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charliemwrites · 2 months

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Squeeze Me, I Squeak!

While your interactions with Lieutenant Riley started out cold and tense, he's been warming up to your secondary specialty. Apparently, you make for a great stress-toy. (In which Ghost is a brat with authority, but you don't mind. You're a bit of a brat too.)

Original AO3 Link (I posted this a million years ago to AO3 and it was my first ever COD fic, inspired by a Discord chat and Badjhur audios. I figured it's about time I added it to the Tumblr masterlist for ease.)

Content: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fraternization (therefore power imbalance), Medical Care (non-descriptive), Body Piercings, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy

It starts with one simple catalyst: your cheeks.

You’ve been with the 141 for over half a dozen missions now. Three bullet grazes, two concussions, four sprains, and one nasty cold into your assignment under Captain Price, and quite pleased to be there. He’s a good leader, trustworthy and steadfast, a bastion of experience and skill shielding your unconventional squad from red tape and repercussion.

Time is a little more fluid for you as the combat medic. You’re awake about twice as long as you’re ever asleep. Anxiety tugs you from fitful rest to check on your patients – your boys – if any of them are laid up with more than a dislocation. It makes the days long, nights longer, and you’ve lost track of how many calendar months since you’ve officially been with the task force.

Long enough, though, that you feel like you’ve got a handle on your squad and their personalities.

Captain Price is a grump about medical care. He understands the necessity, but resents the paperwork, time, materials, energy that goes into it. He’s gracious to let you fuss (within reason) and you’re gracious to ignore his old man grumbling. And the cigars.

Gaz is an absolute peach. Sits still, asks for painkillers when he needs them, follows care instructions. The worst he does is whine, but that’s only for the silly little injuries and the occasional flu shot. He’s respectful, sometimes a little bashful, and friendly. He makes you feel welcome, bought you your first drink with the squad after a mission, and generally is a sweetheart.

Soap is fun. A bit rambunctious and fidgety on your table, but he tries, at least. Not as careful as you’d like him to be. He’ll give you a sheepish smile whenever you fuss that he’s pulling his stitches or straining a healing joint. He whines like a banshee over everything except the serious wounds, but paradoxically has to be strong-armed into painkillers for anything. He reminds you a bit of a husky.

His brand of friendliness comes with jokes and teasing, flirtations that he’s careful to never take too far. You’ll indulge him in return sometimes, especially if he’s having a rough go of it, but it’s all in good fun. A lot of your downtime is spent in his and Gaz’s company, chatting about anything and everything, playing video games, or trying (the operative word here) to read. He’s also, unfortunately, the one who came up with your nickname.

Then there’s the lieutenant. You call him “the lieutenant” because you get the impression that he’d toss you out a window if you dared even utter his call sign.

The 141 isn’t your first assignment; you’ve been a combat medic for long enough that you’ve seen the full range of patients in the military. You’re no stranger to the puffed-up hyper-masculine men that practically resent your specialization.

“Like they think I’ll take their Man Card just for getting a plaster,” you’d once commiserated with a fellow medic.

The lieutenant goes a step beyond that. The best you can get out of him on a good day are one-word answers. A good day is if he’s hauling someone else to you. When it’s him that needs the care, well… you two often don’t meet eye to eye. And not just because he’s roughly the size (and build) of a tank.

On your third mission with him, he suffered a knife wound to the hip. You hadn’t been able to judge how deep it was between his gear and his evasiveness and you’d lost your temper.

“Lieutenant Riley, stand fucking still,” you snapped.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he snarled.

And oh, you regretted every word you’d ever spoken in that moment. Had felt, with some certainty, that enemy combatants were not going to be what did you in. Cursed Price a little too, blaming him for this somehow.

But you were tired and a little pissed and had about a million other things to do that weren’t chase after your lieutenant.

“I said standing fucking still,” you dared repeat, raising your voice.

“I’ll have you booked with insubordination so fast, your fucking head will spin,” he growled.

“Medical treatment outranks everyone, sir,” you snapped back, just as fast. You were already snapping gloves on; he was finally still, after all, even if it was to yell at you. “So if anyone can be written up, it’s you.”

“Lass—” Soap tried, but you were already ducking down, eyes narrowed and gauze in hand.

You were relieved to see that it wasn’t too bad. Slathered it with antibiotic and pinched it closed with butterflies, then straightened. It was done in under a minute and you were even more annoyed than before.

“All that for fucking what,” you grumbled to yourself. Not quietly enough, apparently.

“That’ll do,” the lieutenant barked.

The unholy burning in his eyes informed you that you’d pushed your luck far, far enough.

You shut up and skittered off, had not been written up for insubordination, but received a well-meant ‘cool it’ from Price afterwards.

And Lieutenant Riley was… well, he was himself.

He doesn’t make you bitch at him anymore, though – and you would be lying if you weren’t a bit proud of that. By no means is he jumping to get treated, but he comes to you for the serious injuries and obliges if you manage to catch the non-fatal stuff.

It’s not that you hold it against him. Medics are a sore spot for a lot of people, and Lieutenant Riley is more private than the average soldier. He’s never actively rude, at least, apart from that one spat. Gruff and short maybe, but not mean. And you’re quite happy to have that, at least.

Besides, he watches out for you in the field, where it matters. Has literally hauled you to safety by your straps more than once. Ensures you get into exfil before him. You’ve even caught him giving you a quick, assessing check that all your gear was secure and ready.

You and he bicker at each other still, and you don’t always come out victorious. There have been plenty of instances that he’s just marched away from you, long legs carrying him to some dark corner when he won’t entertain your nagging. Still, there’s growing respect between you two, you sense. He’s a solid CO, if much different from Price, confident and competent without being arrogant. And, well, he can be a bit rude (“abrupt” you demur to Soap, who cackles) but not disrespectful.

On his end, you think things change when he gets injured. Again. You don’t know exactly what’s happened, only that he was a little too close to an explosion. The edges of his balaclava are burnt, one damning edge melted to the skin of his neck. The real issue is the deep laceration that’s sliced through the fabric. From what you can see, it starts behind his ear and slashes around his temple to take a sizable chip from the edge of his hard mask.

His bell has been rung enough that he’s silent when Soap drops him on your cot.

You do a concussion test – thank whatever higher powers there might be that he passes – and reassess the situation. He’s bleeding, he’s burnt, his mask is a hindrance. Most other medics would pry the thing off and treat him regardless of his feelings on the matter.

But you’re not any other medic, you’re the 141’s medic. You have candy for Gaz and fidget toys for Soap and carry nicotine patches or gum for Price. Lieutenant Riley hardly even pulls his mask up to drink in front of you still. He doesn’t trust easily (maybe not at all) but you’ve managed not to fuck up this far and you won’t start now.

“Need to take the skull off,” you inform him, “the balaclava can stay.”

His shoulders drop just the smallest micro-fraction. You’ve made the right choice.

He lets you pull the hard mask away, eyes flickering to yours when you set it within his reach. You blink at him, just once, trying to convey that for all your differences and squabbles before, you’re his squad-mate, his medic, and you’re on his side.

Then you turn to the bleeding.

“Going to cut a bigger hole,” you warn.

You don’t know if he’s listening, if he cares, if he’d prefer you to be quiet. You do this for Gaz and Soap, and you’ll do it for him until he tells you otherwise.

The surgical scissors make a perfect, neat line through the fabric. Blood stains dirty blond hair beneath your gloves, flattening the curls. It’s a nasty wound, deep enough that it’ll need stitches. You tell him as much as you clean it, efficient without being rough. You don’t coddle your boys; they don’t need it. The kindest thing you can do is always to just get it over with.

As you numb his skin and prep the sutures, you begin explaining the care instructions. It’ll cut down the amount of time he’ll have to hang around after you’ve finished treatment.

You fall quiet as you start stitching him up, bottom lip between your teeth to focus on speed and accuracy. On your little rolling stool, you’re trying not to loom over his prone form. Plenty of soldiers have bad reactions to being leaned over like this, and you’d expect it from any of the 141.

Your hand is starting to cramp by the time you get to the sharp cheekbone where the injury ends, but it’s done – possibly in record time. As you sit back to check your work, you catch his eye. His gaze is so heavy that you’re shocked you didn’t feel its weight this whole time. There’s an odd glint to it, the calmest you’ve ever seen from him. Especially on your medical cot.

“All good, sir?” you ask.

“Affirmative.”

“The burn now.”

You don’t touch him, just direct his head at a good angle to treat his neck. You have to numb that too, see more of the tension drain from him when it takes effect. Christ, you hadn’t even noticed. He’s like a statue sometimes, bearing wounds that would have most other people in shambles.

“Burns are the worst,” you agree. “I hate getting them, hate treating them.”

“There anything you like treating?” he grumbles.

You hum. “Common cold. All you big boys get sleepy and nasally and pathetic.”

There’s a little puff of air that you recognize from comm banter with Soap – he’s amused. You’ve managed to get something like a laugh out of him. Buoyed by this, you proceed with the delicate process of treating melted fabric.

“Pathetic, eh? Tell Johnny you said that.”

“I already told him when he got sick,” you gloat. “He pouted. Might have a picture of it somewhere.”

When you chance to look away from your work, you catch his eye again, peering at you from his peripheral. You flash a grin – a little goofy from the high of a positive reaction – and then turn back.

“That legal?” he asks. “Pictures of patients.”

You arch an eyebrow, knowing he’ll see it. “Are you going to lecture me about GDPR, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Not if it doesn’t become my problem.”

You chuckle a little – heartened by your progress and by his unusual talkativeness. “Hasn’t yet,” you point out.

More likely to be Price’s problem, anyway. Probably.

He lets you fall silent again to concentrate. Despite the severity, the affected area is smaller than you initially thought. It’ll be painful and scar like hell, but no skin grafts are necessary. You report this with obvious relief – good news all around as far as you’re concerned.

When you’re finally done, you scoot your chair back and turn to his (heavily redacted) chart, scribbling out the diagnosis and treatment. As you’re signing your initials, he calls for you by last name, tugging your gaze up.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, already scanning him for other injuries.

“Need one more thing from you.”

You hum in question, folding his chart over. His hand comes up, still gloved.

And then he takes your cheek between thumb and forefinger. And pinches.

Your brain spits static, eyes going wide in shock and confusion. It takes you a beat to respond, and then only because his fingers tighten to the point it starts to ache.

“Ow, Lieutenant—” you complain, still too surprised to really snap, one eye closing to express discomfort.

He releases you, staring at the spot he just grabbed. It’s probably already turning red.

“Anyone ever tell you,” he drawls, slow and measuring, “how round your cheeks are?”

Now you’re red for a different reason. You rub at the skin and scrunch your nose, unsuccessfully telling yourself that you’re not pouting like you joked Soap did.

“No,” you huff, “because most people aren’t dumb enough to say that to their medic.”

Your brain still isn’t working right because there’s no way you’d be implying that Lieutenant Riley is dumb if it was. The most personable you two have gotten before now was him buying you a drink after a mission, but he’d been buying everyone else a drink at the time.

“Not afraid of you, Squeaks.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”

You’re hoping he’ll drop it, a little confused but also a little… flattered? It’s difficult to parse what you’re feeling when he’s still staring at you with those dark, glittering eyes. Not that you’re looking. No, definitely not. In fact, you are doing your damnedest not to look at his eyes. Or his face.

Which is why you notice him tugging his glove off. And then reaching for you – for your face – again.

“Hey—” you start, but he’s already squeezing, just before the point you’d fussed last time.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

… No.

“Want to know what you’re doin’,” you deflect, brows furrowing.

Why are you letting him do this? You shouldn’t let him do this. It’s not that it hurts. It’s just… principle. Military isn’t an especially touchy-feely cuddly career field. Soap and Gaz are fairly tactile, true, but not… like this. But, well, maybe you’ve missed it. This. Touches like this. Haven’t seen friends you’re close to in a long time, don’t have this kind of relationship with your family. Haven’t had a partner in… a depressingly long time, and even then, it always took a while to get to this level of casual intimacy – if you got there at all.

“Thought that was obvious,” the lieutenant replies.

The other hand, still gloved, finds your opposite cheek and pinches that one too. Your eyes are forced narrow as the skin is manipulated, bunched up. You make a noise in the back of your throat, tilting your head to accommodate.

“’S not,” you mumble. “Who are you, my auntie?”

“’M scarier than your auntie.”

You snort, edges of your mouth tugging up despite how he’s pulling your cheeks.

“Never met my auntie, then,” you giggle.

Noticing your grin, he lets one go, only to gently crush both in his ungloved hand. And god, it’s so big that he could span your jaw from middle finger to thumb. Instead, he smooshes your face until your mouth puckers. You must look like a fish – a dumbstruck, awkward fish.

“Sir,” you slur out. He squeezes a little tighter, cutting off your ability to speak. Good thing, probably; you’re not sure what you would have said next.

“Like a little stress ball you are,” he muses, almost to himself.

That does prompt a laugh from you, the absurdity of the entire situation making you a little light- headed. Here is your huge, terrifying lieutenant, practically more legend than man, squishing your cheeks like a particularly long-suffering but beloved pet. You, the team medic, the person who pokes and prods at them more often than not. The one person in the 141 that you always thought he barely tolerated.

“Next time I’m on the edge of tearin’ my hair out, I’ll just come to you for a squeeze.”

He emphasizes this with one last, extra scrunch that makes you humph in mild discomfort. But when he finally lets you go, you grin and shake your head, somehow more amused than annoyed or offended. It seems like you finally might be growing on your lieutenant. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

“Try it and you’ll lose a finger, sir,” you tease.

“Like to see you try it, Squeaks.”

Your mistake was thinking that Simon “Ghost” Riley makes idle threats. (Not that you think that he was threatening you; if he was you know you’d know it.)

He’s been out training recruits by himself – Gaz and Price on a mission, Soap laid up with a twisted knee – a task that already tends to irritate him. Add to that, the weather is fucking miserable. Hot as hell but also a little rainy, meaning that it’s humid as a swamp. Probably has been making his stitches and burn itch beneath the mask.

When he storms into the common room at the end of the day, you and Soap exchange looks. A lot of assassin-soldier to be barreling into a small room – and making a beeline straight for you.

“Uh, sir?” you yelp. Consider a tactical retreat, but even that brief deliberation is too long. He crowds you against the counter you were making tea at and grabs your face.

He still has his gloves on, rough and uncomfortable on your skin. You wrinkle your nose, try to pull back, but his grip is too tight, so you just submit yourself to whatever is happening.

Apparently, “de-stress” is happening.

His smooshes your face just like he had in the infirmary, and some of the tension in his shoulders drops. You blink as his grip relaxes, then tenses. And then again. And again. Again, again, again. It dawns on you that he’s literally treating your cheeks like his own personal stress ball.

You should be insulted. Outraged. You’re not a toy.

“All good, LT?” Soap ventures. Sounds like he’s defusing a bomb.

“Fine, Johnny,” Ghost replies, almost absently. “Long day.”

“Recruits bein’ idjets, then?”

“Fuckin’ muppets,” he agrees, less heated than he’d normally be.

Huh, you think. Is this… actually working?

You make eye contact with Johnny. He looks more blindsided than you, a bit like he’s witnessing your murder instead of being accosted by your strained lieutenant.

“Couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a map.”

He squeezes a little tighter as he says it, prompting a noise of protest from you. It doesn’t hurt yet, but your teeth are rubbing against soft tissue. He eases up again and meets your eyes, half-lidded and a touch warmer than you’re used to. The skin around his eyes eases bit by bit, and the line of his jaw beneath the balaclava looks relaxed.

You settle then, resting your weight back against the counter. Nothing untoward is happening, just Ghost being… honestly, a little weird. It’s a nice thought actually, that your big scary LT is a weirdo. The kind of weirdo that would rather squish his medic than a stress ball.

Makes sense in a way, with how he’s always covered up and keeping a safe distance (physically and emotionally) between himself and others. Probably touch starved. Not sure why he’s picked you, but you’re happy that he did.

After a few minutes you pat his wrist, a gentle double tap. Like sparring. He lets you go.

“I’m making tea if you’d like a cup?” you offer.

“Yeah, Sergeant. Earl Grey, left side of the cabinet.”

“Yessir.”

You can feel Soap squinting.

“Since when are you two so chummy, eh?” he asks.

“Since always,” Ghost replies as if Soap is an idiot.

With your back turned, he can’t see the grin that would surely give you away. “Yeah, Soap, where’ve you been?”

“Och, now you’re taking the piss.”

You hand Ghost his tea and sit down to let Soap rant.

It has become a habit. Ghost gets annoyed at recruits, paperwork, bad intel – your cheeks get squished like it’s a family reunion. He starts removing his gloves at least. Warm, calloused hands are much more comfortable than textured gloves. You’re starting to look forward to it, even.

It’s not a long process. He’ll come find you, smoosh up your face until you wrinkle your nose, and then continues with his day, shoulders looser than when he appeared. You usually complain, whine that you’re in the middle of something, that he didn’t even warn you, that his grip is too tight. But you never push him away or pull back. And he always honors your little tap-taps if you need to be freed before he’s ready to let go.

By this point, everyone on the team has seen it. Soap no longer brings it up, but sometimes informs you when Ghost appears with that Look about him. Gaz floundered the first time he saw it, stuttering and stumbling until Ghost told him to spit it out or shut up. Once after that, he asked if he could squeeze you for stress relief. You had to make Ghost let go from how tight his hand went. Gaz didn’t ask again.

Price, shockingly enough, takes in the situation, then settles you with a nonjudgmental look.

“Solid, Sergeant?”

“Yessir,” you manage around your pressed cheeks, adding a thumbs up.

“As you were, then.”

And that was that.

Of course, with jobs like yours, some days are more stressful than others. Some days are hell on Earth. This mission wasn’t quite that, but it did go to shit in a handbasket, and you’re ragged by the end of it. Gaz dislocated a shoulder, Soap is concussed. Price has a nasty road rash across one arm that he was a bit of an ass about tending – not that you’d say as much.

Even you are scuffed up. A hostile split your lip with a nasty jab that caught you off guard. (Ghost, right behind you at the time, stabbed the guy with vicious prejudice. You’re trying not to be flattered and trying not to think about what it means that you’re failing.) Besides that, you’re exhausted, dehydrated, and you’re pretty sure you hurt your back trying to stabilize Soap at some point.

Ghost is the only one that made it out unscathed as far as you can tell. You also know that that’s more likely to put him in a mood than if he’d suffered alongside you all. Cold and detached as he might seem, he doesn’t like seeing anyone in the 141 hurt on his watch.

You’re beside Soap, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the transport back to base, but you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you. You make eye contact across the aisle. His shoulders are tight, arms crossed, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s too disciplined to tap his foot or bounce his leg, but you know he would be if he was anyone else.

When you land, you send Soap to the infirmary for observation. Price decides on debrief after breakfast the next morning and slinks off to his office. Gaz follows after Soap to get painkillers and a sling. You shoot Ghost a long, tired look.

“Can’t be a stress ball today,” you tell him, “my mouth hurts.”

“I know.”

But still, he’s standing too close to you at the armory where you’ve returned your weapons. His shoulders are bent slightly towards you, hands twitching at his sides. In all honesty, you wish that you could do your usual destress routine – because as much as he seems to enjoy having something/someone to squeeze, you enjoy having to sit still for a few moments of physical contact just as much.

And after thinking Soap cracked his skull, Gaz lost his arm, your captain got skinned, you need to decompress. And you need to do it with Ghost, who saved each and every one of you today.

“C’mon,” you say and, taking a chance, grab his hand.

He hums in question, but allows you to lead, careful not to grip too tight. The bones there are too delicate, and you need them in working order as their medic. He can’t be so rough with them.

You practically drag him to the common room and put on the kettle. Understanding, Ghost preps the mugs and sachets of preferred tea. When the water is hot enough, you each make your tea, then tug him to the couch. You direct him into the corner – and it’s only then that you hesitate.

Instinct is to climb into his lap. He’s a big man and you want to be cradled, but you also suspect the weight and warmth of another body would be soothing to him too. Instead, you clamber up as close to him as you can get, wedging your shoulder against his rubs and encouraging his arm around you.

It seems like he hesitates for a moment too. This is the most contact you two have ever had, regardless of how close he usually stands when he’s squeezing your face. Right now, you’re pressed together all down one side, your thigh overlapping his a little. After a moment, though, he releases a long breath and curls his arm around you. His hand settles naturally on your hip.

It’s not long after that that the squeezing starts.

He's still got his gloves on and the skin on your hip is sensitive, usually hidden under layers of clothes, but you’re too snuggled in to disturb the arrangement now. Between the heat he radiates like a furnace, and your steaming tea, you’re quickly cozy and spaced out. The rhythm of his hand kneading plush flesh is soothing, something to drift back to while your mind goes blissfully blank of anything but safe, warm, comfy, quiet.

At some point, your mostly empty cup is plucked from your hand. You mumble a thank you and curl in closer, both legs over his lap now. His other hand rests on your lower thigh, just above your knee, and begins squeezing there too. Almost a massage, if not for the near-rough way he grips you.

“Like a cat,” you mumble, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Cat making biscuits.”

There’s a huff of air. You smile faintly and tilt your head away from the suddenly too-bright lights of the common room. Don’t even realize you’ve tucked into his neck until he rubs his jaw over the top of your head.

“’S nice,” you whisper.

He hums. You think it might be agreement. Must be, Ghost wouldn’t be entertaining this if he didn’t. It’s a reassuring thought to drift off with, knowing that no matter what you want, he’ll never do something just to be nice.

You wake the next morning horizontal, something too firm to be a pillow under your head. When you sit up a little, Ghost’s dark eyes are peering at you, heavy as usual, but not as sharp. His chest rumbles beneath your chin in greeting.

“Mine or yours?” you mumble.

“Mine.”

You hum, too sleepy to let the implications of such a big gesture make you anxious right now.

“You’re a bad pillow,” you say instead.

It’s a lie. He’s a wonderful pillow. Jacked as he is, all that muscle is so plush and cushiony when it’s relaxed like this. Helps, also, that he’s still so warm.

“Slept on me just fine,” he grunts. “Drooled a little, too.”

“Did not.”

“Explain the wet spot on my tits then.”

You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Lactating.”

“You’re a freak.”

“Stones in glass houses, sir.”

You close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the dark room and heat beneath you. The best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long while, honestly. Especially with so much of the team injured.

There’s a tug at your hair, gentler than you usually get from Ghost.

“Get the fuck up, Squeaks,” he gruffs without any heat. In fact, he sounds like he’d rather you didn’t. “Need to piss and eat.”

“At the same time?” you tease. You’d sound more scandalized if you weren’t still half asleep.

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

He rolls you onto the mattress and pushes himself up.

“Meet back here in fifteen. Fresh clothes, fresh face.”

“Gonna squish it?” you ask.

“Maybe later, see how the day goes.” He pinches one of your cheeks anyway. Still rougher than most people would be, but for him it’s downright tender. You try not to lean into it, not sure if you succeed. Don’t think either of you cares, really.

You lay there for another moment, listening to him bustle around his quarters, getting new clothes it sounds like.

“How copy, sergeant?”

“Solid, sir.”

“Fifteen.”

“Yessir.”

You haul yourself up and trudge out of his room for a shower. Gonna need all fifteen of those minutes.

Breakfast is a quiet but pleasant affair. Gaz is using his sling and sore as all hell, but in high spirits. Soap is exhausted from two-hour wakeups and the sensitivity the concussion has left him with. The painkillers are helping, and despite all that, he’s in a decent (if slightly subdued) mood.

You snatch up a couple of dry muffins and an orange juice for Price before heading to debrief, plopping it all on his desk when you enter his office. Your efforts are rewarded with a fond smile.

Gaz and Soap take the two single chairs, probably afraid of falling asleep on the couch. That’s where you and Ghost end up, you pressed up against the arm and him… right next to you.

Not that you’re complaining. His thigh pressed against yours is a nice comfort. Reminiscent of how he made you feel the night before. A reminder that he’s here, that he’s solid and safe while you all recount the mission from the day before. If Price is shocked by you two practically nested up together, he doesn’t show it.

Somewhere along the way, your hand reaches for something to fiddle with. You’re not as restless as Soap, but you like something to keep busy while you’re thinking or anxious. Usually you tear up the inside of your mouth biting your lips, but you don’t want to aggravate the healing split. Your fingers land on the pocket of Ghost’s cargos. The material is thick, the stitching an interesting texture, and the pockets have snaps that are quiet enough to play with during debrief.

Ghost lets you fidget in peace, only giving you a slight nod when you glance at him to check. His arm is resting along the couch behind you, and you can feel his fingers twisting into your loose hair. Fair exchange, you figure, and settle in.

There’s a brief call with Laswell to discuss next steps. You listen, but not closely. You’re just a medical sergeant after all. Your opinion is considered when offered, but you’re not much of a strategist or tactician. Mostly, you go where you're directed, do as you're told, and keep everyone in one piece as best you can.

When it’s over, Soap helps haul you off the couch while Ghost stands, clipping his thigh pocket closed again.

“Good to see you two getting along,” Price calls as you’re leaving.

You glance over your shoulder, catch the smirk on his face, and stick out your tongue. And then promptly bolt, lest you be reprimanded for insubordination. It’s a common threat in the 141; you’re not sure if anyone has actually been written up for it outside of a mission. You don’t want to be the one to find out, though.

Soap cackles at you, Gaz calls you chicken shit. Ghost ruffles your hair and steers you towards his office.

“Oi, where are you two off to?” Gaz asks.

“Paperwork,” Ghost replies shortly.

News to you, but sure. Some company would be nice while you fill out forms. That becomes mildly more difficult when he plops you into his lap, but you make do. Ghost keeps his office cold – all those layers, you figure – and the chair across from his desk is purposefully uncomfortable to discourage lingering. His broad thighs make a much better, warmer seat. The fact that he circles an arm around your waist, hugging you like a kid with a teddy bear is just a bonus. For all that, you’d figure out how to do reports on water.

You two should probably talk about this, or something. There are regulations or codes of conduct prohibiting this sort of behavior. Never mind that the interpersonal lines (the ones you actually care about) are starting to blur. But well, you don’t have a problem with all this, and you wouldn’t be breathing if he did. So, well, there’s not much to talk about, is there?

“Hey, LT?”

“Mm.”

You watch him sign the bottom of a report, his signature an efficient and jagged thing, somehow still elegant. Like watching him practice with his knives. He flexes his hand when it’s done. You two have been at it for a while now. He hasn’t said a word, but you know Ghost despises paperwork. You could both use a break.

“You ever seen Halloween?”

“The horror movie?” He pauses, thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“The next one is going to take place in the summer. Guess he’ll be Michael Perspires.”

He goes still behind you. “What.”

“He’s gotten a job as an electrician. Michael Wires.”

You keep your face forward and down, pretending to work, trying to swallow back hysterical giggles.

“Squeaks…”

“He’s into arson now as well. Michael Fires.”

His arm tightens around your waist. You wish you could see his face, but you know you’ll break if you look. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He didn’t tell the truth on his resume. Michael Liars.”

“If you make another shitty Michael Myers pun, I swear to god—”

“You don’t like them?” you ask, grin so wide it hurts. “I’m going to Michael Cry-ers.”

“God fucking dammit, Squeaks.”

You burst into laughter that is quickly cut short by his arm constricting like a snake. Even with your air supply diminished, wheezing a bit, you kick your feet in delight.

“G-Guess… guess you’re…” you struggle to get it out between the lack of oxygen and your giggles. “Guess you’re M-Michael Tires of this joke.”

“I’m going to make you regret breathing at our next sparring session.”

And oh, you believe him. Your LT doesn’t make idle threats. But you’re telling yourself that it’s so worth it this time. Soap is going to give you a fucking medal for this. You know, assuming Ghost doesn’t snipe you when you try to tell the story.

You’re still cackling, but it turns to squeals when you feel sharp pressure on your shoulder.

He’s biting you.

“L-LT!” you gasp, scrabbling to push at his forehead without dislodging his mask. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop!”

He growls, the sound burning through you, straight to the pit of your stomach. You choose to ignore that in exchange for the oddly ticklish sensation of him gnawing through your shirt.

Knowing by now that you won’t be free until he’s ready, you just try to sit still and not spur him on further. After a moment, he unlocks his jaw and speaks in your ear, voice low but unmistakably amused.

“Medic, stress ball, comedian, chew toy – anything you can’t do, Sergeant?” he snarks.

You scrunch your nose at this new designation. “I am not a chew toy.”

“Seem pretty chewy to me,” he muses, sinking his teeth in again. You bark out reactive laughter and squirm, but his hold hasn’t loosened a bit and you’re trapped against him.

“LT,” you complain like usual. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel his teeth dig in a little harder. Well, that’s new. You still don’t push him away, a not-so-small or secret part of you pleased by the idea of him leaving a bruise. It wouldn’t even be visible. Just something to remind you of the trust your lieutenant has in you, in the bond you two have formed, unorthodox as it is.

You hand him a bottle of water when he finally releases you, to sooth his undoubtedly dry mouth. There’s a wet patch on your shirt (and probably your underwear) but you ignore it to return to your reports. He seems a little less reluctant to join you now, pleasingly.

You’re not so sure about the “chew toy” thing, but you definitely seem to be an effective stress relief.

You’re having a great day. No one is injured, you’re caught up on paperwork. You pinned both Soap and Gaz during sparring earlier, earning a proud nod from Ghost and Price. There were pudding cups at lunch, and you’ve made plans with the rest of the team to watch a movie in the common room tonight. Even your antisocial LT agreed to come.

In fact, he’s the first one there when you arrive in the early evening. You chirp a hello, heading for the pantry for popcorn. Soap and Gaz can’t be trusted to make it without setting off the fire alarms.

Ghost hums in return, but he seems content to scroll on his phone, saving his energy for socializing. You don’t mind his silence, never do. Not like he can chat when he’s biting you like a teething puppy. And he has been. A lot. His new favorite form of stress relief, apparently, apart from squishing your cheeks like usual.

If there’s privacy for it, his teeth have been imprinting your arms, shoulders, even your hands in perfect pinpricked circles. He’s not any gentler about it than he is smooshing up your face, and a couple times now you’ve discovered bruises later on. You suspect that’s his aim, especially when he’s more aggravated than stressed. A way to release aggression without wasting bullets at the range or beating the stuffing out of someone in the ring.

You don’t mind, no matter how you complain aloud. It was a sudden step up in intimacy, but you like the feeling of his teeth on you. A way to get that soothing moment of forced stillness without losing the ability to speak, eat, or look around. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the mark either. Feels like a claim, one you’re not sure is actually being made – but you’re allowed to dream.

That said, Ghost is a bastard about it. If you thought he was pushy before, pinching your cheeks at inopportune times, the biting could almost be classified as a nuisance. Several times now, someone has walked into the common room to your forearm between Ghost’s jaws. You’ve lost count of how many conversations with Soap or Gaz have been interrupted by your lieutenant’s canines sinking into your shoulder or the meat of your thumb, tongue swiping excess saliva from bare skin.

You’re ruminating on this as your fellow sergeants filter in, joking and laughing about something stupid the recruits did earlier.

Ghost has hardly looked up from his phone, only jerks his head in acknowledgement when they greet him. His shoulders are loose; he’s relaxed. You know better than to mistake it for being unaware of the environment, but… well, if there were ever a time for payback…

You leave the popcorn to finish in the microwave and stroll over to the couch. To your delight, Ghost shuffles a little to make room for you, an obvious invitation to cuddle up. It’s almost enough to distract you from your mission. Almost.

You perch on the edge of the cushion, hook a thumb under the edge of his shirt. The break in routine draws his attention but doesn’t seem to raise any alarms. He flicks his gaze up from the screen to catch your eyes. You lock gazes, tug the fabric up just the tiniest sliver. Then dart down and blow a deafening raspberry into the toned skin of his stomach.

There’s a moment of dead silence. Then you scramble up and bolt, yelping when you hear the heavy thump of boots behind you.

“Squeaks, you little shit!” he snarls, Manchester accent thicker than usual. And he gives Soap shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you lie, revealed by your breathless giggles.

“I’ll make you sorry!”

You believe him.

You skitter around Price, calling a frantic “hi, sir” as you stumble to keep your footing. Ghost doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, solely focused on getting ahold of you. Your only saving grace is being able to take corners faster than him, but his long legs eat distance like nothing and it’s only two hallways later that you’re snatched right off your feet.

You squeal, not sure if it’s in terror or delight, as he hauls you up and over one broad shoulder.

“Ghost, wait no, I didn’t mean it!”

“Sure fucking seemed to,” he growls, manhandling a better grip on you.

You put up a bit of a struggle, but there's no question who would win even if you really did fight him. Instead, you press against his chest and arms, laughing as his fingertips dig roughly into your hips and thighs and waist.

“Earning your nickname today,” he mocks as he lugs you back to the common room.

When you arrive, Soap groans in dismay at your failure, Gaz taunts you for thinking you could get away with your stunt. Price just shakes his head, playing at exasperated but unable to hide his fondness. Ghost all but tosses you onto the couch and before you can scramble up, flops on top of you. All the breath is forced from your lungs with a little oof, feeling a bit like those animals that can flatten themselves to squeeze into small crevices.

“LT, I can’t breathe,” you whine. “You’re heavy.”

The cushions on the couch aren’t luxurious by any means, but they’re forgiving enough that you can, in fact, breathe. It’s just a little more difficult than usual. Not difficult enough to tap out, though. You like the weight of him on you.

“Should have thought about that before being a little shit.”

You grumble; don’t really have an argument for that but unwilling to cede the point.

“Oi, you two done?” Gaz calls. “I wanna watch the movie.”

Price snorts. Soap, angel that he is, offers you the bowl of popcorn.

“No one told you to wait, sergeant,” Ghost replies, bland.

“Yeah,” you second, muffled and admittedly pathetic sounding. “Takes you five minutes to figure out the sound anyway.”

“We all know you’re going to put the subtitles on, don’t know why the volume matters,” Soap chimes in.

“It’s only for the Captain’s sake,” Gaz defends.

“Now what are you implying, Garrick?” Price asks, silky and dangerous.

You snuggle in happily, enjoying the moment of peace and companionship. No shooting, no bleeding, no nightmares. Just the five of you, alive and healthy, enjoying this little family they’ve built and brought you into.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until the pressure is gone, Ghost wedging his arms between your lax body and the couch. It’s cold without him as a personal blanket, and you curl into his arms with a discontent noise.

“Atta girl, Squeaks. I got you,” he rumbles.

You crack an eye open to check on everyone else by instinct. Gaz and Soap are leaning on each other, lightly snoring. It looks like Price is about to rouse them as well, but he shoots you and Ghost an especially soft look.

“Taking this one to bed, sir.”

“Be good to our girl, Lieutenant,” Price nods.

“As good as she is to us,” Ghost agrees.

You’re half-sure that you’re dreaming, but you smile at them both before tucking in and falling asleep again.

The next morning starts in Ghost’s bed, a place you find yourself often enough now that you recognize it as quickly as your own. You’re all tangled up in each other, more than usual. There are fingers in your hair, scraping across your scalp. You could purr it feels so good, pressing your face into Ghost’s chest to let him get a new spot.

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie,” he teases.

“Seen it before.”

“Gaz is going to be cross.”

“He’ll understand – getting chased takes a lot of you.”

“Don’t make me chase you down, then.”

You snort. If you have any say in it, you’ll be instigating games like that much more. Something about the big scary Ghost dashing after you over a stupid little prank – and knowing that the worst you’ll get out of it is a forceful cuddle – is not the deterrent it should be.

Still, there’s a pattern to this little game of yours. You can’t admit that you enjoy the play.

“Not my fault you can’t take what you dish,” you reply, twisting to nip his chest through his shirt, as if to prove your point.

It’s sharper than you would be with anyone else. Ghost, though, hums low and rough in his throat.

“I’ve never done that bullshit you pulled last night,” he grumbles.

“Lack of imagination on your part.”

He huffs, pinches your cheek and chuckles when you whine in complaint, muttering that it’s too early for his shit.

“C’mon, Squeaks, up and at ‘em. Before Soap takes all the blueberry.”

“Yessir…” you groan.

Ghost has been away. Price sent him and Gaz off on a stealth assignment, something that Soap is less suited to. Not that he couldn’t do it if needed, but it’s more Gaz’s specialty, so Price sent him. Soap isn’t too bummed about it, though. He’s been wreaking havoc around base with you casually egging him on from the sidelines, feeding into his chaos without being directly involved.

Not that Price would see it that way if he caught wind. But he hasn’t, so you’re not in trouble yet.

You might be after this though.

One drink too many, Soap complaining that you always play it safe. And, to his credit, you do. He and Gaz are the troublemakers, you just like to watch and occasionally add your two cents to the explosive mix. Price has joked before that you’re the best behaved amongst the group, even over Ghost.

Not only are you the least experienced with combat, but you’re also the team medic. It often leaves you feeling like you have to maintain a certain level of decorum and responsibility alongside your officers. It’s no wonder that you try to stay on the straight and narrow – the occasional snippy comment aside.

But this is beyond anything you’ve dared.

Soap has had enough to point out the parlor down the street and dare you. You’ve had enough to be goaded into spitefully proving a point. If Gaz were here, he might be clever enough to dare Soap into something else to get him to back down. If Ghost were here, he’d scruff you both like unruly kittens and haul you back to base. If Price were here, you’d be running laps until you puke.

Instead, it’s just you and Soap. Ghost and Gaz aren’t due back for a week and half, Price is probably buried waist deep in paperwork as usual. And there’s no one to tell you not to.

And so Soap gets his nipples pierced and you get your tongue re-pierced, and you both wake up the next day a little hungover and a lot sore.

You consider taking it out but… well.

You kinda missed having it.

And you want to see how long it’ll take Ghost to notice if you use your discreet jewelry.

You give Soap painkillers for his nipples and promise to hook him up with a good jewelry store recommendation. Then you spend the rest of the day trying not to talk. The rest of the week, really. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. Soap is always happy to talk for the both of you.

By the time Gaz and Ghost return, it hardly hurts anymore. Still healing, yes, but it only aches in the mornings now. You fit the flat-topped, clear ring into the piercing and go to meet the boys on the tarmac.

They exit the aircraft together, Gaz chatting about something and Ghost humoring him in characteristic silence. When the latter sees you, though, he makes a beeline. You let out a surprised but pleased noise as you’re scooped up, mask wedging into the space beneath your jaw to press against your neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” you manage, squeezing his shoulders.

He grunts in reply. You shoot Gaz a questioning look.

“It was slow going,” he explains, “And the guys on the transport back were, uh, chatty.”

Ah. Set on your feet again, his gloved hands rise to squish your face like usual.

“Do the thing,” he gruffs.

You wrinkle your nose. Partially out of embarrassment, and partially because he’ll see the piercing if you’re not careful.

“That captain is—”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

You sigh. Then poke your tongue out as he smooshes your face further. He exhales like the first hit of nicotine for the day. You keep the jewelry hidden behind your teeth and are released a few seconds later.

“That’s the stuff,” he says.

“Christ, LT, don’t say it like that,” you complain.

Unsurprisingly, he ignores you, turning to Price.

“Debrief now?”

“If you and Gaz don’t need medical.”

They both shake their heads, and you make no secret that you’re pleased by this news.

As you head into the building, you find Ghost’s finger hooked into your belt loop, tugging you along to Price’s office. You don’t mention it, only arch an eyebrow when you catch his eye.

At the door, Price pauses, giving Ghost a long, exasperated look.

“You know she’s not actually a service animal, son?”

“The intel isn’t confidential.”

Price sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Suppose not. Get the fuck in, then, Squeaks.”

You get the fuck in.

As usual, Ghost stands, and you’re obliged to stand with him. In front of him, actually, his chin settling on top of your head while his hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscle. You tune out most of the conversation, only here for Ghost’s sake, apparently.

Not that you mind. There’s a large, loud part of you that is glowing with the knowledge that he missed you so much.

When it’s over, he doesn’t even bother to stop at the mess hall. He picks you straight up and strides off to his quarters. You complain that he needs to eat, or at least drink water, but he doesn’t even deign your fussing with a response.

He closes and locks the door when you’re both inside, then tosses you on the bed. It smells overwhelmingly of him: metal, gunpowder, standard issue detergent, and something spicy. It’s a scent you’ve become intimately familiar with – could get addicted to, if you let yourself.

You settle in amongst the crisp sheets and thin pillows, Ghost sheds his tac gear like a second skin. When he’s down to his undershirt and boxers, barefoot on the cold ground, you open your arms.

He climbs over you as you giggle, then unapologetically drops all his weight. You make your usual little oof sound, suspecting that he likes it, and tilt your head so he can press his face (without the skull mask) into your shoulder.

“So how was it actually?” you ask.

“Gaz was antsy the whole time. Said he sensed you and Soap up to something without him.”

You snort, relieved that he can’t see the damning expression on your face right now.

“There isn’t anything to get up to when he’s not here causing it,” you lie.

“Don’t put anything past Soap, the crafty cunt.”

You grin, patting your hands lightly over his shoulder blades. “Nice alliteration.”

He hums, slowly going boneless beneath your rhythmless tapping.

“Mask,” he mutters.

It takes you a second to realize what he wants.

“You’re asking me to pull it up so you can bite me?” you scoff.

“Telling, not asking,” he grumbles.

“Oh for the love of…”

You do it anyway. It’s not long before you feel his teeth, always sharper than you expect, latch onto the base of your neck. You tilt your chin back to give him comfortable access, staring up at the ceiling. How often does he sit here after nightmares, staring at it? Does he do it even when you sleepover, clinging onto him like a koala?

You lay like that for a while, fingers finding the fine blond hair peeking out from his rolled balaclava and scritching. One of his hands wedges beneath himself to find your hip, squeezing you tight enough that his nails scrape across your pants.

“So what did you two get up to?” he asks, detaching eventually.

Your neck is aching pleasantly, mind drifting in peace, and you don’t realize what he’s asking at first.

“What?” you ask.

You try to suppress a shiver as his tongue drags over the saliva he left on your neck. This is a normal part of the process, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the pleasure it sends down your spine.

“You and Soap,” he clarifies. “What did you do?”

“It was mostly Soap,” you deflect, forgoing any attempt at innocence.

He snorts. “My problem?”

You consider, humming. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

You shrug. “Don’t leave me unattended if you don’t want paperwork.”

He nips sharply at the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t want to. Price said you don’t have enough experience if things went to shit.”

You don’t know how to feel that Ghost would have preferred you on a mission with him. Even over Soap? You know he’s fond of you, but you didn’t realize it was enough to have you partnered with him on missions. It makes your chest warm and fluttery. The bastard.

“He’s right,” you say instead of something unforgivably sentimental.

“Imagine he’ll overlook that when he finds out about your body candy.”

You squeak, eyes closing in regret. Well, it was a nice life while it lasted.

“That fast?” you ask.

“Saw it as soon as you opened that pretty mouth,” he answers.

“It’s clear!”

“Thought I wouldn’t see a piece of plastic in your mouth, sergeant?”

You sigh, barely even noticing the bite he leaves on your collarbone. When he pushes his chest up to look at you, he’s half-lidded, almost lazy looking. But the corner of his mouth quirks up, just that slightest bit you’ve become hypervigilant of. Your hands slide from his shoulders and curl into the front of his shirt.

“How much trouble am I in?” you venture.

“A world of it,” he replies, voice pitching low and rough in a way that’s just not fair.

“Soap did worse,” you complain, not above throwing him under the bus. This is his fault anyway.

“Don’t care what Soap did. Care that you tried to hide it from me.”

He catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, gives it a little shake like a reprimand.

“Wasn’t hiding it,” you argue. “At least not from you. Would have told you by the end of the week if you hadn’t noticed.”

And you really would have. If Price hadn’t been present on the tarmac, you had half a mind to show it off immediately, excited to be breaking the rules.

Ghost hums, eyes roving your face – apparently to determine the truth of your confession.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warns.

But you know that tone of voice by now. You’re not off the hook yet.

“…Want me to take it out?” you try.

His eyes go from dark to pitch black. “No.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Want… to see it?”

He hums. Not quite confirmation, but close enough. You don’t even think before dropping your jaw, tongue rolling out over your bottom lip. He let out a short, hard breath. You see his jaw twitch.

Then he shifts.

His thumb lands on your tongue, much farther back than you expect but you don’t flinch. He draws a line down the center to the flat top of your piercing and then presses down. You make a protesting noise, a warning because it’s still new and still sore. He doesn’t let up but doesn’t push any harder.

“Squeaks.”

You flutter your eyes open (when did they close?) and meet his eyes. They nearly absorb all the light in the room, twin blackholes drawing you in, inescapable and immutable. There’s a hunger lurking within, one you realize with a jolt you’ve been seeing for a long time now.

Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him run his tongue along his own teeth – pearly white and perfectly straight. Then he ducks down and licks over your piercing, first in neat sweeps, and then in tight little circles around its circumference.

Trapped beneath him and mouth open, you can’t swallow back the whine that peels from your throat. You’d be embarrassed about it; except the noise you make when he stops is so much worse.

“Taste good,” he rumbles.

“This another stress thing?” you ask, dizzy and flushed.

He smirks, chuckles deep in his chest. “If it is, will you let me do it whenever I want?”

You nod, thoughts blurring at the edges. His smirk widens, but he obliges when you tug at his shirt, wanting him close, wanting him to do it again.

It takes a long time for it to evolve into an actual kiss. He spends what feels like a small eternity flicking his tongue over your piercing, around it. It’s an unusual sensation, not quite ticklish, but decadent and erotic. At some point, quiet little noises start spilling from your throat and don’t stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing down when the pitch goes higher – or maybe you pitch higher because he’s closer?

Eventually your jaw tires from hanging open, tongue aching at the stretch. You retract back into your own mouth, but Ghost chases after. It’s like he forgot about actual kissing until that moment. And then he has something new to amuse himself with. His tongue explores your lips, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. He drags his sharp teeth over your bottom lip, growls when you return the favor in retaliation for the sting.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “my medic.”

You hum, reciprocate the thorough exploration he just gave you. He tastes a little metallic, but mostly he tastes like Ghost, like Simon, and it’s addicting.

“Think it’s a stress thing for me too,” you murmur when you pull away for air.

“Yeah?” He trails his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping. “Anxious while I was gone?”

You nod. You always worry about the boys when they’re away, when you’re not there for a worst-case scenario. But you thought about your lieutenant especially, wondering at his mood, at his feelings, without your usual daily interactions. His absence left you feeling twitchy, a little unmoored. You wonder – hope – if he felt the same.

“Take what you need, then,” he whispers. “Don’t mind returning the favor.”

You sink your nails into his shoulders, rake them down his back and sides, treating him like a scratching post. He shivers, puffs out a hot breath by your ear. Your mouth finds that strong, sharp jaw and latches on, sucking and biting, worrying the skin until you pull away to a dark bruise.

“Go on,” he urges.

You do, making a trail down his neck, then across. Tug at his shirt when it gets in the way. He leans back to pull it over his head. You nearly tackle him, mapping out the swell of hard muscles, licking over the angry lines you clawed into him.

“Easy now, precious,” he purrs. “No rush.”

You make a disagreeing noise, lips never leaving his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, petting and holding, not guiding. His other drifts down to your ass and grips like a vice. It hurts a little; it feels so fucking good. There will be bruises for days.

When your nails scratch across his hip, he bucks, fingers spasming against your scalp.

“Careful,” he growls. “Asking for something you might not be ready for.”

You hum. “Maybe,” you agree honestly. “I’ve never…”

He goes rigid. Worried, you glance up. His bare chest (marked up by your hands and mouth) is heaving. His jaw is slack, lips wet. You can’t distinguish between pupil and iris anymore.

“You swear?” he asks, rough. “You’ve never fucked anyone before?”

“No,” you say, not embarrassed, not with him. “Got close, but never managed it. Things always got in the way. Used to be a joke with my friends, that I was cursed.”

A fire alarm, an oblivious roommate, police knocking on the door, the roof falling in, once.

“You have experience,” he asserts.

“Definitely.” You quirk a wicked smile his way. “Plenty of practice with my mouth…”

He shudders, tilting your head to a vulnerable angle, neck exposed.

“And my hands,” you add, gasping.

“You keep pushing, pet…” he rumbles.

You whine. “Want to, with you. Want it to be you, Simon.”

His lips crash into yours, messy and filthy, licking all the needy sounds from your mouth.

“Strip, sergeant. Now.”

You scramble to obey, wiggling out of your clothes as quickly as you can while still half under him.

“Always so good for me,” he hums. “Always follow my orders, my good little sergeant.”

“Yours,” you breathe against his mouth.

The last scrap of clothing is barely off when he pounces, hand flattening on your stomach and pressing you down into the mattress. It nearly knocks the wind out of you, the force of it, pinning you. His eyes hungrily lock on your chest, on the smooth and unmarked skin of your breasts.

If you wanted to protest, you don’t get the chance to. He descends on you like a starving man, all teeth and tongue, practically mauling you. You squirm, not sure where you want to go, just that it’s a lot of sensation all at once. He captures a perked nipple between his lips and sucks until you keen, knee bumping his flank like you want to kick him off.

He slots his hips between yours, presses up tight to trap you further. His free hand grasps at your other breast. Kneading roughly, then twisting and plucking at the rosy nipple until you’re crying out, nearly thrashing. When he’s satisfied, he switches his hand and mouth, spinning you up and up until your breasts are aching and the best kind of sore. He finally pulls off with a lewd pop, mouth slick, rosettes left all over you in his wake.

“Trying to kill me,” you pant.

He smirks, drops one last soothing kiss on your sternum. Then extricates himself to remove the last of his own clothing. His dick springs free from his waistband, slapping obscenely against his stomach. You freeze when the dim light glints off bits of metal.

“Is that…?”

“Come find out.”

You scoot to the edge of the bed and brush your fingertips over the hypnotizing ladder of studs along the shaft. Which, now that you’re closer and your hand is there for scale, is huge. Like, almost pornographic. You didn’t know that existed outside of raunchy media. That’s been under you, snuggled up to you, beneath your ass – for months now.

“Oh my god, Simon,” you gulp. “Is that going to…?”

“It will if you can be patient for me.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes never leaving the glittering silver row. You trust him. As rough as he can be, he’s never hurt you. Not in any way you didn’t crave.

His hand catches your chin again, tips your gaze back to his. “Another time, lovely. Give your tongue a break.”

You whine but sit back on your haunches, hands planted between your knees. “Then hurry up.”

His thumb caresses your jaw, presses in warning. “Patient, I said.”

“I’ve been patient,” you argue. “Gimme.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of him. He plants a hand on your shoulder and shoves. You land on your back again, stretch your legs to hang over the side of the bed. He lowers to his knees between them, thick thighs flexing. His hands slide under your hips and drag until your thighs are over his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Simon.”

“That’s it, lovely,” he coos, teeth grazing your hip. “Just lay there saying my name. Let me play with my toy.”

You’re so wet that you can feel it all over your inner thighs, would be embarrassed if not for the absolutely feral noise he makes at the sight.

“Made a mess.” He draws his tongue up your thigh, sucks at the junction where it meets your hip, loud in the quiet room. “You always like this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you’ve gone back to your room just to change panties.

“That’s my girl.”

He spends an agonizing amount of time licking, biting, and sucking your thighs. Your pleading and whining is met with indifference or absent chuckles. The need has long since tipped over into desperation, muscles twitching with little sparks of pleasure at every graze of teeth and sharp suck.

You’re already both understimulated and overstimulated when he clamps down especially hard, think he’s broken skin for a moment. Frustrated tears have been dancing at the edges of your vision for a while now and they spill over at the blissful burn that shoots through your leg.

“Simon, Simon, please,” you sob, “please, want it. Please, just—”

He shushes you, soothing the hurt with his tongue until your babbling trails off into little sniffles.

“How copy?” he hushes.

“S-Solid,” you answer. “Just a lot.”

“Tactical retreat?”

“No.” You take a shuddering breath. “No, please. Want to keep going, sir.”

His breath is also unsteady as it brushes over your sensitive skin. “Alright, precious. Tap out if you need.”

You snake a hand down the bed and find his wrist, digging your nails in as you squeeze. A promise to honor his command.

He groans low in his throat, eyes smoldering as he looks up your heaving body.

“Pretty when you cry,” he rasps. “Will you do it more if I play with your needy clit?”

“N-no,” you lie.

He calls your bluff, pressing his mouth to your pussy and making a long, slow pass up your slit. You shake and whimper high-pitched, almost hurt sounding. He swirls the tip over your throbbing clit, sucks gently every few passes. You press your eyes shut, too gone to try to stop the reactionary tears any other way.

It’s a quirk of sex you’ve always had. Not prone to crying emotionally or from pain, but when the arousal or pleasure gets too intense, your eyes water like rivers. Some partners have found it off-putting, but the louder you wail and hiccup and cry, the more eager Simon gets. Like he’s got a direct line to heaven’s choir with his tongue.

You’re gripping his wrist so tight that you must be close to drawing blood, but he doesn’t do more than flex his fingers on your ass. Keeps you right there against his mouth, so that all you can do is take exactly what he gives you.

He seals his lips over your clit again, rubbing his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves as he sucks. It gets you to the edge so fast that you’re seeing stars, nearly kicking him.

“Close,” you pant.

He eases up just that little bit to keep you from tipping into orgasm. You’re devastated. Afresh wave of tears drip down your temples to the sound of pathetic, helpless moans. Blessedly, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps you right there as he slides a hand from your ass to your cunt.

Just one of his fingers is thicker than any of yours; sliding two into your dripping hole almost hurdles you into ecstasy. He pulls his mouth away as you clench around them, trickling down his wrist.

“So tight. Didn’t you ever get off to the thought of me?”

“All the f-fucking time,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

You nod, tongue laving over your bottom lip. “My hands just… yours are bigger.”

He chuckles. “No cute little toys to help you out?”

“Like to imagine it’s you,” you ramble, shame long gone. “Easier without a vibe.”

“Fuck.”

He dives down to your clit again, tongue almost cruel as it tortures you with quick, rough strokes. You might scream; you don’t care if you do. His fingers curl to pet your walls, find that spot as if he had his sniper scope on it. You thrash as he strokes you, steady and unrelenting. He sucks one last time and you’re gone, coming so hard that your fingertips go numb.

You’re definitely screaming now; his name, specifically. He growls against your pussy, the vibration only prolonging that pleasure, writhing on his hand. You swallow air like you’re suffocating, Simon filling every part of you, drenching your senses. He’s all you know right now, your heart beating to his name.

And he doesn’t stop.

“S-Simon, what are – t-too much. It’s too much, it’s too—” His pins your hips down as he fits a third finger inside you, finger-fucking you so hard that the slick sounds almost drown out your sobs. You’re overstimulated, riding the edge of pain in your pleasure, lower back tight and hot.

But you don’t tap out, just fist the sheets hard enough to pop the seams.

Simon is single-minded, insistent, demanding. It’s a quality you’ve always admired in the field, and right now it’s pulling you apart piece by shivering piece.

“Simon, I-I’m gonna – I can’t…” You shake your head, crying freely and loudly, whimpering as much as you’re moaning.

He presses one of your thighs towards your chest, fingertips digging harsh into muscle. The shift gives him better access to that thrumming knot of nerves inside you. He presses against it hard and incessant as his tongue flicks repeatedly over your abused clit. Your second orgasm drowns you in waves, hips rolling, not sure if you want to get away or get more.

Simon strokes you through it until you subside into pathetic, shuddering noises, pushing weakly at him, pleading for mercy. When he pulls away, slick is dripping down his chin to his neck. The bottom edge of his balaclava is dark where it’s bunched over his nose. He surges up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You stay that way for a while, letting him coax your breathing into something like normal again. A task made more difficult whenever his fingers tease your tender nipples, preoccupied with how your lungs hitch and your body jolts.

Eventually, your mouth strays to clean him up, licking yourself from his jaw and chin, messy but earnest. He captures your mouth again when you’re done, sucking your tongue like he wants to get every last drop. You shake at the thought, almost horrified to realize you’re still ridiculously horny.

He must see something in your face because he smirks a little. “Playtime’s not over, don’t worry.”

His fingertips trace over your pussy, not dipping in far, but the threat of it triggers a new batch of whimpers and tears. He cocks his head at the sight, almost curious, then leans down and follows their paths with his tongue.

A hum, low and pleased, thunders in the heady sliver of air between you. Against your hip, you feel his cock twitch, hot enough to brand.

“Taste good everywhere,” he muses, tongue still lapping at your tears.

“God, Simon,” you keen, squeezing your glassy eyes shut.

“Want you to do it again,” he murmurs. “Cry for me so I can taste how good I make you feel.”

You moan, pussy clenching, feeling horribly empty. The teeth in your neck are an almost welcome reprieve from the overwhelming pleasure, grounding as they bruise delicate skin.

“Want to see you crying on my cock, lovely. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, reaching for him. Curl your arms around his shoulders, wrap your legs around his waist. He shushes you again, cooing when you hide your wet face against his neck. He supports your unsteady body with unfaltering strength; lets you cling as he rearranges you in his lap.

You can feel his cock beneath you, rock hard, the Jacob’s ladder teasing against your pussy. It distracts you a bit, foggy mind obsessing over how it’ll feel inside you, especially now that you’ve come twice.

His hand pats your ass. “Eyes up, doll.”

You emerge from your hiding spot only to stare, wide-eyed and awed, at his bare face. There are scars everywhere, just like the rest of his body, of varying color and size and healing histories. One on his temple, just clipping his cheek, catches your attention. It’s one of the better-healed scars.

You press a gentle kiss, flick your tongue along it. His hands spasm on your hips, but don’t tug you away.

“Handsome,” you sigh, then nip the same spot you just kissed.

You can feel his smile, a small but precious thing, against your cheek. “Can’t even fucking see straight right now.”

“Not that far gone,” you scoff, scritching your nails along his stubbled jaw. You could purr at the way he leans into it.

“Have to fix that, then.”

You prop yourself up with your other hand on his chest. His heart is beating beneath your palm, a little fast, but steady and strong. You adore it instantly.

You make eye contact, the hand on his face drifting to his cheek. Then you stretch to get the other… and squish. Just like he’s done to you countless times.

“Yes,” you agree.

That finally coaxes a proper chuckle out of him, bass deep and a little rough with disuse, but music to your ears. You let his cheeks go, nipping the little red marks your grip leaves behind.

“C’mon, Si,” you whisper. “Want your dick in me.”

And finally, it seems he’s run out of interest in teasing.

You lean your shoulders against him, letting him take most of your weight between his chest and the arm angling your hips. His other hand steadies his cock, drags the flushed, leaking head against your sopping entrance.

He lowers you slowly, encouraging you to dig your nails into his shoulders, draw them down his arms. Even stretched and two orgasms in, he’s big. It’s testing your limits, not quite pain, stinging in a way that makes your mouth water.

And your eyes.

The tears are back and streaming down your hot cheeks. When Simon notices, you feel his cock throb. You choke on a noise, mouth falling slack as he licks at them like a thirsting man in the desert.

“Didn’t take long,” he teases, a little mean. You love it.

“S-sensitive,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his.

“I know, pet,” he croons. “The head’s almost in.”

Just the head. Christ.

The pleasure keeps racking you and so do quiet little cries, your walls clutching every raw centimeter of his cock like he was built just for you. (Or the other way around, a depraved part of you whispers.)

He’s steady and patient as he fills you, keeping your mouth busy with claiming kisses when he’s not drinking up your tears. At the first rung of the Jacob’s ladder, you squeak and have to be held down, gone on how it stretches your poor entrance and grinds against your abused walls.

Each one after that garners a similar reaction, driving you insane as they press against you.

“Can feel your fucking heartbeat,” he groans at one point.

You moan, raking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The blond strands are dark and messy, getting messier as you play with them. He grunts and his eyelids flutter every time you tug.

By the time he’s fully inside you, your ass resting on his tense thighs, you’re panting and trembling. He sweeps a hand up your arched spine and curls his fingers around the back of your neck. You lean into his hold, go lax as he guides you through a decadent, devouring kiss.

“There we are, lovely,” he soothes while you whimper. “Hurt?”

“A little…” you gasp, clenching helplessly around the base of him.

“Good,” he growls, teeth on your shoulder.

You moan, falling limp in his arms. He rumbles a pleased hum, squeezing at your hips and ass and thighs in that way you recognize.

“Stressed?” you ask, confused.

He snorts. “I don’t need a reason to play with what’s mine.”

You suck in a breath, the casual (and true) claim making your head spin.

“Relax, pet,” he murmurs. “Just get used to me inside you.”

You mewl, high and soft in your throat. He tilts his head to speak in your ear.

“Your pussy is going to remember the shape of me by the end of this.”

And your lieutenant doesn’t make idle threats.

He guides your head down to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. The lewdest hug you’ve ever received. If not for the fat cock stretching you, it would be calming.

“Good girl, that’s it,” he hums, drawing idle patterns along your spine. “Just drift. It’ll be a bit before you can handle a proper fucking.”

He’s so deep and big inside you that you believe it, but a nagging part reminds you of the uneven score.

“What about you?”

He presses an unusually gentle kiss to your temple, though it’s balanced by the tight squeeze to the back of your neck.

“Don’t you worry about me, precious,” he chuckles. “You’ll keep me nice and warm until you’re ready.”

You swallow thickly, can’t help how you flutter around him. It’s a delicious thought, just sitting here with him filling you up for an indefinite period of time, until he decides you can handle how he’s going to fuck you.

“Like that do you?” he muses, too dark to be truly amused. “Like being my personal cocksleeve?”

“’M not,” you mumble, feeling a new sting of tears.

He tuts. “You’re my toy every other way. No point pretending now.”

You whimper into his neck, bite in retaliation but don’t deny it. Well past the point of anything like plausible deniability.

“No more fussing, pet. Be good for me now.”

And you are, settling in with your mouth brushing absent kisses to his marked collarbones. His hands never stop stroking your skin, lulling you into empty-headed bliss. The full feeling of his cock never dissipates, but you become less aware of it, internal muscles accommodating the stretch. You don’t even realize you’ve slipped into a doze, breaths going deep and even, safely cradled in your lieutenant’s arms.

When you wake, watery early-morning light is leaking past the blackout curtains. One of your hips is stiff from sleeping bunched up, but that’s not what calls your immediate attention. No, it’s the absolute puddle that Simon is coaxing from your stuffed hole with his thumb on your clit. He’s hard inside of you again – or maybe he never got soft in the first place.

“Mornin’,” he rasps when he sees you peeking your head up. Calm as you please. Like his cockhead isn’t kissing your cervix right now.

“You bastard,” you wheeze, sinking a mean bite into his shoulder.

“Grumpy thing,” he teases. “Forgot how sulky you are before coffee.”

You grumble incomprehensibly for a moment. Can’t believe he put you to sleep on his cock. More than a little miffed that you didn’t receive the proper fucking you earned yesterday. That you’ve woken up raring to go already, want his cum in your stomach more than breakfast.

“You actually plan on doing anything?” you demand. “Or we going to the mess like this? Risky to have hot tea that close to your balls.”

His laugh is like honey, rich and syrupy. Liquid sunshine when you kiss it from his mouth.

“Remember who’s in charge here, pet,” he warns.

You tilt your head in question, arching an eyebrow.

“You,” he continues, surprising you. Then he keeps talking. “So if you keep acting like a brat, I’ll have to treat you like one.”

You shiver. It should be illegal to be so salacious this early in the morning. To your delight, he allows you to wiggle a little, testing the feeling of his cock inside you. It’s absolutely divine.

“Or, counterpoint,” you say, daring to be cheeky when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’d burn the world just to keep you warm for a night. “I was very good yesterday and deserve a reward.”

“That so, sergeant?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you chirp. Duck down to bribe him with kisses and nips along his jaw and neck, stubble prickling your bruised tongue. “I’ll even ask nicely.”

He groans, low and rough in his chest. “Yeah?”

You yelp as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, dragging your head back. His teeth scrape over the stuttering pulse in your throat, where there’s a sensitive spot that makes you squirm. His other hand sneaks to your breasts, tweaking a nipple still sore from his treatment the night before.

“Show me how nice you can ask then.”

And, well, not backing down from a challenge is what got you here in the first place.

You straighten up as best you can – have to take a moment when his cock grinds just right inside you – and arch your back. Your nails score lines down his chest, just this side of rough, knowing it’ll work better than any soft petting. Paired with nibbling kisses to the spot beneath his ear, you can already feel the rumble building in his chest.

“Simon, please,” you breathe, “I need you. Need it to be you.”

“Need what, lovely?” he husks.

“Need it to be you that fucks me.” You dare to rock your hips, pleased and distracted that he lets you. His fingers spread your ass wider over his lap. “Need you to break me in. Please?”

Sniper he may be, but his patience must already be gossamer thin from holding back last night and crammed inside your pussy until morning. He snaps at your crooning pleas, rolling you onto your back and grinding into you as deep as he can get.

There have been times in the field that you’ve stared as Simon operates his rifle. It’s his piece, modified and maintained in pristine condition. You’ve watched his clever fingers put it together, dismantle it, clean it, handle it with a deadly competence and precision that you envied. Not him, but the rifle. Probably something wrong with you, that you want to be an instrument, a tool, in your lieutenant’s capable hands, built up and broken apart at his whim.

Now, though… now you know. You’ve got confirmation that it’s everything you imagined and better, his scarred hands on you like he owns you, like you’re his to figure out. You want to be, you are, and you babble as much when he draws his hips back and snaps them forward.

There’s nothing testing or careful about it. Simon knows you’re not fragile, spent all night making sure you could take him exactly the way he wants you. You’ve never wanted him to hold back, don’t want him to now. Crave the way his control seems to slip when it’s you, your body, your voice egging him on.

He rolls his hips every time he bottoms out; his piercings grind deliciously against your twitching entrance with every thrust. You bury your fingers in his hair, tug when he pulls out as if he’s going to leave you empty and wanting. He grunts against your neck, teeth ravenous over skin that already bears their imprint.

It feels like freefall with no parachute, like getting caught in a perfect white-hot explosion. The force of him makes the bed creak, would shove you up the mattress if not for the tight grip on your thighs. His arm loops under the small of your back and angles your hips up.

“Mine,” he growls into your shoulder. “All fucking mine. My sergeant. My medic. My pretty toy.”

You can’t string together more than broken syllables, little noises forced out every time he drives home. He’s not looking for a verbal response though; your body is already singing its agreement, clamping down on his cock like you can’t stand any millimeter not inside you. You’re rocking with him as best you can, knee hitched up by his ribs, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“I’m right here, doll. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Then, almost to himself. “No, not letting you out of my sight ever fucking again. Going to keep you right by my side, within reach.”

You cry out, ridiculously turned on by promises he can’t possibly keep. It’s not the nature of the job, but the fact that that’s what he wants…

“Go fucking crazy when I can’t see you,” he pants, “touch you. Was goin’ fuckin’ batshit all week. Gaz wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Just wanted to get my hands on you. My teeth in you.”

There’s an earnest, desperate edge to his words. Sounds like a sinner praying for salvation, like he’s begging some cruel god for relief. Or, more likely for your lieutenant, threatening to take that god’s place.

You’d worship Simon if he did. Practically do already. Would spread yourself out on his altar and let him devour you mind, body, and soul just to appease his appetite.

“Simon, please,” you cry, head tilting back, bearing your throat. “I’m yours. Your medic, your sergeant, your toy.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s right, love. All mine.”

He pushes himself up, pressing his hand to the wall over your head. It’s gorgeous, the play of muscle and sinew in his arm. A fucking masterpiece of a man, beautiful and dangerous and right now, all fucking yours too.

The new leverage lets him slam into you faster and harder, frantic now. You have to brace your arms above your head to keep from knocking into the wall, pushing back to meet him thrust for brutal thrust. Could swear you feel him in your guts.

“C’mon, love, let me see those pretty tears.”

His hand slides over your thigh to your clit, thumb rubbing vicious little circles over the nerves. It gives him what he wants instantly, you’re near screaming as you cry. It’s rough and ruthless and has you so close to the edge that you’re almost jolting away.

“Lemme cum,” you beg, “Please, please, Simon, want to cum on your cock. So close…”

His grin is more just a bearing of teeth, eyes glittering in the shadows above you. “Cum for me, precious.”

It doesn’t take much more than that, always eager to please your lieutenant. His hips and finger sync up at just the right moment, just the right way, and you’re gushing over his cock, voice breaking. Your nails scrape the wall as you curl our hands into fists, bucking as he fucks you through it.

You’re not surprised when he doesn’t even slow down, though you reach to push his hand off your screaming clit. His hand darts from the wall to capture your wrists, pinning them over your head. The punishing rhythm of his hips doesn’t even falter, bullying that spot inside you relentlessly.

“I didn’t say you could fucking stop,” he snarls.

You whine and struggle, but that just makes you tighter, makes him rougher, makes it better. You’re not even sure if the cresting sensation is pleasure anymore, if it’s another orgasm or your body reaching max capacity. It’s just whiteout intense and you can do nothing but lay there writhing.

“Gonna cum in you,” he moans, head dropping. “Gonna leave my mark inside you too.”

You contract around him helplessly, his thrusts getting messier, plunging into you at a dizzying speed. Not even sure if you’re making noise anymore, or just sucking in air when you can get it. His fingers flex around your wrists, tight and unforgiving.

And then there's a burst of heat as he moans, sounding gutting. He fucks you through his own orgasm before finally slowing, and then stopping buried deep inside you. His thumb eases off your abused clit, hand landing on the bed beside your hip. Your leg flops down to the mattress, stretched out and still twitchy.

“How copy, sergeant?” he rasps.

“Solid, LT,” you wheeze. “You?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

That startles a little giggle out of you, grinning up at him fucked-out and high on afterglow. His returning smile, small and disused as it is, is better than all the orgasms you’ve had in the last twelve hours.

“Gonna pull out now,” he warns. “Brace.”

Even prepared, you still yelp, beyond sensitive and cored without him inside you. The feeling is only exacerbated by the warm cum you can feel dripping down your ass from your used hole.

“Look at that…” he drawls appreciatively, tilting his head for a good look. “There any part of you that ain’t pretty?”

You groan and cover your overheated face, knock your shin into his hip. But you leave your legs open.

“Shut up, Simon.”

“Insubordinate.”

“Fraternizer.”

“Mm. Gonna report me to Price?”

“Only if you report me.”

“Mutually assured destruction then.”

Your mouth is still hidden under your hands, but you know he can see your body shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Or you could help me clean up, take a nap, and we’ll negotiate terms for a ceasefire.”

He chuckles. “Should have you on a diplomatic envoy, Squeaks. Have the rest of us out of a job. No wars, no soldiers.”

You shake your head, dropping your arms to card through his hair. He lowers himself onto you – not his usual full-force flop, but still by no means delicate about it. You like the weight of him on your tingling body. Feels like he’s keeping you from floating away.

“Only way they’re getting me on protection detail for politicians is if you’re there with me.”

He grimaces. It’s stupidly charming how it makes a scar on his nose scrunch up. “The point is to stop incidents, not start them.”

“Shame, then,” you hum. “Guess we’re stuck here then.”

“Guess so.”

He pats your thigh, then pushes himself up. You protest immediately, but he shushes you with a wry smirk.

“Part of the terms, wasn’t it? To clean you up?”

You grumble but subside, thankful that officer quarters come with an ensuite. It doesn’t take him long to return with a damp cloth and a cup of water. He sets the latter on the side table and kneels between your thighs, wiping you down as gently as he’s ever been.

When he’s done, you make grabby hands until he scoffs and climbs in with you again.

“Nap?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah. Got you up early. Still an hour ‘til breakfast.”

Not for the first (or likely last) time, you are grateful for Simon’s brilliant tactics.

“You’re my hero.”

He snorts, but when you peek up at him, there’s a fetching pink tint to his cheeks. “Go the fuck to sleep, Squeaks.”

“Yessir.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #cross posted on ao3 #old fic #sergeant squeaks #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

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wherewolf · 1 year

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the responses i’ve seen to shiv’s ending seem very quick to write her off as just another sad victim of the cycle, which isn’t without truth BUT!!! that is not even remotely the summation of shiv’s story.

i don’t think she votes yes to “save kendall” or to try to finally set her brothers free. and i don’t think her main concern was that ken was becoming their dad. she absolutely noticed and didn’t love it, but that was not her motivation in betraying him. she was thinking about herself.

it’s tempting to make a martyr out of her as she is the only female child and we see her suffer the onslaught of misogyny that comes with that. but to make her into a saintlike figure who got beat takes away the power and intelligence behind her decision.

at this point she’s stuck between two non ideal choices, but she recognizes that they have accidentally made her the single most important player in the game. because while she can’t have the outcome she’d prefer, she has the power to decide the fates of everyone else. the written off lone woman now holds in her hands the fate of every man in her life.

so she thinks about the long term benefits of both options and realizes that one side leaves her completely without any leverage.

her brothers have proven to her multiple times in the last few days alone that they will cut her out and walk all over her the first chance they get. siding with them leaves her nothing to bargain with. she would just have to hope that ken would actually take care of her. and that level of vulnerability is not only unacceptable to her, it’s stupid. and shiv fuckin roy is not stupid.

so she thinks about the other side and about what she actually wants for her life. and against her better judgment, it’s becomes unfortunately clear that she wants tom. the way she wants him is not altogether loving or even good but it is necessary to her. she sees relationships as having winners and losers and she chose this man specifically so that she could be confident in her ability to win. except now he’s grown some balls and made himself unavailable to her.

she may not like the way her husband is evolving but she already placed her bets on him, so she’s sure as hell not losing to him now. there’s also a part of her that feels intrigued by this new man she’s married to. it’s interesting to have a sparring partner in him instead of having to looking for excitement outside of their marriage.

so for maybe the first time ever, she processes what tom has said to her and thinks about what he actually wants.

he needs her to prove that she cares. he needs to know that she is capable of sacrifice. if she can’t find it within herself to do this for him, then she will lose him, and by extension, she will lose.

siding with tom gives her the opportunity to once and for all make a grand-stand gesture of love, but more importantly, it creates leverage for her. never again will he be able to hold the moral high ground over her head. never again can he say she doesn’t love him. never again can he call her selfish or uncaring. above all, he can never betray her again, because she just removed all of his moral justification for turning on her. he doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s just taken back all the power in their relationship. just in a more subtle way than she’s used to operating.

and just like that, she has the ceo of a multi billion dollar company in her pocket, while situating herself as the only descendant of logan roy to still be playing the game, having removed her brothers from the equation permanently. she may still be far from the top but she’s creating a path for herself to climb.

so yes, she’ll let tom play king for a day, and she’ll have his baby and say “congratulations,” and play the gracious wife, but tomorrow is a new day with lots of room to maneuver. and when her husband puts out his hand, she’ll place her own on top. but she won’t grasp it because she doesn’t need to.

#🐺#shivy’s gonna be just fine #okay this ended up being a very long post but #i feel like someone needed to point out her wins #also i’m fully aware that remaining in the toxic world of the family business is not a win rly but #i think her ending is being interpreted as powerlessness #which it is NOT #she chose her spot. she’s calling shots #she may not have won today but she sure as hell didn’t lose #let’s not work so hard to sanctify her that we remove everything about her that makes her such a brilliant character #succession #shiv roy #siobhan roy #scn #tv

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norrisainz33 · 2 months

Text

Seeing Doubles Pt.2 - GR63

☆ summary: George Russell attends Wimbledon and meets the tennis it girl, Y/N

☆ pairing: george russell x reader

☆ fc: none

☆ warnings: slightly suggestive, you are responsible for the content you consume

prev.

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y/nuser has added to their story

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y/bff: now he’s got you playing doubles??

y/n: yes 😔

maxverstappen1: my invite must have gotten lost in the post… you still owe me that game of padel

y/n: let’s play when i get to monaco!!

maxverstappen1: i’ll make the reservation! you better be ready for some fierce competition

y/n: i have heard you are quite the pro

landonorris: simp 🫵

y/n: yes 🤭 have you seen him?

landonorris: unfortunately i have 🤢

y/nuser posted a story

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serenawilliams: you’re going to love monaco 💙

y/n: yayyyy!! miss you lots 🤍

serenawilliams: let’s get coffee when you’re back!

y/bff: come home the kids miss you

y/n: are you the kids

y/bff: yes mommy

lilymhe: see you soon gorgeous girl

y/n: looking forward to our date 🫶🏻

alexandrasaintmleux: leo is so excited to meet you

y/n: and i am so excited to meet leo 🥹🫶🏻

alexandrasaintmleux has posted a story

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y/nuser: love you both 🫶🏻

charlesleclerc: gotta teach leo tennis early 🎾

user18: omg alex and y/n together 😭

user27: two pretty best friends fr

maxverstappen1 has made a post

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tagged: alex_albon, georgerussell63, y/nuser

maxverstappen1: learned the hard way not to invite a professional to play padel

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alex_albon: we are monte carlo’s finest losers

maxverstappen1: you got that right

georgerussell63: can’t relate 💅🏻

alex_albon: georgerussell63 a rematch without y/n will have you relating real quick mate

y/nuser: besties you all did great

user11: BESTIES?! pls tell me she’s not friendzoning george

y/nuser: thanks for the invite max! hopefully alex will take some of my pointers!

maxverstappen1: you’re welcome any time y/n

alex_albon: why am i catching strays now

landonorris: i can’t believe i missed a y/n masterclass

y/nuser: landonorris next time!!

user12: hanging out with y/n? likely place for george to be

user21: and hanging out with the other drivers? never beating the georgey/n allegations

user12: georgey/n agenda stronger than ever

user16: MAX IS THE GOAT

georgerussell63 added to their story

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user12: Y/N!!!!!! I’d recognize her anywhere

user18: this post just called me poor in 8 different languages

y/nuser: thank you for such a magical weekend georgie 🤍

georgerussell63: anything for you beautiful 💙

y/nuser: anything you say? come back to bed then

georgerussell63: running back from my meeting with toto right now 🏃‍♂️

georgerussell63 has made a post

liked by maxverstappen1, mercedesamgf1, y/nuser and 608,457 others

georgerussell63: summer break you were so good to me 😉 now let’s get back to winning races 💪🏻

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user12: just dropped to my knees

user17: SUMMER LOOKS GOOD ON YOU 😫

user13: this has got to be y/n ain’t no way

landonorris: mate we get it - you’ve got a hot girlfriend please stop rubbing it in my face *comment deleted by user

maxverstappen1: mate

danielricciardo: mate

y/nuser: lando please

user12: GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!! I SAW THAT LANDO

user19: ITS OFFICIAL!

user22: EVERYONE WAKE UP NEW BRITISH ROYALTY DROPPED

user23: i don’t know if i want to be y/n or george more

user19: LOVE YOU REGINA GEORGE

y/n & george texts

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liked by georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1, landonorris, and 390,567 others

tagged: georgerussell63

y/nuser: cats outta the bag (thanks lando)! i love you my gr63 🤍

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user12: BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

mercedesamgf1: welcome to the family, y/n!

georgerussell63: i love you my star 💙

landonorris: IM SORRY MOM

georgerussell63: mom?

landonorris: dad!

y/nuser: it’s ok son

georgerussell63: oh

maxverstappen1: it’s about time!

user12: max is so me

user25: max is one of us fr

maxverstappen1: padel next week?

alex_albon: not this again

y/nuser: see you at the courts max

୨୧┈୨୧

☆ a/n: thanks for reading! still figuring out this smau thing so bear with me!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏻

☆ let me know what driver i should write an smau for next!!

#george russell #formula 1 #lando norris #max verstappen #george russell smau #george russell social media au #george russell fluff #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #formula 1 smau

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 10 months

Note

hiii, could you write something about Tom meeting his celebrity crush ( he also maybe said it in an interview) at the Museum Gala? She is a big actress ( maybe did house of the dragon or something). She thinks he is super hot and she has seen the new hunger games movie, so she kinda flirts with him because she knows she is his celebrity crush and he is a nervous wreck. Eventually they start going out and end up dating! Just something about another British Tom manifesting his life LMAO

could you also add some insta posts ? I love this kinda of au! I hope you like this idea

lots of 💋 t!

And They Meet || Tom Blyth x actress!reader

A/n: love love this request ty anon 😙

Warnings: none!

Wc: 1,232

Dividers by @pommecita

“Do you have a celebrity crush?” The question caught Tom by surprise as he chuckles, his fingertips tapping on his chin. “I do actually, uh Y/n Y/l/n.” He admits for the first time on camera.

“I watched House of the Dragon the moment it came out and I just fell in love with how she portrayed Alicent Hightower, truly one of the greatest actresses at such a young age,” He smiles like a mad man as he recalls the time he first saw her on screen.

The gorgeous green coloured dress you would wear looked heavenly, and of course, your impeccable acting drew his attention. He binge watched the first season over and over, a smile adorning his lips everytime you would bless his screen with your beauty.

“Have you met her Tom? She’s a lovely person in real life.” The brunette sighs, “Unfortunately I have not, soon hopefully, soon,” He crosses his fingers as he lets out a low chuckle before moving on.

You watch with a grin on your face the interview that mentioned you. After Tom revealed that you were infact, his celebrity crush, you couldn’t help but feel like a giddy high school girl.

The thought that the Tom Blyth took a fancy towards you was mind blowing, especially since you’ve watched him from afar and admired him for quite some time now. You remember you first saw him on Billy the Kid and thought he was exceptional, and quite attractive.

“You think he would be at the museum gala next month?” You lift your head to Ally, your manager as she thinks. “Most likely, why’s that?” She smirks at you as you roll your eyes jokingly. “Nothing, nothing, just wondering,” You put your hands up in defence.

“Okay you have 10 minutes left,” Ally looks at her watch. You were at The Kelly Clarkson Show about to be interviewed about the upcoming season of the House of the Dragon.

“Y/n, do you have a type? If so, I think your fans would like to know, don’t you?” Kelly winks to the crowd as they erupt into laughter, including yourself. “Physical wise? Most definitely tall, brunette, blue eyes, a nice smile-“ “That sounds a whole lot familiar to a guest I just had a couple days ago….” Kelly teases as your eyes widen.

“Really?” A nervous chuckle leaves your lips, “Yeah, a Mr Tom Blyth happens to fit that description. I also know he mentioned you as his celebrity crush just the other day,” You play with the ring on your finger as you look at Kelly as if it was new news to you.

“Did he really?” You couldn’t help the smile off your face, “I watched the movie the day it came out and I understand the girlies who were rooting for Coryo,” You fan yourself jokingly, “truly understand.” The crowd cheers as you laugh. “I mean, I’m willing to ignore the red flags because he’s just so incredibly good looking!” You were lowkey fangirling.

“I know right!” Kelly agrees, “Tom did such a fantastic job playing young Snow, he really charmed us all,” You grin.

“Do you think she’s going to be at the gala?” Tom lifts his head up, the interview of you at The Kelly Clarkson Show displayed on his phone. “She should be,” His manager says as he smiles to himself, his eyes redirecting to his phone as you continue to talk about House of The Dragon.

Truth be told, after her let the entire world know that your his celebrity crush, he had been basking in the many comments saying how good the two of you would look together. It boosted his ego for sure.

He was hoping he’d finally be able to see you tonight at the museum gala and feed fans content. The second Tom set foot the gala, his eyes wandered around, hoping to see a glimpse of you. "Are you looking for someone Tom?" An interviewer calls out as he chuckles whilst posing for the photographers. "Yes actually," He responds with a shy smile.

Then, he hears loud screaming coming from the entrance as everyone in the gala turns their head towards the noise. And in you walked. Tom was standing in the red carpet section along with other celebrities as you walk towards his way, waving at the cameras along the way.

You wore a beautiful black gown, your hair in curls as the cascade down your back. Tom didn't even realise but he was staring at you, his mouth slightly agape, entranced by your beauty.

Cameras take photos and videos of Tom's reaction to you, it was quite cute. A man who finally got to see his celebrity crush in front of his eyes. Little did he know, you were looking around, hoping to find him.

Your eyes look around the place before you spot Tom, a few metres away from you as your eyes lit up. Abandoning your spot where you were posing for the cameras, you picked up the fabrics of your dress with the help of your assistants and made your way over to him.

It took a few seconds for Tom to realise that you were walking towards his direction. "Tom!" You greet him, going in for a hug as if you had known each other for years. He was slightly taken back but nonetheless hugs you respectfully. "How are you, darling?" He says as you pull back.

The pet name making you blush as you grin at him. You always knew Tom's eyes were blue, but jesus, you didn't realise just exactly how blue they are from up close. "I'm great now that I've finally met you," You chuckle, your hand gripping his bicep as he bites his lip lightly, smiling at you.

"Your eyes are really blue," You blurt out as he laughs, "I get that a lot," "Y/n! Tom! Can we get a picture of the two of you please?" Paparazzi calls out as you and Tom make eye contact, not realising how close your faces were before quickly looking away shyly.

"May I?" He says to you, asking if he could put his hand on your waist. What a gentleman. "Of course," You grin at him as he snakes his arm around your waist, his hand resting on your hip as your arm wraps around his waist.

The two of you looked good, good together. Throughout the night, you and Tom couldn't get away from each other. He was always by your side, even when you were doing interviews, and vice versa. His hand would rest on the small of your back protectively as you two navigated your way around.

Even at the dinner, he was coincidentally seated beside you which made you happy. You even recorded a video for your Instagram story about it and tagged him. The two of you hit it off straight away, exchanging numbers and even planning to meet up in a couple of days.

Being each other's celebrity crush blossomed into even more. Tom asked you to be his girlfriend after a few weeks of seeing each other and fans were going crazy, saying how he manifested it. You and Tom as a couple received so much support from everyone, including those in the acting industry saying how much of a talented young couple you were.

#fanfiction #tom blyth #tomblythfluff #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth x actress!reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #tom blyth x you #social media #social media au

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cusimmrbrightside · 27 days

Text

I have always liked the idea of the school for mutants being very literally a school, and I know yes it is but I mean in the sense of if you want to be an X-men, you have to be a teacher. They have exams at the end of years, they have Ofsted checks (for those who don’t know what they are, it’s essentially people coming to check that the school is good at being a school) and they have teachers for every subject, which brings me to my next point;

“I’m Right You’re Wrong, Here’s What The X-Men (‘97 specifically) Would Teach As Subjects”.

(Also this is based off of UK school system but I use American terms like “seniors” and “AP” and “Midterms”)

Maths Teacher Gambit is surprising, for a guy most assume to not being entirely smart, an idiot goof off who’s the comedic relief. But you need to know numbers to gamble, and that he does with being very well versed in mathematics way past an AP level. He’s made the promise for every senior class that he will teach them to play blackjack on the final day, and has only ever lost once. Which is when the rule of “no betting real money” came into place.

English teacher Jean reminds me of the kind of teacher who would let the social outcasts into her class for their lunch breaks. The kids more likely to be bullied and she will fight tooth and nail to make sure those kids bullies don’t come into that classroom. they’re loud and shout and shouldn’t really be in there but no one has to know and she certainly won��t be telling them to leave any time soon.

Physics teacher Magneto is very specific to my highschool experience I’ll be honest. I had a physics teacher who was an actual Dr with a PHD and he hated being there. His classroom has (well, had since the building was knocked down about 5 years ago now) this one cabinet that was never fully shut, it was always open just about an inch or two, and he’d stand with his foot hovering just above it and then slam down on it whenever we got too loud so the noise would shut us up. That’s very magneto coded. Erik Lehnsherr would purposefully make the cabinet always a little open so he can do that.

Biology teacher morph is just a funny concept, a person whose physical form and change and morph into just about anything. They are considered one of the “fun” teachers, you could easily convince them to let you watch a movie all class as long as it was biology centred, but with classics like Osmosis Jones, you’re not stuck watching a documentary about animals giving birth.

Chemistry teacher Storm does not fuck about with children’s education. She is not strict by any means whatsoever, she just will not bend to someone saying they want to watch a film or should do a practical instead of theory. She has a set curriculum. She knows what she will be doing by the first week of the summer holidays and already has the room set up all pretty and organised.

Geography teacher Scott has the unfortunate job of telling his students that, they just won’t be looking at memorising country flags and politics. But hey!! Rocks are cool!! Beach shores are cool! Lake formations are cool! He’s the vice principal and designated nerd teacher. He once beat the elite four for a student on their copy of Pokémon Red because the student promised they’d do well in their midterms. Yes, he was in his 30s when the game came out, he doesn’t care.

History teacher Logan is a walking fun facts book. He’s exhausted, goes on smoke breaks on every gap of time he has, dislikes his job and will randomly get passionate about one specific topic, and will then dedicate his next 4 classes to that topic. Having been through a lot of modern history with personal experiences, he’s able to bring a lot of souvenirs to show his classes. Bullets, helmets, clothes he once wore hundreds of years ago, his personal memories of basic inventions like the vaccine.

PE (physical education) teacher Rogue is full of fun sports games, you can join any kind of sports team you can imagine and if you ask nicely enough, she’ll put Just Dance on a projector in the sports hall so you can just play that instead of actually play an actual sport. As long as you leave her class exhausted and without time to have a shower before your next class then she’s succeeded in making whoever your next teacher is absolutely miserable (bonus points if it’s Logan with his enhanced sense of smell).

Art teacher jubilee does believe that there is a right way to critique art. And she can be a little in your face about it. She does think you can have wrong opinions especially when it comes to your own art. If she overhears you saying you didn’t something wrong, she’ll scream into a megaphone “adapt, improvise, overcome!”. There are no mistakes! She’s eccentric, bubbly, creative and brilliant, the only one suited for the job.

It wouldn’t be a school without budget cuts. That’s why Nightcrawler is both the languages and religions teacher and he’s beloved at both. He comes up with roleplay scenarios the students can play to help learn their chosen languages, he has varied religious texts in his room and when he says to the students “I’ll pray for toy during exam season” he’s not actually joking.

(I forgot about Hank I’m actually going to cry he’s one of my favourites and I forgot about him. He’ll be in pt two or smth.)

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 3 months

Note

oooh I have an idea for a modern!jace fic. I am a sucker for academic rivals to lovers so something like that. maybe reader finds out that jace is struggling (I thought a foreign language class since he struggled with valerian) or the teacher makes reader tutor Jace. I hope that made sense!

thank you xoxo

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You despised above everything anyone who was from a sports team. They were loud, entitled, arrogant, and made college all about them. You had a special hatred for that one guy from the football team who was banging at your dorm door at 11pm on a Thursday, thinking he was at his ex-girlfriend's dorm.

But when Mr. Perron had asked you to tutor the center player of the hockey team in exchange for extra credits, you couldn’t refuse.

You thought it would be easy and that he would take your tutoring seriously — his place in the hockey team was on the line —, but Jacaerys Velaryon was a pain in your ass. He had difficulty concentrating after twenty minutes and kept arguing over the spelling of words.

‘’You can’t pronounce it like that,’’ you said for the third time since you sat at a table in the tutoring center.

‘’Why not? It’s written that way,’’ Jace argued back, pointing to the word in the textbook.

‘’Because that’s not how you pronounce ‘croissant‘! I don’t make the rules.’’ You held back an exhausted sigh, your patience wearing thin. ‘’If you go to Paris and say it like that, they’re gonna laugh at you.’’

‘’They’re gonna be too distracted by my charming smile to hear my wrong pronunciation.’’ He flashed his signature smile at you, the one that made most people swoon, but you shook your head, refusing to engage in anything other than what you were there for.

‘’Unfortunately for you, your charm will not work on Mr. Perron,’’ you said, making his smile disappear. ‘’And it definitely won’t work on the exam.’’

Forty-five minutes later, Jace still couldn’t seem to get the translations right. You felt like he wasn’t even trying, but he actually was. French was just not sticking.

‘’Look, I’m here to help you, but if you want to waste my time—’’

Panic set inside Jace. ‘’No. I really need your help,’’ he insisted, his eyes wide with desperation. ‘’I swear I’m trying. If I don’t pass, I’m gonna get kicked off the team. There’s five games left, and we are so close to the play-offs. Please, don’t let me fail.’’ He looked at you intently, almost like a puppy dog begging for a treat.

You stayed at the tutoring center for another hour. There was a slight improvement, but Jace would need a lot more hours of tutoring to pass his exam.

So, that’s what you did. Everyday at 7pm, he would meet you at the tutoring center and bring snacks from the campus café, claiming studying on an empty stomach was proven less effective by studies. You hated how he made crumbs on the table and how casually flirty he was, but his charming smile was growing on you and making you less indifferent by the day, much to your annoyance.

You quickly shook those growing feelings out of your heart, refusing to fall for a hockey player. He already had a ton of girls at his feet. The chances he would reciprocate those growing feelings were too slim to even consider.

‘’Thanks for helping me. It means a lot to me,’’ Jace said on your last tutoring session. ‘’I’ve improved a lot this week, and I would not have been able to get this far without you.’’

During your time together, you got to know him a little and no longer saw him as just an entitled college athlete. He was sweet and thoughtful, and a true mama’s boy. You tried so hard to cover your fondness when he answered his mother’s call during a session. He even had a cute picture of his family as his lockscreen.

You gathered your stuff, putting everything into your backpack. ‘’Can I ask you something? Why did you take French if you struggle with foreign language?’’

Jace groaned, embarrassment filling his body. ‘’Because it seemed easy…and girls like it when a guy speaks French,’’ he admitted, his cheeks pink as he covered his face with his hand.

‘’Watch them all fall for you when you pronounce ‘croissant’ correctly.’’

A small laugh left his lips, amused by your teasing.

The sound of his laugh made your heart flutter, but you played it off by facing the other way. He couldn’t know that his charm was getting to you.

‘’There’s one week left until your exam. You gotta keep studying if you want to pass,’’ you said to him. ‘’No relenting.’’

You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked to the door, preparing to exit, but Jace called your name.

‘’What do I get if I pass?’’

His voice made you slowly turn around to look at him. ‘’You get to stay on the hockey team?’’

Jace pulled back on his Wolves hoodie, making you daydream about wearing it and smelling his woody cologne and something that was just him. ‘’No. What else do I get? I need something to motivate me.’’

A smirk curled at the corner of your lips, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them. ‘’If you get above 80%, I’ll suck your cock.’’

To you, it was a joke — just a joke —, but Jace never studied this hard before. He spent all his free time with his nose in his french textbook, and even brought it to the gym so he could study while running on the treadmill. His teammate made fun of him, but he didn’t care. The reward would be worth it.

On the day of the exam, he asked Mr. Perron if he could grade his exam immediately, needing to know if he could play tomorrow night. Jace waited impatiently as the man checked everything, nerves bubbling in his stomach. When Mr. Perron handed him his exam, he walked out and started looking for you.

He found you sitting in the quad, reading by yourself. He ran over to you, and shoved his exam in front of your face. At the top right corner was a bright red 81%.

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #house of the dragon imagine #jacaerys velaryon imagine

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zaczenemiji · 3 months

Text

Curtain Calls and Curveballs I

Kenji Sato x Actress!Reader

Synopsis: In your high school years, you and Kenji Sato are fierce rivals, constantly competing for top academic honors and excelling in your respective extracurriculars. Little did you know, you rivalry would take an unexpected turn.

Word Count: 1,836

Genre/Warning: Coming of Age, Enemies to Lover, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn

Author’s Note: A lot of you have been requesting for an enemies to lover themed fanfic so here’s a two-part one made for y’all <3

MASTERLIST

“Anyone can pretend to be someone else.”

“Well, it doesn’t take much brainpower to throw a ball.”

How could you forget the feud that started it all? Your spot as a top-ranking student back in high school was suddenly disturbed by the arrival of a certain Japanese student.

You didn’t mind it at first, only perceiving it as a challenge that would lead to the betterment of yourself. You know, kinda like what they say—smooth seas never made a skilled sailor thing.

But little did the teen you know that Kenji Sato would become a force of a tsunami in your life.

The little frowns when one scored higher than the other on quizzes became a competition that was the backbone of your interactions—the core aspect of your enmity.

The two of you were naturally gifted students with too much competitive spirits. Your performances were closely monitored by peers and teachers who eagerly anticipated the next round of test scores to see who would come out on top.

Needless to say, your little rivalry became a show that everyone liked to watch—a TV drama that keeps them glued on the couch, and a baseball game that keeps them at the edge of their seats.

What started as frowns became bickers and a constant exchange of provocative teasing. A day at school wouldn’t be complete without exchanging sarcastic remarks with one another.

“Better not mess this up, (y/n). Wouldn’t want to lose those precious extra points,” Kenji said in one of your chemistry labs.

You rolled your eyes as you set up your titration apparatus. “Don’t worry about me, Kenji,” you replied. “Just make sure you know the difference between an acid and a base.”

Despite the academic rivalries, your favorite thing to one each other up on despite being on totally different sides of the scale, is your clubs.

With Kenji being the star of the baseball team and you the leading actress of the drama club, the two of you were set to speak at the pep rally to represent your respective team and club.

“And now, let's hear from our star pitcher, Kenji Sato!”

Kenji steps up to the microphone, flashing a confident smile. "Thanks, Mr. Principal,” he said. “Our team has been working hard, and we're ready to bring home another championship. Let's hear it for the baseball team!”

The crowd roared with approval. Sports enthusiasts loved Kenji and he is definitely the face of sports in your school. That’s one thing you couldn’t argue about. You’ve been trying to name a player better than him at school but unfortunately, there was none.

Kenji stepped back and the principal proceeded to introduce you, "Next, we have our leading actress, (y/n) (l/n), to tell us about the upcoming play."

You strode to the microphone, poised and charismatic. "Thank you, Mr. Principal,” you started. “This year's play, 'Romeo and Juliet, is a labor of love for the drama club. We've poured our hearts into it, and we hope you'll all come to see it.”

“Break a leg to the baseball team, and we hope to see some of you at the theater!" You added.

The crowd cheers again, though with less intensity than for Kenji. Kenji leaned over when you stepped back beside him.

“Break a leg, huh?” He whispered just loud enough for you to hear. “Isn’t that a bit risky for an actress?”

“It’s tradition,” you smirked. “Besides, I'd like to see you try and memorize Shakespeare."

Kenji laughed, "Maybe next time. For now, I'll stick to throwing strikes."

A week after the pep rally came Kenji’s game.

He winded up and delivered a fastball that struck out the batter, securing the win for his team. The crowd erupted in applause, chanting his name.

On his way to the locker room, he comes across you. He saw you in the bleachers earlier, watching with a critical eye.

“Enjoyed the show, (y/n)?” He asked, smirking.

“It was fine, I guess,” you said, rolling your eyes. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

Kenji chuckled, “Don't worry, I'll save a seat for you at the next game.”

"I'd rather spend my time watching paint dry,” you said, crossing your arms. “Good luck with that, though."

A few days after the game came the premiere of the school's production. Every time the curtains rose, you stopped out not as (y/n) but as the character whom you portrayed—Juliet.

After the final act, the audience gave a standing ovation. You took a bow, eyes scanning the crowd. At the back, you spotted Kenji clapping politely.

You basked in the praises of the director and your friends for the job you did well. As you exit the stage, you find Kenji waiting in the wings. “Not bad,” he said, raising his brows. “For a drama nerd.”

You smirked in return. “Glad you could tear yourself away from the baseball field to appreciate some real talent."

"I figured I'd see what all the fuss was about,” he chuckled. “You didn't disappoint."

"Is that a compliment, Sato?” You asked, eyes narrowing playfully. “From you?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Kenji shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”

At home, after the drama club’s play, Kenji told his mom about you. He told her about how good you actually were at acting. He planned on leaving mid-performance but you kept him glued to the spot he was watching from. He may or may not have ditched his baseball training that day.

“You seem to know her well,” Kenji’s mom commented to which he retaliated with “To defeat your enemy, you must know your enemy.”

On the other hand, Kenji’s compliment played rent-free in your head. It overshadowed the director’s and the others’ compliments like they didn’t matter.

This situation went on for years in the span of time you spent in high school. Classmates and friends became used to the everyday sarcastic remarks and insults you hurled at each other.

What they didn’t know were the subliminal messages in every interaction.

They didn’t know about how Kenji often finds himself trying to perform exceptionally well whenever he knows you are watching. He’d throw an extra-fast pitch or make a particularly insightful comment in class, hoping to catch your attention.

They didn’t know that his playful teasing was a way to keep the banter alive to be able to engage with you regularly. They didn’t know that in a crowd of people, Kenji would always look for you. He watches your reactions to see if you’re impressed.

They didn’t know that you genuinely attended Kenji’s baseball games to see him do well. You’ll clap and cheer, albeit more reservedly than the die-hard fans, keeping your enthusiasm in check.

They didn’t know how you defend him from others, from those who would speak badly of him regardless of what he did. They didn’t know how you took note of his class attendance and lent him notes from classes he missed due to training.

The two of you did all these while outwardly maintaining the rivalry. Then one day, before you two knew it, graduation season was right around the corner.

One bright and sunny afternoon in the school gym, a large banner hung above reading "Graduation Ball Partner Reveal." Students crowd around a bulletin board, excitedly searching for their assigned partners.

This was one of the school’s antics to add some excitement to the graduation ball by randomly pairing students as dance partners. You heard other girls overtly expressing their wishes to be paired with Kenji.

With a grin, your friend turned to you, “Who do you hope to get, (y/n)?”

"Anyone who can at least manage to keep up on the dance floor,” you shrugged.

"I heard they really mixed things up this year. Could be anyone!" Another friend said.

When the crowd began to disperse, you and your friends made your way to the bulletin board. Scanning the list, your eyes widened as you saw your name next to Kenji’s.

“No way,” you muttered. “This has to be a mistake.” Just as you were processing this revelation, you heard a familiar voice behind you, "Looks like we're stuck with each other, (y/n)."

You turned to see Kenji standing there, a mix of amusement and surprise on his face. “Of all people, it had to be you,” you said crossing your arms.

“It’s not like I rigged the draw,” Kenji chuckled. “Why would I wanna be paired with you?” He asked like he didn’t want it.

As the night of the graduation ball drew nearer, the two of you agreed to be truces for one night.

A week later, there in the same gym, stood you at the edge of the dance floor. That night, the gym was a glittering wonderland, with twinkling fairy lights and elegant decorations that turned the mundane space into a ballroom fit for a fairytale.

“You look amazing, (y/n),” your friend nudged you. “Kenji's going to be blown away."

Scoffing, you replied, “If he even shows up.”

Just as you finished speaking, Kenji appeared, looking dapper in a sharp suit. He spotted you and made his way over, a confident smile on his face.

“Hey, (y/n),” he said. “You look… wow.”

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks as your heart began beating faster. All the earlier pettiness gone the moment you saw him.

"You clean up pretty well yourself, Sato,” you replied, barely a whisper.

Kenji extended his hand, a playful glint in his eyes. "Shall we?" He asked.

Taking his hand, you let him lead you onto the dance floor where you two fell into step, finding a rhythm despite the initial awkwardness.

“So, truce for tonight, right?” Kenji asked. You nodded, smiling, “Only for tonight.”

You danced in silence for a few moments, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I never thought we’d end up here dancing,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Neither did I,” you replied. “But maybe it’s not so bad.”

“You mean you’re actually enjoying my company?” Kenji chucked.

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Don’t get used to it.”

As the dance continued, the tension between you two began to melt away. You two talked about your plans after graduation and for the first time, you saw each other as two people with dreams and aspirations; not as an obstacle in the way.

“I want to go pro. In baseball,” Kenji said. “I've got scouts interested, and I think I have a real shot."

Your eyes widened slightly. "A professional baseball player, huh?” You replied. “I can see that.”

“Thanks,” Kenji grinned. "It's been my dream since I was a kid. What about you? What's next for you after we toss the caps?”

"I want to be an actress,” you answered. “I've been accepted into a drama program, and I'm going to chase that dream as far as it takes me."

That being said, you two will most likely be going to separate schools in college. Or so you thought.

PART TWO

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@hismistresss @sweetangle8 @aerivina

@eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist

#kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman #ultraman: rising #fanfiction #enemies to lovers #slow burn #eventual romance #coming of age

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shougojo · 4 months

Note

POPS IN AND SHAKES YOU

BAMBI. you are the next one on my list to convert to a hsr / genshin papa enthusiast >:)

bambi…. do u have any thoughts abt hsr and genshin papas (twirling my hair as i type)

໒꒱ ‧₊˚ HONAKI STAR RAIL MEN AS DADS — VARIOUS HSR.

ft. jing yuan, blade, dan heng, aventurine x fem! reader (separate)

content. literally so much fluff u can consider ssfw (super sfw), BUT is kinda suggestive, established relationship (marriage), dan heng’s part is slightly il dan heng, lots of mentions of pregnancy, parental au, somewhat a headcannon w little blurbs in between !!!!, lots & lots of kisses, pet names used for reader, not proofread

notes. IM SO SRRY IT TOOK THIS LONG; hopefully i cooked/redeemed myself w this 😞🙏 made a specially for @neuvistar — maryse !! i also made the writing smaller bc i don’t want it to look longer (srry if it’s hard to read :’)) i doubt myself w this idk if it’s even good (i cut off half of the characters i was gonna write bc i honestly idk 😾 & i did some of them dirty IM SORRY) </3 but i actually do have thoughts, but i hate when i have smt in mind & i js can’t seem to write it down SHAKES YOU IN FRUSTRATION

JING YUAN — is literally father and daddy coded you cannot persuade me that he isn’t (i will throw hands at you) he’s super sweet and gentle with you before and after your pregnancy, he’ll actually probably treat you the same after you get your children — although maybe he’ll be more patient. overall he’s on the chiller dad side. personally, jing yuan would naturally know how to handle his children even when they’re a few hours after birth. he would cradle them with so much care and gentleness like your baby is made of fragile glass. but what’s to expect? he has yanqing to deal with in the first place.

JING YUAN — would be the man to kiss your forehead multiple times during pregnancy, he’ll actually transform into a male wife, he’ll also go as far as canceling all of his meetings and not give a damn about each one, even if you tried telling him to; he’s stick by your side like super glue. he’s SO reassuring. it’s a shame fu xuan had to deal with a man like him, he’ll never focus properly even if he went to work. all he has on his mind is you and his soon-to-be little versions of you and him.

“take it easy, love. i’ll be right by your side if you need me.”

JING YUAN — who would and will have two daughters, he’s such a girl dad i can see it. i feel like he wouldn’t (??) have twins, just like one child at a time, a very supportive dad. he could easily cheer up his daughters anytime, like when they trip, fall, scrap their knee, need help on homework, need assistance on changing, and so much more.

JING YUAN — who takes naps with his daughters anywhere, anytime. his daughters definitely inherited their father’s love for sleep (and his lazy personality), they enjoy sleeping just like their sleep deprived father. you’ll as often walk in on the three sleeping together — the children wrapped in jing yuan’s warm, muscular arms. unfortunately, you go a long way just to wake up your husband, what makes you think waking up your husband and two more lazy children that have the same ego as their father help?

“mommyy… 5 mor’…”

“mhm, what she said… just 5 more minutes, darling… how about you join us..?

JING YUAN — spoils his daughters. he doesn’t spoil them too much, or else they’ll grow up to be greedy, so he’ll spoil them just a right amount that they know how to behave properly when receiving something thoughtful. he cherishes the moments he gets to spend with you and the children together — he occasionally schedules times so he can get home at a specific time to spend with his family. eating dinner, playing games, and just enjoying his family. on rare occasions, his girls will wake up early and even come to your’s and jing yuan’s bedroom to wake you two up in the morning! leading to a huge cuddle session and cute babbling from your mix of you and jing yuan.

BLADE — is quite the dad, actually. he obviously won’t show it, but he’s in between being extremely nervous and extremely excited on being a dad. he’s not sure if it’ll be worth the shot even being a father, due to all of the trauma and greif he’s had in his life. but after he met you, he’s started to diminish his need to disappear. additionally, you’ll be there to reassure him.

BLADE — is a very good father. like before, he’s nervous, but he has soft spot for you — which means he has an even softer spot for his own children. he’s a girl dad; one daughter and i can see it. he takes REAL good care of her when she’s just minutes out the womb. just the way blade’s eyes softened so much and his mouth slight gaped can tell how blade sees his beautiful daughter. the man to tuck his girl’s stray hairs out of her face and kiss her face afterwards.

“she looks just like me..”

BLADE — who's so gentle with his daughter. despite being a wanted criminal who fights with much skill and discipline, it’s a true surprise to see him so vulnerable while using his rough hands to softly cradle his daughter who’s ten times smaller than him. he’ll let his daughter play with his bangs and long luscious hair, even if he has to brush it all over again. he doesn’t give a single care about his hair, as long as his daughter gets her entertainment. he’ll let her slap his face, squish his cheeks, bump his nose, whatever (he probably wouldn’t let them all slide). on some days, when blade’s not running around and escaping from soldiers, he lets his daughter go ALL out on him. the two will definitely play — dress up, dolls, tea party’s, and much, much more (but it’s not like he can say no).

BLADE — who unfortunately “becomes” a pretty princess once his daughter gets to work. neon clips, silky ribbons, fake makeup, pink hair ties, jewelry, everything. and when you witness it, it’s more than difficult to hold in your laugh.

“blade!… blade?-”

“don’t.”

BLADE — is a pretty accurate protective father, but sometimes, it’s not even his protectiveness that’s acting. just a small glance or look from him can scare any boy from staying near or close your daughter. you remind him constantly to give his daughter some freedom, but what’s he gonna do if he’s doing nothing — but staring at the boy? it’ll take time for him to accept a guy that your daughter actually really likes and wants to be with, but don’t worry, blade will be “kind” enough to do it for his daughter. but don’t expect him to accept a man so easily (and the man to accept a dad-in-law so… scary), he’ll definitely have them take a “trial” on something to be able to be his daughter’s lover. heads up, if any guy hurts his daughter in any way, physically, mentally, or emotionally, they better count their days.

DAN HENG — is literally the sweetest dad to ever have, it’s tooth rottening. he’s like the entire package. he’ll make sure his children get a good education, live in a good environment, provide them with a decent life style, and hope they grow up to be amazing people (i’m crying rn). but before actually receiving you giving birth to your child, dan heng was the biggest nervous thing ever. he never thought to ever have a child of his own, and doubt how he’ll have to work it out. but you reassured him, and true to your words, he was.

DAN HENG — stays by your side almost all the time during your pregnancy. even when he had lots of trailblazing with the crew, he insisted to stay back to care for you and his future children. fortunately, he was allowed to by himeko and welt — unfortunately for march 7th and the trailblazer, they were missing a member to provoke. he can and will do everything and anything for you; the whole princess treatment. need water? right on top of your bed stand. need a pillow? he’s already rushing for a spare one. need something to eat? he’s already provided it (breakfast in bed guys). don’t forget the cuddles on the side, he’ll provide that anytime. his cuddles are literally so warm it warms up your body in the process, he’s like your personal heater. dan heng will definitely rub soothing circles on the belly — he knows it gets difficult to be a mother (not by experience guys get it out of your head), so he hopes all his acts of service helps you.

“shhh… take it easy love.”

DAN HENG — would have 2 children, a son and a daughter. unless it’s il dan heng, then that’s something else. i’d say the son is the oldest, although i don’t exactly 100% see it. there will be tears when he gets to see his very first child, holding them like it’s like his very last chance of living. he’ll immediately kiss your forehead after you’ve given birth to your and his’ child, promising to care for your son (and future daughter) ‘till the day he dies. he’ll also be by your side when your in the process of delivering your child. rubbing circles on your hands, lightly hushing and kissing you, intertwining hands, and saying the most supportive and loving words ever. and you maybe even cried during it because you can’t believe to have such an amazing husband like dan heng by your side (i’m crying again). additionally, the way his heart and eyes melted when you send him a small smile and slowly closed your eyes to rest.

DAN HENG — who like blade, would let his children play with his hair. sometimes, he’d transform into his vidyadhara and let his children play with his long hair; clipping clips, tying his hair, fashioning it, etc. i guess the son wouldn’t be so into that, but he’ll help his sister dress up their father. you melt whenever you happen to see your little toddlers play and try to chase after their father’s dragon tail. careful not to have them trip or fall, dan heng enjoys teaseing them and having them run after his tail — like a puppy, hoping that they manage to catch his tail and play atop it. i also can’t help but think of the thought dan heng would have his tail “turn” into a slide for his little children! they would just slide down and run back to their father for another round until they’re exhausted.

“hehe... again! again!”

“alright, you can slide some more, but then it’s gonna be your nap time.”

“ok, daddy!”

DAN HENG — who lovingly tucks his kids in their bed or crib when it’s their nap time, or it’s their bedtime. it’s such a heartwarming scene to witness, it could easily melt even the coldest of hearts. i think dan heng would sing them lullabies, but occasionally when he feels like it’s time for them understand the meanings of his songs. dan heng slightly blushes when he sees you in the doorway, flustering that you got to see how vulnerable he is, but that’s not a bother.

AVENTURINE — is one of the funnest and dedicated dads. he just loves his children so much, even if he has a side job, he always manages to make time for them and you. would definitely cry tears of joy and happiness when he receives them, stroking their small heads and holding them so tenderly. he loves you so much for giving him his children; he'd babble on forever about how you're such an amazing wife for working so hard for him and you, probable crying while saying all those heartwarming things. he's more than grateful to have his little children.

AVENTURINE — is such an AMAZING dad and supporter oh my goodness. he's so caring when you're a few months and/or weeks pregnant. maybe he becomes a male-wife (??), that's very visible in my brain. for awhile, he would take a break on going to the casino — to stay home and care for you. would easily decline any offer from any opponents that want to gamble. you would sometimes just wake up in the morning and hear his conversations to somebody about some business.

"no... im good... listen, for the last time, im not. please and thank you." hangs up.

"oh! mornin' babe. huh? — oh, its nothing, just some brat."

AVENTURINE — is a girl dad, but i feel like he would have one son and two daughters. he would love them all equally and take care of them so much; giving them a childhood he never managed to have. aventurine i guess i pretty known for being quite a guy, but his kids would be the sweetest ever — which he said was inherited by you. but just like their dad, they have another side (😈), they can be SO troublesome and little maniacs if they want to.

AVENTURINE — who gets tackled to the ground whenever he gets home from work by his children. it’s so cute and entertaining to see him get beaten to the ground by kids so much younger than him. they would just tackle his — grabbing his hat and coat and wearing them themselves ITS SO CUTE. additionally, i see aventurine taking the three bundles of joy to his gambling games and have them like sit on his lap and let them experience it. and also watching their dad ‘win’, is what he said. but after a couple weeks of their visits, aventurine eventually had to limit their visits because they kept exposing his cards; throwing them, playing with them, shouting out his cards, etc.

“daddy has only two more blue cards!”

“and one yellow!”

“oh! hehe… don’t shout out, love, it’s rude.”

AVENTURINE — who does the weirdest things with his kids. he would one hundred percent (sorry not sorry) dab up his son and teaches him the weirdest shit ever. like it’s kinda not surprising at all. he would also let his daughter play around with his necessary stuff. many of his other stuff needs to been hidden well, because you know, his kids are pretty curious.

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dyaz-stories · 9 months

Text

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

#sweet home #sweet home x reader #sweet home netflix #sweet home season #park chan young #chan young #chan young x reader #park chan young x reader #sweet home imagines #park jinyoung #my writing

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pitchsidestories · 3 months

Text

coming home II Guro Reiten x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1190

summary: Guro and you can't wait to be reunited again after you both were away with your Norwegian and Swedish national team.

a/n: Hi, it's inspired by this request here, we hope you have fun with this little, fluffy oneshot.

“Earth to Guro.”, Caroline Graham Hansen spoke visibly frustrated to her fellow Norwegian teammate who was typing and smiling at her phone, but not taking any notice of the rest of the group which was very unlike her.

It was a beautiful day in their home country and yet Guro wished herself back to the rainy streets of London, where you and her would lay in your shared bed, listening to the noise the raindrops made against the large windows.

“Huh?”, she glanced puzzled at the Barcelona player.

“We’re here.”, Caroline reminded her.

“Sorry, just texted my..”, the Chelsea forward started to apologize.

Maren who was the most familiar with her and the smile she had on her lips while thinking about you interrupted her softly:” Your girlfriend? You’ll see her soon enough.”

“Ugh.”, the Barcelona footballer groaned.

“Don’t ugh me, Caro.”, Guro laughed.

“You’re so in love, it’s disgusting.”, Caroline shrugged.

“Ignore the black cat, Guro. We’re happy you found each other.”, Ada threw in smiling amused.

“We’re happy.”, the other player repeated scoffing.

“All of us except for Caro.”, Ingrid corrected the prior sentence of the Lyon footballer.

“Thanks, girls. I’m really happy with her.”, Guro beamed.

“We get it.”, Caroline muttered, eager to play.

The game went not in the favour of the Norwegians, they lost and played under their own high expectations. The Chelsea forward was relieved once she was able to get to her hotel room and video call you.

“Can’t wait to see you again, the match was awful.”, she confessed.

“Not that long anymore, one game to go.”, you tried to cheer her up, you were away with your Swedish national team.

“I know.”, Guro admitted.

“You can do this, captain Guro.”, you assured her. Unfortunately, you weren’t alone in your room, Magdalena and Fridolina were sitting opposite of you, giggling at your motivational speech.

“What’s so funny.”, your girlfriend wanted to know.

“Magda, Frido, shut it., you scolded your teammates, before turning back to her, sorry min älskling.”

“Thanks.”, Guro replied.

“Better, right?”

“Yes, a lot.”, she confirmed. Afterwards you continued to talk about your days.

Way to soon, Magdalena reminded you:” It’s dinner time.”

“Damn it, she’s right.”, you cursed.

“Why are your teammates so horrible.”, your girlfriend questioned grinning.

“They are the worst.”, you agreed jokingly.

“Lies, you love us!”, Fridolina protested.

“Yeah, sometimes.”, you answered truthfully.

“See?”, the Bayern Munich defender gave you a winning smile.

“Bye, Guro, hope the grandmas here fall asleep early, so we can continue talking later.”, you said goodbye to her with a heavy heart.

“I hope so too.”, Guro said.

Of course it was raining when you arrived back in London.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you opened the door to your shared apartment.

“I’m home!“, you called, knowing that Guro must be somewhere. She had let you know via text that she would arrived a few hours before you.

You kicked off your shoes and left your suitcase in the middle of the floor.

Guros face appeared in the doorway leading to your kitchen: “Finally!“

“God, I missed you.“, you smiled at the sight of your girlfriend and jogged over to her to jump into her arms.

Guro, being a similar height as you, almost lost her balance but regained it in the last moment before you both would have tumbled to the floor.

“Missed you too.“

She kissed your cheek before putting you back down.

You sat down at the kitchen table. Without a word, your girlfriend placed a cup of water and a freshly brewed coffee in front of you.

You marvelled at the thoughtfulness. It was exactly what you needed after a long flight.

As soon as she sat down with you, her own coffee in hand, you asked: “How was camp? Tell me everything.“

“Good, really.“, Guro answered plainly but you could tell from the way her face lit up that it actually had been a good camp for her.

You nodded, satisfied with her answer: “That’s great. What kind of food would you like to order? The usual? The bill is on me.“

Your girlfriend smirked at the quick change of topic: “Someone’s in a good mood.“

“Yeah, we won both of our games.“, you explained laughing.

“I saw that.“

“Did you see my goals too?“, you asked innocently while typing on your phone. The order from your favourite restaurant was quickly placed.

“Of course, I did.“

“Pretty nice, huh?“, you bragged jokingly.

Guro wrinkled her nose, rather unimpressed, and shrugged: “They were okay.“

“Only okay?!“, you repeated, feigning offense.

“Yes, only okay.“

You leaned over, poking your girlfriend in the side repeatedly. You knew how ticklish she was.

“Hey, stop that!“, she protested, trying to protect her torso from you.

“Stop what?“, you played dumb, continuing to annoy her until she burst out laughing.

“This!“

“Oh, that.“

“Stop it!“

You finally backed off, giving her time to catch her breath: “Okay, okay.“

“Thanks.“, she sighed.

The doorbell interrupted you anyway.

“Oh, our dinner is here.“, you announced excitedly and stood up.

Your stomach growled as you took the food inside. The smell of take-away immediately filled the kitchen.

“Finally.“, Guro said, impatiently opening the styrofoam boxes.

You took the first bite and hummed: “Delicious as always.“

“I missed this food so much.”, the Norwegian admitted grinning. The varieties of meals you could order in London would never fail to amaze your girlfriend and yourself.

“Same but more than me?”, you replied in a teasingly tone.

“Yes, of course.”, Guro joked before taking another bite.

“What do you want to do now?”, you changed the topic swiftly.

“Like right now?”, the brunette lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes.”, you nodded enthusiastically. Being back with the person you loved most reenergized you like nothing else did.

“Spend time with you.”, she answered genuinely.

Later you both laid together lazily on your sofa and Guro called your Chelsea captain with a smirk on her face:” Hi Millie.”

“What’s up?”, the blonde responded.

“Y/n and I are busy doing gay things and we might not be at training tomorrow.”, the Scandinavian explained.

“Too much information.”, Millie giggled.

“Just letting you know.”, Guro told her friend innocently.

“I’m not covering for you tomorrow.”, the Defender announced determined.

“Please, you owe me that.”, your girlfriend reminded her sweetly.

“Fine, but don’t ever call me again.”, Millie groaned dramatically.

“Thanks, see you.”, Guro responded gratefully.

“Bye.”, with these words they hang up.

“Gay things?”, you snorted once she has ended the call and looked into your eyes again.

“Yes, we have all night.”, the midfielder winked at you.

“And tomorrow as well.”, you remembered.

“Yes, I’ve to make up for the time we didn’t see each other.”, Guro proclaimed.

“Come here.”, you said beaming, opening your arms for a hug which she happily accepted.

With closed eyes you whispered into her ear:” You’re home now.”

Both of you knew you felt comfortable everywhere in the world, but home to you wasn’t a place, it was each other. Coming home meant returning to one another and it was one of the best feelings in the world.

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sassycheesecake · 2 months

Text

MEET AND GREET ✨MSBY JACKALS 🐺✨ in one post <3

Atsumu Miya #13

Man’s flirtin' with ya nonstop

The moment you step up to the M&G, it’s like the heavens have send him an angel

Usually Atsumu has a problem with shutting his mouth, but when he saw you, he was lost for words

He calls you lots of nicknames and you’re almost a melting puddle at hearing his Kansai dialect in person

Atsumu keeps giving you this look with his hooded eyes, along with his lazy smirk(YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHICH ONE I MEAN)

Of course, Atsumu’s teammates are used to his flirty nature with some people, they know it’s a show he puts on in front of the world

A cocky, arrogant and overconfident bastard can actually be a funny, loving and protective person in private

They watch with high interest from the sidelines, because the usual confident smartass is actually nervous and gives out an honest smile, not the usual fake ones he uses with the press

But they obviously wouldn’t be teammates if they don’t tease each other once in a while

"Tsum-Tsum it’s been almost 15 minutes since the game, why is your face still so red?" Bokuto’s comment turns Atsumu’s face a couple more shades red and the Setter wishes to sink into the next hole in the ground

ANYWHO

With one unfortunately not too long lasting hug, you say your goodbyes and without your knowing, the sandy-blonde Setter looks longingly after you, like he just said goodbye to his lover

It’s like almost there was a voice inside his head, telling him to run after you

Get a full name, a number, an email, anything he can get so he can contact you

So when the Setter runs after you, ignoring the staff team’s shouts and yelling, he still can see the back of your outfit and he calls after you

Hearing your name being called out in a deep familiar voice, you turn around and find the sandy-blonde Setter halting to a stop right in front of you

Atsumu rambles on about feeling his heart beat faster whenever you speak or look at him and the sandy-blonde has never felt this way before

After a bashful goodbye and an exchange of numbers, the two of you part ways with exciting smiles on your faces

As soon as the blonde twin enters the locker room, he can’t contain his excitement anymore

"Guess who just got himself a number by a gorgeous fan!" 😍😍 Atsumu is so happy he could shout it from the stadium’s rooftops

Despite getting a good chewing out by his captain, coach and PR team, Atsumu doesn’t hesitate to contact you that same night, asking you out on a date ❤️

Kōtarō Bokuto #12

Energetic owl 25/7

So imagine how hyper he still is after a winning game

He’s a living bouncy ball, along with tangerine boy

When you came up to the table to get your jersey signed, you can almost feel his bright energy surrounding you, feeling like it’s pulling you into a hug

He smiles brightly at you, sweat clinging to his jersey, defining his well-built body

You’re trying not to stare but it’s highly obvious that you like the hyper horned owl

You get his autograph, an almost bone-crushing hug and one last beaming smile

You’re feeling a sort of rush of adrenaline mixed with something else as you go home, looking up the next home game of the MSBY Jackals, excited to see Bokuto play again and hopefully have another M&G

Even though you can see your bank account shrinking more and more, each time you feel so much excitement whenever you see Bokuto play on court

His beaming smile, his chest receives, his exciting expression whenever he scores and the way he celebrates with #13 and #21

You’re going to their last game before your bank account goes on strike so you make it count as you go to the M&G

Bokuto sees you coming up again and smiles at the sight of you

So you try your shot

"Hey, I have been to some of your games and I really love the way you're driven by your passion in volleyball and I really like you and I wanted to know if you'd be happy or willing to go out with me sometime?"

The whole table is silent and truth to be told, shocked that someone was asking Bokuto out

Bokuto never really thought much of dating until like his retirement but ever since you started coming to the MSBY Jackal games, Bokuto feels like he wants to show you what he can do, you can say in some sort of way he's trying to impress you

You're standing in front of him, sweating buckets in nervousness, when Bokuto gets up from his chair with a neutral expresion

You're already imagining the worst rejection ever when he stands a mere inches away from you

Looking into his golden eyes, his expression changes from neutral to bashful

"I'd love to"

Kiyoomi Sakusa #15

Fresh-out-of-the-shower-Sakusa Kiyoomi was standing a little bit off to the side in his MSBY tracksuit, hands in his hoodie pockets, black medical mask partly covering his scowl when he was watching some of his still sweaty, disgusting teammates talk and hug fans after their win

He was scrutinizing his teammates in his head when an almost very quiet voice interrupts his judgment towards his teammates

When Sakusa was about to tell the fan off, he turned and saw you

A white mask is covering your face and you have a small jersey shirt in your medical gloved hands

That’s right. GLOVED HANDS

You look unsure, almost scared as you keep your distance between the Outside Hitter and yourself

"Can you please sign this for my little brother? He’s in the hospital and couldn’t come to your game due to a broken leg."

You hold out the jersey and watch as the ravenette’s calculating eyes switch between you and the small jersey

"Don’t worry. It’s not from the hospital, I brought it from home, it’s freshly washed because I know you don’t like unclean things"

And then the most unexpected thing happens

Sakusa comes a bit closer, like a cautious cat and takes the small jersey from you, which has his number on it

"Meian. Hand me your pen please."

The taller man and captain of the team looks confused for a second but hands him his sharpie anyway

Sakura signs his signature and you can roughly see him writing something else on it

You thank him with a respectful bow and leave the M&G area

Sakusa looks after your retreating footsteps, curious and intrigued by your mysterious face and personality

All of sudden, Sakusa feels an elbow hitting his side gently a few times with a clicking noise of a tongue and the Outside Hitter knows that annoying ass noise all too well

The blonde Setter waggles his eyebrows in a suggestive way as he just witnessed the interaction between you and his teammate

"Damn Omi, quite the looker fan ya got there."

Sakusa just gives him a pissed side glance, yet looks back immediately to the spot where you just stood, hoping you will read his message

As you head back to your little brother, you see the message the ravenette has left you

"Meet me at Fumin no mori Narukawa enchi on Sunday, 9am."

In the end, you got his number and got promoted to best big sister ever

Shōyō Hinata #21

Hinata is such an easy guy to get along with. He makes friends everywhere he goes

Even though you were nervous, the M&G went really smooth, as if you have known each other for years

the longer you two talked, the more stuff you realized you have in common

It went from talking about One Piece and volleyball to if the cereal or the milk should come first into a bowl (you did receive a few strange looks from the staff members but Bokuto and Atsumu are gleefully proud of their youngest teammate talking and flirting with you and actually succeeding at it considering his teachers were idiots)

You part your ways after the M&G and you're excited to see the next game (big kudos to your best friend for gifting you season tickets)

"Was I seeing this right? Was Hinata actually flirting with someone?" Shion asks Meian in a whisper in the locker room after the game, still shocked that their youngest kouhai is highly interested in someone or something else besides volleyball

Hinata is more cheerful than usual in training sessions and work out

He tells his teammates all about his excitement every day

"Have you guys seen their smile?". "Aren't they the most beautiful person alive?" "I can't wait to see them again, I look for them wherever I go, hoping I would randomly catch a sight of them on the street.", "I am telling you guys, I am going to marry this person!"

The next time Hinata saw you at the M&G of the game, he asked you out, resulting in you two going out for dinner at a small Brazilian restaurant and Hinata tells you all the stories from Brazil, about his old roommate Pedro and how he has known some of his current teammates since high school, etc.

Yet even if Hinata is a big storyteller, he asks you about you as well, learning things about you and falling for you deeper and deep, the more minutes he spends listening to you

You spend the night at his place and for the next morning, he prepares some different types of açaí bowls, since he still needs to follow his diet plan, but unsure about what you like to eat, he also made some pão de queijo and some tapioca pancakes

It was so good and Hinata confessed that he really likes you and wants you to be his s/o

When Hinata had training again, he first told Bokuto and Atsumu about his date with you, and later his other teammates, to his opponents, to his family to his friends from Brazil

That man is so proud to have you as a romantic partner and cheers you up with his smiles and jokes on bad days, makes you feel like the only person in the world

Shūgo Meian #4

Meian can't remember the last time he had some peace and quiet

A crazy team to keep under control honestly requires a medal for patience

But lately, his mother is getting on his nerves as well

Telling her son to find a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a partner to finally settle down with

She calls him almost every day and whenever she would bring up his love situation, he automatically rolls his eyes at her annoyed tone

Meian is currently tying his shoes in the locker room, ready for the upcoming match against the Tachibana Red Falcons, when his mother called again

"Son, I have found you a compatible match! They're--"

"Mum, I have a game in a little bit, can we do this later?"

"Just promise me, you will go out with them tomorrow! They are very nice and I am not getting any younger here and neither are your reproduction tools!"

Meian is now at his limit, his mother mentioning his private parts is just getting too much for him

"Okay fine! If I go out with this person tomorrow, will you PLEASE stop bothering me about it?"

"Yes. Have a good game my son!" She hangs up and Meian is relieved, now he can focus on the game

"Miya! Stop using my deodorant! Buy your own!" "Give me my shoes back!" "WOOOO! GAME TIME!" "MEIAN! TELL THAT ASSHOLE TO GIVE ME MY SHOES BACK!"

Aaaaand off we go to the next problem

Luckily enough, the Jackals won by 5-4, so Meian is in a good mood the next day

As he waits for you by Komeda's Coffee around noon, according to the details his mother has texted him early in the morning

Honestly, Meian just wants to go back home and sleep, maybe if he's lucky enough, his blind date has both a terrible personality and terrible looks and he can just leave and go back to bed and finish the third season of Bridgerton

As he waits in front of the café, scrolling through Instagram, he hears the sweetest voice his ears have ever encountered

"Are you Meian?"

As he turns to look at you, his eyes widen at the sight of you

Like wow

The way your body moves, the way eyes your shine, the way your skin glows in the sun

When you are close enough to him, he gets an intoxicating scent from you, like gosh he wishes he could just hug you and inhale your fragrance for days

He internally slaps himself for thinking such intrusive thoughts on your first date

You keep talking, Meian guesses how happy you are to meet him because his heart is doing somersaults and his brain feels like it's constantly restarting

"You okay? You look distracted."

"No, no, I am fine I promise. I just have never seen such a gorgeous person before."

And now it's your turn with the somersaults

You both go inside the café, him holding the door open for you, pulling the chair before you sit down (sigh, a true gentleman)

Honestly, when your mother told you you would be going on a blind date with a professional athlete who plays volleyball, you honestly expected an arrogant ass who only talks about how great he is and how this sport is the greatest in the world

Meian is not what you expected

Sure, he is very good looking: tall, muscular, broad mouth-watering shoulders, a body that looked like it was carved by Myron himself

His personality is sweet, a bit inexperienced sure but he solely focuses on you and gives you compliment after compliment

He tells you about his profession, about his team and invites you to his next game in a week

Meian's teammates of course notice the constant smiling looking at his phone and the small nod of his head into the VIP section

Yet the ravenette doesn't care, already planning on marrying you in the future

Shion Inunaki #6

The Libero watches as big groups surround his very popular teammates, like Hinata or Atsumu, screeching, giggling and being excited to be able to talk to the star players

Don’t tell Bokuto

All of sudden he wanted to walk into the direction of the players’ locker room when you stopped him

"Hi." You give him a little wave and a shy smile and Inunaki thinks that you must have switched him up with one of the other players

Sure, he has fans of his own but usually they’re kids and not hot and young people like you

You ask him for a picture and an autograph on your jersey which has his number on it

He’s really enjoying the sight of you wearing his last name and number, it’s almost as if you’re married

You’re beautiful and you play volleyball in your college whenever you have spare time as you both start talking together

Funnily enough, Inunaki went to the same college as you before he joined a professional volleyball team and you actually live close by together!

The two of you agreed on having a coffee date together next weekend when Inunaki has some time off

As you both meet up more and more, your friendship begins to grow stronger, more deeper

On game day, Inunaki walks from the locker room into the large stadium when he checks into the VIP section

His eyes immediately caught yours in the family and close friends section and his heart beats even faster, knowing he has a beautiful partner by his side, always cheering him on

Alexandre Joffe #7

Seven foot frame, rats along his back

Seven freakin' foot soldier

A giant with a heart of gold

When you saw his big stature and his beautiful green eyes, it was like you forgot what to say

Alexandre sees that you’re struggling with your words as you come up to the M&G, your face extremely red as you look at him and wanting for him to sign your small jackal plushie’s shirt

The Middle Blocker feels flattered by your behavior, because mostly people are just very intimidated by his height

But not you

You look amazed, almost like you're envious of him

To be fair, you look incredibly small compared to him

In Alexandre's mind, there's singing birds and talking animals around you, like a Disney figure

He takes the jackal plushie into his large hands, signs it and hesitantly gives it back to you

"Everything okay? Did I do something wrong?"

"What are your plans Friday night?" His smile is dazzling, green eyes shining with excitement

"Uhm I don't think I have anything planned yet, why?"

"How about you and me go to Yakiniku King? I think you're really pretty and I would like to get to know you better."

Wow, well you certainly didn't expect this tonight

Yet, you agree, ignoring nasty looks from the fans behind you and beside you as you exchange numbers

Who knows, maybe it will turn out to be something serious

Adriah Tomas #9

Tomas has known you ever since he can remember

You both grew up in the same hometown and have been inseparable ever since

Until you moved away to pursue your dream career, Tomas stayed to improve himself in his volleyball career

Unfortunately due to your busy schedules, texting became less and less and all of sudden, it stopped completely

At the age of 25, Tomas got a sponsorship from the MSBY Black Jackals, a Division 1 team in Japans V. League

He packed his things, moved to Higashiosaka and is now finally part of a professional volleyball team, like he always dreamed and told you about

There wasn't a day that went by when Tomas thought about you

Wondering what you are doing, how you are doing, and most importantly for him, if you're in a serious relationship with anyone

Yeah classic childhood friend crush developed into something deeper for Tomas, he just always wished he either confessed before you left or at least tried to tell you while you were teenagers

After training, his Japanese teammates Atsumu and Bokuto were talking about their recent hook ups when they asked Tomas about the last time he has hooked up with someone

Even though you both have never been intimate with each other, you immediately came to his mind when they asked

He tells them off, saying he hasn't been interested in it, because he was focused on training and 'didn't have time for distractions'

Thankfully they leave him alone after this yet he can’t help but feel like fate is going to be messing with him

Just one day later, when Tomas is taking the subway home, there is a person that looks just like you

The same color of hair, skin and scent that

When he look-a-like of you turns a bit to the side, Tomas can’t believe his eyes

It was you

You’re here

The same country, the same town, the same subway at the exact same time

He doesn’t hesitate to walk over to you

You’re just listening to your music with your headphones on your way home when a tall man makes his way over to you out of the corner of your eye

Stopping in front of you, you look up quickly and you can’t believe your eyes either

What is he doing here? Is that really the little dimple smiling boy who would always chase you with bugs and share his waffles with you?

My God what has he been eating that he’s this tall? He certainly didn’t have to grow this tall

You both can’t believe it and Tomas looks unsure as he looks at you

You have always been the one to initiate conversation first so you take the lead and Tomas goes along smoothly with it

Before the subway stops, you quickly exchange numbers and stay in contact after you depart

Catching up on the phone about each others lives, Tomas eventually builds up the courage to ask you out over face time while he’s making breakfast

Out of shock of you yelling excitedly, he drops his French toast but can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline going through his body as he knows that fate gave him a second chance in trying to ask out his best friend and crush

Oriver Barnes #10

Barnes was stretching on the gym floor when he heard his three-year old daughter calling his name

She is a perfect mix of him and his divorced partner

Sigh

It's already been a year since your guys' divorce and Barnes has not been taking it well since day one

The two of you constantly fought over his busy schedule, about Barnes forgetting to pick up your daughter because training went on too long too many times

You finally had enough when your daughter had to stand in the rain, waiting for her father for over an hour, only to end up sick the next morning

Oriver and you fought so much, after that incident you finally had enough and you filed for divorce

Both of you settled for an agreement on when to take your daughter and now it's been going on for about a year now

The Middle Blocker tried to move on but he simply can't

He still loves you since the first time he laid eyes on you

When she hugs her father tight, he sees you walking over with slow steps, holding her Bluey backpack with a tight smile on your face

"Hey." You both say in sync

"What are you doing here? I thought she was staying with you this week." Barnes asks you, trying to make some small talk as your daughter uses him as a playground device

"I know, but she really wanted to come and see you. And I can't keep her from seeing her father."

Your daughter sees Tomas and runs to him, being the Godfather of her, leaving you and your ex-husband alone for a bit

Meian knows how much his teammate misses you, Oriver is constantly talking about you, has pictures of your daughter and still of you in his locker and looks completely heartbroken whenever he sees you leaving with your daughter after it was his turn to have her stay at his place

Oriver looks over at Meian and the ravenette gives a silent nod in return, keeping your guys' daughter occupied as planned

Oriver begins to stand up and you still shocked at the 6'7 height of the massive Opposite Hitter

He looks unsure into your direction, asking if he could talk to you in private

You are surprised and a little bit unsure to be honest but agree nonetheless

He takes you into the meeting room, whenever they talk about after game strategies

After the door is closed for some privacy, your former partner-for-life turns to look at you with a face full of sorrow

"Listen, I know this is extremely shit timing but please listen to what I have to say. I-I know it's already been almost a year, but every day is torture for me. I miss you by my side. Your smiles, your laughs. Just everything about you. Our daughter tells me that you cry almost every night and it breaks my heart, knowing that I can't be there to hold and comfort you. I still call you 'My (Y/N)' because you are my everything. You are my light, and you've shown me more love than I've ever known. You have graced us with a beautiful, gorgeous, smart daughter. She takes after you in so many ways and I am reminded of what I should have fought harder for. I lost my other half, my soulmate. I feel like there is an empty hole inside my heart that can't be filled with something new. I need you, I want you back in my life. If you'll have me, please give us another chance."

By the time Oriver finished talking, you're both crying

You're taking fast steps towards the Wing Spiker and he doesn't hesitate to pull you into his strong arms

The dark-haired man rests his chin on top of your head, caressing your back while you're trying to control your sobs

Oriver comforts you by just holding you, caressing you and you realise how much you needed it, needed him

Maybe it was a rushed decision after all

You're both in there for a while, until Meian tells him that it's time to start the warm up because the game will start soon

Oriver and you both agree to take it slow, wanting to build up again what you used to have

But out of everyone, your daughter couldn't be happier

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