#this is every interaction the two of them have in the game | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goodluckchamp · 2 days ago

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WARM-UP BOYS (18+)

PAIRING: Tashi Duncan x Artashi x Reader WORD COUNT: 2899 CONTENT TAGS: Smut, oral, through the fabric, fingering, jealousy, insecurity, comfort, hotel, diner, date night, kind of toxic if we really think about it but it's okay, girlfriend!Tashi who is happy and safe thanks to lesbianism SUMMARY: Why would you be jealous of two boys who call themselves "Fire and Ice?” Fuck them and their goofy nickname... Who do they think they are? Tashi is your girlfriend. Not theirs.

You’re sitting across from Tashi in a sticky booth, legs brushing under the table, plates of shared fries and milkshakes between you. The two of you managed to slip away after one of her matches. She won, of course— she always wins. And she hides herself well every time, with polite handshakes and assured smiles by the cameras and fans.

But you know Tashi. You see her. She’s completely exhilarated, softened by triumph— in a way she only lets show in front of you. You love her like this— giddy, victorious, satisfied. Grinning at you, hair slightly damp and body still buzzing from the game.

She’s rambling about her third set when she looks past you— and she pauses. You turn around to follow her eyes and— oh. Two boys have walked towards your table, one with dark curls and a strut, and the other, a blonde, softer but still insistent with his pace.

You assume they’re fans. Supporters of the Duncanator, probably. It’s fine. It happens, especially after a match. Sometimes it gets annoying, but it’s fine. You should be proud of her, really. You should be happy to play photographer, if it means they’ll take the damn picture and leave the two of you alone. But the familiar feeling lurches in your chest. It’s fine. It’s fine.

“Tashi—”

“Hey—”

They start at the same time, gawking at Tashi with the typical, captivated look that most boys give her.

“I don’t know if you remember us?”

“Fire and ice.” Tashi nods, giving a short smile.

Oh. Not just fans, then.

Groupies?

You give a subtle look towards Tashi with your eyes, who returns a slight tilt of her head.

“This is Patrick and Art.” She explains. “I met them at the US open last year.”

Ah. Tennis players.

You look back up at them, and the taller one— Patrick— meets your gaze. He’s handsome, annoyingly so, with his curly dark hair ruffled like he’s been constantly running his hands through them. He wears confidence like a jacket and gives you a look over, eventually landing on a smile like you’re nothing worth worrying about.

The other boy— Art— is more vague with himself. Blonde, pale, sharp— eyes flickering over to you with a gentle curiosity— or maybe he’s just wary. The dingy lighting subdues certain angles of his face but it’s not enough to hide the slight clench of his jaw. It soon morphs into a sweet smile that catches you off guard, like he’s never sized you up at all.

Patrick swings first. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”

Tashi smiles. “Girlfriend, actually.”

“Girlfriend?”

They look surprised and you try not to be offended— it’s not like you and Tashi’s relationship is very public. Still, petty pride pricks in your chest, and you meet their shock with a smug little grin.

“We’re actually on a celebratory date, so…” The words roll off your tongue and it gives you a surge of confidence, holding Tashi’s hand from across the table.

“Right.” Art fidgets, like he doesn’t know what to do with this newfound information. “Congratulations on your win, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

They stand around for a little while, waiting for something that Tashi refuses to acknowledge. Eventually, they mutter their goodbyes and leave you to yourselves. There’s a moment of silence as you pick apart the dark feeling curling in your chest.

“Fire and ice?” You hum.

“Their tennis nickname.”

You snort. “Lame.”

You pretend you’re not bothered by the whole interaction, stirring your milkshake, watching the swirl of cream and melted ice cream spin into a mixture of some off-white liquid. You take a sip. It’s warm. Tashi doesn’t miss the way you grimace at the room temperature liquid, focusing on anything but her face.

“Are you jealous?”

You shake your head no. Tashi raises an eyebrow.

You shrug. “Did you sleep with them?”

“No.”

You squint. “But you did something with them.”

Tashi’s quiet for a second, fiddling with the wilting paper straw. “I was invited to their hotel room, and we… got a little drunk.”

Your brain already runs to the worst image— Tashi in some hotel room, bubbly with post-match adrenaline, laughing into Patrick’s neck, touching Art’s hair— all sweat and teenage hormones. You kind of want to throw your milkshake at the wall.

“A handjob? A blowjob?” You lower your voice, leaning across the table. “Did they eat you out?”

“Relax. We kissed. That’s all.” Tashi pushes your head back with one finger, right to your forehead. “You are jealous.”

You sigh dramatically, slumping against your seat. “Why would I be? It’s not like they’re tall, muscular, and super hot.”

“Don’t be jealous.” Tashi steals a wimp fry from your plate, letting the words drag a bit. “They were pretty gay, actually.”

“Not gay enough.” You huff.

You watch as Tashi dusts the salt and greases off her fingers. Fingers that would have touched them. Maybe traced the line down Art’s jaw, or tugged Patrick by his collar. You conjure them up too easily— stomach twisting in an ugly, involuntary way.

Whatever. Tashi is yours. You’ll stop thinking about them eventually.

You’re still thinking about them.

You were thinking about them in the taxi, staring out the window while Tashi tapped through her texts, one leg casually thrown over yours. You were thinking about them in the elevator, when she leaned over to kiss your cheek— too distracted to kiss back properly. You were thinking about them in the hallway, in the room— and you’re still thinking about them when Tashi steps out of the shower, bathrobe loosely tied around her waist. She picks up her phone on the table, scrolling at something while you mope around the room.

“I was thinking we could go early tomorrow, beat the rush at security. We can get breakfast at the terminal.”

“Can you just show me what you did with them?”

Silence.

You swallow. “Please?”

Tashi breathes in your words, eyes locked on yours. You were never good at asking for things. Especially not things like this— like sex. You’ve always been quiet about it. A little unsure. So it amuses her to see such bravery in your words, which shrinks, just a little, under her gaze.

You’re aware of how pathetic this is. Asking your girlfriend to show you what she did with some boys— but the image stays with you. You can’t help it. Not when they understand Tashi’s world. Tennis. They knew what her win today meant. You were just lucky to be there.

Tashi sighs. She drops her phone onto the table. Then, slowly, she takes off her robe, revealing the silk nightgown underneath, green and short, skimming high on her thighs. Your gaze is fixed on her as she walks to the bed, sitting down at the edge of it.

“Come here.” She taps on the spot next to her.

You obey, mattress dipping beneath your weight.

Tashi watches you adjust yourself, knees bent, hands fidgeting in your hands like you’re waiting for instructions. One word and you’d do anything.

So she leans in. She guides the kiss, messy, clinging— all teeth and lips and way too sweet to your liking. You try to focus, but your mind conjures up the boys again. Knowing this is what she was doing to them before she met you, you instinctively reach for her waist, pulling her closer.

But Tashi pulls away.

“That’s it. They didn’t even touch me.” She holds your face. “I watched them make out for a bit, and then I left.”

You’re silent, expecting the jealousy will boil down with her words. But it doesn’t.

So you put your lips against hers again, tongue swirling like you’re searching for residue— as if your mouth can overwrite whatever history she has of them. And Tashi lets you kiss her, lets your hands caress her bare skin— and if she notices your tremor, she does not say anything.

You press kisses down from her neck to her chest, putting just the right amount of pressure to avoid any marks. No one likes the marks. It’s clumsy, excessively eager at first.

Your fingers pull on the straps of her nightgown, letting the top fall to her waist. Tashi exhales, feeling the cool air tickle her exposed form. You never initiate like this. Tashi’s the one who leads. You follow. You always have.

“You’re being insane,” she whispers, eyes heavy-lidded. “You know that, right?”

“I don’t care.” You don’t mean for it to come out so small, broken. “I don’t care, I just— I keep thinking about them. About you with them and not me.”

“Don’t be—”

“Stupid, I know.” You smile. “I’m sorry.”

Tashi watches you for a moment, then she shifts— positioning herself to the middle of the bed, arms falling loose at her sides in a kind of surrender. Like she’s allowing you to have her.

You follow her, landing on your knees, desperate as if she might change her mind. You reach for her and she meets your warmth, two bodies melding together. You’re nothing but earnest— unrestrained hunger in your kisses— and Tashi handles it with amusement, translating all your fervor into the way she touches you back.

“Let me—” you whine against her jaw, clinging to her— “Let me eat you out.”

She laughs in response.

“Please?” Your hand snakes under the silk, finding the waistband of her underwear and tugging on it. “I’ll be good. I’ll make it good.”

Tashi’s lips quirk up on one side, shaking her head— you shouldn’t be so jealous. You shouldn’t have to beg. All she has to do is say a couple words. Let you remember that you already have her.

But because she’s amused, because you’re so pretty like this, she bites her tongue and spreads her legs open, giving you space to lay on your stomach. You immediately press your face between her thighs, impatient—

You’re so fucking pathetic and you don’t even care.

Tashi pushes her gown up to her hips, your face just below the thin fabric of her underwear— sheer, damp, clinging to her shape. You let your mouth hang open, licking her with the slightest pressure. There’s a sharp inhale from Tashi, along with a tiny jerk of her hips, so you do it again, tongue tracing whatever you can reach through the cloth.

Your nose nudges against the silk sticking to her, wet enough that you can feel her warmth through it. You taste the salt-sweetness against your tongue, breathing her in and losing yourself— and Tashi watches you, starving thing, palming the back of your hand with one hand.

“Is this what you needed, baby?” Her nails scratch slow lines on your scalp— rewarding you. “Needed to prove you could make me feel good?”

You whimper in response, pressing closer, mouthing at her through the fabric. Tashi lets it happen for a bit, humming like she’s watching a pet too eager to sit still. But you’re growing more frantic, and she feels it in your hands tightening on her thighs.

“Just— take them off,” she orders, lifting her hips just enough to help you.

You obey, tugging down her underwear, clumsy with just how badly you want her. You toss the panties aside without looking, eyes completely fixed on her bare form. You lean in again, settling small, wet kisses, then longer licks, adding flat, full pressure with your tongue. Tashi responds with a satisfied moan, fingers tangling up in your hair. She’s hot against you, thighs tense and twitching around your head.

You move one hand down, teasing along her entrance, fingertips gathering slick. Tashi bucks into the weak touches, legs tensing tighter like she wants you to trap you there. You circle once, twice, then gently push in, just two fingers at the edge.

“Oh my god,” Tashi chokes, all breath and tears.

The wet warmth against your flesh sends a rush of heat flooding down your stomach— she’s so gorgeous like this, slowly falling back into the sheets, lean arms failing her. You don’t stop lapping at her clit, as you move your fingers in, just a little, feeling her stretch around you— and she curses, hands fisting into the sheets above her.

You keep pressing, nose brushing her as you get more serious, hopelessly uncoordinated but dedicated. It's all starved mouth on soaked skin, messy, practically a worship— tasting her like maybe if you do it right, she’ll forget every other mouth that’s ever been on her.

And as cruel as it may be, Tashi indulges in it.

She knows you could get jealous— sees the way you try to conceal it too, with your tight smile and fidgeting hands, all while glaring at the fans crowding over the Duncanator. It’s obvious how much it eats at you from the inside even within your silence. She knew it’d overflow someday— rabid with your need to belong to her. You’d stay here forever if she told you to.

“Look at you right now,” Tashi groans, words choked up in her throat. “Doing— ah— so good for— me.”

The praise feeds you and you relish it, responding with a proud hum. It vibrates through her and she ruts against your mouth, wanting more, needing more— but she’s never the one to beg. And you’re never the one to make her wait.

You start to thrust your fingers, slow at first, watching the way she adjusts to the length. How her muscles quiver, how her lips open and close like she wants to tell you to go faster— but doesn’t. She swallows her words, letting you choose the pace. You curl your fingers to hit a spot, drawing a noise out of her— and her mouth stays open, breath stuttering with your every movement.

“Yeah, just like that,” Tashi pants. “Fuck— don’t stop. That’s my girl.”

Your chest tightens, heat spreading across your body from your spine. She sees it— the way your rhythm stutters with her praise. Of course she does.

“Mouth— fucking perfect,” she continues, rolling her hips to meet each thrust. “Keep going. Show me who I belong to.”

You groan at her words, speeding up, harder— she’s yours. She belongs to you. She’s letting you have her, letting you ruin her— and for someone like her, someone who’s so used to being in control with her presence itself— it’s the loudest form of the love she knows how to give.

And you take it like a dog, pumping into her as deep as you can, as fast as you can. You don’t even remember when you started grinding against the mattress, shamelessly brushing against the parts that begs for friction.

“I’m close. I’m so fucking close,” Tashi gasps, pressing your closer, holding you in place exactly where she wants you. “You want me to come on your face?”

Stupid, stupid question. You nod frantically against her skin, words turning into whines. Tashi laughs.

The laughter soon morphs into moans, filthy and loud, filling the entirety of the room. She repeats your name, over and over again, like she wants to prove that’s the only thing she cares about, the only thing she knows— and you let her soak your face, your cheeks— hips barely controlled, as if she can’t help herself anymore.

Tashi is fully on her back when she comes, hips bucking as you drag your tongue through her orgasm. Her body jerks through her orgasm, hands gripping the sheets. You don’t stop, finger stroking her through it even when she’s sensitive, choking on incoherent half-pleas for you to slow down.

“Okay, stop— god, (Y/N)—” Her voice cracks, finally forcing herself up to grab your jaw, tilting your head up. “Practice. Tomorrow. I can’t go again.”

You pout, slowing down and peppering kisses, like you’re thanking her for her orgasm. She collapses onto the sheets, letting out a fulfilled sigh and you lay down beside her, staring at the ceiling, lips swollen, chin glistening. Tashi pulls her gown back up and you melt into her side, hugging her closer.

“Still jealous?”

“Hm.” You bury your face in her neck, breath hot against her skin. “I feel better.”

“Well, you just made me forget about everyone except you.” she murmurs. “You’re my girl, yeah?”

You nod without thinking, too fast, and she just laughs again, wrecked and warm.

“You didn’t come, did you?”

You swallow. “No.”

You sit with it for a while, fidgeting against her side. Tashi catches the way your thighs squirm between hers. Eventually, she moves, just a little, letting her hand trail down your stomach, down between your thighs— finding you embarrassingly wet. But your humiliation has never existed, tamed by a throbbing sensation that builds from your core. You lean into her touch— you need her to keep touching you, need her busy. If this slows down, if either of you have time to think, you’d lose the thin, fragile thread holding it all together.

Maybe you don’t feel better after all.

You lurch up to kiss her lips, smothering the awful swell of thoughts rising in your throat. Tashi kisses you back, slow, meeting your desperation without one of her own. It only makes you grip onto her harder, breaking apart in her arms like it's in your nature.

Pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

You come anyway.

Note: Sex as a proving ground for worth... FUCK YEAH !!! I lowkey didn't really know where to take this so it was marinating in my drafts for a while... so enjoy the unedited mess of Tashi Duncan. Happy late lesbian visibility week <3

#challengers #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x you #patrick zweig #art donaldson #challengers movie #wlw #lesbianism #challengers x you #challengers smut

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tojisteddy · 15 hours ago

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party 4 u

or: Immortal!reader can’t stop falling in love with Kyle Garrick no matter how hard you try not to.

cw: 3k words (idk tbh) 18+ mdni, angst with plot, no smut, immortal!reader, mentions of death, mentions of blood, violence, heartbreak, unrequited love, reincarnation, no use of y/n.

a/n: another drabbles turned into a long story. Inspo is party 4 u by Charli xcx.

You’d been immortal since you made that fatal mistake. You’ve lived a thousand lives. Youve been a nurse, a dentist, a singer, a vet, bus driver— you name it, you’d probably done it. Especially in this long life. You’ve fell in and out of love, you’ve “died” countless times, had numerous pets, seen loved ones pass too many times.

But you keep getting stuck meeting and falling in love with all of Kyle Garrick reincarnations.

The first time you two met, was a war. Kyle devided and conquered just to have you. You were stunning, citizens of your country were sure you had been the child of the goddess Athena herself. It was a blessing to for anyone to see a glimpse of your glowing brown skin, angelic smile, the heavy crown that adorned your curls everywhere you went, lilac fabric that hugged every one of your curls.

Kyle was lost at the sight of you when you’d visited his country the first time. Astonished that someone could be so mezmorizng. And it wasn’t the way you looked, it was how you showed kindness to whoever you interacted with. From fellow important guests to servants and his countries citizens, all were treated with respect and dignity.

His citizens of course would politely bow for you, they would have to get used to it, you’d lift there heads with your delicate hands or worse, you’d bow back. Giving them a mischievous smile, “Lift your head. I’ve been told you have most wonderful fruit in the land, I’ve come to see it for myself. Plus, I have some friends who’ve been dying to try it back home.”

The citizens adored you, loved you even more when you tipped them. Joined in on the festivals dancing and games. You’d turn into another loved and precious goddess in his country without even trying.

Kyle decided, you wouldn’t be leaving his country after that.

At first there was such a burning hate on your love. He’d taken your family, your home, your loving citizens, your country— you, and made it his own. How dare he try to smile in your face, go on about his life like it was nothing. The man even tried to romance you. The audacity was laughable. Surprisingly enough he didn’t force you into anything. Didn’t want to eat? No issue. Didn’t want to sleep? No issue? Not even go and see daylight? No isssue.

Kyle played the long game.

Your grandmother, former queen of your country, didn’t raise quitters. They raised the best of the best, power no matter the circumstances. You caved, you didn’t know where your family was, but you would survive. Do what you had to, even if that was sharing your meals with the likes of him that stole you away. Taking slow walks around the palace, guards right behind and infront just in case you ran, enjoying the somber and quiet of the scenic view of the castle that overlooked the major town down below.

Correcting the fool when he didn’t understand the deeper meaning in the literature he read to you.

“No, no, no, it’s not just words Kyle. It’s about the wanting. The yearning. Despite everything, through thick and thin, he’s there waiting for her even if the woman got married. He’d wait for her.”

And that fool, would have the stupidest grin on his face. Completely swooning when he heard your voice fill his ears, even if you did sound terribly annoyed with his lack of comprehension. Literature wasn’t his favorite, you were though.

But he sat you down one night, right next to the large lake he’d built out for you. Surrounded by flowers it was rumored you’d liked, he took your hands in his, chills running up his arms when you fingers tickled his own.

“I-I’m in love with you.”

Well, obviously. You scuffed, glancing off.

“I know I’ve made a stupid decision doing all this. But I- if you could just think about falling for me, I’d be forever greatful. If you hate it, just push me away and I’ll give you back. But just for a little while, if you could think about it. Please?” Kyle looked to you with those stupid brown eyes, giving your hands a light squeeze. You let go, looking towards the star filled sky.

“The moon,” you sighed, feeling the cool air on your skin, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

But how could Kyle look at the moon at a time like this, when you sat so beautiful in your green dress, breasts spilling out with every breath you took, lashes long.

He was breathless, but nodded, “Yes, yes it is.”

Love is slow, a slow dance to the old song your mother used to hum to you to sleep, and then suddenly it’s filling you. Up, up, up till it’s over spilling— that’s what falling in love was. It’s enchanting, the feeling of true love. Kyle was a dream come true. You’d meet for lunch in his office, dates in town, endless conversations of the future, hopes and dreams. Sneaking kisses whenever he got close enough. Kyle was a sly dog who melted your heart so easily. If only he had done things right, had courted you like a gentleman.

But there was so much in the way, you were spoken for before Kyle took you. By some old cunt who didn’t see you as anything but a tool to control your country, with plans to destroy the lower class.

There was only one way to save it. Save you.

You were being introduced to new servants that would attend to you— Dimitri. He was your right hand since childhood. You sobbed as soon as you got the chance to be alone with him.

“Listen to me well your highness, you mustnt tell a soul, alright?” You nodded at his words.

“We are planning a revolution. We deserve our home back. I’m here to kill the king.” Your stomach dropped. Kill the king? Kill Kyle? No. No way.

“But the king- he- Dimitri, he’s not that bad-“ you stammered, you sounded foolish.

Dimitri’s eyes squinted at you, confused, “Do you know how many of our people he’s killed? How many people have been uprooted [+], because of him?”

“I understand-“

“No, you don’t understand!” He whisper yelled, crossing the room towards you. “My brother is gone because of him! It doesn’t matter if he tries to smile in our faces, or give us new homes— family is family. I will avenge my brother if it’s the last thing I do.”

Dimitri pulls out a knife and you stumble back into your vanity. “This is yours, your highness. You could do it. Right in his sleep in five nights. It will be perfect.”

You shake your head, eyes finding his that were shaking. Erratic. “Dimitri, I-I can’t. There has to be another way.”

“It’s for your country princess. Think of your people, your land, your family— your mother. You have to. Save your country [+].” He slips the pocket knife into your shaking palms. Enclosing it in your hand with a gentle pat.

“Five nights. You do it, or I will.” He repeats.

Your stomach continuously turned, what right did you have to fall in love with the man that attacked you home, your family?

You had no other choice. You either prove your love of your country by slitting his throat, or you take the blade the servant reserved for Kyle yourself.

You didn’t want to kill him. Kyle had so much to live for, he had a vision. Create a country that celebrated both your country’s history, marry you right at the border, on the shores, citizens from all around in attendance. But he ran into your knife, you’d thought you heard some strange noise, went to go investigate yourself. You two ran into each other, the knife entering his abdomen. Blood spread through his attire, you immediately went to him.

“It’s okay [+], it’s okay.” He coo’s Tears filled your eyes.

“It’s not okay! I need to get a physician. Give me one moment Kyle-“ but you can’t even stand to get before Kyle grips your wrist tightly.

“[+], it’s okay.” He insists, cupping your cheek, “I know about the plans. It’s okay.”

“Kyle, listen to me. That wasn’t- this wasn’t my plan. None of this was my plan. I didn’t want any of this! I wanted- I wanted to be-“ you choke on your own words.

I wanted to be with you.

“-I know.” He winces. It’s the words you two have left unsaid. Hanging in the air. He coughs, “Your family, is on the countryside. Safe. The counsil wanted the dead but- ugh- I could let them be treated like that. You take that jewelry box on the nightstand and run to them. For me, okay? Live your life just as you wanted [+].”

Why didn’t he tell you that sooner? Why didn’t he you that they’d been okay? Safe? Did he think you’d run once you’d heard those words? Never come back? You want to groan, punch him in the face, but you just shake your head, applying pressure onto the stab wound with trembling hands. Tears spilling over your face.

“I would’ve chosen you Kyle. A thousand times, I would’ve always chosen you.” You sob.

Faintly, the ends of lips curve up, caressing your cheek with his weak hand, “I’ve always loved- I love-“ Kyle chokes on his own blood. The words unable to come out. He gives you a nod, go. You kiss him like it’s the last time, gently on his pretty lips. Youre shaking when you scramble yourself up, one last look to his handsome face, then you grabbed the jewelry box and ran.

You didn’t even get to lay Kyle to rest, the guards were coming, you had to go in your blood stained dress, bare foot through the woods, still crying. You went exactly to the place he said your family was. It didn’t take long to hear that the king was dead. The revolution didn’t end up happening. Kyle’s younger brother taking the thrown. You prayed to the heavens to let you atone for your sins, let you see Kyle one more time.

But this wasn’t what you asked for. A curse fell upon you. You’ve tried everything to die, gotten in car crashes, took as many drugs as you could, stabbed yourself— to no avail. You were stuck on this earth until some other power took you.

You’d known John since he was a kid, about eight when his parents asked you to babysit him and his younger sister. John was one of the people few people who saw you, spotting out the tiredness in your deep brown eyes that hid behind your youth.

“You wanna take a nap? I’ll protect you and the baby,” He offered, big blue eyes peering up at you. You wanted to laugh, a cute little thing. Eager to prove himself, an adult label him as strong. “I’m good baby, thank you though.”

John had to be twenty five when he found out you were immortal. There was no way you, who had been twenty-three, nineteen years ago and still look exactly the same. No frown lines, no weight gained nor lost, no facial or body changes from surgery (and John was one that could tell). You were still his hot childhood crush from all those years that he gave up on. You’d confessed without a second thought, what did you have to lose at this point?

John was still the same as you’d known him to be; patient, understanding, protective— he was like a kid brother to you. Even though now, as you made your way over to him after him being in no man’s land for months with his comrades, the child you baby sat was getting old. Grays showing in his beard, more worry lines in his forehead, hairline receding, but he still looked at you with those giddy ocean blue eyes.

“Can’t believe you’re actually showing up [+].” You finally agreed to meet John and his friends. You needed a night out after the long and tedious move from Canada. You’d have a laugh and a drink, enjoy his friends company.

“It’s actually Shannon according to my documents.” Way of the world, there was no way you could live for 1000 years and not change your name a couple times. It’d been five years, you’re always off somewhere since you can never stay too longs people ask too many questions. You kept in contact with the aging man though, a few calls and texts here and there. John was so text savvy you couldn’t keep up with some of the things he’d sent you.

“We’re sat in the back, you can’t miss the man with the skull mask when you see it.”

Skull mask?

“Just trust me old woman, nothing to worry about!”

You hadn’t even realized you said your words aloud— hold it— old?

Your mouth opens in astonishment and amusement, “Now you listen here you little fuckin brat-“

“—The musics getting loud, can’t hear you!” And the call disconnects.

You chuckle to yourself, that old man was still such a fucking kid. The bars crowded, typical for Saturday night. The bar was filled with regular civilians and then the military folks who noticeably just got off of work. You’d seen that skull mask from a fair distance away, the brute was tall, out of place but had a glint in his eyes.

You didn’t even need to see the front of his face to know who it was. Brown skin, a short fade showing off his little curls atop of his head, big ears, and that annoyingly contagious laugh.

You’d felt nauseous.

Immediately turning on your heals and out the door.

John pout was noticeable through his beard, standing up and looking around for that head of curls you could never tame, mumbling where the hell you were.

Ghost cocked his head, licit ing his drink to sip on his beer, “She’s gone.”

Gone?

His phone buzzed.

‘Feeling sick. Let’s catch up next time.’

You weren’t one to run away from anything.

John knew that, not even that Great Dane came pouncing on you that scared him and his sister when he was kid, not when someone tried to rob you at knife point when he was ten and not when you had to perform cpr on his sister after she went swimming by herself when she wasn’t supposed to.

But there was one time, one singular time John remembers all too well because he’d never seen such fear in your eyes. You were shopping for him and his sisters school clothes, listening to the story his sister was rambling on about, and then your smile dropped when they touched. You almost dropped the bag in your hand. You lifted his sister and started walking in the opposite direction. “Why are we leaving? We just got here!” John whined standing in place.

Your eyes snapped to the little boy, and he almost gasped at the state of you. Those tired eyes were there again. “Just- damn it John-“ you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration then bent down, smoothing out his hair and gave him the best smile you could, “John, I need you to help me out? Watch my back for me, alright?”

Young John didnt hesitate to protect you, he saw you as a princess, just like the stories you’d told him as a child. And he your loyal servant. A mini Dimitri.

John hadn’t realized the stories you told him, which you’d tweaked to be age appropriate, were about you till you confessed you were immortal. And he’d remembered those details you said, like you were recalling something that just happened. Gaz fit the description to a T.

The man pressed you about when he randomly came over for lunch, dangling a bag of Nandos in hand.

You were a sucker for free food.

“Does- does the man you love— he’s the sergeant under me, isn’t he?” There’s an uncomfortable pause, the only sound of the mini tv and the crumbled bag on your kitchen table. You sniffed.

“You trynna upset me John? This was supposed to be a quaint meal.” You laugh his question off, continuing to eat and take a sip of wine. Day drinking on a week day? Not like you had shit else to do. You catch John in the corner of your eye, unmoving. Watching you, his eyebrows down in worry.

You sigh, setting you plate down and sipping your hands with a napkin, “If you could find him someone to love John, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“But [+]-“

“—John.” You raised you voice.

You lean over, resting you elbows on your knees and pushing your hair to your back. “I’ve fallin in love with Gaz over 100 times in my life. Fallin out of love with him 20 times. Both things you’ll never witness in your one life time. I’m stuck here while everyone leaves, and I mean everyone.”

“I’d just rather he’d never met me and live a proper life for once. Maybe God will free us from this endless cycle.” You look over at John, eyes glossy and clasping your own hands.

You plead, “Could you do this for me John? Please? Just this one time? Watch my back, like you’ve always done.”

Five months.

You’d watched Kyle go on dates for five months.

Price kept his promise to you.

Maybe it’s cynical. Delusional. But you wanted Kyle to find happiness to badly, you made sure John played the best wing man anyone’s ever seen. You’d given the old hag your description of Kyle’s type though he didn’t feed into it too much. He’d known you were what Gaz was looking for.

You and John were watching across the backyard of the party his friends were holding at their house that was too large. The music is loud and people were dancing, laughing and drinking to their hearts content. Times like this took you back. The late 60s, you and Kyle would dance any chance you could, till both your feet hurt but Kyle was the one who had to carry you home. You two would dance in clubs, basement parties, in the streets, while waiting in line at the grocery to that song your mom used to hum to you.

Another life Kyle died too soon. Too young. He drowned.

“I don’t think he’s happy doing all this [+].” John finally says, passing your cigarette back.

Ensuring his happiness didn’t make him happy?

Kyle was with talking to a girl across the way. She was pretty, short, perfectly blown out red hair, pretty green eyes, a slim body— anyone would fall for her. She was rubbing up Kyle’s arms while laughing at something he said.

Did it hurt? Of course it did.

But this was for the better. You could imagine him walking down the aisle, him grinning at her with his pearly whites, you would’ve killed to have that yourself. But you’re letting it go. Let that dream die.

“You don’t think he should be the one to choose who to love [+]? It’s his life you know.”

But the option would always end up being you. No matter what he did, no matter what you did. You were too magnets, drawn to each other no matter the time or place.

You shook your head, inhaling the cigarette between your fingers, “you wouldn’t get it.”

“I’m trying to, really I am. But if the kid loves you-“

“-You don’t think it’s painful for me John?” You snap, hands balling into fists, “Seein him be with someone else? Seeing him live a happy life without me?”

“Then be happy with him, [+]! Even if it’s just for a little while! Have you ever just decided to love him without thinking of the repercussions? Just love him as is. Maybe- then maybe-“

“—You don’t know what it’s like John!” You whisper yelled. You huffed, dragging him further out so no one could hear your conversation. “I’ve seen Kyle die over and over and over. There’s no happy ending for us! There will never be a happy ending for us. Can’t you get that!?”

“He’ll look at me but he won’t even know who I am! But I will. Me, who’s seen every side of him already John, every misstep, every flaw, every beauty— I’ve seen it. John I’m tired! I’m sick of having my heart broken.” You angrily wipe your tears.

It was like you were trapped in a revolving door.

“It’s always just me. Always. Someone has to move on.”

It was almost like insict when Kyle’s eyes fell on you. An, “where’ve you’ve been this whole time”. The woman in front of him was rambling but he couldn’t register it. Now when he found you smoking with John.

“Look out for my friend Shannon tonight. I think you’ll like her more than who Soap’s got you foolin around with.”

The younger man didn’t take his Captain serious at first. There was no way Price would try to set him up with an older woman, would he?

But there you were, young and beautiful. Your facial expressions dancing from irritated to amused, chuckling at whatever John had said. He indulged in the current conversation for a second and then lost sight of the two of you.

He pouted. “I’m sorry, i think my friend is callin me.”

“Hurry back!”

Gaz wouldn’t see her for the rest of the night.

Kyle made his way through the crowd, eyes trying to catch a glimpse of you one more time. Maybe you were already gone, just a one time face Gaz would see in his dreams. But his gut told him to keep looking for you and Price.

And there you were, on the dock, just the two of you. A silence between the two of you but a pout on your lips. Maybe Gaz could cheer you up.

Kyle glanced between you and Price as he walked over, shaking off his sudden nervousness when his eyes met the state of you. Face tear stained, mascara running, plump lips painted dark red. Long braids in a low pony tail with and edges laid, cigarette dancing between your fingers with a leather jacket hanging off your shoulders, and short black skirt. Gaz was enamored by you even though you knew you looked a mess. Goosebumps rolling up his arms as he extended his hand to greet you, “You must be Shannon, Price has been talking about you. ‘M Gaz.”

Oh, you know.

You sniff, head throbbing and heart breaking for the umpteenth time. He didn’t remember you, again.

Roll credits.

Another cycle on the carousel that was being in love with Kyle.

“It’s [+], actually.”

And he tilts his chiseled face, a pout forming, “You alright there [+]?”

And you’d get on this merry-go-round again and again, only for him, always for him. You extend your hand, grasping his large yet gentle hand in yours with a small smile. Just like you first met. Here we go again.

“I’m perfect now.”

a/n: to the three people who end up reading this. I love you. Lmk what you think. This is my first time writing for Gaz, hopefully I did okay.

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tttabii · 2 days ago

Text

── .한 수강 LUXURIOUS ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

han su-gang x female reader

warnings : smut, minors do not interact, 18+

YOU WEREN'T EXACTLY PROUD of the incident-it goes without saying that the last school was not ready for someone like you. The girl you sent to the ICU was obviously in a position to receive such treatment after months of food being thrown at your back, having your family brought into it, and almost cutting your hair while you were stretching on the gym floor in PE.

Therefore, you don't regret making the decision.

The school board does, obviously, and that is how you apply to transfer mid semester, loosening your hair down, get your attire just right, and paste on a fake sweet smile.

New school, new beginnings. Supposedly.

Except, nobody warned you that you would be walking straight into his class.

Han Su-gang.

The name could have been praised as the gospel throughout the school hallways. Not only was he feared, but he couldn't be touched. He had a sharp immaculate jawline, piercing stare as his hands folded in his pockets were he struts through a corridor like he owned the entire place. In some respects, he owned all of it.

Even teachers looked the other way when he opened his mouth and raised his voice. Students openly talked about him as though he were a legend. A monster. A king.

You weren't sure what you expected walking in that day, but the moment your eyes locked with his across the room, you could tell he was intrigued. His posture leaned back like he was already bored, but the way his gaze followed your every move screamed otherwise.

"I'm Y/n," you said sweetly, your lips upturned just enough to be polite, your eyes bright and warm. You had perfected it-innocent. Harmless. Forgettable.

The teacher nodded, assigned you to the empty desk near the windows... the empty desk next to his. Classes continued, but you could feel it-his eyes on you, Judging. Wondering if you were prey, threat, or entertainment.

Then came recess.

You were rifling through your bag, annoyed. "Where the hell..." you muttered under your breath. Your airpods were gone. You could have sworn you put them right back this morning.

"Looking for something?" a cool, lazy voice asked. You looked up only to see him, Han Su-gang himself, casually perched on the corner of the desk like he lived there.

"Airpods," you said simply, ruffling your hair in frustration, brushing it over one shoulder. His crew had surrounded your desk like vultures, two girls gossiping with each other, and five guys like bumbling guards. You weren't bothered, but you weren't stupid enough to ignore it.

He tilted his head. "They probably fell out. Or maybe someone took 'em."

You looked up at him, not buying the innocent act for a second.

"Why don't you come join us on the rooftop?" he said suddenly, the corner of his lips pulling up in smirk that could be view as charming. "I'll show you what this school is really about."

Flirting or taunting-you weren't sure. But he was hot, and he knew it. He was hot regardless, and he knew it. Just as you were about to respond, a voice from the doorway called, "Y/N, please come to the teacher's office! We need you to finalize your transfer papers."

You got to your feet, shook out your skirt, and gave Su-gang a polite smile. "Well, I guess I'll take a raincheck."

But before you could leave, he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, "I can't wait to see what you're like after hours, jagiya," he whispered just loud enough for his gang to hear, lips barely brushing your skin.

It wasn't dirty, but it felt dirty.

You blinked. A beat skipped in your chest-and then you walked out without another word.

Game on.

The rooftop air was heavy with vapor and smoke-the sun was down low, casting golden light over the buildings, as if it didn't know what kind of things went down on rooftops like this. You stepped outside, the thud of your shoes echoed on the concrete, the poppy breeze tugged at your shortened skirt.

There they were. Han Su-gang's crew.

They all leaned back like they didn't care in the world, casually taking puffs from their vapes, like it was a solemn tradition. The girls laughed and let sweet-smelling clouds exit their mouths. One of the guys was lounging on the ledge, feet dangling off, staring at the circling campus with half-opened eyes.

And right in the center of it all, like a throne had been carved out of concrete just for him-Han Su-gang. You raised an eyebrow as you walked up without a hint of nervousness. He didn't say anything at first, just grinned when he noticed you, walking his eye down your legs... pausing when he saw the edge of a tattoo peeking from your thigh.

The slightest smirk raised at the corner of his mouth.

So much for your "sweet girl" act.

"Didn't think you'd show up," he said, voice low and cool, exhaling smoke as he gestured to the empty seat next to him with a casual pat. "Come. Let's get acquainted."

His buddies whistled, sneering quietly with dumb smiles plastered on their faces like they were witnessing a performance. You took your time sitting down, raising your brows higher like it was boring. "You gonna tell me your name, or should I guess it from the gossip?"

"Han Su-gang," he replied, tapping the end of his vape absentmindedly against his palm before raising himself forward closer to you and adding, "You can try out my surname if you want. It fits you."

You huffed a laugh-more amused than flustered-but you had to admit that the way he said everything breezed through the air so easily you felt a curl of anxiety in your gut. The flirting was straight up real. He extended the vape toward you. You looked at the device and then shifted your gaze to him

"I don't just share this with anyone," he said, very smugly.

You took the vape anyway. "Consider me someone."

You took a drag and let it out slow; the room felt like the air slipped somewhere, but you made eye contact through the fog of mist and smoke. The air changed again, enough that he leaned into you now, only a breath away from your face.

"Not bad," he murmured. "Tough girl, huh? Shame your act's cracking already."

You feigned cluelessness. "What act?"

His hand slid across your thigh, featherlight over where the ink curved out from beneath your skirt. "This one."

Another whistle. This time, a boy had his phone up and was clearly taking a picture. You threw him a lazy glance. "Blackmail already?"

Su-gang smirked, still not taking his eyes off you. "They just want evidence I found someone fun."

You couldn't lie, he was attractive. And even if this was just some warped version of getting bullied, the look he gave you? Like he had already claimed you as his for his own?

Yeah, it made your heart beat a little faster. And judging by the way his eyes darkened when you smirked back at him?

He wasn't immune to you either.

────୨ৎ────

The teacher's warning faded away in your mind like just background noise, something dull and forgettable. "Stay away from Han Su-gang," she said, with a voice catching genuine concern as well as some degree of exhausted resignation.

But you had already taken a stroll down the halls with him, less than an hour later, while he tossed a bag over the shoulder of some poor kid he had probably convinced to become his personal mule, along with yours.

And you didn't say anything about it, didn't skip a beat, didn't even question it. You just walked next to Su-gang as if you had always walked side by side.

If she misread you as a "good girl," maybe that was on her.

Once your heels clicked out of reach, the whispers began immediately, almost rhythmically.

"That's the new girl?"

"Already in his crew?"

"I guess she's not as sweet as she looks."

And Su-gang- he knew where the stares were directed. He felt the envy. One glance from him, and the guys glancing over at you? Everyone could see their chances dwindle; it was over.

When you arrived at the club that night, the bass thumped through the walls like a second heart. The expensive lights rendered everything in cinematic slow motion.

Champagne foamed in crystal flutes. Cigarette smoke curled around lazy smiles and glossy lips.

You fit into it all like you were born for it.

That tight black dress you wore? Sin. Draped perfectly over your curves, hugging you in all the right ways. Every head turned when you walked past-girls whispering, guys staring like you weren't real.

You were sitting on the plush couch in the VIP area, giggling with the girls while holding a champagne glass. You let out that cute little giggle that you always do when you saw the box of fancy cigarettes sitting on the table. You remember expressing interest in them before, but everywhere you went, they had been sold out.

But here on the table, there they were.

Su-gang made sure of it.

You stood to reach for one of the cigarettes, and before your hand hit the box, he appeared from behind you, pulled you down out of nowhere into his lap, with his strong arms wrapped around your waist.

Gasps and teasing whistles erupted from around the table.

"Yah, Su-gang-" one of the guys started to say before getting shot down from the look Su-gang gave him.

He didn't say anything to you at first, just tucked his chin near your neck, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin as his hand splayed boldly across your stomach. Possessive. Like he already claimed you.

"Pass the cigarettes," he said, his tone lazy, yet decisive. One of the men in the group grabbed them and handed them to him, fumbling but trying to be quick.

He picked one out for you, and slipped it between your lips the way someone brushes hair from your eyes.

"Don't say I never treat you." He lit it for you, and watched you inhale, your eyes on his the whole time. And for a moment, the whole club disappeared-the music, the people, the flashing lights.

Just you in his lap, the luxury curling between your fingers, smoke on your breath, and power in your smile. You weren't in his world. You were his world.

Su-gang leaned in, his breath hot against Leo's ear. "Let's go somewhere more private," he whispered, his voice a seductive promise that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, unable to resist the allure of the moment. He glanced back at the group of friends who were now fully engaged in their own conversations, the laughter and the music creating a wall of sound that seemed to swell around them.

With a gentle nudge, Su-gang led you out of the VIP lounge, his hand firm but not overpowering on the small of your back. The hallway was a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the club, the dim lights casting elongated shadows on the walls.

The bathroom door loomed ahead, and as Su-gang pushed it open, the cool air hit your flushed cheeks like a slap. Su-gang locked the door behind you two, the finality of the click sending a thrill through your body.

With a sudden urgency, Su-gang felt the need to capture the moment, to seal the intensity of his desire before the world outside intruded. He stepped closer, the warmth of your body radiating through the thin fabric of your dress, and without a second thought, he pinned you against the cold, hard surface of the library door.

His eyes searched yours, a silent question, and in your gaze, he found the answer he craved.

Your lips met in a passionate dance, a fiery exchange of breath and sensation that sent shivers down both of your spines. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, as if trying to erase the last sliver of space between you.

You felt the softness of his mouth, the rough bite of his teeth, the tender way his tongue explored yours. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and need, a silent declaration of feelings that had been smoldering for weeks.

Su-gang's thumbs hooked into the straps of your dress, and with surprising deftness, he tugged them down, exposing your bare shoulders to the cool air.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, the excitement building as you nodded when he asked for your consent, your eyes never leaving his. His hands continued their journey, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

The fabric fell down, and you felt a rush of vulnerability mixed with exhilaration as his palms cupped your breasts, his thumbs grazing your sensitive nipples.

With a low growl, he bent his head to nuzzle against your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. The sensation sent bolts of electricity through your body, making you arch into him.

He took it as an invitation and began to kiss and bite you gently, leaving a trail of fire along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts. The sharpness of his teeth sent delicious shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your breath hitching in your throat.

"Take off your clothes too," you urged him, your voice barely a whisper in the vast silence of the library.

He smirked, his eyes dark with desire, and stepped back. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

With deliberate slowness, he began to unbutton his shirt, one button at a time. His muscles rippled in the dim light as the fabric parted, revealing his broad chest. He watched as you eyed him up and down, savoring the way your eyes devoured his body.

As you slipped out of your dress, you felt the coolness of the marble floor beneath your bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch.

His gaze lingered on your lacy underwear, and before you could take another breath, his fingers were there, tracing the edges of your panties. He slipped his hand inside, his thumb finding your clit and beginning to circle it with maddening precision.

The sensation was exquisite, making you gasp and whine. Your knees grew weak, and you leaned back against the door for support, your eyes fluttering closed.

Su-gang took advantage of your momentary vulnerability, hoisting you up effortlessly and placing you on the countertop that ran along the far wall of the bathroom.

The coldness of the counter sent a shock through your system, but it only heightened the heat building between your legs. With a fierce growl, he ripped your panties off, tossing them aside like a forgotten piece of paper.

You felt a brief moment of exposure, but it was quickly swallowed by the overwhelming need to have him inside you.

He stepped between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor.

His erection sprang free, thick and demanding, and you bit on your lips in anticipation. He didn't waste any time and plunge two fingers into your wet pussy.

The sudden intrusion made you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as he began to finger you with a fast, relentless pace.

The way his hand moved inside you was almost magical, curling and stroking in a way that no one else had ever managed to do. It was as if he could read your mind, giving you exactly what you needed without you having to ask for it.

The pressure built quickly, and you felt your orgasm approaching like a freight train, unstoppable and all-consuming.

But just as you were about to reach the peak, Su-gang withdrew his fingers, leaving you gasping for more.

He leaned in, his cock pressing against your thigh, and whispered in your ear, "I want to hear you scream my name when you come."

Before you could react, he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock playing with your clit, teasing and taunting. It was agonizingly sweet, and you squirmed against the cold counter, desperate for relief.

With a final, almost torturous kiss, he plunged into you, filling you up in one smooth stroke. Your nails dug into his back, leaving trails of red against his skin as you whispered his name, over and over again.

His hips moved with an animalistic rhythm, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. He was so deep inside you, it was as if he was touching your soul, the connection between your bodies palpable and intense.

Su-gang flipped your body to face the mirror, hand reached around to cup your face, turning it towards the bathroom mirror. Your eyes met in the reflection, the desire in them almost feral.

The sight of him behind you, his muscles flexing with each movement, was enough to make you whimper.

You could see the way his cock disappeared into your hole, the way your ass cheeks clapped against his pelvis with every thrust.

It was raw, it was real, and it was the most erotic thing you had ever experienced.

With a growl, he thrusted into you even slower but rougher, making it feel as if every inch of him was leaving an indelible mark on your insides.

You moaned so loud that it was likely that even his friends, who had chosen this moment to place their ear by the bathroom, could hear. The sound of your pleasure bounced off the tiles, mixing with the slap of flesh on flesh.

"I'm gonna cum fuck!" you moaned, the words a desperate plea and declaration all at once. The intensity of your orgasm was building, a crescendo of sensation that had you panting and trembling.

"Can I cum inside?" Su-gang grunted, his voice strained with his own impending release. His eyes searched yours in the mirror, seeking confirmation, a silent question in the midst of the chaos.

You nodded vigorously, the anticipation making your pussy tighten around him.

"Yes," you managed to breathe, your voice a gasp that matched his rhythm. "Do it, cum inside me."

The words seemed to unleash something primal within him. His thrusts grew more frenzied, his hips slapping against your ass with a force that was both exhilarating and a bit painful.

Each smack sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, making you squirt around his cock and coating him in your juices. He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror as he drove into you.

Finally, with one last powerful thrust, Su-gang came inside you, filling you with his warm, thick cum. The feeling of him releasing was almost as intense as your own orgasm, and you felt your walls clench around him, milking every last drop.

Your legs trembled, and you wrapped your arms around his neck for support as he slowly pulled out, the last spurts of his seed painting your inner thighs.

For a moment, you let him sit you up on the counter, panting and trying to regain your composure. The cold wood of the counter was a stark contrast to the heat of your passion, and you shivered slightly.

Su-gang took notice, his expression softening as he carefully helped you sit up. He grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the counter, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to clean you up. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were handling something precious.

When you were both dressed and ready to leave, your eyes fell on the shredded fabric of your panties lying on the floor. A small smile played on your lips, a silent reminder of the intensity that had just occurred. He noticed your gaze and smirked, bending down to pick them up.

Without a word, he crumpled the ruined fabric into a ball and tossed it into the trash can, his movements still filled with a restrained energy.

The air in the hallway felt heavier than it had minutes ago. You paused for a second, fingers fidgeting together as your eyes met his friend-Ji-won, maybe?

He didn't even try to mask the smug smirk pulling at his lips.

You were used to stares, to whispers, to attention. But this?

This wasn't just about your dress, or the way your heels clicked against the marble floor-this was about the obvious blooming bruises decorating your skin, like Su-gang had marked you on purpose.

Like he wanted everyone to know.

And judging by the way the boys avoided direct eye contact, shifting uncomfortably or biting back grins-they did know.

You cleared your throat and walked past them, your head held high, even if your cheeks burned. Su-gang wasn't far behind, his steps lazy and deliberate, like he owned every inch of the hallway.

"Hyung, you're insane," one of the younger boys muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

Su-gang just shrugged, cocky grin tugging at his mouth. "What? She didn't complain."

You shot him a look-part scandalized, part flustered, part can't-help-it smirk. And he looked entirely unbothered, like he wanted them to see.

Like he liked the way you were standing here, slightly dazed, slightly marked up, completely his.

"Let them talk," he said low enough for just you to hear, brushing his hand against the small of your back as he walked past.

"They'll learn soon enough that you're mine."

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loganficsonly · 8 hours ago

Note

Logan smut where y/n and logan are basically insomniacs and hang out together in each others rooms in the middle of the night until one night they decide to break some tension👀 I’m talking friends to lovers and some rough kinky stuff

can't sleep love

trilogy!logan x fem!reader, 5k WARNINGS/TAGS: SMUT MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!!!, alcohol consumption, spanking, piv, creampie, public sex, mentions of reader's hair, friends to fuck-buddies to lovers (?), reader hasn't done it in a while, reader is a teacher with unspecified powers, slight grumpy x sunshine themes as i am wont to do... it's a reflex at this point, slight corruption?? like it's not even a kink lmao it's just FREAKYYY, a lot of logan's pov as usual, not proofread we die like senator kelly AUTHOR'S NOTE: you cooked with this ask, anon. i had to tweak it a little, hope you don't mind. also lowkey tipsy while writing this ehe

He didn’t realize this when he first got to the mansion. The moment he wasn’t snarling at every extended hand, he could see things more clearly.

Ororo’s generosity and compassion. The unseen temper under Jean’s skin. How Scott is harder on himself than he is on others.

And then there’s you.

How everyone likes you. The softness in your gaze, the general ease about you, as if you weren’t also a mutant that people cast away. As if you never got hurt.

You are the opposite of him, and that’s what makes things awkward.

His face is nearly locked in a permanent scowl, while you smile at people effortlessly. Breeziness to his petulance. Clean cut to his rough edges. He feels like he shouldn’t be around you at all—like stepping into a prairie with bloodied boots on, afraid of crushing the daisies under his step and turning them red.

But proximity means he can’t not acknowledge you. What started out as polite nods in the hallway and short small talk when exchanging classrooms shifted into something more genuine.

As he finds safety within the mansion walls, he lowers his own.

When exactly you became friends, he’s not quite sure. That would be akin to asking him on which day of the month spring turns to summer. You make it seem so natural, friendly as you are. Always warm—not the kind that is cloying or irritating, but one that’s ready to oblige, whether it’s sharing a pot of coffee for breakfast or staring off into the distance in the backyard.

Or training together, despite knowing you’d instantly have your back against the mat in a physical no-powers spar against him. God, you were so game, and he remembers how fun it was—something he hasn’t had in a long time.

How the two of you laughed, yours louder than his, when an easy maneuver from him caused you to miss him and fall. He got you to yield multiple times after that first blunder, but you put up better fights with each round.

In the end, though, he got you breathless, sweat dripping down your brow. You were flushed.

“You got me,” you said with a smile, your tone airy and tired as you pushed your hair back. That was when he realized the color of your cheeks, and wished that he’d given you that rosy blush some other way.

…Okay, maybe he doesn’t know when exactly you became friends.

But that February day he trained with you, he realized he was looking at you the way friends didn’t.

You can’t sleep.

Resigning yourself to this fact, you sit up in bed. The past two hours or so of lying in it—counting sheep, doing breathing exercises, visualizing a still lake in the middle of nowhere—is evidence that tonight is going to be a restless one.

Trying not to be annoyed (that’s only going to make it harder to fall asleep), you slip out of your bedroom, not bothering to change out of your old T-shirt and shorts.

It’s warm, you think to yourself as you walk silently in the hallway. May is around the corner, but it feels like the temperature is hiking up more than it should for spring, especially at night. Maybe a glass of ice cold water is what you need. The thought of it makes you aware of the dryness of your throat.

A glow at the end of the hallway where the kitchen is. Someone’s up, too. You can feel your heart rate picking up as a little voice in your head hopes to find a certain someone who’s prone to being awake at this hour…

“Hey Logan,” you call, alerting him of your presence. His back is towards you, but you don’t need to know it’s him. You’re acquainted with how he fills up that gray tank top. He turns to look, not appearing the slightest bit surprised, heightened senses probably alerting him way before you arrived.

“Hey,” he replies, voice low and quiet, “why’re you up?”

You move next to him, trying to get a glass from the top shelf. “Just can’t sleep.”

“Join the club,” he says, sipping on his drink.

Narrow eyes look at him while you fill your glass with water. He doesn’t reek, but there’s a sharp scent in the air. “Is that alcohol?”

A rogue smile from behind the rim. “Depends. You gonna snitch?”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head as you take a seat at the island, staring into a bowl of tropical fruits. This man and his contrabands.

“Not if you share your stash with me.”

He slides up to sit across the way. “Getting naughty, aren’tcha?”

You give him an unimpressed look that has him smirking, as if he won something. Gaze softening, your eyes roam his face, catching the paleness of his face and the slight dimness in his eyes. He looks tired.

“Another nightmare?” You venture quietly, not wanting to cross a line.

Logan’s expression hardens—you can tell from his jaw—and for a second you think he’s going to brush it off, or worse, leave.

A small nod as he downs more of the stuff in his opaque mug. You press your lips into a thin line, relieved he isn’t evading but displeased at the truth.

Having to helplessly hear your friend down the hall groaning in nightly terror is akin to torture. The Professor did a great job working on restoring his memories, and so did recent events at Alkali Lake, but the nightmares seem to remain. A stubborn remnant of the past.

When you first confronted him about it, he sternly demanded you to leave him be, fearing a replay of what he accidentally did to Rogue. You remember how terrified he was at the accident.

“They’re not as bad now,” Logan's murmur cut the silence. He’s not meeting your gaze. You nod, quietly acknowledging his words, not knowing what else to do.

You choose to place your hand over his, thumb stroking his knuckles. He feels a touch too cold.

Something flashes in his eyes. You don’t catch it, preoccupied with unmarred skin where claws would come out. He has nice hands.

“You gonna go back to sleep?” He asks.

Your answer is a noncommittal shrug as you make eye contact again. “You?”

His answer is a grunt. Something to the effect of unlikely, according to your Logan dictionary—a language you learned when he started opening up to you.

A string of words bubble in your throat. Maybe it’s a stroke of loneliness, but you think it’s mostly because it’s him who’s sitting in front of you.

It's him you want to spend time with.

“Want to hang out?”

Hazel eyes on yours make you feel more awake than ever. What you're asking is certainly pushing the boundaries of your relationship: keeping each other company past midnight, fresh off a bout of bad dreams and sleeplessness. You're not just being friendly to a colleague anymore.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, you add, not wanting to scare him away.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Your nightmare, I mean.”

He gets up. Your eyes are glued on his figure as he circles the island, and you’re still not sure what he’s doing until he gestures with his chin for you to come with, mug of alcohol still in hand. Biting the inside of your cheek, you follow.

That was the first time. The two of you sat on the living room couches for a while before Jones wandered in. The very young technopath is often sleepless as well. In this school for Gifted Youngsters, you’re not the only night owls around.

He had the cheek to ask if the two of you were having some kind of secret rendezvous.

“Who taught you that word?” Logan retorted, but the two of you dispersed anyway, feeling strangely like trespassers in the presence of little Jones as he flicked through the television channels silently.

You seek refuge in the backyard, but after a while, the bugs got much too annoying. The balcony wasn’t that much of a difference.

That’s how you ended up in his room for the first time.

It was very simple on his part. “Want to go to my room?" He asked. Equally simple for you to say yes.

And that’s how he ended up in your room the next night.

The night after that, you're in his room again.

The two of you seek solace in each other’s quarters, escaping sleeplessness by talking to each other. Despite being in private, the conversation is hushed, like you’re afraid somebody could hear. Once there’s nothing left to talk about, you’d say good night and return to your rooms.

He occasionally brings his poison into these meet-ups, sharing some with you, until eventually he keeps part of his stash in your room.

“You’re complicit now,” he teased.

It started out with the two of you sitting on the rug next to the bed, head tipped against the plush surface as you talk about all sorts of nonsense except for the reason you’re awake. Now, the two of you are comfortable enough to be in each other’s beds—platonically, of course.

Logan recalls the night you gave up being on the floor. You climbed into his bed, sitting languidly with your head propped above your hand like you were some kind of painting.

“Do you mind?” You asked that night, citing the need for relief in your back. He shook his head, eyes darkening at the sight of you on his bedsheets.

The things you wear to go to sleep. Lord, help him. As summer begins to inch closer, Logan notices how your pajamas begin to shrink. T-shirts become tank tops. Shorts turned into short shorts, your legs on full display. Logan remembers a time you opened the door to your room, wearing a baby blue pair that looked so soft and a tank top that betrays the curves of your chest—he felt his mouth water.

It’s damn near impossible to separate the comfort of your company from the carnal want in his adamantium bones. He doesn’t mean to defile your so-far-wholesome nightly conversations, but he can’t help it. And he has a feeling that you’re not entirely oblivious to the tension, either, what with the way he catches your gaze dropping to his exposed biceps every now and then.

Like tonight. You’re sipping on some Tennessee whiskey from his stash, lovely eyes dropping to his hand enclosed over a mug before expertly meeting his hazel ones in the low light of your room.

Maybe you don’t realize you’re looking at him. Maybe you do, and you don’t realize he’s fully aware of your gaze.

Either way, it’s taking a lot not to pull you into him and take a bite out of you.

He fights the urge with every fiber of decency in him. Yes, he’s the Wolverine, animal mutation intertwined with his own DNA, but he wouldn’t be here if not for your shared trust and vulnerability. You’re probably his closest friend at the Institute. Maybe ever, a little voice whispers.

Tonight, the two of you are in bed. Your bed, to be precise. He’s come to memorize the scent of you, all the notes of it, and even after paying many visits to this sacred place, he still finds it intoxicating. You started playing a boozy version of ‘never have I ever’ about ten minutes ago, despite his initial complaints—the two of you have long drained deep conversations and are left with the dregs, it seems.

He doesn’t like the game, but credits it for what it’s worth. It lets him see glimpses of you he hasn’t seen before, while making you drink with stupid statements like “never have I ever worn a dress”.

“Your turn,” he says. He’s lying next to you, stealing a glance at you while you look up at the ceiling.

You hum, thinking. A sentence brews in your head. Hopefully this one wouldn’t be too weird? The two of you ventured quickly into sexual territory almost as soon as the game started, but it was mostly trying to get each other to drink with cheap shots.

You try to think of something less… risqué, but it’s too late. The thought is stuck.

He looks at you expectantly. You look into your cup. It’s nearly empty, but you feel strangely sober. You gather your voice—the last thing you want is to sound pathetic.

“Never have I ever… had an orgasm by someone other than myself.”

He’s supposed to drink, but you delivered that semi-truck of a sentence with the stability of a weatherman declaring all sun and shine for the entire week.

When you look over at him, he looks almost mad that you’re afraid you’d offended him somehow.

“You should drink—”

“No one’s ever made you come?”

The weight of his question hit you, and the way he worded it makes you flush a little. Was it too weird to say that after all, in a ‘never have I ever’? You shake your head as a wordless answer.

“Jesus, what kind of assholes did you hook up with?” He asks, face contorting, eyes glued to yours. You stop breathing for the second you see a simmering anger. He really was mad.

“I… didn’t hook up a lot,” you offer tentatively, though you aren’t lying. Life was largely unpredictable, especially as a mutant. Exploring your sexuality with another person becomes a privilege, a luxury that was fundamentally inaccessible when it’s already difficult to find people to trust. By the time you arrived at Xavier’s, your time was devoted to serving and educating others.

There is a single moment of quiet as you see Logan appearing to calm down, though the intensity of his stare doesn’t let up.

In a smooth movement, he places his cup by the nightstand before taking yours out of your hands, doing the same, not breaking eye contact. You don’t exactly know how he got on top of you, his large palm on your jaw making sure you look up at him. Darkening eyes flicker down to your lips, a thumb pressing down and parting them ever so slightly. Your heart nearly stops.

“Want me to show you?” He asks, voice deep as he hovers over you. He can’t stop himself. How could he, when he knows he can take you to heights unimaginable—when he wants to, so badly? The things he wants to do to you, the thoughts that plague him as a sinful substitute to his nightmares, they all flash in his mind’s eye for half a second.

His sense of control frays to a single thread.

You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. The hazy warmth clouding you might be just the whiskey’s doing, but that's a lie. This is something else that’s been brewing for a while. Perhaps since that time in the kitchen when you put your hand on top of his.

Perhaps even before that.

Steeling yourself, you nod at his question. He groans, lips against your ear. That alone makes you shiver.

“Ah—”

He says your name sternly. “Words. Tell me you want this.”

He doesn’t part, can't. He takes your earlobe in his mouth. You let out a soft moan.

“Logan, want you…”

It’s enough for him to snap, his lips pulling away from your ear before crashing against yours in a wild kiss. Your breath hitches, hands flying to his shoulders as he devours you, teeth almost clashing in a storm of desperation. You’re dizzy as he latches onto your neck, hands traversing your body like he’ll die if he doesn’t feel you.

To a certain degree he feels like he’ll die either way. The outline of your chest over your light tank top, the plump flesh of your thighs, they’ve occupied too much of his mind for him to act like this is just some other conquest. With every brush of his hand against your skin, he stokes the primal part of him, the beast purring, pleased but wanting more.

Meanwhile, a fog takes over you, lowers your inhibitions as Logan continues to touch and grope, moving you against some pillows until you’re sitting up slightly. A quiet noise escapes you when you feel his teeth sink into your neck, leaving the first of many marks as a hand moves up under your tank top. Dancing past ribs, reaching your chest.

“Oh, God,” you sigh as calloused fingers pinch your nipple. Pulling. Circling. He growls against your skin, letting go so he can watch the outline of his hand under the fabric of your top.

“When was the last time someone touched you, sweetheart?”

You look back at him, the nickname making your head spin as you attempt to find the right answer.

“I don’t know, a while,” you pant.

“Yeah, can tell,” he rasps as he paws at your shirt. “Need to take this off.”

When he does, you shiver, both at the initial hit of cool air on your skin as well as the way he stares at your bare, heaving chest. He’s studying you, the way your nipples harden as he brushes a finger against it. His other hand keeps yours above your head, a loose grip on both your wrists.

“So fucking pretty…” He murmurs, sitting between your legs as he watches your face while his fingers toy with your chest. The measured movements are nearly criminal. You bite your lip, trying not to make so much noise at this dead of night, but it’s hard when he’s looking at you like a man starved.

Like he’s wanted this for a while.

He lets go of your wrists to prop himself up over you, lips descending to your collarbone, then sternum. Then, slowly, as if to give you space to say no, his warm breath is over your chest, and your hands are flying to his shoulders. A wordless response, telling him you want this just as much.

His eyes are already pinned on your face when he latches his mouth to your nipple. A sound of pleasure escapes you.

“Ha-ah—Logan,” you pant, unable to take your eyes off him.

Tongue works on a hardened peak, sucking and nibbling with just an edge of roughness to distract from the hand snaking down your body while his mouth switches to your other breast. Your eyes widen, feeling him cup you through your shorts before fingers easily find their way in, circling your dampening panties.

A hum around your nipple when his hand is fully underneath your shorts. You arch, eyelids fluttering close as his thumb brush against your clothed clit.

“God, you’re so wet, sweetheart. For me, hmm?" He leaves a languid stroke over the gusset of your underwear, groaning at the feel of your cunt, the way the fabric sticking to your flesh accentuating the shape of you.

It doesn’t take long till he has you completely naked under him, sleeping clothes forgotten somewhere on the bedroom floor while he’s two fingers deep in your pussy, his other hand on your thigh, keeping you open. You cling onto his back as he pumps steadily into you, drinking in every single shift in your expression.

When he hits a spongy spot in you, somewhere your fingers could never reach, you cry out, forgetting your attempts to maintain the quiet of the night.

He grins.

“You like it here, pretty?”

His thick digits move in and out of you more fervently, eager to exploit your sensitive spots. He knows he’s doing a good job because your responses are becoming less verbal, unintelligible noises escaping you, eyes glossed over as they stare into his.

You’re slipping into an abyss of pleasure, the wet sounds of your juices as his fingers plunge into your core making it impossible for you to think. How did you get here? What were you doing before this? Do you really care, when Logan is whispering filthy things against your ear, your slick coating his fingers, dripping down his hand?

“You hear that?” A loud squelch as he sinks in. “That’s your pussy making that sound. Taking my fingers so damn well, sweetheart.”

Electricity zaps down your spine as he brushes a different spot, making your eyes nearly roll back. He watches, stills, then drives into it again.

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the cry that you can’t help but let out as he exploits your body, but his other hand shoots out quickly, caging your wrist by the side of your head.

“Don't hide those noises,” he groans. “Wanna hear you when you come. You’re close, huh?”

“P-please—”

Hips begin to buck, a soft stream of noises escaping you as he plunges his fingers faster. Your heavy breathing tangles with his as you feel the knot in your belly threatening to unravel. Fingers try to warn him of your impending release, digging crescent moons onto his back that disappear as soon as they form.

When you come, it’s a silent scream. He watches you climax, admiring the way your body shivers and spasms, quietly growling at the sensation of your cunt squeezing him in. His ego preens, basking in the fact that he is the first man to make you orgasm.

His fingers are soaked when he pulls them out, dripping on the sheets, and he makes sure that you’re watching when he sticks them in his mouth.

One lick. They emerge clean.

“Tastes so good,” he growls, and before long his face is between your legs, hands pushing them open for him.

He makes you come on his tongue once before putting his cock in you.

The sight of it makes your stomach churn. There’s a reason he acts so cocky, and the reason is the thing he’s pushing into your core, girthy and veiny and ready. He looks down, unable to take his eyes off the debauched scene of your cunt swallowing him whole.

“Oh, fuck,” he sputters, feeling your plush walls suck him in, voice wavering just a touch. “So fucking tight.”

You mewl, gripping his biceps as his hands hold onto your hips, making sure you stay still. It’s a little while until he’s all the way in. You feel so incredibly full, as if he’s up against your stomach, big and pulsing with heat. It’s overwhelming. Almost painful. Would be, if he didn’t prepare you as much—considering how long it’s been for you, it’s a wonder he even fit.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, just need to… get used to you,” you whisper, hands on his shoulders.

He looks down at you, eyes boring into yours. His jaw is set with restraint, face contorted with pleasure as he feels you cling to him. Chest heaving, you take deep breaths. Not long after, the immense stretch of his cock stirs a want within you, enough for you to tell him.

“Can you move?” You ask softly. He lets out a strained laugh.

“Can I?” He growls. “Been dying to, baby.”

The first time he pulls away slightly, only to slide back into your heat, the two of you moan.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, the friction making your head tip back. His eyes flash with wanton determination, arms by the sides of your head, bracing before he moves his hips. Slowly at first, thrusts shallow.

Your hands snake up his arms, caressing his shoulders and moving down to his chest. His heart is hammering under your palm, the very pulse that you feel in your core from his thick length. He gradually moves out of you more before sheathing all the way back in.

It’s like he’s trying to get you to memorize the shape of him.

And you do—your body does, cunt swallowing him easily. He looks down where you’re joined, licking his lips at the way you’re absolutely drenching him.

“More?” He asks, slightly breathless. You nod.

He shifts. You move your arms to wrap around his neck, anticipation coiling at the bottom of your gut.

Then he fucks you, slow but harder at first, faster and wilder afterwards, pounding your brains out. You’re a moaning mess, fingers scratching down his back. He thrusts, filling you up completely to make you a vessel for only pleasure—pleasure he’s giving you. Sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echo in the room, a constant staccato over his grunts and your whines.

You come with a gasp of his name not long after he places your legs on his shoulders, plundering the deepest parts of you. He follows soon after, hot spurts of release on your stomach, oozing out of him almost endlessly. It slowly drips down to your mound, as if marking you his.

A sight he’s not going to forget anytime soon.

If Charles so much as brushes your minds with his powers, the two of you would be fired on the spot for indecency.

That first time did nothing to quench your shared hunger. It worsened it. And not just because the two of you always had the best sleep after sex.

Both he and you find it difficult to exercise restraint. It was mainly you who tried, wanting to be decent in an environment filled with children, but you soon gave up thanks to his diligent temptations. You don’t understand how a simple look from him can be so full of explicit promises.

As for Logan, he thoroughly enjoys stripping you of your steadfast propriety with every visit he pays to your bedroom, taking you in all of the ways he imagines. He thanks whatever God is out there for the fact that there are empty rooms between your quarters and the next occupied one, and that no one gets to hear the beautiful cries that escape you. Your little “ah, yes,”es and “Logan, please”s are for him alone.

It’s dangerous, is what it is. You occupy every nook and cranny of his brain like some kind of drug. Smoking his cigar in the backyard of the mansion between classes, his mind easily turns to you.

In particular, the bounce of your breasts as you rode him, face red and thoroughly fucked out, a bit of drool escaping the side of your lips as his large hands on your waist helped you move up and down his cock.

“Logan, so big,” you whimpered, head lolling to one side. He called you his good girl then for taking him so well, one hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear.

He grunts, feeling the obvious discomfort in his jeans. Seven minutes to kill that boner before his next class.

Neither of you remember how it began, but your surreptitious activities spilled outside the privacy of the night and into broad daylight. He starts to take you in the mornings, too, gentle and slow, basking in how husky your voice sounds after a night of doing the same deed. How could you resist, when you wake up in his arms under the sheets, warm and comfortable?

And then it slowly seeps outside of the bedroom.

The brush of his hand down your arm when you pass each other in the hallway. Your lips innocently pressed against his knuckle. A kiss that’s a second too long.

Seemingly chaste encounters quickly turn into wicked ones.

Once, most of the children are out for a day of sports under a blue sky. Logan dragged you into an empty classroom and bent you over the teacher’s desk, hand shoved up your sundress. He pulled your lace panties to one side, making you wet with his fingers.

“Look so good like this,” he rasped into your ear as he finally took you from behind, a hand against your mouth to muffle your moans, smearing your lip gloss, the other gripping the flesh of your ass. A resounding smack and a moan follows—yours, as you feel your skin burn pleasurably from his hand.

At this point you’ve been doing it so much that you started taking the pill—something he’s eternally grateful for, because it lets him spill his cum inside of you, filling you up to the brim. He loved watching it leak out of you, only to use his finger to push it back in, plugging you full before pulling your panties up.

“Want you to think of me all day, pretty,” he pressed a kiss on your temple as you slowed down your breathing, “want you to remember who’s got you filled up. Whose cum is it inside you, princess?”

“Yours, Logan,” you mewled weakly in response, knees shaking.

It’s not like the others don’t know that there’s something between the two of you—they just don’t know the extent of it. How much of your bodies are intertwined.

How he owns you, and you him.

Evidenced by the way you still talk like you used to. Yes, most of the talking has been replaced with fucking, but sentiments of friendship remain. It remains in the way he’ll save coffee from the pot for you in the morning, in the way you’ll sit with him in the backyard and stare into the distance.

Things you did in the very beginning.

And when he catches a glimpse of you in the hallway after class, saying something to your students that makes them laugh out loud, a different feeling emerges in his chest. It’s tight, like a string wrapped around his heart and pulled taut for a second or two. A feeling that makes him weak in the knees.

A feeling he knows is spelled with four letters.

He exhales a shaky breath, feet frozen in place with realization, though it’s not a surprise.

If anything, it feels like it’s been there the entire time, waiting for the right moment to ensnare his reality with the finality of it. As his gaze softens, watching you give high-fives to your younger students, he knows there’s no escape.

What started as a cure to one condition is turning into another of a much deadlier caliber.

This one, he doesn’t mind being sick with.

Maybe he’ll tell you tonight, before bed.

i spent so long working on this it's not even funnyyy lol

divider by cafekitsune. thank you!

#logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #x men #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you

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sevenwishesonshootingstars · 22 hours ago

Text

Long Awaited Wish: Descent of Our Beloved Star (2)

Part two of this. I haven't actually gotten around to doing the Natlan archon quest so please forgive anything that doesn't feel right or make sense. This is probably going to have more parts than I'd originally planned so I'm going to try to keep certain things short, which unfortunately means little focus on character interaction outside of the nation's leaders (and additional archon where applicable).

It started in Natlan. The Stadium of the Sacred Flame was decorated immensely. It was vibrant and ornate and bustling, even more so than usual. Alongside the usual street art styled murals were now banners, flags, streamers, lights, and other decorative objects, some familiar and some not, all as bright and lively as the rest of Natlan’s culture was shown to be. And yet it was still more than you’d ever known it to be.

NPCs were buzzing around to complete various tasks and partake in numerous activities. They were eager, faces so expressive and movements so fluid you would have thought this was a cutscene and not regular gameplay. There were people from every tribe, and the interior was so packed with actually alive looking crowds you wondered if every NPC in the nation was there. Even more impressive, most of them actually noticed your presence (well the Traveler’s, or so you assumed) and seemed to light up at the sight. You knew the Traveler was something of a celebrity by now, but the sheer joy on some of their faces was almost overwhelming. They moved out of the way, cheerfully exclaiming they were glad to see you there, that they were happy you actually came, some even thanking you for showing up. Thanks to the third person point of view given by the cameras, you even saw a few people reach out and try to touch the Traveler’s arms and hair, appearing almost longing.

It was uncomfortable.

As much as you didn’t want to make a judgement before you even knew what was going on, you couldn’t help but feel suspicious of the intensity of their happiness. Sure the Traveler was a hero, but this level of adoration had seemingly come out of nowhere, kicking up to 11 over night. You were reminded of the moment in Sumeru when the people had been led to believe that the Traveler had just saved the world. The way everyone had been trying to get closer to them, closing in, zombie-like in their appreciation. And yet, the NPCs here were also the opposite. They seemed so alive, aware of their behavior, choosing to act this way on their own behalf. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You were taken near the entry point of the actual stadium, where Mavuika was waiting, arms crossed over her chest, hip cocked, and mouth in her signature confident grin. “You’re here! Good, I want to show you what we put together,” she said, ushering you to come over. “We’ve been working non-stop to get this all set up and organized. Getting the entire nation in one place is easier said than done, but now that it is done, we ought to enjoy it!”

You leaned forward in your seat, eager to finally get some details on what was going on. She led you out into the stadium, where the NPCs had all packed together. They cheered at your shared entrance, so loudly that you recoiled slightly from the sound. Mavuika grinned at you and stepped forward to address the crowd while you watched from the other side of the screen in curiosity and confusion.

“People of Natlan, of every tribe, I welcome you all to the very first Long Awaited Wish Festival!” she yelled, excitement and pride bubbling under the confidence of her voice. “We've been to the Abyss and back, fighting to save our nation, our homes, and our families. We're in a new era, and it's now the time to celebrate how far we've come!”

You tilted your head. This was interesting… you noticed her namedrop the in-game event as a festival. Based on the event image, every nation that had been released was involved. Did they each have their own version of the festival? You snapped back to attention when the Pyro Archon's speech turned to the subject of you the Traveler.

“And now, we can’t forget the attendance of our Star,” she told the crowd as she grabbed the Traveler's wrist and pulled up their arm in celebration, a win of what you weren’t sure. “A vessel of guidance and greatness, our friend and hero, and an embodiment of will, our Star in tangible form, the Traveler!”

The crowd, as they say, went wild. People screamed in adoration and excitement, clapping and jumping. They waved signs and were all in their best clothes. Their eyes were all on you, and your stomach felt like TV static. You were unsure of what some of the archon's words meant too.

You spotted various playable characters in the crowd as well. The original gang, of course, Mualani cheering with Kachina on her shoulders while Kinich swatted disinterestedly at Ajaw. Ororon clapping, Varessa waving, and everyone in between and beyond them scattered about the stadium. All here for the Traveler, here for you.

After Mavuika's speech, the event was in full swing. The archon herself showed you around the festival, bringing you from booth to booth, many of which you got free things from. You noticed as you passed the NPCs that the option to speak was available for the majority of them.

The rest of the day was spent doing various festival activities in the form of challenges and mini games. There were lines for most of them, but you were apparently given a line skipping pass of some sort because the Traveler was always pushed to the front of the line regardless of what you did.

Each of the playable characters had a mini game they participated in with you, be it as a teammate or opponent. A balancing challenge with Iansan with the goal to carry progressively heavier weights while jumping over obstacles for as long as you can. An eating contest with Varessa, presented in the form of a Pacman parody with various dishes from across the nation instead of ghosts. A fruit catching game with Ororon where you had to go back and forth and use his skill to catch fruits falling from trees of different heights. An operation style game with Ifa, where touching the wrong thing triggered a buzzer. An underground maze with Kachina, throwing things through hoops while surfing with Mualani, a grappling/swinging race with Kinich, the list went on and on, each character trying in their own way to keep you the Traveler at theirs or guarantee a return.

You were surprised your phone hadn't exploded.

It had been a few hours and your battery was soon as good as dead, so you went to the eating area in the stadium to finish off. You were instructed by the game to sit at the table with Mavuika, so you did. Though you didn't notice at the time, everyone else watched with barely concealed disappointment that their Star was sitting with someone else, but she was the archon so it only made sense.

“Are you enjoying the festivities?” she asked. The dialogue options were really two different ways of saying yes so you just picked the first automatically. Mavuika beamed. “That's the spirit! It took a lot to put this together so I'd hope we did it right and actually put together something fun.”

The Traveler nodded, a smile just as bright on their own face. They seemed to be enjoying the ordeal, so… “Well, if you're having fun, I guess I don't mind the weirdness as much,” you muttered to the screen with a chuckle. Both of their smiles got brighter, but surely it was your imagination. You'd been looking at a screen for too long.

The meal was finished enthusiastically and soon it was time to set off back the way you came, to the previous nation and next celebration. You said goodbye to each playable character, the archon doing your final send off and whispering as you went, “Remember Natlan when the time comes.”

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin fanfic #genshin natlan #genshin mavuika #self aware genshin #yandere sagau #implied and nonromantic #but you can read it romantically if it's age appropriate idc just enjoy the fic #sagau cult au #sagau x reader #genshin isekai fanfic #genshin isekai #my writing #mavuika

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