#inspired by a dream i had nearly ten years ago

[lynx-doodles-indie-games]

the dreamer and the dreemurr

color palette from magodellepercussioni's mojave20

[f1byjessie]

SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

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yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

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user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

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yourusername arrivederci 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

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lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

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fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

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fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

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yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

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yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

[belltrigger]

Submastober Day 04!

Inspiration: There's an older OC-tober prompt-list here that I am using.

Title: A Late Night Event Prompt: Hidden Word count: 779 Synopsis: Ingo sees something in the sky.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Although Ingo considered his comrades in the Pearl Clan to be quite observant and astute, he had determined over the course of the last few days that none of them witnessed the strange meteor fall from the sky around ten nights ago. The event had been quite notable, he thought: a brilliant white streak in the sky, leaving a trail that resembled a scatter of twinkling stars in its wake. While it was true that it had been quite late at night, long after most of the lanterns had been snuffed for the evening, he had thought surely someone would have seen such a stunning display. But no, any inquiries he made were met with confusion; some members of his clan attempted to be polite, but there were some that seemed to think it was perhaps another symptom of his strange amnesia.

There was no doubt in his mind that he'd seen it, however. Despite the loss of his memories before arriving in this place, he retained a crystal clear knowledge and understanding of all that he learned while here. He remembered even the most minute details of that day like it had only been the night before.

The evening was cool, like many evenings this time of the year, but his breath fogged in front of his face a bit more thickly than usual. He felt antsy that night, unable to settle and even having a few of his pokemon out of their pokeballs for a bit of companionship to help potentially ease whatever was setting him on edge. Finding that he couldn't sleep, he went outside to get some air and found it to be much brighter than one would expect - he hadn't even needed his lantern.

Inexplicably, Ingo felt a tug in his chest as he watched the shimmering light etch a fading line through the sky and immediately set out to find the landing spot of whatever had fallen. The bright shine had all but disappeared from his vantage point after entering the treeline, but he was quite confident that he could find the general location of the landing. It was an area that he frequently patrolled, and even this late at night, the paths were not a difficult traversal with his chosen pokemon companions.

Of course he could never have imagined what he would find once he made it to the designated spot. Gently resting in a patch of grass, with absolutely no impact mark at all, was a young man, eyes shut as if he were sleeping peacefully. Any of Ingo's confusion was tucked behind his shock - the man was dressed almost entirely in white, including a coat that looked identical to his, though significantly less worn. Fearing he was dreaming, he knelt down to touch the fabric of the high collar pressed against the ground under the man's cheek, fingertips meeting with fabric that felt as real as his own coat. As if sensing him there, the man curled himself further in towards Ingo.

Resolve firmed then and there, he had Machamp lift up the sleeping man and help carry him back to their home. The man didn't stir again during their travel. Once under the warm glow of multiple lanterns, Ingo could see that not only did the man wear a coat similar to his, he bore a striking resemblance to Ingo himself. Younger, perhaps, but their features were almost exactly the same, and he also had Ingo's quite distinguishing hair style.

Dismissing Machamp once he had bedding set up for this mysterious new arrival, Ingo spent some time simply watching the young man. His chest felt strange, excitement at possible answers making his ribcage feel as though it was squeezing his lungs and heart, and he found it nearly impossible to tear himself away to sleep. He managed it, barely, lying awake in his futon, face turned towards the young man as he drifted off.

It had been days since the young man's dramatic arrival, but he remained in a sleep-like state. Without a firm plan to wake him up, Ingo felt it best to not reveal his presence to the other members of his clan. Perhaps it was selfish, but he wanted to be the first person seen when the young man woke up. He wanted to make sure his questions were the first answered, and that he was the one to answer any questions the mysterious young man had. For some reason, “I want to see his smile first” lingered in the back of Ingo's mind.

And so, Ingo waited for him to wake up, deeply considering what his first words would be when the man woke up.

[anamelessfool]

I made a crackfic inspired by these GIFs

One Shot (AO3 Link)

Papa Emeritus IV & Reader

Mature for strong language, references

Stupid silly fic, destiny, concerts, the incredible cornette hat

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime....You only get one shot. You hope your calculations are correct this time.

1,819 Words If you like this fic please reblog!

One Shot

This was your last chance. After three rituals, there was nothing left. Fourth time’s a charm, you told yourself, arriving at the line by the venue at promptly 1AM. You were going to make rail no matter what. You run into your friend, Avery, who has doggedly followed you ever since witnessing your first attempt a few weeks ago. Since then you had kept running into them in the line, and at this point you had become fast friends. Today they look grim as you arrive and settle yourself into the long wait.

“Last chance, huh?” Avery blows a bubble with their gum. They have the weary voice of some kind of soldier getting ready for one last push over the top. You both hear the rattle of a raccoon scuttling around in a trash can nearby. The things you do for a dream.

You nod back. “Then they’re off to South America.”

“You are fucking nuts,” Avery says. “I don’t understand you but goddammit I respect you.”

“It’s been real, Avery.” You fistbump and wiggle your fingers, laughing.

It’s only a fifteen hour wait. You had waited longer in the past. As the line gets longer, more colorful characters appear, more people mingle. You chat, swapped social, and sing like delirious hungover partygoers at New Year’s. Thinking about the hours ticking makes you break out into a nervous sweat, but visualizing your mission steels you. Every so often, Avery locks eyes with you and calms your nerves with a friendly shoulder pat. “It’s gonna happen this time.”

You feel like some kind of action hero. Staring into the challenge ahead. “It had better fucking happen.”

The sun gets high overhead, roasting the asphalt, and still you remain. The shadows lengthen, the air cools. Finally, finally the venue staff come over to the line. Finally they pull out their scanners and open the gate.

Now or Never.

Arriving at the venue, you refresh yourself, then make a furious, single-minded march towards the front and center of the rail. Nothing will stop you this time. Not even the call of nature. You’ve picked out the ideal spot. After your three attempts you’ve figured out the perfect location. You’ve mapped the trajectory, the angles needed.

It’s a good thing Papa likes keeping to a script.

“I’m feeling really good about this,” Avery says from next to you. “You’re going to make it this time. I know it.”

“You’re psyching me out right now,” You mutter. “I can’t think. I got to get into the zone.” At last the blast of the music hits, that singular Yeaaaaaahhhhh! that makes your heart nearly explode. The curtain falls, and the pyrotechnics flare.

Every time you see him, you can’t believe he’s real. Papa Emeritus IV, resplendent in his beautiful costumes, reaching out to the audience, his thrusting hips powered by his voice. There’s screaming all around you. You have a weird inner peace as you wait for the opportune moment, a calm mindfulness reserved for samurai waiting to draw their weapon. Soon. Soon.

“BELIAL! BEHEMOTH! BEELZEBUB!” Ten thousand throats are shredded with screams. Avery gives you a friendly noogie. It’s time.

At last Papa IV appears on stage, framed by blasts of flames. His flowing garments take your breath away. His fierce winged hat lends an air of noble severity to his presence. The vision of that hat had consumed you since you saw it in Metal Hammer Magazine.  It has haunted you for months, and the plan you are seconds from attempting bubbled up from the core of your being. You had never felt so sure of the concept of destiny ever before.

Papa starts swanning all over the stage, coming into range. It’s fucking time.

From your pocket you pull out your ammo. You have a single shot, but something about having a single chance for victory steels your focus even more than having two or three. You unroll a pair of frilly strawberry-print panties, clutching them into your hand. You let all the breath out of your lungs. You have the focus of a stalking cat, a striking rattlesnake.

You hook the panties on your thumb, stretch the elastic waistband, and release.

“Archangelooooooo!” Papa IV croons.

There’s a moment where you don’t even feel your heart beating anymore. You see the panties suspended in the air, so slow in front of you you could count all the strawberries. For a brief second you scream in your mind It’s not going to make it! They hit the far wing of the hat, nearly slide off, then settle, hole in one.

A perfect shot. The panties land. Perfectly. Right in the bowl of that glorious hat.

“BROOOOOOOOHMYFUCKINGODBROOOO!” Avery screams in your ear. You barely register their voice, your whole soul ascending with the feeling of victory. It’s done. You’ve done it. And it’s glorious. Tears start to well in the corners of your eyes as you watch Papa IV scuttle across the stage carrying your prize.

And then you felt the arms on your shoulders.

“Hey! Get the fuck offa them!” Avery yells, but it is too late. Three security guards drag you over the rail, kicking and screaming. Finally you stop resisting, a serene deathly calm settling on you. You’ve done your duty and now it is time to go to the ashes from which you came. Your unfinished business complete, it is time to walk towards the light.

Your consciousness witnesses when they pull your arms behind your back, forcing you forward, whisking you away. To where, you have no idea. Nor do you care. What is done is done. You think they are going to kick you completely out of the venue but no, one of the guards opens a service door to the side of the stage. The florescent lights blind you, and the silence buzzes with the ghosts of the screaming crowd in your ears. The concrete and cinderblock hallway seems to go on forever and you watch your feet plod forward, your head down. The guards’ grip on your arms and shoulders tighten.

“Wait here!’ One of them shouts, whipping open a door. There’s nothing but darkness within. And within the darkness you remain, the door slamming behind you.

***

The light rakes across your eyes, and you wince like a cave animal. You have no idea how long you have sat in that dark closet, but judging by the silence around you the concert has long been over. Your eyes water and adjust to the light, witnessing the silhouette of a guard standing in the doorway. “Come with me. He would like to see you.”

He? Your heart starts to pound. At last your adrenaline bottoms out and you start shaking, but it is too late to fully react to your actions. Two guards reach in and grab you once more, ripping you back into the hallway. “Keep your head down!” One hisses under his breath. Your hands start to sweat.

You hear the creak of another heavy door opening, and a guard pushes you inside, closing the door behind him. This place is more softly lit. As you start to bring your awareness back to your body familiar colors, shapes and textures swim before your eyes. In a far corner, items are hung on a clothing rack. A sequined blue jacket. A torn leather vest. The magnificent hat greets you from a makeup table, and you catch your pale face in the lit mirror. At the bottom of the mirror you notice the back of his head.

Papa Emeritus IV is sitting before you.

You see him. You blink. You close your eyes. But he doesn’t disappear. He is right in front of you. And you are standing in his dressing room.

Alone.

His skull-like visage overwhelms you. You have no idea what his expression is, but his cursed eye glares through you. He is sitting on a couch in the center of the room, his arm on the armrest. He had since loosened his tie and you see the smallest sliver of skin peek out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. His body is broad, his shoulders slack from the constant exertion of performing for a crowd.

You open your mouth, but it is as if a puff of dust comes out. He sits before you impossibly, but just like in your dreams. You feel that any noise, any movement would sweep the vision away. He lets out a heavy sigh, his chest swelling. You ache in the deepest parts of your body. He slowly sweeps his legs apart and locks eyes with you again.

“Come here,” he says in his reedy voice. You do nothing. You say nothing. A deer in the headlights would look on you with concern.

He blinks, then pats his leg. “Come here,” he says again. “Sit here.” There’s a quavering quality to his voice. You’re not sure if he is embarrassed or furious. A muscle tenses in his jaw, but the melting paint on his face obscures the smallest details of his expression.

He idly rakes his hand through his deliciously graying hair, and your knees nearly buckle out from beneath you. He is reacting to you. So he must be real. You will your legs forward, planting yourself in front of him, looking down at him. His brow furrows, and his eyes surprisingly shift from side to side.

Is he…nervous?

Papa pats his knee once again. “Per favore, siediti,” he growls.

You lower your body onto his strong, supple leg. He holds your weight perfectly. You feel like you’re going to fall off backwards in a faint, so you unconciously hold onto the side of his waist. His body shifts under you.

“Well, then…” he begins. You’re not sure if he is smiling or frowning. His face is so close you can see how the makeup has drifted under the sheen of sweat.

You have enough willpower in your brain to utter a faint “Um…sorry.”

Papa utters a casual grunt. Through your hand you feel the noise vibrate his whole body. He leans forward and by consequence his chest presses into yours. The heat and dampness of his tired body envelops you, the musky smell of his sweat overwhelming your senses.  Your whole soul is aflame in this single moment in which he reaches to pull something out from beside the couch.

“Here,” he says. His breath caresses your face. You look down.

In his hands is a small stuffed bear, like the kind found at carnivals. He holds it out to you. You do nothing. He makes a little frustrated “Myeh” in his throat and places it in your hands. His own gloved hands wrap around yours, patting them. He releases the prize into your possession, leaning back, satisfied.

“Here,” he repeats. You see the smallest of smiles drift across his face. “Complimenti.”

My Master Fic List

Taglist: @riptide-kid @kabukiaku @historian-crown@monkberryghouldelight @in-cardi-c-we-thrust @iichorot

[bluestar22x]

You Had Me From Hello

The Writing Contest - Chapter 1: You Had Me From Hello

Summary: Unexpectedly, small town woman Nora Delaine wins a writing contest and is flown first class to Salinas Valley to meet her new screenwriting partner.

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Female!OC (Nora Delaine)

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 5,500(ish)

Warnings: Second person POV, mentions of drug use/addiction/loss and troubles with unhealthy family dynamics.

Author’s Note: I took inspiration for Javi's new home from this moodboard made by @wildemaven.

xxx

This is insane. I can't believe I'm actually going through with this.

That's what you were thinking as you settled into your seat in first class on a Southwest Airline plane headed for the airport in Monterey, California where you would then take a taxi to Salinas Valley, arguably the capital of the wine industry in the United States. But that's not why you were headed there. Nope.

You were headed to one of the vineyards, but it wasn't to taste test wine and forget your troubles, it was to write with an apparently well known up-and-coming screenwriter named Javi Gutierrez, who up until last week you personally hadn't known existed. Your best friend, Sierra Washington, however, had apparently heard plenty of him.

x

"You didn't!" you gasped, letting the letter in your hands float down to your kitchen table.

"I did!" your friend Sierra confirmed, grinning ear to ear.

"You entered my short story into a writing contest without my permission?" you hissed. You didn't feel that it had been anywhere near ready to be seen by anyone outside Sierra. When you'd sent her the document to proof read you'd trusted her not to share it with anyone else, and she'd betrayed that trust. You were furious.

"Aw, Nora, you were never going to release that document to anyone else if I didn't do it myself," she argued, placing a hand on her hip. "How many stories have I proof read for you? I loved every bit of them, yet every single one eventually ended up hidden in a file on your laptop and forgotten."

"They weren't good enough," you told her.

"Nothing ever is," she said, throwing her hands up in frustration. "You were stuck! You needed a little push. This is it. An opportunity to turn your story into a movie. Your dream!"

"I can't go to Salinas Valley for two months," you howled. "I haven't even found a new job yet!"

You'd recently been laid off from the pet magazine you'd been writing for since you turned twenty-five, nearly ten years ago, because of budget cuts a month ago and were having difficulty finding another job like it. You feared you might end up having to take a local job, instead of an online one, most likely waiting on tables. The thought of that made you cringe. You didn't like having to deal with the public. Even in a town as small as yours.

"Precisely!" Sierra exclaimed. "You need to work, and that's what this would be. You'd turn your story into a properly lengthy script with his help, and when it is bought you'll get money for it, along with some profits later on when the film is successful."

You snorted. "When?"

She narrowed her eyes at you. "When." Her tone was firm, certain.

You couldn't understand why she had so much faith in you when you'd spent most of your life failing. You'd struggled in college and you'd struggled to find a job and keep it for years. Writing for the pet magazine had felt mundane as far as writing went, but you'd been good at it and you'd finally felt like you had secured your future.

You should've known better with how the world was changing. Your generation and younger didn't read magazines anymore. You'd entered a dying industry that likely had an expiration date that would come before your retirement age.

"I can't afford to pay for another rent while I stay there," you continued.

She huffed. "Did you not read the part where it says all expenses will be paid? You'd be staying at his vineyard for free. You'd just need cash for extras. Like if you want take out or something."

"Staying at his vineyard..." You shook your head and met her copper brown eyes with your emerald green ones. "You really think I should be staying at a strange man's house, by myself?"

"He has tons of staff," she argued. "It's not much different from going on vacation and staying in a hotel by yourself."

You gave her an exasperated look. "That's way different! It's a private business and his staff aren't going to be there at night unless his runs it twenty-four seven."

"He knows Nic Cage," Sierra informed you, like that would make a difference to you. "They're friends. Javi's first screenplay was co-written with him."

You rolled your eyes. "Just cause you had a crush on Nic Cage in high school after you watched City of Angels and researched him, doesn't mean you know him and his friends."

"I did NOT have a crush on him," Sierra nearly shouted. "He's like three times my age."

"You did then."

"I did not."

You smirked and lifted your brows. "Thou protest too much."

She gritted her teeth, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able convince you otherwise. Because she had, in fact, had a celebrity crush on Nic Cage in high school.

She sighed. "Look. Sometimes you've got to take risks to gain the rewards. You can buy pepper spray when you land in California or something if it'll make you feel better. But I haven't heard anything about Javi Gutierrez that would suggest he'd be dangerous. And you wouldn't be sleeping in his mansion. You'd be in a guest house on the opposite side of the property. It overlooks some beautiful hills and valleys apparently. I did some research on Valley View Vineyard. That's his vineyard's name, fittingly. Anyway, it's apparently gorgeous in that area."

You had to admit to yourself a part of you was very tempted to say yes, not just to having help making a screenplay and selling it, but also to living in a California vacation destination for a while. You could use a break from your hometown.

"I can't," you said stubbornly. "I can't leave Buttercup and Tux with no one to watch them, and it wouldn't be fair to them to travel them out to California by plane. I wouldn't feel good about them being in cargo either. They're delicate creatures."

Buttercup and Tux were your two pet Lop rabbits, who you'd adopted as a bonded pair from a nearby animal shelter three years ago.

"I can watch them," Sierra offered. "I've done it for you before when you stayed in the hospital last year for food poisoning."

"Don't remind me," you groaned. That week had been the worst in your life and had put you off of salmon permanently.

She winced sympathetically. "Sorry."

"Look, even if I wanted to part from them for two freakin months," you started, sighing again, "Even if I wanted to go to California and write a script with a legit screenplay writer, my parents wouldn't approve. You know how worried they get."

"Yeah, I know," Sierra said with another huff. "I grew up with the product of their paranoia."

You couldn't help but laugh a little at that. Paranoia was a fitting word for it. Your parents were worry-warts. Especially since your older brother had died, leaving you as their only living child. Saying you were overprotected seemed to put it too simply. And you in turn were very wary of the world. Maybe too much. You'd turned down a lot of interesting parties and adventures with friends in favor of safety. You'd wanted to join your high school's travel club but had chickened out. Girls got kidnapped in foreign countries, after all.

The little voice in your head telling you such things sounded more like your mother's than yours.

"They'll say no," you added.

"Good thing you're a grown ass adult," Sierra reminded you firmly. "And you could lie and say you're staying at a rental to ease their minds."

You gave her a lopsided smile. "You're a bad influence on me, Ms. Washington."

"Somebody has to be!" she claimed.

You raked a hand through your shoulder length wavy brown hair as you silently debated over what choice to make. Stay or go. Safety or risk. You chewed your lip. "Fine. I'll do it."

Sierra jumped in spot and clapped like someone half her age. She squealed for you. "Oh my god, my girl's finally breaking rules and making her dreams come true."

You pursed your lips and silently hoped she was right. After all, there were no guarantees in life.

x

The next day you'd emailed Javi's manager, Walter, who was in charge of overseeing the contest and had helped Javi narrow all the submitted stories down to one. He'd immediately booked you a flight and told you to pack your bags, after reassuring you that Javi's intentions were good. He was going to co-write with you, but you'd be the top billing writer to the screenplay. He wasn't looking to take any credit that wasn't his.

Still, as you boarded the plane one week later, you found yourself nervous about the whole deal. You'd had to sign a contract, and part of that contract had protection for you and your script, saying you had all the rights, and therefore would have the final say over how it was written and what film company got to buy it. All nice things to ease your troubled mind, but you were worried now, a bit too late, over whether or not Javi would be a good fit as a writing partner. You'd seen his first film The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent the same night Sierra had handed you the letter, having wanted to make sure he'd be helpful and not be a bad influence instead when it came to your writing, and that had ended your concerns over his talent. The film was a little too out there for your liking, but you saw the heart behind it, and that was something you could work with.

The main concern you'd had since then was rooted in personality. You had no idea what he was like. He was clearly rich, anyone with a successful vineyard and a mansion was, and that concerned you, a child of two full time working parents who'd struggled to provide you with everything they'd wanted to give you. You'd been taught work ethic, you'd been taught to be polite to coworkers. What were the chances he'd been too? You shouldn't assume he'd be the typical rich person seen in media. You didn't know how most rich people actually behaved, and even if most were dramatic snobby leeches, that didn't mean he was.

That didn't stop you from thinking about how he might be during the entire time it took for the plane to take off.

"Would you like some wine?" a flight attendant asked some time later, drawing you from your inner thoughts.

You glanced up at her and blinked. This was new. You'd never been offered drinks on a plane, though this was only your second time in your life, the first time being when your family took a week long trip to Disneyland. "Is it on the house?"

"Of course," she replied with a knowing smile. "First time in first class?"

"You could probably guess that just by looking at my clothes," you reckoned. Most of the people seated around you were in suits or fancy business dresses, while you were dressed in a simple pair of light blue jeans, a bubble gum pink sweatshirt, and plain white sneakers.

The flight attendant shrugged. "We don't always get people in here who dress expensively. But most know about the complementary wine."

"I might as well take some," you said, "For the full experience. Don't know the next time someone will pay a ticket for me."

She laughed. "Would you be interested in a Pinot Noir?"

You had no idea what that meant, only really knowing wine as red or white, but decided to roll with it. "Sure."

As the flight attendant poured you a drink in a proper wine glass, you noticed the name on it. Valley View Vineyard. You wondered how widespread Javi's wine was as you accepted the drink and took a cautious sip.

It was good wine. Good was a lacking word. It was excellent. Smooth, flavorful. Better than any other wine you'd ever tasted. You could only guess that it was fairly expensive and aged well. You had to restrain yourself from downing the whole thing in under a minute. Wine wasn't meant for that, even a lower class small town girl like yourself who usually drank wine from a box knew that.

You did, however, make sure to have enough time for another glass before your flight landed.

x

Monterey Regional Airport, where you landed, was twelve miles from Salinas Valley, or around twenty-five minutes away. It took you an extra five minutes to actually get to Valley View Vineyard, totaling the cost of your taxi ride to nearly one hundred dollars, something that would've made you shudder if you hadn't just flown for free. You'd have had the ride for free if you had accepted the limousine Walter had offered you, but you hadn't been about to get in one of those things with what you'd been wearing for your flight. Besides, you didn't like feeling like you were leeching, having a real need to pay for some of your trip expenses. If you and Javi were successful, you'd get way more money back in profits anyway.

Salinas Valley was cooler than you'd expected, the temperature hovering around fifty-seven degrees Fahrenheit. It was a vast improvement from the thirty-two degree average in North Dakota, but not as hot as you'd imagined the middle of California would be, even though it was coastal.

They did have plenty of sun that day, something you knew your hometown wasn't going to get for the next a few days, a couple days of clouds and a severe snowstorm expected for most of the state.

On the way to the vineyard you cracked the widow to breath in the fresh air and you stared out at the landscape as the taxi drove by it at precisely the speed limit.

Salinas was gorgeous, as Sierra had promised. You passed many luscious green fields, farmed and unfarmed alike, several vineyards, and plenty of rolling hills and valleys, the latter expected, considering the name of the county.

You were excited by the time you arrived at Valley View Vineyard, anxious to see what the property itself looked like. You'd known it was fairly massive for a vineyard, sitting on one hundred and ten acres, but when you'd looked it up online the day after you'd gotten the letter, there wasn't much photos of the place anywhere, even on the official website. Mostly it had been photos of the grapes, the wine, and the wine making process, and mainly had detailed that process and how to get your hands on a bottle. You'd avoided looking at the history page, wanting to find out from Javi himself how he came to own it.

The vineyard was gated, with elegant iron bars, and your taxi driver had to press a speaker button on a fence post to be let in. Both sides of the tarred driveway was lined with bushes, leading up to the mansion, a Spanish styled home with arches you'd never seen before outside movies and TV shows that had taken place in Spain or South America. Beyond that were grape vines in every direction until they met the hills that bordered the area.

Walter was waiting for you on the front porch, a man in his sixties, with surprisingly thick gray hair and a considerably youthful face. You imagined he had several more decades left in him if his appearance was anything to go by. It was probably in spite of his job. You couldn't imagine a manager of any kind having it too easy.

The dark gray pinsuit he was wearing made you feel very under dressed, but he shook your hand and introduced himself without even twitching an eye, and helped you carry your belongings to a yellow Jeep in the corner of the driveway.

"Javi will be here soon to personally show you around," he informed you. "I'll drop your bags off inside the guest house."

"You don't need to do that," you proclaimed, not wanting to be a burden to anyone. You didn't think it was part of a talent manager's job to bring suitcases anywhere.

"It's no problem," Walter promised you, hopping into the Jeep's driver's seat. "We will talk more later, when you are done touring, to sort out some more paperwork. Legal stuff. Stick by the front porch. That's where Javi asked me to tell you to be."

"Okay," you said, waving at him. "Thanks."

He nodded at you, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You're welcome, Miss Delaine."

"Nora," you corrected him. "I don't like formalities."

"That's something you'll have to get used to if you want to take part in Hollywood," Walter warned you, "But I will call you Nora by default, when appropriate."

Then he was on his way, leaving you to kick pebbles off the tar by the porch. It was nearly ten minutes later when you spotted a man approaching at a brisk walk from a large industrial looking building to your left.

He was wearing sunglasses, a thick long sleeved orange button down shirt, dark blue jeans, and tan boat shoes. He appeared to be in his early forties, with limited gray hair in his patchy, but well trimmed beard. His dark brown hair was short, but wildly curled, and his skin was golden, tanned from spending most of his days out in the sun.

As he neared you and pulled off his sunglasses, you noticed his eyes were dark like his hair, and that he was at least a half a foot taller than you, probably just shy of six feet. Taller than most people you'd ever been around, especially family, but not untypically tall for someone in Hollywood.

He was worthy of Hollywood, you'd thought. He was handsome, and that was an understatement as far as you were concerned. No boy in your high school graduating class could've held up beside him and you felt your insides warm as you studied him.

Easy, you silently ordered yourself. You're just here to learn script writing from him, hopefully make a movie, and go back home. Besides, looks aren't everything.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," he apologized in a rush when he got within earshot of you, "I was helping my employees clean up a wine spill."

He spoke smoothly, with an accent that was far from any you'd heard before with your own ears. South American, maybe? Spaniard? You could definitely hear an infliction there that suggested he'd grown up speaking more Spanish than English.

"Oh no," you said earnestly. "Hope it wasn't too bad."

"Nothing we can't recover from," he assured you. He broke out into a bright smile and outstretched his right hand. "Javi Gutierrez."

You shook his offered hand and beamed back at him, putting on your best friendly demeanor. "Nora Delaine."

"It's so lovely to meet you, Nora," he said, covering your hand with his left one briefly before pulling both his hands away from you. His hold on you was long enough for you to notice how large his hands were in comparison to yours, and softer than you'd expected. You tried not to think about them too much.

"Let me show you around," he continued quickly, "It will give us a chance to get to know each other, no?"

"I'd like that," you replied honestly. "I've always been curious about how wine was made."

His lips tugged back even more, and in that moment he looked like a kid on Christmas morning. Excited and wide-eyed. You wondered if he was always this happy to meet guests. "Great! This way, then."

He guided you on a stroll around the main parts of the vineyard, showing you inside the buildings where the grapes were stored, turned into wine, and where the wine was aged in barrels. He also took you through rows of grapes in the fields behind his home, detailing the care that he and his staff had to put into them before they were ready to harvest in the autumn season.

"You know your stuff," you noted as you walked shoulder to shoulder with him. "I take you're not one to observe while your employees do all the work?"

"I used to be," Javi admitted, "But when I bought this place I decided I wanted to change that. Made a point to spend some spare time helping harvest the grapes and pour the wine into the barrels. I still have much to learn. Wine making is actually interesting to watch and inspired the last script I wrote, as you might tell."

You did not mention you'd only seen his first movie, afraid to insult him. You focused on the other tidbit in his confession. "You didn't grow up here?"

"No," Javi confirmed, in the way Spanish speaking people pronounce it. "I grew up on an olive estate in Mallorca, also called Majorca, it's an island off the coast of Spain."

"Why'd you move here?" you inquired. You'd seen pictures of islands in the Mediterranean Sea, watched movies that were filmed there. Who'd want to move away from that?

He hesitated for a second before answering, shoving one of his hands into a side pocket of his jeans. "I guess you could say I needed a fresh start. And this place being a lot closer to Hollywood, I thought the move could help my career."

"Has it?"

He hummed. "I think so. But even if not, I like it here."

"So how long have you owned this place?" you asked.

"A little over two years," Javi replied. "It was already a very successful vineyard when I bought it from the previous owner's daughter who wanted nothing to do with it after he died. I kept on most of the staff, including the manager, Enzo. He's the only reason it's still successful. I hardly know enough to dare participate in the business. He's taught me everything I have managed to learn about it and I'm very grateful. He's helped me gain financial independence from my family."

There was something about how humble Javi was being about his lack of experience that made it hard for you not to like him already. He definitely did not seem like he had a spoiled rich man's attitude.

"Does your family visit?"

Javi's brows knitted together and his smile fell. "No. We do not get along, unfortunately. Not anymore. My family...they are, as some people say, toxic."

"I'm sorry." You felt bad for being nosy about it. "My parents aren't easy either, they're a bit too overprotective. In fact, I had to lie about some of the details of this project to get here. Otherwise, they'd have talked me out of it. But at least we get along enough to still care about visiting each other."

"It's a shame you had to lie," he said, "But selfishly I am glad you did whatever it took to get here. When I read your script, it drew me in like witchcraft. The way you write...it's compelling. Poetic. And for such a simple premise, you made it exciting. It made me look at a so called average life with new appreciation I did not have in my youth."

"You can thank my friend Sierra for everything," you told him. "She submitted my work. She convinced me to come."

"I owe her a debt then," he concluded, and you blushed. You knew he was saying that because he was excited to work with you, but a part of your brain had jumped to the conclusion that he owed her for you. Not like you hadn't just met.

"If you want to repay it have Nic Cage send her a message or something," you suggested. "She's a big fan."

"No way!" he exclaimed giddily, halting suddenly. "I must meet her someday! I'm a huge fan myself."

"Aren't you and Nic friends?" you quizzed, confused.

"Being a friend now does not negate the appreciation I had of his work before," he declared. "But it does mean setting up a meeting between them would be fairly easy. She could even stay with us for a time."

Us. Oh, his choice of words. You ignored the flip of your stomach. It was absurd. Javi wasn't really your type. Rich and energetic. Earnest and puppy-eyed. Right? You frowned.

He led you out of the rows of grapes to the far corner of the property where beautiful rolling hills back dropped a cozy looking two story ranch styled house that had recently been painted white. It was far more modest than his mansion, but still twice as big as your childhood home.

"That is where you'll be staying," he declared. "Do you wish to see it first or the space we'll be working in?"

"House first," you decided quickly. "I want to grab a few things from my bag to put on my desk. Assuming I'll have one?"

"Of course!"

The inside of the house was rustic. It reminded you of home, minus the buck antlers your dad had hung up on the living room wall. Not that he'd hunted a day in his life. He'd found them while hiking through the forest with the family dog in the dead of winter, the pair having naturally shed off of the deer they had once been attached to.

"This is wonderful," you commented as your eyes fell on your bags by the staircase. Walter had dropped them off as promised.

Javi beamed at you. "I am glad you like it. I admit, it's not my style."

"It wouldn't be, would it?" you mused. "This is very western themed, not island."

"It was once a place for temporary employees to stay," he informed you. "It was remodeled and decorated this way before I bought it. I just haven't bothered to change it."

"There's nothing that needs changing," you told him surely. You weren't going to allow anyone to insult the taste of most of your hometown.

He chuckled. "Maybe not."

You reached for one of your smaller bags and pulled out a stuffed giraffe and a photo of your two rabbits, plus another of a man your age, military short hair and a wide grin on his face.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Javi inquired curiously.

You shook your head somberly. "No, this is Kip, my brother. Was, rather. He overdosed on opioids last April."

Javi expressed honest dismay. "Oh no. I am so sorry. Were you close?"

"Very," you answered, chewing your lip, remembering the last time when Kip was alive and truly happy. It was far too long ago to be comforting. "He was only older than me by a year. Was quite different than me though. Very independent. Whenever my parents told him to do something he did the opposite. That's how he ended up in the military. It's how he ended up a war veteran with a bad back, which led doctors to treating him with strong drugs and in turn got him addicted to them."

"There are no words," Javi said gently, squeezing your arm at the elbow. "Is he going on your desk?"

"The fire mantle," you told him, heading for the fireplace in the living room and placing the framed photo on the shelf above it, carefully setting it there. You returned to Javi's side after. "Now I'm ready to check out the office."

He must have sensed that you didn't want to discuss your brother anymore because he just nodded and followed you out of the house.

x

The inside of Javi's mansion was...excessive. Six bedrooms, six full sized bathrooms to go with them, another two basic bathrooms (one for each floor), a massive kitchen and living room, a dining room, a personal office, a game room, a movie theater, and a sun room. There was a double stairway of course, and the rooms were mostly white, with some gold and black accents.

While you weren't a huge fan of overly sized houses and lack of color, you had to admit it was impressive, and some of the rooms were charming, likely thanks to a talented interior decorator.

One of the most charming rooms was the sun room, with all of its natural light and green house plants in vases. There were even a few vines hanging from the walls. It was the last room on the tour.

"This is where we'll be working," Javi informed you, nodding at the two desks set up in a corner. "I like writing out here. Feels too stuffy in the office. What do you think?"

"It's beautiful in here," you commented, awe in your voice. "I'm sure I'll get plenty of inspiration from it."

"Great!" Javi exclaimed, clapping his hands together, startling you. "I'll give you some time to fix up your desk to your liking, the one closest to the door, and have you meet me out back for dinner when you're ready."

"Dinner?" you questioned, frowning.

"Is it supper where you're from?" Javi asked when he noticed your confusion.

"Yes, but it's not that," you replied, explaining, "I didn't know I'd be eating with you tonight."

"Is that a problem?"

"No," you said a little too fast, cheeks threatening to turn red. "I just didn't expect it."

"As long as you're on this property you will never need to cook unless you wish to," Javi told you. "The chef here is excellent and always cooks up way too much for me. You'd be doing me a favor by joining me. And I'd like to get to know you a little more before we start writing together tomorrow."

"Would it be rude to ask what's on the menu?" you inquired.

He grinned. "Not at all. It's shrimp scampi tonight. Though there are alternatives available if you are allergic or vegan."

"I'm not, and I would never say no to shrimp," you declared.

He chuckled at your enthusiasm. "Good. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes, until then -"

"You'll be out on the back patio area," you finished for him.

He nodded. "Just through the doors."

He backed out of the room through a pair of beautifully detailed white doors and you could see him sit down in one of the patio chairs. He pulled out his phone and made a call you could not hear from inside and you forced yourself to look away, not wanting to be caught staring like a creepy stalker.

You placed your stuffed toy giraffe on the center of your desk next to the tape and stapler, along with the framed photo of your rabbits, before plopping down in the chair behind it to open up the new laptop you'd been gifted.

It was sooo fast to start up, and the perfect size for you. You hoped at the end of the two months you were staying that you'd be able to keep it. Especially after you went on to spend the half hour Javi had given you setting up the laptop, which included adding giraffe wallpaper to the main screen.

Once you were done, with a few minutes to spare, you stepped outside.

The back patio was made of gorgeous red brick and covered with more plant vases. The standard pool and hot tub were beside a four person outdoor table with an umbrella for shade.

The area looked so peaceful and dreamy that you weren't sure a space could get better until you laid eyes on the mini pond a yard away from the glass table, and noticed the brightly colored fish swimming in it. Fish splattered and patched with reds, oranges, blues, and blacks on their white bodies.

"Koi fish?" you quizzed when Javi glanced up at you from reading an email on his phone.

"Came with the house," he told you. "But I kept them cause I decided I liked them. Do you like Koi?"

You nodded. "I always wanted to have some of my own someday. But North Dakota winters would be hard for them to combat and Koi are expensive."

"Well, you can come back here and watch them whenever you like while you're staying here," Javi said. "Maybe they'll inspire you."

"A sun room and a Koi pond." You smirked. "Careful, you might not be able to get rid of me."

Javi parted his lips and closed them like he was going to say something but decided not to, and you blinked curiously at him. What had he been wanting to say but thought was best not said?

"Dinner is served!" a woman who was most likely Javi's chef, shouted.

He beamed at you. "Prepare to have the best shrimp in your life."

x

Javi was right, the shrimp was amazing, and the company continued to be pleasant. It was just you and him for an hour, the chef checking in briefly on occasion to offer wine and water refills and several well spaced out courses of Mediterranean food. You were stuffed when you were finished, and you wanted to sit by the Koi pond and digest, but you thought it would be best not to overstay your welcome.

"Well, I'd better go," you announced, trying to sound casual, as you stood back up. You were about to fish for some answers to questions that had been dancing around in your head all day. "I'm sure your girlfriend - or boyfriend - will want me out of the house when they get here."

"Neither," Javi told you, smiling as if he knew you were digging for information. He probably did. You were rarely subtle. "I'm not dating anyone right now. My last girlfriend moved to America with me but after living together for a month we realized we were better just as friends and she went back to Spain."

You winced. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay," he assured you. "We're still friends."

Friends? The word shouldn't have made your stomach flip as it did.

"Good," you murmured, not sure what else to say to a statement like that. "Too many of my past relationships ended nasty or by ignoring each other awkwardly."

You sighed and stretched your right hand out. He stood and shook it again. "Goodnight, Nora."

"Goodnight, Javi."

With that, you left him physically, but your brain didn't. For half the night you couldn't help replaying the time you'd spent with him, committing it to memory.

It had been a great first day, but you feared that you were already tempted to enter a dangerous game.

The kind of game that could break your heart.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[smokeyfuzz]

Wicked Games: One

“I wish that you would stay in my memories

But you show up today just to ruin things

I wanna put you in the past ‘cause 

I’m traumatized”

- Memories, Conan Grey

Notes for story: A new JJK story! I’m still working on my other works, but I felt so inspired to work on this that I had to write it down and share what I have thus far. The premise of the story begins in S1 of JJK, with time jumps between the past to the present. This is more (f)reader based with female-pronouns. Y/n is a teacher at Jujutsu Technical College and powerful sorcerer, considered a special-grade with cursed energy imbued with energy manipulation. She has the ability to temporarily absorb others’ powers and life-force, making them either weak or devoid of their abilities for a period of time. In the eyes of some superiors she is threat like Yuji and Yuuta and while working for the school is kept under a watchful eye. 

I hope you all enjoy it 

Rain hit the windowpane of the small dorm, the winds from outdoors stirring the trees violently as the storm waged on into the night. It was freezing outside - you knew from your walk over - but right now all you could feel was the warmth of the strong body curled into your back, arms trapping you in an embrace as a familiar heavy breath splayed across the back of your neck and shoulders. 

Suguru had fallen asleep hours ago - the storm outside weighing little concern on his mind. For you it was a different story. You were a light sleeper and storms made you restless, a pang of lightning flashing in the distance. You felt your body grow tense, breath hitching as you shut your eyes and tried to think of something else. Behind you Suguru shifted until you felt a gentle kiss first on your shoulder blade before he buried his face into your neck, leaving light kisses on your neck and up to your ear, before whispering:

“Mmm, still up?”

It was late. Past midnight and you both had early classes the next day. You felt his arm that rested over your body shift towards your own, his fingers interlacing over yours with a small squeeze.

“Can’t sleep with the storm,” you said tiredly. 

You felt more shifting and you turned to lay on your back, Suguru leaning up to hover over you slightly as he watched your exhausted features. It had been a long day for each of you.

“Need a distraction?” he smirked. Your eyebrows furrowed together as a small smile fell onto your features, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Suguru,” you jokingly scolded. 

His smirk only grew into a smile before he leaned forward, lips hovering over your own, leaning closer and closer until…

The sound of loud knocks on your apartment door stirred you awake, eyes slowly blinking awake as you realized you’d been dreaming of him again. It had been over ten years since your relationship with Suguru had officially ended, and yet only over a year since you had last seen him. You sat up in your bed, running a hand across your face in exhaustion from the lack of sleep and the emotional turmoil you were still dealing with, the knocks on the door once again hammering away. Whoever it was, they were going to piss off your neighbors, it being nearly two in the morning.

You hurriedly shuffled out of bed, grabbing the small silk robe that hung over your chair and making your way across the small apartment, opening the front door just in time to see…

“Y/N, you're awake, great,” Satoru greeted, hand raised to knock on your door again before slipping it into his pants pocket. 

You were going to kill him.

He slipped by you and into your apartment before you could officially invite him in, moving towards the living room. He was familiar with your place, having been here countless times before. You sighed, shutting the door before turning to meet him where he had taken up residence on your sofa, manspreading as he usually did. 

You wrapped the robe tightly across your body as a chill ran down your spine, legs exposed from the shorts you had worn to bed and the loose t-shirt hugging your frame.

“Actually, I was sleeping,” you greeted him, tight lipped. You perched onto the armrest of the sofa, watching the side of his profile. 

“Why are you here ‘Toru?” you asked your old friend. 

He stretched his long legs out in front of him, hands coming to rest behind his head as he looked to the ceiling. He was still dressed in his school uniform, cerulean blue eyes hidden behind his blindfold.

“Found a kid who swallowed Sukuna’s finger, well, actually Megumi did…,” he smirked. Your mouth fell open, worse case scenario immediately rushing to your mind at the thought of the powerful curse-spirit walking around. His smirk remained as he looked in your direction. “Relax… Megumi’s fine. Kid’s fine too - he can actually contain Sukuna.” 

You had moved to sit on the coffee table in front of Satoru now, the change in the direction of the conversation shocking you. 

“Wait, what? Where is he?” 

Satoru leaned forward, entering into your personal space as he rested his face in one of his palms. Whereas others would’ve been bothered by this act, you had grown used to it over the years. 

He explained how for now he was being kept in an execution room, how he had a plan to convince the elders to keep the kid, who was named Yuji, alive (confessing to Megumi’s own plea to save Yuji’s life), and then his own hope of training the kid. 

You knew this story well with Satoru - your mind drifting to Yuuta and his other students. He had a habit of collecting what you affectionately called “black sheeps” of the jujutsu world, individuals of great strength or who posed a threat, sometimes both. While you weren’t one of his students, you were familiar with the practice, being a black sheep yourself.

You ran a hand through your messy hair, watching Satoru carefully. There had to be another reason he was here - why he unloaded this information on you and you had a sneaking submission of what it could be.

“You need me to advocate for Yuji?” you surmised as he leaned back again, arms falling on the back of the sofa. 

He nodded. “He’ll be a tough sell, especially after what happened with Yuuta last year and…”

His voice trailed off then and you knew he was going to say Suguru’s name. His best friend turned enemy. Your ex-boyfriend and former friend. Aside from Sukuna, Suguru was one of the biggest dangers within the Jujutsu world at the moment. He was as charismatic as he was cruel, with a cult following of his belief to kill all non-shamans. Until last year, Suguru wasn’t really in hiding - openly trying to recruit students and sorcerers, spreading his “gospel”, committing violent crimes, visiting Satoru, and you. You’d never mentioned that he had visited you to anyone - not even to Satoru. Why you kept it a secret, you weren’t quite sure. You suspected it was from the guilt of not killing him like the bounty on his head dictated - or perhaps it was the fact a part of you still loved him, even after all of this time and the horrible things he has done since then. But you refused to talk about it.

Then the day came when both you and Satoru believed he was actually going to die. He had come to the school, intent on killing Yuuta when Satoru stepped in. It eventually led to a bitter battle between the friends, Suguru already heavily wounded by Yuuta. 

You weren’t there when it ended, but when Satoru found you later that day he explained he had mortally injured Suguru, effectively killing him out of respect and did not return with his body in fear of what the superiors would do with it. When nobody was found at the site of the killing, many initially chose to believe that due to Satoru’s own powers that Suguru likely died from his wounds after slinking into the shadows. Within the year of that incident though, more and more evidence had been resurfacing that Suguru was still alive, focused on regaining his strength. 

When this information began to surface, it had been Hell for Satoru with the superiors. He had only told you so much himself, and as new information began to come out, you surmised that maybe Satoru couldn’t kill Suguru either due to their history. After all, Satoru had known Suguru even longer than you had. 

Thankfully, the fact he was the strongest sorcerer within the jujutsu world was the reason he was still in the position of power he was in today and what prevented the superiors from being able to really take much action.

Still, after Satoru walked away from that meeting, you had suspected it had also changed his own tune - one that left you thinking that he wouldn’t hesitate the next time he and Suguru crossed paths.

You blinked, realizing Satoru had removed his blindfold and was watching you, his white hair falling around his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

You flushed, realizing you had been completely wrapped up in the tragic memories of each of yours’ past and the stresses of today, your eyes glassy from the threat of tears escaping. In all the years’ you’d known Satoru, his rare tenderness always surprised you.

“I’m fine,” you promised softly, looking to the floor rather than his piercing gaze. 

You both grew silent for a moment, knowing in fact, neither of you were fine. It wasn’t supposed to have ended up like this. 

You cleared your throat, meeting his gaze once more, deciding to change the subject. 

“Just text me when you need me…” Then: “For tomorrow, I mean. With Sukuna’s vessel… Yuji.”

As soon as the tenderness was there, you watched it slip away back into his familiar cocky attitude. 

“Y’know, maybe I should get someone else. Not really selling the whole “humanizing the kid” factor,” he joked, tying his blindfold back on. 

You yawned suddenly, stretching as you stood. “Yeah, yeah. Like I didn’t help you with Yuuta or something when you recruited him. Or helped you with Megumi and his sister… or all the others for that matter.” 

Satoru had stood by now, following you back to the front door, hands in his pockets as he finally surveyed your figure with a knowing smirk as you held only half of his attention. Instead, he was focused on the familiar dip of your hips, the curve of your ass, the plushness of your thighs. 

“Y’know, I’m basically their dad… does that make you mommy?” he joked, leaning against the wall as you turned and looked at him where your hand rested on the doorknob. 

Again, he was invading your space. 

You scoffed, before teasingly adding: “Only in your dreams.” 

“Are you forgetting the time we-”

You flushed at the memory he referenced, internally groaning at your foolishness. Too embarrassed to provide a witty remark, you quickly smack his chest, making his smirk only grow tenfold.

“Hey, save it for the bedroom.” 

You let out an exasperated groan. “I hate you.”

“That night you didn’t-” 

Before he could finish his witty retort further you swung your door open, pushing Satoru into the hallway. 

“Goodbye, ‘Toru,” you said, just as the door shut in his face. 

***

The next day you arrived at the Tokyo Jujutsu Technical College early in the day, your phone still absent from a text from Satoru.

You sat at the desk of your office, taking a small sip of tea as you scanned the emails on your laptop. Most were from Ijichi, some were from Shoko and Utahime, and another from Nanami who was away on a mission.

You began to scan the email from Nanami when your phone suddenly pinged, a familiar name filtering across the screen.

Satoru Gojo: Operation “Save Yuji” is a-go. Meet me outside of Yaga’s office. He-who-shall-not-be-named will be there too.

Y/N: Why are you like this? 😐

You stand, grabbing your jacket and throwing out your now-empty cup. You slid your coat on, eyes trained on your phone as you left your office. 

The pings of his typing cross the screen, then:

Satoru Gojo: What are you talking about? 😭 I’m amazing. 😉

A small laugh slipped out of you as you pocketed the device, slipping out the front doors of the school as you were surprised to find Satoru already waiting across campus for you near the wing for Yaga’s office and other superiors offices. He was normally always late. 

“You're on time,” you noted, genuine surprise crossing your features. 

He stretched, clearly too early in the day for him. “Only for you.” 

You scoffed, taking in the cheeky smirk on his lips. “Liar.”

He simply swung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side with a laugh. “Fine. Couldn’t sleep. Now let’s go piss off some superiors.”

*** 

The conversation with Principal Yaga, Utahime, Principal Yoshinobu Gakuganji, Mei Mei, and a handful of other higher ups and important family houses having been long and exhausting. 

You’d spent most of the day advocating on behalf of Yuji, then supporting Satoru, then spiraling down the Kyoto event, before circling back and defending your own status as a special-grade sorcerer with dangerous abilities, before finally the consensus was made to let Yuji live. For now. The promises being made that Satoru Gojo could easily handle Sukuna, and that you also stood as a barrier to the cursed spirit as well. You also had to promise to teach alongside Satoru with his students while Sukuna remained in Yuji - a promise you weren’t enthused to make, but did regardless.

Afterwards, rather than head back to your office, you had decided to go back home while Satoru had gone off to retrieve the new boy wonder and to welcome him into the fold of Jujutsu Technical College. It was already getting late out by the time you stood in front of your apartment door, keys in hand as you unlocked the door and slipped into the dark home. Throwing your jacket and keys on the counter, shoes already slipped off and tossed haphazardly in the foyer, you made your way towards your bedroom and adjoining bathroom. A hot shower and comfy sweats were calling your name.

A half hour had passed by the time you had stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around your figure. You heard a crack of thunder, a fresh storm waging outside. Great.

Stepping back into your bedroom, ready to change into your sweats, was when you suddenly stopped, a familiar figure standing near your now open bedroom window. 

Your blood ran cold, heart racing. 

“Suguru.”

“Hello sweetheart.”

Additional notes: Welp, Suguru is alive. In this rendition I didn’t want Suguru to be dead yet, exploring the complex relationships with friends and former lover and sort-of manipulating/creating a story arc regarding Yuji/Sukuna. 

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

When I first watched Mock the Week nearly 4 years ago now, I remember thinking that even for a show where we accept that everyone's going to do some stock lines on the same few broadly accessible topics because it's mainstream light entertainment TV, the references to rail replacement bus services are a little out of hand. There was a stretch about ten years ago when the references were constant, and I thought surely they cannot be that big a part of life.

But I just got caught on a commute home with an announcement that this train is being stopped for repairs so please get off and take a replacement bus, and I take back everything I've ever thought about it. During my commute that's normally about 75 minutes but stretched to 2 hours through uncomfortable traffic today, I thought, everyone who was on Mock the Week in 2012 was absolutely right. Maybe about everything.

It was a shitty way to end a vaguely depressing day, I woke up late and grabbed a shirt without properly looking at it, so accidentally wore a shirt I don't wear often, because it was a gift from my ex-girlfriend and it makes me sad (even though I wore it all the time before we broke up, because it's really nice, because she has excellent taste). So I was vaguely sad when I got to work where it was all decorated for Valentine's Day and that didn't help. I listened on my break to the usual radio show, where I'm currently at the very very beginning of 2017, so it's largely taken up by John Robins discussing how he's just had a breakup and drank way too much during the painful bits leading up to and immediately after said breakup, so he's decided to do dry January to try to get better, and Elis made a joke about how February will be a big drinking month then, and he said no actually he kind of likes the idea that maybe the dry January will lead into just being less of an alcoholic in general and he'll keep it up, but then spends the next couple of episodes telling us that he keeps having harrowing dreams about drinking and then remembering his dry January promise and feeling horribly guilty about it, so it's nice to know I'm not the only person that's happened to. Less nice to know that I've read ahead to the February podcast descriptions and apparently he does start drinking heavily immediately after and continues this for about six more years, which is putting a bit of a damper on my using John Robins as inspiration to try to have my dry January turn into "be less of alcoholic overall", it's not going great (I mean, it wasn't going great anyway, I am not genuinely basing all my decisions off John Robins, I'm just saying I recognize his hope for extending dry January and how quickly that can seem like too big a goal).

Anyway, I decided that listening to John Robins talk about his then-very recent breakup on this day was too depressing (even though he's fairly justified in still being upset about that as he's at the beginning of the new year and it happened at the very end of the old year, while I'm at the beginning of a year thinking of a breakup that happened just over a year ago), so I decided to instead just put the Grace Petrie song on repeat for the rest of my break. You know, the one where every other breakup song that I listened to in the immediate aftermath was about the other person doing something wrong, and I said "Well this doesn't reflect my experience of a breakup", and then I thought of the one called Your Good Heart Is Wasted on Me and said "Ah yes, that is the thing I will listen to at this point in life."

Anyway, it's all right. I mean, it actually sort of kind of is. I'm not sad about it all the time anymore or anything, just a weird congruence of things today that made me temporarily sad about something that it's fairly normal to be sad about. It's almost nice to just had a normal day of being vaguely sad about a 14-month-old breakup and then angry about a rail replacement bus service, rather than, you know, mental health crisis. I'm having a rare day where I think broad light entertainment stand-up topics really do speak to my life.

Actually, I do have something tonight that sounds like it could be right out of a light entertainment stand-up story. It's the fact that I was planning to spend tonight at a comedy night I've not been to before, partly because I figured I'd only been to three of the many nights they run across the city and I should try some others, but if I'm honestly, mainly because it's produced by a woman who asked my brother if I was single like five months ago, and tonight she's also performing on the bill. That has to be a good place to go while being vaguely sad, right? But, like a Mock the Week panelist from 2012, I've had my plans derailed as the replacement bus service put me in a terrible mood and got me home later than planned so I'm not sure I'll bother now. I'll eat a sandwich and see how I feel.

...This has been an entirely unsolicited update on the very mundane aspects of my life. I really am doing sort of broadly fine at the moment, at least compared to a couple of weeks ago. But I would really like to drink some whiskey.

[dusksrepose]

-X

I hope this finds you well. For nearly a year, the only image of you've I've been able to see, is that confused and scared woman you were, there at the end. "The End". I don't really know what else to call it. I didn't know then, in that moment, that that was the end. And that haunts me. I find myself subconsciously refusing sleep. I ignore the clock, my body; I just find reasons to stay up . Eventually I do have to go to bed. I don't know if it's God, My Dad, You, or a rhetorical assault on myself, but I find myself asking for the peace of one night's sleep. Short of the memories that haunt me. The dreams that trap me. The life I couldn't make and the hell I've found myself in. A respite, is all I need.

Every waking day is the same. Only in the fact I am still myself. Nothing has changed. While the world spins on around me, life continues. I know who I am. I'm not perfect, rather the opposite. But.. I know who I am. I love, wholly. Without prejudice. Without thought. I'm all in, and I never waiver. That's what love inspires me to do.

The first day I laid eyes on you, it sparked an ember in me. Over the next 3 years that ember turned into an inferno. A warm, gentle burning in my soul that warmed me to my core. You were my hearth on a frigid night. I had never known love like that. And without pity, or patronage, I freely admit I will never will again.

The rest of our committed life, wearily dragged on. I know who I am. And you could bring out even more in me, the best. But whether the fire grew too hot and we had to step away, or maybe that hearth was no longer warm enough to be near.. I just hope you know, I've always loved you. I always will.

I'm not about to say these next words to accuse, or assign blame. I carry the blame. I know you loved me. I saw it. I felt it. It was the one of the most defining moments of my life. I wasn't perfect. But you loved me for who I was. I'm thankful you saw those things in me, and I'm so grateful to have had you by my side, creating a life together.

I so bad want to say I wish I knew why the things happened the way they did. And I scream at the top of my lungs so my ears ring and can't help uncover the onslaught of thoughts that come up in that moment. But they do. Every time. Every day.

I honestly don't know what led you to the decions and actions that became 2019 and on. I have no doubts that I played some roll. That, I carry guilt. And shame.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to settle. I never meant to let you down. I always loved you, and I tried to show you, from the first day to the last.

I loved you so much that I ignored myself. I stopped taking care of myself. I couldn't.. tell you. I didn't want to be weak. I lost my way. I couldn't bring myself to be the guy not there for you. A failure to communicate the feelings I had. The doubt. The pressure in my chest. The fact I couldn't be the man you wanted. But I'm not... naive. I understand it's hard to hurt someone close to you. I know it's not malicious. You made choices. The only thing I truly regret was not fighting harder for you. I thought I was fighting, when I was really just trying to put all the blame on you. That's not right, or fair.

It's quickly coming to be a year since you left. God.. in my mind that sometimes feels like a week ago, or ten years ago.

The fact is, I'm finally getting around to packing up your clothes, that are still hanging up in the closet. I find myself occasionally picking up one of your blank canvas', or looking at the few hung up you painted. I've been staring at the Tom Clancy book you used to press a variety of the native flowers here. I haven't been able to open it. I'm constantly reminded of you here. I've left the 3 pieces of clothing in the hamper since the day you left. I thought, no- I hoped, that you would call me. We know that didn't happen.

Please don't ruin your relationship with your father because he answered my calls a few times. He's one hell of a dad. I will always be grateful for meeting him. He accepted me from day one, and it was good to have a man like that open to.

I know why. Why you won't talk to me anymore. I know why you divorced me. I don't blame you. I never will.

At this point, the only thing I can want out of this situation, is knowing you're taking care of yourself. You're doing what's best for you. And that you're taking good care of yourself.

I'm bias. I love you. But I've spent the last few years trying to understand you, to save us. Or more politically correct, To realize what's best for you will not involve me. That's on me.

I'm sorry A, I truly am.

I carry these things with me, every day. And I will for a very long time.

I wish you the best. And I wish for nothing less.

-o

[allandoflimbo]

Had a dream last night about my ex and I’m so very blah right now that I woke up around 45 min ago, about an hour and a half earlier than I usually wake up for work, and haven’t been able to fall back asleep. Nearly ten years later and that fucker still torments me even in my dreams. Stupid part is it wasn’t even a romantic dream. It was so innocent. Somehow that makes it worst. I’ve moved on, but clearly my conscious thinks otherwise. I just know this is going to affect my morning lol

Who knows, though, maybe this will inspire me to write some more angst shit.

[stapap]

Leap into the unknown

Ten years ago this month, we took the leap into the unknown. In September 2014, we left behind everything familiar—our home, family, friends, jobs, and routines—to embark on a journey that would first take us to Kuwait, and later to the U.S. At the time, we had a four-year-old daughter and a six-month-old son, and we had no idea how much this decision would shape our lives.

The transition to live in Kuwait was anything but easy. It tested our limits, especially mine, in ways I could never have imagined. But over time, things got smoother, largely thanks to the incredible friends we made along the way—Greeks and internationals alike—who became our second family. It was the strength of those relationships, more than anything else, that kept us there for nearly eight years. We’ll always be grateful to Kuwait for so much, but most importantly, for giving us the chance to welcome our third child into the world.

Eventually, I felt the pull to chase a personal dream, one that took us to the country that had long inspired my passion for education. With that, we turned another page, leaving Kuwait behind to build a new life in rural Iowa. The transition may have been a bit smoother this time, but it was still no small feat to rebuild from the ground up. Again.

Looking back on these ten years, we have no regrets. Leaving the comfort of our homeland wasn’t easy, and it never is when you take a leap into the unknown. But we did it. We swam through the challenges, got a few bruises along the way, but ultimately, we persevered. That’s the life of an expat—constantly embracing change, knowing that each new experience opens your heart, broadens your mind, and fills your life with stories to tell.

Saying goodbye to loved ones never gets easier. They’re the ones who keep you grounded, who remind you where you come from. But through it all, the adventures we’ve had together as a family have only brought us closer, even as we ventured further from home. Here’s to the journey so far and to whatever lies ahead.

[halflingkima]

March TBR

I am not a TBR person but I do have books out from the library – that i've had out for the majority of february – that i need to get around to. And most of them I've been wanting to read for a while.

Never Whistle at Night ed. Shane Hawk & Theodore C. Van Alst: An Indigenous dark fiction anthology. [read ✓]

Let us begin with the one I've already started. storygraph says i'm 62% through it and it is due back tomorrow. I was very much looking forward to this one, but I always find anthologies challenging – it's so hard to simply go into a new story straight after one has ended. I've also not found any so far that really sparked anything in me yet. But I've got David Heski Wambley Widen, Darci Little Badger, and Tommy Orange stories left, so I'm holding out hope.

Physical Library Items

Crossbones by Kimberly Vale: The pirate king has died, and the Trials begin: a cuthroat life or death competition for the Bone Crown and island throne. [read ✓]

This one I nearly zipbooked (if you're in california, ask me about your library's zipbook program!!) until I actually went to do so and surprise! the library finally had it. Spooky. Anyway. I've been excited for this one for ages but I only got my hands on it when I was feeling slumpy. Luckily, it seems no one else has heard of it, so I've got another six weeks with it. I believe it's a trilogy. It sounds a little like pirate-flavored hunger games.

A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows: Velasin of Ralia is set to marry a girl from Tithenia to unite the kingdoms, but is outed; instead, Tithenia offers the girl's brother to maintain the political union, and despite same sex relationships being unheard of in Ralia, they marry. [read ✓]

Another one I've been trying to read for a while; it was on my list of Big Boys for last year and my audiobook loan expired probably three times before I got around to it, so I got my hands on the physical. I think once I get familiar with the world & writing style, I can switch to the audiobook & it'll go fast, but fantasy is always challenging to wrap my head around in the beginning.

Libby Audiobooks

A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness: Diana, a witch and a scholar, accidentally uncovers an ancient alchemical manuscript, waking demons, witches, and all manner of creatures. [read ✓]

Another one from my Big Boy hopefuls last year; a friend was starting the series and I'd heard some whispers about the tv show (?) so I thought I'd check it out. One of the ones where the premise wasn't inspiring enough to commit me for the vast length of the first installment of a series. But maybe now is the time?

Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion: R is a zombie, whose daily life is a grey blur – until he meets a girl. [read ✓]

It's about an hour one-way to see my new lil niece, and I've been visiting roughly every other weekend, so I thumbed through some audiobooks and noticed this one. I didn't even know it was a book! I remembered liking the movie, but it was long enough ago that I don't remember the plot. The sample was engaging enough, so I thought why not. And then instead of listening to it on the drive, I spaced out and Thought About Life. So I've still got this one in my pocket.

Libby eBooks

The City & The City by China Mieville: A detective investigates a woman's murder, complicated by two cities existing in the same space. [read ✓]

My litfic-lover friend read this and found it really engaging. I tried out the audiobook, but given the heavy concept, I thought ebook would be best. I was also looking for an ebook, since I don't have one on the go and it's the format I use when i want to read in the dark. I had no clue it was a murder mystery, which has upped my interest.

Hoopla Audiobooks

In My Dreams I Hold a Knife by Ashley Winstead: A group of friends reunites for a ten year high school reunion, but someone wants to revisit – and solve? – the murder that split them apart back then. [read ✓]

I know nothing about this except it was rather a popular dark academia title last year? year prior? Basically, I've been in a reading slump and got the itch that a thriller (+audiobook) would fix me. It was also near the end of the month so this was a sorta panic-checkout (cuz you get a number of hoopla checkouts per month so i try to use them all if i haven't yet). I've not read an Ashley Winstead yet, but I had a great experience with If We Were Villains, so maybe this'll do the same.

Hoopla Ebooks

The Killing Moon by NK Jemisin: Peace is kept by dream priests, who harvest sleep magic to heal – and kill the corrupt; a dream priest discovers that someone is killing innocent dreamers [due ✗]

This ended up on my (eternal and endless) TBR last year when I was supposed to read a book set in the desert for the Magical Readathon. I didn't get to it, but I've been wanting to read Jemisin's lesser known novels for a while. Impulse checked this one out in an attempt to break my reading slump but have yet to start it.

Keeping Casey by Amy Aislin: When Ethan complains of his hockey coach's annoyances, his best friend Casey impulsively offers to be his fake boyfriend to put issues to rest. [read ✓]

After my "thrillers will fix me" moment, I got to a "I need a kissing book" phase, which coincidentally aligned with the end of the month – i may have pavlov'd myself. when it nears the end of the month & i've got hoopla loans left, i always go for gay romances, bc they're like. my hoopla candy. it's like the library version of KU. there's such good shit in there. (there is also Trash.) i've been on a hockey kick with these, not least bc ik hockey rpf writers know what it's ABOUT. This wasn't my first choice, but hoopla didn't have the first in the series and i'm very much a romance-series-in-order reader, for better or for worse. but this author feels promising and i rly wanna see if their writing in general is worth it, so i went for another series that hoopla did have the first volume of.

Fire Season by KD Casey: Professional ball player Charlie's life is shiny on the outside and falling apart below the surface; his pitcher Girodano is struggling with his sobriety and keeping his roster spot; the two find themselves as roommates for the season. [read ✓]

this is one i've checked out a couple of times, but when it's my end-of-the-month checkouts, i don't always get to them. this is the second in a baseball m/m romance series, and i quite liked the first. this one doesn't have any tropes i'm particularly interested in (e.g. bi leads, single parents, best friends) but i'm sure i'll enjoy it. basically a free checkout/gay romance if i run out of other things to read in three weeks.

[storiesforallfandoms]

hand delivered ~ corpse husband

word count: 1498

request?: no

description: in which he surprises her with a visit, and she surprises him with something else

pairing: corpse x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

i was inspired by corpse hand delivering sykkuno’s hoodie so i had to write a hella fluffy imagine on it

“I swear to God Rae!” you exclaimed as Rae giggled at her actions.

The two of you were streaming GTA V together at Rae had taken an amusement to stealing cars and driving them towards you, narrowly avoiding killing you every time. For obvious reasons, this wasn’t exactly keeping you under the radar of the cops. Quite the opposite, actually. You were spending most of your time running from both Rae and the cops.

“We’re never gonna make any money at this rate,” you told her. “We’re gonna spend it all on bail fees.”

“Don’t be so dramatic!” Rae argued. “Just jump in, we’ll go to the next job.”

“I can’t jump in when you’re trying to run me over!”

Rae giggled again as your chat joked about what she was doing to you. You rolled your eyes at everyone, but you couldn’t stop the smile that was on your face.

Before you could jump into the car that Rae had recently stolen, you heard a knock at your door. You paused a moment, confused. You weren’t expecting anyone, and you hadn’t ordered any take out or anything. You decided to ignore it, figuring maybe it was a wrong place or something and if no one answered they’d leave. But the knock came again, this time a bit louder and faster.

“Hey, don’t get us killed, I gotta go AFK for a second,” you told Rae. You heard just a piece of her response as you set your headphone aside and made your way to your front door.

You were looking down when you opened the door, prepared to tell whoever was there that they were at the wrong house, but instead your gaze landed on a pair of familiar hands holding a black and red hoodie, folded in a way that all you could see was the familiar fanart of Corpse Husband.

Against your better judgement, you let your eyes trail up to the face of your visitor, the real life version of the face on the hoodie, smiling down at you. Your eyes widened. It was the first time you had ever seen Corpse’s face, and it felt illegal to be standing here looking at him. You quickly covered your eyes, willing yourself to forget what you had saw.

“(Y/N),” Corpse laughed. “You don’t have to cover your eyes.”

“I saw your face!” you said. “I-I saw your actual face! I have to gouge my eyes out or something!”

You felt his cold hands taking hold of your own, lowering them from your eyes so you could look up at him again. Although you tried to stop yourself, you let your eyes wander over his face, taking in every detail. It occurred to you in that moment that this was the first time you were seeing the face of a man you had been crushing on for the past six months.

“Come in,” you said, realizing that he was still just standing outside. “Come, get comfortable. I’m-I’m streaming, I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t have to end your stream early because of me.”

That voice! It comes from an actual person! A real, living person!

“You really think I’ll be able to return to my stream for another few hours while you’re here?” you questioned. “It’s fine, it’s just GTA with Rae. She’ll probably play with Sykkuno instead when I get off.”

You felt like you were in a daze as you returned to your room. You quickly told Rae you were hopping off stream and you’d explain to her - and to your viewers - why later on. Your chat started asking what was wrong, but you ended the stream before responding.

When you returned to your living room, you saw the back of Corpse’s curly, brown haired head sitting on your couch. Your heart was racing with so many different emotions. You couldn’t believe he was actually here, that the voice you had befriended nearly half a year ago was actually sat in your house.

“Wait a second,” you said, realizing something. “Don’t you live like...five hours away? Corpse, did you drive five hours to come visit me?”

He looked up at you and shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“So?! Corpse, you have nerve issues! You can’t even sit straight for ten minutes!” You were suddenly starting to feel guilty, although obviously you hadn’t asked Corpse to come visit you.

“I’m fine!” he assured you. “Do I look like I’m in pain? I wanted to come give you your merch, and I figured this would be a nice surprise too!”

You went to sit next to him, your heart beating faster the closer you got to him. You were sure this was just a dream and you’d wake up in bed at any moment. To test your theory, you slowly inched your finger forward to softly poke Corpse’s cheek. He chuckled as you jumped back, shocked by the success of your touch.

“You’re real!” you blurted, causing more laughter.

“I am real. Are you surprised?”

“Just a little,” you admitted.

You both sat in silence, just looking at one another. You weren’t really sure what to say. It was like every possible topic you could bring up, or every joke you could make, was suddenly gone. It was obvious Corpse was feeling the same as he was usually the one who could keep a conversation going.

“Try on your hoodie,” he finally said, passing you the hoodie he was still holding to you. You took it excitedly and slipped it on over your head. The warm material engulfed you immediately. It was definitely a few sizes too big, but that was your favorite part - the bagginess of it.

“It’s perfect,” you told him. “Thank you so much for bringing it to me.”

“I told you I would. I really wanted you to have at least one article of my merch. You were so excited for it when I released it.”

You held the hoodie close to your nose, taking in the scent of Corpse that still lingered on it. There was so much happiness bubbling up inside of you that you felt like you were going to burst at any moment. You really did not think things could get any better.

“Can I hug you?” you asked.

Corpse smiled and opened his arms as a response. You immediately lunged into them, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. It was the last confirmation you needed that this was all real, that Corpse was really there.

The hug was prolonged and eventually Corpse was pulling you into his lap, squeezing you back as if afraid that you would disappear too. You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling his curly locks brush against your face. You never wanted to let go, and you could tell that Corpse felt the same way.

When you finally pulled away from the hug, you looked down into Corpse’s eyes. His hands were still resting on your hips, and yours were on his shoulders. Before you could stop yourself, you were leaning forward to kiss him. The minute your lips collided, it was like someone had set off fireworks inside your small apartment.

You pulled away almost immediately, realizing what you had done. “I-I’m sorry. That-that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry.”

There was a small smile on Corpse’s face as his hands came up to cup your face and pulled you to him, attaching his lips to yours again.

Just when I thought today couldn’t get any better.

Forgetting the world around you, you became lost in one another. Your arms were back around Corpse’s neck, holding on to him as if you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go. One of his hands was still on your cheek as the other slipped behind your head, your hair tangling around his fingers. There was so much passion in the kiss that it made your head spin, and when the two of you finally pulled away it felt like your head was spinning.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Corpse told you. “I may have been hoping something like this would happen when I got here.”

“What?” you questioned. “Why did you never tell me how you were feeling?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Corpse teased. “I was always flirting with you, I had hoped you’d get the message.”

“Corpse, you flirt with everyone!”

The two of you laughed. You couldn’t help but dip your head to kiss him once more. His lips were intoxicating, and you just wanted to kiss them all the time.

“How long were you planning on staying?” you asked.

“I don’t know. I was going to see how well this visit went and go from there.”

You giggled and cuddled into Corpse’s arms. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I think I’ll have a hard time letting you go now, though.”

“I think I’ll have a hard time leaving.”

[jadequeen88]

Accidental Valentine

◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈◈

This is my fic for The Citrus Dome Server Lover’s Day Literature Collab! Please go check out The Masterlist and support all of the amazing artists and writers that have contributed.🖤

A/N: WHEW guys... I don’t think I’ve put this much work into a fic EVER. I’ve been feeling pretty bad about my body and wanted to write a reader who struggled with it as well. Who better to boost your confidence than DILF Kiri feeding your praise kink?! I was heavily influenced by this amazing drabble by @rat-suki​ and got permission to use it as my inspiration for this fic.🖤 (for reference, reader is 30 and Kirishima is 42)

Thanks to @afictionalwhore and my dear friend Orchid for the beta read!🖤

RetiredProHero!Kirishima x YoungerF!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

TW: size difference, oral (both receiving), daddy kink, praise kink (lots and lots of praise), TBH the sex is pretty vanilla but very passionate, both are insecure about their bodies.

When you trudged into work this morning, you didn’t ever dream of meeting your childhood idol/crush, but here you are, staring up at a beautiful mountain of a man. Eijiro Kirishima, or retired pro hero Red Riot, had never come into your coffee shop before and you’d never imagined he would. He was huge. Nearly 7 ft tall and built like a brick house. His hair was back to his natural black with flecks of silver at his temples and hung long and wild around his shoulders. He had on a pair of glasses and wore a dark maroon sweater and jeans.

Even though he’s aged, he looks just as handsome as the young man you fell for as a girl.

The year he made his debut, you were only six, and like most other six-year-olds, you idolized the pro heroes. Most of your friends loved Deku or Dynamite, but you always loved Red Riot. His smile, warmth, and his fiercely protective nature made your tiny heart burst with admiration. Throughout his hero career, you kept up with all of his interviews, the battles he’d been in, the awards he’d won, and his hero rankings. You’d also gotten as much merch as possible over the years and still wore your worn-out, oversized Red Riot t-shirt to sleep in. When he retired a couple of years ago, you still scanned articles online trying to gather bits and pieces of information about the hero, but he wasn’t one to seek out the spotlight. You think that’s probably why he’d always been your favorite. He was a true hero. Serving the citizens and keeping them safe was his top priority. You didn’t want to admit it, but you kept up with him for one main reason… You wanted to know if he was seeing anyone.

You remember being eaten up with jealousy when you’d see his arm around another woman going to galas and award ceremonies. Your sixteen-year-old brain knew that of course, he’d date women. He was a grown man and a pro hero. But your heart would ache, wanting to be the one his soft eyes and pointy-toothed grin was fixed on.

Now those same eyes were fixed on you, his mouth moving and forming words, but you were too star-struck to hear what he was saying. When you snapped out of your daze and remembered you were supposed to be taking his order, you were mortified.

“I-I’m so sorry sir! Could you please repeat that?”

“Sure thing!” his bright smile was hypnotizing, “Just a venti-sized flat white. Have you had your coffee yet? Ya looked a little far away there for a second, kid.”

Your heart leaped at the little nickname. “Yeah, sorry about that! I guess I should get a couple of shots of espresso in me before I try to be productive.” You chuckle nervously as you scribble his order on the cup and turn to make his drink.

“Oh, uhh…” he peeks around the counter to get your attention, “Do you need my name? For the order?”

You freeze realizing you forgot basic, barista 101 etiquette…

“Actually,” you face him, a sheepish grin on your face, avoiding eye contact, “I know your name. You… umm, were my favorite hero,” you blush, and your eyes widen in embarrassment, “you know when I was a kid...”

You turn back to your work, kicking yourself for being so awkward. 

“Really? I think you’re the first person to recognize me since ya know,” he circled his head with his pointer finger, “I stopped dying my hair..”

You turned your head to peer up at him through your dark lashes, a light dusting of blush still on your cheeks, “Well, I like it. It looks good on you.”

The retired pro’s heart was bursting at how damned cute you were. Was this pretty, young girl… embarrassed? Over him?! He watched your tiny hands move as they worked on his drink order, wondering how small they’d feel grasped in his massive ones. Your soft hair caught in the sunlight making you look like a literal angel and he sighed. You reached up to grab a canister from the top shelf and a sliver of soft skin between your t-shirt and jeans peeked through. His gaze became far away and he damn near drooled at the sight. Just how long had it been since he’d touched another woman? Kirishima wasn’t one for casual flings. He always got too invested in whoever he was seeing. So when he and his long-time girlfriend broke things off a couple of years ago, he wasn’t rushing back into the dating scene.

However, things were a little more… complicated than just not finding the right girl to commit to. He was getting older and it was starting to show. Over the past few years, he’d lost his confidence. He’s bulkier around the middle no matter what workouts or diets he tries. Overuse of his quirk has caused stretchmarks and scars all over his skin. He was starting to get crow’s feet and he was overall just TOO big and TOO hairy. He felt like some sort of gorilla walking around in human clothing. Kirishima isn’t stupid or trying to fool himself. A young, gorgeous thing like you wasn’t looking for anything from an old, washed-up man like him. But, fuck… It was nearly impossible for him to move his gaze away from your ass… Oh, the things he’d do to you if he were a few years younger...

You turned to look over your shoulder and notice his gaze… and it’s apparent that he’s checking you out. He looks like a man starved, eyes glued to your ass.

“Well, well, well… maybe he wasn’t so annoyed with my fangirling after all.”

When he realized you’d gone still, his eyes met yours and he quickly averted his gaze. His cheeks turned as red as his hair used to be. You busied yourself with the milk steamer to hide your big, goofy grin. With a new burst of confidence, you decide to take a chance and when you go to write his name on his to-go cup, you write

 “Big Red <3” 

You pause, bite your lip, and think to yourself, “why the hell not?” as you scribble your number underneath the nickname. You turn to give him his drink and your nerves almost make you retreat and make a whole new drink. Then he meets your gaze and your world stops spinning. His vermillion eyes crinkle at the edges as his scared lips turn upwards into a syrupy sweet smile.

When Kirishima takes his drink from you, your fingers brush his for the briefest second and he can tell they’re trembling. “Oh no, I hope I haven’t made her nervous or uncomfortable.” He wanted to go crawl in a hole… That was until he saw what you’d written on his cup.

He stammers, looking from the cup to your face like he’s checking to see if you’re pulling a prank on him or not. Before he can say anything, you bite your lip and look up at him. 

“I’m off work this Sunday. Just… if you’d like to hang out or something.” your gaze shifts and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

After a moment or two, his face lights up in a huge grin. “Y-yeah, great!” he turns and walks a few steps, then turns around and motions at the cup, “So… I should just, ahh… text you?”

You giggle and it’s the sweetest sound he’s heard in a long time, “That would be nice, yeah.”

“Okay, great!... Talk later then!” He waves and leaves the coffee shop, feeling light as a feather and ten years younger.

*****

Sunday rolls around and you spend the morning making sure the place is cleaner than it’s been in weeks. Your place was small but cozy. For a fleeting moment, you’re a little insecure about how modest your apartment is. You don’t know exactly how wealthy pros are when they retire, but you know he’s more familiar with much nicer places than yours. You decide he probably knew just what to expect on a barista’s salary and tried to put it out of your mind. You checked on the cookies baking in the oven. When you found out through your text conversations that he loved chocolate chip cookies with the large chunks of dark chocolate baked in, you went out and bought everything to make them the same day. You kept watching over them like a hawk to avoid burning them. They still looked pretty gooey, so you decided it would be safe to get changed into something a little nicer. Just as you were about to turn the corner into your bedroom, your doorbell rang.

“Shit!” you looked at your phone and sure enough, you let time get away from you. He was here and you were still in your cropped leggings and t-shirt, sporting a messy bun and dirty apron. You groaned as you realized you couldn’t leave him on your doorstep while you changed. Defeated, you hurried to the door.

You opened the door, hoping that you at least didn’t have flour in your hair, and looked up into the much larger man’s eyes. The realization that THE Red Riot was standing this close to you made your stomach flutter and a goofy grin slide across your face. While you stood there star-struck, he broke the silence.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here!”

“Oh!” you jumped a little then promptly ran over to your oven, “Sorry! Please come on in!” you said over your shoulder as you were pulling your oven mitts on. 

Kirishima walked into your cozy apartment and instantly felt at ease. He couldn’t pinpoint just what it was, but something about your place felt more like home than any place he’d ever lived before. As he finished scanning your apartment, his eyes landed on you taking the cookies out of the oven. The comfortable, domestic feel of the place coupled with your ass on full display as you bent down to remove the cookies from the oven had his jeans tightening. You stood up and he averted his gaze before you turned around, not wanting to get caught checking your ass out for a second time.

“Fair warning, I’m not a talented baker by any means,” you removed your oven mitts after placing the cookie sheets on the cooling rack and flashed a sly grin his way, “But when Red Riot tells you what his favorite cookies are… Ya kinda gotta make them, right?”

Oh… If you only knew how pent up this man was… he debated bending you over right then and there and fucking you until you couldn’t walk. He really hit the jackpot with you… a hot, younger woman with the perfect ass who bakes him cookies and for some reason thinks he hung the moon? Kirishima would have given you a ring right then and there if he didn’t think it would scare you off.

“Well,” he radiated warmth as he looked between you and the cookies cooling on the rack, “If you’re not the sweetest thing! I, ahh… might have gotten you a little something too.” he then held up a 6 pack of your favorite cider. “Because when Y/N, L/N tells you what her favorite cider is… Ya kinda gotta get her some.” he winked and you felt your knees buckle and your cheeks burn. You felt like you were in a fairytale.

Then you remembered that the princesses in fairytales definitely did not wear flour-riddled black leggings, old t-shirts, and dirty aprons.

“OH! Umm, I need to go get cleaned up. I’ll only be a minu-” his massive hand wrapped around your wrist as you walked past him. It covered half of your forearm and a shudder ran through you. You wanted those giant hands to roam every inch of your body.

“Please don’t,” his eyes were half-lidded and his voice was low, “...I think you look beautiful like this.” his calloused thumb traced little circles on your skin not meeting your gaze. His deep voice was impossibly tender.

Now that you’d felt his skin on yours, you couldn’t contain your churning desires any longer. You wanted, needed, more. Rising up on your tiptoes, you curled your fist into Kirishima’s shirt collar and pulled his face toward yours.

You felt him tense up for a moment, then relax into the kiss. His massive hands found purchase on your hips, digging into the pliant flesh there. A needy whimper caught in his throat spurring you on to deepen the kiss. 

It was like your bodies were working around each other in perfect harmony… lips parting at a slow pace, like honey dripping from the edge of a spoon and tongues meeting in the middle to taste each other. You both savored the kiss for as long as you could, eyes lazily drifting open and shared breaths causing your hearts to dance out of your chests. 

You saw him falter, his gaze dropping, and you feared that you overstepped. 

“Kirishima I-“

“Ejiro,” he stopped you with a hand against your cheek, “Call me Eijiro…” his thumb caressed your bottom lip slowly, back and forth. His touch held so much devotion in it.

“Eijiro…” you sighed, looking up at him with pleading eyes, “I need you…”

The giant of a man before you swept you up into his arms and began walking down your hallway. You quickly wrapped your arms and legs around his hulking frame as if you were climbing a tree. 

“Second door on the right,” you were panting into his neck, leaving sloppy kisses all over it. 

You blew a cool stream of air along his damp skin and felt him shudder. A giggle bubbled up from your chest at being able to weaken a retired pro-hero known for being a human shield against the worst villains Japan has ever known. Your little stunt resulted in a grunt and a firm, warning squeeze to your thigh.

“So that’s what we’re doing today, huh?” he tosses you on the bed just hard enough to make you bounce up a little… then he’s on you, placing light kisses all along your neck as he prods your sides looking for a ticklish spot. You can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard and the fact that it was your idol drawing it from you made you dizzy with joy.

“Mercy! Mercy!” you were breathless and your abdomen ached from the forceful laughs Ejiro was pulling from you. He blew a raspberry on your neck as a final tease then relented, sitting up to meet your gaze.

You were absolutely smitten. You caressed the lines around his eyes and the scar that split his lips as your eyes roamed across his features. Every crease, every scar… you wanted to kiss them all. When his gaze faltered and he pulled away to sit beside you on the bed, the feeling you’d done something wrong resurfaced. You sat up beside him and placed your hand on his thigh.

“Eijiro…” your voice was barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry, I know I can come on a little strong sometimes, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just…” your eyes meet and his gaze is unreadable.

“No, no…” his ruby eyes drop to the floor, “It’s just that,” he chuckles nervously, “Well, it’s been a while. I’m not very good with casual flings and the like. So I don’t really date much…”

You rise to your feet and move to stand in front of him. Sitting in front of you on your bed, you’re only slightly below eye level with him. You place your tiny hands on his thick thighs and nudge them apart so you can slot your hips between them.

“When I told you that you were my favorite hero,” you reach for his wrist and remove the hair tie from it, “What that actually meant was that I’d watch the news every day just to make sure you were safe.” 

Slender fingers move through his wild mane of silver-flecked hair untangling any knots, “It meant that when that villain with the sludge quirk put you in the hospital for a couple of days, my mom let me stay home from school because I was so distraught,” you pulled all of his untangled hair to the nape of his neck and began wrapping the hair tie around it.

“It meant that my silly sixteen-year-old heart would ache when I saw you hand in hand with a girl in a magazine going out on a date,” you grinned at how silly you felt admitting that. Once his hair was secured in a low ponytail, your hands trailed along his broad shoulders.

“Now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, I’ll get to the point.” your intense gaze held years of longing for the hero in front of you, “Nothing about this is casual for me.”

Tears pricked the corners of Kirishima’s eyes. Had anyone ever showed him this much tender devotion? All the years he’d taken beating after beating, a glorified human shield, content with leaving most of the game to his friends. He was all rough edges and bulk. He was the one doing the protecting every time. Even in his romantic relationships, he was the one who would give, and give, and give… never asking or expecting to be taken care of. Being handled with such care was utterly foreign to him and it stirred up a deep need he never knew was there.

“Eji…” his glassy eyes met yours, “Can I take care of you?” you sank to your knees, hands sliding up his thighs.

“Please…”

Your hands made quick work of his button and zipper. He shifted his hips upwards to help you ease his jeans down his thick thighs and you pulled his jeans and boxers down in one slow pull. Nothing would have prepared you for just how huge he was. Your eyes widened for a fraction of a second, wondering how you’d get that thing to fit inside your cunt, much less your mouth… but it was something you were eager to find out.

Looking up at him from under your dark lashes, you made a show of lewdly licking your lips. You flattened your tongue and drug the wet muscle from his base right above his neatly trimmed patch of black hair, all the way to the swollen, red tip of his head. You felt the powerful muscles in his thighs clench as his head rolled back and a delicious moan escaped his open mouth. Making your hero come undone with one lick to his cock was intoxicating. 

“Fuck, baby…” Kirishima fisted the sheets praying he wouldn’t come just from your teasing. He’s not sure his pride could handle it. It became a very real threat when he dared to look down at you kissing and licking all up and down his length. Once your mouth had gotten him wet enough, your soft hands joined your warm mouth in worshiping his cock. You met his gaze as you kissed his tip and licked up the pre that was escaping in pearlescent beads. When you had teased him to your contentment, you swallowed him down as deep as your throat would allow, wrapped your hand around his base, and moaned.

Kirishima had many blowjobs in his life. In fact, he’d had some that he would say were pretty amazing… but in all his adult life, he’d never been so thoroughly and enthusiastically devoured like this. He threaded his fingers of one hand in your loose bun and fisted your bed sheets in his other to ground himself. After a minute or two, he felt his release creeping up much faster than he wanted.

He placed his hands on either side of your face causing you to stop bobbing your head and look up at him. He ran his thumb against your swollen bottom lip and you leaned into his tender touch. He bends forward and places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Lay down on the bed,” he whispers into your hair. Nerves starting to catch up to you, you shook slightly as you stood from your spot on the floor. Before you lay down, you remember to take your apron off then lay on your pillows, heart pounding awaiting further instruction.

Kirishima hovers over you reminding you yet again just how tiny you are compared to him. His warm hand covers your knee and slowly travels up your thigh, stopping right before he meets your throbbing core. He runs his hand back down your thigh to gently nudge your knees apart. Leaning on his forearms, he positions himself between your thighs and you gasp at the friction created where your bodies meet. While planting tender kisses on your neck, he whispers, “I need you to promise that you’ll tell me if I need to stop or if something doesn’t feel okay. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes…” you moan as he nibbles on your earlobe, teasing with his sharp teeth but not breaking your skin.

“Mmm,” he places sweet kisses all along your jaw, your breath catching in your throat, “Good girl.”

Receiving praise from him made your chest swell. You wanted nothing more than to please this man you were rapidly falling for. He sat up, legs folded under his body, and slowly slid his hands under the hem of your oversized t-shirt. You felt his hands still on your stomach and looked up from where you were laying on your pillows to see what had made him freeze.

He met your gaze with a devilish grin, “Baby girl…” his thumbs run small circles on your skin, “Did you wear this for me?” 

When you realize what he’s talking about, you hide your face and groan into your hands. You completely forgot that you were still in your old Red Riot t-shirt that you usually slept in. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing!” you mumbled behind your palms.

Kirishima chuckled and shushed you, “No, no, no… This is the sexiest thing you could have possibly worn.” He pulls the hem of your t-shirt up to expose your tummy, burying his face in the soft skin there. Gentle kisses were placed all along the waistline of your leggings, every squishy part and every little stretchmark that decorated your skin like tiny spiderwebs were lovingly caressed with his plush lips. Having the part of your body you were the most self-conscious of worshiped like this felt more vulnerable than sex.

As the kisses traveled higher, they became sloppier and more desperate. You lifted your arms to allow him to remove your shirt, exposing your plain white cotton bra. The feel of his stubble against your skin as he moaned into your cleavage sent shivers down your body. Instead of paying attention to your neglected nipples, his warm mouth carved a path up the column of your throat, head thrown back to give him as much access as possible.

Kirishima whispered against the tender skin under your earlobe, “This okay, baby?” two large fingers dip into the front of your leggings. You nod enthusiastically, unable to form a coherent answer, “Mmm… I need words, sweet thing. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Yes… it’s more than okay,” your chests are touching as he works his hand down the front of your pants.

When Kirishima’s thick fingers slid between your drenched folds, you arched your back and grasped his forearm. Slowly, he spread your slick around, dancing past your clit with each stroke. His teasing was turning you into a whimpering mess underneath him. 

He had all the time in the world and having you melt underneath his touch was the best way he could hope to spend it. After what felt like an eternity of him gently brushing against you, only slightly dipping into your needy hole and barely grazing your clit, you were openly panting and whining. A steady stream of praises flowed from his lips.

“You’re such a pretty girl… such a pretty little pussy.”

“Look at how wet you are for me. Like this, huh? My pretty girl likes my fingers teasing her?”

“I can’t wait to lick my fingers clean. You’re gonna taste so sweet.”

You were so worked up that tears began to form in your eyes, “Eji… I-“

“Hmm? What is it, baby girl? Need something?” His finger drags around your clit slowly, adding a fraction more pressure. 

“Please, I need more Eji,” your nails digging into his forearm were leaving little crescents in his thick skin.

“Sweet girl,” he meets your mouth with a slow, wet kiss, “you can have whatever you want.”

Without hesitation, he sits up and pulls your leggings down with your panties. A groan rattles his large chest when he sees a thread of your slick attached to the crotch. Once his face is buried in between your thighs, it’s a real possibility he might come just from eating you out. 

All the teasing had brought him to the edge as well and he was out of patience. With a few hurried kisses to each thigh, he dove into your dripping cleft. His tongue plunged into your core as he nudged his nose into your puffy clit. 

You cry out and convulse around his face. His arms wrap around your thighs, firmly but gently holding your legs open to give him full access to eat you as thoroughly as possible. When he moves to suck your clit, you know you won’t last much longer. As he nurses on your sensitive nub, you feel the familiar tightening in your lower body. He picks up on this and moans into your skin as he greedily sucks. 

“Ahh… Ahh, I’m- I’m gonna….”

“Oh that’s it,” he encourages you by praising you and massaging your thighs in his massive hands, “let me have it, baby girl. Come on, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Your toes curl and back arches as you’re thrown over the edge. “Oh FUCK!! Coming, coming…. ooooh god… ahh D-daddy!…”

“Daddy, is it? Goddamn”

Kirishima felt his dick twitch and his breath caught in his throat.

He wipes his face on the back of his hands and makes a show of licking his fingers clean as he leans over you, nose touching yours.

“What was that baby?” His voice was strained as he pressed his dick into the warm, damp skin of your thigh…

You bat your lashes and ghost your lips over his as you whisper, “Daddy… please let me ride you. I need you inside me.” The nail in Kirishima’s coffin was when you licked his bottom lip then quickly followed with a chaste kiss.

You waste no time wrapping your thighs around his waist and twisting. He follows your lead and lays flat on his back letting you straddle him. You grab the hem of his shirt and similarly tease him, leaving a trail of kisses along his broad stomach. Kirishima flinches a little, self-conscious of his skin and how soft his middle had gotten over the years. You meet his eyes as you pull his shirt over his broad shoulders and run your hands back down his body. 

“Mmm, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” hands and eyes roamed over the expanse of skin in front of you, “It’s even better than in my dreams.”

He wondered for the hundredth time how got this lucky. You really loved his body? Maybe… maybe he wasn’t in as bad of shape as he thought…

“No,” his hands rubbed your hips, kneading your soft skin, “You’re better than I’d ever hoped to find.” He sits upon the headboard and pulls you closer into his lap, “Now,” he pulls your hair free of the messy bun, “Can you be a good girl and come on my cock?”

You lift your hips and place his tip at your entrance. That alone caused a delicious stretch and you knew it would be a slow process getting him to fit comfortably.

“Yes, Daddy,” your hands wrapped around his neck and he growled as he pulled you into a rough kiss.

“Good fuckin girl.” 

He helped lower you onto his cock with lots of kisses, praises, and gentle squeezes. When you got closer to his base, the pain was too much for a moment. Kirishima used his thumb to rub circles into your clit, shushing you sweetly against your parted mouth. 

“Are you okay, baby?” He brushes your hair off your sweaty forehead with his free hand while his other is still working your clit over.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, “You fill me up so well. I love your massive cock filling me up.”

“You’re gonna make me crazy, you know that? Huh?” He pulls your lower lip into his mouth and sucks. You both sit for a while, exchanging kisses and whispers while you adjust to his girth.

“Are you ready to move now, sweet girl?” 

“Yes, Daddy…” he helps you move, dragging your hips up and down his shaft.

After a few deep thrusts, you both increase your pace, matching each other’s movements. It’s not long before your head is thrown back, tears escaping the corners of your eyes. Loud moans and curses escape your mouth as one nipple is pulled into Kirishima’s mouth.

“Oh, Daddy! Fuck, fuck! Right there, right there… I… I’m… AHH!” Before you can even say anything, you’ve come undone, spasming around his cock. 

“Oh, good girl, good fuckin girl,” you go limp and bury your face into his neck while he slams your hips onto his, chasing his release. The feeling of him using your body to get off makes you dizzy with joy. You lean into his ear whispering, “Please come inside me. Wanna feel you come inside me, Daddy… please, need your come inside me, Daddy.” 

Your slurred pleas against his ear send him over the edge into a mind-numbing orgasm. As he comes down from his high and looks into your face full of adoration, he knows he’s caught… hook, line, and sinker. 

*****

The rest of the evening is spent eating cookies on your couch, drinking cider, and watching your favorite crime drama. The sweet kisses and touches sprinkled throughout the night feel so natural… Like you’ve been together for years instead of hours. 

You end up with Kirishima’s head in your lap, running your fingers through his hair as he closes his eyes and relaxes into your touch. The clock on your wall reads 12:30 am and it dawns on you what day it officially is.

“Eji?”

“Hmm?” He opens one eye and reaches up to scratch your scalp. 

“Will you be my valentine?” You bite your bottom lip to stifle a silly grin.

He sits up and pulls you into a bear hug. 

“What kinda silly question is that? Of course. I don’t ever want another valentine besides you.”

Your heart explodes and you kiss him, grabbing his cheeks in both hands. 

“Sixteen-year-old me is absolutely losing her shit right now,” you giggle, rubbing his nose with yours.

“Well,” he grabs your ass and raises an eyebrow, “Forty-two-year-old me is losing his shit right now over finding such a sweet girl with such a sweet ass on her,” he nips at your neck and you squeal.

“Ooh, you ready for another round, old man?”

He growls and throws you over his shoulder. A swift spank to your ass causes you to burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Oh, so I’m dealing with a brat now? You want me to show you what this old man does to little brats?” He squeezes your thighs as he makes his way to the bedroom. 

“But I’m your good girl! Remember?!”

“Yeah, yeah… We’ll see about that.”

[alchemistys]

reflecting on yuzu’s retirement

I know this is a little late but it took me time to get my shit together, I'm emotional, so sue me. this is gonna get pretty sappy and really cheesy at some points, so idk, bear with me I guess. (under the cut)

I discovered Hanyu Yuzuru during February 2022. I saw ten to chi to live, and that was the only engagement I had with his competitive career in real time. later that night I watched his seimei olympic performance and cried happy tears for the first time in years. at that point, I was obsessed. I went on a yuzu YouTube binge. I watched his performances in chronological order. I read his entire wikipedia page. when I emerged from my figure skating-induced fugue state I felt...better. a little more balanced. just happier overall. for that, I can’t thank yuzu enough.

you see, yuzu changed my life, and he might have even saved it. this man doesn’t even know I exist, but for a short while he meant everything to me. a few months ago I was in a really bad place. I was...empty inside, and I felt like nothing in the world, especially not me, had any purpose or meaning anymore. I was contemplating suicide. and then I saw this dude in a blue outfit skate, and I was transfixed. that was the first bit of interest I'd shown in something for months. I grabbed onto that and didn’t let go. when I cried for seimei, that was the first time I'd cried for something that wasn't sadness in years. it was amazing. after so long of feeling nothing, I felt awed, amazed, humbled, and enlightened. his skating was the most beautiful thing I'd seen. 

as I learned more and more about yuzu, i got more and more out of my depressive funk. I saw his passion for skating, how he was, like, giving his life for it, and I thought ‘wouldn’t it be nice to love something that much?’ I thought that, well, shit, there must be true beauty in this world if he can get on the ice and do that. I thought about how he worked so hard for his dream. I thought about him working, even through pain, even through emotional turmoil. I thought about him loving it all the time, but maybe not liking it, or enjoying it, maybe sometimes even hating it. I thought about him saying he wanted to jump the quad axel, like if he said it enough it would come true. I thought about yuzu falling on the triple axel he had done a hundred, a thousand times with perfection, then getting up and trying again. I thought about how his skating moved people. I thought about him skating to haru yo koi with grace and poignance, to seimei with the command of a predator, to Romeo and Juliet with raw teenage passion, to hope and legacy with the elegance and inscrutability of an old god. I thought about the feeling he displayed, the feeling he provoked, and I thought I want to feel like that more often. that feeling could be found again. that there is beauty and art and I shouldn’t go just yet, because what if I had followed through? what if I had missed seeing a random guy in a blue shirt? I knew what I had nearly missed out on. and now I knew that I didn’t want to die, but more than that I wanted to /live/, because I had seen what living could be, and yuzu reminded me. he reminded me what kind of happiness and feeling and beauty could be found in the world. and for that, I thank him.

yuzu will always have a special place in my heart. he put some meaning back into my life. he helped me through a hard time, and for that I thank him. the beauty, grace, and power to move that he brings to his skating is unparalleled. he is truly a one of a kind talent, a phenom that transcends art and sport, both connecting and eclipsing them. he is amazing, and an inspiration. he is hope. so thank you, yuzu, for just being you. 

I'm going to miss yuzu. I am sad I didn’t get into figure skating earlier, because yuzu aside it’s cool as fuck and I'll still follow competitive skating even now that he’s gone. but I’m glad he made the best choice for himself, to be healthy and happy. I'd like to see him land that quad axel clean one day. I hope he does whatever the fuck he wants now. he’s fantastic, I think he’s super funky, and I want to see whatever antics he he gets up to now that he’s free from jsf and the absolute clownery of the bag of dicks that is isu. I’m a little sad about it, but I'm more excited for his new career as a professional athlete. so one last time, thank you, yuzu, for just being you. that’s enough, is and will always be. take a well-deserved rest, and be happy. 

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, don’t kill me because of the ending, sebastian and reader are the definition of right person wrong time, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, also this part has some funny moments but overall it’s a big SOB

part: 6/6 (there will also be an epilogue)

(other parts)   (masterlist)

This is how it ends: broken hearts from crashed dreams.

Sebastian holds you until his muscles ache and your lungs burn from the feeling of too little oxygen. It is cold and dark, almost midnight, too dark, a starless night.

No more stars for you and I.

“Here,” Voice hoarse, eyes heavy-lid and itching from almost crying. He gives you one of the rings he wore in the movie. “I want you to keep this.”

Keep it close to your heart. Forget me not.

He takes a breath and a step back, tries to regain all the strength he still has, steady feet and shoulders fixed. He digs his nails into his palms, red marks in his skin, air catching in his throat, he’s on the verge of falling but he stays standing.

He remembers tears glistening down his cheeks, maybe they were yours not his, and the cold autumn wind hitting his face and he remembers feeling like he’s dying.

And then he closes the door of Argyris’ car and looks at you.

And his heart stretches and stretches and stretches and then somehow splits in half.

/

It goes like this:

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment from now on. In the living room. Sitting on the couch. And it has steel blue eyes and a familiar heart. And it whispers a love story, half-finished, and you cannot make it stop.

The ghost touches your collarbone and he’s gone but there’s a ring in a golden chain around your neck and a white shirt forgotten in your laundry. And it smells like him. The clinging scent of his aftershave sticking to your pores. Eucalyptus. And no matter how hard you try to wash it off, it still lingers.

How could I ever forget someone like you?

The ghost lives here, but the place is empty, so empty. And it’s hard not to cry.

/

Sebastian calls and texts a lot.

He tells you he’s tired but excited because he started filming a new movie. It’s very indie and experimental, I can’t wait for you to see it. He tells you he’s missing his days in Greece like hell and that one night he dreamt of you. Didn’t want to wake up. What he doesn’t tell you is that he’s coming back in a month, Argyris needs him for some extra scenes. It’s nearly killing him but he doesn’t tell you. He wants to surprise you, see the pure light in your eyes when they’ll meet his.

/

You try sexting. It doesn’t go very well.

23:50, sebastian: if you were here in my bed right now what would you be doing

06:51, you: probably falling asleep hahaha

06:51, you: oh fuck was i supposed to sext back

06:51, you: sorry seb i just woke up and i have a class in an hour, love you <3

23:52, sebastian: fuck timezones

/

(three weeks and 10 seconds later)

“I can’t believe she doesn’t know you’re here,” Argyris shakes his head as he’s driving home from the airport, “If I were her, I’d kill you.”

“Good thing I didn’t fall in love with you.”

Sebastian laughs and looks out of the car window. The stars. There are so many stars tonight. He holds his breath; he’s finally feeling whole again. His heart isn’t split in two anymore.

/

You don’t know how long you stand there at your door, staring at him, but it feels like a century before he grins, almost laughs, takes your hands in his and you start considering that perhaps this isn’t a hallucination. Perhaps it’s real.

“Surprise?”

Something inside of you bursts, your organs twitch. You can’t think, you can’t speak, but you can move. You don’t lose any more time, you take a step forward, attach your bodies, your face buried in his neck, your fingers clutching into the rough fabric of his jacket. You breathe him in like an antidote.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

You kiss him and it’s like poetry, like art, like honey and you can’t separate yourself from him, not even hours later.

/

(looking back, these were the golden days)

You pretending to be mad at him for not telling you he was coming back and him pressing his lips on your skin, drawing patterns on your naked shoulder. A feathery touch.

Sebastian always touches you like you’re something made of gold and porcelain, something cherished that constantly needs to be treasured. And nobody has done that before. And you love him for it.

You try to decorate your Christmas tree together. He messes with the lights for a while, eventually gives up and goes on to eat too many reindeer shaped cookies.

He massages your muscles when you write a boring essay for college.

You go with him when he has to shoot a “driving a motorcycle naked in the centre of Athens” scene and you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop smiling like an idiot.

He gives you a dress he bought for you in New York.  

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

He calls you sweetheart in the mornings, still half asleep and later joins you in the shower.

“Why are you so hot?”

“Climate change”

“Oh, shut up”

It’s tender and it’s soft and it’s human.

And that’s the saddest part.

/

Soon you realize that him leaving two months ago was merely a rehearsal and you still haven’t said your actual goodbyes. Your chest starts to feel as if it’s full of crushed glass.

And it’s ridiculous because you fell in love with Sebastian sometime between the first ten days you spent together.

Who falls in love in ten days?  

Ridiculous or not, you know you are in love with him just as you know that sooner or later, whatever he is feeling will fade and wither. Maybe it’ll be in a week, maybe it’ll be in a month, maybe in a year if you’re lucky. But there will definitely come a day when he will step out of a gala or a party or a fancy gym in New York with a beautiful model in his arms and two paparazzi’s following him around.

What will you be then?

A past small cameo in his life. A side character. Will he remember your name?

He is your whole world.

(a bottle of cheap prosecco helps you decide that)

He is your whole world.

And yet, there will come a day when he won’t even remember your name.

/

It was difficult. No, it was the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. Telling him how you think it’d be better if you didn’t talk after he leaves.

“I don’t agree with this.”

“Seb, it’s for the best.”

Your body doesn’t feel strong enough to carry your heart. And you’re certain it will only get worse once he’s away. The world around you will melt. You’ll obsess over a phone screen and his messages. You’ll start chasing ghosts again. You can’t handle that.

“Why?” He says urgently and his fingers dance over the flesh of your palms.

“Because this”, you motion your hand between the two of you, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in my life and I don’t want it to become ugly.”

He nods, he understands.

“I love you, you know,” he says smiling and tugs you closer to him, “And I may not be here to show you but I think I’ll love you for a long time.”

Your hand grips his waist right to the bones and something flares in your eyes, something wild that wrenches you around.

“I know, I’ll love you the same.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Only if I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.”

He laughs and you look at him, fully aware he’ll be ripped out of your life like a page from a cheap leather notebook. And when you kiss for the last time, there’s a hole forming in your soul.

And just because endings don’t leave visible scars to one’s body and soul, that doesn’t mean the scars don’t exist. You know they do, because you feel the aching pain of every single one of them.

/

(every night when you close your eyes you see him)

(every night you look at the stars and think of him)

/

A month passes and Argyris asks you if you miss him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“He said the exact same thing.”

You tell him not to mention Sebastian again.

Two months pass and you need to stop stalking his instagram profile.

Three months pass and you almost text him.

Four months pass and you go to watch Endgame with some friends and you cry. You cry when Black Widow sacrifices herself and when Iron Man smiles at his wife while dying, and when Bucky Barnes appears on screen.

The others don’t understand and you don’t blame them.

Five months pass and Argyris’ girlfriend wants you to meet someone. A charming boy your age with blonde hair and a lip piercing.

And he's cute but you compare him to Sebastian even before he has the chance to say his name. His eyes are not the right shade of blue and he doesn’t look at you like you’re made of the world’s finest jewel.

And he doesn’t know any constellation names.

And then more than a year passes in a second and you learn to not look for him. Not anymore.

/

It’s early March 2020 and despite the rising fear of the upcoming pandemic, you’re doing well. Scars are starting to fade. And after spending two weeks in Prague, your best friend being there with an exchange program, Sebastian Stan is the farthest thing from your mind.

Until he literally comes crashing into you. At the airport.

No, it can’t be him.

You have your suitcase on one hand and a bottle of antiseptic gel on the other. He has two bodyguards on his sides and a black hoodie on.  And while half of his face is hidden behind a mask, you can see his eyes perfectly. A frozen lake in December. You would know those eyes in your deathbed, at the end of the world.

Your vision gets blurry and suddenly you feel cold.

He won’t recognize me, he can’t.

But then he looks at you and every memory you had buried inside of you resurfaces.

He motions to his guards to wait for him and he starts walking towards you. You breathe slowly, one breath at a time. He takes his mask off and you hesitate to take yours, not sure if you truly want him to see you.

You exchange the typical and very awkward hi, how are you, i’m glad you’re doing okay and then he smiles and it feels comfortable. Familiar.

It’s the whiff of another time that you always kept around. A reminder that you were once loved by a god.

“What are you doing here?”

“Filming Falcon and the Winter Soldier”

If you hadn’t unfollowed him on instagram, you’d known.

“Ah yes I heard about that, congrats.”

He nods a thank you.

“And you? In Prague?”

“I was at a friend.”

He looks conflicted, hurt, turns his gaze to his shoes on the grey cement. You want to say something, but you feel like throwing up.

And then he laughs.

“I was right.”

You’re confused, he notices.

“Back in Greece,” he swallows, “I told you this would happen.”

“It would have been an airport, different gates for each of us, but same waiting hall. Or a Greek island, where we’d both be for the summer.”

“I would have found you.”

You remember and you cannot help but smile. He was right. He found you.

“I didn’t believe you then.”

I barely believe you now.

He touches your hair. And his touch is like a knife. And you want to cry. Magnolias under your tongue. A love long lost is whispering in your ears until it hurts to listen. He’s like a magnetic field and you feel yourself drowning in him.

“I bet they’ll ask me a hundred questions about you later.” He says and looks at the two men waiting for him.

“And what will you tell them?”

“That you’re most probably the love of my life.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“There’s no way we’d meet here if you’re not.”

“Sebastian,” His name sounds like a prayer coming out of your lips and you're ready to tell him you love him and you can swear he looks like he’s ready to faint, “I-”

The guards yell his name. And it's the same feeling people have just before a car crash.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

One last look.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You repeat it over and over again. But you fail.

“No, don't cry” He smiles, one last smile, “Just look at the stars and wait for us to meet again, because we will.”

He caresses the back of your palm for a second and you think your ribcage is shattering but it’s only your heart drumming frantically. Pushing your fragile bones to break. 

You want to stop him, wrap your arms around his torso, never let him go. Not again. But you don’t.

You just watch him leave, one more time, your knees weak, your head heavy and dizzy. For the split of a moment he turns and glances at you but then he’s nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps it was all in your imagination. Perhaps it was nothing but a wonder.

You get into your plane and you silently sob.

/

And then it’s summer.

And you overhear he was seen with a girl, the day before your vacation starts and you find a picture of them together a week later, a pretty blonde girl clinging to his side with a colorful bikini somewhere in Spain. And he’s smiling. And you feel so ashamed. And so stupid.

They say time heals all wounds but they must be wrong because you can’t forget how he used to smile at you or how he used to call you the love of his life.

Was he joking when he said you'll meet again? You bet if you asked him now, he wouldn't even remember saying it.

I’ll love you for a long time.

So long for nothing.

/

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :) also i’m really sorry if you asked me to tag you and i didn’t  but i lost a lot of asks and the urls of the people that sent them :( 

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash @drinkfantasy @christinamcdonnell ​@partypoison00 ​ @90ssantiago

[burnedbyshoto]

a nurses job

— Bakugou breaks his arms and as a nurse, you have the responsibility to make sure that he is comfortable, even when he needs to use the bathroom.

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pairing: pro hero!bakugou katsuki x nurse fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, prohero!bakugou, golden showers/water sports/piss kink, degradation (giving), dirty talk, lusting/pining, handjobs

word count: 5,050

a/n: so, I was going to make this a piss in ur mouth and pussy type of fic, but I kept seeing all those beautiful bakugou piss arts where he’s with a nurse.... so this is inspired and brought upon by all the water sports bakugou x nurse art ive seen for three months.

kinktober day 21 main kink: piss | kinktober masterlist

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You’re not quite sure what persuaded you into wanting to become a nurse as a child.

Maybe it was because your quirk (when you hum at an A flat, everyone within 5 meters experiences accelerated healing properties) was useless for Pro Hero work, so you realized early on that being a Pro Hero was a distant dream. Maybe it was because medical staff were still hailed as everyday heroes despite being in a world with people who could perform extraordinary achievements. It started as a small obsession to prove to the soon to be jobless, dream broken, and graduated failures of the hero course high schools that you had done more than them. That you, unlike them, were recognized as a hero. 

You were decent with math and science, so you strove for medical school. But with the horrendous costs of schooling, your then living situation, and your dislike of unneeded and unwanted competitive stress, you deterred toward the nursing pathway. It was a pathway where you really found yourself, or at least, you thought so.

Empathy, emotion, and the need to see people come out of a hospital better than when they entered was something that grew on you quickly and obviously. Your earliest clinical rounds often left you with swollen, tired feet from walking around for restless hours, but with a smile on your face that was irreplicable. With every semester in school, you got better, connected better with your patients. Your feet still ache after long shifts, and sometimes your smile is hollow and broken, and if you look closely, you could see dried tears and puffy eyelids, but you wouldn’t ever regret this decision to become a nurse.

At twenty-five, newly graduated from nursing school, already working full time at the best hospital in Japan, while studying for your degree to eventually become a nurse practitioner. You loved your job quite a lot. They had placed you immediately within their Post-OP, ICU, and recovery wings, and even though you were somewhat new, you were celebrating a year of working in a few weeks, you already had some… more than familiar faces.

“Well, Ground Zero-san, I guess you owe me a drink because unless my eyes are deceiving me, it looks like both your arms are broken, no?” you hum, your grin bright and wide, not even attempting to hide it’s glee as your high profile patient sat seething on the hospital bed. “It’s been, what? Two weeks since you last showed up here? You getting old?”

“Oh, would you shut the fuck up, you shitty ass nurse?!” Bakugou snarled, his arms obviously trying to tense and move against the large casts that envelope him. “The fuck would you expect to happen when facing off with a quirk that’s specifically meant to break people’s arms?!”

“Deku didn’t break any arms,” you point out with a soft laugh, eyes still scanning and reading through his charts to check his medical needs and medicine prescribed by the attending and when he should be taking them. “A bit weird that only half of the Wonder Duo was indescribably injured, no?”

A loud snarl ripped from Bakugou’s throat, and you stifled your own laughter as you raised your eyesight to look him straight in his raging eyes.

“I took that damn nerds hits because he’s broken his arms so many fucking times he’ll be forced to amputate them if he breaks them again!” Bakugou’s eyes were near white in his anger, but the intensity of his emotions was heavily diminished by the fact that his arms were strapped to his chest in thick, round bandages.

“You can admit you care for him,” you chide, ignoring his ‘like hell I do!’ Placing the chart down and walking to his IV drip, you checked to see if anything he was hooked to required any changes or whatnot. “Besides, this is not the first time I’ve seen you in here! It was quite surprising to see Ground Zero on bedrest on my first ever shift here.”

That much was true.

You had been working at Tokyo Hospital for nearly nine months now. Within the nine months, you saw a lot of heroes; that much was true. Your quirk was versatile as a nurse, and you were bright, young, very good at your job, and definitely a beautiful individual. So, when you were assigned to be working most of your days healing heroes because they were the backbone of the country, it didn’t quite catch you by surprise. It was a common assignment you had as a nursing student too.

You just didn’t expect the head nurse of the floor to assign one of your five rooms to be holding none other than Ground Zero, a.k.a Bakugou Katsuki.

Of course, you weren’t an idiot. You had known about the explosion hero since high school! You had sat in front of your TV in high school, attempting to do your homework while watching the rather intensive first-year battles. He had done well in every stage, placing within the top three each time and even winning the game! You had cringed at the awards ceremony but had been horrified at the news of his kidnapping. 

But after that, with the rising tensions of the villain world upon the dying world left behind by All Might, you had forgotten him for a moment. As time went on, and finally, a new support system was brought forth, Ground Zero, much like his quirk entailed, exploded onto the scene alongside Deku and a few other young heroes.

So, sure, you expected to maybe one day run into the ash-blond hero, but you didn’t expect it to happen on day one.

All things considered, the two of you got along rather well.

His... strong personality did make you wary of him at first, taking his near verbal barrage until you, very flusteredly he will argue, told him to ‘shut up, you butthole!’

You were horrified at your lack of professionalism, and Bakugou had gone silent as he stared at you in silence.

“Did you just call me a butthole?” he echoed, his face full of emotions you could not read. You felt on the verge of panicking, unsure if he was going to potentially tell on you! The sounds of a barking laughter rang in your ear, and you looked up to see his grinning, much more relaxed form. “Are you some shitty preschooler?!”

Thus began a working relationship of sorts between you and Bakugou.

He was an asshole, and you tried your best to not let him talk you off a cliff. It didn’t take very long for you to find out what made him tick surprisingly enough, and you used that to your advantage. The best way to tease him right now was by reminding him that he had been hospitalized more times than Deku, who apparently had held the record for the number of hospitalizations between him and his friends.

“Are you going to mention that shit first meeting every time we talk?!” Bakugou barked, his eyes narrowed as he turned his head away from you.

“After you admit you care deeply for all your friends!” you chirp back, stepping away from his IV drip, satisfied by what you saw. “Well, you look good for now. I’ll be checking up on you every ten to fifteen minutes since you can’t press the button until we can get those casts off! Did ya need anything before I go check on my other patients?”

“Open the damn window; it’s stuffy in here,” Bakugou grumbled, his face finally facing you again. 

“Of course,” you smile cheekily, your eyes squinting with your broad grin. “It’s a nurse's job to make their patients comfortable and happy!”

Standing at the side of the bed, you stretched over Bakugou to grab the edge of the window and slide it open. Through your stance, you were entirely aware of how this looked, how this felt. Your breasts centimeters from Bakugou’s face, your eyes never once breaking from the window to feign your innocence as you finally pull away. Even with scrubs on, you could feel his hot, sharp breathes expelling through your clothes, his ears tinging just the smallest bit red as you smile.

“Anything else?” you asked sweetly, failing to hide your impish grin.

“Put the water cup close by,” he grunted, eyes staring at the liter of water at his side table. Well, he wouldn’t be able to use his arms until just before he was set to be discharged, so moving the water closer was a good idea.

Nodding, you grabbed a nearby cup, filling it three-quarters of a way full before placing it onto the feeding table and dragging it near his mouth, a bendy straw already secured into the cup. You watched as he shot forward, putting the plastic straw into his mouth and beginning to drink the cold water. His eyes were back on yours, deceivingly cold had you already not been an expert on his personality.

With one final soft chuckle, you waved at Bakugou as you headed out, a cheerful smile on your face as he continued to drink his water.

“See ya in a few!”

Well, you guess there was one more important detail about your relationship with Bakugou Katsuki. For the past five months, you have been doing everything in your power to seduce him — to get him to admit that he wanted you too.

You knew the ethics and the morals behind falling for a patient of yours, much less a high profile patient at that. You knew that if your little crush was ever found out, you would most definitely be moved from his room. You were also damningly aware that you should have brought up your initial feelings for the explosion hero to your admin the moment it arose. But the thought and the way you were always so happy to be around him eventually overruled your logic. Five months ago, you had stayed at the hospital until nearly three am, talking with a severely concussed Bakugou. You were stationed for an overnight round with the task of making sure that he didn’t fall asleep. And for the first time in your time knowing Bakugou, the two of you somehow clicked into place, and when he was discharged the next morning — the nurse who had a quirk to rid of concussions finally arriving — he had thanked you.

It was so benign, so incredibly simple, yet the way the golden sunshine illuminated his blond hair and made his red eyes shine like a ruby, you found your own tired body feeling heated and warm. He wasn’t such a lousy conversationalist, and you had already enjoyed all your interactions together, yet it still caught you off guard to feel your heart pounding in your throat as he pulled on his jacket and left.

So after coming to terms with your sudden infatuation for the stubborn hero, you began to express your desires and feelings for him without having to say it. For all that he was worth and all that he expressed himself to be extremely observant, Bakugou Katsuki still had no idea that you liked him.

Unfortunately, your scrub nurse uniform wasn’t precisely seductive. The light blue of the breathable, sterile uniform was about as unsexy as uniforms got. But that never stopped you from leaning in too close when doing what Bakugou demanded of you. It didn’t prevent you from accidentally dropping papers in front of him and bending over to show off the curves of your ass.

There had never been a time such as this one where you hated that the old, ‘sexy’ nurse outfits were no longer up to standard and banned from use. How you would have loved to be wearing gartered held stockings just to accidentally flash to Bakugou. But, you suppose that it’s alright. Even though your feelings and ambitions to get the Pro Hero to like you as much as you did him, you never tried to push it.

For now, you were just an asshole tease.

You carried out the rest of your rounds in peace, your pager sitting comfortably in your pocket, unused, unneeded for now. The rest of your four patients were doing well for now.

One was asleep, most likely due to the medicine coursing through his veins, but his vitals remained unchanged.

Another was in the process of getting ready to be discharged, her family there to help her in leaving.

The third was eating his dinner, eyes concentrated on a poker game on the TV as he asked you to help fluff his pillow.

The last was busy with a physical therapist, her forehead slick with sweat as she attempted to sit up from her chair.

All in all, they were all doing fine, and you were back to the beginning, back to Bakugou’s room.

You entered his closed room door to be greeted by an empty bed. Your eyes widened immediately, the initial wave of pure horror flashing through you that by some freak accident, some murderous villain had kidnapped the injured hero straight from the hospital bed. 

“Ground Zero-san?!” you called out, a pitched voice of concern frilling your voice as you stumbled through the room. Your eyes were frantically searching the room, fingers feeling the lingering warmth of his body on the bed and your eyes noticing the empty water cup on his table still. The sheets of his bed haphazardly thrown off as if in a struggle.

Your fingers wound around the panic button, your ears straining to hear any sort of sign of Bakugou still being here.

A gritted teeth snarl was muffled from the attached bathroom, and you froze, unable to move as you felt the untouched button in your hands turn as light as a feather. You approached the bathroom door with soft footsteps, the smile on your face, unable to be stopped as you pulled the door open.

The sight you happened upon was something that made your lips curl into a wider smirk as the hospital clothed-clad hero absolutely struggled with his lack of functioning hands and arms to pull down his pants. Something he couldn’t do himself because the socks and slippers on his feet kept him from even attempting to tug his pants off with his toes.

In his struggle, undoubtedly miserable attempt to get his pants and underwear off his waist, Bakugou seemed ignorant to your arrival. His back still towards you, his head tilted down in his struggle as he twisted and pulled at practically nothing.

And as you watched him struggle, you couldn’t help but let your eyes drink in his form that stood tall before you. Most occurrences where you found yourself face to face with Bakugou, he was always tucked in a bed (except that time you realized your feeling for him), whether it was because he needed to be or because he was forced to be. So seeing him in his full height, seeing how despite your size, you were still only at his shoulder, made your eyelashes flutter.

He was tall, so deliciously tall, you wanted to climb onto a chair to see if he would be taller even with that added height. And oh how the flimsy material of his hospital outfit was stretched then against the taut muscles of his back. They flexed and shifted with his aggravation, and the only thought on your mind was to rake your fingers against the tempting muscle and skin.

“Shitty. fucking. villain!” he hissed angrily, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he still struggled to do what nature called him for. 

But you couldn’t help it; the flexing muscles of his back, the lower tenor of his voice, and the way he seemed ridiculously larger than life at the moment tipped your restraint over. Your ability to hold back crashing through you like a tsunami wave, drowning you until you found your hand tethered to the tight spot at the center of his spine, your hushed words drifting to his ear like sweet, warm honey.

“You need any help here, Ground Zero-san?” you asked, your voice just loud enough to have your hot breath fanning against his sweaty exposed neck. You could feel him twitch in your hold, his body stiffening as he whipped his head around to look at you, red eyes wild, wide, and dark.

“Don’t ya know how to fucking knock?!” he snapped, his body flushed at being caught in the bathroom, unable to shed his clothes. He doesn’t move from your touch, and that small detail makes you warm, knowing that he wasn’t entirely repulsed by your touch. 

“You were missing from your bed, and I called your name,” you smile despite his angry glare. “I know you are susceptible to hear loss, but I thought you were still in the clear.”

“I ain’t fucking deaf,” Bakugou growled, his face twisted with a frown. “And that still doesn’t explain why the hell you’re here!”

“Oh, were you not just completely struggling earlier?” you feign shock, the grin on your face unstoppable at the embarrassed scowl that sets on his face. You step even closer to him so that your torso is perpendicular to his side. Your hand still gently touching his muscled back, and your free hand gently pressing to his own abdomen, the feeling of his flexed muscles, making you dizzy as you peer down at the white toilet. “Is there a villain in the toilet? I didn’t think that was possible!”

“Of fucking course not, there’s not a shitty villain in the toilet.” Bakugou flushed, his body entirely trapped by you, but he made no play to escape.

“Oh, so did you need help?”

Bakugou stares at you, his mind whirling a kilometer a second as he contemplates his next course of action. The both of you know he needs help, and still, the both of you are aware that his ability to ask of that from you is slim to none given he couldn’t even wait for you to return to his room.

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue angrily, annoyed, completely fed up. His eyes rolling to the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge you as his head nods once. “Help me, shitass nurse.”

“Of course!” you chirp, your eyes finding his hooded ones.

You give him one last warm, sweet smile before the hand on his torso lightly drags down his stomach, soft in its unashamed way of feeling him up. Your head tilted as your fingers hooked into the tight waistband of his pants and pulled it down, the heat of your palm accidentally dragging itself over the imprint of his cock behind his boxers.

The slight, flustered choking noise at the back of his throat didn’t go ignored by you, but rather but aside for later. Your eyes flashing up to see his red eyes wide, his cheeks so lightly dusted with pink as you managed to pull down his boxers too. 

“There!” you exclaim, your eyes closing in your grin before you turn your attention back down to his exposed dick. 

Immediately, you had to hold back a noise of pure want and lust at the sight of him. He was long, undoubtedly eight inches, definitely more. Although you couldn’t tell how thick, you knew his dick would fill your palm without a struggle. The trimmed, dark blond pubes and the protruding veins are what did it for you, your tongue poking out for a millisecond to wet your lips as you stared at his dark pink head.

“Stop staring at it!” Bakugou hissed, clearly embarrassed if the slight voice crack said anything about it. 

You looked back up at him, fake confusion swimming in your eyes as you tilted your head. “It’s only a penis. I see millions of these all the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s fucking weird!”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, your eyes rolling softly as you sighed in retreat, “Fine, fine, let's pee big boy and get you in bed.”

With your dominant hand, you grabbed his dick with a soft grip, pleasure simmering through you at the confirmation of the thick dick in your palm. But it seemed you weren’t the only one who thought that for the moment you tried to steer his dick toward the toilet to assist in aim, Bakugou hissed loudly. His flesh twitching to life in your warm, soft hand as it began to grow upward.

You didn’t say anything; your jaw remained as tight and closed as your vocal box despite the egging need to tease him and celebrate his apparent approval of your touch. So, eventually, in a voice that defied the nervous energy coursing through your veins, you asked: “Didn’t you need to pee?”

Bakugou let out a throaty, guttural groan, his anger hissing between his teeth as his dick twitched again in your hold, growing longer and harder still.

“I can’t take a damn piss with a hard-on, you idiot!” he roared despite the strawberry red blush on his cheeks. You admired the way he was still fighting for control of an upper hand here despite — clearly — not having any.

“Oh, haha! Silly me!” you laugh, your hand shifting against his length, your warm palm getting closer to the base of his cock.

“W-What are you doing?!” Bakugou spluttered, your soft butterfly touches sending him through a loop he clearly wasn’t expecting. “You could just wait for it to die!” 

“It’s a nurse's job to make their patients comfortable and happy,” you repeat your words, your hold on his dick growing firmer and harder just as his cock continued to do. “You clearly need to pee, and there’s no telling when your cock will go down.”

“I’LL MAKE IT GO DOWN!” Bakugou yells, but the usual sharpness to his tone has deflated, diminished to nothing but whining embarrassed yell. You look up at his clenched jaw and how a pretty pink glows on his cheeks, and you’re mesmerized.

Looking back down at his growing cock that warms your hand immensely, you hum, slightly twisting your hand around his length. Bakugou shudders, a whine hidden in his throat as you open your own mouth.

“Do you want me to stop?” you question, your eyes fluttering up to look at his clouded red ones. “Do you not need or want me?”

That was a double-headed question if Bakugou ever heard one. He looked at your glossy lips, the way they were pouted, so ready to be kissed, to be claimed, and that delirious look of want and need in your eyes. And he knows better; he knows that this is not the place, not the time to act on emotions like this. The need to pee sits heavily on his lower belly, just like the need to cum makes him twitch and pace uncomfortably. God fucking damn his broken to smithereens arms.

But you already know this, of course, you do. But you also know how stubborn he can be, how anal he can be about the littlest thing. So with no answer, you weaken your grip, making him think that you’re ready to leave, and he falls right into the trap.

“Make it fucking q-quick,” his voice cracks, the embarrassment nearly tangible as you nod your head firmly, your fist tightening around his cock.

Your warm fingers pressed onto his length, beginning at a slow leisurely pace, your eyes glued onto his face, detailing how he reacts to every small flick of your wrist, every little difference of grip in his hands. Your strokes began to grow larger, your fingertips tracing the bulging veins on his cock, your eyes hypnotized by the way his face pinches in his pleasure, the blush on his cheeks, the way the hot pants expelling from his mouth curl warmly in your lower belly.

“Y-You do this with all your shitty patients?” Bakugou growls, but it sounds weak, too blurred and slurred with his increasing pleasure.

Your fingernails drag against the underneath of his cock, tracing the incredibly sensitive skin until he’s slowly thrusting his hips into your fist. “Only the hot ones,” you tease, your thumb pressing against the tip of his beading tip, the warm pre-cum slick and spreading quickly against his flushed tip.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Bakugou continues, his head tipping backward, exposing the slenderness of his neck that begs for your teeth to sink into. “Just needed to take a fucking piss.”

“Nervous, you’ll pee all over me, and I won’t want to suck your dick?” you ask, your fingers brushing near his scrotum, eyes blazing dangerously at the sight of his gasping, jaw-dropping face. His hips rut forward, leaking cock dripping with his pre-cum, and you giggle softly, fisting him faster, spreading the pre-cum against his heated sex.

Your fingers run against his throbbing length, your palm tight and hot against his cock, the veins you drag across searing against your flesh, ingraining itself onto your skin and memory forever. Despite it all, the obvious near tangible horror Bakugou has on the thought of pissing on you, he continues to fuck into your fist. 

“Damn bitch like you would probably l-like it if I pissed on you,” Bakugou pants, his casted arms twitching at his chest. His head tilted away from you, but his eyes burning into you, the red eyes hot as fire against your skin. “You want me to piss on you? Make you my bitch.”

The words burn against your skin, your teeth biting onto your lower lip as you meet his gaze. You’ve never considered it before, never thought you’d be into it. As a nurse, you’ve been around piss, shit, and vomit, and while you had grown unfazed by it, you never considered the prospect of a man pissing on you. But you thought of it, of Bakugou standing above you, free from his casts, hands on his cock as he smirks down at you with golden liquid spraying from his cock, soaking you where you lay. 

You shudder, pleasant chills running down your spine as you stare into his eyes yet again. 

“And if I do?” you ask, fingers rolling the head of his cock between your forefinger and thumb, relishing in the way that he snarls low in his throat. “What’re you gonna do about that, Ground Zero-san? You gonna piss all over your bitch after you get out of here.”

“You want me to piss on you here?” he asks, his voice snappish, strained, his hips drilling harder into your hand that was quickly speeding up. A battle of power and speed between the both of you as he looms over you, face flushed, pink, and lips demanding to be kissed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you do.”

“Why’s that?” you breathe, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, a breath away as your hand grips and tightens even more around the base of his cock, causing a pained-pleasured hiss to rip from behind his teeth as he looks at you.

“Don’t act like your shitty ass hasn’t been trying to seduce me every time I show up,” Bakugou gruffs, his hips continuing a drilling rhythm into your fist, his body no longer shy or embarrassed.

“So you noticed but never said anything?” you counter, your fingers shifting over to his swollen, hot balls. You fondle them, tugging at their weight gently, taking in the way his eyes roll to the back of his head and the way his teeth tear into his lip. “Coward.”

“Hah?! Who the fuck—”

You can’t help yourself anymore, your mouth coming to slam against his in a piercing, searing kiss. He moans into the kiss, and you gasp back, tongues clashing together, teeth knocking into each other as awkward, nearing uncomfortable kisses are exchanged. His sweet scent of caramel wafts into your nose, and his grunts and groans are addicting, entirely enthusiastic noises that send your own thighs clenching shut to quiet the heated need in between your thighs.

Your hand increases in its speed, his whines and groans so pretty and piercing into you. 

“How fucking gross,” you laugh into his mouth, the slicked heat of his precum lathering your palm until soft noises of your fisting hand begin to fill the sterile bathroom. “You’re a child, wanting to piss on things that you shouldn’t. You came to the bathroom and got a hard-on instead of pissing, Bakugou, aren’t you embarrassed.”

“Y-Y/l/n,” he hissed, his jaw falling slack against your mouth. His hips are drilling into you faster and faster, the throbbing of his cock, the growing, thick scent of his caramel sweat filling the room and your senses. “F-Fuck!”

“Such a dirty, childish pro hero,” you smile your tongue curling into his mouth and dragging against the roof of his mouth as he shudders helplessly against you. “Cum already, Bakugou, cum and piss over yourself like some small brat.”

He shudders, and you find your mouth leaving his own as you stare down, spurting white ropes of cum pour from his tip, completely covering the toilet seat with his sticky white cum. And you watch as soon as his body collapses onto you, entirely spent from the orgasm, yellow piss streaming from his tip.

The toilet fills with his cum and piss, and you grin once his balls and bladder are completely drained. His cock limp and weak in your hand as you hum, your quirk activating and causing the exhausted Pro Hero to recompose himself so that he wasn’t entirely weak against you. 

“Such a good patient,” you coo, pulling up Bakugou’s boxers and hospital pants without a second's thought. Patting his butt gently, you watched as his still exhausted red eyes stared at you. You walked over to the sink, washing your hands so that you could continue to finish the rest of your shift.

“Don’t think this is over, shitty nurse.”

You look at him over your shoulder, your fingers curling under the warm water as you grin.

“I expect to be fucked and pissed on next time,” you counter, your smirk devastating and sending a fire right back to Bakugou’s groin. “No freebies anymore.”