#the whole cast x therapy

[denjidomination]

Shadows in I Love Yoo

spoilers up ahead!

Specifically with nol, we see a lot of instances where he is in the shadows. Shadows obviously signify darkness and in this case, i find it to be the darkness within one’s self. Us the readers, as well as most characters in ily are introduced to nol as yeong-gi. Yeong-gi is the light; while nol is kept in the dark. But as the story progresses, we notice the appearance of nol slowly creeping up. We see it physically as we see nol in the shadows.

This first panel is from episode 19, and the second is from episode 112.

Not only is nol facing the opposite side of yeong-gi, but he is also facing to the left. 100% this is a reach LMFAO but whenever i notice characters facing different directions, i like to point out what direction they are facing. To us who read left to right, going to the right means progression and the left is the opposite. Nol is alone and in the darkness; he is ultimately stuck with a depreciating mental state while everyone seems to progress with their lives.

Before his trial, nol spoke to yu-jing and stated that “if being a good person means sitting back and watching those i care about be wronged, then i don’t want to be a good person”. Once he said that, we see his face be covered by the shadows once again. Nol is the darkness slowly taking over yeong-gi. While nol as a concept isn’t inherintely bad, he is the other side of himself that he has been suppressing for so long. Nol is reaching his anti-hero moment. If people want to paint him as the bad guy, then fine, he will be the bad guy. Being “good” means being helpless and a pushover, and after so many wrongs, he finds that being “good” is not what he wants to be anymore.

After his fallout with his friends nol is, yet again, in the shadows. The light is so close to hitting him but he chooses to be in the dark so that he doesn’t drag anyone else with him.

With this last instance, nol is in the shadows, but also on a physical lower position than shin-ae. Shin-ae has grown a lot throughout the story, and that growth is what nol wishes to achieve. Within that same chapter, shin-ae speaks positively of nol to min-hyuk. Following those events, we see nol follow shin-ae as she moves upwards. This signifies nol slowly reaching for some sort of growth. These two are mirrors of each other. If shin-ae is capable of growth and contentment, then nol is as well. Him hearing about all the things shin-ae said about him made him believe that he can work towards that growth as well. Lastly, bringing back the talk of direction, we see nol chasing after shin-ae in what appears to be the right. *Right* means progression, *right* means growth. Shin-ae is growing, and nol is finally trying to be on the path that can grow alongside her.

#denjidomination #webtoon #i love yoo #yeong gi hirahara #nolan oliver t lochlainn #Does the i love yoo fandom even exist on here #i love yoo fandom wake up #shin ae yoo #kousuke hirahara #nol x therapy #kousuke x therapy #the whole cast x therapy

[miraculously-incorrect-quotes]

Chat noir: 🎶what doesn't kill you makes you stronger!🎶

Marinette: No, what doesn't kill you gives you trauma.

Chat noir: Are you ok?

#chat noir #adrien agreste #adrien x marinette #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #source: me and my sister #mari needs a hug yall #the whole cast needs a hug actually #and therapy

[leclercstars]

lando fic🙏🙏 size kink and pushing down on her lower stomach while he's inside!!?

Obsessed with this one. This might be my fave thing I've ever written so thank you to whoever requested this.

house of balloons.

Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: 18+!! smut, hate sex, slight degradation and dom!Lando, cursing, size kink, unprotected sex.

“Get a grip,” you snapped as you strutted away from the bar. Now you had to wait to get another vodka lemonade. There was a viciousness to everything about you in that moment, from your facial expression to the way you sat and rejoined your friend group.

“What was that?” your best friend knew everything about your life, and you knew she was asking just to get a rise out of you.

“What do you fucking think? I thought him and his friends had stopped going here.”

“Well breaking news: that is not the case,” one of your other friends chuckled. 

“Ugh, I just cannot deal with this tonight,” you sat back in the the booth and groaned, pulling out your phone in hopes of avoiding more conversation about the topic.

“I should start making you that angry more often.” read the text that suddenly lit up your screen.

You hated Lando, and he hated you right back. Ever since freshman year you could not stand his “holier than thou” level arrogance and the way he always had to find a way to push your buttons in whatever setting you two were in. From class, to the bar all the way to the time you two ended up in the therapy waiting room together. 

“Okay Lando pls stfu. Dealing with you tonight was enough.” You had gotten into a heated argument with him in the bar, which you suddenly could not remember the subject of, pondering his last text in your head.

“I think I know how to fix our little problem”

What could he possibly mean by that. No way was he about to suggest sex.

“And what might that be?” you chuckled to yourself, noticing that your friends were peering over at your phone screen. Little snoops.

“Let’s leave.” Yep, there it was. He thinks fucking will somehow be the answer to your now four-year battle with each other. You had made each other’s lives a living hell. One time you fought so bad you both started crying, in public. Not the finest moment for either of you. But you thought more and more about his proposition. Sometimes he stared at you a little too long when you wore one of your skimpy going out tops, especially that lace corset, which of course you happened to be wearing tonight. He stood a little close to you to whisper insults in your ear, and occasionally slid a hand to the small of your back when you were standing next to each other. Maybe this was the answer. Besides, hate sex actually sounded kind of fun. 

“If you really want to do this then come over to the booth and I’ll get up and leave with you.” If this was really his master plan, you were going to make sure everyone knew about it. You weren’t gonna let him get away with lying about this little inchident later. It took him less than 2 minutes to appear at your table, hand extended towards you, a mischievous look painted all over his face.

“See ya around!” he waved to your friends as he dragged you out the bar.

“I better be getting a text about this later” you looked back at your friends' aghast expressions. They were looking at you as if you had just been shot through the head.

It didn’t take long to get to Lando’s shitty college house. You argued the whole way there. You almost shoved him in front of a moving car on accident. Maybe that would make the sex better.

He led you up to his bedroom, a surprisingly gentleman-ly gesture. The only light came from the dim glow of his computer monitor, casting a red ambiance over the entire room. How perfect, you thought.

“Let’s just get all that anger out, huh?”

“Worth a shot.” you smirked before inching closer and closer to him. The space between you two held so much tension, a pit of horniness, rage and frustration. He grabbed your face with both hands, his lips crashing into yours. You had never kissed someone with this much passion before. Neither of you knew how to keep your hands to yourself, but why bother. His hands explored every single inch of you, places that very few people had ever touched. He had already unhooked your bra effortlessly, your soft tits pressing against his chiseled chest. Fuck, he actually was kind of sexy all this time. He started gently biting your lower lip, causing you to moan into him. You could not be the only one moaning in this situation, so naturally you started palming his growing erection over his boxers. 

“Shit,” he whispered softly before groaning, his lips never leaving your face. There was a neediness, a hunger to the way you were touching each other. An intensity, a fury, and unfortunately one of the most erotic things you had ever experienced. 

He picked you up and threw you back onto the bed, the harshness of it turning you on even more.

You covered your pussy with your hands- giggling. You couldn’t help it, teasing him felt like the right thing to do in this scenario.

“Oh that’s not gonna work. I’m gonna fuck that little attitude right out of you.”

“I’d like to see you fucking try, pal.” your sly expression just making him angrier and angier.

He pinned your hands above your head as you laughed, loving that he was really taking it as a challenge. He slid his boxers off with his free hand.

Holy fuck. You had NEVER seen a dick that big. He was absolutely massive. Your confidence faltered for just a second, thinking that even though he was so much larger than you in stature, his dick could not have been that exceptional. But boy were you fucking wrong.

He gave you half at first, watching the way your face contorted as you adjusted to the feeling of him filling you up. He didn’t let you get comfortable for long, sliding the rest in as you shouted his name, probably waking the entire neighborhood up. Whoops.

“This might be the only time I ever get you to submit to me like this. Fuck you look hot when you’re being a good girl.”

You were going to fight back more- but those words made you want to listen to anything he told you to do for the rest of eternity. After two sickeningly slow thrusts, he started pounding into you. That attitude you had earlier had completely left the room, probably the stratosphere too. His dick felt like nothing you had ever taken before, nearly hitting your cervix with every pump in and out. It unfortunately was not going to take long for you to orgasm, as much as you wanted to hold out so you could keep experiencing this feeling. The feeling you never thought the guy you hated could give you. Pure and utter ecstasy. The alcohol flowing through your veins had you putting on quite the performance, moaning just as loud as Lando, tossing your head back and creating large claw marks along his back.

He thrusted deep into you- holding himself there. He made eye contact with you, his eyes low and filled with a fiery lust you had never seen before. He pressed against your lower stomach and holy fuck- you could not believe this was real.

“You feel that? That’s my fucking cock all the way inside you. You’re being such a good little slut taking me like this.”

You never wanted that feeling in your stomach to go away.

He pressed down again, shooting waves of pleasure through you that made your vision start to blur. Were you going to orgasm when he wasn’t even fucking you? 

“That’s enough of that, can’t make you feel too good.” he winked as he started fucking you again, bringing you right to the brink of an orgasm.

“Fuck Lando, you’re gonna make me cum.” He grabbed your throat.

“I’m gonna cum too. Look at me baby, I want us to remember exactly what we’re doing to each other.”

You never broke eye contact as you both lost control, his forehead pressed against yours as loud moans filled the room.

“That might be the only good idea you’ve ever had.” you laughed as he cleaned you both off.

“Of course that’s what you say right after I fucked the shit out of you.”

#f1 smut #lando norris smut #lando norris one shot #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #lando norris angst #lando norris imagine

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny learns a few more words with practice.

Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.

…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.

They don’t even sound all that mean.

It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.

Firstly: horrible.

Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.

So. Uh. That’s…gross.

He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.

God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.

…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.

Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.

…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.

“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.

She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”

Anyway.

Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.

None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.

He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.

And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.

For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…

Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.

…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?

(It did, didn’t it?)

(…Didn’t it??)

His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.

It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.

Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.

He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.

...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.

He is sick. He has been sick.

The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.

He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.

And then he feels something weird.

Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.

There is something solid sticking out of him.

Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.

And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.

His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.

People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.

Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.

He doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.

They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.

He thinks he’s going to cry.

Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.

It’s the lady. He knows her.

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.

She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?

She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.

“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”

She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.

Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.

But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.

“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.

There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,

Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.

When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.

Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.

They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.

It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.

The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.

Danny frowns.

The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.

The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.

Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.

The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.

And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.

Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.

Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.

The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.

Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.

She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.

“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.

The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.

It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.

#*hip checks through the door* hey losers! Guess who uses Arabic numbers!! Two earths!! #also if ANYONE is shitty about stoma bags or ostomy bags on this fic or in this chat I'm going to fight you. Lots of people have them. #they're usually a temporary procedure and even if they're not they're pretty normal and a lot of people have them. I knew at least one #like haha this is a body horror fic but ostomy bags are a REAL THING that people HAVE as part of their medical journey DO NOT be rude!! #So what we know of his injuries now: messed up legs. Messed up guts. Messed up chest. Is there more...? Who can say. 👀 #health and hybrids #dp x dc #dcu crossover #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #incarceration to elopement to healthcare pipeline #His healing is speeding up and his language is getting better! When can we get a Diana POV?? <- me to me

[alessiasfreckles]

amnesia - part 8 (ona batlle x alexia putellas x reader)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7

a/n: sorry guys, had to repost this one due to an issue with the title! anyway, when are these girls going to learn how to communicate??

-------

“Do you want to do something with Ale tonight, the three of us? I don’t think you’re ready to go out yet, but we can celebrate your leg finally being free,” Ona suggested as the two of you walked out of the hospital. You still had crutches, but the cast had been taken off, and it felt like your leg could breathe again. 

“That sounds great!” you smiled. Ona had barely mentioned the captain since you’d brought her up in conversation just a couple days ago, and you weren’t sure if she had been upset about Alexia’s feelings towards you, but clearly it couldn’t be too bad if she was suggesting doing something together. Plus, you missed the blonde - it had been a while since you’d seen her, if you didn’t count all the times you’d looked her up online.

“What do you want to do? We could stay in, or go out, I guess,” Ona trailed off, looking at your leg uncertainly.

“Go out! Please, for the love of god, I cannot take being cooped up in my apartment any more. It’s bad enough not being able to play football, but not being able to go out much has been killing me,” you implored, eyes wide, and Ona laughed. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll go out. Nothing too crazy, though. There’s a nice restaurant in your neighbourhood we used to go to, we can go there,” she said.

That’s how you found yourself sat between the two women in a booth tucked away at the back of a local restaurant and bar. It was busy, but you supposed it was a Friday night, and it really did feel good to be amongst people instead of in your apartment. 

Something was… off, however. You weren’t sure what it was exactly, but the vibes were slightly strange, like the air was vibrating. You figured that maybe you were just so not used to being around so many people anymore and tried to brush it off. 

“How was training today?” you asked during a lull in the conversation. Glancing down at your drink, you didn’t notice the way Alexia’s and Ona’s eyes met across the table.

“Good,” Alexia said smoothly. “We all miss you, though. Are you looking forward to coming back next week?”

“I won’t be back, not properly,” you grumbled. “I’ll just be there for physio and occupational therapy.”

“You’ll be there, though! It’ll be nice to have you around again,” Alexia smiled warmly at you, resting a hand on your shoulder for just a brief second. 

“I guess,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm up a little. 

“Si, the three of us again, it’ll be just like old times,” Ona added. 

“Old times? Were the three of us together a lot?” you asked, frowning. You knew that you were close with both of them, but you’d assumed that when you and Ona started dating, Alexia would have felt awkward being around the both of you and would have hung back a little. 

“Oh yeah, we were inseparable,” she said, resting an arm on your shoulders. You stiffened slightly under the touch, but Ona didn’t seem to notice. “We were always together. The girls on the team used to joke about all three of us dating, not just you and me.”

“Huh.” Leaning away from Ona’s arm, you moved to get up. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

Once you were in the bathroom with the door locked behind you, you let out a sigh. Splashing water onto your face, you frowned at your reflection in the mirror. You felt weird. Things felt different. Ona was behaving strangely, much more jovial than she had been the past few days, and you felt a flash of irritation. She was behaving like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t been in a coma, like you hadn’t lost your memories, like she hadn’t lied to you. And then there were your feelings about Alexia, which you were still confused about. Frustration about the whole situation bubbled up inside you, and you splashed cold water onto your face again, trying to calm down. 

“What are you doing?” Alexia hissed as soon as the bathroom door swung closed behind you. 

“What do you mean?” Ona asked. 

“You’re acting weird - you’re being way too casual about this, you’re pushing it too hard and too fast!” the blonde said, keeping her voice quiet, as if she was worried you’d hear. “Look, we said we would slowly introduce her to the idea, maybe let her think of it herself. We’re just meant to be making small suggestions, comments, that kind of thing - not telling her that people thought all three of us were dating!”

Ona scowled, not wanting to admit that maybe Alexia was right, that maybe she had been laying it on a little too thick. “We have to make it obvious enough, though, otherwise she won’t even notice it!”

“Of course she will! She’s not stupid, Oni,” Alexia frowned.

“Who’s not stupid?” you asked, appearing from behind the booth. It looked as though the two had been deep in conversation when you left the bathroom, and as you approached the table you heard Alexia’s statement.

“Oh, no one!” Ona said quickly, before Alexia even had a chance to open her mouth. You narrowed your eyes slightly, the speed at which she spoke not doing her any favours. 

“Right…,” you trailed off. So, Ona thought you were stupid. Great. You sat back down between the two, but this time you stayed just out of Ona’s reach. 

“Y/N, how have you been feeling, now that you’ve been home and out of the hospital for a week?” Alexia asked.

“Um, okay, I guess. It’s been a lot,” you admitted, grateful for the change in topic. “I’ve felt a bit overwhelmed sometimes. And I’m frustrated that I don’t remember more, I feel like I should.”

“It’ll come, with time,” Alexia said, placing a hand on your knee. It was warm, comforting. “And if not, we’ll do our best to fill your mind with new memories, isn’t that right, Oni?”

“Yes!” the brunette nodded emphatically. “We can make all kinds of new memories!”

“Thanks, guys,” you gave them both a small smile. 

“How about I get us some drinks?” Alexia suggested, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

As you watched Alexia head towards the bar, Ona hummed thoughtfully.

“Ale looks really good tonight, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Hm?” your eyes flew to Ona, hoping she wouldn’t be able to notice the way your cheeks were flushing rapidly in the dim lighting. “Oh, um yeah, I- I guess?”

“You guess?” Ona let out a gentle laugh, looking over at you. “Please, she’s gorgeous, we all know it. And I thought you said you wrote something similar in your journal?”

“Oh, I, yeah, she,” you stumbled over your words, Ona’s teasing tone catching you off guard. It hadn’t even seemed like she was listening when you’d told her about that. 

The brunette leant in close to you, her hand on your thigh. “Are you blushing, bebé?”

“What- no!” you abruptly moved away from her, letting her hand fall to the seat. What the hell was she doing? Why was she even talking about this?

“It’s okay if you are, you know,” she mused, as if you hadn’t even said anything. “I’d understand if you still had a little crush on her. Who wouldn’t?”

That was enough. Your heart pounding, blood roaring in your ears, you stood up. “I need some air.”

You left the restaurant as fast as you could with one bad leg. You didn’t even notice Alexia leaving the drinks at the bar to follow you outside, and jumped when she put a hand on your shoulder. 

“Chiqui, are you alright? What’s going on?” she asked, her calm voice grounding you.

“Yes, I- no, I don’t know!” you groaned, putting your head in your hands. You didn’t understand what the fuck was going on, why Ona was talking like that, why she was saying those things. Even if she did happen to know how you were feeling, why would she be teasing you about it like that? And what you’d overheard earlier, how she clearly thought you were stupid? 

“I want to go home,” you said quietly. “Actually, no, I- can I stay at your place tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course, but what about Ona, don’t you want to stay with her?” Alexia frowned.

“No, I don’t want to talk to Ona right now,” you said, a familiar feeling of hurt washing over you as you thought about her words to Alexia. “Can we just go?”

“Okay, chiqui. But I’m going to go and tell Oni, okay? It wouldn’t be right to just leave her.”

Ona watched Alexia approach the booth, a bad feeling in her stomach. She should have run after you, she should have done something, said something. 

“Is she okay?” the younger player asked, worry gnawing at her insides. 

“Si, but…,” Alexia sighed. “She wants to go home, to my place. She wants to stay with me tonight.”

“Okay, should I come too?” 

“No, Oni, I’m sorry. I think you upset her,” Alexia said gently, not wanting to hurt Ona’s feelings. “But I’ll keep you updated and I will see you tomorrow at training, okay?”

“Oh. Okay.” Ona’s voice was small, and she looked down at the table, refusing to meet the captain’s eye. As she watched Alexia leave, she could feel a pit in her stomach, growing and growing, and she hoped it would swallow her whole.

#hannah writes fics #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle fanfic #ona batlle imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia x reader #alexia putellas #ona batlle x alexia putellas #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #alessia russo #woso fanfics

[mvltisstuff]

you found me - e.b

summary: coming home with buck after a long 24-hour shift on your first day back post injury.

evan buckley x reader

the tightness in her sore leg ricocheted up her side. her strength had been built up daily for months. the physical therapy, the doctors appointments, the surgeries, the casts, had all led up to an exhausting day.

for some reason, she still felt better than ever. being surrounded by her true family, in her true home. station 118 was her happy place, and she fought these past few months in recovery to be back with buck in their home.

after several calls filled with chaos and lifting, her head was ready to roll off her neck and leg about to snap off. it had felt good all day, but toward the end of the night, the day had caught up with her. the adrenaline of the calls keeps her up.

everyone was ready to go home after a long day and a party for y/n at the beginning. they got her a cake and watched in awe as she and buck stood close to each other all day. the banner, the friends, the family.

buck had been the real crutch through the whole process. from finding her stiff body on the ground, to helping her get from room to room. every headache, every painkiller, and every bandage was dealt with out of pure love and affection.

he handled her like a wilted flower, ready to fall over. she was like glass in his hand, and he was the glue that put her back together. since the day she first arrived at work, he didn’t leave her side. as things progressed, he knew nothing was going to change. they knew the rules, forbidden relationships among first responders. but when has buck ever been known to follow a rule?

he was her siren and her knight in shining armor. he fought her battles alongside her every night in her dreams. waking up, screaming in pain and fear, his burning eyes from tiredness barely crossing his mind. his hands holding onto hers as his forehead touched her damp one.

“y/n, glad to have you back.” bobby stops her from running into the locker rooms. “always tough not having you around.

a thin smile grew up on her face, pinking her cheeks. “thanks, bobby. i’m really excited to be back to work.”

“if you need anything, please ask.”

“i will, always.”

“alright. now go home, get some rest.” he smiles. “enjoy the day off tomorrow.” he shuffles back up the stairs and y/n walks into the glass room.

the whole team was lurking near their lockers, tired and hungry. y/n noticed a discomfort in her leg, as she sits down and runs her hand down it.

“you doing ok, y/l/n?” eddie asks.

“yeah, i’m good. just a little sore here and there.” she replies, not making a big deal out of anything.

“we can get going soon,” buck plants a soft kiss on her forehead, bending over. hen and chimney exchange a playful look, smiling at the two. “little bit of buck 2.0 magic and you’ll be good as new.”

“gross, buck.” henrietta says. “i’m heading out, karen’s waiting. nice to have you back, y/n.” she gives a soothing smile and a hug before grabbing the rest of her things. chimney and eddie walk out soon after, leaving the couple alone.

y/n sighs out, rubbing her eyes. “hurts.”

“i know, baby.” buck sits down next to her, pulling her in. “but it’s the first day back, it’ll get better.”

“i know, it’s just hard. but at least we have the day off tomorrow.” she smiles, looking up at his softened eyes.

“cmon, let’s get you comfy at home.”

buck unlocks the front door of their shared apartment building, her hand draped in his. he leads her into the building, holding her hand up the stairs and sitting on the bed. “i’m gonna go start a warm shower for you since i showered at the station.”

the warm water engulfs y/n’s soreness and eases her pain of the day a bit, washing it away with each droplet. meanwhile, while she scrubs her day off, buck is cheffing away in the kitchen, preheating a singular box of rice from y/n’s favorite chinese restaurant.

y/n pulls on the clothing buck left on their shared countertop in the bathroom. an oversized LAFD tshirt of bucks and a pair of shorts. she slides on a pair of socks and places a heating patch on her leg. “alright, patient 0, here are your gourmet leftovers, and lovely medications.” bucks sets them down in front of her, leaving a wide grin on both their faces.

they ate their food together, refilling their abandoned stomachs due to the business of the day. “you know you can take a few more weeks, if you’re not up to it yet. you can’t rush a recovery.”

“says the guy who practically sued the city for not letting him back.” y/n retorted back.

“ouch, ok, not my best moment, i’ll admit. however, maybe the new buck would take the advice i’m giving you.”

“it was just a long day, i need to rebuild my schedule and get back out there. i’m just tired, buck. it’s scary going back out there. i could’ve died on that call and it’s a lot being out there.” y/n admits to her only. “but there’s nowhere else i want to be.”

he smiles, finding a glimpse of himself in her. that’s probably why he’s so attracted to her. they say opposites attract, but buck was instantly attached to a woman he felt really understood him. she was his other half, his lifeline, the flame to his fire.

“well, we should get you to bed. your chariot awaits, my love!” he scoops her up in a bridal style and carries her up the stairs like royalty. he places her down on their bed and hands her the remote. “your pick, tonight.” she smiles and pulls the blankets over her.

she scrolls through the episodes of their shows, landing on a comforting finale of the office. something easy for them to sleep to, since she doesn’t like the silence anymore.

“i’m never leaving your side, babe.” he says, pulling her onto him. “i love you, more than anything.”

his arm wraps around her back, draped on her waist and her legs interwoven together with his. his other hand rubs her face, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“i love you so much, ev.” he lets out a goofy smile at the nickname that he acts like he’s never heard. “i’m so lucky i found you.” she laughs out.

“go to sleep, sweet girl.” He holds her tight, making sure she doesn’t go anywhere, and in his grasp, her pain stops existing. as long as he’s with her, the only thing she feels is pure admiration.

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #911 #911onfox #911 fic #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buck buckely #evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley one shot #henrietta wilson #bobby nash #athena grant #eddie diaz #eddie diaz x reader

[leoramage]

competition + part one

⊹ masterlist ⊹ taglist ⊹

⊹⊱ trigger warning - [being shady af, slandering, tune in for plot twist!]

⊹⊱ theme - [social media au]

⊹⊱ pairings - [ex!mick schumacher x thai beauty queen!y/n x ?]

⊹⊱ face claim - anntonia porsild

⊹⊱ keywords - [rumours. "i promise that you'll never find another like me." emotional scars trope. "you're talking shit for the hell of it." girl fight. "anything you can do, i do better." bitterness and envy. "who do you think you are? are you better than me - no."]

INSTAGRAM

mickschumacher posted a story and a photo

liked by pierregasly, estebanocon and others

mickschumacher 🤍

truemickfan Wait, did I miss a whole season? Mick and Y/N were just together during Miami Grand Prix, and how's he's all cozy with someone new? 😳

estebanocon 😍😍

⊳ racedaydreamer estie bestie, explain what happened to my parents! 😭

⊳ speeddemonette I AM DISAPPOINTED BARFING, CRYING, HAVING SEIZURES RIGHT NOW!

mickfanatic Is it just me or does anyone else feel like Mick moved on way too quickly? Y/N is not just a casual fling!

micksupporter YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH Y/N WAS ALMOST 4 YEARS MICK! 😭 4 YEARS!

gridgirlgossip Goodbye, I am sending you my therapy bills.

cornercruiser #downgradeofthecentury

NEWS FEED

TWITTER

⊰⊹⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋄⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊹⊱

The night was alive with the glow of twinkling stars, casting their silvery light over the event you had just finished hosting the glamorous charity event, Your radiant smile never left your face as you effortlessly guided the evening. The applause echoed through the grand hall, and for a moment, you felt like the world was yours as you were dressed in elegance and grace, embodying beauty and poise like no other, leaving behind a trail of flashing cameras and clinking glasses. But as you retreated backstage, reality caught up with you.

Your phone buzzed insistently in your hand, a notification lighting up the screen. You anticipated it to be a congratulatory message, a reminder of your brilliance on stage. Instead, it was a photo that sent shards of pain through your heart.

Mick.

There he was, smiling broadly, his lips on her cheek and an arm wrapped around a woman – you realized who she was – the Instagram model whose presence had been splashed across tabloids and gossip sites recently but whose ingenue beauty was unmistakable.

Your heart sank as you realized the truth: he had moved on like you and him never happened.

3 years of being with him – going 4 years – all thrown aside like a trash.

You were with him, in his ups and downs.

You were there when he lost his F1 seat.

You were there when he questioned his ability...

His talent...

His whole being...

And the pressure of him being the racing prodigy after his father.

You were there when Mercedes took him in and welcomed him as a reserve driver. You celebrated late at night and cuddled by the flame drinking beers while Coldplay plays on the background. It feels like home to be with him but...

Where could have you possibly lacked that he found another one so easily within two months?

Were you that ugly?

Were you that unworthy?

Were you that replaceable?

Were you not enough?

The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring your vision as you crumbled into a chair. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the deafening silence of your pain echoing in your ears. A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you – hurt, confusion, and an undeniable sense of loss.

He said that he won't break your heart, let alone shed tears because of him. Yet here you are, a sobbing mess because he found a replacement 2 months fresh after your break up.

You hated him. No... You loathed yourself that you've ended up this way with your heart and soul. Yet a part of you feels guilty and loves him despite letting you burn yourself in the process. He said he'll protect you but...

He had set fire and left you alone - sacrificed yourself for your ever-unsalvageable relationship.

It simply costs you. Your being.

You lost yourself so that he could find himself.

You didn't know what happened. One day he wasn't the Mick you knew.

He changed that was all.

It felt like a betrayal, a stark reminder that he had moved on while you were still grappling with the aftermath of your breakup. The break had been raw, an ache that had haunted you since the day you parted ways. Two months had passed, yet the wound was far from healed. The emotions you had been pouring up for weeks seemed to return like an overflooded river, and the dam you had so carefully constructed - every week you put on a brave smile and face the world - finally crumbled once again.

You completely lost him.

Amid the tears and the sobs, you allowed to release the anguish that was held back. It was as if the universe had given you permission to feel, to mourn, and to heal.

You clung to your friends, letting their unwavering support become your lifeline, traversing the caverns of your own heart. Your friends rushed to your side, their faces filled with concern.

And a new familair guy was there too, like a true friend. He knelt in front of you, his big copper eyes locking onto yours. "Y/N," he whispered, "I'm so sorry... You don't deserve this." The sobs wracked your body as you buried your face in your hands before he pulled you into an embrace that lulled your lamenting and already ravaged heart. But the pain was too raw. It was misery that had been festering for two long months, a pain you had hidden behind your dazzling smile.

You thought you were fine, that you were strong enough to handle seeing Mick with someone new. But in that moment, all your strength crumbled. It felt like your heart had been ripped out and stomped on.

His hand grazed your back with your face buried in his chest, his voice was low but soft but filled with empathy. "He doesn't deserve you, Y/N." His accent was thick upon whispering in your ear, feeling bad that you had to go through this.

As you cried, you realized that the pain wasn't just about Mick. It was about the weight of expectations, the pressure to always appear strong, and the fear of being alone. It was about the depression that had been silently eating away at you.

You had been wearing a mask for so long, pretending to be okay when you weren't. It manifested from you losing weight, skipping meals and even your sleeping schedule had been hell. And now, in this moment of vulnerability, you felt like you were breaking free from that suffocating facade.

He whispered soothing words, reminding you that you were loved and that your worth wasn't defined by a relationship.

As the tears continued to flow, you realized that healing would take time. But for the first time in months, you felt like you were ready to take on the path to recovery. The pain was real and there was nothing for you to do but it shouldn't be stopping you.

You promised that you would be stronger than you had ever known.

TWITTER

⊰⊹⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋄⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊹⊱

Morning aftermath...

As the morning sun filtered through your window, you found yourself still wrapped in the cocoon of sleep, the weight of last night's breakdown lingering like a heavy fog. But as your phone began to buzz with notifications, reality swiftly came crashing back. Friends had texted you, their words a mix of concern and reassurance.

"Hey, just wanted to let you know that there's a tweet going around. We're here for you, always." — F/N1

"Some fan or paparazzi sent a picture of you crying backstage last night to a Twitter account. They're all with you. We are always here for you, Y/N." — F/N2

You sighed, sitting up and staring at your phone. It didn't take long to locate the tweet they were referring to – a photo of you, vulnerable and raw, with your friends surrounding you to comfort you. The tweet had gained traction overnight, becoming a symbol of empathy and support from fans all over...

As you scrolled through the replies, you were taken aback by the outpouring of compassion. Fans of both Mick and yours had come together, expressing their concern and sending well wishes. The sight of your shared pain resonated with many, they felt upset for you over a single Instagram post of Mick that drew out all the vitality in you last night.

With a sigh, you knew you couldn't remain in bed all day, wallowing in the events of the past night. You were stronger than that, and you owed it to yourself and your supporters to show them that you were okay. Taking a deep breath, you decided to update your fans through an Instagram story.

You snapped a picture of yourself, the gentle sunlight casting a warm glow on everything it touched. Typing out a caption, you chose your words carefully.

With a sense of purpose, you tapped the post button. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a step forward. The response was immediate – an influx of messages, hearts, and encouraging words flooded your inbox. Each notification felt like a virtual hug, a reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

INSTAGRAM

yourusername posted a story • 4 mins ago

seen by carlossainz55, lewishamilton and 962,820 others.

Later that day...

As the sun began its slow descent, you found yourself deep in thought, your mind weaving through possibilities and aspirations. The idea had taken root within you, a flicker of determination that refused to be extinguished. You wanted to show the world that you were more than just a single pageant title or relationship and that your journey was far from over.

The world felt a little brighter, and the weight on your shoulders felt a little lighter.

With a sense of purpose, you reached for your phone, your fingers dancing over the keys as you composed a message to your pageant coach, RL Duangkong. Your journey to a bigger goal is just about to start.

⊰⊹⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋄⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊹⊱

Author's Note: THIS POST HAD BEEN UPLOADED WAY TO SEVERAL TIMES THAT I ALMOST LOST PATIENCE. The effort I poured onto this fic is ungodly. Which is why I appreciate smau!writers out there. I was having an internal monologue on how the lines would be distributed properly. I honestly loved making this - it is such a challenge and a struggle to be fair. Please do not repost or take the edited pictures without my consent. Some media in this post are mine and it's hard to do photoshopping/photo manipulation. Any kind of support is appreciated as I continue writing as long as I keep dreaming. Until then, stay updated for part 2! 𔘓ฅ[⁠ᓀ⁠˵⁠▾⁠˵⁠ᓂ⁠]𔘓ฅ

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created by the user in response to a creative writing prompt. Any resemblance to actual events, persons, or entities, whether living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The characters, events, and dialogue portrayed in this fanfiction are products of the user's imagination and are not meant to infringe upon any copyrights or trademarks associated with the Formula One sport or any real-life individuals. This fanfiction is solely intended for entertainment purposes, and the author acknowledges that the depicted scenarios are not endorsed, authorized, or supported by any official Formula One entities or the individuals mentioned.

#Spotify #formula one #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher au #mick schumacher smau #mick schumacher x you #mic schumacher fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one instagram au

[embossross]

From His Mind to Hers

chapter 12 >> Chapter 13 >> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: DUBCON (oral gun play, ptv sex, rough sex), Assault (slapping, gun in mouth), revenge porn, descriptions of derealization/mental break, APPROACH WITH CAUTION

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, dubcon & abuse in c13, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: 6.5k+

Slipping into your bedroom, a haze of unreality deepens the shadows cast by what little furniture you own.

During the half hour walk here from Roppongi, Hanma’s dress shoes ripped holes in his heels, which he hardly noticed as his imagination fixated on what he would do once he arrived here, repeating the details again and again until they crystalized in his mind. The scene became real to him, closer to the fixed certainty of memory. The way you would wake to the death rattle of Amani Takashi as he choked on his own blood. In the absolute darkness, you wouldn’t recognize the reaper hovering above you, not until his hands, familiar as only a lover’s could be, closed around your bare throat and squeezed. As he choked the life from your body, you would realize the immensity of your mistake in betraying him, and oh, the weight of his satisfaction would be nearly sensual as you gargled out your apologies, your aborted pleas that would have no power over him in the dark, where he can’t see your eyes. It would be all over when those once seductive eyes closed forever.

The scene in his imagination is so vivid that upon entering your room and finding the details differ, a sense of derealization dizzies him. It’s like returning home after an earthquake to find all the furniture shifted almost imperceptibly to the left. Or, like he’s entered one of those children’s puzzles, where you spot the differences between two nearly identical pictures, the eye tripping over itself.

He catalogues each difference precisely as if to anchor himself.

The curtains are wide-open, letting in a blue-toned light that illuminates the bed where you sleep, alone. Your oh-so-lucky boyfriend is nowhere in sight. Tucked in tight with the covers pulled up to your chin as if shielding your throat, you dream the dreams of the innocent, peaceful and nearly glowing in the slight light.

Where he expected predatory excitement or at least the faint hum of purpose fulfilled, Hanma feels nothing but an emptiness, a hole. A vortex writhes within him, the chaos of feelings and impressions no quieter than before, but it sucks away all surface thought and feeling, all warmth, so entirely that he doubts they’ll ever be returned to him again. Suddenly, he feels the chill of winter upon him, those long nights returned to swallow him whole. He realizes his artificial buzz is gone. He’s left tired and dopamine deprived.

He watches you sleep for several long minutes until he fears he’ll lose what little soul he has left to the frostbite. Only once he’s reconciled the differences between the supposed “reality” of the scene with what he pictured in his head does he approach you and the bed with slow steps.

You don’t stir when he peels the blankets back to expose your throat and chest. Your nipples harden beneath your tee-shirt, delectable even now after everything. The bed dips under his weight as he kneels above you, a knee on either side of your waist, but you don’t even murmur, perhaps used to Takashi coming home late.

Again, he’s struck by your sleeping face, how you sleep with lips gently parted, trusting, like a woman with no secrets to condemn her. Many nights he’s watched you sleep just like this. All of his emotions are clogged down, muted, so that he doesn’t know if his feelings for you have changed, but the old instincts – to shield you from harm, to protect your precious sleep, and keep you closeted away somewhere, undeniably his – remain unsullied.

Bottom lip plush and glistening, your mouth beckons to him, and he wants to gently push a finger between those lips, past the blunt teeth and into the heated crevice of your mouth, the heart of you. But, those days are over. He knows this with the same detached certainty he knows when to shift gears when driving or when a piece of meat is chewed enough to swallow. Instead of his finger, Hanma taps the entrance of your mouth with his gun, and then, slides it inside.

For a brief moment, your expression morphs into disgust as you taste metal, but then the sleep recedes from your eyes and panic erupts there. You flail inelegantly against the intrusion, and then, more purposefully, as you recognize who looms above you and what has housed itself inside your mouth.

Hanma subdues you quickly by kneeling on your arms and seating himself on your chest. As you try to question him, mouth widening, the gun pushes its way in deeper, and the words come out an indistinguishable garble. You try to speak regardless, slobbering around the gun as your eyes beseech him, asking for some reassurance or explanation that is not fast in coming. There is nothing in his heart, nothing in his eyes or soul to comfort you. Just the cold.

For a moment, neither of you tries to speak.

Then, as if on autopilot, Hanma recites the words he imagined saying a hundred times already.

“I’ve been thinking about what you call a therapist when there is no patient confidentiality. And then it came to me. You call her an overpriced whore, who doesn’t know when to stop running her mouth.”

It’s as if he’s not the one speaking these words, watching himself from a distance, like an actor’s been hired to act out the part. It’s a rerun. He knows how this ends. Yes, he’s seen this one before.

Except, he’s not supposed to see your eyes. They disturb him, the way they peer up at the him who’s not him, squinting in confusion and protest. They lie for you better than the dialogue written in the script. Tears well along your lash line, and, when you blink, the tips of your eyelashes come away wet.

“I spoke to your friend today, Haitani Ran. Ah, see, there goes the innocent act,” the actor-Hanma sneers, while the real Hanma observes the understanding dawn on your face. “I wonder how much he had to give you to tell all my secrets. I’m always curious just how little people value their lives. How about it? How much was your life worth? What’s the number?”

Whatever you try to say in response is lost around the barrel of his gun.

It too looks strange in your mouth. Plastic, instead of cool metal, like a toy. It feels heavy like always in his hand, the weight of a murder, but what he sees doesn’t match. His brain argues that such a measly hunk of plastic could never be the thing that dims your eyes, now brimming with unshed tears, for good.

The scene simply isn’t right. Something needs to be done.

Breaking free from the script, Hanma decides to let you defend yourself a bit. He battles the actor-Hanma back and pulls the gun away.

“I didn’t!” you cry out immediately, the words slurring in your haste. “Shuji, I swear. I didn’t tell him anything. He cornered me and made me an offer, but I never –”

The barrel of the gun emits a jarring clanging sound as it rams into your front teeth. He won’t listen to you lie to him. Within the maelstrom of impressions that have been too loud to make out, one feeling floats free, taking on a familiar shape: anger.

Hanma can’t fathom how much you could have cost him. Had Haitani used the intel you slipped him to move against Toman, buggering the HKJ deal, he would have lost his shot at Mikey. In the aftermath, Kisaki would have had him killed for his role in it. No second chances. You’d be whacked, too, of course, for knowing too much, for being a liability. And, all that easy intimacy that you had built together over the last many months would be snuffed out as some no-account Toman lackey pureed you, entering you again and again with their knife, until your corpse was so mangled only dental records could hope to identify you someday.

You risked too much, stole too much, and his anger tastes like acid, coating the inside of his mouth.

Around the foul taste, Hanma – or maybe it’s the actor again? – spits the words, “Do you know how many stupid fucking corpses tried what you did in the past? Tried to use their bodies to get close, get my secrets. And it never fucking worked. There’s only one punishment that fits the crime when someone betrays Toman, betrays me, and you knew that when you took this job.”

The hand tattooed with the kanji for punishment pushes the gun deeper, unbothered by the way your soft palette rises on instinct as if you have any hope of choking him out. He forces through the resistance until you swallow his gun all the way to the trigger guard and the tip of the barrel knocks decisively against the back of your throat. Memories of past times when he broke through that same resistance echo, and his cock twitches. If he pulled the trigger at this angle, it would blow a hole clean through your trachea, not a quick and easy death.

Manipulative tears spill down your cheeks as you try to work out a blubbering sob. He wonders if you would have cried for him too had feeding Haitani secrets led him to the noose.

There’s no silencer to dampen the gunshot. It resounds in his ears, throbbing like a declaration.

Hanma doesn’t see the damage until sickly red blood floods your white pillowcases, forever staining them, and then mixing with your hair. You gurgle helplessly as you try to breathe around a compromised trachea, hands flying to your throat like you might massage it back to usefulness.

Condemning eyes glare at him. They’re like an ocean of blood, the waters slowly rising, until the whites of your eyes are gone and nothing but bloodred accusation stares back at him.

He blinks and the blood is gone.

The safety is still engaged. Your eyes are filled with translucent tears, hands still caged by his knees.

He shakes his head a few times. The force knocks his glasses around.

Of course, he didn’t shoot you through the neck. Earlier he strangled you with his own hands. No guns involved. When you died, it was like falling asleep, peaceful and lovely as he cradled your slowing pulse between his palms.

In your final moments, Hanma knows you didn’t spare a thought for Takashi, gut like a pig beside you.

Yes, you’re dead already.

He strangled you to death hours ago. Or minutes ago. Or.

He…or actor-Hanma…or.

No.

Hanma looks to the right where Takashi’s body should be and sees the empty space, the undisturbed blankets and half remembers. That’s right, Takashi wasn’t here when he arrived.

He hasn’t killed you yet. You’re still alive.

Unsure if up is down or down is up, Hanma giggles. In this twisted dreamscape, he thinks he could do anything, fuck the consequences. He can always change the outcome in the post-edit. He’s the director, actor, and audience.

Surreal as this scene may seem, the knowledge of his control over it fills him with an acute sense of power, enough to continue, unfettered by worries about what is or isn’t real.

“Lucky your boytoy isn’t here, right now. Think I’d have killed him first, so I could take the edge off. I want to take my time with you.”

He remembers – No! No pictures – how you would react to Takashi’s unceremonious demise. The corpse would serve as a dire warning, but you wouldn’t waste your tears on him. No, Takashi means nothing to you. Just a body even in life.

Except, Takashi too is still alive.

Every time Hanma blinks, he sees something else, like he’s peering into one of those optical illusion pictures, where if you cross your eyes, a hidden message appears and disappears. He is seeing doubles, triples, but he can’t make out what’s the hidden message underneath and what’s real anymore. He swallows and swears he tastes blood.

“Where is Takashi anyway?” Hanma says, hoping your answer – or lack of answer if you are really, truly dead – will anchor him.

At your gurgle, Hanma remembers the gun and pulls it out.

“Shuji, I swear, I never –”

He slaps you. Barely a love tap by the situation’s standards, but his palm connects with a crack, and your head snaps to the side, burying into the pillows, where you stay, chastened and too scared to try to speak lest he do it again. Breathing heavily, Hanma rewedges the gun between your lips. He’s sweating. Bullets of sweat plummet from his brow to plop on your neck, where the bones are so fragile they peek through the skin.

The tears behind your eyes dry up. The fear is gone in an instant. Hanma lowers his face until you’re nose-to-nose, staring directly into your eyes, looking for the fight, the will to live, but there is nothing. Only resignation.

Is it so hard for you to play your part? After all, actor-Hanma is doing his best to stick to the script even as these changes keep tripping him up.

You’re supposed to fight and plead for your miserable life, not throw it away for some cheap payday or perish without complaint in your bed. Where is the will, the wanting, that he nurtured inside you these last several months? Where is the woman he…

He hates seeing you like this. Hates it more than Haitani’s smug, smiling face, more than Kisaki barking orders at him like he’s nothing but a leashed dog, more than a listless weekend sunrise when the sleeping city threatens to drown him in boredom.

He loathes seeing you like this enough to spare you.

“This could only ever end in one way,” Hanma says, releasing the safety and cocking the gun. He aims the gun higher, so that when he shoots, the bullet will make a home in your brain, a cleaner, faster death. There is mercy in freeing you from this indignity as quickly as possible.

From the small space where your lips stretch obscenely, your tongue darts forward and laves the underside of the slide. The sight of it, incongruously pink on stainless steel, draws him up short. He watches as if hypnotized as you lap at the length of the gun not disappeared in your mouth with long, wet strokes. Craning your neck forward, you can just stretch your tongue to the trigger guard. Where his finger rests on the trigger, he can feel your breath, that wet heat that envelops him so completely.

His pulse ricochets, three beats a second drumming in his cock. Hanma doesn’t want to shoot you with a hard cock. Even by his standards, the idea is too perverse. He tries to will it down, but his blood rushes south like a dam breaking, and he is hard and aching before he can stop it.

Maybe it shows a lack of imagination on his part, but he’s never rammed his gun down a hot throat before. Like so many things in his life, this belongs to you and you alone.

You don’t break eye contact as you push your head forward until your throat restricts around the gun again. Delicious choking noises follow.

It’s faint, but as you suck off his gun, Hanma swears he sees a glimmer of desire warm your dead eyes. The life there, the personality, suits you better, and he lets out a long breath as if finally taking off a pair of shoes two sizes too small.

He still wants to hurt you. He wants to hurt you and, by proxy, the entire world. But, painfully hard as he is, he can’t imagine never feeling the heat of your mouth again, never enjoying the best pussy of his life again. A body like yours was made for him to enjoy. There will be time to make you suffer later.

Because once he pulls the trigger, you’ll go cold. The little life in your eyes will leech away by degrees. Your tongue will swell, stiff and useless in your slack maw.

It’s not fair that you would steal even this from him.

He won’t let you.

Hanma takes control. Not bothering to reengage the safety, he fucks in deeper, positively battering the back of your throat, so you spasm with each collision. It is brutal, harsher than any pounding he’s ever delivered with his cock, and tears and drool alike spill down your cheeks to coat his wrist. Intoxicating as the visual is, it’s the glugging noises that tumble helplessly from your throat that really spur him on. He rides high on the line between his pleasure and your pain, until the ache of his trapped cock spikes into a hurt that demands immediate relief.

A long, thick strand of spit connects your mouth to his gun when he pulls back to strip. You gasp and cough as if you just survived a waterboarding, debauched and pathetic as the drool settles on your chin. By the time he throws his jacket and shirt to the side and pulls his cock out of his fly, you have only just caught your breath.

The detached, dead-eyed gaze returns.

“Do whatever you have to do to get this out of your system, Shuji. Use me to get it out,” you whisper huskily, throat too sore to try anything louder, but he hears you as clearly as if you’d shouted.

He could do anything he wants to you now. The invitation is unnecessary. But it’s there between you now regardless. Through your words, he grants himself the permission to possess your cunt one last time, too selfish to deny himself the pleasure.

Things move quickly after that.

Hanma flips you onto your belly, ripping your sleep shorts and panties down the swell of your thighs, so they keep your legs pinned together. In this position, your ass and puffy pussy are perfect. Everything presses together as if to signal just how tight you feel on the inside. He can’t resist spanking your ass, harder than he’s ever hit you before, so that you shriek in pain and the flesh rebounds in his hand. It is a good reminder for you both – when the rush of lust threatens to envelop you and wash away all recollection of your betrayal – and so, he does it again on the other side for good measure.

Slipping one finger inside your cunt, he groans to find you soaked. It is a flood between your thighs, the kind of wet he usually only achieves after hours of edging you with his tongue.

He can’t wait.

Despite the wetness, you aren’t prepped enough for the stretch of his length in this position, so you emit pained whines as he forces his cock inside you. Every centimeter he pushes deeper is a struggle as your body fights against him, but eventually, your cunt yields to the pressure, and he sinks all the way to the balls, the tip battering your cervix cruelly in the process. And isn’t the cruelty half the point? He fucks you brutally, using his arms to leverage as much force as possible into each thrust, making sure to grind in as deep as your body can accept him.

There is a blissful annihilation in this, the mechanical thrusting of hips, the heat of your cunt hugging him, like a fire that burns away his every brain cell. He forgets about you altogether, uses your body like a cheap cocksleeve for his frustrations. One forceful thrust after another, and his brain empties and his balls unload. He moans as he fills you up.

The usual sensitivity follows; but to his surprise, his cock doesn’t go limp, remaining half hard. Like an agoraphobe refusing to go outside, clinging to the walls as his doctors try to force him out the door, his cock doesn’t want to leave this paradise.

Euphoria from his orgasm softens everything else around him, dulling the sound of his breathing, muting colors and smudging the lines of his vision. Hanma peers down on where your face is buried in the pillows as if you’ve been crying, and he feels sorry for you.

It’s his fault in a way, isn’t it? He should have taken better care of you. If he’d insisted on paying your bills sooner, you wouldn’t have been so easily tempted by Haitani’s offer.

And, if he’s honest, isn’t this part of what he loves so much about you? The way you continuously surprise him, never letting life grow dull?

The many days and nights that make up your torrid affair return to him. He remembers how sometimes, when you think he isn’t paying attention, you look at him with a softness that borders on reverence. On that night at the beach, when he got you high and took you dancing, you couldn’t have faked that openness, couldn’t have falsified the sincerity when you called him “Daddy” for the first time. Every moment was real for you.

There is no way you would have knowingly risked hurting him. Haitani must have manipulated you, convinced you that it was a win/win situation for all involved. You didn’t want to destroy him. You’re a brilliant woman, but sometimes, the stupid, greedy girl you buried and denied for so long wins out, that’s all. What you need is someone to teach you, to take care of that little girl with a firm hand.

Everything is his fault really.

Hanma’s thoughts eventually turn to marveling at how small you are in comparison to him. He could positively shroud you with his body if he chose. The space you take up in his life is larger than your body, larger than the shadow you cast when the sun is at its highest.

Hanma rolls to the side, bringing you with him, so you nestle into the give of his body. From where your calves rest against his thighs, up to where your cunt still spreads for his cock, and further up to where your head shelters in the crook of his neck, there is not a shred of space between you. Body-to-body, there is no space remaining for anger or betrayal either.

The heat of your body is a brand against him. He runs his fingers tenderly down the slope of your hip, fascinated by the way you can shiver as if from a chill. When he cradles your breasts, your nipples are tight stones against his palms. It should be impossible for you to feel the cold when your cunt burns him from the inside. The ache of winter nights spent dreaming of relief and sunshine feels like a distant memory. Inside you, with you, he doesn’t believe he’ll ever feel cold again.

The flesh between your thighs is slick when he spreads the lips of your hungry pussy. His fingers slip through the leak, almost unable to find your clit in the mess. It is the first time he’s not made you cum during a round of sex, and so he carefully manipulates your body until he hears your first whimper of pleasure.

Not immune to the sounds you make when your hungry pussy is still clenched around him, Hanma hardens once more inside you. The gentle hug of your cunt coils and tightens until it is a vice that grips him, and he can no longer resist. He wraps both his arms around your chest, crushing your breasts against his forearms, and just rocks against you. Eyes closed, he doesn’t think about anything but how wonderful you feel around him, how the only feeling better in the world is that same cunt squeezing rhythmically as you cum. It won’t be long now either. Between his fingers, your clit grows more engorged, your whimpers more frequent.

Patiently, he coaxes the orgasm out of you, but when you finally cum with a small cry, it is you who leads him right over the edge, so that he dumps a second load into your tired body.

They call it post-nut clarity for a reason, Hanma realizes because in the aftermath, everything once obscured appears so clear, like he had been trying to look at a painting through a dirty glass that’s since been cleaned.

Hanma is not willing to part with this for anything. What you did or might do in the future, your motives and feelings, they’re all irrelevant. Since he started fucking you, he hardly ever wakes up wishing a meteor would strike his building, just for a little novelty. He no longer smiles at the thought of a sinkhole opening up beneath his feet or an overdose slowing his heart to a halt, the kind of ignoble deaths he rejects on principle but would sometimes glitter seductively during life’s most boring moments. Knowing your set of pretty holes are waiting for him gives him a reason to get out of bed every day. And he is not going to let you take that from him over some irrelevant bullshit.

He will set you up in an apartment he owns, shower you in gifts and luxuries to ensure you’re a well-kept woman, happy and eager for his nightly visits. Nothing needs to change.

A frown darkens his face, and he inadvertently tightens his arms around your chest, hard enough to sting, when he realizes there’s still one remaining threat to his plan. Haitani knows you betrayed Toman and has already snitched on you once. If Haitani decides to run his mouth to the others, to Kisaki, you are dead regardless of what Hanma wants.

With his date with Mikey looming around the corner and promising to make the whole matter superfluous, Hanma considers leaving it to chance, but then decides against it. He should probably deal with Haitani. One last hunt before he shuffles off his mortal coil. He doesn’t pretend he won’t enjoy it.

You recover from your orgasm slowly. The pulse at your neck is skittish. Hanma can smell the sweat at the back of your neck. Your breathing takes minutes to return to something remotely steady. He enjoys holding you through these changes, wonders if you’ll fall asleep in his arms.

Kissing your back, Hanma tells you that he forgives you. Sincerity drips from his voice. He means it. It’s a blanket pardon for everything you have done until now. There are only so many days you have left to spend together.

You don’t answer immediately, but when you do, it’s to ask to use the bathroom in a small voice. Rolling aside, Hanma watches you free your body from his clutches and limp from the room, his cum leaking down your thigh. A long time passes. He hears the shower turn on and dozes off, still half-dressed atop your sheets.

Hyper-sensitive to danger, he blinks awake the moment you reenter the bedroom. Water clings to your hair, which dries freely, before puddling in your wake. A lemon-yellow towel wraps tightly around your form, and he wants to rip it off you, so he can watch your naked body strut about as you rifle through your dresser. If he had to put a name to it, he’d call his current feelings “proprietary.” This was a final test, and he controlled himself, and now, as his reward, he gets you. He’s a fair bit impressed with himself.

“I’m going to meet with my realtor tomorrow to tell him to move forward on the Ueno apartment. I’ll transfer it directly to your name, so you don’t need to worry about rent or what happens when I die. I’m free the day after next if you want to go shopping together, too. I don’t give a fuck how you want to decorate, but since I’ll be spending a lot of time there, I want to make sure the furniture’s comfortable at least. I swear half the chairs in this country are too short for me,” Hanma drones, pausing, annoyed, when you pull a massive sweatshirt, large enough to belong to a man, over your body. “You just need to dump that Takashi twat already. He’s not welcome in my apartment.”

You don’t respond. In fact, you haven’t said a word in the better part of an hour.

Looking more carefully – no longer with the distorting eye of a proud lover – he notices a shake to your hands as you tug on a pair of sweatpants. You stand nearly pressed to the door, like you might need to flee at any moment. You’re terrified.

Hanma sighs, regretting how harshly he dealt with you, though you’d left him no choice. Despite a few front row demonstrations of his business, you are mostly unexposed to the violence that characterizes his life, always discussing it in the abstract. If you were more yourself, he’s sure you’d tell him that it’s psychologically healthy to have a physiological response to eating a gun. All those months ago when you played Russian Roulette, your reaction was a lot more fun, but he supposes, special though you are, you are still a civilian, and this kind of response is to be expected.

Still, he doesn’t prefer you hurt or scared. It makes his brain itch.

The bed creaks when he stands. Approaching with slow steps, Hanma notices you literally shrink away from him, leaning more of your weight against the door.

Like soothing a spooked horse, Hanma stretches out an upturned hand, but you slap it away. Heat blazes behind your eyes. No different than a cowering animal, you lash out.

“Don’t touch me!”

This time, Hanma expels a very different sigh, a sigh of irritation at your overreaction. Given the nature of your betrayal, he could have done far worse and been justified. Comforting you is tedious, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to try.

“I forgive you, okay, Doc. You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to shoot you or anything else. I forgive you. You’re still my girl.”

“Oh, fuck you! I’m not your fucking girl!” you seethe, gnashing your teeth at him, like you might truly bite him if he comes closer.

Hanma patiently tries again, “I forgive you –”

“You’re actually insane to think I’m leaving Takashi – my loving, stable boyfriend – to play house with you in some shitty apartment. I’ve heard all your little hints about leaving him, and guess what? I haven’t! I didn’t leave him before you showed up in the middle of the night spewing baseless accusations and stuck a gun in my mouth. Now? You clearly need to find a new therapist because you’ve grown delusional to think I’d choose you over Takashi!”

Cold tendrils creep down his spine. He actually tries counting backwards from one hundred, like that useless technique first suggested to him in elementary school has ever helped him control his temper before.

As he fights down the beginnings of a rage to rival his anger when he first arrived tonight, you keep going in a voice like reinforced steel, “I thought about it in the shower, and the more I thought, the less I understood what you even bring to the table. Takashi is one hundred times the man you will ever be. Do you hear me? All you have going for you is good dick, and frankly, I can live without it. I’m firing you as a patient, effective immediately. I’m obviously not suited to help you as I’m just a…what did you call it? Overpriced whore? And for the record, I’m not interested in being your whore either, so…”

Your lips continue to move as you spit invectives at him, but Hanma tunes out the words. He can’t ignore escape your tone, how the heat slowly dampens, and you grow colder, the unfeeling mask you often wore when you first met returning. The heartless, robotic delivery is somehow more venomous, and the weight of your disdain washes over him like the sea, dragging him down, down, down into its bottomless depths.

 With what little presence of mind he’s regained, Hanma knows that if he fights with you now, it will undo everything he accomplished. He’ll hurt you if he stays. And even if his knuckles strain against his closed fists with the desire to do just that, another stronger part of himself does not want to hurt you at all.

He – and you by virtue of being his therapist – deserve a goddamn medal because instead of lashing out at you, Hanma decides to leave.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Hanma grits out. “It’s been a long day for us both. Get some sleep, and I’ll call you in the morning with what the realtor says.”

His feet drag like they’re stuck to the carpet, but step-by-step, he manages to walk towards the door, where you plaster yourself backwards to avoid the merest brush of his body against yours. Alone in the hallway, the pictures of you and Takashi stare down at him, smiling and false.

It is quiet as the grave on your little residential street. The sky is a deep grey, the faintest hint of light illuminating the world as the sun just begins to peek through the clouds. Sunrise is within the hour.

Only now, free from the oppressive shadows of your apartment, does Hanma acknowledge the miracle that you have somehow survived this night.

Hanma is too tired to hope for anything more. With his thoughts in a frenzy, he walks home. He is not ready for tomorrow, not yet.

--

Growing up, Hanma heard people joke that behind every real estate broker in this city, there hid three yakuza: one to hand out bribes, a second to threaten tenants, and a third to lap up the profits. Another version of the joke boasted that if the government ever nationalized real estate, the yakuza would dry up within the month.

In 2018, the yakuza have diversified their business ventures. The Kokonois of the world have dragged them into the twenty-first century, operating more like billion-dollar conglomerates than classic criminal syndicates. It’s the age of shell companies and tax shelters, stock shorts and corporate espionage. Still, Hanma holds a soft spot for the classics, and there is no shortage of realtors comfortably living in Toman’s pocket.

So, with Toman’s resources, Hanma fast-tracks the procurement of his new apartment, signing on the dotted line before lunch.

He calls it an apartment, but your new home is really only four units housed within a two-story building, squat and bookended by two larger apartment towers on either side. The realtor reassures him that the building meets both of Hanma’s requirements: it’s less than a fifteen-minute walk to your office and the quiet street is several blocks from any major thoroughfare, meaning little foot traffic.

The only complication arrives when Hanma asks about buying out all four apartments. Since he plans to spend much of his time in your apartment, he is willing to considerably drain his personal savings for the luxury.

The realtor, a paunchy, balding man despite not yet reaching forty years of age, named Obara, informs him that two of the other apartments will be simple enough to obtain. He remembers placing both families within the last five years and is confident they’re the reasonable sort who will jump at a generous offer. The problem is Itoh-san in unit four. Widowed for the better part of three decades, she has stubbornly clung to this apartment and the memories it houses. She will not be easily moved.

Your apartment will be on the first floor, unit two, while the old woman’s is directly above. Obara assures Hanma that she rarely leaves the house these days except for a weekly trip to the market or one of her many doctors’ appointments, so she probably won’t even notice his coming and going. But, if Hanma prefers absolute privacy, Obara gently suggests Hanma might send a few men from Toman around the following evening for a “productive conversation.”

Ten years into his real estate career, Obara is well accustomed to working with yaks. He doesn’t so much as blink as he suggests Hanma chase this little old lady out.

There is no need to make a decision just yet. Hanma tells Obara to make offers to the other residents and move forward with the paperwork. He will sleep on Itoh’s fate.

As he dials your number, Hanma reflects that he’s been damned generous of late.

The phone rings six times before clicking to your voicemail. Your voice is cool and impersonal in the recording as it encourages him to leave a message. Hanma foregoes the suggestion and texts you instead.

Hours pass. He pushes his body to the brink at the gym, fighting opponent after opponent until he can no longer recognize where one bruise ends and the next begins. He scalds his skin to a glowing cherry color in the shower and then sweats his brains out in the sauna. He places a few bets on the horses.

Between each activity, he calls you and is met by your voicemail.

Eventually, he can’t keep up the pretense any longer, acknowledging the growing ire inside him.

He pounds back shot after shot of tequila at a dingy izakaya, where he’s one of only two customers and the bartender knows better than to ask questions. As Hanma drinks, he thinks about how fucking entitled you are. After everything he has done for you, sparing you the punishment anyone else would have suffered, you reject him. He tries to remember that you’ve pulled these disappearing acts before and always been easy to lure back with a few false promises, but whenever he remembers your trembling hands, he knows this time is different.

The way you waxed poetic about Takashi yesterday infuriates him. You’re shrinking back into the prison you erected around yourself and called safety before he met you. Only he knows how to provide for you, help you make a real life in this world, rather than wasting away behind unlocked doors, too afraid of your own shadow to try the handle, to want anything.

One last chance, he vows to himself. He’ll give you one last chance to respond and after that, he’ll show you the same consideration you have shown him. None.

He calls your number.

When the fourth ring goes unanswered, he doesn’t bother waiting for your voicemail. He closes out the call and flips straight to his photo gallery, scrolling to the “hidden” folder. There are dozens of photos and videos of you here. Covertly taken, they capture you taking his cock in nearly every position, cockdrunk and desperate for it. He pauses to enjoy one where you lie on your back, neck extended off the bed, while he pushes his cock into your throat, slow and steady, hypnotized by the gush of spit that strings down your chin.

Hanma selects all the videos in the gallery and adds them to a text message with a recipient he knows only by memory.

He hits send.

As the electrical signals race from his phone to his recipient’s, Hanma sighs. This time, it’s a sigh of satisfaction. He honestly feels a lot better.

#hanma shuji #hanma x reader #tokyo rev smut #tokyo revengers smut #hanma smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo revengers x reader

[thecreelhouse]

tramps like us

Paring: Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

Summary: As spring arrives, Gator learns just what family really means— blood or found, the hard work of healing finally begins to pay off, and a new chapter you never expected, begins.

CW/Tags: fluff. so. much. fluff. , hurt/comfort, language, brief smut (oral, f receiving, dirty talk, etc.), brief internalized ableism, mentions of alcohol/weed, found family dynamics, did I mention this chapter has fluff?

WC: 10.6k

〘 series masterlist ✧.┊this is a sequel to part time soulmate, full time problem ✧.┊listen to the series playlist here. ✧.┊read on AO3 〙

A/N: so excited we’re finally at this chapter!! I wrote the sappiest part of this first before anything else in the whole series lmao, and I’m so excited to share it with y’all 🥹 thank you as always to anyone who has supported this series so far!! love y’all ♡ (also if any of y’all can spot the very vague sopranos reference I will (consensually) blow u a kiss xoxo.)

chapter 5 ✧.┊

home - edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

⋆｡♪ home, let me come home / home is wherever I’m with you / ah home, yes i am home / home is when I’m alone with you♬ ₊˚.

·············································

It’s the start of spring, and the city is abuzz with a fresh start of a new season; not much is in bloom yet, but there’s a mood shift in the house as the days grow a little longer again. It’s amazing what a little extra daylight can do for one’s mental health.

Over the following few months from when he first moved to Brooklyn, Gator finds his way in this new life. While he still struggled with finding a new career path to start on, he helps out at the bookshop, but you’re convinced he’s doing it to spend more time with Lovebug.

Regardless, you’ve enjoyed watching him come out of his shell, find his way and become his own person, even if just a little bit.

Ever since he lost half his eyesight, Gator had countless visits to the doctor. More often than not, he’d ask you to come along, and naturally, you’d always join; most of the time there wasn’t much you could do beyond giving him support, but he was more grateful than he ever showed. 

He never had to say it, you knew he still struggled with expressing most emotions, especially towards others. It might’ve been easiest showing the raw side of his feelings to you, but that didn’t stop his insecurities completely. It’s something Gator was working hard on in therapy, and though it wasn’t easy for him to believe, you reminded him constantly of the progress he was making.

Slowly, with your support, he was beginning to believe it, too.

In the tail end of winter, the cast on his arm was removed; his bones thankfully healed with ease. The bandage over his eye was next; the first time you see the now empty socket, despite telling yourself to not make a fuss, you’re in shock.

The nurse removed the bandage for the doctor to examine Gator’s healing progress, then carefully takes out a thin, plastic shell from the socket. He explained to you weeks earlier how it was implanted immediately after the initial surgery to keep shape of the eye socket while healing.

You stood off to the side, eyes wide with a dropped jaw. 

Gator catches your expression with his good eye as he sits on the exam table, throwing a dim smirk your way. “See, told ya’ you’d think I’m gross.”

The doctor steps back while the nurse leaves, giving the two of you space and privacy.

“Huh? No, no way. It’s just such a… jarring change, obviously much more jarring for you than me, but I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Your hand rested on his face, the side of the removed eye, thumb soothingly running along his cheekbone. 

“Eyes or no eyes, you’re still you.”

“Shoulda’ known you’d be corny about this,” He teased, earning an eye roll and breathy laugh from you.“You don’t think I look—“

“Whatever negative thing you’re ‘bout to say ain’t flyin’ with me. I love you, no matter what. So you should love you, too.”

“Alright, cool it, Sunshine.” His smirk this time was a little brighter. You stood close as your hand slipped into his; you gave a tight, quick squeeze.

With the lapse in conversation, the doctor, an older woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, returned. “Everything looks good, Gator, it healed nicely, and faster than I anticipated.”

“Got lucky t’have a good friend that’s a nurse. She helped lots.”

Hearing Gator call Ivy his friend set off a bloom of warmth in your heart. It was the first time he called anyone in the group a friend. That alone was huge progress.

“Well, she sure knew what she was doing!” Even her laugh was warm and inviting. “Have you had any phantom pains?”

“Nah, but it kinda still feels like it’s… there? That probably sounds weird.”

“Not at all, that’s rather common after surgery, too. Some folks have it for a brief time, others have it for much longer. If it gets to be painful, though, call and we’ll check it out.” The doctor watched as he nodded, adding, “Any questions, or anything we might’ve missed?”

Gator was quiet, leg bouncing while anxiety built up. He wouldn’t know until he asked. Again, you squeezed his hand; a sign he wasn’t going this alone. “S- so, what’s next? I’ve been kinda curious ‘bout one of those… y’know… uh…”

The doctor caught on immediately, “Well, that’s up to you, Gator. You can leave it be, or try an eye patch, or we could discuss the option of a prosthetic eye. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Does a fake eye just… pop in there?”

“We’d have to give you surgery again, it’s a permanent implant that’ll hold the prosthetic properly, help it move along with your existing eye—“

“They move?!” 

The doctor didn’t laugh at him, but her smile grew at his surprise. “It’s not perfect, but yes, it’s meant to appear as natural as possible. The pupil wouldn’t adjust according to light, either, but most folks can’t tell unless they really give your eyes a good, long look.”

“C- can we try that?” He didn’t hesitate like you expected from previous conversations. He sounded… hopeful. Cautious, but hopeful.

“Let’s give you another month, just to be safe on the healing, and then you can come back so we can figure a plan out. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” He breathed as his smile brightened even more.

On the walk home, his smile never faded. This was the most optimistic he was since he arrived.

“Y’know, if this works out, I won’t look like a total fre—“

You stopped in your tracks before pulling him aside, out of the path of irritated fast walkers. “Gator, with or without a prosthetic, you’re not a freak. I support whatever you decide, and I can only imagine this would help you feel more comfortable about the entire situation, but you’re not gross, or a freak, or any of that shit you’ve been saying.”

He fidgeted with his glasses like he was adjusting them. It’s a habit he recently picked up. “Yeah, but—“

“Nope. I’ll annoy the shit out of ya’ and remind ya’ every day that you’re wonderful, no matter what.”

“Wonderful? You’re pushin’ it, darlin’.” He snorted, deflecting. You grabbed his hand, softening his features as your fingers laced in his.

“I mean it, jerk.”

“Not sure I can believe ya’ when you say it like that, but okay.” He glanced down before stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s funny?”

“Ya’ stopped here on purpose, huh?”

Your face scrunched in confusion before you follow his gaze down; beneath your feet was a set of large, bold letters, reading ‘you look lovely’ spray painted onto the pavement.

“You’re really outdoin’ yourself with the cheesiness today.”

“I swear I didn’t see this,” You laughed, shoving your hand against his shoulder playfully. “But ya’ better start believing it. Totally some weird sign you should be nicer to yourself.”

“Or what? Gonna threaten t’kick my ass and not do anythin’?” He taunted while he poked his tongue out, continuing to walk on. You opened your mouth to argue back, but closed it again, grumbling as you caught up to him.

“One of these days, Tillman, m’gonna show ya’ I can pack a punch,” You smirked before rethinking your words. “Not- not like saying that as an actual threat, I don’t- I’m not gonna actually—“

Gator pulled you into his side while he snickers, “Oh, ya’ totally are, now I gotta sleep with my only eye open.”

It took a second for the joke to land, but once you started to laugh, he felt the tiniest bit of weight lifted from his shoulders.

A prosthetic wouldn’t instantly fix the trauma from losing his sight, but it could be a step in the right direction to help him feel comfortable in his own skin again. Maybe feeling comfortable could help him face the trauma with a little more courage.

As Gator listened to your syrupy sweet laugh, he knew one thing was certain— that he’d never have to carry this weight on his own, and he’d never have to fight his demons alone, either.

·············································

It takes time— while the flowers are beginning to bloom in April, pastels coloring into the city while fragrant, sweet scents linger in the warm air weaving among and between the city’s grid— but Gator finally begins to feel like he belongs among everyone in the house.

He still struggles time to time, but with his own self doubt, not with anyone in the house. The first time he finally feels like he connects with someone in the house, without you, is the day Ty comes home from his top surgery.

You bound down the stairs, excited to greet Ty and Ivy in the foyer; Ivy’s got an arm linked with his, taking their time to enter the house. They shuffle in like an elderly couple, making you giggle.

“Ives, I got top surgery, I’m still able to walk. My tits might be gone but my legs are right here.” He complains as you stifle more laughter while pursing your lips.

Throwing your arms out, ready to hug him, he shoots a death glare, stopping you immediately. He sternly warns, “Sunshine, don’t you dare. I don’t have airbags to protect me from your bone crushing hugs anymore.”

“Right, sorry,” You smile bashfully with a shrug. “How ya’ doin’ after that?”

“Well… aside from the pain and the whole gross ‘draining the void of where my tits once were’ thing, I’m alright.” Ty grins tiredly, unlinking arms with Ivy as he carefully makes his way into the living room. He bumps into a recliner on the way, and Ivy curses herself for letting him walk alone.

“You know… it’s not the healing from surgery I’m worried about with Ty, it’s the fuckin’ pain meds— he’s clumsy enough when he’s sober.” Ivy groaned, watching him like a hawk as he settled himself onto the couch slowly, but thankfully, with ease.

“I heard that!”

You stifle a laugh before calling out to Ty, “Need anything from the kitchen?”

His face lights up, “Ice cream? Please tell me it’s still in there. Big tub, has my name on it.”

“No, I ate it all,” Jinx deadpans as she walks out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

“On god, Jinx— ”

“Dude, I’m joking.” She replies before heading upstairs. “Welcome home, by the way!”

Ty grumbles under his breath, “Man, ice cream’s nothin’ to fuck around about.”

While Ivy helps Ty build a fortress of pillows for him to sit upright on, you head into the kitchen to find Gator putting dishes away. You come up behind him, about to wrap your arms around him, but panic, wondering if it would startle him since his peripheral vision was limited now.

As you pause behind him, he laughs, “Hi, Darlin’,” before turning to face you.

“How’d you know I was gonna hug you?”

“I can still hear, y’know.” He jokes, holding his arms out to you. Face heating up, you feel embarrassed, but you still enter his embrace, burying your face into his chest. “And see enough.” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t say anything.”

“Footsteps, everyone’s got their lil’ sounds, you shuffle your feet a lot, like a penguin.”

“Oh. Duh. Right. Wait, like a what?”

He laughs, tugging you closer as he glazes over your question. “How’s Ty doin’?”

“He seems okay overall, just sore. I can only imagine how relieved he must feel, though. He wants ice cream so I’m gonna grab some.”

Gator releases you, shrugging as he says, “I can get it.”

 “Oh, hey, you don’t have to.”

 “I wanna… if that’s okay.”

Surprised, you respond, “Yeah, of course.”

It’s not that there was any negative energy between anyone and Gator, but he’s been having a hard time feeling like he belongs with you all, feeling like he’s invading a space he shouldn’t be in. Everyone’s been sweet and patient, though, and slowly, Gator’s been opening up and feeling like he’s part of this family.

You lean against the counter, peering out of the doorway into the living room as Gator gives a hesitant wave to Ty before handing the ice cream over. Once Ty gives a looped up, yet welcoming, “Hey, thanks, man,” you watch Gator’s shoulders relax.

Ivy heads back into the kitchen, mirroring you as she leans against the counter, too. Softly, she confides, “Ty was saying on the way home how cool he thinks Gator is.”

You snort, “Really? I mean, that’s sweet, but he’s definitely a dork like me. Probably more than me.” You look on as Gator slowly grows more comfortable in conversation, leaning back in the recliner. 

While Ivy chuckles, she shrugs. “Maybe, but I think Ty’s been kinda looking up to Gator lately.”

Your brows furrow, taken aback. “Huh? Why?”

“I think watching Gator make progress has been helping Ty in his own way… helps him see that he can lean into his masculinity while not giving into the toxic side of it all, y’know?” Ivy smiles while she crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back further. “Your boy’s a better person than he realizes.”

“Don’t I know it.” You sigh, smiling, but it never reaches your eyes. “Wish he did, too.”

“He’ll see it someday. He seems a lot happier since the first day he got here.” Ivy observes, glancing over to you with a soft expression. “It took a bit for you, too. For all of us, really. We were all a little lost, looking for a safe place to heal, and each of us has a success story, and a real family, too. Gator’s no different.”

“Christ, Ives, I wish I had a dollar for every time you made me cry in the damn kitchen.”

Ivy pulls you into a side hug with a soft laugh; the two of you continue to be nosy, watching Ty and Gator continue conversation.

“Does it… does it hurt?” You overhear Gator asking Ty, resting on the couch— the velvet green couch Ty’s been asking about for years now— all looped up on pain medication. Then he quickly adds, “I mean that’s- is that a dumb question? It’s definitely a dumb question.”

Ty shakes his head, “Nah, man, not dumb.” He thinks for a moment before adding, “It does hurt, but the pain was worse with ‘em, if that makes sense.”

Gator nods, “Yeah… like, emotionally, you mean?”

“Uh-huh,” Ty responds, spoonful of ice cream muffling him. “But binders? Jesus Christ, I thought bras were bad, but you wear one of those too long, you can really fuck up your lungs and ribs and shit.”

“Wait, seriously?” Gator’s genuinely shocked by this; living in a house with some diversity has made him willing to learn from others, even in the form of obvious questions. “Shit. At least you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it anymore, right?”

Ty laughs, not cruelly, but over Gator’s innocence asking questions and wanting to learn. He jokes, “I’m a free man now. Minus this annoying ass chest compression bullshit. I wanna rip it off, but Ivy would murder me.”

Ivy, much to Ty’s dismay, enters with you at the wrong time. “Damn fucking right I will, Ty. Last thing you need is bleeding out all over Mama’s couch you want so badly.”

You sit on the arm of the chair Gator’s in, leaning down to kiss his head. It’s brief, but Ty still catches it, grimacing with a muttered, “Ew. Gross.”

As you flip Ty off, Gator, with a snort, grabs your hand and shoves it down. “C’mon, don’t be a jerk-off.”

“When are you two gonna get married?” Ty’s question comes out slurred from being heavily medicated. 

Your eyes go wide while Gator chokes on air, but Ty’s unfazed, moving onto his next thought already.

“Ives, y’think if I bleed on the couch Mama would finally give it to me?”

“No, Ty,” Bea chuckles as she walks in. “Nice try, though.” Ivy’s in stitches while you crack up, too. Even Gator stifles a laugh.

Ty glares at all of you.“What’s a guy gotta do to have a fancy ass couch?”

“Outlive me and see if I put you on the will for the couch, kiddo.”

“Bea!” Miles gasps as he shuffles in from the front door. He’s about to close it behind him when Flor barrels in, flinging the door open again. “Jesus, Flor, run me over, why don’t you?”

Ivy ignores the exchange as she retorts, “Oh, c’mon, Miles, we all have our fair share of dark humor in the house.” 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting that as soon as I got inside.” He mutters, then side-eyes Flor, “Or get murdered by Flor.”

“It wasn’t intentional! I didn’t wanna miss the gifts!”

Jinx returns, “Flor, shut it.”

“Gifts?” Ty’s brow quirks at Flor; she cringes at the slip of her tongue.

Ignoring the banter, Bea slips into the hallway before returning with a gift basket for Ty. She sets it in front of him on the coffee table, and as he leans over to open the packaging, Ivy dives in front of him, successfully blocking Ty from bending when he shouldn’t.

“Ivy! C’mon, dude!”

After Ivy scolds him for bending when he shouldn’t she helps him open the packaging, rummaging through the contents. The basket’s filled with snacks, including a few edibles, a travel pillow for his neck while he sleeps upright, some necessities for healing from any medical procedure, a few of his favorite movies— “Ty, you would like ‘Fight Club’,” says Miles, ignoring the glare from Ty.

Everyone chipped in for the basket, but there’s a few special gifts left. One’s a box from you; a crocheted mesh top— “Sunshine, this your handiwork?”

“Y’needed somethin’ new for your club nights,” You grin as he holds it up. “No point in top surgery if ya’ can’t spend the rest of your life half naked.”

He chuckles, absolutely whacked from the meds, muttering, “Can’t wait to be a slut in this,” The room erupts into laughter, aside from a happy, quiet grin from him.

Jinx speaks up, handing over a gift certificate for her tattoo parlor; the amount is left blank. “I couldn’t put it in the basket, but whenever you’re ready for that chest tattoo you’ve been wanting forever, you let me know, ‘kay?”

“Wh— Jinx, that’s a lot to—“

“Seeing you happy in your own skin is more important than dollar signs, kid. Just say the word and we’ll get started.” 

Ty grows quiet, staring at the basket as tears build in his eyes. He thinks for a moment before speaking, hoping his words don’t come off like they’re fueled from the meds. “Thank you guys… for everything since I got here. I feel like the luckiest guy in all of Brooklyn with the best family in the world.” He rubs his eyes, then laughs a little. “I’d hug y’all if I could, hope it’s okay to rain check those.”

“As soon as you’re fully healed, you’re getting bone crushing hugs again from me, buddy.” You smirk, earning an eye roll from him.

Everyone expresses their love back to him, along with well wishes and speedy recovery. Eventually, one by one, you all filter out, except Gator.

You leave, giving Gator a soft squeeze on his shoulder as silent support before heading back into the kitchen. Again, you can’t help but be nosy, easily able to overhear their conversation.

“Hey, uh, Ty? I’m sorry I didn’t have anythin’ cool for ya’,” Gator’s voice wavers a bit, nervous to break down another barrier with letting new people into his life. “But, uh, not t’be all sappy n’ shit, but if you ever need a friend, or need to talk about guy stuff, or whatever—“ Gator laughs at himself. “—I don’t know how to say it without soundin’ dumb, but don’t be ‘fraid to say somethin’, okay?”

Ty lazily beams at Gator, “If I wasn’t so fucked up right now, I’d have a better response, but that means more than y’know. Thanks, man.”

You watch on while Gator’s smile grows, your heart growing along with it.

·············································

May arrives, and Gator gets his second eye surgery; this time, it’s to implant the structuring for his prosthetic eye. Just like Ty coming home from his surgery, Gator’s welcomed back with well wishes and love from everyone in the house. 

Everyone asked Gator in the weeks leading up to the surgery if he needed or wanted anything to make his recovery process a little easier, but he kept insisting he didn’t need anything.

One day, you asked him why he kept turning everyone’s help down, but he just shrugged and said, “I got a safe place to recover, with you and everyone else. I got everythin’ I need, darlin’.”

While his answer was heartwarming, you were determined to do more, getting everyone to brainstorm an idea to chip in on.

After another monthly family dinner, you slide a card over on the table to Gator. His brows furrowed.

“What’s this?”

“Won’t know ‘til ya’ open it, now will ya’?” So, he does.

Gator looked down at the comically large ‘get well soon’ card, face bright as he read over everyone’s personal well wishes added into the card. Inside was a plain envelope, to which, again, he reminded the group he didn’t need anything. 

“We still wanted to do something nice,” Bea spoke up at the other opposite end of the table. “You deserve it.”

Hesitantly, he opened the envelope, and with one glance inside, his eye widened, brows flying up in shock.

“What— I don’t understand,” Gator looked around at everyone, baffled.

“Sunshine here mentioned how crazy fucking expensive just the surgery alone was,” Miles clarified as he nodded to you. “We thought maybe this would help ease up on the amount you need for your new eye.”

Gator’s face dropped, completely caught off guard by the generous gesture. He looked down into the envelope again, finding cash and checks; he knew he should accept the gift, but immediately he felt guilty at the thought.

“Y’guys didn’t have t’do anythin’,” He murmured as everyone sat together in the dining room. His uncovered eye was glassy with emotions ready to spill over, while the other side is covered with a new eye patch for the healing process. “This is… really kind of y’all, but I- I can’t take all’a this.”

Then, he looked to you while your hand was in his. “Y’didn’t have to make everyone—“

“I didn’t make anyone do anythin’. It was Ty’s idea,” You smiled over at Ty. 

Gator looked over his way, “Dude, this is- it’s really kind of y’all, but you didn’t—“

“We didn’t have to. We know. We wanted to.” Ty simply answered.

“I- I don’t get why, though. I definitely don’t deserve this.”

“You do, though. You deserve to be cared about,” Ivy chimed in. “Because that’s what family does. We take care of one another.”

The dam breaks, but not before he held the card over his face in one hand, one that shook as he began to cry. Really cry. You only got to see this side of him; Gator was always so careful to never let his walls down with anyone, because he hated the way his father treated him when he did. It was drilled into his head since he was a kid that ‘men don’t cry’, so he just… didn’t.

It wasn’t until you came back in his life and reassured him constantly it’s healthy and normal to cry shit out. It’s normal to get emotional during the bad, and the good. It’s only human nature, and he shouldn’t be shamed for what’s just basic instinct.

You squeezed his hand to give some comfort, while Ty couldn’t help speaking up.

“You better pick the coolest, fanciest fake eye in the world, man.” His lighthearted comment pulls a laugh out of Gator through his tears; you’re grateful for the comedic relief, watching Gator relax as he continued laughing.

“Okay, kid, only if ya’ help me find one.”

“Deal.”

The rest of the night was spent at the table, catching up with one another while Gator continued to thank everyone, still in absolute shock. It’s all he could talk about when Bea asked her monthly question of what everyone was grateful for, but it wasn’t the only thing.

“M’grateful that y’all have been so kind. I ain’t the best with words, but y’all have shown me more love than my own family ever did—“ He paused, glancing over to you; again, to reassure him, you squeezed his hand and shot a warm smile. “— thanks, y’all… for givin’ me time t’figure things out, and makin’ room for me in this family.”

Bea patted her tears away with a napkin before leaving her chair to come over to Gator. “Get up, kid, you’re not making me cry without a hug.”

As Gator hugged her, you glanced around the table at everyone, mouthing a ‘thank you’.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house that night.

·············································

It’s an incredibly warm evening for mid-May; Miles, being the movie enthusiast he is, suggests breaking out the projector for a movie night on the rooftop.

Except no one can decide on what to watch.

You all bounce ideas around while lazing around the living room; if Ivy wasn’t working right now, she’d totally back your movie choices.

Doesn’t help that Ty’s napping, so whatever you all choose, both him and Ivy will have to deal with it.

“What if ya’ did a game night instead?” Gator’s sitting on the couch while you lay back against the couch’s arm, legs hanging over his.

You look up at Gator, eyes wide while you shake your head, “No, bad idea—“

“Oh, that could be cool!” Flor is giddy with excitement, kicking her feet from her spot on the ottoman. It doesn’t take much to amuse her, honestly. “Sunshine, you still got Mario Kart, right?”

“Well, yeah, but we probably shouldn’t p—“

“We got all those extra Switch controllers too, pretty sure it’s up to 4 player.” Miles grins, movie night a long forgotten idea. “Too bad no one else has a Switch, ‘cause we could’ve linked ‘em up for everyone to play at once.”

“Four players is more than enough, don’t push it,” You grumble as you sink in your seat with a sigh. “Fuckin’ hell, someone’s gonna end up bein’ thrown off the roof.”

“What? C’mon, it’ll be fun. Don’t be a brat ‘bout it.” Your face feels hot; it’s meant to be innocent, but Gator realizes what he said before he smirks at you. You frown while you pinch his side. “Hey—“

“Fine, we’ll do that instead, but if anyone ends up with their feelings hurt, don’t get mad at me.”

“C’mon, Sunshine, we’re all adults here,” Jinx snickers. “Clearly, Gator knows how to have fun more than you do. We might have to revoke your nickname and give it to him.”

You throw your head back on the armrest, groaning in frustration “First my cat, now my friends, what else ya’ stealin’ from me, Gator?”

He grins down at you, “A kiss?”

“Y’all are too sappy for me, I’m out,” Jinx leaves, while Miles cringes, following Jinx.

Flor hangs back for a moment, only to tease, “So, when’s the wedding?”

“Oh my god,” You cover your face in your hands while you feel Gator tense up under you. “Flor, consider your ass kicked in Mario Kart later.”

“You’re terrible at it. Gator told me. I thought I saw the worst but you’re bad bad at it. So, good luck with that, Sunshine.”

As she leaves with a shrug and a smug look, Gator softly laughs. “Would marryin’ me really be that bad?”

Your hands drop to lock eyes with his. “No, god, no, I- that’s just— don’t you think it’s kinda early—“

His smile doesn’t falter while he holds your hands in his. “I’m only teasin’, promise. I know that ain’t your thing, anyway.” It’s a sliver, a hairline, but the hint of sadness still hangs in his words. He changes the subject anyway, “We should grab stuff for later, you wanna come with?”

You nod with a slight smile, unable to take your mind off of his reaction.

Marriage really was never appealing to you, not with anyone. Still isn’t.

… Or, at least you thought.

————

Everything’s set up on the rooftop; there’s inflatable chairs, an air mattress, bean bags— basically anything soft is scattered about the roof for everyone to get comfy. There’s two coolers of drinks, one for alcohol, one for non, while pizzas and snacks are scattered around a low table in the middle of you all.

The projector shows the home screen of your Switch, ready to start up Mario Kart, while everyone decides on who’s going first. The conversation, naturally, gets sidetracked with ease; you bring the heated debate over to the rest of the group.

“Okay, fine, we’re settling this once and for all.” You make your way to the air mattress, some kind of cider in hand, kicking off the controversial question with your best friend. “Ives, pop or soda?”

“What th— is this a trick question? Soda, obviously.”

Gator’s not far behind, sitting next to you on the air mattress, cracking open his go-to, shitty beer of choice. “Ivy—“

“Don’t even try, Gator. I was born and raised on the East Coast. It’s soda.”

“So much for our growin’ friendship, damn.”

“You asked the wrong person. Sunshine’s my best friend, what’d you expect?”

“Fine,” Gator huffs. He glances over at Ty, who’s sprawled out across a long bean bag. “Hey, Ty, ya’ got my back on this one, right?”

“I can’t have this conversation again,” Ty instantly starts laughing with a shake of his head. “Sorry, man, it’s definitely soda.”

“For the love of—“ Gator turns to Miles, next to him on a beach chair, “Aren’t you from the Midwest too?”

Miles shoots an apologetic smile, “Tennessee ain’t the Midwest. The South just calls it coke.”

You’re confused, “Like… all soda?”

“Pop—“

“Gator, no.”

“Yeah, not sure who decided on that, but I hate it,” Miles laughs with a shrug. 

“See, that makes no sense. What do ya’ do when you want a root beer?” Gator’s perplexed by this, and honestly, the whole group is.

“It’s like…” Miles glances at the pizza boxes on the table, “If someone asked what kinda’ pizza you want.”

“So it’s just assumed everyone wants soda—“

“Pop—“

“Gator, I dare you to go to the bodega down the block and ask for a pop,” Jinx snickers, and of course, unable to turn down any challenge, Gator sets his drink down before starting to get up. You tug him back down by the hem of his shirt.

“She’s— don’t actually do that.” You stifle a laugh. “I mean, ya’ can, but you’re gonna be clocked as a tourist instead.”

“I’d rather be a tourist than seriously call somethin’ water ice. The fuck is that?”

“You take that back!”

“Ivy, that’s a Philly thing,” Flor pipes up among her giggles.

“And Jersey!”

“And we’re… where, Ivy?”

“Miles, you used to think the state of New York was only the city. Don’t even try me.” 

“Okay, but Ives, Gator’s got a point, what the hell is a ‘water ice’? It’s one or the other, for fucks’ sake.”

“What do y’want it to be called? Italian ice?” Ivy’s sass is skyrocketing tonight.

“Considering that’s the name…yeah.” Ty counters.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Ivy continues to passionately defend her stance. “‘Besides, some of youse’ call heroes hoagies when that just ain’t it.”

“What… what the fuck are either of those?” Gator has long forgotten the soda vs. pop debate by now. 

“Oh, like, a sub?” Miles asks. “Submarine sandwich?”

You pipe up, “Hoagies are a Philly thing too!”

“To be fair…” Jinx swoops in with further hoagie defense. “That’s what Wawa calls them, too, and they’re in Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware, Virginia—“

“Jinx, c’mon!”

“— D.C. and Florida.” She finishes with a petty smile to Ivy. Then, she redirects the energy to Gator and Miles, “By the way, it’s soda.”

Gator rolls his eyes and Miles scoffs, “Jinx! You’re from Florida! Traitor.”

“Calling it coke just adds an extra step!” Jinx retorts, hands thrown up above her.

“This was an awful conversation to bring up before playing,” Ivy mutters, taking a swig of her drink.

“Oh, it’s definitely soda.”

Everyone turns to Bea, hanging out in the door of the stairwell with her partner, Opal; she shrugs her shoulders lazily with a knowing smile. 

“I second that,” Opal chimes in with a grin as the two of them join the group. Before Bea sits down, she glances over at Gator.

“Hey, Gator, can I talk with you for a sec?” He nods, pushing off the mattress.

Your eyes grow wide, worried something bad happened, but Bea senses your mood shift. She leans down to mutter, “Nothin’ bad, I promise, kid.” You exhale with a nod.

They wander to the farthest side of the roof to talk; Bea faces towards the rest of the city, while Gator’s hands are in his pockets as he looks at the ground. He’s smiling, but it’s like earlier, with a tinge of sadness. 

For only a second longer you look, not wanting invade their privacy, but you catch the way Bea pulls Gator into a comforting hug after he wipes his eyes.

What’s that about?

“Sunshine, you still wanna race?” Flor smugly asks, leading your attention back to your friends. You grab a controller, moving to a seat closer to the screen. 

“Eat my dust, Flor.”

·············································

You lost. Again.

Flor won, so you challenged her again. You lost. So you go another round. She wins again, you call a rematch. Before you know it, Gator’s sitting behind you after finishing his talk with Bea. He watches as you lose, grumbling under your breath, something about “She’s gotta be cheating”.

Leaning forward, Gator softly says in your ear, “Darlin’, ya’ gotta learn when to quit.”

“I didn’t win yet!” You whine, eyes still glued to the screen. You’re tipsy after another drink, surprisingly more intoxicated than Gator.

Ivy plucks the controller from your hands, “Don’t worry, Sunshine, m’gonna protect your honor.”

“What honor?” Ty snickers, situating himself in front of the screen to play.

Gator notices your pout, then the one controller that’s left. He grabs it off the table before leaning over to grab your head, kissing your temple quickly before murmuring, “Gonna win for ya’, angel.”

His words still make your stomach flutter, despite the silliness.

“Aw, Flor, I hate Rainbow Road!” Ty shouts, and you snicker.

“That’s karma for ya’, short king.” Ivy laughs, shoving her shoulder into his.

Gator adds, “Too bad, kid, ‘cause I fuckin’ love Rainbow Road.”

“You’re sick, Gator,” Ty reels back at his words. “Absolutely sick.”

“Nah, Ty, I’m a winner.” Your eyes roll automatically, but you can’t help but laugh.

You watch everyone with a smile on your face, resting back on the mattress and hill of pillows. Gator looks so comfortable in this new life, and after all of the turmoil he had endured, it’s such a relief to see him happy. Happy, and safe.

In fact, your holiday plans not working out— snow trapping you  together for days, both of you up standing up to your abusive fathers, the terror that followed while Gator stayed behind— it was all worth it to get him somewhere safer. Worth it to see him grow into a better version of himself, a better version for both everyone around and himself, especially. Worth it to watch him grow into a found family that treats him how he should’ve been treated by his own blood.

It was all worth it to see Gator Tillman happy.

You don’t regret going home last Christmas. Not at all.

·············································

It’s late, and the sun’s long set behind Manhattan’s skyline across the East River; after a few rounds of Gator winning for you— and one from Ivy— the rest of them take turns challenging one another while Gator makes his way back to you.

At some point, you slipped back inside to grab a hoodie— the same one of Gator’s you always wear; he smirks as you reach out, arms snaking around him as he lays with you. Your eyes are heavy but your smile doesn’t falter.

“Still stealin’ that from me?”

“Smells like you,” You murmur sleepily. “Plus, you’ve stolen a lot more from me since getting here. You’ll live without one hoodie.”

“Yeah, guess that’s fair.” He laughs softly, “And why’s it matter if it smells like me? We live together now. M’here all the time.”

“Not when you’re floorin’ it on Rainbow Road. Who knows when you’d come back to me.” You feign a dramatic sniffle.

“I was playin’ Mario Kart, not off in a war.”

“Same thing, honestly. And ya’ won for me? My hero.”

You lazily tug the blanket over the both of you. It barely covers Gator, but he appreciates the gesture anyway.

“Should probably get ya’ back in bed,” He lays on his back, pulling you into his side. You rest your head on his chest, taking in the thump, thump, thump of his heart against your ear.

“Why? Racing got ya’ all horny?” You’re teasing with your brows wiggling, but the alcohol in your system has you worked up a little.

“Oh, for fucks’ sa—“ Gator rolls his eyes, ignoring the twitch in his dick. “No, just don’t want ya’ fallin’ asleep up here.”

“‘Member what we did last time we were on an air mattress?” You giggle before Gator’s hand slips over your mouth. 

“Zip it.”

“You zip it.”

“What? You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are, don’t ya’?” He whispers, just low enough for you to hear. “Want me to fuck ya’ out here where anyone can watch?”

Gator can feel your smirk under his hand, eyes growing dark. It was all lighthearted joking, but now that your hand has slipped under the blanket, ghosting over his bulge, he wants to fuck that bratty smirk off your face. 

Pulling his hand away, you murmur, “Don’t act like you wouldn’t like it.”

He’s even more wound up looking at the face you give him, all pouty, eyes heavy from a combination of sleepiness, desire, and alcohol. “I miss when you’d be mean t’me.” You grab him, it’s gentle, but enough to make Gator buck into your hand.

It’s taking everything within Gator not to moan, but a soft, sighed,“Fuck,” escapes him.

“Me?”

Thankfully, the noises of the game, your friends shouting, and the city surrounding you, drowning the two of you out.

“Yeah, I need to get ya’ inside.” 

“Need you inside me.” You giggle.

He sighs, but with a smile. “Behave for like, ten seconds.”

As Gator pulls you up along with him, he positions you in front of him, just enough to cover his strained hard-on under his pants. “Sunshine’s fallin’ asleep, so I think we’re gonna head in.”

Everyone says their goodnights, distracted by the game, much to Gator’s relief. In record time, he manages to lead you down the stairs safely, thankful the stairwell’s door is right next to your apartment door. 

He holds you upright by your waist, arm wrapped firmly around you. Once the door’s closed, he shoves you against it, cock twitching as you gasp.

“How mean?”

“Like the first night we fucked,” You whine as his thigh slips between your legs, giving you something to grind against. One hand grabs both of yours, holding them up and against the door by the wrists.

“Huh, don’t remember bein’ too mean that night.”

“Well, fine. Be meaner.”

“What, you want me t’cuff ya’? Call ya’ awful, filthy things? Make ya’ cry when ya’ cum?”

“Uh-huh,” You breathe, eyes glazed over, intoxicated. Gator’s buzzed, too, but definitely not as pliant as you, influenced by sleep and the few drinks from earlier.

“Wanna play with your toys?”

“And you.”

“And me?” His leg tenses underneath you, making you keen and shudder. “Think you deserve that?”

“Mhmm,” You struggle against the grip he has around your wrists. “Upstairs.”

“Oh, you tellin’ me what to do now?”

“Yeah, and if ya’ won’t listen, I’ll go back outside,” Your threat isn’t even a threat. Gator laughs as the other hand runs along your curves.

“Never seen ya’ in tiny, tight shorts like these,” His fingers dip just behind the button of your ripped denim shorts. You whimper when he stops, not reaching where you want him. “Last time I saw ya’ in warm weather, you weren’t allowed to wear clothes like these. Got no idea how hard it’s been watchin’ ya’ walk around all day like this.”

“Gator…”

His hand slips further, but not by much. His fingers rest just above the top of your slit; you’re glad his leg is giving you some kind of friction, but you’d rather his hands toy with you instead.

“Thought y’were such a babe even in all that modest clothing bullshit when we were younger... But Jesus Christ, darlin’, might have to move home if you’ll be ‘round me like this all the time.”

A whine slips from you as you struggle in his grip again. “No, home’s here, with me.” The hold he has on your wrists releases.

“You’re right, I’d miss your sweet cunt too much,” He unbuttons your shorts before pulling them down roughly as he sinks to the floor. Eyes unable to leave your clothed core, fabric sticking with your own arousal, he taunts, “Always so soaked, poor thing.”

Shoving your legs farther apart, he holds you against the door, strong, large hands pinning you by your thighs. He presses a kiss to your heat, making your breath hitch.

“You’re right, I couldn’t leave, ‘cause who would clean ya’ up when you’re a wet, pathetic mess like this?” His kisses become more open mouthed, with a faint caress of his tongue against you. It only makes you squirm more. “Go ‘head, tell me.”

Your hands wander down, fingers weaving through his hair; he hardly pushes it back these days, or at least, with not as much gel. Makes it easier to tug at when you’re crying out his name.

“Y- you, Gator.”

A distant echo of voices travel down the stairs from the roof, and your eyes go wide, trying to calm your breaths while Gator flashes his signature smirk up at you.

“No, wait, we should—“ The commotion gets closer as footsteps grow louder. Having your door right next to the rooftop door hasn’t been a problem, ever, in your ten years of living here.

Not until now.

In a swift motion, Gator slides your panties down, mouth on your centre immediately; at the same time, the door next to yours creaks open, conversations carrying on. There’s a goodnight yelled from someone directly on the other side of the door; you’re unable to tell whose voice it was, focused on keeping your moans suppressed while Gator sucks on your clit roughly

He digs his fingers into your thighs, glaring a silent command up at you.

“G- goodnight!” It comes out so strained as a finger slips into you, hips instinctively rolling onto his hand. 

“Hey, you good in there?” You still can’t tell whose voice that belongs to, too busy panicking on how to respond while Gator continues to ruin you on just his tongue and one finger alone.

“M’good! All good!”

“Okay, just checking. G’night!”

As the voices and footsteps fade out, Gator stands and grabs your face, fingers squishing into your cheeks. His other hand still holds a finger inside of you, barely moving, driving you mad. “Do any of ‘em know how filthy their lil’ Sunshine is?” 

You shrug, eyes on his lips glistening with your slick and his spit flowing together. “I- I mean, not really… but Ivy totally does after the day she heard us.”

Gator can’t help laughing, “I’m so glad the vent’s fixed… we can be loud, yeah?” His finger starts slowly pumping in and out of you. “Need to hear those pretty noises you make when you’re goin’ dumb on my cock.”

“Uh-huh,” You’re about to let your eyes flutter shut when he pulls his hand away, leaving you empty with an intoxicated pout; he drags you away from the door and towards the stairs.

“Good, ‘cause I plan on playin’ with ya’ all night.”

·············································

June rolls along, and like the year prior, you always seem to forget the city has a stagnant, dense heat within its grid of endless buildings. Even on the windiest of summer days, that heat lingers, makes you feel like you’re practically swimming in it.

Today, though, is just perfect. The last of the spring breeze helps cool down the hot, almost summer day while the sun continued to brighten the city.

You take a big gulp from the mug of fresh, iced coffee Gator made you, pulling your legs to your chest as you watch your housemates make their own breakfasts, along with a variety of drinks. The banana pancakes you made were a hit, but you ran out of mix quickly, underestimating just how much everyone liked pancakes.

“Thanks, love.” You warmly smile at Gator, voice laced with a leftover rasp from sleep. Drinking his tea, he returns the warmth back to you in his signature smirk, a sight you could never grow tired of. “It’s crazy we all have the mornin’ off, for once. When the hell did that happen last?”

 “About two years ago!” Ivy pipes up from across the table as she settles into her chair. 

“Well, good thing I made pancakes the one time y’all are all here.” You giggle, looking out the bay window, admiring the way the shadows projected into the house from the giant blooming tree outside, and the sun peeking through it.

“Ya’ say that like we’ve never demolished a buncha’ pancakes on our own before,” Gator snickers, recalling the morning he made some while the two of you were snowed in. You remember being in such shock he could be … domestic. What was probably nothing to him only solidified how you really felt for him. A soft, sweet morning together was something you never expected in a million years.

Now, you’re home, with Gator by your side; part of a family neither of you had growing up, but had the compassion and kindness the two of you always needed and deserved. 

“Yeah, I believe it.” Ty glares at you, still mad he woke up too late to grab pancakes in time. “You and Ivy both are demons when you get the munchies.” Bea snorts from the kitchen,  earning a smile from Ty.

“Man, it wasn’t me! I had, like, one! And I made them.” You defend yourself, laughing as you put your hands up. “Besides, I’m sober as hell right now. Can’t speak for dear Ives over there, though.”

Ivy, too stoned to care, just shrugs with a giggle, eyes crinkling and hiding how damn red they were. “It’s my first morning off in weeks. Let me live!”

Conversation continues from there between everyone, with teasing banter and laughter, sharing jokes and catching up; a bonus from your monthly family dinner, or rare rooftop nights, this morning was a real treat for you. 

The sunshine pouring in from the window spilled across your shoulders, exposed from the slouchy cardigan you slept in with a sleep tank underneath. You could see the little, floating fuzzies dance in the sunlight, sipping on your coffee as you let yourself fade to the background, watching everyone just… exist. Something all of you at one point didn’t have the privilege of doing. No abuse, no going hungry, no anxiety or fear of the unknown, just existing peacefully among one another. 

All lives that were all once thought to be at the end of the thread, hope nearly given up. Lives, filled with struggles no human should endure. Lives, while independent, now intertwined in a way where not one of you could fail. No one would ever be left behind. You all had a place to rest your head at night, a place where there was always a shoulder to cry on, advice to give and receive, with an endless amount of safety and love.

Not a day went by where you didn’t wish Willow could experience this, too. You knew, though, she was looking over you, probably relieved you made your way into this group of misfits, who had similar dynamics with you the way she once had. Something familiar. Something that felt like home.

Best of it all, to you, was being able to encourage Gator to take such a huge leap outside of his comfort zone. To leave everything and everyone behind that has harmed him, to start fresh and grow into someone he wanted to be, rather than what his father forced him to be. 

Gator always had the potential to be so much more than the violence, toxic masculinity, and hatred Roy tried burying him under. He just needed someone to see that and remind him it’s never too late to change for the better.

“Oh, dude, gross.” Miles groaned from a few chairs down, watching as you subconsciously chewed on the half melted ice cubes in your nearly finished coffee. “I forgot you love doing that.”

You spit the ice into the mug as gracefully as possible, shooting an apologetic look. “My bad.”

“No, she’s onto something. That shit is refreshing as hell on a hot day.” Flor points out, imitating you with her own iced coffee, crunching on the frozen water. Miles looks like he’s about to lose his marbles, letting his head hit the table in defeat as Ivy also joins in. All three of you end up in a fit of giggles.

“Surprised you haven’t chugged that yet, what’s with you today?” Ty teases, leaving you to knit your brows together in confusion.

“Huh? Can’t a bitch enjoy their coffee at a leisurely pace?” You joke back.

“Today of all days…” Jinx murmurs into her matcha tea latte. Gator narrows his eyes at her while Miles forces out a short hissed, “Shut it!” 

What’s that about?

Every now and then, you’d catch Gator staring at you fondly, and it’s not like it was out of the ordinary, but it felt like he was waiting for something. You just weren’t sure what.

Under the chaotic breakfast chatter, you ask him softly, “You doin’ alright?” Gator slipped his hand in yours under the table, squeezing gently. 

“Yeah, darlin’, I’m alright.” He answers casually, but his sweaty palm tells another story. “How about you?”

“I’m good,” You answer honestly, but ask with a smirk, “Why’s your hand so clammy?”

“I- no reason. Might’ve had too much caffeine. Y’know how that goes.” Gator’s quick to pull his hand back and answer, but it doesn’t conceal his nervous tone.

You fly into panic mode, “What? Honey, you can’t have caffeine anymore, why did you—“

“Right! Right, I- I didn’t. I dunno why I said that—“

“Is your eye okay? You don’t feel any pressure, do you?”

Gator shakes his head frantically, “I swear, I didn’t have any. I- it’s still a habit to blame everythin’ on caffeine still, I guess.”

Jinx runs her hand over her face at the terrible save, for lack of a better word.

“It’s because he— hey!” Ty slaps his hand over Ivy’s mouth, muffling the rest of her unfiltered interruption. 

“Is something going on that I should know about?” You ask, brow quirked up as you study everyone’s faces. They’re all frozen, like deer in headlights, side eyeing one another, or shrugging. 

You peer over at Gator through narrowed eyes, and he grins weakly with a shaky shrug. “Uh-huh… better not be some fucked up prank. Anyway, it’s so nice out! Do y’all wanna do anything today?” 

You pick up your plate and mug, intending to head to the dishwasher, but Gator tugs the back of your shirt softly. You face him, “What’s up?”

“I- you— you don’t want any more coffee?”

Again, Miles groans, this time at Gator’s graceless attempt to stall, while Flor shushes him, and Ty’s shooting the two of them a death glare.

“Y’all didn’t spike this, did you?” You’re joking, but you’re also nervous from the way they’re all acting, with hushed whispers and cryptic, warning glances to one another. Bea whistles comically to play innocent, as she leans against the kitchen counter, eyes everywhere but you.

“Guys, she’s not gonna get it.” Ivy chimes in, and no one disrupts her this time; brushing her hands together, freeing her fingers from bagel crumbs, she points back to your empty chair. “Take a seat, sunshine.”

 Now you’re really nervous, but you do as she says, and sit back in the chair next to Gator.

 “What am I not gonna get?”

 “Gator, just show her— ”

“This is definitely not going the way I planned,” He murmurs, shaking his head in defeat before resting it in his hand, elbow propped up from the table.

“Can someone just fill me in on what’s going on?” You glower as you gaze around the table at everyone again. 

Flor stiffens both her hands as her elbows rest on the table, aggressively throwing them your way. “The mug! Look in the damn mug already!” She shouts impatiently.  

You do, but all you see is the ice left from your finished coffee that you didn’t chew, much to Miles’ relief, you were certain. 

“… Ice? Guys, I don’t understand.” You’re just sinking into bewilderment the more they murmur so cryptically around you.

Gator silently takes the mug, spilling the ice onto your empty plate. placing the mug in front of you again before he nervously bites on his thumbnail as his leg bounces rapidly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this. Searching his gaze, all you see is nervous, nervous, nervous, written all over his face; hidden by the hand near his face, he pauses the anxious nail biting, quietly mouthing, “I’m sorry”.

Brows scrunched together, you finally glance into the cup, reading the two words intentionally stamped into the ceramic bottom. The room falls silent as your jaw drops, reading the words once. 

Twice.

Three times.

You gaze at them in disbelief.

It’s a question, one you never once cared about being asked by or asking for anyone. Now that it’s a question coming from Gator, though, you care a whole fucking lot.

It’s a tiny phrase, a small question in quantity of letters, yet loaded enough to stop time in its tracks.

 “Marry me?”

By the time you turn back to Gator, you can see the tears welling up in his uncovered eye, still biting his nail anxiously, but his smirk is ready to burst into a full blown grin.

“You— you’re not kidding, right?” Your voice cracks as you ask, your own lips beginning to curl into a smile, ever so slightly, still being held back by doubt.

“Serious as a heart attack, darlin’.” He finally moves his hand away from his face, gathering all the courage left within him as he kneels down on one knee in front of you. “Don’t got a ring yet, but I’ve got somethin’ else in the meantime.”

Gator pulls from his hoodie pocket the worn, familiar friendship bracelet you made him as kids. The same one he asked you to keep safe when you departed after seven full days being snowed in together, ten days in total with one another, until he came home to you. You gave it back to him as soon as he made it here, and here he is again, offering another promise, offering his heart, to you.

It didn’t matter if it was bound by those fraying threads or by an elegant ring, his heart was completely exposed with the promise and love all the same.

“The longer we spend together, the harder it is to ever imagine life without you, darlin’. It didn’t hit me ‘til the week we were apart, home was with you all along. I want to keep building this new life with ya’, if you’ll have me.”

You’re choking up, trying to nod, at the very least, but you feel so frozen, overwhelmed in so many emotions, all good. All positive. All filled with nothing but love for this man you once were certain you’d never see again.

A thud hits the table as Ivy slams her fist against the table,  hissing across the way, “Girl, say something!” It causes everyone to start laughing, breaking the silence.

You try answering with a “yes” and “uh-huh” but it comes out as a “Yuh-huh,” leaving you to snort at yourself, only making Gator’s grin grow as he waits patiently for your answer. “Yes. Yeah. Absolutely. You wanna get married tomorrow? Today? Let’s do it today.” The rambling, for once, isn’t from nervousness, it’s from pure joy and excitement as you slide off the chair and onto the floor, throwing your arms around Gator.

“Finally!” Mama Bea shouts jovially; the room erupts into cheering and clapping, sounds much louder than they should be considering the small source. 

“I’m so sorry I only like iced coffee,” You blubber through happy tears, watching as Gator laughs as he ties the bracelet around your left wrist. Just like last time, it’s not too tight, but not loose enough to slide off, almost symbolic of this relationship; close enough to one another that the two of you feel safe, secure, loved, but not so tight where either of you suffocate one another. It’s just right. 

Through it all— good and bad— with Gator, it’s always been just right.

“Kinda makes sense it wouldn’t turn out the way it was planned… pretty on point for us, huh?” Gator murmurs, one hand on each side of your face, holding you close as your foreheads rest against one another. “I love you.” 

You kiss him, and it’s soft, but kind of haphazard with the way you accidentally bump his eye patch with your nose, making him laugh into the kiss; for once, he’s not the clumsy one. The sunshine falling through the window lands on the two of you, warming the embrace you have one another in. Pulling back, you’re grinning, elated, while you take a thumb to swipe away a tear falling down his face. 

“No one ever let me get stoned before a proposal ever again,” Ivy grumbles, sinking into her chair, relieved. “That was stressful.”

“That was stressful, even sober,” Jinx deadpans, but shoots a smile at the two of you.

“Wait, I gotta get my bracelet for you, then.” You scramble to your feet, tugging Gator’s arm to get him up from the floor, too. Rushing for the stairs, Bea reaches for your shoulder, stopping you.

“One condition,” She warns, and you give her your full attention. “No eloping. Someone’s gotta walk y’down the aisle, kid. It ain’t gonna be anyone outside this house, that’s for damn sure.”

Weepy, you pull her into a bear hug, murmuring, “You got it, Mama. Promise.” You pull back, giving her hands a squeeze before heading for the stairs, pulling Gator by the arm to follow you.

“Yeah, get the bracelet, uh-huh.” Flor teases, and Jinx giggles with her. Meanwhile, Ivy still has no filter, yelling, “Get a room, freaks!”

Ty, confused, chimes in, “They have one— ” 

“That’s the joke, my precious, short king.” 

Their chatter falls away as you and Gator make your way up the stairs, laughing as joy courses through your veins, stumbling on some stairs as the two of you pepper each other’s faces in sweet, short kisses.

Reaching the apartment door, you throw it open, Ivy style, grateful for the foam landing pad the doorknob has; you yank Gator in before slamming the door behind the two of you. 

There’s no intention of coming out anytime soon once you flick the lock.

·············································

Any and all plans for the day are lost to the excitement of Gator proposing to you. Time is easily lost on the both of you as you ended up fucking on nearly every surface in the apartment. 

Eventually, you adventure up to the rooftop, soaking in the afterglow of sex and the colorful sunset; your brain is fuzzy from the countless orgasms he gave you. “M’glad I’m not workin’ tomorrow. Pretty sure ya’ broke my back.”

“Yeah, well, my dick’s probably outta order for the next week, so thanks.” As Gator stands behind you, watching the sky paint itself into bold oranges, purples, and pinks, he teases you; his arms are around your waist while his lips are back on your neck, making you giggle, overstimulated.

“Hey, no—“ A soft sigh escapes you while your eyes flutter shut.

“Why not? Won’t kill ya’ if you cum one more time.”

“It might, and then what? Can’t get married to me if I die.” You squirm and laugh as his lips tickle your skin, but he stops abruptly before pulling back. You spin around to look at him. “Hey, you okay?”

Gator’s smile is lovesick and filled with joy, “More than okay, darlin’. Just thinkin’ how lucky I am that my best friend said yes.”

“Are you gonna make me cry again? I ain’t—“

He cuts you off with a soft kiss, only pulling back enough to ask, “Y’gonna let me take care of ya’? Not sure if I can give ya’ the world, but I’m gonna try my damndest.”

“Only if you let me do the same in return.”

He sighs with a smirk and an eye roll. “Yeah, I guess, not like I deserve that much.” Your hands meet his face, holding him softly, butterflies still going wild as you watch him blush under your touch.

“Gator Tillman, you deserve the entire fucking universe.” He tries scoffing it off lightheartedly, but you shake your head, gaze locked with his. 

Even with his remaining eye slightly clouded over with a scar, a sign of the darkest moment of his life, there’s so much light behind it all, reflecting in the golden brown flecks among the soothing green. His soul is brighter than he lets himself believe, and if he can’t see it, you’ll do your best to be his mirror, to show him in return how good of a person he truly is.

“I’ll spend the rest of this life trying my best to give that to you. I mean it.”

Gator’s bottom lip pouts out, just a little, before he catches himself and holds it back. His tears, though, are too fast for him to catch; he ducks his head into the crook of your neck, giving a soft kiss in the curve as he shudders off future tears.

“Will you stop being such a sap?”

“For you? Never.”

“Damn, wedding’s off, then.” He teases through a sniffle.

Though you laugh, you warn, “Don’t joke like that, I’ll start asking if you still love me up until the wedding day.”

“What, are ya’ gonna say that in your vows?” He laughs, lightly teasing you as you playfully shove his shoulder.

“Maybe, put ya’ on the spot in front of everyone,” You shoot back, grinning up at him. “I love you too much to be a dick like that.”

“I love ya’, too, darlin’. Even if you’re being a dick like that.”

While you laugh again, his gaze doesn’t leave yours; he marvels at the way the vibrant colors reflect in your eyes, and the way they paint over your entire being, drowning you in sunshine of the day’s end. 

You’ve always been Gator’s sunshine in his grim, overcast life; his future always was brighter with you by his side, and he’ll do anything to make sure his sunshine’s never taken away, never ever again.

#gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman smut #gator tillman #tramps like us #part time soulmate full time problem #my fics

[cherubiyeon]

Can I request? Maybe something that involves married life with TWICE Sana. If it's alright, maybe for gender neutral reader? Also, love your works. Keep up the work, dudette. Your one of my favorite writers here haha.

calico skies | twice minatozaki sana x gender neutral reader

chamomile tea and bread, you and your wife, underneath the calico skies, after work.

✩ warnings. just fluff, you're married to sana, mentions of food

✩ word count. ~1.7k words

✩ playing. calico skies [paul mccartney]

✩ notes. HAHA this is so short sorry anon but tysm!! btw requests r open feel free to request!! i appreciate requests !! <3

y/n trudged wearily through the front door of their cozy apartment, the weight of the day's work clinging to every step. the apartment was dimly lit, the soft glow of lamps casting warm, inviting pockets of light. the scent of something delicious wafted through the air, a familiar comfort that made the exhaustion in y/n's bones ebb away just a bit.

"hey, you're back!" sana's voice, tinged with excitement, reached y/n's ears even before she came into view. y/n turned towards the living room, a tired smile forming on their lips as they saw sana standing there, her eyes bright and a grin that could light up the whole room.

sana's arms opened wide, and without hesitation, y/n found themselves enveloped in a warm, tight hug. the embrace felt like a soothing balm to y/n's weary soul, a reminder that they were home, truly home. y/n wrapped their arms around sana in return, burying their face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent.

"missed you," sana murmured, her voice a gentle whisper that sent shivers down y/n's spine.

"missed you too," y/n mumbled back, their voice muffled against sana's skin. it was a simple exchange, but it held a depth of emotion that words alone couldn't convey.

sana's grip on y/n loosened, but her touch remained, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on y/n's back. then, with a soft chuckle, she pulled back slightly, her gaze meeting y/n's with unspoken affection.

"rough day?" sana asked, her brows furrowing with concern.

y/n let out a tired sigh, a mixture of frustration and relief escaping with the breath. "yeah, you could say that."

sana's fingers brushed a strand of hair away from y/n's forehead, her touch gentle and soothing. "well, good news is, i've got something that might help."

y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "oh, really? and what might that be?"

with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, sana leaned in, her lips brushing against y/n's ear. "a magic remedy called 'sana's hug and kiss therapy.'"

y/n couldn't help but chuckle, the heaviness of the day slowly dissipating as sana's playful spirit worked its charm. "oh, is that a new medical breakthrough?"

sana grinned, her expression infectious. "absolutely. doctor's orders."

before y/n could react, sana's lips found theirs in a soft, lingering kiss. it was a kiss that held the promise of comfort, of home, and of shared moments that could chase away even the darkest of days. y/n's eyes fluttered closed, their arms instinctively winding around sana's waist, pulling her closer.

when the kiss finally broke, y/n's lips curved into a genuine smile. "i think i'm already feeling better."

sana's laughter was a melody that filled the room. "see? miracle cure."

y/n pressed their forehead against sana's, their eyes meeting in an unspoken exchange that spoke volumes. "you have no idea how much i needed this."

sana's fingers threaded through y/n's hair, her touch tender and full of love. "well, lucky for you, i'm here to provide all the hugs and kisses you need."

with a soft chuckle, y/n nuzzled their nose against sana's, a playful glint in their eyes. "do you offer a money-back guarantee?"

sana's response was a gentle peck on y/n's lips, her smile soft and full of adoration. "no refunds necessary. just a lifetime supply of love."

y/n's fingers brushed a strand of hair away from sana's face, their touch feather-light. "well, then i'm definitely getting the better end of this deal."

sana's laughter was a melodic sound that filled the room, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "you're always trying to find loopholes, aren't you?"

"hey, it's my job as the 'skeptical one' in this relationship," y/n teased, their tone affectionate.

sana's fingers trailed down y/n's arm in a slow, soothing caress. "and i'm the 'hopeless romantic' who's here to prove you wrong."

y/n's lips curved into a soft smile, their gaze locked onto sana's. "you're doing a pretty good job so far."

sana's grin was tender, her voice a gentle whisper. "well, there's a lot more where that came from."

as their eyes met in a lingering exchange, the unspoken words hung in the air like a promise—one that needed no formal declaration to hold its weight.

a contented sigh escaped y/n's lips, the earlier weariness now replaced by a sense of calm and belonging. "you know, i'm starting to think that 'sana's hug and kiss therapy' might just be the best remedy in the world."

sana's fingers intertwined with y/n's, their touch warm and reassuring. "it's a patented treatment, only available to a select few."

y/n leaned in, their lips brushing against sana's ear. "lucky me, then?"

sana's laughter was a soft, joyful sound, and she pressed a gentle kiss to y/n's temple. "lucky you."

after a few more moments wrapped in each other's arms, sana reluctantly pulled away, a playful pout forming on her lips. "as much as i'd love to keep you here forever, i have a special surprise for you."

y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "a surprise? now you've got me curious."

sana's grin held a touch of mischief as she took y/n's hand, leading them towards the balcony. "it's nothing big, just something to make our evening even better."

the balcony was bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of twilight. sana's touch was a gentle reassurance as she guided y/n to the railing, their eyes drawn to the canvas of colors that stretched across the sky.

"wow," y/n breathed, their voice a mere whisper. the sky was painted with shades of pink, orange, and lavender—a breathtaking masterpiece that seemed to stretch on forever.

sana's voice was soft, filled with wonder. "two years of staring at this view, and it still takes my breath away."

y/n's gaze shifted from the sky to sana, their heart swelling with affection. "you know, the view might be beautiful, but i think i prefer staring at your face."

sana's cheeks flushed with a mixture of surprise and delight, her fingers gently brushing against y/n's. "oh, shut up."

y/n chuckled softly, the sound a warm melody that danced in the air. "hey, i'm just stating the truth."

sana rolled her eyes playfully, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "you're such a charmer."

"only when i'm with you," y/n quipped, their voice tinged with sincerity.

sana's laughter was soft and melodious, a harmonious blend with the evening breeze that rustled through the balcony plants. "alright, alright. enough with the flattery, you smooth talker."

y/n feigned offense, a hand placed over their heart in mock hurt. "smooth talker? i'll have you know that every word i say is backed by irrefutable evidence."

sana shook her head, her laughter bubbling over. "evidence? is that what we're calling it now?"

y/n's grin was infectious, their fingers intertwining with sana's once more. "you're just jealous because you're not the smooth talker in this relationship."

sana leaned in, her lips brushing against y/n's ear. "oh, really? want me to prove you wrong?"

y/n's playful smile turned into a mischievous smirk. "i'd love to see you try."

sana winked, her tone teasing. "later, perhaps. right now, i've got a surprise for you."

y/n raised an eyebrow, intrigue sparking in their eyes. "a surprise, huh? you've definitely piqued my curiosity."

sana grinned, her fingers giving y/n's hand a gentle squeeze before she turned and disappeared into the apartment. y/n leaned against the balcony railing, a soft smile still playing on their lips as they waited for sana's return.

it wasn't long before sana reappeared, carrying a tray with two steaming cups of chamomile tea and a plate of freshly baked bread. the fragrant aroma of the tea filled the air, mingling with the warm scent of the bread.

sana's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she approached y/n, setting the tray down on a small table by the balcony. "ta-da! chamomile tea and bread—your stress-relief combo."

y/n's expression softened as they took in the sight. "you remembered."

sana's smile was tender as she poured the tea, the liquid cascading gently into the cups. "of course i did. i know how exhausting work has been for you lately."

y/n reached out, their fingers brushing against sana's wrist as she handed them a cup. "thank you, baby." y/n's fingers brushed against sana's as they reached for a cup, their touch lingering for a moment. "you really do take care of me."

sana's smile was soft, her gaze unwavering as she met y/n's eyes. "it's my favorite job."

as they settled into the chairs, y/n cradled the warm cup of chamomile tea in their hands, the fragrant steam rising and mingling with the evening breeze. sana took a sip from her own cup, her expression one of pure contentment.

"can't believe how lucky i am," y/n murmured, more to themselves than to sana.

sana raised an eyebrow, her voice gentle. "what was that?"

y/n's cheeks tinged with a soft blush, but they met sana's gaze with sincerity. "i said i can't believe how lucky i am."

sana's fingers reached across the table to brush against y/n's, a tender smile curving her lips. "i'm so lucky to have you too,"

they shared a moment of silent connection, their fingers entwined on the table—a touch that conveyed more than words ever could. and then, y/n broke the silence with a soft chuckle.

"you know, i think i'm going to request 'sana's surprise tea time' as a regular thing."

sana's laughter was like a melody, the sound carrying a promise of warmth and comfort. "you don't have to request it. it's already in the contract."

y/n feigned surprise, a hand over their heart. "oh, i must have missed that clause."

sana playfully rolled her eyes, her gaze dancing with affection. "it's in the fine print, right next to 'y/n's endless hugs and kisses.'"

y/n's grin was unabashed, their voice tinged with playful mock. "well, it's a good thing we're both committed to upholding our contractual obligations."

sana lifted her teacup in a playful manner, a soft smile gracing her lips. "here's to us, two and more years of marriage."

as their cups clinked together, the warmth of their affection enveloped them. and as they sipped on chamomile tea and savored the simple pleasure of each other's company, y/n and sana found themselves exactly where they belonged—in each other's arms, under the canvas of calico skies.

#fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop gg x reader #kpop x reader #kpop #twice x reader #twice x gn reader #kpop x gn reader #twice sana #twice #twice fanfic #twice sana x reader #sana x reader #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader

[chaifootsteps]

Armchair Psychology Anon here (not a real Psych just seeing patterns)

I uh... hmm.

So Lilith/Eve is the true villian, wanting to destroy the relationship of Charlie and Lucifer?

Of course it is. (If true).

And her liking these tweets of Luci x Lilith lately makes a whole lot more sense. The fans are most likely not going to take this well if this leak is true. Also, it makes sense that her trading card crops out her face, gives her no last name, and makes her look sinister as hell. She also still has not yet had her VA revealed and no real good look at her.

I just... it's interesting as well that Alastor is secretly sent to protect Charlie. (Male character, too, of course. And seeing someone say he's also a father figure now makes sense as well.) I always liked the idea that he was secretly going to turn on the Hotel and Charlie (or just leaves) and be an obvious hidden antagonist. And it's interesting that Charlie DOES end up forgiving her. Viv mentioned spending time with her mom over the holiday, so it's clear that perhaps that they do have some sort of civil relationship at the very least.

And of course, the Root of Evil is a woman.

Chai, I say this as nicely as possible, especially after carefully analyzing and seeing the complaints of HB as a whole, and that recent interview with Brandon asking about how women are written, and about Ghostfuckers (whilst also knowing about the leaks of it). Also likes silly tweets about being depressed, and most of her main cast of Helluva consists of depressed characters. Especially Stolas (who is also rich, and Vuv defends like crazy (He's her self insert/her father rolled into one character). That one is not too hard to see. Most people are depressed these days (myself included).

Vivienne needs therapy.

She needs it if she hasn't already been getting it.

I understand that writing out trauma is therapeutic. I have author friends who do it. I do it myself. But I also see my own therapist every week.

She clearly hates women. She loves her own father and incorporates loving father/daughter relationships into her own work and clearly does not let anything get in the way of that.

That's why the main character is allowed to be woman. Because it's Viv and the relationship with her own father. Charlie is also bi... which Viv is apparently too.

Something else I've noticed is older bad dads.

Which is ironic because God punishes Lucifer (his son) and Luci wants to be good for Charlie.

I think it's quite possible that maybe her grandfather was not as kind to her father, as her father is to her. See Crimson to Moxxie (it can be assumed Moxxie wants children and would be a loving father). See Paimon to Stolas, and Cash to Blitzo.

But then, going down the line of the newer fathers being better to their daughters. Stolas tries with Octavia (doesn't try very well), Blitz REALLY tries with Loona, Millie's dad seems to have a healthy relationship with her. Perhaps her father has shared with her that his relationship with his dad wasn't great and that he wanted to be a better father to her and her sisters. And whatever her mother did to her/her father...yikes.

Her latest IG post also does mention being depressed about "plans changing" and that food from her dad helps.

I just... wow. Viv can be so easily read. She really doesn't leave anything hidden. And she can't stop herself from writing out her truth.

And that's not going to go over with the fans or public at all, I'm sure of it.

It is also interesting to have a male voicing Katie Killjoy. Hmm. Not that I have a problem with men voicing women, but when it comes to Viv... I don't have a good feeling about it. I've also noticed Brandon seeming a bit miserable in his IG posts and his HH ones don't seem very excited either.

I think his declining views on his own channel other than the 2 HB ones say a lot. Especially when he's clearly trying to placate Viv by saying he's "one of the worst writers of HB".

Chai... oof. I don't know what else to say. We'll just see what comes next.

Thank you for all of this, Armchair Psychology Anon. Your writeups are always fascinating to read, in a haunting sort of way.

I don't know what's going on in Viv's personal life and family history, but all this is pointing to something that demands a really good therapist. Viv being an awful person doesn't negate that.

#Anonymous #armchair psychology anon #viv stuff #vivziepop critical #actual blog post

[itshype]

My DC x DP Masterpost

Here is my masterpost of works that fall into the category of a crossover of DC comics and Danny Phantom. Mostly, these will be notfics. If any of the links are broken please message me ASAP. Edit: I will not be doing taglists because people are quite frankly abusing the idea.

What's a notfic?

So, this was really common in fandom like 10 years ago but it's less common now so I'm just including this quick explanation in case. Notfic/Not!Fic is the halfway point between an actual fic and a prompt. It mostly sort of has the tone of describing another fic to somebody, or working out an ongoing plot with a friend (e.g. Instead of writing out an entire set of dialogue, a notfic might just put "Jason and Tim discuss why they both want to fake their deaths").

Permissions Housekeeping

I totally don't mind if anyone wants to take all or part of what I've written for any prompt and write an actual fic or create another transformative work as long as I'm appropriately credited. If you're just taking the most oblique inspiration from something I've made I'd appreciate at least a tag so I can read it!

Also if you'd like to tag me in any of your works please do, provided that it's the first if it's in a series and not Jazz/Jason as the main pairing, please.

Works

Kingmaker, Kingbreaker, Crowntaker, Realmshaker

Danny isn't the Ghost King but after defeating Pariah Dark the new king knows Danny has massive political influence.

Navigate any storm, with nothing but the stars to guide you

Danny is obsessed with space so the whole 'superhero' thing is on the backburner.

Please don’t pet me! I am working!

Repeat after me, SERVICE ANIMAL CUJO. (Minor Connor Kent/Danny Fenton)

It's a boy, congratulations... to me!

Danny insists Connor is his clone even though he's really not.

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, Godhood

Danny gets caught and tells the JLA that neither he nor Vlad are ghosts.

New type of Vlad just dropped

When a ghost's obsession is destroyed, they get a new one.

Mother of the Year

Talia Al Ghul gets to be a good mother. As a treat.

Amorpho Whomst?

Danny, Dani and Dan trade off on responsibilities.

Halfa? Half a What?

Danny's half human, no one's sure what the other half is.

The second, secret Justice League

There's another Justice League that not even the Justice League is cleared to know about.

Excuse me, do you work here? Danny is sent to represent the first, non-secret Justice League.

Triple Threat

The Champion of All Magic and The King of All Ghosts have a mutual triplet.

Like peas in a pod [person]

Jason is healed of the pit rage but has a whole new problem.

There's a Mr Wight Hood to see you?

Jason adopts Danny instead of being the Red Hood.

The Wight Baby For The Job Sequel to Mr Wight Hood

You Make Miso Scared

Danny's always talking about soup time.

Reverse Bruce

Give baby Jason MORE PARENTS!

Work Experience

Danny has to learn about Ghost culture before he can rule it.

Mansplain Yourself

Constantine probably knows best about ghosts over the Justice League's newest member...

The Opposite of a Golden Ticket

International star Ember McLain is in danger

Haustoria Horror

Undergrowth's got Poison Ivy

Like and Survive!

Danny runs an advice website for young heroes

You're not the Boss of me!

Batman accidentally outs his family to Danny

This is a PSA

Danny's Wail affects the JLA

Floral Fiasco

Poison Ivy errs

How I Met Your Brother

Dan joins the JLA

The Manhunter's Manhunt

There's a miscommunication with the Martian Manhunter

The Green Knight

Jason lives (just this once)

___

The Job

Danny's gotta put food on the table (Also available in DP only version)

Always A King (DC x DP)

The Realms must have a king

Series: The Surprise Obsessions of the Ghostly Batclan (image heavy)

Ghost Bruce HC

Ghost Jason HC

Mini prompts

Danny Phantom vs The IRS ; part 2

Phantom's mistaken identity

Billy and Danny are secret twins

Danny scars the batfam

Superheroes need more therapy

All-caste Jason

Poison Control

#masterpost #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #justice league #mine #batman #tucker foley #the JLA #teen titans #titans #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #sam manson #valerie gray #jazz fenton

[523rdrebel]

Welcome to CF99

The Bad Batch Coffee/Caf Shop AU

Hunter x Reader

Hunter and his siblings own a Caf Shop called, CF99. Reader and Hunter are tasked with creating something new and use that time to grow closer together.

Overall Vibes: Cute, Fluff, Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop

Warnings: One Instance of Customer being a "Karen," Fluff, Cuteness, and Lots of Caf/Coffee References

Rating: SFW

Written as a Lifeday gift for @multi-fan-dom-madness <3 <3 <3

Hunter Divider: @snotbuggle

Coffee Divider: @firefly-graphics

“Small Oatmilk Latte on Bar!” You shout over the loud ambient sounds of coffee being made, milk being steamed and frothed, and voices speaking in a dull hum.

“I asked  for whole milk!” The customer scowled at you across the bar, nearly spitting at you in their ire.

“No. You didn’t.” A voice growled intensely from behind you.

“It’s okay Crosshair–”

“No. I took their order, they asked for Oatmilk.” He pushed you aside and leaned over the bar, smiling that toothy smile at the problem customer. His voice rumbled, “You can take the latte or you can leave.” The large form of Wrecker appears behind you, casting a shadow over the customer, “Your choice.”

“Th–the latte’s fine!” The customer all but screams, takes the latte and runs away, doorbell ringing as they exit.

Crosshair laughs, deeply amused.

“Cross– we can’t just keep intimidating the customers!” you chide, despite feeling a deep sense of relief that you avoided being shouted at by another unruly customer.

“That wasn’t a customer, that was a wailing banshee…”

Wrecker nudged your shoulder, though gently, it still nearly knocked you off your feet, “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Figure what out? That if they come to CF99 they get yelled at and threatened?”

“That they can’t bully us. Or you.”

Crosshair’s face was smug, something unidentifiable sparkling in his eyes, “Pretty sure Hunter would rip a face off if he caught someone bullying you.”

“I do not believe, even with Hunter’s capabilities, that he could ‘Rip a face off’.” Tech’s voice broke in now, his face popping up from around the corner at the drive thru.

“It’s an expression, Tech.” Crosshair rolled his eyes.

“Is it an expression for ‘I need therapy?’” He quipped back instantly.

At the morning staff meeting, Echo presented a new challenge to the CF99 team, “Overall customer feedback shows that they want something new.”

“New…The pastries from Daisy’s Bakery wasn’t enough?” You asked. Pastries had just been added a few months ago, thanks to Wrecker’s love of the bakery (and the Baker) down the street.

He sighed, “That definitely boosted our sales, but no. They want a new drink.”

“It’s coffee, not an experiment. It doesn’t need all the frills.”

“Not everyone likes plain espresso, Crosshair.”

“Pansies.” He mumbled under his breath, crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.

“Anyway, I need a couple of you to take point on that new drink. Any volunteers?” Tech instantly raised his hand, always excited for a new challenge. “Not you Tech…”

“Yeah, the drink has to actually be palatable…” Wrecker elbowed Tech and laughed heartily.

He adjusted his glasses then held up one finger, “According to my research, the flavor notes hit all the flavor receptors at once. It should have been entirely palatable.”

Echo just rolled his eyes and continued, “I need you on Drive Thru, anyway. No Cross– you just want to avoid the customers.” Crosshair’s sighed deeply, but didn’t deny. “Wrecker’s the best with the Customers so we need him on register…” Echo looked pointedly at you then Hunter, “You and Hunter willing to give it a shot? It doesn’t have to be too fancy, just good coffee and something that we haven’t served before.”

“Okay.” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, despite the excitement bubbling inside your chest.

“Uh–” Hunter glanced sidelong at you, mouth open to speak.

Echo cut in, standing up to signal the end of the meeting, “Great! Now let’s try not to scare away any more customers…”

You and Hunter are left alone to plan in the break room, where Echo and Tech had set up a temporary Barista station with selections of Caf beans from Endor to Mutunda with a variety of roasting styles and flavor notes. There were caf creamers and alternatives and a multitude of flavorings and additions to make nearly any combination of a special brew.

Hunter was nothing if not efficient, so he set himself to grinding and brewing samples of each caf for the both of you to taste as you made your selections.

“So… What’s the plan here?”

“Taste the caf. Choose additional flavor items. Make the drink. Save the world. Mission accomplished.”

“Oh, sounds very important. How can I help, Commander?” You snap off a sloppy salute.

“At ease, soldier.” He chuckles, eyes sparkling with humor, “Why don’t you try to narrow down the additions… make some flavor groups?”

“On it–sir.” You wink at him, then quickly turn away, your ears burning.

You both work quietly for a while, selecting different combinations of flavor additions while he narrows down caf beans by preference. He is a nice, calming presence, and you, not for the first time, glance appreciatively at his handsome, prominent profile. He’s focused, his brow furrowed in that soft intensity you’d noticed while he works. He exhales at the strand of hair that came loose of his red bandana, now partially obstructing his view. You can’t help but smile at him, but you shake your head and return your focus back to the flavor profiles you were creating. Now isn’t the time to swoon, you decide.

Hunter shifts periodically, each time getting closer and closer to you, causing you to hold your breath involuntarily and sigh heavily when you release the breath. You swore you heard Hunter chuckle quietly upon the third instance, but decidedly ignored that as wishful thinking.

By the time you both had finished with your tasks, Hunter’s arm was softly brushing against your own as he moved the caf closer together, “These ones are the best…”

You know your cheeks are likely flushed with how hot your face feels right then and you nod, gathering your preferred flavor palettes and placing them next to the remaining cafs.

Hunter’s pics for the caf blends are one dark roast with notes of cherry, dark chocolate, and amaretto, one medium roast with notes of cinnamon, star anise, and meloorun, and one light roast with candied jogan fruit, salted caramel, and brown sugar.

“Oh! These are my favorites!”

“Are they?” Hunter’s eyes flashed with amusement and something else you couldn’t identify, “Uh- what do you have?”

“Spiced plum, Blood Orange, and Cinnamon for syrups. Sweet Cream Cheese or Whip for an optional topping, and we could try this mulled wine flavored drizzle for some extra interest.”

You both spend time mixing flavor combinations until you find one that is just right.

“It works well hot or iced, too!”

“Hmm, maybe we do make a good team–soldier.”

“Well, you make it easy, Commander.”

Crosshair leaned against the door to the breakroom, arms crossed and light smirk on his face, “You two done flirting? Or should I come back with a holo recorder?”

“A holorecorder!?” Your eyes widen in panicked shock. 

“For blackmail. That was embarrassing.”

Hunter sighs, “Just– go get Echo. We finished the drink.”

Crosshair instead took three long steps forward, eyes squinting at the drink you’d both created, “Ugh– looks like a dessert. You sure that’s coffee?”

“CROSS–”

He rolls his eyes so far back into his head they could’ve gotten lost back there, turns on his heel and leaves.

“So… were you flirting or…?”

He chuckles and whispers your name softly, reverently, “I’ve been flirting with you for a long while now, actually.”

“Really? I thought—”

“You think we have time for me to kiss you before they get back here?”

“God–I hope so!”

He needs no further encouragement, one hand pulls you flush against him, the other cradles your head and his fingers tangle in your hair. His mouth captures yours, pressing softly at first, the more insistently in response to your willingness. Your hands clutch at his shirt and you wish with all your might that you weren’t at work right now…

You hear a deep, from the depths of his being, sigh and Echo groans, “Can’t you two do that off the clock?”

“How about tonight, then?” Hunter asks, pulling away reluctantly, trailing his fingers slowly across your back as he releases you.

“Tonight. Yes.” Your response is stilted, biting your lip in expectation.

Taglist:

@anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @secondaryrealm @arctrooper69 @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @dystopicjumpsuit @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @sunshinesdaydream @followthepurrgil @yubnubhub @nahoney22 @jediknightjana @dangraccoon @wizardofrozz @freesia-writes @mythical-illustrator @echoxbuggs @trixie2023 @ezras-left-thumb

#RebelWrites #Coffee Shop AU #TBB AU #TBB #The Bad Batch #Hunter x Reader #tbb hunter x reader #caf shop au #star wars #bad batch #star wars fan fiction #fluff #SFW #Crosshair being a caf snob is canon and you cannot convince me otherwise #Tech being quick with that sass #“Obviously” #Wrecker simultaneously being the muscle and the best with customer interaction #Echo is General Manager #Hunter and Reader are cute #Youtube

[slexenskee]

lol good luck to the mha characters unraveling the relationship that is satoru&suguru

I've always loved/hated the whole 'cast of [x] watches anime on [y']'s life' bc the premise is always so janky except I have THE PERFECT way to do it in MDNSY by having Gojo decide to eschew therapy and instead turn his previous life into a highly popular and lucrative anime 🤣 which let's be real is really more his style anyway - because turning his ✨trauma✨ into $$$ is much more on brand

#fic may death never stop you #ask

[bangsinc]

I didnt see a rules list somewhere so im so sorry if this goes against them!

Could I get a Spot x Trans male reader (or non specified) coming out to him?

Like...Spot comes back after the whole collider accident and the reader is like "pshh thats fine, im different too" ?

💗 Spot x Transmasc! (And Transfem and Non-binary) Reader coming out to him! (Hcs) 🏳️‍⚧️

Thank you so much for the request! I wanted to make this as Inclusive as possible for any reader out there, so I made 3 different versions of different identities!

No big warnings, although gender dysphoria and identity is mentioned. Reader has some initial insecurities opening up, but the spot is supportive!

Transmasc! Reader -

The Spot is.. incredibly familiar with the feeling of not belonging in one’s skin. Every morning when he wakes up, he’s forced to face the reality that he’s an anomaly. He knows how it might feel being cast out and/or neglected by society, having experienced certain unwanted behavior himself due to his apperance, he is drawn to the your strength and resilience. You’re incredibly brave, at least to him! :)

Coming out is something uncomfortable. It makes you feel all sorts of emotions at once, and while the spot can at worst not notice and at best be akaward, he tries his best to validate you throughout it all. He’s open to hugs, pats on the head, and reassuring words if he feels as if you’re becoming overwhelmed.

It’s a big BIG deal to him that you would open up about something so intimate about yourself to him. It shows him that you trust him enough with your true identity and with who you truly are, and it means a lot!!

He offers a listening ear whenever he can, sharing his own experiences of overcoming adversity and navigating a world that often misunderstands and rejects him.

He considers, from now on, your journey of transitioning to also be a big part of his life too. He keeps track of when you take your testosterone shots and how much you take, and is pretty much willing to do anything if it means it can ease some tension off of your shoulders. He’s fully supportive, willing to take you to appointments to your endocrinologist, gender therapist, or a healthcare team at a gender clinic. Hell, do you want him to schduale them?

He’s also incredibly strict about binding, worrying that you might forget to take it off because of how good it feels with it on. You could break a rib yknow! Breaks are mandatory!

Gender dysmorphia comes in many different forms. Sometimes you’re about to take a shower and look at yourself too long and just feel so.. uncomfortable in your own skin. Your own body doesn’t seem like yours, and The Spot understands this. He’s willing to listen if you wish to talk to him about it, and be a shoulder to cry on. He sees you as a man, nothing more and nothing less, and sees no issue in reminding you.

So many compliments. Sooo many, but his favorite one is commenting on how handsome you are, because you are!! You’re his handsome little boyfriend, and he feels no shame in gushing about that.

If you’re thinking about getting any surgeries, expect his full and unconditional love. Typically surgeries are a very draining process, before and after. Therapy is required, and you tend to be incredibly sore after the procedure. Jonathan is willing to take care of you after, holding you, making your bed a little more comfortable for when you sleep, even making meals if you feel to drained too. (MALEWIFE behavior)

Transfem! Reader -

Similar to Transmasc reader, if you identify as Transfem, The Spot will immediately understand and be able to relate. He sees you coming out to him as the most intimate form of affection, as a way to let him see who you really are deep down.. and of course he’s just as supportive! He’d do anything for his wonderful girlfriend.

Coming out to him is hard, and once again, if you feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable he’s right there for you. He wants you to know that no matter what he loves you.

If you take Estrogen, Anti-androgens (testosterone blockers), or any other medication, you’ll find he’s very strict about when you take it and how much. Your health and saftey is very important to him, and he wouldn’t want you to get sick!

Expect him to take you shopping with all the money he stole ;3. He’d love to spoil you with all sorts of cute little outfits, and show the world just how amazing and pretty his girlfriend is! Might be a lot of black and white though.. what? No that’s.. not intentional.

He probably gazes at you like a lovesick puppy, like you’re just the cutest girl in the world. He’s not very shy about reminding you either, even if he is generally awkward.

If you also plan on doing any surgeries, he doesn’t mind caring for you before and after! He’d hate for you to have to go through such a long and tiring process by yourself, and he’d want nothing more than to be able to assist you in any way he can. He’s willing to adjust anything to make it more comfortable for you, cook, clean, you name it!

Nonbinary! Reader -

The Spot already has a very unique perception of reality, and readily grasps the concept of your nonbinary identity. He intuitively comprehends the fluidity of your gender and appreciates the fact that you’re brave enough and trust him enough to come out to him.

He doesn’t necessarily have a gender anymore either soo… twinning! Maybe that might make you feel a little better?

Of course, that said, The Spot can espically understand what it must feel like to be outcasted for how you appear. You’re not a boy, or a girl, and it’s hard for practically most people to understand.. but he does! There is no binary for you, and to him that’s amazing.

He doesn’t mind showing you off to anyone and everyone, and might even get a little mad if someone were to ask if you were the ‘boy or girl’ in the relationship. He’s generally a very docile dude, but he doesn’t mind getting a little agressive if he feels as if you’re being mocked. You’re everything to him, why can’t everyone see that you’re just.. the best?

This applies to everyone buttt.. he loves you :3

#spider man #the spot #across the spiderverse #spiderman #the spot x reader #into the spider verse #bangsinc #amazing spider man #trans reader #nonbinary reader #x reader #marvel x reader #marvel

[kingofbodyrolls]

Coming Home (m) | PJM (teaser)

It has been posted! 💜

| series masterlist | main masterlist | part one →

Okay. So I said that I’ve be writing again (been like ten years 🫣). Now I actually have something finished! 🎉I don’t know what happened! I planned to write like 5K words to get back into writing and then boom 40K+ 😆I like the story, but I’m unsure of the theme, but I want to post it anyway, just to celebrate that I finished something. I’ve split it into two chapters, so it’s a two shot with an epilogue. I’m currently editing it and putting my finishing touches on it, so I wanted to post a teaser for fun. So here’s two different snippets from ‘Coming Home’.

Pairing: Jimin x reader (female)

Genre/AU: Best friends to lovers!au, detective!jimin, slice of life, healing after trauma.

Rating: mature/explicit/R18

Summary

When your best friend, Park Jimin, who you’ve had a crush on since forever, suggests you stay at his house to heal and find yourself again after a series of traumatizing events had haunted you for years, you don’t hesitate to accept. Within those walls, a safe haven is woven, where wounds can heal and memories find release. As he nurtures your shattered spirit, an unexpected intimacy unfurls, leaving the fragile barrier between friendship and deeper emotions in question - can you keep your feelings hidden?

Word count (for whole series): approx. 43,5K

Warnings

Dark themes: mention of past abuse and sexual assault (r*pe), trauma, stalking, fighting, trust issues, insecurities, slightly thriller vibes. Other warnings include: angst, fluff, explicit smut (multiple scenes), kissing, cuddling, unprotected sex (better wrap it but, but if you wanna know, she’s on the pill), penetrative sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), slice of lice, healing after trauma (including therapy sessions), guns and blood (only in the beginning and end, and it’s very minor), BIG feelings, protective Jimin, previous character death (a parent), Jimin being soft and loving, self defense, humor.

Disclaimer about warnings

I know nothing about sexual or physical abuse (I only know psychological because I experienced that, not in a sexual context though). This story is fiction, I do not mean to say that this is how one would go through their emotions or handle this situation. This is a delicate and fragile subject, so proceed with caution. I also know nothing about police work or the work in emergency/hospitals.

Snippet 1

The empty streets seem to stretch endlessly, dim streetlights casting flickering shadows that dance around you. An eerie feeling tightens in your chest - what if he had followed you? Exhaustion gnaws at your limbs as you continue to run, legs turning to jelly beneath you. In the distance, a familiar fence and yard comes into view, you feel a twinge of hope surrounding your heart. You quicken your pace, stumbling forward, almost there. The front door is within reach, and relief wash over you. You slam your body against the door, desperate for refuge. Pain sears through your shoulder, but you hardly notice. Knocking feverishly, you hope someone, anyone, will answer in this dark hour. But the silence that follows only heightens the fear bubbling within you. The wind whispers, carrying with it haunting whispers that seem to echo your own terror.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

His eyes snap open, frustration already creeping into his mind. What in the world is going on outside this time? Those blasted drunk teenagers just never seem to learn, do they? Groaning, he begrudgingly leaves the comfort of his bed, fatigue tugging at every step he takes down the hall to the front door. Should he open it and scold them? Or maybe he should just yell from inside? 

“Go home and sleep it off!” he yells, clenching his jaw with irritation. Just as he turns to retreat to his bed, the knocking grows louder and more insistent. He can’t ignore it any longer, and what’s worse, he hears someone crying amidst the chaos. Mortified by the possibility that someone might be hurt, he gives in and opens the door. But what greets him, he had not expected at all. You.

Snippet 2

His pink plush lips, bitten and swollen, kissing you hungrily. His tongue asks permission to enter your mouth, as he rolls his clothed erection against your core. You feel the arousal building so damn fast, you can’t keep up. You tilt your head back, hitting the wall as you let out a frustrated sigh. The room suddenly feels twice as hot as it did before and you are desperate to cool down. In a hurried motion, you lift your hips and pull down both your leggings and pink lace panties. Finally feeling like the temperature is bearable, you open your legs with your pussy on full display. Hissing and panting, your right hand crawls down between your thighs and when you eventually reach your clit, you moan deliriously.

#bts smut #jimin smut #bts fanfic #park jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic teaser #park jimin #jimin fic #jimin imagine #jimin x you #park jimin x you #park jimin x reader #park jimin imagine #park jimin bts #park jimin imagines #bts pjm #pjm smut #pjm x reader #pjm