#that's fine-- anyone can like whatever they want

[strang3lov3]

Love On You

“Done bein’ mad at me?” he asks, circling his finger around your clit. “Hm? Forgive me yet?”

“N-no,” you sigh, arching into his touch as Joel pushes his middle finger into your entrance.

Joel curls his finger, then inserts another. “Tell me how pissed you are,” he says. “How much you hate your dear old dad.”

TAGS - pwp one shot, smut, dad!joel, incest, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving, Joel eats you from behind), free use, dubcon, age gap, uncle tommy sprinkles, little bit of angst and hurt/comfort, jealousy, reader is an adult. this is icky and you've been warned. 4k words.

A/N - Daddy’s back, albeit a month fucking later than intended. Such is life, though. Thanks for all the love recently 🩷 have a safe rest of your week, guys.

The way his bed smells serves as a reminder of how much you miss him. 

It’s funny how things work like that. Joel’s bed has always smelled like him. Doesn’t matter if he’s using a new laundry detergent, a new brand of bar soap, a spritz of cologne he saves for only the most special of occasions (daddy-daughter date night, of course), it’ll always smell like him. Earthy, musky, sweaty. The same thing you smell when you hug him and bury your face into his neck. The same thing you’ve always smelled. 

Joel could say the same about you. It’s cliché, but it’s true: the top of your head does always smell like you. That concentrated, soft scent of your skin. His skin. If he’s really lucky, you’ll fall asleep on his chest like you did when you were little, back when you’d stand on your tiptoes and raise your arms up high as you begged him to walk with you on his shoulders. Joel will smooth the fabric of your shirt against your back with his wide, calloused palm, then squeeze you tight and kiss the top of your head. He’ll inhale deeply, thanking the lord for blessing him with the privilege, the honor, the gift of being your father. 

Of being your old man, when you punch him in the arm and tease him about his sore back. Maybe it’d be less sore if he had the smarts to put you down when you got too big for piggy back rides. 

Of being your daddy, when you want something. When you want him to pick you up your favorite candy from the gas station on his way home from work. Joel gets himself Reese’s. When you need forty bucks to pick up some stupid, kitschy purse you just have to have. Your old purse works just fine, kiddo. Daddy, when he’s pounding into you, and all you can do is whimper those two little syllables. 

Of being your dad. Dad when you’re pissed at him. Daaaad when he tells his stupid jokes, and you’re biting down on the smile you inherited from him to deny him the satisfaction of hearing you laugh at them. Dad, dad, dad paired with the squeaking of your mattress springs as you hump your pillow, crying out in frustration when you can’t make yourself come as hard as he does. 

You’re pissed at him now. He should be here. It’s 10:15 and said he’d be here, with a pizza and a two liter of Coke to split. Promised, even. You know what he’s gonna say. He’s so sorry, kiddo. There was an issue with an order, a miscommunication with a client. Uncle Tommy can’t do anything right. Doesn’t know why he keeps him around. Blood is thicker than water, or whatever bullshit they say. 

You wonder if Joel has a girlfriend. That’d really piss you off. There was one time he brought a woman home, and you could hear him fucking her in his bed. The headboard gently slamming against the wall, all of the woman’s moans. Joel’s own grunting and groaning. It made you so angry and frustrated and upset and fucking jealous. You are Dad’s girl. Not her. Not anyone else. You masturbated to the sounds of their fucking that night, whimpering for Joel. 

You chastise yourself for being angry with him. He’s been so busy lately, working extra hours to put you through college. Tuition increased again. Joel sighed, said something about it bleeding him dry. But he doesn’t mind. Dad says he wants to give you the life he was never afforded, that he wants better for his girl. 

And that’s why he’s so strict, you know? He knows you may think it’s because he’s an asshole, trying to ruin your life with an oppressive eight o’clock curfew. Why he’s so strict about who you’re talking to, and the clothes you wear. Dad says he needs to know if you’ve got any boyfriends. He doesn’t want you “in a jam” as he so graciously puts it. 

Last week a Fedex guy came to your door, package in hand. He was about your age, maybe a few years older. He had pretty green eyes, a mustache not unlike Joel’s but lighter in color. Stupid, grown out hair. Fucking hippie. Joel’s brows furrowed at the flirty smile you flashed at him as he passed you that little package. The Fedex guy knew what it was, you knew what it was, and Joel did not. All Joel saw was the way you shifted on your feet, how you tugged your shirt down a little. Your little giggle - a giggle Joel would like to reserve for himself only. 

When he asked if you were seeing anyone, Joel cleared his throat and stood behind you at the door. “Oh, no,” he answered for you. “She ain’t datin’. Girl’s gotta focus on her education.” Joel put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing you a little too hard. It’s easy to hide jealousy and possessiveness behind fatherly concern. It’s innocuous.

“Dad,” you whispered. 

Joel ignored you. “‘Sides,” he added, “Too young t’be datin’, aren’tcha?”

You paused before speaking, eyes flickering up to meet the delivery guy’s own. “Yes,” you mumbled. 

Joel smiled at the man, “Take care, guy. Back to work,” and slammed the door shut. Not five minutes later you were pinned under Joel, his hand on your thigh as he repeatedly slammed into you. “I’ll make you - oh, fuck - I’ll make you fuckin’ regret it if you ever think about toyin’ with those other boys,” Joel growled in your ear. “You’re mine,” he said, punctuating the statement with a deliberately brutal thrust, hard enough to hurt you inside a little. “My fuckin’ girl.”

Your belly rumbles in hunger. Joel wasn’t home at six like he said he’d be, but he did leave you leftovers in the fridge just in case. You debated heating them up but instead reached into the freezer for some ice cream, and ate it with a spoon right out of the tub. What your dad doesn’t know won’t kill him. That’s what Uncle Tommy always says, anyway. 

You used to eat ice cream with Joel like this, too. There were these special nights you’d share together, where you’d find Joel in the kitchen, eating spoonfuls of ice cream over the sink. Dad says calories don’t count that way. And likewise, Joel would find you doing the same thing when he’d wander downstairs for some water. 

You were never in trouble for it. Joel would grab a spoon of his own and eat with you, sitting at the kitchen table as you talked about life. The Real Shit, as Joel calls it. So often, people fall into a routine. Eating the same food, asking the same questions. How was work, how was school, et cetera, et cetera. But during these late nights, with eyes burning from exhaustion, you and Joel would talk about the real shit. He’d be the dad and offer you his old man advice about the things you’ve been keeping from him, the things that’ve been bugging you lately. 

“Got too much runnin’ around in that pretty head of yours,” he’d tell you, gently bending you over the kitchen table. He fits himself so nicely inside of you, only after carefully, considerately working you up. Working you open. Dad’s so slow, so gentle, soothing all of those worries and shushing your words. “Don’t think about nothin’. Jus’ be quiet,” he’d whisper. Let Dad take care of it. That’s what he’s there for, anyway. 

Those special nights happen less and less as life ramps up. But that’s how it goes, right? Things can’t last forever. It gives you the same melancholic feeling like when you were a kid, and Joel would lay in bed with you until you fell asleep. Keeping the monsters away, he’d say with a wink. In your sleepy, dreamy haze you’d feel his lips against your forehead, the most loving and tender of kisses. You’d roll over to snuggle into his chest, but he’d already be gone. It’s part of life. You were getting too big for him to be able to still sleep in your bed. There’s just not enough room, baby. 

While upset, you sigh, and hug tightly the pillow Joel sleeps on. You reach for the remote and take it off of his nightstand, then turn on his TV. Seinfeld’s on. Joel’s favorite. 

Joel pulls into his driveway, amped from the drive home. The day went on longer than it should have by a few hours. Joel didn’t even get to take lunch, which pissed him off. He got reamed for things beyond his control, things that weren’t his fault. He bitched Tommy out when he had the chance. Joel sliced his fucking thumb open too, which was just what he needed. Of course. He’d forgotten to gas up the truck when he had the chance so he had to stop and do that before heading home to you. The cherry on top was the forty minute train he got stopped by. 

Everything coming up fuck, another bad day. Joel’s been having more and more of these bad days lately. 

He needs to cool off before he sees you. You two are one and the same, truth be told. You have got your father’s temper through and through. It was visible from day one - the tantrums you’d throw, little feet stomping up the stairs. That indignant pout, not unlike Joel’s. You’re calmer now, but a fucking master at making those so very Joel smartass comments under your breath. You learned from the best, didn’t you? 

Joel taught you to blow off steam. “S’okay to be mad, honey, but you need’a get a hold of yourself.”

He could stand to take his own advice. Joel would be so much better off if he used you as much as he uses his fist. We all know how it goes, right? It’s quick, it’s easy. Reliable. But oh, how much better he’d feel if he regularly used you for the very thing he made you for. Sliding into your warm, wet cunt with the cock he fucked your mother with, filling you with his come. It helps that it keeps you in line, right? A hard fuck to show you who’s in charge here. Who’s father, who’s daughter. An orgasm to keep you satiated, calm. 

Joel opens the door of his truck, grunting in anger when the door handle falls off, because of fucking course it does. Add that to the laundry list of shit wrong with the damn thing - oil change, slow leak in the passenger side front tire, an alignment wouldn’t hurt. 

He takes a deep breath in and out, all that warm air and the scent of petrichor filing his lungs. It reminds him of better days with you, and it serves to calm him. Not a lot, but just a little. Your favorite flowers you’ve planted in those old pots painted and stamped with your handprints are blooming on the porch. You got mad at Joel when he plucked one and put it in your hair. Nose scrunched up and everything. 

Joel enters the front door - unlocked, of course. When are you gonna remember, kid? He tracks a little dirt into the kitchen as he stops to drink a glass of water. While doing so, he opens the fridge and considers heating himself up some leftovers, if there are any. 

…There are. Which means you didn’t eat, so you’re probably cranky. Fucking great. 

Joel shuts the fridge and leaves his glass on the cheap ass pine table in his dining room. His work boots thudding with each heavy step he takes, making his way up the stairs. Joel peels off his damp shirt, and the cool breeze from the air conditioning tickles his sweaty neck. He is in desperate need of a shower and a beer to wash the day away, but first, he needs his baby girl.  

You’re not in your bedroom. You’re in his, laying in the bed he made you in. Arms wrapped around his pillow. The bluish light from the TV flashes across your figure, highlighting every curve of yours that he loves. There’s a warm breeze coming from the window, gently blowing the curtains. 

He taps on the open door twice, then swings it open the rest of the way. “Hey, kiddo.” 

“You’re late,” you mumble, tone biting. Joel walks towards the window and shuts it, then sits down next to you, groaning as he brings his foot across his knee to untie his boot. 

“Yeah, I know.” Joel drops the boot and does the same to the other, and unbuckles his old, worn, leather belt. “Close the damn window if you’re gonna have the AC on, dummy. Lettin’ all the cold air out.” 

“Where were you, Dad?”

Joel sighs and pats your ass, covered in his comforter. “Work.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Joel stops and faces you, brows pinched in concern. “Where the hell else would I be?” 

You shrug, purposely avoiding his gaze. Making your little face, bottom lip popped out. “Hey. You look at me when you’re talkin’ to me,” Joel warns. “Raised ya better’n that.”

You look over your shoulder, brows narrowed in anger and suspicion. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

The way you look at him, all defiant and filled with contempt, whether imagined or real. You’re trying to start something you can’t finish. Trying to play a game that you can’t win, a game that Joel will win at every time. It takes everything he has not to take the bait. He doesn’t want to fight. He answers your question with one of his own, “Y’really think I got time for another girl in my life?” 

“Maybe.”

Joel sighs, running a hand through his dirtied hair before he speaks. “I can barely handle your troublemakin’ ass, sweetheart. Last thing I need is a girlfriend. Now quit fuckin’ grillin’ me,” he scolds, then sucks in his gut so he can unbutton his jeans. “Who’s the parent here?”

You don’t answer him immediately. So Joel leans over you, poking at your sides and tickling you. “Hm? Who’s your daddy? Who loves ya?”

You fight him. Try to, at least. Squirming away, struggling to swat away his teasing, tickling fingers as you giggle despite yourself. Joel ignores your complaints as he tears the comforter off of your body, then pats your ass. “Scooch, trouble. Make some room f’me.” 

You can’t do so silently. Not without a vocalization of disapproval, upset that Joel’s disrupting your comfort. “Daaad,” you whine when he presses a quick kiss against your cheek, then unzips his pants and pushes them down his thighs, leaving them at his feet. Still looped into his jeans, Joel’s belt clatters against the bed frame as he crawls over your body. 

“Oh, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again and again, fingers slipping under the gusset of your panties as he pulls them to the side. He smells like sweat and sawdust, just like he always does when he comes home. “M’the worst dad ever, huh?”

“Yes,” you snap. You’re not in the mood for it, for him. You’re still pissed that he was late coming home and showed up empty-handed. He said that he’d watch a scary movie with you. “You are.” You kick him in the thigh as you huff angrily. 

That pisses him off. “Hey. Don’t you fuckin’ gimme that shit, kid,” he warns, putting a hand on the back of your neck as he pushes you into the pillow, squeezing you there the way a dog bites its young. “Behave yourself or you ain’t gonna like what’ll happen. We clear?”

Nothing. 

“I asked ya a question. Are we. Clear?”

“Yes,” you concede. “I’m sorry.” 

“M’your father, an’ I’ll love on ya if I wanna. You’re mine, you understand me?” You’re quiet as you nod. Joel loosens his grip on your neck and rubs you with his thumb. “I’m sorry, too,” he whispers. “I know you’re pissed that I’m late, an’ I get it. Ain’t fair. Jus’ let me make it up to you, alright?” 

Joel kisses your cheek one last time, then kisses his way down your back. The tender way his lips touch your skin feels so incredible. It’s erotic and arousing, but also deeply soothing. His wide hands are warm against your skin, and his weight on your body makes you feel at home in a way nothing else does. 

With your panties still pulled to the side, Joel nudges your thighs apart. “Actually, gimme a pillow, darlin’. Neck’s gonna be killin’ me.” 

You reach for a pillow and toss it back. Joel lifts you up and slides it beneath your hips, then pats you when he’s ready for you to settle onto it, dragging his hands along your skin after. He palms your ass, squeezing and kneading all of that plush flesh before separating you with his thumbs. He traces you with two fingers, still dirty from a hard day’s work. You’re so slick, so soft. “Done bein’ mad at me?” he asks, circling his finger around your clit. “Hm? Forgive me yet?”

“N-no,” you sigh, arching into his touch as Joel pushes his middle finger into your entrance. 

Joel curls his finger, then inserts another. “Tell me how pissed you are,” he says. “How much you hate your dear old dad.”

“I-I do,” you whimper, moaning loudly when he reaches his favorite spot inside you with his fingertips. “Hate you so much.” 

“Uh huh. Heard it all before, kiddo.”

Joel pulls his fingers from you and replaces them with his tongue, burying it between your sensitive folds. Just like how he did seconds before, he traces your seam and your entrance with the tip of his tongue, then dips into you, groaning at the sweet taste. 

He savors you, kissing and lapping at your cunt, tasting all of that sensitive flesh. All just for him. You can feel his mustache and beard tease your skin as he moves lower, tongue finding your clit. Joel circles it once, then twice, then laves over it sloppily. “Oh, Dad,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to tug at his graying hair. Remember when you’d hold his hair like that when he’d put you on his shoulders?

Joel hums as he eats you, sucking your clit between his lips. He can feel it swell and throb, and can feel your arousal dripping onto his nose. You’re such an eager girl, he thinks, as you writhe and push your ass back to grind against his mouth. Joel licks you for a moment or two longer, then pulls away and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He pushes his boxers down his thighs and his erection, hard as ever, springs up against his stomach. He spits into his hand and pumps his cock, then spreads your legs wider. Joel brackets your thighs with his own, keeping a hand on your waist while notching the blunt head of his cock inside your slick hole. 

He waits a second before pushing into you, just to feel you arch and beg for it. Joel chuckles, “Easy, kiddo.” He slides into you in such a way that has him letting out a deep groan of relief, and he hangs his head once he bottoms out. “Doin’ okay, baby?”

“Mhm,” you sigh, settling into his pillow. Joel pushes a little hair out of your eyes, cock pulsing inside of you, then pulls out almost all of the way. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses, slowly thrusting in again. “The fuckin’....fuckin’ parts guy didn’t deliver,” Joel says with a grunt, punctuating the words with another thrust. “An’ Uncle Tommy fucked up the goddamn…oh, Christ. Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. My fuckin’ girl, I missed ya so much.” 

You hum and moan, feeling the satisfying rhythm of Joel fucking in and out of you. The graying, wiry hair from his bush tickling the skin of your ass. His cock fits you perfectly, like you were made for it, for him. And really, weren’t you? 

Joel tightens his grip on your waist, denting your skin with his fingernails. He keeps himself close to you, savoring that beautiful, special feeling of his bare skin against yours. And you do the same, loving the comforting pressure of his body on your own. 

“Y’eat any dinner while I was gone?” Joel whispers against your ear, rocking his hips. “Hm?”

“I–yes, Dad.”

“Real food, not just snacks, right? Was there somethin’ green on your plate?” He kisses your temple.

“Mhm.”

“Uh huh. I saw the green beans in the fridge, hon.” Oh, your beautiful smile, mischievous as it is. The one he gave to you, along with that scrunch on the bridge of your nose. “Betcha remembered ice cream though, huh?”

“Of course,” you murmur, wiggling your fingers. Joel understands the cue and reaches for your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours, so much smaller than his. 

“Figures,” he replies softly. Joel stays quiet for a second, and the only sounds filling the room are his skin against yours, and your shared heavy breathing. “Up a second, kiddo,” he murmurs, pausing his movements. He lifts up and you follow, and then he slides his palm under your tummy, and touches your clit with three of his calloused fingertips. When he builds a pace again, you moan loudly with the added pleasure. “Learn anything new at school?”

Joel smiles at your lack of an answer. You’re prone beneath him, sighing in time with his every deep thrust. “C’mon, baby. M’not payin’ for college if you’re not learnin’ anything,” he says. “I’ll pull your ass out. Then ya can start helpin’ out with the mortgage, huh?”

“Fuck - I learned - I learned history, and…I can’t remember right now, Dad. Please…”

All that attitude, all that fight melting away as he fucks you apart. He knows how much you needed him. He needed you too, honey. Joel always did have a knack for consoling you, for charming you out of your tantrums and your moods. Maybe it’s less of a skill on his part, and more that you’re just a daddy’s girl through and through. His fucking girl. 

“Oh, baby girl. No wonder you’re all bent outta shape, huh? Haven’t been lovin’ on ya enough, have I?” As he rolls his hips into you, he orbits his fingers around your clit, making sure to pull the hood back to make it as sensitive as he can. He fucks you harder and faster, all of his thick length splitting you open and reaching every spot inside you that only he can tend to. “What’m I gonna do with you?”

Love you. It’s all he can do, as your father. Just love you. 

It’s funny the way your moans start to change, how they go from loud and rather rhythmic and musical in a way to quiet. Breathy and short. It’s a near silence and then - oh, there it is. You’re coming apart on his cock, soaking him with your arousal. Joel fucks you through it, whispering nothings into your ear the whole time, words only the two of you get to know. And once he’s pulled every last bit of pleasure from you that he could, Joel chases his own release. He pounds into you sloppily, biting his lip and grunting as he finishes, painting your insides with thick ropes of the very come that made you. How special is that?

After taking a beat, cock still throbbing inside of you, Joel pulls out and watches his spend spill from your pussy. He clears his throat, then speaks. “You’re still takin’ them pills I ordered for ya, right?”

You pause, cheeks heating up. “Oh, crap. I forgot to tonight, Dad.” 

Joel says your name in a warning tone, then heads to your room and for your nightstand. Your stomach drops when he opens that drawer, afraid he’s gonna find your vibrator. Oh, fuck.

Joel returns to you, tiny pill in hand. “Open,” he tells you, dropping the pill onto your tongue when you open your mouth. He gives you his day old glass of water on his nightstand and watches you swallow. “Good girl.” 

You smile, adjusting in bed. You do the same stretch as your father, and the same yawn, too. 

Your tummy rumbles. “I’m starving, Dad,” you tell Joel. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” 

“Good thing y’got leftover green beans in the fridge.” 

If looks could kill, Joel thinks. He laughs at his own little joke, then bends over and pulls his phone out of his jeans, and dials the phone number of the pizza place he was going to pick up from. 

More dad!joel here

If you enjoyed, please let me know 🩷 your words keep me motivated to write. Asks are obviously welcomed, but I’d also appreciate if you’d consider reblogging - I know there’s a lot of people hesitant to publicly engage with taboo kinks such as this and prefer to do so quietly, but it’s really nice when readers show their support. Strength in numbers and all that.

[watchtowerlibrary]

The amount of selected moments should tell you how much I adored that story and how much it's one of my favourite fics 🥰💌 Thank you so much for putting it out there.

He gave you a look, dry and fond. “Don’t get used to it.”

Talk about a memorable first meet 🫠

But you didn’t see how his eyes tracked you in a crowded hallway, lingering just a second longer than necessary—guarded, but unmistakably drawn. How he’d appear at your side before anyone else when things turned sideways, voice calm but stance protective, like he was positioning himself between you and whatever chaos had just erupted. The way his jaw would tighten when residents spoke too casually around you, especially if their tone dipped into flirtation. The moments when his voice dropped low, quiet and edged with something softer, when asking if you’d made it home safe after shifts—always phrased like a passing question, but one he never failed to ask.

*sigh* talk about dreamy 🥹

A scream pierced through the air shouting, “Robby!” Only after a set of doors burst open did you realize it was yours. Before you had time to process what was happening, he was there.

*gasp* the first instinct

They had never seen Robby like that. No one had ever seen Robby like that.

Love when that someone can make you feral like that.

You tried to fill the silence. “Dana said she’d put in a rush order for a head CT. Collins didn’t think anything was broken, just some bruising and—” “Don’t,” Robby said, almost too softly.

When you're already behaving all married and don't want the other to worry.

“Robby,” you said gently. “It’s okay, I’m fine.” His jaw clenched, masseter muscles carving his sunken cheeks like a marble sculpture. “No, it’s not. You’re not.” He said it so quietly, like he hated the truth of it. Getting up, he ruffled his hair and shook his head, voice still quiet but heavy. “Just… give me a second.”

I'm living for moments like these when he just can't help being bothered by the whole ordeal and just needs the adrenaline to go down again.

And Through It All

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: What starts with years of coffee, rooftop conversations, and quiet closeness unravels in the aftermath of a violent patient attack. As the hospital reels, so does Robby—until everything he’s buried comes to the surface. warnings: depiction of violence towards women genre: slow burn, pining, angst, fluff, you both suck at feelings word count: 3.6k a/n: yes this show still has me in a chokehold, this man is old enough to be my father, and protective/emotionally constipated Robby has consumed my every waking thought. also someone please sedate me because I don't know how I'm going to make it between episodes.

p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | Feels Like Trouble) if you're interested

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch always clocked in just after you.

It started as coincidence—years ago, when you were a new year-2 resident fumbling your way through charting and sleep deprivation. You’d arrive blurry-eyed at 5:58 AM, and two minutes later, he'd walk through the side door with two cups of coffee. One always ended up in your hand.

"This is my warm welcome to the pit, I’m not on coffee rounds," he’d grumbled the first time.

"Yet, my savior, here you are," you smiled, taking the cup. "Thanks, Dr. Robby."

He gave you a look, dry and fond. "Don’t get used to it."

Needless to say, you both did.

Now a senior resident, you’ve long since earned your stripes—but the morning coffees kept coming. So did the banter.

"That differential on bed 7 was a mess," Robby muttered one morning.

You sipped from your cup. "I was experimenting with chaos as a teaching strategy."

He stared, deadpan. "Rein it in, Nietzsche."

Late nights sometimes ended on the roof—shoulders nearly touching, silence stretched long between you. The rooftop was a liminal space: above the noise, between shifts, between you and him. You'd talk about patients. About medicine. About what the job takes and what it leaves behind.

One night you’d murmured, "Do you think we make a difference? Or are we just putting out fires that never stop?"

Robby didn’t answer right away. You could hear him breathing. "Some burning buildings are worth running into," he said eventually, voice low like he was admitting something he'd carried a long time.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t not. You were close—so close it blurred. You never noticed how often he drifted into your orbit. But others did.

"So... you and Robinavitch—what’s the deal?" McKay would tease with a grin.

You furrowed your brow, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

She leaned on the nurses' station, unbothered. "C’mon, you really don’t see it? The way he looks at you? Brings you coffee every morning? Steps in before anyone else can when the ball rolls downhill?"

You waved a hand dismissively. "He just… cares. That’s his job."

McKay raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Except he doesn’t bring me coffee. Or look like he’s going to deck someone if they so much as raise their voice at me."

You opened your mouth to reply—but the sliding ER doors slammed open. A gurney rushed in, shouting echoing off the walls. Without thinking, you turned and ran toward the trauma bay.

"Saved by the bell," McKay called after you, but you were already gone.

But you didn’t see how his eyes tracked you in a crowded hallway, lingering just a second longer than necessary—guarded, but unmistakably drawn. How he'd appear at your side before anyone else when things turned sideways, voice calm but stance protective, like he was positioning himself between you and whatever chaos had just erupted. The way his jaw would tighten when residents spoke too casually around you, especially if their tone dipped into flirtation. The moments when his voice dropped low, quiet and edged with something softer, when asking if you’d made it home safe after shifts—always phrased like a passing question, but one he never failed to ask.

Earlier that week, Robby had been leaning against the counter in the break room with Dana and a few of the nurses clustered nearby. He was sipping bad coffee and flipping through a chart when Dana nudged him lightly with her elbow.

"You know," she started with a smirk. "You're getting pretty soft on that senior resident."

Robby didn’t look up, adjusting the frame of his glasses. "Yeah? What makes you say that?"

Princess glanced at Perlah, who grinned. The two exchanged a few rapid lines in Tagalog—something teasing and full of mischief. Robby raised an eyebrow.

"Just because I don’t speak Tagalog doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what you’re saying," he said dryly, finally taking off his glasses and staring at the nurses judgementally.

Dana just about cackled. "Come on, Robby. You bring her coffee every morning, you hover when she’s in a tough case, you barely let interns breathe near her."

Perlah added, "And you always look at her like you’re trying not to."

Princess laughed. "Sir, that’s not just coffee—that’s courtship."

Robby rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. "You all have too much time on your hands."

"We're just saying," Dana said as she turned toward the door. "If you're gonna pine, at least be subtle."

He shook his head and muttered, "Back to work, people."

Then came the day everything cracked.

The patient had come in hostile—angry at the world and bleeding from a cut above his brow—muttering about how no one respected him, how women thought they were better than him. According to his chart, he had a record of violent outbursts and a chip on his shoulder the size of the hospital.

"You think you're smarter than me, don't you?" he sneered when you entered the bay, his arms crossed and chest puffed like a bull ready to pick a fight.

You kept your voice calm and professional. "Sir, I'm just here to update your chart and make sure you're getting what you need."

He laughed—sharp and bitter. "What I need is for people like you to stop looking at me like I'm some kind of freak. All you female doctors think you're so much better."

You froze for just a second. "I'm here to provide care. Nothing more."

"Don't lie to me!" he spat. "I see how you talk to the others. You think you're above me like some queen. But you're not. You're just another stupid cunt—"

"I'm going to get another physician to help with your case," you said quickly, trying to disengage, stepping back toward the call button.

"You walk away from me, and I swear—"

The second he was out of your peripheral vision, he lunged.

You cried out as his weight slammed into you, sending you hard to the ground. Everyone around you scattered, the staff protecting patients and patients protecting themselves.

Your elbow struck tile and pain bloomed across the crown of your skull. Your head snapped back like a slap bracelet. He loomed over you, shouting a string of vile insults, hands grabbing at whatever they could. Another set of fingers clamped around your throat. A scream pierced through the air shouting, "Robby!" Only after a set of doors burst open did you realize it was yours. 

Before you had time to process what was happening, he was there.

Robby knocked the patient off of you with brute force that stunned the entire hospital staff. Without help, Robby pinned him to the floor facefirst with practiced strength, knees braced, and jaw clenched. "Security!" his voice thundered.

Subduing the attacker by his wrists, Robby's knee dug into the man's back thigh without mercy, making him cry out in pain. "Collins! Dana!" he barked, voice sharp and commanding, reverberating through the trauma bay like a shockwave.

You were on the floor, dazed, breath knocked out of you. The two women rushed to your side in the blink of an eye. All around, med students and residents stood frozen, eyes wide.

They had never seen Robby like that.

No one had ever seen Robby like that.

The patient struggled once more before Robby leaned in and drove his knee harder into the attacker’s thigh, his grip unrelenting, voice low and deadly calm. "Stay down."

Security took over a moment later, but Robby didn’t move until he was sure it was safe. Then he stood, exhaled once, and turned to Dana and Collins.

"I'll be over as soon as I can, brief me later," he said. "I'll assess her myself."

Dana crouched beside you, one hand firm on your shoulder. "We've got you," she said gently, then glanced over her shoulder. "We'll be in 4."

Collins helped you up with care, guiding you slowly down the hall while Dana kept close at your side. You were still disoriented, a sharp ringing in your ears, but you caught a glimpse of Robby speaking to security. He didn’t even glance your way—focused, furious, deadly calm.

In Exam Room 4, Collins set you down on the cot, already checking your pupils with a penlight. "You hit your head?"

"Yeah," you managed, wincing as you moved. "Elbow too. Think I caught most of the floor on the way down."

Dana pressed a cold pack into your hand. "You’re in shock. Just breathe. We’ll handle this."

Collins nodded, gently examining your face and palpating around your ribs. "No obvious trauma, nothing broken. Expect some bruising around your throat the next few days. We should get you in for a head CT just to be safe. You took a hard hit."

"I'll get that booked ASAP," Dana said, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping out to handle the order. She paused at the doorway just long enough to exchange a glance with Collins—an unspoken check-in—before disappearing down the hall. 

Moments later, the door opened again. Robby stepped in, his expression unreadable but his eyes scanning you like he was cataloging every mark, every breath.

"I’ll take it from here," he said quietly to Collins.

They exchanged a glance, then wordlessly stepped out.

And then it was just you and him.

He crossed to your side, kneeling. His hands moved automatically, gently tilting your chin to check for swelling, eyes flicking to your pupils, then the scrape along your cheekbone. "Can you look up for me? Good. Follow my finger."

His voice was low and clinical, but his touch was careful—too careful.

"Headache? Nausea? Double vision?" he asked, bringing your hand into his and turning it over to assess for any injuries.

"No, just a little dizzy," you murmured.

He nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed your elbow, then the bruising along your neck. Then the questions stopped. His hands stilled.

He just looked at you—really looked at you—and the silence took hold.

His jaw flexed, like he was trying to say something but couldn't. Something had cracked open in him. Not just from what happened. From what it revealed.

And you could feel it—the weight in the room. Something unsaid between you, thick as blood and twice as loud.

You tried to fill the silence. "Dana said she'd put in a rush order for a head CT. Collins didn’t think anything was broken, just some bruising and—"

"Don’t," Robby said, almost too softly.

Your words faltered. You watched him—how his shoulders stayed tense, how his eyes didn’t move from yours, how still he was, like saying the wrong thing might make everything unravel.

"Robby," you said gently. "It's okay, I’m fine."

His jaw clenched, masseter muscles carving his sunken cheeks like a marble sculpture. "No, it's not. You’re not."

He said it so quietly, like he hated the truth of it. Getting up, he ruffled his hair and shook his head, voice still quiet but heavy. "Just... give me a second."

It wasn’t the injury that had shaken him—it was the realization. That in those terrifying few seconds, the worst thing he could imagine had nearly happened. And it wasn’t because you were his resident. Or his colleague.

It was because you were you.

You watched him pace as the silence dragged, your heart still pounding faintly in your ears. "Robby," you tried again, softer this time. "I'm okay, really..."

Still, he said nothing.

You gave a half-scoff, half-sigh, trying to shake off the tension. "I’ve had worse nights. Dana and Collins already cleared me—CT’s just precautionary. Nothing to worry about."

His movements stilled and eyes didn’t leave yours.

"What is it?" you asked, finally, your voice gentle but steady—like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it.

That cracked something in him. He looked away for a beat, jaw flexing again, his breath hitching as if he was holding back something too big to name. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, raw—nothing like the sharp, composed attending everyone else knew.

"I didn’t know it would feel like that." 

He rubs the back of his neck, a self-soothing gesture in an effort to hold back whatever threatens to overflow. "Seeing you on the ground. Hearing you scream. For me. I’ve seen worse—God knows we all have. But nothing’s ever felt like that."

You froze.

His eyes met yours again, and the walls he always held in place—stone and steel and professionalism—weren’t there anymore. He looked at you like he wanted something he had never allowed himself to want. Like he was terrified of the feeling and already grieving it.

You felt the shift like gravity tilting. Like the air changed around you. It was as though the ground beneath you had tipped on its axis.

And suddenly, everything between you was different.

Not unspoken anymore, just unbearable to say aloud.

You felt yourself retreating into the space between what you wanted to feel and what you needed to believe. The part of you that ached wanted to lean forward, close the distance, tell him you felt it too—that terrible, awful, beautiful clarity.

But another part held you back. The part that lived in hospital hallways and stared at name badges and remembered what it meant to be professional. To be younger. A resident. His resident. The part that convinced you it could never be more.

You searched his face, trying to decode what this moment was, or if it had always been there, hiding in quiet coffees and rooftops and restrained glances. And still, he said nothing. Maybe he was waiting. Maybe he didn’t know how to cross that final line either.

So you just sat there in the quiet with him, suspended between the ache and the boundary—between what was true and what you were still too scared to say.

Eventually, you broke. Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

His brows furrowed instantly. "For what?"

You shook your head, feeling heat rise behind your eyes. "I don’t know. For not calling for help. For being alone in there. For... allowing this," you gestured between the two of you, "to happen." You sniffled. "For letting myself—"

"Don’t," he cut in sharply, but not unkindly. "Don’t you dare apologize for any of that, you did nothing wrong."

You blinked.

He leaned in slightly, voice steady now, like he needed you to hear every word. "You did everything right. You followed protocol. That man was unstable, and what happened wasn’t your fault."

Your lip trembled, but you didn’t speak.

His voice softened again. "And if this is about me... if you think you’ve done something wrong because of how I feel about you—how I care about you—don’t."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was everything neither of you knew how to name. It sat heavy between you—thick with the ache of things buried too long and the sharp edges of everything that couldn't be said. You could feel it in your chest, pressing against your ribs and threatening to claw itself out, the unspoken confession of a man who just laid bare more than he meant to, and your own desperate need to pretend you didn’t hear it.

But you had. You’d heard it in his voice, in the way his hands had trembled just slightly when he touched your face, in the way his eyes wouldn’t leave yours even when they should’ve.

And now, as your chest rose and fell too quickly and your heart tried to find steady ground, all the small moments you’d buried—or maybe just refused to examine—rushed back like a crashing wave. His hand guiding yours during your very first incision, firm but not overbearing. The coffees every morning—always your usual, always on time. The time he’d found you on the stairwell after you lost your first patient, sobbing uncontrollably, and he didn’t try to fix it—he just sat there beside you until you could breathe again. The rooftop shifts when you couldn’t quiet your incessant thoughts, he somehow always found you there.

The silence that needed no explanation.

It had always been there. A quiet, steadfast presence. Not loud, not showy—but constant.

And now, undeniable.

And maybe you were still trying to find the line between what had always been there and what had just changed—but the silence was no longer uncertain. It was waiting.

You decided to break it.

"Can I kiss you?" you whispered, eyes searching his, breath catching somewhere in your throat.

Robby didn’t answer. Not with words.

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His eyes searched yours, one last moment of hesitation flickering there—one last out, if you wanted it.

But you didn’t. Instead, you met him halfway.

His lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, reverent, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed. His skin was warm against yours, soft in a way that surprised you. Your fingers found his jaw, the roughness of his beard brushing your palms as your hands slid down slowly, until they came to rest at the curve of his neck—right where his pulse thrummed hard beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepened a breath later, quiet and aching, full of everything you’d both held back for far too long. His hands rose to cradle your face, holding you like something fragile, like if he wasn’t careful, you might break. His thumbs grazed the corners of your cheekbones, grounding and gentle, anchoring you both in the impossible tenderness of it.

There was nothing hurried about it. Just warmth and softness and the quiet admission of something real. Something that had lived in the silence between you for years.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, exhaling shakily.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a confession.

He let out a breath, rough and shaky against your cheek. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he murmured. His voice cracked just slightly at the edges—like the truth cost something to say. And maybe it did.

You pulled back enough to see him clearly, your hands resting on his neck, feeling the steady, trembling pulse beneath your fingertips. He looked at you like the moment might vanish if he blinked.

For years, probably. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it. Not through the early mornings or the long nights. Not even when he stood too close, or when his voice turned soft just for you. Not even when your heart always found him in a crowd. But now, with his breath still warm against your lips and his hands still cradling your face like something precious, you couldn’t pretend anymore.

You’d been his and he'd been yours, long before either of you were brave enough to say it. You pulled back just enough to look at him—really look—and gently stroked his cheek, admiring his freckles like newly formed constellations in the sky. 

His eyes drop ever so slightly. "I'm old," he starts. "My work-life balance is absolute shit. You deserve someone who can give you what you need."

You stare at him, puzzled. For a second, you think he’s serious—like he's about to start building walls where they’d only just crumbled.

Then you catch the flicker in his expression. The barely-there smirk at the corner of his mouth. He’s only half-serious. Nervous. Teasing you.

You grin, easing the weight with a well-aimed jab. "At least you're not old enough to be my father. And it's not like my hours spent outside work ratio is any better."

He scoffs, ducking his head before shaking it all too lightheartedly.

"And for the record," you add, tapping his chest with a pointed index finger. "This is not some personification of daddy issues, I'll have you know that my father and I have a very healthy relationship."

"Well, that’s a relief," he murmurs, his smile softening as he encloses his fingers around your hand.

You sit back, playful. "I’ll keep you up to date on all the hottest trends the youths engage in. Like cat cafés and strawberry milk matcha lattes. And emotional vulnerability."

He groans, rubbing his face shyly. "God help me."

You grin, careful not to laugh too hard, and lean into him again. "Too late for that, Robinavitch. You’re stuck with me." 

"Yeah," he whispered. "I really hope I am."

Outside, the hospital buzzed as it always did—pages overhead, heels echoing on tile, lives beginning and ending behind curtain walls. But for a moment, the noise faded. The only sound was your breathing, his.

And the quiet hum of something long overdue settling into place.

You didn’t know what came next—how this would unfold outside the safety of Room 4, outside of bruises and adrenaline and low-lit confessions. But for now, with his forehead still resting gently against yours, and the weight of unspoken feelings finally aired between you, it didn’t matter.

You had time.

Until a round of cheers and high fives broke the stillness like a confetti cannon bursting into the air.

Both of you jerked apart, startled. Just outside the half-closed door to Room 4 stood a cluster of med students, nurses, residents, and paramedics—huddled together like a peanut gallery, barely containing their glee.

Your face flushed tomato red. You buried it in Robby’s chest as he turned around slowly, one hand instinctively coming up to rest on your back as he started to laugh.

Langdon, of course, was the ringleader. He held up a neon orange post-it like a trophy, waving it proudly as the group chuckled and whooped behind him. In black Sharpie were the words:

UNPLANNED CONFESSION - Langdon & King—the bet circled and underlined. And below it: $7/week. Scribbled in tiny pen just beneath that, barely legible, was a date—six months ago.

He high-fived someone out of view next to him just before giving the two of you an exaggerated thumbs-up, grinning like he’d just won the Super Bowl. On cue, Mel stood up from beside him and gave you a quick wave and a shy smile, arms held tightly by her sides.

You groaned, still pressed into Robby's chest. "I swear to God, if they made a bracket—"

"Oh they definitely made a bracket," Robby said, laughing into your hair.

You peeked up at him, still mortified but grinning. "Are we seriously the plot twist in someone’s trauma bay soap opera?"

"Apparently," he muttered, pulling you closer. "Should we give them something to talk about for next week's episode?"

You scoffed, swatting lightly at his chest. "Take me out to dinner first, will you?"

Outside, the group began to scatter—some called back to rounds, others still giggling as they walked off. But you stayed there, tucked into Robby’s side, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chaos. Whatever came next, you’d figure it out. Together.

And if the hospital had front-row seats to your slow-burn becoming a soft landing? So be it.

[kxsagi]

the absolute diabolical fear i have of leaking on my period on someone s sheets… like if it cane early or smth🥲 heh can i request sae, rin, isagi and shidou who like are maybe hanging out and period comes early and reader is on the bedsheets mortified not knowing whether to move and just dying from embarrassment and maybe they reassure her? thank you ^^

- 🩷

“𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜”

a/n: i fear this is a universal experience

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, shidou ryusei

itoshi sae

he’s the one you least want to notice it. like pls, not the guy who’s always effortlessly cool. but guess what? he notices. 

not because you moved or said anything, because you didn’t. 

“why are you sitting so still?” he says casually, stretching on the other side of the bed. “you weren’t this calm when we got here.” 

when your voice cracks a bit like, “i-it’s nothing,” he instantly knows. 

he sighs and gets up, rummaging through the closet. tosses you a hoodie. “tie it around your waist. there’s laundry downstairs. move before you leak on my phone charger.” 

you blink at him in shock and embarrassment. he leans in close and whispers: “it’s just blood. i’ve bled more from a nose tackle. now come on.” 

he’s so nonchalant about it that you actually start calming down. 

itoshi rin

he’s sitting on the edge of the bed playing on his phone, and you’re sitting stiff as a board behind him like a cat that touched water. 

you realize way too late that you bled through the sheets. instant panic. 

unfortunately for your soul, rin turns around right then. and sees the look on your face. and the very obvious patch on the bed. 

“… you okay?” 

you nod too fast, eyes wide. 

he puts his phone down slowly. “… you’re bleeding.” 

w h a t d o y o u m e a n “y o u ’ r e b l e e d i n g” 

but then he does something so rin. 

he yanks the blanket off the bed, folds it, tosses it over your lap, and mutters, “you can use my hoodie. just go clean up. no one else saw.” 

and then sits back down, pulls out his phone again, and refuses to make it weird. 

later that night, he makes sure you get the side of the bed with extra pillows and painkillers, like he didn’t just save your pride and peace of mind. 

isagi yoichi

this poor baby boy is the first to react. violently. 

“oh my god, are you okay???” 

which only makes it worse because now he’s really looking. 

you’re like “i-it’s fine! i’m fine!” while actively trying to become one with the bed. 

but once he gets it, the switch flips. 

“oh… OH. okay, okay, don’t move! i got it!” 

he’s running around like a man on a mission. gets you a towel and finds your bag. 

once you’re cleaned up, he sits next to you with a cup of tea like “it’s a normal thing. like, statistically, someone in the room is probably gonna have a period. and that someone is you. and that’s okay.” 

you’re still mortified but he’s blushing harder than you now, sooo you win. 

shidou ryusei

chaos. 

he walks into the room with a snack in hand and stops dead in his tracks when he sees your panicked face and the suspicious red spot on the sheets. 

“whoa. did you get stabbed? that’s metal.” 

you groan and cover your face with a pillow. 

“shut up.” 

“nah, it’s cool. i’ve had worse blood on my jersey. here.” he tosses you his oversized t-shirt. “use that. and don’t freak out, it’s just your demon womb tryin’ to kill you or whatever.” 

he yells out the door, “YO ANYONE GOT CHOCOLATE? SHE’S DYING IN HERE!” 

cue isagi yelling back, “STOP MAKING IT WORSE, SHIDOU!” 

but honestly? he’s kinda sweet about it. he changes the sheets himself (kinda aggressively), plops down next to you after, and says, “next time bring a whole suitcase of pads. we’re not doin’ this ambush crap again.” 

he’s chaotic but oddly supportive. also steals your heating pad later and doesn’t even apologize. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[nottswitch]

I saw Ari (nottsangel) doing the “Theo au’s react” kind of thing and thought it would be so fun with yours too! How would your Theo au’s react to reader being quiet during sex?

i saw these reaction posts on ari’s blog too, and i love them, so i’m excited to do this with my aus too! i’m gonna be writing this for the aus that i’m more invested in and already have some content for, but if you want me to add others from my list, you can ask <3

sister’s bf!theo — with him, you’re kinda forced into being quiet when your sister’s home, so whenever you’re alone together, he wants you to be loud. i’m talking moans, whimpers, cries, whatever he can pull out of you. if you’re quiet, he’s slapping your ass hard, knowing it’s gonna make you scream for sure. “you think you can just stay quiet like that, piccola? nuh-uh, we’re only getting started.”

cult leader!theo — he’s used to you being rather quiet, because let’s be real, you’re under the influence most of the time. he’s fine with silent gasps and little whimpers, or just nothing at all. he’s just gonna cradle your head to his chest and whisper in your ear, adding to the hazy, intimate atmosphere around you. "so good, my dear. you’re taking me so well.”

chef!theo — does everything he can to encourage you to be louder, but does so gently, in case it’s not something you’re comfortable with (because he cares <3). "feels good, baby? you’re so beautiful like that, amore, let me hear those pretty sounds, yeah?”

bully!theo — he is the one who’s shutting you up by stuffing his fingers or your own panties into your mouth. he wants to hear you scream his name, it’s one of his biggest fantasies, but he also dreads anyone finding out there’s anything at all going on between you two. so he settles for degrading you for being unable to hold back your moans, while simultaneously jerking off in his room late at night, thinking how you’d sound with his name on your lips. "shut the fuck up, you’re moaning like a slut.” but if you’re actually quiet by yourself? nah, he’s still degrading as hell. "cat got your tongue, huh? or did you finally learn to shut your fucking trap for once?”

ceo!theo — he’s used to women being loud, because, well, it’s him, and everyone’s trying to impress him. so when you’re quiet, his ego takes a blow, though he’s trying not to show it. he wants to be better for you, so he’s not pressing the issue; he just keeps going, hoping that at some point, you’re gonna get comfortable enough to be louder.

lead singer!theo — he’s just surprised, because when are you ever quiet with him? he kind of gets concerned too, and almost stops to check up on you. but then you whine in protest and move your hips, signalling for him to continue, and he smirks, giving your ass a spank. "there’s my girl. don’t scare me like that again, alright?”

[mylovesstuffs]

“It’s not cute” — Choi Seungcheol

Request: hey, Celeste!!! how are you doing? I'm so glad your requests are open!

i wanted to request something (in whatever form you feel most inspired to): reader having essential tremors (it's an actual condition im not making it up 😭✋) and being frustrated about it, maybe lashing out or breaking down one day. the fact that everyone points it out and sometimes joke abt it, etc. angst + comfort , maybe? also i'd like it to be w cheol or wonu, but tbh any of them is absolutely fine!

tysm <333

It starts with eyeliner and ends in a breakdown. The world doesn’t understand what it’s like to live in a body that won’t always obey, tired of laughing first before someone else can. But Seungcheol doesn’t need to understand it all, he just holds your trembling hands like they’ve always been steady, and loves you like you’ve never been less.

Genre: Non-idol au, established relationship, angst and comfort, introspective slice of life and character study

Pairing: Seungcheol × fem!reader

Content: Essential tremors [aka benign tremor, familial tremor, and idiopathic tremor], emotional breakdown, eyeliner symbolism [bc girlyhood], comfort from a loving partner who is choi seungcheol, no judgment, warm arms and understanding hearts, one-sided flashbacks to bullying/teasing, reader struggling with internalized shame, reassurance, love that stays

Content warning: Mentions of medical condition [essential tremors], anxiety, childhood bullying, ableist microaggressions, internalized frustration and self-doubt, crying, cursing once or twice, one emotionally charged breakdown. No explicit content.

Word count: 921 words

A/N: It was supposed to be shorter... about 400 words like a drabble, though I still think it's drabble but I was hoping for it to either be 400-500 words or 1k 😔

For my sweet anon—i hope this gives you even a sliver of the comfort you were looking for. This one was written with a lot of heart at like... 2:46 am when i should’ve been asleep but cheol brainrot said otherwise. To anyone else who reads this and relates even a little: your exhaustion and frustration is valid, and your hands deserve to be held gently too. I experience a slight tremor as well, though I believe it’s genetic since it runs in my family. According to my doctor, mine is primarily triggered by stress and anxiety [I was under treatment back in October during a period when my mental health went really down]. I’ve been prescribed different medications since then, not specifically targeted for tremors, but the tremor was listed as one of the symptoms being addressed in the medication guidelines. While I might not fully relate to this experience, as my condition hasn’t been formally diagnosed and doesn’t really interfere with my daily life, I still hope I was able to do this piece justice. Also, huge thanks to Calli @hhaechansmoless for beta-ing. As always, we run anyway ! (￣▽￣)ノ♡

It starts small, and it always does; a dropped spoon, a tremble in your fingers while pouring water. The slightest bit of shake that you'd think it could pass unnoticed, but that, people always notice, and never don’t comment on.

“Why are you always shaking?”

“You nervous or something?”

“You should drink less coffee.”

“Aw, you’re like a baby deer.”

Haha, it is so funny to you at this point. But today, it feels entirely different to you, it's like you're not yourself anymore. You’re tired, and you just want to put your eyeliner on, but the line goes jagged again. And for some reason, that tiny thing becomes the last straw of the day.

You slam the eyeliner on the counter and nearly knock over everything else with your unsteady hands. “God, I’m so sick of this!” you hiss. “Why can’t I just be normal for five fucking seconds?”

The bathroom door creaks open and you already feel Seungcheol behind you. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

You blink back your unshed tears, but still they betray you like everything else lately. “It’s not cute, Cheol. It’s not quirky, or funny, or something you get to joke about. I hate it. I hate how I shake. I hate how people treat me like it’s some personality trait. It’s a condition, and I’m tired.” Your voice cracks, and so does your composure, and you sink down onto the closed toilet lid, face in your hands, breath shaky just like your very own fingers. The way they’ve done for so long, it doesn’t even surprise you anymore.

All you expect right now, is silence. But instead big, calloused, warm hands wrap gently around yours.

Shaking or not, he brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles, softly and slowly. “I know it’s not cute when people don’t take it seriously,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “And I’m sorry if anyone’s ever made you feel like you have to pretend it’s no big deal.”

You look up with your glassy eyes and trembling lips. “I’ve never once thought less of you for it,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be ‘normal’ to be everything I love.” A small sob leaves your lips, and he pulls you into a hug, his arms secure around you, voice a low hum against your hair. “You can be frustrated. You can hate it, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here, even if your hands shake every day for the rest of your life, I’ll still hold them just like this.”

You want to believe him, even as your fingers tremble. In fact, you do believe him; believe that he doesn’t want to let go, that he won’t.

But there’s something bitter lodged deep in your chest, a heaviness that doesn't disappear just because someone holds you through it, because you've heard this before. Variations of it. Words that sounded like comfort, but were laced with pity, gestures that looked like care, but never stayed long enough to be safe.

You remember being younger and dropping your spoon in front of classmates during recess. The laughter and the mock sympathy haunted you for years and they still does. “Are you scared?” they'd tease. You weren’t; not then at least. You didn’t even know what was happening, and why your body betrayed you when all you wanted was to be still.

And now, years later, it’s not even the tremor that hurts most, it’s what comes along with it without your consent. The way people watch, the way they assume it’s your fault, the way you're constantly being explained—to others, to yourself, that you’ve become a walking explanation.

“You know, she has this thing—”

“It’s not that big of a deal—”

“She’s always been like that—” You’re always like that.

It chips away at you, little by little, and you start adjusting your life to avoid the gaze. No eyeliner on days you feel particularly self-conscious, two hands to hold a cup, even if it makes you look ridiculous, rehearsing how you’ll brush it off when someone points it out again; laughing before they do, so it seems like you're okay with it.

You’ve weaponized your own shame into pre-emptive jokes. Turned your fear into something palatable… but it still hurts. It hurts when people don’t even ask if you’re okay. They just assume you’re something to laugh at, to observe, and you’ve been strong for so long, that today just felt like the end of it. Like how this one tiny thing —the jagged eyeliner—was all it took to remind you how helpless it can feel to live in a body that doesn’t always listen. But now, there’s warmth.

And maybe that should terrify you, because if people can be cruel, then love can be temporary. But his arms around you don’t feel temporary, his silence doesn’t feel judgmental, and most important of all, he doesn’t ask you to feel better; he just stays along with you.

You want to believe that someone can see all of it: the struggle, the cracks, the exhaustion, and still choose to stay, but not because they pity you, not because they want to fix you, but because they love you even like this, and especially like this.

Your breath hiccups in your throat, and you let yourself lean into him just a little more. Though your hands still shake, you begin to believe they don’t make you any less worthy of being held.

[matt-murdockk]

I can fix him (no really I can)

They shake their heads saying, "God help her" When I tell them he's my man But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him, no, really I can And only I can

college!matt murdock x fem!reader | fluff— a whole lotta fluff | sorta friends to lovers? | fic from reader's pov, then a pov switch to third person

Matt Murdock famously doesn't stick around for longer than a month, tops. You were determined to change that.

Pre-law golden boy with an aura that exudes confidence, Matt was the person everyone either wanted to be, or wanted to be with. He knew that, and his faux modesty only made it worse for the masses desperate to get a piece of him. Am I one of—? Please, I'd fuck a tree before I fuck Matt Murdock. Not that I hate him or anything. I'm just not on the bed anyone with abs and a personality bandwagon. Good for him for all that attention he's getting, but my ties with him start and end in class. He's just a classmate.

Okay, maybe not just a classmate.

We share notes. Sometimes. Only when he forgets his, which is rare, because apparently being hot and capable is a combo this man insists on wielding like a goddamn weapon. Once, he offered to buy me coffee as a thank you and I made the mistake of saying yes. We ended up talking for an hour. One hour. And somehow I left that conversation knowing his middle name, his favourite diner his dad used to take him to, and exactly what kind of espresso he drinks before a big exam.

It was fine. It’s fine. People have conversations all the time. I’m not spiraling.

We became friends. Real ones. That was the problem.

Because here’s the thing: Matt Murdock is a disaster.

Not on paper. No— on paper, he’s perfect. He’s top of the class, charming when he wants to be, a little cocky, but in a way that makes you laugh instead of wanting to push him down the stairs.

But spend enough time around him and you start to notice things.

Like how he never lets anyone get close. Like how he flirts with half the campus but every single one of his flings ends in vague silence and awkward glances the next day. Like how he knows exactly how to listen to someone but refuses to let anyone hear him.

It’s not a red flag. It’s a goddamn red parade.

So of course I did what any completely normal person with an ounce of self-preservation would do.

I caught feelings for that bastard.

Of course, it's the emotionally unavailable mess with enough red flags to decorate a fucking carnival that catches my attention. Just my goddamn luck.

And, in a moment of sheer lunacy, decided I could fix him.

No really, I could. Just needed time. And patience. And maybe a crowbar for emotional extraction. Whatever. I’ve done harder things. If I can survive Mr Vasquez's class, I can survive whatever this is.

I just have to make sure he never finds out I like him. And also make him like me back. And maybe heal years of trust issues in the process.

Easy, right?

Well, it wasn’t.

Because what started as some deranged attempt to break into the fortress that is Matt Murdock turned into something else entirely. We became friends. Real friends. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about fixing him and started being about just… being there.

And God help me, I think he needed that more than anything.

It wasn’t just me and Matt anymore, either. Foggy came into the picture fast— bright-eyed, effortlessly funny, with an incredible ability to sniff out bullshit in under five seconds. The three of us? Unstoppable. Study sessions, lunch breaks, late-night coffee runs before an exam. They were my people.

So yeah. The plan backfired. Spectacularly. But I had friends for life now, so I couldn’t exactly call it a failure.

It didn’t mean it stopped hurting, though.

Matt’s life… it wasn’t easy. I could see it in the way he shut down when he was overwhelmed, how he buried himself in work instead of letting anyone in. Some nights he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but he’d still crack a joke just to make Foggy laugh.

And when he was with other women— when he flirted like it was a language only he spoke— it hurt. Even when I told myself I didn’t have a right to feel that way. He wasn’t mine. I made sure of that.

I’d smile through it. Tease him, even. Make some stupid quip about his tragic taste in women and let the ache settle where no one could see it.

Except Foggy noticed.

He always does.

One afternoon— study session turned snack break in our usual booth— Foggy caught me staring too long. Matt was across the room talking to a girl from one of our electives, charming smile and all.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging me with his elbow.

I blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure? Because that definitely wasn’t your ‘fine’ face. That was your ‘I’m swallowing feelings and pretending to be emotionally stable’ face.”

I sighed, resting my chin on my palm. “He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I turned to him. “Foggy, I’m not gonna pull a dramatic ‘what are we’ in the middle of a group project. Matt may be a lot of things, but you really cannot force him to be something he doesn’t want to be.”

Foggy frowned. “But do you think he doesn’t want—?”

“Matt would probably suck at relationships,” I said, more tired than bitter. “Like, actual long-term ones. He likes the chase, he likes the moment. And that’s fine. He’s allowed to live how he wants. I just… I’m happy being his friend. Genuinely. Give it time. I’ll get over it.”

Foggy was quiet for a second. “That was… wildly mature.”

“Yeah well, personal growth is a bitch.”

He grinned. “Still. If it helps, he’s not as smooth as he thinks.”

I snorted. “No, but he is absurdly pretty. That makes up for a lot.”

We let the topic die after that. I figured that was the end of it.

I didn’t know Matt had heard.

—————————————————————————————————

Third Person POV

Matt had only come back for his notebook.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He hadn’t meant to hear that.

But he had.

He stopped just shy of the hallway corner, heart thudding loud in his chest. The way her voice dropped when she said “I’ll get over it.”

The words hit harder than he expected.

She thought he’d be a bad boyfriend.

Worse— she didn’t even think he was worth trying.

And Matt knew— he knew— he hadn’t been great. He had a lot on his plate, a whole goddamn feast of mess, but he never once thought she saw him like that. Not undeserving.

She didn’t know he stayed up wondering what it’d feel like to kiss her. For real. Without laughing it off or playing it cool. She didn’t know how often his fingers hovered near hers and didn’t reach. How badly he wanted to.

But if she thought he wasn’t capable of it? Of loving her the way she deserved?

He had to change that.

Not just for her. For him. For the version of himself he wanted to be—the kind that could love someone, openly and fully, without messing it up.

“Jesus,” Foggy muttered when he saw Matt later that night. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or rather... felt a ghost? I don't know, man.”

“I heard something,” Matt said, collapsing onto his bed, voice low.

“Define ‘something.’”

“(Y/N) said I’d be a bad boyfriend.”

Foggy blinked. “Okay. Context?”

Matt dragged a hand over his face. “She was talking to you. In the booth. Earlier.”

Foggy raised his brows. “You, uh, you were there?”

“I forgot my notebook.”

Foggy held up his hands. “Alright, okay. First off— she didn’t say you’d be a bad boyfriend. She said you’d probably suck at steady relationships. Big difference.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, because you’ve never tried a steady relationship. Which is kind of the point.”

Matt groaned. “I need to fix this.”

Foggy stared. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to walk me through your version of fixing this.”

Matt sat up. “I’m gonna prove her wrong.”

Foggy blinked. “You’re gonna… ask her out?”

“No,” Matt said quickly. “I mean— yes. Eventually. But first I need to become the kind of guy she thinks could be a good boyfriend. You know. Change her mind.”

Foggy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Just fuck already.”

Matt frowned. “What?”

Foggy threw his hands in the air. “You like her. She likes you. I have seen you two. Why do you think you want her to stay longer after we're done studying? Why do you think you linger? Why do you think you bring her coffee and save her a seat and remember her deadlines better than your own?”

Matt opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“She fell first, you fell harder,” Foggy said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know the drill, man.”

Matt stared.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. My brother in Christ, you’re in love.”

Matt exhaled.

“…Shit.”

——————————————————————————————————

Matt didn’t sleep that night.

He lay awake, headphones in, a lecture playing that he didn’t hear, the words echoing over and over again in his head.

“She fell first.”

“You fell harder.”

He didn’t even realize when it happened. Somewhere between her snorting at his awful Latin puns and handing him half her sandwich because he forgot to eat again— he’d fallen. And now she thought he was incapable of loving her the way she deserved.

It felt like a punch to the chest.

But instead of wallowing, he decided to do something.

Starting now.

The next morning, Matt showed up to your apartment with coffee. Your exact order. No text beforehand. No heads-up.

You opened the door in pajama shorts and a hoodie, one sock on and a pen still tucked behind your ear.

“Matt?”

He held up the coffee like it was a peace offering. “You mentioned your 9 a.m. was with Vasquez today. I figured you’d need a hit of caffeine and a minor miracle.”

You blinked. “…That’s weirdly thoughtful of you.”

He smiled. “I’ve been working on that.”

And then he left. Just like that.

No flirting. No lingering.

Just… left.

You stared after him, cup in hand, completely thrown.

It didn’t stop there.

Matt started walking you to class. All the time.

Not just when you happened to be heading the same direction. On purpose.

He’d show up at your building with some excuse— “I needed air,” or “Foggy wasn’t ready yet”— and fall into step beside you like it was routine.

Then came the favors. Printing your notes when the Wi-Fi was down. Fixing the broken strap on your bag. Letting you drag him to that awful late-night diner when you were too wired to sleep.

You didn’t get it.

This wasn’t how Matt Murdock operated.

Matt Murdock flirted, ghosted, and moved on.

This? This was effort.

It was also torture.

Because the more he did it, the more you started to hope. Stupid, dangerous hope. Maybe he did like you. Maybe this wasn’t one-sided after all.

But every time you thought about asking, about saying something— he’d flash that same unreadable smile and change the subject.

So you kept your mouth shut. Kept watching. Waiting.

Hoping.

Meanwhile, Foggy was losing his mind.

“You can’t just— Matt, you cannot boyfriend her without telling her.”

Matt frowned, folding his arms. “I thought this was the part where I prove myself.”

“To who? To her? She already likes you. You’re not proving anything except that you’re allergic to communication.”

“I’m building a foundation.”

Foggy looked pained. “You’re building a bad sitcom plot. Just tell her.”

Matt hesitated. “She said she didn’t want that. She said she’d get over me.”

Foggy sighed so hard, his soul probably left his body.

“Matt. Listen to me. She said that because she didn’t think she could have you. You have ghosted every girl before her, remember?”

Matt winced. “Not every—”

“Every.”

“…Fair.”

Foggy ran a hand down his face. “You’re gonna lose her if you don’t speak up.”

Matt didn’t respond.

Because deep down, he knew it was true.

——————————————————————————————————

It started with Foggy texting you.

Which was already suspicious, because Foggy never texted first unless Matt was—

foggy: hey can you swing by the quad after class?

foggy: matt’s planning something

foggy: i’m scared :,)

Now, when someone like Foggy— sweet, unshakeable, usually-down-for-anything Foggy— is scared, you listen. You changed your route and headed toward the quad.

And promptly stopped dead in your tracks.

Because what the hell were you looking at.

Matt Murdock stood on a bench.

On a goddamn bench. In broad daylight. Holding what looked like a beat-up portable speaker above his head like he was channelling John Cusack in Say Anything.

Button-down rolled to the elbows. Hair tousled like it’d been run through about seven too many times. Foggy was standing off to the side looking like he was actively regretting every life decision that brought him here.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “Oh no.”

A group of students was already watching, phones half-raised. Matt didn’t seem to care.

You watched, frozen, as he raised a hand and cleared his throat. Actually cleared his throat. Like he was about to deliver a valedictorian speech. You saw Foggy mutter don’t do it, like a prayer.

Matt did it anyway.

“I, uh… I know this is weird,” he began, voice carrying over the quad, “but I have something to say. Something important.”

The crowd murmured. A few giggles. One guy yelled “Murdock, you proposing?” which earned a sharp shut up from someone else. Foggy, probably.

Matt ignored it. His face was dead serious. “There’s someone I’ve been an idiot about. Someone smart and stubborn and too good to waste time on someone like me. But she did anyway. She does. And if she’s here—” his head turned slightly “— I want her to know I’m sorry. And that I like her. A lot.”

You blinked.

Foggy made frantic eye contact with you from the sidelines and mouthed stop him.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Matt continued. “I was scared, okay? I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin her. But then I realized I’d rather screw up trying to be with her than let her go without even trying. So, (Y/N),” he called, voice way too confident for a man committing this level of social suicide. “This one’s for you.”

A soft click, followed by the unmistakable synthy intro of Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden.

Savage. Fucking. Garden.

You clapped a hand over your mouth.

Someone nearby went “What is happening?”

Matt? he looked hopeful.

And you— stupid, stunned, wildly endeared— were just about to take a step forward when—

Cue the sprinkler system turning on.

Every. Single. Sprinkler.

They sputtered, then blasted to life across the quad like a synchronized ambush. A collective scream rose as people scrambled away, books and phones held over heads.

Matt? Got hit square in the chest, earning a strained Jesus from him.

Foggy somewhere in the periphery muttering “I told him” like a man in mourning.

You? Soaked. Wide-eyed. Laughing.

You actually had to cover your mouth, you were laughing so hard.

Matt stepped down, water dripping from his sleeves. He looked around like he was being personally smitten by the gods. It was like the universe waited for maximum dramatic tension just to drop the punchline.

The song cut out with a strangled sputter as the speaker died a wet, heroic death. Students screamed. Matt cursed under his breath as he was immediately soaked. Foggy, who had clearly seen this coming, was already power-walking toward the nearest tree, muttering “I’m too pretty for this.”

You stood there in shock as water poured down on everyone.

And then— you burst out laughing.

You couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. You doubled over, drenched, laughing so hard it echoed louder than the chaos around you.

Matt stood on the bench, blinking water from his lashes, the speaker dangling uselessly from one hand. He looked like a wet, confused puppy. A hot wet confused puppy. Weird analogy. But still.

You pushed your hair from your eyes and walked over, completely soaked.

“This was your grand romantic gesture?” you asked between giggles.

He ran a hand down his face, sopping. “It was supposed to be better.”

You looked up at him, the pathetic speaker still crackling faintly in his grip. “It was absolutely ridiculous.”

A pause.

You smiled. “It was perfect.”

Foggy squelched up behind you both. “Okay, you’ve both had your romcom moment, can I go home now? My socks are... squishy.”

Matt turned to him, still trying to catch his breath. “Thanks for… whatever part you played in this.”

“I want that thank you in writing,” Foggy muttered. “And a refund for emotional distress.”

You turned back to Matt.

“Do I get to keep the boombox?”

He grinned. “It’s mostly water now. But sure.”

You took a slow step closer. “So… boyfriend material yet?”

He reached out— careful, gentle— and brushed a piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Getting there.”

And then you kissed him.

In the middle of the quad. Soaked to the bone. Surrounded by students who definitely started applauding and whistling, because of course they did.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Foggy just shook his head.

“Seriously. I hate you both.”

You smiled at him. “Love you too, Fog.”

And Matt?

Well, he didn’t run.

Not this time.

a/n: alright so the fic took a detour from what i had originally planned, it was going to be angst, reader was going to be fwb with matt, and well it's a whole thing, a lot of changes happened but i didn't change the title because well i got attached. i know it doesn't really make sense now with how the story turned out, but i'm leaving it in the story anyway, hope you liked it!

[revelboo]

Hello! Hope I am not bothering you with this, but may I request a scenario/ update on Chromedome x Reader x Rewind? I feel starved by reading some of the other stories just to check if I could see a cameo of them with their human.

Sure!

Circles Pt 4

Chromedome x Reader x Rewind

• Know you’re annoying, that you’d been too excited and overwhelmed them. That you always drive people away, always get left behind. And it’s your fault. It’s always you. Anxiety making you tremble as the smaller one, Rewind, rubs your back. Not pushing you away or telling you to shut up even as you start babbling that you’re sorry and you can’t make yourself let go of him. Can’t stop.

• “Some sort of trauma response,” Ratchet murmurs tiredly in Cybertronian and Chromedome vents. So not only is their human unable to shut up, but you’re broken. Watching the medic run a hand over his face staring at you and Rewind, Chromedome just wants you to go back to wherever you came from. Liked it being just him and Rewind, the two of them figuring out their relationship, getting to know each other. “Physically they’re fine,” Ratchet adds.

• Listening in on Ratchet and Chromedome’s conversation, Rewind glances at you as you curl closer to him, making that funny hitching noise and not protesting when he wipes your face with a corner of your blanket. And he thinks he gets it. Knows what it’s like to be small among giants. To be overlooked. Forgotten. Resting his chin on top of your head as Domey just glares like you’re doing it on purpose. But you need him, need both of them whether Domey likes it or not.

• Gentle hands on you, holding you and it breaks you wide open. Can feel the other one’s optics and when you glance up, he’s staring at you. Dies he hate you? Everything does eventually. But Rewind seems kind. Want to hang on to that feeling with both hands, desperate to not be abandoned. To be better so you won’t be discarded. To be whatever he needs you to be so you’re useful. So you can stay.

• Annoyed as Ratchet leaves, Chromedome turns back to see you’re still clinging to his partner. And you’re also still leaking, making that awful hitching noise as Rewind holds you and jealousy mingles with the irritation. Hating that you’re monopolizing Rewind’s attention and taking advantage of his kindness. Not wanting to share him with anyone else. Their relationship still so new and he doesn’t want some broken human ruining this. Because with Rewind he’s been happy for the first time in a long time. Has a home and someone to belong to. That needs and wants him and he can’t let you destroy that no matter what.

Previous

[tokeposts]

𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛?

pairing: bakugou katsuki x gn!reader

warnings: NERVE AU, cussing, anonymous online peer pressure, exploitation, mentions of death/violence/theft (like one sentence),

943 | in a world where the online game nerve rules, your watchers see some kind of chemistry between you and rising player, bakugou katsuki.

The city pulses around you, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement as the night buzzes with energy. It seemed that the longer you played the more aware you become. The man making a scene at the gas station, a girl that got caught stealing a $3000 dress at the boutique, the guy that died from bungee jumping.

All of them were players in this twisted game.

And tonight? You’re one of them. That is how you find yourself entering a random dinner in the city. The watchers had taken a liking to this place for whatever reason and you weren't going to pass up an easy $100.

The same time the dinner door chimes with your entrance, your phone buzzes. Your URL, a randomly generated name, lights up in blue on your phone. The words DARE COMPLETE right next to it. A sigh you didn't know you were holding escapes you.

You don’t know what made you press join. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was the weight of expectations crushing you, perhaps the thrill? The need to be someone other than the girl who always plays it safe. Or maybe... your phone lights up again a notification from your bank saying the $100 was successfully transfered to your account.

You smile. A new dare pops up on your screen.

[ KISS A STRANGER FOR 10 SECONDS • $130 ]

A small scoff leaves your lips, "that's the best you got?"

Before you can tap accept your phone buzzes again a new dare replacing the old one.

[ KISS THE BLONDE ONE FOR 10 SECONDS • $300 ]

Your eyes searching the crowd of the surprisingly packed dinner. "How very specific of you, watchers."

As if on cue, the crowd shifts, and there he is. His blonde hair peaks past the book he's reading, The Scarlet Letter, and even with the cover hiding most of his face you know it's him. The book makes you laugh, makes you want to say something to him but you know better than that. This game takes everything you love and twists the life. It's no coincidence the man they want you to kiss is reading your favorite book.

"Hey." He flips the book down, laying it flat on the table. Red eyes meet your own and you recognize them instantly. His glare sends a shiver down your spine. Bakugou Katsuki, better known as BKG_001, sitting idly in a booth.

He scoffs. "You again?"

Neon spills across his sharp features, and even through the chaos of the game, he looks exactly the same. It's like he owns whatever space he’s in, like the world bends around him instead of the other way around.

Your grip tightens around your phone. You can feel the ghost of a headache behind your eyes. Of course he’s playing. Bakugou is the definition of reckless. If anyone would throw themselves into a game, it’s him. Casualties are thrown out window. You slide into his booth, far too close to him, but he doesn't flinch. He never does.

He leans in over the table, gaze flicking down to your screen. Then he snorts. “Figures.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

His phone screen is tilted just enough for you to see the same dare staring back at you.

“You got the same one,” you mutter.

"Seems like they like us." His smirk is infuriating. “What? You scared?”

It’s bait, and you know it. You should walk away, find someone else, pick an easier route. But that’s not how this works. Your phone buzzes again as a warning: 1 MINUTE REMAINS. If you back down now, the watchers will eat you alive, but even worse, you’d never hear the end of it from him.

So you square your shoulders and meet his gaze. “Fine.”

His grin sharpens. “Fine.”

You glance down at your screen, making sure you're in frame, the watchers flood the chat.

DO IT. DO IT. DO IT.

You barely have time to register their comments before his hand catches your waist, pulling you in. The heat of him is immediate. His scent takes over you— smoke and woodsy. It feels up your lungs, wraps around your spine, and devours your thoughts.

His lips crash against yours.

At first it is all teeth. His mouth fighting against yours for dominance. Bruising lips and shaky breathes. It is rough, hungry, like he’s trying to prove something. Like he knows exactly what this is doing to you.

Your lungs beg for air but he is too intoxicating. Too good to ride yourself of this kind of bliss.

You expected a half-ass kiss. Something quick, for him to treat it like a dare, nothing more, but Bakugou got his following for being real. You should know better than anyone that he doesn't do anything halfway.

Your fingers tighten in his jacket, and his grip on your waist slides lower, dragging fire down your spine as his hands brush the hem of your pants.

Seconds stretch long. Five, four, three— It feels like you are being burned alive. Two, one.

When you finally pull away, your heart is hammering, and Bakugou’s eyes are dark, narrowed and unreadable. There is something there. Something that needs to be addressed in the little space of your labored breaths and unbroken eye contact, but before you can say anything, before you can even catch your breath, another notification pops up.

[ FOLLOW HIM OUT • $500 ]

Your stomach drops.

Bakugou glances at his screen, then at you. Then he grins. It's all teeth and pride.

"Looks like we’re stuck together.”

And just like that, the game has only just begun.

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 11)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!batfam

You cooled it as Silver Swan while you were being watched. You weren't an idiot; you knew they were following you in the hopes of finding Silver Swan. You just had to stick to a routine while they had their eyes on you and then they'd lose interest.

"So this is the fabric store she goes to for so long," Dick said, disguised as a nerdy-looking guy in a sweater vest and large glasses. "She just walks straight in, and . . . stands at the counter?"

"She must work there, idiot," Jason scoffed.

"She looks happy there," Steph said. "She's . . . smiling."

"She never smiles at home," Duke said. "And Y/N never mentioned a job."

"Y/N never mentions anything," Tim scoffed. "Then again, we never talk to her. She's always up in her room, sewing little bears or whatever."

"Bears . . . just like the bears that Silver Swan was seen giving to people that was filled full of money she stole from the fundraiser!" Damian gasped. Cassandra hit him.

Give it a rest, she signed. You're obsessed and we're sick of it.

"Focus, guys." Barbara's voice came over their disguised comms links. "We have to see if Y/N comes into contact with anyone who could be Silver Swan. Make sure to watch for people in high heels, because any one of them could be Silver Swan in a civilian identity."

"She's probably waiting for someone vulnerable to seduce." Stephanie's stomach contents rose up her throat like mercury in a thermometer. "Y/N would be perfect for that. She'd give the clothes off her back. She said it herself."

"We just need to know a little more about her so she stops clinging to this idea of Silver Swan being so . . . perfect!" Duke said, vibrating with rage. "We're better than that lowlife! She just flies around looking kinda cool and had two high-profile stunts! What could she possibly know?"

"My identity," Damian said.

You could have heard a pin drop. "Silver Swan . . . knows who you are?" Jason hissed.

"She was so infuriating to go up against, and . . . I said too much," Damian admitted. "What if she finds Y/N because of me? I've doomed my only blood sibling!"

"What the hell did you say? When was this? Why would you engage Silver Swan on your own?" Dick yelled.

"I wanted to stop them!"

"And now Y/N's in danger! She doesn't even know what sort of danger she'd be in from Silver Swan because she's in some sort of dazed crush on her! We need to be her role models so that she can't be lured away from us like the little children after the Pied Piper of Hamelin!"

Your siblings spent the rest of the day watching you, growing more and more jealous with every second. You never smiled like that at them.

You never hugged them.

You never took the time to point out their hair being askew or buttons undone.

Damian began frothing at the mouth when he saw you scoop up a small child off the floor and guide him back to his mother. Why couldn't you be this gentle with him? Why did you not show such affection to him?

"You are such a sweet little boy," you said to the toddler. Damian wanted to throw that toddler into traffic.

You wandered into a cafe and ordered quickly, standing around waiting for your order once you had paid. Was that your regular order? Do you normally go here? Did you meet friends here?

"There'll be so much stuff for us to look at when we're at home," Tim said. "School records, tapes, maybe even a diary."

"I know," Stephanie said. "Just . . . let me keep watching."

"Sure," Jason said, as he watched you eat alone. "Just to make sure they're safe."

"Of course," Duke said.

*_*_*_*_*_

"Are you sure you want me to eat lunch with you?" you ask, as your siblings offer you a slice of cheese pizza. "I can make myself something."

"You shouldn't be alone, Y/N." Damian's voice was cold and clinical. "Humans are social creatures. Social interaction is vital."

"Are you feeling OK, Damian? You're . . . not being yourself," you said.

"I feel fine." Damian brushed off your concerns while being elated that you had worried about him. "Now, please eat with us."

You sat down and ate, perched on the edge of your seat. You could feel eyes on you, observant eyes that took in every detail of you.

If you were really going to have them on your back, they might as well be useful.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11 <- You are here

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @simpingfor-wakasa, @kittzu, @simpingpandas, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @galaxypurplerose, @wisefuncherryblossom, @vanessa-boo, @deathbynarcisstick, @sirenetheblogger, @asillysimp, @toxicvoidsstuff, @kneelforloki, @trashlanternfish360, @tsxukikami.

[ophernelia]

hi opie how're you? hope everything's going well! i wanted to ask if you would ever be open to making a g-shade presets for commission. i love the way your presets look and would def pay for one.

Hey! I don’t use g-shade, I only use reshade. However, absolutely not. There’s no reason you guys should be paying ANYONE for reshade/g-shade presets PERIOD. They’re so incredibly easy to make and I think it’s greedy as shit for people to have them behind paywalls. Like full stop. It’s just a matter of clicking some effects and adjusting some levels. And not a single one of them is groundbreaking enough to constitute payment for it. I want you to make your own and I’ll help you do it. 90% of the stuff is just a matter of preference. You adjust the levels to whatever you like or what your PC can handle. Play with EVERYTHING. Click every shader and see what it does. Play with the levels on it. And just google anything you’re not sure of. “What reshade shader should I use to brighten up my screen?” They’d tell you levels, dpx, whatever. Point is to just research everything you’re curious about.

! I use the Sunblind mod, Out of the Dark by Lotharihoe, and Northern Siberia Winds Better in game lighting. EA’s base coloring is very dull, dark and blue. So I use these mods to fix that. I also primarily use paid shaders, i.e. Marty’s iMMERSE shaders. Additionally I've edited my graphics file. You can find a pre-made one here.

ANNND ANOTHER THING! LOAD ORDER MATTERS!

If you're using Marty's shaders, then the launchpad goes at the very top. MXAO shaders come next. Then adaptive fog. After that I have RTGI and Relight. I also put SSR quint here too if I'm using it. DOF shaders come next and then SMAA and/or FXAA come after that. Coloring and contrast effects come after FXAA/SMAA. Bloom effects and ambient lighting should go last.

1. Foundation [SMAA, FXAA, CLARITY, + SHARPENING]

There’s a few effects that I use for every single reshade preset. It’s the bare bones of all of them. That’s SMAA, sharpness, and FXAA. Those help with edge smoothing and clarity. From what I remember the shaders for both reshade and g-shade are relatively similar, so just try to find the corresponding one. I use both SMAA and FXAA. Might be overkill but I don’t care. You can use one or the other. They’re meant to smooth edges so they’re less jagged. I usually lower the threshold to 0.05, but my pc is pretty good. I’d recommend starting at 0.02. That goes for both SMAA and FXAA. For clarity, I just pop the clarity effect on. I don’t change anything because it looks fine to me as is. Change it if you want to though. For sharpening, I typically use CAS.fx to sharpen. Adjust the number to your liking. I usually only add a little sharpness. If I need more I add it later when I’m editing.

2. Depth [MXAO, DOF, ADAPTIVE FOG]

I usually use two different mxao shaders. The base mxao and quint_mxao. MXAO is meant for ambient occlusion and indirect lighting. I adjust my settings to my liking, but I always follow pictureamoebae’s guide as a starting point. As far as DOF, I use ADOF and cinematic dof. Sometimes together, but typically just one at a time. The only settings I usually change for ADOF is the bokeh. Bokeh is just the way the lense renders out of focus light. Increasing the bokeh will make those light points brighter. I avoid using it during day light shots because I don’t like how it looks. I typically only use it for shots at night. You can adjust the blurriness of the shader by adjusting the f-stop. The default is about 2.8. I usually keep it there or a little bit lower. I don’t like my background too blurred. For reshade you adjust it by changing the values for the near and far blur curve. You can try out Pxl's settings here. For Adaptive fog I use the default settings. Sometimes I might change the color or intensity, but I tend to not use it too often. Below are my exact MXAO settings.

3. Brightness & Coloring [DPX, Levels, & Selective Color]

Again, there’s no set levels I use or recommend. I change things up constantly. I use lighting mods, so the coloring of the game is already to my liking with that. At most I’ll slap on some DPX to brighten the screen if I feel it’s too dark. All I adjust is the intensity of the effect. Using the levels shader, I usually play around with the black point. It adds more contrast when I make it a bit darker. I like that. You may not. Adjust it to your liking. I use PD80’s selective color for most of the color grading I do in game. I don’t change much. Most times I just lower the saturation of the greens in the game and make them a bit more yellow. I like yellowish-green colors. You might not. Again, change it to whatever you like. Just play with the levels. If you don’t like them just reset the effect.

4. Lighting [RTGI, RELIGHT, ARCANE BLOOM]

I'm still new to using RTGI, but it's used for raytracing. That helps to add realistic shadows to the scene. The shader I use is paid, but you should get it. If you'd be willing to pay me for a commission, then pay the like $5 and pick up this shader. It's a part of the iMMERSE shader set I mentioned earlier. Now, my settings aren't great and I need to play with them more but this is how it looks. It may be too heavy for your pc. It will lower your fps so be mindful of that. I only use it when I film and take screenshots.

Relight is also a paid shader from the same pack. I can't offer any help with that. All of my settings are the same. I just adjust the light colors, position, and intensity depending on the scene. That shader set includes a newer version of relight and I prefer that one. I also use arcane bloom. I only use it to add a bloom effect around light sources, so like a lit lamp or a street light. Here's my settings.

This was long, but that's it. None of this is hard or complex. It's all just a matter of playing around with the settings. And searching for help whenever you need it. You can always download a preset you like and just tweak that to your liking for personal use. You don't even have to start from scratch if you don't want to. Just don't be afraid to hop in and play with the settings. Nothing is permanent. You can always start over if things get wonky along the way.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

How aware is Dragon!Ford of how dragon-brained he is regarding Stan? 🤣

Just imagining Poor Fiddleford dealing with a dragon who is able to find justifications for everything Stan does, and then some, AND verbalize it, is making me laugh so hard.

Fiddleford: What were you even tryin' to accomplish! Letting him wander around breaking things!

Dragon Ford: First of all, my Stan can do whatever he wants(except leave), second of all, my belongings are his belongings, third of all, he's only destroying things of little value(because of the Stan Effect everything is worth so much less in comparison to Stan), forth of all--

Fiddleford: 🫠

(Due to the Stan Effect, everything in the castle appears to be of low value. This is because Stan is a statistical outlier, and should not have been counted./ref)

Dragon Ford's awareness of how dragon brained he's being is like the nagging feeling you're forgetting something, but not sure what. Every now and then Ford will have a moment of 'Wait, Stan's my brother, I can't keep him here if he wants to go?" that is immediately crushed by the thought of 'what am i saying! Of course i have to keep him here! He's my brother!' That little piece of his original human mind is constantly yelling at the rest of him to get it together and work on breaking his curse. The greater part of him is too busy trailing Stan like he's the axolotl's gift to the world to care about his silly curse.

Fiddleford (and Emma-May to a lesser extent, as she interacts less with Stan due to not having a physical body and therefore can't prevent him from escaping without possessing him which doesnt make anyone happy) hate Fords train of logic and neverending list of excuses for Stan's behavior. Mostly because half the time they can't even argue with him about it. Yes, nothing in the castle that Stan is that valuable, and its also Fords so its fine, and they did kidnap him and are holding him prisoner so its a little much to expect him to be cooperative all the time.

Doesnt make Stan any less of a nuisance at times.

(The Stan effect is the bane of Fiddlefords existence. Yes, Stan's very important and special and your brother. Now please stop giving him swords to swing at all the furniture. Other people live here. Some of them children.

Ford: No.)

[chaifootsteps]

"Just goes to show, it doesn't matter what you ship, it's how you treat people."

this is actually one of, if not the bigger pet peeves i have with vivziepops fandom, because on one hand, it's great that they can engage in dark fiction casually without having to make call-out posts or alienate other people who make that content from their space. it's a wonderful contrast from other modern day fandoms who act like making dark art in any capacity means you endorse whatever you're writing about.

the problem is that, they seem to also alienate anyone who makes dark fiction that isn't just a toxic gay ship to get their dick hard. no treating stella's pain seriously, no writing about how truly fucked up the full moon deal was or even acknowledging it, no writing about how ozzie was straight up going to let his lovers best friend DIE without even TRYING to stop it, no charalastor because some fans accidentally made a ship day on her birthday when they only did that because that's when the pilot dropped, now it's "basically incest" if you ship it since alastor said, "you could even call me.. dad!", etc.

pretty much all of these things have been discouraged by the creator throwing out likes in a way no other creator of any other cartoon, let alone show really could, because it makes certain fans feel validated in putting down other fans, for simply engaging with fictional characters like the dolls they are, and that fucking sucks to me. dark fiction for all, or none at all, i think.

This, completely. The Viv fandom is a place where you're allowed and encouraged to explore mature subject matter...but only certain ships and forms of content that Viv directly, specifically approves of.

Want to explore Valentino's relationship with Angel? Free rein. Calling for Valentino's death? The fandom will mass report your account. Want to write toxic gays? Fine. Want to sympathize with an abused, abrasive woman with an unpleasant personality? Viv herself will personally shame you for it.

Fortunately, there are so many other fandoms that actually do have this dark fiction thing figured out. Mouthwashing, TADC, and most of the horror genre come to mind.

[imarson404]

Maybe a hot take but I PERSONALLY don’t buy into the whole ‘Wammy’s house was a child detective puppy farm’ idea. Mainly because we aren’t told nearly enough about Wammy’s house outside of that one scene with near and Mello (thanks ohba and obata 😐) but also because a lot the stuff that we do see doesnt really give me that impression? Strictly speaking with the main anime/manga you have the existence of Matt and Linda right off the bat. Matt first of all because hes said to be the 3rd best at Wammy’s house, 3rd in line it be L , and yet hes fine to just… say nah, I don’t feel like it? He never really seems all that pressed tbh imo. And as for Linda, we know that she’s an exceptionally talented artist who is in multiple galleries across England, and Wammy’s appears to have facilitated that. She wasn’t grabbed off the streets as an orphan and forced to become a child detective. It doesn’t seem like any of them were. What Matt and Linda seem to show us is that none of them were ever forced to be detectives or the next L or whatever, it was just an option. (Once again, from my perspective in the animanga purely) The core of Mello’s very personality is to be competitive, of course he went for it. Near was exceptionally smart and good at puzzles in the same way that L was. In the one scene taking place at Wammy’s in the anime, it’s clear that Roger really didn’t want them to do this alone. He tried to hold back from telling them that L didn’t pick (cough cough because he knew Mello’s inferiority complex would lead him to believe that meant he had lost) and tried to convince them to work to whether before Mello stormed off alone. Not downplaying the fact that a 14 year old was able to storm off alone but the fact is that we DONT KNOW what happened after that. Theres so much context that we don’t know. Discussing other canons, the L files tells us outright that L WASNT FORCED TO BE A CHILD SLAVE DETECTIVE BY WATARI THE MOMENT HE WAS BROUGHT IN. He just solved puzzled and went on his computer until he was 14, at which point he found ‘something more interesting than any puzzle he’d ever solved’ and moved on to crimes. Again, not to take away from the dubious ethics of a 14 year old solving crimes but it isnt like Watari sat his 8 year old ass in front of a dead body and told him to figure it out. And the (dubiously canon adjacent?) LCtW also suggests that Wammy’s house was a place that facilitated genii of all types, not just the crime solving ones, for example the biochemist (i think) K. Now facing LABB. I can absolutely see why people look to this as definitive proof that Wammy’s house is evil, especially with what Mello talks about regarding ‘Watari wanting backups’ and A’s suicide. Those are both valid points which are very bad. My issue here is just that whats written in LABB doesnt always match up with other canons (theres also the whole issue of Mello being a potentially unreliable narrator but that’s an entirely different matter). For example, it claims that ‘when Wammy’s house was first founded Watari was experimenting with making new L’s’ which doesnt line up with L being taken to Wammy’s house in the manga and anime and basically every other canon, where Wammy’s precedes L. Even Dn 13, which takes LABB as canon in its timeline, also includes the L files which shows baby L being taken to Wammy’s and eventually discovering detective work. overall it’s all about weighing one canon against the over and making your on conclusions, and I prefer to believe in the canons which suggest that while it was flawed, Wammy’s house was not an actively evil child detective factory with an evil overlord running it. now, everything I’ve just said is MY PERSPECTIVE. I’m not bashing anyone for believing any which way, I really don’t care. I just felt like explaining my point of view on my blog (because I like compiling evidence and putting forwards an argument bc I find it fun. Yes I did like debates in class how could you tell

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Luicfer was waiting for Adam, he said he was going to take a shower. But how long do showers take?

So he texted him, seeing if he was just taking his time drying off.

No reply.

Looking around, he didn't see anyone so what harm would it be if he went back there? Technically he's not allowed but whatever he'll risk it.

Lucifer went down to the locker room: Hello!? Adam are you still here!?

He could hear water running, so he went over and opened the door a little knocking.

Lucifer: Adam? You in here?

Adam: Lu!? H-help!

Lucifer opened the door and went in, he thought maybe at first Adam slipped and fell but when he saw the blood and knife his own blood froze.

Lucifer: Oh my god!

He ran right over, not caring that his own clothes were getting soaked in the water of the shower. He quickly flicked it off and applied pressure to Adam's hip to help stem the bleeding.

Lucifer: Fuck, I'll get a towel that'll help.

He quickly got two towels, one to cover Adam and the other to help with the bleeding.

Lucifer: W-what happened!?

Adam: ..... Guess Al isn't your biggest fan.

Lucifer: Fuck Adam, he could have killed you.

He pulled out his phone and dialed 911 for an ambulance and the cops.

-

Doctor: You got lucky. A little more to the left would have severed your femeral artery and you'd have bled out in seconds.

Adam gulped, he's had close encounters with death before but never by nearly getting killed.

The cops were looking into it.

The doctor said he'll be fine just to rest for about a week.

Lucifer was relieved that Adam was going to be okay, he was so worried. When the doctor gave them the okay he drove Adam home and helped him inside.

Adam had his leg and hip on the couch, still only in the hospital gown. Lucifer went and got him a pajama shirt and some loose boxers. He even helped Adam get dressed.

Adam didn't know what would have happened if Lucifer hadn't come to check on him. He might still be on the shower room floor.

Lucifer: Okay! What would you like to eat? Are you hungry? Cause I can cook for you.

Adam: You.... You want to cook for me?

Lucifer blinked: Well yeah, you're hurt. I thought you'd need help. I want to help you........ If that's okay?

Alastor never took care of him when he was sick...... And he wouldn't be like this if it wasn't for that asshole.

Adam felt his heart flutter: Yeah of course.

Lucifer smiled: Great! Now, I know you're not sick, but injured is a type of sick so I'm going to make you bread and soup.

Adam watched as Lucifer made both from scratch, his house has never smelt so good.

Ice hockey palyer!Adam meeting fan!Lucifer for the first time when he's smashing someone I to the glass in front of him.

Adam winks at him, btw.

AHHHH YES PLEASE!!!

Lucifer would bring swooning and on cloud nine, his favourite hockey player winked at him!

Angel: Awwww cute! He likes you.

Luicfer: It was just for a second…… but these front row seats were worth it oh my god.~

[heavenlyakin]

down bad

cw: college au, phd student suguru, masters student female reader, nsfw (smut ahead woohoo). unedited. this is technically part 3 but I’m not tagging the other parts: they’re on my masterlists.  1.8k

You left the writing group feeling like you’d ran a marathon. 

Between trying not to think about the taste of Suguru’s mouth and the act of actually writing parts of your thesis, you found you can only do one. It’s an easy guess to figure out which one you were able to do. 

You’d half expected a text from Suguru about being caught kissing him, but one never came. So you left it alone. He’s probably as embarrassed by it as you are. So, you let it go and carry on with your schedule for the remainder of the week. 

Two days pass and you realize Suguru hasn’t come by the coffee shop, and you’re starting to think it’s your fault. You try not to lament, but you are. Layla notices at work and keeps feeding you espresso until you’re basically shaking with energy. You’re greeting customers, running around the shop and asking if anyone needs refills, and for once not thinking about Suguru’s tongue in your mouth. 

Well, you’re trying not to. 

“Can you lock up?” Layla asks, tossing her apron in the basket for the owner to pick up after you close to wash. 

“Sure, I’ll be done with the floors in a few. You can go ahead.” You had all the energy in the world but it’s crashing now and you’re slowly sweeping the floors behind the counter. 

Layla leaves, switching the outside lights off as she goes so it’s only the glow of the wall sconces the owners leave on until they come in a few hours later to collect laundry to do. You toss a few towels into the basket and then put the broom back in the closet. 

As you’re hanging the broom on the wall, you hear the bells to the front door. 

“Sorry, we just closed,” you call out before shutting the door. Layla must have forgotten to turn the open sign to closed. 

“I’m not here for coffee,” a warm familiar voice calls back. 

Your eyes lock on Suguru, his hair half up in a bun and his clothes a bit worn and wrinkled on his body. He looks a bit disheveled, if you’re honest. You wipe your hands on your apron then untie it and toss it in the basket. 

“What are you here for?” You ask, sounding a bit harsher than you intended. 

“I’m sorry-” he starts and you shake your head. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, it’s fine.” You’re too tired to go back and forth about why it’s wrong to make out with someone and not at least send them a text to check that they made it home. 

“No, I’ve been rude. I should have called you.” So he does want to go back and forth. 

You sit on one of the bar stools and nod. “Yeah, you should have.” 

He moves to your side, his hand cupping your cheek. “Can I make it up to you?” 

You melt into his touch. “It depends.” 

His thumb drags across your bottom lip and you bite it. He grins. “Don’t do that,” he pleads with you, his voice raspier than before. “I’m already willing to drop to my knees for you.” 

Your stomach flips as you hear the words. “How close do you live?” You ask knowing your apartment is a good fifteen minute walk from here. 

“A few blocks, not far.” 

“Roommates?” 

“None,” he grins and you can’t help but jump up from the seat. 

Suguru takes your hand, and you struggle to lock up with just one hand, but after some fumbling, you manage to make sure the shop is locked up. He’s not wrong about how close he lives, he’s only two blocks away and above one of the local boutiques. You don’t have time to look around the apartment before Suguru is pushing you back against his sofa, his lips on yours and body grinding against yours. 

He doesn’t taste like coffee today, it’s something sweeter. Perhaps more gum he’d been chewing throughout the day? A fruity tea? Whatever it is, it tastes better on him than anything. You moan against his lips as his fingers slip under your t-shirt. His fingers drag across your skin as he pulls the shirt over your head and tosses it to the side. 

He looks down your body and you feel yourself becoming self conscious, but you push it away. He’s admiring you, not judging you. You reach up and untie his hair from the band it’s in, letting it fall around your face as he presses your forehead against yours. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers and you look away from his eyes. 

He kisses you again as your fingers push his green and brown flannel off his shoulders. The white shirt underneath is wrinkled and worn, but soft against your fingertips as you pull it off of him. His body is warm as you touch his chest, feeling his soft skin and dragging your fingertips down his body to his waist. 

He inhales sharply as you trace the v on his hips, a wild look on his face as he watches you. You sit up enough to let him unclasp your bra, it falling from your shoulders and onto the floor beside his coffee table. Suguru doesn’t waste time. His tongue teases one nipple as his mouth closes around it and his fingers tease the other. 

You moan and arch your back into his body as he plays with you. Your eyes squeeze shut as he sucks on your nipple, moving to the other one and giving it the same attention. Your core is burning and you’re sure if you looked you might even see a wet stain on the crotch of your green shorts. 

“Suguru,” you moan, and he hums against your nipple making you moan louder. 

“Say my name again,” he groans as he kisses down your stomach. 

You’re happy to do as you’re told, repeating his name as his fingers undo your shorts and pull them down your legs with the tights you had underneath. He licks up your panty-covered cunt, making you grin with wild pleasure. 

“Take them off,” you giggle and he shakes his head. 

“And waste all this?” He asks, rubbing circles against your clit through the soaked cotton. 

You throw your head back against the decorative pillow on the couch and try not to beg him to remove the underwear from your body. He teases you, his purple eyes never leaving your face. Even when you look away, you feel them burning into you as his fingers slowly taunt your cunt. 

He sucks on your clit through the panties, the noises grotesque but turning you on in ways you didn’t know anyone could. Your mouth is open as you pant through the moans and watch him slowly, so slowly, move your panties out of the way and lick up your cunt. 

You toss your head back again, hitting it a bit too hard on the edge of the couch arm, but you can’t focus on that now. Not when Suguru is eating you out like you’re his last meal on death row. You tangle your fingers in his hair and hold him snug against you, unconcerned about if he needs air. You need him more. 

Tighter and tighter the knot in your stomach begins to form. Oh god, you’re going to cum already. You feel it inching closer and closer with every flick of Suguru’s tongue. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, your thighs squeezing around his head. 

His fingers slip inside you, and you lose it. He chuckles as you clench around his two fingers and cum. You cry out and cover your mouth, embarassed by how loud you're being. Suguru slowly pulls his fingers out of you and hovers over you. 

“Open up,” he says softly and you part your lips, uncovering your eyes as he places his two fingers that were just inside you into your mouth. 

You close your lips around him, sucking slightly at the sweet taste of you on his fingers. His eyes light up as he watches you and you feel his cock hard against you through his pants. You reach for the buckle of his belt, undoing it quickly as he pulls his fingers out. A trail of saliva follows them, but Suguru breaks it by kissing you and cupping your face as you manage to push his pants down enough to free his throbbing cock. 

You wrap your hand around him, making him groan against your lips. You stroke him a few times before he’s kicking his pants and underwear off along with the rest of his clothes. He’s crawling on top of you seconds later, kissing you wildly. 

“I need you,” you tell him as you feel his cock against your stomach, begging to be inside of you. Much like you’re ready to beg for him. 

“Need me where?” He asks. 

“Inside me, please Suguru.” 

“Please who?” And deep down you know exactly what he wants you to call him and you feel every nerve burst alive. 

“Daddy, please.” 

“Fuck,” he groans, taking the tip of his cock and sinking it into you. “That’s a good girl,” he sinks into you fully and you feel your eyes well up with the intensity of it all. 

A slew of curses pass your lips as he kisses you while slowly moving in and out. You adjust quickly and the sting of pain turns to pleasure. He holds your knees to your chest as he fucks into you, using you and making you feel like you’re going to implode. 

“Sugu-” you start and notice the glare he gives you, “daddy, please,” you whimper as he leans down and kisses you while his right hand moves to rub your clit while he fucks you. 

“Please what, baby?” He asks. 

“Kiss me,” you gasp out and he does. He releases your knee and stops tormenting your clit long enough to kiss you as he slowly thrusts in and out of you. 

You wrap your arms around him, your nails biting into his skin as he unravels you again beneath him. You cum, clenching around his cock and tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. They start to fall, Suguru looks at you with a sick grin. He licks the tears from your cheeks then taps on your mouth. 

“Open up,” as you do he spits onto your tongue and you feel yourself clench around his cock again.  

You’ve never been treated so wildly before in your life when being intimate but this awakens something in you. Your eyes gloss over and you swallow the spit and smile up at Suguru. He kisses your forehead and then thrusts harder into you before groaning. 

You feel his cum leaking out of you before you register him pulling out. He pulls you onto his lap and holds you against him, your head tucked under his chin. You sit there for a few moments, trying to register everything that just happened. As you go to speak, he beats you to it. 

“So, do you want to show me your thesis now?” 

You start laughing before you can answer.

[slasherflicks999]

YES OFCCCC i know how much u love em 😈😈 i wanted to make sure u saw it :33

HAHAHAHA AWW slasher rn:

slasher shitposting doodle dump yippeeeee!!!

ANDDD more slasher + BEN doodles 😈😈 @ribcagecavityy i heard ur pleas for more of them trust……… :3

i’ve been busy the past couple days and not drawing as much LOL my bad 😔

also i’ve been wanting to write some sort of little oneshot thing with slasher just to get back into writing again but writer’s block is like grabbing me by my throat and shaking me around AGHBJSXJHDHSCBKCS when will it end.

inspo/og pics after the break ofc :3

edit: guess who forgot BEN’s piercings AGAIN. i told yall if i dont forget the freckles i forget the piercings smh…..