#I feel like I make a post like this every couple of years but I always see that shit pop up sporadically

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Country Honey

 ♡ featuring: ranchhand!toji x richgirl!reader

 ♡ synopsis: a spoiled, wealthy college senior is forced to spend her summer at her father’s rural farm as punishment for her reckless behavior and slipping academic performance. unbeknownst to her, a bigger storm awaits just around the corner.

 ♡ wc: 16.5k+ (AHHHHHH)

 ♡ cw/tw: afab!reader, enemies to lovers if you squint, hurt/comfort kinda sad toji, feral toji, spanking, overstimulation, edging, sadism/masochism, throat fucking, cock worship, m/f receiving, doggy style, degradation kink, brat taming, dumbification, reader is a spoiled brat a lot of the time

notes: oh god, where do i begin...i know ive been gone for so long. firstly i want to apologize, and secondly ill explain my absence in a second post. not proofread so i apologize, honestly i shouldnt have tried a long fic for my comeback bc it took way too long to finish, but either way i hope you all enjoy! art by moonlessoul on ig! comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

“Almost there.” 

The sleek luxury car your dad drives grumbles at a rocky pace over an evidently gravelly road. If you can even call it a road—rather the patchy fragments of flattened dirt eroded by heavy traffic from a forgotten time. It’s a path shrouded by southern live oak, canopying its leaves and spearing sharp rays of summer daylight through the sunroof.  

You’re feeling every second of this bumpy ride. The wheels hop over an unsteady rock and your knees jab into your sternum. You’re pressed into an unfortunate position, with your legs pinched to your chest and the bright pink suitcase you insisted on bringing sandwiching you to the leather seat. You struggle to wiggle to a decent side that spares your sweltering face from the sun, but the other seats are also occupied with your luggage. And the front seat. And the trunk. 

Maybe that’s why you were brought here in the first place. You’re well off to a sickening amount and you’ve made no efforts to conceal your wealth. Your dad sacrificed his golden years to foster an agricultural business in the rural south, and now you reap the rewards of his labor. You know it and spend it as such. You’ve collected a textbook of names throughout the years—spoiled, bratty, coddled, pompous—each insult savored more than the last. You embraced being a spoiled rich girl and all it had to offer. Top notch schools, waitlisted parties, designer bags, and just about any opportunity you could get your greedy hands on.  

High school left like the wind and before you knew it, the 4.0 extracurricular weapon you used to be devolved into a nightlife college senior, more invested in the extravagant yacht parties than your academic probation. It was a risky misstep, but you didn’t have the heart to care when your dad could easily pay your way to graduation. At this rate you’d be a couple years behind your peers. Your dad wasn’t having any of it. 

The festivities stopped. No unlimited debit card and especially no spending. This could possibly be your final senior summer, and instead of celebrating with friends you’re making up for your transgressions. The worst part is the rural retreat he’s currently driving you to with no sign of civilization for miles.  

You could die right now. 

“How much longer?” You drawl on the last syllable, flicking your phone on and off in hopes that a bar or two will magically appear in the top right. He glances at you through the rearview mirror, a tinge of southern, "Just a few more minutes.”  

You let you phone fall from your limp hand and lean your head against the open window. Nothing but ancient trees and the occasional berry bush. You’re not sure if you should be more upset by the consequences of your actions or the actual actions that roped you into this mess. Instead of ruminating on your mistakes, you allow your eyelids to droop in the oppressive warmth. 

“We’re here darling.” Your eyes shoot open. So soon, and surely not after the forest you’d been traversing moments ago. You’re able to scoot up more, the sound of stone-pathed roads rattling in your ears. You tuck your knees underneath you and lift yourself up now that the terrain was smoother, poking your torso out the window. A bane of light strikes you immediately, and you blink away its brilliance to reveal crystal blue skies. 

Your mouth shapes an ‘O’, and you push your designer glasses over your forehead. “...No way” you gawk, taken by the view your father cultivated. 

This is nothing like the previous tunnel, and certainly nothing like the skyscrapers you’ve grown accustomed to. It’s an endless expanse disrupted by stone and crowded with overgrown wheat, bobbing in the mild breeze. They travel up the winding hill, ducking under wooden fences to border the farmhouse. The two-story ivory home exudes simplicity, strung with hanging pothos that wrap around the spacious porch and decorative shuttered windows painted like strawberries. From your limited view you notice the large red wooden barn peeking out behind the house, and a dirt trail leading to productive areas; a small stable, cattle, and other farm animals coexist in a sector made for their comfort. Beside the home is the largest Magnolia tree you’ve ever seen, with branches extending over the pitched, fabled roof and overhanging eaves with sweeping petals. It’s purposefully overgrown and homely, a humble size incomparable to the mansion you were raised in. 

Your father pulls up to the oak gate with a tattered sign overhead: Welcome to Pleasantview Farms.  

The lack of security, never mind the lack of extravagance, is astonishing to you. It’s unexpected of your father—the man that required you have a designated butler all throughout secondary school. “You never told me about all this” you yell from outside the window, still gazing at distant rolling hills of dewy grass. “You never asked” he chuckles, and turns onto another hill leading up to the house. You look beneath you; patches of flowering weeds fighting their way past the pavement. 

He parks in an open plot half occupied by a wheelbarrow, packed to the brim with haybales. “We’re here.” He turns the car off and steps out to open your side. Your luggage slams onto the dirt before you do, and you yelp.  

“No, it’s gonna get dirty!” He laughs and brushes specs of soil off your precious bag. “And if it does, you’ll be alright pumpkin.” You groan and attempt to get out without sacrificing your hot pink slides, when your first foot gives into silt. You scream and stumble onto dry earth, leaving your phone behind to *splat* in the mud. You kick off the mud barely clinging to your shoes until you catch a glimpse of your glittery phone charm on the floor. It takes you a second to process the mud-covered device slowly descending, but when your brain synapses finally link, you expel an ear-shattering shriek. To which your dad stifles a smile at the dramatic performance. 

He picks it up and wipes the debris on his ivory shirt. “One more reason for you not to have it” he says and tucks it away in his pocket while you’re struck with a permanent look of horror. 

The front door swings open, and you turn to see a thin older woman. Slightly older than your father, her face is gentle and creased with living. Her hair fades from light gray to dark brown at the very tips, tied neatly into a bun with a coiled band. She removes her pale-yellow gloves and stuffs them into the back pocket of her bleached trousers, jogging up to you. “Good afternoon, Annie” he smiles, and she stretches a wide grin that nearly shuts her eyes. “Hello, sir. Is everything alright?”  

“Yup, just kids being kids” he snickers and plants both hands on either side of your shoulders. “This is my daughter.” 

“Good afternoon” you meek, devastated and contemplating the status of your phone. She audibly gasps and grabs your hands, and you jolt. “You’re even more beautiful in person. I’ve heard so much about you.” It’s like she’s studying your face with the way she gazes into your eyes, to which they fall onto your cheeks and hair. You’re not one to shy away from flattery, but the direct compliments spread embarrassment across your ears. 

“Keep her company while I get these from the car, will you? Maybe show her around.” She nods, and leads you on an impromptu tour through the house.  

“There isn’t much to see ‘round here, but I’ll try to make it interestin’ for ya” she jokes. The entryway is quaint, keeping nothing but rubber boots covered in dirt and farming tools used for today’s workload. “This where we keep what we need for today. S’just better to pick it up from the front.” You nod.  

Further in, the hallways are decorated with baby pictures of you at various photoshoots. On the left side, she shows you a pastel green kitchen embellished with colorful floral paintings above the handles. Annie talks with her hands, “This is my domain. Damn near painted the whole thing. Took a lot of convincin’, but I got it eventually.”  

“Do you live here?” you questioned. “We all do!”  

“All?” 

“Mhm”, she hums, “Me, Terrace, Lionel, and...” she trails off at the end. You’re surprised that they’re living where they work, and even more surprised that she’s all smiles while doing it. “Do you...like living here?” 

“Of course! Pays well, lots'a vacation time, and everything’s compensated.” You tilt your head slightly, “Where do you guys' sleep?” 

“We got our own place out back, all of us. Sweet deal, huh?” she says, patting your back. “And who was the other person that works here?” you ask. 

Annie waves off the idea, stating “You don’t have to worry ‘bout him, he’s not really the talkin’ type.” 

Perhaps it was her bluntness or her motherly cadence, but you quickly became comfortable with her presence dragging you around like a lost puppy. She showed you the living room that appeared to be vomited on by all things antique and vintage, and the bathroom tiled an ugly orange pattern. She led you outside, where a garden blossoming with peonies and hibiscus was trimmed carefully to adorn the pebbled path and fit around the barn. Far-out past the back gate you saw what you assumed was their living quarters, separated from miles of tillage. 

By the time she finished her grand tour, you made it upstairs together to regroup with your dad. The second floor was reserved for your bedrooms and attached bathrooms. Entering your room, there’s nothing special about it. It seems like your dad attempted to buy things similar to your style, but couldn’t quite figure it out. You weren’t expecting much of anything considering this was your first—and most likely last—time being here, but it’s truly mediocre. “Whaddaya think pumpkin?”  

“I love it” you choke out a lie and plop onto the red plaid bedding. Your luggage is lined up by the dresser, and you have quite the unpacking session awaiting you. Annie leans on the doorway. “I’ll let ya get settled in. We can do more in the morning.” Your dad leaves with her, and when you’re left alone stewing in the reality, you fall back onto the comforter. 

One day is entertaining, you’d even call it an enjoyable experience. But the entire summer? You spend the rest of the day emptying out suitcase after suitcase, and turn in under the heavy blankets starving off a midnight chill. 

You’re up before the crack of dawn, contemplating what you’ll wear as if that matters while you’re shoveling shit and carrying chicken feed. You throw on something impractical either way—a plaid button up tied to crop, tight denim shorts, and a brand new pair of shiny cowboy boots you just couldn’t resist buying when the trip was announced. You stomp your way to the back porch and are immediately hit with the bittersweet scent of humid pastures and last night’s rain within the tepid wind. It’s utterly quiet besides the distant echo of cattle and pigs, cicadas humming an airy tune. Your eyes latch onto the barn, slightly parted with a dim light going on the inside.  

You recall what Annie said to you during the tour when you asked what’s in the barn: “I suggest you leave it alone, nothin’ worth lookin’ at in there.” Her clear avoidance intrigued you, and the more she dodges actual answers the more curious you become. You tread carefully on the path so you don’t alert whoever or whatever’s inside. As you plant one weightless foot over the other, you stop.  

A deep, gritty voice; thick like the bark of an ancient redwood. He grunts then *chop*, followed by something solid rolling on a prickly surface. Another thick groan and another *chop*. You get closer to the barn and slide across it, practically dragging yourself against Annie’s wishes.  

*Chop* 

You clutch the side of the parted door. 

*Chop* 

You peak your head in. The two story barn houses an array of soils and tools used for farming on the bottom, and clumps of hay piled high at the top. 

The older man with a mop of inky hair hangs his head low, honed in on the objective beneath him. The sharp end of the axe steadies above his head, then cuts through the air as it lands deep within the stump. He goes for another swing, beads of sweat meandering between his pecs, down the carved muscle of his abdominal and disappearing below his chiseled v-line. He digs his thick calloused fingers into the crevice and splits it. It’s as if his physique was crafted by careful hands, weaving marble like silk only Roman gods could mimic. 

Your entirely distracted by the unexpected scene before you when the silence is cut by a clatter. His breaths are sharp and purposeful as he kicks it off the stand and trudges to the uncut pile of logs. You watch him with wandering eyes, taking mental notes of scars hiding underneath the fine hair spread across his torso. This isn’t the grumpy old man you imagined when Annie spoke so brazenly about him. 

He hasn’t glanced at you once, despite standing right in front of the post he’s chopping on. It’s slightly aggravating. You’ve never had to ask for anyone’s attention before. You bathed in wealth, just enough to make even the snobbiest trust-fund kid turn his head. He must be blind. So, you wait until he comes to his senses, tapping your foot with your arms crossed over your chest.   

And you do that...for a while. More than a few minutes pass, and you’re still standing here. You stir in the silence and methodical chopping, feeling flustered at how needy you look waiting for a man's response. A piece of wood—more important than you? Impossible. In a last-ditch attempt, you clear your throat rather dramatically. Nothing. A log rolls by your foot and the older man walks up to you only to kneel down and grab the wood before going back to his task. Heat creeps onto your cheeks. Are you fucking kidding me?  

“Are you hard of hearing, mister?” you finally ask, batting your eyelashes at him. It’s a deep contrast to the irritation boiling in your stomach, so much so you have to choke back the vulgar words bubbling at the surface.  He glimpses you with frosted olive eyes and swings the axe over his head. In a mild country accent he replies, “No.”  

“...Oh.” You’re struck with palpable quiet once again. You’re fixed to the floor, struggling with something to say that doesn’t start with ‘fuck you’. As you’re about to open your mouth, he speaks.  

“Heard ya the first time.  If ya wanna talk, use your words.” You stare in utter disbelief. Was it audacity or straight stupidity? You can’t imagine anyone disrespecting their employer’s child, let alone commanding them.   

“Excuse me?” He tosses the last log in the pile.  

“Hm? Should I do it in a way you’ll understand?” he brings his fist to his lips, clearing his throat as you did.  There’s a glint through that frost, the twinkle of an obvious shit-stirrer. You’re pissed no doubt, but the corner of your lip twitches at a challenge. 

The most important tool to a wealthy family is humility. You can’t be too self-centered or prideful to strangers, dropping hints of sugary kindness as to not sour your perception. Perception is truly everything. Even so, the flowered words you’ve been taught to wield with grace wilt at the sight of him. 

“Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, huh?” You scoff, plopping down on the stump. He wipes his dirt-dusted hands on the back of his overalls, straps dangling at his thighs. “Not sure what ya mean.” 

“From what I’m getting, you’re a grumpy asshole. That description sound correct?” 

“‘M only an ass when trust-fund kids call me like I'm a dog.” 

“You know, the way Annie talks about you I thought you’d be some geriatric old man on his death bed! Turns out you’ve still got a couple more months in you—congrats!” 

He laughs, “‘Preciate it. If I’m correct you must be papa’s spoiled little brat from the big city?” 

“Mhm. Don’t worry, this was your first offense so I’ll let it slide. Remember to get on your knees when you apologize.” He pretends to ponder the idea, “Think I’ll pass. You can pick up one ‘o them bags up though and bring ‘er up to the field.” 

You pause for a second, blinking. Instantly you double over with snorting laughter, the kind that tints your face and gathers tears at your lashes. You’re even clutching your stomach from how funny it is. When you come up from your fit, he’s there with his arms crossed under his chest. That’s when you realize he wasn’t joking by any means. You gape in disbelief, a chuckle still caught in your throat. 

“Wait…you’re serious?” He walks over to one of the sacks and tosses it at your feet. “Well, get to work. I’ll show ya where to put it.” You purse your lips when a giggle slips, “Do you really think that’s gonna happen? Must be the age catching up with your brain.” 

“I think it is gonna happen cause yer in my area. If you wanna be here, you’re gonna work. Nothin’s free ‘round these parts.” You hop off the stump and stand in front of him. Unfortunately, your attempt to size him up fails as your crane your neck to meet his gaze. “You can’t make me do anything. In fact, this is my property, and you’re here to do your job. So go do it” you terse. 

“Nah, that’s not how this works. You’re on the farm now, not some bullshit country club you go to on weekends. Take yer ass to that bag and pick it up.” 

You feign a pout, “Isn’t a pretty girl in your presence enough hard work already?” 

“Not when she has so much mouth. The pretty ones know how to shut up.” 

“I wouldn’t have so much mouth if you didn’t back talk.” He gets in close, only inches away from your face. 

“Either go pick flowers, whatever girly shit you do, or do what I tell you to do.” 

“I’ll tell my dad you’re forcing me into manual labor.” 

“Aww, go ahead” he mocks with a smirk. He walks towards the door, wrapped in golden sunlight. Curious, you try tugging on the sack and nearly face-plant over the weight of it. There’s no way he expects you to carry it on your own. He turns back around, laced with mirth. 

“By the way, name’s Toji. Welcome home, sweetheart.” 

“Go do it yourself since you’re so good at it! You egotistical, selfish, brutish-” 

“Pompous ass instigatin’ little-” 

“-Callous disrespectful pig!” 

“-Brat.”  

The words topple over themselves and you both can’t get a full sentence in as insults are hurled like physical objects. The few days you’ve spent on the farm so far have been nothing short of hell, specifically around Toji. You’ve never worked this hard in your life; then again, that’s not saying much. He'd disregard your lack of general strength and enthusiasm. Sometimes he’d hold the underside of the bag to take some of the weight off, to which you often added “why don’t you just grab the whole damn thing?” A smirk and curt response were simply “Nope.” 

Most days you merely dragged a few bags to the pick-up truck and spent the rest of the day lounging around the garden. You’d stumble into the kitchen, a bead of sweat barely manifesting on your brow, and complain to Annie about Toji’s evil plan to make you contribute. 

Today is no different and you laze on the chair with your back bent over it, groaning in theatrical agony. Annie sits across from you funneling blueberry muffin batter into a silver muffin tin. “Yea, yea, I hear ya” she jokes.  

“Annie, do something” you drawl. She throws her hands up, “Can’t. Thats on you, now.” You scrape the side of the bowl and pop a blueberry-dipped finger in your mouth.  

“Don’t eat raw egg, hun” she says, turning her back to put the tray in the oven. You unconsciously take another swipe, then the door swings open. Heavy cowboy boots trail to the kitchen, and you glance at the doorway. Toji leans on it with his hands in his pockets, white tank sprinkled with grass blades.  

“Shit” you mumble.  

“’M lookin for ya and here you are stuffing your face.” 

“The girl neva worked a day in her life an’ you want her to be your assistant” Annie jests.  

“’S about time, ain’t it? We’re not done yet. C’mon.” You let out another reluctant groan and follow behind him. “This is bullshit, nobody does this on a normal day.” 

“Yea, nobody you know.” 

In front of the wheelbarrow bags upon bags are filled to the brim with juicy red apples and the truck is just a few feet away. Your eyebrow twitches imagining the weight in your arms. “You can go fuck yourself if you think-” before you can finish your sentence, a bag is dropped into your arms that briefly sends you to the ground. Toji picks up two and flings them over his back. “What? Too weak?” He walks to the truck, ignoring the glare burning holes in the back of his head. Too weak, my ass. You definitely couldn’t beat him in a fight, but you damn sure wouldn’t let him talk down on you after proving your competence. You pull it up and haul it backwards, not without a few mild choice words. 

“Jerk.” 

The pungent odor of slurry and trough feed overcome any habitable air near the pig farm. The clothespin you have clamped around your nose barely blocks the smell. It’s the middle of the day, rays rippling heat off the stench and sending it for miles. Your cowboy boots struggle to sit upright on the uneven terrain blanketed with mud.  

You don’t dare to open your mouth and complain in fear of it invading your sinuses. It’s your fault for nagging endlessly about the “back-breaking” work Toji forced you to do. your criticisms were met with some rendition of “suck it up”, and arguing only went in circles. Consistent arguing—from the moment you woke up to the last minutes of your shift, where you mouthed off one too many times for his liking. When you threatened to find another shift with someone else, he laughed in your face, a “good luck” drowning in derision.  

 Eventually Terrace got word of your grievances and offered part of his work to you. You accepted too soon without consulting Annie, happy to just rub it in Toji’s face that he’d be on his own carrying the bags. Simply the concept of it—Toji hunched over and covered in sweat with heaps of cargo—satiated your pride, and you’d count the days until he groveled and begged for your help again. 

Except that’s not the case. As you fight the urge to sink into the mud a seed of regret grows in a more reasonable part of your mind. You could ask for your position back, where he’d probably be waiting with that shit-eating grin of his and “I told you so” written all over his face. Or you could be stubborn and prove whatever point you’re trying to make. Stupidly headstrong, you swallow the urge to vomit and plod into the pig pen.  

The squelch of damp earth and God-knows-what underneath your boots is enough to make you sick. You’re balancing two full buckets of pigswill on either side of you, resisting the lack of steadiness that causes you to lean unfavorably. It’s no help that there’s filthy pigs all around you, snorting and trotting along. One bumps into the bucket and you shriek; your foot goes airborne and impending doom flashes before your eyes. Luckily, you gain stability and plant it firmly into the ground with an awful bubbling noise. The mess has soiled your boots coming up to your calves, and you frantically check for mud-to-skin contact. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it’d definitely be the end of your day. Suddenly, a whistle from the other side of the wooden fence grabs your attention. 

“Go on then, pig queen!” Toji yells, elbows propped on the edge. His accent gets thicker when he yells. He’s not affected by the smell in the slightest, and it almost looks like he’s breathing in extra hard to taunt the shortage of oxygen reaching your brain. 

“Fuck you!” you yell in a nasally tone. He adjusts his cowboy hat, “I’d focus on what’s in front of ya. Wouldn’t wanna slip in shit, right?” You scoff and continue to the troughs.  

You can’t imagine how Terrace, let alone anyone does it—from the constant clamor of livestock to sinking in pools of muck for hours. There’s dirt on your knees, clothes, in places you never imagined dirt could reach. The pigs seem excited as you place the pails on the rim, whereas you exert a long sigh for the fulfilled trek. They come running in unison as if something triggered in their brains, pushing past each other to get there first. Once they’re emptied, a partial weight lifts from your shoulders. You shoot an arrogant sneer at Toji, and watch the corner of his scar tip up just a little. You’re still pinned to the side, and a wet snout gently prods your exposed leg. It tickles and you laugh at its cluelessness. “Hey, I’m not on the menu.”  

As you slither out the crowd, a sneaky puddle attempts to take you out. You cling to the embarrassment, to Toji standing right there ready to mock you. You won’t give him the satisfaction. From there you take careful steps, one cautious foot after the other. Toji meets you around the entrance, and you’re about to reach the gate. You’re oozing confidence now; you might even brag to your father about the effortlessness of it all, that living on a farm is nothing, that you were able to accomplish anything— 

Slip. Crash! 

You’re knocked clean off your ass, so fast it doesn’t register until a few blinks pass. You hold a breath and the blurriness fades.  

Brown. It’s on your face.  

It’s truly everywhere—mud sloshing around in your boots, seeping into your clothes, sticking to the crevices, your fingers intertwined in the mass below.  

The emotion you try to stifle boils over into a horrified squeal, a tune that exceeds the pigs. And you scream and scream. Once for the mud and twice for the death of your designer boots. You’re so entwined in your own screams that you barely catch the laughter a few feet away.  

It’s him, doubled over with a practically red face. “I get you wanna be one of the pigs but you don’t hafta roll in it too!” Toji chortles. He can’t contain himself, wiping the tears on his glove. 

Your ears feel hot. “Shut the fuck up and get me out of here!” 

“Relax, relax. Gimmie a second.” The footsteps get further away, and you stumble to the gate to open. It doesn’t matter now that the damage is done, and you look like some terrifying swamp monster from myth. The lower half of you could only be concocted in a child's nightmares. 

Something snakes in the trampled grass, then it pauses. “Here.” Sooner than you can turn your head, you’re blasted with water. It rains on you like a thundershower and you cover your face from the assault. Denim weighs heavy, and your hair sticks to your face. You feel the dirt washing off, but now you’re soaked in a mixture of water and sodden debris. Wet, you’re spitting out water and treating your fingers like windshield wipers. The hose finally drops, and your eyes trail from the hand to the face.  

That shit-eating grin. 

“No need to thank me, miss piggy.” 

Your lip twitches. Should you kill him? Absolutely. Is it worth it? In this moment, yes. You’re doused, dirty, nose blind, and no longer hanging on to your act of humility. You have to get him back, at least once. It doesn’t matter if you have to wait all summer for it, creeping in doorways for the perfect time to demean him. There’s no level playing field—either your way or nothing. A smile stretches across your face. 

“You’re so right, darling. Now let me show you just how much I appreciate you.” You saunter to him, and he awaits with open arms. Before he can grab you, you dodge him and snatch the hose from the ground.  

Aim and fire, full force directly at his face. The blast knocks his hat off and into the air, swaying in the balmy breeze. His arm falls short of snatching it, plopping into the pen to blend with shit. You can’t hear the muffled curses he spouts, but damn is it satisfying to silence him. Then he reaches for you to which you promptly escape his span. You take time hosing down any remaining dry spots, and once the hose is down, he launches. You yelp and return to his face, and the abruptness makes him slip. Right into the mud you just shook off, he lands butt-first. It splatters his cargo pants and creates polka dot patterns on the white tank stretching to accommodate his frame. “You little-” 

Another burst of water. He tries to stand on slippery foundation and quickly falls, earth splashing back on him. You understand why he was laughing so hard and you can’t stop giggling at the misery of inescapable rain showers.  

“Looks like you needed some too! I can smell you from here!” you laugh. His snicker comes off more conniving than it should, and you brace for whatever hell you’ll have to pay later. He bolts up, and you make a run for it. Just when he thinks he has you, he slips again.  

“Poor grandpa! Someone get his life alert!” you cackle, dropping the hose and sprinting for the hills. You’re too afraid to turn around when you know for a fact he is mere feet away from capturing you. You cut through air, nothing but crumpling grass and laughter carried by the wind. It’s exhilarating...fun?  

You're confused by your own actions. You smell horrible, your hair is sticky, disgusting slop clings to you like a second skin, the sun is only baking the scent, and your self-proclaimed rival is chasing you.  

You should be mortified, and somehow, you’ve never felt better. 

Motes of dust scatter within the golden hue of mornings wake. The window’s cracked open, and remnants of last night's chill carry through sunrise. You’ve sat in this claw tub for way too long, melting in steam and lavender bubbles that slowly dissipate the longer you linger. A self-care day is what you need, especially after the “incident” that still makes your skin crawl weeks later. Simply your mud mask, waning candles, and rustling leaves. It’s rare you get silence like this nowadays, with Toji constantly on your back bickering about trivial problems.  

You can’t place your finger on what bothers you more, or if you’re really even bothered at all. Ironically, spending more time mulling over what you hate than actually hating him. You can mouth your contempt for him endlessly like an affirmation on deaf ears, but it never truly manifests.  

He’s annoying, selfish, crude, and disrespectful. 

Oh, and did I mention very annoying? 

It’s almost a bonding experience between you two; you’ve memorized the way his lips curve before a snarky remark, the deep crease on one side of his eyebrow when they furrow at something stupid you unintentionally did, his jaw clenching from held back words. His laugh—deep and resounding, unleashing a toxic mix of vomit and thrill in your stomach. You anticipate it, practice your insults in the shower for it, as if...you’re actually looking forward to it? 

You steep further into the fragrant bath, hoping you’ll somehow be sucked into an alternate reality where you don’t have to face those conflicting emotions. To your displeasure, the conflict is brought directly to you.  

A roaring engine disrupts your personal spa, and you jolt up. It sounds like a monster truck convention decided to congregate right below your bathroom window, and you definitely can’t relax under these conditions. You loosely wrap the towel around yourself and peer out over the windowsill. You can’t see a face, but you see that distinct cowboy hat stained over its silver conchos. 

“Hey!” you yell. No response, but how could you expect him to when the hood is propped up. He must be wrenching something inside judging by the way his back muscles methodically tighten. 

“HEY!”  

“TOJI!” That gets his attention and he squints above, wrench still in hand. “Oh! What are ya doing there?” 

“This is my bathroom you idiot!” 

He pans between the vehicle and your window. “Oops!” 

“Turn it off, I’m trying to have my beauty bath in peace!” 

  “Welp, can’t do anything about that now, can we?” He makes no attempt to turn it off, nor does he give you any more attention as he turns around and resumes working like nothing happened. 

You run downstairs completely haggard, mud mask hardly washed off with a pair of mismatched socks and a baggy shirt. The rumbling gets louder, and you don’t have the patience for appearances when you step into those clod-smeared boots.  

The screen door swings open and you march to the side of the house, towel bunched in your arms. 

He doesn’t regard you until you launch it at his face, which he promptly catches without looking. “Thanks, needed somethin’ to dry off.” He wipes the oil streaks from his face and neck while you stand there scowling. His eyebrows narrow. 

“What’s the problem now?” You should've predicted he’d say this, as every time a dispute arises over his uncivil actions he asks the same clueless question. 

“What...God, you’re so annoying sometimes! Do you not understand how it doesn’t make any sense for you to be here and-” He’s spacing off, scratching the side of his head with the wrench. It drives you up the wall when he acts like this. 

“Listen to me!” That triggers him back to the present, and the light flickers in his eyes just to deadpan you. “You done?” 

“No, I’m not done. Say you’re sorry” you command. He takes the hat off his head and places it on his chest. “My apologies, princess. I’ll be sure to call the company and let them know their machine is too loud for your prissy little ass” he smiles, coy and bowing. You nudge him and the wind rushes from his nose. 

“When you call them, let them know their piece of shit junk needs to be out of commission.” 

“Well, this piece of shit lasts a lifetime.” 

“What even is this?” You’re analyzing it, and it reminds you of the illegal three-wheelers certain people ride through the city. It has no seatbelt or roof, and a row of sharp spinning blades hooked to the back. 

“City girl’s never heard of this, huh? ‘Sa tiller. Gets the job done durin’ plantin’ season.” You step towards it, but Toji stops you from going further with his arm. “Don’t go near the blades.” 

“Obviously.” You shoo him and climb into the seat of tiller. You sink into the leather seat, lay back, and cross your feet on the wheel. Toji grimaces, but that subtle sign that you’re inconveniencing him eggs you on. 

“Get yer feet off the wheel.” 

“Mm, nah. It’s not hurting anyone.” 

“’S hurting me.” 

“Hmph, okay.” You switch your feet to the opposite cross, and he looks up to an invisible God, probably begging it to give him the strength to not throw you off. 

“What did I-” 

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the engine!” you scream. He sighs and hunches back over the hood. “Jus’ be quiet for me, have to finish this.” Funny how he asks for quiet in these deafening circumstances. 

You didn’t plan on watching him work, but you hate to admit it’s kind of interesting. It’s the quietest he’s ever been, sweat trickling down his temples from the apparent heat on the inside. This must’ve been what Annie meant at the beginning, about his silence and reluctance to speak unless being spoken to. The scars scattered on his bicep shift with the cranking wrench, and you can’t help but focus on it. They’re too deep to be cat scratches and healed with a bunched sheen under its darker edges. There’s one under his collarbone, too, peeking past his shirt neckline dark and jagged. Your mind wanders, for the past life he had—what was his family like, why does he choose to live here, why are there so many scars, what led him to- 

“You’re staring.” You snap out of it, to him wiping the excess oil on his shirt. 

“Sorry.” 

“Oh? Where’d that hospitality come from all of a sudden?” You can’t explain why, but there’s a solemn pit burning in your stomach. Perhaps you’d lighten up a bit, at least for now. “Appreciate it while it lasts” you remark. He grins and gets back to work. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Changin’ the ignition coil. That’s why she sounds like hell.” 

Your ears perk up, “She?” 

“Yup.” 

“Does she have a name?” 

“Nope.” 

“Can I name her?” He puts the replacement coil on, “Knock yourself out.” 

“Hmm…how about….Priscilla?” He can’t purse his lips quick enough to stop the laugh that escapes.  

“Hey! I think Priscilla’s a cute name” you add. “Yeah, for an old woman.” 

“No way, an old woman name would be something like ‘Gertrude’.” 

“Gertrude’s on the same level as Priscilla.” 

“Either way it’s fitting, isn’t it? An old woman for an old man.” His scar tips up. “Ha ha. Think I’m pretty fit for an old man, though.” 

Your eyes reluctantly snap to his chest muscles peeking through the shirt. “You manage.” He pushes the coil away from the flywheel. 

“Maybe Rosy? Oh, or Susie.” 

“Think I’ll just call ‘er (Y/N).” 

“Huh? Why my name?” 

“So when you make me mad, I can curse her out instead of you. Best part is she won’t talk back.” He tightens the last screws and shuts the hood. Immediately the banging stops, and the engine reduces to a whir. You clap sarcastically, “Nice job! You get a C minus.” 

“Why not an A?” 

“You’ll get an A when you stop pissing me off.” 

Sticky sunbeams melt and mold into your pores, stiff from the aftereffects of its suffocating warmth. The sky gives way to a heatwave, where shimmering hot sheets scorch the ground and ripple like a retreating ocean. Lionel taught you how to harvest fruit before the rooster’s crow, and you reaped the rewards of your labor all morning. You’re numbed to the moisture collecting on your face at this point, as its vicious, stuffy humidity swallows your breaths and envelops your bleary eyes. You chose to shut them over battling the sun, bathing in its essence. It would settle in the late afternoon and blend to a forgiving mess of sunset swatches, but in the meantime, you’d soak up a bronzing tan.  

You brought a blanket to the nearest tree you could find, an expansive canopy spearheading small manageable daylight. You’re leafing through the pages of a non-fiction novel you never finished with a makeshift flower bookmark tucked under your thumb. You occasionally stop to dive in the compensation for your earlier efforts; a basket of scarlet strawberries twisted around prickly stems. 

The book tugs from your grasp and you prop up your sunglasses, gazing at the perpetrator. 

It only takes a glance to notice how badly burnt Toij’s body is. Does he really need someone to remind him to apply sunscreen, a basic necessity, or did he get too wrapped up in his work again? Toji was, if nothing else, a hard worker. You caught yourself on more than one occasion observing him. You saw it in the way the other farmers freely asked for his help, and how he’d give it for nothing in return. He moved like the wind, stoic demeanor all consuming, to behave like the rough muteness he pushed upon himself. 

A rosy shade diffuses on the apples of his cheeks and clearly separates from the protected and unprotected parts of his flesh. Its shape outlines a tank top he must’ve been wearing with the bottom hiked up, bright rubescent pattern surrounding his surprisingly smooth pecs. You take a mental note to nag him about it next time. The smudged outline of your glasses reflects on his glistening lower abdomen and his chest heaves like a marathon in the desert.  

“What ya reading?” he asks. His eyes drag across the page. “None of your business” you retort, hazy and lax from summer’s embrace. He peers over the book and passes it off to you.  

“Don’t seem like the reading type.” He plops down on the grass with a basket of dirt and carrots, few contorted to an inedible extent. “Neither do you.” He digs his fingers in the basket and begins fishing out the deformed carrots. The usual banter, macerated by exhaustion, ghosts by with little intent. 

“If you’re looking for help, I don’t feel like it.” 

“I know.” 

You both don’t say anything for a while, taking in the warmth, the cicadas buzzing in a faraway tree, the brewing pause between your bodies, unsaid words binding you to selfish outcomes, depriving you of your deepest hunger. The book is no longer as interesting as you remember. You’re more inclined to watch the sunburnt farmer. 

He picks up another clump. Inching along the carrot is a ladybug. Toji regards it for a second with the same eyes that chop trees and drag metal. At first, he does nothing. Then you track the tip of his finger as it prods slightly, goading the ladybug onto it. He carries it with the same unwavering stoicism to a blade of grass, where the ladybug hops off and continues its journey.  

Speechless would be an understatement. Truthfully, he’s the last person you’d expect to act that way. Those battered palms, bruised and scarred, tattered with memories, could appear so gentle. Those same hands would afford the fragile beings of mankind a moment of mercy. Only you are granted the privilege of Toji’s micro movements; his shoulders slumping from their usual solidity, his eyelids relaxing, jaw unclenching. Is this what he wanted you to see? Is that why he came here, sitting in the shade of a rival you thought you had? You must be staring for too long because- 

“…What?”  

“Oh. Uh, nothing.” 

He returns to what he was doing.  

“It’s about the search for meaning in life. A psychiatrist's perspective.” 

“Your book?” He asks, sifting through the sod. 

“Yeah.” 

“So…did he figure it out?” 

“He believes that the primary human drive is not pleasure, but the pursuit of what we find meaningful.” He doesn’t react, but a curious part of you wanted him to respond. Tell you a story or spill his guts, lay bare in front of you so that you may latch on to something, anything that isn’t rumors or hushed whispers for the man unknown to everyone. He checks another carrot—it’s as if he’s looking past it, like a light switched off, engulfed in a reflection pulling him further and further. 

You point the tip of a strawberry to him and his attention diverts, “You want?”  

“Can’t. Hands full.”  

You eye them; thick and calloused, fingernails lined with soil, probably sore along with the rest of his body. You can’t bear to watch—surely not because you care, but because of your sudden aptitude to kindness.  

“Just come here.” He leans over cautiously, and the shock is palpable when you press it to his lips. He seems to contemplate the risk of poison for a second.  

“If I wanted to kill you, it would’ve happened already. Open.” He obediently parts his mouth, and you feed it to him. Toji’s eye contact stuns like a spell from a Greek myth—devastatingly enchanting and hard to disengage. Just when you think you have the upper hand, you’re quickly reminded that dynamic can easily change. He rolls his tongue over the bite mark and sucks the juices, and you can’t look away—you won’t. 

 It’s the sun. it has to be. It’s getting to you both.  

You flinch when his lips ghosts against your knuckles. Soft and slightly chapped. Sugary liquid pools at the plush center of his lips where your eyes linger for too long, and he licks that up too. It’s over as quick as it began. Then you’re stuck stirring in the disarray of your own deluded thoughts.  

His scar curls with a growing smirk. It’s a shallow cut, but sunken, nonetheless. You tell yourself it’s the weather when your thumb moves from the strawberry to his face. Languid, careful motions where the hollow of his cheek would be, like gaining the trust of a wild animal. He doesn’t budge, and you press it to the corner of his mouth. 

“How’d you get this mark on your face?” 

“Not important” he responds curt. 

“Why? I wanna know.” His jaw clenches, reappearing stiff and guarded. “Don’t push it.” 

You trace it, fixating, studying the feeling. You drag downwards, tugging it slightly.  

“…like someone cut you” you mutter. 

Suddenly, he stands up with the basket. His joy fades to indifference; eyes encased in a dense fog. You retreat to your side, and he doesn’t acknowledge you as he starts down the hill. 

“I-“  

“I have to get this to Lionel. See ya.” 

You’re given the back of him, receding into the distance. There’s a dull pounding in your ears, a twitch in your limbs that pleads for you to follow. But what would you say? What could you say? It doesn’t come to fruition.  

The space between you widens with each step. 

“-we’re expecting to see cloudy skies and storms for the re-” the portable radio buzzes in and out of connection, “-prepare for the weather by-”. Annie fiddles with the tuner to get it back on track. It crackles and scratches, but the connection can’t be regained, finally diminishing to static. 

You weren’t listening either way, huddled with your knees close to your chest on the window seat, resting your head as raindrops trickle down the glass and pitter-patter the windowsill. The trees bend to the will of the raging wind, and they’re being pulled every which direction. Ceramic settles behind you, and you crane your neck to Annie, then the novelty mug resembling an orange. You don’t reach for it, but you stare for a while, teabag bleeding burgundy under the millions of candles placed around. 

“Thank you for the tea.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

You’ve had a hard time sleeping lately. Conflictingly so, since you’d imagine more sleep would be had with Toji coming around less. It’s what you wanted. Him chasing you was exhausting, wasn’t it? His behavior, his manners, him—it was just a bother. You should be glad you haven’t seen him since the incident. 

If he pained you, why are you kept awake, fumbling with the covers, incessantly thinking of Toji? You put together witty remarks for when you cross paths again, new creative insults, schemes you’ll act out to piss him off—all of this for someone you tried to get away from for half the summer. You assumed a week would pass and everything would be back to normal. But one week turned into two, then three. Your stay is coming to a close, and as you reflect, you’re forced to reconsider the unspoken reality gnawing at your thoughts since the moment you first met. 

That you were free to be dirty, to curse, to learn, to get mud on your face and dirt underneath your fingernails. You could lounge in an outfit from days ago or dance in the fury of midsummer. You were stupid, but not inferior the way wealthy upperclassmen made you out to be. You had the freedom to be stupid. There were no hierarchies or social status between you—simply hard work and hostility. Somehow that, being tangled in the thorns of a never-ending war, felt better than the yacht parties you’d been accustomed to. 

He sets your blood aflame, but noting ignites a fire in you like Toji. 

Annie sits crisscross on the loveseat, warming her hands with the cup. You return her content smile.  

“Everythin’ alright, sugar?” 

“Think I messed up.” 

“Hm? How so?” 

“I feel like...I overstepped. Actually, I know I did, and I feel bad. Even though I think I shouldn’t.” 

Annie exhales a soft laugh, “Assumin’ this is about Toji?” 

You nod, and she traces the rim of the cup. “If ya don’t care about ‘im, don’t feel bad.” You don’t reply, and she continues, “Though...I have a sneaky suspicion you care more than you'd like to admit.” 

You bury your head further into you. “Feelings are weird” you mumble. 

“They defnintely are. But sometimes it’s good to listen to ya heart. Take it from an old lady.” 

“...” 

“When ya feel bad about somethin’ ya did, the best way’s to apologize.” 

You peek through your arms, “Has he ever told you? Like, about his life?” 

She wanders in thought, recollecting an old memory, “Nope. Youngin’ showed up on the farm one day all scratched up and been workin’ ever since.” 

If nobody knew, you wouldn’t expect him to comply with your demands. You’re conscious of what needs to be done, but doubt surfaces. What does my heart tell me? 

You start tying your boots and throw on a hoodie in a pile by the door.  

“Do you know where he is?” 

“Not a clue.” That’s fine. Today, you’d be the one chasing after him. 

The brunt of the storm smacks you in the face once the door flies open. “Careful out there!” she hollers, and you shut the screen behind you. Your fight or flight refuses to let go of the knob as the squall persists, invoking a shrouded sea of churning clouds and indigo, banging against the foundation of the house. You scale the side and notice the barn, no light inside. You go around the back and it’s the same, wheat failing to resist the storm. However, for a split second you squint and spot a flicker. It’s faint and the size of a firefly from your view, coming from the stables further down. There’s a chance it isn’t him, but you don’t have much room for hypotheticals.   

The safety of the overhang leaves you, and you’re in the middle of a downpour. Running, inching the line of being knocked off your feet from an abrupt gust. You’re submerged in seconds, but you don’t stop running. If your heart tells you to endure, then you will. Raindrops threaten to invade your eyes, whacking you repeatedly in the face, but you shut tight and go forward. The last stretch to the stable feels like clawing up a mountain. The flurry hauls your clothes, and your steps get heavier and heavier as nature batters the earth. 

Then the sleeve shielding your face grazes something solid. You glue yourself to the side of it and pry your eyes open. An oil lantern, shining bright in the dark. You shuffle around for the sliding door and slip inside. The interior is cozy, haybales piled wherever they could fit and a couple large wooden stables supported by beams. The power must’ve went out everywhere, oil lanterns casting dimly.  

Your instinct to breathe ceases when you see Toji. His cowboy hat is tilted back, paisley bandana tied loosely around his neck with an ear of wheat tucked in his teeth. He glances at the sound of the door slamming. You’re blanking, even after you mulled over those sleepless evenings. It doesn’t help that your heart won’t function properly.  

“...Hey” he says, a tone unrepresentative of his avoidance. He grins—in the exact way you like—and picks the straw out. 

You’re irritated he’s even attempting to talk to you as normal. 

“It’s rainin’. You should be inside.” He grabs his shirt and pats your face dry. You don’t complain; a musky scent of cedar and salt when you inhale. “I could say the same to you. Why are you out here?” you murmur through the cloth. 

“Horses get a little antsy when the weathers like this. Came by to calm em’ down.” He pets the blonde mane of one of lighter horses, covered in brown spots.  They look comfortable around him, loose lower jaw slanting to his touch. You’re forgetting how to talk. There he goes again, subverting your expectations. 

“What kind of horse is it?” 

“Spotted draft horse. She’s real gentle, wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

“She’s pretty.” He flashes his canines, “Her name’s Marie.” 

“Old woman name” you say under your breath. He laughs. “Wanna pet ‘er?” 

You’re shy but interested, shuffling closer to the stable. The tips of your ears blossom when his palm encloses your wrist, rough skin abrading yours. Then he guides you to the side of Marie’s neck. “You’re gonna pet here. Nice an’ slow, yeah?” he instructs, way too close. It’s silky, and you’re absorbed in the feeling of it on your fingertips. She neigh’s mildly and you jolt. Toji keeps you still. 

“Atta girl” he whispers, husky and painfully smooth in your ear. It fills your head like a shot of whiskey and a tipsy glow flows from your face. Your muscles tense, troubled from your anticipated apology and the unforeseen shift in feelings for him. There’s no way you can do this without stumbling. 

“I didn’t know you liked horses so much.” He lets go. 

“Yup. Used to have one.” You turn to him. His pleasant expression remains, but it’s solemn, bittersweet. You take a long breath and let it spill. 

“I’m sorry for what I did before. I realized I made you uncomfortable asking those questions. It won’t happen again.” 

He subdues his hum and he’s awkward in his stance, rubbing the back of his head like a guilty child. “I was never mad. I just...” He trails off. 

“Never mind that. Big man still pissed at you?” he asks, like mood switch occurred. If he won’t dwell on it, you’ll try not to either. You connect the dots to your father's pet name. 

“That’s what you call him?” you giggle. 

“Yup, since I got to the farm.” 

“I hope not, if he is I’ll probably never leave.” 

“Is that a bad thing?” It’s a humorless joke, wavering someplace unsure. 

“It would be if I never finished school.” 

“What ya majoring in?” You’re hesitant to say for the possible doubt he’ll display. You dance around the answer. 

“Promise you won’t laugh.” His expression contorts to confusion. “Fine...I promise.” 

“Humanitarianism.” He goes blank like a mannequin, and by the way his lip fights a flit he’s holding in his laughter as much as possible. 

“Forget it-” 

“I didn’t laugh. What ya gonna do with your degree?” 

“I want to help people.”   

He folds his arms over his chest, “But you don’t wanna help me?” 

“N-not that kind of help. Like, housing help, financial help. No one should have to work as hard as you...” 

“So, you wanna help old broke runaways like me, huh?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I mean it’s admirable, darlin’, but I work here cause I want to. ’S a good gig, takes the mind off o’ things.”  

Your mouth moves before your brain, “...What things?” 

“Thought you weren’t gonna ask me shit like that anymore.” 

“My bad.” 

“I’ll give you what you want.” He locks the gate to the stable. Your blood feels hotter when he’s fixed on you.  

“Y’know...the thing about foster care is you’re never guaranteed a good home, or even a home at all.” Toji simpers out of place, out of tune like a broken piano. “I was one of the lucky few that got sent home to home. Got attached just to get thrown back in the same shithole with the other rejects. It hurt at first, but after a while you get so used to the feeling that you’re not wanted or needed. And when a foster kid grows out of the system and they throw your ass on the street, gotta get it however you can.”  Though he tells it like the casual reminiscence of childhood, you know better than that. 

“So, I taught myself to survive, no matter the cost and regardless of who it hurt. I’ve done some irredeemable shit. Held people at gunpoint, beat them up for money, stole their valuables, all the shit they worked hard for.”   

“I fought for food, shelter. Hell, anything I could get my hands on. I never killed anyone but damn sure got close, all for an overnight motel stay and sometimes a couple cigs.”  He ambles to you and you automatically back up. Your space is squeezed to capacity, and whenever you get a portion of relief, he seals it. You take a step; he takes one more. 

“You wanted to know how I got this, right?” He taps the corner of his mouth where the scar is. 

“I entered a fighting ring for money, the kind that trades boxing gloves for knives. And boy, was I desperate. He chucked that blade at my mouth and I crushed his throat, sliced him across the eyes. I bled for a while but it kept me full for a few days.” Your back hits the door and he cages you.  

“‘Ventually the wanted flyers started coming out. Thought about turning myself in, but what kind of asshole admits to his crimes? So, I kept running, running from everything. I can’t remember how long I went for. But then I ended up here.”   

Rain pelts the roof. You remind yourself to inhale and exhale. It’s a conscious thought, in and out, processing the secrets revealed. There’s nowhere to hide, yet you don’t feel unease—solely the faint pang of sorrow. Toji appears warm under the rich glimmer. The rugged contours meld to his lowered gaze, lips twisted in a frown you hardly recognize. He looks entirely different, disconnected from your quarrels. To you this feels like it should be an attempt at intimidation, but the way he's boxing you in screams loose and unsteady. A wounded beast bearing its fangs as a defense mechanism. His arms are corded in muscle and riddled with injuries, likely from the upsets, days of begging for food, wondering when his next meal will be or if he just consumed his last, where he will go to survive, how he will survive.   

“Are you scared now?”  

He’s a vagrant. He lived on the fringes of society, avoiding the law and committing horrific acts for his own benefit. He hurt people. Who’s to say he wouldn’t hurt you next? Annie was right. Toji is right. You need to be afraid.  

Instantly, his little quirks made sense. The barriers he built and his hesitation to speak, forbearing and tolerant in spite of the bruises. He was afraid of being thrown away again, to be the same teen casted to the streets—proven useless. 

You’re inches away. It’s unsaid, begging you to repel him. There’s no rationale in your actions.  

You stand on your toes and catch his lips in a kiss.  

Brief, charged with the comfort that got lost on your tongue. His lips requite yours and leave traces of bourbon. You didn’t know he drank. It’s so brief you linger in the aftermath of heat, hoping you can satiate your interest with two, maybe three more kisses. 

Your noses graze each other. His half-lidded eyes captivate you, freezing you in time, to plinking mist and airy touches, yearning on the brink of impulse. He hovers over your lips, shuddering on the expel. Then he withdraws. 

“Ya have no sense of danger.” 

You can’t think straight, haven’t been able to for some time now. “You’re not scary. Just annoying.”  

“...I'm glad.” 

He grabs his sherpa lined jacket off a haybale and wraps it around your torso. It’s far too big and pieces of hay poke your lower back. He pulls the hood over, “This should be good. C’mon, let’s get ya back in the house.” Toji opens the stable doors. Tiny droplets percolate at your frigid feet, and you stick your head out. 

Fog clings to the edge of the horizon. The storm ended, and the land washed anew.  

“Ouch.”  

“Careful, hun.” 

The sewing needle pricks your thumb from the other side of the glove again and you flinch, though you probably have tons of holes in your skin at the moment. You’re by no means the best at sewing, but it’s not like Toji could do any better based on the tears in the leather. You’re curled like a shrimp on the dining chair, weaving the needle through a heavy-duty fabric you found in the sewing basket Annie gave you. Floral pin cushions, yarn, thread, and bunches of fabric are splayed across the gingham table.  

It’s likely Toji would’ve slaved it to the bone and never ask for another pair, so when you got to your room and found them in the jacket pocket you felt inclined to assist. Plus, it’s a good distraction from the half-embarrassment half-shock you grieved from your boldness the other day.  

A draft pierces the chiffon curtains. It’s getting colder and the final day of your vacation has arrived, both short and torturously long. You think about the things that passed the time, the person that shortened your days to summertime laughter and mischief. Before the farm, you would’ve relished in a going away party with a performer and glittering spotlight. Yet, as cattle moo and land are tilled for the upcoming season, the profoundness of being ordinary is more pleasant than the former. 

You pull the last thread through the patch and admire your amateur mend, navy fabric accented amongst the mahogany leather. Vanilla and lemon permeate the house while a bundt cake rises in the oven. 

Annie hands you a few stationery notecards smudged with flour fingerprints. “Write somethin’ nice for ‘em. Don’t think they’ll be able to say goodbye before you go. ‘S gettin’ busier and busier nowadays.” You nod and start writing messages of appreciation for Lionel and Terrace, thanking them for putting up with your cluelessness.  

“Should I write one for you, too?” 

“You can jus’ tell me now” she beams. 

“Well, Annie, thank you for everything—for showing me around, cooking for everyone, making sure we’re all healthy and full. Most of all, thanks for treating me like family.” 

She tussles your hair, “You’ll always be family, honeybun.” 

Hooves on stone trot near the house and your heart skips a beat. You walk to the screen door and see Marie’s long mane, then Toji holding the reins. He looks like a true cowboy, double stitched western belt with a taut plaid flannel and chestnut cowboy hat to match his boots. You open the door and lean on the porch column. 

“Wanna go for a ride?” he calls. 

“Usually, guys say that when they have an expensive car.” 

“Well, this here’s an expensive horse. That good enough for ya?” 

“...I guess it’ll have to do” you say, continuing to Marie with a delicate caress on her neck. 

He holds his hand out, “Up.” 

“To where?” 

“Stop askin’ so many questions.” You roll your eyes and grab his wrist. He abruptly hauls your body weight over Marie and you squeak. It's higher than you thought and you struggle to adjust your legs in the right position on the saddle. 

“Might wanna hold on.”  

You scoff, “I can handle myself.” As soon as you say that, Marie breaks into a sprint. You would’ve flown off the mare if not for your flailing arms finding safety around Toji’s waist. “You did that on purpose, you ass!” you scream.  

“I have no idea what ya talkin’ ‘bout.” You can hear the smile when he says that.  

Hammered dirt belches behind as you leave a thick forest similar to the one you drove through for your arrival. It’s a scene from a storybook, carving through a colorful meadow bursting with wildflowers. They teeter in the headwind and so do you, hair whipping onto your face from the speed. The canopy that once enveloped you becomes a faint, fading outline against the sky and bushes shrink to specks. The landscape melts like an impressionism painting. 

Toji has expert control over the mare and his stature stands tall in spite of haste. You scale the hills, appreciating the natural foundation carving willowy trees, the miles of foliage, the cattails in a small sparkling river etched in a meandering bank. Birds sing their evening songs, and an animal rustles through the grass. Eventually you pause at the summit, immersed in a vast, unspoiled scenery stretching infinitely. Toji hasn’t said much, but neither do you.  

“I thought you’d wanna see this” he mutters. 

“How come?” 

“When ya weren’t working, you’d just climb to the hilltops and... stare. Never knew what you were staring at, but I assumed it was the view.” 

“You don’t see stuff like this in the city. It’s so peaceful here.” 

“It never gets old.” You look at him, corners of his mouth mellow. You recall the way they felt and butterflies involuntarily bloom from a deep pit in your stomach. 

You yank the hat from his head and try it on. “Hey, give it here.” You duck his grasp and push it down.  

“It looks cute on me.” 

“So what?” 

“You don’t think it matches my shoes?” 

“I think you’re a brat.”  

“Hmm” you say, feigning contemplation. “You should know, women don’t like angry old men. It’s so uncute.” 

  “Heh, really. I’m uncute?” he laughs. “Yeah, among a few other things.” 

“Well I’m sorry, princess, but you’re a real pain in the ass too.” 

“The feeling’s mutual” you retort. 

“...Is it?” You don’t have a remark for that. The sun recedes into the horizon, radiating burnt orange and red. He uses the reigns to guide Marie back in the direction of the farm. “I’ll miss the countryside.” The brim of his hat dips over your eyes and you don't correct yourself when you lean to his back, calmed from the rocking sway.  

Toji pulls the reigns at the stairs and gets off. You impassively accept his aid as he  

 scoops and sets you down.  

The buzzing porch light attracts moths with its fluorescence. Amidst the prolonged awkward silence and clumsy gestures, you’re searching for your soul’s response like Annie mentioned. Whenever you tried, the message got tangled on your tongue. Given another chance, it eludes you again. 

“I guess this is it.” 

“Yup” he agrees. 

“Try not to miss me too much.”  

He smirks, “I’ll do my best. Goodnight, little miss.” 

He left and it’s time for you to get some sleep. But you can’t. You’re wide awake, glued to the ceiling thinking about him like your life depends on it. Maybe the instigator in you was waiting for confrontation, or the truth hurts more than you thought it would. You sit up like you’re expecting something, like you just lost a long-fought battle. You need the last word.  

It’s a quaint home with tawny wood accents. Jacket and gloves in tow, you can’t formulate a single justifiable reason for being at his front door. You lie and tell yourself it’s to return his possessions, as if you ever cared, like his hat isn’t resting on your dresser. You knock twice. 

Toji unlocks the door wearing nothing but his jeans, hair shaggier than usual. “Look who’s here” he says, a tinge of shock and something sweeter. You shove the items to him. “Your jacket, and uh…your gloves were bad, so I sewed them up. Try to take better care of your things.” He slings it to the side. 

“Heh. Yes, ma’am.” 

“So…um.” 

“Is that all you’re here for?” Not in the slightest. You’re here to get something off your chest, right? You’re not even sure what you’re mad about anymore. 

“Y-yeah.” 

“Alright then, see ya in the mornin’.” The door slowly winds closed, but you interrupt, “Were you trying to insinuate something?”  

It stops and he cracks it further, smile growing. “Not tryin’ to insinuate anything I haven’t noticed already” 

You’re burning under his gaze. “Wha…I swear, your ego is insane. You should be grateful I’ve been so nice-“ 

“Your eyes tend to…” he regards you from head to toe, “…roam. You’re not as subtle as you think.” 

“Like I wanna look at you.” 

“I wouldn’t mind if ya did.” 

“God, you’re so far up your own-“ 

“You haven’t left yet.” His relaxed demeanor aggravates you, as if he's fully aware of why you’re here. He edges closer, chest inches away from yours, voice slow and gravelly in the dead of night. 

“There’s somethin’ you want, right? Ask for it.”  

Your pulse travels to your ears. Longing teetering on the cusp of fire. 

“Fuck this.” You turn to leave, when suddenly your arm gets snatched back and pulled into the room. The door shuts and you’re flung against it, though there’s no room to move when Toji’s pressed chest-to-chest. His breathing heaves, and you can feel it rising and falling laden with yours as he’s loomed over you. 

“What’s with the sass, huh?” he chides. His grip is bruising, but the small victory of a sinking composure sends a chill up your spine you’d rather not think about. 

“You started it, don’t act so innocent now.” You can tell he’s physically holding back, the shakiness in his little breaths becoming more evident. The wild blaze in his eyes eats you up with greed. 

“You really need to be taught some fucking manners.” 

“You’re gonna punish me?” You’re both at a whisper, too scared to speak the words you’ve been keeping to yourselves. 

“I wanna do so much worse.” 

“Then do it.” 

He holds your neck in place and you succumb to raw and unrestrained fervor. Rough, uncoordinated kisses being dragged over the expanse of your lips and you’re hardly able to maintain the pace. Your free hand curls through his tresses and pushes him deeper into you. He groans through those rushed, bruising kisses reddening your lips and immediately hunts for more.  

You didn’t expect Toji to be a gentle lover by any means, but it’s the way his mouth never leaves yours, a certain thirst that can’t be satiated no matter how much he drinks. You bite his bottom lip, teeth collide and he repeats the feast all over again. You can’t tell if he’s trying to savor it or devour you in one go.  

His hands snake from your neck to the fat of your ass, and he delivers a quick smack before hoisting you around his waist. Trails of spit connect where you part for air, but he swiftly chases it with tongue, pushing into your mouth and clouding your head. You intertwine, wet and feverish as it explores your mouth.  

He’s ruthlessly scouring fulfillment, drunk off the pleasure he finds in swallowing your moans and traversing your numbing lips. You’re sweating, hot in all the right places, and you return the favor with similar passion. Your lower back aches but he doesn’t give any inclination that he’ll let up soon, grinding on the delicate, sticky lace of your panties exposed from your hiked up dress.  

“Fuck, I can feel it through your clothes” he groans, lazily undulating his hips.  

“S-shut up- ah!” Your stammering gets caught in a moan when the fabric presses against your clit just right. He wears a sleazy grin, moving slower to coax the barely audible whimper that escaped you a moment ago. “I wouldn’t mind if ya made a little noise” he husks. You’re shaky, trying to compose your trembling vocals threatening to call his name. In regular circumstances, you would’ve let yourself have it. But this is Toji, and the mischievous urge you reserve for him wants to shoot down his boosted ego. 

“Maybe you’re not doing good enough.”  

“Really...” Toji’s huffs a humorless laugh, and you have half the mind to acknowledge that you just fucked up. He enriches the kiss and movements get a little angrier, bulge rutting into you furiously.  

“Then I’ll make it so good for ya, darlin’” he rasps, “So good you’ll hafta beg me.” 

It’s impossibly big, and sliding against the aching mess restrained in his pants doesn’t quell your concerns. You swear you can feel the dim thump thump thump through it. 

You unlatch again, severing a trail of spit when you briefly make eye contact. They’re crazed, far and near at the same time and somehow sparkling the prettiest shade of hazel green. He immediately claims space on your neck. Sucking and biting, feral groaning between your pulse point that drums whenever his appendage glides along a sweet spot. His teeth graze harsh against your skin and you can feel purple and blue burgeoning like watercolor splotches on an untouched canvas.  

And he must be long gone, pinning you between the door and his haughty strength, spit glistening on your neck. You’re using whatever pride you have left to clamp your mouth shut, though it’s obvious to Toji as his lips curl when your breath stutters. He detaches with a wet smack, and you can't angle away from the onslaught of tender kisses along the underside of your jaw.  

He lifts you across the room, to the edge of his wooden platform bed draped in a deer pattern quilt. Your knees are wobbly on the descent and it hits when your feet touch the ground, almost slumping onto the mattress. Before you can, he grabs a fistful of hair at the back of your head and holds you upright. 

“Stand straight” he barks, dangerously commanding. In one fell swoop, using one hand, he flips the buckle on his belt open and yanks it out the loops. His pants sag at his hips and the tent peaks with more room. He wraps the leather around your wrists and ties it over itself, securing tight—maybe too tight—at the end.  

“On your fucking knees.” You don’t drop on the first order.  

“Make me.” Typical—but he’s happy to guide you. He tugs your hair to the ground, and you thud onto the hardwood floors by your knees.  

You knew Toji was hot, stealing glances of his shirtless torso plowing in the summer rays—but God, he truly is alluring. Straight below him you get the best view of the veins winding down his lower abdomen, the planes of his abs shining in the already low light. Underneath his pecs, full chest pulling taut with yearning, unruly need. In no time he unzips his fly and kicks his pants at his ankles, revealing firm boxer briefs and a dripping, milky stain trailing to the side. Your eyes follow, where his throbbing cockhead peaks out, rosy brown with pearls of greedy precome dribbling down. You can’t resist staring, devouring the sight and adding onto the stickiness coating your inner thighs. You lean in and pepper a few kisses on his tip. He hisses. 

“Are you losing your composure?” you ask, reveling in his twitching abs. He grins, and you return the same, “Not yet. You’ll know when I do. I promise.”  

You lick a long, mouthwatering stripe on it and he rasps a groan. He’s quick to snatch your scalp and tilt up, forcing you to gaze at him. “Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.” They appear darker, drunken. 

He tugs the boxers down and his cock springs out centimeters from your face, glistening and flushed. He taps it on your lip and smears the sheen. You don’t break eye contact as required, especially when you lick your bottom lip to taste him. 

 “Fuck, such a slut.” He prods at your mouth and you gladly open, closing your puckered lips around the bulbous tip. “Nice and open for me” he mutters. It’s partly a mutter, resembling a hoarse ramble as he slides the length of his veiny, thrumming cock past your cheek fat constricting around him.  

“Yeah, t-that’s it—fuck—just like that.” Your eyes water and beaded tears gather at your lashes, but he craves the back of your throat—he’ll make it fit if he needs to. You’re adjusting to his size, forcing yourself to accommodate him and hollowing your cheeks as best as you can, fulfilling a twisted desire to satisfy him. Your palate scraping his sensitive tip elicits a deep, gravelly moan that sends vibrations straight to your clit.  

“Mm, that pretty mouth taking it so well f’me.” You open your throat and allow him to push further, swelling a noticeable bulge through your skin. He’s straining your mouth to capacity, and it’s only when your nose meets his pubes and his balls are flush with you that you try breathing.  

It’s no use with his cock barreling down your throat. He keeps a firm grip on the back of your head, watching your body retch at the size of him for amusement. Then he pulls out and you dry heave from the sudden influx of normal air in your lungs. You’re soaked all the way through, hazy, hurting, but desperate for more. Too horny to remember your pride. What even is pride when you can’t tell the difference between drool and tears? 

You’re French kissing his dick as if he’s not there, slobbering and licking it up, rolling your tongue over his frenulum like an animal in heat. Shame will overcome you by morning; in the meantime, you’ll indulge, drain him so that he can’t fathom speaking the word “brat” again. You loll your tongue and he smiles. 

“I didn’t even fuck you yet and you’re already this bad?” He’s one to talk when his comebacks crack at the back of his throat, muscles sweaty and tense from your ministrations. “I’m a good man, so I’ll help ya out.”  

Without warning, he drives himself all the way down your throat. You gag, but he’s relentless. He has hands on both sides of your head and he puts his foot on the edge of the bed, angling himself to probe deeper in your throat. Laden balls slap your chin and an amalgam of sloshing and gagging bubbles from the inundated scene in your mouth. Obscene noises cloud your ears. You can only lean on the support of the bed and take every brutal, solid thrust. His groans accelerate, “You’re—hngh—droolin a little bit, huh, princess. Haah—is it t'much for you, hm? T-tell me baby, fuck.” 

It really is. It’s so intense; eyeliner smudged across your face, tears shimmering, drool coating your puffy lips and his cock rubbing your voice raw. He uses you like a fleshlight and your panties are soaked through. The twitching gets more apparent and he channels a string of curses as his hips lose coordination. “On your f-face or—ungh, your mouth. Choose darlin'.”  You respond by staying still, looking at him with what little eyesight you have through cloudy tears.  

“Such a pretty comeslut” he moans, “Don’t be wasteful—hah-ah—you’re gonna be soo fucking good and swallow it all, okay?” He might as well be rambling to himself, mouthing off on questions you couldn’t possibly answer. His bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans and curses at the precipice. Hips stuttering, legs quivering sporadically, “(Y/N), m’coming, coming—ugh, fuck—oh fuck.”  

You see the exact moment he disregards ego; head lulled back, lip sagging open while he chases the high. Guttural groans meander in the space, and he pumps enough come from his spit-soaked balls to coat your throat. You wince and fresh tears are stirred from the sheer amount you’re gulping. He lags and finally relaxes, twitching sensitively when you swallow with his half-hard length still inside. Then he shudders once more when he retreats. 

Toji leans down to kiss you, wrapping tongue over tongue. You’d hope the kisses soothe your chafed throat, but to no avail. It’s not ideal that there’s a tingle in your knees, and the same position made your legs go numb. Your wrists burn as well, diagonal lines creasing your skin around the leather. Luckily, Toji scoops you and sets you rather gently on the mattress. That’s the extent of his kindness, however, as he begins shredding the straps from your dress. They snap with a pop, the sound of money going down the drain. The luxurious silk is torn from you and you’re indifferent. There’s an unquenchable need for him—everywhere, under you, inside you, however you can achieve closeness. “I need you. Now” he grunts. 

He manhandles you on your stomach with your ass raised in the air. Cool wind brushes against the pounding fever between your legs, and the sopping lace hangs by a thread.  

“Shit, you’re wet.” It’s obvious from the outside, drenched fabric a shade darker, fused uncomfortably to your pulsing pussy and reflecting on your plush thighs. He won’t take his eyes off it; he stares like he can eat through them. He peels the fabric back painfully slow, watching it furl into itself. “These just get ‘n the way.” Some slick leaves with it and slides down his hand, then he absorbs the main course. 

Glistening, syrupy fluid blankets your pussy and forms cobwebs of mess around your inner thighs and taint. You’re so wet it’s uncomfortable, and you shift around on your knees trying to quell the inescapable throbbing in your clit. He spreads your cheeks apart, practically salivating, “Look at ya.”  

Your windpipe was ripped from you, but you can scarcely hoarse “Stop staring.” His hot laughter sends shivers through you, but he holds you still before you can move forward. “Aww, too wet for your own good?” 

“Must be so sensitive” he coos, veiled in feigned concern. The pad of his thumb hovers, damn near salivating. “Tell me where it hurts, darlin’.” He flicks gently over the bud and you flinch. “Here?” 

He rubs calculated, unhurried circles on it. It doesn’t suffice—it couldn’t, because each time you lean to his touch, he recedes just a little. Because of course he wouldn't let you satisfy your desires without paying first. It’s maddening to almost get what you want and fall short repeatedly. You whimper pathetically, and he teases, “I know, darlin’, I know.”   

“Hurry up already” you whine. He quickly lands a stern, stinging swat to your ass and you recoil. “No attitude. Had enough’a that.” 

He positions two fingers at your glossy entrance, “Want help? Show me how bad ya want it.” You should’ve told him to go fuck himself, or at least you would have if you weren’t trembling with carnal hunger. You turn back to him glassy-eyed and he smiles—sympathy won’t work here. So you slope over his waiting fingers and glide them inside. They’re thicker than you thought they’d be. A delicious burn around the ring of your cunt from your walls stretching, it takes some adapting to get used to it.  

Once you do, though, you’re bouncing on them knuckle-deep, coating his palm in juices sluicing down his wrist. He doesn’t move an inch, but he drags his digits in a ‘come hither’ motion that sends tiny sparks bursting through your body. The notion of fucking yourself on his fingers should’ve been obscene, but you can feel yourself climbing to the edge. You’re panting, wiggling your hips with buzzing stars in your vision at the way it scrapes and kneads your walls. “You can’t hate me that much. Suckin’ me up and I’m not even movin’” he taunts. 

You don’t realize how loud you’re moaning, how your pussy talks louder than you do, sloppily sliding and squelching. “Fuck—you’re so messy. Where’s your resolve, huh? Nothing mean to say?”  

“Hah-ah” You clench rapidly, heartbeat in your ears. Until your stuttering heart and legs get worse, and you’re losing momentum. Your muscles burn from the inside out like a tiring workout, and you can’t keep up the pace that would’ve attained ecstasy. Just like that, it’s ripped away from you. 

And you cry. 

Hot, frustrated tears spill down your cheeks and you stop moving. He removes his wrinkled fingers. One side of the mattress sinks near you, and he thumbs the tears from your blushed cheeks and nose, your dazed lashes and pouty lips. “S’okay.” He pecks the corner of your eye, prompting a tear he samples. “Done fightin’ me?” 

You nod absentmindedly. “What do you want?” It’s simple, but you make eye contact with him. Jaw clenched, huffing as if he’s battling his own assurance. Your eyes water again. “Please...” 

You can’t read his face, but he leaves the mattress. It’s eerily quiet.  

“Y’know just how to get me.”  

A shattered gasp dies in your throat when you feel a warm, cruel stripe from your clit to your taint. Once, twice, his broken puffs fanning the flames. Both hands spread your legs wider and he nuzzles your folds, placing open-mouthed kisses, savoring your arousal. Then he immerses himself.  

He put up a good farce for a while, but the crumbling began at his desperate, tangled tongue—ravenous and starving, he ate you like a decadent main course he’d never taste again. He was starved—slurping and sucking, releasing with a juicy smack and diving back in. He’s on his knees, grunting low at your drooling slit. He didn’t care about your quivering thighs, honeyed liquid building in layers on his chin, the weak cries you managed. None of it mattered. Because you—you were heady and sweet, and as he drowned in your scent, he wished to be breathless forever.  

“S’fuckin’ good—oh, fuck, make a mess on my face.” He swats your ass, pointed tongue massaging your clit while he gropes the doughy flesh. It’s pliable in his hands and it gives him something to anchor while he drawls lecherous swipes over your swollen gooeyness. “Ngh—p-please—close-” Your stomach turns knot after knot, damp with sweat and sensing a rapid euphoria surging all too fast. Your mistake for announcing it, because he focuses his attention on a self-indulgent make-out session with your clit. “Come. Come on my face, princess—” You start to spasm, and the vulgar noises coming from Toji disperse in your ears. 

“Toji” you moan, and sooner fall apart in his arms. White-hot pleasure courses through your convulsing cunt and a chain of violent aftershocks render you silent. What makes you even shakier, though, is that he doesn't stop. 

He cleans his plate, imbibing the perfumed essence gushing from you. He peppers kisses around your contractions, deaf to your croaked sobs. If you weren’t bound, you’d push his head away. You attempt to use your foot to nudge him off, but you didn’t expect to make a dent in someone his size. He intertwines his hands with your sweaty ones, calm thumb swaying back and forth; it would be comforting if he wasn’t ruining you at the moment.  

The intensity of his deliberate tongue only makes the aftershocks worse, and your hands start to jolt as you cry out, “Ahn--no more, p-please!” You feel his smile on your folds and he persists. His lapping gets more aggressive and so do your tremors, loud and unrestrained moans torn from you.  

He finally unlatches, landing a final smack on your puffy pussy. Your heads swimming in an infectious trance, but you’re undeserving of a break as you whirl behind you and see him pumping his flushed cock. It stands at attention and even seems bigger than before, colored deep with need pearling at the divot. 

“Need you or ’m gonna go crazy.” Toji keeps a firm hand at the base of your spine—it arches your back and shoves your words into the bed. He drags his bulbous head along your sensitive cunt, collecting the slick trickling onto the damp sheets before rimming the slit. A hint of fatigue crosses your face and he takes notice. “Heh, done already? We haven’t even started yet.” 

The image of him entering you for the first time burns into your memory; his brows are knitted, bottom lip tucked under teeth and his breath hitches. If you were fucked out, he was getting there. He presses into your spine like he’s trying to prevent himself from coming on the spot, paused but lingering. Tunnel visioned on your soaked, bulging pussy stretching around him, snuggling his leaden length like a heated blanket. And you drink in the pain, a dulcet blaze engulfing you as sore muscles clench and unclench.  

“You’ve been quiet, pretty thing” he muses, “Where’s your resolve, huh? Nothin’ mean to say?” With his veins adorning your walls and your mushy brain bouncing around in your head, you can’t bring yourself to talk shit. He pulls out completely, watching a mix of precome and wetness connect your bodies. 

Suddenly, he bottoms out. “Ahn--fu-ah!” It shreds a whimper from you and he mocks your cracking moans, though he seems to be breaking, himself. The sharp snap of his hips contacts skin-on-skin, earning each sloppy slap echoing in the room. His lips are parted, swamped in infinite, unbridled lust. The carnal itch he’d been holding off on for weeks seeps through, satiating his most indulgent appetite. “O-oh, God, shit, look at the m-mess you’re making.” He drives out to his frenulum and shoves it back in with no mercy, no sign of slowing down. Long, deep strokes leaving you slack jawed and teary. Every drag of his dick imprints his name on your tongue, heavy balls smacking your tender clit.  

“You hear that? Listen.” He goes quiet, to let the indecent plap plap plap’s resound. Your cheeks turn hot from humiliation. The side rail of the bed screeches the hardwood floors, and the belt buckle you’re secured to clicks occasionally.  

“You’re my filthy slut” he grins, striking your rouged cheek. He’s rough, but you weren’t searching for friendliness, neither of you did. At your core, you knew it—Toji bullying himself into your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. A poison so incredibly captivating, you’re burning just to feel his crowning ardor. 

He’s sandwiched between your swollen lips and he can’t get enough, virtually drunk from it. He winds another branding swat on your backside, then the other. The crackling fire of his hand thwacking delicate flesh merges pleasure with pain. “You've been such a brat all summer” he taunts, “Needed me to put you in your place, huh, you fucking slut?” Another mean swat, and he laughs crudely at you little gasp. “You like this shit, don’t you? Wanna be manhandled like a fucking whore.” Both cheeks are a severe fiery color, beginning to welt, but he resumes. And you’re drenching him. A creamy, gooey ring forming at the base of his dick, tracing translucent strings when he pummels your poor leaking pussy. 

“M’sorry, so s-sorry” you babble. Apologizing for what? You don’t know, but the delirium spills truths you should’ve voiced ages ago. You're utterly incoherent; you might as well stay silent. “Aww, I know” he cloys, soft and sultry compared to the angry strokes he’s delivering. Shockwaves burst and fizzle on your clit and you flutter around him. Your ass ripples against him, hoarse voice funneling strings of curses, scrotum pummeling your overworked bundle of nerves. You want to come so bad it hurts, and you find yourself arching a little harder, spreading your legs a little wider—just begging him to use you entirely, to melt, become his. 

“Pleasepleaseplease” you whimper, at the height of your intensity. Then sweltering, frenetic spasms suffocate Toji’s shaft as you ride the orgasm seemingly crashing into you. You shudder violently, pleading with your body to attain some level of poise. It has other plans, however, provoking you to flitting tears from dragged-out, toe-curling tremors. You grip him like a vice and he struggles to pull out, but when does he’s rubbing circles on your aching nub. You’re lost in a bottomless sensation, but you hear his voice in your dampened ears, “Mm, I got ya.” 

The pressure on your wrists lessens, and you realize you can move them freely. Your arms are numb returning to a normal position, and you support yourself on your feeble elbows when you feel your legs being parted again. In the fleeting instant you’re allowed to settle, the vast trail of his tongue laps at your shuddery cunt. "P-please wait—ngh, I can’t-” you wail, and you turn to the commotion to see Toji, growling and devouring your silken arousal.  

He’s absolutely corrupted, a feral glint in his blearily blinking eyes, chest heaving salaciously as he kneads your thighs. You paw at his hair, toiling to crawl away from his unsparing mouth but he follows. He releases you and you inch away from him. “Where ya goin’? Heh, tryna run?” he teases. You don’t get very far, because he grapples your waist and pulls you back. “Not done ‘till I say it’s done.”  

Then he’s climbing on the bed with you, and you can do nothing but snivel in protest as he maneuvers you to hike your leg over his. He lays on his side, locking you in his embrace and smears his cock between your puffy folds. “Am I being mean to you?”, he slides in with ease, savoring the sweet mess spewing on cue, “’M sorry, I’m just an ‘angry old man’, after all.”  

He pounds your chubby cunt with wild abandon. You feel each vast stroke pummeling your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. You can’t close your legs—as badly as you want to—and you’re forced to endure frantic twitching from your lit nerves. He strips your breasts of the flimsy lace bra and alternates among pinching your nipple and molding the valley to his palms. He twists it harsh and you muster a pathetic babble, to which he laughs—mocking and unhinged, “My poor baby, you can’t handle it anymore.”  

Anymore was an understatement, it was overwhelming—to a degree that you’d gone quiet, enveloped in vehemence. You're scratching up his bicep with the other tangled in the sheets, knuckles turned white and your head thrown back. You want to push him off, but you’re milking his stuttering hips, drawing him closer. It isn’t enough and it’s too much. “F-fuck, it’s so swollen” he moves from your chest to your vulva, “I can touch right? Y-yea, you don’t mind.” His intoxicating voice is at a whisper in your ear, laying like liquor in your cotton-filled mind. With his cock dragging against your walls and hammering your g-spot, mercilessly circling his pads on your clit, eliciting every short “ah, ah” from your swollen lips, you’re far from combative.  

He precisely rolls his hips and it’s unbearably hot, broken mewls fleeing you. Your mouth sags, drool shameless down your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. He wraps his hand around your throat, boring into your teary eyes. You can’t escape his overbearing presence, isolated from everything besides his eye contact. He is everything.  

“Who’s pussy is this?” He gradually squeezes tighter and you pule in response. Since that didn’t work, he accentuates the words with every tantalizing thrust: 

“Who’s” 

“Pussy” 

“Is this?” 

You narrowly choke out, “Your pussy”, and like something snapped his rhythm get faster, nastier. The asphyxiation reaches you brain and floods you, aswoon on a pillowy cloud. He’s faltering, pumps getting sloppier, “Thaaat’s right, ‘nd I’ll use this pretty pussy whenever I need.” His stomach flinches but he doesn’t stop chasing that high, eyes thoroughly glassed, “’N you’re gonna be a good girl and take it—ha, f-fuck—be a good girl, o-okay?” Your pupils retreat to the back of your head, and you arch off the bed as your body begins to tremble. He’s glued to you, “One more, let it out f’me. Please, fuck, I need it—hah—need you to come on my dick—”  

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and you unravel. A stream of liquid coats the blanket and you’re speechless as you convulse uncontrollably, legs betraying you for strong spasms. You go limp but Toji props you up, bucking his hips when his own legs start to jolt. “That’s a good girl—Ohh yes. Y-you're so good f'me, princess. Coming—hahh—gonna come all over your pretty cunt—”  

His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy, vile pumps before he pulls out. He spurts all over your tummy and hypersensitive vulva, painting it in thick white layers. He persists, groaning until he’s fully hollow, emptying his sack in globs. His staggering pants and shaking reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted weight. You weep softly, clinging to him as he presses selfish kisses from your lips to your wet lashes. He caresses your cheek, sweaty and disheveled in the dim light. Then your eyesight starts to blur. 

Your sight peels back, permitting warm sunlight basked over the bed. It takes a split second to notice you’re resting on pillows not nearly as comfortable as yours, and the wood paneling was uncharacteristic of your assigned room. It takes another second to notice your galled throat, stinging backside, and the arm loose on your naked waist. You peer over your shoulder, to that mop of ink sprawled on the pillow. He looks peaceful, though you’re not sure how you slept soundly when he snores like a brute. 

You slip from his arms to sit up. The floor’s freezing, but by the time you get to stand you’re pulled back into the covers. Entangled in limbs, you gaze at Toji, who still has his eyes closed. His face appears softened up close. There’s a small scar near his hairline that you hadn’t spotted. You trace the scar, outlining it to the one on his lip. He nips your finger. 

“I wanna sleep” he grumbles. 

“Then you should’ve let me leave” 

“No.” You card your fingers through his hair, and he sighs into it. A fine gray strand peaks out amongst the rest. “You’re turning gray, old man.” 

“The way I had you last night, I wouldn’t say ‘old man’.” Your remembrance makes your ears hot and you clasp a hand over his mouth. He laughs and pecks it, “You’re leaving today. Let’s get you packed up” he muffles. 

Little did he know, you’d talk to your father that afternoon, asking to stay for a couple more months. The countryside welcomed you—and what a humbling experience it was. 

© mooishbeam - please don't steal, copy, or post my work to other platforms :)

[soaps-mohawk]

I've got some very exciting news

Since the start of October is about a week away (I know how gross where did the year go?) and we all know that marks the start of the kinkiest month of the year, I've got some exciting news

I am doing Kinktober this year, as I think I've stated before previously. I'm not doing every day again this year since I had to make my own list and just didn't really feel inspired by some and just didn't have the energy to write others.

Then I got a brilliant idea.

This year's Kinktober will have a...bit of a theme...

Allow me to use a meme to explain

Yes, all of my kinktober fics will be centered around Kyle, our beloved Gaz, Mr. Severely Underappreciated And That's A Crime.

The fics are all kink-related. Some are just straight kinks, others may involve some uh...other things 😏

I'll be releasing a more in-depth post closer to October 1st that will also serve as the masterlist (and I will be linking it on my navigation post as its own link). I have an update schedule planned for Kinktober (and CRCB will still be ongoing during October but we will be having a conversation about that fic separately) and will be posting on my taglist blog for Kinktober fics as well since that blog is for everything that gets released on this blog. So if you would like to be notified of when Kinktober fics come out, give that blog a follow and turn on notifications. (I sound like a YouTuber)

Anyway, that's the plan. We're giving Kyle some much deserved attention and love for Kinktober. I will also have some other things going on over on my Patreon for paid-Patrons since I can't make NSFW stuff public, so if you're interested go and check that out.

But yes, so much content is coming in October for y'all and honestly I'm really excited. You'll get more detailed info in the Kinktober masterlist which will probably be dropping closer to the weekend or maybe even next Monday. We'll see. I'll also be posting some news about CRCB here soon as well, also probably closer to the end of the week.

Anyway, I hope you all have a lovely day and I'll be back regularly scheduled weekly posting (asks and comment reblogs) here probably in a couple hours from when this post originally posted. If you're seeing this later then...I've probably already started 💚

[juustokaku]

Confidentiality - Chapter 1. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

A/N: This is my first fan fiction I have posted in years! I'm sorry that the beginning might bore you but I'm trying to make the next chapters more interesting. This was more of an introduction than the real story. Also, please, forgive me for my English. It's not exactly immaculate since it isn't my first language. Thank you to everyone who might stumble across this and read!

Word count: 3 207

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

The first time you had been shaking in your boots. The next time you had been shaking as much. And now, hopefully for the last time, you were still shaking. 

“What are you doing here? This is private property,” a relatively old lady opened the door you were standing behind and furrowed her thin brows. 

It was winter, and you were cold already, but the chill that ran down your spine at the woman’s words made you almost visibly shudder. Did she not remember you? 

Your hands inside your mittens squeezed into fists. Anxious tears welled up in your eyes. As usual, you couldn’t handle people being angry or even stern at you. 

You would have probably run away in a couple seconds, but the woman smiled at you suddenly and pushed the door wide open. 

“I’m just joking, dear. I remember you.” 

She was supposed to be a mental health professional but still she dared to joke like that while aware of your struggles. You felt a bit irritated but didn’t dare to show it to her. She didn’t mean to scare you. 

As you stepped inside the house your anxiety levels settled down for a moment. You felt a little more comfortable despite the fusty smell. The room was designed to look inviting and homey probably to make the patients relax. It was kind of like visiting a grandma which made you feel nostalgic. 

“I’m glad you decided to join again,” the woman smiled sincerely as you took off your boots and set them neatly on the shoe rack. 

You nodded, “I’m a bit anxious but eager to receive some help again.” 

It was the third time you had joined a peer support group for people who were suffering from mental health problems. The same woman who was in front of you had held it every time. You thought she was some kind of therapist but weren’t sure anymore. It was always hard for you to remember the introductions, because your mind was an anxious mess when meeting new people. 

She led you to the familiar room where all the previous support groups had been held too. 

 10 armchairs were placed in a wide circle. Their colors were restrained and mild so that people who had sensory issues wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Well, they would probably feel uncomfortable here anyways due to other reasons, but it wouldn’t feel as insufferable as it could if the chairs were all bright, neon version colors of rainbow. 

The lighting was comforting and warm, a stark contrast to the cold lights of a hospital. 

As you were taking in the feelings of the room, the woman started speaking. 

“Uh, I have to tell you something,” she started, sounding apologetic, “All the other group members are new. None of them have been here before.” 

“Oh. Are any of them aggressive?” you asked nervously. 

The information that you hadn’t met any of the other patients stressed you out. What if one of them was aggressive and attacked you? 

“You worry too much, Y/N. They’re as stable and gentle as little lambs.” 

“If they were stable, they wouldn’t be in this group.” 

The woman chuckled a bit, her dimples showing as the corners of her lips rose in amusement. 

“Trust me. Everyone is kind and calm,” the woman assured you. 

Suddenly a man barged in and declared, “I have arrived! Get ready for trouble!”  

Your heart almost stopped and a fight-or-flight response was close to being activated. But after the initial scare he gave you settled down, you stared at the man with surprise and nervousness. 

Despite his attention-demanding entrance, his looks were a little less extra. He was really handsome though. He had black hair and casual clothes but your attention was caught by his mischievous dark brown eyes and a little mole under his eye. 

“What’s your name?” the man noticed your staring and rushed to you before you could run away. 

You barely remembered your name when the man was suddenly in front of you, a bit too close to your liking. Somehow you managed to mutter out your name to him. 

“Ah, Y/N. I’m Wooyoung,” the man introduced himself, “You have beautiful eyes.” 

If you didn’t forget how to speak when Wooyoung asked your name, you definitely did now. How were you supposed to answer when a stranger complimented your eyes out of the blue? 

Wooyoung continued inspecting your face and expressions intently. 

“Thank you... You have very... interesting eyes as well,” you smiled sheepishly. 

“That sounds almost like an insult,” Wooyoung pouted, “Aren’t my eyes beautiful too?” 

Oh no. Did Wooyoung think you didn’t think of his eyes as beautiful? 

“No, no! I mean yes, your eyes are beautiful. I just didn’t want to sound like a creep by complimenting you too much.” 

Wooyoung grinned at you, “Don’t worry. I know what you meant.” 

What was wrong with everyone, joking around like that? You had your first mini heart attack earlier when you thought the woman didn’t recognize you and now Wooyoung made you think you insulted him gravely. 

You took a seat on one of the armchairs. Wooyoung sat down next to you, staying quiet but glancing at you sometimes. Pretty often, to be honest. All of the time, actually. 

The woman started talking with him but you couldn’t focus on listening to their conversation at all. Just fiddling with your fingers nervously as you imagined how the other patients would be like. 

One by one, all of the patients arrived. Two of them were late which irritated you. You just wanted to get this session over with already. 

You didn’t dare to look at anyone but you had noticed to your horror that all of the other patients were men. Maybe they would gang up on you after this session and beat you up. That’s what men did, right? You had read a lot about those kind of things on the internet. 

“Alright kiddos,” the woman started, “My name is Charlotte Abbot, and I welcome you to this peer support group.” 

None of you were “kiddos” anymore but young adults. Charlotte probably just felt a lot older with all those wrinkles on her face. 

She went on and on about how the group works and the importance of confidentiality. A few members of the group didn’t focus at all and were looking around curiously to see who were the people that had joined the group. 

“Who wants to introduce themselves first?” Charlotte asked. 

Wooyoung raised his hand and started talking before Charlotte could give him a permission, “My name is Jung Wooyoung. My favorite color is black. My favorite fruit is strawberry. I like dancing. I like taking photographs. I like cooking. I like-”  

Charlotte interrupted him, “Thank you, Wooyoung. Let’s give everyone a chance to introduce themselves briefly before revealing more.” 

An extraordinarily stylish man raised his hand before he started speaking. 

“I’m Kim Hongjoong. I’m the CEO of my own fashion brand.” 

You almost gasped out loud. No wonder he was so stylish. He looked cool both in appearance and attitude. The look on his face was so focused that you bet he was a hardworking man. 

“My name is Choi San. I am a personal trainer. Nice to meet you all,” a man sitting one seat away from you introduced himself politely. 

You could definitely see that he was a personal trainer. His looks probably distracted all his customers from working out to look at him. 

“Jeong Yunho,” a tall man next to you smiled kindly, “I’m a police officer but I do a lot of volunteering at animal shelters as well.” 

You almost let your heart melt at Yunho’s words but you reminded yourself that he could be lying to make himself look more trustworthy. He could actually be a mastermind criminal who’d lure you into his trap with his promises of playful puppies and cute kittens. 

“Choi Jongho,” another man simply said. 

Everyone waited for him to continue but he stayed silent. 

“That’s it?” Wooyoung asked. 

“Shush, Wooyoung. If Jongho doesn’t want to say anything more yet, he doesn’t have to,” Charlotte reminded gently. 

“Song Mingi. But you can call me Mingi. Or Mingus Dingus,” another tall man chuckled. 

“Mingus... Dingus?” Wooyoung repeated, holding back his laughter. A couple other men in the room snorted too. 

Mingi looked a little offended and explained, “It’s my stage name. I’m a rapper.” 

You wondered what was behind Mingi’s sunglasses. Why did he wear them inside in the first place? Was he trying to hide something else than just his eyes? 

It was clear that none of them were here to hurt you. But all of these new people were making you nervous. No matter how disrespectful of you was it to suspect everyone, you couldn’t help yourself. 

“My name is Park Seonghwa. I like Legos and Star Wars,” a strikingly handsome man smiled sheepishly. 

His interests surprised you with their innocence. One would expect that an adult man with those godly looks would be partying and sleeping with models instead of nerding away with Legos and Star Wars. It was adorable though and made you feel ever so slightly more at ease with him. 

Silence filled the room as everyone was waiting for the next person to introduce themselves. Only the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard. The silence felt uncomfortably long and you started wondering why no-one spoke. 

“Could any of you two introduce yourself?” Charlotte’s voice caught your attention. 

You almost wanted to cry out of embarrassment as you realized you were one of the two who were left, and you had been just sitting there like a fool. It shouldn’t be such a big deal but your ears flushed red nonetheless. 

There was a man who hadn’t introduced himself yet either. His gaze was turned to the floor. As if that wasn’t enough of a sign to tell he was uncomfortable, his body was tense and hands wrapped in front of his stomach as if to protect himself. 

“I’m Y/N. I like...” you paused. Someone could be here to gather information about you or use your information against you in the future. You couldn’t tell them anything too personal. 

“I like dogs,” you finally said. Damn it, that was too personal! Now that psycho police officer could lure you into a dog shelter and torture puppies in front of you just to make you suffer. 

Speak of the devil, Yunho smiled at you, “I like dogs too.” 

You fought the urge to scream and run away. His smile was charming but that was expected from a psychopath. Those kinds of people were good at manipulating. You had read a lot of books about it in order to protect yourself better. 

Nonetheless, you still smiled back nervously. 

“What’s your last name?” San asked. 

To be truthful or not to be: that is the question. You had purposefully left that part out of your introduction because you didn’t want to tell them your last name. What would anyone even do with that information? 

“Brokelsony,” you answered. 

Wooyoung snorted, “That’s not a real name, doofus. You just made that up, didn’t you?” 

You got caught. Your days were numbered now. How could you ever come back after everyone knew you lied to them?  

The way your eyes widened and you clutched the arms of the chair confirmed everyone that you lied. Liar, liar, pants on fire. Except you wanted your whole body to burn, not just your pants. 

“Come on, what’s your real last name?” Mingi insisted. 

Wooyoung joined in with a louder voice, “Yeah, we told our last names too!” 

“What are you so afraid of?” 

You were stressing out, gasping for air and digging for some explanation for your lie but you couldn’t think. All the noise and pressure made you dizzy. 

Suddenly Jongho chimed in, “You two chose to tell your full names out of your own will. It’s not an obligation to reveal your last name, so leave her be.” 

Everyone was shocked more or less. Jongho, who had been so quiet otherwise, had spoken up and defended you. 

He could have been embarrassed or regretful to have all the attention directed to him now but there were no emotions on his face. Only unwavering tranquility was like painted on his whole body. 

You couldn’t have been any more grateful to Jongho for the shift of attention and for being the voice of reason. The least you could do was to send him an appreciative smile so you did that. 

He did not respond to the smile. 

You really hated this day. Being embarrassed wasn’t an unknown experience to you but this felt just straight up humiliating. 

“Well, we have our one last patient. Would you introduce yourself?” Charlotte asked gently. 

It was definitely not a nice feeling for him to be the last one and have all the attention on him, you thought as you looked at the last man left. 

After a few moments he raised his gaze from the floor... only to look at his hands. At least you could see his beautiful face and birth mark a bit better now. 

“Yeosang,” the man spoke. 

Yeosang sounded almost apologetic like he was sorry that he was supposedly wasting everyone’s time by telling his name. You really felt for him. 

“Look what you did, Y/N. He learned not to tell his last name either because of you,” Wooyoung chuckled and received a scolding look from Charlotte in response. 

Charlotte looked around the room, probably taking in everyone’s names, and nodded. 

“You all have different issues like all people do. Even though some of you may have similar experiences or diagnoses, don’t forget that you have your own story to share, no matter how insignificant it may seem.” 

A few people nodded, acknowledging her words. You did too although you did not agree with her statement. 

Your story wasn’t meant to be shared. There wasn’t even anything to share. That’s what you wanted to believe at least. That you were completely healthy and normal, and that nothing bad had ever happened to you. 

“During next week we’ll start opening up more but today it’s time for something more exciting...” Charlotte smiled mysteriously, “Get into groups of three.” 

What was this? A pre-school? You did not want to talk to anyone. This was supposed to be a form of therapy not a blind date! 

You felt your palms sweat in nervousness. Who would you want to be in a group with? Or a better question, who would want to be in a group with you?  

The stress of realizing that probably no-one would agree to be with you made your chest tighten up. You cursed Charlotte in your mind for causing this. 

Every second felt excruciatingly slow but fast at the same time as you saw Hongjoong and Seonghwa already forming a group. You would be the last one left. No-one would let you into their group willingly. 

“Do you want to be in my group?” someone behind you asked like an angel who descended from Heaven to save you from the fate of being left out. 

Once you turned around, you froze. It was the Devil instead. 

Yunho stood there, towering over you, with that smile on his handsome face again. It was suspicious how kind he was.  

“Sure,” you nodded despite your head screaming at you not to. Carefully inspecting his expressions and movements, you decided he would be trustworthy enough now that there were other people in the room with you.  

“Awesome! Let’s go find another groupmate,” Yunho gestured you to follow him. 

So, you did follow him as he walked towards Yeosang who was standing by the wall, looking clueless and lost. 

You felt grateful that Yunho had chosen Yeosang out of everyone left because he seemed like the least aggressive person there. His arms were muscular but you wanted to believe he wouldn’t use them for anything else than carrying heavy grocery bags for old ladies. 

“Yeosang, do you want to join-” Yunho started but got interrupted by Jongho who had appeared behind you two. 

“Y/N. Join my group.” 

It was enough of a shock already to have Yunho ask you to be in his group, but now that Jongho wanted you in his group as well, you felt lost. 

You probably looked stupid as you were glancing between Yunho and Jongho, trying to figure out the situation, lips slightly apart. 

“No can do, dude. She’s mine... my groupmate, I mean,” Yunho crossed his arms. 

Even Yeosang raised his head to look at the scene with you as Yunho and Jongho started disputing. 

“Although you like dogs, you don’t have to treat her as one,” the shorter man sneered, “You’re not her owner, cop.” 

Yunho furrowed his brows. You thought of him as scary even when he smiled, but now that you saw him getting irritated, you felt horrified. What if he had a gun with him? He was a police officer after all. 

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just want you to find your own groupmates instead of stealing mine.” 

“Why are you so keen on keeping her?” Jongho raised a brow. 

“Why are you so keen on stealing her away from me?”  

Yunho’s question was just the right one to make Jongho silent. 

A slightly irritated expression crossed Jongho’s face but he just shrugged and said, “Don’t ask me.” 

“Who else should I ask then?” Yunho asked, confusion mixed with annoyance in his voice, but he received no response as Jongho just walked away. 

You watched Yunho’s expression from the side while he was still distracted by his own thoughts and emotions. 

His lips were pressed together tightly and ears bright red. It was clear he tried to control himself and his reactions, but you weren’t convinced by his act at all. 

You got to see him properly only when he swiftly turned around to face you. He did not touch you, thank God, but you were still terrified when you saw the look in his brown eyes. The same, usual smile was on his lips as he looked down at you but it was still vastly different. His eyes weren’t warm. His eyes were burning hot, full of fierce fire he had been hiding under the facade of a kind police officer who loved helping animals, and who knows what other lies he had come up with. 

His body towered over yours as he looked at with those eyes that made you want to curl up into a small ball and defend yourself like a hedgehog. 

But you weren’t a hedgehog and you couldn’t push out spikes to protect yourself as Yunho leaned closer. 

“I’m glad you didn’t run off with Jongho,” he chuckled. 

In the blink of an eye his expression was back to that weirdly cheerful one, as if you had imagined everything. 

Everyone was horrible. You were scared and worried. But you should have expected something like this already, you thought to yourself. 

After all it was just like you told Charlotte: if they were stable, they wouldn’t be in this group. 

[gravegroves]

Cleaning up my google docs and posting the stuff I think isn't entirely terrible. Enjoy.

Tags & warnings: horror themes, Karen is the Mindflayer, Karen is a warning all on her own, non-graphic references to injury, Billy and Heather friendship, blink and you'll miss it reference to possible future Steve/Billy and Robin/Heather

Rating: M for horror

There's something wrong with Karen Wheeler

*****

He fucked up.

Billy knows this.

Inviting her to the motel for private swimming lessons had been really fucking stupid in retrospect. Still, he'd sat there on that musty motel bed all dolled up and waited for a woman he knew he wouldn't be able to stay hard for and had gotten panicky because of it.

Not that she had shown up in the end. Thank god.

Barely five seconds past the arranged meeting time and Billy had slammed out of the room like the devil was on his ass. He'd sprinted to the Camaro and hightailed it out of there with the windows rolled down low and the night air drying the nervous sweat on his brow, bringing with it a little bit of clarity. He'd laughed around the unlit cigarette pinched between his lips and let the relief wash over him like a potent high. As the rush of adrenalin slowly drained from his system, it had left his hands shaky and clammy on the wheel but his foot heavy on the gas, eager to get home for once.

A bullet dodged.

Or so he had thought.

*****

The next morning Billy saunters out into the pool area in his usual red board shorts and immediately notices Mrs Wheeler lounging in her customary spot, nestled in amongst the row of other preening moms desperate for a scrap of his attention. The hungry stares usually fill him with a great sense of confidence — there's nothing quite as intoxicating as feeling wanted — but now they only make him feel nauseous.

Mrs. Wheeler is clothed from head to toe, making her stick out like a sore thumb next to her peers and situated in such a way that the umbrella above her is keeping her fully in the shade. Her gaze snaps to him the second his bare feet connect with the hot concrete and Billy feels a chill running up his spine out of fucking nowhere. His swagger stutters for a second, all the confidence lost in a moment of surprise. He catches himself easily enough, compliments Mrs Groyer on her new hat and power walks over to his chair, eager to pass by Mrs Wheeler without any kind of contact. He swears he can feel her eyes on his back the entire way over. Confirms it when he climbs up into his seat and looks back over to find her gaze still fixed on him, unblinking.

What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

*****

Morning passes into afternoon uneventfully, though Billy finds himself increasingly distracted. It's hard not to with Mrs Wheeler openly staring at him every time his gaze flits to her end of the pool and by the end of the day it's gone from weird and bewildering to downright creepy. He fully expects the woman to get up and walk up to the guard station at any second, so Billy spends his entire shift at the edge of his seat, waiting.

But she never moves.

All she does is stare.

*****

The rush of relief from the previous night has all but evaporated by closing time. A few stragglers are still hanging around and trying to squeeze in a few extra minutes in the water before Billy or Heather decide to kick them out. At the end of the pool, all alone, still as a statue, Karen Wheeler continues to lounge and watch him just as she has been all goddamn day.

Billy doesn't know what to do. He's had girls all over him for the past couple of years, but it's never been like this. He doesn't even know what this is.

Heather had caught on to his situation a few hours ago and while at first she had laughed at him from the shade of the front desk, now she shoots him worried looks between scooping pool noodles out of the water, trying to ask him without words what the hell is going on. Not that Mrs Wheeler ever seems to take her eyes off Billy long enough to notice Heather at all. Billy wouldn't even know how to answer the question anyway, so he just shrugs in response and ignores the prickling on his neck as he goes about checking the pool filter.

Half past eight and Billy kicks out the last two idiots he finds hiding behind the supply shed. He sneaks a last peak around the pool and feels a wave of relief wash over him when Mrs Wheeler's lounge chair is empty for the first time all day. A more thorough sweep of the area and Billy still doesn't catch sight of the woman.

Rushed by this sudden window of being unobserved, Billy quickly wipes down the guard chair and heads directly for the changing rooms, determined to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible. He thinks he hears Heather calling out to him as the door swings shut, but Billy has tunnel-visioned in on his objective:

Get changed. Get out of there. Fuck the shower, he'll take one at home.

Except there's a Karen-sized problem standing between Billy and his locker and he freezes mid-step upon entering the changing room.

Under the fluorescent light Mrs Wheeler almost looks blue, her unusually pale skin taking to the light in an odd way. Her clothes are soaked and Billy notices a trail of water leading from the puddle at her feet and out into the showers. In her hand is a bottle of something that looks like the bleach they use for cleaning the floors.

Her eyes are dark and empty and so intently fixed on Billy that his skin begins to crawl as if a thousand spiders have suddenly made a home of his body. She takes a step forward and Billy feels absolutely pinned under her gaze, fight or flight abandoning his brain and leaving him absolutely petrified for some unknown reason.

The door swings open behind him and Heather barges through the door, looking wide-eyed but with a wide smile already plastered onto her face.

"Mrs Wheeler!" Heather's bright, fake-cheerful voice cuts through the silence of the locker room, almost making a mockery out of Billy's panicked state. God, what is wrong with him? "I'm so sorry to do this, but Billy and I really need to close the pool down now. If you wouldn't mind…" Heather steps back and gestures at the door with her whole hand, the same way they've been told to do by their boss time and time again. It's inviting, apparently. Billy never really got the memo, his pointer finger works just fine. But even with a gun to his head, Billy doesn't think he could have worked his muscles to point the way out in that moment, rooted to the spot as he is.

The woman's entire demeanour changes before their eyes. Her gaze fills somehow, feels less like a mannequin staring at you from a Sears storefront and more like somebody's at home in there somewhere.

"Oh, of course!" Mrs Wheeler places the bottle on the bench with the hollow thunk of an empty plastic container. "I just wanted to ask if Billy was still up for those private swimming lessons."

She says it without a hint of innuendo, but from the way Heather's brows climb her forehead she reads the meaning loud and clear. Not exactly Billy's best work.

"All booked out, sorry Mrs W," Billy grins, regaining some of the swagger he seems to have lost along with his balls.

"Well, you let me know if that changes." Mrs Wheeler smiles politely and moves towards the door.

"Sure thing," Billy promises, already sure he's never going to approach Karen Wheeler for anything ever again if he can help it. She walks past them, bringing with her a stinging odour of chemicals and something sickly sweet, like rotting meat.

The changing room door finally slams closed. Heather turns to him.

"For real?"

Billy smirks a little, despite himself.

"She stayed for your entire shift to ask about private swimming lessons?"

"Guess I'm just worth the wait," Billy licks his bottom lip and bites it suggestively.

She shoots him an unimpressed look with a muttered, "Sure, sure," and drops her duffle onto the bench, "You gonna drive me home for saving your ass, or what? Mrs Wheeler is probably hiding in a bush somewhere waiting to jump me for interrupting your little moment." 

He rolls his eyes, "In your wildest dreams, loser."

Heather gives him a pitying look. "Private. Swimming. lessons."

Billy chokes, "God, I fucking hate you."

She grins and wiggles her fingers at him mockingly, "No you don't."

He doesn't. Heather is the closest thing to a real friend Billy's ever had, truth be told, the only good thing about this shit-stinking, two-horse town in Billy's not so humble opinion.

"I'm getting changed in here. Whatever that was–" she waves her hand at the door, "–creeps me the hell out. Turn around so I don't scar you for life."

"Why? Still padding your bra with socks?"

She makes an insistent spinning gesture with her hand and Billy turns around and drops his pants without a second thought. "I've got bigger tits than you, doll. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"But if I see your cock I'll never forgive you, dickhead."

"Better not look at my head then."

Heather snorts.

When Billy leaves this awful place behind he's going to do his best to convince her to come with him, he'll miss the hell out of her if she decides to stay.

In the end Billy does drive her home, if only because the image of Karen Wheeler crouched in the bushes out along the road somewhere pops into his head and won't leave him alone.

Figures Billy would cross the craziest bitch in all of Hawkins.

Just his luck.

*****

Karen is right back in her lounge chair by the time Billy arrives for his shift the next day. Her clothes are the same ones from the day before and Billy briefly imagines the woman laid out on the chair all night, motionless, waiting for Billy to return.

But she doesn't approach him, she never even says a word. She lies in her lounge, covered from head to toe, tucked into the shade of her umbrella and stares and stares and stares.

*****

Heather arrives at noon to take over for Adam and immediately zeroes in on Mrs Wheeler.

"Your biggest fan is back," she says in lieu of a greeting, as if Billy isn't very fucking aware of the fact and doing his best to ignore it. "She really can't take her eyes off of you, huh?"

Billy can't even muster the energy to find something to say to that. He'd slept like shit the night before, nightmares of Karen hunting him through the woods and hiding in bushes waking him up in a cold sweat. Every time he'd tried to fall back asleep he'd sworn he could hear something scuttling around outside his window, keeping him wide awake way into the early hours of the morning.

All of this because of private swimming lessons? Billy can't help but feel like he dodged a bullet, only to take a dive into a pool of quicksand.

"Look what I made," Heather singsongs and pulls out two cardboard squares chequered into a five by five grid and wiggles them under his nose, "Maybe this will cheer you up."

Billy grins at her and accepts his square. It's become a bit of a tradition on Friday shifts to play this game of theirs. Billy already has his pen out and ready to go, desperately grateful for the distraction.

For the rest of the afternoon they sit on opposite sides of the pool, Billy in the chair, Heather at the hole-in-the-wall front desk and play Hawkins Community Pool Bingo. Billy almost inhales his whistle when he reads the square written in Heather's neat, precise handwriting that says: 'Mr Klaufeld's balls slip out of his speedo again', grimaces at the 'kid vomits in the pool' square, hoping that one doesn't get crossed today even if it means winning. He outright scowls when, instead of a free space in the centre, it says 'Mrs Wheeler creeps on Billy'. Billy immediately crosses that one off the board and flips the bird across the pool, only to receive a jolly wave in return.

By closing time not a single kid has drowned, which is a miracle in and of itself with Billy distracted on two fronts not related to his job. This time, however, as Billy and Heather herd out the last of the stragglers, there is no sign of Mrs Wheeler inside the community pool centre or outside of it.

Billy doesn't know when she left, but a quick peek out into the parking lot confirms that the only car left is his own.

"Maybe she gave up," Heather says and spins the bundle of keys around her finger. Billy is about to open his mouth to answer her when he catches sight of movement out among the trees past the fence and freezes.

The last light of the day may be fading fast, but there's enough of it for Billy to see half of Karen Wheeler's face poking out from behind a tree and staring right at him.

Billy doesn't know why — it's an almost hilariously absurd situation to find himself in; a fully grown woman playing hide and seek with him like a toddler — but the sight of her face slowly disappearing back behind the trunk of the tree immediately has all the hairs on his body standing on end and tears springing to his eyes.

Something is wrong with this picture.

Something is very wrong with Karen Wheeler.

"Heather," he whispers, and the terror in his voice must be so clearly audible, because she immediately snaps around to look at him and then off in the direction he's facing.

"What is it?" She whispers back, "What did you see?"

"There's someone behind that tree."

Someone. 

They stand there, frozen, like two deer catching the scent of a predator on the wind and waiting to hear the snap of a twig.

A full minute ticks by. Only the faint sound of wind rustling the treetops and the occasional gurgle from the pool filter disrupts the absolute silence that falls over them.

Heather shifts on the spot.

"Just wait," he begs, voice shaky. Eyes watering from trying not to blink, still fixated on that tree, "I swear I'm not fucking around."

It's too much. This is too much.

Eventually Heather takes a step away from him and makes a shushing motion when he opens his mouth to protest. He tenses his body, thinking that she's going to leave him there all alone, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the tree Billy keeps looking at while she moves away, trying to get a view from a different angle.

That turns out to be a huge mistake.

Heather reaches the other end of the fence and just as she does, she chokes on a sudden inhale of surprise just as Mrs Wheeler comes sprinting out from behind the tree, heading straight for Billy.

She eats up the distance in a matter of seconds, but her face is so dreadfully blank that for a moment Billy doesn't react at all, the absolute absurdity of what he's witnessing freezing him to the spot once again.

She's so fast, is all he can think as she nears the patch of grass leading up to the pool area, but before she reaches it Heather grabs onto his hand and yanks him toward the gate.

"Come ON!" She screams, just as Mrs Wheeler reaches the fence. And starts scaling it like a goddamn spider.

With the image of that burned into his mind, the pair of them sprint to the gate and reach it just as a sickening crunch of meat and bones landing on concrete rings out across the pool area. Billy barely has time to process the image of Mrs Wheeler snapping her ankles back into place as Heather frantically flicks through the keys to lock the gate behind them, her hands shaking too violently to guide it once she finds it.

"C'mon, c'mon, come, ON!" she says between gritted teeth and lets out a cry of frustration before Billy takes over and jams the key in to the tiny opening and locks the gate with a click.

"Run!" Billy calls out and this time he's the one to pull Heather along into the parking lot.

The clinking of chain link fence straining under added weight sounds out for the second time, but Billy doesn't dare waste any time witnessing that unnatural spider scrawl again, just puts all of his focus into getting to the Camaro and locking the doors with a decisive thunk once they're both safely inside.

Billy doesn't hesitate, jamming the key into the ignition and revving the engine with a roar before he backs the car out of the space with a screech of tires. There is a blur of a body rushing past the passenger side window, landing with another sickening thud and Heather presses herself back over the centre console, keening in terror as Mrs Wheeler slowly gets back up, hair wild, skin bruised and bloody, her face still a blank slate as she turns to look in through the window at them both.

"Billy, GO!" Heather pleads and Billy steps on the gas and speeds the Camaro out of the parking lot.

In the rearview mirror, Billy watches as a human form steps out onto the road to watch them speed away for just a moment before slinking to the edge of the forest and melting back into the darkness.

Heather is slumped in the passenger seat, shivering and panting. Billy's own hands are steady only because they're white knuckling the steering wheel. After a moment of silence, she turns to look at him with an uncertain smile, voice just this side of shrill.

"I think maybe it's time to find a job at the mall."

"Yeah," Billy laughs shakily, "I heard Scoops Ahoy is hiring."

.

.

.

[ruvviks]

it's been a hot sec since i've talked about cyberpunk and i was initially working on a fic that would tell the story of this whole thing, but i've abandoned it many months ago and cannot say when i'll be picking it up again SO! i've decided to instead make this timeline. sorry in advance for how much information is in this thing the cyberpunk extended blorboverse essentially refers to the story parallel to the in-game events of cyberpunk 2077 that @mojaves and i came up with. we don't really have a better name for it but at this point the term has been used so many times that i feel like everyone here knows what it is by now, but at the same time we've never really explained the full scope of what the story is by now (it's a lot sorry). so in an attempt to get you guys a little bit more up to date with it all, here's a semi coherent timeline that describes the core events of the story and every branching story that came out of it! for additional background information, you can check out the following posts (timeline 1 / timeline 2 / timeline 3) to catch up with the continuation of the in-game storyline that's referenced in this timeline, but it's mostly irrelevant to everything here save for a couple of referenced events that cross over between the stories. it all ties together very intricately sorry about that. don't worry too much about it i've included my taglist down below to make sure people who are interested won't miss this post, but feel free to skip over this if it's not your thing! won't be doing a lot of this kind of stuff in the future but i'm trying to get back to the cyberpunk roots so this is kind of like, a good starting point and reference point for later posts!

The story starts in early 2077 and is centered around Sebastian Vidal, gang leader of the Cobras and previous test subject of Arasaka Special Programs (the linked page is a lot of information but gives the most coherent overview of what the branch actually is). The current director of the SERPENT projects, Andrew Colton, and Dr. Alana Cartier, both want him dead, to tie up their last loose end before the rest of Arasaka can find out and shut down Special Programs once and for all.

Over the past months they’ve been hiring various assassins in secret, to try and get Seb killed; however, these assassins keep failing, and their latest attempt lies in the hands of Cassidy Shaffer, an ex-corpo turned assassin with a strong moral code and plenty of experience to his name. With little to work with, as his mysterious client doesn’t give out much information, Cassidy starts with what he thinks is gonna be a quick and easy job– but he ends up hunting after Seb for essentially a year.

During this year, the two men have a series of wild encounters that get more and more insane the longer it goes on; it includes, but is unfortunately not limited to, Cassidy biting off a chunk of Seb’s ear, the two of them running over the highway, the two of them getting handcuffed together and chased by the NCPD then hit by a car right in front of the hospital, and Seb sensually licking blood off Cassidy’s face after having stabbed him when Cassidy wanted to strike at a concert Seb is visiting.

All of it comes to a sudden stop when Cassidy learns his client has been lying to him the whole time, and since he does not appreciate lying clients he ends up jumping sides and teams up with the Cobras to do some cleanup duty in Arasaka Special Programs. He and Seb work together to go after a list of targets to get the still ongoing projects mostly to a halt, while remaining in the shadows themselves as to not draw too much attention their way; and during this collaboration they meet several people from their past, bringing back both good and bad memories.

One of these people is Hanan Chisaka, the Head of Security at Special Programs. She ends up becoming the next test subject of Project Cobra after the last successful subjects, Xavier and Gabriel Mason, end up escaping in the midst of the chaos of Hanako Arasaka’s capture in mid-2077. Once Seb’s best friend and Cassidy’s mentor, she’s now forced to hunt the both of them down; but in their final confrontation she snaps out of the controlled mode Arasaka keeps her in and runs away with them, effectively leaving Special Programs without any test subjects. Another one of these people is Reid Bennett, Cassidy’s ex and ex-coworker back at MaxTac. He still works for the corporation and has been on an ongoing investigation into Arasaka Special Programs; seeing Cassidy alive and well, working together with Seb no less, piques his interest and he continues to look further into the case, which will cause him to make a very big mistake later on in the timeline.

By September 2078, Seb and Cassidy have successfully taken down all their planned targets and retreat back into the shadows, leaving Special Programs with many losses and no test subjects. With the APEX program discontinued a month earlier (incident discussed in this fic, which is a continuation of the in-game events), and Hanako Arasaka recovered and ready to take the corporation back from the hands of her corrupt brother, Special Programs ends up having to retreat for the time being, and cook up a new plan in the background.

Special Programs by this point is run by Andrew Colton, Alana Cartier, and Kaida Akiyama, three players who have been in the game for a long time already in the SERPENT projects’ runtime. Colton and Cartier are married– Cartier used to be married to Seb and cheated on him for a good amount of time when he was still at Arasaka– but their marriage is starting to fall apart. Akiyama has had to watch over Special Ops agent Ambrose Hawthorne for a while during his chase after the Mason twins, which ended up with the twins dead and Hawthorne going into early retirement (Arasaka doesn’t know the twins faked their death and Ambrose is now dating one of them lol), and xe is now determined to help Colton and Cartier get Seb back into Arasaka so the projects can continue.

Cassidy’s initial plan was to leave as soon as the collaboration would come to an end, but he has found his place with the Cobras and instead ends up officially joining them.The next chapter in the story is a more laid-back and easygoing chapter, in which Cassidy learns to be part of real life again, and in which Seb learns to let people get close to him again after spending years trying to convince himself he doesn’t need any help. Over the course of a little over a year (all the way to November 2079), the two grow even closer than they had already done, going on gigs together and, you guessed it, slowly but surely falling in love until they inevitably end up together at the end of it.

Not long after the two get together, Reid returns into Cassidy’s life. He wants to try and be friends again and Cassidy gives him a second chance, though this soon enough turns out to have been a mistake, with Reid trying to create distance between Seb and Cassidy and then going as far as trying to sell Cassidy to Kang Tao (one of the few corporations that have been hunting Cassidy down for a while now) in exchange for his own freedom from MaxTac (where he would have otherwise been stuck at for probably the rest of his life). Naturally, Reid can’t watch Cassidy get tortured for long and leaks his location to the Cobras, who find and free Cassidy and take Reid into captivity instead– he does not get killed, but instead has to sit out some time at a safehouse somewhere in solitude, where he gets to decide what kind of person he wants to be in the future.

This brings us to Elysium; a gorgeous spaceship which was supposed to be a relatively cheap escape from reality for everyone who wanted a refreshing break from Earth, but through Arasaka sponsorship has become just another cash-grab project to compete with the Crystal Palace– and considering the megacorporation has its greasy hands all over it, the secret labs in the spaceship are used for a series of very unethical experiments. Naturally so, it would be the perfect place for Colton to continue his SERPENT projects without the risk of Hanako Arasaka finding out and shutting the place down. He sends forces up to Elysium (obviously after his other attempts at relocating the project to space have failed tremendously, having lost contact with every single crew in the smaller Arasaka stations in orbit around the planet), but since he’s not there himself his cousin (one of the CEOs of Elysium), Maxwell Crane, unbeknownst to Colton, takes control of the SERPENT projects in space instead. From the earlier linked Special Programs page: “Project Eryx used the technology of previous projects, but took a completely new approach in the hosts it used; rather than focusing on the human psyche it attempted to create a new type of cyborg which would lack the humanity that caused previous projects to fail. The Cobra chips were no longer used and the software was instead installed directly onto the host’s mainframe. The flexibility of the new hosts– more robot than human, and in some cases the entire human aspect was lacking altogether– allowed for experimentation with highly advanced cybernetic enhancements and military grade tech and upgrades, turning the test subjects– dubbed ‘prototypes’– into dangerous, unstoppable killing machines.”

Things settle down for Seb and Cassidy, but this moment of peace does not last long. In January 2081 the two find themselves traveling to the spaceship Elysium, to investigate a curious situation in the laboratories– they’ve been hired by Arasaka without their knowledge and it’s a setup to get Cassidy killed and Seb back in Cartier’s control.

While in space, they learn that the secret labs have suffered an outbreak of the above mentioned prototypes. They quickly connect the dots and realize Special Programs is back in the game, and they work together with security guards Aubrey Valentine and Leon dello Russo to try and fix the situation before it gets out of hand. Obviously this fails tremendously and Elysium ends up on a complete lockdown after a ship-wide outbreak, which is eventually contained in late March of that year, with CEO Maxwell Crane dead, leaving only his wife Kinsley Osborn behind.

Elysium continues to exist and is rebuilt after the crisis, and Kinsley Osborn can now finally turn it into the retreat it was always meant to be. Previously, most Elysium employees were to be stuck in space for the rest of their lives; however, with Arasaka out of the picture they are free to leave as they please, which results in a gigantic cut in total employee count in the months that follow.

Seb and Cassidy return to Night City and take Aubrey and Leon with them. Aubrey reunites with his sisters; Becca, James, and Rikki, and soon after his return to the city he opens an LGBTQ+ nightclub called Bodytalk with them, found Downtown, City Center, in June 2081. Not only is it a fun place to hang out at, it’s also his main hub as a fixer, and he starts a collaboration with the Cobras to get business going between the gang and the club; and soon enough it grows into a large and powerful network of connections, which is the foundation on which the rest of the stories are built.

After this point in time, many many more things happen but it would take me another hour or ten to go into full detail of all of that, so instead here’s a quick rundown of some of the other things that Bodytalk gets involved in:

Reid Bennett is handed over to Aubrey and he starts working at the club, and he becomes a very valued employee as well as a good friend to many now that he’s no longer fucking insane

Kaida Akiyama returns from Elysium and shows up to Hanan’s doorstep, to ask for her help with getting out of Arasaka for good; much later on, xe starts working for Bodytalk as well, in an attempt to put xyr past behind xem and become a better person

Urban Dynamite starts performing at the club regularly, and it becomes their home base

Luna Serratos, Cassidy’s ripperdoc friend from all the way back to killing era, gets involved in the Harbinger case from Maelstrom (one of the gang’s most feared members); turns out the Harbinger is in fact Reuben de la Rosa, a by then 22-year-old kid who has ended up in Luna’s care with his friend Noah Telavera after the two got caught up in an explosion. She requests the Cobras’ help with getting Maelstrom to let Reuben go

Officer Michele Diaz from Militech (who used to be Cassidy’s boss) is demoted following the lawsuits after the Elysium incident, and her investigation into the incident in hopes to get her job back leads her to Bodytalk; she begins threatening them and sends the whole club and their allies into uncertain times

Many people get married. There’s so many fucking guys here we went a little insane with the numbers but there’s several weddings and there’s a whole polycule going on too feel free to send asks about this if you’re interested

Cobra Cybernetics releases a new line of cyberware, which is incredibly buggy and dangerous to the public; it’s brought to the club’s attention and it makes them realize that Luiza Vidal (Seb’s sister), who not that long ago asked them to kill her husband (William Colton (Andrew’s brother), CEO of Cobra Cybernetics), has gone missing; they now need to get involved without getting the news out that they actually didn’t kill William and that he is still alive somewhere, while also balancing out dynamics between Biotechnica (angry at Cobra Cybernetics for stealing their designs) and Arasaka (the actual reason why Cobra Cybernetics’ designs look like Biotechnica’s designs, because William stole designs from Special Programs after halting their partnership after the Elysium incident, but these designs had been stolen by Arthur Jenkins from Biotechnica even BEFORE that to be able to hijack the European Space Council’s cybernetics following the Frankfurt incident. Are you still with me)

Vitali Dobrynin (fixer and main character from the in-game events storyline and the continuation of it; Vincent “V” Mayer’s boyfriend) ends up visiting Bodytalk after meeting Aubrey at a Fixer Council meeting, which happens in late 2083; this essentially ties the two main storylines together, which means that yes, a lot of the characters from the two separate storylines end up meeting :]

Officer Ulysses Dimakos (used to work with Reid at MaxTac) is sent to investigate Bodytalk following the Cobra Cybernetics scandal, and ends up teaming up with the club to get MaxTac on a dead trail in exchange for his freedom of the corporation

On top of the Bodytalk / Cobras centered storyline, there’s a couple of side stories that are still connected to the whole thing but are more of a standalone thing with only a few touching points to the rest of it all:

This obviously takes place a lot earlier because it’s already mentioned above, but Special Ops agent Ambrose Hawthorne is tasked with chasing after the escaped Mason twins; naturally he lets them go and ends up going into retirement, and Xavier Mason later on ends up becoming Bodytalk’s part-time repair guy on account of knowing Kaida

Gabriel Mason ends up in a car crash with retired security specialist Ames Ortega, who was also in Elysium during the incidents there, and the two end up babysitting Ambrose and Xavier’s kids together while those two are helping Hanan with getting Kaida out of Arasaka (Are you still with me. Blink if you can hear me)

Mercenary Frankie Sayyad gets a promotion from his fixer, Vulture (real name Diana Crane, Maxwell Crane’s older sister and cousin of the Coltons), and becomes one of her Bloodhounds; he works together with Evelyn Harris, Nimue Nkuna, and Beckett Rydel, the latter being one of the very first test subjects of Arasaka Special Programs, and the four accidentally get themselves mixed into a mystery concerning their secretive fixer

Caleb Harris, ex-security at Biotechnica, ends up back at Club Bodytalk not long after the conclusion of the Cobra Cybernetics scandal, and starts working for Aubrey; he is partnered up with Ramiel Al-Masri, a mercenary who has been working for Vitali Dobrynin for a while and has recently joined Aubrey’s mercenary roster too, and together they dive into a series of gigs neither of them had expected

Journalist Bodhi Shankar has finally found more evidence and information surrounding the mysterious cult gang Umbra and its so-called Prophet, Thiago Salazar; however, his antics have led to him accidentally becoming part of the gang himself, and he has to figure out a way to get Thiago to stop listening to the supposed deity that the gang worships known as Scintilla, before she makes him do things that will get many people killed

taglist (opt in/out)

@velocitic, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @gurathins;

@mojaves, @shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption;

@ncytiri, @calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm;

@strafethesesinners, @fashionablyfyrdraaca, @aemondtargeryen, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian;

@estevnys, @elgaravel, @aezyrraeshh, @carlosoliveiraa

[thetravelerwrites]

What is Expected, What is Understood (The Sacrificial Princess and the King of Beasts) Part 1

Rating: Explicit Fandoms: Niehime to Kemono no Ou | Sacrificial Princess & the King of Beasts Relationships: Sariphi & Leonhart, Amit & Jormungand Additional Tags: Loss of Virginity, Blood Mention, Discussion of Conception, Discussion of Pregnancy, Discussions of Oral Sex, Detailed Descriptions of Sex, Discussion of Menstruation, Breeding, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Extension of Canon Words: 4929

It's been four years since their wedding and, for one reason or another, Sariphi and Leonhart still have not consummated their union. Under the constant pressure to produce an heir, and after a disastrous first attempt, they realize they are unprepared and decide to hire a midwife.

This one has been up on my Ao3 for a while, but I decided to bring it to tumblr. Please reblog and leave feedback!

Four years had passed so quickly since the wedding that it felt to Sariphi like it had been no time at all. Even still, she often struggled to believe it was real and not some fanciful fever dream she had conjured up as a coping mechanism as she waited in passive acceptance for the day of sacrifice to arrive. 

Now nineteen, Sariphi was a little less impulsive than she had been when she first came to the kingdom, making a conscious effort to conduct herself with more dignity and grace now that she was queen, but she was no less enthusiastic and eager. Her influence was felt in every corner of the palace, like a breath of fresh air. Staff who had been working in the palace since the time of the previous king could feel a dramatic difference in the atmosphere: the palace had been tense and darkly oppressive during the reign of the former king, while it was silently somber and cold after His Majesty had ascended the throne. Sariphi’s presence had made the palace warmer, lighter, and more brilliantly bright in comparison. 

After many, many intensive lessons, Sariphi had finally taken on some of the administrative work from Anubis within the last few months, with Amit as her assistant. The work was hard but rewarding, and Sariphi was simply happy to be helpful. Even so, it was still two months before Anubis would let her do any of the work on her own without hovering over her shoulder, watching for mistakes.

“Should this document be filed under regional, capitol, or national?” Sariphi asked Amit one afternoon while working. “It’s an assistance request for the outer ring of the capital city, but that falls on the border with the nearby province of Reiza.”

“Hmm,” Amit said, looking over it. “Who sent the request?”

“Both the governor of Reiza and the alderman of that district of the city. It’s a joint request.”

“Ah. Perhaps make copies of it and file it under all three. That way, there would be a record of the request for every category. For reference.” 

“I see.” 

Before being sent as a bridal candidate and eventually becoming Sariphi’s official companion and lady-in-waiting, Amit had been thoroughly educated in administration, so her help was invaluable to Sariphi, who’d had none of that training before ascending the throne. Although it would have been expected of her to take on the administration work immediately after becoming queen if she had been a beast princess, she had been far too busy learning history, etiquette, language, and politics in the first year to even begin administration.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” Amit said, sighing. “Why don’t we take a break? I have tea and snacks I made myself. Everything was checked before I used it.” 

“Who checked it?” Sariphi asked suspiciously. 

“It wasn’t me!” Amit insisted. “The ingredients were tested by the imperial alchemist, I swear!”

“Hmm,” Sariphi said, taking a biscuit. “If you say so.”

Sariphi had nearly fallen victim to a couple of assassination attempts in recent years perpetrated by anti-human militants that had infiltrated the palace staff, those who still resented the king for his lineage and her for her mere existence. As a result, every bit of food and drink that was placed before her for the last year had to be tested and monitored closely from kitchen to table. Amit had tried to appoint herself Sariphi’s poison tester, but Sariphi had quashed that idea immediately. As had Jormungand.

Sariphi yawned as she accepted a cup of tea. 

“Are you tired today?” Amit asked. 

“Yeah,” Sariphi admitted. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

“Oh? Why is that?” 

“Well… I heard the maids talking. They seem to feel like an heir should have been conceived by now.” 

“Are you bothered by that?” 

“A little.” 

“You shouldn’t take it to heart, Sari,” Amit said, patting her shoulder. “They’re just worried about you.”

“It’s not just them. The royal council has been putting pressure on His Majesty about it since the wedding. Anubis has been dropping suggestions in that roundabout way he does, too. His Majesty is sick of hearing about it.”

Amit laughed. “You don’t need to worry too much about it,” She said. “You and His Majesty love each other so much that I’m sure you’ll hear good news very soon.” 

Sariphi blushed and looked away. “I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well… we’d have to… He’d need to… we haven’t…” Sariphi stuttered to a stop and hid behind her hair, embarrassed. 

Amit gasped. “You haven’t…” She squeaked and blushed as well. “Consummated your nuptials yet? Anyone against your union could use that as ammunition to force you to annul the marriage if they found out! They could use that to make His Majesty take a concubine! It’s been four years!” 

“I know!” Sariphi exclaimed, and then lowered her voice. She was glad Cy and Clops weren’t there in her office at the time and that Bennu was fast asleep in his gilded cage. “But he’s never touched me and I’ve been too nervous to make a move on him. I know he’s worried about hurting me, but… I’ve also wondered… if he wasn’t interested in me like that.”

“But he loves you!” Amit said.

“I know he loves me, I’ve never doubted that he loves me, but romantic love and sexual love don’t always go hand-in-hand.”

“Have you talked to him about it?” 

“I’ve only brought it up once recently. He told me that I’m still young and we have lots of time and not to worry about it. I’m nervous that if I bring it up too much, he’ll shut me out. He has a bad habit of keeping his worries to himself.”

“He’s not alone in that,” Amit said shrewdly, and then covered her mouth with her hands at her own boldness.

Sariphi sighed. “I know. It’s not just about having heirs. I… I want to be more intimate with him. I want to be his wife in every possible way.”

“Have you told him that?” 

“No. I guess my mistake was assuming he would already know that. I forgot that he can be hesitant when it comes to personal relationships, even when he really cares for someone. After hiding his true self for so long and only existing for the sake of the kingdom, he’s still learning to voice his desires. He doesn’t know how to be selfish or ask for things he wants for himself.”

“You should talk to him again and tell him how you feel. I really envy that you and His Majesty can talk to each other so openly. I hope Captain Jormungand and I can have that kind of relationship once we marry.”

Jormungand and Amit had been engaged for nearly half a year and their wedding was planned for spring. Sariphi was so excited to be the Matron of Honor for her, since none of Amit’s family would be attending to stand with her. Though Jormungand may have the Captain of the Imperial Guard and a talented man with many accomplishments and accolades, the royals of Murga were still affronted by the fact that Amit would be marrying a commoner. According to Amit, being shunned by her family was nothing new, since she had no value to them as the fifth princess, and although she tried to behave unperturbed, Sariphi knew she was sad about it. 

Amit was acutely aware that it was a serious breach of etiquette to even ask the queen to participate in the wedding of a commoner, and though she knew Sariphi would be overjoyed to accept, she couldn’t bring herself to ask. It was Jormungand, not Amit, who asked Sariphi to be Amit’s Matron of Honor in her stead. Jormungand, who had no family, was quite unhappy that Amit’s family had snubbed her due to her marriage to him, though he knew their relationship had always been strained. He decided there was no higher honor, nor greater satisfaction, than having the queen of the realm standing in their place, especially considering the king himself would be standing for Jormungand. Sariphi agreed wholeheartedly and accepted with delight.

“You’re right,” Sariphi said. “I’ll talk to him tonight.” 

Sariphi was nervous all through the dinner banquet and avoided His Majesty’s eye out of embarrassment. She could feel him staring at her, though he said nothing to her and the evening passed without fuss.

That night, after they retired for the evening, had their baths, and returned to their chambers, he caught her by the waist and easily lifted her onto his shoulder, which he was still prone to doing when they were alone. After climbing into the bed, he sat her atop his lap and caged her in his embrace. 

“Out with it,” He said without preamble. “Why have you been avoiding my gaze all evening?” 

“Why do you have to be so inconveniently perceptive?” Sariphi sighed exasperatedly.

“Anyone with eyes could have observed your odd behavior,” He retorted. “My queen is many things, but subtle she is not.” 

“Something Anubis will probably scold me for later, I’m sure,” Sariphi agreed. “As he always says, ‘Tact and decorum is the benchmark of every great queen’.”

“Do not change the subject,” Leonhart said, squishing her face in his claws. “What troubles you?”

Sariphi sighed. “I was thinking about the heirs thing again.” 

Leonhart sighed in turn. “We have discussed this. There is an abundance of time to worry about that. It is not something that requires your concern at present.” 

“When should I be concerned?”

“Never. It is not worth your energy.”

“Amit said that if anyone finds out that we haven’t consummated our marriage, they could lawfully force you to take a concubine or make us get an annulment.” 

“Which is why it shall not be discovered.” 

“Leo… It’s not just that,” Sariphi replied. “Talking to Amit today made me realize… the reason why it bothers me isn’t just the need for an heir.” 

“What is the reason, then?” 

Sariphi flushed and picked at a single strand of his mane rather than looking him in the face. 

“I… We… We’ve been married for four years now… and we haven’t… been intimate… and I wondered if you weren’t interested in such things.”

Leonhart was silent and Sariphi, feeling anxious, began rambling very fast.

“I know we had discussed having kids before and I know you don’t want to hurt me, but you had mentioned that you wanted to have at least two, but we need to be intimate for that to happen, but you’ve never made a move, so I thought you didn’t want to, but I–” 

“Sariphi, stop,” Leonhart said, taking her chin and making her look at him. “You do not need to explain yourself, I understand what you are saying. To tell the truth… you are correct. I have been hesitant to attempt intimacy with you because I do not wish to hurt you. The difference in our size obviously means that the act would cause you immense discomfort. You did not seem to show much interest in it, either, so I assumed until now that you were satisfied to wait.” 

“So… you do want to? Be intimate with me, I mean?” 

“I do wish for that, yes,” Leonhart said. “Of course I do. Truthfully… I have thought of it quite often as of late, especially now that you have grown taller and gained weight. It is hard not to notice how… lovely you look, and your warm body lying next to me every night is often difficult to ignore. But as I said… I worry about hurting you.” 

“Perhaps it won’t hurt,” Sariphi said optimistically. “We’ll never know until we try, right?”

“I suppose you have a point,” Leonhart agreed, though he looked skeptical. “You also truly wish to be intimate with me?”

“Yes, I do,” She said earnestly. “I’m your wife and I love you. I want to do all the things husbands and wives do.” 

“I see,” He said slowly. “Do you… wish to try tonight?” 

Sariphi gulped but nodded. “No time like the present. Honestly, I’ve been ready for a long time, I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

“I see.” Leonhart took a deep breath. “I fear I have no experience with this. I am unsure how to begin.” 

Sariphi moved off of Leonhart’s lap. Kneeling next to him and plucking up her courage, she carefully drew her nightgown over her head and off of her body, then removed her undergarments, fully exposing herself to him for the very first time. His eyes widened and his breathing sped up slightly. Rolling onto his knees as well, he reached out to touch her but stopped short, seeming unsure, looking at his large claws in dismay.

“It’s okay, Leo,” Sariphi said, moving forward to press her breast to his palm. “You can touch me. You won’t hurt me. It’s okay.”

As much as she tried to reassure him, he was still intensely cognizant that his claws could wrap around her entire body with room to spare, claws that were strong enough to rend solid stone, and his need to be careful was obvious. Instead, he turned his hand and caressed one of her nipples with the back of the claw on his first finger. She inhaled sharply and made a slight sound, biting her lip. She looked anxious, but she gazed at his face with open trust. 

Leonhart leaned forward and pressed his nose to the hollow of her neck, breathing in deeply. She reached up and raked her fingers through the fur of his neck. His arms encircled her, and he pulled her bare body against his own clothed chest. He felt himself stir below, and shrugged his arms out of their sleeves. He pulled her toward him and lay her down on the bed under him, stripping off the drape around his waist and letting it fall heavily to the floor. Her beautiful body lay open to him, her silver-white hair spread out around her head like a glowing halo, and she reached for him.

Carefully lowering his body over hers, he kissed her. She moaned softly and moved underneath him, stroking his chest. He pressed his hardness to her entrance, pausing for a moment to observe her face before attempting to enter her slowly. She seemed fine at first, but as he pushed harder, her brow furrowed and her breath stuttered. 

“Are you alright?” He asked. 

She didn’t speak, but nodded. He continued, but stopped when she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, holding her breath. 

“Are you sure I should carry on?” 

“Yes,” She said, her voice strained. “It’s okay.” 

He had barely moved an inch when he noticed tears gathering in her eyes, and the moment he caught the scent of blood, he removed himself and climbed off of her. Sure enough, there was blood on the sheets under her. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than enough to ruin his mood.

“Why did you stop?” Sariphi asked, wiping her eyes. 

“I have hurt you, just as I feared I would,” He said, putting his clothing back on and stooping to gather up her clothes as well. 

“I’ve heard it’s normal to bleed the first time,” She insisted. “Many women do.” 

“It is not just that,” He said. “I could see on your face that you were in pain.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, I swear!” She said, holding her nightgown to her chest. “I can do it! Even if it’s painful, I can handle it! I still have to bear your successor regardless! Everyone expects it of us!”

“As loath as I am to hurt you for my own satisfaction, I am even less inclined to do so to suit the wishes of others,” Leonhart said. “We will try again another day, when you have healed. I refuse to injure you further.”

“But–” 

“No,” He said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Not tonight. It is not as though I am suggesting we never consummate, but it seems we are not ready for this yet.”

“Leo, it’s been four years.”

“I am well aware of that, Sariphi. Neither of us know much about this subject. We need… help. Advice.”

“Advice from whom?” 

“I am unsure,” Leonhart admitted.

"Are there books we could read?"

"Oh, I am certain there are, but I do not even know where to begin looking, nor do I wish to ask. All I am certain of is that I do not wish to cause you further pain. There must be something we can do to make this… process… easier.” He took her nightgown out of her hands and pulled it back over her head. “I’m far more concerned with the well-being of the woman I love than I am for any amorphous children who are yet to exist. Whatever our responsibilities may be, you are my wife before you are the queen.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way ‘round?” Sariphi asked, reluctantly pulling on her undergarments. “The queen exists for the country, so her discomfort is not important if it’s for the good of the people, right?”

“Perhaps,” He said. “But I care not. If it would cause you harm, it is not worth doing.” 

“Do you not want to be intimate anymore?” 

“No, I still wish for that,” He replied. “But only if it is good for us to do so. For both of us.” He pulled her back into his lap and embraced her once more. “Do not misunderstand, Sariphi. I love and desire you. That has not changed, nor will it ever. Be assured of that fact and do not fret.” 

“Okay,” She said, cuddling into his chest. Though he was not one for words, he seemed to always know what she needed to hear. They lay down together and tried to sleep, but neither found much rest that night.

The next morning, His Majesty insisted that Sariphi stay in their chambers and rest for the day, calling Amit to keep her company. Sariphi had to admit, she was a little bit sore, and gratefully accepted. 

“How did it go?” Amit asked once they were alone. “I heard the maids say there was blood on the sheets.”

Sariphi shook her head. “We tried, but he stopped almost immediately when I started bleeding. He says he won’t try again until we get some sort of help.” 

“What sort of help?” 

“I don’t know,” Sariphi admitted. “I don’t know who we could possibly ask about this.”

Amit sat quietly in deep thought. “What about a midwife?” 

“Midwife?” 

“Certainly,” Amit said. “A midwife could solve this problem, wouldn’t you think? Conception, pregnancy, and childbirth are the sole scope of their expertise, is it not?” 

“Well, sure,” Sariphi agreed. “But is there one in the palace?” 

“Oh,” Amit said contemplatively. “I’m not sure. Anubis would know. Hiring staff who work directly with the royal family is one of his many duties.” 

Sariphi blushed. “I couldn’t possibly ask Anubis about this.” 

“Then mention it to His Majesty and have him pass on the message to Anubis. If the palace doesn’t have a midwife, then they can find one.”

The next day, after Sariphi told His Majesty about it the night before, His Majesty sat in his office, pouring over paperwork, when he finally broached the subject with Anubis. 

“Anubis.” 

Anubis looked up from his own work. “Yes, Sire?”

“Does the palace have an imperial midwife at present?”

“A midwife?” Anubis echoed in surprise. “Could Her Majesty be…?”

“No,” His Majesty replied, looking into the far distance out of the closest window in an effort to appear magnanimous rather than embarrassed. “Not as of yet. It is for that reason we require such a person to seek their advice on the matter. It seems Her Majesty has been quite worried about the constant prattling on the subject of an heir, despite the fact that the queen is still quite young and we have only been married a short time.”

“Four years is plenty of time to conceive an heir, Sire,” Anubis pointed out.

His Majesty glared at him.

“I-I see,” Anubis replied hastily. “The palace has not had an imperial midwife since the passing of the previous queen. By rights, a new imperial midwife should have been appointed upon the queen’s ascension, but in the aftermath of the attempted insurrection prior to the sovereign marriage rites, and then the peace talks with Yoana directly after, it appears that the appointment was overlooked.” 

“Very well. Hire one immediately.” 

“Of course, sire,” Anubis said, but he paused. “Although… I am concerned that there may not be any midwife in Ozmargo willing to take the position.” 

“Because the queen is human?” 

“Well, yes,” Anubis said delicately. 

His Majesty sighed. “I had believed this sort of discrimination would have been much reduced by now, though I suppose it is to be expected.” 

“I didn’t mean necessarily in terms of discrimination. More to the point, I doubt that there are any of beastkind in the kingdom who would know how to treat a human.” 

“Ah,” His Majesty said. Anubis was correct, of course. “Could we not call one from Yoana?” 

“I suppose we could,” Anubis said. “But what woman in her right mind would make that journey? The way between the kingdoms is still treacherous and full of peril. Even with guaranteed security, there may not be any who would agree to such a dangerous undertaking.” 

“Post a job notice regardless, in both Ozmargo and Yoana. If even one person were to answer, that would be enough to begin moving forward.” 

“As you wish, Sire,” Anubis said. He bowed and excused himself.

It took more than two months to finally get a response to the job posting. An old, bent woman of the pangolin tribe, leaning on a walking stick, ambled up to the palace after sending a notice that she would take on the position. The scales of her tail rasped across the marble floor as she walked, making something like a soft rattlesnake sound. Her eyes were bleary and brown in color with blue along the edges of the iris. She looked around the palace as if unimpressed. 

Anubis, having been notified of her arrival, met her at the large double doors of the throne room. 

“I understand you are the one who responded to the request for an imperial midwife?” Anubis asked without pleasantries. 

“Yessir,” The old woman said, her voice cracking with age. 

“Your name, so I may announce you to His Majesty?” 

“Coral will do.” 

“I see. Follow me.” 

Anubis turned at the guardsmen manning the doors and nodded. The doors swung open, and sitting there were both His and Her Majesties. His Majesty’s throne sat center stage on the raised dais with Her Majesty’s smaller throne to his immediate right, turned slightly to face him. Sariphi wasn’t used to receiving guests while sitting on her throne yet, so she often stayed silent unless directly spoken to. His Majesty had told her she didn’t need to receive the guests if she didn’t want to, but Sariphi had insisted she wanted to take her role as queen seriously, and that included being a welcoming host.

“Your Majesties,” Anubis said, coming up and bowing. “I present Coral, the woman who has answered the request for an imperial midwife.” 

“Very well,” His Majesty said, waving his hand. Anubis bowed again and stepped to the side, allowing the old woman to stagger toward the dais. “We welcome you, Coral. Before your official appointment, you must prove yourself capable of the duties you will be assigned. We have the documentation and testimonials you sent us beforehand, but that will be useless to us if you are deemed unfit for the position.” 

“Seems fine,” Coral said amiably. “Although it seems like you’ve not got much choice, elseways, as I'm the only one who showed up.” 

“Mind your tongue!” Anubis hissed. “You are in the presence of Their Majesties, if you’ve forgotten! Be respectful!” 

“Hush up, pup,” She said, flapping her hand at him dismissively. Anubis seethed, but His Majesty waved him down “I’m as old as dirt and twice as bitter, so I ain’t all that keen on niceties. If you want to get all bent out of shape ‘cause I’m not standin’ on ceremony, you go right ahead, but I reckon I was called here for a reason, and that ain’t it.”

Sariphi hid a giggle. Coral reminded her of Bennu and she instantly felt affection for the old woman.

“Indeed,” His Majesty said, nonplussed. “Are you confident you can treat a human?” 

“Sure, sure,” Coral said with a shrug. “I’ve been a midwife for nearly a century now, and I’ve helped all manner of child into the world. Humans are mammals, as I understand, and the basics of mammals are reasonably similar; the bits are usually in the same place and work just the same. Usually. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“We understand,” His Majesty said, standing. “What do you need to begin?” 

“Well, to start, I need to examine the girlie here,” Coral said, nodding at Sariphi.  “She’s the one I’ll be lookin’ after, I figure.” 

His Majesty glanced at Sariphi, who nodded and stood up. 

“You are permitted to conduct an examination,” He said. “Though you will not do so alone. Princess Amit will be present for the examination, and Captain Lantevelt will stand guard outside of the door.” 

His Majesty motioned for the edge of the dais, where Amit and Jormungand stood. Amit stepped forward while Jormungand stepped back. He also motioned near the other side of the dais, where Lantevelt was standing. He joined Amit and waited for Sariphi to step down. 

“There is a dedicated room for you in which you may work,” Anubis told Coral. “And your sleeping accommodations are also located there. Princess Amit knows where it is and will lead you there. If you pass the trial period and are hired, you will report directly to Their Majesties or to myself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, you’re very important, I get it.”

Anubis growled in agitation. 

“You will relay your findings to us when you have finished,” His Majesty said. “Afterward, we wish to speak to you privately.”

“You got it, boss,” Coral said, not waiting to be dismissed and waving her stick at Amit. “Lead on, missy.”

“Yes,” Amit said, bowing. “Follow me, please.” 

Sariphi patted His Majesty’s hand briefly before following Amit, Lantevelt, and Coral. His Majesty watched the group walk out of the throne room and sat back on his throne. 

“You seem worried, Sire,” Jormungand told him. “Her Majesty is well, I trust?”

“She is as robust as she has ever been, yes,” His Majesty replied. “It is not out of fear for her health that I do this.”

“I do not presume to know what troubles you, Sire,” Jormungand said. “But as a soon-to-be husband myself, I can imagine I may face similar tribulations in the future. You have my sympathies.” 

“Hmm,” His Majesty said, standing. “Your concern is appreciated, Captain.”

Anubis sniffed in discomfort. “As I have nothing to contribute to this conversation, I will carry on with my duties. If you will excuse me.” He bowed and left. 

Jormungand laughed. “As cold as ever, Abi.” He turned back to His Majesty. “I shall also take my leave, Sire.” 

“You may do so,” His Majesty said. As Jormungand bowed and made to depart, His Majesty called suddenly. “Jormungand.”

Jormungand halted and turned on his heel. “Yes, Sire?”

“We must imagine Anubis would find discussing domestic troubles quite… distasteful,” He began slowly. “Would we be correct in assuming you would be… more receptive to such things?” 

Jormungand tilted his head. “That may be. Certainly more so than Abi.” 

“In the future…” His Majesty said, but then stopped himself. 

Jormungand realized what His Majesty was trying to ask and chuckled. 

“If ever you need an ear, Your Majesty, I’m more than willing to lend you both of mine. Feel free to call me Jor when we are alone. If it suits you, of course.” 

His Majesty showed a hint of a smile, since no one else besides himself and Jormungand was there to see it. “We are… I am grateful. Jor. Thank you.” 

Jormungand gave him a good-natured laugh.

“What are friends for, Your Majesty?”

With that, Jormungand bowed again and excused himself.

Friends. For many years, His Majesty had debated whether it was appropriate or even possible for a king to have friends. His father… well, his uncle, the previous king, certainly had no one that could be considered a friend. The closest would have been the previous Anubis, the current Anubis’s father, though the previous king barely batted an eyelash when his most loyal vassal had died right in front of him. 

When he first became king, His Majesty had emulated the previous king in behavior, since he had no other example to follow. Now, after having met Sariphi, he had come to realize that the previous king’s life was rather… empty. Hollow. As such, His Majesty decided that he didn’t wish to live the same way. Granted, having friends would require him to be more open, which he still found difficult, but he believed it would be worth it in the end. 

He’d had only one friend since he was a boy. Now... he had two. His Majesty smiled to himself and went back to his office.

Please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[zosonils]

phineas and ferb episode pieced together from a dream i had: that ducky momo game that candace played obsessively in one episode shuts down, because it’s an mmo for children and the year is no longer 2009. obviously candace is end of club penguin level devastated so phineas and ferb try to cheer her up by making their own version of the game, which because they’re phineas and ferb is like this massive hyper immersive augmented reality construct that spans the entirety of danville, and i guess there’s like a message in there about how their big extravagant approach to everything isn’t always the answer because while it’s sweet that they’re trying to make her feel better candace doesn’t want a new better ducky momo game, she just wants her crappy browser based ducky momo game back because it’s special to her. i didn’t dream the doof and perry b plot but i can see doofenshmirtz having a thematically relevant heartbreaking backstory about the mmo [Medieval MethOd acting] he used to play as a child for a fleeting moment of happiness being unceremoniously shut down when the drusselstinian government dropped flash compatibility [blinding each other with bright lights was a central mechanic that the game simply didn’t function without]. maybe he makes an inator to delete everyone else’s beloved mmos [perry the platypus can you please help me troubleshoot my inator all it does is shut down online roleplaying games for some reason] and that’s what wipes phineas and ferb’s elaborate ducky momo fan project out of existence. i also didn’t get an ending but i reckon it should end on like it turns out that baljeet backs up the entire internet every couple months just to be safe or something, so they actually have the source files for candace’s comfort baby game right there, so they set up a sort of ‘ducky momo rewritten’ server so that candace and people like her can come back to the game whenever they want. linda gets home and is like so what’s this about phineas and ferb remaking that computer game of yours and candace is too happy to even really care that she can’t bust them for turning danville into a virtual reality exhibit she’s just like look phineas and ferb got ducky MMOmo back on my computer post server shutdown see :) and turns her laptop to her and linda says well wasn’t that nice of them good on you boys. oh there you are perry, roll credits. they should be paying me for this

[euphorajeon]

twenty-seven.

You turn twenty-seven this year.

The first time I had known of you, it was from a birthday live in 2015. I clicked on the video randomly, with zero knowledge about you and Bangtan, and I was confused. Why are these boys so loud but not the birthday boy? I didn’t know anyone’s names back then. Didn’t know your personality. Didn’t know how much you’d mean to me in the coming years.

You turn twenty-seven this year.

You were nineteen when I saw you in concert for the first time in my life. Twenty that year, actually, but still nineteen in April—the month of the concert. Your hair was so different back then, the style the one we used to say coconut head, but your smile remains the same. Wide, bright, and the light still reaches your eyes where they twinkle in glee. My memories of that night are a blur—but the brightness of your smile while being on stage, I’ll never forget.

You turn twenty-seven this year.

For the next couple of years, I watched you struggle before my eyes. You used to be so hard on yourself about your performance, crying over a minuscule mistake that no one but you noticed. It was heartbreaking to watch, especially knowing how hard you work for those performances. But over time, I watched you be more gentle towards yourself, now being able to laugh off the mistake that you do on stage. It was nice to see that you’re able to be at peace about those mistakes.

You turn twenty-seven this year.

Over the years, I have watched you go from someone who’s closed off to someone who’s not afraid of showing who you are. You used to hold onto fans’ requests and complaints like a lifeline, thinking they will leave you the second you say no. Now, you just tell those who complain to fuck off. (Not in those words, exactly. You were more gentle. Sorry that I’m not.) Also, this paragraph won’t be complete without mentioning the cursed green dishwashing gloves—that you ditched in favor of short-sleeved t-shirts two years later. Then two years after that, you let us in on the meaning of the art covering your arm. I couldn’t be more proud (and thankful.)

You turn twenty-seven this year.

And yet, your childlike wonder is still intact. For the past few weeks, I watched you feel excited over the smallest bit of things some people find mundane. The snack you’d found in an American supermarket. The kimchi and grilled fish in that Jeju restaurant. That climbing place that has you jumping around in joy. It’s refreshing to see you enjoy those small things, makes me feel like it wouldn’t take a lot to be happy. I hope you stay happy like this every day (even when Jimin scolds you for running around the supermarket searching for guacamole and tortilla chips instead of the sponge you initially planned to get.)

You turn twenty-seven today.

I hope your smile never dims. I hope your happiness doesn’t falter. I hope you have a great time today. I hope you know that we’re still here, staying with you, holding your hand, even when you’re currently away. We’ll never let go.

Happy twenty-seventh birthday, Jeongguk.

september 1st, 2024.

a/n: it's a veryveryvery late post but still, happy 27th birthday, ggukie!

masterlist

[oh-gh0st]

hiii i come bearing more art ^_^

mostly shadowpeach and mk, then mk with an oc in the last one

[monstersinthecosmos]

the most rancid drama starters in fandoms are always like "gee i wish this fandom was nicer, why do we have to fight all the time :("

[vimbry]

"likes don't do anything" they do

"there's no algorithm" there is

"well nobody uses the for you tab" I do

"reblog all art and fics you see" there's no thought put into that. if this does work on people, then it's just pity engagement borne out of guilt rather than genuine interest, which is arguably worse than having none, because it's totally hollow.

[purpurussy]

.

[dullahandyke]

and like sidenote if i can make a post with a target audience of zero. i feel like fhsy was to d20 what aa3 was to ace attorney but aa3 pulled it off better for reasons i cannot explain

[bardkin]

been doing some internal questioning that boils down to “is it the auADHD or i am plural in some way???”

and i’m. not sure if i want to know the answer. at least not yet.

[27-royal-teas]

sat down three hours ago n pounded out 2k of car crash angst. if it was slight slash but mostly genfic would u read

[whenthegoldrays]

🩷