Voicemails

great expectations - 6, game on!

prev. | current | next | series list | character intros a note from sunnie: there are two separate written sections! I couldn't add my usual dividers bc of a picture limit!

The moment you step into the house party, you know you're in for a night.

Your group separates almost immediately. Shoyo runs off—dragging Tsukki like a begrudging anchor—to find some of their teammates. Kuroo, Suga, and Kiyoko head towards the kitchen to find drinks, while you mumble something about needing to use the bathroom.

It's a lie, so you wait until Kiyoko is tucked away safely in the kitchen before you cross the party in determined steps towards the only reason you even showed up.

"Don't you dare mess this up for us, Tanaka." You threaten, interrupting the conversation he had been previously engaged with. You'd seen him as soon as you'd entered, talking against the far wall with Iwaizumi Hajime, acting like he wasn't investigating everyone that walked in the door.

"I won't! Wait, us?" Tanaka defends, chest puffing out with determination during the time it took for his mind to catch up with your words.

"Yes, us. Don't tell her I said this, but she likes you. So, now you have no excuse to not ask her out." You level him with a flat look, though after a few seconds the corners of your lips curve upwards and you're left with no choice but to smile at him.

You really do like Tanaka. It's just fun to mess with him.

But maybe you took it too far. The poor boy looks like his mind is melting.

You don't have any time to think it through, because without any further teasing, Tanaka takes off in a determined, albeit nervous, stride towards the kitchen.

You're left alone with Iwaizumi, grinning like the cat that got the canary at the knowledge that your plan was set into motion so easily. You've talked Iwaizumi enough for it to not be awkward, though every encounter you've ever had with him was either in the context of his athletic trainer internship or him apologizing for Oikawa's dumb comments.

"Nice of you to do that for Tanaka." Iwaizumi hums over the rim of his cup. You'd prearranged with Suga that he would bring you a drink, so you're not in any rush to take off and find one while you watch Tanaka psych himself up to enter the kitchen. "He's got it bad for Shimizu."

"Believe it or not, the feeling is actually mutual." You grin, thinking of the way your shy, quiet friend gushed in her own way about the spiker.

"Speaking of unbelievable things," Iwaizumi steers the conversation away from Tanaka, and you're unsure what to think as you wait for him to finish his thought. "Oikawa seems to be actually trying to be a better person since your argument."

You cringe, but not because Oikawa was brought up.

"You mean, more like since I yelled at him in front of everybody and their mother and got the whole volleyball department in trouble?"

"Yeah. But don't worry. I know he had it coming." Iwaizumi teases, and you can't help but snort. You also can't help the way your stare floats over the crowd, searching for a head of familiar brown hair that may or may not be wearing a matching outfit with you. "Look, I don't want you to think I'm only saying this because he's somehow my best friend, but I really think you should give him a chance to show you what he could be like."

"Hasn't he already shown me that?" You ask, brows knitting together and giving Iwaizumi your full attention. He knew Oikawa better than anyone, and had stuck around him for so many years. If a guy as good as Iwaizumi was vouching for Oikawa, then maybe he had a point.

And maybe you were starting to wonder if you were seeing the real Oikawa, too.

Iwaizumi shook his head, and you knew that he was being honest.

"Oikawa thinks he has to pretend for people to like him. He's been this way since we were kids. But... he's different with you. He's himself."

Your attention flicked to the crowd once more.

And suddenly, all you wanted to do was find out if Iwaizumi was telling the truth.

An hour into the party, and you still haven't actually talked to Oikawa.

But you had spent that time with your friends, crammed onto the couch and laughing loudly. At one point, Bokuto and Kuroo start shoving each other playfully, and you know you have only seconds before they start full on wrestling, so you jump from your spot on the couch and weave through the crowd towards the kitchen for a fresh drink.

There are more people than you expected. Not only was it the boy's team and friends, but you'd seen your own teammates and other sports members littered throughout the house. It's not crazy packed like a frat party, but you're glad for it. You'd rather not deal with the all sweaty, arrogant men you found on Frat Row.

With all the extra bodies, you don't think twice about the figure sliding in next to you at the counter where you're mixing a drink, assuming they're just waiting their turn for the display of mixers.

Though, when the person speaks, you realize they were waiting for something else.

"You dating any of those guys you showed up with?"

Instinctively, your face twists into a scathing mixture of disgust, distaste, and flat out annoyance. It doesn't take you long to put a name with the face, and you know you're looking at Yuuji Terushima.

You know a few things about him. He's on the school's rec volleyball team. He's not half bad at it, anyways, but he screws around too much to actually develop any skills. And he cheated on your teammate only a few short weeks earlier when they tried out dating.

You had tried to talk her out of it. Terushima tried out dating with anyone who'd let him.

"Did'ja hear me?" He asks, smirking like he knows he's hot—though you know far too much about him to fall for any sort of charm he attempts.

"I heard you," You roll your eyes, not looking up as you finish mixing your drink. You'd be damned if Terushima was going to get in the way of your refill. "I just don't want to answer you."

He smirks wider, clearly enjoying you giving in an answering him.

"Don't be so mean, sweetheart."

It's then that you try and turn to leave, but try becomes the operative word as you twist in place only for Terushima to slide easily to the space you were going to use to escape.

He's got you blocked in against the counter, and briefly your heart rate spikes. Your attention darts throughout the kitchen, but you don't know anybody that's left lingering in the small space.

"Even if you are dating one of them," Terushima continues on, like he wasn't making you incredibly uncomfortable. "They don't have to know—"

Suddenly, Terushima is jerked away from you. You have a split second to recognize a hand clamped on his shoulder until your line of sight frees up, only to be replaced by a broad back wedged protectively between the two of you.

"Hey, man." Oikawa. He's the one who came your your rescue, who was currently glaring daggers at Terushima, if your glance at the side of his face told you anything. "She's not interested. Get lost."

And though Terushima was still smirking at you, he raised his hands as if claiming innocence. With nothing more than a wink in your direction, he melted back into the crowd.

Oikawa waits until Terushima is completely gone before turning back to face you, frown etched deep onto his face. You realize you've never seen him genuinely frown, only playfully. It makes your stomach twist in nerves.

"Are you okay?" His voice is deep and gravelly, and you can tell he's still pissed off.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. You were uncomfortable, but not because Oikawa. No, you were grateful for him, a foreign feeling. "He was just being pushy, but he didn't touch me, or anything."

"I swear, I'm going to have Iwaizumi kick him out."

"My hero," You tease, snorting out a laugh. The sound makes Oikawa's frown falter, and you pinch your arm to keep from smiling at the sight. "I think I'm going to head home, though."

"Can I walk you back?" You can tell he's still worked up over what he walked in on, so you know he's not trying to pull any moves.

It makes you think of Iwaizumi's earlier words, and suddenly you're answering before you realize.

"Please."

extras!

yn acts like she hates helping tanaka with kiyoko but she actually loves it so much. obsessed with the effort tanaka puts in for her friend and approves of him completely

the entire time they were getting ready to go out kuroo kept teasing yn about "how much she wanted to go see oikawa" and only stopped when she threw a shoe at his head

tsukki acts like he's too cool to gossip but he's smirking the whole time anyone calls out yn for crushing on oikawa

hinata's big dream (besides going pro in vball) is for oikawa and yn to date. truly thinks of them as mom and dad but he's too scared of yn to say so

iwaizumi never told oikawa that he asked yn to give him a chance. he knows he'll be too annoying about it

oikawa and yn spent two hours together after leaving the party - suga spent 75% of that time stalking her location to make sure she was safe. but also to be nosy. mostly to be nosy.

the house was waiting outside yn's bedroom for the morning debrief after seeing her and oikawa's posts of each other.

Hinata was on the roof with Lev (also on the boys vball team)

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@loveyislost @vi0let-writes @jayathelostdragon @snoowply @ladycaramelswirl

♡ soap's little plan ♡

abo!141 x omega!reader

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: despite having a pack of his own, soap finds himself wanting more. he's grown tired of being the only Omega with 2 unruly Alphas. good thing you showed up, now he can flush those pesky little suppressants and make you theirs.

⚠︎ suggestive themes, soap being a little obsessed, invasions of privacy

a/n: series??? idk where this came from but enjoy

Soap wasn’t an unhappy man. He was talented, knew just how dangerous he was in the field, how many brushes with death he’d skillfully skirted with a big “fuck you” and a bloody smile. He had the respect of his peers and fear of the new recruits. Most importantly, he had a pack he loved. Never went to bed wanting or alone. His inner Omega should be satisfied, all things considering, and yet, he still yearns. 

He feels guilty sometimes. When he’s laid out on one of his mate’s beds, sweaty and thrumming with release. He rolls over, pressing wet kisses to damp skin and trying to focus on fingers that ghost over his head. Tries to push out the gnawing subconscious thought of more. He wants to scoff at himself. 3 mates and somehow he still couldn’t help but be greedy. 

It’s like Price says in the field (and in the bedroom, funnily enough): “You're a goddamn restless dog ain’t ‘ya? Restless and a dog, indeed. 

His words run through Soap’s mind as he stares at you. His dirty little one-sided secret. He’s watched you for months. Smelled you immediately when his eyes first landed on you, an unforgettable mix of vanilla licorice, fruit, and a tang of something earthy, like grass or rain. So unbelievably feminine and soft, he was intoxicated. Couldn’t help but watch as you walked down the hall. You had glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly; he remembered the chill that ran through him when you locked eyes. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

He had immediately sweet talked the Beta receptionist into handing over your file. He had tucked it under his arm and taken it to his room, locking the door and glancing around like he was a teen with a raunchy magazine. Read it front to back. You were smart, specialized in cybersecurity before you joined the military. Now you drifted from team to team, going where you were needed. Helping run covert hops here, a little hacking there. He felt a grin take over his face when he saw that in your last assignment, you acted as a demolition expert. An impressive resume, he faintly wondered why you hadn’t been pinned down by a team yet. Clearly, you were an asset. 

He got to your current contract papers, seeing you were brought on to be a floater. You’d help with missions in the unit how they saw fit. He could only pray that he’d be working with you eventually. He closes the file, thumbing the small file photo of you. You were beautiful no doubt, not smiling but still holding a hint of softness. 

He pauses when he realizes he didn’t see a presentation in your file. He flips through the pages again, skimming through your medical report. The boxes next to ‘Omega’, ‘Alpha’, and ‘Beta’ are all unmarked. It clicks then, your sweet smell and the lack of presentation in your files. You were an Omega. 

Soap wasn’t really supposed to be where he was as an Omega. While there were no rules against it, there were hardly any Omegas here for a reason. It was hard, both physically and mentally. Soap had taken twice the recommended amount of suppressants and nearly went broke buying scent blockers. Put his body through hell and back to prove he was worthy. It was only when he became Lieutenant and had the protection of a pack that he felt comfortable enough to stop hiding his presentation . By then, no one could really say anything about it. 

His heart raced. You were an Omega. He had no proof other than being one himself, but he was almost sure of it. It did nothing to curb his growing curiosity. 

He should have pushed you out of his mind, but he’s Soap. He’s insistent and can be downright stubborn when it comes down to it. It was just his nature. He formulated a whole plan, get close to you, slowly ease you into meeting his pack, then make you theirs. Plain and simple. 

It was not plain and simple. 

First of all, the guilt started eating at him. He had everything he’d ever hoped for, a family, a successful career, and here he was. The worst part is that Soap couldn’t help it, he loved his mates, their masculine presence and smell that filled a room. But he secretly can’t help but wish there was another Omega around, someone who could help him ground his Alphas. Gaz did a great job, but he was a beta, and Soap often received the brunt end of Ghost and Prices’ more baser instincts. Not just an Omega, but a woman. Someone with that femininity and power that balances and soothes an entire pack into submission. 

Second of all, you didn’t want to give him the time of day. 

The first time he approaches you is in the dining hall, your face stoic and focused as you grab an apple and place it on your tray. He takes a few breaths, your muted and yet somehow still overwhelming scent filling his senses. 

“New around here bonnie?” He finally gets the courage up to speak.  “Names Johnny, but people call me Soap.” He reaches a hand out. 

You take it hesitantly, and he revels in the softness. He tries not to get distracted by the way his hand almost completely covers your own. 

“Y/n.” you respond curtly, releasing his hand and grabbing your tray.  “Transferred a week ago.” You don’t wait for his response, making your way over to one of the many tables littered with people chatting. Soap hastily grabs a banana and his tray, taking long strides to catch up with you. 

“So uh, how you likin’ it so far?” He flinches at his own stutter. God, he’s out of practice. 

You give him a pointed look. 

“S’fine.” You sit, hastily picking up your spoon and taking a bite of oatmeal. It doesn’t deter Soap. 

He spends the next 30 minutes talking your ear off, receiving the occasional nod or “mhm” from you. You give up very little about yourself, answering shortly and precisely. It drives him mad. 

You cut off his rant on the latest recruits, standing abruptly. “It was nice talking with you Lieutenant MacTavish, but I have to get going.” 

He watches as you leave, stunned and frankly a little turned on at how easily you brushed him off. Soap was a sucker for a chase. 

He faintly realizes that you knew his rank and last name, and has a feeling that you’re a careful and intelligent woman. It only fuels his growing suspicion of your presentation. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Soap keeps trying after that, despite the gnawing feeling of guilt and greediness. The less you give him, the more enraptured he becomes. With every eye roll and silent stretch you give him, he falls deeper and deeper into the need to make you his. 

It only takes a couple months for it all to come to a head. Soap finds you in a hallway late at night, most people tucked away in their quarters. Your scent is slightly off, soured and citrusy. He loves it. 

“Where are you stormin’ off to?” 

You don’t answer, which is not unusual, but the way you push past him without so much of a glance, is. “Aye, c’mon love, what’s got you so worked up?” 

You turn on your heel, almost crashing into Soap. You didn’t hate him, sometimes you even welcomed the company, even though his jokes were shit. Not that you’d let him know you even remotely liked his presence. You stare him down for a second, teeth gritted. 

You had just overheard some particularly nasty and sexist comments about you, not the first time- hell not even the fiftieth time. But it never stung less, that people refused to see your experience and rank simply because you had the misfortune of being born a woman. You regret the words almost as soon as you say them. 

“Leave me the fuck alone, MacTavish. I’m not interested in your company, and I sure as shit didn’t ask for it. Go bother your pack, and leave me alone.” You spit the word at him, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s a reflection of your own loneliness deep down. You can’t stand the shock on his face, so you turn around and sulk to the kitchen to find a sweet treat to placate you. 

Soap watches as you leave, and he’s hurt. How can you not see how perfect you’d be for the pack? Granted, he’s the only one that knows, he still has no idea how to broach the topic with his pack. Would they hate him? Call him selfish, wonder why they weren’t enough for him? His fists clench at his sides as your scent completely fades. 

Then it clicks. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He smiles to himself, no longer upset at your blatant rejection. He almost skips back to his room. 

He has it all figured out. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

The next morning he flirts with some nurses, brings them donuts from the place off base. While they’re all distracted and giggling amongst each other, he quietly slips into the record room and grabs your files. His heart beats out of his chest at the little checkmark next to “Omega”. 

He knew it. He flips through the files quickly, finding a detailed page tracking your heat cycles. You haven’t had a heat in years, seeing a note that says you denied a doctor's request to go into heat at least once every 3 years. He knew that pain, he couldn’t imagine you putting yourself through that. You shouldn't be putting yourself through that. He’ll make sure that you don’t have to anymore. 

He flips a few more pages, going back to when you did have your heats. He finds an entry that notes that you had unusually long and painful heats, along with a prescription of sedatives. The next line states that you usually have them every 3 months, February, May, August and sometimes December. He hears his heartbeat in his ears when he realizes his luck of it being the beginning of December. It was meant to be. 

He closes the file quietly, closing his eyes in relief. You’d be his, and his pack’s, soon. 

That night, while you’re showering in the gym, Soap is breaking into your room. It doesn’t take much effort, he’s in within minutes, stepping into your sacred space. There’s a half assed nest in the corner of your room, your instincts must be strong if you’re still nesting while taking suppressants. He wants to go over and fluff it for you, add his scent covered shirt to the pitiful pile. He shakes his head. He needs to focus on why he’s here. 

He rifles through your cabinets, desperately searching. He knows you like long showers, but he’s still on edge. If he gets caught, it’s all over. He tries to be quick without disturbing the placement of your items, but he begins to panic when he can’t find those familiar little pills. He rushes to your bed, looking underneath. He’s about to lose hope when he moves from underneath your bed, cursing when he knocks his head on the frame. 

He almost doesn’t hear it. The soft thud of something falling. He looks back under the bed, eyes falling on a tiny box meant for jewelry. He grabs it, slowly opening it and removing the piece of foam on top. 

Bingo. 

He stares at the tiny pills, the familiar pale blue a contrast against the black of the box. He spills a few in his hand. There were enough for months. You were like he was, handing your health over in exchange for surviving here. His fist closes over pills as he makes his way out of your room. He locks your door behind him, trying not to run to his room. When he makes it there, he’s buzzing with excitement. He goes to his bathroom, opening the toilet lid and fishing the box from his pocket. He doesn’t hesitate in throwing them all into the bowl, and watching as the water swirls when he flushes. The water settles, and your pills are gone. 

Omega’s are the most sensitive of the three presentations. Senses more in tune than even the best Alpha. It was in their very biology to be strong in ways Alpha’s were not, to hold a pack together. Your biology would work quickly, work through the artificial hormones you’d been poisoning yourself with in haste. It happened to him, after so long of suppressing his Omega, it came back with a vengeance. You would be no different. 

And with Price’s rut- and Ghost’s, coming up soon, they won’t stand a chance against the strong smell of an Omega in heat. He’ll make sure that they find you, that they take care of you. 

It was all part of his plan, after all.

You Don't Want Me

Summary: In a world where the majority of people are split into Alphas or Omegas, you’re one of the small portion of the population who isn’t either. You’ve long since come to terms with the fact that you’re never going to have a romantic partner, and you’re, mostly, fine with it. You just wish that your neighbor would stop flirting with you.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F! Reader

Word Count: 1384

Warnings: A/B/O but it's not smut, I'm just playing around in the setting. Technically the reader could be read as GN but I put them in a sundress.

A/N: So I had an idea, and this was born. I hope people like it, lol

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

“Well now, don’t you look pretty today,”

You roll your eyes as the familiar voice of your neighbor reaches your ears. “Thanks, I guess.”

Crosshair grins at you, rolling his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, “You’re welcome,” You ignore the way his eyes flicker down your body with practiced ease, “You got a hot date today or something?”

“All this because I’m wearing a sundress? No, Crosshair. I don’t date, you know that.” You straighten from where you had been messing with one of your planters, “Not that it is any of your business if I go on a date or not.”

His grin widens, “I’m just looking out for you. People are scum, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You squint at him, “Is there a reason you’re hanging out in my backyard?”

He shrugs, “We have a shared backyard, neighbor. You don’t like it, put up some fences.”

You huff out an exasperated laugh, and shake your head, “You know, someday you’re going to find an omega who’s going to be really annoyed with how obsessed you are with me.”

He pauses, his long fingers absently tapping his thigh, and then he smirks, “Nah.”

“Nah? The fuck you mean ‘nah’?”

Crosshair, like all of his brothers, is an alpha. Alphas partner up with omegas. Its what they do. Something about pheromones and hormones and biology. You’re not really sure.

You never had to learn because you don’t have any of those characteristics.

Scientists, and doctors, call people like you Mu. Halfway between an Alpha and an Omega. In the end, all it means is that you’re a freak.

But you’re fine with it. You have to be. What other choice do you have?

“Having an omega is way too much work, have you heard how Tech’s girl whines for him? Like, all of the time. I’m surprised Hunter hasn’t killed her. Even I find her voice grating.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about your sister-in-law like that?”

“Meh. She already hates me, it’s not like she can hate me more.” He crosses your backyard to peer over your shoulder at your garden, “Your herbs look like they’re coming in nice.”

You’re slightly surprised by the topic change, but you go along with it happily, “Yeah! I was worried because the sage did so poorly last year, but I must have gotten the soil PH right this year.”

You turn to look up at Crosshair, and your smile falters when you see the look on his face. It’s a soft look, with a small affectionate smile that smooths out the harsh lines of his face into something gentler.

It’s a look Crosshair directs towards you regularly, and it’s a look that never fails to make you blush. And today is no exception, as you hurriedly spin away from him to check your other planter before he notices the effect he has on you.

And, as ever, he releases a quiet chuckle that gives you goosebumps.

“What else do you have growing?” Crosshair asks, his breath warm against your ear. He’s close enough that you can feel him pressed against your back.

It really isn’t fair that he keeps doing this to you. He’s an alpha and he knows you’re not an omega. He’s just being cruel for the hell of it, you suppose.

“Um…” You step away from him slightly, grateful and disappointed when he doesn’t follow you, “Tomatoes, broccoli, and a couple of other herbs. I have hot peppers growing in the other planter over there.”

“I’ll have to remember to mention that to Wrecker when it comes time for the harvest,” Crosshair mutters, “He’s always complaining about how expensive peppers are.”

“Well, I’m happy to share. I always have too many anyway.”

You glance away from him and lean over to check on one of your tomato plants, only to squeak and jump when you feel his finger drag up your spine from the small of your back.

You spin around to stare at him, your eyes wide. His fingers, which had been resting comfortably on the back of your neck, now sit right over the pulse point on your throat, and he looks at you like the cat that caught the canary.

“Um...what…?” You try to take a step back but you’re so close to your planter that you don’t have anywhere to go, and when you try you almost lose your balance, so Crosshair has to hurriedly wrap his free hand around your waist to keep you steady.

“Why do you keep running from me? Am I that intimidating to you?”

“No, that’s not—,” You trail off, you can feel your heart racing from nerves, and you know he can feel it too.

“Then what’s the problem?” He carefully maneuvers you and walks you back until your back bumps against the cool material of your home, “I’m not blind or stupid, I can see how you look at me.”

“That’s—“

“—and I can feel how your heart is racing now that I’m touching you. You’re clearly attracted to me, and yet, every time, you run away. Why?”

“I’m not an omega.” You blurt, “I...You—“

He scoffs, “I told you. I have no interest in having an omega.”

“Sure, you say that now, but—“

His eyes narrow at you, “But what? You think I’m the kind of man who would let my hormones control me?”

You don’t have an answer to that, because the truth is, in your experience, all alphas are. Example 1? Your former boyfriend who cheated on you as soon as he ran into an omega in heat.

You don’t have to answer, your silence is answer enough, and he scoffs again. “You do. What kind of shitty alphas have you been around, pretty?”

“That’s not...he couldn’t help his nature…” You trail off, not sure why you’re defending your ex.

“No. He’s just a shitty guy who used his hormones as an excuse to be a dick to you.” Crosshair leans in to press his face into your hair, “Fuck, you smell so good. Like sunshine and the beach—“

“...I’m sorry?”

“That was a compliment, pretty. You smell so much better.”

You feel like there’s a part of this conversation that you missed, but you don’t want to ask him for clarification, not when he’s pressed against you like this. Not when you can feel his lips on the shell of your ear.

But, you do make one, final, attempt to dissuade him from this. “Cross...I’m pretty sure that you don’t want me—“

You’re not able to finish your sentence as he pulls away and pins you in place with a severe look, “You don’t get to decide what, or who, I want.”

You shoot him a doubtful look.

“Fine, let me speak plainly then. I want you. Only you. Since the day we met.” His words make heat rush to your face, and you want to avert your gaze, but he won’t let you look away, “I have no interest in the drama that comes with partnering with an omega. And, to be completely frank, the scent of omega pheromones gives me a migraine.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He bumps his forehead against yours, “So, give me a chance?”

You stare at him, your heart in your throat.

This has the potential to go so wrong. And you know, in the same way you know the sun will rise in the morning, that if it does, you’re going to be the one hurt. Again.

But you want to trust Crosshair.

And you’re so tired of being alone all the time.

So, even though fear and uncertainty have you in a vice grip, you don’t stop yourself from reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck. And your actions are rewarded with a look of pleasure.

“So?” Crosshair asks.

“If you break my heart,” You warn him, “I’ll find some way to make your life miserable.”

“Noted.” He bumps his nose against yours, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Yes, please.”

And then his lips are against yours and it’s not perfect. It’s a little awkward and a little clumsy, and your teeth knock together. But you wouldn’t change it for anything in the galaxy.

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thinkin' about growing up and joining Ghosts with Keegan... grr

childhood friend!Keegan who you grew up with, hanging out with him after class and at your shared extracurriculars with, sitting in the back of your parents' car talking about anything and everything

childhood friend!Keegan who brought you to freshman year homecoming and junior year prom, photos of the two of you and matching corsages and outfits, final photo of your two families being a picture of the two of you in your military uniforms.

childhood friend!Keegan who returns home in between deployments with you, shared car driven from the airport as he drops you off before heading home himself. Eventually your parents just host dinner at one house so you both get a lighter trip

sergeant!Keegan who hates that somehow you've made your way into the Ghosts unit with him, pretty much attempting to shake you up at any chance to discourage you from continuing along, but it proves useless when you get promoted to Sergeant instead, sticking your tongue and middle finger out at him

sergeant!Keegan who's caught getting coffee with you in the morning, your back against the railing as he leans over it, staring down at the new recruits running. The base makes it the talk of the month until they realize the two of you don't give the reaction wanted

sergeant!Keegan who gets scared shitless whenever you get injured out on a mission and vice versa, the two of you always with the other at the medical facilities, string of scolding words given as you nurse each other back to health. The unit tries to make sure neither of you get hurt so both of you can go out on the field

sergeant!Keegan who unwinds when possible with you, wind in his hair as you let in a little air through the window of the room, sitting down on his bed as you throw your head back and just lay on the ground.

"Nearly got yourself killed out there, kid."

"It's fine." You exhale. "I'm alive and unscathed. That's all that matters."

"Debrief was hell."

"Always is." You stare up at him, humming. "Gonna kick me out tonight?"

"No, but floor's dirty."

"You mop yours." You yawn, closing your eyes as you do.

Keegan shuffles and lays down next to you, staring at the ceiling as he blinks once and then twice.

"Should get us a bigger room."

"Should get us a room." You hum. "Lie to their asses or get to the nearest government office."

"Who said I'm gonna marry you?"

"Your lack of game." You yawn again, sighing. "If you won't marry me, then I'll just go find Logan. Sure he'd love to get under your skin and start calling me his wife."

"He'd never let me live it down."

"Neither would I."

Fuck the world we just gon' keep gettin rich 💥

Another request completed 💪💪

Requested by: @hiro--aoki 😝😝

Yess u should make a part 2 for the long game

FINISH LINE — E.BUCKLEY

after weeks of frustration, buck finally confronts you.

part one — the long game.

evan buckley x gn!reader | 3.2k | smut | masterlist.

cw — 18+ minors do not interact, male masterbation, dry humping, clothed sex, premature ejaculation, buck being whiny and needy

To say you were consuming Buck’s every waking thought was an understatement.

You weren’t just taking over his every waking thought, you were in his dreams, in his subconscious, pretty much every blink of his eyes saw an image of you in his mind and it was getting so goddamn frustrating that Buck swore he was ready to burst from the pressure.

Arguably, the worst part was that you were completely aware of it.

You knew that he was digging himself into a hole with every shift you worked together, and he swore you were revelling in it.

Every time he so much as glanced in your direction—which he wagers is a lot—you had that stupidly attractive look on your face that made his blood feel like it was on fire underneath his skin, and he quite honestly just didn’t know what to do anymore.

Should he confront you about it? Force you into a conversation about what happened at the bar those few weeks ago?

There was no way that would work.

Should he just sit and wait until you finally approached him with the topic in mind?

That was never going to happen.

But he had to deal with all of his pent up frustration somehow, or he swore he’d explode and fracture into a million tiny pieces.

So he found himself with two tangible options. A: find some poor unknowing person for him to project you onto and relieve himself that way, or B: deal with it by himself.

He tried option A first. It didn’t go too well.

He was one leg out of his jeans when he started having second thoughts.

Him. Having second thoughts about getting his rocks off after being essentially blue balled for the last three weeks.

Nobody looked enough like you, acted enough like you, for him to be able to put a veil over his eyes and pretend it was you he was under instead of some random person he’d picked up at a bar.

And it was impacting his ‘performance’ pretty badly.

So, with a resigned sigh, he decided to go with option B.

Locking himself in his apartment, Buck tried to find some semblance of relief by himself, but even that felt hollow. No matter what he did, it was always you in his mind, and nothing seemed to satisfy the burning need that consumed him.

Every touch, every stroke, felt like a futile attempt to quench an unending thirst, a bottomless well of longing and desire that seemed impossible to satisfy.

His thoughts were nothing but a relentless loop of your face, your voice, the way you moved, and the way you looked at him. It was maddening, an unceasing torment that gnawed at his very soul, and Buck had no idea how much longer he could keep this up without losing his mind.

Like the longing wasn’t enough, the guilt he felt was even worse.

He knew he couldn’t go on like this, trapped in a cycle of desire and frustration. The more he tried to push you out of his mind, the deeper you seemed to embed yourself. It was like a cruel joke, one he couldn't escape from, and it was only a matter of time before something had to give.

The tension was so bad starting to affect his performance at work. His teammates noticed he was distracted, his responses slower, his focus elsewhere. Even during emergencies, when he normally thrived under pressure, he found his mind wandering back to you.

The team began to worry, asking if he was okay, if he needed a break, but he just brushed them off with a forced smile and a wave of his hand.

But Buck knew he couldn't keep up the charade much longer. The sleepless nights, the constant replaying of every interaction with you in his head—it was wearing him down. He was losing his edge, and in his line of work, that was dangerous. Lives depended on his ability to stay sharp, to be present, to react quickly. And yet, here he was, drowning in thoughts of you.

He tried everything to distract himself. He threw himself into his workouts, pushing his body to its limits in the hopes that physical exhaustion would quiet his mind. He picked up extra shifts, staying at the station longer than necessary just to avoid being alone with his thoughts. He even tried diving into hobbies he used to love, but nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, it was your face he saw. Every quiet moment was filled with the echo of your laughter, the memory of your touch.

One night, after another grueling shift, Buck found himself standing outside your apartment building. He didn't even remember driving there, his body seemingly on autopilot.

The cool night air did little to calm his racing heart as he stared up at the windows, wondering which one was yours. He knew he shouldn't be there, that confronting you like this was a bad idea, but he was at his breaking point.

He needed to know if you felt the same way, if there was any chance you were as consumed by thoughts of him as he was of you.

Taking a deep breath, he started toward the entrance, his mind a whirlwind of anxiety and anticipation. He had no plan, no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he couldn't turn back now. Not when he was so close to a potential resolution, to finally understanding what was happening between you two.

As he reached your door, his hand hovered over the wood, hesitating for just a moment. Then, with a determined exhale, he knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

This was it. One way or another, he was about to get some answers.

You open the door with furrowed eyebrows.

Who on earth is visiting you past 10PM on a Thursday?

“Buck—” Your tone conveys your surprise as you lean against the ajar door, one eyebrow raised and your head ever so slightly tilted.

He swears he feels his breath stutter as he takes in your appearance—in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with your messy hair, you looked more ravishing to him than he ever thought possible.

“Hey,” he says, as if you hadn’t just taken the air right from his lungs. “We need to talk,”

“We do?” The look you give him is almost knowing, and he swears on his life that you’re doing it on purpose just to taunt him.

“Yes,” He pushes his way through the doorway past you “We do.”

He’d be damned if he kept his gaze locked up on your captivating eyes for much longer without doing something about it.

You throw up your hands as he passes you, turning to shut the door with a click before following Buck into your living room. “Yeah, yeah, come on in, no need to ask or anything,”

“I—” he starts with a sigh. “This— whatever we are… it’s driving me crazy, because I don’t know what the hell is going on between us..” He turns to face you with a mix of exasperation and desperation in his eyes.

“One minute you’re acting like my best friend,” he continues, “And the next, you look like you want your tongue down my throat.” His voice is lower now, as he steps closer to you, leaving only a few inches between you.

“And then when I reciprocate, you push me away,” he pauses, searching your eyes with a small frown.

The frustration in his tone is imminent, and it almost makes you fell a little bad for playing the cat and mouse game you had with him for so long.

You’d never expected him to actually get caught up in it all. He was Buck for god’s sake, if anyone had a track record of not getting attached it was him.

“I— don’t know what you want from me here, Buck,”

Buck’s heart pounds so fast he can barely even hear anything you’re saying. He reaches for your chin, tilting your head towards his so he can meet your gaze in its entirety.

His voice trembles when he speaks next, and the look in his eyes could be mistaken for pure agony.

"I want you.” he says breathlessly. “I want you so goddamn badly that it hurts—”

He runs a hand through his hair, and he’s visibly torn between pulling his hair out and grabbing you. “And the most maddening part is—I know you want me too. I mean, it’s right there—” Buck’s gaze follows your lower lip when you run your tongue across it. “—And yet, you push me away every. single. time.”

He stutters out a breathe like he’s forgotten how to work his lungs, like every suck of air is debilitating and all he can focus on is you.

“I want to touch you. I want to feel you. I want to kiss you so hard you forget what your name is and bury my head between your thighs until I can’t breathe—”

There’s a small, strangled noise that follows his confession, his imagination already taking him for a blissfully agonising ride of what your relationship could be like if you’d just stop pulling away before the end line.

“I’m tired of not sleeping at night because I lay awake yearning for you…”

He pauses for a second to catch his breath, but you can tell by his eyes that he’s not finished yet.

“I’m tired of sneaking into the bathroom for ‘extended bathroom breaks’ because you’re making me so hard while we’re working.” He steps even closer to you, his hand travelling down your neck.

“And,” he continues gruffly in a breath, “I’m so tired of trying to hold back every ounce of desire that wants to ravish you in this goddamn moment.” His eyes feel like they pierce your soul as he makes eye contact with you, and it leaves you short of breath in an instant.

“So if you want me as much as I want you then for the love of God please—“ His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck. “Do something about it.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice.

You barely even have to move to force your lips together, breaths intertwining with every movement as your hand cups the back of Bucks head, your fingers tangled in his hair.

Buck’s breath catches as soon as your lips finally meet his, and it takes him a moment to realize what’s actually happening before he leans into it and kisses you back with everything he has.

His hands start to wonder over your body, grabbing at your hips when he pulls you closer to him. He gasps against your mouth and his tongue is suddenly demanding entry against your lips.

Not that he had to try hard to get what he wanted anyway.

He groans as you give in and lets your tongue intertwine with his, all the pent-up sexual tension immediately breaking like a levee and flooding his system. With one strong swoop he lifts you up against his body by your thighs, carrying you until he’s sat on your couch with you straddling him.

Buck’s hands run along your shoulders once he’s finally got you in his grasp, deepening the kiss as his hips buck up against yours, aching for some friction against the painfully growing tent in his pants.

“Need you so bad…” He mumbles, his hands travelling down your body and then grabbing your hips so he can rock you against his body, the pressure eliciting a low growl from his throat.

He can hear your breath catch in your chest when he moves against you like that and it drives him insane. Before he could stop himself he bucks up again, harder now, and the friction sends a sharp wave of desire through him.

“God…” He groans out, and all he can see is the delicious look of need in your eyes and the sight of your parted lips as you lean your forehead against the curve of his shoulder, mouth left open in a passive moan of his name.

Seeing you like that—undone and needy and wanting, because of *him—*was better than any fantasy Buck had ever had.

His breathing is hot against the side of your throat, before he starts littering it with soft kisses. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, his body shuddering when you grab a fistful of his hair, the pain only fuelling his desires further. “Been dreaming of this… For so long—”

His hands move down to grab your ass, and his breath hitches as he rocks you against him needingly, desperate to feel the friction of you rubbing against his achingly hard cock.

It was almost embarrassing, how close he was to cumming just from this, but when he says he’s been desperate for you, he means it.

And the broken whines you muffle against his shoulder are definitely not helping.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, groaning at the way you grind against him. “Please…” he chokes out, his voice broken and raw, and when his teeth lightly nibble against the skin on your neck you let out an intoxicatingly loud moan.

“Want you…” he groans, barely coherent in his ramblings as his hips find a steady rhythm. He could feel himself getting more and more desperate, and your breathy moans were definitely pushing him towards the edge.

Buck pulls away from the crook of your neck and looks up at you intently; his eyes half-lidded from his overwhelming desire and his chest is heaving deeply.

He grabs you harder under him, his breathing laboured and his chest heaving as he starts to lose his composure. “Please…” he begs, his voice cracking as his hips buck against your again and again, trying to relieve the aching, overwhelming pressure that’s building inside him.

“God, please—” His forehead is still pressed against your throat, and his body shudders against yours as he nears his release, a strained string of incoherent words tumbling from his mouth.

He’s so close, but the moment he feels your fingers gently thread through his hair his hips stutter and his body goes taut, and then he’s coming in his pants like a damn teenager, so horribly overwhelmed by his pleasure it almost hurts.

White-hot spurts of his cum coat the inside of his boxer shorts, soaking through the fabric to dampen the crotch of his jeans and leave him groaning brokenly against your skin.

He’s almost trembling as he comes down, climax so hard that his entire groin feels sticky and wet, and it’s only when his breathing has steadied and he’s regained control of his body that he lifts his head.

He gazes at your face and gives a breathless chuckle when he sees you looking at him with an amused smile on your lips.

“Enjoyed that, did you?”

“—yeah,” he mumbles against your skin. He presses soft kisses against the flushed skin of your neck, passing over the darkening red marks that he’d left you with.

“I’m sorry, I…” A sigh follows his words, and he lifts his head to look at you again—he didn’t expect to come that fast either. The sight of the pleased smirk on your lips, however, made him feel a little better.

“In all my fantasies about you,” he begins with a sheepish grin, “Coming in my pants within two minutes of getting you on top of me was never a part of the program.”

You let out a short laugh at his confession, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder and shaking your head against it.

He laughs quietly with you, but the sound is quickly replaced by a sharp breath when you lean harder against him in collateral of your position.

Even now, even after he’s come, his body still wants you. Badly.

A small groan leaves his lips when he feels the sudden pressure again at an already over-sensitive area. He buries his head against your shoulder, his breath hot in the crook of your neck. “Keep going and you’ll make me do it again…” Buck mumbles with a huff.

“And as much as I would love to…,” he continues, his voice strained as he tries to pull himself together. “I have so much more I want to do with you.”

“Yeah?” The tone of his voice makes you feel a little flushed, although considering how hot you already were from the last few minutes, you’re not sure even you could tell.

Buck’s grip on your hips tighten as a low groan slips past his lips, his voice deep and gruff. “You have no idea,” he whispers quietly, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“I’ve thought about taking you on every surface possible…” Buck’s gaze runs over your form before it returns to the flushed skin of your neck. “On the kitchen counter, against the wall… on the floor… In the bunk room at the station…”

He leans in to press his mouth against the side of your throat, feeling the way your breath catches at his words, and he hums in approval. “Wanted to bend you over in the back of a firetruck…”

“In the showers…” Buck mumbles into your flushed skin, leaving behind a trail of kisses while his hands start tracing their way up your back, sending goosebumps down your body. “On my bed, on yours…”

By now he’s trailing kisses further down, until his mouth presses against the junction between your neck and shoulder. When your body arches at the feeling of his teeth lightly grazing across the skin, Buck’s grip on your hips tightens.

He lifts his head, so he’s looking you straight in the eye.

“God, I want to ruin you…”

He looks at you with so much heat and desire, his gaze burning right through your core. He can’t help but grind his hips up against yours again, his breathing shallow. “I want to ruin myself… until I can’t come for anyone else—”

“Until the only name I know how to say is yours.” he whispers, kissing you deeply, like he’s been yearning for it for the longest time. It’s hard, heated, desperate, and full of passion and need and you can feel it in every fibre of your being how much Buck wants you.

“I need you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from being consumed with need. “Want to touch you, wanna be inside you… you want that…?”

press start! — GET BACK HERE (19/22)

after spending almost a whole year on academic probation, you’re finally allowed to start your position as a manager for the nekoma boys volleyball team. you’re determined to stay focused on your team and academics, but things get a bit difficult when a certain middle blocker makes his way into your life

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a/n: ok guys HEAR ME OUT tsukki did do a bit of a fuck up but in his defense he was just trying to be respectful!!! he def did nawt wanna be a homewrecker hes just a bit awkward but accidentally ended up exposing himself :”)

bed chem ━━━ iwaizumi hajime

02. rip pedro ♡

Part of you almost forgot how violent ice hockey could get, watching the practice as people are ramming each other into the barriers or over onto the ice — and these people were teammates. You hate to think about how they treat people they don’t know.

You’re sat on a bench a few rows back beside Akaashi, who keeps glancing between the rink and his book in his lap. He keeps commenting on the plays, gesturing to each different player on the rink with ease. You, on the other hand, can’t find Bokuto for the life of you. You just keep noticing everyone shoving each other, the puck being violently flung across the air. You’re grateful when the whistle blows and they gather in a circle around their coach for a couple minutes.

“See that guy with the number one on his shirt?” Akaashi lightly nudges you and points to the only person still on the ice. “That’s Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi slides the puck across the ice before slamming it into the goal with an insane amount of strength. He skates forward to take it back, skating around the rink to get it in the other goal.

“Do you want me and Bokuto to wait for you?”

You shake your head and pick up your bag and skates from the floor. “No, it’s okay. Even if he says no, he can’t stop me from using it for the next…fifteen minutes. Thanks, though.”

You make your way down the steps and take a seat on a bench by the gate, changing into your skates. Ignoring the looks you get from passing members of the hockey team, you stand up and step out onto the rink.

Your presence is instantly felt by Iwaizumi — or maybe it was the sound of the gate closing that notified him. Either way, he skids to a halt and turns to face you. Though you can’t see what he looks like through his helmet, you can feel yourself shrinking under his stare.

“Can I talk to you?”

He shrugs his shoulders and removes his helmet, waiting for you to approach him.

Withholding your sigh, you reluctantly skate towards him as slow as possible. All you can think about is how badly you wish he kept the helmet on; he looks as if he may kill you. When you stop as far as possible from him, he eyes you up and down like you’re the most disgusting thing he’s seen.

Instantly, your nerves are replaced by anger. Fuck you, then. With the fakest smile you can muster, you rest your hands on your hips and look him straight in the eye. “My name’s y/n, I’ve transferred from Tokyo. I’m a championship skater, I’ve been the top in Japan for the last three years and I plan to make it four. I can’t do that unless we can come to an agreement about sharing the rink. Just two hours a day is all I and the other figure skaters, need.”

“We only practice two hours a day. The rink is open for you the rest of the time. Why is this my problem?” Iwaizumi shrugs his shoulders and leans on the stick beside him. “I’m sure you can figure it out yourself, you look smart. Unless that’s why you got transferred?”

A scoff slips out, which clearly doesn’t sit well with Iwaizumi. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m a good student. Like, really good. But I don’t think that matters when it comes to designating time on the ice. I would like to suggest that the figure skaters get two hours in the morning when it opens, and after that we can share the rink. How does that sound?”

Once again, Iwaizumi eyes you up and down. He pulls his helmet back on and backs away. “In your dreams, princess. If you’re that desperate, there’s about ten minutes until the rink shuts. Make the most of it.”

# fun fact !

when he turned around, y/n couldn’t help but sneak a peak at his ass

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summary. when an unfortunate incident kicks you out of your university and risks your reputation as one of the top figures skater in the country, you find your place in sendai. but when you discover they only have one rink, designated to their a-league hockey team, your chance at a comeback slips from your grasp. your only in is with the captain of the hockey team. the issue with that? he couldn’t care less who you are.

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[The Bad Batch x gn!reader (headcanons)]: Wearing their t-shirt

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Summary:

Each of the Bad Batch members react to your wearing their t-shirt.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None, pure fluff. Not proofread.

Enjoy!

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HUNTER:

He is completely smitten at the sight of you wearing his black t-shirt, one that he usually matched with his civilian clothes.

He came into your shared bunk to check some stuff about medical supplies and he found you trying out his black t-shirt. It wasn't oversized, but it wasn't super tight on your body, either.

He leaned on the side of the bedframe, smiling to himself.

"It fits you. You should keep it."

You're startled by how stealthy and quiet he was.

"You think so?"

He nods, hugging you from behind, pressing his chest against your back.

"Of course. Keep it."

He feels very protective over you, especially when you're wearing his clothes.

He acts like he doesn't mind, but in reality, he wouldn't mind you trying out his clothes more often.

ECHO:

He came back from a mission to your shared apartment just to see you with his pyjama shirt on and he instantly turned red.

You were watching a holomovie, hugging a cushion against your chest with his shirt on and he felt his heart speed up to a hundred miles per hour.

He slowly approached you, trying to look like he was cool with it, and ruffled your hair.

"Evening. I see you're wearing something of mine." He chimed.

You smiled, and stared at him. Truth be told, you missed him dearly when he went on long missions, so you looked for a piece of clothing that was his to remind you of him.

When you explained that to him he directly melted.

He thought he was so lucky to have a partner like you, a thoughtful mind and a loving person.

He joined you shortly afterwards, staring at you with a silly smile any time

WRECKER:

Excited. Like a kid on Christmas.

"Awe! Look at you! You're so adorable!"

He had bought some Mantell Mix for him and Omega when he decided to go back to the ship to rest and that's when he saw you.

To be fair, the t-shirt he used to dress up as a civilian looked like a huge, oversized dress on you. But that's what made it endearing.

"You look so cute!"

He hugs you tightly and kisses you to demonstrate how much he loves you.

If you wear his t-shirt, he will steal a wristband and put it on his wrist to show that he's also willing to wear your stuff.

May turn into a competition at some point, but that's not what we're here for-

Bonus: he feels extremely protective over you when you're wearing his clothes.

TECH:

Unfazed. Not bothered.

Or, at least, that what he likes to act like.

In reality, he got very flustered and awkward the first time he saw you wearing his t-shirt.

He stumbled with words and stuttered uncontrollably. He was probably the most flustered out of the entire batch.

He was done fixing the Marauder's hyperdrive and decided to check on you when he saw you with a t-shirt he used to sleep. And his heart rate skyrocketed.

Like I said, he acts unfaced and excuses his stuttering by saying he had been talking for too long. Not a very good excuse coming from his smart brain.

Then again, it's not like his brain worked after seeing you on his t-shirt.

He thought of places he could place the t-shirt so you'd be able to wear it more often.

This man is really head over heels for you.

CROSSHAIR:

"The heck you're doing with my t-shirt on?"

"Don't act mad, Cross."

"I'm not. I'm just asking."

He did acted mad. He was actually about to melt then and there.

Him and Hunter had gone on a mission to gather some intel and he had come back to the small cottage you and him shared on Pabu just to see you with his white t-shirt on.

Deep down, he loved it. He loved that you were wearing something that was his, he loved that you were his significant other.

He was just too proud to admit it.

The first time he saw you wearing his clothes, he snuck his hands under it to gently grip your waist. He adored the feeling of being able to hold you.

And yet again, he was too proud to admit it.

----

There's not much I have to say except I finally got my helix piercing done and I really do love it :p

And I might edit Crosshair's part because it doesn't really match his personality anymore.

Reblogs and shares are highly appreciated!

My requests are still open!

sorry, wrong number! — tanaka ryuunosuke. chapter eight; the rizzler.

contents ANGST! profanity. brainrot lingo. arguing. banter + flirting. kenma is fed up with the kuroo siblings.

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