#but i figured i might go ahead and say it now

[greatooglymooglyyy]

The Last Ride Chapter 9 (AU Cowboy!C.Sturniolo)

summary: when spoiled and sheltered city girl Y/N finds herself in running in the wrong crowd, her dad gives her an ultimatum. it's either spend the summer of her gap year on her uncle's ranch or face being cut off and finding a job. just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she meets Chris, the brooding farmhand who thinks he knows her type. but as the summer goes on, they both realize there may be more to the other than meets the eye.

requested and advised by @rootbeerworshiper

contains: cursing, physical fight, verbal altercation, crying, cheating, lots of emotions, kissing, smut!, 6.9k words

a/n: holy shit y'all this is long. sorry. also links aren't working so you might have to go to the browser if you need the masterlist. love y'all

series masterlist

The silence doesn’t last long around us as Uncle Buck and Dad come running towards the commotion. But Chris doesn’t react to their shouts, leaning down and grabbing Jace up by his shirt. I finally make myself known, going to kneel beside Jace until one of Chris’ friends grabs my arm and shakes his head.

“Say it again.” Chris almost begs, his voice dark and dangerous like he’s looking for a reason to hit him again.

Jace’s eyes spew pure hatred back and he curls his lip up in disgust. “Get your fucking hands off me. Do you know who I am?”

“I think you’re a fucking baby who doesn’t know how to respect women.”

For whatever reason that causes Jace to get more upset, as if it isn’t partially true. I feel frozen, like I’m watching a movie unfold in front of me and there’s nothing I can do to affect what happens.

Jace attempts to get up, it’s unclear whether or not he’s trying to get back at Chris again or just simply standing up but the boy on top of him isn’t having any of it.

Chris slams Jace back into the ground, pushing his back into the slightly rocky dirt. “Let me get up asshole” Jace spits out, clearly embarrassed by the crowd of people watching him get his ass kicked.

All that can be heard is a petty laugh from Chris as he looks down at Jace one last time. “Nah. Go ahead. You’re tough. Speak about her that way again and see what happens, pretty boy.”

For once in Jace's entire life… he’s silent. He just looks to the side to avoid eye contact as Chris gets off of him. I thought this was the end, that the nightmare was over, but of course, it’s Jace we’re talking about.

“That bitch would never even like you.” Jace mumbles under his breath, eyes still trained on anything but Chris.

Unsurprisingly Chris looks down at him, both figuratively and literally. What does surprise me, however, is how Chris immediately spits at the pathetic boy on the ground. “Leave my girl the fuck alone, for good.”

This really set Jace off. Despite his inability to commit to a proper relationship, he was always possessive of me. “Your girl? She's only had one dick down her throat and it’s certainly not yours.”

He’s propped up on his elbows now, a familiar smug smirk on his face. All I feel is a pit in my stomach at his words. His words are spoken in front of everyone I care about.

I’m not a slut. It’s only ever been with Jace, and I never once enjoyed it as much as I thought I was supposed to. But Jace always told me I was good. For a long time, his approval was enough for me.

It became less about me finishing and more about having someone to tell me that I was doing a good job. And now he’s sharing my most intimate details in front of all these people. In front of Chris.

I feel eyes on me as the tears well up in my eye sockets, my arms crossed over my body to cover whatever dignity I have left.

Chris takes one look at me standing there watching in horror, before focusing back on Jace who’s now standing up. Jace clearly thinks he’s won this one since he still has a smug smirk even as he wobbles, but his nasty words don’t stand a chance next to the fuming boy who’s walking back towards him.

It all happens so fast, Chris’ sharp boot being kicked into Jace's side with full force. Jace is knocked back into the dirt as Chris shows no sign of stopping his painful movements.

Within a few seconds, my uncle is walking toward Chris to pull him back by his shoulders. “Get the fuck off me!” Chris yells out, eager to return to where he left off.

But Uncle Buck just pulls him back further, his grip strong. “Take a walk boy.”

“But-“ Chris tries to argue but it’s clearly a lost cause because the gaze in my uncle's eyes is more serious than Chris has ever seen it. He drops his head, breathing heavily, too full of respect for Buck to argue.

“Take a walk. Figure out your shit. Then come back, son.”

“Evie?” He asks softly, looking more like a kid being put in timeout than the man who just kicked someone’s ass for me.

“Birdie’s got her. Go.”

Before he does, we lock eyes one more time. But all the anger seems to have vanished from his features and he just looks… disappointed. Before I can even think of something to say, he turns and walks away with his hands on his head.

Once he’s out of eyesight, the crowd starts to dissipate since it’s clear the scene, and the party for that matter, is over. My uncle helps Jace from the ground with my dad’s help and I finally regain my ability to move.

As I come closer, Jace takes a step back like he thinks I’m going to take the next swing. Honestly, I really should. But I just clear my throat and narrow my eyes at him. “Bitch, huh? Too much baggage for you?”

He scoffs, his eyes damn near bucking out of his head. “That’s what you’re worried about? I was just viciously attacked! I need my fucking lawyer.”

My lip curls up in disgust as I watch him pat his pockets for his phone and come up empty. “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. You’re such a fucking loser.”

He pauses and looks up at me, giving me a hateful look that turns slowly into a wicked smile. “You want to talk about losers, sweetheart?”

Since I know him well enough to know when he’s going in for what he thinks is a kill shot, I brace myself before shrugging and forcing a mask of indifference. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Jace.” I lie. “I don’t care.”

“What about her?” He says, nodding at Lydia from where she stands a few feet away. As soon as she meets my eye, she goes frozen and pale as if she’s seen a ghost. And before he says another word, I know.

Memories resurface so quickly, that it feels like I’m watching them happen to someone else. Lydia freaking out whenever I touched her phone. The way Jace always remembered only two of our group’s orders at Starbucks- mine and Lydia’s. How conveniently they always seemed to end up near each other at events and parties.

My breathing hitches as I face her fully, fighting as hard as I can to keep my composure. “How long?”

“Y/N, please-” She tries to croak out, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand.

“How fucking long?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment and Jace chimes in behind me with an arrogant flair. “A year. About a week after we fucked to be more accurate. Great week for me.”

Before I can blink, my dad snatches him by the shirt and throws him against the side of the house. “I suggest you start watching your fucking mouth. It’s gonna get you hurt.” Dad lets him go and steps back with a warning look. “Go get your shit so I can get you back to your daddy.”

My head is reeling as I look around dazed. The expressions range from anger to shock, and even worse… pity. I can’t take it anymore, so I turn to rush to my room until I hear Jace call out behind me.

“And tell your little boyfriend, he can expect a call from my attorney.”

I freeze and look over my shoulder, surprising both Jace and myself when I burst into laughter. “Try it and I’ll tell your dad every fucking thing I know. I’ll start by advising him to check his gambling books.”

All the smugness abandons him as he goes white at my words so I give him a huge grin of my own. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

************

By the time I finally force myself to get out of the bath, I’m feeling completely numb. I’d sat in there for an hour, basically just staring at the wall and trying to figure out how I’d been so stupid.

I’m not even sad, not really. But there’s this ache in my heart like something is missing. I guess that’s what happens when you love someone for this long and lose them. Or maybe this is just proof of what my mind has been telling me all along- that I could never be enough.

When I’m dressed, I sit on my bed and check my messages. I’ve fallen out of the habit lately but tonight I’m longing for connection. There are a few worried texts but I ignore most of them, only answering Abby and letting her know I’m okay.

There’s a message from Brielle swearing she had no idea about Lydia and Jace, but I’m not sure if I can believe her, and I don’t have the brainpower to try to figure it out tonight. She’d left along with the other two at my dad’s insistence and I honestly think it was for the best. At least until I figure out who I can and can’t trust.

A sharp knock sounds on my door and I sigh deeply and toss my phone before telling them to come in. Birdie strolls in holding a plate of the Welcome Home cake we never got to cut and I can’t help but smile.

“Hi, my bunny. How are you feeling?” Her voice is so kind and the question is so genuine, I feel like I’m about to crumble in her hands. I try, I really try, not to Iet a tear fall as I nod quickly, but I fail.

She rushes over to me, places the cake on the nightstand, and takes me into her arms. “Let it out, honey. You’ve earned it.”

So I cry. Even though I’m not that surprised, even though I maybe even expected it. I cry for all the wasted youth I gave him. For all the effort I put into trying to be a girl he might love. For all the parts of me, I threw away to make room for him.

And yes, I maybe even cry for Lydia. For the days when I’d have called her my closest friend. I sob into my aunt’s arms until there’s nothing left to give, until my head throbs and my chest aches. Until, before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep.

*************

I wake up with a start to an empty and dark room thinking I must have slept through the next day, but realize it’s only been a couple of hours. What the fuck? Isn’t heartbreak supposed to keep you asleep or something?

Groggily, I wrap my throw blanket around my shoulders and head into the living room to see who’s still awake but, to my surprise, it’s empty. I guess they decided to go out since I did technically ruin their party. Fair enough, honestly.

There’s not much to do in the house alone, so I decide to go see the one girl I know who won’t ever let me down. I just hope she’s still awake.

When I get to the stables, the door is cracked a bit and I raise an eyebrow. There must already be someone here. I look down at my pajama pants that I haphazardly stuffed into my muddy work boots, trying to decide if it’s worth the humiliation. Then I remember the events of a few hours ago…yeah, way past that point, I guess.

I don’t know what I expected to find when I pushed the door open, but it definitely wasn't this- Chris leaned against the back wall, knees to his chest and his head in his hands.

He hears the squeak of the door and looks up, his blue eyes stormy and dark. We hold each other's gaze for a long moment, neither of us saying a word until he finally stands.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here, I’ll go.” He goes to rush out of the door so I move over to block it and panic, saying the first thing that pops into my head.

“Where’s Evie?”

He pauses, not expecting the question, and blinks quickly. “She..uh.. I took her home.” A look of guilt passes over his face and he flinches. “I can’t believe I fought in front of her. Thank god Birdie grabbed her before she could see me like that.”

He sounds so disappointed in himself that I want to pull him in for a hug but I hold myself back. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

Chris levels me with a look so fierce a shudder goes down my spine. “Don’t do that. That’s on him. Not you.”

“I just don’t understand why you did it,” I admit, studying his boots instead of his face out of nervousness.

“If you think I was gonna sit back and let that bitch of a boy call you out of your name, you’ve lost your mind.” He grinds out with disgust, his skin flushing red as anger seems to settle back in over him. He starts to pace back and forth as my eyes track him in frustration.

"But what does that have to do with you? You’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with me." I say, fighting to keep my voice level and calm. I don’t want to make whatever has forced its way between us bigger but I’m tired of guessing at how he feels.

He laughs bitterly, still refusing to meet my eye as he shakes his head. “Have I? Is that right?”

I sigh, running a hand over my face. “There you go again, speaking in riddles. Why can’t you ever just be direct? I’m tired of playing these games.”

Chris finally stops his pacing and turns to meet my eye. “Games?” He asks, disbelief clear in his tone. “You think this is a game to me? I wasn’t ever playing with this, Scotch.” He gestures between the two of us widely before he spins away from me again, locking his arms behind his head.

The seconds stretch on as I stare blankly at his back waiting to see if he will say more. Just as I’m about to leave him to his thoughts, he faces me again, seeming to come to a decision.

“Fuck it.” He says simply as he crosses the space in three long strides and catches my mouth in a kiss. He braces his hands on either side of my face, the movement so abrupt and passionate that it takes several seconds for my brain to catch up.

The momentum of the kiss causes my back to hit one of the empty stalls slightly but I don't care in the slightest when Chris’ lips are on mine.

He pulls back for a moment, realizing his body moved before his brain had a chance to comprehend what he was doing. “Is this okay? I’m sorry. I don’t ever do shit like that. I just-“

I cut him off with another kiss, my hands pulling down his head to attach his lips back onto mine. This kiss is a lot different than the others we’ve shared in our time together. Usually, it’s short and sweet with smiles and small talk in between, but the passion behind this one is much more clear.

His hands trail on my sides causing me to shiver slightly at the touch. He detaches his mouth from mine again, but before I can get confused about it his lips make contact with my neck.

The way his lips suck softly on my bare skin has my head thrown back in pleasure, his hands coming up to make contact with my chest. “Fuck, Chris. I need to feel you.” I breathe out, reaching my hands towards his belt.

I can feel him hesitate, stiffening when I make contact before he groans and pulls back. His face pulls up in a helpless look and he shakes his head. “Not here.”

I furrow my brows as I try to pull him back to me but he doesn’t budge. “Why not?”

He gives me a look of disbelief as he gestures at our surroundings, kicking his feet at the hay for emphasis. “Scotch, ain't no way in hell I’m having sex with you in this dirty ass stable.”

Disappointment and a tinge of rejection tug at my chest as I nod and take a step back. “Okay.”

Tutting, Chris tilts my face up to his and presses a gentle kiss on my lips. “Don’t give me that look, baby. You know how bad I want you.”

As he speaks, he drops kisses lower and lower down my jawline until he finds a sweet spot on my neck, running his tongue slowly over it.

“But you deserve a bed…” He swirls his tongue as he pauses, his hand on my hip slipping just below my waistband. “And I deserve time.”

Moaning slowly at the sweet torture, I let myself melt into him until the frustration is too much and I push against his chest. “You making me even more horny is just mean if you’re not going to do anything about it.”

His eyes widen slightly at my desperate words as he pulls away, clearly not expecting that from me. “I..uh..never said that.” He looks around the stable. “Just can’t do a thing about it here.”

His answer was not a no, which is all I needed. I reach my hand down once more, fingers making contact with his obvious boner before I lean into his ear. “If you can’t do it here, then you’d better find somewhere you can.”

He searches my face for signs of uncertainty but he comes up short, leaning down to place one more kiss to my lips before replying. “Yes ma’am.”

***************

“Okay, Scotch,” Chris says, turning to me as he throws his truck into park. “We’re gonna have to be very quiet.”

“Why? Are we hunting wabbits?” I ask sarcastically in my absolutely atrocious Loony Toons impression.

He gives me a completely unimpressed stare before he tilts his head up toward the sky. “God, why? Why’d you give me this cornball?”

“Okay. Okay. What’s the plan?” I ask through my laugh, my stomach doing an involuntary flip when his eyes land back on mine.

Instead of answering, he watches me for a second before leaning over the center console and pulling me in for a kiss. It’s short and sweet, his thumb caressing the side of my face. I feel the heat rising to my face even before he pulls away. “Just follow my lead.”

I do exactly that, stepping carefully over the gravel and stepping to the side as he slowly unlocks and pushes open his front door. It makes a long creaking sound and we both hold our breath as we slip inside.

His house has the same classic farmhouse feel as my aunt and uncle’s except for a more antique touch. I smile when I see the floral patterns that adorn almost all of the furniture in the room- a grandma classic.

As if it wasn’t hard enough to keep my steps quiet, Evie’s toys are scattered across the floor like little landmines. I see Chris grimace as he sends a toy car zooming across the carpet accidentally. Just when I’m about to laugh at his clumsiness, I land down on a giant piano mat and suddenly I’m playing Beethoven with my feet.

Our eyes widen at the loud notes before Chris wraps his arms around my waist and snatches me off it. We freeze like we’re in a spy movie and we’ve set off a laser but we don’t hear any movement.

We take the stairs two at a time, moving as silently as possible until we reach the top. As soon as we do, Chris bursts into quiet laughter. “I knew I should have made her pick up her shit before bed.”

After what feels like an eternity we finally make it to his room, one of only two doors on this floor. He opens the door for me and ushers for me to go in first but I can’t help but feel completely awkward.

It’s one thing in the heat of the moment, but the stinging in my foot from where I stepped on a Lego has distracted my mind slightly.

When he closes his door behind him, I study him nervously before whispering, “Do we still have to be quiet?”

Shaking his head, he walks past me and takes a seat at the foot of his bed. “It’s only me up here. I mean, don’t yell or nothin’.”

This pulls me out of my awkwardness a bit and I give him a teasing smile. “Damn. I guess I’ll just have to wait to hear you scream.”

He raises an eyebrow and laughs, prodding his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “You wish.”

Still a bit too nervous to initiate anything, I take a moment to study his room. It’s a lot cleaner than I’d expect from a blue-collar boy, with only a few piles of clothes scattered around the floor. His bed is even surprisingly made.

His walls though are very typically bare, hosting only a small shelf of trophies, a framed Lil Skies vinyl, and a few pictures of friends and family on a corkboard. I scan them curiously, always desperate to know more about him.

I recognize a few of the friends but the picture of him being held by a woman with his eyes holds my attention. He looks about five years old, holding a cotton candy cone with a huge grin as he looks over at her. I run my finger over it gently, before deciding not to bring it up.

Instead, I go for something lighter and turn to point at the vinyl. “Okay, so, there’s being a fan, and then there’s an obsession. Why is it framed? I don’t even see a record player, you fraud.”

His eyes widen in faux offense and he puts a hand up. “First of all, don’t question me about the GOAT-”

“So debatable-”

“Second! You expect me to believe you don’t have a record player collecting dust at home? No chance.”

“Actually,” I say, rushing to defend myself. “It’s definitely been used, thank you very much.”

“How many times?” He questions, leaning forward and manspreading his legs.

At my very obvious wince of guilt, he scoffs and crosses his arms. “Lemme guess. It’s got Bluetooth, don’t it?”

“Okay,” I say, laughing and shaking my head in shame. “Shut up. I hate you.”

“You don’t.” He says with complete certainty and I roll my eyes. There’s that cockiness I’ve come to expect. But when I look back at him, it feels like the energy in the room has shifted a bit and I almost want to squirm.

He holds my eye contact with intensity before he gives

me a soft and firm, “C’mere.”

Anxiousness almost nails me to my spot but I fight it to walk over and stand between his legs, resting my hands delicately on his shoulders as I look down at him. He runs his hands up and down the sides of my legs, pausing to pull me in closer before continuing.

There’s nothing in the world I want to do more than kiss him at this moment so I do. Bending slightly, I press my lips to him in a slow and casual kiss that quickly turns more passionate. He lifts me onto his lap for more access before he hesitates and pulls away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his eyes bouncing between mine as if trying to detect if my mind has changed. “Nothing has to happen tonight just because you’re here.”

Even without the undeniable honesty in his tone, I would have believed him but hearing him say it out loud makes it that much easier. I nod profusely, leaning back in to kiss him again but he dodges it and takes my face in his hands.

“Gonna need you to say it, Scotch.”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything than I am about this, Chris. I need you.” I make sure to keep my eyes on his so he knows I mean it. But the minute it’s out of my mouth, it’s like a switch flips as he pulls me back in roughly.

He kisses me wildly, his lips moving against mine with every bit of neediness that I’m feeling as well. When his tongue touches mine and coaxes a tremor out of him, I realize just how much power he’s handed over to me. But before I even have the chance to test it again, he flips us over, placing his body over mine as he slides me higher up the mattress.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss with him on top of me to take a turn. My legs are wrapped around him while his hands rest on my ass in order to pull himself closer to me. I can feel his bulge on me through the restriction of his jeans but it only makes me want him more.

He seems like he's slightly lost in the kiss. That or he’s too scared to do anything else. I pull back, a sight whine in my tone as I look him in the eye. “You do know you can touch me right?”

“I just want to make this good for you,” he replies, seeming uncharacteristically sheepish. It’s not often I see him so nervous which only makes me laugh through my breath.

“You’ve already made me more wet than I've ever been and you’ve only kissed me,” I whisper, causing a smile and a sense of relief to wash over him. “I just want to know what it’s like to do this sort of thing with someone who cares about me.”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, as if the answer isn’t blatantly obvious, his hands sliding up my sides again. This time though they’re under my shirt and the feeling is overwhelming.

I nod quickly. “‘Of course I do, Chris.” He smiles, dropping his head back down to my neck to suck on the skin softly. I get lost in the feeling momentarily, his fingers slowly tugging at the fabric that keeps me from him while I try my best to remain still under his touch.

As amazing as it feels, I grow impatient quickly as the throbbing between my legs overtakes any regular thought. “Chris please.”

He pauses on my neck for a moment, lifting my shirt above my head to leave me below him in the Victoria's Secret bra Lydia bought me for my 16th birthday. His eyes linger for a moment before he finally responds, a teasing smirk on his face. “Please what?”

I shake my head and fix my messed-up hair slightly. Of course, the asshole on top of me is going to make me spell it out for him. “Stop making me wait for you.”

“A whole damn summer of driving me insane and you think I’m gonna rush this?” He scoffs playfully before his lips make contact with mine again. His hands find comfort on my chest, causing me to arch my back into the touch.

Expecting another cocky remark at my neediness, it takes me aback when instead he just instructs me to sit up, his voice taking on a deeper affliction. It takes me a second to comprehend why I'm sitting up for him until his hand snakes behind my back and unclasps the lacy fabric with one hand.

It feels very real suddenly but I try not to let myself get anxious under his gaze. I keep my eyes on his face, his kind open eyes reminding me there’s nothing to be worried about. He’s not Jace.

“You’re so beautiful. Like really fucking beautiful.” He whispers as he takes the fabric off me fully, leaving me exposed below him.

Before I can leave behind another snarky remark about how long he’s taking his head dips down to my chest. He places a few kisses on my collarbone before his mouth finally makes contact with one of my nipples.

His tongue swirls around the bud and my hands can’t help but falter to his curly brown hair. The feeling of his lips sucking on me while his hands explore the rest of my body.

He’s true to his word on taking his time with me, and for once I don’t feel the need to rush it and get it over with. For once sex doesn’t feel like a chore.

Slowly, his kisses on my chest travel down my stomach, a soft noise left behind with each one. I squeeze my thighs together in order to relieve some tension that I'm not entirely sure what else to do with.

His fingers begin unbuttoning my pants and tugging gently before I lift my hips to grant him access. He slides them off along with my socks in one swift movement.

“Wait,” I say, causing concern to overtake his face in the dimly lit bedroom.

“Are you okay? We can stop,” he replies, pausing immediately and pulling back.

I just reply by lifting his t-shirt over his head, messing up his hair slightly. “Now we’re more even.” I smile.

He returns my smile, relief in his eyes as he kisses me. A more intimate kiss than before, a softer one that reminds me there’s more than lust between us. “I really like you.” He says, voice low and urgent as if he needs to make sure I know.

For whatever reason this does it for me, more than the touches and the way his hands rest on my side. Not that I didn’t know but the confirmation lights me anew. He really likes me. He likes me for me and not some made-up version of who he thinks I should be.

“I like you more,” I reply, a huge grin plastered on my face as he lowers his body back down to align himself with my center.

He kisses just above the line of my underwear, his thumb placing light pressure on my clit through the fabric while he replies. “Impossible.”

His hands pull on my underwear slowly, as if asking for permission which of course I grant eagerly. Lifting my hips to help him out, I can’t help but flush at how slowly and sensually he pulls them off. He whispers something under his breath that I don’t catch but sounds a bit like ‘beautiful’ before he comes back to me.

Expecting him to slide inside of me at any moment, I sit up and reach down to undo his pants but instead, he pushes me back into the mattress and swats away my hand.

Just as I’m about to question him, I feel his hand reach down to make contact with the wetness that’s pooled up for him, his fingers exploring my entrance slightly as his palm places a light pressure to my bare clit.

I try my best not to moan out at the slightest contact, finding it embarrassing how sensitive I am. It’s not like I've never had an orgasm in my whole life; I just haven’t had one at the hands of another person.

His lips find comfort on my neck again to place a few light kisses before shifting his body down on the bed completely. I shift uncomfortably as his hands slowly slide down my body, the touch leaving prickly goosebumps behind.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this, yeah?” He asks as his face is completely aligned with the section of my body that’s practically begging for him.

“Chris I swear to god if you ask me that again I'll-“ I’m cut off by his tongue licking a stripe through my folds, testing the waters and realizing just how easy it is to get me to shut up.

I place my hand over my mouth at the feeling of his nose brushing against my sensitivity, trying my best to keep my hopes still under his touch.

He pulls off momentarily before lifting my legs over his shoulders to grant him easier access. “If you thought I was going to have sex with you without getting a taste, you are out of your mind.”

I don’t bother replying, refusing to prolong the teasing any longer. But embarrassingly my heart can’t help but flutter at his desire to make me feel good. It’s nice being prioritized for once.

His lips wrap around the throbbing bud as he uses his tongue in an urgency I wasn’t expecting. My hips lift slightly up to meet his face but a hand pushes me into the bed by my lower stomach to keep me still.

My stomach is tensing at the pleasure of his tongue flicking repeatedly and it's near impossible to not let out any noises. A few small whimpers escape my lips without a second thought causing me to cringe slightly at the thought of anyone hearing this.

He slows his movements every once and a while to place delicate kisses on my lower half, practically cherishing me before he continues his relentless work on my clit.

My heavy breathing fills the room and it hitches at the addition of one of his fingers. It slides into me with ease and immediately curls upwards at a teasing speed.

A moan slips out of the palm of my hand and I can feel him smile against me as his finger stretches me out and his tongue continues the flicking movement.

I feel the build-up in my stomach approach but I’m scared of releasing my hand from my lips. I’m not used to having to hold back real moans during sex.

So I tap him on the shoulder, causing the boy to immediately look up at me with eyes that have my heart beating out of my chest. He watches me as pleasure coils inside my stomach, a look of satisfaction and wonder in his eyes.

He pulls his lips away from my core to place another loving kiss on my lower stomach. “Can I put another one in?” He asks, looking up at me for permission.

I nod with a slight fear lingering in my head. Chris' fingers are definitely larger than my own.

He dips his head back down to refocus his attention on my clit momentarily before carefully entering another finger into my core. It must be obvious that it’s been a while because he works slowly.

Soon enough the stretching turns into pleasure and a gasp slips from my lips as he curves his fingers deep inside of me, deeper than before. As his fingers curl up to hit the sweet spot I could never reach, his tongue swirls against my clit at its fastest pace.

His other hand rubs soothing circles against my hip as I cling to him, pleading for more as his tongue and finger find a rhythm.

When I feel my high building, it’s so intense, so unlike anything I’ve experienced before, I almost want to run away. But I’m like putty in his hands as he works over my body, every kiss feeling like worship.

I say his name through a moan and meet his eye as waves of pleasure crash over me, his movements pausing and giving me a break as I ride it out. He crawls up my body, a grin on his face as I settle down and go weak in his arms.

Chris presses kiss after kiss to my face until I giggle and pull away to look him in the eye. “That was-”

“I know.” He cuts in, his cocksure smirk snapping back into place as he raises a brow at me. I roll my eyes and shove him up, unable to hide my smile at his quiet laughter.

We both pause for a second, him seeming unsure how much further I want to go and me not being used to taking control. But something about the way he’s looking at me fills me with confidence and I pull myself back over his lap, straddling him.

He sits up against his headboard, moving me with him, and places his hands on my hips as he studies me. I can see from his expression that he wants to ask yet again if I’m sure, so I cut him off with a hungry kiss, grinding myself against his jeans.

Straining even harder against his pants, he groans and gives in, reaching down to tug off his belt quickly. I slide off of his lap so he can stand and get off the rest of his clothes, my eyes frozen on his bulge as he removes his boxers.

My jaw drops as his length is revealed and I tear my eyes away to give him an incredulous look. Before I can stop myself, I stutter out a stunned, “Is that going to fit?”

His eyes dance with amusement, biting his lip to keep from outright laughing at me before he nods. “You can take it.”

Stepping over to his nightstand, he pulls out a box of condoms before going to put it on. My heart starts to flutter a bit when I realize that it’s a new and unopened box and I hide my smile.

Finally covered, he walks back toward me so I lie down on instinct, figuring he’ll turn me around if he prefers backshots but he tuts and shakes his head. “Uh uh, baby. This ain’t a laid back kinda night.”

He lifts me and takes my place, bringing me down to straddle him again. Panic floods me as I realize what he wants. “Chris… I don’t know…I’ve never done that before.”

Embarrassment makes me look away from him but he grabs the back of my neck and gently tugs me down for a kiss. “It’s okay, Scotch. I got you.”

Nodding slowly, I let the feeling of safety settle over me before I give up control. Chris guides me up by my hips, placing me against his dick but letting me set the pace.

With a steadying breath, I slowly lower myself down inch by inch, gasping as he fills me. When I think there’s no way I could possibly take anymore, I look down and realize he’s only halfway inside. Meeting his eyes, I give him a helpless look and he squeezes my hips.

“You’re alright, baby. Just like that.”

I can hear the strain in his voice as he tries not to move to let me adjust and it spurs me on until I completely bottom out. Chris whispers a quiet string of curses, screwing his eyes shut in pleasure. “Fuck, I knew you’d feel like this.”

Moaning at his words and feeling my wetness pool around him, I rock my hips and throw my head back. I swirl my hips, trying to find a rhythm that feels right until Chris lifts me again.

This time, he’s more urgent and a bit rougher, tugging me up and down as he thrusts his hips up to meet mine. I move with him, letting him push deeper inside of me until I want to scream. I want to lean down and kiss him again but the friction between us feels too good to break the rhythm.

Deciding to fight for my sliver of dominance back, I brace my hands on his chest and set my own tempo. It clearly drives him crazy, his hands gripping my hips tighter as he moans out my name. Not a pet name. Not even Scotch. But my name. And the way it sounds on his lips is enough to have me clenching against him.

“Fuck.” He groans, his hands traveling up to squeeze my breasts as they bounce with our movements. “That’s my fucking girl.”

My moans must get too loud because he pulls me down and smashes his lips against mine, swallowing every whimper he coaxes out of me. I try to hold off when I feel another orgasm tearing through me, desperate to stretch this feeling out forever. But it’s no use.

“Chris, I’m coming-” I try to say against his lips but he already knows, pulling back to watch me fall apart on top of him.

I press my face into his shoulder as I come around him, my teeth grazing his skin as I shudder with pleasure. Knowing I’m about a second away from tapping out, he picks up his pace, his lips going to the base of my throat.

He lets out a strangled sound before going limp and wrapping his arms even tighter around me. Neither of us moves a muscle, not even bothering to pull out as we breathe heavily skin to skin.

There’s a moment of fear, of insecurity, when I’m not sure what will happen next. So I lie as still as I can hoping to prolong the moment when everything changes. The fear stays as he finally pulls away and goes to clean up. It persists when he comes back and hands me an oversized shirt and a pair of his boxers.

It isn’t until he’s laid down beside me, my body pulled flush against his that I understand. Not until he leans me back to press a sweet and casual goodnight kiss on my lips.

He’s not anything like the boy I loved before. He can be a safe place to land

🏷️/ @sttzee @tillies33ssss @miloisdone1 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @mrsmiagreer @asturniolos @teapartyprincess4two @whicked-hazlatwhore @sukiipjs @fratbrochrisgf @bueckerssturns @imfromthediningtable @st4rswrld @thvvluvr @sturnssmuts @littlenerdybee @sturniolossss @iloveneilperry @eclipzw @chrissloverrrrrrr16 @sstvrnioloo @fwskullz @luv4kozume @breeloveschris @leighbronk @sophia-77n @xoxo4chrisss @ribread03 @h3arts4harry @chrissystur @pepsiboyy @watercolorskyy @sturnsmia @rorylovesmatt @fake-sturniolos @slut4chriss

#maggie b writes #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo au #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo headcanon #cowboy chris sturniolo #cowboy!chris #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo fandom #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo smut #maggie b talks too much

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Welcome to my Tuesday morning PSA about plastics!

So--I was walking along the Bolstadt beach approach sidewalk here in Long Beach, WA yesterday afternoon, and I started seeing these little orange pellets on the ground that looked a little bit like salmon roe (but probably weren't). So I picked one up, and it was most definitely rubber. I went around picking up every one I could find, and while I didn't keep exact count I probably amassed 50-60 of them. I took this picture before depositing them in the nearest trash can.

These are airsoft gun pellets, and you can buy them in big jars containing thousands of them. That means that someone who decided that the beach was a great place to shoot their airsoft guns could easily litter the place with countless little bits of plastic rubber in less than an hour. We already have a huge problem here with people leaving trash, including tiny bits of plastic, all over the beach (you should see the gigantic mess after 4th of July fireworks when thousands of people come in from out of town, blow things up, and then leave again without picking up after themselves.)

But these airsoft pellets have a particularly nasty side effect. You know how my first thought was "wow, those look kind of like salmon roe?" Well, we have a number of opportunistic omnivore birds like crows, ravens, and several species of gull that commonly scavenge on the beach, especially along the approaches because people often feed them there. If I can catch the resemblance of an orange airsoft pellet to a fish egg, then chances are there are wildlife that will assume they're edible.

Since birds don't chew their food, they probably won't notice that the taste or texture is wrong--it'll just go down the hatch. And since they can't digest the pellets, there's a good chance they might just build up in the bird's digestive system, especially if the bird eats a large number of them--say, fifty or sixty of them dropped on the ground along the same fifty foot stretch of sidewalk. The bird might die of starvation if there's not enough capacity for food in their stomach--or they might just die painfully of an impacted gut, and no way to get help for it. If the pellets end up washed into the ocean, you get the same issue with fish and other marine wildlife eating them, and then of course the pellets eventually breaking up into microplastic particles.

You can get biodegradable airsoft pellets; they appear to mainly be gray or white in color rather than bright screaming orange and green. But "biodegradable" doesn't mean "instantly dissolves the next time it rains." An Amazon listing for Aim Green biodegradable airsoft pellets advertise them as "Our biodegradable BBs are engineered to degrade only with long-term exposure to water and sun and will degrade 180 days after being used." That's half a year for them to be eaten by wildlife.

I don't know, y'all. That handful of carelessly dropped rubber pellets just encapsulates how much people don't factor in the rest of nature when making decisions, even on something that is purely for entertainment like an airsoft gun. We could have had a lot of the same technological advances we have today, but with much less environmental impact, if we had considered the long-term effects on both other people and other living beings, as well as our habitats. We could have found ways from the beginning to make these things in ways that benefited us but also mitigated any harm as much as possible. Instead we're now having to reverse-engineer things we've been using for decades, and sometimes--like the "biodegradable" airsoft pellets--they still have a significant negative impact.

But--at least there are people trying to do things better, thinking ahead instead of just on immediate profit. We're stuck in a heck of a mess here, figuratively and literally, and changing an entire system can't be done in a day. Maybe we can at least keep pushing for a cultural shift that emphasizes planning far into the future--if not the often-cited "seven generations ahead", then at least throughout the potential lifespan of a given product.

#plastics #microplastics #environment #environmentalism #conservation #nature #pollution #litter #birds #tw animal death #animal welfare #ecology #science #wildlife #animals #scicomm #pnw #airsoft #biodegradable #solarpunk

[levitiquee]

All that's left.

“I know you’re there.”

Levi called out, startling you. You’ve been watching him from the side of the wreck, watching as the ghosts of your comrades appeared for one last time, one last salute. One last declaration of all they dedicated. One last goodbye.

And when Hange gave you a nod, you nodded back.

You two are all that's left.

You stayed out of his sight even after they disappeared, giving him the privacy to mourn. God knows he needed it. You didn’t think he had noticed your presence, but then again, who were you trying to fool? His extraordinary instincts were never to be underestimated.

Sighing, you pushed yourself to stand straight and stumbled forward. He glanced at you with the side of his eye. Ever resilient, ever strong, the cracks were so slight, just barely there. But you knew. You could always tell.

“Hi.” You mumbled. He stared at you as you dragged yourself in front of him, slightly limping.

“Nice of you to make it out alive.” He said.

“Who would’ve thought?” You shrugged.

“You made an ugly titan by the way.”

“I’m sure you would’ve looked charming.”

“Bet.”

You smiled. The conversation was so unbelievably normal. Here, in the wreckage of everything, all the corpses, smoke, blood and ruins, here you were, back to how it always was. It almost felt surreal. Almost as if you concentrated hard enough, all of it would go away and you’d find you and him back in the soggy cafeteria of the scout headquarters, back to bantering with him and arguing about silly little things that don't really deserve arguments but it’s you and Levi so of course it’d end up an argument.

You felt so old suddenly.

How come you ended up here? In this way?

And Levi looked so tired, you could cry. Hasn’t he given enough? Doesn’t he get to rest now?

“Does that..” You glanced down at his leg, the one he had spread out in front of him. It was clear it was beyond repair. The fabric of his pants were torn at the knee, from where it was crushed between the titan’s jaw, a bloody, mangled mess. “Does that hurt?”

“Not really, no.” His eyes went to where yours were. “Numbed down a while ago. Can’t feel shit really.”

You sighed. "Not very humanity's strongest anymore, huh?"

Levi raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" He said. "Careful, I could still kick your ass."

"I'm sure."

You grinned. Then went ahead and dropped yourself beside him. He frowned.

“Shouldn’t we be getting up now?” He said. “Why are you getting all comfortable?”

“Why not?” You muttered, pulling your legs upto your chest, hugging them. “What’s it matter what we do or not? Armin’s the hot shit now, let him deal with shit.”

He didn’t answer, but he made no attempt to get up either. If anything, he looked more relaxed. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to spend the rest of your life here. After all, you were so tired, and you were sure he was too. This was as good as anywhere else would be.

Because there’s no home to return to anymore.

“Do you think there’s anything left of Hange to bury?” He suddenly said.

You shuddered. What do you answer to that?

And your head pounded so hard, you couldn’t really think. Far away, you could hear someone yelling at another someone, but you couldn’t bother to pay attention to the words. Armin and the others would figure something out surely.

You were exhausted.

“Say, Levi.” You said tiredly, nudging him slightly.

“What?”

“Wanna get married?”

Levi almost choked, he was suddenly all uptight, stiff as a board as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“What the fuck?” He asked, scowling. “Are you seriously gonna make jokes here? Here?”

“Not joking.”

You lifted up your head, tilting it to look at him. It was hard to tell whether he was annoyed or flustered. You’re not sure where the sudden boldness came from, but this is as good a time as any. Might as well. “You’re right. It’s a bad time to make jokes. So I’m dead serious.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.” You nodded, turning your expression very serious.

“You’re weird as fuck.” He sputtered out after a few attempts to speak. The tips of his ears were red, red as it always was whenever you used to jokingly suggest that he should date you. Except you weren’t really joking anymore. You haven’t been joking for a long, long time.

“I mean..” You closed your eyes. You were too tired to even feel embarrassed. “We’re the only ones left. Me and you. You’re all I have left, Levi. So, why not?”

He stared at you for a few seconds, gaping. Then he started shaking his head. “You’re insane.” He finally said.

“You’re just realizing that?”

“No.” He muttered. “You’re insane. And it’s rubbing off on me.”

He turned to you, peering at you with one good eye, pondering. And finally, he made up his mind.

“You’re insane. And I’m no fucking different.” He sighed. “I must’ve hit my head pretty damn hard because I’m actually considering this shit.”

You grinned. “Go on, say it. You like me.”

“Wrong. I tolerate you.”

“Good enough. You don’t tolerate a lot of people, so I’ll take it as I'm special.”

He sighed, turning away, hoping that’s enough to hide his heart from you. You were special to him, always. But you didn’t need to know that. He didn’t want you to know that. He didn’t know how to let you know that.

“Can you believe us?” He scoffed. “We’re practically sitting in a graveyard. Half the world’s ruined but then there’s us.”

“That’s fine. Let’s keep being us. The world can go fuck itself. Meanwhile, we can—”

“Do not finish that sentence.” He glared.

You stopped, a laugh breaking through. And you laughed so hard your stomach ached and there were tears lining in your eyes. And even Levi smiled, just the slightest, barely. A subtle quirk of his mouth.

“We’re insane.” You admitted. With that, you stood up, stumbling a little before you found your balance. You reached out your hand to Levi, who took it without question.

“Come on, Lev.” You pulled him up, letting him wrap an arm around you to brace himself. “Let’s go home.”

You were right, Levi thinks as he limps with you, letting you support him. It was nice to finally let himself lean on someone.

You two are the only ones left.

You’re all he has now.

The world has taken enough from him. He’s so tired of letting go.

And he’d be damned if he let you go too.

#levi ackerman #aot #levi #captain levi #levi heichou #aot fandom #snk #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot levi x reader #captain levi x reader #levi x reader imagine #levi x reader imagines #levi x you #levi x y/n #captain levi x you #levi heichou x you #levi thoughts #aot levi #aot levi ackerman #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi fluff #levi heichou x reader #levi hurt/comfort

[ao3commentoftheday]

Idk if this is too broad of a scope for this blog, but if you could answer this, it'd be great.

I've been in a writing rut since I started getting serious about writing, and I've identified the issue in the past month or so: I slant heavily on the gardener end of the writing spectrum and all the advice on writing I've ever seen was for architect-style writing. Not once in the eight years I've been serious about writing did I find any guides on gardener-style writing (and if it says it's gardener-style, it'sreally just architect-style with gardner aspects), and my experience has just been more or less jamming a square peg into a circle hole, getting nothing written and feeling bad about it.

Now I'm unlearning all the architect-style habits that are destructive to me as a writer, but I can't find any resources for gardeners aside from Stephen King's On Writing. If you or any of your followers know how to help a gardener's writing, that would be great. I have so many fic ideas I want to write, but can't since I'm learning to write all over again.

For those who don't know what gardener and architect refer to when it comes to writers, a gardener is a writer who starts with the seed of an idea and lets it grow in whatever direction the light shines. They prune it and weed it as they go but otherwise let the idea lead the way. An architect, on the other hand, plans their stories out first and then writes them. They have a structure and the details all mapped out first and then the writing is just executing on that vision.

As a gardener myself, my biggest piece of advice is to avoid writing advice. Like you've said, the majority of it is aimed at people who do things like plan and plot and worldbuild ahead of time. Because of the structure that that writing style enjoys, providing "one size fits most" writing advice works well for it.

I tend to find a lot of that advice to be counter to what I need to do. Planning a story out ahead just makes me feel like it's already written. Building out the world before I start writing it feels like a hollow exercise - more like writing an encyclopedia than developing a land and culture for my characters to inhabit.

What I find useful is taking an episodic approach to writing. The entire story will be like a season of a television show and each chapter is like one episode. I always have my eventual "season finale" end goal in mind, but any particular chapter can meander closer to or further from that goal. It's alright to take a circuitous route, as long as I get to my destination in the end.

It's also alright if my destination changes as I'm writing. Sometimes those meandering paths take me in a more interesting direction than I was originally going down, and that shifts the story. As long as you're vaguely following a three-act structure (or 5 act or 7 act), the flow of it will feel familiar to your readers and they probably won't really notice it happening.

This advice I'm giving might not ring true to you either. You didn't have a specific problem to address, so I've been wandering a bit in my reply. Really what it comes down to is paying attention to yourself and your needs. Figure out what it is that keeps you writing and what it is that makes you stop. Do more of the former and less of the latter - and don't worry if what you're doing is "weird" to someone else.

I write directly into the AO3 window (which AO3 specifically tells you NOT to do, btw) because drafting first in google docs or something takes the fun out of it for me. I post my chapters without previewing them first. I write in 800 to 1500 word sprints, and I focus on dialogue, and I almost always try to end on a joke or a pun or a cliffhanger. These are all things that make writing an activity that I want to do.

I can't really say anything much more specific given your ask, but I hope something in here was helpful. Let's see if any gardeners out there have some resources or advice that might work for you.

#asks and answers #long post

[worldsover]

The Strongest Man Alive

~4k words, oral, gentle dom!Irene

The moon—a weak thing—casts a soft glow through your curtains, illuminating the tangled sheets and two figures and eight limbs entwined. Bae Joohyun. Yours. And yours, she tastes of soju. You push away the curtains of her dark brown hair. You must do better than the moon if you want to see her face.

You don't want to see her face. How weak. Want can't be enough. Want is the moon whose light could never push.

Of course, it's need, this need above gravity—you will fly under your own power to see her gentle eyes shaped like almonds, the scrunch of her petite nose, or the tinge of pink on her cheeks. Such a tinge, you've pulled into her milky skin with each kiss.

Of course, it's need: if you could draw something so symmetrical as the oval of her face, you would be putting your work in galleries. Instead, you find yourself here, marveling at the slope of her jaw. At the slope of her jaw, your lips dance, taste one bead of sweat. Then, you're latched to her neck, making her moan.

Her body yearns against yours. Arms around your neck, your stomachs press together like puzzle pieces (more like magnets: two separate things now one). Her legs, those endless legs, lace around your hips as if they've been there your whole life. They've been there for twenty-six days, if you were to start counting from when you first asked her out. They've been there for five years, if you were to start counting from when you first met her as a friend of a friend. They'll be there forever, because why would you bother counting down when you could count up.

But you couldn't count up how you got here. The nights you shared in your bed or Joohyun's bed were innocent, simple: movies, warm kisses, cuddles. You had expected even slower than that. The lurid moans or the hands on your ass weren't part of the plan. There never could have been a plan. You didn't understand how fate penciled in you and Joohyun as a couple. The woman eight years your senior, aloof and intimidating and introverted. You'd overwhelm her with energy. She'd scare you with an icy glare.

This isn't Joohyun.

Love and care as a person is closer to your real Joohyun. As you aspire to redden and purple her sensitive neck with your lips, her gaze into you is as a stronger light, the morning sun, whose warmth is true and full. The air too, whatever is left between your bodies, crackles with heat, making sleep and a timeful waking for work both distant dreams. Your hand runs down the back of her neck, over thin layers of sweat on her skin, before slipping under her shirt to explore further.

Asymmetries and imbalance—you're understanding these are inescapable parts of you and Joohyun, the longer you count the time together. She's the leader. You're the follower. She might be examining your gluteus maximus like a butcher inspecting meat, pulling you by the chin to kiss your lips again, but you have to ask her: "Do you mind if I touch you lower?" See, gravity is the moon is weak is if as if gravity is not Joohyun's, and in her orbit you float and careful to stay, you seek permission even when you don't need it.

Float higher. Joohyun giggles. It's an often sound, not often enough. "Of course, handsome." That's Joohyun's voice playful and light and airy as a cloud; this is Joohyun dark and dangerous and knife in hand—"Touch me wherever you like."

Because if she says it like that, like she's honestly out to kill you, honestly out to stab you in the heart and in the brain and in the nerves until she's carved out everything that isn't just primal reaction and until something gets cold and hardens and presses against her midriff—and when she does it again, "Go ahead, touch me," and she grabs your wrist and makes you place your hand on her asscheeks—then how are you supposed to react when she says:

"How do you feel about… letting me suck your dick?" Lip bite and all?

This isn't Joohyun. It really isn't Joohyun. Not those eyes, not this soon. Not the woman who dressed modestly, who kept her distance from other men, who fiercely protected her female friends. Your Joohyun would ask for patience. And you were content with your Joohyun. But then, your Joohyun was an image, based on an external shell of a woman, and you can't imagine the real, soft, fleshy bits exposed more than Joohyun right now. And this Joohyun, were you less or more content with this one? Man, take the blowjob—you, an idiot, instead ask, "Now? Suck? T-tonight?"

"Yes, honey," she replies, but her voice is not so sweet. It refuses to let up, to let go of the boning knife; it stays deep, twisting your stomach. "I didn't ask for tomorrow."

Nothing more that you want, but unable to answer, you kiss her again with newfound urgency. Your fingers sink into her ass, and you taste her moan on your tongue. A breathless noise, a hint of a cloud, as if this might tip the balance or untwist the blade. And then a mote of a daring idea in your mind blossoms to sudden action without thinking. "Only if you beg for my dick," you say, with a seriousness that keeps your mouth open. You were not the weakness and the unweight of a pithy satellite.

Joohyun raises a brow. It's over. It's all over. Goodness. You had one chance with the prettiest woman, and now what? But then she grins wide. "Oh, look at you. How bold." This is a smaller knife, used to pare the skin off of fruits, and the pride off of men, so you pout and she pets your head, and you feel better and you feel smaller. "No, I'm kidding, baby. That was really hot. Do it again."

You look down. You are the weakness and…

"I'm sorry, I swear, you did great. I would gladly beg for your cock any day." Joohyun sits up against your hardwood headboard, looks at you through her long, fluttering lashes. "Please? Pwease? Pretty pleeease, can I suck your cock?"

This isn't Joohyun. And this isn't a paring knife, nor a boning knife, nor a playful cloud of words. This is a spoon that eats ice cweam. She pushes her chest together, tempting with cleavage peeking out of her bra top.

In response, you let out a soft whimper.

"Aww, does that mean yes?" she asks.

"Mhm," you say, a shy nod in addition.

"That's my man," she says. That must be the natural truth already. Joohyun said so.

As you sit up to copy her, she pushes you back down using a gentle hand on your chest.

"Just relax and let me take care of you, baby. Be a good boy and trust me." This knife… it cuts your sandwiches in a diagonal, and you think maybe this time, there is a hint of honey in her voice. She coos as she slides between your legs and tugs down your pants with her teeth. When your ankles are free of the pants, Joohyun returns her head by your thighs, and says with a sigh, "Ahh, it's like unwrapping a present. Look at that pretty bulge of yours."

You understand this as a rhetorical command, but still, you look, because by that pretty bulge rests Joohyun's face, and you shudder at its proximity. And while the knife metaphor is over, the mouth literal is more evocative than ever. She trails fingers down your chest and stomach while lips linger on your underwear. When she laps at your bulge, even if she only uses the very tip of her tongue, saliva's wetness seeps through the fabric. Even if the tip of her tongue is scalpel-precise in tracing your cock's outline, your own pre-cum must be seeping too. Her every motion is subtle but effective; you're already mewling loudly, already writhing beneath her.

"Looks like someone is excited." Joohyun uses her teeth again, now fully freeing your arousal from its confines. Your cock springs out and nearly hits her face, and she lets out a delighted squeal and takes control of the unruly actor with her small fingers. "I'm excited too. Gosh, it's so cute how hard you are."

As you lay there, breathless and trembling with desire, Joohyun gazes with adoration and palms along your hardened length. "Please," you say like you don't know what you're asking for.

Contented, Joohyun purrs, grazes her nails on your shaft, traces sinuous patterns down your pulsing vein. "You're so precious," she whispers. Then, stricter (more knife): "But I don't hear enough begging yet."

You're pathetic, weightless, suspended on four strings for each of your four limbs and Joohyun is your puppetmaster and Joohyun is your everything so with your everything, you say, "Please, I need it so bad. Need to feel your mouth on me, n-now. I'm a good boy, please, I'll be good for you, I'll do anything for it. You said you'd take care of me, p-please, I need you to…"

Joohyun places a finger on your lips, and you gulp.

"Aww," she responds with a soft chuckle, soft kisses traveling up your length. "Anything? Hmm…" With each deliberate swipe of her tongue, especially as it crosses the ridge to your cockhead, the most concentrated bundle of nerves, unexpected sounds escape from deep within your throat. Nothing, it seems, is ever in the plans, but especially not the low, throaty, bubbly noses, or the high whiny pitches you make. As her lips ghost over the tip of your cock, you want to grab her hair, to command her to suck—no, you don't.

This isn't you.

If Joohyun expects you to wait, whether it's the next few seconds or until the next moon phase, you will wait.

So you wait.

Now the warmth of her breath is like the warmth of her skin is like the quiet warmth of a distant star, only felt in the deepest calm of the night.

Her dark eyes pierce you with their gaze, dark as to match the inky blacks that surround such a faraway body.

Outside, the wind hums low, like it too is aware of the moment between you and Bae Joohyun. But no one, not even nature, can understand truly.

It's all so hot, so bright, so loud.

After a moment too long and not a moment too soon, Joohyun closes her mouth over your cockhead. It's slow, so slow, like she's tasting this inch and considering the merits of its flavor, then she's savoring the next inch, where she compares and contrasts its mouthfeel. Embarrassingly loud, you groan as she takes more of you in, creating a vacuum seal with her lips. And as if the wet sounds aren't enough, she hums around you, sending vibrations that might start at your cock but cascade through your body. Every now and then, her tongue darts out to flirt around your frenulum while her equally adept hands twist your shaft and fondle your ballsack.

Suddenly, her sucking becomes fast and urgent like a storm rolling in on a sunny day. Her eyes narrow in concentration, a look you've only seen during arcade dates or board game nights—she's trying to win something, and the prize lies in your balls.

You shut your eyelids like you don't want tears to escape, clench your thighs like you want her to lose for once. "Fuck, wait," you grit out through your teeth, "wait, wait, I'm gonna cum if you keep going like this."

Joohyun hesitates for a moment, as though her blowjob is a runaway train. But then she composes herself and pulls away from your cock with a playful smack of her lips. "Aww? Already?" she asks, and you're unsure if she's teasing as usual or in genuine dismay. "Thank for letting me know, sweetheart. I'll slow down."

She adjusts her pace: her lips linger on the base of your shaft, waning crescent, or your sensitive cockhead, waxing gibbous, and her hand has settled on a firm grip of your testicles—and none of that bodes well for your endurance. Joohyun knows exactly what she's doing to you; whenever she makes eye contact, the corner of her lips tugs into a sly smile.

"Think you can handle more?" she asks, low and husky. "I don't wanna push you too far."

She might—she will. Nevertheless, even more unbearable is the mere thought of the lack of her warm and wet ministrations on your member. "Please, keep going. It's okay."

"Promise?" She sticks out her pinky finger. You interlock your finger with hers. Though her hand is small and delicate compared to yours, the weight of the deal is not so. You've just signed a pact with the devil, but all your blood has already rushed to your cock so there's no way you had enough ink. It seems hell's denizens have no respect for legal authority: Joohyun's mouth rushes back to a vigorous rhythm along your shaft, this time allowing more foamy spit to escape the sides of her mouth. Like a sloppy drunk, she talks with a mouth full of you. "I want you to enjoy thih... but I also wanna be a little selfish and worship your cock, pwopehly—" she coughs. "And I can't do that if my precious man cums too early. So I need you to be brave and strong. You'ww be bwave, wight?"

You mouth "I'll be fine" and you've just lied to Joohyun. You wouldn't be surprised if you suddenly filled her mouth with your load, though you'd feel guilt at the lack of forewarning. You find yourself growing louder and more desperate with each pass of her lips.

"That's it, moan as much as you want, babe. I love hearing you."

"Nngh, fuck, you make me feel so good," you say, groaning, grunting, panting.

Her eyes shine with admiration, with honesty: she truly loves every sound she extracts from you. "Well, you make me feel more than just good. I think I'm in love with sucking your cock. No, I know I am. The way it pulses in my mouth, mmm, fuck... it makes me dripping wet." She licks her lips. "I wanna give you all the pleasure in the world. You deserve it."

To prove her point, Joohyun takes a break from your dick and focuses on your testicles instead. She engulfs them one by one, sucking and licking like they are the ripest, juiciest fruit; you must be incredibly delicious because her teeth graze and tug carefully at the loose skin, making you feel heavy and lightheaded simultaneously. Despite your length resting heavily against her forehead and nose and the mess of saliva across her face, Joohyun remains the epitome of beauty.

"No one else gets to see me like this, my love," she says, winking—usually, that'd be deliberate, but you wager it's the sticky saliva and pre-cum dripping from your cock onto her face. Despite the debauchery of the moment, she still manages to look adorable with one eye closed and the other half-open as if she's trying to perfect her winking technique.

Your hands instinctively tangle in her hair, unable to restrain yourself any longer as the intensity increases, both balls in her mouth.

"Close again?" she asks, releasing you from the confines of her mouth with only her fingers remaining on clean-up duty: first, she takes care of the frothy mess on her face and untangles wet strands of hair; then, she collects the sheen on your cock before licking each digit clean. She crawls up the bed, her petite form hovering above you until her face is right next to yours again. You could have never signed a deal with the devil because this is an angel. The angel presses her lips to yours, a tantalizing and bittersweet combination of her saliva mixed with your own juices.

"Does that feel better, babe? I know how much you love to taste my lips."

"Mmm, I do, thank you." Even more than that, however, the kiss is a welcome reprieve from the constant barrage of ecstasy at your genitals. Like earlier tonight, your hands roam over her body. However, now you don't just stop at her smooth curves and pert behind. Your fingers trail lower, finding their way to the warm, wet space between her thighs. As you trace her slick slit, she moans into your mouth, and you realize she wasn't lying. Her cunt is soaked. You're jealous of how much pleasure she can derive from giving pleasure. There is little resistance for your digits to glide inside, a knuckle deep, then two. In a frenzy, her hands roam as well, exploring your every dip and muscle, save for your throbbing erection and twitching balls. Again, you welcome her prudence, though you pay her in kind with a fingerfucking that accelerates.

"Mhm, yes, that's it, touch me like that." Joohyun's gasps interweave each kiss. "You're amazing, such a good, good boy. I'll make you cum such a big load in my mouth soon, I promise."

The thought of it inspires you: you bring your fingers to your lips and taste the remnants of her pleasure, salty and tangy and addicting. She watches you with a mixture of amusement and desire, her cheeks flushed.

"Is it really that good?" she asks, her voice betraying her usual confidence or playfulness as she breathes heavily.

"The yummiest," you reply with a lustful grin, already planning to tongue-map every inch of her cunt later. For now, your focus is fixed on the pleasure Joohyun can bring you elsewhere on your body. Your mind races as her rosy lips part in happiness and glisten like freshly picked strawberries. To say your dick is throbbing is an insult to throbbing; it's a bundle of fireworks ready to set off at any time. "Can... can you suck me again?"

"You sure?" Joohyun asks with a gentle stroke of your cheek, a slight pout, raised brows. There's genuine concern in her tone, however mild, but it quickly falls back to cheeky. "Maybe I should just keep kissing you again." Her pillowy lips press against yours, your jaw, your cheek. Sucks on your neck. Nibbles on your ear. Isn't enough.

You plead, your voice raw and exposed, "No, I need it. Need your mouth on my cock again. Need to cum."

Joohyun's eyes light up with mischief and she leans in close, her sweet breath caressing your face as she purrs, "You're so fun to play with. And it's adorable how much you want this."

Suddenly, her demeanor shifts and she becomes stern once more. "Say 'please' if you need it that bad," she demands.

You comply forthwith, the word slipping from your mouth like a sigh.

Before any of your reactions can inform your brain, Joohyun's lips and tongue envelop your aching cock. Then all the information comes all at once. Light as the fastest hits first as your eyes capture the determination in hers, the way her brows furrow in concentration, how her hair flies about in the sudden action. Then comes the heat, as your length disappears into the depths of her mouth, and the sound of glucks and other carnal oral noises reach your ears last.

Your replies have devolved into incoherent babbling by now; the only word you can repeat is the one she's made you say, and as much as you echo "please", she swallows your dick at just the right pace—just the wrong pace. Fast enough to make you whip your head back, slow enough to leave you on the brink of climax.

"Keep begging all you want, you're not cumming until I've had my fun. You want to explode into my mouth, don't you?" she taunts—look at the stripe Joohyun makes with her tongue. Is she cleaning the saliva on your shaft or covering it further is a question that's repeated ten times for the ten licks between the hundred dips of her mouth. "You want to pound that perfect cock into my throat and coat it with your load?" Wow, it's like she's in your head. Incredible. "Okay. Yeah. I can do that." And with a deep swallow, your head's in her as she takes you all the way down, and holds down, long enough for a single tear to swell in her eye.

Joohyun's nose jams against your stomach, and her eyes twitch—it's the wink again, or so you'd think if you didn't feel your tip jab the back of her throat. A bubble of thick saliva becomes bubbles as determined as she is to ignore her own need to breathe. With every clench of her throat around you, sparks course your nerves, or maybe it's not just the pressure, but the sight of the distension at her neck. Either way, you're unsure how lightning has yet to strike your rod. Every gag seems calculated, designed to make you squirm, and she has an uncanny ability to recognize the approach of your climax. As though through the pulse of your cock vein, she knows when to pull back just when your hairs start to raise, when the goosebumps form. The buildup of static denied its discharge. You would try to thrust your hips into her, regardless of whether you should or shouldn't but should's or shouldn't's are aren't's when she's holding your thighs down. Joohyun manages to treat your cock like a toy to tease and please herself with, despite her fucking her own face into it.

"You must be trying so hard..."

Joohyun pauses momentarily, breathes out through her nose, before another deep swallow.

"Not to explode..."

One more swallow.

"Into mommy's mouth... right?"

And then it happens. With a primal cry, you release everything you have into Joohyun's waiting mouth, her eyes widening in surprise before she eagerly swallows every last drop. Your body trembles with pleasure as she continues to suck you clean, your mind blissfully numb. Even after you finish Joohyun continues to suckle gently on your cock, sending aftershocks of hot bliss through your body; however, the overstimulation is a bucket of cold ice that has you gripping the sheets and begging through loud groans: "Please, please, ahhh."

"Please, what?"

You shake your head as your thighs clench and your eyes roll back. You're still pulsating, still unloading onto her tongue as her lips pucker and lock around your dick. "No, t-too much," you say.

"Sensitive? Aww, baby." But there's a glint of mischief in her eye that makes you question her. Before you can protest, she takes you back into her mouth, working her tongue around the underside of your shaft and suctioning with her lips, pushing herself down into your root until she has wrung you out into her stomach.

When she eventually pulls herself off your sore and spent member, Joohyun's mouth stays open. "Wow, I've never done that. I'm so, so sorry... I swear, I'm not some crazy nympho obsessed with your cock or anything."

You're not sure you believe. You are sure you forgive her. As you catch your breath and bask in the afterglow of mind-altering bliss, Joohyun's head weighing on her thigh, you wonder if what's so irresistible about your cum to her—she's still playing with a glob of it in her mouth. When she gulps, she lets out a satisfied sigh.

"Hmm... seems like you really, really liked when I said a certain word. Or at least your dick did," Joohyun suggests, flicking at and toying with your softness, making you jump.

As her eyes captivate yours, she poses a question that rocks your world.

"Would you like me to be your mommy—" "Yes."

#kpop smut #red velvet smut #male reader #reader insert

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Make This House A Home - OP81

Request from @zupercoolgirl - Hi! I was thinking about a request and since i love your writing…Here I am! So oscar and reader are together for a while now and they move together in their new apartment and is all new and boxes everywhere and they make love in their new bedroom for the first time🙈🙈

Themes: Smut, edging 👅

No part 2 requests please

Moving into together, they agree to just get an entirely new place. Rather than moving into Oscar's apartment or moving into y/n's, they both made the decision to move into an entirely new place for a kind of a new chapter with each other.

They decided to handle the move on their own, thinking it would be a fun experience. Or at least y/n did. Oscar just went with it.

Now it's just stressed y/n out.

"Unpacking is going to take forever." Y/n states looking at the boxes around them. "How do we own so much stuff?"

Before moving in together, they both sorted through everything and donated or got rid of so much stuff. But how are there so many boxes of just...stuff?!

"It's getting dark..." Y/n whines definitely feeling the weight of the whole situation pressing down on her.

They've got time to sort everything out. It's not a race weekend. But y/n had it in her head that at least half of the boxes would be unpacked and they could be in a semi-liveable apartment.

There's a brief moment that y/n seems to almost twitch at the whole room.

Luckily, Oscar had actually thought ahead and he managed to set up a mattress in the bedroom and get some sheets and blankets on it. At minimum they need a place to sleep, but he also had some other plans in mind.

"Y/n, baby." Oscar smiles trying to soothe his stressed girlfriend as he hugs her from behind while she's practically ignoring him, too focused elsewhere to return the affection. "We have plenty of time and we knew we couldn't get everything unpacked today."

"But-"

"We have time. It's ok. Anyway, I think there's something that is more important." Oscar states watching her almost pale as she turns to look at him, clearly assuming he's going to point out she's forgot something big.

"What?" She asks making him smile. "Oscar..."

"Stop worrying about it." Oscar states with y/n frowning in confusion. "How about I help you relax?"

It takes a couple more seconds for her to properly process what he's suggesting and when it hits, it hits visibly.

"Oh-Oh, ok." Y/n nods relaxing every so slightly. "But we don't have a bed."

"Ah, see this is where you thank the universe for having such a forward thinking boyfriend." Oscar smiles taking her hand and gently pulling her towards the "bedroom" or what will be the bedroom once they've actually unpacked and build the furniture.

Y/n doesn't really get a chance to comment on how sweet it is that he made the bed up, even just in a makeshift way.

Oscar has picked her up lifting her legs up around his waist before he lands them both on the bed, somehow managing to be gentle enough that he doesn't head butt her when he lands on top of her and leads them both directly into a kiss.

"I think there's only one way to make sure that this place feels like home." Oscar states earning a hum. "I was going to say we'll need to bless every corner, but I figured starting on a familiar surface might be the best way to start."

"Bless?" Y/n chokes out but he kisses her again with almost an innocent smile.

"Trust me." Oscar states moving back enough to be able to pull off her shorts.

He moves his lips down her body and smiles seeing her pussy which is always a welcome sight but right now he's definitely going to be making their first night living together something for them both to look back on as a new standard.

"Oscar." Y/n whimpers when Oscar closes the space, practically drooling for her as much as she's dripping for him.

As soon as his mouth is on her, she isn't ashamed to admit that she's a mess beneath him. They have been maybe a little neglectful to each other sexually in the sense that Oscar has been so busy and y/n has been arranging the move while he's been working that sex has sort of been on the back burner.

So maybe they're both a little touch starved.

Oscar's favourite game to play in when it comes to y/n being touched starved is edging her till she's near tears.

"O-Osc-" Her gasp cuts her short when he moves back from her, knowing she was very much about to plunder down into a very rewarding orgasm. "No. Baby, no."

She already knows what he's up to but he'll feign innocence.

"What?" He questions kissing back up her body till he reaches her boobs, god does he love her boobs and making that clear by using them to get a moan from her though he can sense the tension in her building from the deflating of her brush with an orgasm that she was deprived off.

Her back arches feeling two of his fingers push into her while his tongue swirls around her nipple. He can even feel her tummy tensing underneath him and he hears the tell tale whine before completely move back.

The panicked breaths of actually feeling distressed from the fact that he's doing it on purpose and they both know it.

"Please. Oscar." Y/n whines earning a hum as he kisses up to her neck before finally kisses her properly feeling her pull him closer to deepen the kiss for any amount of touch that she can seek some sort of pleasure from.

She's not nearly close enough to tears so Oscar certainly isn't done with her.

So after another 3 close calls of almost letting her orgasm, she's actually borderline hyperventilating when Oscar moves back from her. He's actually about ready to cum just from the sight of her flustered and breathless, almost slightly damp from a dew of sweat.

She's stopped begging, too breathless and honestly having accepts Oscar would go at his own pace and make the decision of when he wants to finally give her the relief her body is aching for.

"I'll stop torturing you." Oscar chuckles not really hiding the fact he's amused by her already being at melting point.

There's practically a puddle on the bed so they'll almost certainly have to dig a towel out and deal with washing sheets tomorrow.

Finally sliding into her, she moans completely oversensitive and the feeling of her nails raking his back as if she's trying to stop him from being cruel enough to actually edge her yet again

Neither of them take that long to finish, Oscar managing to grind down and knock her clit completely sends her over the edge and the impossibly tight hold when her whole body tenses and she whines feeling her whine into his neck feeling the heat of his cum spill into her.

For a few minutes they stay like that, just paused in a bit of a recovery period.

"No." Y/n mumbles when Oscar eventually begins to try and pull out.

"I have to baby. I just want to clean you up...and probably put a towel down if we're sleeping on here tonight." Oscar smiles making her pout but a kiss perks her up a little. "I'll be quick. I promise."

He's not nearly as quick as he wanted to be but eventually he finds the bathroom boxes and gets a cloth and towel. He also gets one of the bottles of water they'd bought from the store to make sure they has something to drink while moving the boxes.

Eventually he's cleaned up like he set out and has the towel underneath them, then pulling the blanket over them deciding that even if they're not going to sleep. They are going to bed.

"I'm gross and sweaty." Y/n mumbles earning a small laugh before he kisses her.

"Me too. But we can fix it tomorrow. If we're both gross and sweaty, does it matter?" Oscar asks while moving a hand up to shift her hair while she hums. "So which part of the house are we blessing next?"

"Oh god...whichever part, I need more mental preparation." Y/n hums before she smiles then nuzzling into his neck. "I'm so tired."

"Me too and since you've going to have us unpacking every box. I think sleep sounds smart."

"Mmm...it doesn't." Y/n yawns already half way there and very much beating him to passing out. Though in her defence he was surprised he even came back from searching through the bathroom stuff to find her awake.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fluff #op81 #op81 imagine #op81 fluff #op81 fic #op81 smut #op81 x you #op81 x y/n #op81 one shot #op81 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 one shot

[wttcsms]

angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k  synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes. 

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi. 

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked. 

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away. 

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now? 

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that?  I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” 

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

#megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #angst #fluff #one shot #drabble #smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #yakuza au #THIS IS SO OLD IM CRYING #like rereading it... omg what was i ON???

[glitterquadricorn]

Another Leclerc - social media

+ summary: When rumors go around about another Leclerc joining the f1 grid, people automatically assume its Arthur, completely forgetting about y/n leclerc. She'll do anything for a formula one seat. Even if it meant going behind a certain driver's back. +pairing: none. + warning(s): sexism, google translate (I don't speak Italian nor French but if I have something wrong, let me know), like one curse word.

face claim: Lindsay brewer

+ author's note: for a while now I've been wanting to get back into writing, but writing fics stress me out, so I figured making social media/instgram posts will be a lot easier to put together. I've also decided to change how I do social media posts and I'm trying to figure things out, so in the meantime, bear with me.

itsy/nleclerc

liked by charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari, and 20,102 others

itsy/nleclerc: *insert Sebastian Vettel quote here*

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charles_leclerc: isn't that my jacket? ⤷itsynleclerc: If I said no would you believe me? ⤷charles_leclerc: give me back my jacket or I'll tell mom ⤷itsy/nleclerc: go ahead and tell mom, you snitch

user1: Charles and y/n is exactly how my sister, and I are whenever she burrows my clothes.

patriciooward: when are you going to let me drive your Ferrari?⤷itsy/nleclerc: never. ⤷josefnewgarden: she won't even let me drive it and I'm her teammate! ⤷12willpower: she's let me drive it ⤷patriciooward: Y/N! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!! ⤷itsy/nleclerc: other than my beloved Ferrari, I only love my bed and my mom I'm sorry!

user2: this made me feel ✨poor✨

scuderiaferrari: you have great taste, miss leclerc ⤷itsy/nleclerc: thank you! :)

user3: you look real good in red liked by itsy/nleclerc

user4: I so badly want her to race for Ferrari with Charles! liked by itsy/nleclerc

arthur_leclerc: is there something you want to share with the class?⤷itsy/nleclerc: nope 🤐

user5: y/n clearly knows something we don't ⤷user6: you don't think she's the leclerc deuxmoi is talking about, right? ⤷user5: I hope not because Arthur honestly deserves that f1 seat more than her.

ScuderiaFerrari:

liked by itsy/nleclerc, charles_leclerc, f1 and 3,689,758 others.

scuderiaferrari: two-time indy 500 winner & one-time indycar champion and the first woman to be in formula one since Lella Lombardi, y/n leclerc joins Ferrari in 2026!

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itsy/nleclerc: this has always been a childhood dream of mine to race for Ferrari! grazie per questa sorprendente opportunità! (thank you for this amazing opportunity) liked by scuderiaferarri

carlossainz55: you can't be serious

charles_leclerc: papa and jules would be proud ⤷itsy/n_leclerc: I know 😭😭

pierregasly: Congrats little leclerc! ⤷itsy/nleclerc: thank you, mon frère (my brother)

josefnewgarden: I'll miss having you around ⤷itsy/nleclerc: you and misses are always welcome to come to Monaco ⤷josefnewgarden: we might just take you up on that offer

lewishamilton: hopefully this is a step in the right direction in making the paddock more inclusive and welcoming for everyone! liked by itsy/nleclerc

user1: y/n doesn't belong in formula one. ⤷user2: and the fact that she's replacing someone that didn't need to be replaced is astounding! ⤷user3: the pressure will be too much for her and she'll fail like past women who've tried to make it in f1 ⤷user4: I predict she won't make it to summer break before she quits ⤷user5: why is it so hard for you to comprehend a woman being in formula one? I mean, if you hate women, just say so.

user6: my daughter has expressed interest in karting because of y/n

12willpower: I wish you nothing but the best, kid. ⤷itsy/nleclerc: thanks, old man! 😘

user7: y/n signing to Ferrari is great and all, but I'm over here asking myself what tf is in the water in monaco because it should be illegal to be this good looking! ⤷user8: you're out here asking the real questions ⤷user9: all I'm saying is God bless mama Leclerc

Chili man🌶️ How could do this to me? I thought we were friends.

Mini Leclerc What do you mean?

Chili man🌶️ Don't play dumb, y/n. You know exactly what you did.

Mini Leclerc Yes, I did sign with Ferrari. Yes, I did take your seat. You didn't sign an extension and they reached out to me. I saw an opportunity and I took it.

Chili man🌶️ I was getting ready to talk to Fred about an extension.

Mini Leclerc Early bird gets the worm?

Chili Man🌶️ You're a real bitch, you know that?

Mini Leclerc You think that's the first time a man, much less anyone has called me that? You know as much as I do that Formula one is a competitive sport and in order to get a seat, you may have to do some unspeakable things. Let me ask you a question, though. If the roles were reversed and you were me, would you have done the same thing?

*read*

Mini Leclerc you leaving me on read lets me know you would've. But I'll never apologize for my actions, Carlos. If you have any interest in IndyCar, I can give you some resources to help you out. Good luck in any of your future endeavors, Carlos.

---

thank you to @lorarri and @majaverse for helping me out. they didn't have to do that, but they did, so this is dedicated to them! :)

tagging list:

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @patzammit @yagirlmexic @tinycyberhacker @keenmarvellover @mrspeacem1nusone @lendeluxe @alexxavicry

if your name is crossed out, I couldn't tag you.

I'm going clean out my tagging list again, so if you want to stay on it, let me know.

#f1 x reader #formula one x driver!reader #formula one imagine #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #charles leclerc x leclerc!reader #arthur leclerc x leclerc!reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 x driver!reader

[rukunas]

angsty?? deku sucks here (sorry don’t kill me)

“So?” His hands clasp together, steepled in anticipation. “What did that extra get you? Flowers? Chocolates?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.” Dynamight smirks. “I need to know so I can get my girl something better.”

You scoff as you place the bouquet of fresh red roses in a vase on his desk, courtesy of his new model girlfriend. The note, marked with a perfect lipstick stain, taunts you. “Is it a competition?”

“When it’s with Deku?” Dynamight flashes his canines. “Yes.”

“You’ll win either way. I wasn’t lying. He didn’t get me anything.” You do your best to keep the vitriol out of your voice, but there’s still a sharpness hidden in your tone.

Bakugo catches it, smile disappearing and his brows pinching together in an uncharacteristic concerned frown. “Oh… That case from the Commission is probably kicking his ass right now.”

“Yeah.” You shrug stiffly. “Enjoy the flowers.”

You feel like a bitch. Dynamight is right— you’ve seen how much Izuku has been working, spending late nights at his office, traveling abroad, meeting with some big officials in the government. You even told him to not worry for Valentine’s Day.

So, why were you mad? You had no right. And yet, you thought…

Buzz.

Your phone: Sorry baby, will make it back late 2nite :(( Don’t wait up on me

Well. It didn’t matter what you thought.

The day seems everlasting, annoyingly so. You would know— having to watch each of your coworkers get their own little presents and cards throughout the day. It would be just as bad if you went home and swiped through your phone all day, watching couple after couple post about their date plans. Fuck it, you’ll just stay back in the office and work ahead, it’s not like you have anything else to do.

“The fuck are you still doing here?” A gruff voice echoes from the hall.

“Why are you here?” You shot back, eyeing the hero who leans against your door frame. You recall when you first started working for Bakugo as his assistant, nervous to even look at him in the eye. Now, you openly glare at him. “Your date is at 8. It was hard as hell to get that reservation, you better not waste it.”

“She’s busy, said it in the note. Where’s your date?”

“He’s busy.”

He hums lowly before looking away, staring at the clutter on your desk. Precious hero figurines that you’ve been collecting for years are propped up in poses, along with a picture of you and Izuku. It was from so long ago, you barely remember the memory.

“Would you—” He starts.

“Can I—”

Silence takes over as the two of you interrupt one another.

“Sorry. You go.” You gesture at him to continue.

“Come with me. For dinner.”

“Me?”

Maybe it’s an illusion, but you swear the tips of his ear go pink. “You said it yourself. I can’t miss that reservation. And you said you don’t have plans…”

“Okay.”

“Seriously?” He sounds surprised. It makes your lips curl upward, followed by a breathless laugh.

“Why would I say no to free dinner?”

“I never said I was paying.”

“Oh, shut up, Katsuki.” It was not an illusion, you conclude, watching as his cheeks turn the same color pink as his ears. It takes you a moment to realize you said his given name.

“Alright. I’ll start the car.” He turns to walk out. “Check your desk before you go.”

“Huh?” Too late— he’s disappeared around the corridor.

Suspiciously, you scan your desk. Maybe he left some form that needed your signature? A PR proposal? But nothing seems to be out of order…

Wait. You pause, breath catching as you find the one thing that definitely was not there before. The Limited Edition All-Might Golden Figurine—the figure that was one of the ten ever made, and one that you’ve always dreamt of getting your hands on— stands boldly at your desk. You don’t know how you missed it, not knowing when it was placed there. You feel warmth bloom at your chest, knowing the one person who’d given it to you.

With hands still shaking in excitement and awe, you send out a text: I love you and I love the gift! Thanks baby!!

You find yourself grinning from ear to ear as you pack your things into your bag and put on your jacket. As you do so, your phone buzzes. A happy sigh flutters from your lips as you rummage through your purse to grab it. You knew he’d get you something! He wouldn’t have forgotten Valentine’s Day! And he’s gotten you the best gift you have ever gotten—

?? What gift?

You roll your eyes at his faux cluelessness, moving to take a picture of the figurine. But, as you do, you catch the note stuck to the bottom of it.

The handwriting isn’t Izuku’s. Though, you recognize it immediately.

Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope I won.

#incoming tag spam #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #katsuki bakugou #katsuki #bakugo #mha #mha bakugo

[rileyslibrary]

The Log Cabin: Hurt

Synopsis: You and Ghost are on your way towards your shared vacation in Scotland.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes:

This is the second part of the story. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.

Hurt/comfort.

Render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot.

No warnings. Lots of emotions towards the end, though.

———————————————————————

“You sure?” You ask as you approach a red light.

Ghost closes his eyes and leans back in his seat. He lets out a long and loud sigh behind his mask.

“This is the fifth time you’ve asked if I’m sure,��� he protests. “Ask me again, and I will throw you out of the bloody car.”

He won’t do it. He used the exact same threat when you voiced your concerns the third time. You understand him, though; you’re not even on the highway yet, and you’ve been bugging him with your insecurities.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and lower your head to the water bottle you’ve secured between your thighs.

He turns to look at you, then shifts his focus back to the road as the traffic light turns orange.

“I don’t do charity work when it comes to vacations,” he reassures you and changes gears. “I’m absolutely certain of my decision.”

You drive through the city streets, trying to reach the highway. You look out the car’s window; there are curious glances directed at you from the outside. People look alarmed, old ladies clutch their purses tighter, and fathers hold their children closer.

You can’t blame them; they’re looking at two masked figures in a car filled with tools and gear in the backseats.

“We look like we’re about to rob a bank, don’t you think?” You ask, concerned, as you observe a woman ushering her son into a store upon spotting you.

“Don’t take it off yet,” he warns you. “Wait till we get to the highway.”

He’s right. His face is unknown in the city, whereas yours is, and any identification could link him to you. That’s why he handed you a plain black balaclava before you left the base, ensuring your mutual anonymity. It’s a small city, after all.

“What if we get stopped by the police?” you ask. “Someone might have alerted them.”

He shakes his head. “Unlikely,” he replies. “The police is familiar with me and my car. Many soldiers keep their identities concealed due to the base. Civilians aren’t accustomed to it, that’s all.”

He stops at a zebra crossing and motions with his hand at the people waiting, giving them permission to cross the road.

“Look at them,” he whispers as he watches them successfully reaching the other side of the pavement. “So eager to display their faces, like they’ve never done anything sinister in their lives.”

You look at him from the corner of your eye, wondering if his words hide a twinge of guilt or envy—a yearning for freedom, just like those civilians crossing the street. They are free to walk as they please, while he is doomed to wear a cloth on his face until he’s away from anything human.

You tug at your mask. “It’s getting quite stuffy in here; mind if I...” you say and motion towards the car’s A/C controls.

He shrugs. That’s your “go ahead” sign.

You enter the highway, and he removes his mask. He reaches into the back pocket of his seat and tugs his balaclava there. He scratches his left cheek.

You follow his lead but tuck yours into your door’s side pocket. Now that your mouth is free from obstructions, you can drink water. You open the bottle and drive it into your mouth.

“Easy with the water,” Ghost advises. “We won’t find any stops for the next three hours.”

“Three hours?!” You ask.

He nods, his eyes still fixed on the road, indifferent to your shocked reaction. He reaches into the side pocket of his door and pulls a pair of sunglasses out. He secures them on his face.

“I have never seen you with sunglasses before.” You comment.

He smirks. He looks very handsome when he does that. Not conventionally attractive, though. He has a very rugged, almost weird, to point out beauty. Like those second-hand objects you find in an antique shop; they are bizarre to look at, but you can’t shift your eyes away from them. You want to study and analyse them as closely as possible.

You stare at his profile and notice him looking back at you. He still has that smirk on his face. You divert your attention back to the road.

“Sorry.” You murmur.

He looks ahead and his smile widens.

After some time, you reach your first stop; a service station with a convenience store, and fast food joint. Ghost asks if you want to grab a bite, and you shake your head. In response, he motions towards the side of the gas station.

“Loo’s over there. I’ll refuel the car.”

You hurry to the restroom; the last thing you want is to hinder his program. You better be as fast and efficient as possible.

When you return, Ghost is already in the driver’s seat. You settle into your seat beside him, apologising for your delay. He clicks his tongue.

“You went to the restroom; no need to fret.” He says as he hands you a few snacks he bought from the convenience store.

“For me?” you ask, surprised.

“For you,” he confirms and starts up the engine. “So you don’t start whining that you’re hungry when we are in the middle of nowhere.”

The rest of the trip is beautiful. The landscape shifts profoundly, from the mundane colours of the city to the towering trees that grow denser, with hues of green more vibrant than any photo could capture. The radio plays some mainstream pop music, which doesn’t suit the scenery but makes everything less awkward between you.

Occasionally, you spot a flock of sheep and comment. Ghost doesn’t respond but shifts his gaze from the road to where you’re pointing so he can give you his full attention. He smiles every time, and you wonder whether he’s genuinely happy or just trying to act friendly. Then again, when did Ghost ever try to act friendly? He’s enjoying it as well.

You must have reached the outskirts of civilisation now since the radio has started to make white noise. He switches it off.

Silence. Awkward silence.

“Sorry.” He says, which is very ironic since he was the one who lectured you a few hours ago to stop apologising for things you can’t control. “I don’t have any CDs.”

An arrogant chuckle escapes you. You didn’t mean to come across that way, but there’s no need for CDs; although the car isn’t new, it has built-in Bluetooth. You wonder if he knows it.

“Do you mind?” You ask, showing him your phone.

He looks at it, raising an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. He must be thinking you’re asking for permission to call someone.

You connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth and launch Spotify. Music starts playing again. His attention alternates between the radio and your phone.

“Why don’t you look at that!” He remarks. “I knew you could do that; I just never bothered to figure out how.”

“I’ll show you later.” You reply.

“Do you take requests?”

You nod and smile. “What’s your poison, Lieutenant?”

“Johnny Cash.” He replies. “Hurt.”

You nod again, search for the song and press play. You try to enjoy the scenery, focusing on the trees and farms passing by, but Simon’s choice of song wraps around you.

“I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that’s real.”

You turn to look at him. He holds the wheel with one hand, his other resting on the car’s window. He leans against it, his face propped on his hand.

“And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt.”

You want to comment on the song, but your throat feels tight like something’s choking you. You swallow hard.

“What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away

In the end.”

Tears fill your eyes, threatening to escape. You don’t have sunglasses like Ghost does. It’s a matter of time until he notices.

“If I could start again

A million miles away

I would keep myself

I would find a way.”

It’s sadness, melancholy—that's what you’re feeling. But is it for Ghost and his poor song choice? Or is it for you?

For your family, your friends, and the vacation you won’t get to enjoy with them? Who are you mourning exactly? He seems to be at peace with his choices. When will this bliss come to you?

Will it ever come to you?

“Hey,” he calls out, and you turn to look at him.

Too late; he already noticed.

“It’s okay,” he soothes you. “Let it out.”

As if you wanted his permission, you begin to cry uncontrollably. You gasp for air. Ghost presses a button on his door which forces your window to open slightly. The crisp air slaps your face, but you focus on the pain, just like the song says. Your nails bite into your palms as you squeeze your fists, and that water bottle falls from your legs onto the car’s floor.

Ghost reaches over, turning the volume higher as if he’s permitting you to cry as much as you want and scream as loud as you please. You turn your head to the side, looking through blurred vision at the colours of green blending together.

He clasps your fist in his hand. You refuse to relax it.

“It’s okay.” He repeats as you pass the blue sign marked with a white ‘X’ that welcomes you to Scotland. “It’s going to be okay.”

Your first unclenches and you open your hand.

———————————————————————

Part 3 (final) this way ->

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost cod mw2 #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost modern warfare #simon ghost riley fic

[ginnsbaker]

prophylaxis

Summary: The most powerful Avenger is afraid of one thing: dental appointments, or the one where you're a dentist and Wanda is a baby about seeing one

Word count: 2.6k | Warnings: None. This is just good ol' fluff

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Author's note: This has been sitting in my drafts for some time, and while this is a one shot, I might follow up with more :)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Next part: the follow up

--

Steve and Natasha are barely done with their own routine dental check-ups when the notification of an emergency mission comes through. The Avengers' annual dental visit is typically swift and uncomplicated, but the arrival of their urgent mission turns the day into something far more chaotic.

“Where is Wanda?” Steve asks, scrolling through the mission details on his phone.

Natasha shrugs, sipping on her post-check-up glass of scotch. “I haven't seen her since breakfast.”

Vision appears in the room at that moment, his face expressing the closest thing to exasperation an android can manage. “She’s only now on the chair,” he says, glancing at Steve, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Now? But everyone else is done!”

“I had to convince her to come,” Vision sighs. “I found her hiding in the back library. It took me the better part of an hour to persuade her to face the dentist.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at the revelation, trying to suppress her chuckle. The most powerful Avenger, avoiding a simple dental prophylaxis. “We don't have all day, Steve. The mission is critical.”

Steve nods, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We'll leave a note for her. She should meet us ASAP once she's done.”

Natasha gets up from her chair, glancing one last time at Vision, as she quips, “Good luck to whoever is the dentist working on her this year.”

As you approach the dental chair, you take note of the apprehensive figure occupying it. You've already seen a dozen Avengers today, each with their unique quirks and idiosyncrasies. 

But Wanda Maximoff, her gaze filled with clear distaste for the situation, seems to take the cake. She's curled in on herself, making her seem smaller than she actually is. The sight of her alone would have been enough to unnerve you, but the intermittent quivers of your dental tools due to an unseen force send a cold shiver down your spine. You can't help but wonder if you've drawn the short straw when they assigned you the patients for today.

You try your best to project an air of calm. Inside, though, your nerves are jangling like alarm bells.

“Wanda, right?” you confirm, trying to keep your voice steady.

She nods, her eyes wide as saucers.

“I promise this won't hurt,” you reassure her, even as your tools continue to rattle on the tray. “It's just a routine check-up.”

A skeptical glance is thrown your way but it's at least some reaction. Her gaze is piercing, and it takes every bit of your collected facade to keep from faltering. An absurd thought flashes across your mind: if you were to meet an untimely demise in your line of duty today, who on earth would inherit the numerous houseplants that have taken over your apartment over the years?

With a nervous smile that Wanda can barely make out behind the surgical mask you wear, you gently ask, "Shall we begin?" Your tone is soothing, carefully modulated to put her at ease.

The poor Avenger takes a deep, long breath before giving you the go-ahead to proceed with the checkup. 

For her part, Wanda begins to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of your gloved fingers in her mouth. Her gaze settles on your oversized prescription glasses that lend an air of professional yet friendly vibe. And there’s something about the clean, familiar scent wafting off your white coat that comforts her more than she's willing to admit.

She can’t help it when her mind starts drawing comparisons with last year's dentist—a gruff, no-nonsense man whose hands always seemed cold and who lacked any bedside manner whatsoever. You, on the other hand, are like a breath of fresh air with your calming demeanor and reassuring approach. Wanda blushes at the thought that, admittedly, you’re kind of a nice upgrade.

You begin the examination with meticulous care, your movements deliberately gentle to assure Wanda of your sensitivity to her obvious anxiety. As you carefully check her teeth and gums, you're acutely aware of how much trust she's placing in you, despite her apparent discomfort.

Glancing into her eyes as you angle your dental mirror to inspect her molars, you're suddenly struck by the piercing green of her irises. Even under the harsh clinic lights, they appear incredibly vibrant. Framed by the dark eyeliner she wears, her eyes are sharp and arresting. They follow your every move, staring up at you with an intensity that causes your skin to perspire under your uniform.

You've dealt with many patients over the years, some with eyes equally as fascinating, but something about Wanda's gaze is different. It's as if she's not just watching you but reading you, understanding you in a way that makes you feel exposed.

Your focus starts to waver under her scrutiny, and that's when you notice something strange. The dental tools on the tray beside you begin to quiver more violently, vibrating with an unseen force. Your heart skips a beat, realization dawning on you that Wanda's powers are reacting to her nervousness.

But it's not just her nervousness; Wanda's face takes on a look of surprise, her eyes widening momentarily. You can almost feel her presence in your mind, a subtle brushing against your consciousness. 

She's read your thoughts, albeit accidentally. 

She knows how captivated you are by her eyes. 

Catching yourself, you quickly shift your thoughts to a safer topic–your plants. The vibrant green of Wanda's eyes morphs into the various shades of green gracing the leaves of your beloved indoor jungle. Your Monstera, your string of pearls, your peace lily–

And yet, none of them are a match for the pair of green orbs that your mind keeps going back to. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck as you meet her gaze, the unspoken understanding between you making the air in the room feel charged. Wanda's cheeks take on a hint of color, and her control over her powers seems to falter, your tools–and a chair behind Wanda–now levitating a couple of inches from where they originally sat.

“I'm sorry,” she stammers, wide-eyed and apologetic. You barely make out what she’s saying with her mouth still wide open. “I didn't mean to…”

“It's okay,” you reply in a comforting murmur, pausing your examination. The room fills with the soft humming of the overhead light and the subtle scent of sterilized equipment. “I'm here with you. We'll go at your pace. Just breathe.”

Giving Wanda a few moments to calm herself, you pull back, placing the dental tools on the tray beside you. You keep your eyes on Wanda, a soothing smile hidden behind your mask. Her chest rises and falls steadily as she follows your instructions, taking deep, calming breaths.

However, you can't help but glance at the floating items around you, fearing that one of them might go straight for your heart that’s thudding loudly in your ears now. They seem to be suspended in mid-air, almost like a magic trick. Wanda catches your gaze, following it to the levitating objects. The already present color on her cheeks darken, and with a flicker of her gaze, your tools reintroduce themselves to gravity once again.

You don't comment on it. Instead, you simply offer another encouraging smile, masked by your surgical mask, but visible in your eyes. You extend your gloved hand towards the once again earthbound dental tools, feeling the cool metal against your palm. 

“Are we good to proceed?” you ask in a soft voice, patiently waiting for her agreement before picking up where you left off. 

Wanda doesn’t move, seemingly hesitant to say yes or no.

“Will it help if I talk to you?” 

She gives you a small nod in response this time.

“Alright,” you say with a hint of a chuckle. “Don't judge me if I start to sound silly, okay?”

And so you start to speak as you get back to work, recounting random memories and thoughts as you continue with the examination. You talk about funny incidents at work, share stories about your beloved plants, and even admit to that time you almost killed your favorite fern with coffee instead of water. At first, you feel slightly ridiculous, babbling about the care of succulents to an Avenger, one of the most powerful beings on the planet. But as the minutes tick by, you see a change in her. The initial terror in her eyes fades into curiosity, her body relaxes, and she even smiles at some of your sillier anecdotes.

You get lost in talking to Wanda, feeling both delighted and somewhat ridiculous that you're enjoying this one-sided conversation. You're fully aware that she can't respond with an excavator in her mouth, but it doesn't feel like she's just tolerating your chatter. Her eyes are attentive, following your movements, reacting every now and then. Her body language is open, receptive, almost as if she's hanging onto every word.

As for Wanda, something unexpected is happening. She finds herself liking your voice more and more, feeling an unfamiliar pull towards it. It's warm, comforting, and filled with a sincerity that she didn't expect. She even finds herself slightly attracted to it. But it's a foreign feeling, one she doesn't quite understand, especially in this setting.

As you conclude your examination, you realize that one of Wanda's molars needs a filling. It isn't urgent, a situation that could be deferred to another appointment if she wishes.

“Looks like you have a small cavity,” you inform her, meeting her eyes. “It's not of immediate concern, but we should schedule another appointment if you'd like to have it filled.”

To your surprise, Wanda agrees, not just with a polite nod, but with a subtle hint of anticipation lighting up her eyes. She agrees to another date, another round of you poking around her mouth with your scary dental tools. And yet, there's a hint of eagerness that surprises even her.

As you finish your work, you lean back, pulling off your surgical mask and gloves. For the first time, Wanda gets a full view of your face. It's like a silent reveal, one she hadn't been expecting, and it takes her aback.

She finds herself caught in a subtle admiration, a feeling that quickly intensifies as she takes in your features. There's something about your face that she finds herself drawn to, the warmth of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the soft contours of your cheekbones.

And when you smile, her breath hitches slightly. It's a simple gesture, but one that lights up your face, reaching your eyes and causing them to crinkle at the corners. It's genuine, open, and a little bit contagious.

“Thanks for your patience, Doctor...?” Wanda voices, feeling a tad awkward. It occurs to her belatedly that she didn't have the foresight to ask for your name before you started the check-up. 

“Just call me Y/N. It's my pleasure,” you reply, your smile deepening, unaware of the effect it's having on the Avenger before you. “I'll see you for that follow-up appointment, then?”

As soon as Wanda is escorted outside by Vision, you release a breath you didn't know you've been holding. Leaning against the counter, you try to calm the racing of your heart, which beats as if you've just run a marathon.

Wanda Maximoff is... quite a surprise. Her beauty, her vulnerability, the way she seemed to really listen to your inane chatter–it's all unexpected, disarming even. You find your mind drifting back to the way her eyes softened, the almost shy smile that graced her lips.

You quickly shake your head, trying to dispel these thoughts. This is unprofessional, you think. She's your patient. A patient who just happens to be one of the world's most powerful individuals. It's nothing more than that.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing you've spent more time with Wanda than any other patient today. You should be moving on to your paperwork, getting ready to call it a day.

But as you sit down at your desk, the fluttering feeling in your stomach doesn't subside, and Wanda Maximoff's haunting green eyes remain etched in your mind.

Walking down the corridors of the Avengers compound, Wanda finds herself in step with Vision. As they pass various agents and fellow Avengers, Vision turns to look at her.

“Wanda,” he starts, his voice taking on that concerned lilt that she's grown accustomed to. “I'm detecting unusual signs in your vitals. Your heart rate is elevated, your body temperature has slightly increased, and your pupils are dilated.”

Wanda blinks, feeling an unexpected heat crawl up her neck. Her palms are also feeling slightly clammy, and she has this weird fluttering sensation in her stomach. She tries to brush it off. It must have been the anxiety, right?

“Are you not feeling well?” Vision probes further, halting in his tracks to face her. His eyes scan her face, looking for any visible signs of discomfort. Wanda's mind races, trying to figure out how to downplay her seemingly irrational reaction to a denti–a dental appointment.

“No, Vision. I'm... I'm just fine.” Her voice sounds surprisingly steady to her own ears. She forces a smile onto her face, aiming to reassure her friend.

Vision doesn't seem fully convinced but doesn't push further. They resume their walk, but Wanda can't shake off the feeling that something has changed, something she doesn't quite understand yet. And for some reason, her thoughts keep drifting back to a certain dentist with a soothing voice, warm eyes, and a love for plants.

How did it happen that a dental appointment, of all things, has turned into the highlight of her day?

The kitchen is dimly lit when Vision enters, the only illumination coming from the withdrawn overhead lights. Natasha is there, assembling her favorite late-night snack, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She looks up as Vision approaches, her eyes curious.

“I trust the mission went well?” Vision inquires, noting the subtle signs of fatigue in Natasha's posture.

She offers a half-smile, nodding. “It did. It's all sorted now. How's Wanda after the check-up?”

Vision's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates for a moment before responding, “She is... well. The new dentist was quite effective in putting her at ease.”

Natasha smirks, spreading the jelly onto the bread with precision. “Told you a change would do the trick. I still can't believe you managed to convince Tony to switch dentists.”

“And find the perfect replacement,” Natasha adds after some thought, licking the jelly from the knife.

“It was a logical choice. The previous dentist was less than satisfactory, particularly with Wanda.” He pauses, considering something. “But this one... she seemed to have a rather profound effect on her.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking up from her sandwich. “Profound effect?”

“Yes,” Vision says thoughtfully. “I detected unusual signs in her vitals afterward. Increased heart rate, heightened body temperature, a certain... excitement in her demeanor. It was quite unexpected.”

Natasha's eyes widen slightly, and a mischievous smile begins to form on her lips. “You don't say?”

Vision gazes at the digital interface on his palm, a soft hum of approval in his voice. “Indeed, she has also filed for a leave of absence a week from now. She has another dental appointment, but this time at the doctor’s private clinic.”

Natasha pauses, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. 

Vision meets her gaze, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Do you think it could mean something?"

Natasha shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Who knows, Vis?” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. “Maybe it's just a good dentist.” And then with a wink and a knowing smile, she adds, “Or maybe…”

She leaves the thought hanging, deliberately ambiguous, and exits the room, her satisfied crunching echoing down the hallway.

Vision is left standing in the kitchen, confusion etched across his synthetic features. He considers the day's events, attempting to analyze how Wanda suddenly managed to conquer her most irrational fear.

Humans really are something.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #vision #steve rogers

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #61 Part 5

There were two new arrivals to the dining room. Both with black hair but one of them had an odd white stripe, the stripe reminded him of his hair in ghost form. 

The one without the stripe sat next to Tim and the other one sat next to Danny. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said they looked identical,” the guy without the stripe said, “Names Richard Greyson, but you can call me Dick”

Dick had a bright smile on his face, it was clear he was a morning person. 

Damian made another ‘Tt’ noise at his introduction. 

The guy with the stripe in his hair grunted in agreement before holding out a coffee mug for Alfred, who was already standing next to him ready to pour. He took a swig before speaking, “Names Jason, you may look alike but seeing Damian eat meat, even from an alternate universe is weird.”

Danny took a bite of his bacon and swallowed like he was making a point before speaking, “I go by Danny, I faked my death years ago, as far as I’m concerned we were all strangers in my world.” He started, he took a moment to think about exactly how’d he explain everything. He knew it wasn’t exactly a pretty story but he also knew from the stories Talia told him when he was younger that Bruce was all about planning ahead, so keeping information from  him might not be the best way to go about all of this. 

He took another bite and swallowed before speaking again, “My foster family is fine though, I have a roof over my head and food. They spend most of their time in their lab working. They study Ectology, or the study of ghosts.” Jason raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything. Danny continued, “They actually succeeded in building a portal to their realm, the realm of ghosts, or Infinite Realm as we call it.”

“We? You say that like you're one of the ghosts” Tim asked laughing a little bit.

He quickly got silent when Danny wasn’t laughing with him.

Damian made another ‘Tt’ noise before speaking, “Clearly this imposter has lost it, ghosts don’t exist and all of this nonsense is just that nonsense.” He glared at Danny.

Danny smiled at him and it caused Damian to falter a little before he glared at Danny again.

“Yes, Ghosts are real,” Danny sighed before continuing, “Trust me, it sounds crazy but I’ve seen some crazy things in my world. Although now I’m wondering if just showing you guys would be easier… Alright I’ll show you all but know that no one except my sister knows. Secret identity and all.”

“Wait,” Dick interrupted, “Does Robin not exist in your world?”

“Robin existed but there hasn’t been a Robin since Joker murdered the last one.” Danny answered. 

Everyone fell silent at that and the atmosphere got heavy. Everyone, especially Jason was giving each other knowing glances.

Danny cleared his throat before continuing, “Anyways, yes ghosts exist, unfortunately the portal in this world probably doesn’t work like my own world. It’s been about a year since I turned it on and since I was here in Gotham when they tried it in this world there’s no telling what they did after it didn’t work. Actually now that I think about it, I wonder if they exist here,” he thought about the GIW in his world and it occurred to him. If ghosts weren’t running rampant in Amity Park, they probably didn’t exist here.

He brought out his phone from his pocket and looked it up. His eyes lit up a bit at the information he found. Or more accurately the information he didn’t find. Searching GIW in this world brought zero results, so great he wouldn’t be hunted for existing here. 

He let out a sigh of relief at this. He turned to everyone and they were watching him closely. He gave them a small smile, “It’s been a while since I had a moment where I didn’t have to worry about being hunted for existing.” He explained. He figured he might as well get the conversation out of the way no matter how difficult it was. 

Everyone at the table was silent as they waited for him to continue. The tension was thick in the air however, you could tell that even though Danny had just arrived everyone was ready to jump to defend him, even if he wasn’t their Damian he was still part of the family even if he had just arrived into their lives. It cemented Danny’s determination to tell them the truth.

He took a deep breath and then spoke again, “The portal didn’t work at first when they tried it, I of course wanted to help so when they were away I went in to see if I could figure out the problem… Long story short, it helps to build the on switch on the outside of the portal. I’m not proud to admit that even with all of my training, there were just too many cords that even I tripped.” He didn’t have to say much else about that as their faces told him they understood what happened. He gave a dark chuckle and continued, “Yeah hurt like hell but I don’t have to worry about losing anything anymore.” He then took his phone and phased it into his chest.

The room went silent again for a moment, but it was broken by Jason who started cackling. 

He wheezed for a moment before he got out, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t ready for not Damian to make a fucking pun!”

Meanwhile everyone else was still too stunned to speak. Finally Damian surprisingly spoke, “What else can you do?”

Danny smiled, this was going to be fun.

Master Post:

Last:

#dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #ghost prince danny #danny and damian are the same person #my asks are open #all my prompts are free to use #Even if I write these parts if you want it to go different your welcome to write your own fic #My goal with these is to spread creativity #as is my purpose on this earth

[clerc16]

sleepless nights

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: who knew the lack of sleep could bring two people together?

warnings: none, just a brief description of not being able to sleep due to “stress” but nothing too major.

Your eyes opened for the umpteenth time this night. You seriously had lost count.

Your chest heaved as you sighed and turned around, grabbing your phone again to check the time.

02:51, it read. Another sigh escaped your lips as you placed down your phone on your nightstand again. You have been tossing and turning in bed for the past few hours, your body simply just unable to rest. The only active feeling you felt at the moment was stress ─ not even tiredness or exhaustion. Just stress. And it made you want to rip your hair out.

Truth be told, you couldn’t exactly figure out what was making you feel like this. Too much has happened recently for you to be able to pinpoint one exact thing.

You let out a huff as you tossed around in bed once more, your restless body unable to stop moving.

After a few more minutes of the same thing over and over, you decided to get out of bed. You found yourself grabbing a coat, car keys, your phone and leaving your house. You weren’t even half aware of what you were doing; it just happened.

The cold breeze of the Monaco air hit your cheeks once you stepped outside, making you feel at peace, slightly. The tree leaves rustled quietly, like a kind gesture, in the gentle breeze.

You unlocked your car and entered, playing a random Spotify playlist of yours, driving off to nowhere. You hummed along with the song as some of the soft wind escaped your half-opened window, making your car slightly chilly. Not that you minded it, actually.

You decided to stop at a casual gas station, one that was open 24 hours ─ might as well get yourself some gum, or a snack, if you won’t be getting any proper sleep at that time. While you were parking your car, you noticed someone else walking into the station.

It made you laugh a little, and was somewhat comforting. At least someone else was not asleep and roaming the city right now, not just you.

You locked your car as you walked inside the station, the lady by the cashier shooting you a small smile. You smiled back as you walked through the aisles; it wasn’t roomy, but it had a variety of products.

You found your go-to gum packet, just one left ─ your luck was perfect.

“Sorry, could you pass me that?” A voice said from behind you. You turned around slightly, unsure if they were talking to you.

They were. He was.

“Pardon?” You say, unfocused.

“The gum packet, well, unless you want it.” He replies, chuckling a little.

You wanted to protest, but you opted against it. You could get another type, anyway. But before you could hand him the packet, he sensed your hesitation.

“Nevermind, you have it. I’ll get another,” he smiles as he reaches for another random packet behind you. He was dangerously close, and you even had to admit he was a little good-looking.

“It’s fine, I don’t really mind,” you say, but he brushes it off.

“No worries. You can have it.”

You smile sweetly for a few moments, quite unsure of what to do or say. As if he heard your thoughts, he talks again.

“I’m Charles,” he introduces himself, smiling again, his dimples very clear.

“I’m Y/N,” you respond, returning the smile. Not many more words were shared after that as you both paid and made your way back out, gum acquired.

“So... why are you awake this late?” He asks you.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you laugh as you open your pack of gum and pop one into your mouth.

“It’s a long story,” he sighs. You look up at him, and for a split-second, you want to tell him to go ahead. Talk about it, because, well... you couldn’t sleep, you had nowhere to be, so what was the point? Then again, he was a total stranger you just met.

You didn’t care though.

“Well, I have all night.” You say. He smiles a little at your response as you both subconsciously walked off, your cars being left behind in the parking lot.

“Well ... I don’t want to go into much detail so I don’t bore you. Itʼs just work stuff. I stay up very late at night, seeing my mistakes, working on them, then the engineers mess everything up,” he explains, sighing.

“I don’t really mind details. Also, that sucks, I’m sorry. It’s really discouraging ... I hate wasted potential,” you mutter as you placed a loose hair behind your ear to prevent it from going into your eyes.

“I really do hate it too. Really drains all your motivation. And no need to apologise, not your fault. It’s really stupid, actually.” He breathes. There is a moment of silence between you two before you talk again.

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” You say quietly.

He pauses and looks at you, his cheeks turning a slight shade of crimson as the corners of his mouth turned upwards into a small smile again.

“Thank you. It’s nice knowing someone else cares. At least a little.” He stated. “And, what about you? Why are you awake this late?” He questions.

“Well... I don’t know, actually. Been stressed out about a few things recently. Don’t know what exactly, though, but it sure is annoying.” You laugh.

He gestures at you to go on, continue speaking. He’s here to listen, he has all night too.

“I don’t really... know. The dreadful feeling of... dread, I guess. Takes over you. Doesn’t want to let go. It sucks.” You breathe.

“At times, it just... it feels like it is the strongest thing in the universe. The biggest, the most dangerous. Similar to the sun, actually.” You continue, your heart feeling slightly heavy after letting it out.

“At other times though, it will feel like the weakest. The smallest, the tiniest. Like it can never cause you harm. Like just a measly pair of shades can block it out. Which they might, just for a ridiculously small amount of time, until they no longer serve a purpose. And then, it begins to gain its strength yet once again. And you just... don’t have any control over anything,” you ramble. If this wasn’t a stranger you just met, you would have been bawling by now.

He doesn’t respond, and for a second, you think he’s already tired of you.

“But... sometimes, you just have to remember the sun isnʼt, and never will be, the biggest and strongest thing in the universe. And so, that is this feeling. It can haunt you for a while. And that is okay. But... reach out to others, you know? Don’t go through it alone.” He replies.

You properly turn your head around and look at him. His watercolour eyes were twinkling in the moonlight, his face flushed from the cold. Yet he had this genuine look on his face that made your heart warm up to him so much. You knew him for less than a few hours, but it feels like ages.

“Thank you. I never actually thought of it that way. So... thank you.” You mumble, looking back down at your feet as you walked.

The rest of the night was like this. You walked for a while to a random area where all the shops were closed, then turned back around and walked to the gas station again, talking about random nonsense. That random nonsense also included you finding out that he is a very famous F1 driver, which made you feel stupid ─ but it didn’t make you treat him any differently. Which he was really thankful about.

The sun had already began to rise as you both bid your goodbyes, back at the gas station.

“Thanks for this. It truly was quite calming,” he says, smiling gratefully at you.

“It really was. Thank you, too,” you say, returning the smile.

He wanted to ask for your number, but he chickened out last minute; not really his proudest moment. As you both began to drive off, you just hoped you could both somehow get in touch again.

To each other, you were both a breath of fresh air.

#charles leclerc #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #scuderia ferrari #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 #charles leclerc x you #fanfics

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

SxF Crack Theory: The Identity Of [REDACTED]'s Father

Hear me out here.... but, maybe, Twilight's father could be Yuri's boss, aka, the SSS Lieutenant.

Now, this might be a crack/joke theory, but here is the evidence I have to back up my claim (yes, I'm presenting it because I'm just Like That):

(Warning: Manga spoilers ahead)

Exhibit A: Physical Characteristics

Here is a picture of Agent Twilight:

Here is a picture of Yuri's boss (who, from now in, will be referred to as YB, for my own convenience):

We can see that Twilight and YB have very similar facial characteristics: bluish-grey eyes, blond hair, and a similar face shape (nose, jaw).

We never see Twilight's father's full face: only the lower half, because he has presumably forgotten his face, along with his mother's (King of Emotional Repression™️), but we can see that his jawline and shape of his mouth are very similar to Adult Twilight.

Oh, and look at that- rather pronounced cheekbones, if I do say so myself. Where else did I see those? Hmmm

Exhibit B: Ambiguous Fate

During the War Arc, we're never told about [REDACTED]'s father's fate. We just know he never returns to his family: and the reason why he left for the very last time, was that, "Things have been heating up at the border. I need to take a little business trip." The fact that his, a (presumably) rather important man's, body was never recovered: nor were [REDACTED] or his mother informed of his death. Of course, his body could have been lost in the bombings, or the part of [REDACTED] finding out about his father's dead could have been omitted, but for most of the part, we're left to assume about his father's dead. And... this sounds familiar to another instance...

Like the instance of [REDACTED]'s friends. He (and we) assumed they'd died in the warehouse as children, but later we see that they're alive and in the army (only to die a second time, RIP), but this time, for their deaths to be confirmed: for [REDACTED] to only receive their dog tags after the failed campaign.

This may have been a setup: for Endo to reintroduce [REDACTED]'s father, later in the story, as YB.

Anyway, one thing I've learned after reading and watching so many books, comics, and TV shows: never assume a person's dead, not unless their body/proof of their death has been explicitly shown. This belief was only reinforced after [REDACTED]'s friends.

And, [REDACTED]'s father's last known place was around the Westalian-Ostanian border. He could have escaped in the crossfire, theoretically...

Exhibit C: Fatherly Nature (?)

We all love a good found-family dynamic in the workplace. It's there with WISE, it's there with Garden, and it's kinda there with the SSS.

My main argument about this stems from the chapter which focuses on Yuri's work.

We see YB continuously worry about Yuri's physical health, in panels like:

Obviously, this doesn't happen only in this chapter. Whenever Yuri's there, YB is also there, yelling at him to a) go to sleep, or b) STOP GETTING HIT BY BUSSES OH MY FUCKING GOD IT CAN'T HAPPEN SO MANY TIMES TO ONE PERSON-

And, of course, there's the Yuri Sick Fic chapter:

Not gonna lie, this point is extremely weak, if I brought this up in court I'd be laughed out of there-

Anyway, I just wanted to put this in.

If it does turn out that YB is [REDACTED]'s father then. Bestie. Buddy. How are you managing to be a better father-figure to some insolent kid who gets hit by busses than you were to your actual son, like 20 years ago. Maybe he learned along the way.

Exhibit D: Symbolism (???)

Oh, look, another point I'm pulling out of my ass! But whatever, you're reading it <3

During the War Arc, we see Twilight sustain two major injuries:

One, as a child, when his home is bombed:

And two, as an adult, in the army:

and these injuries are both to his left eye.

Of course, this has given rise to theories of him not being able to see his left eye, it being his blind spot, and Yor guarding his blind spot on missions, etc., etc., which I love bc ✨Twiyor✨

Getting back on point, if we look at YB, we see that he has injuries too... or rather, remnants of them, what with the scars he has...

which, are also on his left eye. Huh! Interesting... this might just be me, but could this be parallels to how similar he and his father were? Are? His father also wanted peace between Ostania and Westalis: but he taught his child that in a very harsh manner (by slapping him), but Twilight wants to teach Anya that in a kind manner. Whenever we see him teaching her, he never loses his cool with her (of course, he loses a lot of hope, but this man's a pessimist, what can we do).

Also shows how much kinder Twilight is, compared to his father.

---

Of course, these points are very weak, and it might just be that Endo reused some character designs for efficiency, but let me be, ok!! This is a crack theory!!! Let me be a clown!!!! AKDFJSJF

If I'm being honest, this post was inspired by a convo I'd had with my friend, around the time Chapter 86 was released. She was theorizing that [REDACTED]'s dad is the Shopkeeper, and I was theorizing it was this dude. Of course, our theorizing was sidetracked by Chapter 86, and a certain panel within it, but... WHATEVER.

So, what are your thoughts? Obviously, my own theory is very weak (for example, why would the SSS accept a Westalian citizen into their ranks? Why would he even join the SSS? Could he have defected? Abandoned his wife and kid?), but this was fun to think about, lol. What are your theories? I think the Shopkeeper-is-the-dad theory and the YB-is-his-dad theory are both cool, so, what do you think?

(Also, yeah, I know, his dad could very well be dead. I just refuse to believe it, bc I'm just Like That <3)

#spy x family #sxf #spy x family manga #spy x family headcanon #spy x family theory #spy x family manga spoilers #spy x family anime #agent twilight #loid forger #yuri briar #sss lieutenant