#and designed to make every moment more comfortable.
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ithink the really striking thing here is that like they got thinner but they didnt get that much thinner in a way that counts. like either way from the bottom laptop to the top laptop that is still taking up ur entire laptop compartment in your backpack or in ur super cool gay leather briefcase (okay thats just me) it is not like you would be carrying more stuff if u had the thinner vs the thicker one, the lighter vs the heavier one.
i have owned a thick laptop (thinkpad t440) and a thin laptop (t490s, framework laptop) and there was never a moment ever where i broguht my thin laptop but would not have brought my thick one. both come to class, both come to coffee shops, both come on trains and planes, both sit unused in my backpack for way too long while i use my actual main pc lol. so like what was the point of the technological advancement that lead to this thinness? why not keep this thickness and improve everything else about it? like imagine the battery life and performance you could cram into a thick one with modern tech and you could give it such a big radiator that it wouldnt even need fans for 90 percent of everything. but instead of making the product better we spent most of our energy into making it thinner.
idk it just really showcases how useless this all was, how it was to sell thinner n thinner machines with no real purpose. like my mom hates windows machines in general and needs too many specific apps to use linux, but the issue is that new macbooks have a sharp edge on the keyboard, which cuts and scratches her arms and wrists as she uses it, and so she has to have a thicker machine that is actually designed well. why did we go this route? every year thinner after thinner after thinner and its like. what was the point? the framework laptop or a thinkpad are really the only reasonable laptop options if u want to h ave anything you can repair instead of throw away that is also comfortable to use and not some janky diy contraption. i have to go out of my way to find a phone with a headphone jack and like all th e options are years old or wayyy too expensive unnecessarily powerful 'enthusiast' phones who have like dedicated communities of old white men discussing exactly one product. and all the while we have these advancements and its like? for what? why do we need the thing to be 5% thinner and 5% lighter and 20% worse. its just such a blatant attempt to upsell year over year and while i think ppl are finally catching on (more due to wage stagnation than any like. shift in understanding.) it took way too long for it. at the same time we are lacking variety,. like all the goofy old laptop designs with some degree of 'charm' are gone. so its like. what are we left with? a bunch of same-y increasingly thin and sharp metal slabs with low travel keyboards for laptops n fragile glass sandwiches for phones with n+1 cameras compared to last year but less and less features?
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focusonkayjay · 24 hours ago
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Wildly Wealthy Koreans (1); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, potential smut
Word Count: 6.6k+
Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.
Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!
Chapter Warnings: nothing major for now, lmk if i should add anything.
A/N: okay so after much thought, I decided to write this fic because Crazy Rich Asians is, without a doubt, my ultimate comfort movie. I literally rewatch it every chance I get because there's just something about the vibes, the story, and the characters that I can never move on from. That’s exactly why I wanted to create my own little version of it, with Jungkook as the main character. let me know your thoughts and tell me if this is worth continuing. also should i make a taglist for this?
part 1
Jungkook sits in the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his water glass. The soft hum of classical music mingles with the low chatter of the people around, but none of it distracts him from the bubbling anticipation inside as he waits for you.
It’s been four months since the two of you had officially started dating, and though you guys had been cautious about defining what you meant to each other, these past months have solidified everything for him. You aren’t just someone he likes... you’re someone who makes his world brighter in ways he never thought possible.
New York has been his home for years now, but it didn’t always feel that way. When he abruptly moved here with his mom during high school, he reluctantly traded the familiar streets of Busan and the ocean breeze he grew up with for the city that never sleeps.
The move was sudden, jarring even, but over time, he adjusted. The city shaped him, sharpening his edges and teaching him resilience. Now, he’s built a life here, chasing his passion for storytelling as a photographer and documentary filmmaker, capturing untold stories that deserve to be heard.
Life was peaceful... steady, even. And then you walked in and turned everything upside down, in a good way.
He met you almost a year ago, purely by chance. He was documenting behind-the-scenes moments at a charity gala, a commission he almost didn’t take, when you appeared, orchestrating the chaos of models, designs, and flashing cameras like the professional powerhouse you are.
You were magnetic, the kind of person who commanded attention without even trying. Jungkook watched from behind his lens, capturing candid moments until one of your colleagues introduced him to you.
“Ah, so you’re the genius behind the lens.” you teased, offering a hand. “I’m Y/N, the one responsible for the clothes you’re immortalizing.”
Your confidence threw him off guard, but what stayed with him was your laugh... so soft and so genuine, the kind that lingers in his mind long after the event ends.
What followed after was a series of serendipitous run-ins—an art exhibit here, a mutual friend’s dinner there. Each meeting peeled back another layer of who you are, until he realized he was utterly captivated.
Now, as he waits for you to arrive tonight, Jungkook can’t help but think of how far the two of you have come. A lot can change in a year, he thinks. His lips tug into a small smile at the thought of your teasing voice, your quick wit, the way you light up every room you enter. You’ve become the best part of his life, and for the first time in years, he feels genuinely happy.
The sound of heels clicking against the polished floor pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks up, and there you are. You wear a soft pink dress that hugs your form perfectly, your hair framing your face in a way that makes his heart skip. When your eyes meet his, you smile instantly, and Jungkook feels his pulse quicken.
“Sorry I’m late.” you say as you reach the table, placing your bag on the chair as you watch him pull out the chair for you. “I got caught up at work.” you say, taking a seat.
“No need to apologize.” he says warmly, going back to his side of the table. “You’re here now and you look... incredible.”
You roll your eyes playfully, though your cheeks betray you with a faint flush. “Says the guy who looks like he just walked out of a GQ spread.” you giggle.
“Only because I knew I’d be sitting across from you.” he shoots back with a grin. You laugh, shaking your head as you push a strand of hair behind your ear. “Flirt.”
The conversation flows as effortlessly as always, a mix of updates about your respective work lives and lighthearted banter. You tell him about the chaos of coordinating last-minute changes for an upcoming fashion week, while he shares stories from his recent project, a documentary highlighting immigrant artists in the city.
But midway through dinner, he notices a shift in your demeanor. Your laughter softens, and you begin fiddling with the edge of your napkin, a subtle sign of nerves he’s come to recognize.
Jungkook leans forward slightly, resting his hand gently over yours. “You okay?” he asks, his tone soft but laced with concern. You glance up at him, hesitating for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
His brow furrows slightly, but his touch remains steady, reassuring. “I’m all ears.”
You take a deep breath, your gaze flicking between him and the table as you speak. “So, um... in three weeks, my brother is getting married. The wedding’s in Daegu, my hometown and my whole family's planning.. all these... these events leading up to it, and...” You pause, mustering the courage to meet his eyes. “and I’d really like you to come... with me.”
Jungkook blinks, momentarily caught off guard. You’ve rarely spoken about your family during your time together. All he knows is that you have an older brother whose name is Kim Taehyung, and that your work keeps you far from home. You’ve always been reserved when it comes to personal matters, and he never pushed, understanding that some things take time to share.
“You want me to meet your family?” he asks, his voice careful but touched with wonder.
You nod, your fingers curling slightly under his. “I know it’s a big step, but... you’re important to me, Jungkook. I want you to know them and I want them to know you... and i just.... I just want you to be there.”
His heart swells at your words, a warmth spreading through his chest that he hasn’t felt in years. He squeezes your hand gently, a soft smile curving his lips. “Of course I’ll go.” he says, his voice steady and full of certainty. “Thank you for asking me. This means a lot, Y/N.”
You exhale, relief washing over your features as your lips tug into a smile. “You have no idea how nervous I was to bring it up.”
“Well, you don’t have to be nervous about anything when it comes to me.” he says, his tone teasing but sincere. “Though... should I be nervous about meeting your family? Any tips I need to survive?”
You laugh, the tension melting away as his words reassure you. “Just be yourself. They’ll love you... I hope.”
“They’d be crazy not to.” he grins, his confidence laced with a playful charm.
As the conversation moves forward, Jungkook can’t shake the weight of what you’ve just shared. This isn’t just an invitation... it’s a glimpse into the part of your world you’ve kept hidden. And he knows, without a doubt, that he wants to be part of it.
//
The three weeks seem to blur together for Jungkook, filled with excitement, planning, and the growing anticipation of returning to Korea. Now, he’s standing just outside the bustling airport, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, glancing at the crowd for any sign of you. He knows you’ll be here soon with the tickets, and just the thought of seeing you has a smile tugging at his lips.
It’s been years since he last visited Korea, and the idea of going back stirs up a mix of emotions... nostalgia, eagerness, and a tinge of nervousness. But it isn’t just your family he’s excited to meet... he can’t stop thinking about reuniting with Yoongi, an old friend from his university days.
Jungkook remembers how they first met. Yoongi, fresh from Daegu, adapting to the fast pace of New York, with a wit and humor that made their friendship click instantly. They spent countless nights bonding over shared meals and dreams, but after Yoongi finished his studies and returned to Korea, they lost touch. Now, the opportunity to see him again feels like a bonus to this trip.
When Jungkook had mentioned that he'd be visiting Daegu for a short trip to Yoongi during a rare phone call, Yoongi had insisted, “You better visit me for lunch or dinner the second you land, Jeon. I’ll be waiting.” It had been less of an invitation and more of a command and a promise Jungkook fully intends to keep.
His thoughts are interrupted when he spots you approaching with your suitcase. Your face lights up the moment your eyes meet, and Jungkook feels his heart lift as he strides forward to greet you. He pulls you into a hug, planting a soft kiss on your lips, his familiar warmth seeping into you.
“You ready for this?” you ask, your grin contagious. “With you? Always.” he affirms easily, grabbing your suitcase to lighten your load as the two of you head towards security.
After passing through the usual chaos of airport checks, you finally board the plane. Jungkook trails closely behind, his eyes scanning the rows of economy seats, prepared to settle in for the long flight. But you keep walking, breezing past one row after another, heading towards the front of the plane.
“Y/N...” he calls softly, a frown of confusion crossing his features. “I think we passed our seats.” You barely glance back, simply motioning for him to follow with a playful wave of your hand. “Just trust me, Kook.”
Jungkook’s confusion only grows as you step into the business class section. His steps slow as he takes in his surroundings... the stark difference from the cramped seats in economy hits him instantly. Business class looks like another world.
The seats are spacious, arranged in private compartments with high partitions for privacy. The lighting is soft and ambient, with a warm golden glow that feels more like a cozy lounge than an airplane cabin. Flight attendants move quietly through the aisles, offering passengers drinks and handing out fancy pajama sets.
Jungkook’s jaw drops as he watches you casually slide into one of the luxurious seats, making yourself comfortable. He hurries forward, his voice incredulous. “Y/N, this is business class... Our seats aren’t here!”
You look up at him with a calm smile, gesturing to the seat beside yours. “They gave me an upgrade.” you say simply, patting the spot for him to sit. His eyes narrow in confusion as he sets down his bag. “Upgrade? Can we even afford this?” he asks, using his hands to gesture towards the private compartment.
You laugh lightly, already reclining your seat with the touch of a button. “Relax, Kook. My family has some business ties with the airline. It’s just a little perk.” (Nick Young coded girlfriend)
“A little perk?” he repeats, his voice full of disbelief as he finally sits down. He presses a button on the armrest, watching in awe as the seat reclines into a flatbed. “Y/N, this isn’t a perk... this is a dream. Look at this place! It’s like a five-star hotel in the air.”
You grin, watching his childlike amazement as he fiddles with every feature. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to economy class now...that feels like a distant nightmare.”
A flight attendant approaches with a tray of pre-departure champagne, offering the glasses with a polite smile. Jungkook accepts one hesitantly, holding it up like it might break. “Champagne? On a plane? This is insane.” he continues.
You can't help but giggle at his cuteness as you casually take a sip from your glass as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
As the plane prepares for takeoff, Jungkook leans back in his seat, still marveling at the luxurious surroundings. He sneaks another glance at you, the contentment on your face making his heart swell. This trip is already shaping up to be unforgettable, and it hasn’t even truly started yet.
//
Jungkook feels the weight of your pout pressed against his chest as you stand in his arms, his hands gently brushing through your hair in a comforting motion. He can’t help but smile softly, though he feels the tiniest tug at his heart seeing you so disappointed.
He knew this lunch with Yoongi was important, and he knew you understood... at least, logically. But seeing the way you looked at him, that little furrow between your brows, made him feel a little guilty. “It’s just lunch, baby.” he says, his voice soothing, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek.
“I promised him, and he never takes no for an answer.” He chuckles softly, but his smile fades when he feels the reluctance in your grip on him.
You knew he had plans with Yoongi the moment you touched down in Daegu. You had known this from the start, had heard about the lunch plan in passing, but that didn’t make the feeling any easier to shake.
The thought of him going off without you, to catch up with an old friend while you drove home alone, kind of made you sad. You were fully aware of the importance of this lunch, but that didn’t stop the tiny selfish part of you from wishing he’d be with you, just for a little while longer.
“I know...” you murmur, your voice betraying the tiny bit of sulk in your tone, but you try to let it go. You weren’t going to hold him back. "Fine." you finally say, pulling back to meet his gaze.
And the way he looks at you affectionately makes you feel like you’ve won some small victory. “But...” you add with a little smile. “I expect you to be at my place at 7. You know my grandma’s having that traditional tea ceremony thing and I promised her I was bringing someone special home.”
His eyes light up at your words, the thought of joining you for something so important and so personal. “Of course.” he replies without hesitation, his voice earnest. “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
You smile softly, knowing he means it. And yet, despite his assurances, you can’t shake the lingering feeling of missing him. Just a little. Before you can dwell on it too much, you hear a voice break through the moment.
“Ms. Kim.”
You turn, blinking a little in surprise as your driver steps forward, his presence bringing a sudden rush of formality to the otherwise intimate moment. “The car is here.” he states matter-of-factly, and you know that this is your cue to part ways.
You sigh softly, reluctantly loosening your hold around Jungkook’s waist, but not without giving him one last lingering look. Your lips curl in a pout, but you try to hide it behind the gentle smile you offer him.
“Okay then
” you start, your voice trailing off as you look at him, uncertainty settling in your chest. “I’ll see you soon?” The question hangs in the air, like a promise and a plea all at once.
Jungkook watches you for a moment, that familiar ache in his chest growing stronger as he sees the hint of vulnerability in your eyes. But then his lips curl upward, soft but sincere. “Of course, baby. I’ll be there. I love you.” His words are steady, and his eyes hold something deeper than just affection... something unwavering.
You nod quickly, feeling a mix of relief and longing. “I love you too.” you whisper back before turning away, following your driver towards the airport's exit.
Jungkook watches you walk away, his heart heavy in his chest, the pang of guilt creeping up again. He promises himself to make it up to you later. Now, he just needed to get through lunch with Yoongi.
But as soon as the sound of your footsteps fades and you disappear from his sight, his phone buzzes in his pocket. The familiar name on the screen catches his attention, and he answers without a second thought. “Hey, Mom.”
Her voice crackles through the line, warm but concerned. “Hello Jungkook-ah, I just wanted to check in. You landed safely?” she asks.
Jungkook listens to his mom’s voice on the other end of the line, the familiar warmth making him smile despite the anxiousness he feels about what’s ahead. He’s about to step into a world that’s so different from New York, where he’s spent most of his adult life. But now, back in Korea, things feel unfamiliar in a way that both excites and intimidates him.
“Yes, Ma... I landed a while ago.” he answers, feeling a small wave of relief hearing her voice. “That’s good, honey... How’s Y/N?” she asks with that gentle concern she always has for the people he cares about.
“She’s good. She just left though, and I’m waiting for Yoongi to come pick me up.” he replies, smiling softly as he instantly thinks of you. “How does it feel to be back in Korea?” he hears his mom question, her tone soft but curious.
He smiles, leaning against the nearest pillar with his luggage beside him as he waits for Yoongi. “So far, so good, but I’m still at the airport, so I can’t say much.” he jokes. His mom lets out a quiet laugh, the sound comforting.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she switches to a more serious tone. “Remember what I told you, Kook... Stay put there. You know how it is in Korea... with the elders and the... the people. It’s very different from here, so please take care with what you say and how you say it.”
It’s a reminder he’s heard before, but hearing it again feels heavier now that he’s here, about to meet your family and step into a culture that’s rooted in tradition and respect, something that’s been passed down for generations.
Jungkook’s smile falters for a moment as he nods, even though she can’t see him. He knows exactly what she means. He’s always been more carefree, more western in his ways of expressing himself, and in Korea, especially when it comes to elders, there’s a deep respect for hierarchy and custom that’s different from what he’s generally used to.
“I know, Ma. I’ll keep everything in mind.” he assures her, his voice more serious now. “You’re not a kid anymore, Kook, but just... be mindful, okay? Don’t let them misunderstand your intentions. I just want you to be careful.” Her voice softens with motherly concern, and Jungkook feels his heart warm.
“I will. I promise.” he replies, knowing that this trip, meeting your family... it’s more important than ever to prove to them that he’s not just another guy in the city.... he’s not just your boyfriend. He wants to show them how serious he is about you and the future you guys could have together.
He glances around at the busy terminal, the buzz of passengers and the distant announcements. It all feels so different from New York. So... foreign. But he’ll make it through. He’s used to adapting. And this, he tells himself, is just the beginning.
“Alright, Kook... you take care, yeah?” she says. Jungkook hums. "I will. Bye, Ma." he replies back and soon, the call ends.
Just as Jungkook tucks his phone back into his pocket, he hears a deafening roar that cuts through the murmur of the airport. The unmistakable sound of an engine revving... loud, aggressive, and powerful, draws his attention immediately.
His head snaps to the right, eyes scanning the street. His gaze locks onto a sleek purple Lamborghini, its engine purring with a force that vibrates the ground beneath him as it races towards him.
Jungkook’s brows furrow, an instinctive suspicion flickering across his face as the car approaches. He’s not sure why, but something feels
 off, or rather, intriguing. The car comes to an abrupt halt right in front of him, the tires squealing as they grip the asphalt. Jungkook freezes, blinking in disbelief.
The tinted window slowly rolls down, and for a moment, everything seems to move in slow motion. When the driver’s face comes into view, Jungkook’s heart skips a beat. “Yoongi?!” he exclaims, his voice tinged with utter shock and disbelief.
Yoongi grins, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ain’t no way...” Jungkook mutters under his breath, still processing the surreal sight of Yoongi sitting behind the wheel of a car that looks like it belongs to someone straight out of a high-stakes action movie. Yoongi chuckles, clearly amused by Jungkook’s reaction.
“What’s good, my man? Meet my baby.” Yoongi says with a sly smirk, his fingers casually tracing the contours of the steering wheel like this car was just an everyday ride for him.
Jungkook’s mouth hangs open in awe. He can’t remember the last time he was this speechless. The purple Lamborghini gleams under the streetlights, its polished surface reflecting the neon glow of the airport. Jungkook’s eyes follow every curve, every sharp angle, as if seeing it in person is somehow more unreal than he could have ever imagined.
Yoongi, clearly unfazed by the wide-eyed look Jungkook is giving him, steps out of the car with an effortless swagger. He’s dressed in an oversized, silk button-up shirt that drapes over his frame in a relaxed way.
The half-sleeves of the shirt billow out just above his elbows, adding a laid-back yet refined touch to his look. Paired with the shirt are matching shorts that reach just below his knees, the material soft and flowy, almost weightless.
Around his neck, a thick silver chain glints in the sunlight, its boldness standing out against the simplicity of his outfit, giving him an air of casual but undeniable wealth.
Without a word, he grabs Jungkook’s luggage from the ground and begins loading it into the trunk of his car.
Jungkook snaps out of his daze and watches him, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Get in, dude." Yoongi laughs with a nudge to Jungkook’s shoulder, his tone light, almost playful, as he walks back around to the driver’s side.
Jungkook slides into the plush passenger seat, still feeling like he’s stepped into another world. The interior of the Lamborghini is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. As his eyes roam around, Jungkook can’t help but feel like he’s in a dream.
Every inch of the car screams excess, sophistication, and unspoken wealth. The steering wheel is trimmed in carbon fiber, the gearshift feels solid in Yoongi’s hand, and everything seems perfectly engineered, like it was crafted for the few who could afford such a ride.
Yoongi starts the engine with a smooth hum, and Jungkook jerks his head towards him, still shocked. "You never told me you had a Lamborghini." he says, his voice betraying his disbelief.
Yoongi just laughs, his eyes glancing briefly at Jungkook before focusing back on the road. "Well, that's because I didn’t have this back in university." he shrugs nonchalantly, a casual smirk playing on his lips. The car pulls smoothly out of the airport, its engine growling like a beast waking up.
Jungkook stares at him, still processing everything. "But wow, dude? You hit the lottery or something? This car is insane." he breathes out. Yoongi chuckles again but doesn’t answer, as if the question doesn’t deserve a response.
The city of Daegu blurs by outside the tinted windows, the sun reflecting off the glass as they drive deeper into the heart of the city. Jungkook can feel the rhythm of the drive, the perfect balance between speed and luxury, as the Lamborghini effortlessly weaves through traffic, its engine purring in a low, contented hum.
The sound of the tires on the road and the occasional rumble of the car’s exhaust fill the silence between them as they talk. Their conversation drifts to more casual topics... catching up on life after university, their mutual friends, and everything in between. Jungkook listens intently, but something about the ride and everything else, still has him on edge.
Then, suddenly, the city streets begin to change. The hustle and bustle of downtown Daegu fades away, replaced by quiet, tree-lined roads and grand, gated estates. Jungkook furrows his brows in confusion. The mansions are larger than anything he’s ever seen.
Multi-story buildings with sprawling lawns, perfectly manicured gardens, and tall gates that exude old money. The kind of money that felt untouchable, like a world he’d never thought he’d be a part of.
Yoongi slows the car as they approach a massive set of gates, gleaming with metal and ornate designs. They pause for a moment, and Jungkook watches as the gates swing open effortlessly, granting them access to enter.
Jungkook’s eyes widen even more as they drive in, the long, curved driveway leading them deeper into the estate. The mansion that comes into view is nothing short of breathtaking. It’s grand and set against the backdrop of lush trees, with a modern yet classic architectural style.
The house gleams under the afternoon sunlight, its windows large and open, letting the soft glow of interior lights spill out into the day. As they pass by, Jungkook can’t help but notice the impressive collection of cars parked near the house, each one more expensive than the last.
There’s a black Rolls-Royce Phantom, a gleaming Ferrari 488, a silver Porsche 911 Turbo, and a sleek Aston Martin DB11, all parked in perfect alignment, as if they belong to the same elite circle. The cars shine brightly in the afternoon sun, their polished surfaces reflecting the elegance of the estate.
Jungkook’s mouth hangs open, his mind racing to catch up with the reality unfolding around him. He’s never seen anything like this in his life. "What is this
 What is this place?" he breathes out, his voice almost reverent, like he’s stumbled into a world that doesn’t seem real.
Yoongi’s smirk is still there, a knowing glint in his eyes as he pulls the car to a stop, right in front of the grand entrance of the beautiful mansion. He looks over at Jungkook, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. "Welcome to my crib, Kook." he says.
Jungkook's mouth open, words just stuck in the middle of his throat. His mind is still processing everything, the scene outside seeming like a surreal dream. This is all too much to take in.
Yoongi was RICH rich and he didn't have a single clue about it. As they step out of the car, Jungkook notices a man approaching swiftly towards them and by the looks of his attire, it's clear that he's a guard.
Without missing a beat, Yoongi tosses his car keys at him, and the man catches them with practiced ease. "He'll grab your luggage in a bit." Yoongi says casually, already heading towards the mansion's entrance. Jungkook, still processing whatever the hell this is, follows him like a lost child, unable to do anything but take in the overwhelming sight that surrounds him.
The moment they step inside the house, Jungkook's eyes widen, but before he can even begin to appreciate the stunningly opulent interiors like marble floors or the high ceilings or the glistening chandeliers, a shrill voice cuts through the air. "Yoon, you're hereeee!"
Jungkook’s brow furrows as he watches a woman, probably in her 50s, stand right in front of them. She’s dressed in a chic, over-the-top outfit... a silk floral blouse with exaggerated puffed sleeves, tailored trousers, and a lavish pearl necklace that gleams with the faintest hint of arrogance.
Her perfectly styled hair is in a tight updo, and in her arms, she cradles a fluffy kitten, which she’s stroking affectionately, completely oblivious to Jungkook's stunned expression.
Yoongi barely reacts, his face giving away nothing as he responds, "Yes, mom." with a tone that suggests this is nothing out of the ordinary. Without hesitation, he gestures towards Jungkook, who’s still very much amused. “This is Jungkook, a friend from New York.” he introduces calmly.
She steps closer to Jungkook, her eyes widening as she takes in his appearance. "Such a handsome face." she says with a bright smile, fluttering her lashes dramatically. Jungkook feels his ears turn red, but tries to mask it with a polite smile.
"Come, come, why are you still standing by the door?" she continues in a sing-song voice, already turning towards the grand dining hall. "Lunch is just about to be served."
Without waiting for a response, she leads them through the sprawling corridor, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Jungkook follows, still processing the luxury surrounding him.
As they enter the enormous dining room, the sheer size of the table takes his breath away. It looks like something straight out of a royal palace, with intricately carved wood and sparkling silverware laid out meticulously. Seated around the table are five people, two men, a woman, and two little girls. The air feels heavy with formality and expectation.
Yoongi, noticing Jungkook's distracted gaze, gestures towards each person with casual confidence. "That's my dad." he says, pointing to the middle-aged man sitting at the center of the table who gives Jungkook a bright smile, as he nods acknowledging his presence.
"That's my brother, Geumjae." Yoongi continues, nodding towards the younger man seated to the left. Geumjae has the same sharp features as Yoongi, and he cheerfully waves at Jungkook. "Yooo." he says.
Next, Yoongi points at a woman sitting beside him. "That's his wife, Chaeri." he adds, the warmth in his voice making it clear they have a close bond. "And those are his daughters, Minji and Yuna," he finishes, gesturing to the two little girls sitting next to each other as they giggle shyly to themselves.
Jungkook nods politely at everyone, his nerves creeping in as he takes in the situation. Yoongi's family seems very welcoming, but he's still extremely nervous. He’s not used to this kind of environment, and it shows, but he quickly remembers his manners. He straightens up and gives a right-angled bow, a gesture of respect that his mother taught him for situations like this.
"Hello, I’m Jungkook." he says, his voice steady but laced with a slight hint of uncertainty. He smiles warmly at them, hoping his attempt at a formal greeting isn’t too awkward.
Jungkook feels a shift in the atmosphere as Yoongi's father lets out a hearty laugh. "Yahh, no need to be so formal." he chuckles, waving a hand dismissively.
"Come, take a seat before the food gets cold." His voice is warm and inviting, making Jungkook relax a little. Geumjae, his brother, nods in agreement. Jungkook looks at Yoongi, unsure, but Yoongi simply gives him a small shrug and gestures for him to sit.
They both take their seats, followed by Yoongi’s mother, who settles herself gracefully at the table. Jungkook glances around, noticing the opulence of the setting... the gleaming china plates, the glistening silver cutlery, the rich aroma of the food filling the air. He feels a bit out of place but tries to steady himself, taking in the high-end cuisine laid out before him.
Once everyone is served, Jungkook’s mind races for a moment as he looks at the elaborate dishes in front of him. He’s unsure where to begin, not used to this kind of extravagant meal. It’s all so foreign to him, but before he can pick up his chopsticks, Yoongi’s father breaks the silence.
"So, what brings you here, Jungkook?" he asks, his deep voice cutting through the air with curiosity. Jungkook swallows his nerves before answering.
"Oh, I’m... I’m here with my girlfriend for her brother’s wedding," he replies politely, hoping his words don’t come out too awkwardly.
"Wedding, huh?" Yoongi chimes in from beside him, raising an eyebrow. Jungkook simply nods in acknowledgment, hoping the conversation will shift.
"So this is your girlfriend’s hometown?" Geumjae asks, his voice calm but probing.
"Yes." Jungkook confirms with a small smile, relieved to stick with the easy part of the conversation. "But damn, dude, when did you get a girlfriend? The last time I remembered, you were afraid to even approach girls in university." Yoongi teases, a smirk on his lips.
Jungkook freezes for a moment, feeling a flush of discomfort rise in his chest. The comment feels casual, but the atmosphere around him is so formal that it catches him off guard. He glances around the table, noticing that everyone is relaxed and waiting for him to answer, as if this were a normal part of their dinner conversation. He takes a breath and tries to steady himself.
"Well... I wasn’t really afraid to approach them." he says, carefully choosing his words. "I just had other things to focus on." He offers a half smile, hoping to deflect the attention.
Yoongi chuckles, clearly amused, but doesn’t push any further. "What did you say her name was again?" he asks, his tone light.
"Oh... it’s Y/n," Jungkook replies, a smile creeping onto his face as he thinks about you. Just saying your name makes him feel warm inside, and he can’t help but let a soft grin escape.
"Y/n?" Yoongi’s mother repeats, her brows furrowing slightly, as though the name is familiar but somehow surprising. Jungkook tilts his head, not fully understanding the change in her tone.
He nods, confirming with a small smile. "Yes, Kim Y/n. That’s her name."
The sudden shift in the room is palpable. Yoongi’s mother’s eyes widen, and her voice grows louder, almost demanding. "You mean... Kim Y/n?" she repeats, her tone now sharp, causing everyone at the table to freeze. The clinking of silverware stops as if time itself has paused.
Jungkook blinks in confusion. He can feel the weight of their collective gaze on him, a tension that wasn’t there before. "Yes, Kim Y/n. That’s her name." he says, his voice firmer this time, trying to keep his composure. He doesn’t understand why your name is causing such a stir, but he can sense something is off.
"Dude... the Y/n you’re dating is... Kim Y/n?" Yoongi’s voice is incredulous, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He leans back in his chair, almost scoffing in disbelief.
Jungkook’s confusion deepens. He looks at Yoongi, eyebrows furrowed. "Uh... yeah? You know her or something?" he asks, still trying to piece together the odd shift in the conversation.
Geumjae chuckles, clearly intrigued. "Who doesn't?" he replies. Jungkook furrows his brows, still lost. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asks, his voice laced with perplexity.
Before anyone can respond, Yoongi’s mother’s face lights up with a sudden realization. "Wait, wait, wait, so the wedding you're here for... it's... it's Taehyung's, isn’t it? It’s Kim Taehyung’s wedding!" She beams, her expression a mix of surprise and excitement, as if the revelation is the most obvious thing in the world.
Jungkook’s mind races. He’s still trying to connect the dots, but the sheer shock on Yoongi’s mother’s face throws him off balance and he wonders how she knows that information. "How... How do you know that?" he asks, still trying to process everything.
Before anyone can answer, Yoongi shifts in his seat, leaning slightly towards Jungkook, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Dude... do you have any idea.... who your girlfriend is?" Yoongi asks, the question hanging in the air like a bombshell.
Jungkook’s mouth opens and closes, not understanding the gravity of the situation. His mind struggles to keep up, but he can't seem to make sense of the turn this conversation has taken. "What?" he asks, still confused. "Why... why are you asking me that?"
Yoongi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as if he’s just realized something monumental. "Dude... do you know who 'The Kims' are?? You're dating someone from 'The Kims'. That is literally insane." he states, his voice filled with disbelief.
He looks at Jungkook, half-amused, half-shocked, but when he still notices the utter confusion on his friend's face, his expression softens slightly. Yoongi leans in and places both hands on Jungkook's shoulders, trying to help him process the information.
"Dude, 'The Kims' are one of the most influential families in all of Daegu. Hell, in all of Korea." Yoongi’s voice is filled with a mixture of awe as he continues.
"They own so many companies, it’s insane. From massive real estate ventures, luxury hotels, tech firms, and even a few major pharmaceutical companies, they’re basically untouchable. Every major industry you can think of, 'The Kims' have their fingers in it." He leans back again, his hands still on Jungkook's shoulders, clearly enjoying his friend's stunned reaction.
"And Y/n? She’s a part of that family. I don’t even think you understand how big of a deal that is."
Jungkook’s mind is spinning. He sits there, his thoughts racing, but the words don't seem to connect. All he can do is stare at Yoongi, trying to make sense of everything that’s being said.
His head is still reeling from the idea that the woman he’s been seeing... someone he’s grown to care for so deeply... belongs to such a powerful family. He had never imagined that you, with your down-to-earth nature, would be connected to such wealth and influence.
Yoongi, noticing Jungkook’s silence, smirks before continuing, clearly reveling in the shock he’s causing. "If you were shocked just looking at the estate I live in, wait until you see the kind of place Y/n lives in."
His voice lowers slightly, his tone growing more serious, almost as if he’s sharing a secret. "Her family’s mansion? It’s like something out of a movie. It’s not like any place you’ve ever seen before. We're talking private security, a sprawling garden, a real private estate. It's on a whole other level."
Jungkook feels his stomach tighten as he tries to digest what Yoongi’s saying. He can’t even fathom how he didn’t know this before, how he had no clue that something about your life was so different from anything he had known.
The thought of you being part of this world, a world so far removed from his own, leaves him just sitting there, not knowing what to do with this newfound information.
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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 2 days ago
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OKAY. HEAR ME OUT.
Justis (Dave’s son) bringing reader home bc they’re together, but Dave thinks she’s hella cute and reader too whatever. And then they end up fucking in like a bathroom or somethingđŸ˜»
A/n: I'm feeling Christmassy, hope that's not a problem
Warnings: Smut, cheating, age gap, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!
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University was hard, you tried to get out when you could but you were always focused on your schoolwork.
Your friends brought you out a few times to bars or whatever but you were more comfortable being the designated driver. Oddly enough it was when you were studying in the library that you met Justis.
You had a class together and he confessed he always caught himself looking at you and wanting to talk to you but just couldn't bring himself to do it until then.
You kept talking with him, he was nice and always brought you snacks when he knew you'd be studying. It was good and you knew, worst comes to worst, University is for experimenting, which you'd be doing a lot of once you met his dad you just didn't know it at the time.
It was Christmas time, the perfect time to meet his family, his dad and sister at least, and you were excited, sure, but as soon as that door opened and you were met with Dave it was like breathing for the first time.
He was different, the way he smiled at you, that look in his eyes as he looked you up and down, taking in your appearance.
You had to remind yourself over and over you were here with your boyfriend, Justis, but your eyes kept going back to Dave, always meeting his.
The plan was to stay a week but you felt like you should make up an excuse to leave earlier, not that you wanted to but you saw the way Dave was looking at you, saw the hunger in his eyes.
It was Christmas Eve and you couldn't sleep, couldn't even bring yourself to close your eyes while Justis was out beside you, arm loosely wrapped around your torso.
Someone was moving around downstairs, you knew it was Electra because you would have heard her walking down the hall, it had to be Dave.
You couldn't take it anymore and decided to just go talk to him, it was innocent enough.
You managed to get out of bed without disturbing Justis and made it downstairs to find Dave wrapping a few presents and tucking them under the tree, as you got closer you saw they were marked 'From: Santa'. Neither Justis nor Electra believed in Santa anymore, obviously, but he still liked keeping that there.
He panicked a moment when he finally noticed you but calmed down when he saw it was you. "Jesus, you scared me." He said with a gruff chuckle.
"Sorry." You said, smiling back at him. You moved to sit next to him on the floor, looking over the pile of gifts under the tree.
"I got you some too, don't worry." He said, tucking the present he'd just tagged under the tree, setting it on a bigger one.
"Really?" You asked, tilting your head to him. "I didn't think you would." You said, looking back to the colourful wall of wrapping paper. "I-I didn't get you anything." You admitted, biting your bottom lip as you looked back at him.
He shook his head and placed his hand on your thigh, over your fuzzy Christmas pyjama pants. "You got me enough, sweetheart." He looked straight into your eyes as he said it, his own carrying a much darker gleam in them. He brought his hand back and picked up another gift while you sat and thought about what he really meant.
You sat with him for a while longer, watching his hands as they flipped and folded the paper. You handed him the tape as he worked, it was weird if you didn't help at all so you did the bare minimum, the smile he gave you when you handed him a piece made it worth it every time.
As time bore on you felt yourself finally getting tired, gradually moving closer to Dave until you were fully leaning against him.
He helped you up once you were done and walked with you to the stairs, your room was up them while his was down the hall, still he followed you up the stairs.
He heard someone moving in your room before you did and he pulled you into the bathroom across the hall. He flicked the light on and smashed his lips onto yours, a kiss you immediately reciprocated.
Justis stepped out of the room and saw the lights on in the bathroom, assuming you'd just gone in there and would be out soon he turned and went back to bed, all while his dad was tugging on your clothes.
Your fuzzy pants slid down your legs and he saw you'd gone commando. "Really, sweetheart?"
"Just for you." You gleamed, pulling him back into a kiss.
He lifted you up and set you down on the counter, standing between your legs and pushing his own pants and boxers down, just enough for his dick to spring free.
Your breathing was heavy, as was his. Your cheeks were flushed, your forehead pressed against his as he pushed into you, causing you to moan before he could slap his hand over your mouth.
"I knew it was you the other night." He said with a chuckled. It's true, you'd been thinking about Dave all day and couldn't get him off your mind after you crawled into bed. "Thinking of me, weren't you?"
You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Not my fault when you look at me like that." You said, feeling yourself fluttering around him, eager for him to move. "He almost looks like you, anyway."
Dave snorted at that. "Doesn't feel the same, huh?" He asked, voice low, almost a growl. You shook your head, Dave was bigger in pretty much every way. Girthy and veiny and he smelled divine, you just kept aching for more. "That's what I thought." He mused, kissing you again as he started moving his hips, thrusts quickly picking up pace.
He was eager to please you, but it had been a while since he'd been with someone, he could already feel himself getting close.
He brought a hand to your clit, the sudden friction made you gasp into the kiss. He knew the second he pulled away you'd be moaning out his name like a worship song, he wanted to hear it but he couldn't risk waking up his kids, especially not with one of them dating you.
You mumbled something into the kiss, he didn't quite catch it but didn't think he'd have to. Then you pulled away. "Dave! I-I'm close, fuck!" You called. He rushed to get a hand over your mouth but you just pushed it away. The room filled with your moans, Dave gave up on silencing you and focused on how good you felt around him.
His arms wrapped around you as you came, he followed shortly after, letting himself spill into you.
It wasn't until then that he realized the banging he heard wasn't the two of you.
"What the fuck?!" Justis yelled from the other side of the door.
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tronform · 1 month ago
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Something new for you ;) Feel the luxury in every detail. Whether you're relaxing after a long day or adding a touch of elegance to your space, the Dreaming with TRONFORM Premium Pillow is the perfect addition to your home. Soft, stylish, and designed to make every moment more comfortable.
Tap the link to bring luxury into your life: https://www.tronform.co/products/dreaming-with-tronform-tronform-logo-premium-pillow
#TRONFORM #HomeDecor #LuxuryLiving #ComfortGoals #ExploreTheDifference #foryou #foryoupage #InteriorDesign #ShopLuxury
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spotaus · 1 month ago
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Hi guys, this is usually what a doodle page ends up looking like <3 (oh, and @ancha-aus thought you might like this! Not writing but certainly fuel to my fire lol-)
This one is New Age filled!!! (Close-ups abd Lore beneath the cut!)
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1) Night and Cross!
Night is actually very clingy once he's a teen. He doesn't usually realize it, but around the castle he'll snake to be closer to his Knights so long as there's no one he needs to keep his composure infront of is nearby. Cross is the one who's not used to physical touch (when it's not Ink ofc) so Night in his personal bubble makes his heart melt but also scares tf out of him <3
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2) Error and Night's Meeting!
Error was carrying his whole life on his back and trying not to get arrested for unintentional property damage at this point, so when he saw the chance to get back at his brother and prove he was strong enough? Yeah, he got that on chance instantly. And was VERY smug when Nightmare chose him. (Also, Error is wearing gloves, so less Haphephobia)
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3) Dream and Blue designs!
I think these are good tentative designs! Dream probably has a more regal fit, but he likes to play up that rugged exile look- He's inspired by Archers, while Blue takes on that classic Knightly-vibe. Their equipment is mostly stolen from Night's troops or brought with them from Blue's home kingdom.
Also, Dream is approx Killer's height at this point, shorter than Cross and *much* shorter than Apple!Nightmare. (Hc that Skeletons tend to be tinier in stature thanks to weird monster beauty standards. Horror and Geno's fam are outliers.)
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4) Horror and Dust designs!
Horror is naturally a very *large* monster. He's very malnourished when Nightmare meets him, but by the time he's a Knight Nightmare has made sure that's no longer the case. He actually loves comfy, simple clothes, but to play up the whole 'strong mysterious' bit he wears a more barbaric Knight's garb. He doesn't mind acting scary, it's more fun that way :]. Dust is very very small, and envies horror sometimes for his size, but his tiny stature let's him control his body and move a lot quicker. He's very much based on a rogue, and usually covers the lower part of his face w/ a black cloth, and the upper part w/ his hood or mask. Dust only removes both to bathe, eat, or relax in a safe location. (Ignore that I can't draw the stupid gaster blaster lmao-)
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These last two were space-fillers, but Cross and his Borzoi (Windmill, otherwise known as Milly (Killer named her-)) and really bad first wips of Ccino! I think Ccino was a chubby, happy toddler, but lost a lot of 'weight' (bone mass? Magic?) due to stress and pressure and bad eating habits. So it isn't until a while after the Coronation that he starts to relax abd feel safe enough to eat normal meals (Nightmare used to guilt him into eating snacks together, but as his boss (and younger brother) he can encourage it more often). By the time Killer shows he's still not quite healthy, but he's better. As more weight is lifted off his shoulders, the better he is. (That 'beauty' most people saw was a more stereotypical slimness, but Killer never stopped seeing Ccino as beautiful-) I think he never looked traditionally underweight, so no one noticed, and it was only much later that Night processed it. (And maybe it's why Dream hardly recognized him later on-)
#new age au#I love showing mundane life things-#and also these designs beamed into my brain#I can't draw Ccino for anything but the others? yeag#Blue is definitely my fave. and just like every au I will draw Blue perfect the first time and draw Dust 6 billion times 😔#Horror is kinda banger too tho#makes me laugh to imagine Horror picking up Dust mid-fight out of convenience and Dust weighs nothing to him#(also this size difference is exactly why Dust and Horror fight in the non-magic training. and why Horror accidentally obliterated his#shoulder later on lmao- Dust needs to be able to dodge any enemy. Horror needs to aim for small and quick targets.)#(Meanwhile Cross is the newest and Killer the oldest and if Cross adapts to Killer then he'll adapt to the others more easily.)#oh! and Ccino w/ his arc? I think I really like the idea of a Ccino with a plump body-type. but that conflicts with my vidion of Ccino kinda#losing track of eating and being co-erced by adults to skip meals just enough to make him the 'right amount' of curvy#so when Nightmare takes over it's a habit he's so used to he hardly notices that he's doing it. but. Night picks up on it because Ccino is#almost akways with him. their relationship is very much Ccino giving his life to help Night#but it's also Night recognizing that and giving it back to Ccino along with more the moment he can#just smth smth this au is full of fit and exercized people and I think Ccino deserves some comfort and healing and positivity <3#also I am SO fond of Nightmare getting up in people's bubbles. he does it most to Killer and Ccino for obvious reasons but#god forbid a noble be talking behind his back because he *will* twist around and shove under his knight's arms or sides just to#read them the riot act or stare them down <3#and I think when he was an adult Night was... kinda like the big brother? like. not an experienced one by any means. but he wasn't *not*#affectionate then either. he was better at being serious about it and more discreet. but like#Nervous Cross escorting him in public? Night nudges his shoulder briefly with a Tendril to try and comfort him. Dust having a magic overload#? personal Training against just Night so there was no risk of harming anyone else. then snacks and tea after.#Horror is homesick? Woah look at that a scheduled trip back to visit with Crop and side-track back to Horror's village? huh?? wild...#Killer upset at all? Night will find a solution. just you wait. a cat. two cats. perhaps even a cat in a little sweater? or y'know. just a#chat or a combat?#Nightmare showed his affections but was just more distant about it.#Oh also. all four were used to tendrils lifting/tugging them subconsciously. usually during trainings to avoid them hurting eachother by#mistake in their early days. Killer misses it sometimes
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givemefevrr · 3 months ago
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Ni-ki Between Your Thighs
Pairings: Nishimura!Riki x fem!reader
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Ni-ki would insist on being between your thighs at any chance he can get. He'd lay between them while playing games on his phone, or watching a movie, just so he could feel your warmth and the gentle press of your legs around him.
‷ You look down to see Ni-ki's messy hair and warm, brown eyes looking up at you with nothing but adoration.
Ni-ki would make sure to get extra cozy, napping between your thighs and waking up every now and then to sleepily bite at the skin of your inner thighs, then drift back to sleep.
‷ You can feel the way he nuzzles against your skin, planting soft kisses on your inner thighs. His lips are warm and sweet, and you can’t help but giggle at the way he playfully bites at your skin, leaving little marks that only you will see. 
Ni-ki's favorite thing to do to you while cuddling is probably kissing your thighs, marking them up, biting them. He just thinks you are so perfect, and he can’t help himself. And he knows what it does to you too– he’s a tease. He loves to make you feel the same way he feels for you. 
‷ His hands grip gently onto your hips as he presses soft kisses onto your inner thighs, causing you to shiver with pleasure. He takes his time exploring every inch of your skin, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles that make your breath hitch.
‷ As he continues to tease and tantalize you, you can't help but run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to you. He responds by pressing even more kisses onto your thighs, making you squirm.
Ni-ki would watch movies with you, his head resting on your lap, and his body settled comfortably between your thighs. Every so often, he'd let out a sigh of contentment, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.
‷ He leans into your skin as he murmurs little compliments that make your heart flutter. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his breath hot against your thigh, causing a soft gasp to escape your lips.
Ni-ki would draw little flower shapes on your skin using his fingers, tracing intricate patterns and designs, knowing how much you love it when he does that.
‷ “Just hold still for a moment,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, as he pulls back slightly to study you. His fingers trace delicate patterns on your thighs, drawing tiny flower shapes, almost as if he’s painting a garden on your skin. You can’t help but smile at his cute concentration, the way his brow furrows slightly with determination.
“See? Aren’t they pretty?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.
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Here u go, my Niki-post-hungry pookies teehee 😋
Also don't steal that pic, it took me a bajillion hours to draw đŸ„Č
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gilbertscurls · 3 months ago
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Into it ➔ Matt Sturniolo
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warnings: dry humping, soft!dom!reader, pet names (sweetheart, honey, my sweet boy)
synopsis: Matt is struggling with a persistent headache from hours of staring at his computer screen. Meanwhile, you find yourself unexpectedly captivated by how different—and attractive—Matt looks with his glasses on.
there's 400 of you already!! love you guys <3
Matt rubbed his temples as the dull ache behind his eyes intensified, the glow of the computer screen doing nothing to help. He’d been staring at it for hours, the spreadsheet blurring before him. Finally, with a sigh, he reached into his backpack and pulled out his blue light glasses.
“Man, I hate these things,” he muttered under his breath, sliding them on.
The glasses framed his face differently, the sleek black design making him look more focused, sharper. He blinked a few times, his headache already starting to ease, and went back to his work, not noticing the way you had suddenly gone very quiet.
You sat across from him, tapping at your laptop with a rhythm that had slowly died the moment Matt had put those glasses on. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard now, completely still, as you stole another glance his way.
He looked
 Good. Really good.
You’d never paid much attention to Matt's glasses before, but for some reason, today was different. Maybe it was the way the lenses caught the light, making his blue eyes stand out, or how they seemed to give him this air of intelligence and quiet confidence. Whatever it was, you couldn’t stop staring.
“Baby?” Matt's voice cut through your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been caught.
“Huh?” you replied, your voice just a bit too high.
“I asked if you could double-check these numbers. You okay?” His brow furrowed in concern, but his gaze was calm behind those lenses.
“Oh! Yeah, totally.” You cleared your throat, tearing your eyes away from him and focusing on the screen. Your cheeks warmed, and you prayed he couldn’t see the blush creeping up your neck.
But as you tried to concentrate, you kept stealing glances, biting your lip as the thought kept circling in your head—How is it possible for someone to look so good in glasses?
“I, um
 I think everything checks out,” you said, looking up at him with a small smile.
Matt reached out and took your hand, gently pulling you into his lap. He wanted to feel you close to him, to wrap his arms around you and hold you tight.
He leaned in and nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling your scent and placing a soft kiss on your skin. His hands continued to rove over your legs and sides, moving in slow, soothing motions. His lips continued to move against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin as he inhaled your scent. The feeling of you in his lap, your weight on him, was so comforting and satisfying. You felt so light and delicate, and he was overcome with a protective feeling towards you.
Matt could feel you relaxing more and more into him, your body melting into his like you were made to fit together. He moved his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. He could feel your soft curves pressing against him, and he couldn't help but feel a stirring of desire in his core.
He continued to nuzzle his face against your neck, his lips leaving feather-light kisses along your skin. His hands moved up your sides, gently tracing your shape and memorizing every contour of your body.
“How's your head, my sweet boy?” you asked softly.
He smiled at your endearment, feeling warmth spread through his chest. He loved when you called him your sweet boy, it always made him feel cared for and loved.
“My head is doing alright, honey,” he said, his voice soft. “I feel better with you in my arms.”
You giggled. “Glad to hear it.”
He chuckled at your giggle, feeling his heart skip a beat at the sound of your laughter. He pulled back so he could look you in the eyes, his hands still gently holding your sides.
“I don't think any medication could have worked as well as you,” he said, his tone teasing. “I should probably just make you my personal headache cure from now on.”
You looked at him with amusement before reaching up. He smiled as you fixed his glasses, your touch gentle and caring. He loved it when you did little things like that, it made him feel loved and cared for in such a simple way.
“You know, I wasn't sure about wearing these,” he said, gesturing to his glasses. “But seeing how much you seem to like them, I might have to wear them more often.”
“They make me feel
 Some type of way,” you admitted sheepishly.
His smile widened as you admitted that his glasses made you feel a certain way. He was intrigued by the idea that something as simple as glasses could have an effect on you.
“Oh, really?” he teased. “And what kind of way do they make you feel, honey? Don't be shy now.”
“The 'I wanna jump you' kind of way.”
He let out a low, surprised moan when you said that, his body reacting in an instant. The thought of you being so turned on by something as simple as his glasses stirred something deep inside him.
“Is that so?” he asked, his voice a bit rougher than before. “And here I was thinking that these glasses made me look stupid.”
You laughed at his statement before shaking your head. “On the contrary,” you said, your eyes raking over him. “You look incredibly smart, and incredibly sexy in those glasses.”
You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you continued in a low, sultry voice. “You look like a goddamn sex God sitting there with your legs spread, wearing your glasses and all. It's doing things to me, you have no idea.”
He felt a shiver run down his spine as your lips brushed against his ear and you whispered your words in that sultry tone. He felt a rush of desire and arousal at your words, and he felt himself harden even more in his pants.
“God, honey,” he groaned. “You can't say things like that to me when I'm already this worked up.”
You giggled playfully at his response, clearly enjoying the effect you were having on him. Your tongue poked out to wet your lips as you looked down at his lap, noticing the obvious bulge in his pants.
“Oh, I can tell,” you teased, your tone sultry. “I can see you're already hard. Does it turn you on that I think your glasses are sexy?”
He swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. He was painfully hard in his pants, and your words were making him even more turned on. The combination of your sultry tone and the way you were looking at him was driving him wild.
“Yes,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “Yes, it does. The thought of you wanting me like this, just because of a pair of glasses, is making me insane.”
You smirked, clearly pleased with his response. You leaned in closer, your lips right next to his ear.
“You have no idea, my sweet boy,” you murmured. “You have no idea how badly I want you right now, how much your glasses turn me on. I'm practically dripping at the thought of having you, all worked up and wearing your glasses.”
His body trembled at your words, his breath catching in his chest. Your words were like gasoline on an already raging fire, stoking the flames of his desire. The thought of you being so turned on by him, just because of his glasses, was driving him wild.
“Oh God,” he groaned, his voice strained. “Please...don't tease me like that, honey. I can't take much more of this.”
He felt you straddle him, your legs on each side of his hips. He instinctively reached to hold your hips, feeling the heat radiating off of you and the way your body pressed against his. You were sitting on his lap, and the feeling was driving him crazy.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he breathed, his voice tight. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Maybe I am,” you teased, your voice sultry. “Maybe I'm just trying to drive you insane.”
You began to roll your hips against his, grinding against him and feeling his hardness even through the layers of clothing. You smiled as you watched his face contort with pleasure at your movements.
“You feel so good,” you purred, your hands running up and down his chest. “And you look even better with those glasses on.”
He let out a low moan as you rolled your hips against him, the friction of your body rubbing against his sending waves of pleasure through his body. Feeling your wetness through your pants, grinding against him, was driving him crazy.
“God, honey,” he gasped, his voice strained. “You're going to kill me if you keep doing that.”
“And what a way to die,” you teased, your tongue poking out to wet your lips as you continued grinding against him. “You're hard and throbbing under me, and all because I like your glasses. How does it feel, my sweet boy?”
He felt his body responding to your movements, his hips instinctively bucking up to meet your grinding. He was so hard, it was almost painful, and the thought that you were enjoying this so much just because of his glasses was driving him wild.
“It feels amazing,” he groaned. “You have no idea how good you feel against me. I never knew my glasses could have this effect on you.”
“There's something about a smart, hot man wearing glasses that just does it for me,” you admitted, your voice dripping with desire. “You look so intelligent, so focused, and it's such a turn-on. And when you look at me over the rim of your glasses, it makes me want to devour you.”
He let out a guttural moan at your words, his grip on your hips tightening as he felt his desire for your grow even more. He loved seeing you so turned on and wanting him, and the thought that his glasses were part of the reason was incredible.
“You're killing me, honey,” he groaned. “You're so goddamn hot right now, and you know it. I don't know how much more I can take.”
You ground against him even harder, your movements becoming more insistent and desperate. You could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted you, and it only added to your own desire and need for him.
“Maybe I want to drive you over the edge,” you whispered, your voice sultry. “Maybe I want to see how much you can take before you break.”
“God, you're going to make me lose my mind,” he panted, his voice tight with desire. “If you keep talking and moving like that, I'm not going to be able to hold back much longer.”
You smiled, satisfied with his response. You could tell that he was close, that he was struggling to keep his control.
“Is that right?” you teased. “Are you going to give in to me, my sweet boy? Are you going to let go and let me take care of you?”
“God, yes,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. “God, yes, I want you so badly. I need you to take care of me, honey. Just please, for the love of God, don't torture me any longer.”
You giggled at his desperation, loving the power you held over him at this moment. You could tell that he was close to breaking point, and you loved the effect you had on him.
“I love when you're so desperate for me like this,” you whispered, your mouth right next to his ear. “It's so hot to know that I have this much control over you.”
He shivered at your words, his body responding to your voice and your closeness. He felt like he was on the edge, ready to fall over any second. He was completely at your mercy, and he loved it.
“Please, honey,” he panted, his voice strained. “Please, I need you. I need you so badly. Don't make me wait any longer.”
You grinned, relishing in his pleading and desperation. You loved having him like this, so desperate and needy for you.
“Okay, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “I'll give you what you want. Just let go, and let me take care of you.”
His breath caught in his chest as you rocked against him, his grip on your hips tightening even more. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his body tensing up and his mind going blank from the pleasure.
“Oh God,” he gasped, his voice strained. “Oh God, honey, you're going to make me lose it. I'm so close, so close
”
You loved how desperate and on the edge he was, and you loved that you was the one doing this to him. You kept up your movements, riding him harder and faster, determined to push him over the edge. “Let go, my sweet boy,” you whispered, your mouth right next to his ear again. “Just let go, and give in to me. I want to see you lose control, just for me.”
Your words were the last straw, and he felt himself teetering on the edge.
“Oh God, honey, I'm- I'm-”
He couldn't finish his sentence, but you knew what was about to happen. His body tensed up even more, his breathing ragged and quick as he felt himself starting to let go, to give in to the pleasure that was overwhelming him.
You smiled as you felt his body tense up, knowing that he was about to lose control. You leaned in, your mouth right next to his ear, and whispered:
“That's it, my sweet boy. Let go for me. Let go and give in to me. I've got you, my good boy.”
He felt you press yourself even closer to him, your body moving frantically against his in a desperate search for your own release. He held onto you tighter, his hands gripping your hips as if his life depended on it.
“Oh God, honey,” he groaned. “You're so close, aren't you? You're so close, and it's because of me.”
You nodded, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.
“Yes, it's you, my sweet boy,” you panted. “It's all because of you. You're driving me wild, you're making me so hot, and it's all because of you, my smart, sexy man.”
His breathing was ragged and shallow as he felt you press your forehead against his, the frames of his glasses digging into your skin. But he was too far gone in the moment to care.
“You're so beautiful,” he mumbled, his voice strained. “So beautiful, and so hot, and I'm so close to losing it. I'm so close
 So close
”
“I know,” you panted. “I can tell, my sweet boy. You're so close, but you're holding back. You're trying to be such a good boy for me, aren't you?”
He let out a low, guttural moan, his body tensing up even more as he felt himself getting even closer to the edge.
“I'm trying,” he groaned, his voice tight. “Oh God, I'm trying so hard. I don't want to lose it yet, I want to make you feel good first.”
You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him even in this heated moment. You loved how much he was trying to make sure you were feeling good, how much he wanted to be a good boy for you.
“You're doing so good, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your mouth right next to his ear again. “You're doing so good, holding back for me. But it's okay, you can let go, my good boy. I want you to lose control, just for me.”
His body was trembling with the effort of holding back, but your words were starting to break him down.
“Oh God, honey,” he panted. “I don't know how much longer I can hold on. I'm so close, so close
 Oh God, you feel so good, you look so hot, and I want to come for you so bad.”
You could tell that he was getting close to breaking point, that he was struggling to hold on any longer. But you loved seeing him like this, so desperate and needy for you.
“Then let go, my sweet boy,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry. “Just let go, and come for me. Let me see how good it feels to you, to lose control for me. You're my good boy, aren't you? My sweet, good boy?”
He let out a low, guttural moan as your words sent shivers down his spine. He was holding on by a thread, but your voice and your body against him were making it almost impossible to hang on any longer.
“Oh God, baby,” he panted, his voice strained. “I'm so close, I'm so close
 Oh God, I can't hold on much longer. I want to come for you, I want to lose control for you, my sweet girl. I'm your good boy, I'm your good boy.”
He felt your breaths hitch as you teetered on the edge, and it only made him all the more desperate to make you feel good. He bucked up against you, trying to give you the friction he knew you needed.
“I want you to feel good, baby,” he panted, his voice strained. “I want you to come for me, my sweet girl. I want to see you lose control, just like I'm about to lose control for you. You're so beautiful, so hot, and you're all mine.”
You lost yourself in the sensations as he bucked up against you, and the combination of his body and his words was all you needed to push you over the edge.
“Oh God,” you gasped, your voice shaky. “Oh God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming
 Oh God, my sweet boy, my good boy, my love, my everything
 I'm coming
”
He felt you go over the edge, your words and your body sending him flying off the edge with you. His body contracted against yours, his grip on your hips tight as he rode out his release with you.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God
 Oh God, you're so beautiful, you're so hot, you feel so good
”
You shivered through your release, your body trembling against his as you rode out your orgasm with him. When you finally came down, you collapsed against him, your forehead still pressed against his.
“That was
” you breathed, your voice rough and ragged. “Amazing.”
He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close against him as he tried to catch his breath. His body was still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he was having a hard time finding the words to express how amazing it had been.
“Yeah,” he panted, his voice low. “Yeah, it was
 It was unlike anything I've ever felt before.”
He felt you giggle softly, and he realized that he could feel the wetness seeping through his pajamas. He felt a mixture of embarrassment and amusement, and he couldn't help but laugh a little as well.
“Yeah, I guess we made a bit of a mess, didn't we?” he said, his voice laced with amusement.
You pulled back a little and looked down between them, seeing the wet spot on his pajamas. You couldn't help but giggle again, a mischievous expression on your face.
“Looks like we did,” you said, your voice teasing. “Sorry about that, my sweet boy.”
He grinned, feeling a mix of amusement and affection at your teasing tone.
“Oh, don't apologize, honey,” he said, his voice playful. “I think I kinda like it, actually.”
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tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06
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ahqkas · 10 days ago
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♯ THE TASTE OF HEAVEN . . . sugar daddy ! batboys x fem ! reader
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BRUCE WAYNE
bruce wayne doesn’t need to flaunt his wealth because he is the wealth. he doesn’t call himself your sugar daddy—it’s just implied in every action, every gift, and every moment he spends with you. whether it’s a sleek black card handed to you with no spending limit or a private plane waiting to take you to an exotic destination, bruce makes luxury feel effortless
you can forget off-the-rack anything. bruce ensures you have custom clothing, jewelry, and even furniture. he’ll casually remark, “i had the designer make a few changes for you,” as though commissioning bespoke items for you is just another tuesday
his gifts are never tacky or gaudy—this man has impeccable taste, and everything he gives you reflects that. think diamond necklaces that catch the light just right, limited-edition handbags, or handwritten invitations to exclusive events where you’re his arm candy
you’re the arm candy !!! bruce’s automatic date to every high-profile gala, charity ball, and exclusive event. he wouldn’t even think of bringing anyone else. he makes it clear you’re not just an accessory, you’re the highlight of his night
you have a tab at nearly every high-end establishment in gotham. whether you’re shopping for couture or just stopping by your favorite cafĂ©, bruce ensures you’re treated like royalty. everyone knows exactly who’s footing the bill
bruce isn’t the type to throw money at you just because—he always wants to make sure it’s something meaningful or useful to you. if you mention wanting to start a business or learn a new skill, he’ll quietly arrange everything you need, from connections to resources
while his gifts are extravagant, his affection shows in quieter ways too. when you’re stressed, he whisks you away for a weekend spa retreat. if you’re cold, he’ll drape his expensive coat over your shoulders without hesitation. every gesture, big or small, is about making your life as comfortable as possible
people know bruce is your sugar daddy, but they’re far too intimidated to say anything. the whispered assumptions only make him smirk. he doesn’t care what anyone thinks—if anything, he enjoys the power it gives him to make it abundantly clear that you’re his
despite the sugar daddy thing between you, bruce’s affection runs far deeper. he doesn’t just give you gifts—he gives you his time, his attention, and his unwavering loyalty. the material luxuries are just an extension of the way he sees you: as someone deserving of nothing but the best
he’ll sometimes joke about the arrangement with a mischievous smile. “you’re lucky i’m rich,” he’ll say, handing you keys to a new car or sliding over a box containing some ridiculously rare jewelry. but his tone is warm, his teasing more affectionate than condescending
DICK GRAYSON
unlike bruce, dick doesn’t shy away from the term “sugar daddy.” in fact, he might jokingly call himself that from time to time, especially when handing you an absurdly expensive gift
( dick ‘what’s the point of having all this money if i can’t spoil my girl?’ grayson )
while he spoils you endlessly, he does it in a way that feels personal and heartfelt. every gift, trip, or gesture reflects how well he knows you. if you casually mention a dream vacation destination or a favorite designer, you can bet it’ll show up in your life sooner rather than later
he is the kind of sugar daddy who makes spoiling you fun. he’ll turn shopping trips into mini-games, daring you to try on the most extravagant pieces in the store just so he can gush over how amazing you look. “if you don’t let me buy that dress, i’ll be personally offended,” he’d tease, but you know he’s serious
dick loves being seen with you. whether it’s walking hand in hand down the streets of blĂŒdhaven or pulling up to a gala with you in tow, he thrives on showing the world just how proud he is to have you by his side. and yes, he does things like carrying your shopping bags with zero shame, flashing that charming grin at anyone who stares
doesn’t wait for a special occasion to surprise you. whether it’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a new gadget you’ve been eyeing, or tickets to a concert you love, he’s constantly finding ways to brighten your day
with dick, every vacation feels like a scene from a romance movie. he books private villas, sunset yacht rides, and five-star experiences, all while making it feel like the most casual, natural thing in the world. “i just thought we could use a break,” he’d say, as if flying you out to the maldives was as simple as grabbing coffee
he’s always finding ways to make you laugh, even about the relationship itself. if someone gives you a side-eye for carrying a designer purse, he’ll lean over and whisper, “they’re just jealous, babe. can you blame them?” his lighthearted attitude makes the relationship feel easy and natural
with his good looks and high-profile status, the press is obsessed with you two. headlines like “blĂŒdhaven’s golden boy and his stunning girlfriend” are a constant, but dick takes it in stride, often laughing at the exaggerations
“you deserve the world,” he’d say, his blue eyes sparkling. “let me give it to you.”
JASON TODD
jason didn’t immediately step into the role of “sugar daddy.” in fact, he hesitated because he didn’t want his wealth to define your relationship. but as time passed and he saw how much joy he could bring you by easing your stress, he leaned into it—but only his way
for jason, being your sugar daddy isn’t about flashy displays or media attention—it’s about making sure you’re secure and comfortable in a way no one else could provide. he loves knowing you don’t have to worry about rent, bills, or any other mundane stressors. “if i can fix it, i’m going to,” he says simply, brushing off your thanks like it’s no big deal
he might not shower you with gifts constantly, but when he does, it’s jaw-dropping: a rare first-edition book he remembered you mentioned once, a custom leather jacket, or even a dream vacation to a quiet, secluded spot where you can both relax away from the chaos of gotham
jason is practical when it comes to what he provides. he’ll upgrade your phone, stock your fridge with your favorite snacks, and even surprise you with a car when he notices yours struggling. “i’m not about to let you drive around in that death trap,” he grumbles as he tosses you the keys
and while he’s not the type to parade you through expensive stores, jason shows his affection in quieter, more personal ways. he might take you on a motorcycle ride to a hidden gotham rooftop, where he surprises you with your favorite takeout and a designer bag “he happened to pick up”
despite his tough exterior, he has a serious soft spot for you. if you so much as hint at wanting something, he’s already making plans to get it. he’ll pretend it’s no big deal, but his little smirk always gives him away
jason sometimes pretends to be annoyed by how much he spoils you, but it’s all in good fun. “you’re turning me into one of those rich guys,” he’ll grumble, handing you a sleek gift box. but the way his lips twitch into a smile when you beam at him says otherwise
you’ll come home to find an envelope with tickets to your favorite band’s concert or a designer coat hanging in your closet because he noticed the weather getting colder. “what? you think i didn’t notice you shivering last week?”
he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else stepping in to provide for you. if someone so much as jokes about taking you out or buying you a drink, he’s quick to step in, slinging an arm around your shoulders and shooting them a glare. “she’s taken. move along.”
he makes sure you feel safe, cared for, and endlessly spoiled in his own rough-edged, loving way <3
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anantaru · 5 months ago
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— his love language
including. diluc, wriothesley, kazuha, neuvillette, ayato, scaramouche, kaeya, childe
genre. fluff & crack, gn! reader
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at a regular pace, diluc opens up to you and with such, he reveals that to him actions spoke louder than words, mainly when it came to your loving relationship. the master of the dawn winery wasn't one of sensual speech, in fact, sometimes he was simply at loss of words— hence why showing you instead was all the more easy. it begins in his eyes, how they're always focused on your frame and immediately pick up on when you feel fatigued, the weary expression on your face worrying him the moment you step inside. voicelessly, diluc guides you to your shared bedroom before telling you to relax— afterwards he'll pamper you, boundlessly, do whatever you need him to do even if it consisted of multiple tasks. easy to say, he will still check up on you, be there for you and most importantly, always anticipate your needs, never failing to provide support without hesitation.
everyone knows that words hold the power to uplift and reassure people and their souls, in addition to building bridges between two individuals and so did wriothesley find this to be the most wonderful gift on this planet. he speaks through heartfelt compliments he'd never let you pass on, encouraging affirmations whenever you had a bad day or an artful expression of his emotions through his phrases. within the lively city of fontaine, the man will watch you with earnest eyes and swollen cheeks, "you're so pretty, so beautiful," he was silly, right? making you flustered in front of everyone, yet his words flow like poetry, forcing you to melt as he expressed admiration for your person— a verbal drapery woven with sincerity and love.
since you have been in a relationship for quite a long time, you were aware of kazuha and himself being an adventurer at heart, never failing to perceive solace and joy in the quiet moments shared with you. it doesn't matter where you are, but when he invites you on a journey, you know it's going to end up becoming one of your most dearest memories. in the quietness of the night, kazuha's presence was a calming force and to him, love was found in the gift of uninterrupted time spent together, immersed in meaningful conversations and shared experiences, tender kisses and subtle touches. the connection you had was strong— everlasting, the presence and the beauty within embracing each passing moment.
neuvillette held a lot of personal knowledge which he accumulated throughout the trajectory of his life, although when it came to the relationship aspect of things, he was rather inexperienced. when you two started dating he picked up the habit of expressing himself through physical touch— not necessarily in a sexual way, but in the reassuring kind which brought forth tenderness and closeness, whether it was a hand on your shoulder or a comforting embrace after a long day. the iudex was fluent in intimacy, connection, and the sacred power of making you feel loved in the simplicity of his touch. without wasting time, he always has one arm around you or loved holding your hand as you settle down on his lap, perhaps even offering to massage your shoulders with his soothing touch.
granted, from an outside perspective seeing ayato spoil you with artificial goods might come across as insincere, yet people do not realize that every single gift had a special meaning attached to it. the yashiro commissioner always took it serious, going through the carefully selected goods as he prepared a custom order, securing the gift with a personal meaning and significance. expressing his love for you through gifts and handmade material shone of thoughtfulness and well, there was one necklace that might be your all time favorite. it was when he surprised you with it on your anniversary— and as you inspected it much closer, you admired the complexly designed metal with symbols of his love and the harmony in your relationship— it's utterly beautiful, you tell him as he helped you put the necklace on, the little diamonds attached to it reflecting a deep appreciation and desire to convey his feelings to you.
opening up was hard for scaramouche, yet he realized that if he wanted this relationship with you to be harmonic, he needed to learn and work on it. the moment you feel him open up to you, you couldn't be happier, truly— not only was it a clear sign of effort on his part, but also the willingness to share a hidden piece of himself. despite his rather aloof demeanor, he possessed a subtle way of showing you his trust, in fact, he always needs you to show him that you accept his past no matter what. was it tiresome? not at all, despite some people believing that a relationship like that could become troubling in the future. yet they cannot fathom the deep link you both have and how it came to be. ah well, how beautiful when he holds you in his arms and kisses your forehead before starting to open up, your expression softening momentarily at the calm look in his eyes. it's right there, look close now, when you catch a rare glimpse of appreciation and a hint of vulnerability beneath his composed facade. he's in love, truly, and so are you.
a world without laughter, sounds scary, correct? kaeya believes that everything works more efficiently if you add a little comedy on the side. in your relationship, there was nothing he adored more that laughing together— because in a way, it felt like it strengthened your bond and eased the burdens in your life. spontaneity was another important aspect, you'll never know what the charismatic cavalry captain has in store for you next and you couldn't help but love that about him. really, he had a magical power for defusing tension with a well-timed joke or cheeky banter, finishing it off with messy kisses all over your face and demanding for you to give him a kiss back, in fact, as one might already guess, a world without laughter and without kisses might be straight hell in all of teyvat.
the eleventh harbinger's heart burnt for two different things— first of all it being you, his loved one which he would quite literally do anything for you to be happy, while the second being the thrill of adventure and the willingness to embrace spontaneity, face challenges head-on and earn boastful scars all over his body as a form of trophy. childe's enthusiasm was contagious to the point where the both of you would go on adventures together, or simply try out new things in order to feel a shared sense of adrenaline. freedom was everything in his life, but what mattered the most is for you to be safe— hence why he would never put you in any danger, instead he'd rather get in trouble himself so you could patch him up afterwards. childe knows it's not healthy to get himself hurt on purpose, but feeling you take care of him with your soft hands tracing all over his chest was making it worth it in his eyes.
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©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify
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supercutszns · 8 months ago
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twin beads | luke castellan
wc + pairing: 6.7k, luke x daughter of poseidon! reader
synopsis: you’ve been unclaimed for five years. you’ve loved your best friend even longer. the sea used to be your greatest solace, but after percy jackson comes to camp, it’s your cruelest reminder. (based on this ask!)
warnings: best friends to lovers <3, percy/reader sibling dynamic, fluff and angst then fluff again, hurt/comfort, shameless making out. sorry this one is so long but besties to lovers is my lifeblood!!! i get so attached!! designated song is true blue by boygenius:)
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i. you said you wanted to feel alive, so we went to the beach
“Ahoy, sailor!”
The familiar voice ricochets across the lake. You turn, leaving glimmers of sun behind you as you stare back at the docks of Camp Half-Blood. An orange blob with a curly mop of hair is beckoning you. You laugh, wave back at him, and plunge into the water. It cools your face after staying above the surface for so long—you just love watching the light reflected off the waves. But the second you’re under the water, the soreness in your muscles, the heat on your face, the exhaustion from treading for so long, are washed away from you. You swim with precision and vigor, relishing the feel of the river cupping your limbs to spur you forward. Not to sound lame, but you fucking love swimming. 
But maybe not as much as you love your best friend. 
He laughs when your head pops out of the water at the edge of the dock. “Wow, that took you longer than usual,” he teases, brown eyes glinting in the dawn. “You getting sloppy?”
You huff, splashing some water up at him but it barely touches him. “I’m tired, you moron. I’ve been out there for an hour.”
Luke leans down at the edge of the dock, offering you a hand. His face is bemused when you latch onto him, and with a good flex of his bicep he pulls you up. “All right, c’mon,” he grunts.
All your energy evaporates the second your body’s out of the water. You’re far too lazy to be graceful, so you sprawl out onto the dock like a dying fish, letting the sun kiss every inch of you. “Eww,” Luke giggles overtop you, prodding your side with the tip of his shoe. “Get up, you mermaid.” 
“Make me, you mailman.”
Your arm drapes over your eyes, and you sigh. There really is nothing better than these moments; droplets of water soaking into your skin after an early morning swim, your best friend right beside you. 
He keeps nudging you with your shoe, over and over until your ribs start to hurt. You groan, swatting him away and stretching out your limbs with a groan, letting them pop and relax, until you blearily make your way to your feet. 
“You forgot your towel again,” Luke condones, but like always, he’s brought one for you. 
He goes through a practiced routine of drying you off, wrapping the towel around your shoulders and down your arms, across your back, scrunching the water out of your hair. It doesn’t matter how cold the water gets—this part always makes you warm. 
“Thanks,” you smile as he hands the towel off to you. “Anything interesting happen this morning, O Captain, my captain?”
“Not yet, sailor, sir,” he replies in a stuffy, gruff voice the two of you have joked around with since you were kids. “Just grabbing you for breakfast.”
You giggle, following him past the docks and to the shore. Once you’ve grabbed all your stuff, you both fall in stride and head towards your cabin, your twin five-beaded necklaces hanging over your shirts. 
Five years ago, when you got to Camp for the first time, you were as big a loser as any. You were bad at everything—everything—and had no real friends until you accidentally whacked some other friendless loser in the head with an oar when you were about to go canoeing. Luke got mad at you, but his little sister Annabeth was even more furious. He offered to be your partner for the day anyway. You’ve been partners ever since. 
Over the years the two of you have grown in status at the camp, more so Luke than you. He’s an excellent cabin leader and by far the greatest swordsman in camp. You, still unclaimed, have found solace in giving younger campers swimming lessons and wading out there on your own till you get sunstroke. (It’s happened a few times. Luke is never pleased, but also refuses to let the Apollo campers take care of you. He nurses you back to health with ice cream and horrible gossip.)
But every night you return to the Hermes cabin with a hollowness in your chest. One bunk emptied, then immediately filled. You’ve had the same one for five years, and the only condolence is that it’s right next to Luke’s, and sometimes you spend hours at night making faces at each other till your laughter endangers other people’s sleep. 
Yes, you love the water at Camp Half-Blood, but you love Luke most. 
Rumours of a new kid are rustling at camp. You haven’t seen him, but you’re just dying to get in on the gossip. Apparently he slayed a minotaur. Apparently Annabeth has seen him. And apparently he’s unclaimed. You hate to admit it, but this is the most exciting news you’ve heard in weeks!
Your afternoon is spent giving some swimming lessons and taking some Demeter campers canoeing. (Some of them freak out on the water. so it’s a nice challenge to untangle the sea plants they get hooked around their boat.) It feels like you’ve been here forever. A break is in desperate demand right now. 
You have no idea what kind of God heard your prayers, but your fellow counsellor has an unimpressed look on her face when she taps you on the shoulder and goes, “Your friend’s calling you.” 
The way she says it is almost degrading. You turn to look back at the shore to see the dark curly hair you’d spot a mile away. Next to him is a much shorter orange blob, shuffling awkwardly as Luke attempts to flag you down. Score!
You shoot an apologetic look at her. “Uh 
 I’ll be right back.” You wince, already disposing of your baggy orange shirt (it’s Luke’s) with your bathing suit underneath. 
“No you won’t,” she says dryly. “Just go.”
You flash a smile you hope is loaded with charm, and you’re off into water. As you swim, the only thing on your mind is I really really hope that’s the new kid, and I wonder what Luke’s face looks like right now. (He’s probably grinning, eyes crinkled at the sides as he tries to follow your figure beneath the waves. Maybe he’s doing that cute thing where his head tilts to the side as he watches.) 
When you’re close enough to the shore, you come out of the water, wringing your hair. “Hey, guys!” It’s Luke, Chris, and some blonde kid you’re sure is the new one. “What’s up?”
Luke is about to say something, then he frowns. “Where’s my shirt?”
“Left it in the canoe, I’ll go back for it later,” you reply, limply gesturing behind you. 
“And where’s your towel?”  
“Okay, I did bring one this time!” You counter. “I just gave it to a little Ares kid ‘cause she forgot hers.” 
Luke clicks his tongue, shakes his head at you, but of course he’s got one in his hands so what’s the worry? He’s endearingly amused when you take the cloth and dry yourself off, and the new boy, having watched this all raptly, widens his eyes and drawls, “Ohhhh, so you’re his gi—”
“This is Camp’s resident mermaid, Percy.” Chris butts in, adding your name almost as an afterthought. 
After you fasten your towel around you, you’re put off by Percy’s scrutinizing stare. “Look, it’s been a pretty weird day so I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.” 
“I’m not a mermaid,” you snipe, throwing Chris a dirty look. “People just call me that because I give swimming lessons here.” You stick your hand out to the blonde boy. “Nice to meet you, Percy.” 
He gives a polite nod, a little awkward. “Right back at ya.” The two of you study each other as you shake. He’s young, probably about twelve, a smatter of freckles across his face. His eyes look like the lake. Something itches in the back of your brain. There’s a moment where the shake is suspended, neither of you have let go but are no longer actively holding on, and you see it in his face that he’s studying you, too. Huh.
The conversation continues as normal, but you almost start to feel queasy for a second. “We’re trying to find something Percy’s good at,” Luke says with a pat on Percy’s shoulder. “You got any ideas?”
“Yes, please, because I really would like to have a word with my father,” Percy clips. “Is Glory, like, purely a skill thing or can I get some if I tie someone else’s shoes or something?” 
“I don’t have shoes,” you add unhelpfully. 
“It’s okay, dude,” Luke squeezes Percy’s shoulder. “Camp is great, no matter where you end up.”
Even if you’re like her, he means without saying. Even if you don’t end up anywhere. 
You meet Luke’s eyes. This is a kid that wants so badly to meet his father, to ease the ache inside him. You are the absolute worst person for this. One of the longest current unclaimed streaks and your ache remains. To Percy, you’re the biggest example of a failure there is, and Luke is only just now realizing it. 
“Maybe try the infirmary?” You pipe, shuffling back and forth on the sand. “You might have a knack for medicine.”
“Doubt it,” Percy swallows. “But yeah, okay. Who’s your parent, again?”
Percy can’t see it, but Luke and Chris send you a shifty look and all you can do is widen your eyes to be like, Help! Don’t make me crush his dreams! I don’t want another kid to hate me! 
You swallow. No matter how fast you think, you cannot come to a logical sentence. “I, uh—”
Just then, in another stroke of luck (wow, that’s two more than usual) an Athena counsellor that looks insanely disgruntled is running towards you. “Stolls put spiders in our cabin again,” he heaves once at a stop. “Please get rid of them.”
“Can’t you just squash ‘em?” Percy asks. 
“Not the spiders, the twins.” 
Chris is already nodding, but Luke looks to you first. He’s anxious, disappointed. You wish you could smooth out the creases in his brow with your thumb. “Don’t worry,” you stretch out a smile. “I’ll chill with Percy. It won’t take you guys too long.”
He’s still hesitant. You’re not sure this is a good call either. But he reaches out, quickly squeezes your shoulder and mutters, “Thank you.” Your skin feels gooey when he touches it. 
His signature roguish smile returns as he looks back to Percy. The side of his face is shadowed by the sun so well it makes you jealous. “Don’t give her a hard time, eh?” He reprimands playfully. 
Percy smiles a little. “I’ll try not to.”
You are once again reminded just how easy it is to love Luke. How effortlessly he moves into your heart. It happened to you after you slapped him with an oar. It’s already happening to Percy.
You’re sure he won’t like you nearly half as much. 
After Luke and Chris leave, Percy resigns to staring out at the campers canoeing on the lake. Maybe now is a good time to admit you’re not good with kids. Luke has tried many times to make you his welcome partner, but you can’t take to the role nearly as well. You’re perpetually antsy. And sweaty. 
“So, what cabin are you a part of that lets you do this all day?” Percy asks, squinting against the sun. 
Your heart gets heavy. With a sigh, you sit yourself down, and Percy soon follows. “Hermes, actually,” you say as casually as you can. 
Percy goes pale as a sheet. “Uh, what?”
“I’m unclaimed,” you clarify. “I don’t 
 I don’t have a parent.”
There’s always a pitiful pause whenever a camper figures that out. This one is somehow 
 clunkier. “Oh,” Percy says. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense. For a second I thought—phew.” Then his eyes trail down to the thread hooked around your fingers, the five beads you run your thumb over. “How long have you been here?”
“Five long, blissful years,” you hum dryly. 
Water ripples over pebbles on the shore. Every new camper’s ambition is eroded by the truth you represent. Percy’s no different. His brows furrow and his face falls. “And you’ve never been claimed?” He asks, and you can feel the noxious mix of pity, confusion and despair laced beneath it. 
You shake your head, watching some Demeter kids splashing each other’s canoes with their oars. “Nope. But it’s not so bad. I like my cabin, you know? I like my life. Doesn’t really matter who your parents are anyway, I think. You do the same activities as everyone else, just on different teams.”
“But doesn’t it make you mad?”
“It used to,” you shrug, “But not anymore. It’s just 
” You sigh, rolling a bead against your thumb. “If I’m unclaimed, I’m unclaimed. That’s the way it is. You can’t force the Gods to do anything.” 
“That’s what Luke said,” Percy remarks, almost bitterly. 
“I’m a rare case though, Percy,” you half-lie to him, nudging him a bit with your shoulder. “You’ll get claimed. It’s your first day. And until then you’re kind of free to be whatever. You don’t have to fit into anything, which is kinda nice, and you can screw around as much as you want and nobody can really get mad at you ‘cause you’re new.” A smile rises on your face. “And I heard you killed a minotaur, so you’ve already got some cool points.”
His face screws up in a grimace, and it makes you laugh. “Oh joy, cool points. Can’t live without those.”
Okay, maybe you’re not bad with kids. Maybe you’re just bad with boring kids. Because this is going decent, right? 
“What if I don’t get claimed, though?” Percy asks after a moment, a vulnerable note eclipsing him. It resonates inside your chest. You pause for a moment, heaving a loaded breath. 
“Do you fart a lot in your sleep?”
His melancholy pauses. He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Uh 
 what? No? I think?”
“Then you can take the bunk above mine if you want. It’s empty now,” you say. “And if you’re never claimed you can come swimming with me, and we can find seashells to put under Luke’s pillow every night until he starts thinking they’ve always been there.”
Percy blinks. “Do you have any friends?”
“Yes, and I’m going to torture him until I die. Cabin eleven is oodles of fun, Percy, you’ll see!”
He looks a little horrified. “Luke said I was going to like you,” he mutters. “I 
 am not sure if he’s right.”
Oh, well. You’ll take it. 
ii. you can't help but become the sun
You can’t sleep, and Luke knows it. His eyes burn into the side of your face as you stare up at your bunk. You sneak him a look. He smiles ruefully. Sweeping his arm up from beneath his covers, a makeshift tent is formed next to him. He nods to you. Before you know it, you’ve abandoned your own bed, taking a single step until you skirt into the pocket of his mattress Luke has carved for you. He lets the sheets fall, cocooning you with him the way he always does. 
You’ve been sharing beds on occasion for years. One of you gets cold, has a nightmare, or wants to talk until your mind fades out, the only solution is a place next to each other. Whispers against cheeks, giggles muffled into pillows, necklaces knocking together. You used to be further apart. Now you can’t remember the last time Luke hasn’t latched onto you the second you’re within reach. It warms you a little more each time. 
When your head hits his pillow, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment, lips pursed in amusement. His face is so wildly nostalgic to you—five years seems like too short a time to have known him. His eyes are pitch-dark and soft with exhaustion, but you can still pick out the trademark Hermes mirth glimmering through. You sometimes forget his scar, probably because you know he wants you to forget it. He’d kill you for thinking this, but you kind of like the way it hugs the curve of his cheek, bunches up when his dimple appears. It makes you sad. It makes you happy. It makes you love him. 
“Percy likes you,” he whispers, opening himself up so your chin brushes his shoulder. “That’s a first.”
He’s only wearing a tank top to sleep, so his warmth seeps through his skin when you tap him on the chest. “Shut up!” You hiss back, tapering into a giggle. “Has he picked up on anything yet?”
Luke bites the inside of his cheek, regretfully shaking his head. “Nope. But all that skill stuff is kinda arbitrary anyways. He’s still hung up on kleos, though, so 
 that’ll come in handy for Capture the Flag.”
“Ah, yes. Using a child’s misguided need for fulfilment as a weapon. A camp classic.” 
“Well someone’s gotta be useful for Capture the Flag in this cabin and it sure as hell isn’t you, mermaid,” he barbs back. 
Your jaw drops in mock offense and you squeeze a hand around his shoulder to shake him. “I will put you in a headlock right now, Luke, I’ll break your arm—”
“Be quiet!” He giggles as you attempt to wrangle yourself on top of him. “I’ll be nice to you, I’ll be nice, stop!” You get absolutely nowhere before the bed creaks and Luke shoves you back down. Your pulse rattles through your mouth as you laugh silently. “You’re the worst,” he mutters in your ear, raising the hairs on your neck.
“Well Percy likes me, so,” you turn your nose to the sky like a haughty old lady. 
“Percy’s a funnier, less annoying version of you,” he pokes your side. “That’s how I knew you’d get along, you weirdo.”
The momentary adrenaline this conversation has brought you is mellowing. “Hey, I’m very—very funny,” you mumble through a yawn. 
Luke laughs quietly. “Sure you are.”
He pulls you back to him, arm slung around the dip of your waist. When you make no protest, he seals you against his shoulder again. It’s started to feel a little different, him holding you like this. There’s an uncertainty your body faces about how to respond. His thumb runs over your spine and you decide to relax into him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Your chin knocks against his collarbone and you have the urge to curl yourself against his chest, just to feel him breathe. 
“Get some sleep, sailor,” he murmurs, fingers brushing through the roots of your hair. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. Your cheeks warm, and you bury yourself even further into the space against his shoulder and his pillow. Gods, there’s something wrong with you, isn’t there?
“Will do, soldier.” The campy voice you do is half hearted at best as you find yourself absorbed in the closest thing to a full home you’ll ever get. In this sleepy hollow with bedsheets and a boy, there is acceptance. 
Well, mostly. You think you dream about Luke brushing a kiss along your hairline in your last bit of consciousness. You think you wish it was real. You think you want him to do it again.   
iii. when you don't know who you are, you fuck around and find out
The last time your cabin lost a game of Capture the Flag, you’d still been taller than Luke. That’s how long your winning streak has felt. There’s no reason you foresee that changing today. Even when Annabeth drags Percy along with her on whatever surely precarious quest to victory she’s created. It’s unlike her, to bring a newbie along. It’s concerning. 
“He’s fine,” Luke drawls to you when your face has been tense for twenty minutes. “Annabeth’s got a plan.” He’s a little winded after clearing out some Ares kids with Chris. You aren’t much use when it comes to weapons—your friends take the lead as you wait from a distance, ready for backup. Thank the Gods they didn’t need it this time. You’re content to just watch, but whenever Luke grins after getting another kid to surrender, veins in his arms raised like rivers on a map, you get a little distracted and you’re not sure why. 
You just huff back at him, totally normal when he wipes a sheen of sweat off his jaw. “Annabeth’s gonna use him as cannon fodder,” you mutter back, and Luke hits your arm with an appalled grin. 
Annabeth did, in fact, have a plan. So you won. Obviously. 
You’re still doubtful Percy wasn’t cannon fodder, though, with how beat up he looks on the shoreline when the rest of your team flocks to the stolen flag to claim victory. He’s slumped down on the rocky shore, a few equally beaten Ares kids straggling away from him. 
“So I was right, huh?” Luke hums in your ear, pulling your eyes to him. 
He’s revelling in newfound glory, and damn it, you get confused when you look at him when he’s like this. You’re not sure when it happened but you want to tear your heart out of its chest because of how sick it makes you. Some of his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat, his hair suffering a serious case of helmet-head. But it’s the pride oozing off him, the infectious happiness laced through his smile, that makes you fond of him in a way you’re not sure you should be. He’s beloved for a reason—he looks almost prophetic after winning a match, and he knows it. A glaring difference between the gangly boy you met all those summers ago. If you weren’t his best friend, you’d probably be one of his many admirers, watching his teammates fawn over his talent and wishing you were beside him. 
But you are beside him. And you’re his friend. Not an admirer. So everything’s fine. 
“You wouldn’t be saying that if we lost,” you retort, knocking your chestplate against his. It’s meant to be a friendly nudge, but Luke leans into it until you swear you feel his heart beating through the metal. 
He’s grown into his smile, less boyish and more wry. “You know I never lose, sailor.” 
You want to reply, but his eyes are startlingly pretty in the sunlight. That’s normal. Whatever. A heat rises in the apples of your cheeks so you scoff lightly and turn away as soon as possible. You feel Luke’s gaze following as you turn attention elsewhere. Your sternum feels fluttery.
Percy catches your attention again. Gods, he looks beat. He’s talking to Annabeth as she helps him up, and you see the gnarly scrape marring his cheek. You should probably check on him, right? 
You’re halfway to the kids when Annabeth shoves Percy backwards into the water. Like, shoves. 
“Annabeth!” You’re scowling at her the same way she scowled at you when you first hit Luke with that oar, rushing over to help Percy. 
“What is wrong with you?” Percy sputters out lying in the lake, but you’re ankles-deep in the water before you know it. He’s glaring daggers at Annabeth, but she looks relatively unimpressed. What happened during this game? 
“Thanks,” Percy mutters as you help him up. 
You say something to shrug it off but you can’t remember what, because your eyes are drawn to the scrape on his cheek. You have to blink a few times to get it, but you’re pretty sure it’s dissolving. Vanishing off his skin. “What the hell?”
Everyone on the shore is watching him now, trying to memorize his injuries before they wash away. Percy’s staring down at himself like he’s just been body-swapped. “I don’t understand.” 
You’ve never seen anything like this before. The strangest feeling fuels you—your bones feel firmer somehow, like the blood inside your body has weight to it. Like something is happening. A fear pierces your gut. 
Annabeth’s eyes have raised, and so have Percy’s. Your mouth goes dry. Right above him is the symbol of a trident, radiating so blue it washes out the sky itself. 
The claiming symbol of Poseidon. 
“Your dad’s calling,” Annabeth says, a smile itching the corners of her mouth. 
Percy looks like he’s going to pass out. You probably do too. “Told you you’d get claimed,” you manage to squeeze the words through the knot in your chest. 
You’re smiling until Percy looks at you, then looks up. His face goes white as a sheet. Or, as white as it can bathed in a pale blue glow. “Uh
” He blinks slowly, and your stomach twists. “I think she was talking to you.”
When you look up and see an identical trident looming over your head, you know something’s wrong. It’s made worse when Chiron rings out your and Percy’s name, branding you as children of Poseidon. 
Poseidon. 
You have a father. And he’s known you all this time. Your ears hollow out like a rush of water in a cavern.
Luke is the first to kneel. The rest of the camp follows. You watch as the entire camp basks in the glory of newcomer Percy Jackson, so quickly claimed by one of the most powerful Gods of Olympus. And you, who has waited five years to earn even a shred of his favour. 
This thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly the greatest insult in the world. Your best friend can’t even meet your eyes. 
iv. i remember who i am when i'm with you
You stare at Percy as he unpacks his things. Waiting to see traces of yourself in his face, traces of your father. Anything that could give you an inkling of what he looks like. Of what you look like. Of how this happened in the first place. 
It’s a futile search. Percy’s blue eyes, his freckles, the bridge of his nose, they’re all 
 nothing. Half of you is half of him, but there’s no indication of which parts. The cabin is cold. You’re not going to sleep well without Luke nearby. You’re not going to sleep well ever again. 
You feel nothing but strife, your throat closing in every time you take even a second to think. You don’t want Percy to see you cry. So you do what you always do. 
This has to be in the running for most overwhelming day of all time ever. Even when submerged in your favourite place on earth, you can’t get away from your dad. Your dumb stupid dad that has made the things you love and has ruined your life. 
You swim hard, and you loathe how good it feels. At least you know why now, but that doesn’t do much to ease you. When you pop up again, the sun has started to sink into the sea. And Gods, you have to give your dad credit. The landscape is so gorgeous you almost forget how long he’s ignored you. 
You wonder if this is the last time you’ll find solace in the lake. If eventually, it’ll be nothing but an extension of your father’s neglect. 
The water ripples around you. You frown, barely having noticed it when someone taps your shoulder. You turn. “Luke?” You swallow, but why are you surprised? 
He’s panting, cheeks splotched with sun as he treads water, droplets worming down his face from his soaking curls. “Been looking for you,” he puffs, “Percy’s worried. Called you from the—from the thingie but don’t think you heard me.”
You assume he means the docks, but you don’t say anything as he takes a deep, grounding breath. “You’ve been out here for hours. Hours. For a second I thought you drowned.”
“Now we know that can’t fucking happen,” you mutter a touch too bitterly, staring down at your legs warped beneath the water. 
Luke’s silent as he watches you. “
Have you been crying?”
When you don’t reply, Luke tugs on your wrist. “C’mon, sailor, let’s go.”
“Not tired,” you say, frozen by the hot tears brimming on your lashes. 
“I’m not leaving you out here. Come on.” He frowns when you yank your hand away as he tries pulling you again. “You’re gonna get heatstroke.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
He reaches for you again and you try to reject it for a moment, but he’s stronger than you, and he loves you better than even the water could. The second he has you close your resolve falters. He holds you against his shoulder, knees knocking against yours as you tread. 
“It’s okay,” he croons when you involuntarily start to cry. For a Poseidon kid, you can’t seem to control your waterworks. “It’s okay, I know.”
His hand cards through your scalp and you relish in the warmth of his bare skin on your cheek. He smells like comfort. You cling to it with all you have, until your nails start to dig into his skin and your eyesight blurs. 
“Come back with me and I’ll dry you off, okay?” He kisses the top of your head, the way you dreamed it last night. “I’ll take care of it.”
You’re not sure which it he’s referring to, because it could honestly apply to anything. When you both set off for shore, you’re so distracted by your own misery that Luke’s actually able to keep up with you. He’s up on the dock before you so he can pull you out. 
The second you’re out of the water you feel like you’ve been gutted with a lead pipe. All the energy it gave you leaves, and you realize just how right Luke was about spending too much time out there. You can’t feel your legs. 
You buckle over almost instantly, but Luke holds you before you can even think of falling. “I’ve got you,” he assures, guiding you down to sit on the dock. Your eyes are too weak to even admire the sunset. Luke drapes a towel over your shoulders, rubbing it over your arms, a welcome familiarity. He takes his time, wringing your hair and drying your back as you gaze blankly ahead. There’s a tenderness to it now. Luke’s ruthless when it comes to a lot of things. When it comes to how he loves, too. But there’s nothing demanding here. He lets your tears fall in silence, undisturbed, the touch of his hands through the cloth a silent promise. 
When you’re fairly dry, he fetches something then quickly comes back. “Here.”
It’s his shirt. You only notice you’ve been shivering as he pulls it over your head, lets you fill in the sleeves, gently gathers your hair back. “Thanks,” you say. His fingertips brush your neck as he hooks them around your necklace to rest it over the shirt. You think he does it to remind you you’re still the same. You’ve had five years together. It doesn’t have to end now. 
“Why did it take him so long?” You struggle to say, eyes glossed like sea glass. “Why—why now? What did I do?”
Luke puts an arm around you. “I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly. 
You sink into his warmth like a wave meets the shore. “Five years, Luke. He ignored me for five years. And he takes Percy right—right away.” It’s hard not to choke between every word. “I just thought I’d never get claimed, and I was fine with that, and now I’m 
 this!”
Its hard to tell if the dampness of your cheeks are the remnants of saltwater or your tears. “I don’t want this,” you sniffle. “I waited so long 
 and I just don’t want it.”
Luke rubs your shoulder, lips pursed against your head. He murmurs into your hair, “I know, sailor. It’ll be okay. Promise.”
His voice is reserved. You look up at him. His jaw is resolute, his eyes red-rimmed in a way you hadn’t noticed before. “You’re upset too,” you comment quietly. 
He laughs listlessly. “Yeah, of course I am. I’m losing my favourite cabin mate.”
You sniff and try to smile. “Percy?”
He rolls his eyes fondly, and it feels like all you want. He squeezes your shoulders tight and you long desperately to be closer. “I just don’t know what I did wrong,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into him. “Why didn’t he see me until he saw Percy? Am I just 
 unremarkable or something?”
“No, no. Absolutely not—c’mere.” Luke loops an arm around your waist and manoeuvres you into his arms, cradled on his lap so you can bury your face in his neck. You can’t stop fucking crying, but his patience for you is infinite. “You are by far the most remarkable person I know.” He seals you against his chest, scratching your scalp the way he knows you like. “None of this is you, okay? Your dad’s an idiot. You are—you’re everything. They’re all mindless up there, they don’t know how to love you. They don’t deserve to.”
An edge seeps into his timbre that gives you pause. You feel weak, discarded. It sounds like he’s talking about a different person. But he’s right. He has to be, because he knows you better than you know yourself.
Luke keeps going. You peek at his face when he speaks. Stubborn as ever. “He doesn’t have any fucking right to you. If he wanted that he should’ve claimed you when you got here. You have a life. You 
 you had a home. And now just because he’s got another kid he kills two birds with one stone? He pretends like this is some Godly intervention? Like he didn’t ignore you the whole time you’ve been here because he couldn’t stand how much you didn’t need him? How much better you are? You’re my 
” He struggles, brows furrowed, the sun melting in his eyes. “You’re my best friend, and we’re supposed to be together. He’s not allowed to take that from you.”
Your heart stirs. “Sounds like you’re jealous,” you try to tease.
Luke heaves a sigh, his muscles rippling against your chest. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that he’s got no shirt on. And that he’s pressed against you in a way that makes you question if you should be this close. Beads of water cling to the divots in his skin, and you linger a little too long on one nestled in his collarbone. You swear you think this every time he goes swimming with you: when did he get so 
 hot? And every time you think it, you want to gouge your heart out with a spoon. 
“Can you blame me?” A melancholy smile plays on his face. “I liked having you all to myself.”
Tears spring to your eyes all over again. “I liked that too.”
It’s a whisper that sends you forward, Luke bringing his forehead to your own, and you want to live in the warmth that coils through you. His nose catches against yours when he laughs, but he doesn’t move. You take a moment to savour it. You think he does too.
He wipes a tear off your face as you say, “I’m still yours.”
“Yeah?” Luke hums a bit, his hand sliding up your waist in a most unfriendly manner. “How?” 
You catch the glimmer in his eyes, that plucky smile he’s had since fourteen. Something shifts.
“What are you asking me, Luke?” You can’t fight the smile. 
“What do you want me to ask you?”
“I dunno, what do you want me to want you to ask you—”
“My Gods, you’re a pain in the ass.”
He groans, throws his head back, and kisses you like you aren’t the most annoying person in the world. 
It’s so clichĂ©, but for a brief moment your strife is well worth it. You yank him closer before he pulls away. It’s a little unsure, the two of you so used to toeing the line, but soon you’ve given in and your hands are in his hair, mouths parting, and it’s messy and wanting and everything you need. 
Luke slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, palms flattening against your sun-beaten skin. It feels so good, better because the shirt is already his, a whine scratching your throat as he moves up so his thumbs graze the skin beneath the tie in your bathing suit. 
“Oh, sailor,” he coos against your mouth. You want to retaliate but it’s lost when he squeezes your thighs, warming you in all the right places. It’s hard to understand this is even happening—it feels like you’re underwater, a blissful fuzziness growing in your head entirely at his mercy. 
He razes kisses down your still-damp neck, catching pearls of water on his tongue. You cling to his shoulders, raking your hands down his back just so you can feel more of him. Luke’s dropped down to your collarbone at this point, tugging the neck of your shirt down as his teeth graze the bone. “You’re my best friend,” he mutters over your skin. “Still mine. Always mine.”
“Mmhm,” is all you can say back, the husk in his voice making your eyes screw shut. He teases a spot so sensitive you groan and laugh at the same time. The regret is immediate, but you feel a chuckle pass his lips, too. “Luke,” you purse a smile. He dots kisses back up your neck until you start returning the favour. 
You kiss his jaw, a few spots on his neck, feeling the flex of his muscle all around you as he squeezes the fat of your hips. You finally sweep up the water in the hollow of his collarbones, and his grunt of your name makes you, frankly, delirious. 
He brings your mouth back to his, skin sticking to each other. It’s harder to kiss as fervently when you’re both giggling against each other’s tongues, running fingers along the planes of each other’s bodies trying to see which places feel new and which are known from memory. It’s a fifty-fifty split, and you love it. 
Somewhere along the way he peeled off your shirt because it was clinging in places you knew he wanted, but now you’re panting and giggling into his hair, his nose pressed into your neck, both of you melded together with salt and sun. “You really know how to cheer a girl up, mailman,” you grin. 
His lips fix to your skin. “Really? You’re still gonna call me that right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Like it better when you call me captain,” he murmurs, nose grazing along your pulse. 
You swallow, “That doesn’t work unless we’re doing the whole sailor-ship bit.”
“We’re always doing the sailor-ship bit.”
“I seriously can’t believe I’m in love with you.”
He sighs warmly at the words. “You have no idea how much I’ve been dying for you to say that. Even though I knew you would.”
You roll your eyes as he presses his forehead to yours, and you’re more glad than ever that his face is the one you love so much. It’s a pretty great face. 
“You’re gonna be okay,” he says tenderly. “You’re too incredible for Poseidon. You’re worth more than that.”
He still looks gorgeous blurred by your tears. You listen to the beat of his heart and the waves rolling. “More than any water anywhere?”
“More than the fucking Styx, sailor. I’ll promise you that.”
That night, Luke stays with you and Percy in your cold chapel of a cabin. You exchange stories until Percy falls asleep in his bed, curled up like a sea otter. “He’s a drooler,” Luke notes fondly, eyes flicking to yours. “Like you.”
You shove his chest playfully until he wraps his arms around you and anchors you to sleep, like every night before. This time, as you drift off, he kisses your forehead again. Once because he loves you, and twice to make sure you know it’s real. 
luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant
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mooishbeam · 2 months ago
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『♡』 Country Honey
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 ♡ 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 ♡
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“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?” 
“Mhmïżœïżœïżœ, 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. 
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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.” 
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“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.” 
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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. 
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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.” 
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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. 
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“-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.  
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“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.” 
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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. 
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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. 
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© mooishbeam - please don't steal, copy, or post my work to other platforms :)
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violetskylights0 · 11 days ago
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Imagine waking up to a calm morning with Vi's exposed back facing towards you and just *sigh* admiring her beautiful tattoos 💕
I hope you don't mind I made it a litttttlllle...okay a lot hornier.
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Mornings like this felt like stolen moments, sweet and unhurried. Vi lay sprawled on her side, her back exposed to you bear without her bandages for once, the two of you somehow squeezed into the too-small twin bed in your tiny apartment.
Her breaths rose and fell in a pattern you knew by heart. Occasionally, a soft sigh or a low grunt escaped her, depending on whatever dream she was lost in, and you watched her quietly, taking in every little detail. The way her silhouette curved under the baby blue sheet was mesmerizing, her hip invitingly close, as if daring you to pull her closer. Her scent—bergamot and cedarwood—lingered in the air, comforting and familiar, but it was the soft shaft of sunlight highlighting the ink on her back that held your gaze.
Carefully, you lifted your hand, letting your cool palm press gently against her warm skin, just enough to let her know you were there. She didn’t stir, her breathing steady, so you let your finger trace along the swirls of smoke in her tattoo. Starting at her arm, you followed the delicate lines, remembering the story she’d told you about getting it.
She’d laughed, telling you how the sting lasted only a few minutes before she got so comfortable she dozed off in the chair. The next day, everyone whispered about how tough she was, and you’d rolled your eyes as she flexed dramatically, showing off.
Your fingers drifted to the center of her back, following the circular design there, and just as you began to trace it, she stirred.
“Like what you see back there?” Vi mumbled, her voice rough and low from sleep, tinged with her usual teasing tone.
“You’re even annoyingly cocky first thing in the morning,” you said, smiling as you leaned in to press a kiss to the smoke near her shoulder.
“Cocky? Or just observant?” she shot back, her lips quirking into a smirk. “I seem to remember someone clawing at my back for hours last night
” She stretched, letting out a yawn, and you rolled your eyes before playfully smacking her back.
Vi flinched dramatically, tossing her shoulder forward like you’d hit her with a brick. “Ow! What the hell, Cupcake? Trying to take me out already?” she teased, shooting you a fake wounded look over her shoulder. “I knew you couldn’t handle all this,” she added with a smirk, her voice dripping with playful defiance as you dissolved into laughter.
“Maybe I do like them
 just a little,” you admitted softly, your fingers trailing down the curve of her hip.
Vi arched an eyebrow without opening her eyes, that smirk growing wider. “Just a little? Or maybe you like what they do to you a little more?” she murmured, her voice dripping with mischief.
You didn’t answer, leaning in closer as your hand slipped around her hip, fingers brushing the front hem of her boxers. “Why don’t you remind me?” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of her ear, your voice soft and playful, perfectly matching the warmth that settled between you.
Vi took in a sharp breath as your hand traveled further south to her sensitive numb. 
“Have a good dream about me pretty?” She let out a soft moan as you started rubbing your pointer and middle fingers in a small circular pattern. 
“Mmm not particularly.” You hummed placing chaste kisses on the back of her neck. 
“But something about staring at my beautiful girlfriend's prison tattoos will always get me.” You breathed out dipping your fingers a bit lower easily finding her entrance. 
You both sighed at the feeling of your fingers fitting snuggly inside her. You curled your fingers upward making Vi let out a whimper you found adorable and so hot at the same time. 
“Fuck.” She cursed her breath breaking its natural pattern as your palm rubbed against her clit as you increased your pace. 
“Getting close already? Did you have a good dream about me, my love?” You whispered against her skin kissing up her neck to her ear. 
“Mmm, it’s almost like my girlfriend being so desperate for me in the morning turns me on.” Vi moaned. 
“Only one way to make it better right?” You questioned sucking slightly sure to leave a hickey behind. 
You felt Vi tighten around your fingers a tell that she was on the edge. 
“Cum all over my fingers and show me what a good girl you can be.” You groaned in her ear. 
Vi gasped as her legs began to shake she let out a high-pitched moan while you felt the wetness begin to coat your fingers. 
You curled your finger a few more times for good measure making Vi whine as she rode out her high. 
You took your fingers out as Vi began to pant relaxing again as she turned to face you.
Vi turned to face you as she opened her mouth to make a smart-ass comment you quickly cut her off by taking the two fingers that were just inside her and pressing them to her lips her eyes widened as you pressed your lips against hers pulling put your fingers in a V position making sure to lick the string of her cum before your tongue started falling in rhythm with yours continuing your make-out for another minute before coming up for air. 
You both looked at each other as you began to see a familiar devious glint in her eyes. 
“Vi, wait! Remember, we’ve got errands to—” Your laughter cut off as Vi moved faster, pinning you down and swinging her leg over to straddle you.
“Errands can wait,” she smirked, her hands already sliding under your shirt. “After a kiss like that? Nah, Sweetheart, you’re not going anywhere. Not today.” Her voice was low and teasing, but the glint in her eyes made your heart race.
You couldn’t help but smile, biting your lip as you glanced toward the wall. “Sorry in advance, neighbors,” you thought, already knowing they’d have a lot to endure today.
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juleswritesstuff · 2 months ago
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Holy hands, will they make me a sinner ?
You seem to have a little secret. Regulus figures you out immediately.
regulus black x fem!reader
warnings: smut
“If you bore holes in them I won't be able to finish my essay, Y/n” 
His voice brings you back from the apparent state of trance you had unconsciously fallen into. Blinking rapidly, you regain perception of the walls of your dorm room surrounding you and the myriad of books scattered across your bed.  You shift your gaze to his gray eyes and you find them already set on you.
“Pardon ?” your voice has a confused edge that almost makes him chuckle.
“My hands” he explains, his tone as neutral as ever “You were staring”
Your eyes go a little wide, like you had been caught stealing the last chocolate frog of the stash. You swallow, trying to compose yourself as best as you can.
“I was doing no such thing” you declare, a bit too solemn and defensive to be the truth.
Regulus pins you with an unimpressed look, his left brow arching just enough to tell you that he isn't buying any of your bullshit.
A defeated sigh leaves your lips. 
It is no use hiding something from Regulus Black. He will find out one way or another, and you got caught right with your hands in the jar.
“Ok, fine” you admit, lifting your shoulders to make it seem like the most casual thing ever “I was looking at your hands”
Regulus’ expression doesn't change, but the glint of amusement flashing in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed.
“More like ogling, I would say” even his tone has a playful bite to it.
You like this side of him. The Regulus who is able to relax a bit and let go when he is surrounded by the people he is comfortable with.
But carefree Regulus also means menace Regulus apparently.
“I wasn't ogling” you grumble, rolling your eyes “I was just admiring them” 
His eyebrows furrow.
“Why ?” he seems intrigued as the question leaves his lips.
Why, he has the courage to ask.
Well the answer is that Regulus Black has the prettiest, hottest, most gorgeous hands you have ever laid eyes on.
They are elegant, slender, the little veins underneath the pale skin gracing your eyes with their presence with every movement he makes, every flex of his muscles, producing a delicious design that hypnotizes you. 
They are smooth but decorated by light calluses, undoubtedly caused by Quidditch, that create a divine contrast with his otherwise untainted skin.
His fingers are long, lean, clad in silver rings that make your mouth water with how exquisitely sultry they make him look.
And suddenly, but not surprisingly, you find yourself imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on you, exploring every inch of your body, dancing on your skin like flames dance in the cold hair of the night. The cool metal of his rings being at odds with your scorching hot skin, making you hiss as his skilled fingers create a burning path over your body, traveling everywhere. Your legs, your thighs, your hips, chest, shoulders and stopping right at your neck, wrapping delicately, reverentially around it. Worshipping the sensitive skin, feeling the erratic pulse of your heart and-
“You’re doing it again” his words interrupt your spiraling for the second time that day, sounding dry and apathetic as always, but a hint of teasing twinkles in the otherwise coldness of his eyes.
“You have nice hands, that’s all” you manage to say without giving away all the less than pure thoughts flooding your mind in that moment. “From an artist point of view, obviously” you add, shrugging, trying to make everything less than obvious.
You really hope Regulus didn't learn to cast a Legilimes in his free time, otherwise you were well and truly screwed.
Bringing up your passion for drawing is futile and you know it. You know he knows the drooling over his hands isn't for the sake of art. You can't fool Regulus Black, not even if you try to.
Which is both extremely annoying and criminally hot in your humble opinion.
But pretending is the only thing you can do to not feel embarrassed, holding onto the hope that maybe he doesn’t have you all figured out.
“So you’re saying that your interest is purely artistic ?” he cocks a brow as his head tilts slightly.
There’s something in his voice, in his eyes, that you can’t quite figure.
Your forehead scrunches in confusion.
“Yes, of course” you answer, trying to hide the stutter of your voice as best you can.
You are pretty sure he knows that you aren’t telling the truth, he somehow always knows. He reads you like an open book, and, for someone who doesn’t engage in showing his emotions too often, he is pretty damn good at reading the ones of others. 
So why that question ? You almost expected him to tell you to cut it out and get back to study because that essay isn’t gonna finish itself.
This is new, unexpected. 
Interesting.
“Would you like to draw them ?”
Your eyes go wide in surprise.
Wait.
What ?
Never, in all the years you have known each other, had he offered to model for you. 
He knew about you having an interest in arts, he even saw a couple of your drawings and paintings and he often asked about them and how they were coming up, but he never asked to be in them.
You never brought up the suggestion either. He is a reserved guy and he loathes having eyes on him, so you figured he would’ve never accepted even if you did.
That never stopped you from sketching him from afar, though. Those gorgeous features deserve to be portrayed.
But why the sudden proposition ?
You aren’t stupid. Regulus might know you like the back of his hand, but you could say the same about him. And this, whatever this might be, is not like him at all. 
Regulus never does anything for nothing, there is always an explanation, a reason to his every move. You think even his breaths are perfectly calculated.
But this time the why gets lost on you, and the harder you try to understand the less it all makes sense.
“I can see the gears in your brain twinsting and turning,” he says, calm and composed as ever.
He is sitting on your bed, the quill he was using to write his Charms paper now abandoned next to him. His back is perfectly straight, leaning on the headbord to support his weight. The raven strands of his hair create soft waves that frame his face in a delicate and enchanting way. His lips are stretched in a rare, playful smile, curling up slightly on the left side.
He is beautiful. Dangerously so.
“It’s just-” you are confused, there is no doubt about that, but most of all you are intrigued “You have never asked me before”
“I know” 
That’s his only answer. Simple, concise. Enigmatic. 
Just like him.
“So why now ?” 
The question escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help it, curiosity is consuming you, and the possibility of learning a new part of him makes your skin tingle with excitement.
“Why not ?” he shrugs “There is a first time for everything, right ? So why not now ?”
There is still that glint of something in his eyes. You don’t know what it is, you don’t think you would be able to give it a name even if you knew, but it's there, and it’s strong.
“I’ll get my supplies then” 
You slowly get up from the bed, feeling your heart in your throat in a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and you retrieve your album and a pencil.
When you sit back down you notice that the books have been neatly stacked in a small pile next to your bed and all the papers, previously scattered all over your sheets, are nowhere to be seen.
“Figured we might need the space” he says, like he read your mind.
“Thank you”, you give him a small smile before opening your album, turning the pages one by one, until you find a blank sheet, ready to be filled.
“Where do you need me ?” 
The way he utters those words with the utmost nonchalance, apparently unaware of the effect they have on you, nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.
Everywhere, you think, before mentally smacking yourself.
You need to get a grip, for Merlin’s sake.
“Right there is fine,” you're able to say without your voice faltering “just angle your hands towards me, so the light is right”
He does as he is told, adjusting his position and moving his hands a bit to the right, veins in full display and rings shining under the warm rays of the sunset seeping through the window.
“That’s good” your mouth is suddenly dry as you gulp at that sight.
He is a bit far, and the light doesn’t hit as perfectly as you had expected, but you’ll work with it. If squinting your eyes a bit is the price to maintain your mental sanity then so be it.
Then you start drawing. The only sound filling the room is the gentle scraping of your pencil as your eyes focus on the white sheet in front of you, your gaze shifting to his hands ever so often to take a peek at them, like you haven't learnt every detail by heart.
You can feel his eyes on you. You try not to focus on it, but the shivers those pools of the color of a summer storm send down your spine are difficult to ignore.
“You’re straining your eyes” he blurts out of the blue. And it’s not a question.
Observant as always.
“It’s fine,” you assure him, your gaze never leaving the paper “this distance is good for perspective” 
“But it’s a problem for the lighting”
Those words make you lift your head up, your brows knotted in a frown.
How does he-
“And what would you know about the lighting ?” you eye him suspiciously, a small grin curving your lips.
“I guess all your rambles about that muggle painter weren’t in vain” he says, and there’s a cheekiness in his tone that is completely new to you “Caravaggio, right ?”
Your grin turns into a full smile.
“Right,” you nod, your eyes widening a little “I can’t believe you actually remember”
“I remember a lot of things,” he remarks defensively.
“Only those important enough to you” the teasing in your voice is light, playful, as your pencil glides on the sheet swiftly, adding strokes and shadows here and there.
There’s a beat of silence.
One second. Two. Three. And then-
“Exactly”
Your hand halts every movement, freezing completely. You look up from your paper and you find his gaze already on you.
Suddenly you are lost. Your heart is beating so fast you wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually able to hear it.
The implications of that single word swirl in your brain, creating a hurracane of thoughts that almost gives you whiplash. 
He doesn’t give you the time to even think properly about what he may have just suggested, because he decides to speak again. 
“I can come closer if you need me to” his voice is lower, deeper, oozing with that same something he’s had in his eyes since he caught you staring at his heavenly hands.
You want to scream. You have no idea of what the hell is going on and it’s confusing the shit out of you.
You know he is asking for that forsaken drawing you still have in your lap, but it somehow doesn’t feel like it. The electricity in the room is so high it feels like an open cable sending sparks flying everywhere, setting the air on fire. 
The only coherent thought in your brain is a chorus of yes, please and nothing else.
So you cave.
“You can,” you manage to say, because the necessity to protect your sanity might be strong, but the need to have him close to you is apparently stronger “if you want to”
His gaze is so penetrating you feel it in your soul, consuming you from the inside out and setting your whole body ablaze.
It’s compelling, hypnotizing even. 
“This is not about what I want, Y/n”
Oh, the way those words leave his perfect lips, making shudders erupt all over your body should be studied. 
Your world shifts on its axes and it starts spinning ten times faster. Because he knows. 
He knows. 
“We're not talking about art anymore, are we ?” you ask, swallowing soundly as your breath gets stuck in your throat.
“Were we ever talking about that in the first place ?” his question is rhetorical. He doesn’t need an answer because he already knows it. He figured you out, like he always does.
So what was the point in pretending anymore ?
“No,” you admit “I guess we weren't” your trembling hands move the paper out of the way.
There is a spark in his eyes. It’s foreign, thrilling even, and it makes your skin prickle in the best way.
Suddenly he moves. He shifts his weight forward, approaching you slowly. The veins in his arms and hands bulging from the pressure and knocking the air out of your lungs in the process.
“So tell me” he whispers, crawling to you bit by bit, like a hunter advancing towards his prey. He seems to be calm, poised, totally in control of his body as he comes closer and closer.
It’s his eyes that betray him. 
They have always been the window to his feelings, talking more than his mouth even did. And right now they are burning, engulfed by a heat that makes your legs weak and your heart roar. The realization hits you, a rush of adrenaline running through your veins.
They are hungry.
“Tell you what ?” you stutter, unable to regain a hold of yourself. You can’t breathe, your palms are sweaty, you feel hot all over and he is close, so damn close.
He stops right in front of you, mere inches between your faces and a tension so heavy you can cut it with a butter knife.
“What you want” the warmth of his breath delicately caresses your skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, his eyes following the movement intently almost making you squirm under his gaze.
“You seem to know what I want” you murmur breathlessly, your body heating up in response to his proximity. 
Those hands, protagonists of some of the filthiest dreams you’ve ever had, are right next to you. Close enough to graze the skin of your thighs with his knuckles, but never indulging in the act. Like he is teasing you, waiting for you to beg for it. You shift your gaze to them and you swallow hard, the need to feel them on you growing stronger every second that passes. 
You are about to fucking combust.
His silver eyes are still fixed on you, intense and magnetic, as they follow your line of sight.
“I won't move a muscle unless you tell me to, Y/n” 
Those words, mouthed so close to your lips and mixed with the low, velvet-like husk of his voice, make your legs clench and your stomach churn in the best way possible.
You can’t take it anymore.
You move forward, abandoning your position on the bed to place your legs on each side of his hips, almost straddling him. Your hands are on his shoulders, helping you to keep your balance, feeling the lean muscles underneath the shirt as you hover over him.
His head tilts up, eyes sharp and hot and glued to yours. You hear him suppress a hiss as your thighs brush his hips. His arms are still next to him, hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.
He is restraining himself. From touching you. 
Your thoughts are clouded, your mind hazy and completely out of it. The only thing you want right now is for him to place those perfect fucking hands on you and never stop.
“Do it” your voice is so weak and breathy it’s a miracle he hears you.
“Do what ?” he mouths, so close to your lips it makes your head spin.
You’re needy, desperate even, but you don’t care. You don’t have time to think right now. You want to feel.
“Touch me” you beg.
“Where ?” he sounds just as gone as you are, and you finally crumble.
“Everywhere”
It’s nothing more than a whisper but it shakes the both of you like an earthquake. 
You meet in the middle, your lips colliding and completely knocking the breath out of you.
His mouth is sinful, greedy, chasing yours with a hunger that almost makes you melt on the spot. You get lost in the softness of it, in the ungodly brush of your tongues making you moan breathlessly. You bite and nibble and lick and he follows you, matching the languid pace just as eagerly, as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling at the black strands delicately. The low groan that escapes his throat sends goosebumps all over you.
You are so focused on the filthy dance of your mouths that you almost miss the agonizingly slow graze of his fingers on the exposed flesh of your legs, gently tracing a path on your thighs.
The metal of his rings meets the hotness of your skin and you hiss.
Oh, it’s just as delicious as you imagined.
“Ah- fuck” you pant, millimeters away from him. Your head feels light, dizzy. 
You feel like you’re dreaming, lost in your own fantasies.
But his hands running up and down your thighs feel too fucking good to be just a product of your imagination. They travel slowly, excruciatingly so, making you lose your mind with every new inch of skin they explore. 
Until they sneak under your skirt, reaching your hips to gently knead the supple skin, applying enough force to bring you forward.
“Sit” It feels more like a plea than an order but-
Holy shit.
A gasp escapes your mouth before you can stop it.
Every cell of your body threatens to explode as he pushes your weight on him all the way, making you straddle him completely.
“Fucking finally” he curses, more to himself than to you, like he has been waiting for this moment his whole life.
His eyes are dark, fogged up by lust and need, and it's the lewdest thing you have ever witnessed.
“I have never seen you like this” you whisper directly on his lips, nibbling on the plush flesh.
He smirks, smirks for Salazar's sake, as his fingers move, reprising their mission to make you lose every ounce of control.
“It seems you were busy looking at something else”
His thumbs rub the skin of your inner thigh in a hypnotizing manner, sending bolts of electricity down your spine.
You whimper as they get closer and closer to your core, your grip on the junction between his neck and shoulder tightening in pleasure.
But he must take it as some sort of sign of discomfort because he halts suddenly.
“Want me to stop ?” his eyes search for yours, the veiled concern in them making your heart stutter.
“Don’t you even dare” you say, a mere breath away from him before you dive in, capturing his mouth again.
It's messy and dirty and you get addicted to his taste way too quickly.
His hands move up, massaging your skin at every caress of your tongues, until they reach the hem of your panties.
He moves away from your lips for a quick moment, and he looks at you.
The silent ‘Can I ?’ written in his eyes almost makes you swoon.
You nod your head.
“I need words, chĂ©rie” he whispers sensually.
The combination of his right hand so close to your most sensitive spot, his left one traveling up to your hip, holding it tightly, posessivly, and that fucking pet name almost make you cum on the spot.
“Yes” you practically beg.
Only then he resprises his journey of exquisit torture along your body.
“Shit-” you quiver as he kisses your neck, branding the sensitive skin with his lips and teeth. His hands move, fingers skilled and sinful as they reach your heat.
You mewl as they make contact with the light material of your underwear.
“Jesus Christ” hs hisses a groan “you’re soaked”
A series of choked out whimpers leaves your lips as he strokes his fingers over your panties, feeling your wetness through the fabric.
“Fuck- Reg” a moan ripples from your lips when his thumb brushes your clit tentativley, making you gasp. Your hands fly to his hair, lightly pulling the soft strands with trembling fingers.
“Look at you, all horny and needy over my hands” his voice is tantalizing but you can hear the breathlessness, the strain in it. He is affected by this just as much as you are and it makes you go almost feral.
“Please” you breathe. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Your mind is too hazy, too fogged up by lust and need to have a single coherent thought in it.
But he sure does know, because his digits move your panties to the side, just enough to glide over your slickness, making contact with the tender skin of your folds and spreading your wetness all over.
Finally, finally the hands consuming your every thought are on you, right where you had craved and imagined them the most.
You arch your back in ecstasy, biting your lip.
And it’s when his middle finger eases inside of you, slowly breaching your velvety walls, that you lose it completely.
The air gets knocked out of your lungs, liquid fire engulfs every cell of your body, every nerve and muscle consumed by pleasure.
“Regulus-” it’s the only thing you manage to mewl as he slides in and out of you in a rhythm so sensual and sultry it makes you melt. The cold metal of his ring meets the warm, sensitive skin of your cunt with every prod, creating a delicious contrast.
You never break eye contact, your gazes locked together drinking in every little detail, every wave of bliss swimming in them.
“Is this what you fantasized about, love ?” he pants right on your lips “All the times I caught you staring, is this what you were imagining my hands doing ? Fucking you senseless, feeling how tight and needy you are ?”
His words are as dirty as his eyes as he slides another finger into you, making you inhale sharply and stretching you out so good you could almost cry. 
“Ohmygodyes” you moan as your hips start moving to their own accord, meeting the prodding of his fingers eagerly, riding his hand like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.
“But this is not the only fantasy you have, right chĂ©rie ?” he teases, going faster, harder, pumping mercilessly and leaving you a blubbering mess.
His left hand leaves its place on your hip and moves up, grazing the soft skin of your stomach, the supple and tender flesh of your breasts, the natural dip of your collarbones, worshipping every inch of your skin in their path, until they reach their goal.
“I bet you thought about this too, didn't you ?” 
You were always sure this would remain just one of your daydreams, the kind of dirty thought that should remain in your mind and nowhere else. But Regulus Black was Regulus Black and reading you was one of his favorite hobbies.
It still comes as a surprise, though, when he delicately wraps his hand around your throat, resting it there, feeling every pulse of your heart, every pump of your blood and adorning your neck with the prettiest fucking necklace you could ever ask for.
“Yes” it’s nothing more than a breath, but it sends him into a frenzy. His right thumb rubs your clit relentlessly, adding to the unforgiving pace of his fingers sliding in and out of you with lewd, wet squelches. The whimpers coming out of your mouth are raw, filthy and downright pornographic as you feel your orgasm approaching.
Your head is in the clouds, a hundred thousands miles from earth as the only thing you can focus on is the feeling of his hands on you, fucking you to your release as the one on your neck squeezes the faintest bit, enough to almost send you over the edge.
His left thumb leaves its place right above your jugular, moving upwards to caress your jawline, your cheek and, lastly, your lips.
You can feel the digit caressing the red, bitten flesh, brushing it with reverence, worshiping it with his whole being. His heated gaze is bewitched, entranced by your mouth parting, welcoming him past your lips, and lightly grazing the pad with your teeth before enveloping it wholly.
“Bloody fucking hell, Y/n” he rasps, voice low and dangerously close to pleading as you suck on his thumb like it's the tastiest treat you have ever put in your mouth.
The hand on your cunt speeds its pace, pounding in and out of you like a fucking machine, the vibrations on your little bundle of nerves getting more intense by the second, sending you over the edge in a mess of moans and whimpers.
“Reg, fuck, I'm-”
You reach your release with his name on your lips, back arched and hips rolling to help you ride your orgasm on those unholy fingers of his. 
Your vision is blurred, your brain fuzzy and overwhelmed by bliss as you slowly come back to your senses.
It takes you a few seconds to regain control of your body and mind, but when you do you are graced with a vision you are sure you will never forget.
The ever composed and collected Regulus Black is right in front of you with his expression contorted in pure lust, eyes bleary and unfocused, hair tousled by your hands relentlessly stroking them, lips red and glossy from the heated kisses, tie loose, crooked and shirt crumpled.
He is a mess.
The hottest mess you have ever seen.
You're still not fully out of your head space when he speaks again.
“You're loud” he grins, his tone teasing but still a little raspy.
“You're filthy” you bite back weakly, your voice hoarse and strained. 
“Maybe. But I don’t think I'm the only one” 
The fingers that have been inside of you not even a moment ago are now in front of you, coated and glistening with your essence.
He slowly brings them closer to your mouth, and you don't even think twice before eagerly welcoming them inside it.
The taste of yourself mixes with the metallic tinge of his rings as you suck leisurely, restraining a moan before he takes them out with a wet pop.
“Sale fille” he groans in french, lowly and right on your parted lips, before he dives in an alluring kiss. (Dirty girl)
It's slower than all the others you shared, but it's deeper, sensual and it almost gets you worked up all over again.
His tongue meets yours in a erotic dance and when the taste of your very essence coats his tastebuds a moan rumbles in his throat.
“You're sweet” his voice is nothing more than a whisper as his teeth nibble at your lower lip gently.
“Want me to find out if you're sweet, too ?” You offer with a teasing smile on your lips . His hands might be your biggest fantasy, but they sure as hell are not the only part of him you fantasize about.
“Eager, are we ?” he teases playfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “Not today, chĂ©rie”
The little pet name creates butterflies in your stomach and makes your cheeks warm, but doesn't hide your disappointment. 
“Why ?” you ask, your hands going to fiddle with his tie.
“As I told you, this is not about what I want” he explains, his arms circling you in a loose hug “and I don't know if you noticed, but it's pretty late”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, and only then you realize that the sun has already set and the room would be totally surrounded by darkness if it wasn't for the few magic candles lighting up automatically when twilight hits.
Your eyes widen.
“How long have we been here for ?” your voice has a panicked hint to it, making Regulus laugh.
“I'm pretty sure dinner is getting served right now” he says nonchalantly, like it's the most normal thing ever to engage in sexual activities with your best friend and miss supper because of it.
“Which might be for the best,” he adds.
“Why ?” you ask in genuine confusion.
“Because I’m the only one lucky enough to hear your dirty little sounds” he says with a shit-eating grin before kissing you again.
Thank you for reading 💖
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rothpie · 14 days ago
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❝FIDELITY❞ |part6
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MASTERLIST -`✼®- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank
Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.
Warnings: pregnancy symptoms
previous - next
You're sure it’s all coming to an end.
This is how things will wrap up. You didn’t expect to experience these days like this. You hoped for a nice pregnancy, one full of flowers—no, not flowers, they wouldn’t do. You’d imagined a cozy, cushioned, perfectly comfortable pregnancy.
You were sure you could handle anything that came your way. There was nothing you couldn’t accomplish. At least, that’s what you believed.
But today, you’re convinced the world is ending.
Everything, everyone feels like an enemy. It’s not that you think the world revolves around you, but you’re pretty certain that everything in it holds a grudge against you.
It’s the moment where your life seems to be unraveling, every piece of familiarity breaking apart. As if every sense you have has turned against you, you stand in a moment that should be ordinary, but instead, it feels as though the universe has designed a unique form of torment just for you: an assault by smells.
At first, it starts small. A faint, floral scent wafts in on a gentle breeze. You take a breath and recoil—suddenly aware that every scent you’d barely noticed before has escalated to the level of catastrophe. And this assault feels custom-made for you.
It’s not just annoying; it’s tragic. The life-wrecking kind. As if the whole world conspired to make you sense every odor within a fifty-kilometer radius. Maybe you’re exaggerating, but with good reason. Even the air itself feels like it’s joined a scheme to turn your life into a living hell.
“Is this really how it’s going to end?” you wonder, brows knit in frustration and disbelief. “Not with some grand, heroic moment, but because of the lovely scents of spring flowers and who knows what else?”
You tug the collar of your shirt over your nose, hoping for some relief, but it’s no use. The smell is still there, ruthless and unavoidable. Every little thing—each faint whiff of grass, distant barbecue smoke, even that fresh ocean breeze—seems to assault you from every angle.
You wonder if you’ll ever be able to step outside again. Ever. What if this is your reality now? The girl who can’t even stand a pleasant spring breeze.
Before going to bed, you’d hoped today would be a good day. With the cooler weather, you figured you’d finally be able to sit on the balcony and enjoy the day. But the moment you woke up, you knew that was never going to happen.
You didn’t wake up normally. It was more like waking up in a storm. Your hair a tangled mess, all those stupid smells already churning your stomach. For a moment—a brief, ridiculous moment—you thought the smell was coming from you, and you ran for a long shower, hoping to wash off whatever it was that haunted you. But even in the shower, every scent seemed so overpowering—you honestly thought you might die right there.
You barely remember dressing and making it out of your room. You didn’t even have time to dry your hair. Even though the warmth of the air was no real threat, you normally liked taking time to do your hair. But today, you hated it. Just like you hated everything and everyone else.
Your parents had already left for work, but the lingering scent of their perfume filled the house. Not like a fading scent, either, more like they’d moved in. They might as well have been living with you now

Just one more thing to hate.
And the worst part? Even if you threw up, the nausea wouldn’t subside. It was killing you from the inside, torturing you. Almost as if it were enjoying watching you suffer.
Of course, you hated that, too—classic.
You can’t deny that stepping out onto the balcony brought a bit of relief. The only smell that didn’t bother you was the salty sea breeze. But even if the sea and salt provided some comfort, those damn blades of grass. The green monsters.
You hated every single one of them—every blade of grass on the planet.
This world reeked. You definitely needed to move to a different planet.
Your phone lights up with notifications, and you glance at it, rolling your eyes at the useless updates. You hate the sound they make, but you’re too lazy to turn off the notifications.
The first video on Instagram has you widening your eyes.
You really might die.
Right on the screen are juicy cherries and strawberries. Right there, in front of you. You want to lean in and take a bite. Just seeing them makes it feel as if their scent is reaching you, and for once, you don’t hate it. For a fleeting moment, you think the world might be a good place again.
It doesn’t take long before you’re in the kitchen, searching every possible spot for fruit. You scour the fridge, praying there’s just one, but there’s nothing.
If you don’t eat a cherry or a strawberry right now, you know you won’t make it. And the fruits staring back at you from your phone screen aren’t helping.
Your pregnancy has been
unique. You’ve turned against the things you once loved. You used to be a banana fanatic, but now even seeing one makes you queasy. The smell alone is enough to make you throw up. You could catch the scent of a banana even from the other side of an open field.
Thank goodness your family finally understood and stopped buying them. You didn’t want to see or smell them.
Chocolate was a different story. You used to love dark chocolate, but now it was a love-hate relationship. Some days, the smell was unbearable, and others, you felt like you couldn’t get out of bed without it. Milk chocolate was fine. A classic. You always loved it. But white chocolate
that was your sworn enemy. You hated the greasy feel it left in your mouth; it didn’t even taste like real chocolate.
Disheartened by the lack of cherries or strawberries in the house, you leaned against the counter, your gaze fixed on the screen. They looked so inviting. Juicy, fresh, bright red—they were calling your name. They were crying out for you. They wanted you.
You couldn’t hold back—
You tried to calm yourself. You could ask your family to pick some up on their way home. But waiting until evening felt impossible. It wasn’t just that you needed the fruits; the fruits needed you.
Besides—it wasn’t you, it was the baby. Right?
Without thinking twice, you dialed JJ’s number. You didn’t have many friends. JJ wasn’t really a friend either, but they knew you were pregnant. And since they’d brought you ice cream the other day, you thought maybe—just maybe—they’d do this too.
If they didn’t, well, you’d just hate them.
They whined at first, like a baby. And you hated them for that. You’d asked politely. In your way, but still polite. But the call ended in a minor argument, and you hung up on them.
Yet about twenty minutes later, as you lounged on the balcony watching a video, you noticed a blonde figure approaching your house from afar, a smile creeping onto your lips.
You still hated him. But if there were strawberries or cherries in that bag he were carrying—well, let’s be honest, you’d still hate him, but just a little bit less.
“Don’t get too excited,” JJ said, climbing up the steps to your porch with a cardboard bag in hand. You quickly closed your laptop and nudged it aside.
You could’ve hugged him, but that would’ve been too much. And unnecessary.
As you got up and walked over, he looked at you with a smug grin. His hair was tousled from the wind. He looked a bit
tired, but still the same, with that empty look in his eyes—the one that always made him seem a bit clueless.
As you pulled the bag toward you and peeked inside, your eyes sparkled at the sight.
He’d gotten you the fruits you wanted. He practically glowed before you. You could almost hear them calling, “Mommy!” or “Eat us!”
As you gazed at the berries, you heard JJ muttering, “It’s for the baby, not you. And do you have any idea how expensive these were? The guy ripped me off! Told me they were organic and pesticide-free—these better taste good, or I’m going back to give him a taste of my punch.”
Honestly, you couldn’t care less about what he were saying. Even if you wanted to listen, your eyes and mind kept drifting to the fruit. JJ, noticing this, just smiled as you slipped a strawberry from the bag.
Before you could even get the strawberry to your mouth, JJ’s hand shot out, grabbing yours. You turned a questioning look on him, but he was staring at you in horror.
“Don’t eat that, dude! Are you crazy?” he practically shouted.
“Let me eat it! What is wrong with you?” You tried to pull your hand away, but JJ let the bag drop to the floor, using his free hand to pry the strawberry from yours.
“Wash it first, will you? You’ll make yourself sick.” You made another grab for the berry, but he jerked back, hiding it behind him. Was he playing some kind of sick game? You could just about strangle him.
When he still wouldn’t give it up, you lunged for the bag on the floor, but JJ was faster, snatching it up and holding it out of reach. “You’re acting like you wash every berry you eat! Give it here; one berry won’t hurt me.”
JJ only smirked, raising the strawberry to his own mouth. You stared in disbelief, seriously considering murder as he bit into your strawberry. He had a special way of making even a good deed annoying.
You watched as he took a bite, juice dribbling down his chin. That should have been you. That strawberry was yours.
“Look, I get it, you think I’m crazy. But in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one eating it, and I’m definitely not pregnant, so if anyone’s getting sick, it’s just me, not some baby. Now, once you wash these, I won’t say a word,” he said with a sarcastic eye-roll.
Did he
 did he just
 gently parent you?
While he finished the rest of the strawberry, he nodded toward the kitchen. You took a deep breath, reluctantly heading inside, leaving the door open behind you. You heard JJ following, his footsteps close behind, and ducked into the kitchen as quickly as possible.
He let out a low whistle, glancing around at the kitchen. “Nice place you’ve got here. Get me a bowl. I don’t trust you with that, either.”
You rolled your eyes but grabbed a big bowl from the cabinet, handing it to him. He accepted it with a smug grin, eyes fixed on you. “Your hair’s wet.”
Was he stupid, or just messing with you?
“Yeah, and?” Did he think you didn’t know? You’d left it wet on purpose. Besides, drying it would’ve taken extra effort.
Setting the paper bag on the counter, JJ gave you another pointed look. “Idiot.”
Was it even possible to spend time with JJ and not roll your eyes?
Absolutely not.
That guy had a sixth sense for irritating you. So what if your hair was wet? It wasn’t the end of the world.
You hopped up onto the kitchen island, quietly watching as JJ washed the berries with exaggerated care. His back was to you.
As annoying as he was, you knew you probably owed him a thank you for going out of his way like this. Not many people would’ve done it, and if you’d asked anyone else, they would’ve asked too many questions. And then, somehow, everyone would know.
When JJ finally came over with the bowl of freshly rinsed fruit, a draft blew in from outside, bringing a horrible smell with it.. It was as if the air itself was rotting.
“What is that smell?” JJ looked around, half-thinking maybe it was him.
“What smell?” He was giving you a look, probably convinced you were imagining things. He’d just showered, put on fresh clothes, so he was certain it wasn’t him.
Watching you pinch your nose, JJ started sniffing around. You looked ready to bolt, but you clutched that bowl of strawberries like your life depended on it. Wherever you were going, they were coming with you.
“It reeks, JJ! Don’t you smell it?” You took your hand from your nose just long enough to give his a quick flick, making him wince. You hadn’t even hit him that hard.
“Are you crazy? There’s no smell—it’s the air freshener. You’re seriously losing it.” Your eyes widened as you realized where the stench was coming from. No way were you staying here a minute longer.
That air freshener—that evil little device—was getting tossed tonight. The second your parents got home. You weren’t about to suffer with that scent for another second.
You leapt down from the counter, sidestepping JJ and covering your nose as you rushed for the door. “Not going to die in there today.”
As you darted outside, you could hear him laughing behind you, and your brows furrowed. Was he actually finding this funny?
“Dying? Seriously? It’s just an air freshener—it’s not like it’ll kill you!”
Oh, it was going to meet its end in his mouth if he kept this up.
You dropped into the big armchair on the veranda, finally popping a strawberry into your mouth.
The taste was indescribable. Pure sweetness and flavor exploded as soon as you bit down, almost overwhelming. You actually closed your eyes, a satisfied sigh escaping you as you sank back, like you’d just tasted a little slice of paradise.
“You good?”
You opened your eyes, finding JJ grinning at you as he sat down in the chair next to yours. You smiled back, nodding.
“Thanks,” you said, popping another strawberry in, and JJ’s smile widened as he nodded, murmuring, “You’re welcome.”
Not going to lie, you wanted to keep every last one for yourself. But since he’d gotten them for you, it felt wrong not to share. You held the bowl toward him, and he took a cherry, tossing it in his mouth.
“You know what just hit me?” JJ looking at you with a glint in his eye as he munched on the cherry. You set the bowl between you on the armrest, curling up in the seat comfortably. “The air out here stinks.”
While JJ just looked at you, his brows raised. He paused for a moment, sniffed the air, and then shook his head. “Honestly—not trying to mess with you, even if I do enjoy annoying you. But there really is nothing. It doesn’t smell like anything.”
He looked at you seriously as he leaned back and took a bite of a strawberry.
Even though you stared at him like he was an alien, he just kept looking at you. You searched his face for some sign of judgment or that classic “you’re crazy” look, but nothing. Just seriousness.
“I hate these pregnancy symptoms. They ruin everything.” You leaned back, refusing to let go of the bowl. But when you heard sounds beside you, you looked up.
You watched as JJ pulled his phone from his pocket, and you popped a cherry in your mouth. Just as you thought he was bored with you and about to ignore you, you heard him start reading: “It says here: Eat smart. Leave your windows open. Sniff the good stuff. Distract your nose. Chew on a piece of gum or suck on a hard candy
blah blah blah. Show me the conclusion here—yep; Unfortunately, there’s no way to train your nose not to be super sensitive while your hormones are surging. This is one of those mom-to-be experiences you’ll have to wait out until the later months.” With a deep sigh, he tossed the phone aside.
Did he just
 no. You weren’t even going to think about that. Not now, not ever. He actually just
 no. Stop.
Eat a strawberry. Yes. Strawberry.
“To summarize, that’s all nonsense. I’m sure there’s a fix. Don’t worry.”
You took a deep breath, shoved a couple more strawberries into your mouth, and nodded. You weren’t going to stress about it. Of course, it would go away.
“Calm down, Strawberry Monster. They’re all yours.”
Feeling an odd pang, you looked down at your hand. Slowly, you put an untouched strawberry back in the bowl, sitting up and chewing the berries in your mouth as you brought a hand to cover it. JJ was watching you with that—idiotic expression. He really needed to stop looking at you like that.
You just
 felt weird. In a way you’d never felt around him. Almost like—like
 embarrassment.
You hated it. You hated this feeling. Who did JJ Maybank think he was to make you—feel embarrassed?
He
 he couldn’t. It didn’t even make sense to feel that way. You didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Just—ugh.
“What did you do today?”
What did you just say? No, you didn’t. You didn’t actually ask him about his day, right? This was just a dream. Yes, a daydream. That’s all.
JJ looked at you in surprise, like you’d thrown him off, and you hated yourself for that moment of panic. Was there never a time you could actually think clearly?
Out of all the ways to switch the subject, out of all the things you could tease him about, you asked him about his day? Like you were close? Like friends who ask each other how their days went?
Why don’t you send a good morning text while you’re at it? You’re such an idiot.
JJ glanced at you in shock, fidgeting with his hands as he pursed his lips. He pulled his hand away from the bowl and set it in his lap, looking away thoughtfully. Then he turned back to you.
“Stayed home,” he said, lifting his hand to scratch his neck. Things had suddenly gotten so awkward. Had either of you ever asked this kind of casual question before? “Well, my dad’s place. I left the house this morning. Surfed for a bit; the weather’s getting colder. Feels like the last few days of the season. You should try it—before it’s too late, I mean. Took a shower, stopped by John B’s place. Was there most of the day. Then you called.”
Besides the strange awkwardness of the question itself, you listened carefully, actually a little surprised he answered. You expected him to tease you for it.
You nodded to show you were paying attention. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder. John B and his other idiot friends—did they see that you’d called? Did they talk about you? Did they know you were pregnant?
No. He would’ve told you if they did. You didn’t want to admit it, but you trusted him. He wouldn’t tell.
“You said’ JJ, please, please bring me strawberries. I’m begging you.’ And, because I’m a hero, I immediately grabbed the strawberries—” JJ barely managed to shield himself as a pillow you tossed at him hit him square in the face, and he let out a pained groan as you laughed.
You hadn’t begged him. He was exaggerating, as usual. You didn’t.
“You’re rude.” JJ took the pillow and set it in his lap, grabbing a cherry and biting into it. “You’re liar.” You chuckled as juice from the cherry ran down his white shirt. “And an idiot.”
As he looked at his shirt in dismay, he tossed the rest of the cherry in his mouth. “Oh, shit.”
As you both sat in silence, you handed him a napkin from the table, but there was no saving that cherry-stained shirt. It was a goner. A small part of you felt guilty, knowing it was sort of your fault. Hormones were a nightmare. Getting upset over a shirt was stupid. But you felt bad anyway.
“Want me to lend you a shirt?” You didn’t really care what he said. You were going to grab one anyway. You just asked to make him feel like he’d made the decision. He was still grumbling as you stood up. You grabbed a strawberry as you turned to go. You could hear him calling after you, but you didn’t look back.
“It’s really not necessary. Hey!” Whatever he said, it didn’t matter. Your hormones were all over the place, and you’d rather just give him a shirt than obsess over that stain for days.
In your room, you stopped to look through your closet, pausing when you saw certain shirts. It felt like the universe was playing a joke on you. There was Rafe’s shirt. And not just his—the one JJ had given you on that day at the beach was in there too.
Caught up in the memories, you took a deep breath. Without a second thought, you grabbed Rafe’s shirt and shoved it to the back of the closet. He didn’t belong in your life anymore. He’d chosen that, and you’d accepted it.
You didn’t want to see him. You’d gone out of your way to avoid certain places just because you knew he might be there. You weren’t sure if you were more scared of bursting into tears or slapping him if you saw him. You just didn’t want to see him.
You were afraid of people noticing your stomach. It was barely showing, still small enough that no one else would see, but you knew it was there. And you didn’t want anyone else to know. You were scared. You weren’t ready to tell anyone, so you kept to yourself.
You stayed home, knowing no one could see you here. But lying around all day had gotten boring. Your chest ached with growth, and your back was screaming. You needed something to distract you, anything to focus on. But instead, you let your fear keep you stuck here. And you couldn’t stand it.
Thinking of JJ waiting for you downstairs, you pulled yourself together and glanced at your closet. You could give him his shirt, but—your hand went to your own white T-shirt instead. For reasons you didn’t quite understand, you chose that over JJ’s sky-blue, detailed tee.
Shutting the closet, you pushed memories away, focusing on what lay ahead. Your future. Your small family. You and your tiny baby.
You promised yourself you wouldn’t get hung up on the past.
Straightening the shirt in your hands, you stepped out onto the veranda. JJ was out there, taking in the massive front lawn. Probably imagining he could play golf on it—it was that big. His attention turned to you as you came outside, his gaze settling on the shirt in your hands. Realizing you were about to make him wear it, he took a deep breath as he watched you settle into the big chair beside him.
When you handed him the shirt, there was a quiet understanding between you. Without a word, he took it, stood up, and, without hesitation, took off his own shirt.
So—he was undressing in front of you.
It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen a guy shirtless before, but it still felt...weird. You’d seen him like this hundreds of times—hanging out on the beach, at parties, surfing, or just swimming with you.
But this felt different. He wasn’t doing it for fun or the beach. He was changing clothes. And you felt like some creep, like you were spying on him.
You couldn’t remember ever looking at him this closely. His skin was smooth like porcelain, and he looked like he’d been drawn to perfection. But his shoulders were the most noticeable feature. His V-line was just barely visible above his low-riding short—
You were startled out of it when his shirt smacked into your face. “Stop staring, creep.” JJ chuckled as he put on the shirt you gave him.
You hated him for that. But, honestly, you deserved it. You’d been staring. And you hated that even more.
You knew JJ would keep teasing you, as always. Soon enough, he got a call from John B about something “urgent” and said he had to go. You didn’t stop him.
The rest of the day, you ate all the strawberries and cherries JJ had brought over. The day was so dull you thought you might pass out from boredom. You even tried to sleep just to pass the time.
Hours later, you were stretched out on the couch, arm draped over your forehead, letting out a deep sigh. You’d tossed the automatic air freshener out in the yard earlier, so the house finally smelled right.
The door opened, and you didn’t need to guess who it was—it could only be your parents. Your mom set her bag by the door and approached you with that concerned “mom look.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted with a soft smile. Too exhausted from battling weird smells all day, you barely opened your eyes. As her footsteps came closer, she sat beside you, stroking your hair.
She’d finally come to terms with the fact that you were keeping this baby. She was being kinder, warmer to you, and you were grateful for it. With your hormones already wreaking havoc, you couldn’t handle your family being harsh on you. And, honestly, you couldn’t blame them. If your own daughter had gotten pregnant, you’d probably react the same way. “How was your day?”
Turning to face her, you let out another dramatic sigh. Your mom was the only person you could let yourself be a little dramatic around. She’d even started indulging your mood swings. “It was awful. The air...smelled wrong. Like I was breathing in something sour and flowery at the same time. I wanted some fresh air, but everything outside felt too much. The neighbors’ lawns smelled like they were on fire. I even threw out that air freshener because it was practically a health hazard!”
Your dad, standing by the door listening to the conversation, exchanged a knowing look with your mom. That silent parent communication—they didn’t need words to be on the same page. They probably chalked it all up to pregnancy hormones. But to you, the world really did feel like a sensory assault.
He came over and sat on the edge of the couch, giving you that serious look he used when he really wanted to listen.
When he gently said your name, it caught your attention. Sitting up a bit, you looked over at him, and he took a deep breath. He seemed ready for a serious talk, but your mom beat him to it. “Have you...thought about taking a tour of the island, love? Maybe it’d do you some good.” You shook your head, rejecting the idea right away.
Not anytime soon, anyway.
You’d barely managed to go to the hospital, and only on the condition that it was on the mainland. The last thing you wanted was for people on the island to find out you were pregnant. The thought of anyone gossiping about you made your stomach churn, so no. You weren’t doing it.
“Couldn’t you just try?” Your mom’s voice softened. She knew what was going on, understood how you were feeling, but it bothered her to see you isolating yourself when your bump wasn’t even showing yet.
It hurt her to see you wearing yourself down like this. She already felt like she’d failed as a mom for not protecting you, and seeing you holed up inside just twisted the knife.
“I don’t want to. I’m...happy here at home. I’m not going outside.”
Your parents weren’t oblivious. They knew exactly what was going on. They shared another look, and your mom let out a deep breath, still stroking your hair.
Your dad, sensing he should step in, spoke calmly, saying your name again. He stood and leaned against the table in front of you. “Your mom and I...we know this is a tough time for you.” He glanced at your mom, who nodded, eyes full of tender concern. “We don’t want you feeling trapped.”
His words didn’t quite make sense. It was like he was speaking another language, and as you failed to understand his point, your mom straightened up and explained, “What your dad means is
” You sat up, looking between them both. “If staying here is too hard, we’re open to other options. Maybe somewhere quieter, where people don’t know you.”
You blinked, feeling a spark of surprise and maybe a little hope. Were you hearing this right? “You mean...move?”
A place where no one would judge you, where you could tell people you were pregnant without a second thought?
And they’d do this, just for you?
Your dad nodded, his voice steady and reassuring, his face calm with a soft smile. “If it’d make you feel better. Yes.”
Your mom smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, her face lighting up. She didn’t want to see her daughter feeling trapped. She’d rather you be happy somewhere else than miserable here. “We could find you a place. And even though your dad and I might not be able to leave because of his work, I could come see you whenever you needed, love.”
Watching the warm look they shared, a tangle of emotions filled you. The idea of changing things for something better felt comforting. You knew your parents had their work, friends, and lives here—roots in this town. But even so, they were willing to shift everything if it meant you could have a fresh start.
But then the reality of it hit you. Your dad’s work was here; your mom had built a life in this town. They couldn’t always be there. You’d have to face some things alone.
You pushed that thought aside and looked back at your dad. His face held that unwavering, supportive expression you’d grown up with. “If a new start is what you want, we’ll find a way. It could be short-term or long-term, whatever you need.”
Your mom reached out, holding your hand, her eyes full of encouragement. She only wanted what was best for you. They could find you a home and make sure you had everything you needed. “We want you to know you’re not alone, love. We may have made mistakes at first, but we’re here now, ready to support you however we can. We’ll be right here.”
You nodded, moved by the weight of their support. Your heart felt like it would break from gratitude. You almost wanted to cry right there. You felt like you could hug them forever. Moving to a place where no one knew your life, away from judgment and rumors, felt...right—a fresh start for you and the baby.
But as you imagined this new life, you realized that, even with their support, you’d be walking this road mostly on your own. They wouldn’t always be there. You’d told yourself you could do this alone, but the thought of being without them was still daunting. What if you needed them?
“Thank you
 to both of you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with gratitude. There weren’t enough words to fully express your thanks for their decision to stand by your side. “I’ll think about it. I really will
”
Your dad reaches out to take your hand, giving you that reassuring smile. With your mom and dad standing behind you, you feel a strength you haven’t felt in a long time. “Whatever you decide, we’re here for you.”
Your mom nods, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “And if you change your mind, we’ll start packing those boxes,” she whispers, giving you a little wink, trying to bring a smile to your face. And for the first time in days, you find yourself truly looking at the future with a real sense of hope. This was real

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hiraethwrote · 3 months ago
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Been thinking a lot lately about how Satoru doesn’t really cook.
Growing up the way he did, everyone was pulling from every direction, unloading immense responsibility on him because of the Six Eyes. So normalcy wasn’t in the cards for him.
From a young age, his schedule was packed from dusk to dawn with all kinds of tasks embedded on him. And so, dinner was simply a time of day for him more than anything else. He was served a mediocre dish, then he had to return to his responsibilities.
And then he moved to Tokyo, and was finally blessed with some newfound freedom. But he didn’t want to waste this spare time learning how to cook, especially when Jujutsu Tech served him perfectly okay meals three times a day. Who was he to not take advantage of such privilege?
Any interest of developing some culinary skills was also smothered by his insane sweet tooth. Something he’d picked up as a way to help him, quickly evolved into never ending munching — forget proper food.
Sadly for him, the number of responsibilities didn’t decrease as he entered adulthood — rather the opposite. And now, as he was technically a grown up, there was a lot less tolerance for nonsense. People expected things from him now.
Yet again, cooking dinner was deprioritised. He also didn’t see a reason to devote time to cook when it was so much easier to just have it delivered right on his doorstep. He had the means to support such an expensive luxury, so why not?
Sitting down by the dining table after a long day of duties, a warm meal welcoming him with delightful smells never even became something he missed, seeing as he didn’t know what it was he had sacrificed for choosing the easy path.
Then you came creeping into his life.
You in general, had been a surprise to say the least. After everything, pursuing anything romantic wasn’t something that had been on his list of priorities either. But once he met you, he couldn’t not try to make you his.
Everything escalated pretty quickly, and it was fairly early on that you decided you wanted to cook for him for the first time.
“I got some insane pasta cravings. You down for that tonight?” You had your phone resting between your shoulder and your cheek while you scanned the grocery isles for what you needed.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he answered on the other end of the line. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”
You couldn’t help but giggle a little at his comment, a tiny bit confused by what he meant. “Well, duh. I’m not making two separate pasta dishes.”
“Oh,” a moment of silence from your boyfriend as the reality set in. “Yeah, no, of course. Just habit I guess,” smearing on with his usual, charismatic voice to play off his little slip.
Because poor Satoru had only assumed you would be ordering in, since it was all he really knew. The concept of prepping and cooking a dish from scratch hadn’t even crossed his mind.
A few hours later, the same usual comfort that came from your company, welcomed him along with an assortment of the most delicious smells once he arrived at your apartment.
“Ah, perfect timing,” you smiled, rushing to give him a small peck on the lips when he joined you in the kitchen before quickly hopping back to putting the finishing touches on dinner.
A small sensation of worry filled you, because this was the first time you had witnessed Satoru completely silent. Taking the time to turn your head over your shoulder to make sure he was alright, you saw his eyes just taking in the scenery of the set table and the somewhat messy kitchen.
“Just take a seat, Satoru,” you chuckled nervously, nodding in the direction of what had become his designated chair. “It’s almost ready.”
You saw a weak nod before he slowly shuffled over to the table and sat down. He swallowed the small lump in his throat when you put the casserole on the table in front of him.
“Dinner is served. But it’s hot, so just, be careful.”
When he didn’t move a muscle, you tried to act as if things were normal and served yourself first, hoping he would eventually tell you whatever it was that had gotten into him.
“Satoru?”
Your soft voice of concern snapped him back to reality, his familiar smile finding its way back to his expression — though he wasn’t truly himself quite yet.
“Looks absolutely delicious!” He gushed and finally filled his plate.
You continued to eye him with some suspicion as he started to dig in. Something you couldn’t put your finger on, washed over him when he took the first bite. Then another, and another, and another — then he was suddenly ogling you with the widest eyes you could remember seeing on him.
“This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”
You pursed your lips to choke back the exaggerated laugh that was about to burst out at his statement, that you were convinced had to be a lie.
“Is that so?” You teased, carefully stepping deeper into the topic to see if he was actually being truthful.
“Babe, this-“ he cut himself off, awe overtaking him. “Where did you learn this?”
You shrugged casually. “I’ve just picked up a few things over the years, I guess.”
“What else can you make?”
“Uhm, I don’t know,” you stuttered, a little taken aback by his surprising enthusiasm to what you considered to just be a simple pasta dish. “Several things.”
“Could you please cook for me tomorrow? And whenever you have the time?”
“Of course,” you smiled, shoulders resting when he now seemed to be totally fine, finishing his first portion only to take yet another huge serving.
Because to Satoru, it was more than just dinner.
Dinner and eating had always just been yet another task he did simply because he knew he had to eat. Never had there been any deeper meaning to it — but you showed him it could definitely be more.
To him, it also became a sign of devotion. You were willing to put in the time and the work to make him something nice, then you would get to enjoy it together. No one had really done that for him before.
Finally it was Satoru's turn to enjoy the domesticity of something as mundane as a home cooked dinner.
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©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited
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crescenthistory · 21 days ago
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did i hear you say you were writing another animagus!reader x regulus where they cuddle at hogwarts in each their cat forms? đŸ„șđŸ„ș
you know what they say, don't believe everything you hear... except for that, that's actually true
Words: 2.4k
Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, copious amounts of fluff, established relationship, bsf!remus, background wolfstar, reader and reg are kinda goody-two-shoes, platonic physical affection
Note: read more about cat!animagus!reader's shenanigans with reg, wolfstar and james here & here
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Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat
What a conundrum.
Remus should take this as an opportunity to be a good friend. You have spent almost two decades showing him exactly how to do that, playing the perfect part of the sister-he-never-had, loving and supporting him through life. For never turning your back on him, Remus is sure he owes you far more than what he can ever repay you, so he should try every single day. He should be a good friend.
But it was just too funny not to.
"At what point is it our duty to wake them up?" Sirius' voice whispered in his ear, shaking with mirth.
"I'm wondering the exact same thing." Remus dragged his words out to avoid making a decision. "How long do you think we can get away with?"
"I mean, they are already 15 minutes late to their Charms lesson, so we're dead men walking for not having said anything so far."
Remus is just able to tear his eyes away from you to glance sideways at Sirius, a too-fond smile already playing over his lips as he sees the exact mischievous look on his boyfriend's face that he expected. The look he fell in love with, not that Remus would be sappy enough to think about that right now. "So what you're saying is..."
"Leave it for a while longer?" Sirius grinned.
"Leave it for a while longer." Remus confirmed, whispering through a laugh, shifting his body further into Sirius' side as he lets his eyes fall back on you.
Well. On what he and Sirius knew to be you and Regulus, but what all other students in the library thought was just two cats sleeping in an armchair.
There was an elongated square of sunlight cast onto the middle of the seat by one of the beautifully decorated windows of the ancient castle, every cat's dream spot. The green velvet covering the seat of the mahogany chair was already riddled with fur from how long the two of you had been curled up around each other in it, white, grey and black hairs mixing together. Your forms might as well be mixing together too, fluid in a way that defied physics yet looked impossibly comfortable. Remus supposed you had to milk as much pleasure out of being an animagus as possible to make that whole mandrake leaf ordeal worth it. Though you could not answer even if he asked you right now, he was sure you at this very moment thought it was.
Remus' smile widened as he saw your chest rise dramatically as you breathed a sleepy huff, turning your head over slightly and burrowing it further into Regulus' plush neck. Your little cat bodies laid facing each other, arms around each other in a way he thought looked a little too much like a human hug.
It would be the absolute picture of serenity, two young things with no care in the world but each other – had it not been for the large clock ironically hanging right behind you, reminding you that you were not supposed to be here right now.
The four of you – five before James ran off the second he spotted red hair a few shelves back – had spent your two hours of shared free periods to read up together, for once actually doing a considerable amount of studying during it. Sirius was rubbing it in your faces, yours by consequence and Regulus' by design, that you still had one lesson left for the day when you abruptly stood up and demanded that you need a study break. When you then promptly dragged Regulus off into a corner, Sirius got the karma of a lifetime as he grew very concerned about what kind of break you would be engaging in. That was until the two cats lazily strolled back in and made themselves comfortable in the chair they now claimed as theirs.
Knowing you, Remus knew you hadn't intended on falling asleep, but maybe the fact that you did meant you really needed it. Yes, surely, you must have been exhausted and your body demanded a rest, so frankly he is quite an amazing friend for ensuring you listen to your health and your needs.
"Cats shouldn't be allowed to be that cute," Sirius all but grumbled as he looked at the two of them. "I should hate them on principle, but look at them Moony!"
"Quite literally no one is demanding that you hate cats on behalf of Padfoot, Siri."
"Padfoot is!" Sirius gave him a you can't argue with that logic look, but Remus knew he could.
"Ah, yes, my boyfriend the dog," he mused, cocking an eyebrow at Sirius who promptly reached out with his finger and pulled it back down.
"I could so give you a comeback to that, but I respect you too much not to say it in public," Sirius muttered and Remus couldn't fight his laughter.
Something moving in his periphery brought his attention back on you, seeing you shift even more into Regulus which caused him to begin stirring as well. Go back to sleep, go back to sleep, Remus whispered to you in his mind.
As always, you didn't listen to him, and ever so slowly Remus saw you peel one yellow eye open, blinking blearily at the room before turning your head back towards Regulus. The greyest of your four paws came up to gently pet at the black cat's neck, almost as if you were smoothing over the fur you had ruffled in your sleep. It made Remus' heart ache with love for you both, even as his stomach was slowly dropping.
A soft prrt! escaped Regulus before he instantly began purring and tightening his hold on you with his little cat paws, nosing his head against yours. A kind of softness Regulus rarely let himself fall into in public, though this was arguably a grey area.
It almost looked like you were about to be driven back into sleep by the vibrations moving through you from Regulus' chest. Remus noticed Sirius paying attention raptly as well, which was unfortunate.
Because when you shot up out of your seat with a small squeak, jumping as if startled as you looked towards the clock – now a good 30 minutes into your 45 minutes lesson – Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter. It earned him more than a few hushes from those around, but most importantly, it earned him your head snapping around to look at him with eyes that could rival a basilisk’s.
Considering Remus was already on a streak of making disloyal choices towards his loved ones, he didn't fight his instinct to stand up from his seat and back up when you ran and jumped onto the table right in front of Sirius' face with a hiss. You slapped at him with a clawless paw to which Sirius whispered something along the lines of "hey, knock it off, be cool" while trying to hold you at arm's length. You scowled at him as aggressively as any cat could, raising your back slightly before you arguably tut-ed at him and jumped back down.
Remus fought for his life to not laugh.
You turned around and ran over to Regulus who was still lazily stretching and gaining his bearings, not an ounce of care shown towards the near-assault of his brother. Nudging him with your head towards the end of the chair, he got the point and jumped down, already falling into his usual graceful mannerisms.
Together you scurried off back into your corner.
When you came back a mere minute later Remus swore there was no difference in your facial expression. Remus carefully walked around the table – where Sirius was still sitting with a petulant pout – hands up in surrender.
You crossed your arms, leaning your weight onto your right hip as you glared at your oldest friend, clearly expecting him to speak first. Behind you Regulus was strolling over, looking like he was trying really hard to be miffed but falling just short.
“How dare you,” you said – and it was a statement, not a question.
“In my defence,” Remus started, hands still up but so were the corners of his lips. “You two looked adorable.”
“That will surely hold up real well with the professor,” you scoffed.
“We didn’t make you fall asleep, princess,” Sirius grumbled to which you turned to him with a bitch please look Remus is fairly certain you picked up from Sirius.
“Apologies for expecting my friends to have my back. How stupid of me.”
“Very stupid indeed,” Sirius murmured as he took a sip of his coffee, grimacing when he found it to be cold. He nearly spilled some when Regulus gave him a light slap up the back of the head.
Remus figured it was time to pull out the big guns.
He manoeuvred his held up hands to be stretched out towards you instead with a rueful smile as he inched closer and closer. You had a moody expression still, eyeing him with suspicion, but you didn’t move out of the way. He dared make a small cooing sound as he brought you into a hug, coddling you like one would a child after they hurt themselves to keep them from crying.
“‘M super super sorry, lovie,” Remus half-muttered half-laughed into your hair as he rocked you a little bit. Your arms were still crossed against his chest, but you were leaning into him. 
“Don’t believe you, Loopy.” 
Regulus snorted at that and Remus looked up at him over his shoulder and the boys shared a look of humour and shared love for you that warmed his stomach. Though when Sirius nipped at Regulus’ sleeve to get his attention, the faux-miffed expression was plastered right back on the younger boy’s face.
Siblings, Remus thought and chuckled a bit into your hair.
“You laughing at me?” you questioned incredulously. 
“No, I’m laughing at our boys.” His response was quick to rid himself of any further accusations.
You instantly nodded against his shoulder. “Understandable.”
“Hey! Don’t bring me into this, amour.” Regulus' chiding tone was met with you uncrossing your arms at last, reaching a hand out behind you blindly, which he immediately took and squeezed with his own.
You let your other arm curl around Remus’ back. Forgiveness at last.
He pulled back to look down at you with a goofy grin, and was pleased to see you could no longer contain yours either. “You were really cute. Didn’t want to disturb you.”
You gave him a look. “Right, no laughing at our expense whatsoever.”
“Never.”
You gave him a light shove while you snorted, pushing him away from you. “This is what I get for my sacrifice for you?” you said as you shook your head at him not much unlike McGonagall would during detention.
“I would argue you got a pretty sweet deal with that sacrifice, doll, seeing as you can curl up with your equally sacrificial boyfriend and sleep in the library whenever.” Sirius nodded solemnly, while jutting his chin towards Regulus. “This one would never let that happen in any other form.”
“Oh, I’m sure I could’ve convinced him,” you replied, looking at Regulus with an almost salacious smile. As if to prove your point – or just to prove Sirius wrong – he came up to stand closer behind you, arms going around your waist. You leaned your weight back against him with a happy sigh.
“Disgusting,” was all Sirius offered.
You raised an eyebrow at him before turning your head sideways to give Regulus a short, sweet kiss.
“Disgusting,” he groaned once more, pressing the backs of his palms into his eyes.
“Karma,” you and Remus sing-songed at him at the exact same time in the exact same tone. 
Your eyes met in surprise before you both burst out laughing, any pretend fight seeping out of you as you both beamed at each other.
Siblings, Remus found himself thinking once more.
“Well, now that we don’t have a lesson to get to anymore, I suggest we get out of here,” Regulus sighed, squeezing your hips as if to underline his point.
“Where we heading?” Sirius asked as he swung his legs out to get up.
“I don’t know where you’re going,” you started. “But Remus will go hunt down a certain Head Boy and get him to make up some excuse to Professor Flitwick for why Regulus and I did not attend class so that our absence is removed from the records.” You put on your sweetest smile as you turned towards Remus at the last part.
“Regulus, what have you done with her?!” Sirius stage-whispered his accusation at Regulus who only responded with a certain impolite gesture.
“And why would James do that?” Remus drawls, certain that his entertainment was written all over his face.
“Oh, I’m sure he owes you for something, you figure it out.” You spoke as you tried to put your bag over your shoulder to leave, but Remus and Regulus both reached for it at the same time. They gave each other a look, trying to decide who will take the literal burden, before they both turned to Sirius and dropped the bag in his lap. He rolled his eyes at the both of them, but pulled the strap over his free shoulder nonetheless. 
“You are quite the minx, aren’t you?” Remus asked, going for chiding and landing somewhere along the lines of compliance.
“Learned from the best, Rem!” you cheered brightly, pressing quick smacking kisses on both his and Sirius’ cheek.
Before they could muster up a response or a reaction, you had already hauled Regulus down the halls of the library towards the exit with half-heartedly hushed giggles. The raven-haired boy looked over his shoulder right before you turned the corner with a barely-contained smile, inhibitions straw thin in your presence.
Remus understood him well.
He turned to Sirius with a pleased smile to find him already admiring his reactions from where he stood beside him.
“I get why they’re cats,” Remus mused as he interlaced their fingers, following the general direction you ran off to, ready to hunt down James and possibly claw up some furniture. 
“Because they’re adorable but also massive menaces?”
Remus breathed out contently. “Yeah.”
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