#flash forward ( *• queue •* )

[lgcasami]

lgc trainee mission 017, nostalgia, preparation

It happens after their performance of Ah-choo which should be expected but comes to Asami like criticism always does. Like a slow-moving supermarket cart that goes over her toe. It’s a little painful when it happens, but soon enough, she’s over with the pain and just decides to pay more attention to her surroundings.

Ah-choo was already a song Asami knew she lacked charm to pull off, so when the feedback came, it wasn’t exactly surprising, but rather, disappointing. She, like everyone else, has worked very hard, but it doesn’t matter if you work hard if your heart isn’t into it, and despite really liking this song, Asami knew she wasn’t a 100% focused on the task at hand.

“You’ve done quite well so far, Asami, but I must be honest, for someone who has been training for as long as you have, I expected something better. You lacked understanding of what you were performing, and that has been a recurring problem if I’m not mistaken, right? Though, I don’t think lack of understanding is the problem here. I know you’re not a slow learner, but you keep putting barriers within your own abilities. What are you scared of exactly? Because this is your time to mess up. I don’t want you making mistakes on the stage, so why do you keep self-sabotaging?”

Asami is heading towards her fifth year as a trainee, so honestly? Hearing those words feel quite bitter in the back of her throat. She has never the most confident or extroverted trainee, but the first thing that pops into her head when her mentor says that is “it’s because I’ve been here too long.”

Truly, Asami doesn’t know why or how to stop it, if she can or if she will. Maybe she should seek professional help from a therapist or psychiatrist and stop relying only on her teachers and seniors. And for the first time since January 2020, Asami thinks, “or maybe a more drastic career altering option.”

[kalims]

he's a ten but he...

premise. sometimes certain bad habits of theirs make their overall rating just a tad bit lower—besides the fact that they keep doing it.

characters. dorm leaders

content. gender neutral reader

malleus (doesn't have a sense of space)

"look beastie, that flower is a native of ours,"

"I agree mal, but I didn't think you taking up the entirety of my seat will make me see it better,"

he blinks, then shrugs.

like i said, has NO sense of space.

if an average person would make an excuse to constantly be in physical contact with who they admire, then malleus is the complete opposite. well, not entirely but he doesn't even bother to construct an explanation as to why he's literally sat over your seat when you coincidentally get put in a table together.

if you start questioning him about it the most you'll get in a very outright 'because he wanted to.' it's not even one of those sarcastic replies he's 100% serious!

cause he believes there's no use in lying about things to be honest.. to further emphasize that, if he ever acts like he does hold fondness for you that surpasses the platonic meter but doesn't mention it he probably hasn't realized yet.

if he did he'd already walk over and bluntly tell you about it.

(I wish I could be that unbothered.)

lilia thinks it's the cutest thing though. you swear you see flashes of light for a split second from the ceiling but when you look up there's only a suspicious swinging chandelier.

^ totally has his own album full of pictures.

if malleus ever discovers it he won't even be disturbed, probably would ask for a copy 💯

since human lives, and their bodies are so fragile he'd taken it upon himself to protect you from harm. even if it means trailing behind you everywhere way too close for comfort, or standing a bees wing away.

while he is respectful most of the time, he's encouraged if you don't comment. if anything, he seems pleased you dont seem to be bothered! (and it'll get harder to tell him to stop when he's so happy the more you let it happen..)

"child of man, have you slept?"

*starts leaning his body forward, to squint at your eyes.* practically right in front of your face.

"WTF."

not even a warning or anything! but atleast he's concerned?

idia (won't even show up for anything and insists a 'virtual' date is better.')

user: where tf r u??

ghoul666: WDYM? at the dorm?

user: IVE BEEN WAITING HERE FOR 20 MINUTES

unintentionally stood you up 💀

you literally have to tell him that you're waiting for him to arrive at the specified area you discussed where your date would take place but would end up vastly irritated when he questions if you guys even did.

ghoul666: we do??

user: I'm taking my minecraft bed away from urs.

ghoul666: NO PLS

ghoul666: HELLO????

next time you log in minecraft it's probably because he begged you to play, you WILL end up seeing some kind of structure that probably took days to make. that's not even the entire thing cause the inside is entirely decorated to your taste.

in short: he constructed some kind of venue for a wedding.. even changed his skin to wear a tuxedo 😭

though he has sparked your pettiness, hence the ignoring him period. even you have got to admit that it's freaking adorable...

big sign, emphasis on please: Im sorry pls put ur minecraft bed back I can't sleep w/o u and I have to wait entire days for it to turn into morning :(

with what he's built you're sure it's 65% true.

if you do end up forgiving him, few weeks later attempting to schedule another date will only end up in naught.

ghoul666: can we not go there

user: 😐

user: you are testing my patience love

ghoul666: 😓 (he is screeching about the term of endearment part btw KABSJAJSAJA ortho would enter his room very concerned.)

ghoul666: how abt

ghoul666: mimic together? call

user: sighs

user: I'm only agreeing cause I want to spend time with you

queue more screeching from his end that you're completely oblivious to.

the only screeching you're gonna hear though is when you guys do get into call as you play, and it's mainly out of terror when his soul gets sent to the void ascending when the entity pops out of a corner and starts chasing him.

"I GOT THIS. ILL CARRY U THIS IS FINE" *screams again* but really wants to impress you so he pushes through.

unsurprisingly does carry you.

asks to match avatars right after (idia love languange)

vil (frets over you way too much.)

"vil, did you see the chocolate in the freezer?"

"oh, that? I noticed that you've already gone through the ideal number of bars this week so I took it upon myself to make sure you don't go sick on me,"

"I love you but please give it back—"

"I love you too, and no."

disclaimer: he does this for your own good 😜 (average mom excuse.)

looks out for you more than he does for his own dorm residents. everyone is wondering where he ran off to after class, especially since he's the one that scheduled the pomefiore meeting every fridays!

and to think he was the one getting irritated over the more newer first years for being late..

*shows up literally half an hour in*

why you ask? you simply shouldn't have texted him about abandoning your daily walk together through the gardens in favor of catching sleep since you called in sick (you're suspicious if crewel really did go in to check for proof, and not concern.)

vil's really feeling the absolute regret of not checking his phone during classes.. well, he only saw the message which was coincidentally sent like somehow ONE minute after the lecture started and he's only seeing it 59 minutes later.

oh you poor thing!! though the lunch break is short, he has about 5 minutes for a trip to the mirror chamber..

you'd think the 'seen' icon below your message was a weird omen for something you're not sure but it must be doom cause vil is right at the front porch of your crappy dorm. at his own expense?! looking more disheveled than you've seen him before.

if a few stray hairs was disheveled at all. more importantly, he still looked drop dead gorgeous!

you probably looked quite terrible with the blanket draped around your shoulders looking like you just crawled out of your grave, because he looked absolutely mortified at your state.

"oh great sevens.." he looked like he was faint, huffing and fanning himself with his hand. "look at you, why didn't you tell me sooner, darling?"

you blink, swallowing to make your throat less dry but your voice still comes out raspy. "I did, like an hour ago—" without your invitation whatsoever, he steps in. promptly shutting the door behind him (which surprisingly still stands sturdy.)

vil takes a hold of your shoulders before reaching his hands upwards to tilt your face around. "you should have sent earlier," he says. you keep in the comment that you were sleeping during it, and you told him about it during second period so.. "your face is so pale."

you sigh.

"yeah, I just saw. I know, I look hideous right now."

vil frowns at you, stopping to angle your face at him. "don't ever say that. I always find you beautiful even if you are.." he glances at you from face to toe, then back up. "sickly."

"... I feel offended."

"hmph, shush now. let me draw you a bath then I know something that will boost your system."

after much coaxing in his end, you reluctantly take a warm bath in the hopefully hygienic bathroom. true to his word, vil did... concoct something. though it looked pretty the random steam that flew from it was really suspicious.

the residents don't dare to question, except rook of course. who already knew what transpired! :)

epel: 😃 (atleast vil wasn't around.)

"roi du poison~ tell me, tell me! is the trickster well? have you cured them with your love?"

"rook, you have 5 seconds to get out of my face."

rook giggles away.

kalim (thinks money will buy anything, including your forgiveness.)

"here!" there's a suspiciously bright smile on his face as he hands you.. some keys?

you deadpan, jingling it in your hands. it weighs heavy than the average, probably because of the fact that it's literally made of gold. "... kalim what is this?" you emit a sigh, from suspicion and concern.

"a gift!"

"wait why does it say lot 111--"

as you can already, that was an actual, literal house. which you imagine would probably be a lots more grand, and new compared to your old baby ramshackle.

but you do love it despite it's love for falling apart at the most inconvenient of times..

fighting with kalim was rare but it was hard to even argue with him because the notion of disagreements are so bizarre to him that he unintentionally doesn't treat you seriously with your concerns, accidentally downplaying them aaaand now you're upset.

after the ranting to jamil about how you must be busy with a lot, since you haven't even talked to him in the past 2 days. all it took was a side glance to his friend in denial and jamil immediately knew.

"what do you mean they're mad!? D:"

"just.. go apologize, I don't want to get caught up in this."

if his definition of an apology is buying you an entire house...

( ^ it is btw.)

kalim really doesn't mean any harm. he just really wants to sate whatever anger you held for him <- maybe he's overthinking it but it's kalim so he's 99% sure it's his fault! even though it hasn't even been confirmed from your end he'd probably accept it whole heartedly.

he wanted you to talk to him again so badly that he wouldn’t mind showering you with houses... since your living situation doesn't live up to your kindness (sorry ramshackle love u xx)

you know what. he wouldn't even notice he's the reason you're upset at first even though he's been asking around on who put you in that mood. despite himself being the perpetrator but he didn't really know that did he?

the only reason he does is because he assumed you were just because you avoided him like some sort of.. cockroach! (he dislikes those.) and he couldn't take it anymore.

was probably 1 sec away from barging into your dorm which wouldn't take a lot of effort since one ram to the door would probably break it.

bless jamil for jailing all the carpets so kalim doesn't find them.

even if said carpets fling him off when he's riding them.

"kalim, why would you buy a literal house... and you also got a rare address paid--"

"for them! ;D"

"... you do know they'd be more offended by the fact that you'd try to replace that.., ahem. dorm, right?"

"oh... should I buy them a vehicle then?"

you only promise to forgive him once he takes back the keys, and the house entirely...

(grim begged you to keep it, 'house for him apparently.')

azul (keeps trying to offer you discounts thinking it's a good excuse to have you over.)

"I assure you. you'll find no deal better than this."

"I'm not even that hungry for sea food, actually I'm craving some--"

"you're in luck then! ahem, it's 26% off due to a special event for today."

pro tip: keep insisting to eat at other places cause he's gonna keep increasing the discount by 2% until you eventually relent. once, you made him go to the point of 75% off, it's almost hilarious if not for the fact it only worked once.

now he won't go last 50!

ahem. if you look closely you can almost spot tiny cracks accumulating with each denial you respond with, and each increase of his discount. he's grown to be wary about the bullshit 'lucky' promos you just happen to stumble on.

last time you did he practically lost a week's worth of the presumed income he's predicted cause you actually went around and told your first year friends about it... who.. in turn told some, other friends of theirs about it and you could guess.

love must hurt.. and unfortunately it's his wallet wailing.

but azul is not so easily swayed by this! for you have swayed him first! *wink wonk*

but azul has another trick up his sleeve... keeping on roping jade and floyd into it; whom are far too enthusiastic cause finally— something fun to do! someone to bother! not only have you got the most stubborn octopus having frequent suspicious 'deals' but here are his equally suspicious lackeys.

who keeps.. talking about fried octopus..

yeah, you're not sure if preaching about azul’s species is the job they were assigned.

they're fairly easy to point in the right direction anyways. the tweels have always associated you with the word 'fun' so just a little, friendly suggestion from and they were off to their merry way. mortifying every single person you come across with their sudden attachment.

one of their tricks? following you around. and just somehow, every single place you enter is just mysteriously full even though you peered inside and there was like 7 tables empty. what are they hosting? ghosts? spirits?

...

they do look like they've seen some though..

jade rn: "a shame indeed, you must be hungry. why don't we escort you back to monstro lounge?" :)

long story short you can't even reply cause the sleek eel is already guiding you around by the use of his hands on your shoulders. just to make sure you don't stray away from the destination, he says.

"didn't you say that yesterday's promo was like, a one day thing?" you quirk a brow, and you almost fool yourself into thinking he flinched.

azul clears his throat. "well—today is.. the month before you've graced octavinelle with your assistance—"

he praises himself for his quick thinking.

COME ON! it doesn't matter if you're sick of eating stir fried shrimp, or the butter one, or every single dish they serve that includes shrimp! (also do not mention that you ate somewhere else before you just decide to visit his dorm because that establishment just mysteriously got filed a non-legal business report.)

then you've got floyd chasing you around with a fork. which is more terrifying because he's holding it in a notion that would seem like he'd just stab down at you when he catches up with your little goose chase.

it's just.. you're not sure if your stomach could take another bite of the poor food he stabbed into, and is now chasing you around with.

you screech. "JADE PLEASE."

the man shrugs. "it's a free taste."

"AZUL."

"... only on a condition of course."

frankly. it took all the balls he had to actually sputter out the most simplest sentence ever, cause during the time he rehearsed that in front of his mirror it just plagued him with embarrassment but he's getting desperate.

'I'd like to take you out to dinner, somewhere else of course.'

actually, maybe obliterating any possible craving for the food of his lounge just might've been part of his plans to ask you out..?

leona (prevents you from actually being productive via dragging you down to 'nap' every. single. time.)

"I will literally fail if you don't let go of me right now."

"hmph. so what? it's not like failing a grade killed anyone."

"leona just because you've lived through a lot of fails doesn't mean I have to, we're not all rich enough to not finish school."

to which he'd retaliate that all you'd need is to marry him and you'd be set for life.

there is no winning an argument with leona when it comes to his naps. if he states that you're to be next to him as he sleeps, its final. no buts, no retaliations, cause apparently they're all invalid according to him even if you drag him to court.

rhetorically of course, that if its a comical court scene his only statements are; 'well you're wrong', 'who cares', and 'i dont care'. one way or another he's still gonna win you over and now you're fit snugly in his arms, lamenting.

and if crowley chastises you for not doing the errands (via leona's common interference.) the only thing you need to honestly do is to complain to leona about it and suddenly crowley has the kindness to forgive you for your 'laziness' then says something about enjoying your time together?

leona's work no doubt.

you suppose he does has its perks. even if most of it isn't exactly ideal.

if you're being smart then you should give him an ultimatum or something, or bribe him. but... that really has no guarantee to work either cause you're ending up defeated, or just defeated and flustered since he's somehow unconsciously flirty.

at the end of the day you can't really hate him cause the following day you find out he sent an already sleep deprived ruggie to do your work. 'so you can shut your fussing up and let me enjoy you.' he says, and you quote.

it goes something like;

"if i finish my work i'll stick by you all day."

a stready flow of confidence keeps your voice firm as you glower down at the blank-faced leona sat on the grass. he merely tilts his head, raising a brow at you and seemingly pondering from the way his eyes fly to the sky.

you'd think that maybe your plan actually worked but he merely grunts and flops backwards, holding the back of his head with his palms as he laid. and! he ignores you.

...this little greedy man... "why should i care whether or not you finish your work?" he huffs, like the evil, arrogant spawn he is but you can't really defend yourself cause said evil spawn bewitched you so much that you actually still like him.

"because you care about me?"

"...fine," he scowls, releasing a breath you'd mistake for irritation. "then, do you really think i need you to finish your work when i can just keep you right here?"

you sulk. "i'll do anything you want?"

he deadpans as if you said something stupid. "i don't need you to anything else but sit still and be pretty."

...

...

see what i mean about him eventually winning you over? yeah.

next morning there's a rebellion in savanaclaw about overworked residents and ruggie is the head of them.

"he said that he doesn't need you today." <- ruggie, steering you away.

"really?" <- you, confused

riddle (overthinks TOO HARD.)

“I'm just a little busy.”

“I understand,” riddle says.

“I'm just a little busy.” he understands.

“a little busy.” its just… a small thought…

“I'm just busy.” his mind is a hazard at this point. 

for someone as supposedly maintained as riddle—you'd think his mind is as composed as it is organized. like the pens you'd perfectly align in correlation to order of colors, or the neat pile of clothing folded neatly, tucked in some corner in your closet that is farther in since it's used less.

that's just how he is, or at least seems to be. a bundle of organized thoughts, every thought connected to another. a mind too clean to be going on haywire (when he isn't in a particular mood, that is.)

you're just busy. he thinks. you said it yourself, with that agonizingly nice smile that must be sprinkled with some kind of spell from the way it just eradicated all the protests in his throat upon sight. he isn't one to question it, he wants to help but not if you don't ask.

he can only stare with resigned acceptance at your insomnia induced eyes.

but when the curtain of darkness befalls night raven college, even in the comfort of heartslabyul is he still thinking about that thought–and he can’t help but wonder; why exactly are you busy? its not that he’s suddenly hyper aware of your lack of presence since you’ve been attached to the hip the previous week and now you’re just.

…busy…

riddle likes to think of himself as a level-headed, private person. like the boy he raised himself to be and therefore proud of. but its way past 10AM. which is usually the time he sleeps, and let me tell you that he’s never once broke the cycle for years. yet here he is, a frown of frustration present on his face as he wills his mind to sleep.

somehow closing his eyes felt forced, he immediately snapped them open once his mind decides to conjure an image of you even in the darkness his lids offers.

“THIS IS ABSURD.”

and the yell promptly woke up the entire dorm from the ferocity of his scream. (and of course gave them the flashback of their year.)

that night was one of the worst he’s ever had because he woke up with red rimmed eyes and a pounding headache that ensured his bad mood the rest of the day.

everyone noted to steer clear.

and he unknowingly steered clear of yours since you were ‘busy.’

“why are you sulking?” a voice queried, spoken as though they were eating something as they asked. a reprimand rises in his throat, but it all just dies down once his sharp eyes settle on you, slipping into the seat in front of him then raising a brow and the traces of irritation practically evaporates from his eyes.

he feels the need to cough–so he does. “i’m– i’m not.” he clears his throat, avoiding your eyes but still sneaking in glances, something he notes is that you’re still looking everytime he does. (and boring an unimpressed face because he knows you don’t believe him at all.)

guilt rises in his mind, because he feels a slither of annoyance and its the presence of pettiness that bothers him. riddle knows you’re not at fault, just his mind at convincing that you just somehow decided in the span of a day that you might not like him anymore–so he can’t help the bite. 

“why are you here?” a glance not intended to look mean.

“i thought you were busy.” he adds.

your brows raise, he spots your teeth holding your lips back from showing your grin and he feels warm. “what?” he hisses defensively, despite you not even having replied to him yet.

he leans backwards, straightening up in his seat when your chin leans forward, resting on your intertwined fingers. you flash him a smile. 

“mr. rosehearts, are you perhaps… sulking because i’m busy?”

“no!”

silence.

“no.” he repeats, weaker.

“well,” you continue, beaming. “i heard from ace that you were awake the entire night, and that you kept him awake too. are you alright?” 

he sputters. “it wasn’t because of you!”

you snort. “i didn’t even say anything about me.”

so you incline to following riddle around, poking fun at him and still trailing after the seemingly enraged red head because despite his angry protests, demanding you to go away because you’re annoying he keeps glancing back to see if you’ll follow,

so cute…….

[melminli]

BANG BANG BANG

summery - thanos was always just such an easy person to argue with. you really hated the guy and that was something that was never going to change, even if your life was on the line and it fucking was.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.8k

contains: violence, death, dark content - just usual squid game stuff really

prev. l next.

"I ask for your attention. The first game will begin shortly. Each player will have their picture taken, then they will follow the staff onto the pitch."

You eyed the confusing and pastel-colored building you were standing in as you listened to the instructions. It wasn't too loud although, there was a bit of whispering from the crowd, the line to the photo booths was pretty organized as well. That was until you suddenly noticed a commotion from a corner, and look who was at the center of it. You just rolled your eyes when you saw the purple-headed guy standing casually between his fans and looked away annoyed after he winked at you charmingly.

Thanos didn't let your subtle rejection bother him. He called out your name and gestured with his fingers to indicate that there was an empty spot next to him - you know, for the group photo. "Hey, you can join the photo, too. Come on."

You continued to ignore his voice and moved forward as the gap between you and the others in front of you widened. Eventually, the loud voices faded into the background, and it was your turn to take the photo. However, while you stood in front of the camera and looked at the smiley face before you, all sense of happiness vanished. If only you weren't so desperate for money, you wouldn't feel compelled to remain in this strange place surrounded by these people.

The flash went off without you even realizing it and caught the absent look on your face. You continued to follow the moving queue like a grazing animal following its herd, lost somewhere in your thoughts until suddenly a person grabbed you by the shoulder.

You instinctively started to defend yourself with widened eyes. "What the hell dude?!" you screamed silently in a panic until you saw the grinning perpetrator in front of you. "Su-bong? What's your problem, I told you to stay away from me asshole, are you stupid?" you grunted angrily and tried again to catch up with the person in front of you so as not to block the way any further.

Thanos just shrugged his shoulders disinterestedly while he casually climbed the stairs behind you. "You really talk a lot, so don't hold it against me when I tune most of it out," he replied, which made you walk a little faster and made him pick up a little more speed to keep up with you.

"Hey, wait a second, woman!" he called out and followed you. "Besides, you know what? You should just call me Thanos, everyone does - it's the name I go by, you know? Not that I expect someone like you to understand the creative thought behind it, but come on. At least try."

You raised your palm to stop his flow of words and perhaps also to put up an imaginary wall between the two of you. "You can explain it however you want, but that's not your name, it's stupid, and I'm definitely not going to call you that." you laughed at him. "Only someone like you could watch every single Marvel movie there is and then identify with the ugly mega villain, really."

That's why I'm not listening, he thought to himself, running his tongue through his teeth in annoyance. "Can you like not be a bitch for a second? You're killing the mood," he spoke out before leaning over the railing and shouting. "The mood is dying!"

"Shut up!" you whispered aggressively as you dragged him away by the arm and rubbed your face in frustration. "What did I do wrong in life besides being born to deserve this..."

Su-bong shook his sleeve from your grip as he sighed himself. "Don't be so dramatic. Are you really still angry about that thing with -"

"Yes," you answer without hesitation, not needing to know how he finished his sentence. Why? Because ever since you knew him, this guy had only made decisions that made you angry. When you thought of the reason that finally broke the camel's back, you had to stop yourself and take a deep breath. "Whatever, someone like you isn't worth it," you declared and then walked with several others through some gate, into the open. No, you were still surrounded by walls, even if they disguised themselves as the sky and clouds.

"Welcome to the first game. All players, please wait a moment on the field. I repeat -"

You continued to look around and noticed people entering from two more entrances. Thanos stood in front of you to block your view. "Are you seriously ignoring me right now? You women are all the same."

You only confirmed his statement with your silence and by averting your gaze from him. Before he could object any further, the gates suddenly closed behind you and the voice from the loudspeakers started talking again. "The first game is called: Green Light, red Light."

A game for children? You repeated perplex in your head and tuned out the voice explaining the rules of the game. You often played this game as a child anyway, you knew how to play it. Do we really earn money by playing this?

"Listen to me! Listen carefully, everyone!" A man suddenly shouted out, attracting the attention of the crowd by trying to explain that losing in this innocent game would mean death.

Unconsciously, your heart began to beat faster as various thoughts raced through your mind. What is this crazy guy talking about? You get killed if you lose? What nonsense. But on the other hand, there must be a catch, who else would give out money for something like this? Maybe -

"Don't worry, that guy just has a few screws loose." Su-bong's voice suddenly spoke out next to you as he turned his index finger next to his head to visualize it. "I can see that there are a million completely unnecessary thoughts running through your little head right now because you always have this funny look on your face when you do," he explained and you just tried really hard not to pay attention to him. He just had to make life difficult for you.

Your eyes wandered again and you looked at the disbelieving faces of the others, who were also just looking at the front man strangely. I'll just be careful and see what happens. Someone will probably lose and then we'll see if it's true or not, simple as that.

There was an announcement that the game was about to start and you saw the stopwatch at the front set to five minutes. You took a deep breath and finally, the robot girl moved to look away. "Red light, green light."

Your concentration was fixed on watching her movements so that you could stop at the right moment. You didn't want to rush, but the time pressure was real. You found yourself glancing at the time too often and subconsciously started to count the seconds you had left. You usually weren't a person who could work under such circumstances, but you had to manage the whole thing somehow. You really didn't want to lose, especially not be the first to do it.

"Freeze! Don't move!"

Shut the fuck up. This guy was seriously getting on your nerves. Your eyes were looking forward while you just stood still and then, a bee flew in front of you. Stay away you stupid thing, you thought as the distance between the insect and your face grew smaller and smaller.

A female voice next to you finally spoke out. "Is this guy on drugs?" She asked when the strange man started to scream again, you didn't know if it was that which caught the bee's attention or her sweet perfume that was suddenly being carried through the wind in your direction, but it didn't matter. You were just glad that it wasn't your problem anymore. Though, you couldn't breathe a sigh of relief since you didn't dare breathe at all when that creepy doll was turned in your direction. The thing looked like it could shoot lasers out of its eyes at any second or something.

"Nope, that's not how you act when you're high." Thanos replied from beside you, and even if you could hold your breath for as long as you needed to, things looked a lot different when it came to a petty comment. 

Your mouth didn't move when you spoke, like that of a ventriloquist's. "Of course, you would know best, you fucking drug addict." was all that came out of you while you looked at his back. 

Thanos grunted as several ideas popped into his head about how he could twist your words, but he tried really hard not to say any of them. I could really take some pills right now. "I'm about to really hurt your feelings, sweetie."

"No! Really?" you let out as you pretended to be really scared of what was about to happen before your tone changed back to being monotone. "I'm pissing in my pants, please don't."

Ignoring your argument, the little innocent bee finally landed on the neck of number 196. "Hey, what's that?" she uttered as she felt a slight tingling sensation on her neck.

Thano's eyes turned to her figure beside him as he answered her. "Don't freak out, it's just a bee."

"A bee?!" She exclaimed in a panic and started waving her arms around wildly to scare the insect away as quickly as possible. You watched her, as many others probably did right now, but the girl herself realized her own mistake far too late when she finally stopped moving and looked up at Thanos. "Shit." she laughed out. "I just moved."

As soon as she finished her sentence, a bullet flew straight through her skull and dropped her body motionless to the floor. You felt a cold shiver run through your whole body and your heart suddenly stopped before it started beating like crazy in your chest. That didn't just happen. Your head automatically tried to calm you down with some kind of slander, but your eyes couldn't help but move to the dead body on the floor, which was now smeared with fresh blood. No, it really did.

next.

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

“You’re Not Supposed to Bleed” ( Yandere Older Brother! Dick Grayson x Poison Ivy’s Daughter Reader)

A/N: I’m literally typing this in a car rn. The moment it gets published (I used the queue lol) I’m probably feeding wildlife elephants in Cambodia. So it will be tough for me To answers questions immediately, but I will do so in a few days!!🩷🩷

i‘m not familiar with TWs, but just a warning Dick is a bit more crazy (he‘s a yandere tbf) than usual

She was in the bathroom again.

Door closed. Water running. Muffled footsteps back and forth.

Dick stood outside her bedroom, arms crossed, jaw tight. She had avoided movie night again, ignored three messages in the group chat, and skipped dinner—even though she said she’d be there.

It wasn’t like her.

At least… not like she used to be.

Not like the sweet little girl who would cling to his arm and giggle every time he ruffled her hair.

The one who used to beg to stay up with him and watch cartoons.

He knocked on her door.

“Little Flower?”

No answer.

He opened it anyway.

Her room smelled like lavender. Neat bed. Clean desk. Everything perfectly in place—except the corner of the sheets, where a dark stain bloomed quietly into the fabric.

Dick froze.

The smile dropped from his face instantly.

His heart slammed into his throat.

His vision went white.

Blood.

Dark. Wet. Seeping into cotton.

His hand trembled as he stepped closer. The image of her—her body, her neck, the white sheet from the morgue—flashed in his mind like lightning behind his eyes.

She was dying again.

She was dying again.

He didn’t even hear the bathroom door open.

“Dick, what the hell?!”

He spun. Fast. Like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

YN stood there, wearing a fresh shirt and an annoyed expression. Hair damp. A towel still clutched in one hand.

“What are you doing in my room?!”

“I—I knocked,” he stammered, then looked past her to the bathroom. “Are you hurt?” His eyes unlike she had ever seen.

“No?”

He pointed at the bed. “There’s blood.”

Her face shifted.

Then immediately flattened into horror. And then embarrassment.

“Oh my god.”

“Tell me what’s wrong—what happened—did someone—?”

“Dick, stop!” she snapped, cheeks red.

He blinked. Stared.

“You’re—you’re bleeding. You’re not supposed to—”

“It’s my period.”

Silence.

A long one.

She crossed her arms, glaring now. “Are you done being dramatic?”. This whole situation was just shameful to her.

Dick didn’t move.

Because his brain had stopped working.

Period.

She said period.

She said it like it was normal. Like it was allowed.

His chest tightened. His skin buzzed.

He remembered her as a toddler—barely up to his knee. Drawing stick figures with hearts. Wearing flower crowns she made from weeds. Falling asleep on his shoulder and calling him Dicky.

And now she was… bleeding. Becoming. Changing.

Growing into something he couldn’t control.

“You’re not supposed to have that,” he said softly.

She frowned. “…What?”

“You’re not supposed to be old enough.”

She stared at him. “I’m fourteen, Dick.”

He flinched at the number like it was a slap.

“You’re still little.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“You are to me.”

His voice cracked at the end.

She shifted, the tension rising in her body now—like she could feel it. The heat behind his eyes. The weight of what he wasn’t saying.

“Look, I didn’t mean to stain anything. I’ll clean it up. Just—please leave my room, okay?”

“I can help.”

“No.”

“Let me at least—”

“No, Dick.”

He stepped forward.

She didn’t.

“I can take care of myself,” she said, voice soft now. Firm, but not cruel. “You don’t need to hover over me every second of the day.”

“But if I don’t—” His voice broke. “You’ll go away again.”

She blinked. “What?”

He swallowed. His hands were still clenched at his sides.

“Nothing,” he whispered.

“Dick.”

He looked at her. He saw Bruce in the way her jaw set when she was angry. He saw Ivy in the way her eyes went glassy when she was holding back tears. But underneath all of it—he still saw her. The little girl. The soft one. The one with dandelion wishes and grass-stained knees.

He told himself she was still little. Still his Little Flower. But girls didn’t bleed when they were little. And that scared the hell out of him.

“I just want you to stay my Little Flower.”

“I never stopped being her.”

Her voice was kind. Gentle.

But she didn’t come closer.

And she didn’t hug him.

Later that night, he sat alone on the edge of his bed, the stained sheet clutched in his lap.

He hadn’t let her wash it.

He hadn’t thrown it out.

She was fourteen. Fourteen, and she’d had her first period without a single Wayne there to hold her hand. To sit beside her. To tell her it was okay. He should’ve been there. He was her brother. He was the oldest. He was supposed to be the one who kept her from feeling like she was alone in the middle of a house full of people.

She deserved a brother who noticed.

She deserved a family that stayed.

And he was going to give her that now, whether she wanted it or not.

[nateezfics]

hi love! may i request how ot8 would react to your skirt being a little cheeky at the amusement park?

love your work and hope you're doing well 🩷🩷

❝ wearing a short skirt on your amusement park date ❞

: ̗̀➛ ateez’s reaction to you wearing a short skirt on your amusement park date. 2.3k words.

: ̗̀➛ ateez; boyfriend!ateez. established relationship. fluff. smut (suggestive).

: ̗̀➛ warnings: minors do not interact! suggestive sexual content. mentions of sexual themes. possessiveness. public displays of affection/arousal. tbh there’s nothing explicit so there’s really nothing to warn about lol. strong language. fem bodied!reader. intentional lower case and small font.

hongjoong

god, you tested his patience. you really knew how to flirt your pretty little fingers around all his buttons, never fully pressing them but being so dangerously close to doing so. always just enough to make him tense and the prominent vein on his neck to pop a little.

hongjoong was in the queue right behind you as you stepped onto the ride. your absurdly short skirt fluttered as you did so, and from his position he was able to see the little pink panties you wore underneath...and so was everyone else, including the ride attendant who gawked at you like a deer in headlights. you plopped down into the cramped seat, blissfully unaware — or you just didn’t seem to care — while hongjoong had to mentally count to ten to keep himself from turning on that guy for even daring to look at you. though, he supposed it wasn’t all his fault; you were the one who decided to wear a fucking mini skirt to an amusement park.

“you know,” hongjoong began, settling himself next to you on the ride. “i really question your reasoning for wearing that.” He tugged at your skirt just as you both brought the bar over your laps. your thighs looked so pretty all exposed, mental images of your panty clad ass flashing in his mind, and hongjoong really wished that dumb ride attendant would stop throwing glances your way.

you smiled which only served to aggravate him more. “it’s such a cute skirt and i haven’t worn it yet! plus, it’s so hot outside today,” you reasoned with him while you watched others pile onto the ride. hongjoong scoffed.

“you sure you didn’t just wear it to drive me crazy?” he gripped your thigh tight, his fingers just under the hem of your skirt. “you think you’re so cute, huh? but let’s see how cute you are once i get you home.”

the ride jerked to life and began to move, his grip remaining firm. you smiled internally. your little plan worked, just like you knew it would.

seonghwa

seonghwa loved being close to you. he did, really. but it was so hot out today, and within the concretes and metals and crowds of the amusement park, it was scorching. your body was sweaty against his own. as much as he loved being near you, it was too hot for it. but you decided to wear one of the shortest skirts you owned today of all days, and he stuck close behind you to keep you from flashing anyone.

“hwa,” you whined as you both waited in line for the next ride. the sun was beaming down on you. you shuffled in place uncomfortably. “can you like, give me some space here? it’s hot as balls out here.”

seonghwa didn’t move an inch. he stayed in place, his taller form close behind you. you both probably looked ridiculous to everyone around you; they were all probably thinking you were that kind of couple. “sorry, can’t do that. not when you’re on the verge of flashing everyone in this damn park. what made you think wearing a mini skirt to an amusement park was a good idea?”

you huffed. “i don’t know. i just wanted to!” you tried to step forward, but two hands kept you firmly in place. “hwa, it’s really not that bad.”

“baby, one gust of wind and everyone can see your ass. and personally, i’m not too keen on everyone getting a view of you like that.” the queue moved, and you both shuffled a few steps forward.

“i’m wearing underwear —”

“god,” seonghwa groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. he was even closer now than before, his front pressed flat against your back. he dipped his head to whisper in your ear. “either you deal with me like this, or i’m taking you home and ripping this skirt off you. understand?”

you nodded slowly, a little taken aback by his words. that second option didn’t seem like that bad of a choice….

yunho

yunho wasn’t keen of your skirt at the beginning of your date, and he certainly wasn’t fond of it now as he watched you throw your leg over the carousel horse. your skirt was so short, and as you straddled the horse it did little to cover your ass. he took a second to appreciate the sight of your panties peeking under what your skirt couldn’t quite cover, but then he noticed the people behind you were also appreciating the view.

“you’re going to be the death of me,” yunho whispered to himself as he got on the horse behind you, much to your confusion.

“there’s a free horse right here,” you said, pointing to the horse next to you where he should have been. you looked at him over your shoulder, and you caught the dip of his gaze.

“i’ll sit here. this spot’s got a…good view.” his gaze lingered on your ass for a moment as he hoped his larger frame could block you from the sight of those behind him. he groaned inwardly when you wiggled your ass; his dick twitched and fuck it this was not the time or place for this.

you giggled when you realized, unbothered that you’d flashed more than just your boyfriend. you noticed the bob of his adam’s apple before you turned to the front again. even as the carousel began to spin, you felt his eyes remain on your backside.

yunho was thankful when the carousel stopped and the two of you were off, but his pants felt a little more snug than they had before the ride. he grabbed your smaller hand and lead you towards the park exit, not giving you any other choice but to follow him.

“yunho, where are we going?”

he didn’t even look back. “home so i can get you out of that fucking skirt.”

yeosang

yeosang was not one to say much about your outfit choices, even during times like this when you were skipping around the amusement park in what appeared to be the shortest skirt he’d ever seen you wear. he was walking behind you, struggling in silence, eyes glued to your backside even though he tried so hard not to stare.

you whirled around with a beaming smile. “yeosang, let’s go ride the ferris wheel!” your skirt twirled when you turned to face him; you undoubtedly just flashed everyone around you. yeosang was really going through it.

“uh, okay, baby. let’s go ride it.” yeosang was thankful the ferris wheel carts were enclosed. the last thing he wanted was you hoisted in the air for the whole park to see under your skirt. but inside the cart, you really must have wanted him to suffer when you plopped yourself right on his lap.

“fuck, baby, what are you trying to do to me?” his low voice was raspy, a groan slipping out when you shifted in his lap to make yourself more comfy. he felt himself starting to get stiff, and getting a hard on on a ferris wheel was not ideal.

you faced him and smiled; you looked so innocent, but there was a mischievous gleam in your eyes that he couldn’t miss. “i’m not doing anything, yeo.”

yeosang let out a sound that was a combination of a scoff, groan, and laugh. “bull shit.” his palms were grazing your thighs and traveling upwards, fingers dipping under your skirt. he swallowed hard when you gasped, the sound going straight to his dick. “god, i can’t believe you. i hope you’re planning on helping me out here, right?”

san

“and we have a winner!” the amusement park employee handed san the prize he’d won, a large plushie just about the size of his whole upper body. san was quick to hand it to you, laughing at the way you struggled to hold it.

in your excitement, you twirled around, your newly won plushie squished in your arms. but your skirt, a bit too short, flew up and gave a quick flash of the pink panties that lied underneath. “san, i love it! what should i name it?”

san laughed nervously, quickly drawing to your side and smoothing his hands over your hips to keep your skirt down. “i’m glad you love it, but baby,” he practically whined at you. “you can’t be out here twirling like that. you wanna flash the whole park?”

you giggled, snuggling your plushie tighter. “sorry, sannie.”

san smiled and kissed the top of your head. “silly little baby in your tiny skirts. i think you’re trying to mess with me.” his hands stayed on your hips while he fought the temptation to reach down and grope your ass.

“maybe a little,” you admitted with another giggle. “but i knew you’d like it, so that’s why i wore it.” you felt excitement bubble in your belly when you saw the way his gaze darkened a little.

“oh, i do like it,” san agreed. “but i think everyone else here does, too. and i can’t have others looking at you like this. so, how about i get you home, yeah?”

mingi

mingi had lost count of how many times he’d seen your ass so far today. not that he could complain about that, but he was certainly confused as to why you decided to wear a mini skirt to an amusement park. “baby, you keep messing with your skirt, but it’s not gonna get any longer.”

you huffed at him while you pulled at your skirt. you were regretting your decision making skills currently. was the outfit cute? yes. was it practical for the occasion? no. but you didn’t want to admit defeat; your boyfriend would be way too smug. “it’s fine, just needed a little fixing.”

he watched you very obviously grow frustrated with your short skirt, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “oh yeah? I bet you won’t last much longer until you’re begging me to give you my jacket to cover up.”

you put your hands on your hips. “i bet i’ll be just fine.”

mingi chuckled as he closed in on you. “fine. but if i win, that skirt’s coming off as soon as we get in the car.”

your heart leaped in your chest at the meaning of his words. even though it was enticing, you still didn’t want to admit that you were dumb for wearing this skirt. so you tried not to fiddle with it for the rest of the day, tried to act unbothered that you were giving everyone in the park a free view of your undies. but you eventually had enough, and soon you had your boyfriend’s denim jacket wrapped around your hips, a signal of your defeat.

mingi brought his lips to your ear when you both got in the car later, his hand traveling up your thigh. “skirt off, baby.”

wooyoung

“woo, get some pictures of me in front of the ferris wheel!” you handed your phone to your boyfriend and ran to get in front of the ferris wheel.

wooyoung knelt down to get the best angles, but as he snapped photo after photo, all he could focus on was how short your skirt was. and every time you changed to a different pose your panties flashed as your skirt moved. “well, if you’re goal is to show off your panties in every single picture, i’d say you succeeded.”

you frowned and rushed to take your phone from him. you swiped through the pics and he was right, your panties could be seen in every shot. you sighed. “well, it’s because of the angle. you were crouched down the whole time. it’s like you wanted to get shots up my skirt, you perv!”

wooyoung laughed. “it’s not me! it’s that little mini skirt of yours. maybe you should have worn something a little more appropriate for the occasion.” he laughed some more when you playfully swatted at his arm.

you couldn’t help the way your cheeks grew warm. you gave him your phone again and walked back towards the ferris wheel. “okay, get some more pics. but this time, no pervy up the skirt shots, alright?”

“you look too fucking good in that skirt. can’t make any promises, baby.” wooyoung gave you a wink before snapping some more photos.

jongho

jongho was judging you. hard. and not because you were in a short skirt, but rather because you looked way too damn good in it. and you were in an amusement park, one of the last places to be wearing something so short. other men were staring, thinking they were being sneaky with their glances, but he caught them. it was making him feel a little aggravated; not with you, but with the way he needed to have you but couldn’t because you weren’t at home.

you walked hand in hand with your boyfriend as you searched for the next thing to ride. “we haven’t done the carousel yet. wanna go ride that?”

there was a mental image of you straddling one of the carousel horses and jongho tensed. “you sure that’s such a good idea?”

you looked at him in confusion. “why wouldn’t it be?”

“well…” jongho peered down at your skirt, and you got the hint.

you smirked. “oh. does it bother you?”

he cleared his throat. “it does,” he admitted. “but in a ‘you’re driving me insane and i have the sudden urge to take you home’ kind of way.” his grip on your hand tightened.

you giggled as you looked at him. he looked tense, and it was so obvious how affected he was. all because of your skirt. “we ride this ferris wheel then go home. deal?”

jongho groaned. “deal.”

notes from nat: this request is so perfect for the summer time. thanks for sending it in, anon! hope you enjoyed!!

taglist: @abiaswreck @charreddonuts @hongthoven @httpseungmxn @itza-meee @jungkookieprincess @jaerisdiction @lilie-dctl @mjyungi @marievllr-abg @maltesejjong @mylovelymito @nebulousbookshelf @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @staytinyinmybpack @svintsandghosts @thesafecafe @wolfgurl2600-blog @5starduca @yyaurii

networks: @kflixnet @wonderlandnet

© nateezfics. do not plagiarize. do not repost. do not translate.

[lgcasami]

“I don’t like making mistakes,” Asami admits with a sheepish smile. “Unfortunately, for languages, you have to speak it to get better, and that means I need to talk to people, but I feel bad imposing bad language skills on them,” and to prove her point, Asami knew she was speaking way too slowly and stumbling over her words, and now that she was out of trouble with the vendor, she could feel other emotions other than despair, and feel frustration instead.

"Thank you for helping me, Yunseo," she smiles relieved maybe for the first time, and bows her head just slightly as a sign of genune politeness. “Oh, I’m heading to the LGC building. I actually think I’m running a bit late, now,” she raises her arm and checks the watch on her wrist showing she wasn’t late yet, but she was a few minutes from being, “I have practice. It’s the reason why I’m in Korea.”

@ lgcasami

Asami sighs, and she’s not usually one who goes moping around, but it has been quite an evening, and she feels a little silly for needing help for something so simple. She knows what he’s saying is true, but she thought she was past the ordering food phase, “You’re very kind.” It’s what she manages out. “My name is Asami. It’s nice to meet you.”

yunseo smiles and nods his head. turning his attention back to the vendor and letting them know that the girl beside him did not want the free item of food as not wanting to waste it. the vendor understood and began working on her order for her. "waste. your pronunciation is good." he said with a smile as he looked back her way. "why are you so nervous to speak? you sound really good." he said, hoping that it would make her feel better and hoping that it didn't come across as rude.

yunseo bowed at asami at her introduction. "i'm yunseo. it's nice to meet you as well." he said with a soft smile on his face. "where are you running off to after this?" he asks her in a soft voice.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。this feeling inside of me— | gojo satoru

wc: 1.5k

summary: you make gojo realize that this twisty-pop!-y feeling in his stomach might just be jealousy. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are used, mild jealousy, mentions of some of the students, lots of stifled laughs and held back grins!, mostly fluff really, gojo just doesn’t understand what he’s feeling! 

a/n: split this into two parts: the first half (this one), lighter and more central to reader’s perspective, while the second half (the next part), darker, and more central to gojo’s perspective. best read after ‘so this is what it means to be in love’ because there are some references made! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love 03. so this is what it means to be in love + (extended scene) too good to be mine <-you are here -> 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace?

Gojo’s been… hovering lately.

He hangs around you a lot more than usual, following your footsteps around your apartment as if he didn’t just spend the night and stay in bed with you all morning. 

You’d think that’d stop at work, but nope. 

For someone who hates sitting still, Gojo’s spending an awful lot of time doing nothing while watching you rifle through folders and documents you’re meant to type away. He sits by the chair in front of his desk, feet propped up and fingers tapping on the wooden surface enough to push you just to the point of going a little crazy. 

Tap.

You could have sworn you’ve read this line already. 

Tap.

This paragraph feels entirely too familiar at this point. 

Tap—

“Satoru,” you sigh, smile half-annoyed-half-guilty as you switch your attention to the man in front of you, “do you have extra work to finish today?” 

You’re trying to ask kindly, after all, Gojo rarely chooses to sit by the paperwork he’s been assigned to do (even though he doesn’t really do any of it because it’s mostly left to you). 

He stops tapping, moving to rest his cheek on one hand as he flashes you a grin so lovesick you think it’s infectious—the corners of your lips are curling up too. 

“Just working on spending more time with you.” 

Of course he says something like this; the most powerful man in jujutsu society transformed into the ever-charming sweet-talker that being your lover brings. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you chuckle—the look on your face a reflection of his. As annoyed as you are that he’s distracting you, you’re endeared. 

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know.” 

Today is his day-off after all. 

He hums, eyes set on you with cerulean sincerity, “It’s boring without you, though.” 

Strands of white fall to kiss his eyelashes and you reach forward to brush them off—his hair is getting longer now, you note. No doubt he’s going to ask you to accompany him for a haircut soon. 

His nose scrunches under the space your fingers hover over and you draw them back, “Clingy.”

—which he’s always been, but even moreso lately. You don’t know where all of it is coming from, how it’s even possible for him to be clingier than normal, but the past weeks have definitely shown you that he is more than capable. 

Gojo loves grocery runs, but only when he’s able to wander around the breakfast and candy section while you go through the long list of essentials and ingredients that need stocking up on. 

Not last week though. 

Instead of beelining straight towards his usual spot, he stayed right where you were, pushing the cart whenever you needed him to and reaching up on the top shelf for things you’d normally have to ask some other kind sir to get to. He stays close to you, body draping over yours as you line up for the checkout queue—long limbs, long torso, long everything engulfing you.

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru, but the days after that find him following you everywhere—picking you up after pottery with Megumi (as if you can’t make it back home alone), insisting on doing a taste test on cooking lessons with Inumaki, and even joining you on that afternoon yoga class you reserved for (initially) just you and Yuuji. 

You wonder what’s causing this, why he’s acting this way lately.

“Well, I have to be or else Yuuji might really steal you away from me.” he jokes, elbows propped on the table as he rests his chin on clasped hands. 

You know that he isn’t actually threatened by Yuuji—just that he wants more attention from you, some that you give to the pink-haired boy too eagerly and so easily. 

Still, it’s weird whatever he’s feeling right now, a bundle of unrest bubbling in his stomach these days. He isn’t familiar with it, doesn’t really know what to call it, just that he knows when it hits—like knots waiting to pop at any minute.  

You stand up from your seat to make your way to him, glancing at the clock across the room; you suppose there’s no point trying to squeeze in any more work for the last 20 minutes before you’re set to clock out. 

Gojo pats his thigh, as if beckoning you to sit; he manspreads like crazy but you think it makes sense for moments when he wants to hold you like this. 

Once you position yourself on his lap, he snakes an arm around your waist as you sling yours around the back of his neck, landing a soft peck at the tip of his nose. The hand resting on your hip rubs gently. 

“Is that comment still bothering you?” you ask, scratching the short buzzed hair of his undercut. 

You catch his eyes then, sky blue with a troubled sea.

Now that he thinks about it, it probably did start with the videos. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of many accolades: the strongest, a lone child prodigy, the best teacher (self-proclaimed); at some point he was also the world’s saving grace, and you’d think after that he’d decide to lay low for a bit, have a change of pace—but no.

The man you love has also, apparently, become a social media heartthrob after garnering attention for vlogging your dates. For the memories, he had said, but of course, it’s never just that when he’s as pretty–if not prettier–than the models you see on magazines and billboard posters. The video goes viral and suddenly you’re made very aware of just how coveted he is across all generations. 

He feels the first pop! in his stomach when he finds the comment under a 10-minute video of your day out in the park. He blacked out, he’s sure, but some loser said something about how you were so hot and completely out of his league.

As if he doesn’t know that already, but it’s how confident user ManInATux69 typed that you should just leave Gojo and be with him instead. That one stung a bit; maybe even got to his head, and it’s ridiculous because it really is just some faceless person on the internet. 

But maybe that’s really how this feeling started. 

“Of course not,” he pouts, eyes avoiding yours as he looks to the side, brows furrowed.

You stifle a giggle as you wait, biting the insides of your cheek as you stare at him. A mental countdown until—

“Maybe a bit.” he mumbles after a few blinks, pout deepening as he turns to you. He always comes around to tell you the truth, without fail. 

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru. Your Satoru.

“You wanna tell me how you’re feeling exactly?” 

If there’s one word Gojo will use to describe you, it will always be lovely. You have always been so gentle, so kind, never pushing, always asking lightly. 

You’ve sat through all his non-answers, so he thinks it’s just right, fair, that he gladly offers up his heart to you, now nestled into the palm of your hands as he lays all these feelings down, bare, intended just for you. 

He takes your free hand and places it right at his center, the space between his chest and abdomen. It’s warm as his hand dwarfs yours, forming it into a fist and twisting it into his skin. 

“Feels like a knot first,” he begins, before jerking your hand slightly as if to emulate a pop!, “then it pops.” 

And you think, that for all he sees and knows, it’s ironic that he can describe a feeling so vividly yet not know what it’s called—what it could possibly mean or be. 

“Do you think you’re jealous, Satoru?” you ask, smiling, fighting back a giggle (again), tone teasing. 

Hm, he thinks, is that what this is? 

Jealousy? 

He stares at you, lips parted slightly as you watch it register to him slowly. 

“Would explain why you’ve been hovering,” you chuckle, stroking small circles with your thumb. 

“I have not been hovering.” he snaps out of it, almost offended. 

You give him a look, eyebrow raised and mouth set in a smirk as if to say: really?

He relents, taking your hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Maybe a little.” 

Kisses are dotted along your knuckles, his eyes closed as if to ground him. You’ve known Gojo for so long that you can tell when he’s still figuring out how to say whatever it is he wants to—and your heart warms at the fact that this side to him is one he only entrusts to you. 

“There’s no competition, you know,” you whisper, the sky opening back to you, “I love you.” 

Your words are weighted, meant for him to hold and keep in the parts of him that doubt what he means to you. And it might sound a bit silly, to be this affected over a comment from some nobody, but you don’t want to leave any room for uncertainty—for your inaction to once again feed into his insecurity. 

He hums, soft vibrations flowing through his lips still pressed against your hand. Red is starting to bloom across his cheeks to his nose, and he mumbles, “Just want to be sure I’m good to you.”

a/n: the first and second part wouldn’t have fit in tone if i put them in one fic, so i split them! the second part will be a bit darker, more serious, but will discuss more of where the feelings stem from in the first place! 

thank you notes: to niku @stellamancer for listening to me and being there when i seriously needed it writing this!! & to dilly and somi my bbgirls!! @crysugu @soumies for always cheering me on, especially during the slump!! 

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[r0ugesun]

Ehem, heard you wouldn't oppose an Addam Velaryion request sooo...

Reader storming into Dragonstone demanding to see Addam because last thing he heard he was on the beach collecting oysters, he's been gone for three days and someone just told her the Black Queen got him into her castle.

I can picture reader elbowing her way through the long queue of possible-dragonseeds bc 'Someone told me my man is there and I'm not leaving without him!'

Thank u sm anon, for requesting for Addam! There’s not a lot of content for him, and I absolutely love him 😫 Your idea was so cute, If you have any more ideas or requests, feel free to share :>

Synopsis: When y/n’s husband, Addam, is taken to Dragonstone and days go by without a word, she defies all obstacles to reunite with him.

Adam valeryon x wife!Reader

The air was thick with tension as the line of hopefuls stretched down the rocky path leading to the great hall of Dragonstone. Men and women, some with the telltale silver hair of Valyrian descent and others merely hoping for a stroke of luck, waited with bated breath for their chance to prove themselves as worthy dragonriders.

y/n pushed through the crowd, her eyes blazing with determination. She had heard from the longshoreman that her Addam had been taken to the Black Queen’s castle. Three days he had been gone, three days riddled with anxiety and worry and she had had enough of waiting.

“Move aside!” she barked, elbowing her way through the queue. “I don’t care about your dragons, they’ve taken my man here, and I’m not leaving without him!”

Heads turned, and murmurs followed in her wake as she forced her way to the front. The queens guards at the entrance, imposing in their armor, exchanged glances before one stepped forward to block her path.

“Who are you to demand entrance to the Queen’s hall?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“I’m y/n” she declared proudly, drawing herself up to her full height. “And I am here for my husband Addam. The last I heard, he was collecting oysters on the beach when he was taken. If he’s in that castle, I will see him now.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed, but he did not move. “The Queen does not take kindly to interruptions.”

“And I do not take kindly to being kept from my husband” she shot back, her voice steady and unyielding. “You can let me in, or I’ll force my way in”

The queen’s guard laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. “And how do you plan to do that, little lady?” he mocked, his grip tightening on his spear.

Her eyes flashed with anger as she took a step closer, her presence almost daring. “You underestimate me,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “I am not without my own means.”

Before the guard could respond, footsteps echoed down the hall. Jace and Baela appeared, their expressions a mix of concern and authority. Jace stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of his position. “Let her through, now.”

The guard hesitated, his eyes darting between y/n and the approaching couple. “Prince Jacaerys, Lady Baela, the Queen’s orders were clear—”

“And so are mine” Jace interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “She is his family and has every right to see her husband. Stand down.”

Baela nodded in agreement, her presence equally commanding. “Do as he says. This isn’t a request.”

Reluctantly, the guard stepped aside, his grip loosening on his spear. Y/n offered a grateful bow to Jace and Baela.

“T-thank you, Prince Jacaerys, Lady Baela” she said softly.

The tension hung in the air for a moment before the guards reluctantly stepped aside. y/n wasted no time, striding into the hall with her head held high. The sight that greeted her was one of majesty and power, with the Black Queen standing proudly, flanked by her advisors.

Rhaenyra acknowledged Jace and baela and then her eyes locked onto y/n, a mixture of curiosity in her gaze. “And who might you be?”

“I…I-I’m y/n your grace” y/n replied, meeting the Queen’s gaze, she exuded an aura of grace and an otherworldliness that made y/n falter . “I was told my husband Addam was taken here…. It’s been days and I wish to see him….”

A murmur ran through the hall, making y/n think the worst had happened. After a tense moment, Rhaenyra gestured to one of her guards. “Bring him forward.”

y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as she waited, her eyes never leaving the large door. When Addam appeared, looking tired but unharmed, she felt a surge of relief.

“Addam!” she called, rushing to him. He looked up, his face lighting up with a mixture of surprise and joy.

“y/n” he breathed, pulling her into a tight embrace. “How did you—”

“Never mind that,” she interrupted, holding him close. “We’re leaving. Now.” She whispered in his ear.

“No, wait” he said softly, holding her by her waist and looking into her eyes. “I must explain….. Seasmoke, the dragon we’ve seen flying over town claimed me as his rider. The queen herself insisted that I come to Dragonstone, and I had little choice in the matter. I am sorry I did not send word to you sooner.”

y/n’s anger softened slightly as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You could have found a way to tell me” she said, her voice trembling.

“I know, and for that, I apologize truly my love” Addam replied earnestly, kissing your forehead. “It all happened so swiftly, But you’re here now…with me, we can face whatever comes next together.”

Rhaenyra watched the reunion with a faint smile. “It seems love has a way of breaking down barriers” she remarked. “to ease your worries, I insist that you stay here on Dragonstone with Addam. Your presence will provide him with the strength he needs, and it will ensure that I can keep a close eye on him and seasmoke.”

y/n hesitated, looking to Addam for his thoughts. He nodded reassuringly. “It would be a great relief to have you here with me” he said.

After a moment, y/n nodded. “Very well, Your Grace. I will stay.”

Rhaenyra inclined her head. “Good. We shall provide you with quarters to accommodate you both. Welcome to dragonstone”

With that, y/n took Addam’s hand, feeling the weight of uncertainty lift from her shoulders.

Y/n and Addam followed the guard through the winding corridors of Dragonstone, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. As they walked, Addam squeezed Y/n’s hand, a silent promise of safety and reassurance.

"Are you truly okay?" Y/n whispered, glancing up at him.

Addam nodded. "I am now thanks to you. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through to get here."

Y/n gave a small smile. "I would have torn the castle down stone by stone if it meant finding you."

They reached a set of ornate double doors, and the guard pushed them open to reveal a spacious chamber. The room was furnished with rich tapestries and plush furniture, a stark contrast to their modest home by Spicetown. Their cozy cottage, nestled near the ocean, was filled with simple wooden furniture, worn woven rugs.

"These are your quarters" the guard announced. "The Queen has ordered that you be given the best accommodations. If you need anything, just ask."

"Thank you" Addam replied, guiding Y/n into the room.

Once they were alone, Y/n sank into one of the chairs, the adrenaline of the past few hours finally catching up to her. “Mmm too rich for my blood I think, I’m gonna miss our little home, salt air and the rust on our door” y/n said chuckling. Addam knelt beside her, his hands gently cupping her face.

"I'm so sorry for the fear and worry I caused you" he murmured. "But now that you’re here, I feel like I can truly face whatever the future holds."

Y/n leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. "As long as we’re together….. But what happens next? What does Rhaenyra want with you and…. ‘Seasmoke’?"

Addam sighed. "She’s going to reclaim the iron throne, and having more dragonriders loyal to her cause is crucial. I’ve been tasked with joining her forces, which means we’ll be drawn into the conflict between her and the Greens."

Y/n’s eyes widened. "You?? Fighting their war? Addam, this is more dangerous than I imagined."

"I know" he said, his voice heavy. "But I have to do this. For our future, for our children’s future. We can’t let the realm fall into chaos."

Y/n reached out, taking his hands in hers and placing it on her stomach, she didn’t have a belly yet but her and addam were sure she was with child. "Then we face it together. Whatever comes, I’ll stand beside you… always."

The days that followed were filled with preparations. Addam trained rigorously with Seasmoke, while Y/n found her place among the castle staff and the other dragonriders' families. She quickly gained the respect of the household with her determination and resilience, earning a reputation as someone not to be underestimated.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the island, Y/n stood on the balcony, watching Addam and Seasmoke in the distance. The bond between dragon and rider was evident, a testament to the strength and courage that ran through Addam’s veins.

Jace approached her quietly, joining her at the railing. "He’s an impressive rider" he commented, his gaze following Addam and the dragon. "And you, Y/n, are just as impressive. It takes a strong person to stand by his side through all this."

Y/n turned to him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I love him, Prince Jacaerys. That gives me all the strength I need. But this war...it’s going to test us all."

Jace nodded, his expression somber. "It will. But with people like you and Addam, I believe we have a chance. My mother sees that as well, which is why she values your presence here."

As they spoke, a roar echoed across the castle grounds, signaling the end of Addam’s training session. Y/n watched as he dismounted Seasmoke, his figure outlined against the setting sun. She felt a surge of pride and love.

The days turned into weeks, and the bond between Y/n and Addam only grew stronger. They found moments of solace amidst the chaos, stolen kisses in hidden corridors, and whispered promises under the stars. Y/n’s unwavering support gave Addam the courage to face his new role, while Addam’s determination and love fueled Y/n’s resolve to stay by his side.

[sengardet]

Don't Answer the Door

You are startled awake by a knock on your door. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:13 AM, and your heart flutters in your chest from the jarring disturbance. Groggy, you fumble for the light switch, blinking against the sudden brightness in your living room. The knocking continues.

Feeling a swell of unease, you approach the door. Peering through the peephole, you see two figures in dark suits, their posture rigid, their faces concealed by the distorting glass. You can’t make out any details—only that they’re official, authoritative, and impatient.

Your mind races. No one comes by at this hour for trivial reasons. You open the door with caution, pressing yourself against the frame. The two individuals stand in the hallway, their expressions cold, unreadable. They flash government identification so quickly you barely catch the emblem—some military or paramilitary organization you do not recognize. The taller of the two thrusts a crisp white envelope toward you without a word.

“Sign here,” the shorter one orders, voice devoid of emotion. You glance at the proffered documents, your stomach churning. Its heading reads: “Summons for Immediate Conscription: Experimental Soldier Program.”

Your eyes flick from the paper to their stern faces. “This… must be a mistake,” you begin, your voice trembling with the aftershocks of being yanked from slumber. “I’m just a civilian. I’m not in the reserves—or the military at all.”

Neither agent reacts. Reluctantly, you press the pen to the document and sign where indicated, wondering if you even have a choice.

“Report to the specified facility at dawn,” the taller agent informs you. “Any delay will be treated as desertion.”

They leave as swiftly as they arrived, departing down the hallway without further explanation. The words “compulsory conscription” and “Experimental Soldier Program” practically burn themselves into your mind.

An hour of restless pacing follows. Yes, you’re in good physical shape; you lift, you run track, you’ve taken pride in sculpting your body. But you’re no fighter.

The directive is clear, and the hour is growing late. Knowing you can’t escape this, you make a feeble attempt to sleep again, but every time you close your eyes, you imagine the two agents’ stony faces.

At dawn, you force yourself out the door and head to the address included in the summons.

When you finally arrive, armed guards greet you with silent scrutiny. Past the barbed-wire gate, past an austere courtyard, you’re directed into a squat, concrete building. Inside, the corridors are utilitarian, lined with unmarked doors and glaring fluorescent lights that hum incessantly.

They guide you to a large, steel-gray reception hall. On one side, you see a queue of grim-faced men and women—some in military fatigues, others looking as out-of-place as you do, obviously civilians. At the front of this line, bored clerks at desks check documents and stamp papers. An official gestures for you to join the line.

When your turn comes, a clerk scans the barcode from your summons, then passes your file to someone else who breezes through it silently.

“Fitness aptitude but no military training. Conscript assigned to Medical Research Trials.” He glances at you impassively. “Report to Lab Sixteen—down the west corridor, second right.”

You blink, swallowing hard. So they don’t intend to toss you into the battlefield. You almost feel relief. Almost. But something about “Medical Research Trials” feels equally foreboding. You muster a shaky nod, following the corridor signs that lead deeper into the facility.

Your footsteps echo as you move forward, unsure who to address. Eventually, a freckled redheaded woman—her hair pulled into a tight bun—approaches you. Her freckled nose crinkles with a faint smile that tries to be warm but only heightens your unease.

“You must be the new one,” she says, studying a tablet. “Come with me. I’m Dr. Whitley.”

At the center of this room, under harsh lights, stands an examination bed fitted with thick leather restraints. The sight of those straps makes your pulse spike. You glance at Dr. Whitley, suddenly desperate for answers. But before you can voice your concerns, a slender, disheveled-looking male assistant guides you to the table.

“Right this way,” he says politely, gesturing for you to lie down. When you hesitate, Dr. Whitley murmurs, “Just a precaution. The procedures can sometimes trigger involuntary thrashing.”

The assistant carefully loops the leather restraints around your wrists, over your biceps, across your torso, and around your ankles.

Your voice cracks with tension. “Is this—truly necessary?”

Dr. Whitley lifts a hand, as though to soothe an anxious animal. “We’ll be quick,” she says softly. “You’ll be perfectly fine.”

Fine. The word rattles uselessly in your mind. The overhead lights glare, making you squint as your heart pounds in your ears. You hear scuffles around you—other lab personnel filing in. A brunette in thick-rimmed glasses approaches with a calm, professional demeanor. She doesn’t bother asking permission before removing your shirt, her fingers lingering on your skin in an oddly reverent way. On your exposed chest, she places sticky electrodes connected to an EKG machine. You glimpse the display in your peripheral vision, its lines jumping in time with your pulse.

Thery pay no attention to the obvious distress expressed in your frantic heartbeat. Dr. Whitley studies the readout, tapping on her tablet. “Has the subject’s DNA been preserved so we can proceed with the experiment?” she asks aloud.

“Yes,” the male assistant replies. “We have the sample and the baseline data from their file.”

Dr. Whitley sets aside her tablet. “All right. Let’s see how that extraordinary physique holds up.” There’s a subtle, disconcerting excitement glimmering in her eyes.

The brunette with glasses retrieves another device—a small ultrasound probe. She applies a cool gel across your sternum and gently presses the wand against your pounding heart. On a nearby monitor, a grayscale image of your heart appears, pulsing and contracting in real time. You watch with wide eyes, unsettled by how intimate this glimpse inside your body feels—especially when you’re strapped down and powerless.

“Look at this,” Dr. Whitley murmurs. She points to the screen, where the shape of your heart flickers in contoured lines. "The ventricular wall dimensions are on the upper end relative to its advance size, but not constrictive."

The brunette nods, adjusting her thick glasses as she studies the display. "The heart rate is elevated now, but that's to be expected given the circumstances."

The redhead approaches the monitor more closely. "Optimistic about those contractions as well."

Lost in the moment, you feel a prick in your arm as the brunette fixes an IV port, and then there’s a sharp sting when she injects a cocktail of liquid that feels alarmingly warm. Within seconds, your heart pounds faster, harder.

A beep on the EKG intensifies, becoming frantic. Your breath hitches, sweat beading on your forehead. You can almost feel the wave of chemicals coursing through your veins.

“Look at the response,” the brunette exclaims softly, adjusting a dial. “We’re climbing steadily. Those contractions you like are getting stronger.” She says with a smile to Dr. Whitley.

You try to control your breathing, but the flooding anxiety sends your respiration into ragged, shallow gasps. Dr. Whitley steps closer, placing her hand against your slick chest. The warmth of her palm contrasts with the cool gel, and you can tell she’s feeling your heartbeat directly, pressing down just enough to sense every contraction.

“Oh, feel that,” she breathes, voice tinged with a near-reverent awe. “It’s wild—like a caged animal.”

A strangled whimper escapes you, your vision swimming. Each thunderous palpitation grows more forceful than the last. The edges of your awareness blur as the room spins. In the background, you hear them discussing your “incredible baseline,” the range they can push, the data sets they need to gather. Words like “glycosides” and “tolerance thresholds” begin to blur into an indecipherable haze.

Driven by equal parts horror and instinct, you struggle against the restraints. The leather digs into your wrists and ankles, unyielding. Dr. Whitley’s hand remains firmly over your chest, her demeanor more predatory now, a thin-lipped smile curving her freckled cheeks.

She glances at the brunette. “You said it yourself—I’ve always had a soft spot for strong hearts.” Her fingertip draws slow circles against your pectoral muscle. “There’s something so intimate about feeling another person’s life force like this, beating under your hand.”

The brunette’s mouth quivers with a grin. “Just don’t push too hard,” she cautions. “We need the subject alive for continued data collection.”

As if on cue, you feel another searing jolt of medication surge through the IV. Your body jolts. The beeping on the EKG ratchets up a notch.

From the corner of your eye, you see the dark haired man scribble notes: “Heart rate: 190… 200… 210…” His voice is a clinical drone. “Ventricular function… strong but nearing upper limit.”

Dr. Whitley leans over you again, studying your face. The overhead light draws harsh shadows across her features, making her freckles stand out like dark flecks of rust. “You’re doing very well,” she coos, as if praising a prized lab animal. “Just a bit more, and we’ll have what we need for this session.”

Her words run through your oxygen-starved mind. Session. That means there’s more to come.

You barely register the next injection into your IV port, only the jolt that makes your chest seize momentarily. The EKG squeals in response, and you tremble against the straps, moaning through gritted teeth, begging them to stop. Dr. Whitley presses down again, feeling the frantic pulse beneath her palm.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. “So strong… so determined to live.”

The brunette nods, stepping away to analyze real-time data on a monitor. “We have enough for the day’s baseline,” she says. “Let’s stabilize, then prepare for the biopsy this afternoon.”

Biopsy. The word jolts you, fanning the embers of your terror. Before you can beg for mercy—though in your core, you suspect it would be futile—your body is swept in a hazy wave of sedation. Some new mixture floods your veins. The tension in your muscles goes slack, your eyelids drooping.

The next time you regain awareness, it’s all at once. No gentle easing into reality—just a sudden, blinding rush of fluorescent light overhead, a wave of antiseptic stench, and the cold press of metal beneath your back.

Gradually, your vision clarifies enough to see Dr. Whitley leaning over you. Her red hair is pinned in a messy bun this time, stray curls framing her freckled cheeks. She’s not wearing the typical neutral expression of a physician. Instead, she looks… enraptured.

“You gave us quite a scare,” she murmurs, almost intimately. Her gloved hand lifts from somewhere around your sternum—or what should be your sternum. She steps aside, momentarily revealing the open cavity of your chest.

Your mind screams at the sight. Even in your near-sedated state, you realize you’re looking at your exposed ribcage—no, not exactly that, either. Metal retractors hold apart what must be the edges of your chest wall. And within that space… something wet and pink is beating, pulsing in a disturbingly recognizable rhythm.

Oh God, that’s your heart.

Terror floods you, but your body remains mostly limp, pinned by sedation and perhaps other restraints you cannot even feel. You try to shout, to ask what they’ve done, but only a thin, rattling exhalation escapes your lips.

“Shh,” Dr. Whitley soothes, sliding back into your line of sight. She’s wearing a surgical cap and mask, though the mask is tugged down just enough to reveal her mouth in a small, pleased smile. “You’re stable. We had to open your chest to resuscitate you effectively and examine some… structural qualities. Your heart is larger than we anticipated—stronger, too. But it needed a little help.”

As if on cue, you feel an odd tickle, and then something cold glides across the surface of that beating mass. You cannot feel your chest wall, but the raw sense of motion resonates through your body. You’re excruciatingly aware that your heart is outside your body’s normal protection.

A fresh wave of adrenaline floods your system, or maybe it’s something Dr. Whitley just injected into your IV. She sets a large syringe down, and her expression brightens with a frightening, clinical enthusiasm. “Your heart’s conduction system is still reactive,” she tells another figure you barely register to her left—a nurse? An assistant? You’re too disoriented to focus. “But we want to see how it holds up under high-stress conditions. Given what happened earlier, I want to push it carefully this time.”

Careful doesn’t describe what happens next. Dr. Whitley places her hand flat against your heart��your actual heart—and the sensation buckles your mind. There’s a moment of primal panic, the knowledge that someone’s palm is physically in contact with the essence of your life, your existence. Her grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm enough that each beat is transmitted right into her glove, and you can tell she’s measuring every contraction.

She flicks a switch on the IV line. Immediately, your heart rate spikes. A trembling quake runs through your arms, and you gasp for air, which you can only half pull into your lungs. The EKG machine to the side chirps faster, almost frantic. Your heart pounds, straining against her palm.

She glances at the monitors. “Good,” she breathes. “Strong sinus rhythm at 120… 130… climbing.” Her green eyes gleam, half-lidded in fascination. “Let’s aim for 180. Then I’ll begin defibrillator testing.”

Defibrillator testing. The phrase sends a jolt of dread through your drug-clouded thoughts. Normally, defibrillation is used to restore a normal heartbeat when it’s lost, but she wants to test your heart’s “electrical resistance” at an accelerated rate. Alarm bells ring in your mind, but your limbs remain numb to commands. Whatever sedation they’ve used keeps you still, but tragically conscious.

With an eerie calm, Dr. Whitley slips a slender paddle-like device from a sterile tray nearby. It’s an internal defibrillator paddle, smaller than the usual external paddles but no less capable of delivering a massive shock. She holds it close to the apex of your heart, her other hand bracing gently against the organ’s side. On a separate console, the dark-haired assistant raises the charge level, reading out numbers that blend into a horrifying litany: “50 joules… 75… 100.”

At that moment, your heart is galloping near 180 beats per minute, each contraction rattling your half-open ribcage. Dr. Whitley nods once. The assistant presses a button.

The current slams into your heart like a tidal wave. Your vision goes white, and your body jerks upward despite the sedation. Even your respiratory attempts stall. For a second, your heart surges out of rhythm, thrashing erratically. The EKG squeals. It’s unclear whether it’s going to recover or slip into another flatline.

Dr. Whitley pulls back, checking the monitors and the limp spasm of your heart. “Sinus conversion… no, it’s fibrillating. Increase the energy in increments of 20 joules.”

Another shock. Your entire chest cavity—what remains of it—contracts violently. The wet muscle of your heart convulses under the contact. Stars explode in your vision. Even your mind, dulled by sedation, can barely cling to consciousness. Then the monitors beep in that dreaded monotone again: a flatline.

“No,” Dr. Whitley hisses, as though scolding your heart for not cooperating. “We’re not done.”

She drops the defibrillator paddle and quickly gestures for a different tool. In your delirium, you see it flash silver: a large syringe, maybe adrenaline or some specialized stimulant. She rams it directly into the muscle of your heart with a practiced jab. The sharp invasion of the needle conjures a swirl of nauseous dread in your gut.

The EKG remains flat. Gritting her teeth, Dr. Whitley removes the syringe and does something both primeval and intimately horrifying: she begins manually pumping your heart in her hands. Wrapping her gloved fingers around the unresponsive muscle, she squeezes it rhythmically, trying to coax it back into beating. Each squeeze makes your mind spin—an unnatural, nauseating feeling of an external force attempting to animate your core.

“Come on,” she mutters, her focus absolute. “Respond!”

A flicker. The EKG hiccups with an uneven beep. Then another. Your battered heart twitches, as though deciding whether to obey or give up entirely. With another firm compression from Dr. Whitley’s hands, it makes a feeble attempt at a beat on its own. The flatline disappears, replaced by slow, uncertain pulses.

“Good,” she praises softly, practically massaging your heart to guide it. “There we are. You’re too strong to quit now.”

Fresh sedation is introduced into your system. You find you can breathe slightly easier, but your chest remains unfeeling, your mind caught in the dreadful awareness of her manipulations. Slowly, your heart stabilizes, though it’s weaker than before. The EKG reads a tenuous sinus rhythm around 80 beats per minute, far from the explosive 180 that had been forced upon it.

You feel her shift her grip on your heart, and then you sense the clamp hooking around something thick and vital. The aorta. She’s actually holding it between her fingers. Despite the sedation, your body tries to recoil on pure reflex, but you can only twitch in your restraints.

Dr. Whitley gently pinches the top of your aorta. “Let’s see how it handles slight occlusion,” she remarks, applying pressure. The EKG spikes with a ragged beep as your heart works harder to push blood through the newly restricted vessel.

“Hmm,” she muses, narrowing her eyes at the monitor. “Systolic pressure is… quite high. That’s very good. Let’s test its elasticity.”

She transitions from using her fingers to applying the clamp. The metal jaws bite into your aorta with measured tension. Your struggling heart falters for a beat, then resumes, pumping fiercely against the partial blockage. The beeping grows frantic again.

Every contraction feels sharper in your remaining sense of your chest cavity—like a muffled wave of pressure fighting against an immovable dam. You can’t produce a coherent scream, but your mouth hangs open in silent torment. You vaguely hear Dr. Whitley ordering the assistant to record the new data points: “Mark the pressure reading at clamp intervals of 10 mmHg. We’ll see how far we can push before distention becomes dangerous.”

She tightens the clamp further. Another beep from the monitors. Your heart lurches like a panicked animal. She glances over with a satisfied curve to her lips. “Remarkably strong,” she comments, the same way a mechanic might admire a high-performance engine. “Even with partial occlusion, it’s still pushing blood efficiently. I wonder if we can refine those glycoside cocktails to build even more force…”

“There,” Dr. Whitley murmurs to someone behind her. “Look at the state of it now. Fat, bloated, and vascular—thoroughly engorged.” She shakes her head in a kind of clinical wonder. “Beautiful, really… It’s still trying valiantly, despite the occlusion.”

“What admirable resilience,” Dr. Whitley says softly, leaning closer, her hand pressing lightly on the top of your heart. Even with sedation muting your pain, the sensation of her gloved palm against the bare muscle is almost unspeakably perverse. “Squeezing so hard… but every contraction meets that clamp.”

She nods to the assistant, and you feel a subtle release of pressure—just a fraction. Your heart leaps, as if starved for the chance to push out a full volume of blood. The relief is fleeting, though, because Dr. Whitley doesn’t actually remove the clamp; she merely adjusts it, letting a bit more blood pass. You can sense your heart throbbing, swelling, pressing outward to fill the newfound space. It’s horrifyingly intimate, feeling that muscle balloon, gulping blood to send it through.

“Look how it squirms,” Dr. Whitley murmurs with a note of awe. it’s struggling to recover from the partial strangulation, but it’s not giving up. Fascinating.”

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch her mouth curve into something like a smile. She curls her fingers around the device, then deftly snaps it off. The clamp—or whatever contraption was occluding your aorta—releases fully. Your heart, no longer choked, thumps in a series of relief pulses that ripple through the cavity. It expands and contracts in robust waves, as if gulping in fresh life. The EKG responds with a higher, steadier pitch, though still faster than normal.

“There we are,” Dr. Whitley says, voice lowered to a near purr. “Look at it—so vigorous now, flushed with blood. The contractions are returning.”

Her hand slides across the muscle’s surface, and you feel your heart spasm under the contact. Another wave of cold floods through your IV, no doubt her doing. Your pulse spikes in response, thumping erratically for a moment until it finds a new, unnatural rhythm. Heat flushes your face, mixing with the chills of terror and the sedation in your veins. Each beat rings like thunder, as if you can hear it in your ears, sense it in your skull.

The difference is staggering—where moments ago your heart was strangled, now it’s unleashed, each contraction deep and forceful. In a sickening way, the sensation is almost euphoric. Your battered organ is desperate to reassert itself. It seizes the chance, pumping with renewed vigor, and the relief is so abrupt it’s disorienting.

Dr. Whitley observes every surge, measuring the bounding pulses with her other hand, as though she can count each gush of blood in her palm. “Incredible,” she whispers. “This subject’s heart is among the most reactive I’ve ever seen. No matter how hard we push it, it clings to survival with remarkable ferocity.”

The assistant steps forward to check the monitors, adjusting dials that control fluid drips, sedation levels, and stimulants. “Systolic normalizing,” he announces, scanning a readout. “If you’d like to proceed with additional tests—”

Dr. Whitley silences him with a subtle gesture, then gives a slight shake of her head. “No, not just yet. Let it recover. I want to see how it manages on its own for a moment.”

She eases her gloved hand around the apex of your heart, as though cradling a fragile artifact. Each throb jars you—mentally, physically, spiritually—knowing she’s effectively holding your life in her grip. Though there’s no direct pain, the knowledge of your vulnerability is more excruciating than any scalpel cut.

Time passes in weighted moments, each of your heartbeats echoing in your ears and throughout the lab. Dr. Whitley hums under her breath, enthralled by the motion of the muscle. The rest of the lab staff stands at quiet attention, letting her examine the heart’s unsubdued recovery. With each contraction, the organ flares, glistening under the intense lights—again, you’re thankful for the sedation that keeps raw agony at bay, but the mental horror is still enough to make your head swim.

“Admirable,” Dr. Whitley repeats, though more softly now. “It’s as though it’s reclaiming lost territory. Even after repeated shocks, high-pressure occlusions, forced arrests… it beats like it wants to take on the world.”

She runs a careful finger along an engorged coronary. “Look how enlarged these are,” she remarks, addressing no one in particular. “They’re inflated, carrying blood to a heart that refuses to quit. Note the color—rich and oxygenated. Subject’s hemoglobin count is higher than baseline, likely a response to the repeated stress.”

Her words blur into clinical jargon. Your eyelids slide lower, sedation tugging you back to semiconsciousness. For a dreadful moment, you see every ripple in the wet muscle, the branching veins like a labyrinth of dark lines feeding the organ.

[lgcasami]

It’s genuinely sweet how excitable Kyoka was when she talked about things like this. It’s not like Asami didn’t have friends to talk about these kinds of things growing up, but because she’s on the quieter side, she would usually just listen to other people and stay on her lane, smiling and nodding. It felt a little bit like that now, but because it’s just the two of them. It makes her feel like she’s an active participant in the conversation and that’s nice.

“Tell you what, the next time we get together like this, I’ll make you a list with my top 5, top 7 even. I need time to come up with that, you know,” Asami says playfully, but also not wanting to prolong the topic for too long. Asami also wouldn’t be able to make a list like that on the fly. She does need actual time to think about it.

Asami listens attentively as Kyoka lists her characters. She hums and nods, and although she doesn’t remember some of them, she smiles every time a familiar name pops up. When Kyoka asks her a question, though, she takes in a breath and tilts her head to the side, “Uhmm, I like the ensemble work better, too. Maybe that’s because I like seeing all the pieces coming together as one, and that taking a bigger picture, like when you make music. It’s not just different people singing different parts. Before that we work on the music first, and lyrics, composition, and then we put it all together to make something good,” she nods with a satisfied smile. “Now that I think about it, we do share a few things in common. Let me ask you this. What’s your MBTI again?”

"Yes, exactly!" Kyoka exclaims, all too happy that Asami is following along. "I used to beg my grandma to paint her nails since I wasn't allowed to do my own in school because of Sailor Moon. I don't think I was very convincing though, she never let me." Given her less-than-stellar makeup skills discovered after graduating from school, it probably was for the better, even though she's since improved.

Instead of an affirmative, Kyoka bursts into song. "Ahhhh wa ga na waaaa Oscaaaaar ~~" Nodding, she adds, "Berubara was a childhood staple, my grandma is a really big fan so I grew up watching the stages, I think she even has the whatsitname, the programmes from the original show 50 years back."

"Top five? You're just bullying me now Asami-sama," she accuses, her pout palpable in her words. "You're doing this after I finish my list. OK, so top five characters: go. Berubara's Oscar obviously, I just mentioned her, she's my forever number one. Sissi because I think her dress is pret- wait no, she's a real person. Hmmm... Princess Jellyfish's Tsukimi, ParaKiss' Miwako maybe? I recently drew her, Miwako I mean, here, I can show you... wait, after we finish recording, I can post her later. So that's one, two, three, three characters."

"I like Sailor Neptune in Sailor Moon? Nozomi in Liz and the Blue Bird? Nana in Revue Starlight? Sarasa in Kageki Shoujo!!?" Wait, why is she sticking to animanga only again? "Oh I know! Scarlett O'Hara! I like her fierceness and Vivien sensei was something else, her dresses too... From movies I also really really like Suzuko in One Million Yen Girl... So, in order: Oscar, Scarlett, then in no order: Nana, Miwako, Michiru." For now at least. "But I don't know, I always liked whole works more than characters," Kyoka admits, "so there's a lot where I like the movie or the manga or the musical but don't like any character enough like that. Do you ever feel the same or do you always like one character that way in all your favorites? I'm really curious about what you think."

[lgcasami]

on JUNE 3, you are called to HYUNGCHEOL’s office for a quick meeting. as you enter the room, he’s busy shuffling through various files on his computer. he invites you to sit down with a friendly smile. “i know training is currently keeping you busy, so i wont be long.” he begins. “last trimester, you participated in LGC GIRLS JAPAN activities. as legacy wants to expand their activities in japan, we’ve managed to get a deal with a radio station for the company to get a WEEKLY radio show. we’ve put a lot of thought into which group or individuals should receive the opporunity and ultimately decided that we’d like the the show to be in a format where our various acts promoting in japan or those who can speak japanese can appear.” he explains. “which leads us to why you are here today. as a guest participant on LGC CHARMS JAPAN, we’d like to offer you the chance to be one of the REGULAR HOSTS of the variety show. would you be interested?”

CONGRATULATIONS! ASAMI has been selected as one of the potential hosts for LGC’S new RADIO SHOW in JAPAN. should she accept this offer, starting next trimester, she’ll have ONE trainee mission requirement to do and will be able to do a BONUS requirement for the radio show. make sure to advise the main of your decision for this opportunity before JUNE 15 !

When Asami gets called to Hyungcheol’s office, there are two things that start going around her head. First is that she’ll finally debut. This is it. It is finally Asami’s chance to reach the major leagues. She’s has been around long enough to know that she’s ready (sure), and she has also been around long enough to know that most of these calls for debut don’t happen this way. Second is that she’s in trouble, because why wouldn’t she be? (Why would she be when she does nothing wrong would be a better way to approach this, to be honest). Why else would she be called for a meeting otherwise? It’s either up or down, with no in-between.

There was an in-between.

Asami was polite like she always is, bowing and greeting her higher-up. As he spoke, Asami kept waiting for what she thought would be two of her possible futures, and maybe because it was unexpected, her eyes started going wider, and her eyebrows were almost at her hairline, she was sure, as he kept talking.

What does “are you interested?” even mean? She has a choice? “Of course I’m interested!” Asami says after blinking herself into normalcy. Asami was never the type to make herself hard to get, and even though being a host for a radio show wasn’t what she expected, it’s not like she’ll start declining gigs, even if they are not her specialty. If she has learned something since starting her training with LGC is that she can learn anything if she needs to. “Of course, I’m interested.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Queue me sprinting to the inbox when I got the notice that your inbox was open! First off, congrats on 5k! Ok now business: can I request something along the lines of Ghost realizing he’s become attached his partner (maybe the reader is the same rank or a sniper or something where they’ve known each other a while) but it’s a situation where it’s a harsh realization. Like it was the one time they didn’t go on a mission together and the reader got hurt real bad (like Ghost only found out because he happened to be on the tarmac when the reader’s body was being carried out of a helicopter by medics) and that’s how he realizes he loves the reader. Because it hits him like a ton of bricks that he might loose them and just breaks down but it ends with him being by the reader’s side and confessing in his own way when they wake up

—Blood Like Obsidian

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Simon can only fight against so many nurses as they shove him back from your operation room.] ❞

He doesn’t recall how he felt the moment he spotted your body being dragged out of that Helo, arm limp over the shoulder of one of the men in your unit. He doesn’t even remember what Soap was talking to him about on the tarmac. 

Because at that instance, the entire world seemed to stop in one horrible moment of mute panic and brown, wide eyes. 

Simon watched for a moment in shock, seeing your limp form as the soldier carrying you screamed out for a medic, moving as fast as he could in the direction of the on-base hospital; jostling you. Soap finally looks over.

“Holy hell,” the Scot breathes, head pulling back. 

Simon’s already sprinting. 

“Give her to me,” he growls to the soldier, who looks up at him in shock as he appears like an apparition. 

“S-sir, I—”

“Fucking hand her over!” Simon orders, eye flashing, his accent already making the aggressive voice even more so as he spits from behind his mask. 

The man immediately presents your unconscious form, blood so saturated into your gear that the black looks like obsidian; shiny like that natural glass formed after lava cools. There’s a damn hole in your chest. 

Taking you up easily, your dead weight makes his chest tighten, a sharp inhale sounding off from Simon before he grits his teeth and holds you tighter.

The Lieutenant grunts and takes off, feet slamming into the ground. He glances down at you in rapid intervals, gazing at your expressionless face for long seconds before it snaps back up to the road ahead—it’s no more than a few seconds before Simon slams his shoulder into a door. 

The barrier hits the far wall and nurses all look up in momentary fear.

“Help her!” He sounds desperate, and his hands dig into you harshly. If you’d been awake, you’d be telling him to let go before you developed marks. The nurses are still paused at the sudden appearance of the monster-ish man in black and gray. Simon barks like a dog, stepping closer. “Fuckin’ hell, are you bastards bloody deaf?!”

The others dash forward and tell him to place you on one of the rolling beds, and he does so without another word; heart so violently beating in his chest that he’s panting, breath loud in his own head.

The nurses are calling to one another, yelling to grab an available doctor and get you into surgery, beginning to wheel you away. Simon jogs along, eyes not leaving your face but ever silent with his hands clenched.

He hadn’t given much thought to how he felt about you—nothing was ever going to come of it. Years of missions and companionship with you. You, the ever-present bit of light that had stayed longer than all others. 

You, the only woman he would ever love.

The realization makes Simon’s legs nearly lock from under him, stumbling for a moment as one nurse peels back your vest and takes a pair of scissors to cut away the fabric over the mess of torn flesh and spitting veins.

You leave droplets of blood behind you, trailing off the limp hand that points to the floor from over the edge of the bed. 

Simon grabs at it and brings the hand to your chest, and he notices his own fingers shaking as he desperately moves his eyes up and down your body. He can’t even look at the wound—large, deadly. You jerk around with every movement as if you're already dead.

The Lieutenant feels his eyes burn with stark betrayal but barely pays attention.

As they’re pushing you into a pair of double doors, Simon remembers he was supposed to be with you during this mission, but had been reassigned last minute. The thought is so sudden he nearly forgets to ask where they’re bringing you. But the man recovers quickly.

“Oi!” He shouts, arms pushing him back from the door. Half of the nurses are telling him he needs to leave. He growls and jerks away from them, eyes flashing dangerously but always darting back to the door as it sways back and forth. 

But he knows why he’s out here—and the Lieutenant certainly doesn’t know how to operate on someone no matter how much he did.

He steps back and the rest of the nurses disappear back into your room. 

Simon puts a hand on the back of his head, gripping tightly at the fabric of his covering as he fears his teeth might break from how hard he’s clenching his jaw—grinding them across one another like a cheese grater. 

He loved you. Oh, God, he loved you. 

And he wasn’t there.

Turning away from the door, Simon paces the hallways until Soap re-joins him, any attempt the Sergeant makes at conversation is immediately slashed down ruthlessly. Simon’s shoulders widen; eyes grow more dead the longer you’re gone from his sight. 

It’s five hours until there’s any word, and when there is, the Lieutenant is alone again—his leg jumping along the floor and his hands held in a single fist under his nose; elbows on knees.

When he’s able to see you—stable but the future still uncertain, he sleeps there. 

Simon sleeps on the floor beside your hospital bed for two days straight, and the nurses are too afraid to tell him he can’t do that. So they don’t tell him at all. 

On day three, the man has only left the room to go to the bathroom; no food, no showers, or new clothes. He’d gone through worse, what was hunger? What was the small uncomfortableness in his chest? Nothing. It was nothing. 

During the day he watches your face, standing or sitting doesn’t matter. The nurses come and go, the doctor too, and he lets them work silently. Simon doesn’t speak to them.

But he does speak to you. 

And on day four, he plays with your fingers with a single hand, taking the flesh and watching it move. Feeling your pulse. 

The Lieutenant grunts. 

“Should’ve been there,” he hisses to himself harshly. “Should ‘ave never let you bloody go alone, yeah? Been by my side for ages.” Simon scoffs, glaring at the bedsheets. “My fuckin’ fault you’re ‘ere. No one can watch your back better, should’ve known that.” He misses the small twitch in your hand, too self-absorbed with his faults. 

Simon was never one for airing his grievances; the man was a master at suffering in the quiet nights. But this was a special case.

Your finger twitches again. 

“...Shouldn’t say stuff like that,” your words slur, and Simon’s head snaps up; heart lurching. He goes silent. 

Your eyes are only half-open, body heavy. You’ll be going back to sleep in mere moments, but you’d been awake long enough to understand what was going on. Simon watches, but his hand slips into yours. Grasping tightly. 

An unknown weight is taken from him at the twitch of a smirk on your lips.

“Care about you too, Big Guy.” 

He won’t tell you he loves you—he’s not that kind of person. He won’t explain the panic or the fear. Terror, really. 

But he’ll slip off his mask and let you see him, his thumb running the length of your knuckles. He’ll sigh and those browns will give way to the rare expressions he shows so few. 

He’ll let his head bend down to rest on your thigh as you fall back to sleep. Simon’s hand still holding yours.

You know.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[oh-no-its-bird]

Staring into the void thinking about my unloved little guy favorites and feeling the thoughts mix with my adoration for stupid niche crossovers. I want a svsss x Naruto crossover but instead of anyone especially notable from svsss who crosses over it's my favorite "really not as bad as he could be" award winner, Ming Fan

Squinting back at naruto and flipping a coin to decide if he lands in warring states era or modern konoha and deciding I like both of these options, so we're going to do 2 separate stories/timelines. Or maybe we'll have him land in the past then get flashed forward to future Konoha when he tries going home so he gets the best of both worlds, who knows— I'll decide when I get there.

With that said, buckle in baby because it's time for:

✨️ Ming Fans very unfortunate fall into the mess that is naruto canon ✨️

Ming Fan gets flung into another dimension due the ultimate possible sin in svsss: being a background character.

Some obligatory crazy adventure was happening to Luo Binghe and SQQ involving some magic artifact, and in your stereotypical "someone not too important to the plot touches the object and gets exploded, proving it's dangerous to touch + upsetting SQQ so LB can appropriately comfort him" (probably originally a wife plot) scene, Ming Fan gets zapped into naruto canon. Woops!

If it helps him feel any better, SQQ really is upset by this. Binghe is not. At all. He might think it's karma but also this guy doesn't know the first fucking thing about appropriate levels of karma so maybe he should keep his mouth shut.

(Neither of these facts make him feel better but do you know what does? Imagining SQQ yelling at Binghe for this. He's so fucking sure it's that guy's fault somehow. It's always his fault somehow.)

So boom, he gets zapped into the worst possible (and my personal favorite moment for inconvenient time travel) moments; The final battle between the Uchiha and the Senju.

Specifically, he gets zapped directly onto Tobirama's sword. Queue shocked Pikachu faces from everyone— including Ming Fan but with added dramatic blood and cursing in chinese. Bc hey!! They don't speak the same fucking language actually!!

Unfortunate.

So Tbrm and Izuna both jump back away from this unknown as Ming Fan continues to bleed and curse and be very fucking confused as to where he was.

He took the hit in the shoulder of his non dominant arm, it's a pretty clean cut and he's a cultivator so he'll be fine with some rest but MAN if it don't hurt like a bitch. On top of the motion sickness of being launched through time and space too, and wrapped up in a little bow of "surrounded by hostile looking strangers all yelling in a language I don't understand"

Yeah he's not having the greatest time right now.

So like, Ming Fan just sort of appeared out of nowhere, right? Which has Tobirama extra fucked up bc, yk, hiraishin.

Izuna doesn't know that he was just saved from death death, so he's appropriately grateful at avoiding being stabbed but also like. Who the fuck are you. How did you get here. You just interrupted my battle with my rival and I take a little offense to that actually.

Everyone is yelling and confused and Ming Fan is seriously debating hopping on his sword and flying off because fuck this.

Madara and Hashirama finally enter stage left and are both like "well he's not one of ours" so now everyone is eyeing him even more suspiciously and a couple people are for sure lowkey tensing to attack

Enter convenient svsss mcguffin! Because "idk it sounds like something SQQ would know how to do," Ming Fan knows some language technique that allows him to speak/understand a language for a certain amount of time.

So he grabs his sword and circulates his qi to prepare the technique, and everyone tenses up because hey what are you doing over there buddy

Tobirama, a really good sensor, can actually sense the differences between Ming Fan's qi circulating through his dantian vs how shinobi would circulate chakra through their chakra coils. So he's holding a hand up like 'wait let him cook' @ the Senju who tensed up for a possible attack, if only because he wants to see where this goes and is confident that if he tried anything fr, well, he's kind of surrounded on all sides rn by two entirely different factions

The Uchiha meanwhile don't want to be the first to strike, so everyone's just kinda cautiously gripping their weapons in this very odd battlefield stall

And boom: now he can speak their language.

I'd say the first thing he does is grab Tobirama and shake him while cussing him out about watching where he's swinging that sword of is but he's smarter than that. (For sure it's what he wants to do tho. He is picturing it. Oh man is he picturing it.)

So like, actual communication for now

Now. PIDW is fucking filled with all sorts of mcguffins, "I touched something I shouldnt have and when I opened my eyes I was somewhere strange" is alarmingly common, and the sect absoloutley has some sort of "teleportation checklist" to run through whenever your random, unfortunate disciple gets fucking zapped.

(I like to hc that Shang Quinghua had some sort of hand in making an "official" checklist taught across the peaks, and that different peaks treat this checklist with uhh,, different amounts of respect. (LQG thinks its useless but has simultaneously run the tally for peak lord whose gotten stranded by artifacts he shouldn't have touched the most. These two facts may be directly correlated.))

Anyways; Ming Fan gets to doing that checklist. He's demanding to know where he is, when he doesn't recognize the name, how close he is to the sea, what year and time of the year it is, where the nearest sect is, etc.

At first this is directed at Izuna and Tobirama both, but when Izuna fails to answer as directly as Tobirama does (with quick, flat answers) and also tries to return the questions ("who are you, how did you get here, etc.") he directs his attention soley to Tobirama. Even though hes a little BITCH and stabbed him

(Ming Fan can recognize he teleported directly onto his blade but this will not change him being butt hurt ab it)

For everyone watching, this is weird as all hell! Who is this guy? Why these questions? Ew why is he deferring to the Senju, our Izuna-sama would be so much better to ask—

Now, quick side note, the thing about Ming Fan is he's just like a dude. He's just a guy. But also he's really not, but also he really is? If that makes sense?

He's the senior most disciple and (correct me if I'm wrong here bc its been a while) SQQ's head disciple, which means he'll be the next peak lord in however many years when SQQ and his generation chooses to ascend. So he's definatley not a slacker when it comes to power or wit. Even if he does rank pretty low in the overall SVSSS canon, but also like, yeah, background character vs actual heavenly demons n shit.

So he's definitely a pretty impressive guy!! But also he's just a guy. And he's in contact with the power houses and freaks that is SVSSS main cast (*cough* Luo Bingghe *cough*) So his sense of self and where be ranks power wise is probably skewed to a degree. (Though I imagine that when left to his own devices and not having to defer to his shizun, he definitely suffers from "haughty bitch disease" (tragically not fatal, for now at least)

Thus; cultivator version of just a dude. I love him!!

(arguably the only better option for the "svsss just a dude award" would be Gongyi Xiao, who I also love dearly but he's not here right now, so, winner by default Ming Fan!!! (Story of his fucking life tbh))

Anyways, back to plot:

So, thinking that Ming Fan immediatley recognizes Tobirama's hiraishin design bc it was actually enscribed on whatever artifect got him sent here. Wwoahhh mystery or something idk but theres that

(Was Airplane thinking about naruto when he created this specific object? Did he maybe google "sealing design ideas" then copy paste the hiraishin directly into his work, knowing no one but him would know what he had done since there was no artwork to go with it? Maybe. Perhaps. Just possibly.)

I honestly dont really know where itd go from that, but like Ming Fan probably sticks around specifically to harass Tobirama in the hopes he can send him home.

He points at the Hiraishin and goes "Your talisman brought me here. Take responsibility."

Tobirama understands this as his activation of the Hiraishin in battle literally summoned Ming Fan (only half true) and the poor mans presence here is thus entirely his fault. (Ehhhhh not really)

Ming Fan will not correct this assumption.

Either way though, Tobirama would not give up the chance / excuse to interact with and help return an interdimensional traveler. Can you say science experiment?? Because Tobirama sure fucking can!

Tobirama ends up having a fucking field day trying to find ways to replicate Ming Fan's different techniques with chakra instead of qi, and just in general studying how the energy in their bodies flows and works so differently yet so similarly

Anyways !

Through convoluted reasons peace happens somehow

Ming Fan calls Izuna a dumb bitch to his face maybe, idk that sounds like smthn hed do. But also like more politely bc they have different ways of speaking and SQQ probably gets on his ass about 'if you're going to insult someone do it in a way that reflects well on your own and the peaks teachings'

Actually I love that and now I need Ming Fan and Izuna cat fights

Actually I need Ming Fan and everyone cat fights, Izuna just gets the worse of it bc in my heart he is diva coded in a similar way to Ming Fan

Tobirama also bites back but hes too interested in the opportunity to study Ming Fan to risk being proper rude like he usually would to like, pretty much anyone else.

"Did this guy call me and my entire clan useless warmongers with the collective IQ of a tree stump? Yes. Do I want to cut him open to see if his organs match my own? Also yes. And my chances of getting to do this are very slightly raised by at minimum not pointing out that he has the attitude of if chihuahua got fucked by the worlds angriest hairless cat and spat out a human shaped baby."

Madara is NOT safe from the Ming Fan bitchfest but hes too busy happily drinking with Hashirama at the prospect of peace to give him his full attention, so he lets Izuna handle the cat fights

Hashirama meanwhile thinks hes kind of a tool but is also too busy happily drinking with Madara to really care, and is also the sort of guy to think that bitchy people are funny (as long as he isnt the one who has to deal with the consequences they bring) so honestly? Hes also having fun watching him and Izuna fight

Ummm stuff happens, peace is achieved, Konoha is developed and Ming Fan is in the thick of it bc he still needs Tobirama to send him home. He's kind of just,, there. Hanging out. Doesnt really have anything to do here, isnt particularly invested in this city building shit. As head disciple he has experience with things like management and the like, but nothing on this scale. He is however familiar with the concept of government-esq bodies overseeing superpowered people in societies equivalent to something close to a village. So that might come in handy, idk

But yeah, Ming Fan is just kind of hanging around, maybe he's brought in as a fresh pair of eyes / consultant

When it comes time to elect a Hokage, it's Madara vs Hashirama, with both of their younger brothers obviously backing their elder brothers.

Ming Fan, who has taken many, many missions across many different villages, countries, kingdoms and more, has seen this fucking story go down a million different ways. Better yet, he's seen this story go down a million different ways, often with SQQ hanging over his shoulder providing live commentary and a fucking insiders POV on the mechanics of this

The thing about Madara is that he is clearly respected by his clan, and feared by others. But he's not really,,, approachable.

Meanwhile Hashirama is the same, but he is approachable

And Izuna? Well, he has a real charm to him that his brother lacks. A charm that could realistically stand pretty well against Hashirama's own charm. He's popular, genuinley, among his own clan and surprisingly among some Senju as well. Whereas Madara was 'the force to be reckoned with' Izuna occupied a sort of middling space, always standing against Tobirama. Plus, hes easy on the eyes and can rock a pretty effective 'open and friendly smile.'

Not to mention he was the Uchiha's spy master, probably would go on to be Konoha's in the future, so he's a pro at managing people

Between Madara and Izuna, if you want an Uchiha to run for Hokage and win... wasn't Izuna clearly the better option?

Ming Fan brings this up to Izuna one day and he's actually kind of blindsided by this. The idea straight up never occurred to him, too used to being in the position to back his brother and raise him up to ever consider wanting the position Madara desired for himself.

He considers it for all of 3 seconds, a noticeable hesitation, before he laughs and shakes his head, saying that he would never steal his big brothers dreams like that. If he has the skills to win the Hokage position, he'd just use them to make sure Madara does instead

(Madara, overhearing their conversation from the hallway, retreats silently to think.)

A week later, and right before the intentions of Madara and Hashirama are announced to officially begin running for Hokage are announced, and a switch is made. A strangely quiet Madara switches out with Izuna at the last minute, a surprise to literally everyone but Ming Fan, who huffs approvingly

(This... has been his dream for so long. The village, his clan, safe and at peace. To be able to lead that would be... everything. But if his own baby brother would be more likely to be choosen for that over himself... At the very least, Madara wants to see an Uchiha with the hat.)

It's worth mentioning also that at this point, Ming Fan has a decent amount of influence on his own. Like, obviously, he's hanging out with the clan heads and heirs, he isnt contributing too much to the village, but he is contributing. He's pulling his weight, and he often spends time just kinda wandering around, talking to people, learning about this different world and the things it has to offer— different food, clothing styles, stories, the culture, just all of it

And that on its own is enough to endear him to plenty of people. Plus, as Konoha grows and more clans join in, he remains at its center sort of by default of having landed in that position from the start.

I think he's especially popular with more common people, bc he'll often be wandering around, just kinda exploring and all that, and if you complain to him theres a chance he might take that complaint all the way to the top, and your complaint (if its serious enough) might actually be dealt with. And as Konoha grows and more and more people clutter the information train, that's really fucking valuable!

All of that is to say that when Ming Fan makes a mostly careless comment in public about thinking Izuna would make a better Hokage, well, it's an endorsement from a well respected person. Who knows if it truly impacts the outcome, and god knows Ming Fan isn't like, actively campaigning for either of them—he probably doesn't care too much on who wins, finds them both agreeable enough as leaders (they both annoy him in different ways but at least with Izuna he's clearly grown begrudgingly fond of the back and forth they have)

So! It's an incredibly close race, but in the end Izuna wins, becoming the first Hokage

(His dramatic ass is absolutely on board with Hashirama's idea for a carved face in the mountainside, even as Tobirama, Madara and Ming Fan both physically cringe at the idea)

Ming Fan ends up being stuck there for a couple year, which is... annoying, but he's an immortal cultivator and has had much longer missions, so overall he's mild about his displeasure. Clear progress is being made by Tobirama, who is open about each new discovery he makes between Ming Fan and a normal mortal of this world

("To discover what made the hiraishin bring you here from another world entirely, we must first map out exactly what makes you and me so biologically different that the seal would react so strongly")

Anyways, Tobirama finally figures out how to fuck with the hiraishin enough to send Ming Fan back !! Yay, the day is saved and everyone is different levels of sorry to see him go, ranging from mildly fond to 'oh thank fucking gone, LEAVEEE ALREADYYYY' from the many, many people he's probably annoyed while here

Izuna and Ming Fan say goodbye and "Ill almost miss fighting with your bitch ass" in the weird language of insults they've developed, which to others just sounds like "dont go missing me too much, even tho youll never find someone else on my level to talk with again 💅"

Izuna gets one last jab in as Ming Fan is teleporting away but literally right as he's dissapearing Ming Fan gets one back in, making him officially holder of 'Got The Last Word' and this will piss off Izuna for the rest of all time

And so Ming Fan is safely returned hom— OH FUCK WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS WHERE IS HE NOW?? GODDAMIT TOBIRAMA

Yeah, so, Ming Fan is instead zapped some decades into the future, into Kakashi's genin days

I mean, congrats to Tobirama, he just invented time travel, so, thats cool

Ming Fan doesnt actually give a shit though because this is not what he was promised, Tobirama you useless hack—!

He was sent back from the battlefield where he appeared, something about eliminating the chances of the specific location being involved in the act of breaking through universes, and reappeared in that same place.

He pretty quickly makes his way over to Konoha via flying sword, easily dodging the many patrols in the area who are at pretty much full swing due to the fact that we're nearing the start of the second shinobi war.

(Sakumo has not yet been assigned that doomed mission of his but will be any day now)

Ok so. POV you're one of the guys guarding the gates of Konoha.

And out of seemingly nowhere this fucking GUY. Just. DESCENDS FROM THE SKY FROM THE BACK OF A SWORD. Immediately starts angrily yelling at you about demanding to know where Senju Tobirama, the fucking nidaime who died years ago, currently is. And that he needs to get his bitchy little quack doctor ass out here RIGHT FUCKING NOW and do what he GODDAMN PROMISED

As Im sure you can imagine, the gate guards. Do not react too well to this.

I think Ming Fan received a konoha headband, and he usually doesnt wear it unless he's like, going into battle and needs to be able to be identified by his allies. And he wasnt wearing it when he was ready to hop on home, so he takes it out now and kinda shoves it in their face like THERE LOOK IM ONE OF YOU NOW WHERE IS TOBIRAMA.

They might have tried to arrest him but he was rocking with that "do you know who I fucking am, let me speak to your manager RIGHT NOW. Who is your hokage is Izuna still in charge I will ask him to light your ass on fucking fire if you dont bring me to him 5 goddamn minutes ago" swag and, like, he was just so confident about it the gate guards didnt?? really know what to do?? HE SEEMS TO KNOW WHAT HES TALKING ABOUT GUYS AND THATS SCARY

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOULL ASK THE SHODAI HOKAGE TO (WHAT, RISE FROM HIS GRAVE?) TO GIVE US A SHAKING

(He wouldnt lmao, Izuna would probably have given them a gift basket for inconveniencing Ming Fan tbh. This fact however will never and has never stopped Ming Fan from using his name as a blunt force weapon against those who dont know better.)

So.

Ming Fan is brought to the Hokage.

DRUM ROLL PLEASE AS WE NOW INTRODUCE KONOHA'S SANDAIME HOKAGE IN THIS TIMELINE MING FAN HAS NOW LIGHTLY FUCKED UP,,,

KAGAMI UCHIHA !!!

Yeah so with Izuna as the first Hokage, the hat then went to Tobirama, who then passed it down to Kagami, who is currently looking at Sakumo as his possible successor

So, a very peeved Ming Fan is escorted to the Hokage's office. On his way over, he's taking note of the buildings and the clear passage of time. He looks at the mountain and finds 2 new faces besides Izuna's own annoying one, and catches wind of exactly what happened pretty fast.

Hopefully Tobirama isn't dead yet though, because oh man does Ming Fan have some words for him

(Ming Fan is annoyed to find his favorite little shop from before has been replaced by some stupid fuckin ramen restaurant. Ugh.)

Ming Fan finally arrives, and Kagami, who actually interacted with him more than a few times back in the day, does a fucking comedy spit take and blurts out, "Fan-dono?????"

Ming Fan does not recognize him at first and when he finally does, it's him going oh you're that hanger on brat who was always begging Tobirama to teach you.

Not. The most flattering take. But Kagami will take it.

So Kagami is like, Hokage now. But also he has memories of Ming Fan as both Tobirama's friend and also Izuna's friend and also just like. "Respected guy my mom told me to be good around."

So theres all sorts of things happening in his head rn on how to react to this situation

Ming Fan meanwhile has never interacted with a Hokage he wasnt allowed to call stupid to their face (to be fair Izuna would immediatley call him stupid back) so he is not giving Kagami the respect expected of like. Literally any ordanary shinobi to give him.

But he lucks out and gets a pass on it bc Kagami still has him slotted into the "sensei and Izuna-sama's respected friend" part of his brain that makes him feel like a kid again

(behind him, the ANBU squad does not like or agree with this turn of events. at all. who the FUCK are you to talk to the Hokage like this what the FUCK)

I think Danzo fucking despises Ming Fan, just because its funny. Ming Fan called him a nosey little brat one too many times as a kid and Danzo developed a childish grudge that he totally forgot about later in life— till he runs into Ming Fan again, years later, looking annoyingly exactly the same, and reawakens the rage of a slighted 12 year old

Sarutobi I dunno, I think hes somewhere between Kagami and Danzo on "this guy hits the buttons in my brain that make me feel like Im a kid being scolded by my sensei again" and also "holy shit FUCK this guy"

Anyways! Heres the thing:

When he left, Ming Fan absoloutley took some of Tobirama's research with him. It was probably some sort of exchange thing— way back when Ming Fan agreed to be a little science experiment in the first place, he probably made a deal of "yeah ok fine but I want every crumb of research you pull from me and I wanna take it home when I go"

Tobirama kinda shrugged and went "yeah fair enough, but were gonna have to agree on what kind of person is allowed to see some of it"

Shook on it, the end

So Ming Fan has this big ass thing of notes up his sleeve— filled with stuff about the differences between a shinobi and a cultivators bodies, some different fun notes Tobirama took while adapting some of Ming Fan's techniques to be used by chakra and vice versa w Ming Fan trying to use Tobirama's techniques with qi, notes on editing the hiraishin to try and get him home, etc.

Theres also probably just some other random stuff— mostly medical and jutsu / sealing guides, which Ming Fan traded information to bring home thinking the sect would benefit from it. If nothing else, his shizun will get a kick out of it

(oh boy would SQQ get a fucking kick out of seeing goddamn naruto lore written out in detail and refffered to as texts from another dimension)

^ so all of that is to say that Ming Fan has the traces of the seal to try to bring him back home, but he cant fucking use it himself bc he doesnt know how to preform the hiraishin, which is a major component of it

(and also part of why Tobirama let him take it to begin with, unconcerned of Ming Fan or someone else ever using it to come back bc they've already established his different biology somehow makes him physically unable of using the hiraishin)

So he just needs to find Tobirama again, or minimum someone who can use the hiraishin, and he can at least just try again. Maybe the last time sending him forward was a fluke? It probably only needs some minor tweaks, right? So just— get him Tobirama, and they'll sort it out

Learning Tobirama is dead, Ming Fan is,,, well, he was already prepared to say goodbye when he left the first time. And looking at the statues, Tobirama clearly lived an accomplished life. Same with Izuna— Ming Fan kind of resolves to just not think about it.

When he asks about Madara, Ming Fan is informed that a year after he left, Madara apparently turned traior and attacked the village. This is. A lot. For him to swallow.

Ming Fan has a moment of blaming himself for not having seen the darkness festering inside Madara, but brushes the feeling away. There was nothing he could have done, and he has been down the road of blaming himself for not catching a tell that hinted towards secret evil intentions one too many times during his missions to do it again here.

(Still, a complicated feeling rises in him. He'd spent years, at that point, by the founders side. To hear Madara had gone and tried to kill them all— If nothing else, Ming Fan had truly thought Madara loved his brother.)

BUT DO YOU KNOW WHO IS SOMEHOW ALIVE? FUCKING HASHIRAMA AND MITO !!!

Hashirama, having never become Hokage, was never poisoned! Instead he retired, now too old to fight even if he wanted to, and lives in the Senju compound with his aging wife and big family (including his granddaughter, Tsunade)

In the last few years, it's seems like he's become sick, only a few people allowed to visit him, and almost only senju. Very sad, he's expected to die any day now

SO !

Ming Fan hops over to the Senju compound, and though literally everybody expected he wouldn't be allowed to see him, Hashirama permits him to enter his rooms

(The list of those who can see Hashirama is as follows:

His wife

His children and grandchildren

The Hokage

and on one very memorable occasion, the current Uchiha clan head, Uchiha Hikaku)

Ming Fan being added to that list,, well, he may not realize it's weight, but its safe to say that once the fact gets out, it's enough to pretty instantly cement him as trustworthy to most of Konoha. Especially those in higher circles

So, Ming Fan goes to Hashirama's side, and Mito greets him. She explains that the Mokuton is as much as a curse as it is a blessing, and opens the door for Ming Fan to see exactly what she means.

For the past few years, Hashirama has been stuck in the process of turning into a tree.

There... isn't much more to say about that.

They had prepared a room for him to spread his roots in, open aired and protected by enough seals to blind a man if they attempted to look in. With grassy floors covered in wildflowers, and a small stream that Mito says they decorated with rocks from the Naka river.

Hashirama sits at the center of it all, more tree than man, asleep most days but having miraculously awoken just in time for Ming Fan's arrival.

Hashirama jokes that it must be fate, and Ming Fan, sobered in this moment, nods and says that his Shizun has often said that everyone is bound by the strings of fate. Whether they obeyed the strings was up to them, but so long as they walked, the strings would continue to guide them to the places they needed to be.

Hashirama laughs, and tells him that he half expected to be cursed out once he'd heard that Ming Fan had been stranded here by his brothers seal.

"Is that really how you wish for this reunion to go?" Ming Fan asks, and Hashirama only laughs again.

"I'd rather hear you curse my name than sit and suffer through you playing polite because you're too offput by this old mans condition to say what you're thinking."

Ming Fan sighs, laying on the grass and staring up at Hashirama's leaves and halfheartedly curses at Tobirama's name, lamenting his situation as Hashirama listens with a smile.

"You don't seem as distressed as I'd expected!" Hashirama notes, and Ming Fan only shrugs. "I'll figure it out, I'm sure."

"How uncharacteristically optimistic of you!"

"I suppose that's just you rubbing off on me then."

Hashirama and Ming Fan talk for quite a while, and it reminds Ming Fan of older nights, when Konoha was still young, before even the Hokage was elected. Nights occasionally spent drinking together, sometimes alone, sometimes with others— Tobirama, Izuna, Madara, Touka, Hikaku, an array of clan heads and heirs, people who've come to make a home, find some peace, and in that moment only share a drink.

To Ming Fan, it had only been a couple of years since those early days.

To Hahirama, it had been decades.

Ming Fan is invited to stay at the Senju compound for as long as he needs to find a way home.

When he stands, he turns to Hashirama, and offers a bow. Lower than any he's offered before, in this world.

"Thank you for your generosity."

Hashirama smiles, and accepts the gratitude for all that it means.

That night, Senju Hashirama falls asleep, and never wakes again.

SOOO ANYWAYS !!

Ming Fan is now staying with the Senju!! In this verse the family is a bit bigger than canon, due to Hashirama's continued survival throughout the years and how that impacted general Konoha politics. This is also before Tsunade left the village, with her little brother Nawaki still alive and Orochimaru's student (though much like Sakumo, their tragic fates are destined to happen any day now)

Through Ming Fan interference, both of these characters eventually avoid these fates, dont ask me how tho but just know that it happens, so.

Ming Fan has 2 goals!

Find someone who can preform the hiraishin!

Find someone who can alter the seals Tobirama used last in an attempt to get him home!

Luckily for Ming Fan, Mito knows just how to help in both of these cases! She can cover number 2, as Konoha's leading (and oldest) seal expert, and her darling grand-niece, Kushina, just so happens to be dating the only guy in the world who knows how to use the hiraishin, isn't that convenient?

With Mito agreeing to help alter the seal and someone to actually use it set in place, Ming Fan has nothing left to really do other than just,, wait.

The good news is that, since he brought Tobirama's research with him and the alterations shouldn't take nearly as much time as last time, it should only be a few months!

This is where we get Ming Fan once again fucking around the village, and how inevitable interferes with Nawaki and Sakumo's deaths

Maybe he's bored and goes with Nawaki on his mission? He's definitely interacting with him, they both live in the senju compound after all!

Nawaki idolizes his grandfather Hashirama, and Ming Fan is apparently a good friend of his!! So hes totally harassing Ming Fan to know more about that!

I think the "time travel" bit is kept secret from the public, just bc like, messyyyy, and Ming Fan's own involvment in early Konoha is pretty unknown in general just bc he was overshadowed by more relevant historical figures— plus its not like he had a clan to continue to remember him.

So very few people even know he existed, let alone that he's that same guy from history

Ummm Ming Fan and Sakumo friendship, I like to hc skaumo as being friends with the sanin so maybe hes around the Senju compound sometimes, idk

A panicked Sakumo is called in for a super last minute mission and tushes over to beg Tsunade to babysit only to realize shes also out, then somehow ropes Ming Fan into watching over Kakashi

Ming Fan ends up lightly making fun of Kakashi's use of chakra (his own pov of how to use chakra being heavily skewed due to experiments with Tobirama) and ends up being roped further into helping to train Kakashi using techniques, tips and tricks told to him by Tobirama

Ming Fan does NOT want to teach Kakashi, Kakashi is very much harassing him into doing it and Ming Fan is less teaching and more 'throwing techniques at him in the hopes hell go away only to find that Kakashi has figured out how to do it correctly on his own and wow thats really alarming actually'

I think Ming Fan would like Kakashi and also be a terrible fucking influence on him bc he is absolutely encouraging him to be as mean and bratty as possible (with other people)

Ming Fan is the kind of guy to teach his students to be evil under the table so they can get away with it, like, "ok so I heard you tried to sabotage someone. And Im really disappointed actually bc you chose such an obvious way and if you're going to sabotage someone at least dont do it in a way that will tie back to you, like, really" kind of energy

Minato receives Kakashi as a student around this time and has to beg Ming Fan to stop bc the things hes teaching Kakashi keep clashing with shit he's trying to teach him and also "did you really tell Kakashi to try and beat up Obito behind the ramen shop to establish dominance because he almost did and I can not express how bad this is for team moral"

Minato is STRESSED but unfortunately this is not Ming Fan's problem. Sorry. Do better.

Without Izuna around to shoot the shit with Ming Fan actually finds himself incredibly bored. He got used to having someone he can be catty around, now hes like. All bored. And maybe a little lonely.

LONELY? WHO SAID THAT? HES NOT LONELY WHAT THE FUCK SHUT UP !! YOU DONT KNOW WHAT YOURE TALKING ABOUT !!!!

He goes to the stupid ramen place that replaced his old favorite shop and discovers he does not like ramen.

This does not improve his mood.

He's fucking bored is the thing, which is why he decides to take missions. And how he ends up with surprisingly high clearance (due to being technically a founder)

And how he ends up on the same team as Sakumo for a very specific mission.

And how, when the mission goes wrong, he sends Sakumo home saying that he'll rescue their mission partners bc at least he's not stupidly recognizable the way Sakumo is.

And how Sakumo never falls from grace

And how just a week later, Sakumo is announced as Kagami's pick for the 4th Hokage.

Sakumo is very grateful towards Ming Fan for the mission thing, considers him to be a good man. He is a little bit blind to the awful fucking influence Ming Fan is on Kakashi, much to Minato's despair.

ANYWHOOO

some months pass and the seal is now complete! Minato is brought in and let in on the secret, and agrees to help!

(getting rid of ming fan? holy shit sign him up!!)

Ming Fan says his goodbies, Nawaki and Kakashi are especially sad to see him go while the adults are all different flavors ranging from "understanding but fondly sad to YES GO GO GET OUT GET OUT LEAVE ALREADY GO PLEASE THANK YOU GOODBYE"

Mito is in general amused at all the shit Ming Fan has managed to start while here, she's a fan of watching him fuck around from afar, eating popcorn

So.

Third times the charm, right? Right???

As Ming Fan immediately realizes, no, no it is not the charm.

Ming Fan reappears on the fucking eve of Konoha's destruction by Pain's hand.

Now. As already stated: I love Ming Fan "just a guy but not really" so much! I think he is decently powerful on his own, just overshadowed by the general cast of SVSSS, and I also think that these past few years hes spent here in naruto, sparring with people like the founders, participating in experiments with Tobirama to see how far qi can be pushed in contrast with chakra, learning new techniques and adapting to the different levels of ambient chakra and qi in this world— well, he's not ready to split skies or anything like that but its safe to say that Ming fan was, and now is even more pretty fucking strong.

All of that is to say Ming Fan may be more attached to Konoha than he realized bc when he sees it being destroyed it isn't just the anger of a righteous cultivator seeing innocents be attacked that's lit inside him, nah Ming Fan is about to throw the fuck down

(It takes him not even a second to affix the konoha headband to his belt before he jumps into the fray)

So! Lets take a peek at the Hokage time line in Ming Fan's absence!

Kannabi bridge went unfortunately similar to canon, and Obito fell into Madara's hands.

With Sakumo still alive at the time, Kakashi was able to recover from this without the major personality shift, and due to a combination of Sakumo and Ming Fan's additional training, when it was Rin's turn on the chopping block, she instead survived and now continues to live as the Konoha's second jinchuriki

Obito attacked Konoha with the intention of releasing the kyuubi, and at the time Kushina and Minato were in the Senju compound for the birth

Mito got in his way, delaying him long enough for Sakumo to also arrive

In the fight, both Mito and Sakumo died (fucking thanks, Obito. I dont think Kakashi's gonna be able to forgive u for that one this time around) but Kushina and Minato survived, and Naruto was born healthy and without the fox sealed into him

Kakashi is understandable devastated, and as recovery efforts begin, he's taken in by Minato and Kushina. He offers little fight against this.

With Sakumo's death, Kagami was once again appointed as the Hokage. After only a year or two of stabilizing Konoha + preparing his successor, he quickly gives Minato the hat, and retreats once again to retirement.

Minato makes Kakashi and Rin both ANBU, expressing his desire to have them by his side (at least this time they're slightly older, with Kakashi at 15 and Rin at 17) and puts them on home guard, specifically as Naruto's ANBU guards. It's an easy job, and helps Kakashi in particular to heal some, even if he gets even more rigid about things like rules and formalities

With Izuna as the first Hokage and Kagami as the third (and technical 5th) Uchiha-village relations were actually very good! Thanks to this, the Uchiha massacre was avoided entirely

Kakashi is raised pretty much as Naruto's very protective older brother, with Rin in a similar boat but she still has her own family so there isnt quite so much trauma fueled dependency from her end.

Naruto grows up to be alarmingly talented, with Kakashi and Rin tutoring him, and Minato and Kushina obviously doing their best (though Minato remains mostly busy due to the unfortunate realities of being a Hokage. Meanwhile Naruto is absolutely a total mommas boy)

Kakashi and Rin end up actually fighting over who gets to be Naruto's sensei (Naruto wants NEITHER OF THEM!!!!! HES A BIG BOY NOW STOP CODDLING HIM!!!!!)

Canon then proceeds mostly the same, though with some very obvious major changes

Somewhere along the way, Itachi is convinced to ditch Konoha even without the massacre, and later down the like Sasuke also follows suit to investigate what happened with his brother— though this time he leaves with orders from Minato to go undercover, and investigate Sound

(fucking THANKS dad!! -Naruto, probably, when he finds this out)

COOL! SO! WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY!

Ming Fan fucking bodies Pain right before he kills Kakashi. (Sorry Kakashi, no fireside chat with your father for you)

Now, Ming Fan had a pretty lasting effect on Kakashi's life overall, but he was only around for like, idk, half a year maybe. And Kakashi was young during the time, so his memories of the man remain very blurry and overall half forgotten.

So Kakashi doesn't recognize him immediately— Though from Ming Fan's side, he's immediately mistaking him for Sakumo, then realizing no, wait it isn't him, doing the mental math and making an educated guess that this has to be Kakashi then.

But that doesnt matter rn bc it is THROW DOWN OCLOCK !!!!!

The overall battle goes mostly according to canon but w less casualties since Ming Fan joins in, but then Naruto does his talk no jutsu or however that goes, Pain agrees to revive everyone, boom there done.

So tbh my knowledge of Naruto gets HELLA blurry from here on out, so we're gonna keep it vague, but, like, MING FAN IS HERE AGAIN YAYYYYY

Unfortunately p much everyone who could have instantly recognized him is fucking dead now. Kagami, Danzo and Hiruzen got picked off in previous battles or smthn, Mito and Sakumo are fucking dead, the kids who grew attached to him were too young and the time they knew him too short to really remember,

BUT.

Despite literally only being around for like, 6 months. Ming Fan succeeded at being so annoying that Minato never fucking forgot his face <3

(also there are probably some Uchiha around w sharingan memories of him)

So Minato sees this guy and goes through all the stages of grief at once. Meanwhile Ming Fan is seeing the hat and raising his eyebrows and going no way Sakumo chose THIS bitch boy for the job.

Meanwhile Naruto is standing direcly next to Minato going DAD WHOS THIS WHO IS THAT DAD HEY DAD HEY DAD WHO IS THAT DAD—

(Listen this is a hard day for everyone. Minato included. But this. This. He could just. Really use a fucking break. Thanks.)

But anyways Ming Fan is here and even if he got the option to go home, like, right now, he honestly probably wouldnt take it bc now hes kind of pissed. What do you MEAN Konoha is under attack? What do you MEAN some masked figure killed Sakumo years ago and now is back and also claiming to be Madara Uchiha and theyre trying to fucking kill everyone??

So yeah he's on board to fight, Konoha headband equipped to his belt, he's ready to stick around some more before he tries to go home again.

(and then someone gasps theatrically at Pain's eyes and goes "omg the rinnegan,, the mystical eyes said to be able to traverse time and space,,," and Ming Fan goes WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY THOSE EYES CAN DO")

But also Pain is dead now. So.

(Distant Sasuke, who is still following the beats of his canon story but just undercover under Minato's orders now noises)

So like Ming Fan sticks around, battles happen, we get Kakashi and an older Nawaki remembering him. Nawaki falls back a bit into his old view of thinking Ming Fan is just the coolest, but meanwhile Kakashi kind of takes on the role Izuna used to have, and now him and Ming Fan are having little cat fights in the bg

(With Sakumo having lived so much longer + having been able to comfort his son after Obito's death, the lack of Rin, Minato, and Kushina's death, and just in general all the little things stacking up in a different way than before, Kakashi avoided his major personality shift and is a lot closer to being the strict, bratty kid he used to be than the lazy, perpetually late slack off we know and love in canon)

anyways, blah blah blah, stuff happens, lots of battles, drama, oh my,

Finally we get to the Hokage's being revived for the final battle.

For whatever reason, Ming Fan was occupied somewhere else, possibly getting wrapped up in Sasuke's shit, when they were brought back.

So like.

POV he enters the battlefield, intending to face off with Madara. Then just.

Tobirama, distantly across the battlefield: ᵒʰ ˢʰᶦᵗ ⁿᵒ ʷᵃʸ

Ming Fan, who can hear him just fine bc cultivator: OH SHIT YES WAY YOU USELESS HACK

Ming Fan spends way too much time shouting at Tobirama when he should be FIGHTING GET BACK TO WORK MING FAN

I need a Ming Fan > Izuna > Kakashi bitch fest where they all just fucking snip at each other actually, I think it'd be funny

Ming Fan probably winds up yelling at Madara too, who did not expect to see him here

"Didn't the Senju send you home??"

"Didn't you die after making a fool of yourself in front of all of Konoha??"

Ming Fan doesnt use chakra so he's able to help back up Gai in his fight against Madara, and Gai is able to leave the battle not crippled for life, which is nice

Kaguya descends, things happen, the fight is won and the day is saved, and the fighting finally comes to an end

Sasuke somehow manage to end up with the rinnegan, and instead of trying to use the hiraishan for the third fucking time, Sasuke agrees to try and instead use it (and Ming Fan's qi) as a homing beacon to try and find his original dimension w the rinnegan! Much more reliable method

And so, for the final time, Ming Fan says his goodbyes.

It's,,, an event.

The old hokage's, including Sakumo, are still around with the power of edo tensei, and he's able to give his goodbyes to them all once again, one by one.

Tobirama gives only a brief apology for the seal not working as it should before dissolving into mumbled theories of what might have gone wrong— then remembers himself and shakes his head, offering a curt goodbye

Izuna scoffs and says that at this rate, he expects to see Ming Fan again in a couple decades when the next chakra goddess tries to explode the world and the living are forced to once again turn to him for help💅

Ming Fan tells him to shut the fuck up, and if it happens then he'll just look forward to getting another opportunity to call him a fool to his face, instead of to a grave.

Izuna laughs, and waves him away

Kagami doesn't have too much to say, but thanks Ming Fan for his help. "You may be from another world, but you are just as much of a konoha man as any of us."

Ming Fan... chooses not to take this as an insult. Instead, he nods his head, and gives Kagami the full respect a Hokage would ordinarily deserve, for quite possibly the first time.

Sakumo, he finds holding his son as Kakashi clings to his shoulder. Ming Fan watches for a moment, and Sakumo catches his eye. He gives him a big, genuine smile, mouths thank you, and bows his head.

They already said their goodbyes once, and Ming Fan doesn't wish to take any of the time he has left away from his son. He nods back, and continues.

Minato, when he finds him, is hiding out on the battlefield, laying down with an arm covering his eyes. He groans, when he sees Ming Fan, but sits up.

"Don't despair, you'll finally be getting rid of me." Ming Fan sighs, and Minato snorts.

Minato is... Well, he's a lot more fond of Ming Fan than he once was. Even if the man is still a giant pain in the ass. They speak for a bit, Ming Fan advises him to go ahead and retire already, god knows its what his son would want, and Minato stares up at the sky.

"At this point? I really should have ages ago."

Minato shakes himself, and finally stands, offering a hand to Ming Fan.

Ming Fan clasps his risks, and they nod to each other, probably more civil than they ever have been before.

"Fighting with you has been.... a wonder." Minato seemed to settle on, and Ming Fan arched a brow.

"Not an honor?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Ming Fan rolled his eyes, but still smirked.

"Likewise. Take care of your family."

"May you finally return to yours."

And with that, they part ways.

He's walking back to Sasuke, when those who had been edo tenseid fade away. He's just in time to see Kakashi, back turned, as he watches his father go for one final time.

When he turns, he catches his eye. Eyes, plural, as it seems Obito had left him with quite the gift.

Kakashi nods to him, seeming still overwhelmed with his fathers departure, and not quite sure what else to say to Ming Fan.

It's a stark cry from their first goodbye, Kakashi so far from the young boy who once clung to Ming Fan's leg, huffing about him not being allowed to leave till he taught him just a little bit more.

It's Ming Fan, who takes the steps towards the man.

"I'm glad my lessons were ever of any use to you. You've certainly made better use of them than I ever could have imagined." He says, and when Kakashi goes just a touch red under his mask, Ming Fan thinks he might understand what Shizun was talking about, when he laments about the cuteness of his students even once grown.

"WHAT? Are you seriously gonna go, just like that?"

It's Naruto, who's apparently caught wind of Ming Fan planning to leave sooner rather than later.

"No way am I letting you leave with the bastard before he's given me an explanation!" Naruto grabs Sasuke, who with the pained face of someone who knows they're about to get what they deserve, just sort of lets it happen.

"You gotta stay for at least the celebration! We finally won, it's time to party!"

(Ming Fan laughs, and he decides that just for a bit longer— Just a night more, he will stay)

.

.

.

It has been one year to the day, since Shen Qingqiu's head disciple disappeared.

The exact allowance of a disciple to vanish, before you must consider declaring them dead.

Shen Qingqiu...

Doesn't like to talk about it. Binghe seems to realize he can only comfort him so much for this fact, and today has taken to giving him a bit of space, which he appreciates.

It's for this reason, when a swirl appears in his bamboo hut, depositing two men, that Shen Quingqiu is alone.

"Shizun, this disciple is reporting his absence for these last 6 years. I apologize for my lateness." Ming Fan cries, falling to his knees and bowing his head.

Shen Quingqiu is on his feet in an instant, reaching towards his disciple, already having to suppress the cry rising up in his throat as he falls to his own knees, taking Ming Fan's hands in his own.

"Ming Fan will not apologize for thing out of his own control, this one is overjoyed to see you home."

The man behind his disciple shifts, and Ming Fan gestures towards him.

"This Uchiha Sasuke has assisted in bringing me—"

Wait WHAT.

Fuckin. Lugh track. Roll credits. Idk. Boom. Done. Theres ur au. Fuck how did this end up being so long

[moonchild9350]

Lavender Fields-Chapter 1: Different

Summary: you give an insight into your daily life within the lab, a place you've never left after being brought here by humans. life is mundane and repetitive, that is until you meet Hyunjin, your new lab technician.

Pairing: Hyunjin x humanoid!gn!reader

Genre: sci fi au, romance, au, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: verbal and brief physical abuse

Notes: welcome to the Lavender Fields series! I am pumped to release this series and embark on this journey with y'all :) I hope you enjoy the first chapter and as always, let me know what you think!

Taglist open-comment or message me to be added! (age must be in bio or pinned)

Series Summary: you, a humanoid from a different planet, was born within a lab here on earth in the near future, your days filled with servitude and testing within the labs to learn more about your kind as your kind are not able to feel emotion. you had nothing to look forward to until you met Hyunjin, a technician assigned to you. you learn much at his hands and invaluable lessons, enlightening your once purposeless life.

If you enjoyed, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it keeps me motivated ♡

Divider by @cafekitsune

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024).

Series Masterlist

Next

“Time to wake up!”

You open your eyes at the shrill sound of the cheery voice that is speaking over the loudspeaker signaling the start of another day. You sit up, and blink, clearing the sleep from your eyes before swinging your legs out of bed to get up.

The minimalist room is cold, the chill brushing against your skin in the early hours of the morning. You don’t mind, however, as you are made to withstand the cold.

You walk to the door and open it, merging into the crowd of people hurrying down the corridor. You follow the queue, all of you on your way to the the morning room, a place where you prepare for the day. It is quiet, no one around you utters a word, casting an almost eerie silence, with only the pitter patter of bare feet on the floor.

Once at your destination, a lady dressed in blue guides you to a stall, your daily outfit hanging from the partition that blocks off a changing area so you can dress in privacy.

There's a small mirror plastered on the wall, tiny cracks scattered throughout from years of age, but still usable nonetheless. You look at your reflection, your face puffy from sleep and eyes bloodshot. You tossed and turned last night as you kept being awakened by vivid images flashing across your mind leaving you in a panic.

You eyes travel down to the small engraving on the side of your neck that has been there since birth. It blends in perfectly with your skin, the intricate swirls almost looking like a tattoo.

Sighing, you grab the white garment from its hanger and slide it over your head, the scratchy material rubbing against your skin, the feeling almost akin to sandpaper. You don’t mind however, as you can’t tell since you’re not programmed to feel unlike most humans.

Once dressed, the lady fixes your hair, brushing the long strands that travel down your back and land at your tailbone. She ushers you out of the stall once done, ordering you to follow the others in line to your assigned work room.

You arrive in minutes, your desk set up with your task for the day. Today looks like you’re organizing testing supplies as there’s a haphazard pile of tubes, wires, and other things in the center of the desks.

Sitting down, you begin your work, keeping your eyes on your materials that are in front of you. It’s silent in the room as no one says a peep.

Watchers pace the rows with their hands behind their backs, their eyes trained on you and your peers, ensuring the job gets done appropriately.

If you mess up a task, they scold you but it makes no difference. You do not understand the meaning behind the words, not understanding why they scrunch their face up in a scowl, spitting words in your face as to what you did wrong and how useless you are.

The morning passes and you work until your stomach growls, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room. You immediately put down your supplies as there’s the ring of a bell over the intercom, signaling it’s time to make your way to the lab.

You only get food after morning work and going to the lab, the humans claiming it’s a treat, a present for being obedient. That’s why you obeyed, completed your work, and let them experiment on you without complaints.

So is the life here within Biofuture labs.

-- --

You are y/n, from the planet Gevora, which is light years away from planet earth in which you now reside. You resemble the humans here on earth, the only difference being you are emotionless, as they were not needed on your home planet.

Your only home that you’ve ever known is Biofuture labs, a name you’ve seen many times on the doors you pass on a daily basis. You were born here, within the confines of this building, and taken away from your mother at age five, where you were put with the other children from your planet.

You don’t remember much about your mother, but then again you don’t remember much of anything of your past. Only that you are 25 years old and you have the number 032518 inscribed on your arm.

Your days are busy and long here within the lab, the technicians making sure no one is idle. Mornings are spent completing your assigned task, similar to a job, a concept you know of because of a description you read in a book.

Mid to late mornings are spent in the lab, your assigned lab technician running different tests on you, jotting down responses and results.

You’re not sure what they’re testing for, but you’ve noticed they take special interest in you for some reason, as they run extra tests on you, whispering to each other while staring at you all the while.

Today was no different. An orderly leads you to lab five, the typical space you spent every day in for testing. You walk into the empty space, your eyes roaming the area to take in your surroundings.

The walls are a ghostly white and there’s a table with two chairs in the center of the room. There’s nothing else present except for a window on the wall next to the door. However, every time you try to look through it, you only see your reflection.

You walk towards one of the chairs, pull it out, and sit down, placing your hands in your lap. You look at the man across from you and wait for the session to begin.

Your lab tech’s name is Raoul. He’s bald with piercing black eyes that are unsettling to you, the feeling unknown but just doesn’t sit right. He never smiles at you and sometimes he'll scream.

When these events occur, you stare back at him as something bubbles up inside you. It’s a gnawing feeling deep in your gut, that sometimes spreads to other parts of your body. If it goes on long enough, you start to see spots and break out into a sweat, all while your hands start to tremble.

You’re not sure what is happening when that occurs and no one takes the time to explain...not that you ask. One time you discussed the sensation with one of your peers during a free period, away from the prying ears of the technicians. However, after explaining what occurred, they didn’t know what was happening either, as they’ve never felt that way.

You stared into this man’s eyes, hoping that it would be a good session, and not one where he screams as you really don’t want to feel that way again.

“Y/n, are you ready for today’s session?” Raoul asked as he pulls out a stack of cards.

“Yes,” you respond, your gaze flickering down to the cards in his hands.

You watch as he pulls out the first card and holds it up to you. You realize it’s the same test that you’ve completed this whole week, the same cards, the same images. You don’t understand why they keep making you repeat the test. Are you doing something wrong?

“What do you see here y/n?”

You gaze at the image, your eyes roaming the card. You tilt your head to look at it a different angle, trying to get a good grasp of the concept.

It’s a mess of a picture, the picture not clear cut, but if you look at it long enough you can start to make out wings of a maybe an…insect or a bird? You think a moment more before nodding your head, agreeing on your answer.

“A butterfly,” you say plainly, your eyes settling on Raoul again.

He doesn’t respond to your answer, but instead places the card aside just to pick up the next one.

“And here?”

Once more, you stare at the picture, the image strange. This picture has red on the top and bottom of the black image. You remember the feeling you had whenever Raoul screams at you, hurling names that are not yours and sound insulting. This picture reminds you of that in a way, but you can’t put a name to it.

Taking a breath, you respond, “bear with blood on its head and feet.”

You watch Raoul’s eyebrows raise briefly and within a second it’s gone, his face devoid of any reaction. Did you answer wrong? Why is he looking at you like that? Your eyes follow as he puts the card down and picks up another.

And so it goes, card after card as time passes. Your responses are simple, “two people, animal skin, another butterfly, another animal skin, a face.”

At the last three cards, you sit up straighter and your eyes get bigger as something warm flows through you. This is the same reaction you had the previous days of the week. Raoul watches your every move, ensuring he doesn’t miss your reaction.

“A tiger, a person, a crab,” you respond in succession.

You let out a breath as he sets the last card down, the test seeming to be over. Raoul leans forward and stares at you with narrowed eyes. You don’t move but stare back, waiting on the next test.

“You are nothing, you know that?” Raoul says, spittle flying from his mouth.

You cock your head, unsure of what he meant. He lets out a loud laugh at your reaction, his hands coming down to slap the table. You jolt in your seat at the sound, your eyes wide as the hairs stick up on your arms, and little bumps form. You feel your heart beat faster, the thump thump pounding against your skin.

Despite this, you continue to stare at him, watching as he turns red in the face from laughing.

“You don’t even know what you’re feeling! I knew it was too good to be true!”

What you are feeling? What does he mean by the word ‘feeling?’ You watch as Raoul gets up and walks your way, stopping right next to you. He grabs your hair and forces you to look up at him.

You comply without protest, your hands still in your lap.

“You. Are. Nothing.”

He releases your hair with a shove, your hands reaching out for the table to catch yourself from falling. You blink once, twice before an orderly is next to you, ordering you to get up and follow them out of the room. It seems today’s testing is over.

“Dinner will be in a few hours. You will wait in your room until said time,” the orderly saids, glancing at you in her periphery.

You nod and continue to follow her all the way to your room. She unlocks the door and lets you in, closing and locking it once you cross the threshold. You glance at the door before glancing at your room, taking in the few belongings you have.

Your bed sits in the corner, a simple blue blanket placed neatly on top, your pillow fluffed and ready for nighttime. Next to your bed is a pile of an assortment of books that you have acquired over the years. You often sit curled up in the corner reading, filling your head with other worlds and what is in them.

However, your most prized possession is the mural on the wall across from your bed that you have been working on. In different vibrant shades of purple, you have painted lavender flowers. The wall is covered in delicate strokes of the purple stems, accompanied by the brown stalk that anchors it to the ground.

You discovered the flower in one of your books, your eyes lighting up at the picture. You remember touching the page with your fingertips, lightly brushing over the image as you stared at the beautiful colors. After that moment, you worked extra hard to earn favor with some of the orderlies so you could acquire paints.

You were going to recreate the scene so you could go to the place with the flowers, the pretty lavender flowers. That was years ago. The wall was halfway painted in the beauties, causing you to feel warm inside.

Walking further inside, you grabbed your paints and paintbrush and kneeled down to paint, your mind drifting in the mundane task that you have grown accustomed to. Your eyes wandered over the wet paint, as you paid attention to the tiniest detail, wanting to get the picture just right.

Time passed and you painted, lost in the world of lavender, that you didn’t hear the bell outside your door signaling dinner. You jumped when you heard the door open, dropping your paintbrush in the process, the bristles brushing against the hem of your dress, staining it in purple.

“Dinner time, get up,” the orderly said, crossing her arms when she noticed you weren’t ready.

You had no time to put your supplies away so you gently set them down and got up, your knees cracking with the sudden movement. You followed the lady to a hall, and sat down next to one of your peers. Dinner was served and everyone ate in relative silence as there was not much to say when everyone did the same thing day in and day out.

The rest of the afternoon passed with no significance. Settling into bed, you pulled the blanket up to your chin. Yawning, you turned your head to gaze at the mural, your mind drifting to how it would be escape to the field, to smell their scent, and touch their delicate petals.

With these thoughts you drifted off, another day come and gone of your life here within the lab. — — Days passed, which turned into weeks. You were subjected to the same tests again and again. You were yelled at and chastised over and over, the same phrase repeated on a daily basis.

“You are nothing.”

You sat there as you were tossed around, your hair disheveled, your arms pinched, your face spit on as Raoul ran his tests day in and day out. You felt that weird sensation as before, but a new one had started to develop.

On a particular day, you endured the typical testing, but when Raoul repeated the same phrase to you, you felt a pang in your heart, and your eyes clouded over causing your vision to be blurry.

You had no idea what was going on and tried to blink, jumping in your seat as you felt tears fall from your eyes. Raoul stared at you in disbelief. He screamed that you were faking it, that you had no inkling as to what you were feeling.

Feeling. Feeling. Feeling.

You are nothing.

You continued to stare straight ahead as he screamed in your ear, chastising you for things you did not understand. Your hands were trembling, your heart beating rapidly until you heard a loud bang on the window.

Raoul stopped, and straightened up, narrowing his eyes once more at you before exiting the room. You let out a breath, your body sinking in the chair you were sitting on. It was over, or so you would hope.

— — Hyunjin watched as the director banged on the glass of lab five, the vibration causing the glass to rattle. He glared at Raoul as he watched the man release you and walk to the door.

In his four years of working here, he’s never experienced a technician as brutal as Raoul, and it was unfortunate he was assigned to you.

You. The anomaly.

You were different than your peers. Typically your kind does not experience emotions, do not even know what they are. However, you showed promise as a little girl, being subjected to testing from a young age.

His father remembers you and was in awe, watching as you were taken from your mother at the ripe age of five and brought to the room with the other children. You hesitated and held on tighter to your mother’s hand, fear etched in your eyes at the strange people coming to take you away.

His father went on to say it took you a while to adjust, your days spent separated from the other children, as you didn’t want to interact with them. Of course overtime, you forgot your mother, and fell right into the routine of living here in the lab.

You excelled on your testing, the technicians surprised at how your grasped emotional concepts the others have not. You were the only one in the hundreds of Gevorians that lived here that had an inkling of similarity to human kind.

Over the last six months, that uniqueness showed as you had interesting results after taking the Rorschach test over and over. It seemed you could learn to encompass the emotional capacity the others lacked.

Hyunjin took notice and became interested in your progress, wanting to know more about you. He looked through your files, all the way from childhood to adolescence, studied your results and the potential you had to make it in the human world, which is ultimately the labs goal.

He took to watching your sessions, notebook in hand to take notes. Imagine his horror when he saw Raoul abusing you, berating you for not being able to feel. Hyunjin’s heart broke for you in your predicament as he’s sure you were confused, not being able to understand the emotions that were going through you during the sessions.

Eventually, he had had enough as he saw you crying one day as Raoul spat in your face and called you nothing once more. He marched to the director’s office then and there and demanded Raoul be taken off the case and that he be assigned to you instead.

At first the director was hesitant, not sure if he would be able to handle you, but after many reassurances, he was granted the request.

Hyunjin went so far as to ask to have your sessions in different places throughout the building, to see if it’ll help in your journey. He was very persuasive, promising positive outcomes, which was risky, but a risk he was willing to take. He remembered silently cheering when the director granted him that power.

Now, here he was with several other technicians and the director himself, all staring down at Raoul.

“As of today Raoul, you are no longer y/n’s technician. Hyunjin will take over their sessions,” the director said in a commanding tone, his hands placed behind his back challenging any defiance.

“What the fuck! I’m making progress! Can’t you see that!” Raoul screamed.

Hyunjin shook his head in disdain, “How? By abusing y/n? Berating them? How is that going to help you son of a bitch?”

“Hyunjin!” The director said, shock in his eyes. He turned to look back at Raoul, “you are not their technician any longer. That’s final.”

The director turned around and marched out, the other technicians filing behind him. Raoul turned toward Hyunjin furious.

“You think you can handle y/n? Good luck, you won’t make a dent. Don’t come crying to me when the director fires you because you failed in your task.”

Hyunjin wiped the spit from his face and watched Raoul storm away.

He was definitely up for the task, wanting to make sure you could have a fulfilling life. One that was better than the one you lived within these walls.

He turned to stare at you through the two way mirror, watching how you stared straight ahead, waiting for someone to get you. However, he looked closer, and noticed your face was wet, as tears streamed down your face.

You didn’t wipe them, but let them fall down your cheeks, onto your clothes as you most likely had no clue what you were feeling.

He watched as an orderly came to retrieve you, watching as you walked past him, not even giving him a second glance.

He would be successful if it’s the last thing he does. He can’t let a promising, talented person like you rot here within the lab. He will mold you, teach you, and take you under his wing.

And once Hyunjin sets a goal, he follows it through.

He can’t wait for your first session together.

He can’t wait to meet you.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @frehyun @seungminsbest @nightmarenyxx @linocvp1d @ddroh @redlightsallnight @eastjonowhere @stayjinnie

[jxtina-86]

The Chase - Part 1

Okay, please go easy on me - first Lando fic and having spent way too much time consuming every fic about him on here, I am so nervous to post this. I also haven't written anything in over a year.

I like a slow burn. And this will be one hell of a slow burn.

Hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Lando x Fem!OC

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Swearing, innuendo/suggestions, kinda fluffy

Her whole body vibrates from the steady pound of music, even as she queues up outside the club. The warm night air is starting to cool, as is her buzz. She stands on the edge of the group, half-listening to the chatter, half-watching the cars cruising down the street beside them. As the group shuffles forward, she takes a slow step to follow.

Maybe she should just leave, she thinks. She doubts anyone will miss her. Her friends are way too preoccupied with the guys they met earlier at the beach club, the ones who promised them the best night out ever. She’d been sceptical from the start, but didn’t want to be the party-pooper. And now she can’t be the one to say “I told you so.”

The group moves forward again and she feels a hand slide over her arm. “Mia, we’re in!” her friend, Lydia, grins and she forces a smile back. But just as she is about to step over the threshold, the friend’s hand slips from her arm and the bouncer’s arm stops her progressing.

He grunts something she doesn’t quite hear at first, his attention elsewhere. She glances around and sees a group of five guys a few metres away. “Step aside, mademoiselle” The bouncer grunts again in broken English, shuffling her against the wall to let the new group pass. The first three guys walk past, barely noticing what’s happening, but still offering thanks to the bouncer who nods in return.

As the last two in the group approach, she happens to meet the gaze of the one closer to her. He smiles and then his brow furrows. “Hey man, ladies first.”

She recognises the face, but she can’t quite place him…

The bouncer glances at him and then back at her. “She’s okay.”

“She can’t speak for herself?”

“You take priority.”

“At the expense of manhandling a girl up against the wall?” he looks incredulous for a second and then his demeanour shifts ever so slightly. “Let her go in.”

The bouncer scowls. “I just do my job.”

“Let her go in,” he repeats. And then he holds out his hand. “C’mon.”

She stares at him for a second, watching his eyes widen as he looks down at his hand and then pointedly back up at her. She reaches out, feeling his fingers wrap around hers and she slips out from between the wall and the bouncer.

“You okay?” he asks as they move through the doors.

She nods. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” His hand slips from hers for a second, ghosting over her back instead as he guides her through the crowded entrance lobby. “So are you here with friends?”

“Yeah…” she glances around. “We got separated. At the door.”

He winces apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t ask for that kinda shit. I don’t expect it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She still can’t place his face. But it is so, so familiar.

“Look, do you wanna hang with us until you see your friends?”

“You sure?”

“I feel bad leaving you stranded,” he smiles, his teeth winking at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Okay then…” His hand finds hers again and he tugs it gently, pulling her along as they follow the rest of his group through the club. His head bounces to the beat, glancing over his shoulder every so often to check back on her. She looks around half-heartedly to see if she can spot her own group, but no luck. The club is heaving and the darkness and flashing lights make it impossible to make out any faces.

As they reach a set of stairs, he guides her back in front of him again. This time she feels his hand on the small of her back and when they pause for a second, she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge as she feels his chest press against her back. At the top of the stairs, his hand remains on her back as he ushers her towards a large table and booth, a wide array of bottles and glasses already there for consumption.

“Can I get you a drink?” He has to lean close to her ear for her to hear and she feels her heart pound. She nods. “What’s your poison? And what’s your name?”

“Mia,” she tells him, but he doesn’t catch it at first. He leans closer and she instinctively presses her hand to his shoulder as she repeats it closer to his ear.

“I’m Lando,” he replies and she feels it hit her like a ton of bricks. Of course, that’s why she recognised him but she couldn’t recall his name. Fuck…

She feels her face flush and he shoots her a sheepish but charming smile. “Drink?”

She nods and he gestures to the table before them for her to choose. He pours them both the same and hands her the glass. Now that she knows his name, now that she’s placed his face, she knows the reputation she has. A party boy. A charmer, with a wink and a smile at the ready. And she’s fallen for it already.

She clocks that the rest of his group haven’t even batted an eyelid that he’s pulled her into their booth. Perhaps this is a regular occurrence. She’s not sure if that makes it more or less awkward. She takes a long sip for her drink before she fumbles for her phone.

There’s a text from one of her friends.

Where did you go, M?? Followed by a photo of the group with fake sad faces.

“Where are they?” Lando’s voice makes her jump. She shrugs.

“No idea. We weren’t even supposed to come here tonight. They met some guys at the beach who wanted us to come along.”

“Sounds like it’s worked out in the end,” he winks at her.

She suppresses a giggle - don’t fall for it, Mia. It’s just a line.

“Perhaps,” she replies cooly. “I should let them know…” she starts to type out a reply but his fingers pluck the phone from her grasp. “Hey!”

“You should return the favour,” he chuckles, flipping the phone onto camera mode and holding it aloft. He tips his head towards hers, grinning up at the camera. “Smile!”

She can’t help the grin on her face as he snaps the photo. Before he passes the phone back to her, he taps out a suggested message and she laughs when she sees it.

Found a better offer x

“Oh really?” she glances over at him. He grins, raising his glass to take a long swig, his free arm sliding over the back of the booth, his fingers casually brushing over her shoulder.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “They clearly didn’t wait for you. Bad manners if you ask me.”

She’s inclined to agree. “There were five of us. Four of them,” she mutters.

He leans closer, his mouth inches from her ear. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“And you do?” She turns and almost jumps back as she realises how close his face is to hers.

He at least has the decency to blush himself. “Fittest girl in here by a mile,” he recovers.

She laughs. “God, you think you’re so smooth.”

“I don’t know about that, but it’s amazing how far this smile will get you,” he points to his mouth, his grin widening as she rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay… but I don’t see you making any move to leave.”

That is true, she thinks. But what are the other options? Leave to find her friends? Go back to the house alone? Neither feel great right now, not when she’s got a drink to finish and he is giving her his undivided attention.

She swipes at her phone again, titling her hand so he can see her hit send on the photo and his original message. He laughs, edging closer again to her. “You definitely did.”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“I don’t back down from a promise.”

“Is that so?”

Why does it feel so easy? She doesn’t know him and she’s briefly reminded that he could get any girl he wanted. So why her?

“So,” He shuffles closer again so she can hear him over the chaos of the music. “Are you here on holiday?”

She nods. “Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“One of my friends, her family have a place here. They’re here on holiday, but I travel around so they said I could stay for longer depending.”

“Depending on what? What do you do?”

“I work online, so I don’t need to be anywhere in particular.”

“Digital nomad, huh?”

“I guess.”

“That’s cool.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Where’s next on your list?”

“Not sure. I’m here for another two weeks so it’s on the list to figure out.” She wracks her brain trying to think of the least obvious question to ask him when her phone starts to buzz incessantly. She glances down to see message after message coming through.

Mia!

What the fuck?

How. When. WHERE.

Is that…?

Lando fuckin Norris??

MIA. WHERE ARE YOU??

She smirks into her drink, feeling his warm breath ghost over her shoulder as he reads the texts for himself.

“You caused a stir,” she tells him and as he shakes his head with a wry smile, she feels her breath catch in her throat when she sees him bite his lip briefly.

“It’s how I roll.”

She elbows him gently. “Do you genuinely have a one liner for every situation?”

“Yup. It's my special talent.”

“Oh, so your day job is just..,”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he meets her gaze and winks.

“Of course,” she nods, sagely. “I bet there’s nothing you can’t turn your hand to.”

“What can I say, I’m good with my hands.”

Her heart skips a beat and she fights to keep her composure as he shoots her a knowing smirk before raising his glass again. 

Her phone is still buzzing dully in her hands. She glances down and notices it’s a video call from one of the girls. She’s about to ignore it, when he reaches over and swipes to accept the call. She swats at him playfully, making him chuckle and she earns a barely audible shriek from the phone.

Taking a call in a club is hard at the best of times, but a video call is impossible. She can barely hear whatever it is Lydia and the others are saying but it’s pretty clear it’s along the same lines of the barrage of messages in the group chat.

And he doesn’t help. His arm is fully around her shoulders now, pulling her close into his side as she blushes. He waves casually at the screen, grinning as he sees the faces of shock and incredulity. Even him ruffling his hair causes them to turn practically feral.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mia laughs, waving herself and then hitting end call. “Look, I should probably go and find them.”

“Don’t go.”

“I’m crashing your night.”

“I can see this lot any day of the week,” he nods at his friends who are barely paying them any attention anyway. “Rather spend my night with a pretty girl like you.”

“And what if I don’t feel the same?” she shoots back, but there’s no malice in her voice.

He clutches at his chest in mock pain. “Your words. They hurt.”

“You’re too much,” she laughs, but she doesn’t move. She finds she can’t. Her limbs are stuck firm to the seat, despite how much her brain is willing her to get up and move. This won’t end well. It really, really won’t.

“Is it possible to have too much of a good thing?”

She shakes her head. “You are something else.”

“You need me to dial it down?”

“Just, just a little bit,” she glances over at him. “Is this how this works then?”

He gives her a confused look. “How what works?”

“You rescue the damsel in distress, get her a drink, give your undivided attention, roll out all the lines, charm her…” she trails off.

He tilts his head to one side. “You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

“I mean, it feels pretty textbook…” she shrugs.

“Because a guy like me must have a playbook?”

“Because a guy like you, 100% is not going after girls like me.”

“Nope. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Put yourself down like that.”

“I’m pretty sure you could have your pick.”

“And? Girls throwing themselves at me, not really my thing.”

“Ah,” she chuckles. “So you like the chase.”

“I mean… You’re really setting me up with that,” he flashes her a cheeky grin. “But yeah.”

“And when you get your prize, then what?”

“I hold onto it for as long as possible.”

“Or until you crave the chase again?”

He shakes his head. “You got me all wrong, Mia. It isn’t the chase that gets in the way. Not that one anyway.”

He looks genuine enough, so she gives him the slightest benefit of the doubt, but she’s also clinging to the scepticism. “Your job, right.”

He nods, staring down at his almost empty glass.

She feels a bit bad. More than bad. She realises she misses the banter, the easy back and forth and now she feels like an idiot for questioning it when the answer was probably pretty obvious.

“Sorry. I… I always do that. I’m annoyingly sceptical about everything.”

He tosses her a smile. “Hey, a random guy pulls you into a club, starts chatting shit to you, you’re right to be sceptical.”

“You’re being kind now. I was kinda mean.”

He chuckles. “I probably deserved it.”

“See if this was a textbook play, this would be that turning point.”

“Oh yeah?” he grins at her. “Make you feel so bad for me that you take pity on the poor lonely racing driver?”

“That’s the one.”

He leans forward, staring at her in earnest. “Is it working?”

She pushes his shoulder and he backs up with a grin. “No.”

“Damn, you really do play hard to get.”

“You said you liked the chase…”

He chuckles and drains his drink, shaking his finger at her. “See, you’re just making me worse.”

“Worse?! It gets worse than this?” she winks at him. “Go on then, hit me with your worst.”

He shakes his head. “You can’t handle my worst.”

“That bad, huh?”

He leans back against the booth, giving her a sly side eye. “Okay. You asked for it.”

“I did. C’mon then.”

He chews his lip for a second and then he reaches for the chain around his neck, his fingers fumbling to find the pendant. “You see this?” he gestures, beckoning her forward to him.

She leans forward and only a split second too late does she realise what he’s doing. His fingers slide under her chin, his lips meeting hers in a soft kiss. He holds her there for a second, two, three. Before he pulls back, a cocky grin on his face.

She blinks at him for a moment and then laughs. “Okay, I give in. You got me.”

He pouts, his eyes sparkling. “You gave in so easily. Where’s the fun in that?”

She smirks. “Fine. How about that’s all you’re getting tonight?”

He grins. “That’s more like it.”

“And I really should go…”

“To find your friends?”

She shakes her head. “No. Home.”

“I’ll take you.”

“I’ll get a cab.”

“I’ll get it with you.”

She sighs. “You really do like the chase.”

“Nope, I am just being the perfect English gent.”

“Really?”

“Promise.” She watches as he crosses his chest, his eyes pleading with her.

“Fine.”

He leans over to his friends, gesturing back at her. They nod, smile almost knowingly and she shakes her head - do even his friends believe this act?

Just like when they entered the club barely an hour ago, she lets him guide her back out. Outside, the air has cooled dramatically and she shivers in the breeze, wishing she’d opted for a jacket when they’d left the house earlier that night.

Lando is looking around for a cab, but he spies her sudden tremble and reaches out to her, pulling her into his arms. She almost stops breathing as his hands run up and down her bare arms, their warmth spreading over her skin. She looks up at him, but he’s looking over her head still, his eyes lighting up, one arm rising to wave at a passing cab. Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he pulls her over to the waiting vehicle, opens the door and lets her clamber in before him.

She goes to settle into the seat on the far side, but as he shuts the door behind him, he tugs her back to lean against him.

“Where’s home?” he asks her and she reels off the address in the next town over.

His fingers tap absentmindedly on her shoulder. “So what are your plans for the next two weeks?”

She shrugs. “Sun. Swim. Eat. Work.”

“Well if you fancy some different company…” he lets the words hang in the air.

“Don’t you have some far flung race to get to?” She tilts her head up to look at him. 

“Summer break,” he grins down at her. 

“For how long?”

“Two more weeks.”

“So what are your plans?”

“Sun. Swim. Eat. Sleep.”

She chews her lip. “Well, if you want company for some of that…”

“Which parts?”

“Sun… Swim… Eat…”

“You don’t sleep then?”

“I do…” she pauses. “Alone.”

He flashes her a grin. “I see.” He fumbles with his pocket, flicking his phone over in his hand and pressing his thumb to the screen. “Here, put your number in.”

“Why?”

“So I can call you? Maybe take you out for lunch? For you know… more of this?”

“And only this?”

“I can’t promise I won’t try.”

She takes the phone from him and taps in her number. In the name part, she types in Mia and then adds a little something extra.

He rolls his eyes when she hands it back to him. “You didn’t need to add that. I’ll remember who you are.”

“You can never be too careful…” She watches as he deletes ‘the girl you rescued at the club’ from the surname section. He hits dial next and her phone buzzes.

“What, no witty name for me?” He pouts and then grins as she adds ‘The Chaser’ after his name. “That’s more like it. So… are you free tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Wow, you are keen.”

He ignores her and presses on. “Lunch? I can pick you up.”

“I need to check… Shit.” She picks up her phone again, pulling up the group chat.

Gone home, she taps out. See you all later.

She hits send and then squeals as yet again, he plucks the phone from her hands. “No, no, Lando…”

He laughs, flipping to camera mode. “Don’t worry girls, I’ll get her home safe and sound.”

“Oh my god, stop it,” she berates but she’s laughing too. “Not like that!” She says to the camera before he stops recording.

He tosses the phone back at her, still grinning. “It didn’t send.”

“It didn’t have to.”

Her phone is already lighting up.

WITH HIM?

MIA. DID YOU LEAVE WITH HIM?

Do we need to stay out longer?

How long, Mia?? 👀

It's fine, I can share with someone else…😉

GET THAT 🏎️ 🍆 MIA!

She can feel Lando shaking with laughter beside her.

“Feral,” she mutters. “Honestly.”

“Ah you can't shame them for being invested in your love life.”

“And this,” she waves her phone. “This is why you can't be picking me up for lunch.”

“And miss out on the fun?”

“Oh I can picture it now. You'd be flashing that grin left right and centre, throwing out your one liners and whipping them all up into a frenzy.”

“Only fair to reward them.”

“Reward them? For what?”

“The way I see it, if they hadn't agreed to go to the club with the beach guys, if you hadn’t been left at the back of the group then we wouldn't be here now would we?”

She gives him a sideways look. “You really do manage to spin any situation in your favour.”

“So tomorrow. What time?”

“11.30? Out the front. Just text me and I'll come out.”

“Okay, okay,” he agrees.

The cab slows, pulling up outside the villa. Lando tells the driver to wait before he opens the door, steps out and turns to offer his hand which she takes.

He walks her to the gate, waiting as she slides the key in.

“So…” she breaks the silence, refusing to open the gate completely whilst he is still close. She doesn't trust herself not to let him in despite what she's said out loud.

He gets the hint. “Nice to meet you Mia. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“When you're outside?”

He nods. “11.30 sharp.”

She lowers her gaze for a second, just wondering if-

His hand brushes over her shoulder, pushing her hair back and then he cups her neck, pulling her mouth to his. This time though, she's there with him - kissing him back, her free hand running over his arm, fingers spreading over the thick bicep she can feel under his shirt.

He pulls back reluctantly and she feels her face flush as she lets out a small whimper of disappointment.

“Not too late…” he murmurs.

God it's tempting. But no.

She shakes her head. “See you tomorrow.”

He grins, his hand finding hers, bringing it to his mouth to press a final kiss to her cool skin.

He walks backwards to the cab, gesturing for her to go in, waiting until she opens the gate and closes it before he gets in the cab himself.

Mia leans against the gate and listens to the car departing.

Her phone buzzes and she flips it over expecting to see another message from the group.

But her stomach flips when she sees his name.

Sweet dreams x

And she practically floats up the path to the house.

****

Part 2 coming soon...

[gloomwitchwrites]

Video Game

John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: oral sex (male receiving), swearing, brief spanking, hand job, cum swallowing

Word Count: 1.4k

You test Johnny’s concentration while on a game with the boys.

ao3 // main masterlist // summer 2024 masterlist

The ceiling fan turns slowly.

You lay on your back, staring up at it, wishing that it had a faster speed. There is a slight stickiness to your skin from the humidity. It’s too early for a shower. You’ll only become gross again, and there’s no point in wasting water.

Sighing, you roll out of bed and head toward the kitchen, seeking a cold drink.

“They’re over there. Yeah. Up top.”

Johnny’s on a game. It’s amusing to you how he comes home from work only to play video games of the same vein. It’s his whole life even when at rest.

Pouring a lemonade for yourself, you causally stroll into the living room. Placing your drink on the side table, you settle into the couch next to him, tucking your feet under you. Johnny briefly glances at you, giving you his best smile before returning his attention to the game.

You watch for a bit. Listen. He usually plays with Kyle and Simon, two men you’ve only met briefly but know Johnny works with on a regular basis.

You place your hand on Johnny’s large, muscled thigh. The corner of his mouth quirks when you touch him but he doesn’t glance at you. His eyes are on the screen and his fingers are a whirlwind across the controller.

Squeezing his thigh, you settle closer to him.

“I’m not taking an L, Lt,” he says into the mic, his focus intense.

Your gaze falls to the timer on the screen. There are seconds left, and it’s clear they’re losing.

The timer goes off. Flashes. And then red lettering appears across the screen, showing Johnny’s loss. A bunch of stats appear that mean nothing to you, and then a little montage follows it.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he mutters at no one in particular.

You pat his thigh and he reaches out to squeeze your hand.

“We can’t go out on a loss,” he says. “Another round.”

Johnny glances in your direction and you smile at him, nodding. Another game isn’t a big deal. He could play several more and you really wouldn’t care. On summer evenings like this, sitting next to Johnny on the sofa is nice.

Johnny queues up another game and you decide right then that you’d like to see if he can really go out on a win.

“This is it. Last one,” says Johnny as the screen changes, his avatar operator dropping from the sky and onto a building.

You rub your hand over his thigh again, moving closer to his groin with every pass. Johnny doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s not showing it. Gently, you slide down to his inner thigh, squeezing him just beside the prize you’ll eventually seek.

This snags his attention.

Johnny shoots you a quick, cheeky grin before returning his focus to the screen. It’s not enough for him to lose concentration, and from what you can tell, his team is winning. It’s too bad you might shake the potential win out from under him.

Slowly, you lean forward, shifting slightly to slide to your knees next to him. Johnny’s gaze darts from you to the screen and then back again like he’s trying to figure you out without completely tearing his attention away.

He’s shirtless right now, still a little glossy with sweat from his workout. Johnny has that delicious, masculine scent that clings to him. The one that always makes you feral when he walks through the door after hard labor. His gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, and the outline of his cock is apparent.

You adjust on your knees, settling yourself between his spread legs, hands on his thighs. With back bent slightly, you go under the controller. Johnny’s gaze drops to you and then back to the screen. Keeping the controller in one hand, Johnny gently cups the side of your face before returning it to the controller.

“What are you doing?” he whispers. His gaze narrows. Glancing up, he swears. “Fuck. Bastard’s on my tail.”

Your fingers curl around the band of his sweatpants. They’re already so low. All it needs is a small tug and then you can take Johnny in hand.

Johnny reaches out again, this time grasping the side of your neck. A warning, and one you completely ignore.

His hand disappears and you slide the band down just enough to wrap your hand around him. Johnny stifles a groan and continues on like you’re doing nothing at all. With his headset on, you cannot hear what’s happening on the television. You cannot see anything either, which means you don’t know how long you have.

Can you get him off before the game is done? Or are you wasting time?

Better to be aggressive. Make this a competition. Test Johnny’s resolve.

You squeeze gently and slide up, the pad of your thumb stroking over the underside of the head. Johnny squirms but says nothing to you. He doesn’t even glance down. You won’t go all in just yet. It’s good to tease first. Make him writhe a bit.

With another stroke of your hand, you lightly run your tongue across the head, the tip parting the small slit. Johnny’s hips twitch and his jaw clenches, but he remains focused. It’s not enough, which means you need to do more.

Running your tongue over the head again, you use your hold on Johnny’s cock to slide his cock across your tongue, in and out of your mouth without closing around him. His nostrils flare as he aggressively smashes the buttons on the controller.

This time you close your lips around him, sucking hard on the head.

Johnny groans loudly and then coughs. “I’m good,” he breathes, talking to someone in his headset. “Close call.”

You smile inwardly, and hold this position, allowing your saliva to collect while also stroking him with your hand. Johnny’s gaze darts downward and pauses. His fingers freeze on the controller.

You stare into his eyes and then throat him entirely, stopping when your lips meet your hand. Johnny’s eyelids flutter, and his lips part. Repeating the motion has him falling back against the sofa. His bare chest heaves as his fingers begin moving across the controller again. There is a slowness though. A sluggishness.

In his eyes you see the haze forming. Johnny’s concentration is slipping even as he desperately clings to control. This is your chance to seize this win from him.

Shifting your hand away from the base of his cock, you slide beneath the band of his sweatpants to cup his balls. Squeezing gently, you take him entirely into your mouth, lips almost meeting his pelvis.

You set a pace, making sure to breath through your nose. Johnny is all grunts. He’s hardly speaking into the mic anymore.

This tastes of victory.

Other than Johnny’s grunts, you can hear the click of the buttons on the controller. He’s still trying to focus, even as you feel him swelling in your palm. He’s fucking close, and you’re going to take all of it.

Hollowing your cheeks, you slide up, swirling your tongue around the head.

“Fuck,” groans Johnny, elongating the vowel.

There is a pause—an absence of clicking buttons—and you go for another pass.

Johnny chokes, grabs the back of your head, and draws you flush against him. His cheeks are flushed, mouth open slightly, gaze focused on your face. In his other hand is the controller. He’s hardly holding on to it, one side aimed directly toward the ground.

His flavor explodes on your tongue, and you drink him down. Johnny’s hold on the back of your head eases, and you slowly slide off him, revealing your empty mouth to him. The corner of his mouth twitches, and the smirk on his face startles you.

It’s self-satisfied, as if he meant for all this to happen.

Johnny laughs, gaze returning to the television screen. “Great win. Same time tomorrow?” Johnny chuckles. “Fuck off. Both of you.”

He tears off his headset and tosses it to the side. You turn around and notice the bright green lettering above the stats.

They won.

Johnny grabs your chin and guides your gaze back to him. “That was naughty.” His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and your tongue darts out for a taste.

“Fucking hell, love,” mutters Johnny. “Come here.” He draws you into his lap, claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss.

Johnny’s hands fall to your ass, he squeezes, and then comes down with a sharp slap to your ass. You yelp, but it’s smothered by Johnny’s mouth on yours.

“Bedroom,” he growls. “Now.”