#bc of trees falling on cars

[pizzawrench]

day 7 no power 🤘🏻 got paid not unemployed got a generator to run fans that’s all i needed now im not sweltering in here

day 5 no powerrrr don’t know when i’m getting paid bc my corporate office was in the mountains might be unemployed after all this 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

[jeezypetes]

Gonna be late for work bc my bus stop fucking ceased to exist like it was obliterated not just a sign either it was a little enclosed thing with a bench and now its discrete pieces of twisted metal ten feet back in the bushes and public works employees sweeping up piles of gravel-sized safety glass

[knockmeoutbabe]

Holidays, man....

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Country Honey

 ♡ featuring: ranchhand!toji x richgirl!reader

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

 ♡ wc: 16.5k+ (AHHHHHH)

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

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

“Almost there.” 

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

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

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

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

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

You could die right now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Chop* 

You clutch the side of the parted door. 

*Chop* 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pompous ass instigatin’ little-” 

“-Callous disrespectful pig!” 

“-Brat.”  

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit” you mumble.  

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

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

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

“Yea, nobody you know.” 

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

“Jerk.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slip. Crash! 

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

Brown. It’s on your face.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

That shit-eating grin. 

“No need to thank me, miss piggy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, and did I mention very annoying? 

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

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

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

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

“HEY!”  

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

“This is my bathroom you idiot!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get yer feet off the wheel.” 

“Mm, nah. It’s not hurting anyone.” 

“’S hurting me.” 

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

“What did I-” 

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

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

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

“Sorry.” 

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

“What are you doing?” 

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

Your ears perk up, “She?” 

“Yup.” 

“Does she have a name?” 

“Nope.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe Rosy? Oh, or Susie.” 

“Think I’ll just call ‘er (Y/N).” 

“Huh? Why my name?” 

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

“Why not an A?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” 

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

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

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

“…What?”  

“Oh. Uh, nothing.” 

He returns to what he was doing.  

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

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

“Yeah.” 

“So…did he figure it out?” 

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

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

“Can’t. Hands full.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not important” he responds curt. 

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

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

“…like someone cut you” you mutter. 

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

“I-“  

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

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

The space between you widens with each step. 

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

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

“Thank you for the tea.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Everythin’ alright, sugar?” 

“Think I messed up.” 

“Hm? How so?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“...” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know where he is?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of horse is it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup, since I got to the farm.” 

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

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

“It would be if I never finished school.” 

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

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

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

“Forget it-” 

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

“I want to help people.”   

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

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

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

“That’s not what I meant.” 

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

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

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

“My bad.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you scared now?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya have no sense of danger.” 

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

“...I'm glad.” 

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

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

“Ouch.”  

“Careful, hun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I write one for you, too?” 

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

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

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

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

“Wanna go for a ride?” he calls. 

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

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

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

He holds his hand out, “Up.” 

“To where?” 

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

“Might wanna hold on.”  

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

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

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

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

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

“How come?” 

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

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

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

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

“It looks cute on me.” 

“So what?” 

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

“I think you’re a brat.”  

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

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

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

“The feeling’s mutual” you retort. 

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

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

 scoops and sets you down.  

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

“I guess this is it.” 

“Yup” he agrees. 

“Try not to miss me too much.”  

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

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

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

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

“Heh. Yes, ma’am.” 

“So…um.” 

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

“Y-yeah.” 

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

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

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

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

“Like I wanna look at you.” 

“I wouldn’t mind if ya did.” 

“God, you’re so far up your own-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna do so much worse.” 

“Then do it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you’re not doing good enough.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you cry. 

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

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

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

“Y’know just how to get me.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s” 

“Pussy” 

“Is this?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna sleep” he grumbles. 

“Then you should’ve let me leave” 

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

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

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

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

[hollandsangel]

casual | m. sturniolo

i’ve been scheming for weeks !! (actually started this before move over AND voice. so.)

basically i’m obsessed with this song

summary: the most dangerous label is the casual one; or you both want more

warnings: matt x fem!reader, use of y/n, ANGST, cursing, happy ending bc i’m a sucker & a lost cause

wc: 6.5k

the sun is dipping behind the horizon, painting the sky pink and orange. you have your window rolled down, letting the salt air breeze pick your hair up as you rest against the car door. matt has elmer’s new song playing on aux, something lofi with a bit of spanish mixed in.

“like what you see?” he speaks up, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look over at you. he stares for a second, your skin illuminated by the fading rays of the sun, kissing the tops of your cheeks and giving you a warm glow.

you press yourself up to sit properly and catch his hand resting on the center console. you always loved that he drives with his left hand, the right always close enough for you to touch. 

“it’s pretty,” you say, poking your head back out of the window, looking overhead at the passing trees, “the palms are so tall.” matt squeezes your hand, and when you look back up he’s already looking at you, smiling when you meet his eyes.. his hair looks lighter in the setting sun, the side of his face lit up all golden and warm. you bite your lip and smile, turning away with a slight flush.

“it’s green,” you tell him and he flicks his head back forward, muttering a curse under his breath.

“my bad,” he admits, refusing to drop your hand. 

it looked like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, just takes a breath and lets it out before turning back to the road.

when the car pulls into the garage you reach to the back to grab your overnight bag. matt’s already out of the car, coming over to your side to open your door, “c’mon,” he says in that silly high pitched voice, just to hear you giggle.

you make your way to his bedroom, knowing the ins and outs of the triplet’s house like the back of your hand. matt follows behind you, his footsteps echoing amongst the hardwood floors. 

“i can’t wait to lay down,” you sigh, the effects of the sun's heat catching up with you now that you’re in the cool, air conditioned house.

“yeah, i’m feelin’ pretty tired too,” matt agrees, his voice heavy and suddenly cloaked by fatigue.

you’d been out all day, shopping on melrose, walking by the beach. dinner and ice cream and the beating sun soaked up all your energy. nothing sounded better than getting cozy in matt’s bed and watching a movie, maybe catching a bit of a nap before deciding to head home. you knew he’d insist on driving you, and that always hurt more than you’d like to admit.

the two of you weren’t dating, he wasn’t your boyfriend and you told yourself you didn’t mind. it wasn’t a very convincing lie though, most everyone around you could tell. it’s not that you hadn’t talked about it, you had, there were just things getting in the way.

matt was worried about how his fans would react, and he absolutely did not want it to be at your expense. you hated the thought of pushing him, like forcing him or asking too much, being too needy would only drive him away. all your friends had told you to stop, that you were only going to get yourself hurt, but you’d honestly rather have half of him and a broken heart than none of him at all. 

you never doubted that he cares about you, in fact you know he does. he always picks you up from classes, knows your order at all your favourite fast food places and keeps an extra toothbrush in the bathroom for you. it’s things like that that make the title of causal or just seeing each other sting a little bit more.

here though, all settled in matt’s bed, you try not to think about it too hard. there’s some liam neeson movie he insisted on showing you playing on the tv, and you’re happy to be watching it, but mostly happy to be watching it with him. his chest rises and falls under your head with each breath and it’s making you more tired than before.

“i’m so warm,” you say through a yawn, all comfy now in your sweats and matt’s crewneck, although the comfort comes mostly from his arms wrapped around your middle. 

“you can throw on a pair of boxers if you want, top drawer,” matt offers, his arms unmoving, keeping you mildly trapped against him.

“let me goooo,” you groan dramatically, making a big show of sliding out from under his arms and grinning to yourself when he laughs.

“come back,” he pouts, reaching for a stuffed animal to take your place while you cross the room to his dresser.

“just give me a sec,” you giggle, rummaging around in the drawer and pulling out a pair of plaid boxers. there’s something stuck to it, all tangled up in the mess of his clothes, “what the– is this my bra? i’ve been looking for this for like a month.” 

matt lifts his head just enough to see what you’re holding up, huffing when he hits the pillow again, “i dunno, sweetheart, you probably left it, you’ve got a lot of stuff here,” he sounds tired, and the words are pressed against his pillow now that he’s rolled onto his stomach. 

you’ve got lots of stuff here.

it digs into you, how casually he says it, an almost physical ache you feel beyond your ribs, right where your heart is. 

quickly you try to shake it off, shucking off your sweatpants and sliding the boxers up your legs so you can hurry back into bed before allowing yourself to think about what he said too much. 

“c’mere,” there’s a little smile on his face when he says it, arm outstretched for you to crawl under. immediately matt tucks you up against his body impossibly close, his nose stuffed into your hair and breathing you in. it feels nice, right, and you let yourself bask in it, like maybe the state of your relationship (or lack thereof) won’t be in limbo forever. he has to feel it too, the pull.

“i think you should just stay tonight,” he says quietly against your temple, leaving a little kiss there.

“are you sure?”

he nods, “it’s late, ‘m not gonna kick you out,” you can see his smile in the dark, his features lit up delicately by the dim light of the movie, “and i kinda wanna cuddle,” he admits sheepishly, trying to hide his blush when you turn to him.

“awe, matty,” you tease, scooching closer to him, hardly an inch away.

“hey,” he says all high pitched, making you laugh again.

“that voice always gets me,” you tell him, snuggling up under his chin.

“that’s why i do it,” he tells you.

it doesn’t take long for you to slip into an easy sleep with matt holding you, the mindless noise coming from the tv luring you deeper into unconsciousness. he’s being extra gentle, finger tips dragging along your waist under your top. you hardly feel him slide out of bed or tuck you in all snug under the covers.

nick’s in the kitchen when matt emerges from his bedroom for some water,  hunting for something in the pantry. matt rubs his eyes.

“hello?” chris leans forward on the couch, his voice startling matt.

“jesus, what– you’re just both out here at fucking two in the morning?” he grumbles, eyes squinted against the harsh lights.

“we ordered food,” chris stands up, walking into the kitchen.

nick nods, closing the cupboard, glass in hand, “we thought you were at y/n’s or something, i didn’t hear you come in,”

matt grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and a takes a sip before answering, “nah she’s here, she’s asleep,” he says, nodding towards his bedroom.

nick groans, “god, are you guys dating yet,” he asks, head rolling back against his shoulders, exsapertated.

matt’s eyes widen at the sudden outburst of noise, looking back at his door to make sure nick didn’t wake you, “dude, be quiet,” he urges.

you’d felt matt’s absence after a few minutes, the warmth of his body leaving the bed when he did. slowly you sit up, pressing the heel of your palm into your eye and swinging your feet to the floor quietly. you stand behind matt’s closed bedroom door, prepared to silently creep out and go to the bathroom when you catch his voice. 

“and no,we’re just casual,” he continues to answer nick’s question, who glances over and chris. “what— don’t look at him like that,” this earns him another sideye, “i mean it, it’s not serious.”

“matthew” nick starts, “isn’t she asleep in your bed right now?” nick points an accusatory finger in his brother’s direction, emphasizing his words.

it’s matt’s turn to look at chris, who holds his hands up in surrender, “don’t look at me, i’m with nick,” he says, looking away from his brother from where he remains on the couch.

“well she’s not my girlfriend, if that’s where this is going,” matt turns back to the fridge, not really looking for anything, just trying to hide from his brother’s judgmental, but justified, stares. 

it hurts to hear, even if you know it’s the truth.

“and why not, idiot,” nick asks, getting fed up. he can clearly tell how his brother feels and is getting frustrated, mad even, with the idea of him toying with your feelings. 

“i just—i just can’t do it.” that hurts more, a sharp pain you feel in your chest. you swallow dryly, and that hurts too. 

you decide you don’t have to go to the bathroom that badly anymore, and slowly sink back into matt’s bed. you know you and matt aren’t together, that he’s not your boyfriend, but a part of you has always clung to the idea that one day he would be, that he’d finally make the move. you thought he liked you enough to at least try.

tugging the duvet up to your chin you roll over onto your side to face the wall. matt comes back into the bedroom and you can hear nick and chris talking quietly for a second before the door closes again. you’re not too sure, but you think one of them mumbles your name amidst the conversation. matt slides back under the covers with you, coming as close as he can to wrap his arms around you.

it makes your head spin, his words rattling around in your mind, saying he “can’t do it,” but here is, body tucked perfectly against yours, holding you so tight you’d think he never wanted to let go.

—

matt seems notice that you’re a bit quieter than usual the next morning, but you try to hide it under the excuse of not feeling well. he offers to drop you off and you take him up on it, knowing that marinating in the misery you feel won’t solve anything but seems to be the easiest thing to do at the moment.

“text me if you need anything, okay?” his tone is concerned and you can feel him looking at you even though you’re trying to avoid eye contact. you know you’d cave, catching a glimpse of the light blue with all that worry clouding it.

“yeah, i will,” you sigh, reaching into the back seat to grab your bag. 

matt catches you, palm placed delicately along your jaw so you’ll look at him, “hey,” he says all soft, “c’mere,” he guides you forward slightly and you know what’s coming, you know it’s gonna hurt but you do it anyway.

he kisses you gently and you fall into it with ease, reaching out to touch his arm. when he strokes his thumb along your cheekbone you pull away, licking your lips.

“i’ve gotta go,” you whisper, afraid the full volume of your voice would shatter something, you’re not too sure what.

“yeah, okay,” he nods, pulling his hand away from your face and trying to smile as you open your door, watching you walk into your building.

he stays there in the parked car for a minute, wondering what’s wrong, pretending he doesn’t know that this whole situation hurts you just as much as it hurts him. he’s staring up at your apartment window, tapping the steering wheel and taking a long, deep breath.

“fuck,” he mutters to himself, pushing his hair back and putting the car in reverse.

—

you and matt don’t talk excessively for the next few days, only a few texts exchanged here and there and one phone call after he knew you’d just written a midterm. 

he called to ask how it went and tell you he was proud of you, and also to invite you out to dinner with his parents on the upcoming weekend. they were flying out to l.a. for a few days and he wanted you to meet them. it felt cruel.

“i dunno matt, i’ve got an assignment due sunday at midnight, i might not be able to make it,” of course you wanted to go, but the tug of self preservation was starting to become more equal to the pull you felt towards him. you were starting to lose sight of what was more important, him or yourself.

for so long it had been him.

“please, sweetheart, i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever,”  matt slumps into his desk chair, spinning back forth.

you cave and somehow your vision clears. it was him again.

“yeah, yeah, okay, i wanna see you too,”

matt smiles on the other end of the phone, “yay,” he says sweetly, making his joy obvious, “i can help you with your assignment if you want, too,” he offers, and you know he’s just trying to get a smile out of you.

you laugh without meaning to, “matt, you know nothing about the course,” 

“i’ll figure it out, anything i can do to make sure i see you,”

you bite your lip, trying to keep a smile at bay, “careful, you’re gonna make me think you like me or something,”

“aw, well i can’t have that now can i?” he teases, and it cuts deeper than he realizes it does.

“no,” you mutter, trying to hold onto the smile on your face even though matt can’t see you, ��um, i should probably get going, if i wanna finish my assignment on time,”

“oh, yeah, okay. i could come by a little later with some food?” he poses it as a question, sensing your hesitancy.

“you don’t have to do that,”

“i know, but i want to,” he says it so easily, like there’s no reason in the world he wouldn’t come to your house after eleven pm just to sit on your bedroom floor while you do school work.

“canes?” you finally offer.

“be there in half an hour.” you hear the car keys jingle through the phone, the front door latching shut.

—

the triplet’s parents land on friday afternoon. you haven’t seen matt since wednesday night when he called and brought take out to your place, and you’re starting to feel a little nervous at the thought of seeing his parents.

you’ve spoken to them over facetime once or twice when matt had called them, but this is real, this is serious.

you think you’ve completely driven yourself insane with that, thinking of it as serious. for days there’s been a battle in your head about whether or not this means matt wants to make your relationship offical. it’s become such a problem that you’ve forbidden yourself from thinking about it.

taking a deep breath you refocus on yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair and trying to decide on a lip product for the night when your roomate wanders into your bedroom.

“how are you doing?” she asks, leaning against the door frame. you don’t answer, just look up at her with what must be a miserable expression, because she chuckles sadly at you, “that bad, huh?”

you groan and clench your fists, “i’m just confused!” you exclaim.

“i know, but i think tonight should clear some things up,” she tells you hopefully, and you really want to believe her.

“i hope so,” you sigh, “i just really like him,” you whine, defeated.

your phone dings then, a message from matt of course.

matt sturn

be there in twenty

ive got the kids

you laugh sadly at the text.

“‘s that him?” your roommate asks.

“yeah, him and his brothers are on the way, they’ll be here soon.”

“you’ll do great, don’t sweat it,” she tries to reassure you, giving you an over enthusiastic thumbs up before shutting your door again.

matt, nick and chris have been in the car for about five minutes and already matt’s debating driving into oncoming traffic. him and his brothers have had the same fight at least three times since you stayed over last week, and if he’s honest, he’s getting really sick of it.

“enough of this ‘i can’t do that’ bullshit, matt, she’s coming to dinner with our parents,” nick says pointedly, running out of air at the end of his setence, “you don’t just bring your hook up to that shit, so fucking stop talking to her if it’s that much of an issue,” he continues, leaning froward against matt’s seat, staring holes into the side of his brothers face.

matt is clearly aggravated, gripping the wheel a little too hard, “shut the fuck up, nick— she’s not just a hook up,” 

nick’s eyes get wider at this and he leans over matt’s seat, voice exponentially louder when he says, “you just proved my fucking point!!”

“you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” matt mumbles in a deft tone, staring harshly out onto the road.

chris leans over from the passenger seat, gesturing in matt’s direction, “and you do? you never shut the fuck up about her, and she’s always at the house but you’re too much of a pussy to do anything,” he yells over matt all in one breath, words coming out too fast. 

matt’s mouth is set in a firm line and he’s shaking his head, “you guys don’t get it!” he finally yells back, signaling and switching lanes before he can finish his thought, “i can’t do that to her,” the car’s stopped at a red light now, allowing him to look nick in the eye from the rearview mirror. both him and chris shut up for a second.

“i can’t do that to her,” matt emphasizes again, making his point with his hands, bracketing the last two words, “the internet would chew her up and spit her out. you think i don’t want to make her my girlfriend? do you think i like doing this to her? every fucking day i think about cutting it off because i don’t wanna hurt her, but i’m too fucking selfish to do it.”

“it’s green,” chris mumbles.

“shut the fuck up,” matt says through his teeth as he turns back to face the road, driving through the light.

“so what are you gonna do?” nick asks, softer now, arm hung over the back of matt’s seat.

matt looks up at him in the rearview again, taking a deep, anxiety ridden breath, “i don’t know.”

the three boys are silent for the remainder of the drive to your apartment. matt puts the car in park and mumbles something about being right back before getting out and heading up to your floor, slamming the car door a little bit too hard.

“jesus christ,” chris breathes, feeling the tension finally break.

there’s a knock at the front door, and you take a deep breath before opening it. matt stands with his hair a little bit messy and his cheeks a little bit red, but he softens when he sees you.

“hey,” you say, “let me just grab my bag,”

“wait, y/n,”

“yeah?” you turn back around to look at him. he’s standing in the middle of your kitchen, looking a little bit deflated.

“can i have a hug?”

your heart nearly shatters. is he feeling it too?

“wha– of course baby, of course,” you cross the kitchen over to him and he already has his arms open. immediately he locks his arms around your waist, resting his head against yours. you gently rub his back and rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“is everything okay?” you wonder after a second, feeling him breathe heavily against you.

matt squeezes you a little tighter and kisses your hair, “yeah,” he sighs, “nick and chris are just annoying,”

“you love them though,” you remind him.

he pulls away but keeps you close, hands on your hips now, “sometimes i think about reevaluating that,” 

you laugh at him, fixing his messy hair, “no you don’t,”

its his turn to smile, “you’re right,” he leans in for a quick kiss which you grant him, letting it dampen your nerves and reservations on the evening.

“i know, now c’mon, we’ve gotta go,” you slide your hand down into his.

“you don’t have to be nervous, by the way,” matt says to you in the elevator, still holding your hand. 

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and he squeezes your hand, letting you know he’s there for you, “it just feels serious,” you finally admit what you’ve been thinking for the last few days. you’re a little bit afraid to look over at him, so you keep your gaze towards the closed elevator doors.

matt gives your hand a quick squeeze and glances at the side of your face, you can feel his eyes on you, “it’s not serious, don’t worry,” it’s a little strained when he says it, as if he means something else but you can’t quite decipher it. it’s too much to think about now and yet it’s all you’ve been thinking about for days, how ‘unserious’ it all is to him.

when you do get to dinner, marylou and jimmy are already at the restaurant. marylou is being so sweet to you, asking about classes and how you met the boys, what you like do to in your spare time and things about matt that you tease him over. you feel like a girlfriend, you feel like his girlfriend and you don't think you can take much more of it. she tells you how much he talks about you when he’s home, that even justin has started making fun of him for it.

when you look over at matt he’s blushing but staring directly into his plate, avoiding you.

the smile you plastered onto your face fades and you dig your nails into your plam under the table.

“excuse me, i’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you say to no one in particular, catching nick’s eyes. he seems to notice your pleading gaze, and sends you a text after you’ve left the table

nick stromboli 

you okay?

you lock yourself in the single bathroom and stand staring at your phone screen.

you

this is brutal

your mom is being sooo sweet but matt won’t even look at me

i feel like he's embarrassed

nick stromboli

he's actually the biggest idiot that ever lived

chris is lowk giving him a death stare rn

nick was being serious, chris staring at matt as marylou goes on about how nice you are.

nick elbows matt in the side and he looks over, more than slightly fed up.

“i think you should go check on y/n,” he whispers, making matt perk up a bit in worry.

“why?”

“i don’t think she’s feeling good,”

“oh, i hope she’s okay,” marylou interrupts herself.

“i’ll be right back,” matt stands from the table and walks to the bathroom, knocking on the door gently, “y/n/n? it’s me sweetheart,”

a slight panic drops through you as you push away from where you were leaning against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

“c’mon let me in, nick said you weren’t feeling good,” he knows you were nervous about tonight, and he’s hoping that’s all it is, that he can fix it.

you sigh, head tossed back to your shoulders as you breathe out before letting him in, hoping you look more composed than you feel.

“hey, you okay?” he asks gently, closing the door behind him.

“yeah, uh, i think i’m gonna go,” you mumble, looking away.

“what? d–do you want like a gingerale or something?” his brows are pinched and he’s reaching out for you. you step back without thinking about it. you don’t even notice you’d done it until you see the hurt look on his face. he reaches out again, slower this time.

“y/n…”

something in you clicks, or comes crashing down when his fingers brush your wrist, “i’m not your girlfriend matt, stop worrying about me like i am,”

he's a little bit stunned at that and pulls back, saying your name again. 

“no, don’t do that, i heard what you said to the guys last week, and you keep telling me we’re causal and we can’t be anything but we’re at dinner with your fucking parents. i can’t keep prenteding to be your girlfriend, or–or that it doesn’t hurt, i just can’t do it anymore,” 

there’s tears in your eyes you don’t notice until matt whispers, “don’t cry,”

“i’m going crazy,” you tell him, voice so soft, so fragile that his heart breaks a little bit.

“no you’re not, c’mon– we can work this out,” the words are so comforting, and normally he’s the one you’d run to for comfort, but he’s hurting you.

“are we gonna make it official, matt? or are we just gonna keep sleepingover at eachother’s houses four days a week and tell all our friend we aren’t dating?” you ask, pressing your fingertips underneath your eyes, “are we gonna do this for real or are you gonna keep telling your parents about me when you’re in boston, and–and keep coming to my house after midnight with take out just because i don’t wanna be alone working on assignments,” he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with a solemn look, so you keep going.

“i can’t take the sorry fucking look chris keeps giving me when i’m walking out of your room, it hurts, matt,”

he steps forward finally, trying to make up for more than the physical space that separates you, “no, c’mon, just–just come back to the table. i’ll stay at yours tonight and we’ll talk about this,”

you hold back a scoff at the irony of him mentioning he’ll stay over, “i need an answer now.” you tell him. he’s gone back to standing a few feet away from you, not touching you anymore.

“an answer for what?”

“can you commit to this now? to me?” you feel like you’re pleading with him and you hate how desperate it is.

“we aren’t having this conversation in the bathroom right now, can we please just talk about it later?” matt asks.

you shake your head, “matt, we’ve been doing this for four months, i don’t wanna wait any longer, i’m not a toy.”

he stares at you, licking his lips. you stare back, suffocating in his silence. it’s all the answer you need.

“i’m gonna go,” you mutter, “tell your parents it was really nice to meet them, and that i’m sorry for leaving,” you add, looking away when you walk passed him to open the door.

you leave the restaurant and call an uber, hardly sparing a glance in the direction of his family’s table on your way out.

“is y/n okay?” jimmy asks when matt comes back alone. 

matt shoves a hand into his hair to push it back, not meeting anybody’s eyes, “she went home, she wasn’t feeling good”

“and you didn’t offer to take her?” marylou scolds, sure she raised her son better than that.

“she didn’t want me to,” matt admits, defeated.

nick and chris share a look, knowing that isn’t the whole truth, or really the truth at all. 

—

a few days later, after their parents had gone back to boston, matt’s shuffling into nick’s bedroom, where him and chris are laying on the bed on their phones. 

matt looks a mess, hair wild and eyes sunken in. he’s been in his bedroom all day, blinds drawn and door latched shut

nick thinks he’s wearing a hoodie of yours, the faded smell of your perfume lingering when his brother walks in. 

“…you okay?” nick asks, glancing up from his phone. 

matt shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes with his fists, “i feel like fucking shit,” he admits, still looking down, “i hate that i hurt her,” he tells the two, as if his brothers weren’t already acutely aware, “i was trying so hard to keep from hurting her and i fucking did it anyway,” they wait for matt to finish, knowing he has a little more to say, “i was so fucking scared of making things offical that i lost her all together, she’s never gonna talk to me again,”

nick sighs and looks over at chris, the two of them sharing a sympathetic look before he moves forward and puts his arm around matt, who slumps against his shoulder, “that's not true,” nick says, “she probably should never talk to you again, but she’s a good person, and she’s our friend,”

“yeah, and she cares about you a lot, matt.” chris adds, sitting on the matt’s other side.

matt groans and covers his face, “i know, and that’s what sucks,” he wipes his palms over his face, “god, why was i so fucking stupid?”

“because you really like her,” chris offers, “and you’re gonna try and make it up to her…right?”

matt sits back up, staring at the wall, “i dunno, i want to, i don’t…” he takes a deep breath, willing the pit in his stomach to go away, “i’m more afraid of losing her all together than i was of any of that other shit, but i don’t know how to fix…this,” he says, dejected.

nick perks up, because he’s never seen matt half as lively as he is when he’s with you, or talking about you. he’s pretty sure matt was on his way to falling in love with you (if he hasn’t already) and refuses to let him lose hope,“i have an idea,” he says.

matt looks at his brother, desperate. the circles under his eyes a shade too dark, his cheeks sunken in, his lips chapped. nick continues.

“we’ll need waffles.”

—

it’s been over a week and a half since you walked out of the restaurant, and since you’d spoken to matt. nick’s been messaging you, asking if you’re okay and telling you he’s there for you. there’s been a bit of him telling you how stupid matt is, which you’d agreed with solemnly.

nick’s messaging you now. you’re posted up at your kitchen table trying to review for one of your exams, but more so warding off another wave of tears, pressing your fingertips into your eyes.

you pick up your phone to answer the message nick had sent, something about a sleepover at your place this weekend and a promise of a hannah montana binge, but there’s a knock at your door. you’re confused at first, wondering who’s at your door this late.

“did you order food?” you ask your roommate as you get up, looking in through the crack of her barely opened door. her headphones are on and she's hunched over a textbook with a highlighter, oblivious to any visitors.

your heartbeat speeds up a little bit as you begin to think about who’s on the other side. with a huff you look through the peephole, met with a slightly distorted image of matt anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot.

he keeps looking down the hallway and biting the inside of his cheek. he’s holding something. a paper bag in one hand and a bouquet of delicately wrapped flowers in the other.

you turn the lock, hand shaking a little bit as the door swings open. he whips his head from where he was looking down the hall to the now open door, your eyes locking immediately.

“matt,” you whisper, not even meaning to say it.

he stares at you for a second, seemingly forgetting any words he would have said for a second before holding up the bag.

“i brought waffles.”

—

“please let me in,” he says breathlessly, as if he was holding his breath waiting for you to open the door. “i know i probably don’t deserve a chance, and you probably don’t wanna hear me out, but…but please,” he licks his lips, grip tightening on the stems of the flowers, (you didn’t think he was listening when you told him your favourites all those months ago) “i miss you,” it’s quiet, the way he says it. he’s pleading with you.

there’s an ache in your chest, you’re trying not to mistake his tenderness for pity. and yet you still find yourself letting him in.

“okay,” it takes so little convincing. you missed him too.

there’s little talking at first, mostly just you and matt grabbing plates down and dishing yourselves out. he went to your favourite diner, because of course he did. the waffles are still warm and are making your kitchen smells like butter and sausage. you move your books and laptop out of the way to make room for the two of you to sit, elbows touching when you start to eat.

you’re half way through your first waffle when matt speaks up. you could feel him staring, his body half turned towards you in his chair. some of your hair falls into your face and his finger twitches before you tuck it away. all he wants to do it touch you. hold you, kiss you, anything. he’s such a jerk. 

“i’m sorry,” 

you freeze for a second, still facing away from him. after you finish chewing you set your fork down and turn slowly, finally looking him in the eyes. the blue has grown a shade too dark, melancholic. 

“for what?” you ask stupidly, just needing to know how he’s felt about it all.

“fuck, everything?” he says, forcefully pushing his hair away from his eyes. 

you shake your head and turn back to your plate.

“y/n,” he sighs, “c’mon look at me,”

you do, but it hurts.

“i’m sorry for what happened at the restaurant, and i’m sorry things got so out of hand and–and that…this went on for so long,” he gestures between the two of you, fixing his wild hair again.

“this?” you ask, voice breaking, thinking the worst, that he regrets it all, that it’s over. it’s really over.

“this stupid fucking dance we’ve been doing for four months, it’s crazy. it was always crazy.”

you huff, probably a little bit too dramatically as you shift to face him fully, “matt, what are you saying?”

“i’m saying that i like you! and it was so stupid to fucking…dilute that becuase i was scared or some shit,” the latter end of his sentence loses volume, he’s getting shy again.

“but–but you just wanted to be casual–” you start, looking down at your crossed legs.

“no, i never wanted to be fucking casual, i was just…. fuck i was just scared.” he says around a mouthful of waffle. the air smells like syrup. 

“i wanna be with you all the time, i like you so much– i just– at first i didn’t want things to be weird between us, which is why i thought a relationship was the wrong idea, but then we started…doing relationship things and it only got better.” he starts, messing with his hair and pushing his food around his plate, “after i stopped being so afraid of that i just, i got scared of another thing,” he finally looks up at you, eyes a little sad, a little heavy.

you can tell that he knows how he’s made you feel, and despite that you hate that he’s sad. you never want him to be sad.

matt continues, “i’d hate for you to get hurt because of my fans, and i knew it was gonna be hard to keep things private, to keep things…ours. i thought that was something i didn't wanna do or i wasn't ready for but…” he sighs, cutting himself off and taking in another big breath. you want to reach out and rub his back, knowing he’s anxious and just trying to calm himself down. 

“you being mad at me i can deal with,” he starts again, “you being mad, or–or upset because of me, is harder to handle, but fuck, not having you at all? that's worse than anything else we’d have to face,” he looks up, dead into your eyes to make sure you understand the weight of what he’s about to say, “together.”

“matt…” you whisper. you’ve forgotten about the food. it’s getting cold but it doesn’t matter.

he shakes his head before meeting your eyes again, “i’d rather go through all that bullshit with you than go through nothing without you,” he sounds so sincere that you think your heart skips a beat.

“what are you—”

“i wanna do this. for real.” he nods once, watching you closely.

“do you mean that?” he hates how doubtful you sound and he hates that he’s the one to have put all that doubt there. he thinks you might cry.

“y–yeah of course i mean it. i should have said it a long time ago, and if it makes you feel any better nick’s been giving me shit for like, two months, and i think chris wanted to beat me up last week.” he offers you half a smile, hoping you’ll give one back.

instead you breathe out laugh. he basks in it.

“i want you to be my girlfriend,” you’re looking down again and your hair falls from it’s place behind your ear. he doesn’t stop himself this time, nimble, ring adorned finger pushing it back, “i wanna be your boyfriend,”

you look up at him, studying his face for a second before you speak. he looks tired and a little worn, like he’s been thinking too much and too hard and worrying even more.

“yeah?” you finally say.

matt smiles at you. he has such a pretty smile.

“yeah.” he nods, smiling now.

“so we’re not just casual?”

matt scoffs out a laugh and stands. you stand too and he wraps his arms around you, tucking his chin atop your head when your arms go over his shoulders. he kisses your hair and breathes you in, the lingering scent of your shampoo and your perfume and you. it’s all over his clothes and his sheets, but nothing beats having you in his arms again. 

“we were never just causal,” he assures you, as if you didn’t know.

tags ! @st4rswrld @urfavvev3lyn @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears @its-jennarose @strnilolo @cherrypostsposts

also tagging some of my faves (writers & other creators!!) 🥹 @pettydollie @wcters @grimholic @floristmatt (if you don’t wanna be tagged lmk!!)

[atimesfeeler]

Wade plans an activity to get everyone out of the house bc the wolverines are getting a little antsy and he doesn’t tell Logan or Laura where they are going until he stops on the middle of nowhere at a hiking trail outside of the city.

And Logan absolutely lights up.

He’s speed walking the trails but stopping at every single plant he can identify and pulling Laura and Wade over to see it and explain how it could save their life or kill them. Laura thinks it dumb at first but quickly becomes just as excited as Logan. Wade’s having a great time and when he proposes a childish game of the floor is lava, Logan and Laura actually play along, just happy to be outside. Wade looks around and the second he’s not watching Logan, he disappears. He finds Logan looking under a rock at some bugs or in a fricking tree. Laura starts collecting the best sticks and sharpening the end of one with her claws. They play hide and seek and tag but to Logan and Laura it’s a hunt. Laura actually catches and kills a squirrel when the instincts get to her. Logan’s proud. They stay out there for hours completely entertained and they start to beg Wade like little kids to stay out there for the night.

“I could build a shelter. I could build a shelter right here in two hours tops.”

“Honey bunch, I don’t doubt it, but I’m not going camping unless I have a blow up air mattress and some smores. You are cute though. We can plan a camping trip later.”

Logan grumbled but they do all pile in the car and Laura falls asleep content. Logan looks out the window with a happy smile on his face and quietly thanks Wade for taking them. Wade is already planning the camping trip in his mind.

[roanofarcc]

A PIPE DREAM

Pairing. boone x reader

Summary. storm chasing was all fun and games until you started crushing on one of your team members. and boone had a bad habit of falling hard. 

Warnings. alleged one-sided feelings, mentions of a small injury, fluff

A/N. big thanks to the person who requested a boone fic bc I love that Arkansas hillbilly

word count. 1.6k || masterlist

Besides the epic tornados, Boone's favorite thing about storm chasing was the sense of community, oddly enough. Sure, everything was a competition between storm chasers, but when night fell, you’d find everyone gathered in some shitty little motel, tailgating in the parking lot. 

The Wrangled arrived as other teams were passing out cans of beer and greasy burgers they bought from the diner just across the road. Boone was eager to swap stories and relax after another exciting chase, but he couldn’t ignore the painful burn across his upper arm, which dulled his mood a little. 

He wanted to get a good shot of the tornado for the viewers but overestimated the amount of debris the storm had picked up. Tyler urged him to stay in the car, so Boone thought hanging out of the window was just as safe until a flying tree branch from god-only-knew where sliced his arm real good. He didn’t drop his phone, thankfully, but he did ruin his shirt. Tyler had bandaged it up before they headed off again, but it still hurt like a bitch. 

He hopped out of the truck and glanced at his wrapped arm, cursing when he realized he’d bled through the gauze. 

“Boone!” Your voice sounded from behind him, happy and full of energy despite the long day. You loved tailgating almost as much as he did. The two of you had a tradition that started with shot-gunning a beer and ended with you both being the last to turn in for the night. “Look what I got!” You held up two cans of beer with a bright smile on your face, but you stopped short in front of him, your smiling fell quickly as your eyes landed on his bloodied arm. 

“Shit, Boone,” you said, grasping his arm just below the bandage. Your fingers were cold from the beers, but he felt himself flush under your touch. It was stupid, he thought, his crush on you. He knew it was a pipe dream, but he couldn’t help himself. The second you joined the Wranglers, with an insane amount of knowledge of storms and a certain sweetness that could make even the meanest assholes crack a smile, he knew he was done for. It didn’t help that you were too nice. He sometimes wished you were a little meaner, then maybe he’d be able to shift his affection somewhere else, but you didn’t seem to have a mean bone in your body. 

He cleared his throat and shot you a reassuring smile. “It’s just a little scratch.”

Your frown deepened as you examined the bloodied gauze under the dim light in the parking lot. “Looks like a little more than that.” You tugged on his elbow gently as you said, “Come on. I’ll change the bandage.” 

A part of Boone wanted to decline your offer, but he knew he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you guided him toward the building and away from the rowdy crowd in the parking lot. 

You led him into your motel room, switching on the lights and grabbing a first aid kit you always kept stocked for moments like that one. Boone stood, shifting in his shoes as he felt himself start to panic. It was one thing being with you and the rest of the team; they, unknowingly, acted as a sort of buffer between him and his feelings. But being alone with you was a whole different ball game. He knew it was all in his head, one-sided longing that he wished would go away but refused to. 

“Earth to Boone,” you called out, patting the edge of the bed beside where you sat. He sat down, only to have you scoot closer and grab his arm, pushing up the sleeve of his t-shirt. Carefully, you unwrapped the bandage and revealed the cut; it looked worse than he thought it had been, but that explained why his whole arm ached each time he moved it. “A little scratch,” you huffed under your breath. “How’d you even manage this?” 

Boone ducked his head sheepishly. “I wanted a good shot.” 

You gazed at him for a moment, closer to his face than he was sure you’d ever been before. He could see the little flecks in your eyes and the pretty line of your face. A small smile curled on your lips, and you asked, “Did you at least get it?” 

He copied your smile. “Hell yeah.” 

As you rummaged around in the first aid kit, you hummed. “Then at least it was somewhat worth it. But you should be careful.” The smell of alcohol filled his nose. “This gonna hurt, okay? But here,” you held out your opposite hand toward him and he stared at you, confused. “Squeeze my hand. It’ll help, a little.” 

His face felt on fire. He was a grown man, but he felt back in grade school, harboring a school-boy crush on his friend. Maybe it was a little pathic, but he grasped your hand because it was probably the only time he’d have an excuse to. You weren’t lying about it hurting. He hissed through his teeth and squeezed your hand as you cleaned off the cut with the alcohol pad. 

When you were done, you pulled your hand away, and he tried not to let his disappointment show. It only took you a minute or two to re-wrap his arm; you’d done it a million times between the rest of the crew when they sustained little injuries here and there. 

“There,” you said, running your finger across the bandage softly until you trailed up his arm to where his sleeve sat on his shoulder. You fixed it back into place before smiling sweety once more. “Better?” Boone’s breath caught in his throat, so he nodded. 

After that, you two rejoined the Wranglers and the other storm chasers outside. You continued your tradition, shot-gunning beers before you both tossed them to the ground with heavy laughs and a high five. Only when Boone’s hand met yours, you wrapped your fingers around his for just a moment, giving his hand a light squeeze as you grinned in the moonlight. Boone felt his heart quicken in his chest. 

You lingered beside him the whole time, which wasn’t unheard of but for some reason, to Boone, it felt different. He thought maybe he was too much in his head, reading into every little thing too closely. 

Gradually, everyone petered out and retreated to their rooms to get a couple hours of shut-eye before they met another day of chasing the brewing storm cells. But you and Boone remained seated on the tailgate of the rig, nursing another beer and watching the stars that emerged after a day full of cloud cover. You had your head tilted upwards, mouth slightly parted in awe, which is how you looked every time you saw the stars. Boone thought it was cute, how something you saw nearly every night still captured your attention like that. 

He found himself watching you more than stars, finding you more stunning. But he didn’t realize you had caught him until you cleared your throat and his eye widened almost comically. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” you asked, a light, teasing tone in your voice. 

Boone fumbled for a response but managed to say, “You look nice. Pretty.” 

A softness rolled across your features that made him feel even more out of his league. He was worried he overstepped; did friends call each other pretty? Was he just overthinking it? 

You turned your body towards him, you knee bumping against his thigh as you leaned just a little bit closer to him with a smile. “You look pretty too,” you said, earning a light chuckle from Boone. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious!” 

“Sure you are,” he said, brushing you off as he fiddled with the tab of his beer can. He expected you to drop it, switch the subject because you had no idea of the feelings that bombarded his heart and brain, but you did the last thing he expected.

You grasped the side of his face with one hand, gently but with just enough force to get him to meet your gaze. He felt hot and confused, looking at you almost nose to nose. Boone swore his heart was about to beat right out of his chest and land at your feet. 

“I can prove it,” you whispered, low and slow.

Boone’s brain short-circuited; he was surely dreaming. Maybe the tree branch that sliced his arm really knocked him in the head and he was in some comma. 

Whether it was real or not, he didn’t move for fear of messing it up or breaking the dream he was surely having. Your thumb brushed across his cheek and your eyes searched his for something, sparkling in the starlight. Slowly you leaned forward, and his body moved without help from his mind, meeting you halfway. 

The kiss was light, sweet just as you were. Boone wasn’t sure there were words to properly describe his feelings in that moment. All he knew was that he needed you, and he had you. His hands found your waist as you brought your other hand up to cup his face, deepening the kiss just slightly. He could have stayed like that forever, forgoing breathing, but you pulled back just slightly and smiled widely. 

“Wow,” he whistled. 

 “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” you admitted. 

Boone still wasn’t one-hundred percent sure he wasn’t dreaming, but he was going along with it. “Really?” You nodded. “Me too,” he said, suddenly a lot braver than he had been. He closed the small gap between you two again, kissing you like he’d thought about since he first lied his eyes on you.

[space-cowgirllll]

Right Where You Left Me

a/n: I was going to wait to post this but I had written a lot more than I thought the last time I touched this. A little lengthy bc I’m a yapper but here's part two of Tolerate It. I'M SORRYYYYY 🥹

The flurries Abby had seen as she walked into work this morning quickly turned into actual snowfall. Twelve hours later, everything around her is covered in a thick blanket of white snow. Traffic had been worse than usual, making her already shitty commute twice as long. A breath she hadn't realized she was holding leaves her when she finally pulls up to the curb in front of her home. She's safe. Forcing her frozen fingers to uncurl from the death grip she had on the steering wheel, she parks the car, cursing when she feels it slide just a little. She was due for a tropical vacation soon. 

Despite her disdain for the snow, Abby can admit the quaint neighborhood looks beautiful. Thousands of multicolored lights adorn the houses and yards around her. Laughter from the kids having a snowball fight across the street fills the night air. Their giggles make Abby's heart feel a little lighter. A couple of her neighbors have their curtains drawn, displaying their immaculately decorated trees. It reminds her of those cheesy hallmark movies she secretly loves watching. 

Abby cringes when she realizes her house is the only dark one on the street. In her mind she can see the purple Post-It still stuck to the fridge reminding her to pull the outdoor decor down from the attic and actually decorate. The red plastic tubs have been sitting at the top of the steps for weeks. She trips over them constantly, telling herself she'll get to them tomorrow, but it seems there were just never enough hours in the day. Eighty hour work weeks left little room for anything else- not that she had much going on. If she wasn't at the gym, or catching up on some much needed sleep, she was at the hospital. 

Her head hits the steering wheel in defeat when she taps the screen on her phone and catches sight of the date. It's the twentieth of December.  

"Too late to do anything about it now." She mumbles to herself. Her palms dig into her tired eyes. Today was truly the day from hell.

But the universe doesn't seem to be quite done with her just yet. Over the hum of her ac blowing she hears a familiar tune. Her head snaps to the radio in recognition. Her usual radio station has switched over to playing nothing but Christmas music for the night. It's your favorite song. Shit. Her shaky index finger blindly reaches for the button to kill the engine before throwing the door open, jacket forgotten in the passenger seat. 

She shivers as she speed walks to her front door trying her hardest not to slip on the icy sidewalk. The straps of her work bags dig painfully into her right shoulder when she bends down to collect the multiple packages that had accumulated on her porch. After days of ignoring them, they were starting to block the doorway. But hey, at least this year she had gotten ahead on Christmas shopping. 

These days it was all about the small wins. —

Abby drops the mattress she dragged out of the guest room in front of the fireplace with soft grunt. She hasn't done this in years, but she needs it today. This had been one of your favorite ways to unwind after a long week. Always there waiting for her with a big smile and her favorite snacks, a movie waiting to be played on the tv. In the later months of the year, around the holidays, Abby could always count on finding a pair of pajamas for her that matched yours laid out on your shared bed. She had always thought it was kind of silly when you had a perfectly good bed and tv upstairs. Now, she could only dream of coming home after a long day to a warm house and you bundled up in blankets waiting up for her.

It's quiet as she stares out the window watching snow fall. Her head is fuzzy from the wine and she knows she's going to regret it tomorrow. The movie she randomly picked half an hour ago is now muted. She can hear the distant buzzing of her personal phone from somewhere in the kitchen, but she can't be bothered. Calls from her family trying to confirm next weeks plans go ignored. Abby loves them, but the thought of being asked if she was ready to start dating again before trying to set her up with the friend of a friend for the fifth year in a row made her want to cancel her flight home. She can't stand the pity in their eyes every time they look at her.

Bleary eyes roam around the room, the sight of  the unlit, half-decorated tree in the corner and the lone stocking missing its pair hanging off the mantle make her chest hurt in a way it hadn't in a while. It may not look like it, but she had tried. Most of the Christmas stuff actually made it out of the attic this year. Which is more than she can say for last year, and the years before that.  She'd finally gotten the tree out and decorating had been going well, until she pulled out that ornament. 

The little house you had custom made to look like a tiny replica of the first place the two of you were sharing as a married couple. Abby remembers how excited you'd been, staying up waiting for her to come home from a late night so you could open it together. The look in your eyes as you traced over the details, the names stamped on the back. You made her hold it as you hooked it onto the tree, wanting to do it together.

Her fingers trace over the pink floral pattern on the sheets. You'd picked these out, excited to host her parents over the thanksgiving holiday for the fist time. Abby didn't have the heart to change them out. Minus your personal things, she didn't have the heart to make any changes to your original decor. You'd made the house a home. Some nights she swears she can catch a whiff of your favorite candle, or the lavender spray you'd douse the pillows with before going to bed. 

Abby gives up, shutting the tv off and settling into her pillow, ready for today to be over. She can't help but feel silly laying here in the dark by herself. Nights like this had been more fun with you around. Everything in her life had been more fun with you around. 

You made Abby's life magical, she just hadn't realized it until it was too late.  ---------------------------

Abby watches you push your food around your plate out of the corner of her eye. The scraping of the fork makes it hard to focus on the conversation happening in front of her. Would it kill you to at least try to look interested? Her hand lands on your upper thigh, squeezing lightly to get your attention. The two of you exchange subtle glares. 

It isn't until her colleagues retreat back to their own table that she finally looks at you. You're swirling the ice in your drink around with a straw. Your gaze fixed on the window, staring out at the busy street. She had thought a nice dinner at your favorite restaurant would soften you up a little, but with how little you've spoken all night and your plate still full, she's starting to worry. 

After an explosive fight the morning after she'd forgotten your wedding anniversary, you'd been distant. In all the years Abby had known you, she could count on one hand the amount of times you'd fought, and even then the two of you could never stay away for long. Communication was one of the things you prided yourself on the most, never wanting to go to bed angry at each other. But it's been three weeks and Abby realizes she's really fucked up. 

"Alright, what's going on with you?" 

"Oh, now you notice." You retort. Her eyebrows knit together, surprised at the thinly veiled anger in your voice. 

"You're so dramatic." She huffs. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Your eyes shift to the side, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip. She can practically see the gears turning in your head. You're holding your tongue. 

"Abigail, let's not do this right now." You beg. "Please."

"No. We're going to talk now." She speaks lowly, grateful for the little privacy the corner table provided. "Sitting in silence isn't going to make this go away. Stop being childish and tell me how to fix this." 

You looked her in the eye, no longer seeing the person you fell in love with. Knowing that if you stayed you'd end up losing yourself in someone who couldn't love you the way you deserved anymore. There was no way you could have the family you wanted with someone who constantly prioritized their work, making you feel like you were the distraction. 

Your lips part on a shaky exhale. You can't keep lying awake at night contemplating this. You have to do it now. From the corner of your eye you can see the couple at the table closest to you subtly lean towards you. 

Abby leans back in her seat waiting for you to speak up. Her arms folded across her chest. The way her leg bounces up and down gently shakes the table. Something about the dejected look in your eyes makes her panic inside. 

"I want a divorce."

---------

Department store wrapping stations were a small luxury Abby didn't mind spending the money on. She wasn't the best gift wrapper, often leaving rips or weird folds on anything that wasn't shaped like a box. 

She stands in line with all the other last minute shoppers, people watching when her eyes fall on the last person she thought she'd ever see again. Abby swears she must be dreaming. Her knees nearly buckle when she sees you standing there slowly making your way through a rack of baby clothes. A little boy no younger than two perched on your hip, his leg trying to sit comfortably against the small swell of your stomach. He's a carbon copy of his mother. Abby sees you wherever her eyes land on his face. 

Your hair is longer, framing your pretty face. There's a glow to you that she doesn't remember seeing in those last two years of your marriage. Your eyes are tired but bright, even from here Abby can see the way they sparkle when you stare at the little boy in your arms. Nothing like the cold way you'd looked at her that fateful night. 

Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as she steps out of line, making her way to a more secluded section of the store. Hiding behind a tie display she watches you interact with your son. For a moment she pretends that you're still hers and that the last five years didn't happen. Pretends that she didn't fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to her. God, she feels like a delusional creep. 

A tall woman walks up behind you, making a silly face at your toddler. You smile when he reaches out for her, trading the boy for the to-go cup she was holding out to you. Abby doesn't have to guess what you're drinking. She knew how much you hated coffee, preferring hot chocolate to keep you warm in the colder months. Her stomach bottoms out when you raise the cup to your lips.

A ring that isn't hers sits on your finger. 

Abby didn't realize how big of a gut punch that would feel like. While you still spoke to her parents from time to time, they made sure not to relay any information to her. She knew you wouldn't stay single forever, but actually seeing you like this ripped apart whatever was left of her heart.

You'd gone silent on social media since the split. A new and private Instagram account was all she could find one night after she'd been drinking a little too much. She'd cried herself to sleep, wanting nothing more than to be a part of your world again. 

She studies your wife, who's everything Abby isn't. Her long brown hair is pulled back in a loose bun, the pink knit beanie on her head matches the scarf currently wrapped around your neck. Dark eyes watch your face intently with a smile as you hold up a onesie to her. Abby looks down at her old college sweats and worn sneakers, nothing like the well put together outfit she's wearing. The woman even looks like she gets more than five hours of sleep each night for crying out loud. 

She looks happy. Something Abby hasn't been for a long time.

And judging by the way you're looking at her, like she hangs the stars in the sky, Abby can see how happy you are. She bites the inside of her cheek, refusing to remember what it felt like to have you look at her that way. Tears prickle in her eyes as you make your way down to the front of the store, dramatically blowing kisses at the giggling toddler being carried just a few steps ahead of you. One of your hands rubbing softly at your bump. 

Abby startles when you look back towards the men's section, eyes going straight to the tiny display she stood behind. Of course you spotted her. You lock eyes with her. There's a tiny smile on your face watching her come out of her shitty hiding spot. For a moment you two stand there just staring at each other. Abby's aware you probably look crazy to anyone watching but she can't bring herself to care. 

Those are my sweats. You mouth. Abby releases a watery chuckle she doubts you hear. She looks down, finally noticing the nail polish stain just under her knee. It's purple. Your favorite color. 

The sound of an alarm brings you both back to reality. You give her one last smile, waving as you walk out the doors and into the chilly December air. Her eyes follow you as you cross the street, until you get lost in a large crowd of people. 

Watching you walk away this time feels like a final goodbye. You’d always have a place in your heart for Abby, no longer feeling any resentment towards her. She had been too young and selfish to love you the way you deserved. She can see you've found that. And while she's happy for you, she can't help the tears that spill out once she's in the safety of her car. 

There's a bittersweet feeling in knowing that the world didn't stop spinning for you the way it did for her the day you walked out of her life. 

[ferrstappen]

let me take care of it l LN4

a/n: this was inspired by the gorgeous gorgeous scene of K-mag and his daughter 💘 also, this is ALL OVER THE PLACE bc I wrote it on my phone in like 15 min but still hope you like it💘 I’ll also update dad max tomorrow 💘

summary: when papa isn’t feeling his best, baby Norris knows what she has to do.

Lando wasn’t feeling his best and everyone could see it; it didn’t matter what anyone said, whether it was his dad, mum, sisters, Zak, Oscar, even you… he couldn’t stop being so harsh on himself that every person on the paddock wanted to lay his back and tell him to catch a break, he still is one of the best.

Your arrival to Abu Dhabi has been one worthy of the last race of the season, the private flight full of the Norris family, from the little ones to the in laws, with your parents chatting and laughing with Lando’s mum as they took turns to hold Amalia.

Everything was going great, really, but as the weekend started rolling and after quali, his smile faltered, face hardened, bringing himself down for some mistake.

So you made sure the hotel room had everything he needed, left Amalia sleeping on the crib while you picked his race day boxers, McLaren tshirt and joggers, so he could just throw his body to the bed and fall asleep.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked him as he settled his body in front of yours, not even asking to be the little spoon.

“No, but I just want tomorrow to be over so we can go home and be alone, you know?” His voice came out muffled by the pillow and your arm. “The only thing I want is to get home and start decorating for Christmas, Amy’s first Christmas… that’s all I want,”

“Okay then, let’s focus on that,” kissing his shoulder, you noticed his breathing slowing down.

Amalia Norris was a known face around the paddock, even if she couldn’t speak or even walk, she greeted everyone with a quick movement of her hand and happy squeal, depending on who it was.

Now, she had big things to protect her ears from all the sounds, Lando’s helmet and gloves in front of her and just as she was about to reach for the gloves and get scolded by you, Lando appeared with his usual smile, chest buffing at the sight of his two girls cheering him on, both wearing papaya.

“Do you want to help me get ready for the car, bubba?” Lando asked his daughter and she clapped her hands, giggling, almost as if she was trying to say something but couldn’t. “Okay, gloves please,”

Lando supposed it was going to be a show but no, his daughter had a concentrated look on her face as her small hands grabbed the glove and put it on Lando’s hand, repeating the action.

Before putting on the helmet, Lando picked her up, giving her a tight hug and loudly kissing her cheek just to fill his ears with her melodic laugh, the only fuel he needed. He closed his eyes while her hands grabbed both of his cheeks to get him closer and leave a kiss on his forehead, and in that moment Lando thought he was capable to give up the last race of the season just for this moment to never end.

“I think you need the helmet, huh?” You reminded the pair, taking Amalia from your boyfriend’s arms.

Lando gave you a quick peck on the lips before putting on the helmet, adjusting it until it was perfect, but there was one last detail.

“Visor, baby,” Lando pointed at it and Amalia carefully closed it, now he was ready.

“Good luck, daddy!” You told him as you noticed people were looking for him.

“Daddy? I thought in public it was papa,” he cheekily added, making you blush.

“Shut up, go get second place!” You joked before blowing him a kiss.

“I’m only thinking about our Christmas tree, baby. I love you both.”

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Summer With Them

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ׂׂૢ Y’all have no idea how much i hate summer i defrost from vampire to weird nerd -1000 aura points or whatever they’re saying on the clock app

Anyways i finished this while at the laundromat

Ghost

Prefers summer nights to summer days or evenings

Sits on the porch at night with you listening to the cicadas sing

And during this time you can’t take showers together bc he won’t let you adjust the temperature, he takes his showers ice cold

Don’t ask me where I get this from but he vibes with that one Type O Negative song bc according to him it gives “summer” (iykyk)

Prob has sun sensitivity

Cannot leave the house without his sunglasses

And he avoids driving when the sun’s too bright

Soap

Bastard who enjoys summer #1

He likes summer because it means going down to the beach and showing off his muscles that stay clothed under uniform throughout the year

Wants to buy swimming trunks that’ll match your swimwear

He likes joining teens in volleyball and flying kites with kids

Loves going on walks on the beach at dawn and dusk

He once gave you a bad scare when making you think the dolphin fin in the water was a shark

Even if you’re at home he’ll drag you out of bed to join his morning walk and evening walks after dinner

Gaz

He’s content with summer

Will come up with tons of things to do

Picnics he prepares every weekend

Cloud watching

Catching fireflies in a jar and setting them free all at once to see them glow

Running his fingers through your hair as the breeze blows

Making lemonade together to stay cool outside

Buys a vintage camera to take lots of pics of you

On every evening walk you take together he picks something small like a leaf or flower and saves it

At the end of the season he gets everything together and creates a page in his scrapbook

Alejandro

Bastard who enjoys summer #2

He likes the feel of summer breeze on his bare skin and you look forward to seeing that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Likes to sleep with the windows open at night

Blasts music

Carne asadas

Frequents the local ice cream shops to buy mangonadas

Throughout the entire summer your kitchen has fruits of all kind that he eats with tajin

Will take you for a drive around in his truck and then find a quiet little spot like a lake or mountain to park and sit on the truck bed watching the sky

Phillip Graves

Sits outside with sunglasses on and beer in hand

Calls for you to come out and sit with him to watch the sunset

Cookouts

Anytime you complain of the heat you better hope he’s not around to yap your ear off about some anecdote from when he was a child

“It’s hot” “Ain’t that hot” he responds whilst his face is sunburned bc he refuses to wear sunscreen

Will only wear sunscreen if you are able to catch him before he goes outside and apply it for him

Keegan

It seems like summer evenings are the perfect time to do stuff

For some reason likes to do things shirtless in summer: yard/garden work, mowing the lawn, washing the car..

You set up a chair on the porch to watch him

Falling asleep on a soft patch of grass under the shade of a tree

Will start a bonfire and sit around it with you for hours into the late hours of the night

Sometimes you’ll stay out so late with him that both of you fall asleep

König

He’s not fond of summer

Would prefer to stay inside but if you want to he’ll go out as well

Sprawls on the floor with the fan on

He’ll drive where you want to go and then sit in the car watching you

Prob keeps ice packs in a cooler to keep cool when going outside for a long time

He’d rather be outside when the sun starts to set and the sky turns orange

Sets up a hammock

Afternoon naps on the hammock with the gentle sway of the wind

Horangi

He likes summer and prepares for it

Just imagine him getting out a little backpack with a sunhat, sunglasses, sunscreen, water bottle, umbrella, cooling sleeves, etc…

That’s not for him tho that’s for you he puts on sunglasses and is good to go

During summer he loves going to markets and buying fruit bc that’s when it’s best

Lots of strawberries, grapes and tangerines

Constantly reminds you to wear sun protection

He likes being outside a lot actually and will take you to his favorite parks and places to hike

Nikto

The change of seasons does not affect him much

He’ll notice the change of weather one day and mention how much warmer it is

“It’s summer” “Oh, we should go camping soon…”

He’ll take you camping whether you like it or not insisting that you will like it

Sets a tent near the river to catch fish

He also likes to plant vegetables during the nice weather and bring them to you, proudly showing off his hard work rewarded

He likes to cook meals together and eat outside

[uyuuma]

“ MATTE BLACK ”

satoru gojo x fem!reader ღ MDNI.

❥ summary. your boyfriend, satoru gojo, is driving you home from a long day out. you decide to repay him for the fun date, while he's fuckin' driving. (damn girl, can't wait till you get home first?)

❥ warnings. nsfw, female anatomy, praise kink, using pet names, oral (male receiving), deepthroating, hairpulling, this is all while he drives btw, etc.

❥ a/n. mb guys ik it's been a few months but i'm having horrible writers block. i have a bunch of drafts atm. wrote this cos i may or may not have done this irl >:) also this is bc im still coping with ch 261 in jjk

❥ wc. 3k

"Are you sleepy, baby?" A voice asked softly, ripping you from the dream-like state you were under. You blinked rapidly, little droplets forming on the corners of your sleepy eyes. A quiet yawn escaped your lips as you stretched in your plush seat. You turn your head to look over at Gojo, as he lovingly glances at your sleepy form in his passenger seat. Your lashes drooped as your mind slowly regained consciousness, rubbing your eyes to wake yourself up from your groggy condition. Gojo let out a chuckle as his eyes stayed glued to the road ahead. "Sorry baby, didn't mean to wake you from your precious slumber." he apologized, his faint smile being illuminated from the bright red lights on the dashboard. "S'okay baby, didn't mean to fall asleep anyway." you muttered, another yawn threatening to escape your throat. You looked ahead at the road, it was a straight freeway that stretched out for miles on end. It was already dark out, hardly any lighting besides the bright headlights of his car. It was slightly mesmerizing to you, seeing the surrounding environment race by in a blur. You could tell you were still quite a ways from home, you were in a very rural area. No cars, buildings, or signs of civilization have passed by since you woke up. "Poor baby, we had such a long day together. You should nap some more, it'll be a while till we get home, 'kay?" Gojo rested his large hand on your thigh, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. He moved his hand so that he could cup your cheek, trying to further coax you into going back to sleep. You giggled, shrugging your left shoulder so that you could lean into his palm. "I'm fine, Satoru... I'm not that sleepy." You kissed his hand and leaned back into the chair, peering out the windshield to see the sparkling stars in the night sky. As he withdrew his hand to change gears, you moved yours to fiddle with the radio. Gojo always gives you aux because you are his pretty princess that he loves to spoil. He didn't mind whatever songs you chose to play, even if your playlists were an incoherent mess. You tapped on the screen, skipping a couple of songs before landing on the one you wanted.

You grinned, satisfied with the choice. Gojo also seemed pleased by your choice as he gently bobbed his head to the beat. He shifted gears again then rested his hand on your thigh once more. A gesture which was normally so innocent and comforting had your head spinning. You weren't sure what had suddenly caused you to feel so worked up, but it certainly caused you to become more alert. You bounced your other leg in anticipation, sorting through your options. You want Gojo now. In fact, you were down bad for him all day, but since you two were enjoying the day together you brushed it off. But now it's different, now you have privacy. Now you were cooped up in his Dodge Challenger, home still miles away. Come to think of it, his car was definitely one of his prized possessions as he always took amazing care of it. The interior was always so clean, the matte black seats and dashboard almost disappeared into the night. It smelled faintly of his cologne and the 'black ice' tree car freshener that hung from his rearview mirror. The masculine blend of scents added to the growing arousal pooling in your tummy, as if his car was full of pheromones. But even if it wasn't the way he cared for his car or the hypnotic aroma that danced around your senses, just the way he drove enchanted you. He drove with such confidence, only needing one hand on the wheel. The way his veins would pop out of his pale hand when he would switch gears. His long legs shifted somewhat to hit the gas or clutch. It was as if your boyfriend mastered the art of driving. It was the true reason you made him drive most of the time, Gojo believing it to be because you weren't as confident in driving. Nope, the true reason was that you were too enamored with being his little passenger princess to ever dare getting into the driver's seat again. Realizing that you were full on ogling Gojo as he drove, you shifted your observant eyes to take in his handsome face. He was focused on the road, his right hand now holding the wheel. His left arm rested against the car door, propping up his tired head on his fist. His body language was fatigued and you understood that he too, was drowsy. Your lips tugged into a frown, growing empathy and guilt in your body. You wanted to find a way to keep your boyfriend awake, while also repaying him for spoiling you all day.

That was when your gaze settled on his crotch, a little idea popping into your head. You knew exactly how to spoil him back and you weren't waiting till you guys got home to do it.

"Satoru..." you muttered, a lilt to your soft voice. You rest your hand on his thigh this time, fingers stroking the rough wrinkles in his dark jeans.

"Yes, princess?" He asked curiously, his thigh twitching from your little touches.

"Want to repay you for today." you hummed, your head leaning onto the edge of your seat. You batted your lashes at him innocently, not sure if he could see from the dark interior.

Per his immaculate eyesight however, he saw how you put on an innocent act. He cocked his head in confusion, a small laugh leaving his lips. "Baby, you don't owe me anything. Don't be silly." he assured you.

You pout, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. Of course he wouldn't let you pay back monetarily... however that's not what you meant.

"Not like that..." you mewled. You guided your hand down to his crotch, fingers caressing the fabric that separated you from his cock. You smirked, feeling how his dick stirred underneath his jeans. Seems like he wanted you too.

He sucked air in through his teeth, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. "Naughty girl..." he muttered, his gaze remained fixed to the freeway.

"I'll happily take you as payment then." He chuckled, moving his left hand to grip onto the steering wheel. His now free hand met yours as he pressed your palm harder against his length. He groaned, letting himself enjoy your touch for a little longer. Once he grew impatient he began to unbuckle his belt with right hand, left hand still steering the wheel. He undid his belt and moved the strap of his seatbelt so that it was resting against his abs. He followed suit with unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. The sounds of the clanking belt buckle and zipper sent shivers down your spine and a familiar warmth to your cunt.

He skillfully hooked his thumb into the waistband and bucked his hips up to lower his jeans. He pulled his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It was half hard but even in its softer state it was big.

In an instant your hand gathered his length, giving it a few pumps to get him to 100%. He let out a low groan, his grip tightening on the steering wheel's leather.

You lazily slid your palm along his cock, enjoying the feeling of him growing inside of your grip. You knew you were efficient at your job when his cock became too much for just one hand to hold. His blushing tip started to gush with precum. He twitched in your grasp as you wiped the sticky fluid with your thumb.

Your mind became so dizzy and cloudy, watching how his abs flexed and body shuddered from any small movement you made. You admired the fluffy white happy trail that lead down his pelvis. It all was too much for you to handle any longer.

You could feel your slutty little mouth salivate, hungry to finally shove him into any hole you could fit him into.

To be completely fair, it was a difficult task to fit him anywhere. His dick was just so long. You always bruised the back of your throat whenever you sucked him off, but it's so worth it.

You finally shuffled in your chair, moving your hips so that the seatbelt that constricted your lap was now beneath your shins. You sat up, the only thing keeping you safely tied to your seat was the chest strap.

Gojo's ears perked, hearing how your movements caused the belt to zip in extension to your body. The chest strap slid down your upper body and nestled itself between your stomach and pelvis.

You were lucky that the center console was low, it gave you perfect access to his lap. You leaned over it, your head lowering over his throbbing cockhead. He let out a sigh in relief as your lips finally touched his aching cock. You teased him a bit, giving his leaky tip a few kisses before sticking your tongue out. Your tongue licked a fat strip up his warm shaft, earning you a muffled groan from Gojo. You grinned, looking down at how your spit glistened on his skin as if admiring your work.

Gojo grunted, feeling how the cold air pricked at the saliva you left behind. He felt himself lose his patience, his grip on the wheel tightening. His right hand felt around, trying to keep his gaze attached to the street. Once he felt your hair, he lovingly stroked your head, a small chuckle leaving his throat.

"Princess... you're testing my patience." He croons in a gentle, yet warning manner. His fingers intertwined with your hair so that he could give it a tug.

You gasped, feeling the slight sting in your scalp from his commanding yank on your locks. Averting your gaze from his lap to look up at him, you could make out his strong features even in the darkness. His sharp jawline and the way his mouth contorted in a cocky grin made your mind run wild. You decide to comply with his warning, knowing your delicate throat wasn't prepared to take his relentless pace yet.

You roll out your tongue and open wide, slowly taking his length into your mouth. His breath hitched feeling how your tongue glided against his skin, how you hollowed out your cheeks and clenched around him so heavenly.

"Good fucking girl..." he sighed, dragging out the syllables in bliss. His fingers slipped from your hair, so that he could gently rest it atop your crown. His hand only ever left your head when he had to switch gears.

You immersed yourself into the act, bobbing your head up and down to build a delicious rhythm that you knew Gojo couldn't resist. You could hear his breathing became labored, even with your eyes closed you could imagine how his built chest heaved underneath that tight black shirt.

Gojo's attempts to concentrate on his driving and the road ahead became extremely challenging as he felt his girlfriend's throat swallow him up so well. He desperately wanted to throw his head back, for his long white lashes to flutter shut as he let you take over. However, it wasn't exactly an option at this point in time so he controlled his urges for the time being.

You were fully occupied with dragging your tongue tantalizingly against his length, not caring about how much saliva had started to pool on his pelvis. It felt so lewd to swallow him up while he drove you home, knowing how much restraint he had to use to make sure he didn't run the car off the road. The thrill and danger of it all made you moan messily into his slick skin, inhibitions already out the window.

Feeling your mouth reverberate as you moaned, sent his eyes to dart to the back of his head. Although, it was momentary as he remembered he was supposed to be driving. He forced his body to keep the involuntary movements to a minimum, trying to hone all of his energy into heavy breathing and moans.

Gojo was normally never this vocal, but right now he was pouring all of his bliss into sounds. His grunts only fueled your resolve to take him deeper and deeper... until...

'GLUK!' You choked as his tip prodded past the back of your tongue. Your lungs burned as you held back a cough, mentally cursing yourself for forgetting how lengthy your boyfriend is. You went to remove him from your mouth to gasp for air when your neck felt resistance, stopping you in your tracks. "Mmph!" A muffled cry escaped your mouth as Gojo held your head in place.

"Shhhshhh... doin' so well for me baby. C'mon, practice breathing through your nose like I showed you." Your white-haired boyfriend preened, his hand unwavering as he held down your head.

You were definitely going to give him shit for this when you got home, but in this instance you were cock drunk enough to let this slide. In fact, your body gave into his touch almost immediately, your neck no longer fought against his push. You could feel his cock reach the deepest parts of your throat, a place that you had always struggled to let him into.

Your lungs ached and burned from a lack of oxygen, so you took note of his words as started to breathe through your nose. As you blew air out your nose, it tickled the white hairs that decorated Gojo's pelvis.

Gojo was so proud of how well you were taking his dick down your throat, he could feel his orgasm building quickly. His knuckles were turning white from the incredible grip that he held on the steering wheel. If you could see it, you would undoubtedly drool from the sight of his veins popping out along his knuckles.

He could no longer help how his hips thrusted lightly into your face or how his foot dangerously pushed down on the gas pedal harder and harder. Just the way you were struggling to take him made his head spin in ecstasy. His eyes darted between the road and your pretty little head going down on him, biting down on his lip as he felt himself near the edge.

Before he knew it, he checked the speedometer and his eyes widened in shock.

"Oh shit!" He whisper-shouted, his hand flying out of your hair and onto the shifter. He let off the gas, hit the clutch, and switched gears as he slowed down the car in a huff.

"Fuck princess... makin' me go a hundred here." He chuckled, slight panic still left in his voice. The panic very soon melted away as you sucked in your cheeks and moved your head at a mind-numbing pace.

"Christ..." He huffed as your throat molded to the slight curve of his cock, your muffled moans and hums made him swear he could see god at this very moment. You became so absorbed in his praises that you didn't feel at all panicked that he almost went 120 mph while your face was nestled in his lap. In fact, that only excited you further.

"Fuck baby... m'almost there!" He whimpered, not daring to change the pressure on the gas pedal any further. He held down your head, cock twitching as he prepared to fill you with his load.

You groaned, feeling how he definitely bruised the back of your throat with that last push, your nose pressing into his skin as he gave one last buck.

"Fuck, m'cumming so hard!" Gojo grunted as his muscles tensed up. You suddenly felt the warm sensation of his hot seed spurting down your throat. You swallowed to the best of your ability, the thick fluid causing your esophagus to feel dry. Gojo let out a few more groans and grunts, before his hand let go of your head.

Your head shot up, gasping for air as you recovered from the brutal throat-fucking you just received. Your hands gently held your neck as you came down from your own high.

Gojo's breathing was still heavy as he composed himself behind the wheel. He chuckled, pulling his pants back up since the warmth of your mouth was lost. He glanced down at you every-so-often to make sure you were recovering okay.

"You did such a good job, baby." Gojo praised, his hand coming down to stroke your hair again.

"Throat is sore 'cause of you." You rasped, a slight scowl on your face as you came to your senses. Although you were pouting, you still made sure to help him zip up his pants and buckle his belt.

"I know, I know... I may have gone overboard a bit." He nervously laughed, his fingers pinching your cheek to tease you.

You sat up, hissing from the pain in your ribs from bending over the center console for so long. You must've been too wrapped up in the act to realize how uncomfortable the position was.

You readjusted yourself in his matte black seat, properly buckling yourself to the chair as to not violate the law (as if you weren't doing so a few minutes ago). You fixed up your hair and swallowed thickly, your throat definitely needed some water eventually.

"You were such a good girl f'me though. How about we get you an ice cold slushy and some cough drops to soothe your hard-working throat?" Gojo recommended, his hand resting on your thigh once more.

Your face instantly went from a pout to an excited grin. "Yes, please! Can I pick which gas station, though?" You asked, fingers already tapping the gps to find the closest preferred rest stop.

"Of course, anything for my princess." Gojo responded, being unable to hide the sappy tone in his voice.

Gojo did however hide a smirk though, knowing he was definitely inspired to do more lewd activities in his car again.

This was only the beginning for him and his beloved passenger princess.

[taesanrot]

[songs for women] anton x reader | 0.6k words drabble, musician!anton, best friends to ???, childhood friends au, implied college au, mutual pining note. a short lil thing i found from a few months ago in my drafts <3 wrote it for the beginning of fall. may turn this into a full length fic but i wanted to put this out for now bc i really like it.

now playing: songs for women by frank ocean

"don't even listen to the songs i record, but she be bangin' that drake in my car ... all damn day long, it's like she never heard of me, heard of me."

turning his key in the ignition, anton hears his car engine thrum as it comes alive. the fall air is warm and balmy and you’re sitting in the passenger seat, head propped on your hand as you gaze out the window.

“wanna roll it down?” anton’s soft voice coaxes you back to reality and you turn to look at him with a grin on your face, nodding excitedly. he smiles softly as he watches you turn the handle and let the fresh air into anton’s old four door sedan.

plugging the aux cord into the his phone, anton bumps your shoulder, handing you the glowing screen.

you gingerly take the phone out of his hands, fingers typing away in the search bar of his spotify app to queue a song.

turning towards the road, anton finally eases his foot onto the pedal, and the car’s wheels squeal slightly as he turns out of his driveway into the neighborhood’s winding roads.

the citrus colored leaves bring a fond smile to his face, and the breeze from your open window tickles his face and ruffles his hair.

old memories play through anton’s mind, flashes of long bike rides and pool days with you. you’re weaved into all of the moments he holds close to his heart, and he thinks it’ll always feel this way.

anton doesn’t think the jumps and twists in his stomach when he’s around you will ever fade. not when you smile so brightly at him, or laugh so prettily at his dumb jokes.

the two of you aren’t kids anymore, you’ve outgrown your bicycle helmets and kiddie pools. anton is an upcoming singer and you’re about to graduate college. but somehow whenever you end up in your hometown again, it’s like you’re teenagers again. you spend hours in the old coffee shop that was your favorite studying spot for finals, and you go to the same drive in ice cream parlor.

the song that you handpicked floods anton’s ears as his hand glides across the steering wheel. with a sigh and roll of his eyes, he looks over at you.

“park wonbin again? seriously?” you laugh at his dismay, fingers turning the dial to increase the volume. anton groans in response, his adam’s apple moving under the skin of his neck. your eyes catch it for a second, brain forming an unusually erotic thought at the sight. you’re brought back to earth by the sound of anton’s voice again.

“i’m starting to think you don’t listen to anything else.” tucking some hair behind your eyes, you grin at your best friend.

“what else do i need besides wonbin?”

“you know, other people would kill to be driven around by me, and you refuse to even listen to my songs.” it’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you do so with another cheerful laugh.

“someone’s gotta keep you humble.” you chide, shoving anton’s shoulder playfully.

as anton trains his focus back to the road, he looks over at you one more time, just for him. you’re laying your cheek against the car door and watching the trees pass. the wind sweeps your hair into something of a halo, and the setting sun makes you look like an angel glowing in the sky.

a familiar thought plagues the boy’s mind again. anton wonders if you’ll ever sit down and listen to some of his songs, like really listen to them. maybe one day you’ll see past the playful melodies and soft guitar and hear his songs for what they really are:

love letters to you.

[callme-holly]

Could you maybe write dally with a reader who's in the middle of a depressive episode? Like can't leave their bed, stopped brushing hair and teeth etc...?

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - in which dallas does his best to show he cares 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - im back from my break but content wont be as frequent bc im going into my final year of high school and stress is high 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mentions of depressive episodes, not eating, etc

Dallas knew something was wrong the moment you didn’t pick up the phone. He knew something wasn’t right the second it went straight to voicemail, that dull, grating tone sounding through the line instead of your usual soft voice. Something was wrong, and the fact that this was the fifth time he’d called you with still no answer didn’t bode well with his growing concern. 

Maybe that’s why he found himself balancing on the ledge outside your window, desperately trying to figure out a way to get in without getting caught by your parents—or showing that he cares too much. He’s got a reputation to uphold afterall, and while it’s not entirely untrue that you’re important to him, he’d rather look tough than risk appearing vulnerable by throwing himself into your room and demanding an explanation. 

With a carful and much practised ease, Dallas manages to make his way onto your windowsill, flicking out his blade and jamming it into the gap just under where your lock would sit, twisting and turning until the lock releases from its place in the frame with a quiet click. You were going to kill him one of these days for how many times he’d left little marks against the woodwork or broken off pieces entirely, but there was a time and a place for everything and he knew better than to mention the new scars on the paintwork to you right now.

The inside of your room is uncharacteristically dark when Dallas slips in through the window, lit only by the small lamp on the your desk, the dim glow casting tall, looming shadows across the walls. It’s as if the entire room were swallowed up, consumed by the darkness which has cast itself over every inch of your space, hiding you away, making you seem smaller, weaker, somehow. 

Your bed is a mess of blanket and pillows strewn about haphazardly, and tangled in the midst of all the chaos is you, curled in on yourself like you have been all day, face hidden from the light of the world, eyes shut tight. You breathe deeply, in and out, in and out… 

Dallas has never seen you so still before, and even though he doesn’t want to disturb you, he knows that you're way too caught up in your own head, too wrapped up in your own self pity, to notice him standing in the middle of your room. He can see the rise and fall of your shoulders and chest, can see the way you shift every now and then, the tension and sadness clear in every movement, as if you’re fighting off some invisible demon.

The sight frustrates him, the thought of you sitting here alone, unable to do anything against your spiralling mind causes those gears to grind within him. He knows what it’s like, how it feels to be trapped in your own head, and he hates to see you suffer from it.  

“Hey,” he murmurs softly after a moment of prolonged silence, attempting to break you from the trace you’re submersed in without startling you. He takes a tentative step forward before carefully moving to sit on the edge of your bed, not really knowing what to do from there. “You good?”

You don’t respond immediately, your response getting stuck halfway up your throat, struggling to get past the thick wall of emotions blocking any kind of sound from leaving your lips. You swallow heavily, the action painful and raw, and your words come out in a tiny, hushed whisper, barely louder than the wind whipping through the trees outside.

“Don’t know.” The word comes out as more of a sigh than an actual word, and though your mouth opens to continue the conversation you’ve cut it short, unable to force another syllable past your throat. It seems as if your brain had completely gone blank, the thought of continuing speaking seeming impossible. There’s a pause between you two. A moment in which you’re both waiting for the other to speak, to say something, but neither can find the words to fill it. It stretches on, almost unbearable in its intensity, the silence so thick and heavy with unsaid thoughts and feelings you could cut it with a knife if you wanted to. 

Finally, it becomes too much and Dallas is the first to break, shifting awkwardly to sit beside you. He's not good with this sort of thing, emotions aren't exactly his area of expertise, but he isn't completely heartless and he sure as hell isn't gonna leave you like this. 

“Have you eaten anything today?” There's a strange note to his voice, and even though you don't turn to glance at him, you feel his eyes on you. You shake your head in confirmation and he huffs. “Then eat,” he says simply, reaching forward to brush some of your knotted hair from your face. 

The gesture is gentle, comforting almost, but his touch is still firm despite his attempts at being a calming presence. That much about him doesn’t change.

You want to tell him that it’s not that easy, that you haven’t actually left your bed since yesterday morning—except to go to the bathroom—and even then, the effort it took drained what little energy you had left. You want to say that the thought of forcing food down your throat feels impossible because your stomach hasn’t stopped feeling like lead weights. But instead, you bite your tongue. It’s too difficult to explain something like that to Dally, and honestly, you’re not sure you could handle his bluntness right now.

Instead you reach out blindly for him, gripping onto his wrist tightly and pulling him close, ignoring any protests he may make. He sits stiffly, unsure how to react to the sudden contact, but after a moment of hesitation he allows himself to relax, one arm coming to wind around your middle.

He doesn't smother you, doesn't tease you for wanting him so close like he normally would. Instead, he remains quiet, offering nothing but silent support. And you appreciate that; you appreciate how he doesn’t push you away, how he doesn’t leave you alone to deal with things yourself. You appreciate that, despite it not being his scene at all,  he stays beside you, lets you cling to him and rest in his arms without complaining. And then you realise, maybe Dallas Winston isn't as heartless as everyone makes him out to be. 

Maybe, just maybe, you mean more to him then he lets on.

[prettypinkporkchop]

Can you do a Plus!Size!Reader x Paul Lahote?

I’m thinking, reader who is Bella’s sister, has been friends with Jacob for years (stayed with Charlie) and she’s always had this massive crush on Paul. Since she is insecure about her weight/ looks, she always avoided Paul at all costs, embarrassing herself too.

One day, she gets dragged by Bella when Bella is mad Jacob. This is where Bella slaps Paul across the face. The reader stays in the truck but when this happens, she gets out of the truck to stop Bella. Paul phases which scares Bella and Reader but he then imprints on reader.

For a while their relationship is just friends (per readers request) until Paul kinda snaps in frustration because he wants to be more and he knows reader wants it too. Lots of fluff and reassurance that the reader is worthy enough for Paul.

Thank you so much, your writing is just amazing and I think you would write this really well ❤️

You're More Than Your Body

A/n: my thick queens!!! I know for a fact that Paul would be obsessed with them thighs! Oh lawd I can see it already!!! BTW I FREAKING LOVE THIS STORY I AM SO BOOSTING MY EGO BC I DID SO GOOD IN THIS! PLZ, I LOVE IT!

Warning: bad language

Paul. Paul. Paul. Nobody runs through your head like Paul. Even now that you're graduated and so is he, you see him around town. Especially since you and Bella are close with Jacob.

You stare in the body mirror in your bedroom, grabbing your stomach in hopes it'll disappear. It would make this outfit look so much better... your heart pounds as tears want to explode from your eyes. The pain of being the "funny fat friend" and always being the butt end of the joke your whole life has really been weighing on you. Even now, as an adult and being stuck on a guy since school.

"I need you to come with me. This is serious." Bella barges in your room.

"Oh, so the sad girl speaks to me now?" You glare at her.

"Look, I'm sorry for ignoring you and charl-.. dad, it's just been.." She stops knowing that you know what she means.

"Edward. Yeah." You roll your eyes and then smile at her. "Okay, what you got?" You ask.

"Jake has been away. They're saying he's sick. I have to see him." She says.

"He's probably tired of you stringing him along." You reply.

She shakes her head and then walks over to you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down the stairs.

"Uh! Hey! Stop!" You yell.

"I don't want to go alone." She looks at you, still holding your wrist.

"Fine." You sigh.

You both get in her raggedy truck. She speeds up to Billy's house. The car ride was mostly her panicking, and you telling her to slow the Frick down. But, she pulls in with both of you alive. She gets out of the truck and enters past Billy. He sees you sitting in the truck, and you awkwardly wave.

The sound of whistles is heard toward the trees next to the house. You look over and see Jared, Paul, Sam, and Embry. Your heart races as your eyes fixate on Paul. They don't see you. It seems like they're calling for Jacob.

Bella barges out and goes over to them. Your mind blanks out with what is happening. You notice they're yelling and Paul is getting angry. You decide to be the protective older sister and run out of the truck.

"Bella!" You yell and make your way over there. As you get closer, she slaps him. "BELLA WHAT THE HELL?!" You grab her arm.

Paul is snarling. His body seems to get bigger. Next thing you know, he's a wolf. A silver wolf growling at Bella. She falls on the ground, and you stare at the monster. He looks at you and stops snarling. He whimpers.

"BELLA!" Jacob runs out and turns into a wolf, too.

This caught Paul's attention, and they began to fight, wrestling into the woods. You're breathing heavy in fear, but look down at Bella. She's confused and looking at Sam.

"Hey, bring these girls to Emily's place." Sam orders.

"Guess the wolf's out of the bag." Embry mumbles.

That's when you learn everything. Emily and Bella go on a tangent about it all. Embry is cracking jokes, and Jared is kicking him under the table for spilling too much to a 'leech lover'.

Paul walks inside and sits on the chair beside you. He turns back to Bella. "Sorry." He smirks and eats the muffins that are placed on the table. His eyes roam up and meet yours.

You pause. Is he really looking at you?

He sets the muffin down before rubbing his hands on his shorts. He extends a hand and smiles at you. "Paul." He says.

"Yeah, I know." You smile and shakily let your hand reach his. You feel warmth fill up your body. You know your cheeks are burning red.

His smile fades, and he lets go of your hand. "You know me?" He asks, as if he's guilty for not knowing you.

"Yeah. School. We graduated the same year and... you were quite popular with the girls." You snort.

He gulps and looks down. "Yes. Yes, I was." He seems so guilty. But his face turns back to you with a smile. "What's your name?" He asks.

You go to speak but Embry interrupts. "That's y/n. Leech lover's sister." He laughs.

Paul glares at him. "I'd like for her to answer that herself."

Embry lifts his hands up in defense. "Aight, chief. Or should I say.... imprinter..." He snorts.

Jared hits the back of his head. "Bro! That's Paul's story to tell!" He yells.

Sam enters and glares at Embry. "Stop it." He turns to Paul and smiles. "Welcome to the club." He takes Emily by the waist and kisses her.

"What's an imprinter? I'm confused.." You smile and look around awkwardly.

---

"Friends?" You smile at him.

He stares out at the beach, the waves crashing, and the wind blowing. "Yes. I'm sorry for not noticing you. I'm sorry for everything." He turns to face you. "Friends." He smiles.

You sigh of relief and look out at the water. You want more but you're too big for him in your mind. You accepted the bond, but maybe friends will do. At least you'll be around him, and it won't be so bad.

"C'mon. Let's go get food." He stands up and takes out a hand for you.

Yes. You've barely eaten today, and it's four pm. You take his hand, and he helps you stand up. When you're on your feet, he grabs your waist to steady you. That touch has you SPINNING.

"Where do you want to go?" He asks.

"Hm, I'm totally feeling burgers." You giggle.

"Oh, fuck yeah! My kind of girl!" He yells and takes your hand, kissing your knuckles.

He leads you to his truck and takes you to a small diner. It's actually the one you, dad, and Bella used to go to growing up. Now that she's back, the trips here have been more frequent.

He opens your door and helps you out by holding your waist. He seems to love grabbing you there. Honestly, you don't mind, but at the same time, them love handles are ugly to you. He leads you inside and you both get a seat and order.

Paul looks over your face.

You awkwardly look around and smile while blushing. "What?" You ask.

"Nothing." He chuckles and sips his Dr. Pepper. "What's it like being Bella's sister?" He asks.

"Nothing but drama. But I love her. She's very giving to family." You smile.

He nods. "I don't have anyone but my asshole father. I don't live with him, thank God." He rolls his eyes.

Your heart aches for him. You can't imagine not having anyone. "I'm so sorry." You reach out and touch his hand.

His eyes dart toward your contact, and he smiles. "Nah, it's no big deal. I have my boys."

"I guess that makes things better." You smile and let his hand go.

The waitress places your guys' food down, and you both enjoy the night getting to know each other.

It's dark out now, and you're in his truck watching the roads as he brings you home. You're startled when you feel a hand on your thigh. You look down and see his fingers on your flesh. His thumb is rubbing your skin. You look over at his face. He's just watching the road.

---

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Paul is at your window. You know it's him because he HAS to show up every night after patrol. You get up from the bed and open your window. He climbs up and closes it behind him. He hovers over you with a smile.

"Hey." He whispers, pushing hair behind your ear.

"Hey." You blush and soak in the warmth of his body heat.

He slowly leans in, looking in your eyes and then to your lips. No. No. You're too ugly. He's just into you because of the bond. Shit! You don't want to be used. You back away and awkwardly laugh. He gets the message and looks at you.

"Wanna see what I've been watching?" You plop on your bed and pull out your phone.

He smiles and lays beside you.

You show him the YouTube videos you've been addicted to until you fall asleep.

---

You're eating the brownies that Emily made while sitting at the bonfire. Everyone is talking and you're stuck in a debate with Sam.

"No! You're wrong!" He smiles, pointing at you.

You laugh and put your plate on the ground to get focused. "Sam, listen! I'm telling you, the grass is wet in the morning because of the dew!" You yell.

"It's because of the rain!" He yells back.

"Aren't you out all night? On the nights it doesn't rain, why is the grass wet then?!" You're laughing so hard.

Paul, from beside you, gently touches your knee. "He thinks he's always right. You won't win." He laughs in your ear.

"Love birds." Jared smirks.

You look at him. "No, we're just friends." You smile.

"Still?!" Jared asks, shocked. "Damn, Paul! You're taking your time." He laughs.

"Dude.." Paul shakes his head in annoyance.

After the bonfire, Paul brings you to his house. You're super freaking tired, and you fall on one couch in exhaustion. Paul puts a blanket over you and sits on the other couch that's next to your head. The couches are in an 'L' shape. He sits there while you fall asleep. Your arm falls out, and he looks down at your hand. He slowly takes it, holding onto it while you sleep.

---

You wake up and feel a body underneath you. You look down to see that you're on a snoring Paul's chest. You look around and see that you're in his living room. You panic and sit up, going onto the other couch. Your movements wake him up.

"You alright?" He asks in a tired and low voice.

"I.. don't remember falling asleep." You awkwardly giggle.

"You were shivering, so I joined you." He yawns and sits up. "Was that alright?" He asks worriedly.

"Yeah.. yeah, that's okay. Thank you." You smile.

He smiles back and checks his phone. "What you want for breakfast?"

"How about I make something here? If you have anything." You stand up and walk to his kitchen.

"Yeah, I've got stuff. You sure you want to cook? I can do it." He stands up and leans on his fridge, watching you.

"Yeah, no! I've got it." You smile.

He smirks and walks up to you, grabbing your waist. "You're beautiful." He whispers.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You look up in his eyes. "Friends.." You whisper.

He sighs and lets you go. "You know, I can't with you. You hold back so much and you won't let me in." He says in frustration.

You put the stuff on the counter and look at him with worry.

"I want you and I know.. I KNOW you want me, too. Why can't I have you?!" He smiles but is still aggravated.

You gulp and cross your arms. "I'm not good enough for you. All through school, you wanted the skinny girls. You only want me because you imprinted on me." You say quietly.

He starts laughing with anger. "Are you serious?!"

Tears threaten to escape your eyes. He notices and frowns. He pulls you into him and rubs your back. "Nobody will ever compare to you. You're more than your body. And if I didn't imprint on you, I would still think you're fucking hot." He says. "Let me prove it." He pulls away and looks at you.

You smile, hopeful, and touch his cheek. "You mean that?" You ask.

He grabs your waist and picks you up effortlessly. He tosses you on the couch while you giggle. He hovers over you and touches your stomach. "I love this." He smiles. His hand lowers to your outer thigh, and he squeezes. "I love this." He continues to squeeze your thigh. "Oh, the way these will be my pillows." He chuckles. "I love..."His hand moves lower, "may I?" He wants to touch your ass. You nod, and he happily grabs your ass. "Jesus, I love this." He bites his lip and looks over your face. "Most importantly," his hand touches your chest where your heart is rapidly beating, "I love this." He says. "You're absolutely stunning." His eyes scan your features. "I'd show you off to the universe."

You're smiling, blushing, shedding tears, and lowkey screaming inside. Your heart is swollen with love and affection. You never want this to end. Now, you understand, you are perfect for him. You grab the back of his neck and pull him down to your lips.

His lips meet yours, and the kiss is gentle and loving. Your lips move perfectly, and he finally pulls away. "What an amazing kisser." He smirks. "Mine, now?" He asks.

You laugh and nod your head wiping away your tears. "Yes, Paul. I'm yours, now."

[fuctacles]

What goes up, needs assistance coming down

For @steddiemicrofic "top" | 510 | G | no cw | established relationship | if you saw me post this earlier and delete it bc i pasted the wrong version, pretend you didn't | Ao3

Sometimes, when Eddie writes a particularly delicious twist in his campaign, he wonders how in hell he had repeated senior year two times.

But then this shit happens.

Because he's been in this exact situation before, and smart people are supposed to learn from their mistakes. Thankfully, Steve is supposed to get back from work any time now. Maybe he loves him too much to make fun of him. After Eddie bears the humiliation of calling out for him because there's no way he'll figure out Eddie's out here.

As soon as he hears the car pull in and the door slam closed, he yells out,

"Steve!"

The steps crunch on the gravel, rounding the house, and his worst nightmare comes true. Because he hears more than one pair of footsteps. Double humiliation it is.

"Eddie?"

Aaand that's Henderson. The last person he'd want to see right now.

"Hey, man. What's up?" he asks nonchalantly his favourite kid, who grins up at him.

"How about you tell me, huh?"

"Oh, because I'm on a tree?" Eddie scoffs at him. "Har har, Henderson, very clever."

His rescuer isn't looking very rescue-y either. He's just standing behind Dustin with a bemused expression, eyeing the ladder lying prone below the tree.

"Why?" is all he asks.

Eddie sighs and points to the coils of fairy lights he had dropped to the ground in his panic after the ladder fell.

"This so doesn't answer my question." Steve raises his eyebrows disapprovingly. "Henderson, put the groceries away, help yourself to the fridge. Your dads need to talk."

"Gross." Dustin makes a face but snatches the grocery bag from Steve. He turns back to Eddie while walking away. "Good luck!" He gives him a toothy grin. Eddie flips him off, but his eyes are focused on Steve, who's setting the ladder back up. Soon, they're at eye level, as Steve leans on the top of it.

"Why?" he asks again. "Why would you do that again?"

Eddie looks away, hoping Steve will postpone this interrogation until after his feet are back on the ground.

"I had this, okay? It's not as bad as the roof. If the ladder didn't fall—"

Suddenly, Steve's face appears in his periphery. His eyes are stern.

"You should have waited for me," he points out.

Eddie makes a face. Okay, here he goes.

"I wanted to surprise you. I saw how you liked the lights around the Wheelers' garden," he explains, hoping the heat over his cheeks is imaginary. Henderson was way too close for him to be humiliated like that.

Steve's face softens.

"Baby," he coos, leaning into his space.

"Please don't—"

Steve ignores him, landing a soft kiss on his lips.

"My sweet boy," he murmurs, and now Eddie's positive his face is red.

"Can you put me on the ground first, please?"

Steve gives him a boyish grin but helps him climb down the ladder without further teasing.

"Thank you—" he barely makes out before Steve's on him, peppering his face with kisses.

"The cutest metalhead in Indiana."

[morganitering]

Because I'm the Weakest II: The Women Who Never Won

Pairings/character dynamics: Satosugu, Shoko and reader, Nanami and reader, implied shoko x utahime

Contains and warnings: DARK FIC/DEAD DOVE fem!reader, Suicidal ideation, rape aftermath, referenced rape (not written out in this chap), depression, alcohol abuse, misogyny & sexism, internalized sexism, sexual harassment on minors done by minors, victim blaming (thoughts), self harm, angst, hurt & comfort, I call noncon with the official word for it

Word count: ~9,6k

Summary: There's certain desperation when you try to keep your head above water. You were drowning and all you wanted to do was to forget, the weight on your shoulders unbearable. Despite the cards you were dealt with you found yourself among allies as the web of untold memories started to unfold.

A/N: Hey! Yall waited long for this, sorry about that. I have no idea how to tag this but I'll just do it somehow, bc this is a tricky chapter. Here yall get to dive deeper in the stuff that has gone down before the events that took place in 1st chap and get a hug from Shoko. This is hopefully the last installment of this. Read the tags carefully as always and make informed decisions based on that and take care of yourself. Shit can get heavy, but I'm trying to do this in good taste.

Read on ao3 part I

Shoko Ieiri had worked a long time with people who suffered. She had seen it all, limbs cut off, even the toughest of sorcerers reduced to crying messes as they practically had their innards falling to the floor. There’s something utterly horrifying watching a patient, no – a friend scream in pain when even her skills were not enough. Funerals came and went, the white sheet thrown over the deceased on the operation table in the same routine way she’d change her linens. Nothing really shocked her. 

That’s what she liked to think. 

Your visits have been more frequent. It started with bruises and sprained ankles. Then it was broken bones that soon turned to puncture wounds, your clothes sticky with deep red and dirt. When she asked about it, you laughed it off saying it’s nothing, just a silly little mishap, “I was too reckless in the heat of the moment.”  But your eyes were empty, your words hollow like a dead tree. Of course Shoko did her job, without asking too much. You’re an adult and you’ll speak about it if you want to, right? Her job was to keep you alive. Your job was to exorcise curses. 

Shoko and you had been close too, hanging out with the two men, but at some point in high school she had withdrawn from the group. Gojo and Geto had tried to keep in touch with her in adulthood, inviting her as well to spend time together as the four of them, but she had always declined, smoothly changing their relationship to acquaintances at best. She heard enough of the despicable men from you. The only times she was in direct contact with Gojo and Geto was work related and god how she hoped that it would stay that way. She’ll play that pretend game almost happily. 

Shoko closed the office door the day turning to evening, sundown coloring the city in hues of orange and yellow. She held onto her little black purse, thankfully it was friday. A man stood on the long corridor, standing upright as if he did not belong here. He looked indifferent, almost bored.

“Nanami.” 

“Ieiri.” 

They greeted each other with a curt nod. 

“So what brings you here? You seem healthy enough,” Shoko asked as they walked to the open parking lot, only a few cars in sight. The warm summer sun caressed her cheeks, wind making her long hair flow in waves.

“I think she’s going through something,” Nanami stated as a matter of fact talking about you. He and you had gone on missions together, but something about you wasn’t right. He had seen the way you clutch your weapon, throw yourself at the enemy recklessly almost as if you had a death wish. It’s like you waited for your end. 

“No shit.” Shoko chuckled amused. It was as clear as a day if you just had eyes on yourself. “Why do you care?” 

“I’ve seen enough people spiral to know where it leads. You’re a healer, can’t you help?” His voice was thoughtful, not betraying a hint of emotions. 

“I can’t help a person who doesn’t want it,” Shoko said. “But I’ll try to figure something out.” 

“And that is enough. Thank you.” 

***

You hated meetings and rarely took part in them if you could avoid them. You had not met Gojo or Geto after the unfortunate night. If there were some work related things where there was a possibility to meet either of the men, you requested to be part of them remotely or that someone would just forward the key points. But after doing this for a few months Yaga had sent you a passive-aggressive email writing that it is absolutely mandatory for you to show yourself at least once in a while. You didn’t bother to answer him with anything other than a polite see you there.

Honestly you were tired. Your whole body ached in overexertion. Sleep escaped from you, ran a marathon around the block never stopping at your house, and every time you seemed to catch a break, hazy images you rather forbid being real filled your vision. Your eyebags told a story of exhaustion, your body shrinking in every possible way away. You went to see a doctor, not Shoko, just some normal practitioner from the private sector that you ended up paying yourself sick for. 

The doctor gave you pills to help you with sleep. He asked you if you were stressed or going through some sorts of crisis. You answered with a diligent no and explained that you’ve always had issues with sleep, but you were otherwise okay. He looked at you, raising his eyebrow in suspicion, the glasses on his head hung on his nose by a thread. He decided to believe you as he wrote the prescription, but insisted you took home pamphlets about depression and crisis hotlines. 

You tried the pills. You did fall asleep, but only after a panic attack wrecked through your body as the effect of the medication forced you into a deep slumber. The pills made you feel your pulse in your whole body. “It’s a quite strong product, previously used to treat psychosis, but nowadays it’s for patients with severe insomnia. Take it one hour before sleep. The effect might be really sudden.”  

When you woke up you decided to throw them away. It’s better to not to sleep if it meant that you’d go free from the horrors of the night you had experienced. 

The huge meeting table sprawled out horizontally and was able to sit around fifteen people in it. It had several small electric outlets for computers and tablets. Light poured in from the big windows, the blinds only halfway done. You stared at the weird scribbling on the white board that Principal Yaga was wiping furiously, muttering things about how students shouldn’t be let in this room under any circumstance since they can’t differentiate which markers are okay to use on it. 

You exchanged pleasantries with him. The room was devoid of people since you were too early. You swung your leather bag on the back of the upholstered office chair and sat yourself down.

Shoko walked in and her face lit up a little bit when she saw you sitting there. It was subtle, you thought that you were maybe the only one who could differentiate that expression from her. She sat next to you, a faint hint of neroli wrapping you to its calming aroma. 

Next came Meimei and then Utahime who came running to you two giving a happy hug to Shoko. They were so cute together, you thought to yourself as you fidgeted with your slightly too big shoes, constantly removing them and pushing them back to your feet. People don’t usually like small talk, but nonetheless the group chatted with each other. They had to, because it’s polite and you were coworkers. You thought that small talk was easy. The script of it was burnt to your brains for the rest of your life. You get to keep people at an arm's length and keep up appearances, so what’s there not to like? 

A familiar blonde man stood in the doorway. You checked your phone for the time. Only five minutes before the official start. Yuki also appeared after Nanami.  

“Hello,” he said and nodded at you as he sat himself next to you. Your whole body stiffened around him. It was hard to look him in the eyes and even harder to work missions with.

It was ten minutes past the official time when the meeting was supposed to start. 

“Sorry we are late.” Two men marched in the room with confident strides and took their place in front of you facing you, that was sitting in between Nanami and Shoko, Utahime next to the doctor. Suguru sat down next to Yuki leaving a space for Satoru who had Meimei next to him. 

Hearing Suguru’s voice made your skin crawl. 

“It’s fine,” Yaga said and looked over his shoulder to look at the white screen he had pulled down earlier with only a blue screen reflecting on the fabric. “I can’t seem to get this work anyway,” he mumbled. 

“Do you need help?” Suguru walked over to the man struggling over his laptop. “Have you checked the HDMI-cable?” 

“Of course I have, I just don’t understand why it won't work. We have Ijichi remote today,” he muttered partially to himself.  

“Let me.” 

You sat fidgeting on your chair focusing on everything else than the two men and their presence that suffocated you. If you were a candle they’d be snuffing you out but not properly, no, that would be too kind. They’d always let enough air in so that you’d never be completely put out. 

“Hello to you girls.. and Nanami,” Satoru flashed a playful grin at the four of you. Your head jerked involuntarily to look at the man. Thank god he has a habit of covering his eyes, but somehow that made him even worse. 

“Hello. How are you?” Nanami nodded politely. 

“I’m well. Hopefully the work isn’t stressing you out too much.” Satoru’s smile widened. 

“Speaking of work, I’ve heard that you and her have started doing missions together,” Satoru nudged his head towards you as he spoke directly to Nanami. “I actually green lighted the idea of sorcerers working more together. It’s good to practice teamwork and I put in good words for the two of you, since you compliment each other with the techniques you have. ” Satoru moved his head to look your way as he drew out his words in a way that you’d be sure to catch the dual meaning.

The wall flashed a few times showing the computer screen and it’s default wallpaper for only a moment and after that went back to blue. 

“An idea that I actually can get behind,” Nanami said agreeably. 

Your eye twitched. 

“Really? That was your doing?” You barely hid the anger of your voice. One more push and you’d pour your life savings on an amoral hitman, not that you’d believe that anyone could finish him off. It was a thought just for you so you could at least think about being mean in your own petty way. 

“Not a fan of working in groups of two? How about in groups of three?” 

“You fucking piece of-” 

“Okay I think it’s working now,” Yaga put his hands together straightening himself properly. Suguru walked over to Satoru, slightly shaking his head before he sat down. You heard Utahime’s quiet “okayy..” whispered in the awkward silence. 

“Unfortunately principal Gakuganji wasn’t able to make it today, he’s sick or something.”

You heard Gojo scoff audibly. 

“Try to respect him.” Yaga shot a glare in the young teacher’s way. 

“Ijichi and Nitta have gathered data about the hotspots of cursed activity,” he continued and opened up the window to teams only to be greeted by a tired looking black haired man in a suit. The background behind him was red, it looked like some type of wallpaper and small paintings covered the walls. You reckoned it was a hotel room. Or a motel, you really could not tell. 

“Ijichi, do you hear me? Would you like to take over?” Yaga’s voice boomed louder as if he wasn’t already near his computer. 

The grainy picture of the tired man smiling uncomfortably stayed still a little too long to be taken as a real time reaction to Yaga’s question. 

“I hear you. Sorry, the connection here is a bit bad.” Ijichi’s voice echoed in the office room. The picture of a slideshow appeared on the wall, making Ijichi’s face smaller. 

The map of Tokyo loomed on the wall as everyone stared at it intensely, more or less dozing off. Some parts of it had big red circles on them and Ijichi explained the way these places were having exceptionally heavy activity. He reckoned that partially the rise in activity tied to the sorcerers working more missions together leaving less people available. Ijichi also showed statistics comparing the effectiveness of sorcerers based in Tokyo and Kyoto. 

You were about to lose your mind, your body still pumping adrenaline after the conversation with Gojo. Everyone else seemed to be bored, oblivious to your struggle. Satoru had yawned at least three times in the last ten minutes, Shoko and Utahime were both interested in their nails. Even Suguru looked tired and he was pretty good at hiding his thoughts. The only ones who did not look outwardly dead inside were Yaga and Nanami. 

“Thank you Ijichi for your hard work,” Yaga said and Ijichi nodded smiling. The pop up of the slideshow vanished from the screen leaving Ijichi’s face in a huge resolution looming onto the wall. 

“We are going to take in account the effects of pairing up sorcerers. I’m not entirely in charge of how long this trial will take,” Yaga said. “Ieiri has this trial affected the health care aspect in any way?” 

Shoko cleared her throat tapping open the ipad in front of her, her nails making a satisfying click click sound. 

“The injuries have lessened,” she started. That’s good, you thought. “But the severity has increased,” she said with a serious face.

“Why is that?” Principal scrunched his eyebrows together. 

“In my professional opinion it is due to people being more brazen when having a partner. This can be seen especially in lower grade sorcerers, who are prone to believing that they are invincible when someone backs them up.” Everyone had turned to look at the doctor who played with her hair idly as she spoke. 

“And the second grade and up?”

“It happens less. But there are some, even first grade sorcerers, who are accident prone,” Shoko said and quickly looked at you, not long enough for others to pick up on that she was speaking about you.

Gojo’s phone rang in the middle of the conference. He left the room with an apology and never came back. Relief and anger ignited in you playing tug of war in your heart as your eyes followed him bitterly.

“I think this is all. I’ll send everyone the upcoming jobs, but if no one has anything to say, I think we can conclude this meeting here,” Yaga said, the choir of thank yous and goodbyes filling the room. 

You stretched yourself, happy to be on your feet again. 

“Hey, can we talk?” Nanami tried to get your attention. 

You stood in the room that was quickly emptying out of people. Shoko awkwardly hung around in a small distance from you and Nanami, trying to pretend that she wasn’t listening to your conversation. 

“I don’t entirely understand the conversation between you and Gojo, but if I have somehow disrespected you I offer my deepest apologies.” Nanami’s voice was soft. Your heart ached as you realized how bad your words must have appeared to him. 

“I’m so sorry. It’s not about you. You’ve done nothing..” You trailed off as you saw the tall curse eating man walk outside with a sly smile on his lips.

“That’s a relief but if I may be so blunt, I have a hunch that there is something bothering you,” Nanami said. 

You looked at him and chewed your lower lip nervously. This was all their fault. If they had not done what they did, you would not be in this position. The least they could have done is to keep the names of people you know out of their mouths. 

“I’m sorry to leave you hanging like this, but can we finish this conversation later?” You  hurried past him, only hearing Nanami mumble the word ‘sure’ like a kicked puppy and you said goodbye to Shoko agreeing on staying in touch with her.

The corridor was almost empty as you walked through the school building frantically searching for that bastard of a man. Your footsteps echoed on the wood as you arrived at a not so well known exit of the building. Geto stood in front of the dual doors, half heartedly pushing it open as he furiously wrote something on his phone. 

You yelled out his name, but he did not bother to react to you. You closed in on the man that was still standing back towards you. Anger surged in you as adrenaline made you braver than what you normally would be. You were supposed to just grab the ends of his hair that were sprawled across his back, but in the heat of the moment your impulse control had another lapse as you kept on raising your hand. A fist closed around the bun that had been carefully crafted on his scalp and you dug your fingers around the hair tie and then yanked, hard. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” He turned around stepping out of the doorway letting it close properly with a thump and he closed the distance between you for good. His eyes shot daggers at you. 

“You did not pay attention to me.” You shook your hand out of the spare strands that were stuck on your palm and offered the small hair tie back to him. 

“Well you got it now,” he hissed. “You can keep that as a souvenir. I don’t want anything that a filthy bitch like you has touched,” he said, the calm composure nowhere in sight. 

A filthy bitch? Really? Then maybe you should break up with Satoru if this is your deal breaker.. That’s what you wanted to say, but you held back your tongue. 

Geto took a deep breath, calming himself down, slipping on the mask that you were more used to seeing. He put his phone back in his pocket.

“What do you want?” 

“You told me,” you started, tears threatening to flow over. “You told me that I can just leave and do whatever I want. Why do you keep tormenting me? Why do you let Gojo do what he does?” Your voice broke as you started crying openly. You hated it, it made you weak. No. You were weak. 

“Firstly, I’m not his guardian. He can do what he wants.” He sounded like a smartass. 

“Second of all, never. And I repeat. Never, lay a hand on me ever again, especially on my hair.” You rolled your eyes. 

Of course it was the hair that ticked him off completely. It was his crown, the only thing he had ever been able to take care of besides Satoru. Suguru loved to flaunt himself as the calm one, the kind one, but the exterior had always had some cracks in it. No amount of paint was able to hide the rotten wall behind it. 

“I can forgive your outburst at Satoru’s, but now that you’re in your right mind, you won’t get second chances.” 

“I don’t want ‘second chances’. I want you to leave me the fuck alone so I can do my job,” you yelled at him. 

“Lower your voice. Or do you want to air out all the dirty laundry for everyone?” Geto hushed you. 

“It’s not my ‘laundry’, it’s fucking yours!” You roared and tears fell down your cheeks blurring your vision. Your face felt hot as it got wrapped in the wrath of your words. 

Geto did not answer you, instead he chose to stare you down, not moving at all as if he was a statue. He looked like a child throwing a tantrum when things did not go his way, his face contorting to a sneer that could challenge any rich spoiled brat. You panted and wiped your face with the rough backside of your palm. 

“Move.”

“Ladies first,” he snickered childishly and kicked open the heavy door with his foot as he stepped slightly to the side. God this man hangs out too much with Gojo. 

As you left the school grounds barely holding your breakdown away, there was one figure in the corridors hugging the wall near the exit, clutching onto her purse. 

***

SHOKO’S MEMORIES, 2006

“Truth or dare?” Satoru asked, popping the pink bubblegum in the air, sucking the sticky material back in his mouth to chew on loudly. 

“Truth,” Shoko said, placing another cigarette in her mouth. She smoked especially heavily when she was drinking. 

Satoru had managed to bring a whole six pack of beer to the picnic whereas Suguru had found a travel size vodka bottle from his parents. Shoko had brought a package of different berries and salty crackers with her. 

“If you could have any technique in the world, which one would you have?” Satoru asked. He looked at the clear blue sky and the way the summer breeze pushed on the white clouds. 

Shoko played with the corner of the blanket as she thought deeply about his question. She stared at the shoes she had placed on the grass and the manicure on her toes that Utahime had insisted on putting on her. 

“I think I’d keep this one,” she smiled wistfully. 

“Really? You wouldn’t want my powers?” Satoru looked at her tilting his head to the side. He spat out the chewing gum and placed it on the plastic lid that belonged to the packaging of berries. He did not like it when things ran out of flavor, always searching for something more. 

“No. I don’t envy you at all. I just want a happy life and that’s all” Shoko answered his gaze, with a gentle smile. “Besides, I like the way I am and I suppose I can help people like this,” she added. 

Satoru hummed. He was clearly dissatisfied with the answer. 

He did not exactly know why. 

“Satoru, that's sad. You should ask something fun,” Suguru pointed out and took a sip from the beer can. 

The three of them sat on a grassy hill that had a pretty decent view of the city and the park below it. Shoko leaned against the huge tree behind her back. The cicadas were performing their own concert with the hum of motorways working as their orchestra.  

“You figure out better questions then,” Satoru pouted, but wasn’t actually hurt. 

“Isn’t it my turn to ask though?” 

Shoko looked in the distance watching closely how a woman jogged with her shiba inu, her ponytail swishing in the same rhythm as the chord of her headphones. Both men nodded slightly out of sync. 

“Satoru truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

“Who’s the hottest person you know?” Her eyes twinkled teasingly. 

“Waka Inoue of course. She’s sexy as hell!” Satoru slapped his hand on his heart as if he was saluting. 

“Really? You still have a crush on her?” Suguru questioned. It was his turn to pout. “Am I not enough?” 

“Baby you’re plenty, but you can’t replace a huge rack,” Satoru’s voice was steady as if he was talking about the most important thing in the whole world. 

“I can’t argue with that.” Suguru sighed defeatedly, his shoulders slumping down dramatically. 

“Ugh. I shouldn’t have asked that. Both of you are so weird and gross about women,” Shoko grimaced regretting her decisions and lifted the cigarette to her mouth as if to cover the bad taste of Satoru’s words. 

The man in sunglasses ignored the criticizing words. “Suguru. Truth or dare?” 

“Dare.” 

“I dare you to share this,” Satoru lifted up a huge strawberry. “Like in Lady and the Tramp with Shoko,” he referred to the scene where the two dogs shared a spaghetti meal, eventually kissing. 

“That’s too small!” Shoko protested immediately, shaking her head. The idea of doing that with Suguru made her feel iffy. 

“I’m game if she is,” Suguru said and offered his palm to Satoru who plopped the berry in his hands. 

Shoko had a nervous giggle come out of her. 

“C’mon, it’s just a game. You can always let go after like one bite. This is truth or dare afterall,” Satoru coaxed. 

“Fine. But I won’t kiss you, not even a peck.” Shoko established her own rule and rolled her eyes. She put out the cigarette on the grass and left the butt there. 

“We’ll see about that,” Suguru laughed and picked at the stem that got thrown over next to the chewed up gum. 

He awkwardly came closer to the young female student and placed the bigger end between his lips. He looked silly, the red end peeking out of his mouth. Suguru attempted at mouthing the words ‘come closer’, but neither Satoru or Shoko understood his words but the context clue carried the point to Shoko. 

She got on her knees sitting on top of her legs and straightened herself out. Suguru was way taller than her, even when he sat. Her face approached Suguru’s who had a pink tint on his cheeks from the alcohol he had drank.  

She opened her mouth and barely bit down on the smaller end, her tongue touching the bumpy texture of the strawberry. 

“Ready. Set. Go!” Satoru exclaimed, motioning finger guns happily. His gaze was completely glued on his two friends. 

Suguru closed his eyes and he started to carefully nibble, closing dangerously on Shoko’s lips. She bit quickly, not really tasting anything and began to pull away in hopes of Suguru calling it quits too. 

Unfortunately she wasn’t fast enough. The last bits of strawberry fell down on Shoko’s lap when Suguru pressed his lips against hers, a faint red trail dripping on her chin. She didn’t move and her eyes widened in shock. Shoko didn’t know what to do so she just held her hands on her lap. 

Suguru pet gently behind the girl’s head kissing her motionless lips. His hand trailed down to her neck and all the way to her shoulder. Shoko felt the sweet taste in her mouth mixing with the alcohol, stranger’s saliva and nicotine as Suguru dragged his hand to the mound of her breast. The warmth emanating from his palm was enough to bring her back to reality and Shoko pushed the bigger guy off of her. 

“Why did you do that?” she snapped and crossed her arms. 

“Oh don’t get angry now. Have a drink and chill out.” Satoru sighed. He shuffled awkwardly and placed the almost empty tote bag on his lap and grabbed a new beer can from there. Shoko narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but did not want to make room for any weird thoughts that would imply even weirder things. “It’s just a joke.” 

“This is not the first time you take jokes too far.”

Shoko looked away from the two boys, disappointment turning into an ache in her heart and wiped her chin clean from the strawberry. She slipped on the ballerinas laying on the ground. 

“Seriously? You’re leaving because of this?” Suguru tilted his head, his voice defensive.

Shoko threw her cigarettes and lighter in her own purse checking the blanket for other stuff she had. 

“Yeah, I am. I’m not having fun anymore.” Her voice was cold as she was attempting to hide the nervous tremble in her body and almost jumped up throwing the bag on her shoulder. She turned around, once again crossing her hands against her chest as if to protect herself and started walking.

“Hey! Don’t you want your blanket with you?” Satoru yelled after her. The two guys sat on the quilt completely bamboozled. 

“Keep it! I don’t need it!” 

She didn’t eat strawberries for the rest of the summer. 

***

“Hey you really should sing this one!” Shoko laughed as she scrolled through the song list.

“Whaat? No that’s not even funny,” you laughed and slapped her arm gently. 

“Is it really not? Or are you just a bore?” Shoko taunted getting ready to put the song on.

“Can we sing something from this?” You pointed at the category called 2000’s hits. 

“I’ll pick something at random and you’re just going to deal with it,” Shoko laughed clearly tipsy too after the multiple drinks you both had drank. 

The disco ball was spinning around the small room painting the walls in hues of blue, red and green. Nanami sat on the couch nursing his whiskey as he stared off into space. The upbeat music filled the room, bass shaking the ground underneath your feet.

It was the first time going out after the events at Gojo’s house. Shoko had basically begged you to come with her to get shit faced complaining that she really needed someone to rant with. You told her that Utahime was right there and would probably love to listen to her, but she claimed that the woman from Kyoto had other plans for the weekend.

After arriving at the karaoke bar you had been taken back after seeing the stoic blonde man at the venue. You weighed the option of immediately leaving in your head, but your conscience did not allow you to do so, after leaving him so rudely hanging in the meeting. When the three of you had gotten your own private room you decided to immediately order shots and drinks with the only goal of getting absolutely black out drunk tonight despite having Nanami there. 

It was honestly rare to see him after work as he had preferred to keep his distance. He was wearing the same clothing he always wore, dress shirt ironed, necktie perfectly hanging against his chest as if he was on the clock. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he were to whip out a cursed tool onto the bar table. 

You clutched onto the microphone singing unevenly as you danced to the beat, half of the syllables disappearing to you being out of breath. Shoko cackled, almost folding over as she kept slapping her thigh eyes watering. She had drunk a few drinks less than you and she had been exceptionally happy even before drinking. Truthfully Shoko was quite a heavy drinker and she definitely should not have been as wasted as what she appeared to be. 

Nanami stared at the both of you, raising the whiskey glass to his lips after checking his wrist watch. 

“Come here! Sing with us!” You yelled to the mic only getting a slightly alarmed expression out of him as he shook his head.

“I think I’m okay with watching you two perform,” he said. 

You pouted but kept on singing, your concentration skills nonexistent. You did not notice the way Shoko glared at him, nudging her head towards you as she pointed the microphone in her hand towards him. 

Nanami cleared his throat under the threatening gaze and clumsily got up. 

“Oh my god! Nanamiii!” You screamed the noise so high pitched that even the speakers were unable to handle it and you could see how Nanami cringed at the sound. 

Shoko squinted her eyes and mouthed the word sing to Nanami. Shoko was not going to deal with you alone. 

The combination of the pop song and Nanami’s voice made you giggle as you hurrayed him happily. He was not a bad singer by any means, but his voice did not fit the song choice. You wondered to yourself, why had you not gotten shitfaced earlier when you had all the good reasons to. 

Shoko decided to take a small break sitting on the spot where Nanami had been earlier and inspected the brown liquid swishing in the glass. She stole a sip from it when Nanami wasn’t watching, not really caring about the fact that it wasn’t her drink.

You grabbed your drink from the table and drank from it and you kept on singing happily, almost jumping around. Nanami looked at you with a terrified expression when you moved side to side with the drink spilling on your hand, but you did not notice the wetness of it. 

“Hey, put that down before you drop the glass,” Nanami said and gently tried to take the glass from you.

“No, I want to keep this,” a pout formed on your face but you still did what he told and turned around swiftly to place the drink on the counter. Your vision was blurry, the lights slightly too bright and you lost your balance tipping over the glass that was already safely on the table. You felt yourself starting to fall but a strong arm snaked around your waist to stabilize you. 

The world felt like it was stopping when the arm around you changed into a tight rope that pressed around your ribcage. The karaoke room changed inch by inch to a vast room with a wall made of windows with a night view of the streets of Tokyo. The shattered drink turned into a broken light bulb on the floor. You felt a hot breath on your skin, but your body had gotten cold. It was as if you had been dunked into ice water, all the earlier excitement completely vanished. The disco ball spun around casting blue lights on the white haired man’s face that ogled you like a piece of meat. The imagery was so vivid and real in your mind that you reacted on instinct, elbowing the man behind you. 

The rope vanished around you as the windows melted to the concrete floor, the shadows of city lights turned back to the tacky illumination of the disco ball. You felt the remnants of cursed energy fizzing out like a soda can as your eyes landed on Nanami, who was slightly hunched over holding onto his side the pain making him grimace. You had no idea how much force you had actually used, but probably quite a lot judging by the way Nanami was reacting. 

Shoko stood there completely still, eyes filled to the brim with worry and confusion. Her lips were ajar and she gulped down wanting to say something, but she did not know what. 

“My apologies. I didn't mean to touch you inappropriately,” Nanami managed to say. The music track played in the background, but it felt empty without a drunken voice guiding it. He was lucky to have good reflexes, instinctually protecting himself from the blow, otherwise Shoko would have had a patient off the clock. 

“Uh,” Your mouth gaped at him hopelessly. He had done nothing wrong. 

“I’ll go for a cigarette,” you blurted out and left the room hurriedly. The long hallway stretched in front of your eyes as you looked at the numbers on karaoke booths, only muted colors flashing through the slightly translucent doors. You leaned on the wall as you dragged your feet forward arriving at the front desk that thanked you for your time, but you did not pay attention to them and turned to your left to stare at the steep stairway.

The steps were made out of wood with a black paint that had started to chip away and the walls were pure red, too bright and intense for your eyes. You focused on the door in front of you and barely saw the red walls around it as they got covered by a dark cloud, your way of seeing more animalistic than human.The only thing in your mind was the need to get some fresh air as emotions threw you around like a shipwreck at the sea. 

You pushed the door open and walked over to a bicycle stand choosing an empty spot where you plopped yourself on. You rocked yourself back and forth as you cried and gripped onto your skin painfully hoping that at least the physical sensation would put an end to your suffering. You started to be more aware of the familiar banging against your skull. 

The door of the karaoke bar opened as Shoko walked outside, her face now serious, resembling more the woman she was at work than the friend giggling at drunk people's jokes. 

“Hey. You forgot this inside.” She handed you your bag.

You wanted to answer something but you could not as the words got stuck to your throat. Your world flashed back and forth between sensations that you weren’t supposed to feel in this moment. The guilt and sadness ate you alive, nipping away from your vitals the more you tried to push them down. 

Shoko placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it up and offered it to you. You took it gladly off her hands inhaling the sweet smoke, but you almost ended up suffocating on it as your nose was too stuffed to handle it. Even the menthol taste was unable to help you with this issue. Shoko opened the green box once more to get herself a smoke as well. 

She took a drag out of it and watched your shuddering figure. 

“I saw you in the hallway with Geto. Something happened at Gojo’s right?”

You lifted your head up mascara running on your cheeks. Had you not been in such a bad state her words would have shocked you. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t want my help.” Shoko crouched down to your level. You stared at her face as she left out a puff of smoke that trailed around her face, the dark eye bags now more visible than ever. 

You choked on your tears once more, now openly wailing on the pavement your fingers digging into the soft flesh of your arm. You dragged your nails across yourself leaving pink trails behind it, the soft tingle covering the areas you had just clawed at. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you cried, your words hard to decipher as your breath hitched. “I can’t keep on doing this. It’s all my fault. I’m so stupid,” you screamed snot falling onto your shirt. 

“So fucking stupid!” You impulsively pressed the cigarette butt against your thigh melting the cloth away the stinging pain shocking you as your skin shed its layers against the fire. 

You had no shame in your breakdown, frankly you did not even recognize the others that looked in your way speaking with hushed voices around you, as they tightened the grip on their partners hands. “That girl really needs to lay off the drinks,” someone had said loudly. Shoko had wanted to immediately pounce, but she held herself together. She knew that you needed her more. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, when you want to hurt someone else,” her voice was just a whisper. “Can I touch you?” She asked not wanting to trigger you further. You nodded. 

Shoko pulled you into a tight hug and you buried your face on her chest, holding onto her like it was the last thing keeping you afloat. You seeked comfort in her presence. 

“I want to die.” You gripped onto her tighter. “I’m so weak.”

Shoko stroked your hair, her own eyes watering as she listened to you wordlessly. She felt your pain almost just as viscerally as you were experiencing them now.  

“No matter… no matter what I do. I can’t escape them. I just want to be gone. I want to-”

Shoko shushed you and slipped her free hand into her pocket, digging out her phone. Almost ten minutes had gone by. She awkwardly opened her chat with Nanami trying to inform the man who was probably still sitting in their booth waiting for the two of you to come back. 

A male voice disturbed the two of you. “Is everything okay?” 

Shoko pressed her hand on your shoulder pushing herself up from the ground, she whispered to you to stay put, not that you really were in any condition to go anywhere. 

“Good that you’re here. I was just about to text you. Can you get us a taxi?”

“Of course,” he said and opened the app punching in your address that Shoko forwarded to him. He looked so much older and out of place in the busy street. 

This was the kind hearted and lovely Nanami that had forgiven you immediately, after you had punched him in the gut because you were fucked up in the head. The kind hearted and lovely Nanami that you couldn’t look in the eyes, because of a certain man whose name you felt like acid on the tip of your tongue. The thoughts in your head brought fresh tears to your eyes. You dangerously sailed in the deep waters of suicidal ideation, your tired hands opening the forbidden door.  

“It’s going to arrive in five minutes,” Nanami hummed. 

“I think you should go. I’ll handle this,” Shoko said, her voice full of pity. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Nanami nodded in agreement. 

“For what it’s worth, take care of yourself too.” Nanami’s words were carefully chosen, anticipating that you weren’t the only one who needed a hug. 

***

SHOKO’S MEMORIES, YEAR 2006

The beach was filled with people who enjoyed the way the sun spoiled them with its warmth. Shoko was sitting on a towel next to Mei Mei who applied generous amounts of sunscreen on her hand. They sat underneath a parasol that had been propped in the sand, covering them both from the direct sun. The brown haired girl watched as Utahime excitedly threw herself to the water. She had given up on trying to get Shoko and Mei Mei in the water as well. 

“Mei Mei, don’t you have a lot of experience with boys?” Shoko almost whispered and hugged her legs. Her beach shawl swayed when the breeze decided to start playing with the huge piece of cloth. 

“Are you trying to imply something?” Her voice was low and melodic but not at all accusatory. 

“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to ask you something.” Shoko shook her head flustered. “Is it normal for a guy to kiss a girl without asking?” 

Mei Mei burst into laughter. This was the question Shoko was getting all worked up for? 

“Shoko,” Mei Mei’s eyes glimmered softly when she said the younger girl’s name with gentleness that reminded her of a mother tugging a child into bed. “I did not take you for being this innocent,” she teased. 

“I’m not innocent,” the brown haired girl huffed with the unexpected blush decorating her cheeks.

“Did someone do that to you?” Mei Mei tilted her head curiously and offered the sunscreen bottle to Shoko who happily took it to her hands.

“If I tell you, will you promise that you won’t tell anyone?”

“If I’m honest, I don’t think I care enough to tattle. You got me curious now. Tell me,” she hummed as a smile curled on her lips. 

“Well uh.. Suguru kind of kissed me when we were playing truth or dare with Satoru,” Shoko explained . She ran her hand between the warm sand, the grainy texture giving her something else to think about. “It was a stupid dare on Satoru’s part. Dunno why I accepted it.” 

Shoko added that she did not want to kiss him under any circumstances but the boy had managed to go over her boundary with ease. 

“That’s it?” Mei Mei asked, raising her eyebrow. She was almost bewildered at how tame the story was. 

“Yeah.” 

The blue haired woman scoffed.

“Guys think that girls like it when they take control and in a certain sense they are right. Maybe they got their eyes on you? Although, I did think that Suguru and Satoru were..” Mei Mei’s voice trailed off as she thought. “It doesn’t matter.” She concluded. 

“If I were you. I’d go along with it.” Mei Mei suggested. 

“No way. I don’t like them like that. Besides that’s not what I asked for your opinion on.” 

“And?” Mei Mei turned her gaze on Shoko, her eyes hardening as she intensely stared at the younger girl. “Those two men are our generation’s strongest and you’re going to complain that one of them gave you a little kiss?” 

Mei Mei’s melodic voice dropped lower as she showed her true feelings of distaste towards Shoko’s views. 

“If I were you,” she started again, her voice tough and bitter. “I’d be securing my spot by their side and not planning to bring forth meaningless accusations over a game of truth or dare.” 

Shoko was at loss with the things that were being said to her. Now that she thought about it, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to speak with Mei Mei. 

“I did not say I was going to tell anyone,” her voice was squeaky like a little girl’s. 

“But you thought about that right?” Shoko did not deny nor confirm the accusation.

Mei Mei’s face softened. “Shoko, you’re a smart girl. You should know better than to get shaken by two boys, especially when you so eagerly lead them on.“ 

“..I don’t lead them on.”

“Then stop meeting them in your spare time. If you do that, guys will think that you’re willing. You’re not a kid anymore, they do notice that you’re a woman now.” 

She stayed quiet, Mei Mei’s words burning on her skin worse than the summer heat. She did not want guys thinking about her that way. She simply wanted to be their friend and the idea of boys and girls being unable to do that because of bodily differences made Shoko shudder. 

“You want to help your friends, right?” Mei Mei asked when Utahime got out of the water. 

Shoko nodded. 

“Then become a doctor. That’s the best you can do to others with the technique you have.” Her words were probably meant to be comforting, but they made Shoko’s heart sink to the bottom of the ocean. 

“Shookoo!” Utahime ran towards the two girls sitting on the beach towels. 

“Are you willing to swim now?” Sand and water droplets clung onto her radiant skin that the younger girl admired silently. Shoko felt her heart skip a few times in her chest when Utahime offered her hand to her. 

“Sure.” The shy smile stretched on Shoko’s lips. 

“I’ll stay here. But you guys have fun.” Mei Mei announced as she opened the book next to her the pages slightly crumpled up. 

Shoko did not really register Mei Mei’s voice anymore. She grabbed Utahime’s hand and the world slowly faded away around them. 

****

Shoko went through the bathroom nimbly avoiding piles of clothing or takeout bags as she looked through your bathroom cupboard. She found a bag of half used cotton pads and a micelar water from the mess.

The taxi drive had felt like eternity. Your tears had dried before settling in the car and numbness had taken over. Shoko helped you to your bed and said that she’d come back soon, closing the door behind her giving you some space to change into something more comfortable. 

The door opened. Shoko looked at you and sat on the bed. You were using a pillow as a support for your back. The night lamp’s warm color casted shadows around your puffy face. The woman shook the bottle in her hand and poured liquid on the white cotton pad and tilted your face towards hers. 

She pressed the pad on your eyelid carefully letting the mixture soak through the heaps of makeup on your face. You sniffled sadly before speaking. 

“I can do this on my own too.” 

“I want to do this,” her voice was soft as she spoke the makeup remover leaving your skin slightly cold. You simply nodded and admired the way her hair framed her face. 

“You know I’ve had my own bad experiences too,” Shoko said, her face turning to a slight frown. Her mind was sailing in memories that she had given up on trying to understand. 

You were at a loss of words. You wanted to pry, but it felt invasive. 

“With them? Really?” You heard yourself asking as you danced on the line of impropriety.

“Yeah,” Shoko hummed, “but we shouldn’t have this conversation yet. Maybe in the morning, but not now,” she tried to make her voice sound brighter, feel brighter as if it would fix everything. 

“Okay,” you said. Maybe she’s right about this. Shoko discarded the dirty cotton pad, simply placing it on the bedside table. It was at its limits the whole thing turned into the color of your foundation with the small black streaks of your mascara on it, or what was left from it. 

She held onto your face gently for a moment too long even after she was done. You opened your eyes to really look at her. She looked so sad and.. young? Yes young was the right word. She looked like a woman robbed out of something sacred. She had been so happy, so easy to excite in her youth, but now all she seemed to carry was baggage. 

Your drunken mind wanted to close the distance, but something held you back. Maybe it was all the answers that were still being withheld by her, maybe it was the understanding that it’s not the right time yet. 

“Can you stay the night?” you whispered. Shoko breathed in and opened her mouth to say something, but you were faster. “Please? Th-there’s some clothes you can borrow in my closet.” 

She stayed quiet and you waited patiently.

“I’ll stay.” 

You smiled weakly at her and muttered a gentle thank you. She shuffled up from the bed and walked over the closet you had pointed for her. You turned your back to her when you heard the rustling of clothing that she ended up piling up neatly on one of the spare chairs in your bedroom. 

You fluffed up the pillow next to you and lifted up the blanket when she climbed in. You turned your back to her as you lay down on your side. Your hand searched the light switch and then the room was pitch black. 

Shoko awkwardly came closer to you till your back was against hers and she played with your hair idly in the silence. The touch was friendly, your body slumping in relaxation almost immediately. It was nice to have someone there. You had gotten so used to being afraid of the nights. 

“Good night,” she said, her voice hoarse. 

“Night.” 

***

You woke up alone with no trace of the woman in your room. She had gotten up earlier than you and dressed up back to the clothes she had in the bar. You hugged your plush blanket, almost burying your whole face underneath it, not ready to face the day.

Your head hurt and you felt nauseous. How is Shoko even able to do things? You wondered to yourself.

The faint knock on the bedroom door disrupted your thoughts as the door opened slightly. 

“I made a sandwich for you and found some painkillers, if you want any,” she said and you heard her steps further away again. 

You groaned and threw the blanket away from your body, the cold greeting you roughly. 

Your kitchen had gotten miraculously cleaner, the multiple empty beer cans piled in a bag and the dishwasher hummed quietly. You stared at the brown table in front of you that had two sandwiches and glasses of water on it, hunger long gone from your body. 

“You really should drink less.” Shoko picked up another empty can from the counter just to place it in the bag.

“Like you’re the one to talk.” You sat on the chair with its legs squeaking against the floor with your rough treatment. 

You grabbed the pill bottle and rattled out two tablets that you threw in your mouth and drank barely enough water to chase them down. 

“What do you remember?” Shoko asked and sat in front of you. She wasn’t feeling very hungry either. 

“I remember punching Nanami and the talk we had before we fell asleep,” you mumbled, playing with the edges of the slightly crusty lettuce between your sandwich. You had meant to use it on a salad a few days ago, but you were too tired to cook for yourself. Even the simple things were hard. “What did I tell you?”

“Nothing. You were just crying.”

Oh. So it was like that. 

“They assaulted me.” Your face was stern, emotions hidden behind a wall. The words felt weird. It was the first time you had actually said it out loud.

Shoko’s face widened from shock. 

“They what?” 

“Don’t make me repeat it,” you hissed. 

“Sorry, I won’t.” 

The silence felt unbearable and you stuffed your face full of bread just to do something. 

“They did something similar when we were still in school.” Shoko ripped the hangnail painfully from her skin and pressed on the miniscule wound with one of her fingers. 

You chewed the sandwich aggressively without tasting anything, the texture turning to mush in your mouth. 

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Your words were way more accusatory than what you wanted. 

Shoko turned her head to the side looking hurt by your sudden outburst. Her eyebrows scrunched together in pain as she looked for the perfect words, but there were none. 

“You admired them. I didn’t want to take that away from you, and when I realized that I probably should have said..”

“Bullshit, Shoko. It’s been ten years. I deserved to know, you could have-”

“Stop blaming me for their shit!” she yelled. Shoko never yells. 

You fell quiet. You reined in your anger, its hands still attempting to reach out to anything it could latch on. She was right. It’s not her burden to bear, but you still couldn’t help but feel powerless, when there could have theoretically been someone who could have told you to not go there. 

“Sorry,” you simply said just to drop the topic. Shoko sighed defeatedly and pushed her head briefly against her hands. She understood the anger, she really did. 

“They drugged me and then raped me together. I don’t remember a lot from it. I fought back – well attempted to,” your voice shook as you spoke. 

The brown haired woman simply looked at you with silent empathy. 

“Did you at least get one good punch in?” 

Your lips curled into a downhearted smile. The memory of your feeble fight playing in your mind, the weakness and despair of it all, a futile attempt of a prey to preserve their life just one moment longer. 

“Not a single one,” you laughed hollowly as one tear rolled on your cheek and your lips trembled. “But I did rip some hair out of Geto at the school,” you tried to brighten your voice and be brave. 

Shoko’s eyes watered and she answered your smile with her own. 

“Good.” 

The almost happy expression faded from your face. Everything hurt, never had you ever thought to be in a situation like this where you were exchanging devastation with your friend like gifts on christmas. 

“Why did you stay? Even Nanami left for a while, you could have done the same.” Your question was gentler this time. 

Shoko pondered for a minute, not sure of her answer either. 

“Because this is the only way I could help. I had you and Utahime and I didn’t want to leave you two behind. Besides what else was I supposed to do? I’ve been given a technique that can save many if I choose right. Had I left a lot more could have died because I wasn’t here — all because of what two men did,” she tried to put her thoughts together. 

“There’s a reason why Utahime doesn’t like Gojo,” Shoko blurted out and played with her hair. 

You took a careful sip of water as if you were trying to carefully dissect the different flavors of Shoko’s words. 

“What do you mean? Did they do something to her as well?” 

“No. I just mean that women know, you know? I think it’s in our blood to recognize danger. That’s one of the reasons she despises him. But this is just my thought, not an universal truth,” Shoko wondered out loud. 

She breathed in once again as if the words she was about to speak were too painful. 

“I think sometimes us women have to carry the atrocities of men. There’s no rhyme or reason why they do certain things. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I never went through what you did, but I can’t say that I’m surprised,” she mused. “I’m sorry though. What you went through. It’s not right.”

Her brown eyes stared at you expectantly. You chewed on your lip nervously and tapped the empty plate with your nail, the small tinkle sound working as a metronome. 

“No, it’s not,” you huffed. But it feels like it’s my fault. If I had not gone there, if I had not idolized them – loved them even. This wouldn’t have ended this way. It was easier to leave those words in your head. 

“So what now?” You looked at Shoko, your eyes pleading, asking for answers, guidance, anything she would be able to provide to you. You knew there was nothing clear cut Shoko could say, but god how you wished that someone would know what to do. 

Shoko shook her head in defeat as if telling you that she wasn’t able to point you on the right track like that. 

“Whatever you want. You can stay or go, but you don’t have to carry it alone,” Shoko said, her face gentle. You could still draw out the remnants of the young girl from the year two thousand and six on her features. The lines were almost faded but they were still there. 

You found kinship in her even if neither of you had shared the full story of what had happened. You weren’t there yet and you weren’t ready. Instead the two of you skirted around words unspoken finding solace of at least having someone who could understand. It was up to the both of you what to make out of the confessions of the past.