#Chiropractor Kitchener

[bittermarching]

Bro having chronic back issues sucks so bad. I had a shitload of things to do this weekend but nah I'm stuck on the couch with a heating pad bc I can't fucken walk.

[floodflameschosen]

can i please get "I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you." with Noah

CW: unprotected sex (p in v), fingering (f receiving)

🔞 nsfw, minors please dni.

The apartment is quiet when you come in, the kind of silence that usually means Noah is either holed up in his room with headphones on or passed out on the couch mid-mix.

You shut the door behind you with a soft sigh, kick your shoes off, and drop your bag by the wall with more force than necessary.

Everything hurts—your shoulders, your back, even your feet. Some dull, unrelenting ache that made your eyes sting when you finally let yourself stop moving.

As you stand there, eyes closed, cataloging every muscle that hurts inside your exhausted body, you realize the place wasn't all that quiet after all—from the kitchen came the low clink of metal against ceramic.

You blink your eyes open, and the smell hits you next: something buttery and warm, faint but unmistakable and—oh. Noah was cooking.

You pad toward the kitchen in silence, too drained to call out. He is standing at the stove, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, barefoot on the cold tile. His hair is messy, like he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly, and the speaker on the counter is humming something soft and instrumental, so low you couldn’t hear it from the front door. 

He glances up when he hears you, but doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes you in, eyes scanning quickly over your face, the slump of your shoulders, the way you lean on the wall like even standing upright took effort.

“Long day?” He asks finally, turning the burner down.

You let out a breath, laughing without humor as you rub your neck with a wince.

“Understatement of the century,” you mutter. “I swear it feels like the universe is trying to fold me in half like a lawn chair today.”

Noah snorts quietly.

“Do you want me to kill the universe for you?” 

“If it’s not too much trouble.” You smile in spite of everything, rolling your shoulders just as he glances over again.

“I’ve got time.” He says as he moves to rinse the pan in the sink, and then— “Shoulder blades again?”

You pause for a second, then nod, too tired to deny the obvious. He leans a hip against the counter, drying his hands on a towel, watching you.

“I could help, you know?”

“How?” You raise an eyebrow, toes curling against the floor. “With your magical roommate chiropractor powers?”

“No. With my hands,” he says, forcefully deadpan. Then shrugs a little like it wasn’t a big deal. “I used to do it all the time on tour. Everyone always had knots from sleeping in the van or lugging gear. I know what I’m doing.”

You blink, shifting your weight.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he says simply. “But I don’t mind. I want to.”

There was no teasing in his voice. No flirting. Just quiet sincerity, like he was offering you a glass of water, not his hands on your bare back.

The silence stretched for a few seconds.

“I should probably shower first,” you say eventually, fingers brushing a loose hair behind your ear.

“Yeah. Go ahead.” He nods, already turning back to wipe the counter. “I’ll be here.”

That was it—no smirk, not even a lingering look. Just Noah, steady and calm, offering to help. Still, you couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened as you stepped into the bathroom.

The water was hot—almost too hot—but you needed it that way. You stand still under the spray, forehead resting against the cool tile as the stream runs down your back, loosening the tightness just enough to breathe through it.

God, your muscles were wrecked.

You roll your shoulders slowly, wincing as something cracks. A long shift, too many hours on your feet, and now the aching had settled deep into your spine like it meant to stay.

And as you stand there under the hot, warm pressure of the shower, you try to convince yourself Noah’s offer wasn’t weird. Friends gave each other massages all the time, right? It’s normal. Not a big deal at all.

You were definitely over that crush, anyway. The one that bloomed when you first moved in, when he’d been all quiet glances and late night playlists and the kind of easy, safe warmth that made you lean in without realizing.

It had passed.

You’d pushed it down, and it had passed, because Noah didn’t do relationships—he had music and fame to chase, friends to occupy his time with, dreams with deadlines. You weren’t about to be the one who complicated that.

So no, it wasn’t weird. You’re tired, he’s offering. That’s all.

You turn off the water, heart beating stupidly loudly in your ears, and step out into the steam-heavy air. Toweling off slowly, you move on autopilot—reaching for the panties folded on the counter, slipping them on before wrapping the towel around yourself.

You pause at the door, hand on the knob.

It’s not a big deal, you repeat in your head again. Then again. And one more time, just to be sure. Then you open the door, turn off the bathroom lights, and step out.

Everything is quiet, save for the low, familiar creak of a drawer opening down the hall.

“Noah?” You call out softly.

No answer—just the soft thud of something being set down.

You pad into the hallway, bare feet silent against the cool floor, following the sound until it leads you to his room. The door is half-open, the warm glow of purple LEDs spilling out across the floor like an invitation.

Noah is crouched near the side of the bed, rifling through a low drawer. He’d gotten rid of his hoodie while you were in the shower, his tattooed arms now on full display.

He looks up when you appear in the doorway, eyes flicking up and down your figure, almost on instinct, before he quickly stands up with something in hand.

“Sorry,” he says, holding up a small bottle. You weren't sure why he was apologizing. “I was just looking for this. It’s a muscle relief thing—helps with tension.”

You nod, fingers tightening slightly on the edge of your towel.

“I figured we could just do this in here, if you don’t mind,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not holding the bottle. “Bed’s more comfortable than the couch. And, uh…” His eyes darts to the dim corners of the room. “Lighting’s kinda nice in here. Relaxing.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, taking a deep breath as you step inside his room. “This is fine.”

The door stays cracked open behind you, but it still feels like the air in the room shifts. He moves to the far side of the bed, giving you space, and you climb up slowly, lying on your stomach with the towel still wrapped securely around your body, the fabric warm against your freshly showered skin.

The only thing covering your body underneath the towel was that underwear, and even though you’d made peace with that in the bathroom, lying here now—on his bed—it suddenly feels so much more real.

The air is cooler in his room than it was in the bathroom, and the damp towel chills fast against your back as your body adjusts. Noah sits beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

For a second, there is only the faint click of the lotion cap and the quiet rustle of him moving behind you.

“Okay if I…” He hesitates, voice low. “I’m gonna put a towel right over here.”

You turn your head a little, just enough to catch the corner of your eye on him as he gently drapes a fresh towel across the curve of your ass, his movements careful.

His fingers ghost over your shoulder blade next, pausing.

“Now can you open the one you’re wearing? Just shift it under you so your back’s exposed?”

You swallow, throat terribly dry, but nod anyway.

You fingers find the fold of the towel at your side, loosening it with a quiet breath before adjusting it beneath you—baring the entirety of your back to him.

The new towel stays firmly in place at your hips, covering your ass and thighs, but the cool air kisses your now bare back, making goosebumps rise. And you hear it—the slight hitch in his breathing when you settle back into place, much more exposed now.

“You okay?” He asks, as if you were the one having trouble breathing.

“Yeah,” you murmur, folding your arms under your head and turning your face into the crook of it. “Good.”

Your heart won't stop pounding, heavy in your chest.

And then he touches you.

His hands are warm, steady, careful. The scent of eucalyptus drifts between you, curling around the space like steam had done back in the bathroom, and your muscles slowly begin to loosen beneath his touch—even as something else, deeper, tighter, began to coil low in your belly.

You hear the quiet shift of fabric behind you before you feel it: the weight of the mattress dipping again, and then Noah’s knees bracketing your thighs. Not heavy, not pressing—just there, holding him above you as his palms begin to move with more purpose.

He was straddling your legs now, his breath quiet behind you, and the realization made your heart stutter.

His hands slide up the length of your back again, broad and warm and surprisingly soft. You hadn’t expected that—he was always carrying amps or crates, playing chords or slinging guitar straps over his shoulder—his hands were supposed to be calloused, rough.

But they aren’t, and they move like he is memorizing something, thumbs pressing down along either side of your spine with just enough pressure to make your head dip into the pillow and your lips part around a soft, shaky breath.

The lotion makes the glide smooth, each stroke deliberate, each touch a slow draw over your skin.

He isn’t rushing it, and he isn’t talking, either. The silence grows thick around you, the only sounds being your breathing, the faint swish of fabric, the quiet rhythm of his fingers working lower—down the slope of your back, skimming just under the towel that covered your hips.

And that’s the moment you feel it—that first real ache.

Your thighs clench subtly beneath him, breath catching as his palms sweep along the sides of your waist, dipping lower, moving slower, almost brushing the edge of your underwear.

The motion lights a fuse beneath your skin—heat spreading between your legs, blooming quickly and urgently. You can feel yourself getting wet, can feel your panties start to cling, the cotton dampening as your core pulses—slow and steady at first, then harder with every new touch of his hands.

It isn’t just the touching, though—it’s everything. His scent, his warmth, the knowledge that you’re practically naked in his bed, your towel the only barrier between his bedsheets and your bare breasts.

The tension that had always simmered under the surface of your friendship is suddenly rising like smoke from a spark you could no longer ignore.

You don’t dare shift, don’t dare speak or make the faintest sound. But you know, with every slow brush of his hands, that he feels it too.

Noah’s hands pause for a moment at the small of your back, thumbs circling there like he is gathering courage. You hold your breath without meaning to, lips parted against the pillow, your body still beneath his ministrations—but inside, everything is buzzing.

Then he moves up again, slower now.

His palms skate over your waist, fingers spreading slightly as they glide upward—not quite the same path this time. This time, they curve inward just a little, tracing the dip where your waist flared into your ribs, brushing against the edges of your sides. Skin that had never felt his hands before now buzzes under them.

That’s when you feel it—fingertips grazing the soft sides of your breasts, where they press lightly against the mattress. Just a brush, like an accident, almost. But he doesn’t pull back—he lingers there a beat too long, hands easing over your ribs like they belong there, before retreating up your back again.

You blink slowly, breath shaky, heart slamming so loud in your ears you’re sure he can hear it. The touch wasn’t rough, or demanding. It was tentative—curious. Testing the boundary, maybe waiting for you to say something, to move, to push him away.

But you didn’t. You don't—you stay still, let him feel.

Your panties are soaked now, no use pretending otherwise.

The ache between your legs pulse with every heartbeat, and the way he is still straddling your thighs doesn’t help—the heat of him there, the occasional shift of his weight, the glide of lotion-slick hands over your back, your ribs, your sides.

His fingers find that curve again—the swell of your breasts just where they press against the mattress—and this time, the brush isn’t brief. He exhales through his nose, barely a sound, and you feel it ghost over your shoulder.

He is breathing heavier now, too. Something has shifted, and you both know it.

His hands still on your lower back, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. Noah leans forward slowly, his thighs tightening around yours, caging you in without weight. And then—his nose brushes your neck, soft and warm, dragging along the slope of it like he can’t help himself, like he’d been dying to know how your skin felt there.

Your breath catches when you feel it—the press of him, thick and hard, through the soft fabric of his sweats.

He’s pressing against the swell of your ass, unmistakable and slow as he exhales through his nose, lips hovering just behind your ear now. He doesn’t move away, too—just stays there, breathing you in like he needs the scent of your skin more than air.

You wait a few seconds, frozen. But when nothing comes, you turn your head, lips parting to say his name, and it leaves your throat in a whisper, breathless.

“Noah…”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he dips his head and gives your shoulder the softest, slowest bite—teeth barely there, just enough pressure to make your spine arch.

Then, finally, his voice: low, rough, right against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “and I will.”

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Your body is already answering for you—shifting against the mattress, your thighs tensing beneath him, your panties soaked with want.

You don’t say a word.

And when you don’t, you feel the sound he makes—a soft groan, like relief, like restraint slipping. Noah’s hands shift lower, and you feel the subtle drag of the towel across your skin as he starts to remove it—slow, deliberate.

“Okay?” He asks, his voice rough around the edges now, like it costs him something to hold back.

You nod, cheek still pressed to the sheets.

And then he peels the towel away.

It slides from your ass, baring more and more of you with every inch until it’s gone entirely, leaving only the thin towel beneath you and the heat of his eyes behind you.

The air is cool against your skin, but his gaze burns.

Noah exhales like he’s been punched in the gut.

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s staring—at your back, your waist, the curve of your ass barely covered by the thin stretch of your panties. You can feel the weight of his gaze.

And then his hands are back—no more lotion, no more fabric between you and his touch. Just skin to skin.

He starts at your shoulders again, slower this time—like he needs to relearn the landscape of you now that you are so bare beneath him. His thumbs drag long lines down your back, firm and sure, but gentler now, intimate in a way that makes your whole body tense with anticipation.

When his fingers trace the curve of your waist, dipping just enough to brush the top swell of your hips, you can’t help it—your hips shift against the bed, chasing more, your core aching with how badly you need his hands lower.

You hear his breath catching, the softest curse under it. And when he leans forward again, you feel him even more clearly this time—the full press of his cock through his sweats, thick and hard, grinding slowly against your ass as he bends over you.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers, mouth against your shoulder. “You have no idea.”

But you do, because you’re feeling the same.

So you shift again, just enough to press your ass deliberately into the heat of him, and whisper his name.

“Noah.”

He lets out a strangled sound, low in his throat. You turn your head slightly, enough to catch the edge of his face and the way his jaw is clenched when you look at him.

His eyes meet yours—dark, pupils blown wide. Desperate.

“Tell me stop and I will,” he says again, voice wrecked, lips barely brushing your skin. “I swear I will.”

But again, you don’t. You just hold his gaze as best as you can, and you wait.

That’s all he needs.

The last thread of hesitation breaks, and his mouth is on you in the next breath—hot, open, biting at your shoulder again, then trailing down your spine as his hand slides beneath you, cupping your breast where it is pressed to the mattress.

A moan escapes you, helpless and broken, as his thumb circles your nipple, and his teeth graze the curve of your back. The towel beneath you shifts with the movement of your body, his hips grinding into you, no longer pretending this was anything but what it is: need.

Months of it, maybe. Weeks of holding back. Days of sleeping just a room apart, both of you pretending not to think about this.

Now, none of it mattered.

Noah sits back on his knees, hands spanning your waist, and with careful fingers, he hooks them into the waistband of your panties, pausing one last time.

“Still okay?” He asks, voice trembling despite how deep it has gotten.

You nod—voice gone—and lift your hips in silent answer. He peels them down, slow and reverent, baring all of you to him at last.

When his hands settle on your thighs, spreading you open, you hear his breath hitch yet again, like this is already too much to handle.

Noah’s fingers trace along the inside of your thighs, feather-light, and the anticipation makes you tremble. Then finally, finally, he slides them up between your folds—barely there at first, just a ghost of a touch, but even that has your breath catching, your hips twitching.

He hums behind you, low and rough, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back where he leans close again.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, dragging the pad of his middle finger through your slick heat. “You’re already soaked.”

You whimper into the pillow, face flushed, heart hammering. You can’t even pretend to be embarrassed—not when your body lifts instinctively, presenting for him, grinding your ass back against his hand, aching for more.

Noah sucks in a breath, and his hand stills for just a beat, like he’s trying to hold on to what little control he has left. But soon he goes back to moving—slow, lazy strokes between your folds, gathering everything you’re giving him, spreading it all over your sensitive skin.

“You’ve been like this,” he whispers, voice hot in your ear now, “since I first touched you, haven’t you?”

You moan, biting your lip hard as he circles your clit—barely any pressure, just enough to tease, to drive you mad. Your hips roll, chasing it, trying to force his hand to give more.

Noah grins against your shoulder, then lets one thick finger slip inside, slow and deep.

“Shit,” he breathes. “How can you feel like this and expect me not to lose my mind?”

You push back against him with a needy sound, hips arching higher, your ass grinding into the hardness still pressed between his thighs.

“Then do it.” You say, breathless. “Lose it, Noah.”

Noah curses as your body clenches around his finger, like even one of them was too much, too good—but he wasn’t close to done. He presses another in beside the first, sliding deep, your slick heat sucking him in without resistance.

Your hips jerk at the stretch, the ache in your belly blooming into something molten and sharp, and you bury a moan into the pillow.

“That’s it,” he mutters, low and tight. “Taking me so well…”

His free hand slides up the curve of your ass, fingers spreading wide, palming it roughly. Then he tugs—pulls the cheek out to the side, spreading you open. You feel the air kiss your skin, cool and sharp against the heat of your core.

“Fuck, look at you.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “So pretty like this. So fucking wet.”

You could hear it too, the slick sound of his fingers working in and out of you, could feel the way your body gripped him every time he twisted, every time he pushed just a little deeper.

Your hips roll again, chasing it, desperate and shameless.

“You want more?” He asks, breath hot against your back. His nose drags over the curve of your spine as he moves over you again, pressing kisses to your skin between thrusts of his fingers. “Say it.”

You gasp, back arching, needing.

“Yes,” you can't help but beg around a whisper. “More. Please.”

“Good girl.” He praises as he crooks his fingers just right, and your vision goes white for a second.

“Please,” you beg again, voice shaky, breath catching on the word.

He stills behind you, and the air in the room seems to thicken around the silence that follows. His hand tightens slightly on your ass, like he’s anchoring himself.

“Say it,” he rasps, voice low and frayed, grazing the shell of your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

You swallow, pulse pounding in your throat. It isn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before—God, you had—but this is real. This is now.

And still, the words came easier than you expected.

“I want your cock, Noah. Please. I need it.”

Something in him breaks—you feel it in the way he pulls his fingers from you with one last, slow stroke that makes you whimper.

Feel it in the sudden shift of his body behind you as he sits up, tugging the waistband of his sweats down just far enough to expose himself. The heat of him returns fast—closer, heavier, his cock brushing against the curve of your ass as he settles on top of you.

Then the tip of him slides between your folds, slow and deliberate, catching on your entrance but not pressing in—not yet.

He does it again, and again, letting you feel every inch, every promise. Teasing you with it.

“Jesus,” he breathes, voice strained. “You’re dripping, baby.” His hands bracket your hips, fingers flexing. “You don’t even know what that’s doing to me.”

You push back against him just enough to make him catch his breath, to make him grunt under it.

“Noah,” you gasp, “please—”

And then he gives in.

With a low, broken groan, he presses forward, the thick head of his cock pushing into you slowly, carefully, stretching you open in the most delicious way. Inch by inch, he fills you, and you can feel him shaking with restraint, with effort not to just slam into you all at once.

“Fuck,” he hisses, sinking deeper. “You feel—Jesus, you feel so fucking good.”

You’re trembling beneath him, fingers curling into his sheets, mouth parted in stunned pleasure as he bottoms out inside you, hips flush to yours. The stretch is deep, perfect, and your body clenches around him without meaning to, drawing a choked sound from his throat.

He folds over you, chest against your back, weight pinning you down in the best way. One hand pressed into the bed by your head, the other sliding around your waist to hold you steady.

His face nuzzles against your neck, breath hot and ragged.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispers into your ear, voice raspy, trembling, “since the moment I met you.”

And then he rolls his hips, just once—hard, deep, and devastating. Your body rocks forward with it, the motion steady but growing bolder, deeper.

His hand snakes under your body and splays across your stomach, pressing against it and anchoring you to him while his mouth drags over the slope of your shoulder, teeth grazing skin.

Your breath comes out in gasps, your fingers clutching the sheets as your body pulses around him, slick and hot and aching. And still, he doesn’t rush.

Noah takes his time, like he wants to feel every second. Like he wants you to remember.

The stretch of him inside you is maddening, each drag out and push back in setting you alight. You’re so wet he moves without resistance, the glide effortless but thick with tension. The sound of it, of your bodies moving together, fills the room in the filthiest way.

You push back into him again, needy, wordless with it, and he moans like it has been torn from his chest.

As he fucks you, his hand slips lower, fingers brushing between your legs to where you’re swollen and soaked, and he curses under his breath when he feels how stretched you are around him, how wet.

“For me,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “You’re like this for me.”

The words send a pulse through you, your body tightening instinctively.

He circles your clit with those same fingers, light at first, just enough to tease. You whimper, hips jerking, so he keeps going—keeps fucking into you at that same maddening pace, his cock dragging against every spot that makes your vision blur, his fingers working your clit coaxing more wetness from your core, your thighs trembling.

You can feel it coming, the way your orgasm begins to coil deep and low, a knot of pleasure just on the edge of snapping. But still, you don’t want it to end—you want to stay here, being held, filled, claimed in this quiet, aching way only he knows how to.

His mouth brushes your ear, breath hot, panting.

“You close?”

You nod, the word caught in your throat. His hand presses harder, movements rougher now, and his voice breaks as he says your name again—this time desperate, reverent.

“Come on,” he rasps against your ear, and it's obvious he’s close to breaking himself. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

And just like that, as if on cue, your body gives in.

Your orgasm hits like a wave—sharp, strong, curling through you as your muscles clench tight around him, hot and pulsing and soaked. You cry out, forehead pressing to the sheets, body arching helplessly into every roll of his hips.

Noah growls, low and hoarse, the sound barely human.

“Fuck—you feel so good—”

His rhythm stutters, falters.

“God—” he chokes, jaw clenched tight, and then he pushes in deep, grinding against you with one last desperate thrust. He holds there, buried to the hilt, his body shaking with release. You feel the first hot pulse of him spill inside you, deep and thick, followed by another, and another.

Noah grunts against your skin—raw, wrecked—and his hand fists the sheets beside yours, his other arm locked around your waist like he needs to hold you down, like if he doesn’t, he’ll come undone completely.

His hips roll for the last time—lazily, riding it out with trembling gasps against your ear, until the only thing left between you is the heavy silence of shared breath and the thundering in both your chests.

He doesn’t pull out right away. He just stays there—chest to your back, hand splayed over your belly, cock still twitching inside you, like he doesn’t ever want to let go.

And honestly?

You don’t want him to, either.

taglist: @concretejunglefm @defuckingthrone-dot-com @bloody-spades @concreteangel92 @fadingangelwisp @ami--gami @flowery-mess @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @dostoievskitty @pipidoll

[mugi-sktch]

no reason other than bunny slippers Yuuta 🐇

(make no mistake working at the kitchen counter like this makes Yuuta's back hurt so what you're looking at is Toge applying his expert level chiropractor skills)

[hoe4sports]

Two blossoms on a single branch

Ona Battle x reader

Triggers; Post partum anxiety. Angst.

Ona was always very clear on that she wanted to be a mom. She wanted kids, multiple of them. A family, a golden retriever, an suv: the whole shebang. The process from you getting pregnant through ivf wasn’t very long, you got lucky and it sticked on the first try. Or, she sticked. Your sweet daughter, Sofia was born on her duedate a bright sunny day in July. She was the most perfect newborn: she slept through the night fast and would only cry if she was hungry. She was all over just a very happy baby.

That lasted until she was 3 months, and let’s just say; hell broke loose. Your normally happy daughter had started crying at every chance she got. She would only be quiet if she was being rocked in her stroller or if she was being bounced back and forth. Sometimes, bouncing wasn’t even enough. You had spent hours upon hours each night trying to calm her so that Ona would get her sleep as her restitution was a part of her job. Being one of the best footballers in the world had its benefits.

You were pacing in the downstairs living room while walking back and forth between the couch and the kitchen in hopes that it would calm Sofia down. The now 1,5 year old was crying even after food, diaper, cuddlesand bathing. Nothing seemed to help. Her high pitched screaming was awful, and you knew that Ona had been developed postpartum anxiety that she was still working on. It was normal for partners, especially female partners to develope it as they naturally would fear that the baby wouldn’t connect. Ona hadn’t felt connected to the baby since the era of crying had begun. Every time Ona stepped into the room while she was crying, it would only get worse and you wouldn’t be able to calm her down. You were trying your best to support her, but sometimes you wished that you could have some support as you were running on 3 hours sleep every night for the last 9 months.

“Shh, baby, come here, you are okay. Mamma is here, princesa” You shushed as the high pitched screaming started just five minutes after you had put her down sleeping in her stroller. The stroller was where she usually slept best leaving you to have an inside stroller and an outside stroller. The little blonde was red from crying, her icy blue eyes full of tears as she grabbed your arm. You stood up and started rocking her again. Her crying was only escalating, and you were just hoping that Ona wouldn’t wake up. “Baby, mamma dosent know what’s wrong” You said as you tried to adjust her position to a more upright one. You had done everything we could; taken her to a bunch of doctors, chiropractors and therapists. Nothing was wrong with her, she was just fussy. You brushed her hair back from her face as it was drenched in tears. “Ai, mamma wishes she could understand you better, preciosa” you said as you walked towards the kitchen hoping that she was wanting her bottle. It was more of a comfort than a source of food as she was getting older, but she was still taking it. You pressed the baby brezza. The machine buzzed as the milk was mixed and warmed at the perfect temperature. You grabbed the bottle and tested it on your arm before taking it with you to the living room. You sat up in the big larger chair and supported your daughter on a pillow as you offered her the bottle. She thankfully accepted it as she kept drinking making the cutest whines you could ever imagine a baby making. Everytime she stopped crying, you were reminded of how sweet she was and how much you loved her.

The clock was now 6.30 and Ona entered the living room. You quickly gestured for her to not talk as Sofia had finally settled down. When Sofia would finally sleep, you wouldn’t dare to move. “Hi” you whispered as she shoot you an apologetic smile while slipping into the bathroom. You frowned. You missed your wife. You missed how she kissed you on your forehead, how she could hug you, how she would hold you and how she would cuddle you when you went to bed. Life hasn’t really allowed for any of that lately. Sofia wasn’t at a place where you could bring her to the trainings as she only cried. You loved being a football player, but you loved being Sofia’s mamma more so going back to work was paused.

After some time, Ona reappeared from the bathroom as she was fully dressed to go to work. “No breakfast, grabbing something at the arena” she said as she kissed your forehead and walked fast towards the door. “Baby?” You asked as she stopped with her back towards you holding tightly on to the door handle. “Mmm?” She responded, not turning around. Almost like a deer in the headlights. Sofia then woke up and turns her head towards her mami while blinking slowly. “Que, mi-» Ona started before she looked at Sofia in horror. “Ai, no-“ she said again as she was cut off by the familiar sound of Sofia fussing while she was looking at her mami. Her little lips forming into a pout as her feet was kicking and her hands were reaching towards Ona. Ona quickly walked out the door before saying “sorry” as she left. When the door closed, Sofia was once again screaming. “Ai, mi princesa, what’s wrong” you cooed as you tried to cradle her in your arms. It didn’t work as she only became more wiggly, and you were forced to put her down to give yourself a minute to breathe. She had been walking for a few months, so as soon as you, put her down she shot up while launching unsteadily towards the door only to fall on her butt when she tried to reach the doorknob. “Mama” she said as she started crying. You sighted and walked towards her to pick her up. “NO, Mama! Mama!” She screamed as she tried to throw herself backwards. “Baby, I’m here, mamma is here” You said as you catched her and leaned her body into you and she grabbed your sweater with all the might that her tiny fists could hold. “Mama” she cried as you stood confused while bouncing her back and forth in the living room. You stopped in front of the window to see Ona pull out of the parking lot in her Mercedes. You could hear Sofia fumbling with something behind your back as if she was playing with the shelf. “Baby, be caref-“ you said as you shifted her position to sit on your hip. Except she had something in her hands. A frame of you and Ona before Sofia was born. Ona holding your waist as you laughed together. Your absolute favourite picture of you together.

The little girl pointed to the picture as she sniffled. “Mama” she said as she pointed and hugged the frame into her body. You sat down with her in the couch and grabbed the picture as you held it up infront of her. “that’s Mamma” You said as you pointed towards you. “And that’s Mami” you said as you pointed towards Ona. Sofia sniffled as she wiped her nose with her hand before pointing towards Ona. “Mama” she said as you took a look at her and realised that she was trying to talk. “Mamma” you said as you pointed to yourself. “Mami” you said as you pointed towards Ona. “That’s mamma and Mami” You repeated as she sniffed. “Mami” she mumbled as you started at her in shock. “Yes Sofia! Mami, that’s right! Estas mami!” You said as you cheered, Sofia almost immediately clapping for herself. It was the first time that Sofia had been able to separate mamma from mami and you couldn’t be more proud as I wished that Ona would be here for it.

Later that day you tried to feed Sofia lunch after her midday nap. She wasn’t having it throwing the soft boiled paprika to the ground before the potatoes and the carrots followed. She cried, and cried, and cried and cried and cried. You let out a sight as you picked her up. “Preciousa, mamma knows that you are hungry” you said as you looked at her while she was crying. You closed your eyes and let out a sighed before taking a couple of deep breaths like the therapist had advised Ona to. “Okay preciousa, how about mamma make you some porridge, si?” You said as you reached over to the little girl and picked her up. She was still crying, but not as bad as before. It had probably something to do with the smell of the familiar porridge spreading around the house. It was one of the few things she liked, and it was the same porridge Ona had grown up with. The smell of milk, oats and cinnamon was wrapping your house in a feeling of bliss, comfort and familiarity. As the porridge was done, you buckled Sofia into her chair again before feeding it to her. She was luckily eating this time, but you could see that the exhaustion was taking its toll on her. You picked her up and got her all cleaned off as you headed towards the living room. Originally, you had wanted to keep her toys in her playroom but motherhood was rough and toys were now in every room. You sat Sofia down as she reached for her train. It was a blue train that Ona got her for her first birthday. She loved the train and would always bring it to bed when you tried putting her down for the first time at night. After a good 20 minutes of Sofia playing soundly on the floor giving you some well needed time to refresh your mind: the lock in the door clicked. Your eyes shot up as you immediately got scared. Ona was at practice and all of your family were busy. You grabbed Sofia terrified of whoever was behind the door. You held Sofia close as she looked up at you and was feeding off of your nervous energy. Your hand searched for your phone to be ready to dial for help as you gulped. The door-handle suddenly twisted and Sofia started her high pitched crying when she saw the face behind the door. It was Ona that had been told to go home early as she seemed exhausted. Sofia cried as she screamed and Ona looked like she was about to fall apart in the middle of the hallway. Sofia screamed as she reached her arms out and threw herself back in your arms trying to wiggle loose.

Then it hit you like a brick. Like a train. Like a trailer. As if the sky had just fallen down. Sofia wanted Ona. She wanted mami, not mamma. She was missing mami, and her little heart was longing for her mami’s warm touches. Sofia and Ona had a good relationship before the crying started, and you were just now able to put two pieces together. You sat down Sofia on the floor as you stood up and looked at Ona. Ona gulped as the toddler was stumbling towards her terrified of what would happen and her hand instinctively reached for the door. “Ona, stay.” You commanded as your daughter made her way towards Ona. She reached her front and stood at Ona’s legs trying to be picked up as she cried. Her little arms reaching up to Ona as she wanted to be close. “Mami,mami!” She yelled as Ona closed her eyes and took a breath while once again, looking like she was about to break down. She took a step a side causing your daughter to fall on her butt making her cry even louder. “She wants you” Ona said as she ushered towards the staircase and your master bedroom. You sighted as you picked up Sofia, and just as you were about to try and soothe her; you decided that it was time to try something new.

You walked after Ona with the screaming baby in your arms. Ona was sitting on the bed, her face in her hands while she was sobbing. Sofia stopped crying as she looked nervously at you. “Mami” she said as she pointed towards Ona. “Si princesa, estas mami, Mami is feeling sad. Maybe you wanna give her a cuddle, si?” You said as you slowly moved towards Ona scared that she was gonna leave again. You sat down next to her on the bed as your daughter sobbed. “Ona, what does Sofia call me?” You asked as Sofia sobbed in your arms. “Mamma” Ona responded still with her face hidden. “Si, and what is she saying?” You asked as you tried to console Ona. “Mamma” Ona said as she looked up at you, eyes red from crying. Just as you were about to continue your rambles, Sofia reached her arms for Ona and got out of your grip leaving her to bolt at Ona. “Mami, Mami” she cried as she grabbed the fabric of Ona’s sweater tightly, like she was scared that she would leave again. “She’s saying Mami” you said as you looked at Ona who wasn’t able to put the pieces of the puzzle together even thought you were basically giving her all the clues. “Mami” Sofia muttered as she frowned and sat down on her butt after not getting any attention. Ona’s eyes lit up as it finally clicked. She looked down at Sofia and instantly grabbed the little girl holding her close like she did when she was a baby. Sofia’s big blue eyes met Ona’s and a small smile formed on her face as she closed her eyes and relaxed. “Ona, she wants you. That’s why she’s crying. She wants her mami.” You said as you rubbed Ona’s back. You could see tears forming in Ona’s eyes as she studied the little girl suddenly seeing how eyes were icy blue, just the the most beautiful glacier she had ever seen. How her skin felt like the most expensive silk she had ever touched. Her finger traced her noce as she saw the little ski jump nose already making its mark on her face. The roses in her cheeks making her look so vulnerable. “Baby, mami’s here. Mami is so so sorry, but Mami is here now. Mami is never gonna disappoint you again, princesa. Mami is gonna get better, for you and for mamma.” She said as Sofia’s body finally relaxed and drifted off to sleep. You looked at Ona who looked like she had just discovered oil. She looked over at you as tears were forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry, mi amor. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m gonna take the week off, and we can have time together as a family. I haven’t been the best mami, but I’m gonna try to figure this out for you, for us. I’m sorry for diss-“ you cut her off with a kiss knowing this was finally it. Ona was finally ready to try to connect with her daughter again.

[reevesdriver]

The 141 Clinic: Crack It (NSFW)

Summary: Your lower back is killing you so when you mention it to your mum and she recommends a gruff and handsome chiropractor that can work wonders with his hands who are you to refuse?

Word count: 2625

Reader: Female reader

Character(s): Captain John Price / AU Chiropractor Price

Warning(s): NSFW / 🔥🔥🔥 / Smut / Pervert behaviour / Masturbation / Fingering / Oral sex (Fem Receiving) /

Support Me: Kofi

(AN: I woke up in the middle of the night and my back was killing me and this idea came to my head so enjoy. Also I've always wanted to go to a Chiropractor and get cracked like a glow stick, is that normal or am I just getting old??) (Also I'm not a chiropractor but I've seen some videos here and there so for the sake of the fic let's pretend I know what I'm talking about.)

Your back was well and truly, fucked. After throwing it out doing something you can't remember you'd popped some painkillers and hoped for the best. Unfortunately for you no matter how much resting, stretching and painkiller taking you did nothing seemed to be working. A few days post back throw-out you were sat in your mums kitchen slowly massaging your lower back with a grimace on your face.

"Oh dear, has the pain not subsided yet?" She stopped in the middle of her conversation to ask when she saw the pained look on your face.

"Normally it goes after a day or two but it's been almost a week now and it's still the same."

"Hmm." She thought. "My friend Val said there is masseuse clinic that opened up not too long ago next to that new gym. I'll get the number from her hold on."

Before you could protest she left the room to grab her phone, it couldn't hurt to go and see a professional could it? If you went to the doctors they would tell you to rest and take painkillers and so far that had done nothing for you so why not give it a go? She returned to the room, phone in hand, and opened on a text message thread. "Val said to ask for John Price, he's the Chiropractor who helped her hubby with his back pain a few months ago. She said he's very handsome too."

You nod adding the number to your phone and choosing not to acknowledge the last thing your mother said, her friend Val had terrible taste in men so you were positively sure that the Chiropractor would be nothing special. Pressing the number you just saved you raised your phone to your ear as it started to ring. After a few rings you heard the phone being picked up and the deep and gruff voice on the other side of the line immediately made you lose your train of thought. "Hi this is the 141 clinic how can I help you."

"Oh, uh, hi, sorry. I'm looking to book an appointment with John Price please."

"That's me love, can I take some of your details and reasoning as to why you're looking for an appointment." God his voice was like velvet, goosebumps rose on your arms and you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand.

"H-Hi Mr Price." You stutter and quickly give out your name and details. "The appointment is for my back, I threw it out about a week ago and no amount of rest or painkillers is getting rid of the pain."

"Ok I see, I can fit you in tomorrow at 5pm if that's any good? If I get a cancelation I could get you in earlier but if not then it'll have to be that time please."

"Yeah, that's fine. Is there anything I need to do before the appointment?"

"Nothing at all love, just turn up and make sure you're wearing something comfortable. I'm going to put you in all sorts of positions so best not to have anything movement-restricting on." John spoke and then grinned when he heard the sharp intake of breath from the receiver.

“Ok I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow love, bye.” He hung up and added your appointment to his diary for his own record. Your mum smiled at you as you put your phone down on the counter. “Well did you get an appointment.” She asks with a knowing smirk.

"Yeah, that was Mr Price on the phone, he's booked me in for tomorrow."

"Oh is that why you blushed?" She laughs.

"I'm not blushing, I just didn't expect his voice to be so deep."

"Mhmm." She smirks and you shake your head in response.

You spend the next day working from home perched on your office chair at your desk as you replied to emails and sorted through documents to try and occupy your mind. Anxiety crept in as you checked the time on your laptop and saw that it was nearing 4pm. Deciding you were done working for the day you clocked off and took a quick shower before riffling through your closet for some cycling shorts and a baggy top. They were comfortable and non-restricting, just what Mr Price had said to wear.

Once dressed you grabbed your bag and shoved your purse and a bottle of water into it before pulling up your phone and typing in the name of the business so you could get directions once you got into your car. The drive didn't take long and soon you were pulling into the almost empty car park which was dimly lit. Parking up you took your keys from the ignition and made your way towards the building after grabbing your bag and locking the car.

Entering the building you were hit with a sweet smell of flowers and fruits from the wax melt that was burning near the reception desk. An older lady with glasses perched on the edge of her nose looks up to you as you enter. "Hi Miss, can I help you?" She asks with a smile.

"Hi yes, I have an appointment with Mr Price. I'm a little early." You shift nervously.

"Of course you must be the last appointment of the day, follow me please." She says standing from her chair and rounding the desk. You anxiously follow her down a hallway and stop a little behind her as she knocks on a door before entering.

"Mr Price, this young lady has an appointment with you." She says as she holds the door open urging you to step into the doorway and you fight the urge to drop your jaw at the man sat behind a desk.

"Hi." He greets you with your name and stands extending a hand out to you. You step forwards and shake it making note of the size difference between your dainty hand and his large muscular one that had specks of hair on the knuckles. "You're free to go Dorris, lock the door on your way out please."

"Thank you Mr Price, I'll see you tomorrow." She replies and with that the door to the room shuts and you're left alone with the very handsome chiropractor.

"You seem nervous love, I've not scared you have I?"

"N-No not at all, I've just never had anything like this done before so I'm a little anxious that's all."

"Well I promise you're in safe hands, but if you feel uncomfortable at any point just let me know and we can stop ok?" He says and you nod in response. "Good, now you said it was your back that was hurting you so I'll make a start with that, if you lie down on the table for me darling I'll have a quick feel and see what I can do."

You nervously dropped your bag against the wall and took off your jacket and shoes before stepping over to the table. Kneeling into the material you quickly lie down onto your belly and rest your arms to the side of you. You feel him step to your side. "So where do you work sweetheart?" He asks as he runs his hands up and down your spine and across the expanse of your shoulder blades.

"I work from home, just admin work mostly." You explain and for once you wished you had a better sounding job.

"You spend a lot of time sat at a desk?" He asks as he feels different points on your back and gives them little tugs here and there. He's trying to work out any knots he can find before he turns to cracking and so far he's having a field day with your middle and lower back.

"Um yeah, a few hours sometimes. I try and take breaks when I can but I get so stuck into my work that sometimes I forget."

He tuts. "That's not good for your back darling no wonder you're in pain." You hum in agreement and try to steady your breathing as his digits roll over your vertebrae. "Okay I think I know where your problem is. I want you to breathe in for me when I say so doll and exhale as I push, can you do that for me?" He asks and awaits your reply.

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Good girl." He says gruffly and you clench your thighs together, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by him. "Breathe in doll ... and breathe out." On the exhale his heavy hands press into your spine which cracks and almost instantly you can feel a wave of relief wash over you. The pain that was nagging you all week had finally subsided and you couldn't help but let out a breathy moan at the feeling.

"That do the trick darling?"

"Yeah, fuck, thank you."

You feel him lift the bottom of your t-shirt up. "I just need to have another feel of your back, easier to do it without clothes in the way. Can I undo your bra?" He asks and you gasp softly.

"Of course." You reply a little too quickly earning a throaty chuckle from the man. "You're an eager one aren't you." His hand runs up your bare spine and you feel his fingers pinch your bra as he expertly undoes it with just a finger and thumb.

You feel him lift a leg over the bench so he's straddling your body, his hips resting dangerously close to your arse as he rubs your back feeling each vertebrae. John reaches to the side of the table and starts to lift a section of it up, you feel your arse begin to rise in the air as your pelvis is pushed upwards from the cushioned bench.

"So, how long have you been a Chiropractor for?" You ask trying to distract your mind from the position you're in.

"About 10 years, a couple of my mates and I had the idea to put our skills together and open this place up as well as the gym next door."

"That's nice that you're all working together, you must be close."

"Yeah we are." He says and edges himself closer to you so his hips are pressing against your arse. The growing bulge in his sweatpants prods at your rear and he can hear your breaths deepen and sees your fists clench around the edge of the bench when he presses against you. He finds another spot he wants to crack and makes you breathe in again. On your exhale he presses down onto your lower back, nudging his cock against your closed arse and pushes his palms until he hears the crack.

You let out a breathy moan. Any attempts to stop the sound are futile as John bends over your body, his rough hands wrap around the sides of the bench as he lowers his mouth to your ear. "You alright there darling?"

"Mhmm, perfect." You say, your voice muffled slightly. John laughs softly, he's looking at your face, your cheeks are flushed and there's drops of sweat on your forehead. You let out another soft moan when you feel his cock twitch against your rear, eager to be touched.

John rises back up and runs his palms against your back once more, he can feel the delicate little hairs on your back rise slightly as he moves his hands to cup your arse. "I think we're all done with your appointment sweetheart." He says and you whine again. An hour had passed by so quick and although you felt relief with the pain in your back gone you still craved his touches. Your ears prick up when you hear him continue. "Unless there is anything else you'd like me to help you with?"

"Please John, touch me." Your voice more clearly now since you've raised your head to look back at him.

"Are you sure?" He questions and you quickly nod.

In one swift motion John moves his hands from your arse cheeks to the waistband and is tugging your shorts and underwear down and off your legs, discarding the clothing haphazardly across the room.

"Fuck." He mutters seeing the gloss that is smeared across your inner thighs. Your arse is still raised on the portion of the bench and he has a clear view of your leaking pussy. You wiggle your arse slightly earning a rough strike to the plump cheek. "So needy." He says and immediately dives his fingers into your sopping heat.

You moan at the intrusion, two thick fingers eagerly pump inside of your wet cunt with ease. "So wet, so warm, fuck." He groans feeling your walls clench around his digits. John retracts his fingers as quickly as he'd put them there and before you could protest the lack of him he presses his wide tongue against your pussy. Effortlessly he lifts your hips up a bit more with his hands and laps at your clit, devouring your pussy and coating his stubble with your juices.

His tongue moves feverishly between lapping the small bundle of nerves and diving into your cunt. Your nails dig into the leather of the bench as he eats your pussy better than any man ever has, spit and cum is drenching his face and your pussy so much that you almost miss the rough slaps of skin on skin as John tugs his cock.

"God John, fuck." You breathe as you cum against his face, legs jerking so much that they threaten to fall off the bench. John pulls his face from your pussy and jerks his cock quicker, throwing his head back he plasters your arse with thick ropes of cum, an animalistic moan falling from his mouth as he climaxes.

When a few seconds pass you finally speak. "Do all your clients get this kind of treatment?" You ask panting, a hint of jealousy present in your tone.

"That wouldn't be very professional of me now would it?" He replies and you laugh. He grabs some wet wipes from off his desk and cleans you up before wiping his cock and tucking it back into his pants.

“You did really well today sweetheart though I feel you would benefit with these appointments becoming a regular occurrence. I’m going to put in a recommendation for you with some of my colleagues too and we can take it from there."

You blush. "Thank you John." You say moving off the bench and tugging your shorts back up your body, your underwear nowhere in sight. Being the gentleman he is he helps you put your shoes back on and ties the laces for you before forcing his lips against yours. You can taste yourself on his mouth and tongue as runs his hands up your body and around to your back where he refastens your bra with ease.

"You're free to go." John says finally detaching his mouth from yours. You stay stood still for a moment, catching your breath and trying to calm your legs that are still numb from pleasure. John watches as you throw your bag over your shoulder and grab your jacket from the floor. He opens the door for you and leads you back to the front doors, the building now completely empty from any staff who would have been walking around before your appointment.

"I'll see you soon love." He says opening the door for you once more and allows you to step outside into the cold air. With a smile you turn away from him and slowly walk back to your car unaware of John pushing your underwear deeper into his pocket.

[imonabitchparade]

😴 “The Comrade Coma” — Yelena Belova x Reader Insert (Platonic)

Masterlist

Warnings: None other than the fact that I added a miniscule amount of Bob x Reader because I can!

Summary: You’ve started wearing some… interesting shirts around the Watchtower. No one’s really sure what you’re doing. Yelena is the next to find out—and she is not happy about it.

There was an itch crawling under Yelena’s skin.

It wasn’t the physical kind—the one that came from ill-fitting armor or the tiny scars she never bothered to moisturize. No, this was the psychological itch. The kind you got when something was happening.

And right now, you were the something.

You’d been acting strange lately. Not mission strange, just… domestic strange. Like the way you’d been lurking around the laundry machines. Or how you started asking oddly specific questions like “Would you say your aesthetic is more ‘militant-chic’ or ‘sleeps-with-a-knife-under-the-pillow’?”

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

And now, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Watchtower lounge, surrounded by the team, wearing the world’s most questionable t-shirt.

At first, no one noticed.

You were leaning forward, elbows on your knees, holding a mug of something warm and ominously foamy. Bucky was across from you, half-listening to whatever Alexei was ranting about, while Bob hovered in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome or not.

Yelena arrived last. She walked in mid-sentence, peeling the wrapper off a protein bar and muttering about how your so-called “training kitchen” should be declared a biochemical hazard.

Then she stopped walking.

The bar froze halfway to her mouth.

Because on your chest—front and center—was her.

A giant, full-color photo. It took a second to register, but when it did, she choked on air.

She looked dead.

Not in the dramatic way. Not bloodied or unconscious. No. This was worse.

It was a photo of her sleeping on a jet, slumped awkwardly against the headrest, mouth open, one arm curled like a half-dead spider. Neck at an angle that screamed trauma chiropractor. Her tactical jacket had bunched up weird under her chin and the light made her look mildly jaundiced.

It was a terrible photo.

And you had blown it up onto a shirt.

The shirt itself was soft pink. Around the photo, you’d added cartoon sparkles, a crescent moon, and—most insultingly—a tiara. Above the image in glittery cursive font were the words:

“Russian Sleeping Beauty 💅💤”

And beneath:

She dreams of knives and vengeance. ✨

“…What the hell,” Yelena said flatly.

You looked up from your mug. “Hm?”

She pointed wordlessly at the shirt.

“Oh, this?” You glanced down like you’d forgotten you were even wearing it. “That was from the mission to Jakarta. You passed out on the flight home. Looked adorable.”

“I look like I fell down an elevator shaft.”

“Sleep is beautiful, Yelena.”

“I drooled.”

Alexei, already snickering, wheezed, “Is that a moon emoji?”

Bucky leaned forward to get a better look, completely deadpan. “You gave her a tiara.”

“She earned it,” you said serenely. “Combat royalty.”

Yelena turned to Bob. “You’re seeing this, right? You see how she treats me?”

Bob was grinning—actually grinning, like the sun was trying to peek through the usual clouds of apocalypse. He coughed to hide it, but failed.

Yelena narrowed her eyes at you. “You have made an enemy for life.”

You sipped your drink. “You said that after the glitter-bomb incident too.”

“That was different. This is war.”

Ava, passing by in the hallway, stopped to glance in. Her eyes scanned the shirt. Her mouth twitched. “...Make me one.”

Yelena groaned and flopped onto the couch, dragging a pillow over her face.

Bob, still watching, caught your eye from across the room. When he realized you were looking back, he glanced away again, scratching the back of his neck. But not before you saw it.

That look.

The one that said: I know what you’re doing. And it’s kind of brilliant.

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Something Cracked & It Wasn’t Just My Spine” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Chiropractor Appointment & Unintentional Sensuality.

[You’re laid flat on the table, exhaling deep. Your shirt is rucked slightly above your stomach, your arms are slack at your sides, and a licensed professional is about to perform spinal witchcraft on your thoracic region. Reneé is in the room. She wasn’t supposed to be.]

“I don’t have to stay in here,” Reneé had said, half-teasing, half-mocking your nerves. “Sure,” you answered too quickly. “But I don’t mind. It’s not that intimate.”

Wrong.

So wrong.

The first pop happens mid-way through a breath. It’s small, relieving, almost unnoticeable.

But the second—God, the second—

Your body twists slightly as pressure builds against your spine. The chiropractor presses down in one swift motion between your shoulder blades, and what comes out of your mouth is not a whimper. Not a scream.

It’s a guttural, throaty, animalistic moan. Like the noise has been rotting inside your ribcage since the beginning of time.

“Uuugh—ghnnnnn.”

It echoes. Lingers.

The chiropractor calmly mutters, “There we go.”

But across the room, Reneé goes still.

Like completely.

Not laughing. Not teasing. Not breathing, even.

Just frozen.

You don’t realize until your eyes flutter open—and you see her.

Reneé.

Standing against the corner wall. Her knuckles white around the sleeve of her hoodie. Eyes wide. Lips parted just barely like she’s either about to speak or has forgotten how.

You blink up at her, dazed. “That was weird, huh?”

“Nope.” Her voice cracks. She clears her throat. “Nope. Totally normal. Just... getting your back blown out. Spinally. Chiropractically. Chiroprac—”

The chiropractor, bless her soul, just chuckles and asks you to flip onto your side.

You obey. Mortified. But something strange is happening behind you.

Reneé isn’t looking away.

[Later. You’re back at her house, still red-faced.]

“You were really quiet on the way home,” you offer, trying to keep things light. “Shocked by my... primal side?”

Reneé makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a cough. “Primal is definitely the word I’d use.”

You kick off your sneakers and sit on her couch, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. The silence that follows is charged. Uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know it was gonna be like that,” you mumble.

“It’s not your fault.” Reneé doesn’t meet your eyes. “You just... caught me off guard.”

You laugh, awkwardly. “It wasn’t sexy or anything.”

You’re joking. Of course you’re joking.

Reneé swallows visibly. She nods once. Then, quietly: “Sure.”

But something about the tightness of her jaw makes your stomach twist.

[That night, Reneé lies awake. Alone.]

She’d tried everything—melatonin, TikToks, her usual podcast—but nothing could erase that sound from her head.

That groan.

That raw, aching sound her friend made under pressure. Spinal pressure, sure—but her brain doesn’t care. It keeps looping the image. The noise. The way your eyes fluttered closed. The breath you let out after, like you'd been holding something in.

Reneé rolls over and groans into her pillow.

She shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not about you. You’re her friend.

But now she can’t stop imagining.

Not just how you sounded on the chiropractor table—but how you’d sound pressed into her mattress. Breath hitching. Fingers twisted in her hair. Moaning for her—not by accident, but on purpose.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

[The next morning. You’re in her kitchen. She’s too tense. You’re too sunny.]

“I brought donuts,” you announce, like nothing happened. You place a box on the counter, unaware that Reneé hasn’t slept and is currently replaying the moment from yesterday like it’s a cursed vine.

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

Reneé shrugs. “Didn’t sleep.”

“Too much caffeine?”

Too much you, more like.

“I guess,” she says flatly.

You pour coffee like it’s any other morning. You don’t notice how her eyes follow your movements too long. You don’t notice the way she has to look away when you stretch, when you yawn, when your voice hums a low tune from her kitchen speaker.

She can’t stop seeing it.

Can’t stop wondering how much of that sound was pain. How much was pleasure.

Can’t stop picturing what your voice might sound like if she were kissing your neck. Or if you were underneath her, spine arching for very different reasons.

Damn.

[By noon, she texts her best friend:] Reneé Rapp: hey. so. what does it mean if you hear your friend moan and now you can’t stop imagining them naked. asking for science. Scarlett Leithold: did you HEAR her moan or did you HEAR her moan. Reneé Rapp: spine-related. chiropractor. but also it was kind of like... top-tier. Scarlett Leithold: reneé. baby. it’s over for you. Reneé Rapp: shut up i hate you

[Three days pass. She thinks it’ll fade. It doesn’t.]

You stretch on her couch again, talking about something trivial—haircuts, probably—and her brain short-circuits.

It’s not your fault.

You’re still you.

The problem is that Reneé changed.

And now every time you laugh too hard, every time you bite your straw, every time you rest your head on her shoulder, her brain goes straight to the chiropractor table.

Straight to the noise.

Straight to you.

[The breaking point is a movie night. You're in pajamas. Your legs are touching.]

You’re both laughing at something dumb onscreen. Reneé makes a joke. You toss your head back and let out a loud, choked sound—

And suddenly it’s there again.

That moan.

That moment.

And this time it’s not imaginary. It’s here. It’s now.

Your face is flushed. You don’t realize it. But Reneé does.

And she can’t do this anymore.

“I need to ask you something,” she blurts, voice shaky.

You blink. “What’s up?”

She looks at you. Really looks.

Your mouth. Your eyes. The way you're looking at her without fear or tension. Like you're not hiding anything.

“Are we really just friends?” she asks, soft.

You freeze.

“I—I thought we were,” you say, unsure.

Reneé nods once. Then again, slower.

She leans in just a little.

“I don’t think I can hear you make another noise like that without doing something about it.”

[to be continued...]

[outlawruben]

RIP Van Der Linde gang 😔 you would’ve loved:

Abigail Marston - Marriage counseling, Stanley Cups, The Barbie Movie

Arthur Morgan - Slim Jim’s, Bass Pro Shops pyramid, Levi’s wooly Jean Jackets

Bill Williamson - Grindr, Shitty Gas Stations, “Don’t Tread On Me” flags

Charles Smith - Mitski, microwaved popcorn and movie nights, Bison as a protected species

Dutch Van Der Linde - Backseat Driving, Political Debate Podcasts, fruit flavored vapes

Hosea Matthews - Keurig Coffee Machines, chiropractors , Candy Crush

Jack Marston (depending on age) - Warrior Cats, Percy Jackson, Disney +

Javier Escuella - Electric Guitars, Cards Against Humanity, The Oscars/Grammys/Golden Globes

John Marston - 3 in one soap, Ford Truck Of the Month, band T-shirts

Josiah Trelawney - Magician Kits, Amazon, America’s Got Talent

Karen Jones - White Claws, Dolly Parton, Brittany Broski

Kieran Duffy - Star Stables Online, NASA space pictures, JellyCat Plushies

Lenny Summers - Kindle tablets, Soundproof headphones, Barnes and Noble

Leopold Strauss - Cashapp/Venmo, Facebook, Wikipedia

Mary-Beth Gaskill - thrift shopping, fanfiction websites, Taylor Swift’s Eras tour

Micah Bell - Ben Shapiro, Alpha Males, Playing Devil’s Advocate

Molly O’Shea - Steel Magnolias, Weighted Blankets, Themed Calendars

Rev, Orville Swanson - Bible study, AA meetings, Sacramental Wine

Sadie Adler - WLW music, Matching tattoos, Gym Membership

Sean MacGuire - Totino’s pizza rolls, Good Mythical Morning, Sugary Cereal (Lucky Charms /j)

Simon Pearson - Hell’s Kitchen, Panini press/waffle iron, Walmart Superstore

Susan Grimshaw -Life 360, Boxed Wine, Cats

Tilly Jackson - Mani-Pedis, Shea Butter Scrubs, Micellar Water

Uncle - Wheel Of Fortune, Recliners, Car seat heaters

[phoenixisdabestwriter]

OK, SO, Part 1 is linked right here if y'all wanna read it, hope you enjoy part 2!!!

Part 2: Massages

"Do you need a massage?"

Satoru was a bit startled at your words at first before turning towards you, a cocky smirk on his glossy lips.

"Aw, is that all you wanna give me?" He teased, snickering when he saw your face flush a bit.

You rolled your eyes, exasperated as you leaned against the kitchen island next to him. "Haha, very funny, Satoru. No, I just noticed that your shoulders seem quite tense."

A smug grin made its way onto his face, a chuckle leaving his lips as he leaned closer towards you. "So you've been watching me very closely?"

"I'm simply offering a masaage!" You say defensively, feeling a little flustered by his teasing. "Cuz we're friends. And it really seems like you need one. I mean, you're always working hard and I figured that even though I'm a non-sorcerer, I could at least give you one to help you out."

What you said was actually very thoughtful and took Satoru a little by surprise. Of course, he didn't show this, instead a lazy grin on his lips as he turned around, his back facing you now.

"Fine, fine. Just work your magic, darling." He said, voice as smooth as butter.

You ignored the way your heart did a little staccato when he called you 'darling', merely reaching your hands up to his shoulders and starting your work. Your eyes widened a bit at the feel of his muscular back when your palms pressed against the flesh under his jacket in slow circles. Satoru most definitely had a sleeper build.

"Damn, do you work out a lot?" You muttered, slowly making your hands go up and down his back.

"Obviously I do, honey." He said sarcastically, his eyes fluttering closed behind the black blindfold, relishing in your touch. "If I didn't, then I'd be a horrible sorcerer. Working out is important."

"Uhuh, totally. I definitely believe you." You said, clearly not believing him.

Satoru had to resist the urge to straight up purr as you massaged his back like you did when you had touched his undercut the other day, enjoying the way your hands were relieving knots of tension that he didn't even know he had in his shoulders until now.

"Mmm... That's nice, that feels real nice." He muttered, voice dropping an octave, making your heart skip like crazy. "Are you sure you're not a chiropractor, cuz you're real good at this."

You chuckled, slowly pressing your fingertips now just at the small of his back before slowly working your way up. "Yeah, no, I'm definitely not a chiropractor. I just learned how to give decent massages from my friends."

"Well tell your friends I thank them cuz this is certainly an experience." He said absently, voice quiet in a way that had you feeling a tiny bit flustered.

You brushed off the feeling, merely chalking it up to you just easily getting caught off guard around him.

"Why thank them when I'm the one giving you a massage." You said, pouting as you stopped just below his shoulder blades. "And for free! I should be getting paid for this."

"Nah, come on darling, you love me too much for that." Satoru teased, turning his head back to look at you, despite the blindfold being on. "I can make it up to you this time by taking you to that restaurant you like. How's that sound?"

It must've been your imagination because you swore you had made eye contact with him even through the blindfold, feeling an odd sort of tension with him. You looked away, focusing on continuing to give him the massage. Yeah, you definitely needed more sleep. You were just overthinking things.

"That sounds good. You'll be paying, obviously." You said, a soft smile on your face.

"Of course, darling. You know your dear friend here's very rich. I'll buy you whatever you want off the menu if you continue giving me these heavenly massages."

[kydrogendragon]

Forehead Kisses

Requested by @introvertbibliophile!! This was a cute and wholesome one to write, so we'll end our day of Birthday Prompts with this!! Thank you and thank everyone for all the requests! It was fun to have something like this to work on and I can't wait to see how y'all enjoy them!

Relationship: Hob/Dream Words: 2233 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

The room inside was dark. The curtains were pulled over the windows, blocking out the sunlight. The only light within was from the bright screen of Morpheus's laptop. Hob leaned against the door frame, watching his husband kill his back from his gremlin seating posture. His legs are tucked underneath himself, his spine curved in a way he knows the chiropractor would have a hernia over. He glared down at the word document in front of him, his hand swiping across the keyboard in such speed that it hurt Hob's fingers just to look at.

He stood there, listening to the furious clacking of keys for a moment before making his way over to the desk. His sock-clad feet were silent over the hardwood floors as he approached. Morpheus hasn't even so much as twitched by the time Hob was standing just off to his side. 

He wasn't surprised.  Morpheus had a tendency to get invested in his work. When he was truly in the zone, he describe it and everything else fading away.  He couldn't hear or see anything beyond the words on the page and the story unraveling in his head.

Hob turned, looking over at the once clean desk that housed Morpheus's work. He claimed that for planning, having physical papers to move and manipulate were better. It made the area much more cluttered, however. Beside stacks of papers, sticky notes, and sketches, dishes and mugs were scattered within.  Hob shook his head gently and grabbed the dirty dishes, leaving the coffee cup from this morning (he still doesn't understand how his husband can tolerate cold coffee) and the water bottle covered in stickers from their travels.

It was only when Hob stretched his arm across the screen of his laptop to fetch the remaining glass that Morpheus finally looked up from his work. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dark environment. "Hello, Hob," he says, that gentle smile on his face as he leans his head into Hob's soft belly. 

Hob chuckles and leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of Morpheus's inky black hair. "Hullo, Love. Just grabbing dishes, don't mind me." He shuffles the glasses and dishes in his hold to make room for the extra mug. "Dinner's on. Should be ready in an hour. Sound good?"

Morpheus hums, pressing his nose into the soft cashmere sweater. "Sounds excellent. What are we having?" His voice is rough from disuse. Hob's not sure when he last heard his husband speak save early this morning. He had barely left his room today. The first draft of his next book was due soon and his husband, ever the perfectionist, was determined to get it right.

"Beef stroganoff and carrots. Figured that'd be a safe choice for you." 

"It is. Thank you, husband mine. I will see you in the hour." Hob chuckles as Morpheus leans back into his usual writing position.

"Can't convince you to take a break early and join me in the kitchen in the meantime?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

To Morpheus's credit, his hands twitch and don't immediately start tapping again.

"I-" His husband starts, his eyes flickering between the screen and Hob's face. "Perhaps, once i finish this chapter, I could join you early. But..."

Hob waves away his concern with a smile. "Don't even sweat it, my love. Just focus on your writing. I'll see you for dinner." He presses one final kiss to the top of his head before heading out of his husband's office, closing the door behind him.

It's only after dinner has finished cooking and the tiny colony of dishes and mugs are cleaned (some soaking from the multiple day old coffee) that Hob knocks on the office door once more.

Morpheus hasn't moved in the hour, though the laptop has been tilted to the side and one of his notebooks rests off to the right. Clearly, he'd either been referencing something or he'd been adding to his never ending collection of notes. Hob walks up and rests his palms over each of Morpheus's shoulders and presses in. He kneads into the tense muscle and bony shoulders causing his husband to moan, his hands freezing in place. Hob chuckles to himself as he leans forward to press a kiss to his temple.

"Hey Dove, dinner's ready." He mumbles against the silk soft skin just below his hairline. Morpheus hums, leaning into his touch. His hands fall from the keyboard and into his lap. Hob smiles against his skin and continues his gentle massage, thumbs swiping up and down the back of his neck. His husband groans, pushing back against his touch. He'll have to set this man down for a proper massage soon. Maybe after dinner. He was far too tense after such long sprints of writing this last week.

They stay there, relaxing in the moment, when Hob sighs and gives Morpheus's shoulder a final pat. "Come on, let's get some food in you, yeah?" 

With a resigned, Morpheus leans forward and slides out of his seat. Even from here, Hob can hear the cracking and creaking of his bones. Yup, definitely doing a massage after dinner. Maybe a nice hot bath too, if he can pull Morpheus away from work long enough.

Hob holds out his hand which his husband takes eagerly. With a smile, he leads the pair of them out of the dark office and into the comfortably dimmed dining room. He's learned over the years that when Morpheus goes through spurts like this and he's spend too long being a cave creature in his dungeon, the soft light is acceptable. Morpheus takes a seat and Hob leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead, then nose and cheeks which earns him a nose scrunch that he loves so much, and finally to his lips. Morpheus hums against him. 

"Thank you for dinner, husband mine," Morpheus whispered against.

"Always, love."

Hob takes his seat and gazes lovingly over his water glass at the man he has the privilege of calling his. 

[alanaartdream]

((( Ok before you come to my tumblrs you might want to check out this pined post ok and thank you <3 )))

Drawing the artist version of that action figure trend going around that artists are doing to get back at the ai version of it

Manged to add a little glow pikmin in it somewhere

(Also being as love a lot care bear skeleton cat plush & build a bear Chococat plush happen to be 3 of my favourite plushies atm I had to add them in this)

Also drawing some Sanrio Characters for Easter 🐣 being as it’s Easter Sunday today And also being as it’s Sanrio character rankings voting for 2025 going on right now

Also letting everyone who comes to my tumblr asking for money or commissions

1) I’m a adhd Australian 🇦🇺 hobbyist/ hobby artist I don’t get paid for drawings I do and I do them to help myself keep my art skills & to relax me

2) I work for food services for a hospital 🏥 kitchen I don’t have time to do commissions

3) I had to put one of my cats down; helped my mum get a new car because her last one was literally falling apart & some jerk scammed her out of money she was saving up to get that car & now I’m getting my back/ neck fixed by a chiropractor atm & will bills both my mum & I have to pay to keep the house going we do not have money to spare so sorry both my mum & me are in trying to save money mode for now So you’re going to have to go to someone else my money going cat I still have & my

Back/ neck atm (( rare times I have crash to spend I am trying to save it for when it’s my

Birthday or things that catch my adhd brain interest; but I know I have to save that money up for that so it’s not all the time I have money to spend on things but I work for it like everyone else I’m not some influencer who gets money to review stuff if I do reviews on things it’s coming from my own pocket but I’m only gonna review things that I can afford at the time;; also being as some scammer scammed my poor hard working mother out of her money she was trying so hard to save I can’t stand scammers so if you’re sounding like a scammer coming into my

Asks for money I’m blocking you & if you’re not taking the hint to leave my ask box alone I will be able to report you for harassment because spamming someone’s messages/ ask box for money from people is a form of harassment so you might want to double think before you come into anyone’s messages & asks otherwise they can report you for harassment))

So if you come into my tumblrs ( @alanaartdream @reblogalanaartdream ) or any of my posts here asking for money and/ or commissions I’m gonna have to block you or just kindly turn you away

Sorry it’s just I keep telling people I don’t do commissions & don’t really have crush to give to anything atm so if you keep ignoring my posts explaining this I’m gonna have to block you 🐾

🎨🌈✏️🖍️✍️Those who just left kind messages and actually shown interest in my posts thank you so much for your support; your nice comments; your likes and reblogs and for your kind understanding 💕✨

[theshypinkflower]

Bacon Pancakes

Been awhile since I've written anything, but have som Derek and Sal dementia angst lmao

It wasn't long before the hospital discharged Dad and finally let him go home. She told us to keep him off his feet for a while, and maybe to get an in-home nurse for him since none of us wanna watch him. Still means someone has to stay with him until a nurse can be hired. It felt so weird (and difficult) wheeling my dad into the house, there wasn't an ounce of what he once was.

“Alright Dad, you heard the nurse,” I said after Matt carried Dad up to his room and put him in his bed, “You gotta stay off your feet.” Dad hummed, which I guess was an answer. God, I hoped I never became that out of it when I eventually got old. Matt tucked the sheets underneath dad before leaving the room. “Night dad,” I said; Felt odd saying that since I hardly ever said anything to him before bed. I walked out, carrying on my day and eventually falling asleep on the couch to the sounds of late night game shows.

I didn't wake up until the sun shined through the windows, and the smell of bacon wafted through the air; the song “Rock Lobster” was blasting from the kitchen. I was a bit confused since Dad's personal chef was dismissed once his condition worsened, not to mention his chef never played music. I sat up, looking around and seeing a blanket had been placed on top of me. How did that get there?

I stood up, stretching and hearing my back crack. God I need a chiropractor. Walking to the kitchen, I wondered if Matt was still here. I thought he left last night, but maybe not. Then again not like he'd be cooking for me, especially with how much he meal preps. The song slowly grew louder as I walked closer and finally stepped into the kitchen.

The sight in the kitchen baffled me, there was my dad, standing and cooking. I thought the only thing my dad knew how to make was steak and anything else you could throw on a grill. He was singing along to the lyrics of the song, “Motion in the ocean!! Oooh-wah!” He was dancing a bit while holding a pan full of bacon. Where did all this energy come from?

I watched him move around the kitchen, putting the bacon on a plate with pancakes. “Dad?” I asked, “What are you doing?” He gasped and nearly dropped the hot pan.

“Oh! Dean! You're awake!” Still couldn't get my name right. “I made bacooooon!!” He cheerfully said before holding up the plate full of crispy bacon and some slightly overcooked pancakes. “Come, sit, sit!! I don't want to eat alone,” he said before pulling my arm and taking me towards the table. He set the plate down and drew a shaky syrup smile onto my stack of pancakes. It was crooked and looked more mildly concerned than happy.

This was so odd, Dad hardly ever did anything this nice. He had the widest smile I ever seen as he set a hand on my shoulder, “I'm proud of you, Dean.” Still not my name, but I knew he was talking to me. The words still caused me to crack a smile, I just felt all fuzzy on the inside hearing that. He hugged tightly and I couldn't help but feel like I wanted to cry. Dad eventually let go and sat down next to me with his plate and ate with me.

Normally I would have assumed he was trying to poison me, but when I took my fork and shoved some pancake into my mouth; I knew it had to be genuine. It tasted good. Tasted…warm. Why couldn't Dad be like this growing up? Why is it now that I'm getting homemade pancakes and praise? It wasn't fair. Tears spilled over and ran down my cheeks as I ate the pancake.

“What's wrong?” Dad asked me with a concerned look on his face, “Did I do something wrong?” I shook my head, looking up at him and blinking away my tears.

“No,” I sniffled with my mouth full of pancakes, “it's just they're really good.” Which was partially a lie. They were definitely good, but that wasn't the reason I was crying.

He smiled and held my hand, “Thank you,” he said, “No need to cry though! I'll make you as many pancakes as you want.”

I swallowed the pancake in my mouth before continuing to say, “I love you, Dad.” It felt weird saying that. I never said that to him ever, but I felt the urge to say it. My heart stopped as he paused for a moment, staring blankly before smiling widely again.

“I love you too, Derek.”

[p-jinx]

ALRIGHT FINE!!! \lh

P-Jinx's dragon traits below the cut:

Behavioral Dragon Traits:

Hoarding tendencies, collects things, a trinket beast fr. All dragons have favored treasures and funnily enough theirs is dragon adjacent items. Minerals (they love rocks, gems, other geo specimens), and taxidermy weirdly enough, especially entomology related preservations

Territorial/protective, will ABSOLUTELY get in trouble on behalf of someone they care for, will put themselves at risk if it means you’re safe. They love with their whole heart whether it's romantic or platonic

Gift giving, dragons are hoarders by nature and making friends or allies or partners among other dragons means you have to show worth, you will obtain many trinkets if deemed desirable as a friend ★

Basking/heat seeker. Intentionally or not they will find every opportunity to turn into a puddle

Headbutts like a cat, just absolutely smushes their face against the person who is unfortunately subjected to their affections. Beware of teeth, they will also attempt love bites if the cute aggression strikes them if it's not teeth they will try with everything they have to just crush you in a hug. Notorious for being an accidental chiropractor

Attentive. Dragons know their lair/hoard/turf like the back of their claws, everything has a place whether it seems intentional or not. Paperclip on the floor roughly a foot away from the trash bin? Yeah they know it's there and no they don’t want to move it because then they'll lose it.

Prey drive, sometimes you just gotta catch critters for that dopamine (frog hunting, mouse hunting, trying to catch fish with their hands, harassing opossums and squirrels, picking up snakes and bugs, flipping logs and rocks for lizards, etc) all critters remain unharmed but they must be held and be bestowed a name before release. That's just the rules.

Nesting/den spaces, will collect every last blanket, pillow, stuffed animal in the house and "nest" ultimate nap pile. Yes their partner is part of the nest materials too. No they can't escape their fate.

Wing and tail useage, they will use their wings like arms, roping you in close, carrying groceries, holding open doors, protecting you from sudden "threats". Their tail is NOT prehensile but it's all muscle so it's great for carrying groceries, holding doors, smacking the hell out of things, and of course expressing emotions

Biological Dragon Traits:

Wings and tail are an obvious one :p

They can't fly due to the size of their wings so their inferior pectorals aren't very pronounced, but they do have superior pectorals (as in the muscles above or over, these are for their arms) and inferior pectorals (as in the muscles below, for their wings)

The headwings are pretty unique, they haven't met any other draconids with headwings yet, and P-Jinx's are expressive! They’re fully articulated with a cartilaginous wingframe, so they’re pretty flexible too. It's like an over-glorified ear really

Tapetum, their eyes glint in the dark in that creepy animal way. Horrible to catch them lurking in the kitchen at night actually. They have pretty great night vision due to this

(They’re ever-so-slightly nearsighted hence the optional glasses)

Slit pupils, makes for silly expressions if they aren't paying attention

Fangs! Although they’re a bit blunt

Smoke breather, they have internal fuel and combustion organs but being a half dragon they lack the propulsion to actually exhale the flame. This causes temperature regulation issues. If it weren't for the deformities they'd breathe a colder white flame

Purring! Chirping! Snarling! Growling! All noises they can make, however because they can purr they are incapable of roaring (just like big cats!)

★ gifts include: dice, artwork, songs that reminded them of you, snacks, jewelry, stuffed animals, keychains, pins and buttons, a weird rock they thought was pretty, pressed plants/leaves/flowers, tacky dishware both because it reminded them of you and because it was funny to them, beverages, gift cards. Etc. (they'll also let you borrow their jacket if you’re really close)