to your hips, you can’t do so many squats without release. And at the rate you were going to day… well, you see what I mean.”

The bottom of your tanktop covers his knuckles as he pulls and kneads the skin of your lower back. 

“O-okay.. I guess..” 

He’s not usually so insistent, but he seems so genuine about it-- and, he’s the trainer, shouldn’t they know best? 

He begins with little strokes to your skin, almost caressing. You grow anxious until his thumbs push deep lines into your flesh. 

“Does that feel a little better, Mon cœur? Less pain?” He asks up close, staring at your heated and perspiring cheeks. 

You’re awed by how good it actually feels, the tension melting away with each push of his knuckles into your skin, and grip of his hands around your waist as each of his thumbs digs into your sides. 

“Yeah… feels a lot better..” 

“You can rest your head on my shoulder, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, arching your back with your head against his shoulder. He had easier access into your back, working his hands up beneath your shirt to reach your mid abdomen.

The deeper Antoine kneaded, the farther he grew up your back, the more… audible, his groans became. Each dip was another breathy moan into your ear. It was fine at first, just the sounds of his work; and then, it became almost, uncomfortably sensual. 

“Just like that...” He mumbled, giving a deep hum.

With your neck so close, his nose dips against your jaw to sneak a sharp inhale of your scent. It was heightened from your hour of strenuous work, a smell he couldn’t get enough of. 

But you jumped forward before he could nuzzle as deep against you as he wished. 

“Uh! Thanks, I feel a lot better now. Really… got all the kinks out.” 

You clutch your towel, facing your trainer to prevent him from working his “magic fingers” again. 

“Of course. And that’s just a taste, a fully body massage would leave the workout you just completed to drain away, as if it was just a dream.” He wiggles his hands with a sheepish grin, one so simple and sincere your guard fell again.

Sure, guys at the gym could be creeps, but he was your trainer, eyes kind and a little foreignly clueless, who only wanted to see you thrive; he’d never try something with you, his client. 

“Yeah, maybe next time. But now, I need to shower and get this stink off of me.” You bring yourself to your feet, all wobbly and achy-galore. Even with Antoine’s work on your shoulders, you can feel your back beginning to seize up. It’s gonna be hard to bend down for a while. 

Offering a hand to Antoine still on the rubbery gym floor, he takes it with a slight ease. He doesn’t use the weight in his hand to get up, knowing he’d just drag you back down to the floor if he did. 

“Thanks again-- I mean, I know it’s your job but--” 

“Don’t thank me; it’s always a treat to have you here, my cherie. I’d train you for free, you know!” 

You laugh, flattered at the idea. If you were a bit more forward, you’d ask him for that little perk. Hey, paying for his service certainly wasn’t cheap!

Making your way to the bathroom, you thank your lucky stars the hard part’s over. Too bad you can’t look at Antoine’s pretty face anymore, though. 

Antoine on the other hand, follows your stumbling body with his eyes, watching as you disappear behind the water fountain and bathroom door. 

His eyes jut back and forth between the machines and front door for witnesses, seeing none before snatching up your forgotten towel. How’d you never notice they didn’t just give these things out? 

He’d brought the cute handkerchief from home, wanting to appear the most of a gentleman. And, in the hopes that you’d use it every and anywhere. 

Oh, he thrived off that scent, pushing the white damp cloth heavy against his nose. It smelled even more potent of you, moreso than the few inches away of sniffs he usually got. 

His tongue just barely brushed against it, writhing in ecstasy from how it still held the stickiness of your sweat. You didn’t know how intoxicating it was to him, watching each bead of sweat leave your neck, the dip of your back when he got the chance to help hold that barbell with you… it was almost maddening, how strictly he had to restrain himself from lapping at your hot skin and running his hands beneath your gymwear. 

 No, he had to save this for later. What would his manager think if he saw him acting so ferally? 

Besides, there were more important matters to attend to. Such as, taking out the bathroom trash, a simple excuse to slide his manager for the opportunity to watch you shower. 

Who knew working here would have such great advantages in getting close to you. 

[marvelstoriesepic]

Train Me in Resistance

Pairing: Personal Trainer!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: You finally give in to your annoyingly hot and impossibly persistent roommate’s offer for a personal training session.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of physical exhaustion; slightly suggestive themes; sexual tension; slight mention of panic attacks; mutual pining; dramatic reader

Author’s Note: Ahh omg this brought me so much joy!! I’m such a sucker for Bucky and Reader being roommates, it’s crazy. This request was amazing, my darling, thank you so much for sending it in!! Hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

Your keys jingle as you step into the apartment with a bag of overpriced groceries and a head full of static.

You’ve been having a gut feeling the whole way home and it won’t leave you alone.

And to top it off, you’re wearing leggings - traitorous, already one foot in the grave - and an old sweatshirt that’s a little oversized.

Bucky’s eyes sparkle when he sees you and you want to turn around and slam the door in his face.

“Oh ho ho,” he exclaims, rising from the floor where he’s been doing pushups for no reason. “Is that workout gear I see?”

You open your mouth to lie, or deflect, or curse him out.

“Don’t start,” you say, tossing your keys in the bowl by the door. “They were the only clean pants I had.”

“Pants are pants,” he shrugs, a grin forming his mouth. “You’re halfway there.”

He’s got his arms crossed and his stupid trainer tank is doing terrible things to your concentration. There’s a drop of sweat on his collarbone that you hate yourself for noticing.

Your heart jumps. Stumbles. Recovers with a limp.

“I’m nowhere,” you mutter, already walking past him to the kitchen.

“Nowhere’s closer to somewhere,” he calls after you, that grin still in his voice.

“Leave me alone, Barnes.”

His laugh echoes.

Bucky has been asking you to let him train you for months.

Months of come on, it’ll be fun and just one session, doll and you don’t even have to leave the apartment, doll, I’ll bring the gym to you. He says it as if he’s Santa Claus.

Setting the bag with groceries on the kitchen counter, you begin to put the items out and away.

You’ve got exactly four seconds of peace.

Four. That’s all it takes for the sound of his footsteps to find you again.

The floor creaks. The refrigerator hums. Your spine straightens on instinct.

And there he is, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, now fucking shirtless with a pair of resistance bands as if they’re holy relics and not the medieval torture devices they obviously are.

“You’re out of excuses, doll,” he claims. Smirking.

You don’t look at him, but you close the door of the kitchen cabinet stronger than needed.

His smirk is something you can feel all over your body. It’s the kind of smug that sips your oxygen when you’re trying to breathe.

“I wasn’t aware leave me alone was a limited-time offer,” you mumble as you pick up the freshly bought cereals and use them as a momentary fortress between you and his delusional fitness evangelism until you reach the cabinet they belong in.

“I’ve asked nicely,” he says, walking around the counter like a jungle cat with a mission. “I’ve begged-”

“You threatened to unplug the Wi-Fi.”

He grins without shame. “Persuasion comes in many forms.”

You glance up and the mistake is immediate, visceral. Because Bucky Barnes is beautiful in that very specific way that ruins good sense. All tight muscle and menace and Monday-morning stubble, wearing track pants and having left his tank somewhere in the apartment unhelpfully. Gosh, you’d like to do things to his abs.

After every grocery is packed away, you make your way back to the living room and plop down on the couch.

Bucky follows. Of course, he does.

“Come on, doll. Just a small session.”

“I’m not doing a training session with you in the middle of the living room,” you counter, trying to disappear into the cushions. “This is a sacred space.”

“You eat cereal here,” he deadpans, standing over you. “Sometimes off the floor.”

“That was one time, and it was your idea.”

“You cried during some dog commercial last Thursday,” Bucky goes on. “Don’t talk to me about sacred.”

You raise an amused brow. “Yeah, and you looked genuinely worried, might I add. Even went to hold m-”

“Thing is,” Bucky interrupts quickly. “This is the perfect place for a little training session.”

You let your head drop back against the couch and groan, long and loud and theatrical enough to satisfy some deep internal need for performance. He waits. You squint one eye open.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” His grin brightens. “Because I care. I’m nurturing. Like a plant. Or a small invasive fungus.”

You sigh so hard it could be legally classified as wind.

But you fold like a lawn chair.

“Alright,” you grumble, dragging yourself upright the same way as a reanimated corpse. “One session. But if I die, or you make me do anything that makes me hate you more than I already do, I’m keying your motorcycle.”

His face lights up like a Christmas tree. You might as well just hand him a medal for Most Stubborn Personal Trainer Alive.

“You’re gonna love it,” he beams, and you’re afraid his smile might send you to heaven.

“No, I’m going to tolerate it. Briefly.”

He’s already dragging the coffee table to the side as if it’s weightless - which, to him, it probably is. And suddenly, the floor beneath your feet turns into a battlefield of yoga mats and kettlebells and Bucky’s overachieving expectations.

He rearranges the couch, puts the TV on mute, and you eye the plants watching silently from the windowsill, already seeming to judge you.

Bucky sets up a speaker, picks the most aggressively upbeat playlist known to man, and claps his hands once as though he’s about to conduct a Broadway show.

You glare. He grins.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he begins lightly, elated. “Let’s start with some dynamic stretches.”

“I already regret this,” you groan, dropping to the mat with dramatic flair.

He chuckles warmly. “That’s how you know it’s working,” he says, stretching in a way that should be banned in a shared living space.

He begins slow. Gentle.

First, it’s breathing.

“Focus on your core,” he says calmly. “Engage.”

“And how the fuck do I do that?” you mutter annoyed.

Bucky snorts, but he’s patient. “You’re doing better than you think.”

You hate how your stomach flips at the praise.

Next, it’s glute bridges. Then something called bird-dog which he demonstrates with the kind of precision that makes you irrationally angry.

And then comes planks. And it feels like your entire skeletal system is trying to defect from your body.

Your arms are trembling and your abs are plotting a rebellion, and you’re pretty sure your spine has given up on modern living.

And you whimper. A real, honest-to-god whimper. High-pitched. Involuntary.

Bucky pauses. Only for a second.

You don’t see his face at first - your focus being narrowed to the floor, the mat - but you feel the way his breath catches. His silence seems to grow something.

And when he does speak - when he finally moves and crouches beside you, voice like a hand sliding down your spine - it’s not the same.

“You got twenty seconds left,” he says, too quiet, too calm. “Don’t wimp out on me now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Something you’re not meant to hear. As if maybe he’s heard that sound in his head before. In a different kind of room. In a different kind of situation.

You risk a glance up.

His jaw is tight. His gaze flickers too quickly from your face to the floor and back again, trying not to look at you too hard. His towel is in his hand and he uses it to - so, so gently - swipe the sweat from your brow.

It’s a small gesture but it lingers.

You swallow hard.

“I hate you,” you whisper through clenched teeth and dying muscle.

His mouth twitches. He seems to recover from wherever the hell his thoughts went to, but his low voice is not entirely steady when he answers.

“You’re doing amazing,” he murmurs.

Too gentle. Too earnest. Too close.

His hand brushes your shoulder. Lingers again. You’re no expert in tactical touch but he might overdo it a little.

And god help you, you feel your body respond in ways that have nothing to do with fitness.

You drop to your stomach the moment the timer beeps - collapse like a marionette whose strings have been cut - and try to ignore the way your pulse is doing jazz hands underneath your skin.

Above you, Bucky exhales through his nose as if holding something in.

Then he’s continuing.

And you feel awful.

Your arms feel like wet noodles. Your thighs scream. You make dramatic noises every time he tells you to squat and whine a little too convincingly just to see if he’ll let up. He doesn’t.

“You’re doing great,” he says for the sixth time in ten minutes, voice syrupy as if trying to keep a toddler from crying.

“You’re a sadist,” you shoot back, halfway through a set of lunges, your hands flopping like fish as you try to balance.

“And you’re a liar, ‘cause I can see your form’s getting better.”

He might even be right. Your muscles are starting to shake less. Your core is actually engaging, whatever that means. You’re not entirely sure if your soul has left your body or if you’re just weirdly beginning to enjoy this.

It’s when you manage a particular decent set of push-ups that you hear it in his voice. He’s impressed.

“There she is,” he murmurs, not even looking at his timer. “Knew you had it in you.” He says it almost absentminded.

You freeze on the floor for a beat too long.

“What?”

He’s kneeling beside you now, a few droplets of sweat running down his chest, his hand brushing lightly against your shoulder to adjust it. “I said, you’re killin’ it.”

You roll your eyes to recover from the sudden tightness in your chest.

“Is this your whole game?” you ask, panting slightly. “Trap unsuspecting women in their own homes, trick them into exercise, then compliment them until they’re too tired to fight back?”

Bucky smirks. “Only the special ones.”

You blink.

He stands, offers you a hand. You take it before you can think better of it, and he pulls you up. His grip is warm and rough and entirely too solid.

Training goes on and you actually find yourself growing interested.

You stop huffing. Start asking questions. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration, not complaint. Your hands stop flopping through movements and start learning. Training.

Bucky watches. He smirks but doesn’t say anything.

He’s just kneeling beside you - half-naked and smug and proud and infuriatingly patient - with a voice so low you feel it more than you hear it.

“Alright,” he starts after a set of squats. “Take a breath, sweetheart.”

And you let yourself sink down. Only because he says it in that voice that drops like honey. Only because he’s looking at you as if this one set of squats is a moment in history.

You’re sitting on the mat, arms draped over your knees, catching your breath and trying not to look. But he’s right there. Right there. Smelling like soap and heat and something faintly woodsy. And he’s still shirtless. Skin golden in the late afternoon light. Muscles mapped out like topography.

You should look away. You don’t.

“You’re starin’,” he states without looking at you.

“I’m dying,” you correct, dragging your gaze to the ceiling. “I’m having a cardiac event.”

He laughs, and you can’t stop yourself from watching his throat when he does, how the sound starts somewhere deep and moves like gravity. “That’s just blood flow. Healthy stuff,” he eases amused, but fondly.

You flop onto your back with a breathless groan.

The exercise is not even the problem of this session. The exercise is not why you declined his offer to do some training with him for so long.

It’s him. Having him watch you this intently, letting his hands linger a little too long when he adjusts your position. The shift in his voice when he compliments you. The way his eyes dip to your lips when you aren’t looking. Except you are. You’re always looking.

You’ve lived with him long enough to know the difference between his real smile and the one he uses on the world. You’ve seen him groggy and gorgeous at 6 am, making pancakes in pajama pants, humming lowly. You know the creak of his boots when he’s home late and trying not to wake you. You know the way his laugh changes when he’s really happy - like, all the way happy. Rare. Sharp. Wild.

And now you know how he looks like when he wants to touch you and doesn’t.

He crouches beside you again and offers his hand.

You pretend not to see it.

“You said one session,” you sigh, still lying down, closing your eyes. “You said I wouldn’t die.”

“Technically,” he starts, amused, “you’re still alive. And you’re doing better than you think.”

His offered hand reaches out to brush a slightly damp strand of hair from your temple. He tucks it behind your ear. And then he lowers his voice, quiet now, serious in a way that makes your stomach flutter. “You really are doing great, doll. You’re not weak. Knew you weren’t.”

That makes something flinch in your chest.

Because he’s seen you on the bathroom floor after a panic attack. Held you through a job you hated and a breakup you didn’t see coming. He knows how messy you get when you care too much, and how you laugh too loud when you’re scared.

And still, he says you’re not weak.

You open your eyes. He’s already watching you. His expression unreadable.

Your heart is pumping so hard and you don’t think the exercise is the cause of it.

There’s too much heat you’re under right now, so you sit up, but a little too fast. The room tilts.

Bucky reaches out immediately - hands on your back, around your waist, steadying you.

And then you’re too close.

You feel the heat of his bare chest against your shoulder. You smell cedar and sweat and something that must be Bucky because it makes your heart do an Olympic floor routine in your ribcage.

You could lean in. Right now. You could just slide forward, let your mouth meet the hollow of his throat. You wonder what he’d do.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

And for a second - just one stupid, stretch-of-silence second - it feels as though the entire world is balancing on the line between maybe and almost.

Then Bucky clears his throat. Pulls back. “Alright, lazybones. Back to work.”

He offers you a hand again.

This time, you take it.

Not because you’re too tired to stand. But because you don’t want him to stop offering.

[xoxojisu]

soft domesticity with iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer <3

you find him in the kitchen.

he’s standing there, hair a little messy from sleep, sweatpants low on his bare torso, his muscular figure on full display. he has your coffee already poured into your favorite mug. he knows how you like it. always has.

you lean against the doorway, watching him for a second longer before he notices you. his eyes soften instantly.

“mornin',” he says, voice all warm and scratchy. “didn’t mean to wake you.”

you shake your head, padding over to him, toes cold against the kitchen tile. he hands you the mug and you take it with a quiet smile, fingers brushing his. he doesn’t pull away.

“couldn’t sleep without you,” you mumble, sipping the coffee. it’s perfect, as always.

he smiles, that small, lopsided one he saves just for you. “yeah? missed me that much?”

you roll your eyes but you’re already sliding into his arms, coffee cradled between your palms as his arms wrap around your waist. his chest is warm and solid and home.

he rests his chin on top of your head and you feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing, steady and sure.

“i missed you too,” he says, voice quieter now, like it’s a secret. “every second. always do.”

"you're such a sap," you snicker. despite your tease, you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into him.

the morning light spills in through the window, soft and golden. the world feels far away.

but here, in his arms, you feel safe. like maybe you don’t need anything else.

just him.

masterlist

[deardaichi]

for @sxnnee <3 | event masterpost

iwaizumi drops onto the towel beside you with a quiet wince.

you glance over your sunglasses. “what now?”

“shoulders,” he mutters. “think i’m starting to burn.”

you set your strawberry mojito in the shade, the glass sweating in your hand, and reach for the sunscreen without comment. he shifts forward without needing to be asked, arms resting on his knees while you kneel behind him.

you work the lotion over his back — warm, already tinged pink. his skin twitches slightly under your touch, but he’s relaxed, used to it. you’ve done this before. you’ll do it again.

“you always wait too long,” you murmur.

“mm,” he grunts. “doesn’t feel that bad.”

you press gently into his shoulders. “you’ll feel it tonight.”

“yeah, yeah.” but he leans into your hands all the same.

when you’re done, you sit back and reach for your drink. the citrus hits cold on your tongue, sweet and sharp from the syrupy cherry at the bottom.

iwaizumi shifts again — moves without a word and wraps his arms around your legs, head resting against your knee.

he presses a soft kiss to your skin.

“thanks,” he says, voice low.

you thread your fingers through his hair. “you’re welcome.”

he stays like that a while, sun-warmed and steady.

© everything here is written with care — please don’t repost, copy, or alter my work without permission.

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

"OFF LIMITS" — Iwaizumi Hajime

a/n : @sahrberrii i saw your post, this one is for you 🫶 content : IWAIZUMI HAJIME (27) ATHLETIC TRAINER. olympics au. jealousy jealousy. man who cannot take a hint. established rls. 743 words.

He hadn’t expected you to say yes that day. He’d rehearsed it badly—asked you out after a long day in the Tokyo gym, voice hoarse from yelling about hydration protocols, barely able to meet your eyes. He was the definition of restraint. Serious. Focused. Not the kind of guy who flirted or the kind of guy who made moves on coworkers.

But you—how could he resist you ? You, with your calm eyes and quiet confidence, who never asked him for more than he could give but made him want to give everything anyway. You, who looked at him like you already knew—knew—that he’d fall, and still waited for him to take the step. And when he finally asked you out, you said yes. Like it wasn’t a risk. Like you already knew what he hadn’t said.

That was three years ago.

Now you shared schedules, shared long-haul flights, shared a toothbrush cup in a half-lit Tokyo apartment—and nobody knew but the two of you. He liked it that way, not secret. Just private, something yours.

The Olympics were loud. Crowded. Full of people with wandering eyes and inflated confidence. Which is why he noticed the Swedish athletic trainer before you did. He wasn’t stupid—he recognized the type. Too friendly. Too many questions. Too much time spent loitering near your table before matches.

You didn’t entertain it. You were cordial. Professional. Not flirty—not even close. Hajime knew your real laugh, your real face when you were interested. And this wasn’t it. But still. The guy kept coming back. Japan’s volleyball team just won their match against Sweden, the tension was lifting off your shoulders as you packed up cooling wraps and checked rosters. And there he was, again. Iwaizumi didn’t hear the words. Didn’t care about them. He only saw the moment when the man reached out—hand on your arm, light but casual. Too casual. Too familiar. He watched you stiffen. That was enough. He didn’t call your name. He just crossed the floor, slow and controlled, cutting through the buzz of trainers and athletes like the room had parted just for him. You looked up when he reached you, eyes already knowing. He stepped between you and the man—not aggressive, not dramatic. “You should take your hand off her,” he said. Not a suggestion but there was a threat. The man’s hand dropped. “Didn’t mean anything. We were just talking—”

“Well she’s clearly not interested,” Hajime said. “She hasn’t been all day.” The man gave a breathy laugh, then took a step back. “My mistake.” Hajime didn’t watch him leave. He turned to you instead, reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear—slow, careful. Then leaned in and kissed your cheek.

The contact was brief but it was loud. You raised a brow, once the silence settled again. “That was subtle.” He didn’t smile. “I saw him touch you.” You tilted your head. “Thought we weren’t doing this at work.”

“We’re not.” His voice was low. “But that wasn’t work. That was someone forgetting where he stands.” He didn’t wait for you to speak again—just nodded toward the staff corridor. You followed without a word. The door to the trainer’s room closed behind you. The light buzzed above. The cold air bit at the back of your neck.

And then he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him together. Not rushed. Not angry. Just deep. Needy. His hands at your waist, your hips, grounding him. You sighed into it, hands curling into his collar, pulling him closer. “You’re tense,” you breathed.

“I watched him circle you all damn day.”

“I handled it.”

“I know,” he said. Another kiss. Firmer. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to break his face.” You laughed softly, then let your forehead press to his. “You never get like this.”

“I do. I just don’t let anyone see it.”

His thumb brushed your jaw. His voice dropped lower. “You’ve been mine for three years. You think I don’t notice when someone touches what’s mine?” Your breath caught. He kissed you again—slower this time, but no less intense. Like he was making sure you remembered it too.

“You’re mine,” he said. “And I don’t care if we never say it out loud—but if someone forgets, I will make them remember.” You nodded once and then you kissed him back, like you’d always known he’d be the one to draw the line the moment someone else tried to cross it.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @angelkiyo @honeycrispappletree @itsmeaudrieee @sahrberrii @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @dazaisfavgf

[starwovenkiss]

gym partner!gaz who invites you to tag along with him to the gym to show you how to lift properly and all that.

maybe he’s your neighbor who’ve you grown a good relationship with — you water his plants while he’s on deployment and he feeds your cat while you’re away.

so when you mention in passing that you want to start lifting after one too many gym girls show up on your TikTok fyp, he jumps at the chance to show you.

“why hire a trainer when you got me right here, love? save your money and allat.” and he’s right! kyle’s military and clearly works out enough to know what he’s doing, so what’s the harm in him showing you how to barbell squat and do a couple of RDLs? your apartment has a gym so it makes it easier for you two to meet up anyway.

except you aren’t exactly prepared for just how good kyle looks bench-pressing 225 lbs.

you’re not blind, you know that kyle is a good-looking guy to put it simply, and enough of your friends have lingered at your door on the way out in hopes of catching a glimpse of him while he’s leaving or coming back in.

but this is just so different — he’s so focused, so disciplined, so in control.

gone is the kyle who jokes about your upstairs neighbor who stomps around at 6 in the morning. he’s been replaced by some tactile man who controls every movement with hairlike precision. fingers wrapped around the metal bar firmly as his arms flex with every up and down movement.

you just hope that when he finishes he doesn’t realize just how turned on you are.

he grunts as he finishes his last few reps, and you subtly squeeze your thighs at the noise, wondering if it would sound the same as he slides into you for the first time.

“are you alright?” kyle questions, looking up at you with concern, and you just manage to nod. kyle drops it before taking a drink from his water, and you watch, a little dazed, how a few droplets of sweat fall down the column of his neck underneath his black compression shirt.

“i know you said you mainly wanted to focus on legs, but i figured it be nice to walk you through every movement before getting started.” kyle’s clearly showing off —the proud look in his eyes gives him away — but it doesn’t really matter because whatever reaction he was angling for, (awe? fluster? horniness?), he got it.

“c’mon, lemme show you how to squat,” he says before walking you over to the squat racks, and suddenly you remember the whole purpose of this gym sesh which wasn’t to ogle how good kyle’s ass looks in his sweatpants.

he gets everything ready for you, hands super touchy when he positions you, and the next thing you know, he’s right behind you, spotting you as you squat the bar. his body heat warms every inch of your skin and you feel yourself unraveling by the minute as he brings a hand to your leg to position you properly.

your thoughts of ‘you’re fine, it’s completely fine, it’s just your neighbor, kyle’ are completely shot when he leans in and murmurs “that’s a good girl” after completing your last rep.

fuck it.

you’re just lucky that you made it back up to your place before you’re both stripping, teeth clashing into one another as you messily make out, whimpering into his mouth as he grinds his hard-on into you.

you were always more of a cardio girl anyway.

[pinkiebieberpie]

i'm here to talk about training with boyfriend!bucky 👀 let's be honest, you are doing this with him mostly to just stare at him when he is training, at first he is okay with this, but later?

"oh hell no, baby, you are training with me" but you just want to look at his abs???? let a girl live.

after your first training you are exhausted, but the more you do it the better it feels, but let's be honest still the best cardio is your boyfriend (he is 100% the type who will manhandle you, just saying)

masterlists

[yup-thats-me]

pump it up!

pairing: pervert!gym!trainer Wi Ha-Joon x dumb!fem!reader

summary: the infamous gym trainer in your city has set his eyes on you!

warning: masturbation, suggestive, dark 18+

a/n: enjoy this as fiction, please. this is not meant to portray the actor in any bad light. it's pure fiction. leave if it makes you uncomfortable. this is the edit that inspired me btw<3

gym!trainer Wi Ha-Joon whose pants felt a bit too tight as soon his eyes landed on you. pink bow prettily tied on your pretty head, matching with the pink sports bra that clung to your chest for the life of it.

gym!trainer Wi Ha-Joon who immediately drops the weights he was lifting, his legs taking him to you. he knew he had to get his hands on you before someone else did, or maybe you were already someone else's? fuck it. he'll take his chances.

"do you need help?" his voice ever so gentlemanly. no one would even imagine how he wanted to push you against the wall and smash his lips with yours, his hands roaming around your body like a hungry beast, oh how he would grind—

"oh yes, please!" you said with that innocent smile. oh how he wanted you to scream his name while he abused your hole

you laid on the weight bench, nervously looking up at the metal bar. you needed to get it done, yes but that doesn't mean you can't be scared. it must be fate that the trainer came to your rescue, almost like an angel.

Ha-Joon smiled, his hands on the rod ready to lift it up if you mess up. the first one was okay, your arms straining, lifting it up. Ha-Joon helped a bit in lifting it up.

like a pervert, he quite enjoyed seeing you strain under the weight. he did not even tried to hide the fact that he was shamelessly staring at you, his eyes hungry.

but you paid no mind, of course. to you, the man was simply a gentleman helping you out. after you were done, Ha-Joon would workout around the same equipments beside you, smiling every now and then and on his toes to help you out.

he would ask for your name before you left, his mind creating images of you under him, begging for him to stop but he of course, won't. later that day, Ha-Joon would make several mistakes. call your name to his clients, dropping barbels mindlessly. what could you say? his mind was filled with you and only you.

one day when you let him take a swig from your bottle, he decided it was a sign from you. from then on, his touches would linger more than appropriate, his hands travelling to places, its all innocently of course.

when you hugged him thanking him for always looking out for you in this unknown environment, it was so hard for him to even breath. however, he was not willing to let the opportunity slide though.

his hands would roam around your back as he diverted your mind with his sweet words and sweet smile. he could only hope then that you won't be able to feel his hard on pressing against you, but if you did, even better.

as soon as you left, he would rush to the gym shower, stroking his cock with the same hand that had been on your skin, your name falling from his lips almost like a spell.

and finally, when one day you came to the gym, not with your usual gym outfit, and your eyes red and lips puffy from crying, he was feeling a bit too happy than he should have. finally, your asshole of a boyfriend had cheated on you. how lovely.

pervert.

[wordsofelie]

🔭mars

part of my observatory event, requested by @dearru <3

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

summary: you have the biggest crush on your neighbour—turns out he goes to the same gym as you.

content warnings: time skip setting, fluff, iwaizumi hajime is too beautiful for this world

words count: 1.3k

“I swear I’ve never seen something so magnificent,” you say in a fierce whisper.

Your best friend groans on the other end of the call. “Are you talking about that guy again?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What is ridiculous?” she asks, already exasperated, hoping you’ll finally change the subject.

“His awesomeness. This morning, he was on his balcony, hanging out the sheets and still he looked so cool and-”

“Oh god, I’m hanging up now.”

She should be used to it by now. For weeks, your not-so-subtle (and maybe slightly overdramatic) crush on your new neighbour has been the only thing on your mind—and on your lips. But you’re not the one to blame. The man is a pleasure to your eyes—in an unfair kind of way.

You first noticed him when he moved in two months ago.

His arms were stacked with cardboard boxes, his short hair was tousled from the summer heat and a few strands were clinging to his forehead. You were heading to the lift when he walked past, barely glancing up as he unlocked the apartment right next to yours. His brows were knitted in a frown, but the moment he noticed you, a quiet smile tugged at his lips. And you swore you’d never seen such beauty before.

You mumbled something like “good morning”, although you don’t even know if it reached his ears since you hastily turned your gaze away and stepped into the lift.

Then, you started noticing him everywhere.

In the hallway, where he nodded politely but never said much. At the mailboxes, where he always grabbed his letters with an effortless coolness. On his balcony, where he stretched after runs, wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts that should probably be illegal.

His balcony isn’t directly aligned with yours—it’s angled just enough that, from your couch, you can see straight into his living room. So really, it’s not your fault if you watch him sometimes. And yes, on the rare nights when you let curiosity get the best of you, you find yourself peeking through your window, catching glimpses of him under the soft glow of his apartment light. Tapping on his laptop. Making coffee. Just being there.

Not that you’re spying. That would be creepy. You’re just—observing.

The gym is the one place where you can let go. Since work has been demanding, you figured exercising might help you find some balance. Physically, maybe—but mentally? Not a chance. Because ever since you laid eyes on him, your mind has been an absolute mess.

Which is how you find yourself, mid-run on the treadmill, calling your best friend for the fourth time this week just to talk about your hot neighbour.

“Wait! Please, don’t leave me alone in this crisis,” you whine into your earphones.

Your best friend sighs. “Crisis? You’re staring at a hot guy and refusing to do anything about it. That’s not a crisis, that’s just cowardness.”

The thought alone makes your heart racing faster in your rib cage. “I am not refusing. I just- I don’t know where to start.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe by asking his name?”

“No, no, no. I could never.”

“Come on, you’ve been eating, sleeping, and breathing this guy for weeks, and you don’t even know his name. I told you—coward.”

You step off the treadmill and catch your breath. Your voice hovers somewhere between a whisper and a complaint as you wipe your forehead with a towel. “Excuse me, but I am not—”

“Hey,” a deep voice interrupts.

Your heart stops.

Your best friend is still talking in your ear, but you don’t hear a word. Slowly, so slowly, you turn your head—

And he’s there.

Right in front of you.

All lean muscle, sun-kissed skin, and olive-green eyes that are even more stunning up close.

Since when does he come to your gym?

“I, uh-hi,” you stammer, yanking out an earbud.

He nods toward the treadmill. “Are you still using this?”

"Yes-I mean no. I-I…"

The corner of his lips turns upwards. “Yes or no?”

Everything in your head seems to come out scrambled, in the wrong order. "No! I mean-I'm done! It’s all yours!"

“Is it your neighbour?” Your best friend, still very much on the call, says. She doesn’t wait for your answer to add, "Ask his name."

"Shut up!" you blurt out and you feel heat scorching your face when you realise what you said out loud. You wave your hands in panic and rush to explain, “Oh my god, not you. Sorry”

Your neighbour looks somewhere between amused and mildly concerned. "Uh… right. Thanks." He still remains polite, almost too kind even though you just made a fool of yourself.

And just like that, he steps onto the treadmill, setting up his workout while you remain frozen in pure, undiluted mortification.

You spin on your heel and flee.

And for the next week, you avoid the gym like the plague and close your curtains.

It’s late Friday evening when the universe decides to ruin you again.

You step into the apartment complex’s lift, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors begin to close, a hand shoots out, stopping them.

You don’t even have time to react before he steps in.

The hot neighbour, whose name still remains a mystery.

He barely spares you a glance as he enters—until his eyes flick toward you, lingering just long enough for a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You quit the gym?" he asks after a moment of silence.

You nearly choke. "What? No! I’ve just been… busy. With work. I work a lot… these days."

His smirk deepens. "Right. Then that’s even more reason to go back. It's good not only for physical health, but also for mental health.”

You clear your throat, grasping for composure. “You talk like a true professional.”

His eyes widen, you’re not sure why but he suddenly seems uncomfortable. He scratches the back of his neck and his eyes fall to the ground. “Sorry, that sounded like I’m mansplaining or something.”

“Not at all.” You smile a little. “But I guess I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

He immediately lifts his eyes and there's relief on his face, the frown that had formed a few seconds earlier, go away. You can see him tilting his head slightly, considering you.

"I’m going tomorrow morning. You coming?"

You swallow. "I-yeah. Sure."

"Cool," he says easily. Then, after a beat, "Wanna grab a coffee after?"

Your heart stumbles.

"Like… together?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I mean, no pressure, you can totally say no."

You open your mouth, then close it again. A week ago, you were a coward who wished to never bump into him again. And now—now—he’s standing in a lift, casually inviting you for coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"I-yeah. That’d be nice."

The lift dings. He steps aside, letting you go first. It only takes a few steps to reach your door, but somehow, it feels incredibly long. You finally turn to wish him a good night, but his voice cuts through the quiet first.

“Oh, and I’m Iwaizumi, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

You take a second to breathe in his words, his name.

You say yours in return—and you swear you see his cheeks redden just a little.

"Then, see you tomorrow, neighbour." He exclaims, throwing you one last glance over his shoulder.

And just like that, he disappears into his apartment.

While you stand there, staring after him, pulse thudding in your ears.

You finally know the name of your hot neighbour.

And he just asked you on a date.

You call your best friend that night to tell her everything. “What should I wear? More like casual? Or classy?” You ask her at some point.

Though she’s away, you can sense the smile on her face. “Gosh, I really should get paid for this.”

a/n: writing for iwaizumi hajime 27 athletic trainer is the best therapy

special tag for @sahrii im glad i can share my iwa obsession with you <3

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Personal Trainer!Toji Fushiguro—”Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?” [next]

req by: @sumbarbietingz tyty hope u like <33

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 6 AM.

By now, working out is muscle memory—a chore you tick off your list without much thought. You’re not aiming for an Olympian’s physique, nor do you dream of flipping tires or crushing quadruple-digit squats. For you, fitness is about balance, not obsession. The gym is filled with the usual suspects: frat bros showing off one-armed pull-ups, bodybuilders flexing between sets, and athletes moving like they own the place. You don’t envy them, nor do you aspire to join their ranks. In truth, their antics are more intimidating than inspiring.

But lately, something’s shifted. You’ve grown restless with your go-to routine: treadmill sprints, a quick core workout, and stairmaster till failure. It gets the job done, but there’s a whisper in the back of your mind, daring you to try something new. Maybe it’s time to add weights to your regimen. Maybe it’s time to sculpt those glutes and finally chase the coke-bottle figure you’ve been daydreaming about.

For weeks, the squat rack has been your Everest. You’ve watched others load up the bar, their muscles taut with effort, and wondered if you could do the same. It’s not fear holding you back—more like the memory of too many gym bros turning innocent glances into unwelcome conversations. At this gym, you’ve perfected the art of blending in. Headphones in, eyes down, immersed in the personal concert blasting through your ears. The only human contact you entertain is a nod and a quick smile for the woman at the front desk.

Today, though, is different. After your core workout, you finally approach the empty squat rack. Your heart races—not from exertion, but from the thrill of trying something outside your comfort zone. You set down your water bottle, lift the bar experimentally, then add two 20-pound plates on either side. It feels doable. With a deep breath, you duck under the bar, letting it rest on your shoulders. A hype Sexyy Red track thunders in your ears, spurring you on as you knock out your first set.

The burn in your thighs intensifies with each rep, but you keep going, driven by the mental image of your future self: confident, curvy, unstoppable. Sweat beads along your forehead, catching the fluorescent lights above and glistening on your skin. By the time you hit your second set, you’re locked in, laser-focused—until a firm hand lands on your shoulder, breaking your concentration.

You freeze mid-rep, your eyes snapping to the mirror in front of you. A tall, broad-shouldered figure looms at your side, leaning in close enough to be unavoidable. Your stomach twists with annoyance. Of course. Another unsolicited interruption.

Lowering the barbell with a controlled motion, you let out a sigh, already steeling yourself for the usual spiel. You tug your headphones down to your neck, the music fading into background noise as you prepare to deliver a polite but firm rejection. Why is it always men who think mid-squat, drenched in sweat, is the perfect time to chat? And why, without fail, are they never the gym’s best-looking prospects?

Before you can speak, a gravelly voice cuts in.

“Damn, ma, you tryna go deaf? I could hear your music from all the way across the gym.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. The irritation brewing in your chest falters, giving way to reluctant curiosity as you turn to fully take him in. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, collecting the beads of sweat rolling down your neck, letting your gaze rake upward. 

Crisp white Air Force 1s. Baggy black sweatpants slung low on his hips. A fitted white compression shirt stretched tight over a chiseled torso. Broad shoulders, thick biceps—his entire frame is a testament to strength, and the shirt does little to hide it. You swallow, willing yourself not to gawk, though it takes effort.

When your eyes finally reach his face, restraint becomes even harder. Fine as hell doesn’t do him justice. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the scar slicing through the corner of his smirking lips paint a picture of rugged perfection. Jet-black hair falls messily over his forehead, accentuating dark, brooding eyes that seem to hold an unspoken challenge.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to respond. Too many seconds have passed, and you hastily clear your throat, scrambling to collect yourself.

“And that compelled you to approach me?” you ask, arching a brow of your own. A teasing smirk plays on your lips. “Don’t tell me you’re a fellow Sexyy Red fan?”

His smirk deepens, and he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the squat rack like he has all the time in the world.

“Me?” His voice is low and gravelly, carrying an almost teasing edge. “Nah, can’t say I’m also bumping F My Babydad. In fact, that song’s been used against me in the past. Strongly recommend shuffling your playlist.”

The implication makes you blink. He’s someone’s baby daddy? You glance at him again, and yeah, it tracks. His whole aura screams DILF.

You laugh, breathless from both exertion and his audacity. “My heart goes out to you, but that’s not enough to turn me off the song. It’s keeping me pumped.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His eyes sweep over you again—this time lingering on your two-piece set, the biker shorts and zip-up jacket hugging your frame. You feel a flicker of pride, knowing the pump is definitely doing its thing. But you quickly remind yourself not to encourage him, no matter how good he looks.

“I noticed,” he says, straightening. “That’s actually why I came over. Hope I’m not overstepping, but your form could use some tweaking. You’re targeting hamstrings more than glutes right now.”

Oh. So he wasn’t hitting on you? Maybe he’s just one of those older gym vets who genuinely want to help. Reluctantly, you concede, eager for the guidance. “Damn, is it that bad? I’m tryna build a dumpy for real. Any tips would be great.”

His brows knit briefly. “A what?”

You grin. “A dumpy. A dump truck. A fat ass. Come on, oldhead.”

His scowl deepens, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Toji. Use my name, not that.” He rolls his eyes, moving to strip the weights from your bar. “But that explains the Sexyy Red. You’re out here tryna Skeeyee or go to Pound town, huh? Don’t worry—I got you. Grab the bar.”

Snickering, you follow his instructions. “Absolutely not. Just help me with my form, Toji.”

Satisfied with your correction, he places a hand on your back, guiding you into a squat. “Wider stance,” he instructs, nodding as you adjust. His hand trails lower down your spine, encouraging you to drop further. “Lower. If you don’t hit a 90-degree angle, you’re not getting the full range of motion.”

You comply, biting back a shiver at his touch. He stays beside you, squatting to observe your form. “When you rise, drive through your heels and tense your glutes—lightly. Not too much.” His hand rests briefly on your hip as you rise, and your focus wavers dangerously.

Somehow, you power through the adjustments and complete your next set, his guidance making all the difference. By the time you finish, you’re drenched in sweat, thighs trembling from exertion, but the burn feels… good.

“You’re a quick learner,” Toji says, lifting the bar off your shoulders and racking it. His tone carries an edge of approval that makes your chest swell. “How’s it feel?”

“Sore, but good.” You glance in the mirror, a grin spreading as you take in your reflection. The pump is real. “You’re a lifesaver. You could seriously be a personal trainer.”

His smirk returns, and for a moment, he almost looks proud. “Good thing I am one. Imagine if you’d said I was trash.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Hey, doll, this might sound out of line, but I’ve never trained someone on a glute-dominant program. Most of my clients are bodybuilders or boxers, but this could open doors. If you’re down, I’ll train you for free so I can develop a structured workout regimen. What do you say?”

You blink at him, stunned by the offer. Free sessions with this hunk of a man? The decision is a no-brainer. 

“How could I say no to that big guy?” You swat playfully at his arm, earning a chuckle. You retrieve your phone from the ground handing it towards him, “I’m in. Here, give me your number.”

Toji takes the device from your hand, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. His grin is almost teasing as he hands it back. “Demanding,” he murmurs with a grin. “I like that. I’ll text you over the weekend. We’ll start Monday. That work for you?”

Though you agree, the wait over the weekend feels endless. You check your phone obsessively, half-convinced you’d imagined the whole interaction. But finally, a notification pops up while you’re leisurely sprawled out on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your timeline.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Wassup, ma. How about 6 AM on Monday? Tues-Fri, I’m booked mornings, but anytime after 2 works.

You grin, slightly confused by the contact name he’d given himself, but already planning your reply.

You Bet, I’ll be there. We can do 3 PM the other days—I get off at 2.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Bet.

You I gotta ask… what does YHPT mean in your contact name?

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) 🤣🤣🤣  Young Hot Personal Trainer

You Young?! Sorry I asked. Lemme fix that.

Toji Fushiguro 👴🏼 (PT) Not too much on me, ma. 😒

On Monday, you start to wonder if Toji even needs to develop a new glute routine. He seems to already have it down to a science. When you meet him outside the locker room, he’s surprisingly professional, carefully explaining the plan for the day.

He considers your current fitness level but warns that he won’t go easy on you. “If you want results, you’ve gotta work for them,” he says.

Back at the squat rack, you steal a glance at his backside, confirming your suspicions: Toji definitely practices what he preaches. His ass is… impressive. Bubble butt levels of impressive. If this workout built that, you’re sold.

The session starts with barbell walking lunges. Toji adjusts the weights slightly heavier than you’re used to, staying close as you move through each step. He’s comfortable in athletic shorts and a pullover, barely breaking a sweat while you’re already glowing in your two-piece set. His hands are steady and deliberate when tweaking your form, his words always encouraging.

By the time you’re on weighted step-ups, you’ve shed your zip-up and tee, left in just your sports bra and shorts. When you transition to hip thrusts, you play coy about your familiarity with the exercise. It pays off deliciously as Toji demonstrates.

He drags a bench over, slides a barbell onto his lap, and gets into position. His thighs flex, the barbell pressing into his hips as he slowly thrusts upward, his voice low as he explains the importance of balance and control. But honestly, you’re too distracted by the sight of him—muscles taut, skin glowing under the gym lights, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

“Got it, ma? I’ll hand it over to you in a sec—might as well finish this set myself.”

That breathy ma and the half-lidded look he shoots your way? It’s lethal. You fidget on your feet, suddenly aware of how warm the gym feels.

When it’s your turn, you do your best to mimic his movements. To dispel any awkwardness, you wink at him. “How’s my form, big guy? I’m giving you all I’ve got.”

Toji chuckles, his grin playful. “Someone’s catching on quick.” He places a firm hand on your knee, his voice dipping, returning your wink. “That thrust is second to one.”

You end with sumo squats, a challenge given their deep range of motion. Determined to achieve those coveted “Megan knees,” you complain to Toji, who looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

“Alright, hold up. I know you can nail this—let me help.”

He positions you in front of the mirror, his presence towering behind you. When he steps closer, your breath hitches, his chest brushing against your back as he adjusts your stance.

“Open your legs wider. Angle your feet out,” he murmurs, his hands warm on your thighs. The heat of his breath on your neck nearly sends you spiraling, but you focus on the squat, sinking lower under his guidance.

“Atta girl,” he says softly, his tone making your heart race. “Just like that.”

It hits you then—there’s no way this is just standard training. Especially as you’re keenly aware of the firm press of his body behind yours.

“Toji, how many more? ‘M so tired,” you mumble, struggling through another rep.

“Two more. Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

His hands guide your hips, and you somehow manage to finish the set. Resting your hands on your knees, you catch your breath while he smirks, handing you a water bottle.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your brain short-circuits.

By Tuesday, you’ve settled into the routine, though Toji remains as hands-on as ever—literally. His physical guidance feels less like training and more like testing your resolve, especially when he throws in casual touches that linger just a bit too long.

The workouts are brutal, but Toji’s encouragement and relentless banter keep you going. You learn snippets about his life, mostly centered around his middle-school-aged son, Megumi—a tech-obsessed, angsty tween with whom Toji is actively struggling to connect with.

You start caring about how you look for these sessions—styling your hair, spritzing perfume, even picking out your cutest gym fits. You tell yourself it’s just motivation, but deep down, you know you’re becoming weak to Toji’s charm.

And Toji? He’s an enigma—a hot, muscular DILF who knows exactly what he’s doing.

On Friday, you meet Toji outside the locker room as usual. His unusually upbeat demeanor is paired with an announcement: he’s reserved a private room upstairs, equipped with advanced machines and, most importantly, a touch of exclusivity to let you experiment with new moves in peace.

“If you wanted to get me alone so badly, you could’ve just said that,” you tease, poking a playful finger at his cheek.

He smirks, catching your hand mid-air before letting it drop. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman and save his moves for later? But if you’re looking for forwardness…” He leans in with a wink, the grin on his face equal parts charming and incorrigible. “I won’t hold back.”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh. “Sure, big guy. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I took your advice,” he says, leading you up the stairs, his hand warm on your back. “Set up Discord for Megumi. Now the kid can actually game with his friends without me being the middleman. Thought I’d reward you with an advanced workout for that stroke of genius.”

You scoff, withdrawing yourself from his grip to cross your arms. “Reward? Sounds more like a punishment.”

He grins wider. “You’ll thank me later, mama. And if you’re not satisfied, you can choose your own reward.”

Inside the private room, your eyes roam over the space. Polished mirrors line one wall, reflecting sleek machines—a leg press, rowing machine, power bike, and more. A faint scent of disinfectant lingers, blending with the promise of an intense workout. Toji tosses his duffel bag near a large speaker in the corner.

“Look at that—a speaker. Gonna cut on some throwbacks so I can put you onto some real music.”

“Still not helping the oldhead allegations,” you quip, shaking your head as he connects his phone.

His smirk widens. “I’m whatever you want me to be, doll. That’s the business I stand on.” He points skyward with dramatic flair.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Toji, your usage of slang is deteriorating by the minute.”

Stretching side by side, his 90s playlist humming through the speaker, you fall into the familiar rhythm of the glute routine. The effort is paying off; you swear you’re already seeing results. 

Between sets, you’d even started pestering him for diet tips—anything to build that elusive shelf.

But as always, your attention drifts. During hip thrusts, your eyes wander to Toji’s defined arms, the way his shoulders shift as he mirrors your movements. During squats, you can’t help but notice his hands lingering on your hips, guiding you down with whispered encouragements.

“Drive through your heels, mama,” he murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your neck. You’re panting by the final rep, equal parts exhausted and electrified.

When the set ends, Toji steps back, his absence leaving a surprising chill. He crosses his arms, eyeing you with that ever-present smirk. “You’ve mastered this routine. How about graduating to mine? Fridays are upper body days. What d’ya say?”

You trail a finger down his arm, tracing the veins. “And get jacked like you? Obviously.”

His grin softens into something almost fond. “Bet. Just try not to distract me too much, yeah? It’s hard enough maintaining my professionalism around you.”

You laugh as he pinches your cheek, only to retreat and yank off his tee, leaving him in a fitted black tank. He leads you to the dumbbells for bicep curls, and you challenge yourself with heavier weights to avoid ogling his sculpted frame.

“Look at you,” he says approvingly as you curl the weight. “Getting stronger every day.”

“Thanks, coach,” you reply, though your arms burn with effort.

Toji hoists a 45-pound dumbbell with ease, and your curiosity gets the better of you. “How much can you bench, anyway?”

He pauses mid-rep, considering. “Good question. Haven’t checked in a while. Wanna find out?”

Before you can answer, he’s clearing the bench, stacking plates with casual efficiency. Three 45s on each side—a total pushing 300 pounds—makes your jaw drop.

“Damn.”

He meets your stare, the bar balanced on his lap. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Come spot me.”

You circle behind the bench as Toji reclines, gripping the barbell above his chest. His muscles coil with tension, veins slightly raised under his skin. As you hover your hands just above his for support, you give a small nod for him to start.

Toji pushes the bar upward, arms locking at full extension before lowering it with precision. The rhythm is steady, his breaths growing heavier with each rep.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice low and strained.

A laugh bubbles up from you, and you instinctively place your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid swell of muscle shift beneath your touch.

Toji glances at you, eyes narrowing with playful admonition. “What’d I say about distracting me, huh, ma? Cut me some slack.”

Setting the bar down with a controlled thud, he looks up at you, dark locks falling across his face. His smirk is wolfish.

“I don’t think anything could really distract you,” you counter, grinning. “You’re benching 300 pounds like it’s nothing. Feels a little… superhuman.”

“Damn right.” Toji sits up briefly, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder and striking exaggerated poses in the mirror, whistling at himself.

You snort. “Alright, don’t let it go to your head now, big guy.”

He lays back down to begin his second set, but you’re feeling bold. Moving swiftly, you straddle the bench, swinging one leg over and settling into his lap.

His eyes widen briefly as he lowers the bar back to his chest, but he recovers fast, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“Guess you’ve got a better view from there, huh?” he murmurs. “You don’t mind counting these out for me, do ya?”

“Not at all.” You plant your hands on his stomach, the fabric of his tank top taut against the solid expanse beneath.

He starts again, pressing the bar up with ease.

“One… two… three… four,” you count, smirking. “You think you can hit twenty?”

“Easy work,” he grunts, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

But you’re feeling mischievous. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, fingers grazing the hard ridges of his abs. The contrast of warmth and strength makes your breath hitch.

“Five… six… seven…eight…” Toji’s steady rhythm falters as you increase the pressure of your movements. His eyes narrow at you, daring yet pleading for restraint.

You relent—for now—your hands sliding to rest firmly on his hips as he recovers.

“Nine… ten… eleven… twelve.” His reps slow significantly, the strain visible in his taut muscles. 

Sensing an opportunity, you lean into his weakness, grinding your hips down against him deliberately, the friction drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

“Shit, ma,” Toji mutters through clenched teeth, sucking in a deep breath before lifting the bar again.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, your voice laced with mischief. You rotate your hips in a slow circle, reveling in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his breath hitches.

“‘s not fair—you’re playing dirty,” Toji rasps, lowering the bar with a groan. For a fleeting moment, you envy the steel weight—it holds all his focus while you fight to claim just half of it.

But it doesn’t matter; his body betrays him. You feel him harden beneath you, the friction growing deliciously intense through the thin layers of clothing separating you.

“Toji,” you gasp, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound as heat pools low in your stomach. Your movements become instinctive, grinding against him in search of relief.

And yet, Toji—ever determined—continues his reps, each lift of the bar accompanied by a subtle grind of his hips into you, fueling the dangerous tension.

“Sixteen—shit… seventeen—mhm… ah—eighteen… n-nineteen…” Your counting falters as you ride the edge of control, each syllable more breathless than the last.

“Mf—ma… I can go to thirty,” Toji growls, his voice thick with desire. “Take it out. Use me. Make yourself feel good.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you scramble to shed one leg of your shorts, fumbling with his waistband. Relief blooms when you find him bare beneath his sweats. You flick his chest, the movement playful yet teasing.

“Slut.”

Toji’s eyes darken, the weight of his gaze making your pulse race. “And what does that make you?” 

His voice is a low rumble as he lifts the bar again. “Keep counting, doll.”

“‘Kay,” you breathe, positioning yourself above him. The thick head of his length presses against your clothed center, and the sensation draws a near-whimper from your lips.

“Twenty… fuck—twenty-one… Toji—shit… twenty-two…”

You grind down harder, your movements desperate as you pump him with trembling hands. The feel of his shaft, hot and solid, against your slick sends you spiraling. Toji twitches under your touch, his breath ragged.

“Twenty-three—ah…”

A sharp, obnoxious buzzing cuts through the air, snapping you both out of the haze. The speaker blares with Toji’s ringtone, and he fumbles to set the bar down safely. The sudden motion sends you toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of the abrupt interruption as Toji curses under his breath. He hauls you back onto the bench, his movements rushed but gentle, before striding to his phone.

“Fuck, it’s Megumi,” Toji grumbles, glancing at his phone connected to the gym’s speaker. He picks it up, the ringtone still blaring. “Kid’s got the worst timing.”

You nod in acknowledgment, adjusting your shorts and ignoring the visible wet patch at the crotch. Toji answers the call, his tone shifting to frustration as he paces.

From his clipped responses, you catch snippets about school, carpooling, and a very annoyed Megumi. Toji sighs heavily, muttering a half-hearted apology before ending the call with a gruff, “See ya soon.”

“Mama,” he starts, turning to you with a weary look. “Forgot it's my turn to pick up Megs and his friends this week. In my defense, he deliberately didn’t remind me this morning just to get me caught up.”

You laugh softly as he digs through his duffle bag, pulling out another pair of sweats. Approaching you, he presses them into your hands.

“Here. Can’t have anyone else noticing the strong… impression I left on you,” he teases, his grin cocky. “Next time, I’ll double it.”

You step into the loose pants, tying the drawstring snugly around your waist. “Next time,” you echo, smiling up at him.

Toji hesitates as if it pains him to leave. He briefly embraces you, firmly squeezing your ass, and planting a wet, lingering kiss against the side of your neck before jogging toward the door.

Hooking up with your personal trainer. Immoral? Yes. Professional? Not even close. Hot? Absolutely.

But hey, it’s still exercise. Gotta see it through.

don’t try that freaky bench press position at home, take spotting seriously—not everyb got a heavenly restriction LOL

[shosweet]

hajime iwaizumi walked down the halls of aoba johsai, head swarmed as he recalled prior events. losing to shiratorizawa, leaving his beloved school soon, his best moments turning into fleeting memories — it all ate at him. as the sky roared, he could feel himself begin to descend like the drops of rain.

yet, nothing seemed to nag him more than you. you’ve spent so much time with him over your senior year, going on “friendly” little dates and being the reason iwaizumi gets teased by his friends so much. but, ever since that game, he pushed you away in fear of how close you’ve gotten to him — what if he loses you, too? he thinks to himself.

looking up, he finds you in a classroom, humming softly to yourself as you tidy up the clutter. you drove him crazy, mad even. from the hall, iwaizumi watched you intently, feeling an invisible force pulling him closer to you. but, he refused.

sensing another presence, you look up to see that familiar spiky hair and gleaming, olive eyes. he tenses at the eye contact and turns away, picking up his pace towards the exit.

“iwa, wait!” you called out as you rushed out the classroom. he only continued walking, ignoring your voice as you tried to keep up with him. he shoves the exit door open, hesitating as he sees the pouring rain just beyond the school steps. knowing you’re not far behind, he starts walking once more. as he’s about to get off the last step, your hand reaches out and grabs his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

panting and out of breath, you try to find something that will get him to listen. “why aren’t you talking to me? you don’t answer your phone, you barely even look at me anymore…” you start, heart pounding as you finally say the words that weighed heavy on your chest. rain starts to drip from iwaizumi’s hair, your clothes starting to get drenched.

fuck, what am i doing, he thought to himself. he still faced away, too ashamed of himself to face you. yet, you stood firm, wanting his answer desperately. suddenly, iwaizumi succumbs to your hold and turns around.

“you don’t ever leave me alone, do you?” he starts, chest heaving. your heart stung as you were taken aback by what he said, but your grip on his wrist only tightened. he scoffs, takes a deep breath, and continues.

“everywhere i go, you’re there. every place i look, every time i’m happy, fuck, even every damn song i hear. you drive me crazy, you know that? fucking insane!” his voice is louder, rougher, vulnerable. the patter of the rain meets the ground harder, but it’s nothing compared to your heart in your chest. he rakes his hand through his soaked hair, mind too scrambled to think straight.

“fuck… even at that damn game against shiratorizawa… all i could see was you. you and your stupid face in the stands.” he looked in your eyes for any sign of interjection, but you just stood there, waiting for his next words as you let go of his hand. “cheering me on, smiling like that every time i scored a point.” his voice softens now, his head hanging low in his hands.

“i can’t get you out of my head. fuck, you drive me insane,” he mutters. sensing that there’s no more for him to say, your eyes sting as you open your lips.

“do you hate me, then?” you ask as your voice trembled. as you waited for his answer, the sky cried the tears you held back. iwaizumi tensed up, dropping his hands to find his gaze. his eyes were burning as they stared into yours — not with hatred, but with something else. in the blink of an eye, he walks closer to you, patience run thin as he holds your face, bringing it closer to his and crashing his lips onto yours. shocked at first, your body starts to melt into his touch. he waits until you’ve relaxed and pulls away.

“that answer your question?” he asks, voice low as his cheeks flushed. desperately, you grab his shirt and pull him back for more, his kiss being your permission to go further. his hand cups your jaw gently, his other making its way down to your waist and pulling you closer. your lips moved sloppily, slow here and fast there, as you both let go and fall into each other.

slowly pulling away to catch your breath, iwaizumi leans forward to chase your lips, only pulling back once he feels you smile. he chuckles in return, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he sighs.

“i’m an ass, aren’t i?” he mutters.

“a huge one,” you answer, moving your wet hair from your face. he lifts his head and starts placing small kisses on your face, from your forehead to your cheeks and the corner of your lips.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he whispers. “i swear it.”

“by kissing my stupid face?” you mocked.

“yeah, pretty much.” you playfully shove him away at his lack of denial. he smiles and reaches for your hands, but you pull away jokingly, holding them close to your body and turning away.

“c’mon, don’t be like that, babe,” he coos as he grabs your waist. his face nudges towards yours in attempt to get you to surrender. figuring that you wouldn’t budge, he picks you up and twirls you around, giggles spilling from your mouth.

“iwa, put me down!” you exclaimed as you lightly hit his shoulder. settling you down, he gives small apologies and kisses your cheek.

“i’ll walk you home then, yeah?” he says as he walks behind you to pick up your bag that you left by the school entrance. you nod and reach out your hand, signaling for your bag, but he doesn’t catch the gist. with a small “ah,” he intertwines his fingers with yours, smirking all proud to himself as he plays with you again. you only laughed and swung your hands together, joy overflowing as you continued walking.

finally summer 🦦

[cliosunshine]

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐬

Jason Todd x dragon trainer!reader

Summary: after a portal mysteriously opened in your world, setting all of your dragons loose, you must find a way to take them all back home before it's too late and before you catch feelings for a certain cute guy in a red helmet

Warnings: none; some mild cussing, reader wears glasses and jay's a bit awkward lol

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: first fic ever yay! I was rewatching HTTYD and this idea came to me and who am I to deny the muses of writing

Jason knew this patrol was going to be a tough one.

The usual gloomy Gotham night had a sort of electric tension to it, putting everyone on edge.

As he finished securing the guns on his holsters, a deafening roar made him jump out of his skin.

It was nothing like he had ever heard before: the sound seemed like it came from above his building complex, akin to that of a thousand lions. A loud thump shook the whole building and Jason peeked his head out of the window, watching as people on the streets were running away from flames, screaming in terror.

He sighed warily, grabbing more magazines than usual and hurrying down the fire escape, too preoccupied to reach his bike and go to the Batcave to tell them what the fuck was going on than to look back out of the kitchen window, where a pair of giant eyes was watching him leave his apartment.

As he rounded the corner of his building in a hurry, so close to reaching his bike in the garage, he abruptly stopped as he was face to face - or better yet, face to snout - with the humongous muzzle of a giant lizard.

Or at least that's what he thought it was until the creature opened his mouth and emitted scorching flames too close for his comfort.

Jason backed up, his mind running a hundred miles an hour.

"Hey there, buddy..." He tried to coax the thing, who was eyeing him with a blood-lust gaze.

Jason gulped, not too sure about his helmet's fire resistance anymore.

The thing was at least 10 feet tall and just as big, if not more. The scales on its body reflected the streetlamp light, giving it a more menacing look and steam seemed to come out of every pore on its body.

As both of them kept looking at each other, none of them relenting, Jason swiftly pulled out his gun, aiming it at the creature just as quickly.

Frightened by the sudden movement, the giant lizard thingy that he didn't want to call a dragon but that looked scarily similar to one, screeched, causing Jason to let go of his gun and clutch at his helmet in pain, the noise unbearable.

The dragon -yes, he was going to call it that- stumbled again and zeroed in his fire breath directly on his garage door, melting the metal panel.

"Shit!" Jason took several steps back to shield himself from the heat.

The dragon kept at it for several seconds, but all the damage was already done. As it took one final look around, it flew away, its huge wings taking out the flames.

Jason stood there in silence, the chaos of the outside world drowning out all of his thoughts as he stared at his bike, just the two silver handles barely visible in the otherwise pile of melted metal and burnt leather.

His chest heaved uncontrollably, just know realizing what he saw.

Suddenly, his comms activated, the shrill of Dick's screaming making him frown in irritation.

"Everybody, we've got dragons in Gotham!"

"No shit, Dickhead," Jason deadpanned, still looking at what remained of his bike.

"Oracle, I need a ride to the Batcave. Now."

You had spent the whole day tending to your dragon, Obsidian, as he had quickly gotten bored of his play buddies that he usually hung out by the lake with and had decided to bother you while you were studying.

"You big baby," you cooed at him, scratching his chin with your left hand as you continued typing on your laptop, one paragraph of your final essay almost finished.

After completing your bachelor's degree, you had decided to open a dragon sanctuary with your best friend from college after seeing so many of them getting mistreated and abused.

In the area where you lived, dragons were sadly thought of being more of a nuisance than loyal companions, thus leading everyone to think that they weren’t worthy of love and shelter.

The first dragon you had ever rescued was Obsidian, discovering him near your local park after a morning jog.

His little paws were sticking out of the half-burned box he was laying in and you couldn't resist his big amber eyes staring at you, so you took him home, much to your parents' chagrin.

Now here you were, nearly two years later and almost finishing your master's thesis with a huge, sassy dragon resting his head on your lap and demanding scritches behind his horns.

"You're so cute, Obi," you smiled down at him.

The dragon responded by gently nuzzling his head further into your lap, a low purring rumbling through your whole body.

"So cute, such a cutesy, lovely-" your cooing was cut short by a large swooshing sound and screeches coming from the lake.

You furrowed your brows as you felt the way Obsidian's body tensed up and started growling at the direction the noise came from.

You set your laptop aside as you made your way towards the lake, your dragon hot on your tail, his black scales reflecting the moonlight.

"What the hell's going on?", you muttered to yourself as you reached the premises.

Your eyes widened as you saw all the dragons of your sanctuary lose their minds, their wings flapping erratically as they screeched in fright.

Slowing approaching the flock, you noticed how they were huddled around a sparkle of some sort.

You took your utility belt and your trustworthy lasso from the nearby hut in case something came out to harm you.

The sparkle was emitting blue light and it kept keeping bigger and bigger, opening up like some sort of portal, and as it grew in size, the dragons freaked out more and more, to the point where you had trouble controlling Obsidian as well.

"Easy now, easy, Obi," you tried to reassure him. Your bond with him was extremely solid and transcended everything you had felt before, so you could calm him down enough for him to still listen to you, but it was too late for the rest of them.

Now too far gone, they became skittish and as the both of you approached them, they ran through the portal, one by one.

You ran after them, swiftly getting on Obi's back as you saw the portal getting smaller again.

"Shit, Obi, run faster!"

As you shouted at him, you felt his wings sprawling out and you took flight, passing through the portal.

You looked around as you took in your new surroundings, but you quickly had to clutch your nose at the pungent reek of smog and overall dirt that seemed to cling to the city below you.

You furrowed your brows in disdain as you saw skyscraper after skyscraper, not a single ounce of green in sight.

It all was so different from your home, but you quickly had to regain your composure as you saw your dragons already wreaking havoc through the city, squishing cars under their weight and setting things on fire.

"Obi, fly low," you instructed him.

He grunted in acknowledgement as he slowly lowered himself from his previous stance and you instructed him to land on a rooftop.

Getting off, you took a once over at Obsidian, checking for anything out of the ordinary that might have happened as he flew through the portal.

Reassured that he was all set, you released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

Everything here seemed so...strange.

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck the city and you could feel the static that was left in its wake.

Where were you anyway?

You didn’t have much time to ponder on the question as you saw one of your wind dragons, Helix, making his way towards the outskirts of the city, gusts of wind quickly encircling him as he flew away. The white dragon couldn’t have been too far away from you, so you decided to follow him in attempt to lasso him back and tranquilise him. You hated carrying the tranquiliser gun, but you knew that it was better to be safe than sorry when dealing with these giant creatures.

As you hopped back onto Obsidian’s back, a light caught your eye.

It was being shone from a near-by building, and it represented a…bat?

You contemplated on the image a bit, but then got pulled back to reality by you dragon suddenly taking flight.

You yelped as you reached for his horns, trying to hold onto them, completely caught by surprise.

“Whoa, Obi, what has gotten into you?” you screamed at the dragon, who huffed in response, tailgating Helix.

You held tightly to your dragon’s back, the absence of a saddle not bothering you, as that’s how you first learned to ride.

You quickly approached Helix, the white dragon’s movements erratic and confusing you.

As you got closer to him, you let go of Obi’s horns and unravelled your lasso, positioning yourself upright, ready to catch one of his legs or, more hopefully, one of his wings.

The pursuit lasted several minutes and you couldn’t get a clear opening.

Just as you thought you had a clear view of his hind legs, Obi suddenly stopped and remained still, his black wings still flapping to keep the both of you in the air.

You were about to question him but the words died in your throat as you saw that Helix was headed straight to what seemed like a manor’s rooftop.

Your eyes widened in shock, but you knew you couldn’t do much and just looked with your mouth agape as he made full contact with the building, the great force of the collision seemingly rattling the manor.

Meanwhile, Jason and the others were in the Batcave, contemplating what to do.

“You know,” chimed Damian, “if these dragons are anything like Goliath, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said as he looked up at his pet dragon, who was lazily lounging next to him.

Both Dick and Jason deadpanned at that.

Dick was the first to speak up, his arms moving all over the place, “Have you seen them?” he asked, incredulous at his little brother’s words, “they’re freaking huge, much bigger than Goliath and much, much scarier,”

“One of them set my bike on fire.” Was all that Jason said, his arms crossed in irritation, wanting to get rid of them already.

Stephanie wheezed, holding her stomach as she doubles over in laughter, “Is that why you asked Barbara for the Batmobile to be brought to you?”

All she received was a dirty look.

“If that’s of any consolation, another one of them almost stomped me to death,” added Tim, shivering at the memory of almost becoming a human patty mere minutes ago.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a contemplative sigh as he thought on what to do next.

Before he got a change to open his mouth, a loud crash with a following roaring sound shook the Batcave's walls and the manor, making everyone brace themselves onto the console so they wouldn’t fall.

Jason locked eyes with Cass as he shouted a “what the fuck is going on?”, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

Bruce put on his cowl and gestured for them all to follow him, not waiting for them as they all put on their domino masks and helmets and got out of the cave as well.

“I hope to God that wasn’t a fucking dragon crashing right into the manor because if it was-”

Dick’s threat fell on deaf ears as they all reached the left wing of the building and saw a huge white dragon trying to wiggle out of his spot on the rooftop, as it had completely caved it in when it crashed.

All they could do was watch in horror as the creature seemed to flap its wings trying to escape, sending bricks and debris flying everywhere.

They all swiftly dodged the moving objects, when all of a sudden, a person’s screaming voice pierced through the chaos.

Jason looked to the left of the manor and could hardly make out the silhouette of another dragon, this time pitch-black, who had…a person on its back??

He had to do a double take to confirm that what he saw wasn’t something his mind was conjuring up: on the dragon’s back there was a woman with a glowing lasso in her hands, yelling something at the white dragon who continued to thrash on – or should he say in – the manor’s roof.

Her yelling stopped as she spotted them on the ground, all of Gotham’s vigilantes staring with a mixture of confused and awe-struck expressions on their faces as she told something to the black dragon she was on and quickly landed on the manor’s grounds, the dimensions of the creature really showing when its horns brushed against the top branches of one of the oak trees planted by the entrance.

“Fucking hell…” was all that Jason could mutter as he took in the creature’s large body, covered in black scales that reflected the garden lights in hues of metallic blue and purple. Its spiked tail swished back and forth as it started down at the group with its beady amber eyes, almost as if it was challenging them to try and come closer to you, now standing in front of it.

You held a hand to its snout and whispered something to the lines of “calm down, bub, I’m just going to talk to them”, and the dragon visibly relaxed but still kept a guarded stance.

You hesitantly approached Jason and the others, who were all sizing you up to determine if you were a possible threat or not, but upon reading your relaxed and submissive body language their shoulders slightly sagged.

You walked until you were a few meters from them, then stopped and pointed back at the creature on the manor’s roof with your thumb.

“My dragon’s on your roof,” you said with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of your head.

No shit, Jason thought, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth nonetheless.

He was admiring the way you purposely carried yourself with a calm and composed, albeit quite awkward, demeanour, having probably realized that dragons weren’t an everyday sighting here.

Your eyes sparkled behind your glasses as you latched your lasso back onto your utility belt. Jason noticed how you were wearing civilian clothes, quite similar to the ones you could find in most stores here in Gotham, so he wondered how on earth did you look like some sort of dragon-cowboy back there, up in the air, with the lasso hovering over your head as you swung it with expertise.

Bruce was the first one to talk, taking a few steps towards you. You widened your eyes in surprise, not having noticed the black-clad man until now. A shiver run down your spine as you saw the menacing cowl he was wearing.

“Who are you and why are you here.”

You released a shaky breath as you started talking, feeling everyone’s eyes on you.

“Listen, I don’t know where I am but I was just minding my own business when all of a sudden, a portal bigger than my house opened up in my backyard and that may have heavily triggered my dragons and they kinda went through it and are now here and I know they are wreaking havoc and are overall being so naughty I’m so sorry-” you said all in one breath, your apologetic nature getting the best of you as you pleaded them not to hurt them.

Dick held his arm up, shutting you up, “They’re yours?” He said, an incredulous look clearly shown on his face despite his domino mask covering his eyes.

You nodded as if that were the most normal thing ever, giving him a strange look.

“Uh, yeah?” You said, looking back at Obsidian, pointing at him, “Well, he’s technically mine, but the others are, too, since I’ve rescued them and they’re now staying at my sanctuary-” you got interrupted again, this time by Damian, who received a concerned gaze from you, shocked to see a kid.

“You have a sanctuary for dragons?” He asked, trying to sound nonchalant but feeling very excited to have someone to talk about dragons to.

You smiled in excitement, your sudden change in body language not going unnoticed by Jason as he kept quiet, memorizing your every feature.

God she’s pretty.

Jason caught Cass’ gaze and felt himself blush as she gave him a knowing look, having clearly read his body language as well.

He was so grateful to have his helmet on at that moment.

Your laugh pulled him out of his thoughts and he caught you answer to one of Bruce’s questions.

“-yeah, so I don’t know where it exactly was, I only was some skyscrapers after I passed through it,” you quickly explained.

Bruce nodded in contemplation, lowering his gaze to the ground, before your next question made him snap his stern eyes back at you.

“So, what’s up with the costumes and the masks?” You asked, slightly confused at the funny looking people in front of you. Maybe they were having some sort of party?

“You don’t know who we are?” Asked Stephanie in slight surprise.

You chuckled, looking at her, “Should I?”

“Duh, we’re Gotham’s best – and only – vigilantes!”

“What’s a…vigilante?”

Uh?

“UH?”

Everybody’s incredulous gaze snapped to you and sensing your discomfort, Obsidian growled in warning at the group, still not getting too close to them per your command.

“Easy, Obi,” you reassured your dragon, smiling to comfort him. He huffed and turned his head to look at Helix, who had since stopped struggling and was looking at you curiously from his place on the manor’s roof.

“Uhm, so…” you continued, staring back at the group, “where I come from, we don’t have vigilantes…so, care to explain what you guys do, exactly?”

Jason huffed a laugh at Dick’s defeated expression, his pride noticeably shrinking by the second as you stared at him as he were a lunatic.

“We fight crime,” he said, turning your attention to him. He noticed your perplexed gaze, probably caused by the helmet he was wearing, “but we do it in suits and masks to conceal our identity since, you know, we have day jobs and carry normal lives during the day.”

You mouth opened in realization, bashful for having mistaken them for randos but also relieved to have struck conversation with people who might be able to help you.

“So, you’re like dragon protectors!” you said in awe, “they basically do the same stuff you guys say you do, but while riding dragons so they can cover more land.”

“Wait that’s actually so cool-”

“I know, they’re the coolest people where I come from!!”

“Wait, where do you come from?”

You furrowed your brows, thinking of an answer that will probably help them understand your world better.

“Earth...?”

“What do you mean Earth, this is Earth”, said another one of the vigilantes, a quite lanky one with black bangs falling on his eyes.

You shrugged in response.

“We call it Earth, so I don’t know what to tell you, really”

“Well, then, we must figure out where the signal of the portal came from so we can understand if it was opened from your Earth or ours, and then we’ll help you bring the dragons back-” Bruce’s plan was interrupted by Helix’s roar, this time in desperation as he wanted to be freed by the bricks that were digging into his scaled body.

You signed, turning back to them with an apologetic smile, “I’ll get that.”

“Do you want us to help?”

You shook your head, thanking them, apologizing for the dragon-sized damage.

Bruce dismissed you with his hand, telling you not to worry about it.

As you walked back towards Obsidian, he turned back to the others, his tight-lipped expression evaluating the possible outcomes this situation could bring upon Gotham.

“So, what do we think?” said Tim, his gaze not leaving your figure as you hopped onto your dragon’s back.

“She’s nice, I like her.”

“We’re not talking about that. We need to know if we can trust her not to use the dragons to turn the city to literal ashes,” said Damian, receiving a groan in response by Stephanie.

“You’re awfully quiet, Todd,” Dick jabbed his little brother with his elbow, earning a stomp on his foot.

“What do you want me to say?” he responded, truly at a loss of words, “I mean, dragons? In Gotham?”

“What about Goliath, then?”

“Well, he isn’t from here as well, you know,”

“I should show her him! Maybe she could tell us why he’s been itching like crazy for the last few weeks-”

The banter stopped as Tim’s “Guys, look!” made everyone turn back around and watch with wide eyes at the scene before them.

You were now a good 15 feet from the ground, the wings of your dragon flapping steadily as you got up to your feet, positioning your body sideways to stabilize your core.

You took the lasso into your hands and started rotating it in a circular motion at the white dragon in front od you, who had begun to wriggle again out of fear of staying stuck there, his frightened gaze unable to clearly see you.

It was safe to say he’d never been the sharpest dragon amongst your flock.

Jason stared in awe as you swinged the rope one last time before flinging it at the dragon, catching him by one of his crooked horns. You secured your hold on it, tightening the rope quickly and then putting it in Obsidian’s mouth, who pulled once, twice, and at the third time successfully released his friend, setting him down onto the ground with a loud thump that shook the trees and bushes surrounding the premises of the manor.

You quickly got off of your dragon’s back and with some sort of weapon in hand and made your way towards the creature. Jason furrowed his brows in confusion at your “I’m so sorry buddy”, thinking the worst when you aimed the gun at his throat, but taking a breath in relief when he saw it was a dart gun.

The dart now jabbed in Helix’s throat had a quick effect on his, as he slumped over, his chin squishing a fine topiary, turning the squirrel-shaped bush into a sad blob of leaves.

You smiled to yourself and petted Obsidian’s snout, praising him for a job well done.

Turning back to the group, you shouted happily, waving your arms to attract their attention but stopping mid air as you saw them all already staring at you.

“Can he stay here for a while?”

[haikyu-mp4]

Cooling down – Iwaizumi x reader wc 968 – f!reader hockey player x figure skater au

cw: toxic boyfriend Iwa who eventually gets his shit together

“I don’t like it,” Iwaizumi grumbled, the bench rumbling as he sat down. It felt like the equivalent of a child stomping.

No matter how much you loved your boyfriend, you realised lately that he didn’t have the same respect for figure skating as he did for hockey. While fighting on the ice was a respectable part of his sport, dancing with a male partner was apparently not a respectable part of yours.

You sighed and turned away without another word, demonstrating your own temperament in the way you skated up to Oikawa, your male partner for the rest of the semester, and quickly held up your arms to signal for him that no more words would be exchanged on the matter. Had you been in an anime, Oikawa would have visible sweat on the side of his face from the tension alone.

Iwaizumi stayed quiet for the most part, never once looking away and eventually crossing his arms to make sure you knew he wasn’t happy. Meanwhile, you kept a neutral face as if it didn’t bother you at all, even smiling at Oikawa from time to time in hopes it would calm him down.

Which worked very well until it didn’t.

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi yelled at a particular lift where Oikawa had to support your bum while you moved around. The male figure skater lost his focus, taking in a sharp breath just as he lost his hold. You did your best to recover, almost catching yourself, but the speed of the move had you tumbling to the ground anyway. After you landed with an ouf, Oikawa quickly rushed to check on you.

Predictably, he was shoved out of the way. You groaned at the ache in your shoulder but spared some energy to glare at your boyfriend.

“Are you okay, baby?” he cooed. He didn’t give you much choice as he helped you up, but you didn’t answer. Back on your feet, you looked around to find Oikawa looking on guiltily. You smiled at him as convincingly as possible before waving him over to you. “What are you doing? Let me help you,” Iwaizumi urged and held your hand. Oikawa followed your lead to support you, advancing towards the entrance. You glanced back at Iwaizumi, shaking your head.

“I need a break. From us.”

You hadn’t talked to Iwaizumi since then. The distance clawed at your heart, but it gave you the mental space to focus on this competition with Oikawa. Of course, he never made advances on you; you were just friends.

“Is he coming to see the performance tonight?” he asked as you were cooling down after the final rehearsal.

You shrugged looking to the side as if he would come storming in. “I hope so.”

Iwaizumi’s hands were tucked deep in his pockets as he entered the arena, looking around for a seat where he could be alone but still have a good view. At the same time, his eyes were scanning the crowds for any sign of you.

Alas, you were nowhere to be found. The only clue he had was the flyer they handed him when he entered, picturing all the contestants. He dared scowl at the picture of you and Oikawa but shook his head to rid of the thought. Maybe he didn’t understand why you chose to compete in this event, but like hell he’d miss it.

While his heart begged him to do something when you got on the ice, he appreciated the performance from a respectful distance just like everyone else did, clapping more than necessary any time the crowd seemed to agree on it.

Thoughts swirled inside his head, and while they were usually shaped like hockey sticks and pucks, they just calling your name now. How amazing were you to skate like that? Why had he not been kissing the ground you walk on? You’re the most gorgeous person he had ever seen, and perhaps he forgot that in the midst of knowing you were already his.

The bouquet resting in his lap wasn’t as big as the one you got for winning second place, but it did contain all your favourites. As he got up from his seat at the end of the event, he was shaking his body to loosen the nerves, careful of the flowers in his right hand. He made his way toward the hallway you had gone down, not giving anyone attention if they weren’t the one he was looking for.

“Y/n.”

You turned, the skirt of your costume swishing with you. Giving your friends a heads up that you would meet them outside, you finally approached him. “Haji.”

Iwaizumi held out the flowers and cleared his throat, feeling out of his element. “Congratulations. You were first place in my eyes, I can’t believe I never took the time to watch you.” He shook his head, thinking back to when he insisted on watching so Oikawa wouldn’t try anything. “Properly watch you, I mean.”

Sighing, you smiled softly and accepted the flowers before pulling him into a hug with your free arm. He embraced you with both of his, snuggling his face into your neck and leaving a brief peck.

“I knew you puckheads were stupid, but if you ever disrespect me like that again…” you warned, but still returned the affection with a kiss on his cheek.

He took a deep breath of relief, rubbing where his hands sat at the low of your back. “You got it, boss. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from these guys.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa greeted from behind him, and you chuckled at how Iwaizumi’s shoulders raised. “I could teach you any time. Dating the hottest girl in town and you can’t even-”

Okay, maybe Oikawa was asking for this one.

masterlist

[meristryker]

✧ Ryomen Sukuna Gym Headcanons ✧

✧ GymTrainer!Sukuna that always pushes you to your goals, even when you feel you can't keep going.

"Come on, baby, I know you can give me a little more!"

✧ GymTrainer!Sukuna that always spots you, even if the workout doesn't require it.

You look up at him, telling him you don't quite need a spotter for the chest press.

"I'm not spotting you, hot stuff. Just watching the show."

It's hard to keep your focus when he says things like that.

✧ GymTrainer!Sukuna that hates when you listen to music.

You need to keep all your focus on him. He can motivate you far better than some silly music.

When you're wearing your headphones, he pulls one side away from your ear to growl the next instruction, so close you can feel his breath against your neck.

He'll sometimes push you a little harder when you're wearing those damned things, just to try and show you that music can't keep you going like he can.

✧ GymTrainer!Sukuna who loves seeing you struggle with his workouts, because it still shows you need his protection.

He loves seeing your chest heaving with the exertion of lifting the weights. Loves seeing the sweat on your brow, knowing when it came down to it, you'd still need to depend on him.

✧ Sukuna pretending not to care about your sore muscles after a workout.

"I know it hurts, baby. But you're getting so strong. No need to complain."

Even so, you catch him helping you out with the little things. Pulling your chair out for you. Grabbing the things from the top shelf for you. Bending down to tie your shoes for you.

freaky ahh gym trainer 💔

ive been working out a lot lately and he's been on my mind too so obviously i was going to have to mix these up at one point or another