#team with him. maybe everyone's learned to stay clear of him

[infizero]

god it really is so insane that grian has always kind of pushed away his teammates and preferred to do stuff on his own and then as soon as hes actually on his own he gets upset about it. that is so fucking him im gonna be sick

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[greenconverses]

As I've mentioned a few times times, one of the actual interesting things Riordan is doing in this new series is mentioning Percy's obvious rage issues and then not actually doing anything with it other than making Percy swallow the anger down so he stays Nice and Controlled at all times.

Which, if we were dealing with pre-Disney+ show deal RR, could be a great character arc over the course of the series where Percy learns to actually deal with his anger and trauma while he's actively being triggered by petty godly bullshit. But Wrath made it pretty clear he's okay with letting Percy eat shit emotionally as long as everyone is one big happy team in the end and we're Therapy Speaking ourselves into the sunset, so I don't think that's happening.

Wrath sets up a conflict between Grover and Percy that's pretty simple: Grover eats a magical thing he's specifically told not eat and causes chaos that puts Percy's quest at risk. Reminder, these stupid quests are so Percy can get into college and Grover knows this. Percy gets angry at Grover; so angry Annabeth can see it and shoos him out of the room so he doesn't explode. And then he just... tries to stop being angry, assumes Grover means well, and carries on pretending it's not Grover's fault while being resentful because it's totally Grover's fucking fault.

Eventually, we get a scene where Grover attempts to make things right by putting himself into danger and Percy freaks out because, duh, he doesn't want his friends to get hurt. Grover then attempts to apologize by admitting he maybe sorta kinda subconsciously wanted to sabotage things. And it's here where we run in to trouble.

Please notice that Percy immediately tries to reassure him that he's not responsible despite Grover acknowledging it. Then we get the good ol' Grover tears and looking like a poor bullied baby before he confesses to sabotaging his best friend's quest because he doesn't want to be left behind. And with that, all of Percy's anger is gone because how can you be mad at your friend for that?

Uh, pretty fucking easy, especially if my idiot satyr friend knows exactly what the consequences of failing the quest is (forget the college letters; Percy is under the assumption that Hecate will unmake him if he fucks up) AND said idiot frequently has gone MONTHS without seeing me because of his job and, in fact, several months from now will be halfway across the country anyway helping Apollo with some different quest bullshit!!!!

I digress.

Suddenly, Percy is the bad guy for being mad at Grover. And this continues with the next part of the conversation.

How hard it's been on him?????

Percy Jackson, you are constantly blowing literal gaskets because of the stress you are under, and you're worried about how hard college applications has been on GROVER???????

"I'm the one who should be apologizing. I should have been thinking about how you felt rather than stressing about getting into college."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing. I should have been thinking about how you felt rather than stressing about getting into college."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing. I should have been thinking about how you felt rather than stressing about getting into college."

like

are you kidding me here rick

are you FUCKING kidding me

PERCY needs to APOLOGIZE to GROVER for PRIORITIZING COLLEGE?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

And then Grover makes a joke about Percy's shitty gpa because dunking on Percy in an emotional conversation is totally fine because his emotions don't actually matter to any of his friends. He'll get over it! He's Percy, duh. He's not a ticking time bomb of resentment full of grudges whatsoever.

I think we're supposed to see this as Percy maturing and being forgiving, but is he? He doesn't tell Grover he forgives him. Percy's the one apologizing in the end because he's been guilted into feeling bad that Grover is sad/upset and put himself in danger. The conflict doesn't actually get resolved because Percy brushes it aside; it doesn't matter any more because Grover is sad and must be reassured. No one's going to learn anything from this because there have been no consequences. Grover's gonna do some dumb shit again, Percy's gonna get mad at him, Grover will cry and make up a sad sack excuse, and Percy will stop being angry because Grover's his bestie and what else is he supposed to do?

(This could be a good character arc about how Percy's fatal flaw makes him have a really messed up view of friendships and the meaning of loyalty, but again, we will be denied.)

And for the record, just because your friends have compelling reasons for their shitty actions doesn't make them any less shitty. It doesn't mean they shouldn't apologize for their fuck ups or negate the hurt they caused you. Forgiveness needs to be earned, not manipulated out of you through tears and reckless actions.

Grover can get fucked. I hate this fucking character.

[hoshifighting]

lyla love, love your work!! i was wondering if you wouldn’t mind writing about exhibitionism and finger fetish with jihoon...

woozi x fingering fetish + exhibitionism

WARNINGS: smut, dirty talk, public-sex, fingering.

a dangerous combo, but one that makes so much sense for him. he’s always been the lowkey type, all quiet and serious on the outside, but there’s this intensity about him (he's almost a scorpio too, don't forget that) that makes you think there’s way more underneath that composed surface. and then you get to see it—oh boy, when jihoon’s got his mind set on something, there’s no stopping him. first off, let’s talk about the fingering. jihoon’s hands are always doing something, whether he’s producing music, strumming a guitar, or just tapping on the table, so it’s no surprise he’d be obsessed with using them in other ways. he’s got this hyper-focus, yk? so when it comes to fingering, he’s not just doing it to get you off—he’s fully studying your body, learning exactly how you react to each touch, each curl of his fingers, until he’s got you trembling and moaning his name like it’s a symphony he’s conducting.

he’s got this thing for control (vocal team leader 👀), but it’s not overt. he likes to take his time, tease you until you’re practically begging for more, but the whole time he’s got that concentrated look on his face, like this is a challenge he has to win. it’s almost unfair how good he is—how he can find your g-spot within seconds, how he can feel the way your walls clench around his fingers and adjust his movements so precisely that you’re seeing stars before you even realize what’s happening. but he’s got this kink for the reactions, too. your whimpers, the way your body shudders under his touch. and he won’t stop, not until he’s got you soaked, trembling. he loves knowing that it’s his fingers that have you like this, that he can bring you to the edge again and again just by the way he moves them inside you.

then, add in the exhibitionism kink, and it’s a whole new level. jihoon’s discreet—he’s not the type to be flashy about it, but that’s what makes it even hotter. he’s got this hidden side, a secret thrill for public places, where the danger of being caught only adds to the thrill. he’d never put you in a situation where you could get in serious trouble, but the idea of getting away with it? oh, he loves that.

imagine you’re out at a quiet bar or a dark restaurant, and he’s sitting next to you, his hand slipping under the table when no one’s looking. he’s so calm, his expression barely changing, but his fingers are already pushing your underwear aside, slipping inside you, all while carrying on a casual conversation with whoever’s in front of you. you’re trying to keep it together, but he knows exactly what he’s doing, knows how close you are to completely losing it.

he’d whisper things like, “you’re so wet already, can’t believe you’re letting me do this in public.” and you can barely keep your voice steady, nodding along like everything’s fine while his fingers are fucking you under the table. and he’s not stopping—not until your thighs are shaking, and you’re biting your lip so hard to keep from moaning out loud.

or maybe you’re at a movie theater, sitting in the back row, and he’s got his hand between your legs before the opening credits are even over. the low light gives you just enough cover, but it’s the risk that gets him going. the fact that you could get caught, that someone could turn around and see the way you’re squirming in your seat as his fingers slide in and out of you. “you’re such a good girl for me, staying quiet like this,” he’d murmur in your ear, and it makes you melt on the seat because you know how close you are to being loud, to letting everyone hear exactly what he’s doing to you.

and when it’s over, when you’re both in the clear and no one suspects a thing, jihoon’s got that self-satisfied little smirk on his face. he knows he just ruined you in the most secretive, stimulating way possible. and the thing is; he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

[puppetwoman17]

Okay so I love all of the cap identity reveal stories. Obviously. The anticipation of the reactions, the fact that someone they’ve known for so long, someone they’ve fought with and laughed with and cried with, is not even half their age…

But what if they NEVER found out? Cap’s identity, I mean.

I don’t mean life just continues on with Billy leading his separate lives. It’s more like(this next part is so fucking drastic lol) the league thinks cap is dead and suffer with the hole he left behind, only to somehow find out he’s alive, and to add fuel to the fire, he’s a young radio host in Fawcett.

The JL( and other heroes if you want) are fighting a being with incredibly powerful magic. I’m not good with the specifics, but it lines up with someone like Lady Blaze. The YJ team are acting as reconnaissance and backup. Everyone’s doing their part, including Cap.

But then something goes wrong. A miscalculation is all it takes for the fight to spin in the villain’s favor. Magic is a fickle thing. One wrong move, and sparks will fly with reckless abandon.

The fight is nearing an end, and it’s clear that almost all the heroes have been rendered useless. They’re either limping up to go again, or unconscious from the strain.

Everyone but Captain Marvel, that is.

To bring an end to the fight, Cap unleashes a powerful stream of magic, something no one has ever seen him pull off. It seems to zap everything out of him. The next thing you know he’s falling, his body slowly disintegrating. He makes it to the floor and smiles at the other heroes, all of whom are crying their hearts out as gold dust replaces him, for divine beings have no blood.

Billy, on the other hand, is fucking pissed. Apparently, Shazam created a failsafe in case something like this happens. He wakes up in the rock, unable to transform. His magic is still there, and with Solomon’s help he learns that his champion form will return after a couple years. For now, he needs to rest his reservoir.

Now, you’d think he would go tell the league, right?

But he’s not so little anymore, and he now knows that him being younger won’t be the only issue. Younger him was only worried about that little tidbit, but in truth, there was no guarantee they would let him stay if they knew he’d been lying so much. If he’d been able to keep his age a secret for so long, what else could he be hiding?

It’s not something he wants to do. The League, the YJ team, the Titans, they’ve all become like a family to him, despite almost all of them(barring the magic heroes) not knowing who he is. But he can’t risk being watched by parental hawks whenever he’s doing his champion work as Billy. He can’t risk them learning about his… circumstances. His crappy uncle, his annoying cousin, his(an oc I created for this post specifically but dw he’s not that important) crooked cop of a younger-older cousin. His living situation, his previous state of malnutrition, and all of his responsibilities. What a nightmare that would be, explaining all of that.

Also, he tries not to sound too cocky in his head, but he’s fairly sure at least a little less than half of the JL would kill for him. Or at least they’d beat someone to a pulp, which is still a pretty big deal.

So, he washes his hands of the JL and the sub teams and handles his champion work(bar fighting now cause his other body needs to regenerate) in his civilian form. It helps that the magic community, all sides of the spectrum, collectively decide not to tell the other heroes that their Champion is alive. They can get really annoying when it comes to their Boy Scout 🙄.

Plot, plot, plot happens. I’m thinking maybe Whiz gets an opportunity to interview JL members and they send their best reporter for the job. Or maybe something happens on the magic spectrum that brings them closer to Billy. Either way, the JL finds out Cap’s identity without Billy knowing and they are PISSED.

Billy has to deal with countless vigilantes, heroes, and teams lounging on his couch trying to goad him into revealing who he is. Either that r they follow him throughout Fawcett. Some people are angry with him, like Conner or either of the Roys. They try to make him angry. They want to see the real Cap, the real Billy(which is stupid cause of course cap isnt a fake persona but they’re too mad to realize).

Others feel betrayed, like Artemis and Wally(I refuse to acknowledge his death). Cap was a best man at the wedding and they really started to look to him as a sort of father figure. In fact, all the younger heroes love how he stood up for them and validated their feelings. To know that so much of their worries were being shouldered by someone who was years younger than them…

And the JL is worse off too. Their coworker, who they trusted and cared for, had been living alone since he was a child. Having to save for scraps until he finally got a home of his own.

The magic users are practically waiting for Billy to blow a fuse at everyone either fussing over him, attempting to make him mad, or following him whenever they felt the need. Mary’s laughing her ass off and Freddy’s smirking because now he can say “I told you so”. Shazam’s shaking his head because he told his damn protege that the champion doesn’t DO teams, but look where they are now.

Teth is honestly ecstatic. Comes to the next higher ups meeting and laughs in Billy’s face.

And Billy? Billy at least hopes he can make some money off of this: Okay but if I let you stay on my couch for the next three hours, that’s gonna cost you.

No no, I’ll let you follow me, but only if you do this one interview.

Maybe just stop trying to make me mad and just talk to me? Like I get you have issues but I already have a shit load of that so…

[diejager]

Please!!! I need more of Beta Reader x Poly 141 please!!!

Or maybe an Omega went feral of an alpha who try to do something to her and she went FERAL???

Cw: pack dynamic, Beta!reader, fluff, tell me if I missed any.

You groaned beside Gaz, walking into a crowded room with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. It smelled of rut and aggression, adrenaline laced high and drunken thrill pumping through the pulsing veins of alphas who called this bar home. It was a pungent smell, nose clogging and headache inducing to your sensitive sense. Perhaps you should have wore a blocker like the three others did, betas often had no use to one since their - and by extension yours - noses weren’t as keen or sensitive as the others secondary sexes. Betas couldn’t scent any amount of pheromone or musk, but you were the unfortunate one born with a rare disability —or so most betas considered a disability that negated their clear-minded conscience.

Logic over emotions, the mind presided over the heart of betas. It was what made them essential in a population where the leading figures had moments of hyperactivity and extreme emotional imbalance. Gaz didn’t have any issue following his expectations, cool-minded, gentle and caring, and emotionally dependable. There were such a drastic difference between him and you, grumpy, emotional and suffering from a perpetual scent-inducing headache. He could stay level-headed in all and any situation, but you caved to anger and irritation if the smells became too much. 

He was an examplary beta, yet he always praised you ad encouraged you to join them, a warm palm on your back, or a firm grip on your shoulder, Gaz was a steady rock you learned to lean onto. He was less volatile than Ghost and Price and less excitable than Soap. It almost made you loathe how comfortable he was with everyone while you still stuck out like a sore thumb after months under their care. 

And it didn’t help that Soap had managed to convince you - coerced, you mumbled - to come drink with them. The bar was packed, filled to the brim with alphas, omegas and betas, most patched with blockers over their noses, but their scent glands still stank under the thick, patchy blockers on their necks and shoulders. Price led you to their designated booth, seemingly promised to them by a higher power. They sat and chatted, boisterous words shared between Gaz and Soap while Ghost loomed over the table to your right, taking the seat at the edge in guardianship. They soaked in the comfortable familiarity: the warm lights and brick walls of the pub, the low music and loud chatter and clatter of glass. 

It was all something that would usually make someone relax and calm or happy, but it only made you squirm in your seat, occasionally bumping into Ghost to your right and Soap to your left, squeezed between two big men that smelled so strongly. It made you slightly nauseous, enough to feel a pang at the back of your head, but keep you conscious. You sighed a fourth time, shifting once more, when Ghost placed his hand on your thigh, his palm so big and hot grounding you and keeping you still to his wandering and worried eyes. 

“You all right?” The rumble of his voice had lowered to an accommodating tone, considerate of your growing aches, “Do you need a moment?”

You shook your head, mumbling a soft ‘no, thank you’, reassuring his worry and nodding to the table where Price just arrived with drinks in hand. Ghost reached for both his and your drinks, leaning into you and bathing you in his scent, the woody musk coating you in a soft layer of comfort. You were truly fortunate that their scents were the least irritating you’ve ever encountered, soft and comfortable compared to the grating and annoying musk of other teams you’ve worked with. 

Thanking Ghost for the drink and flushing lightly after Soap had leaned over and pressed his nose to yours, smiling cheekily at Ghost, you hypothesised that perhaps you could end up liking such outing and spending more times surrounding by them.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[chimivx]

home;run -> fem!reader x mlb!mingyu, mlb!vernon, mlb!dk

College didn't work out, so you're stuck with the next best thing. Living with your superstar brother, traveling with his championship winning team, haunted by your past and heavily influenced by your present.

wc; {part two} 5.6k warnings; 18+, sexual content, alcohol consumption/abuse, bad influences around her, manipulation, her name gets taken advantage of in public media, if i missed anything please let me know!! notes; hi, i am posting & feeling shy. please enjoy. <3 dusting off my fingers for this one, i am still not feeling 100%, thank you everyone for your kind words & messages. peese n lurv. <3

Weeks ago your brother decided this Mingyu thing was good, but only in theory. Parading around with him, hanging out with him, going to bars with him, hooking up with him… All of it actually happening, not good.

DK would prefer you to have these rendezvous with someone who didn’t try to drink his body weight in liquor each time the first can hit his hand, but alas, you were brought home safe every time, so who was he to complain or pick and choose who you can and can’t hang out with.

After their first few seasons together it was clear the two had different outlooks on life, neither of them really in the wrong with how they chose to go about their time, but they didn’t match. They clashed. Your brother, after spending time educating himself on his fathers history and evidently learning that baseball wasn’t the only thing he played, he took a different approach to dating, to women. He was a proper gentleman, DK was, never using his status to acquire a girlfriend with status or money or a title, he searched for love.

A star studded, best pitcher in baseball shouldn’t have had his heart broken as many times as his had been, he should’ve been the one breaking hearts. The girls wanted his money, and they only liked him because he played baseball. His status, his money, his title. All the things he didn’t necessarily want, but had been blessed with. 

He was a good man, and he was always right, but you’d never admit that to his face. Especially after that night, after a weekend of staying at Mingyu’s. DK had sat you down, he spoke for many minutes, many dragging minutes, a monologue full of ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to do something else?’ and ‘Have your friends from Nasara come out to stay with us sometime, maybe you all can spend time in the city together.’ He never said the words, “Don’t date Mingyu,” but you know he despised the idea.

Deep down you despised it too. 

The hunk of golden muscle with a voice so pretty and persuading, he wanted to be your boyfriend. Mingyu’s asked a few times before, letting it become your decision, always telling you he’d wait for you, and that you were his no matter what, that he was here for you, he wanted to take care of you, he wanted to love you. He’d keep his word, you knew he would. It was Mingyu, he kept his promises, he spoke with utmost intent, he didn’t say shit just to say it, nor was he using it to coerce you into his sheets. That you did on your own.

His curly hair, his sappy brown eyes, you’d drown it in, in him, suffocate yourself with Mingyu, all of him until the guilt wallowing in your gut was gone. With each passing day it grew smaller. After each night with Mingyu it was easier to deal with. Like last night, like this entire trip would be.

Arriving in Haos, in the warm air that breezed over your skin like a dream when you stepped out of the airport hand in hand with Mingyu sending cameras flashing away, you finally felt like you could breathe. Away from Iloa, away from the restraints the city put on you, really your brother, this trip felt like freedom. Haos has always been a place you’ve thrived since you were a little girl, traveling back and forth on a jet with your parents and DK, vacationing for months throughout the summer, laying on these beaches until your skin couldn’t take it any longer. The air was different here, it excited you.

It invited you to dance in it, to get lost in it like you did Mingyu.

And that’s just what you did.

Waking up to sunshine peeking through the heavy grey curtains of the hotel room, washing over you where you laid in the king sized bed buried in white sheets and blankets, you didn’t even want to open your eyes. Pressing your hands to your forehead first, rolling onto your back, the ache squeezing your brain threatened your stomach, but you wouldn’t allow it to go any further. Taking a slow, calculated deep breath you lay your arms beside you and stretch, your limbs barely reaching the edges of the mattress. Muscles sore, body tired, you blinked open your eyes and scolded the light with a groan.

Moving beneath the covers, the soft sheets caressing your bare skin, you tugged them off and took your time sitting up. The weight in your head shifted, almost sending you forward. Clamping your hands to your knees, still blinking fervently in the bright sunshine, you find clothes scattered about the floor, your bell bottom jeans inside out and slung over a dresser across the room from you.

You weren’t sure whose room you were in, but the denim jacket, Nike luggage, and custom sneakers let you know where you were. Dragging a hand through your hair, the blow dry still bouncing even though your jaw ached, you took another breath and made your way out of his bed.

These headlines were gonna be good.

You scrolled, and scrolled. Instagram, Twitter, all the accounts that reported on you, that reported on Mingyu, you scrolled, and you read. Wandering out of bed, you scrolled, sitting on the toilet, you scrolled, brushing your teeth, you scrolled. The photos were cute, Mingyu’s arm either around your back or shoulders, unless his hand was wrapped around your neck or squeezing your ass. More often than not your lips were locked, the two of you ‘unable to get enough’ as one drama influencer said on her story.

You’ve been here one night and have already achieved what you came here to do.

There was a certain rush accompanied by seeing your name in posts, in headlines, coming out of peoples mouths. Everyone had their thing, everyone in your life, they had their thing. This was yours, and people were catching on. After each blow up of news, of rumors, of new photos, your follower count grew.

But where there were fun people talking about you, doing their makeup in their ‘Get Ready With Me and Chit Chat About Moon Isla…’ videos and TikToks, there were the assholes, mostly men, who spewed their worthless thoughts. That’s what DK would say. Mingyu had started saying it too, that those kinds of people had nothing better to do with their lives.

It didn’t mean their words didn’t hurt.

“I mean, she’s sloppy, she’s drinking all the time, and he’s there to carry her around,” a man with a microphone in his face and big headphones on around his head spoke from your phone. Dressed now, having read an article that informed you that you bought the entire bar shots of tequila, you attempted to liven up your face in the mirror that stretched across the bathroom wall. “His team is in Haos to train. To practice. To begin their season to take back their trophy, and this bitch is with them, dragging Kim all along Festa Street.” Slicking clear gloss over your lips, you narrowed your eyes and glared at the man on the screen.

Fair skinned, bald, with a bush on his face and all around his jaw. He had that nagging sort of voice, one that tugged on your eardrums and stabbed them thousands and thousands of times with tiny needles filling you with rage.

“Photos came out right away when the team got there, you know,” the man said, and his partner, another bald man with a Lions hat on, hummed in agreement. “Not a smile on his face. Sunglasses on, gear on his back, his hat tugged over his forehead. Now what do you think that means?”

“He’s hungover,” the partner said. The man threw his hands out to the side and cackled.

“Thank you, he’s hungover, and he has to play today.” You scoffed and snatched your phone off the counter. “They’re lucky the new first-”

“Shut up,” you groaned, swiping away to another video. A girl with long, waist length braids in her hair, each one entwined with a fun color was smiling to the camera.

“Guys,” she finally whispered after a second of staring. A giggle corrupted her, sending her face down into her pillows. The camera shook, then she picked her head back up and widened her eyes for a few seconds. “How do I become her?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, then giggled maniacally again. “How do I- Wait, hang on.” 

The camera cut and a picture showed up behind her. Your cheeks warmed. Mingyu had you pressed to a pillar in one of the bars you were in, the name unknown to you. His hands were in the back pockets of your jeans and his forehead was pressed to yours. The way he smiled down at you, god. The picture was a little blurry, a little grainy, but damn. He wasn’t looking at you like you were his dinner. Hearts engulfed his irises.

“Guys?!” The girl shrieked and you jumped, forgetting she was here. “Kim Mingyu, save me! Look at this, do you see this, are we all okay after this…” She rambled more nonsense, and you’re certain the thousands of comments were agreeing with her. On every video of girls like this the comments were full of more girls saying the same exact thing.

You dared, and you clicked.

‘how does she not die when he looks like that’

‘LORD WHEN IS IT MY TURRRRRRN’

‘Shes so lucky waht the actual fuck guys its not fair.’

‘how are they NOT DATING’

How are they not dating? How are you not dating Mingyu? How could you look at a photo like this one, all of it screaming that he loved you, how could you see this, witness this, live this, and not date him? Not want to date him?

Locking your phone, tossing it to the counter, you returned to your makeup and put on fresh mascara, not that anyone was going to see it.

Venturing out into the room, side stepping articles of clothing, you pulled on one of Mingyu's grey Lions tee’s and wiggled back into the jeans you wore last night. Your luggage was elsewhere. DK would tell you where it ended up, he’d tell you where you were staying. You haven’t seen him since you left the airport, you were not looking forward to the lecture you’d get when you met him at the field.

Sliding thick black sunglasses onto your nose, making sure your hair framed your face, you spritzed some of Mingyu’s cologne onto your neck, dropped your things into your little purse, slid into your shoes, and left his room behind.

The team was gone, they’d been out on the field for two hours already. Nearing eleven o’clock you weren’t sure who else would be left behind here at the hotel, hopefully someone you’d catch a ride with, but to your demise as you wandered the halls and rode the elevator down to the lobby, your least favorite people were here.

The WAGs.

A piercing cry echoed through the air and the glass ceiling of the lobby.

The WAGs and their children.

To the right of the main lobby, the carpeted area where large leather couches and a fireplace lived, fabulous heads of hair sat around or stood with their babies in their arms. Tight jeans, fun Lions themed jackets, the whole thing screamed WAGs and it made you want to gag. 

Then you remembered what shirt you put on and kept your thoughts to yourself.

Already regretting approaching them, you took yourself toward the couches and attempted to smile at them. In an instant their chatter quieted, their attention turned to you, and they broke out in cheesy greetings. There were only a few faces you recognized.

Seungcheols wife, Talia, who was very pregnant, had their son Tao on her hip where she stood in front of the couches. Luscious blonde hair flowing toward her waist, her full face of makeup smiled back at you. She was one of the few you actually trusted. Gesturing toward her knee high wedged boots, you shot her a thumbs up. From what you know she was weeks from popping out kid number two, so how she was walking around in those boots, props to her.

On the couch directly in front of you rocking her crying baby sat Daya, a brunette with macchiato colored skin married to the Lions second basemen, Soonyoung, or Hoshi, as the city of Iloa called him. They haven’t been married long, but their baby girl, Tora, was six months old. Hoshi was one of the reasons the team started to crumble last season. Between Daya and his new daughter, the family fought the narrative the entire off season. 

Daya sat beside Halle, a woman with curly black hair hanging at her shoulders and the smoothest dark chocolate complexion. She bounced a baby in her arms, her and her husband, Minghao, their eight month old, Sunday. Another daughter born into the Lions family, one toward the beginning of the season, the family just missing the reason for crumble rumors.

The two were best friends, Daya and Halle, just as were Hoshi and Minghao. With their chins turned up at you and their seemingly judging eyes studying what you wore and how you wore it, they smiled and shared a look.

“Isla you’re so fun,” Talia said with a shake of her head. 

Daya laughed under her breath. “She’ll be one of us soon,” she grumbled, and Halle laughed with her.

“Leave the girl be,” Jihyo spoke up as she passed by the couches, wandering behind her and Junhui’s four year old son, Jisoo. Jun belonged to the Lions long before DK had ever been traded, he was a veteran in Iloa. He and his wife, a couple of high school sweethearts, welcomed you back time and time again, treating you no differently, as if no time had ever passed. Just seeing her face was relief enough.

“Hey,” you half whispered, reaching out for her. She took your hand and squeezed it, the smile lines on her cheeks accenting her stunning smile. Talia watched your hands meet, then watched the interaction, adjusting her baby on her hip. “It’s so nice to see you.”

Jihyo tossed her dark brown hair over the shoulder of her leather jacket. “It’s so much nicer seeing you. Don’t let these girls be mean to you,” she shot Daye and Halle a glare and the two turned toward one another, “She’s a baby, she’s not having any anytime soon.” Smiling back at you, she squeezed your hand once more before returning to her motherly duties. “You came down just in time, they’re picking us up any minute now.”

“How are things with Mingyu?” Daya asked, giving you another once over. “You guys conjure quite the crowd.” You didn’t like the way her eyes felt.

Shrugging, you pursed your lips and said, “Things are great. Why?”

She and Halle spoke to one another again with their eyes, then Minghao’s wife looked up at you. “Why aren’t things official, Isla?” 

Because if things become official then you end up on the couch here with these women and their babies, maybe even with a few of your own. You become a WAG, your entire identity succumbed down into just being someone's wife, someone's mother. You’d be an extension of him, of Mingyu, it’s what he wanted you to be even if he’s never explicitly said it.

But, he has.

You’re his. You’re his whether the label is there or not.

The label.

More of their questions bounced back and forth between them. ‘Has he not asked?’ ‘You have to do something, Isla, you can’t just be his pet.’ ‘I mean, what does it look like, you traveling with him to do what, party and sleep together?’ ‘We’ve seen the photos, everyone has, you guys have something-’

“It is official,” you said with a sureness that shut them up.

The words were set in stone before you had a chance to take them back. The chatter of the wives and girlfriends in the lobby filled the air and did nothing to ease the anxiety around the next news story you just created for yourself. For Mingyu. For your brother.

Exactly what he didn’t want.

Taking a deep breath, you thought to yourself, oh well.

You’d be a different type of WAG, you’d change what it meant. You would not end up here wedged between Daya and Halle, two women unable to calm their fussy babies.

Halle smirked, shaking her curls a bit. “What do you mean it is?”

Narrowing your eyes that she couldn’t see at her, you tilted your head. “He’s my boyfriend. I’m his girlfriend. How much more official can it get? You want proof? Wanna see the pictures he took of us while he was in me last night?”

Daya threw her head backward with a holler of a laugh. Halle’s own jaw fell open, a scoff falling from it. Talia, eyes analyzing still, she started to smile. 

“No, you keep those to yourself,” Halle said.

Daya chimed in, “If you have any of just Mingyu let us know, though.”

Your heart would’ve shot out your chest if you weren’t so hungover. “I would,” you sighed, then started toward the doors of the hotel, “But, he’s mine!”

First one to get to the cars, recognizing your brother's driver, you beelined for the SUV and demanded he pull away and get you to the stadium before any other women could try to get into the car with you. Barely five minutes away from the hotel and twenty from the stadium, your phone buzzed from your purse, and then it buzzed again, and again. Pulling it out you sighed at the notifications polluting your screen, but weren’t surprised in the slightest.

Someone got their check.

‘BREAKING NEWS: The Lions Princess confirms her relationship with…’

It was too long to read across the screen.

‘Moon Isla and Kim Mingyu CONFIRMED!’

‘IT’S OFFICIAL!’

No matter who it was, no matter who sold the story or leaked it, you didn’t have time to feel bad for them, nor yourself. You were well off and doing better for yourself without the need to leak info to the press for a paycheck. You have a DK, and now you have a boyfriend, who doesn’t know he’s your boyfriend yet, but is about to find out he is your boyfriend and probably already did. 

Now you had to tell him in person.

And you had to swear to yourself that you were not going to become one of the WAGs.

As easy as it would be to just hand your whole life over to somebody, to follow them around, to have them take care of you for as long as they saw fit… It wasn’t you.

And it wasn’t going to be you.

The stadium in Haos couldn’t compare to the one in Iloa. Smaller, less sparkly and flashy, positioned directly in the sun, this stadium was lucky the Lions continued to come here to train for a month and a half. The tickets they sold within February and March were probably enough to fund the rest of the year for this company. 

To the Lions it was home away from home. A field to play on, a place to stay. Players like your brother saw it that way, he and a few others like Junhui, they had an appreciation for it. As long as they were throwing a baseball, running the bases, rolling in the grass, they were happy. You had few memories of this place, one of them being finally kissing Mingyu for the first time when you were eighteen and in Haos with your family for a weekend to watch the Lions play a series here. It was something short and sweet but all the more delicious. 

It was sneaky, in a hallway away from celebrations and cameras. The two of you had spent nearly the entire weekend together, talking, re-getting to know one another like most of the time like this was spent. He only kissed you after a dinner with the team, after a few drinks downed by the both of you, his liquid courage hands dancing along your neck gently before they took your cheeks and pulled you into him.

You started at Nasara that fall, though you longed to go back to that weekend every damn day of that grueling first semester. With little to no contact between you and Mingyu, it was easy to slip away from him, and you did so without even realizing it. There came a point in time where he wasn’t even a second thought, a side thought, a thought way in the back of your brain, he was just… gone.

Coming here, spending time at the stadium with the team you hoped that feeling would come back. That first feeling. The way nerves below your skin buzzed as he touched you, as he smiled at you and tipped his chin closer, whispering to you how he hopes no one turns the corner. His soft lips, his strong hands, his chiseled body you simply melted into… Everything about it screamed perfect.

Strutting over the concrete, a coffee acquired in your hand, sun blazing on your back, coaches, security, and other WAGs standing around eyeing you or trying to say hello, you ignored them and kept your head on straight, knowing he was at the end of this pathway. The stands of seats towered over your head, casting shadows onto the pavement, leading you toward the fence you so easily walked around with no one to stop you. Your feet quieted as the grass began, shade covering the green so lush you almost felt bad you were flattening it beneath your shoes.

The boys weren’t actively playing at the moment, the most activity happening that you could see was that of your brother and the Lions catcher Jihoon, or Woozi, stretching in the outfield together in their sponsored Under Armour get ups. Everyone else was wandering the dirt, chatting it up along the dugout, or checking out their gear. Few players stood in their positions from what you could see, everyone's backs to you as you approached the third base line.

“Isla!” His voice brought an instant smile to your face. He was heard before he was seen, scanning the different figures around you, you finally found him hurrying toward you, a big, goofy smile on his cheeks. Completely different than how those men on that podcast were describing him. 

A little bit sweaty, Mingyu wore a cut off Lions tank and matching black shorts, swapping his custom sneakers for a pair of old cleats that supposedly brought him luck while they trained. It wasn’t Spring Training if he didn’t have them on, no one would catch him jinxing the season before it even started. Some of his curls clung to his forehead, his skin aglow beneath the beating Haos sun.

“Change your mind, or something?” The way he scrunched his nose made you giggle. “Heard we’re dating now?” He made it in front of you finally, resting his hands on his hips as he caught his breath.

Pressing your lips together in a silly smile, you shrugged your shoulders and rocked on your feet. “Maybe we are.” He couldn’t tame his happiness, you were certain his cheeks would break. “Sucks I couldn’t have told you first, who’d you hear it from?”

“Hoshi.” He cocked his head backward toward the dugout. Peeking around his large frame you found the two best friends side by side leaning over the fence with their chins resting on their arms looking straight toward you and Mingyu. Hoshi, hair bleached into oblivion, and Minghao, shaggy black hair hanging down his neck. Both boys wore backwards baseball caps. “After he told me I checked to see if you said anything to me, but you didn’t.”

A pout graced your lips. “I wanted to come here and tell you, I’m sorry.”

He moved quickly, reaching out to take you by your shoulders. “No, please, don’t apologize, holy shit, Isla. If anything I’m sorry, it sucks that we can’t say anything without someone taking it and plastering it to the internet.” His thumbs drew circles over the fabric of his own t-shirt. “This mine?” He snickered.

“Yeah,” you sang, “I was in your room, Gyu. My suitcases are MIA.”

“They’re in your room,” he said as if he knew where it was.

You scoffed. “And you didn’t think to tell me where that was so I could-”

“On the other side of the hotel in one of the towers across the property by your brother.” It was all he had to say to have you both deadpanning in seconds. “Like, a mile apart.”

Laughing within a breath you leaned into him and slid an arm around his back. “Oh, agony,” you drug out, tipping your chin backward. “A mile, how ever are we going to do it?” It was too easy to make him laugh.

“DK did it on purpose,” he said quietly, bobbing his head, taking his arms around your back. “He thinks we don’t know what he does and why he does it but, it’s so obvious.” Sipping your coffee, you looked up at him and waited for more. “Does he know you were gonna do this? Today?”

Toying with the hem of his shirt you took a breath. “No, but I can tell you he definitely already knows, news travels fast around here.” The two of you spare your brother a glance, one he was returning. You’ve never seen DK mad, but you do know when his eyes have fallen upon something he doesn’t like.

“You’ll talk him down,” Mingyu nodded, gazing back down at you. “You always do, you have the magic.” 

Blinking, you turned your chin back up to him. “You could talk to him too, yanno.”

He made a face, baring his teeth, cringing. “Ah, you know how I feel about that.”

“It could potentially turn this whole thing around if you do, Gyu,” you muttered, defeat beginning to pool within you. “You want me, you gotta talk to him about it.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he reached for your coffee cup. “I have you. Watcha got in here?” He took a swing before you could answer him, his reaction making you laugh amongst the karma.

“Black coffee,” you droned, taking the white cup back. “And sugar, because someone made me do tequila shots all night.”

Snickering, he dropped down to press a kiss to your lips, one long and slow, as if he was putting the period on the It’s Official statement. Pulling back just slightly, Mingyu mumbled, “Why don’t you substitute that sugar for vodka so we can keep going tonight?”

“Aye, Kim!” A coach called out for him, the team heading back out onto the field.

Whirling around, pulling you into his side, Mingyu waves off the batting coach and ushers you into the dugout making sure you were along the fence with a good spot to watch him hit. Along the way he whispered nonsense to you, telling you what bars you should explore tonight, where you needed to go, what food you should try, but more importantly what drinks you could get and where.

“You’re gonna kill me, Gyu,” you whispered to him after he kissed you one last time. Laughing aloud, head thrown back with vigor, he took to home plate and his persona shifted. Gone was Gyu, out came Kim Mingyu, the Lions right fielder.

Sipping from your coffee, allowing it to ease the ache in your forehead and the unease in your gut, you stood up and wandered the empty dugout. Names were written on everything, the shirts, the bats, the gloves, the mits, it was adorable, it felt like when you’d watch your brother in little league and your father etched his name into everything he owned. Dragging your feet along the ground, dirt and pebbles scraping against the concrete beneath your shoes, you took a deep breath in through your nose and let the fresh air relax you.

Maybe this was a good thing.

The familiar sound of a baseball smacking into the glove of the catcher brought you more comfort than you ever could’ve imagined. Your brother was on the mound, Woozi behind the plate, Mingyu in the batter's box. The whooshing of the bat through the air as your boyfriend acquired another strike had the batting coach calling out a few things to him. With a small smile on your lips you wandered toward the stairs to the dugout along the first base line, stepping up them to lean against the post giving you the clearest view of the field.

Hangover aside, the day was beautiful. The weather was perfect, the boys were talking and laughing with one another, there was the crack of the ball hitting the bat filling you with excitement as someone shouted in the outfield. The ball Mingyu hit was foul, traveling just over right field, but it wasn’t hit long enough for their bench player whose name you hadn’t learned yet to catch it in right field. Your neck stretched, everyones did. Mingyu ran to first base, but Seungcheol would catch it before he made it down the line.

Except Seungcheol was behind home plate with the batting coach, arms folded over his broad chest, his knee wrapped in a brace.

Whipping your head back and forth, from Seungcheol eyeing the ball, to the team, then you, he shouted a name that made your blood run cold.

“Hansol!”

Every bone in your body went stiff, every muscle froze. Neck nearly breaking, you plastered your eyes onto the boy standing behind first base and your coffee cup almost slipped from your trembling fingers.

You could’ve been sick. You wanted to be sick.

Months. It’d been months.

Months of distraction, months of trying to make him go away, months of squeezing him and pushing him down into a feeling you’d only allow yourself to feel between the hours of one and three in the morning if you were any sort of sober. Even drunk, he was there, a ghost haunting your memory of what could’ve been, what you had and what you left behind. He stood here now, five foot ten, a little scrawny, a little pale. Those brown waves, they were just how you left them, fluffy, soft, inviting. His eyes, chocolate and sweet, were on you, he was looking at you, not through you, not around you, at you.

And it hurt.

Every feeling manifested into a stomach ache, a nausea so debilitating that only he would know what to do about it, like he’s done for you so many times before. The amount of times he’s held your hair, that he’s pulled it back for you. So many nights at Nasara, when he was allowed to, he would get you into your bed and make sure you’d fall asleep on your side, telling Ryujin that if either of you needed anything she could call him. He’d try to not let you drink too much, but when he couldn’t keep up with the way you’d bounce around the house he’d appear with a cup full of water and wouldn’t leave you alone until you finished it. 

He’d bring you to Blend, he’d buy you a coffee, he’d offer you breakfast, and if you refused he’d offer his shoulder and he’d let you talk. And not once would he interrupt, he’d only look away to sip his coffee, reminding you to drink some of yours between the stories you had to tell.

You’d follow him along to his practices, one of the only ones to sit in the stands, or behind home plate when he’d bat or train with his coaches gearing him up for this very moment.

When the hell did he get called up?

When the hell did the Lions get him?

Why the fuck is this the first you’re hearing of it, seeing it?

He missed the ball. It fell a few feet behind him. His teammates shouted for him, they tried to get his attention, so many shouts of a name so foreign to you only because you knew it wasn’t his favorite. He was stuck, much like you, with a thousand things to say splayed out between the two of you.

Vernon.

He was here, in Haos, playing on the same team as your brother. 

On the same team as your boyfriend. 

Holy shit, Mingyu was your boyfriend.

Mingyu was your boyfriend, words you chose to say on the same day the boy you had fallen in too far deep with appears on his baseball team.

“Hansol!”

Finally his gaze of disbelief was ripped from you, having you loose a breath you were holding. Murmurs of his voice, nothing more than a hum hit you where you were standing, a sound so incredibly comforting it had tears welling up in your eyes. You’re sure it was pleading, and apologies, and excuses for missing the easiest play for a first baseman.

He hurried toward Seungcheol and the coach, as did the team, and you hightailed it off the field while no one's eyes were on you, hurried for the closest bathroom and hid yourself in a stall, collapsing to the floor with rushed breaths, willing your heart to calm down.

home;run masterlist | talk to me | ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[pandapetals]

Get Along

logan howlett x fem!reader - bit of angst, bickering, handcuffed, logan being logan, princess nickname, no mention of description of reader, no use of Y/N.

After a mission, Logan and You couldn't work as a team so Charles decides to take action by forcing you both to wear handcuffs.

read on Ao3

“This is ridiculous, Professor!” you shouted, trying to jerk your hand free from Charles’s telepathic grip before the cold steel of the handcuffs snapped around your wrist. The metal clinked as you struggled, but the grip was like iron. 

Logan groaned, clearly as displeased as you were, but it wasn’t like he had a choice either. Nearby, Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair, his eyes glowing faintly as he used his telepathic powers to stop Logan from stirring—one of the rogue mutants who had been causing havoc during the mission. The battle was over, but apparently, your problems were just beginning.

“You two need to learn to work together as a team,” Charles said, his voice firm but laced with his usual calm authority. His eyes shifted to Logan as the other half of the handcuff snapped around his wrist. “Logan especially. What if someone had been seriously hurt today? Not everyone is lucky enough to have your healing ability.”

You winced as the cuff locked with a sharp click, binding you to Logan in the most literal way possible. “Professor,” you began, turning to Charles with a pleading expression, “it’s not my fault this caveman doesn’t play well with others. I—”

“Caveman, huh?” Logan growled, cutting you off as he shot you a glare, his jaw tight. His voice was low, and dangerous, as if he wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more insults. “You weren’t exactly a team player out there either.”

You whipped your head toward him, eyes narrowed. “Maybe I would’ve been if you hadn’t gone charging in like a bull with claws!”

Charles sighed, the weariness clear in his expression as he watched the two of you bicker like children. “And that,” he said pointedly, “is exactly why this is necessary. You both need to learn how to work together and until you do, the cuffs stay on.”

“What?” You and Logan said in unison, both sets of eyes widening as you stared at Charles in disbelief. Logan’s hands flexed slightly, and you could feel the tension in his arm as it moved against yours.

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by your outrage. “You’ve both proven time and again that you can’t function as a team. This mission was a prime example. So, until you can manage to complete one without tearing each other apart, you’ll be... bound together. Literally.”

Logan let out a growl of frustration, his teeth gritting audibly. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I assure you, I’m not,” Charles said, folding his hands in his lap. “I expect you to start training together tomorrow. You’ll be shadowing each other until I see some real cooperation. Understood?”

You wanted to argue, to protest that this was some kind of cruel joke, but the look on Charles’ face told you this wasn’t negotiable. Logan, for all his grumbling and posturing, knew it too.

“Fine,” you muttered under your breath, though your mind was already racing with the implications of being handcuffed to Logan for... who knew how long.

Logan, however, was less subtle in his reaction. “This is bullshit,” he growled, yanking his arm in frustration—dragging you with it. You stumbled, your shoulder slamming into his side, and shot him an angry glare.

“Watch it!” you snapped, regaining your balance and tugging your arm back, though the metal cuffs bit into your wrist as you did.

“You’re the one who won’t stop flailing around,” Logan shot back, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Quit being so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic!” you retorted, but it came out sharper than you intended. “Maybe if you didn’t act like a one-man army every time we’re out there, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Logan opened his mouth to argue, but Charles interrupted with a calm but firm, “That’s enough. The both of you.”

The silence that followed was tense. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your frustration mixing with the undeniable irritation of being physically tethered to someone as stubborn and reckless as Logan. He wasn’t happy about it either—you could see the muscles in his jaw tightening, his fists clenching and unclenching as if he was fighting the urge to snap the cuffs in two.

But you both knew better than to argue with Charles. And, deep down, you had to admit that he had a point. You and Logan… you’d been butting heads since the day you joined the team. If it wasn’t his lone-wolf attitude, it was your refusal to back down from a fight.

“Now,” Charles said, his voice returning to its usual calm demeanor, “the danger room is ready for you. Have fun.”

Logan let out a huff of frustration, then tugged on the cuffs, forcing you to stumble forward again as he started walking toward the door. “C’mon,” he muttered as if the decision to leave was entirely his.

“Oh, sure,” you said, exasperated as you tried to keep pace with him. “Just drag me around. No big deal.”

He smirked over his shoulder, that familiar cocky grin making an appearance. “You’ll survive. Don’t be such a princess.”

You glared daggers at him. “I swear to God, Logan, if you keep this up—”

“What? You’ll lecture me to death?” he teased, clearly finding amusement in your frustration. “That’s what you do, right? Stand there and tell me how I’m doing everything wrong?”

You clenched your jaw, feeling the frustration bubble up again. “I wouldn’t have to if you ever bothered to listen.”

Logan stopped suddenly, spinning around so quickly that you almost collided with his chest. You were about to snap at him again, but when you looked up, his expression had shifted, a mix of irritation and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I don’t need someone watchin’ my back,” he said quietly, his voice losing its usual edge. “I’ve been doin’ this a hell of a lot longer than you.”

You swallowed the sharp retort on your tongue, suddenly aware of how close he was—of the tension in his shoulders, the roughness of his breathing. For a moment, neither of you moved, the world outside the two of you falling away.

“I’m not trying to watch your back,” you said, your voice softer than before. “I’m just trying to make sure we all get through this in one piece.”

Logan’s eyes flickered, something unreadable passing behind them. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step back, breaking the moment as he turned toward the door again.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low. “Well, let’s see if these damn cuffs don’t kill us before the bad guys do.”

You huffed out a laugh, despite yourself. “Agreed.”

As you both walked toward the exit, the handcuffs clinking softly with each step, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—Charles was onto something. If the two of you were going to make it out there as a team, you had to learn to rely on each other.

For the first time, you wondered if Logan might just be thinking the same thing.

The hallways of the mansion felt narrower with Logan’s steady presence next to you, the clinking of the handcuffs an irritating reminder that you weren’t going anywhere without him. His steps were heavy, but controlled, while you found yourself struggling to keep up, your shorter strides barely matching his long, purposeful gait.

“Would it kill you to slow down?” you snapped, tugging on the chain as you tried to get him to ease up.

Logan glanced at you, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk again. “Keep up, princess. I’m not used to takin’ it easy.”

You glared at him. “You don’t have to call me that, you know.”

“What?” Logan slowed slightly, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Princess? Seems to fit.”

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to stomp on his foot. “I swear if you call me that one more time—”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard it before.” Logan waved a dismissive hand, but his smirk softened into something less mocking, almost playful. Still, there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t eased, and you could feel the undercurrent of irritation still humming between you both.

The two of you reached the elevator at the end of the hall, and Logan pressed the button with more force than necessary. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to ignore the weight of his presence beside you. This was going to be a nightmare. You both knew it, but neither of you wanted to admit it.

The doors slid open, and you both stepped inside, the silence between you growing heavier. The elevator hummed as it descended, and you caught Logan glancing at the cuff connecting the two of you, his jaw twitching slightly.

“You think they’ll really help?” you asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, it’s not like we’ll suddenly turn into a dream team just because we’re stuck together.”

Logan grunted, his eyes forward. “Nope. But maybe we’ll stop tryin’ to kill each other long enough to get somethin’ done.”

You couldn’t help but snort at that, the absurdity of it all hitting you again. “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The elevator doors slid open again, and the two of you stepped into the large, sprawling living room that led to the training rooms downstairs. A few of the younger students were hanging around, and they shot you curious glances as they noticed the cuffs.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. “Now we’re the entertainment.”

Logan ignored the stares, his eyes set on the far door. He tugged on the chain, pulling you along without a second thought. “Ignore ‘em.”

You sighed but followed, half dragged as you made your way to the training area. The large metal door to the Danger Room loomed ahead, and you felt a knot of tension form in your stomach. It wasn’t the training that bothered you—you could handle that—it was being tied to Logan in a high-stress, life-or-death simulation. The last time the two of you had been in there together, you’d barely made it out without seriously hurting each other.

Logan stopped in front of the door, punching in the code with his free hand. The doors slid open with a hiss, revealing the massive, empty training room beyond. It was quiet now, but you both knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“You ready for this?” Logan asked, glancing at you with a sideways look that held more weight than usual. His voice was gruff, but there was something under it, something that told you he didn’t entirely hate the idea of trying this out. Maybe he was curious too—curious if you could actually pull this off without getting each other killed.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you muttered, stepping inside with him.

The doors shut behind you, the sound echoing in the large room. You took a deep breath, glancing around the empty space. There was no telling what kind of scenario Charles had programmed for you this time. It could be anything—a city under attack, a stealth mission, an ambush. Whatever it was, you knew one thing: you and Logan were about to be tested in ways neither of you had expected.

Logan cracked his knuckles, his eyes scanning the room as the familiar hum of the Danger Room systems kicked to life. “Guess we better figure out how to do this without killin’ each other.”

“Yeah, guess so,” you said, feeling a flicker of unease. “Any ideas on how to pull that off?”

He glanced at you, his expression serious now. “Stay close, watch my back, and I’ll watch yours.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That simple, huh?”

Logan shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be complicated. You follow my lead, and we’ll get through it.”

You hesitated, your natural instinct to argue rising up, but something in his tone stopped you. For the first time, Logan wasn’t being cocky, wasn’t dismissing you or treating you like an annoyance. There was a certain level of respect in his words, a mutual understanding that you hadn’t expected.

“Alright,” you said, your voice softer than before. “I can do that.”

Before Logan could respond, the floor beneath you rumbled. The walls of the room flickered, and in an instant, the empty training space transformed into a war zone. Skyscrapers loomed overhead, fires raged in the distance, and the sound of explosions shook the ground beneath your feet.

“Stay sharp,” Logan said, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. “They’ll come at us fast.”

You nodded, your heart rate already picking up as the first wave of enemies appeared—armed soldiers, mutant hunters, and sentinels materializing from the smoke. They came at you from all directions, their weapons aimed and ready.

Logan didn’t waste a second. He moved like a predator, pulling you with him as he dodged the first barrage of gunfire, his claws sliding out with a familiar snikt sound.

“Stay close,” he barked, and this time, you didn’t argue.

The two of you moved in sync, much to your surprise. Logan cut through the enemies with brutal efficiency, his claws flashing as he cleared a path, and you followed close behind, using your powers to deflect and disable attacks aimed your way.

The handcuffs clinked as you fought, but you hardly noticed them now. You ducked under Logan’s arm as he swung at an enemy, your blast of energy hitting the soldier before he could get a shot off. Logan grunted in approval, his body moving instinctively in sync with yours as if the two of you had been doing this for years.

It wasn’t perfect—there were still moments when you’d stumble or when Logan would yank you in a direction you weren’t ready for—but for the first time, it felt like you weren’t working against each other.

Another sentinel approached, its mechanical limbs reaching for you both. Logan lunged, pulling you with him as you dodged its massive hand, your combined efforts bringing the towering machine down in a flurry of sparks and metal.

As the final wave of enemies dissipated, you both stood there, catching your breath, the tension in the air thick but different now. There was a sense of accomplishment, of shared victory that neither of you had expected.

Logan glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Not bad, princess. Guess you don’t need as much hand-holdin’ as I thought.”

You shot him a tired but satisfied grin. “Same goes for you, caveman. That wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.” 

Logan gave you a sideways glance, wiping sweat from his brow. “Don’t get too cocky. We’ve still got more rounds to go.” His voice was gruff as usual, but there was something else underneath—something that felt almost like approval.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin tugging at your lips. “Right, because fighting alongside you is such a walk in the park.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a half-smirk. “You’ll live.”

Before you could respond, the ground beneath you rumbled again, signaling the start of another round. The Danger Room simulation flickered for a brief second, and then the scenery changed, shifting into something even more intense than before.

The cityscape reappeared, this time with fires raging out of control, and the sounds of explosions and collapsing buildings filled the air. You didn’t have time to react before another wave of enemies materialized—this time, larger, more heavily armed sentinels flanked by soldiers with advanced tech.

Logan tensed beside you, his claws sliding out with that familiar snikt as he prepared to charge. “Stay close,” he barked, glancing at you with a sharp, determined look. “We got this.”

You nodded, adrenaline already coursing through your veins as you powered up, the energy crackling at your fingertips. “Let’s do it.”

The battle started fast—too fast. The enemies were more coordinated this time, their attacks more brutal, as if the simulation had adjusted to compensate for how well you’d handled the last round. You and Logan moved together again, but this time, the pace was relentless. You dodged and countered, blasting back at sentinels and disabling their attacks, but something felt different. Harder.

As Logan tore through a group of soldiers, you found yourself facing off against one of the sentinels on your own. Its red, glowing eyes fixed on you, and before you could fully brace yourself, it swung its massive arm, slamming into you with full force.

“Shit!” Logan’s voice echoed through the chaos, but it was too late.

The impact sent you flying through the air, the world spinning in a blur as you felt the cuffs yank harshly on your wrist. Pain exploded in your side as you hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop against a pile of debris. You gasped, the wind knocked out of you, your vision swimming as you tried to catch your breath.

Logan was at your side in an instant, his voice low and rough with worry. He tugged on the cuffs, the chain pulling between you painfully. His eyes flickered between you and the sentinel looming overhead, its massive foot raising to crush you both.

Without hesitation, Logan growled, and with a sudden, violent pull, he yanked the cuffs taut—then snapped the chain like it was nothing.

You blinked, barely registering the pain in your side as you stared at him. The cuffs. He just... broke them.

The sentinel’s foot came crashing down, but Logan was already moving. He scooped you up like you weighed nothing, his arms strong and steady as he dodged the attack, carrying you out of harm’s way. You winced as the pain in your ribs flared, but you clung to him instinctively, the world still spinning around you.

“Computer, end simulation!” Logan shouted, his voice sharp with urgency.

The Danger Room responded immediately, the chaotic battlefield flickering away as the walls returned to their smooth, metallic state. Silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Logan set you down gently, kneeling beside you, his expression hard but deeply concerned. “You alright?” His voice was softer now, the usual edge gone, replaced by something almost... vulnerable.

You nodded, wincing as you tried to sit up. “I’m fine,” you said, though the sharp pain in your ribs said otherwise. “Just... got the wind knocked out of me.”

“Bullshit,” Logan muttered, his hands hovering just above your side as if he wasn’t sure whether to touch you. “You’re hurt. Damn, sentinels don’t know when to quit.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, still a little dazed from both the hit and the fact that Logan had just broken the cuffs—and ended the simulation early. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by an intensity that caught you off guard. He wasn’t just worried—he was really worried.

“I’ll heal,” you said, trying to shrug it off, but the wince that followed betrayed you.

Logan’s jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “You’re not me. You don’t just walk away from shit like this without help.”

You blinked, the sharpness of his words cutting through the fog in your mind. He wasn’t mocking you. He wasn’t teasing. He was dead serious, and the way his eyes searched your face for any signs of serious injury made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Logan,” you started, your voice quieter now. “I’m okay.”

But he didn’t look convinced. His hand finally rested on your arm, firm but careful, as if he didn’t want to cause you any more pain. “You sure?” he asked, his voice gruff but thick with an emotion you hadn’t heard from him before.

You nodded, though the pain in your ribs was still sharp. “I’ll be fine. It’s just bruises.”

Logan’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes stayed on yours, something unspoken passing between you—something raw and real. He had been worried. Really, truly worried about you.

And for the first time, you saw him in a different light.

This wasn’t the cocky, reckless Logan you’d always bickered with. This was someone who cared. Someone who, beneath all the rough edges, was just as protective as he was strong. The way he had ended the simulation without hesitation, the way he had pulled you out of danger without a second thought—it wasn’t just instinct. It was something more.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes softened, the tension easing from his face as he gave you a short nod. “Don’t mention it.”

But you knew it wasn’t that simple. This moment—this quiet, unexpected moment between the two of you—was a turning point. The banter, the teasing, the bickering... it was still there, but beneath it, something else had taken root. Something neither of you had acknowledged until now.

Logan stood slowly, helping you to your feet with a gentleness that still surprised you. The broken handcuffs dangled from his wrist, but neither of you made any move to remove them. The training was over, but the connection between you—one built on trust, respect, and now a hint of something more—was just beginning.

As you walked out of the Danger Room together, Logan’s steady presence beside you, you couldn’t help but wonder what came next. The thought of working with him didn’t seem so bad.

[celestialprincesse]

Hello! Can you write Lieutenant Ghost x Colonel or Captain reader, please! And take your time with it! Thank you 💗💗

I really did take my time with getting around to this whoopsie🥴 Anyways !

John Price retired four months ago, and to the surprise of everyone in TF141, had been replaced externally, instead of by one of them. Ghost, in particular, had not been thrilled with that information. Until he met you.

You'd been one of Laswell's most trusted associates, worked alongside her for years in all different military and CIA branches. Truly the cream of the crop. Despite all your acclaim, the 141 had always been a tight knit family, held together by Captain John Price. What if you couldn't fill his shoes? Keep them running like a well oiled machine?

He'd be the first to admit that despite he and Price's similarity in age, his Captain had been the closest thing to a paternal figure he'd ever had, in his own weird, fucked up and emotionally distant way.

Admittedly, you're beautiful, funny and completely magnetic - but you're not Price. Something about how - how seemingly flawless you are seems to only make you less approachable to Simon, like he'll say one wrong thing to you and not be enough.

You feel the exact same way about him.

Realistically, you know he's your lieutenant, he was Price's too. He should've been the next choice for captain. All of them could've been better for the position than you. Gaz had shadowed Price for as long as he was in the 141. Johnny was the youngest ever to pass the SAS recruitment test. Ghost was noted as exceptionally physically proficient on his file, and had been in the military since he was legally able. Not to mention, Laswell had raved about him to you. You can see why now.

When he lurches at your back, seeing you safely to your office like some loyal guard dog, you can't help but to feel so immensely comforted, like he's a storm, in which you've somehow found yourself in the eye, protected fro, the world outside. And Ghost, loyal as he is, will always protect his team.

The others had taken to you so well, instinctively protective towards the only woman on their team, although you've shown them time and time again that you can hold your own. Simon, however, is on a different level entirely. It's stayed the same since day one. Something in him calls to something in you, and vice versa, and where you go, he goes.

At first, you had thought maybe he was trying to suck up to you, earn your favour, but when he'd started getting in your space, memorising your coffee order and helping you with everything you could imagine, you'd quickly realised that your lieutenant, the big, brave Simon 'ghost' Riley, has a big fat crush on you.

The feeling is mutual.

Obviously, you've got to be careful with the way you go about showing it, especially in a professional environment where fraternisation is frowned upon. It's clear to the both of you though, the pining isn't one sided.

Maybe when you're fully comfortable in your position as captain, well settled into the team, and sure that no one will think that to only way you achieved your position was by blowing someone higher up, maybe then you'll act on your feelings. God forbid you want to. One thing you've fortunately learned in your months working with Ghost, however, is that he's a patient man. He's willing to wait, to let you get comfortable.

Good thing you're patient too.

But until then, you'll settle for the stolen glances with soft eyes, or the way he's always checking on you when you're in the field together. You'll savour the gentle hands patching you up, or the moments between sparring sessions when you sit there sweaty beside one another, just breathing, touching, being.

Pining!! Mutually!! fuck yeah!! They can't have each other!! (yet)😛

still in love though

just subtly

[todorokis-girl]

On a collision course - Tsukishima Kei x f!Reader

I read a post a while ago and this was the line that caugh my attention: "Well have you considered that maybe the unstoppable force is in love with the immovable object; maybe the reason one refuses to move is because they both long for the collision"

masterlist

The sound of volleyballs hitting the gym floor echoed through Karasuno High School's gymnasium. The boys' volleyball team was practicing, and as usual, Tsukishima Kei was giving it his all, even if his aloof expression didn't show it. His tall frame and impressive blocking skills made him a formidable player on the court, but his sharp tongue and condescending attitude often rubbed people the wrong way.

Y/N, the team's manager, had known Tsukishima since middle school. They had never gotten along. While Y/N was outgoing and passionate, Tsukishima was reserved and indifferent. Their clashes were legendary, and their mutual disdain was well-known among their friends. Y/N believed in encouragement and support, while Tsukishima believed in brutal honesty and criticism.

Today was no different.

"Tsukishima, your timing was off on that last block," Y/N called out, her voice clear and authoritative.

Tsukishima shot her a withering look. "Maybe if you knew anything about volleyball, you'd realize it was a feint. But thanks for your insightful commentary, manager."

Y/N felt her face heat up. "I'm just trying to help. It's not my fault if you're too stubborn to listen."

The tension between them was palpable, and their teammates exchanged wary glances. This was a regular occurrence, and they had learned to stay out of it.

As practice ended, Y/N stayed behind to clean up. She liked the quiet of the gym when everyone else had left. It gave her a chance to think and unwind. She was wiping down the benches when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Tsukishima, his face unreadable.

"Forgot my water bottle," he said curtly, grabbing it from the bench.

Y/N nodded, not wanting to engage further. But as he turned to leave, she couldn't help herself. "You know, just because we don't agree on everything doesn't mean you have to be such a jerk."

Tsukishima stopped and turned back to her, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "And just because you think you're always right doesn't mean you are."

Y/N sighed, feeling the familiar frustration bubble up. "Why do you always have to be so difficult?"

"Why do you always have to be so naive?" he shot back. "This isn't some feel-good story where everyone holds hands and sings Kumbaya. This is volleyball. It's about winning."

Y/N stared at him, her anger giving way to something else. "Maybe it's not just about winning, Tsukishima. Maybe it's also about working together, about being a team."

For a moment, Tsukishima didn't respond. He just looked at her, his eyes searching hers. Then he shook his head. "Whatever. Believe what you want."

As he walked away, Y/N felt a pang of sadness. She didn't understand why he had to be so cold, why he pushed everyone away. She wanted to help him, to break through that wall he had built around himself. But she didn't know how.

Days turned into weeks, and the animosity between Y/N and Tsukishima continued. Yet, something had changed. Their arguments were still frequent, but there was an undercurrent of something else, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, Y/N found herself alone in the gym once more. She was lost in thought when she heard the door open and close. Expecting it to be one of the players, she was surprised to see Tsukishima.

"Hey," he said, his tone unusually soft.

Y/N looked up, her heart skipping a beat. "Hey."

There was an awkward silence before Tsukishima spoke again. "I… I wanted to apologize. For earlier. And for… everything."

Y/N blinked, taken aback. "What brought this on?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am too stubborn. And maybe… maybe I push people away because I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Y/N asked, her voice gentle.

"Of getting close to people. Of getting hurt," he admitted, his eyes downcast.

Y/N's heart ached at his vulnerability. She took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. "You don't have to be afraid, Tsukishima. You have people who care about you. And… I care about you too."

He looked up, his eyes searching hers. "You do?"

She nodded, her hand still on his arm. "I do."

For a moment, they just stood there, the air between them charged with emotion. Then, slowly, Tsukishima reached out and pulled her into a hug. It was tentative at first, but as Y/N wrapped her arms around him, he held her tighter.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"It's okay," she whispered back. "We're in this together."

The change in their relationship was gradual but undeniable. They still bickered, but there was a warmth now, a connection that hadn't been there before. They learned to trust each other, to support each other, and in the process, they grew closer.

One evening, after a long day of practice and homework, Y/N and Tsukishima found themselves walking home together. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the town. They walked in comfortable silence, their hands brushing occasionally.

"Do you remember what you said to me in the gym that day?" Tsukishima asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Y/N looked at him, puzzled. "Which part?"

"The part about working together, about being a team," he said, his voice soft.

She nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

He stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression serious. "I think… I think that's when I realized I was falling for you."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "Really?"

He nodded, taking her hands in his. "Yeah. I know I've been difficult, and I've said things I shouldn't have. But the truth is, I've never felt this way about anyone before. You're the unstoppable force, and I'm the immovable object. And maybe… maybe the reason I refused to move was because I longed for the collision."

Y/N felt tears prick her eyes as she smiled. "You know, for someone who doesn't talk about their feelings much, you sure know how to say the right thing."

He chuckled, pulling her closer. "Well, I had a good teacher."

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "So, what now?"

"Now," he said, leaning in to kiss her softly, "we see where this collision takes us."

As their lips met, Y/N felt a surge of happiness. She had always believed in the power of working together, of being a team. And now, with Tsukishima by her side, she knew they could face anything.

Together, they were unstoppable.

The days that followed were filled with a newfound sense of camaraderie and affection. Tsukishima, despite his initial reluctance, began to open up more, not just to Y/N but to the entire team. His sharp remarks became less frequent, replaced by genuine contributions and encouragement. The team noticed the change, and their performance on the court improved as a result.

One day, after practice, the team gathered in the locker room. Hinata, ever the curious one, finally voiced what everyone had been wondering.

"Hey, Tsukishima, Y/N," he began, a mischievous grin on his face. "What's going on with you two? You've been acting... different."

Kageyama nodded in agreement, adding, "Yeah, it's like you two are getting along or something."

The rest of the team murmured their agreement, all eyes on Tsukishima and Y/N. Tsukishima glanced at Y/N, who gave him an encouraging smile.

Taking a deep breath, Tsukishima decided to be honest. "Well, we had a bit of a... breakthrough. We've realized that we work better together rather than against each other."

Hinata's eyes widened in excitement. "Does that mean you two are...?"

Y/N laughed, cutting him off before he could finish. "Yes, Hinata, we're together."

The team erupted in cheers and playful teasing. Nishinoya and Tanaka gave Tsukishima exaggerated thumbs-ups, while Suga and Daichi offered genuine congratulations. Even Kageyama managed a rare smile.

As the team settled down, Tsukishima felt a sense of relief. It felt good to have their support and understanding. He turned to Y/N, who was beaming at him.

"Looks like they approve," she said softly.

"Looks like it," he agreed, squeezing her hand.

Y/N and Tsukishima found solace in each other. They spent their free time studying, hanging out, and sometimes just enjoying each other's company in comfortable silence. The more they learned about each other, the stronger their bond grew.

One evening, after a particularly tough practice session, the team gathered for a casual dinner at a local diner. As they laughed and shared stories, Y/N couldn't help but feel a deep sense of contentment. She glanced at Tsukishima, who was sitting across from her, engaged in a rare, light-hearted conversation with Hinata and Kageyama.

As if sensing her gaze, Tsukishima looked up and met her eyes. He gave her a small, genuine smile that made her heart flutter. In that moment, she knew that the collision they had both longed for had transformed them in ways they hadn't expected.

After dinner, Tsukishima offered to walk Y/N home. The night was cool, and the stars twinkled above them as they strolled through the quiet streets. Y/N leaned into his side, enjoying the warmth of his presence.

"Thank you," Tsukishima said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

Y/N looked up at him, puzzled. "For what?"

"For pushing me," he replied. "For believing in me even when I didn't deserve it. You've changed me, Y/N. You've made me want to be a better person."

She smiled, feeling a swell of affection for the boy who had once been her enemy. "And thank you for letting me in. For trusting me. I wouldn't change a thing."

They walked in silence for a while longer, lost in their thoughts. When they reached Y/N's house, Tsukishima hesitated before speaking again.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, his tone uncharacteristically shy.

"Of course," Y/N replied, curious.

"Do you think… do you think this is real? What we have?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for reassurance.

Y/N took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I think it's as real as it gets, Tsukishima. We're not perfect, but we're perfect for each other. And that's what matters."

Relief washed over his face, and he leaned down to kiss her. It was a kiss filled with promise and hope, a symbol of the journey they had taken together.

As they pulled apart, Y/N smiled up at him. "We're unstoppable

, remember?"

He chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, we are."

They said their goodbyes, and as Y/N watched him walk away, she couldn't help but feel excited for the future. They had faced their fears and doubts, and now they were stronger for it. Together, they were ready to take on whatever challenges came their way.

And so, the unstoppable force and the immovable object continued their collision course, hand in hand, ready for whatever the world had in store for them.

[the-offside-rule]

Pablo Gavi (FCBarcelona) - Coffee Date

Requested: yep

Prompt: Coffee date with Gavi

Warnings: none

Y/N sighed as she stacked her books on her dorm room desk, exhausted from a morning of back-to-back classes. College was a different beast from what she remembered, but she was determined to stay focused this semester. The knock at her door broke her thoughts. "Quién es?" She called, trying not to sound too distracted. "Gavi. I’ve got a surprise!" Pablo’s voice filtered through the door. Her heart leaped. It had been a while since she’d seen her friend, with him recovering from his injury and training to get back on the field. She quickly opened the door to find him standing there with a smile, holding two takeaway coffee cups.

"Gavito!" Y/N beamed, pulling him in for a hug. "What are you doing here?" She asked. "Te dije que te sorprendería. Thought you could use a coffee break." He winked, handing her one of the cups. "Perfect timing. I swear these exams are killing me," she groaned, grabbing the coffee eagerly. Pablo laughed. "Let’s go sit outside, you need some air." They walked to a nearby park bench, the sun casting a warm glow over the campus. "So, tell me-" She started as they sat down. "How’s it feel to be back playing?"

He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back. "Es lo mejor. No te das cuenta cuánto lo extrañas hasta que estás fuera for so lonv. But now that I’m back, I feel stronger, ready to prove myself otra vez. The team’s been really supportive too." He smiled. They started speaking Spanglish a while ago since Y/n spoke English fluently after moving to Barcelona when she was younger and Pablo needed to learn english, so their compromise? Spanglish.

"I’m sure they missed you. Everyone did. I saw your name trending so many times on Twitter." Gavi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, pero you know how it is. Fans can be... intense sometimes." They continued talking for a while, catching up on everything from football to Y/N's exams. The ease of conversation made it feel like no time had passed. But soon, she noticed some people nearby whispering and glancing their way. "Is it just me, or are we being stared at?" Y/N asked, lowering her voice. Pablo looked around, his brow furrowing slightly. "Eh, puede ser. Or maybe they recognize me." Y/N rolled her eyes. "Of course. Mr. Famous."

Just as she said it, a group of teenage fans walked by, snapping a quick photo of them. Pablo didn't seem to mind, but Y/N felt her stomach twist. She wasn’t used to this level of attention. "Qué pasa?" Pablo asked, noticing her expression. "I don’t know, I guess I'm just not comfortable with all the attention." She admitted. "I like being normal."

"Don’t worry, no es gran cosa." He said, trying to reassure her.

But within hours, the picture was all over social media. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—you name it. The photo of them sipping coffee and chatting was everywhere. Fans were speculating about their relationship, and the reactions were mixed.

They’re cute together!

Omg she's so pretty!

Ew wtf??

Gorgeous!!!

Love her style ❤️

Who even is she?

Others weren’t as kind:

Who is she? Gavi could do better....

Y/N tried to ignore it, but when she walked into campus the next day, it was clear the photo had done its damage. People whispered as she passed by, and a few even pointed her out. Some smiled, others looked jealous. It was overwhelming. Later that day, her phone buzzed with a text from Pablo.

Pablo: I’m picking you up in 10. We need to talk.

She frowned, wondering what he wanted to talk about now. True to his word, Pablo pulled up in front of her dorm ten minutes later, leaning out of his car window. "Vamos, get in." Y/N slid into the passenger seat, crossing her arms. "This isn’t helping, you know. People already think we’re together." Pablo laughed as he pulled away from the curb. "Ah, come on. Don’t be dramatic. They think we look good together." She glared at him. "I’m serious. This has ruined my chances with Pedri." At that, Pablo nearly choked on his laugh. "Qué dices? You with Pedri? That’s not happening." Y/N frowned, feeling defensive. "And why not? Pedri’s sweet, plus you introduced us." Pablo shook his head, still chuckling. "No way. I wouldn’t let you near him. He’s too... no sé, it would just be weird."

"Well, weirder than this?" She gestured between them, frustrated. Pablo didn’t answer right away, focusing on the road as they drove through the city. After a beat, he shrugged. "I like it when people think we’re together. It doesn’t bother me." Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. "Wait, cómo que te gusta? Why?" He shifted uncomfortably, his playful demeanor fading. "No sé. I just... think we look good together. That’s all." She pressed further, her voice softening. "Do you... like me, Pablo?" The question hung in the air, tension filling the space between them. Pablo glanced at her quickly, then back at the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Yo... no." He said, almost too quickly. "No, I don’t. I mean, not like that." Y/N’s heart sank. She tried to hide her disappointment, but it was hard to miss the change in her mood. "Right." She murmured. "I get it." Pablo glanced at her, seeing the hurt in her eyes. He wanted to say more, but he was terrified of ruining things. What if she didn’t feel the same? They pulled up to his apartment, and the rest of the car ride was filled with awkward silence. Once inside, Pablo grabbed them both a drink, sitting down on the couch beside her. "Look." He said quietly. "I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just... I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you. You’re one of my best friends, and..."

"And?" Y/N prompted, her voice barely a whisper. Pablo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And maybe I like you more than I should, pero I don’t want to mess this up." She looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "So... you do like me." He hesitated, but then nodded, the weight of his confession finally sinking in. "Sí. Pero...I was scared you didn’t feel the same." Y/N blinked, the tension in her chest releasing as she smiled softly. "Idiot. Of course I like you too." Pablo let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a grin spreading across his face. "Well... that’s a relief."

"Yeah." She teased, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You'rean idiot for not telling me this sooned." He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're a scary girl."He joked. "I'm not that scary." He scoffed. "Jeep telling yourself that, cariño."

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Living Weapon Whumpee part 19

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, recovery whump, reluctant alliance, rejection by peers, betrayal

Flint opened a door to what looked like an office, pointing inside meaningfully. "Stay in here, I'll be back to deal with you shortly."

Whumpee didn't argue or fight, didn't try to explain the situation as he trudged in and took a seat in an office chair. No amount of explaining would get him out of being in trouble, so it wasn't even worth the breath.

He was left alone for minutes that felt like hours, before Flint finally returned, shutting the door behind himself and coming to sit in a chair opposite of him with a tired sigh.

And Whumpee couldn't help it anymore. Maybe if he showed how incredibly sorry he was he would get a lighter sentence, get to stay where Myra could still visit him and give him small rays of sunshine with her childish art.

Whumpee got out of the chair and started to awkwardly kneel in front of flint. "Sir, I'm so sorry -- I know you're disappointed in me bu--"

"--Get off the floor, Whumpee. I know you didn't start the altercation. I'm not disappointed in you," Flint interrupted. "Honestly I'm rather impressed you didn't snap and seriously injured your opponent. You stayed in control of yourself."

Whumpee stood up, unsure what to do. "But... how do you know the tru--"

"--I spoke with one of my most trusted men on that team, and he advocated for you. Told me what really happened. It seems that some of them are already beginning to respect you, even if they don't show it, if some are willing to stick up for you like that."

Whumpee blinked in surprise. Who could have possibly helped him out? He hadn't made any friends on the team yet as far as he knew. And yet, someone had vouched for him.

He shifted his weight on his feet anxiously. "I still ended up fighting though," he said quietly. "What punishment would you like me to carry out on myself? I could skip a meal, or--"

"Whumpee, stop, it's insulting that you think I'm that petty," Flint laughed out loud. "You're in the clear. I'm not punishing you for something that wasn't your fault. You were simply defending yourself."

Whumpee stared blankly at him, gears turning. Leader would have punished him regardless if a mistake was his fault or not, only make him scream for an hour or two if he was feeling generous.

"I'm going to have a pointed word with Jake, so he shouldn't bother you again," Flint added. His expression was uncharacteristically dark when he said it. "I'll lead you back now, all right? Don't worry about this, you're still learning your way around things."

The relief crashed over Whunpee as Flint took him back to the room where his team was. Jake looked smug as ever, holding an ice pack to his busted lip and glaring sharp steel at him.

"Jake, if you would please come with me next," Flint said, and Jake marched after him with the gait of someone who thought they'd won, shoulder-checking Whumpee on the way out.

Whumpee's head was still hung, hurt that the team would have turned on him so readily despite his effort to be perfectly obedient and unthreatening, and wandered over to a corner away from everyone else to sulk over it.

But after a minute someone approached him, a lithe soldier with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Hey man, you alright there?" He asked.

Whumpee looked up in confusion. It was the first time any of them had dared come close to him, especially if there was a way to avoid it.

"Not really..." He answered honestly. "I was set up. I thought I was getting better at being trustworthy..."

"You are," the man said sympathetically, surprising Whumpee a second time. "My name's Max, by the way.”

Then it occurred to him. “...Are you the one who told Flint I was innocent?”

Max nodded grimly. “Yeah, I was. It was unfair for Jake to do that – it wasn't right of him. You didn't deserve it. So I did something about it.”

“Thank you,” Whumpee whispered gratefully.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

[keelt9]

Chapter 3

Masterlist

“It was worth it, right?” Lewis looked right to my eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

“The best.” I mumble while taking the last bite of profiterole.

His urgency was because one of the guys on his team bought a freshly baked profiterole, one of my favorite desserts of the world.

Lewis smiles and tosses my hair. “Keep enjoying, I must prepare for the race.” 

I nod watching him go down stairs with Rosa by his side, not before taking another one, wink her eye at me. 

After all the protocol ceremony I go to the garage to see Lewis getting in the car and like a manntra ask him please drive safe. As I walk inside I keep greeting the members of the team who are fully focused on their task but smile at me as I walk to the zone where you can stay until the car comes out of the garage.

I see my brother get into the car and receive the last indications from his team, the strong sound of the car announcing he’s ready to take position, he raises his hands, thumbs up. He knows I’m right there.

“Be safe.” I whisper to myself watching him go behind George.

The 4th place is still far from his goal but for the way he enters the garage he’s more satisfied with his performance this time; he remains talking with his team for a couple of moments more than usual, coming out with a smile on his face along with Bono.

“Are you ok?” I ask as he hugs me, Bono nods still I wait for my brother's answer.

With a deep breath he just said. “I’m getting better, slowly but better.”

By the end of the day, he looks relaxed as he keeps talking with Bottas at the beginning of the hospital area.

“What do you say kid?” Bottas asked; they already set plans about going out for drinks, bringing me flashbacks, putting a smile on my face.

“Oh, I love to, but I’m afraid I'm too young to talk about my physical discomfort for my age.” They laughs even Lewis push me a little bit. “Go, have fun, you deserve it.”

“Y/N, found friends in Italy.” Lewis interprets the excitement of Bottas and makes himself more clear. “No, any of the grid, she found an old friend from the collage here.” 

I wave my hand to Yuki who is already leaving the paddock with his team. “I thought you were closer to the young people around here.” Bottas smirk as we walk to the exit.

“A few, just a few.” My eyes stop in a beautiful tiny dog, who is carried by  Alexandra “Hi, young…?” I start to pet his head.

“Boy. Leo, his name is Leo.” She and Charles seem ready to go, too.

“Very charming, I must say.” Leo moves his tail as I rub his head. “Have you met Roscoe?” 

Charles sigh. “We tried but until he came to his first race we didn’t even know Roscoe doesn’t travel that far.” 

“Oh, he will be in Monaco, we can introduce them, right?” I turn around to see my brother who nods softly.

“You’re his manager, I’m at your orders.” Everyone giggles as I click my tongue.

“We'll leave you, have a good night.” They say goodbye before I look down. 

“Young boy, it's a pleasure.” The couple laughed and walked away carrying him.

As Lewis and Bottas were about to walk to one car, Lewis let me take the car which drove him to the paddock for take me to restaurant where I’m meet my friend Donna, our eyes crossed in the Red Bull crew walking with long and heavy steps immerse in a serious talk for the poker face of each one of them.

“The stewarts?” Bottas drops the question to the air, as I look at him.

Lewis opens the door for me to get inside. “I heard about a penalty.” 

“Mad max back for the night?” Lewis giggles before kissing my cheek and saying goodbye to me. “Have fun kid.” Bottas said, waving his hand.

I read and knew about the nickname Max wins in his early years on the F1, but I thought it was a rumor, but maybe it’s not.

“Miss. Hamilton, do you learn something new?” John, Lewis driver asked as I took my coat and laid back in the seat.

I fake a shiver. “We could say so.” He saw me through the rearview mirror. “Drivers could be such a problem, huh?”

John chuckled and said. “Only if you choose wrong.” He stops at a red light. “If you share your time with nice people, no, they have such a good heart. On the other hand, spending your time with controversial…boys, yes, it will be a dangerous move.” 

Such deep words for a 4 pm talk. I take a deep breath as I see the text of my phone, Donna is already in the restaurant. When we arrived I thanked him but he choked his head. 

"For the advice.” He smiles and nods with courtesy.

“Have a good day, Miss Hamilton.” 

Around 5 am I arrived at the hotel, falling asleep on the couch. An early morning text  for Lewis wakes me up, he waits for me in the buffet of the hotel, for siblings day. 

As soon as I got inside of the buffet, I knew. First thing first, I need a juice like every morning. A few people  on the juice station decide which one should be drinking, even Max seems to have a difficult time seeing the different colors, but I have my favorite.

I grabbed a glass, with the firm intention of just saying hi, if it's absolutely needed, I poured a mixture between orange and beetroot, the last one at the other side of the table.

“It seems orange juice is the favorite one.” Max said as I turned at my side trying to figure out if that clumsy comment it’s for someone else, the boy who remained there left a few seconds before.

I guess it’s for me. “I like the classics.” 

“Hi Max, trying to recover your energy early in the morning?” Lewis appears next me kissing the top of my head and smirk on his face.

“I need to be in my best shape.” I look at Lewis trying to figure out if the answer only gives me chills, but he is already looking out of the corner of his eye.

“Righ, right, amm, you seem a little bit nervous, you need…” Max scoffs but he clears his throat.

“Nervous? No, no at all.” Even though he tried, it's clear he felt uncomfortable with us.

“Why is he nervous?” My question makes Lewis smile, only getting me more confused every second.

He grabs a glass too pouting orange juice. “Oh it’s nothing little H. It’s just that I don't used to seeing Max shutter about juice. He looks a little bit out of balance.” 

Max chuckled and still kept answering him back. “I’m not that specialist on juices, out of my comfort zone.”

“Don’t worry man. It’s juice and… unexpected company, early morning.” Lewis put his hand around my shoulders.

“Don’t worry Max, it’s only juice and my brother being a pain in the ass.” I jostle Lewis, making him laugh. “I’ll go for pancakes, see you around.” 

Lewis said goodbye following me with that smile and head down, going to pick his breakfast. We decided to sit outside enjoying the morning sun.

“It isn’t only juice.” Lewis said, taking out his sunglasses and taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Oh come on Lew, it’s so cute!” Lewis and I entered the hotel late that day, ready to pack our bags to go to London. 

Lewis kept observing the harness I bought for Roscoe, yellow with tiny watermelons all over it, of course the LH at one side and his name at the other. 

“He will look…” I covered his mouth before he said anything else. 

“Like a rockstar.” We see each other and laugh. The image of Roscoe wearing that as eats a watermelon, his favorite food, it’s hilarious. 

“It's been a long time since I didn't see this picture.” Bono is walking to us with a bag in his hands, ready to go home.

“Going home?” I ask him, knowing he has to do a quick stop in Brixworth.

He bluff. “I wish. I guess I will see you in two weeks and our good-luck charm, right?”

Lewis nods. “An urgent backup.” Bono shakes his head with a smile on his face before saying goodbye.

Our parents received us like when we were kids, a big hug at the door and something sweet to eat; now two dogs running to us barking and running around us.

Lewis will leave in two days; being a driver and fashion icon it's hard work, on the other hand I leave Thursday morning with Roscoe to Monaco, spending a few days there and doing a purification of my things.

“This is nice, darling.” Dad pointed to the jacket Lewis bought me in Italy. “A new type of style but you look great.” 

“See? I have the finest eye.” Lewis appears with a ball in his hand and a happy Roscoe looking for a snack.

I put it in the bag one more time, giving Roscoe a piece of radish. “Where is Jewel?” 

“She gets tired after 10 minutes and runs with mom for his night walk.” Lewis points out mom and Jewel walking around the garden, a peaceful walk.

“Are you coming to Monaco, dad?” Lewis asks but my father looks at him rolling his eyes, like if Lewis asked the most obvious thing in the world, making us laugh. “Just to be sure.” 

It’s my second day of an exhaustive purification of my things, what a few months ago were 5 boxes now, slowly it’s turning in 3, and any extra suitcase.

The sound of Roscoe scratching a box distracts me from washing the dishes of the dinner.

I walk where he is. “What did you find, baby?” I opened the box to see inside a few of his toys which I didn’t buy for him. “I wasn’t that good at packing.”

Roscoe sits next to me waiting to take out a toy and give it to him. I take one, a rabbit who Caleb, my ex-fiance knew will love it; but immediately put it inside and close the lids of the box.

“Lets this be for the refuge all right? I’ll buy you new ones tomorrow.” I grab his face and give him a peck on the top of bit. “I promise.”

I grab the box and put it inside of the wardrobe of the room Lewis chose for me, away from my view, where the memories are far away.

Next morning as I promise; after breakfast Roscoe and I go for new toys. He carefully smells and touches everyone who calls for his attention. After going down to the store, he chooses 3, a ball, a frisbee and a fluffy toy that looks like a lion. 

We take a break in the park as we watch people come and go; he even plays with some dogs who come closer to us but refuse to go more than 1 meter away from me.

“Let’s go boy, time to go home.” I put his leash on one more time.

After 10 minutes of walking he decided it’s time to take another break because he sat in the middle of the pavement and refused to move.

“Come on boy! It’s just 3 more blocks.” But Roscoe pretends don’t hear me, putting a smile on my face. “Ok, at least can we sit on that bench.” 

Roscoe sees my finger pointing to the bench and walks there pulling me, he waits for me to sit and I carry him to put him at my side.

“Good boy.” He raised his eyes and sniffed my hand. “Definitely that harness is my best purchase in years.” 

I smile as he puts his head on my lap closing his eyes, yes, he needs a nap. I take out my phone for work a little bit.

Pass around 20 minutes when someone calls him. “Roscoe?” Well, not someone, Max called him.

He was in casual clothes and a small paper bag in his hand coming closer to us.

“Hi.” He pets Roscoe head smiling, Roscoe turns a little bit his head, sniffing his hand. “Yeah, I don’t think they let you eat this.” 

I raise my eyebrow. “Oh, it’s chocolate.” The sunglasses didn't help today.

“No, he doesn't.” Roscoe lay one more time on his head. It’s weird, Roscoe has seen Max many, many times but he ignores him like he is a stranger.

“Yeah, I’m not his favorite too.” He makes me smile, I get what he means. 

Roscoe licks his nose and sits, he’s ready to walk, I carefully put him in the ground giving me time to erase the smile on my face.

“Hey, am, I want to apologize for the other night.” Max takes his cap and scratches his head. “I…I… I wasn't thinking right.” 

“Well, you were drunk, that doesn’t help at all.” Max cheeks turn in a soft pink. “It’s all fine, no worries.” 

Roscoe starts to walk, pulling me softly, now he wants to leave. “See you Max.” 

“You want to go for an ice cream?” His invitation left me cold, and fixed on my spot. “I don’t want the first impression to keep being that…that awful.” 

I turn around to find him with hand in his pockets. “It’s ok Max, I believe the juice station is taking the lead. Besides, Roscoe needs to rest properly, but I appreciate the invitation.” 

Roscoe pulls one more time, helping me to leave this awkward moment, Max giggles and nods. “Yeah, I… yeah, see you later, I guess.”

That night after giving the last touches to my monthly report I lay down on the settee, I saw the text of Lewis, he will arrive with our parents the day after tomorrow. 

I see Roscoe who is peacefully snoring in his bed, living the life; along his lion. 

“Maybe you could make a space for you.” I whisper to the fluffy toy.

Monaco Grand Prix, it’s one of their favorite circuits for a lot of pilots, Lewis isn’t the exception. My parents went with him from the first day I chose with Rosco to wait until race day, the best for the end. 

As always, Lewis arrived with Roscoe stealing glances, gasps and hearts of every person who crossed in his way.

We arrived 30 minutes before when all the drivers were already in the paddock getting ready.

Three hundredth behind Max, put Lewis in the second place of Monaco. It’s definitely a good race from him and all in the team knows it for the way they hug him and congratulate, our parents weren't the exception.

After the interview and ceremony finally the so expected encounter happened, Roscoe met Leo, full of energy and running one side to the other as Roscoe tried to follow his rhythm, pushing his ball to invite him to play.

The last photos set the end of the meeting. We split forLewis do what has to do and go to dinner with our parents. 

“Honey.” Dad grabs my arm. “Roscoe needs to go out.” He’s walking side to side sniffing. He needs to pee.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take him. I reached you in the car.” Dad nods as I call for him to go outside.

As soon as he finished his task, Roscoe took his time to go back as walking around the green grass until we found Max, still race suit on, but he looked awfully tired, not the face of a winner.

I heard about the rumors about a few reporters misunderstanding, probably on purpose a few of Max's answers but I never imagined that kind of things affecting him.

Roscoe reads my mind as we walk closer to him and just sit next to him, not saying anything.

“A chocolate?” I extend a bar of chocolate I take from the hospitality. 

Max doubts and rejects it just turning away. “Are you mad or something?” 

He didn't answer, feeling Roscoe eyes on me I shake my head, signs that I tried but Max is definitely hard to read. I stand up reading to walk away, telling myself I never learn.

“It's supposed to be easier, nothing changes, new year, but it's the same how people twisted my words, I mean I expect that but, sometimes big races are covered for a stupid comments.” Max says out of the blue, still he isn't looking at me, he is just starting at the grass. “From time to time I feel tired, that's all. I can't have everything under control even if I try hard.”

“You can’t.” I take a deep breath. “I’m not trying to give you advice or anything like that, just…” One more time I sat next to him. “I know what it feels like a big day turns into shit. But you can control some things.” 

He bluffs but let me keep speaking. “You, how you react, what do you say and bloody hell, how you give a shit and enjoy your victories.”

I turn around and for the first time I see right to his eyes, a dazzling blue color with a soft touch of gray. 

“So, go, have fun, let the people keep speaking, it’s the best thing they ever do, but don’t let that screw your day, you don’t deserve that.” Max laugh softly. “You’re in your home after all, if you “don't get drunk”, I bet there are so many people here that need to be protected.” His face turns red and I smile at him, even Roscoe sits in front of him, looking for a pet in his head, which Max softly scratches a little bit.

My phone buzzes on my hand as I see the name and photo of Lewis on the screen, they probably are on their way to the car. 

“What?” Lewis scoffs but I know he’s smiling. 

“Bring my boy here, we’re leaving.” An expression of pain comes from him too, the sign of mom probably pinch him slightly.

“On my way boss.” I hung out and didn't even give him a chance to replay.

I stand shaking all the grass could be stuck to my jeans. “Let’s go boy, we need to go.”

Roscoe stands and waits for me to put his leash on, Max stands too. “Thanks.” 

I shake my head, it’s not a big deal, but I smile at him as we walk away but my conscience about, I know, maybe, just maybe I’ve been rude with him makes me wait.

“Am, hey Max, I don’t like ice cream but if you find something else, I gladly accept your invitation.” Max opened his mouth but nothing came out of it, making me giggle before finally going.

Roscoe and I found Rosa chatting with a few people from the Mercedes crew, she asked them for a minute and walked to us to say goodbye.

“I’ll see you, until the race right?” Barcelona is next but I have a few things to do in London and Newport. 

“Yes, you do.” She pets the head of Roscoe and kisses my cheek before leaving. 

As we cross the exit the few people who stay there unconnected to the teams start to leave too, Monaco GP is officially over.

“Y/N!” Max running to the entrances makes Roscoe barks. “Do you mean it?” 

I choke my head and bluff, of course I talk seriously in my speech. “The invitation, do you mean it?”

[sykeswrites]

Machine - Prologue

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Male Reader Summary: You were brought onto the team to help eliminate a B.O.W outbreak. They needed your particular area of expertise. Neither you, the team, or Leon himself could have foresaw the attachment that would form between you. Warnings: Older Leon, Slow burn, Everyone needs a hug, limited use of Y/N. Reader is described as masc presenting but they/them pronouns will be used throughout the story. Author's Note: The intention is for this to become a multi-chapter story, but updates may be sporadic. Please be patient x

Leon's POV: He didn't understand why they needed to bring someone new onto the team. They'd done well in the past, there were a few slip ups but... a whole new person? Really? "Stop moping." Claire huffed, crossing her arms and leaning back on the bench. Most of the team were sat in the back of a large, very conspicuous van, save for Chris, who'd been tasked with actually convincing whoever the newbie was to get in on the job. He looked at her and rolled his eyes, grunting in annoyance. He'd made his opinion about the situation very clear already, but he'd essentially been ganged up on and bullied into giving in. He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of several gunshots and something glass smashing inside the small house that their newbie apparently lived in. He sat up, eyes wide, but nobody else seemed concerned with the noise; in fact, Jill was picking at her nails absentmindedly, and Claire simply cleared her throat and sank further into the bench. "What? That doesn't concern anyone else?" He asked, a level of snark in his tone as if the gunshots had proved his point, but Claire only side-eyed him and shrugged. "If you'd have bothered to do your research you'd have known what to expect." She replied, kicking one of her legs up over the other so they were crossed. He glowered at her in response, but shut up. It felt like hours dragged by before Chris and their newbie appeared. Leon looked up with disguised interest as they stepped into the van, taking in all 5'8 of them from their cropped hair to the combat pants that looked like they fit a little too snugly around the thighs. Chris was first to hop up into the van, moving aside and offering a hand to the younger agent, who unceremoniously batted it away and, with their arms spread out so their hands were secure against the walls of the van, hauled themselves inside in such a way that made their biceps bulge and strain through the tight material of the black tee they were wearing. Their boots thumped loudly against the metal flooring as they steadied themselves, hands adorned with fingerless gloves brushing out the wrinkles that had formed in their pants. "Hey!" Claire called out, giving them a friendly smile. It would seem these two had met before, because the agent swiftly moved over to sit beside her, putting an arm around the redheaded woman. Leon noticed with a shock, mostly surprised that he hadn't noticed already, that the new agent appeared to be a lot younger than the rest of them. Early to mid twenties, maybe. Few formalities were exchanged between everyone and the agent, in which Leon learned their name at last,- he did know it, he'd just forgotten, honest!- but he stayed quiet until the very end. He was about to open his mouth to introduce himself when the younger agent finally looked at him and seemed to register his presence in the corner for the first time and, seemingly without thinking or with any semblance of a verbal filter, blurted out; "Whose the drunk?"

[bomber-grl]

BOMBER-GRL MAKE A HEADCANON ABOUT HIRO SEEING THAT HIS S/O WAS KIDNAPPED BY OBAKE (or any villain, whatever °^°) AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

Getting Kidnapped and Hiro having to deal with it

Pairing(s): Hiro Hamada x Gn!Reader

A/N: LMAOO love that audio and I feel like I made the title sound like Hiro having to save his S/o is a burden 😭💀

CW: Mentions of family death

sorry I just searched him up recently again and realized he looks like a lesbian with an undercut

Anyway

Once Obake uncovered the fact that Hiro was the leader of bh6 then he knew he’d have to act quick

And he had just the plan

Regardless of whether you’re just a normal person or work alongside bh6 or even makes support tools for them, he ended up (or rather his “children”) ended up capturing you and holding you hostage

Obake obviously ended up letting Hiro know in the most menacing way and in the middle of the night

What a great way to do so, don’t you think? /s😀

Anyway

Hiro sneaked past Cass and snuck out while texting the rest of the group to meet somewhere

(Ended up at Fred’s house, again)

They discussed how to approach the situation

I mean normally they’d go in and wing it but you were too valuable to risk losing you

Not to mention it being a direct fight with Obake

Eventually they track down where you were, the electronics on you luckily revealing your location

They broke in and of course had to fight his “kids”

Hiro immediately went to untie you and rescue you essentially but of course things just couldn’t go smoothly

Obake himself fought with Hiro as the others were preoccupied and the thing was a mess

Especially since the location of where you had been held, was on a large boat

That was very very much sinking

It had to be apart of Obakes big plan or something because he’d never allow any mistakes

As Hiro tried surviving with Baymax alongside him you felt useless

Your tools/weapons had been taken and even if you had powers of some kind the rooms structure had something built in that dampened them

Eventually Baymax ended up flying away with you and Hiro

Upon Hiros orders of course

No was capable of taking Obake just yet and that was a point with strong evidence

Especially with how everyone looked

They all looked worn and even Hiro did

It was strange, they’d normally not be that badly injured

You and everyone else regrouped and once the team broke up to go back home for the rest of the night only you and Hiro remained

The group agreed you needed to be protected and you and Hiro settled on you staying over

Usually he’d be blushing and stuff but your safety was above such a reaction

He was deadly serious the whole way and even when you tried joking he’d say something and the conversation would die off

It wasn’t until you apologized for getting abducted that Hiros live reaction is quite literally like “wtf”

It wasn’t your fault you got kidnapped and if anything he was the one that felt like shit

He sighed and he figured it was his turn to apologize and did

He explained how scared he was and how he’s extra scared of people dear to him being hurt or worse

It was left unsaid

But it was obvious Hiro was referring to Tadashi

Tadashi was a big part of Hiros world and it was clear he wasn’t over him, and probably never will be

That was clear enough with his reaction tonight and all you could do was sigh

You told him to just get ready for bed and maybe when the adrenaline has wore off and when you’re well rested, you’d be able to have a good conversation

He agreed and although it was a bit awkward he invited you to sleep with him

He was obviously shy about it but seeing the state of him, well, you couldn’t refuse

You both went to bed cuddling

And unfortunately awoke to Cass coming in to let Hiro know of something

She caught you both but didn’t mind but did give some warnings and went back downstairs to tend to the cafe

Later you learned she had been knocking for a good amount of time and became concerned so she budged in

The group was there and wanted to talk, that’s what the piece of information was

You talked about it as a group and planned to create tracking devices that were hidden so they wouldn’t be taken

Plus, you two were of course teased by the group since Cass seemed to have mentioned finding you two the way you were in passing to them

Great…

[rotworld]

23: Wetwork

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you begrudgingly work for a task force that neutralizes breach lifeforms, dangerous interdimensional predators with a habit of fixating on specific prey. the most dangerous thing you have to deal with isn't your targets but your own partner.

->original work. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, surreal gore, workplace harassment/degrading language, gun violence, tentacles, terato, hard vore/cannibalism.

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The support team didn’t read the briefing. 

Skimmed it, maybe, glanced down for the keywords confirming they’re playing second fiddle to somebody else today and tossed the rest in annoyance. You can tell because the perimeter they’re supposed to be holding has devolved into a gossip circle. They’re at their posts, sure, strategically placed around the cavernous interior of an empty factory complex with a clear view of the gaping abyss taking up most of the concrete floor, pacing the proper patrol routes, but they’re too relaxed. The comms channel is clogged up with useless bullshit and questions they should know the answers to. They’re giving you a hard time because you’re an easy target, the only part of the insertion team left behind to set up a stabilizing field. Obvious egghead in a room of mercenaries. Blood in the water.

They wouldn’t do that if they’d read the briefing. They’d stay as far away as physically possible and try to pretend you weren’t there.

“You must be a pretty big deal,” the guy next to you says. Somebody called him Talbot earlier. You don’t learn names because you don’t want to be here and you hope you never see these people again, but it’s best to keep track of potential problems. Talbot looks the same as everyone else, an imposing silhouette of black tactical gear, featureless and near faceless with just his eyes visible through a balaclava. The patch on his shoulder is a green rectangle with a golden keyhole. Epsilon-Green—colloquially, “Locksmiths.” Being relegated to lookout duty must be frying what little patience he had to begin with. 

You ignore him. The stabilizing field generator is a finicky piece of equipment that needs constant attention if you don’t want the breach opening any wider. Talbot seems to take this personally.

“Don’t think I’ve even heard of you guys before today. Theta-Ultraviolet?” He slaps the patch on your shoulder just a little too hard for the gesture to be friendly. It bears the silhouette of a ship stitched with silver thread on a dark purple background.

“We’re specialists,” you say. 

“So are we,” Talbot says. Utterly disinterested in a dick-measuring contest, you go back to turning knobs on the generator. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around back at base, either. Must be new.”

“Looks nervous,” somebody else says. It’s one of the guys up on the catwalk, arms crossed over the railing. Leering at you. “Probably should be. Your whole team violated protocol and jumped right in before we even got here. They’re in deep shit if they get out alive.” 

Your team did not, in fact, violate protocol, not that they’d know without reading the briefing. “Do you need something?” you ask.

“Just making conversation. Not much else to do.”

The generator lets out a chime and a green light comes on when you’ve got everything configured right. There’s a burst of static on the comms as physics realign and the bottomless darkness in the floor rejoins reality, no longer stranded on the other side of a schism in some impossible un-place. It makes the floor shake and the factory groan all around you. It also brings the insertion team back into comms range. You hear the click of reconnection and then the sounds of a nightmare.

There’s something viscerally upsetting about breach lifeform vocalizations. Before they’ve fully coalesced and mastered the imitation of other species, the noises they produce are something you hear with your whole body rather than just your ears. It’s the stomach-churning chills of nails on a chalkboard without the shrillness, fight-or-flight given a voice. It doesn’t quite sound like shrieking or wailing or laughing, but it feels like all of those things; loud, distressing and mocking. It dances just at the edge of what your ears are capable of detecting but it completely fills your head. 

The operatives of Epsilon-Green visibly recoil. You hear some quiet curses and prayers over the comms. More comprehensible but no less worrisome are the sounds of carnage—the crunch of blunt force pulverization, flesh ripping and tearing. Bone creaks, cracks, snaps loud and ugly. Gunshots are rare—solitary, precise, a muffled bang before the squelch of organic unmaking becomes unbearably loud again. It sounds like mastication; like the abyss is a hungry maw churning everything inside into meaty paste.

“Holy shit,” Talbot says. He leans forward just a bit to peer into the pit. “Your guys alright?” 

You wouldn’t check unless you were required to. “Come in, Theseus,” you say.

Static. More disgusting, sticky noise. A gunshot. Then a deep, gravelly voice. “Still alive. Aw, were you worried?” 

You frown tightly. “Sitrep?” 

“Twelve total, mostly concentrated in the lowest chamber. They’re partially coalesced. A bit hard to kill.” Something scream-cry-snickers, abruptly cut off with a sound like a hammer tenderizing meat. “I’m expecting a reward when I climb out of here.” The words are ambiguous but his tone is oozing innuendo. 

“You’re on shared comms,” you remind him, but the damage is already done. Epsilon-Green’s operatives are eyeing you with a combination of interest and amusement. 

“So that’s how Theta-UV does it, huh?” Talbot asks. “Guess I’d be more efficient, too, if I had something nice waiting for me. How many on your team, Theseus? You feel like sharing?” 

No answer. You listen to something die painfully, a squeal that becomes a squelch. Epsilon-Green adopts something resembling professionalism, alert and attentive. Chatter continues but focused now, the possibility of combat putting all of those strict warnings from their training at the front of their minds. Maintain at least one meter of distance from the edge of the abyss. If something crawls up, hold fire until it’s finished aligning; waste of bullets otherwise. Keep faces concealed—scarf, balaclava, dark glasses, visors, more is better than less but something is always better than nothing. 

“You need a mask?” Talbot asks. He’s your best friend now that he thinks there’s a chance he could get laid. 

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

“No, you’re not. If one of those things sees your face, it imprints.” 

“I know,” you say.

“It gets obsessed,” he insists. “It follows you around until it's fully coalesced. Looks mostly human, sounds mostly human, but the face gives it away.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

“You’ll be the first thing it eats.” Understanding dawns on his face after a moment. He looks you up and down with something close to morbid fascination. “Shit. Are you—?” 

“Yep,” you say, turning your back to him and hoping he’ll get the hint. Cat’s out of the bag now, though, and you hear them wondering aloud in the hopes of baiting a reaction. Wasn’t that a thing not long ago, where Breach Response and Neutralization teams were going around looking for imprint victims? Using them as bait, basically, right? Not a bad strategy, they muse. Why go digging around for weak spots in reality when you can make them come to you? 

“Your team got some skeletons in the closet, Theta-UV?” Talbot asks. “Guess you have to be good if you don’t wanna keep tracking down new bait.” Again, no answer. The death rattles of creatures caught between forms of matter and states of being make your head hurt. He returns his attention to you. “No wonder you look so wet behind the ears, you’re a fucking civvie. How long have they had you?” 

“Don’t see how that’s relevant,” you say. “How many left, Theseus?”

“Hmm. Eight?” You wish he wouldn’t purr in your ear like that. “You sound testy. Promise I’ll pick up the pace if you let me fuck your mouth before we leave.” 

“Just hurry the fuck up,” you hiss, hot in the face and humiliated. Someone whistles over the comms. The sounds coming from the abyss are bloodcurdling. Something shreds and splats. 

“Theta-UV, all good down there?” someone says. “Sounds rough. Should we expect trouble?” 

Of course, Theseus doesn’t respond. You see Talbot scowling in your periphery. “You only talk to your cocksleeve, Theseus?” he snaps. “Or are you using a private channel down there? UV thinks it’s too good for the rest of us?”

“Sorry, who is this?” Theseus asks. He sounds faintly amused. 

“This is Epsilon-Green, your fucking support team. Do you have it under control or not?” 

“Epsilon-Green, that’s…Locksmiths, right? You’re supposed to be pretty good.” There’s a long, considering pause. You can just picture him, standing there with his head cocked, something reckless and dangerous and potentially fatal forming in his mind. 

“Theseus,” you say, your tone warning. 

Too late. You hear a shrill, warbling howl, and the ground quakes beneath your feet. “Oh no,” Theseus says, the smile audible in his voice. “Looks like a couple of them slipped past me, heading your way fast. Real sorry about that. Try to keep it contained and I’ll be there in a second.” 

You abandon the generator and run for cover. Talbot yells at you, demanding to know what the fuck is going on, but he gets his answer soon enough. It’s a skittering sound at first. Swift, spidery movements echoing down a long tunnel. Epsilon-Green has only moments to react before three breach lifeforms come surging out of the chasm in the floor. 

The things are hard to look at. Like the noises they make, your brain can’t parse the information you’re getting. Light bends around them strangely. Their shapes don’t make sense. They move in jerky snapshots, sudden and seemingly nonsensical lurches. They hunt like a pack of wolves, herding and harrying their prey into the proper position to be ambushed from every side. To their credit, Epsilon-Green doesn’t start to panic until someone gets yanked by the ankle into a whirlwind of constantly shifting forms. 

They eat him alive. Pinning him down with sometimes-claws and gnashing almost-teeth, it looks like he’s drawn and quartered in infinite directions, flesh and muscle and sinew unraveling, peeling apart, drawn into the breach creatures who become even more real, tangible and dangerous. One of them grows sharp with protruding human bone. Another has his face and his voice, screaming the way he screamed as he died. The thunderous rattle of gunfire becomes constant, bullets shredding through fresh, growing membranes of human flesh and tufts of hair. 

“Sitrep?” Theseus asks coyly. Epsilon-Green is nothing but chaos. Mindless, primal screams of terror fill the comms. One of the breach lifeforms takes a shot through what was slowly becoming a human head and shifts its body, concentrating its vital organs elsewhere. Another one clamors up the catwalk and soon there’s blood raining down from above. 

“You’re going to get in trouble for this,” you say. Your voice is terse and quiet, your throat constricted in terror, but he hears you anyway. He always does. 

“I’m doing this for you,” he coos. “The coordinator told me we’ll get upgraded to a bigger room if we both prove we’re effective—”

“You’re doing this because you want to.” 

Theseus chuckles. “I’m doing my job. Time for you to do yours.” 

There’s a sharp click; disconnection. Theseus turned off his comms. You watch the fight unfold in front of you with a sinking feeling, waiting for what comes next. Epsilon-Green should be thinking about it, too. They should be watching the chasm more closely. They’ve had plenty of warnings. The breach lifeforms have been reckless, lashing out too eagerly and failing to protect their backs. If anyone but you was paying attention, they’d realize it was because they were fearful. They didn’t rush up here out of hunger but out of the simple instinctual drive to flee a larger, more dangerous predator.

You wonder how many other briefings they haven’t read. That bait experiment wasn’t about neutralization. They wanted to see if they could catch a breach lifeform alive, train it somehow—use imprinting as a means of control. The governing body that oversees the work of all breach response operations would say they succeeded. You would beg to differ.

Theseus emerges from the chasm with a bestial screech. You can tell him apart from the other breach lifeforms easily. He’s much larger. He moves like a wave or a fog bank, an unstoppable force of nature that spills across the factory floor. Epsilon-Green tries to kill him but he’s fully coalesced, his control of his own form so precise that he can decide when and where he is real and physical. He engulfs his prey like an eclipse and everything inside him turns to liquid gore. The other creatures shriek and whimper. One of them tries to run but Theseus is faster, spearing it through the side and dragging it back into his all-encompassing maw. 

It’s over in moments. The last breach lifeform twists itself into knots trying to crawl away but it’s impaled through its nearly flesh form, consumed like all the others. Someone in Epsilon-Green has managed to establish order again and a repeated command to hold fire is finally heeded. 

They watch in mute horror and fascination as the thing in front of them constricts and shrinks and shapes itself into something closer to human. A man in tactical gear. He looks just like they do but is unmistakably taller and larger, black clothes straining around his bulk and bulging muscle. His face is completely covered by a helmet with a mask and reflective visor—an absolute necessity to prevent the thing underneath from appearing in their nightmares. The patch on his shoulder is Theta-Ultraviolet’s symbol.

“Mission complete,” Theseus says. He surveys the crowd with an exaggerated back and forth glance as if he doesn’t know your exact location. “Hm. But where’s my handler? I hope they didn’t just leave me here. Not when I’m still so hungry.” 

The nearest operatives scramble to get away from you. Reluctantly, you walk down the path opening in the crowd until you’re right in front of him. You spot Talbot, his eyes wide and his balaclava drenched in sweat. 

It doesn’t matter that Theseus keeps his face covered. He’s not human. His emotions aren’t an arrangement of features but something he radiates, an ambient feeling in the air. He doesn’t just stand up straighter when he sees you. The factory suddenly feels claustrophobic, the air hot and oppressive. “There you are,” he purrs. “Now come here.” You don’t want to, but you’ll be reprimanded for denying him post-mission requests. You might lose some of your privileges at base, just enough to make life unpleasant and difficult. 

“Can’t you wait until we get back?” you ask, glancing pointedly at Epsilon-Green who are still standing there gawking.

You can feel that he would be smiling, if he decided to give himself a mouth. “No. I have to prove a point.”

He unravels in the blink of an eye, his form engulfing you. Your mind goes blank with terror being trapped in this cramped space of shadows and redness, everything soft, squishy and damp. Theseus could kill you if he wanted. He could squeeze until you were nothing but sticky red dust.  He could suffocate you. He could start eating at any moment, pulling you apart like the man from Epsilon-Green, claiming everything you are for himself. You’re still not sure that he won’t someday. They say he’s tame but they’re not here, watching him sabotage missions on a whim. They don’t have to sit in the tight, pulsating chamber of his body reshaped for ensnarement. 

“You’re shaking,” he purrs, delighted. “It doesn’t matter how many times we do this. You’re always so afraid.”

Theseus knows you better than anyone. He imprinted on you. He hunted you for years before the agency stepped in. He knows what you’re afraid of and what you like. He knows exactly how to torment you. You feel him shift and change around you, peeling off parts of himself to form tendrils. Long snaking ones circle around your limbs to hold you still while smaller frilled growths tease you. They dissolve your clothes and start to suckle on your skin. You can’t help the whimper that slips out, a noise of interwoven fear and pleasure. A thick tentacle pushes past your lips.

“Your mouth is so perfect. Just the right size. So warm and wet. You were made for me. Only me. And I’ve made myself for you.” Theseus quivers all around you, babbling like he always does. The things he says are a frightening reminder of exactly what he is and what he’s capable of. He changes the tentacle as he pushes it deeper, making the tip bulbous and the length veined like a cock, desperate to prove that he can be human if he tries. The smaller tendrils become hands—hands that are strange and lopsided with too many fingers or too few, all touching at once, all caressing and fondling. He gropes your chest and flicks your nipples. He traces your spine and strokes your cheek. 

It’s only a matter of time before he gets hungry for more. Disembodied hands hold your hips still as another tentacle nudges inside your entrance. Theseus alters it with almost frustrating frequency, never allowing you to get used to the shape or texture. He keeps it small at first and then expands it in gradual, rhythmic pulses, stretching you between slow, prodding thrusts. He’s teasing you. He doesn’t need to search for the places that will make this truly humiliating. He waits until you’re trembling and whimpering, so frightened you strain and twist in his grasp. Just when you’re on the cusp of sobbing around the girth fucking your throat, the tentacle curves slightly and sinks deep, pounding right into the spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. 

It feels so good it starts to hurt. This is your other greatest fear: that Theseus will keep you here. He won’t kill you, won’t pluck off your limbs or shred you to gristle, but he’ll never let you leave. He’ll keep teasing you, stroking you, and fucking you forever. Your mind goes blank and you become the perfect thing his instincts crave—his center, his anchor, his first love, his reason for being, his. He can fill you and taste you and hold you close, and nothing can take you away from him. 

Mercifully, it does end. Does someone contact him through Epsilon-Green? Does he simply grow bored, or change his mind? You don’t know why. Theseus savors you as he begrudgingly slows his movements. He whispers about your sweetness and softness, how no one will ever know you like he does. Your throat is raw and your jaw is sore when he pulls the tentacle out of your mouth, your saliva sliding slowly down the length. The other one stays longer. He’s not satisfied until he’s made you cum. It excites him to see how hard you fight against the pleasure and his precise, merciless thrusts until he forces you over the edge. The tentacle withdraws only when your thighs are shaking and you’re limp in his grasp. 

Theseus shifts again, rippling open. His form cradles you and drapes over your body, concealing everything below the shoulders. He shapes the upper half of his human disguise, hunched over you with an arm wrapped tightly and possessively around you. You don’t know how much Epsilon-Green saw or heard but some of them are, thankfully gone. The ones who linger flinch when Theseus’ helmet turns towards them.

“Do you need something?” he says wryly. “I guess I could still eat.” That’s all it takes to clear the factory. Theseus turns his attention back to you and you feel that familiar warm vibration of happiness and desire. 

Being this close to a breach lifeform is inherently dangerous, but there’s no one who knows Theseus better. For now—until the next mission, the next frenzy, the next reward that might be your last—there’s nowhere safer you could be.