#I will not apologize for any part of this post

[mythicalmaven]

19 Lando fluff and smut please

Secret Desires - Lando Norris

Loved writing this! <3 If you guys want a part 2 where the whole ordeal continues (including Lando’s awkward encouter with Max) let me know!😂❤️

Masterlist ↳pairing: Lando Norris x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 4,6K ↳Summary: In which the reader is Max Verstappen's twin is Lando's friend & he accidentally confesses some things to her while he's drunk. The day after when he apologizes, it leads to something more. ↳content warnings: friends to lovers, reader is Max Verstappen's twin, lando is drunk and accidentally confesses something to the reader, suggestive content, flirting, dirty talk, sexting, sending nudes, phone sex, masturbation (both f! & m!), praise kink, fluff, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), confessing feelings ↳prompts used: 19 - "Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you.. with my hand down my pants"

You sighed deeply, sinking back into the comfort of the guest bed in your older sister's house, the covers wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The room felt different compared to your Monaco apartment, but it was cozy, filled with the nostalgia of growing up with your family as you saw the pictures hanging on the wall. Pictures of your parents, of you and your twin brother Max, of you and Victoria & so on.

You traded your own bed for the guest bedroom at Victoria's house back home in the Netherlands for the week, to spend some time with your sister again to catch up. After a long night of chatting with Vic, you finally decided to call it a day, though sleep was far from your mind.

Just as you were about to close your eyes to at least give sleeping a try, your phone lit up on the nightstand, a soft buzz drawing your attention. You reached over lazily, expecting a random notification, but your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name flashing on the screen: Lando

Your best friend, your partner in crime, and the guy you’d been secretly in love with for longer than you’d care to admit. The guy who made your heart race with a single smile and had you questioning your sanity every time you felt his touch linger just a little too long. Even though you refused to admit it to anyone with a passion. Stating that the way you felt about Lando was nothing more than two flirtatious friends. You knew you were lying to yourself and your facade was starting to crumble. And now he was texting you, at this hour?

Unlocking your phone, you were met with not one, but several messages from him. You squinted at the screen, reading the texts slowly as they loaded, your eyes widening more with each one.

Lando: Y/n… Lando: Fuhk.. why are you sooooo hotttt? 🥵 Lando: Do yhu have any idea howw many tiems I thout about you… with my hnd down my pantss Lando: *1 image attached* You felt your face heat up instantly, a wave of flustered shock washing over you. He send a photo that you had posted on your story on Instagram today, a photo of you in a cute bikini set at the pool at Vic's house.

What the hell? Lando was… Was he really saying what you thought he was saying? Your mind spun, trying to process the drunk, typo-riddled texts. You knew he must have had a few too many drinks tonight; he mentioned going out to a party with the grid earlier. But this?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart racing as you tried to think of a response. A thousand emotions crashed through you at once—embarrassment, confusion, a thrill of excitement. You could barely breathe.

You: Lan, you're drunk as fuck. Go to sleep 😂

you typed back quickly, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself. You barely had time to process your own message before another one from Lando popped up.

Lando: Drunk on love 🤭

Your heart did a somersault in your chest, and you felt your cheeks burning even hotter. What was he doing? Your pulse thudded loudly in your ears as you stared at the screen, fingers frozen above the keyboard, unsure of what to say. Before you could collect your thoughts, your phone buzzed again, but this time, it was a call.

Max’s name flashed on the screen.

You answered, bringing the phone to your ear. “Max, what the hell—”

“Sorry dat ik zo laat bel,” (sorry for calling at this time) Max's voice was low and slightly slurred with a laugh. “Maar ik zag dat je online was, dus dacht, jij bent nog wakker. Wilde je alleen even een seintje geven dat de kans vrij aannemelijk is dat je vannacht nog dronken appjes krijgt van Lando.” (But I saw that you were online, so I figured you were still awake. Just wanted to give you a heads up that it's very likely that you'll receive some drunk texts from Lando tonight)

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh of your own. Of course, your twin brother knew exactly what was happening. “De kerel is echt gewoon laveloos en hield zijn mond maar niet dicht over je. De hele rit terug naar zijn apartment bleef hij maar zeuren over hoe hij je moest appen over iets geheimzinnigs. Dacht ik waarschuw je even.” (The guy is absolutely hammered and he wouldn't shut up about you. Kept yapping about how he had to text you about something secretive. Thought it would be nice to warn you)

“Te laat, is al gebeurd” (too late, he already did) you replied with a chuckle, glancing back at Lando's messages. “Had al zo’n vermoeden dat hij dronken was haha.” (I already figured he was drunk)

“Dacht ik al,” (I thought so) Max chuckled. “Hou het een beetje netjes, ja? Ik wil hier niet meer van weten dan ik al doe.” (Please keep it decent, yeah? I don't want to know any more about this than I already do)

You could almost hear the grin in his voice. “Maar ik moest hem echt thuisbrengen, de jongen was niet meer te houden.” (But I just had to bring him home, couldn't keep him at bay anymore)

“Dank je, Max,” (Thanks, Max) you said softly, biting your lip. “Je bent een goede broer.” (You're a good brother)

“Altijd,” (Always) Max replied. “Ik moet wel weer ophangen nu, voordat ik Kelly en P wakker maak. Succes met je dronken vriendje.” (Gotta hang now tho, before I wake up Kelly and P. Good luck with your boyfriend)

“Max, hoe vaak moet ik nog zeggen dat Lando en ik gewoon vrienden zijn” (Max, how often do I have to tell you that Lando and I are just friends) you said, rolling your eyes.

"Als jij jezelf niet zo voor de gek hield, waren jullie al lang samen" (If you didn't keep lying to yourself, you two would have dated a long time already) and with a last chuckle, he hung up.

You flopped back onto your bed, your mind racing, Lando’s texts still staring at you from the screen. Your fingers shook as you picked up your phone again, reading his words over and over, your stomach flipping with nerves and something else, something hotter, more dangerous.

With a deep breath, you tried to shake it off. Lando was just drunk, you told yourself. He didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything… Right? But the way your heart fluttered at the thought of him thinking about you like that, the way your skin prickled with excitement at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way…

You forced yourself to put the phone down, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the wild thoughts racing through your mind. It was late, and you needed to sleep. But as you drifted off, your dreams were anything but peaceful. Lando's words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself imagining all the things he might have done while thinking about you, the way he might have said your name, the way his hands might have—

You woke up, flustered and breathless, your body tingling in a way that was all too familiar. The morning sun was peeking through the curtains, but all you could think about was Lando, and the way his words made you feel things you’d tried so hard to ignore.

Around the same time, somewhere in Monaco, Lando jolts awake.

"Fuck" the single word comes out as a hiss, his head pounding from the hangover. His phone screen glares back at him, a series of messages and a notification from Max catching his blurry gaze. He squints, his heart starting to race as fragmented memories of the night before come flooding back.

He fumbles to unlock his phone, praying he didn’t do what he thinks he did. But the evidence is right there, the bold lettering of your name above the most mortifying message he could ever have sent, full of typos, but easily desiphered as 'Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you… with my hand down my pants?'

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his messy curls, anxiety flooding his system. What the fuck had he done? His fingers move of their own accord, tapping out a frantic apology.

Lando: Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry.

You: Good morning to you too. How is your headache? 😉

He cringes at the situation, a mix of playful and mocking. His mind races, grasping at straws to somehow make this situation less embarrassing.

Lando: I don’t even remember sending that. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, pretty sure I wasn't thinking at all. I didn’t mean it.

A lie. He did mean it. But he’s not ready to admit that just yet.

You: Oh, you definitely weren’t thinking, lol. But hey, maybe you should apologize to Max too, since you apparently spilled some beans about me to him. 😆

Lando’s eyes widen, horror painting his features. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. He types back, heart racing.

Lando: What did I say? Please tell me I didn’t—

You: Relax, nothing too scandalous. Just enough for Max to find it disgusting.

Despite himself, a small laugh escapes his lips. He can picture Max’s reaction, the exaggerated gagging, the inevitable jokes he’ll have to endure.

Lando: I’m so sorry. Are you mad at me? I don’t want you to think I’m some idiot who can’t control himself.

You: Nah, I’m not mad. You were drunk, it’s not like you meant it anyway, right?

He swallows hard, your words hitting too close to home. A dry response forms on his screen.

Lando: Yeah, sure.

But deep down, he knows it’s not true. He’d thought about you like that more times than he cared to admit, a dangerous longing simmering beneath the surface of your friendship.

You: Hey, at least now I know I looked hot in yesterday’s bikini post.

Heat floods his cheeks. You’re playing it off, but there’s a hint of something in your words, a subtle curiosity. He swallows, fingers hovering over the keyboard before he types back, heart pounding.

Lando: Stating the obvious.

He can’t help the grin tugging at his lips as he imagines your reaction. It’s risky, but you don’t seem upset, and he’s willing to test the waters.

You: Oh? So you think I’m hot?

Lando: Didn’t know that was up for debate.

He’s toeing the line, the thrill of it sending a spark through him.

Lando: U really not mad? I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.

You: Mad? Nah. Flattered, maybe.

He blinks at your response, surprise mingling with a rush of arousal. Flattered? His mind reels, thoughts scrambling as he tries to figure out what to say next.

You: I have to admit tho, when I first got that message, I thought you’d sent something different than my own instagram post…🤭

His breath catches, heart skipping a beat. The implication is clear, and he feels himself growing hard at the mere thought of you expecting a more explicit photo from him. He shifts uncomfortably, typing out a teasing response.

Lando: So, you’re saying you opened it anyway, even though you thought I sent you a spicy picture? 😉

You: Shut up.

He laughs, imagining the flustered look on your face. It’s too easy to picture, and he leans back against his pillows, biting his lip.

Lando: Where are you?

You: In bed. Why?

Lando's breath got caught in his throat. A dangerous idea takes root in his mind, one that’s equally thrilling and terrifying. He knows he should stop, should draw the line before it goes too far. But something in your responses, the playful edge, the hint of curiosity, makes him want to push further.

Lando: Just curious. 😉

His mind races, and before he can second-guess himself, he snaps a quick photo. It’s not much,—just him lying back on his bed, shirt unbuttoned halfway, his abs on display and his hair a mess. He was still wearing the same outfit as yesterday, apparently not changed out of it. But there’s something undeniably suggestive in the way he looks at the camera, the flush on his cheeks, a knowing smile on his lips as he sends it with a caption.

Lando: I can send you one for real if you want to see one.

His heart hammers in his chest as he waits for your response, the seconds dragging by agonizingly slowly. Then your reply comes in, teasing and playful.

You: Kinda daring coming from the guy who was apologizing 10 minutes ago for accidentally sending his best friend a text about thinking about her with his hand down his pants😉

Your words send a thrill through him, the boldness of it, the way you’re not backing down. He can’t resist pushing a little further, fingers trembling with anticipation.

Lando: You didn’t seem too disgusted by it.

The moment stretches out, his breath catching as he waits for your reply. The tightness in his dress pants becoming significantly worde.

When it comes, it’s more than he expected. 

You: I wasn’t. Actually, it was kinda hot.🫣

His eyes widen, arousal spiking as he reads your words again and again, disbelieving. Is this really happening? 

Lando: Yeah?

You: Yeah.

He swallows hard, a wicked idea forming in his mind. He glances down at the growing bulge in his pants, his arousal straining against the fabric. His hand moves almost on its own, snapping a quick picture of his hand palming himself through his dress pants, the outline of his erection unmistakable.

Lando: What about this? Still hot?

Your response is almost immediate.

You: Fuck, yes.

The words send a shiver down his spine, desire flaring as he imagines your reaction, the way you must be looking at your phone. He wants more, needs more.

Lando: Your turn.

There’s a pause, then a photo comes through. His breath hitches at the sight of you, flushed and flustered, the soft curve of your cleavage visible just above the red lace of your bra. It wasn't too naughty, but enough to send Lando reeling. 

He groans, his hand moving down to rub himself through his pants, a low moan escaping him as he imagines what’s beneath that thin fabric.

Lando: Fuck, babe, you’re killing me.

You: Good.

The playfulness in your response only fuels his desire, and he knows he should stop, should take a breath before this spirals out of control. But he doesn’t want to. Instead, he hits record on his camera, aiming it down at his crotch as he begins to palm himself through the fabric.

The video is short, just a few seconds of him rubbing himself, a low groan slipping from his lips. He ends it with a whispered “fuck,” his hand slipping beneath the waistband of his pants to give himself a teasing stroke before the video cuts off.

He sends it without thinking, heart racing as he imagines you watching it, the way your breath might hitch, the way you might bite your lip.

You: You’re really enjoying that, huh?

His breath hitched at your words, every sensation heightened as he slowly works himself up and down inside his dress pants, unable to contain the soft groans leaving his lips.

Lando: I do. Feels amazing... I wish you were here with me.

His hand is shaking now as he types out his next message, his arousal growing with every word.

Lando: Show me more.

There’s a beat of silence, and then another picture comes through. This one is more daring, more revealing. You’re under the blankets, one leg exposed, the other hidden beneath the covers. The waistband of your red panties is just visible above the edge of your blanket, your hand resting suggestively on your lower stomach, fingers reaching just into your panties.

Lando: Fuck, babe, that's so hot

Lando's breath catches as he stares at the photo you sent, his mind racing with all the things he wants to say, all the things he wants to do. He decided to take the leap and press the button to send you a facetime request. You accept it almost immediately, his heart pounding as your face fills the screen. You look flustered, lips slightly parted, and he swallows hard.

“Hi,” you say, your voice breathless, almost shy.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that?” Lando murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he admired your flushed face.

You blush, your eyes darting away from the screen for a moment before you look back at him. “I think you’re the one who’s supposed to be embarrassed right now, not me.”

He grins, the playful tone of your voice sending another jolt of arousal through him. “Oh, trust me, I’m plenty embarrassed. But I’m also…” He hesitates, his gaze dropping down for a moment before he meets your eyes again, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier tone. “... really turned on.”

Your breath catches, and he watches as you shift on the bed, the movement causing the camera to reveal a little bit more of your cleavage and the red lace bra you were wearing. His eyes are drawn to the exposed skin, mesmerized by your body.

“What are you wearing?” The question slips out before he can stop it, his eyes dark with desire.

You glance down at yourself, then back at him, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Not much.”

He groans, his hand tightening around his phone. As he speaks, his other hand drifts back down, brushing over the ever-growing bulge in his pants again. “Can I see?” The words are thick with anticipation, his voice trembling slightly as he palms himself, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure through him. He bites his lip, letting out a quiet moan that he can’t quite suppress.

You hesitate, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you consider his request. Then, slowly, you change your camera angle and pull the blanket down just a little, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the red lace of your panties, the soft curve of your thigh. Lando feels a jolt of arousal shooting through him, and he has to bite back a groan. It’s just enough to tease, to make him want more. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” His voice is rough, strained, as he shifts on the bed, the fabric of his pants suddenly feeling too tight, too restrictive. His hand presses harder against his length, his breath hitching as the friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

You giggle, your eyes sparkling with a mix of nervousness and excitement. “You like what you see?”

“Like?” He shakes his head, his eyes glued to the screen. “I fucking love it.”

Your cheeks flush a deeper red, and you lean back a little, giving him an even better view of your body. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the sight of you, the way the red lace clings to your skin, the hint of cleavage peeking out from beneath your bra. He can see the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the anticipation, the arousal clear in your eyes.

“Your turn,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to send his heart racing.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still holding his phone, he shifts back on the bed, his other hand moving to the waistband of his pants. His fingers fumble with the button, his hands shaking slightly as he pops it open, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your breath hitches as he unzips his pants, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. He pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking up to yours, seeking permission. When you nod, he slides his hand into his boxers, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale as he wraps his fingers around his length.

“Fuck…” The word slips out as he strokes himself slowly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he forces them open again, needing to see your reaction. His voice trembles, laced with a mix of desire and restraint, each moan escaping his lips growing louder as he quickens his pace.

Your eyes are wide, your lips slightly parted as you watch him, your hand moving down towards your panties on their own accord, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric “Fuck, that's hot, Lando…”

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his boxers now pushed low enough to reveal his cock, hand moving faster, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him. “Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Please.”

You bite your lip, waiting just a moment before you slip your hand beneath the waistband of your panties, a soft gasp escaping you as your fingers make contact. The sight of you, the way your body arches slightly, the soft, breathless sounds you make, is almost too much for him.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so fucking hot…” His voice is barely more than a growl as he watches you, his own hand moving faster, the pleasure building inside him, threatening to spill over.

“What would you do to me if I was right there?” you ask, your voice a breathless whisper.

His eyes darken, his grip tightening around himself. “I’d start by kissing you, slowly… working my way down your body.” His voice is rough, each word laced with longing. “I’d touch you everywhere, make you feel so good. Then I’d…” his words getting cut off by his own moan.

“Tell me,” you encourage, your own voice trembling with need.

“I’d bury my face between your legs, make you scream my name,” he groans, his strokes becoming more erratic as he imagines it, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “F-Fuck, I want you so bad.”

You moan at his words, your fingers moving faster as you picture it, your body aching for his touch. “Lando, I…”

“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

“I’d touch you,” you breathe, your voice trembling as your fingers move in sync with his. “I’d wrap my fingers around you, just like you’re doing now… make you feel so good, Lan”

He whimpers at your words, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he imagines it, the sensation of your touch almost too real. “Fuck, Y/N, I need you…”

“Imagine it’s my hand, Lan” you whisper, your voice laced with seduction. “Imagine I’m right there with you…”

His moans grow louder, his hips bucking into his hand as he follows your words, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “I’m so close…”

“Me too,” you whisper, your breath hitching as you feel the pleasure building, your body trembling with anticipation.

“God, you’re amazing,” he pants, his voice filled with praise as he watches you, every movement driving him closer to the edge. “You’re so perfect… I want you so bad…”

Your voice is a breathless moan as you reach the brink, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure consumes you "F-Fuck, Lan, I'm coming"

“Fuck, baby, I’m right there with you…” His voice is ragged, his body tensing as he teeters on the edge, every muscle tightening in anticipation. You watch, breathless, as his hand moves faster, more desperately, his grip tightening around his length.

Then, with a strangled moan, he tips over the edge. His hips jerk, and his head falls back against the pillows as he cums, thick ropes of it spilling out and covering his abdomen. You can see the way his abs contract with each pulse, his hand still working himself through every last wave of pleasure, milking himself until he’s spent. His eyes remain locked on yours, his breathing heavy, a mixture of satisfaction and lingering desire in his gaze as you both ride the waves of your shared climax.

For a few moments, the only sound is your ragged breathing, both of you staring at each other through the screen, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy in the air.

“Fuck…” He laughs breathlessly, his head falling back against the pillows as he runs a hand through his hair. “That was…”

“Amazing,” you finish for him, your own laughter bubbling up, your cheeks still flushed, your body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. “Holy shit, Lando…”

“Yeah.” He grins, his heart still racing as he looks at you, the reality of what you just did slowly sinking in. “Are you… okay?”

You nod, your smile softening as you look at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. More than okay.”

His heart swells at your words, relief flooding through him. He’s about to say something else when you shift on the bed, the blanket slipping down a little further, giving him a glimpse of your bare shoulder.

“Lando,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his through the screen, a mischievous glint in your gaze. “If that was just a taste, I can’t wait to see what happens when we’re see each other again.”

The promise in your words sends a shiver down his spine, his mind racing at the thought of having you, really having you, right in front of him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you have no idea what you’re doing to me…” His voice is a low whisper, his eyes still dark with desire.

“Maybe I have an idea,” you tease, your smile widening as you settle back against the pillows, your gaze never leaving his. “When I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe you should pick me up from the airport... and then we can do this again, but then in real life”

His heart skips a beat at your words, excitement and anticipation flooding through him. “You mean that?”

You nod, your smile softening, your eyes filled with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. “Yeah, I mean that. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

His breath catches, the sincerity in your voice, the way you’re looking at him, making his heart race. He knows, in that moment, that this isn’t just about sex, about fulfilling a desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for years. It’s about more, so much more.

“Y/N… there’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

Your gaze softens, sensing the seriousness in his tone. “What is it, Lando?”

He hesitates for just a moment, gathering his thoughts before he continues. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. It’s not just about my text last night or about what we just did. I've been feeling like this for a while. It’s everything. Every time we’ve laughed together, every time you’ve supported me, every time I’ve seen you smile... I’ve been falling for you more and more.”

You feel your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. Finally ready to admit it out loud. “Lando... I’ve felt the same way. I’ve just been too scared to admit it.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I’ve wanted to say something for so long, but I was afraid I’d ruin what we have.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” you say softly. “If anything, you’ve made it better.”

A wide smile spreads across his face, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ve never been so thankful for getting drunk.”

You laugh, the sound light and filled with joy. “Me neither, Lando. Me neither.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, both of you just taking in the reality of what’s been confessed.

“So… when I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe we could start something real?” you suggest, your voice hopeful.

“I’d like that,” he replies, his heart swelling with happiness. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s a plan,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips.

"God, I wish I could kiss you now" he whispered, a small hint of disappointment in his voice.

And with that, you both know that this is just the beginning of something truly special, something that’s been waiting to happen for far too long.

Sequel

Masterlist

[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 :)

[yanderemommabean]

Hey It's been a while

First, I just want to apologize for being gone as long as I have. Things got to a heated point at home, and I had to postpone my move until August while facing some health concerns.

Im finally out of that god forsaken house. But it wasn't easy. They cornered me, and I cried for six hours trying to just hold on until the next day when I could go.

Im so so so fucking sorry I havent been able to be on here. I know you all must have been worried sick, and I should've at least made some update posts, but Ive been stressed as all hell in my new home trying to get insurance figured out so I can get insulin, trying to get a job for rent and Sammy's meds (he got diagnosed with heart worms, and im devastated at how long it's been going on so we're trying like hell to get him better, ive been up days in a row worried sick about it while waiting on job offers and its killing me).

I got to take Pixie, and she got checked out too and I havent heard anything, so that's good! I've been sick and trying to figure everything out, and was just not able to write like ive been wanting to. I had to leave behind one person i really didn't want to, who unfortunately is stuck with my family, and its also been eating at me.

I'm alive, just stressed and sick and trying to heal from abuse and the shock of not being yelled at for being sick and scared and making mistakes.

Again, Im so sorry you guys. I should have tried to update at all, I've just had so much going on and so much sickness. I am so grateful to have you guys at all, and the sweet messages you sent me made me smile when I finally logged in and read them.

I can't guarantee an everyday post like I usually used to do, but I'm going to try and at least be back more than I have been! I love you beans. I'm so sorry for the radio silence. Everything came to a fever pitch and has been nonstop trying to get settled in since I finally got away, which was the end of August. Before that, I was sick, unable to stand up without passing out, and barely eating because the abuse was so bad that staying in my room and starving was better than any interaction. I wont go into too much detail but the abuse was another large part I didn't want to post. Just bed rotting and hoping time would speed up to get me out of there.

Anyway, this was a terrible ramble, I'll hush, but thank you all so much for your messages, and im happy to be back! Even if just a bit at a time for now until im more settled in <3

Much love!

-Mommabean

[endless-weightless]

Ford Pines x Fem!AFAB!Reader NSFW headcanons

Oh lord I am so obsessed with this 12-fingered nerd.

These are kinda messy and not thoroughly proofread so apologies for any typos or grammatical errors.

WARNINGS: Brief mention of BDSM and trauma-based kink

The best way to get this man to listen to you or to shut up is to whip out your tits. Deadass. Whatever was going on in that big brain of his will instantly be silenced by the sight of your boobs. He really likes your boobs.

HE CAN FIND THE CLIT!!! 

He’d ask you what feels the best when eating you out and would want specific instructions. Honestly, he’d write journal entries about his “research” if he could (he probably would LMFAO).

Whimpers when you rake your nails down his back.

Has a written list somewhere containing every necessary part of aftercare. He’d have it memorised pretty quickly but is always ready to add anything you’ve mentioned wanting to do post-fuck.

And although he’s perfect with aftercare, the second you guys are done taking care of each other and making sure you’re both alright he’s knocking the fuck out. He will never beat the sex coma.

He’s so smitten by you it’s not even funny.

I doubt he’d be super into kink or BDSM but he’d be down to try it. I feel like he’d enjoy being dominated the most but any sex with you is the best sex. However, I do think he’d enjoy pain more than the average person (this is probably the result of all the shit he went through, like kinks formed from trauma).

This man is both a nerd and a geek so if you cosplay your character from DD&MD he’d probably faint.

Gets all flustered and nervous when you eye him up. He still doesn’t understand he’s hot.

Definitely gets teary-eyed when he finishes. Partly because he’s just a physically sensitive guy but mostly because he’s so in love with you and despite how rough and raunchy sex can be for you two he still sees it as something super intimate and romantic.

Aftercare always consists of you two holding each other for a while. Then if you’re both up to it he’ll run a hot bath (where you both fight to stay awake because y’all are so damn tired).

One of his fantasies of you is you giving him head under his desk while he researches or writes. He’d be too scared to admit it though so he’d just quietly pray you one day find the urge to do it on your own.

[ierofrnkk]

the sum of his parts - steven grant

Summary: You love Steven Grant, and there are some parts of him that stick out in your mind a little more than others. (~1.2k)

Content: 18+, gn!reader but reader has a vagina (no fem pronouns used), very brief & vague oral (f receiving), fingering, egregious use of italics.

a/n: This is the first thing I’ve really ever fully written AND posted!! Forgive me for it being vague and unpolished—I will get better!! I’ve just been so captivated by these boys after watching Moon Knight that I had to write something!

—

You love Steven as a whole, the culmination of all things that make him him, but it doesn’t mean that you don’t notice the little things.

The details.

—

The first thing you loved about Steven was his hair; the way that the curls were always pushed to one side, sitting atop his head like his brush had broken and he’d neglected to buy a new one.

It was one of the first things you touched when you finally had the opportunity to, making up some story about how he’d had a shred of paper stuck to one of his curls—he hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

You couldn’t get enough of the soft texture, even after months of getting to experience it. You had your hands in his hair every chance that you got.

When the two of you lay on the couch together, him cuddled against your chest as you watched the next documentary about the evolution of earth’s marine life, or something, you would drag your fingers through his hair idly. He would sigh in appreciation of the gentle touch.

When he’d be in a flurry early in the morning, racing to get ready on time before he missed the bus, you caught him for the briefest moments to smooth your palm across his unruly curls, taming the locks as best you could before he raced out the door.

When he’d settle himself between your thighs, mouth on your cunt like he’d die if you pulled him away, you’d tangle your fingers in those same dark curls, tightening your grip just enough to keep him in place. He always sighed appreciatively then, too.

—

The next thing you’d found yourself loving about Steven were his eyes, always wide like saucers and taking in every ounce of information that they can. The color of them always reminded you of coffee, but specifically the cups that he’d make for you in the early hours of the morning, perfect like no one else could.

You’re stupidly fond of the way he looks at you when you talk—it could be the most mundane thing, like laundry or dinner, and he’d be watching you so intently it’d feel like you’re giving a presentation on newly-unearthed artifacts in Cairo.

You remember the first time he cried in front of you. It was over something that seems so simple now; the two of you had made plans for dinner at your apartment, and he’d shown up late—through no fault of his own, the train wasn’t on schedule—but he’d felt so guilty about it that it brought him to tears. You can still see the way he looked in your mind: brows knit together, those beautifully dark eyes rimmed red and filled with tears.

He’d apologized profusely, and you silenced him with a kiss.

You like the way he looks when he’s half asleep, doing his best to fight his drowsiness to spend as much time with you as physically possible. His gaze is softer, somehow, his eyes half-lidded even with the way he fights to keep them wide open. That’s when you know he’s not going to last much longer before he’s out for the night.

When you’re kissing him, and you pull back for that brief, glorious moment, his eyes are dark, pupils blown with desire in a way that sends a wave of heat to your core.

You don’t miss the way those pretty eyes of his flutter shut whenever you touch him, even if it’s something simple; he’s touch-starved—not that he’ll ever admit that to you—so any physical show of affection is nearly enough to put him over the edge.

You’ve become familiar with the way he drifts, his eyes seeming to haze over and go unfocused—when he goes away for a moment—caught in his own reflection and watching as if there’s something else there with him.

—

You’ve quickly grown to become fond of his hands, in many more ways than just one.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t want to hold his hand all the time, to feel the warmth of his palm against your own, fingers interlaced with yours in the way that makes you feel like nothing could separate you two. He made sure to hold your hand at every opportunity.

You’re very grateful for that.

When he takes one of his hundreds of books off of his bookshelf, flipping through page after page as he looks for a specific section, you can’t help but watch his hands. He moves with ease and precision, stark from the way he’s usually fumbling or unsure of where to go. He’s in his element, and you recognize that.

When he joins you on your monthly grocery trip, he insists on bringing all of the bags up in one go—he’s trying to be helpful, even if it means making things more difficult for him; that’s just how Steven is. Selfless. You can’t get enough of the sight of him like that, though, with multiple grocery bags held in each hand, all while he does his best to navigate your apartment complex.

You remember the first time he truly, properly held your hand; he’d done it in such a Steven way that you couldn’t deny him. He’d gone off on some spiel about human evolution and something about how in ancient civilizations, the size of your hands denoted status—you can see where this is going—and he insisted the two of you compared the size of your hands. For the sake of anthropology, of course.

Knowing what he was getting at, you obliged, pressing your palm to his, and without a beat of hesitation, he laced his fingers with your own, a sheepish grin on his face as a result of his boldness. You couldn’t even be mad about it.

Of course, those hands of his are good for more than just holding yours or carrying your groceries.

—

The first time he made you come was with his hands; he was too impatient to even wait to fuck you properly—he just had to touch you—so, he did.

You remember the feeling of his hands on your thighs, shifting and adjusting you until you were in a good position for him. He had made sure to not be too rough with you, even in his desperation. Sweet, considerate Steven.

His hands, as fidgety and hesitant as they usually are, were precise and sure when he touched you. He moved deftly when he found your slit, dragging his fingers through the wetness that’d already gathered there.

It wasn’t long after until one of those same thick fingers pushed into your heat, then another. It’s practiced—efficient— like he’s done this for you a thousand times, even though you both know he hasn’t.

When his thumb had brushed your clit, with just enough pressure to send another wave of heat up your spine, you knew you were done for. He had looked at you with those eyes, pupils blown and eyes half-lidded, and you could tell right then that he was more focused on your pleasure than his own.

When you finish, you card your fingers through his raven curls, holding just enough to bring him close enough that you can kiss him.

He goes willingly, all sweet and pliant as you maneuver him closer, and you’ve never been more grateful to have someone like him.

—

Steven is much, much more than just the sum of his parts, but you sometimes have to put him under a microscope and appreciate everything that makes him him.

[auroratumbles]

first of all, do NOT in any way harass nor send hate to anyone mentioned in this post. this is simply to raise awareness about it all!!

user @/ceneid (formerly) was a popular person in the genshin writing community who lied about their age, identity, faked an ed, and was just mainly a shitty person in general.

all the information on this post comes from an anonymous source

the blogs that were owned by elise are:

ceneid

hikoiaa

umiloa

ha-yami

scarasgfreal

symphxony

fionvancia

fixnaie

a quote from my source:

"for context, elise ran a total of 4-5 accounts, with her very first blog being ceneid that was also mutuals with you - they’re the same person. elise had multiple accounts where she claimed she was different ages and it was fairly obvious it was her due to the fact that she didn’t bother to change her typing style or themes, one of the blogs claimed she was 18, a few of my friends and i ended up noticing she had a terrible tendency to say things like “oh i haven’t eaten in 20 hours! should i eat? oh nvm” and such which led to everyone being concerned, these were EXTREMELY frequent, and she’d speak about self harm - randomly putting it in a casual conversation without warning.

she also asked for my location at some point, and overall i eventually grew tired of it and blocked her. later on, someone i know made a callout post on her and it ended in shambles, elise continued to try to get them to take the post down but to no avail until elise deactivated ceneid and started the hikoiaa blog. the person who made the post found out it was her and the cycle continued, until elise ended up admitting everyone and apologized to everyone per the person’s request.

after elise did that, the person deactivated their blog thinking elise had changed for the better - and i even interacted with her too because i thought the same thing. unfortunately, we were all wrong and found out elise owned the @/symphxony blog where she says she’s 17. multiple things have it away that it was her such as coincidentally posting the same things, following the exact same people, and elise also bypassed someone’s boundaries by interacting with them through the blog as a way to become friends with them despite the person telling her to not interact with her directly.

elise made excuses when i confronted her and told her to stop, and she played it off as coincidences like she did before when the owner of the call out post tried to talk things out with her. i have people who can vouch for everything im saying, as well as some screenshots that would unfortunately not fit into this ask because there’s too many of them, she also has this strange obsession with following and interacting with people that i follow and interact with in any shape or form, this has happened almost 7 times now as well. she’s constantly made blogs to follow me on despite me telling her to NEVER contact me again. this stopped a few days ago when she blocked me."

screenshots provided were

another quote:

"elise’s stories never made sense, they were always exaggerated and/or made her seem smarter than she actually was - this was a small bit of the proof that she was lying about her age at the end when she claimed to be 16. she linked a few tiktoks on her blog, revealing her account in the process that studied 7th grade science"

she was called out by someone else on tumblr initially, but that post was lost to the depths. she lied about having a joint blog with someone when it was really just her. to save her own skin, she dmed them.

when that blog blocked her, she made a 'burner account' to talk to them even more.

another blog named 'scarasgfreal' was made. they were 𝜗𝜚 anon and 🦢 anon. the blog was made a few days after the incident mentioned above.

the blog confronted elise.

part 2 of this post

[kcaitlyn]

hc. how i imagine the yj girls in relationships. part 1 (pre-crash nat, van, tai, lottie. others in pt. 2)

A/N: fem!reader, nsfw references, but nothing crazy. mention of drugs, alc. ooc, possibly? not proofread well cause who has time am i rite, been a while since i've watched yj lol. if this does well, i might do a post-crash version..

NATALIE

𓇼 Your relationship with Nat would be 110% banter, no doubt about it. Teasing (in and out of bed), name calling, little pokes and bites are a constant for you two. I feel like she's not the best (intentionally or not) at being traditionally romantic, so instead of heartfelt declarations of love, you're more likely to receive a 'yeah, you're pretty cool' or a 'I suppose you're not too bad' accompanied by a grin and kiss instead. However, that's not to say she doesn't express her love in other ways.

𓇼 Skipping class to sit with her friends together at least once per day, and cramming a whole semester’s worth of notes together when her (and/or your) grades eventually slip. Although, I doubt much would get done..

𓇼 I feel like most of your dates or hangouts would be outside- not necessarily doing anything, just relaxing by a lake or on some random curb in Wiskayok to escape your families (mostly Nat’s) and just to catch a break from everything.

𓇼 When you are together at someone’s place though, it would be your house more often than her’s. Nights would consist of sneaking in through windows, trying to stifle giddy laughs and smoking on the rooftop of your home or her trailer.

𓇼 Natalie would 100% be sneaking you in and out of the school locker rooms, too. She thinks it’s a shame to waste such a private space, always pulling you in there to make out or just relax in-between periods (much to the rest of the team’s annoyance. They’ve actually started a petition to ban you).

𓇼 Natalie pretends not to notice, but deep down seeing you in the bleachers during her games always makes her mushy. Seeing you cheering for her, encouraging her- it only makes her play harder.

𓇼 She’s always super affectionate after games, too- running up to you and squeezing you, all sweaty and tired. The evenings after more often than not would consist of weed and cuddles, Natalie being the little spoon as you massage her sore muscles, laughing and talking about whatever comes to mind.

𓇼 Speaking of, if you’re down for it then Natalie would absolutely revel in getting high with you. Relaxing, sharing a blunt, cuddling, making out and letting her eat you out is an insanely common occurrence- her favorite way to spend her time. Sharing any drugs she got from her friends with you, yet her loyalty to you would never even come close to wavering even under the influence.

𓇼 This girl would be incredibly loyal. Natalie knows abandonment, she knows being fucked over by someone else- and never ever would she subject you to that on her terms. Although her communication may not be the best, and her temper’s far from perfect, she’ll always stick by your side.

𓇼 I feel like she’d be the jealous type, too. Fights and bickering between you two wouldn’t be far apart, but never serious- and always mended with tender cuddles, sex and apologies after.

VAN

𓇼 For some reason I have this feeling that pre-crash Van was super outdoorsy and adventurous. I can imagine her dragging you along to camping trips, hikes, time on the lake or just to spend time hanging out in nature.

𓇼 Definitely with her family, too. Van to me seems like her family and partner would come first in her heart, and would love to spend time with everyone together.

𓇼 Super playful. Van would be the type to always tease, always joke. You wouldn't be able to count on two hands the amount of times she's shoved a bug in your face, or chased you around with a spider.

𓇼 (Always met with soft chuckles and apologies, your face attacked with remorseful kisses and holding you for hours. Until she does it again.)

𓇼 Van would be very, very touchy and affectionate. Quality time and physical touch are 100% her main love languages, along with teasing meaning this girl cannot keep her hands off you. An arm around your waist or shoulder when you're out with friends, holding hands as you weave through trees, even pinkies or feet touching under a table in class. She can't get enough of you.

𓇼 Basically, Van's best comparable to a loving little dog- always at your hip, your biggest fan. Any sports you play, hobbies you indulge in- she's there to encourage you.

𓇼 And when you reciprocate at her matches, cheering her on proudly from the bleachers? You've probably had her so distracted and giddy that she's missed a few balls whizzing into the goal beside her.

𓇼 She would take you celebrating after her wins, to your most common date spot (and Van's personal favorite), the cinema. With Van, you'd be there at least once a week. What can she say, two of her favorite things? You, and movies? A chance to geek out together? Why wouldn't she insist you go nearly each day after school?

𓇼 Although, I feel like Van could be a little oblivious and dismissive at times. After unknowingly receiving flirting from some other girl at a party or unknowingly saying something that could be perceived as flirting when she was drunk, Van might be quick to wave it off as an accident. This could spark fights between you two, but quickly after seeing how it affected you Van would be quick to apologise and come to.

𓇼 (May I add that in those scenarios, she 100% turns into a service top, as part of the apology of course. Anything to make her girl happy.)

TAI

𓇼 Taissa’s definitely a more mature and slow paced partner compared to some of the other Yellowjackets, like Natalie or Lottie. Your relationship would be a lot more domestic than them, too.

𓇼 Sure, you and Tai would still attend parties together, you would get to support her at her soccer matches and do all the usual teenage stuff together. However, dates where you just co-exist the way adult couples do would be a staple in your relationship. Cooking together, tagging along to run errands, lazy Sundays in are common when you’re with Tai.

𓇼 Your relationship would also be very academic, too. Study dates, talking for hours about what career you strive for and how awesome everything would be after graduation. Revising together made fun, taking an item of clothing off for each failed cue-card or only getting a kiss if you can correctly recall something.

𓇼 Tai wouldn’t be down for PDA at all. She’d definitely be the type to be affectionate behind closed doors only, not just out of embarrassment but in favour of keeping her romantic and public life seperate (a fact that holds true especially as she gets older).

𓇼 Tai’s communication and openness is a strong point in your relationship, but I feel conflicts could stem from the idea she wasn’t intending to stay with you long run. Tai’s grand plans to leave for university, have her share of lovers- she was never intending your relationship to last past high school.

𓇼 However, after whatever fights or even temporary breakup ensues, Tai would realise that you’re worth more to her than a high school romance and that she can really see herself with you in the long run.

LOTTIE

𓇼 As long as you're with Lottie, you wouldn't lift a finger- let alone a credit card. She's got you covered.

𓇼 I feel like Lottie’s the type of partner to love just.. existing in the same vicinity as you. It majorly stems from her decent, but lonely childhood- parents always out of the house leaving Lottie by herself.

𓇼 But now that Lottie has you, any time she’s just at home alone- be it studying, training or just relaxing she’s always quick to call you over. Luckily for you two, you have all the privacy in the world alone in her large home to do whatever you please.

𓇼 Lottie’s primary love languages are 100% Gift giving, and quality time. Any time she’s out and sees some little trinket that reminds her of you, best believe she’s stealing buying it. On top of that, any chance to be near you Lottie takes. You’re running an errand? She’ll be there. Lottie’s heading to do some after school practice? You can come, and read a book on the bleachers or something. Just so you’re near. Just so you’re close.

𓇼 I feel like Lottie’s not too big on PDA, but doesn’t entirely hate it, either. Full on kissing or making out isn’t on the cards in your relationship, but linking fingers, holding hands or leaning against each-other is totally okay by her- whatever makes her girl happy. Another thing Lottie loves is sharing a headphone cord with you- or singing along loudly to music in her car. However, around her family Lottie would be colder and more reserved with her affection.

𓇼 Lottie wouldn’t necessarily flaunt your relationship like Jackie- but she wouldn’t be shy, either. If someone asks, they’d likely be met with a- ‘yeah, I’m with (y/n), she’s my girlfriend’, or something along those lines. She isn’t secretive about you by any means, just casual. Keeping you to herself. She wouldn’t be vocal about jealousy, either. Just clingy, or sad.

𓇼 I also have a feeling that since Lottie’s always had access to quality clothes, items and whatever else- having something with real sentimental value rather than monetary value would mean so much more to her than a regular gift. Little homemade keychains or a good luck charm is something I can totally see her carrying around with her, especially since it was made by you.

𓇼 Since all her meals were made by nannies, her room cleaned by maids, having you there to do all that with her really resonates deep inside Lottie’s heart. Having you there to teach her how to do the things she never had to learn- how to cook, wash her clothes, empty a vacuum- it means so much to her.

𓇼 I feel like Lottie can be a real tease, too. Cheeky banter back and forth similar to Natalie, except she’s better at expressing her love sincerely. It’s all situational with Lottie- teasing and cheeky, or tender and soft. No matter how she is, though- Lottie’s loyalty is made clear.

𓇼 Although, at times I think Lottie could grow distant and pull herself away from you when she’s overwhelmed, angry or tired. If you try and talk to her, she might get frustrated and say something she really didn’t mean- again, likely stemming from her family. However, once she’s cooled off, Lottie would do anything in her power to make it up to her partner.

𓇼 Little gifts, massages, fancy dates or just fucking you for hours- anything to pamper you, take care of you. On that note, Lottie’s totally a switch, but greater than that, a huge service top. She wants nothing more than to make you feel good, happy and safe.

𓇼 In terms of pet names, I feel like Lottie would steer away from the really corny and sappy ones, settling for a variant of your name or something simple like ‘love’ or ‘babe’. Study hangouts would also be really common between you two, and even more often than that just lounging around at her place or going to parties together.

[mariberrycake6058]

Hiii, I present to you my Gravity Falls AU: We'll Meet Again AU (I'm still thinking about whether to change the name or leave it as is)

To tell the truth, the lore is very long, so I hope that whoever is interested reads it completely and can let me know if they like it, I may make a comic about this.

If there are any mistakes, I completely apologize, my English is not very good and I used Google Translate for this, anyway, you can correct me if I'm wrong about something! I hope you like it and that someone sees it :]

⚠️TW: Mental disorder/problems mentioned!

CHARACTER DESIGNS:

WE'LL MEET AGAIN - A GRAVITY FALLS AU

In this alternate universe of Gravity Falls, Bill returns to town in a physic form after a long time of being in some therapies, but now with some changes in it, the most notable being their great loss of many of their powers, among them is the difficulty of to be able to levitate in the air, wanting recover this little by little. Seeking revenge within, returns to the village to put an end to what it started, but due to a fault "unknown" ends up reaching a Gravity Falls very similar to where he comes, but feels that there is something different.

Someone shakes hands with a triangular statue with only one eye in the middle of the forest, hoping to see it again, but there is nothing. He sighs and when he is about to give up, the atmosphere begins to get heavy, the breeze of the wind becomes strong and slight tremors begin on the ground, some small animals run around, and what he thought would never happen, finally gives results.

The one-eyed triangular entity appears in front of him, at first wondering what is going on, and upon recognizing that place, he begins to laugh and look around, he had finally been freed again, all thanks to... Stanford!?

But this was not the Stanford he knew, this one looked more tired and worn out than the one he had seen last time, how long had it been since he had done his job? Something was wrong!

Stanford, for his part, couldn't believe that the creature he hadn't seen in years had finally appeared before him, but... More different than he remembered.

—

STORY

In the past, at the age of 19, Stanford suffered an accident (which remains unknown) along with his family, in which only he and his brother, Shermy, were the only survivors. This caused him to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, leading him to live with guilt for the rest of his years.

Stanford, seeing that only he, along with his brother, decided that better, according to him, was to get away for a while time since he was not in a good state after what happened, also with the excuse that he did not want to be a annoyance for him and that it was time for become independent. Despite the Shermy's insistence, finally he understood what his brother wanted, being so they never saw each other again after that his family's funeral.

Stanford tried to continue with his normal life in a town called Gravity Falls, where many types of anomalies occurred, which were of complete interest to him since he was seen as a phenomenon due to his extra fingers on both hands, and these creatures connected well with him.

He met Bill after seeing a stone engraving during one of his investigations and, not believing enough in the existence of a certain creature, that same night it appeared in his dreams, it transmitted a lot of confidence, it was very kind and flattered him in a certain way, the nights continued like that and both came to have a very great friendship.

Until one night, Ford in one of his many crises for remembering his traumas from that accident, Bill appeared before him, letting him know that in the same way that he had also lost his family in an accident in his dimension. For this, Bill offered him his help to be able to create something unmatched that could "bring his family back alive", as if it were a time machine to avoid everything and be able to save his family, and this could also "bring Bill's family back", Ford who was still very naive, desperately accepted the deal to remedy everything and leave behind the guilt that gnawed at him daily, without knowing that what Bill really planned was to create a portal to be able to take over that dimension. (The canon thing)

Stanford worked with Fiddleford on the project, however, McGucket did not know very well what the purpose of this was, but he did not hesitate to help his friend. But the pleasure did not last long, because months after so much work, the truth came to light, although Fiddleford did not say anything at first, with the passage of time he reflected on the project and how dangerous it could become if it altered time, so in the end he ended up facing Stanford, telling him that he was so obsessed with his family and Bill, that he should give up and accept that they had died, and that he felt that this Bill was not trustworthy. After that, Fiddleford abandoned the project and they never saw each other again. Stanford finished the project by himself and as he could.

Having everything finished, he was ready to tell Bill about this, but as he approached him he could hear a conversation that he was having with other creatures which were laughing out loud and calling Ford insults and humiliations, in which Bill also participated, this being the way in which Stanford would have found out about Bill's true intentions, going immediately to close the portal and get rid of anything that could activate it, however, Bill had noticed his presence before, making himself present later to confront him and tell him the truth about everything, betraying Ford in the cruelest way with illusions and promises so he could see his family back. Full of anger, confusion, disappointment and even some hope that it was all a very heavy joke on Bill's part, Ford refused to believe what was happening, but in the end Fiddleford was right in that Bill was really not to be trusted.

Ford closed the portal before anything else could happen, Bill for his part became upset and cursed him, promising to return one day to accomplish his plan, he left leaving Ford alone, and he quickly got rid of most of the things that gave power to the portal.

Stanford fell into a slight depression because of Bill's abandonment, since he was the only one who could make him feel special and feed his ego. In a certain way he was still obsessed with Bill and with his promise that of course, would never come true. He made a stone statue in the shape of Bill and abandoned it in the middle of the forest, with an engraving on one side of the statue where you could read the lyrics of the song that Bill used to sing to it (We'll Meet Again), from time to time he would visit it and take the hand of the statue, hoping to be able to see him again, for what? Even he didn't know, despite the fact that Bill had betrayed him, he still felt that need to keep seeing him, he was going crazy.

Years later, Dipper and Mabel come to visit, they are under Stanford's care for the entire summer and have some adventures with the town's anomalies.

Some time later things happen and Bill from another dimension arrives in this different one.

Stanford has knowledge about the multiverses, and he knows very well that this Bill what has appeared there is not the Bill that he knew, and vice versa, this Bill knows perfectly that this Stanford is not the that he knew, however, he knows nothing about this one's past, and seeing it in that somewhat vulnerable state, "takes pity" slightly from it and gives the opportunity to meet him again, even if it is someone different but similar at the same time, in addition to the fact that by Axolotl's obligation, is obliged to improve his conduct and act for the good.

Stanford doesn't know what this Bill's intentions are, but seeing that he doesn't have many powers, he doesn't care, which makes him invite him to stay with them at his cabin. Bill initially refuses, but then agrees when he sees how useless he has become without powers, and sees the advantage of taking advantage of it to find out how to return to his "original" universe and plan his revenge against the other Pines (something that won't be possible for him), but of course, he doesn't say anything about this to these different Pines, although Ford has his small suspicions.

FUN FACTS

Here, Dipper and Mabel are already 13 years old.

This Pines family does not know what Bill has done in the dimension he comes from, that is, wanting to get rid of his-selves, them- from that dimension (The Weirdmageddon).

Dipper has had free access to Ford's journals, even reading the pages Bill had written before the whole conflict happened, so this Dipper doesn't trust Bill very much, but tries to live with him (forcibly).

This Bill is nicknamed "Dori" (from Dorito) or "Chip" by Mabel, she is more relaxed than Dipper and is even the one who spends the most time with Bill, she sees him as so dumb and vulnerable that she doesn't believe that one-eyed thing is evil, but Dipper still insists that she doesn't trust him too much. Mabel makes mini sweaters for Bill, she even usually puts band-aids of different designs and colors on the cracks/scars he has, so that they don't look so horrible, in her words.

Bill is bitter, but he tolerates the twins a little since they don't spend their time yelling at him. His only question is where Stanley is, however, when he asks about him, he doesn't get an answer from anyone.

Bill takes on human form from time to time, at Mabel's request because she thinks he looks less silly that way.

Bill gives Ford cute/embarrassing nicknames, and of course he also calls him Fordsy/Sixer, the first one leaving Mabel curious.

In a certain part of the AU, Ford sends Bill away because it's not free to stay at the shack and because the positions there are taken (he tried to fight with Wendy for her place but ended up losing). So here Waiter!Bill is born, as in that Gravity Falls the Weirdmageddon never happened, nobody knows Bill and they just take him for one more creature of the town, so it's normal for them and it wasn't difficult to get hired by Lazy Susan, although his attitude isn't the best, he tries to do well so they don't fire him and Ford doesn't get upset with him. (Last photo at The beggining)

Another fact that I didn't mention is that yes, the Mystery Shack does exist as such and is also a tourist place, but Ford is the one who usually gives the exhibitions of the things that are there, and when he can't attend, Soos is the one who helps him (only there are no scams here)

WHAT IS BILL'S RELATIONSHIP WITH THIS PINES FAMILY?

Dipper Pines.

A 50/50 between the two, Dipper prefers not to get directly involved in anything Bill is present at, he doesn't trust him, but he has to live with him at least a little, he tolerates him, although he thinks Bill has a very high ego and is kind of conceited, despite not having powers. He prefers to stay away from him at certain times. Bill also prefers to be away from him.

Mabel Pines.

What can you say? Bill, aka Dori/Chip is like a pet for Mabel, she likes to do it small outfits, their coexistence is good, but there are times when she should also moderate her personality with him, at Dipper's request, so that her wouldn't trust him so much. Bill likes him Mabel's creativity is like a very colorful chaos, but it is embarrassing to wear the outfits that he does it, but he has to agree so as not to hurt their feelings and to try to gain trust of others (which seems to be the case which will not be achieved at 100%)

Stanford Pines.

Their relationship is good but not at all 100%, because Ford has matured from all the events from the past with his original Bill, so which in any case tries to don't trust this Bill so much that appeared. He usually does investigations with this Bill and his human form that it usually adopts, making theories and expanding their knowledge. Bill gives himself the opportunity to listen whatever Ford tells him about his past to get to know him better. They may both have a better and good relationship after.

Wendy Corduroy

They both have a certain respect for each other, but they are not directly related.

Soos

They are not directly related, but Soos spends his time making theories about Bill that he only tells Dipper. Even so, he has a certain respect for him. Bill, for his part, notes that Soos is a bit dumb, but what else can he say if not having powers also makes him a dumb person.

[thatrandomlemononyourcounter1]

The Problems With TMNT 2012 April O'neil (And Why It's The Writer's Fault)

(side note this accidentally low-key turned into an April O'neil defense post, and I apologize.)

Hello everyone! This post was seven pages on google docs so that's fun :D

When I was younger, I thought April O'neil was so cool. She was part Kraang, had multiple guys chasing after her, and was training to be a kunoichi.

As I got older though, and rewatched the show, I realized that while her character was cool, there were a lot of issues with said character.

Now, before I really start, I want to clarify, I do not dislike April! In fact, I still think she's a really cool character with a lot of potential. Unfortunately, said potential has been lost to the grasp of time and space, but that's not her fault.

A lot, and I mean a LOT of people don't like April. The most common complaints I hear about her are as follows. A, she led Donnie and Casey on. B, she's a Mary Sue. C, she got too powerful too fast. D, she's just annoying and two-faced.

Let's start with point number 1.

The Love Triangle between Donnie, April, and Casey is one of the most controversial things in the show. Some people love it, most people hate it, not that I blame them. The biggest point against the love triangle was that it deterred from the characters, and was honestly just kinda gross and cringey.

This could not be more true.

I could make whole other posts on why Donnie and Casey's characters would've been so much better without the love triangle, but this is an April post, so let's talk about April and the first point where the writer's screwed up.

Introducing April as a love interest

If there was one thing that I could take away from TMNT 2012, it would be the fact that they introduced April not as her own character, but a love interest. The fact that they did this set the stage for what April's character was meant to become.

If they had simply introduced April as her own character, then we would've been able to get a better grip on her personality.

But no.

April had never really been a love interest in the iterations before tmnt 2012, and that was because she usually stood in as an older sister figure for the turtles. Yes, some fans shipped April with the turtles, but it was never implied in any of the previous shows that any of the turtles had a crush on April or vice versa.

I don't know why TMNT 2012 decided to change that, but they did.

Making April the same age as the turtles wasn't the problem, and honestly, neither was shipping Donnie and April in the show.

It was how they did it.

In shipping the two of them, they dumbed April's character down to just a love interest, and made her seem bitchy. They wrote her having romantic moments with both Donnie and Casey, and supposedly turning both of them down at other moments.

A Foot Too Big is one of the most controversial episodes in TMNT 2012 period. The episode consists of Donnie rescuing Bigfoot. Bigfoot then proceeds to follow Donnie around like a lost puppy, invade his personal space, touch him without consent, blah, blah, blah. This causes Donnie to realize that just like how Bigfoot is acting is making him uncomfortable, how he's acting around April is probably making her uncomfortable. He then proceeds to tell April that he was going to try and start leaving her alone, and that he understood he was probably making her uncomfortable.

Then, in one of the most controversial moments ever, April grabs him and kisses him, saying "You're my mutant."

Yeah.

Prettttyyyy bad.

I think this incredibly out of character for April, and I think that the entire reason this scene happened was so that they wouldn't lose their most played gag, well tied with making Mikey look stupid after proving him to be smart time and time again, but that's a post for another time.

An excellent point that I've seen made by others was that the whole love triangle was never planned to have a solution, it was there to be played for laughs, which in turn, made April's character suffer for it.

I do believe that April's character would've thrived if not for the love triangle, and I believe that Donnie and Casey's characters would've been better off as well.

Point 2: April's a Mary Sue

Boy oh boy.

First of all, let's look at the definition of a Mary Sue.

"Unrealistically lacking in flaws or weaknesses."

So...people want to call April bitchy, and then call her a Mary Sue, as if being bitchy isn't a character flaw?

This is argumentatively one of my LEAST favorite arguments against April's character, because usually the argue-r defeats themself when they say the statement.

"She's annoying." That's a character flaw.

"She leads people on." That's a character flaw.

"She let herself get controlled by the stupid crystal." That's a character flaw.

April has a lot of flaws, and that's one of the reasons why I think her character could've been really interesting!

Let's take a look at some of the things that build April's character, and therefore make her not a Mary Sue.

April is shown from the very beginning of the show to be more of an action-oriented person, not always thinking things through.

(i.e. in S1 EP6 Metalhead when she went to go investigate the Kraang warehouse by herself or even in S1 EP1 Rise of the Turtles when she tries to come up with a plan to escape the Kraang's holding her hostage)

This is a character flaw, and it's one that we see a lot throughout the show.

April is also shown to be very empathetic. You can see this in multiple instances, such as when Karai admitted that she believe Splinter was her father, and April believed her.

This isn't necessarily a character flaw, but it has gotten her into trouble a few times. Usually her empathetic attitude helps more than harms.

April stands up for what she thinks is right. This is an important piece of her character that ties into her empathetic attitude.

April is sassy sometimes.

April can hold a serious grudge.

But, she can also be forgiving.

April is stubborn.

So, as I've pointed out, April definitely has a personality. It's just that usually, these elements of her character were ignored in favor of the love triangle, dulling down her character overall, and making her sometimes seem like a Mary Sue.

Speaking of the Mary Sue argument, let's take a gander at another requirement for being a Mary Sue, which is "everyone likes them, and people who don't like them are shown to be wrong for not liking them."

This is NOT true for April.

TMNT 2012 had no problems making Karai and April have serious beef, and Karai was never shown to be in the wrong for disliking her, except for when Karai took it a step too far.

Obviously, most of the other characters (who aren't villains) like April, because the other characters that are shown are her friends, or friends of friends.

Another aspect of the Mary Sue argument was that the character was usually too powerful without a reason, or out of nowhere.

This also ties into point number three:

April got too strong too fast/April's too strong

Okay!

So let's get into this point.

When I was a little younger, I used to think that people who argued this had a point, but again, as I've gotten older and applied my critical thinking skills, I realized that this isn't actually true.

Some people didn't like that the show made April half-Kraang, claiming it was too strange, just a way to make a female character seem like a 'girlboss', and of course a variety of sexist comments.

I am among the lovers of half-Kraang April, mostly because I think it was a really interesting take on the character.

But! A lot of people claimed that her "kraang" powers were too strong, making her unlikeable.

You want to know how the writers remedied this?

By making April get possessed by the Aeon crystal! (In my opinion, this was actually a really interesting writing direction)

Whiiichhh...of course a bunch of people also had a problem with.

Look, I can't make you like the Aeon crystal writing choice, and I'm certainly not about to try, but, by making April get possessed, the writers inadvertently added a flaw to their apparent "flawless" glorified love interest.

Now, it's been a hot minute since I watched any of the later seasons of TMNT 2012 (mostly because paramount plus is my mortal enemy (side note if anyone has seasons 3-5 downloaded feel free to DM me wink wink)), but I think I remember April losing some fights.

It wasn't like the narrative made her invincible, is my point.

So yes, April was strong, but she wasn't insufferably strong to the point where it was annoying.

I often see this argument used against Captain Marvel from the MCU as well, and I loathe it with my entire being so.

Now for the "April got too strong too fast" complaint.

I just gotta ask, did we watch the same show? /hj

April was shown to have something strange going on with her since season 1! Her powers were alluded to multiple times, so it wasn't like this was a last minute writing decision.

Her power grew stronger as the seasons went on, and there were a few episodes in each season that showcased this, such as S3 EP7 Eyes of the Chimera.

Yes she was strong in season 5, but that's because it was the last season!

As for her ninjutsu skills, it's the same thing. She'd been training since season 1! She grew as a ninja over time.

Now, for the last point:

April's just annoying.

Yeah, if this is you, I don't know if I can change your mind. Also if this is you, there a many times per season where I agree with you!

But let me tell you dear reader the same thing I tell myself.

It's not the character, it's the writers.

Unless the very idea of April O'neil makes you mad, my guess is that most of the gripes you have with her character are the writers' fault. The not choosing between Donnie and Casey, the 'character trait swaps', all of that was the writers.

None of those things are April's character.

Conclusion:

If you made it all the way down here, and read all of it, I applaud you.

Overall, I can't make you like April, but I can attempt to analyze her character and give you the finished analysis, that is mostly just me blaming all the problems of her character on the writers.

April had the opportunity to be an amazing character, and that opportunity was poured down the drain.

But, there are still some redeeming things about her character, and those things are the things that made me like her.

So, like most things in life, if you focus on the positives, you'll be okay.

This was CJ and her April O'neil analysis, that accidentally turned into a defense post.

Sorry if none of this post made any sense, I wrote it at midnight after a very long day.

[ms-cartoon]

Difference between a good father and a bad father

(This is mainly for folks who have at least watched Soul Eater. In case you didn't and you don't know who the red-haired man is below, his name is Spirit Albarn, a character in the series. He, like Stolas, is a divorced father. He cheated on his wife not once, but multiple times and they separated cuz of it. It's because of this that the mother is not in her (ex)husband or daughter's life and the said daughter did not have a good relationship with her father. I guess you can say his situation is a little similar to Stolas. Only difference is Spirit is a good father)

This is Spirit Albarn from the anime Soul Eater

This is Stolas from the webshow, Helluva Boss

What do these two men have in common?

Similarities

They're both fathers

They each have one daughter

Don't have the best relationship with their daughters

They're divorced

Reason(s) for said divorce: Cheating/Affair

Both are horny perverts that like to sleep around (though in Stola's case, he has eyes set for one person)

Both around 30 years old (not really the point of this post, but it's so much of a coincidence I wanted to point that out)

And now here are the differences (the best part of this post)!

Differences

Spirit:

Is actually trying to be a good dad.

Is in his daughter's life and makes it his goal to have a good relationship with her.

Is much happier spending time with his daughter than anyone or even any woman.

Pays attention to his daughter and will be quick to be there for her when he feels she needs help, which is nearly in any case.

Won't hesitate to protect when she's in danger. Only reason why he can't is because . . . plot?

Doesn't make excuses for his actions.

Wouldn't gaslight anyone just to avoid being at fault.

Is regretful of his actions and probably wishes he could fix things, however, there's nothing he can do about it.

Still loves his ex (or so he claims) despite everything and like I said, probably wants to fix things with her, but as far as I'm concerned, she's simply DONE with him (she doesn't even make an appearance in the anime). The best that he can do is move on and focus on his daughter. He still would make passes at women, which was what got him divorced in the first place, but the way I see it, this is his way of trying to move on if they can't work anything out (not to condone that, ust saying). But we're not talking about him being a terrible husband here.

Stolas:

Despite caring about his daughter, he DOES NOT pay attention to her as often as he would think or we would hope. Neglecting her if you will.

Flirts with his sex target in front of his daughter which is very inappropriate. Spirit kinda did that a couple of times too, tho it was unintentional on his part, at least most of the time. In Stolas's case, he did it while fully aware of Octavia's presence and didn't even consider the fact that she didn't want to see it.

Makes excuses for his actions. Regardless if his reasons for it were true, it doesn't justify his them and with the way the show comes off, it makes it seem like they want us to justify the affair.

Not ONCE do we hear him apologize to Octavia for his actions or behavior. If he did apologize, it wasn't a full apology. In fact, Octavia was the one to apologize to him even though she didn't need too.

Between searching for his daughter when she is lost and hanging out with Blitzo, worried about what he's got going on, he goes for the latter, once again, being neglectful.

Not to say Spirit doesn't have his own flaws in being a father, but if Maka (Spirit's daughter) were to look at the dynamic between Octavia and Stolas, I'm sure she'd appreciate Spirit a little more. He may be a horndog, but at least in his case, his daughter ALWAYS comes first. Seriously, no way he would ever choose some woman he barely knows over his daughter.

[katsona-the-katsequel]

Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad Activity Report

Part 4

16 new entries!

6/27 (Sat) - Reporter: Akihiko Sanada

It seems like I've worried everyone. I'm grateful, but there's no need to worry. As a senior, I can't show any shame. Well, that's enough about that topic.

More than that, it seems that the number of Apathy Syndrome cases is increasing again. This time there were many cases where apparently a pair of a man and a woman became Lost at the same time. Maybe it has something to do with the characteristics of the next large Shadow...

Well, it's best not to jump to conclusions.

We'll find out when the next full moon comes. Oh, and I heard a rumor at school that's bothering me. Apparently, something called a "revenge request website" is becoming a hot topic.

It's the sort of urban legend that says that if you post something on the site, someone will take revenge for you...

Sorry, I can't really explain why this story is bothering me. I think it would be more persuasive if someone with a keen sense like Takeba explained it. If I find out anything else, I'll let you know.

6/28 (Sun) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Hello, I'm Junpei.

The two seniors are out again today, so we'll be taking a break from fighting in Tartarus.

Yukari-chan's sharp intuition, you know... Well, it certainly seems like there are times when it seems like she has some weird intuition. The moment I started talking about Yuka-tan, someone asked me from behind, "Junpei, did you say something?"

I wish I could have the keen intuition to sense Yukari's approach, like Lucia from Fuuka.

Whenever I say something strange in a report, it always comes back the next day...Maybe this is also a woman's intuition?

Hmm, Yuka-tan is truly formidable...

6/29 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Well, this is Takeba.

Well... there's a full moon in just a week. I won't be able to do it every day, but I've been gaining strength in Tartarus and I feel like I've made progress. But, as expected, the lack of information beforehand is a problem. All we know is that it's a full moon, and we can't decide on a strategy. If anyone knows anything, please let me know as much as you can. This was Takeba.

7/12 (Sun) - Reporter: Fuuka Yamagishi

Good evening, this is Yamagishi.

I'm a little proud that I've been talking for two days in a row, as if I've got all this equipment all to myself.

Today, everyone seems to be studying in their rooms. Sanada-senpai was out all day, but he came back after dark and it seems like he's also holed up in his room.

When will everyone be able to hear my voice? Maybe not until after the exams are over?

I've thought about it a lot, but I don't think anyone is to blame... We are all just doing our best to do what we can, but it's sad to see them separated like this.

Each person has something that only they can do. There are times and places when their power is needed. This is the case now, when there are so many people suffering from Apathy Syndrome, and in the case of SEES, and in the case of Personas.

Isn’t that what power is?

...I believe that everyone will understand without me having to say it. For now, let's do our best to study for the exam.

I have some research to do, so I'll just mess around with my device for a bit before getting back to studying. Well, good night...

7/13 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Well, it's Takeba. Oh, exams start tomorrow. I thought I'd take a break and write up my activities for the first time in a while.

Ha. Seriously, after hearing that message from Fuuka, I can't not say anything at all, Fuuka is surprisingly cunning.

First of all, I'd like to say something about how everyone has been quick to avoid touching the sore spot and has not come to ask, yet have a strong aura of wanting to know what's going on.

I talked to the leader a bit about it, but I apologized to Kirijo-senpai for what happened the other day. Sorry for saying too much. There are still some parts I'm not entirely convinced of, but then there are people close to me who are suffering from Apathy Syndrome, and if I fight the shadows, I might be able to cure that, so I can't just sit back and watch. Yeah. That's right.

Oh, and thank you Chairman for your suggestion to go to Yakushima. I'm looking forward to it. Well, if you don't tell me a pun as a thank you, I'll be sure to not give you a cold shoulder just this once.

And then... oh, that's right. That idiot Junpei Iori is always complaining about swimsuits. He should be the only one without Yakushima, so I hope he gets a part-time job at the swimsuit section of a department store. This was Takeba.

7/14 (Tue) - Reporter: Akihiko Sanada

Today is the first day of the final exams. Thanks to the Chairman's timely suggestion, the atmosphere in the dorm seems to have improved a little. Of course, there is still that tense atmosphere that is unique to exam periods, but this tension is not unpleasant.

To be honest, it's painful to see a child being lured in by sweets to get in a good mood, but that's just how it is. I guess that's actually what we made such a fuss about.

Come to think of it, this was the first time we'd had such a big fight since the current second-year students moved into the dorms... I hope this is a rite of passage, and if we can get through it, we'll be able to build a new relationship.

Also, apart from the Mitsuru incident, Junpei seems to have been annoyed for some reason, but are you okay?

Well, I'm sure you're overwhelmed with your exams right now, so I hope you can calm down. ...I'm probably not the one to say this here, Junpei. I don't know what happened during the exams, but I think you should stop yelling things like "Kabara! Kabara! Yakushima!" on the main streets.

7/15 (Wed) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Sanada-san, don't you know the expression "samurai compassion"? Well, I don't want to say it.

Well, the problem with the insurance in Edogawa was so confusing that I exploded with anger on the way home from school. As for my case, I can see the answer in my mind, so it's okay. Thank you.

7/16 (Thu) - Reporter: Fuuka Yamagishi

Good evening, this is Yamagishi.

Today was the third day of the exam. I was surprised to see that the history question that the teacher said "will be on the exam" during class actually came up. The teachers at Gekkoukan are surprisingly kind, aren't they?

The correct answer is that the reason the foreigners on the Black Ships were afraid of topknots was because they thought they would be attacked by guns.

This time, we had a fight with a large Shadow just before the exam, so Yukari, Junpei, and the leader didn't seem to be very prepared, and the second-years are struggling. But when they think about the ocean waiting for them after the exams, they feel a little better. Yakushima, huh... I bet the water is beautiful.

7/17 (Fri) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, I'm Takeba. I just heard yesterday's report, and I thought the answer to that question was... a projectile, is that correct? Seriously? Wow, I should have listened to the lecture properly!

I chose the second one, "they thought it was a black fish cake." Because in the past, Westerners hated fish! Ugh, I failed!

Ugh, to be honest, I'm not that confident about today's physics lesson. I worked hard to memorize the formulas and laws, but I was wondering who discovered the principle behind contact lenses, which is a bit of trivia! I chose Da Vinci for now, but... God!

7/23 (Thu) - Reporter: Fuuka Yamagishi

This is Yamagishi now.

Welcome home everyone.

This is my first time living in a dormitory, but it already feels like home. Having a place to go back to, a place you want to return to... I'm a little happy.

Everyone is tired today, so we took a break from conquering Tartarus. I was tired too, but talking to Aigis kept me awake... and I ended up staying up late.

Aigis is really amazing. I'm a little good with machines, but I can't believe that this technology has not been known until now.

They say cutting-edge technology is created on the battlefield, but I can't help but think how difficult the battle against shadows was 10 years ago.

Ah, but Aigis herself seems more like a girl with a bit of a natural air about her than a weapon. How did you incorporate a mind into a robot? Mr. Ikutsuki also said that the core part is a black box and that he cannot touch it.

It's also strange that Aigis seems to know the leader. It means that he's having trouble recognizing someone who looks similar to him...

It's no good to take your friends' privacy so seriously, right? First of all, you have to think about how everyone and Aigis can get along.

Oh, that's right. Aigis's way of speaking is interesting, isn't it? It's not exactly military-like, but it's more like an honorific that she learned by mistake. When we swam together in Yakushima, she pointed at my swimsuit and said,

"I am concerned about the armor of that underwater weapon, but is it correct to understand that the emphasis is on maneuverability? If possible, I would like to try modifying it for underwater combat." This is the first time I've seen a robot that wants to wear a swimsuit.

Aigis, it's nice to meet you.

7/24 (Fri) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Hi, Junpei here. What's up? You brought this report machine to Yakushima? That's fishy, ​​Kirijo-senpai! If I'd known, I could have brought you Junpei Iori's swimsuit watching hour.

Well... well, I can't run away, so I'll tell you... today is the day of the test results.

7/25 (Sat) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, this is Takeba.

As of today, we have a new member...or rather, he's not in SEES, he just lives in the same dorm, but a new member has arrived. As the Chairman said before, Amada-kun is moving into the dorm.

...I'm a little, no, I'm really worried, but I hope that Amada-kun won't get caught up in a fight or something like that.

The Chairman seems to be pretty matter-of-fact about it, and seems to be like, "If you can fight, let's have you participate."

I feel like I understand my senior a little bit, so I believe that she has no intention of involving Amada-kun. But even so, you still say "at this point," right? Oh, no, I'm not complaining, I know that you're in a position where you have to say that, and that's what you're saying because you yourself are thinking about it. As the head of SEES, you have to think about all the possibilities.

Yes, it’s just a possibility.

So, for now, please take this as my personal opinion as Yukari Takeba. I am against letting Amada fight. Unless Amada himself has a very good reason to fight, I am against it.

Please remember that.

7/26 (Sun) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Hello, it's Junpei!

Hehehe, having a great summer!

But I'm always like this. I have an innocent heart that is happy to take a day off!

That's the image I want as a healthy high school boy! So, summer vacation starts today. Ah, the long and painful midterms, the long and painful final exams, the occasional but painful quizzes, the painful first semester, Wow! Well, anyway, summer vacation starts today. Let's have fun starting tomorrow!

…Huh. Well, I know it's stupid to make a fuss by myself, even if I say so myself.

However, I just couldn't help but make a fuss today...

Ai-chan did a simulation of what would happen if the number of Lost continued to increase, in other words, if we don't do our jobs properly... but the results were worse than I expected, and I'm feeling depressed.

It feels like a huge responsibility.

7/27 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, this is Takeba.

What's up, Junpei? You've given it some thought. Yes, that's right, it's a big responsibility. Well, keep that in mind and work hard. Just don't do stupid things.

Come to think of it, I didn't see the leader today, but he's doing intensive training for the sports club. He'll do his best, too. Maybe I should go to the archery club's voluntary training too...

8/3 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Well, this is Takeba. Anyway, congratulations on winning, leader! You did a great job. The Myo-o Cup is a pretty high level, isn't it? If you keep going like this, I think you can make it to the national tournament. Will you be popular in the second semester? Ah, aside from that, I'd rather report something like this: "I happened to see this kind of person'' on TV, but I did see a strange person.

He was at a takoyaki shop in Saitodai Shopping Arcade, stuffing takoyaki into his mouth with incredible force. He had an athletic look, and I'd say he could be considered good-looking, but his face as he devoured it... It's what's inside that counts. This was Takeba.

8/4 (Tue) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Hi...Junpei...it's hot.

It has been really hot since the afternoon, but the night was a tropical one just as expected! I wasn't expecting anything like that. I wish it would go against our expectations and snow!

Ugh, the heat is making my brain overheat, seriously.

<-PREVIOUS ● NEXT->

[puckpocketed]

hi!!! i saw ur post abt sam dickinson when he got drafted and then a few abt jacob fowler and as a newly indoctrinated sharks fan, i was like oh!!! so i just wanted to stick my head in and say hi!

hhii.....i just want to say we do NOT do refunds around here . no takebacks. any psychological damage suffered is something you consented to on the waiver. ok? ok. welcome <3

i must stress i am new here and stumbling around blind in the dark . this blog is not your sharks blog source. i think ill just link my favourite sharks blogs - in no particular order!!! (there are also blogs not mentioned here because they're some of these peoples mains/alts, i honestly just didnt wanna make this 2000 words long, so sorry if i missed u, i am thinking of u fondly!!)

@neonfretra <- ok i said no order but im lying about this one . my beloved colleague in sharks academia. we are half reblogs of each other during lbs so . deepest apologies for that. come to puckpocketed and see neonfretra2: the sqeakuel. neonfretra makes very cool art (said like a completely regular person with all my hinges attached !) <3

@oensible <- they are equal first in my heart my other beloved colleague and literally the very first sharks lb'er i ever interacted with. made the space silly and warm and ough <3 not super active atm but very very occasionally drops banger art + gifs + shows up in lbs and i cherish every SECOND !

@pacific-coast-hockey <- u will learn very quickly that being a sharks fan means also having brain worms about the sj barracuda. unavoidable disease SORRY!!! we love our silly ahl team. this is your cuda source!

@18minutemajor <- wall to wall bangers . art. art. beer league stories if u like those. more cuda content. like i cannot stress to u enough about the cuda part of Sharkudablr . also posts sheng pengs deranged editorials sometimes <3

@matthewmaticallyeliminated <- sharks media poster. + sometimes photos u wont find on other socials !! really, really good at screencapping games. 10/10 great taste in caps, bangers all the time.

@tofumilanesa <- skating blog, sometimes scholarship, and sharks shitposter. been here a long time. wekky source (to ME) . every time we talk im scared ill embarrass myself <3

@knitpurlgoal <- sharksposting!! also textile arts. also been around a lot longer than me :) honestly everyones been around longer LMAO !!sometimes sends me pager alerts like im due for surgery when theres big news.

[yallthemwitches]

Catch the Wind Ch. 16: Doing Wrong

I'm posting this ahead of AO3 because I know it will probably be controversial and I would love some feedback. Look at me gifting scandalous things for my birthday. Very NSFW.

Read the rest of the story here.

James Potter always knew when he had done something wrong. Of course, it never stopped him, but he was well acquainted with the thick rush of cold that fell over his body when he realized he had done something that would irreversibly change a certain aspect of his life. When he realized he had, in short, fucked up. 

He first felt it as a child when he decided to play with his dad’s potion ingredients, leaving the house smelling of charred hair and skin for a week. And again, when he and Sirius had followed an unsuspecting Remus one full moon night in second year just to find an adolescent werewolf who didn’t know the difference between friend and food. Most of all, he had definitely felt that way after he had hoisted Snape up by the lake in fifth year, punctuated fully by the look of hatred on Lily’s face.

This time was starting to feel like one of those times.

He trudged after Lily. Her hair swung against her exposed back as she walked and James couldn’t help but let his teenage brain take over a second to remark on how the last time he had looked at her backside, he was leaving kisses down her spine before a final languorous kiss between her legs.

She didn’t turn back to look at him, but he could tell she was tense. It was the way she held her shoulders, straight and higher than normal. He had seen it a million times, both directed at him and not, and even that felt irresistible. He felt the urge to reach for her, kiss her body until the tension shuddered away. At least under the current circumstances, he knew better than to act on impulse.

He attempted to draft some sort of apology in his head that would acquit him of the complete arsehole behavior he had displayed at the party. If he was going to be really honest with himself, and subsequently to her, he knew he couldn’t apologize because there was no part of him that regretted what he had done. He felt bad for embarrassing her, but definitely not sorry. 

Maybe if the two of them had talked about the quidditch pitch incident earlier, he wouldn’t have reacted the way he did— but that rang untrue too. He knew going in he would never be able to look at Slughorn or any of the Slytherin team again without those words flashing before his eyes, searing an unimaginable hatred that edged on murderous. Moodblood fucker, Blood Traiter. 

Now feeling a shot of pure hatred seep through his bones, he realized that they were lucky he hadn’t done anything worse than ruin the party with a few words. He had never wanted to use dark magic against someone before, not even when it had been used against him with Snape, but fuck if he did now. Perhaps there was where the true problem lay: he was never going to enter this night with any civility. 

Lily turned the corner of the dungeon corridor and made for the steps that led back up into the first floor of the castle. He figured she was leading them back to the dorms or Head’s office where she could properly scream at him for his brash behavior. For a split second, the horrible flash of losing Lily over this plagued his thoughts, that he had shown her he was capable of being the same James she hated back in fifth year. If that was true, then he would actually be sorry. 

She stopped at the foot of the steps and turned quickly to face him, her chest still as though holding her breath. Her eyes were bright and wide, and even from his distance away from her he knew he had seen that look before but for some reason was having a difficult time placing it. He wondered if he even wanted to place it. Despite it all, she looked absolutely perfect.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then abandoned the action. Even knee deep in shit, he found himself being distracted by her. The deep V in her dress let the curve of her breasts peak out and become accentuated in the firelight of the dungeon torches. Her left leg, exposed from the cut of her dress, calling for him to run his hand over it, just like he had done hours before. 

He tried to clear his head, to focus, to get in the game, to feel bad. He pushed to speak again, but she moved to talk and for once he was thankful to be silenced. 

“You are going to listen to me, because you have talked too much already tonight.” 

She was freakishly still. Her eyes bore into him and once again he struggled to place the emotion behind the gaze. His gut told him the look was similar to that day with Snape at the lake, but even that didn’t fully grasp it. There was something deeper, more primal than he was used to. Despite the growing terror filling his stomach, he knew whatever it was, it was completely unfiltered.

He wanted to close his eyes, brace for impact. He knew what was coming, like all the other times he had ever fucked up. All tragedies must end in a sacrifice, whether that was a death, loss or an act of retribution. The blade was being raised, and it was his neck waiting for the fall.

“I am going to suck you off right here, right now in this hallway until you come.”

It certainly felt like a blow to the head, positive he was suffering from a panic induced hallucination. He watched as she took another step towards him, feeling unstable. Now closer, the look in her eyes was finally taking form. There was anger, sure, but more than that there was hunger. It was the look of an animal about to kill their prey.

She continued, not giving James a moment to cut in. 

“I’m going to make you come inside my mouth and then when you have recovered, you are going to fuck me as hard as you ever have–”

Fuck fuck fuck. He definitely heard that correctly. His mind was going fuzzy and the world spun around him. She had hands on him now, pulling at the buttons of his robes,continuing to speak in a plain, composed voice, as she would talking about the weather or patrol schedules. 

“---and when you have fucked me until I don’t even know my own name or what year it is anymore, you are going to take me upstairs to your bedroom, and do it again–”

He didn’t know when his shirt had come off, but her hands were now yanking at his belt, ripping at it so hard he half wondered if she would take out a belt loop. “Holy shit, holy merlin, christ, god, whoever.”

“And before you ask, I don’t care if your stupid friends are in there. I don’t care if they stay or go or even fucking join in. You are going to take me in there and pound me into your mattress until even a silencing spell won’t stop the rest of this godforsaken castle from hearing me scream for you.”

James felt like his soul had left his body and he was now watching reality unfold completely severed from himself. He wondered if he had died, if the party had actually gone worse than he thought and killing curses had been thrown. It felt like there was no explanation, no fucking magnificent reasoning as to why Lily had now sunk to her knees in the middle of a very public, very open corridor with his pants unzipped. All it would take was one of the non-slytherin students to go back to their dorms for someone to see them—and maybe that was exactly what she wanted. The thought alone made him want to come before they even started.

“Oh fuck, Oh Evans, Oh Baby.” Lily smiled, but at the use of her surname or the use of the new pet name, he wasn’t completely sure. His eyesight was failing him, now only able to make out the red of her hair and the brilliant green of her eyes that stared up at him while she yanked his pants down further to release him out of his clothes. She curved her flat palm against the base of his cock, and he let out a strangled gasp, surging back into reality. 

“I’m going to last five seconds, Evans. Holy shit—I didn’t realize you—I thought—Oh fuck.”

His eyesight came back to him just in time to watch Lily cock an eyebrow. Her lips were pursed with amusement, face just inches away from his weeping head. 

“You thought what, baby?” She threw the pet name back at him and it made his cock twitch. “You thought my knickers haven't been completely soaked through since the night began?”

Lily took the hand that was sliding up his leg and snaked it under the slit of her dress. She pulled the fabric back so he could see the tiny strip of lace that she was using as knickers and with no preamble slipped one finger, then another between her legs. She kept her eyes locked on his face as she pulled her now drenched fingers out and raised them to her lips. 

“See?” She ran her tongue slowly over her own arousal, taking the fingers into her mouth and making a point to hollow out her cheeks as she sucked. James nearly doubled over. His cock was now leaking significantly, and he knew all it would take was a second of her mouth to make him implode. 

“Fuck, Christ fuck Evans—-let me taste.” 

“Later. You are listening to me, remember?” 

Merlin—-shit.

For a second, James considered knocking her back onto the ground and taking her right there. It wouldn’t have been his first act of disobedience that night. Lily must have seen the look in his eye because she wasted no more time torturing him, grabbing his arse with her still wet hand and pushed his cock fully into her mouth. 

The noise James made bounced off the cavernous walls of the corridor. A deep animalistic noise that felt reminiscent of his stag form. She swirled her tongue around his tip, using her hand on his bum to guide him until he grasped what exactly she wanted him to do: thrust into her mouth.

Pushing through the haze, he grasped onto her hair harder than he had ever allowed himself and with her rhythm moved his hips back and forth with the motion of her mouth sliding over him. It felt completely unlawful to feel as good as it did, like some higher being would come down from the heavens to smite him for feeling like this. She kept her eyes locked on his face, watching as his own focused on the movement of his cock entering and exiting her lips. Words spilled out of him completely of their own accord, stringing together a weak commentary of the ecstasy he was feeling inside. 

“You are so beautiful. No one has ever made me feel this way and fuck no one ever will—the amount of times I’ve imagined you on your knees like this—and it was shit in comparison to how you look now—”

Lily moaned around his cock, sending a shock through his body. She took one long lick on his tip before removing her mouth for a moment, making James groan from the loss of her warm throat. Her lips were gleaming and swollen in the firelight.

“Come for me baby. Come in my mouth and let me swallow every last drop of you. Come so loud those fucking pricks at the party can hear how good I make you feel, then you can do whatever you want to me because I’m yours.”

What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? 

She took him in totality into her mouth again and slid her tongue just under his shaft. His body was trembling, he could feel his climax fast approaching as words continued to tumble out of his mouth. Fuck, just like that, oh baby, oh Lily—-there.

“Come for me, Potter.” She didn’t even remove him from her mouth to say it. She lifted a hand to cup his balls and the world bottomed out. He tried as hard as he could to keep his eyes open, watching her eyes watch him as he let out a deep vibrating sigh that echoed through the corridor down into the dungeons. Legs giving out, he keeled over to balance himself on her. 

He spilled into her mouth and he watched as she swallowed without hesitation, using her tongue to lap around him to make sure nothing was missed. When she finally released him, a pleased smile painted on her face, he sank to his knees, taking her tongue immediately in between his teeth.

“Are you fucking joking? How am I supposed to live now, Evans? How am I supposed to do fucking anything now knowing you could be doing that to me.”

He clawed the thigh cut in her dress and she didn’t stop him. He found the sad excuse for knickers as soaked if not more than when she had tasted herself earlier and slipped two fingers into her immediately, making her melt into him. Her whole body folded into his, head finding the crook of his shoulder and biting down. 

“Ah--James.” She choked out just before he curled his fingers in the way he knew would make her gasp. “You’ve ruined me, fucking ruined me with your hand alone—-ever since this summer—-.”

He circled his thumb on her clit, making her gasp further into his collarbone. His other hand pushed into the V of her dress, pulling her breast just enough for the soft pink of her tit to escape the fabric. He suctioned himself on it, wrapping his other arm around her waist to keep her stable as he continued to pulse his fingers inside her. She was so wet, more than he thought was possible for a woman to be. It surged his ego. He did that. He did that to her. 

“James—baby, christ.” He continued his work in practiced rhythm. The sound of his hand slipping in and out of her was downright pornographic, seeming loud enough for the entire dungeon to hear. 

Lily pushed her forehead into the crux of his shoulder, alternating from biting down to babbling affirmations. 

“Please James.” She bit back down and he let out a groan.

“Yes baby, beg for me. Beg me to make you come and then I’ll do it again with my cock. I’ll do whatever you want, I’m yours.”

In response, she bucked her hips. Pushing his fingers farther into her. At this point, his hand was nearly soaked. He could feel her tightening around him now, her body aching for release. 

“Baby, I’m so close.”

Later, when thinking over that moment, he was shocked he didn’t miss it entirely. A noise, a soft thump of a shoe on stone somehow made it over the endless cries and moans Lily spilled out into his ear. James’ eyes shot up to look past her shoulder, careful to keep his pace inside her. 

At first it was hard to concentrate, but as his eyes focused, the silhouette of Snape’s body became more defined in the darkness of the corridor. He stood deadly still, hand outstretched and wand pointing directly at where James still had his own hand working Lily nearly to orgasm. 

When he would think back on it the next day, he couldn’t pinpoint why he made the decision he did. Perhaps it was because he had no idea where his wand was, presumably lost in his dress robes which had been torn aside long ago. Or, perhaps it was because, deep down, he knew that Snape wouldn’t do anything. But mostly, and worse of all, he knew it was because he wanted him to see. 

In total, it couldn’t have been more than seconds. Snape never moved, hand and wand poised but inactive. His eyes were wide, unblinking. James continued to stare over Lily’s shoulder, miraculously never faltering his tempo inside her as her hips continued to push into him. She moved faster, harder, continuing to beg him for release. 

He hated how much he loved that she was falling apart for him and Snape was witnessing it.

He ignored the feeling in his stomach that told him he was doing something wrong and continued to zero in on him, contracting his fingers inside her, knowing exactly what game he was playing at and that he was fucking good at it. 

He made sure his eyes were saying everything he couldn’t. Watch me make her come Snivellus. Watch as I do the thing you have only wanked your slimy prick off to in your dreams. Remember how she screams my name and let it haunt you for the rest of your decrepit life.

He wasn’t proud of it, but in the moment, it was the greatest revenge he could imagine. 

Lily’s hips bucked against his hand and he could feel her body start to quiver. Keeping his eyes on Snape, he turned his head slightly to brush his lips with her ear. 

“Come for me baby. Come on my hand—let me feel it. Then I’ll taste it just like you want. Come Lily, Come.”

Lily reached her arms around him, grabbing at his hair and tugging at the roots. James fought to keep his eyes locked with Snape, but saw no change of expression. Snape might as well have been petrified. 

He lightly circled his thumb on her clit then plunged his fingers into her as far as his knuckle. She fell apart. 

“Fuck. James James James—-” 

The sound of his name awakened something in Snape. His face scrunched into a look of abject horror and he recoiled backwards. A second later, he disappeared back around the corner towards the party from which he came. 

If it was wrong, then why did it feel so good. 

Lily collapsed in his arms and he allowed himself to fall back into a seat on the ground. He kissed the lingering moans that fell from her mouth and pet her hair which now shrouded her face like a halo. 

“Holy Shit.” She pulled away from him and her eyes glowed in the aftermath, lips and cheeks rosy. 

James ducked to kiss her, unable to resist before cradling her back into his chest. He knew that letting Snape see them was not going to go unpunished. At that very second, he could be rounding up some of his death eater mates to come and take the action he was unable to do alone. For a second he wondered if Lily had even noticed that they had gotten an audience, but if she did, she didn’t show it.

Instead, Lily began redoubling her efforts. He could feel her hand reaching back for his cock which had easily rebounded after coming inside her mouth. She curled around it and the world started to blink away again. It was so tempting to stay in that corridor and finish what she had originally proposed…

For once that day, he needed to make the correct choice, but he wasn’t going to like it. 

“The party is going to be done soon—” 

It wasn’t convincing. Even as he said it, Lily stroked him gently, licking at the bite marks she had left on his neck during her orgasm.

“---As much as I’d love, and I mean love, for everyone to know how well I fuck you—”

Lily snorted under her breath. “Arrogant.”

“I think I’d rather get us somewhere more comfortable where I can finally taste you properly without being interrupted–.”

Lily’s hand stalled on his cock. He could practically hear the cogs moving in her head. 

“---then after you come in my mouth, only then will I—how did you put it— pound you into my mattress–”

He could hear Lily’s breath becoming shallow again. Admittedly, he wasn’t doing much better, feeling less and less inclined to make it upstairs as he spoke. 

“---and will continue to do so until you can barely walk to classes tomorrow.`’

Consider her convinced. In all honesty, he didn’t know how they made it from the dungeons all the way back to the tower. It all seemed a big blur of running and laughing and pushing each other against walls to continue snogging before moving on. 

All of the questions of the day took a backseat to the utmost want that completely enveloped them. Even after coming once, Lily was still ravenous for him, making their trip back up to the dorms that much harder. He wondered if she had ever actually been angry at what he had said at the party, or if it had just made her completely randy. He shelved the question for another time. 

To his awe, Lily completely kept to her word about the dorms portion of the evening. Without even consulting him on how to proceed, she swung open the door of the marauders room and pulled him to her for a kiss. Peter was the only one there and almost fell off his bed at the sight of them, eyes like globes as Lily pulled James by his shirt towards his bed.  

“I have some unfinished business with your mate, Pettigrew, so I suggest you get out or close your curtains.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He scurried out of the room, more like a rat than James had seen him act in human form. He knew he was going to have to answer for it later from the rest of his mates, but the thought was cut short by Lily letting her dress fall to her ankles before Peter had even gotten the door closed.

“Marry me Evans. Either marry me or kill me now.”

Lily walked slowly over to his bed, looking over her shoulder once she reached the bedpost. Her knickers didn’t cover a shred of her bum, practically useless. 

“Fuck me first.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He pushed her onto her stomach, not even caring to close the curtains around them. He trusted Peter would make sure the word was out to the rest of the lads.

“How do you want me? Whatever you want, baby, whatever.”

Rather than turning onto her back like they had become so accustomed to, she remained on all fours, looking back at him. For the first time that evening, a wave of timidness crossed her face, flushing her back and cheeks.

“---do you want to try something new?”

Fuck Fuck Fuck He steadied himself on the post of the bed. Even from the back, he could see that she was dripping from earlier. He wasted no time taking off his clothes and joining her on his knees behind her. 

“You are so beautiful, fuck it’s embarrassing what you do to me.” 

This was new territory for him. Really, all of it was if he was being honest. In the beginning of sixth year, he had dated a Ravenclaw a year older, Maelle Fraser, who had taken his virginity. She had been fun and was the kind of person any bloke would want to experience sex with for the first time, but now being with Lily, the memory of Maelle paled in comparison. Other girls he fooled around with became repetitive, mundane, as though sex was just something in his routine. With Lily, it felt like a miracle each time. He was insatiable, he wanted her all day and night in any way she would let him, much less choose how to take her. When they were together he felt in awe of her, he wanted to worship her, keep her in bed for days on end just to kiss every part of her body and then some. He loved her, and there was no amount of time or way to show that enough. 

He couldn’t imagine loving her more than right that moment, with her on her hands and knees begging for him, but he knew tomorrow there would come something else, then something else the day after that that would make him feel just the same—like his love for her was endless and ever shifting. 

He put a hand on the small of her back and pushed softly, inviting her to lower her chest to the mattress while her arse stayed up. Cheek pressed into the quilt, she looked at him, eyes blown out and mouth swollen. 

“Please,” it came out more as a whisper. The dominant, ravenous Lily that had sucked him off in the hallway earlier was floating away, and the Lily he was more accustomed to was taking over. Not submissive by any stretch, but more prone to coax and beg rather than to tear pleasure from him. 

James moved himself back a little bit, grabbing both sides of her ass in his hands and lowered himself to be eye level with her center. It wasn’t hyperbolic, she was dripping. The inside of her thighs sleek with her own arousal.

“You owe me a taste.”

He flicked out his tongue and ran it from the back of her folds to her clit, making sure to dip inside her as he passed. The moan she emitted was a revelation. A sound James knew he would spend the rest of his life chasing as often as possible. Her hands grasped the quilt for support. 

“Fuck, James—that feels incredible. Don’t stop.”

He repeated his movement, this time adding slightly more pressure and she answered again with the same moan. The new angle made it harder to reach her clit, but seemed to bring her a new sensation to the rest of her body. With every new cry, his cock ached, threatening to release before he wanted. 

“Fuck Lily, I’m sorry, I need to be inside you. I’m not gonna last long as it is.”

Lily just moaned in response. He pulled back, letting Lily readjust herself back up on hands and knees, holding herself onto the headboard. When she looked back at him in anticipation, he could see she was already close to the edge. He needed no further invitation.

Since fifth year he used to fantasize about her exactly like this: in his dorm room naked, screaming his name while he thrusted into her from behind, her body trembling for release. The thought used to make him come so fast in his hand for years—the secret solution for when he needed to make quick work of himself. 

 It turned out, the reality of it was so much better. The new angle hit a spot inside her that made her shudder almost immediately and she bowed to the feeling, pressing her forehead firmly into the headboard for stability. He was mesmerized by the new vantage point in which he disappeared inside her, the advantage of holding onto her arse and reaching around to touch her clit, feeling her shake from his weight. Still, he was torn by the desire to savor the new sensations her muscles made on his cock or to give her what she wanted: to fuck her hard and fast.

She made the decision for him. 

“Harder. Please.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He pushed deeper, feeling her body pulse around him. He sped up with force, now pushing into her with the majority of his strength. He would have worried about hurting her if she wasn’t making the most delicious sounds that had ever been put to auditory frequency. He felt his orgasm mounting with each thrust forward, feeling too much pleasure to care. 

“Baby come for me, I need you to come because I can’t hold it much longer.”

But she was already there. She gripped the headboard and threw her head back, hair falling around her shoulders, arching her whole backside. He could feel her whole body tighten around him and the sensation broke him entirely. He released into her fast and hard and she moaned at the feeling of his ejaculation, shaking slightly before collapsing fully onto the mattress. He followed suit, laying himself lightly over half of her body, and their legs curled together, sweaty and spent. 

“I love you.” He whispered it into her back, still breathless. He meant it, just like all the other times. She was everything to him at once, loving, fierce, comforting, but an incredible force all the same. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you at the party—but maybe I’m not if this was the result.” 

Lily chuckled under him. 

“I love you too. We can talk about the party later, but first I think you promised me another round.”

He couldn’t believe his luck. 

*****

Despite being the most tired he quite possibly had ever been in his life, James had to be the happiest bloke alive. His mates had never come back to the dorm that night, and they had been smart not to. James wasn’t quite the best with time, but he knew that it still had been dark when he took her again with him standing on the side of the bed, then a bit lighter when she had ambushed him out of the loo, leaving them on a heap on the ground in the middle of the room. By the time full sunlight came in through the windows, he was lazily pushing into her while spooning on their sides, sleep fighting its way into their movements. 

He almost convinced her to skive off potions for one more cheeky go about before they could finally sleep, but ever the perfect Head Girl, she yanked herself from his arms and slouched herself out the door, looking the definition of well shagged. 

“God please at the very least tell me you didn’t shag on my bed—though if you did, we might need to unpack that.”

James grumbled. He had just started to drift off to sleep, wishing he could still feel Lily’s heart beating against him when Sirius had been the first to brave his way into the dorm. 

“So I take it Pete told you.”

Sirius snorted. “More like Pete cowered in the common room like he saw a boggart. The poor bloke will probably need therapy after what you and Evans put him through. What did you even do?”

“Everything. Not enough. Never enough.”

“Aw c’mon he didn’t even see anything—.”

“ Evidently, He saw plenty.”

A moment of clarity startled him. In all their romping around, he had almost forgotten. The image of Snape with his wand poised, completely still, surged to the forefront of his mind. That icy feeling of regret started to pour its way down his veins. 

 Did she know Snape had been there? And if she didn't, how could he tell her? What does one even say in that scenario? Oh darling, by the way, while you were shagging me senseless your disgustingly bigoted ex-mate who has wanted to fuck you since he knew his prick existed watched you come—and I let him, because I wanted to shove it in his face. 

Maybe he was still the James Lily had loathed in fifth year.

“Sirius, I messed up.”

“Judging by the way Evans looked walking out of the tower this morning, I’d say you did pretty well for yourself actually.”

James felt a smile twitch on his face, conjuring up the image of Lily that morning. Fuck his thick, egotistical, teenage mind. 

He pushed on. “No mate—I, kinda—look you have to promise me you aren’t going to judge me.”

Sirius crossed his arms behind his head, looking more smug than normal. 

“Can’t wait.”

“I might have—merlin it sounds so fucked—Snape might have seen Lily and I shagging last night–-and I didn’t stop him…or I guess us—meaning the shagging.”

There was silence. 

“Lily doesn’t know— at least I don’t think—she was, er, indisposed.”

Another silence. Sirius brow furrowed. He opened his mouth and closed it multiple times before finally choosing his words. 

“What the fuck?”

Sirius was sitting up now. Eyes bright. His face jumped from twitching to laugh to a confused, twisted frown. 

“Like because you were…into it?”

A zap of disgust. 

“What? No mate, because–,” James felt his voice falter. Time to admit his ego. Time to admit the gross part of him he didn’t want even Sirius to see. “---Because I wanted him to see she was mine. It’s awful I know—”

Sirius burst out laughing. The sound made James' head hurt even more than the fatigue. 

“Wow, thank fucking merlin. And here I was feeling jealous that I wasn’t your first choice for a third in your weird kinky shit—.”

James shot up in bed, using all of his energy to glare at his mate. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you—god, no—and I thought the truth was bad.”

He expected Sirius to keep laughing, but something sobered him up quicker than was usually his habit. James eyed his mate and could see that something was worming its way inside of Sirius’ usually impenetrable amusement. 

“Prongs, joking aside, you know that he wants her right?”

No one had ever put it into words for him before. Of course James knew that Snape fancied Lily. Even if she was oblivious to it, he had caught on early enough to make it one of the sole reasons he loathed him so much. How many years had he watched Lily go to him, be closer to him than he could ever dream…and then what? Turn against her, treat her like dirt just because he wanted to feel power for once in his pathetic little life, thinking even after all that she could still love him. 

“Obviously.”

“No, I mean like I think he really wants her.”

James sat up. He couldn’t tell if Sirius was taking the piss out of him or not. If so, it was a serious allegation, even for Snape. 

“You are going to need to elaborate for me.”

Sirius sat up as well, now sitting across from James. 

“I wish I could—I promised her I wouldn’t.”

A flash of jealousy. Maybe not because Lily and Sirius had secrets between them, but because Sirius was loyal enough to her to keep them. Keep them even from him. 

“---Besides, I can’t be certain—honestly I could be just making this shit up—but that bloke is no good around her, mate. Hopefully your little ego boost will make him leave her alone, but something tells me it won’t.”

James didn’t know what to think. His fatigue was making him woozy and he wished he had never even tried to tackle the subject in such a state.Part of him wanted to shake more information out of Sirius, but he knew nothing would come of it. Mostly, he wanted Lily back in his arms, back where he knew she was safe, now worried about whatever waited for her outside his grasp. He had hurt her, she might not know it yet, but he had potentially endangered her for what he had done or not done. That was inexcusable.In the back of his mind, the twist of Snape’s face continued to stare back at him, stare back at them. He started to feel sick.

“Look mate, if you want my advice: Don’t stoop to his level. Just because Snape wants to own her, doesn’t mean you have to.”

Sirius probably didn’t mean for it to come as such a blow as it did, but it hit nonetheless. It was the blade crashing down. His own egotistical, arrogant self coming back to haunt him, haunt the halo of trust he had built around himself and Lily. The person he loved. 

The night ending in tragedy after all.

[ddelline]

“unleashing his potential with a single blow; beneath scattering sparks of black… itadori yūji awakens”

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part one

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

status: completed

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 1.1k

The thing was, you didn’t plan on getting laid tonight. 

After a couple of days trying to settle in at Barcelona and looking for your lost luggage, all you wanted to do was to finally start your vacation. You just wanted to relax and experiencing the night life in Barcelona was definitely a good way to officially kick it off. 

So there you were at the bar of an (apparently) exclusive night club in the city–the location was emailed to you by Derek with a VIP pass and a note that said, ‘have fun ;)’–nursing your second, half-empty glass of mojito, the speakers blasting rhythmic reggaeton music, when a woman slid into the space next to you, cool and confident with the way she leaned on her elbows against the counter as she gave the bartender her order in smooth spanish, “A gin rickey, please.”

The woman looked to be several years older than you–and taller, too, even with your heels on–and maybe it was the alcohol or the proximity but there was no stopping yourself from openly admiring her. Her black, cropped top and her tight, high-rise pants revealed perfectly broad shoulders and toned arms, as well as the taught lines of her stomach. When your eyes travelled back to her face, you found her looking at you with a raised brow and immediately, your cheeks warmed. The fact that you were gawking shamelessly and got caught doing so… just wow.

Words of apology were already on your tongue but the curves of her lips were mesmerising, the elegant slope of her brows distracting, and those eyes… the depth in them threatened to drown you that all coherent thought deserted you. 

“Wow,” you breathed out.

“Excuse me?” Came the bemused question, an instant slap to the face that sobered you up immediately. 

“I’m so–I’m sorry, that’s what I meant to say. I’m–” You palmed a hand over your face as you began but a small chuckle stopped you halfway. You risked a peek through your fingers and saw the woman with her lips to the glass, something akin to a teasing smirk on her face while she remained leaning on the counter by her hip. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asked as she took a sip from her drink.

Not really the question you were expecting but you’d rather take a reprieve over a disaster. And at that, you smiled sheepishly at her. “Is it that obvious?”

“Hmm, no, not really. Your slight accent gave you away but your Spanish is impressive.”

“I’m still working on losing it but I’ll take that as a win. I’m assuming you’re from around here?”

“My home town is about an hour away outside of the city but I stay here most of the time for work.”

“That must be nice, being close to home.” Feeling more at ease now, you sipped at your drink. The woman did the same. Then you continued. “So, what do you do?”

For a moment there was nothing but music and chatter as the woman regarded you with an unreadable expression. Her eyes glinted–with what exactly? curiosity?–her head cocked slightly to the side. Then she sipped at her drink again. Did you say something offensive? you wondered.

“I work between the sport stadiums. And you? Where is home and what brings you to Barcelona?” 

It was clear from the vagueness of her answer that the stranger didn’t want to talk about her job and it didn’t help your growing interest for her. You wanted to ask her about further details but the dismissive tone with which she answered made you hold your tongue and her question, anyway, made you pause as you pondered to answer.

As an orphan who lived a few years in the system, the subject of where home was had always been a sore spot for you even if the stranger didn’t mean anything deeper by it. In some sense, your adoptive mom was home but there was always a part of you that longed for… something.  But, of course, you couldn’t bring that up right now especially to someone you just met. So you just told her where you were from, that you were on vacation, and that you work as a photojournalist for a press agency you helped establish. Something in your answer must had piqued the woman’s interest because her brows shot up.

“Which branch do you work in?”

“Spot news. But I’ve been meaning to expand my portfolio and get into another branch. Maybe try sports or portrait?”

The woman hummed in appreciation. “Any sports in particular? Wait, do you even like sports?”

“I honestly know close to nothing so I haven’t made a decision yet, but it will definitely be women’s sports,” you replied. She nodded and sipped at her drink again, never breaking her gaze from yours and you felt your cheeks warm again. Those eyes… they were dangerous; they lit up every nerve in your body and it felt good. You continued. “What about you? Are you much of a sports person?”

And to your total bafflement, the woman beamed at you, radiant and glowing, dimples in her cheeks as mirth shone in her eyes.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous and at somewhat of a loss. 

The stranger let out a small chuckle, shook her head slightly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose, an attempt to hide her smile. “Nothing, nothing. And yeah, I’m a big sports fan. Then a beat passed before she continued, “you ever thought of covering women’s football? There are plenty of matches happening in the domestic leagues right now.”

“Maybe I will,” you hummed, mulling it over. It sounded good actually. And then you asked, “what else do you suggest for someone to do in Barcelona?”

The woman downed her remaining drink and placed the empty glass on the counter. Before you knew it, you could feel the warmth of her breath against your ear and you shivered when she purred. “Dance, of course.”And then she was holding your hand, pulling you off of the stool you were on, and began dragging you to the direction of the dance floor. 

All at once, warmth encompassed you: the crowd immediately swallowed you both, bodies pressed on you but the heat that emanated from the woman before you was the sole beacon for your attention. She had a loose arm around your waist and as the both of you danced to the music, you took that opportunity to wrap your arms around her neck and pulled her closer. She slowed down and she still had enough height on you that she had to lower her head.

“I never caught your name,” you spoke into her ear. 

“I’m Ale,” she replied. She pulled back to smile down at you. And then, she kissed you. 

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan Emperor

(Twelfth Official Post)

(Duke’s name is Isaiah Hartfeld)

(This one might be a bit muddled, but I tried my best.)

(Emperor’s name is Adonis Margold)

(this one focuses on the Emperor, part two should focus on the Duke)

     The Duke, Isaiah Hartfeld, was well known for being a promiscuous womanizer and he often caused an uproar in society. Which is what prompted the Emperor to marry Isaiah off to someone that would whip him into shape, you. You were a well known person throughout all social circles, you were the head of you family and you didn’t let anyone push you around. Of course, when the emperor first proposed such an idea you immediately shut it down. You didn’t explain why, but you did say that nothing in this world would ever make you change your mind. So, he decides to offer you something out of this world, something only he can give you.

     The Emperor greets you as you enter the throne room, a sly smile on his tanned face. “Ah, Good Morrow, my dear friend, how are you this lovely evening?” He descends from his throne, his boots click against the marble floor. He holds a gloves hand out and waits for you the greet him, you reluctantly grab hold of his hand with one of your own gloved hands. (Gloves are very popular around here) You place a respectful kiss on his knuckles (which, of course, causes the Emperor to smile) and then let go of his hand (which causes the emperor’s smile to fall).

      “I am doing no better than any other day, why did you call me here, Your majesty?” You respond with an air of formality and familiarity. The Emperor frowns, finding your formality unnecessary. “Come now, my dear subject, formality is not necessary. We’re practically family!” He says with a grin on his face and wink of his eyes, you, however, are confused. But you just nod your head and let him say what he wants. He waits for your response, but his joy diminishes with each second of silence.

     He clears his throat and pats your shoulders. “I see you’re in no mood for small talk, so I suppose I should just get to the point.” He forces a smile on his face and places his hands on your shoulders, he chooses to ignore the way you lean away from him. “I’ve decided that you shall marry Duke Hartfeld.” Your eyes widen and you’re about to disagree when the Emperor interrupts you. “Ah, Ah, Ah, I already know what you’re about to say, but trust me, you do not want to reject this deal.” He leads you to a nearby chair, which seems to have been placed just for you, and sits you down. He kneels, on one knee, in front of you.  “Your majesty! What are you doing?!” You exclaim, finding his behavior strange. He brushes off your worries and continues speaking.

     “Listen, [Y/N], I know you aren’t from this country and I know you want to go home. So, if you marry the Duke and straighten him up, then I’ll take you home.” Your expression shifts from disbelief to doubt, how would the Emperor send you home, and how does he know you aren’t from here? Unless, by home, he means returning you to your country. Which would make more sense, because you were a prisoner of war when you first came to this country. Now, you’re a high ranking general and commanding an army, you can’t help but be proud of yourself. “What on Ilasatra do you mean?” (Ilasatra is the equivalent of earth in this world.) You ask him, a frown developing on your face.

    The Emperor smirks and brushes your hair back, then he stands up and begins to circle your chair. He stands behind you and leans his head down to whisper into your ears. “You know exactly what I mean.” He purrs, placing his hand on your shoulder and caressing it, which causes you to lean away from him. He touches you far too much, it makes you very uncomfortable. Your breath catches in your throat and you can’t help the hope that claws its way to your heart. “You can send me home?” You mutter, turning to face him and your gaze catch his. There’s such a hopeful look in your eyes, he smirks, it amuses him and then his eyes are caught by your lips. Oh, how he wishes to love you, but you would be of better use whipping the Duke into shape. 

    He clears his throat and drags his gaze away from yours, he resumes his previous action of circling your chair. His hand trails down your arm and causes goose bumps on your skin (because you’re uncomfortable). “Yes, I could get you home, but only if you do something for me first.” His tone is quite mysterious, he seems to know something you don’t. “It will be worth it, I promise.”  His hand entangles itself with yours, you pull away and he reluctantly lets you go. 

     You contemplate his words, your brows furrowed and you wipe your hand on your coat (which, of course, causes him to chuckle). You hesitantly agree, knowing that making a deal with the emperor is a bad idea. “Very well then, Your Majesty, I trust you.” His heart flutters when you admit to trusting him, he didn’t know those words could have such a pleasant affect on him. He smiles and yanks you out of your chair, he then places both his hands on your shoulders. “That’s wonderful, [Y/N], I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” He traps you in a tight hug, despite how uncomfortable it makes you (and it makes you very uncomfortable).

      You struggle somewhat to escape his grip, eventually giving up and letting him hold you as long as he wished. He sighs, his mind awash with loving images of you and him together. He knows it will never happen, but he surely can dream about it. You’re pretty sure he was sniffing your hair and that was your sign to escape the hug, so you stepped on his foot and then backed away from him. His pained groans are muffled by his hand and he tries not to scream, he forgot how sharp your boots were. “Ah, my dear, that was quite rude of you, but I’ll forgive you, just don’t do it again.” He warns you with a rather playful tone, even waggles his finger at you, but the threat is real. You frown and shuffle away from him. 

     He tsks and drags you back to him, although he does have to fight as you dig your heels into the marble flooring. “Come now, dear, I won’t hurt you. Don’t you want to know what I need from you?” His smile tightens as he struggles, he didn’t expect you to be so strong. He chuckles nervously, he even sweats a bit (which irritates him because he absolutely despises sweating). He lets go of you, causing you to stumble back yet you retain your balance. “Okay, you just stay there and I’ll explain the deal to you, alright?” You nod your head and he claps his hands together. His smile grows and his tone shifts from agitated to cheery. “Wonderful! My dear, do you know who Duke Hartfeld is?” You nod again, then verbally respond. “Yes, I’ve heard rumors about him.”

     Actually, you’ve heard many rumors, all of them attest to his hedonistic lifestyle. You don’t like him very much, you absolutely despise him. The Emperor smiles again, he smiles a lot, and walks towards you. “Great, I want you to marry him-“ You gasp in shock and then interrupt him, because there is no way in Natiscle (Natiscle is the equivalent of hell in this world.) that you’re going to marry that worthless wrench of a man. “Oh, like Natiscle I will marry that man! I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on Ilasatra!” You exclaim loudly, the servants in the room startled by your behavior. The Emperor is amused by your response, he chuckles and feels himself growing fonder of you with each word that escapes your mouth.

     “Oh, Baiyases, (Baiyas is the equivalent of heaven in this world, so Baiyases is the equivalent of heavens.) now dear, you shouldn’t overreact. He really isn’t all that bad, if you ignore his faults and he won’t be any trouble if you smack him around a bit.” The Emperor does not like the Duke, at all, and neither do you. But you could never smack Duke Hartfeld around, he’s so weak and it’s not like he’s a criminal. “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.” She responds causing him to rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Oh, please [Y/N], you’ve dealt with far more reputable enemies than that old Duke.” You cringe when he mentions your past, as a general you’ve had to take down many people and you hate being reminded of that. Also, the Duke Isn’t that old, he’s actually younger than you. Which might explain his promiscuity, they say, that is the noble women say, that young man are very adventurous, and often have trouble committing to a relationship. 

     You sigh, a frown etching its way onto your face. You look away from the Emperor, which causes you to miss his frown, and then think about his offer. You don’t want to marry that wretched Duke, but the Emperor says he can send you home and you really do want to go home. You sigh again and massage your temple. “Okay, I’ll do it, but you have to promise you’ll send me home right after. I don’t want to stay with him any longer than necessary.” You fold your hands together and tug at your gloves. The Emperor smiles once he hears you accept his request and he can’t help but hug you again. “Oh, thank you so much, my dear! All I need you to do is whip him into shape and then you can leave, okay?” 

      You nod, then wriggle your way out of his hold. This time the Emperor doesn’t frown, he seems happy to have heard you agree to his favor. “How long do I have to be married to him?” You ask, causing him to tilt his head and pretend to think. “Oh, perhaps two or three years. That’s not too long, is it?” You groan, just a week around that Duke is too much. You couldn’t fathom spending two years with him, let alone three. The Emperor chuckles upon seeing your disgusted face, he takes joy in knowing that you despise the Duke just as much as he does. “Is that alright, dear? Surely you could handle two, or three, years with the Duke? After all, you’re a very strong person, the Duke couldn’t be much worse than those on the battlefield, right?” 

     You frown again once the Emperor brings up your past, he sure likes to do that. You sigh, roll your eyes and cross your arms. “I can’t do two years, but I’ll do one year.” The Emperor tilts his head, amused and intrigued by your behavior. Not many nobles would have the gall to negotiate with the Emperor, that’s why your his favorite subject. “Hm, a year and half.” He says, which causes you to glare at him, then speak again. “No, one year and three months.” The Emperor exhales and his eyes narrow, he’s becoming irritated with your boldness. “A year and two weeks.” He responds, you consider his offer, then nod your head. “Fine, a year and two weeks, but no more.” He smiles, quite happy now that you’ve agreed with him. “Wonderful, oh, I can’t wait for the ceremony!” (Although, he would rather you marry him, but oh well, such is life) He claps his hands together and kisses your cheek, as a way to share his congratulations, but it just made you uncomfortable.

———————————————————————

Bonus Scenes:

You: “Do you really think me strong?” Not many nobles admire your strength, they believe you should fit into a certain mold, and it’s rather frustrating.

The Emperor: He places his hand son your shoulders, a flirtatious smirk on his face. “Why of course, darling! You are so very strong, the strongest person I’ve ever met..” He purrs, his hands trailing down your arms.

You: You puff out your chest upon hearing the Emperor compliment your strength. “Hmph, that’s right, I’m the strongest person around.” 

The Emperor: He chuckles, amused by your behavior. He thinks you’re absolutely adorable, he’ll do anything if it means having you next to him.

——————————————

(Hope you enjoyed this fan fiction, this one was a bit longer than most of my other written works. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment if you want more.)

(This is just part one, it focuses more on the Emperor than the Duke, but don’t worry the Duke will have his turn soon enough!)

(this took hours and days to make, mostly because I procrastinated, but at least it’s done. This is part one, part two will, hopefully, focus on the Duke.)