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lightseoul · 2 days ago

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CHAPTER 4 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.0k (can you see the trend)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), still a lot of cussing, some mature themes (no smut, sorry), we're finally in the headquarters!, the story moves significantly along here (i think)

a/n. this one took a second to get out, but i hope the wait was worth it! we're going knee-deep into the storyline, so brace yourselves for the nitty gritty. the dialogue here was too fun to write tho lol

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

Neither of you says anything about what happened.

After you used your quirk on Masaki and the rest of his crew, eventually convincing them to let you take off the bugs and censor the cameras in the evenings, you and Bakugou were briefed about a few more details before you went your separate ways, returning home to pack up your things and spend your last night alone for the foreseeable future.

The trek back to the subway station was quiet, with Bakugou leading the way and you trailing a few feet behind. The silence that enveloped the both of you bordered on tense more than awkward, and you itched to confront him about unceremoniously jumping you, but restrained yourself at the looming thought of the trackers planted firmly against your chest.

As much as it pained you to think about it, from this point on, you have to work double time on biting your tongue and watching your words. Just your words and location—if you’re lucky—but your facial expressions and movements, too, when there are cameras around.

Fortunately, there weren’t any when Bakugou didn’t step out of the carriage just as the automated voice announced his stop, nor when he wordlessly got out of the train beside you at yours. Your face contorted in evident confusion in those two instances, to which he only tossed you silencing looks. It didn’t take long for you to realize it’d be suspicious if Bakugou didn’t see you home—his alleged girlfriend—this late into the night.

And so you rolled with it.

You even went ahead and thanked him with the sweetest possible voice you can muster when you reached your front door, as well as wished him a safe trip back home. You think you caught him off guard, but he was able to quickly gather himself and mutter back a few words of gratitude before telling you to get a good night’s rest.

You couldn’t.

Aside from the paranoia that came with knowing someone or some people were listening to your very breathing, the anxiety about this whole mess that you’ve walked into was too palpable for you just to ignore. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours—brain buzzing with a hundred what-ifs and hypothetical scenarios—before you eventually knocked out at around 3 AM.

You promptly woke up at 7 AM a few hours later, albeit begrudgingly and all thanks to your bothersome alarm tone. You had to show up at work, despite it being a Saturday, to file an indefinite leave as soon as possible. Annoyance shot through you as you remembered Kouki’s dismissive remark about your job in contrast to Bakugou’s.

You shook it off.

There were more important things to deal with, such as the guilt that bloomed in your gut as you turned in the paperwork to Yuzuki, your school’s HR personnel, who, at the sight of them, visibly deflated.

“You’re going on a leave?” she asked that cool morning, incredulous and tone somewhat begging you to say no.

“Yeah…” you replied, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly.

“But why?” she pressed, sitting up behind her desk that’s riddled with knickknacks and picture frames of her and her toddler. “You never take off from work. And,” she enunciated, “…the kids need you, Y/N.”

Your polite smile faltered at the mention of the kids.

“Yeah, well…” you started, unsure of what to say next. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a temp, what with the recent licensure exam results. The kids won’t even notice I’m gone, I promise.”

She cocked her head to the side, frowning. “I highly doubt that.”

It didn’t matter if she had her doubts, though, because this was happening. You braced yourself to tell Yuzuki just that, but to your relief, she didn’t push further after that exchange, opting to half-heartedly process your request instead.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, you were already cleared by her department and now officially on a short indefinite leave without pay.

In an attempt to take your mind off of potentially losing your job, you stopped by the grocery store on your way home and picked up a few items, such as toiletries and other things you may need for your stay in the headquarters. There was no telling when you’d get to shop for your necessities again, so you went full ham and spent the money you usually budgeted meticulously to the nearest cent. Besides, if you succeeded in this mission, you wouldn’t have to worry about finances for the next year, at the very least.

You were about to head to the check-out counter when your eyes caught the display of…house slippers in the back aisle.

You paused at the sight of them.

If you were going to be under house arrest, you might as well be cozy while doing so.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed a beige pair for yourself, and a black pair for Bakugou. You had no idea what his feet size was, but those were the largest they carried, and so that’d have to do. Plus, you doubted quirk supremacists were mindful enough to provide their hostages with comfortable footwear.

It was already around 4 PM when you arrived home with your arm-numbing groceries and takeout dinner in tow. Setting them aside by your kitchen counter, you quickly got started on gathering your necessities. You blasted your favorite album as you packed your suitcase partly to make the arduous process more bearable, but mostly to drown out the voices that fought to take the reins in your head. You were nervous—very much so—but there was no going back from this.

And so with a heavy heart and a churning stomach, you swiftly got to work, and by dinner time, you were already packed up and ready to go. After going through your checklist one more time and confirming that everything was accounted for, you got changed into fresh, more appealing clothes and scarfed down the meal you purchased to-go after shopping.

You sat in your living room with all your things stacked beside you on the couch, waiting, though it didn’t take long for Kouki to materialize by the kitchen with that irritatingly haughty expression on his face.

You tried to ignore the disgust that sprung as you watched him step on your freshly washed rug with his booted feet, choosing to shift your attention upwards instead. You observed him as he eyed your belongings with mild disinterest, before shifting to regard you.

“Ready?” he asked, holding up one hand for you to take, while the other moved to touch the pile of stuff.

You didn’t bother to verbalize your consent, resorting to just nodding as you gingerly took his hand. Your surroundings instantly morphed the moment that you did, and you found yourself going through the now-familiar motions, emerging smack dab in the middle of your floor’s hallway a few seconds later.

Kouki was gone just as quickly as he arrived, apparently way above helping you move your things to the space at the end of the hall. The same goes for the twins, who only watched you as you lugged your baggage into the room.

You locked eyes with the female guard, and for a second, you debated engaging her in conversation.

You already knew what to say. You’d ask her if they were sure about you staying in, when Kouki can just teleport you to your respective apartments at the end of each day if they’re so worried about you getting spotted.

Besides, you thought as she glared at you with seemingly unfounded hate, that means we’ll be out of your hair.

But as tempting as it was to bring up that alternative at the moment, you ultimately thought better against it.

You already used your luck to convince them to turn off the trackers at night—something they probably wouldn’t do if you and Bakugou lived outside due to the lack of backup surveillance. It simply wouldn’t be smart and cautious of them if they did. You also didn’t want to undo that already tall order of a bargain when what you needed the most was the privacy in which you could discuss the mission and steps moving forward.

Besides, you bet your money it’s not just that. The teleportation quirk of that old geezer has to have a limitation somehow…

You let all these simmer in your head as you settled in for the night. To your chagrin—you wanted at least one night where you get to sleep on the decent-looking bed—Bakugou showed up not an hour later with his own luggage.

You didn’t say anything to each other aside from brief ‘Hey’s’ as he entered the room and unpacked his belongings, as well as when he disappeared into the small comfort room and showered.

You decided then and there that you both had to work on your conversing skills if you wanted a shot at making this ruse believable for the sake of the mission.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, decked out in lounge clothes and haphazardly drying his ash-blonde hair with a towel, it was already 8 PM sharp—your agreed-upon time to retreat for the night and consequently, remove your trackers.

And so you wordlessly filed out of your room, only to see the twins already at your front door, waiting. You doubted they ever left their post ever since you arrived.

You eyed the male twin as he sashayed into your room before his sister called you to attention. Other than that, the exchange was nothing but silent and perhaps a little bit hostile as the woman roughly stuck her hand up Bakugou’s shirt then yours, similar to last time, and removed the devices. You fought back a wince just as she ripped it from your skin, leaving a stinging feeling in its wake.

You could tell she was resisting the urge to shove you back to your room when the deed was done. You didn’t want to risk being her punching bag, so with a curt nod, you promptly turned back and once again entered the room, with Bakugou following you just as the other twin exited and closed the door behind him. Looking up, you immediately registered how the cameras were now facing down—covered—and the red, flickering lights were nowhere to be seen.

An instantaneous wave of relief flooded through you.

Bakugou must’ve noticed, because he whipped to face you, and the disturbed expression on his face was enough to shut you up.

He tilted his head, perhaps gesturing to the rest of the room, and it took you a second, but you eventually managed to make out what he was trying to say.

Shut your trap, his icy stare told you. Check the room for bugs.

And so with a nod of understanding, you tossed him a look right back before quite literally turning the room upside down. It probably took you at least 10 minutes to uncover and check every surface, nook, and cranny, but by the time you both were pretty sure you were safe, you were already stifling a yawn.

And having a hawk eye must come with the job description, because that didn’t go unmissed by the pro-hero, who wordlessly took one of the two pillows from the bed, as well as the throw blanket on top of the actual duvet cover, before tossing both on the brown couch.

You were just about to thank him for preparing your ‘bed’ for you, but you didn’t get to, because you were very much robbed of all words when he plopped himself down on the couch, wrapping himself with the quilt.

“What are you—”

“Don’t argue,” he cut you off, his commanding tone comically juxtaposing how snug he looked with his head barely peeking out of the cloth. You’d laugh at the way his large feet were poking out at the end of it if you weren’t in a contentious mood.

You frowned. “You’re the guest of honor. I should be the one sleeping on the couch.”

“If it bothers you that much—” Bakugou piped from where he laid comfortably on the (p)leather furniture, “—we can take turns. Tomorrow, I get to sleep on the bed, and so on.”

“But—”

“Conversation’s over. ‘Night.”

With that, Bakugou flipped on his side, turning his back against you, effectively shooting the conversation down in its entirety.

You stood there for what felt like a couple more minutes, keen on shaking him awake, maybe even yanking him off the couch and planting yourself on it before he could wrap his head around what was happening, but you ultimately decided to let it go, at least for now.

You wished him a good night as you turned off the lights and snuck into the queen-sized bed a few moments later, although you bet he was already fast asleep based on the lack of a reply.

Which was good for him, because he needed the rest for what was about to crash into you the next day.

Apparently, Masaki wasn’t kidding when he said groups like theirs needed the space to conduct their activities, because they sure handle a lot.

At 8 AM, you were roused awake by a violent knocking on your door, and you could tell Bakugou was awoken by the very same thing, because he shot up in alarm just as you did. You quickly got up and padded to the entryway, trying to ignore the silly embarrassment of being seen in your threadbare pajamas in broad daylight, before whipping to look at the man. You didn’t have to say it, though—Bakugou was already grabbing his pillow and blanket and plopped into the bed, lying down as if he was there the entire night. Only when he was fully settled did you turn the knob open, only to see the female twin scowling at you. Her hand was held up, on top of which were two trackers.

“It’s breakfast time,” she spat out—literally, some of her saliva landing on you. She looked over your shoulder to glare at Bakugou. “Hurry up and get ready. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.”

Behind you, a distinct grumble sounded out across the room, and you glanced back to see Bakugou getting up from the mattress and folding his blanket, a deep frown etched on his sharp features.

Looks like someone’s a morning person, you thought to yourself.

Not wanting to aggravate her even further, you wasted no time in getting dressed and presentable enough. You debated on whether or not to spend five minutes putting on makeup, ultimately deciding to do so, with you ending up patting on just enough product to look eye-catching before you and Bakugou went down to the mess hall to eat breakfast.

Immediately upon entering the space, you found yourself thankful for that extra five minutes because all eyes were on you. Well, maybe more on Bakugou, but they inevitably drifted to you, the person who walked next to him side by side. You could hear the people whisper to themselves as you moved to sit at the table near the back, before it hit you and you froze.

“What?” asked Bakugou from across you, who followed suit and paused, butt hanging mid-air.

“Come and sit next to me,” you blurted out, and before he could react in a way that would incriminate you both: “I want to sit beside you, babe.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened ever so minutely at the pet name, his face then sobering up as if he just realized what you were trying to do.

You wished you could spell it out for him, that couples tend to sit next to each other rather than across, and…you needed to seem like one who is head over heels for each other around these people as well. Thankfully, you didn’t have to, because Bakugou merely nodded without question, before rounding the table and seating himself right next to you.

You did your best to tune out the looks and murmuring throughout the entire meal, after which you got swept to one of the halls for an introductory talk for the new members. There were eleven of you in total, including you and Bakugou, the rest of whom you didn’t recognize. They didn’t even hide their surprise and awe when the two of you walked in and sat yourselves at the farthest row beside each other. You tried to radiate an aura of friendliness, smiling at the others when they looked at you, and then beaming at Bakugou whenever you caught him looking your way.

You could tell he was having a hard time playing the part, his smile strained whenever he attempted to return the motion. It was probably after the third time of trying to get a reaction from him when you mustered the courage to bring a hand to his shoulder, kneading the muscle as a form of an affectionate gesture, but mainly to get him to relax. He initially tensed at the contact, but eventually loosened up as you continued the action.

Soon enough, the talk commenced, with someone you didn’t know presenting himself as Kazuma, one of the officers of the organization. He went on to formally introduce the association, named The Quirk Coalition, as a group of like-minded individuals who aim for a future where quirks are nurtured and fostered to their fullest potential in a democratic society that puts a primacy on said powers. You noted how they conveniently left out the part where they detest the weak and the quirkless, although you did not comment on it. You only glanced at Bakugou one time, who looked onto the stage with tight lips.

Kazuma also went through the hierarchy of the organization, starting with Masaki at the top just as you suspected, then Sayaka and Kouki, followed by Hiroto and Omiru—the two who you recognized as the twins, looking like they just got their mugshot taken in the photos. Kazuma sat there at the lower tier alongside several other officers, under which were the regular members, totaling about 70—some of whom live in the headquarters and most going in and out, having normal jobs during the day and families to tend to.

You don’t know how they got it, but at the bottom row of the chart was a picture of you, right beside Bakugou dressed in his full hero gear.

You let the reality sink in as Kazuma droned on about the group’s beliefs, how they equally valued their ideals and the people who carried out these ideals. You made a mental note of this piece of information, before accidentally zoning out for the rest of the lecture.

The next seven days went on roughly the same way, with either of the twins serving as your unfriendly alarm to demonstrating PDA in the mess hall during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with talks, history classes, support group sessions, and even quirk training nestled in between mealtimes.

You and Bakugou went through every single thing together, from sitting out the ‘classes’ where the teachers essentially waxed poetic about rewritten history with a strong bias against the quirkless, to attending what felt like group therapy where you each took turns sharing your ambitions and goals as members of the organization. Bakugou even partook in one of the quirk training sessions, wherein he practiced shooting precise targets while propelling himself in the air.

You couldn’t decide if he was trying to act all serious for the mission or was just showing off—could’ve been both, really, but regardless, his efforts were enough to catch the eyes of the fellow members working on their respective quirks. You, on the other hand, sat to the side and watched the pro-hero do his thing, not being able to ‘practice’ anything without a partner to ‘boost’—or really, manipulate.

Needless to say, you’ve both been busting your ass pretending to be eager, dedicated members, but aside from the information readily provided in the forums, you haven’t had much luck extracting details that could prove to be useful for the mission, a fact that you’re now planning to bring up with Bakugou, a full week into moving into the headquarters…

…After you finish checking the bedroom for bugs.

It’s become some sort of an unspoken nightly routine for the both of you. The second the door shuts behind you after the trackers have been taken off and you’ve checked that the cameras are pointed downwards, capped, and are not blinking anymore, you go to your respective halves of the room and thoroughly check each inch for a wiretap. Neither of you dare to say anything compromising until you’ve completed the survey, and even then you’ve telepathically agreed to watch your choice of words.

Still, you can’t deny the familiar sense of reprieve whenever this time of the day comes along, and you’ve since associated these moments with Bakugou with comfort.

Which is probably why you have the audacity to joke around.

“Are they comfy?” you ask just as you plaster your butt down into the couch. You’ve had your fun yesterday, sleeping easily in the soft bed. You watch Bakugou as he eyes you warily, sitting on the edge of the mattress, facing you.

He huffs, crossing his legs. “Are what comfy?”

You point to his feet with your lips. “The slippers. They were buy one take one, you know.”

At that, he smirks. You can’t help but feel your own smile growing.

“I don’t think that’s something you should be bragging about, princess.”

Flying right past the tail end of that sentence for your sanity, you force a frown on your face. “Why not? It was a great deal. And, I’m sure yours are comfy. Mine are.”

He leans back on his hands that are firmly planted at his sides. He’s still smirking. “So why bother asking me in the first place if you already knew the answer to the question?”

You open your mouth to retort a witty comment, but come up short. Bakugou’s smirk morphs into a grin when you do. You wrinkle your nose in disdain, “I was just trying to make small talk. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The pro-hero only chuckles at that, before sitting up and bringing his hands forward, one holding and wringing the other arm’s wrist.

You study him for a beat, and then the cameras, which are still turned down and capped with a lens cover.

And when he only continues the rotating motion, you finally speak up.

“…What are we gonna do now?”

Bakugou’s eyes shift upward from his wrist to look at you, the softness that was just in his gaze a second ago now replaced by his trademark caution. You try not to focus on the disappointment of having caused that, as well as the misplaced longing for what was once there.

It takes him a while to reply, his features contorted into a look of deep thought. But when he does so, he straightens his back. “We—”

A barrage of heavy knocks resounds from the door, startling both of you and cutting Bakugou off. It’s immediately followed by a gruff voice, which you can now easily recognize as Hiroto’s.

“You’re not making any noise,” comes his bite, although it’s slightly muffled. “You better think twice about planning something behind our backs, you two.”

You roll your eyes. You understand any hostility coming from the members, as you and Bakugou come with risks that can potentially harm the organization that they hold dearly. But even you can say that the twins are taking it a bit too far with the harsh treatment.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think their being extra hard on you has something to do with Masaki agreeing with the off-surveillance.

“Fucking relax,” Bakugou seethes in their direction. “Just because we’re not audibly having sex doesn’t mean we’re talking shit.”

You snort. Bakugou whips to look at you, the corners of his lips upturned.

That seems to put a plug on Hiroto, because the man doesn’t say anything after that. Once again, you’re met with silence, with you and Bakugou sitting on your respective furniture, looking at anything but each other.

It’s him, though, who finally breaks it a few minutes later with a clear of his throat.

“We keep at it—” Bakugou starts carefully, “—is what I was trying to say earlier. They’re gonna discuss the plans with us sooner than later.”

…Patience, huh?

You can do that.

Nodding, you adjust your position on your seat. You don’t dare to ask him to expound or add your own thoughts on the matter. Better to be safe than sorry, even though you’re pretty sure your room is free of bugs.

So instead, you finally give in and steer the conversation to something that’s been plaguing your mind ever since the commission kidnapped you a little over a week ago.

“Bakugou,” you begin, and he looks at you expectantly. You gulp. “Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Depends on the question.”

“…So might as well shoot your shot,” he finishes when you don’t say anything.

Well, then.

You blurt it out before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Don’t get me wrong, alright? I know you’re strong and all that. But…” you trail off, fixing your eyes on him, “Why did they specifically want you of all heroes?”

Almost instantly, Bakugou’s smug expression is wiped off his face just as it falls.

You scramble to backtrack.

“Sorry if that’s too invas—”

“Are you sure we were batchmates?” he cuts you off, a brow raised in question. “Back in UA?”

You stare at him. Where is he going with this?

“Yeah?” you reply, not at all willing to try and jog his memory with the only prominent exchange between the two of you. So instead, you toss the query back at him: “Why?”

“Because if we were, you would’ve heard about the rumors about me, unless they weren’t as widespread as I thought.”

You feel your brows furrow. “Rumors?”

He peers at you for what feels like an eternity, before shaking his head in what you think is resignation. His body language has changed drastically, you note—the distinct confidence from earlier now long gone, having been replaced with…shame?

He heaves a deep breath.

“I was a bully,” he finally declares, meeting your gaze. “I bullied someone for being quirkless. I guess you could say I had a…” he hesitates, as if he’s trying to filter his words,” …certain mindset up until late into our first year.”

He shakes his head again, which is now bowed down toward the floor. “I did some pretty…awful stuff, to say the least.”

And before you can say anything, he beats you to it. “And don’t ask me about what I did.”

“I wasn’t going to,” comes your speedy response. That causes him to look up again and at you, a surprised look written on his face.

“Well, that’s a first.”

“I don’t have to know,” you reason, schooling your features into a neutral, even sincere expression. “Besides, I can clearly see there’s remorse. There’s no need to reopen that can of worms, especially if you’ve tried to make amends.”

You pause, eyeing him. “Have you?”

He tosses you a look of offense, as if you just accused him of being a serial killer. “Of course. And he’s forgiven me. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who feels remorse—” you chuckle, “—just like I said.”

He shoots you a glare, although it’s playful and has no bite to it. “Smartass.”

You grin at him. “I am smart, aren’t I?”

Bakugou doesn’t verbalize his agreement, but he doesn’t deny it either. Instead, he turns the table on you.

“You’re a guidance counselor, aren’t you? You use your quirk on your clients?”

You gasp, insulted. That grants you a smirk from him. “No! Of course, not. What do you take me for?”

He shrugs, “What? It makes sense to me.”

“So should this thing called ethics, which I follow and is very important, especially for people like me who work in the mental health field.”

That doesn’t seem to convince him. “Why’re you in this field, then? If not for its compatibility with your quirk?”

You think about it for a beat.

“I guess you can say my quirk did play a part in all of this, but not as my crutch,” you eventually explain. “Using it made me realize how much I like making people feel and do better, which is something that I now do with evidence-based techniques as a counselor. Plus, my job trains me in identifying emotions, which, you know…”

—helps with maximizing your quirk.

But you don’t say it out loud for fear of getting exposed, and it seems like that’d be unnecessary, because understanding flashes across Bakugou’s eyes. He nods, and that’s all you need to know he gets what you’re leaving unsaid.

“That’s a pretty noble cause,” he offers, although it comes out a bit awkward.

Still, you flash him a genuine smile. He looks away.

…Right at the wall clock, which now reads a little too late o’clock.

“You should get some sleep,” says Bakugou just as you are about to tell him the very same thing.

And when you don’t respond: “Are you sure you wanna sleep on the couch?”

‘What, are you proposing we share the bed?’

…Is what you would say if you were a fucking lunatic, which you’re glad you aren’t, because you don’t know how you’d survive this hell of a mission if you were.

Instead, you nod, shooting him a grateful look as you move to lay back and drape the blanket over your body. “Bask in the luxury of a proper mattress, your highness.”

You don’t get to see his reaction anymore in your new position, but you bet your cheap but surprisingly ergonomic slippers that he’s grinning with the way he snorts loudly.

“Stupid.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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#anyone remember the cover photo for this series 👀#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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mono-dot-jpeg · 11 hours ago

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inextricably bound - viktor, jayce

summary; stuck in a plane above all else but at least you're together

genre/extra tags; oneshot, fluff, bad jokes?, a dash of angst?, czech viktor, jayvik are canon fuck whatever christian linke was saying, just two bros being soulmates in every timeline and they're each others everything (but not in a gay way am i right chat /j), god forbid two dudes be canonically gay in every timeline, sorry im pissed off, im coping with jayvik being gone, OOC jayvik??, i dont know how to write for jayce well, jayvikreader poly sloppy toppy (jk), it's like implied that reader just got pulled in and doesn't know the dramatic moment they had n the astral plane before finally making up., headcanon that the astral plane is almost like being in limbo for death or reincarnation

[reader's gender not specified or mentioned]

word count; 808

a/n; can you tell im mad that there are jayvik non believers? like hate them all you want, but you can't just say that they were just bros and im glad most of the fandom can understand that. am i absolutely greedy for viktor? yes, but im not taking him away from his literal soulmate/twin flame/whatever the fuck gay shit they got going. also i feel like this isnt my best work but anyways enjoy :)

empty.

that's what being in the astral plane feels like. but it's calm. most of your body is engulfed the stars that you once looked up to. now you were part of that. not as a star but as a being. your face is illuminated a white gold shimmer.

"love?" a voice echoes and before you know it, two familiar faces are close to yours.

"vik? jayce?" your voice echoes in the listless space. and it's only then do you register how.. normal they look again.

despite the stars that cover their body and shimmering light of the ethereal, they look like themselves. it was the viktor and jayce you knew. your hands move, your body floating as you hold viktor's face.

"it's you. viktor.." the mentioned male looks at you, guilt and love in his eyes. jayce's hand rests on the small of his back, a silent encouragement for the shorter man. "it's you.." your voice trembles. viktor can't look you in the eye until jayce's hand gently nudges him, and it's only then that he sees the absolute love pouring from your eyes. "i should be more concerned that we're stuck here, but fuck.. i missed seeing you."

you can't exactly cry in the astral plane. your tears end up sparkling and twinkling away and become part of the galaxy you've been pulled into.

"miláček.." you don't even realize how much you've missed his normal voice until now. even if it did have that ethereal echo, it was still him. your viktor. your forehead presses against his for just a moment.

"you... i have a lot to say, but let me be happy for just a moment." viktor tenses at your words, but he relaxes in your touch. you pull away to give jayce the love you missed giving him.

"jayce.. you did so well. more than well. i don't know everything of what you experienced, but you never gave up. didn't know i could be more thankful for you." jayce smiles brightly at your words as you hold his face between his hands in appreciation.

he looks at you with that look he used to give you and viktor when things we once normal. that silly lovesick grin on his face, but you know he can't express how thankful he is for you and him. "i missed you so much, too. you have no idea." he said softly.

"now, with that out of the way, what exactly happened?" the two men look at each other before slowly explaining how everything started and ended with them. and they definitely ended it, seeing as they were taken here by the crystal that jayce held so dear to him. "but why am i here then? i mean, it makes sense for you two to be here. you're basically soulmates."

"don't say that, miláček. we love you too. whether you're in this timeline or not." viktor said gently, floating to you and holding you in his arms. "we won't allow you to think so lowly like that. especially when jayce is around. and especially because that line of thinking does not seem to do well for us. my insecurities blinded me to want to fix everything to a dangerous degree.." he confesses.

"you’re ours whether you like it or not. and it's not like we can find a way to leave here." jayce smiled softly, his large arms wrapped around yours and viktor's shoulders. he hugs you two close, not missing a moment to hold you both in his arms.

"i guess it was really meant to be when i said you're both stuck with me forever." you joked, kissing them on the cheek. "but we're really stuck here?"

after your kisses, viktor starts giving his share of kisses. "it would seem so. not that i'm complaining." jayce joins in on the sweet kissing session, making sure to give as much as he could before you or viktor start telling him to stop. echoing laughter rings out in the empty void. the cold of the astral plane could never make you shiver when you were with the men who did nothing but give you warmth.

"maybe we'll just reincarnate. do you believe in reincarnation?" you asked between kisses. they pause for a moment, contemplating your words.

"eh.. well, i'm sure it wouldn't be crazy to believe in reincarnation." viktor said with the slight tilt of his head, his look silently conveying his uncertainty but uncaring of it.

"if we do get reincarnated, i'll make sure to find you two before anything else." jayce whispered, his face firm with determination and love.

"that's so sweet. and sappy." you laughed lightheartedly.

the two men can't help but join in with their own laughter and just for a moment, the stars twinkle a little brighter as if joining in on the joy.

#arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor #arcane jayce #lol arcane #arcane x reader #league of legends jayce x reader #lol jayce x reader #jayce league of legends #jayce x reader #lol viktor x reader #lol viktor #league of legends viktor #viktor x reader #league of legends viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor x reader x jayce #jayvik x reader #viktor arcane #league of legends x reader

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antianakin · 1 day ago

Text

I'll add my own tags since you're responding directly to them.

And now here's your commentary that I'm responding to:

I sort-of wrote this so that it worked with or without the Force sensitivity, that's why I left that particular piece in the tags. The reason Cody finds Obi-Wan less attractive in armor isn't necessarily for a practical reason like Obi-Wan being out of armor means they're more "safe", but because Obi-Wan is more COMFORTABLE out of armor and in his usual Jedi attire and that confidence and comfort in your own skin are going to automatically make someone come across as more attractive, regardless of whether you can pick up Force vibes from them or not. Even in the Force sensitive version of this, Cody's so MILDLY Force sensitive that he has no idea he's picking up on Force vibes anyway and just likes seeing Obi-Wan in Jedi robes over seeing him in armor because it just seems more RIGHT, more HIM.

I also don't think the association of Obi-Wan being out of armor meaning Obi-Wan (and the people around him) are safe would last all that long. Obi-Wan canonically stops wearing the armor maybe a year at most into the war, which means he and the 212th end up in quite a few dangerous situations while Obi-Wan is unarmored and he would go into battle WITHOUT armor for a lot longer than he went in WITH armor. Whatever safety Cody might originally associate with Obi-Wan in Jedi robes wouldn't last beyond that first battle, I imagine.

Maybe it's more that Obi-Wan in Jedi robes represents the Ideal Future that Cody wants. Obi-Wan CAN remove his armor and choose to wear his Jedi attire if he wants to. He can remove some of those markers of being a General in the army and choose to wear something that represents him better. While this could obviously lead to jealousy, that Obi-Wan has a choice that Cody does not have (because while Cody HAS other clothing besides armor presumably, it's still just a military uniform that he didn't choose for himself, so it doesn't really count), Cody instead sees it as the epitome of The Dream. Cody wants to be able to do the same and it's not necessarily something he'd ever considered much before since this is possibly one of the first ever times he sees that sort of difference a change of clothing can make for someone. Cody wants to be able to know what clothes HE'D choose if he had the choice, he wants to know how it feels to wear clothing he chose for himself that has nothing to do with being a soldier. So the attraction perhaps goes beyond just appreciating what Obi-Wan looks like in Jedi clothing or liking that Obi-Wan seems more confident and comfortable in his own skin, and is also an attraction to what Obi-Wan REPRESENTS to Cody.

So Cody's reaction goes kind-of like, "Wow, he's so beautiful without armor."

"I want to be beautiful, too."

Headcanon that Cody actually thinks Obi-Wan is ten times more attractive in his Jedi clothing than he ever was in armor. He doesn't think Obi-Wan is UNATTRACTIVE as such when he's wearing more armor earlier in the war, but one day he sees Obi-Wan with either no armor or just the bracers and something just CLICKS and his jaw drops to the floor because YES, that's exactly how Obi-Wan should always look.

And bonus headcanon that he sees Obi-Wan in Mandalorian armor for whatever Reasons and immediately hates it and thinks it's probably the most unattractive Obi-Wan has ever looked. Obi-Wan finds this absolutely hilarious.

#cody #obi-wan #codywan

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weltraum-vaquero · 1 day ago

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i was scrolling through pinterest and i came across a prompt: “i can’t focus with your damn hand on my— ooh..” i IMMEDIATELY thought of jayce 🫢 can i request sumn like that? i love your work so much 😭😭

Hi anon, this prompt drove me insane. Thank you so much!

Play (dirty)

Jayce Talis x GN Reader

Summary: A fancy play at the Piltover Opera is a good excuse as any to deck out. And an even better excuse to have some fun with your partner.

Word count: 2.5k

MDNI. Mature content under the cut.

Tags: Sub Jayce, slight exhibitionism, dry handjobs, heavy petting, alcohol consumption

Jayce could never stand still. There’s something in him that’s constant, restless, relentless. Always the type to fiddle, to twirl his pen between his fingers, to scratch at his own scruff in thought, to chew the inside of his cheek, to bounce his leg. His mind is a hyperactive, brilliant thing; equal parts blessing and curse.

He does it now, too — bouncing his leg, that is, under the fine silk of his prettiest burgundy slacks (his ass, though nothing to write home about, never failed to look tremendous in those. Something about the thin, generously revealing material seaming to the humble curve of his ass in a salacious display). Jayce taps his fingers on the sturdy oakwood of the theatre chair as he stares at the still lowered curtain, crosses his legs, sighs, uncrosses them, bounces his leg again.

It’s the final stretch of the second intermission, though the play isn’t particularly doing it for you, mainly because you’ve seen this exact rendition before, with Jayce at your side. Just… not from up here: an opulently designed balcony, all to yourselves, just shy of the stage. Generous courtesy of Salo for a favor taken rather than given from Jayce, a situation that’s been stressing him out something fierce these past few weeks. You digress. That’s not what matters anymore — he’s earned a break. He’s earned something good.

It’s a lovely opportunity to spend some time with him outside of the confines of his lab or your shared home, which is growing increasingly rare. It’s a lovely opportunity to put on your shiniest clothes and make a pretty sight for one another.

Undeniably, that’s been the best aspect of it. Jayce has been sneaking looks at you the whole time — perhaps bored with the play, perhaps too enticed with you. And you can’t exactly blame him, because you’re not doing much better either.

How are you meant to do anything when you have a much more captivating sight to take in, sitting tensely in the chair next to yours?

A dark shirt that hugs the proud swell of his chest just right (certainly something to write home about), a pretty burgundy jacket just the same warm colour as the fruity merlot he’s finished sipping on, lingering on his plump lips. Silk curling at the seams, stretching under the heft of his now thicker thighs as they rest on the seat, tie loosened just so, and he’s good enough to eat.

You lay a warm hand on the inside of his leg, and Jayce, as he always does, yields. Less on thought, more on instinct, always so eager, before he turns to look at you with a question in amber eyes gone chocolatey dark in the low light of the room.

“Hm?”

His cologne hits you in a peppery-sweet, floral wave as he leans in, leans closer, and gives you the attention you’re so clearly demanding.

“Should I get us more wine?” You make feeble conversation, more eager to hear his voice than his thoughts. He’s been sharing most of them in whispers throughout the play so far as is.

Jayce shakes his head, flashes a conspiratorial, boyish little smirk. “If I have any more, I might um,” he breaks out in a short, clearly tipsy giggle, “do something I really shouldn’t be doing up here.”

His hand finds yours, pinkies twining together in a near juvenile but vulnerable display of his affection, a plea for affection. And, oh, his eyes, though his pupils are blown wide, glitter mischievously like a cat’s about to pounce. Two can play that game…

“Mm. That would be a terrible look on you,” you emptily agree. “Think of the headlines… Man of Progress caught moaning during Winter Solstice play, Man of Progress bent over the railing on the opera’s most lavish balcony…”

Jayce nods, a little drunkenly. Leans in for a kiss before he breathes: “Terrible.”

You let him have it — how could you not? Let him sloppily lick at your mouth like an overeager puppy for a long, dizzying, smooth-merlot attempt at a kiss. He smiles into it, as if in thanks.

Before you give a gentle little push at the plush swell of his chest with your other hand, pacing him, pulling away to leave him in a dazed little stupor. His breath hits your now slick lips in a warm, wet brush.

“Intermission’s about to end.” You pat his thigh less sensually, more like you’d pat an obedient dog for a trick well done. “Better keep quiet and focus on the third act.”

It looks like it pains him to settle back into his velvet seat, so you leave your hand on the top of his now still thigh — a reminder, a promise. It keeps Jayce on his toes more than the narrative unfolding before you does. Well worked sinew draws so tight you can feel it vibrate even under the soft layer of plush fat on his thighs, and as the action in the play begins to find its inevitable build, you find your hand wandering.

Just to the inside of his thigh, first, where he’s softer, which he gladly offers up to you. Fingers draw patterns more intricate than the paisley on his vest, until poor, tormented Jayce begins to shift in his velvet seat. Tilts his hips this way, then that, then readjusts his whole frame in the seat with an awkward clear of his throat when it creaks.

The rich tones of a singular violin crescendos in sync with the dip of your hand further, up, up, until you reach that tense tendon on the inside of his leg, where his thigh seams to his hip.

And further inwards, his straining cock nudges the back of your knuckles through the silk of his pants. Jayce jumps with the contact… Poor, poor thing.

“Aw, Jayce...” It’s both pity and reprimand, a whisper so low he can barely hear it. The flesh of his thigh spills from between squeezing fingers; it has him lowering his head in shame and trying to breathe through it. If not for the sacred quiet of the imposing room, for the performers playing their instruments as deftly as you’re about to play him, he would have at the very least whined for it. A low, pleading, dog-like sound.

Instead, he shoots you a look. Desperate and dazed and wide-eyed all at once in the dark of the room, before it turns into a kind of anger that does not and will not bite. Nibbles on you like an angry puppy, more like.

“How d-do you expect me to focus when your damn hand is—“ and you give him what he wants, “o-oh.”

Grabbing a handful of the straining outline of his dick through his pants, rubbing just once, from the wet patch on the tip to as far down as the silk allows.

“Better?” You ask.

Jayce breathes a terrified, shivering sigh.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“I can stop,” you remind. He knows it to be the truth intimately; though he aches to please to a fault, Jayce has learned a thing or two about respecting his own boundaries by now. You trust that if he needs you to, he will give you the word.

“Don’t.” Armrests gripped so tight they could splinter, eager hips raise off the theatre seat to chase your hand until your palm cradles his leaky tip once more. Wide eyes flutter closed and cherry slick lips part in a muted expression of bliss.

“Then don’t make a mess,” you breathe into his ear. “And keep quiet. Can you do that, baby?”

Jayce nods desperately, and does a surprisingly great job at swallowing another moan as you twirl your fingertips around what should be the crown of his cock, silk gliding under your hand akin to well oiled skin. He lets it happen gladly, spreads his legs in welcoming especially when you reach further down, until the dainty weight of his balls sits cupped in the groove of your palm. There, you linger, simply holding him where he’s most sensitive, unmoving.

Jayce exhales shakily, baby doe eyes flicking between you and the hand between his legs in questioning, in hope. The soft, still cradle of your palm turns greedy as you feel him up, fingertips curling around the heft of his bulge, his cock pressing into your hand. All of him trembles with how he stifles a gasp into the back of his fist.

You simply knead at him idly, the way a satisfied cat would as it purrs, and make a show of diverting your attention back to the play you couldn’t care less about. It gets him off, in some capacity, to be touched but not paid attention to. It had made him soil his pants so quick, once, simply letting him have his pleasure against your thigh while you were busy with a book, and it’s a technique you employ on occasion since. Coupled with the fact that Jayce, touchy and needy as he is, hasn’t gotten much chance at release lately, you know for certain he will find it now, and fast.

The glossy silk has gone sticky wet at the very tip of his dick, so much so it even leaves your hand damp after an indulgent squeeze at it. Below, horns blare with the oncoming climax of the play, music daunting in its grandeur even from up so high. In spute of such an enticing distraction at hand, you can’t help but marvel at them as you palm Jayce’s cock. And you recognize the melody the very next moment, the thrill of hearing it for the very first time; just as you know the end Jayce is approaching with intimate familiarity, so do you remember the next part of the play.

It will go quiet for a long, breathtaking moment to draw the audience to the edge of their seats, the calm before the storm — and Jayce, judging by the sweat on his brow, the way he almost tears into the back of his fist with his canines, Jayce will not, cannot be quiet.

The realization must hit him at the same time as it hits you, because his free hand grabs yours in a death grip, a decidedly desperate attempt at halting the inevitable.

“S-stop,” he whispers, his lips meeting on the p just moments before the entire orchestra quiets.

You can hear every bated inhale in the grandiose room — but none of them as sweet as Jayce’s. The whole room buzzes, alight with the anticipation of the audience.

Jayce squeezes your hand vehemently, like the weight of his barely contained orgasm threatens to crush him. His thighs clench around your hand, his body curls, he exhales in a silent cry, before he presses his hand to his lips so hard it makes you wince. You lean in close enough to be able to hear his thoughts, let him hide his face in the fabric on your shoulder.

“Breathe,” you coo at him like he’s in pain, stroking your thumb up, then down the aching outline of his cock. It makes his hips jump. “Once the music starts again, I’ll take care of you.”

You can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, can feel his grip slacken, can hear the tension in the room crackling like lightning when a violin starts a short-lived solo that is soon joined by the rest of the orchestra in a tsunami.

Jayce lets go of your hand, spreads his legs as if to offer himself up on a silver platter to you — full, complete trust. You slip the buttons of his pants out of their eyelets fast, aided by the near oily slipperiness of the fabric, the press of his cock, which have the front flap popping open the rest of the way.

Your hand slides down the bump of his soft, fuzzy tummy, into his pants, his underwear, easily, because it’s warm, familiar territory. Cradling all he’s worth in your hand, you scoop both his cock and his balls from the confines of the silk, laying them out vulnerable and exposed to the cold air.

It forces a gasp from Jayce, fortunately lost to the music, instinctually going to cover himself with both hands at the sensation and the prospect of being at the mercy of such a grand, full room.

“I’ve got you,” you remind him. Deft hands reach for his breast pocket, stealing away his handkerchief from him. Even dazed like this, Jayce understands your intention easily, and wins another battle against his instincts as he lets his hands fall away from where they’re cupped over himself protectively. One hand fists the silk of his pants, and the other wraps around your forearm not in guidance, but in seeking, of your presence, of you, grounding himself.

Jayce goes perfectly still as you stroke his dry cock, from root to swollen tip. It can’t be satisfying, you know so by just the feel of your hand around him, the way his foreskin drags with the grip you have on him, up, over his leaky cockhead, then down, exposing him where he’s most sensitive. It can’t be good, but it’s enough, because Jayce whines, quiet and half-terrified as he hides his face against your shoulder, before he goes rigid with your next upward stroke.

And you do that thing he likes so much — his tip’s smeared in enough of his precum to facilitate an overstimulating twist of your palm around just the ruddiness of his crown. His mouth falls open in a silent wail.

Jayce is so easy. Shoots his load into the handkerchief you bring up to his cock just in time, lets you milk all his overwhelming orgasm’s worth into the fabric until he can’t help but clench his thighs around your still moving hand. Trembles in time with his twitching cock as you wipe the strings of cum off his sticky, swollen cockhead and stuff the handkerchief back into his breast pocket.

The orchestra quiets once more, for good this time, and the audience’s applause roars. There won’t be much time until the lights come on, so you make quick work of tucking him back into his pants, and once Jayce regains some of his mental footing, he helps you button them back up.

Just in time — the lights blind you, but not as much as he does. Sitting low in his seat, slick with sweat, disheveled in his best clothes, and smiling at you so wide and dopey he shines, Jayce is brighter than any light, any sun. His chest rises and falls at a fierce, breakneck pace as he catches his breath.

You lean in to grant him a well deserved kiss to the cheek, one he chases with his mouth instead, and smiles into when you lick what remains of the by now long dried merlot from the ridges of his lips.

It makes him smile wider, a blush that matches his suit perfectly blooms on his cheeks. He takes the hand you’d stroked him with, intertwines your fingers like the lovesick fool that he is. You squeeze back, like the lovesick fool that you are, and can’t help but gaze into his eyes even as the eager applause slowly fizzles out.

“They clapped for the wrong performance,” you whisper to him. “You were far more glorious than any play.”

#jayce talis #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #arcane jayce x reader #jayce arcane #jayce arcane x reader #arcane jayce #arcane x reader #reader insert #my writing

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ellieputellas · 1 day ago

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Soft and lazy morning sex with Alexia? R is aussie and a part of the Matildas. She's just come back to barca after being with the national team for national camp.

breakfast | alexia x matildas!reader

tags: minors dni, fluffy smut, matildas!reader, established relationship, cunnilingus r!receiving, fingering r!receiving, inspired by the recent match haha, request basically says it all hence no summary, inspired by the friendly match against brazil, not proofread lol | wc: 1k+

masterlist | do not repost or plagiarize!

The friendly against Brazil had left your body sore and aching with every muscle protesting even the smallest movement. The grueling match had been tough, and the painfully long flight back to Barcelona did nothing to alleviate the aches.

By the time you got back home in the afternoon, Alexia was still out at the physio, working on her minor leg injury. As much as you wanted to wait for your girlfriend to come back and force her to try all your favorite childhood snacks from Australia, your body betrayed you. As soon as you showered and you let your body hit the bed, you fell asleep instantly

It wasn't until several hours of deep, undisturbed slumber later that you were awakened by the soft series of fluttery kisses on your bare shoulder. Blinking groggily, you were met with the golden light of late morning spilling into the room.

“Cariño,” Alexia’s soft voice vibrated behind you. It was warm and steady, breaking through the quiet. “Time to wake up, my love.”

You blinked again, half-aware of the strong arms wrapped around your waist and her body pressing snugly against your back as she spooned you.

“C’mon, cariño, you have to wake up,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your temple. “You were out cold when I got home last night. You didn't even flinch when I loudly announced that I brought your favorite takeout.”

You mumbled something incoherent, still too sleepy to understand anything she was saying. Though subconsciously, your body moved closer to hers, pressing your back against her front. Alexia chuckled, the sound low and affectionate.

“Poor sleepy baby,” she cooed as her hand lazily traced lines up and down on your arm. “I ordered us your favorite breakfast. You gotta get up, sleepyhead.”

“Mmm, five more minutes…” You groaned, slightly annoyed. You were always a bit grumpy whenever being woken up. But you were just extra moody now, especially after that horrid game and the excruciating travel that followed. You just wanted to melt into the bed and stay fast asleep for a couple more days.

Alexia hummed softly, her lips ghosting over your ear. “If I give you five more minutes, you’ll just ask for five more.” She teased. "You gotta get up, baby. Or else, I'll have to wake you up myself."

Without waiting for a response, she leaned forward and started peppering kisses along your jawline, moving to your neck with slow, deliberate affection. Her lips lingered just enough to make you squirm, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you unconsciously moved closer to you.

Alexia's warm hands found their way under your shirt, tenderly grazing your breast. You hummed as your breathing grew heavier. Alexia's fingers were suddenly on your nipples, delicately rolling them around her fingers.

You moaned at the sensation, still barely awake.

"Still sleepy?" Alexia asked in between kisses. You responded a satisfied hum, stuck in that state between asleep and awake. She chuckled as she propped herself up.

She let your back fall flat on the mattress as she hovered above you from her side, kissing your neck deeper. Your eyes started fluttering open at the feeling of her gentle nibbles.

Before you could even mentally process what was happening, muscle memory had taken over and your hands were guiding Alexia to move herself in between your legs, which you had just spread apart to accommodate her.

"Hmm, Alexia..." You hummed as you wrapped your arm around the Catalan who continued to kiss you on the neck. Her lips started moving slowly down to your collarbones before she lifted up your shirt, exposing your bare chest.

"So pretty for me," You didn't know if Alexia was talking about you or your chest but you were still in the process of waking up to even think about it.

Your back arched as you felt her lips carefully wrap around your nipples, wetting them with her mouth. You moaned as she used her tongue pointedly to flick against it. "Keep going," you urged.

Alexia nodded as she continued to suck on your breast as her hand snaked to in between your legs, cupping your tenderness through your shorts. "Hmm," she said before pulling away. "Someone's already excited."

Your eyes opened to see your girlfriend's teasing expression. "Alexia, please just..." you trailed off, at a loss for words. "Do a better job of waking me up."

She chuckled at your impatience. "So fiesty, cariño." She teased before connecting her lips with your breast again. This time, her hand pushed under your shorts and underwear, fingers slowly finding your warmth.

Alexia moved her mouth back to yours, kissing you as she cautiously drew wide circles around your clit. You wrapped your arms around her as you moved your hips against her hand.

"Shh, sshh," Alexia hushed. "Let me take care of you."

She pulled away and steadied your hips from moving before sitting up to take your bottoms off. Alexia bit her lip, stiffling her own moan as she saw your wetness. "I missed this pretty pussy so much."

You smiled as you saw the hunger in Alexia's eyes grow. It wasn't long before the Catalan had her head in between your legs, using her tongue to lap you up eagerly as if she was starving and you were sweet nectar.

You moaned as you felt her tongue firmly push the hood of your clit back, grazing against the sensitive areas. "Alexia, I want more please," you begged but Alexia ignored you, doing things her way.

As her mouth wrapped around your clit to form a suction, you felt one of her fingers graze against your opening. You whimpered as Alexia carefully push it inside you, feeling you tighten around her, driving her insane.

"Ale..." You moaned out as you felt her plunge deeper inside you, mouth still busy as it sucked slowly.

Her finger slowly pumped in and out of you slowly but precisely as her mouth alternated between sucking your clit and licking. You could feel your sore leg muscles cramp up as you felt the intensity of Alexia's touch ripple through your body, causing you to lay down one of your propped legs at an attempt to alleviate it.

That didn't seem to bother Alexia as she kept on satisfying you with her mouth. Feeling you become wetter, your juices soaking her fingers and chin, she decided to insert another inside of you. Alexia felt herself grow more and more aroused as she felt your tightness around her.

She lifted her head up for a moment. "Someone missed me," she teased.

You put your hand against her head, pushing her back down on your core. "Yes, Alexia, I missed you so much." Your words came out raggedy and heavy. "So, so fucking much."

She chuckled, her laugh vibrating against your core. You were about to scold her for chuckling at your eagerness but before you could even react, Alexia quickened her pace, pumping in and out of you deeper and faster.

A series of incoherent expletives and moans escaped your mouth as your girlfriend fucked you with her fingers, curling so often against the sensitive spot inside of you. Your mouth dropped open, as you gasped for air, feeling overwhelmed by the sensation.

Suddenly, the familiar four-toned notification bell chirped, cutting between your moans. Alexia ignored it until it chirped again minutes. She glanced at her phone to see the vague sight of a Deliveroo notification. Your breakfast had arrived.

You weren't paying attention to anything, feeling the pleasure overwhelm you, rendering all your senses useless. The pleasure started to grow from inside you, developing into the familiar onset of an orgasm.

"Alexia," You moaned. "I'm so close."

Bzzz. Bzzz. The phone buzzed.

"Alexia, keep going." Bzz bzzz.

And as you were about to reach your peak, your girlfriend abruptly pulled away, causing you to violently open your eyes. You looked over to her as she grabbed her phone.

"Babe, what the fuck, I was so close." You whined, feeling annoyed.

She chuckled. "It's your breakfast, cariño." Alexia explained. "The Deliveroo driver's been trying to notify us that he's here already."

You groaned. "You could have made me cum at least!"

A teasing glint sparkled in your girlfriend's hazel eyes. "Never promised I would.” She smirked. "I just said I'd wake you up and… you're awake now."

You groaned as she planted a kiss on your forehead before walking out the room. With much annoyance, you shouted after her. "This doesn't mean you're done here!"

"Yes!" She called out, already on her way to the front door. "I always finish my breakfast."

a/n: writing my long angst fic has been tiring and this request has been in my inbox for a while so i decided to give it a shot. felt inspired by the recent match actually haha! (also i KNOW this wasnt part of my initial WIP list but i just got randomly inspired)

also i just typed this up quickly on my phone and probably took longer to make the dividers and to edit out raso's name from her jersey than i did writing this so excuse any mistakes and errors. i hope u all still like it!

#alexia putellas fic #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso fic #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas fluff #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas blurb

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mischievousmoony · 2 days ago

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𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛

⟢ james potter x reader (who is skilled at gift wrapping) ⟢ you and james wrap christmas gifts for your kids last minute ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: no warnings? lmk if i missed anything

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The crisp rustle of wrapping paper tears through the air as you unravel a sheet long enough for a rather larger box.

You and your husband, decked in matching holiday pajamas, are sitting on the dark hardwood floor of your bedroom. Surrounding you are various presents that you’re working tirelessly to wrap late this Christmas Eve.

“Why do we do this every year? Scratch that— why do I let you convince me to do this every year?” you suddenly ask when you get a glimpse of the clock on your nightstand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James asks on an exhale of airy laughter.

“Oh, nothing,” you hum as you measure out how much paper you’ll need. “Just trying to figure out how I let myself marry a chronic procrastinator. And how I let him be such a bad influence on me.”

James falters, dropping the flaps of snowflake-decorated paper he was about to tape down.

“A chronic procrastinator? A bad influence!?”

You press your lips together to hold back a smile. “Keep wrapping. It’s almost three in the morning,” you say as your scissors satisfyingly glide through the wrapping paper.

“No,” James protests, pushing the gift away from him and crossing his arms petulantly. “Not until we address your little comment.”

“See, you’re procrastinating right now by trying to start a debate about whether or not you have a problem,” you tease, your lips involuntarily turning up at the corners.

“It sounds like you want to finish the wrapping by yourself,” he jokes, but you both know he’d never leave you hanging.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh. “If we had it my way the presents would have been wrapped ages ago. They would’ve been wrapped the moment we brought them home.”

“Why would we wrap one present at a time when we could wait and wrap them all at once?”

“Only a chronic procrastinator would ask why we should get ahead on our tasks.”

James knows you’ve got him there, so all he can do is huff. “Stop saying procrastinate it doesn’t sound like a word anymore.”

“Alright, slacker,” you say through a grin.

James rolls his eyes dramatically as he repositions himself from sitting up to lying on his side. “I’m not a slacker,” he says, propping his head up on his elbow, “I just want to be efficient.”

Your eyebrows shoot up as James denies his tendency for putting off his tasks as he gets comfortable in front of a half-wrapped present.

“Yeah, real efficient,” you say as you carefully fold the paper at the corners, creating perfect trapezoids on the sides of the box, which you tape down with a small square of sellotape.

He takes notice of the look you gave him, and provides an excuse. “I’m just taking a break.”

“This is the definition of slacking, by the way. C’mon we’re going to be dead tired tomorrow.”

“We’ll be fine, it’s only 3 a.m.,” James says as if it’s barely midnight. Regardless, he pushes himself back into a seated position and finishes taping down the paper over the box that holds a new toy truck for you son.

“Last Christmas the kids were jumping in our beds by seven,” you say, very matter-of-factly.

“If they’re awake that early I’ll corral them to the kitchen and make a big breakfast with them to give you an extra hour,” he promises as he reaches for a new roll of wrapping paper— a dark green one with cartoon reindeers printed all over.

“You need sleep too.”

James shrugs. “Well, it was my fault we procrastinated wrapping these anyway.”

“Oh? So you admit it now?”

“What can I say? Is it so bad that after we put the kids down and I was all alone with my beautiful wife I’d rather cuddle or catch up on our shows or… other things.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Other things?” you snort.

“Yeah. Wanna do them right now?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“James!” you scold him as a blush heats your face.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll focus.” He reaches for the slowly dwindling pile of presents and picks one that looks easy to wrap. You both prefer to leave the more complicated ones to you, as you always seem to have some unique way to wrap the strangest shapes.

“Not that one!” you stop him. “That one’s from Santa, you have to use the shiny red paper and the golden bows.”

“What? I picked this one,” he says, turning over the box of a new doll for your daughter. “I don’t want to give Santa all the credit!” James pouts.

“And you’ll get it. In about ten years, give or take, when we tell them it was all a lie in the name of Christmas spirit.”

James laughs and takes a look at the clock that reads 3:16 a.m. Santa can have this one, James decides. Even if he did continue to protest, you would probably convince him in the end.

For the next twenty minutes, you two get lost in the rhythm of wrapping. With James handling the simple boxes, and you expertly finishing the oddly shaped ones, folding the paper in ways that obscure the gift’s silhouette while adding an elegant touch.

You know your kids won’t give the wrapping a second thought, and it will all end up torn into bits on the floor, but you just love the way they all look under the tree. So perfectly arranged and beautifully wrapped, it makes Christmas feel all the more special.

As you straighten out a bow made from hand curled ribbons on the top of a dollhouse, pre-assembled for play tomorrow morning, James hisses and drops the paper he’s working with. You look up at him as he brings his finger up to his lips.

“Ow, ow!”

“Y’alright?” you ask.

“I’ve been injured! Wounded! No one told me how hazardous gift wrapping would be!” he wails dramatically, cradling his right hand with his left.

You laugh at the sight of him, gathering that he has probably gotten a paper cut. Shuffling over to him on your knees, you outstretch your hand. “Let me see.”

He puts his hand in yours and you turn it over to inspect his pointer finger. It takes you half a minute to find the small slice in the top layer of skin. It’s nearly impossible to see, and you’re sure the pain has subsided now. Still, you bring his hand to your lips and press a soft kiss over the small cut.

“Better?” you mumble against his skin.

“Almost. I think I have another injury right here.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes to find him tapping his lips, puckered and awaiting a kiss.

You shake your head at his antics but oblige him anyway and connect your lips in a gentle kiss. James’ right hand snakes out of your grip so he can wrap it around your waist to hold you into the kiss for a little longer.

“Come on,” you say as you begin to pull away, “we only have a few more presents between us and those fresh homemade cookies laying out for Santa.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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simpjaes · 6 hours ago

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sharing = caring [p.js | s.jy]

Jake thought he could get away with purchasing your panties off of your brother without anyone knowing. Unfortunately, the dorm life, where Jay exists literally three feet away from him at all times makes that impossible. or the one where jake tries to jerk it while his roommate is sleeping and jay just wants him to share a lil bit of what he has hidden under his pillow

minors dni! | requested by anonymous

WORDCOUNT― 1.2k

PAIRING― jake x jay x reader's panties

WARNINGS ― both jake and jay are fucking weirdos. bisexual jay. jake is just horny so he's like "well, ok i guess"

NOTE― tumblr hasn't been letting me post longer drabbles as an ask, so to the anon who sent me this idea, ur brain. mwah.

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― masturbation, panty sucking, kind of guys kissing, cum, moaning, purchasing of panties lol

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Where did you get those?”

Jay stares forward at his roommate, narrowing his eyes for a moment in realization.

“Found them.” Jake shrugs, trying to hide the item crumpled in his fingers, shoving them quickly into his pocket as if it would keep Jay from asking any more questions.

Unfortunately, Jay knows what those are, and knows who they belong to. He saw that fucking instagram post. Jake saw it too, Jay saw his bitch ass like the picture as soon as it was posted.

It was a photo of you alongside your friends. You hadn’t noticed at the time the image was posted, and god, fuck, Jay wishes you never found out because the whole post was deleted shortly after. It was a panty shot, you sitting there on the front steps of a bar alongside your friends. If you zoomed in on the photo, because let’s be honest, Jay always zoomed in, you could see it. You could see your panties.

An accidental panty shot.

So, Jake would be out of his fucking mind to think Jay doesn’t know what those are. What he wants to know is how the fuck he got his hands on them.

Jake awkwardly stands, almost like a deer in headlights as Jay closes in on him, furrowing his brows and glaring at him.

“Jake.” Jay warns him with a deeper tone, “Where the fuck did you get those?”

Jake, famously bad at telling lies, stiffens up before dropping his shoulders entirely.

“I paid her little brother for them.”

Jay lends him a look of disgust. Not because he thinks it’s weird, but more so because why the fuck didn’t he think of that first?”

“Bro…” Jay trails off, wanting to reach into Jake’s pocket and grab them himself, but he relents...for now. “How much did you pay for them?”

What Jake thought would be a scolding session, or like, a life long reason to mock and make fun of him turns out to be…oh. Now, hold on.

“Wait–” He takes a step back, raising a brow. “Why do you care?”

“Are they dirty?” Jay continues to question. “What do they smell like?”

Then, silence as the realization hits them both.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well.

Jake expected to spend his first night with these panties alone, but it seems like Jay isn’t willing to let him out of his sight with them. Weird, absolute freak behavior, but he gets it.

He’d probably do the same if he noticed Jay twirling your panties in his hands too. Still, he’s been dying to jerk off since he got the first whiff of them.

Yes, they’re dirty.

He didn’t pay $200 for nothing. And your brother drives a hard bargain. Jake seriously almost dipped into his saving because the fucker wanted more for them. Fucking pervert, selling his sister’s panties to make an extra buck.

Whatever.

The issue now is the fact that Jay just lingers.

“Weren’t you supposed to go to work tonight?” Jake groans, hating the dorm life and despising the lack of jerking off he’s been able to do with a roommate so close.

“I called in.” Jay deadpans, rolling over on his bed and acting like he’s going to go to sleep.

Jake leaves it at that, rolling his eyes in a huff and flopping down on his own bed.

An hour goes by in silence.

Two hours.

Jake’s eyes are bloodshot by this point because he really is sleepy. He’s got class at eight tomorrow morning, after all. Thankfully, he can tell Jay is asleep by now. Which means…

He’s as quiet as he can be when he reaches under his pillow, nearly moaning at the feeling of the panties against his fingertips alone. He’s lucky Jay didn’t see him stuff them under here, because for a second he was almost worried they’d be nowhere to be found once he finally got to do this.

And so, silently still, he grabs them and gently lays them across his nose, inhaling deeply before sliding his hand down and into his sweatpants.

He breathes the scent of you in, imagining all sorts of things until he’s working up a sweat trying to hold in his silence. Even if he were being loud, he wouldn’t know it, his ears have been ringing since the first touch of his cock, if he’s being totally honest.

They’re ringing so loudly, and his eyes are shut so tightly that he doesn’t even notice Jay getting out of bed and standing in front of him. He only realizes when the scent of you is suddenly gone and a waft of fresh air fills his lungs instead.

His abs flex as he opens his eyes in a frustrated groan before he’s ripping his hand from his pants and trying to snatch the beloved item back.

“What the fuck?!” Jake grips, not even hiding how hard he is before lifting himself from his bed, onto his knees to try and grab at Jay’s arm.

Jay, already lost in the sauce much like Jake was previously, will be damned to hand them over so easily. So, he presses his two fingers into the seat of the panties and sucks them into his mouth.

Jake nearly sees red at that.

“I paid for those.” He seethes out this time, cock jumping unintentionally at the way Jay’s other hand is blatantly down his own pants, unashamed, right there in front of him.

“We can’t share?” Jay mumbles from around the panties, leaving the fabric in place while pulling his fingers out, reaching for Jake’s arm to pull him even closer.

All Jake can do is follow the grip on him in shock, unsure of what to do but fuck, he was so close already. Jay seems weirdly okay with this…why can’t he?

“Have you not tasted her yet?” Jay mumbles again, rolling his eyes back briefly when he flicks his wrist against the head of his cock.

Jake wouldn’t know what’s going through his mind even if you tortured him to say it. Genuinely, there is no excuse for him to lean forward like this, chasing the scent of your panties right up against his own room mate’s mouth. He tries to save himself from crossing that line by trying to tug them out with a gentle pull, but it doesn’t work. Why doesn’t it work?

Because Jay closes the distance for him. Not kissing him, but lying his lips against Jake’s with the panties acting as a barrier. And then? He presses his tongue out, as if giving the panties back to Jake through a kiss.

Jake moans when he slightly pulls back, hesitating as he moves his hand down his own pants again. Unsure if he’s moaning for the taste of you, the intense arousal in his gut, or, well, being kind of kissed when he like, really really needs it. Jay or not, human contact is human contact when he's this fucking turned on.

Already, Jay is close with the remnant of your pussy on his tongue, but opening his eyes and seeing Jake act just as insane as he does– he can’t help it. There’s something about the taboo nature of it. The way Jake paid for panties from a girl who barely knows either of them. The way he started loudly jerking off as if Jay wasn’t three feet away from him before. The way he flushed while watching Jay try and get some of it too, jerking himself off in the open like that.

The way Jake just..stays here, inches from his face and cums against his sweat pants with a broken moan, drooling all over the panties.

It’s not that his roommate turns him on or anything. Honestly, Jay could give less of a shit about Jake in terms of sexuality but that moan. So broken, so desperate. He couldn’t help himself, reaching and tearing the panties out of Jake’s slack mouth as he releases, just to shove them down his own pants, cumming all into the fabric to not only the taste, scent, and feeling of your panties, but the sound of Jake whimpering at the loss.

#enhypen smut #park jongseong smut #sim jaeyun smut #jake smut #jay smut #jake sim smut #jay park smut #enhypen hard hours

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waynes-multiverse · 1 day ago

Note

Hi, I first wanted to say that I’m a big fan of your work, I’m constantly rereading your fics and they have really helped me escape from my busy Uni schedule. I was hoping you could write some smutty head canons about dean, no pressure ofc. I hope you enjoy your day and thank you for taking the time to create and post fics for people like me who need a way to escape their hectic lives.💕

Aww, thank you so much, lovely! I gladly support the escapism 🥰

Sorry this took me so long! I was on a bit of a break there, but I was so excited to get into this. God knows I have so many headcanons 😆

Hope you’re doing well and hope you enjoy this 🤍

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18 for some smutty content (duh)

Main Masterlist || Tag List

Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean

Dean is very hands-on, which means he’ll touch you whenever he can, even if it’s just a hand on the small of your back while you’re pumping gas or walking into a bar.

This also means he takes PDA to a whole new level. He teases you under the table when you’re doing research in the library or eating in the kitchen. He weaves his arms around you when you’re doing dishes. He trails kisses down your neck while you’re cooking.

Especially while you’re cooking. Something about food just turns him on. So much so that every once in a while he stands in front of your door with some whipped cream, chocolate sauce, a cute wiggle of his eyebrows, and a giant grin, begging you to be his dessert.

Sam is mostly annoyed by his brother’s indiscretions, though. Too many times (almost every damn day) Dean has walked into the kitchen in nothing but his gray robe and announced his morning wood to you, not seeing Sam sitting in the corner. That’s when Sam usually folds his paper, takes his coffee, and hurries to the library before Dean’s hands find their way to your body once more.

Sam suffers the most, however, if there’s only one motel room available and the three of you have to share. Dean has zero self-control (and also doesn’t care what Sam sees or doesn’t see). While he cuddles you, he holds you so close to his body that it’s hard to breathe. And again, hands and lips – they wander. Constantly. The man doesn’t possess an off-switch.

It got so bad that Sam has established a rule that the two of you are not allowed to share a bed anymore and Dean has to take the couch for the night. But as soon as his little brother has dozed off, he crawls right back into the warm comfort of your bed.

Speaking of rules, Dean loves breaking them. If there’s a sign that says “Do not enter,” you can be sure as hell he’ll shove you in there and will enter you. For Dean, there’s no such thing as bad timing or an inappropriate place. He even breaks rules that don’t exist and are just common sense like, “Do not have sex in a museum while you’re breaking into said museum.”

And while he loves breaking rules, he also loves following them. Especially when it’s “sexy rules.” He loves when you playfully push him around, when you shove him backwards onto the mattress and tell him what to do. He will smirk at you giddily all the way through and be the best damn boy you’ve ever seen.

Overall, he’s curious about your fantasies and constantly asks you want you want to do. He enjoys it when you take the lead in the bedroom and loves to see what you come up with. He loves being underneath you and watch you ride him with his bottom lip tugged behind his teeth. It barely hides his huge grin. He loves to see your tits bounce from this angle. According to him, it’s the best goddamn view in the world – forget the Grand Canyon.

However, when he’s had a bad day or a rough hunt, he actually likes to be in charge. It all depends on his mood. But taking control of you helps him cope with the things he can’t control in this world. So whenever he comes home with tense shoulders and a tightly creased brow, you know you’re in for a treat.

When he orders you around with his deep voice and sharp tone, you melt into a puddle and only all too happily oblige to his every command. Your legs grow weak when he dominates you with just a look. God, he loves the way you whimper and squirm underneath him, loves how you moan his name when you’re on all fours in front of him, and loves how your lips feel around his cock when you suck him off.

You love to give him comfort in whatever form he pleases. And Dean loves that you trust him with all your heart – and he knows to never betray it. He will always respect your limits, even though he gently pokes them sometimes, testing how far he actually can go.

Sometimes he bends rules like he bends you.

And truth is, he can go pretty fucking far. There’s not much you won’t let this man do. His dirty mouth can convince you to do all kinds of things – things you would for sure refuse if anyone else was asking. But it’s Dean, and one look of his sparkling green eyes will have you on your knees for him.

But honestly, Dean is the same kind of whipped for you, too. He will do anything for you, short of moving actual mountains. Massages, hot baths, ice cream at midnight? He’s got you covered and doesn’t expect anything in return, except for your unconditional love. He’s got it either way, but you do have to reassure him sometimes.

Dean’s a giver, not a taker, so you do have to force him sometimes to ask for the things he wants. But boy, when he gives, he goddamn gives with both of his massive hands. After he’s done with you, there’s not a single inch of skin left on your body that hasn’t been worshipped. You always come first – literally.

Dean takes pride in making you cum, and it doesn’t matter with which body part of his he does it. They are all equally skilled – his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and his dick. He eats you out and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, because you both know in a life full of monsters, there actually might not be one. He makes every night and every day count.

Then, there’s his mouth. It should be no surprise, but it’s goddamn filthy. He could make you come with words alone, and not rarely, he sure likes to try. A lot of times it’s stuff you haven’t even heard, dreamed, or thought about until Dean’s said it and put it in your goddamn head.

And yes, Dean’s very sexual and a great lover through and through. He enjoys sex, but most of all, he enjoys going to sleep and waking up next to you. He loves cuddling with you on the couch during a movie, he loves holding you close at night, and he loves that special moment when you’re both coming down from your highs and are still connected, bathing in the afterglow.

Dean has been so touch-starved all his life that he enjoys the little things. He loves when your fingernails caress his back and massage his scalp. He loves using you as his freaking pillow. At this point, you’ve learned not to drink too much water before bed, because you know you won’t be able to escape his prison of strong arms – not that you’d ever want to (unless you really do have to pee).

I honestly could've went on and on and on with this one... 😂

MORE HEADCANONS? 👉 Put 'em here.

Join the TAG LIST here! 🌌 Wanna sponsor my caffeine addiction? ☕️

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @snowayumi

#wayne answers #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff

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superhoeva · 21 hours ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘: 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄

main masterlist | series masterlist | tag

⬩ pairing(s) gomez inspired!simon "ghost" riley x morticia inspired!fem!reader

⬩ warning(s) sabrina carpenter (heavily mentioned), violence (mentioned), guns (mentioned), the kids having a blast, humor (i hope!), confused!dad!simon, mom!reader

⬩ author's note hi my loves! simon and wifey having a night in is still in progress but i still wanted to write something for the rileys! as a sabrina carpenter fan, i absolutely love this one and i hope you do as well. thank you for all of the love on the two fics released so far! much more to come! <3 (lovely divider is by @wethairjoel)

⬩ word count 0.4k

Something… odd is coming from the living room. Upbeat. Annoyingly familiar and Simon’s blood starts to itch when he can’t place it. The man gives in with a mix of a grunt and sigh, easing into the room with furrowed eyebrows.

Simon has to pause at the sight he’s met with. A blast of bright pop music smacks him in the face. As does the way Reaper bounces in a happy dance around his sister, who’s completely enamored by the television screen. A summery music video plays–filled with swimsuits and umbrellas and too much orange for Simon to appreciate.

“Little Devils?”

Reaper answers without pausing his jumping.

“Yes, Papa?”

“What’s this now?”

“A new song we like. Isn’t it nice, Papa?”

Simon thinks for a moment, tongue sliding across the inside of his cheek. “Well, she’s very… blonde.”

“You’re blonde, Papa,” Raven reminds him, and Simon would laugh if it wasn’t for the repetitive melody sounding over and over again.

“Who showed ya this, anyway?”

“Mama.”

Oh, alright. You showed them this–wait… what? You? His beautiful, brooding wife?

“They were talking about her at school, too. She’s very pretty… but not as pretty as Mama.”

Another hm is all Simon can hum in agreement. His eyes trail back to his son, to his daughter, then back to his son again. With the way he’s moving, he’ll sleep just fine tonight.

Simon flicks back to the telly. What is this woman even talking about?

“Wha' is she even talkin’ about, lovies?”

Reaper answers his father, out of breath but still moving. “‘Bout how she has to work late.”

“Why’s she workin’ late?”

“‘Cause she’s a singer,” Raven replies this time, not even noticing how she sings the response. Bloody hell… as long as they’re having fun, he guesses.

Simon finds you in your office, expression scarily similar to Raven’s as you stare at your computer screen. Entranced by the same woman his children are listening to just down the hall.

“You too, pretty?”

You nuzzle against the tender hand he places on your shoulder, Simon warming and pressing a kiss on your head at the affection. “She’s actually quite interesting, my love. Watch…”

Simon sighs but obeys, eyes focusing on where your laptop plays a music video. Very different from the one Raven and Reaper are enjoying. This has knives and blood and shotguns and injury. All of which forces a tilt of the head from Simon.

“This is…” your husband trails off, unable to find the words. “'S quite nice.”

“It’s magnificent,” you mumble, transfixed at how Sabrina Carpenter looks with a wooden fence sticking through her middle. “They’re magnificent.”

Funny enough, Simon is the one who rewinds the video as soon as it’s ending, tapping you to stand so he can take your seat and pull you onto his lap. Arms wrapped around your middle and chin settled on your shoulder. Eyes blazing with delight at the viciousness of the video.

#au: the riley family #cod x reader #cod x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 12 hours ago

Text

Meet the Family 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm going to be starting my advent drabbles for December today so enjoy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You moan at the firm swirl of fingertips against your temples. Lloyd’s hands are so big and warm that they soothe the virulent pulsing, just enough. Your toes curl and you push your skull into his grasp as you sink into the bed.

“See, Pixie, not too bad, huh?” He purrs. You groan. He needs to just shut up. “I’ve been told I have very skilled hands, you know?”

“Lloyd, please,” you mutter.

“Please what? You want more?” He taunts and rocks his hips so his crotch rubs against your stomach.

You try to shake your head but can’t in his grip. You swat his knee and grumble, “not that.”

“Ah, come on, pixie, I can be quick but efficient,” grazes his nails over your scalp and you shudder at the cool sensation it sends through your hot skull. “You got goosebumps. I’m getting you there.”

“No...” you murmur.

“Mmm, yes. You don’t gotta do nothing. I’ll lick you like popsicle and you’ll melt--’

You flick your eyes open as a twinge pinches in your core. That’s not because of him. It’s just your biology responding to the physical stimulation. A dollar store massage pad could do the same thing. You grab his wrists and narrow your eyes.

“Stop. I’m too tired and miserable--” you whimper at the effort it takes to speak, “to keep arguing with you.”

“So don’t. Just let daddy Lloyd take over, baby cakes.”

“Daddy Lloyd?” You hiss and wince at the rattle in your skull. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re just like jelly in my hands. How about this, pixie dust, you just try to stop me. I think that will be fun.” He slackens his hold on your head and caresses your cheeks. Another shiver rolls over you.

Your hands brush over his as he glides past easily. He tickles your neck and you squirm as he moves back slightly. He walks his fingers along your shoulders then grips them tightly, pushing his thumbs into your muscles. You nearly choke as you feel the tension dislodge as he kneads.

You put your hand on his stomach and let out a wispy noise. Oh. No. It’s not that good. Oh but it is.

“See, baby, just a toy for good boy Lloyd,” he slithers.

You take and breath and curl your fingertips in the muscles of his torso. You’re no virgin, not some untouched nun, but it’s been as while and the feel of warm flesh plucks something deep in you. That tugging is just as much an adversary as the man who has you pinned to the bed.

Lloyd’s fingertips continue to rub, and roll, and raze your skin. He shifts his hands along your chest and drags them over the rise of your tits. He gropes you through your bra. You bare your teeth and latch onto his middle fingers as you try to peel him away.

“No, Lloyd--”

“Shhhh,” he hushes you.

He raises himself slightly on his knees and slips his hands away from your doughy flesh. He puts his elbows on either side of you, using them to support his weight as he spreads himself over you. Panic swells as you’re trapped under his tall figure. He slips his hands free and frames your sides instead, dipping his head down to bury between your cleavage.

“Nope!” Your adrenaline spikes, and the yelp reverberates in your head like the clang of a bell. “Lloyd, no! You’re not—Ayeeeee.”

He bites into the meat of your tit and you hit the top his head. He doesn’t react, only sinking his teeth deeper with a growl. You grab the longer strands of his hair and yank meanly. He grunts and recoils, leaving a throbbing imprint on you.

“Ow! Don’t fuck with my hair, Pix--”

“I’m telling you to stop--” You push yourself up on one elbow.

“You’re moaning like a neglected housewife while you’re doing it. It’s a bit confusing--”

“Is the word no that unclear to—you,” you put your hand to your forehead at the tick above your eye. You grit your teeth and snarl.

“I’m trying to help you. Can’t you see that?” He shoves you back down. “I’m not going to put it in, promise. I just want a taste of the pixie pie--”

He moves back to kneel between your legs. As he grips your hips and holds you down, your anger overwhelms that worrying tingle in your thighs. He bends as his fingertips curl under your panties and you bring your knee up into his ribcage.

He coughs and pushes himself away. He touches his side and hisses, “Goddamnit.”

“My head’s about to split and you’re trying to--” you gulp back the words as your cloudy dismay clears to horror. What was he going to do? How far was he going to go?

“Babe, my balls are about to split open,” he whines. “I was only going to be nice. Get you a little O before the big flight.”

You stare at him. Who the hell is this man? This isn’t Mr. Hansen and his curt emails and short commands. This isn’t the man who wanted his coffee with a single cream and his daily calendar colour coded. This is an animal.

Ugh, you knew better than to blur the line of personal and professional. Too bad, he doesn’t. Two million dollars. That little chant is not as encouraging the further you get into this, especially as you realise, this is only the beginning.

“Come on, baby, we can do it all over the clothes--”

“Get away from me,” you sit up with a huff, your whole body rebelling at the effort. “I have enough to worry about without you all over me.”

“Aw, please,” his eyes fall to your chest and flicker. You look down and sigh, one of your nipples peeking out above the bra cup. You fix it and shove him again. “Even the girls are tryna get out--”

“Sleep on the floor,” you sneer as you turn your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand and go to your bag, unzipping it as you nearly topple over. Your head is a maelstrom. You take out a loose tee and leggings and quickly dress.

As you turn back, Lloyd watches you with a pout. It’s disarming how he can go from pathetic to putrid and predatory. You near the bed and go around the other side. You take a pillow and throw it at his back. He sighs and stands up. He ignores the pillow and pulls back the blanket.

“No--”

“Hey, promise, I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he snaps. “I’m not sleeping on the damn floor. I’m still your boss, Pixie, remember that.”

You don’t say anything. That’s the Mr. Hansen you know. Demanding. Stubborn. You turn your back to him and stretch out on your side. You cling to the corner of the pillow and close your eyes.

His weight jostles behind you. He groans and the bed shifts as he leans over. The light shuts off and you nearly sigh at the relief.

He lays back but doesn’t relax. He fidgets. Tossing and turning, one way then the other. Adjusting the pillows, tugging on the blanket, bouncing the springs. You chew on the urge to bark at him to stop.

Finally, he stops. You exhale and try to ease your muscles. The tension only feeds the migraine. You focus on your breathing as you try to coax yourself back to sleep. You feel yourself slipping, further and further. A soft drone rises in your ears, rhythmic but harried.

“Mmm,” the hum breaks through your bubble and frustration sparks in your chest. You were almost asleep. “Mm, yeah, that’s....” Lloyd raspy voice drawls into the darkness between shallow grunts, “fuck--”

The shaking of the bed spikes your heartbeat. You open your eyes and frown. What is he doing? Is he--”

“Lloyd!” You spin onto your back and sit up, “Lloyd, stop that--”

“Fuck yeah, say my name,” he strokes himself furiously. You can vaguely see how the blanket jumps around his frantic motion. “Come on, I’m almost there.”

“You’re--”

“Told you,” he groans and pushes his feet into his bed, his knees bend under the blanket, “keeping my hands--- to myself.”

“Oh, god!” You turn and leap out of bed, stumbling. “Lloyd, you’re disgusting. Nasty--”

“Keep it coming, pix, it’s helping--”

“Ew!” You grab the pillow and twist away, stomping out, “absolutely gross!”

“Ah, yeah, fuck, baby! Thank you....” he voice peters out as you slam the bathroom door, flicking the lock into place.

You wince at the impact against the frame and sway in the dark. You throw the pillow into the tub and grab the robe hung on the back of the door. Fuck it. You give up. You don’t even want to sleep anymore, you just want to be left alone.

❄️

Your alarm wakes you through the wall. You’re stiff and sore, but your migraine has relented. The few hours were enough to push it back to a tenuous shadow. One wrong move and it’ll be back.

You climb out of the tub and turn on the shower. You wash quickly, minding the time, and get ready in the mirror, wearing the same robe you slept under. You emerge to the rocky snoring. You turn on all the lights but Lloyd remains unbothered.

You grab clothes, a black turtleneck and the same shade of cigarette pants. You dress in the bathroom then zip up your toiletry pouch. You come out to shove it into your suitcase and scour the room for anything forgotten.

As a final touch, you return to the bathroom and take one of the paper cups and fill it. You go quietly to the bed and tip it over Lloyd’s naked back, exposed above above the messy blankets. He squeals and bounces to life, flipping over as the rest of him is revealed to the room. You avert your eyes at his nakedness.

“What the fuck?” He snarls sleepily, “what are you doing?”

“Time to get up, Lloydy poo,” you clap at him. “We got a plane to catch.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“What? I'm helping you wake up. Like a good wife, right?”

He goes to argue then hesitates. He moves the blankets and coughs. He blinks and rubs his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Well, it’s time enough. You have thirty minutes to get it together, babykins.”

He winces at your tone. He stares at you as you grin. He moves cautiously toward the edge of the bed.

“What’s... you did something?”

“No,” you answer flatly.

“But...” he eyes you suspiciously.

“I’m just playing my part,” you say. “Like we agreed. Not everyone is morally debunked like you, my beloved.”

“Stop it,” he says.

“Stop what, my manly man. The twinkle in my eye. My other half.”

“All of that. I don’t like how you’re saying it,” he stands and hides his crotch with his hands.

“Stop? Oh, teddy bear, we don’t know that word, do we? Stop? What could that possibly mean?”

“Alright, I get it. You’re mad about last night--”

“I’m not mad, sweetie, I’m concerned because if you don’t get yourself together, we’re going to miss another flight and if I miss this flight, well, I think I might just lose my mind,” you smile, “you don’t want that now, do you, snookums.”

“You...” he turns back to you, “you’re a bit deranged sometimes.”

“Speak for yourself, sugar,” you march up to him, your anger fuming like smog in your nostrils, and you pinch his naked ass. “Get into gear,” your voice deepens, “now.”

He yelps and pulls away. He looks at you like he’s been splashed with cold water a second time and he swallows tightly. His brows arch as he gapes at you. He keeps one hand over his pelvis and reaches back to rub his ass.

“Damn, Pixie,” he finally backs off, “you’re something else.”

“I’m exhausted and I’m annoyed, so don’t push me.” You warn him.

“Yeah, well, better get this all out now. I’m sure the family doesn’t need you spoiling the holiday cheer.”

“Me?” You hiss.

He blanches, “I meant... er...”

“Go,” you snap your fingers and put your back to him. “I gotta get all this in the car.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and you listen to him retreat into the bathroom.

You get your bags to the door then grab your boots and jacket. Your agitation buzzes just under your skin. You have the flight to rein it in. It won’t be easy like Lloyd’s family. They don’t know you, so you can pretend with them. But your family, well, you are related to them. You share quite a few traits.

And Lloyd. You can’t have him running round like some goblin wreaking havoc. This whole thing is his idea and yet he doesn’t seem to know the script. He’s unpredictable and uncontrollable. He’s not the type your family would expect. That’s because he isn’t your type. Never in a million years would you choose him.

You take your bags down to the car and return to the hotel room. Lloyd is half-dressed. A pair of lamb grey pants on as he pulls on a white turtleneck with a silver emblem on the left side of his chest. The clothes won’t help the theatrics.

You gather up his clothes from the day before. You shove them into his large suitcase. “Is that everything?”

“I think, I just have my essentials,” he says. “Gotta style the love stache.”

“Go,” you wave him away.

“Thank you, honey boo, I know. I do look handsome in this, don’t I?” He taunts. You look at him with all the lack of sleep and rage festering in you from the last two days. He recoils and puts his palms up, “right, I’ll doll myself up.”

You wait for him to disappear back into the bathroom before you drag his bags to the door. You’ll leave them there so he can pack away whatever else he has out. You go to the bed and sit, running your hands over your face.

This isn’t just about getting through today. After the bullshit he promised his family, this is going to be months of torment. You don’t know if you have the willpower to put up with him for that long.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #fic #meet the family #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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niechys · 14 hours ago

Text

I'm sorry. I'm so not sorry but also so so so sorry. But I can't stop thinking about it.

from @keferon tf mecha universe

(Also if you don't want me tagging you please do tell. I didn't want to bother, just want to credit cuz it's glorious)

it's because of this post.

Happened after This event

I'm sorry in advance for all the grammatical errors.

I also don't know wo else would be the science guy to take this position of explaining the thing. I feel like there has to be someone else that's not Shockwave too. Sorry to all of Brainstorm's fans out there. I think he's not a bad guy. Just too excited for the possibilities.

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

Something lingers inside that mech. Although there is no hard evidence of a human soul or spirit or ghost haunting it, most people who had anything to do with Vortex agreed that it was best to believe its first pilot never leave the cockpit of his mech. After all, nothing else would explain the freak accidents constantly killing all but the latest pilot.

Human are prone to be superstitious. It's normal to believe in something like ghost in the machine, really.

But one would not think a man of sciences such as Shockwave would take the rumors seriously. No one knows if the scientist really believe it or not. He

Regardless of the rumors' validity, it sure did inspired him.

"You're kidding me" Swindle stood, blinked, looked at the incomplete repair of Blurr's mech then back to the technician in front of him. Brainstorm was prattling on at speed faster than Blurr's F1 record.

"Not kidding. Why would I kid? This is a great breakthrough. Lives can be saved and there are much we could do with the tech, I don't know why it never occurs to me or Shockwave that the neural link tech could have been used in this way---"

Swindle turned his brain off during all the scientific mumbo jumbo all and only really heard him again at "It's nothing all that weird really. Some people disagree, but you can't go against Shockwave when he pot his mind to it. If you think about it, it's just like Vortex"

"What?" Swindle blinked again.

"Vortex. That mech, I mean the mech's first pilot, crazy psycho, crazy good at slicing up kaijus"

"I know who Vortex was. I worked here when he start piloting. What did that asshole has to do with this?"

"Oh, everything. If, a big if. If that guy's consciousness was still in the mech like people been saying"

"Haunted" Crossing his arms, he narrowed his eyes at Brainstorm. The technician corrected him.

"Lingering consciousness. Either way, Blurr is in much better shape than Vortex. Brain still intact . So is most part of his body. We wired him to the neural link to allow him control of the mech. So when we are ready, he can still go about his task from within that mech"

"What . The . Fuck"

Swindle's eyebrow twitched. No, it's NOTHING like Vortex's case. The asshole died and probably refused to leave this world. Blurr, on the other hand, was still alive. Sure he wouldn't be the same. Maybe he would be scarred for life, paralyzed from the waist down or something. But hardwiring a person to a mech?

"So, you were working with Blurr before now, correct? That's why we would like to bring you in as his handler. Not like you have to do maintenances and stuff, just take care of him and, the publicity and all that. Like being his manager" With that, Brainstorm handed him a folder before excusing himself.

The guy wasn't bad most of the time, Swindle thought. But sometimes, just sometimes, his passion for science overshadowed the moral compass.

Like how he wished that his own greed would take precedented in his state of mind. They must have thought he would jump at the chance to milk more profit from Blurr. Hell, he wouldn't be feeling this bad if that was the case.

He wanted to refuse. Profit be damn, even he didn't feel right. Blurr saved them. He should be allow to preserved his humanity, his dignity. Not preserving his brain in a jar inside a mech. If the pilot died and the mech is reparable, you find a new pilot. If the pilot lived but can no longer pilot, you also find a new pilot. Not..this.

But refusing means they will bring someone else on board to manage Blurr. He's pretty sure he wouldn't like that.

Fuck

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

**note. Blurr is not reduced to brain in a jar. Most of his body is intact, just hard wired to the mech.

I tink they can add robot parts to him later all stuff. But since they probably value Blurr as a money cow pilot first. If they can't use his face, they can still use his mech.

Sorry again ehehehehehehehehehe

#tf mecha universe #tf blurr #tf swindle #should I put some kind of tw?#does it count as body horror?#I'm not sure #by the way this can be blamed on gundum I watched #being iron blooded orphans and thunder bolt #they're brutal af #I'm sorry again #tw body horror

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bunnys-kisses · 2 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/bunnys-kisses/768349619894861824/im-holding-your-hand-when-im-saying-this-as-a?source=share

people started asking crane (Max’s friend) on stream if Lestappen (Charles and max) is real. I think he was like “I shouldn’t be furthering/entertaining this” (I forgot what he said word for word). People took it as something to be excited about, that the drivers are aware of the ships and all, but idk. I think fandoms are getting too bold for my liking. I have no problem with shipping, but this parasocial behaviour is out of hand. I saw this when 1D was still a group (with Harry x Louis shippers harassing Louis to the point where he got so upset when the ship was referenced in the popular show Euphoria), I’ve seen it with Kpop in which idols have stopped hanging out publicly because fandoms get out of hand (a girl in the group Aespa had a boyfriend earlier this year and fans got very upset because they shipped her and another member and they broke up. A few years ago, 2 members of two different kpop groups (SNSD and EXO) dated and the girl got harassed at the airport even). And now this.

Fandoms get so parasocial so quickly, it’s insane. It’s not new behaviour, but it’s strange.

exactly, this isn't new behavior. but i feel like it's become more emboldened with how much more "online" both fans and companies/groups are.

more under the cut, because this is a long one....

i also think it ties into this notion that i've been seeing online about how fans have this feeling to be "right" both with rpf and fiction as well. that their theories, opinions and whatever else is "correct". i've seen this with like pieces of media like steven universe and even star wars. like fandom isn't fun anymore, it has become this weird one up over each other. i honestly don't know when this changed, my guess is around the pandemic when it seemed like people were more logged into the internet. but, i could be wildly off with that. (if you have an idea, i'd love to know). it just feels stupid in so many ways how fandoms are structured. even if you're not the "best" artist or writer, people can't have FUN in fandom - of course that doesn't mean it has to be absolved criticism. you can have fun and still call out hate within spaces. the issue with formula one (along with k-pop like you mentioned, anon), is that these aren't characters. this isn't arguing in the tags over is finnpoe or reylo is more valid or legitimate within the narrative. these are REAL people, with REAL friends, families and partners.

it's this weird push to have someone's theory - and while i have a soft spot for lestappen, it is at the end of the day nothing more than fan theory - be confirmed. also personally, if hattie (oscar's sister) or crane (max's friend) "outed" them, i would be horribly fucking offended on oscar/max's behalf. to have someone you TRUST just out you like that. it's sick. maybe it's because i worked in queer spaces from high school all the way through uni, and the number one rule no matter WHAT, is you never out someone. even if the question is harmless and the person asking has no ill intention. you never out another person, because it's not YOUR coming out. so the fact that fans are near begging these people to OUT their loved ones, is not only a level of delusion that i can't ever comprehend. but, also it could honestly, ruin that interpersonal relationship.

so like even if a driver is queer, whoever it may be. could be a driver from the 90s, could be a driver today, it could be a driver in five years, i don't want someone else in their life outing them. because that's THEIR story. and fans need to realize that. bothering crane or hattie or alexandra (i've seen that too) - isn't helping anyone and it makes you look unhinged and weirdly alienates not only the driver but their loved ones. YES, they knew it exists, it is EVERYWHERE. but shoving it in their faces doesn't help. and you're never going to get the confirmation because there is a high chance that their not even queer to begin with. and if they are, NOT OUR CONCERN

i don't have a problem writing or consuming rpf, it is not a crime nor do i think it should be stopped. like HAVE FUN. but you have to realize that it's not like debating star wars or marvel or whatever other piece of fictional media. formula one is REAL, they are not actors. they are athletes, and unless you want all rpf to be shut down some how. i suggest the likes of some of ya'll need to understand that there are different boundaries. and respect them.

i know they're all millionaires, but they still breathe and bleed as a friend of mine once said. it's fun to put them in little scenarios in fanworks, but just keep it out of their direct attention. there are unspoken boundaries, that some of ya'll need have said to you apparently.

asking oscar issac if he THINKS that finnpoe is real is VERY different than asking someone's sister if she thinks her REAL LIFE BROTHER is fucking his REAL LIFE TEAMMATE. - people's relationships have turned to ash over insistent rpf in their faces all the time.

my advice at the end of the day is: have fun, don't write or draw it because you want confirmation that it's a real relationship. write or draw it because you're having fun. fandom is about making friends and shipping in whatever context is about finding a slice of community on the vast internet, not cracking the code of if it is a real relationship. - bunny.

#bunny speaks #formula one #f1 #lestappen #max verstappen #charles leclerc #fandom woes #formula 1 #lando norris #oscar piastri #landoscar

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fushiguruuzzzz · 13 hours ago

Text

ᥫ᭡ A Strangers Heart

𝄞 “I think it’s strange you never knew || A stranger light comes on slowly || A strangers heart without a home” — Mazzy Star

Playlist — that minx ! 🍓 | Moodboard

Itadori Yuji x Fem!Reader

Words — 9.6k

Cw — mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, mentions of catcalling, strangers to reluctant friends to lovers, no animal death I changed my mind but forgot to remove the tag oops, foul language, leads are both 16, a 20yo hits on reader he’s creepy asl, reader sort of inspired by Kat Stratford, aesthetic is Maxine minx inspired, not proofread, lmk if I missed any !!

Another summer, another hick on your farm desperate for an extra buck. Except, this time, something’s different. It isn’t just some douchey, approval seeking suck up chasing your father around and spending his extra time hoping you’ll hop on something other than your horse. This one’s different. And when late night bonfires and early morning horse rides turn into something more, what’s a girl to do with only a few weeks left?

a/n — ik most people lwk don’t fw Yuji like that but PLSSS give me a chance…. I’m not even that attracted to Yuji I just love him sm he’s so silly. I had to write a cute lil (not so lil… oops) farm Yuji fic :(( honestly my first ever fic that’s more than 2k words but I yapped hard here. Don’t judge chat don’t judge!!!! If u read this I’ll kiss u on the mouth I promise

By definition, summer was that warm chunk of the year spent basking in sunlight, free of the stress that came with education and growth. It was cold beer and campfires and sleeping from dawn to dusk, being awake at the call of the night. Everyone always talked of their vacations, their countless hours spent at the side of their friends (if you could even call them that, it was more so anyone that they could gather up) with no regard for responsibility at all.

In a way, your personal summer was as said. But simultaneously, it was far, far different. To you, summer was stargazing and picking strawberries and riding bareback through the forest. Summer was the thrill of driving down the gravel road, screaming as loud as you wanted to. It wasn’t like you were disturbing anyone, anyway. Nobody was around for miles, aside from the crazy old couple living by the church and the Kugisaki family, whose youngest was usually in your passenger seat. It was the crimson tint left on your lips after a long day of lounging and snacking on the cherries you’d picked up from the market just the day before. Summer was blissful, free.

Summer was also fucking annoying.

With every summer came more activity on the ranch. Your father was a simple man, he could handle his own farm, but sometimes things got too much. The summer brought on more horseshows, more wild animals itching to sink their teeth into the livestock, and the sticky uncomfortableness that came with every move. So, the staff consisted of just a few more people. The year rounds were you and your father of course, as well as two of his close friends. More your uncles than anything, if you’re honest. Occasionally they brought their wives or their kids, and if they were chill enough, that wasn’t a bother. Others came and went, barely spared a second glance by you. The one problem came with summer, the need for an extra set of hands bringing excuses for more pests to wriggle their way into your peaceful farm. The summer workers.

It was only one or two boys, only two months of the year, but they had much more of an effect than one would assume. Your father was a wealthy man, he was generous with his pay. When word spread of this –as much as it could in this scattered excuse of a town, at least– the power hungry assholes scrambled for their place. Usually it was aspiring cowboys decked out in shiny buckles and enough leather to make you a new back seat, hoping that doing well enough would get them on your family’s good side, get them “in”, as they said. It never worked. Your father may seem arrogant, but he isn’t stupid. It’s easy to see a peacocks intentions when it bares its feathers at you.

Often times, when they realized that their consistent efforts weren’t doing much good, they chose another form of preoccupation. You. You and your babydoll tops and sunkissed skin and bows in your hair that seemed to work in your deceit were often a target of various wolf whistles and not-so-creative rewording of asking what colour underwear you were hiding beneath your jeans. Even when they were warned, told stories of what happened to the rest of them, they persisted.

“Don’t be fooled,” they’d been told. “She’s tough as nails. She’ll stab you with ‘em, too. Ever wonder why she hangs around that Kugisaki girl?”

Fools.

It wasn’t your fault, really! You can only take so many catcalls, so many sly comments laced with thick southern accents until you find them looking conveniently punchable, and then you’re washing your knuckles of a red substance, either strawberry juices or blood depending on the day. It wasn’t like you didn’t make a point to avoid them, in fact, you might even be considered harsh for it. Better to be safe than sorry. You always ended up sorry though, somehow. As they lay on the ground below you (hopefully not in the manure pile) clutching their ever so precious faces, you almost feel a pang of sympathy. But then a profanity falls from their lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world and you remember who you’re looking at.

“New intern starts today,” your dad says, glancing up at you from the plate of sausages and pancakes you’d thrown together for him. You felt a need to groan, and for a moment you were convinced you’d let it slip, your father raising a brow and giving you a pointed look. “Don’t hit this one with your car.”

“I told you that was an accident, daddy!” you rolled your eyes, letting your fork fall onto your plate with a soft clang. Your shoulders slumped, letting out a huff of disdain. He simply shook his head, though the just barely hidden curl of his lips didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Sure,” he said. “Accident or not, any more blood hits this property, you’re in shit. We can’t keep trusting they won’t call the cops.”

Yeah, sure. You doubt the police would do much anyway, they barely existed out here, let alone acted. Though you knew arguing was pointless, so you pushed your pride to the bottom of your priority list and nodded.

“Yeah, ‘kay. Stop hiring assholes and we’d have much less problems, though.”

“Hmph.”

𓍼

“Another one?”

“I know. I’m surprised they keep comin’ with how they all end up leaving,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips. You tossed your head back, shutting your eyes and letting your face bathe in the sunlight. You were sprawled out over a heap of hay, the compressed cubes scratchy against the exposed skin of your limbs. It dragged over the bottom of your thighs with every movement, kneading into your hair if you weren’t careful enough.

Nobara eyed you, her expression mirroring yours. Considering the two of you were pretty much attached at the hip, she’d gotten to see all of the reality TV worthy strategies you’d come up with to rid your farm of the parasites known as farmhands. There weren’t many people around these parts of the country, you could count two neighbours, only one whose house you could spot from yours. So that one neighbour having a girl your age was a luckily miracle, your friendship was fate. Not to mention you actually enjoyed her company, too.

“Hey, maybe you’ll get lucky this year. Maybe it’s a gentleman come to sweep you off your feet and whisk you away to the city, make you a housewife,” she grinned, orange hair shining in the sunlight as you met her eye.

“You and the city,” you rolled your eyes, picking a stray piece of hay and lazily tossing it at her. “As if.”

If there were any differences between you and Nobara, that was the largest one. She longed for the city, was desperate for it. You were sure the moment she got the chance, she’d pack up and leave. She was a city girl at heart and everyone knew it. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content with your little farm life and intended on keeping it that way. It had always been that way.

“Forgive me for not wanting my cause of death to be a horses foot,” she grumbled, though no real malice lingered in her tone. You shook your head, shook off her words.

A comfortable silence settled over you, the distant whirring of tractors and the pounding of hooves against dirt fading to background noise. You gazed out over the field, the stables parallel to the barn the two of you were leaned up on. Then, you noticed something. An unfamiliar head of hair, attached to a boy who was holding the reins of a horse, leading it towards the building you’d been looking at. Had it been brown or black you would’ve paid no mind, but it was pink. Was that natural?

“Well, there he is.”

“Our mortal enemy for the next two months.”

He paused, seeming to feel your eyes on him. He turned, spotted you, eyes narrowing as the bright sun shined into them. And then, he smiled. It was big and bright and warm, a stark contrast to the wolfish, greedy smirks you were used to receiving. His eyes crinkled at the sides, his irises almost as welcoming as his grin. You felt something odd in your chest.

He was still your enemy. You were sure. Just… maybe he was worth giving a chance.

𓍼

The sifting of dirt beneath your feet made a soft sound as you walked, doing little to warn the salmon haired boy of your presence. You came to a halt behind him, and you were beginning to think he was a little too spatially unaware to work on a farm, because he still didn’t turn around. He was busy tending to the horse, gently brushing through the chestnut fur. You had an urge to clear your throat, but the guy was unaware either way, so you chose the more efficient route.

“What’s your name?” you asked, your voice cutting through the otherwise quiet atmosphere. He flinched, head turning in your direction all too quickly. Upon seeing your face, his guard seemed to be let down, a more relaxed expression taking the place of the startled one from moments earlier. He was silent for a moment, seemed to be caught in some sort of trance. Only when you cocked a brow in question did he realize, a somewhat bashful grin on his lips.

“Oh- I’m Yuji. Itadori. You’re… Mr. [l/n]’s daughter, right?”

You gave a nod, somewhat curt. You didn’t want to waste your breath being too nice, not if he was going to be like the rest of the piggish teenage boys hanging around every summer. Truth be told, you weren’t mean, just guarded. Especially with men, you’d grown a sort of buried resentment towards them, as much as you hated to admit it. That was a story to later be told, though.

“That’s right. You’re here for the summer, yeah?” you asked. It was better to be sure you were correct about his role here, to prevent looking stupid in the case that you were somehow wrong.

He nodded. “Hey, you’re my age, aren’t you?”

“Sixteen?”

He nodded, his cautious smile turning to a full grin. You could basically hear his thoughts jumping out of his mind, screaming at you.

“That doesn’t make us friends,” you said, hip popping out to the side as your arms crossed over your chest. “Just so you know.” Why did you feel such a need to push him away? Were you always this defensive?

“Eh?” He gazed at you for a moment, eyes narrowing a fracture as if he were figuring you out. His hand had stilled, the brush now resting pointlessly against the fur of the horse. “…okay,” he shrugged. Though for a moment, it was like he knew something you didn’t. That sparkle of determination in his eyes was all you needed to see to know exactly what his motive was.

𓍼

The moment Yuji Itadori set his eyes on you, his purpose for the next two months was set in stone. This goal wasn’t to harass you, to make your life a living hell. It wasn’t even to annoy you, or to make you fall in love with him. It was to make you his friend, make you like him. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t the loser you seemed to take him for (even if he was). Yuji wasn’t one to suffer and dwell on those who didn’t like him, he could deal with that, even if it bothered him some. Being the outgoing and kind guy he was, it wasn’t something he dealt with often, anyway. It was the fact that he could tell you didn’t hate him that drew him to you, he wanted to know why you put on that act.

The interactions started small, like a thrown comment about the shirt you were wearing or the offer to help you out with whatever chore you’d been tasked with. That was his job after all, so you couldn’t tell him off for that. He’d hang around you and Nobara, and as much as it pained you to say, she was warming up to him. Maybe you were, too. It had only been two weeks, for fucks sake! He’d already weaseled his way into your life, you couldn’t escape him. Your dad loved him, his boyish nature being something your father always sought out in his workers. Probably the longing for a son, honestly. You knew it wasn’t a jab at you, he loved you with his whole heart, but every man wanted a son in the same way every woman wanted a daughter. It was that familiarity of who he once was.

Because of this, the little fucker had even begun eating with you.

“Hey, Mr [l/n]!” came a voice, a head popping in through the side door. Your dad suppressed a grin at the sight of him, looking over his shoulder from where he stood beside you, seasoning the meat as you chopped vegetables. You didn’t bother looking back, it was always the same person anyway.

“Yuji,” your father greeted, nodding at him in acknowledgment. Yuji stepped inside, smiling mindlessly as he glanced around the kitchen. Every time he was in here, it was as if it were his first time seeing the place. You didn’t understand what was so fascinating about your old western kitchen, anyway.

The phone on the wall rang, and you momentarily dropped the green onion you were slicing to answer it. You assumed that was your job, considering your father’s hands were covered in various spices and seasonings.

You grabbed the dull beige telephone, the coiling chord extending out as you raised it to your ear.

“Daddy,” you said, placing your hand over the microphone of the device. “They need you down at the Kugisaki’s. Their fence broke.”

He nodded, placing your uncooked dinner back down on a plate and moving to rinse his hands, the leaky tap in front of the window sputtering out some water. That was country life for you.

You picked the phone back up, alerting Nobara’s grandmother of your dad’s pending arrival and saying a quick goodbye. Yuji still stood by the door, watching the whole interaction. You were much calmer in the comfort of your own home, when darkness creeped over the sky and the stimulation of the bustling ranch wasn’t ringing in your ears.

A mischievous grin crossed your face, making your father groan. He knew exactly what you were going to ask, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say no. “I’ll pick up Nobara while I’m there,” he grumbled, though as he stepped out the door, turned back with a pointing finger in the air. “Wake me up after dark again and I’m throwin’ both of yous in the corn field.”

You watched with a snarky grin as he walked away, hopping into the worn down truck sitting in the driveway.

Then, you looked just a few inches to the side. Oh. Yuji was still here.

You opted to not pay him much mind, taking the few short strides from where the phone sat on the wall. You took up your task of preparing dinner once again, knife in your hand as and chopped up various veggies and sides.

“You need help with that?” he called, not bothering to wait for an answer as he took an onion from where it was sat on the counter. He grabbed a knife as well, beginning to chop it.

“I never said yes,” you said, observing him from the corner of your eye. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbow, dirt staining various parts of his clothes, which you assumed was the doing of your horse. She wasn’t fond of men.

He pouted in mock offence, placing a hand over his heart as if he was physically pained. “Wow, just kill me I guess. I figured some help wouldn’t hurt.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong, though you would’ve protested a little more before admitting that. A defence was on the tip of your tongue, but you bit it before the words could leave your lips. Over the time you’d known him (or rather, he’d been inserting himself into your days and forcing you to hang around him) the disdain in your tone had faded, becoming more sassy than resentful. That was progress in his mind.

“…thank you.”

His lips curled into a smile, momentarily taking a gander at you before looking back to the knife in his hand. “‘Welcome.”

Aside from the rhythmic chopping of blades against the wood of the cutting boards, the room was silent. There was a dull hum coming from the refrigerator, though you’d grown used to it. It was a constant noise in the background, it had been since you were born, even before that.

“Would you mind putting this in the microwave for a moment?” you asked, noticing his free hands. You gently nudged a dish towards him, the fork you’d been using to chip away at the dish sticking out of the top. It was in desperate need of defrosting, a little nudge in the right direction wouldn’t hurt, right?

He nodded. “Alright,” he said, picking up the platter. His next moves were unknown to you, your back turned to him as he –supposedly– popped it into the microwave. The sound of the buttons being pushed accompanied by the robotic whir of the machine started alerted you of such.

“You cook often?” Yuji said, leaning back on the counter. “You’re good at it.” You picked up the diced bits of vegetable and put them into a separate bowl, dusting your hands of the remnants of them. You allowed yourself to face him, to actually give him your attention for a moment. He’d proven that he was worthy of that much, at least.

“Usually,” you said, mirroring his stance. Your palms pressed into the edge of the counter, the marble cold against your skin. “Daddy’s always busy, but he helps sometimes.”

He nodded. He may have been lacking a couple brain cells, but he knew well enough not to ask why it was only you and your dad. He wasn’t that stupid. He couldn’t help but wonder, though.

Sensing his curiosity, you let out a soft sigh. “I never knew momma. Just me ‘round here.”

He looked surprised to hear you say it, as if the question wasn’t written all over his face. He was more surprised how willing you were to share it, though. He thought you’d hit him with your car or something if he dared to ask, thought you viewed him like the rest. He barely lived a similar life to yours and he’d still heard the stories, but it was rather obvious that something was being left out. Maybe you weren’t such a maneater after all, maybe there was a good reason. There was.

“Oh,” he said. He opened his mouth to speak, but your attention was quickly moved elsewhere when you saw a faint flickering of electricity in the window of the microwave.

“Yuji!” you lurched forward, opening it in a haste. Inside it was revealed to be the dish you’d given him, just as it had been. Just as it had been, as in the fork was still inside. You mentally facepalmed, closing your eyes and bringing your fingers up to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“You’re kidding me.”

“What?” he asked. Your head shot up. Was he serious? He seemed to know his way around the kitchen just fine, you were even a little impressed. How could he be so familiar yet so… unaware?

“You put a fork in the microwave. You can’t do that,” you sighed, the second sentence coming out more condescending than you intended.

“…Oh.”

A beat of silence passed, a dumbfounded, somewhat embarrassed expression on his face. It was comical. Suddenly you felt the irresistible urge to laugh, the chortle leaving your lips before you could bring yourself to stop it. He just looked hilarious like that, and you were growing sick of withholding your amusement.

He somehow looked even more confused, though when he realized this was the first time he’d seen you laugh (save for the chuckles and giggles you shared with Nobara when you thought he wasn’t looking), the corners of his lips couldn’t help but quirk up. “What? Why are we laughing? What’s funny?”

Through hearty giggles, you managed to stutter out the first thing that came to mind. “You’re- you’re dumb. You know that?”

His mind buffered for a moment, staring at you blankly. You almost thought he was offended, but then, that thought was quickly washed away. A breath left him, soon turning into full belly laughs that matched yours. Soon enough the two of you were doubling over in laughter, falling all over the tile kitchen floor. You barely even knew what you were laughing at anymore, all you knew was Yuji’s stupid face and the unwelcome feeling of warmth you’d began feeling every time he was near.

You were so distracted that you failed to notice the two figures standing in the door, the two closest people to you. Your best friend and your father watched the two of you as you nearly clutched eachother in laughter. They didn’t know what was so hilarious, but they knew one thing. That one thing was shared in a short glance, teenage girl and burly man connected by one thing: you.

Later that night, Nobara ever so boldly brought him up. The two of you were sat in your bedroom, some calm music playing from the radio on your dresser as you mindlessly chatted away.

“So… you seem to like Yuji better than the rest.”

You glanced at her from where you sat at the head of your bed, her sprawled frame over the covers making a pang of amusement shoot through your chest. You shrugged. “Well, he hasn’t tried to get in my pants, so I think that automatically means somethin’, doesn’t it?” you asked, something beneath your words saying ‘duh’.

She let out a huff of laughter, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “It means no new dents in your bumper?”

“Exactly.”

The two of you shared a laugh, the muted red checkers of your bedding being crinkled with the movement. She grinned, “Remind me to make you drink more often.”

Your eye twitched, slapping a hand over her mouth and letting out a hurried “Shhhhh!”

She let out muffled protests against the skin of your palm, eyes narrowing. The feeling of her teeth readying to sink into it was enough to make you remove it, though, knowing that she wasn’t playing around. She did it once, she’d do it again. She was still the same kid she was ten years ago at heart.

“My dad is in the next room, stupid. Believe it or not, I’m not supposed to get in my truck after two beers and some Bailey’s.”

“Oops,” she said, smiling in feigned innocence. You could punch her. You let out a sigh, flopping back against your headboard.

“Back to my point,” she began. “You seem to… not hate him. And I think he likes you.” She propped herself up on her elbow, orange hair falling to the side. It brushed over her shoulder, the delicate fabric of her (your) pyjama shirt moving at the contact.

You nearly choked on your spit. That had been the last thing you’d expected her to say, and you were expecting many things. Was she actually stupid or something? I mean, you called her that a lot, but you never genuinely meant it. You were starting to believe your own words.

“Hush. Don’t say dumb shit like that.”

“It’s true! He’s got to have a thing for you, at least. Come on,” she groaned. She was real sick of your denial whenever it came to being liked. You always shut it down, always dismissed her with an eyeroll and shake of the head. She always assumed it was because you didn’t like the guys, deemed it an insult to be of their interest, but this was different. This guy was good.

You shook your head, just like you always did. “He’s just friendly like that, Nobara. Don’t be silly.”

She quirked a brow, a devious smile hinting at her lips. “Oh, so you notice him enough to know that, huh?”

You tossed your head back, your skull hitting the worn wood of the headboard. “Oh my gosh, shut up! I can never win with you!”

“Damn right.”

𓍼

The sun was yet to be high in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the expanse of the farmland. The sky was painted orange and pink, clouds strewn about the soft canvas of the sunrise. Your boots thumped against the ground as you walked, passing over gravel, grass, and dirt alike. You approached the stable that was home to your horse, the smaller structure coming into view. Beside it was the barn; the place that held the other animals aside from the horses. On the other side of it was a fence, closing in an area for them to roam freely.

You swung open the door to the building, taking note of a birds nest in the nook of the roof that you hadn’t seen before. The ground was littered with hay and bugs, the occasional spider skittering across a floorboard.

You made your way to your horses stall, the word ‘Matrix’ carved into a silver nametag on the door. You slid into the small, enclosed space, shutting the clunky sliding door behind you. You lovingly patted your dear horse, a warm smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Once she was decked out in her reins and saddle, you lead her out of the stable. You’d grown all too used to this routine, setting off into the sunrise every morning you got the chance. It was your peace, the moment of the day that felt like you were on top of the world. Like everything was yours to have, to keep, yours to live and experience and laugh and love in.

You had just made it to the gate at the back, the one leading to the trails within the clusters of trees that separated yours and Nobara’s house, when you halted. Something caught your eye, the silhouette of someone sitting atop the fence just a few paces behind you. Yuji. Of course he was here, he was always here. The thing that bothered you most was that you were beginning to question if that was a negative thing or not.

He called out your name, waving tall and proud as if he was miles away instead of a few short metres. He hopped down from the fence, and you were honestly surprised the wood was holding up so well. You were wealthy, yes, but there were many things around this place that needed either a good fixing or to be completely replaced one of those things was that fence, most likely because it wasn’t paid much attention at all.

“Where’re you going?” he asked once he’d caught up to you, hands resting in his pockets. There was an early morning chill blanketing the air, seeping into your bones further with every gust of wind.

“A ride,” you said, beginning to walk again now that he was at your side.

“Well, I see that. Where?” he pushed. He was a little more sassy than you’d expected, honestly. The ball of sunshine could bite back when he wanted to. You suppressed a grin, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Through the forest. S’real nice at this hour.”

He let out a hum, nodding. He looked over the stretch of the treeline, where the earth met the sky and formed a pattern of the zigzags and spikes that were the tips of great pine plants.

“What’re you doing up, Yuji?” you asked, attempting to sound less interested than you actually were. You’d given up the act of disliking him, but you still kept your distance. What was the point of getting close, anyway? You only had 5 weeks left of him, so to keep him at arms length was the most logical thing to do.

He smiled. “I always see you out here. I wanted to see what that was all about.”

He’d… been paying attention? Come out here for you? You hated the way that made your heart thump against your chest, that attentiveness and interest in you something you weren’t even sure teenage boys were capable of.

“Stalker,” you said, smirking. The both of you knew you didn’t mean it, you couldn’t hide it if you tried. You passed through the gate, the bright red metal clanging against the lock as it shut behind you. He followed you, silent for the first time in… forever?

You situated a foot in one of the stirrups, swiftly throwing yourself upward and swinging your leg over to the other side of your horse. It was a split second before you were sitting comfortably in the saddle, no struggle at all. Yuji always found it mesmerizing, how well you knew your way around these things. He could ride a horse just fine, but not like you. It was as if Matrix was an extension of you, so familiar that it barely took you any effort to have every bit of her all figured out.

You wriggled your hips against the leather beneath you, holding the reins loosely in your grasp.

“You comin’ or not?” you asked, looking back at a distracted Yuji who perked up immediately at your offer.

“Yep! Uh- Wait- hold on!” he shouted in a panic, not wasting a second before darting back to the stables. He was oddly fast, you’d noticed. He seemed to be blessed in the physical department, not that you’d been paying attention or anything… he just drew attention to it, okay? Yeah. That was it. Blame the T-Shirts and the rolled up sleeves and the summer heat for causing it, not your wandering eyes.

It was only a couple minutes before he was approaching you once again, saddled horse in tow. He sported a proud grin, one that had grown all too familiar. It was the same as when he’d get you to smile, when you would eat the dinner you cooked together and agree with your father when he complimented it. He wore it when he successfully managed to infiltrate yours and Nobara’s girl time, and you were sure that when he inevitably convinced you to let him in on everything else, he would wear it then too. That wasn’t to say you exactly minded, perchance you’d even grown somewhat fond of it.

The trees provided shade as the two of you walked along the trails, the chirping of awakening birds ringing through your ears.

“You’re right, it’s nice out here when it’s early,” he said, looking around at the lush trees, eyes sparkling in awe.

“Isn’t it?”

You kept walking, though it didn’t make much of a difference, the greenery looked the same all around. The red of your wool sweater stuck out against the emerald background, making you look like the centrepiece of an oil painting. At least, that’s what Yuji thought.

“Yuji,” you began, making his head snap to you. He’d gotten a little distracted by a bird fluttering above you, the flapping of its wings making a crisp noise. “How come I’ve never seen you around school?” you asked.

“Oh, I had to drop out to take care of my grandpa,” he said, looking ahead. He stole a glimpse of you every few seconds, but for once, he avoided your gaze. “He was sick and… he’s all I got left, so…”

Oh. You were silent, blinking away the shock of his reasoning. You’d expected him to say he went to school in the city, or that he was staying in town for the summer, or… something. Something else, something lighter. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. He’s better now, anyway. That’s why I’m here.”

You nodded, allowing a hint of a smile to cross your face. “That’s good to hear.”

“Good to hear that I’m here or that he’s better?” he joked, grinning. He cocked his head to the side, rosy locks of hair rustling with the breeze. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

“…maybe both.”

His brows shot up, surprised. Usually such a joke would’ve been shut down immediately, whether that was by a one finger salute or a straight up order to be quiet. You couldn’t help but let out a breathy huff of laughter, realizing that maybe you were a little too mean to the poor boy.

“You aren’t so bad, Yuji.”

To say Yuji beamed was an understatement. Best believe he rode that high for the rest of the day. The rest of the week, maybe. Even when your horse kicked him in the mud and left him looking like a dirty, squashed bug, even after Nobara nearly ran him over whilst learning to drive in your truck and excused it with an ‘oops’ and a ‘you’re a man, you can take it!’ But that was okay, both circumstances were okay, because you’d tended to him after. Well… maybe you’d sprayed the mud off of him with the hose like he was a rabid dog, but it was attention nonetheless. Maybe you’d have been nicer if he hadn’t chased you around and insisted on giving you a hug, sludge and all. The second time you’d asked if he was okay, played it off with a laugh. Maybe he himself was oblivious to it, but Nobara saw the worry in your eyes. But of course Yuji had responded with a bright smile and a corny thumbs up, which although stupid and boyish, had both eased your nerves and made a dopey smile of your own threaten to appear on your face.

𓍼

“How can you tell if it’s good or not? It’s a peach. They all look the same.”

“No they don’t, idiot! Look!”

“But that literally looks the same?!”

Your two friends bickering was simply background noise to you as you strolled through the humble little market of Chiudam, the closest town to your settlement of farms. Originally, this was supposed to be a solo trip. Keyword: was. Your plans had been spoiled when the happy go lucky, pink haired boy had hopped into your truck the moment he saw you, didn’t even bother to ask. An unfortunate chain of events had lead to Nobara joining as well, your smooth drive down to the grocery store turned into what felt like a mobile zoo exhibit.

There you were, actually shopping whilst they argued over peaches.

You let out a sigh under your breath, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You loved her, but you’d come to realize that whenever Yuji was around, Nobara got increasingly stupider. Honestly, though, you were just happy to see that she was making more friends. She wasn’t exactly popular around these parts, her temper had granted that.

“You guys keep bickering, I’m gonna check out,” you called back, dropping the last of the items on your list into the basket hanging from your elbow.

You left them in the dust, making your way to the one and only cash register in the shop. You didn’t pay much mind to whoever was standing behind it, their back turned as they punched something into a computer at the back wall. You began unloading the groceries, placing them on the counter one by one.

And then, you glanced up. You felt something in you shift, your guard immediately going up.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he smirked wolfishly, like a predator looking down on its prey. You sneered, disgust written all over your face.

“Kotaro,” you said, a curt greeting. You stood stiffly, expectant as you waited for him to scan your items. Could this guy do his job instead of staring at you like that? His scruffy brown hair nearly touched the flannel draped over his shoulders, and he seemed oddly dirty for a store clerk. He’d been banned from working on your farm, along with the rest, after being particularly creepy for his entire time there. A hand sliding up your bare leg, inching under the fabric of your sundress, a wolf whistle as you walked by, gross comments behind your back, you name it. A punch in the face and the threat of his downfall didn’t seem to bother him, because here he was.

“Haven’t seen you around lately,” he said.

You mumbled under your breath, “I wonder why.”

“You been avoiding me, little lady?” The fact that he was 20 didn’t help the way that nickname made you nearly recoil. Coming from anyone else, it was endearing, most often used by role models and father figures. From him it felt much more perverted, much more odd.

“Don’t call me that.”

He leaned over the counter, breath nearly wafting over your face. His scratchy, stiff hand was placed on your arm, forbidding you from moving without making a scene. You didn’t know why you felt so defenceless. Making a scene had never scared you, but it was different when you were here in public than it was on the outskirts, at your home.

“Come on, you know you like it. Admit it,” he said, voice low and eerie. You pulled away from his grasp, eyes narrowing in a glare. You were about to speak, ready to spit some sort of insult or name at him, but you were cut off.

“I think it’s pretty clear she doesn’t like that, man. Take your hands off of her.”

Yuji was just behind you, nose scrunched up as he took in the sight before him. He looked oddly serious, more than you’d ever seen him before. He swatted the man’s hand away, gentle but enough to pry it off. There was a red imprint left on the skin of your arm, the traces of his greed staining the flesh.

Kotaro laughed arrogantly, clearly sizing Yuji up. He puffed out his chest, jaw ticking as he glanced between the two of you. “What are you, her boyfriend or somethin’?”

Yuji paused for a moment, glancing at you as if to ask for permission. He looked back to the social reject standing behind the counter, speaking. “Maybe I am. What’s it to you?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. He grumbled to himself, nothing but a gruff murmur under his breath as he scanned the last of your groceries, lazily shoving them into a bag and taking your cash. Nobara joined the two of you once you left, she’d been waiting outside. As the bell atop the door rang softly through the empty streets, Yuji turned to you.

“Are you okay? Sorry, I uh… I didn’t know what else to do,” he said, a lopsided grin making its way onto his lips. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he waited for a response, hoping and praying you wouldn’t think he was weird for what he’d said. He visibly relaxed when you smiled, a huff of laughter leaving your lips.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay,” you said, nodding as the three of you walked. The concrete was run down, pebbles poking into your shoes with every step as you approached your truck. You halted for a moment, a delicate hand placed on Yuji’s arm. He stopped in tow with you, and Nobara obliviously continued her pace. Or maybe she wasn’t oblivious, maybe she was all too aware, walking away for the complete opposite reason to what you’d thought.

“Thanks, Yuji.” You pushed yourself up on your tiptoes, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek. You were pulling away in an instant, but he could’ve sworn the feeling of your lips lingered. His lips parted, face heating up as he gently placed his fingers over where you’d kissed him.

He stood there motionless for a moment, struggling to get a word out as he watched you join Nobara. It was only when the two of you turned around and waved for him to follow that he snapped out of it. He smiled, jogging to catch up with you. That lovesick grin didn’t leave his face, not for a long while.

“Uh.. how do you know that guy, anyway?”

Nobara cut in, all too eager to give Yuji the run down. “Oh my gosh I have to tell you. We fuckin’ hate him.”

Though Yuji’s eyes widened a fraction at her foul language, he was somewhat eager to hear her. The entire ride back home was her airing him out, because somehow, she knew everything about everyone in this damn town. Not that you minded. All you could do was grin as you drove, glancing into your mirror to get a fleeting glimpse of Yuji in your back seat. The way he’d defended you made something within you stir, something you hadn’t felt before. Was this what Nobara was talking about?

Just later that night, the three of you found yourselves circled around a bonfire, sharing a flask of whiskey you’d swiped from your kitchen. It was at the back of the property, a small clearing so far from the road that it couldn’t even be seen. Over the years, you and Nobara had mapped out every bit of the farm, knowing it like the back of your hands. You knew every good spot, every trail, every dip in the earth. On nights like these, the perks of that really shone through.

This was Yuji’s first bonfire. You hadn’t invited him before, keeping the little event a secret between you and Nobara. Because of recent changes, though, you decided Yuji was worthy of the experience.

The fact that this wasn’t only his first bonfire with you, but his first bonfire ever wasn’t apparent until the heaps of wood in front of you began going up in flames. He stood there like an awestruck child, mouth open in shock. It was a wholesome sight to see. The flames danced in his wide brown eyes, and you cursed yourself for paying more attention to him than the fire before you.

“Woah…” he said, voice soft and low. You shared a look with Nobara, smirking. It had become less impressive and more routine to you by now, so to see it be so foreign to someone was undeniably entertaining.

You sat down in some lawn chairs, taken from the depths of the shed in your yard where nobody would notice their absence. The sky was only beginning to darken, a cool chill beginning to set in the air. The three of you chatted mindlessly as you stared at the stars above, tips of the raging fire creeping into your line of sight.

You pulled the cool metal flask from the pocket of your sweater, unscrewing it with ease. You took the lid off with a flick, letting it land in the grass with a soft thud. Taking a swig, you winced. Bitter.

You passed it to Nobara, who downed a sip with a scarily straight face (though you both knew her mind would spin after just a few more). Next was Yuji, who eyed the drink like it was an artifact from another planet. He took a drink from it, his face contorting in disgust and nearly spitting it out. He coughed, placing a hand around his throat to ease it.

“Blegh! That’s gross,” he said. You laughed, taking the flask from his hand and downing some of it. He eyed you, taking in the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed. A drop of it fell from your lips, down onto the skin of your chest. He pulled his eyes away to be respectful, telling himself he wasn’t staring, but his throat felt dry. He glanced back at you, looking at your eyes this time. “Gimme another sip.”

It wasn’t long before drunken giggles filled the air, though contrary to what most would expect, Yuji was the main cause. Though Nobara was somewhat a lightweight based on country standards, Yuji was the worst of you. You assumed he wasn’t one to drink, especially since he’d spent the past year taking care of his grandpa. When would he even have the time? Besides, you were sixteen, it wasn’t like you could waltz into the liquor store and get some yourself. You and Nobara only drank because you were allowed though, it was normal here. Nobara’s family was more strict in that sense, but your father wasn’t. He’d slip you a beer on cool summer nights, and the three of you could sit on the porch and reminisce like a group of old women. It was nice. It wasn’t like you were a few delinquents stealing booze from your parents cabinet, though with the way you’d basically fed Yuji that whiskey, it sort of felt that way.

You laughed at something insignificant, probably a stupid face someone had made or the memory of that time Nobara and Yuji had fallen in the mud whilst running to you. So much had happened in the past month, or rather the nearly six weeks since you’d met. It was funny to think about how you’d been so cold yo Yuji upon first meeting him, and now you couldn’t peel your attention off him. Even just being his friend, if it would still be classified as such, had changed you.

Everyone had noticed. You weren’t so stand offish around most people now, it seemed his happy-go-lucky attitude had rubbed off on you. You just felt… happier. More you. It felt as if a piece of your soul had been kept from you, only reuniting with its whole when Yuji came around. Your heart was with him, and now that he was here, it had found home… for the next two weeks, at least.

Two weeks. Fuck. You only had two weeks left with him, and the boldest thing you’d done was a thank you kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly a lazy arm was draped around you, heavy and strong. A cheek was squished against your shoulder and you could feel him grinning against it, crooked and dumb. And cute.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” he asked, speech slurred and dragged out. He laughed at himself, drunk but not drunk enough to ignore how drunk he was, I guess.

“Nothin’ Yuji, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Nobara laughed, draped out over her own chair just a few feet away. She let out a snort, to which she only laughed harder at. Yuji joined in, his laughter racking both yours and his body, as he was still wrapped around you. You were honestly just as intoxicated as the two of them, but you handled it better. Well enough to not end up falling to the ground in hysterics because of a snort. The corners of your lips did quirk up, though, much to your dismay. As their laughter died down, the only noise heard was the warm crackling of the fire and the crickets chirping from all around you.

Somehow, some way, Yuji ended up asleep. His position didn’t change, still holding onto you like a sloth, but soft snores rumbled against your sweater now. You glanced down at him, brushing a stray tuft of hair out of his face. He looked so pretty, so peaceful. You liked that, you wanted peace for him. You liked him.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the undying need to get it off your back, but you spoke. “I think I might be falling for him.”

“Glad you finally accepted it,” spoke a half awake Nobara from the chair beside you. Her eyes drifted shut, a grin tugging at her lips as she mumbled some last words before falling asleep. “You better do something about it soon, he’s too scared. Then he’ll be gone and you’ll be sad and whiney, and I don’t wanna listen to you.”

As she peeked at you one last time before unconsciousness took over, you knew she wasn’t lying. She was all too right, as bitchy as it sounded.

“Yeah yeah fuck you, I know,” you mumbled. Then your eyes fell shut, shifting to lean against Yuji as sleep enveloped you. You knew you had to do something. Someone like him didn’t come around often, people with hearts as big as their minds and eyes that sparkled every time you came around. He was different, and you wouldn’t lose him.

𓍼

“I like you.”

You were once again out for a ride, the sun rising over the horizon and spreading the mornings glow over the trees as you passed through them. You’d slowed, the sound of hooves beating into the ground lowering to a soft, steady beat. This had become routine for the two of you, something you looked forward to. Usually he’d come to wake you up every morning, the sound of pebbles hitting the glass of your window something you expected every day at 6am sharp. He told you he wanted to get out before the sun rose, but really, he just liked how you looked when you’d just rolled out of bed. All messy haired and droopy eyed, that annoyed look etched into your face. You just looked so mundane and pretty, a contrast to the composed girl he was used to seeing.

That had been the case this morning, too. When you first awoke, you didn’t have this planned. You were expecting another little horse ride, maybe some laughter and conversation, but not this. You don’t know why you just blurted it out like that. If you hadn’t, though, you weren’t sure you’d ever say it at all.

He choked on his spit, both of your eyes widening simultaneously, as if you had only heard your words when he did. “…what?”

“What?” you echoed. He made a face, a mix of ‘am I schizophrenic’ and ‘don’t act oblivious now.’

“I’m dumb, but not that dumb,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. You still moved leisurely through the forest, the trees passing by slowly, slower than time. “I… I heard that.”

You let out a breath of air through your nose, chest rising and falling. Your hands felt shaky, and you were sure you were on the verge of passing out. You could only imagine what would happen if he didn’t like you back. Well… at least there was only one more week of him staying here?

“You did.”

He began speaking, but stopped. He kept opening his mouth and closing it again, like a floundering fish on land. He was struggling for words, speechless for once. He felt dizzy, his mind scrambled. “I- do you mean that?”

You paused for a long moment, one that to Yuji, felt like years. He had been yearning to hear those sweet words fall from your lips for… well, he couldn’t exactly remember when it started. He’d even asked Nobara what to do, desperate for some sort of help. The thing was, he wasn’t convinced that you liked him back. Even when Nobara pushed it, even pinky promised, he couldn’t bring himself to believe her. But now you’d said it. You were right here and you’d just told him you liked him, and he just needed to hear you say you meant it.

Well, there wasn’t much of a point in denying it now. “Why would I say it if I didn’t?”

He swallowed thickly, hastily nodding. That was true. He knew that, you weren’t a liar. He felt so dumb. He just felt all over the place when he was with you, more than usual, and that had been multiplied tenfold now. He brought his horse to a stop, a short neigh meeting your ears as well as the sound of his feet meeting the ground.

You stared at him for a moment, mind blank, before coming to your senses and following him suit. The two of you tied their reins to a fallen log nearby, that was the closest you’d get to something proper.

He stood parallel to you now, shakily meeting your eyes for brief seconds before staring at the ground once again. He didn’t look all that nervous, but internally he was freaking the fuck out. He was screaming and yelling but at the same time, resisting the urge to pump his fist in the air and cry from joy.

“I uh… I don’t know where to start,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

His head shot up, panic overtaking his features. He reached out without a second thought, shaking his hands and head simultaneously in defence.

“No- no! I like you too! A lot!” he exclaimed, eyes wide and shining with something you couldn’t quite recognize. Your throat closed up, blinking at him in shock.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling as he rubbed the back of his neck. He did that often, you noticed. A nervous habit of his. “I just… I didn’t think you liked me back, so I didn’t say anything. I thought Nobara was just saying that, you know? But I really, really like you, like I just said, I was just scared. I’m a coward, I know. You’re not supposed to be the one to confess, I-“

He was cut off as you lurched forward, pressing your lips against his. They slotted together perfectly, like they were always meant to. It barely took him a second to kiss back with equal fervour, equal enthusiasm. His eyes fluttered shut, matching yours. His hand rested at the back of your neck, holding you, but giving you enough room to back out if you wanted. He held you as if he kissed you first, as if he was unsure that you wanted to.

You parted with a pant, breaths mingling. It took the both of you a couple moments before your eyes opened again, and it was then that he regained some of his consciousness.

“What was that for?!” he asked, though any suspicion you had of his anger were washed away as his lips began spreading in a smile. “I was talking there.”

You mimicked his grin, lovesick and stupid. “Had to shut you up somehow.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling just like they had the first time you met him. When he’d been nothing but a stranger, one you had a particular distaste for at that. Nothing but a heart without a home. That strangers heart had found home on your little ranch, with you.

“In that case…” he said, though his sentence wasn’t finished with words. It was finished with him reeling you back in, kissing you like he wanted to make up for lost time as well as the next few centuries. Like you were delicate and eternal and everything he wanted, and in a way, you were. He’d be fine spending eternity with you, but if that wasn’t possible, he supposed the rest of his life could suffice.

He pulled away, gazing down at you as if you had placed every star in the sky just for him. “I think I’m doing this backwards,” he said, “but will you be my girlfriend? Please.”

You grinned, your heart racing wildly in your chest. You were sure it would jump out if that pace kept up, but at the same time, you figured it wasn’t yours anymore anyway. It was his, it had been for a while.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

𓍼

Yeah, Yuji went home the week after that. But he didn’t leave, no, not in the slightest. It wasn’t long after that when he got his license, and he made sure to take frequent trips to your farm. Also, a pleasant surprise (or moreso something he’d forgotten to mention) was that he was starting school again, at your school. You could imagine the surprise you felt when you sat down in homeroom only to see the bright face of your boyfriend staring at you from the doorway.

He was there for every big event, and every small one too. Your weekly campfires with Nobara became ritual, after which you’d end up curled up in your bed, his face squished against your neck and suffocating you with his weight. He was there for every rodeo you took part in, screaming and clapping ridiculously loud. He was your number one cheerleader, always right next to Nobara and your dad, the former yelling almost as loud as him. You couldn’t have been more grateful for your morning routine, and your mouth that moved before your brain did, because it gained you who you were convinced was the love of your life and lost you nothing but the nuisance of dealing with other boys.

It was safe to say your dad hired him next summer. And every summer after that. And for every summer after, he loved you just the same.

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