#the question is who is going to be holding onto the bridge

[swan2swan]

Anyway, CampFam, are we ready for Season 2 Chaos Theory Yasammy?

[sexlapis]

[◉°] … toji & y/n being a couple for 10 minutes straight pt.3

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ｡˚ 𓂋 ❄﹒✦﹒✿ ˚

꩜ actor!toji x actress!reader

⤷ synopsis : just toji & reader being idiots in luv…

꩜ content : crazy fans, very mild physical violence (toji pushing ppl lol), toji being a little ooc again. this is really not as wack as the warnings are making it sound.

- a/n : loads of people seem to be enjoying this & i enjoy making them, so here you go! :D

. . . part 1, part 2, part 4

masterlists

౨ৎ first clip

(recorded by your fansite) - you & toji are at the airport and it is packed. there are fans swarming you, practically suffocating you & toji, along with paparazzi taking pictures of you, flashing lights in your face. your bodyguards are literally at war trying to guard you and you have to cling onto toji’s arm to even get past the sea of people.

all of a sudden one fan somehow gets way too close, and grabs a hold of your shirt, trying to drag you towards him. you jerk forward and without even hesitating, toji just grabs the face of the crazy fan and pushes him away like it’s nothing, causing a domino effect having other fans falling over as well.

toji puts an arm around you and guides you to check your tickets, ignoring all the chaos he caused behind him.

(this got a lot of mixed reactions, some people siding with toji saying he was just protecting you & others criticising him for his rash actions that could’ve caused people to get injured 💀)

౨ৎ second clip

you & toji were doing a video for WIRED, taking part in their popular series, “Web’s Most Searched Questions” about yourselves.

“okay third question..” you say, and peel off the paper. “are _____ and toji..dating?”

you & toji look at the camera and then at each other, faces hot and you’re both awkwardly smiling before looking at the camera again. you & toji speak. “yeah, i dunno.” “nooo idea.” “literally no clue whatsoever.” “why even ask that like-like we’d know the answer?”

you peel the next question and it’s even worse. “are _____ and toji having- A BABY?!” you shout and cover your face laughing, both in shock and amusement. “what?!”

toji just facepalms, hiding his pink cheeks and sighs tiredly. “christ…”

౨ৎ third clip

you’re at a press conference for the series you and toji are in, all the cast members are gathered on a long table with microphones but it’s a pretty informal gathering and the fans are being very interactive with the cast!

a crew members hands the microphone to a fan who has a question. “hi! hi, i’m sarah and uhm..i have a question for toji. and _____ too! do you think that your characters have a chance of..like..getting together? like romantically-?”

“yeah we’re getting together,” toji responds bluntly, reeling in the loud cheers from the crowd & he decides to add fuel to the fire. “and we’re gonna have a make-out scene too.”

the audiences goes crazy with applause and whistles, while you pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head in embarrassment as the cast look to see your reaction.

then the director of the show pitches in, holding her finger up. “just to clarify, we did not discuss this..”

there’s a chorus of laughs and sad ‘awws’ among the pool of fans which only makes you giggle. you didn’t even know what to say to toji’s brashness.

gojo chimes in with his loud mouth while everyone is still buzzing from toji’s unexpected words. “talking about kisses and stuff like. this guy’s just saying what he wants to hear!”

everyone starts creasing up again and you & toji lean your heads to look at each other on opposing ends of the table, and he just smirks at you while you just shake your head and try not to look so obvious..

౨ৎ fourth clip

vogue did a video with you getting ready for a fashion show you were invited to, by the designer herself.

the makeup artists had just finished your shimmery, fairy-like makeup and now the stylists were accessorising you with jewellery and fixing your hair.

“yeah i really like how the hair is done,” you say, referring to the baby pink ribbon tied cutely around your bun. “it’s really cute! and the dress is just so-”

the door to the dressing room opens and toji pokes his head in, the camera zooming in on him. “‘ya done yet?”

“toji?” you ask, exasperated. “toji get out! we’re not finished yet..”

toji looks you up and down in confusion. “ya look done to me. we gotta leave in like-”

“toji i am clearly not finished. we have to go through which jewellery looks the best with the neckline of the dress and..my whole look altogether so it doesn’t drown me out! and then we have to pick the correct shoes and make sure i’m comfortable with them and that they look pretty but also don’t take attention away from the dress. and then for the perfume-”

“yeah, yeah, alright, i get it.” toji totes. “but we have to be there in 30 minutes so-”

“oh toji’.” you sigh, looking in the mirror while the stylist fuss around you. “it’s okay if we’re late. i’m the main event. the designer invented me personally. they won’t even start the show if i’m not there. it’ll be fine, trust me.”

toji looks at you for a moment and then simply shrugs, nodding and accepting your words.

౨ৎ fifth clip

“so yeah, this is the book i’m reading.” you hold up ‘pride & prejudice’ to the camera for your fans to see. you were on a livestream, which you don’t usually do, and many fans were watching. “i just love this book. the characters are-”

loud, thudding footsteps can be heard in the background and you pause. a deep, clearly a man’s voice can be heard and then a shirtless toji walks into frame (as identified by his tattoos bc his face is not on camera). he reaches out of frame.

“sorry, jus’ forgot my shirt.”

he puts his shirt on, not even realising what he just did in front of 50,000 people and walks out of the room

it all happened so fast, you sit with your jaw open like a fish, holding your now forgotten book in your hand while the chat goes wild, spamming questions of “who is that?” “is that toji?” “you and toji are together?” in a frantic, chaotic fashion.

you just look at the camera and reach forward, abruptly ending the live. fans did not stop talking about this moment for months and they most certainly did not believe you when you said toji was just at your house for a little ‘visit’.

౨ৎ

tag list: @tiredslepz | @hayatslife | @shxyxyxxxx | @snowprincesa1 | @laylasbunbunny | @mimiemie

a/n: yk how hard it is to think of ideas for this omg 😭💔

[hiddenlife-manager]

Luffy smut under the table using his stretchy arms from the other side. Also can’t help but imagine him stretching his fingers or cock inside of u to see how much u can take

Luffy x Fem Reader

cw... fingering, squirting, needy luffy, slightly mean reader, under the table, innocent luffy, etc...

notepad... NUMBER TWO OF THE DAY! I think I might get another one today because I want to widdle down this list a bit. Who knows what I will pick. I have two fandoms I have to decide from.

“Luffy, I can’t cuddle; I have to get this done.” You muttered, and you leaned over the table with Luffy next to you. Hugging your shoulders, he wants to get your attention. You sighed, looking at your work. You promised Nami to budget the financing well, but there was a weird anomaly you had to fix. You were stressed.

“Unfair!” You heard him whine, and your hands went to the bridge of your nose, pinching it. You needed peace and quiet. You looked at him frustrated by all means. 

“I don’t care. Just sit in front of me and be quiet, please!” You begged, and he sighed, pouting at you and sticking his tongue to you. You rolled your eyes and went back to writing and doing a bit of math. He sat down in front of you, unaware he was about to do something that would make you lose focus. 

While you worked, he was staring at your pretty face. He hated how your attention wasn’t on him. He slowly began to stretch his hands under the table. He knew how flustered you get when he puts his fingers inside you; then you will get his attention, and that was the only way. He slowly raised your skirt up, not even allowing you to notice until you felt him move your underwear to the side. 

“Luffy! Oh-” You moaned, trying to cover it with your hands. You took your hands off your lips, trying to scold him, but your hands flung to the table, gripping it and moaning. You were bent over, moaning, holding onto the table. His fingers are going in and out of you. 

“I want your attention!” He pouted, and he knew he had it. Your hands let go of the table, and you look at him, trying to hold back the moans. You could not let him win; you had to get your work done.

“You don’t have it yet. Do what you want.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed your pencil with shaky hands. The feeling of his fingers pumping inside you felt so good. He stretched them to reach the right spot, and it annoyed and pleased you. As you tried to work, your thighs pushed against each other, trying to get him out of you. But you could not stop the low moaning coming from you. His head was on the desk, smiling innocently. You wondered if he knew what he was doing. 

“Do I have it now?” You were about to question why he asked that until you felt his fingers get thicker and pump into you like a cock would. You moaned loudly and hunched over, trying to get away from the pleasure but couldn’t. He smiled at you, and he knew you were so close. Your cunt is clenching onto his fingers, and moans are spewing from your lips, unable to work. 

“Fuck Luffy! You’re about to make me cum.” He smiled innocently and continued going faster, and that was when you screamed out a moan. Liquid was spewing out of your pussycat as you squirted onto his fingers. You were gasping for air. 

"Now, can we cuddle?” He asked, watching you pant for air. You got up from your chair and noticed how it was soaking wet on your skirt. While he stretched back his hand and licked at his fingers.

[starboye]

starring: rafe cameron x male reader

request: rafe cameron fucking his slutty bubble butt boyfriend after catching another man grinding on him at the club and rafe spanks him until reader is crying and at some point rafe makes him twerk while he’s still fucking him and if he stops he gets spanked

warnings: smut, cursing, drunk sex, alcohol, semi-public sex, dacryphilia, ass slapping

rafe decided to treat you to a night out at a club so you could have some fun after him not hanging out with you for a while, the music was loud and the drinks were overwhelming but it did help you loosen up from your tenseness "c'mon rafe just dance with me" you beg trying to pull him from the chair he sat in but he wasn't budging "nope i'm good right here, plus i like watching you dance instead" rafe said sipping on his beer in hand.

"fine" you huff letting go of his hand and walking to the dance floor, swaying your ass for his eyes as you walked away, you both knew you were a pro when it came to teasing him and with the way those shorts were riding up your ass it was getting hard for him to control his urges, wanting to drag you to somewhere private and fuck the hell out of you but he held back and let you have your fun for now.

he noticed his beer was a little empty and rose from his spto to get a new and in this brief moment somehow he came back to see you grinding up on some random man, the second he saw this his jaw clenched and it looked like he could break the bottle with how tight he was holding it, placing it on the table side and pushing his way through the sea of people to get to you.

he grabbed your arm snapping you out of your quite dazed and drunk state, panic setting in your face when you realized you were grinding your ass on another man "who the fuck are you" the man spoke "his fucking boyfriend" rafe sternly said holding back from punching the man in his face and just dragged you away and out the bar "and you question why i don't take you to the bar" rafe mutters pinching the bridge of his nose as you whined at him taking you from having fun.

"and was the fun you trying to fuck another guy" rafe asks in an enraged tone "i wasn't gonna fuck him i was just a little to drunk" you shyly mummer, rafe looked at you and then looked around to see an empty alley, dragging you to it as you stumbled over your own feet "well since you wanna have some fun then lets have some fun" rafe says pushing you onto the wall and unzipping his pants to let his hard on fall out.

he pulls your pants down to reveal you nice ass for him, he lathers his tip with some spit and slides into you with a moan, you letting out a small whimper, rafe holds your hands above your head as he thrusts into you with some but not a lot of force "yeah so fucking good f'me" rafe mutters as his hips begin moving on their own into you, he lays a small slap on your ass to watch it jiggle on his dick, making a small tear fall on your cheek which catches rafes attention.

ha smacks your ass again making you whine and another tear to drop, he was getting pleasure from punishing you for being such a slut "yeah you're such a slut right, just love throwing your ass on men right" rafe asks turning your head to look at him, your eyes having a coat of water over them as tears brim in the corners "mm mm" you shake your head "well then what would you call that in the club" rafe asks.

"since you can do that to him you can damn sure do it for me right" rafe smirks stopping his movements into you and slapping your ass to make you fuck yourself on his cock, you slowly move back and forth on him, slowing for just a second making rafe slap your ass once more "keep going" rafe demands and you obey, resuming your actions slowly with the sweet degrading words of rafe, him leaning his head onto your shoulder and grabbing your chin to turn your face to slightly look at him.

"such a good fucking slut for me right baby, just love the way my cock fits in you" he lowly says kissing your neck, one hand keeping your ass moving around his dick "just want me to fill you with my cum huh" rafe asks moving his hand to jerk you off "might just keep you home, fuck you so your don't have to go out and try to fuck other men" rafe says in a sultry tone tightening his hand, wanting you to cum with him.

"m'close" rafe says and you nod signaling you are too "f-fuck" you croak before you cum into rafes hands with a small moan and rafe soon following behind as he spills his load into you making you both feel so good "rafe" you say before falling into rafes arms "let's get you home light weight" rafe laughs bridal carrying you to his truck and driving home.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09@kadenvatsune

[ladyelissarose]

———————— ☠️

“Sergeant, you’ve been sitting there for the past 30 mins. Do you seriously think you have that much time to waste?”

Your Lieutenant Simon Riley’s voice was dead yet firm in its tone, being evident that he wasn’t very pleased at the moment.

Placing yourself in his shoes, you’d be upset too, there was a mission coming up and much preparation was still needed, from ‘everyone’ in the team.

Trying to swallow the heavy rock in your throat, you tried to put down the pain of your humiliation from earlier, and replied lowly,

“No sir, but I’m waiting for someone-“

“For 30 minutes? Don’t you think that after 5-10 minutes of waiting it’d be very clear that they’re not coming back for you.”

‘Oh.. but why would they do that? Their supposed to help me-‘

“Sergeant? I asked a question-“

“Yes sir, you’re right. I apologize for wasting time and being delusional.”

With a confident tone you had replied, which was the total opposite of what you were feeling. And though you apologized, you stayed glued to that damned seat, clenching your thighs and the gut wrecking pain that seared from your stomach to your legs- who would’ve thought that period pains would make you feel like you’ve been shot and stabbed?

You bit your lip nervously at the scolding that was to come in a few seconds as you hadn’t moved, and neither had your Lieutenant Ghost, meaning he was waiting for you to move your ass up from the metal chair.

And the longer the seconds passed, you grew more sick and worried, for Ghost wasn’t the most nicest to the newest ones in the team, he was actually very strict and took no excuses from anyone- including you.

Although you haven’t been on that side of him, but you’ve seen it and wouldn’t dare cross that bridge. So far you’ve been one of the best alongside Johnny Soap MacTavish, listening attentively and being the best shot on the job. But now you’re letting a natural cause hold you back, and in shame you couldn’t move or budge.

Not after you were mocked and belittled for it- and it wasn’t even your fault, but of course they all made you feel like it was.

A low gruff was heard above you, and Ghost’s large boots shifted on the ground before he practically barked,

“Well then move Sergeant!? What’d ya eat this morning that was to heavy for you to even get up eh?!”

And to put the cherry on top, when you’re in this abdominal pain, along with your daily sores from the job and stresses, you’re gonna get emotional and teary.

Especially when you knew it could’ve been solved a while ago when you had asked a teammate to help you out, but they had left you out to dry obviously, telling you to stay in that seat while they ran to your barracks to get new pants.

So now you kept your gaze on the ground, refusing to move a bit, not knowing how to explain or hold it all in, until you felt a strong grip on your arm as he lifted you up and spoke in a harsh tone,

“I’ll move you then-“

In panic you grabbed the collar of his vest and held onto the hand that grabbed you as you pleaded with desperate eyes,

“Lieutenant Riley please! Just- please.”

Your bottom lip now quivered a bit, and your eyes frantically searched his, hoping to find mercy in them so he could let you go, but he didn’t. He only locked his cold brown eyes on you, as he tried to read the situation.

That was Simon’s best tactic, he could read people like a book when he wanted to and wasn’t in a bad mood. And once he gave himself the chance to do so, he could clearly tell you were devastated and anguished, as your brows furrowed tightly and your eyes were growing glassy.

In regret at his actions, as he saw your state, Ghost immediately let you go and remembered Soap’s words,

‘Be more understanding of everyone’s situations, you may not always know why they are a certain way.’

He took a deep breath and pat your arm from where he had grasped you, not ignoring the fact how you flinched a bit and a fat tear was wiped away from your cheek by your shoulder. Simon was quick to mumble feeling guilty,

“I’m sorry Sergeant. Didn’t mean to be so harsh-“

“I bled through my pants pretty badly Lieutenant.”

“What?!”

He was ready to check you thinking it was probably an injury, but you instantly grabbed his jaw so he wouldn’t look, and quickly explained,

“It’s not an injury.”

You could see the way his eyes spoke confusion, as he questioned,

“Then what is it Sargeant?”

Your grip on his jaw loosened as you grew shy, realizing how close he was to you, and you grew more conscious of your state. As calmly as you could, you did your best to say the least but enough to understand.

“Please don’t let me say it... I’ve been humiliated enough.”

The gears in his poor head twisted and turned, as he tried to read in between in the lines of your words. He repeated your words in his head, and saw your state-

‘Oh.. OH.’

Ghost sucked in a deep breath and replied his thoughts,

“Oh. Sergeant- ok.. here.”

He quickly shrugged off his jacket, and like a carrying mother, he tied the sleeves around your waist, making sure it covered you were needed. He tapped your waist when he finished and ordered,

“Walk in front of me, let’s take you to your room.”

In a quiet voice you tried to reason, hoping he’d let you go on your own, as you were still a bit embarrassed.

“It’s a long walk Lieutenant- literally across the whole base-“

“Then we’ll go to my office, I have an extra pair of cargo’s.. they adjust to any size-“

He then held your cheek with his gloved palm as he assured you,

“I’m not letting you go on your own, I’ll help you.”

Nodding dumbly because of his sweet gesture, you agreed. And well, that settled it for you, he wasn’t letting you go on your own, so off you went.

Like a guardian angel his broad built covered your smaller form fully, and with a reassuring hand on your shoulder he guided you away to his office.

You felt small in front of his full build, but never insignificant as he treated you like a person, maybe he started off the wrong foot at times, but that’s who Simon Riley was.. he wasn’t used to being all nice and kind. But when he’d find out his mistake he’s pluck it out and make it right ten times more.

In the comfort of his little room, clearly showing he lived there as it smelled like his musky and citrus scent, and the decorations were to a bare minimum (it was actually just the little lamp and a few large bullet casings laid around in different places, like they were posing.

Oh and all the little gum wrapper things you made for him were all resting on his tiny window seal- anyways.. you were safe in his room.

He left you to change in peace after he made you stand in the pants for five more minutes- until you spilled the names of the soldiers that had humiliated you. You really didn’t want to cause them problems, especially with the Lieutenant himself who was stern and harsh.. but he made you understand that it was well deserved anyways.

Now you’re buckling up your fresh pants when you heard the door open and Ghost walk in, his head lowered as he began,

“You good Sergeant?”

Nodding to yourself you replied to him verbally,

“Yes Lieutenant.. thanks. They fit well.”

He took that as your signal of, ‘I’m decent you can look’ so he did, seeing his pants on you. Maybe they did look pretty big on you, but they fit, and were stainless.

Satisfaction with a hint of care in his eyes, he nodded with a soft grunt,

“Alright kid.. Oh and take these… they help with the.. the cramps?”

Smiling a bit at his shy voice coming out and at his attentiveness to what your body was going through, you replied,

“Yes.. the cramps.. thank you.”

“Hmm hmm.. now, be at the shooting range. I’ll be there in 5.”

Worry then crashed, wanting to hit you as you thought about the chance of seeing those soldiers again, but Ghost once again reassured you,

“Don’t worry Sergeant… I got your back. Go on to the range.”

Releasing a breath of relief you sent him a small smile then went, happy and confident to know you had your Lieutenant’s protection. Simon watched you walk away and he felt warmth in his chest, as he was able to provide help and be good to and for you.

Ghost hardly ever practiced shots or trained with you, afraid he’d hurt you or be too stern. But now he was afraid to leave you on your own, and be hurt by someone else. So he figured, you’d be safe and learn well from him, while he’d learn to keep his temper and tolerance in check, as he’d have you in sight.. a win is a win.

[suw4]

Your Voice

Hinata Shoyo from Haikyuu!!

an/tw: i feel like this isn't my best work but i hope you like it anywaysssssss

Masterlist | Haikyuu!! Masterlist

part1 | part2

Shoyo came running up the stairs towards the rooftop. His boyfriend was waiting for him upstairs to eat lunch together. He was running late due to a mini receiving practice with Sugawara. Once he'd arrived, he saw the [h/c] head sitting quietly on the bench. Looking down to his unopened bento box. Shoyo smiled widely and ran up to him.

"[N/n]!!" he shouted even though the male couldn't hear him. Jumping onto the male and hugged him ever so excitedly. [Name] laughed at his highly energetic boyfriend and hugged him back. "Sorry, I'm late! Sugawara-senpai asked me to stay back for a while for practice," Shoyo signed as he spoke. "It's okay. Shall we eat?" [Name] signed back and the other nodded.

They both happily ate lunch together until Shoyo jolted up, remembering something. He looked at his lover with such determined eyes--mouth full of food. He laid the bento onto his lap and slid himself closer to the other. "I want to introduce you to my team! Is that okay?" he signed excitedly, a smile lingered on his face steadily. [Name] paused, the tip of his chopsticks in his mouth as he stared at Shoyo. He took a couple of minutes to think about it and eventually gave in to his request. He gave Shoyo a subtle nod, along with a small smile. "Why not?" he signed.

Adrenaline rushed through the shorter male's body. He hopped off the bench with his bento in his hands. "Really?! Then, I'll introduce you later during practice. Okay?!" he proposed. This time, he was jumping on the spot. [Name] chuckled, holding Shoyo's hand with his. "Calm down.." he spoke up, words slurring close together, but Shoyo was able to make it out. He retracted his hand and signed, "I can't read your lips if you speak too fast,"

"Oh, sorry!" the decoy quickly apologized by making a gesture of pinching the bridge of his nose, then opened his hand with fingers closed, and he lowered it with a slight bow. He grinned at his boyfriend before hugging the life out of him. He then continued to ramble on about what he had planned for the meet-up.

Soon enough, it was already practice time. Shoyo waited for [Name] outside his class. Bouncing on the spot as excitement filled him. Watching the taller male packing his bag with a huge smile. Once he was ready, he intertwined his hand with the other, dragging the poor boy out towards the volleyball gym.

"Sorry, I'm late!" Shoyo yelled as he slid the gym doors open. Capturing all the attention from everyone in the place. "Oh! Hinata! It's okay!" the silver head third year assured, walking towards the couple. "Who's this? Are you recruiting new members?"

"Oh, no! He can't play. This is my boyfriend, [L.Name] [Name]!" he proudly announced, squeezing the [h/c] head's hand.

The others began crowding around the couple and asking questions. Curious about their relationship and such. While they converse, Kageyama was fiercely observing the boy that Shoyo brought in. The stare was so intense that Tsukishima, who stood not far from him, thought he was planning murder. "Oi, are you going to stare at him until your eyes pop out? Or are you tragically in love with shrimp's partner?"

The setter snapped out of his gaze and glared at the other. "Shut up," he told him off, looking back at [Name]. "I was wondering why he looked familiar," he paused, recalling his memory. "Yukigaoka Junior High's number 7. A middle blocker. One of Hinata's teammates that I played against," he noted, placing his finger on his chin. Tsukishima hummed in response,not really caring much.

Suddenly, the blue haired setter felt chills down his back. He heard a snicker beside him. "Seems like he heard you over all that noise," the blonde gave him a snarky look. Kageyama looked up to see [Name] staring at him like a killer pin pointing his next target. It was a look that he was familiar with. [Name] was the same person who punched his face after the game ended with his team winning against his.

Kageyama grabbed onto the net as he leaned down to Shoyos's height. "What have you been doing for the last three years?" he taunted the shorter male. Unfortunately, [Name] had overheard him, and it prompted him to swing a hard punch towards the blue haired male's face. Yelling and screaming at him while his teammates had to hold him back.

"Who do you think you are to say that, dickhead? Damn asshole! Don't you dare question his abilities!" [Name] continued to scream while glaring at the setter who was holding his nose in great pain while getting off the floor with a couple of his teammates' help.

The middle blocker got kicked out from making such a commotion and inflicting violence on the opponent team. The competition had to be put on hold for a moment.

"Oh! [L.Name], I remember you! You were the middle blocker that played in the Junior High game last year, right?" Daichi asked him. [Name] glanced up and gave him a short nod. "That's right! You were that tall dude who was blocking Kageyama's team like a maniac!"

"Yeah!!! [N/n] was so cool!! I owe him a lot for most of the points we scored!" Shoyo began jogging on the spot, pumped up with energy. "Why isn't he playing volleyball then?" Kageyama's voice dominated over the others. Causing everyone to look at him. Dampening the lively mood that that the decoy created. [Name] nudged his boyfriend's arm, arching a brow. Wanting to know what's happening. "Kageyama wants to know why you aren't continuing playing volleyball," he signed, catching everyone off guard.

"He's deaf," Shoyo turned back to face them while signing it for his lover too. The [h/c] haired sighed softly and crossed him arms. Used to this situation. "Oh, I'm sorry, Hinata. We didn't know. No wonder you kept answering the questions," the captain apologized while bowing at them out of respect. The volleyball club followed along. [Name] read Daichi's lips and showed a smile. "It's okay," he muttered. Easing everyone's guilt. "Yep! [N/n] doesn't mind it! He's very cool!" he let out a light hearted laugh, clinging on to the said male's arm.

"Wahh.. You guys are adorable! [L.Name], why didn't you tell me you are with Hinata?!" Yachi joined in. Trying her best to communicate through whatever she had learnt so far for sign language. [Name]'s eyes widened a little. Touched that she was learning to sign. "Oh? Yachi, you know [N/n]?" Shoyo tilted his head. "Yachi is my classmate, Sho," [Name] replied for the blonde then smiled at her. He was about to sign back but he thought of how difficult it would be for her to understand. So he loosen his bag from his shoulder and took out a notebook and a pen. Writing down what he wanted to say.

"Shoyo is very passionate for volleyball so I let him practice as much as he can. I want to see him be the next Little Giant!" the female first year read out loud. Everyone else was moved by his words. Shoyo looked up at his boyfriend with trembling lips. Falling in love with him all over again. "[N/n]..." he whined.

The day continued on with practice. A singular chair was set for [Name] to sit on and watch. He was mesmerized. He didn't get to see Shoyo play for so long. There was a drastic change with his speed, his skills. Even his jump is higher. He felt chills run down his back. It was thrilling, amazing. So amazing that he was jealous. It wasn't Shoyo that he was jealous of, but his teammates. People around him. He watched the tangerine landed onto the wooden floor after making a good score with his spike. Bouncing around Kageyama. Obviously, he couldn't hear what he's rambling about but he knows that Shoyo was praising the heck out of that boy. He let out a quiet sigh and leaned back against the chair.

Practice has finally ended and [Name] told his partner that he'll wait for him outside. Once he was out, Kiyoko walked up to Shoyo and gave him a light tap. Causing him to stop untying the net. "Oh Shimizu-senpai? Is there something wrong?"

"Hinata, I've noticed that [L.Name] was a little sad when he was watching the match. Is he alright?" the third year question, concerned for the male. "[N/n]..? I'm... not sure. Uh- I'LL LEAVE EARLY TODAY!" he announced loudly, rushing out the gym and straight towards the club room to change. Packing his stuff up and made his way to his boyfriend by the gym doors.

The male stood in front of the other, huffing for air. "[N/n], is something wrong?!" he signed. [Name] was startled a little and tilted his head. "Nothing's wrong? Why the sudden question?"

"Shimizu-senpai was worried about you. She told me you were sad! Did something happened?"

"Nothing happened, really. Should we go home now?" [Name] showed him a reassuring smile. Shoyo frowned a little but hesitantly nodded. The taller male gently grabbed his hand and intertwined with it. Lifting it up to kiss the back of his hand. "Don't worry too much.." he uttered. The other looked down and replied with a simple "Okay," while [Name] guided them forward.

As they walked together, the [h/c] haired couldn't help but reminiscence the moment where Shoyo was ecstatic upon scoring that goal. He could imagine the cheers he shouted. But he could not hear it. Why can't he hear it? Why can't he fucking hear it? He was supposed to remember it!

As the boy was having a breakdown in his head, his steps slowed down. Dragging down the other male too. Shoyo turned around, shocked to see his boyfriend sobbing. Alerted, he moved closer and wiped away [Name]'s tears. "What's wrong, [N/n]. Why are you crying??" he asked whilst cupping the other's face. [Name] replied with slurs of shaky words.

"I-I can't remember y-your voice,"

[slash-me-please]

Hello! A question: How would the Slashers react to seeing that their partner prepared a dessert with a somewhat sadistic theme? (Context: I saw a video where there is a person who makes a cake with details of a face, and when you cut it juice comes out of the red fruit, he also makes cookies with eyes [Clearly they are not real])

Sorry if my spelling is wrong, but it's because I don't know many English

Slashers Reaction to their S/O Decorative Baking.

A/N: I got inspiration from 3 different tiktoks here. A bit sillier and fluffier than I wanted it to be. Michael's is a bit steamy

Thomas Hewitt

Luda Mae's kitchen is about ten degrees hotter than it usually was. You had dusted off her old gas stove and set it alight, going to town on the limited ingredients the off-the-grid household had collected throughout all the victims. Usually you put together small desserts, cookies, cake, but today you had really thought of an idea. You molded together the dough you had in your hands- pulling at the substance until it slightly resembled the nose bridge of a victim.

The pie was cherry today, tomorrow it could be something else but today it would be cherry. You giggle to yourself, the facial features of an uncanny valley freak of nature decorating your pie crust.

A light tapping breaks you out of your daze, you blink away the concentration to look at your husband. He gives you a concerned look. "I want you to feel like... I'm taking an interest in your hobbies." He turns away for a moment, but he looks back quicker than you would've thought. You wonder what he' s thinking but not for long before he's waiting at the table for you to finish.

Thomas has always wanted a family, a wife, someone to take care of. He forgets the improbabilities when he comes in from a long day of work and he smells your creations.

He thinks you're funny. He watches from behind sometimes; you're focused and locked in on some facepies. You shape each and every nose with love, and he turns his head away from Luda Mae when she briefly questions if maybe- he traumatized her a little bit.

Jason Voorhees

"Jason!" You called him from the other room, ecstatic with your new creation. You shift back and forth on both feet until he finally drags himself into the kitchen area for you to show him your treat. He blinks down at the Pyrex pan you are holding towards him, the red drip of- blood? rolling down- what would seem to be intestines? You still don't have his attention; this is a day job for him. "They're cinnamon rolls!" You beam at him, and that's what gets his attention. He nods with approval, and you begin to make him a plate.

As the two of you settle onto a water-logged, oak dining room set, he lift's his mask and eats at your snack slowly. You watch intently, proud of yourself for the decorating skills- and - for taking care of your boyfriend so well. He finishes up, looking back up at you and never mentioning that he hasn't tasted anything in a few decades.

His mom used to bake for him, she didn't use such... expressive techniques... but you're still appreciated.

Will eat everything you bake, he has no aversion to your decorating, but they don't affect him either way. He's got larger fish to be afraid of, like underage drinking.

Michael Myers

You sit at the dining room table, eyes trained on the wall clock in front of you. 3:17am. Your eyelids droop and you debate throwing in the towel and taking it upstairs for a moment before you finally hear the soft click of your screen door shutting. Michael makes his way into the kitchen, head tilting at the display on your kitchen table. Doll head covered apples? He reaches forward and grabs one off the table. The white chocolate crumbles underneath his fingertips, he looks at it for a moment. You know better than to say anything to him if you actually want him to try it.

He hikes the bottom half of his mask over his mouth, bringing the apple forward to take a bite. You watch, half lidded as he chews and swallows. His mouth upturns slightly and you feel your chest burn with pride. You had spent all day trying to get these right and he liked them. You reached onto the plate and grabbed one for your own, taking a bite and leaning your head back with a pleased moan. "I really outdid myself this time, didn't I?" He takes another bite, licking his lips of the white chocolate specks.

The two of you finish, looking hungrier than before. "What do you want me to make for you next time?" His eyes narrow, pulling the mask back down onto his face. "Maybe a tart?" Your eyes drag down. "Something glazed?"

Biggest sweet tooth ever! This skill of yours has saved you from the blunt edge of a knife quite a few times. There's nothing that keeps him coming home more than the edible arrangement of his favorite body parts you have made up for him.

He relishes in the attention, carefully examining each treat you create for him with precision. You watch him take down whatever you throw at him with such adoration, he tells himself that he only comes back for the food, but he can't help but anticipate the look on your face when you see him enjoy your gifts.

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. | chapter 23

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: the night of day 163 - also known as the final confession

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - angst, mentions of death, sensuality, levi is sad(tm) but we are finally giving him what he needs! Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

As soon as Captain Levi hauls himself upright on the saddle of his horse, he’s gone.

Like a bat out of hell, his horse takes off towards the direction of the old Survey Corps headquarters.

Dust and dirt from the hasty exit licks at the tip of your boots.

The rest of the Levi squad had only finished settling on their own horses, with you the last to remain on the forest floor.

“He seems eager to get back,” Petra states with a slow apprehension to her tone.

Oluo grunts in reply, and you know.

You can feel his eyes locked onto the back of your skull.

Asking—

What happened between the two of you? 

Why do you remember the outcome of the last mission? 

What aren’t you telling us?

The myriad of questions are not lost on you, because you ask them yourself.

After all, you were barely given a chance to explain.

To understand.

Even before the rest of Levi squad made it to the fall site, the tension between you and Levi was palpable.

The way Levi stared at you, held you, in the aftermath.

Trapped between the before times and what you’ve been reduced to before his very eyes —

“James, are you good?” Gunther asks, softer this time, but it's all white noise.

Figure out if you mean it.

If you really do remember — any of this.

Levi's voice is the only one registering in your mind.

If you think you know me, then say it with your whole damn chest and hold nothing back.

You do. You know him.

Captain Levi.

Child of the Underground.

Captain of the Special Operations Squad.

Though you know him as something else; something profound; something too devastating to lose.

The one who almost got away.

Before you can say a word, your body moves on autopilot: you shove your foot into a worn stirrup and jump up and onto your horse with the reins gripped in both hands.

Snapping them with newfound urgency, you leave the remaining members of your squad behind to bridge the gap between you and Levi.

Go.

Wind sweeps your emerald cloak like wings behind you as you ride, urging you horse faster, faster, faster—

And you inhale.

The more that you breathe, the more that you push yourself forward, your body feels less like a foreign entity. 

Your fingers flex without a detached delay. 

The leather against your palm feels right, like—

…like you’ve finally woken up on the right side of the bed again.

By the time you reach the headquarter courtyard, his midnight horse is already tied to a banister at the stable.

In a rushed dismount from your saddle, your shaking hands hurriedly tie the knot around the same banister and rush towards the open doors.

As you run inside your shoes switch from crunch to click, from dirt to concrete floor.

The sky, once swirling in uncertain grays, opens to a light rain. 

An incoming storm echoes through cavernous hallways, turning grayed stone to black.

Everywhere you look, he isn’t there — the foyer, the rest areas, the abandoned offices —

"C'mon, c'mon..."

As you turn the corner towards the kitchen, your eager ears pick up the leisure pace of two sets of boots.

You move faster, hoping to see that familiar head of raven hair.

To your surprise, you find Hange and Moblit at the very end of the corridor chatting after a meal. 

When they notice your arrival, Moblit gives a little half-smile of recognition while the Section Commander holds out their arms, eager to greet you.

“Hey, hey! She’s back from all the action!” Hange yelps with excitement. “Now tell me, how—”

“Where’s Levi?”

Your sharp question interrupts Hange’s cheerful greeting.

In this light, Hange appears so much clearer to you. Gone is the fuzzy confusion; their outline now just as sharp as their wit and wonder.

(Something like a found safe space, warm and comforting.)

“Levi?” they question. “Huh, I didn’t think he was back.”

So they don’t know yet.

He didn’t say anything.

But he's here, you know he made it back here—

Urgently, you step towards the two.

“I need to know where he is. It’s urgent.”

“Did something happen?” Moblit gently presses.

“I remember,” you state, as if that’ll explain anything. They blink in tandem. “I don’t know how, but it—”

Your hand rises to your mouth, covering it and giving yourself a moment to think.

Except the problem is that you need to say it — thinking, second guessing, slows this down.

Focus.

Your hand drops, and your voice says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hange — you and I once drank Moblit so horrendously under the table that he was bedridden for two days.” 

Hange’s boot squeaks against the floor in an echo as they stop dead in their tracks. 

“And whenever we meet in the city, Moblit and I order dumplings from that one nice old woman just outside the hospital. I think — you get the most basic order and always make sure to bring something back for Hange.”

Moblit’s eyes shoot wide. “Whoa, that—”

You hold a hand out to placate Hange, who looks like they’re two seconds away from screeching with elation.

“I can’t explain to you know I know all of this, and I don’t have time to figure that out right now. It’s just sort of word-vomiting out of my damn mouth the longer I let myself talk — so I don’t want to stop talking, and I’ll figure out the details and the rest with the two of you later, but it—”

It could disappear at any minute.

You can’t breathe.

It’s so hard to breathe, but do your best to gulp an inhale anyway.

“Please, just… I need – to talk – to Levi.”

Before I forget again.

Before he thinks I’ve forgotten him all over again.

Both Hange and Moblit stare in a haze of surprise.

By the time you open your mouth to plead a third time, Hange holds up a hand. 

Their expression darkens with a seriousness they so rarely possess.

“If he’s not by Erwin’s office or with us, then chances are he’s in his bedroom."

His bedroom.

Relief floods your system.

“Right,” you exhale, jolted by adrenaline. “Thanks, Hange.”

With that, you speed off in the opposite direction.

Up the stairwell.

Down the hallway.

Be here, be here, be here.

Fist raised, you lunge forward towards the wooden door—

Yet the door opens freely, and you’re trapped staring into the eyes of Levi Ackerman.

He blinks away his surprise to that evergreen mask of indifference — resignation? 

There’s no edge to his shoulders. They’re sagged.

Lowering your fist, you’re met with silence. 

(You’ve come to hate silence more than anything.)

So you speak first.

“Can we please—”

“Yeah.”

No pleas heard. No begging to be done.

“Yeah, might as well.”

Levi simply agrees.

The hand gripping the edge pulls the door towards him, conceding with an invitation inside.

Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover it — you push your way through, only to pause when your mind begins to recognize just how familiar this room feels with the light dance of rain outside an open window. 

Everything is so neat. Clean.

(And in the back of your mind, a voice says it’s exactly how you left it.)

The door locks shut, and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

Levi casually walks past you, pulling a chair from his desk and flipping it to face his bed.

He sinks down onto it, knees spread apart while his arm rests casually over the back.

“Start, then.”

His voice is guarded, shortened, as his eyes watch you from under wet, black fringe.

You stare, twisting your fingers around and against each other to self-soothe your nerves.

Your nostrils expand as you muster the courage to speak.

Yet when you do, your voice is smaller.

(So much could go wrong in one single moment.)

“I’ll start, just…"

"Just what?"

"Don’t shut me out.”

His eyes narrow. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I know, but this is different,” you argue weakly, wetting your lips.

“Try me,” he flatly goads. “I told you from the beginning—”

“—that you weren’t going to hand us our memories, fuck, I know already,” you bite to chomp off the rest of his statement, tired of hearing him push further distance between you. “Let me talk this bullshit out at you, alright? Not with you — but at you. Because the more I talk, the more things come back — it’s like my fucking unconsciousness is working faster than the rest of my body.”

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

When a few moments have passed, you take several steps forward to meet him — but turn to sit on the edge of his bed.

(Like you know belong there.)

He stops moving entirely, brow knit as he watches you descend.

Start, then.

“Before everyone swooped in, I told you that I thought I knew who I was. But… the more time goes by, it isn't a maybe anymore."

Your eyes remain on your hands, noting the calluses and age-old lines of scars across your fingers and palms. 

"And the longer time goes on, the more I talk, it becomes so much clearer."

Remember.

“I never knew my birth mother,” you continue, “not really. As far I know, she died when I was small. A lot of the details are still fuzzy, but some other sick bastard took her place. I think it's so hazy because there’s not much to remember about her. Mother... cared only about winning money."

Lost in your own thoughts, you drop your chin to your chest and exhale.

"I might have had siblings. None of them actually looked like me. They were just... stuck, too. And so many of them died."

All nameless faces.

All battle fodder for the almighty coin.

“I knew that the only way to live was to fight, so I fought. Hard. Every damn day until I couldn't stand on my two feet sometimes. That’s how we met.”

When you lift your eyes to stare him, he doesn’t react.

His nostrils flare in a twitch, but Levi remains in control of himself.

“My mother pit us against each other for money,” you continue softly. “That’s why I kept seeing this small, skinny boy in my dreams at a pub. For weeks, over and over, it was you. I gave you food — I wanted a friend. And…” 

You trail off, chewing on your next words very carefully. 

“And you gave me that. A friend. A chance to join your gang and live a life that was mine.”

Absently, your hand raises from your lap to your neck.

In the hopes of quelling your budding anxiety, your fingertip runs along the delicate silver chain at your sternum.

An old habit that won’t die, even in a state of memory loss.

Yet you catch him, right as it happens:

Levi’s hardened eyes shamelessly drop from yours — to stare at your fingers.

Your fingertip dips and circles the gray gem, mindful of its smooth texture.

Moments pass.

His eyes do not lift.

A familiar warmth spreads through your chest.

“My necklace.”

Then his eyes raise, as if suddenly aware of where he’s staring. 

“You gave it to me, didn’t you?”

You see him in your mind’s eye: a younger version of Levi sitting there, embarrassed to be offering such a delicate, sentimental gift to another person.

His gangly, teenage self overlaps the exhausted, battle-worn Levi across from you in his chair.

Both fighting.

Both surviving.

You feel so small as you try to remember the finite detail. Hitting a wall the longer the silence stretches, you're unable to pinpoint the exact memory.

Your nose scrunches in frustration, searching for that train of thought like a life line. 

“It was for my fifteenth— No, maybe my seventeenth—”

“Eighteenth.”

His voice is barely a murmur. 

Levi’s eyes do not leave your face.

“It was your eighteenth birthday.”

He manages to capture the memory eluding you before it can float away and dissolve to the wind.

A smile loaded with relief passes your lips.

It’s only a small nudge in the right direction, but it’s all you need for the memory to blossom like a flower on the surface in Spring.

The image of yesteryear blooms— 

White, billowing sleeves rolled to his elbows.

A cinched vest kept his clothes from flying off his small frame.

“With a lot of alcohol.”

“Yeah.”

“And a lot of extra cleaning the next morning.”

He exhales, slow and drawn out. “Something like that.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, emotions overwhelming you.

“Ever since Hange gave the necklace back to me, I can’t help but touch it any time I feel stressed or panicked. It’s like all of those bad feelings, they… go away. Disappear like the way titans do.”

Worries, gone like ash.

A ghostlike sensation runs against your lips, forcing you to reach and run along their seam.

Even if it's far away, you see it: a tilted head; black fringe.

Even now, you feel it: his lips so close; eyes wandering; the loss of reason.

“And you… you kissed me that day.”

Your first.

Both of your firsts.

When you smile, you notice then: his knuckles against the back of the chair turn translucent white.

“Wrong,” the captain tightly states.

Wait.

You freeze, fear settling in your belly.

“What?” you question. “But... but you did.”

He’s gripping the wooden backing so hard it could snap.

“I didn’t,” he forces out. “...you kissed me.”

Oh.

Oh. 

He’s not shutting you out.

Elation sweeps over your mind like a soothing balm as memories of pawing hands and inexperienced desire enters the forefront—

Finally clear as day.

Do you regret it, his voice whispers in the abyss.

“I never regretted that,” you reassure him, like you can finally answer him with absolute honesty. “Though technically you leaned in, and I ran with it.”

He huffs in disbelief. "Yeah?"

You smile with certainty. "Yeah."

Kisses between you two were just the tip of the iceberg. You know that now. 

You’ve seen it, felt it, tasted it—

In this very bedroom.

After a pause, the captain’s voice comes out strained.

“Of all the damn memories, that’s the one that stands out?”

You can’t help but huff with exhausted amusement.

“It isn’t the only one," you reply. "There are a million fragments I’m still piecing together and not everything makes sense, but there are some things that are just so vivid to me now. like…”

“Like?”

“Like our friends.”

Emotion flickers across his expression as he sits up further.

It’s like he’s been waiting to hear the names of your deceased comrades on your lips.

“You remember—”

“Isabel,” you whisper. “And Furlan. Yeah, it’s… bits and pieces just like everything else, but we grew up with them. I remember how we'd all spend hours zipping around that damn stolen ODM gear like we owned the joint. Somehow four kids managed to make an entire home in the Underground. And I wasn’t — I couldn’t be there when they—”

Profound sadness hits you like a ton of bricks, clipping your words.

I couldn't be there when they died.

The picture isn't complete, but you remember the sinking feeling in your belly when he had told you. So much time had gone by — you can vaguely pick out Isabel's wild red hair and recall thinking maybe the sun looked just like that. Furlan's infectious, warm laugh echoes in the back of your mind.

And you nearly joined them as a memory.

(No wonder why Levi was so angry with you at the start of it all.)

The rain continues to tap against the stone walls outside as another stretch of silence befalls the room.

One of Levi’s hands reaches for his face and runs down the length of it, tugging the skin as he goes.

His eyes drop to the floor, his dampened fringe shielding them from view.

“Un-fucking-believable…”

Your brow furrows.

“What?”

“This.”

That same hand sweeps a frustrated gesture between the two of you.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” he grunts. “You hit your goddamn head almost a year ago and — and you nearly did the same fucking thing again today, and you’re telling me that’s all it took to suddenly wake you up?”

The harshness of his words cause you to rear your head back. 

Hange nearly ran to you with open arms when you told them you remembered.

You had thought perhaps Levi would do the same once you had proven your mind to him.

Yet he’s reluctant.

Angry.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” you retort, narrowing your gaze. “I tried telling you months ago that my memories were fragmented, but you didn’t want to hear it. What, were you hoping I wouldn’t remember?”

Instantly his eyes are back on you. “I didn’t say that.”

“It sure feels like that, Levi,” you snip. “Was it because of our fight?”

The whites of his eyes explode.

“Our what?”

“Before we went on the last expedition,” you clarify under your breath. “When you tried sidelining me with counsel to Erwin. I asked you why you didn’t trust me to fight at your side, but it wasn’t that you didn’t trust me.”

What is the excuse you always, always, use?

It was such a vicious question in the heat of the moment.

Levi doesn’t hide his surprise this time.

Although he doesn’t answer your question, you can see it:

The same turmoil that pushed him to the brink of shouting, coming back to haunt him.

Because if I lose you this time, then that’s it!

The rattle of the storm increases in volume right outside his open window, billowing the sheer curtains from the wall.

You promised.

You promised him so many things that day.

Nothing will happen to me.

I’m not going anywhere.

“I won’t die on you, right?” you say to yourself, as if in a daze — trapped between the present and the past. “Because if I did, you’d drag my ass from Hell yourself.”

His face twists, contorts in pain, only for a second.

He catches himself at the precipice before he can truly react, swallowing it down—

And then it hits.

You understand what he isn't saying.

“You haven't stopped blaming yourself,” you realize out loud in a bewildered whisper. “Even after saving my ass a second time, you're still holding onto that guilt like it was a choice you had made instead of me.”

You stand abruptly from the bed and cross the room towards him.

Levi immediately jumps out of his chair like a cat that’s been dunked in water, terrified you’ll push him back under.

No matter how compelled you are to be near him, he repels. 

“It wasn't your fault,” you urge, softer this time. “Look at me. Levi — it wasn't your fault.”

His bluish-gray eyes narrow in defense. “Don’t start this—”

“When I fell—”

“No.”

“Levi,” you chastise. “You said we could talk.”

“I did,” he hotly retorts. “Not about that day.”

The air in the room shifts.

“Anything but that day,” he repeats, softer this time. “Please. I just —”

Struggling with what he wishes to say, his chin drops to his chest.

“...despite all my best efforts, despite whatever plans I put in place, I watched you fall in the same shitty forest not once, but twice, like it's a sick fucking dream I get to repeat over and over until I learn.”

All of your facial muscles smooth with sadness. “Except there wasn't anything to learn because you did nothing wrong. Levi, you caught me.”

“But not the first time,” he says simply. “Not when it mattered.”

The way he speaks about himself…

Humanity’s Strongest, reduced to one perceived failure, as if he could rewrite history and control your mistakes. 

Timidly you slide a boot forward, testing his resolve. 

Levi doesn’t move. His head remains bowed.

“You have spent months punishing yourself for something that I chose to do,” you urge under your breath in a damn-near plea. “What is it that Erwin tells us to do? Dedicate our hearts?"

"Don't use that shit against me, James," he warns.

Raising your hands in surrender, you shake your head wildly. "I'm not. Believe me, I'm not, but you need to understand it was my choice. I wanted to save the others. I wanted my life to matter."

You see his jaw clench like he's forcing himself to hold back what he wants to say.

You step another boot forward.

"Six months ago when I first saw you in that hospital wing in Trost, when you tried to rile me up, it was—”

“An error in judgment," he interrupts.

“Exactly what I needed,” you finish over him. 

His head lifts. 

You meet, eye to eye.

“I couldn’t understand why I was so transfixed by you,” you continue softly with the utmost sincerity, hoping he will hear you out. “You walked out of that room and all I wanted was to know you. To understand you, like you held this invisible key this entire time that could unlock whatever the hell it was that I was missing. But all you ever did was pull away from me, hide from me, trying to convince me you were some villain in my life—”

“James.” 

Abruptly Levi steps forward as if ready to walk straight through you—

—like you’re nothing but a ghost’s apparition.

Instead he is met with living, breathing warmth. 

Your eyes can’t leave when his breath tickles the skin of your face.

Levi stares back, entranced by the color of your eyes.

Infected, plagued, by the reality that stands before you both.

One false move, and it’ll be a repeat of the conversation in the tree tops that made him retreat.

“I have tried to keep you safe almost my entire life," Levi murmurs, and you can practically feel the vibrations of his voice rocking through your body.

“And you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“Levi, you—”

“I pushed you into danger—”

“Pushed?”

“—and I am sorry—”

Your hand shoots out, turning his cheek to look you dead in the eye. 

“Stop it.”

Levi freezes, looking so much more uncertain now that he did ten minutes ago.

“Stop," you repeat with exasperation. “You're not listening to me. I'm here. I'm right here.”

He swallows to coat his throat, motion thick. His neck bobs.

"I don't know how else to convince you it isn't a fluke," you continue, voice cracking. "You won't let yourself see me. You won't let yourself believe I'm not dead. Levi—"

And just when you think you’ve lost him—

He turns towards the warmth.

His cheek nuzzles your open palm, eyes wearily slipping shut, as if helpless to do so.

You’re holding the first face you remember and the last face you’ve seen —

The partner you left in the forest so long ago.

The man that wants more than he’ll ever allow himself to take.

Levi's confession is barely audible:

“...I don't want it to be too good to be true again."

The floorboard creaks as his foot shifts towards you, angling himself towards you. 

He inhales slowly through his nose, relishing in a private thought, before shaking his head. His hair nearly tickles your forehead.

When he doesn't open his eyes, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

If he won't see you—

Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his hand until yours curls over it.

At first his fingers flinch in your grasp, his blue-gray eyes snapping wide to watch.

Then eventually they relax, surrendering.

Higher and higher, you skim it past your ribcage and pull it up to your left breast. 

His arm tenses, eyes shooting wide. 

You remain relaxed. Focused.

“What is it you feel?” 

“I don’t under—” 

“Just… pause, for once in your life, and tell me what it is you feel.” 

You press his palm harder against your chest, your heart hammering beneath your skin. 

“Please.”

Albeit apprehensive, Levi doesn’t move away. 

His eyes dart to your lips, your sternum, until they lock onto your joined hands.

“You.”

Strained — he chokes on his response.

“I feel… you.”

As if pulled by gravity Levi steadily leans closer, brushing your nose with his.

His jaw clenches, the muscles taut in his mouth, before his palm flattens of his volition against your chest.

Your eyes flutter, relishing in his proximity.

You turn to him, seeking out his body heat.

For the first time in months, you feel it with such certainty.

Familiarity.

His free hand rises to your cheek, cupping the side of your face.

You suck in a sharp breath between parted lips, and he makes a small noise like he’s agonized over being apart from you.

“Every time that I’ve been given the choice, I always choose you,” you confess softly, a mere whisper. “I run right towards you even when I don’t know you. You are the only thing that has ever made sense to me in this world.”

There — you memorize the slide of his calloused palm, running gently along the height of your cheekbone.

Slow, as if mesmerized by your skin’s softness.

Shakily, you continue and choose the point of no return.

“Tell me you don't want me anymore, and I’ll stop running to you. If I have somehow misjudged you and what you might still feel—”

“Say it.”

Levi’s voice engulfs you — the heavy baritone, barely touching your lips.

His expression darkens like he wrestles with two separate trains of thought.

Conflict etched in his brow, he swallows once more and speaks with a tenderness you only remember in dreams.

“Say you remember me.”

After all this time, you've waited for the puzzle to connect.

The pieces that were once scattered now sew themselves together; anew.

He asks without asking.

You answer without uncertainty.

“I remember you.”

As if mesmerized by the curves of your body, Levi’s hand glides from your chest up your throat—

Until his fingers cradle the back of your head.

His other hand remains on the side of your face, holding you as though you could turn into water at any moment.

"Say it again."

You don't hesitate to obey his command.

"I remember you."

To make your point, you turn your chin into his hand — eyes locked — to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

He nearly hisses from the physical contact.

"Again."

Levi's breath slides into your mouth like a phantom kiss of his own.

(Touch starved after so many months apart.)

“I remember you, Levi Ackerman. I remember you, I remember you, I remember—”

You stop talking when he leans in, lips barely brushing yours. 

Your breath halts. 

His is ragged. Soft.

Then he speaks, as if to pray after a long night of war:

“Dirty trick."

That’s all it takes.

Levi reaches out whip-fast, using the palm against your skull to pull you into a searing, life-altering, mind-numbing kiss. 

You go pliant against him, melting like candle wax, willing to take anything he’ll give.

Lips press and pull, his breath hot on your tongue.

His hands search you as if he doesn't know where to touch first — your face, your neck, your shoulder — until he decides to loop his forearm at the small of your back to dip and lift you without ever breaking the kiss.

You jump until your knees bracket his hips, and he pulls you flush to his body.

Levi hastily kicks the chair out of his way to carry you directly to his bed.

And after all this time, you feel it — know it — remember it.

The absence dissipates.

The world finally starts to turn.

You have found your way home.

.

author's note:

...hehe. So how are we feeling, Levi Nation? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for your patience as I took a little break this summer to write some modern!Levi with Press Four for More Options. To readers old and new, I am so grateful for your encouragement and support. (Every reblog gives this writer wings.)

[ak319]

(AN: Reader is 13-15, Arthur, 23-24)

Warnings: Not incest, strictly platonic, angst, fluff

You watched Arthur’s every move as he settled in, his face weary yet hardened, scrubbing off remnants of dirt and whatever else he’d encountered in the washing barrel. You lowered the clothes you were folding, feeling the slight twinge of nerves as you reached for his stew.

He liked it hot, which meant you had to reheat the pot. You realized you hadn’t eaten all day, but you brushed the thought aside. Taking the bowl in hand, you crossed over to him as he finally sat down, visibly exhausted.

“Here, Arthur." You said softly, extending the bowl to him.

He grunted in response, the closest thing to a “thank you” he would offer, and took it from you, his gaze giving you a quick once-over before returning to his meal. Routine checkup as you called it.

Trying to bridge the silence, you ventured, “So...how was it?”

Arthur barely looked up. “Was what?”

“The job…” You tried not to sound too eager, but the truth was, you were starved for any scrap of conversation, any glimpse into the part of his life that stayed cloaked in secrecy.

“Went well.” He replied curtly, still focused on his food.

A brief silence followed as you fiddled with a strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear. You felt a familiar ache bloom at the base of your skull and then another one at the abdomen, a dreadful sensation. Just then, it hit you, your period was due.

You froze, holding the empty tray as the realization dawned. Arthur looked up, stew mid-bite, and raised a brow at your sudden stillness, your gaze into space.

“What’s got you standin’ there like a ghost?” he muttered.

“Huh? Oh… nothing,” you managed to reply, trying to appear casual, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint flush that had spread across your face.

“Need... anything?”

"Um..." You started pondering which perhaps went on for a minute.

Arthur’s gruff voice interrupted your thoughts. He reached into his pocket and, with a casual flick, tossed a few crumpled bills onto the tray. “Your pocket money. Now, go brew the coffee.”

The whole thing felt like a bad joke. Arthur tossed you a few bucks every so often, calling it "pocket money," like you could waltz into town and buy whatever you wanted. But he was always right there with you whenever you went to the market, keeping a close eye on everything. Or you had to give him the list.

“Uh? Um... th-thanks.”

Arthur's brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening. "What’s wrong with you today? Why are you actin’ weird?”

You forced a chuckle, shaking your head. “I’m fine, actually. You’re the one who is wei-, um looks tired. I’ll get on with the coffee.”

Before he could question you further, you hurried off, trying to shake the unease settling in your stomach. As you set the coffee pot on, you remembered the stew you’d set aside for yourself and turned toward the wagon, only to see Pearson ladling out the last bowl for himself.

A pang of frustration mixed with the ache of hunger, you’d been so careful, setting everything up, and now even that small comfort had slipped through your fingers.

First, the looming sense of dread that seemed to haunt your every step, and now this, a missed meal because Pearson snatched up the last bowl of stew without a second thought. Emotions churned, thick and heavy, clouding your mind as you went about your tasks in a haze.

You delivered Arthur’s damn coffee, scrubbed his dishes clean, and finished up the rest of your chores, all while running on nothing more than stale biscuits and the last dregs of (tea/coffee). Asking others for food? You didn’t want to be seen as Arthur’s sister, the one mooching off his work, asking for scraps, felt cheap, when he practically carried the camp on his shoulders. The thought made your stomach churn with resentment and embarrassment. Yeah, not something a Morgan does. Although in your opinion, you shouldn't be doing anything if he earns the most...but whatever. Asking from your brother? If he found out you skipped lunch. He’d be livid, calling you reckless or worse for not managing the basics, you couldn't handle a scolding at the moment.

Frustration gnawed at you. It wasn't just the hunger, it was the constant grind of chores, endless and thankless, all because you were one of the few women in the camp. Susan wielded her age like a shield, always finding ways to rest while you and Annabelle picked up the slack. But even Annabelle was too busy, neck-deep in whatever business kept her hands clean of the daily tasks. And so, it fell to you.

You flopped onto your cot, hiding your face in the pillow as the pains of hunger and period mixed with a deeper ache, one of loneliness, exhaustion, and memories you could almost taste. You remembered your mother’s gentle hand on your forehead when you were ill, the comforting smell of warm food she’d bring, and the luxury of rest she allowed you. It felt like a distant, lost dream now. Here, rest wasn’t an option, it was a rare privilege you couldn’t afford. Great, now your pillow is also wet with tears.

⋆⋆⋆

You were knee-deep in a mountain of laundry, your temper simmering with each aggressive scrub against the washboard. The clothes bore the brunt of your pent-up frustration, wrung and scrubbed with a vengeance. Suddenly, something light and obnoxious hit the basket, a boy’s underwear. You knew immediately who the culprit was.

"How. Dare. You?" you snapped, eyes narrowing.

John, already a few steps away, stopped and turned, a lazy smirk creeping across his face. "What? You’re the one washing."

"Yes, I am the one washing, you jerk." You grabbed the offending article and chucked it back at him, hitting him square in the face. His eyes widened, and he gasped, genuinely taken aback.

"But I am not washing that!" you said, pointing at the ragged underwear as if it were a symbol of all your grievances. "Those are for you to wash, understand?"

John held the underwear in his hands, clearly bewildered. "What? Why? Is it not… a cloth? And why would I wash it? I’ve got way more important things to do." His voice grated against your headache, every word echoing like a drumbeat in your skull.

"Important huh? Okay. Then let's solve this problem another way."

You could feel your patience unraveling, and, without thinking, you yanked a pair of scissors from your belt and snipped through the fabric with one swift motion.

"Hey! That was one of my two pairs! What the hell is wrong with you?!" he yelped, clutching the scraps as if they were made of gold.

"Then maybe you should think twice before tossing them my way! Now go and cry." you shot back, but the anger and heat were taking their toll. Your vision blurred slightly, the world beginning to spin.

John’s voice rose in protest, but it sounded muffled, distant. You took a step back, steadying yourself on the edge of the wash basin, blinking rapidly to try and clear your head. "Damn heat… and damn you, John…" you muttered, but the words seemed to tangle and drift as darkness crept in at the corners of your vision.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first sight that met you was Ms. Grimshaw, her familiar face creased with concern as she fanned you gently with a worn-out piece of fabric.

"Ah! You are awake, quite the theatrics you put on out there..." Her voice was both exasperated and relieved. You let out a soft groan in response, turning onto your side, trying to escape the brightness of the day that felt too harsh against your feverish skin. Your throat felt like sandpaper, and the heavy weight of your head pressed down against the pillow.

"T-time...?" you managed to croak, the words feeling foreign in your mouth.

"It's four," she replied, a hint of annoyance in her tone.

Your eyes shot open wide in panic. "T-the clothes? I-"

Susan rolled her eyes, cutting you off. "I washed them, don't worry. But tomorrow you gotta do them, got it? And what’s with you tearing that boy’s underwear?"

"Huh...? What?" Confusion clouded your thoughts as you reached for your canteen, the bitter taste in your mouth only worsening your discomfort.

"Forget it," she huffed, shaking her head. "Oh, I hear him. I think Arthur's back."

Panic surged through you as you struggled to focus, the realization hitting hard. Arthur. You had to see him, make his coffee, bring him his food, and make sure he knew you were at the camp and doing your part in the camp. But every instinct in you rebelled against the idea, your muscles weak and senses dulled as if they’d given up the fight.

Your vision blurred, and you sank deeper into the cot, eyelids heavy, your body refusing to cooperate. You barely registered Susan’s faint, dismissive muttering as she left the tent, her words blending into a haze of disapproval. For now, making sure Arthur was taken care of was the least of your worries.

Meanwhile, Susan spotted Arthur sitting by his cot, his irritation palpable. Freshly cleaned up from his last job, he seemed expectant, perhaps wondering where you were with his usual meal or coffee. Sensing an opportunity to stir up trouble, she approached him, her tone casual but dripping with judgment.

"Mr. Morgan," she began with a sly look, "your sister did nothing today. Not a damn thing. And right now? She’s sleeping in, like she's royalty or something."

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Why would she do that?”

“Who knows?” Susan shrugged with exaggerated indifference. “She had some spat with John, then just sulked off and refused to lift a finger.”

The moment the words left her lips, Arthur was on his feet, his expression hardening. Without a word to Susan, he strode to your tent and pushed open the flap, not bothering to knock. His gaze swept over you, expecting to find you feigning sleep, or maybe just ignoring the day’s tasks.

"What the hell is you-"

But the sight of you, lying pale and motionless beneath the blanket, immediately stopped him in his tracks. A faint flush tinged your face, and your breathing was shallow. His agitation shifted to alarm in an instant.

Arthur knelt beside you, his hand reaching to press gently against your forehead, feeling the unmistakable heat of fever radiating through his palm. “Damn it,” he muttered, guilt and worry flooding his face. He’d been ready to scold you for shirking camp duties, and instead, here you were, worn down to the bone.

Your eyes fluttered open, barely focusing as you tried to mumble something. “Arthur... I meant... to get your food… just…”

His jaw tightened, frustration directed inward. “You’ve been pushin’ yourself too hard,” he said, his voice low but edged with anger, at himself, at Susan, at anyone who’d failed to notice what you were going through. “You’re coming with me to the clinic, no arguments.”

You nodded weakly, relief and exhaustion settling over you. Without another word, he slipped his arms beneath you, lifting you up with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

As he carried you to the stables, he did not forget to throw a bloodthirsty look at Susan making her gulp. It clearly stated.

'You are dead if something happens to her.'

The air in the clinic was thick with the smell of antiseptic and the soft rustle of the doctor’s coat as he examined you. Arthur sat beside you, his brow furrowed with concern, his hand clenched into a fist resting on his thigh. You lay on the cot, shivering despite the blanket wrapped around you, your pallor alarming him even more than before. The doctor’s voice was a distant murmur, but the words echoed in your ears.

“She’s suffering from dehydration fever. It’s left her weak, but with proper treatment, she should recover. Make sure she stays hydrated, and she’ll need rest, here's the prescription and you can go home if you want once the drip is finished..” The doctor turned to you one last time with a gentle smile. "Rest well, alright? Lots of it."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the doctor, Arthur turned to you, his expression shifting from worry to something sharper, more intense. “What the hell were you thinking?!” he snapped, his voice low but edged with anger. “You could have told me you weren’t feeling well. Instead, you’ve been pushing yourself like this?”

You flinched at his tone, the weight of his words mixing with the guilt that already gnawed at you. “I--but you said...that I gotta...work...” you started, but the words caught in your throat, and instead of explanations, tears began to prick at your eyes.

"FUCK WHAT I SAID!- "He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I also said to take care of yourself, I am not always around! And just--look at you..."

“I--I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I thought I could manage...”

“Thought!?” he echoed, incredulous. “You can’t just think you can handle it all when you’re this sick! You’ve been working yourself to the bone! Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you ask for help?” His voice rose with each word, frustration spilling over as he paced the floor, refusing to meet your gaze.

"And what did you just tell the doctor, huh? That this wasn't the first time it happened?! Are you kidding me?! Are you tryin' to waste yourself?!"

The harshness of his tone cut through you, and you couldn’t help the tears that began to spill down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your throat tightening. As you looked into his furious eyes, the dam broke. The tears spilt over, hot and unrelenting as you remembered all the times, you put him and others first, in fear.

In fear of being left with strangers while Arthur is away and thinking that they might say or do something to you if you don't do the work properly.

"Damn it,” he murmured, his voice softening. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I was...scared and I-I--miss her,” you sobbed, clutching the blanket tightly around you as if it could shield you from the pain. “I miss Mama. She would know what to do. She would take care of me…please take me to Mama...” Your voice cracked, the memories of her soothing presence and the comfort she always provided weighing heavily on your heart.

Arthur’s anger faltered as he watched you break down. hearing you call for Mama again and again was agonizing. He felt his heart twist painfully at your words, the memories of your mother hanging heavy in the air. “I know,” he said quietly, his voice losing its edge. He reached out, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks, his own frustration melting away in the face of your grief. “I miss her too. But you can’t go on like this. You need to take care of yourself for her, for both of us. And why the hell are you scared, you are my sis' and as long as I am alive, no one can touch a strand of yours,” He pulled you in a side hug carefully.

"And listen here, from now on, you only do my chores. Fuck the camp." You pulled away slightly, in shock.

"W-what?"

He nodded with a playful smile. "Damn right. You get better and you do my work only. Susan can surely handle the others, right?"

You blinked up at him, your surprise turning into disbelief. “Arthur, you can’t just tell me to ignore everything else... I can’t put that on Susan. She-”

He interrupted you with a firm squeeze of your hand, his eyes softening. “I can and I will. You need to rest, and if that means I have to play the tyrant for a bit, so be it. Besides, Susan can manage. She’s been slacking off more than you realize. And if someone has a problem with it then they can come to me. Anytime.”

A small laugh, almost devilish, bubbled up despite your exhaustion, the tension easing slightly. You snuggled back into the hug to calm your shivering.

“That's...that would be fun to watch."

He nodded and you decided to press your advantage. “Um…so tell her to do your chores too-”

"Don't get too ahead of yourself now."

I hate you.

“Get well soon, and you better take your meds and all when I ain’t around.” Arthur’s voice held a rough tenderness, though he masked it with a gruff tone. Beneath his impatience, you sensed a genuine worry, a hint of eagerness for you to recover, not that he’d admit it, of course. His true motive, or so he told himself, was purely practical.

Pearson’s stew lacked the warmth and care you added to every meal, and coffee was never quite right unless you made it.

He groaned inwardly, imagining another week of choking down meals without your touch. But the look he shot you as he spoke was more protective than he probably intended, softening just enough that you knew he was looking out for you.

“Did ye’ even hear me, missy?” he muttered, noticing your eyelids drooping, his words somewhere between annoyed and fond.

You jumped, startled out of the drowsiness that was starting to creep over you, and gave a hum of acknowledgement.

⋆⋆⋆

John rushed up to Arthur as he emerged from your tent, having just ensured you were well-fed and rested.

"What is it, you rascal?" Arthur asked, turning to face him with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“Um... I was looking forward to a compensation…” John trailed off, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“For?” Arthur raised an eyebrow amused, the impatience creeping into his tone.

“(Y/N), tore... she... tore my underwear, which is not fair...I only asked her to wash it...I mean....”

A smirk crept across Arthur's face. “She did the right thing, I am proud of her.” He grabbed John by the back of his neck, pulling him close with a playful yet threatening grin.

"My sis ain't your maid, boy, got it? In fact, nobody's maid here. Wash your shit yourself.” The playful banter vanished, replaced by a weighty silence as Arthur's gaze hardened. He gave John a firm shove, sending him stumbling back and casually walking back to his own tent, chuckling at the boy's foolish request.

[hurdy-girly]

Bruce sat in front of the bat computer, pinching the bridge of his nose. A dead end.

Again.

He’d been on this case for weeks now. He’d found a hundred leads, and every one had led to less answers and more questions. He could probably make a sweater with all the grey hairs he’d been getting, and his hairdresser could probably buy a bike off of the dye costs alone.

He was the greatest detective in the world. And yet he had no clue who this guy was.

He really only had his instincts to thank for him noticing Tim approaching. If it weren’t for his frankly absurd levels of over preparation over the years he would have jumped out of his seat when the boy leaned over him to squint at the screen.

“Hey B.”

Tim sat down next to him. His body language was relaxed and casual, but Bruce didn’t miss the glint of concern in his eyes.

“Hey Tim.”

Bruce opened a new folder. All of them were starting to look the same.

“…this case is giving you a lot of trouble, huh?” Tim looked at the screen, glancing over the text. Bruce had missed so many dinners that he was pretty sure Alfred was going to drug him to drag him to the one tonight. He wasn’t surprised his children had picked up on it, too. “Do you need a second opinion?”

Bruce bristled a bit before meeting Tim’s eye. But Tim was just concerned. Not judgmental.

Bruce wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to his kids being that gracious with him. Or with anyone being like that.

“…it may be helpful.” Tim seemed surprised at Bruce’s admission. “Especially because all of this happened while I was… gone.”

“Oh.” Tim grew silent. The two had discussed the events and effects of Bruce’s disappearance into the time stream before, but it was still a tough topic between them. Between everyone. “…so. What’s the deal?”

Bruce sighed, pulling up his original files. “While I was gone, this person appeared. His case would be unalarming, but… this guy was everywhere. Tens of countries, none of them legally, all within the span of a few months. He ended up on several government wanted lists. He seemed to be everywhere. So many organizations locked onto him, but he just… kept getting away. No one could track him down, and… I’m starting to think I can’t either.”

Tim frowned, scooting closer to the screen. “And we didn’t look into this guy sooner?”

Bruce shook his head. “He seemed to slip through the cracks. But this guy… he got places no one should have been. My current working theory is that he’s a meta, or some sort of magical entity. I’m considering sending John some of this to get his opinion.”

Tim blinked. “That bad, huh? What’s this guy’s name?”

Bruce sighed. “I’m not sure. There were a couple I found, and I’m not sure if any of them are even the true name. There was one that got noted down a bit more often than the rest.”

Bruce pulled up his first document.

“Alvin Draper.”

Tim fell very quiet.

Bruce looked over at him. A bit of worry hit him. Had Tim met this guy before? Why hadn’t he said anything? Was everything alright?

Who was this guy?

“Okay, B? I’m gonna hold your hand while I say this.”

[wileys-russo]

ignorance is bliss ficlet II l.williamson x reader

my angry cinnamon roll gf’s 🤭

feel free to read the proper full fic that this is a spin off from here

ignorance is bliss ficlet II l.williamson x reader

"did she say she wasn't coming?" lia asked again with a frown as you shrugged hopelessly, just as clueless to your girlfriends absence from training as the rest of the team, leah now almost an hour late and not answering anyone's calls.

"no she was already up and getting ready when i left, she seemed fine?" you explained, having left before your girlfriend to get a coffee with lotte who had then driven the two of you to training, leahs unusual absence causing a pit of worry to form in the bottom of your stomach.

"oh thank god here she is hold on.” you breathed a sigh of relief as her contact flashed on your screen.

“may i please be excused quickly jonas? its leah." you asked softly, wincing as you interrupted the briefing and felt everyone’s eyes watching on as you hurried out of the room, accepting the call.

"leah where the hell are you? you're late and you're never late! in fact you are always on my case about making us late to things." you rambled, stepping outside and holding the phone to your ear.

"yeah uh, i sort of…ran into some car trouble on the way there." leah replied in a strange tone of voice making you frown. "car trouble? whats happened? are you alright?" you questioned quickly with growing concern, leaning against the wall behind you as your mind raced with all the worst case scenarios.

"well..." leah trailed off and you waited patiently for an answer but there wasn't one. "well? just spit it out lee, as long as you're safe we can fix whatever happened, a car is only something material babe." you assured her softly, feeling your chest tighten with nerves at her obvious hesitation to come clean.

"no no it wasn't an accident or anything I um, well I-" leah danced around her words and you felt your patience thinning, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

"isortoflostmylicensecauseigotdonespeedingagainandineedyoutocomeandpickmeup." your girlfriend word vomited so fast you couldn't make out a single word of what she was saying. "what? slower please lee." you pinched at the bridge of your nose, exhaling deeply.

"i sort of lost my license cause i got done speeding again and i need you to come and pick me up…please." leah repeated and your eyes widened as you finally understood, the silence on your side of the line causing leahs stomach to twist into knots.

"please don't be mad i know you're always onto me about it and i really think this is the thing i needed to learn my lesson but- hey are you laughing at me?" leah frowned as you doubled over, resting a hand on your knee as you were indeed laughing at the predicement.

"oi its not funny! i can't drive for three months now!" leah shouted and you could almost hear the stroppy pout which would be forming on the older girls lips.

"it is funny because i did in fact warn you of this time and time again and you never listened. i told you so!" you sung out with a grin, leah somewhat relieved you weren't upset with her but also not appreciating that your amusement was at her expense.

"too bad i wasn't there to flirt your way out of it huh?" you smiled smugly, rewarded with an annoyed huff and a half understood grumbled insult.

"sorry what was that? you're going to walk to training? wonderful i'll see you soon!" you teased, leah yelling out a hasty apology and practically begging you not hang up, something which was more than rare from your normally over confident girlfriend.

"please come get me! i'm stranded and it's really embarrassing, what if someone recognises me?" leah whined and you rolled your eyes that of course that was her biggest concern right now.

"why don't you just sit in the car then while you wait?" you sighed with a small smile, the silence on the other end telling you all you needed to know.

"oh leah....you didn't. not again!" "stop leah'ing me, you sound like my mum!" "oh i can't wait to tell your mum about this." "don't you fucking dare!"

this was not a one off occasion. leah determined to buy the most tricked out car she could had spared no expense on the bells and whistles, though one of these had time and time again meant she’d locked her keys inside the insanely posh vehicle.

"baby i warned you when you bought that stupidly expensive car that the self locking feature would bite you in the ass." "now is so not the time for an i told you so. just come and pick me up!" "come pick you up..." "right now?" "leah!" "sorry. please please please come pick me up gorgeous. i love you?"

"i'll get someone to drive me now. you know you could just get an uber leah." "what did i say about leah'ing me!" ~

"there she is." you pointed out your girlfriend with a grin as katie slowed down a little, leah sat on the curb with her hoodie pulled over her head, clearly attempting to hide herself but the glaringly obvious red and blue arsenal tracksuit did her no favors.

"she looks like that kid who runs away from home gets about five minutes down the road and calls for their parents to come pick them up!" beth laughed at your girlfriends sour expression as you pulled beside her, though you'd note that to the others in the back all pointing and teasing her.

"you had to bring a crowd?" leah grumbled, standing to her feet and crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at beth and laura in the back who were pulling faces at her.

"what’s to say other than we all just had to witness the miracle for ourselves!" katie beamed as you leaned over and whispered something quickly in her ear, the irish woman nodding subtly with a smirk.

"go on then speed demon in ya hop!" katie teased, leah reaching for the door handle as she suddenly jerked the car forward and away from her, the four of you grinning as leahs jaw tightened.

“come on leah, in we get!” laura called out much like you would encourage a dog to return to its owner, which was not lost on leah who gave the younger girl a frighteningly filthy look.

"come on woman we haven't got all day you know!" beth tapped at her wrist mocking the time as once again leah reached for the door and katie moved the car forward slightly, sending the four of you into hysterics like naughty school kids at the back of the bus.

"nah you know what fuck this! i'm walking." your girlfriend fumed, kicking at the back of katies car and storming off down the road. you were quick to unbuckle yourself, jumping out and racing off after her as the girls all called out for her to get in the car.

"baby, get in the car." you grabbed her hand, looking at her with an amused smile as the taller blonde simply glared back at you wordlessly as you wrapped yourself around her in a hug, her arms remaining stoic by her side as she refused to engage in it.

"relax the face, relax the face." you cooed sarcastically and stroked at her forehead and cheeks trying to smooth away the deep frown lines as the defender smacked your hands away but you saw a hint of a smile grace her features as you stole a quick kiss and tugged her back with you towards the car.

leahs frown deepened as she was met with slow claps and she slid in the back beside laura, flipping them all off and sinking down into her seat.

"good news mccabe. as my work wife you have now been promoted and unlocked a new daily task. driving us to training!" you grinned as the irish woman rolled her eyes playfully.

"only if you caress my thigh and hold my hand like you do with blondie darlin." katie smirked at leah through the rear view mirror as you agreed, reaching out to accept her offered hand, intertwing your digits over the middle console.

"mccabe if you'd like to ever walk again i'd suggest you not touch her, or else i may have to accidentally studs up tackle you in every single drill." leah warned seriously, katie only grinning and bringing your intertwined hands up to her mouth, kissing your knuckles as you sarcastically swooned and leah huffed.

"now now don't worry, i'm sure vivs happy to share." beth teased, holding her hand up toward leah expecting her to kiss it as the blonde simply shot her a murderous look and smacked it away.

this was going to be a long three months.

[bratdotcom]

Froyo to Go !

( Stan Pines x reader || taking Dipper and Mabel to get froyo )

You try to hide the smile on your face as you look out the window at the passing scenery. It was a slow day at the Mystery Shack. Stan decided to be nice and take you and the twins out to beat the heat with froyo because the freezer broke.

You look at the twins in the rear view mirror. Mabel was absolutely over the moon, talking almost everyone's ear off about which flavor she was going to get with corresponding toppings while Dipper seemed to be talking to himself on how to get the most frozen yogurt without overfilling it to the brim.

Stan pulls El Diablo into the parking lot.You gaze up at the giant, visibly sun-bleached cup of froyo in a perpetual spinning motion on top of the shop's roof as the car roars to a stop. You can hear Mabel gasp in awe as she spots the giant spinning froyo cup from the passenger's seat. Unsurprisingly, because of the heat, there was a small line forming right outside the door.

You all collectively step out of the car, Dipper retches, clutching his mouth. He must've gotten carsick from reading while Stan was driving. Mabel rushes to grab onto the man's arm. He smiles playfully at her when he raises his bicep up to carry her a couple inches off of the ground. You knew he'd probably complain about the joint pain later, but it was worth it to see Mabel smile. "Twenty dollars's all I got. Take it or leave it." Stan holds up a crisp, twenty dollar bill in between his fingers like a playing card as he speaks to his great niece, lowering her back onto the ground as you all group into the line.

"You really give it your all for those kids." you say quietly to him, cocking your head to the side slightly as you speak into his ear. You both watch as they play fight each other, Dipper flips his sister's hair over her back to cover her face as some sort of way to block her punches. "Our kids." he corrects, holding you close by hooking his arm around your waist.

You stumble against him at the sudden pull, making him chuckle to himself. "But you ain't wrong about what you said." he adds, adjusting his glasses against the bridge of his nose. His eyes seemed to soften as the glare of the sun reflected off of the lenses of his glasses.

"Remember when you made me pour all my beer cans out back?" he asks, already knowing the answer to his question. "Yes, I remember it clearly, Stanley." you reply softly, poking his beer gut. "You probably got a soda gut now, huh? Mr.Pitt soda Pines."

Stanley snorts to himself, playfully slapping your wrist away, which makes you laugh as well. "Will you two hurry up?" Dipper's voice cracks slightly as he calls out for the two of you. "The line's already moving, c'mon, people!" He says, as if he was the one who drove the car all the way here.

"You got two senior citizens breakin' their backs for ya, kid. Don't try your luck." Stan says as he holds you close to him, making you move forward as he does the same to catch up with the kids.

You're hit with the cold air of an AC above your head as you go inside. The amount of neon colors used to decorate the frozen dessert shop hurt your eyes badly.

Stan pats the small of your back, letting go of your waist. "Make sure they don't go crazy or somethin'. I'll find us a seat." He says gruffly, allowing you to follow and watch over the twins.

Stanley clutches his hip as he sits down with a sigh.

He leans his weight against the table, with a perched elbow he watches as you talk to the kids, making sure neither of them felt left out as you helped them pick out froyo flavors and toppings.

"Grunkle Stan!" The twins say in unison, Mabel turns around to look for the man himself. With a small heave, he uses the table for support to lift himself back onto his feet.

"Alright, alright. You don't need to holler to get me, y'know. I'm not that old." Stan says, making you stifle a laugh. He pulls out his wallet, handing a twenty dollar bill to the cashier.

"Uhm, sir," the cashier's strained voice makes his words somewhat hard to hear for both you and Stan's ears. "You're one dollar off." He says, pointing at the customer display, which showed that he owed exactly twenty-one dollars. Which he did not have.

Stan gives you the look that you were oh-so-familiar with. "Listen here, kid." He leans the side of his arm against the counter.

Stan was trying to impress you. As if he hadn't won you over for almost a decade.

"How about I give you a couple of Mystery Bucks? Get ya a couple dollars off whatever you buy from the Mystery Shack. How's that sound?" He does his signature smile, pointing a finger gun at the cashier.

Judging by the cashier's almost dead-eyed stare, he wasn't buying it. "...do you have the dollar or not?" He asks, waiting for Stan's answer.

"No. I don't." Stan's smile never falters as he speaks. Oh. You knew where this was going now.

Subtly, you grab a couple of spoons from the cup near the register. You stuff them into your pocket as you slowly drag the cups of froyo off of the weighing scale. You could tell which cup belonged to who, by the weight of each cup alone.

Stan slaps a couple of coupons onto the counter. "Go! Go! Go!" He quickly says, bolting for the door.

He holds the door long enough for the three of you to run out as well. Stan slides over the hood of his car, hurriedly opening the driver's side and jingling his keys into the ignition.

He pops the passenger’s side door open from the inside, letting you in. Mabel, followed by Dipper, jumps into the back seat with a bounce.

Dipper is completely out of breath as the car screeches out of the froyo shop parking lot. He murmurs a breathless thank you when you hand him his cup.

You weren't even surprised to see Mabel not affected in the slightest as you passed the girl her froyo cup. You had to use two hands to give it to her. She gives you an enthusiastic grin and a thank you as well. She buckles her brother's seatbelt on as he catches his breath.

As the car stops at a red light, Stan slouches forward in the driver's seat. "I think I'm gonna be bedridden for a couple of days." Stan says, rubbing his back with a groan. You rub his back with a chuckle as he begins the drive back home.

[fluffylino]

Slow Down Bugboy

you're watching the news when you hear someone outside your window. is it a burgler? is it a ghost? oh wait, its spiderman?!

-contains soft themes (some injuries)

heavily inspired by that one scene from the amazing spiderman.

jisung is so spider coded🕸❤️‍🩹

enjoy~

keyboard clacking while you glued your eyes to the laptop screen. trying to make sense of the words and phrases you needed to write for an english assignment.

for some reason, you just couldn't focus.

maybe it was because jisung hadn't texted you since afternoon. glancing up at the clock to see it was an hour past 10pm.

your eyes now plastered onto the tv screen. the news flashing vividly. headlines popping up one after the other.

<Spider Man was seen fighting the giant reptilian>

<Who is this SpiderMan?>

the news anchor only raised more questions. dwelling into the details of this commotion.

you had mixed opinions on this so called 'man', who shoots webs out of his wrists. you'd rather call him

'weird insect man who crawls up buildings'.

was he a hero? i mean, he seemed like one. do you think you'd ever want to come face to face with him?

maybe? spiderman seemed chill.

anyways jisung!

right. where the hell was he?!

<ji, are you alive?>

.

<message me rn>

.

<are you okay? just mssg me if you're okay>

.

<JISUNG. HAN JISUNG>

.

looking away from your phone. you gulped down the lump in your throat.

was he accidently caught in the whole 'lizard incident' at the school...?

you didn't want to lose your friend. your bestfriend.

<i love you man, please tell me you're fine...>

"spiderman please...im really begging you to protect him if he's hurt" praying under your breath. heart pumping slower than usual while you took deep breaths.

the smell of your mom cooking a late night snack downstairs travelled up to your room. on any other occasion you wouldve eaten like a hog. but right now, you couldn't.

knock knock

soft thud

body taking a screenshot in fright. someone's outside your window. with how dark it is at this time of the night and only the moonlight, you think its a burgler.

That is until you see the silhoette of a masked man. the suit he wears is webbed, with colours of dark blue and red.

knock.

this time he presses his palm flat onto the glass, body slumping.

you throw your laptop on the bed, running to slam your door shut before making your way to the window.

"s-spiderman?" you mumble under your breath.

gasping as the man falls right into your arms. legs still dangling out. a catch a whiff of perfume that instantly makes your brain shortcircuit.

raising an arm to help him get the mask off. the mop of hair gives away his identity.

"sung..."

"han jisung! what the fuck happened to you?!" you exclaim, heart dropping when he rests his head on your shoulder. limply trying to hold onto you.

"i'm...uh s-shit" he mutters, grunting as you hold him up.

he plops onto the couch with a pained groan. you stand there dumbly. too much was happening. 

A heavy scent of blood filling the air. quickly shutting the window before kneeling down by his side.

"are you okay? what happened ji...please tell me"

cupping his face. his eyes widening briefly. shakily bringing his hand up to hold your wrist.

"lizard man VS bugboy...i hurt him more than he h-hurt me..."

even in this state, he finds the time to joke. laughing weakly until he notices the pain in your eyes. not just from seeing him bleed but also from the fact that you weren't aware that he was THE spiderman.

"i'm sorry for coming uninvited...t-there was no where else i'd feel safe"

jisung whispers, nuzzling his cheek apologetically into the warmth of your palm. you can't control your body or your thoughts.

carefully pushing his damp hair away from his eyes. theres a small cut over the bridge of his nose. his bottom lip is busted harshly. he's sweating as you caress him.

clean up his wounds. yes.

right now, what mattered most was stopping the bleeding.

"where are you going..." his voice trails off. puppy like eyes locked onto every little movement.

"sit up....as much as you can"

a soaked towel and disinfectant in your hands. jisung does sit up quietly. its surprising.

"baby it r-really hurts...mh" the boy whispers, staring at you with slight fear.

'baby' was a nickname he often used. but right now, it made your heart do a summersalt. without asking, he begins to take the suit off.

revealing his battered torso. bruises and cuts from the 'battle' he was in.

silence fills the room, apart from the soft hisses leaving his mouth.

hands weakly grabbing at your wrists to pry your hands away from the slash across his abdomen.  stomach muscles rhythmically tightening in discomfort everytime you applied a layer of medicine.

without much thought, you inch closer. feeling his heavy breath right next to your ear. along with a choked out grunt.

lifting your head up slowly, only to meet his gaze.

"i'm sorry for s-showing up like...this"

jisung whispers, scooching closer. your noses nearly touching. lips grazing against eachothers. you hum. far too out of it, to even get mad at him.

knowing he was spiderman put you at peace. knowing that he was safe was all that mattered.

injuries or not, you would take care of him regardless.

"say its okay" he whines softly, pressing his lips innocently onto yours. its too gentle to even be considered a kiss. you can't stop the grin that grows on your face.

realising how much your acceptance of him, mattered to him. sucking in a sharp breath when you peck him with more feeling. the subtle tangy taste of blood flooding your senses. his lip was still sensitive.

butterflies erupting in your stomach when he gently cradles the base of your neck. pulling you in for a deeper kiss.

"easy there bugboy..."

you tease, not letting him have his way. revelling in the toothy grin he lets out. laughing against you.

"i'm not going anywhere"

you reassure, threading your fingers through his hair. moving into his embrace.

"i want chocolate." he blurts out in a hushed tone.

"what-"

pecking you once more. and another time until he doesn't pull away. kissing you slow and passionately. pouring all his emotions out.

maybe spiderman wasn't so bad afterall...

.

.

.

.

.

teehee

[cambion-companion]

could I request for you to write an scenario in which Raphael does not die to Tav nor their party, but in an other similarly humiliating circumstances, and Tav when learning about this desperately goes to save Raphael from his father by bargaining with Mephistopheles? (hilariously in a very sad way, I assume this, is the only moment that Mephistopheles would ever "value" Raphael's life, but then again that is devils for you) and Raphael's confusion at the whole thing, someone taking a terrible bargain to save him, just… because they… like him…??? (bonus points, if Tav still has a crown to willingly give Raphael XD)

It's beat up Raphael hours huh? (also Korilla will be fine)

Hi there love. This turned from a drabble into a oneshot haha

Have fun running to Cania to pick up your wayfaring devil!

Raphael x reader (gn)

Korilla had come to you.

Broker and bruised, battered and bloody. Her long curly hair matted with mud and dried viscous.

“Help him.”  Her first words, rasped from a throat raw from screams.

“Korilla!”  You caught her weight as her knees buckled, lowering her gently to the ground.  The Dwarven woman wasn’t your friend by any means, but she had been your ally.  “Who needs my help?”  You couldn’t fathom who she might be referring to.

Surely it wasn’t Raphael. It couldn’t possibly be the enigmatic, self-assured cambion.

Korilla’s answering rasp dispelled any doubt. “My master.”

A fog of shock settled over your mind, your hands loosening around Korilla’s shaking form.  She whispered the truth into your ear, her bruised lips trailing her blood onto your clammy skin. With fading voice Korilla told of the attack, Raphael’s demise and his imminent doom.

“Portal. Diabolist.  Cania.”  Korilla’s breaths grew short as she fought valiantly once more against the oncoming black.

“Hold on, Korilla.  You’re going to be okay.”

“Save him.” She said again, her eyes slowly glossing over as the life left her broken body.

You cursed.  The warlock’s last actions had been to find you in a desperate hope you’d help Raphael before he was consumed by his father.  His father who just so happened to be an archdevil. Mephistopheles.

“Little shit could’ve mentioned that.”  You grimaced, lowering Korilla’s body to rest upon the cold earth.

You stood, pinching the bridge of your nose as your thoughts whirled and clashed. Not only had the attackers killed Raphael, but they had also looted his house, stealing the Orphic hammer and the only hope you’d had of defeating the Elder Brain.

“Damn it.”  You returned to your companions with the news. “Looks like we’re taking a rescue party to hell.”

“Who’s the damsel in distress?”  Astarion asked, tilting his head as his red eyes flickered over your blood-flecked form.

“Raphael.”

The plan was to use as much stealth as possible. The vaults of Mephisto had been broken into not long ago, according to Raphael, so it was possible.  A direct confrontation with the archdevil himself was out of the question.  

The diabolist in Baldur’s Gate took some convincing, but in the end you were able to push enough gold across the counter to seal the deal.  

“Very well.  Though I warn you, you’ll not return alive or with your souls intact.”

“Yes, yes.”  You waved the woman off, her visage reminding you of Korilla. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”  Your eyes scanned the musky shop. Do you have anything that will locate a specific fiend?”

With a Locate Creature spell scroll ready in your bag you watched as the diabolist created for you a portal. Ice crystals immediately crusted on the edge of the black abyss, the wind coming from the portal nearly freezing your shoes to the floor.

“Quickly, and remember the disguises!”  She ushered you and your party through, the frigid darkness enveloping you with a grim finality.

Through cold halls you’d snuck, invisible fingers cold as death scraping along your back and through your hair as you passed beneath torches of blue flame.

Time lost all meaning here.  Your eyes began to play tricks on you. The only thing keeping your mind focused was the spell lighting the edge of your vision with a warm glow, growing brighter as you hurried to where Raphael was being held.

An age, or an hour had passed.

The wrought iron door, so cold to the touch it burned, swung noiselessly inward, admitting you to an octagonal shaped room. On the far wall you saw him, his form dark, chained by one wrist to the wall.

“Raphael.”  You hissed, unexplainable relief flooding your frozen veins when his head moved in response.  

Your companions waited by the open doorway, keeping watch from the shadows.  You snuck as quickly as you could to where Raphael was restrained. His glowing eyes looking down upon you with consternation before recognition slowly dawned across his sharp features.

You held up a hand, silencing him as he opened his mouth. Movement could be heard from outside the prison room. You were running out of time.

“Can you get us out of here if I free you?”  You hissed, still keenly aware of the nature of the devil.

Raphael nodded, his tail moving to and fro in agitation.  Something about his vitality seemed to be missing, you had never imagined seeing him in such a state.  It was unsettling.

The matter of removing the singular shackle proved to be more challenging than you’d thought.  Astarion’s lockpicking skills proved futile.

“It’s a magical seal.”  Raphael breathed, his voice low yet sharp with anger born of desperation. “Now’s not the time to play the fool.”

You gave him a severe look which he matched right back at you, his eyes sparking flame.

You raised a hand to the ice-covered metal, about to dispel the magic surrounding the lock. “You owe me a favor.  A big one.  I don’t know yet what I will ask of you, but you will deliver. Understood?”

Raphael’s gaze scorched you for a moment, it was clear he was furious with his current predicament. But he had no choice, and both of you knew it.

He nodded curtly.

You cast your spell.

Raphael’s wrist broke free with the sharp sound of metal splintering. His hand closed tight around your arm, the dungeons of Mephisto melted away as you and your companions were yanked unceremoniously back to the material plane.

At least, your companions were.  Deposited non-gently upon the hard ground of your camp.

Raphael kept hold of you.  Taking you back to the foyer of his house. The house which still lay in semi ruin from its previous sacking.

He was angry.  Each step he took crackled fire and promise of swift vengeance.

“Raphael…”  You said hesitantly, following him down into the dining hall.  “Raphael, Korilla-”

“Is dead.”  Under the glow of firelight, you could properly see the state he was in. You winced when he turned to face you. “I know. Though not as dead as those who dared pillage my home, the fools.”

“Do you know who?”  You remained wary as you watched him conjure an armchair and sink down into it.

Raphael ignored your question, he issued orders in the abrasive Infernal tongue, seemingly into thin air.  His fingers clicked and a spark of flame licked around them.  Unseen servants began bustling around, clearing the debris and wreckage.  Setting the House of Hope back in order.

Raphael leveled his gaze upon you.  His expression was not unkind, it was calculating.  He had underestimated you and overestimated himself.  Not a mistake he’d make again.

“Why?”  No flowery words, no ado.

“I still need the hammer.”  You had the response prepared, having known the question was coming.

“You could have hunted down the thieves without my help.”  Raphael narrowed his hellfire eyes. “Why come to my aid?”

“Korilla asked me to.  It was her dying wish.”  You fidgeted under his piercing presence. “Besides, you’re a useful ally.  I still need your help to save the world.”

Raphael arched a brow, unconvinced. “Half-truths are still considered lies, dear.  But there are matters I must attend to.”  He stood, restless.  

“Will your father come for you again once he realizes you’re gone.”  The question came before you could stop yourself.

“Concerned for me?”  Raphael appraised you, a knowing tilt to his head. “No.  He will not.”

You didn’t argue, Raphael was clearly on edge, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

You rubbed circles against your aching temple. “Well, seems we have some thieves to track down.  A hammer to retrieve.”

Raphael looked as though he was biting back a sharp retort.  He chewed on his words, looking you over. “Yes.”  He growled, infernal fire flickering off his form. “You may watch as I peel their souls from the writhing mortal flesh.”

In an unexpected move, Raphael strode to you and took your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. His breath hot on your still chilled skin. “You may even assist me, if you so desire.”  He straightened.

That was as close to a “thank you” as you were going to get.

You set your jaw grimly. “When do we start?”

[muzansfangs]

Snippet from the incoming chapter of “Bloodstain” — Hi, dad. I present to you two flashbacks!

Warnings: kind of inferiority complex, references to feeling like an outcast.

(Seireitei, right after Aizen Sosuke’s betrayal).

“Kurosaki-kun has achieved his Bankai!” Orihime piped out, exuberant, doe eyes glittering in a visceral adoration masked as what she simply referred to as ‘plain admiration for a friend’. Everybody knew what she was hiding behind her selfless nature, her newly renovated combative spirit and audacious decision of following you all in the Soul Society. She was doing it for your brother, for Ichigo. Obviously, for Rukia too. Yet, you knew better than your younger friends. This was love. Her sacrifices were made for him, her heart beated for him. Orihime Inoue naively thought to be subtle about the feelings she harboured for your step-brother. Unfortunately for her, you saw right through her eyes.

Uryu, arms folded over his chest, stared at the vastity of a forest visible from the hill you were finding solace at after the insane battle you fought.

“Still, it was not enough to stop that Captain”.

You flinched, eyes downcast in a futile attempt to stop certain thoughts from invading your mind. Wherever you went, you felt watched. You still felt his touch over your shoulder to heal the severe wound Captain Ichimaru had inflicted to you. You still tasted the delicious tea he had made for you in his office. How incredibly stupid of you to trust a man who should have tossed you in a cell for having broke into his world. Nobody should be kind to an enemy. If this happens, the helping hand is most likely the same one that will hold a blade to stab you in the end.

“Are you alright?”.

The question caught you off guard, head raising to meet the confused glanced of your comrades. You had zoned out, apparently. Orihime had scooted closer to you, hand curled around your forearm amiably.

You sighed “Don’t worry about me. I’m just tired, that’s all. I have fully recovered and… I started training again” you explained casually, gifting the worried girl a soft, reassuring smile she mirrored. While she did not press further, Uryu interjected in your conversation.

“It’s understandable. — he reasoned, index and forefinger fixing his glasses over the bridge of his nose— We all should hone our abilities. I have a feeling this war is going to require a whole other level of power from us, if we wish to contribute and partake to it” he stated calmly, albeit there was a worried undertone you had not failed to taste on your tastebuds upon letting his words sink in.

“Which is why I need a Bankai too” you noted, stretching your arms above your head in a catlike motion.

“You know, I thought you would have been the one to achieve the Bankai before him. — Uryu cooed, scrutinizing your face, lost into his thoughts — You are older than him, after all”.

You had no time to retaliate, because Orihime stunned you in silence with her mellow and overly excited tone of voice “But he is special! If there’s someone to bet on, Ichigo’s the right candidate for it!”.

Yes, he was. Ichigo was always the better Kurosaki.

__________________

(Hueco Mundo).

The moment your eyes turned back to their original color, the purple tear-like purple lines marking your cheeks fading, you fell onto your knees. Your fingers reached up to your mouth, the pads of your twitching fingers pierced by the pointy canines gradually retracting in your gums, as you witnessed to the stages your body went through to go back to its original shape. The Bankai. You had made it. You had finally unleashed your Bankai.

Sniffing in joy, you wiped the tears off of your face, standing back up absent-mindedly.

“You have a beautiful Bankai” the baritone voice of your captor cut through the still air of the training room. When had he entered? For how long had he been standing there to watch you? His praise, coming from his sinful mouth, touched your heart in ways you refused to acknowledge.

“Thanks”.

He did not bother waltzing in the room, but he indulged into his perpetual habit of striking up small conversations with you “I knew something was holding you back. But I never stopped believing in you”.

You wanted to shout at him, you should have for everything he had done. But for once, you felt the sweet taste of a positive appraisal on your tongue and you realized too late how addictive it could be. Tragically, you let him see through your weakness.

“You are not less valuable than him, Y/N. — he admonished you, before leaving — You just happen to be surrounded by people who depend on him, who need him to be strong to survive. You don’t”.

[foxaftershocks]

HEAR ME OUT!! Lars with a reader, who was a ghost but somehow got their life back. Because of that, reader is pretty much forced to be in the lab 24/7 (much to their disdain) with Lars running tests on them. Enemies to lovers 🫶

(Also, you're like the best author ever on here.)

Clearly I really liked this prompt because I wrote a lot for it. Like, seriously, this is so long. I hope you like it as much as I do.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Lars growled under his breath, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Sitting on the able, feet kicking backwards and forwards, you were grinning at him with such smugness it made his blood boil. He knew how to do his job without the input of a woman who knew nothing about parapsychology. You weren’t a scientist. You were just some girl who happened to come back to life. Nothing special.

“Still wrong,” you sung.

His fingers tightened around your arm, holding you still. He tightened the band around your bicep, pressing the electrodes against your chest with more force than was necessary. You muttered something just outside of his hearing, most likely a curse word. Your swearing was not something he was unfamiliar with. It had been resounding through the lab for weeks now.

“Just sit still,” he ordered, returning to his equipment.

You wiggled right up until the point he turned the machine on, probably trying to make a point. If you were, he missed it through disinterest. He watched the output on the machine, your heartbeat strong and steady. No blips, nothing to suggest you’d once been a ghost.

“Anything?” you asked.

He pressed his lips together. You could never just sit in silence, continually talking in his ear, playing with his stuff. Your presence was was unending. You had been made to live in the lab while they worked out how you’d come back, and as someone who basically lived in the lab himself, you had seemed to designate him as your favourite form of entertainment. You needled him. He knew it. And yet he kept letting you get under his skin.

“Not if you keep talking,” he said.

He got up, moving closer to readjust a few of the monitors. Returning back to the readout, there was a spike in your heart rate before it calmed down again. Interesting. Glancing up, you were glaring at him, seemingly not feeling the exertion you were showing.

“Feeling alright?” he asked.

“Aw, you do care,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Just answer the question,” he said.

“I feel fine,” you replied.

He watched you for another moment. Your head tipped up, looking to the ceiling as your feet continued to kick. You did seem fine. He had to trust you on that.

He hated not having answers.

You floated away on soft footsteps when he released you from his tests. You didn’t even bother saying goodbye and he knew it’s because he’d be seeing you later. You never seemed able to stop yourself from interrupting his day.

Looking back over the readouts the only thing that jumped out at him was the elevation in heart rate for a few minutes. Nothing else suggested anything had happened. He stared at it, trying to piece together what was going on. And yet it still wasn’t outside the bounds of normal mortal hearts.

Nothing indicated how you’d come back from being a ghost. Every test bringing up nothing. If he was a religious man, he would have said it was God playing a cosmic practical joke on him, sending him the one person who drove him crazy.

“If you never find anything am I forced to stay here until I become a ghost again?” you asked, appearing out of nowhere, whispering in his ear.

Perhaps you’d brought some things back with you when you’d become corporeal again. Silent as the wind, able to sneak up on him, your laughter echoing long after you were gone. It was eery and yet nothing indicated you were anything but a healthy human.

“You’ll stay here as long as necessary,” he replied, refusing to give you more.

“At what point does this become kidnapping?” you mused, hauling yourself up onto the bench in front of him.

Your feet kicked again, your toes brushing against his thigh. He froze, the feeling lingering before you did it again. He caught you, fingers circling your ankle. Your eyes found his, lips curling up into a slight smile. He stared back, caught in a bubble of time where everything stopped. Breath held and body frozen, the warmth of your soft skin against his making his head spin.

“Don’t tempt me to tie you up,” he murmured.

“Pretty kinky, Pinfield,” you said, voice soft and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were sharing a joke with him, “who knew you had it in you.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Your eyes lit up and he had to fight against the impulse to find out every single way he could make it happen again. There was something about it, the way it felt like a constant battle of wits with you. It was intoxicating.

He shoved your foot away, coming back to himself. You drew back from where you’d been leaning closer to him and he turned away, ignoring you as he tried to get on with work. From his peripheral vision he saw you slide back to the ground, a huffed laugh coming from you as you slipped away.

He lost track of you again, hours going by until the sun had gone down. A bed had been set up in what had once been a junk room for you to sleep in, the veneer of privacy all the lab could offer you. For months you’d been living there, under observation, in case something changed. There was no explanation for how you’d come back from your stint as a ghost. Nothing paranormal going on anymore.

You were a mystery he was determined to solve.

A bowl of noodles was slid in front of him. Looking up, he found you taking a seat across from him, your own bowl steaming in front of you. He looked down into it, his glasses steaming up with the condensation. He huffed, taking them off to wipe them clean. The expression on your face when he put them on again wasn’t one he’d seen before.

“What’s this?” he asked, nudging the bowl you’d placed in front of him.

“Ramen,” you replied, “only the instant stuff from the kitchen but it’s better than nothing.”

He sniffed, pursing his lips at you.

“It’s not poisoned,” you said.

Your chopsticks dipped into your own bowl, pulling noodles into your mouth. He watched you for a moment, before sighing, the rumble of his stomach enough to urge him on. If it was poisoned they’d find his body in the morning and be hunting you down.

“Is there a reason you stay so late every night?” you asked, “I know you’re not doing it to keep me company.”

“I have a lot of work to do,” he replied, surprised you’d asked.

“You sleep here sometimes,” you said, an offhand observation as you shovelled more noodles in your mouth.

“You always sleep here,” he replied.

“Not by choice,” you muttered, chopsticks stabbing down.

“Do you really hate it here so much?” he asked.

“Pinfield, you’ve made me a prisoner. I can’t leave without supervision. I can’t go home. You haven’t even let me contact my friends and family. You try being happy under those circumstances,” you said, levelling a glare at him.

“But you got a second chance,” he said, not hiding his frustration, “you came back. No one else has ever gotten that.”

“That you know of,” you said, almost in a sing song voice.

He paused for a moment. It’s true, someone else could have returned from ghosthood without being documented. It took long enough for people to even accept the existence of the paranormal. Documented cases were a mixed bag of those with scientific merit and those without.

“Can I expect to see you at breakfast?” you asked, “I have strawberry poptarts.”

“You’re mad if you think those are better than the brown sugar cinnamon ones,” he said.

“I have to assume this wrong opinion is because you’re not from here,” you said, sounding deadly serious.

“I’ve done the research. I have the data. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable but the science speaks for itself,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

“Well, you can keep your pseudoscience and your bad taste to yourself. You’re not invited to breakfast anymore,” you said, sniffing.

The spike of irritation cut through the playful atmosphere. That word, pseudoscience, it was the exact thing to raise his hackles. He would never engage in such stupidity. To be reduced to such a word had his blood boiling.

But then he looked up and saw the way you were smiling into your ramen, eyes darting up to him, the twinkle obvious. The irritation melted away upon the realisation that you were poking fun at him. That you were joking. That you were purposefully trying to get under his skin. And you knew him well enough to do it with ease. He’d fallen right into your trap.

A spark of electricity ran through his veins at the realisation.

“Don’t work too hard, nerd,” you said, hopping off your stool, taking the empty bowl away from in front of him.

He watched you walk away, many things going on in his head. Mostly, surprise that it had been pleasant having dinner with you. That spark of playfulness made him want to follow you and that didn’t sit right with him.

Accepting that, he decided to head home, the night over for him. There was no chance he was going to be able to finish his work. Not when he knew you could be lurking in the shadows around him.

The next morning he found you sitting in front of the possessor’s enclosure, seeming to play with it from behind the plexiglass. One of those cursed poptarts was dangling from one hand, half eaten as your focus was completely on the ghost in front of you. He let himself watch you, knowing he wasn’t being watched in return. Your smile was bright, your laugh genuine, eyes sparkling as you played. It struck him that you’d never looked at him that way.

“Please tell me you’re not trying to convert the possessor to your inferior flavour of poptarts,” he said.

You looked up, the smile slipping from your face. With a grace he knew he would never had, you rose from your crossed legged position, looking at him with a scowl. Approaching, he found his eyes resting on the bit of icing clinging to the corner of your lips. Without much thought, he reached up, thumb brushing it free. You blinked, mouth falling open. He cursed inwardly, not sure what to make of his own actions.

“More tests today,” he said, hoping to sweep what he’d done under the rug.

“Yay, I cannot wait,” you said, the sarcasm back in your tone.

“Follow me,” he ordered.

You trailed behind him, finishing off your breakfast. He was trying to ignore it, the sound of you, the feeling of your skin burning the pad of his thumb, the unsettled feeling in his stomach. He didn’t even need to ask you as you hopped up onto the gurney that had been set up after one too many accidents in the lab. Having a routine with you felt intimate, like your lives were intwining too much and he wanted to force you out.

“Blood works today,” he said, already reaching for a needle.

“I’m going to be a ghost again from all the blood you take,” you muttered.

When he turned back to you, your hands were crossed over the front of your body, holding the hem of your jumper. It was like watching in slow motion as you lifted it over your head, exposing the tight tank top you had on underneath. His eyes were lingering on your body, longer than he knew was appropriate, and yet not able to stop.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you said, dumping the crumpled up jumper to one side.

He didn’t have an answer. The entire day was not going the way he expected and he felt off kilter, almost dizzy with his own reaction to you. Ignoring it, he stepped up to you, taking one arm. He was close enough to hear your snort, the brush of your breath against his skin sending a shiver down his spine.

With a soft fingertip, he traced over the veins inside your elbow. The breath seemed to stutter in your chest and he looked up at you, from under eyelashes, head still bowed over your arm. Your lips had parted again, something inexplicable on your face. He wanted to dig down into the expression, to take it apart until he understood every part of it. The look in your eyes was making him want to drag you closer.

“Don’t look,” he murmured, plucking the needle up from where it waited.

Your eyes closed, face turning away from him. He let his gaze linger for a moment longer before he got to work. Just another sample to be analysed later. He pushed whatever moment had passed the between of you to the back of his mind, not wanting to think on it.

“All done,” he said, pressing a cotton bud to the point of extraction.

Your finger brushed his as you took over applying pressure to the inside of your elbow. He took a moment before he stepped away, checking your colour. You looked up, catching him in the act, lips quirking up in a questioning smile.

“Go eat something,” he said, “not one of those awful poptarts.”

“Make me,” you said.

The impulse to carry you away and force you to eat something good was intense. He could picture it, the way he would sling you over his shoulder and march away with you. It was very caveman, so different from how he usually was. It broke the moment, leaving him unsure of what to say as he stepped back. Something flashed over your face, too quick for him to understand as you slithered to the floor.

“Enjoy staring at my blood you psycho,” you said as a parting shot.

“I’m not-“ he called after you before giving up. It wasn’t worth it.

He took some time to go analyse the new blood sample, searching for any paranormal signifiers. It seemed normal, like anyone else’s blood would. Dead end after dead end was making him want to bash his head against the wall. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

He kept telling himself it was to get you out of his lab. Even if that little voice in the back of his head was saying something else.

The next time he saw you, you were curled up in one of the old armchairs that Lucky had dragged in one day in order to make the place more comfortable. You had a book open in your lap, hair falling forward. He paused, watching when your finger reached up, tucking some of the hair behind your ear. He could imagine it, the path his finger would take as he did the same thing, your soft skin against his fingertip.

“You’re actually quite smart,” you said and he realised his presence hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he thought.

“I know I am,” he replied.

Stepping closer, he noticed the book in your lap was a collection of essays, one of which he knew was his. Written a few years ago, before he’d had the funding he did now, his research was splayed out in your lap, your gaze tracing over it. The intimate feeling was a shock to him, the way it felt as if you were caressing his brain. You were reading his words. Words written years ago before he knew someone like you could exist. He felt his chest puff when you looked at him.

“Your writing could be clearer. You make it all so complicated,” you said.

He deflated, the pride he’d felt leaking from him. Once again, it left a flickering flame of resentment in its wake, and he wanted to lash out again. His mouth opened but you beat him to the punch.

“But your ideas are sound and you clearly know your stuff. I suppose I’m lucky I have your mind working on whatever mystery is going on with me.”

He sauntered closer, that same pride reigniting. You watched him approach, a half smile on your face as if you knew the exact reaction you were causing in him. He felt smug, knowing he was taking up space in your brain. You’d spent your time reading his research paper. You’d taken time out of your day to let his words seep into your brain.

“Very lucky,” he said, coming to a stop in front of you.

His words might have been flirty if it was anyone but you.

“But then I suppose you’re lucky getting to spend so much time with me,” you said.

Your bare foot reached out, your toes brushing against his shin. He lent forward, hands coming to rest on the back of the chair, right above your head. Towering over you, you looked so small to him, like something he could protect. But he kept you trapped there, looking down into your face.

“Lucky to have such a pain in my arse?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

“Well, you need something to get the stick out of it,” you replied. Only there was no bite to it.

“Been thinking about my arse a lot, have you?” he asked.

“You should be so lucky,” you laughed.

He lent closer, watching the moment you realised how close he was. He found himself feeling out of control around you, like his inhibitions had fled him. He couldn’t help it. Whenever it came to you lately, he lost himself to giving in to all his impulses.

One of which was screaming loudly at him.

The laughter died on your lips and he didn’t miss it when your eyes dipped down to his. He was close enough to feel your warmth, towering over you, leaning into your space. Your fingers clenched around the book in your lap, foot brushing his leg again. Just that touch, small as it was, sent electricity rocketing through his body. He wanted more of it. He wanted more of you.

Oh.

Oh no.

He wanted you.

He had never denied you were beautiful, that you were bright, that you were charismatic. But he had denied ever liking you. Only now, so close to you, watching the way you reacted to him, it became blindly obvious to him that he’d been lying to himself.

“Can I help you with something, Pinfield?” you asked, voice soft, barely above a murmur.

He thought that if he kissed you now you would kiss him back. Almost certain of it. Pretty sure you would. But that small amount of doubt niggled at him. You could be so prickly with him and you’d told him you hated being there. He was part of the lab. What if you actually didn’t like him?

“Cat got your tongue?” Your half smile had softened, just enough to make him question it all again, “I don’t think you’ve ever been so silent with me.”

He lent back, straightening up, leaving you blinking up at him, confusion marring your features. Turning on his heels, he stalked away from you, the confusion and the tangle of confused emotions making him need to retreat as fast as possible. The ache was new, wanting to go back and finish what he’d started. He couldn’t. Not if you were going to laugh in his face and tell him he was deluded. No one like you could ever possibly want him.

So he did the cowardly thing. He avoided you.

Days went by, hiding away in shadowy corners, doing all the work he’d been putting off to study you. The things no one wanted to do. Filing, cleaning, sorting, anything to keep you from finding him. Only he’d misjudged it. He’d forgotten you’d been living there long enough to find every single secret hiding spot.

After a few days, you found him in a secluded corner, far from everyone else working in the lab. He didn’t know how many other people knew about that spot, retreating to it whenever he needed time alone. Sitting on the floor, knees bent towards his chest, head in his hands, fingers clenched in his hair, he didn’t notice your approach. Or rather, the left over ghostly powers you had kept you silent as you came upon him.

“Have you given up on me?” His head jerked up at your voice, “the fire get too hot for you?”

“What?” he asked. You couldn’t know. There was no way you could know.

“Usually you’re poking and prodding me every day trying to figure out why ghosthood has forsaken me. Have you finally accepted there’s nothing to find and I can be released back into the wild?”

You walked towards him, and his mouth went dry with how your hips swayed. You stood over him, hands on your hips, staring down at him with an oddly fierce look on your face.

“I know it’s not because you’re doing anything more important. Clearly. Look at you. You’re sitting here in the dark doing nothing,” he said.

“Maybe that’s more important than studying you,” he replied, leaning his head back against the wall as he gazed up at you.

“Either you’re working on this mystery or you’re not. If you’re done can you let me know so I can clear out of here. I’d like to have a real place to live again,” you said.

“It’ll get done,” he replied.

“Really? Because you’ve been M.I.A. for days now. My entire life is put on paused because you can’t be bothered doing your job,” you continued on, as if you didn’t care about his answer.

“It’ll get done,” he said, firmer, standing as if that would get the point across.

“Sure it will, after you’ve spent the right amount of time hiding from the big scary scientific questions. What’s got you so rattled huh? I didn’t take you for the kind of man who would go running scared the minute things got difficult,” you said.

“Shut up,” he said.

“Or what?” you demanded, “the longer you drag your feet on this the longer I’m forced to live like a fugitive on the run hiding out from the law. Or maybe you hate me enough to want to keep me under lock and key.”

“You don’t know anything,” he ground out from between gritted teeth.

“Clearly because apparently I’m so abhorrent you have to avoid me. I thought we were alright. Fuck me, I guess. I can’t keep up with you. There is something seriously wrong with you, dude,” you said.

“Shut up,” he said again, taking a step forward until he was in your personal space.

He could feel all of the emotions simmering under the surface. You were staring at him, anger flashing in your eyes and you looked fierce. It made his blood sing, going toe to toe with you. He didn’t have the ability to deal with this today, not when he’d been fighting against his need to grab you and kiss you and drag you into the first private place he could find and show you exactly what you did to him.

“Not until you explain why you’re leaving me high and dry,” you said, both hands coming up to shove at his chest.

He caught you around the wrists, holding you like a pair of manacles. His thumb brushed over the bare skin of your inner wrist, over your pulse point. You stared at him, mouth falling open and he couldn’t figure out if it was through confusion or indignation. Tugging you closer, you were so close, your body heat brushing against him and he realised what a mistake that had been. But once again, impulse took over his brain when you were near.

“What are you doing?” you all but whispered.

“Shutting you up.”

He swooped down, kissing you, his fingers tightening around your wrists. He felt you gasp more than he heard it, but it was enough for his tongue to slip into your mouth. You were frozen for just a moment and he was certain you were about to knee him in the gonads. Then, you melted, pressing closer, kissing him back until you took his breath away.

The fire and the passion you’d brought about in him seemed to have found a match. You tugged out of his hold, arms twining around his neck as his hands slid around your body, pressing you into him. The small noise you made only stoked the fire further. His hands cupped your arse and your teeth sunk into his lower lip. He was surprised at the rush that gave him, the spike of pain followed by the soothing of your tongue running over it.

He spun, pushing you against the wall he’d so recently been leaning against. You arched towards him. His hands landed either side of your body, keeping you trapped there, caging you in. You kissed him deeper, longer, and all he could do was groan and sink into it.

You were everywhere, in every single one of his senses, consuming him. All he could do was press closer, groaning when your fingers slid into his hair, tugging on it, playing with it, mussing it. It was so much better than he could have imagined.

“Fuck love,” he mumbled, his lips trailing down your neck, “who knew shutting you up could be so enjoyable in so many ways?”

“You’re such an asshole,” you laughed, breathless as you tilted your head, offering yourself up to him.

“I think that says more about you than it does about me,” he said, teeth sinking in to your skin for just a moment.

“No one said I ever made the sensible decisions,” you said.

He drew back, looking at you. Bright eyes and kiss stung lips, you were a vision he would never grow tired of seeing. He brought a hand up, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You nipped at the pad of his thumb and he chuckled.

“Then I think you should have dinner with me tonight,” he said, “if you’re determined to not make sensible decisions.”

“I’m not allowed out,” you reminded him.

“You are with supervision. Call me your own personal ankle monitor,” he said, “I won’t take my eyes off you.”

“Sounds like you’ll be getting more out of it than I will. Especially if I wear a sexy little number,” you said.

“And why would you do that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Maybe because I’m so desperate to sleep in a proper bed I’m willing to go home with you,” you replied.

“So you’re going to seduce me?”

“I think I already have.”

You looked down, indicating the lack f space between your bodies. The leg he’d inserted between yours. The hand on your hip, keeping you pressed against the wall. His own swollen lips and flushed cheeks. The chuckle that fell from his lips was soft, and yet joyful.

“I suppose you have,” he agreed.

“So, dinner?” you asked.

“Tonight. No need for a sec little number. I’ll be taking you home even if you’re in your pyjamas,” he said and he liked the way that sentiment seemed to melt you.

“I think you might be a closet romantic, Pinfield,” you said, lips curling up into a small smile.

“I suppose you’ll have to stick with me if you want to find out,” he replied.

Impulse drove him to kiss you again, only this time, he was certain you’d kiss him back. You did not disappoint.