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achilles-rage · 4 months ago

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Good Luck Charm: Chapter 1

college football player!buck x plus size!eader

summary: you're having a bad day and you run into an attractive guy in the hallway on your way to class. your frustration gets the better of you and you snap at him, but he’s intrigued by your attitude, and goes out of his way to keep talking to you.

word count: 2.6k

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A/N: i'm so excited to release the first chapter of my new multi part fic! i definitely started in the middle of this fic and then worked my way back, so this isn't my fav chapter, but if you wanna see them freak nasty in future chapters keep reading!1! i also tried to make the reader race inclusive, but please let me know if there's anything i did wrong so i can correct it!

warnings: both characters are a little mean to each other (oops), slight enemies to lovers??, a touch of slowburn??, no use of y/n, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

You huff as you walk into the arts building on campus, tripping as your foot hits the doorframe. It’s not enough for you to fall, but it’s enough to piss you off ever more than you already are.

You’re running late, and it seems like everything is going wrong today. First, your alarm hadn’t gone off, meaning you basically had to run to campus for your 9am lecture. You walked in late, which wasn’t really a big deal, the professor paid you no mind as you walked in. It did matter, however, that you had to trip over bags and feet to the middle of an aisle, squeezing yourself into the last seat available in the lecture hall. Then, when you went to get yourself a little treat between classes at the Starbucks on campus, some guy bumped into you and made you spill half your drink on your shirt, meaning you had to race home to shower and change before going back to campus for your later class, which is where you’re heading now.

It’s your last year of college, so while you know your way around campus, it’s the first day of classes, and you’ve never had a class in the lecture hall your next class is in.

Your head is down as you look at your phone, pace slowing slightly as you triple check what room number you’re looking for when you feel a large body hit your shoulder.

“Watch it.” you hear a deep voice say as you look up from your phone, blinking slowly for a moment before something in you snaps.

You whirl around, jaw clenched as you make eye contact with perhaps the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen, not that you notice that through your rage. On any other day, you would’ve apologized and been on your way, but today, you have had enough, your patience gone.

“You ran into me.” you bark back, barely having time to think about what you’re saying. You feel a little bad as you see his eyes widen, but your thoughts are so clouded by frustration at how the day was playing out that you didn’t care. Deep down, you know he’s probably right, you weren’t watching where you were going. But he didn’t have to be a dick about it, right?

“I’m sorry, excuse me, princess.” he says sarcastically after a moment, as his surprised expression is replaced with a smirk. He hadn’t expected you to respond the way that you had, and this intrigues him. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes trailing down your figure, taking you in.

“Thank you! Was that so hard?” you reply in the same tone, matching his stance and crossing your arms over your chest, not even noticing the way “princess” rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You also don’t notice the way his eyes roam over your body, taking in your soft curves, the way your chest moves to keep up with the quick beating in your chest.

“Someone’s feisty, huh?” you roll your eyes at this, wanting nothing more than to be done with the incredibly handsome man and go to class. You’re already late enough, you really don’t need this.

“Only when someone deserves it.” you reply sharply, jutting your hip out as you tilt your head to the side, glaring at him.

You’re met with a scoff, and he fights back a laugh at the way you’re looking at him. You’ve got an attitude, but he’s got to admit, you’re gorgeous. The way you’re glaring at him kind of makes him want to push you against the wall and kiss your attitude away, but he also kind of likes the way you’re not backing down. He wants to keep you here. Willing to do anything to keep you standing here, he steps closer to you, licking his lips as he looks down at you, that smirk still on his face.

“You should lose the attitude, princess.” he teases, a playful glint in his eye as he sees the way you react when his words hit you. His words have the desired effect. You aren’t going anywhere.

“Or what?” you hiss, your jaw clenching at his words. You’re really not in the mood to be told off by a man who thought the world revolved around him. On any other day, you’d already be on your way, but now, you just want to slap the stupid smirk right off his stupid attractive face. And what the hell was up with the nickname?

“Or I’ll make you.” he challenges, gauging your reaction, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line. With the way you hadn’t walked away yet, he has a feeling that you weren’t going to tell him to go to hell.

You pause for a moment, suddenly taking in the look in his eyes. He was arguing with you, sure, but you had only just realized how he was looking down at you, almost flirting with you. For a moment, you’re overcome with nerves, realizing that your temper has gotten you into a situation you never thought you’d be in.

“I’d rather die.” you get out. You bite the inside of your cheek as you hold eye contact, trying to keep up with the attitude that had been blinding you earlier.

You watch as his tongue slowly traces the inside of his cheek, his lips parting as he chuckles softly. He notices the way your breath stills for a moment and you blink slowly, how his words had momentarily snapped you out of your angry haze.

He’s so close to you that you can almost feel the heat radiating off of him, but you refuse to back down, already this far into the argument.

“You might say that now, princess, but you haven’t seen me when I’m nice. I’m sure you’d like me if you dropped the attitude.” he states, eyes trailing down your figure again, taking in your cleavage peeking out from your shirt slightly, the way your clothes fall on your soft belly and thick thighs.

“That’s never gonna happen.” you say, letting out a shaky breath as you try not to look away. The class you’re currently missing comes to mind as your glare falters for a moment, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing to a stranger in the middle of the hallway.

“Don’t be so sure, princess.” he teases, licking his lips again as his eyes study your face.

What the hell are you doing? You shouldn’t be talking to this man. You have class, and you took your frustration out on him when he mostly didn’t deserve it. You swallow, biting the inside of your cheek as your face grows hot. You have to get out of here before this goes any worse than it already has. If you don’t walk away now, you’d realize how cute he is.

“I have to go to class.” you tell him softly, a hint of coldness still in your voice as you turn on your heel, walking down the hallway and out of sight.

He watches as you walk away, his eyes shamelessly trailing down to your ass as you go. He chuckles at your hasty departure as he bites a lip. If he met you at a party, he’s sure he would’ve already made you a flustered mess for him, but you didn’t seem like the type of girl who’d be at one of his team’s parties. The way you rushed off to class like that? While part of your exit was to end the conversation, there was a hint of nervousness in your eyes that tells him you truly were late to class, and not very happy about it. He wants to see you again, wants to try to get you to lower your guard so he can get to know you at a time where your temper isn’t getting the better of you.

You let out a long sigh as soon as you get far enough away from him, and you can feel that your hands are shaking ever so slightly. Why did you do that? You should’ve just apologized and kept walking because now you were really late for class, and you had basically yelled at a guy when you were pretty sure you had run into him. He was attractive, and built. You think he’s on the football team. Your roommate has a type, and you think you remember seeing his face when she showed you the entire team roster while she forced you to play drunken smash or pass during the summer.

Now that you think of it, what the fuck? Why did he immediately tell you to watch it? And then, why did he just come onto you like that? Did he just immediately assume that you would fold and apologize if he laid on the charm? You shake your head at the thought, scoffing as you pull out your phone again, realizing you had gone the complete wrong way as you stormed away from him. You turn again, hoping he was gone when you walk back to where you ran into each other, and to your delight, he was.

You finally find your lecture hall and quickly slip in, silently celebrating when you realize that the doors were at the back of the room rather than the front, meaning you wouldn’t disturb the class. You scan the lecture hall, seeing an empty seat on an aisle a few rows from the back, and you silently make your way over. You sit down and pull your laptop out of your bag, quickly opening the class homepage to follow along as the professor goes over the syllabus.

You’re so focused on not drawing attention to yourself that you don’t notice him in the back row, eyes immediately on you as you sneak past him.

He smirks to himself, noticing the difference in your demeanor as you walk past him, head ducked, as if not to disturb anyone further by your lateness. With the way you snapped at him before, he half expects you to walk in with your head up, daring anyone to act annoyed with you as you make your way to your seat.

He keeps finding his eyes darting to the back of your head as class goes on, trying to think of a way to talk to you again, hoping you wouldn’t roll your eyes and keep walking if he tried.

You try to catch up on what the professor is saying about the syllabus, trying to add assignment and test dates to your calendar as she speaks. As the professor wraps up the class, you continue working away, trying to finish adding the dates, knowing you would forget to do it once you got home.

He stays in his seat when class ends, eyes glued to you as you keep typing on your laptop for a minute or two while the people around you start filing out. He puts his laptop away haphazardly, his eyes still trained on you as you do the same. He stands up at the same time you do and walks over to the door, standing in front of it.

You see him as he reaches the door, rolling your eyes as he blocks the way. All you want is to get home and crawl into bed, you really don’t want to deal with him right now.

“Where are you going, princess?” he teases, that stupid smirk returning to his face as he hears your sigh. He keeps far enough in front of the door that you could slip out if you really wanted to. He doesn’t want to scare you, he just wants more time with you.

“Home.” you reply shortly, crossing your arms over your chest. The way he looks down at you has you on edge again. He’s too smug for your liking, and now that your brain had time to process, you couldn’t not notice his blue eyes, his large arms. Your action doesn’t go unnoticed by him, as his eyes are immediately drawn to the way your arms push your chest up slightly.

“No more classes to run off to? No more rushing around and running into strangers?” he teases, giving you a once over.

“I didn’t run into you.” you tell him matter of factly, but your voice is not as loud as it once was. You know he’s right, but it’s far too late to change your mind. Why wouldn’t he let this go? You’re already embarrassed about the way you acted, you really don’t need him to keep reminding you.

“Ah, but you did. You were looking at your phone, trying to find your class, probably. You stormed off in the wrong direction and had to double back, didn’t you?” he says in an amused tone, chuckling softly as you raise your brows. You’re slightly surprised he’s smart enough to put two and two together.

“I might’ve apologized if you weren’t being a dick. Do you think the world revolves around you?” you fight back, waves of embarrassment hitting you as you realize that he had noticed you went the wrong way.

He doesn’t answer as his lips part slightly, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He takes a step ever so slightly closer to you, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes.

“You got a boyfriend?” he asks after a moment. He’s both amused and confused at your reaction to this. It’s as if you’re unsure if you should continue arguing with him, or give in and walk away, but that’s what has him so intrigued. He wants to know what you would be like behind closed doors, how you would react to his touch as his hands make their way down your body.

You scoff, shaking your head as you maneuver around him and out the door. The nerve of this guy. Why did he have to be so infuriating? And hot?

He raises his hands in mock surrender as you step around him, his gaze following you as you walk down the hall.

As you make your way out of the building, you feel yourself let out a shaky breath, biting your lip as your brain is overcome with thoughts of him. You try to get your mind off of him, taking your phone out of your pocket to text your roommate and ask her if she wants to do a movie night tonight. She immediately responds with a yes, asking what movie you had in mind, but your brain feels so foggy that you can’t even think of the endless list of movies you’ve been wanting to watch.

Instead, you think of the way he looked down at you, how his eyes trailed down your body, drinking you in. You think about the way you could see his biceps flexing under his shirt as he crossed his arms. You think about what he called you. Princess. It was weird at first, but as you keep thinking about it, you can’t help the way it makes your stomach flip. Why did he ask you if you had a boyfriend? He couldn’t have been interested in anything more than pissing you off. You shake your head to yourself as you try to clear your head, finally making it back to your apartment complex.

And him? He walks the whole way home thinking about you as well. He can’t wait to see you next week in class, hoping that you’ll have more classes together. He’s hooked, and he’s desperate to break down your walls and learn more about you.

next chapter

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ivymarquis · 4 months ago

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Say You Won’t Let Go

No good deed goes unpunished

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie apocalypse (I like how I lied to both myself and y’all that there was ever gonna be a chance of it being another type of apocalypse), both John and Love are a little crazy which is to be expected re: zombie!au, more nausea, more pregnancy related discourse, zombie world building and the ramifications/implications of being pregnant in the apocalypse, the author is currently having A Thing about pepperoncinis, strong hints to the events that lead to Love being abandoned, etc etc etc

First/Previous Chapter Here | Next Chapter

Captain John Price of the SAS, it seems, has decided to keep you.

As a child your neighbors had an Australian Cattle Dog.

He reminds you of that dog. Keyed in on your every move, herding you about as he sees fit throughout the day.

Gets irritated just like that dog used to, if he finds you somewhere he thinks you shouldn’t be.

Being alone with a man you do not know goes against everything you were taught growing up. You, however, are not exactly spoiled for choice where company is concerned and are in no position to bite the hand willing to feed you. Especially when the hand in question hasn’t done anything untoward.

John provides security and stability, even if he fusses at you incessantly.

“Need to be eating more than that.”

Objectively you know he’s correct, but there’s fuck all to be done about it.

“I can’t. I’ll throw up.”

You learn the nausea card will stay his hand, not that you’re even overplaying it. The child you’re carrying likes to alternate between sitting on your bladder and your stomach between bouts of playing soccer with your ribcage. Not exactly making it easy on you to get (or keep down) the food you need to grow a liver or a pair of lungs, or whatever it is that you’re cooking in the final stretch of your pregnancy.

For the most part he leaves you be about the food if he sees you picking at something over the duration of the day.

You circle each other cautiously; circumstance and loneliness making you unwilling to avoid him, but also still having the good sense to be aware you’re dealing with a stranger for less than a full day.

He’s brash, obviously used to getting his way. You don’t know a ton about the military and can only assume that it comes with the territory. He’s used to barking orders and commanding a space. You’re not exactly in a position to buck against his hand- and it’s not like you really want to, anyway.

He gives you first pick of the food, your cravings deciding your meal for you.

Cravings in an apocalypse blow, by the way. It’s not like you can get the tandoori chicken from your favorite Indian place at 2 am just because the mood strikes.

“I would kill for a jar of pepperoncinis,” you mumble, mostly to yourself one night as you pick at your dinner. God you could fuck a jar of them up with how your mouth is watering just at the thought of them.

In fact, had the world not gone to hell in a handbasket you’d probably be doing something cruel and inhumane to a pile of them. Like dipping them into nutella. Wasn’t one of the joys of pregnancy appeasing your cravings with absolutely abominable food combinations?

You’re not exactly in fight or flight at this exact moment, but you are in survival mode. No luxury of door dashing random items.

“How much longer do you think you’ve got?” The captain asks one night over dinner.

“I’m not sure. I think any day now at this point.”

You feel like you’re all belly, something that’s compounded by his follow up question of “Only got the one in there?” which is honestly fair.

“Yes. The midwife said he just has an Olympic sized swimming pool to float around in.”

“Midwife would be handy to have given your state.”

The question is buried between the lines. Why are you here and not with her?

“She’s dead.”

That’s what started this whole mess, isn’t it? It’s not your fault she’s dead but her absence was the catalyst of your group abandoning you.

He pauses his own meal, looking at you momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”

You don’t know what to say in reply.

It feels disingenuous to pretend her death impacted you more than it actually did. While you two had spent more time together as your pregnancy progressed, the conversations had stayed staunchly about the baby and changes to your body.

You weren’t friends. But she was kind and compassionate and seemed knowledgeable about what was happening to you.

It does make you nervous, though. Women have had babies unassisted for millenium, but women have also died in childbirth since the dawn of time. Certain cultures regarded a successful birth in the same vein as warriors returning home from battle.

Since he asked- in a roundabout way- about your group, you feel bold enough to ask about his.

“How’d you get separated from your group?”

“Got caught with our trousers down by a herd wandering through this area. We were overwhelmed and I ended up going through a window. Did a number on my leg, that seems to finally be healing.”

Herds is such a funny way to describe a roaming group of the undead.

Herds usually contain deer, or horses, or sheep. Something soft and doe eyed that you can pet. Something that has teeth, yes, but typically not interested in hurting you.

Packs would be the better descriptor in your opinion- but then no one had asked you, had they?

“Do you think they’re still in the area?”

“Not if they’ve got any fucking sense,” he grouses. “There’s a group of survivors up north we’ve been taking care of. Safe zone so to speak- about as safe as anything can be, at least. Came down for supplies as the area looked clear, but the truck broke down. Herd came through and mucked everything up.”

The prospect of another community- a safe zone- enraptures you.

You’re not stupid, even if a lapse of judgment and a too long dry spell breaking has landed you in your current predicament. You understand that you’re a bit of a ticking time bomb.

You live in a world where safety is no longer a guarantee. That too much noise, and too much attention drawn can be a death sentence.

So having a baby is a far riskier move these days than it was in the past. There’s so much that can go wrong. You can’t tell a baby to be quiet because a herd is passing through and if any of them hear, then you’ve signed everyone’s death warrant.

And that’s if you and your child don’t die in labor.

So you were understandably devastated but yielded to the group consensus to leave you behind.

But a safe zone?

You’ve been floating around in limbo since parting from your group. Understanding that your death is written on the walls, but unwilling to lay down and die without trying.

You feel something akin to hope fluttering in your belly- that maybe you and your child will survive. That there’s not a blade waiting to descend on you when your water breaks.

“Can you take me there? Are you trying to go back?”

John regards you for a moment, and you try to not squirm in apprehension.

“Would be a whole lot easier if I had a working vehicle,” he states. “Between my leg and your,” he pauses, spearing a bite of his food and making a vague gesture at you as he chews, “current condition, walking that far isn’t a good idea.”

Right. Because you’re a ticking time bomb who might pop in the next hour, next week, or next day and there’s absolutely no way to know until it happens. Hence why you were trolling through a neighborhood looking for somewhere safe to bed down until you have your baby.

Talk about caught with your pants down if your water breaks trying to traverse a substantial distance. But then traveling with a newborn puts another target on your back, doesn’t it? How long until you’re comfortable with how fussy your baby is and you become confident you can read his cues? That’s a hell of a dice to roll.

“If I can find a working radio I can call my team. Or something I can drive.”

“I’m good with tech,” you volunteer. “Even if the radio doesn’t work- maybe I can make it work.”

You’ve always been someone who takes pride in your work, but working in tech in a post-collapse society has rendered your knowledge useless when traveling with a nomadic group just trying to make things work day by day.

So you’ve been feeling like a bit of a lame duck lately, even though you know logically that’s not being particularly fair to your circumstances. You’ve been forced to learn more pragmatic skills (at least, for the zombie apocalypse) but having to learn them on the fly with threats constantly looming over you doesn’t exactly provide a safe place to fail while you get over a learning curve.

Obviously close combat isn’t ideal in your situation. Guns draw too much attention with the noise. Maybe you can find a bow and practice with it.

So you jump at the opportunity to show that you might be able to pull your own weight. That you’re more than a fragile time bomb waiting for the counter to hit zero.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I find a broken one, then,” he appeases, although you can’t get enough of a read on him to know if he’s just placating you.

It’s a bit after dinner and the sun setting that John decides it’s time to herd you up to bed. “Right then, time to get you back upstairs.”

It’s only been two days now but it doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s got a thing about you and the stairs.

Someone like him is likely used to preparing for the worst case scenario in every situation. Lord knows what sort of horrors he’s thought up of you losing your balance going up or down, but he’d chewed on you pretty good earlier in the day when you’d tried to go up them without him to get something out of your bag.

Lesson learned- no traversing the stairs unattended.

Given that you are perpetually exhausted at this point, you can’t see the value in arguing that you don’t need your sleep schedule dictated to you. Left to your own devices you likely would have begun nodding off on the couch.

Even with your group, while there’d be assigned watch times, there wasn’t an enforced bedtime. Everyone’s adults- you were expected to handle your shit and be ready to move when it’s time to go.

So you nod along and let him guide you up.

John is magnanimous about the resources in the house, letting you be uncontested for the bathroom upstairs. You don’t understand how plumbing works but you can’t even bring yourself to complain about the cold water as you clean yourself.

There is a chair in “your” room, and the first night you placed it under the doorknob so that should John get any suspicious ideas, at least you’d be awake for your grizzy demise.

The doorknob never so much as turned, and you’ve been at his mercy long enough you decide if he was going to do anything unhinged, he’d have done it by now.

You are snuggled into your bed- which might as well be a luxurious thing with a 600 thread count for all you can care right now, even though it’s most assuredly not- and hear the sound of John’s door closing across the hall, and are out like a light before you can even process the noise and assume that he’s down for the count for tonight just like you are.

Come morning- after you’re finished in the bathroom and are greeted in the hall by John waiting for you- you realize that John was not squirreled away in his own room last night. He leads you down the stairs- insists on being between you and the bottom of the stairwell.

There’s a jar of pepperoncini peppers, a container of prenatal vitamins, and a pack of preggie pops which claims to be a pregnancy safe anti nausea candy.

The logical side of your brain should be floored that this veritable stranger has paid more attention to your needs (and yes you’re going to go ahead and count the pepperoncinis down as a need) in a day and a half than certain exes had during the entire run of your relationships with them.

A thank you would be appropriate given the situation.

Unfortunately, however, your hormone addled “I've been fending for myself after being abandoned, and I'm still emotionally fried” brain has been the one calling the shots lately, so instead what comes out is “You left me last night.”

#john price x reader #price x you #pregnant!reader #john x love #zombie au #post apocalypse #lmfao I can just imagine john being all puffed up and oh so proud of himself and then Love is just like ‘you motherfucker D:’ and he’s all #my writing

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therandompagesblog · 24 days ago

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SKZ Mate: Chapter 10

Warnings: Hospital talks, sexual health, general health

"blood type?" "I don't know." "Wolf size?" "I don't know." "Last time you had a heat?" "That I don't know either." "Could you be pregnant?" Y/N and Chan looked at eachother before looking back at the medical questionnaire in absolute bewilderment. "I do know my date of birth. The rest I have no clue." Y/N said honestly. "You don't know where you live?" Chan said slowly as if she had just hit her head. "I don't know your address. I just live there." "Good point." Chan chuckled as he tried to fill in some of it for her.

Chan had decided to contact a werewolf specialist after her sub-drop to check for any underlying health concerns. He was worried that Ateez might have done more damage internally than what Felix could pick up. Chan also wanted to find out more about her heat cycle along with when her next heat might happen so he could prepare and make her comfortable for when it happened. He didn't want to ask Felix to do those checks in case she felt uncomfortable so he thought a female doctor might be better for the time being. The female doctor happened to be Changbin's older sister Jaehee. She was one of the most reputable doctors and gynecologists in the city that worked closely with werewolves. Jaehee could have come to the house but Chan decided against it and decided to meet at the hospital as he thought it might be nice for Y/N to go outside. Chan didn't want to trap her in his set of woods away from civilization but he was so worried about Hongjoong catching on or finding her out in public and he wasn't ready to risk it just yet. There were already rumours that Hongjoong had lost his omega and his pack had weakened because of her disappearance. It also doesn't look good to the outsiders that he lost an omega. It shows massive instability and cruelty, because why else would an omega leave, unless she was taken. That was probably how Hongjoong was probably playing it out, but Chan wasn't keeping up to date with his patterns at the moment since Minho and Hyunjin offered to take over while Chan sorts out his problems with his own family.

"Hi Chris, how are you?" An orotund voice called out. Y/N jumped slightly at the woman's voice, causing Chan to chuckle. "Hi Jaehee. I'm sorry to have demanded for you so soon." Chan apologised. "There's no need. My little brother explained." Jaehee explained with a smile. "Come on then omega." "I'll wait here. So you two can talk." Chan explained as he gently gave Y/N a squeeze on her shoulder. "How chivalrous of you Christopher." Jaehee mumbled, rolling her eyes at the alphas behaviour. Y/N followed the female into her office but not forgetting to give Chan a nervous look. Thankfully he sent her a wave of comfort as she went in. "Don't look so nervous. I promise whatever you say to me doesn't go anywhere, the room is werewolf proof so no one outside of this room can hear. And I also won't disclose anything to Chan or my brother unless you're sick. The rest is not my business." Jaehee promised as she patted the bed before grabbing her clipboard and running through a series of questions. They started off as generic questions. What is her diet like? How often does she phase? What is her heat cycle like? How often does her cycle last? Do you get pain during your heat cycle? All of which Y/N knew roughly. Y/N had an alright diet but it could be better. In terms of wolf health, she didn't phase a lot and mostly it was because she was told not too so her wolf was always caged in. In regards to her heat cycle she hadn't had one in over 2 moons.

While Jaehee asked a series of questions she checked Y/Ns height, weight, body temperature before going on to blood tests. Jaehee promised the blood tests where only to check for deficiencies and rule out any possible diseases. "Alright, this next part I need to some cervical examinations just to rule out anything." Jaehee said with an awkward smile as she brought over the ultrasound. "Does my brother treat you right?" Jaehee asked as she waited for Y/N to get comfortable before sticking the instrument in. "Yes. He does. Him and Jisung helped me prepare my nest." Y/N said awkwardly. "Changbin has a big heart. Feel free to abuse it within reason. And when I say that I mean in a healthy way like asking him to buy things for you, not playing the rejection game like my friend does with hers." Jaehee shook her as she remembered what her friend told her. "How is Hyunjin and Minho? They are the most difficult pair. "Um, Minho is rather awkward with me and Hyunjin I think hates me. He frightens me." Y/N said honestly. "I doubt Hyunjin hates you. He can hate but you would know it as you wouldn't necessarily be here. Hyunjin is complex but be patient with him. My advice let him come to you on his terms do not go to him or force him." Jaehee stated. "Um. Chan got him to mark me." Y/N answered nervously. "Oh dear. I can imagine Hyunjin is not feeling happy about that. Give him time. He's not pure evil he just has different morals." Jaehee answered.

The room went silent as Jaehee poked and prodded around Y/N's body, glaring and squinty at the screen, making Y/N nervous. "You are definitely not pregnant. Which I am sure is a relief for you, however, your pelvic bone is cracked which is slightly concerning, so I'm going to have to ban Straykids from any intimate activity from you for the next twelve weeks. It might be eight but those feral males will try and push too early so tell them twelve. In terms of missing heats I strongly believe it is due to high amounts of stress so hopefully in the next one or two moons it comes back. Any questions?" Jaehee asked, in which Y/N shook her head. "Good. I'll write a report to give to Chris. Make sure you eat more protein, the bloodier the better. Try to get more exercise by running in your wolf form. Cardio is better than weight training at the moment as your body has gone through a lot of stress so I wouldn't advise following my brother to the gym. Herbal remedies are great for stress, reproductive and sexual health. I know Felix and Minho are great at making them. Definitely no sex for twelve weeks. The longer the better. Oral sex after eight weeks unless they are really gentle but I have no clue who would be. Minho might be the more gentle one or no maybe not him. Never mind. Oral sex we'll say is fine unless they thrust too hard, it's also a great relaxation technique. Alright what else. Ah, for your pelvic bone try doing pelvic floor muscles. Hot baths, massages and lots of rest. I've also typed this for Chan. Feel free to wack him around the head with it or any of them until they understand. Got it." "Uh, huh." Y/N said as she tried to process a large amount of information. "Your blood test and scan results will be all together in two weeks, but they will be done with a fake name in case Ateez somehow gets a hold of information." Jaehee explained as she gave Y/N her report along with a prescription for birth control pills with a knowing look.

Y/N thanked Jaehee and walked out of her office to see Chan on the phone. Chan quickly hung up and greeted her with a small kiss on the forehead. "How did it go?" Chan asked as he took her paperwork before holding her hand. "Okay." Y/N said awkwardly. Chan hummed in response and wrapped his arm around her. "Let's talk in the car. We have to pick up some wolf protein shake as Changbin has run out." Chan stated like he wasn't even sure what Changbin was on about. As soon as they reached the car, Chan read through the paperwork, taking all of the information in before he started the car up. "Is there anything you want to talk about or get off your mind, not in relation to this of course?" Chan asked, giving her the room to speak freely. "No. I'm just learning to trust and accept things and to feel comfortable again." Y/N admitted. "That's understandable. Your body and mind has been under a lot of stress for however long, but I am grateful you are trying to trust us. As you need lots of rest I hope you will allow us to look after you properly and show you who we are. Obviously within reason for some of them." Chan expressed while also stating the obvious about a certain wolf. "I will state if Changbin offers to give you massages that's fine but not if he finds a muscle knot. He tends to make them worse. Hyunjin is actually the better one to get them out along with Seungmin as they are good with pressure points." "Does Hyunjin hate me?" Y/N blurted out causing Chan to look at her. "No. No he does not. He has a story that is his to tell, but what I will tell you is Hyunjin once lived with Hongjoong and you know what Hongjoong is like he did something. Hyunjin doesn't hate you he hates him and his pack. He doesn't trust anything related to him. But please do not take anything he states personally unless he does make it personal. If he does make you upset at any point tell me." Chan stated as he squeezed Y/N's hand. Still, Y/N couldn't help but worry but for now she had to trust him until something changes.

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redstarwriting · 1 year ago

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the clash | i. hey, ho! let’s go!

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 1.1k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you, you hating hobie

a/n: it’s here 😎 no but fr, i proudly present a new series focusing on hobie brown, loml. i‘m trying to make it gn, so if you spot anything that needs fixing lemme know. i also did include a bit of a description of what you look like, but it’s mainly just to affirm the gothic spider-person look. and if you don’t like it, you can just pretend it isn’t there, my character designer brain just took a hold while explaining lol. enjoy y’all, there’s more where this came from 👀

now reading: i. hey, ho! let’s go!

next chapter: ii. time bomb

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In theory, the two of you should have been great friends. Best friends, even. He’s called Spider-Punk, and you’re called Spider-Goth, this alone made Miguel assume the two of you would get along better than all of the Peters. Unfortunately for Miguel, he was dead wrong. It was fine at first, a good introduction. “Spider-Punk, meet Spider-Goth,” Miguel says, motioning to the two of you. You simultaneously turn your heads towards him, “Don’t call me that.” You look at each other, seemingly sizing each other up after speaking the same words at the same time. In reality, the two of you were checking each other out, but no one needs to know that. “Fine. Hobie, meet (Y/n). (Y/n), meet Hobie,” Miguel says as Peter B. Parker hops next to him, excited to see the two of you interact. Your gaze first fell on his many piercings, which suited him very well. Almost as well as the spikes coming out of the shoulders of his tattered denim vest. “See somethin’ you like?” you hear his thick cockney accent, and you shrug. “The constant changing makes it difficult,” you say, causing him to shrug. “I hate consistency,” he says, staring you up and down. “I like the guitar,” you say, and he nods. “Everyone does.” You raise an eyebrow, and he takes in the way your heavy black eyeliner makes the expression look more exaggerated than it is. His eyes go down, taking in your outfit, which seems to be varying in different gothic styles, but overall is all black with silver studs, spikes, and charms sticking out everywhere. He notices the two of you share a liking for combat boots, and perhaps his favorite thing about you are the intricate and all black spider-web tattoos on your hands crawling their way up your arms. Hobie clicks his tongue. “Goth, eh?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem with you or something?”

“Feisty for a goth.”

“Instigative as all punks are.”

“What… is going on,’ Peter whispers to Miguel who shakes his head. “I thought they would be best friends?” Peter suggests as he places a binky in Mayday’s mouth. “I did too…” Miguel says, “Maybe this is just a way these types of alternative people talk?”

“Tal vez tengas razón… Hobie does love to be abrasive for no reason,” Miguel concludes, and Peter shrugs and they zone in on the two of you again. “...I don’t suppose there’s no reason we shouldn’t get along,” Hobie suggests, raising an eyebrow at you. “I agree. We probably think similar things… for the most part.”

“For the most part, huh?”

“Just that we have similar ideas, but most likely not the same,” you respond, and he crosses his arms, his guitar moving loosely behind his back. “Opinions on anarchy. Go.”

“It’s the ideal society—”

“Good start—”

“But completely unrealistic.”

“Excuse me?” Hobie looks at you with a glowering expression. “Humans are inherently assholes. Selfish, shitty, assholes. As amazing as it would be to have anarchy running rampant,” you shrug, “It’s unlikely it will ever happen.”

“You can’t actually believe that,” Hobie says, exasperated, “I mean you actually think that we can’t achieve it? You get enough people angry, and they rebel, they push for anarchy. I’ve seen it happen; I’ve led a rebellion.” You roll your eyes. “And do you live in a perfect anarchical society now?”

“Not yet, but we’re gettin’ there,” he clenches his teeth, and you sigh. “I admire your blatant idiocy disguised as an ambitious dream,” you say, and he huffs. “Would you just talk like a normal fuckin’ person and stop usin’ these dumbass words and shitty poetic language?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, or are you as deaf as your ideologies?” This time you scoff. “I don’t have the time to be berated by someone who lives in their own delusions to try and feel the slightest bit less angry at the world for giving him the shitty cards he was dealt.”

“And I don’t have time to listen to the rubbish ramblings of a miserable twat who digs desperately into their black hole of a heart to try and feel somethin’ when the truth is they don’t even know what they stand for,” he fires back. You glare at him. He glares at you. As if on cue you both flip each other off before you web away. Peter’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Well, that went horribly!”

Miguel punches him on the shoulder, resulting in a soft ‘ow’ and a tiny angry noise from Mayday. “What the hell was that Hobart?” Miguel nearly yells and Hobie snaps his head towards him. “Don’t call me that, neither! They don’t get it. It’s not enough to want to make a difference in the world. You need to take action. Goths love to sit on the sidelines and lament instead of playing the offensive,” Hobie explains, a deep frown on his face, “Watch out for them. They might not be able to do what it takes when it counts.” Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hobie, you’re supposed to show them around—”

“No, fuck that. I’m not goin’ anywhere near that gothic monstrosity,” Hobie says shaking his head in defiance. “We made a deal. You would show all the younger spider—”

“Yeah, well you can shove that deal up your fuckin’ ass, mate, I’m not doin’ shit for them!”

“Okay, okay, calm down there, man. Why don’t you just ask Gwen to help you? Maybe Miles and Pavitr too? That way you fulfill your promise, 'cause I know promises are important to you, and you won’t have to talk to them!” Peter reasons and Hobie looks over at him. He furrows his eyebrows. That would help the situation. And maybe he’d be able to help you see just how garbage your take was with Gwen on his side. “Fine. But I’m not doin’ it cause I need help, and I’m not doin’ it because you told me to. I’m doin’ it cause it’s the last thing that they’d want,” Hobie says, pointing at Peter while saying it, flipping Miguel off, and then webbing away. Peter looks at Miguel who is clenching his fists… and his jaw. “You seem stressed, but don’t worry about it. Not all of us need to like each other, I mean there’s so many there’s no possible way we all could and look at you, you hate Miles even though he’s awesome and—”

“Shut. Up. Peter,” Miguel growls, stalking away while mumbling various things in Spanish. Peter looks down at Mayday. “Tough crowd,” he says as she giggles up at him.

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『 tag list 』

@casmosmoon* @khaleesihavilliard @sparklyphantom @weyrrii*

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #spiderpunk x reader #spiderverse x reader #hobie brown #spiderpunk #spider-punk #spiderverse #theclashofthespiderverse

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kaleldobrev · 2 months ago

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You're Gonna Kill Me Sweetheart (3) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 2.7k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (4x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension, Slightly vulnerable Dean, Self-Loathing Dean & Sexual fantasies (nothing explicit)

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | A little bit of a slower part, but Dean and Y/N get to know each other a little bit. This was originally supposed to be a part of chapter 2, but I didn’t like how long chapter 2 was and I thought this section could be its own chapter | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⇠ Go Back & Read Chapter 2

Walking into the motel room, there was indeed a single bed, and it didn't look like the normal motel size you were used to. It somehow looked smaller than usual, but you weren't sure if it was because you were nervous and your eyes were playing tricks on you, or it was in fact smaller.

You turned to Dean, who was still staring at the single bed. "The bed looks a little small," you said, the two of you still standing in the doorway; almost afraid to enter the gaudy room, which looked to have about fifty different shades of green.

"Guy said it was a queen," Dean commented, his voice sounding a little bit annoyed. "It's a queen my ass," he mumbled, being the first one to enter the room, leaving you to stay in the doorway. You held back a chuckle at his comment.

As he was about to place the duffel onto the bed, you closed the door behind you. "Do you have a preferred side?" He asked, the moment you turned to face him again.

"The right if that's okay," you answered, biting your bottom lip with slight hesitation at your answer. "Unless you want it." Back at yours and your boyfriend's apartment, you tended to have the left side, despite your preference for the right side as it was farther away from the door. But when he moved in, he automatically claimed the right, leaving you to endure the left.

Dean shrugged. "Left is fine with me," he said, placing his duffel bag on the left side of the bed.

There was a part of Dean that was happy that you had picked the right, as it was farther away from the door. He knew that you would be able to take care of yourself, but he strangely felt better being near the door so he would be able to protect you at a moment's notice.

He watched you walk over to the right side, placing your duffel down and unzipping it, almost matching his movements. He couldn't help but grin a bit. "Do you want to shower first or can I?" You asked.

"You can go first. Just don't use up all the hot water," he winked, before zippering up his bag and pushing it underneath the bed. At this point, he couldn't tell if his wink was flirtatious or just out of habit.

You felt your cheeks grow hot from his wink, hoping that you weren't blushing. And if you were, hoping that he didn't notice. You wanted more than anything to tell him that he could join you, but you resisted. There was no way in Hell he would say yes, as he probably looked at you like a child, or someone that he felt like he needed to protect.

But you couldn't help but wonder what his body looked like underneath the layers of clothes that he wore. You wondered what it would feel like to run your hands up and down his chest, placing kisses along his jaw and down his neck, as the water ran down both your bodies. You licked your bottom lip at the thought, again, hoping that Dean didn't notice. Your throat was dry again — you needed to get into the shower quick.

"Thanks, I'll make it quick!" You briefly smiled, before making a beeline for the bathroom.

Once he saw you enter the bathroom and shut the door, he couldn't help but notice that he didn't hear you lock the door. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled to himself, and he licked and bit his bottom lip. He was thankful that you weren't here to see him.

But the urge to open that door and join you in the shower right now was strong. All he wanted to do was run his hands along your arms and kiss your neck and bare shoulders from behind you, as the water traced every inch of your bodies. He wanted to admire the way the water hit your curves, and hear you moan against him. He was curious how you would react to his touch. Fuck, he thought. This was going to be a long few days.

He had to snap out of his fantasy, even though he didn't want to. But he needed to be realistic about the situation and dynamic between the two of you if he was going to survive the next several days. He was 37, and you were 22 — a fifteen-year difference. It wasn't a small difference by any means, and it was just big enough for people to question the relationship between the two of you if you were to ever end up together. Then again, there was no way you would actively choose to be with him, or someone like him; he had too much emotional and psychological trauma and baggage to the point that he sometimes didn't recognize himself anymore. He'd been to Hell and back (figuratively and literally) and handled all of this trauma by either drowning it with alcohol, violence, or bottling it up to the point that it nearly kills him. You didn't deserve to be around this, you deserved to be with someone that was normal — or at least normal enough.

You were young and beautiful, and barely had any scars (at least from what he could see). You'd been hunting for only a handful of years, so he figured you hadn't been emotionally traumatized as much as he had been over the years, from hunting for almost three decades. Despite being a hunter, you had more years ahead of you than he had.

As he tried to distract himself from you, his mind starting to think about what your boyfriend was like. Was he a hunter like you? Did he live with you? Was he into cars like you were? Why didn't he come to this hunt with you? But Dean knew that he was jealous of him, jealous because he had got to love you unconditionally, and touch you in ways that Dean would never be able to.

He heard the sounds of your clothes hitting the bathroom tile, the shower not even on yet. You were naked just a few feet away from him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He balled up his fist as he sat at the table, going through his dad's journal — something he hadn't done in such a long time, and tried his best to focus on the pages. But he was having more trouble concentrating than he'd like to admit, because he was too focused on what you were possibly doing in the bathroom.

Finally, the water went on, and he let out a deep breath. "This is gonna be a long few days," he mumbled to himself. Getting up from the chair, he knew that he needed some kind of distraction, because hearing you in the shower was going to be the death of him. "Hey, I'm gonna grab something from the diner down the street. Want anything?"

"Um, if they have apple pie can you get me a slice? If not, bacon cheeseburger please!" You yelled out, no hesitation in your answer whatsoever.

"Fuck me," he mumbled.

"What?" You called out again, sounding a little confused. "Dean?"

"Uh, apple pie or bacon cheeseburger, got it," he said quickly, grabbing his keys and jacket. "I'll be back in two shakes," he called out to you before opening the motel door and quickly shutting it behind him: not even waiting for you to respond to him.

As he locked the door behind him, he hesitated slightly to leave, leaning his forehead against the door gently. He didn't want to leave, that was one of the last things he had wanted, but he needed to in order to try and stop these fantasies of you. The constant wondering of what you currently looked like in the shower, the wondering if you would moan if he kissed your neck; how your soft and smooth skin would feel against the roughness of his own. Stop it, stop it, he repeated.

You barely even had time to answer him, as you heard the motel door slam shut; the sound causing you to jump a little at the suddenness. You had a couple of emotions swirling inside of you: confusion and disappointment. You were confused at the suddenness of the diner question, but you were a little disappointed that he didn't even offer to take you with once you got out of the shower. You couldn't help but wonder if you had done something to offend him in the short amount of time you had been together. No, you've barely done anything, you concluded. You wondered what his deal was, and if something had possibly triggered this reaction from him.

Once finishing up your shower, you did your usual post shower routine — nixing the brushing of your teeth, as you were moments away from devouring either a mouthwatering bacon cheeseburger that rivaled the feeling of sex, or the sweetness of apple pie.

Exiting the bathroom, you grabbed the remote off the side table, hoping that there would be something watchable at this hour besides infomercials. You didn't dislike them, but you preferred something with some substance to it.

Flipping through the channels, you repeated 'No,' a few times, after each switch, not finding anything suitable. But after a few No's in a row, a smile finally graced your lips as you saw the sweet, sweet image of one of your favorite cartoon dogs: Scooby-Doo. It was the start of one of your favorite Scooby-Doo movies too, Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island, and you couldn't help but keep it on the screen.

It was a movie you hadn't seen in such a long time, as back at home, you either had to hide watching this from your boyfriend whenever it was on, or had to skip it all together, as he felt that you shouldn't be watching cartoons at your age. You hoped that Dean wouldn't mind or make fun or you in the same way your boyfriend had did.

Pulling back up to the motel with two bacon cheeseburgers and two slices of pie in the bag next to him, he gripped the steering wheel one final time and took a deep breath. He had only been gone about twenty minutes, and twenty minutes was not enough time. But yet, it seemed like an eternity away from you that he never wanted to face again. He needed to be near you, but he needed to be far away.

He sighed, bracing himself, slightly praying that you had managed to fall asleep while he was gone so he wouldn't have to make awkward conversation with you. You had told him that you were exhausted after all.

But as he reached the motel door, he heard the television on, and he held his ear up to the door to hear what you could possibly be watching at this hour. When his ear reached the door, he chuckled quietly to himself, hearing the voice of his favorite cartoon dog. You're gonna kill me Sweetheart, he thought.

Unlocking the door, he almost had to walk right out. Son of a bitch, he said, thankful that he didn't say it out loud. You were lying on your stomach, holding your head up with your hands, swinging your feet carelessly in the air, with a long shirt on that seemed to be about two sizes too big for you. He hoped to God that you were wearing shorts or underwear underneath.

You turned to him, your smile beaming. "Welcome back," you said. "That was quick."

"Yeah, there was um...no line," he said, clearing his throat. Stop thinking about if she has underwear on, stop thinking about if she has underwear on. Stop objectifying her. "Scooby-Doo," he pointed to the screen, trying to drown out his Rated R thoughts. "Love that dog."

Your smile remained, and it appeared to get wider. "I love Scooby-Doo, and Zombie Island is one of my favorite Scooby-Doo movies," the way your voice sounded made his heart melt; you sounded so incredibly happy. "I'm glad you don't mind, because I don't get to watch this that often." Your eyes looked so sad now, and Dean felt his heart starting to break for you. Did your boyfriend not like when you watched this? He desperately wanted to ask, but knew it wasn't his place to.

"I don't mind at all. You're never too old for cartoons, or Scooby-Doo," he smiled, placing the two bags of food down on the table. "You know, Scooby-Doo is one of those things where, no matter where me, Sammy, and my dad were, it was always on. Sometimes, my dad would be gone for hours or days at a time, and Scooby and the gang and my brother were the only ones that kept me company. Made me feel less alone, even if I felt alone."

Dean's words were making your heart break, hearing about the childhood that he never had, but always wanted. You knew that what he was telling you wasn't meant to be a sad thing but, you could hear it in the way his tone sounded, and the way he smiled, as it slightly looked sad and pained.

As you watched him take the food out of the bags, you smiled with delight seeing that not only did he get bacon cheeseburgers for both of you, but he got two slices of apple pie in addition. "They had both?" You asked, promptly sitting at the table.

"Yeah. I know you said one or the other, but I thought why not get both if they had both?" Dean shrugged, separating the food out. You couldn't help but be weirdly appreciative of this gesture, as this was something that your boyfriend would have never thought to do. He would have gotten one or the other, saying that getting both would have been too much.

The only sounds that filled the air were the comedic stylings of Scooby and the Gang, the occasional laughter from either you and Dean (or both), and the sounds of the pair of you chewing the pie that often came with moaning. Despite there being no talking from either one of you, it was nice and comfortable; no awkwardness to be found. When you looked over at him, he genuinely looked happy. You weren't sure if it was because of Scooby and the Gang, the pie, or both; but it was nice to see him so happy. You didn't have a lot to compare it to, to be fair, but based on stories you had heard from Sam and from other hunters, Dean has had it rougher than most.

You had wanted to tell Dean how much you appreciated having this moment with him, because it was the kind of moment that you didn't get to have very often. But you decided against it, feeling that it would somehow make the moment awkward between the two of you.

A few moments passed, and he was the one that had broken the silence. "Mind if I ask you something?" He asked between bites.

"Sure," you answered.

"How'd you get into hunting?" He asked the dreaded question, and you felt a knot in the pit of your stomach. It was a question you've been asked several times over the years by numerous hunters, but you've always managed to re-focus the question onto them. It wasn't like you had a problem answering the question, but it was something that you had rarely talked about, as the pain of it still seemed so fresh despite it being over five years ago. Your hunting story was something that even your parents didn't know fully, and you were unsure if they would ever know.

But there was something about Dean that had made you feel safe, and made you feel like it was okay to share it with him. But your body wouldn't allow that, and you stayed frozen, almost shut down.

"Hey," Dean said, and hearing his voice made you snap out of the current state that you were in, afraid that if you were in this state any longer, it would have been much harder to reel yourself back in. "Don't sweat it okay?"

"I'm sorry," you apologized, even though you had no reason to.

"Don't be," he reassured you. "Tell me when you're ready."

You nodded back at him, slightly smiling, and feeling relieved that he didn't place any kind of pressure on you to tell. You really did appreciate Dean, even if he didn't realize it.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 4

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#Dean Winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #dean x you #dean x reader #reader insert #female reader #the 15 year problem

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mintmatcha · 7 months ago

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The Inevitable Things: chapter four

aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Five messages.

Four texts, one video.

The message preview stares back at you, the LED screen aglimmer in the morning sun, screen bouncing with the tremor of your hand. You're breathing, you're sure of that, but you also think you may have died; no matter how hard you breathe, your chest feels like a popped balloon, deflated and too ripped to hold air. The rush of something whizzing past your ear must be blood, it's too resonant and all encompassing to be anything else--

Five fucking messages.

You can’t bring yourself to open any of them.

You stand there for longer than you’d like to admit, trying to process exactly what you’re looking at. Maybe it’s a glitch, or a typo, but when you turn your phone off and back on again, the unread messages pop up the same. Five unread messages from Aizawa Shouta. It makes sense logically; Aizawa is right above AVOID AT ALL COST in your contacts, you must have just clicked the incorrect thing in your drunken stupor--

But what doesn’t make sense is the fact that he replied-- and he replied positively. Aizawa Shouta does not respond positively to anything. Not the first cup of coffee in the morning, not his interns, probably not even kittens and rainbows, and yet he messaged you back. I’ve always wanted you. You refuse to reread anything from last night, but that sticks in your head.

I’ve always wanted you.

You think about it the entire train ride, nibbling on the edges of your nails to kill the anxious buzz that builds in your jaw. Maybe you should quit. You could change your name and move to some mid-sized city; that’d be easier than the inevitable mess you're headed towards. Suddenly, you miss yesterday, the yelling, the aggression--

It goes back to Touya. You know the question on everyone’s mind when they see you together, when they hear about the fights and the tension and the isolation: why? Why him, why stay, why wait, why, why, why? The answer is as simple as it is stupid: you stay because it's what you know. The turbulence feels like home.

It's like sea legs. When sailors are on boats for a long time, they stop feeling the rock and roll of each wave. It becomes easy to walk straight, to live life like normal, until they return to shore. There, on level streets, long after the tide has pulled away, is where the waves hit.

You've learned to live in rocky waters- you’ve practically perfected it. Touya is your ship and you know his yaws and keels better than you know stability.

This whole situation is the equivalent of stepping ashore and being immediately hit by a semi truck.

The train pulls into your station and you debate staying on for a moment too long. I’ve always wanted you. That sentence makes your stomach turn. What does that mean? Is it solely physical? Is it more?

No, it can’t be. This man hates your guts; there’s no feelings between you other than mild, stupid lust.

Which makes you debate your own feelings. He's certainly… well, he’s not ugly. You’d even say, maybe, perhaps, in the right angles, he’s attractive, especially with this thick thighs and thicker cock-

The train doors almost close before you can scuttle out. Focus, girl, focus. Fighting through your surprisingly aching body and returning headache, you briskly walk the rest of the way to work, trying to think about anything other than the shitshow you’re about to walk into.

Prome is a half mile walk from the station, with only one tiny dash across a busy road. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only option you have right now. The interns have started a carpool, but you’re too old to be riding with them. Besides, Bakugo Katsuki’s car is nice. It’s embarrassing the have worse things than a college student-

A familiar dented, red car squeaks to a halt inches from your ass, so close that you can feel the wind displaced. The squeal of tires steals your breath away and your body clenches in fear, so hard that your muscles scream. You jump and start blabbering in surprise, shouting out unearned apologies as you skitter back. It takes a second to gather yourself, but, when you do, you see a boy jut his head out of the window, all toothy smiles and bleach blonde hair.

“Hey!” he shouts. “If it isn’t my hero!”

“Denki?”

Kaminari Denki waves to you, sunshine personified behind the wheel of a truck without a bumper.

“Hold on, lemme park!”

The red monstrosity barely fits in a space. In its prime, it was probably a pretty car, but being owned by Denki clearly took a toll. The inside is littered with empty energy drink cans, clinking and sloshing as he throws the car into park and launches himself out. There's a reason he's not a part of the group's carpool.

“I could fucking kiss you right now!” He envelopes you in open arms, manhandling you side to side over and over in an overly friendly display.

“Oh, please don't-- Denki!”

He smashes his face into your cheek with a chaste, yet somehow wet smooch. When you try to squirm away, he doubles down; his lips actually make contact with yours, just for a moment, awful and impossibly damp.

“Ew, gross! Get off!” You pry him off and wipe the slime off of your lips with the back of your hand. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, my bad, I’m just--” he laughs, “Izuku told me you saved my ass!”

You don’t mention the fact you’re the reason he was in trouble in the first place because you're too busy processing this information.

“Aizawa rehired you?”

“He called me yesterday and apologized, which was, holy shit, it was insane,” Denki says, with a wave of his hands, like it isn’t a shocking turn of events. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I just, uh--” You grimace at the thought. “I talked to Toshinori. And cried a little.”

In retrospect, it does seem like overkill, but it worked.

“Do that more often!” He goes in for another hug and you reluctantly let him. He smells like axe body spray and cheap deodorant. God, he’s so young-- even the accidental kiss feels dirty. You have to remind yourself that he’s early twenties, really only a couple years younger than you-- wait, no. You’re thirty. “I owe you my life! And my diploma!”

You still can't believe it. Aizawa, hard ass Aizawa, changed his mind? That couldn't be because of you. He's made people cry before, why would you be different-?

Oh. I've always wanted you.

That thought hits you like a punch to the gut.

Maybe it isn't just physical.

You have to shake your head to clear away that thought. You brush your clothes off and adjust yourself. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee.” He coos as you walk in. The security guard gives you both a curious look, eyebrows wiggling conspiratorially. You just ignore that and focus on getting to your desk. It's almost nine; you're both late. “And anything you want-- alcohol, weed-”

“-We drug test here?”

“We do?” Denki gapes. “Fuck, good to know.”

Maybe saving him wasn’t a good career move. You make it to your desk and drop your stuff on the group. Denki has been following you like a puppy, nipping at your heels the whole way.

“Just… please don’t get fired again." You jerk a head towards his department. "Go do your work."

“Absolutely!” He prances down the hall, wrinkled tie flapping in his wake. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You can’t believe he’s here. Truly. All of that worry and stress yesterday feels worth it as you settle into your desk. You clack a couple of keys to wake up your screen-- but there’s no response. After a moment, you try again, then again. A wiggle of the mouse does the trick, but the keyboard still doesn’t wake up when you try to type in your password.

Crap. You split that coffee yesterday. The circuit or whatever must be fried. Great. Today is going to be pretty unproductive if you don’t solve this issue.

Engineering probably has a couple of extras, but you aren’t sure you’re ready to walk straight into the lion’s den, especially now that you aren’t sure how you feel about it all. The fact he rehired Denki does make you feel a bit better; maybe Hizashi and Nemuri were right and he’s actually a good guy. And, you can’t deny that you’re a tiny bit attracted to him now that you’ve seen… everything.

Ugh, you need to make up your fucking mind and decide how you feel about all of this--

At that moment, Aizawa Shouta stomps down the hall, expression as flat and hard as ever. He looks the same as he always does, stupid yellow sweatshirt, messy black hair, under eye circles deep enough to worry about, but your chest hiccups at the sight. You don’t have a plan for this, no prepared speech or anything. For a moment, you wonder if he’s coming to kiss you or ravage you, like in one of those romance novels that are popular online-

And then he passes you and heads straight for the coffee machine. Relief washes over you, then confusion. Not even a hint of attention thrown your way. That’s fairly strange-- you usually get at least a nod or a lukewarm greeting. You push off of your chair and join him the the station.

“Hey, um-” Your idle hands dig into the sugar packets, jostling them side to side. The pitch of the coffee hitting the inside of his mug changes as he pours, pitch creeping higher and higher. His jawline is dusted with a five o’clock shadow, flickers of salt and pepper across his skin and down to the curve of his adam’s apple. You said something about shaving last night, you think. You wonder if he listened or if this is how it’s always been-

“Do you need something?” He interrupts your thoughts, not even looking away from the station.

“I-” What do you need? Confirmation? Reassurance? An explanation? “Uh-”

You suck in a breath and steel yourself, legs shoulder width again from that extra boost of stability. Your voice comes out as a whisper, much shakier than it should be. I've always wanted you. You don't feel the same, but maybe, just maybe, you could learn to.

“Yesterday-- or, uh, last night- I just want to--”

“Let’s save each other the embarrassment and forget everything that happened yesterday.” The coffee pot clinks back into place, only the legs of droplets left to cling to the glass. “We’re out, by the way.”

And with that, he’s gone.

And a second truck has sideswiped you.

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sierrale8ne · 1 month ago

Text

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER THREE

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner @makethemhoesmad @ohbueckers @rosemariiaa @wbbgetsmewetter @authentic-girl03

kalena speakss 🪽! paige has known maraye for no more than two days and she is down baddddd! yall gonna hate me for the end of this chapter icl 🙂‍↔️

May 2025 — Phoenix, Arizona

“P, she has a boyfriend. She’s straight! Do you understand?” Rickea leans over towards me from her seat beside mine.

We’re in the trainers room, through the glass Cam is doing her rehab while Rae and Dearica talk about God knows what in front of us. This conversation has happened in different variations multiple times during the last two days.

Once when Rickea texted me immediately after the game, telling me I was insane for sizing Maraye up in public (which I was not doing, she’s just dramatic). Another when our flight landed last night, at our lift 20 minutes ago, and once more right now.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not gonna do anything! She’s pretty, I have eyes. That’s it.” I speak in my defense. Maraye having a boyfriend was enough for me to take a step back, she was someone else’s which I simply had to respect. I’m not one to break up a happy home.

I guess her being straight should also tell me to walk away too, given my track record of hooking up with wildly toxic straight women. Los Angeles would probably not be the best place to continue that tradition.

“Okay but do you understand what I’m telling you. You will get yourself hurt, either by her or— if you fuck something up— by me; and I’m actually starting to like you.”

“Starting to? What about all the tampering you were doing to get me here?” I ask Rickea.

“I ain’t say you weren’t good.” She points, “but that’s not the point. She’s in a relationship.”

It takes a minute, but everything my teammate says sticks in my head. I was getting ahead of myself in multiple ways. Plus, it probably wouldn’t be ideal for my first pro scandal to involve the most popular musician in the country. If CD was here she’d have probably torn my other ACL if she knew what I was up to.

So I nod. Looking over at Rickea’s stern expression makes me shift in my spot, very clearly irritating the lovely older woman who tapes my ankles. “I’m on my best behavior, swear to God.” I speak. My right hand falls over my heart in promise.

“Better be. It’s your ass not mine, Rook.”

—

May 2025 — Los Angeles, California

When the door to Cameron and Ben’s gorgeous home swings open, I’m greeted by a very tall and very and very smiley stunning Cameron Brink. She wears a black off-the-shoulder maxi dress that touches the floor.

There is a container of Banana Pudding in my hand and with the way she smiles and sighs a breath of relief, I think she likes it.

“Maraye, you’re a lifesaver.” She pulls me into a warm greeting hug and I return the gesture, clutching to the dessert in my other hand. “Don’t tell anyone, but Ben burned the dessert and I was getting a bit nervous.” She whispers in my ear.

I giggle. “Anything I can do to help. Thank you for having me!”

“Are you kidding? Thank you for coming!” Cameron steps to the side, allowing me to walk into the home. I hear the voices of all the guests in the home, specifically the yelling of Ben and his friends to my far left. “Come on, all the girls are in the kitchen, guys will be there in a minute.”

She takes the dessert from my hand and I follow behind her into the kitchen. It was out before me, a vast expanse of modern elegance that seemed to breathe life into the home. Sleek lines and a minimalist design, and an organization that seemed to make it more open. Cameron definitely had good taste. It was around 6, and the sun peered through the blinds and covered the room in a yellow haze.

The dining table nearby is decorated white clean white tablecloth and candles and flowers. We would be making pasta, which is why we started out in the kitchen, but each seat at the table was decorated with crisp plates and personalized name tags.

“This place is beautiful, Cameron.” I comment.

“Thank you! Spent a little too much of the rookie contract on it.” She responds, pushing me just a tad with her finger further into the kitchen. “Everyone grab a partner, you two will be working together on your pasta dough!” Cameron instructs with her voice full of enthusiasm.

So I look up, and all spaces in the kitchen area are all occupied. All but the one and only spot besides Paige Bueckers herself.

She calls me over with a cock of her head. There’s a smirk on her face, one that she seems to keep in her back pocket. She wears dark wash jeans and a white loose fitting top that’s kinda cropped; of course. There’s a red and white short sleeve flannel over it and a gold cross chain that I can’t seem to remove my eyes from.

“How’re you, ma, you good?” She asks me. I think she doesn’t register the pet name before it leaves her mouth, but it still makes my heart race.

“Look who showed up.”

—

I’m fucked.

I’m so totally, absolutely, fucking fucked.

Maraye is standing in front of me in a short strapless red dress. The top is skin tight but the bottom flows nicely against her thighs and it’s taking everything in me to not stare down at her tits and have her think I’m a perv. It’s like everything that Rickea had told me earlier in the week just went in one ear and out of the other. Just like that. Off of one look.

“Uh, yeah. Couldn’t miss it.” I smile, taking a few steps to my right and allowing her to stand next to me.

Her scent is intoxicating, some sort of Chanel perfume that makes me dizzy in the best way imaginable.

“You ever done this before?” She asks me. I nervously look out over the counter, the eggs and flour and the cookbook of all different types of pasta shapes.

“Yeah, once.”

“And It worked out?”

“You’re not giving me enough credit. I’m a great chef.” I defend.

It only takes a matter of minutes for everyone else to get into their own worlds. Cameron and Ben start giving us instructions, mixing up the ingredients and getting to know each other better. I silently thank God for bringing Maraye next to me right now.

“Unt-uh. I’m not touching those eggs, you got it.” I hear her laugh. There’s flour on the waistline of her dress, a matching smear similar to the one across my jeans and my cheek. It got a little messy.

“Nah, I did the flour—”

“—You got it on my dress—”

“—And you got it on my face. C’mon.” I call out for her. Maraye looks up at me again, with those insanely addicting eyes of hers. She takes a step closer towards me and I take hold of both of her wrists, plunging her hands into the well of flour and eggs.

She gasps, the ingredients splashing towards both of us again and I find great satisfaction in the scowl she sends my way. What is wrong with me?

“You’re a dickhead!” She laughs, followed by a huff as she attempts to blow a strand of hair away from her face. “Paige, there’s shit all over me!”

“You’ll be aight, angel. I’ll pay for your dry cleaning, how ‘bout that?” My hand lets go of one of her hands and naturally finds the hair in her vision and pushes it behind her ear.

“Angel?”

“I gotta call you something, right?” I ask.

Without a word, Maraye starts kneading the dough together. Her eyes met mine briefly before darting back down. “You can call me Raye.” Her voice is quiet, shy almost. I’ve never heard her speak to me like that but for whatever reason I find it adorable.

“Yeah, but that’s gonna get confusing with that one over there.” I comment, pointing to my teammate Rae just a few feet away from us. “And I can’t call you what everyone else calls you.”

I step aside from her, my back flush against the counter and my arms crossed. I reach for the glass of red wine that we had each poured out, grimacing at the taste because I hate wine but if Maraye loves it I might as well pretend.

“Alright. Since you think you’re special.” Maraye rolls her eyes with a tight lip grin. “But keep it cordial, before Kea gets an idea.”

“It’s not an ‘idea’ if you actually like me”

“I’m straight.”

“That septum in your nose says otherwise.”

Then the second those words leave my mouth, there’s more flour across my face. I don’t even have time to register it.

“You didn’t.” I shut my eyes in disbelief.

“Oh I sure did.” Maraye is giggling to herself moving her dirty hands back to the pasta dough in front of her. “Go grab me a towel, please.”

I think I’ve met my match with this one.

“You’re still standing here, and I don’t have a towel.” She jokes, looking up at me with a smirk that damn near mirrored mine.

“You’re not angelic even in the slightest.” I reply. She juts her lip out at me in triumph and I hop off the counter, reaching for the nearest clean towel and tossing it over to her.

“You two having fun over there?” Rickea yells from across the room. Her hands are muddled together with sticky dough strings. She’s eying me intently, basically telling me telepathically to keep it in my pants.

“Yep!”

“So much fun!”

—

I fumble with my keys as I try to enter my high rise apartment. In my left hand, holds the leftovers of all the pasta we made earlier. A container of fettuccine alfredo and another with shrimp scampi. To my chest I clutch the tupperware of empty banana pudding (Paige literally ate it all and made me give her my number to promise to make her more).

I finally get the door open and push it further with my hip. It’s completely dark, except for a yellow haze that comes through my hallway. Did I leave a light on?

I set everything on the nearest table top, and walk deeper into the home.

That’s when I see it. The candles and flowers on my coffee table, and him. Julian. He’s nervously rubbing his palms on his jeans, but he stands up almost instantly when he sees me.

“Ju, what-what’re you doing here? It’s late, and—”

He cuts me off before I can finish my stammering. “Just listen? Okay? I’m-I’m sorry. I’ve been the biggest asshole about everything, about us. It’s not right. It’s your career, I should respect whatever you have to do to be successful.”

I can feel my hands sweat and my knees buckle.

“I want to be with you. At all costs, I want to support you. And I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like I don’t.” He pauses and reaches over for the bouquet of roses wrapped in red paper sitting on the table. “So, this probably isn’t the most romantic way to go about it, but can y— can I be your boyfriend?”

He’s rambling, I know he’s nervous, and suddenly I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet because I just spent the last four hours shamelessly flirting with Paige Bueckers and here Julian was doing the exact thing I’ve been hoping for, for the last three months.

Except I don’t feel the way I think I should.

I’m not giddy and my stomach isn’t full of butterflies like I thought they’d be. Instead my heart is beating out of my chest so badly that I can hear it. Maybe Paige can hear it however far away she is.

Why on Earth am I thinking about Paige?

“Raye, baby? What d’you say?”

So I nod. My mouth ajar but no words can form on my tongue. I just nod and force a smile to my face as I walk closer to him. He hugs me, arms so tight around my waist that they feel suffocating, but I hug him back.

“Yeah.” I whisper, trying to wrap my head around what is happening.

#sierrale8ne #kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #la sparks #lesbian #my fic #40 days and 40 nights

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ursuburbanmother · 7 months ago

Text

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Four

Pairings: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: did you guys know fifty dollars back in ‘66 was like five hundred dollars??? I didn’t and now I wish I never did. Anyway I kinda just wanted to explore more of Angus and Y/n relationship before the event of the holdovers. So a little backstory on this one. I maybe got carried away. Also this is a long ish chapter cause I have MAJOR exams to take so yeah :0 it might be while till I update again.

Word Count: ~7.5k

Enjoy!

Four Years Before - June 12th, 1966

Your parents had fled to Barbados for a destination wedding which they would follow with a cruise they claimed to deserve. Although it was one of those rare occasions where they had extended an invitation, you had declined. The prospect of being able to stretch your legs on the couch without worrying if you would be crushing some unknown guest, or to be able to walk into rooms without crashing into a waiter passing out shrimp puffs, was much more appealing. You had been left behind with fifty dollars for your fun fund, as your mother called it, and a kiss on the forehead. The nanny your parents kept on retainer would check up on you occasionally only to find you were much better at cleaning up after your messes and doing ordinary tasks than your parents. She’d leave after a few hours and then over the course of the first week she stopped coming.

You had prepared yourself for a month of solitude after Angus had announced he’d be spending his vacation at a tennis camp in Montauk. You must have been reorganizing your bookshelf for the third time that day (once by alphabet, then by color, and finally by size) when you heard a knock at the door. The sun had just begun to set, the sky colored a purple-blue, and you cautiously decided to take your fathers golf club. You dropped the club shortly after opening the front door to find not the face of Norman Bates but of your best friend. You scanned his tear-stained face. His eyes were glossy and his cheeks rosy, like when one stands in the snow and is attacked by the harsh winds that nip at your skin.

He collapsed into your arms, and you are quick to hold him steady. He was crouched over, having had a growth spurt a few months earlier, making it hard for you to look at him eye to eye.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

It was the summer of ‘66, where paranoid parents were starting to believe rock music would possess you. Ironically, it was the year Pet Sounds came out and you couldn’t stop rewinding the songs on your turntable. And most significantly it was the summer you spent with Angus.

He broke the news through jumbled words and choked down tears. How his father had been placed in a Mental Health hospital and how taking him to camp was just an excuse to make sure he wouldn’t be there when the people from the hospital came to pick his father up. They had apparently come early, mixing the dates up.

“Does your mom know you’re here?” You asked, hugging his torso.

“No. I'm sure she’ll be coming to check soon though,” he sniffled, “She’ll probably try to drag me to Montauk anyway and say that ‘it’ll be good for me’.”

You kiss his curls, “What if you stay here?”

He lifts his head up, “I’m not sure she’ll let me.”

“I think she will,” you reassured, “I am a very good guilt-tripper.”

“You can try if you want. How much did your parent’s leave you anyway?”

“Enough for both of us, don't worry. Even if we run out, we could whip something up to eat.”

His eyes widened, “Let's stick to take-out.”

Your house was the first place Angus’s mother looked in, just like he had predicted. He hid at the top of the stairs, staying away from his mom's line of sight as she pressed you for his whereabouts. You had been truthful about how he wanted to spend the next few nights here.

“Are you serious? I’m not going to leave two fourteen-year-olds alone, unattended, unsupervised! God knows what you’ll get up to.”

“We’re not going to do anything!” you argued, “We’re smart enough to not light the house on fire and to dial 911, in case we happen to. Angus just wants to be away for a little while. You should understand why,” you glared.

She looked down, shuffling her heeled feet.

“Besides, you take him away now he’s just to keep coming back here,” you sighed, stating the obvious.

She cleared her throat, coughing as she nodded, “Fine. Alright. Uhm- just make sure he calls me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you do your best to stop yourself from slamming the door in her face. "Bye.”

“The coast is clear,” you shout to Angus who came barreling down the stairs, skipping the last few steps.

“Did she look mad?”

You shrug, “A little. But she'll move on.”

He hums, agreeing as his eyes flicker around the room. He’s looking at the house he must have been at least a thousand times, whether because you invited him or because your parents did. And for the first time in either of your lives… it was completely silent. …

That first night Angus slept on your bedroom floor on a mattress you had dragged from the guest room. You had only your lamp on, and your window was open just wide enough to bring in the refreshing summer air. You were reading a few pages of your book to Angus, and when you glanced down you saw his eyes beginning to close.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. You have a nice voice is all.”

“Thank you. You do want to go to sleep though,” you observe.

“Should I turn off the lamp?” He says almost immediately. He lifts himself up slightly so he can reach your bedside table and waits for your permission to turn it off.

“Yes please.” You settle deep into your duvet. You turn to the side that faces Angus and wish him goodnight.

A few minutes later he speaks up again in a whisper. “Thank you again. For letting me stay here. I'll be out of here by next week, swear.”

“If you could, I would want you to stay here your whole life.” He scoffs at your words as you lean up with the support of your elbows to stare him down. “I’m serious. I only wish I could live in a house with you. Except somewhere far away from here.”

“By the beach,” he adds.

“Yeah. On a beach so obscure they can’t even send us mail because no one will know our address.”

“Oh no. How would your parents ever send you the invitation for your debutante ball?”

“I guess they’ll just have to throw it without me.”

“Shame,” Angus sighs. “I would love to see you in a white dress.”

You pause and then crash down back into your bed. You admire the garland that hangs above you. It’s made of postcards your parents sent you during their many endeavors. In that moment you're reminded of them and turn to Angus. “Oh. About that. My mom told me to tell you to prepare to be my escort in a few years.”

“Already?!” …

You and Angus had fallen into a routine. He’d sleep way later than you, sometimes until noon, and you’d wake him when you got too impatient and hungry for breakfast. He’d stir and groan to the point that it was obvious he was faking before finally getting up.

You would carry what you could from your kitchen pantry onto the backyard patio and eat under the summer sun. It was like an all-you-can-eat buffet of fig jam, English muffins and sometimes pears from the tree that stretched over your neighbor's fence. Afterward you and Angus continued your day in the green grass. He would sprawl himself out on a picnic blanket and read a comic book, wearing shades that were on the verge of tipping off his nose. Meanwhile you would tend to your mother's garden. You’d put on her straw hat too, just to make it feel like you were with her.

When you were little, you’d pull the weeds out of flower beds as your mom pruned her lavender. It was her dearest plant, and she treated them so, regularly nursing it to keep it alive. She’d motion for you to come with her and pick up the shears from the gardening shed. Eagerly obedient, you did as she said, and you would work together until called for lunch. Your mother was always a vivaciously elegant woman, always knowing the right things to say and charming anyone she met. You often wondered why you hadn’t inherited her brilliance, the one that made her seem as if she was glowing in any room she inhabited. It was odd that she’d often claim her ability to converse was her greatest ability when the two got along best when moving in silence.

You did your best to care for the plant too. Before you mom left, she asked to handle their upkeep. You took your duty seriously, checking in on them every day until you saw one sign of disarray.

That summer was like playing house. And although you never admit, for the fear that he’d read too much into and freak, it was exactly as you had often dreamed it to be. June and July passed quickly, and you hadn’t even noticed it. You imagined a life where it could just be you two forever, away from your parents and outside of stifling Massachusetts.

You imagined a life in an apartment described as ‘quaint,’ by the realtor to disguise the incredible small square footage. You wondered if he would like to be in a city like New York or Chicago. Somewhere that was always busy, and the chirping of morning birds was replaced by honking cars.

By the time August had rolled around, you could practically hear the unmistakable sound of the school bell ringing in your ear, warning you of its proximity. Thoughts about the future had you asking Angus one bleary Sunday afternoon, “Are you nervous about starting high school?”

Angus was pushing you on the tire swing, trying to give you motion sickness by twisting the ropes of the swing and letting them untangle a second later.

“Not really. It’ll be like eighth grade just with more tests.”

“I guess. But aren’t you nervous about making new friends and stuff? What if we tangled ourselves into a web so deep that we can’t talk to other people normally.”

“Then I have done my job of keeping you to myself.”

“Haha,” you deadpan, “Seriously though. Won’t you miss having me to talk to?”

“Of course I will. But you’ll write to me and crap… right?”

“Of course,” you echo his words back to him, “You’ll visit me when you get the chance too, correct?”

“Eh. If I’m not busy.”

“Angus!”

“Yes! Obviously, I will.” He pushes you a little harder.

“I do want you to be more out there though. Don’t go sulking in corners like you always do. People would really like you if you let them talk to you for more than one minute.”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother Y/n.”

“Seriously though. Did you notice we’re always addressed as ‘Y/n and Angus’ by teachers. Never just Y/n and never just Angus.”

“Yeah. But I like it. It’s like Bonnie and Clyde. You can’t separate them because then it sounds plain wrong.”

“Okay Clyde,” you roll your eyes. You stop swinging, scraping your shoes through the dirt until you are still.

“I’m giving us two weeks before we break down to each other over the phone.” You lose the hold you have on the tire swings and let them drop onto your lap. You simmer under the sun and enjoy the breeze that flows through your hair.

“Don’t go replacing me when you get to your school.”

“Don’t worry, you got a head start seven years ago. No one else will be able to catch up,” you smile teasingly. “Maybe I’ll find myself a boyfriend though. About time for the both of us, don’t you think?”

He frowns, “You don’t need a boyfriend.”

“Yes, I do. Everyone else does.”

“Since when do you do what other people do? I think you should stop talking to people who peer pressure you,” he flicks your forehead.

“Why?” You rub your forehead, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” You smirk.

“Gross! No! I was just kidding. Get a boyfriend, I don’t care.”

“You wouldn’t care if I got a boyfriend?” You look at him skeptically.

“As long as he treats you nice and shit,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s just that we do everything together Angus. There are some things I would like to get over with that I can’t do with you.”

“Like what?” Angus wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“Like hold hands and go to bowling alleys or whatever.”

“We’ve done that.”

“I like…kiss,” you whisper, fidgeting with your hands.

“Oh,” he chuckles awkwardly. “So would you want to do that … now?”

“What!” You shout, leaping off the swing and walking a few steps away from him. “I’m not asking you to,” you clarify, shaking your head.

“No, but I would like to be over and done with it too… so maybe we should just…” He motions his finger between you two.

“Uhm,” you laugh, tilting your head, “Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’ll be just to check it off the list,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Um, yeah, okay,” you move closer to him in small timid strides. “You lean in though. I read that the guy is supposed to do that in my mother's Cosmopolitan.”

“Right, right,” he nods eagerly, interlocking your fingers together. With hesitancy he leans his head down and pulls you even closer to the point where you are bumping your noses. You close your eyes, and it's like your brain begins to spin like those show wheels with choices on them. Your brain tries to land on a feeling but loops on endlessly. His lips are softened by the humidity, and you don’t even notice it is over until a couple seconds after he pulls away.

When you think back on it, it really was the most 'first kiss moment’ to ever exist. It was more of a peck, both of you were bright red and shortly after you were as stiff as statues. Not knowing what else to do, Angus clears his throat and removes his hands from yours to wipe them on his shirt. “So, uh, what does your mothers Cosmo say to do afterward?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “I don’t know. I didn’t read that far.”

…

Christmas Eve - December 24th, 1970

After that summer, when you shared a weepy goodbye and headed off to your own high schools, it was undeniable that something had shifted between you both. Even if it often went unspoken. Neither you nor Angus had brought it up, but on occasion you would acknowledge it. Like last night after leaving the auditorium to return to the common room and pick up the dishes, your eyes drifted to the TV where a cheesy kiss scene was happening on screen. The two of you shared a knowing look that said, “That’s not how ours went down,” before shutting the television off and helping Mary into a more comfortable sleeping position.

You tried not to dwell on the past, but it was hard not to when the only thing in your childhood that had always been good, always been constant, was Angus. Every time you looked into his eyes it was like the decade you had spent together flashed by in a sequence of blurs. All he had to do was breathe a specific way in his sleep to remind you of some obscure memory that had died but he had brought back to life.

This morning you felt like you were ten again and Angus was trying to steal your bread rolls at Thanksgiving dinner. Except today he tried swiping your bacon as you shoved him off playfully.

“Get your own Angus,” you say playfully.

“I’ll trade you for my toast,” he offers.

Rolling your eyes you accept, grabbing the bacon and shoving it in his mouth, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he says, muffled.

You munch on your toast and catch Mr. Hunhams stare.

“I see you two finally made up,” he comments with a sly smile on his face.

“Mm-hmm,” you cover your mouth with your hand as you chew and turn away embarrassed.

Mary joins you all a second later, emerging as usual with her coffee and a cigarette. She switches between eyeing the two men infront of her, “Why’d you two miss supper last night?”

Mr. Hunham and Angus freeze. “We went into town on, uh, some school-related business.”

“And you couldn’t call? You left me and Y/n out in the cold.”

“Yeah Angus,” you pout at him as he nudges your ankle under the table.

“Sorry,” Hunham turned to you, “And to Ms. L/n.”

“No worries. Really. I had fun,” you smile up at Mary who pats your shoulders gently.

Danny, a man you had been introduced to a few days ago, enters with a mop and bucket. You wave to him which he acknowledges with a slight bow of his head.

“Good morning, everybody.”

“Hi, Danny,” Mr. Hunham greets.

“Good morning. You can go on in and make yourself a plate,” Mary points to the kitchen.

“I just saw something funny,” Danny focuses onto your friend. “I walked into the gym, and somebody had vomited in there.”

Mary and you raise your eyebrows in sync.

“You don’t say. I don’t know anything about that,” Mr. Hunham feigns surprise.

“Yeah, me neither,” Angus wipes his mouth as he speaks.

“I’ll look into that right away. Thank you,” he dismisses the conversation.

“Mm-hmm. I see how it is. Trying to leave us out of your boy's club,” Mary tsks. Danny places the custodian supplies beside Angus' chair and walks away.

“Gross Angus,” you say, like it's his full name. You shake your head in disappointment. He nudges your ankle harder, shaking the silverware above. You fight back, beginning to use your hands as a defense. You two are soon in a game of tug of war.

“Knock it off you two! You are acting like fractious children!” Mr. Hunham scolds and stands up from his seat. Across the table, he tries to part your hands. “This is not how young scholarly men and women behave!”

You and Angus are too drunk on laughter to care. …

You and Angus are in a search for Mr. Hunham who stomped away upon realizing stopping you two was a fruitless cause. You intend to apologize; Angus intends to nod along as you speak. You follow the chatter you hear coming from the kitchen to find Mary replacing you as you as her sous chef.

“Hey that's my job,” you point at the potatoes Mr. Hunham is peeling.

“That’s the culinary industry for you. It’s cut-throat. You still want to be a part of it?” Mary peers over her glasses.

You run a hand through your hair, shrugging. “Um. Mr. Hunham?”

He stops his task, “Yes Miss L/n?”

“I want to apologize for my-,” Angus clears his throat, “Our behavior. You were right. It was very inappropriate. Emily Post would turn in her grave.”

“She certainly would. I accept your apology, however unnecessary. I understand it was that childlike spirit in you that is still intact that came out.”

You shoot him a quizzical look. “Uh yeah…”

Angus gasps behind you as he notices the tray of brownies on a table beside him.

“Brownies? God, yes. I want all of these.”

“Each of you just take one. The rest are for the Christmas party tonight.”

Angus snags you a brownie before practically chomping his down.

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He perks up like a dog being told he’s going out for a walk.

“Yeah, at Miss Crane’s house. I’m only gonna go for a little bit, show my face and say I was there. You know Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

“Who’s Miss Crane?” You ask, inspecting the brownie and wondering what Mary does so differently to get it to taste so good.

“School secretary,” said Angus with a full mouth. “Just one of the loveliest faculty members at Barton,” said Mr. Hunham at the same time.

A beat passed as you all noted the flustered expression that passed through Mr. Hunham face.

“Ah- anyways, she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

“If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take them.”

“Mary can take us,” problem solved, Angus thinks.

“Oh! Okay… so we are going! I packed a dress that’s been collecting dust in my luggage.”

“No, that’s not how it works. You’re under my supervision,” Mr. Hunham reminds.

“Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around reading books all day, but I am losing my goddamn mind! Jesus!” Angus' suddenness makes you flinch. You avoid the flying brownie as he storms past you.

“Hey! Watch your mouth, young man. Not on Christmas Eve!” Mary yells after him.

“You, see?” Mr. Hunham points at his retreating figure. “I can’t trust him in a social situation.”

“Mr. Hunham, if you’re too chickenshit to go to that party, then just say so. But don’t fuck it up for the little asshole or his sweet little angel of a friend! What’s wrong with you? It’s just a party. What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Hunham said so quietly you could hardly hear him.

“Shit. Now you’ve got me nervous,” Mary wipes her hands on her apron.

You’re still standing there until they hear you go retreat the brownie and throw it in a nearby waste bin. “I could replace those?” You laugh uncomfortably.

“That’s alright sweetie. I want to come out of this party with my reputation intact,” Mary winks.

“Ouch,” you clutch your heart jokingly. “So can I go get dolled up?” …

Someway, somehow, Mary had gotten Hunham to take you to the party. You got ready in the room Ye-Joon and Alex had occupied before. You hadn’t anticipated wearing anything fancy, so the dress you had was a relatively simple one. It was red which fit the Christmas theme well enough and ended just above your knees. You hoped Mr. Hunham wouldn’t make a big deal out of it like Ms. Orchard probably would. You wore flats and did your hair the best you could without products. Although you had managed to give it some more volume by using some leftover soda cans that had yet to be thrown out. It was a common hack all Janie Patrick School girls learned in their freshman year. It was practically a seminar, as the senior girls taught you how to roll them into your hair just right.

You waltz out of your room, feeling as fresh as a daisy and catch Angus shaving. You sneak up behind him, putting your hands on his shoulder and looking at him through the mirror. “What is there to shave Augie? You’re as clean shaven as a newborn baby,” you tease.

You try to check your makeup and feel Angus stiffen under your touch. You remove your hands and see him staring at you open-mouthed.

“What?” You panic. Had you screwed up your hair? Was your mascara too clumpy on your lashes?

“Nothing,” he gives you a once over as he gulps. “You just, you look, you… you look pretty.”

“Oh,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, “Thank you. It’s just the makeup.”

“No, it’s not that. You always look pretty; I just never have a reason to tell you. But I can… today.”

“You look handsome everyday too…” you fidget with your hands.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him bashfully. Quickly you take the razor from his hands, “even more handsome once you change. We’re going to be late."

You run back to your room and try to regulate your breathing. In the reflection of the fogged-up window, you admire yourself momentarily. You suppose you do look pretty tonight. …

You four travel in Mr. Hunhams rickety car. You awe at the town Christmas lights before arriving in front of what you assumed to be Miss Cranes house. One by one you all enter, lingering by the front door like wallflowers. You inch closer to Angus, self-conscious suddenly. You loop your arms together when Miss Crane enters to greet you.

“Oh, hi. Oh, you made it! Welcome,” she pauses to address you and Angus, “Aw hi!”

“I'm so glad you're here,” she tells Mary.

She laughs at the flattery and refers to the brownies, “Where should I put these?”

“Um, oh,” Miss Crane lifts the cloth draped over the tray and gasps, “Those, I’ll be putting on my bedside table.”

“Oh! You're a wicked woman.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she takes the tray off Mary's hands.

“Certainly a lot of people here,” Hunham comments, surveying the room. It is lively with Christmas classics blasting on the radio and kids running around playing tag. The entire house is decked out, almost looking like the spirit of Christmas had barfed out the decorations. Some adults take a swing of their liquor, others smoke, others do both as they chat.

“Yeah, yeah. Some family, friends from town. Only you guys from work.”

“That’s my mom on the couch,” She points to an older lady sitting by the silver and blue Christmas tree. Next to the woman dancing with her toddler who wears no pants. “Uh, that’s my sister Kathy and her son Marvin.”

As she continues to point out each invitee you wander with Angus further into the living room. He seems captivated by a snow globe on a mantel. He shakes it and watches as the snow falls around Santa. You too are enchanted by the sweet melody that plays from it.

“Angus!” Miss Crane snaps you both from your trance. Miss Crane stands next to a girl who appears to be around your age.

“This is Angus Tully. He’s one of our students at Barton. Angus, this is my niece, Elise,” she introduces.

“Niece Elise. Nice,” he glances at you, hoping you got the joke as Elise rolls her eyes at his word play. You give him a tight-lipped smile. “And is his friend Y/n L/n. She goes to the school across the lake from Barton. Janie Patrick’s.”

“Nice to meet you,” you stretch out your hand for her to shake. She does so awkwardly.

“And this is Mr. Hunham. He’s one of our finest teachers. History, right?

“Ancient Civilizations, yes”.

“And this is Mary Lamb. She’s the manager of the cafeteria.”

You don’t know why, but you start chewing your nails. A habit you had thought you had broken in the seventh grade. You bite down particularly hard every time Angus glances at Elise.

“Hey, why don’t you take Angus down to the basement and introduce him to our family tradition?” Miss Crane has a hint of something you can’t identify in her voice.

“Come on,” Elise tilts her head and hesitantly he seems to follow.

“Um. What about Y/n? Can’t she come?”

“Don't worry about that! I have someone I think she would like to meet,” Miss Crane nudges you forward.

“Oh?” you say worriedly.

Elise takes Angus away by the hand and distantly you hear him call out, “Wait what?”

“His name is Joseph Leery. He’s a freshman at Yale!” she gushes.

“Oh? Great? Go bulldogs? That’s the mascot, right?”

“Honey, save your charm for him!”

…

Angus descends downstairs. He repeatedly glances behind him, desperately searching for the remaining bits of your voice. “Um. Maybe I should go back upstairs? My friend Y/n doesn’t do so well with crowds so.”

“Nonsense! She’ll be fine. If I know Auntie Lydia, she’s probably introducing her to the Leery's son, Joe.”

“Joe?” Angus scowls at the name.

“Yeah. Family friend of ours.”

Elise leads him to an arts and craft table, full of scattered red, green, silver and white pipe cleaners. Glitter is spilled everywhere, and the kids take their time decorating their popsicle sticks.

“This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I grew up playing down here during my aunt’s parties. I think it’s kind of cool. There’s a purity to it. I mean, every child is an artist. The problem is remaining an artist when we grow up. Picasso said that.”

“Picasso’s cool,” Angus digs his hand further into his front pockets, “I saw Guérnica once. You know, the big mural, with the horse,” He tries to mimic it as best he can.

“Yeah, I know Guérnica. You really saw it?”

“Yeah. At the Museum of Modern Art in New York. It’s huge. My dad took me.” And Y/n too, he wants to say. Although if what Elise said was true, that Miss Crane fancied herself a modern-day cupid, then he figures he should try not to scare her off by bringing up another girl.

Although it's hard not to think of you when he thinks of his dad. His dad liked puzzles which you happened to have a plethora of that your parents had bought you to keep you entertained during long plane rides. This was before they trusted you enough to leave home alone.

In the winter you’d sit by the fireplace and lay out the puzzles of Monet’s Water Lilies. Then when the spring would offer you limited warmth, you’d all be found in the backyard of Angus’s house trying to piece together Van Gogh's Starry Night.

So many art inspired puzzles eventually had Angus’s father turn to you both and asking, “How would you guys like to see these in real life?”

That easter break had you three crammed into a yellow taxicab and enjoying New York pizza slices.

“Hey Guérnica,” she breaks through his nostalgia plagued mind, “You just gave me an idea,” she smiles.

…

Mr. Hunham stands by the funky-looking Christmas tree when he feels someone’s lips crash onto his cheek.

“Oh!” He says shocked. He feels as if he had just been dumped into a cold bucket of water.

“Mistletoe!” Miss Crane laughs, pointing at the little green and red plant that hangs on the ceiling. She hands him the Jim Beam he asked for earlier as she wipes the side of his face clean to get rid of any lipstick that might have been transferred.

“Yes, of course,” he laughs along, unsure of what else to do but to let her caress his face. “I didn’t you know you were quite the mastermind.”

Miss Crane tilts her head and motions him to elaborate

“Playing matchmaker for Mr. Tully and Ms. L/n.”

“Oh! Well, when Angus said they weren’t an item I figured they’d were itching for a chance to mingle outside of their little circle. I hope I didn’t overstep anything. After all I imagine they don’t get many opportunities to openly chat with people of the opposite sex! Dating is crucial in shaping character.”

“Yes, I imagine it is,” Mr. Hunham agrees, unsure if that is fact or fiction. He is awful at letting silence just be silence, so he does what he does best. Spew nonsensical facts.

“You know, it’s interesting. Aeneas carried mistletoe with him when he descended into Hades in search of his father.”

“Oh. Huh…” Now it is Miss Crane who is unsure of what to do with that.

“Um. Anyways. I like your tree. It’s really space age,” he comments and is hit slightly in the shoulder by her enthusiastic hand.

“I brought it to commemorate the moon landing!”

“Really? Wow.”

Miss Crane takes a sip of her punch, “So where is your family this Christmas.”

“Nowhere. I’m an only child. My mother died when I was young.”

“And your father?”

“Let's just say I left home when I was fifteen.” If Mr. Hunham had known this was what small talk topics had evolved into, then he must have been right in avoiding social functions all this time.

“You ran away?” She guesses.

“Worse. I got a scholarship to Barton. And from there, I went to college and never looked back.”

“But you did a little,” she points out.

“Hmm?”

“I mean you came back here.”

“Ah.” He really did not feel like being questioned so heavily tonight. Not to pat himself in the back, but he believes he's credible enough to label himself as a decent writer, able to handle the equal weight of a pen and his words with ease. But as a conversationalist, he figures even one of the dimwits in his Ancient Civilization classes have him beat.

“It feels kind of like home I guess,” he muses, “and I guess I thought I could make a difference. I mean, I used to think I could prepare them for the world even a little. Provide standard and grounding that Dr. Greene always drilled into us.”

Mr. Hunham can feel himself run out of breath, “But, uh the world doesn’t make sense anymore. I mean it's on fire. The rich don’t give a shit. Poor kids are cannon fodder. Integrity is a punchline. Trust is just the name of a bank.”

“Well…” Miss Crane tries to soothe him by running her hand back and forth on his arm, “look, if that's all true then now is when they most need someone like you.”

Mr. Hunham knows when he is being humored and told what people he wants to hear. He looks at Miss. Crane and for the first time in a while he is looked back at with genuineness.

…

Elise and Angus finger paint on a wide piece of blank paper. He’s mixing the colors, and they all tend to come out looking a sickly brown. Elise covers her side with an untainted red. She seems to be more into it than him as she incorporates real swirls and shapes onto their canvas.

“Am I doing this right?”

“There is no right or wrong,” she reassures. He feels her stare linger on him for a second. He is scared to look up. “Are you okay? You seem… gloomy.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. But, uh, tell me about this Joe guy.”

She looks at him suspiciously, “Why?”

“Just curious. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of him around my school is all.”

“Well probably because he graduated over a year ago.”

“So, he’s in college.”

“Yes. A freshman at Yale.”

“Yale!” He shouts loud enough for even the kids to glare at him for disturbing their fun. “Sorry,” he apologies to them.

“Would you say he’s cool,” he asks a millisecond later.

Elise tries not to laugh at his blatant desperation, “Yeah I would say so.”

“Funny?”

“He's basically Gene Wilder.”

“The dude from The Producers?!”

“Yes, and he was also a football quarterback.”

“What.”

“And valedictorian, and the heir to the Campbell Soup Company.”

“What the hell? Is this guy superman or,” Angus takes a minute to recognize the smug face on Elise. Finally, she breaks out in a loud giggle.

“Oh,” Angus sighs in relief, “You’re messing with me.”

“A little,” she says through fits of laughter. “Anyways if you’re so worried why don’t you go back up there?”

“I was just worried that he would try something. But technically he sounds alright.”

“Ah. So, you’re jealous?”

Angus rolls his eyes, “No. I’m a concerned friend.”

“I’m not sure about that. Concerned friends don’t start interrogating the girl they are on a hypothetical date with.”

She leans down to point at a glob of paint in the corner of the paper, “I think you even doodled her name.”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, going over it and trying to cover it up along with his embarrassment.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like this was going to go be framed at the MET.”

“What are you implying anyway,” he narrows his eyes.

“You’re going crazy being gone from her for two minutes. What do you think I’m implying?”

Angus slumps his shoulders and admits what had been ignoring. It's like a message in a bottle he threw into the sea, desperately trying to avoid the shore. Even when it does reach land, the cap is tightly sealed, clinging on to the bottle and doing it best to remain unread. When it does pop open and the paper is unfolded, although it might be difficult to read, the message still exists. It still exists even though time fought so hard to destroy it.

“I do think about her that way. Sometimes. Then the rational side comes out and tells me that it's human nature for a girl and guy friend to think about each other that way.”

“Well, does she know you think about her that way?”

“No. Sometimes I imagine she feels the same, but you’d have to know her to understand why I’m so confused. She’s the most thoughtful, kind, and perfect person in the world. It's hard to tell if she’s showing that side to everyone or if I’m special enough for her to give me that treatment.”

“You know Picasso also said that ‘Everything you can imagine is real’.”

“Are you Picasso's biographer?”

Without missing a beat, Elise smirks and says, “Yes.”

Angus is up the stairs without having thanking her, too fueled by adrenaline to practice basic manners. He’ll have to tell Miss Crane to pass on the memo. He’s on the hunt for you but is yanked into the house's kitchen by a mysterious hand.

“Hey?” He asks, disoriented.

Danny is staring straight at him, with both hands on either side of his shoulder.

“I need you to find Mr. Hunham,” he orders. Angus looks past the man to see Mary weeping heavily into the sink. Understanding, he nods firmly and is back out the door.

…

Joseph Leery is not half bad. He’s kind of funny, clever and not a bad person to pass the time with. You sit in the back of Miss Crane's living room on a couch all to yourselves. He tells you how he’s majoring in English in hopes of becoming a journalist.

“What kind of journalist?”

“Investigative. I would love to be the next Upton Sinclair. Or Seymour Hersch.”

“Ew! The Jungle made me so sick for a week after. It was so gross.”

“I know but that's what made it so great. Exposing the meat packing industry probably put him on a few hit lists too.”

“Oh yeah definitely. So, then who are you planning to expose?”

He laughs, “I don’t know yet. Is there any chance you’re planning on becoming some corrupt politician?”

“Not in the foreseeable future. I’ll let you know if I ever do,” you giggle.

“What are you planning to do then?”

“Then? Um... Like as president? I don’t know. Fund schools-.”

“No,” he laughs harder, “I mean like with college and life. Do you have anything planned out?”

“Erm, not really. My parents probably want me to go to the Ivy Leagues and crap. I should have a plan, I know, but I guess I’ve been putting it on the back burner.”

“Why?”

You shift in your seat. “I have this friend. He’s sort of had this rocky life, not I haven’t, and I know it's stupid to mold your entire life to fit around one person’s but for him I would.”

Joseph sniffs and straightens his posture. “Sorry. Lydia didn’t mention you having a boyfriend.”

“No, I don’t,” you stress, “I just really care for him, you know. We’ve known each other for so long. He’s important to me.”

“Y/n have you ever read Persuasion?” he asked suddenly.

“Um, not yet. I know the gist of it.”

“Well, it's ultimately about regret, right? Anne spends eight years longing for Wentworth when she could have been with him instead, had she not given into pressures. The point of the novel is not to wait to love the person you’re sure is it for you.”

“Love?” You hear someone say above you. You look up to see Angus, his arms stiff by his side. He glowers at Joseph. You jump off the seat and on operating on some strange reflex you go to fix his shirt collar that has stood up.

“What's wrong?”

“What were you guys talking about?” he interrogates.

“Books. Why?”

Angus doesn’t buy it but ignores the gnawing feeling in his gut, “Mary needs us in the kitchen. Go ahead, I still need to get Hunham.”

“Oh…Alright,” you turn and wave to your brief companion. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah maybe,” Joseph lifts his canned soda as if to say cheers.

You walk on ahead as Angus loiters behind, silently scrutinizing him.

Joseph takes a sip from his coke and points towards the direction you disappeared to. “Your girl went that way man.”

Angus rolls his eyes but leaves, nonetheless.

…

Miss Crane and Paul are sitting next to each other, their drink half-finished. They can feel the red tinge on their cheeks and themselves becoming looser.

“Are you planning anything special for tomorrow?” Lydia inquires.

“No. Why? Are you having a…”

“No, I just thought maybe you’d be doing something special for Angus and Y/n.”

Mr. Hunham shakes his head and Miss Crane lets out a small gasp, “You should! Help preserve some of the magic. Angus may be a little difficult, but he’s still just a kid. So is Y/n. And life catches up to them so fast. Them,” she stares at her lap, contemplating. “Ha. Us!”

“You’re a very sweet person, Miss Crane,” he compliments.

Miss Crane melts, “So are you, when you want to be,” she quips, “and it’s Lydia.”

He enjoys the feeling of camaraderie between them. He feels a cool breeze at the back of his neck and the sound of the door opening.

“Excuse me for a minute,” Miss Crane gets up and moves past him.

Mr. Hunham turns in time to see a man take off his coat, a gift under his arm. A moment later Miss Crane is there to receive him with a kiss. Together they walk away, and Mr. Hunham is left alone. Once again.

“Mr. Hunham, could you come with me, please?” Angus nearly trips as he stumbles over to the teacher.

“Yeah, what is it?” He sighs as he gets up with a groan.

“Come on, it's serious,” Angus leaps away. Peeking at him at the corner to see is Hunham is following, “Come on.”

Mr. Hunham is dragged into the kitchen, where he spots Mary, crying quietly to herself. Danny is next to her. You’re across the room biting your nails and hinting at Mr. Hunham to do something.

“Mary? You alright?” he questions, even though he knows it's in vain.

“Just leave me alone,” She mumbles.

“Want me to take you home?” Danny offers, placing what he thinks is a consoling hand on her back.

“Back off! Back off!” Mary whisper-shouts, her hands shaking down in anger. Mr. Hunham shuts the door, giving her privacy if nothing else.

“He’s gone,” she erupts into full on sobs. The mask comes off and she’s no longer Mary, the woman who appears to deal with grief like it was nothing but a bump on the road. Instead, it's Mary, who lost a son and whose grief has entirely consumed her until she can no longer breathe.

…

Angus and Mr. Hunham support Mary on both sides, as they make their way to the car. “I was right. This is why I hate parties. That was a disaster. Total disaster!”

“Speak for yourself. I was having a pretty profound conversation. I was about to make some serious life altering moves,” he blurts, angry and unable to believe his window opportunity was slammed shut. He had an internal plan. That'd he’d whisk you away from stupid Joseph and ask you to dance, maybe lead you to a mistletoe and see where it goes.

“With whom? The niece? Are you kidding me? This poor woman is bereft, and all you can think about is some silly girl.”

“I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

“I’m not talking about Elise; I'm just saying this is the first good thing that came from being in this prison with you.”

“Need I remind you it’s not my fault you’re stuck here? Do you think I want to babysit you? I was praying to the God I don’t believe in that your mother would pick up the phone, or your father would arrive in a helicopter or a submarine or a flying fucking saucer to take you-.”

“My father’s dead,”

“Angus-,” he hears you say but he holds up his hand for you to stop speaking.

Mr. Hunham stops dead in his rant, “But I thought your father-.”

“That’s just some rich guy my mom married. Give me your keys,” he sticks out his hand.

“It’s unlocked.”

Furiously, Angus stomps away. You excuse yourself from the two adults before doing your damnedest to not slip on the ice. Flats at this time of the year were not your best idea.

“Angus,” you reach him, tugging at the back of his jacket so that he’ll slow down. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“The thing about your dad,” you mumble.

“The way my mom and Stanley talk about him, he might as well be don’t you think?”

“You don’t mean that,” you scold. “What happened? Are you really this mad about Elise?”

“No. Damn it. I don’t even like Elise.”

“Oh,” despite the circumstance, you can’t help but feel giddy. “Then what is it?”

“You seemed to be having a pretty good time yourself with Joe on that couch.”

“Joe?” You cross your arms. “You mean Joseph?”

“Oh great. You have a nickname for him.”

“Angus, Joseph is his legal name, that's the opposite of a nickname.”

“I don’t want to talk about Joe,” he says. You both reach the end of the block where Hunhams car is parked. In the distance you see them come closer, their feet crushing the white snow.

“You brought him up,” you massage your temple. You think back of the endless list of books you have read, or the many movies you’ve watched. You scour through the genres. You think of how Joseph managed to connect to life. You think of the rewatch of Cactus Flower with Mary. How envious Ingrid Bergman character was every time she saw Julian talk to Toni.

“Angus, were you jealous of Joseph?”

He stops his ongoing struggle with the car handle, finally prying it open.

“Were you jealous of Elise?” he asks you.

You frown and fixate on the pavement; your nails dig into your palm as your hands turn into fists. Deafening silence engulfs you before Angus exhales heavily. Before you can speak, Mr. Hunham arrives and motions for you to scooch over so he can open the passenger side for Mary.

“Sorry,” you apologize and get in the backseat.

“Straight to bed you hear me,” Mr. Hunham warns once you are all buckled in. “Enough theatrics for one day.”

“Mmhmm,” Angus responds, but all he is doing is looking at you.

#angus tully #the holdovers #angus tully x reader

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cinnabeat · 1 year ago

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i cant remember if i said this or not but i was saying how i dont think the reveal about iruma being a human was being teased cuz the progress for it was all very natural but now that the fucking reveal was cockblocked TWICE by a fucking phone call im willing to retract my statement

#THIS is teasing #the fact that iruma is a human was never really touched on much?#like first of all iruma had to get over thinking he was gonna get munched on #not saying its an unreasonable fear but like he couldnt be too paranoid about it #like his humanness is always in the background and iruma HAS expressed wanting to say it before #and explicityl showing that his fear is no long er being waten and more just being rejected in general #which is a normal fear and a nice show of his progress in the character development department #and maybe the issue of him being human would be more touched upon if it wasnt the background plot #like i think people forget mairuma is a very slice of life manga lmao like the action and antagonist plot is VERY background #like the whole point is iruma learning to do things gor himself rather than doing things because others want him too #its about irumas character journey you know? like yeah theres like a prophecy or whatever happening but thats b plot business #so the reveal of him being a human should naturally follow the flow of his own character development which it has!! and i think iruma is in #fact getting to that point of feelinng brave enough and confident enough to tell his closest friends if hes not at the point already #also it probably feels like its being teased bc its quite literally been years irl but u gotta take into account the Whole Manga and not the #weekly chapter releases #like of course everything feels slow when ur only getting bite sized pieces of big arcs you know?#idk what the rate of plot progress is tho bc my only experience with anything FINISHED is fairy tail and that too 545 chapters #which is wild considering how much shit happened there and how much shit ISNT happening here #where was i going with this #oh yeah so before it didnt feel like teasing just basic plot progression based on where the characters are in their devlopment which for a h #heavily character based story is amazing imo #but the two interruption are VERY annoying especially since it just breaks the tension #maybe itd be comically if i was reading this all in one go like start to finish like haha damn interrupted twice #but it IS annoying in real time. i do apprrciate the universe refusing to let the antagonists share irumas secret with the people he conside #considers important without his say so. very considerate of them #narnia can eat shit btw no matter how pretty he looks #michi tag #i fucking wish i could talk like this about other things im interested in but i only pull out my analysis hat when i see bad takes which mar #mairuma has A LOT of imo. like every new chapter at least one person will say something so baffling that i have to say something back if onl #only to myself

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jetii · 4 months ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Three: Undying

Chapter WC: 5,192

A/N: Here's the final chapter in part one. I'll finally stop changing the banner now. Also wow!! 300 followers! Love you all 💙

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The bar is busy, packed with beings of all shapes and sizes. The air is thick with the smell of smoke and alcohol, the music pounding, and the crowd cheering. It's dark, and hot, and the only light comes from the glowing drinks being carried about and the flashing neon signs that adorn the walls and ceiling.

You're sitting alone at the counter, a drink in your hand, watching the chaos unfold. You don't remember the name of this drink, but it's sweet, and the buzz you feel is a pleasant one. Your body feels heavy, but not in an uncomfortable way, and the pain in your chest has receded to a dull ache.

You're tired.

It's late, or early, depending on who you ask, and you've been sitting here for hours. You haven't eaten since the morning, and the drinks are already going to your head, but you don't care.

You're not sure you've ever felt this alone, and the fact that it's your own fault is not lost on you.

You've made a lot of mistakes in the past few days, but the biggest was leaving. It was a stupid thing to do, but you were upset, and angry, and hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to forget, if only for a little while.

There was only one place you could think to go. A place where no one would ask questions, or judge you. Where you could drown out the world and not worry about the consequences.

So you'd gone.

Obi-Wan would probably be horrified. You can almost picture his face, the look of disappointment, the shake of his head, and the pursed lips. He'd scold you and remind you of the rules, and he'd lecture you on the dangers of the city and the foolishness of your decision.

It's a testament to your stubbornness that you don't care.

The bartender, a Twi'lek, is eyeing you but doesn't say a word, which is a blessing. The last thing you want is small talk, or an argument, or another person to disappoint.

You raise your glass and drain the rest of the liquid, the sweetness coating your tongue and the bitter aftertaste making you wince. You motion to the bartender, and he refills the glass without asking if you want anything else.

You sip this one slower, savoring the taste and the warmth it brings. It's a welcome reprieve from the coldness inside you, and the heaviness in your chest, and the aching in your head.

"Mind if I sit?"

You look up and find a Pantoran man standing beside you, a smile on his face. He's handsome, his skin a brilliant blue and his hair a shock of white, and there’s a yellow marking on his chin and two half-moon crescents below his bottom lip. He's tall and thin, his clothing impeccably clean and expensive looking. Certainly not the sort of person you'd expect to find in a place like this.

You shrug and take a drink.

"Suit yourself," you mumble, and you look away.

The man sits, and he motions to the bartender. A few minutes later, he has his own drink, a bright blue concoction that smells strongly of alcohol.

You watch the bartender go and then turn back to the man. He's looking at you, an appraising look on his face, his eyes sweeping up and down your body. You're not unfamiliar with the look, and usually you'd make a comment about it, but today you're not in the mood.

So you say nothing and stare into your drink, swirling the liquid around.

"Bad day?"

"Can I help you?" you ask, an edge to your voice. You look up and find him watching you, his gaze unwavering. He looks pleased, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, actually."

You sigh and push your glass aside, suddenly annoyed. You didn't come here for conversation, and you certainly didn't come here to flirt.

"No thanks," you reply and start to stand.

"I thought Jedi were supposed to be generous," he remarks casually. His voice is smooth and cultured, and it reminds you of Obi-Wan's, which just annoys you more. "Especially toward strangers."

"We are," you reply, narrowing your eyes. "But not when we're being propositioned."

He grins, his teeth white and gleaming, and raises his hands. He laughs and leans back on the stool.

"Relax," he says. "I'm not here for that."

"Oh?"

"No."

You slump back down and fold your arms. You can't deny that you're a little curious.

"Then what are you here for?"

The Pantoran hums, and he taps a finger on the counter. His nails are filed and painted gold. "I need help," he admits. "Your kind of help."

You frown. "With?"

He nods and takes a drink, draining the glass. He sets it down and turns back to you.

"I have a friend. He lives on the lower levels, and he's been...missing. No one's heard from him in days, and no one's seen him. I'm worried he might have gotten into some trouble."

You straighten a little in your seat and look at him, considering. "What kind of trouble?"

"I'm not sure." He shrugs. "Maybe nothing. But if I don't find him, he'll end up on the wrong side of the law."

You hesitate and glance down. The ice in your drink has melted, and it's starting to look less appetizing.

"Please," the man adds. "I can pay you."

You shake your head. You don't want or need his money, just as you don't want to involve yourself in whatever his problems are. Jedi weren't supposed to get involved in local matters. Not unless the Council ordered them or there was clear and present danger.

This isn't the kind of situation that calls for the Jedi. And the Council wouldn't approve, anyway.

"Sorry," you say. "I can't."

"Come on," the man cajoles. The casual facade fades, and you can hear the desperation in his voice, see the pleading in his eyes. "All I need is for you to help me find him, and then I'll be out of your hair. Please?"

You shift in your seat and stare at your hands. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"You're a Jedi. Don't you care about helping people?"

The response you'd been preparing dies in your throat. Of course you cared. That was why you were here, wasn't it? Because you'd cared too much, and now, Yaddle was dead, and the Council had turned a blind eye, and Obi-Wan... Well, that didn't matter, did it?

"Why don't you ask the authorities?" you ask, looking up and meeting his eyes.

"The authorities are the ones I'm worried about," he admits quietly.

You swallow and take a breath, weighing the pros and cons. You could help him, you reason. And it's not like the Council was expecting you back anytime soon. They didn't even know you were gone, and the likelihood of them finding out was slim to none.

You could do this, and no one would ever have to know.

Besides, it was better than sitting around and doing nothing. Much better than thinking about everything that had happened, and the emptiness you were feeling, and the loneliness.

"I can pay you," he says again, his eyes pleading. "Just...please."

"Fine," you relent. "I'll help. But you're going to have to answer a few questions first."

He gives you a blindingly bright smile. It's an attractive, boyish grin, one that's no doubt charmed many a soul, and you can't help but return it, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

"Anything," he says as he scoots closer to you.

You motion to the bartender and ask him for a pen and a sheet of flimsi. He gives it to you, and you turn back to the man. "Let's start with a name."

Twenty minutes later, you find yourself outside, heading down the street toward the lower levels. It's late, and the sky is clear, the city lights casting a glow on the buildings and streets. You'd had one too many drinks, but the fresh air is helping, and the man — Vayel, he'd said — doesn't seem to mind.

He walks with a bounce in his step, and you have a hard time keeping up. His stride is long, and he's quick, and more than once you find yourself jogging and he has to slow down for you. You've never met anyone quite so enthusiastic, but he seems sincere enough. It's a bit of a refreshing change from the usual stoic, somber nature of the Jedi.

"So, what do you do?" you ask, trying to make conversation.

"I'm an actor," he replies with a flourish of his hand, a proud smile on his face. He says the word like he's making a meal of it, rolling it around, savoring the sound.

Your eyebrows raise. "Really?"

"Yes." He flashes you another brilliant grin, and you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself.

"That's impressive," you admit.

"Thanks." He laughs, and it's a warm, rich sound. He's handsome and charming, and if it wasn't for the situation, you'd probably be enjoying his company.

As it is, though, you're still feeling a little guilty for how you treated him initially, and not a little bit confused. The whole thing feels odd. But he had said his friend was missing, and he seemed genuinely worried, so you reason with yourself that the strange feeling is just the alcohol talking.

"Any roles I might have seen?"

"I doubt it."

"Well, what's the name of the play?"

Vayel's expression falters, and he looks away, his eyes focused on the buildings ahead.

"It's...um, it's not out yet," he admits sheepishly. "It's a new production."

You nod and glance at him. He doesn't look back, his eyes fixed on the distance. There's something about the way he's acting that makes you curious, and you're not sure you believe him.

But, then again, it's not like you'd ever really been interested in theater.

"Yeah, it's...well, it's a bit of a work in progress," he continues, as if you'd asked, and smiles weakly.

"Ah."

"What about you?" he asks a moment later. "How long have you been a Jedi?"

You sigh and look away. You don't really feel like talking about yourself, or anything related to the Order, but he's trying, and you can't begrudge him that.

"Since I was two," you answer flatly and keep walking.

"Wow."

"Yep."

"That's amazing," he exclaims, his eyes wide. "It must have been difficult, leaving your family."

Your jaw clenches, and you look at him. He's got a strange expression on his face, one you can't read. He's watching you, his head tilted slightly to the side, a slight smile on his face.

"Not really," you say, shrugging. "I was too young to remember."

"But they must have been sad to see you go," he persists. "Your family."

"I wouldn't know."

"They didn't visit you, at the Temple?"

"They weren't allowed," you reply, and you leave it at that.

Vayel nods, and you think the subject has been dropped, but a few seconds later, he speaks.

"Are Jedi not allowed to have families?" he asks, and the question takes you by surprise. You'd never really thought about it before, not beyond the fact that, growing up, you didn't have a choice. You'd had no parents, no siblings, no aunts or uncles or cousins. Just the Jedi.

"No," you tell him, shaking your head.

"What happens if a Jedi falls in love?"

You stop and look at him, his words ringing in your ears. You're not sure why he's asking, or why he cares, and you can't tell if he's just making small talk, or if there's a different agenda.

But there's something in the way he's looking at you that makes your stomach twist. He's staring at you intently, his gaze searching, and there's a softness to his features, a vulnerability that makes him look younger, less self-assured.

"They don't," you say, finally.

"Never?"

"Not that I know of."

"And what if they do?"

"Well," you begin, trying to recall if anyone had ever fallen in love in the Order. You think if it had happened, there'd be more stories about it, more tales. But the truth is, no one's ever mentioned it, and no one's ever said anything about it. Perhaps that's the sort of thing the Council would keep quiet, especially if they were worried about the Order's reputation.

Or maybe, you realize, as you look into Vayel's eyes and see the curiosity there, the interest, it's something they try to discourage, try to avoid. Maybe they want to make sure that the Jedi stay focused, and not distracted.

And maybe that's the whole problem.

You turn and continue walking, your heart pounding. "I guess they'd be expelled," you mumble, your throat suddenly dry.

Vayel looks down, his brow furrowing, and he kicks a pebble, sending it skipping across the street. "That seems..."

"Harsh?" you suggest, a bit of annoyance creeping into your voice.

"No," he replies slowly, "unfair."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're all just...people," he says, gesturing at you. The array of jewels and gems on his fingers glitter, reflecting the light. "Isn't it unfair to deny you the things that everyone else has? Love, family, happiness."

You pause and look at him. The night is still, and the air is cool, and there's a tension in the space between the two of you, one that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"It's not a denial," you say, your irritation growing. "It's a choice. A decision."

"But why?"

"Because the Jedi Code—"

"Forgive me, but the Jedi Code doesn't seem to make any sense," he interrupts. "If you ask me, it's just a bunch of rules created by a bunch of old men who like to tell other people what to do."

You bristle and turn toward him, your jaw clenched. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he replies, and then he adds nonchalantly, "I mean, no disrespect, or anything."

"Sure, none taken," you mutter sarcastically. You turn and begin to walk, and he follows. He has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, and the two of you continue on in silence, the only sound the hum of traffic and the distant voices of the occasional passerby.

Finally, Vayel speaks.

"It's just up ahead," he says. "The building. He should be home."

You nod, and follow him down a winding alley to a tall, narrow building, surrounded by other, similar buildings. The entire neighborhood is dimly lit, and the street lamps flicker. There are no signs, and no shops, and no businesses, just rows of identical structures, their facades crumbling, the windows dark and empty.

It's certainly a far cry from the splendor of the upper levels, and you can't help but wonder what had led this man, this friend of his, to a place like this. Maybe he was on the run, you think. Or maybe he was hiding from someone. Either way, the fact that he'd chosen such a dangerous place was worrisome.

Vayel stops at the front door to an apartment on the bottom floor and looks back at you, flashing a smile.

"Here," Vayel says as he pulls a keycard from his pocket. He hands it to you, and then steps back, waiting.

"Are you coming?" you ask, a bit impatiently.

"Oh, no," he replies. "You go ahead. Just...make sure he's okay, and then let me know."

Your eyes narrow. "And what will you be doing?"

"I'll wait here."

"Are you serious?"

"I can't go in," he explains and gives a nervous chuckle. "He won't be happy to see me, not after what happened."

You're not sure what to make of that, or whether you should believe him. It feels off, the way he's acting, and there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that something isn't right. But you're also eager to be rid of him, so you shrug and take the key.

"Fine," you tell him. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

You unlock the door and open it, and then you step inside.

The apartment is small and cramped, and there are piles of junk everywhere. The smell of something rotting is thick in the air, and you have to resist the urge to gag. You've spent enough time on the lower levels to recognize the smell, but you've never been anywhere it's been this bad.

There are several doors along the hallway, and the one closest to you is open. You peer in and see a bedroom. There's a bed against the wall and a closet, and the room is strewn with clothing and food wrappers and various other objects. But you don't see or sense anyone inside.

You walk back down the hall and check the other rooms, finding a kitchen, a child's bedroom, and a bathroom. No one is in any of them, but there's a pile of dishes in the sink, and a small amount of food in the cupboard, and the bed has clearly been slept in.

It's obvious someone is living here, or was, but you can't tell if they've been gone for a few hours or a few days. There's no sign of a struggle, or any violence. In fact, it looks like they left of their own accord, and without warning. It's odd, and you can't help but feel like you're missing something.

You pull out your commlink and send a message to Vayel, telling him there's no sign of his friend. A second later, you receive a response, telling you to check the bedroom again.

So you do.

As soon as you enter, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You look around the room, and you see nothing out of the ordinary. Everything is exactly as it was before. But there's a feeling in the air, a heaviness, and it's familiar, somehow.

You frown, and take a step forward, and then stop, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Because suddenly, you recognize the feeling.

Your eyes land on the closet, and the door swings slowly open on its hinges. There, sitting in the middle of a pile of worn clothes, is a box. It's nondescript, plain brown and rectangular, and it's sitting upright, like it's been placed there rather than haphazardly thrown inside.

Your instincts are screaming at you to run, but your curiosity gets the better of you. You approach the closet slowly and kneel in front of the box. Your hand hovers over the top, and then you take a breath and reach down, pulling it open.

There are several items, all of them seemingly random. A scrap of fabric, a datapad, a holoprojector. There's also a piece of jewelry, a necklace, made of gold and set with a blue stone, and a small, black leather pouch with a handful of credits.

You set the bag of credits aside and grab the scrap of fabric, moving it away from the datapad. It's soft and worn, and as your fingers brush against it, you realize what it is.

Yaddle's robe.

She'd been wearing it the night she'd died.

You jerk your hand away as if burned, and you stare at the fabric, the dread you'd felt earlier now a cold, heavy weight in your stomach. You swallow, and then force yourself to reach for the datapad, your hand trembling. It flickers on underneath your touch, and once you close the warning of its low power, you're face to face with the last unread message, dated a week ago.

The message you sent Yaddle the night you felt her death.

You'd forgotten about it, the stress of the Sith investigation, your Trials, and the Council's refusal to listen to you had caused it to slip your mind. You'd been too busy trying to solve her murder to remember, and now, the memory of that night is back, sharp and painful.

Master, are you alright? Please just let me know you're safe. I can come to you if you need me. Just send a message.

There's no reply, just the date, and the time, and the fact that the message had gone unread.

You look away, and blink back the tears that have suddenly sprung to your eyes. You need to get out of here, to take the evidence, and get back to the Temple. The Council will have to listen to you now, and you can prove that the Sith are here, that they're targeting the Jedi, that they're the ones responsible for Yaddle's death.

And maybe, just maybe, the Council will finally be willing to acknowledge that there's a problem, that there's something more going on, and that they're in danger.

You set the datapad aside, and reach for the necklace, the gold glinting in the dim light of the room, and the stone gleaming. You've never seen Yaddle wear anything like this, and you're not even sure it belonged to her. It's not a traditional Jedi accessory, and the Council isn't big on extravagance.

But there's something familiar about it, and you can't help but feel that it's significant. You pick it up, the metal cool against your skin, and you inspect it, turning it over and over in your hands. The stone is smooth and polished, and it shines brilliantly, catching the light and refracting it.

It's a beautiful piece, but it's not anything special, or unusual, and it's not the sort of thing you'd expect Yaddle to have. You don’t have an explanation for it, but it feels like her, so you resolve to take it with you, as evidence, and examine it closer later.

But the moment you slide the necklace into your pocket, you hear a noise behind you.

The door slams shut.

You whip around and stand, but before your hand can draw your lightsaber, you're thrown across the room, hitting the far wall hard enough to rattle your teeth.

You gasp for breath and manage to push yourself up. Your limbs are heavy, and your head is spinning, and when you try to summon the Force, nothing happens.

Across the room, the figure emerges from the shadows, face shrouded by a hood. It's a man, tall and thin, his shoulders hunched and his posture tense. You can't see his face, but his presence in the Force is unmistakable. The darkness, the cold, the malice.

Your vision is blurry, and your lungs ache, and you can taste blood in your mouth. He approaches, his steps slow and deliberate. He doesn't speak, and neither do you. Your mouth is dry, and your throat is tight, and when you try to swallow, the lump lodged there makes it impossible.

When he reaches the box, he kneels down and touches the holoprojector. It crackles and a voice comes out, faint and distant, but immediately recognizable. Your heart clenches, and a single tear rolls down your cheek.

"There's something wrong. I must find out what—" Yaddle’s voice says, and the man's fingers clench. The metal crumples, and the projector sparks and dies.

He stands and turns toward you, the shadows obscuring his face.

You can't move. You're frozen in place, the fear paralyzing you. You want to speak, to plead for your life, to bargain, but the words won't come, and all you can do is stare. When he reaches out and lifts his hand, his fingers curled into a claw, you begin to scream.

"No," you gasp. "Please."

It feels as though his fingers are around your throat, your feet dangling as you're pressed back against the wall. You struggle, kicking out, trying to break free, but he's too strong. Your limbs are heavy, and there's nothing you can do to fight him.

"Please," you choke, the word barely audible. "Don't—"

His grip tightens, and your vision starts to blur. The Sith steps closer, holding you higher, and when he speaks, his voice is low and dark.

"You should have let it go," he says, and the coldness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes widen, and you try to shake your head, but you can't. All you can do is hang there, suspended, struggling to breathe. Despite the blackness of death creeping in on the edges of your vision, you can't help but feel a surge of anger, and bitterness, and resentment underneath your fear. How dare he? How dare he do this?

Another in a long line of people telling you what you should or shouldn't have done, another voice telling you that you aren't good enough, aren't strong enough, aren't smart enough. He's going to kill you, and yet, the fury you feel at the injustice, the rage at the way you've been treated, at the lies and half-truths and manipulation, is overwhelming.

He's going to kill you, and no one will know. You'll die alone just as Yaddle did, and no one will care. Your friends, your family, your entire world will continue on without you as if you never existed, and no one will ever find out what happened.

It's not fair. It's not right.

You've done everything they've asked, and now, as your vision fades, and your heart slows, and the darkness envelopes you, the only thing you can think is that they've failed you.

They've failed you, and it's not fair, it's not right, it's not—

All the emotions you've kept buried inside for so long come rushing back, and before you can stop them, they're coursing through you, hot and bright.

The pressure in the room shifts as if something is being pulled away, and then a deafening crack fills the air. The windows behind you explode, the bed splinters, and the closet door breaks apart. The Sith is thrown backwards, crashing through the wall and disappearing.

You fall to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. The walls are shaking, and the ceiling is groaning, and you have to scramble to get out of the way as a chunk collapses, bringing down the walls and the floor above. You manage to roll aside, but the floor is breaking, and the entire building is coming down.

You push yourself up and stumble toward the door, grabbing your lightsaber as you go. The hallway is in shambles, and there are chunks of debris and dust everywhere.

There's a ringing in your ears, and your head is throbbing, and you have no idea what's happening. You're surrounded by smoke and dust, and there's the sound of screaming in the distance, and you have to stumble through the rubble and broken glass to find your way out.

And then you're on the street, gasping for air, your eyes streaming with tears. Your eyes scan the destruction, searching for any sign of the Sith, but he's nowhere to be found. You have no idea how he escaped, but you don't have time to wonder.

It's only then that you realize the apartment building is collapsing before you, and you have to jump back as a piece of the roof falls in, narrowly missing your head.

The street is empty, and you're the only one who's outside, but you can hear sirens and the distant sounds of yelling. You need to get away, and you need to do it now before the authorities show up.

You turn and run, pushing yourself to go as fast as you can, ignoring the pain and exhaustion. Your legs are burning, and your chest is tight, but you have to keep going, you have to get away. You can't let anyone find you, can't let anyone know what you've done. There's no telling what they'd do to you, or what the consequences would be for the Order.

You reach the end of the street, and turn left, and then right, and then left again. The buildings blur around you, and the sounds fade, and all you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the sound of your breath.

You're far away from the Temple, and it takes nearly half an hour to get back. By the time you reach the gates, your lungs are burning and you're gasping for air. You stumble to a stop and lean against the wall, your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath.

You sink to the ground, your head resting against the cold metal as you try desperately to calm down. You're safe, you tell yourself. No one knows. No one saw. Everything's fine.

But it isn't, and you can't make yourself believe the lie.

You look down at your trembling hands, and among the cuts and scrapes, and the blood and grime, you see burns stretching across your palms. They don’t hurt when you clench your fists, not like the stinging pain in your head, the searing of your throat, or the dull ache in your knees.

They're a reminder, a symbol of your failure, a testament to the power that you have, and the power you don't.

A power the Jedi have no interest in understanding.

And yet, they were the ones who trained you, who taught you, who molded you, who gave you your place in the galaxy and all the expectations that came with it.

The expectations, and the responsibilities.

They were the ones who told you that the world wasn't fair, and that sometimes, people died, and that there was nothing you could do about it. But it's not true. There is, and the fact that they didn't want to see it was their own fault, their own arrogance, their own short-sightedness.

And it had cost Yaddle her life, and it had nearly cost you yours.

The anger bubbles up, and your eyes sting, and your throat constricts, and the pain, the rage, the frustration, the injustice, the betrayal, the lies, and the half-truths, and the death, is all too much.

It's too much, and you can't take it anymore. You're so tired, and so hurt, and so alone, and you just want to give up. To stop. To walk away.

Because what good have you done, really? What has any of this gotten you? Nothing but grief and pain and loneliness, and a burden that's too heavy to bear.

You look at the burns on your hands, and a sudden, strange calm comes over you. You feel a sense of clarity and purpose, and a strange, almost eerie, certainty.

You will never let this happen again.

You will never be powerless again.

And no matter what it takes, no matter how many risks you have to take, no matter how much the Council disapproves, no matter how much danger you put yourself in, you will make sure that no one else suffers as you have. Not because of the Sith, and not because of the Jedi.

And, as the sun rises, and the first rays of sunlight peek through the clouds, illuminating the Temple and casting long shadows over the courtyard, you vow that you'll do whatever it takes.

No matter what.

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achilles-rage · 2 months ago

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Good Luck Charm: Chapter 18

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: you finally finish your assignment and talk about the upcoming holiday break.

word count: 3.1k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: believe me when i say i was not planning for this chapter to go the way it did. but it’s fine it was hot<3 i also kept the holiday reader celebrates ambiguous to keep it inclusive, so hopefully i can keep it going being nonspecific lol, enjoy<3

warnings: smut, no use of y/n, plus size!reader, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ only!

While Evan put up a fight at first about accepting your help, he quickly got over it. You kept trying to reassure him that you want to help, that you want him to heal as well as possible, even if you have to do things for him. He didn’t listen at first; he didn’t want to be a burden; he didn’t want you to be annoyed with him or feel like you had to help him. But still, you continued to care for him with a smile on your face, and soon enough, he started to love how much you were doting on him. It made him feel important, loved.

It’s almost exhausting when he’s finally used to you doing things for him, and you’d be a little upset if he wasn’t so cute with his little pouty lips and puppy dog eyes.

“Princess, can you get me some more water?”

“Princess, can you get me a sweater?”

“Princes, can you…?”

You’re almost certain he’s exaggerating his injuries by now, as his concussion is gone and his ankle has been healing for a couple of weeks, but how can you say no when he asks you to stay with him for a little bit longer? You love being with him, and you love taking care of him, so it makes sense to spend most nights at his place rather than going back to your apartment.

You’re at his house again, both of you sitting on his bed as you work on the final touches of your assignment. You’re happy to finally be done with it, although you have this weird feeling in your chest that once your assignment is handed in, you won’t have any reason to see Evan. You know your worries are unnecessary; you’re dating, and he seems very content in keeping you around all the time, but you feel that minuscule voice in your head telling you what you know isn’t true.

You look out his bedroom window, smiling as you see the soft blanket of snow covering his front yard, the sunset shining brightly off of it and making you excited for the quickly approaching winter break. It’s already December, and you can’t believe how quickly the semester has passed. A couple weeks off and finally able to spend some time with your family? You couldn’t imagine anything better. Especially for the holidays.

“What are you doing for winter break?” you ask as Evan types away on his computer. He looks up at you after a moment, his fingers stilling on his keyboard. His expression almost looks upset, but he quickly covers it with a small smile.

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll probably stay here; hang out with some of the guys on the team that aren’t going home either.” he tells you, his voice oddly monotone. You know he’s not especially close to his parents, but you didn’t know it was bad enough for him to not go home during winter break. He’s definitely holding his emotions back right now, and it makes your heart clench to think about him alone during the holidays, with no loving family to go home to.

“Your parents don’t want you to go home?” you ask, but you already know the answer. He shrugs, giving you a soft “I don’t think they care” as he looks down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. Sadness fills your eyes, and you let out a quiet exhale. How can his parents not want to see him?

“What about your sister? I’m sure she wants to see you.” you try to reassure him, but you can see that your words cause sadness to fill his eyes as he shakes his head. You reach over and grab one of his hands, which pulls his gaze from his lap to your face.

“You can’t be alone for the holidays.” you whisper. You can feel the question on the tip of your tongue, and while you know it may be a little weird to ask, it feels like the words are fighting their way up your throat.

“I’ll be alright, princess. It’s not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” he tells you with a shrug, trying to mask his sadness with a reassuring smile. You tilt your head to the side as you look at him, frowning. You feel the words slip from your mouth before you can stop him; why is he the one reassuring you right now? You should be the one telling him that he shouldn’t have to be used to that. That he deserves to feel loved all the time, but especially around the holidays.

“Why don’t you come home with me for the break?” His eyes widen at your words, and for a moment, so do yours. You know it’s probably too early for that kind of thing; he’d be meeting your entire family, for God’s sake, but you can’t imagine him sitting here alone while everyone else is with their families.

“You want me at your parents’ house for the holidays?” he asks in disbelief, although he can feel his heart pounding at the thought. He absolutely loves the idea of meeting your parents, and spending a few weeks in your hometown; learning even more about you.

“I’m sure they’d love to meet you. I know my mom does.” you tell him a bit sheepishly. You’ve told your mom about him already, although you’re not as close to her as you once were, you still talk to her fairly regularly.

“Your dad doesn’t?” he asks you curiously, using the hand holding yours to pull you towards him. You get up onto your knees and crawl across the bed, then straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his neck loosely.

“I haven’t told him. Not sure how he’d react.” you say with a shrug, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. He hums softly, and although he’s a little nervous about your answer, he also feels an overwhelming urge to prove to your father that he’s good for you.

“Yeah? Tell me about him, so I know what to expect.” You lean back, looking at him with an unsure smile, disbelief in your eyes.

“You’ll come?” you ask, your smile widening when he nods. You laugh softly and lean in to give him a chaste kiss, but he quickly deepens it, his hand moving to your jaw and tilting your head slightly. You smile into the kiss, and let him continue to kiss you for a moment, one of your hands making its way into his hair while his other hand moves up and down your thigh.

“So, tell me about your parents.” he speaks after he pulls away, looking up at you with a gleam in his eye. He loves the way you look sitting on his lap, lips puffy and eyes in a slight daze. He thinks it’s adorable that even after the countless times he’s kissed you, you still always pull back with wide eyes and a soft smile, almost like you’re surprised he’s kissing you.

“Well, my mom will love you, so you don’t have to worry about her much. I think she’ll just be happy I’ve finally brought someone home. My dad’s sort of protective, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s a firefighter, and he’s an extrovert, so all you have to do is ask him about his job, and the heat will be off of you for hours.” you explain to him, laughing softly as you explain your dad’s tendency to talk about his job. He’s always wanted to be a firefighter, and he loves the job, so it’s become a joke between you and your mom about how quickly he can change the subject to work during conversations with anyone that will listen.

Evan hums softly, nodding as he listens to you. He laughs along with you, feeling his nerves settle slightly as you tell him how to get on your dad’s good side. He can’t believe he’s agreed to this so quickly; a few months ago, he would never have pictured himself being introduced to a girl’s parents. But now, with you, he feels both excited and like his heart is about to stop from his nerves.

“You think he’ll like me?” he asks a bit nervously. You smile, shrugging as you think about it. You’ve never introduced a guy to your father, so you’re really not sure how he’ll react. While you want to reassure Evan, you don’t want to give him a false sense of hope.

“I like you. I think he’ll see that. He might just have to warm up to you.” you tell him after a moment of silence. He nods again at your words, licking his lips as he averts his gaze from yours, beginning to think about it maybe a little too much. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. He’ll probably just want to make sure you’re a good guy. It’s not like he’ll find out you’re, like, a murderer or something.” you tease in a low voice, giving him a cheeky smile. You want to calm his nerves; you can see the wheels turning in his head. He chuckles as his eyes refocus on you, and he pulls you in by the back of your neck, lips level with your ear.

“Maybe not, but I definitely wouldn’t want him to find out what I’ve done with you, how I think of you most of the time.” he rasps, and you feel your cheeks grow hot.

“Yeah? What are you thinking about right now?” you get out, your voice just above a whisper. Although your words are teasing, your stomach is filled with butterflies. Even after months of being with him, there’s always a split second that you forget you’re not still the shy, inexperienced person you were before.

“I’m thinking about taking you in your childhood bedroom. Your parents in the other room. Having to put my hand over your mouth to keep your quiet.” he says, nipping at your neck between sentences. You bite your lip, feeling a familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re crazy if you think my dad’s gonna let us share a room.” you tease softly, tilting your head back as he continues to kiss your neck. He chuckles against your skin, which causes you to shiver as his hot breath hits your neck.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” he whispers in your ear, then continues his trail of kisses down your neck. You roll your eyes, giggling softly, but it’s cut short when you feel Evan’s hand dip below the waistband of both your leggings and your panties, and move straight to your core.

“You’re so wet already. You like that idea? Having to keep quiet for me?” he says in a cocky tone, looking up at you. You bite your lip as your hips buck against his hand instinctively, trying to gain more friction as his fingers ghost against your clit.

He chuckles as he feels your hips move, but doesn’t tease any further. He pushes a finger into your dripping cunt, pumps it into you a few times, then adds another. You mewl softly, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss, which he happily returns. His thumb finds your clit after a moment, and he groans as he feels you clench around his fingers with a soft moan.

“You’re so good for me, princess. Always so good for me.” he says against your lips, then curls his fingers to hit that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. You tilt your head back with a whine, rolling your hips as you feel the familiar feeling growing in your belly.

He increases his movements when he sees your face contorting in pleasure, knowing you’re approaching your high, but you stop him before you can get there. You pull his hand away with quick, albeit reluctant, movements.

“Need to feel you.” you whisper in an almost pleading tone, and that’s all it takes.

He grabs your hips and flips you over onto the bed, then moves to kneel in front of you. He reaches for your leggings and makes quick work of pulling them and your panties down your legs, you lifting your hips off the bed to help him out. He makes you sit up once your bottoms are discarded, and pulls your knit sweater over your head, not even bothering to take your bra off before his hands are pulling on his shirt. Once he’s taken his clothes off, he’s on top of you, using one arm to hold himself up, and the other pumping his cock a few times before moving the tip over your slick folds.

“Please.” you beg as you look up at his face, pupils blown and lips turned in an almost-pout. He licks his lips as his eyes move up from your cunt to your eyes, smirking. He doesn’t waste any more time, and he sinks into you with a breathy groan. His head falls to the crook of your neck as he buries himself to the hilt, feeling you stretching around him so perfectly.

“Oh my god.” you whine as your hands find his shoulders. Your nails dig into his skin as he starts to move, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his size. He fits so nicely inside of you, but you’d be lying if you said there’s not a second when he first pushes into your dripping cunt where you think that you’re too full, that you won’t get used to the feeling of all of him.

“That’s it, princess. Let me hear you.” he drawls. He picks up the pace as he begins to kiss down your neck, making sure he leaves light spots around your collar bones and tits. He loves marking you, but the last time he marked your neck, you got mad that you weren’t able to cover it up easily, so now he leaves them in places for his eyes only.

You let out a shuttered cry when his fingers find your clit again, and your nails dig into his back more harshly, which makes him groan in a mix of pain and pleasure. He loves to be marked by you too, loves having reminders of you on his skin. He leans back to look into your eyes again, and he almost smirks when he sees you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body moving with each thrust. He looks down at your soft tummy and chest and he moans again. He loves seeing your tummy move as he fucks you; almost as much as he likes to fill your belly with his seed.

“Keep making noises like that and I won’t last long, baby.” he teases, then meets your lips in a deep kiss. His hips move in rough thrusts as his fingers circle your clit, and you know that you’re not going to last long either.

“Feels so good.” you rasp against his lips, and he smirks as he pulls back.

“Yeah? You like that, princess?” he asks in a cocky tone, feeling his high quickly approaching as he looks down at your fucked out expression. All you can do is nod as you feel the pit in your tummy growing, your words coming out in incoherent babbling.

With a few more thrusts, Evan is right on the edge, but as he’s about to pull out, you wrap your legs around his waist. He raises a brow as you look up at him, soft pleas escaping your lips.

“Come inside me. Evan, please.” you get out, keeping your legs firmly locked around him. He groans, trying not to cum right then and there. The way you say his name makes his head spin, and soon enough, he’s nodding, his hips snapping against yours with increased fervor.

“You want me to fill you up? Huh, princess?” he asks, leaning in to whisper in your ear. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and you know he’s almost there.

“Please. Fill me up.” you plead, your back arching off the bed as you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

“Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.” he grunts in your ear, and after a few more thrusts, you feel his hot cum hitting your insides. This, paired with his fingers ghosting over your clit causes you to fall over to the edge with a high pitched squeal, clenching around him as your vision goes blank. You squeeze your eyes shut as your body goes stiff, your hands still firmly on his shoulders.

“There you go, princess. God, you’re gorgeous.” he whispers against your skin. He slows his hips to a stop, staying inside of you for a minute or two as you both catch your breath. He moves his head down to the valley of your breasts, pressing soft kisses all over the skin not covered by your bra as he stays lying on top of you, and you hum happily.

After a few minutes, he finally pulls out, groaning at the sight of his cum dripping down your soft skin and onto his sheets. He grabs a towel from his closet and cleans you off carefully, pressing kisses on your plush belly as his hands moves, and once he’s done, he crawls back into bed beside you and pulls you in to lay your head on his chest.

“We can’t do this at my parents’ house.” you tease as you lay your cheek against his chest, and you smile when you feel the rumble of his laugh ripple through his chest under you.

“No? Don’t think you can keep quiet?” he replies in a similar tone, squeezing your shoulder as he holds you tightly against him.

“I’m more worried about you.” you tell him in a serious tone. He can hear the smile in your voice, but he still rolls his eyes as he scoffs.

“Yeah, we’ll see.” he says in a quiet tone, voice trailing off as he looks up at the ceiling.

If you’re really serious about not doing anything for two weeks, he thinks he’ll go crazy. He’s been able to have you pretty much anytime he wants for the past few months, and imagining you at your house, forbidden fruit dangling in front of him with your father around, he knows it’s going to be torture for him.

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acknowledge-reigns · 17 days ago

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Swipe Right | Roman Reigns x Black!fem OC (18+)

Description: Roman and Iris go to dinner and get to know each other more.. Intimately.

Chapter: 5/6

Word Count: 2065

Warnings: Mention of death of a loved one, flirting, teasing, Dom/sub dynamics, smut, mention of spanking, very mild depredation, honorifics, fingering, dirty talk, praise.

This is set in an AU in which the og bloodline reunited before wrestlemania 40 and Roman retained. As always my stories are about Roman, not Joe. While there is not smut in the first couple of chapters, there will be in others. This is very much an 18+ BDSM based romance with some comedy thrown in there. You have been warned.

Roman arrives at Iris's house in a sleek, black car, driven by a chauffeur. He steps out of the car and rings her doorbell. When she answers he hands her a bouquet of her favorite flowers, a small smile on his face. He knew her favorite flower from going back and studying her tinder profile. He was dressed in a suit that made him look like the walking billion dollar check he claimed to be.

"These are for you," he says, holding out the bouquet of white roses.

Iris takes the flowers, surprised that he knew her favorite. She looks at him, trying to hide her surprise.

"Thank you," she says, her voice a little softer than before. "You didn't have to do that."

Roman shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his face. "I wanted to," he says simply. "I know you like white roses."

He looks past her, noticing Imani, Amira and Jax standing in the background grinning. "And who are these lovely ladies?" Roman asks, a charming smile on his face.

"This is my daughter Imani," Iris says, gesturing to the teenager glaring daggers at him. "And this is Amira, my youngest." she adds gesturing to the smaller girl in the Disney Princess shirt.

Imani looks at Roman with a critical eye, sizing him up. She crosses her arms and gives him a skeptical look.

Roman raises an eyebrow at Imani's glare, but he doesn't let it faze him. Instead, he turns his attention to Amira, who is looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"And how old are you, Amira?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Amira smiles shyly "I'm nine," she says, her voice small and sweet. He had sons roughly her age.

Roman turns his attention back to Imani, who is still glaring at him.

"You must be the overprotective one," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Imani raises an eyebrow at his comment, clearly not amused.

"And you must be the guy who hurt my mom," she retorts, her voice laced with hostility.

Iris shoots Imani a warning look.

"Imani Rosé, be nice," she says firmly. "Roman and I have made up."

Imani rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything else. Roman can't help but chuckle at the interaction.

"Don't worry, I understand where she's coming from," he says to Iris. "She's just looking out for her Mom. Besides, I have a daughter her age. Not the first time I've gotten that glare and probably won't be the last." Roman chuckled lightly.

Roman smiles at Imani, his expression warm and genuine.

"It's nice to meet you, Imani," he says. "You sound like a really strong and smart young lady."

Iris turns to Jax, who is standing next to Imani, beaming with excitement.

"And this is my sister Jax," she says, introducing her. "Jax, this is Roman."

Jax's eyes widen as she looks at Roman, and she can't help but let out a small gasp. "Oh my gods, he's even hotter in person," she blurts out before quickly covering her mouth with her hands.

Roman can't help but chuckle at Jax's reaction, amused by her enthusiasm.

"I'm glad I meet expectations, I guess" he says.

Iris rolls her eyes and sighs. "Don't mind her, she's obsessed with the Bloodline," she says to Roman.

"Yeah, I need you to introduce me to one of your cousins. Like yesterday." Jax said half jokingly.

Roman raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Jax's request.

"Which cousin are you interested in meeting?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Are you being deadass?" Jax asked, her jaw dropping.

Amira, who had been mostly quiet until now, pipes up at the mention of Roman's cousins. "I want to meet Maui!" she exclaims, her eyes shining with excitement.

Roman grins at Amira's enthusiasm.

"You want to meet Maui from Moana?" he asks, feigning surprise. "That's my cousin."

Amira nods, "Yeah, my Auntie LeLe told me!" she said.

Roman chuckles, "Well, I'll see what I can do about getting you a meeting with Maui," he says, winking at her.

Iris laughs and hugs her kids tightly.

"Okay, okay, that's enough requests," she says, trying to contain her amusement. "I'll see you two later, behave yourselves. I love you both." She says placing kisses on top their heads.

She then hugs her sister and thanks her for watching the girls before shuffling out of the door with Roman.

Iris and Roman arrive at the rooftop restaurant, which is decorated with elegant tables and twinkling lights. The view of the city is breathtaking, and the air is filled with the soft sounds of music and chatter.

Iris looks around in awe, taking in the atmosphere.

"This place is amazing," she says, turning to Roman.

Roman smiles and takes her hand, as they're led to their table.

"I'm glad you like it," he says. "I wanted to make this night special." Roman pulls out Iris's chair for her, a gentlemanly gesture that makes her heart flutter.

"Thank you," she says, taking her seat.

Iris chuckles and raises an eyebrow at Roman.

"Suddenly being a gentleman, huh?" she teases. "You weren't this gentle when we first met." Being that the table he reserved was in its own private little area of the rooftop, they could pretty openly discuss anything without being overheard.

Roman grins, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Oh, I'm definitely a gentleman," he says, his voice low and smooth. "But I'm also a Dom, and I know a sub when I see one. And you, babygirl, are definitely a submissive."

"And how do you know that?" Iris questioned

Roman leans in closer, his voice taking on a seductive tone.

"I can tell by the way you react to me," he says, his breath hot against her ear. "

"The way you respond to my touch, the way you submitted to me taking control when we made out in my locker room. The way you beamed when I called you a good girl."

Iris grins, her heart racing at his words. She can't deny that he's right. "I can't argue with that," she admits, biting her lip.

Roman takes a sip of his drink before speaking, his eyes locked on Iris. "I've been in the lifestyle for years," he says. "It's something that just comes naturally to me. I enjoy taking control and making my partner feel good. How about you?"

Iris takes a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "I've been in the lifestyle for a while too," she admits. "But it's been a while since I've had a partner who could truly take control and make me feel the way you do."

Roman's eyes darken with desire as he leans in closer. "I want to be that partner for you," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I want to make you feel things you've never felt before. I want to take you to new heights of pleasure, and submission."

Iris takes a deep breath, her expression turning somber.

"I haven't been on a date since my husband passed away," she says, her voice quiet. "We were exploring the lifestyle together before he.. well.. I haven't had a Dom since. I appreciate your offer, but I need time to think about it."

Roman nods understandingly, his expression softening.

"I understand," he says, taking her hand in his. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere. And if you decide you want to give this a try, I promise I'll take care of you and treat you right."

Iris smiles, feeling a warmth spread through her chest at his words.

"Thank you," she says, squeezing his hand.

Once they make it to the car, Roman slips the driver a $50 bill and instructs him to give them some privacy. The driver nods and gets out of the car, leaving Roman and Iris alone in the backseat.

As they sit in the backseat of the car, Iris looks at Roman with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. She leans in and presses her lips against his, kissing him softly at first, then more passionately.

Roman returns the kiss, his hand coming up to cup her face. But then he pulls back, a stern look on his face.

"Ah ah ah," he says, shaking his head. "You know gotta asking permission, babygirl."

Iris pouts and looks up at Roman with a sulky expression."But I wanted to kiss you," she says, her voice almost a whine.

Roman chuckles and shakes his head again."I know you did, babygirl," he says, his tone firm but playful. "But that doesn't change the fact that you didn't ask permission. If you were mine, you'd be getting a spanking for that."

Iris's pout deepens, but there's a hint of excitement in her eyes.

"You'd really spank me?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Roman grins, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Oh, I would," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I'd spank you until you're begging for mercy. And then I'd take you home and make you mine in every way possible."

Iris can feel herself getting aroused at the thought of Roman spanking her and taking her home. Her breath quickens, and she shifts in her seat, trying to ignore the growing wetness between her legs.

Roman notices the change in Iris's demeanor and smirks, his eyes darkening with desire.

"You're getting excited, aren't you?" he asks, his voice low and sultry. "The thought of being punished and taken by me is turning you on.. such a bad girl."

Iris nods, unable to deny it. She can feel her body responding to his words, her nipples hardening and her clit throbbing.

"You want your tribal chief to make you feel good, sweetheart?" Roman asked.

"Yes," she whispers granting all the consent he needed to work his magic.

"Safeword is red." He tells her getting a nod in response.

"Use your words" Roman commanded

"Yes Sir" Iris responded.

Roman pulls Iris onto his lap, his lips crashing against hers in a hungry kiss. He runs his hands up her thighs, pushing her dress up and pulling her panties to the side. He slides his fingers between her folds, feeling how wet she is for him.

"You're soaked," he growls, his fingers rubbing against her clit.

Iris moans, her body arching into his touch. She wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his long luscious curls as he continues to tease her.

"Please," she whispers, her voice trembling with need. "I need more."

Roman grins smugly, his eyes flashing with desire. "More, huh?" he says, his fingers slipping inside her. "You want me to make you cum right here in the backseat of this car?"

Iris nods, her hips bucking against his hand as he starts to move his fingers in and out of her.

"Yes," she gasps, her eyes locked on his. "Please, make me cum, my tribal chief."

Roman's fingers move faster, his thumb rubbing against her clit as he pumps his fingers in and out of her. He leans in and whispers in her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"You're so tight, babygirl," he says. "I can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Iris's body tenses as she feels herself getting closer to the edge. She clings to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she moans his name.

"Roman, I'm going to cum," she cries out.

Roman smirks, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Come for me, babygirl," he growls, his fingers curling inside her. "Come all over my hand."

Iris's body shudders as she reaches her peak, her orgasm washing over her in waves of pleasure. She buries her face in Roman's neck, moaning and gasping as she comes undone.

After Iris comes down from her high, Roman licks her juices from his fingers savoring her taste and helps her straighten her clothes. They make their way back to her place. The car ride is quiet, comfortable quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

When they arrive at her house, Roman walks her to the door, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back.

Roman pulls Iris close and kisses her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers.

"Goodnight, babygirl," he whispers against her lips. "I'll see you soon."

"Damn, I'ma need one of them cousins!" Jax's voice is heard over the ring cam.

Previous Chapter ●◉◎◈◎◉● Final Chapter

#roman reigns #the tribal chief #wwe roman reigns #head of the table #the head of the table #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns smut

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strafepanzer · 1 year ago

Text

chapter four: loose ends

of love & lemons | k.bakugo | m.list

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! angst, more talking about feelings, fem and male receiving oral, making out, alcohol consumption

▸ ▸ ▸ wc: 6.7k

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: ahhhhhh omg i love the last scene of this fic so much, i hope you enjoy it too!!

Overthinking has always come easy, but this is just ridiculous.

Thoughts plague you as you wander with the rest of the group through the forest path towards the beach. Chatter flows effortlessly, yet your mind ticks.

Why had Shouto acted like that with you? Did he overhear you in the dorm with the rest of the girls? Did he not like seeing you in your swimsuit? Did Bakugo say something to him? Either way, there was no reason for him to be acting like that towards you.

Your lonely upbringing led to you making friends with most people you came across, but your even matchup with Shouto all those years ago had you gravitating towards each other from the get-go. Your easy, fiery personality melted his cold, icy heart and it wasn’t long before you were study buddies, training partners.

You graduated high school together, entered university together. It wasn’t only huge milestones like those that you shared and bonded through, but simple things like going to movies with friends, bar-hopping; hell, you even organized a surprise birthday party for him at the beginning of year and invited everyone he’d formed friendships with over the years.

Including Momo, which you were kinda (very) bitter about at the time.

A shiver runs over your skin and you wrap your arms around yourself, glancing over at a very animated Denki as he explains the importance of nu-metal to Shouto.

Shouto with his two-toned hair and heterochromic eyes, with his fire and his ice, with his inability to read the room and lack of tact. You’d opened up to him about being an only child and having parents that worked away constantly, and he told you about his mum, why he hated his dad so much. Even so, he’d had his dad design you a suit that could withstand the even hottest flames, despite the fact that he never went out of his way to talk to him.

You were best friends.

It’s not his fault that you were – until yesterday— in love (was it love, really?) with him, and he didn’t feel the same. Not his fault that you felt you needed to distance yourself from him. What was his fault was the accusation that the guy you’d fallen for wasn’t genuine.

And he hadn’t even said anything about it to your face.

Why didn’t he say anything to you?

What you feel for Bakugo isn’t the same as what you felt for Shouto. For him, there was longing; there were schoolgirl fantasies of picket fences and weddings and two spoons for one dessert. Of a family with two kids and a dog and a cheesy adult life together. With Bakugo, it’s different. You want to touch him, hold him, feel him. You’ve fallen for his eyes, the dangerous way he looks at you, and his hands, how they feel on you, the size of yours in his; the way he speaks to you, calms you, treats you like you’re more than a crush. It’s now and it’s real, and you’re exploring it together.

You hold your cold fingers against your burning cheeks as you scan the group for him.

He’s looking at you from where he’s walking, a little bit ahead of you, and you speed up to catch him.

“You okay?” He mumbles, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his boardshorts. You resist the urge to drape yourself against him, the naked skin of his back and chest, swells and dips of his muscled arms. You hum a yes, but your eyes are on the ground. “Right, seems like you’re fucking swell.” His sarcasm is comforting, you knock him with your hip.

“Thinking about you.” Your words leave your lips in a sigh, and he arches a brow at you. It wasn’t a lie, not really. “You’re nice to me.” You smile, holding your forearms behind your back.

“Yeah?” He’s intrigued by your admission, probably more confused than anything. “Why are you thinking about that right now?”

“I told the girls I liked you, and they were confused. Apparently, you’re mean.” You shrug.

“Huh.” He raises his eyebrows, doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t ask why. He’s oddly calm.

“You don’t care that I told them?” You frown.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say anything.” You grumble childishly, he chuckles.

“What the hell do you want me to say?” He asks softly, drapes an arm over your shoulders, pulls you against him.

You’re sure you stop breathing. You look up at him, but he’s looking ahead— or pointedly avoiding your gaze, you’re not sure. It’s strange how natural it feels, and you smile despite yourself, pull your bottom lip between your teeth and take a breath in through your nose.

The air is cool, but you’re warm, heart beating sporadically in your chest as you walk through the woods, tucked under Bakugo’s arm. It’s peaceful, calm—

“Oi,” Eijiro calls, jogging up to fall into step next to you. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell your best friend that you’ve got a girlfriend.” He complains with a whiny sigh. “Unmanly, Kastuki.”

“Want me to tell you when I take a fucking dump too, dumbass?” Bakugo growls, pulls you closer. “It’s none of your fucking business.” He reiterates.

“I’m your best friend.” He complains, sets his eyes on you. They trail down your neck to your chest where your jacket is unzipped “I like your swimsuit.” He winks, and you flinch as Bakugo holds up a palm, sends off an explosion in his direction.

“Bakugo!” You scold, hide against his chest to shield your eyes.

But Eijiro’s ready for it, used to it, it seems. He simply dodges, flashes you a knowing smile. “Be gentle with him, he’s sensitive.” He winks, again.

“Fuck off, fuckface!” Bakugo yells, and with a laugh, Eijiro jogs back to Kaminari and the group of teens watching the interaction. Kyoka flashes you a thumbs up and you roll your eyes with a grin.

After a few moments, you look up at him. “You didn’t correct him when he called me your girlfriend.”

“You already said you’d be mine.” He shrugs. “If you don’t wanna put a damn label on it, we don’t have to.” His red eyes are looking down at you, ready for a response.

“No, I…” You make it out of the trees and onto the sand, see Aizawa in the distance with a huge bonfire ready to light. Bakugo stops walking, holds you close as your classmates walk past, shouts profanities at anyone who stares too long.

Shouto doesn’t look as he passes.

Your stomach knots up, and you snake an arm around Bakugo’s waist, pull yourself closer to him. He’s warm, and it’s comforting, solid and stable.

The sun is setting oranges and pinks and purples and blues in the sky, reflecting like molasses against the serene waves of the water. Higher in the sky, the moon’s already out, stars twinkling as twilight threatens to take over the sunset.

You don’t want to move, just want to stay under his arm, looking at the sky forever.

“D’ya wanna be my girlfriend?” He asks quietly, and when you look at him, he’s blushing, watching the sun set in the distance. You watch him for a minute, revel in the serenity of the moment; then you stretch up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“If it means you’re gonna be defending my honour, then yes.” You grin. His eyes flash down to your body, the curves of your torso, your bikini top. He bites his lip.

“Among other things.” He says lowly, voice husky as his free hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb drawing along your collarbone, nudging the jacket from your shoulder. “Your swimsuit,” His eyes are watching his fingers trace the orange piping of one of the triangles.

You shiver, and you’re sure nipple beads under his touch; your whole face heats up. “H-happy coincidence.” You whisper, the same twisty, fluttering feeling in your stomach returning.

He hums, lips descend to your neck. “Happy indeed.”

“Oi!” Eijiro yells from a distance. “We’re waiting!”

Bakugo huffs a sigh, kisses your neck gently. “To be continued.” He mumbles, nuzzling your ear with his nose, sending another shiver up your spine. He zips up your jacket—all the way to the top—zipper tickling your chin.

“Okay.” You laugh, step away from him and drag your hand down his arm, linking your fingers. A shy smile grows on your face as you lead him over to the group, Aizawa is staring at the pair of you with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s this? A couple? In my camp? I give you all far too much freedom.” He grumbles, and Bakugo squeezes your hand. Kyoka pokes you in the arm, waggles her eyebrows when you look at her. “We’ve been cut short.” He says, sighing. “We’re heading back tomorrow because of reasons out of my control, so I’ve put on a party for you.”

“A party?” Deku gasps, chatter ensues.

“But!” Aizawa calls over the noise. “I have a speech that you have to listen to before I go.” His eyes briefly shift to you and Bakugo, then to some of the other students. “I understand that youth is… exciting.”

“Sensei, please.” Kaminari groans. “Not the birds and the bees.”

He ignores him. “You’re making friends, dating, being young.” He takes a pause, for the drama, probably. “But for you, life after university doesn’t entail boring office jobs or climbing the corporate ladder, does it?” You glance around, everyone looks as confused as you. “You will be heroes. I know about your job offers. Four of you have offers overseas, the rest of you have at least one offer here.”

You see where this is going. The cool wind on the beach picks up, and you pull your hand from Bakugo’s grip to fold your arms.

“You’re bound to get even more offers come graduation.” He continues, takes a deep breath. “It’s going to be exciting and new, and although the bonds you create here will be lasting, they’ll be… interrupted.” He rubs his face, tucks some hair behind his ear. “What I’m trying to drive home is this: don’t let the bonds you have affect your journey. Don’t take an offer with a lesser company because your best friend is close by, or your girlfriend doesn’t want you to leave the country.”

You feel that last one like a slap in the face.

Suddenly the vague tidbit of gossip about Bakugo heading to the U.S after graduation is in the forefront of your brain.

There’s a heavy silence, and your stomach is in your throat. You want to look up at Bakugo, gauge his reaction, but you’re frozen.

“Well, just something to think about, I guess.” His tone lightens, and he picks up some bags. “I got takeout. Cooler is full of drinks, but please—for my sanity—don’t drink too much; All Might’s the one who put the deposit down on the cabin and it wasn’t cheap.” He hands a bag to you, one to Kyoka, two to Iida, and trudges off.

There’s a stunned silence, until Bakugo takes the bag from you, opens it and digs some containers out.

“I’m gonna have this one,” he says, holds it out for you to take. “What do you want?” Kaminari and Eijiro flank Kyoka for food and there’s chatter where Iida’s trying to fairly assign containers.

“Uh, the same?” Your voice is small, and he sends you a pointed glare. You cave, tell him your favourite take out dish, and he fishes it out, hands the bag to Deku.

“Come with me.” He grabs your hand, drags you towards the water’s edge. He sits, and you follow suit.

“Look, if you—”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, pokes you in the forehead. “I like you, you like me. Don’t fucking listen to him.”

“But—”

“If you don’t wanna do this, we won’t.” He frowns, rests a wrist on a propped-up knee.

“I do!” You argue, pout. He grins, leans over and kisses your lips.

“Then we’re doin’ it.” He takes his container from your hand, replaces it with yours.

You glance down at the food, his hands. “You forgot utensils.” He realises it as you say it, frowns over at you, embarrassed, then bounds up, heads back to the group. You follow him with the food, a little anxious at your classmate’s reactions to the PDA, but mostly everyone is busy, itching to eat something.

Shouto is crouching by the unlit bonfire, left pointer finger pointed at the base as if he wants to light it. He feels your eyes, turns, and you give him a small grin and a wave. He sends you a tight smile and turns away.

“Here,” Bakugo hands you a pair of chopsticks, follows your line of sight.

“He hates me.” You sigh, glance up at him. “Not that you care.”

“I care. I just don’t want the fucker getting between us.” He sends Shouto’s back a glare of his own, and nods towards Deku and Kaminari, who are sitting on a log with Kirishima and Sero; Kyoka’s on a towel in front of them. “Wanna sit with your friends?”

“They’re your friends, too.” You roll your eyes, lead the way over to them.

“Eh, I put up with Eiji for reasons unknown.” He shrugs, but you gasp at the nickname.

“Eiji?”

“Shut up.” He glares, but you just laugh, fall down onto Kyoka’s towel next to her.

“Hey.” You chirp, conversation stops. You get the feeling that if Bakugo wasn’t sitting down on the log next to Kaminari, that you’d be met with a thousand questions.

“Hey?” Kyoka scoffs, eyeing you with a raised brow.

“Yeah, can’t come over here holding hands and expect us not to ask questions.” Eijiro gets up, slides between Kaminari and Bakugo, nudges Bakugo, almost knocks him off the log.

“Fuckin’ shitty—” He grumbles, but you cut him off.

“Ask away.” You shrug, opening your takeaway box and hiding a smile behind it. They jump on you.

“How?” Kirishima.

“Why?” Sero.

“When?” Deku.

“What exactly is it about this guy that you like?” Kirishima asks again, and you feel all eyes on you. All questions directed at you.

“Ah, well,” you did offer for them to ask you. Bakugo’s eating, but you can tell he’s just as interested in your answers as everyone else. “Look at him.” You shrug.

There’s a burst of laughter and Denki and Sero are complaining.

“You can’t do that! You can’t just fall back on looks! He’s looked like that for years.” Denki complains, annoyed.

“Yeah, we wanna know what he did to finally bag you.” Sero grins, and Bakugo bristles.

Finally?

The boys on the log all see your confusion, and they glance at Bakugo, who is busying himself with his food.

“You didn’t tell her?” Eijiro asks, but Bakugo says nothing, shoves a lump of chicken into his mouth and looks out at the water.

“Tell me what?” You’re suspicious now, but it doesn’t outweigh your hunger. You hoe down another mouthful of food.

“He’s liked you since high school, that’s what.” The red head laughs. But it can’t be right, because the whole reason this thing with him started was because—

“I told you I didn’t like her like that.” He says, reading your thoughts as he waves his chopsticks in your direction. “Your imagination is fuckin’ wild.”

Eijiro ignores the interaction between the two of you. “Yeah, remember in our final year’s sport’s festival when you turned into a human torch and your clothes—” Disintegrated.

“Okay, okay, yeah, I don’t want to remember that.” You laugh, whole body heating up in embarrassment.

“You’re making me sound like a fucking pervert, it wasn’t because she was naked that I fucking—you know what? I don’t need—” Bakugo’s getting flustered, and you’re enjoying every second. “Just fucking drop it, or I’ll kill you.”

“Technically, Cementoss cubed her in before anyone could see anything anyway.” Kyoka adds, thumbing in your direction. “But you’re telling me that you knew, and you didn’t tell me?” She glares at Denki then, who jumps in shock at her accusation.

“He said he’d kill me!” He defends dramatically.

Your attention creeps back to your boyfriend—you’ll need to get used to calling him that—and you watch him as he eats, looks out to the ocean, steals a glance at you. You grin at him, and he blushes, rolls his eyes.

The rest of the class find their way to the adjoining logs, towels are laid down for the students that were too slow, as everyone sits down to enjoy the food. When the food’s gone—Iida, Izuku and Bakugo eat thirds—Denki rushes back to the house with Kyoka to get her hero boots—for music, of course—and chatter ensues.

Mostly about you and Bakugo.

Go figure.

“Come for a walk.” Bakugo holds his hand out for you to take, and you grab it. Then you’re slipping off your sandals and walking along the edge of the water, bathed by the last light of the barely there sun.

You chuckle, he glances down at you, brow arched in a silent ‘what?’. “You really like me.” You laugh, poking him in the stomach. “How embarrassing!”

“Wow.” He rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the ghost of a smirk on his face. “Really mature.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You ask, watching as the water runs up to cover your feet, sand tickling the tops of them.

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” He grumbles, looks up at the stars.

“Katsuki,” You smile, testing his name on your lips as you turn to him, cover your joined hands with your free one. “Kiss me.” You demand gently, propping up on your tippy toes, and licking your lips.

He doesn’t reply, just covers your mouth with his, presses a hand to the back of your neck. You drop his hands and run your fingers through his hair, hum against his lips as his other hand dips under your jacket and runs up your back.

With a surprising push, you tumble the both of you down onto the sand, laughing. You’re straddling him, running your hands down his torso, lips on his throat as he reaches for the lip of your zipper, runs it all the way down until your jacket’s open.

He breathes your name and you stop, push back to meet his eyes. “I, uh,” he starts, staring up at you; he pushes some hair from your face and runs his thumb along your wet bottom lip. “I’m not just… second best, right?” He says it so softly, you’re not sure it’d even come out of his mouth.

“No.” You frown. What? “No way.” You’re torn between being sad for him—it’d take a lot for him to ask—and being offended that he felt you’re ingenuine.

“Fuck, it’s just,” he breathes, drags his hand down his face. “I’m not used to this, and I’ve wanted you for a really fucking long time, so…”

“It’s okay,” You mumble, lean down to kiss his forehead. “I’m here.” His nose. “Touch me.” His lips. You look into his eyes for a brief moment, then his kissing you hungrily, hands in your hair, leaving you breathless.

“Okay you two, that’s enough!” Mina yells. You take your lips from Bakugo’s neck and sit up, send her a glare that she probably can’t see. The sun’s completely gone now, moon high up in the sky surrounded by the kind of stars you can only see out by the countryside. It’s nothing like being in the deep smog of the city.

Bakugo gropes your butt over your swimmers. “I’m not done.” He grumbles lowly. You laugh down at him, pinch one of his pretty pink nipples. “Oi—”

“Come on!” She yells, closer. “Geez, I can’t believe I’ve gotta find out about you two from Denki. Denki! I thought we were friends.” She rants, closer. You hop off of Bakugo, dust the sand from your knees and calves.

“I’m sorry, it’s kind of a sudden thing—”

“Why the fuck are you screaming at us to come back?” Bakugo snaps, turning his back to Mina, adjusting his… oh. You laugh and link arms with her, hold your hand out for him to take when he’s ready—which he does. It’s nice to hold his hand. Good to just be touching him.

“We’re about to light the bonfire, and y’know, who better to do it?” Mina sighs, leaning her head against your shoulder.

“Uh, Shouto?” You snort.

“Don’t know where he is. He took off with Momo and they’re not on the beach; Tsu said not to bother with looking for them.” She shrugs as the three of you trudge up the beach, through the soft, dry sand.

“Couldn’t have pretended you couldn’t see us, though? Fucking figures.” Bakugo mumbles, and you squeeze his hand, send him a smile over your shoulder.

“Shut up, stop being such an asshole.” Mina grumbles. A few of your friends cheer upon your arrival.

“Fire time!” Denki announces, bouncing up from the log he was perched by Kyoka on. “Okay, Fire Princess, light us up!” He does a jiggy dance, points dramatically at the fire. Mina jogs over to sit next to Toru, and Bakugo rests his chin on your shoulder.

“C’mon, Fire Princess, we’ve got things to do.” He whispers in your ear.

“Are you ‘things’?” You laugh, raise an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. You laugh and shake him off, move closer to the huge mound of logs and sticks and kindling, crouch at the base. Generally, you’d use your hands to shoot the fire, but you’d been training on something you called ‘dragon technique’ lately, and—if it didn’t get out of control—it’d look really fucking sick.

You pick a spot right at the centre of the base, between the logs and sticks, and—like blowing out a candle—you purse your lips and blow, the flames hitting their target with ease. Your friends cheer, and you shoot a look back at Bakugo as you tuck some hair behind your ear.

Like any normal fire without petrol, it takes a while to grow in size, but it doesn’t matter. Bakugo lays his towel out and you drape yourself between his legs, both of you watching the fire grow —and Ochako and Mina dancing in front of it—as Kyoka plays some pop/rock song that she’s been ‘totally obsessed with lately’ from her boots.

“Here!” Kirishima grins, throws you both a drink. You sit up to catch yours, the other one whooshes past your head and into Bakugo’s hand.

It’s beer.

“I don’t know if you drinking is the best idea.” Bakugo says lowly in your ear, reaching over to pluck it out of your hands. “Remember last time?”

“Last time?” Eijiro butts in, looking at you quizzically.

“Ah, don’t worry about it, boring story.” You laugh, toss a look over your shoulder at Bakugo, who’s drinking your beer, Adam’s apple bobbing.

You glance around and find Momo sitting with Mineta and Tokoyami, beers in their hands, no Shouto in sight, which is strange until,

“Can I have a word?” You look up and see Shouto, standing over you and Bakugo. God, he’s so fucking quiet, like a ninja. You feel Bakugo tense behind you, so you pinch his thigh.

“Yeah, of course.” You smile, moving to get up. Before you’re at full height, Bakugo grabs your jacket, pulls you down by the collar to plant a kiss on your lips.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see the pleading look in his eyes; it shoots into your heart like an arrow.

“Be right back.” You smile, trying to reassure him, then you ruffle his hair and follow after Shouto, who must have walked off the moment Bakugo kissed you.

It’s quiet, besides the music thumping in the background. Serene.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly, looking up at the moon. You follow his line of sight, take in the glowing orb, shadowy craters scattering its surface. When you don’t say anything, he elaborates. “I didn’t think of your feelings, or Momo’s. I can…” He takes a breath, huffs a sigh. “I can tell you like him, and he can’t keep his hands off of you, so—”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, you’re making it weird.” You laugh, the weight of the past few days falling off of your shoulders. It's embarrassing how a few simple words could completely diffuse the situation.

“Bakugo seems to really like you, but if he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him.” He says seriously, stopping in his tracks, looking down at you.

“I think I’ll be okay, Shouto.” You smile. You hold out your arms for a hug, but when he steps closer, there’s a loud whistle.

You both look to see Bakugo watching, arms crossed over his chest. “TWO FUCKING FEET APART!” He yells, Kirishima chuckles into a fist next to him.

Shouto retracts his step, shakes his head with a smile. “As long as you don’t hate me.” He rests a hand on top of your head, smiles and takes it off.

“I don’t think I could, to be honest.” You beam up at him. And it’s the truth, he’d always hold a special place in your heart: the first love, the best friend. “C’mon, you need to go thank your girlfriend for making you a better person.” You nod towards the group, see Bakugo sit back on the towel in the distance.

“True, true.” He runs a hand through his hair, turns and begins walking you back to the group. “So, you’ll keep training with me?” He asks, almost a mumble.

“I… I hadn’t thought about stopping that, Shouto.” You say, brows furrowed. You usually spend holidays with the Todoroki’s, with your parents generally gone during them. Gone almost always.

Last year, you even spent Christmas with them.

Endeavour even called you the morning of your birthday.

“Good. Endeavour would be… disappointed.” He says slowly, flicking his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head.

You snort. “You mean, I wouldn’t be the buffer?” Endeavour treats you well to impress his youngest son; you know this, he knows this, his siblings know this. You elbow him. “I’m not stupid, Shouto.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles nervously, mildly ashamed. “I mean… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Okay.” He smiles as you walk back up to Bakugo and Kirishima. “Have a good night.” He calls, gives you one last smile, then scans the group for Momo, heads to her.

The sand crushes beneath your feet, gets between your toes. “Hey,” you call with a smile. Bakugo downs the rest of his beer and smashes the can, tosses it beside another one—also reduced to a misshapen tin ball. “Whoa, slow down, sexy; the night is still young.” You laugh, plant yourself in his lap.

“What, you’re not running off into the sunset with the man of your dreams?” He asks gruffly, signature scowl on his face.

You know he means Shouto, but you wrap your arms around Bakugo’s neck regardless. “No, I’m sitting on his lap while he makes listless accusations.”

“Ooh, big words.” His eyebrows disappear into his hairline, hands grab at your naked thighs.

“Big words for a big girl.” You grin back proudly, leaning up to press your lips to his. “Your girl, Mr I-Need-Constant-Validation.” Your hands sprawl over his chest, feeling the hard muscle, as his face flushes pink and he pouts.

“That’s not true.” He scoffs. You laugh and kiss him again, and Kirishima clears his throat. You pull away, embarrassed, and look over to him.

“Just want you to know that I’m still here.” He chuckles bashfully, flashing his razor-sharp teeth at you in a grin.

“Sorry—”

“Maybe you should leave then, idiot.” Bakugo snaps at him, eyes still on you.

“Mean.” You pout. “He’s your bestie.”

“I don’t see yours hovering around.” He says against your lips.

“I’m still here.” He groans, and you kiss again. “Alright, consider me gone.” He shakes his head with a slight laugh, springs up from his spot on the sand, mutters something as he walks away.

Bakugo actually laughs, and it’s so smooth and reassuring that you lean in for another kiss, drape yourself all over him. “I think… we need to ditch this party.” He whispers.

You agree, but deep down you know bonding with the group is important, especially now with graduation looming overhead. “The party just started! And Aizawa got us beer.”

“And vodka.” Kyoka announces her arrival, Bakugo groans. “Hey to you too, asshat.” She smiles, joins you on the towel, hands you a can.

“Thanks.” You smile.

Bakugo lifts you from his lap, places you easily next to Kyoka. “I’ll go get my own drink.” He says, sends your friend a glare, and trudges off.

“I know Denki’s an idiot, but that guy? Hard work.” She laughs, takes a sip. “Probably cranky because he’s up past his bedtime.”

You laugh, watch him as he approaches Momo and Shouto. “Ah, he puts up a front. Once you get past his hard exterior, he’s a softie.” You smile, turning back to her. She snorts. “He is!”

“Oh god, you really like him. Like, a lot.” She accuses, whacking your shoulder.

Yeah. Yeah, you do. It’s kinda scary, and Aizawa’s words ring back through your mind.

“Do you and Denki know what you’re doing after UA?” You ask, changing the subject, curious about what they’d discussed. As a couple.

“Hm? Ah, every time I bring it up, he gets upset.” She sighs, shakes her head.

“Really?” You take your first sip of the vodka, cringe at the sweetness as it hits your tongue.

“Mm.” She nods, lays down and rests her head on your lap. “We had another argument about it when we went back to camp to get my boots.” You smile sympathetically down at her, dust her bangs from her forehead with your fingers. “I actually have a lot of offers, mostly spy work, but still. He… he’s upset about it. Doesn’t want me to go too far.”

“That’s sweet, isn’t it? You sound annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.” She frowns, tries to drink from her can laying down, but it dribbles from the side of her mouth, down your thigh, and you squeak, jolt at the cold.

“Shit!” You yelp, and she chokes on her drink as she laughs, and more splutters over your lap and your jacket as she struggles to sit up. “Kyoka!”

“I’m sorry!” She laughs, wipes tears from her eyes and vodka from her mouth.

“Get up, we’re going in the water.” You say, standing up, wiping at the rivulets running down your legs.

“Oh, no I’m not. It’s cold as fuck.” She frowns, swats your hands away as you try to grab her.

“Yes, you are! Come on, we’re at a beach!” You argue, stand to unzip your jacket, shrug it from your shoulders and let it fall to the towel. “Get up, Kyoka.” You’re pleading, now, hell-bent on getting in the water.

A low whistle travels through the air, just loud enough for you to hear over the music. You look around and see Mineta sitting on a towel not too far away, staring at you. He winks at you, and you bristle, your eye twitches in annoyance. But before you can chew him out, the menacing presence of your new boyfriend fills the air, and his hands are splaying over your stomach, his red eyes glaring at your pervy classmate.

“You like your eyes in their sockets, asshat?” He asks, just loud enough for Mineta to hear. He pales, swallows, and nods. “Then keep them off my girlfriend.”

It’s in that moment that you decide Bakugo’s scarier when he doesn’t swear. Its menacing, bone-chilling.

He reaches down for your jacket, kisses your lips on his way back up to standing. “Let’s get outta here.”

“But—”

“Gotta clean you up, don’t we?” He asks huskily, and there’s a glint in his eye that makes your heart stammer, sends your brain into overdrive.

“Y-yeah, we do.”

“Okay, goodbye, have fun getting freaky.” Kyoka says quickly, and you poke your tongue at her, before you’re walking away under his arm, heading towards the forest.

“Hot spring?” You ask, glancing up at him.

“If we make it there.” He grins.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You narrow your eyes playfully, and he shrugs innocently as he takes you away from the forest path. “Bakugo,” you laugh. “Where are you taking me?”

“Just here, against this tree.” He grunts, swinging you around until you’re—laughing— backed up against the trunk of a thick redwood.

“What’s that even mean—” you ask, but he drops to his knees in front of you, and your whole body goes hot. The moon shines brightly through the canopy of the trees, bathing Bakugo in a kind of angelic glow, so incredibly unlike him. How ironic. He licks his lips as his hands reach for the backs of your knees, edges his mouth closer to your sticky thighs. “N—Baku—”

“Shh,” he coos softly, dark eyes staring up at you as you dig your fingers into the bark of the tree, suck your bottom lip between your teeth. His lips ghost over one of your knees and he trails slow—painfully slow—wet kisses up your thigh, licking over the sticky residue left over from Kyoka’s drink.

You manage to keep it relatively together, until a hand goes to your hip, and he licks up so close to the apex of your thighs that you moan, and he growls, hands gripping you tighter.

“Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, voice rough and gravelly as he looks up at you, nose running up your clothed slit.

“Bakugo!” You jolt, but he doesn’t stop, replaces his nose with his lips, tongue. He pulls your hips closer to his face, tongue running along the nylon, drenching it, making it stick to your lips. Then a hand is gone from your hip, and your swimmers are pulled to the side, and his lips kiss your pussy, tongue licks a stripe up your folds, and your fingernails are digging into his scalp as your head thunks against the tree, eyes screwed shut because, “Fuck,” you breathe, gasping.

You can hear him growl, feel the vibration against your clit as he wraps his lips around the bud and sucks.

You barely muffle your cry, as pleasure runs hot through your bones and you go spineless, collapsing into his arms. He doesn’t give you much time to recover, kissing you hard, slippery tongue between your teeth coaxing more moans from you, revving you back up again.

His fingers rub you gently between your thighs, toying with the wetness. “I think we made a bigger mess.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You groan, embarrassed, and he licks his lips before capturing yours again in another hungry kiss. You’re pulled onto his lap, straddling him, and rubs you more surely, teases you with a finger. “Do it,” you urge him, breathless yet again, and he wastes no time

“So wet, baby.” He moans, jerking his hips up with his finger’s thrusts, kissing your cheek, then your neck. Your head falls back, the now familiar pleasure building as he adds another finger.

“Let me… I’ll do you, too.” You breathe heavily, grabbing at the strings of his board shorts, ripping the Velcro open.

When you finally have him in your hands, he groans against your mouth, and you pull away from him to spit on your hand, before giving him a few wet pumps and kissing him again.

“You…” you breathe, and he looks at you, slows his fingers. “Do you want to pu—”

“No,” he chuckles, uses his free hand to push the hair from your face. “Not here.”

“Are you sure, because I—” he kisses you quiet, pushes a third finger into you, and your head falls to his shoulder, whole body on edge again. “Ahh, f—feels good, Katsuki.” You breathe, and he bucks up into your hand, reminding you to do him, too.

“Say it again.” He growls, licks a stripe up your neck, nips at your ear. “My name,” he breathes.

You moan, his fingers hitting that spot again, and again, and again—“Katsu—” and you’re coming again, back arching, whole body going tight, stars spinning behind your eyes as his face nuzzles your chest.

He pulls himself out of your hand, ready to finish himself off, but you’re hungry for him already, pushing him back, taking him between your lips for the second time that day.

He’s groaning—a salty, musky mess—and it makes your head spin, gives you a power you never even dreamed you’d have. You look up at him through your lashes, see his dark eyes drinking you in. He reaches down and pulls your bikini up—breasts springing free—and gropes at your tits, closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the grass in bliss.

You grip a thigh, hold him down with a splayed hand over his chiselled abs, and take him deep once, twice, three times, before coming up for air, eyes watering. He grunts, pushes back up into you, and you do it again. His hands are in your hair, holding you down as he calls your name, and he cums hot and heavy down your throat, cock pulsating between your lips.

You swallow all of him.

“Ah, s-sorry,” he breathes heavily, sitting up to check on you, pushing your hair from your face, and holding you like you’re made of glass.

“Mmm… Hold me,” you smile blissfully, fall against his chest as he chuckles, kisses your hair. “This’d be better in a bed. We could just… fall asleep.” He hums in response, traces patterns on your back, tickling the skin.

“Do you wanna go back to the party?”

“Won't that be… suspicious?” You smile up at him. He kisses you, holds your face with both of his hands, rubs his thumbs along your cheeks.

He’s stirring it back up within you, conditioning you to want him after every deep, sensual kiss. He pulls back, breathless.

“You think I give a fuck what those extras think?” He says, tone betraying the almost grin on his face. You roll our eyes, push away from him and stand up.

“Come on, then.” You whine, fix your bikini top, then the bottoms.

“Babe, you look so good; come back down here.” He bites his bottom lip, and it’s so sexy that your eyes go wide, face blazing as you take him in: half-naked, cock out, sweaty, flushed.

“If I come back down there to you, I’m making you fuck me, so let’s just go.” You cross your arms, pick up your jacket, and turn, heading towards the fire.

“Oi, I said come back here!” He calls, fixing himself up, and following. You break into a run, and you’re laughing as he chases you, dodging trees until you’re on the beach. He’s hot on your heels, so you drop your jacket, make a sprint for the water. “Come here!” He’s yelling, but you’re still laughing as you enter the freezing water, fall against a wave.

When you come back up, he grabs you, pulls you onto his lap and kisses you gently. His hair is wet, flat against his head, and he shakes it out, attempts to fluff it back up.

“Gotcha.” He grins, and you kiss him again, bathed by moonlight, your fingernails in his hair, his hands on your back.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #leese writes #ol&l fic

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