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ghostlynightpanda · 1 month ago

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Setting the Standard

English is not my first language, so if you find mistakes, feel free to contact me!

Synopsis: Atsumu Miya, known for his cocky and competitive nature, slowly shifts from his usual show-off demeanor to genuine efforts to impress his team’s new manager. As their relationship develops, she struggles with whether his actions are sincere or just another game.

warnings/content: Miya Atsumu x fem!reader, fluff, 9.683 words

The gym buzzed with the sharp rhythm of sneakers squeaking against polished wood, the familiar thud of a volleyball echoing through the space. Inarizaki High's volleyball team wasn't just known in their prefecture—they were a powerhouse, feared for their precision, coordination, and ruthless energy on the court.

But inside the gym, where banners hung high and sweat clung to skin like a second layer, the atmosphere wasn't always warm.

"Oi, Suna, stop dragging your feet like we're playin' in a retirement league!" Atsumu Miya barked from his side of the net, spinning a volleyball in his hands.

"Maybe if you didn't call for a set every five seconds like a spotlight-loving maniac," Suna deadpanned, not even looking up from where he was stretching.

Atsumu rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, but didn't push it further. The rest of the team barely blinked. This was just how Atsumu was—sharp-tongued, endlessly competitive, and, in the words of most of his teammates, an exhausting bastard.

But no one could deny it: he was brilliant.

He moved like the game was built for him, each set an extension of his instinct, each serve a threat to the scoreboard. He demanded perfection, and when he didn't get it—well, his temper was just as famous as his skills.

Most of the team tolerated him. Few liked him. But they accepted him, in that quiet, unspoken way athletes do when someone's skill earns them a place whether they deserve it personally or not.

Truthfully, most of them found it easier to get along with Osamu.

The calmer, quieter Miya twin was kneeling by the ball cart, checking equipment while casually dodging one of Atsumu's careless serves that had rocketed across the court.

"Ya gonna start a fight before warm-ups are done, or can we have one practice without you yellin' at someone?" Osamu drawled.

"Not my fault they can't keep up," Atsumu muttered, bouncing the ball again, shoulders tense.

Captain Kita walked into the gym then, clipboard in hand and expression unreadable as always. His presence had the immediate effect of a cold breeze—cutting through the heat, settling everyone into place.

Practice was about to begin. There was no need for a pep talk. Inarizaki didn't need motivation.

They had skill. Power. Purpose.

What they didn't have—at least, not yet—was someone to balance the sharp edges they all carried.

But that would change soon.

Practice began with its usual rigor. Kita stood at the sideline, calling out the rotation. The team moved without needing much direction, the routine drilled into them after months—years—of relentless training.

But halfway through warm-ups, Kita raised his hand.

The ball bounced to a stop. Conversations cut short. Even Atsumu turned mid-jump, freezing in place.

"Before we continue," Kita said, his tone as calm and commanding as ever, "there's something I need to tell you all."

A few glances exchanged. It wasn't like Kita to interrupt unless it was serious.

"We might be getting a new manager."

A beat of silence followed.

Then—"Might?" Atsumu asked, tossing the ball up and catching it lazily. "What, are we test-drivin' her or somethin'?"

Kita gave him a look that shut him up immediately.

"She's volunteering to help, not auditioning for your amusement."

Several heads turned towards Atsumu with knowing smirks. He huffed, looking away, muttering something under his breath.

"She should be arriving soon," Kita continued. "When she does, I expect all of you to treat her with respect. She's not here to clean up after you. She's here to support the team. If anyone causes her to quit before she's even started—"

His eyes swept across the gym, settling briefly on a certain setter before moving on.

"—you'll be running laps until your legs stop working."

A low whistle from Ginjima broke the tension. "Got it, captain."

Kita's voice dropped a little, thoughtful now.

"I won't be here next year. When I graduate, this team is going to need someone to hold it together. Not just on the court."

The weight of his words settled like a quiet echo. Everyone respected Kita—not just because he was talented, but because he carried the team. The unshakeable presence, the calm in chaos. The idea of Inarizaki without him felt... unfamiliar.

"I don't see anyone here ready to lead the same way yet," he added bluntly, eyes sharp but not cruel. "Which means, until one of you proves otherwise, we need someone who can keep the rest of you in line."

Atsumu let out an exaggerated yawn, arms stretched overhead. "Tch. Dunno what you're talkin' about. I'm very manageable."

Osamu snorted from behind him. "Yeah. Like a wild dog's manageable."

Before Atsumu could respond with something snarky, the gym doors slid open with a quiet clack.

Everyone turned.

There you were—standing a little hesitantly at the threshold, in a neat uniform, clutching a clipboard against you chest. Your expression was open, bright, a little nervous but unshakably warm.

Kita nodded towards you. "That's her."

You stepped inside, bowing politely, your voice clear but gentle as you introduced yourself.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Y/N, your new manager—if you'll have me."

Atsumu raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

Kita didn't smile often, but there was the faintest, approving shift in his posture as he turned to the team. "Don't scare her off. That's an order."

The gym smelled like sweat and determination, the kind of sharp air that clung to ambition and effort. It felt oddly… welcoming. Or maybe that was just how you chose to see it.

The team offered a mix of responses: a few nods, a polite chorus of "nice to meet you," and some curious glances. They didn't seem unfriendly—just unsure.

You could work with that.

One boy, with half-lidded eyes and a tired expression, gave you a lazy wave. "Hope you know what you're getting into."

"Suna," Kita said warningly, to which he just smirked.

Another one—tall and broad-shouldered with short hair—smiled. "I'm Ginjima. Don't worry, we're not all scary."

"Speak for yourself," a shorter player muttered under his breath.

You laughed softly, tucking your clipboard to your side. "I've managed worse. Or at least, I like to think I have."

That's when you noticed him.

Blond hair. Golden eyes. A subtle scowl like it had made itself a home on his face. He was leaning against the ball cart, watching you like he was already two steps into trying to mess with you.

You offered a smile.

He didn't return it.

"Don't mind him," a voice murmured from your side.

You turned to see a boy with the same face—but a different energy. Calmer. Colder, but not unkind. This must be the twin.

"Osamu Miya," he said, offering his hand.

You shook it. "Nice to meet you."

He leaned in a bit, his voice low. "That one's my brother. Atsumu. He's an idiot."

You blinked. "Direct."

"Just a warnin'," Osamu said. "He's gonna test ya. Push your buttons. Loud, demanding, and convinced the sun shines right outta his own ass."

You choked back a laugh.

Osamu went on, sounding like he'd said this a hundred times before. "Don't let him get away with anythin'. Or next thing you know, you're doin' his errands and cleanin' up his ego."

You glanced at Atsumu again. He was still staring. Like he expected you to trip over yourself any second now.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

He narrowed his eyes.

Game on.

Kita gave you a quick rundown of your responsibilities—tracking water bottles, keeping an eye on injuries, managing towels and uniforms, updating the schedule board. Nothing too overwhelming, especially since you were used to staying organized and multitasking.

You got to work immediately, weaving around the players during drills. You handed Suna a fresh towel before he could ask. Noted a small scrape on one of the first-years and pulled out a bandage. Jotted down the updated practice match date Kita mentioned offhandedly.

Quiet efficiency. That was your strength.

And Atsumu noticed.

He watched from across the gym as you moved, graceful but grounded, all warmth with a spine of steel. You weren't fawning over anyone. You weren't flustered. You didn't bat an eye when someone cursed under their breath or bumped into you.

And when he finally walked up, cocky grin in place, spinning a ball in one hand, you barely looked up.

"Hey, Manager-chan," he said, dragging out the title like it was a joke. "Think ya could grab my knee tape from the locker room? My legs are worth protectin', after all."

You looked up slowly, smiled politely, and said:

"Sure. Right after I get everyone else's stuff. You're at the bottom of my list right now."

The smirk froze on his face.

You turned and walked off before he could reply.

The team went quiet for a second before Suna burst out laughing and Osamu let out a low whistle. "That's gonna be interestin'."

Ginjima nudged Atsumu with his elbow. "Did you just get manager-zoned?"

Atsumu stared after you, mouth slightly open, and for once in his life, speechless. But you didn't even notice the way his gaze lingered. You didn't care about his reaction. Or about him at all, it seemed.

— — — — —

It didn't take long for you to feel like you belonged.

Maybe it was because you worked hard. Maybe because you didn't treat anyone like they were larger than life. Maybe it was because you knew when to be serious and when to just let the boys be dumb high school boys.

Whatever it was—within a few weeks, you weren't just the manager. You were their manager.

They still cursed under their breath when Kita's drills got too intense, but they made sure to thank you after every match, accepted your help without grumbling, and even started competing over who could make you laugh more during water breaks.

You were part of the team. On and off the court.

And somehow, you ended up becoming the unofficial tutor too.

"I'm tellin' ya," Osamu groaned, flopping down at the desk in the empty classroom, "this teacher's got it out for me. I swear. There's no way this many trick questions is legal."

You stifled a smile, passing him a worksheet. "It's not a trick question, Osamu. You just need to actually study the formulas instead of trying to wing it on vibes."

He grumbled something incoherent in response.

Across from you, Suna leaned on his arm, lazily scribbling down answers as you explained a concept again. "She's right, you know. You've got vibes and snacks, that's about it."

"Least I ain't a roach who copies homework five minutes before class."

You laughed, turning the page in your textbook and pointing something out to Osamu. "Focus. Midterms aren't going to pass themselves."

"Yeah, yeah…"

The sound of footsteps in the hallway drew your attention.

Atsumu walked by the open door, pausing when he spotted the three of you inside. His brows knit slightly as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Since when did this turn into a cram school?"

Suna didn't even look up. "Since Osamu started failing math."

"I'm not failin'," Osamu defended quickly. "Just… hoverin' on the edge."

You smiled at Atsumu. "You can join, if you want."

He scoffed. "Tch. No thanks. I ain't need help from someone who treats quadratic equations like they're a fun hobby."

"Suit yourself," you said calmly, turning back to the notes. "But when you bomb the test and Kita finds out, don't come crying to me."

Osamu smirked.

Atsumu opened his mouth like he wanted to snap something back, but then he paused. You weren't even looking at him anymore. And that bothered him more than he expected.

Later that night, Osamu and Suna were packing up their things while you erased the board.

"She's scary," Suna said casually, bumping Osamu with his elbow. "In a responsible, 'please do your homework' kinda way. Like Kita."

Osamu chuckled. "Yah, but she's good. Real good. Kinda weird how she puts up with all of us."

You pretended not to hear that part as you grabbed your bag, flipping off the lights.

But just outside the room, you found Atsumu leaning against the wall, phone in hand, doing a terrible job pretending he wasn't waiting for something—or someone.

You quirked an eyebrow. "Lost your way to the gym?"

He glanced up, shoved his phone into his pocket. "Just makin' sure you didn't fall asleep with all that nerd talk."

"How thoughtful."

His tone was light, but something in his expression was… unsure. Like he wasn't used to being left out of something and didn't quite know what to do about it.

He walked beside you, hands in his pockets.

"Ya really like doin' all that stuff, huh?" he asked after a beat.

"What, managing? Tutoring you slackers?"

He shrugged. "Yah. I dunno. You don't get paid or nothin'. You're just always there. Like ya actually wanna be."

You looked at him. "I do. That's kind of the point."

He didn't answer right away.

"…Don't ya get tired of it? Babysittin' everyone?"

You smiled at that, a little softer. "I don't see it as babysitting. I just like helping where I can. And besides…" You looked ahead again. "You guys aren't that bad."

Atsumu didn't reply, but he stole a glance at you, something unreadable in his eyes.

He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself yet—but something was shifting.

And it had started with the realization that he didn't like the way you smiled at Suna and Osamu like that.

Not one bit.

— — — — —

Atsumu Miya was used to being watched.

Whether it was by opponents sizing up his infamous serve, coaches noting his sharp instincts, or girls peeking through gym doors just to catch him wiping sweat from his brow—he'd always had eyes on him.

He liked it. Thrived on it.

So when you joined the team and didn't even blink the first time he landed a flawless jump serve, he chalked it up to nerves.

The second time, he figured you just missed it.

By the third time—when he purposely aimed it just right to send the ball singing past the receiving line, then glanced your way to see… nothing?

He started getting annoyed.

You were talking to Suna. Smiling. Laughing. Not even pretending to be impressed.

So naturally, he doubled down.

It became a pattern. Atsumu would do something ridiculous—throwing extra power behind every serve, calling for tosses he didn't need, fixing his hair more times than seemed physically necessary—and then glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

And every time?

Nothing.

You'd cheer for the whole team equally. You'd compliment a clean receive from Akagi or a good dig from one of the first-years. But when it came to Atsumu?

You gave him a polite nod. Maybe a quiet "nice work" if he really earned it.

That was it.

No gushing. No lingering glances. No obvious signs of awe. You treated him just like everyone else.

And it drove him insane.

"Is she broken?" he asked Osamu one day, half-whispered, after you'd walked past without even looking at his perfectly styled bangs.

Osamu didn't even glance up from his rice ball. "Nah. She just doesn't fall for bullshit."

Atsumu bristled. "It ain't bullshit."

"You fixed your hair with your phone camera during warm-ups."

"So what? Presentation matters!"

Osamu just gave him a look—the kind that said: you're making a fool of yourself, and I'm not stopping you—before taking another bite.

You weren't mean to him. That's what really messed with Atsumu. You weren't cold, or rude, or dismissive. You still offered him water after drills, reminded him to rewrap his fingers when he forgot, and even once told him his tosses had been looking tighter than usual.

But you didn't treat him like a star. You treated him like a teammate.

And he didn't know how to deal with that. Every other girl acted like being around him was a privilege. Like they had to earn his approval.

But you? You didn't act like he had anything to prove.

Which, in a completely frustrating twist of fate, made him want to prove himself anyway.

After about a week of failing to dazzle you with the usual Miya Special™—perfect serves, hair flips, smug grins, and enough shirt-adjusting to rival a modeling shoot—Atsumu realized something horrifying.

You didn't care.

Not about his float serve. Not about the way he rolled his sleeves up before practice. Not about the slightly-too-tight compression shirt he "accidentally" wore.

And he didn't get it.

Everyone cared. Everyone always cared.

But not you. You treated him the same as the other players and the same as his brother, who he was definitely better than (in his opinion). And that felt… wrong.

So he tried something new.

The next day, you arrived at the gym to find a bottle of your favorite tea sitting neatly on your clipboard. No note. No explanation. Just there.

You looked around.

Osamu was stretching. Suna was half-asleep. Ginjima waved at you. Nobody seemed to claim it.

But you accepted it with a small, confused smile and a quiet, "Thanks…?"

From across the court, Atsumu flushed and looked violently interested in re-taping his fingers.

From there, the gestures started coming.

Small things. Clumsy things. Things he clearly thought would go unnoticed but that the entire team immediately caught onto.

You: "Who organized the ball cart today?" Atsumu: (pretending to be indifferent) "Dunno. Ghost, maybe." Osamu: "You even labeled the towels with her name, dumbass." Atsumu: "IT'S CALLED BEING THOROUGH."

Atsumu casually "dropped" a bag of fresh melonpan on your desk like it meant nothing.

You narrowed your eyes. "Is this a bribe?"

He scowled. "What?! No! Just... I was there. Thought you might want it."

You took it. "Thanks, but uh… I'm allergic to melons."

Atsumu deadpanned. "Shit."

The team took notice. Immediately.

Suna started keeping score. "Day 5 of the Atsumu courtship ritual," he murmured during practice. "New move: setting the net up early."

"I always set the net—"

"No, you don't."

Ginjima had a running bet with another second-year about how long it would take you to catch on.

Aran pretended not to hear the gossip, but his amused glances said otherwise.

Even Kita, when he overheard Atsumu volunteer to sweep the gym, blinked once and asked: "…Are you sick?"

Atsumu glared. "I'M FINE."

And you? You noticed. Of course, you did.

But you also knew better than to react too quickly to anything Atsumu Miya did. He thrived on attention. On knowing he'd gotten to someone. So, you played your part: polite, unbothered, immune.

Even when he tied your shoelaces before practice with a smug little wink. Even when he stood outside your class holding your forgotten clipboard. Even when he "accidentally" dropped his lunch tray next to yours in the cafeteria.

You didn't give him what he wanted.

Because he wasn't showing himself, not really. He was still showing off.

The tea was sweet. The bread was thoughtful.

But all of it felt like performance. Like he was still trying to win you over with the same tricks he used on everyone else. And you weren't interested in the mask he put on for crowds.

So, you kept treating him the way you always had. Kind. Firm. Fair. Unimpressed.

It drove him crazy.

And that's exactly when Atsumu Miya, king of confidence, started to panic.

It started innocently enough, as these things tend to do. Atsumu had decided that if the usual flashy displays of skill weren't working, he needed to try something smarter.

His idea?

Charm you with sheer thoughtfulness. Or at least, what he thought was thoughtful.

"Hey, I noticed ya were carrying a lot of stuff this morning," Atsumu said, suddenly appearing next to you with a somewhat strained grin, holding out his bag. "Want me to help carry that for ya?"

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bag. "...It's just a few notebooks and a water bottle. I'm fine."

Atsumu's smile faltered a little. He quickly recovered, tossing the bag back onto his shoulder. "Right. Right. Well, I'm just sayin'—I can always be more helpful. Y'know, I'm good at this stuff."

"Okay, good to know," you said, already looking back at your phone to check the time for the next practice.

His attempt was so clumsy that even Omimi, who was standing nearby and pretending to be busy with his own stuff, shot a glance your way. Atsumu hadn't even tried to make it look natural.

"Yeah, no, we're good," Suna chimed in lazily from the corner, barely lifting his head. "Atsumu, you're really not fooling anyone."

Atsumu, not one to back down easily, tried again.

"So," he began a few days later, during a water break after an intense drill. "Ya thinkin' of tryin' any new moves at practice? I've been workin' on some real advanced stuff—might show ya later."

He tried his best to sound mysterious, but when you glanced up from your clipboard, his attempt at a smirk felt just a little too forced.

You thought about it for a moment. "Nah, I think I'll just watch. I'm sure you'll be great," you replied without a hint of sarcasm, but still not giving him the kind of attention he craved.

"Are you really doin' this?" Osamu asked, shaking his head as he came over to sit beside you.

"Do what?" you replied innocently, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

He waved vaguely in Atsumu's direction. "He's been tryin' to win you over since day one. He thinks you're gonna fall for this." He made a vague motion with his hand, mimicking Atsumu's gestures. "But we all know it's just Atsumu being Atsumu."

"Yeah, he's a pain," you said with a small chuckle. "But he's not a bad guy. Just really… extra."

Osamu shot you a sly look. "Extra? That's puttin’ it lightly."

You glanced over at Atsumu, who was dramatically holding up the ball as if he were preparing for a grand performance. You raised an eyebrow as he turned your way, smiling confidently like he had just unlocked the secret to the universe.

"Alright, you ready for this?" Atsumu called over to you, motioning for you to watch as he stepped into position. "Prepare to be impressed."

He launched into the air with the sort of flair you usually saw from celebrities, executing a near-perfect serve that would've made anyone in the gym gasp… if they weren't all so incredibly unimpressed.

You casually took a sip of your water bottle, completely unfazed, and gave him a small, polite clap when he finished.

"Nice one, Atsumu," you said with a blank smile, not even trying to hide your lack of enthusiasm.

Atsumu stared at you, dumbfounded. "Did… did you just…?"

You shrugged. "What? You asked if I was impressed. I said nice serve. You're not the only one who can do a good one, you know."

Ginjima snickered from the sidelines. "Busted."

That night, as practice ended and the gym cleared out, Atsumu went to extreme lengths to salvage his pride.

After a long, loud discussion with Osamu—who had pretty much given up on helping him at this point—he came up with a plan. A bold plan. A plan that, frankly, he wasn't sure would work.

He waited until you were about to leave the gym, collecting your things from the sidelines, and casually strolled over.

"Hey," he said, as if the conversation had never been anything more than totally normal.

You looked up, half-expecting another round of awkward "Hey, look at me" displays.

But this time, he seemed… different.

"I was thinkin'," he continued, scratching the back of his head. "You've been helpin' the team out a lot, so I figured maybe we could, I dunno… grab some dinner? I'll treat, since you've been working your butt off, and all."

Your eyebrows lifted, surprised by the sudden shift. He was actually asking—not performing.

You looked at him, deciding to throw him a small bone. "Dinner, huh? You sure you're not just trying to impress me again?"

Atsumu blushed, muttering something under his breath. "You're… not makin' this easy, ya know."

You gave him a friendly grin, the faintest hint of amusement in your voice. "I never said I would."

The rest of the team watched the exchange from the corners of the gym, all the while silently rooting for the sheer trainwreck they were witnessing.

But for once, Atsumu didn't feel like he had to impress anyone.

— — — — —

That night, you found yourself sitting across from Atsumu at a small, cozy restaurant a few blocks from school. It wasn't the kind of place he would normally choose—he would usually go for something flashier, more attention-grabbing—but you'd picked it, and to your surprise, he'd agreed without complaint.

Atsumu fiddled with the chopsticks, clearly nervous. He was trying, but the old, cocky Miya charm was still lurking beneath the surface.

"So," he started, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight tension in his voice. "I was thinkin' about what you said earlier… y'know, that I should be less flashy. Guess I... might've gone overboard."

You raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of your drink. "You think?"

He shot you a look, and for the first time in forever, you saw him a little less certain of himself. His usual arrogance was still there, but it was cracked. "Well, yeah, I guess," he said. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I've always kinda been the show-off. Guess I didn't realize I was overdoing it."

You shrugged, setting your glass down. "I don't mind. You do you."

"But I wanna do you," he muttered under his breath.

You didn't respond right away, choosing instead to poke at your food, trying to ignore the little twinge of surprise at his words.

"Alright," he continued, trying to recover. "Let's talk about somethin' else. You're from a different class, right? Osamu always talks about how you're a genius in history or something. Got a secret for it?"

You couldn't help but laugh at how casually he asked. "A genius? No. I just study."

"Yeah, study." Atsumu tilted his head, clearly not buying it. "I can barely get through the first chapter without my brain deciding to take a nap."

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. "Well, maybe you should stop making history a competition and just focus on understanding it. That's what works for me."

Atsumu sighed dramatically, pushing his food around on his plate. "You make it sound so simple. But like, I'm more about making history than studying it." His grin was back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Atsumu took a deep breath before continuing. "Look, I know I'm not really your type." He said it so matter-of-factly that it made you stop mid-bite. "I know I come off as… well, let's be real, kinda an idiot sometimes."

You blinked, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. "Where is this coming from?"

"I've been trying too hard. I'm always trying to show off, y'know? I thought I could just impress you. But you're not the type to fall for that stuff, and I—" He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "I guess I didn't think this through."

You set your chopsticks down, considering his words. "Atsumu... you don't have to impress me. You're already you."

He paused. "And what if me isn't good enough?"

"Then you're doing it wrong," you said, your voice calm. "If you're going to be anything, just be real with me. I'm not asking for perfect serves or a flashier personality. I'm just asking for you to show up and not try so hard to be someone else."

He stared at you for a long moment, a little surprised. Then he gave a slow nod, the cocky smile returning to his face, but softer this time. "Guess I'll try that," he said, his voice almost shy now. "So… no more showing off?"

You smiled. "No more showing off."

Atsumu leaned back in his chair, clearly processing. He let out a soft laugh. "Well, this is new. Me, being the one who's tryin' to figure you out." He grinned, though it lacked his usual bravado. "You really don't want the 'Miya Atsumu Experience,' huh?"

You shook your head, amused. "I don't need an 'experience.' I just need a teammate who shows up, someone who's... not acting like they're on a reality show."

He chuckled, looking more at ease now. "Guess I'm just gonna have to stick with the basics, huh?"

"Pretty much," you agreed, your smile genuine.

The meal went by a lot smoother after that. Atsumu relaxed a little more, and the conversation drifted from volleyball to school and even to the more personal stuff—family, friends, and the things that made him tick outside of sports. It felt... oddly normal. Not like a date, but like two people finally being real with each other for once.

You even found yourself laughing at one of his ridiculous stories about Osamu stealing his socks.

At the end of the meal, Atsumu paid the bill without a second thought, though he tried to hide it behind his usual swagger.

"You know, next time, you can pay," he said, leaning back against the chair with a cheeky grin. "I'll let you treat me."

You rolled your eyes, standing up. "I'll let you buy me dinner next time when you stop acting like a drama queen every time you step onto the court."

He chuckled, tossing a couple of bills on the table. "Deal. But don't think this means you've won."

You didn't need to look at him to know his grin was back in full force, that unmistakable confidence returning. But there was something different this time—something less forced, less like he was trying to get your attention and more like he was just... enjoying your company.

As you both walked out of the restaurant, there was a strange sense of calm between you two. You weren't sure if this was the start of something else—something deeper—but it was the first time you saw Atsumu as more than just a showoff.

— — — — —

Days went by after the dinner, and things between you and Atsumu took on a quieter, more nuanced tone. He wasn't flaunting his skills in your face anymore, nor was he bombarding you with overly flashy gestures. Instead, he seemed to pay attention to the little things—things you'd mentioned casually in passing, without even realizing how much they mattered to you.

It started with a bottle of water. Not just any bottle, but one that was your favorite brand—a specific one that you liked when you were working on homework or practice. It appeared on your desk during practice, next to your clipboard, no note, no words exchanged. You paused, staring at the bottle for a second.

It wasn't the showy kind of gesture you'd grown used to—like the melon pan he thought would impress you by bringing you food. This time, though, he actually paid attention to what you liked. There was no fanfare or big entrance, just a simple action.

The next time you mentioned you had a tough test coming up, Atsumu quietly handed you a study guide he'd apparently found from a tutor he knew. You blinked, looking at the paper, then up at him. His usual confident smirk was softened, like he was uncertain whether you'd appreciate it or not.

You raised an eyebrow. "You… studied for this test?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, no. But I figured you'd want something more than just a couple of notes scribbled on a napkin." He shrugged, trying to sound casual, but the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed him. "Just thought you might find it useful."

You couldn't help but be a little surprised. Atsumu Miya—the guy who always seemed to care more about his image than anything else—was actually being thoughtful. And you had to admit, you did appreciate the gesture. But you couldn't shake the feeling that he still wasn't being fully genuine. Maybe it was too soon to trust these small acts.

So you gave him a small nod, a quiet thanks, and went back to your work. He smiled, but it didn't have the usual smug edge. There was a subtle warmth in it that he hadn't shown before.

As the weeks passed, it became obvious to everyone else that something was different between you and Atsumu, even if neither of you acknowledged it outright.

Atsumu still acted like his usual self around the team—loud, teasing, and always being an idiot—but now, he was more mindful of you. He kept his distance, but not in a way that felt forced. He didn't crowd you like he used to, didn't demand your attention in the same over-the-top way. It was like he was waiting for you to decide if you were going to engage with him on your own terms.

One afternoon, after a grueling practice, Atsumu approached you while you were packing up your things. He wasn't as loud as usual, his voice softer, a little less confident, and his posture more reserved.

"So, uh, y'know how you said you like ramen?" He began, rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked up, puzzled. "Yeah?"

He fumbled a bit before pulling out a small coupon. "Well, the place across the street's got a deal going today. I thought maybe, uh, if you wanted, we could go grab some. You know, after practice. You're always working hard and… well, I figured you'd like it."

The awkwardness was almost palpable, but for some reason, it didn't feel uncomfortable. It just felt honest.

You smiled slightly, but you didn't jump into the invitation right away. "I've got homework. Maybe some other time?"

He blinked, clearly disappointed, but masked it with a shrug. "Right. Gotcha. Just thought it might be nice." He smiled awkwardly before stepping back, trying to act casual again.

Despite yourself, you found your thoughts lingering on him more than usual. It wasn't just the ramen invitation. It was how he'd been subtly weaving his way into your routine—quietly watching, listening, and trying to show that he cared. You'd never seen him like this before, and it made you wonder: Was he really changing, or was he playing a game with you?

You had to admit that Atsumu's recent gestures hadn't gone unnoticed. They were kind, thoughtful in their own way—but every time you started to soften toward him, a voice in the back of your head reminded you that he was the same guy who had tested you when you first became the manager. The same guy who'd tried to impress you with tricks and superficial gestures, hoping to win your attention. And now? Now, he was acting like he cared.

But was it real? Or was this just another game for him?

You weren't sure.

That night, as you lay in bed, thinking about his offer, his gestures, his almost sheepish smiles, you couldn't help but feel torn.

Was he just trying to break you—testing your boundaries, seeing how far he could go to get under your skin now that you weren't interested in his flashy exterior?

It had been so easy to dismiss his behavior at the beginning. He was loud, cocky, too full of himself. But now… now it was harder to read him. Was he still playing games? Or was he actually serious?

You sighed and closed your eyes, knowing deep down that you weren't ready to take the next step until you figured out his true intentions. The last thing you wanted was to get hurt by someone who was still playing the same old game.

A few days later, Atsumu couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He'd been trying, hadn't he? He'd done everything right, at least according to his logic. Subtle gestures, paying attention to what you liked, being patient. He had even held back when he wanted to show off. He wasn't acting like the Atsumu everyone knew.

But you weren't giving him the time of day. You were polite, but distant. He'd seen that look in your eyes—the one that said you weren't sure about him.

So, with that nagging feeling pushing him forward, Atsumu approached you after practice, when everyone else was busy packing up or getting ready to leave.

You were just finishing up putting your things away when Atsumu stood in your path. For once, there was no teasing grin, no cocky remark—just the usual, brash Miya Atsumu, but with something more vulnerable underneath.

You didn't look up immediately, but you could feel his presence. "What's up?" you asked, a bit distracted as you zipped your bag.

"Hey," Atsumu started, his voice more serious than you were used to. "Can we talk for a sec?"

You froze, glancing up at him. There was an intensity in his eyes that made your chest tighten, as if he'd been carrying something for a while, and now it was finally about to spill out.

"Sure," you said quietly, setting your bag down.

Atsumu hesitated for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he was unsure whether he should even ask. But then he just went for it.

"I don't get it," he admitted, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. "I've been trying, haven't I? I've been—well, doing what I thought was right. Subtle stuff, the little things you like, not... not showing off anymore." His eyes met yours, searching for any sign that you understood. "But... you're still acting like I'm just... another guy trying to get your attention." He looked away briefly, his frustration evident. "I'm not just messing around. You've gotta know that."

You exhaled slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the moment you had been avoiding, the one where you had to be honest with him.

You shifted on your feet, trying to gather your thoughts. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like he was silently asking you to give him an answer.

The truth. The one thing you had been keeping hidden from him.

"I—" You stopped yourself, struggling to find the words. You didn't want to hurt him, but you couldn't lie anymore. "I'm just... not sure, Atsumu."

His expression faltered, and you felt a pang of guilt. He took a step closer, trying to read you. "Not sure about what?"

You swallowed, gathering the courage to finally speak what had been weighing on you. "I'm not sure if you're being serious. You've always been the type to show off, to get attention. And I—I just don't know if this... you, now, is real. Or if it's just another game to you."

Atsumu's eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked taken aback. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if processing your words. "You think I'm playin' you?" he asked, his voice quieter now, like the wind had been knocked out of him.

"I don't know," you said softly, almost whispering, "I just... after everything, it's hard to tell. You've never shown interest in anyone like this before. You always go for the easy wins, the attention. And I don't know if I'm just another one of your... challenges." You glanced away, biting your lip. "I don't want to be that."

The silence between you two was thick, almost suffocating, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was raw, honest in a way neither of you had expected.

Atsumu finally exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping just slightly. "So you think I'm just messin' with you," he said, more to himself than to you. It wasn't a question, but a statement of disappointment.

"I don't know, Atsumu." You shook your head, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between you two. "You've done all these little things—things that are... nice. Really. But I don't know if it's real. And I don't want to get hurt if it's just a game to you."

Atsumu stood there for a moment, processing your words, his usual bravado slipping away entirely. He wasn't the cocky, showy Miya Atsumu in this moment. He was just a guy, trying to figure things out.

"I see," he finally answered, his voice quieter than usual, before turning around and leaving the gym.

You watched after him with a surprised expression, having thought he'd try to talk to you further, maybe attempt to make you understand that you were wrong. But just leaving like that? That wasn't a reaction you had anticipated.

— — — — —

The rest of the day passed by in a blur of routine for the team, but Atsumu couldn't focus on anything. He had spent the entire evening locked in his room, the door shut tight as if the world outside didn't matter anymore. His usual cocky smirk, the confidence that defined him, had been replaced by something entirely foreign to him—confusion and frustration.

He replayed your words over and over in his mind: "I'm just not sure."

Atsumu had tried, hadn't he? He had made a real effort. But now, all of a sudden, he was second-guessing everything. Was it all just a game to him? Had he been too reckless in the past to even know how to be real with someone?

Osamu, as always, pretended to not care, but even he could tell something was off. Atsumu had locked himself away, barely responding to anyone. Osamu gave him a few hours of space—figured his brother would bounce back like usual, maybe work out his own thoughts—but it was clear that Atsumu was brooding, far more than normal.

After dinner, Osamu couldn't take it anymore. He pushed open Atsumu's door without knocking, ignoring the annoyed grunt that followed.

"Atsumu," Osamu said, not bothering with pleasantries. "Get out of your room."

Atsumu didn't even bother looking up from where he lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. His arms were behind his head, his legs tangled in the sheets.

"Go away, 'Samu," Atsumu muttered, his voice flat, like he hadn't slept in days. "I'm fine."

Osamu stood in the doorway, arms crossed, unimpressed. "Yah, you look real fine. You've been sulkin' in here like a goddamn child."

"I'm not sulkin'," Atsumu replied with a sharp, defensive edge, though his tone lacked the usual fire. "Just thinking."

Osamu was silent for a moment, his gaze scanning his twin, then sighed. "You've been 'thinking' for hours. Something's wrong. I know ya, Atsumu. You're actin' like... well, not like you."

Atsumu didn't respond. The silence hung thick in the air between them, and Osamu could see how much his brother was struggling, even if he refused to admit it. Atsumu wasn't one to let things bother him, to let anyone see him vulnerable, and this was the first time in ages that Osamu could sense something was off.

Osamu leaned against the doorframe, his arms still crossed. "You wanna talk about it or do I need to drag ya outta here kickin' and screamin'?"

Atsumu let out a frustrated sigh, finally sitting up on the bed. "I don't get it, man," he said, his voice almost too quiet, like he didn't want to admit the confusion he felt. "I thought I was doin' the right thing, ya know? Like, with her. I—I've been tryin', but… She doesn't believe me."

Osamu raised an eyebrow. "Y/N doesn't believe you?"

"Yeah," Atsumu replied, running a hand through his messy hair. "She thinks I'm just playin' her. That I'm not serious, that it's just another game."

Osamu stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He didn't say anything at first, just walked over to the bed and sat down next to his brother. He could tell how much it bothered Atsumu, even if his twin wouldn't admit it.

"So, what exactly happened?" Osamu asked, his voice more patient now.

Atsumu turned to face him, his expression open for once. "I told her I was serious. That I wasn't messin' around. But she thinks I'm just... I don't know, playing some game with her. She doesn't believe I can be real."

Osamu sat there for a moment, processing the words. He could understand why you'd feel that way, considering how Atsumu had always been. He'd never shown interest in anyone for real before. His confidence, the way he flaunted his skills—those were just part of the show, the persona he hid behind.

But Osamu knew his brother better than anyone. He had seen the way Atsumu had changed around you. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, Osamu understood that Atsumu wasn't just messing around this time. He was trying.

"That's what happens when ya treat everything like a joke," Osamu finally said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "You build a reputation for being all flash, no substance. People don't know how to tell if you're serious or not." Atsumu's face twisted with frustration, but Osamu continued, not letting his brother off the hook. "You want her to believe in ya, huh? Then you gotta show her. For real. No more games. No more pretending to be someone you're not."

"I am showin' her!" Atsumu snapped, but there was no fire in his words, just a hint of desperation. "I've been trying, 'Samu!"

Osamu cut him off with a shrug. "Just keep tryin' then."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," Osamu said with a small, knowing smile. "You don't have to do anything extraordinary. You just gotta stop hidin' behind the act and show her you're serious. You wanna show her you care? Then start actin' like it, not like some show-off tryna get a reaction."

Atsumu leaned back against the headboard of the bed, exhaling deeply. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"Well, you're gonna have to figure it out," Osamu said, standing up and heading toward the door. "If you want her to take ya seriously, you've gotta start being the person you really are. And I'm not talkin' about the Atsumu Miya everyone knows. I'm talkin' about the guy who cares about her."

Atsumu stayed silent as Osamu left, his twin's words sinking in. Maybe Osamu was right. Maybe he had been so wrapped up in trying to impress you, he forgot what really mattered.

He wasn't used to this kind of vulnerability. But if he was ever going to get the chance to prove himself, he'd have to start somewhere.

— — — — —

The next day, you arrived at practice feeling the weight of everything that had happened. Atsumu had left without a word, and though you tried to put it out of your mind, you couldn't shake the feeling that you had said something wrong, something that might have pushed him away for good.

As you were walking through the gym's entrance, you caught sight of Osamu leaning casually against the wall, arms folded, watching you as if he'd been waiting for something. You tried to avoid his gaze, but of course, he noticed.

"You're looking a little tense today," Osamu said, his tone casual but with a slight edge of curiosity. "Everything okay?"

You hesitated. There was no way to lie to Osamu—he saw through everyone's facades, especially when it came to his brother. "I—uh, yeah. I guess I just… I don't know."

Osamu tilted his head, the usual smirk on his face replaced by something more serious. "I know what happened yesterday. With 'Tsumu."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't know if you were ready to have this conversation. "I didn't mean to upset him."

Osamu pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward you, the look in his eyes softening. "You didn't upset him. He just…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Atsumu's a pain in the ass. He's always been a pest, always tryin' to get under everyone's skin. But he's also honest, in his own weird way."

You furrowed your brow, not entirely following. "What do you mean?"

Osamu's expression shifted, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by a kind of quiet seriousness. "I mean that when he's messing around, trying to get your attention, that's just his way of testing things. He doesn't know how to do things differently, not when it comes to someone he actually likes. He's used to people reacting to his tricks or his charm—because that's all he's ever done. But when he actually tries... when he's being nice, doin' little things for ya, paying attention to what ya like—he means it."

You blinked, surprised by the sincerity in Osamu's words. "I… I didn't know."

Osamu shrugged, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Of course you didn't. You probably think he's just playin' some game, right? But if he's not showing off, if he's not tryin' to impress you with his serves or his looks, then that's him being real. And if you don't notice that, it's not his fault. But it's also not your fault. He's not exactly the easiest guy to read."

You glanced down at your feet, guilt creeping in. Had you been too harsh? Had you been too quick to judge him as just another show-off?

Osamu's eyes softened as if reading your thoughts. "Ya have to understand something. Atsumu doesn't know how to be subtle. He's got this big personality, and when he likes someone, he doesn't know how to make it easy. But if he's actually tryin' to be nice to you? You can trust that it's real. He's not doin' it to play games."

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. "But what if he just thinks I'm a challenge?"

Osamu shook his head firmly. "If he thought you were just a challenge, he wouldn't be so damn persistent. He would've moved on to someone else by now. Trust me, you're not just another conquest. You've got him thinkin', and that's something he's not used to. If he wanna impress you, it's not because it's easy. It's because he actually wants ya to see him for who he is. All of him."

Your mind raced as you processed Osamu's words. You had underestimated Atsumu, assumed he was just another player trying to win over a girl with flashy gestures. But if Osamu was right, then maybe there was more to his actions than you had originally thought.

"And you're sure about that?" you asked, still unsure.

Osamu nodded, his usual teasing grin returning. "I'm sure. Like I said, Atsumu's a pest, but he's never been anything other than honest when it counts. If he's tryin' to be nice to ya, then it's because he means it."

You stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if you were ready to believe it, to trust in Atsumu's sincerity. Finally, you exhaled and gave Osamu a small, uncertain smile. "Okay. I'll think about it."

Osamu's smile softened, and with a knowing wink, he clapped you on the shoulder. "Good. Now, go make sure my idiot twin doesn't mess up any more of his attempts to win ya over. You're the only one who can make him figure his shit out."

You laughed softly, the tension that had been in your chest easing just a little. Osamu was right—Atsumu's way of showing interest might be messy and confusing, but maybe that was just part of who he was. And if he was trying to be real with you, maybe it was time to stop questioning it and start paying attention.

The training had just ended, and the gym was emptying out. The usual post-practice chatter filled the air as players gathered their things, but you couldn't shake the thought of Atsumu from your mind. Osamu's words from earlier kept replaying in your head: "If he's trying to be nice to you, then it's because he means it."

You waited a few moments until most of the team had already dispersed, and then, with a deep breath, you stepped outside the gym, making your way to the back. You had decided it was time to talk to Atsumu.

It didn't take long to find him. He was leaning against the side of the building, his arms folded, staring at the ground with his usual smirk nowhere in sight. He looked like he'd been waiting for something—waiting for you, perhaps.

He didn't notice you at first, and when he did, his posture stiffened, and he turned away slightly, as if unsure of how to act. You stopped a few steps away from him, taking in the scene. The air was cool, a gentle breeze brushing your hair, but the silence between the two of you felt heavy, like there was more to this moment than just a simple conversation.

Atsumu cleared his throat first, breaking the quiet. "What do you want?"

You hesitated. There was so much to say, but you weren't sure how to start. Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. "I wanted to talk to you. About what happened the other day."

Atsumu shifted, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "You sure about that? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you already made it clear what you think."

You shook your head quickly. "It's not that. I didn't mean to make you feel like… like you were just playing around. I just didn't know if you were serious about any of this."

He straightened, looking at you more fully now. There was a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, a rare sight, but you didn't miss it. "Yeah?" He took a slow step closer, but not too close—just enough to bridge the gap between you both, as though testing the waters. "So you thought I was just messin' with you?"

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "I did. But Osamu said something to me today. He made me realize that… maybe I've been looking at you all wrong."

Atsumu's brow furrowed. "Oh yeah? What'd he say?"

"He said that when you try—when you actually put effort into something—it's because you mean it. You're not just playing games." You met his gaze, holding it for a moment before continuing. "And I guess… it was just easier to keep my distance and assume you were playing around. That way, the risk of me getting hurt was lower. I'm sorry."

Atsumu didn't respond at first. His lips twitched slightly, as though he was trying to hide his emotions. "So, what? You think I'm actually serious about this?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less teasing.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. "I do. And I'm sorry for not seeing it earlier."

There was a beat of silence before Atsumu stepped a little closer, still keeping a bit of distance. He scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly awkward. "You know, I didn't expect you to just fall for me or anything. But when you... didn't react the way I thought you would, I didn't know how to handle it. I guess I tried harder, and..."

"And?" You encouraged him softly.

Atsumu looked at you directly now, his usual cocky smile replaced with something more genuine, more open. "And I guess I just wanted to prove that I could do things differently. I'm not perfect, but I'm tryin', okay?"

Your heart gave a little jump at his sincerity. This wasn't the Atsumu you'd seen before—the brash, overconfident one. This was someone who was actually putting himself out there.

"I believe you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wasn't sure if it was real, you know?"

Atsumu exhaled deeply, running a hand through his messy hair, and for the first time, he looked more vulnerable than ever. "Yeah. I get that. But I'm not the guy who does things halfway. So… if I'm sayin' this, then I mean it."

Before you could respond, he took another small step forward. His eyes searched yours, as though waiting for your permission, and you felt your heartbeat quicken in your chest.

There was something electric in the air between you two—something unspoken. It wasn't about the showy gestures or his usual antics. It was about the quiet honesty that had been there all along, the part of Atsumu you hadn't seen until now.

And without thinking, you reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, giving him the smallest of smiles. "Then… let's see where this goes."

Atsumu's expression softened, and without a word, he closed the last gap, his gaze flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. Slowly, carefully, he leaned in.

The kiss was brief, chaste, and soft, as if both of you were still unsure of the new ground you were treading. It wasn't passionate, but it was real—no tricks, no games, just two people who had finally taken down their walls and decided to be vulnerable with each other.

When you pulled back, you found yourself smiling, and Atsumu mirrored it, his usual smirk returning but with a softness you hadn't seen before.

"So, this is what it feels like when you're not acting like a complete idiot," you teased lightly, your heart still racing.

Atsumu chuckled, his hand gently brushing your cheek. "Yeah, guess I'll have to get used to it, huh?"

You laughed softly, feeling the tension melt away between you two. For the first time, things felt simple—real.

Masterlist

#haikyuu #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu fluff #miya twins #inarizaki volleyball team #atsumu fluff

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marifilue · 6 months ago

Text

Part 1: New Guy In Town

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, no use of y/n, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit language, nothing much but we'll get there

Wc: 4,2k

A voice echoes in your mind, Professor Xavier calling your name, his presence is sharp and commanding. God, he always knew how to make a grand approach. You jumped at the unexpected voice as he instructed you to meet him downstairs. You set down your book, breath caught. Then, with a quick step, you head for the door.

Grabbing a red cardigan from the hanger just behind your bedroom door and leaving your book, now neglected, by the bed, you walk down the hallway. Dusty windows let in streaks of morning sunlight, warming the cold, shadowed hallway.

You step down two floors via the stairs to reach the main floor. Just when you’re about to reach for the handle, the door swings open, and suddenly you’re staring at a stranger, a tall rugged man who left no room for the doorway, his shadow casting over you. Weird hair style, are those a mutton chops hanging by his chin? Those belonged in a period dramas, not in Professor Xavier’s polished hallway. His X-Men sweater is unzipped halfway, chest hair on full display, which he doesn't seem to be bothered. Could’ve zipped it all the way up, but for some reason known only to God, he left it halfway at seven a.m. in freezing cold.

"And, Logan, meet Hollow" Charles said, introducing the strange man to you by your mutation's name. As you peeked to the side and get a better view of Charles since this guy is blocking the entire doorway. You shot him a confused glance; must be another stray that Charles had picked up. Not that it’s a bad thing—you were a stray once, rescued by Charles after escaping some twisted government experiment.

The man turns back to Charles and points at Ororo, who’s already in the room with Scott. "Storm?" he questioned, pointing to Ororo. "Cyclops," pointing to Scott. Then, "Hollow," he said, pointing at you. You swear you've never heard a voice that deep, did he do that on purpose?

He scoffed, "And what do they call you? Wheels?" Mocking all of the names and even the Professor. Where did Charles find this guy?

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "That’s a lot of attitude for a guy with mutton chops." you muttered, eyeing him warily as he turns his head back at you.

He scoffs, "Hollow? That even a real name?" he said, your eyebrows furrowed together, resisting the urge to show him exactly why they called you that. You ignored him and stepped forward, purposely bump his left shoulder so you could enter the room with force- since he choose to stand right in the entrance door.

"My name is Charles Xavier," Charles said. You manage to keep your voice steady as you ask, "What’s going on, professor?" But part of you wonders if you’re ready for whatever answer he’ll give.

"Logan here and his companion, a young mutant named Marie, were attacked by other mutants under the influence of an old friend of mine, Erik Lehnsherr. I'm not very fond of what Erik is currently engaged in, and I believe his intentions are not positive," Charles explained, and you catch a glimpse of the— what was his name again?mutton-chops guy looked utterly confused.

"You and Marie is safe here Logan, we need to figured out what is Magneto's up to first." Ororo said "Hollow, I believe there’s a room available across from yours on the third floor. Would you mind showing Logan around the school and then leading him to his room?" Charles glanced at you with his usual smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You had to admit that smile was a bit creepy, and his request was now undeniable.

"Sure, Professor," you replied shortly. Glancing at Logan "Chop chop, mutton chops." prompting him to follow you as you leave the office. If looks could kill, you'd be the first to die staring into those hazel eyes.

"You seem really intrigued by my mutton chops, aren't ya?" he said, following your steps from behind as you show him the classroom through the hallway. The school bells ring, and the kids make their way into the hallway, minding their own business. You snort a little laugh, low enough for him to hear. "What?" he demanded, wanting an explanation.

Now entering the kitchen and finding the door to the backyard. "I've only seen those in period dramas they haven't exactly been in style for, like, what? A century?" you said,

"Oh, I know that just fine. I was there when it was still in style," he replied stoically, stepping outside behind you. He now zips his sweater all the way up, which he should have done earlier.

"So your mutation is time traveling, huh? That's a first," you jumped to conclusions. He scoffs "That ain't it, bub. I'm just ol'." Standing beside you and staring into the green yard a hundred feet across. He tucks both of his arms into the pockets of his gray X-Men sweater.

"Like a hundred years old?" you asked, raising your eyebrows in pure curiosity. "Now that bald fella in a wheelchair have restored my memory back after attempting all night. I'm pretty sure I'm pushing a hundred and seventy. A thing I couldn't even remember for the last ten years." Logan responded whilst staring into the green yard. With this new information, you suddenly feel a slight sympathy toward him. A decade, that’s a long time to be lost.

"I have regenerative healing abilities too. If I'm right in guessing this time that's your mutation?" you said, glancing to your left to catch his profile. "Really? How old are ya?" he asks, his tone now filled with curiosity.

"Whoa, whoa. I don’t think it’s socially acceptable in today’s society to ask a woman her age," you replied sarcastically, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. "Fifty-five years old, and nobody needs to know," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He can’t help but smile softly, amused by your humor.

Logan brings his left arm up, rubbing his temple with the tips of his index and middle fingers. "Listen, I, uh... I've had a long night. Can we just cut the tour short and show me the room?" He said with low voice, continues to rub his temple before pinching the bridge of his nose. His slight mood shift makes you want to question him further, but you simply nod in understanding. "Come, follow me," you say as you head back into the mansion.

The next three minutes pass in silence, filled only with faint echoes from the classrooms—the low murmurs of students, chairs scraping on floors. The mansion’s grandness always felt both comforting and isolating. Logan trails two steps behind, eyes flicking over the wood-paneled walls, the high arched ceilings, and the faint burn marks from past battles. After climbing two stories, you reach the third-floor hallway. This floor has eight rooms—four on each side—and now that Logan is the last person to occupy one. You on the other hand were the first, a little over two years ago. Sometimes you wondered if you’d ever truly settle in. This floor is more sophisticated than the students' quarters, designed for teachers and offering much more privacy.

You twist the cool brass doorknob and push the door open. The faint scent of wood polish and dust greets you both. Noticing his belongings already sitting near the bed just one bag with enough clothes. Ororo must've dropped them off.

"Find me if you need anything." You said as he nods, offering a faint smile before you close the door "Thanks," he muttered. You force a polite nod with a gentle smile before heading down the hallway, sensing his gaze linger a beat too long. Whether out of interest or suspicion, you weren’t sure. though something in his tone leaves you wary.

A few feet away from the kitchen, a polite voice stops you. “Excuse me?” You turn your head and find a young girl with brunette hair standing nearby. “Hi there,” you responded, waiting for her to speak.

“I saw you with Wolverine earlier. Do you know where he is?” she asked. You give her a polite smile, a bit puzzled. “I’m sorry, who’s Wolverine?” you said, genuinely confused.

“Oh… his name’s Logan,” she clarifies, a little awkwardly. Wolverine? The name catches you off guard, but somehow it suits him. You nod. “And you are…?”

“Rogue. Marie, sometimes,” she said, her voice soft. It clicks in your mind, and you smile as you introduce yourself, welcoming her to the school. “I showed Logan to his room on the third floor. He said he needed some rest.” She gives a small nod but seems hesitant to leave. You notice her gloved hands, the fabric stretching past her elbows as if it’s meant to keep something hidden.

"Everything okay?" you asked, noticing her hesitation. She glances down, fidgeting with the edge of her glove. “I… well, it’s different here. But I’m dangerous. My mutation, it's not like most people’s.” She hesitates, looking up at you with a worried expression.

"Tell me more about it, what's your gift?" You softly encourage her. "When I touch someone… I absorb their energy, memories, powers… everything. I could really hurt someone.” There’s a heavy silence as she waits for your reaction, her gaze searching for any hint of fear or judgment. Instead, you give her a reassuring smile.

“I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” you said gently. “But, Marie, you’re safe here. This school is a place for people like us. No one’s going to judge you, and no one’s going to turn you away because of who you are.” She bites her lip, a mix of relief and doubt in her expression.

“It’s hard, though… feeling like I have to protect people from myself. Sometimes I wish I could just be normal.” You place a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all feel that way sometimes. But you don’t have to go through it alone anymore. Here, you’ve got people who understand and want to help you.”

A small smile breaks through her worry. “Thank you. I didn’t think… I didn’t think anyone would get it.” You return her smile warmly. “We do. You’re welcome here, just as you are.” She give a polite smiles before disappear into the hallway, after all it's her first day. She needs time to settle in.

The clock reads 7:38. It's Wednesday, and you have an English class to teach at nine—a little over an hour away—leaving you enough time to make a simple breakfast. You tiptoe over to the cupboard to grab some flour and then open the fridge to take out two eggs and a cartoon of milk. Setting down a bowl, you mix the flour with some sugar, then crack in the eggs, pour down the milk. You stir the mixture well until it forms a smooth pancake batter. You wait for the pan to heat before carefully pouring the batter just enough to form the perfect circle.

"You mind sharing a bite of that?" a deep voice suddenly appear. You glance over your shoulder, careful not to take your eyes off the half-cooked pancake, and see Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

You nudge the spatula under the pancake, flipping it with a practiced hand. "I thought you were resting," you said. "I was, but then my stomach grumbled. Haven't ate anythin' in two days," he told you.

"Alright, I'll let you have some. Sit down," you instructed him, and he willingly obliges. "Anythin I can help with?" he adds.

"No, don’t meddle with my business in the kitchen," you replied with a cocky tone, Logan’s lips twitched into a half-smirk, one brow lifting as he watches from his seat behind you when you quietly stand still in front of the stove, humming a melancholic song he’s never heard before. Your hair is messy, pulled into a bun with your favorite floral hair clip. The ends of your red cardigan sway in rhythm with your movements.

A few minutes pass, and the two plates of pancakes are ready, each stacked three high. You place them on the table, but something’s still missing—blueberries and maple syrup, you think to yourself. You head to the fridge to grab some blueberries; there are only a few left, and you make a mental note to restock soon.

"Actually, can you grab the water?" you asked him, reaching into the cupboard above the fridge for the maple syrup. "I thought you hated anyone meddlin' in the kitchen." Logan scoffed as he shifts from his seat, grabbing a glass. He fills it with water, though you didn't exactly pay attention because you're too busy on pouring just the right amount of maple syrup, not too much, just enough.

Logan returns to his seat and places your glass beside your plate. You carefully add blueberries to each plate, and when you’re satisfied, you sit across from Logan, glancing at the empty glass he placed for you. You also catch a look at his own glass, which he’s now drinking from, fully filled with water. "Seriously?" You glance him a death stare raising your eyebrows. He puts down the glass and before he could even blink, you tossed your glass directly to his chest with enough force so his reflexes could catch it, which he did.

"Whoa, relax. I'll get em for ya." He said with stupid grin and you can clearly see how much he's amused with your reaction. He shifts once again from his seat and fill in your glass. "Don't forget the silverware. And if you're only grabbing one set this time, I can eat for two." You jokingly threatened him.

"Aight, no need to get harsh." He came back to the table and handle you the silverware whilst putting the glass with his other hand. With just two of you in the kitchen, you ate the first bites in uncomfortable silences, besides you just met him not even an hour ago. He doesn't seems to mind with the silence but you sure as hell mind, a lot.

"So I guess Storm and Cyclops picked you?" You said staring at your plate and stole glances at his. He shrugged "Yeah, funny names." Bringing another spoon into his mouth, good god he's starving. "It's a code names, just like Wolverine" you tease him after learning he had his own codenames, what a hypocrite. He caught off guard with you mentioning the name Wolverine but refuse to engage further and change the topic immediately.

"What's your actual name then?" He asked and you muttered your first name. He repeated it and tells you how much better it sounds rather than Hollow. "How long you've been here?" He adds whilst taking another bite. "A little over two years now." You said.

"The kid you brought, she’s more than she seems, isn’t she?" You curiously asked as you've interact with Marie earlier. Your best assume was that she might be a relative, probably cousin? Niece?

"I actually had no idea. She's uh, sneak in the back of my van yesterday. Real tough and a fearless kid I must say." Logan said, remembering his accident yesterday.

"You just met her? Could’ve sworn you two were blood, the way you two look alike." You said bringing a spoonful of pancake into your mouth "No, I don't have any relatives left." As Logan finishes the last bite, you take a deep breath, deciding to push just a bit.

"So, I guess...the van's your home?" you asked, glancing over at him before your gaze drops back to your plate. He sets down his fork, pausing. "Home's a stretch." He gives a half-smile, but there's something dark in his eyes that tells you not to dig further.

You nod, realizing he’s probably not one to share personal stuff. "Makes sense. Things like homes don’t seem to last very long around here, anyway." Logan raises an eyebrow, and there's a flicker of understanding or maybe sympathy? But he doesn’t respond.

The silence between you feels almost comfortable now. Almost. You force yourself to finish the last few bites, knowing he’s ready to bolt. You barely have time to look up before Logan’s already heading for the door. He mutters a casual, “Thanks for the food,” without so much as a glance back. His plate sits abandoned on the table, crumbs scattered around it like he didn’t even consider cleaning up. Typical. You narrow your eyes, letting out a small huff as you grab his plate, biting back a string of curses. The water splashes as you scrub, each scrape of the sponge a bit more aggressive than the last.

Men always have it so fucking easy, you think, gritting your teeth. They breeze in, make a mess, and then just walk off without a second thought. Meanwhile, you’re here, elbow-deep in soap suds, trying not to dwell on how much that annoys you. Maybe it’s just him, you try to reason. Or maybe it’s every guy who thinks that dishes magically clean themselves.

“Welcome to the X-Men, I hope you’ll have a great stay. We might actually come with free chefs and maids.” You muttered under your breath, doing a mock impression of Logan’s gruff voice. You can’t help but smirk as you scrub the last of the dishes, feeling a bit of satisfaction in your sarcasm. “A free maid, huh?” The voice makes you jump slightly, and you whirl around to find Logan standing in the doorway, eyebrow raised.

He holds up his hands, looking almost—awkward? “I, uh… went to bathroom. Wasn’t plannin' to ditch the plate.” Heat rises in your face, but you straighten up, not letting him off that easily. “Could’ve fooled me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Most people just disappear after saying thank you.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, clearly not used to being called out. “Didn’t think I needed to narrate every move I make.” He steps closer, reaches past you, and picks up his plate. “But if it’ll get you off my back…” He gives a quick rinse and sets it on the drying rack, as if to make a point. You both stand there in silence, arms crossed, neither willing to look away first. Finally, Logan gives a low chuckle. “Guess I’ll just have to remember the maid service isn’t included next time, yeah?” You can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto your face. “Yeah, and don’t expect turndown service either.”

Logan shakes his head, amused. “Duly noted,” he says, before heading back down the hall, leaving you with an odd mix of satisfaction and lingering tension in the now-empty kitchen.

As the clock ticks closer to nine, the realization hits: you have an English class to teach. You tidy up the kitchen in haste, wipe your hands, and check your watch, calculating that if you hurry, you’ll just make it on time.

Your days as a teacher at Xavier’s school tend to follow a steady rhythm. Teaching English to a room full of young mutants comes with its own unique challenges, but the reward is in the way they lean in during readings, or the curious questions they ask after class. You’ve found ways to weave classic stories into lessons on self-identity and resilience, lessons you wished you had when you were their age.

After the morning rush of class, the day usually settles into a pattern of planning lessons, grading papers, and managing the occasional classroom drama. You know each student’s quirks, their strengths, the places where they struggle. For many of them, this school is the first real place where they’re free to be who they are. And for you, teaching here feels a bit like giving them a piece of the acceptance and stability you found when you arrived.

As the day draws to an end, you're called to Charles’s office. When you arrive, Jean, Scott, Ororo, and Logan are already there. Jean stands with her arms crossed, tension clear in her posture, while Scott and Ororo share a concerned glance. Logan, leaning back with arms folded, looks like he’s ready to leave, but there’s something guarded in his eyes.

Charles waits until you close the door before he begins, his tone more urgent than usual. "Thank you all for coming. I have some troubling news. Rogue has run off." A murmur ripples through the group, and you can see the concern etched on their faces.

Charles holds your gaze a moment before addressing everyone. “Erik, as you know, has always been interested in advancing mutantkind, but his new plan could force that evolution at a catastrophic scale. He’s found a way to trigger latent mutations in humans, possibly by using a device.”

There’s a heavy silence as everyone takes in the implications. Finally, Scott speaks, his tone grim. "So he wants to make everyone in the city a mutant. But wouldn’t forcing a mutation be fatal for most humans?"

Jean nods, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Exactly. The human body isn’t equipped to handle that kind of forced change. If Erik’s power source is strong enough to reach across the city, we’re talking about widespread devastation." Logan shifts, his eyes narrowed. "So let me get this straight. He’s gonna flip a switch and hope people survive the change? Doesn’t sound like a well-thought-out plan to me."

Charles sighs. "Erik’s never concerned himself with risks to those he considers weak. In his mind, this is a step toward a world where mutants reign supreme. He may even believe this forced mutation is a ‘gift.’ But the outcome would be chaos, death—" Ororo interrupts, her voice sharp. "And even if he does believe it’s a gift, we know better. This will only lead to fear, violence… more division."

Jean’s brows knit together, concern flickering in her eyes. “But if he has a device powerful enough to reach so many people…where would he even get that? It would require immense energy.” Charles closes his eyes briefly, searching for the right words. "That’s where Rogue comes in."

A hush falls over the room, and the weight of his words sinks in. "Erik doesn’t just need power; he needs someone who can channel it. Rogue’s mutation, her ability to absorb the life force and abilities of others—it’s exactly what he would use to amplify his device. If he taps into her… he could make the entire city vulnerable."

Logan straightens, his face hardening. "So that's why he’s after her. To turn her into a… a conduit?"

“Yes,” Charles confirms, voice heavy. “If he takes Rogue, he could harness her ability to absorb energy and use it to power his machine.”

Scott’s jaw tightens as he glances at Charles. "But Rogue’s just a kid. She’s barely learned to control her powers, and he wants to use her in some twisted science experiment?"

"Precisely," Charles says gravely. "If Erik reaches her first, she might not survive. Her powers are still volatile. This would overwhelm her."

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach, thinking about your own past. "I'm familiar with how dangerous forced mutations can be. My.. uh" You trailed off not sure if you could ever say it out loud. "My mutation was thrust upon me with an experiment, and I was pretty lucky to develop generative healing ability which allowed me to survive. But for anyone else with different abilities, being forced into a mutation could be very fatal."

Everyone’s gaze shifts toward you, the gravity of your experience weighing heavily in the room. Logan’s eyes soften for a moment, filled with an understanding that only comes from shared pain.

Ororo looks pained, acknowledging the truth of your words. "It could create a wave of death instead of evolution." Charles nods gravely. “Indeed. The implications are terrifying. Erik sees this as a chance to elevate mutantkind, but the price is too high."

Logan’s voice cuts through the tension. "Then we get to her first." Ororo nods, her expression resolute. "Agreed. We can’t let him use her this way. But does she even know she’s in danger?"

Charles hesitates before answering, a shadow passing over his face. “I tried to warn her earlier, but… Rogue is a stubborn soul. She believes she’s a danger to those around her.” Jean nods slowly, her voice filled with sympathy. "And if she thinks she’s protecting us, she might have… left. To protect us."

You swallow hard, a sense of urgency building. "If she thinks she’s protecting us, she could be putting herself in Erik’s hands. She has no idea he’s after her." Scott stands, fists clenched. "Then we need to mobilize, track her down. We can’t afford to lose her to him."

"Where do we even start looking?" Logan asks, scanning the room. "If she’s got it in her head to run, she’s not just going down the block." Charles clasps his hands, his voice both weary and determined. "I will head to the cerebro downstairs, I need all of you to move, we can't afford wasting any seconds."

Everyone falls into a tense silence, the gravity of the situation pressing down. Logan’s eyes meet yours, and you see a flicker of worry there, maybe even something protective. “Alright then,” Logan said, his voice low but resolute. “Let’s go find her.”

Part 2 ->

an: Hi guys, thank you for reading this part. I'm honestly so excited since this is my first X-Men fanfic. My obsession came back since Deadpool & Wolverine released. I used to write a lot about Daredevil but never have the courage to post it. English is not my first language and I hope you can still enjoy it :)

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett #logan howlet x reader #x men #xmen fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine

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minlahzz · 5 months ago

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Alain Relationship Headcanons.

requested.

alain, alain... i hate french people, but ig he gets a pass because his pokemon are sick!! sorry for the delay of this request, procrastination gets the best of me

alain isn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. he’s reserved, almost to a fault (dangerously nonchalant 😔🙏) and it takes time to understand how he shows affection. he’s not one for grand declarations, but his loyalty and quiet care speak volumes. you might not get a lot of words from him, but his actions leave no room for doubt.

alain would never confess first–not because he doesn't care, but because he's too cautious. (also because he doesn't know how he would talk to you about this, considering he's still young and doesn't want to look like a fool infront of you) you guys have a great friendship already, why ruin it with all that mushy stuff? even if it's obvious you like him back, he's not quick to make assumptions and sees this as your 'friendly gestures,' which definitely killed you as he ignored all your signs BLINDLY. so realistically you would have to confess first.

when you confess to him, he just zones out trying to process what you said. almost like he didn't believe that you liked him back. It would go something along the lines of this.

you weren't planning on confessing, and especially not today. it just slipped out of your mouth while you guys were hanging out. “i think i’m in love with you,”

alain blinked, turning to look at you like you’d just spoken gibberish. “what did you just say to me?” he heard it loud and clear, he just didn't understand why you said that.

“nothing!”

“...you’re terrible at lying.” (he likes you back)

for him, actions speak louder than words. that's why his love language is 100% acts of service. he’s not great at expressing his feelings, but he’ll go out of his way to do it for you. need help with something? already done. forgot your umbrella? he’s there with one even before it started getting cloudy.

alain is okay with pda, as long as its not excessive or like frequent. holding hands? sure, why not. hugs? yup! kiss? sure, but only on the cheek.

he’s very observant and notices things about you that even you might overlook. if you’re stressed or upset, he’ll pick up on it right away, even if you’re trying to hide it.

alain can be quite protective, but not the point of being overbearing. he trusts that you can handle yourself, but if ever someone tries to mess with you, they're going to face alains charizard!!

arguments with him are rare, but when they happen, they’re intense. he’s not the type to yell or lose his temper, but his stubbornness can make things drag out longer than they need to. he hates conflict, so he’ll sometimes shut down instead of addressing the issue right away. it’s frustrating, but once he’s had time to think, he’ll come back to make up.

dates with alain aren’t traditional, and honestly, they might not even feel like dates at first. like a walk through the streets of lumiose city or spending time at a Pokémon Center while Charizard gets checked up. it’s less about the activity and more about being with you in a way that feels natural to him. he tries his best though!!

he's not that romantic let me make that clear, but his silliness is somehow charming in a way. he does hilarious things without noticing, and he'd just stare at you confused on what you're laughing about. he's the type of guy who would give you flowers randomly and then say "it was on sale..."

one time, you walked in on him mid-rant about how the weather was today, and charizard was just sitting there nodding like it understood. when he noticed you, he got all defensive: “what? it’s not weird.” yeah, okay, whatever you say alain...

rating time!! 8/10 he's actually really fun to be around despite his cold demeanor and nonchalant dread head energy, he's dependable and genuinely cares for your well being, but his communication skills are through the floor because its almost non–existent! goodluck showing him to your parents...

#pokemon #pokemon x reader #pokemon anime x reader #pokemon anime #pokiani #pokiani x reader #alain pokemon #pokemon alain #alain x reader #pokemon alain x reader #pokémon x reader #pokémon alain x reader

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realisticjupiter · 1 year ago

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hi! :D i hope u're doing well !! i was wondering if i could request chishiya x gn reader? where after the borderlands, chishiya faintly remembers the events while reader does not, so reader doesn't know who chishiya is but chishiya knows who they are. they're both admitted in the same hospital after the meteor, and chishiya has to fall in love with reader all over again, "coincidentally" meeting through a hallway and introducing himslef and slowly building a relationship and just AGHGJJAHAH this runs thru my mind a lot !!! ty for even reading this anyway hope u have a great day love u 😘😘😘 and also make sure to stay hydrated, healthy and happy :))

ꔫ ⸝⸝ summary: chishiya helping reader who is struggling with a snack, and at the same time remembering exactly how the two of them met.

ꔫ ⸝⸝ pairing: chishiya x gn!reader

ꔫ ⸝⸝ genre: fluff

ꔫ ⸝⸝ warnings: mentions of hospital medication , lmk if anything else !

ꔫ ⸝⸝ word count: 1k

A/N: I love this idea sm bc i also think of this a lot LOL. just the idea of chishiya's cookie moto when reader can't find a snack is just special to me -- also I apologize to literally everyone who has sent me a request I TRY I SWEAR IT'S NOT ON PURPOSE

Your hand pounded on the clear glass that separated you and the snacks inside the vending machine. It had completely eaten your money just for the simple snack you've been craving all day not to fall to the bottom.

It obviously hasn't been a good day for you, but this was just the cherry on top.

Waking up in a hospital with hundreds of bruises and one big gash across your torso wasn't exactly your definition of a good time. You don't even remember how it happened.

In fact, you barely even remember what you did that day. You were walking to the mall? Maybe? It was clearly all a blur.

When he approached you, you almost thought you were hallucinating from all the medication the hospital decided to give you for the pain.

He was almost glowing in the hospital light, like he belonged there like some type of ghost whose soul is trapped inside the building.

"Those cookies aren't very good anyways." Were the words his naturally curved mouth spoke.

Something was off about him, you couldn't tell what it was though. Maybe it was his body language; how his eyes couldn't leave your face and studied your every move. Or maybe the way he spoke; so nonchalant but hard to tell where his social skills lied.

"I've been craving them since I woke up. But, obviously now--It doesn't really matter." You were already irritated, it was clear in your voice when you spoke. You weren't exactly in the mood to make friends.

His eyes looked down, which made yours follow along to the yellow bag that rested in his hand. He reached out to you, letting you see the cookies that sat inside.

"You can have one, if you want." He offered, his eyes watching your face once more.

You couldn't exactly read him, and it was clear that it was his persona. A man who wants to be known as an unsolved mystery. A closed box that couldn't be opened by anyone.

But in this Cheshire man's mind, he felt conflicted; confused. He swore he knew you from somewhere, but he wouldn't dare ask. He'd rather find out from his own mind. He always had a thing for puzzles, but this one felt more complicated than anything he's ever experienced.

You sighed, but with a shrug you dipped your hand into the bag to grab a single cookie. You brought it to your mouth with a crunch and your rating of the snack was written all over your face, and at the same time it almost felt familiar.

He had a good eye, or you guess taste for good snacks. You were almost surprised you've never tried it before, you've always seen it in other places.

"It's good, isn't it?" He raised a brow, a small grin showing on his face.

"Mhm, can I have another one?" You responded mid chew.

He couldn't hold back the soft chuckle as he handed the bag to you, watching as you dove straight in with no questions asked.

"I'm Chishiya, by the way." Chishiya finally introduced himself with his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Y/n." You replied, mouth full of cookies.

He nodded at the sound of your name. It tried to click in his mind, and when it did--it felt like he had just been given some stranger's memories.

He knew now, the borderlands and the person he was stuck with--merely because they were almost smarter than he was. For a second he was confused, concerned and almost convinced he was remembering an old dream.

It wouldn't be the first time he mistook a dream for reality, but he knew this time was different. In dreams there were no names or faces, but your face, the person standing in front of him wasn't just a dream. And nor were the memories he continued to remember.

"Do you... know me?" He asked, his tone unsure as if he was asking a foreign question.

You looked at him with a confused stare, looking him up and down and then studying his face--but none of it clicked.

"No, I don't think so." You shook your head, handing him the bag just for there to only be one left inside.

You gave an apologetic smile when he took it back, but somehow he didn't mind. Mostly because he had bigger things to think about.

Like how the person he told he loved doesn't remember him. It was almost funny when he thought about it that way, but it was honestly sad.

But when he thought about it another way, like how he may have a second chance with you. It felt different, like the god whom he never really believed in decided to grant him the good karma he wasn't so sure he deserved.

He couldn't care less though, the only thing he wanted from his experience in the borderlands was a second chance; and now he has it.

"Shouldn't you be resting? Your injuries seem worse than others." Chishiya tried to keep the conversation, although it almost sounded like he was trying to end it.

You shook your head, "Mm-mm. Doctor said to walk around, to stretch my legs." You explained, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the cold breeze of the hospital.

"Want to take a walk then? We can go outside, I know you aren't exactly fond of hospitals." He suggested, crushing the bag in his hand to stuff inside his pocket.

You stopped for a second, furrowing your brows and opening your mouth. "Uh--sure. But, how did you know that?" Your mouth shaped into a smile because it genuinely freaked you out a bit. He made it sound as if he knew you forever.

"Lucky guess." His response was quick as he turned and began walking. You hesitated at first, but soon followed after him as he passed a girl who pushed an older woman in a wheelchair and an older man following a bit behind them.

Maybe now was a good time to admit you felt like you had seen him before as well. But you couldn't think of where, so you convinced yourself you were crazy.

But what wasn't crazy, was thinking you had a chance with this Cheshire man. He made you comfortable in a way you couldn't understand, and weren't exactly sure if you wanted to.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

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cripplecharacters · 10 months ago

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Hello. I am writing a character with intellectual disability, and I have found your posts about that really helpful. Thank you for taking the time to make them.

I am trying to do research and write him well, and I was hoping you could give me some advice on how to do that. My problem is that I would like to describe the way he speaks and the sound of his voice, but I'm not sure how to do that respectfully.

What I would like to describe is the way he takes a little longer to complete his sentences, needs more time than others do to plan what he's going to say, and pronounces some sounds a bit differently because of motor skills issues. I want to honor his unique voice and also help readers understand that he is noticeably disabled.

Are there any words or terms that would be really good/preferred to describe this sort of thing? And, on the other side, is there anything stereotypical or hurtful that should be avoided?

Thank you!

Hey!

I recommend our guide on writing speech disabilities.

In-dialogue, you can try showing him taking a break mid-sentence or using a lot of filler words/sounds to show that he's taking his time. You can spell them out in his speech, but I wouldn't overuse it - you can put more of them at the start, but later your readers will remember that that's how he talks, and occasional reminders should be enough.

It's important to remember that;

1) ableists often mock the things I just mentioned, and

2) they're nonetheless real and real life people (me) talk with those patterns. I'd urge you to show them as just how he talks, not something that's inherently "annoying" or "child-like". Stray away from any sorts of infantilizing comparisons in general (that is, if he's not an actual child).

For him taking longer to plan what he is going to say, that's very real. How it shows (or doesn't show) will be very personal, I specifically tend to look up + fidget with my hands and people who know me can recognize that it means I'm trying to say something but need a moment (though strangers also often get it). But he can show it completely differently of course.

I don't think there's a consensus on what's the best way of "spelling out" someone's speech disability. My personal preference is leaving it out of the actual speech, but making it clear in the dialogue tags. It's also easier for readers who might have reading disabilities or not be native speakers of the language you write in. So you could make it clear there whether it's that he's slurring words, has a lisp, or stutters.

For terms, a lot of the accurate ones have also been used to mock how we talk. "Slow" would be the best example, "loud" would be there as well. A lot of us will talk slow, a lot will talk very loudly. I do the latter, and I know people who do both or neither. The key is to say it in a way that's neutral and not pass it off as some funny quirk or an outright gag. It's just a speech characteristic, the same way that someone could have a lower pitched voice, or speak very softly.

You can also show him struggling to follow the flow of the conversation. So sometimes it could be that he just loses the main topic and just asks what the discussion has been about (I do that all the time), or continues going on the subject that the other character(s) already moved on from.

Thanks for the ask and being thoughtful about it,

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anonymous #intellectual disability representation #speech disability representation

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erexart · 1 year ago

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Language barrier

Pairing: Rengoku x gn! y/n

Context: fluff, modern au, Kyojuro is bilingual

A/n: Hello, this is my first time writing something so I hope you’ll like it <3

Thank you @meowzfordayz @neiptune for being the first readers. I’m also tagging @thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch because the 3 of you are my biggest inspo and why I wrote this🌸

———————————————————————————————————

Kyojuro yawned and rubbed his eyes. The book he was holding on to threatened to fall from his hands as he realised it was getting late. The clock showed that it was almost midnight, and he took it as his cue to finally go to sleep. As he was about to turn off the lights, he noticed the figure in bed beside him suddenly stir, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile.

He looked over, but much to his surprise the love of his life was not asleep yet. He quirked a brow in amusement.

You laid silently with one hand on your stomach and the other hovering in the air. Your eyes were closed, but your index finger was moving, slicing into nothing. It looked as if you were drawing something as your finger stroked the air, or perhaps conducting an orchestra. You stopped mid-stroke and muttered under your breath, a curse perhaps. Kyojuro only watched for a solid minute before he shifted and laid closer to you.

“My love? What are you doing? I thought you were asleep.”

“Something bothered me, and I can’t seem to get a grasp on it.”

“Oh?” He kept quiet, urging you to continue as he watched your index finger move up and down in one swift motion. Judging from your tone of voice, you hadn’t been asleep at all.

Your head turned towards him, eyes fluttering open to meet a pair of his bright coloured irises. “I can’t seem to memorise the ‘ha’ column.”

Kyojuro’s smile widened, and his heart feels full. You had been trying to learn his native language for a week now. Although he had told you he did not mind the fact that you don’t speak Japanese, your insistence on learning his mother tongue made his heart soar.

You practiced with him every day, memorising the stroke orders of most common kanji characters and tried to have small conversations with him. He is a wonderful teacher. Despite your lack of knowledge and poor memorisation skills, he was patient and loving and kind through it all. Tonight, when you tried to recap your lessons for today, a column of hiragana characters became scrambled. It had nagged on you and kept you awake.

“Well, that should be easy enough!” His volume rose a bit in excitement. Moving his hand, he interlocked it with yours, the back of your hand facing the both of you.

With the other free hand, his index finger stroked the back of your hand gently.

It formed the character “ は“

“How do you pronounce that?” He questioned, smiling at you.

“ ‘Ha-‘ right?”

“Correct!”

He scribbled on your hand again. This time forming the character “へ“

“he”

“Good job!”

His touch was gentle and comforting, making your eyes droop from relaxation. You decide to close them and let your sense of touch guide you.

This time his scribbling formed the character “ふ”

“fu?” You answered much quieter

“Yes, great job my love.” His volume dropped, sensing the tiredness in your pitch. “What about this?” He wrote down the character “れ“

Your brows furrowed and your eyes opened half-lidded at him.

“That’s not in the ‘ha’ column.”

He chuckled, happy that you remembered what he taught you. “But do you know what it is?”

“It’s ‘re’ like the start of your family name.” You heard a prideful gasp came out of him.

“Wonderful, that’s amazing you remembered.” You could feel him squeezing your hand a bit, warm and gentle, making you feel sleepy once again. You feel like drifting off but kept yourself awake enough as he wrote down the next one. You bit your lip. You know it’s in the ‘ha’ column but you don’t know how it sounded.

“Can you do that again?”

“Of course.”

His index finger traced the back of your hand again, this time much slower and gentler, as If he’s trying to coax you back into relaxing.

“I don’t…know that one.”

“That one is pronounced ho”

“…right..”

The character “ほ” popped up in your mind, and you kept quiet trying to combat the drowsiness and memorise the stroke order you felt.

He went silent for a while. His lack of commentary stirred you awake.

“Kyojuro?”

“Ahh..I thought you went to sleep?” You laughed. “No, not yet, but you writing on my hand is making me sleepy.” He only responded with a thoughtful “hmm”

“Alright, let’s test your kanji.” You sighed, not prepared for the sudden quiz.

“Oh no…I’m going to suck at this.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll use the ones you’ve been learning so far.”

“Alright then...”

His finger moved in skilful motions, stroking right, down, right, right, with precision. He was going slow so you could catch up and make sense of the stroke order. It was difficult but with some concentration you made out that he had written the kanji “描く“ on the back of your hand.

“Ega- ku, -to paint something.”

“Yoku dekita!”

You laughed at his response.

He scribbled another kanji down, and you immediately recognised it because you’ve been practising on how to write it almost every day.

“Well now you’re just trying to write your own name.” You quipped, with a small smirk.

“I’m not even done yet, and I am both impressed and flattered you remembered!” You chuckled lightly at him, and it sounded like music to his ears.

His name was not that complicated, but he continued anyway, caressing your skin gently just to reinforce your brain into remembering the stroke order. He went slowly, his touch causing you to drift off more and more with every stroke. By the time he had finished the “郎” from ” 杏寿郎” you had already gone to sleep.

Seeing that you were finally dead to the world, he pulled on your hand and kissed it gently. Your silent reply was all he needed to confirm that his mission was successful. Pulling back, he decided to write down one final kanji before retiring for the night. He wrote more of a sentence really, and his eyes widened in excitement when he realised he hadn’t taught you this yet.

“ずっと大好きだよ。”

Smiling, he turned off the lights, wrapped his arms around you and went to sleep.

#rengoku x reader #rengoku x y/n #kny x reader #kny x y/n #rengoku kyojuro #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #my fics #rengoku

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playedcrowd5610 · 7 months ago

Text

Steve, Roddie, and C-27 - Danny Phantom x Transformers

Summary: Danny runs into some injured Vehicons and they don't know what to make of this strange human with zero life-preservation skills and a knack for medical assistance. (Aka Steve the Vehicon finally makes an appearance, and a few of his friends too)

---

Notes

Set in a series where Danny finds Starscream one day and decides to start haunting the Decepticons. That's basically all the context you need but if you want more here is the rest of the series:

Haunting the Nemesis

Part 1: Chasing Stars

Part 2: Burning Rubber

Part 3: Adventures of the Decepticons' Pet Ghost Or Tumblr Master List

---

Danny knew he should have been more careful… He had gotten so good at managing to avoid Megatron that he had become careless when it came to watching out for other mechs, which is what led him to the situation he was in now. Knockout had sent him to retrieve some tech from one of the old storage rooms and he found himself standing in front of three mid-conversation Vehicons.

The moment they noticed the door shift, their visors all snapped toward Danny, and for a beat, no one moved. Danny chuckled awkwardly and tried to step back out. “My bad; I didn’t know it was occupied.”

Then, one of the Vehicons –the one in the middle– snapped out of his stupor, transforming his servo into an energon blaster with a sharp, mechanical whine of energy, and aiming directly at Danny. The others followed suit, their servos transforming in unison.

“Unauthorized visitors are not permitted. Don’t move, intruder.” The Con in the middle commanded.

Danny raised his hands slowly. Great. He wasn’t supposed to run into these guys. Of course, they would report back to Megatron, probably show him their visor footage, and Danny would have to up his hiding tenfold — maybe even leave the ship altogether.

But maybe… he could talk with them. One of them stepped closer to Danny, reaching out to try and grab him. As he stepped, Danny noticed a slight limp. Danny quickly switched languages, closing his eyes as he leaned back away from the taloned servo. "I’m not here to cause trouble." He called out in Cybertronian.

The Vehicon reaching for him froze mid-action, and the other two behind him lowered their blasters slightly in shock. Confusion emanated through their EM fields. “What...?” The one furthest in the back muttered in Cybertronian, his visor brightening with a tilt of his helm.

The Vehicons exchanged glances, clearly very confused as to how: 1) a human got on the ship, 2) how the human spoke Cybertronian, and 3), why the human wasn’t scared of them. As Danny’s gaze swept over them, he noticed a large crack across one of their visors and a deep scorch mark across another’s shoulder plate. His eyes again settled on the one closest to him, with the limp.

Danny frowned, lowering his hands. "You're injured." Danny stepped another step closer to the Con directly in front of him who, to his surprise, shifted back away from Danny. The movement only served to make the injured knee groan under the pressure, causing the Drone’s EM field to flicker with pain. "Let me take a look."

All of them, too confused to shoot Danny or capture him, just stared. Eventually, the one with the damaged visor shifted uncomfortably. “You’re human… How would you fix that?”

Danny smirked slightly. "I’m full of surprises."

The Vehicons’ EM fields were now buzzing with uncertainty, more than likely never having encountered a random human on the ship before, maybe never even met one before (Danny didn’t know). The one directly in front of Danny, with the damaged knee joint, took another step back, unsure what to make of the human who had so casually walked into their midst.

The third con –shoulder guy– seemed the most hesitant and put off out of the three of them, keeping his blaster held strong. “You shouldn’t be on the Nemesis. We should take you to Lord Megatron.” The con switched back to English. The visor guy looked back at his –friend? Coworker?– and took his attention away from Danny.

Danny shrugged nonchalantly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. "I don’t think there’s a need for that," he replied, switching back to English as well. "I just want to help. Besides," he added with a glance at the first Vehicon's leg, "You’re not in any shape to catch me anyway."

"There are three of us and one of you, human. We are more than capable of capturing you." Shoulder guy said, an edge of annoyance in his voice.

“Yet you haven’t. So where’s the harm in letting me try and fix it.” Danny moved forward slowly, until he was directly in front of the first Vehicon’s knee, carefully inspecting the area where the metal was twisted and cracked, likely from a hard fall in battle. "This looks pretty painful," Danny muttered thoughtfully, running his fingers over the dented plating.

The Vehicon flinched but didn’t pull away. “You shouldn’t—"

“Relax,” Danny cut him off, smiling up at him. “I’ve been in the medbay plenty of times. I’ve helped Knockout fix worse. You’ll be back on your pedes in no time.”

The other two Vehicons behind him watched, utterly perplexed. Their servos were still transformed into weapons, but they weren’t aimed at him anymore. Cracked visor tilted his helm. “Why aren’t you afraid of us? Any other humans we have come across have run away screaming. You show no fear at our weapons.”

Danny's smirk widened as he urged the Vehicon in front of him to sit down with hand motions and a gentle push, and the Con obliged, sitting up with his back against one of the larger crates. “Trust me, I’ve seen scarier things than a few giant robots with blasters.”

Danny looked over the injury. Some of the metal had been bent in the wrong direction, pushing it into the knee joint rather than encasing it, which made a very awkward bend that would only get worse with time. Danny knew he could just fix it with his powers in a moment, easily bending the metal back into place without needing a welder. Speaking of welders. “Why haven’t you guys gone to the medbay? Surely Knockout could fix these quickly.”

Kneejoint’s shoulders sagged. And then Danny sensed a change of bitterness bleeding into Shoulder-Con’s EM field, and the other two looked over at him before he spoke up. “These are minor injuries. Our repair nanites will help to heal us over time. Lord Megatron does not wish to waste medical resources on Drones unless we are in critical condition.”

The other two looked back to Danny with a nod, affirming what their friend said. Danny threw his hands to the side in outrage. “That's not fair! So you guys just have to live in agony because you’re not actively dying?”

The Cons seemed shocked that Danny cared. Kneejoint tilted his helm inquisitively at the human’s reaction. “It's how it works; we can’t waste unnecessary resources. In addition, there are hundreds of Vehicons. If everyone went to the medbay with every minor injury from an Autobot attack then the medbay would be flooded non-stop.”

Danny bit his lip. “That… really sucks for you guys.” He crossed his arms. “Well, luckily, you have me! I know quite a few things now after watching Knockout work! So if you guys ever need any small repairs, you have me. You can tell your friends, too.” Danny smiled up at them.

Cracked visor seemed to be in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Danny nodded, “Definitely.” He then decided that maybe he should use his powers after all. Maybe just a little bit. It's not like he was hiding them too much anyway. Starscream already knew. Soundwave probably knew. And Knockout and Breakdown likely thought he was invincible at this point. But these guys needed him. It's not like he could use Knockout’s Cybertronian-sized tools.

Danny looked up at Kneejoint. “Hold still.” He told him. Then he reached his hands into the joint, causing the Con to almost jerk back, but he fought himself, staying completely still. Danny pulled some ecto energy into his hands and pulled at the piece of metal that had been jabbing underneath his knee plate, gently forming it back into place.

The Vehicons must have noticed the green glow coming from his hands because confused EM fields filled the room. “How are you doing that?” The Con he was working on asked.

Danny just chuckled, focusing on forming the last bit of the joint into place. “Like I said, I’m full of surprises.” He stood up, patting the now-stabilized knee with a satisfied smile. “You should be able to walk on that now. Just don’t put too much pressure on it until it’s fully repaired by your nanites.”

Visor Con walked over, transforming his blaster back into a servo, and helped lift his friend, hooking an arm under his shoulder blades to help support him. Kneejoint tentatively shifted his weight on his pedes. He took a cautious step, and though there was still a limp, it wasn’t nearly as pronounced. “I don’t understand,” he muttered, tilting his helm in Danny’s direction inquisitively. "Why are you helping us?"

Danny just shrugged again, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Why not? You’re hurt. I can help. Easy choice."

Danny nodded, looking up to the Con’s friend who was supporting him. “That visor of yours could use some work too. Let me take a look.” The Vehicon instinctively stepped back, just staring at Danny as he stood in front of him, barely coming up to the Con’s knee. Danny and the Con waited, staring at each other for a good long moment before Danny sighed. “I can’t take a look at it when it's all the way up there.” Danny made grabby hands towards the Con towering over him.

The Con seemed to snap out of his stupor as he hesitantly reached down, letting Danny climb onto his servo. Danny was raised to the mech’s helm and he grabbed onto it with both hands, examining the cracked surface. His fingers brushed lightly over the damage. Danny pulled some ecto energy into his fingers again but paused when the Vehicon froze, unsure whether to back away or let Danny continue. His EM field was buzzing with confusion and unease with that strange light so close to his optics.

“Steve, you’re seriously just going to let the human touch your visor?” Shoulder-Vehicon asked incredulously, though even he sounded more baffled than angry.

Danny chuckled — he hadn’t expected the name Steve for one of Megatron’s murder drones. “You guys act like I’m doing brain surgery here. It’s just a crack.” There wasn’t too much Danny could do about a crack compared to the work he did on Kneejoint’s — well, knee joint, but he could still help the nanite process along and seal the crack before any excess moisture could get in.

He focused his energy on slightly, melting the glass, or whatever material these guys’ visors were made out of, and sealing it with a slightly raised edge. He leaned back, hands on either side of the Con’s helm, admiring his handiwork. "There, all set. At least for now. I’ll have to come and take a look at it in a couple days."

The Vehicon –Steve– stared at Danny, utterly bewildered.

Danny then jumped off the con’s servo and landed on one of the crates to get closer to the last Vehicon, the one with the damaged shoulder. They all jolted at the height from which Danny jumped, but when they concluded Danny was fine, they eased up.

Danny started trying to inspect the injury but the Con turned away, crossing his servos over his chest, one of them still transformed into a blaster. Danny threw his hands to the side. “Oh come on man, you saw I just helped your friends.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need a human to help patch me up. I’ll get over it. You guys are all ridiculous.” The con turned his helm away like a stubborn child.

Danny sighed and put his hands into his pockets. “Okay, man. You don’t have to take my help, but I’m still offering it. Maybe I could help with the pain. At least that's better than dealing with it for however many days or weeks until it's healed.”

Kneejoint perked up, stepping closer. “Come on C-27, the kid’s actually pretty good.” He then shifted his weight on and off the joint again for emphasis. Danny inwardly thought about how the vehicons could go from names like Steve to C-27, but who was he to judge?

C-27 looked like he was about to argue when Steve stepped in. “C, you know Roddie’s right. You’ve been complaining about that blaster shot on your plating for days.” Steve gestured towards C-27’s shoulder. Danny filed the name Roddie away so he would stop calling him Kneejoint.

Danny waved his ‘magic fingers’ for emphasis when the Con looked down at him. The Con gave a dramatic sigh before turning to his friends. “We should be turning him in to Megatron, not using him to fix up our dings.”

Roddie spoke up by putting a servo in the air. “He said he works with Knockout, so he must be allowed on the ship.”

“He could be lying.” C-27 spat back.

Danny leaned back on his feet. “Would it help if I said I am Starscream’s pet human?” Danny asked. All three visors snapped to him.

“Commander Starscream… Got a pet human ?” C-27 asked incredulously.

Danny laughed. “You say that like it’s more surprising than Knockout allowing me to work with him in the medbay?” The Con seemed to pause in thought. Danny sighed. “Okay, C-27, how about you just let me look at it? This one time. If you don’t like it then you can blast me or something, I don’t know.” The Con looked hesitant.

Roddie stepped forward and scooped Danny up off the crate, holding him up to his friend. “Come on. Look at him. He wouldn’t be able to hurt us if he tried.” Danny laughed about how wrong that was, but either way, whatever helped helped. “And if commander Starscream brought him on board he must be useful.”

Danny smiled. “I am adorable.”

The Con seemed to have rolled his optics under his visor. “Fine.” Danny felt Roddie’s EM field flicker in delight before he held Danny up closer to C-27’s injury. He unclasped his servo and allowed Danny to stand upright, and C-27 pulled his arms away from his chassis, finally transforming his blaster back into a servo, and placing them on his hips.

Danny leaned forward, studying the blaster wound. The crater was about the size of Danny’s head, a deep, jagged pit punched into the dark metal. He could see the faint glint of energon beneath the surface, where circuitry had been torn apart, though it looked like the wound had already started to heal—just slowly. Painfully.

"Looks like it's mending on its own a bit," Danny muttered, placing both palms against the cool metal. C-27 tensed at the contact, his frame tightening, but he didn’t pull away.

Knockout would have welded some additional plating to the frame, but Danny didn’t have the extra plating or the welder. Danny took a deep breath and phased his hands into the plating. The metal groaned under his hands as he began to carefully pull the dent back into place, slowly smoothing out the damaged area.

Danny also pulled a bit of his cold ability into what he was doing, helping to numb some of the pain receptors in C-27’s shoulder. Danny stepped back. “There, that should help for now. It will at least make it less painful and faster to heal.” Roddie pulled Danny towards himself as he looked up at his friend.

C-27 rolled his shoulder, looking between it and Danny, contemplating. “It… Hurts less now.”

Danny smiled brightly. “See? Told you.” Roddie gently placed Danny back down on the crate he picked him up from, and finally, Danny remembered that he was supposed to be grabbing a tool for Knockout and had completely gotten sidetracked.

Danny spotted it pretty quickly and it looked exactly how Knockout described it. Danny ran over and picked it up, large in his human-sized arms. “As much as I would love to stay and chat with you guys more, Knockout needs this and I should bring it to him before he starts to rust.”

Danny started to head towards the same way he came in before turning back to the three vehicons. “Oh yeah… Uh, if you don’t mind. Could we maybe keep my existence out of Megatron’s knowledge? We don’t think he will take too kindly to a human on the ship.”

C-27 tilted his helm. “So Lord Megatron doesn’t know you’re here?”

Danny chuckled awkwardly and swayed from foot to foot. “Not technically. But everyone else is already in on it. And what he doesn’t know won't hurt him, right?” They all stayed silent for a second. “If he found out he would probably drop me out of the airlock.”

“So Lord Megatron will kill you if he finds you?” Steve asked. “Are you not Starscream’s pet?”

Danny shrugged. “You think that will stop him?”

The Cons seemed to contemplate before Steve and Roddie nodded to Danny. They all then looked up towards C-27, who paused for a bit longer. He then shifted uncomfortably under the stares. “Alright, fine. Whatever, kid. Your secret’s safe with us.” The Vehicon waved him off.

Danny smiled brightly. “Thanks, guys!” He then started skipping out of the room, calling out behind him, “If you need me, just call.” Suddenly, their HUDs all pinged with Danny’s contact information as the human turned the corner and left.

The three Vehicons stared after him in stunned silence. None of them had the faintest shred of a clue what to make of the human who had just walked in, patched them up, and left without a hint of fear.

---

Notes:

I guess Danny is now the certified Vehicon medic, goodness knows they needed one! I tried my best to give each of the vehicons their own distinct personality. And I hope that even without the names for the first half it was still understandable! This chapter underwent a few rewrites before I was happy with it! And now I love my Vehicon babies.

Find more here: Tumblr Master List

#danny phantom #crossover #transformers #vehicons #danny phantom x transformers #transformers prime #steve the vehicon #Haunting the Nemesis #danny fenton #ao3 #oneshot #probably some medical inaccuracies in there #ocs #Roddie the Vehicon #C-27 the Vehicon

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uncreative-cryptid · 5 months ago

Text

Forte Circuits and Everything I've Learned About It

this is gonna be a yap fest i apologize in advance

@oldworldpoolhall

Okay, first thing i think it's important to note is the forte circuit bar.

this is really important, cause when you deal DMG to enemies, it will often fill up. I'm going to use simple language cause the problem I have with the game is how confusing the language is and what it actually means. we're gonna call it the Mana Bar.

Hitting enemies means you get Mana, and with Mana, you get the ability to throw hands even harder or do something fancy.

However, you can only collect so much mana before it is at max and will no longer collect.

In the case of wuthering waves, having full mana can mean a lot of things but mainly: consuming the mana means stronger attack responses, such as your resonance liberation.

some characters, when they have full mana, will actually replace their element skill; example of this is Mortefi, who when his mana is full, replaces the skill with a stronger, different attack - but this does not consume his mana.

Resonance Liberation will consume the mana, allowing a character to go "all out" in a sense - and with wuwa terms, almost seems like characters are either overclocking or close to overclocking (not confirmed, but with the way calcharo's appearance changes with his liberation, i suspect it's pretty damn close to overclocking).

something you might also notice:

mana bars with splits.

when a mana bar has a split like this, this means that the consumption of mana is not "all or nothing", like mortefi. the mana needs to only be fills to that split to be effective. in calcharo's terms, he has 3 splits (wuwa calls his mana "cruelty", numbers dont mean a lot of things here unless you actually care about it. i dont, it makes things confusing).

the splits can allow a new thing to happen, where only part of the mana is consumed and allows for different attacks to do more damage - some of these can affect the resonance skill and some can affect normal/heavy attacks.

the only thing you really need to understand about the mana bar is that the more mana you have, the more you can do with it. the more you actually hit the enemy with normal attacks, the more mana you will gain.

next thing to note:

the skills page.

this shows you all your skills and basics of your skills, including your forte circuit.

The actual circuit consists of 3 total nodes. The forte, and 2 inherit skills.

Here you can see that Mortefi's "mana" is called Annoyance .. and i really hate that they do this because it's confusing when reading between characters, but what can you do. Again, numbers don't mean shit. What this is telling you is that when Mortefi's Annoyance (aka, Mana) is full, his resonance skill changes and becomes more powerful (dealing attribute "element" damage). It also tells you how to build up this annoyance.

in simple, general terms: hit the enemy, get mana.

since your oc seems to be going for sub DPS, i suggest looking at Mortefi's skills.

His skills mainly deals with ATK and attribute (fusion) bonus increases.

Inherit skills, once unlocked, will likely serve to increase the character's ATK, DEF, or HP. In some cases, it may also incease Crit rate or DMG. Usually, it is a percentage.

At your basics for a character, it's good to know a few things:

Normal Attack node 1 (max 10 upgrades): this is a rundown of your Basic, Heavy, Mid-Air attack, Mid-Air Heavy (if applicable but most characters do not have this), and Dodge Counter

Normal Attack node 2 is usually going to be healing/attribute dmg or crit dmg

Normal Attack node 3 will be crit/healing/attribute dmg again, just a higher %.

Normal Attack and Intro skill are mirrors - the damage % on the nodes are the same, except for node 1.

same with resonance skill and resonance liberation, the nodes will usually be the same for node 2 and node 3.

Other things that can impact a character's strength:

Echoes ; these are super interesting and kind of important, as a good echo set can really make a difference. I can definitely go into detail on these later if needed.

Weapon ; a good weapon, while not always make or break, will definitely allow a resonator with no built skills to still be solid enough to stand on their own.

Combat style ; if you're anything like me, i subscribe to the "just hit harder" books, so a lot of my characters can not only take a hit, but will hit like a damn truck. crit rates might be higher because i prefer to hit more consistently, and any extra damage is just a bonus.

Enemy Type ; different tacet discords are going to require different things to keep an eye out for. while generally speaking, most the more common tacets aren't going to be of much problem and typically only have 1 or 2 attacks, the more elite and stronger tacets are going to have different ways to fight them - knowing their patterns is key to successful dodges and counters, while also knowing that some you cannot just hit harder and brute force through (lumiscale constructs my destested) - an observant resonator will take the time to watch these particular tacet discords and be prepared for how they attacked.

you can't always dodge an attack, but knowing a pattern of attacks and knowing the signs of when they're going to unleash a certain attack will definitely incease the ability to dodge, or to get the heck out of dodge before you become a grave marker on the side of the road.

#wuwa #wuthering waves #wuwa oc #i yap a lot sorry lmao

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materassassino · 1 year ago

Note

Maybe 'flower' or 'study' for the one-word prompts?

I tried for 'flower', but it wasn't quite working, so I switched to 'study' instead.

One word prompts!

---

Nicolò groans, his head falling forward onto the table. His stylus slips from his fingers, his wax tablet discarded. Yusuf peers at it, eyebrows raised.

“Trouble with the abjad?” he says lightly, a smile dancing on his lips.

Nicolò turns his head, just enough to reveal one eye. Its eyebrow is drawn low in a potent scowl. Yusuf raises his hands in mock defence.

“Peace! I jest!”

Nicolò raises his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “How do you do it so effortlessly?” he asks, and if Yusuf did not know him better, he would say that was a pout he was sporting.

“Do what?” Yusuf replies. “I do many things effortlessly: wield my sword, bargain with great skill, write poetry, suck your soul from your prick… you shall have to be more specific.” He cannot help but grin at the blush he gains from his plain speaking. The metaphors and euphemisms of great poetry have their place, but sometimes it pays to have the subtlety of a charging elephant.

“Learn languages,” Nicolò mutters, his flow of thought clearly being dragged forcefully back to where Yusuf’s words made it wander. “Wherever we go you take to the local tongue as if you came from the womb speaking it, and I sound like a simpleton.” He picks up his stylus and pokes at the table top, making tiny holes in it.

It is both the most petulant and the most despondent Yusuf has ever seen him. His Nicolò is a master of patience and hard work, and his dedication usually pays off. To see his frustrations so openly and plainly, well… It feels, in truth, like a privilege. He is humbled by it.

He reaches over and sets his hand on Nicolò’s, stilling his movements.

“You excel at a great many things, Nico,” he says gently. “You take to music quickly. You discern recipes from a single taste. Animals love you, and children too. Your kindness is as boundless as the sky. Show yourself some of the kindness you show others.”

Nicolò looks at him. He does not seem convinced, and Yusuf heart aches.

“We have all been given gifts and aptitudes, and we have all been given shortcomings. You know I cannot hold a tune for all the gold in the world, and every single camel on God’s Earth hates me on sight.”

The corner of Nicolò’s mouth twitches at that.

“They really do hate you,” he says, and Yusuf counts that as a victory.

“It is fine, I have your love to get me by,” he says, waving a hand. “But what I mean is… you work so very hard, my heart. You dedicate yourself to learning and improving, even when it is difficult. I give up too soon when things do not come easily, I have no constancy. You… you keep to the path, even when it is difficult, and you take my hand and guide me well. I admire you greatly for that.”

“I hope at least in your love you will be constant,” Nicolò says tartly, making Yusuf snort inelegantly. He lifts Nicolò’s hand and kisses the knuckles.

“Always.” He raises his eyes. “And will you be patient with yourself, as you are with me?”

Nicolò sighs, quiet for a long moment. “I will be.”

Yusuf beams at him. “Splendid! But enough study for today, let us go out.”

He springs to his feet, pulling Nicolò with him.

“Where to?” Nicolò asks.

“There is something in the market I need you to try. I want the recipe.” Yusuf presses a kiss to Nicolò’s lips before dragging him out into the mid-afternoon sunshine.

#the old guard #kaysanova #joenicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #pixie writes #one word prompts

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valentine-cafe · 7 months ago

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˖⁺. ﹙ the fire elemental mercenary leader. ﹚: rasui 9948e .𖹭 ݁

. . . fire heart !! 🍒 : “ and when the eruptions of love spring to life, you let the fire burn, and the embers rain upon this land. setting my heart aflame once again. ”

꒰ verse ꒱ 9948e

꒰ species ꒱ fire elemental

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ egyptian

꒰ age ꒱ 500's

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ estj

꒰ alias ꒱ burning demise, head to the circle of veils, the first, old man ( mocking, playful ), dad ( playful )

꒰ story ꒱

refined stature. sharp eyes. this is what is typically known of the fire elemental.

as a leader of the circle of veils, rasui has garnered a reputation of respect and admiration amongst many. carrying out his calm and serene attitude — often being referred to as a prince of fire.

while he may seem intimidating and almost cold, his heart is warm for those he considers lost souls. earning him a deep kinship from some of his workers.

yet through that serenity lies a need for self control; as his title the burning demise is not one he has not earned several times and over. an exceptionally skilled man in his craft, both as a mercenary and a leader who has garnered fear just as much as he has respect.

calculated, it is what a man of his power should be. controlled, orderly —

he cannot afford anything less

꒰ appearance ꒱

long black hair that fades into flames by the end of his tips, sometimes sparks up if he gets agitated or very happy, alternatively dims a little if he gets a bit sad. his hair extends to his mid back

dark brown skin, where flames lick at gently. primarily around his cheekbones and fingers. they are harmless.

burning golden orange eyes that fill the sclera. you can practically see the fire in his eyes

short nails that at times flicker with flames.

has a long flaming tongue, that he can turn on and off with flames.

stands at the solid height of 6’9” ft ( 206 cm ) with a lean, toned body. always standing with a very regal and upkept posture

wears a lot of black or white suits that appear almost regal yet with small hints of modern twists, riddled with golden chains and amber hanging off of some like the embers of his fire. lots of flowy clothes outside of his professional work aesthetic.

he doesn't wear too many rings on his fingers, really only keeping a few promise rings and ancestral keepsakes

has slightly pointed ears

wears lots of cultural makeup. especially eyeliner

꒰ personality ꒱

calm and stoic demeanour, seems almost aloof at times. very refined

despite the above, he is quite extroverted and has no problem sparking conversation

strict and disciplining, but for the sake of helping people, never harming. he is very dutiful and hopes for people to play their part too

comes off as intimidating to most but once you get to know him you'll know it isn't the case

a natural born leader, ready to take initiative and take charge when necessary

very insightful and observative

can be a bit secretive with his own self

clever and intelligent, can be quite calculated and well thought-out. a very wise being

terrible dad jokes, always to help lighten the mood. people never truly expect them from him and he finds it amusing when it throws them off

extremely patient, contrary to popular belief it’s quite difficult to anger him

very gentle despite his exterior, likes helping those in need

motivating and refreshing presence when it really boils down to it

꒰ with a lover ꒱

a gentle lover. always leaving behind warm and lingering touches on your skin. soft kisses pressed against your neck, hands squeezing yours. all before pulling away. departing and leaving you craving for more.

one thing is for certain, his love language is through physical affection. but the affection is not something you get much unless you give it to him or ask of him first or whenever he wants to show you how much he loves you. a part of this is because he is scared of burning you.

loves dancing you around bonfires out in the forest groves, where the moon looms gently above the both of you. and after, he takes you out for a walk, lighting up the path for you by allowing himself to glow.

lots of surprise kisses. sneaking up on you when least expected and then rushing off again to continue work.

elementals do not eat, however, rasui is an excellent cook and enjoys it greatly when he gets to sit down with you and eat together.

likes decorating you with amber and agate, marking himself on you without you knowing.

can be possessive but controls it heavily, he doesn’t want it to slip and make you uncomfortable. so when he shows his possessiveness, he does not show it clearly. trying to keep it down.

could listen to you laugh for hours, and loves talking about anything and everything he knows would get laughs out of you. tickling you too if you are ticklish, just so he can hear your warm, squeaky laughs erupt.

is quite the embroider and adores sitting down and embroiling portraits of you when he can. getting in all of the details, the mundane, the ones you so consider flawed, and the perfect ones. you’re perfect to him regardless. each time you get upset about how you look he shushes you quick.

likes having you around in his office. it gets less lonely and he feels at easy with someone’s presence there with him. a breath of fresh air, different from the usual, heavy one that comes around when he’s alone.

really likes cuddling up to you when you are asleep, late at night, assuring that you feel warm and comfortable in the colder months. while in the hotter, he is careful with doing so, not wanting to give you a heatstroke. but you love it nontheless when you wake up in the morning, his lips curled into a happy smile.

꒰ strengths ꒱

fire manipulation: the ability to manipulate fire in any and all forms

fire production: able to produce fire from within himself at any given time

living fire: as a fire elemental he is fire itself and is able to shift parts of his body as well as his entire self into that of fire or fire aspects. like a fire he can grow and he can burn

pyromancy: magic through fire including a series of spells and so on

combustion: the ability to combust and cause explosions to a certain degree

thermal manipulation: the ability to manipulate temperature in the sense of making it grow higher

fire cloning: able to make clones of himself through fire, specifically smaller versions of himself that disperse from his full form

elemental form: once his people are in their elemental form they are able to control their element to its full extent, their body returning to its natural state. which gives them quite the power boost

advanced combat: he is highly skilled in most combat forms

adaptable: he is able to adapt to most situations that he may come across

leadership: a natural born leader, which is why he is the highest member of the merciless death

weapon excellency: uses a large assortment of weapons. though his favourite is his khopesh, that was passed down to him from his mother's ancestors.

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

water terrains: they tend to dwindle his powers and weaken him

water elementals: while water elementals on their level neutralise him, water elements that are higher than him could do some damage to him

emotional erraticness: it is vital for fire elementals to remain in control of their emotions for it may spiral into their abilities and cause something they regret

꒰ relationships ꒱

lisse: ex girlfriend, complicated.

zhào yizé: mercenary worker, basically adopted him as his son.

shimada takara: mercenary worker, also adopted her.

park tae-hyun: co-worker, frenemy.

lorenzo arias: mercenary worker, another depressed young adult adopted

taral adhikari: co-worker, strained.

zhào haitāo: work mutual, yizé’s older brother, that he also adopted.

yuè mèng yáo: good friend

zhào jìngyí: good friend

zhào mùchén: dislikes greatly

zhào hàoyú: on and off work mutual, another zhào adopted, since their father is emotionally unavailable

꒰ extra ꒱

he is the leader of the mercenary syndicate known as the circle of veils, a sub-syndicate to the merciful death within the society of shades

he speaks arabic

he typically uses a khopesh in combat

#﹙ tea time. ﹚: rasui 9948e 𖹭 ݁#monster boyfriend #teratophillia #terato #monster fucker #fire elemental x reader #mercenary x reader #monster x reader #monster oc #oc x reader #x reader #reader insert #original character x reader #rasui 9948e #asterism

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hostclubau · 10 months ago

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By Any Other Name

This is an x reader, multi-ending, otome style story.

fem!reader

Summary: Your life is hell, and your parents abandoned you to a literal loan shark. A near death experience has changed the trajectory of things, but is this a blessing? Or an endless fall into things far worse than you had before?

Content Warnings: The host club has an After Hours that's effectively a brothel. There are BDSM themes and the exploration of a lot of kinks. Foul language, canon levels of violence, mature audiences only.

Chapter 1: Loaned Out

Your feet hit the pavement, spurring you forward through the tangle of streets. This was your city, but it was his too, and the only hope you had at this point was to either get yourself so lost he couldn’t find you, or get yourself to the nearest Marine Station.

Frankly, you’d almost rather take your chances with the fish-man. Marines were next to useless as far as you were concerned, and the only use they had was that most people wouldn’t shoot you in front of one.

You weren’t entirely sure if Arlong was most people or not.

Leaping over some boxes in a back alley, you turned in mid-air and darted down a different alley when you landed. Running errands for that stupid shark had at least paid off in the sense that you were capable of running for a lot longer than most people.

When you were strictly forbidden from fighting, it was a life or death skill to have.

You might be trying to dodge Arlong until his temper cooled now, but more often than that you were running from his competitors, the marines, and people who knew you worked for him. They were all idiots, and not because you could slip away from them easily, but because hurting you wasn’t going to do anything.

Arlong was more likely to throw your body in the river if you got your ass beat, than he was to see you patched up after. Probably grumbling the entire time about how much money you were costing him yet again.

Fucking loan shark.

Slowing down you take a look around and realize you’re in a part of town you don’t know well. It looked like it was almost central downtown, which was well outside Arlong’s turf. It also meant that whoever was in charge of this area was probably not going to be friendly to you.

Arlong always said that downtown was more trouble than it was worth. He didn’t trade loans with people who lived or worked around here, and he didn’t offer protection for any of the businesses. You usually avoided the area too, even if a delivery would be a little faster, but only because the city’s main Marine Office was here.

Well, looking out for marines was easy enough, especially if you stayed off the main street. Alleys were alleys no matter what city or island, so it didn’t really matter to you. Slipping back into the narrower paths you meandered through the back lines of downtown.

You’d took off from Arlong’s threats just after lunch, and with the sun lower in the sky it was probably closer to seven or eight. You might be able to find a street vendor and get something greasy and filling for dinner, and then sleep somewhere out of sight. Tomorrow he’ll be calm again, or calm enough, and you can deal with him then.

The blow to your face was a surprise.

You put your arm up as you stumble backward, nearly tripping over your feet. The punch had drove your cheek into your teeth, and you could already taste copper as you lean against the far brick wall and look up to see Arlong.

“Got tired of trying to catch you when you’re bad.” He snarls, holding up his snail box and showing you the tracker app that was running on it. “Technology’s a real bitch.”

“I completed the job,” you reply, struggling to speak clearly as your cheek’s already swelling. “I don’t get why you’re pi-.” You stop yourself. “Upset. Boss.”

“The job,” he says, breathing in and giving you a terrifying grin. “Was for you to deliver the package without being seen.”

Your stomach knots. If he’s mad, and that’s why, then someone or something clocked you. Otherwise he wouldn’t waste his energy being pissy.

“… What saw me?” You question carefully.

His brows raise. “Oh? Not going to argue huh? Finally wising the fuck up.” He straightens, tapping his snail box again until he brings up a still picture of you. It’s grainy, but the sequence of images show you dropping off the box and walking away.

It was pretty obvious it was you, but only because you and Arlong knew what you looked like. There wasn’t a shot of your face, and you weren’t wearing anything to mark you as a part of anyone’s crew. It’s a struggle to keep your expression neutral, but smart mouthing back at him right now wouldn’t help you.

“… Sorry.” You settle on the simple apology over any kind of argument. It doesn’t matter how grainy it is. It doesn’t matter that your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. All that mattered was that he didn’t want anyone to see you, and you were seen. You’d been dealing with him enough years at this point to know anything more would be an excuse.

You weren’t going to grovel, however, because there was nothing useful on those stills.

“Sorry?” He prompts and grunts something akin to a laugh. “Sorry might’ve worked before you ran through downtown to avoid me, little runt.”

At nearly seven feet tall, Arlong towers over you, and his large hand gathers most of your shirt at once, as he lifts you easily and shoves you harshly against the wall. “You’re never going to pay back what you owe as a runner.” He tilts his head, leering at you in that way he does every time he tries to convince you to do more lucrative work.

“I can tack on five grand for the inconvenience, and patch job.” He indicates your swollen check with a nod of his head. “Or we can write that off as the price of on the job training and pretty you up. Much as you humans pretty up, anyway.”

“I think I’d rather be a runner.” You grunt, the soles of your shoes scratching at the brick as you struggle to find leverage.

Your father, seas take him screaming, got into debt with Arlong when you were a kid. Dear sweet dad worked for the fish-man for a couple years before he took your mom and bounced. Or Arlong killed them, you couldn’t really be completely sure one way or the other.

With mom and dad gone, and the debt still on Arlong’s books, you were hired.

Aside from barely giving you enough money to live on, while working you to the bone, Arlong hadn’t paid much attention to you. Until recently. Maybe you hit some magic number in age, or one of his clients took a liking to you, whatever the case, he was getting pushier and pushier about turning you into one of his Dolls.

The idea of getting paid to fuck didn’t bother you.

The idea of having 80% of your earnings stolen by Arlong, who only wanted you to change jobs so he could make more off you, bothered you.

Arlong falls silent for a while, and you can feel your stomach knot. The look on his face is never a good sign. He’s irritated and what little good humor he might have had a moment ago is evaporating at an alarming rate.

“Don’t be like that,” his voice is flat, save for a slight tone of disappointment. “Really think about it. You’ll never pay off your debt as a runner.”

Even with him taking most of your earnings to pay off your debt, you would have more income. You’d be able to save up, and even have a chance at freedom. Assuming you didn’t screw anything up.

Wait.

“… I’ll never pay off my debt regardless.” You reply just as flatly. Realization had long since dawned on you the nature of this game, but there was a sudden clarity this time. There were no more slaves, not even for the nobles, not since the dragons were slain over twenty years ago.

Arlong had found another way to go about it.

Sure, you could turn him and his bullshit in, but you took a risk that the marine you reported to wasn’t already in his pocket. If they weren’t, and the risk might be small so it could be worth trying, but you’d be going down with him too. No one would give a shit that the illegal things you did were because you felt trapped.

It would be your own fault for not turning him in sooner.

Frankly, it wasn’t a comforting prospect to think about ending up in prison where Arlong would have far more reach than you’d have protection. Even as a runner you made him money, more than he spent on keeping you alive at least. It was more job security than some folks had, so you didn’t want to complain.

“That’s no way to be.” He laments, patting the side of your face. “I’m sure you’ll get-.”

“Every year I manage to pay you forty thousand berries.” You interrupt him. You shouldn’t have, you shouldn’t be talking, you most certainly should not be talking like this. “My dad’s debt was two hundred and fifty thousand berries, and I’ve been working for you for well over ten years. That’s over four hundred grand even with all the additions… boss.”

Arlong lets go of you, and you barely manage to keep your feet under you. He’s mad. At this point you’re going to earn yourself a lot more than a swollen cheek, and that’s probably going to cost you some random amount tacked onto your supposed debt.

You sigh, releasing your own frustration into the air. There wasn’t enough fear in you right now, just cold sure understanding, and anger.

Now that you’ve started its like the flood gates have opened, and you can’t muster the self-preservation needed to close them.

“Every couple months or so, something always seems to come up to tack more onto the debt. It doesn’t matter what the excuse is, the point is the principle hasn’t gone down in... fuck, nearly twenty years.” You shrug, an incredulous, clipped laugh escaping you. “It’s never going to go down. Even if you put me in a sexy suit and let your shady clients sniff my pits, it’s still not going to go down. You’ll just charge me for the sleazy dress-hurk!”

Arlong’s hand is around your throat, and the force with which he grabs you bounces your head off the bricks. You can barely breathe, your head’s throbbing, and the bricks are scraping your back through your shirt as he lifts you up roughly against them. You could swear his eyes are glowing red he’s so angry, and you aren’t sure what it was you said.

You expected you were pissing him off, but this is more akin to rage.

“Little bitch grew a pair of balls when I wasn’t looking, huh?” He snarls, driving his fist into your side. The hooked swing sends a sharp pain through you and knocks what little air was left in your lungs out. “You think some weak little cumshot can talk to me like that? Gonna stand there and tell me I’m charging you unfairly, yeah?”

He loosens his grip for a second and you suck in a pained breath. You know you should be using the precious oxygen to beg for forgiveness, but maybe this was it. The limit of what you could take. You’d been running for hours, and you were hungry enough you just didn’t care.

“Gonna… really… try an’… say you… aren’t?” You manage to choke out the words, but there’s spots on the sides of your vision and your lungs are pitching a fit again. Blacking out might be the last thing you ever do, and a small part of you wanted to succumb to it. Just be done and over with it all.

What would tomorrow bring anyway?

“You fuckin-.”

“Arlong.” A woman’s voice reaches you both and you see Arlong’s eyes widen before he looks away from you. “Don’t murder someone by my club.”

The words are enough for him to release you. This time you can’t keep your feet under you and crumple onto the ground. Gasping and coughing, it takes you a moment to recover, and both the mystery voice and Arlong seem okay with giving you that time.

You get yourself set up against the wall, opting to stay down on the ground rather than try to stand, and look around enough to see the most elegant woman you’ve ever seen standing on a raised platform. It looked like the back exit to a business, a smaller man door with the words ‘Employees Only’ stenciled across it.

It was only maybe four or fives steps up from where you and Arlong were, but she looked like she was untouchable from that far up.

A puff of smoke leaves her lips and your brain catches up enough to see the long cigarette between her fingers. The edges of her bob hair cut curl up, framing her face perfectly. She’s tall, slender, and dressed casually, but you’re left with the distinct impression she could salt and burn the ground Arlong was standing on.

And he knew it.

“I’ll buy her debt.” She states, taking a slow drag on the cigarette.

“What?” Arlong almost growls the word.

She exhales. “You said so yourself. She’s got balls.” The grin on her face is comforting, but you can’t shake the strange feeling that two demons are currently haggling over who will own your soul. “I like that.”

“You don’t even know how much it is, Shakuyaku.” He grumbles.

She laughs. “You think that matters? Leave her here, Arlong. Come by tomorrow in the morning with your books, and we’ll settle the balance.”

You notice Arlong’s fist tighten, but the angel on the balcony doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. He glares down at you for a second, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even mouth anything as far as you can tell.

Not that he’s in a position to try and force you to turn down whatever’s being offered.

From one taskmaster to another, as far as you were concerned. The angel on the balcony only had your attention for the moment because she probably saved your life.

“You can call me Shakky,” she begins, pausing to take another drag before letting the smoke out in a slow exhale. At the very least she was more relaxing to be around than Arlong. “Can you stand?”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink dumbly a couple times before you reply. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Alright. If you get dizzy, sit back down.” She commands, taking out a snail box. She’s not watching you, but at the same time she is. Using the wall you get to your feet, but your head swims and so you just let yourself sit back down.

“I’m out back, we have a patient too dizzy to walk on her own.” She speaks in the same even and relaxed tone she’s been using from the start. You didn’t think your situation was anything to get excited about, but you wondered idly if she was ever anything other than calm. “Tell Blackleg I expect his best meal.”

She hangs up, tucking the box away and returns her focus to her cigarette. There’s silence between you that doesn’t feel heavy or awkward, but you also don’t really know where you stand. With Arlong you’d simply stay there quietly until someone came along.

Honestly, with Arlong, you’d be trying to walk no matter how dizzy you felt.

“What happens now?” You hazard the question. It’s safe enough, and you need to understand how this lady operates.

Shakky lets out another slow line of smoke and offers up a warm smile. “Our head doctor’s going to tend to you. The shift’s lead chef is going to make you something to eat, and depending on the doctor’s orders you’ll probably go to bed after that in one of the guest rooms.”

She stubs the cigarette on the railing as the door behind her opens up. A tall man steps out, and looks over at you before heading down the steps. His dusty blonde hair is pulled back into the ponytail, and he’s wearing a button up dress-shirt and slacks. There’s a noticeable scar on his forehead over his eye, but it looks like it was stitched well.

He frowns once he gets a decent look at you. “Any loose teeth?” He questions, and after you probe with your tongue you shake your head. “Feel like you’re going to vomit?”

“Not right now.”

The frown twitches into more of a smile. “Injuries anywhere I can’t see?”

“Mm.. M’back, probably.” You mutter. “Hit the bricks more’n once.”

“I’m going to shine a light in your eyes,” he explains, pulling out a small pen light, and checking your pupil’s reaction to it a couple times on each eye. He hands you a thermometer. “Under your tongue, however you can without it hurting.” He says, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead briefly.

“You should be good, but that’ll give me a more accurate reading. May I have your hand? I want to check your pulse.”

After a second’s pause you hold your hand out. He gives you thanks and then presses his fingers against your wrist for a moment, going quiet as he concentrates on his counting. Once he’s done he pulls the thermometer out and checks it.

“Nothing concerning enough to warrant the hospital.” He turns toward Shakky. “I’d like Law to scan her,” he stops and turns back to you. “If you’re okay with that. It’s a devil fruit ability, but it won’t do anything to you. It’ll just let Law know if something’s wrong that I can’t see.”

“Uh… sure?”

“Alright. I’ll get him after we get you inside and settled.” He offers you a warm smile. “My manners are awful, young miss. My name’s Hongo, if you’re not against it, it would be my pleasure to carry you inside, since you’re not feeling well.”

“I, um, I…” You stop, pressing your lips together and look over at Shakky. She’s smiling, and you can’t tell if she’s giving you permission or not, but there’s no signs of irritation on her face at all. Turning back to Hongo, you consider asking him to just give you a hand walking, but he’s a good bit taller than you.

It’s probably easier for him to just carry you. It’s not what he’s offering that has thrown you, honestly, it’s the way he offered it.

“Sure.” You aren’t sure what you expect, and accept the little medical bag he hands you before he scoops you up like some damsel in distress. Being treated kindly was wild enough, but to be carried like you weren’t just a sack of potatoes was… different.

You didn’t want to get used to it. Good things were always just a veneer. Something pretty to hide all the shit underneath no one wanted you to see. If nothing else, you had to give credit to Arlong for being ugly right up front.

But if these two wanted to feed you and let you sleep somewhere nice for a couple days, you weren’t going to say no.

#By Any Other Name #x reader #reader insert #One Piece Host Club AU #main story line #Modern AU #mdni

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cebwrites · 1 year ago

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Hiya! Can I request Law and/or Zoro x a male reader who constantly tries to work in couples/working together moves in fights as a his own kinda love language/flirting depending on if you think the relationship would need to be established first or not.

Like Reader and them are cornered mid-fight and Reader's just like, "Finally! I've been waitin to try out this new axe! Launch me, darlin! >:-)"

a/n: hi anon, I went with marimo since he's been on the brain lately <3

Zoro x M!Reader Battle Couple HCs

masc reader, transmasc Zoro word count: 0.6k

Whether Zoro meets you out in the wild as a bounty hunter (reader having to team up with Luffy and Koby to help break Zoro out of the marine compound is a cute idea though) or when he's already a Strawhat, the beginnings are typically the same - you catch Zoro's eye briefly because of his prowess but it's not until you're forced to work in close proximity that Zoro really takes interest in the your skills and you as a person overall

Beginning to care for you as one of his own, knowing that the other can kick enough ass on their own but having each other's backs not because you don't trust his strength or vice versa but because you love and still look out for one another, each of you powerhouses in their own right still

Not that Zoro would ever associate himself with anyone intolerant nor hide himself to begin with, but I think the moment he walks around topless (op or no) and you give no significant reaction, is when Zoro tells himself you're safe to be around and starts being a tad more buddy-buddy; this usually means more tussling in the bath and impromptu "wrestling" matches on the lawn, no weapons of course, just horsing around

Franky outright bans "serious" sparring matches on the Sunny after everyone comes reunites after two years, he'd heard about how much Zoro and Sanji tore up the Merry in the past with their squabbles from Usopp and has no intention to have to seriously patch Sunny up every other day - so you're both relegated to only having serious tests of strength on land (not that smaller skirmishes aren't allowed, Franky just keeps a close eye on you two so that it doesn't turn into anything more heated)

Zoro automatically has a vested interest in all the cool, sharp new toys his boyfriend brings back to the ship, whether you have a staple one like Wado, Sandai Kitetsu, and now Enma are to him, or you prefer a revolving door of weapons with no particular favorites

He helps you clean and take care of any blades you might carry, maybe even leading to cuddles and something more after the heat of battle you filthy animals, and though he doesn't know anything about guns he's willing to learn about the upkeep for your sake - and if it's anything more technological like lasers, well at least Zoro can enjoy looking at the pretty lights and the destruction that follows

Zoro doesn't let anyone else handle his swords lightly, let alone Wado, that privilege is saved solely for other Strawhats that Zoro's absolutely sure he can trust them to protect what are ostensibly extensions of himself - so when he first puts them in your care, it's a BIG deal, along with the first time he fully shows his back to you, be it in the heat of passion or something more akin to casual, tender affection

Zoro's used to fighting in tandem with other people, the chaos of the Strawhats usually forces one to adapt like that, but if you met him before all that, the level of synchronizing you'd have with him would be unparalleled, both talented blades in your own rights alone but together? Together you're unstoppable

Zoro trusts you with his back and you allow him to see tender, wounded parts of yourself that few others even know about and he protects them like a righteous sentinel, as you are with the parts of him that he seeks to hide away in shame - his guilt, his inadequacy, his mourning, you both take on each other's pain and forge it into a power that shakes the Grand Line in your combined wake

#cebwrites #one piece #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro #op zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x male reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #transmasc zoro #male reader #op x reader #one piece x reader

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marifilue · 6 months ago

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Part 4: Bound And Fading

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Blood

WC: 6.1k

<- Part 3

The afternoon stretched out, each passing minute heavier than the last. You lay on your bed, staring at the cracked rifle beside you, a hollow ache gnawing at you. Mr. Santiago’s face flashed in your mind, memories flooding back with bittersweet clarity.

Your first day meeting him replayed in vivid detail. Your father brings you, fourteen years old, almost tall enough to steady a rifle, standing awkwardly on a makeshift shooting range deep in the woods. There wasn’t much, a low wall cobbled together from old tires and scrap wood, set up to catch bullets. The place was rough, but it felt like a world apart from everything else you’d known.

Mr. Santiago had been there, a short, serious figure with a warmth that softened his intense gaze. He’d handed you the rifle, steadying your hands with a patience you hadn’t expected. "Hold it here," he’d said, his voice low but encouraging. "Every weapon is a good weapon, depends on who's holding it." You’d never felt more focused than in that moment, taking aim under his watchful eyes, your nerves and excitement blurring into one. He’d believed in you from that first shot, seeing potential where others hadn’t, and you’d dedicated yourself to the craft ever since.

Logan stepped out of his room, glancing toward yours across the hall. He headed downstairs for lunch, fully expecting you to show up any second. But as he took his seat in the kitchen, finishing his meal, he still hadn’t seen you. He frowned, tapping his fork against his empty plate, a hint of concern breaking through his usual indifference.

He found himself hesitating, but the idea had already taken root. Muttering a swear under his breath, he grabbed an extra plate and filled it with another serving of aglio olio, adding a few ice cubes to a glass of water before balancing it all carefully.

With a resigned sigh, he climbed the three flights of stairs back up to his and your floor, pausing just outside your door. He had no idea why he was doing this, really, except for some strange, nagging urge to apologize. The memory of your frustration and the guilt of seeing that cracked rifle pushed him forward.

“Here we go,” he muttered to himself, bracing himself for another one of your epic insults. With his arm balancing the water, he knocked on the door, keeping his face blank but already steeling himself for another epic insults you’d give him.

A gentle knock at your door broke your reverie, pulling you back to the present. You sighed, reluctant to answer, but the knocking continued, soft but insistent. You got up, crossed the room, and opened the door halfway, your eyes narrowing as you saw Logan standing there with a plate of aglio olio in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

You raised an eyebrow shocked by the small gesture but irritation still simmering beneath the surface. “What are you doing?” you asked, voice sharp. Logan held your gaze, unflinching. “Making amends. You skipped lunch,” he replied, his voice carrying its usual gruffness. You can smell his usual tobacco scent filling your nose, it made you sick most of the time. The man isn't gonna die because of tobacco poisoning, so he might as well smoke dozens of cigars each day.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, attempting to close the door, but Logan quickly wedged his foot in the doorway. You sighed, exasperated, and finally looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone quieter than usual. “For throwing your rifle…and for, well, having my genetic material around.” The faintest hint of a smirk softened the line of his mouth, though he immediately sobered, sensing your struggle.

You turned away, letting the words hang between you. “Look, Logan. First, an apology won’t fix the rifle. And it’s not ‘just a rifle’—it’s a PCP rifle. My mentor’s rifle. I’ve taken care of it for years, and…” You paused, frustration flashing across your face as you admitted, “I don’t even blame you for the second thing, it's not fair for you to take the hit. I'll just hate myself even more now.. knowing I carry a part of you with myself all this time.” You said as the fact will now forever altered your mind, how can a guy you've never even heard of until two weeks ago is somehow have been a big part of your life?

Logan scoffs "Wow, you're makin' it sound even worse now." as you walked to the chair under the window ignoring him, folding your arms as you looked out over the mansion’s vast backyard. Logan hovered at the door, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Can I come in?” he asked, almost reluctantly.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, though there was less bite in your tone. With a faint chuckle, Logan stepped in and placed the meal on the windowsill next to you. He glanced at the rifle on your bed, the fracture visible even from here. “Always have a rifle on bed with ya?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

You shot him a look, your expression stern. “Too soon.” you said, your voice edged with a warning silently asking him not to joke about the rifle further. He nodded, the apology unspoken but understood. “Alright,” he replied, stepping back. “Enjoy your meal. I’ll uh.. see you tonight on the mission.” He lingered for a moment, giving you a look of quiet understanding before he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sank back into the chair, glancing at the plate of pasta Logan had brought you. Despite your earlier resistance, you found yourself eating, thankful for the warm meal. It wasn’t Logan who’d ruined your appetite today, it was the thought of facing Killebrew, the man responsible for turning your life upside down, the specter you’d dreaded for years.

As the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across your room, you steeled yourself, forcing your mind away from your fears. Tonight would be your chance to confront your past, to face the man who had altered your life without a second thought. You weren’t sure what would happen, but with the rifle at your side even damaged, you knew you wouldn’t face it alone.

The Blackbird loomed ahead, its sleek silhouette casting long shadows over the hangar. You moved quickly, bags slung over each shoulder, the weight of your weapons familiar and reassuring. You had your usual twin set of handguns holstered at your waist, a collection of firearms stowed securely in the bags. As you stepped up the ramp, Scott and Ororo were already seated inside, going over last-minute details.

You set your bags down, securing them beside you as Logan stepped into the Blackbird behind you. Scott made his way over, his expression serious. With calling your name he began, glancing down at your equipment. “We’re gonna need you to stay on high ground for this one, guarding the perimeter. Sniper duty.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “Sniper duty?” The confusion in your voice was unmistakable. “I’ll be useless out there—those kids will be inside.”

Scott’s expression tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Me and Logan will handle the retrieval. We just think it’s best for you to stay off the building, not face Killebrew directly. In case…” He trailed off, and the hesitation in his voice stirred something hot in your chest.

“In case what, Scott?” You could barely keep the anger out of your voice. "And who's we? I know this is your decision, without involving anyone's opinion because apparently you hate opinions." You spats back letting your voice echo inside the cockpit. Logan, standing nearby, caught the exchange but stayed silent, his gaze flickering over to you.

Scott sighed, muttering your last name. “You’re either in or you’re out, but I’m not risking anyone on this mission.” Your jaw tightened. “I’m not taking sniper duty, Summers. That’s useless, I’ll be sitting on my hands the whole night while you go in. I’m going inside with the rest of you.”

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but Logan was already stepping forward, clapping a firm hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Take your seat, bub,” Logan said, his tone steady, cutting through the tension. “We’re taking off any second.” Logan said while Scott let out a sigh, retreating to his seat without another word, though you could feel his frustration simmering.

Logan’s gaze shifted back to you, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You okay?” It was more a rhetorical—he could tell you were far from okay. He heard the adrenaline in your heartbeat, sensed the tension in your stance. Without waiting for an answer, he squeezed your left upper arm, quick but firm and gentle. You tensed by the affection, no room left in your head to wander why did he just do that.

“M' fine.” you replied shortly, your voice tight. Logan gave a slight nod, accepting your answer, then moved away to take his seat.

As the Blackbird’s engines roared to life, you settled into place, securing your gear with practiced hands. The cockpit filled with a quiet, determined energy. Jean, Ororo, Scott, Logan, and you—all on edge, yet focused. This was your chance.

In the cover of night, the team advanced quietly through the dense woods, moving with purpose and precision. The jet was parked nearly ten minutes behind them, hidden under the canopy of trees, with Jean remaining on standby, ready to extract them if things went south.

You shouldered your MP5, feeling the familiar weight settling comfortably against your back as you moved, close to Ororo, who kept pace with you. Scott and Logan led the way, their silhouettes barely visible under the pale moonlight filtering through the branches, casting ghostly shadows across the ground. The night was cold, and a chill seemed to seep into your bones, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the task ahead.

As you reached the edge of the lab’s perimeter, you dropped into a crouch, scanning the scene. Through the brush, you saw a handful of guards positioned outside, their breath visible in the cool air. They were stationed loosely, some pacing, others standing guard by the entrance, the glow from their flashlights casting eerie beams into the night.

Scott signaled for everyone to stay low, his hand slicing through the air in a motion to hold position. Then, with a final nod to each of you, he made the call. There was no time for drawn-out tactics; the element of surprise was on your side. The group moved as one, slipping from the shadows in synchronized silence.

In a swift, decisive motion, Scott took out the first guard with a silenced shot, while Ororo summoned a quick surge of wind, knocking two others off their feet. You were already moving, twins set of gun raised from your holsters, firing short, controlled bursts as you closed the distance, the shots muffled but effective, guards dropping in quick succession.

Logan leaped forward, claws out, taking down the last guard standing outside with a fierce swipe, his movements fluid and feral. The team regrouped just outside the entrance, hearts pounding but movements steady. You exchanged a quick glance with Logan, his eyes narrowed and focused, the brief acknowledgment of your presence reassuring in the tension.

With the outer guards down, Scott led the way, his voice low but resolute. “We’re in. Stay close. We stick together and move fast.”

The alarm blared through the sterile, white-walled corridors, echoing sharply against the cold concrete as red warning lights flashed overhead. You tightened your grip on your MP5, heart pounding but focus unbreakable. Scott signaled, and the team split to cover more ground, leaving you and Logan to search the lower levels while Scott and Ororo handled the main floor, diverting as much attention as possible.

You hurried down the corridors, firing off rounds as guards swarmed toward you. One by one, they came at you, but with precision and practice, you dropped each of them, moving closer to the underground access. Logan cleared the way ahead, his claws flashing in the dim light as he tore through the remaining guards with brutal efficiency.

Reaching the stairs, you stopped for a second, recognizing the layout—Killebrew’s distinctive architectural style was unmistakable, every corridor and staircase designed to confuse intruders but familiar to you from the countless diagrams you’d studied. You knew exactly where the holding cells were likely kept and plunged down the stairs, each step echoing under the deafening wail of alarms.

At the bottom, another cluster of guards appeared, blocking your path. They fired at you, and you ducked, retaliating with short, controlled bursts. Logan took the lead, bulldozing through the last line of defense, his snarling presence clearing a path right to the heavy metal door of the holding room.

You burst into the room, heart sinking as you took in the sight. Twelve young mutants, barely more than children, huddled behind thick metal bars, their faces pale, eyes wide with terror. They were cramped, confined like animals, thin blankets and scattered food wrappers indicating how they’d been kept for weeks, maybe longer.

You pressed a finger to your comms device. “Scott, I’m with the kids. They’re in bad shape.” Static crackled, and Scott’s voice came through, urgent. “I’ve got the guards busy with Ororo’s help, she’s whipping up a storm, literally. But we’re running low on time. Get them out, now.”

You nodded, then glanced back as Logan came down the stairs, his gaze shifting from you to the caged children. His fierce expression softened, a flicker of empathy crossing his face as he stepped forward, his claws retracting. He approached the bars, nodding to you as he positioned himself to rip them open.

The children shrank back, eyes widening at the sight of Logan’s raw power. They’d likely heard the rumors about Wolverine, the man with metal claws, and you could see the fear twisting their young faces. Moving forward, you knelt beside the bars, speaking softly. “Hey, it’s okay," You said introducing your name to the kid "We’re here to help you. What’s your name?” You met the gaze of a young girl, no older than eight, with hollow eyes that darted nervously from you to Logan.

She hesitated, then whispered, “Maya.” You gave her a gentle smile, keeping your voice calm and soothing. “Maya, that’s a beautiful name. I’m here to take you somewhere safe. We won’t let anyone hurt you.” The children began to relax, inching closer, the fear in their eyes slowly fading as they sensed your sincerity. Logan watched the scene in silence, a mix of awe and quiet respect in his gaze as he saw the bond you created with the children. You exchanged a brief look with him, his nod of approval a silent message that he’d follow your lead.

“Alright, Maya,” you said gently. “We’re going to open the cage now, and we’ll need you and the others to follow us, okay?” She nodded, clutching a younger boy’s hand as Logan tore through the cage door with a swift pull. The metal bars groaned, breaking free, and he pushed the door open, extending his hand to help the kids out.

The children crowded around you, clinging tightly as you led them out of the room, Logan taking up the rear. You signaled Scott, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “We’ve got them, Scott. Moving to extraction now.”

“Good. Get them outside safe,” he replied, his voice firm but laced with relief. As you guided the children through the corridor, Logan stayed close, his silent strength a comforting presence for both you and the kids. The way forward was still uncertain, but for the first time, surrounded by those you’d come to protect, you felt hope replacing the dread you’d carried in.

Scott and Ororo stood at the edge of the lab's entrance, ready to lead the children to safety. Dozens of guards lined up between you and the way out, rifles raised, blocking the escape route. You took in the scene, heart racing, and shouted, "Scott, Ororo-get the kids out of here! Now!" Without hesitation, Scott nodded, signaling for Ororo to shield the children, and they slipped past the guards, racing toward the woods and away from the lab.

As Scott and Ororo led the kids away, you and Logan squared off against the wall of guards still blocking the path. The air was thick with tension, broken only by the echo of boots as the guards advanced. You quickly checked your MP5, reloading it with smooth precision, fingers moving on instinct as the magazine clicked into place.

With a curt nod to Logan, you raised the weapon and fired a controlled burst, dropping two guards instantly. Logan darted forward, claws flashing as he sliced through the first row of men, his ferocity drawing their attention. Using the opening he created, you stepped to his right, pressing forward as a group of guards rounded the corner ahead, weapons raised.

You fired again, each shot landing with sharp accuracy, taking down guard after guard. Moving in tandem, you and Logan flowed around each other with practiced ease. He charged ahead, clearing the way, while you provided cover from behind, your MP5 barking as more guards swarmed toward you both.

Logan lunged, taking out three guards in one swift motion, his claws slicing through their armor like it was nothing. As he dispatched them, you reloaded your MP5 with a practiced flick, feeling the weight of the new magazine settle in your hands. You fired at another guard aiming for Logan's back, the shots precise, dropping him before he could pull the trigger.

The guards kept coming, but you and Logan were an unrelenting force, holding them back with lethal precision. Another guard attempted to flank you, but you pivoted, firing a short burst that sent him crumpling to the ground. Logan was beside you in an instant, claws slashing in a wide arc, and together, you pushed forward, cutting through their ranks.

You'd barely caught your breath when another guard lunged at you from the side. You sidestepped, aiming and firing in one smooth motion, taking him down before he could get close. Pausing just long enough to reload, you watched as Logan cleared a path ahead, each movement fluid and deadly. The two of you had created a rhythm, an instinctive understanding that kept you one step ahead of the guards.

As the last of the guards lay unconscious on the floor, you felt a surge of satisfaction. But just as you lowered your MP5, you heard the click of a gun behind you, followed by a sharp, blinding pain. Seven bullets tore into your left side, four embedding themselves deep into your flesh, the pain staggering. You stumbled, your vision blurring as another guard closed in, grabbing you in a brutal chokehold.

You gasped for breath, trying to wrench free, but he held fast, forcing you to drop your MP5. Desperately, you struggled against his grip, only to see another guard approaching with a metal collar in his hand. The sight made your stomach lurch. You knew exactly what it was, and the mere thought of its effects turned your blood cold.

"No, no! Get off me!" you yelled, thrashing against the hold, but it was useless. Before your healing factor could spat out the bullets and close the wounds that is now flesh deep, the guard... Wait it wasn't just 'any' guard. You knew the malicious face, behind those thick glasses. It's Killebrew, snapping the collar around your neck, cold metal pressing against your skin with a final, menacing weight.

"Fire and flesh, my my.. look at you now, playing pretend hero with your new friends. Have you forgotten who you are? what we made you? your nature? Tell me, does your new friend knew what kind of weapon you are?" Killebrew voice echoes inside of your mind. Instantly you felt its effect-your powers suppressed, your ability muted by the collar's pulsing radiation. Logan, busy fending off a group of guards just a few steps away, heard your scream and whipped around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the collar clamped around your neck. With a furious snarl, he abandoned his fight and launched himself at the guards holding you, ripping him away in a savage arc.

Before you could even warn him, his claws touched the collar in motive to break you free but an electric jolt burst from it, sending a shockwave through him. Logan staggered, his face twisted in agony, and he collapsed to one knee, his body spasming from the surge. The collar's hidden defense mechanism activated, shocking anyone who dared to touch it. He hadn't pay attention to Killebrew, the moment he turned his head, the man is gone. Leaving no trace behind like some ghost.

Panting heavily, you swayed in place, the pain in your side throbbing with each heartbeat, your skin clammy from the radiation. Logan shook off the lingering effects of the shock and struggled to his feet, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness as he reached out to steady you.

You pushed yourself up, shaking off Logan’s arm with a wave of your hand. “I can manage,” you muttered, feigning toughness as you steadied yourself and started toward the exit, gritting your teeth against the ache in your side. Together, you looked over the guards lying defeated around you, the battle-worn corridor now quiet save for your labored breaths. Ignoring the pain that radiated from your side, the two of you began the slow trek back toward the exit, determined to get out alive.

Logan followed close behind, his sharp gaze tracking every movement you made. “You okay?” he asked, voice low and wary. “I will be,” you replied shortly, not bothering to look back. The tightness of the collar against your neck was irritating, and each step sent a fresh stab of pain from the bullet wounds hidden under your black leather suit, but you didn’t let it show. You kept your pace steady, refusing to let Logan see any weakness.

As the two of you entered the darkened woods, Logan pressed again. “You sure you’re fine?” His tone was gruff but layered with a trace of concern “Yes,” you answered curtly, quickening your pace. But he didn’t miss the slight stagger in your step, and his nostrils flared at the unmistakable scent of blood, though the suit concealed the damage. After a moment, he asked, “What’s on your neck?”

“It’s a mutant inhibitor collar,” you replied flatly, still not looking at him. “Hank’ll figure out how to take them off.” You kept your eyes forward, refusing to let him see the strain on your face as the pain intensified with every step.

Halfway back to the Blackbird, your legs gave a faint tremor, and you leaned against a nearby tree, pressing one hand to the rough bark for support. Your other hand drifted to your waist, where the bullet wounds throbbed beneath the fabric. Logan slowed, watching you closely as he stepped beside you, arms crossed.

“You’ve had enough?” he asked, a knowing look in his eyes. He could tell you’d never ask for help, even now. “Just… catching my breath,” you managed, struggling to keep your voice steady.

Logan narrowed his gaze, exhaling sharply. “Alright, that’s it. The team’s waiting for us.” Before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, scooping you up in a swift motion. The shift in position made pain flare through your side, and you couldn’t suppress the faint whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shit, put me down, Logan! You're making it worse!” you shouted, anger flaring as you tried to push against him. “Can’t do it, bub. You're slowin' me down back there, any second you'll end up bleeding to death” he replied, unfazed.

“I can walk just fine!” You clenched your fists, the irritation bubbling up despite the pain. “Yeah, sure you did,” he muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm as he carried you through the forest. "You're an asshole!" You spat again as he kept his gaze forward, determined, his grip gentle but unyielding as you realize he wasn’t about to let you go.

As Logan approached the Blackbird, your breath is already off the track since inhaling for air is even triggering the pain. You caught sight of Jean in the distance, her expression shifting to one of deep concern the moment she spotted you in Logan’s arms. Despite your efforts to hold it together, the exhaustion and pain overwhelmed you, and a tear slipped free, tracing down your cheek. Logan tightened his hold, his own eyes darkening with a hint of worry as he strode forward, determined to get you back safely.

Jean's eyes widened as she spotted you in Logan’s arms, her voice immediately edged with concern. “What happened?” she asked, leading Logan briskly toward the medbay in the Blackbird.

Logan followed closely behind her, keeping his steps steady to avoid jostling you. “She got hit. Bullets in her side, and they got a some anti mutant collar on her, she can't heal.” he replied, his voice gruff but calm. As Jean guided him to the narrow medical bed, Scott joined, his gaze sharp as he took in the situation.

“Everything okay?” Scott’s tone was tense, but Logan gave him a short nod. “She’ll pull through. Just get us back to the mansion.” he added, giving Scott a firm look. Scott nodded, glancing toward the rescued kids to reassure them, before returning to the cockpit.

Logan carefully laid you down, but the movement triggered another wave of pain. You clutched your side, stifling a cry, the pain was too much. Your breaths came shallow and fast as Jean quickly cut through the torn leather on your left side, exposing the deep bullet wounds, four of them. Blood seeped steadily, and Jean’s brow creased with worry as she assessed the injuries. Logan stood close by, his eyes never leaving you, a storm of worry in his gaze.

As the Blackbird’s engines hummed, Logan watched anxiously as Jean paced the room back and forth, her expression tense. After a moment, he cleared his throat, his voice edged with concern. “Anythin' I help with?”

Jean looked up, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Yes. Grab the rubbing alcohol, it’s near the door and check the cupboard for anesthesia. We’ll need it.”

Logan nodded and moved quickly, scanning the shelves until he spotted the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Grabbing it, he went to the cupboard, rummaging through the supplies, but there was no sign of the anesthesia. Frowning, he called out, “Jean… there’s no anesthesia here.”

Jean’s face fell, her brow furrowing as she crossed over to check herself. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out an empty box marked “Anesthesia.” Her lips tightened, and she closed her eyes briefly, clearly frustrated. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, then turned to Logan, her face a mix of determination and regret.

“We’re out,” she said quietly. “I forgot to restock after the last mission.” She took a deep breath, her gaze shifting back to you, lying pale and struggling for breath. “I have to get those bullets out now, or she’ll lose too much blood.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, a fierce protectiveness flickering in his eyes. “What do you need me to do?” Jean looked at him steadily. “Distract her. Without anesthesia, this is going to hurt—a lot. Keep her focused on you, talk to her, anything to keep her grounded.”

Logan nodded, moving closer to your side. He leaned over, his rough hand settling on yours, his touch grounding. “Hey,” he murmured your name, trying to draw your attention, his voice gentle but steady. “Listen to me, alright? We’re getting you patched up, so you gotta hang in there.”

You looked up at him, pain clouding your vision, but his voice cut through the fog, giving you something to focus on. Just as Jean started to work, she sterilize the open wounds with alcohol gauze as gentle as possible but the sharp pain still flared, stinging you as you gasped, squeezing Logan’s hand tightly. He sensed that you were hanging by a thread, the pain pushing you close to breaking. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a softer, steady tone.

“Alright… I’ll tell you a story,” he said, locking his gaze with yours, his presence unwavering. “Back in nineteen forty five, I was in Japan. Right there in Nagasaki.” You forced yourself to focus on his words, his voice grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It was August 9th, middle of the summer,” he continued, his tone both gritty and somber. “The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. I was with a guy named Yashida, a soldier. We were in this underground bunker, and I didn’t know what was coming. Nobody did. Then… the whole world lit up. The ground shook like it was tearing itself apart.”

Jean worked carefully, extracting a bullet with delicate precision, still the pain flared sharply, making you clench Logan’s hand even tighter you could feel the cold metal is now in your flesh. Sensing it, he went on without missing a beat, his voice steady, strong. “That bomb… it was like nothing you could imagine. Fire hotter than anything I’d ever felt—burned the whole city in a flash.” His gaze held a mix of haunted memory and strength. “I saved Yashida that day. Shielded him with my body, took the brunt of that blast so he could live.��

You gritted your teeth as Jean extracted another bullet, but Logan’s story held you steady, his words weaving through the pain like a lifeline. “After the blast, the world was unrecognizable,” he murmured. “Buildings leveled, people… gone. But I was still standing. Broken, after burned to a crisp… but still managed to be alive. Had to dig myself out of the rubble. Kept going, even when I thought I couldn’t.”

He paused, meeting your gaze with a depth of understanding that was rare for him to reveal. “You’re strong, bub,” he said quietly. “I know it hurts like hell right now, but you’re tougher than this. You’ll get through it.” Even when you're overstimulated by the constant pain in your side, the itching and yet burning sensation with cold metal around your neck, you find yourself comforted by Logan's presence, by his hold warming the palm of your right arm. The man you had screamed at just this morning, after throwing him a hurtful insults, he has proven himself to be a reliable friend once again.

Jean finally pulled out the last bullet, stitching the wound as swiftly as she could to stop the bleeding, you felt the first prick of the needle sliding into your torn skin. The pain was sharp and immediate, a fresh agony layered over everything you’d already endured. A quiet groan slipped out before you could catch it, and, on instinct, you started to turn your head, trying to see the damage Jean was working on.

Logan’s hand was there in an instant, his fingers gently but firmly guiding your face back to him. “Eyes on me, alright?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, grounding you. “Don’t need to look at any of that. Just focus here.”

You bit down on your lip, the weight of his hand and the steady warmth of his gaze giving you something to hold on to, pulling you back from the edge of panic. You clenched his hand tightly as the needle continued its work, every stitch another reminder of the pain, but Logan kept his voice low and even.

“Think about something else,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Like where we’re going after this. Maybe somewhere with some sunshine, yeah? You, me, a little R&R… without bullets for a change.” A small, weary smile tugged at the corner of your mouth despite the pain. “Maybe... some place with a beach, I've had enough of woods today.” you murmured, your voice faint.

“There you go,” he said, his own lips twitching up just slightly. “Sand, sun, and no anti mutant collars. We’ll even make Scott carry the bags.”

The corners of your vision began to blur as Jean worked, but Logan’s face stayed clear, his gaze steady, unwavering. Every time you felt the sting of the needle, his hand held yours a little tighter, silently encouraging you to stay with him, to hold on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jean finished the last stitch, wiping her hands and casting Logan a relieved look. “It's all done,” she said softly, giving you a nod. “You did well.”

Logan’s eyes softened as he looked down at you, his thumb brushing a gentle arc over your hand one last time. “See?” he murmured, a hint of warmth in his voice. “You’re tougher than anything they could throw at us.”

Exhaustion washed over you, and despite the lingering pain, your eyelids began to flutter. The toll of the battle, the wounds, and the weight of the day’s events were too much. You slipped into sleep, breathing softly, the strain and tension fading from your face.

Jean glanced at Logan, giving him a reassuring nod before quietly stepping out of the medbay, leaving the two of you alone. Logan sank into a chair in the corner, watching you as you rested. The flicker of the medbay lights cast soft shadows, and he sat quietly, hands folded, absorbed in his own thoughts.

Seeing you like this—worn out, vulnerable, but resilient—brought a wave of unexpected protectiveness to him. You were stubborn, hot-headed, and determined to a fault, always refusing to let anyone in or ask for help, even when you clearly needed it. It irritated him, the way you’d snap at him, brush off his help, or dive headlong into danger. But, in a strange way, it also drew him in.

It was rare for anyone to challenge him like you did, to stand up to him without a second thought, and to never back down. As he sat there, his gaze softened, a small, almost amused smile crossing his lips. He realized that, as much as your defiance frustrated him, it also fueled something deeper—a respect and a connection he hadn’t expected.

Logan sat in the quiet of the medbay, half-asleep in the chair, his head resting against the wall. Hours had passed, and the steady rhythm of your breathing had lulled him into a light, restless sleep. But a sudden tremor shook the Blackbird as it began its descent, jostling him awake. He blinked, glancing around, his senses snapping back to focus. Outside the medbay’s small window, the midnight sky gave way to the lights of the mansion grounds below.

Jean, Ororo, and Scott stepped into the medbay, their faces tired but relieved. Ororo’s gaze shifted to you, still fast asleep despite the Blackbird’s rumbling descent. “Will she be alright?” she asked, her voice soft with concern.

Jean hesitated, her eyes lingering on your sleeping form. “Hopefully, yes,” she replied quietly. “We managed to get the bleeding under control, but she still needs further care.”

Scott looked at Logan, a flicker of worry crossing his face. “Think you can carry her again, Logan? Hank’s waiting in the lab, and he’ll want to take a closer look.”

Logan gave a single nod, already moving toward you. Gently, he slipped his arms under you, lifting you as carefully as he could to avoid disturbing the fresh stitches. You stirred slightly in his hold, but he held you securely, shielding you from any bumps as he stepped off the Blackbird with you cradled in his arms, Maya’s small voice suddenly piped up from the back of the Blackbird.

“Is she okay?” she asked, her eyes wide and filled with concern as she watched Logan carry you toward the exit.

Logan paused, glancing down at her. His usually gruff expression softened as he met her worried gaze. “Yeah, kid,” he said, his voice low but reassuring. “Don’t you worry.”

Jean stepped in beside Maya, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll make sure she’s alright, okay?” she added softly. The little girl nodded, reassured but still watching as Logan carefully carried you down the ramp, her eyes following until you disappeared from view.

Ororo and Scott quickly took charge of the rescued kids, guiding them into the mansion’s warmth. The children, wide-eyed and visibly exhausted, followed closely, glancing back once at you and Logan before Ororo offered them a reassuring smile. “Come on,” she said gently, her voice calming. “We’ll get you all settled. You’re safe now.” She led them down a separate hallway with Scott beside her, and together they showed each child to a quiet room where they could rest and recover.

With the kids now taken care of, Logan turned his focus back to you, his hold steady as he made his way toward the lab. Jean walked alongside him, her expression thoughtful as she kept a close eye on you, her fingers brushing against the lab door ahead to push it open.

Inside, Hank was already waiting, his gaze sharpening as he spotted the two of you. Without hesitation, he moved to prepare the equipment, his worry masked by his usual calm. Jean gave Logan a slight nod, silently thanking him as they approached Hank, who was ready to begin your treatment with steady hands and a reassuring presence.

Part 5 ->

An: Told ya it's getting longer each chapter, thank you for interacting and I'll see ya next chapter

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