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thewritingrowlet · 5 months

Text

The Grand Prize, ft. tripleS Yoon Seoyeon

tags: male reader, first time anal, creampie, anal creampie, raw

word count: 8k+, almost 9k

author's note: the smut in this story is split into two parts with some basketball plot in between. Hope you like it! :D

p.s. I slipped an inside joke made with @praeluxius' username, so prael if you see this <3

It is December, you’ve been dating Seoyeon for over 3 months now; it has been a very fun and healthy relationship even though you have been spending less time with her despite living together as your schedules don’t really match hers; you’ve been busy with the basketball team as its captain and year 3 classes while Seoyeon has found a new busyness with the student council— “I want to continue my student council career, oppa”, she had told you after the Freshers’ Week. Not many know about your relationship, apart from your teammates and some friends of hers, as you both have agreed to keep things to yourselves. Your teammates were surprised that you have a girlfriend considering how long you’d been single, while Seoyeon’s friends thought that it was crazy that she managed to steal the basketball team’s captain’s heart and started dating him so soon. Honestly, you still can’t believe the way life has been turning out recently, but you’re ecstatic to see what else might turn up for you and Seoyeon.

[🐶❤️| 17:08]

Oppa, I’m going home after this meeting

What about you?

Have you eaten btw? I can bring some sandwich if you want

She texts you as you’re getting ready for warmup. Might as well reply now since you won’t have the chance to for the next few hours, not forgetting to apologize since you’re probably coming home late.

[🏀| 17:09]

I have practice, luv, will come home late

No need to wait if you want to sleep first

I had some noodles earlier, should be enough

Seoyeon hates you for not eating enough, so you make sure to not skip meals especially on the days when you have practice. She’s even brought you some food to eat before practicing before, which was how your teammates found out you had a girlfriend. She also made you eat in front of her, refusing to leave before you finish the food and return the box to her to bring home. You’re thankful for her attention and god-tier cooking but this habit of yours is really hard to rid, “baby, I love your food but I’m just not hungry at the moment”, you’ve told her once, to which she responded by pouting and looking rejected.

[🐶❤️| 17:09]

Okay, oppa

See you at home

Don’t get hurt

Luv u much

Her texts, no matter how simple, always give you a boost of energy and motivation, and with that, you’re taking on practice with excitement.

It is now a few minutes to 9pm and your team is wrapping up tonight’s practice. You’ve been practicing seemingly tirelessly for a few hours and your limbs are on fire thanks to the different drills your team has been doing. Coach Park has been increasing the frequency and intensity of the practices as the university is aiming for a top 3 finish under your captaincy in the upcoming national tournament; “we believe that you can lead us deep into the playoffs, captain”, the dean told you on Monday before practice, putting expectant pressure on your shoulders. You don’t have to worry about motivating your teammates since everyone knows how prestigious this tournament is but as the captain, you’re the one with the heaviest burden; everyone (including your beloved Seoyeon) will be counting on you throughout the tournament. You promise Coach Park, your team, and yourself that you’re going to give this run everything you have: “it’s ours, guys, believe that”, you tell them as the closing words for tonight’s practice.

You call an Uber after showering because you don’t feel like walking to your apartment after that exhausting practice. A few minutes of Uber ride later, you’re now at the front door of your apartment. As you’re entering the password, you hear footsteps from the inside, most likely Seoyeon’s as she’s running to greet you at the door.

“Oppa, you’re home! Welcome home!”, she says, the excitement obvious in her voice. “Yes, baby, I’m home. Sorry for coming home so late”, you say as you hug her and kiss her head. She presses her face on your shoulder, hugging you tight, “I know you’ve been working hard for the team and I’m proud of you, oppa, but I also miss you so much. Can we have a date soon? Maybe in the next few days? I-I hope th-that’s not too selfish of me”. Your heart sinks at the realization: you’ve been so busy with class and basketball that you’ve forgotten to make time for your lovely girlfriend. “I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t have classes or practice tomorrow; what do you say we have a little date at home? I can try and cook for us”, you say to her, hoping for a chance to make it up to her. She then looks up to look at you, her eyes hopeful that you’ll come through with your promise. “Okay, oppa. I’ll get home as soon as I can tomorrow. I’m curious what you’ll cook for me”, and with that, your date is set; you’re going to create your parents-approved spicy honey grilled chicken and fried rice for her and (hopefully) blow her mind with it.

A new day has arrived, the morning sun is beaming at you through your windows, but your sunshine is still in dreamland; “Seoyeon, baby, wake up. You have classes, don’t you?”, you say softly to wake her up. “Ngh what time is it?”, she says while gathering her soul after her deep slumber. “It’s almost 8, baby. I’ll run the shower for you so sit still for a bit, okay?”, you peck her lips as you get off the bed to prepare the shower for her. When you return from the bathroom, you see her peeking at you from under the covers, “any spoilers for today, oppa?”, she asks you, the covers muffling her voice a bit. “Of course, sweetie, it’ll be sweet and spicy”, you tell her as you get into bed to kiss her; you’d like to think that a kiss in the morning is like kick-starting a person, and that’s definitely the case for Seoyeon. After showering, Seoyeon leaves for campus half-running to avoid being late; “see you later, oppa. Love you”, she says, before giving you a peck and running out the door.

The clock now shows 15 minutes to 3pm, you have just over 2 hours to prepare the dishes. You start by taking the chicken out of the fridge and making the sauce mix for the grilled chicken. After glazing it for the first time, you throw it on the grill and let it cook, brushing more sauce as it goes so that the flavors can really seep into the chicken. Once they’re done cooking, you put them to the side to free up the space to make fried rice. For the fried rice, you start by tossing in some of your mom’s pre-made seasoning base into the flaming hot wok. Once that’s nice and fragrant, you throw in some diced chicken and let it get cooked before you mix in some well-beaten eggs. You then add in some salt, sugar, MSG (is it really fried rice without MSG?), sweet soy sauce, and hot sauce to give the fried rice its flavors. With about 20 minutes to spare before Seoyeon gets home, you’re finally finished and decide to take a shower first.

“Oppa, I’m home—what is this smell? It smells crazy good!”, she says as she enters the apartment, heading straight to the dining table. “Welcome home, baby, how was your day? I made you some spicy honey grilled chicken and fried rice—all using the recipes my parents approve of”, you welcome her into a hug and peck her forehead. “My day has been great, oppa, and it’s only getting better. Thanks for the meal!”, she says, getting a chicken thigh and some fried rice. You take a seat at the table and dig in together, “you like it, love?”, “this is soooo goooood, oppa. Didn’t know you were this good at cooking, what happened?”, she says with a full mouth. “I’d like to think I’m decent at cooking. I came up with this grilled chicken recipe when I was in high school, I’m glad that you like it”. It is one of those moments where the food is so good, you can’t help but enjoy it in silence because you’re just blown away by the taste, so the both of you just shut up and keep eating until the end of the meal.

You two get ready for sleep after cleaning everything up. You see her put on one of your T-shirts and a pair of shorts— “guess I’m not getting lucky tonight”, you think to yourself. As if hearing your thoughts, she notifies you, “I’m on my period today, oppa. I’m sorry”. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetie. I would be more concerned if weren’t having your periods”, you assure her as you pull her into the bed. “But-but I should reward you for the meal”, she says as she palms your crotch, making you hard instantly. “Baby, please, when did it become an effort-reward relationship, hm? There’s nothing I’m asking you to do other than to cuddle and sleep next to me. That’s not too selfish of me, is it?”, you say to her while pulling her into a hug even though your cock is rock hard and ready for some action. “You’re always so sweet, oppa. Thank you for being so kind to me all the time. Will you be okay, though?”, “you deserve the best of me all the time, sweetie, and yes I’ll be okay”.

The rest of the month went by rapidly for you. Your team has been spanking your opponents left and right, breezing past round of 32, round of 16, and quarterfinal before anyone realized what had happened. “Alright, men. I know we’ve been dominating our opponents so far, but it’s only getting harder from this point onwards. We need to be in the right mindset and condition for it”, Coach Park said in the locker room after the quarterfinal. “Since the semifinal is on Saturday, I’ll see you all on Thursday for practice and we’ll rest on Friday. We’re going to practice some designed and after-timeout plays”, the coach continued.

The coach came through with his words: your team has been spending the last 2,5 hours running various plays designed for different players, including yourself. Coach Lee, one of the assistant coaches, has personally put together a handful of mid- and long-range scoring plays to create as many opportunities as possible for you. You’re worried that maybe the upcoming opponent has picked up all the tendencies that your team has—such as going through you heavily to score—but you can only hope that things will work as planned.

Saturday morning, it is. You wake up at around the usual time, while Seoyeon is still sound asleep. You didn’t do anything much last night since you were absolutely drained from Thursday’s practice. You look at the sleeping beauty: she seems to be in peace at the moment, sleeping oh-so-cutely on her side of the bed while being covered with a blanket up to her neck. After giving her a peck on the forehead, you get off the bed and head to the bathroom to take a shower. Your team don’t need to travel too much today since the stadium for semifinal and final is only 15 minutes away from campus, so you’re not running as tight on schedule as for the previous games.

When you get out of the shower, Seoyeon is already awake. She’s leaning against the headboard while scrolling mindlessly through her phone. “Mmh? Good morning, oppa”, she says when she sees you, arms reaching out for a hug. “Good morning, baby. Are you going to watch the game today?”, you ask her while hugging her and showering her with pecks. “I am, oppa. I’ll be sitting pretty close to the court, so look at me every now and then, okay? Good luck, captain. I love you”, she says to you as she pulls out of the hug.

Here you are, just under 3 minutes, says the countdown timer on that big ass TV in front of you, before the semifinal starts. You can hear the crowd’s excitement from deep in the tunnel, ready to support their favorite teams in the upcoming game. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and focus up. Turn to your team, time to fire them up: “let’s go, boys; we’re so close now. Let’s win this, alright? Win on 3—1, 2, 3!”.

After firing them up, a match committee personnel gives you a flag in the university color with the logo in the center of it, “this is new”, you think. As you take the flag from him, the arena announcer is yelling the team names and gets replied with loud noises from the crowd. Before you walk out, you make sure you look as cool as possible by leaning the flagpole against your right shoulder and putting on a cold face. Once the guy gives you the signal to go in, your team and the other start walking out to the court.

You stand in the center of the 5 starters of your team, right under the rim. Before the ceremony ends, you want to look for Seoyeon so you can find her easier during the game, “you see my girlfriend, bro?”, you whisper to your teammate next to you. “Hmm let’s see—oh, behind the other team’s bench, I think. Is that her?”, he points to show you, so you look closely at the area he’s pointing at; and there she is, wearing one of your old jerseys that she probably found in the wardrobe. You give her a little out-of-character wink to acknowledge her presence and she winks back so cutely, making your heart rate jump.

After the first quarter of the game, it becomes obvious that the opposing team is more organized in terms of defending and adjusting to your team’s offense. You’ve been decent, though, putting up 9 points of your team’s 22 through the first quarter. Coach Lee tells you that you shouldn’t be too fazed by their defense since they’re going to get more lenient as the game goes on due to exhaustion from defending so intensely.

Another 10 minutes of playing have finished and now you’re in the locker room to have more conversations on how to adjust to the current state of the game. True enough, they’ve gotten more laid back with their defense, letting you take 4 shots, which you made 3 of, from the 3-pt area. However, they’ve also gotten hotter with their shot making, trailing by fewer than 8 points the whole quarter. The plan for Q3, Coach Park says, is for you to be more active on defense, especially around the perimeter, and play a more relaxed role on offense since you’ve got a bunch of points in the bag already.

After exchanging some motivations and talking to some people, it’s time to head into the locker room. Before you do, though, you look at Seoyeon who’s smiling and clapping her hands. She gives you a seductive wink and a lip bite while putting a hand over her crotch, mouthing “I’m yours tonight” to you. You can’t afford to get a boner right now, so you look away as soon as she’s done signaling to you and head into the locker room to celebrate the win and talk to the coaches.

Since you’re starting Q3 from the bench, you have some time to catch up with Seoyeon who’s now on your side of the court. You look up to say hi and get some motivation from her. “Oppa, you’re so good! They’ve let you score so many times this game, oppa!”, she says, the excitement and fascination flowing out of her lips freely with every word said. “I’m just following the plan the coaches have set up, love. I’ll be playing less intensely on offense, though. I’ll show you what defense is”, you tell her, your confidence through the roof.

With less than 4 minutes left in the quarter, Coach Park subs you into the game— “great job, man”, you tell your teammate as he’s coming to the sideline, “shut these guys down, man”, your teammate says before grabbing a towel and sitting down. So, you do just that; you chase your assignments around the court on man-to-man defense, diligently switching back and forth with your teammates to prevent unfavorable matchups. Before you know it, the buzzer sounds, indicating the end of the 3rd quarter.

It is now the 4th quarter, the last 10 minutes of playing to secure a top 2 finish. Your team has an okay-ish lead of 10 entering the last quarter. The plan is to widen the gap by shutting down the opponent on defense while looking for easy scores on the other end, taking advantage of the fact that they’re tired despite being tired yourselves.

You try your best to not look at Seoyeon this quarter so that her cheering doesn’t distract you from doing your job in the dying embers of the game. Your plan doesn’t last too long, though, as you scream in her general direction after forcing a turnover. You see her jumping up and down as she cheers for you, looking as fired up as you are about the defensive play. With this comfortable lead, it’s only a matter of time until the game ends and you’re sent to the final stage, fighting for fame and glory one last time this year.

True enough, the final buzzer sounds loudly, and with it, the crowd’s emotions are divided: those who root for your team are screaming in joy, while the others are on their knees following the loss. “Hey, man. You did well. I’m sorry that it had to end like this. Let’s get on our feet, eh?”, you say to an opponent, pulling him up to his feet and hugging him—the feeling of losing while being so close to the goal is all too familiar to you.

You arrive at your apartment after taking a shower and chatting with a bunch of people about preparing for the final game. As you enter the bedroom, you see Seoyeon sitting on the edge of the bed, her body wrapped in a bath robe, “hi, oppa, welcome home. Did you catch what I said before you head into the tunnel?”, she asks, her hands getting ready to take the robe off. “I think I did”, you say before whispering in her ear, “you said you’re mine tonight, didn’t you?”, your deep voice sending shivers down her spine. “That is correct, oppa, so—", she says as she takes off the robe and kneels in front of you, “—do what you wish to me”, she adds, her mouth open and ready to take your shaft. You immediately drop everything you’re carrying on the floor along with your sweatpants and boxers and plunge deep into the warmth that is her mouth. She gags loudly and closes her eyes as she feels your tip hit the back of her throat. You lift her chin to look into her eyes; they tell you that she is so deep in the sea of lust, she might as well start drowning. You start thrusting in and out of her mouth, forcing her to take you deep into her mouth and making her gag every time. You want to turn it up a notch, though, “I want to try something else”, you say to her as you lie her on the bed, her head hanging off the edge, “You know where this is going, baby. Open”, you tell her before thrusting into her from a different position. You can’t help but let out groans and deep moans as you stuff her throat with your cock while playing with her tits. One last time before pulling out, you stick your cock deep in her throat and hold it there for a few seconds, making a mess of Seoyeon’s face as spit gets all over her face. Soon, you feel Seoyeon smack your thigh repeatedly, hoping that you’ll pull out and let her breathe. So you do just that, and she immediately gasps for air, “oh shit, oppa. I thought you were going to knock me out with your cock, fuck”, she says. “No, but I’ll be rough tonight. You know the safe word; say it if you want to stop”, you say, notifying her of your intent.

Feeling like you’re about to cross the line, you let go of her neck and pull out so that you two can catch some breaths. You see your hand leave a red mark on her neck, as she breathes with her mouth to get as much air into her lungs as possible. “Baby, you okay? That was too rough, right? I’m sorry”, you say, your mind no longer possessed by your cock. “Hah, hah—I’m-I’m fine—fuck. You were so rough, oppa. Didn’t know you had it in you like that”, she says, her eyes glassy from unreleased tears. “Do you want to stop, baby? Say the safe word, maybe?”, you ask to make sure that you still have her consent. “No, o-one more time. I’m so close, take me across the line, oppa”, she says, while grabbing her legs and folding it like earlier. “Let go of your legs, baby. You must be tired”, you say, while going in for a kiss. When you pull away, you see her put on a loving smile, “yes, baby?”, you ask her, not quite catching her signal. “I love you, oppa, so damn much. Now— “, she says while rolling onto her stomach, “—take me again, like this. You can be rough again if you want to”. “Okay, baby. Don’t forget that you can say the safe word”, you say, as you ride her thighs to fuck her from behind.

You tell her to move up in the bed, “you want me to wear a condom or no?”, you ask Seoyeon, who now has her head on the pillow while lying on her back. “Oppa isn’t talking as sweetly and softly as usual, I hope it means that he’s enjoying this”, she thinks to herself, “umm, yes, please”, she replies. You’re never one to do something to a girl without her consent, so you put on a condom before climbing into bed with her. You then get between her legs and fold them over her torso, “hold your legs for me”, you say sternly while aiming your length at her entrance. Unsurprisingly, she obeys right away. She holds her legs over her body by wrapping her forearms under her knees. Just as you’re about to push in, she fuels your fire, “give it to me, oppa, make me take it”.

After being shown the green light, you push your cock into her tight hole, making her scream instantly. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, oppa”, she eggs you on. You put a hand on her neck and start squeezing it, and you feel her pussy get tighter around your cock, “oh, you like this, you slut? Fuck, so tight”, you say, attempting some dirty talk while thrusting roughly; you hope she doesn’t mind being called that out of nowhere. “Fu—oppa, please, ughhh”, she tries to say with the last bit of air in her chest, as a tear starts running down her face and her hands try to loosen your grip on her neck.

You plunge deep into her instantly, making her scream into the pillow. You like this angle as it makes Seoyeon feel tighter for you; “fuck, baby, you’re tighter like this”, you say with a deep groan. “Oh, oh, yes, I’m always tight for you, oppa”, she replies, her voice muffled by the pillow, moaning with every thrust you’re giving her.

As you’re thrusting deep and fast, you see Seoyeon’s forbidden hole every now and then, peeking at you from behind her cheeks. You want to stimulate her more to get her closer to her orgasm, so you take your thumb and rub her small hole with it, making her gasp in surprise and turn her head to look at you. “Oppa, please, not there—please, please, please”, she says, panicking at the thought that you’re going to put something in her ass. You respond by grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling it, making her arch her back, “you’re mine, aren’t you? Have you forgot, you little slut? You’re entirely mine”, you whisper aggresively in her ear, getting rougher with your thrusts. “I—fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m cumming!”, she exclaims with a loud scream—you’re lowkey worried that a neighbor might call the cops on you considering how loud she’s screaming.

“Cum, you slut, cum all over this cock”, you reply to her, not letting up the thrusts. You finally pull out when you feel her juice pushing you out, her legs shaking due to the hard orgasm. “Good job, baby. I’ll get some water then it’s time to chase mine, okay?”, you tell her while petting the back of the panting girl softly before leaving to get some water.

When you return with some water for the both of you, you see Seoyeon still laying on her stomach while looking at you, seemingly sad about something; “oppa, you weren’t really trying to get in that hole, were you?”, she asks, referring to your stimulation on her asshole, “i-is my pussy not good enough, oppa? Bu-but you were my first—ah, I’m so sorry, oppa. I-I’ll do better next time”, she continues, tears gathering in her eyes.

Your heart shatters at her words; you only meant it as a stimulation to get her closer to her orgasm, not to point out that something’s lacking—"tell her otherwise, now”, your heart screams at you. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that—I was just trying to get you to your orgasm quicker. It is true that I was your first, and I’m forever honored and grateful for that. You’ve been the best girlfriend for me, so there’s no need to worry about being lacking, baby”, you tell her before pulling her into a hug and carrying her to the bathroom.

“Let’s get cleaned up, alright? I think we’ve had enough tonight”. “Bu-but you haven’t cum yet, oppa. Plea-please let me down, let-let me finish the job”, she says to you half begging. “It’s fine, baby, I’ll manage. Let me take care of you, okay? I went so rough on you, I’m sorry”, you say to her as you open the bathroom door. “Can you stand up on your own, sweetie? Do you need a stool?”, you ask her before putting her down. “A stool, please, oppa. My legs are like jelly right now”, she replies to you, drawing a prideful smile on your face.

Now that the shower has finished, you give her one of your jerseys to wear to sleep—the length enough to cover your little girlfriend down to her thighs—before putting her down on the bed. You wrap her in your arms while she tucks her head on your neck; “oppa”, she begins, “congrats on making it to the final”, she says. Surprised to hear her bring it up out of nowhere, you let out a chuckle, “it’s all thanks to you, sweetie; thank you for cheering me on, baby”, you reply. You can’t see her face, but you know she’s blushing right now. “Promise me that you’ll win, oppa. I, uh, may or may not have a present prepared for you—but only if you win”, she continues. “Present, hey? I like the sound of that. I’ll try my hardest, baby”, you say, feeling motivated by the promise of getting a present.

After setting the stool down and making her sit on it, you turn on the shower and start cleaning her up. You start by rubbing her nape and back with some soap before lifting her butt up so you can clean her cheeks. You then rinse the soap off her back and move in front of her to continue.

When you get in front of her, you kneel and put a hand on her knee, “How are we feeling, sweetie?”, you ask her to gauge her emotions. She looks down at herself before looking at you, “oppa, you love me, right? You won’t leave me just because I didn’t let you in my ass, right? Please tell me you love me. Please, oppa”, she asks, her voice trembling from sadness. She needs assurance and comfort right now, and you’re ready to give her whatever she needs to make her feel better.

“I love you, baby. Please believe me when I say that I’m not going to force you into anal until you’re ready, whenever that may be. Even if you end up never feeling ready for it, I’ll still love you with all my life; there’s no doubt in my mind about it”, you tell her with all the sincerity you can muster. “Please don’t feel burdened by any of it, baby. I won’t leave you, no matter what happens tonight”, you tell her while hugging her tightly, your promise true and sincere as ever. When you finally pull away, you see a small smile drawn on her face, “feeling better, love? Let’s finish this and then go to sleep, okay?”, to which she nods enthusiastically, straightening her back to give you access to clean her front.

It’s been a few days since the semifinal and that night where Seoyeon tried being a subby baby for you—she chickened out when you teased her asshole, though, blue-balling you in the end. The grand final is right around the corner and you’ve spent the last few of days preparing for the last dance. You’re nervous out of your mind at the prospect of playing in the grand final, unconsciously speaking less day in and day out. Seoyeon notices this and tries to help you ease your mind as much as she can, being the angel of a girlfriend that she is, even when you forget to thank her—basketball is taking the entire space in your head right now.

After going through the past 2 days mindlessly, it’s now Saturday morning again, 12 hours before the final game of the season. You woke up not-too-smoothly, letting out a panic gasp as you felt your soul get shoved back into your body. You panic even more when you can’t find Seoyeon in bed, so you immediately jump off the bed and run out of the bedroom.

After doing so, you hear sizzling coming from the kitchen. “Is that Seoyeon?”, you think to yourself. When you go to the kitchen to investigate, you see Seoyeon in front of the stove, busy doing something. “Good morning, oppa! I’m making some steamed eggs for breakfast”, she says cheerfully when she sees you. Relief fills your head right away, so you hug her from behind without saying anything and rest your forehead on her head, “I panicked when I couldn’t find you in bed”, you mumble into the back of her head. “Sorry, oppa. Just wanted to make you some breakfast to cheer you up before tonight”, she says to you. You keep hugging her until she notifies you that she’s done cooking and asking you to sit at the table.

“My mom taught me how to make this, oppa. Hope you like it”, she says wishfully. You’re so captivated by the steaming pot of steamed eggs in front of you that you almost forget to thank the person behind it. “Ah, almost forgot—thank you, baby. You’ve been so kind to me these past few days—months, really. I’ll take you on a date after this is all done, okay?”, you say to her. Seoyeon can’t help but blush at your words, “oh-oh, I was just trying to help you, oppa. You-you’ve also been so kind to me”, she says before covering her face with her hands—you find it adorable that she still gets shy with you despite having been dating for a few months.

“Thank you for the meal!”, you exclaim excitedly before sticking a spoon into the pot. You let out a satisfied groan after the first spoonful; it is so soft and well-seasoned, absolutely astonishing. “This is amazing, baby. Thank you so much”. “I’m glad you like it, oppa. I was so nervous if I made it wrong”, she replies.

After finishing the meal, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom while Seoyeon washes the dishes. You then open the wardrobe to get some clothes and the jersey for tonight. As you dig through your part of the wardrobe, you find a piece of paper folded in half lying on top of your jersey. With a curious mind, you open it; “Oppa, this is Seoyeon—obviously”, the first line says, “I know you’ve been stressed out about the grand final, but I want to remind you that you’ll always be my number one regardless of the result tonight. Love you always, captain. Signed, your Seoyeon”, the rest of the letter says, her signature drawn on the bottom.

As you finish reading it, you see Seoyeon enter the bedroom, “oh you found it already, guess I didn’t hide it well enough”, she says while smirking, pointing to the piece of paper on your hand. You can’t believe how lucky you are to be in love with such a sweet girl, so you can’t help but fall on your knees wordlessly. Surprised by the sight in front of her, Seoyeon rushes to you, “oppa, are you okay? Are you sick?”, she asks in panic, hugging you and putting a palm on your forehead. “Seoyeon, I.. I love you so much. Thank you for everything”, you say while looking deeply into her eyes. Seoyeon hugs you tightly after hearing your words, “no, thank you. I love you so much too. Go win this for me, okay? Fighting, captain”, she says to you.

It's only a few minutes before the grand final starts. You find yourself in the darkness of the tunnel again. “You’ll always be my number one”, Seoyeon’s words are repeating endlessly in your head. Your thoughts are cut short when you see the same guy and the flag from before make another appearance; “for you, captain”, the guy says. You grab the flag from him and put it against your shoulder like before.

Unlike last time, though, everyone’s wearing a jacket now. Everyone wears it normally while you wear yours like a cape, making the name of the university clear for everyone to see. The guy gives you the signal to enter and start the pre-match pleasantries which you’re not paying attention to, your mind locked in for the game itself—you do hear the crowd cheer when the announcer says your name, though, so that’s nice.

The first half was hard; your team were trading points and exchanging leads back and forth with the opponents. During the break, Coach Park was putting more emphasis on steadying the game and scoring consistently in the second half while being tight on defense. Before heading back out, Coach Lee pulls you to the side; “we need you to score from deep, son. They’ve been covering you loosely this game, you must take advantage of that”, he tells you, to which you reply by nodding your head in acknowledgment.

True enough, they’re allowing you to have more space on the floor as you’re able to have uninterrupted looks to shoot every few possessions. As instructed by Coach Lee, you take advantage of it as much as you can, making 4 out of 5 shots from long range. Your team is now leading by 8, the largest in the game so far. Feeling uncomfortable, the opponent’s coach calls a timeout, sending both teams to the bench to talk. After the timeout, Coach Park decides to sit you on the bench for the rest of the quarter, giving you some time to catch up with your girl, who’s sitting in the same seat as last time. “Oppa, what are we thinking?”, she asks you. “We’re trying to keep this lead, baby. Pray for us, okay?”, you say to her, making it as simple as possible for her to understand.

3rd quarter ends with your team leading by 4; not big enough a lead to be comfortable, but you’ll have to make do with what you have. “10 more minutes, guys, come on”, you tell your teammates during the huddle, “let’s win this shit”, you add at the end. The approach now is to be intense on defense, forcing hard matchups and turnovers to turn into easy fastbreaks on the other end of the court. You’ve been taking a few elbows to your body throughout the game, hurting you little by little; “that’s basketball for you, just man up”, your brain says.

After forcing another turnover and turning it into an easy bucket, the opponent calls their last timeout with 1 minute left in the game. Coach Lee takes the floor this time, “we’re almost there, boys. Hang on for 1 minute and you’ll win it. Let’s go”, he says, before explaining some defensive schemes for the last minute of the game. The huddles break when the horn sounds, notifying both teams to get back on the floor with 1 minute left.

The opponents have the ball coming from the timeout. The guard is bringing the ball up the court while making a horn sign with his fingers. Everyone knows what to do, so each of you gets ready to react to the play. Unfortunately, despite having prepared to defend such play, they still manage to score 2 points off an offensive rebound following a miss, cutting the lead down to 2. After getting the inbound, you start bringing the ball to the other side with less than seconds left on the clock, calling for the circle play as an attempt to put this game to bed by scoring from deep in crunch time. You pass the ball to a teammate before cutting inside and circling outside the 3-pt line again—hence the “circle”—while another teammate sets a screen for you, leaving you wide open to shoot.

As you shoot, adrenaline slows down the time, making it feel like it takes the ball forever to fly through the air and into the hoop. After keeping your eyes on the ball the whole time, you finally see the ball go cleanly through the basket, hitting nothing but nylon. With it, the crowd roars as you’ve grown the lead to 5 with almost no time for retaliation. After getting back on defense one last time, you hear the final buzzer roar through the arena— “is it done? Did we win?”, your brain wonders. As if hearing your thoughts, a teammate hugs you, “yo we won, man, we won. Can you believe that? We won!”, he says, screaming at you. After him, your other teammates start piling up on you one by one; “ah yes, we did win”, your brain confirms.

After exchanging emotions with everyone, you’re now left alone in the court. You find yourself on your knees trying to process everything that has happened, your emotions still at bay. Shortly after, you look up to find Seoyeon, immediately spotting her. She’s bawling her eyes out while having her fists in the air.

You run up to her so you two can share this moment. You hold out your arms and she fills it right away, “oppa, you did it, you won!”, she says, her voice shaky from the emotions. “Yes, we did, sweetie. We won, and it’s all thanks to you”, you reply to her as tears start running down your face. After hugging for a few seconds, you pull away from her, “I’m going to the locker room, see you at home, love”, you tell her. “Don’t forget, oppa, I have a present for you, a huge one”, she replies to you, a mischievous smile drawn on her face.

You ended up spending an hour celebrating with the team and a bunch of professors who attended the game. You’re now in the Uber heading home, all refreshed and cleaned up after showering. You’re excited at the prospect of getting a present from your beloved—not long to go until you reach your apartment. As soon as you arrive at the door, you enter the passcode. “Huh, no sound from Seoyeon”, you think to yourself. “Seoyeon, are you home, baby?”, you say loudly as you try to find her. “In here, oppa”, you hear her say behind the closed bedroom door.

After putting down your stuff, you knock on the door and enter the bedroom. You’re met with Seoyeon, who has her bathrobe on like last time, making your heart rate jump through the roof in excitement. “Congrats on winning the tournament, oppa”, she starts, “and with it, you’ve won the grand prize”. “Thank you, baby, and what’s this grand prize you’re talking about?”, you ask, ready to get lucky.

“Your prize—“, she says while taking a few steps back and taking off her robe, revealing a very sexy black lingerie, “—is me”. Your cock hardens instantly at her words, “oh, really?”, you reply to her, your head full of lust— “when did she buy that?”, your brain asks. “Yes, oppa—or should I say, daddy”, she says while getting on her knees, “I’m entirely yours, daddy. Do what you want to me”.

You walk up and kneel on one knee in front of her, getting on her eye level, “Safe word?”, you ask. “Same as always, but I don’t plan on using it tonight. Let me please you, daddy—use me”, she says, not folding to your deep gaze. You stand back up again to free your cock from its constraints, and that’s when she adds fuel to your fire, “All yours, daddy, including my ass”. Surprised to hear her offer her ass to you, you look at her, “I hope you’re sure because I’m not asking again”, you warn her. “I’ve given you my cherry, might as well give you the other one”, her reply stuns you. “Get on the bed like last time”, you command her.

You walk over to the bedside table to grab a condom. Seoyeon sees this, and she rushes to you and holds your arm; “fuck me raw, daddy—breed me”, she says with lustful gaze. Your cock gets hard quickly at her words, “careful with what you wish for, slut”, you say while holding her by the chin and she replies by smirking seductively. “Get on your hands and knees, now”, you say impatiently.

Once she’s in position—her head hanging off the edge while the rest of her body is in bed—put your cock into her mouth. You see her chest go up and down with every thrust, trying to stay calm as your cock is lodged in her airway. Naughty as you are, you palm her neck with one hand. You feel her throat bulging every time you push deep into her mouth. This, however, makes her lose control and start gagging loudly. “Oh shit, I’m getting close”, you groan and she lets out a muffled whine as a reply. You pick up your pace, planning to cum in her moist mouth. A few thrusts later, you feel your cock twitch: a signal that you’re cumming.

Trying to show her some mercy, you pull your shaft out but leave the tip in. “Fuck!”, you say as you cum in her mouth and make her choke on your cum. She waits for you to finish spurting your baby batter before tapping your thighs, asking for you to pull out. Once you do, you see that spit has run down her face. “Show me”, she opens her mouth filled with cum, “so?”, you ask. She puts her doubts aside and swallows it, earning a chuckle from you. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Move up, get comfortable”, you say as you help her move up the bed, “I’m your good girl, daddy. I’ll do anything for you”, she says.

She’s laying on her stomach limply while you leave to get water. “Drink, baby. You’ve been screaming a lot”, you say to her sweetly while putting the glass close to her mouth, letting her sip some water. “Thank you, daddy. You’re so sweet”, she says with a grateful smile on her face. “So, what now?”, you ask her, hoping that she’ll keep her promise from earlier. “Fuck my ass, daddy. Take my last cherry and make me yours entirely. I’ve prepared the lube, it’s in the bottom drawer”, she says to you, her eyes full of lust again, ready to give you her last virginity.

You kneel behind Seoyeon and stick your cock deep into her pussy, making her moan at the first penetration. “You want daddy’s cum? You think you deserve it?”, you say with a hoarse voice while aggressively thrusting into her. “Daddy—oh, I—ah, fuck—I’m your good girl—fuck—please give me your cum”, she says while moaning and cursing out loud. Not one to deny such request, you push her down so that only her ass is in the air. “As you wish, slut”, and with it, you start picking up your pace: giving it to her deep and fast, making her grip the sheets tightly while screaming into the pillow.

“Oh God, you’re stretching me, daddy—fuck!—keep going, please. Breed me, please!”, she begs you. “Zip it, slut—fuck, how are you still so tight after all this time?”, you say before pressing her head into the pillow. “I’m not too far away now”, you announce, while Seoyeon is still screaming into the pillow, “I’ll need to give her a lot of water after this”, you say to yourself, taking a mental note. “Fuck, I’m cumming. Cum with me, baby”, you say, breaking your dominant character before thrusting one last time and leaving your cock stuck deep in her pussy, filling her second hole with baby batter. You notice that she’s also having her orgasm as shown by her shaking legs and thighs. You pull out after the both of you have come down from your high—your cock is now shining thanks to her slick.

You walk away from her and open the bottom drawer, and would you look at that: a sealed bottle of Prael Gel lube. “When did you buy this?”, you ask her. “Wouldn’t you like to know”, she says before chuckling, “do it, daddy—I’m begging you”. After slathering lube all over your cock, you get into the bed again, “how do you want me?”, she says as she gets ready to get into position. “Just lay on your stomach and spread these cheeks for me”, you tell her, spanking both cheeks and making them red. “As you wish, daddy”, she says while her hands are spreading her cheeks, letting you see the forbidden hole.

Once you’re in, you start giving her deep but slow thrusts and let her asshole adapt to the large shaft lodged in it, “my God you’re so tight—fucking hell”, you exclaim while her anal muscles are squeezing your cock. “Alwa-always am, for you—oh my God, fuck!”, she screams into the pillow again when you reach the deepest point, “you’re going to ruin me, daddy—please ruin me, I’m nothing without you”, she says, making the fire in you rage wildly. “I’m going faster, keep squeezing my cock”, you say to her. Seeing her press her head into the pillow serves as a green light to you, so you start going faster while still hitting the deepest spot in her ass. “God I’m gonna cum again”, you groan as you’re inching closer to your third orgasm tonight.

You get on top of her and set your knees on either side of her thighs. You slowly move forward until your tip reaches her rear entrance. Seoyeon gasps and turns her head to look at you, “slowly, daddy, please—be gentle with your slut; it’s her first time”, she says to you, “did she just call herself a slut?”, you think. You just give her a nod while pushing into her ass—her muscles are not letting you in, “relax, baby, let me in”, you say to her.

You’re not entirely sure if she actually relaxes as you keep pushing forward and forcefully break in into her ass. You finally get past her sphincter, stretching her asshole and molding it into the shape of your cock. “Fuck, daddy, you’re so big! Please be gentle, please, please—God, fuck—it’s-it’s my first time, daddy—AHHHH!”, her screams are muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to reach your ears.

Not wanting to leave her behind, you lift her ass up into the air again and begin rubbing her clit. “Cum with me or I’m tying you to the bed”, you whisper in her ear. Upon hearing your command, she replies, “oh, oh, daddy, please let me cum with you—AHHHHH PLEAAASE”. The way her asshole squeezes your cock is foreign to you, so you can’t help but let out deep groans of your own. After thrusting in and out about a few dozen times while her moans and whines fuel your lust, the familiar feeling of reaching ejaculation is creeping up on you. You rub her clit faster to get her to cum with you while you keep fucking her ass. “Seoyeon, I’m cumming, take it all!”, “DADDY PLEASE”, she screams in return, and with it, you’re releasing in her ass while she squirts for the first time.

Despite feeling weak in the core and wanting to fall over, you pull out of her ass, being shown the gape your cock has made of her ass. Seoyeon is not making any sound right now, so you hope that she’s just drained and still fine. You peck her on the back of the head before going to the bathroom to start the shower.

After making sure that everything is set in the bathroom, you go back to the bedroom and touch her back, “no, no, daddy. Pochacco, please—fuck—I can’t take it anymore. Please, I’m begging you”, she says while panicking, saying her safe word for good measure. “Hey, hey, calm down, baby. We’re done for tonight. There’s nothing to worry about, okay?”, you soothe her while petting her head softly. “Let me take care of you, alright? The shower is ready”, you say to her before carrying her to the bathroom.

You sit her down on the stool since you figure that she won’t be able to stand up on her own after getting wrecked in all 3 holes. You start cleaning her back as usual before kneeling in front of her. “Oppa, did you like it? I-I hope I did well”, she says. “Baby, it was amazing and you did excellent. Thank you so much”, you say before going in for a kiss. “I thought my ass was on fire, oppa—“, she says after pulling away, so you hug her as a gesture of apology, “—but I think I liked it, you felt much bigger in my ass”. “Are you saying we should do it again? I think it was amazing”, you ask with hopefulness in your voice. “O-oh, yeah, sure”, she says before looking away, subtle pink tint on her cheeks.

You two get back into the bed after showering to start cuddling. You’re half-mindedly petting her head that’s currently tucked against your chest, inching closer to sleep before your brain reminds you of something. “Hey, baby, what happened? I thought you weren’t ready for anal?”, you ask her. “Ahh, oppa”, she whines cutely and slaps your chest lightly, “a friend told me that she had just given her anal cherry to her boyfriend as a birthday present, an-and I figured that maybe I could do that as well should you win the tournament”, she continues. “I must say that you’re crazy but I’m also thankful”, you say before kissing her head, “but where did the daddy kink come from?”, you follow up. Before saying anything, she pulls away from the cuddle and gets on top of you, “I.. want to be yours, like yours yours, you know?”, she says before looking away from your deep gaze, “I figured that I could be your subby baby and let you do whatever to me to prove my sincerity”.

You’re absolutely stunned by her answer, “you know you didn’t need to do all that, right? You know I love you”, you say to her. “Yes, yes, you always say that you love me, but I still want to do it. Please, oppa, accept me”, she says. You pull her down and hug her tightly, “of course, baby. I love you so much, okay?”, you then whisper in her ear, getting back into the dominant character, “you’re mine from now on, and you’ll do whatever I ask you to, you understand?”. “Yes, daddy. From now on, I’m your slut”, she replies, her voice laced with submission to you. Satisfied with her answer, you wrap her in your arms once again and take her to the dreamland while the gears in your head start spinning, trying to come up with things to do to her in the future.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #triples smut #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader smut #male reader

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twost3ps · 4 months

Text

This boy has been in the drafts for like a month

I'm feeling like I want an Adam sandwich with two slices of Morningstar brothers so you guys are going to hear me out on my LucifurxAdamxMicheal au (and I mean it in a they both share Adam in the end :3 ) In general I'm calling the ship ✨️GuitarStars✨️ boooyaaa I feel like there might be a better name for it but idk

(Also I’ve noticed there is complaint for guitarhero in the adamsapple tag. I'm tagging this post as adamsapple this once of it but post related to this with both brothers will be counted as #guitarstars.

I also completely agree with the complaints. There is a problem with the tagging so this is a very quick reminder to please tag properly!!! Ik it's not meant to be harmful bcz most guitarhero shippers are also adamsapple as well. But i will admit there has been a lot of unecessary tagging (i am guilty of this im so sorry qwq) so please be mindful!!!! Ik this post might go agaisnt that but its just this post i swear sorrryyyy)

ANYWAYS The actual au:

For now I'm calling the au- Angels on My Shoulder (I can't think of a good title rn grrr)

quick sketchs so you get the idea

General prompt:

Adam respawns as a human with all his memories. He lives a normal happy life until he turns 21 when two angels (Micheal and Lucifer) appear on his shoulders with a mission: try convince him into making certain decisions so that he ensures a spot in heaven or hell.

That doesn’t work out very well because adam hates how theyre forcing their ideals onto him one way or another. He doesnt really want to think about heaven or hell anytime soon. Heaven or hell seems like complete torture to him. The fact that he didn't like either of them before he respawned doesn't help.

A revelation happens and both brothers realize it's not gonna work on their terms so they're gonna have to earn his favor first before trying anything. One of the ways is talking it out beacuse adam had expressed several times over that, while at first it was funny, their bickering needs to die because it's getting annoying.

They talk it out. They make up. It takes a whole but they become close again. They try to earn adams favor in the meantime and between time. Everything is at peace. As time goes on though, the wooing is no longer for just adams favor, its now romantic. Both develop feelings for Adam. And since now they made up both made up they are very willing to share him.

The og goal is completely lost. Gone with the dirt and dust. And now what was once a competition to get Adam into heaven or hell has spiraled into heaven and hell trying to get into Adam. If you catch my drift.

Do they get in there?

God bless they do

(Ps they start off as small little mascots but then later grow into their normal form and an added human form. Adam Prefers the small mascots though)

My in-depth of the au that is very subject to change I just wanted to rant is under the cut o3o

So when Adam had died, he respawned onto earth. Born into a normal family and all that jazz. He lives life as normal and has comes to terms with it. He actually loves his life. He doesn’t have to walk on eggshells anymore and lives as normal. He’s not insanely good or insanely bad, he’s just a guy.

A guy who is very happy with himself. After graduating he becomes a national park ranger.

Heaven and hell both know of adams soul, but contant cant be initiated till he turns 21 (It was recognized because I wanna say 21 would be the age Adam technically was in his creation during Eden, and thats when he can process divinity without his body tweaking as if he were any other mortal. Souls grow along with age and all that drama, adams soul in eden was strong enough to stand the sheer power of a seraphims presence) both sides made it their immediate duty to guide him to their path.

Sera wanted Adam in heaven to clear her mind- to have heaven back to perfection with the original perfection creation (also to have her son back, but she's not ready to unpack that for herself.)

Lucifur wanted adam as he could punish him directly for hurting Charlie and her friends. A little tiny part of him also really wants Adam all for himself grrryrvgrvsgrs

So both heaven and hell spawn a representative guide for Adam to follow once his soul is ready to guide. Lucifur nominated himself and Sera nominated Micheal who agreed.

For some reason (probably amix of earth and god or sumn), Adam's presence nulls the powers of both angels and devils. So the first time they appear, Micheal and lucifur appear as small tiny mascots on Adam’s shoulder.

(Adam has flicked both of them away several times and they can't really do anything about it other than fly back and try again)

Both sides had the same idea and Adam connects the dots very fast on why they are here without them telling him. And he's pissed.

His normal life is now ruined.

Adam actually really hates both Lucifur and Micheal. Lucifur for obvious reasons and Micheal because he's just so nitpickey. Micheal had trained Adam in the past and that guy was brutal. Adam understood part of it was with Lucifurs falling and their brother thing and whatever but god daymn bro needed to chill. If Sera was on him like a hawk Micheal had been on him like a spy camera from space monitored by the secret service. In a way, both devalued adams emotions to some capacity so Adam hated both of them equally. Nothing Adam could do about it though because he was human.

In the beginning, both micheal and lucifur kept it really formal between them. Its strained but neither brother imposes on what the other one advises. That doesn’t stay for too long. The formalities between Lucifur and Micheal die pretty quickly. Under 2 months tops. While both are very old and very much adults, they are, first and foremost, SIBLINGS.

Both begin talking over eachother, butting in, shoving eachother. It's like pre eden all over again between the two on who is better. Most of the time they argue about the most random topics forgetting their og purpose.

After one year of enduring both of their bs, Adam feels like he has a dog and a cat rather than two otherworldly gaurdians monitoring his every move.

He doesn't complain though. After a while he's learned to tune them out. He also finds it incredibly entertaining watching the literal devil fight with the a high angel while being incredibly small. And with no powers it resorts to petty slapping. He's gotten pretty used to it....

Except when it comes to them making him choose what actions he takes.

They're always on him about everything. It sucks so much ass. Everything Adam tries to do something good, Lucifur tells him that it's stupid, that he should be more selfish and blocks Adam. He keeps on telling him that deep down adam really isnt all that, and why should he try and do good when everyone knows that hes not really that. Micheal does the same thing in reverse. When Adam does something considered bad, Micheal raves on how he'll go to hell. That Adam was made in perfection and must reach that perfection. That heaven is waiting for him and is available only if he keeps on doing good.

It makes Adam so mad when they remember what they're trying to do.

Adam doesn’t listen to either angel because after living part of his life as just a normal person, he’s come to realize he doesn’t want to think about living life wondering if he’s going to heaven or hell. Adam does not want to face eternal punishment or be in hell. He still really hates sinners, and while the blood hungry killer part of him died with his second life, he still thinks that the majority of those sinners are disgusting to say the least. But he doesn’t want to walk eggshells to be virtuous enough to enter heaven. Heaven, for all its greatness got tiring after 1000s of years. He's grown tired- already hated hell and grew to hate heaven. He doesn’t want to think about either, he doesn’t want those ideas to deter him from choosing what he wants to do. He wants to make both good and bad decisions without an angel watching over him. He wants to be able to make both good and bad decisions. He makes this very clear after a breakdown.

It becomes less of a competition over making Adam choose and more of getting into Adam’s favor after that because their first tactic is clearly not working.

So both agree that they will have to earn adams favor before making him do anything.

But in order to get adams favor both have to learn to get along because it had become one of Adam's biggest gripes. Funny at first, but the bickering and arguments got tiring after the course of a few years.

So they do attempt to make up. Genuinely. It's hard and its tough. Theres a lot there to unpack. But both jnkw that if they don't do this Adam is not going to listen to either of them because getting along has go go both ways.

And they do make up.

By the time Adam is in his early 30s, the close proximity and a lot of Adam yelling to sort it out, allowed for some slow but needed time to talk it out. They would do it infront of Adam who was the mediator, but they mostly would talk when Adam falls asleep as both watch over his dreams (creepos imo). They begin talking about their decision and their lives. Both brothers do acknowledge that they miss each other and that they have committed several wrongs with each other. And soon the fighting turns to light banter and life is good. They still try to earn adams favor but it's a lot more calmer. Everything's more calm.

Atleast that's what adam thought at first.

While bonding and stuff, they both come to the mutual agreement that they could share Adam. So they both freak it and try to woo Adam together.

And then now it's a matter of Adam freaking out because while before, both his little shoulder angels used to argue, they their bickering distracted them enough that Adam could chill and leave.

Now they're both bothering him and helping eachother try to get in adams pants. They're tag teaming him now.

It doesn't take long for their combined forces to make Adam cave.

The og goal is kinda gone. They still put their input but adams become more open it because they're less demanding and he feels like their goals are more aligned to his wants than theirs. Lucifur and Micheal also come to kinda realize that where Adam ends is where Adam ends. They're going to have to just suck it up when the time comes but they'll enjoy sharing while it lasts.

It gets pretty domestic and slice of life here. So the years following is a mix of sibling bonding and having ✨️the rizz✨️ on Adam.

Lucifur talks about hell and Charlie. Micheal talks about heaven and lucifur and his siblings. (Both Micheal and Lucifur arent permannt shoulder angels, they can actually pop away if they wanted to) Adam talks about his life and stuff.

When Adam eventually dies, his soul is neither here or there (because getting absolutely boned by twin morningstars does not make you virtuous or sinful it just makes you a bad bitch) his soul spawns in limbo. He’s deprived from salvation but doesn’t endure the horrors of hell. It’s basically a decent sided garden with a basic house in the middle where the garden ends is white space. On opposite ends of the garden are two doors, one goes to hell and the other to heaven. Turns out, the doors are connected to Micheal and Lucifer’s homes, but only appeared in them once Adam died. He’s allowed outside limbo into heaven or hell of his choosing for a limited amount of time and visites Micheal and Lucifer when he can. On the flip side Micheal and Lucifer can freely walk in and out of the place. I don’t want Adam to be lonely once he enters limbo so Cain and Abel are there because they died before heaven was ready and when he’ll just started.

So that’s pretty much it :3 kinda

incomplete but doesn't have everything I wanna say

Also

I will reiterate what I said at the beginning. I love you my guitarhero ppl but they are right in the tagging. It comes from a place of love so just be mindful!! Also, this is from me, sometimes the adamsapple vs guitarhero thing gets repetitive. It's a very common post ive seen. And I mean in general not just leaking into the adamsapple tag. That might just be me, but I do see it pretty often. Love it but that with the tagging does get a bit old. Really, the problem is a mix of incorrect tagging and the same trope. There's a lot more to the ship, especially with Micheal being free reign rn, so there is a lot of opportunity to show their relationship besides comparing it to Adamsapple.

I feel like somone who ships guitarhero also had to say something so yeyeye

Again, no offense to anyone guitarhero isbmy love but just please be mindful guys o3o

If you read all that thank you lol

#hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel #guitarhero #adamsapple #michael x adam #adam x lucifer #hazbin hotel michael #adam hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #my au #guitarstars #if i miss tag guys pls dont be afraid to tell me #even old posts

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vonev · 1 year

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Zombie apocalypse with Simon Riley

Sum: You finally meet your hot neighbor; albeit all it took was an apocalyptic disaster.

Oh my God, what the fuck?

“—reports states that an infectious zombie-like virus has begun to spread amongst multiple areas in the city—”

“—Please seek the nearest hazard shelter in your local area—”

A fucking zombie virus breakout is happening, in front of your lunch.

You'd never thought the national emergency alarms would ever blare during your lifespan, but you're here, a spoon full of egg drop soup in hand sitting across your TV and your mouth hung open as all your devices deafens the entire living room.

The telenovela you were watching was just getting so good too.

Immediately shooting your hand out to fetch your phone, scrambling for the national notification, horror dawns on you.

The fucking breakout is in my city.

Isn't it so lovely? On a random Tuesday afternoon in the middle of an approaching autumn.

What is it that they do in those zombie shows again...? Oh yeah, run.

Wait—no, no. Pack your shit then run.

So you did. Your feet working the fastest they've ever been scattering toward your bedroom to dig out the ancient duffel bag you've not touched in eons. Shoving essentials in there: tampons, pads, your Kindle (because God forbid an apocalypse stops you from finishing a book) and a couple of other things you think you'd need...a thong is one of them, right?

The loud alarms never stops, it only adds to your increasing anxiety threatening to bubble over and spill all over the floor; you didn't think they'd go on for so long, but they do, and honestly they sound fucking terrifying.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think—

Wallet, passport (in case you wanted to fly over to Milan, you know.), all the money you had was stored inside the bank; speaking of, you wonder if anyone had started robbing stores yet after the alarms sounded.

Nope, can't think about that right now, because the more time you waste, the higher of a chance you'd end up having your face bitten off by some freaks—zombie or not. So you scramble once again, head full of doubts and worry; good thing you kept refraining yourself from ever getting a pet because holy shit having to sprint with a massive fluff ball in your arm would be the last thing you'd want to do.

Just then, screams started filling your ears; an indication that you spent too much time dwindling.

Looking down you scoff at your casual wear: a tank top that exposed too much and sweatpants. Making your way out along your bedroom you snatched a jacket you promised yourself you'd wash last week.

Good thing you didn't, I guess.

Stepping foot into the living room once more, your eyes dart around in a hurry, practically running into the kitchenette to grab canned foods and your leftovers from yesterday. It's just a sandwich, but it'll hopefully last until whenever you can finally eat again. You repeated the same conundrum with your bathroom, frantically pushing things aside with more things to make space for other things.

Alright, you think, that should be everything...

You even got that first-aid kit you bought from Amazon months ago, thinking that someday you'll need it.

Always trust your instincts.

With that, you waste no time scurrying to the front door, fitting yourself into a comfortable pair of shoes then fetching your keys from the bowl above the accent table you probably spent too much money on (they looked really cute) and inserting it into the lock, cursing yourself when you kept missing the keyhole. Eventually, you got it, and with too much brute force, you threw the door open and stepped out into the hall.

You wince from the loud banging sound of the door you pushed; to your right, your neighbor's door opens as you walk out.

Tilting your head, you see the neighbor casually fixing his shoes with absolutely no care regarding the current situation, a bag slung over his broad shoulder in contrast to you desperately holding onto your heavy duffel bag.

What the fuck is his deal? How is he so...calm?

You didn't realize it 'till now, but said neighbor turns his head toward you, and it's as if a lightbulb flare up in your head.

Oh.

He stares at you, unmoving with his hand still on the doorknob.

It's the hot neighbor.

What was his name again? Sam...Samuel...no, Semen...wait, definitely not.

Whatever. You'll call him Semen in your head, because you can't be bothered standing there to recall his name. Not while he's staring at you so intently, either—like you owed him something.

God, is he a sight to look at; full brows with lips looking so kissable with a cute pout, blonde strands covers his front as though he'd just woken up from the best nap of his life, the faint yet noticeable scars littered across his face so perfectly. Tall, mysterious and muscles that threatened the seams of the too-tight shirt he wore. Is he even aware?

And his eyes.

You can't even begin to mention the amount of times you'd shamefully indulged yourself with those eyes of his in your mind—sometimes, you dream of them too. Who could blame you though? Yeah, you definitely feel normal about him. You barely interacted with him, only ever seeing him the rare times he'd come home. You assumed he's ex-military or a military personnel on leave since he's been back home more than usual in the recent months. You wouldn't know, though, considering the most words you said to him was "hi" when he moved into his flat a year ago. That, and you're generally kinda afraid of strangers.

"D'ya have a staring problem?"

Right. You can't just stare at someone and not say anything, that's creepy.

"No," you shuffle on your feet a little. "Do you?"

He scoffs with a small shake of his head and closes the door behind him before walking away to the lift. Your brows furrowed, lips pursed, slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and chased after him. You both stood in front of the lift for a good (incredibly awkward) minute before the familiar ding sounded. Once inside the lift, you can't help but feel the unspoken tension rise as the two of you stood close to each other.

You swear he had his eyes on you for a moment, but you don't dare to call him out.

"...you come ‘round often?"

He snaps his gaze to you instantly.

Great. Your mouth has no filter whatsoever. Mentally slapping yourself, you open your mouth to whisper an apology; he beats you to it, though, a soft chuckle from him and it strikes into your heart like a stake.

"I live—lived here," crossing his arms, his eyes softened a little. "Just got discharged from the military a couple of months ago."

Bingo.

Silently patting your back in your head as you nod at his response and humming. "That's cool, what did you do for the military?" it may have been too much to pry, but it doesn't hurt; plus, it's pretty much the end of the world as you speak.

He stood there, completely rigid from top to bottom. The silence was deafening this time around, so much so that when the lift sounded once more with a loud ding, it made you flinch.

"What didn't I do for the military?"

That's...

"...is that rhetorical?" None of you walked out of the lift, just standing there in each other’s company. Oddly, you don’t mind it.

He shrugs, getting out of the tiny space—and you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in your breath when you finally exhaled through your teeth.

I guess I have my answer.

It doesn’t take long for you to catch up, nor for the two of you to realize what an utter mess the outside world had become when he opens the door.

People roamed about, running ‘round and tripping over each other and on top of each other, cooperating on wreaking absolute havoc on the streets. Lots of screaming, too much of it, in fact. Jogging down the stairs, someone almost bumps into your side, but not before he pulls them back with a frown on his face that had the poor guy screeching and scrambling away from his grip.

Oh, now come to think of it—

—“Hey what’s your n—“

A hoard of groans catches your attention, cutting your words short; you turn toward the source, squinting at the scene from afar. A group of people started dashing toward your way, their faces an evident blur of confusion, surprise and horror. It would make sense, because as they slowly get closer and closer, a giant figure gradually appears in your vision—and it looks fucking disfigured—like the textbook embodiment of an eldritch creature. Sure enough, it breaks out into a sprint, chasing down its next victim; pulling the back of an unfortunate businessman’s suit and it flung the man over its head. You can hear the poor man’s scream echo in your mind as you watch his body fall right into the creature’s mouth; next thing you know, his head snaps off in its jaw.

Your blood runs cold, the shock from seeing such a sight sends an unnerving terror through every nerve; your breathing gets heavier, beads of sweat breaking out from your skin—yet you can’t take your eyes off of it. Ever watched a car crash? Yeah, exactly that.

“Uh oh.”

You don’t know what to do; years and years of medical training in school hadn’t exactly prepared you for this situation, even if some of the things you’ve seen are horror beyond comprehension. Your body doesn’t cooperate with your commands no matter how hard you try; they’re stuck to the ground like glue, and as the horrid looking creature slowly bolts toward your way, the way you’ve become a mere spectator to your body should concern you, but your eyes are transfixed on that thing—

—it wasn’t until someone roughly tug your forearm that you realized you almost fucking killed yourself by standing still too long.

“Fuck, come on, let’s go.”

You should’ve probably questioned why he’s remained so calm despite the calamity surrounding him. It’s an admirable trait, really, a part of you wants to thank him profusely for not leaving you behind; in the span of time you spaced out, he could’ve easily gotten away in a fleet—like a gust of the wind, and you wouldn’t have noticed nor would you have blamed him. So much for being medically trained.

He ran, and you trailed right behind him. Even during such a dire moment of your life, you have to try your hardest to not get distracted with the way his muscles contract as he swiftly moves along with the breeze. No time for thirsting, you stare at his arms, how they effortlessly flex with each step, Okay, maybe a little bit of thirsting.

You’ve no idea how long you both ran; doing your best to dodge every obstacle lunged into your face, but with the soreness slowly creeping up your soles, you wonder if you could keep up—Semen, on the other hand, is doing just fine. Just keep pushing, after all, how hard is it to run forever? Super fucking hard apparently; unfortunate for you, the conveniently placed fallen pipe on the ground became your nemesis as you missed a jump and fall on your fucking face. Your duffel bag cushioning only your left arm, body absorbing all the impact from the fall.

Ouch! wouldn’t even describe the pain you were feeling. You might have a broken nose because it sure fucking feels like it.

Semen immediately halts, his head snaps back as if his gut instinct told him you stumbled and fell. He’d be correct; attempting to get on your elbows can only get you so far, your adrenaline runs out too quickly—and suddenly it feels as though your body has been lit on fire. Well, you’re being dramatic, but your ankle sure doesn’t feel fine like it did a minute ago. You try to stand up, and Semen crouches down in front of you with his hands extending out to help you up; but the harder he pulls the worse you cry out. When you try to move your right ankle it just fucking hurts like a bitch.

This is it, you think; your breath coming out haggard and harsh, I’m gonna fucking die.

“Just—go, just go, I think I sprained my ankle,” holding back furious tears, you sniffle. “Leave me and run, it’s okay.” God, was it ever this hard to let someone go? Even if the selfish part of you wants him to stay. He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, people and vehicles running by your bodies and their cries fill the void in your head—not their fault they prioritize their lives over yours—but it still stings your eyes to think about. People really do show their true colors in the most desperate times.

He reaches over, and you almost swatted his arms away—his stern gaze told you to stop, and you did.

Flipping you over in an instant, his arms hook under your back and knees, hoisting you into his arms as though you weighed nothing. In a feat of panic, you push against his chest; you can’t stress how much you’d rather not be the reason he’s held back and be killed for it. He sends you a final warning look; a stare so chilling it had you reeling back your arms into your chest and obediently lay against his.

Impressively, he maneuvers around everyone else with ease, dodging and zig-zagging, only bumping a few shoulders here and there. Worry clouds your head; what if he trips? Or better yet, what if he realized you’re not much of use and dumped you on the streets? It’s absurd you’d even have the luxury to overthink while he’s busting his ass to save both of your lifes—how the fuck are you supposed to make up to that? You can’t bake him your infamous croissants (you’ve mastered the craft), you doubt appliances are as convenient in the wild as it is in homes—you hope he’ll find a place to hide soon; he can’t run infinitely.

Maybe you should stop thinking too much useless shit and start strategizing instead.

Okay, it should be easy; your eyes frantically search the surrounding area: the alleyway? No, way too risky. Run into one of the homes? Still risky, and those nasty creatures were breaking into them from what you saw last. Fuck, you wish you’d bought that expensive ass car few weeks ago when it was on sale, then again, who knew you would require it so soon? Wait, did he have a car? You don’t think so, his designated parking slot has been empty since forever.

As he kept sprinting on, you noticed more and more of those zombies started pouring in from multiple angles—it would be harder and harder to avoid their attacks; you try not to dwell on the gruesome sights of people being mauled down the streets. Out of nowhere, a mangled arm lunged at you, though he swerved just in time to avoid; you didn’t even have time to register what occurred until you blinked again.

“Was that—holy fuck,” your body involuntarily shivers at how close you were to dying right then; all his efforts would’ve gone to waste. It served as a reminder that death is now only a mere hand reach; one wrong breath and say bye-bye to your life.

Mortality is such a fragile thing.

At least you don’t have a family making you worry to death about, just good ol’ you—always been you.

Does he? Eyes drifting over to his face, you trace the scars on his neck with an invisible hand. You’d have to play 21 questions with him later, if there’s a later. Seeing how things are moving, you’re slowly coming to terms with the concept of death; for some odd reason, you just know he’d keep you alive as long as he can—you will too, with him. God, you grunt, this feels so sappy. You have to constantly remind yourself that you’ve known your neighbor properly for less than an hour; don’t get too attached. It only ever comes back to bite your ass.

In your peripheral you notice a sluggish zombie digging into the driver’s side of a sizable car through the broken window—blood splatters the inside of the car’s windshield as the zombie dives further in. The car is alive, tugging at his shirt, you hastily gesture toward the spot with a shaky finger. Peering up, you don’t miss the way his brows knit together and how his lips are pulled into a thin line—he understood soon afterward; and switched his path to match the direction of the vehicle.

He’d have to fight with the obscene thing for it, but it’s worth a try, even with you in his arms.

Approaching it, he doesn’t hesitate to kick a leg up to hook it under the weighted zombie and throw him down to the biting asphalt; just as it was about to spring up—he stomps a leg over its head without a hitch. Oh my fucking God, excuse your blasphemy, that’s the brain matter. You would know how a human’s brain looked; with countless hours spent plastering your head onto your textbook about How To Surgically Remove a Brain for Dummies the image practically tattooed itself on your mind. It’s never a good view, the textbooks can’t accurately reinvent the feeling of disgusting sliminess into their pages after all.

Your knight in shining armor doesn’t prolong his luck; throwing the driver’s door open, he ducked his head into the driver’s seat (not before chucking the dead body laid in the seat out), sliding you into the passenger side; you have to awkwardly make fit for yourself in the seat as he rushed into his side and pressed down on the brake, slamming his door closed. There was no time to relax, though, upon seeing him toy with the car, people started piling over the trunk, clawing at the metal slate with their bloodied nails as more zombies lurked closer—few unlucky numbers were dragged away from the car, leaving a myriad of gory handprints behind on the trunk.

He grits his teeth, he holds an arm out in front of you; confused, you turned to him as he slammed down on the acceleration.

“Oof—” That’ll knock the wind out of you.

It’s proven to be challenging for him to drive down a road filled with civilians; but soon enough, people started parting ways for him and a few other vehicles to pass through, afraid of being hit by a car.

“Buckle up, love.”

Huh? Love?

On the outside, you’re as calm and cool as you can be: you know, in a zombie apocalypse with your handsome neighbor driving you to (hopefully) safety; the inside…it feels as though your heart soared into the sky—you know it wasn’t meant to be flirtatious, but damn it, a girl can dream. Scrambling your hands to reach for the seatbelt, you grimaced at the sight of gooey matter dotting its material, you buckled up anyway; better safe than sorry. And because he asked so nicely, your heart flutters once more.

He drove on for quite a while, managing to duck and swerve others on the road (albeit with a lot of trouble) and eventually reaching the highways—not that it was far, but you’ve never exactly drove, or been outside your little area. Why would you need to? Everything you’d ever need was there: a delicious shawarma shop across from your flat, embroidery store…in case you needed some embroidering done, a family-owned Indian restaurant that served the best naan and dal—point is, you’ve pretty much got everything covered in your small area.

But why do you feel like you’re missing something…

…your fucking duffel bag.

Everything was in there—your ID’s, necessities, your fucking family photo back when you were a baby; it all holds importance to you one way or another—

—and they’re gone.

Slumped against your seat, you hadn’t even realized your shoulders started convulsing until teardrops fell on your curled fists in your lap. How could you be so fucking careless? Tilting your head down, your hands fly up to rub away stray tears that can’t seem to stop falling from your eyes regardless of your effort; you hope he hasn’t noticed (he did, eyes squinting in worry and unsure) because you seem pretty fucking pathetic right now.

(He doesn’t mind, he’s more worried your tears will drown the both of you before getting to the motel)

“We’re,” for some reason, words get caught in his throat—congealed, like an immovable lump—watching you silently sob to yourself from the side. "We're going to a motel."

He shouldn’t care; he doesn’t know why he does, especially since you’re still a stranger (that he saved, again, he’s not sure why) he coincidentally shared a hallway with for about a year; he barely knew you, either, only knowing you by name because he had seen it stamped on a few mails that fell from your mailbox. He also knows that you bake, a lot, often times the smell would traverse through the small cracks underneath his door and reach his senses—he’d debate knocking on your door each time, he wouldn’t know what to say though: “I smelled your baking, they smell amazing, can I take the whole thing?” or “‘Aye you’re actually kinda fuckin’ cute.”

Yeah, he’s not too good at conversing with strangers either, especially a cute one like you.

And now that you’re sitting right next to him, shoulders no longer heaving as he keeps driving down the vast highway, he’s not so sure what the next move should be. A couple of quick glances let him know that somewhere along the way, you had fallen asleep, head lolled against the window, your chest rising and falling with a silent rhythm. The sun is setting, the warm glow casts down on your figure—you look like an angel.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, of course—but deep down, he knows he’ll keep that image of you and engrave it into the back of his head.

And he knows just the place to take you to.

#angst #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mwii #ghost cod #simon riley #ghost x you #apocalypse #zombie apocalypse #im having a brainrot yet again #they should kiss kiss fall in love #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty

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strawberrym1ko · 2 months

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DOLL, WHEN WILL HE BE HERE?

ᯓ★ CHARACTERS: wriothesley

ㅤᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 SYNOPOSIS ― You are a criminal that has escaped many prisons, fortress of Meropide being one of your favourites to escape. ㅤᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 B.C ― Author being a simp for wriothesley. This wriothesley playlist inspiring me. His voice-lines. Enemies to lovers because M H M. FReader. Pryo reader because opposites hehehe. Reader got confused on fighting scenes and lost motivation-

M.LIST || GENSHIN IMPACT M.LIST

THE FORTRESS of Meropide is known to be one of the best prisons out there. Top guards with unstoppable resources and security, as well as a warden who kept close eye on both staff and prisoners.

It was a prison not a lot of prisoners can escape from. They can try all they like, but none came close to escaping the fortress. The furthest they got was the top floor, the hallway that lead people to the receptionist. But none got further than that.

You, however, got to the receptionist desk. Two walls of fires on either side of you, stopping the guards from entering and tackling you down. It was a long one. If you were any other old geezer from this wreck, you be hunched over in attempt to catch your breath. But you were young and a runaway that was on eye nations watch-list. Running wasn't new to you.

You shook the guard you had seduced jacket off your shoulders, allowing it to drop on the floor. Guards were too easy to manipulate in your opinion. Show them the right attitude with the right features and you got yourself a guard wrapped around your fingers. Making escaping so much easier too.

"Doll, when will he be here?" You turned back to the receptionist, who wasn't reacting the way you thought she would. She's oddly calm and still for someone who's being sandwiched between two walls that can give her six degree burns.

"Any. . .second. . .now" That hint of fear lingered in her tone. It didn't bring you joy presa. But, the following results would.

"[Name], games over" That sweet, sweet voice came from the left wall. You were quick to drop your hand, the wall dropping with it. Behind the wall was the man himself. The duke of the fortress and the man you had been hunting down for months now.

For reasons.

"Wrio~" You called out to him teasingly. You had waited for this. People always believed your goals were odd, whatever it may be. To you, they were achievements. One of them was to defeat the Duke of Meropide. Supposedly a man who would turn a blind eye when it came to prisoner torture. But to be fair, these locked down here weren't innocent at all. They were the scum of the word. People no one would miss. Not even their own loved ones.

The man was bare-armed. No gauntlet on him. He was being fair. "You're causing me a lot of paper work" He stepped closer.

"What can I say?" Arms opened, a knowing smirk gracing your lips. "I would do background checks on your guards~"

"You know that I do"

It is true. A place like this wouldn't risk hiring people that had any criminal backgrounds. They had to be clean of every charge that could exist in order to work here. That's why the dream of working here left the room years ago.

"Come on big guy" You raised your arm out, pulling back to fingers to indicate you were ready to fight.

"I don't hit women"

"Not fair! You have to play equal! Or I'm not playing!"

Sighing heavily, the male gave in and launched you. You were ready though, one leg behind. Before he got close, you dashed forward, turning to the left ever so slightly, just enough to skip past time. A single touch of your finger burning a feather on that pretty coat of his. He was quick to put it out though.

"What happened to playing fair?" Wriothesley asked.

You shrugged. "I was cursed. Not my fault"

Visions. Typically seen as a blessing from the Archons that moulded the world they lived on. However, for you. It was a curse. Your skin burning up, everyday. Those that touched you could either get first degree burns or third degree burns. You were gloves so you could handled things. You didn't ask for it, but here you were. A walking curse.

Wriothesley didn't waste another second. He launched at you once again, this time getting a good grip on your shoulder, twisting your arm around to force you to spin around to lessen the pain.

You, however, wouldn't admit defeat so quickly. Twirling under your arm, you managed to turn to Wriothesley with a comfort pain tolerance in your arm. You were quick to act. Leg high in the air, almost kicking him in the side but he was quick as well. His hand coming up to stop the force, believing it was your next attack, but it was just apart of it.

Just as quick, you switched to the your other leg. Your foot made contact with his jaw, sending him backwards in more shock than pain. He was stronger than you, yes your blows would cause pain but his shock overpowered that feeling. The Duke let your arm go as he tumbled back, hand under his jaw. Tiny specks of blood dropping onto his fingers.

"Well played" A compliment from the man himself. A swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach. You felt giggly from that.

A psycho. You truly were one.

"You flatter me your grace~" A hand raised to your side, your escape route now in front of you and free. "Until we meet again~ Mon Amour~" Flash of light, you raised a new flame wall and made a beeline for the exist.

Escaping, for the fifth time.

#✿︙Miko's Imagines #I'd fight him any day of the week- (I'd lose)#i am normal about this man #Genshin impact #Genshin #Genshin Impact x reader #Genshin x reader #Genshin impact imagine #genshin imagine #genshin impact wriothesley #genshin impact wriothesleyx reader #genshin wriothesley #genshin wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley imagine #genshin impact wriothesley imagine #genshin wriothesley imagine

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niuniente · 3 months

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how... how did you find 190 different icecream flavors? Like you go for the signature name they are given(like one brand call vanilla vanilla but another one calls it cream paradise)? they're manufactured, home made? from those gourmet shops? those you find in supermarkets? You travel for them? or is all that around where you live and places you have passed by? you only consider milk based or also water based(tho those usually have another name)? does popsicles and things like icecream sandwich counts as flavors? have you ever gone on a trip specifically to try a region's typical ice cream? i'm sorry i am just honestly curious how you do your icecream flavors curatorship. and what is your top five out of 190 flavors.

I find ice-creams the following ways:

Cafes (we have many cafes selling their own gelato with unusual flavors, like cinnamonroll and avocado)

Traveling (Japan is a very good place for ice-creams! Although last time there I didn't find anything new.)

Finland consumes the most ice-cream per capita in the Europe. Because we're an ice-cream nation, every summer we get limited edition ice-cream flavors for all stores and kiosks. For example, this summer's new limited edition flavors are marshmallow-Biscotti cookie, and caramel-macadamia.

Manufacturers are supposed to come up with new ice-creams and also import new flavors and brands.

International stores quite often have ice-creams and sometimes I discover new flavors from their selection.

I know how to make ice-cream but only 1 flavor from the list is self-made.

To other questions!

If it made out of milk or a milk substitute, it's an ice-cream. Popsicle, sherbet etc. are not counted as ice-creams but ice-cream sandwiches are.

We have no regional specialties that much, although I know in Porvoo city there's an ice-cream factory with really wonderful flavors. Some of their flavors are available in stores but to get to taste them all I should travel to Porvoo. Without a car it's a day's worth of trip and I'm too sick to travel just to get certain ice-creams.

Having said that, I've had some regional ice-creams in Berlin, Germany!

Someday when I'm rich and healthy, I can travel somewhere just to go to try out their ice-creams.

TOP 5 (really hard to choose, so many that I like!)

Matcha

Royal Milk Tea

Spruce

German Spekulatius Christmas Cookie

Milk

But honestly speaking? If I didn't live in the country which eats ice-cream like maniacs, I wouldn't be able to get new flavors on my list that easy. Just in the past week I gained 4 new flavors (Rom-Brittle; Quark-strawberry; Marshmallow - Biscotti cookie; Vanilla-honey)

Just in these 7 months I've found 20 new flavors, all in Finland.

My ice-cream list, which updates as I find new flavors, is here.

#ask niu

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choicescommunityevents · 3 months

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Choices Picnic

July is National Picnic Month, so I thought it would be fun if we had a Choices Picnic. The event will take place July 12-14. The event will have two parts. The first will be a list of prompts to inspire creative works to be shared during the event. The second part will be posts that will pop up during the event for you to reply to to encourage discussion and community. Both the prompts and the "pop up" post topics are below so that you can prepare whatever you like!

Have fun and enjoy!

Event Prompts

Basket

Blanket

Gingham or Checkered

Sandwiches

Fruit

Lemonade

Sunshine

Park

Nature

Grill

Outdoor

Games

Picnic Table

Grass

Flowers

Friends

Family

Watermelon

Barbecue

Salad

Hiking

Trees

Butterflies

Kite

Sunhat

Sundress

Shorts

Squirrels

Ants

Clouds

Water Fun

Sea Side

Lake

Rainy Day

Wine

"Pop Up" Community Prompts

these will be shared as individual posts on the days of the event for you to reply with to have a "community" discussion/share. I'm just sharing them ahead of time so you can plan ahead what you might like, to share.

What will your MC(s) be wearing to our Choices Picnic? Will they be attending alone or will their LI(s) be there? What will they wear? [Looking at the other replies, what new friends will your MC be making?]

What food would your MC bring to our Choices Picnic to share? And/or If your MC had to plan the menu for the picnic what would it look like?

How would your MC document the picnic to share on their Pictagram (or any other social media accounts)?

What games or activities does your MC enjoy during a picnic?

What is your character’s favorite picnic dessert? Do they make it or buy it? Is there anything special about it?

3 things: what three things does your MC feel are a must for any successful picnic?

Rules/Guidelines

Submitted works will be featured on an event masterlist

Every form of creative work can be submitted: fanfiction, drabbles, moodboards, edits, drawings, poems, songs, sketches, and more—all are welcomed.

Work from any book and story from the Choices (and Pixelberry) universe are welcome (new and old alike)!

You can participate as many times as you want during the event

You can combine submissions for this event and others

Please add a cut to avoid long posts and exposing other fans to triggering content.

You can get creative with the prompts. It can be a variation of the word and/or concept. It doesn’t have to be exact or literal. If the word inspires a train of thought that led you to something different, put that in the notes and send it in! Have fun with it! Make them work for you! The ultimate goal is just to find joy in creating!

Please tag @choicescommunityevents and if you’d like to add me you can do so as well~ @lovealexhunt (feel free to DM me your work too since Tumblr tags are fickle)

You may also use #ChoicesPicnic24

Please do not submit work that has been created with AI. Works that contain AI will not be reblogged. If reblogged inadvertently and I find out they have AI, they will be deleted.

#choices #playchoices #choices game #choices fandom events #choices community events #choices monthly challenge #host: lovealexhunt #host: storyofmychoices #ChoicesPicnic24

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allthebrazilianpolitics · 9 months

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Brazil reaffirms support for Argentina's Malvinas case

On the 191st anniversary of the British takeover of the Islas Malvinas (as Argentina calls the Falkland Islands), the recently sworn-in government of Javier Milei renewed Buenos Aires’s desire to re-engage in bilateral talks on who should control the islands.

On the same day, Brazil issued an official statement supporting “Argentina’s legitimate rights in the sovereignty dispute” over the Malvinas, South Georgia, and South Sandwich Islands.

The Malvinas have barely 3,000 inhabitants and far more sheep than people. They were referred to by the late U.S. President Ronald Reagan as “that little ice-cold bunch of land down there.” But the islands transcend all political divisions in Argentina, where citizens overwhelmingly support national sovereignty over the territory.

The British took over the islands on January 3, 1833, marking a watershed moment in Argentina’s convoluted colonial history, and ultimately leading to an all-out war in 1982, when Argentina tried to reclaim the territory in the dying months of its last military dictatorship.

#brazil #brazilian politics #politics #argentina #united kingdom #foreign policy #international politics #mod nise da silveira #image description in alt

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flyingwargle · 2 months

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watch party for japan vs. argentina men’s volleyball match tonight @ 8 pm!

osamu doodles jerseys in the corner – his brother’s #11 and his boyfriend’s #20. he stands to admire the sandwich board, startling at the voice behind him. “not #18 fer aran? that’s disrespectful of ya.”

“kita-san!” he whirls around to greet him, bowing slightly. “i know, but i have a feelin’ if i don’t put ‘tsumu’s number, he’s gonna blame me fer givin’ him bad luck.”

kita’s smile is slight, amused. “an’ suna?”

“that’s my boyfriend that yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

“yes, yes, as if i’d forget. i’m comin’ by later, so save me a seat, please. let’s talk more then.”

he watches him continue along, likely to visit the other shops on the block, and then ducks back inside his restaurant. it’ll get busy, if the tokyo olympics set any precedent, especially with how vital this match will be. after losing to germany, they’ll need to win, and then perform well against usa. only then will they qualify for the quarterfinals.

inside, the decorations have changed. the jerseys on the wall, once msby and ejp, are now their olympic counterparts. although the photos still show onigiri miya’s humble beginnings, he added a few taken with the team, including one where they’re all holding his onigiri. it pained him being unable to watch any of their games live, but he wouldn’t change it for the business it gave him.

for the rest of the day, he and his staff work to serve their customers, fulfill takeout orders, and prepare for the watch party. about half an hour until eight o’clock, he tunes into the sports channel, where subtitles of analysts discussing japan’s performance and future odds appear on screen.

there are two tvs – one on a shelf over the bar and the other in the corner of the seating area. he has a tablet set up behind the counter to watch whenever there are orders, but the livestream is still on standby. he turns the screen off as the door opens. “welcome back, kita-san. ya want the usual?”

“yes, please.” he takes the empty seat directly across from him, the same where any of their friends would sit whenever they visit. “are ya expectin’ a full house?”

“yeah, it’s usually busy. i imagine it’ll get busier once japan qualifies.” osamu takes a handful of rice and begins molding it. “they’re under a lotta pressure. ‘tsumu was almost in tears when he called.” it hurt that he couldn’t physically be there, relegated to phone calls and video calls, but if listening helped air out frustrations, he’d gladly sacrifice his sleep.

“the world is expectin’ a lot from them after they placed second in the vnl,” kita agrees. “hopefully, they’ll be able ta get it together tonight.” the two of them watched their friends and family compete mere months ago, bringing their nation to the podium, and consequently, to the top of the world. it’s natural to assume it’ll happen again, but so far, it isn’t easy as it sounds.

the clock strikes eight, and the broadcast starts with official warm-ups. atsumu and kageyama are setting to their players at the net, jumping to spike. it changes to serves, the players taking turns to warm up. osamu watches suna, who spins his ball as part of his pre-serve routine, and then tosses it for a jump floater. it isn’t as fast as atsumu’s, nor as deadly as kageyama's, but it’s earned them aces in the past. he hopes it’ll happen again.

the teams line up to sing their countries’ national anthems. a solemn silence falls over the restaurant as everyone follows along, osamu included. the camera zooms in on their faces, strict with determination and focus. suna looks into the camera when he’s in frame, and osamu whispers a voiceless prayer to him.

atsumu is the starting setter, along with ushijima, sakusa, aran, suna, and hakuba. yaku is their libero. the others stand on the sidelines. “must be goin’ fer heavy hitters to blow past argentina’s blocks,” kita comments. osamu nods in agreement.

oikawa tooru is argentina’s starting setter. the whistle blows, and the match begins.

c’mon, guys. i know ya’ll can do it.

the first set doesn’t start off well. japan falls behind in the first half, falling short to argentina’s clean sets and spikes. hakuba is rotated to the back, and suna steps on, hands in front of him. he gets a hand on the spike, and sakusa receives it. atsumu sends it down the middle, suna jumping and rotating his torso to get around the block. japan gets the point.

his customers cheer. osamu hides a small fist pump under the counter. he shares a smile with kita. the commentators are just as excited as he is. “what an unbelievable spike from middle blocker suna rintarou! he’s known for his flexibility and game sense. will this give japan the push they need to get ahead?”

and he does. japan matches and overtakes argentina. kita claps at atsumu’s clean set to ushijima, who slams it down in the opposite court. the team huddles for a cheer and then take their positions. suna is back at the net, hands in front. his eyes widen at the camera pointed at him, and he rotates his fingers to form a heart, mouthing a message. he turns away at the whistle, but that’s enough for the world to see and wonder exactly what he said.

only osamu knows those words by heart.

japan takes the first and second set, but argentina comes back for the third. however, japan takes the fourth, after switching in hinata, and they cheer in celebration. argentina looks devastated, oikawa most of all, and osamu doesn’t miss how japan’s athletic trainer, iwaizumi, pats his arm off-court. he’s sure there’ll be more gestures once the cameras are turned away.

the customers begin to call for their bills and shuffle out. osamu gathers their dishes, kita helping despite osamu's protests, and it isn’t long before they’re the wiping tables clean. they listen to the post-game interview with the players, starting with aran, the captain, and then atsumu. finally, they talk to suna.

“you did an interesting gesture in the middle of the first set. would you like to explain what it means?”

osamu turns to watch. suna has a towel around his neck, hair unruly after the match. his voice doesn’t waver when he replies, “there’s a certain someone that i know is watching, and i wanted to let him know that i appreciate his support and love him.”

“is that related to what you said to the camera? fans are dying to know what you said, by the way.”

“yes, but that’s between me and him.” suna winks, turning slightly to face the camera again. “and if he’s watching – i know he is, by the way – i want him to know that i couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

the broadcast ends. osamu smiles to himself, adding his rag with the others. he’ll lock up, head home, and text the team his congratulations. atsumu will probably call him in the middle of the night, again, to put him on video as they celebrate. osamu will lose sleep, again, but it’s worth it, seeing his brother happy, seeing his best friend glowing, and of course, his boyfriend living his best dream.

watch me, 'samu.

osamu will never take his eyes off him.

---

inspired by this fanart of suna's gesture and osamu's reaction! <3

#flyingwargle original #drabble #haikyuu!!#haikyuu drabble #miya twins #miya atsumu #miya osamu #suna rintarou #olympics 2024 #paris 2024 #post timeskip #sunaosa #i did watch japan v. argentina but #don't remember specifically what happened anymore #poor oikawa my man deserves better #did you see that sliver of iwaoi #it's because i'm weak for them #fanart august

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choicesnovchallenge · 1 year

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This month, I encourage you to create any fanworks of your choice inspired by November holidays, fun facts and even create a birthday gift to the members of the fandom born in November. You can choose the prompt you vibe the most, pair up two or more prompts, combining them with prompts from Choices fandom events and other general prompt lists.

Holidays and Events

National Adoption Month

National Native American Heritage Month

No Shave November

Transgender Awareness Month

01. All Saints' Day / World Vegan Day / National Authors Day

02. Dia de Los Muertos

03. Sandwich Day / Cliché Day

04. Book Lovers Day

05. Bonfire/Fireworks Night / Destiel day (I'm sorry but there's no way I wouldn't include this iconic Tumblr holiday 😅)

08. Cook Something Bold Day

09. World Freedom Day

10. Forget Me Not Day

11. Singles Day

12. Diwali / Chicken Soup For The Soul Day

13. Ides of November (Festival Of Jupiter) / World Kindness Day

16. World Philosophy Day

17. Take A Hike Day

18. National Princess Day

20. Black Awareness Day

22. Music/Musicians Day / Go For A Ride Day

23. Thanksgiving / National Expresso Day

24. Black Friday / Buy Nothing Day

25. International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women

26. National Cake Day

28. French Toast Day

29. Lemon Cream Pie Day

Astronomical events

03. Jupiter at opposition - best day to see Jupiter and its moons (using a telescope)

13. Uranus at opposition - best day to see Uranus (using a telescope)

17-18. Leonids Meteor Shower (visible to the naked eye)

Facts

Birthstones: Topaz and Citrine

Flower: Chrysanthemum

Fruits: Apple, cranberry

Zodiac signs: Scorpio (until 21st) / Sagittarius (starting in Nov 22nd)

Birthday babes

04. whenyourheartskipsabeat

06. deb-1106

11. twinkle-320

16. jamespotterthefirst

17. peonyblossom

29. iaminlovewithtrr

29. katedrakeohd

30. kingliam2019

[gift suggestions]

#playchoices #play choices #choices game #choicesmonthlychallenge #choices fanfic #choices fanart #choices edits #choices moodboards #choicesnovember2023

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quaranmine · 5 months

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Letters from the Lookout #3 - Losing, Looking, Finding, Losing

(HC Firewatch AU snippets, 1,397 words)

Grian receives an unexpected phone call a month before he's set to start his new job as a fire lookout. CW: death/body but no worse than anything I've done to you in the main story

April 5, 1989

Grian arrives home around 6 PM, feeling worn and ragged at every edge. He closes the apartment door behind him and just leans against it, head tipped back and eyes closed, for a moment. It is quiet, except for the sounds of cars on the street below. He’s exhausted and he has to do it all again tomorrow.

He can’t wait to get out of here. The desire vibrates at the core of his being, extending out to all his limbs. He wants to pace until he wears a line in his living room rug. He wants to pack. He wants to pore over maps and make plans.

He doesn’t want to go to work. Not tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after. He’s so sick of it that the very idea turns his stomach. He hates the job, he hates his assignments, he hates his coworkers, he hates the commute, and he hates his boss.

But mostly he hates how utterly pointless it all is. He’s itching to leave. He’ll be out of here in just a few weeks, bound for the enigmatic forests of the Shoshone. He starts his new life training as a fire lookout on May 1st. He’s got the tentative job offer in hand and everything! Only his background check is pending, and he knows there’s no dirt to uncover there.

And he can’t hand in his resignation now, because he’s got to at least receive one more stupid paycheck. It’s such a shame he has to eat to live. He’d skip that part if he could.

Then suddenly the moment passes. Life goes on. He leans down and quickly unties his shoes. He casts them aside at the door with only the barest consideration that they don’t become a tripping hazard later. He sets his bag on the coffee table, careful to not crush the papers that litter the table underneath it.

He turns to the kitchen. He doesn’t want to cook, and he isn’t hungry right now, so he’ll probably just make himself a sandwich later tonight. He steps toward the kitchen to go wash his hands, but he notices something else that arrests his progress first.

There’s a light at the answering machine, meaning someone called him while he was at work. Few people other than telemarketers call him these days. Nor do they all know to leave a message. He sighs, lifts the phone to his ear, and presses play on the tape.

He freezes when the man on the other end starts talking.

“Hello, this is Walter Holt from the Shoshone National Forest Supervisor’s Office,” the man says. He continues, “I’m calling to give you a brief update about your friend’s case. I informed his family as well today.”

Grian subconsciously leans forward, into the words.

It can’t be good news. After a while, you get the sense for this kind of thing. A hundred little things might be off, from facial expression to body language. But now, over the phone, it’s simply tone.

“We received a report yesterday from a person who was scouting land for a mining claim around Forest Road 448. They thought they had found human remains. Our rangers were able to verify this report this morning.”

Grian closes his eyes as the room spins out from underneath him.

“I’m calling to let you know that this is something we are investigating in connection with your friend’s case. As you know, his vehicle was found at the Cloud Lake Trailhead off of road 448 and he was last seen in the area. We have not made a positive ID yet on the body. I will call to inform you of the results. If you have questions, please call me back at…”

There’s another message that has been left for him. He hits play on that one too, without even thinking about it. Desperation creeps over him.

Maybe it’ll be good news. Maybe they’ve called back to say actually, sorry, we made a mistake! Maybe it was all in a day’s work, solved and debunked before Grian even returned home from his job.

It’s not—but it isn’t bad news, either. It’s just more of the same. Mumbo’s mum called to tell him about the same thing. She’s always been good about that after a few key incidents where the Forest Service seemingly intentionally left Grian off the contact list. (He’s not family and some people only apparently want to contact the family.)

She sounds like she’s been crying again. He’ll have to call her back in the morning when the waking hours of their time zones line up. If he calls her now he’ll wake her up. Well, it’s more likely he wouldn’t wake her up at all right now, even in the middle of the night. He knows she barely sleeps. But he politely pretends to accept the lie that she is coping better than she actually is. God knows he’s the same.

Grian sets down the receiver with a tightly controlled movement.

Then he buries his face in his hands and tries not to hyperventilate.

This isn’t real. It can’t be. He can’t let it be. His best friend, actually dead. Gone. Never coming home.

And he’s, what—hearing about this from a phone call?

This can’t be a real thing that’s happening to him. Mumbo always pulls through. Mumbo is always there for Grian. Why wasn’t Grian there for him? Why did this happen?

He should have been there. He should have gone with Mumbo. He should have reported him missing the very second Mumbo was late to check-in, and not given him a few hours’ grace period. He shouldn’t have agreed to let the search crew suspend their efforts after three weeks; he should have pushed them, he should have fought them, he should have thrown a fit and gotten Mumbo found. He should have quit his job. He should’ve stayed in Wyoming all summer instead of coming back to Denver when the official search was over. What did he think he was going to accomplish by going there now, one year later?

He should have done everything differently. Maybe if he did, he would have his best friend standing in the kitchen next to him right now.

The only option is that it simply isn’t real. And if it isn’t real, then he can’t stop all of his efforts just because of a phone call.

They don’t know it’s Mumbo. The man on the phone told him there wasn’t an ID on the body yet, which means it could be anyone. It might not be him.

But if it isn’t Mumbo…then that means he’s still out there. Alone. Cold. Starving.

Grian feels no relief at the idea that Mumbo might still be out there. Nor does he feel any relief at the idea this person who’s been found might be him. This is it, all the time. There’s no good option. Every single option that exists is just endless, wrenching, agony.

If Mumbo is dead, then everything is just unthinkable. If he’s alive, then he’s probably suffering. Grian just wants the limbo to end so he doesn’t have to be here, thinking about it, but—not like this. Not like this. Not with a phone call and an unidentified body.

In just a moment, a flicker of anger passes through his mind. He grabs the nearest thing he can see on the counter—a napkin holder—then turns and throws it into the floor as hard as he can. It bounces once, and breaks. He stares at it for a moment, and then whirls around and kicks the kitchen chair as hard as he can. It clatters to the ground. He pants.

“Why me?” he says out loud to an empty room.

A few days later, he receives another phone call from the Forest Service. It wasn’t Mumbo, they tell him. The forensics team dated the remains to be far too old to be Mumbo’s, they say. They still don’t know who it is. The bones had been out there for years. Mumbo has only been missing for nine months.

Grian doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief. He already knew it wasn’t going to be true. He just practices packing his backpack, and counts down the days until he leaves this city behind to find Mumbo for real.

#hc_firewatch_au #hermitcraft #grian #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft au #quara fanfic

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vonev · 2 years

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Sweets

MW2, Simon “Ghost” RileyxReader fanfiction

A one-shot I dedicated a full night's rest to, amen.

Self-insert, AFAB, she/her pronouns.

Word count, 6230

—”Sweets.”

Everyone in the room turned to Ghost, his word taking a while to register in everyone’s mind.

“Why?” Gaz was the first to bring up the question everyone wanted to ask—he looked at Ghost and tilted his head.

“She likes sweets,” Ghost muttered.

You slowly fall in love with your first lieutenant in command.

______________________________________________________________

Love was always complicated: one-sided, reciprocated, or none at all.

You recall elementary school days; you had your eyes on a particular boy that sat beside you during classes. You two would always exchange shy glances, and both hands would always be so close yet far. The two of you had been young and naive to the true concept of love. But it had been nice; he would always wave at you after school before being sent home and shared the same table as you during lunch—sharing his food with you as well.

It was the purest form of love, yet so far from the truth of it.

You were transferred to a different school only a month after—something about your mother having an affair with the school principal, and your father had found out. You remember the argument your parents shared at the principal’s office; a couple of other teachers had peaked into the office to get an earful to fuel their gossip later, leaving you awkwardly standing to the side as you held your head down low.

When your father clasped his large palm around your small one and dragged you out of the office, you saw the boy walking around the corner—the two of you shared glances, and without knowing, it would've been the last time you ever saw him again.

He merely waved you an enthusiastic goodbye; the promise of sharing lunches the next day hung on his lips as he watched you leave through the front door with your father in hand.

You had no idea how much it meant to you, not until you recalled the memory years later, whilst enjoying a romance book—the evening dawn basking your figure as you sat in your chair on the balcony.

“If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets.”

For the whole evening that day, you wondered if the boy had ever thought of you, too.

It hadn’t taken long for you to find your next love; it was during secondary school when you were a freshman.

A surge of gossip circled around a particular sophomore student who won the national basketball championship with his team. It was a big deal, apparently—not to you, but even so, you could applaud his effort to achieve such a feat.

The way you two met was nothing short of cliche.

You were rushing down the empty school hallway; with a stack of paper sandwiched in a folder, clutched in your arms as you practically flew across the hallway. You rounded a sharp corner, and the next few seconds were a blur—you felt the file filled with papers flying out of your grasp as you landed on your butt, head hitting the corner of the wall; pain started blooming in your temple at the harsh impact.

You let out a string of curses as you registered your situation.

You bumped into someone, or rather, he bumped into you.

Your eyes squeezed open as they trailed toward the boy on the floor across from you. He was rubbing the back of his head as he slowly propped himself back up with his elbow; hisses spilt out of him as his eyes shot open. “Hey, you—” his irritated gaze landed on you, and as he took in the imagery in front of him, his eyes softened tenfold.

You tilted your head, hand reaching up to soothe the nagging headache. You were stunned—before remembering the purpose of running down the hallway in the first place.

You were late for class.

Panic ensued—you were totally screwed if you couldn’t attend Mrs Fellot’s class in time. Your arms reached out as you picked up the fallen file and scrambled to retrieve the scattered papers across the ground. You mumbled incoherent ‘oh nos’ and ‘fucks’ under your breath, so busy with collecting the sheets that you hadn’t noticed another hand reaching out, bumping into yours.

Your eyes flickered from the papers to the boy in front of you. His eyes shone a bright green as they pierced deep into your skin, and his lips hung open as though he had words to say. But you only cocked an eyebrow at him and went back to gathering the layer and layer of written scripts from the floor. The boy’s hand froze in place, unknowing of what to do. You stood back up a minute later, and all the papers were now comfortably seated in your file.

Before you leave the scene, your eyes trail his hunched-over form, and you both share glances at each other as you soon dart away down the hallway.

You had been late to class that morning.

Mrs Fellot gave you detention for being a minute late to her class, and as a student, you had no choice but to glue your butt to your seat and accept your fate as your classmates gave you looks of pity.

Around lunchtime, the boy from earlier approached your table as you were seen picking and prodding at your food—you had no appetite for the food they provided at school. He invited himself into the seat across from you; you hadn’t even noticed his presence until you heard a snap of his fingers in front of your face. You perked up at the noise, your cautious gaze recognising the pair of bright green ones that faced you.

Your lips pulled into a sneer as you looked at him, displeased at the event that unfolded that morning. And for that entire lunchtime, you both bantered with each other, throwing light-hearted insults—that wasn’t to say you have forgiven him for the detention you received because of him, but your mood was no longer soured for the rest of the day.

You both found out later that he had gotten detention from his teacher for being late, too.

Detention that day was blissful because he had been there by your side.

And so, your 9th-grade love story unfolded.

He would meet you for lunch every day and walk you home from school so he could wave you goodbye at your front door. Once, he had gotten into trouble with his coach because he abandoned his practice just to meet you in the school’s backyard and spend leisure time with you as you both chatted about everything and anything.

It wasn’t until he had confessed his feelings to you one day when you noticed the little things he did—He looked at you with such fondness in his eyes and would become a puddle of gush at your shoulder brushing against his, or whenever you’d lock gaze with him, his eyes would trail toward your lips as you rambled his ears away.

You had your first kiss that day of the confession, behind the school, tucked away in the corner of the backyard that no one knew of—except for the two of you.

After that day, he would frequently drag you to his basketball practice; it was as if he was showing you off to the entire school—putting you on the throne as his one and only queen and he, the king.

You both were known as the high school sweethearts—many would come to tell the stories of whenever they’d find you huddled away, whispering sweet nothings to each other and giggling at one another’s jokes.

It had felt like a dream; you both spoke of goals to achieve whilst your fingers would lock together, invading each other’s personal space—but it felt right, and to be honest? It felt as though you both could conquer the world with your love.

The feelings lasted for what felt like an eternity.

As passionate as the love had been—it was fragile.

Rumours would fly around school about him hanging out with another girl, but you brushed them away and took them as that—rumours.

You had all your trust in him to not betray the love you two shared so intimately.

To be frank, you wore rose-tinted glasses whenever you were around him.

And it wasn’t until one day in your junior year when your best friend pulled you into the restroom and looked at you with worry that swarmed her eyes.

“He’s cheating on you.”

You almost couldn’t believe it. After all, you both had been together for years by then—2, to be exact. So why would someone, especially him, throw his love for you down the drain? So naturally, your best friend grew frustrated with you, but she never gave up on proving you wrong. Unfortunately for her, your boyfriend at the time had been a slimy bastard. He would be seen with another girl one second and be alone the other—it was difficult to catch him in the act, to say the least.

But it hadn’t taken her long before she thought of a fool-proof plan.

The school’s backyard.

She teamed up with a friend of hers—and it took much convincing to get the other girl involved. First, it took a few days of the girl reaching out to your boyfriend through his social media, then his personal phone number and a couple of sly glances shared with each other in the school’s hallway before he agreed to meet up with her in the backyard.

Specifically, the corner you and him shared over the years.

Your best friend had been delirious when she approached you one day at school; she took your hand before abruptly dragging you along the school hallways and toward the infamous backyard. Of course, you were angry at her; admittedly, you had no idea why she had been trying to prove to you the things that never happened: your boyfriend cheating being the case.

It didn’t take long for your clouded conscience to be shattered.

As it took a quick glance at the little corner of heaven you had been building with your boyfriend over the years to see one of the worst things you had laid your eyes on.

Your boyfriend hunched over another small frame of a girl as he took her in for a kiss.

You were deaf to the gasp that the girl let out. At that moment, it felt like all your senses had been stolen—buried away somewhere you could barely reach with your fingertips. He had turned around at the surprised yelp the girl beneath him let out; following her gaze, it landed on you: the love of his life.

You looked devoided of life, and the pang of hurt he experienced was nothing short of minuscule—it hurt .

It hurt to see you glance into his eyes, the love and tenderness your glances held gone in an instant. It hurt to see you pick up your feet and walk away from the scene, your best friend throwing him dirty looks as she tugged your arm in hers and took you away from him.

He had been angry, had tried chasing after you—but your friend dragged you into the nurse’s office and lost him in the crowd of students in the hall.

For the first time in your friend’s life, she saw you break down. Not with tears, but the mere image of your sunken, depressing gaze and you barely holding your head up high made her almost regret she had shown you anything, almost .

She knew it was the right thing to do, and if the shoes were switched, you would’ve done the same. She loved you, and it pained her to see you losing your spirit for the next month. You barely ate, conversed with others and hadn’t had a good night’s rest for a whole month.

Heartbreak was a bitch.

Throughout the first few months, your ex would attempt to find ways to talk to you: whether it would be during breakfast hours, lunchtime, or even the house parties you attended. He would always be there, stalking your steps and watching your every move.

It wasn’t until he graduated before you that he stopped bothering you.

And you?

You had hardly shed a tear during post-breakup, and it only took you another half a month before you were back to being, well, you.

Just without the pep in your steps you had when you were in love.

The school years passed by in a blink of an eye, and soon, you were graduating.

You found yourself submitting an application to be enlisted in the military: you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps, as he had been nothing short of the perfect father figure you could ever ask for. It only had taken a few months before you were mailed a letter from the military: you had been accepted.

The grin you wore as you rushed downstairs and flashed your father the letter you received; he had been so happy that he gave you the tightest hug he could muster.

You told your best friend, of course.

You two had stuck through thick and thin during and after secondary school—and even whilst she was in another state studying for college, you both never failed to send each other silly texts; your private messaging app served as a placeholder for her notes, whether it’d be school or just love letters she received from girls over the years.

She was an endearing presence to you, and you swore to her that you would never leave her side as you both grew old.

The love you both shared differed from the previous— whilst passionate and exciting, it had been overwhelming. No, the love you shared with your best friend was one of endearment, respect and understanding. You learnt that love wasn’t only exclusive to one between two significant others but also between those that mattered to you.

It had been half a decade since you last contacted your best friend.

You two grew apart gradually due to the difficulty of your busy schedules; you both weren’t always able to take the time out of your stressful days to sit down and chat with each other—catch up and whatnot.

The military had been way more stress-inducing than you realised; you worked your ass off to be where you are today—second lieutenant in command.

The first droplet of tears you had was when you were being put through a brutal in-action training course.

You had been sent out to the field with a task force to take care of a local drug ring and were told to eliminate possible threats before they spiral into something worse. That was when you first rode a helicopter, too.

Action sprung into life when the aircraft landed on American soil before your feet had even touched the ground.

Bullets were flying through the air above you, one barely grazing the skin of your arms as it punctured through the fabric of your uniform. Your captain at the time pulled your team away to a safe spot tucked inside a house that sheltered all of you— most of you.

One of your comrades had gotten caught in the crossfire and died an unfortunate death upon entering the field: bleeding to death. None of you had the time to mourn over her death and hurried away as your captain led you all to an advantageous ground. You were situated on the roof of the building, prone as you teased the trigger of your rifle with your fingertip, your crosshair hovered over an enemy’s head—the perfect shot.

Whilst you were focused on taking down your target with the precision of a falcon, your team had been ambushed. To none of your knowledge, one of the enemies managed to slip into the building without being spotted and picked you all off one at a time. Although he was soon killed by your captain, more had swarmed the building and overwhelmed your team.

Yet, despite the odds, your team came out on top—skillfully eliminating them a wave at a time.

You placed a bullet through what you assumed was the last enemy’s head before you turned to your captain—only the two of you remained during the whole combat, the others K.I.A. Though as devastated as you were, you carried out the mission beautifully with the aid of your captain.

He had his hand on your slumped shoulder, his face prideful as he gave you one of the brightest smiles you’d ever seen.

One moment, you watched as he ruffled your head and gave you a hearty chuckle.

The next, you saw red painted the front of his uniform—right where his heart would be.

You still remembered the weight of his large body as he fell on you like a heavy sack of potatoes, the quiet murmurs you voiced as you let your mind soak the situation. Your captain, dead, with a bullet through his heart.

His blood, your red-tinted hands as you pushed him to the side and pressed against his wound, the red you saw in your eyes when you felt the shaky barrel of a gun pressed against the back of your head. The red you felt in you when you tackled the enemy to the ground, of the enemy’s blood spilt on the floor, and the red that decorated the child’s head.

The child.

To say you were horrified was a mere understatement.

When you came to your senses, you were beyond mortified .

You murdered a child.

The ache you felt in your heart constantly stabbed at you like a mother’s anguish; you couldn’t imagine your future child suffering the same fate. It pained you; it did.

That night, you mourned over the lives deserving of death—and those that were not.

You recall how you picked up a discarded shovel found on the side of the road, how you carried the body of the child and walked to the garden you found tucked away behind the building, how you worked to dig up the dirt and buried the child. You had taken a look at the child, and from what you could see, he seemed like a sweet one. Your heart had been torn apart at the thought of having to bury a child soldier.

The child soldier you murdered.

You remember calling in for extraction as you sat in the garden near where you had buried the child and sobbed away. The extraction team struggled to find you—and assumed you died whilst calling for them, but one had stumbled upon you, hunched over with your arms hugging your knees, wailing.

You couldn’t stomach food for the next few weeks, only consuming water and sweetened drinks for nutrition—or the lack thereof. Everyone back at the base had said you were cold and distant and would actively refrain from joining fun base activities.

You had even turned down the invitation to go to a bar with others, which, if you had been yourself, you would’ve accepted the invitation in a heartbeat.

It was a surprise you lasted for weeks without food and still had the energy to be deployed for more missions. And even more surprising when you returned from every task, and all of it had been successful despite the odds you were given.

The news of your spectacular performance reached the ears of many; the higher-ups had gotten a few words of your feat and decided to promote you gradually as you kept on attending missions and completing demanding tasks.

It was how you ended up in Task Force-141.

This force was a strange bunch; you had never seen a team with this many varying personalities collide at many times of the day yet work so well with each other.

When you were told Captain Price wanted to recruit you into his task force, you politely declined the offer at first—not willing to deal with the heavy-hitting tasks they were usually assigned. The news of your rejection had broken out within the base—rumours had flown from ear to ear. It had felt like being back in 9th grade again when most students would engage in gossip in the school’s hallway.

Many had approached you during your free time in pursuit of hurling question after question at you; some of the questions threatened your right to privacy.

“How’d Captain Price approach you?”

You had no clue yourself. He asked for your presence in his office one day and offered you the chance.

“Why’d you decline it?”

Because you wanted less of the mental torment and even less of the bloodshed you would have to endure.

“I would’ve taken the chance in a heartbeat if I was you.”

That question felt like a jab at your choice, more than just a simple question.

“Did you think you weren’t good enough?”

You remembered the red mark you left on his face after he had said that to you, feeling the stinging pain in your palm as he rubbed his cheek and cursed at you before lunging forward. But there were eyes, and the eyes moved—he was dragged away soon after before he was able to land a hit on you.

You hadn’t missed the dirty glances some people stole at you when they thought you weren’t looking.

The second time you had been summoned to Captain Price’s office, his offer to recruit you into his task force was one of desperation. They had been struggling with an ongoing operation, and he explained how your help would greatly benefit the two parties involved: you and the task force.

He even went as far as to drag you to the briefing with his squad the following day; irritation gnawed at your mood as the day would’ve been an off-day for you if it wasn’t for the briefing.

You had been a few minutes late, but as you placed your hand on the large door, you exhaled and pushed it open.

Eyes immediately fell on you.

Unfamiliar faces stared you down.

You felt like you had barged into the wrong briefing for a second as silence dangled in the air, your eyes searched for Captain Price’s, and it wasn’t long before you found his gaze. Relief washed over you, thanking the heaven above that you were saved from potential embarrassment and greeted Captain Price before taking an unoccupied seat for yourself.

“Hey, that seat’s reserved.” you heard a monotonous tone from your right, and you turned to him. You held his gaze in yours as you bore into him with your staring. He broke away soon after—you noticed his adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

A few seconds later, the door creaked open.

You adjusted your sight, eyes trailing toward the person that had just entered.

He was tall, standing at 6’4 in height from what you saw, well-built, and kept to himself as he chose to lean against the wall to his left instead of picking a seat. The whole time you had your eyes on him—his never left yours. And when you caught his gaze in yours, it felt like those sunken, dark eyes of his spoke to you.

For once in your time, you communicated with someone without spilling a word.

“Ghost, you’re late.” Price’s voice had severed the tension between you two.

Ghost, huh.

As your eyes found him again, you could understand the meaning behind the callsign.

Those eyes of his never left your mind for quite a while.

It was hard to avoid; you weren’t able to if you had wanted. You had accepted Price’s recruitment offer when he extended it to you once more after the briefing, you agreed with what they had planned, and you promised to carry it out.

Sweets were the callsign they had given to you within the first week of you all working together. You had a keen liking for sweets—and the task force members would occasionally catch you with your hand in a sweets jar more often than not.

You all had a conversation over what your callsign would be, and everyone racked their exhausted brain for ideas until a husky, deep voice put down a suggestion—

—”Sweets.”

Everyone in the room turned to Ghost, his word taking a while to register in everyone’s mind.

“Why?” Gaz was the first to bring up the question everyone wanted to ask—he looked at Ghost and tilted his head.

“She likes sweets,” Ghost muttered, his eyes lingering on your face before he continued, “Caught her sneaking around the kitchen at midnight looking for sweets more than once this week.”

Heat flooded your face, and you were sure you resembled the colour of a tomato at how embarrassed you felt being exposed to your comrades.

“You do, too!” In a poor attempt at biting back, you also called Ghost out on his bullcrap. “You were in the kitchen yesterday night with your head in the sweets cabinet,” you narrowed your eyes at him as he stared at you, almost dumbfounded.

“Because you have been dwindling our sweets supply—” before he could resume, you cut him off. “ You had your hand shoved deep in the choco pie boxes,” you scoffed. “Don’t play dumb, lieutenant.”

Ghost shrugged at your words, “Gotta finish the sweets before you do—” At that, you stood up from your seat, hand slammed onto the table as you shoved the accusation back at him. “You finished a whole jar of the Cadbury picnic bars. I was saving those for myself, asshole.”

“Should’ve finished it yourself before I had my hands on them, love.”

“I’ll fucking finish you first—”

“Enough,” Soap had gotten up from his seat at the table, his choice of liquor in his hand as he shook his head at the two of you. “Aye, I’m done with listening to them flirt with each other. Gaz, let’s head out yea?” his words slurred, you were sure whilst you and ghost argued back and forth—he had been taking way too many sips from his bottle. Gaz held his hands up in defeat, then followed Soap out of the kitchen.

Price sat at the end of the table, his head in his hand as he observed the situation in front of him. And when both your gazes fell on him, he felt an immense pressure to get away from the table and escape the kitchen.

From then on, you started labelling your jars with your callsign—yet as time had proven you right again and again, you could never catch Ghost in the act of stealing from your sweets jar.

And the time you did—

It rained cats and dogs that night, thunderstruck loud and hard. You always had a difficult time being embraced by sleep, and when it did come, you usually would wake up sweating from a rough nightmare.

Tonight was no exception, and before you knew it, you found yourself walking down the stairs and toward the kitchen. You could use some nice Cadbury chocolate in your mouth right about now.

But as you steadily approached the kitchen, you noticed the lights were on—and you immediately cling to the wall beside you as you glide along the textured surface. Your head peeked around the corner, eyes searching for any signs of a potential break-in. As you neared the kitchen, however, you spotted a large man sitting at the kitchen bar. He had his back turned to you, and you noticed his exposed hair.

He had no mask on.

You tilt your head at the strange view and clear your throat, alerting him of your presence. He lightly jolted at the noise and shot his hand out to collect his balaclava before pulling it over his head.

Weird.

Usually, he would’ve been able to sense you even if you had been miles away from where he sat. But tonight, something seemed off. You shrugged and walked into the kitchen, immediately reaching for the sweets cabinet and pulling out one of your favourites: Maltesers. You hummed in glee and grabbed a few more into your hands.

You turned around and could feel the stress emitting off him like strong tides.

For some reason, the sight of Ghost being sad shot a pang through your chest—as if it had been personal to you.

“Can I sit next to you?” your voice quiet, not wanting to startle the burly man that seemed deep in his thoughts, his head hung low.

You took his silence as a response and sat beside him at the kitchen bar. You tore open the packaging of your sweets and nibbled on it, savouring the taste. You glanced quickly at the man beside you and jumped when you saw that he had been staring at you, having a go at it with the sweets. You didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes flickered from your face to the chocolate in your hand and back to your face.

Amusement flashed across your eyes, and you reached your hand out, offering him the sweets.

It took him a while to react, but after a few more alternating glances, he took the bar from your hand and stared at you.

“What?” you cocked your eyebrow at his odd reaction.

“Look away, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not gonna bite if you take your mask off in front of me,” you decided to push his buttons further—to fish a reaction out of the man. “Why,” you leaned in, your face now halfway from where you sat. “You’re ugly?”

He chuckled.

Love has a way of finding you.

Wherever you are—whenever you were.

You just hadn’t expected it to manifest in the form of a tough, bulky man who had his heart closed to the world.

You knew Ghost was a man that preferred to be left alone, but on the occasions, his walls would be down, letting you get a glimpse of who he was.

And that night, as you both shared bars of chocolate over the kitchen bar, you knew he was worth getting to know about.

It would happen again and again.

Nights where you both would find yourselves in each other’s company, enjoying the comfortable silence that lingered around. Nights where you both talked about your favourite sweets, music, show—favourite person.

He had said he didn’t exactly have one, but you had a suspicion you knew who he treasured the most—because it wasn’t a person, it was the entire task force.

You recalled the memories you had with your best friend— ex , best friend. You weren’t sure if she had remembered you still after years of no calls, texts, or wind of each other. But you cherished the sweet moments during the times you needed them.

Ghost wouldn’t admit it, but when he was with you, he wasn’t Ghost—no, he was Simon whenever you would share trinkets of your memories with each other. His usual uptight demeanour progressively softened over the many nights at the kitchen bar; his eyes would drink in your face as you told your stories. Making mental notes of the way your smile would tug at your lips, the way your eyes would water at the emotional talks, how you seemed to know ways to comfort him with just your presence.

And whenever each of you felt down, you would seek each other’s company.

You sneezed; the sudden cold air blow sent chills to your core. Ghost’s head snapped toward you, his gaze visibly concerned, and he watched as you cowered underneath the thick blanket you both were sharing.

You two had been in his room, watching the reruns of Modern Family, when you suddenly felt under the weather. You hadn’t had time to take care of yourself recently—between the assignments you were deployed for and the countless paperwork you had to finish by a tight deadline, you barely had 5 hours of sleep every night for the past weeks.

Ghost had seen it coming from miles away: the darkening eyebags around your eyes, your usual casual nature now dissipated, leaving only a shell of you that operated on a routine.

He let out a long exhale, his arms reaching out to tuck you into the blanket even more.

But as you peered at him with those fluttering lashes, he groaned and moved to sit behind you. He adjusted his position and laid you down on top of him, your head flushed against his chest—and you refrained from fidgeting as you felt his toned yet soft muscles underneath you.

Your head was screaming.

Yet as he cradled your smaller frame into his larger one, you felt safe—like you belonged.

You sighed, letting yourself completely relax against him. He placed a hand on your head, rubbing comfort into your temple in the motion of circles.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

The noises coming from the TV soon gradually muffled as your eyes threatened to close every passing second. The deadly combination of Ghost rubbing all the right spots on your head and his warm, large arms around your figure coarse you into a deep, peaceful slumber.

And ever since then, you’d find yourself in similar positions with Ghost—in his room, him with his arms around you and giving you the comfort you so desperately needed.

So, here you were.

You and Ghost were wrapped around the two of you underneath the thick blanket. Reruns of the show you were watching had been long forgotten; instead, the two of you looked into each other’s gaze.

Your hand rubbed small, comforting circles into his cheek—he practically melted under you. It had been about half a year since you joined Task Force-141; after the first mission, you had ultimately decided to stick with the team—strangely enough, they all accepted you as though you were family.

Sure, missions hadn’t gotten easy over time, but the bonds you managed to kindle made up for all of it. The countless nights all of you would spend losing your minds at a local bar—the constant lighthearted bantering that never seemed to cease. You lost count of how many times you had to drag Soap out of a bar before he went and flirted with anything that moved, the numerous times when you had to pull Gaz out of a dangerous situation during high-risk missions—not to mention whenever Price would go off and try to get himself killed just to save one of you. When you had him seated at the debriefing, you made sure to give him an earful anytime he attempted something idiotic for the lives of others, even if it had been for his team.

But, you would never take one thing for granted—

—Ghost stirred in his position, changing the angle of his body so he could get the optimised comfort. You watched as he nudged your hand with his face; amid your daydreaming, you had stopped caressing his cheek.

You feel the nervousness churning in your stomach, thoroughly giving your following words more thought.

You knew that you had grown feelings for the man for quite a while now—from the joking banter down to the bold flirting you both shared, it was as though every time you were with each other, you had your own bubble.

One that you would be too afraid to pop.

“Ghost–”

“Simon.”

Huh?

Did you hear that right?

Staring into the eyes of the man whose heart had been closed off to everyone—you were in shock. The sight of him finally opening up to you had been unfathomable since you first thought about it—he was a tough man to crack and an even tougher man to understand.

“My name’s Simon, love.”

His voice was soft as silk, with the undeniable hint of tenderness he reserved only for you as he continued to gaze into your eyes with such a yearning that you couldn’t believe it had been for you.

Your other hand shakily reached up to cup his face into both hands, feeling the smooth texture of the balaclava he still wore under your fingertips. Your eyes scanned his feature for any deceit—there were none.

He was as genuine as is.

And you couldn’t help the tear that slipped your eye; you had waited for this moment for quite a while now—

“Simon,” you took a fleeting breath, “I like you.”

Simon sighed, and for a moment, your calm facade was slowly falling apart—did he change his mind? Had he been lying all this time? But your doubts were short-lived as Simon reached his hand up and lifted his skull-printed balaclava off.

It was him.

The man you adored so much in blood and flesh,

You felt his rough skin with your fingers as you explored every nook and cranny of his face with all that you could. Your finger brushed his lips; they were surprisingly soft and very kissable.

As though he could read your mind, he closed the little distance you both had, and the next thing you know: he had his lips on yours.

Love was always complicated: one-sided, reciprocated, or none at all.

But as you shared an intimate, passionate kiss with Simon.

You knew you had found the one to share your never-ending love with.

And you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

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