#signature air of superiority

[lunarw0rks]

Hiiiii❤️ I idk if this is a Drabble or a headcaon but here I go anyways😅 . Hear some context So you don’t think I’m some weirdo. So in the 2017 movie called the babysitter and this character Allison got shot in the b00b and she “omg he shot me in the b00b what kind of dçk shots a girl in the b00bs” (funny scene) so basically fem!reader with platonic!taskforce141. And there on a mission and suddenly they hear the same line on their coms and they’re like 😳

(feel free to ignore)

A/N: LMAO - I had to look up the scene for this as a reference. Just picturing Price's paternal disappointment when he realizes his team acts like a bunch of children. Sorry, this is rlly short!

Summary: Your attempt at comedic relief sets off a chain reaction of immaturity.

Warning(s): platonic!141, canon-typical mild injury, suggestive language, AFAB!Reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 554

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver. | PART TWO

No Filter // 141 Drabble

Compared to some of the other operations you’d done with them, this was a piece of cake. A simple infiltrate and exfil mission where you’d be clearing house in one of Hassan’s safehouses—a mere breadcrumb leading to the man himself.

Price thought it would go smoothest if everyone split up, but to keep within shouting distance. It was only a small facility, after all.

Being ambushed? Shot? That was not something you saw in the cards for today.

Luckily, you got a bullet in him before he had a chance to do worse. But here you were, slumped against the wall with all the air knocked out of your lungs.

“Heard the shots, Sergeant. You broken?”

Captain Price’s voice crackled through near instantly, the second he had pulled the trigger on you. Though it took a few seconds, you managed to recuperate, and asses the room in front of you. The man who shot you K.I.A, and you very fortunate.

You peered down at your chest; indeed not broken, but injured. The vest had absorbed the shot, causing a relieved sigh to escape your lips. Obviously, if you really had a bullet in your chest, you wouldn’t just be sitting there—but the adrenaline of escaping death eliminated any rationality.

You unbuttoned the first few buttons on your shirt, seeing a welt on your breast as if the man had his gaze set on them when he pulled the trigger. Still, with your hand on the button of your radio, you finally gave some sort of answer.

“Bastard shot me in the boobs.” It was a mumble, but there was no way in hell they didn’t hear that.

As you winced, you seemed to forget that the entire team was on the other line—probably way more concerned with your life than the health of your tits. “What kind of dick shoots a girl in the boobs?” You asked rhetorically, despite the astonished silence on the other line.

“You were shot in your…?” Gaz was the first to speak up, his tone practically painting the picture of his signature squint.

Before the next voice chimed in, you could swear you heard whoever it was stifling a laugh. “Thanks for that.” Soap chimed in, accent crackling against the static. His smirk was visible even if his words; the natural flirt in him coming out no matter what.

Ghost had remained silent, probably muting his comms so he didn’t have to listen to this. And Price? Oh, Price… He’s got his head in his hands with pure disappointment. How did this status update turn so unprofessional, so quickly?

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Soap comes in again, a smug sneer on his face. “He shot you on the—”

“Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Price blurts, interrupting the immature banter daring to be further set in motion. He was fighting every urge to crack a smile at the pure ridiculousness, but his poker face and stern tone prevented it.

“Tactical or not, John, it’s a tough break.” Laswell comes in, your only saving grace against Price’s father-like disappointment. She was the last superior of yours you’d expected to find it humorous, but she did, nonetheless.

This would definitely be the source material for the next HR meeting, you could see it now.

[itsvelyria]

"alternate universes w the f1 drivers"

Charles Leclerc

A tense atmosphere hangs in the still air of the conference room. The guards of the neutral faction glance at each other, be that in trepidation or anticipation, you couldn't give two hoots. If you had a little more presence of mind, perhaps you would have scoffed at the sight of such timidity. But your attention had been focused on one thing even before you stepped foot into the room - Leclerc, the commander of your universes' nemesis and your self-proclaimed enemy. Even as both your universes teetered on the brink of a cosmic conflict over some glowing orb of unfathomable power, you could see nothing but his equally unwavering stare boring into you. It was a battlefield of carefully chosen words and tempered anger, the kind you were terrible at, and a desperate attempt to find common ground in the midst of interdimensional tension. Memories of recent battles played like vivid flashbacks in your mind – your successful conquering of New York, and then counted with major loss suffered in the faraway battlegrounds of Thailand at his hands. The friction between you two mirrored the larger conflict, a reflection of the cosmic struggles that had engulfed your universes. Each word uttered by your superiors and his felt like a strategic move on a celestial chessboard, with the stakes higher than ever. The table, littered with holographic projections and tactical maps, became a battlefield of its own, an arena for diplomatic warfare. Amid the charged atmosphere, you two stood tall as commanders of your respective armies, your universes hanging in the balance, and the fate of countless lives rested on the outcome of this uneasy negotiation.

Carlos Sainz

You can't stop the sly smile from spreading on your lips when one of your maids discreetly places a charcoal-coloured envelope next to your plate. The conversation about the northern harvest abruptly fades as your eyes lock onto the crimson seal adorned with an embossed helm, an unmistakable insignia of authority. The seemingly simple package, however, emanates opulence, from the shimmering paper to the vibrant pigment of the wax. It speaks of a wealth only a king could possess - the Ruler of the Underworld, your husband. Beside you, your mother's disapproval is palpable, her eyes narrowing at the sight of the letter from your elusive beloved. Despite her repeated skepticism regarding the legitimacy of your marriage, a quiet rebellion has taken root in your heart, growing into a conspicuous flower that refuses to be overlooked. In a huff, your mother excuses herself, unable to endure the presence of the offensive missive on her table. Meanwhile, you handle the delicate task of peeling the seal with utmost care. The pages that spill out consume your entire morning, each carefully chosen word and artfully crafted sentence nurturing the burgeoning emotion within you, a fervent longing for the man. Tracing the signature at the end, the cursive letters spelling Carlos's name evoke the vivid memory of him signing his name on the palm of your hand that teary evening before your departure.

Danny Ricciardo

Your workshop is beyond cluttered. You know this. And on usual days, you don’t mind it in the least bit. But when you can’t find the only wrench that works, it is basically hell for you. You rifle through bags of nails and bolts, wondering if it is possible for a black hole to open at random to steal one’s only good tool. The plastic baggie of sequins that you bought to adorn Danny’s suit as a prank explodes as you toss it to the ground harshly, decorating the air with pink metallic confetti. Your hands pause over the table, eyes pressed closed in the hopes that your temper will settle itself magically. It doesn’t. But the door to your workshop does open, and the cheery voice of your partner asks if there is a party going on. You turn to him with the deadliest expression you can muster, telling him that you aren’t in the mood for jokes. “Will coffee help?” he asks, his unruly curls pushed up by the goggle on his head, holding up a mug. You feel the tension in you jaw loosen and nod, taking the metal cup from him gratefully. The amazing coffee smell wafts into the air as you open the lid and take a sip. He asks what you were looking for, already sweeping up the sequins from the floor as you collapse into your stool to enjoy the caffeine. You tell him in-between mouthfuls of the precious liquid. “I told you to keep your station clean,” he wags a finger at you in mock lecture. “And I told you I’d do it when you clean out your closet,” you shoot back bitingly. He sticks out a tongue at you as he dumps the collected sequins into the trash. Danny holds his hand out for the empty mug like he does on the coffee run he insists on doing for you every day. “Your wrench is right there by the way.” You swivel in the direction the pilot points, spying the goddamn tool right there beside the toolbox. A curse spills from your lips. “Love you too,” your boyfriend presses a kiss to your cheek as he leaves the door, already late for his practice session.

George Russell

The colossal estate towers over you in a show of intimidation, even more so than 17 years ago when you were deposited at the front door and it was introduced as your new home. Perhaps it was the fact that in the room with the round window on the second floor, sat the very man who had shaped you into the officer you were today, someone you would forever be indebted to and the folder in your hands had to power to ruin his life's work. Your feet propels you forward, the duty you were sworn to uphold taking charge over the fog that clouded your perception now. In the ancient study room, you greet your adoptive father whose eerily calm composure hints at his awareness of the purpose of your visit. And so you lay it out. The mosaic of the photographs and documents, the tangled threads of your past and his lay out in the open. Taking out the last photograph, you pause to study the profile of the man who should have been in your place, the cheeky look in his eyes and the impish charm glaring through the still image. You slide the photograph across the desk, utterly still as the man behind it scrutinizes it. The air hangs heavy with the unspoken words, the undeniable connection that lingered between you three, and imaginary weight of your disclosure pressing down on your throat at the very moment. You were well aware of the ruin that could be brought upon you with this discussion and yet you were still here, confessing the sins of his child to him. His response is stoic, the same measured tone that rings through your ears when you screw up. "Do what you must." The words hang over your head as you exit the manor, already on the phone with your superior officer for a warrant request for a George Russell.

Lando Norris

The daily Elemental assembly meeting was something you dreaded with a passion. 6 elements, all with wildly different personalities and priorities engaged in what you can only describe as immortal combat. Today's battle amongst the jewel-toned silks emblazoned with your crests was over the luscious piece of untouched land up north. You slammed your hands on the table as the Head of the Fire elements begins detailing the plan his council had drafted for the beautiful plot of soil. If he wanted to build a fucking heat machine, he could do it over your dead body. The unjustified stare he shoots you should send normal people back-pedalling into their opinions, except you were not "normal people". Unlike all the other heads here, you have had the terrible misfortune of being Lando's classmate all throughout your schooling years. It has been ruthless threats and one-upping each other since your first childhood memory. When he was elected head of his kind, you too were appointed leader of yours. And thus started a new chapter in your rivalry that continued to this present moment. You slam the car door angrily, muttering under your breath at the infuriating man and his stubborn opinions. "I thought we agreed not to bring work outside of the building." Your husband slides into the seat beside you, his scarlet orange suit blinding your vision as you shoot him a dry look. "Let's get lunch before my council meeting with the fire elders." The nonchalant tone rings through your ear drums and you feel it water down the rage that was blazing in you. "You have a community session right?", followed by "Shall we watch that movie you've been talking about tonight?" and the fire washes away completely.

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis doesn’t like this. The lumpy seats provide no support and the intrusion into his life is not something to just get used to. But it means he can continue to chase the dream of playing bass around the world, so he settles into the interview. Surprisingly, the interviewer was interested in more than his gym routine and the rockstar life, posing a question about his time in music school, more specifically the conservatory where he played the violin. And so, he recalls the late-night practice sessions and composing classes where is almost tore out all his hair, all his memories leading to the same person. The interviewer brings the topic to his final year showcase, the culmination of his studies and the last fond memory of sharing the stage with his favourite musician. “I understand you are friends with the pianist of the San Francisco Symphony,” the leading statement loaded with intention even as the interviewer shoots him her most brilliant smile. Lewis laughs. He can’t help it as he thinks of how you were probably watching this and spamming him with messages right now. He agrees with the interviewer, thinking of his confidante all the way in a different state at this moment, staying up late to watch the interview. “Just friends then?” The prompt sends him into a fit of giggles even as he answers. But he thinks of the flowers he sends for every single one of your performances and concerts, receiving a call from you afterwards with a selfie and he knows, that deep down, even as his lips define it as a friendship, his very soul knows it wants more than that with you.

Max Verstappen

You would kill Yuki one day. And if you didn’t, you would turn yourself a ghost and push him into a hole somewhere for ditching you at lunch. He knew damn well how you felt about being alone in a crowded Great Hall and the little spitball was still nowhere to be found. Damned betrayer. Gripping your books tightly, you wondered if it was too late to escape to the library. The sudden pressure around your wrist comes out of nowhere and you jump, instinctively glaring at the offender. Max releases your wrist at the sharp look and suddenly, you miss the warmth of his palm on your skin. You mentally slap yourself as you glance to the side and meet a familiar pair of eyes. Your sister sends a small smile in greeting, her canary yellow-trimmed robes rustling as she does. “I need a favor,” your friend poses the statement at you once the sharp look softens into something you won’t name. “What is it?” you ask, not trusting your voice. “Tutor me in runes tonight,” his reply comes instantly, though it sounds more like a demand. Your sister reacts to this by grabbing her boyfriend’s arm in confusion. “You are having trouble in runes?” Watching the exchange, you feel yourself inching away from the potential couple fight. What stops you, is Max turning to you and repeating the question. You can see your sister roll her eyes out of the corner of your mind and determining it as an okay sign, you agree before your brain can point out everything wrong with this scenario. You collapse onto the empty bench at your house's table, and like the devil he is, Yuki appears. At the sight of his happy beam, you are once again reminded of why you do not lunch alone.

[multifandomimagin3s]

That'll do, MacTavish

Requested by Anon

Summary: You're Soap MacTavish's sibling, and he finds out you have a crush on Ghost.

A/N: Reader is a medic, I tried to keep this gender-neutral

From a young age, you and Johnny had been practically attached at the hip; throughout your school years, he was always there watching out for you - claiming it was his duty as your big brother. He always tried to protect you from anyone and anything, and he knew that you would do the same. You told each other everything...well, almost everything.

Your blossoming relationship with Ghost had blindsided the both of you - he was a closed-off man, who didn't accept his feelings for you for a while; he knew what a crush felt like, he's no stranger to the feeling, but it's been so long since he's been able to let his guard down that he's more than hesitant to do so. Ghost didn't like to be vulnerable, as the feeling came with unpleasant memories that he'd rather keep buried deep down in his subconscious.

It started off small - he told you when his birthday was (only the month and the date), his favourite bourbon, the foods he liked; superficial information, as if he was testing the waters to see if he could trust you. In front of the team, he didn't change his tone of voice but the words he used were slightly less coarse when directed towards you - he didn't want to be accused of favouritism or having a soft spot for the medic; a weakness.

He would come to the medbay more often - he wasn't the type to seek medical attention unless he really needed it, and even then he'd rather patch himself up and get on with it. He'd came to you with a gash on his forearm, crudely wrapped in gauze and a dirty bandage. "Bastard slashed me with a knife." You nodded as you unwound the stained material, exposing the wound to the air - it wasn't too deep but it would definitely require some stitches, so you got to work.

You'd noticed how his eyes were trained on your face, gaze unreadable; he'd taken his outer mask off, his face obscured by his signature balaclava. This was new. You placed his forearm on the sterile table, washing the wound with saline," It's a bit cold, might sting a wee bit." He didn't make a sound as you began to sew the wound closed, the only indication that he was able to feel the sensation was that his fingers twitched in discomfort.

You'd never noticed how soft his eyes were - a warm brown, with pale blond eyelashes, a contrast to his hard exterior. Ghost cleared his throat," Good work, MacTavish." His gruff praise made you crack a small smile, pressing an adhesive bandage over the closed wound.

"Thank you, Sir." He remained in his seat, his gaze wandering over your face, before he wordlessly got up, briskly walking out the door. You let out a breath that you didn't know you'd been holding - you had a crush on your superior.

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

"I know you fancy someone," Johnny bumped your shoulder, a teasing smile on his face. You knitted your brows together, eyeing him with a confused look," Don't even deny it, I know you too well, so tell your big brother."

"I don't fancy anyone," You rolled your eyes, ignoring how he stared at you curiously, his steps picking up the pace so he was walking in front of you. There was a beat of silence, which made you think he'd given up his questioning for now. You were wrong.

He span round so he was facing you, walking backwards in time with each step you took. "Is it... Gaz?" You didn't respond. "Price?" Silence. "Ghost?" Your steps faltered a bit, your cheeks dusting a light pink as you scrunched your face up in annoyance. Johnny halted, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "It is, isn't it?!" His face lit up like a kid on Christmas day, as he clapped his hands together, teasing you in a sing-song voice, "Ooh, I'm gonnae tell 'im~"

"Johnny, don't be a fanny,*" You chided, folding your arms over your chest. This was precisely why you didn't want him to know, in typical brotherly fashion he loved to wind you up - you didn't want to give him any fuel to take the piss out of you. And you also didn't want your little secret to be spread around the base.

"I'm only joking," He smiled cheekily, hands raising in faux-surrender," So, how long have you fancied the pants off of Lt.?"

"Oh my god, shush."

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

"Don't start." You turned to eye your brother, your sixth sense knowing that he was going to start teasing you before he'd even opened his mouth. The team had decided to go to the local pub after a mission gone well and you had tagged along.

"You don't even know what I'm gonnae say," Johnny retorted, a teasing edge to his words. He looked over his shoulder briefly, a smile forming on his lips," A certain someone is staring at you, you should talk to him."

"Shut up," You took a sip of your drink,

"I'm being serious," Johnny said a quick 'cheers' to the bartender, picking up his pint," If you're wanting to profess your undying love to him, this would be a good time as any."

"Aye right - sling your hook*, Johnny."

The sound of someone clearing their throat caused both of your heads to turn. There stood Ghost, tall and imposing. A faint blush rose on your cheeks - you wondered how long he'd been standing there, and how much he'd heard. "I'm heading back to base," Ghost gruffly stated, mulling over the words he wanted to say in his mouth," Care to join me?"

You smiled," Of course, Lieutenant."

As you gathered your things, saying your 'goodnights' to the team, your brother's voice called out to you: "Be safe - better not make me an Uncle before our next deployment."

"That'll do, MacTavish."

[corruptedcaps]

Mallbrat

This story is based on this wonderful tweet by @shadow211e. Enjoy!

Despite Mel coming from a rich family, she had always seen herself as someone who was above the shallow, materialistic pursuits of the women who frequented the upscale mall in the neighboring town called Eden. She hated how bitchy and superficial the people were that frequented Eden, she was much more at home on the soccer field. Yet, today was different. She had come here with a pure intention: to find the perfect gift for her friend Katie.

Katie was a huge lover of fashion and followed all the latest trends but could barely afford the clothes she bought from the thrift store. Katie often told Mel that she was happy with her thrift store finds, that it made her more resourceful but Mel could see the sadness behind her best friend’s eyes.

Mel knew it would be hard, being a tomboy shopping for a dyed in the wool girly girl but she was determined to get her something perfect. It was just so overwhelming. The mall's glistening storefronts, adorned with designer labels, had always made her uncomfortable, but now she felt exhausted looking at a myriad of shoes, dresses and makeup, not knowing where to begin.

Taking a moment to sit down and gather her thoughts she watched as the bitchy girls of her school stride past flicking their hair and giggling at a joke she was sure she was the butt of.

As she was about to get up suddenly a perfume saleswoman appeared and sprayed something in her face. “Hello Miss, don’t you just love the smell of our new signature scent, ‘Entitled’. It’s such a hit that the mall will be pumping it through the air conditioning for today only. Make sure to buy your bottle before you leave today.” The saleswoman said to Mel who was coughing as she took the sweet fragrance in the face.

Before Mel could complain the woman had disappeared into thin air. Annoyed but undeterred from her task, Mel went back to walking the mall. As she strolled past boutique after boutique, something strange began to happen. Her posture straightened, and her steps became more deliberate, mimicking the confident strides of the women who were impeccably dressed around her. She pushed her chest out in front of her and walked with her chin high in a superior pose.

As she walked past store front after store front gazing at the opulent wears in the windows her mind started to drift from whether ‘Katie would like that’ to ‘I’d look good in that’. One outfit in particular caught her eye. It was a snakeskin style top that looked to have less fabric than her soccer shorts but she felt inexplicably drawn to it. She couldn’t stop picturing herself in its revealing curves.

She would have walked straight in to try it on only she got a look at herself in the windows reflection and nearly gagged. Her hair was messy, face dirty and her nails were chipped. She viewed her own reflection like the girls she saw earlier viewed her.

Mel sauntered into the upscale mall salon, her confidence preceding her. Locking eyes with a poised beautician, she snapped, "I need my hair cleaned and styled. My skin cleaned and moisturized, and my nails manicured. Make it quick." The beautician, catching the haughty undertone, nodded energetically and led her to an open chair.

As Mel settled into the plush seat, the beautician picked up the shampoo bottle labeled ‘Entitled’, the very same brand as the perfume that was spurted into Mel’s face earlier and worked diligently, washing away the remnants of soccer practice and transforming Mel's unruly hair into a sleek masterpiece. Meanwhile Mel found herself in a state of unexpected euphoria, a sensation induced by the intoxicating scent of the shampoo. The fragrance, like a veil of opulence, enveloped her senses, lulling her into a blissful reverie.

So enamoured with the aroma that Mel barely registered when the beautician put a facial mask on her as her hair dried. Her face tingled as she felt the dirt lift, bruises erase and her skin became smooth and imperfection less.

By the time her hair was dry Mel instinctively held out her hand, waiting for the beautician to start work on her nails. The beautician however was a pro and was manicuring Mel’s nails within seconds.

While the beautician worked, Mel’s internal dialogue shifted to a self-indulgent narrative. Thoughts of striving for success in soccer and excelling in academics seemed distant, replaced by a fixation on social standing and personal allure. "Who needs soccer? I'm destined for a life of extravagance," she thought, her mind now captivated by visions of high-society events and glamorous soirées.

Maybe it was how straight her posture was now and how she stuck out her chest and held her chin high but Mel absolutely adored how big her tits now looked. They were practically spilling out of her top and she knew her cleavage would have heads turning.

“Good,” she thought to herself. “It’s about time I caught the eye of a man who can treat me to the finer things in life and is my monetary equal. I’ve wasted so much time with the boys at school. I need a man.”

As the beautician skillfully completed her work, Mel, now adorned in the aftermath of pampering, gazed for the first time at her reflection with a sense of vain satisfaction. The sleek hair, the impeccable facial, the manicured nails, and her impressive breasts painted a portrait of indulgence she couldn't help but revel in.

The beautician, seemingly now intimidated by Mel, inquired cautiously, "Are you happy with the results miss?" Mel's eyes met her reflection once more, and with a dismissive wave, she retorted, "You didn't do much, darling. It's hard to improve upon perfection." The words hung in the air, leaving an awkward pause as the beautician grappled with the unexpected critique.

“But I suppose I better pay the ‘the help’. Here charge it to my black card.” Mel said coldly handing the beautician here matte steel credit card, the one her parents had given her but she refused to use but now could think of nothing more satisfying than maxing it out.

“Thank you miss, we hope to see you again.” The beautician said as she quickly disappeared out of sight as Mel stared at her with disdain. Mel liked how it felt to have someone fear her. It made her pussy tingle.

Mel, fully immersed in the conceited realm she had embraced, stood up out of the chair and sauntered out of the salon. As she expected and enjoyed, all eyes were on her as she walked the mall floor.

She strode confidently into the store that held the outfit that had caught her eye earlier and snapped at the shop assistant to get it for her. The shop assistant quickly leapt to attention and got the outfit for Mel who rolled her eyes at the shop assistant for taking so long.

In the dressing room Mel joyously slipped into the tight outfit perfectly, her body contouring to fabric as if it was made for her. As she gazed lovingly at her reflection, a far cry from the girl that had entered the mall a few hours ago, something began to nag in her mind. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t her. She had come her for Katie not for herself.

And yet the longer she stared at her magnificent body the more she didn’t care. The once happy thoughts about friendship and empathy gave way to daydreams of a luxurious lifestyle, filled with adoration and admiration. "Katie can fend for herself; It’s time she learned that this world can be cruel," Mel mused, her thoughts betraying a growing detachment from her former priorities.

Leaving the dressing room in the outfit she was about to pay for, she didn’t give a second thought to her old clothes laying on the floor until the shop assistant asked sheepishly what she should do with them.

“Burn them for all I care, they’re paupers rags as far as I’m concerned.” Mel said with cold detachment. She looked at the pile as a representation of her past life.

She spent the next few hours at the mall on a shopping spree. One outfit would not make up for years of neglect of her wardrobe. She needed clothes that reflected her station in life, one she had refused to embrace until now.

Along the way the same girls who had scoffed at her appearance earlier approached her cautiously but with new reverie. “You’re Mel right? You go to our school? We should hang out, girls like us need to stick together.” One of them had said.

Mel looked at them with a cold gaze, observing their demeanours. They were pretty and mean but Mel could see they feared her. She smirked knowing they’d be putty in her newly manicured hands. They would be perfect betas.

“If you must, but keep up I don’t have all day. Oh and it’s Mercedes.” She said with a turn on her expensive heels as she walked fast to make the girls try and keep up with her.

Before long the girls had filled her in on the most eligible men and the juiciest gossip. Their last leader had moved towns and they had a power vacuum that Mercedes was now only too happy to fill and they were only too happy to follow.

Mercedes was having such wicked fun that before she knew it the mall was closing. She had bought so much stuff that her new clique each held numerous bags for her as they followed her to the exit. Along the way Mercedes was sure to pick up several bottles of the perfume ‘Entitled’ as she left. She just loved its aroma.

Outside Katie stood waiting for Mel. Mel had told her at the beginning of the day that she had a surprise for Katie and to meet her at the mall. But now after waiting several hours Katie was beginning to worry.

Mercedes and her gang left the mall and made their way to the waiting limo Mercedes had ordered. Mercedes spotted Katie and with an evil smirk got close enough so her former friend could hear her say, “I really wish the mall would keep the riff raff further away from the property. They are ungodly eyesores.”

Katie went beet red at the cruel comment and quickly made herself scarce. She didn’t recognize this new girl that seemed to have her bully group ensnared but there was something so familiar about her.

The End

[gayandfairycore]

Thin walls

A/n this is the first smut I’ve written in awhile so I’m a little bit rusty. but there’s a serious lack of Lockwood and co smut here and I wanted-no needed to remedy that, lockwoods far too pretty for this lack of smut!

Summary: the walls of 35 Portland row are thin, Very thin.

Warnings: ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP, p in v smut, unprotected sex wrap it b4 you tap it, switch Lockwood, switch reader, oral male and female receiving, slight cock warming, Lockwood might be a bit ooc. Also this is not proof read so there may be some mistakes! Also grammatical errors.

Word count: 2,613 words

The warm smell of books and tea fill the late night air of the house, a hard cover book in your lap, as you snuggle up in your leather chair the crinkle of the material moving loudly as you move.

You don’t even realise the boy standing in the doorway, a look of soft adoration painting his face. His oversized blazer tucked around you in a protective hold. As you inhale his scent, “hello, my love” Lockwood whispers placing a tentative kiss on the side of your jaw, his arms reaching around to hold you from behind. A large smile breaking your face as you whirl your head up to place a soft kiss on his lips from your chair. Your lips moulding together perfectly despite it being an upside down kiss. Lockwoods teeth pulling gently on your bottom lip his large hands coming up to caress your jaw, his touch gentle and barely there as if he was afraid he’d break you, the suit wearing boy slips his tongue into your mouth in attempt to deepen the kiss your tongue’s fighting for dominance, until his reigns superior. His lips pulling into his signature cocky smirk.

His hands moving down your body, his nails bragging gently over your throat, a low hum repels from your chest muffled by his lips, his hands continue to move lower and lower, running along your clothed chest. He pulls back, concern drawn on his face as he asks “is this okay?” A love filled expression bewitches you it didn’t matter how many times you’ve had sex with eachother he’d always ask the same thing. Pulling the boy closer by his tie you whisper a sultry “of course, dear.” Before attaching your lips to his again, he feels his face heating up at your tone your fingers messily undoing his tie before pulling your lips back looking up at the boy through your eyelashes “I think we should move this somewhere more…private?”

“Oh absolutely, couldn’t agree more.” Anthony smirks his hand in yours as you both vacate the library your steaming cup of tea lying now thouroughly untouched on the side table, and book discarded haphazardly on the floor. Climbing each step seemingly lasts an excruciating long time being led behind the dashing ebony haired boy, you move his hand to your lips placing tentative kisses on his fingers, as he looks back at you with a lusting gaze turning around he tells you to put your legs around his waist, doing so, he then reattaches his lips to yours as you both stumble into walls, and discarded books laughs breaking when Lockwood trips over his own feet bashful smile on his face “sorry!” He chuckles

“Don’t be.” You say placing a kiss on his jaw, moving farther down to his neck you begin to nip, and suck on his skin whimpers and breathy moans leave him at the contact pushing the door to his room open he latched his lips to yours before shutting the door with his feet lying you on his bed softly he moves up your body from below, moving your T-shirt up to expose your uncovered chest. The cool air of his bedroom hardening your nipples, lockwoods dress pants growing exponentially tighter at the sight of you. His jacket you had previously adorned discarded somewhere in the house along with his tie. His hands made fast movements on his shirt buttons fumbling over a few only to slow down when your soft hands begun to palm him through his trousers. His head falling back as breathy moans left his lips “n-now y/n I thought I was meant to pleasure-pleasure you-“

“Don’t be.” You say placing a kiss on his jaw, moving farther down to his neck you begin to nip, and suck on his skin whimpers and breathy moans leave him at the contact pushing the door to his room open he latched his lips to yours before shutting the door with his feet lying you on his bed softly he moves up your body from below, moving your T-shirt up to expose your uncovered chest. The cool air of his bedroom hardening your nipples, lockwoods dress pants growing exponentially tighter at the sight of you. His jacket you had previously adorned discarded somewhere in the house along with his tie. His hands made fast movements on his shirt buttons fumbling over a few only to slow down when your soft hands begun to palm him through his trousers. His head falling back as breathy moans left his lips “n-now y/n I thought I was meant to pleasure-pleasure you-“

“Hmm it goes both ways, locky~” you whisper in his ear, hand still palming him through his trousers nipping and pulling at his ear lobe, a sharp intake of breath leaves the boy as his cocky smile comes back to his face. Shedding his dress shirt and pants with little struggle his boxers doing little to hide his length. Running your hands over his chest you place a kiss over his heart, sucking and biting, and working your magic it’s no surprise when you let up the large purple and red bruise that’s in the shape of a heart over his heart.

Sinking to your knees at the end of his bed you place a kiss just above the band of his underwear pulling and snapping the elastic a whine leaves Lockwood “don’t tease darling~”

“How can I not when you look so pretty, needy?” You smile dragging down his boxers and freeing his length, he’s a little over average, and skinny. The head of his cock leaking precum, it’s large purple head had you salivating right then and there. spreading around his precum with your fingers, moving your hand up and down his length excruciatingly slow pace watching as a steady string of moans leave his mouth as you latch your lips onto his cock, bobbing your head up and down stroking the rest of his length that couldn’t fit in your mouth. Lockwood thrusting his hips effectively face fucking you, his hands gripping your head as he moves the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat making you gag a little, tears stinging your eyes as his pace increases moans escaping you as Lockwood tugs your hair the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure over the boy.

“Fuck y/n!” He exclaims “I’m close!” Swirling your mouth over the head of his cock the salty taste of his precum in your tongue is enough to make you salivate drool and saliva soaking his cock. Lockwoods thrusts becoming sloppier as the boy finally let’s go, his hot cum shooting down your throat and dripping down your chin as he pulls his still hardened cock out of your mouth. Leaning down to place a kiss on your lips he can taste himself on you.

“Mmm” leaves him before he can stop himself, lifting you up off of the floor your knees surely bruising from the hard wood floor Anthony’s large hands grip your ribs as his thumb comes to run over your hardened nipples caressing and neading the soft flesh of your breast “oh god! Lockwood!” You cry as his lips attach to your nipple, sucking with as much lewd sounds as he can produce, his other hand caressing your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fore finger and thumb.

Inhaling sharply as his fingers continue to pinch your nipples, the pain morphing into pleasure, the sound of lockwoods mouth detaching from your nipple with a loud POP! Fills the silence of the bedroom, your legs rubbing together in a feeble attempt to gain some friction.

“This feels a bit unfair DONT you think? I mean I’m fully nude and you’re still fully clothed. Why don’t you go ahead and remove them for me sweetheart?” Lockwood commands, softly, your mind scrambled at the boys mere presence.

“O-okay!” Your hands tug up on your tshirt flinging it to the floor in a hurry, you wiggle out of your pj shorts and underwear, Lockwood watched from above you, as you strip yourself of your clothes, showing him your everything. His gaze is intense but loving. “You are a goddess.” He says moving your limbs away from your chest and vagina. “Don’t hide from me, dear. Not now not ever.” Anthony commands his eyes glancing at yours with seriousness.

“I love you” you whisper “not as much as I love you.” He replies, placing a kiss on your lips, your chest, your stomach. Your naval, and finally the beginning of your vagina, Lockwood can see your wetness begin to leak onto your thighs when you rubbed them together, swallowing hard the boy dips down, his large hands gripping the flesh of your thighs and moving them farther apart, he unconsciously plays with the flesh of your thigh, kneading and rolling the flesh he grips it with enough force to produce a moan and light bruises, as he looks up at your face, looking at him with shyness your previous confidence seemingly dissipated. He holds eye contact with you as he licks a long stride up your vagina, your wetness gathering along his tongue as he swirls it around, his finger coming up to rub figure 8s on your clit “oh god lock-Lockwood! That feels so-so good!” You call your head thrown back in ecstasy.

It encourages Anthony to push a little more pressure on the tender bud, your legs attempting to squeeze shut, clasping against his head, suffocating him in your thighs. Lockwood let’s out a pleasureful hum that reverberates through you the vibrations enough to bring that familiar feeling back into your lower tummy, the sensation coiling tightly desperate for release as your hands burry themselves in Lockwoods curly hair tugging tightly as he chuckles, your slick dripping down his chin as he inserts one of his fingers as it rams into you with speed, hitting your g-spot, loud lewd moans leave your lips as Lockwood heightens his pace, the coiling within your stomach is about to snap!

when nothing. Lockwoods fingers have relented their momentum, his tongue no longer swirling and curling within you at just the right pace. “Ugh lock wood! What the hell!” You whine reaching behind you throwing one of his pillows at him satisfied when it hits him in the face, and oof! Sound muffled by the fluffy pillow.

“I’m sorry darling but I had to get you back for all your teasing.”

“You really suck you know that?” You say crossing your arms over your chest

“We’ll perhaps I need to make it up to you.” He retorts inserting his fingers back into you

“Lockwood!” You cry as he slams into your gspot with his fingers, curling them, and rubbing your clit at the same time it’s only a matter of moments before the cool begins to grow and snap when Lockwood curls his fingers knocking your special spot and the added pressure on your clit makes you let go loud and breathy moans leave you your back arching eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your juices squirting, and yet Lockwood doesn’t halt his movements infact he speeds up. Your second orgasm building, and releasing within moments when the boy attaches his lips to your clitoris.

When you orgasm for the second time he’s ready, lapping at your vagina, the loud sounds of sex and the squelching of your juices fills the room, disorientation and overstimulation mixes together well as

Lockwood lines himself up with your entrance, sinking himself into you, groans escape the boy as he revels in the feeling of having himself cockdeep inside you, waiting for you to adjust to his size his concerned features look down at you silently asking you if it’s alright for him to move now.

Panting and nodding, Lockwood began to bottom out before slamming back into you “oh god! Lockwood!” Soft moans and whines leaving the boy in front of you.

“I love you y/n” lockwood whispers placing a kiss on your lips, and moving his hands down to rub your clit, the sensitive bud pulsating from his previous care to it when his hands lightly brush over the bud it brings a sharp whine from your lips as his thrusts picking up pace as his lips attaching to your breast as moans reverberate from him, his cock sinking deeper into you, hitting your g-spot “oh Lockwood! Right mm right there!”

“God y/n you feel so good!” He groane, as your fingernails claw at the boys back. In pleasure. Moans escape his lips at the burn from the cool bedroom stings the cuts.

The familiar feeling begins to build in Lockwood at the sight of you below him, writhing in pleasure, a moaning mess beneath him. You were all his, and he was all yours.

“Darling I’m gonna- gonna c-um!” Lockwood calls out in warning, sharp hiss leaving him half way though as your hands take through his hair “ngh! Don’t stop! Don’t you dare stop!” You whimper the sound of the headboard against the walls and the sounds of lockwoods cock slamming into you the smell of sex intoxicates the room as Lockwood comes undone, you coming shortly after at the whimpering whine that breaks from deep in lockwoods chest. His hot cum shooting inside of you mixing with your own. He leaves his cock in you for a a moment more not yet ready to relieve himself of the warmth and comfort of being inside you.

A proud boyish grin paints his face as he watches both of your cum mixing together and spilling out of you.

His lanky body collapsing beside you as you both panted desperate for breath rolling into his side your head on his chest you placed a chaste kiss over his heart the hickeys from earlier a stark contrast against his pale chest; as he stretches his arm of the side of his bed he grabs a clean tshirt wiping you clean and pulling you into him.

Pulling up his teal duvet he rests his head atop yours as sleep finally overcomes the pair of you, the clock striking 3 am.

The kitchen the next morning is quiet, the only sounds are from the pop! of the toaster, and the boiling of the jug. the group sitting around the table in silence lockwoods proud smirk obstructed by his newspaper as your legs shake under the table, taking a sip at your tea, in awkward silence. Lucy’s shit eating grin plain on her face as her chest moves with her full body laugh “so you guys finally did it huh?”

“Wait what- you- you guys heard?!?” You cry out mortified “also finally?” Lockwood adds

“Uh huh” Lucy nods “everything.” She reiterates pointing an accusatory piece of half eaten toast toward you both, cheek splitting smile on her face as she shakes her head.

“And plus George and I had a bet, who’d initiate it first, he said y/n, and I said Lockwood.” The girl exclaimed holding a hand out for George to put a 20 in her hand.

“We have thin walls you know.” George speaks up, looking disappointed in himself as he hands over a 20.

a shadowy look overtaking his face as he was seemingly reliving the sounds from last night, his room right next to Lockwood, the sound of the squeaky bed bashing against the wall and the loud moans and other lewd sounds traumatising the researcher.

Embarrassment colours your cheeks as Lockwood laughs at the boy placing a hand on your shoulder, as he places his newspaper on the table moving to butter some toast

“Very thin walls in fact as I recall you guys sounded quite like this” Lucy calls chomping on a piece of toast and faking boarder-line pornographic moans “oh Lockwood! Please! Please!” And “oh y/n! Feels so good! God so good!” She continues to impersonate smirking into her tea at the embarrassment that now covers lockwoods cheeks.

“Who would’ve thought George your best friends a switch.” The brunette girl chuckles at the disgust on George’s face

“Oh god gross!” He exclaims covering his ears and pushing up his glasses

“I might have a look in that paper for a new job- one where the members don’t almost have sex in the library!”

“But Georgey we didn’t!” Lockwood exclaims “plus, you’d miss us too much to leave.”

The dark haired boy relents sinking down in his chair “I guess”

Sharing an amused glance with Lockwood he places a kiss on your lips as he walks past taking the newspaper from George’s hands.

Taglist: @simrah1012

[okkotsuus]

Can you do scenario for Chigiri, Rin and Reo with a soccer player crush?

soccer fanatic pt.1 (bllk) !

pspsps ignore how long this took me to get to, i kept letting it rot in my drafts </3

features: hyoma c. rin i. reo m.

contents: reader is a footballer. reader is famous. lots of fanboying. unlike my other works, the last quote is from the reader. 0.8k

hyoma chigiri would imitate your style, specifically speed.

you were a speed-type midfielder, which was generally rare. you paved the path for your strikers yourself rather than letting them fight their way: in your eyes, that was your responsibility.

hyoma chigiri admired your physical and mental speed on the field. your legs allowed you to soar from one half to the other, running through players before they could react. your mind surged even faster than the body that allowed you to zip across the field, changing course at the slightest change.

right behind sae itoshi, you were the second best midfielder in the international scale. yet, you refused to join the new generation world eleven

chigiri watched you like you were the sun, the brightest star on the field. every game he would try to go to, so when he had finally met you in a blue lock training exercise, he knew he had to get noticed.

his legs carried him true and swift through the defense as he sliced through the air to punch the ball into the top right corner of the net before the goalie could react. all right after kickoff.

he couldn't help the huffs the escaped between his lips as he saw you come up to him with that egoist smile on your face. you looked at him like a child hoping to steal a toy from their sibling.

"you are my ideal striker, hyoma chigiri, we are cut of the same cloth."

rin itoshi would view you as the pinnacle of soccer.

as a striker, there was no doubt you were superior. contesting noel noa for the past two years of your pro career was an impressive feat. it was the feat that had rin itoshi analyzing every single one of your games.

back when you were still in the middle school leagues, rin had seen his first game that you were in. you were a grade younger than sae, allowing rin a perfect in.

you and sae would practice together sometimes, while rin observed you from the sidelines. when rin had first started playing soccer, the two players he channeled were: sae itoshi and y/n l/n.

when the taste of sae's plays soured on his tongues, yours grew sweeter. so here he sits, in the dark while his team sleeps next to him; face illuminated by the light of his phone.

their match against the world five was in less than twenty-four hours, but he could not help but watch your plays from yesterday's game. he needed inspiration for tomorrow.

so when he sunk his first goal in against the world five and your voice rang through the speakers, his heart was in his throat. he saw you on the sidelines with a mic in your hand, smiling so sweetly at him. sweeter than the taste of your plays every could be.

"still chasin' me rinnie? don't let my shadow blind ya!"

reo mikage would copy your game play.

reo mikage got everything he wanted since the moment he was born. so when he grew admiration of you, vip tickets to your games were easy. he went to every game of yours before he entered blue lock.

what he didn't know was that you were aware of him, not just disregarding him as a blip on your radar. at every game there was always a purple boy in the seat closest to the field, it would be hard not to notice; especially as a midfielder.

so when he didn't come to one game, you pulled some strings to get his name. turns out reo mikage played soccer as well, in blue lock no less.

so you came to watch a game, under the tense of it being a training exercise: but you really wanted to check in on your number one fan.

he was as impressive on field as you expected, but when you caught a familiar tick of his foot under a pass, sending it especially long and steady, it had you grinning.

you noticed more and more of you signature little quirks that allowed your play style, things that even people on the field with you wouldn't notice.

at the end of the match, you couldn't help but pay him a little extra attention. he was just trying so hard to stay loyal to you, that your ego swelled. you wanted your techniques to not just be copies for him, but rather his own weapons as well. you were willing to share custody of all your signatures with him.

"impressive dupe, rich boy, want a taste of the real thing?"

okkotsuus 23

[octuscle]

I don't know any American air ports

How will LAX: 3 turn out for me?

The suitcase is delivered to your office. The lady at the reception is a bit irritated that the suitcase covered all over with stickers is actually supposed to be delivered to you. That's why she knocks in the conference room and asks your assistant if this is correct. And your assistant asks you. Whereupon you have one of your dreaded tantrums and ask if this is really a reason to interrupt the board meeting. Take a deep breath. And then you ask your CIO to explain the figures on the current slide to you again. For you, this is not plausible.

When the meeting is over, your assistant accompanies you to your impressive office. There is a whole series of signatures to be made. And after that, you want to freshen up briefly and then go to lunch with the CEO of the company you would like to take over. On the suitcase standing in the corner hangs a tag with your name on it. An expensive, slightly dented RIMOWA suitcase. Who the hell messed it up with the stickers? Never mind, you'll take care of that later.

When you come out of the executive restroom, you take a quick look to see if anyone sees you. Even as the boss's son, you're not really allowed to use the restroom. But of course you have the code to do it. You have an appointment with the other department heads from Risk Controlling for the lunch break. It took you long enough to make friends here. Son from the boss is always difficult, of course. But you really don't enjoy any privileges (apart from the code for the restroom). You work just as hard as everyone else. And when it comes to promotions, you're even more likely to be ignored than others who are less deserving. At lunch time, you have your fun, gossiping about superiors and subordinates. Down at the entrance you say goodbye, you feel the urgent need to smoke a cigarette and bum one of the colleagues smoking there.

Back in your open-plan office, your group leader takes out his anger on you. Apparently, your old man yelled at the CIO in the board meeting, who then yelled at his division manager, who yelled at the department manager, who then yelled at the group manager. As a rookie, you're now getting it all, and you're now allowed to revise the documents for the CIO in such a way that your father is satisfied. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to join your father's company after all. When you have finished the documents to your satisfaction and that of your group leader, you take a smoke break.

Fuck, you really are a dumbass. When you pick up your suitcase from your father's office, he will immediately smell that you have just smoked. And if you're lucky, he'll check your suitcase right away. And there are things in there that he would not be very happy about. The weed is probably not that bad. But explaining the dildo might be really hard for you. So you call your father's assistant and ask her to bring the suitcase down to the reception. And maybe she can also organize a car from the transport service to take you and the suitcase home. She will do anything for you anyway. She probably still secretly hopes that you will come together with her daughter. If she knew that her son fucks you occasionally….

Good to be back home and what a luck that you could intercept your suitcase in front of your parents. You stow the weed and dildo in your room. And grab your skateboard and your ball. Let's see if one of your lads feels like shooting some hoops.

[telltalecoyote]

Summoned by Rytlock Brimstone to face punishment over the previous night's deeds, Cassius grapples with guilt and remorse for the crime that led to the injury of a fellow soldier at the behest of his sire's strange dream for the legions. Very short story below!

AKA Cassius did a bad thing and now he faces the consequences

(This is a VERY early scene I was thinking about a LOT as I do my play-through of base game)

With no sleep the night prior, Cassius had been sitting at his desk for hours, head planted firmly in the palms of his paws, a summons was delivered not long ago and laid before him, very pointedly left on the blank side as he hoped it would simply disappear.

“Tribune Brimstone.” The signature at the bottom of the summons read, not ‘Rytlock,’ or the even more informal ‘Ryt’ that he was known to use with Cassius for short notice and that alone made stomach drop further than it has in any of his recent field assignments.

He knew what this was about, and the astonishment lingered. Despite covering up his tracks and his sire's, he had even made it seem like no crime had been committed at all. Cassius thought to himself, "What was I thinking? It was treason on both our ends. I was an idiot for believing him, I deserve whatever happens."

His mind raced back to the promises of last night, of revolutionizing the legions, his sire's assurances that no cub would face the horrors he had endured nor have to grow up struggling with no support for similar situations as his. Cassius, however, knew it was too good to be true. A good man was comatose because of him, and he felt responsible. "Change the legions, might as well make me Khan Ur while you’re at it."

The walk to Brimstone's office felt agonizing, minutes stretching into an eternity due to his overwhelming guilt. Rounding the stairs, he tried hard not to glance out over the balcony and over towards the Asuran portal where it all transpired, but he couldn't resist.

With a curt nod to the charr standing guard outside the Tribune’s office, Cassius stalled a moment and took a deep breath, hearing from his flank; “Brimstone’s pissed, hate to be the guy who got on his bad side.”

“Agreed.” Cassius couldn’t tell if he was being mocked or not, but it mattered little. As he entered the office, it felt as if the air was sucked out of the room once it was just the two of them, despite having half expected to find his sire dragged in here as well, bound in cuffs.

“Ryt–” Cassius started, hands folded behind his back in respect as he straightened up, he could anticipate the anger in the Tribune’s voice.

“Brimstone, Witherpaw, it’s Tribune Brimstone.” Rytlock growled, Cassius couldn’t see his face as he stood by the office’s window, back turned. “You know why you are here, did you think I wouldn’t know?”

Cassius gulped. “...Sir, It was a mistake, I don’t know what went through my mind–”

Rytlock spun around, slamming his fist against his desk, causing a ruckus; startling and silencing the younger charr who still stood firm. “Are you stupid, Witherpaw? Or do you just think I am?

Cassius didn’t respond, grimacing as he couldn’t find the strength to meet his superior’s gaze.

"You were such a good soldier, did everything I asked,  went above and beyond with little asking from me," Rytlock's gaze unmoving, "And yet, you were so eager to throw everything away like this? Because your sire filled your head with lies?" 

After a brief pause and no response, he continued. “Even I used to think Ash was stupid to let someone as arrogant and sloppy as Oberon be a spy, but maybe I was wrong if he was able to pull the wool over your eyes, of all people!”

"I apologize, sir. It’s just, he’s my—Oberon, he gave me reasons to trust in what he was doing, even if not for those purposes, he would have no reason—or even ability—to use that information for harm, you’ve said you trusted my call in these sorts of situations." Cassius spoke up, his voice notably quieter.

“That was before you got your fellow charr hurt.” Rytlock didn’t yell this time, and yet it felt even worse. "Do you know what power that words can hold for charr like him; charr even worse than him? Thinking like that is dangerous, Witherpaw." 

Rytlock spat, his glare burning holes into Cassius who struggled to maintain eye contact. "Thinking like that is what creates defectors, it always does, like... like moths to a flame, THE Flame!"

Behind his back, Cassius’ claws dug into his arms as he weathered the assault. Cassius was much younger than the tribune, but he was no cub. Yet, he felt like a child being scolded by his father, a pet being punished by its owner, he couldn't help but take this treatment on a personal level rather than the interaction between military personnel like he should have.

Eventually, Rytlock sighed. Cassius had been one of the tribune’s most loyal legionnaires in what felt like ages; he didn’t wish to give Cassius more reason to turn on him, that would be a waste of talent. "I could have you executed on the spot, but for both our sakes, we can say this was just another crime being pinned on his back by a rival of his. I trust you."

Cassius kept his head low, and despite the words of reassurance; he simply was too afraid to look up. "More importantly, I already have an inkling as to where and to whom that information is going; it won't prove to be any more trouble for me as far as I am concerned. I am simply disappointed in you." 

"You won’t screw up like this again. I have a few assignments coming up that call for my attention, I know I can trust in you to join me." Rytlock grumbled, he approached Cassius and hooked a claw under the younger charr’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. “There, you will listen and do EXACTLY as I command.”

"Yes, thank you, Tribune Brimstone," Cassius gulped, noting the change in Rytlock’s tone—stern, reassuring, and familiar. "Anything you ask."

[seraphvm]

OUTLAWED LOVE PT 1, chishiya shuntaro x reader

SYNOPSIS: A kind of love that dare not speaks its name, Chishiya Shuntaro becomes conflicted in his own emotions.

★ genre & warning/s: enemies to lovers trope, fem!presenting reader,

★ sera’s notes: wrote this during class, honestly i’m not sure if this is good enough to be published ehslwjqoan, but enjoy <33

It was a rainy morning for the whole city of Tokyo, coming with a confident wind and heaven-given soundtrack washed the hues of the atmosphere into a strong and soulful vibrancy, vast amounts of citizens trudged through the sidewalks and stray dogs attempted to find warmth within the bushes, making everything seem calming, and so rain invites a street of colorful umbrellas to blossom in a fascinating way and danced like a ballet choreographed by the gentle wind.

Right from the blossomed clouds come water-petals into the fresh air, your umbrella snapped closed, releasing a gravity defying plume of small droplets which slowly flowed down onto the concrete floor like a piece of abstract art.

Oddly enough, your body somehow tensed despite the freedom that was born in this day without entering the depths of the building, gentle winds blew more mockingly but you couldn't lay a finger on what was wrong, maybe it was the pressure of entering a class this early in the morning? maybe not, however, shrugging the tensity off of your shoulders was the priority as for now in order to relax before stress overcomes you.

It wasn't unusual for you to feel pressured during the mornings of class since the professor you have is.. quite strict towards his students and will criticize you by all means, but it was the last term of your learning and you'd now soon be a lawyer, hopefully, maybe you'd even go up against one of your peers when you fight for cases, maybe Chish-

"You'd catch a cold for staring foolishly at your umbrella for so long."

Speak of the devil.

A familiar voice spoke in utmost superiority which wiped off the thoughts that was stuck onto your head, and then slowly, your peripheral vision revealed a blonde male holding onto an umbrella, staring down at your figure that was slouched onto one of the pillars of the building.

If it isn’t Chishiya Shuntaro himself.

"My well being doesn't concern you, Chishiya." You snickered while shaking your head attempting to give life to your flattened locks, it wasn’t the particular time to have an argument with him at the very start of the day but yet his eyes shimmered in utter amusement and satisfaction, it was like annoying you was as easy as ripping a piece of paper in half, a piece of cake even, the signature smirk painted over his features gently from the statement as you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the reaction.

“Wouldn’t want to be late as the model student of our class, don’t you?” The emphasizing of your current role in your class irked you even more, however, it is Chishiya after all, one of the most annoying yet smart law students in the field that had the ability to get under your skin in a flawless manner.

The relationship you have with that man was indeed questionable, it wasn’t considered as friendship, but neither did it be considered with acquaintances, sometimes the both of you would actually work together and present one of the best output in the class or deeper arguments about law would ensue with you whenever he was bored with his life.

His emotions was harder to read than other people in this learning area, simply keeping his face blank and his attitude as cocky as it ever will be was one of the traits everyone had took note of this man, but still women would still chase him despite having little-to-no chances of having a night.

It wasn’t like his attitude wasn’t tolerable, however he always had the chance to annoy you no matter what circumstance, making you strive to learn in a greater perspective to understand what was under this man filled with cunningness, and how his thoughts process, maybe the both of you would develop a fondness towards each other as well? but it was unlikely.

Before you could’ve think further regarding of this blonde man, the bell rang in its greatest of volume which stopped your tracts of observing every detail about him.

Oh how you sounded so obsessed.

“You can stop staring at me like I killed someone you know.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you have the ability to shut up.” The sentence made the male grin wider but then shrug lazily and walk off to the class both of you take, which made you follow suite and prepare yourself to be ready to defend your arguments once more against that man.

-

But just as expected, the whole session of the class was just the same as usual, Chishiya finding a way to mock your defenses and how you’d shade him in your answers to the questions, however just these simply actions of hatred seemingly felt entertaining, like it doesn’t particularly annoy you as much anymore.

Maybe you grew to understand how his attitude is just himself and it is never going to change whenever someone gets close with him or not, maybe you finally felt some part of better comprehension regarding about him? or maybe you were only just stupid? it wasn’t particularly clear how you tolerated him more than usual, but the information is there.

The professor was blabbering more information again regarding the topic whilst you were fiddling with your pen to focus more, as much as you hated to admit it, the topic was boring but it was only a few minutes left to freedom, which you had the utmost anticipation for.

In habit, you shoved both of your hands into your hoodie pockets to find some warmth due to the air conditioning in the classroom premises being like another version of antarctica, however, you suddenly felt a piece of paper meeting at your fingertips.

Odd, that wasn’t there before. You thought.

Even so, the piece of paper intrigued you at a great rate, so you took it out and unfolded to see its contents, if there is or not.

“Meet me at Lavender Cafe at dismissal, model student. I have a word to say to you. — C.”

What a sneaky little cat.

You chuckled to yourself in a bit of a shock and stuffed the paper back into your pockets before continuing on to listen to the teacher’s words, how did he even manage to get that into your pockets?

More overly, what did he actually want from you?

[zapreportsblog]

↱ the curse I fell in love with ↰

➘ summary : Megumi Fushiguro didn’t expect to fall in love with a curse, than again no one really tends to fall in love with something that could kill them

➘ Megumi Fushiguro x reader , JJK x reader

Megumi Fushiguro had received orders from Masamichi Yaga, his superior at the Tokyo Metropolitan Magic Technical College, to collect a newly born cursed spirit. This was a task he had completed many times before, and he approached it with the same dedication and efficiency he applied to all his missions. However, this time was different. Instead of Satoru Gojo, it was him who was assigned the task, and he felt a sense of intrigue as he ventured towards the cursed energy he was meant to retrieve.

As Megumi arrived at the designated location, he surveyed the scene before him with a mix of curiosity and caution. In the midst of a flower meadow, an ethereal figure was making flower crowns, their wings spread out and their tail playfully twitching. A pair of horns adorned their head, giving them a devilish appearance, while their eyes held a blend of innocence and otherworldly allure.

The figure looked up at Megumi, their eyes widening in surprise. "Oh! Hello there!" they greeted, their voice a melodious blend of curiosity and friendliness. "Are you here to enjoy the flowers too?"

Megumi's trained instincts assessed the situation, recognizing that this entity before him was indeed the new cursed spirit he was meant to collect. He watched as they continued to craft flower crowns with a natural grace that seemed at odds with their cursed nature.

"I'm here to collect you," Megumi stated, his tone firm yet not devoid of empathy. "My name is Fushiguro Megumi. You must be the new cursed spirit."

The figure blinked, tilting their head inquisitively. "Collect me? Like a pretty flower?"

Megumi nodded. "You're a special grade cursed spirit," he explained. "I'm here to bring you to a safe place, where you won't pose a threat to others."

The figure's expression shifted from curiosity to a mix of confusion and apprehension. "A safe place? But I've never hurt anyone."

Megumi's eyes softened, his gaze meeting theirs. He recognized the truth in their words; despite their appearance, this cursed spirit exuded an air of innocence rather than malevolence. "I believe you," he said, his voice sincere. "But there are rules and dangers in the world of curses that you might not fully understand."

The figure seemed to ponder his words, their wings fluttering thoughtfully. "I don't want to cause any trouble," they murmured, almost to themselves.

Megumi took a step closer, his presence a mix of reassurance and understanding. "I promise, we'll find a way to ensure your safety without causing harm to anyone. You're not alone in this."

A hesitant smile graced the figure's lips, and Megumi felt a swell of warmth within him. He could sense the potential within this entity, the desire to find their place in a world that often misunderstood them.

"What's your name?" the figure asked, their gaze meeting his with genuine curiosity.

"Megumi," he replied. "Fushiguro Megumi."

"And I'm (Y/N)," they said, their voice soft. "Nice to meet you, Megumi."

Several weeks had passed since (Y/N) had been brought to the Tokyo Metropolitan Magic Technical College. Her presence within the school was met with mixed reactions; some sorcerers were wary due to her cursed nature, while others were more accepting. Among those who welcomed her was Satoru Gojo, who found himself drawn to her kind and gentle demeanor.

The unlikely friendship between (Y/N) and Gojo had blossomed over shared conversations and their shared appreciation for the small beauties in life. As they lounged on the rooftop one evening, Gojo's signature grin stretched across his face. "(Y/N), you really are something special," he remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

(Y/N) chuckled, her wings rustling slightly as she settled comfortably. "And you're not half as annoying as you pretend to be," she retorted playfully.

His laughter echoed through the air, a sound that felt genuine and unguarded. "You caught me," he admitted, his tone light. "I guess I let my guard down around you."

Back in the shadows, Megumi Fushiguro observed the scene with a mix of emotions he couldn't quite decipher. He had grown accustomed to (Y/N)'s presence, her quiet kindness and innate goodness leaving an impression on him. But the closeness between her and Gojo stirred a strange unease within him, a feeling he struggled to put into words.

As the days passed, Megumi found himself spending more time watching them interact, unable to escape the nagging sensation of jealousy that gnawed at him. He had always admired Gojo as a mentor and powerful sorcerer, but now, seeing him in the role of a close friend to (Y/N), it felt like an unfamiliar twist to their dynamic.

One evening, as Megumi trained alone in the dojo, Gojo's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Fushiguro, can we talk?"

Megumi turned, his expression guarded. "About what?"

Gojo's eyes bore into his, a knowing look in his gaze. "About you and (Y/N). I've noticed you've been watching us a lot lately."

Megumi's heart raced, his surprise evident. "I...it's not like that," he stuttered, his defensiveness betraying more than he intended.

Gojo's grin was knowing, his posture relaxed as he leaned against the wall. "Jealousy isn't a crime, Fushiguro."

Megumi's cheeks flushed, his frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gojo's laughter was genuine, a sound that echoed in the dojo. "It's okay, you know. You're allowed to feel whatever you're feeling. But remember, (Y/N) is a friend to both of us."

Megumi's gaze fell to the floor, his fists clenched. "I know that," he muttered, his voice a mixture of resignation and frustration.

Gojo approached him, his presence oddly reassuring. "You might want to take some time to figure out why you're feeling this way, Fushiguro," he advised, his tone gentle. "It might lead to some valuable insights."

As Gojo walked away, leaving Megumi alone with his thoughts, the young sorcerer found himself grappling with emotions he had never confronted before. The complexity of his feelings towards (Y/N) and his mentor's role in her life were a puzzle he was determined to solve, a journey of self-discovery that would ultimately shape his path in ways he never imagined.

Megumi Fushiguro found himself walking aimlessly through the moonlit woods, the cool night air a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. His footsteps were heavy, a reflection of the weight he carried on his shoulders as he grappled with his jealousy and confusion.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't sense the presence that slinked from the shadows. A low growl cut through the silence, and before he could react, a Grade 1 curse spirit pounced, its malicious intent clear in its eyes. Megumi's instincts kicked in, and he was ready to defend himself, but the curse was fast and ferocious, its teeth bared in a deadly snarl.

Just as the curse lunged, a blur of motion caught Megumi's attention. A figure materialized before him, blocking the curse's path. It was (Y/N), her wings spread out and her eyes blazing with determination.

"I won't let you hurt him," she declared, her voice carrying an air of authority.

With an almost supernatural grace, (Y/N) engaged the curse spirit, her movements fluid and precise. Megumi watched in awe as she wielded her cursed abilities with an expertise that belied her appearance. With every strike, every move, she seemed to harness a power he had never witnessed before.

As the battle raged on, (Y/N)'s resolve only seemed to strengthen. And then, with a sudden surge of energy, her abilities evolved. A void, similar to Satoru Gojo's Unlimited Void, manifested around her. But this one was different, darker—an expanse that seemed to swallow the very essence of the world. It was a realm of shadows and whispers, a void that felt hauntingly familiar.

"This is my Realm of the Dead Void," (Y/N) declared, her voice echoing from within the void. "You won't escape from here."

The curse spirit's struggles grew feeble as it was drawn into the void, its form dissolving into nothingness. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the void receded, (Y/N)'s wings folding in as she returned to her human-like appearance.

With the curse defeated, (Y/N) turned towards Megumi, her eyes softening as she approached him. "Are you alright?" she asked, her concern evident.

Megumi's heart raced, a mixture of awe and gratitude swirling within him. "How did you...?"

(Y/N) smiled gently almost as if she already knew what he was about to ask, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. "I'll always find you, Megumi. No matter where you are."

Her words resonated within him, a warmth spreading through his chest. He had been so consumed by his own emotions that he hadn't even noticed her presence until she had saved him. It was a reminder of the bond that had formed between them, a connection that transcended the complexities of their respective natures.

As they stood there, the moonlight casting a soft glow around them, Megumi realized that the path to understanding his feelings was still a journey he had to take. But in that moment, he knew he wasn't alone. With (Y/N) by his side, he felt a sense of comfort and assurance—a reminder that he didn't have to navigate the complexities of his heart alone.

In the days that followed the encounter with the curse spirit, Megumi Fushiguro found himself in a state of introspection. The events of that night had shaken something within him, forcing him to confront not only the dangers of the cursed world but the emotions he had been struggling to understand.

As he trained, meditated, and walked the familiar paths of the magic college, Megumi allowed his thoughts to wander, his mind unraveling the complexities of his feelings towards (Y/N). The jealousy he had experienced, the unease in seeing her bond with Gojo, and the growing attraction he had been trying to ignore—all these threads came together to form a tapestry of emotions that he could no longer deny.

Sitting beneath the shade of a tree one afternoon, Megumi closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to flow freely. He acknowledged his jealousy, understanding that it stemmed from a deep connection he felt with (Y/N), a connection he had been hesitant to explore. But now, as he peeled back the layers of his emotions, he realized that there was more to his feelings than mere jealousy.

The memories of their interactions, the way her presence had brought light to his life even in the midst of his struggles, and the unspoken understanding that seemed to bridge the gap between them—all these fragments painted a picture that he couldn't ignore any longer.

His heart raced as the realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. It wasn't just attraction. It wasn't just friendship. He had fallen in love with (Y/N).

The weight of the revelation settled over him, both exhilarating and terrifying. Love was a powerful force, one that could lead to both joy and heartache. But as he allowed himself to truly feel, he realized that the happiness he found in (Y/N)'s presence outweighed any fear.

With his newfound clarity, Megumi felt a sense of determination sweep over him. He would no longer let his emotions linger in the shadows. He would confront (Y/N) and share his feelings, no matter the outcome.

Seeking her out became his priority, his steps guided by a sense of purpose he had never felt before. And when he found her in the garden, her wings brushing against the petals of the flowers as she tended to them, he knew that the moment had come.

"(Y/N)," he called out, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest.

She turned towards him, a smile gracing her lips. "Megumi, what's on your mind?"

Taking a deep breath, Megumi took a step closer, his eyes locked onto hers. "I've been thinking a lot lately," he began, his voice sincere. "About us."

Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. "Us?"

"I've been struggling to understand my feelings," he admitted, his gaze unwavering. "But I think I've figured it out."

(Y/N)'s eyes held a glimmer of understanding, her wings stilling as she focused on his words.

"I realized that I've fallen in love with you," he confessed, the weight of his emotions lifting as the words left his lips.

The air seemed to still, the world holding its breath as (Y/N) processed his words. And then, a brilliant smile illuminated her features, her eyes reflecting a mix of happiness and relief.

"Megumi," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. "I've fallen in love with you too."

As their gazes locked, everything around them seemed to fade into the background. The garden, the school, the complexities of their lives—all of it became inconsequential in the face of the connection they shared.

With their feelings finally out in the open, Megumi and (Y/N) embraced the journey that lay ahead—a journey of love, understanding, and the promise of a future that was now filled with possibilities.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Can I please have a small oneshot on a topic "What does Simon Riley need"? Maybe it's a promotion, or a raise? An apology, maybe? Can be also not so serious, maybe 'steal Soaps practice chanter, so the base can live in peace and silence for at least one evening'. Love-love-love!

Ooooooh I like it! I set it before my fic, I'm sure people are absolutely fed up with finding Riot everywhere.

Also, I can't write short things it seems! Thanks for the ask, I had a lot of fun! <3

''What do you mean, there's nothing else to do?''

Captain Price sighed, looking up from his own paperwork to find Simon's glaring brown eyes fixed on him. The Lieutenant was standing right in front of his desk, arms crossed, his looming, imposing frame almost obscuring the entire view of the office's door.

''Simon, it's a bank holiday. More than half of the privates are on leave, and the training drills are on hold. There's no one to train, no new paperwork, no vehicle needs fixing''

''Give me some of your paperwork then''

Christ, he sounded almost desperate. For someone else, Ghost's voice was as deadpan and inexpressive as always, but for someone who had known him for more than a decade, from before he was Ghost, it was easy to distinguish the little details. The stiffness of his broad shoulders, the way his fingers dug in his own biceps while crossing arms, the way his eyes were almost pleading.

''I'm almost done and I'm leaving, I just have to sign it. And no, you can't forge my signature''

''Well, in fact I can''

Price chuckled, shaking his head and making a show of how he was signing the last paper. Ghost groaned, tempted to just throw his hands in the air, but he simply walked over to the window to look out. The base was eerily silent.

The Captain waited patiently, checking his papers, but in reality he was observing the Lieutenant. It wasn't unusual for them to spend hours in silence in that very office, doing paperwork and sharing a glass of whiskey, sometimes even a cigar. He knew how to deal with Simon, he had done so countless times in the past. He just had to wait.

Sometimes, he even knew how to deal with Ghost.

''I just need something to do'' The younger man muttered at last, his back still to his superior officer.

Price nodded knowingly, tossing the stack of papers on his desk and leaning back on his chair, looking at Ghost.

''Well, there might be something...''

''What is it?'' Simon turned to look at him, not even bothering to hide his anxiety. He needed something, anything to do, to quiet down his mind.

''Soap and Gaz are plotting something in the common room'' Price checked his watch, with a serious face. ''I heard them during breakfast. I didn't quite catch what it was''

''Knowing them, nothing good'' Simon was already thinking of the possibilities, each one grimmer than the last. They could be planning to make the microwave explode. Or maybe fill the room with post-its, one of them had done so to their office, so it wasn't beyond them. Or, God forbid, they could be planning to stuff the sofa's cushions with glitter. They had already done that as well.

''Exactly'' The Captain nodded, observing with satisfaction how Ghost's eyes were already distant, his brain trying to come up with a plan to discover the Sergeants' shenanigans. ''I trust you'll keep an eye on them to make them behave, Simon''

Ghost just grunted. He didn't want to appear thankful or anything, but Price took the sound for what it was, and waved him goodbye while the Lieutenant left the office, his heavy steps echoing in the hallway until they faded in the distance.

*

When Ghost was halfway down the corridor, with the common room's door in his sight already, he could hear it. The microwave. Popping sounds and giggling.

The fucking microwave.

He quickened his pace and threw the door open, ready to sternly tell off both MacTavish and Garrick, only to find them excitedly gathered around the microwave, with an empty bowl and another bowl full of... popcorn.

They were making popcorn.

''Lt!'' Soap's wide grin welcomed him. ''Do you want to join us? We're going to watch a film!''

Even Gaz looked glad to see him. Ghost's eyes narrowed beneath his balaclava.

''What are you plotting?''

''Right now, just to get all the kernel to pop'' Gaz shrugged, still smiling and then watching again the microwave. Both Sergeants were giggling with glee each time there was a loud pop sound coming from inside, and Ghost considered for a moment if they had hit their heads earlier in the day or something.

''Are you sure that's all you're doing?''

''Aye, Lt... There's nothing to do, and most people have left for the holiday. Oi, care to join us?''

The Lieutenant considered his options. He could leave, which was his usual choice, and then the two Sergeants would finally do whatever it was they were planning to really do. Or he could stay, and twart their plans.

''Hmph'' He grunted, nodding gruffly just once. Soap's grin widened, and put the bowl full of popcorn in his hands, and Ghost stood there, not really knowing what to do while the Scott grabbed another.

The microwave started beeping, and he almost stepped back, completely sure that it would explode and that it was all a ploy, but Gaz simply opened the door and opened the bag to drop the hot popcorn in the empty bowl, so that the three of them had a bowl each.

The two Sergeants sat down on the sofa, leaving the armchair for him. That's what Ghost preferred anyway, and the three of them were too big to share the sofa without being all over each other like a pile of rags.

''What are we supposed to be watching?'' The Lieutenant asked, a bit of scorn in his voice, obviously not really believing their story. But Gaz and Soap were just smiling like little, innocent kids while the Scot turned the smart TV on and inserted an USB.

''I downloaded one of the films I used to watch as a kid with my fam, and Gaz used to watch it too! So we thought we'd go down the memory road''

''Murder by Death'' Gaz laughed, his mouth already full of popcorn. ''Have you watched it, Lt?''

''Can't say that I have'' God, even the title was absurd. What did Price think these two idiots would...?

Crap

Price

The fucking old man (only older than him by a few years, but old nonetheless).

Ghost was tempted to stand up and go find Price so he could stuff his throat full of popcorn, but in that moment the film started and Soap and Gaz cheered like two idiots.

He would have smiled if it hadn't been so fucking stupid. But the smell of the popcorn, and the... nauseatingly, pleasantly domestic feeling that was creeping in while he observed the two younger men all giddy...

He'd stay for a bit. Just to make sure they would behave.

*

An hour later, Price was passing through when he heard laughter coming from the common room. Three voices.

One was Soap, laughing hysterically. Gaz's laugh was a bit quieter, but he seemed to be enjoying it just as much. And the third voice...

The Captain stopped in his tracks, just to listen to it a bit more. Simon's laugh, which he hadn't heard in years. He had heard chuckles, snorts, maybe a short barked laugh. But not that belly laugh that Price remembered so fondly and so sadly.

Smiling, he continued his way, satisfied. His own little plot had worked beautifully. He still got it.

[julymarte]

Text post cause I'm gonna dive into mermay with a silly/not so silly brainstorming about ✨the fish✨ of course, as the other time this is not a fanfiction or anything it's just me taking notes of events I might draw in a scattered way that I can understand when drawing, it's not a narration of events

Today's prompt was.... Will Pravaal ever talk with his mother again? Would his mom ever send someone looking for him? Etc etc more under the cut

Context for those who might be new:

Pravaal the pink merman boy you can't have missed from my blog is the eldest (illegitimate)son of a high noble woman descending from a mildly discriminated minority (abyssals) and they don't have a good relationship. Pravaal's mother used to care for him for his very first years until her family started pressuring her to mend the mistake she made and reclaim the respect from her family...nobles of abyssal descent are obsessed with being seen well and accepted by pure blood high nobility so a child had outside a marriage with a man from another land that never came back...well, wasn't the best for her situation and instead of clinging to her son she distanced herself giving priority to her status. While his mother married a pure blood noble and had more children with him he was always mistreated,insulted, alienated until he had enough and ran away from home (not before stealing a bunch of precious stuff in retaliation including his signature earring) he was around 12 when he escaped...

Time setting: 2 years before the story circa

Scene: It's night (like night night) in the Silver Capital pravaal is about to exit the twin moons after a nice party night when he finds 4 men with light armor and the sea emblem pointing spears at him

P* startled but trying to keep the cool*: my my~ what do we have here? Did the hag finally decide to look for her lost child?

???: ugh where are your manners? This squalid place sure had left it's influence on you..and look at you what are you wearing?! That's highly improper..tch but what else could I have expected? Of course you would have joined that entourage of criminals like your father

P * genuinely surprised but his mood darkening*: to think you left your pretty perfect mansion to come find me after 10 years... What do I owe the honor of your presence,mother? * He'd do an over exaggerated bow with the hand twirls*

Narissa *annoyed but keeping an air of superiority*: I'm obviously not here for you, but for something you've taken from me *points at his earring* I want that back and if you won't be an obedient boy my guards will take it by force

P *snickering and looking at the guards as someone who would easily take them down*: you even threaten me?! For this earring? If it really mattered that much to you why wait all this time?

N* takes a moment to reply pondering if she should tell him or not*: I need it to complete the set, I will be wearing it at an important ceremony, my daughter has finally been matched with a pure blood high noble for marriage it's an important occasion for my family, it's my crest after all... It matters more to me than to you right?...so now... Hand it over and you won't get hurt

P: my sister is...? She's not even an adult yet and you already sold her out like that?!

N: it's for the greater good of the family, that is none of your business! You never were part of it, you only caused me problems and it's disappointing to see you just keep doing so.... Guards !

Guards:yes ma'am!

N: I want that earring at all costs I don't care if you have to wound him or worse

???: oi! oi! oi! What's with the commotion outside!? I was trying to entertain a small crowd there but if you keep going like this they will all come making bets here *the scruffy but charming man puts a hand on Pravaal's shoulder who recoils annoyed and mildly disgusted*

P: by the ancients if things couldn't get any worse...*grows increasingly irritated by the situation* go back there old man this doesn't concern you

Arvad: sheesh! What a bitter family reunion we have here...I just wanted to land you a hand boy don't give me the cold shoulder like that, ah and you Marissa are just as beautiful as the last time I sa-

Narissa: *she snaps, it runs in the family*YOU!!!! YOU ARE THE SOURCE OF ALL MY MISFORTUNE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH YOU RUINED MY LIFE!? STARTING WITH* points at pravaal who looks at her coldly*..THAT!? AND ITS NARISSA! you pathetic man don't even remember my name *looks at him disgusted to which in response he just averts the gaze and spaces out*

P* raises his hands and turns around leaving* that's it I'm done I am NOT gonna get involved in this, no way I'm gonna stand here as you argue over how your life was ruined-

N: DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN?! GUARDS!! * Arvad jumps on the side startled by her loud yelling, the guards rush towards pravaal who summons his whip sword and whips it on the ground making them take a step back, serious look on his face he starts to take a few strps towards his mother*

P: I'm not gonna give it to you, you don't really need it do you? This is not an old family heirloom you could have commissioned a copy, I bet you probably already have one, not to mention why boasting the family crest when you aim to be part of another more prestigious house?...*snaps his sword again to keep the guards at bay who are simply pointing their sticks at him unsure of what to do, his mother stares at him coldly but starts sweating* the red moon district is a small place and people talk, especially at the twin moons *Arvad nods nervously sensing the tension* and I would have known if there were a bunch of sea guards buzzing around the capital but no you paid someone to sell my exact location... Why? * She grows a bit uneasy as he uses the earring to appear as his 12yo self and steps closer* Don't Tell me you DID actually come for me~ Aww maybe you still do have a heart deep deep down, did you miss me? Or do I still haunt your dreams?*flashes her a smirk to challenge her to reply to which he freezes in silence for a while,guards looking each other in confusion and Arvad taking the moment to sneak back to his small audience with a new story, noticing him pravaal..still as a baby boi sighs*

So?

N: fine! Keep the earring...I- I'm here cause of my daughter, she was wondering if you still were alive and I wanted to- to check, for her..no way in the pits of the abyss I'll let her taint her reputation before her marriage by setting foot on land!

P:... Wouldn't these guys have been enough? And why lie about the jewels?!...*sighs and releases the illusion turning back to his normal self* listen, whatever,I don't care ,as you see I am still alive that's it...but now don't ever show your face around here again...he ruined your life, I ruined it too by existing I guess, but you ruined mine as well and it's not less important than your pretty sorry story* she twitches a little hearing that, she tries to maintain a superiority look but she's more akin to a dog with it's leg between it's legs now* but.. you are right, my my where are my manners?! * Does the mocking fancy bow again* farewell mother, may I never see you again~

[human-psyche]

BLACK.

CHAPTER 1

Heavy rain pelts the landscape of Seoul in a slow, torrential drizzle, rivulets of water pouring like glass beads from the night skies that envelop everything in a blanket of sombreness. The continuous sound of the rain covers the rest of the noise coming from the city, farther and farther away as Yoongi runs. 

A firing gunshot dissipates the monochrome silence, then another, each aimed in his direction; both miss their target but his pursuers don't stop, rounds of bullets hitting the wall of the train station he ducks behind to catch his breath.

Min Yoongi is his birth name. 09 is his number. August D is a code.

He was and is known by many names of which the combination above describes who he is shortly. In the world he lives in, one's value is measured in kill counts: the greater the amount, the higher and richer one becomes. But becoming top of the game is the suicidal glory of entering an arena where other fighters have free reign to strike, money are just a currency of exchange to a reputation like his一 a quality deathdealer. There is a system this hierarcy is built upon, its signature being that of coins with each individual's symbol engraved on it, a metaphor derived from greek mythology where a person requires coins to be granted passage over the river of Hades's underworld or risk wandering the shores for one hundred years untill they are allowed to cross. 

Those without a coin of their own are low ranked members of the organization, they are easy to replace and disposable. Those who acquire a silver coin represent the ones who are diplomatic and agile, they may have ranked fast but lack solid force. Those who obtain a gold coin are the ones branded as superior specimens of their occupation, suitable for any job, any contract, in any circumstances, and most sought after and expensive above their versatility. Then, there are the ones who possess a black coin, the rarest kind. They are the ones who make the rules and enforce them, the ones who lead.

EX-DEUS is an organization that does not exist to the public for all intents and purposes. Named after the latin phrase "ex deus mortis" which means "from the god of death", its profit results from a simple yet obscure program: contract killing. Founded by Kim Manseok and his second wife, Natasha, the company has an extended base in the USA, South Korea, China and Russia, although its web of operation has spread throughout several countries on the globe. Orphan children are picked off the streets whether willingly or forcibly, while some perhaps even kidnapped from their families without recollection of it, and subjected to a training regiment that steps past the boundaries of human ethics, shaped into the perfect weapons. Emotions are suppressed and nullified, pain becomes numbness and desirable results are reached around the ages sixteen - eighteen on average, a time at which one is permitted to start taking on jobs. Few can form attachments...

Night rain is an irony and an illusion to Yoongi, it reminds him of days he can't erase or unseen. 

It reminds him who he truely is, what he does, and what he might've lost before even having it. 

He inhales sharply and moves, shooting one of his assailants. When he finally leaves his hiding spot and runs for cover again, bullets fly and hit the roof of the station too, sparks from a short-circuit raining like a second gale of fire drops: the male turns at the last moment as a man shoots. Yoongi's faster, only getting a scrape to his arm while the other guy collapses to the floor, a second attacker's gun proving to be out of bullets. He tosses it away and chases after him madly, just as the train barells through the station at blinding speed. The younger has no choice but to engage him in a fight, a knife cutting the air close enough to slash his throat except Yoongi's reflexes aid him in overpowering the man and stabbing his own knife into the side of his neck. Not without a lesser injury though, because he's tired, bleeding and on the run for days. 

He pants out puffs of congealed air, the roar of the trepidation that shakes the train tracks drowning out his fatigue. 

There is only one person left that he can count on.

. . .

THREE YEARS AGO ... 

The corridor of the tightly secured company is one he'd gone through a hundred times. A hundred times it was always like this: grey walls and an ominous weight of guilt that they thought they could ignore forever. But that wasn't his priority right now. 

Yoongi feels it as he halts at the end of the hallway, the male seated on the armchair at the entrance for waiting bearing dissimilar levels of emotion written over his countenance.

He's Jimin, a silver coin owner he'd seen around Y/n quite often, who's mostly unreadable, would it not be for a trace of something akin to anger. 

His fingers tighten on the velvet box inside the pocket of his coat. 

A person who's usually with them when waiting for details on a new contract is missing. 

"Where's Y/n?" 

"She's gone."

Jimin's blunt reply sends a surge of frightening dread through his gut, a foreign feeling. For a second there he forgets that sentence could have one other meaning, his mind going blank. Their occupation's not to be trifled with, death is a perpetual friend but also their fiercest foe.

"What the fuck do you mean she's gone?" 

"Her room's empty, she's gone." the younger continues, clarifying the misunderstanding. 

It's only then that he directs his attention to Kim Manseok's office, where Taehyung has a screaming match with his father. 

"...something was wrong with her the night she came back from her last contract! She would never leave like this!" 

"It isn't your business to demand of me to disclose confidential information!" 

"It is, she isn't just some random member of the organization! I consider her more of a sister than my step-sister is! You should have told me! Where is she?!" 

"Like I said, I can't tell you, Taehyung."

"If you have anything to do with this, or your wife does, I'm done with you. Did you get rid of her to teach me a lesson, huh? Are you going to do the same with Yoongi? Why? Because I'm not like Namjoon? Because I'm not the obedient, responsible son you want? Did you?! Answer me, father!"

"Kim Taehyung, do not talk to me like that! This is not about you!" 

"Then tell me why she's not here!" 

"Y/n requested that I help her disappear. She retired and wishes for none of you to find her."

The EX-DEUS's chairman's verdict stuns all of them, having not expected that. 

Slamming the door on his way out, Taehyung joins them on the hallway, a frown crinkling at his features. He sees Yoongi and since he and Y/n work together as partners, he vows, "I'll find her. I'll find her even if I have to search the entire country. I'll tell you once I get a lead."

Jimin sits up, that undeciphered anger in his orbs more evident. He passes by Yoongi without even sparing him a glance. He knows what is going on with Y/n, why she left, but he keeps it to himself. 

Yoongi's hand tightens around the box in his pocket, nearly crushing it.

. . .

An ordinary, plain life in the Gwangjin district. A small apartment. An elementary P.E teacher's job. A new identity, a fake name. A new look. Y/n tries to go to sleep every night and not remember who she really is, where she comes from. It isn't difficult to pretend, living peacefully day to day and not linger and get stuck in the past, dreaming of people she used to share pain with, or the ones who caused her pain. The ones whom saw her as death's angel before taking their dying breath, the ones that still haunt her nightmares sometimes. Faces, faces she associates with familiarity, and faces that have little to no shape. 

Here, she isn't L/n Y/n. She's just Y/n with a false surname.

The only fault in her existence is the silver coin she still has tucked somewhere into the drawer of her nightstand. 

Rain outside the windows disrupts her thoughts, her bare feet tapping the floors as she walks to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of juice. It's a friday night, she can relax from another day at the school she teaches at, and enjoy the free time of weekend. In the modest, rented apartment, loneliness feels like the luxurious comfort she was not able to afford prior to being this fake person she is. 

However, as if the universe is plotting against her, a sudden knock on the front door causes the girl to put her glass down and wonder who might be so late at night. She surely had no visitors to look forward to. 

Brows knit, Y/n goes to unlatch the door一 and nearly screams when she sees him, his arm leaning on the doorframe, dark eyes piercing through her own. 

"...Yoongi?" she breathes out, both in shock and frustration. 

The reason her heart drops to her stomach has a double edged root. One, he's soaked to the bone, his cheeks are bruised and exhaustion hangs to his hazed lids. Two, he's right here, in front of her, whilst she worked so hard to block him out of her mind. 

"You're in love with him." Jimin declares one fine night as he puts his elbows on the railing, glimpsing the city below with her. 

Y/n laughs, hysterically. It doesn't sound genuine though. "Who? Yoongi?" 

"Don't lie." 

"What do you want me to tell you? That I'm flawed?" 

"You're different, you don't need to be fixed. You managed to feel this even if it's not in our nature. Love."

"What's the point? It's Yoongi. The day he feels something for someone, the world will fall apart. He's among the best EX-DEUS has ever had. Unlike me, there's no error in his code. He fucks, he doesn't love."

"Taehyung said you guys never had sex."

"That's because to him, I'm a friend, a sidekick, a partner, whatever. Even the girls Taehyung brings in so you guys can have fun with get more attention from him."

"Unrequited love." he leans his head back, glancing to her afterwards. "How are you coping with that?" 

"I undressed in front of him one time when we were at a hotel during an assignment and he didn't even blink. He was that unfazed." 

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

They stay silent following her answer, the wind blowing through their hair over the sounds of city traffic. Then Y/n speaks again. 

"Do you know what else I started feeling lately?" 

Jimin grunts, urging her to go on. 

"Guilt."

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?" she scowls as she regains her composure, refusing to let herself crumble at the sight of him. 

Yoongi's lips twist, the ghost of a smirk gracing his rugged appearance. "Hello to you too, Y/n. You haven't changed, you're as pretty as I remember you and twice as bitchy."

She glares, attempting to hit the door shut but failing due to him sliding his foot between it and the wall. 

He pries it open and gets inside, pushing past her without permission. 

"If you bleed on my floor I'll shoot you myself. Get out. I don't want to see your face." the female trails behind him, in the livingroom. 

"Easy." he taunts, unknotting his tie and throwing his soaked suit jacket on the back of the couch; he removes one leather glove using his teeth, and the other with his free hand. His dress shirt is stained red underneath. "You owe me a favour, Y/n. I'm here to get even."

"Fuck you, fuck your favour. I'm not doing this anymore, I have a life here, get out of it, you son of a一" 

Her words cease when he unbuttons and peels his shirt off, his wet torso from the rain exposing the ugly knife cut on his side and the scratch of a bullet to his left arm. Traitorous worry clenches her chest. 

"I saved your pretty little ass, you have to help me. I know you never go back on your word."

"Stop calling me pretty, or anything that concerns me." she fumes, walking over to him and shoving him down to sit on the couch. "Don't touch my things." she warns as she goes to the bathroom, retrieving the first aid kit. 

Returning to the livingroom, Yoongi has one of her framed pictures of Jungkook in his grasp, likely having picked it from the decorative table next to the couch. 

"Your boyfriend?" 

"It's none of your business." Y/n presses a little purposefully on his wound with the cloth she's using to clean it. 

If he wants to hiss at the sting, he doesn't nor shows it. "You changed your style. It looks good on you."

She would say he looks unfairly handsome too but ofcourse she can't. Resorting to not giving him a reaction, she busies herself with his injuries, disinfecting and treating them.

A palpable tension resides between the two of them, with him watching her and the young woman avoiding his gaze. She makes quick work of her task, soon after bandaging his arm. Stitching the one on his waist is trickier, because she has to concentrate despite the feel of Yoongi's lithe, toned muscles under her fingertips, his persistent orbs tracing every slope and curve of her face. 

"Why did you leave?" 

The predictable question earns a pause from her, in which she finishes dressing his second wound, adding medical tape onto the gauze. "I couldn't handle the guilt anymore."

He doesn't quite believe her, someone as competitive as Y/n wouldn't just disappear like that. 

Yoongi has lived with the impression that she's not fond of him because they grew up fighting for the best rank and he ultimately outmatched her. 

The truth is, she left for three particular reasons. The first, yes she did end up feeling the oppressing guilt of their profession. The second, she was in love with him and she wanted to get away from the man who wouldn't reciprocate her feelings一 an affliction she never expected would plague and chase someone like her, specially trained to eliminate and demolish such sentiments. Nobody knew about the third reason other than herself and Jimin, and she certainly wouldn't confess it to him. That was the night her harmless, ambitious annoyance torwards Yoongi turned to hate. 

Catching her by surprise, he grabs her arms as she's about to pull back, dragging her closer instead. The only distance left to separate them is a mere centimeter, forcing her to look him in the eyes. 

"Is there more, isn't it?" 

She forgot how compelling his presence can be, a sliver of nervousness inflicting her otherwise confident traits. She has to swallow, stabilizing her emotions in order to lie effectively. "No. And even if there was, I wouldn't tell you."

She pushes herself off him and snatches the framed photo he dropped on the couch, putting it to its rightful place. 

"Take off the rest of your clothes."

Yoongi regards her blankly. He cocks an eyebrow, as if her demand has another implication.

They're back to their old teasing, bantering, arguing routine. 

"You're freezing cold and all wet from the rain. Just do it." she rolls her eyes. "I'll get you a towel to dry up and clothes to change."

"From your boyfriend?" 

"Yes, from my boyfriend. Do you have a problem with that?" 

"This Jungkook guy, does he know you don't love him?" 

"And how do you know I don't?" she yells back.

"Because you're a heartless bitch who used to kill people."

Y/n comes from the bedroom holding the promised towel, a shirt, a pair of jeans and underwear, throwing them at his face with a vengeance. "Here's the clothes, asshole."

Later, after she treats the bruises on his cheekbones and lip too, they eat at the table of her kitchen, her mind running through her choices; she questions herself why she gave in and helped him. She swore to herself she didn't want to see him again, but her heart wouldn't allow her to just turn her back on him, and besides, she owed him that favour. She isn't the kind of person to break promises or not repay something good done to her. 

"I asked you how you found me."

"Taehyung sent people to search for you, he's been trying to track you down for 2 years. He got your location last year but decided to respect your wishes and not contact you. He said he's fine with atleast knowing you're okay."

"Who else knows about this place?" 

"Jimin."

She nods, addressing their current issue: "So what's going on? What do you need?" 

"Let me stay here a couple days."

"You're not telling me what happened." 

Yoongi tosses his chopsticks on the table, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He sighs, his situation none too common. 

"Someone paid multiple contracts to get me killed."

"What?" Y/n frowns. "You mean members of EX-DEUS are going after you? But you're one of their own...how did chairman Kim even approve those contracts?" 

"You're behind with updates, Y/n. Taehyung's father is no longer chairman. He had an accident in january, he passed away."

"Then who is it?" 

"Natasha."

"That snake? Taehyung should've become chairman, or atleast Namjoon."

"Apparently, Kim Manseok signed a document which automatically made his wife chairwoman when he died."

"She's crazy, she's going to ruin the company for money."

"She already did. By order of her authority, members of EX-DEUS are now aloud to target and kill each other if a contract is sent from a client. She's turning the organization in a fucking bloodbath."

. . .

a/n: thanks a lot for all the likes this story got, and all the reblogs, truely!

[yokelish]

A Sin in Two Parts (First Part)

✏ Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs ✏ Characters: Nakajima Atsushi, Dazai Osamu, Armed Detective Agency ✏ Word count: 4,350 ✏ Warnings: someone will die! of shame!

There were many things Nakajima Atsushi had trouble understanding at first glance. For one, he had trouble wrapping his head around his own power. Power he wasn’t even aware of until a series of tumultuous events. He possessed a supernatural power to transform into a tiger. Not something he could control or remember at first but that’s what he was now. An ability-user.

Ability-users. Another thing Atsushi didn’t understand was Armed Detective Agency. Beneficial as it was, it felt out of place. He didn’t understand why Dazai would be so insistent on Atsushi’s candidacy. His supernatural power was outside of his control. Not to mention that Nakajima was simply an outsider, an unwanted presence wherever he ended up in. And, despite the man-eating tiger incident, own incompetence and cowardice, he was accepted. That’s where he belonged now.

The other thing Nakajima didn’t understand was his mentor. A suicide-obsessed, self-important, facetious, whimsical, bandaged man who… Atsushi had trouble admitting this to himself. But something about Dazai’s nature wasn’t quite right. He still was facetious, whimsical, and suicide-obsessed, but there was a little more than that. There was something behind the nature of his superior that Nakajima often found almost… dark. It wasn’t the humor or obsession with death, it was more akin to another shadow that followed his mentor. Like when Atsushi believed the tiger followed him. It’s the same kind of feeling. That, on occasion, something is a little out of place, something that shouldn’t be is present. The first time he felt that was when Dazai was persuading him into joining the agency permanently. That was, as Atsushi found out later, blackmail more than persuasion.

Then there was another matter Atsushi didn’t understand about his mentor…

That person. Dazai’s partner. No, not partner. Dazai’s partner was Kunikida. But also, that person was definitely Dazai’s partner. What word should he use to describe them? Hm, there were many words that would define that person and their relationship to Dazai. But the words only ever came close.

Atsushi sat on the chair still clutching the fake bomb close to his chest. This must have been the scariest, most bone-chilling experience of his life. A bomber, an innocent hostage. And him, throwing himself on the bomb without thinking. Why did he do that? He knew he wanted to live. He desperately clung to the feeling of air in his lungs despite the misfortune, the hunger, the desperation. Why then?

“We can’t force you to join,” Dazai said, sounding rather accepting of the situation, “but then I can’t help but worry for your future. You’ll need to vacate the room company got for you, and you don’t have any special skills, or friends in the city, so job will be hard to come by. Not to mention—"

Honestly, Atsushi was half-listening at this point as his brain started to get overwhelmed with information. He had to start fretting about his future not because of having to worry about shelter or food, but because of his newly discovered ability.

“…shot dead.”

“Shot dead?!” Nakajima screeched, leaning forward. Surely that would be too much, wouldn’t be? Shot dead. Shot. Dead. No one argued Dazai’s words.

“Now, if you were with our agency, that would be a different story,” the bandaged man offered a signature smug smile.

“Then that means…” Atsushi gripped the bomb tighter, closer, and fell against the back of the chair.  

The girl introduced previously as Naomi spoke first.” We look forward to working with you, Atsushi!” She threw her hands around the boy at her side in a fierce hug. “Don’t we, brother?”

“Follow the rules, brat,” Kunikida added flippantly.

Dazai took the reigns of the conversation again, “Well, not that the matter was settled—”

The door to the office opened with a swing as a new person entered the office. “Is the newbie here already?” they asked, excited. And the limelight seemed to shift as Nakajima couldn’t feel as many eyes on him.

Newbie in question remained silent, stupefied by the suddenness of it all. His eyes and mind registered the new person present but his mind turned inwards to process everything that just happened. He was still processing the fact that he was walking a very thin line of not being alive anymore. Being on the brink of starvation, Dazai, Kunikida, his new-found ability, and the recent test.

“Ah, you are just in time,” Dazai welcomed the newcomer with warm familiarity.

Atsushi was finally pulled out of his stupor of self-absorption and truly looked at the new person. Some people just have a certain energy about them, certain charisma that just overflows from their entire being. This was one such case. The atmosphere suddenly felt familiar, warm, calm. The time itself seemed to slow down. Or maybe it was because the boy finally started to breathe without overwhelming anxiety, without the pressure of having so many eyes on him.

“Meet the newbie, Ryōshi,” amusement heard in the man’s voice as he extended his bandaged hand to them. “We’ve just finished his employment paperwork.”

“Yeah, no,” Ryōshi shook their head, “I was standing behind the door for a few minutes now,” they lightly slapped the open palm offered, but the bandaged hand trapped their fingers between his, “I know that was more of a blackmail than employment negotiation.”

“It was nothing but negotiation, right, Atsushi?” Dazai looked at him again. Their odd handholding continued for a few more moments before finally be done and over. The boy-tiger felt the hardness of the fake bomb against his ribs as he breathed in.

“Hi,” the person spoke again with a soft smile. They introduced themselves first.

“I’m Nakajima Atsushi,” he spoke, sounding dumb even to his own ears.

“You have a lucky name, Nakajima Atsushi.”

“How?” Inside, the boy felt mortified, embarrassed. It didn’t help how Kunikida threw him a glance that asked if he was an idiot. It was just a compliment, take it, show gratitude. But that shame quickly died as a wide smile bloomed on their face. Atsushi felt something blooming too, inside his chest, beautifully and calmly. It wasn’t anxiety, it wasn’t pressure, it was something else. Something he couldn’t identify yet. But the boy had no doubt this feeling had everything to do with the person speaking to him now.

“Well, someone chose that name for you, and you are alive and here now, so, of course, it’s a lucky name!”

Oh, Atsushi thought, they are insane. Of course, they were insane.

They offered a handshake, “You can call me Fisher, everyone does.”

He shook their hand, “Why?”

“I am very good at it, of course.”

Atsushi didn’t understand that part. He will come to learn he didn’t understand many things about this person. What he also didn’t understand at that moment was the smile on his superior’s face. It wasn’t smug or devious or dubious. Dazai’s smile was full of fondness. At first, Atsushi truly didn’t understand.

“Beautiful!” Dazai proclaimed as he fell on one knee before a blonde woman. She didn’t say anything, but whether it was because she was charmed or confused was up for debate.

The person who stood behind his chair brushed a hand pleasantly against his hair, and Atsushi’s naturally turned around to look. It was Ryōshi. For someone who had such a natural magnetism, this was the first time he watched it dissipate without a trace. With a finger snap, they blended with the walls and furniture, leaving nothing of that overwhelming presence. Nakajima didn’t understand. He wondered if they were alright.

“You are a lady as beautiful and ephemeral as a lotus flower,” Dazai continued his heartfelt speech as his hand held hers. Atsushi cringed internally. “Would you be willing to join me in a double suici—”

Of course. It was, after all, Dazai. Kunikida shoved the bandaged man off the woman with reckless force. The woman showed a small reaction of surprise.

“Apologies for the distraction,” Kunikida said rather impassively. He grabbed his suicidal partner by the collar and dragged him out of the room. “Please, don’t mind us and continue.” The door closed behind him.

Only Dazai knows for sure what happened behind that door. Everyone else could only guess based on the auditory clues.

He opened his eyes to a white ceiling. He’d feel vomit if only his stomach wasn’t so empty. The fear. He could remember the fear so vividly, so sharply. It was a sharp and polished blade nested in his guts. What was he fearing again?

“What happened? Where am I?” he mumbled in confusion. His throat was dry, but nothing hurt. And a gentle hand touched his. The touch felt oddly familiar.

“So, you finally come to?” a man’s voice asked. That touch was gone now.

“Kunikida,” Atsushi whispered, calmed by the recognizable presence. He was alive and with Kunikida, everything was alright then.

“And I,” Ryōshi spoke up. Atsushi saw a hand come down from above and towards his head. Warm palm placed on his forehead. This calming touch. That’s who was holding his hand. “You really must be lucky,” they whispered.

“Can’t believe you pulled that stunt,” Doppo interrupted firmly. “And at such time, too.”

“I’m not lucky, I was attacked by the mafia…” The boy mumbled absentmindedly. The memory of the fight engulfed his mind. Gunshots, Naomi, blood, Tanizaki, blood, Akutagawa, and the searing pain in his leg. More blood. The smell of it mixed with the smell of a back alley and gunpowder.

He shot up from his bed, startling Fisher. “I remember!” He did. The searing pain in his leg came a moment too late as Rashomon took it clean off. “Are Junichi and Naomi alright?!”

“Just calm down,” Kunikida replied evenly, calmly. It was infectious. “They are both okay.”

Atsushi breathed. “Are you sure?”

A scream was heard from the other room. It wasn’t a scream of fear but of pain. Then it morphed into moans of pain, then whimpers and whines.

“Hear that? Dr. Yosano is treating Tanizaki as we speak, you have nothing to fear, Atsushi,” Ryōshi assured him.  

“That’s medical treatment?”

“I’m telling you, you are lucky, kid.”

“Atsushi,” Kunikida chimed in once again, stern and calm as before, “I heard a rumor.”

No, Nakajima Atsushi was anything but lucky. He had a seven-billion-yen bounty on his head on the black market, and that’s why Port Mafia was after him. That’s why Tanizaki and Naomi were in danger. Nakajima Atsushi was anything but lucky.

Atsushi covered the flights of stairs in a breath. Why would this happen? He left the Agency, so the worst-case scenario shouldn’t be happening! He had to stop this! No one in the Agency should be responsible and harmed for his existence, for his worthless, unfortunate, burdensome life! No one should be harmed because of him AGAIN. Not Tanizaki, not Naomi, not the gentle person who held his hand while he was in the infirmary. No one would come to harm because of Nakajima Atsushi’s misfortune ever again.

“Stop!” he shouted as he entered the office. It lacked a door already. The walls were covered in bullet holes, windows without glass. Papers scattered on the floor, woodchips, misplaces furniture and…Ryōshi sitting on the table next to Ranpo. They flashed him a winning smile. Atsushi didn’t understand.

The Agency’s most idealistic man was subduing someone on the floor. “So, you finally came back, kid?!” Doppo was positively angry. “Ugh, this is exactly why I hate raids,” he said, standing up and starting to write down in the notebook. “They really mess up our budget planning.” Kunikida went on about the spending on repairs. Nakajima barely understood.

“Using machine guns was really over the top,” Dr. Yosano agreed. “It’s your turn to go around the neighborhood with gifts and apologies.”

“Fisher!”

“Why me?” they pouted, jumping off the table. “It’s your turn, and I literally just saved you from being a target practice for a machine gun!”

“You lost the bet,” the man replied. “The brat ran away.” Atsushi was graced with a judgemental look.

“But he came back!”

“To come back he had to run away first.”

“Damn it, okay, fine,” they puffed, “between you and I, I am the one with a winning smile.”

“Maybe with you going around the neighbourhood it is indeed the worst-case scenario,” the man bit back.  

“What?” Atsushi couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t understand what was happening. Well, he sort of understood what happened. Port Mafia tried to raid the office and somehow, for some unknown god’s miracle, ADA came out on top. The bullet holes in the walls formed many constellations, machine guns were laying on the floor like debris, knocked-out mafia goons were laying on the floor, but… Every member of the agency was standing upright and doing just fine. More than fine, actually.

Port Mafia wasn’t much compared to Detective Agency. Outside of Akutagawa, of course, but even then, Dazai-san…

Lost in his thoughts, he blanked out on Kenji throwing Port Mafia goons out of the window, followed by polite goodbyes.

“Hey, brat, help out with the clean-up!” Kunikida called. “Can’t believe you simply wandered off—”

“Can’t believe?” Fisher gasped. “You bet against him!”

“You’re the one who started it!”

“I like to test my luck!”

“In the middle of all the commotion,” the man continued as if the previous interruption didn’t happen. “You are a member of the Armed Detective Agency,” he wrote something down in the notebook again, “you should always be thinking about what you can do. Well, helping with a clean-up is about all you can do.”

That’s what Kunikida-san meant by thinking about what he could do? That’s what he meant? Thinking about actions that would actively help out instead of indirectly asking him to leave? His perception of his superior blurred. Literally. The figures and colours blurred together. And Atsushi felt a broken laugh bubble up in his throat.

Through clenched teeth, Doppo spoke, “Brat, if you have time to laugh—”

“Easy, Kunikida,” Ryōshi reprimanded.

This person came to his defense. This person defended Nakajima Atsushi who recently tried to run away. Those broken laughs tore through his throat. A warm and gentle hand ruffled his hair. This was so unfair. Such unfair treatment.  

“Why would I—? Are you crying?” The last part made Kunikida sound almost offended. Nakajima collected himself immediately.

He turned around and wiped wet stains on his cheeks. “I’m not crying!” the boy lied.

“Yeah, you are.” A man half as observant as Kunikida wouldn’t buy such a pathetic lie.

Atsushi sniffled and rubbed his eyes again. “I am not.” This time he sounded more confident.

“Pfff! Ahahah!” Ryōshi started to laugh. Their laugh didn’t die down as their colleague started to drill into the newbie.

Atsushi was following Dazai as they were supposed to help Ranpo back to the Agency after solving the case. Today was…well, it surely wasn’t an ordinary day. Lately, no day was an ordinary one for Nakajima. After joining the Agency, life was surely eventful. And today was his second official job assignment. It went much smoother.

“I get it now,” Atsushi said, contemplative. “Ranpo doesn’t have an ability, but everyone else does, right?” His superior only hummed in agreement. “Then, do you know what Ryōshi’s ability is? Can I know what it is?”

“Oh?” Dazai flashed a grin. “Why the sudden interest in my partner?”

“I thought Kunikida was your partner,” the boy replied, confused.

“Kunikida is my partner, but Ryōshi is…” the man thought for a moment. A smile appeared on his lips, growing wider and winder. “Haha! Nevermind!” he shook his head, still smiling. “Anyway, yes, I do know their ability, and, no, there is no reason you can’t know. You are a member of the Agency, after all.”

“What it is?” Perhaps he sounded a little too excited. And, of course, it didn’t escape his mentor.

“Probability manipulation,” Dazai answered, indifferent. “Or, simply put, luck is their ability.”

“Huh?”

“What, don’t get it? Ryōshi manipulates probability. The odds are ever in their favour. Imagine a deck of cards, shuffled between you, me, and Ryōshi. They would be the one with a royal flush, every time.”

“Woah. That’s…That seems like a very powerful ability. In a casino, especially.”

Dazai shrugged. “Luck is zero-sum. Once Ryōshi draws a royal flush, all other bad cards must go into someone else’s hands.”

Atsushi stopped in his tracks. “What?”

The man stopped two steps ahead of him. “Exactly as you heard it. When Ryōshi gets lucky, it always means someone has to receive a dose of bad luck. Zero-sum, equivalent exchange.”

“Why would someone like Ryōshi be in the Agency?” With such ability, any door was open for Fisher. So why stick to a detective agency? No, Atsushi was lying to himself. He simply wanted to know more about this person.

“Protection,” the man replied. “Such an ability could be viewed as highly beneficial by many powerful people who would like to have even more power. Politicians, businessmen—”

“Port Mafia?”

The man smiled mischievously, “Alright, I’ve told you quite enough about my Fidus Achates. If you want to know more, ask them yourself.”

Dazai finally reached out. Apparently, he was captured by the Mafia and managed to escape. Needless to say, some of the agency’s members were a bit skeptical of his story. The moment Dazai showed his face at the office, Fisher asked for a private conversation in the infirmary. That was the first time Atsushi heard the coldness in their voice. The sheer absence of any tangible emotion attached was deafening. The first he heard them speak like that was related to a rather heavy incident. This time was undeniably and solely related to Dazai. Just like that, the two of them were gone behind a closed door.

Atsushi looked at the empty table. Just a minute ago Ryōshi was sitting behind it working on some paperwork. Dazai’s table has been empty for a few days, therefore you’d think the paperwork accumulated on the table. No. They did all of it. Atsushi didn’t know where he stood on Dazai’s story of being captured by the Mafia. But he had no doubt there was one person who believed it completely and unquestionably. But what then were they talking about behind closed doors?

His body moved without him fully processing what he was about to do. He was about to eavesdrop. On his mentor and his… On two of his superiors.

“Where are you going, brat?” Kunikida asked calmly, without looking away from his paperwork. It was a quiet day in Yokohama, and Nakajima learned to appreciate such days. Those were precious days of peace and quiet, of doing office work, in a safe work environment. Perfect for catching up on actual office duties.

“Oh, I…” Atsushi stumbled over his words, awkward and very obviously caught in the act. “I… I…” He himself didn’t quite process what he was about to do. Least of all he thought of how to justify his actions to such a stickler as Kunikida Doppo. It’s not about social propriety to someone like him but about personal privacy. That wasn’t something Kunikida could be moved or persuaded on. That much Atsushi had already learned.

The man pushed the glasses up and shifted his gaze. “Are you trying to eavesdrop on them?” He raised a brow.

The boy was quick to shake his head. “N-no.”

“Yeah, you were,” Kunikida spoke, totally unimpressed with such pathetic and whiny attempts at excuses. “Don’t bother, they are having a fight.”

“Really?” the boy-tiger asked, confused and surprised at the same time. Not a single sound had reached his ears since the two people in question disappeared to have a private conversation. Are they really arguing so quietly? Dazai didn’t strike him as the type. Atsushi found his mentor to have a flair for the dramatic. “I don’t hear anything.”

Kunikida sighed. “You are young. There are more than one way adults can fight.”

“What are they fighting about?”

“Typically or right now?” he asked, tepid. Then his eyes got wide in realization. The man looked as if he just woken up from a dream. “Wait, why am I even telling you this?” his voice grew more frustrated. “You have work to do, brat, get back to it.”

Once Atsushi pulled himself from what was happening before his eyes, he asked Tanizaki, “Do you happen to know who asked her to come visit the agency?”

“It was me,” the president said. Everyone’s attention was drawn to the voice. But behind the man, Atsushi spotted the familiar figure. They stood behind Fukuzawa, again concealing their presence. And no matter how much Nakajima wanted it, their eyes didn’t meet.

“What’s the status?” Fukuzawa asked.

“Port Mafia’s efforts to erase her identity,” Kunikida answered, “makes it hard for the police to find her.”

“I’m sure they will label her a fugitive soon enough.”

Kyōka stood before the president. She raised her head. “Please, let me stay.”

Atsushi felt proud of her despite understanding how her bold actions were caused by desperation. He awaited the verdict.

“I’ll do anything,” the girl added.

“I don’t recommend it,” Kunikida unexpectedly inserted himself into the conversation. “Not because of your background,” he stood up from his chair, “but for your sake. It’s a difficult life.”

Before he could think through it, Nakajima started to talk, “Besides, if you stay here, Port Mafia will definitely find you. Shouldn’t you run as far away as you can?” Then, he realized what he just said. That’s what he did, didn’t he? Maybe he should have thought this through.

“Akutagawa,” Kyōka lowered her head, “said killing is the only thing I was good for. But he is wrong. I have to prove that… to myself.”

The boy gasped. This girl had more guts and willpower than he did. She was determined and unafraid. He wondered if that was desperation too. But did it matter? He himself was rather desperate when he met Dazai. Kyōka deserved a better life for herself. She deserved a chance to prove her worth to herself.

Atsushi lowered his head in a bow. “President, I’d like to vouch for her.” No immediate response followed. Atsushi remained in a bow.

“Please consider,” Kyōka asked. And again, pleading. And again, almost begging.

“Very well,” the president agreed. “I am considering.” A collective gasp was heard. “I will take you in.”

“As I was saying, president,” Ryōshi spoke up. Atsushi raised his head upon hearing this voice. Their eyes finally met. They offered a kind smile. He felt at peace. As if some weight was lifted off his shoulders. Kyōka was given a chance. She could stay. And he received a gentle smile.

“Yes,” Fukuzawa nodded, “as you were saying.”

“And I didn’t even use my ability,” Fisher added proudly.

“I know.”

“Lunch’s on me, kids!”

And as they said, Ryōshi took them out for lunch. Dazai had joined them there. This time, Dazai was rather temperate. Placid, even. There was no flirting with the waitress, no speeches about beautiful suicide. They sat across the table from each other, and Atsushi watched them closely. It was there again. The smile his mentor showed just once before. Of course, that person was in his line of sight. And behind that person’s eyes, Atsushi witnessed an altogether different sort of gentleness. And a voice inside his head spoke of how much it wanted that.

All that seemed so long ago now. Yet not much time had passed. So, how would Atsushi describe that person? Kind, gentle, accepting, and caring. They were also strong, independent, honest, and clever. And, more importantly, complicated. As a person, Ryōshi was incredibly complex and — dare the boy to assume it — hurt. The time when Dazai came back to the office after being captured by Port Mafia, that gelid tone of voice still rings inside his head as a hurtful reminder.

A reminder of complex human relationships. Atsushi still struggled with how to label the relationship between his two superiors. Dazai has used all sorts of words towards them. Companion. Partner. Fidus Achates. Confidant. But no, being young and inexperienced as he is, Atsushi can even fool himself into believing those two are in a working partnership or merely good friends. It always lingers in the air between them. Whatever it is. Their complex chemistry, a contract those two had sealed without anyone else knowing, a secret only those two share. It is something unspoken yet understood. At least, it was well-known by the two.

Can you like something you don’t understand?

From the very first moment he witnessed them together, he saw it. The gentle touch of hands, the lingering and yearning caught between their fingers, fragile and oozing. It had to be more than a simple exchange of abilities. It was. And the smile his mentor can never replicate but when he is with them, when they are in his sights.

No one has ever spoken of it. Atsushi was left to conclude that others hadn’t grasped that unspoken and unwritten between the gambler and nullifier, and those who did grasp refuse to speak a word out of respect for their silent and private choices.

“At-su-shi.”

The boy flinches at the sound of his own name. “Yes?”

“You are not eating,” Dazai points at the plate with his chopsticks.

“Ah, sorry,” he mumbles, “not hungry, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck and avoids eye contact. A disrespectful thing, really. Respecting other people’s choices is easy, but finding any respect for his own is hard. He is dwelling on his private thoughts and unconscious choices. All shameful.

Dazai reached into Atsushi’s plate without asking. “Yen for your thoughts?”

Nakajima makes a fatal mistake of meeting his mentor’s gaze. He doesn’t care about the food being taken off his plate. He thinks it’s the least he can offer to pay for what’s in his heart and mind. That’s the least he can do to redeem his sin of coveting.

[maiaspen]

“OBLIVION GIN” 🌟CHAPTER 8 PREVIEW 🌟

Hello to my darling readers! I am writing and editing away on Chapter 8. 💪 As a gift for your support, I’m sharing both some little art teaser snippets and a taste of the next chapter. As always when I post a preview: please know that this is not a tidy edited beauty… yet. My writing process is to word-vomit everything that comes into my head, and then give it a makeover (or a million makeovers) from there. What ultimately “makes the cut” to ao3 could read differently.

Check out the story on ao3.

Wooserr Art snippets… hmm 🤔 what will the finished work look like?

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Chapter 8 (preview)

Anakin’s mind reels so wildly, he can’t get a grip on a single thought. But gripping thoughts is irrelevant – he only needs to grip Obi-Wan. With his hands, and with the Force. Anakin is trembling. He feels like he’s wearing sweat as a second skin as he squeezes his signature around Obi-Wan’s, maintaining a constricting barrier to prevent any midi-chlorians from escaping. The mental effort is akin to clenching every muscle in his body beyond exhaustion – like he’s trying to play tug-of-war against the suction of a blackhole. And, dare he unclench, if his grip slips . . .

Then Obi-Wan dies.

Anakin’s consciousness flashes him its middle finger– taunting, threatening to bail on him. He hears himself sob – a pitiful mishmash of frustration, fear and fevered agony. He doesn’t know what to do. Anakin needs Fisto’s help. Obi-Wan needs Fisto’s help. But Fisto is single-handedly taking on The Ass Face Army, submitting to the lethal pull of Form I . . .

The Force seizes a hold of the Nautolan’s signature – greedily stretching and yanking — as though the Force is composed of billions of Master Kit Fisto fans, all wanting to tear off a piece of him for their own. Despite the chaotic energy around him, Fisto’s fighting stance remains solid as fuck. Like Fisto is the plant, rooted perfectly in place; and he belongs in this jungle, while the ass plants are the intruders. And the superior, fearless way in which the Nautolan is staring at them; the way sun and shadow paint a spectrum of green stripes over his skin . . . The ass faces might be wondering the same thing as Anakin: if they’ve just encountered Areh 7’s Jungle King?

The monsters rushing at Fisto make an abrupt stop, and Anakin thinks they might actually submit and surrender?

Nope.

Faster than a discharging bowcaster, a needle-tooth is fired. With his non-saber hand, Fisto reaches upward and . . . catches it. Snatching the poisonous dart out of the air so easily – as though the ass face had given him a polite heads-up that it was coming his way. Fisto maneuvers the needle in-between his middle and ring fingers so that it’s sticking straight up, makes a fist, and then juts it toward the plants. It looks like he’s flashing them a big, pointy ‘FUCK YOU’ – even larger than the one Anakin’s consciousness has been flashing at him.

Before Anakin’s heart can even beat again, Fisto lobs the needle back at the hoard — presumably, straight at the ass face who launched it. The Clones must hate playing darts with Fisto, because the Master hits the bullseye–er, butthole center, dead-on. The oomph throws the plant backward as though Fisto has nailed it with a plasmatic cannon ball!

The Nautolan doesn’t wait for the ass faces to retaliate. With a savage snarl, Fisto accelerates into a blur of motion. Even with Force-enhancement, Anakin’s eyes can’t maintain their lock on him. Fisto moves like a ricocheting blaster bolt – he’s everywhere at once! Anakin’s gaze only snags glints of green light. The Nautolan is flipping overhead, somersaulting to the left; diving into the dirt; appearing meters away one moment, then practically scorching Anakin’s hair the next. Now he’s in the treetops, sending smoking leaves and branches hailing down. It’s like Fisto is shoving the entire jungle through a vibro-shredder— green goo and singed leaves are splattering near and far! And Anakin can feel Form I shoving Fisto’s control through a vibro-shredder, too.

The Nautolan is unraveling. Becoming more and more like some animal who does belong in this jungle. Reacting on instinct versus intellect. His speed only seems to ratchet up-up-up— a living typhoon – becoming stronger and faster the longer he spins within the Force. Hells, those ass faces really ought to turn vine-tail and run away. It doesn’t seem like they are even landing a single blow. Trying to peg Fisto with one of their vines or needles is about as effective as trying to take down an actual typhoon with one of their vines or needles.

Anakin clutches Obi-Wan tightly, trying to shield his body from the downpour of flaming leaves and plant guts. He’s tired. So tired. But watching – feeling – Fisto has jump-started Anakin’s adrenaline again, giving him enough pep to swat unconsciousness’ middle finger away.

As though the jungle is birthing them, ass faces continue to emerge from the ground. And, like sand lemmings following one another off a suicide cliffside drop, they keep attacking Fisto. The Form I Master sends each one crashing and burning to the jungle floor. But—

Anxiety descends upon Anakin like a meteor shower, obliterating the after-bliss of Obi-Wan’s survival and Fisto’s well-timed rescue. Because-because-because— sustaining Obi-Wan’s life depends upon Fisto doing two things: kicking the asses of the ass faces, which he’s nailing. And the Nautolan himself has to survive the ass kicking in order to heal Obi-Wan. Fisto’s body will be okay, but he's losing himself, his coherence. Anakin can feel it.

Fisto is doing far more than flirting with battle fever — he’s fucking that bitch, and he’s doing it raw. Allowing his sanity to be torn off and replaced with savagery. And this savage power that the Force is feeding Fisto– it feels good, tastes good. Like walking by a confectionery, Anakin catches the hints of an addictive and cloying ecstasy. A sort of Force Spice bubbling over Anakin’s signature. If Fisto doesn’t pull out, and soon, he’ll be too Force-high to control himself.

Fisto either has everything well in hand or he’s obliviously, blissfully, about to go under. Anakin assumes the worst.

“Dammit, Fisto!” Anakin yells at the Master, but only with his voice. He can’t spare any Force power, Obi-Wan needs it all. But he’s certain that Fisto can feel his panic. “Get ahold of yourself! I need you to save Obi-Wan!”

Fisto shrugs off Anakin’s panic like it’s some hindering cloak. He wants none of it. Fisto continues to fight and fight and fight, nuclear jade streaking and striking like some unnatural lightning storm.

Anakin curses. He has to yank Fisto out of the Force! But he can’t march over and punch him, though he’d love to, so – what can he do?

The Knight remembers that he’s clutching more than Obi-Wan. His lightsaber is in his hand. While Anakin won’t spend Force energy on Fisto, his mechno hand isn’t tired.

Using mundane albeit robotically enhanced strength alone, Anakin hurls his lightsaber hilt at Fisto. The Force tells Anakin exactly where Fisto will be and–

Direct hit.

The hilt pelts the Nautolan on his unnecessarily perfect ass. Packing a wallop! The typhoon of jade lighting stops.

Chest heaving, cranial tentacles erect as spikes, Fisto spits a wad of mulchy-goop. He swipes his forearm over his face, clearing plant remnants from his unblinking black eyes. He then casts those eyes down, at Anakin’s offending lightsaber hilt. Fisto’s head snaps toward Anakin, glaring. But there’s no time for a verbal exchange. There are three remaining ass monsters pressing in around the Master, and seeking blood for their creepy worm babies.

Fisto lashes with his saber, shearing the vine-limbs from one beast, ending it; then slides to the right and ducks a volley of swiping vines. But one vines snakes through his guard and actually . . . tags him. The razor-leaves scrape the left-side of Fisto’s face, directly over his highly-sensitive ear-slits. Fisto stumbles backward, hissing vehemently, as his slits weep blood. His pain is intense – radiating through the Force, making Anakin flinch. Flinch because– yes, it hurts– but also because it digs out a memory.

Anakin heard Fisto hiss once before, when Obi-Wan touched– rather, fingered– those same ear-slits. From the darkest corner of Anakin’s mind, something else hisses . . . it would be rather convenient if the ass faces slayed the Nautolan, wouldn’t it? If Fisto dies in the jungle, then he’s out of Obi-Wan’s life. No longer a sexual temptation. And—

What? No! I need Fisto to heal Obi-Wan! If Fisto dies, then so does Obi-Wan!

Anakin shakes his head like it’s infested with sand mites, trying to dislodge the sinister thought. Before him, Fisto has seemingly blotted-out his own pain. The Nautolan twirls his lightsaber in his right hand and reaches out with his left – Force pulling Anakin’s lightsaber into it. Fisto spins the twin blades expertly, blurs of green and blue create an aquamarine smokeshow. His teeth gleam wickedly; looking unnaturally white in the shadows. The powerful muscles of Fisto’s back, legs and arms flex. He’s so strong. Anakin is pretty sure that Fisto’s muscles have muscles and, right now, Anakin is glad for them all.

The final two ass faces launch for Fisto. Their combined vines like eight lethal lassos, aiming to ensnare him and drag him down.

TBC on ao3. . .

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A fun fact about Kit’s lightsaber form, Form I (Shii-Cho). He flirts with battle fever, to resist the pull NOT to loose himself within the Force and KILL his opponents when he fights. This might be important later 😜

Here are examples from the book “The Cestus Deception” and from Wookieepedia.

[duckymcdoorknob]

Wow I’ve had this in my drafts for a year.

I think I’m gonna take a break from my requests and write for myself. It’s much more fun.

Sweet Talk

This is lyric text

No flashbacks in this one uwu

Enjoy

Listen while you read!!! ♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`

Ships: Ryu Tanaka x Gn!Reader

Warnings: probably moderate cursing? Nothing too bad. Fluff overload tho.

Prompt: Based off of “Sweet Talk” by Saint Motel. Ryu is absolutely enamored with the team manager, (Y/N). These two friends mainly communicate by playful banter, but Tanaka can’t help but fall deeper in love.

Tags: general tag list ❤️ @lisiwalker, @rebloging-everything, @erenluvsrini, @quoikuu, @tetsunova,@keyz-writes, @littlebbyleesfw, @0rodi0, @justanunknown

Oh when it's cold, I get warm just thinking of you.

Volleyball season was starting soon. This excited Tanaka for so many reasons, but the one above all else was the fact that he could spend time with the team’s incredible manager. The winter air nipped at his skin, resulting in him wearing his signature beanie. He was sure that he would freeze his ass off outside.

Exiting the permafrost, and entering the club room, Tanaka felt instant relief as the heat wafted into his face. As he was slowly warming, he opted for quick chats with his teammates.

Hinata and Kageyama were already fighting.

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were talking about some movie they saw the night before.

His other second year buddies welcomed him with warm smiles. He put his bag down and sat with his friends on the mats. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Morning!” Kinoshita beamed, eyes focused on the game he was playing on his hand-held console.

“Mm!” Narita was also engrossed in the game. Perhaps the two of them were battling with each other?

As he stared at the console with a quirked brow, his wing-spiker “twin” (as he liked to call him) sat down next to him and handed him a tall cup. It had a cardboard sleeve to keep his hands from burning. Tanaka sighed in relief upon seeing the steam rising off of it.

“I figured you’d either be a big whiny baby about how cold you are, or deny it until you get frostbite, so I came prepared.” Ennoshita chirped, flashing his friend a closed-eyed smile.

“Ennoshita have I told you how much I love you lately?” Ryu mumbled as he opened the top and took a sip of the drink, “Hazelnut hot chocolate! I swear to the gods above I’m gonna marry you one day.” he said softly, drinking with a satisfied smile.

“Tanaka!” The brunette boy said with a flush, “Save talk like that for (Y/N)!”

The wing-spiker immediately flushed a gorgeous shade of gentle red, which he was quick to blame on the cold wind biting at his cheeks.

“Ennoshita!” Tanaka’s teeth were grit as he stared his best friend down. “Dude! I haven’t told anyone yet!”

Before the other wing-spiker could reply with endless teasing, Daichi called the group to the gym for warm-ups.

When I'm alone, I stare at stars and hope dreams come true.

Tanaka changed into his court shoes and walked as his head was filled with sudden scenarios. A love-struck look was plastered on his face as he imagined how life would be as your boyfriend. He thought about holding your hand in the hallways, surprising you with treats on your birthday and Valentine’s Day, how it would feel to be the one to make you laugh, or to hold you in his arms and-

“Tanaka? You with us?” Daichi asked, a gentle hand to his second year’s shoulder accompanying his question.

“Wh- oh! Hey, Cap! I’m just fine!” The wing-spiker chirped as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “Just thinkin’ about some stuff.”

“I thought I smelled smoke.” Tsukishima muttered as he opened the gym door for his teammates.

“Oh you’ve got cohones. Don’t forget that I’m still your superior.” Tanaka growled as he tapped the first year’s nose gently.

You're probably not aware that I'm even here.

Upon entering the gym, Tanaka locked eyes with you. You were talking to Yachi and Kiyoko, smile as bright as the sun. The wing-spiker swore his heart stopped on the spot.

Luckily, you hadn’t noticed him leaning onto Ennoshita’s shoulder and practically screaming

“They’re. So. Friggin’ cute, ‘Nnoshita.” the fuzzy-haired boy muttered, head hitting his friend’s shoulder with every word.

The other wing-spiker giggled as he patted his buddy’s head. “Poor Tanaka. I’m sure you’ll survive the day if you don’t make a total fool out of yourself.”

“Mmmmmmmm” Tanaka whined as his head came off of the other’s shoulder. “Great. So I have to do the opposite of what I do every time I see them!”

As his second year buddy retreated to talk to Daichi about captain duties, Tanaka went over to you to try and start some conversation up. You were talking to Yachi and Kiyoko, so he waited a little bit before walking up to you. When the two girls had left, you were scribbling down some notes on a clipboard. Perfect timing!

Well you might not know I exist, but I don't even care

“(Y/N)?” Tanaka asked quietly, not wanting to interrupt your conversation.

No response.

The wing-spiker bit the inside of his cheek and waited patiently. After a few more seconds, when the talking lulled, he tried again. “Hey (Y/N)?”

Sweet talk, everything you say.

“Ah good morning, Tanaka! I see you chose to bother me the second you got inside.” You chirped, eyes not moving from the clipboard.

“Oh you know it. I see that someone pissed in your cheerios this morning.” The second year replied cheekily.

You slapped your pen down and looked over at the wing-spiker, as he took a seat next to you on the bench.

It sounds like sweet talk to my ears.

“You drive me up the wall.” You emphasized the last word by shaking a fist at him playfully.

“Oh (Y/N)! I’m so flattered! I knew you loved me!” The second year threw a wrist up to his forehead and dramatically leaned on him.

“Piss off!” You barked in reply, laughing as your hand gently collided with his forehead. “Won't you stay away?"

It'll still be sweet talk to my ears.

“Ouch! I just wanted to know how that chemistry test that you were worried about went!” The wing-spiker said with added dramatics, “Sigh! And here I was thinking we were friends!”

You instantly erupted into laughter, playfully punching his shoulder as lightly as you could. “You’re such a dork!” You managed to choke between your chuckles.

Oh when you laugh, I forget that it's about me.

The light in Tanaka’s eyes glimmered as he heard the beautiful sound. It was like a symphony in his ears. He would do anything to hear that heavenly sound once more.

“Why are you still laying on me? What if I get bugs?!” You yelped, lifting his head with two hands.

But it's alright, cause being your punchline still is something.

Tanaka put all of his weight in his head and leaned downward. “Good luck getting me off of you!”

The two of you laughed heartily, lacking any care of the world around you.

“Tanaka, (Y/N)! Stop flirting you two! We have nationals in two months and no time to waste!”

Yeah well I'm not scared.

The two of you turned to look at your captain, still releasing residual chuckles.

“I'm not going nowhere.” Tanaka said with a chuckle, nuzzling into your lap.

Yeah, you might want me to drop dead, but I don't even care.

“Get up, lover boy. We both have lots of work to do.” You demanded, bouncing your legs and making his head collide with your knees.

“Agh! Ouch! Okay, okay!“ The second year whined as he rose from the bench. He offered you a hand out of habit. When you took it, his entire world changed. It solidified everything. He knew in that little moment that he wanted to hold your hand every day.

—

The second year realized that he had to do something to ask you out. As he pondered and pondered upon date ideas, pick-up lines, and cheesy gestures to win you over, a text illuminated his phone.

Sweet talk, everything you say.

“DUDE BIG NEWS!”

Why had you texted him?

“WHAT’S GOIN ON??”

“CALL ME!”

Chuckling, Tanaka clicked your contact and called you. You picked up after the

“HINATA JUST ASKED YACHI TO PROM!!”

It sounds like sweet talk to my ears.

“HINATA AND YACHI????”

“I KNOWWWWW!!!”

“I MEAN I TOTALLY SEE IT!!”

“To be honest, I thought him and Kageyama would end up together”

“(Y/N-“

You could yell

“WHAT??? THEY ARE TOTALLY SOULMATES, TELL ME I’M WRONG!!”

“YOU AREN’T BUT DAMN!”

You and Tanaka chatted about anything and everything. From Tsukishima’s comment to him that morning, to the couples going to the prom together.

That’s it! Prom! He could ask you to the prom!

While on the phone with you, The wing-spiker rushed around his home to get all of the supplies he needed, and got to work on the poster he would make.

He settled for a super cheesy poster. He drew a really ugly volleyball, since drawing was not his strong suit, and wrote in blocky letters “my heart will be killed if you don’t go to prom with me. Dig the idea?”

“What are you coloring?” You asked from the other side of the line.

“Just a project for one of my classes.” He replied, marker cap in mouth as he outlined all of the letters in orange.

—

The next morning, Tanaka picked up a single flower from the florist near coach Ukai’s store. He recalled you telling Kiyoko and Yachi all about the beautiful (F/F)s you had passed on your way to school one day. He then stopped to get you a meat bun from coach’s store.

“Ooh. Who’s the lucky person that our resident flirt is asking to prom?” His coach asked, handing his wing-spiker a meat bun.

“(Y/N).” Tanaka replied, handing his coach some money.

“Wh- (Y/N)??” Ukai asked with a grin, “Keep that money; go get ‘em.”

“Will do, coach!” Tanaka chimed as he exited the store.

He knew that you would be outside the gym at this time. You always waited for Kiyoko to finish her morning run so the two of you could walk in together.

With a sigh of preparedness, Tanaka rushed up to the gym. You were there, undoubtedly, watching the people walk into school.

“(Y/N)!” The second year called, bounding up to you.

You turned and saw the sign. Your heart leaped and warmth found it’s way to your previously cold body. You were so excited that he was asking you, that you didn’t think about what you were saying. “Oh my god…Piss off!” You said absentmindedly upon seeing the sign.

The wing-spiker’s face dropped, as he stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh. Uh, sorry I’ll just…”

“Tanaka no that’s-“

“No, no. I know what you’ll say. You’ll tell me I’m an idiot and yell: Won't you stay away? Here, these are for you." The second year handed you the flower and meat bun, then turned and began to walk inside the gym.

You smiled with a sigh, grabbing his hand. “Ryuunosuke.”

His face flushed upon use of his first name.

It'll still be sweet talk to my ears.

“What I meant to say was: ‘piss off, of course I’ll go to prom with you.’”

“Wait, really?” Tanaka’s eyes sported the same glimmer they usually did.

“Really. You didn’t need to go through all of this to get me to go to prom with you.” You mumbled, pulling his hand up to your lips and kissing it gently.

The beautiful sound of your laughter, that Tanaka loved so much, echoed through the gym as his teammates commented on how sheepish your actions had made him.

He didn’t mind much. He got to hear what he always loved: your sweet talk, and your sweet laughter.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————