:)

Bad Bunny after winning best música urbana album with “DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS” at the 2026 Grammy Awards:

synopsis: you trap yourself in a ring of salt because you’re mad at your bf 

characters: jinu, abby, romance, mystery, baby

warning/s: none, 

note/s: mystery’s takes a different approach! and i’m so baby biased i’m unapologetic about it lmfao 

jinu: 

the argument you and jinu had was in no way detrimental to your relationship but it would be a lie to say that it didn’t piss you off. 

you saw him corner the huntrix member with a smirk on his face and lean down, you know that jinu would never do anything to put your relationship at risk but the sight definitely had you seeing red. 

“(y/n), talk to me.” jinu says as he follows you around the living room, you say nothing as you stand on the side of the living room, a jar full of salt in your hand as you draw a reasonably sized circle around yourself.

“sweetheart, you can’t be serious.” he crosses his arms as he looks at you. you spared him a glance, still not saying anything as you sat down, opening the book and paying him no mind. 

kisses make everything better ֔ 𓈒

🪽 . . .⠀⠀touya todoroki x fem!vampire quirk!reader 𓏵 childhood bestfriends to lovers ⸝⸝ touya’s childhood abuse is mention in the beginning ⸝⸝ smoking

you had been one of the few children touya was close to. he was there when your fangs had come in at just four years old, curiously leaning in as you showed them off. he had been there when you would run to the bathroom to drink blood from a juice box, sitting on the cold tiled floor with you—almost a daily occurrence.

you were heavily bullied for her quirk, being told you’d become a villain because of it. touya was one who had defended you, despite the punishments he received at home for using his fire to threaten other children. he would see you the following day, bruises just barely peaking from under clothes. you would kiss them softly.

“mama says kisses make everything better,” you’d say each time.

you faced the beginning of middle school together. you smoked their first cigarette together. way too young, definitely, but you both believed it would offer relief. he laughed when you coughed obnoxiously, then you laughed when he did just the same.

the day you found out about the fire from fuyumi, you broke into screaming sobs in her arms. those two girls sobbed in one another’s arms for hours, eyes swollen and shirts soaked with the other’s tears.

touya didn’t know that bit now. it had been, what, ten years? he glanced at the scars on his arms and bare torso. would you have kissed those, too? he wondered what you had become each day. you hadn’t become a hero, as you would’ve been in the news. for that, he was grateful. you were out of shigaraki’s radar.

you had stayed close to fuyumi, but you did not speak to natsuo and shoto as much. they only existed because touya hadn’t met endeavor’s expectations. you resented them just a bit for that. not enough to truly hate them, but seeing them left a bitter taste in her mouth.

one night, after swinging by the convenience store for a late snack, you were walking back to her apartment complex. as you walked, a man with his hood pulled high and his head low passed you, shoulder bumping hers. you stopped, whipping around at him.

“the fuck’s your problem?” you snapped.

the man slowed to a stop, glancing back at you. his eyes focused on you, as if assessing that dealing with you was worth his time.

as the streetlight caught in his eyes, you could have sworn you recognized them. vibrant teal, just a bit dulled by the misery forced upon them. touya—

no, no. impossible. he had died ten years ago in that fire. temperatures had reached so high that his bones had even been turned to ash.

when your lips parted in shock, his eyes caught the glint of your fangs that just peaked past your lips. he knew those anywhere. he had spent years looking at them with fascination as a child.

he turned again and began walking off, leaving you there under the streetlight. it couldn’t be you. you had always talked about leaving, you wouldn’t have stayed this long surely.

you stayed there until he was out of sight. your shoulders drooped, and you too continued walking. touya was dead, he had been for a decade. that man wasn’t him.

days later, in the rain, you were walking briskly past that same spot. that same man came your way, brushing your shoulder again.

you never believed in coincidences. your gut was telling her something, but you couldn’t place what. the idea of running made that gut feeling worse. you suddenly rushed to follow the man, catching his hood and pulling it back.

“hey, what the fuck—” the man began, turning sharply to face you.

your eyes blew wide. you had scene this man on the news, just briefly before changing the channel. dabi, is what the heroes had claimed his name was, but something told you that wasn’t true.

those eyes, they weren’t the eyes of a villain. they were the eyes of a boy you had grown up with, a boy you had loved dearly. a boy you had thought died a decade ago.

he too had stopped, eyes focused on your face. those eyes, those fangs, the slight crookedness of the left one, the slightly longer tip on the right that gave away that it was you.

rain poured down them on them both, as if it had intensified with the tension. your hand reached up carefully, nails manicured so perfectly, skin soft as silk. it cupped his face, brushing over that scarred purple flesh that covered his lower jaw.

he grabbed you suddenly, slamming his mouth to yours. he had waited years to do this, years to love you. you reciprocated, hands fisting the collar of his wet jacket as you moved your lips against his.

when touya pulled away, your mood shifted suddenly.

“what the hell?” you shouted, tears welling in your eyes.

“i—i thought you were dead! i thought you died in that fire—”

you were cut off by her own sob. you shoved him, water splashing up when his foot planted a pace back to catch himself.

“you left me! you fucking left me with those assholes! you promised you wouldn’t and you did!”

the rain was pouring upon them, hitting skin like tiny bullets. thunder boomed in the distance.

“if you wanted to leave that house you could’ve come to me, you didn’t have to leave me,” you cried bitterly.

touya reached out, pulling you into his chest. his hand held the back if your head, the other gripping the back of your jacket as you sobbed. he had regretted it almost immediately after leaving, but he had assumed you had known already—he feared going back.

“i hate you,” you insisted weakly.

“love you too, sweetheart.”

the bar was closer than her apartment, so he had brought you back there. you didn’t leave for a week. you wouldn’t leave him again. you stayed close beside him constantly, whether you were perched on his shoulder as a bat or laying half on top of him as a human.

when those blood cravings grew strong, he’d offer the juncture of his elbow for you to drink from. you were so gentle, pressing your teeth in quick to get it over with immediately, kissing the wounds when you pulled back.

“kisses make everything better,” you’d giggle, sliding into his arms after licking those remaining droplets from your lips.

your husband sanemi shinazugawa is a softy only for you 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

cw: none, gn!reader

sanemi shinazugawa is a menace. everyone knows this. he’s got the personality of a feral cat that’s been soaked in vinegar and thrown into a thorn bush. he yells, he threatens, he looks at people like they’re gum stuck to his boot. the other hashira are used to it. the demon slayer corps is used to it. the world, quite frankly, is used to it.

you are not used to it, because the sanemi that exists in the world is not the same sanemi that exists in your bedroom.

the first time you saw him soften, you thought you were hallucinating. you had just woken up from a nightmare, gasping and shaking, and he—sanemi shinazugawa, the man who once threatened to gut a junior slayer for breathing too loud—had pulled you into his chest like you were made of glass. his voice, usually a gravelly snarl, dropped to a whisper so gentle you almost cried harder.

“you’re okay,” he’d murmured, calloused fingers combing through your hair. “i’ve got you. i’m right here.”

you’d blinked up at him, tears still wet on your cheeks, and asked, “who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

he’d flicked your forehead. hard. but then he kissed the spot better, so you figured it was a fair trade.

that’s the thing about sanemi. he’s all sharp edges and jagged lines, but with you, he sands himself down until he’s smooth enough to hold. he’ll curse out a kakushi for breathing in his direction, then turn around and ask you if you want your tea with one sugar or two, because he remembers you mentioned you like it a little sweet, and god forbid he forget something so important.

he’s not a words guy. he never has been. but he shows you in a hundred different ways, every single day.

like the time you mentioned offhandedly that you liked the way the moon looked through the wisteria trees. the next night, he dragged you out of bed at 2 a.m., grumbling about how “you’d better appreciate this, because i have patrol in four hours,” and sat you down on the porch with a blanket around your shoulders and his head in your lap. he fell asleep fifteen minutes later, but you stayed up for hours, running your fingers through his white hair and watching the moonlight catch the edges of his scars.

or the time you got sick, and he personally hunted down every ingredient for your favorite soup, even though it meant traveling to three different villages and threatening a merchant who tried to overcharge him. he set the bowl down in front of you, crossed his arms, and said, “eat. don’t make me feed you.”

you made him feed you.

he did it without complaint. he even blew on the spoon.

the other hashira don’t believe it. they’ve walked in on him braiding your hair (badly, but he’s trying) and tucking a stray strand behind your ear with such tenderness that rengoku openly wept. obanai just stares, mouth slightly agape, like he’s witnessing a cosmic anomaly. uzui cackles every time sanemi snaps at him for looking at you “with that weird smile, you’re going to scare them.”

and sanemi? he just scoffs, wraps an arm around your waist, and pulls you closer.

“what?” he’ll growl, daring anyone to say a word. “they’re mine. i can be nice to my own partner if i want.”

he’s not nice. he’s a menace. he’s a walking storm cloud with a bad attitude and a worse vocabulary.

but he’s yours.

and when it’s just the two of you, when the world is quiet and his guard is down, he’s the softest thing you’ve ever known. he curls into you like he’s seeking shelter. he murmurs your name like a prayer. he holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

so let him be rude to everyone else. let him curse and spit and snarl. you know the truth.

your husband is a secret softy, and he’s yours.

Part 1

Bullrider/rancher Shinazugawa Sanemi (modern cowboy) x Vet student reader AU

CW: no warning except for Sanemi flirting and not taking the hint. He is a manwhore in this AU.

WC: 4553 (yeah I know I said ficlet and went overborad)

Taglist: @soleil-et-letoile, @aphroditeslaps, @loandbehold-a-whatever

The arena was still roaring behind him when Sanemi stepped out, his boots hitting packed dirt that hadn't fully settled from the last ride. Dust and dirt clung all over him–his jeans, his forearms, the sweat-damp shirt pulling taut against his back. There was even dried blood along his knuckles and a fresh scrape along his forearm, and the pulsing pain in his thigh where an old injury always seemed to wake up after a rough ride. The air outside was cooler than the arena but it didn't do much for the heat still thrumming under his skin, he rolled his sore shoulders a few times before he headed for the bar.

The doors swung open and the heads turned as the attention followed him in with the claps on his back. Some called his name from the counter and booths cheering him, a couple of girls near the jukebox laughed too loudly–already eying him boldly as part of their night’s entertainment given he walked in without company. The bartender caught sight of him and started pouring a bourbon glass without being asked. 

“Heard the crowd all the way from here,” the bartender said with a knowing grin as he slid it across the wood by the time Sanemi got close enough to catch it. “Figured you didn't lose.”

"Losin's a habit," Sanemi said, catching the glass and huffing a small laugh. "Never picked it up."

“On the house.” the bartender added and Sanemi lifted the glass slightly in acknowledgment.

He found a stool, dropped onto it and drank. He let the whiskey sit on his tongue for a second, tasting the rich smokey warmth before it went down and set the glass back on the bar. He let the noise of the bar fill in his head like always. There was a comforting familiarity in it. The lights were low, the music genre he liked, the crowd filling the space with sound and heat.

He'd made it through most of his second glass as he half-listened to something the man beside him was saying about the last ride,when his gaze drifted down the length of the bar.

You were sitting at the far end, elbow resting against the wood and fingers loose around your drink. No excitement or recognition. No curious glance thrown his way like half the room had done by now. Just you, somewhere else entirely in your own head and unbothered by him being the center of attention.

Sanemi watched you for a moment before he set his glass down. 

His mouth curved slowly.

Well now.

He pushed off his seat with no rush to make his way over. By the time he stopped beside you–close enough for his shoulder to almost brush yours and for his presence to be noticed. You still refused to look up.

“Y’gonna keep pretendin’ you don’t see me,” his low voice was rough from yelling back in the arena, “or you just shy, doll?”

Great. Exactly what you needed–a man with an ego big enough to fill the bar and enough confidence to think your silence was an invitation. Apparently, being ignored was enough to make the idiot curious. 

You didn’t answer him immediately, you took a slow sip instead as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Then, finally, your eyes dragged over him unimpressed–the bloodied knuckles, the open collar, the torn and dirt-stained denim and his blatant arrogance. Then you looked back at your drink.

"Neither," you said flatly, "I just didn't care." 

Something flickered across his face–a spark of interest. The look of a man who'd just realized this conversation was about to be far more entertaining than he'd expected. His grin widened.

"Didn't care," he repeated. He leaned an elbow against the bar to angle himself toward you. "See, most people–even when they're trying to act unbothered–can’t help but sneak a look." His gaze never left yours. “Curiosity usually wins.”

"Well aren’t you trying awfully hard to be the center of attention?" 

“Maybe I am,” he admitted easily. “Still worked, didn’t it?”

You gave him a blank look while he only seemed more amused.

“Funny,” he said, leaning closer that you did  notice his particular scent. “All folks are a little warmer when I talk to them.”

You glanced at him briefly. “Then I suppose you’re talking to the wrong person.”

An amused huff slipped from him. “Yeah,” he murmured while studying you. “I’m startin’ to see that.”

He let the silence stretch for a moment, maybe he was giving you one last chance to make things easier for him. When you didn’t, he extended his hand as his voice lowered into a husky one beneath the noise of the bar. “Lemme fix that, then. Name’s Sanemi.”

You didn’t offer yours and neither did you shake his hand. Instead, you exhaled softly, already sounding tired of him. “You gonna let me drink in peace, or do I need to spell it out for you?”

His brow ticked up, almost impressed. “You always this sweet, doll?”

“Only when I’m left alone,” you replied a little sternly. “So if you don’t mind–ride off, cowboy. I said I’m not interested.” 

 “You even know who you’re talkin’ to?”

“A guy who smells like a stable, and a bad decision.”

A faint snort came from somewhere behind him. Sanemi’s shoulders shifted with a quiet chuckle. "Yeah," he said. "And I still walked in here and got half the room's attention. Imagine what I could do with a shower."

You pressed your lips together and looked at your drink.

“Y’know,” he went on but with a bit more bite now, “most people start with a ‘congrats’ before they start insultin’ me.”

“Didn’t realize I was expected to,” you said dryly, “–congratulations, I guess.”

You looked at him then and found him already watching you with that stupid smile, not the least bit rattled by where this was going. That was the most irritating thing about him aside from his arrogance, the fact that he seemed genuinely comfortable–like the outcome didn't concern him much either way.

"I don't do rodeo boys," you finally said.

"Hm." He considered it while tilting his  head slightly. "What about cowboys? There's a difference. Rodeo's a sport. Cowboy's more of a whole–" he gestured loosely “–lifestyle.”

"Same thing in a different buckle, ain’t it?"

He laughed again. "Okay," he said, glancing briefly down at the bar. "Okay. That's fair."

“Lemme guess, you’re the type that needs a little convincin’.” He didn't move, he just remained where he was–settled, warm and clearly not ready to leave. “Alrigh’ then, tell me–what's a rodeo boy ever do to you?”

“The reputation.” you were starting to get fed up.

His brow arched. “Oh, I got one of those?” he asked, feigning curiosity. “What kinda reputation you hearin’?” 

You huffed lightly, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. “The kind where you go through women faster than you go through bulls.” you replied with an edge of irritation. “Didn’t think that part was subtle.”

Sanemi stared at you then barked a short laugh. “Hell,” he said under his breath while shaking his head a little. “You ain’t wrong.”

And the worst part was, he actually liked it. There was a bite to you–no hesitation or forced politeness, no pretending to be impressed just to stroke his ego like everyone else in town did. You didn’t care, and somehow that was exactly what caught his attention.

You, however, had already decided what you thought of him. You’d heard about him long before tonight. Everyone had.

In a town this size, names like Sanemi Shinazugawa came up in half the conversations around here. Rodeo champion with another buckle. The Shinazugawa ranch. Bar fights that ended with someone being taken away in an ambulance. And yes, the hookups–a new woman on his arm often enough that it became just another piece of gossip traded over drinks by the following week. The kind of man who chased trouble–or maybe trouble just had a habit of finding him. Well, judging by the smug grin he had beside you now, you suspected he never bothered outrunning it.

In the span of a few minutes, he'd done little to prove the rumours wrong.

You didn't like it. Didn't trust it. And you definitely weren't about to entertain it.

You didn't hold it against him like a sentence. You'd simply seen enough to know what you were looking at and had already decided it wasn't going to become your evening's problem.

Your eyes flicked briefly past him, scanning the room for your friend–an out, an interruption, anything to end this without making it longer than it needed to be.

You drained the rest of your drink and reached for your purse, already standing. That was his cue. Before you could pull out any money, his scarred hand moved faster. A crumpled bill landed on the bar with a soft slap and slid across the wood to settle your tab. You paused with your gaze dropping to it before lifting back to him. His posture had changed, he still looked relaxed but his playful performance had worn thin. He stepped just enough into your space to block your path, one hand resting lightly against the bar before you without making it obvious. 

“Hold your horses,” he said with intent. “Ain’t polite to run off in the middle of a conversation.”

“We weren’t having one,” you shot back. His eyes flashed with amusement and irritation.

“Could be,” he countered smoothly. “If you’d stop tryin’ to bolt.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Or you could take the hint.”

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. "Maybe you're just bad at givin' one."

"What is it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" Your patience has reached its limit. Another minute of this, and you might've slapped him just to make your point before storming out. The only thing stopping you was the fact that half the bar was already watching. 

"One drink," he said earnestly with the charm still there. "Just one. You sit with me, we talk–and if you wanna rid of me after that, I'll go without a word about it." He paused. "I just think you're interesting. And I don't say that to most people."

There was no smirk or smug grin behind it this time. You held his gaze for a long moment then you reached down, picked up his crumpled bill, and pressed it back into his hand.

“Well. aren’t you generous,” you said, setting your own money down instead. “But I don’t like men who think being persistent makes them charming,”. Your gaze didn't waver. “It doesn’t.”

It was final. A door swinging shut in his face.

Something crossed his expression so quickly that it was almost imperceptible. It wasn’t anger exactly, or wounded pride turning bitter. Just a brief glimpse of a man unguarded–a man who had genuinely meant what he said and watched it fall flat anyway 

Damn.

Before he could find his footing again–"Hey!"

Mitsuri appeared at your side, slightly out of breath from dancing. “There you are. I’ve been looking–oh.” her eyes landing on Sanemi and brightening immediately. “Wait–aren’t you–?”

Sanemi gave a lazy nod. “That’d be me.”

Her grin widened. “You were amazing out there tonight! That ride was insane.” 

“Thanks…” he said, though his eyes never quite left you.

She glanced between the two of you, curious. "Do you guys know each other?"

"Not really," You smiled politely. "Just congratulating him." 

Sanemi’s gaze snapped to you at that. Petty.

You turned back to him, that same polite smile still in place. “Congratulations again,” you added lightly. “Enjoy your celebration, cowboy.”

Then you looked at Mitsuri. “Ready?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And then you were gone. Out the door with your friend, not looking back once.

The bar noise rushed back in around him. Sanemi just stood there with something tight coiling low in his chest. His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheekja and his jaw flexing as he stared at the empty space you left behind.

…Huh.

He let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. 

His pride did sting after all.

"Well," came a voice at his elbow–one of the girls from the jukebox, barely concealing her delight. "That looked cold."

The second one leaned in from his other side. "You okay, champ?"

He looked at them and the smirk settled back into place automatically. "Yeah," he said, ordering another drink with a hand gesture. "I'll survive." 

They laughed. Asked for pictures. Surrounded him with easy smiles and familiar admiration, filling the space with the kind of attention that had never once asked anything difficult of him. He smiled. Played the part. Gave them what they came for.

He'd always been good at this.

Later, the room was quiet and dim, yet it still carried the heat of the recent activity–sheets half-tangled, the air thick with the fading scent of sweat and smoke. 

His boxers were somewhere on the floor, kicked aside in the dark along with the rest of their clothes in a careless trail. The naked woman beside him lay sprawled across the mattress, bare shoulder pressed into his side, her breathing slow and heavy with sleep since she’d dropped off the second it was over. Sanemi didn’t glance at her or reach for her, it was nothing more than a fling to blow off some steam. 

He just lay there, cigarette between his fingers and one arm tucked behind his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. He stared at nothing in particular. 

He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl and disappear.

Ride off, cowboy.

He'd been turned down before. It wasn't the rejection itself–he was honest enough with himself to know that. He'd had doors close on him before and shrugged and moved on before the night was over, because that was just how it went sometimes and it never meant much either way. But this was different and he'd been lying in the dark long enough now to admit he wasn't sure he could explain exactly how.

You hadn't hesitated. Hadn't given him one of those no's that was really just a test of how persistent he was willing to be–the kind that came with a little heat in it, like I'm paying attention even if I’m playing hard to get and won't say so. There was none of that. You'd looked at him, seen whatever it was you saw and calmly decided that it wasn't worth your time and filed him away before he'd had the chance to prove you wrong and show you a good time.

And the thing was, he'd dropped the act at the end. That last part–“I just think you're interesting”– he hadn't been running a play when he said it. He just looked at you in the eye and meant it straight through without the charm wrapped around it. And you'd pushed the bill back into his hand anyway, then walked away as if the whole thing had already been behind you before you'd even turned around. 

Maybe it was the simplicity of it all that got under his skin. The way you hadn't needed to think about it. He was used to being wanted, used to being the center of attention–the person people gravitated toward whether they meant to or not. He didn't think about it much; it was just the water he swam in. And then there was you, sitting at the end of the bar like the room's gravity didn't apply, and something about that had snagged on him in a way he hadn't quite shaken loose yet. 

Sanemi brought the cigarette back to his lips, took one last drag before crushing it out against the nightstand. The woman beside him shifted in her sleep and he still didn't look over.

He thought about the way your mouth had done that thing–almost smiled but your lips quickly pressed into a flat line–when he'd made the crack about the shower. Thought about your few comebacks you gave without missing a beat. 

You haven't even given him your name and he didn't get your number.

A slow breath left him, and in the dark, almost despite himself, the corner of his mouth tugged upward into a ghost of a grin. 

He’ll see that doll around, eventually.

He didn't know when or where, but a town this small had a way of closing the distance whether you asked it to or not. And when it did, he wasn't going to walk in with a rehearsed line and a smirk.

Next time, he'd give you something you hadn't seen coming.

He closed his eyes. His body ached heavily from the day's rides, and at last, his mind stopped replaying you.

A week later, the memory of that bar should have faded and dissolved before the next morning. But the smug curve of Shinazugawa's grin had lodged itself inconveniently in the back of your mind, and the more you tried to ignore it, the more it lingered. Maybe it was the way he'd looked at you when you left–as though you hadn't walked away from him at all. As if your leaving was only a comma.

The early morning sun burned gold across the windshield as your father's truck drove down the long dirt road on the other side of town. One hand rested loosly on the steering wheel while he explained your internship for like the tenth time since breakfast.

"Big operation," he said. "Cattle, horses, breeding stock–you'll get exposure to more cases here than you would at most supervised clinics. Lameness, infections, foaling complications if you're lucky."

You were nodding, half-listening, watching the fencing stretch out across acres of land beyond your window–pastures rolling into the distance under the pale sky, horses grazing lazily near the far end of a field, the distant lowing of cattle.

Then your father eased off the gas, slowing the truck as it approached a large wooden sign hanging above the entrance gate.

You looked up. The weathered wood was faded with age but the lettering remained legible.

SHINAZUGAWA RANCH.

Your stomach dropped.

 “…You have got to be kidding me.” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Your father glanced over briefly. “Hm?”

You stared at the sign for a second longer with disbelief slowly settling over your face before you sank back against the seat.

Of fucking course it had to be this ranch.

You nearly groaned out loud.

Your father grined whe he caught your face and mistook it for awe. “That's the look I was hopin' for,” he said, nodding at the gate. “Knew you'd get excited once you saw the place.”

You forced a smile. “Yeah... it's definitely somethin'.”

The truck rolled farther into the property, the tires crunching over gravel before finally stopping near the main barn. The ranch itself was actually massive.

Workers moved between outbuildings, tractors rumbled in the fields. The air had the scent of hay, dirt and engine oil carried in the warm air. 

You’d barely climbed out of the truck beside your father when a burly man stepped out from the shade of the porch.

A cigarette rested between rough fingers as smoke curled lazily past his jaw. He crossed the gravel toward you with slow deliberate steps, his boots crunching against the ground. His stern face and intimidating presence made you instinctively straighten your spine. 

And worse–he looked enough like Sanemi that the resemblance hit you instantly. The two of them are basically carbon copies and his father even has a scar slashing across his cheekbone beneath one eye. 

Unease settled low in your stomach as he looked you over briefly. You pushed the thought aside before it could show on your face and stepped forward.

"Good morning, sir," you said steadily..

Kyogo looked down at you and exhaled smoke to the side. "Mornin'." 

Your father stepped in beside you, shaking Kyogo's hand easily with old familiarity. "Kyogo. Appreciate you taking her on." He then gestured toward you. "My daughter. Third year veterinary medicine. Been telling you about her."

Kyogo's gaze shifted back to you to assess you. "Mm," he grunted. "Heard."

Your father continued, slipping naturally into his professional tone "Like we discussed over the phone–she'll be here the next few weeks. Hands-on work. I want her involved in everything, no standing on the sidelines."

You nodded, listening carefully despite the lingering unease still crawling beneath your skin.

"She'll assist with routine examinations, vaccinations, wound cleaning, parasite checks, feed monitoring," he went on while turning slightly toward you as he spoke. "You'll also help monitor birthing conditions if any emergencies come up while you're here."

"And you'll keep records," he added in a serious tone. "Monitor feeding patterns, note any behavioral changes. If something looks off, you don't wait and you don't second guess–you act or you call me. Understood?"

"Yes," you replied.

"I won't be around directly," he reminded you gently. "You know I’ll be out across neighboring towns most of these next few weeks and possibly out of the city entirely for stretches. So  I won’t be here supervising you directly. If something concerns you–real trouble–you call me, yeah?"

"I know, dad."

Kyogo took another drag from his cigarette before exhaling. "She knows how t’work around animals?" he asked your father bluntly, it was clear he didn't care much if you heard it.

You answered before your father could open his mouth. "I do."

One of Kyogo’s brows lifted slightly at your firm tone. Your father chuckled under his breath. “She’s stubborn,” he admitted with fondness. “Gets that from her mother.”

"Hnh." Kyogo exhaled again. You could get a proper read on him. He gave a short nod. "Well, like we said. Cattle mostly. Some horses. I got goats in the north enclosure too."

The distant growl of an engine suddenly cut through the conversation. A tractor rounded the  side of the barn and pulled into the yard with its tires crunching loudly over the gravel before parking beside one of the open storage bays. The engine shut off with a sputtering rumble.

The door swung open and a familiar figure jumped down from the cab.

Ah, fuck.

Sanemi slammed the tractor door shut behind him before dragging a forearm across his face, clearly sweaty from work already. His white shirt hung half-open with several buttons popped loose down the front to expose damp skin beneath streaked faintly with dirt and grease. Mud stained his jeans near the knees while hay clung to his clothes, and engine grease smeared across one hand when he tugged his gloves off.

Kyogo motioned two fingers toward him sharply. “Oi. Get over here.”

Sanemi looked up lazily–then stopped the second he saw you. For just a beat, surprise crossed his face openly. Then came the recognition, settling in slow with–God help you–that grin of his.

It spread gradually across his face deep enough to cut twin dimples into both cheeks, and his pale eyes glinted with amusement and satisfaction.

Well, well. Ain’t that somethin’.

Irritation flared in your chest before he'd taken a single step.

He crossed the yard at an easy pace, shoving his gloves into his back pocket as his gaze dragged over you completely unbothered by the fact that your father was standing right there. The bastard wasn't even trying to be subtle. 

"Doc," he greeted your father with a short nod. "Didn't know you were comin' by."

"Figured I'd drop her off myself," your father replied.

"Yeah?" he said, conversational. "Didn't know you had a daughter."

"No reason you would, she's been buried in school." He gestured between you both. "This is Sanemi. Works the ranch here, he’s been helping run things for years."

Hmph. As if that somehow made him sound less like the stubborn idiot who'd spent ten minutes at a bar refusing to take a polite No.

"She'll be doing her internship here the next several weeks," your dad continued. "Thought it'd be good experience."

Sanemi stared at you for one long second before smiling widely. "Ain't that a small world," he drawled.

You already hated the sound of where this was going.  Your father, completely oblivious, smiled lightly. “You two haven’t met before, have you?”

“No, sir,” he answered smoothly before you could. "Don't believe we have." 

You forced a polite smile so tight it almost hurt. “Looks like it.”

He extended his hand toward you then. "Sanemi."

The slick grease coating his palm was impossible to miss. You looked at it, then at him. Any man with an ounce of manners who worked with his hands would've apologized before offering a handshake. But his smirk twitched…The son of a bitch was doing it on purpose.

Both your fathers were watching and you didn’t want to cause a scene, so with every instinct protesting, you slipped your hand into his anyway. His grip closed firm and warm around yours, his rough calluses grazing your skin as the grease transferred instantly across your palm.

Sanemi couldn't quite hold back the grin this time. It broke slowly across his face with dimples carving deep into both cheeks. His thumb dragged once deliberately across the back of your hand before he let go with infuriating leisure.

Your eye twitched. The second you were free, you looked down at your palm in visible disgust and he looked entirely too pleased with himself–like it  counted as a settled score.

Kyogo's voice cut across the yard. "Sanemi." He jerked his chin toward the far end of the property. "Show her the stables, livestock barns too. Don't need her standin' here."

He was already turning and motioning your father toward the ranch house now the introductions concluded. "Me and the doc got business."

Your father went with him already pulling out his phone, their voices fading as the distance between you grew. Silence settled over the yard. Just you– and Sanemi, who had not moved, and who was looking at you clearly finding those current circumstances delightful. He rocked back slightly on his heels and pocketed his hands.

"Well now," he said. "Looks like you're stuck with me after all."

"Lucky me," you said flatly. "I wanted hands-on experience with stubborn, difficult animal cases." Your eyes dragged over him once. "Didn't realize it started at the front gate." 

"'Stubborn and difficult,'" he repeated, rolling the words around to give them consideration. "Doll, if that's your type, you should've just said so at the bar."

"Don't flatter yourself." you replied, falling into step behind him with your grease-smeared hand held slightly away from your side.