#their solo victories are still their victory as a team

[buddienotes]

sighs i don't wanna start any inner fight with the fandom but the way some people lowkey push force aside and don't wholeheartedly support him like they do with book is getting obvious and it upsets me so much. why am i seeing people complaining book didn't get a solo series in pt. 2 when 1) we got a cp series and he's acting with force 2) he's in only boo that is actually airing rn. i think it's only fair he got one in the first half and force got one in the second which by the way it's a very big project that will give him the chance to showcase his talent and broaden his range so why are you complaining about the "lack" of book's work instead of being happy for force? i just can't believe how people always find a way to see the worst and complain about it. they're both employed with good, promising projects considering 2024 as a whole seriously can we not rain on this parade?

[lyrefromthesea]

Hear me out... The hashira rival lover thing.. What if we don't get the chance/they don't get the chance to confess because we die??? 🦅🦅(I'm a sucker for angst)

Male hashira x Reader - Lost Chances

author's note: the hospital doesn't want me anymore, i'm finally back home.

pairing: Tengen x reader x Obanai, Rengoku x reader x Gyomei, Sanemi x reader x Giyuu

content warning: angst, death, descriptions of blood

Tengen and Obanai:

a month had passed since your death. neither of them had seen it coming, nor had they ever received the chance to safe you.

you left for a solo mission back then, promising them to return victorious, and while you did kill the demon in the end, you suffered from a major injury and died the same night.

your death had spread despair and sadness throughout the whole demon slayer corps, but it left the hardest impact on them.

while Tengen grieved over your death, he tried to continue his everydayness. it wasn't for his sake, but for you and the people around him.

Tengen knew you would've wanted him to continue living normally, it was one of the things that made him not only admire but also love you.

he didn't want to hurt his wives either, they didn't deserve to get caught up in his despair.

so while he wished that it would've been him, he tried to keep those thoughts hidden inside his very being, locked away where no one would find them.

Obanai, on the other hand, could not swallow his grief down like Tengen did. he had loved you with all his heart and he felt it break with the message of your death.

despite both of them suffering through the same pain, Obanai didn't have anyone waiting at home, no one too soothe his overactive mind. it was one of the reasons he didn't like to return to his estate.

his eyes were trained on the stone which had your name engraved in it, placing a fresh bouquet of flowers next to it. it wasn't the only one, he knew Tengen would visit you once a week, though they never ran into each other.

not until today.

"come, my wives had offered to invite you over." the hand on Obanai's shoulder felt different than their usual encounters. he had expected Tengen to leave a new bouquet on your grave, maybe a prayer too, and leave again.

despite Obanai's wish to remain alone and the dislike of meeting new people - especially women - he agreed this time.

and when he entered the Uzui family estate, he was surprised by the lively atmosphere and the welcoming smell of warm food.

he was quiet throughout their time eating together, at least most of the time, but he still found himself being comforted by his new surroundings.

Uzui's wives looked happy.

the thought kept repeating in his mind, wondering if you'd enjoyed this as much as they did now. he wondered if life would've been different if he had confessed to you - married you.

maybe you'd have stepped back. there would've been no harm in watching you give up your title and enjoy life.

and while the image of your life as a happy person, greeting him back home and cheerfully talking about your day, consumed his mind, he looked at Tengen.

seeing the other man's eyes soften, a twinge of hidden sadness in them, as he looked at his wives, he knew that Tengen must've imagined the same before too.

in the end, neither of them had been fast enough to hold out their saving hand.

Rengoku and Gyomei:

"take [name] with you and get to the butterfly mansion!" Kyojuro screamed, gripping his sword harder and running after the demon the three of you had fought for a while.

truthfully, people would've expected this mission to be finished without a problem, a team of tree hashira should be undefeatable.

and perhaps that would've been the case for most demons, but not for this one. whoever she was, she was a trickster out of the book, saving herself with movements you've never seen before. you quickly realized her weakness, seeing that she couldn't use her blood demon art without breaks that seemingly grew bigger. in a state of increasing distress and tiredness you shouted for the others to power her out, not expecting her next attack.

the sharp object penetrating your back, soon piercing through your front, didn't nearly hurt as much as Rengoku's expression.

"follow the plan, tire her out!" Gyomei shouted one last time, carrying your body towards the butterfly mansion. he hoped Rengoku had heard him, legs carrying him as fast as possible.

he could feel thick globs of blood escape your wound, staining his hands in a demon's wine. not much more and you'd be dead.

Rengoku, on the other hand, fought with all his might. he didn't fight for his life, he fought with the pain of knowing what this demon had done to you. after increasingly weaker attacks were thrown at him, he finally found a gap and beheaded the demon.

yet he couldn't breathe out in victory.

he turned on his heels, sprinting towards the butterfly mansion. he knew that Gyomei was faster and stronger than him, hoping that you had arrived in time.

all his hope died the second he saw your lifeless body in an infirmary bed, the giant man, who brought you here, sitting by your side.

"i didn't make it." he admitted, voice a whisper, throat running dry. the smell of your blood reminded him of days that had long passed.

Rengoku felt his own throat tighten, quietly closing the door to your room. grief was slowly climbing up his body, threatening to pull him down. even worse, he saw the same feeling behind Gyomei's eyes.

thick tears were staining the giant's face, too focused on your body to notice Rengoku stepping closer. a warm hand placed itself on Gyomei's shoulder.

"don't lower your head, comrade. [name], too, would've wanted us to set our hearts ablaze." the words that left Rengoku's mind had been heard by the male a million times already, but any trace of happiness was gone this time.

Gyomei nodded, not saying another word, not even when he heard the other male desperately try to hold back his own sobs.

Sanemi and Giyuu:

it hadn't taken more than a second - a mere second that left everyone breathless. the uppermoon you've fought wasn't that strong, not that smart, but incredibly fast. so even with three hashira, it was a huge gamble to take him on.

Sanemi was unluckily hit by the demon's attacks, throwing him over half the forest. and while he managed to land safely, it would take him some time to return to Giyuu and you.

"Sanemi!" you screamed, your eyes following him in worry, only to hear him scream back that you should pay attention.

his warning came too late, the demon lunged at you before you even got to turn around.

trying to safe your team from any more harm, Giyuu went after the demon, sword swiftly cutting through his neck. yet the sound that reached his ears with his attack was too other - too different - to be from his sword.

the demon crumbled to dust in a matter of seconds, leaving Giyuu panting. his eyes widened when you came into his line of sight again, but something felt wrong.

you weren't moving, his eyes wandering over your body until they stopped at your torso. he barely managed to land on his knees and catch you before you hit the ground.

the demon wasn't strong, but it was still strong enough to leave a whole in your side in his dying moments.

"[name]!" Giyuu felt his throat dry up, his hands starting to shake like never before. this wasn't happening. right?

"Gi.. yuu.." he wasn't used to seeing your eyes so empty, so devoid of life. you barely managed to say his name before blood spluttered out of your mouth, running down your lips.

"[name], stay alive! ..stay alive!" he didn't know when he last felt this helpless, but his legs wouldn't move. the butterfly mansion was too far away, no help was in sight. he didn't know where he should bring you.

your breathing.

it had stopped not even a minute after you've got hurt, the light having left your eyes for good. Giyuu felt his body tense, not able to move anymore. his hands were full of your blood, he could feel the crimson liquid leaking down his fingers.

the silence was broken by a guttural scream, another person running out of the forest. Sanemi's white hair was a stark contrast to the night's darkness, wind rushing through it as he ran to your lifeless body.

"[NAME]!" he fell to his knees next to you, first wanting to hold you close to his body, then pulling his hands away, too afraid to hold your fragile form. he was consumed in his panic, the sight of your corpse.

the next minutes were filled by screams and cries, Sanemi's agony soon making Giyuu quietly cry as well.

they only stopped when no more tears were left, no more screams to give. and after Sanemi has calmed down, thoughts began to fill his mind.

i should've been faster. I should've been stronger. if i had just been there a bit earlier-

he went quiet, his hands gently taking your body out of Giyuu 's hold and standing up. you deserved a grave, he couldn't leave your body here.

before he turned around to retreat, his dead eyes wandered to Giyuu, looking at him with unspoken malice. "you should've protected [name]."

no more words were said between the two males, Sanemi leaving the forest with your body in his hands, while Giyuu suffered through another breakdown, trying to drag his body back to his estate.

he wouldn't be able to see your face another time, not in this life. Sanemi was right, he failed to protect someone he loved. again.

if only he knew that Sanemi felt the same guilt swell in his chest, desperately trying to hold his cries in.

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 3)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3147

(Part 1) (Part 2)

_________________________________________

Rhysand’s face hurts.

His hands do, too, but the scrapes and splits in the skin of his knuckles have nothing on the cut in his lip, which currently stings from the rush of alcohol that passes over his lips.

It’s cold, crisp, and free, so it’s the best beer he’s had all night.

Hell, his cheek is bruised too. It’s not a Picasso of mottled yellows, greens, and purples yet—curtesy of the time he spent poking and prodding the knotted bump in one of the locker room mirrors, post shower.

The only thing that isn’t bruised is his ego because he more than won that fight against the Penguin’s center, Kallias Winterborough. He fucking wiped the ice with him and then proceeded to use the rest of his team to clean house.

Somewhere in the Hockey House—aptly named for the number of players that reside in the five-bedroom, two-story craftsman—you and his cousin meander around, violet Solo Cups in hand because the red ones are so overrated. Plus, one of their biggest rivals—the Foxes—wear crimson, and no one at Velaris University would ever be caught repping that team at one of his parties.

It's a move he’s regretting a little too much right now, unable to revel in the Bat’s big win with his lip split in two. Fucker got him good, he can admit, but never aloud. Cassian would never let him live it down and Azriel would shoot him a scathing glare at the mere mention of another school’s team under their roof.

Az takes his superstitions seriously.

“Rhys, dude.” Cassian stumbles in through the square arch connecting the spacious living room to the cozy kitchen. It’s the only thing Rhysand doesn’t like about the Hockey House: no open floorplan. That means, when he plays host as he so often does because he can’t afford a hangover from hell following most mornings, he can’t see what’s going on in the kitchen if he’s in the living room or vice versa.

He can’t see people sneaking up the stairs, and even though he keeps his room locked at all times following the Cassian Incident™ that included two leggy blondes and the Frozen Four first place trophy—announcing the next afternoon that blondes do, in fact, have more fun—he still doesn’t trust a horde of university students on a high from their win not to do anything stupid.

Speaking of stupid…Cassian slides to a halt beside him. He’s so eager to share whatever the hell with Rhys that he overshoots, slamming his hip into the counter. His friend howls, and much unto Rhys’ surprise, others join in, like it’s some kind of victory cry and not one that says ‘I just bashed my hip in, somebody help me, please.’

Rhysand is in no mood to help.

“What’s up, Cass?” Rhys sighs, frowning when he tips his bottle back to his mouth only to find it empty. He hadn’t realized how much he drank; thought he was nursing it with the way his lip burns.

Cassian’s face contorts from pain back to amused like a flick of a switch and the pain was long forgotten. His nose is permanently crooked from the number of times he’s broken it during fights both on and off the ice, and he’d be missing one of his pearly whites if he hadn’t just gotten it fixed earlier this week. Thankfully, his moustache has been shaved off for tonight, showing off his plump, pink lips. His brunet hair is the longest on the team, just brushing the tops of his massive shoulders, and thankfully. On one side, it’s tucked tightly behind his ear, showing off the gold ring he punched through it on a dare at their first party freshman year.

Cassian’s hazel eyes have a spark in them that 1: Rhys has seen too many times, and 2: never means anything good.

Rhysand narrows his own, breaking that eager contact to scour the kitchen for another beer because goddammit, he’s going to need it with the way his friend is all but shaking with excitement.

“Have you found your nurse yet?” Cassian asks, trailing him around the marble slab counter.

“My what?” Rhysand side-steps a couple making out so hard that they go crashing into the first thing that isn’t each other: the wall. The petite girl with bright blue hair whimpers loudly, and the noise is swallowed up by the guy that’s sticking his tongue straight down her windpipe.

It looks grosser than it seems, Rhys defends when a pang of want slaps him right in the chest.

“Your nurse, dude,” Cassian whines. He slips on a rogue wet patch on the obsidian floor tiles and now Rhysand has another thing to dislike in this house. All he needs is someone cracking their skull open on his kitchen floor or the couple to fall and have his teeth through her lips from the impact. “You know, cause you’re all injured.” He waves flippantly towards Rhysand’s wounds.

“I don’t need a nurse,” Rhys answers, confused. He pulls open the fridge and snags two beers off of the shelf Cassian and two of his other roommates have dedicated it to. He hands one to his friend, who pops the top off with his teeth, and Rhys raises an unimpressed brow. “I didn’t get that hurt.” Plus, he’s already been to see the team trainer for his shiners.

He busies himself with the beer opener that’s stuck to the side of the fridge, then grabs the roll of paper towels from their holder to wipe up the mess Cassian’s leaving footprints with. Well, he unrolls a few and tosses them onto the spill, anyway.

“No, I mean like a lady nurse.” Cassian waggles his brows. “Someone who can kiss you better, maybe even give you a hand—”

And, well, that might just help his mood.

“Hey.” Azriel breezes into the kitchen like he’s still on his skates. He has his own cup in hand, filled with water. Rhys know this because he’s never seen Azriel drink anything other than water and the occasional coffee. He takes his training more seriously than half of the team, which bodes well for Rhys because he always has a gym buddy, but sometimes, he wishes his friend would let loose, even if it meant seeing a girl. Or sleeping with one. “Heads up.”

The warning has Rhys standing straighter, ready to abandon his beer on the counter to play his role as captain and the one in charge of the party. His roommates naturally defer to him in house affairs because they’re used to it, but really, Rhys doesn’t have much more room in his packed schedule for warding off drunk students and stopping fights.

The last thing he needs tonight is to find himself in the middle of a fight.

“Rhys!” A perky blonde squeals, and his shoulders drop for a second only to tense right back up when his cousin throws herself into his arms.

He catches her with an oof, spitting out her wild locks that somehow always end up everywhere. He loves his cousin dearly, like a sister, but why is she here right now?

He doesn’t see you following your roommate into the kitchen, jaw slack like it’s been since you first saw the Hockey House lit up in all of its glory. The place is absolutely massive, it looks like it could rival one of the houses on Greek row.

The kitchen is moody yet warm. The dark tiles match the onyx-stained flat arch you just walked through. The lighter gray marble countertop brightens the room, and the deep blue cabinets paired with the soft lighting paints the room in perfect synchrony.

It’s absolutely stunning.

Neither of you see the other at first. Rhys because he’s still trying to blink Mor’s hair from his eyes and you because you’re entranced by the interior design of the home. There’s no way five boys could possibly live here, let alone five hockey players. It’s a bit of a mess with the party raging around you, yes, but you haven’t seen one hole in the drywall, not one forgotten dish nor a pair of boxers left of the bathroom floor—you checked.

Because you were using the restroom of course, you weren’t looking for that specific reason.

“Hey, Mor,” Rhys greets when she finally detaches herself from him. She doesn’t go far, only stepping back enough to introduce you to him. “What are you doing here?”

Violet eyes clash with yours, drawing your heart to a standstill. He looks just as good as he did when you were sprawled out on his chest: dark hair clean and mussed through, red lips parted as if the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat.

The only thing different about him now is that cut in his lip and the redness to his cheek from his fight on the ice that you bore witness to.

The memory replays in your mind again, awakening tingles in your body that shouldn’t be. And just how you’re praying for them not to, they converge right between your thighs, settling in nice and hot and begging for attention as the sight of him with burning violet eyes as he decks his opposition across the jaw replays.

It really shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, and he himself shouldn’t be as hot as he is, either.

You hold yourself still, focusing eighty percent on your attention on trying to calm your eager bits down and the other twenty percent on making sure you don’t look constipated while doing so.

Rhys blinks at you and you return his blank stare, watching, waiting to see if he recognizes you, too.

Oh, he does.

“We came to see your game tonight,” she says, as if it isn’t obvious from your attire. The attire that Rhys is currently dragging his eyes down, drinking in every inch—all four of them—of the jersey your roommate forced you into tonight. You watch his eyes flare as he reads the number across your chest. His number, you’re just now realizing.

Heat floods your cheeks but you’re unable to bolt like you so desperately want to. Your heart is beating three times as fast in your chest as he slowly, slowly, rakes his gaze up from your legs that are glued to the floor, all the way to your eyes, that are glued to his face.

“This is (Y/N),” Mor announces, gesturing to you with a flourish. When you make no move forward to greet them, her red nails curl around the hem of your jersey and yank.

You stumble forward, and the trance is broken. Unfortunately, so is your face, because you slip in something on the tiles and are plummeting face-first into the ground. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, lips parted to scream or groan, whichever your mind catches up to first—

The impact never comes. Strong hands grip your arms, stopping you from eating tile. You’re too stunned to speak, even when you’re planted back on your feet and staring into the chest you were lying on only this afternoon.

Rhysand Cunningham.

Jesus, you’re really going to have to stop saying his full name like that. It’s creepy.

“Easy now,” Rhys says, making sure you’re steady. You somehow find the courage to look him in the eyes, hastily tamping down the mortification that threatens to consume you.

As soon as your eyes lock, it’s like magic.

There’s no other way to describe whatever is happening between the two of you right now. His light touch is searing, and so are his eyes as he scans your face, making sure you’re not hurt.

Rhys’ abandoned beer sits precariously close to the edge of the counter, and Cassian accidentally knocks it off with his elbow when he dodges a playful swat Mor tosses his way. It goes crashing to the floor, startling you and Rhys from your trance.

You jump, gaze following the noise. Rhys’ hands slip from your body and you shiver at the cold that replaces him, even though it’s stifling in this house with the number of bodies packed into it. You manage one large step back that he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s already snatching the paper towels from where he put them last and barking at passerby to “be fucking careful.”

“I, uh,” you stutter, and holyfuckingshit, he’s leaning over to clean up the mess. You get a full view of that toned ass; despite the jeans he’s wearing. It’s perfect, round like an apple, juicy like one too, you bet. The sudden urge to lean over and sink your teeth into it hits you like a semi— “I need to use the bathroom.”

You scurry away from your roommate and her cousin like it’s your ass that’s just been bitten into.

Rhys grumbles the entire time he cleans up the spilt beer. Cassian tried to help, his chocolate eyes wide and sad, spouting off apologies like he did something much worse than break a fucking bottle, but hissed when he cut his thumb on a sharp edge. Rhys had pushed him away from the scene immediately after that.

He wonders if Cassian is going to bound off into the living room and find himself a nurse of his own, now.

“Hey, where did your friend go?” Rhys asks Mor who’s chewing on a cherry stem. He grimaces, not even knowing where those came from.

“Roommate,” Mor answers pointedly, serving him a harsh look that only confuses the hockey player.

“Okay…where did your roommate go?” He clarifies, eyes sweeping the room for you. Disappointment prickles at his skin just as much as the look his cousin is shooting him. He’d gotten his look at you alright, but he’s suddenly feeling like the single up-down he gave you was not nearly enough.

“To the bathroom,” she answers, rounding the counter, eyeing all of the opened bottles of liquor on top. She must not see anything she likes, because he doesn’t reach for anything. “Why?”

Why? Because you brought her here and I want to be nice? Rhys thinks. I want to get to know her, maybe somewhere private—

“I didn’t really get to introduce myself.” Is what he goes with.

Mor snorts, rolling her eyes because she is not falling for that one. “She’s off limits.”

“Then why did you bring her here?” Rhys blurts, unable to stifle the words before they slip out. Damn beer.

“Because we wanted to see your game,” Mor replies, watching her cousin closely.

If you wanted to see my game, you shouldn’t have warned me against your roommate, he thinks, and then cringes.

“Well, thanks for coming, cuz,” he offers, because there’s no good rhyme or reason to start arguing with her. Especially when both of their parents are just phone calls away.

He’d rather be getting the third degree from Mor than his mother, anyway.

Rhys swiftly changes the subject. “Hope you enjoyed me kicking some ass.”

Mor’s tight face melts into amusement. She laughs, tossing her head back on her shoulders. “Yeah, I really did enjoy that, actually.”

It’s at that exact moment that Rhys catches sight of you again. You’re caught halfway in the archway of the kitchen, presumably on your way back from the bathroom. Your lips are pulled into a smile as you giggle, and he wishes he could hear it over the gods-awful music. Your eyes are bright and he watches you brush a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks pinkening with a blush that makes him wonder just who’s putting that look on your face.

Rhys takes one step to the left and his entire body begins boiling with heat when he catches sight of one of his players speaking to you.

If she’s off limits to me, then my players are off limits to her.

And that’s exactly what they are, too, players. Mor’s right, he can’t end up letting one of his teammates fuck around with you, not when you’re so close to his cousin. She’d be devastated if you got hurt, and fuck it, he would too. He’d kill one of his guys if they broke your heart.

Rhys doesn’t talk sense into himself as he stalks your way, doesn’t think about the repercussions or his actions when he slides up to your side, all rigid muscles and sharp looks.

“What do we have here?” he asks, drawing you away from the friendly conversation you were having with the handsome hockey player about the types of tapes and casts that can be used when treating different injuries.

It’s James Attor, from your Athletic Training Techniques class. You’d recognized him, but didn’t know he played for the Velaris hockey team. He’s a sophomore like you, and more interested in the injuries part of his sport than the actual scoring.

“Oh, hey, Cap,” James greets, shrinking under the scrutinizing gaze of his team leader. He knows that look, it’s the one Rhys gets before he’s about to lose his mind on the ice. “I was just talking to (Y/N) about—”

“About nothing,” Rhys finishes for him, and you frown. What the hell is his problem?

“James, wait,” you call, but it’s too late, he’s already slipped into the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the living room, and you don’t have supervision to see through them.

Whirling around on your heel, you glare up at Rhys. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Rhys asks, striding back towards the kitchen. You decide that playing stupid doesn’t look good on him. And neither does that split lip.

You can’t believe you wanted to get closer. For a better look at his wounds, of course.

“That!” You exclaim, throwing your arm out and pointing where you were just standing. It serves no purpose because Rhys isn’t facing you, which only stokes your anger further. “I was talking to him!”

“Yeah,” he rounds on his feet so fast you don’t even see it coming and for the second time today, you run smack dab into the middle of his chest.

This time, you don’t tumble into a pile of limbs.

You blink, dumbfounded.

“And I’d prefer it if you don’t,” Rhys finishes, chest tight. He feels on edge at the way your body pressed up against his, like lightning in his veins. He grits his teeth, willing the feeling to go away.

“Yeah,” you scoff, tossing him your best glare. You cross your arms over your chest for effect, but all it does is make that skimpy shirt you’re wearing ride up more, and both Rhys’ eyes and throat catch at the sight of your creamy skin. Your word sounds like a threat when you say, “Unlikely.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd

[prettiestlovergirl]

YOU CAN BE THE BOSS

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; slytherin! reader; unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it); rough sex; degradation kink; hair pulling; dacryphilia; begging; some drinking; dom! mattheo; bratty! reader; french! mattheo; impact play.

concept: you and mattheo have been enemies with benefits for a while now, but after you score higher on a test... he wants to make sure you still remember your place with him ;) song: you can be the boss by lana del rey

a/n: still pushing the french! mattheo agenda bcos bilingual men make me go weak in the knees (and ruin my panties). my french is still shit, they do not teach you kinky pet names in high school french class! so bear with me you guys. enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

mattheo riddle was the bane of your existence and the source of all your most recent orgasms.

you couldn't stand each other! he thought you were an insufferable know-it-all and you thought he was a cocky asshole. if it were up to you, you'd have never had to interact with him again.

then, after one late night in the library, it was like a flip had switched on in you both. you still couldn't stand each other, sure, but suddenly you both seemed much more bearable to the other when his cock was bruising your cervix.

and thus began the new phase of your relationship: taunting and teasing each other in public and then fucking out your grievances in private. it was the perfect system, really.

today, you had been particularly insufferable to him. you'd scored exactly two points higher on a charms test and hadn't stopped gloating. you needed to be brought down a peg or two, and mattheo knew just how to do it.

you were both in the common room, the quidditch team having thrown a party to celebrate your house victory in the game against ravenclaw.

you were certainly cocky today and you knew it, your small academic victory had made you a bit giddy. normally, you wouldn't have cared, but mattheo was so annoyed by it, you couldn't help but rub it in! how were you to know that there'd be consequences to your actions?!

when your eyes finally landed on mattheo, he'd been holding a red solo cup and talking with theo in the corner. he looked hot, not that you'd ever tell him that. he didn't need his ego getting any bigger.

you were used to him pouncing on you almost immediately after you spotted him, so when your eyes landed on him and he didn't even look over? you instantly knew that it was him being petty.

well, if he wanted to be petty, two could certainly play that game! he wanted you to come crawling to him and beg him to fuck you? you'd rather die! well, not die, but you know.

mattheo could feel your eyes on him, but he made no effort to look your way or give you any attention. if you wanted him, you had to put in the work tonight. if you wanted to be stubborn, he was more than willing to go home alone and leave you to suffer.

the next hour consisted of you trying to gain his attention in a multitude of ways. you flirted with blaise, danced with theo, even left a perfect imprint of your lipstick on draco, and nothing. little did you know, he kept a tally of every little act for... later use.

he continued to ignore you, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to grab you and fuck you right there in front of everybody. you weren't his girlfriend, but you were still fucking his, and you were absolutely gonna pay for your teasing.

after another 20 minutes, you were done. he was sitting back on the couch, the usual picture of cocky and casual that both turned you on more and simultaneously made you want to slap him across the face. it was a fine little line you walked daily.

you walked up to him, arms crossed over your chest as you narrowed your eyes at him. "fine! you win." you hissed, only to be met with his stupid smug smirk.

"i'm sorry? not sure what you mean, ma douce, (my sweet) what exactly did i win?" he questioned, giving you a fake n innocent look. "i win at so much, gonna need you to be more specific."

you should have just walked away. he was too cocky, it made your skin crawl, but fuck you needed him. "this! this stupid little game your playing, you win, i give up, lets go. now." you felt like a child, wanting to stomp your foot on the ground and beg for his stupid attention.

"ah, well, since you asked so nicely." he grinned, taking his sweet time getting off the couch and setting his cup down. he didn't grab your hand or look back to see if you followed him up the stairs; he knew you would.

"you are such a sore fucking loser!" you huffed once the door was closed, making him laugh at your annoyance and frustration. "so fucking dramatic." he smirked, hands already slipping under your skirt to grab your ass.

you moved to kiss him, but he turned his head away, instead choosing to place his lips on your neck. "dick." you whined, nails scraping over the nape of his neck while his teeth sunk harshly into your skin. "who? me. i'm being nice, don't want to ruin your pretty make-up, môme" (brat) he scoffed back, rolling his eyes at your dramatics.

you dug your nails into his skin as retaliation, but it only resulted in him spanking your ass so hard you yelped out. "un tel putain de gosse" (you're such a fucking child) he murmured as he brought his hands up and unbuttoned your school shirt.

his hands moved quickly to push the fabric off your shoulders, but his mouth moved slow and rough as he let his teeth graze over as much of your bare skin as he could. he might have been annoyed with you, but fuck did he love seeing you covered in his work.

you were getting desperate for more and he knew it, the slowness of his actions entirely purposeful. "mattheo, please." you begged, head leaned back as he smirked against your skin. "please, what? you know i like it when you use your words."

"i hate you." you grumbled, hissing lightly at the pain of his fingers digging into your waist. "sorry, 'm sorry!" you huffed, biting your lip before going on. "please fuck me. now." you half begged; half demanded.

"that's more like it." he smirked, spinning you around and smacking your ass once again. "get on the bed, salope (slut). on your stomach" he commanded, and you happily complied. you laid down on the bed, ass up in the air just like he'd told you to.

"putain (fuck), look at you." mattheo sighed, lifting your skirt up with his hands while he dragged your panties down just under your thighs. he used his hands to keep your spread open, admiring your already glistening pussy.

"you've been so cocky all fucking day, flirting around, bragging. what would they all say if they could see you now? all soaked and desperate." he cooed, dragging his thumb all the way through your folds.

you whined a bit, hips attempting to grind against his hand the best you could before his other hand came back up and spanked you harshly. "gotta stay still, ma douche (my sweet). don't wanna see your pretty little head get hurt." he teased, rubbing over your warm skin.

"s-sorry." you nodded, instantly whining as he pulled away from you. you kept facing the wall, but you could hear his belt being undone and him stripping right behind you.

mattheo groaned as he wrapped his hand around his cock, moving it up and down a few times as he admired the view of you all ready for him.

you wiggled your hips a bit, desperately waiting for him to put you out of your misery and fuck you. he chuckled at your desperation, smacking his cock against your ass just to hear you gasp and moan out.

"tease!" you huffed, grabbing the bedsheets gently as he started to slowly, teasingly, rub his cock through your wet folds. he was just trying to make sure your wetness was spread evenly, that's all! he was being a good fuck buddy.

"fuck, mattheo, please!" you begged, closing your eyes as he continued to tease and mess with your puffy cunt until you were close to tears.

"i had to watch you walk around, flirting with all my fucking friends like a fucking salope. (slut) now you're here, whining and begging for me to do you a favor? doesn't work like that, ma douce (my sweet). you take what i give you, got it?" he asked, spanking you again for good measure.

"'m sorry! 'm sorry, i know, but please, mattheo! need you!" you begged, his hand moving to hold your hip down to keep you from squirming while your arousal dripped all over his cock.

"you gonna be a good girl f'me? if i fuck you real nice, are you gonna keep running your mouth downstairs?" he asked, to which you immediately nodded. "yes! yes, i'll be so good, won't say a word, promise, just please!" you whimpered.

"well, if you promise." he teased, and thrusted all the way into your soaked pussy. he groaned as your walls fluttered around him. you'd fucked dozens of times at this point, but he never got tired of feeling your walls squeeze his cock.

he moved painfully slow, tearing out whines of anguish and frustration from your throat as you gripped his bedsheets. "what's wrong, ma douce (my sweet)? i thought you wanted me to fuck you." he mocked, squeezing your ass tightly.

"please, please, please!" you whined, desperate tears starting to drip down your cheeks as he pulled almost all the way out before slowly and roughly thrust all the way back in. you could feel every inch of him filling you up over and over.

"'m just doing what you asked, ma douce (my sweet). or do you need even more from me?" he scoffed, squeezing and massaging your ass as he continued his slow thrusts.

you instantly nodded, not caring that he was mocking you n calling you greedy. you were too fucking desperate and needy for him and all your tears only seemed to make him want to tease more.

"tellement putain de gourmande." (so fucking greedy) mattheo smirked, punctuating his words with another slap to your ass before finally giving in to your pleads for more and speeding up his thrusts.

"fuck! yes, thank you, thank you, fuck yes!" you moaned, his hips snapping roughly into yours as his free hand gathered your hair into a ponytail, tugging you back and making your back arch.

"such a needy fucking brat, what am i gonna do with you?" he scoffed, looking over your teary face as you continued to moan and whine as he fucked you rough and hard.

you couldn't speak, mind already so hazy from the way his cock stretched your walls. he pulled you into a sloppy kiss, swallowing your moans and squeaks of pure fucking bliss.

he tasted like the malt liquor he'd been drinking from before and you swore you were getting drunk off the taste. he sunk his teeth into your lower lip, groaning against you as he bullied your pussy again and again with no remorse.

your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock, signaling just how close you were to cumming. "mm, please, make me cum, please!" you whimpered against him as he pulled away from your lips, hand still tightly fisting your hair as he fucked you.

"that's it, that's ma douce (my sweet). be a good fucking girl and cum on my cock, yeah? cum all over my fucking cock." he commanded, watching as your legs shook on either side of him while you coated his cock in your creamy slick.

he let go of your hair and you practically collapsed against the bed, face smushing into the sheets. he continued to fuck into you, groaning at how much tighter you felt now that you came.

you whined as the overstimulation started to set in, but you were unable to squirm with your legs all jellylike and his hand keeping you in place. you sobbed in pure bliss, staining his sheets with your mascara and tears.

"fuck, that's it fuck." he grunted, biting his lip harshly as he slowed down. "fuck yourself on me, ma douce (my sweet). make me cum." he demanded, drawing another whiny cry from your lips.

"c'mon, you want to be a good girl, don't you? thought you were sorry for being such a brat, huh? fuck yourself on me." he cooed, kneading your ass while you pouted but nodded and forced yourself back up.

you rocked your hips back against him, working at a sluggish pace as you were still too blissed out to function normally. the alcohol n orgasm n cock still filling you up left your brain numb and blank.

after a few more rocks of your hips, he pulled out of you and started to tug his cock until his cum shot onto your back. he watched as your swollen n gummy cunt leaked with your juices, panting as he watched you collapse and he laid down beside you.

you both laid there until you both caught your breath. your eyes were heavy n you were already starting to doze off when he nudged you. "c'mon, lets get you cleaned up." he smirked, pushing himself off the bed.

"whatever you say..." you mumbled sleepily.

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

[captainquake42]

> ♡ °. INKED UP

♡ part three

☆ kwon jae sung x fem!reader

> summary:

high on adrenaline kwon invites you to his room on accident.

OR kwon tries to teach you some korean.

> notes:

once again the korean is from google translate

find it on ao3

part one // part two // part four

> 2.1k written by:

S A R A H

By the time their team stepped off the mat for the fourth consecutive win, Kwon had to admit—watching film and researching their opponents had been the smartest thing they’d done all tournament. Hana, Yoon, Tory, and himself had yet to lose a match, and their earlier stumbles seemed like a distant memory. The strategy adjustments had worked, and their confidence had skyrocketed.

Well, most of their confidence. Kwon’s patience, however? That was wearing thin.

“ I told you so,” Yoon crowed on the sidelines as Tory got her hand raised in victory. His grin was wide enough to stretch from Seaford to Seoul. “ Four matches in a row, Captain. Feels pretty good, huh?”

Kwon exhaled sharply, trying to keep his cool. “ Yes, Yoon. You’ve mentioned it.” He raised his own hand for a high five from Tory as she got off the mat which she slapped with a grin.

“ Oh, have I?” Yoon’s smirk deepened with his own high five offer that Tory took. “ Because I feel like it’s worth mentioning again. You know, just in case you forgot how genius my idea was.”

“ Don’t push it, Yoon,” Tory chimed in, rolling her eyes as she tightened her back belt. “ You’re one ‘I told you so’ away from getting kicked in the shins.”

Kwon snorted, finally cracking a grin. “ Now that I’d pay to see.”

“ Oh, ha ha,” Yoon said, throwing a mock glare at Tory. “ You’re just mad because I was right.”

“ You’re unbearable,” Tory replied, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward in the hint of a smile.

“ Unbearably brilliant,” Yoon quipped, spinning on his heel with a swagger in his step following the rest of the team back to the locker room.

Kwon shook his head, trailing behind the others. He hated to admit it, but Yoon had earned the right to be insufferable. The team’s flawless run had revitalized their morale.

As they reached the locker room, Kwon stopped in the doorway, letting his team filter past him. They were battered and bruised, but their energy was palpable.

You walked past him laughing and his attention was instantly stolen. He saw that you won your own solo matches on the leaderboard. It seemed you and one of your other teammates were single handedly keeping your team in. The curly hairy haired boy that Yoon fought in the captain’s game.

“ Hey, Captain,” Hana said, glancing back at him with a smirk. “ Dangsin-i ogo issseubnikka, animyeon uliui mupae haengjin-ui yeong-gwang-eul nulineula neomu bappeun geongayo? (You coming, or are you too busy basking in the glory of our undefeated streak?)”

Kwon watched you, barely registered her words. “ Jamsiman gidalyeojuseyo. (Be there in a sec.)” He said, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest.

You saw him and waved.

He grinned, raising a hand in return. “ Hey, so-yeon.” he called, his voice carrying just enough warmth to mask his nervous.

“ You still haven’t told me what that means.” You hummed.

He shrugged, “ so it seems.”

“ Why?”

“ Same as before. Not fun.”

“ Lame. I could google it.” You teased, crossing your arms as if issuing a challenge.

Kwon huffed, his lips twitching in amusement. “ Can you spell it?”

You jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “ No.”

His mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “ If you really want to know, you can find me in my room after the matches today.” As soon as the offer was out Kwon flushed, his face warming as his palms grew damp.

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, Kwon panicked. Stupid stupid stupid, he thought, what on earth made him say that? Had he been too forward? But then you laughed—a soft sound that made his pulse jump.

“ Well, well,” you said, leaning in just enough to make him sweat. “ Since I got an invitation.”

And just like that you were gone with a flip of your braid.

Tory poked her head out, looked at him and then you, back to him and raised her brows sarcastically. “ Nice job man.”

“ Shut up Tory.” He snapped.

You took your time taking your everything shower, shaved from your armpits down to your ankles, moisturized with a strawberry shortcake smelling body oil, put in a hair mask, the whole shebang.

You were dressed in a spider-man hoodie and shorts, twisting your hands anxiously as Sam re-braided your hair in two dutch braids. You were good at pretending to be nonchalant until it came within an hour of doing said thing when you'd freak out.

“ What are you freaking out for?” Sam said, tugging your head back. “ Maybe you should just come with us to the beach.”

“ No it's ok, I'm tired, I wanna stay here.” You lied, you were not going to stay here, you were going to Kwon's room not that you could tell her that. You secretly wished Devon made it instead of Sam, she wouldn't judge you.

“ Are you sure?” She asked, Sam had always been nice to you but sometimes she could be really judgmental and she would definitely not approve.

“ I'm sure. I- ouch.”

“ Sorry,” Sam murmured, detangling her fingers. “ My fingers got caught.”

“ It's fine, I've done the same to you.” You laughed, you've ripped out chunks of her hair a hundred times by accident, whether it was from your braiding or sparing.

“ You should come, you and Miguel have kept us in. “ Sam tried again, “ come celebrate with us.”

“ No offense Sam,” you started. “ But that's exactly why I'm tired.”

“ Ok,” She conceited. “ Done.”

You felt it, no bumps. “ Thanks Sam.”

“ No problem, I'll leave you to it then.”

“ Have fun.”

“ We will.” And with that, Sam left you alone.

You decided to do your nails while waiting thirty minutes before you left just in case Sam came back so she wouldn't find you gone.

You had face masks you brought to do with Sam but decided to grab them thinking Kwon would be a better victim. He'd probably do them with you, he had nice skin and with the amount of hair gel he uses to spike up his hair like that he definitely has a skin care routine.

But then you started to second-guessing yourself. Maybe this is too much. What if he thinks it’s weird? You picked up the packaging, reading the back like it held some kind of life-altering advice.

With a sigh, you set it down again, pacing back and forth in the small space. Your heart raced, and your hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. What if he was joking? And not actually inviting you?

You took a breath in your nose, held it for 3 seconds, out through your mouth.

You sat down on your bed, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. You stood up again, walking to the mirror to check your hair for the fourth time, smoothing down any imaginary flyaways and pressing your palms against your flushed cheeks.

It's not that big of a deal you told yourself lifting your foot up on the dresser to put your sock on, he already went with you to get a tattoo last night which was first time the two of you spoke. Hanging out with him wasn't any different even if he was really cute and you wanted him to like you. You switched feet and put on your other sock.

Finally you straightened up and grabbed the face masks on the dresser, leaving without putting shoes on – cause who wears shoes just walking down the hall?

Walking through the quiet hotel hallway, you felt every beat of your heart like a drum in your chest. The fluorescent lights hummed softly above you, casting a white glow on the carpeting. You told yourself to relax, that it was just Kwon, and you were just hanging out. But your hands still squeezed the face masks tightly, and you almost turned back twice.

You reached his door, and paused. For a moment, the silence of the hallway pressed in around you. You debated knocking, hesitated, then debated again.

“ Come on,” you muttered to yourself. “ Stop being a pussy.”

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked.

The door swung open quicker than you expected, and there he was, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered, wearing a plain black t-shirt and sweats. He looked relaxed, but when he saw you, his face lit up in a way that made your nerves melt a little.

“ Hey,” he greeted, stepping aside to let you in.

“ Hi,” you replied, stepping past him into the room. It was a standard hotel setup: two beds, a small desk, and a TV. His stuff was neatly tucked into one corner, but his sparring gloves and water bottle sat on the desk, evidence of a long day.

“ I like your hoodie,” he said, motioning to your Spider-Man hoodie as he shut the door.

“ Thanks. Nice… uh… room.” You winced inwardly at yourself, but Kwon just chuckled.

“ You want to sit?” he asked, gesturing to the bed closest to the window.

“ Sure,” you said, plopping down and setting the face masks beside you. You glanced up at him, suddenly nervous again. “ So… what’s the meaning of ‘so-yeon’?”

Kwon raised a brow, amused. “ Still stuck on that, huh?”

“ I’m very determined.” You crossed your arms, leaning back a little.

He smirked, sitting down on the other bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “ Alright, fine. ‘So-yeon’ means ‘bright’, ‘graceful’, or ‘beautiful’ depending on context.”

Your cheeks flamed. “ Oh.”

“ Oh,” he repeated, clearly enjoying your reaction. “ Why? Not what you expected?”

“ I was pretty sure it was gonna mean bitch.” You answered smiling.

“ Promise it’s a compliment,” he said, his voice softening.

Your heart stuttered a little, but you played it off with a teasing grin. “ Well, in that case, thank you.”

He laughed at that, leaning back against the headboard. “ Now, what’s in the bag?”

“ Oh, these!” You grabbed the face masks, holding them up for him to see. “ I thought we could do them, if you’re up for it.”

Kwon’s brows shot up. “ Face masks?”

“ Don’t knock it till you try it,” you said, waving one in front of him. “ They’re good for your skin. And judging by how much hair gel you use, I’d say you’re not a stranger to a routine.”

He blinked, caught off guard, then laughed. “ Fair point, let’s.”

You spent the next few minutes peeling open the masks and carefully applying them, bursting into laughter when Kwon’s didn’t sit quite right on his face.

“ You look ridiculous,” you teased, holding up your phone to snap a picture. You had never been into taking pictures, just wasn’t something you thought about, but you were trying to make it a point to document the Sekai Taikai like you tried doing for all your big competitions.

“ Says the girl who’s about to join me,” he shot back, reaching over to adjust yours. “ There.”

“ Great,” you deadpanned, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Kwon leaned back against the headboard, his face still obscured by the slightly crooked mask. “ You know,” he said, voice casual, “ you’re asking me what something mean in Korean. Would you like to learn a few phrases?”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “ You’re not going to teach me anything embarrassing, are you?”

He smirked. “ I’ll save the swears for later.”

You laughed, adjusting the mask on your face as you sat cross-legged on the bed. “ Ok, hit me.”

“ First one: ‘Annyeonghaseyo.’ It’s how you say hello in a formal way.”

“Ann-yeong-ha-say-yo,” you repeated slowly, breaking the word into chunks.

Kwon nodded, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he tried not to laugh at your butchered pronunciation. “ Not bad. Now, informal is just ‘Annyeong.’”

“ Annyeong,” you echoed, this time with more confidence. “ I think I can remember that.”

“ Good. Next is ‘Kamsahamnida.’ It means thank you.”

“ Kamsa-hamni-da,” you said carefully, earning an approving nod from him.

“ You’re a natural,” he said with a grin like the liar he was. “ Alright, one more. ‘Saranghae.’ It means—”

“ Love?” you interrupted, smirking. “ I know that one. I’ve watched enough K-dramas.”

Kwon tilted his head, pretending to be impressed. “ Oh woah, a real, how you say? Genius.”

“ Totally,” you said, laughing. “ Anything else I should know?”

“ Well,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “ if you ever want to tell someone they’re doing well, you say ‘Jalhanda.’”

“ Jalhanda,” you repeated, enjoying the way the word rolled off your tongue.

“ It’s what you can say to me when we beat your team again.” He teased.

Your jaw dropped, “ ain’t no way!” you laughed. “ In your dreams maybe.”

“ Every night,” he smirked, taking the opportunity you gave him.

[doitforbangchan]

Cross My Heart- Kim Hongjoong

Masterlist

did i spend my time writing this instead of working on Abanb? yes yes i did. But ive had brainrot for Joong and needed to get this out sooo..please enjoy :)

ps- this fic may be triggering for some so please see the warnings!

Brothers best friend! Hongjoong x reader (afab)

Warnings: Afab/fem reader, smut, unprotected p in v, cream pies, dubcon/noncon, fingering, drinking, drink spiking, drunk reader, coercion, cursing, kissing, dom!hongjoong, inexperienced (not virgin)! Reader, pet names, crying, name calling, possesive! Hongjoong, Hongjoong is a bad person, and probably more. Not proofread :)

WC: 4.5k

Hongjoong looked good tonight. Too good. Sinfully good. He was wearing dark black jeans and an equally dark ripped tank that accentuated his slender waist perfectly. He sported his normal rings and chains, adding a few more for the occasion. Hongjoongs hair was platinum blonde- he seemed to have gotten it done within the last few months since you’ve seen him. If you had less self control you’d be drooling. 

For the last decade of your life you’ve had the biggest crush on Hongjoong. The way he carries himself always captivated you. From the swag in his walk to the charm in his smirk. He made you weak in the knees. Not to mention he was respectful and kind to everyone- especially to you. Though you would never dream of acting on your feelings for the man for one reason and one reason only.  

He was your brother's best friend. 

And your brother, Seonghwa, had made it very clear to you his best friend was off limits. 

You had expected him to be here. You knew he wouldn’t let Hwa down, especially when your brother was celebrating the biggest accomplishment of his life- his college graduation. Still; even though you knew he would be here in your home seeing him in person did nothing to slow the rapid beating of your heart in your chest. There was something so docile and charming about him that you couldn’t let go of. Maybe it was the way he leaned into you when he told you a secret. Or maybe it was the way he always made you feel included even when your brother didn’t want you around. 

The party was in full swing; your family home flooded with people all here to celebrate your brother. Some were people you knew, others were friends of your brother. Your parents were gracious enough to let him throw this ‘gathering’ while they were away for the weekend. You were both fully grown adults and they knew you could be trusted. 

From your spot across the room you could see your brother and Hongjoong playing beer pong. More like Joong playing beer pong while your brother swayed and missed every shot. It was only 11pm and your brother was already trashed, his pregaming taking more of a toll on him than he anticipated. 

You watched as a ball from the opponents sunk into the very last cup in their team, Hongjoog throwing his head back in frustration as the other team cheered for their victory. He must have sensed your eyes on him because suddenly he turned his head and made direct eye contact with you. He offered you a gentle smile and a small wave that you returned. Then he lifted the last solo cup of beer up as if cheersing you, and he tilted his head and downed the liquid. 

Pushing off the wall, you made your way into the kitchen to grab a drink. You didn’t plan on drinking tonight. You wanted to stay coherent so you could make sure nothing bad happened to your parents home, so you only grabbed a cup full of soda. 

Once you had your cup full you turned around from the counter but you were met with a hard surface. You almost lost balance but suddenly you were steadied by strong hands. 

“Careful there, Y/n. You almost dropped your drink.” 

You could feel your face burning as you looked to see the playful twinkle in the gorgeous eyes of Hongjoong. “Oh, t-thank you Joong.” Fuck you can’t belive you stuttered. You’ve known this guy for almost half your life, get a fucking grip. 

“No problem.” He let you go and you felt your breath return to you. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.” He didn’t have a drink in his hand so he reached around you and grabbed a bottle of tequila and a sprite. 

“I’ve been good, just working a lot to pay off my school debt. Ya know, same ole same ole.” You shrugged and sipped your drink.

He nodded, “Yeah me too. Things at the studio have kept me pretty busy.” Hongjoong graduated a year ago and immediately got a job in music production. He was so young and already living his dream. You admired him for it. You watched as he poured himself a shot and poured a second one. “You like tequila?” 

You shook your head, “Normally yes, but not tonight. Thank you though.” 

He gave you a pouty lip “Aw come on, not even one to celebrate?” He was already pushing it towards you as he lifted his own. 

You tilted your head side to side in contemplation before giving in with a small nod. “Ok, only one.” He used his fingers to cross his heart dramatically which made you giggle. He gave you that charming smile of his while he handed you your shot. You clinked shot glasses and both of you downed the liquor. 

You cringed as you felt the burn of the alcohol go down your throat, and you immediately had to chase it down with a sip of your soda. You mentally cursed whoever bought this cheap tequila (knowing it was you). 

Hongjoong patted your shoulder as you put your glass back down, laughing in jest at your disgusted face. “Yeah it’s pretty terrible.”  You were a known lightweight and you could feel the effects of the liquor already but you held yourself together well. Or so you thought. 

Faintly from the living room you could hear your favorite song playing. You gasped in realization, your tipsy brain getting excited. “My song is on!” 

Hongjoong chuckled and reached for your hand. “Let’s go then.” 

You ignored the fluttering in your stomach when he grabbed your hand, and looked at him confused. “Go where?” 

“To dance? This is your favorite song, isn’t it?” He said it like it was the most basic answer in the world, still giving you that playful yet dashing smile of his. 

“Oh.. I don’t know…” Your mind immediately went to your brother and how upset he would be if he found you dancing with Joong. You went to pull your hand back but he held on gently. “Hwa might be upset..” 

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Doll, I don’t think he’s in his right mind to be upset about anything.” He nodded towards where he could see Seonghwa leaning against the wall, attempting to flirt with a pretty girl he graduated with.  “Plus it’s just a dance. Nothing nefarious.” 

You found yourself slowly nodding in agreement, one little dance couldn’t hurt. Right? 

“Alright, just one.” You held up a single finger. He crossed his heart once again, then laced your fingers together.

You went to walk away but he stopped you. “Don’t forget your drink. You don’t want some weirdo spiking it or something.” You nodded as you grabbed your cup then allowed him to pull you into the living room. 

---------------------------

One dance turned into two, then three. You don’t know why but you could feel your inhibitions leave you the more you danced and by the time you finished your drink. By dance number three you could tell something was up. You were abnormally drunk for only taking one shot. The pumping music and the crowds of partygoers only added to it. 

Hongjoong was being respectful, keeping his hands on your waist or your hands and spinning you around. He didn’t try to kiss you or hold you too tight even when you grabbed him to balance yourself  during the current slow song. 

“You doing alright, sweetheart?” He asked in a low tone, concern for you lacing his voice. 

“I don’ know wha’s wrong wif me..” Your words were slightly slurred. You could hear the drunkenness in your voice and it made you embarrassed. It was then it occurred to you the situation you still found yourself in. Pressed up against Hongjoong. Your crush- who was off limits. You pushed yourself away from him hastily, making him bristle when you almost fell. “I gotta go.” 

“Wait a sec, doll, what’s wron-” 

“What is goin on over here?” It was Seonghwa who interrupted Hongjoongs question. Somehow he had managed to drunkenly stagger into the living room without either of you knowing. He too leaned on Hongjoong for support. His hazy gaze settled on you, “Y/n are you ok?” 

You started to nod but it turned into you shaking your head ‘no’. “Hwa..” 

“I think she had a little too much to drink.” Hongjoong said, trying to hold both of you up but making it look effortless. 

Your brother hummed, narrowing his glossed over eyes at you. Then he sighed, “Looks like I’ll have to take care of her. Time for bed.” He went to grab your arm but he almost lost his balance, being more drunk than he appeared (which was already very drunk). Hongjoong didn’t miss the way Seonghwa muttered under his breath about you being a nuisance. 

You wanted to protest but Hongjoong cut you off. “I can take her up to her room. You should enjoy your party.” He pointed behind Hwa, “Plus there's a pretty little minx giving you eyes over there.” 

Seonghwa snapped his neck around to see the girl from earlier, giving him a wave of her fingers and a wink. He turned back to Hongjoong, “You’ll make sure she gets to bed?” Hongjoong made a cross over his heart. “Damn you really are my best friend. Thanks man, I owe you one.” And with that, the boy slinked off back to his new conquest. 

Hongjoong chuckled at the actions of his best friend, then turned his attention back to you. With no warning he scooped you up into his arms. You shrieked as you were suddenly lifted from the ground. “Waahhhhh!” 

“Calm down, doll. I’m taking you to bed.” He soothed you, walking through the crowds. He ignored the hoots and hollers people tossed at you both, only smirking in response. Joong stepped over a few wasted people who sat on the stairs. If you had your wits about you you would have swooned over how strong he is. 

Thankfully there was no one else trying to suck face- or worse- in your room, so he was able to set you down with no delay. You faintly recognized the minute sound of the lock on your door being turned, but you chalked it up to residuals from the music that blared downstairs. 

You relaxed into your sheets, happy to be back in your own comforting space. You shut your eyes and sighed. For a moment it was quiet and you had forgotten about the guest who was still in your room with you. 

That is, until you felt his lithe fingers trail up your thigh. Your eyes snapped open as you took in the scene in front of you. Hongjoong had somehow crawled onto your bed without you noticing and had taken his shirt off. 

“J-joong? Wha are you doing?” 

“Shhh, it’s alright, doll.” His usually soothing voice had a light bite to it that made you shiver and his eyes had a fire behind them you’ve never seen before. “M’ just taking care of you like I promised your brother I would.” His touches traveled even further up your thigh, getting closer to slipping under your skirt. 

“Joong I-I don’t think Hwa would like this..” You tried to protest and scoot up your bed but he put his weight down on you, holding you in place. His masculine cologne was making you even dizzier. 

By now his hand was on the cusp of touching your panties, the tip of his finger itching to get that centimeter closer to your core. 

“I’m not in Hwas bed, now am I?” He was almost condescending with the way he spoke to you. It was alarming as he had never once spoken to you like this before. “Aren’t you an adult? Or do you need your older brother's permission for everything?” 

“I don’t need his permission to do anything!” You protested, your voice coming out louder than intended. 

He snorted and sat up again, appearing disappointed. “Nah, I get it. I just thought you liked me, is all. I guess I was wrong.” He turned as if he was about to leave.

Your hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder before he could get off the bed. “No wait! I do like you Hongjoong! I like you so much!” 

He concealed his smirk with a sigh, “Doesn’t seem like it, doll. Seems to me you don’t want me, when all I wanna do is make you feel good.” His words reached deep into your drunken heart, making tears spring to your lashes. 

“No I do, I swear! Please Joongie, don’t be upset with me. M’ sorry!”You got out through your sniffles. You tried again to pull him back to you and thankfully he let you this time. “I do like you, I always have.” 

“Aww don’t cry sweetheart, you’re too pretty for tears.” He cooed and wiped the liquid from your cheeks. For some reason that made you cry even harder, your hold on him tightening even more. “ Gonna be good for me now, doll?” You nodded rapidly, wanting him to be happy with you again. “Thata girl.” 

After another wipe at your cheeks he used that same hand to tilt your face up to his, you held your breath as his eyes flickered down to your lips then back to your eyes. With no more hesitation he crashed your lips together. It was not soft and delicate like you had imagined he would kiss. Instead his mouth was punishing- a dangerous mix of teeth and tongue. He bit at your lip harshly, making you whimper from the pain. 

His hand that was not on your face slithered back down to your center, where this time he touched your most intimate area, running over your panties and to your clit. The contact made you jump and gasp; you weren’t used to being touched this intimately. You weren’t a virgin, but your experience was lackinging for the most part.  And doing this right now with Hongjoong- your brother's best friend- made you feel filthy. But that fact also made you start to get wetter than you ever had before.

Your own hands wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to stop him, but he never slowed or stopped. “Joongie.. We can’t do this.. It’s wrong…”His rubbing on your clit got even more intense as you spoke, his frustration with you coming through, and the pleasure was beginning to become painful. “Ow, y-your hurting me.” 

He turned your head forcefully and ran the thick of his tongue along your cheek, making you shiver, until his lips reached your ear. With a breathy growl he chuckled in your ear. “If you behave and let me play then it won’t hurt. I can feel how wet you are through these flimsy panties, I know you like it. Dirty slut.” 

You yelped when he delivered a punishing smack to your core, “Hongjoong!” 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Doll.” He started nipping and sucking at your neck and your grip on him tightened. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. The way you drool like a dog over me whenever I come around. You always act so innocent and shy, as if you haven’t been eye fucking me for years, makes me so fucking hard.” 

You couldn’t even breathe let alone move, the lust and terror combined were making you stiff and compliant. You could not believe Hongjoong, the sweetest and kindest man you had ever met - the boy you were raised around- your Joongie; was doing this dastardly act to you. You couldn’t decide if you loved this side of him or hated it. 

There was a part of your brain that was happy to have any part of him you could get so you decided not to fight him anymore. His kisses and touches turned sweeter the more you relaxed, he hummed in satisfaction when your hands released his wrist. 

“There's my sweet girl. You know Joongie will take care of you, yeah?” His tone was smug and you knew he would have a smirk on his face. “I’ll make you feel so good. Cross my heart, doll.” He took your small nod as permission to continue. 

His nimble fingers went to the waistband of your thong and he roughly pulled it down and exposed your now dripping pussy to his view. With no warning he rammed a finger into your hole, making your back arch as he started pumping it in and out of you. “S-shit, Joongie!” 

“You like my fingers inside you? I know you do, your pussy is leaking all over my hand.” He slipped another finger in, now using two and curling the tips until he found the spongy spot inside of you. You moaned lewdly at the sensation, eyes wide in shock. “Oooo I think I found your g-spot. I bet no one has ever touched that special little spot huh sweetheart?” 

You shook your head rapidly, but your lack of verbal response caused him to tut at you then swiftly withdraw from your pussy and deliver another stinging slap to your folds. “N-no one but you Joongie! Only you!” 

He purred and sucked a devilish mark on your neck, “Mmm I like the sound of that. Only me. The way it should be.”

 Both your heart and your core fluttered as he said it. It gave you hope that just maybe he felt the same way about you that you felt for him. Little did you know he always had. 

 He sat up and pulled back from you completely, looking down at you with those demeaning eyes of his. He almost groaned out loud at how fucked out you already looked and he had barely touched you yet. Hongjoong had wanted you for years. He was usually a patient man, but after the years of watching you prance around in little skirts and seeing the ways other guys looked at you, his patience had worn thin. And since you were too caught up in the fact that he was your brother's best friend he knew he had to be the one to take initiative. Thank god you didn’t taste the copious amount of liquor in your drink cup earlier… 

“You’re so beautiful, baby, all spread out and glassy eyed. Mmm I could just eat you up.” He sucked on the fingers that had previously been in you, both of you whining at the lewd act. “Fuck, so tasty too. Gonna have to feast on this pussy, baby.” You clenched your thighs at the thought of him eating you out, making him chuckle darkly. “Seems like my little whore wants that. Too bad, that’ll have to be on the agenda for later. I need you now.” 

He deftly undid his belt which brought your attention to the bulge in the pants. As he pushed down the fabric of both his pants and underwear you were left in shock. 

Holy shit he was HUGE 

You weren’t sure how that was supposed to fit inside you. Apparently Hongjoong could see your trepidation because he smirked and held in a laugh at your wide eyes. “I’ll make it fit sweetheart, don’t worry.” 

When he leaned down over you, caging you in, is when the severity really hit you. Your hands went to his chest as you tried to push him off but he was stronger than you, using his weight to hold you down. “Wait, Joong I-” 

“I’m done waiting. You’ve been teasing me for years, I’m not gonna let you get away with it again. Hold still.” He all but snarled at you as he lined up his tip to your weeping entrance. He ignored your further pleas for him to wait, dragging the thick tip of his member through your slick before he slowly pushed into you. 

You wailed as you felt him impale you. “NNNGGGHHH!” Your arms threw themselves over Hongjoongs shoulders and your nails embedded in his skin so harshly he knew he would have marks for days to come. 

“Holy shit, how are you so fucking tight?” He sounded so desperate already, his need getting the better of him.”You gotta relax for me babe, you might snap my dick off.” 

Thankfully he gave you a moment to adjust; he knew he was big and he truly didn’t want to hurt you. You took deep breaths and tried to relax. You could feel your walls pulsing around the thick intrusion. Hongjoong was slathering your neck with sloppy kisses in an attempt to distract you from the discomfort. It was the sweetness you craved from him and you could feel yourself loosening up. 

Soon enough your body was pliable enough for him to move. “Good girl.” He praised as he started to move, his hips gyrating to create friction that made both of you moan. You practically purred at his praise and your pelvis subconsciously bucked up into his. “Mm you like when I call you my good girl, don’t you?” He licked at the skin under your ear and nipped there. 

You nodded and tried to answer but the full feeling of him was making it hard for your brain to catch up. “Mhmm” 

He smiled against you and then fully lifted his pelvis until the tip was barely inside, then shoved himself in all at once, bottoming out in one fail swoop. Your eyes screwed shut and your legs automatically wrapped around his waist in an attempt to hold him too you. Though, your efforts were in vain and Hongjoong began to pound into you over and over. 

The glide of him inside of you was otherworldly. This was both the best experience of your life and the worst. On one hand you were so happy to have the man of your dreams here in your bed, making you feel such intense pleasure. On the other hand… 

Something felt so wrong. 

More like something about him felt wrong. The Hongjoong you knew had never been so dominating - demanding- or abrasive. It was thrilling to say the least. 

“You look so good under me, you dirty whore.” 

You whined at the name, feeling ashamed at the gush of arousal that came from you at his malicious words. “M’ your whore Joongie. Only yours.” 

There was a hiccup in his movements then he was back on beat but this time with even more force. “I like the sound of that. My whore. This pussy is alllll for me, isn’t it?” You nodded and squeezed his shoulders. “No other man will ever touch this perfect pussy ever again. I’ll ruin you enough that no one will even think about touching what’s mine.” 

“Yours! M’ yours!” 

He chuckled and let one of his hands snake down to wear your bodies met, “You are mine. And I take care of things that belong to me.” His agile fingers found your clit with ease and he started to rub the nub with quick, lively movements. 

Your back arched further, pushing your still clothed chest into his bare one. “F-fuck.” You were getting so close, your tipsy state made your high build quicker than ever before; though it could also have something to do with the exact man causing your pleasure. “Joongie..” 

The man could feel you clench down on him and he knew that was a sign you were about to cum. “Go ahead and cum for me. Let me see how fucking gorgeous you look when you cum all over my cock.” 

With his permission you let go. You cried loudly as you crashed over the precipice, your head thrown back and your thighs shaking in ecstasy. Thank god the music was still blaring downstairs or every person in this house would have heard you. 

He groaned at the sight of you trembling and crying below him and felt that he wasn’t going to be far behind. Joong leaned back on his haunches and yanked your hips up onto his lap all while never exiting your center. He wanted to feel you clench like that again; he knew it would throw him right over the edge. 

Before you even finished quivering he took his other hand that wasn’t on your clit, and shoved two of his fingers inside you along with his cock. Now you have truly never felt so damn full in your life. It was almost too much for you to handle. He also sped up the messaging on your clit, the combination sending you jolting into another orgasm. 

“HONGJOONG OH MY GOD” You screamed as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt hit you like a freight train. You could hear a splashing sound and a sudden flooding of wetness all over your inner thighs. 

“Holy shit, you’re fucking squirting! Fuck, that is so fucking hot.” He couldn’t hold it in any longer, with a final hard thrust that felt like it hit your cervix he finally came inside of you. His hot cum coated your inner walls- it was so hot you compared it to getting a brand. Perhaps in his own twisted way that’s what he had done. Branded you as his. 

He let himself fall back onto you as he crashed his lips into your own; both wet with drool. When he pulled away from you, you were both panting. Hongjoong wiped away the remaining tears from your face, stroking your cheeks and looking down at you with the most loving look anyone has ever given you. Your heart was melting and you leaned up and gave him another sweet peck on his lips. 

He accepted your kiss then gave you a few of his own, first on your lips then all over your face, making you giggle. 

He sighed wistfully and flopped down beside you, pulling you up into his arms. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” You hummed, curling yourself into him. “I’m so happy you're finally mine.” He pressed another kiss to your head. You both could still feel and hear the vibrations from the loud party. You vaguely wondered if anyone had any clue of the debauchery that had taken place up here. Then another quick thought ran through your head and it made your heart stop.

Hongjoong hadn’t used a condom… 

And you were not on birth control. 

Hongjoongs wandering fingers found your overly sensitive center once again and he deftly pushed the leaking cum back into you. 

“And I always treat what's mine the way they deserve. Cross my heart.”

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

©doitforbangchan

[yawchi]

“Sorry.”

A nod, another shove. You’re not sure why you even bother utilizing manners. Under dim strobes and thumping music none of that particularly matters. A bit of your drink sloshes out of your solo cup. It makes your fingers sticky where they’re pressed to flimsy plastic. You sigh.

You’re getting too old for this shit.

Honestly, you never thought yourself to still be indulging in this kind of lifestyle, let alone at your age. Then again, you never thought yourself to be working as manager of one of the most popular volleyball teams in the professional league, either. 

Volleyball has never really been your thing; not directly. The proxy by which it seeped into your life seemed to stain it, though. Sink its claws in and tug you back bit by bit until you found yourself pinned regardless. Rubber soles and sweaty palms, clinging to your shirt tails and sprinting. From girlfriend to planner to manager; proxy doomed you.

You could never seem to escape this–the sport, the circle, the game. Despite your best efforts, here you remain. Manager of a team who chooses to celebrate their victories as if they’re still young, spritely teenagers–knowing full well they’ll wake up far more sore from the rager than the match. Here you are.

Indeed, here you are as more vodka crashes out of your cup when a pair of broad shoulders–a muscled back–bumps into you. 

The smell hits you all at once; vodka cran and versace. It stings your nose and steals your breath. Your gaze snaps up despite your inclination to tuck tail and run.

Iwaizumi Hajime is a consistent man.

You’d even go so far to venture in saying he’s consistent to a fault. He’s ordered the same thing from the local Mom ‘n Pop since he was twelve. Bought the same pair of shoes from grade ten. Sported the same haircut since twenty three. Worn the same cologne since he was nineteen.

Had the same, stupidly charming smile all his life. 

“Hizu.” The college nickname slips from your lips like an exhale of cigarette smoke–smooth, with a bitter aftertaste.

You’re much too quiet, given the setting. But you don’t care, and you can tell by the flickering of Hajime’s eyes down you once, twice, that he doesn’t, either.

“(Y/n),” he returns, implores. What mood are you in tonight? Who did you come with? “Nice party.”

“Yeah,” you don't argue, even though you think it’s childish. And you don’t counter to ask how he knew you planned it even though you’re no longer a glorified manager and an official manager now. The alcohol tries to settle on your stomach. “Who–”

“Ushijima,” Hajime answers before you can even finish, can question who cc’d the invite knowing damn well it wasn’t you.

“Ah.” You nod. He takes a sip from his drink. “You look.. Nice.” 

An admission you probably shouldn’t grant–should know better than to. But it is an admission you do not regret as you take note of Iwaizumi’s gaze drifting once again, past your lips, your neck, your chest. Toes and back, he takes another sip; like he’s drinking up you and the vodka cran all at once. Intense eyes and furrowed brows.

Someone shoves past Iwaizumi, and suddenly vodka cran is no longer sitting pretty in a little red cup.

“Fuck,” he hisses, hand immediately going to your chest then retracting; catching himself. Your already sticky palm reaches up to touch the sopping stickiness that is now the front of your shirt.

Yeah, you’re getting too old for this shit. 

With a roll of your eyes you throw up your free hand. Of course, this would happen, right now, in front of the man who you are so off with–you swear–and make you look like a bumbling idiot. (Not that any of it was your fault, but you know. Tipsy minds and all that).

The beat drops and Hajime is saying something, but you can’t hear. The thumping’s too loud. You’re getting a headache. The Long Island Iced Tea in your cup is not settling well in your stomach. You’re a little over it, to be honest.

“What?” It’s clipped, agitated. But you don’t necessarily intend for it to be.

It doesn’t matter, though, because Iwaizumi doesn’t hold it against you. He would never–has never. Grudges don’t exist between the two of you, wounds don’t go unlicked.

A chest bumps against yours once again–intentionally, this time–and warm breath traces the shell of your ear. You shudder, and pray it goes unnoticed.

“I have an extra shirt in my car.”

An offer, a ploy. You know it’s genuine but you know how fast it can shift. How easy it is for lines to be blurred and crossed and erased and–

“Okay.”

You don’t care.

Hajime takes your hand like it’s natural, like he’s used to it. (He is). He leads you through the crowd and with each step the thumping in your head and the room gets softer and softer. Finally, cold air is nipping at your cheeks as he flings the front door of the venue open.

A metallic slam cuts it off–the music, the people, the hustle and bustle and suddenly you’re alone. Being led through a dim parking lot to a black convertible parked to the far right. Hajime’s just gotten his monthly haircut, you see. Perfectly trimmed nape peeking out of the back of his collar. You want to reach out and touch it. You’re not sure why you don’t.

Or why you’re suddenly nervous.

Iwaizumi just has this air about him. One that commands respects but exudes chivalry. Like a pitbull faithful to its owner. Soft licks, hard bites.

And oh, the bites.

Your door is opened for you, because of course it is, and you’re sliding into the passenger seat like it’s second nature, “Thanks.”

“‘Course,” he nods.

You pull your feet in and let him shut the door. He opens the rear one behind you and shuffles around for a moment–digging through a duffle bag, no doubt–before that one shuts too. You pick at your wet shirt as you allot him the few seconds to cross around and join you.

When he does, he’s extending a sweatshirt out to you. A peace offering, a dead mouse.

You take it, despite the implication.

You take it and sit it in your lap and, without a pause, strip the sticky mess of a shirt off of you. And now, now is when you find yourself taking a beat, a breath. A second to look across the console of the car to the man who ruined your expensive shirt with his stupidly consistent vodka cran in his totally predictable black v-neck and his earrings are shimmering so prettily in the lamp light and his lids are heavy and his pupils are fighting his irises for residency and, oh.

You’re getting way too fucking old for this shit, but you make the first move anyway.

Searing lips to searing lips and hands grappling at whatever they can find. Flesh and hair and tongues and teeth. The chill of night air seeps out as warm breath and rising body temps spill through the leather interior.

Iwaizumi kisses like a man starved, and you expected that. Craved that. Loved that.

Love that.

Yeah, you’re getting way too old for these on again off again bullshit games and excuses and sneaky touches and kisses when you are so off, but..

But, you are not getting too old for Iwaizumi Hajime, and you don’t think you ever will.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[hunieday]

9th Anniversary story - Chapter 2 : The Power to Respond.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - (to be continued)

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Isumi Haruka: Haa, I'm tired.

Inumaru Touma: Let's wait around here. Utsugi-san said he'll bring the car around.

Natsume Minami: That sounds good…Oh my?

Mido Torao: What's up?

Natsume Minami: Those ladies over there, aren’t they our fans?

Mido Torao: Ah… yeah, they might be.They’re holding our merch.

Isumi Haruka: They’re saying “ŹOO���”! I wonder what they’re talking about!?

Woman A: ŹOOḼ is the best! Especially the vocals team~!

Inumaru Touma: Ohh! By “vocal team” do you think they mean us?

Isumi Haruka: Ehehe! Maybe?That’s kinda embarrassing~!

Natsume Minami & Mido Torao: …

Woman B: But the performance team is great too! If anything, aren't they even better?!

Mido Torao: Hahaha, hell yeah.

Natsume Minami: Fufufu, that’s right.

Isumi Haruka & Inumaru Touma: …

Isumi Haruka: (Oh, this…is kinda… awkward…huh…?)

Inumaru Touma: (Did we get too excited at first and make them feel bad…?)

Mido Torao: (Did I just… kinda… act like a child…?)

Natsume Minami: (I’m supposed to be the worldly quick-witted person, my reaction could’ve been more sophisticated…)

Woman A: But all four of them are cool, right?

Woman B: Totally! That’s so true!

Inumaru Touma: Y-yeah, exactly! I think so too!

Isumi Haruka: Me too~!

Mido Torao: Me too, me too!

Natsume Minami: I-I agree with you as well.

Shiro Utsugi: Sorry for keeping you waiting guys. Please get in the car.

Inumaru Touma: Thank you very much.

Shiro Utsugi: Speaking of which, we were talking about something interesting earlier.

Isumi Haruka: What was it?

Shiro Utsugi: About which team is stronger, ŹOOḼ’s vocal team or performance team.

Inumaru Touma: (Horrible timing…)

Isumi Haruka: (Why would you even say that when you’re the manager…)

Shiro Utsugi: Oh, I forgot to specify. This is about the upcoming sports festival you’re participating in by the way.

Mido Torao: (Still bad timing…)

Natsume Minami: (If we’re talking about a sports event, the performance team will obviously win.)

Isumi Haruka: (The vocal team will win…)

Inumaru Touma: (Haru and I are more competitive and we hate losing…Mina and Tora aren’t as stubborn..)

Mido Torao: (Me and Minami train more regularly. Touma and Haruka focus mostly on singing…)

ŹOOḼ: (What’s gonna happen if only one side wins…)

Shiro Utsugi: The sports festival’s gonna be fun!

ŹOOḼ: (This is gonna be so awkward…)

Okazaki Rinto: An Idol Sports Festival! Momo-kun is guaranteed to shine in this one!

Momo: That’s not true! A lot of us are very athletic after all! But I’ll do my best to make the event exciting!

Yuki: Yeah. You do your best for my sake, too.

Okazaki Rinto: You’ll be participating as individuals rather than as Re:vale this time.

Okazaki Rinto: Which means, Momo-kun’s efforts will be Momo-kun’s, and Yuki-kun’s efforts will be Yuki-kun’s.

Yuki: No way… Even though Re:vale are two in one.

Momo: Kyaa! We’re one in heart and soul!

Okazaki Rinto: Not this time. Momo-kun’s victory will be Momo-kun’s, and Yuki-kun’s loss will be Yuki-kun’s.

Yuki: You just straight up called me a loser.

Momo: So we’re gonna go solo the entire competition?

Okazaki Rinto: No, we’ll conduct physical fitness tests first, and based on the results, you’ll be split into Red and White teams. The main event will be between those two.

Momo: We’re doing fitness tests!?

Okazaki Rinto: Ah, do you hate them…?

Momo: Absolutely not! Does this mean I can legally obtain Yuki-san’s physical performance data!?

Yuki: Do you even want that?

Momo: Of course I do!!!

Momo: I’ve gathered every last possible piece of information, but I was never able to get my hands on his fitness test results since we went to different high schools!

Momo: Yaaaay! I’m so happy~!

Okazaki Rinto: See? Momo-kun’s so excited about it.

Yuki: Then I guess I’ll have to take the fitness test seriously…

Momo: What kind of tests are there!?

Okazaki Rinto: There are quite a few! Grip strength test, sit-and-reach… In total, there are seven tests!

Yuki: That many?

Momo: Amazing… I wonder if they’ll let MEZZO”’s manager take the fitness test too…

Yuki: So we’re getting split into teams based on the test results. Would it be okay for us to end up in different teams?

Momo: My fave is my fave, but a game is a game.

Yuki: This guy’s in it to win.

Okazaki Rinto: Yuki-kun, do your best as well. At least try not to come in last place.

Yuki: That shouldn’t be a problem.

Okazaki Rinto: Why’s that?

Yuki: Because Riku-kun’s gonna be there.

Okazaki Rinto: You have no mercy towards your cute junior.

Yuki: We’re good friends though. We always talk about how if there was a zombie outbreak, either him or me would die.

Momo: How about you don’t have conversations like that?!

Okazaki Rinto: The future of this planet is much brighter than that.

Yuki: Well, anyways, I’ll do my best at the Idol Sports festival.

Momo: Let’s give it our all!! I’m really looking forward to both the fitness tests and the actual main event!

Takanashi Tsumugi: And so, the day of the fitness test arrived.

Reporter: Hello, everyone!

Reporter: Today, I’ll be reporting on the fitness test for the "9th Anniversary Nana Sports Presents ★ Idol Grand Sports Festival!!"

Reporter: Alright, now let’s take a look at our idols!

Momo: Nice to meet you all!

Izumi Mitsuki: Looking forward to it!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Wow! There are mats and vaulting boxes, this looks like a gymnasium!

Yaotome Gaku: This view feels nostalgic! Makes me wanna do a handstand.

Nikaido Yamato: On the mat? Do it.

Yaotome Gaku: Bet.

Nikaido Yamato: Wait for real !?

Yaotome Gaku: …Hup!

Inumaru Touma: Whoa! He just did a handstand outta nowhere!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: That’s amazing, Gaku!

Yaotome Gaku: …Hup, ho... Haha, that was fun!

Kujo Tenn: You’re like a kid.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Nagicchi, let’s do a cartwheel together!

Rokuya Nagi: OK! Let’s go!

Rokuya Nagi: …Ha…!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Take this…!

Osaka Sougo: Wow! You two are amazing!

Reporter: They’re pulling out the big guns right off the bat! They just got on stage and we’ve already seen handstands and cartwheels!

Yaotome Gaku: Heheh.

Rokuya Nagi & Yotsuba Tamaki: Yeahhh!!

Nanase Riku: …Guh, I can’t lose to them!

Izumi Iori: Nanase-san.

Kujo Tenn: Nanase-san, don’t overdo it.

Nanase Riku: I’ll be fine! I just need to lie down like this…

Nanase Riku: And roll across the mat~!

Izumi Iori: What a cute guy…

Kujo Tenn: You win *starts clapping*

Yuki: I can do that too. This might be my best performance today. Momo, keep your eyes on me.

Momo: Yuki, you’re already pulling off your best move!?

Yuki: Rolling across the mat~

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Now you and Riku-kun are in sync.

Momo: Yuki, you still look so handsome even when you’re rolling on a mat…!

Nanase Riku & Yuki: Rolling, rolling~

Reporter: How heartwarming! This is such a healing sight! What’s coming next!?

Isumi Haruka: Ugh!? Are they expecting me to do something!?

Natsume Minami: I just had my hair done.

Inumaru Touma: Tora! Tora, we’re counting on you!

Mido Torao: A-Alright.

Inumaru Touma: Don’t get too flashy though! It’s dangerous!

Mido Torao: Huh!? You’re right… Got it!

Mido Torao: …Hup!

Reporter: Whoa! A backflip! You guys are going all out right from the start, thank you!

Isumi Haruka: Yaaayyy!

Inumaru Touma: You nailed it!

Natsume Minami: I won’t lose.

Mido Torao: Don’t steal my catchphrase!

Reporter: Okay everyone, let’s get started with the fitness test!

Reporter: The fitness tests you’ll be taking are as follows!

Reporter: The first is the grip strength test! The second is sit-ups! The third is the sit-and-reach flexibility test!

Reporter: The fourth test is the side-step agility test! The fifth is the shuttle run! The sixth is the 50-meter sprint!

Reporter: And the seventh test is the vaulting box! That makes a total of seven tests!

Nikaido Yamato: These all sound familiar. Do you guys remember how all of these work?

Osaka Sougo: More or less.

Inumaru Touma: What was the sit-and-reach test again?

Isumi Haruka: You stretch your hands forward like this…

Inumaru Touma: Ohh! Yeah, as expected of the guy who’s still doing it.

Reporter: Just so we’re on the same page, I’ll explain each event one by one!

Reporter: The grip strength test is, exactly as the name implies, a test to measure your grip strength.

Reporter: Please hold this device to start measuring.

Reporter: Adjust the width of the handle so that all your fingers, from index to pinky, can hold it firmly.

Reporter: As a general rule of thumb, adjust the length so that your index finger’s second joint is at a right angle, like this.

Reporter: Once you’re ready, relax, stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, keep your elbow straight, and squeeze when I give the signal.

Reporter: Like this… Ready, set…!

Rokuya Nagi: Wow! 45.8!

Reporter: Phew…! That’s about the average for an adult male!

Isumi Haruka: Grip strength… That’s all about how strong you are, right? Who’s the strongest here?

Yotsuba Tamaki: Ryuu-aniki looks pretty strong.

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Mitsuki-kun has a surprisingly strong grip too.

Izumi Mitsuki: I guess so. Momo-san seems like he could crush an apple with his bare hands, though.

Yuki: When he’s angry, yeah..

Reporter: Alright, let’s begin the grip strength test!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: …Take this…!!

Yaotome Gaku: Whoa! 56.2…!!

Yotsuba Tamaki: That’s insane! Damn, I’m not losing either…!

Nanase Riku: You got this, Tamaki! 42.0!

Yotsuba Tamaki: Uwoooooh!!

Nanase Riku: It went up! 42.2!

Izumi Mitsuki: Here I gooo!!

Nikaido Yamato: Whoa!! 52.3!! You’re scary! I’m never picking a fight with you again!!

Rokuya Nagi: Great decision.

Yuki: …Hah…!

Momo: Aww! Yuki’s grip strength is 37.8! That’s SO adorable!

Yuki: Hehe. What about you, Momo?

Momo: Hmmmmm? I wondeeeer? Momo-chan can’t even roll sushi properly, you know~!

Yuki: Do your best.

Momo: Ehehe, thanks. I’ll give it my all.

Momo: Haaah…!!

Natsume Minami: 50.3…

Yuki: I am never fighting you ever again.

Inumaru Touma: Hell yeah! 47.5! I beat Tora!

Isumi Haruka: What did you get?

Mido Torao: 46.8. Shit…

Reporter: The grip strength test rankings are in!

Reporter: In third place! Momo-san! 50.3!

Momo: Yaaay! Momorin’s got that strong squeeze☆

Yuki: Nice. You’ve got a healthy body.

Reporter: In second place, Izumi Mitsuki-san! 52.3!

Izumi Mitsuki: I did it!! Peace!

Izumi Iori: Nii-san, you’re so cool…

Nanase Riku: What was your score, Iori?

Izumi Iori: Higher than yours.

Yotsuba Tamaki: Sou-chan, you sure they measured it right? Are you trying to act like a pick-me? (1)

Osaka Sougo: No, that is my actual score. Also what does a “pick-me” mean?

Reporter: And now, the first place spotlight goes to…

Reporter: Tsunashi Ryuunosuke-san! With an impressive 56.2!

Yaotome Gaku: Amazing! Just as I expected!

Kujo Tenn: I knew it! Great job, Ryuu!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Yeah! I’m glad I did well as a TRIGGER member!

Reporter: Tsunashi-san, what do you think is the reason for your strong grip?

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Huh? Let’s see…

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: It’s love for my members!

Kujo Tenn: Hehe. That’s kind of embarrassing.

Yaotome Gaku: I’m happy to hear that.

Inumaru Touma: How does love for your members make your grip stronger…?

Nikaido Yamato: Who cares? Congrats, Tsunashi-san!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Thanks!

Yaotome Gaku & Kujo Tenn: Yaaay!!

To be continued…

Tamaki calls Sougo a “ぶりっこ” = A slang term used to describe someone who acts overly cutesy and child-like to grab attention. 

[marifilue]

Part 3: Glimpse Of The Past

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

Warnings: Explicit Language, slight PTSD Mentioned.

WC: 5,5k

<- Part 2

Two weeks had passed, and nothing much had changed between you and Logan. You’d shared a handful of interactions, each one short and tense, just enough to remind you how much he got on your nerves. He was stubborn, quick-tempered, too much like you in all the wrong ways and it was infuriating.

Logan was settling into his new role, slipping into the position of history professor with a certain ease that only came from experience, a literal, first-hand experience. His lectures were magnetic, filled with anecdotes that felt too vivid, too personal. The students were enamored, hanging onto every word, captivated by the way he made history feel alive.

Still, you could feel the invisible wall he’d built around himself, his guard firmly in place. It made sense, you'd do the same in a new environment. Though it irked you at times. You still doesn't know much about him, not that he'd be interested to talk when the whole team held out a dinner occasionally and share some fun fact about his life for the past century. Everytime the table chats comes up with questions get asked, he'd quickly dismissed them. You remember one time Ororo was joking and teased Logan about his love life which he just shortly respond "Nothin much, it's boring." As far as you acknowledge, he's just old as fuck.

On a quiet Saturday morning, autumn breeze outside with the mansion still cloaked in early light, you found some refuge in the garage, preparing your gear and checking over your rifle before zipping it into your dark green bag as you planned a solo hunt. The stillness was just beginning to sink in when the faint sound of footsteps snapped you out of it. Glancing up, you saw Logan leaning casually against the doorframe, watching you with that same half-amused smirk.

“You goin’ somewhere?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence like a rock tossed into still water. You barely looked up, focusing on adjusting your scope. “Going hunting,” you replied tersely. Logan raised an eyebrow, his interest obviously piqued. “Hunting?” he repeated, amusement thick in his tone. “Out here?” Your patience was already wearing thin. “Yeah, out in the woods. It’s a quiet spot, about an hour away.”

He crossed his arms, clearly not dissuaded. “That so? Sounds like a perfect way to kill some time. I’ll come.” You stiffened, giving him a hard look. “Look, it’s a solo trip. Don’t need any company.”

A spark of defiance flickered in his eyes, and that irritating smirk just deepened. “Didn’t ask if you needed it. Just saying I’m bored. Got nothing better to do, so I’ll come along. Unless you’re afraid I’ll out-hunt you.” You clenched your jaw, the challenge hanging between you like a dare. He had no idea what he was getting into, but if dragging him along was the only way to shut him up, fine. You rolled your eyes. “Fine, whatever. But you’re bringing your own bike.”

A slight chuckle escaped him as he pushed himself off the doorframe, clearly pleased with his victory. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

With engines roaring, you hit the open road. The wind was cool against your face as the trees blurred by, and with every mile, you felt the tension of the mansion fading. Logan’s bike kept steady behind yours, the low rumble matching your own, and by the time you reached the forest clearing, you’d almost forgotten you had a company behind.

The spot was perfect: a quiet, open stretch beneath towering pines, with a lake gleaming in the early morning light just a few yards away. You slid off your bike and shrugged your rifle strap over your shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of pine and fresh earth. Logan dismounted, his eyes scanning the area with a skeptical look, as though it weren’t quite wild enough for him.

Reaching into your pack, you pulled out a second rifle and handed it to him. “Here. Pre-charged pneumatic rifle. Same as mine.”

Logan took the rifle in his hands, looking it over like it was a toy. He raised an eyebrow, chuckling as he examined it. “An air rifle? What, are we going after rabbits?” He scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You sure you don’t want to give me a slingshot while you’re at it?”

You felt the heat rise in your chest, your grip tightening around your own rifle. “It’s called PCP, Logan,” you shot back, voice edged with irritation. “These aren’t toys, and they’re not some cheap replacement for a ‘real’ weapon. Just because it’s not your style doesn’t mean it’s useless.”

Logan chuckled, clearly unimpressed. “Right. Just don’t expect me to take down anything serious with this thing.” You squared your shoulders, meeting his gaze with a defiant glint in your eyes. “You’d be surprised what I can take down with this thing. But hey, if you’d rather just watch, go ahead.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, something sparking in his eyes as if he was finally beginning to understand that this wasn’t a joke to you. Without another word, you turned and started toward the trees, steps purposeful, daring him to follow if he thought he could keep up.

The morning wore on, and Logan followed you through the dense trees, rifle in your hand but with no real intention of using it. Logan moved with the instinctive grace of a predator, completely at ease, his senses sharp, picking up on every rustle and movement around him. It wasn’t long before he spotted a squirrel perched high in the branches, his eyes narrowing as he took aim. A split second later, his rifle went off, and the small animal dropped to the forest floor. Logan glanced back at you, a smug satisfaction evident in his expression.

“See? Not bad for a ‘toy,’” he muttered, half-teasing. You managed a tight smile, adjusting the rifle in your hands, though it felt heavier than usual. As he scoped out his next target, you followed, keeping your expression neutral. Another squirrel appeared on a nearby branch, and Logan gestured for you to take the shot. You lifted your rifle, sighting down the barrel, but at the last moment, you let the bullet go wide, the squirrel darting up the tree and vanishing.

Logan gave a low chuckle, and his eyes gleamed with that knowing look. “Missed, huh?” he said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “Didn’t seem like your usual aim.”

You kept your gaze on the ground, shrugging slightly. “Guess I’m a little rusty.” But Logan’s scrutiny didn’t ease up, and he’d clearly seen through you.

Logan’s eyes were sharp as he watched you line up another shot, this time at a squirrel nestled on a higher branch. You steadied your aim, but when you squeezed the trigger, it was with just enough force to send the shot wide, the squirrel scurrying off into the trees. Logan’s low chuckle made you glance over, and you saw that familiar, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t miss that one by accident, did you?” he remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I told you I'm just a bit rusty." You said again.

“You didn't squeeze the trigger, you flick em with your finger way too harsh. Tryna scare it off, maybe?” Logan teased which caught you off guard, you raised an eyebrow, studying his expression. “You sound just like my old man.” You told him, recollecting lost memories since you haven't heard those words in ages. Stop pulling the trigger, you need to squeeze it. Your father used to scream those combination of words every. Single. Time. A rifle is in your hand. Stop pulling it, just squeeze. "You two used to hunt together?" Logan voice a bit softer, suddenly brings you back from the pit and let the lost memories to float away once again.

You ignored his rhetorical question as your curiosity mingling with surprise. “Most people wouldn’t notice something so small about a trigger pull.” Logan shrugged, glancing down at his own rifle. “Been around long enough to pick up a thing or two,” he said. “One of my many lives, I was in the military, then special forces. Spent a lot of time with weapons—and people who didn’t always want to shoot straight.”

You nodded, absorbing the new bit of information, of course he'd been in the military at some point, though part of you wondered just how many “lives” he’d actually lived. Logan turned back to the forest, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible softness in his gaze now, as if he understood more than he was letting on.

“So, why come out hunting if you don’t actually want to kill anythin'?” he asked, watching you intently. The question hung in the cool morning air, and you felt a knot tighten in your chest. With a deep breath, you straightened, memories uncoiling in your mind.

“My father used to take me hunting when I was a kid,” you started slowly, eyes tracing the bark of a nearby tree. “Every weekend, he’d drag me out there, make me practice my aim. I hated it, the thought of killing something that didn’t even know I was there.” You paused, voice tightening, but pushed through. “Eventually, he stopped caring if I didn’t shot anything. I’d just aim for the fruit stems, watching them drop." You scoffs recalling another details "I'd bring home a bag full of persimmons, my mum loved them.” You smile sheepishly, remembering the sweet memories you used to have with your family. Even if it's for a really short time.

Logan’s expression softened just a bit, as if he were picking up on the edges of something deeper. When you fell quiet, his gaze never left you, and he waited in that steady, quiet way of his.

“It was… before he sold me to the military,” you added in a clipped tone, almost an afterthought. The words surprised even you, slipping out with a bitterness that had dulled over the years but still lingered. After your words hung in the air, Logan's face shifted, his usual hard expression momentarily cracking. He blinked, caught off guard, brows pulling together as he absorbed what you'd said. His mouth opened as if to speak, but for a beat, he just looked at you, his eyes carrying an unexpected softness.

Finally, his voice came low and careful, the rough edge softened. “I’m… sorry,” he murmured, like he almost couldn’t believe he was saying it.

You gave a short, almost dismissive shrug, lips quirking into a half-smile. “I’m not,” you replied, the words wry but surprisingly honest. Logan’s gaze lingered, his respect for you deepening as he caught the steel beneath your half-joking tone. Without another word, he nodded, the forest around you both settling into a silence that felt almost like understanding.

“You’re a strange one,” he finally said, his voice gruff but softer than usual. He glanced down at the rifle in his hand. “But I get it.”

You didn’t say anything, but you felt a small, unexpected weight lift from your shoulders. Logan turned, heading further into the trees, but he didn’t ask you to take another shot. Instead, he led the way, rifle lowered, the two of you moving together walked in silence for a while, curiosity gnawed at you until you finally asked, “So… how long did you serve?”

Logan glanced at you, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. He gave a short laugh, looking off as if doing the math in his head. “Since the Civil War,” he replied simply.

You stopped in your tracks, caught off guard, blinking as you took in his words. “The Civil War?” You’d guessed he might have been in World War I, but this was something else entirely.

Logan chuckled at your reaction, his lips quirking as he kept walking, and you scrambled to catch up. “What about after that?” you pressed, genuinely curious. “I mean… until when?”

He raised an eyebrow, thoughtful, and then shrugged. “After Vietnam around the 80s,” he answered. “Finally called it quits after a while.” Your mind raced as you did the math. “So that’s….. like more than a hundred and twenty years in the military?” You shook your head, a little awe mixed with something close to disbelief.

Logan just grunted, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but then he looked back at you. “What about ya? How long?”

“Twenty,” you replied with a half-smile. “Not even a quarter of your time.” The two of you shared a look, something unspoken but deeply felt passing between you, an understanding of battles fought, the weight of service, and the scars it left behind. Logan’s gaze softened a bit more, his voice quiet but steady. “Guess we both know a thing or two about how it changes you.”

You nodded, feeling a connection that went beyond words. As you walked further into the woods together, a quiet understanding settled between you, each of you carrying the weight of those years but somehow feeling just a little lighter with someone who understood.

As you and Logan trekked further into the woods, a flash of orange against the dense green foliage caught your eye. You stopped in your tracks, looking up at a tall persimmon tree, the branches laden with ripe fruit, a few of them dangling low within sight but just out of reach. It was like a piece of your past had somehow woven itself into this moment, in the middle of the quiet forest with Logan by your side.

Without explaining, you turned to Logan. “Hold still for a second,” you murmured, unslinging your rifle. He raised an eyebrow but complied, watching curiously as you stepped up behind him. Hoisting the rifle up, you positioned it on his shoulder, trying to steady the barrel.

Logan tensed as he felt the weight of your rifle settle. “So, twenty years in the military, and this is what they teach you on rifle safety procedure, huh?” he muttered, his usual sarcasm laced with a flicker of amusement.

You smirked, squinting down the scope as you zeroed in on a particularly plump persimmon. “Cry me a river, Logan. It’s not like if I accidentally blow off an ear, it wouldn’t grow back.”

Logan huffed, shaking his head slightly but careful not to disrupt your aim. “Real professional,” he grumbled. “I didn’t live over a century just to become someone’s human bipod.”

You stifled a laugh, your gaze still fixed on the fruit, the tiniest stem all that kept it hanging. “Do me a favor and shut up. Hold your damn breath my rifle's trembling." You said firmly with slight irritation in your voice.

Logan’s muttered complaints quieted, though his annoyance was clear as he held his breath, his whole frame going rigid beneath the weight of your rifle. “Unbelievable,” he managed to whisper, voice muffled as he exhaled in controlled bursts.

With a steady hand and laser focus, you squeezed the trigger just as your father had taught you. The shot rang out, clean and precise, and with a satisfying snap, the persimmon detached and fell gracefully into the forest floor. Stepping back with a triumphant grin, you patted Logan on the shoulder as if he’d actually contributed.

Logan exhaled, glancing between you and the fallen persimmon. “You really went through all that trouble for one fruit?” You shrugged, retrieving the persimmon and wiping it clean on your sleeve. “Not just any fruit,” you replied, studying it with a small, nostalgic smile before taking a bite. “It’s a piece of home.”

Logan watched you for a beat, his usual snark softened, something like understanding flickering in his gaze. But of course, he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction without one last jab.

“Next time, maybe just ask for a ladder,” he muttered, though the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, biting back a grin as you stashed the persimmon for later.

Logan’s gaze settled on another branch of ripe persimmons hanging just out of reach, and you saw the challenge spark in his eyes. Without a word, he raised his rifle and took aim at the slim stem of a fruit, clearly bent on proving himself.

“Careful,” you warned, munching on your own persimmon. “It’s not that easy without something to steady your aim.” But he only smirked, cocky as ever. “Shut up"

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, I’d give you three chances with that,” you shot back, a teasing glint in your eyes.

Logan rolled his eyes, muttering "I don't need three bullets." something under his breath as he braced the rifle, using only his left arm for support. He took his first shot, and the bullet whizzed by the stem, barely brushing it. A slight frown replaced his smirk as he reloaded, now more focused.

“Still sure you don’t need three?” you taunted, crossing your arms as you watched. He grunted in response, taking aim again. The second shot missed by a hair, and he huffed in frustration, your expression already broadcasting an I told you so.

“Huh. Not exactly fair,” he muttered, a faint grumble in his tone. “You had my shoulder as a bipod, and it’s not like I can use yours.” His eyes flicked to your height as if to emphasize the point, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth.

Raising an eyebrow, you smirked back. “Have you ever thought about just asking for help?” Before you could second-guess the impulse, you stepped in front of him, lifting your right arm and offering it up. “Here, use this.”

Logan’s smirk faltered as he looked down at you, clearly caught off guard but game enough to try. He gave a short nod, settling his rifle on your palm with arm raised above your head, though he quickly realized it wasn’t quite steady. Without a word, he reached out, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist to gently adjust the height. The touch was firm, grounding, but the warmth of his hand sent a jolt through you, making your heart skip a beat. You hadn't fully thought this through, and now, standing this close to him, you became acutely aware of every detail. The roughness of his hand against your skin, and the subtle brush of his fingers as he guided your arm into position.

He adjusted your arm a little higher, bringing it closer to his shoulder, his focus entirely on the rifle. But for you, every second of contact felt charged. The way his hand lingered, steadying you, almost made you forget why you’d offered in the first place.

“Hold it there,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. You nodded, words catching in your throat, as he finally let go, his hand slipping from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling where his fingers had been.

For a moment, you were hyper-aware of the closeness between you, his face inches from yours. Your heart picked up its pace as you took in every detail—the rugged lines, the odd yet charming mutton chops, and the hint of green that softened his hazel eyes. How could a man this old look so… timeless?

With steady focus, Logan finally pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, sharp and clean, hitting the branch dead-on. You turned your head just in time to see the cluster of persimmons break loose, tumbling to the ground with satisfying thuds.

Before you could react, Logan lowered the rifle from your raised arm, his smirk unmistakably triumphant. He looked at you, eyes twinkling with that signature cocky satisfaction, and held your gaze a moment longer than expected. The intensity in his eyes made you catch your breath, an almost silent exchange passing between you, his smirk softening just slightly as if savoring the moment.

But before he could notice the warmth spreading across your face, you quickly turned away, breaking the spell. Without missing a beat, you strode toward the fallen persimmons, dropping to your knees and reaching for them, your heart still pounding.

“See?” you said, grinning as you picked up the fruit, keeping your focus on them. “I don’t make the rules. Everybody needs a bipod.” Logan gave a low chuckle behind you, clearly amused, but you kept gathering the persimmons, not quite ready to face him again. The weight of that brief look stayed with you, lingering just like the warmth of his hand on your wrist.

As you pocketed the last of the fallen persimmons, you began walking deeper into the woods, Logan by your side. The familiar path led you to a small, serene lake you’d often visited. You knew these woods by heart, every hidden trail and shaded grove. The early morning sun cast a warm glow over the still water, and without a word, you both sat down on the soft grass by the lake’s edge.

The peaceful quiet settled around you as you leaned back, savoring one of the persimmons Logan had shot down. You glanced at him thoughtfully. “So, why did they call you Wolverine?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Someone invented that name for me,” he replied shortly, brushing it off. "Why do they call you Hollow?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he were reluctant to break the peace of the early hour.

You looked down at the half-eaten persimmon in your hands, a slight smile tugging at your lips. “I invented that name myself. Better than what they used to call me. Fire and Flesh,” you replied, your tone casual, though the weight of those words still lingered. His eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. “Who called you that?”

“Jarheads,” you replied, using the old slang for Marines, which Logan seemed to understand. His face softened, a flash of recognition in his expression. “Semper fi,” he murmured, the famous Latin phrase among Marines meaning always faithful, familiar in his voice.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes a bit, though with a soft smile. “Oorah,” you replied weakly, echoing the battle cry you’d once shouted alongside fellow Marines. It had been years since anyone had greeted you with Semper fi and it stirred something within you, a sense of camaraderie, a reminder of a time long past.

But as you sat there, looking out over the lake, you felt an unexpected calm wash over you. The overwhelming weight you’d carried for so long felt lighter in this quiet moment. Sitting by the lake, eating persimmons with your new friend from work, far removed from the chaos of life, gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t known you needed.

As you pocketed the last of the fallen persimmons, you rose and dusted off your hands. The quiet of the lake had been soothing, but the early morning sun was beginning to creep higher, casting golden beams through the trees. “We should probably head back,” you said, glancing up at the sky. “It’s almost nine.” Logan gave a nod, and together, you began the walk back through the woods.

After a few minutes of silence, you broke it with a question that had been lingering. “Does it hurt…when your claws come out?” Logan’s eyes flicked toward you, then back to the trail. “Every time.”

There was something in his tone—a resigned acceptance that pulled at you. Logan then returned the question, his gaze shifting to you thoughtfully. “How did they…manage to push your mutations?”

You took a breath, the memories flooding back with an uncomfortable vividness. As you walked, you found yourself speaking, the words coming out slowly, almost reluctantly. “I was human. For 27 years, I think. Feels like a lifetime ago.” You paused, watching the path ahead. “They injected me with something. Then left me in an incubator for days, where the oxygen pressure would drop so low I’d pass out. Over and over again.”

Logan’s face hardened, but he didn’t say anything. Somehow, an apology felt empty, too small for what you’d endured. Instead, he shared his own story, his voice low. “My, uh…claws. They were bones naturally.” The admission caught you off guard, and you looked at him, silently urging him to continue.

“They coated them in metal,” he explained, his tone blunt. “Adamantium. Through injections.” You winced at the thought. “That’s…sick.” There was a beat of silence, so you added lightly, hoping to soften the mood, “Do you like them better now, though? You know, because they’re metal and unbreakable? I can’t even picture you with bone claws. Kinda gross, actually.” Logan shot you a sidelong glance, half-amused. “You’re a terrible person, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you replied with a smirk. “But, come on, do you?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Yeah, it’s better with adamantium.” You couldn’t help but grin, triumphant. “Knew it.”

The two of you kept walking, your conversation mingling with the crunch of leaves underfoot, the forest around you somehow feeling a little less heavy. The bond between you, shaped by shared scars and dark humor, felt surprisingly natural, like the start of a new kind of camaraderie.

As you both finally made it back to where your bikes were parked, the morning's warmth faded into a colder silence. You knelt, carefully unzipping your bag and placing your rifle down, adjusting everything with meticulous care, you're always taught PCP rifle is so fragile, the stock is carved with polished woods and not some metal. Just as you were reaching back, Logan called out casually, “Hey, here you go,” and tossed the rifle he had borrowed straight in your direction.

In that split second, you hadn’t been looking, and before you could react, the rifle fell to the ground with a harsh thud.

A bolt of panic and fury surged through you as you stared at it, horrified. You reached down, fingers trembling as you inspected the rifle. This wasn’t just any rifle. It was a gift from your late mentor Mr Santiago who had taught you everything about shooting since you're fourteen years old, who had trusted you with his prized possession. The wood of the stock had cracked upon impact, a delicate fracture spider-webbing across the finish.

“You dumbfuck,” you said, your voice icy and trembling with anger. “Couldn’t you just handed me the rifle like a normal person!?” Logan looked taken aback, his brow furrowing. “Whoa, relax,” he muttered, straddling his bike. “The rifle’s fine.”

You knelt by the rifle, running a finger over the crack. It was irreparable, and your hands tightened with suppressed rage. “You cracked the fucking stock,” you spat, not even looking at him. He shrugged, still unconcerned. “Alright, sorry, that’s on me. Look, I can get it fixed or just replace it.”

“Replace it?” You turned on him, anger boiling over. “Unlike you, Logan, I actually take care of things. People trusted me and this rifle was a gift. My mentor gave this to me before he died. I’ve kept it safe for years, not a single scratch. Here you go holding it for one fucking hour and you manage to crack it. You're unbelievable, I can't believe I trusted you with it.” Your voice trembled with the weight of disappointment and resentment.

Logan went quiet, his face darkening, but he didn’t say anything. For a moment, he looked like he was going to respond, but the words died in his throat as he looked away, feeling the sting of what he’d done. Without another word, you packed your bag, zipped it tightly, and got on your bike.

Without looking back, you started up the engine and took off, the roar of the bike carrying your frustration as you sped down the trail, the tires kicking up dust behind you. You left Logan behind in the dust, his figure shrinking in the rearview mirror, a mix of guilt and regret plain on his face. He sat in silence, the gravity of his small but thoughtless mistake settling over him.

As you arrived back at the X-Mansion, the grand building loomed before you, a familiar yet comforting sight amidst the turmoil of your thoughts. You parked your bike and headed toward the mansion's entrance, not even glancing behind to check if Logan had caught up. He was still somewhere on the trail, and that suited you just fine.

Entering the mansion, you were greeted by Ororo’s calm voice as she crossed the hall. “Good morning. Professor Xavier needs to see the team after breakfast,” she informed you, her usual serene expression in place, though her keen eyes picked up on your tension. You nodded, offering a faint smile, and continued upstairs without another word.

Once in your room, you carefully laid the damaged rifle on your bed, the fracture in the stock glaring up at you. Sitting down beside it, you ran your fingers along the crack, feeling a pang of frustration and sadness twist in your chest. Mr. Santiago’s face came to mind, and the disappointment in yourself for letting this happen stung. Fixing it wouldn’t be easy—it might not even be possible—and the thought weighed on you.

But you needed to gather yourself; there was a team meeting, and breakfast first. With a sigh, you stood, tearing your gaze away from the broken rifle, and exited your room, leaving the door cracked open. You resolved to focus on one thing at a time: breakfast, the meeting, and then dealing with this mess.

As you made your way downstairs, the usual chatter in the dining area barely registered as you sat down, grabbing a cup of coffee and some toast, lost in your thoughts.

Gathered around in Professor Xavier’s office, the team waited, exchanging curious glances. Scott, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, tapped his foot impatiently. “Where’s Logan?” he muttered.

Ororo stood near the window, arms folded. “He’ll be here,” she said, though a hint of curiosity flickered in her gaze. Jean, seated beside the professor’s desk, looked thoughtful, sensing the tension in the room.

Just as Scott opened his mouth to comment again, Logan entered, his gaze immediately locking with yours. You quickly averted your eyes, refocusing on Professor Xavier, who was already watching you both with a knowing look. Logan took his place, leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable but quietly remorseful.

Charles cleared his throat, signaling the start of the meeting. A hologram flickered to life above the table, displaying an image of a stern-looking man with a white lab coat and cold, calculating eyes. “This is Dr. Emrys Killebrew,” Charles began. “A former geneticist known for his experimentation on mutants and humans alike, pushing the limits of ethical science. Over the decades, his work has created…unintended consequences. He has targeted individuals he believed showed potential to develop powers, experimenting on them without regard for their lives.”

Your heart sank, a feeling of dread creeping over you. Professor’s gaze softened as he addressed you specifically, “Hollow, I believe you’re already aware of some of his projects, though you may not know the extent.”

You nodded, but then froze as Charles continued, “He’s the one responsible for the injections that changed you. Dr. Killebrew obtained Wolverine's genetic material in the late '70s…and used it in his experiments on you... when you were still human.”

Stunned, you tore your gaze from Charles and glanced at Logan, whose expression had gone dark with a mixture of guilt and confusion. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as though he was processing the news for the first time himself. For a heartbeat, the two of you were frozen in a silent exchange before you turned your head back to Charles as the memories of those experiments came back vividly, the painful injections, the endless tests, the way they broke you down. The odds that Logan’s DNA had been a part of it all felt surreal.

A solemn silence settled in the room, broken by Ororo’s gentle voice. “Professor…is he still conducting these experiments?”

“Yes,” Charles replied gravely, flicking to another image of a heavily guarded facility. “We’ve located another of his labs. Intelligence suggests he’s holding a group of young mutants there—twelve in total. They’re being kept under heavy surveillance and sedation, and they are in immediate danger. I need you all to work together tonight to bring them home.”

Scott stepped forward, his tone resolute. “We’ll get them out, Professor. Whatever it takes.” His gaze traveled over the team, determination in his eyes. Jean nodded, her expression fierce. “If Killebrew’s behind this, we can’t let him keep experimenting on innocent kids. He’s not getting away this time.”

Hank, adjusting his glasses, looked thoughtful. “It will be essential to understand the facility’s layout and any possible security measures. If this location mirrors any of his previous labs, it’s likely rigged with traps for mutants specifically.”

Logan spoke up, his voice tense. “I’ll handle any of those traps. This guy’s work is…personal.” He looked toward you again, softer, a silent apology in his eyes. “More than most of you might realize.” Ororo placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Then we move quickly. Every second counts if those children are suffering.”

Charles nodded approvingly, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Thank you. Prepare to leave after sunset. Coordinate together to ensure the safest extraction possible. We bring them back to safety tonight.”

Part 4 ->

An: It gets even longer through every new chapters, the ideas is buzzing in my mind. Thank you guys for interacting, I'll see you next chapter<3

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 7

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 4.8k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction. 

Chapter Synopsis: It’s time to tag the targets with trackers during breakfast service. You and Price make an unsettling discovery regarding the weapon shipment. Meanwhile, Ghost has been taking every opportunity to touch you and drive you nuts, making it hard to organize your feelings for him. The only way to get him to understand is to finally confess your feelings to him.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

The landscape across Europe flashed by as the train sped along the track. The hills and trees in the distance began to become brighter as the sun rose above the horizon. The countryside of Europe was gorgeous. Olive-green grass, rich orange and yellow trees, all over hills that rolled like waves. You’ve seen this scene before from one of your solo missions. You’ve forgotten just how beautiful it could be outside your cabin. 

As the sun began to rise higher in the sky, painting it with comfortable pinks and purples, train attendants began to open the dining car for breakfast as well as take orders for those that wanted to dine in their room. As passengers began to leave, Ghost, Price, and you sprung into action. Not before Ghost took your hand while Price wasn’t looking though. You turned wondering what he could possibly want at this moment. You didn’t have a lot of time before the train attendants would come back to deliver food to passengers. 

Simon just raised your hand to his mask, kissing it through the fabric. His eyes met yours, giving you a sincere look. Blonde strands of his already tousled hair fell towards his forehead as he looked down at you. His voice lowered to a whisper, not wanting anyone but you to hear his next words. “Be safe, kitten.” 

A harsh blush swept over your cheeks, your heart tripping over itself at the nickname. His sincere look turned mischievous as he noticed the red starting to take over your cheeks. You pulled your hand away harshly and turned back to catch up with Price. How dare he! Giving you a nickname like that all of a sudden! Was he trying to fucking kill you! 

For once, you were speechless. He really caught you off guard this time. And Simon reveled silently with this victory. The game clearly wasn’t over yet. 

Ghost headed towards the dining car, quickly spotting the target men up ahead heading in the same direction. You and Price went back towards the luggage car in the opposite direction. The observant captain noticed your blush and suddenly sour expression, but he didn’t bring it up. He just figured that you and his lieutenant were still going at it like an old, married couple. 

As quietly and slyly as you two could, you snuck into the luggage cart and closed the door behind you. You leaned against the side of the door, out of the way of the small window that allowed people to take a quick peek in. Standing as a lookout, you waited for John to find the weapons. That unfortunately meant going through a lot of suitcases. Hopefully, you two would get lucky and find it within the first few cases.

“Shit, all of these bags look the same.” The captain commented in frustration after opening a few suitcases. You looked over for a brief moment, scanning the massive piles of luggage for any hint of the targeted one. 

“Try to look for one with a sticker or a tag. Anything that would help the men make sure they don’t take the wrong bags by mistake.” You advised, your gaze falling back towards looking out the window once again. 

Price picked up the pace, looking through bag after bag before spotting a few pieces of luggage with the identical stickers. Urzikstan flag stickers. If the luggage was flagged and searched during the trip, the weapons would be assumed to come from there. The thought of Farah facing another trial of proving her and her people’s innocence made him simmer with rage. However, the mission must proceed.

“Found them.” He announced, quickly opening up the cases to place the trackers. What he saw inside, though, made him pause. He wasn’t looking at guns. Guns that he has grown familiar with over so many years of using them. Instead, he was looking at separate pieces. Ones that resembled hard plastic. Matte, dark gray, and void of any familiar markings to indicate their brand.

“What the hell am I look at?” He pondered out loud, catching your attention. After checking if the coast was clear, you came over and examined his findings. You picked up a couple pieces of the plastic, assembling them together in your mind like a puzzle. Your expression grew grim as you realized what they were.

“They’re gun parts to assemble ghost guns.” You deduced, having seen stories about this making their way through the news a while back. It was a good thing that you always kept up with the news, no matter where it was from or what it was about.

Price wasn’t following. He rarely had time to sit down and catch himself up on news stories. He relied on his base to update him on what was happening with the world. Stories were quick to change too as public interest switched all the time. Price was in the dark, and he shouldn’t be. “What the fuck is a ghost gun?”

You took the trackers from him and began tagging the inside of the luggage, feeling all the parts brush past your hand. The suitcase seemed bottomless with gun parts. “Ghost guns are guns assembled with gun parts, but the parts are untraceable and usually unnoticeable since the parts aren’t traditional parts. These are 3D printed parts. They can be made completely in the comfort of one’s own home. Some states are trying to crack down on the creation of these guns, but as you have probably guessed based on my earlier statement, they are incredibly hard to track down and trace back. It’s not exactly illegal to buy ghost gun kits too.”

John couldn’t believe that he missed this piece of essential news. He couldn’t believe that no one told him about it. It seemed like a huge problem to look out for that shouldn’t have been swept under the rug. He was pissed. “So in addition to using the catacombs, this is how Makarov has been moving weapons without getting caught. Fucking hell.”

“Try not to sweat it too much, John. This news piece didn’t last even a week. Besides, this problem has been deemed to be a police problem, not a military one. Cases of this have always been coming from civilian homes. Until now, that is. Yes, your government should have done something as soon as this seemed like an issue. They were negligent. But, that’s not on you.” You tried to explain. 

Price understood why you hated the military and government so much now. Before, he recognized that there were some problems that needed to be addressed within the system. There was a lot of red tape, a lot of traditions, and a lot of pressure. Still, he would defend it, proud to be serving a country that ultimately wanted to make the world more at peace. Now though, he couldn’t get past this neglect. This mistake that should have been nipped in the bud on a federal level. That combined with Shepherd being a traitor and getting away with it for so long, it made Price feel furious. Almost hopeless. 

They needed to take Makarov down and get back home as soon as possible. He needed to try to fix this mess.

Once the trackers were in place, John radioed his men back in the car. His voice was heavy with fury. “Test the trackers now.”

“Signal is coming through clearly, Captain. You sound rough, though. Everything okay?” Gaz respondes, concern clear in his tone. 

“We’ll explain the situation later.”

On Ghost’s end, he heard the brief conversation through his earpiece. The dining cart was pretty full considering that guests had the option to eat in their own roomette. The smell of fresh eggs, bacon, sausage, pasties, and coffee had his stomach rumbling. In order to stay inconspicuous, Gaz and Soap were ordered to reject any train staff that stopped by to provide them service. He was going to attempt to kill two birds with one stone here. Place the trackers on the men and order breakfast to their roomette once the tasks are done.

A waiter approached him, asking what he would like in Italian before realizing that English was needed. Simon told him that he was going to enjoy a fresh cup of tea in the dining cart, but the rest of breakfast would be sent back. As he relayed the large order that was sure to fill everyone’s stomachs, his eyes watched Makarov’s men sitting in a booth. They haven’t noticed him. In fact, they seemed completely wrapped up in their own conversation, laughing and smiling over hot coffee.

The waiter gestured for him to take any seat he wanted while he waited. Simon took the booth right behind his targets. He listened carefully, trying to pick out an opportunity to plant the trackers. A cup of black tea was delivered to his table along with a copy of the day’s newspaper. He didn’t ask for one, but everyone else that dined alone seemed to be reading one. 

The black tea was perfect, the flavor balanced perfectly between the tea leaves and hot water. Not too bitter, not too bland. Steeped to perfection. As much as he wanted to just relax and enjoy his cup, he had a job to do first. 

Ghost took small sips, timing his drinking with the men in front of him. He had to be patient for this, something he learned from you. When the waiter came back over to notify him that breakfast was on its way, Simon took his time finishing off his tea. Finally, the men stood up to leave, just now finishing their meal. That was his cue to finish the job.

Simon was swift, catching up to them and bumping in between them as if he was in a rush. During his passing, he did some sleight of hand, attaching the trackers right on the bottom back of their jackets. Hopefully, they won't notice it anytime soon. The men shouted at him, offended that he would push them to get through. He just turned slightly and gave quick apologies, keeping up with his appearance of being in a rush.

Once he gained enough distance, he spoke into his earpiece. “Heading back now. The trackers are planted.”

“Loud and clear, Lt. Those trackers are shining like a beacon on my screen. Good work.” Soap praised.

When Ghost entered the roomette once again, his eyes immediately met yours. You sat alone in your row. Price, Gaz, and Soap sat opposite of you. Price wore the same exact expression you wore. Heavy. Dark. He took the empty space next to you, preparing himself for the worst. “I take it that whatever happened in the luggage cart wasn’t great.”

Price looked at you and you looked at him, both wondering if the other wanted to be the one to break the news. Finally, Price spoke up, using his captain's voice to disguise his true feelings of anger. “We found the right luggage and tagged them with the trackers. However, inside were not standard weapons that we are used to. Inside the luggage were 3D printed gun parts. Ghost guns, as Hex identified. The parts were made using 3D printers, meaning that they can’t be traced, registered, or tracked. Not without extreme difficulty. The parts are useless on their own, but when put together, then they function as normal, deadly weapons. Just like real gun parts.”

“Wait, so there is no brand? No markings at all?” Soap questioned, trying to wrap his head around the concept. He was kept in the dark about this issue too. They all were. 

This time, you spoke up. “Completely clean. At a glance, they can actually look like toys. There are no serial numbers, no background checks, nothing. Makarov hasn’t just been buying his weapons. He’s been making them.”

Kyle took a shaky breath, the concept stunning him. Still, he wanted to take action. “Is there anything we can do about this? Besides killing Makarov?”

You shrugged, not really having a concrete answer for that question. “Confiscate the parts and present them as evidence to support stricter laws on them. That’s about all that can be done. This is a federal government problem. We should focus on ours in the meantime. There’s a lot on the line with each new discovery.”

The team went quiet, digesting the information. A knock on their door lightened the mood however, breakfast finally arriving. A cart with a white tablecloth over it presented a variety of choices. You waited for the men to serve themselves, watching them take heaping piles of eggs, breakfast meats, toast, and fruit. They needed a lot more food than you did. Still, they made sure to leave plenty left for you as well.

Simon watched you eat from the corner of his eye, wondering if you were able to have such a spread back home. You had mentioned how you ensured that your kitchen was stocked before back on the road trip. It still must’ve been difficult obtaining certain things on a regular basis. Eggs only lasted for so long. So did milk. 

A new instinct came over him. He felt the need to feed you. To ensure that you were able to eat all and any of the foods you wanted. Especially the kinds that you couldn’t have often. On the sly, he began sneaking more food onto your plate. A scoop of eggs here. A strip of bacon there. He refilled your juice as well. Only when his teammates weren’t paying attention. 

You, on the other hand, caught on quick as lightning. It wasn’t hard to notice how after you finished what was on your plate, another small pile would be sitting in its place. This was different from how he paid attention to you before. It felt like he was treating you like his girlfriend. It made your heart race and your stomach flip. You recalled how he called you “kitten” earlier too, the memory still making you feel like your cheeks would catch on fire with how warm they would get. 

It wasn’t helping you make sure that your feelings for him were kept in check. You had to start rejecting him. Starting with the food he kept trying to feed you.

When you finished your fruit, Simon began putting a few more pieces onto your plate. As soon as they slipped from his fork, you moved them back over to his plate instead. The large basket of pastries in front of you both blocked the view of the rest of the men, having no idea that you two were engaging in your own little food fight.

Ghost pulled up his mask and frowned behind it, giving you the hint that he was done eating. You gave him a look that said that you were done eating too. However, he ignored it and put the fruit back on your plate, gesturing for you to take a few more bites. In retaliation, you took up your plate to put it on top of his empty one. Simon glared at you, cursing your stubbornness in his mind. Slowly, he lifted the plate back up and set it down in front of you, not breaking his eye contact. 

Before you could push the plate away again, his hand landed on your thigh, giving it a squeeze. You yelped, jumping up in your seat. You knee hit the table, causing the items on top of it to clatter. Now, all eyes were on you. God, you wanted to ring his fucking neck.

You cleared your throat, cheeks starting to turn red from embarrassment. “Sorry, sudden cramp. I’m heading to the bathroom.”

Ghost was practically pushed out of the booth to make room for you to leave. Once you had enough space, you slipped by and left the roomette. Brows quirked at Simon, wondering what the hell that just was. He shrugged, pretending that he didn’t know what the problem was. “Beats me. I’m gonna go order some more tea for the table.”

In the small train bathroom, you splashed your face with cold water to cool down the blood rush. You could swear that you still felt the heat of his hand on your thigh. The pressure of his squeeze too. Was this what falling in love was like? Craziness? You felt like he was driving you mad. 

Trying to calm down, you took some deep breaths. The sound of the water rushing out of the faucet helped. Gave you something to focus on for a moment. 

That moment was gone as soon as you heard familiar, heavy footsteps outside the door. You cracked it open just a peek, just in time to see Ghost waltzing by without a care in the world. Without even thinking, you grabbed him by the back of his jacket and pulled him into the bathroom with you. The door was closed and locked behind you, hoping no one would come in to see why you were blowing up.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?! What the hell was that shit?!” You seethed through clenched teeth.

Ghost, getting over his momentary stun from being pulled, shook his head. “I didn’t think you would jump.”

You laid on the sarcasm thick. “Oh! You didn’t know that you grabbing my fucking thigh would make me jump. Hell, it’s not like my reflexes aim to kill anyone who suddenly grabs me. Your fucking bad, am I right, Simon?”

“Christ, I fucking get it! I’m sorry, okay, kitten?” He begrudgingly apologized, seeing just how upset you were about this. 

“And that’s the other fucking problem! Kitten?! Fucking, kitten?! Are you trying to fucking kill me? Are you trying to make me fucking kill you?! You said that we would take things slow!” You raved, your swearing out of control at this point. Somehow, Simon still found it strikingly sexy. 

“I am taking it slow.” He argued, taking a step closer to you, attempting to reach out to touch you like he wanted.

You scoffed and smacked his hand away. “You call that fucking slow? Simon, there is so much happening right now! You haven’t given me space to-”

Shit, you almost spilled the beans. You quickly shut your mouth, locking your lips tight with your secret. No way. No way in hell were you going to confess like that by accident. 

Ghost noticed how you cut yourself off, his curiosity about what you were going to say taking over his prerogative. What secret were you hiding from him now? “Finish that sentence.”

“Pass.” You simply said, backing up away from him, your body starting to go into a panic. The fact that you could see most of his face as clear as day wasn’t doing wonders for you either. You actually wanted to kiss him, run your fingers through his hair, and nibble on his lips. A shutter passed through you at the thought.

His movements were quick, knowing that if he wasn’t fast, you could potentially escape him. Stepping forward, he pinned you against the wall, an arm slipped behind your back with the hand touching your waist. The other hand took your wrists and pinned them above your head. His deep timbre voice nearly had your knees buckling. “That wasn’t a question. That was an order, kitten.”

You gave him a combative glare, refusing to break your stand on this. As you shook his head in refusal, his face inched closer. “Please, Hex. Don’t make me break my promise again.”

“I. . .” You hesitated. Was now really the best time to confess? Probably not. It was actually probably the worst time. The way he begged and threatened you for it, however, was hard to resist. Even if your morbid curiosity made you wonder just what he would do to you if you kept your mouth shut.

He gave you a moment, the warms of your skin seeping into his. Ghost just couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you, no matter how hard he tried. It was like he had become addicted to you. Your touch, your attention, your voice, everything. He couldn’t get enough.

Finally, you broke. You just couldn’t take the way Simon’s blue eyes drowned you for an answer. “You haven’t given me the space to sort out my feelings.”

“Feelings?” His grip loosened, allowing you to take your arms to cross over your chest, feeling protective of yourself. Your nails dug into your skin as anxiety began to hold you tight. You couldn’t take his wide-eyed shock either. 

To be fair, this was an answer that he didn’t expect to hear from you.

“Feelings.” He repeated, still hardly believing that that’s what you had said. His heart pounded in his chest. 

You pushed him back by his chest, creating more space. That made his stomach drop like a bowling ball as he stepped back. Simon watched you nervously rubbed your arms. You gave a nervous laugh. “Jesus, what am I? A fucking teenager?”

“Hex-” He tried to call out for you, wanting to provide some comfort to your anxiety. However, you cut him off.

“Stop. Let me speak, Simon. You drive me fucking nuts. You know how to push my buttons, get my fire going, get my blood boiling. And yet, I still find myself thinking about you even when I don’t want to. I want to push you away as far as I can and pull you close to me at the same time. I love and hate how you tease me, how you kissed me, how you wanted me.” You confessed earnestly, your words coming out like a storm. 

You’ve never confessed to anyone like this before. Not even in high school. Sure, you had small crushes here and there. You knew they would never go anywhere, though. You’ve always stomped them out before crushes turned into anything more. With Simon, it was different. It was like you were caught in barbed wire. You were tangled up in him. You loved it, yet you didn’t want your heart to get broken.

Feeling physical attraction wasn’t the same as emotional attraction. 

“Simon, I’m afraid that I’m falling for you. I can’t have you breaking my heart. So, you need to tell me now if this is just a fling for you. Tell me that you don’t feel anything but physical attraction. That once our mission is over, you will go back to your world. I will go back to mine. We will never see each other again.” Your voice cracked as you steeled yourself for rejection. 

The words broke Ghost’s heart. All this time, you believed that he was just toying with you. Just like you, however, he was both trying to get closer and keep just enough distance so you wouldn’t break his heart. As much as you two fought, you two were so much alike. From this new perspective that Simon has discovered, he was able to really understand you. God damn it, why didn’t he realize this sooner? He already fell for you. Hard. The way he wants to treat you, the way he wants to touch you, the way he never wants to say goodbye wasn’t something he would do with just a fling. It was something he would do with a lover. 

“Hex. . . I can’t say any of those things.” He began taking small steps to approach you again. Simon could hear his heartbeat in his ears. It’s been forever since he’s fallen for someone. His previous love was nothing compared to how he felt about you. There was a gut feeling he had that you were a keeper. 

Your mind protested his advance, still trying to preserve your feelings. Your heart, on the other hand, went wild. In the end, it was the heart that won. His hands cupped your cheeks, gaining your line of sight once again. “It’s okay, Hex. I got ahead of myself. I started treating you how I wanted you before telling you. All out of order.”

You waited for him to say more, holding your breath as you did so. Was this really what you thought it was? No way this could be real. Just a few weeks ago, you were alone in the world. No one but Kate on the rare occasion. The plan was to stay alone, do solo missions here and there if Kate needed it, and die alone. Simon put a wrench in all of it.

“I’ve fallen for you, Hex. Probably did when I first saw you. You’re not alone anymore.” He reassured. At the same time, he was telling himself those words. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had you now.

While his own confession made you want to dance with joy, you still felt a pain in your chest. There was something that you couldn’t ignore. “That’s great and all, but what happens when I have to return to my world? Being unknown? I don’t exist. I can’t just return to the land of the living like I’ve been there the whole time. I-”

He stopped your rambling with a kiss. A deep, passionate, slow one that made your brain have an error. You didn’t even notice him pulling down his face mask before with how rampant your head ran. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, just be mine, okay?”

You released a deep sigh as you nodded in agreement. You could hardly believe it. Simon had fallen for you. You had fallen for him. No wonder he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. “Fine. Just. . . easy with the touching and the nickname, yeah? I about damn near lost my fucking mind.”

He chuckled, pulling his mask back up. “Can’t make any promises about that, kitten. I’ll try to stay patient with taking the touching further than previously agreed on. You’ve probably noticed, though, that you also drive me crazy.”

Returning to your usual self, you scoffed and smirked. “Keep it in your pants, Simon. I can’t help that I’m irresistible apparently.”

“You keep it in your pants. I know you want to touch me too.” He argued teasingly, taking your hands and putting them on this muscular chest. Once they were placed, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. It felt like your hands were on fire as they made contact with his chest. The chest that you have been wanting to put your hands on since seeing it bare the other night. He could feel the fire from your touch too.

“Simon.” You warned, your tone having some bite to it. However, he was used to your venom by now. He was growing immune. Now, your threatening tone just made him feel aroused. 

He gave a low laugh at your glare, hugging you tighter and trying to ignore the growing tightness of his pants. You really got him going in the smallest of ways. “Relax, Hex. Just a hug.”

“You’re getting hard!” You pointed out, feeling his erection press against you. As much as you protested his arousal, you would be lying if you weren’t feeling it too. Just feeling him pressed against you had your skin tingling and your sex getting wet. 

Finally, he let you go, your skin already feeling cold once he pulled away. You could see his eyes smiling, feeling quite proud of himself instead of embarrassed. Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him in order to leave the bathroom. “You’re fucking impossible, you know that?”

He followed you out. Thankfully, no one has been waiting to use the bathroom right outside. His tone was still low and sensual as he retorted. “You love it.” 

There was still some time before arrival. Even more time before the mission would be over. Fuck, how were you going to resist Ghost’s antics now?

-

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[notquitesummer]

I think the biggest appeal of the third life desert duo storyline to me is the fact that they broke all the established rules.

Scar turns red and he doesn't turn on Grian like he's supposed to. Grian, a green life, kills three people under Scar's name. Even in the end, they still claim it as a double victory despite the very rules of the game stating that there can only be one winner.

Idk I'm probably not articulating it as clearly as I'd like to, but it's still just so insane to me how the entire course of the life series could have been very different depending on how the first game played out, and yet Grian, the maker of the game, bent, if not broke the rules for Scar multiple times. Scar himself laid the grounds for how yellow/red lives should act because he was the first in the entire history of the life series to reach them. Together, they blurred the lines between "rules" and "suggestions" and I think that has contributed so much to this series we've all come to love.

I mean, we all know and love the lilacs and poppies moment, I'm pretty sure the line "can we still be friends?" is all but etched in our minds at this point, but just talking a second to imagine what could've happened had Scar not returned to the ravine with flowers in hand is mind boggling. Bamboozling, even.

Would all red names from that point on play solo? What then would happen to the Red King? His Hand? What of double life? Would soulmates split up? Would soulmates have even been a twist in the first place? idk its just crazy that we've gotten so many interactions and beloved moments all because someone broke the rules at the very start.

And idk you can kinda see that repeating trend of bending/breaking rules a little bit more with each season, in different interactions, even in how different the twists to each game are, becoming less and less uniform and more and more open to creative input, allowing the creators to weave and tell their own stories, to bend the rules whichever way suits them to fit their storyline.

Take Martyn's Eyes & Ears AU for example-- according to his storytelling, the emotions the Watchers hate the most are love and trust, so for a character that is trying to rebel against the Watchers, what better way is there to do so than to stick with their closest ally even on their red life? To break Their rules?

And Grian and Scar aren't the only ones to break the rules either! Scott's refusal to conform to the boogeyman curse in Last Life set a precedent as well! As did his and Cleo's refusal to team with their soulmates in Double Life. I'm so interested to see how this trend of breaking rules continues throughout the series... who knows! Maybe we'll get someone just start killing right off the bat as a green life! Maybe Scar wears that helmet on purpose! Maybe someone will win without ever spilling a drop of someone else's blood! The possibilities are endless and yet ever-expanding.

And idk maybe it was all bound to happen this way anyway, maybe it didn't really even matter that Scar brought back flowers, because someone was going to break a rule somewhere along the line regardless, but it's interesting food for thought, wouldn't you agree?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What kind of music does Professor Crewel like? He strikes me as a classic rock kinda guy, especially British Invasion & punk rock…maybe some jazz thrown in there too. Anything that’s seen as rebellious, especially when he was young.

Has he entered the (inevitable) stage of adulthood where most new music, especially stuff popular with his students, sounds like garbage?

… What’s British, that doesn’t exist in Twisted Wonderland/j

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

“I enjoy anything that has the spirit of rebellion in it. There is of course classical rock and jazz, genres defined by breaking free from conventions... but I find that songs that resonate with me are not restrained to one particular genre. Each has its hidden gems."

"I see, so Crewel-sensei is a connoisseur of music too," you mused. “Do you have any thoughts about the musical performances you've heard from your students?”

"They are... of varying quality," Crewel said hesitantly. His face scrunched as a discomforting memory returned to him. "You pups make up both extremes of the spectrum. I've heard Zigvolt's 'singing' in Musicology from the opposite side of the school. ‘Singing’, bah! It was more like screeching from a seagull.”

“Others are technically sound, but uninteresting. Draconia's violin recital comes to mind. It is impressive, yes, but fails to change tradition. The same goes for the signature trumpets that sound at Heartslabyul.

"When it comes to group performances, the circumstances complicate. Every student of Night Raven College desires to be 'top dog', and that often results in petty in-fighting and squabbling to attain that coveted spot.

"There are nights I dine at the Mostro Lounge where the jazz is as smooth as a well-waged wine, and times when the drummer breaks free and does a solo at random. Pop Music Club is no better off. Their compositions are frequently discordant, each band member's vision fighting to be heard."

Crewel laughed—not at his students, but with them.

"I do not dislike that kind of a performance. Unpleasant it may be to the ears, but pups must stumble before they can learn to stand on their own. From that cacophony, something independent and innovative be born.”

“I think you’re right about that, sensei.” Your smile was full of hope. “Our VDC team did argue a lot during their training camp but they still put up such a good fight against RSA. Were you able to see that?”

“In fact, I did. The headmaster was gracious enough to provide free tickets to staff.”

“What did you think?”

Crewel narrowed his eyes. Harsh planes like mountains encased in jagged ice.

“The execution may have been acceptable for the layman, but you cannot trick this Crewel-sama. It was clear to me that your dance moves and vocal performance were sloppy and needed tightening. Five times I counted obvious fumbles and twice when someone fell out of time with the music. Did you pups fail to rest properly before stepping onto that stage?”

You gulped. “Uhh, yeah. Something like that…”

“Well, correct it for next time! You cannot perform at your best if you don’t take care of your bodies and minds first.”

“Y-Yes, we’ll keep that in mind…”

“Good.” Crewel nodded approvingly. “Night Raven College may just make a strong comeback next year. That being said… I found myself quite enjoying what you pups performed this year.”

Your heart leapt at the surprise praise. “R-Really?!”

From a critic as stern as Crewel-sensei…!!

“That’s right. It’s different than what I typically listen to, but I could feel every ounce of your determination coming through. The desire to rise above it all and claim the victory…”

The feral glint held in his gaze could have ended worlds.

“It was absolutely beautiful.”

[whxre4hange]

attack on titan characters playing league headcanons

guys im in my final year of my undergrad and i have exams and this is what im doing w my time LMAO

eren (ultimate rage quitter)

eren is the ultimate tryhard. bro mains riven and screams into the group call "i will carry!" he charges into fights like he’s fighting titans, only to get instantly melted. after dying for the fifth time, you can hear him scream into the mike, “i’m not mad, i’m just... passionate! WE GOT THIS GUYS DONT GIVE UP” while furiously typing “ff 15” in chat.

mikasa the overprotective bodyguard

mikasa is the ultimate support, but she’s less about healing and more about throwing daggers at anyone who dares touch eren. if someone tries to gank him, she’ll sprint across the map like a ninja, yelling, “no one touches my eren!” while simultaneously saving him from certain doom… and then getting herself killed in the process.

armin the strategist (and coward)

armin is the brains of the operation, but he spends half the game hiding in a bush, whispering strategies to himself. when he finally decides to engage, he shouts, “guys! let’s flank them!” only for everyone to be dead by the time he finishes his sentence. he’s basically a walking “how not to play” guide.

sasha the snack master

sasha is the adc, but her real focus is on her snack stash. she’s munching on chips while trying to farm minions and will often say things like, “just one more potato chip before i go back!” she ends up feeding because she can’t resist grabbing a snack during team fights. “i’m just… multitasking!”

connie the confused support

connie thinks he’s playing support, but he keeps accidentally stealing kills with his abilities. when everyone yells at him, he responds with a confused, “but i thought we were playing catch!” he’s just trying to help, bless his little heart.

jean's leadership failures

jean wants to be team captain (literally no one cares) and constantly tries to direct everyone like he’s leading a military operation. “okay, guys! we need a five-man engage!” but when eren charges in solo again, jean just facepalms and mutters, “why do i even try?”

marco the cheerleader

marco is the wholesome cheerleader of the group. he’s always encouraging everyone with phrases like, “good job, team! you can do it!” unfortunately, he gets so distracted by his own positivity that he forgets to ward properly and walks straight into a bush full of enemies. “oops! my bad!”

reiner's tanking fail

reiner plays tank but thinks he’s invincible. he charges into fights yelling, “i’m here to save you!” only to get one-shot by an enemy assassin. his teammates are left screaming, “we needed you alive for that!”

ymir's sneaky shenanigans

ymir plays an assassin and loves sneaking around for picks. she’ll shout things like, “i’m going in!” but then accidentally reveals her position by stepping on a ward. when historia asks her what happened, she just shrugs and says, “it was tactical misdirection!”

annie’s solo queue dominance

annie is a solo queue legend who plays mid-lane like it’s her personal arena. she rolls her eyes at her teammates’ antics and mutters things like, “if you all just let me carry…” she has zero patience for anyone who doesn’t understand how to play properly—and she’ll mute them faster than you can say “teamwork.”

bertolt's unexpected support skills

birthcontrol is surprisingly good at support, using his size as an accidental shield for his teammates. when someone asks how he does it, he just says softly, “i’m just… really good at standing still.” and somehow that works....

erwin's confusing speeches

erwin gives motivational speeches before every match that leave everyone more confused than inspired. “remember: victory is not just about winning; it’s about… uh… being brave?” anywyas by the end of it, everyone is just staring blankly at him while eren types in chat: “can we just play already?”

hange's chaotic jungle adventures

hange plays jungle with chaotic energy that keeps everyone on their toes. they dive into fights yelling, “let’s go! science rules!” but often end up accidentally initiating fights they can’t win. then they die spectacularly the end

levi's silent judgment

levi lurks in the background, silently judging everyone while occasionally throwing out sarcastic comments like, “great job feeding.” when asked why he doesn’t play more often, he simply replies with a deadpan stare: "because i don’t want to ruin my kda." and yet somehow still manages to carry every game when he does play

[upswnel]

FRENCH AS IN...?

— gojo satoru x afab!reader, mutual pining, academic rivalish friends?, suggestive, collage au!

the evening found satoru and her lounging side by side in his apartment, having just wrapped up a grueling assignment.

the soft strains of françoise hardy's music filled the room, emanating from her phone, while he was engrossed in an intense online chess match.

as the song played on, she suddenly broke the silence. “hey, satoru, do you know french?”

he paused, momentarily confused. his attention had been so absorbed in the game that he hadn’t registered the music’s language, he was completely out of context. assuming she meant something different, he interpreted her question in a more... personal way.

what now, after insulting him non-stop and annoying him by saying no one will ever put up with his narcissistic, egoistic, insufferable, stupid character and how he'll probably die alone with his cat snow; she was suddenly interested in his personal life?

after a brief hesitation, he turned to face her, a confused look on his face. “uh, why do you ask?”

she shrugged, her gaze a little annoyed. she has always been jelaous of how well-rounded he was. he was not only the star player of the soccer team but the way he pulled off every single electric guitar solo she swooned over, the way he competed against her in one of the only fields she was assertive in, playing the piano. as if all these weren't enough, he still managed to keep her on her toes, threatening the academic throne she worked so hard to keep to herself.

“well, since there’s nothing you can’t do well and nothing you don’t know about, i just wondered if you know it too.” she admitted begrudgingly, the playful roll of her eyes made him question the whole ordeal even further.

but still assuming she was referring to something more intimate, he gave her a nonchalant shrug. “yeah, i know it.” he wasn’t quite sure why she was asking, but he figured he might as well answer.

her eyes lit up with excitement, and she leaned in closer. “really? could you tutor me? i’ve been dying to learn french! there were a couple of times i tried to finally give it a go but it always scared me off a little, you know?”

wow, okay.

satoru’s mind went blank. her request for a “french tutor” threw him off completely. he was momentarily distracted as his chess match ended with his opponent’s victory. shaking off his confusion, he turned back to her, processing the situation. “you want me to... teach you?”

she nodded, oblivious to the misunderstanding. “yeah! i’ve always wanted to learn. why do you look so surprised?” she let out a nervous chuckle.

satoru slowly leaned in closer, his heart racing. “are you sure about this?” she was taken aback by the sudden proximity, her cheeks flushing. “yes...?” she managed to reply. though, through her voice it was obvious she was slightly confused.

he reached for the water bottle beside him. "why do you wanna learn it anyway?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. he kept eye contact as the water flowed down his throat, cooling his senses a bit. why would someone want to learn it and ask for it? you get the hang of it when you... just do it with someone you want to... kiss, right? that's not something to ask of your... well certainly not someone you can't even name your relation with.

she pondered for a second. "well... it is very useful in some areas and i kinda like the way it sounds."

he almost choked. coughing as she patted on his back worriedly. "h- hey! are you okay? god, you can't even drink water properly."

he composed himself, clearing his throat before taking a glance at her out the corner of his eye.

well, she was certainly not the type to bring up this kind of topic, especially with him. his gaze lingered on her for a few seconds, the way she looked at him with those both despising and amused eyes; her lips forming a slight smirk as her hand still rested on his back.

he's gotta be honest. he really wondered how it would be like to kiss her. always so aloof and teasing, enjoying to have the upper-hand, nagging at him and making fun of him every chance she gets. the desire to have her putty in his hands made the adrenalin surge through his veins. she doesn't seem like the type to melt in his arms as his lips moved against hers though. but since she wants to learn it, does this mean she's completely inexperienced?

the imagary of her with burning cheeks and laboured breath made something snap in him. having her arms wrapped around his neck as he felt her heart pounding against his chest, the way she would feel so desperate to have his flushed lips on hers again, minds hazy with the dance of their tongues seconds ago but she just can't seem to get enough of his addicting taste you know? oh and the way his hands would slide up her sh-

hey! get a grip, man!

he shut his eyes and rubbed his temples before turning to face her. they just sat in silence for a few moments before he sighed and leaned in. "you want to... you sure?"

her hands found their place on his chest to make him keep his distance. was he acting weird or was it her? she couldn't quite understand his strange behaviour but she let out a hesitant 'yes'.

with that confirmation, he closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a sweet, gentle kiss. his large hands on both sides of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek bones.

he wasn't even sure what he was doing. his mind was spinning with both perplexity and desire. why was he doing this? he just momentarily craved her touch but kissing her was like they had crossed a boundary they hadn’t intended to.

the initial contact was tender, but as he deepened the kiss, it grew more passionate, his tongue lightly brushing against hers. her eyes widened in shock, and she pulled away, her face burning bright red. “what- what are you doing?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

satoru looked just as flustered, his own cheeks tinged pink. “well, didn’t you ask me to teach you french kissing?”

she was mortified, her mind racing as she realized the mix-up. “no, I meant french as in the language! i didn’t mean... that!” she hated how her stomach twisted and how something in her chest fluttered.

the room fell into a stunned silence. her gulps were audible though. neither of them could muster the words to comment on what had just happened. the unexpected kiss, combined with the misunderstanding, left them both too embarrassed to even tease each other.

satoru cleared his throat, his usual confident demeanor completely absent. “so, uh, we... we should probably just forget about this.”

she nodded quickly, still blushing furiously. “yes, definitely. i... i didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

the air was thick with awkwardness, and despite the lingering embarrassment, there was a shared understanding that the situation was more than just a simple mix-up. and now, both were grappling with the newfound complexity of their feelings.

with a final awkward glance, they turned back to their respective tasks, the playful and teasing dynamic they once shared replaced with an uncertain, lingering tension. they had literally kissed, and the implications of that were far beyond their usual banter.

—

let me know if you want a steamier part two! ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ✧

[violetmuses]

Don’t Go Screamin’ - R. Reigns (Part 2) 🖤

Fandom: WWE 

Character: Roman Reigns

Love Interest: Female Reader

Part 1

@episodes-ff @expert-texpert @persethegawd @adriennegabriella @fearlesschimera @secretlifeoofmarpessa @mytribalnightmare @adoresmiles @blackgurlnhermoods @babybratzmaraj @luvrsluxe 🏷

=====

Once you stood up and joined another hard-hitting episode of “Smackdown,” flashing spotlights illuminated vibrant shades of pink. 

“It's Tiffy Time!” Bright music zipped near all directions as Tiffany Stratton clicked each footstep down the large-scale entry ramp. 

“Tiffany Stratton will compete for the Women's Title!” One announcement shook another episode. 

Booing resounded as you stood in this ring and folded your arms. Meanwhile, Tiffany's blonde waves styled more and more as pink still shaped her known outfit. 

“Keep fighting here, Champ! You've swung out the gate. Please don't let Tiffany steal your crown.” Commentators encouraged you and thousands of fans shrieked in return. 

The counting bell ping three times and signaled war to start this upcoming match. 

Countless hits or throws exchanged back and forth while this duel pushed forward, but Tiffany kept standing, bringing everyone to the unknown. 

“Oh, no! Stratton reaches our top rope and wants to land The Prettiest Moonsault Ever. Watch out,  Champ! Hurry.” Announcers worried that your title run could drown in pink shades. 

“Yes!” Fans watched everything and screamed even louder before. 

Just when Tiffany planned to fly, you rolled out of harm's way and she stumbled backwards, only landing with you. 

Measuring another victory, you offered one surprise to the audience. 

“Tiffany Stratton stands, but The Champ might have something up her sleeve!” Commentators pulled bewilderment, not even realizing your next idea. “Wait a minute. I haven't seen our leader move like this before. What's going on?” 

“Let's see.” Professionals still surveyed. “Our champion fisted her knuckle while cornering one knelt stance by the ropes. Now she's hopped up and running at Tiffany Stratton. Wait! Oh my goodness: Champ just scored the most powerful Superman Punch! Tiffany stumbled back again.” 

“Champion!” Thousands of people raved for you over and over again. 

“Hold on!” Announcers continued. “This battle hasn't ended yet. Our Champion just scaled the top rope herself and might turn Stratton away for good.” 

“Do it!” Spectators hurried. 

“There it is!” Highlighting your strength, commentators shouted beyond excitement. “Our champion jumped from these ropes and bested Stratton with another Moonsault, sending Tiffany right back down for the cover.” 

Grounding your weight to hover Tiffany, you noticed cameras and signaled this phone call, winking. 

“Watch this, Chief.” Playful, you acknowledged Roman Reigns while defeating Tiffany Stratton! 

“1-2-3! The Champion has pulled through once again.” That famous bell rattled out loud, still claiming your power. 

“It won't be your time yet. Not while I'm around this place!” You pointed to your wrist and refused Tiffany's dream as champion. 

“Defeating Tiffany Stratton, our Champ stands tall! We'll return to the program after these messages.” Announcers welcomed this commercial break. 

Hoisting the championship belt once more, you offered the most genuine smile. Even Tiffany broke character, accepting the loss with gratitude and sharing this quick embrace. 

All is well. 

_______

“Flagged by Wiseman Paul Heyman, the Original Bloodline is here!” Commentators opened another segment. “Universal Champion and Tribal Chief Roman Reigns. Honorary member: Sami Zayn, Tag Team duo Jimmy and Jey Uso walked alongside one another. And lurking as The Enforcer is Solo Sikoa.” 

“It was wild. She just turned this place out!” Jimmy Uso raved about your previous match against Tiffany Stratton. 

“Can’t believe I missed it.” Sami frowned as well, returning on air for the first time in quite a while. 

“Pulled off Tiffany’s Moonsault in front of the world.” Jimmy would continue boosting your skills once more. 

Seconds later, cameras moved to reveal your presence and the audience wailed from each corner of this building. 

“What’s up, Champ?” Jimmy opened both arms to hug you and your smile brightened more than sunlight. 

“Goofball.” You laughed near Jimmy and quietly grinned toward everyone else, but Roman stepped forward. 

“Were you joking or not?” Because your match against Tiffany aired first, Reigns caught that sneaking chance to possibly call each other.

“I’m not messing with you.” You smiled this time while Roman’s stance towered beyond height once more. 

Glancing around, Reigns took out his cell phone and you followed that same gesture, exchanging numbers on camera. 

“Let’s go. Yes, Sir!” As fans swooned throughout building walls, Jim almost fell out to hilariously encourage Reigns, outright happy to be there.  

“Stop it.” Roman traded glances with his cousin. 

“Oh, c’mon!” Jimmy nudged Roman. “You took a chance and she wants you for real. Show some excitement, Bruh.” 

“Bye, Chief.” Almost giggling, you turned elsewhere and left Roman alone once more, prompting this moment to settle down. 

“See that?” Jimmy faced Roman and clipped dynamics with you again. “Pick up the pace before Champ finds somebody else.” 

“Look. How I move is none of your business. Go ahead and drop that conversation or we'll have a problem.” Roman pulled the charge, silencing Jimmy for once. 

***

“Ladies and gentlemen, our Women’s Champion has returned to make an announcement this evening.” Commentators projected as you stepped back out to close the program. 

“Very soon, Smackdown will plan my Tag Team match.” You offered the big-time news and this crowd cheered beyond happiness. 

“Here we go!” Announcers revealed shock. “The Champion is looking for a partner. Who could possibly join forces to help this match?” 

Before you could respond by saying anything else, lights darkened around the venue and neon green crossed joyful blue. 

One knowing smile reached your face. 

Fans lost their minds when upbeat rhythms leveled higher and higher, setting up the most incredible drop to kick down another entrance. 

“Bring it to the floor!” Even perfect subtitles caught some fun because you learned Naomi's theme. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re feeling the glow. Naomi will join your Champ next time to battle for our Women’s Tag Team Match!” Announcers welcomed one of the coolest people on Earth and you opened both arms to hug Naomi. 

“Woo!” Voices shouted and overwhelming noise took over the universe. Credits played upfront as you bowed and left the ring, floating on Cloud Nine once more. 

****

“Good luck with the Tag Team match.” Jimmy Uso crossed your path right before this show would truly kick off. 

“Thank you. We’ll win.” You still encouraged the future. 

“Take care of my girl, I’m not playing.” Jim traded one glance with you because he’d married Naomi and always cared  beyond words. 

“Are you kidding me? Of course! Nay’s my sister at this point.” You nodded by Jim and wanted to score this victory beside Naomi. 

“Aight.” Jimmy smirked one last time and planned to walk away, but other footsteps turned the corner out of nowhere.

“Knock it out the park tonight.” You know that Jimmy couldn’t stand another moment while Roman just entered this hall. 

_______

With Jimmy gone and Paul Heyman silent in the corner, you could finally address Reigns up close. 

“Get ‘em.” Roman’s Southern accent pulled forward. 

“That’s all the advice you have?” You teased him. 

“Take no prisoners.” Roman stepped closer, almost meeting your chest. “I don’t care who's in there.” 

“Cutthroat?” You questioned. 

“Absolutely. Otherwise, you’ll fail.” Roman locked eye contact. 

“We can't lose.” You answered back. 

“Then don’t.” Reigns pulled one last invisible string, motivating countless emotions as you prepared for war. 

Go hard or go home! Your thoughts jumped. 

*****

“Former allies Tiffany Stratton and Nia Jax will challenge The Champion as she joins Naomi for our Tag Team duel.” Commentators pulled excitement again to welcome your opponents and begin the show. 

Mutual respect carried this moment as you held Naomi’s hand and waited for the bell to ring out loud. Even Tiffany and Nia  almost grinned across that space. 

Ding, ding, ding! 

This time around, when three alerts began to declare war, you locked in, prepared to defeat new rivals with Naomi. There’s no turning back. 

_______

Even when you hustled with Naomi to work against Tiffany and Nia, strings began pulling differently for once. 

“What’s going on? No! Commentators nearly jumped up from their table when Tiffany struck you down and leapt the top rope to line her signature Moonsault. 

But this time around, you didn’t roll away from harm, grounded on your back for Tiffany’s landing to succeed. 

“Hold on! Get out of Tiffany's way.” Announcers still can’t believe what’s going on with you and even fans started panicking here. “Tiffany might score that cover. Move, Champ!” 

“No!” Thousands of heartstrings broke around  the world as production cameras foreshadowed your imminent loss on national television. 

“Cover! 1-2-3..Tiffany Stratton just dethroned The Women’s Champion alongside Tag Team partner Nia Jax.” The announcement of your loss nearly silenced that venue for a moment. 

Booing echoed throughout anger when Nia and Tiffany stood victorious, leaving you and Naomi behind. 

*****

Soon enough, droves of the population sold out tickets and spectators would almost take over this building as viewers awaited even more chaos.  

“Bring back The Champ!” Fans chanted over and over again in the audience before large-scale spotlights dropped to reveal an opening segment. 

Dark colors painted almost every single corner of this zone.  Nearly haunting yet motivational rhythms had welcomed that moment further. 

Once this signature emblem captured screens, loud cheers rattled the large-scale building all over again. Viewers quickly held their breath. 

At first, one silhouette lingered from the vertical ramp, but when someone lifted that championship belt over their head, cheering wailed even more. 

“I've lost my crown, but now, it's time for revenge.” As one voice echoed from new audio, this promising vow finally launched your heel turn. 

Losing the Tag Team match early prompted questions, especially considering how well you started from the beginning as a professional. 

Fireworks erupted as spotlights revealed your presence. Overwhelming noise picked back up while thousands realized this brand-new chapter. 

“Chaos just reached an entirely different level now!” Announcers turned fear upfront. “Our champion will seek vengeance.”

Just before you'd leave, lights darkened around the venue once more and exposed blue overcasts. Heroically ominous music returned, landing cheerful shock from every direction. 

“Roman Reigns could arrive from that entrance! What the hell is going on?” Commentators right panicked behind their announcement table. 

When Roman turned this corner at last, you smiled, watching Solo Sikoa, The Usos, and Paul Heyman flag upcoming steps toward the ring. 

“What do you want?” You pulled games while tension lingered. 

“We have something for you.” Roman’s strong voice echoed back. 

Paul Heyman stepped forward holding this small yet important briefcase and everyone jumbled curiosity. 

Opening the case, Paul watched how surprise reached your expression. 

Camera angles pinpointed the view of one glove that would sleeve your dominant hand for upcoming matches.

“Oh my! Our Women’s Champion just gained power from the Tribal Chief himself.” Realization hit commentators like a truck. “Run for the hills!” 

“This is awesome!” Chanting from the audience woke up this unexpected moment. 

Trading the case back near Paul, Roman helped you secure this glove on your hand and concentrated despite the reality of this live episode. 

“Too tight?” Almost whispering, Reigns pulled his Southern accent once more and checked on you. 

“No. Thank you.” You stood grateful no matter what happened in the future

Not long after fastening your brand-new glove here, Roman looked down and welcomed this sight. 

Good God! Despite remembering that fictional chaos for the episode, Reigns couldn't help thinking about you. 

Talented, badass, and beautiful. Even right now, the work is incredible and you stood on this mountain, refusing to give up. 

“Give ‘em hell.” Reigns pulled one final glance by your direction and tailed The Bloodline to end this program. 

“Greatness will continue. Our Champion has learned from the Tribal Chief.” Once again, commentators held possibilities as the show lined credits. 

[in1-nutshell]

Hello, was wondering if you could do a buddy who's like percy jackson? Father, powers, truma and all? What would the bots think about them being in multiple wars and dangerous quests? Also, have a good day ✨️

I have not read those books in a long time! Brings back memories, let me tell you.

Since you did not specify any continuity, I randomly chose one.

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy being a child of Poseidon with the Maximals

SFW, Platonic, Slight familial, Human reader

BW

Buddy wasn’t sure how all of this happened.

One minute they were on a solo quest, the next they got thrown into a portal against their will.

When they came out, the entire world around them looked like one of those prehistoric documentaries they had to watch during class.

They wandered around until they came across a small stream.

At least there was water here.

SNAP!

Buddy turns around sword in hand ready to swing.

They are face to face with a giant rat.

They both stare at each other.

“Man, Percy wasn’t kidding about the rats getting bigger. Gods, you’re a big fella aren’t ya.”--Buddy

“Who you calling big fella?”--Rattrap

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”--Buddy

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”--Rattrap

Buddy jumps away from the giant rat, but accidentally slips on a rock and gets knocked out.

The last thing they think about is having to tell Percy how they died by a giant rat.

They wake up to see a bunch more animals and then them turning into… robots?

The animals turned into robots.

… or did the robots turned into animals…

It was a long time explaining their situation to the Maximals.

They end up getting adopted by the Maximals seeing as there is no other way back to their time.

Team that loves seeing their powers

These bots love seeing Buddy perform their powers. Especially when they manipulate water. Some of these bots consider their incredible fighting abilities to fight a power as well. Speaking of fighting, these bots have defiantly tried to fight Buddy with their bronze sword and waterpowers. They get curious hearing that they had gotten their abilities from their ‘Godly’ parent. Some of these bots are trying to get Buddy to try and move liquid energon.

If Buddy starts feeling a bit uncomfortable with their powers, these bots will try in their own ways to make them feel comfortable again by any means they can.

Cheetor

Silverbolt

Rattrap

Team that is interested in the stories that they tell

Team that finds their stories about their quests interesting. Especially the victories with the monsters and other supernatural causes. There is respect in their fighting abilities. Some of the bots do find the stories exciting, but then questions start arising. Like why the monsters were attacking them? Why them more than other humans with ‘Godly’ parents? What do you mean they keep coming back for revenge!?

If some of these things do start to make Buddy uncomfortable, they’ll stop or distract them from thinking about it.

Rhinox

Optimus Primal

Dinobot

Tigatron

Airazor

Team that is worried about Buddy

Everyone.

Everyone in their own right of mind is worried for Buddy. With them still being, at least, part human, they are still squishy. Their scares are more than enough to prove it. The team is on alert around Buddy, especially when they go to sleep. The little demigod was prone to terrifying nightmares that ended with them screaming like a banshee. There is always someone awake to help calm them down when this happens.