#coconut chatters

[coconutkay]

pleeeeease boop me im literally

[stellerssong]

leveled up by a) making fig leaf infused simple syrup and b) realizing that there is a publicly accessible fig tree in a low foot traffic area less than 15 minutes' walk from my house

[jcsontodd]

Now i really want mango sticky rice

[lunahallowell]

W when u want coffee but the coffee at Dunkin Donuts 😪 I cri evrtim.

[venomnyx]

THE FOOL CARD - Josh Washington x F!Reader AO3 // Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT - 3.1k SUMMARY - You've been sneaking around with your best friend's older brother since summer. If it's supposed to be easy and casual, why does it feel so foolish? TAGS/WARNINGS - friends with benefits to lovers, female anatomy reader, teasing, alcohol/drinking, cursing, unprotected p in v sex, brief mentions of asphyxiation, creampie, josh has feelings first, dialogue heavy? NOTES - this is a self-indulgent fantasy smutty dialogue pracitce that isn't edited bc who has time for that these days. ignore overuse/repeat words if u love me. fan of josh since '15 only now i have the ability to do something about it

“You don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?” Josh asks, leaning against the doorway, casually sipping a beer.

You glance up from the cards spread out in front of you. Ashley sits opposite you, deer-eyes round with awe from when she held off of your every word, hinting at her friendship with Chris potentially becoming something more. A small smile grows on your face as you gather the silky cards together and slot them back into place.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re scared, are you, Joshy boy?”

With another sip, the corner of his mouth ticks up with intrigue. He shoulders off the doorway and saunters over, eyes never leaving you.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he says cooly, sliding onto the stool that Ashley scoots out of. She shoots you a knowing look, a glimmer in the ring of her green eyes, a flush to her cheeks as she scurries back into the chatter-filled living room.

“Tell me,” he begins, lounging back in the wooden chair with a low, shadowed look on his face. A long sip of beer, a generous amount of lash-lidded eye contact. “What does my future hold?”

“Your future?” You smirk, skillfully shuffling the cards in your hand, cheeks warm when you lose the competition of holding his confident stare. The tarot cards are glossy and thick, a high-quality deck gilded with gold that you’d nabbed from a crystal shop that stunk of coconut incense and white sage.

A card flies from the deck, landing face-down. You reach and flip it over, revealing The Tower—a crumbling structure, lit with a devastating fire.

“Sudden, eruptive change.”

He leans closer, interest piqued. “What kind of change?”

“Well… let’s ask the cards to clarify,” you continue, reshuffling until another card leaps out. You pick it up, revealing a heart, daggered with three, long swords. “The Three of Swords. Heartache, and pain.”

He scoffs humorously. “The only heartbreaking and painful thing about this week was Chris eating my leftover pizza.”

You hum, unconvinced. Another card.

Ten of Cups reversed. Familial despair.

“It feels like a warning,” you say, trying not to look at the blatant picture. Familial grieving, pain, loss. Clearing your throat, you glance back up at him. “Almost like everything you know is about to change.”

“Hm. Seems ominous,” he replies, entirely not convinced. “What about my near future?” He perks a suggestive brow, licks the dry of his lips. “What are the cards saying about tonight?”

You roll your eyes, feigning indifference, but your hands tremble when you pull two cards. The Moon, and The Lovers.

“Hmm… looks like the cards are saying…” you faux scan the cards, then glance over your shoulder to ensure there aren’t any eavesdroppers. When you’re satisfied they’re distracted, you return with your chin propped on two folded hands and a small, mischievous smile.

“Your room. Midnight?”

His lips stretch into a grin. “Y’know, if the cards keep saying things like this, I might just become a believer.”

You mirror his smile, tucking yourself in tight as you lean closer to the counter.

Hannah walks in, playing with her fingers nervously, and you instinctively lean back. She glances between you, Josh, the cards, and twists her feet against the tile seams.

“You want a go, Han?” You ask. She nods, but appears apprehensive.

“Come on, Josh, client confidentiality. Get outta here. Scram.”

Josh laughs, once. “Alright. I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

Your eyes flicker to him for a moment. He nods with a poker face like steel, raises his beer in acknowledgement of his sister, and leaves the room without a second look.

It’s cruel, how he walks away. Cruel like it’ll never mean more to him.

Ashley, face pink from cocktails, corners you when you return from the readings, hand pawing at your arm.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Ash. What’s up?”

She leans closer, voice lowering. “Do you have a crush on Josh?”

You’re mid-sip of wine when she asks, and you sputter a cough.

“Excuse me?”

She grins. “You know. Do you like like him?”

Ever the butt of the joke, your defensiveness flares like the prickle of young flames. Is she teasing you? Your fingers tighten around the glass stem.

“No, I know what you meant,” you reply, face warming. “Um, no, Ash. I don’t have a crush on Josh.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I could totally set you guys up. I mean, I told you about my crush on…” she glances around, tactically lowering her voice. “…Chris. So, you can trust me!”

“Ash, I think everybody knows about your crush on Chris.”

She blinks like a doe in headlights. “No, they don’t,” her gaze slips away. “Do they?”

You sip from your glass. “Everybody except Chris, apparently.”

She whacks your arm gently. “Shut up! He might hear you!” She scolds, embarrassed. You chuckle to yourself, eyes drawn to your cup as you mindlessly swirl the drink.

“But, seriously, it’s probably good that you don’t have a crush on Josh. Hannah and Beth would kill you!” She laughs.

Your blood turns icy as your mind is suddenly overwhelmed by a flurry of hook-up flashbacks, and you take a healthy, guilt-numbing swig of your drink before replying.

“Haha. Yeah. You’re probably right about that.”

Two glasses of wine later, you excuse yourself for the bathroom and veer off path when the coast is clear to Josh’s room. His door is ajar, feeding through a slim slice of warm lamp lighting onto the dark hallway.

A familiar routine— a scratch for the itch, a hit for the craving. Can’t keep your hands off him, not since the first time. You’d be in so much trouble if the twins knew you were hooking up with their older brother, but the scandal of it all gives you hot flashes between the thighs.

Hands tickle up your sides when you sneak in. A flat palm over your shoulder to click the door shut.

“You’re late,” he teases.

You stifle your giggles. “Yeah, well, unless you want everybody finding out about whatever we’re doing, then you’ll have to be patient for me to find my moment to sneak off.”

He closes the space between you, pressing against your chest to tilt you against the dresser, feeling small beneath his frame. Knees locked around his hips when you hop up.

“Would it be so bad?” He murmurs, immediately kissing along your neck, hands greedy on your waist. “You know… if they knew? About us?”

Us. A word like hot coals, fingers instinctively recoiling from the topic. Excited butterflies turned to anxious wasps in your belly. Casual moments bleeding into lingering stares, “we’re just friends” to eye contact and hand-holding when he makes you cum.

You think Emily knows. She’s quick-witted and perceptive whenever you leave the room, eyes sharp like a bristled cat ready to pounce.

“What’s there to know? We’re just friends,” you say, and he hums sceptically in response. You clutch his shoulders, warm beneath wine-numb fingers. “Besides, Hannah and Beth would kill me—”

“So, that’s it?” He grins, pulling away just enough that you can feel his breath fanning across your clavicle. You smell alcohol and peppermint gum and your head spins from the proximity.

“I’m just your dirty little secret?”

He’s making fun of you.

“Shut up,” you whine, breath laboured from the tingly feeling he produces against your skin with his mouth. Arousal so severe you feel like you’re sixteen again, a hormonal ball of teenage puppy fat and insecurity.

“Fine. How’d Hannah’s reading go? What’d she wanna know?”

You sigh with frustration, trying to nudge your hips closer to his. “Josh, please don’t talk about your sister when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“Oh, just like that, huh? Like I’m a piece of meat?”

“Isn’t that what you signed up for, pretty boy?”

He nips harder. “You think I’m pretty?”

A severe eye roll. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Well, I can be pretty convincing,” he mutters, pushing the hemline of your skirt up your thigh. “Your dress is cute. You wear it for me?”

You had— all butterflies and anticipation at the thought of easy access. A short, black milk-maid thing, as well as enduring an everything shower the night before, sore from vanilla-sugar exfoliation. Soft for him.

The words escape you in a stuttered breath when he thumbs up to your panty line, tipping it to the side.

“You wish.”

He noses against the column of your throat when he slips a finger against you, shuddery breaths when the slick gathers on his palm.

“Always so wet,” he strains, tipsy touches circling your clit, pressing into the honeyed entrance. “You’re insatiable, you know that? Can’t get enough of me?”

No.

“Mm… don’t flatter yourself. Consider it convenient.”

He tilts his head. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”

“Stop— stop being such a dick,” you pant, muscles seizing against the sudden onslaught of building pleasure.

“Thought you liked me a little mean.”

He slides a singular finger into you, all molten and tingly as he knuckle-fucks you.

“Oh God, shut up.”

He sucks pressure onto your neck, affectionate with a hand on the small of your back. Your insides clench, aching with the urge to be filled, a desire his fingers would never be fully be able to satisfy.

You palm the growing mound behind his denim. “Need to feel you.”

He leans back, looking at you boyishly, pausing the work of his wrist.

“Right now?” His voice peaks. “But you’re hardly ready—”

“Gotta be quick.” You tug on his belt buckle and challenge his eye contact with lowered eyelids. “I can take it.”

You’ve rendered him stun-locked, shy.

He blinks. “Fuck— shit, okay,” he reaches for the zipper on his jeans, already steel-hard when he releases himself. He nudges closer, but you’ve never done it like this before. Not without a condom.

“This okay?” He asks hurriedly, the strain to his voice a sobering splash.

The wine blurs the line you promised not to cross. You glance down to where he fists himself, hastily spreading your slick across his length, and your lower belly flips.

You nod, bottom lip captured between your teeth. “Fuck. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Josh—”

“Alright, alright, needy.”

He slips a hand over the curve of your ass, propping you firmly on the dresser and nestling further between your thighs, notching his tip against your wet heat before pushing in. A sharp inhale accompanied by a hand on his chest, urging him to go slower.

It’s a tight stretch as you adjust to the weight of him pressing inside you, nails digging reflexively into the meat of his shoulders.

“Easy, I got you,” he murmurs, hand sliding up from guiding himself inside of you to the wall beside your head. His mouth captures yours as he sinks deeper, a balm to soothe the sting.

You don’t normally kiss. Not often, usually only when you’re drunk. It felt too intimate at first, too weird— because two “just friends” fucking each other’s brains out certainly wasn’t, but you sigh-melt when his tongue slips past the parting of your lips.

He rolls his hips shallowly once, twice— until the burn turns honey-silk, sheathed heavily in your velvet. He’s panting when he leans back, reaching up for purchase, something to ground himself. He instinctively goes for your waist, second-guesses himself, and leans a hand against the wall.

Dark eyes search for yours in the haze. “You alright?”

You slide your hands underneath his plaid shirt. “You trying to be romantic or something?”

He rolls his eyes. “Quit it.”

You bite down on your lower lip, suppressing a grin, and dig the ball of your foot into his ass to pull him closer.

“Get on with it, then.”

He obliges with a groan, pistoning slowly at first. A gentle back-and-forth, slickening himself up all sweet for you, precarious where he tries not to make the dresser rock too much. Helplessly his fingers cling to you, digging into the plush of your thigh, thumbing along the crease where the skin meets your hip.

He reaches to cradle your face and parts your kiss-wet lips with a thumb. You suck him into the cup of your mouth, tongue curling around his skin. You’ve never blowed him before but you’re sure he pictures you pretty on your knees with the way his eyes darken.

His thumb releases with a pop and he presses it against your clit, puffy with need.

The rhythm catches up, and soon you’re panting as you rock against one another. Arms clinging to the broad spread of his shoulders, legs squeezing around his waist. You could stay here forever, you think— drunk on the way he fucks you like he cares what you feel, what you think. Attentive, giving. Better than any exes and you’re sure he knows it— why else would you stick around?

Your best friend’s older brother.

“We should stop doing this,” you concede, words strung high across a moan. “Ashley thinks I’ve got a crush on you.”

A tilt of his head. Something flickers on his face, sparkles in his eye when his lip quirks up. Amusement.

“That right?” He breathes, teeth flashing. “Cute.”

“Jesus, right there—”

Panting breaths melt together between a symphony of curses. A roll of your eyes as your head tilts forward, nails digging into his tense biceps, bracing yourself against the pulse at your centre as his spit-silky thumb circles your clit.

He swallows thickly, throat bobbing against your temple. “Well… do you?”

You pull back from the crook of his neck you’d buried yourself into. “What?”

“Have a crush on me?”

You sock his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird.”

He grins, followed by a roll of his hips. “Oh, right, because that’ll make things weird.”

“Just— just keep doing that, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Footsteps and laughter.

Your eyes widen, nerves doused with adrenaline. “Someone’s coming—”

Josh’s hand snaps up and clamps across your mouth, his hips shifting to continue their pace but careful to mind knocking against the dresser. Eyes low and dark as he leans closer, cheeks flushed as he squeezes your face.

From outside the door, “Yo, where’s Josh?”

“He said he was going to get more beer!”

It’s Chris and Mike.

“He’s been gone for a while. Do you think he’s passed out in his room?”

Your brows scrunch, torn between the thrill of fear and pleasure. A moan squeaks behind his palm, every thrust a countdown. Josh mime-shushes you, licking his lips and glancing over at the door as footsteps pass by. Nothing but a piece of wood between you and a secret spilt.

You whimper, pussy turning to liquid heat between your thighs, fizzy with ecstasy, clamping down hard around his hips. Cobra tight around the lava sink and drag of his cock.

“Nah, man. Let’s check the wine cellar.”

The footsteps continue down the hallway, easing your adrenaline with each step as you turn gelatinous in his arms. He releases you at once and the oxygen runs to your head with a dizzying force, eyes wild as they address you.

“Did you…?”

“Mhm.” It pitches high, and his eyes widen with the realisation.

“You liked that. Do you want us to get caught?”

You tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Maybe I just liked you choking me.”

His brows raise. “Wait. Really?”

You smile wickedly in response, leaving the question unanswered— you aren’t trying to give him any ideas, but you feel that bubbly-wistfulness in your belly at the thought of his hand around your throat the next time he takes you.

You’re not meant to daydream or hope for the next time; this was only supposed to be a one-time thing— just shy of your nineteenth birthdays, fucking yourselves through a dry spell, but you’ve been jumping his bones since the Washington’s invited you to stay with them last summer and he showed you how to smoke your first joint.

You’re a sweet girl, their parents said. Hannah and Beth couldn’t have been more excited that their best friend was coming to stay for six weeks. They hadn’t suspected a thing.

That was last August. Now you’re here with the others for the annual winter getaway— the lodge all to yourselves, and you’d not even lasted a night before you’d tip-toed into his room at 1 AM.

Josh grunts into your neck, cock twitching within you, sliding in and out of your slickened pussy like water.

“Where should I…”

A vulnerable split-second of eye contact. Shivery energy zips between you and something atmospherically shifts, like a moon falling into orbital alignment. The space behind your rib cage becomes soft and malleable, gravity tugging on your heartstrings.

The Fool Card.

A dangerous cliff edge that you’re too wrapped up in the moment to take mind of. You’re already in this deep— might as well fling yourself over it.

You dig your fingers into him. “Inside.”

His eyes flash wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah— fuck, Josh, let me feel you.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. So fuckin’ hot.”

He thrusts with more urgency now, brows knit, teeth bared. Sharp when they slide along the skin of your shoulder.

He releases a cute grunt when he comes, nose buried in your neck, cock pulsing strongly inside of you. A sharp little rut of his hips, pushing himself deep, milking dry what remains.

Panting breaths mingle together, misty with post-sex sweat. You stroke the back of his exertion-damp head, cradled gently against your shoulder, his knuckles white as they brace against the dresser.

This is usually the time when you clear your throats and tug your clothes back on, but when he lifts his head to look at you, there’s something soft and sticky-sweet in the post-clarity lax of his features, the seraphic upturn of his brows.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blink at him. “Josh…”

Something visibly deflates on his face. “Sorry, sorry, I overstepped, I forgot the 'rules'—”

You grab him by the neck, thumb affectionately along the line of his jaw, and capture his mouth against yours. When you kiss he’s still sheathed to the hilt, chests pressing together, and you suddenly don’t feel so drunk anymore.

Everything narrows down, vision tunnelling. You’re suddenly not in a lodge with all of your friends, not propped up on his dresser, not just friends with benefits. You can pretend in the safety of his bedroom, making out like lovers, because when it’s this dark it’s just him, him, him, an utter mind-reeling consumption, so warm and soft and tender you feel shame trickle down your spine.

It’s not supposed to feel this good.

Spit strings between your mouths when you pull back.

“We should… go back to the others. Probably wondering where we are.”

He pants, gazing down at your lips. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We should do that.”

It’s cruel, the way he looks at you. Cruel like this means more to him, too.

dividers credit @saradika-graphics // mdni graphics credit @arcielee

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 07

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: Things start getting...heated

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

This was a mistake!

Your body betrays you, as it usually does—shoulders tense, stomach coiled tight, fingers twitching at your sides like they might still find a way to escape.

You know Ochako means well, has only ever been kind to you in these last 24 hours, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from hammering against your ribs like a frantic warning bell.

Run. Hide. Fake a headache. There’s still time!!

But Ochako’s grip is ironclad.

“C’mon! We need to get down there before everyone starts wondering where we are!” She laces her fingers through yours, warm and insistent, dragging you out the door of your shared room before you can so much as think of an excuse.

The scent of her coconut sunscreen lingers in the air as you stumble after her. Your heart is a mess, part nerves, part anticipation. You can’t remember the last time you felt so nervous!

Scratch that, landing on top of Bakugou over the weekend was pretty traumatizing...

Still, this feels like a close second, judging by the nauseating urge to turn back and pretend you never agreed to this.

The hallway is alive with movement, a blur of swimsuits, cover-ups, and damp footprints smudged against the floorboards.

You're really trying to focus on not throwing up right now.

Ochako pulls you along though, her chatter light and cheerful, and you do your best to focus on her words instead of the way the floor feels like it’s tilting beneath your feet.

You’re not used to this, like at all. God, you don't think you've ever made this much contact with another human being in your life!

When you finally reach the outdoors, the sight sort of lifts a heavy weight from your chest. You look around, wide eyes taking in the scene.

The blue water sparkles under the afternoon sun, ringed by lush greenery, its surface kissed by golden light. Your classmates are already splashing around, tossing a beach ball back and forth, setting up the bonfire pit for later.

You've been all over the world, traveled to every unbelievable destination money could buy, and yet—you find yourself in awe at the sight of this little lake. There’s something inviting about it.

Well, you're actually quite terrified...But you imagine the scene is inviting to somebody like Ochako!

As if to prove your point, a few of the girls immediately spot Ochako and wave her over from the water. She perks up, bouncing on the tips of her toes to wave back, her excitement so genuine it makes your chest ache.

Instinctively, you shift a step behind her rather than beside her, eyes darting to the sides to ignore any stray gazes on yourself.

But then she nudges you forward, and your stomach lurches as you stumble into view.

Mina spots you first. She’s radiant in a lilac bikini that pops against her skin, her pink curls damp but still bouncing as she bounds over. “Y/N! No way—you came!” Her golden eyes widen in surprise, and just like that, others take notice, heads turning in your direction.

A chorus of greetings follows—some cheerful, others more reserved, but none of them unkind.

It’s… new.

It’s the stuff of nightmares, honestly. You suck at this. Socializing. Group settings.

You can feel the awkward tension in your own smile, stiff and unsure, as you mutter half-hearted hellos in return. Do you look as uncomfortable as you feel? God, probably.

Why did you come? It’s a toxic cycle—wanting to be invited, then immediately regretting it the second you are.

Mina doesn’t seem to notice your spiraling. She wraps Ochako in a quick hug before turning her full attention on you, manicured fingers resting lightly on your shoulder. “You guys look so good! Y/N, you look insane.”

You freeze. Panic surges.

“Insane… in a good way?” Your voice comes out so worried that you immediately want to fling yourself into the lake.

If you looked crazy, Ochako would’ve told you, right? Right?!

Mina snorts, giving your shoulder a playful shake. “Girl, insane great. Your body is killer.”

You blink, thrown off by the unexpected compliment. This is your chance to return the favor! Compliment her back! Say something, anything—

A sudden, thunderous splash pulls your attention to the lake.

Your brows shoot up just in time to see Sero shoving Denki straight into the water.

The blond resurfaces a second later, sputtering, his drenched hair plastered to his forehead as he glares. Sero doubles over, laughing, his drink still held aloft like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You blink, processing. You know they’re close, but… is it normal to shove your friends into the water like that?

You’ve seen it in movies, but you can’t decide if you’d find it fun or if you’d immediately die of secondhand embarrassment.

Mina, clearly unfazed, rolls her eyes and calls out to them. “Hey! Watch it over here, the water’s cold!” She gestures at the splash that nearly reaches your feet.

Ochako giggles, nudging you again. “Let’s go in!”

Your stomach flips, but you nod, trailing behind her as she slips off her cover-up dress. She drapes it over a wooden bench already lined with bags and sandals, a chaotic splash of colors against the sun-bleached wood.

You focus on the little knot at your sheer skirt, fingers fumbling as you untie it. The sun is warm against your skin, the breeze light and teasing. The chatter around you hums like background noise, but what you don’t notice is the ripple of attention you’ve unintentionally drawn.

By the water’s edge, Denki and Sero are frozen, their expressions comically slack-jawed.

“Dude,” Denki whispers, as if he’s just spotted a mythical creature. “Y/N is actually here.”

Sero nods slowly, drink momentarily forgotten in his hand. “She… is so hot.”

Before their awe can spiral into more whispered nonsense, a swift, synchronized bonk lands on both their heads.

Jirou and Tsuyu stand behind them, arms crossed, expressions sharp with unimpressed judgment.

“Don’t be creeps,” Jirou mutters, pushing her sunglasses up with a sigh. Strands of damp hair cling to the sunscreen glistening on her cheeks. Her deep plum swimsuit is effortlessly cool, a stark contrast to Tsuyu’s soft green one-piece, patterned with delicate lily pads.

“The girl barely ever hangs out with us as it is,” Jirou continues. “The last thing we need is her feeling weirded out because of you two.”

Denki scoffs, looking personally offended. “Excuse me!? The only creep here is Mineta, and you guys know he’s banned from coming to these things.”

Sero nods solemnly, raising his drink in mock salute. “The little perv is under strict surveillance by Aizawa and Present Mic tonight. Thank god.”

Mina, now wading into the water, joins the group. She takes a slow sip of her beverage before sending Denki and Sero a pointed look.

“Anybody else a little confused by Y/N showing up?” she muses, tilting her head. “Not complaining, just... surprised. You two better not make it weird.”

Denki’s jaw drops in offense. “Hey!”

Their bickering dissolves into splashes and laughter, but you remain blissfully unaware of it all.

You're too busy steadying your breath, caught between the cool breeze and the lingering warmth of the sun. It feels surreal—being here, surrounded by your classmates, the lazy hum of summer wrapping around you like a soft, sun-warmed blanket.

“Should we grab drinks first?” Ochako’s voice is casual, but there’s something airy, almost calculated, about her tone.

You follow her gaze toward the makeshift drink station, a folding table cluttered with pitchers of neon-colored juice and a cooler packed with ice.

Midoriya, Shouto, and Tenya stand nearby, their silhouettes framed by the lake’s shimmering expanse.

Your brows knit together as you glance at Ochako’s oddly focused stare. Surely, she’s not that thirsty… right?

Then, the puzzle pieces snap into place.

Oh. She’s staring at Midoriya!

It’s almost cute how obvious it is. Since your first year, it’s been clear to everyone, probably even the birds in the trees—that Ochako and Midoriya had a thing for each other.

Even you, someone who couldn't be worse at picking up on social cues, had noticed!

Before you can say a word, Ochako's fingers curl around your wrist, tugging you forward with surprising strength.

You barely have time to process before you’re standing at the drink table, flashing a tight, polite smile at the boys while Ochako dives headfirst into conversation with Midoriya.

The green-haired boy looks like he’s barely holding onto his composure.

His freckles stand out starkly against his flushed skin, his cheeks nearly as red as the watermelon slices bobbing lazily in one of the juice pitchers. His gaze flickers everywhere, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t Ochako’s swimwear-clad form.

You suppress a smile. This feels like watching a rom-com unfold in real-time!

“Y/N, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Your attention shifts to a familiar face, Shouto Todoroki. He sits on a wooden bench, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his posture relaxed.

Next to him, Tenya sips from a cup, his rigid posture a sharp contrast to Shouto’s.

You push your sunglasses up, using them to sweep your hair away from your face. “Y-yeah. Ochako asked if I wanted to come. I thought it’d be refreshing after Aizawa pushing us this morning,” you say, your voice light—too light—the lie slipping out before you can stop it.

Because to be honest, the last thing on your mind was how refreshing a swim would be.

You came for the sole purpose of not feeling like a total loser for once....

But you’d never admit that. Especially not to him, the boy you’d known since childhood.

Your families had woven your lives together from the start. Same private schools, same gated communities, same stiff playdates arranged more out of obligation than friendship.

You remember the afternoons spent under perfectly manicured trees, the two of you side by side, sharing crayons and silence.

Shouto studies you for a moment, his heterochromatic gaze unreadable—not piercing, not heavy, just... observant.

“Yeah, your quirk has been flaring up lately. I’m sure Aizawa pushed you harder today.”

Your breath catches.

He—he noticed!?

Aizawa hadn’t actually paid you any extra attention today. Training had been perfectly normal.

But the fact that Shouto had even thought otherwise—the fact that he’d noticed the way your quirk had been acting up lately—sends a jolt of something sharp and embarrassed through you.

Because he doesn’t know why.

He doesn’t know that every time your mind even drifts to Bakugou Katsuki, a million delicate petals betray you, spiraling into existence without your permission.

That your quirk has become your worst enemy, weaving your feelings into reality whether you want it to or not!

Your fingers tighten slightly around your cup. He doesn’t know, and he can’t know.

You force a small shrug. “Yeah”

Thankfully, Tenya, bless his overly formal soul—cuts through the moment. “Would you like something to drink, Y/N? We have quite the selection of fruit juices—grape, pineapple, mango, and I believe that one has a mix of berries.”

He gestures toward the pitchers like a waiter at some high-end restaurant, each glass container beading with condensation, jewel-toned liquids shimmering in the sun.

You could almost hug him for the distraction!

You offer a small, grateful smile. “Oh, sure. I think I’ll go for the mango.”

“Excellent choice.” He moves with crisp efficiency, pouring the drink with such ceremonial care it’s almost comical.

You take a sip, the cool sweetness bursting across your tongue, grounding you just a little. “Thanks"

He nods, the gesture polite, precise—like everything else about him. “You’re very welcome. It’s great to see you here, Y/N. We don’t often get to socialize outside of training or class, and it’s important for team morale to build connections in less formal settings.

Your fingers swirl the straw through your drink, watching the ice clink against the sides. “Yeah, it's nice” you say softly, your gaze drifting back out to the lake.

The sun-soaked scene feels almost surreal, like a postcard from a life you never thought you’d step into. And beneath all the noise, something settles in your chest—warm, quiet, nice.

Ochako suddenly appears at your side.

She nudges you, her smile wide, her cheeks flushed a charming pink—whether from the heat or whatever Midoriya had just told her, you aren’t sure.

“Ready to get in the water?” she asks, leaning over to pour herself a berry-hued drink. She taps her cup against yours with a soft clink, liquid sloshing playfully.

You blink at the red plastic cups—wow, it really is like the movies!—and glance toward the lake.

Sunlight dances on the surface, rippling with the chaos of your classmates. Mina and Tsuyu are deep in a water war now, their laughter carrying across the breeze.

But your gaze drifts past them, searching for something, someone else.

And then, you find him.

Bakugou sits at the water’s edge, his feet submerged, gentle waves lapping against his sculpted calves.

His elbows rest on his knees, hands loosely clasped as he talks with Kirishima. Even from here, you catch the sharpness of his profile—the strong set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.

You’re not sure beautiful is a word people often use to describe Bakugou, but right now, you swear he’s every bit of it.

Oh. He’s also shirtless.

And dear god, you really hope no flowers are blooming around you right now. That would be mortifying.

And way too obvious...Shoto would definitely pick up on it.

Your pulse picks up, your heart doing a ridiculous little flip in your chest. It’s humiliating, really, how just looking at him can make you react like this.

And then, as if feeling your gaze on him, he looks up. Crimson eyes find yours, steady and unblinking.

You freeze, manicured fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic giving slightly under the pressure.

The world slows, the noise around you dissolving into a distant hum, like you’ve suddenly been dropped underwater. It’s funny, you think bitterly, how now when he looks at you, there’s recognition there. Like he actually sees you.

Before this weekend, Bakugou’s gaze would’ve skimmed past you without a second thought—just another classmate who barely spoke, never worth lingering on.

But now? His eyes catch on you. Like something’s shifted. Like you’ve somehow forced your way into his line of sight.

Was it when you tripped and fell against him, practically tackling him to the ground?

Or when he helped you move all your boxes into the dorms, grumbling the entire time but never once walking away?

Maybe it was when he spent over an hour teaching you how to navigate the public transportation system without getting hopelessly lost....

All of it, jumbled together into one little weekend, had somehow tackled your heart and refused to let go.

You know it probably meant nothing to him. Just Bakugou being a surprisingly good person. But to you? God. It was everything.

And now you can’t stop thinking about the nickname he gave you earlier—sad eyes. A clear demotion from princess.

It’s devastating....

Do your eyes really look sad right now? God, you hope not! You don’t want to be known as the girl who looks miserable all the time....

You stand up straighter, forcing a small smile, as if that’ll help. Maybe it’ll make you look normal!

But then Bakugou shifts, turning back toward Kirishima without another glance in your direction, and the moment shatters like glass. Something tight in your chest loosens—but disappointment seeps in almost instantly, and you hate yourself for it.

He didn't even look at my swimsuit...does he not like the pink?

Wait- why are you even thinking about him liking your swimsuit? Get it together!

Ochako leans in, her shoulder brushing against yours. “What was that all about?”

Her question jolts you back to reality, and you nearly spill your drink. “Huh? N-no, it’s nothing.”

“it was so something!” she gasps, watching you from the corners of her eyes with sudden intrigue.

You clutch your cup tighter, heat pricking your cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ochako just grins, entirely unconvinced. “I’ve never seen Bakugou look someone up and down like that—unless he was about to fight them. But something tells me that wasn’t the look he was giving you.”

Your throat dries instantly. "What?! No, He definitely wasn’t—”

“Uh-huh,” she hums, her grin only widening as you flounder for a believable response. “Right.”

Mortified, you take a hasty sip of your drink, the coolness doing little to ease the sudden, frantic buzz in your chest. But despite yourself, a small, reckless thought unfurls in your mind, curling up all hopeful and dangerous.

What is she thinking!?

You’re still overthinking when Ochako grabs your wrist and drags you toward the lake. The water is cold, a welcome shock against your skin as it rises to your waist. It helps—sort of.

The group has already settled into easy conversation, splashing each other and laughing as though this wasn’t absolutely the most socially overstimulating day of your life. You hover at the edge, fingers curled around your cup, letting Ochako do most of the talking.

Your mind keeps drifting. It shouldn’t, but it does. And when you can’t help yourself, you sneak a glance back toward the shore—

His spot is empty.

Your stomach dips. Where did he go?

“Bakugou, man! Finally decided to join us,” Sero calls, his voice bright as he pushes his wet hair back from his face.

You frown. Wait—

But Sero isn’t looking at the shore. He’s looking at you.

The cold prickle is instant, creeping down your spine like a warning. Slowly, you turn— And you almost scream when you find Bakugou standing right there. 

Towering. Close.

You stumble back a step, your throat locking up. “What—?! How do you keep doing that?!”

He doesn’t answer, just flicks his gaze down at you. Quick, sharp—before scoffing. “Sad Eyes, should’ve called you ‘Jumpy’ instead. That’s three for three, huh?”

Your skin burns. “What?!”

“This is the Third time you freaked out ‘cause I showed up. I’m keepin’ track now.”

Your jaw drops. He’s been keeping track?!

Mortification settles deep in your bones. This is getting ridiculous. How does he keep sneaking up on you like this?!

And now he’s calling you jumpy? That’s somehow worse than Sad Eyes!!

You sputter, grasping at the shredded remains of your dignity. “It’s not my fault! Who just sneaks up on people like that? You’re way too quiet for someone who’s, like, six feet tall!”

The group falls silent. A ripple of surprise spreads, heads turning, eyes widening.

You, who barely even makes eye contact with most of them—talking to Bakugou like this?

And more than that… you two had hung out before? Three times now?!

Kirishima is the first to recover, throwing his head back with a laugh before slapping a heavy hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “He actually grew, you know! Six-two now! Our manly Katsuki’s all grown up!”

Bakugou immediately shoves him off with a sharp snarl. “Shut it, dumbass.”

You’re still trying to steady your breath, heart hammering from both the shock of his sudden appearance and worse—the new nickname.

Why couldn’t he just go back to Princess?

Mina scoffs, nudging Kirishima with a pointed look. “Quit it, don't give Y/N the wrong first impression of us,” she mutters—like she meant to keep it quiet, but you definitely hear her.

Your eyebrows lift, heat creeping up your neck. First impressions? Three years in?!

If only she knew your actual first impression of Kirishima—him holding the door open for you on the first day of freshman year, flashing an easy grin like it was second nature.

Not that he’d remember. But you do. A small, insignificant moment that somehow stuck, tucked away in the back of your mind, untouched and warm.

The conversation shifts, the group slipping back into their usual rhythm—Mina teasing, Kirishima laughing, Denki making some ridiculous joke. Their voices rise and fall like background noise, familiar and distant.

You stand quietly, retreating into yourself, drink in hand, eyes fixed on the surface of your cup like it holds the secrets of the universe.

You don’t notice the way Ochako watches.

She’s spent enough time around you to pick up on the obvious—you’re shy. Painfully so. It’s not what people assume at first, not with the way you dress, the quiet confidence in your posture, and the sharpness of your gaze. But once they get to know you, it’s impossible to miss.

What surprises her more is how, despite that hesitance, you instinctively shift closer to Bakugou.

And he isn’t so innocent either. His gaze flicks toward you, sharp but unreadable, lingering just long enough to be noticeable before he looks away. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t react.

But he doesn’t move either.

Something clicks for her.

She nudges you, soft but deliberate.

You blink up at her, confused. What?

She only raises her brows, like she knows something you don’t.

Your frown deepens. What?

But she doesn’t explain, just grins to herself before turning back to the conversation.

The weight of it lingers, settling in your chest like you’re missing something important, but you try to ignore it. It's Just another thing you don't quite get yet.

It’s easier to focus on your drink. The cool glass against your fingertips, the slow trickle of condensation, the soft lap of water around your legs. The conversation hums around you, voices rising and falling like waves.

You don’t need to force yourself into it.

For now, this is enough.

For now, you’re comfortable.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

You sit at the lake’s edge, toes skimming the surface as gentle waves lap at your ankles.

Your white gold diamond tennis anklet catches the fading sunlight, glinting with every ripple. The sun has dipped lower now, streaking the sky in hues of gold and orange, its reflection shimmering across the water in shimmering fragments.

Ochako left a few minutes ago to grab marshmallows for the bonfire, and honestly, you don’t mind the solitude!

Your social battery is drained, and the distant sounds of your classmates—laughing, splashing, calling out to each other—feel muffled, like you’re hearing them from behind glass.

It’s nice, though. Being here. Being part of this.

You let yourself sink into the quiet, watching the way your feet sway in the water, the way the coolness soothes the lingering buzz beneath your skin.

Then—

A shadow falls over you.

You blink up, and nearly choke on air at the visual.

Bakugou stands over you, hands shoved into the pockets of his black swim trunks, droplets of water trailing down his chest. Against the warm hues of the setting sun, his silhouette is sharp, cutting through the golden light like a blade.

“Sad eyes,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’re really livin’ up to the name right now.”

You blink, caught off guard. Huh?

“But I’m not sad!” you insist, frowning.

His brow lifts, skeptical. His gaze lingers, tracing the natural pout of your glossy lips, the way your eyes seem distant even when you’re not trying. Something pricks at the back of his neck, heat creeping up his spine before he looks away.

You shift slightly, fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic slick with condensation.

“You’ve been payin’ more attention to that damn drink than the actual lake.” Bakugou snorts, nodding toward the vast stretch of water behind him.

You try not to stare, but it’s difficult. His ashy blonde hair, the sharp contrast of his red eyes against the cyan blue of the lake—if you let yourself, you could sit here and admire the view all day.

Unfortunately, you realize too late that you have been staring. For way too long!

Panic sparks in your brain, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth moves faster than your common sense.

“Well, the water looks great, but I’m focusing on my drink! It’s really tasty. Do you wanna try?” The second the words leave your lips, regret slams into you like a wave.

You briefly consider slipping into the lake and letting the water swallow you whole. Would they let you drown if you tried?

…No, probably not. Too many future pro heroes around.

But to your utter disbelief, Bakugou doesn’t call you an idiot. Instead, He just flicks his gaze down to your cup, then—before you can process what’s happening—crouches down to your sitting height.

The water shifts beneath him, sending ripples through the lake. He’s closer now than you expected, all sharp angles and damp skin, the scent of caramel and lake water clinging to him.

Is the caramel like a cologne? Seriously! He smells like a roasted sweet treat at all times!

Your breath catches as his fingers brush against yours, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool plastic. Then, without hesitation, he lifts the cup to his lips.

And drinks.

For you, the world tilts. The sun, the water, the distant chatter of your classmates—it all fades into static.

It’s just him now. The slow sip, the soft slosh of liquid in the cup, the way his lips curve around the straw—the same one you’ve been using all day. Time stretches impossibly thin, and you swear the air between you hums with something heavy.

A single drop clings to his bottom lip as he pulls back. He swipes it away with the lazy flick of his tongue before his gaze catches yours—steady, unreadable, something warm simmering just beneath the surface.

“Not bad,” Bakugou mutters, his voice low, careless. “But I think the glittery shit you got on messed with the taste.”

Your brain stutters. Glittery…?

Oh.

Your lip gloss. The pink, strawberry-flavored one you had just recently reapplied.

Heat floods your face so fast it makes you dizzy, your heart hammering like you just ran laps with Iida.

Bakugou stays where he is, the water sloshing gently around his waist, completely unfazed. Meanwhile, you’re left staring at your cup, at the place his lips just were—desperately trying to remember how to function.

You gulp down your nerves, eyes flickering toward the water, focusing on the gentle ripples. Anything but him! Slowly, you lift the cup to your lips again.

Only to freeze.

Oh my god.

Right where his lips just were.

Your mind spins, and you can practically feel the steam rising from your skin. You could actually combust right here, more a ball of flames than human! The cool lake water around your ankles does nothing to soothe the heat crawling up your neck, pooling in your cheeks.

Bakugou doesn’t seem to notice your internal turmoil. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles flexing, and his expression is somewhere between bored and contemplative. The silence stretches, thick and pressing, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

You force yourself to take a sip, pretending like your heart isn’t trying to break out of your ribs. The drink is still sweet, still refreshing, but now all you can think about is the fact that his mouth was just here.

It’s like an indirect kiss!

He can’t be thinking about it that way, right?! If he did, he probably wouldn’t be so quiet about it!

Bakugou shifts, the water rippling around him. His red eyes flick to your face, and you brace yourself for some snarky remark—but it doesn’t come. Instead, he just watches you, like he’s trying to figure something out. It’s unnerving.

Then—

“Why does your quirk do that?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

Your breath catches.

You blink at him, thrown completely off guard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You glance around your sides first, eyes darting to the water, the shore, anywhere he could possibly be referring to. But nothing looks different. There’s no telltale glow, no signs of your quirk activating. Confused, you glance back at him.

“I don’t see anything,” you say hesitantly.

His smirk widens just a fraction. “Yeah? Look behind you.”

A nervous lump forms in your throat. You slowly twist your torso around—

and your heart plummets.

The tree behind you, once lush with soft green leaves, is now covered in delicate, glowing pink blossoms. Every inch of it, every branch, every tiny leaf that was once green has been replaced with flowers, radiating a gentle light in the darkness.

Your breath catches in your throat.

A whole tree.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

A beat of silence passes, stretching unbearably long as you stare at it, horror dawning.

This is mortifying!

You snap back around, scrambling for a way to downplay this, to brush it off, but your mind is blank. Completely empty.Your fingers tighten around the cup in your hands, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears.

Bakugou watches you, unimpressed.

The bonfire crackles in the distance, flames licking at the air, casting long, flickering shadows against the trees. Laughter drifts over from the shore, light and carefree, but it barely registers. The world has narrowed to this moment, to the weight of his gaze, to the pounding of your heart in your ears.

You open your mouth, scrambling for something—anything—to say in your defense. But no words come out.

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Tch. So?”

You blink at him, stomach sinking. “So what?”

He jerks his chin toward the tree. “That happen every time you get nervous?”

Your breath hitches.

Your voice jumps an octave, frazzled beyond belief. “I am not nervous!”

Bakugou lifts a brow, eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Yeah?” He exhales sharply, almost amused. “Might have to start calling you Squeaky.”

Horrified, you let out an embarrassed groan, heat rushing to your face. You don’t even think—your hand moves on instinct, reaching out to shove him.

Your perfectly manicured nails, white French tips, delicate and polished, press against solid muscle, barely making him budge.

“Don’t tease me so much,” you whine, already waving the white flag. “I might pass out.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, head tilting. “Who said I’m teasing you?”

Your glare sharpens, suspicious. “You are.”

Bakugou huffs, but he doesn’t argue. He should be more focused on the ridiculous fact that your quirk just bloomed an entire cherry blossom tree in his presence.

But right now, he’s distracted. Very distracted by the look on your face.

Your cheeks are puffed out slightly, your glittery pink lips pursed in a pout that’s way too damn distracting. And those eyes—big, wide, pleading, blink up at him like you’re silently begging for mercy.

Damn it.

He almost wants to keep pushing you just to see how much further he can take it. The way you react—it’s too easy, too entertaining. But there’s something about this whole situation, about you, that makes him feel… off. Like his balance is shifting beneath his feet, and he hates it.

You two have barely talked before this—what, a handful of conversations? A week of knowing each other at most? And yet somehow, you’ve already got him feeling weird.

This has gotta end.

Without warning, Bakugou steps forward, cutting through the water until he’s right in front of you, just within reach. His presence looms, heat radiating off his skin despite the cool night air.

Your breath stutters.

His hand lifts slightly, and for one wild second, your brain short-circuits. Is he going to—?

But instead, his knuckles brush the bottom of your cup, nudging it lightly.

“You gonna sit here all night or what?” His voice is rough, casual, but there’s something else beneath it—something unreadable. “Bonfire’s startin’ soon.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out at first. You swallow, clearing your throat, scrambling to get a grip. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer, like he’s making sure you actually heard him, before he turns away.

The water ripples in his wake as he wades back toward the shore, hands stuffed in his pockets like nothing even happened.

You finally exhale, shoulders sagging, the tension unraveling from your body.

The night air feels warmer now. Softer.

With one last glance at the lake, you set your drink aside and push yourself up.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

After that borderline confusing and mortifying interaction, you’re left with a choice the moment you step out of the water.

Option one: Stay. Sit on a rough block of wood, eat a damn roasted marshmallow, and painfully maneuver your way through awkward small talk with your classmates.

Option two: Leave. Retreat back to your bedroom, put on some mind-numbing reality TV, and rot in bed after a long, refreshing shower.

The second option sounds incredibly tempting. You can already imagine the warm spray of water against your skin, the fresh scent of your favorite body wash, the way your comforter would swallow you whole as you melted into your mattress.

Plus, you've packed your favorite Dior pj's!

And you’re going to do it! You swear you are—but then you catch Bakugou’s sharp gaze flicking back at you over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but the subtle glance alone is enough to pin you in place, a silent, unspoken question hanging in the air.

Still here?

Damn it.

With an internal sigh, you resign yourself to option one. The night is almost over anyway.

That’s how you end up here, seated on a weathered log, chin resting against your manicured hand, staring blankly into the fire while Denki animatedly recounts some story about a trip to the mall a few months ago.

The others laugh, voices rising and falling around you, but you only catch pieces of it—bits of inside jokes, exaggerated retellings, the occasional snort from Sero that sets off another round of chuckles.

Your focus drifts.

Above, the sky is a vast stretch of inky darkness, dotted with a scatter of stars. You tilt your chin up slightly, eyes tracing their soft glimmer, losing yourself in the quiet vastness of it. The fire crackles, the warm glow licking up into the night, sending embers drifting into the air like fireflies.

It’s warm right here, close to the flames—but the heat only reaches so far, and beyond it, the night is settling in deep.

You shift on the log, arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver runs down your spine.

The flimsy cover-up you’d thrown on after the lake does little against the creeping chill, and you curse yourself for not grabbing a sweater like the other girls had. You remember seeing them duck back inside, giggling and chattering as they pulled on oversized hoodies and sweatshirts over their damp swimsuits, but you had been… distracted.

Or more accurately—Bakugou had been a distraction.

Your gaze flickers toward him briefly, though he’s focused on something else, watching the fire maybe, or just lost in thought.

Either way, he’s not paying attention to you. Good! You're not sure you could handle much else of him today.

Because truthfully, you feel a little ridiculous. The day had started off simple enough, but now you’re stuck in this strange in-between space—part of the group, yet somehow still lingering on the edges.

Ochako is talking with the others, easily swept into the rhythm of their conversation, and you wonder if you should try to do the same.

The idea of forcing yourself to be social makes your stomach twist, but sitting here, curled in on yourself, cold and silent, doesn’t feel much better.

You exhale softly, watching the way your breath barely fogs in the cool air. The warmth of the day has long since faded, leaving behind nothing but goosebumps on your skin and the distant hum of voices around you.

And for what feels like the millionth time today, you’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself.

Then, out of nowhere, a weight drops into your lap.

You blink down at it—a hoodie, deep burgundy, clean, thick and slightly worn, the sleeves spilling over your thighs. The fabric is still warm, carrying the lingering heat of the person who had been wearing it just moments ago.

You glance up, and lo and behold—Bakugou.

He’s standing in front of you, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders set in that familiar rigid way, like he’s already bracing for whatever dumb thing you might say in response.

But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t demand a thank you, doesn’t even really look at you—just waits, expectantly, for you to do something.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you actually understand what he means without him having to say a word. And yet, you hesitate.

“Bakugou…” You frown, holding the hoodie up against your torso. It’s massive. “But won’t you be cold?”

He scoffs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Sad eyes, you’re givin’ me that look again. Just put on the damn jacket—I’m fine.”

Your brows lift, but your fingers are already slipping into the sleeves. The warmth of the fabric engulfs you immediately, the scent of caramel and something distinctly him wrapping around you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Well… thanks then,” you murmur shyly, hugging the hoodie closer. The oversized fit swallows you whole, the hem brushing against the middle of your thighs, covering the last remnants of your damp bikini. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.

“There you go saving me again,” you admit sheepishly, eyes glued to the ground. If you look at him now—if you meet those sharp, unreadable crimson eyes—you might just combust on the spot.

Bakugou side-eyes you, his lips twitching like he’s holding something back. The firelight flickers across his face, casting golden shadows along the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long.

Behind you, your classmates' laughter rises over the crackling flames—marshmallows catching fire, old stories being passed around, Sero's obnoxious cackling piercing through the night.

They’re absorbed in their own little world, too wrapped up in the warmth of the moment to notice the quiet exchange happening just outside the fire’s glow.

Thank god.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, looking away, like he’s already over this. “Well, somebody’s gotta do it,” he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. Then, with a snort, “What’s U.A. gonna do when they lose their precious Y/N to the Tokyo subway system?”

You groan, ducking your head as heat rushes to your cheeks. Of course he had to bring that up.

“It was my first time! Give me a break” you grumble under your breath, arms curling around yourself, pulling his hoodie tighter.

Bakugou huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, even though he just stands there beside you with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched, weight shifted like he might stay for a little while longer—

For the first time tonight, the cold doesn’t feel quite as bad.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

[monster-disaster]

[orc] Örök 1/4

orc!Örök x human!Reader

Good to know: yearning, age gap (no mention of number), curvy!Reader.

Summary: Örök meets you on his vacation.

Örök's story // Main Masterlist // Monster March on my Patreon

He shouldn't look. He has better things to do than ogle a stranger, and yet, none of them come to mind as his gaze betrays him. The orc tells himself it’s just a passing glance, but it isn’t. He scans and lingers, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory. Maybe it’s the way the morning light pours through the tall windows, warm and soft, highlighting the smoothness of your skin. Or maybe it's the bikini cover-up. The delicate thing leaves little to the imagination with its see-through fabric. Underneath, the deep red swimwear does nothing to hide the shape of you. Your breasts strain against the cups, threatening to spill over, and the thick waistband of the bikini bottom only serves to show off the curve of your waist and the soft, irresistible pouch of your stomach.

Fuck

When he finally forces himself to lift his gaze, his breath hitches. You are staring right back at him.

Oh, fuck

The soft smile curling your lips makes your cheeks round even more as you nod in his direction, and before he can stop himself, his hand lifts in an awkward wave.

Smooth. Real smooth.

Then you turn, returning your attention to the long breakfast buffet, and it’s almost cruel how the sheer cover-up flutters with the shift of your hips, offering him the perfect view of your ample ass. His fingers twitch in the air before he lets his hand drop, reaching for his coffee just to distract himself from the fire burning low in his gut. And on his cheeks.

When he finally forces himself to look away, he shifts his focus to the world beyond the tall windows. Outside, the Resort glows under the early sunlight. The bright blues of the pools shimmer like liquid diamonds, and around, the huts dot the landscape with tall sand dunes in the background.

"Excuse me?"

The sudden voice jolts him out of his thoughts, and when he snaps his head back, the orc finds himself face-to-face with you. You are still smiling with a plate in your hands piled high with colorful fruits and pancakes drizzled in thick, glistening strawberry sauce.

"Yes?" His voice comes out hoarse, rougher than intended.

"Can I sit here?" you ask, shifting your weight slightly. "I'm afraid every other seat is taken."

You glance around, and he follows your gaze. The hall hums with life, filled with chatter and the soft clatter of cutlery. Almost everyone is here to enjoy the morning hours and the breakfast the Resort has laid out.

"Of course," he says, standing so quickly his own chair scrapes against the floor. He reaches for the other one beside him and pulls it out for you without thinking.

Your lips curl into a wider smile, and something warm flickers in your gaze. "Thank you."

As he pushes in the chair, your scent fills his nostrils; a heady mix of sun, coconut, and something lightly floral. Fresh and soft. It sinks into his senses before he can even process it.

"My name is Y/N," you say, meeting his gaze again.

"Örök."

"Örök," you repeat, his name rolling off your tongue in a way that makes his grip tighten around his mug. It sounds foreign on your lips, yet oddly sweet. His ears twitch while you offer a warm smile, brushing away that brief moment of hesitation in your eyes.

"It’s beautiful here, no?" you ask, gesturing toward the window, where the sun casts golden light over the pools and swaying palm trees.

Your voice still lingers in his ears as he nods, forcing his focus back to the conversation. "Beautiful," he agrees.

"How long have you been here?"

"Just a few days," Örök replies, trying, and failing, to keep his gaze from drifting to the way you dig into your breakfast. You eat with unabashed enjoyment, humming softly as you take a bite of the syrup-drenched pancakes, then follow it with a piece of pink, juicy fruit. The flick of your tongue over your lips threatens to do things to him. His voice comes out rough, forced. "You?"

"I arrived yesterday," you say between bites, pausing only to lick the remaining strawberry sauce from your lips again. The motion makes them glisten, and Örök has to lean back in his chair, gripping his coffee for dear life to keep himself from leaning closer, from wondering how you might taste. "My family surprised me with the trip," you continue, oblivious to his inner battle. "They said I needed a break from work."

"What do you do?"

"I edit videos for YouTubers."

Örök arches an eyebrow, hoping it doesn’t come across as judgmental, but you only laugh.

"You do know what YouTube is, right?" you tease, tilting your head.

He exhales, shaking his head. "I'm not that old."

"Okay," you giggle. The sound, soft and playful, curls around his ribs and tightens something low in his belly. "So yeah, people send me their raw footage, and I edit it into something watchable."

"Sounds interesting," he replies, mostly because he doesn't know what else to say, but you see right through him anyway. The knowing, mischievous glint in your eyes makes his cheeks warm, and he curses his own reaction.

"And you?"

Örök hesitates, then answers. "Retired. My kids sent me here to relax."

His kids, who are probably around your age, he reminds himself. He doesn’t say it out loud, though.

"That’s sweet of them," you say, smiling. "And how do you like it here?"

"It’s... good," he hums, but the way you raise an eyebrow makes him chuckle. "I’m not used to this… doing nothing all day." Ever since he stepped away from work, he’s always found something to keep busy. Sitting idle still feels strange for him.

"What did you do before retiring?"

"Had a car repair shop," he replies. "I mean, I still have it, but my boys took over a few years ago."

You nod thoughtfully. "How many kids do you have?"

"Three. Two boys, one girl. The boys stayed in town, running the shop. My daughter moved to Meriad. She is a nurse."

A soft smile spreads across your lips as you wipe away a smudge of fruit juice from the corner of your mouth before he can go crazy about it. "I’m sure you are proud of them."

"Very."

There’s a brief pause before you ask, voice gentler, more careful this time, "And your wife?" You glance around as if expecting to spot a woman who could be his wife. There’s something deliberate in your question, but he forces the thought away.

"Widow," he says. The word drops like a stone between you. "Almost ten years now."

Your brows knit together in sympathy. Then, before he can wave it off, you reach out and place your hand on his. The warmth of your palm contrasts sharply with the roughness of his callused fingers.

"I’m sorry," you say, thumb grazing the back of his hand.

He nods. "Thank you." Then, straightening slightly, he shifts the conversation. "And you? Are you here alone?"

"Yeah," you nod, pulling back your hand from his. Örök presses down his palm on the white cloth of the table so he doesn't reach after you. "The plan was to come with one of my cousins, but she couldn’t make it. We couldn’t change the date, so… here I am."

Örök hums in acknowledgment, but his mind catches on a small detail even if he hates himself for it; you don’t mention a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.

A few seconds of silence settle between you before you push back your chair and stand up with an easy grace. Out of habit, Örök rises to his feet as well.

Your eyes flick up to his in surprise before your reaction softens with another smile. "Well, I better go. I’ll see you around, I hope."

"I'm sure," he says, his voice steadier than he feels.

You linger just a second longer, tilting your head slightly before flashing him one last grin. "Bye, Örök."

And just like that, you turn away, walking toward one of the archways leading out of the dining hall. He doesn’t mean to watch, but his gaze follows the sway of your hips and the effortless confidence in your steps.

At the last moment, you glance over your shoulder, catching him staring. There’s a teasing glint in your eyes before you disappear around the corner, leaving Örök dropping back into his chair, running a hand over his face.

It feels like he has just run a damn marathon.

A whole day passes before Örök sees you again, though he is aware of the way his eyes have started to scan his surroundings more than usual, almost unconsciously, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He tells himself it’s nothing, just a passing interest, nothing more, but even as he walks around the Resort, taking in the sun-drenched views, he is aware of his gaze flickering toward any movement, any flash of red that can be your bikini or the flutter of your cover-up. He tries to busy himself with the little things around him; a quick dip in the pool, or a good book, but nothing captivates him more than the sight of you the next day.

It’s at the front of the Resort, where the buses line up to take guests into the city. It's still early in the morning, but the air is already heavy with heat. You stand a little apart from the group, typing something on your phone while the orc finds himself drawing closer before he even realizes it. His feet are moving on their own, and he can't seem to stop until he reaches you.

Your eyes light up instantly, and his name rolls off your tongue in a soft, effortless melody. "Örök."

"Good morning," he replies. "Are you going into the city too?" He gestures toward the line of vehicles.

"Yes," you nod, shifting your weight slightly. "I thought I’d buy some presents for the others at home before I forget."

Örök nods in understanding. "I thought the same."

The conversation flows easily after that, quiet but comfortable. There's no rush, no need to fill every second with words. Just the occasional exchange, the soft warmth of your voice, the way your lips curve ever so slightly when you speak. It’s… easy.

As the line in front of you thins, he lets his gaze sweep over you. You wear a simple white dress. The neckline dips just enough to hint at the curves beneath, and when you turn slightly to glance toward the bus, the fabric shifts, giving him an unfair glimpse of the smooth skin of your cleavage.

He clears his throat, dragging his gaze away before he lingers too long. "After you," he murmurs, stepping aside at the entrance of the bus to let you go first.

The ride passes in a comfortable mix of conversation and silence. Every now and then, laughter bubbles between you, carried by the gentle swaying of the bus as it rumbles over the desert roads. The barren landscape stretches for miles with golden sand rolling under the blazing sun until it changes into the edge of the city. Buildings rise, glimmering.

The air outside shimmers with heat, waves rolling along the streets as the bus slows and pulls to a stop at the heart of the city.

You step off the bus together. "Where do you want to go?" you ask, turning toward the orc. Your gaze scans over the lively streets, the rush of people weaving between each other, the small stalls lining the sidewalks selling everything from handcrafted jewelry to colorful fabrics that ripple in the light breeze.

Örök follows your gaze, taking in the movements, the sounds, and the pulse of the city alive around you. "How about there?" he suggests, nodding toward the crowd of people and the long rows of boutiques.

You grin. “Looks perfect.”

Without thinking much about it, Örök offers you his arm, and just like that, the two of you fall into step together.

The next several hours pass in a sun-drenched blur of exploration, laughter, and fleeting touches that neither of you fully acknowledge, but don't stop. You weave through the bustling streets together, passing vibrant storefronts and stopping at every boutique that catches your eyes.

At some point, Örök finds himself carrying more than a few bags. Most of them belong to you, but when you offer to take them from him, he just shakes his head.

"You know I can carry my own things, right?"

"I know," Örök rumbles, adjusting the bags effortlessly. "But it doesn't mean I can't be a gentleman."

The moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes. He suddenly feels older, more aware of the years that separate you, and he braces himself for some lighthearted jab about his age, but instead, you tighten your grip on his arm and lean in, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek.

"You are the sweetest, Örök," you murmur, warmth dancing in your eyes.

He grunts, shifting under your touch, more flustered than he would like to admit. "Well," he clears his throat, "let's keep going. What do you think of that shop?" He nods toward a boutique with long, colorful dresses swaying in the warm breeze at the entrance. The fabrics are light and airy, embroidered with delicate patterns.

Your eyes light up instantly. "Oh, they’re so pretty!"

Without another word, you tug him forward until you find a dress that catches your attention; a flowing white piece adorned with light blue designs.

"What do you think?" you ask, holding it up against your body. "Too long?"

"Not with high heels," Örök reasons.

You nod, humming in agreement. "I’ll try it on."

The orc follows you into the shop and watches you disappear into the small changing area, the curtain swaying slightly in your wake. There is a faint rustle of fabric, a soft hum, and then, your voice.

"Örök?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think?"

And then you step out.

The breath leaves Örök's lungs in a sharp exhale. His wide eyes take you in, lingering over every detail; the way the soft, airy fabric drapes over your body, skimming your form just enough to hint at the curves beneath. The sleeves dip low on your arms, baring your shoulders, while the bodice meets in a delicate heart shape over your cleavage. But it's the skirt that really tests him. The long, flowing material parts at your thigh, revealing glimpses of smooth skin with every shift of your weight. It’s long enough to graze the floor, but he can already imagine how the high heels would change the look, making you even more-

Fuck

"So?" you prompt when the silence stretches too long, turning slightly to reveal the back and the delicate curve of your spine.

Örök swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. "It's good," he grunts, rougher than intended. "It really looks good on you."

Your eyes glint as you tilt your head. "Do you think?"

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Yeah, I do."

You nod, satisfied. "Then I’ll buy it."

The rest of the trip goes on smoothly, filled with easy conversation and the occasional brush of hands as you walk side by side. By the time the bus rumbles back to the Resort, the sky is ablaze with warm hues of orange, pink, and gold, the last remnants of daylight stretching lazily across the horizon.

Lingering just outside the entrance, you turn to Örök with a smile, the glow of the sunset making your features even more radiant. "I had fun today," you say, shifting the weight of your shopping bags in your hands.

Örök nods. "I did too," he admits. He hesitates, rolling his shoulders as if bracing himself before he continues. "Would you like to join me for dinner?"

Your face lights up instantly, eyes gleaming with delight. "I would love to."

[evilgwrl]

Arranged marriage! With ghost where she’s from a small island and ghost comes to collect taxes well the island is just a few hundred short they can make it up next year? Right?! Nah ghosts is like mmmmm I’ll take what yall call a princess mean while she’s struggling as much as the other fokes on the island so when Simon takes her way and finds out she’s never lived the simple life he makes it his mission to show her the good that can out of this arrangement smutty if you would 😭 I’m obsessed with the arranged marriage trope with ghost he’s a cutie patootie

Arranged Marriage w/ Simon Riley

Holy moly I love this…

Thank you for this idea @creepytoes88 I hope you don’t mind that I made him a king, I just wanted it to flow with giving her a better life and the tax collection <3

King!Simon Riley x Reader

Archipelago

CW: Being sold by your family to pay off debt, sharing a bath, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm bc simon knows what to do ;)

Word Count: 2,623

Twisted fingers hooked under the bark, knees scraped with stagnant flora, coiling limbs of bushy thorns blistering around the tropical plains. There was a subtle burn that sunk through your thighs, muscles gnawing at your bones before you finally settled on a thick branch, wind hissing in your ear, almost warning you. You paid no attention.

Pupil-blown eyes stared off to the view in front of you, lapping in the vicious strain of turquoise, untouched coral glistening an array of colours under the harsh sun. There was a trickle of sweat that ran down the back of your neck, your hair thrown into a rough bun as you shielded yourself with raggedy, overworked fingers.

You watched the skerries surrounding your island, a flurry of birds swooping low before nestling down on the warmth of the rocky floor. It was a peaceful sight. Nothing but the low crash of waves to be sound, the occasional calling of a fellow Islander working its way through the palms and out of the sand, before landing in your ear.

You felt the prickle of pain shoot through your feet as you landed on the ground, the grass covered in speckles of yellow dust sticking in between your toes as you hurried down to the village. Any bit of tranquillity soon disappeared as your eyes locked into the sight of the townspeople, the Island far too small to accommodate such needing families.

“Y/N! Where have you been? The King shall be here soon and you’re off running with the fairies.”

Your Mother’s tone was harsh and reprimanding, her eyes tight with wrinkles as she scowled, chucking a makeshift broom at you. You weren’t exactly sure what the difference of you sweeping would make, the life you live here, swept or not, is strikingly different to the one of a King. No matter how beautiful your Island is, your feet are permanently stained with grains of sand, skin is littered with dull scars and fresh scratches.

You understood her worry, offering her a gentle, apologetic smile as you followed her bustle of orders. Your Father was the village Chief, a wise man who led the people to survive without the worry of advanced civilisation.

You were seen as a headcase to the others. A woman whose head wasn’t fixed well enough to her shoulders. A dreamer. Your mind was amplified by the need to do more, to see more. Untouched beauty too turns mundane when you’re not allowed to experience it.

As night fell, the waves seemed to settle, burying themselves in the crops of sand that spanned around you, 10-legged creatures hiding away in the cocoon of a cracked shell. Palms slept with the safety of coconuts that would blossom into the town’s delicacy, the meat tender on the tongues of children, the water fuel for the fishermen. There was a large bonfire lit, the earthly crackle occasionally popping as a spark flew out, hissing against the cool air before dispersing into a drag of smoke.  

Girls chattered around you, smoothing down their appearances as they used crushed berries on their lips and the apples of their cheeks. You were never fussed about the King, hardly paying attention to him on his previous arrivals if he even bothered to show up. You took note of his lack of empathy, normally sending one of his men in his place, unbothered by the Island that’s supposed to fall under his command.

You heard the ship pull up, wood striking against the ground as it split between the beach, a carved woman tangled to the figurehead, flowing hair etched between wood and a man’s knife as she breached the island. They were a loud bunch, deep voices echoing across the Isle as your father walked down to greet them formally.

The air grew silent, thick smog suffocating the air as your father appeared, his figure shaking as he hobbled towards you. Toughened hands gripped your cheeks, stroking the sun-kissed skin to comfort you.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

“We- We’re short on our taxes,” he gulped, a hand planted in your matted hair as you scrunched your brows together.

“But how? We’re sensible, we work harder- How?”

“Things happen beyond our understanding sometimes, sweetheart, just know me and your mother love you very much.”

“I know? Why are you-” you stalled “- Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?”

“The King needs a wife,” he hiccupped as realisation set in, spine snapping into a cold flush as you attempted to wriggle free from your father’s grip.

“No-“

“I have to, Y/N, I don’t have a choice!”

“A choice? There’s always a choice! How could you do this to me?” The strain of a sob wracked through your chest, your heart beating eerily slow against your rib cage as you wailed out for your mother who only walked away, her face concealed by strands of hair. Hands coiled around your biceps, dragging you towards the ship as you carried on, cementing your heels into the dirtied sand to anchor yourself.

“Stop resisting,” A harsh voice spoke into your ear, nails breaking the surface of your tender skin as you nipped at the air, wriggling. Your limbs felt mangled as you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your stomach caving in with a penetrative force as you choked on the air, saline tears streaming down your face.

Aching skin collided with the sand as you were thrown onto the floor, leather boots staring back at you as your head cocked up. His figure was tall, dressed in all black with a row of medals displayed on his breast pocket. His stare was dark, irises the colour of burnt whiskey, pale lashes flickering down at you before looking back up. The rest of his face was covered by a woven garment, handcrafted to perfection, painted with a white skull.

“Did you find it necessary to throw her at my feet like she’s some dog?”

“Your Majesty she was res-“

“It is a yes or no question.”

His voice was thick with malt, a hidden arrogance underlying his words as his eyes spoke for him. A veiny hand was offered to you, light scars tracing his knuckles before he lifted you, admiring you for a brief second.

“She’ll do. I’ll be back in 6 months,” The King spoke roughly.

The sea breeze was tranquil given the circumstances, the ocean rocking your tears to a halt as you huddled yourself away in the captain’s quarters. Your body was trailed with layers of silk, dirtied clothes moulded to your skin as you sniffled. There was a vast smell of salt, almost suffocating you as it burnt through your nose and hair. You scrunched your skin, rubbing at your nostrils before nestling yourself into a pillow.

You awoke to the sound of commotion. You took in the handful of women surrounding you, their hair tied back in a tight bun, protected by a frilly cap. They wore black and white dresses, aprons attached to their fronts and smiles on their faces.

“Good evening, your majesty. Shall we run you a bath?”

You sat up, hands creasing against the sheets below you as your eyes adjusted to the new scenery. You weren’t on the ship anymore.

“Where am I?” You choked out, huffing your chest out to look more intimidating. In reality, you look cowered, skin droopy with betrayal, burst blood vessels evident under your eyes.

“In your private quarters, the King requested we come to you, settle you in.”

You scowled, “I just want to be alone.” They left in a hurry, feet skidding against the floor in a squeak as they shut the large oak doors behind them.

The room was one for Royalty. The large bed was dressed in golden sheets, red swirls detailing the plush headpieces, solid gold baubles along the edges as tall stakes met the ceiling, lace hanging from them for privacy. Your feet hit the polished marble floors; calloused skin not used to such luxury that you almost yelped in unfamiliarity. Glass trickled from the overhead chandelier, an arrangement of crystals advocating flickers of light across the room, an occasional rainbow seeping through like a diamond in the rough.

Oil paintings hung from the walls, detailed gold wrapping around them as the figurines stared at you dauntingly. A plethora of books rested on shelves, a comforting sofa tucked away in the corner, highlights of red bursting through the stuffed pillows, plucked by the finest of feathers.

The room felt suffocating, the air a terminal sickness that wove into your lungs as you realised the severity of the situation. Your father – your parents, had sold you away to the King to pay for lost taxes. You were a miserable sight as you huddled over onto the floor, chest collapsing with cries as you attempted to grip the material beneath your knees, desperate for the sensation of sand.

Simon watched you intently from the door as he cracked it open, a deafening cough sounding from him as you looked up at him, bewildered.

“I understand the circumstances aren’t the best, but your people owed me, and they chose you as collateral.”

“I want to go home,” you hiccupped, facing away from him in humiliation. His leather shoes hit the floor, striding up to you in only a few steps.

“This is your home now, and in a few weeks, we shall be wedded. Whether or not you choose to invite your family is up to you, but I shall not tolerate disrespect. If you didn’t want the maids to tend to you, that’s fine, but I will.”

You watched his stalking figure disappear into another room attached to your quarters, the heavy pour of water indicating that he was running you a bath. You rose to your feet anxiously, popping your head around the corner as you took in the room. A large tub was carved with porcelain, wide in size with golden feet, bubbles guzzling under the powerful stream as the scent of lavender filled the air.

“Undress,” He spoke as you cocked a brow.

“In front of you?” You scoffed.

“You didn’t want the maids, now you have me. Undress.”

Your clothes itched as they were ridden from your skin, bare body flushed under the light as you attempted to conceal yourself from his bruising vision. The water scolded you as you sunk in, muscles relaxing instantly under the soothing oil. It was an irregular feeling.

You heard him shuffle behind you as you turned, eyes gawking wide as you took in his naked figure, cock resting low against his thigh. A squeak slipped through your lips as you turned around in a fluster.

His mask was off, his face a welcoming surprise. His brows were thick, bulging above slit frames, his nose slightly crooked with a masculine appeal to him.

“What are you doing?” you gasped, chest tight, eyes bulging.

“Bathing,” he practically snarled, “move over.”

Your belly felt hot, the unknowing feeling of arousal seeping through your pores as you adjusted in the water, the liquid rising as he stepped in before you were pulled back against him, bottom flushed against his thighs. You were tense.

“Relax, it’s just a bath. We will not do anything until you’re ready but after marriage, I will need heirs.”

“Heirs? I don’t even know your name!”

A hand coiled around your waist, tugging at the tender skin for a moment before it rested, settling at your upper thigh.

“It’s Simon, Y/N.”

“How do you- “

“What kind of King would I be if I didn’t even know the name of the woman I’m marrying?”

The air was hazy with steam, almost suffocating you as you felt yourself relax against his hard chest, delicate twirls of hair tickling against your spine. As your body settled, Simon washed you, entwined rag lubed with delicate soap as he massaged it into the crevices of your skin, any dirt seeping into the water. His fingers were long as they massaged against your scalp, digging any knots out with a gentle force before rinsing it.

You found yourself refreshed as you settled into the sheets once more, body fresh with a floral scent, skin drenched in almond oil, the glistening reflecting against the flame of the fireplace. The bed sunk in as Simon crawled in next to you, menacing frame wracking against yours. It was silent, the usual sound of waves and birds no longer hushing you to sleep.

Your fingers twitched as you played with the hem of your nightgown, letting out a low, exhausted breath.

“I shall not hurt you for as long as you are mine, Y/N. I hope you grow to trust me and understand that I am a man of my word. If you allow me, I would like to show you who I am and the life you can have here.”

You swallowed. There was an itch inside you that couldn’t be scratched, his words only adding fuel to an uncontrollable flame as you turned to face him, cocked up on one arm. Your gown hung low, strap dangerously low on your shoulder as he adjusted his vision back to your face, lips parted with a flushed manner.

“I’ve never experienced anything before.” Your voice was low, an evident streak of self-consciousness staining it as you averted your gaze.

“Let me help you.”

Rugged fingers lifted your gown up, silk resting against your stomach in a hunched manner as Simon gripped at your thighs, spreading them lewdly. He huffed out a hum of appreciation as you jolted in embarrassment. You were so open, so exposed to fresh eyes.

“No one’s ever touched you here?” He asked. You shook your head, gazing down at him with an unspoken innocence. You felt his lips curl against your thigh as he placed a gentle kiss to it, letting it rest against the warm skin before two fingers pulled apart your lips, glistening folds presented before him.

You felt pleasure tickle up your spine as the King placed a small kiss against your clit, a mewl escaping you as you instinctively attempted to press your thighs together. He let out a tsk as he looked up at you, amused by your reaction.

“Relax for me,” he said, arms flushed around your thighs before his tongue soaked up the middle, your juices drenching his lips as you squealed, your fingers wrapping into his dusty hair as he ravaged the taste of you.

The noises you made were wanton, slopping breaths soaking the air as he worked against you, slurping you into his mouth with an aggravated need for you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it before sucking, an obscene scream sounding from you as he continued the assault.

“Taste so fucking good,” he quipped, holding your belly down in place as your hips lifted, clit overstimulated by the amount of pleasure it only just began receiving.

“Sim-Simon, I feel strange- somethings happening,” you croaked, pulling at his hair in an attempt to stop him.

“Let it happen,” he growled, his tongue thrusting against your entrance as a finger pressed against your nub, rubbing it in circular motions as you began to hold your breath.

The pressure in your belly was turmoil like an unknown danger was approaching. Simon didn’t stop, the sound of your breath hicking stirring something primal inside of him as he held you down before the pressure inside you popped, a broken whine piercing the air as you came, hips rocking desperately against the King’s face as he growled against your heat.

He pulled away, spit slick against his chin, cocky smile on his face as you panted, chest rising and falling in a synchronised fashion. Your legs closed instinctively, wetness seeping between your bottom as you shivered, satisfied clit throbbing.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart.”

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Picture Day

Tee Higgins x Chase!Reader

Desc: You start getting antsy 5 weeks postpartum and find something to do with your hands.

TW: nothing too bad, mostly fluff.

Princess Ti | Main Masterlist

WC: about 1k

＊✿❀ *. ꕥ * · ❀✿＊

The buzz from your clippers fed your creative soul. You had only come in the salon to reminisce and take some time to yourself while your baby girl naps. You couldn't help but miss the chatter of clientele and the smell of coconut oil usually in the air. The pristine white counters in front of each station were completely bare, only each counter’s handheld hair dryer sticking out of the black cubbies.

Sitting in front of the first station, you think back to when your husband asked you what you really wanted in your home. It was a ballsy ask, in your opinion; you weren’t even sure what he meant by it. But he said you could turn the basement into whatever you wanted. It baffled you because you thought he’d want a man cave to escape the realities of marriage. That’s what your dad did, so you thought it was normal to think so.

So you tossed around the idea of taking on more personal and private clients in a home suite. A month later, he pleasantly surprised you with a fully furnished and functional home salon. It resembled a mini version of your main salon in the city. There is nothing that man wouldn't do for you.

After giving birth, Tee kicked into full dad mode. When he said your only job once Tiana was born was to just take care of her, he did not go back on his word. He's been an absolutely phenomenal father and partner, always taking her when you need a break, making sure you eat and stay hydrated, and even getting up during the night to calm her down. Him and your brother are literally upstairs putting together a new nursery glider so your morning feedings can be cozier.

Maybe that's why you're so antsy. You were so used to always caring for others; now that someone is holding you down the same way, you don't know what to do with yourself. You don't even cook anymore. Your mom has been handling all the meals so you can take time and heal. Everything they were doing was amazing, and you deeply appreciated it, but damn, you were bored.

The sound of your phone buzzing made your train of thought drown.

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

we're done with yo fancy ass chair, come see it while Titi still sleep

sent at 2:23 pm

You thought about going back upstairs for a minute, but a different idea caught your attention.

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

I have a better idea, you bring your wack ass fade to the basement and come sit in my chair😌

read at 2:27 pm

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

arent you supposed to be resting, imma tell momma👎🏾

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

Im offering you a free haircut and you wanna go rat me out😑 don't you have team pictures in a few days👀

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

fine im coming, but when momma finds out I'm blaming you

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

yea right, just come down here. AND DONT TELL TEE!

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

yea... a little late for that one😬

read at 2:33 pm

Great, just when you thought you'd be able to do your own thing, your little brother goes and fucks it up before it happens.

Oh well, you shrugged and walked over to the back of the salon for your supplies to set up for Ja'Marr's haircut. You grabbed an apron for you and a barber cape for him (even though you should let him be itchy for threatening to snitch), your black pro clippers, a razor, a number 1 and 2 comb, some holding spray, and a brush. Then, set up your chair.

Minutes later, you were all ready, and your client walked in with your husband.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" He asked with an amused smirk on his face.

"I'm giving my brother the haircut he so desperately needs." You smile back, patting the back of the chair for J to sit down.

"You're supposed to be resting." He crosses his arms as you drape the cape over your brother.

Smirking, you untie your apron and walk up to your husband with your hands on your hips. "Look at me, babe." You slowly spin around to give him an eyeful of your postpartum baby body.

"I see you, mamas. Trust me, I see you." The very nice thing about everyone making sure you take care of yourself these last few weeks has been your ability to prioritize your "snap back." You weren't working out to get to a certain shape. You were just prioritizing strengthening your core, which meant some belly binding, light ab exercises, and self-care. You were nowhere near your pre-baby weight, but you liked the extra curves, and someone else did too.

"You can't just expect me to just sit down and wait for Tiana to wake up. I gotta keep my body active, practice my trade."

He knew you were saying words, but ever since that apron came off, his mind was somewhere else. "Oh, I know how you can get active."

"Alright, y'all just nasty. Am I getting my hair done or what?" Ja'Marr groans from behind you.

"Yea Tee, you gon' let me work or what?" You say, biting your lip.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Fine," he says, pulling a waiting chair over to the corner of your area. The 6-week rule playing over and over in his mind.

"Good, now let's get to work. Don't worry babe, you're next." You chirp, picking up the brush to begin the haircut.

But Ja'Marr jerks his head away. "Ay, Y/n don't go too rough now."

You can't help but snort. "Yes, yes, I know. You too tenderheaded for my skills."

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

~ a/n: yall see what I did there ;) last addition to the au for a while. time to go work on some other fics ♡

[mangilingo]

Beneath the sunlit sky

Summary — A solo traveler meets Luigi on a Hawaiian vacation, and as their paths continue to cross, a deep, undeniable connection forms between them, leading them to confront their feelings and the possibility of something lasting beyond the island.

╭──╯ . . . . . . . . . . ╰──╮ '*•.¸♡

♡¸.•*'

The sun hung high in the Hawaiian sky, casting a golden hue over the crystal-clear waters. You had never been much of a traveler, preferring the quiet comfort of your own space. But when the opportunity for a solo trip to Hawaii arose, you couldn’t resist. The thought of escaping your mundane routine, even for a week, filled you with a strange sense of excitement. The decision had come on impulse—a spur of the moment kind of thing, but now you were here, standing at the edge of something completely foreign, looking out at the infinite ocean that stretched before you.

The resort you stayed at was on the quieter side of the island, with less of the hustle and bustle that came with the more tourist-heavy areas. You were relieved to find some peace, just the soft murmur of waves and rustling palms, with only the occasional hum of a passing motorbike or chatter of a couple walking past.

After checking in, you wasted no time in heading to the beach. The golden sand slipped between your toes as you walked down toward the shore, the heat of the sun soaking into your skin. You took a deep breath, letting the salty air fill your lungs and settle into your mind. The world here felt suspended in time, the perfect place to forget about everything.

The first few hours were blissful. You found a quiet spot by a large palm tree and settled under its shade, enjoying the sounds of the ocean and the occasional chirp of a tropical bird. You watched the locals and tourists alike paddle in the shallows, swim, or simply sunbathe.

It wasn’t until you decided to take a walk along the shoreline that you saw him.

A man, dressed in a loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, stood near the water’s edge, his back turned to you. He was tall, lean but muscular in a way that spoke to a life filled with movement. His dark brown hair, a little longer than most, shifted in the breeze. He had a way of standing—feet planted firmly in the sand, his arms loosely crossed—like he was lost in thought, staring out at the horizon, as if waiting for something.

He looked so… out of place. Not in a bad way, but in a way that suggested he wasn’t quite in sync with the easygoing vacation vibe of the island.

Your feet took you closer without you intending to. There was something about him, something that pulled at your curiosity. And then, just as you were about to walk past him, he turned his head, his eyes locking with yours.

For a moment, everything else seemed to blur. His gaze wasn’t forceful, but it was intense. You couldn’t look away. There was something in those eyes—something you couldn’t quite place. Longing? Regret? Whatever it was, it hit you like a wave crashing over you.

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly, and you quickly turned your gaze down to the sand beneath your feet. Your pace quickened as you walked away, but his stare remained with you, an invisible tether that followed you down the beach.

The evening came quickly, with the sun dipping low in the sky, painting the horizon with streaks of pink and purple. You couldn’t resist the pull of the resort’s beachfront restaurant, with its open-air seating that overlooked the bay. You chose a table near the window, hoping for some solitude and a perfect view of the sunset.

The evening air was warm, carrying the sweet scent of hibiscus and salt. You ordered a light seafood dish, something fresh and simple, accompanied by a chilled coconut drink. You let your mind wander as you watched the sky change colors, the vast ocean stretching endlessly before you.

It was in that peaceful moment that you noticed him again.

There he was, sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, almost hidden in the shadows of the large potted plants, but still within view. He was alone, just as you were, his eyes fixed on the view. His body was relaxed, though his posture was stiff, almost as though he were retreating into himself. You could see the muscles in his arms flex subtly as he leaned back in his chair, and the way his gaze moved from the ocean to the horizon, as if trying to reach some far-off place, somewhere beyond the blue expanse.

You tried to look away, but your eyes were drawn to him. There was something magnetic about him, something that made you feel like he wasn’t just another stranger, but someone important, someone with a story to tell.

Before you could gather your thoughts, the waiter came by, refilling your glass. “I couldn’t help but notice that the gentleman over there,” he gestured to Luigi, “has been staring in your direction for a while.”

You blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond. “I don’t know him,” you replied.

The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Happens to all of us at some point, right? But hey, if he’s looking, maybe it’s worth taking the chance.”

With a knowing smile, he walked away, leaving you staring at Luigi, your heart rate picking up again. You knew you couldn’t just ignore this connection anymore.

You tried to dismiss the thought as you finished your meal, but that was easier said than done. That night, as you headed back to your room, you kept thinking about him. Who was he? What was it about his presence that made you feel so… seen?

The following morning, you found yourself wandering down the beach again. The air was warm and humid, the ocean’s sound constant and soothing. The water sparkled in the morning light, inviting you to step in. You walked along the shore, your feet sinking into the wet sand, when you saw him again.

Luigi. He was sitting beneath a palm tree, a book in his hand, the edge of his sunglasses perched on his nose. He looked so peaceful in that moment, a stark contrast to the quiet intensity you had noticed the previous day. It was almost as if he had allowed himself a few moments of calm, something that seemed scarce in the little bit you’d seen of him.

You hesitated, unsure whether you should approach him. There was a certain barrier between you two, an invisible line that neither of you had crossed yet. You considered turning back, but something urged you forward, and without quite realizing it, you found yourself walking towards him.

Luigi noticed you just before you reached him. His eyes lifted from the pages of his book, and a flicker of surprise passed across his face. He set the book down slowly, as though deciding whether to engage or remain in his solitary world.

“Hey,” you said, your voice softer than you meant it to be. There was something about this man that made you unsure of yourself.

He smiled, the first real smile you’d seen from him, and for a second, it took your breath away. “Hey, it’s you again.”

You paused, the connection between you so palpable that it almost felt like a shared secret, like neither of you were quite sure how to handle it. “I keep running into you,” you said, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Maybe that’s fate,” he said, his voice teasing but not in a way that felt uncomfortable. His eyes met yours, steady and warm. “I’m Luigi,” he added, as if you hadn’t already known his name.

You introduced yourself, and for a moment, the world seemed to slip away. The conversation started slow—casual, almost forced—but soon, the awkwardness melted away. You found yourself laughing, talking about everything and nothing. He told you he had come to Hawaii to escape some unfinished business back home, but he wasn’t specific. You both shared little pieces of yourselves, enough to create a bond but not enough to know each other completely.

“I’m here for the same reason,” you admitted, “just… needed a break from everything.”

His gaze softened, the understanding between you palpable. You had both come here for the same thing, even if you hadn’t known it until now. The rest of the world, it seemed, was miles away.

The days that followed seemed to blur together. You and Luigi found yourselves crossing paths again and again, each encounter seeming less accidental than the last. You shared meals, walked through the town, and took long swims in the ocean. There were moments where you both spoke endlessly, laughing about silly things, your connection growing deeper by the day. But there were also moments of silence, moments where you simply sat together, both lost in your own thoughts.

One evening, you sat on the balcony of your room, staring out at the ocean. The sun had long since set, and the sky had turned dark, dotted with the flickering stars. The soft sounds of the waves below were comforting, and you let the quiet wash over you, savoring the peaceful solitude.

Then, you heard a knock on your door.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stood, your breath catching in your throat. You opened the door to find Luigi standing there, looking more unsure than you’d ever seen him. His hands were in his pockets, and he seemed hesitant.

“I—uh—wanted to see if you were free. I… I just felt like talking,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

You stepped aside, allowing him in. There was no need for words. The connection was undeniable now. The pull between you was stronger than either of you had let on, and the walls you’d built were beginning to crumble.

He sat down beside you on the balcony, and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. You simply shared the silence, your bodies close but your thoughts far away.

Finally, it was Luigi who spoke. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But I don’t think I can leave here without knowing what this is between us.”

Your heart raced in your chest as you looked at him. There was something raw in his eyes, something that mirrored your own feelings but went unspoken for too long.

“I don’t know either,” you whispered. “But I’m willing to find out.”

And in that moment, it wasn’t just the island that felt suspended in time. It was the two of you—standing on the precipice of something both uncertain and undeniable, ready to take the leap.

The days after that evening blurred into something beautiful and strange. Neither of you wanted to define what was happening, but you both knew it wasn’t just a fleeting vacation romance. It was something deeper. Something real.

The last day of your trip arrived too quickly. You stood by the beach one final time, the sun low in the sky, painting everything in golden light. Luigi stood beside you, his hand brushing against yours.

“You know,” he said, his voice gentle, “this doesn’t have to end here. Whatever this is, it doesn’t have to stay on this island.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. You looked at him, the bond between you undeniable now, stronger than the ocean waves crashing on the shore. There was a tenderness in the way he looked at you, the way his hand now lingered in yours.

“No,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “It doesn’t.”

And as you both stood there, watching the sun set over the horizon, you realized that this—whatever it was—had become something that could last beyond the shores of Hawaii, beyond the boundaries of time, a story that had only just begun.

[coconutkay]

i knowwwww i have a haircut appointment in a week but !!! i have scissors in my hand .

[urfavoritewriter]

Beachside Appetite

Content: M/?, Male Vore, Male Pred, Digestion. Likes and reblogs are very appreciated!

Brandon lounged on the sandy shores, the gentle hum of the beach around him. The sun kissed his tanned skin, a light sheen of sweat making it glisten in the afternoon light. The serene lull of the waves crashing in the distance, children’s laughter, and distant chatter, were the perfect background noise for his relaxation.

Beside him, an empty towel and a few discarded personal items—a pair of flip-flops, a novel, and sunglasses—were the only testament to the beach-goer who had once occupied the spot. That, and the distinct, rounded bulge in Brandon’s stomach.

He adjusted his position slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, the sand molding to accommodate the added weight of his recent indulgence. His free hand lazily traced circles on his swollen belly. "You know," he began, addressing the mound with a smirk, "I always did say the beach was the best place for a snack."

From within, a muffled groan responded, the contours of his belly shifting faintly in protest. Brandon simply chuckled, enjoying the sensation of the beach-goer squirming inside him. The movements caused his taut skin to ripple slightly, drawing the curious glances of a few nearby sunbathers.

A playful breeze swept through, carrying the tang of salt and the tantalizing scent of sunscreen. Brandon tilted his face up, relishing the feel of the sun on his features. "You should be thanking me," he mused aloud, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "I mean, you get the best beach view, nestled comfortably inside me."

He sighed, stretching out his limbs, the hot sand gritty beneath him. His belly, with its pronounced bulge, stood in stark contrast to his chiseled abs and toned muscles. But Brandon didn’t mind. In fact, he found it rather... appealing. A testament to his power and dominance.

Feeling a bit more playful, he gave his belly a firm pat, eliciting another muffled protest from within. “Shhh,” he whispered, teasingly pressing a finger to his lips, even though his occupant couldn’t see it. “Let’s not make a scene. After all, I'm trying to enjoy my day at the beach.”

The afternoon sun climbed higher, casting its intense golden rays on the beach. As Brandon continued to bask, his skin warmed, and the bronze tan deepened. The sounds of the beach grew louder, the frolicking beach-goers adding to the merry ambiance. Yet for the one inside Brandon's belly, the surroundings were a stark contrast to his situation.

The temperature inside the confines of Brandon's stomach rose steadily, and the muffled, desperate movements from within grew more pronounced. The tightness was oppressive, the thick muscular walls of Brandon's insides pressing in from all sides, leaving little room for maneuvering.

However, for Brandon, each squirm and wriggle was like a gentle massage, a rhythmic motion that he could feel from deep within, making his relaxation even more pleasurable. He could almost visualize the poor beach-goer, trapped in his heated, constrictive prison, the tightness increasing with each passing moment.

Occasionally, he'd feel a particularly strong push or a kick, and he'd simply chuckle, giving his belly a soft, admonishing tap. "Easy there," he'd drawl, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards in amusement. "I know it's hot, but it's summer, after all. Besides," he added, a teasing note in his voice, "this is what a real beach body feels like."

The scent of coconut oil wafted through the air as Brandon applied a generous amount to his skin, making sure not to miss a spot. His fingers lingered on the surface of his belly, tracing the faint outlines of the person inside. Each time his fingers brushed against a protruding elbow or knee, he'd smirk, reveling in his dominance. "See? A personal sunblock application," he whispered, his tone dripping with mock sweetness. "I really am taking good care of you."

But inside Brandon's gut, the heat was relentless. The combination of Brandon's natural body warmth and the scorching sun made for an unbearable sauna. The beach-goer's struggles grew weaker, exhaustion setting in from the oppressive environment and lack of space. But Brandon, seemingly oblivious to the plight of his captive, simply continued to luxuriate in the sun, his body and mind at complete ease.

As the day wore on and the shadows began to lengthen, Brandon felt a rising pressure in his chest, the result of the slow digestive process and the air trapped within. With a casual tilt of his head, he released a deep, resonating burp, the sound echoing slightly in the relative quiet of the late afternoon beach.

"Heh, excuse me," he chuckled, though there wasn’t really anyone around who seemed bothered by the sound. If anything, a couple of beach-goers nearby simply looked over with a mix of amusement and mild surprise.

Brandon's hands, strong and sun-warmed, settled once again on his belly, applying a gentle pressure and kneading it in slow circles. The motion elicited a few more feeble squirms from within, which only made Brandon's smirk grow wider. "You've been quite the companion today," he mused aloud, squeezing the bulge slightly, imagining the increased discomfort it would cause for his involuntary guest. "But all good things must come to an end."

Slowly, with the languid grace of a big cat, Brandon pushed himself to his feet, brushing the sand off his back and legs. He took a moment to stretch, every muscle in his well-defined body flexing and rippling under the sun. He caught sight of a few friends setting up a net for a game of beach volleyball nearby, the ball bouncing in the soft sand.

Grinning, he made his way over, calling out, "Need an extra player?" As he approached, he couldn't resist adding, "I've got a bit of added weight today, so I might be a bit slower," patting his belly with a wink. The laughs and jeers of his friends carried through the air, but deep inside him, the dread of what was to come intensified, as the prospect of a vigorous game of volleyball promised only more jostling and discomfort for the unfortunate beach-goer.

[the-trinket-witch]

700 Follower Special AU Just for You All!

Co-authored by @squidwen (All borders provided by CafeKitsune)

Inspirations: The Rescuers/Rescuers Down Under, Great Mouse Detective, Lady and the Tramp, The Aristocats, Oliver & Company, Bolt, Princess and the Frog, etc.

CW: Exploitation, child endangerment. (NOTE: No NSFW elements will be referenced or alluded to, nor will this AU allow such elements to be included.)

The world is a dangerous place. Hazards occur naturally or otherwise on a daily basis, people fall through the cracks in society; it seems like the most that ‘kindness’ affords is the attention of those willing to take advantage of it. 

And this attention seems to be currently directed…at Yuu. 

Yuu is still young, likely no more than 12. In a world that seems to have it out for Yuu, the orphanage is maybe the last bastion of safety until The One comes walking through to officially make them a part of their family. But again, it’s been 12 years, so none can blame them if that hope is starting to wane.

Dire Crowley touts himself as a generous, benevolent caretaker; which is a funny way to say ‘Neglectful’ and ‘Exploitative’. Yuu doesn’t get a chance to find this out until after the whirlwind that was their adoption settles. The man seems to care more about appearances, and where his next hefty payout will come from. So then it falls on Yuu to keep the home looking presentable, Crowley looking generous, and the indentured servitude swept under the rug. 

Not all attention is bad, though. Unseen by human society, the Animal Kingdom keeps its eyes trained to lend a claw out to the vulnerable. The National Rescue Conglomerate, or NRC, are a group of animals from all across Twisted Wonderland who answer the call for help wherever they hear it. The Seven Delegates may not agree on everything, but the one thing they can agree on is that someone will answer a call of distress. 

Said Delegates are:

Riddle → Hedgehog with a prickly temper

Leona → Lion who only seems lazy until the going gets rough

Azul → Coconut Octopus that has quite the reach of influence

Kalim → Otter trying to do more for himself than just float along

Vil → Peacock who’s fanning out to teach a new generation of Rescuers

Idia → British Blue cat who rarely ‘paws’es his games for anything

Malleus → Komodo Dragon with a reputation as fearsome as his fantasy counterpart

Other Members of the NRC/characters include:

Queendom of Roses Representatives

Deuce → Rabbit with a penchant for perfectly timed traps

Ace → Flamingo who’s sleight-of-feather makes for a great distraction

Trey → Tortoise that always has something cookin’ under that shell

Cater → Butterfly so social, he’s heard everything

Sunset Savannah Squadron

Ruggie → Hyena willing to laugh in the face of danger

Jack → Wolf with an affinity for leading the pack

Coral Sea Set

Jade and Floyd → Moray Eels more than happy to put the squeeze on trouble

Scalding Sands Squad

Jamil → Cobra with words that have plenty of bite of their own

Pyroxene Posse

Epel → Cygnet learning how to navigate the world with grace

Rook → Seagull with a keen eye for detail

Lamentation Isle League

Ortho → Electronic Toy Mouse that knows when and when not to play around

Briar Valley Vanguard

Lilia → Vampire Bat with adopted kids and a lot of history under his wings

Silver → Squirrel that doesn’t find himself usually one for chatter

Sebek → Crocodile with enough heft to tip the scales in his favor

Shaftland Animal Sanctuary

Niege LeBlanc → A Human running an animal sanctuary with his Seven Adoptive Fathers

But even with their help, Yuu won’t be completely out of the woods. Crowley keeps a few ‘pets’ he’s willing to deploy to get them back:

Sam → Poison dart frog

Ashton → Stag

Crewel → Dalmatian

Trein → Owl

Who might be the ones to help rescue Yuu from their situation, and what might happen from there? Will it be smooth sailing once out from under Crowley or will there be others out looking to get Yuu in their clutches? Would they try to return to their orphanage? Maybe their story ends in the joining of a family that actually has their interests in heart? Do they forgo humanity altogether and just live among the animals that so cared for them up until this point?

This AU was built with the immense patience and help of Squidwen. We offer it out to you all as a sort of ‘Follower Milestone’ gift for everyone, since I recently reached 700 folks following me. What we are offering in this AU is:

A chance for you all to throw your OCs in to see how they handle trouble in the form of a real-world animal. Be it through art, writing, roleplay with your friends, This post and AU is more or less a sandbox for folks to play around in!

I’ll be occasionally posting pics depending on what I see/find time to doodle. For reference FOR those doodles, below both Squidwen and I have found where each of our own OCs fit into this general world:

DeVerre and Eugenio → Orphans from the same institution, ‘adopted’ by Crowley to be sold to the highest bidder. 

(Squidwen’s OCs)

Verrick → White Persian Cat (Wears a tailcoat).

Seth → Giant Pacific Octopus (Needs a pipe that blows bubbles)!!

Tallis → Hummingbird (Wears a belt and aviator goggles).

Billy → Black Bear (Wears a snorkel parka hood).

Basil → Burmese Python (still has his purple pince-nez, and maybe a legwarmer around his throat)

(Trinket’s OCs)

Albert → Fox (wears a carf)

Tidus → Giant Mudskipper (Big ol’ glasses)

Lázaro → Xoloitzcuintle (skele birthmarks)

Levi → Rock Lobster (blue markings)

Galen → Stray Mutt (hat/poncho or bandana)

Of course, with Protagonists, there usually are antagonists (all of which for this AU are human):

Rebekya Balanaga (Squidwen)

The prim, pale owner of the modeling agency Pearls of Ophenheim. DeVerre especially catches her eye. The girl has unusual silver hair and very pale skin; something that’ll cause a fuss and stir attention in magazines, she hopes. Heels, camera angles, and a ton of make-up, and no one will be able to tell that a child is working for her.

→ She has a pet albino python called Princess.

Honest John and Gidel

Just two, hardworking fellas on the look out for their next employee or circus act. Children make excellent workers, especially those who don’t have much. Yuu is especially of interest to them, given how dextrous they seem. Would they make a good trapeze artist? Or contortionist - given the right training? Or, heck, maybe they’d be happy to just do all the menial tasks around Playful Land, right?

Aadesh Sona and Mr Rajesh Khan (Trinket)

These gentlemen are vital when it comes to producing anything. Animal-testing is the aim of the game for these two, but at times, testing on animals can prove slow, and even a waste of time. Why test chemicals on rabbits and mice when you can just skip to human trials? And since DeVerre and Yuu have been “adopted” by Crowley, no one will stop to ask where they are.

→ Aadesh and Mr Khan as well have their own pets. Basil the Burmese Python being Aadesh's, and a tiger named Shakti. 

As for our own OCs, Eugenio and DeVerre do manage to escape from Crowley’s clutches; with the help of the orphanage cat: Verrick. He sensed something was off with Crowley the moment he stepped through the door. Fearing for the children’s safety, he calls a meeting with the NRC to discuss saving them.

Both of us hope you'll enjoy the premise and find a bit of fun coming up with little scenarios for your OCs to get into. I specifically want to say how grateful I am to have 700 of y'all following for TWST content or the like and I hope to offer more fun things in either interactions, chats, or lil doodles of our characters doing stuff. I esp. wanna thank Squidwen for the help in concocting this whole thing. It's been so much fun to RP with ya and look forward to writing even more UvU

TAGLIST:

@ceruleancattail @squidwen @thecosmicjackalope @vaporvipermedia @writing-heiress

@oya-oya-okay @k-looking-glass-house @thehollowwriter @rainesol @cyn-write

@heartscrypt @br3adtoasty @jackiecronefield @ruggiethethuggie

@hoboyherewego @achy-boo @oreoskys @oseathepebble @oathofoaks

@tunabesimpin @hamstergal @fumikomiyasaki @valse-a-mille-temps

@hallowed-delights @kimikitti @cyanide-latte @thetwstwildcard @atwstedstory

@comingyourlugubriousness @ice-cweam-sod4 @twst-the-night-away @nammanarin @scint1llat3

@tixdixl @prince-kallisto

[fuck1ng-queen]

Strawberries and Memories

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: 0,7k

Warnings: none, just some fluff for today (maybe a slight insinuation of sex, if you blink you miss)

Author comments: hello, my beautiful people! merry christmas for those who celebrate! i made a poll a few days ago asking about my next content being something fluffy or spicy and you answered fluffy, soooo, here we go <3 don't forget english is not my first language, so mistakes can happen. to join my taglist, please, let me know via ask. i hope you all like it!

You can read it in br-portuguese here.

Although you knew it was cold, you were naive to think that in the middle of December leaving home early wearing just a thin cold sweater to spend the whole day outside would warm you up enough. You body hurt, your fingers were stiff and your teeth chattered, and although you weren’t that bothered by the cold, it made you miss summer days, specially the last ones, where you and Noah had spent the most incredible afternoons ever under the sun and in the ocean water. You sighed as you remembered that even though you forgot using sunscreen on the last day at the beach, making you both back home burned and sensitive, those days were deliciously unforgettable.

You took your phone off your pocket and walking back to the office after lunch, you typed a few words to your man: 

“babe, I’m missing those days at the beach, remember? just haven’t decided what I miss more… if it’s the heat (i mean, seriously? what was i thinking when i left home today morning with no warm clothes?) or just cuddling up with you without worring about anything else in life.” 

And you couldn’t help smiling as you read the reply:

“Message from Nowah💕: be home asap to cuddle up a little, then i heat you up and we solve both of your problems.” 

(…)

The day had just fallen and you returned home on the subway while thinking about that week at the beach, and how you would give it all up for the heat of that day. Then you unlocked the phone screen and went straight to your photos, looking for a specific one: Noah with his lips in a straw drinking coconut water. That was one of the ones you liked the most, and not only of the trip, but of him himself. His gaze was calm and his face seemed rested as you haven't seen in weeks. You were a little surprised he didn’t answer your last messages. At that time of day he was always online, but you figured he might be busy with something else or still behind the wheel, late to get home. You didn’t mind so much. In fact you just wanted to get home soon, put on some proper clothes, and plant yourself in front of the fireplace until take roots.

Leaving the station, you faced the wet, freezing wind from the street and damn, you could have sworn you could remember times you cut yourself with a kitchen knife or fell off your bike and felt less pain than at that moment. As you walked down the two or three blocks from the station to your house you hummed something to distract yourself, making you think a little less about the shivering under the wrong clothe you had chosen to wear.

When you got home you saw that Noah’s car was at the garage, which was strange because he rarely failed to answer your messages when he was home. Anyway, you grabbed the keys from your pocket, and as you opened the door you felt a strong thermal shock, stronger than you imagined. You went inside, already feeling much better from the temperature, but… Why on earth would Noah leave the air turned on at such that high temperature?

“Baby? I’m home, you in?” you asked, curious to know what he might be up to.

“Yup, babe, kitchen.” You heard his voice answer.

Almost there, you saw him appear at the door, in shorts and barefoot, his hair messy, basically reproducing the picture you had seen earlier, which he knew you liked so much. He was holding a coconut in his hands, with a straw, and smiling, happy to see you. He came up to kiss you, and damn, you loved that feeling when you felt him smile during the kiss. Releasing his lips from yours he looked at you tenderly and pulled you by the hand into the kitchen so that you could see several fruits, all chopped up, just waiting for you. He took the bowl of fruit and said:

“Honey, I just didn’t have time to get the beach, okay? But the cuddling part…” he paused slightly, putting a strawberry in your mouth. “We can work that one out right now.”

Your eyes sparkled and you couldn’t help but giggle and kiss him as you realized what he had done, unable to believe how lucky you were to have Noah by your side, and happy to know that that weekend would probably be as precious in your memories as the last hot summer days.

.

.

masterlist | send me an ask to join my taglist

@lacy1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Some Things Should Really Just Stay In The Vault

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Some Things Should Really Just Stay In The Vault

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: "Stiles, you are not breaking into the secret Disney porn vault," Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling his eyes so hard he nearly gives himself a migraine. "That's not a sentence I ever thought I'd have to say, but here we are. This is my life now."

"Oh come on, sourwolf," Stiles snickers. "You can't tell me you aren't at least a little bit curious." "There isn't enough brain bleach in the world to scour the mental image of Mickey and Goofy doing the horizontal tango," Derek quips, a self-satisfied smirk twitching at the corners of his lips as Stiles barks out a laugh and settles back into the passenger seat. A few minutes tick by in companionable silence, and then Stiles is bolting upright, glancing over at Derek with a look of feigned innocence betrayed by the mischievous glint in his eye. "So…" he ventures with an air of casual nonchalance that fools absolutely no one. "You think they keep this vault on the premises, or—"

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

"—and we have to ride Millennium Falcon: Smugglers Run because, I mean, obviously. If I have the chance to pretend to be Han Solo for even a couple of minutes, I'm gonna take it. Except — oh shit — I might not actually get to be the pilot first time around, since the roles are assigned based on your position in line in a group of six, so we might have to ride it a couple of times, just to be safe," Stiles chatters away from the passenger seat, eyes glued to a never-ending scroll of article after review after shoddy instagram video as he regales a begrudgingly fond Derek with details about every single game, ride, and food court in the newly-minted Star Wars theme park.

Derek had been planning this surprise birthday trip for months now, ever since Disney had announced the date of the grand opening. He'd managed to keep it a secret from Stiles all of five minutes, until the snarky little shit had snuck up behind him for a tackle hug, saw him ordering the tickets, and screeched at a decibel only dogs should be able to hear. And though Derek isn't nearly as big of a fan as Stiles is, he has to admit that some of the attractions sound pretty cool (though he'll be pointedly avoiding the blue milk, thanks.)

Stiles is off on another tangent about how blue milk apparently tastes like a cross between coconut rice milk and a fruity hi-chew (and Derek thought butterbeer was too sweet) when he lets out a burst of laughter so sharp and sudden that Derek nearly swerves into oncoming traffic.

"I'm sorry," Stiles gasps in between peals of laughter. "I'm so sorry, dude, it's just— I just found out some absolutely golden dirty Disney secrets."

"Oh?" Derek prompts with a raised eyebrow, leaning over to glance at the post pulled up on Stiles's phone.

"Okay, so," Stiles starts, straightening up in his seat and launching into researcher mode. "According to the accounts of some of their former employees, Disney's got this weird rule in their artists' contracts — essentially, everything they create while under their employ, even in their off-time, belongs to Disney."

"That's shitty," Derek scoffs, lips twisting into a sour expression.

"It is," Stiles agrees with a quick nod. "But joke's on them, because apparently, a lot of the artists ended up drawing some pretty NSFW stuff in their time — all of it done in the classic animation style of the movies and tv shows they were actively working on at the time."

"Everything?" Derek asks with a scandalized quirk of his eyebrows. "Even—"

"Snow White? Aladdin? Treasure Planet? Little Mermaid? Beauty and the Beast? Mickey? Goofy? Yup, I'm afraid so. You name it, there's a high likelihood there's porn of it," Stiles confirms, ticking each one off on his fingers and casting Derek a sympathetic frown as his face pulls into an expression like he's just sucked a lemon.

"But get this," Stiles barrels on, unable to contain his glee. "Per their policies, they've got to keep every piece of art ever crafted by their animators. Which means that Disney owns an entire collection of erotic artwork inspired by all the family-friendly content they've ever created, locked away in a secret vault. A vault, Derek. Think about that. Think about how much porn would have to be created to fill an entire vault."

"I'd really rather not," Derek grimaces.

"Oh come on, sourwolf, that's fucking hilarious," Stiles snickers. "You can't tell me you aren't at least a little bit curious."

"There isn't enough brain bleach in the world to scour the mental image of Mickey and Goofy doing the horizontal tango," Derek quips with a sardonic sigh, a self-satisfied little smirk twitching at the corners of his lips as Stiles barks out a laugh and flashes him a dazzling smile.

With a contented hum, Stiles settles back into the passenger seat and leans his head against the window to marvel at the rolling landscape, sunlight and city skylines mirrored in his eyes.

But of course, the nice peaceful moment doesn't last long. A few minutes tick by in companionable silence, and then Stiles is bolting upright, glancing over at Derek with a look of feigned innocence betrayed by the mischievous glint in his eye.

"So…" he ventures with an air of casual nonchalance that fools absolutely no one. "You think they keep this vault on the premises, or—"

"Stiles, no."

"Stiles, yes."

"Stiles, you are not breaking into the secret Disney porn vault," Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling his eyes so hard he nearly gives himself a migraine. "That's not a sentence I ever thought I'd have to say, but here we are. This is my life now."

"Oh come on, Derek," Stiles whines, tugging at his shirtsleeve. "I'm not saying you'd have to break in with me. Just, you know…be the lookout."

"No."

"You'd go down in history as the best boyfriend ever," he coaxes in a lilting, sing-song voice.

Derek raises one very unamused eyebrow in Stiles's direction.

"Okay, yes, obviously you already are," Stiles amends, flailing his arms in a dismissive motion. "But come on. A smutty Disney heist? Best. Birthday. Present. Ever."

"I am literally already taking you to Disneyland."

"Yes, but—"

"No porn vault," Derek asserts with a ringing finality.

"Fine," Stiles concedes with a theatrical groan, slumping down in his seat and admitting defeat. But then a wicked smile curls across his face as he recalls one wild, wolfsbane-infused round of Fuck, Marry, Kill where Erica had gotten Derek to admit to a long-time crush on a certain smoldering Disney prince, and breaks out his wildcard.

"Shame, though…" Stiles muses with a melodramatic sigh. "I'll bet they've got art of Flynn Rider."

Derek's knuckles whiten against the steering wheel, the tips of his ears tinged with a delicate shade of pink as he has war flashbacks, remembering all the devastatingly embarrassing details of that night. Moral of the story: never drink tequila.

The cabin of the Camaro is quiet for a few long moments, save for the gentle whoosh as cars pass them on the freeway, and then—

"…his name is Eugene, and I'm not saying I'll do it," Derek grumbles, but one look at Stiles's Cheshire Cat smile has him sighing in defeat.

And that's how they end up with a lifetime ban from the happiest place on earth, escorted off the premises by two burly security officers who merely laugh when Stiles asks if he can double back to collect their special edition Han and Leia themed Mickey ears hats, which he'd accidentally left on the floor of the not-so-secret porn vault. Derek has to physically carry Stiles back to the car, because no less than five minutes after they'd been given the boot, he's already got one foot in the fence and a half-cocked plan to break in and get them back.

[kathlare]

look up at the stars

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie surprises the boys by showing up unexpectedly, breaking the silence that’s hung between her and Lando since their kiss in Hawaii.

Wordcount: 3.4 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

August 11th, 2020 - Barcelona, Spain

The restaurant buzzed with the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a little tucked-away spot near Passeig de Gràcia the boys liked to hit when they were in Barcelona. Dark wood tables, low lighting, endless tapas. No cameras. No fans. No chaos. Just them, and dinner, and beer that always arrived too quickly and disappeared even faster.

George was halfway through a rant about tire degradation when the door creaked open.

—So then I’m like, ‘Why the fuck are we doing mediums when it’s basically lava out there?’ and my engineer goes—

—You’re kidding.— Alex leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. —No one actually believed that was a good idea?—

—Mate, they always think it’s a good idea. Until I’m sliding around like I’m in Frozen.—

Lando snorted into his glass, but he wasn’t fully there. He hadn’t been all night. His phone was face-down. He kept fidgeting with the paper napkin, folding and unfolding it like he was trying to give origami anxiety. And Max’s stupid comment from earlier was still echoing in his head.

"Maybe she’ll show up."

She wasn’t going to. She hadn’t been to a race since Hungary. She'd bailed on both Silverstones. She was probably still in Hawaii, wrapped in silk robes and poolside coconut drinks, filming fake murders and pretending she hadn’t ghosted him since... the kiss.

Fucking kiss.

Stupid, perfect, maddening kiss.

And now they were just "friends" again.

Except he wasn’t sure if they ever were. Or if he could still pretend to be.

The door creaked again.

Charles looked up. —Madre mía.—

Lando’s head snapped toward the entrance.

There she was.

Amelie.

Wearing a loose white linen button-down over a tiny black top, high-waisted jeans, her hair up in a careless bun, and her mask tugged down under her chin, already fanning herself with her phone like she’d sprinted the whole way.

—Did I miss the bread basket? Because if I did, I swear to God I’m leaving.—

For a second, nobody said anything.

George blinked. Alex blinked. Charles actually dropped his fork. Lando just stared.

She waved. —You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost.—

—Holy shit,— Alex finally said. —You’re alive.—

—Barely. Barcelona traffic is a war crime.— Amelie made her way to the table, eyes scanning for an empty chair. —Also, who chose this restaurant? There’s like five steps to get in. I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I had.—

Charles stood, moving his jacket off the chair beside him. —You didn’t tell me you were coming.—

—I know. Surprise.— she grinned, and it almost reached her eyes.

Lando still hadn’t said anything.

Amelie didn’t look at him.

She sat down, grabbed a menu she definitely wasn’t going to read, and sipped the water Charles poured her like it was tequila. She hadn’t seen Lando since July. Since Hawaii. Since the kiss.

Fuck. The kiss.

He still hadn’t said anything.

—So, Hawaii, huh?— George asked, casually stabbing a croqueta with his fork like it had personally offended him. —You done filming rich white people killing each other or whatever that show is about?—

Amelie smirked, eyes flicking toward him. —That NDA says I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.—

—You bailed on both Silverstones,— Alex added, feigning betrayal as he reached for the olives. —We had a pint poured for you and everything. Just sat there. Getting warm. Dying alone.—

—Okay, Romeo, relax,— she said, chuckling softly.

Still, she could feel it—Lando’s silence. Thick. Uncomfortable. Like the way too-warm air felt after you’d been inside with the A/C blasting. Her skin prickled.

She finally looked at him.

He was already looking at her.

Of course he was.

He looked tired, in the way that meant not sleeping properly rather than just finished FP2. His curls were messier than usual, his mask tugged down and forgotten, jaw tense as he blinked at her like she wasn’t real.

—Hi,— she said, small. Barely audible over the clatter of plates and George still ranting about strategy.

Lando didn’t blink. —You didn’t tell me you were coming.—

Her heart stuttered. She shrugged, looking away too quickly. —Didn’t tell anyone.—

—That doesn’t count,— Lando said, quieter now, but it still cut through everything. —You tell me shit. Always.—

Amelie fiddled with the condensation on her water glass, nails picking at the edge. —Not always.—

—Yeah. That’s the problem.—

Charles glanced between them, brows lifting slightly like he was trying to put together a puzzle he hadn’t realized was in front of him. George and Alex, bless their clueless souls, were still talking tires and tuna tartare, oblivious to the tension thickening by the second.

—Mate, I swear, if the FIA doesn't sort that out by Spa, I'm rioting,— George muttered, tossing a napkin dramatically onto his lap.

Alex nodded along, still chewing. —It’s always Spa with you. You say that every year.—

Amelie forced a smile, but her spine was stiff. Her eyes flicked to the menu, though the words swam uselessly. Not that she was hungry. Her stomach had been twisting since she stepped out of the cab and saw the dimly lit windows of the restaurant.

Lando still hadn’t looked away.

She could feel it. Like his gaze was pressing on the side of her face, peeling back the layers she’d spent weeks building up. Since Hawaii. Since she’d told him it meant nothing, when it obviously had.

Because nothing meant something. That’s how everything between them always went.

She set the menu down.

—So, uh...— she cleared her throat, smiling a bit too wide —how’s the championship fight? Still pretending to like each other, or have the claws finally come out?

Charles scoffed. —Alex almost punched me in the sim room last week.—

—Because you brake tested me, you dickhead.—

—Boys,— George interjected, raising his glass like a white flag. —Please. Let’s not make Amelie regret coming back from her secret island cult.—

She laughed lightly, a sound she didn’t quite feel. Her hand found the edge of the table, thumb brushing the wood like grounding herself.

Lando’s voice was low when it came. —It’s been five weeks.—

She knew what he meant. Five weeks since she left Hawaii. Five weeks since she kissed him. Five weeks of pretending it didn’t happen.

—You counting?— she said without thinking, her tone flat, teasing, but also tired. Defensive.

He leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table. —You ghosted me, Ames. I think I earned the right to count.—

The name. God, it hurt. Her throat tightened.

—It wasn’t ghosting. I was working. Busy.—

Lando raised an eyebrow. —Too busy to send one fucking text?—

That silenced her.

The table had gone quiet. Charles was frozen halfway to sipping his wine. George and Alex were staring now too, finally catching up. The tension was impossible to ignore.

—You two good?— George asked, brows knitted, cautiously amused.

—Peachy,— Amelie muttered, grabbing her water again.

Charles frowned. —Wait. Did something happen?—

Amelie’s heart kicked. Her grip on the glass tightened.

Lando didn’t say anything. Just exhaled sharply through his nose and looked down at his plate like it had insulted him.

Charles turned to her, expression softening. —You okay?—

She nodded too quickly. —I’m fine. Really.—

A beat. Then she laughed, trying to clear the air. —God, I forgot how intense these dinners get. Did you all make a pact to emotionally waterboard each other or...?—

Alex cracked a smile, clearly trying to steer the ship back to calmer waters. —No, that’s just George. He thinks being emotionally available makes him a better driver.—

George raised his hands in faux surrender. —You’re just mad because I cried watching Marley & Me and still qualified higher than you.—

—Bastard,— Alex mumbled, half-laughing.

Amelie played along, lips twitching into a smirk, but her eyes flicked back to Lando. He was swirling the condensation on his glass, jaw clenched. That nerve near his temple—the one she used to poke when he was stressed—was twitching.

He hadn’t touched his drink.

She knew she should say something. Crack a joke. Apologize. Explain. Anything.

But her mouth was dry, and her hands were cold, and that part of her—the one that always panicked when things got too close—was screaming at her to run.

Instead, she stayed seated.

—So, uh,— she began, tongue heavy —how’s the car?—

It was stupid. So stupid. Like asking how the weather was after a hurricane.

Lando finally looked up at her, and it wasn’t angry. Not exactly. It was worse. Disappointed. Hurt. Like she’d taken something from him he didn’t know how to ask back for.

—Fast,— he said simply.

She nodded. —That’s... good.—

Charles cleared his throat and took mercy on them all. —So, Amelie, are you back for good, or is this just a surprise pop-in before you disappear again into the Hollywood jungle?—

—Back until the end of September,— she replied, grateful for the shift. —I’ve got press, some promo stuff, a few shoots. You know. Nothing dramatic.—

George leaned in, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. —Wait. You haven't been to a race since Hungary, right? July?—

—July 19th,— Lando said without missing a beat.

Silence.

George blinked. —Weirdly specific, but okay.—

—Well, someone’s keeping receipts,— Alex muttered under his breath.

Charles gave Lando a pointed look. Then turned back to Amelie. —Why haven’t you come back? To a race, I mean.—

Amelie hesitated. She felt Lando’s stare before she saw it. Her throat bobbed. —I’ve been... busy. And it’s not exactly easy flying back and forth. Protocols. Testing. Quarantine.—

—You were in Hawaii,— George pointed out.

—Yeah,— she said. —For work.—

—And we were there too,— Alex added, sipping his drink slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. —But then you bailed on Silverstone... both times. Even with us all there. Even Callum came, and that man makes stone look warm.—

That made her crack a real smile. —Don’t drag Callum. He’s just misunderstood.—

—He once looked me dead in the eye and said “I’ll break your knees if you make her cry again.” What exactly is misunderstood about that?— George said.

Amelie shrugged. —He was in a good mood that day.—

Laughter hummed around the table again, light but laced with an undercurrent of curiosity that hadn’t quite left.

Charles tilted his head, folding his arms on the table. —So why now? What made you come tonight?—

She opened her mouth, but her answer stalled. Because what could she say? Because I missed him? Because I’m tired of pretending that kiss didn’t flip my world upside down? Because I keep dreaming about him and it scares the shit out of me?

—Because I wanted to see you guys,— she said instead, plastering on a smile.

—All of us?— Lando asked, voice quiet.

Her eyes locked on his. It was a challenge. A question with a loaded gun behind it.

She didn’t look away. —Yeah. All of you.—

The boys fell quiet again, understanding creeping in even if they didn’t have all the puzzle pieces. Lando did. He always had.

Lando suddenly pushed his chair back a little. —Be right back.—

He stood up without waiting for a response, grabbed his mask, and disappeared toward the back of the restaurant.

Amelie didn’t breathe.

No one said anything for a full beat.

—Okay...— Alex dragged out the word slowly. —So, that wasn’t weird at all.—

George snorted into his beer, but Charles was watching her now, eyes narrowed—not unkind, just perceptive. Too damn perceptive.

—Did something happen in Hawaii?— he asked, not accusing. Just curious. Just concerned.

Amelie blinked. The air felt thinner. Her pulse was loud in her ears.

She could lie. God, she could lie so easily. They’d believe her. They always did.

But she didn’t.

Not really.

Instead, she pushed her chair back.

—Gonna check on him,— she said, grabbing her own mask and standing up too fast. Her napkin hit the floor like punctuation.

No one stopped her.

She moved through the restaurant, nodding vaguely at the waiter who tried to offer her another drink, and followed the direction Lando had gone. She found him outside, behind the restaurant, near a crooked ashtray and a cracked tile wall. He was leaning back against the bricks, hands in his pockets, mask tugged back up. His eyes flicked to her as she stepped into the alley, then away just as fast.

—Thought you left,— she said quietly.

He shrugged, kicking a pebble by his sneaker. —You’d have liked that, huh?—

That stung. More than it should’ve.

—Don’t be an asshole.—

—Then don’t act like nothing happened.—

She swallowed. Her throat was dry again. —I’m not.—

—You kissed me.— His voice was low, but sharp. —You kissed me, and then told me it meant nothing. Then you vanished. Not even a “hey, sorry for ruining your whole fucking world” text.—

Amelie took a shaky breath. The alley smelled like cigarette ash and wet concrete, and the air was still too hot, pressing against her skin like guilt.

—It didn’t ruin your world,— she whispered, barely audible.

Lando laughed, bitter and breathless. —No? Because it sure as hell didn’t leave it the same.

She stepped closer, arms crossed tight over her chest like armor. —I panicked. That’s what I do. You know that.—

—Yeah,— he said, his eyes still not meeting hers. —But I thought maybe… this time would be different.

That cracked something in her chest.

—You don’t get it,— she said, voice rising despite herself. —I was terrified, Lando. You looked at me like... like I was everything. And I didn’t know how to deal with that. I didn’t want to ruin it.—

He finally looked at her. Really looked at her.

—You didn’t ruin it, Amelie. You walked away from it.—

The words hung there. Heavy. Final.

She didn’t realize she was crying until he stepped closer and his hand hovered near her cheek, unsure if he was still allowed.

—You think I didn’t feel it?— he asked, softer now. —You think I’d still be waiting out here if I didn’t?—

She blinked up at him, lashes damp. —Then why didn’t you call?

—Because I was trying to respect you. Give you space. I thought if you wanted to talk, you would.—

—I didn’t know how,— she admitted, a crack in her voice. —I wanted to. I tried. I wrote the text like... ten times.—

He reached out slowly, brushing a tear from her cheek with the back of his knuckle. —What did it say?—

She gave a watery laugh. —I don’t know. Something stupid. ‘Sorry I kissed you, it won’t happen again.’ Something that made it small.—

Lando shook his head. —It wasn’t small. Not to me.—

Silence stretched between them again, but it was different now. Not sharp. Not angry.

She stepped closer, so close she could smell the citrus on his skin, the familiar clean scent that clung to his hoodies.

She stepped even closer, heart thudding like a warning. Her hand brushed his wrist.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

So she did what she always did when she got scared. When it got too real. When the ground felt like it was shifting beneath her feet.

She lied.

—It didn’t mean anything,— she said, voice quiet. Flat. Practiced. —We were drunk. Jet-lagged. It was stupid. We’re just... friends. Best friends. Like we’ve always been.—

Lando didn’t flinch. But she saw it. The way his eyes dulled. Like a light going out.

He nodded once, slowly. Like she’d punched him and he was still deciding whether or not to bleed.

—Right,— he said, mouth a thin line. —Just friends.—

She forced a smile.

He didn’t smile back.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like neither of them believed her

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

liked by georgeginandtonic, ameliewifey, and others

f1teaofficial:🚨 THROWBACK TURNED REALITY: The Twitch Quintet is BACK?? 👀 George, Alex, Lando, Charles, and AMELIE were spotted having dinner together in Barcelona tonight — and yes, it’s her first time back at a Grand Prix weekend since Hungary 👏💥

View all 57,673 comments

lanmeliesupremacy: twitch quintet is BACK and so is my will to live → drs4dayman: @lanmeliesupremacy this dinner cured my seasonal depression → alexneedsashug: @lanmeliesupremacy group therapy but it’s just Amelie calling them out and Charles giggling

landoismylockscreen: she really said “let me just reclaim the grid real quick” → helmetkisser69: @landoismylockscreen her power is unmatched.

softlaunchcentral: they let ONE woman into the group and it became iconic again → georgeginandtonic: @sauftlaunchcentral feminism won tonight → alexsplusone: @georgeginandtonic the only woman who can out-banter all of them at once

gridgossipqueen: i know lando sat next to her. i just know → f1shipyard: @gridgossipqueen and offered her his fries even tho he said he wasn’t sharing

lanmeliecore: twitch quartet WHO?? this is a LANMELIE REUNION → landoverit: @lanmeliecore lando was smiling so hard i could hear it through the photo → daymanszn: @lanmeliecore he sat next to her on purpose don’t talk to me

georgetteed: george absolutely booked this dinner like “let’s get the band back together” → alexstan27: @gerogetteed and dragged them all in like it’s a marvel reunion → leclercslegs: @gerogetteed avengers but make it emotionally unstable and british

ameliewifey: girlies rise we’re being FED again → twitchquintet.mp4: @ameliewifey drop the group selfie pls i’m begging → landohoe44: @ameliewifey if they go live together again i’m throwing my phone in the ocean

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

The car was silent.

Not just quiet. Not just low-music, city-night ambiance. It was dead silent—so thick with unspoken words that the air inside felt heavier than the Barcelona humidity outside. The only sound was the low hum of the engine, the occasional squeak of the brakes, and the click of Lando’s blinker as he turned onto another side street.

Amelie sat curled in the passenger seat, one leg folded under her, staring out the window like the answer to all their problems might be written on a billboard or whispered by the passing buildings. Her fingers picked absently at the edge of her sleeve. She hadn’t said anything since they walked out of the restaurant. Not one word.

Neither had Lando.

His hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles pale. He was driving slower than usual, like he didn’t really want to get where he was going.

Her hotel. That was the plan. Drop her off. Say goodbye. Pretend they hadn’t spent the last two hours pulling every unhealed wound between them into the open air like it wouldn’t bleed all over the pavement.

But halfway there, something in him snapped.

He didn’t even decide. He just did it.

Took a different turn.

Didn’t say a word.

Amelie noticed, of course. Her head turned slightly, eyes narrowing, watching the unfamiliar path unfold.

—You missed the turn,— she murmured.

Lando didn’t answer.

Another turn. Narrower street. Then the road widened again, the city falling quieter as they pulled up near the fountains. The Plaça de Carles Buïgas. Empty at this hour, glowing under the soft city lights, quiet like it knew how many people needed silence and space more than noise and neon.

He parked. Killed the engine.

Amelie stared at him. —What are we doing?—

He finally looked at her, expression unreadable but so open in a way that made her chest ache.

—Come on,— he said. —Just… come with me.—

She hesitated. Then nodded.

They didn’t speak as they walked. The plaza was quiet, the distant trickle of water from the fountains the only sound beside their footsteps. A faint breeze tugged at Amelie’s bun, loosening a few strands. She didn’t bother fixing them.

They reached a bench tucked beneath a tree. Lando sat first, elbows on his knees, looking straight ahead at the dark sky above Montjuïc.

She sat beside him.

Silence stretched again—but it was different now. Softer. Less like punishment, more like a held breath.

After a long beat, Amelie leaned sideways and let her head rest on his shoulder.

Lando didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Just let her stay there.

And she didn’t know why it took her so long to say it. Maybe because saying it out loud made it real. Maybe because if she said it, and he didn’t say it back, the little thread holding her together would snap.

But she said it anyway.

—Lando... I don’t want to lose you.—

His breath hitched, barely perceptible, but she felt it against her cheek.

He turned his head slightly, resting it gently on hers.

—You won’t,— he said, quiet but certain. —You’ll never lose me, Ames.—

Her eyes closed. She believed him. She wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

They sat like that for a while, shoulders pressed together, watching the stars peek through the clouds like shy confessions neither of them had the courage to speak.

And for once, silence wasn’t something to be afraid of. It was a promise.