#evidence of farming left behind

[johnschneiderblog]

Rocks of ages

At first glance, you would never know that our 12 acres - woods, mainly - was once part of a farm.

The crops are long gone, but the evidence of agriculture is here - in a couple of pieces of vintage implements abandoned in our woods and in the large rock piles scattered around the property.

I know the why of it; even a city boy can deduce that rocks and farming don't mix; they're hauled from tillable land and dumped in spots too low to plow.

But I wonder about the who, when and how.

Research tells me that until around 1920, draft animals - horses and mules - were the main source of power on farms. So it's possible that at least some of these rocks arrived at their final resting place on horse-drawn wagons.

One thing is certain: They'll outlast all of us.

[icelogged]

Sacred Heart of Jesus, Ukrainian Catholic Parish of Tolstoi, Manitoba

[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 :)

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

oooh 70 on the prompts list with shane would be so angstyyyyy plz i need to see ur thoughts on this -galaxy

This one's got a little kick to it ough

70) "After everything we've been through, you still don't think that I love you?"

......

"Honey..wh..what is this?"

"Can't you read? God, and I thought Alex was the only illiterate man in town-"

"I know what it says! But..I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

"Besides being a leech on my income for the past year and not doing a damn thing to make up for it....no."

"..are you crazy? I HAVE been doing my part! Just..take these back to Lewis and tell him you changed your mind. I'm not signing them."

"I don't need your signature. Just mine is enough to finalize it. I've already gotten everything packed for you..since you're too goddamn lazy to do it yourself."

"....what?" Tears stung Shane's eyes as he shakily set the stack of papers on the table, his vision blurring. He stared at you, seeing not an ounce of remorse on your face..but instead pure hatred. "Why would you do this behind my back? I-I thought...you-"

"What? You thought I loved you? Hah." The brief laugh that left your lips was cold. "Who could love a messed-up lowlife like you, Shane? I have a farm to take care of, a community center to restore..I can't have you slowing me down. It was a fun little fling, but now you bore me. I gotta get serious about my work."

"That's...all I was to you? A "fling"?!" A hurtful scowl formed on his face, hands shaking. "What about everything we've-?!"

"I only pitied you. And y'know, if I didn't care about Jas growing up without a father figure..I would've left you in the forest that night. I only stayed and married you to make them happy. But you blew your chance to get your act together..they're gonna be so disappointed in you."

As much as he wanted to respond with a snarky "I didn't know there was a time limit"...he was frozen on the spot, unable to say anything.

What could he say?

This was all so sudden...and just when he thought you two were doing so well and he was starting to have a genuinely positive outlook on life..

He made the horrid mistake of checking the mailbox and finding the dreaded papers.

"I'll say this was 50,000 gold well-spent." You grabbed the papers off the table, looking at the broken man before holding out your hand. "Give me that necklace. I'm gonna sell it."

"No..." Shane shook his head and clutched the mermaid pendant, tears streaking his face as he backed into the corner. "I...I-I'm so sorry, I'll try to be better! Just tell me what I can fix, a-and I'll-!!"

Suddenly you pulled out a dagger and swiped at him, causing him to flinch and shield himself, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation-

Yet he wasn't injured, but when he saw his pendant in your hands now...he felt as though you actually twisted that dagger deep into his heart.

He collapsed to his knees, devastated as you sheathed your weapon and pocketed the amulet you once tied around his neck at your wedding.

By your hands, you two were bonded in matrimony...

And by your hands, that bond was severed.

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm sick of pretending that I care for some lazy ungrateful fuck. Goodbye, Shane."

And with that, you stormed out of the house..and he was left there on the floor, his sobs filling the silence in the now empty cabin.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It was already late when you returned from your mining trip, and once you finished putting the spoils of your expedition into the shipping bin, you yawned and stretched.

The time was 1:10 AM...and your energy was super drained.

You figured Shane was already sound asleep. The idea of crawling into that cozy bed and cuddling with the man you loved had you eager to take off your boots and put your tools away.

However upon opening the door..you immediately caught a faint whiff of beer, and it left a sinking pit in your stomach.

He did bring home a six-pack case today, and he promised to have it in moderation.

But the kitchen trash showed clear evidence of recently-opened cans.

Four out of the six, in fact.

'Oh man..it happened again..'

You knew that he wasn't gonna be able to quit cold turkey just like that. It wasn't a habit he could flip off like a lightswitch, and that's a fact you've come to accept.

Although he had a few beers from time to time, it was nothing like before. And he would always let you know if he was having some....so to realize he drank over half the case tonight alone was alarming.

Why? You were only gone for a few hours..

You entered the bedroom, finding Shane still awake, hunched over on the bed's edge with his face in his hands. He looked completely torn up, and you've never seen him this bad since..

"Shane, sweetheart?"

Startled, he looked up at you, revealing his eyes to be puffy and red from crying. "O-Oh..hi. You..y-you came back?" He hoarsely asked.

"Of course I did..without having to visit Harvey, thank god." You walked over and sat beside him, frowning. "But more importantly are you okay? What's wrong?"

He tried to respond, but the memories of that nightmare made him physically incapable of doing so...and fresh tears welled in his eyes.

A choked sob came out, and as quickly as he tried covering it up--it failed as similar heartbreaking noises followed.

You didn't waste any time pulling him into a hug.

Leaning against you, he sobbed into your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt in tears. But you just hushed him and rubbed his back. He didn't smell too heavily of beer, although it made you wonder what happened tonight that was bad enough to make him relapse.

Was it...you?

Was you being away stressing him out?

Did he think you wouldn't come back-

"[Y/n]...you sure you..really love me? And all of this isn't...a-a joke?" He hiccupped softly.

Those questions made your heart sink, and you briefly pulled away to gaze at him in sadness. You knew he was still struggling with his self-confidence and self-image, often comparing himself to a "squishy bag of flesh" and feeling "too old", but for him to doubt your love?

Even after talking him off a cliff?

Even after going to the gridball game where you shared that first kiss?

Even after giving him the bouquet and mermaid pendant?

"After everything we've been through, you still don't think that I love you?" You asked softly, not with anger, but with worry.

"Just look at me, and look at every other guy in this town. You could'a had a doctor, someone who can still play gridball, a writer who lives by the sea...even that emo guy seems cool. But you chose me..."

With a sniffle, he clutched the mermaid pendant with trembling fingers. "...this pathetic..l-lowlife who doesn't do shit on this farm. I swear I'd change and get my act together, but I'm letting you down again...j-just like everyone else. And I'm so sorry...I'm such a failure." He sobbed harder.

"Wha..that's nonsense. You do more for me and this farm than you could possibly know." You cupped his face, feeling his cheeks grow wet with fresh tears. "You feed the animals, you water any crops my sprinklers could've missed...and those pepper poppers you give me help keep my energy up in the mines so I can come home safely."

"But..I can't even microwave them right." He whined. "I wanna have the energy to cook like you do-"

"What do you mean?" You frowned. "Last week, you made me a killer omelet when I went to bed angry over a Pepper Rex burning my favorite cardigan."

Shane blinked, searching his foggy brain for that memory, before it dawned on him that he actually DID wake up extra early to surprise you with an omelet he cooked on the stove. Made from Charlie's eggs, of course.

"Ah, that's right..well...I guess I'm good at some things.." He sniffled, slowly calming down.

You chuckled softly, thumbing away the rest of his tears, your fingers brushing over his scruff. He recently shaved it, but it grew back rather quickly--like a crop infused with deluxe growth fertilizer.

"You're good at being my partner, and keeping me company after a long day." You kissed him in the lips. "I love you, Shane. Nothing will change that, even if you have relapses."

"I love you, too..and 'm sorry. I just had this really bad nightmare, and I couldn't fight the urge tonight."

"I understand, I'm not angry." Bringing him back into a hug, you sighed as he squeezed you tightly. "Did you wanna talk about it? I know it's late but..I'm sure it'll help us both."

"...you promise not to laugh?"

"I promise."

"I..had a nightmare you divorced me."

"Huh..really?"

"Yeah, you filed the papers behind my back and said some...pretty hurtful stuff, like how it's "the best 50,000 gold you've ever spent", how what we had was just "a fling", and...how I'm leeching off of you." The longer he went on, the more he struggled to swallow back further tears. "And..you took the pendant back by force. With that dagger you always keep on you."

"....."

"I-It's stupid, but it...just felt so real. And when I woke up and you didn't come back from the mines yet, I thought maybe..it actually happened."

"Shane." You shook your head, leaning back again to bring his face into your hands. "No way would I EVER put that much gold towards something that stupid. This farmwork..it's so much to one person to handle, and I'm forever grateful you're here to help me. You're doing your best, and that's all I could ever ask for."

"Thank you.." He nodded, finally realizing that what he dreamed was nothing more than a ridiculous nightmare.

You smiled and kissed him again, making this one last a bit longer before you pulled away. "I'll get you some water, okay? I don't want my baby to have a hangover in the morning."

Shane sheepishly returned the smile, allowing you to get up and go to the kitchen, while he got comfortable in bed and patiently waited for your return. His hand went to the pendant on his chest, relieved it was still there.

Even though you were probably dead-tired from the mines..you still took the time to care for him when he hit another low. You didn't see him as a chore or a leech on your life.

You saw him as your husband, your soulmate..someone you were willing to love through thick and thin even when some days were harder than others.

Of course, his depression might tell him otherwise, and manifest those insecurities into nightmares.

But you'll still be here for him no matter what.

[megwritesriddles]

No Ghosts ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Sebastian (Stardew Valley) x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 19 - Public sex. On the way back to the farm from the Spirit's Eve celebrations, Readers night takes a sudden but pleasurable turn.

Tags: Public sex, Unprotected sex, Against a tree, Dirty talk, Dom!Sebastian, Praise kink, Mild possessive behaviour, Established relationship, Hint of fluff, Very brief sense of fear.

Word count: 2.3k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Happy Hallowen!! This is mildly Halloween themed, Sebastian dresses as Ghostface but doesn't keep the mask on (sorry to my mask kink folks)!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You left the town square in a very good mood. You skipped down the path toward your farm, wishing the night could have lasted a little longer. The Spirit’s Eve festival had been fun, spending time with your friends was always enjoyable, but coupled with funny costumes and general merriment, you felt lighter than you had in a while. You’d had a little to drink, played games and eaten plenty of candy. Even Sebastian had cracked a smile every once in a while, although you supposed he liked the dark spooky atmosphere of the holiday and the skeletons. He found the skeletons quite fascinating, and you had stood there together watching them for quite a while, you sipping a pumpkin-spiced drink, his hand on your hip, holding you to his side. He’d dressed up as Ghostface, just wearing all black and carrying around a mask he occasionally put on to piss off some of the older townsfolk. They felt his costume was too scary for the children, but he’d just scoffed them off. Vincent had actually seemed to quite like it, but presumably because he didn’t have any context for the character. He’d found it funny and even asked to try on the mask, but Jodi had intervened.

As the lights of the town dimmed away behind you, you began to feel a little more uneasy. You didn’t usually stay out this late, other than in the mines, but that felt safer somehow, despite the literal monsters. You supposed city life had instilled a fear in you of walking alone in the dark that couldn’t quite be shaken, even in the safety of Pelican Town. You try to comfort yourself. Who exactly was going to jump out at you? The biggest creep in town was Clint, but he seemed preoccupied enough with Emily that he was likely to leave you alone and even if he wasn’t… would he really do something bad? You weren’t sure. You kept walking, getting gradually a little more jumpy. It seemed much darker than a normal night, a thick covering of clouds blocking out the light from the moon. It had been unnoticeable in the town square, with all the Jack-O-Lanterns and torches, but now that they were all gone, the true darkness was evident and rather frightening. You wonder a little pissily why Sebastian hadn’t offered to walk you home, he usually did when it was dark out, but he’d sort of disappeared not long after you’d announced you were headed home. You sigh to yourself, wondering if you should start a fight with him about it the next time you see him. You did usually insist he didn’t have to walk you home, maybe he’d finally listened, although it seemed an odd time to start, the scariest night of the year. You listen for the sounds of squirrels skittering past occasionally, making sure there are no louder noises in the eerie silence.

“Boo!” a loud voice shocks your blood cold, making you stumble backwards. Your head spins with fear for a moment as a dark figure jumps onto the path for a moment. Then you spot the Ghostface mask and scowl deeply.

“Sebastian!” you hiss. “Not fucking funny!” you place a hand on your chest, trying to calm your breathing. He laughs loudly, pulling the mask off and coming towards you, a shit-eating grin on his face as he drops it on the ground somewhere. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close, still chuckling lowly.

“You big scaredy cat,” he teases, leaning in to kiss your neck softly, feeling your still slightly pounding pulse beneath his lips. 

“Fuck off! I’m a lone woman walking around at night, of course I was scared,” you huff. He pulls back to look at you, biting his lip. 

“I didn’t think of that,” he admits, rubbing your sides softly. “I’m sorry, baby,” he hums, leaning back in to kiss your neck. “I’ll scare you in the daytime next time, yeah baby?”

“I hate you,” you grumble, feeling him grin into your neck in response. You can’t help but smile a little yourself. 

“No, you don’t baby,” he nips at the skin of your collarbone, careful not to leave a mark no matter how desperately he wants to. His hands rub up and down your sides slowly, mapping out the shape of you. He kisses up your neck to your jaw and finally to your lips, pulling you right up against him as your lips connect. You kiss back, tangling your hand into his black locks, pressing closer to him too. His hand settles on your lower back, using his other hand to grip the flesh of your ass, pulling you against him. He’s half-hard already, softly guiding you to rub against him. 

“Mmm, we should get back to mine,” you whisper, trying to detangle from his arms, but he holds you tight to him, growling softly. 

“I don’t want to wait,” he rumbles, moving in to kiss you again. He starts back you towards a wide sturdy tree.

“What? My place is literally– mmph– like two minutes away?” you mumble between sensual kisses, as he presses your back to the tree, only just out of view of the footpath. 

“Don’t care, need your pussy right now,” he whispers, reaching down to flick open the button of his jeans. Your mouth falls open into an ‘o’ shape, surprised by his demeanour. Even in the very dim light, you can see the deep lust in his eyes as he wrestles his jeans down. You suppose this path isn’t used by anyone but you very often… He interrupts your train of thought. “Come on, be a good girl and get those tights off for me,” he palms himself through his boxers, leaning in to kiss your neck again. You’re a little surprised by his neediness and stand motionless for a moment. His free hand reaches around and pats your ass. “Now, baby, the panties too,”

You spring into action, leaning down to pull down your patterned costume tights, fighting slightly against the constricting fabric, trying not to rip it. His hand settles into your hair, stroking softly while you fiddle around, his other hand still gently caressing his ever-hardening cock. Your tights and underwear finally fall around your ankles and you look up at him. He uses his hand in your hair to pull you in, kissing you again, passionate and open-mouthed, his tongue swirling around yours. Then, taking hold of your waist, he whirls you around and presses your front against the tree. You gasp, bracing your hand in front of your head so you’re not leaning your cheek onto the bark. Sebastian spots this and rustles around for a second, taking off his hoodie, leaving him in a worn band-tee underneath. He haphazardly folds up the plush garment and pulls you into him, positioning the hoodie so you can use it as a pillow against the tree. You lean back forward, your cheek now against it, relieved by the plush material and feeling a rush of arousal at his scent so powerful by your nose, cigarettes, cologne and a hint of a natural musk that is so distinctly his you could pick it out of a line-up. You nuzzle into the material, smelling it deeply as his hands flip up your skirt and knead the flesh of your ass. 

“That better baby?” he grunts, gripping your cheeks and spreading you open for his viewing pleasure. You nod. “Mmm, this perfect pussy, just begging to be filled with my cock,” he growls. “Tell me you need my cock,”

“Need your cock,” you mumble softly, shivering at the cool air against your overheated core. He grips your ass a little tighter, groaning pleasurably. 

“That’s my girl, so needy for me that you’ll let me fuck you on a public path, huh?” he taunts, sliding his cock slowly between your folds. “Do you like it? The idea that anyone could walk past and see us like this, know what a needy thing you are for me, how completely I have you undone?” He starts to slowly sink into your warmth, hissing. “Yeah? Do you want everyone to see how perfectly you take my cock? To see how needy I am for you? You want that don’t you baby?” he grunts, finally bottoming out, leaving you both panting. You shut your eyes, hiding your flushed face in the material of his hoodie. He grips your waist with one hand, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. His other hand comes up, pulling the neckline of your shirt down over your shoulder so he can suck a mark into your skin, somewhere you can keep it hidden during these colder fall months. His teeth pull gently at your skin as he starts to rock against you. You stutter out a moan, bracing your hands against the tree trunk. His hand moves to grope at your clothed breast as he slowly thrusts in and out of you. “You feel so perfect, you always feel so perfect– nnghh– fuck baby,” he groans, rocking into you a little faster. Your lips part and you let out soft moans with each of his thrusts, but he can tell you’re holding back on him. He slams forward suddenly, sheathing his whole length inside of you. You can’t help but let out a loud moan, quickly biting your lip in an attempt to stop it. “No, don’t you dare bite your lip,” he hisses, repeating the punishing thrust.

“Seb…” you whine loudly, your lip falling from between your teeth. Your body jerks forward with his movement and you vaguely feel the scratch of the bark through the material of your clothes, it oddly heightens the experience. In a vain attempt to muffle yourself, you press your face into the hoodie, breathing hard through your nose, but it doesn’t work. Sebastian won’t let you off that easily, keeping up his wild pace, coaxing louder and louder sounds from you. 

“Let the whole town hear who you belong to, you’re not ashamed of me, are you?” he taunts, biting down on your shoulder, making you whimper.

“Th-that’s not– ahh!- fair,” you struggle to get the words out, moans springing forward involuntarily from your chest as he fucks into you. He wraps an arm firmly around your middle, using the leverage to ram even deeper into you. You wail out in pleasure, scratching slightly at the trunk of the tree. 

“Taking me so fucking well, baby,” he grunts. “Perfect, perfect, perfect,” his pace becomes faster and a little more erratic. You know what’s coming and the thought makes you moan out once more. His hand slams into the tree trunk above you for balance, fucking into you with reckless abandon. “My dirty girl, always willing to do anything just to get my cock buried in you,” his voice shakes with the intensity of the pleasure coursing through him. You cry out repeatedly, both in response to the snaps of his hips against yours as well as the words spilling from his mouth. His arm around your middle tightens as he feels your legs start to weaken and give out. “Gonna come, pretty girl?” he growls. 

“Yes,” you sob desperately, not even able to keep yourself quiet anymore, despite having your face pressed into his hoodie. You can only pray your voice isn’t carrying into town, hopefully Harvey shut his windows tonight. 

“Say my name, let everyone know who is making you come!” he demands harshly, his thrusts never once relenting. 

“Seb!” you wail, feeling him nip your shoulder chastisingly. You moan loudly, knowing what he wants. “S-Sebastian!” you cry, struggling through the syllables, but it leaves him satisfied nonetheless.

“Good girl, come for me,” he orders. Like a damn breaking, you scream once more, your walls constricting around him. He growls loudly in your ear. “Yeah that’s it, come on my cock,” you pulse around him, driving him to bury himself into you to the hilt and empty himself into you with a furious roar. He holds you tightly to him, panting as he comes down, his lips ghosting across your neck. Now that the arousal and physical activity has ceased, you both start to feel cold, the nippy midnight air infiltrating your little bubble of pleasure. He withdraws from you slowly, making you both shiver a little. “Mmm, that was fun, wasn’t it baby?” he chuckles, sounding a little winded. You just nod, carefully straightening up from against the tree, his arm still around your middle. You move his hoodie, brushing off some of the debris from the other side and your palms. He sighs happily from behind you. “The whole world knows who you belong to now,” he teases, nipping your earlobe. He pulls back so that the both of you can readjust your clothing. You carelessly pull up your tights, not bothering to adjust them properly, watching as he tucks himself away and pulls up his jeans. “Am I coming to yours?” he enquires, taking his hoodie from you as if he’s about to put it on but then wrapping it around your shoulders, tying the sleeves in the front to secure it. 

“Sure if you like, I’ve got some more pumpkin soup from the carving that I probably won’t finish on my own,” you sigh, leaning into his arms as he embraces you, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Pumpkin soup and a beautiful girl to hold by the fire…” he muses, littering a few kisses down your cheek. “I think I would be insane to say no to that,”

“Let’s go then,” you start to move sluggishly, he pulls you back for a moment. 

“Can’t forget my mask so I can scare you in the morning,” he grins. You scoff and roll your eyes, swatting his chest, making him chuckle. He lets go of you for a moment to grab the long-since discarded Ghostface mask off the path, shaking some dust off of it.

“I hate you,” you grumble as he returns to your side, slipping his arm around your waist, his hand resting on your hip.

“No, you don’t” 

“No,” you admit with a fond smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I don’t,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[void-wolfie]

Hi, how are you? Are you taking requests?

Could you write a drabble with Wednesday and fem reader

They are bickering about something and Enid jokes saying they look like a married couple or something and Wednesday tell reader "if you were my wife I would put poison on her coffee" and reader tells back "and if you were my wife I would drink it!!"

Poison

summary: you and Wednesday get into a debate on body disposal.

pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!Reader

words: 262

tw: death? maybe?

a/n: this one has been sitting in my inox forever, so sorry to whoever requested this lol. I struggle to write for Wednesday so sorry I couldn't make this one longer.

"Obviously the best way to dispose of a body is to hide one in a pre-dug grave. You put the body under the coffin, the dirt is already disturbed, no one would even know."

Wednesday didn't even blink, then again, she never showed much emotion. "Maybe if you're in a hurry. It would be much more efficient to feed the body to pigs. They can chew through bones easily and there would be no traces of evidence left behind."

“How would that even be more efficient? That must take daysss.”

“One pig alone can approximately go through two pounds of uncooked flesh a minute. If you had sixteen pigs, you could dispose of a two-hundred-pound body in eight minutes.”

"Okay, but where would you even find that many pigs."

"A farm." She stared at you blankly, even more so than usual, as if you were dumb for not thinking of something so obvious.

"Yeah, but-"

You were cut off by Enid, who grew bored of your little debate almost an hour ago, "You two argue like an old married couple."

You could see Enid's little smirk, she knew your little secret, the tiny little crush you had on the Addams girl. The look she gave made you want to smack her upside the head.

"If she were my wife, I would put poison in her coffee." There was a distaste in her voice that nearly hurt, you did your best to ignore it though. That's just the way Wednesday was, cruel and uninterested.

"And if you were mine, I'd drink it."

a/n: link to body disposal debate - for fun

[animentality]

not to be a fucking BOOMER or anything, but...

as a writer, whenever i see that kids these days rely entirely on chatgpt bc they don't know how to write anything at all without assistance...

i don't know.

i feel like... you're really cucking yourself.

like you're a human being...with thoughts. and feelings.

why do you not want to organize these?

like generate the things you see. the things you experience. the things you feel.

put them down somewhere, and then organize them from there.

not just because oh you have to for some assignment, but because you understand yourself better when you know what you mean...and what you don't mean.

writing isn't just something you do because you have to, it's something you do because you are a person, and people have the gift of language.

it's one of the most important inventions of the human race...

and writing...editing...re-writing... all that shit is problem solving.

it's not just an exercise in copy and paste.

it's not something you can regurgitate and still benefit from.

i get some of you aren't writers naturally, and it's not something you're necessarily interested in, but...

at a basic level... yes.

you should be able to express yourself in your own words?

you're going to be dead one day, you know. you only have so much time to leave behind evidence that someone as unique as you once existed...

maybe you want to leave something of yourself behind...

or maybe you don't.

because chatgpt is just gonna farm whatever you say and regurgitate it for the next person using chatgpt to use for some bullshit essay anyway, so what does it matter really, if you were the regurgitator or the regurgitated...?

but you know.

whatever, i guess.

who cares

generative ai is pecking at corpses. we are the living dead, and there will be nothing left of us soon.

at least ai will be spitting up the mangled bits and pieces of our bloated rot long after our flesh has become chemical.

[divineei]

TOOTM  one. to keep a promise

! ko kyungjun x fem!reader

a/n. this shit took so long omfg. whoever said writing was easy can suck my nonexistent left nutsack.

"i don't get why this is even a discussion."

"oh, cmon! you don't think the conflict around it is interesting?"

"whether its interesting or not doesn't matter because this shouldn't be an existing argument. if your partner or someone you love commits a murder and there's serious evidence pointing back to them, how could you just act like it's not even there?"

"dude, you're missing the point entirely. the question is not about what you would do in that situation, it's about what you should believe."

"that's so stupid. the only factor you should need is evidence. it doesn't matter if the accused is a long time friend, your partner, or even your child. sure, your judgment on their character is still relevant, but if their fingerprints were found at the crime scene there's just no way you can objectively ignore their culpability. at that point, you should either believe your partner is guilty or at best remain undecided."

"in that case, would you say that following the evidence is morally required?"

"absolutely."

"you don't think there might be other ethical factors to consider?"

"for example?"

"even though the evidence is strong, there's still a chance they might not be guilty. imagine how it would feel like to be innocent and have no one believe you, not even your own partner! by not supporting them you run the risk of seriously hurting them on a crucial time of need. and consider what this lack of trust would do to your relationship. could you really go on after seriously suspecting–and believing–they're a murderer?"

"are you saying you'd rather ignore the crimes of your partner, even when the truth is staring you in the face, just for the sake of love?"

outside of the ethical dilemma resonating through yoon yn's headphones, the girl shifted around on her seat. her limbs felt numb from remaining unmoving for so long and, even though the only companion by her side was her bag, the compact space paid no mercy on her back. 

after finding a comfortable position she set her eyes on the view outside the window. sunlight hued over the fields of grass and the occasional farm, making the rural landscape imitate a painting in motion shaped by the most gentle brush strokes. the scene felt so engrossingly peaceful, she could almost feel the gale caressing her features despite the glass separating her from the world. 

yn couldn't help but thank the scene–and the long lasting battery of her headphones–for giving her something to focus on, seeing as the ride to the resort her class was directed towards had resulted to be such an otherwise tiresome one. 

"YES!"

an obnoxious voice popped yn's bubble in spite of the maximum volume she'd set for her podcast. distracted by the sound she turned to glance at the very back of the bus, where the students grouped up at the last row of leathered seats frowned in unison at heo yool–who mocked them with the cheekiest grin one could imagine. judging by their sullen looks, yn figured the citizens had lost yet another round of mafia, a game they'd been playing for who knows how long.

she recalled when her classmates had urged her to join the game the moment she stepped into the bus, which she declined, prioritizing her tranquility over the headache she knew they'd give her, yet promising she'd join in the next time. 

after figuring out the source of that ruckus yn set her focus back on her podcast, purposely missing the eyes of the guy she'd been avoiding to the best of her abilities for days now.

just a few rows behind her, kyung jun's eyes never left yn as she disappeared between the sea of heads flooding the bus, and his scheme of intentionally leaving the space by his side unoccupied for her came to mind, especially remembering how his grand plan backfired when that fucking basketball-star-wannabe gave up his seat for her.

that annoying prick just couldn't get the memmo, couldn't he? to him, hyun ho had always been a nuisance; a pest that treaded on yn's heels at every chance he got–even when she used to hang onto the feared delinquent's arm.

"they're so loud," kyung jun muttered. he'd been trying to settle down the bittersweet echoes of his mind since the start of that damned school trip, in vain, since the blaring voices behind him made the flare that was his temper even harder to quell than any of those memories.

luckily, he needn't lift a single finger to make the commotion stop, and he was able to get some peace of mind thanks to his lackeys acting as spokesmen for his aggravation. 

on the other side of the large vehicle, kim so mi sneakily took pictures of the class president. 

"hey look, isn't he gorgeous?" the vice president called, showing what was sure to be one of her new favorite pictures to her friends seated behind: park ji soo, cha yoo joon and park woo ram. "doesn't this belong in a magazine? how can he look so gorgeous?" so mi repeated with a dreamy sigh, looking at her screen.

"i will tell jun hee tomorrow that you took a photo of him," woo ram threatened with a playful smile.

"oh yeah? what if i tell yn about all the videos you have?" so mi replied, pointing at the camera that always hanged around the guy's neck. 

"please do, maybe i'll finally seduce her."

"oh my god," exclaimed yoo joon, "you are so delusional."

"why?" he lifted one of his hands in response to the very serious offense.

"dude, you barely talk to her."

"woo ram, you have the same chances of getting with yn as me and yoo joon of breaking up." ji soo stated.

the guy in mention glanced at his girlfriend, seemingly unaware of the joke. "that's zero, right?" question to which ji soo only rolled her eyes.

"i don't care what you say," woo ram brushed off. "i know she's the love of my life."

"ko kyung jun!" called out so mi.

like a tiny animal trying to save itself from a threatening predator, woo ram jumped to the empty seat by his side, hiding from the vandal's peripheral as much as possible while the rest of his companions laughed.

"fuck, kim so mi!" he cried out, "you trying to get me killed?"

"relax, he's not even looking," revealed the vice president with a cheeky smile.

as if they'd rehearsed it, the four students turned around to catch ko kyung jun's eyes still set on yoon yn, and by the looks of it, he didn't have any plans to cease his staring.

"not seeing them together is kinda weird," yoo joon pointed out.

"does anyone know why they broke up?" so mi asked to her peers, who all looked at each other expecting an answer none of them had.

"whatever," dismissed ji soo, "yn is better off without him anyway."

"yeah, she's been around us a lot more since then." agreed so mi.

"i bet kyung jun barely let her talk to us."

"right? he looks like the controlling type."

"i would never treat her like that." acknowledged woo ram, making his way back into the conversation only to get beaten back down by the three others.

the time inside the bus seemed to work differently than the rest of the world. minutes and hours mixed up in a disorienting spectacle that at least seemed to follow the sun setting over the horizon. 

when they finally arrived to the resort, the only source of light were the numerous lamps adorning the streets and the inviting shine of the building before them.

with the bus door finally opened, the students of class 2-3 thronged the exit with overwhelming excitement. the trip had been longer that the teacher had promised and everyone was ready to get comfortable on their temporary rooms. of course, that included yn, who unfortunately had to wait for the rest of her classmates to take their suitcases out of the loaded trunk since her luggage ended up dropping to the back during the ride.

after everyone collected their belongings, the girl was able to retrieve her case at last. it was somewhat heavy but the tiny wheels at the bottom made it easier for her to slide the valise out of the bus' compartment. taking out the retractable handle, yn rolled her suitcase for at most six steps before someone else got ahold of it.

"what are you doing?" she questioned, but the guy simply walked away while pulling her luggage along and up the stairs.

"kyung jun." 

at the sound of his name, he stopped. walking towards him, yn stood right between the entrance and the suitcase-stealer. 

"what do you think? i'm helping you."

"i can do it myself." yn chided, staring him down harshly.

kyung jun had received many looks like that one throughout his life. from parents, teachers, students... they were all identical, ranging from disappointment to resentment and back. he was used to it. it was his day to day, how could he not be? yet he never imagined the same eyes that used to watch him with so much endearment would scrutinize him so cruelly. 

"you used to love when i carried your stuff." he reminded her, scanning yn's face for a spec of something–anything–he hoped could save him from the pain her gaze struck him with.

the girl let out an exasperated sigh. why couldn't he leave her be? why was it that, no matter how much she wanted to distance herself, he always found a way to squeeze back into her life? 

yn grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled. she wanted to leave, to get away from his side and free herself of his piercing eyes. unfortunately his strength surpassed hers, and she was forced to stay as he kept his grip.

"can you let go?" 

"yn," he asked but the girl just focused on the luggage he kept hostage. "can we talk?"

"about what?" she sneered, speaking with as much disdain her troubled feelings allowed.

"you know what." 

once again, she sighed. his antics were so infuriating; always pushing down the barrier she tried to put between the two. 

"not now."

"then when?" he instantly snapped back, then took a deep breath to stop his grating tone. "you always say that but then you ignore me for days."

"look, i don't have time for this." for the second time, she attempted to retrieve her case. "i promised i'd help with the preparations for the class picture, so–"

"oh, c'mon," and still, he pulled back. "since when do you care about this school-spirit-bullshit?"

he was right, yn never involved herself with whatever activities the school came up with. time and time again, they'd skipped so many classes as to not get involved with all those school projects they both deemed as meaningless, deciding to spend their mornings strolling around parks and nearby shopping districts instead. but that wasn't an option anymore, and yn needed some way to blurr the images that kept torturing her with the agonizing nostalgia of a broken relationship.

"promise me we'll talk. tonight." 

"sure," for the third time, she attempted to take back her luggage. but his answer was the same.

"no, yn. promise me."

with every fiber of her being, yn summoned the last shreds of her patience and met his gaze. his eyes held her captive, beseeching her in silence to unravel the troubles he was willing to share with no one but her, and the hypnotic pull of his gaze weakened her willpower to resist.

"i promise." she reluctantly gave in.

as kyung jun finally released the carry-on, yn didn't even bat an eye before snatching it up and walking away. however, as she made her way into the resort center, she couldn't help but feel frustrated with herself for falling for his tricks. all the effort she had put into avoiding him seemed to have gone down the drain so quickly, leaving her feeling defeated.

not wanting kyung jun to catch up to her, yn rushed inside the building. 

warm lights illuminated the vast entrance, composed by a lounge area with leathered sofas that accentuated the beige walls with brighter colors and a water dispenser conveniently placed next to the cushioned seats. at the center, a beautiful statue engulfed by faint blue lighting towered over everything below. the perfectly crafted marble giant was impossible to miss, looking like a still guardian watching over the resort's grounds. yet that didn't stop yn from overlooking the sign with the qr code needed for the resort's wifi and facility app.

following the arrows pointing out the way towards the elevator, yn got in and pressed the button labeled dormitories. the heavy doors slid and shut before the steel cage trembled, signaling its vertical movement. suddenly, the girl felt the air tighten inside her chest, twisting her lungs in a way that seemed to strangle them. oxygen got caught up in her throat as images of cables snapping and an imminent fall to her death plagued her mind. in, out, in, out. yn's breath increased as rapidly as tidal waves when the lights malfunctioned and in between flickers, she saw a dark figure out of the corner of her eye. 

the moment she snapped her head back to take a look, a faint bell announced the door sliding open. taking in the air as steadily as she could, yn grabbed her suitcase and escaped the cage of death. frightened and disoriented, she questioned if what just concurred has been a quick fever dream or reality. and if it wasn't, why did her mind torture her like that? as far as she knew, never in her life had she experienced something that'd cause this crippling fear of high spaces. so why...?

she shook her head and brushed off the uncanny feeling, dismissing it as a consequence from the tiresome trip and forcing herself to focus on finding the room she shared with ahn na hee and kim so mi, who'd invited her with overwhelming coercion. compared to the elevator ride, figuring out her way to her dormitory was a piece of cake. the girl left her stuff in an empty corner and took the stairs down towards the gymnasium. there, instead of getting scolded by the teacher like she expected, what greeted her was a plethora of different activities performed by her classmates. 

in the middle of the room, a group of students flawlessly danced to the rhythm of the songs reverberating from a large speaker, followed by lee joo young and choi mi na silently fighting for the spotlight, and being interrupted by ko kyung jun, who apparently had nothing better to do than to mess with their practice by turning off the music while his two loyal followers, shin seung bin and kim jin ha, played a very dedicated match of ping-pong.

on opposite corners of the gym, jin da bum, choi joo won, lee yoon seo and oh jung won were consecutively separated in two pairs, all conversing with their respective best friends. up on the second floor, cha yoo joon and park ji soo, who never seemed to stay away from each other, watched from above. on the stage, band members im eun chan, nam yeon woo and baek eun ha dabbled with their instruments to make sure everything was perfectly in tune. lastly, jang hyun ho and kim dong hyun busied themselves by organizing all the sport equipment laying around.

"yoon yn!" called kim jun hee from a large set of tables surrounded by the other members of the student council which, of course, included kim so mi and her friend ahn na hee.

with no sight of their teacher around yn walked stress-free to said table, although not before catching park woo ram pointing his camera right at her, which made the guy hastily turning to film someone else. 

"you're here," the class president stated. "we thought you got lost or something."

"sorry, i got caught up with something." yn replied. she didn't really care about these preparations, but she did promise to help, and yn wasn't the type to use that word lightly.

"yeah! i was going to text you but we've been so busy preparing everything." so mi ranted, sprinkling salt into the wound.

"i can see that," yn commented, deciding to ignore so mi's backhanded scolding.

"what happened, though? did you really get lost?" na hee asked. 

"no, i got stopped by kyung jun."

"oh, right. he was a bit late too now that I think about it."

"is that jackass bothering you again?" hyun ho, who'd come closer to the table just as yn approached, joined in and put a hand on her shoulder.

"no," yes. "everything's fine."

truth be told, yn would rather drop dead than having to deal with kyung jun. however, she knew that telling her classmates about it wouldn't lead to a positive outcome. after all, the only person who had the courage to confront the delinquent was hyun ho, and, given their history, yn was certain his involvement would only make matters worse.

in another area of the bustling gym, the noticeable trio of vandals were causing a ruckus in the corner. as they tossed a basketball back and forth, jin ha hurled the ball at kyung jun, who was too busy gawking at yn's arrival to notice. the ball smacked him right in the chest–a painful reminder of how his focus seemed to always follow after her. 

"shit, my bad!" jin ha exclaimed.

their leader squatted to grab the ball at his feet and got back up only for his gaze to fix back towards the girl who constantly distracted him and, of-fucking-course, hyun ho standing right next to her, as always. the sight made his blood boil and his knuckles turn white as he clenched the basketball in his hands, while his rapid heartbeats deafened any coherent thought telling him to settle down.

seeing this, jin ha and seung bin looked at each other before the latter sighed and came closer to his friend. throwing one arm around his shoulders, he spoke:

"why don't we go outside, man? get your head out the gutter."

"yeah," kyung jun agreed, seeing seung bin was clearly trying his best to support him. perhaps he was right, some air would probably do him good right now. "let's go." was the last thing he said before disappearing through the gymnasium's exit, just in time to miss the teacher entering from the other side.

after informing the class presidents about a problem regarding the other bus full of students set to accompany them on this field trip, he left, clearly in a panic because of the unexpected turn of events.

in the meantime, most of class 2-3 remained in the gymnasium. no more than a few minutes went by before the dancing group, who now were fixing their hair and makeup while sitting on the floor, called yn over. ever since they found out about her break up, the girls had been offered her to go out again and again, an opportunity they took to invite her to join their club with not-so-subtle comments. 

"oh yn, you should hang out with us more!" were the kind of utterances she always received from the class' cheerleaders.

mi na had insisted on brushing yn's hair. taking the empty stop in front of her classmate, she felt the bristles effortlessly flowing through the roots of her hair to its ends. the conversation was an amicable one. the girls often taking their time to butter up yn and saying how cool it'd be to have her in their club–until the self proclaimed hairdresser decided to dive into something she'd been curious about.

"hey yn."

"yeah?" she answered, eyes closed while enjoying the soothing sensation of the hairbrush.

"why did you and kyung jun brake up?"

mi na found herself at a loss for words when she faced the disapproving and critical stares of the entire group. why would you ask that? their glares yelled in silence, making her feel like she just made a terrible mistake.

"that's between him and i, mi na." yn abruptly ended the change of topic.

why did they break up? that's a question she'd been asked countless times ever since her classmates took note of their separation. a query yn remembered avoiding like a plague, long before this trip. only this time, a strange, guttural discomfort buried into every corner of her brain as she noticed a spec of something missing, unable to put together if the same evasion came as a reflex or because she couldn't answer it herself.

"right," mi na's shame, reinforced by the brutal glares of the other girls, took over her face as her cheeks flushed. "sorry."

luckily for her, just as her face morphed into a cherry tomato, a painful ringing roared through the speakers before the absence of light engulfed the high schoolers in deep darkness.

"c'mon! what is this?" one said.

"what's going on?" asked another.

"hey, turn the lights on!" resonated a voice from above.

a loud clang similar to a metal pipe hitting a hard surface echoed over the four walls, followed by the piercing shrieks of several people. helping themselves with the flashlights provided by their phones, the students revealed a white figure in the middle of the room.

"quit joking around." before any more screeches could be heard, hyun ho launched a basketball to the sheeted ghost, making it fall to the ground just as pathetically as your average cartoon villain.

with the precision of a well-rehearsed act, the room was suddenly lit up, revealing the mischievous culprit behind the childish prank. and lo and behold, it was none other than heo yool.

the collection of complaints from everybody present synced in a perfect expression of annoyance and the occasional insult. 

"guys, listen carefully." the class clown™ gathered his classmates' attention as he stood from the ground. "i've heard that, a long time ago, a high school girl killed herself here," he explained, playing the role of a surprisingly talented storyteller. "so there's a few things you should never do: don't look at the mirror and turn around at midnight. and if someone grabs your ankle when you're sleeping, don't look down. if you break these rules," he turned to the group of dancers. "a ghost will pop up!" dashing towards them with the form of a rogish halloween scare actor, he was met with the frightened squeals of the girls.

yn, whose interest in the paranormal had never been deep enough to scare her, grabbed mi na's hairbrush and hurled it towards heo yool. an action that encouraged the rest of the class to throw everything they had at hand, along with some despicable remarks and the teasing laugh of the insufferable rascal.

defeated by heo yool's stunts, the students decided they've had enough as one by one they exited the gym. 

"are you coming, yn?" so mi asked.

the girl nodded before answering, "i'll be there in a minute. i want to get some water first."

at the entrance, so mi and yn parted ways. she approached the water dispenser and took one of the cardboard cups provided by the machine. ever since the lights of the gymnasium had turned off, the girl noticed an unusual taste in her mouth that reminded her of her frightening fever dream at the elevator. she felt it at the back of her neck: something eerily creeping behind her at every given moment. was it possible that heo yool's story actually got under her skin? trying to brush off the uncanny sensation, yn took a sip from the refreshment in her hand.

"yn!" 

the call startled her, making the water get caught up in her throat. she coughed and patted her own chest as the liquid scraped its way down her larynx, like a tiny bug trying to escape a spider's web. once able to compose herself, yn glanced towards the voice.

"im so sorry!" joo won panicked in a stutter, "i didn't mean to do that, are you ok?"

"im fine." she wiped the water from her lips with her long sleeve. 

joo won and his companion standing behind, da bum, stared at her in silence.

"do you want anything or...?" 

a simultaneous no and a yes echoed trough the entrance, followed by a confused frown from the girl and whatever silent conversation the two guys were displaying with their eyes. 

"do you think maybe you could," joo won took his sweet time to mutter his next words, as if scared. "talk with kyung jun?"

"excuse me?"

what the fuck...? did kyung jun put them up to this?

"we just, well," the spokesman of the duo halted. "we gave some money to his friends a few days ago and we just don't want to bother them."

oh.

"so you bother me?" 

"no, no!" da bum spoke promptly and grabbed his friend's arm, pulling him along as he took a few steps to leave. "it's ok, yn. we won't bother you."

joo won released himself from da bum's grasp and walked towards yn. "please," he pleaded, holding one of her hands tightly with both of his. "he'll listen to you."

right as her heart started beating with enough sympathy to care for their situation, the front door opened. seung bin, jin ha and kyung jun walked into the building, the latter playing around with a basketball.

the three delinquents would've kept their saunter if it weren't for yn's presence, which made the group's top dog stop in his tracks. his companions did the same and all stared at the situation unfolding right in front of them. kyung jun's eyes stayed on the hands holding yn and after noticing his threatening glare, joo won leaped away from her.

"what's going on?" asked the fearful leader.

"you owe them money?" yn countered, her eyes flickering between the trio.

"what?" the blonde one laughed, brushing off the accusation. 

"they do!" joo won blamed, but instantly went back to his helpless self when met with the bullies' threatening scowls. "please, i just need it for my tuition."

the firm glare of the girl pierced through the tough act of the tamer vandal, making him drop his facade as he approached the feeble boy, closed fist in the air.

"fuck, man! we're on retreat, why are you asking us for money now?"

"yeah," seung bin joined in, defending his friend. "what are you, a loan shark? we told you we'd give you interests. give us some time, dipshit!"

kyung jun, who'd only taken the role of observer until that moment, put down the basketball he held and intervened to slap both of his lackeys' heads. "did you do sports betting again? huh?"

like scolded puppies, seung bin and jin ha faced the floor as they stepped aside.

"da bum," he called, and the guy lifted his head to stare at the bully. "did you lend them money too?"

"huh?" as kyung jun stalked closer, da bum's heart raced faster with every step. his eyes frantically scanned the room, desperately seeking any distraction from the intimidating figure slowly closing in on him. "yes. but i can wait for my money. there's no rush." with a lump in his throat, da bum braced himself for whatever was coming next.

"how much?" kyung jun's open hand grabbed the side of da bum's face, forcing the terrified boy to look right at him. "ill pay you back."

"you will?" da bum stuttered.

"of course," his grin turned into something sinister, which allowed only da bum to see because of their proximity. "in return play basketball with me, yeah?"

he faintly smacked his victim's face twice before coming up to yn. "everything's alright here, yn. see? no need for this." kyung jun reached out to hold her hand but she pulled away before any contact could be made. 

was she really so revolted by him she wouldn't even let him touch her? accepting his defeat, kyung jun hid his hands inside his jacket's pockets. 

"right," yn looked at da bum and joo won, who were currently being pushed around by the other two, before turning back to kyung jun. "in that case, i'll get going." 

"you're not coming with me?" just as yn started to walk away, his words pulled her back in.

"i'd rather not."

"are you sure?"

with a swift nod, kyung jun signaled seung bin and jin ha to go ahead and, bringing along the poor students they were about to torment, they disappeared down the hallway.

they were left alone, just like kyung jun liked it. only them, with nothing and no one around to interrupt their precious time together.

not a single second did he stop looking into her fiery eyes, which only seemed to hold a hostility that antagonized his own devoted regard.

"it's almost midnight."

both held each other's gaze, which kyung jun took as an invitation to step towards the girl. he stopped right in front of her and, unfortunately, yn's heart betrayed her mind as she internally screamed for it to cease its raising beats. 

kyung jun's hands raised to yn's face, completely forgetting her previous rejection. for a second, he thought of apologizing, since she'd made it clear time and time again how much she now despised his presence. but how could he apologize for something he was barely conscious of? he couldn't help himself, not when she was merely inches away, not with her. maybe if he insisted–if he didn't give up–she'd finally understand why staying apart was never the world's plan. 

"you promised me. remember?"

his hands were close. so close he could feel his fingertips grace her cheeks, a touch so minuscule, yet enough to make his skin crawl with anticipation. 

he was too close. 

yn stepped back just as she felt the fleeting spark. she would be dammed if she ever allowed him to touch her again, in more ways than one. or at least that's what she told herself as she fell right into another one of his tricks. kyung jun knew her well; too well for her liking. and with such measly words she found herself helplessly cornered by her own self-discipline and morals.

fucking bastard.

up in the vast dormitory area of the resort center, different groups of people were each caught up in their own conversations, without a single care in the world or the impending sinister feeling hanging over their heads like an invisible wrecking ball about to crash and destroy every single thing they ever cared for.

in her room, lee yoon seo was finally able to lose herself in her novel when her phone pinged. slightly annoyed by the distraction she took a closer look to her home screen, which displayed an app in process of downloading.

"i told you i didn't need this." she showed the screen to her roommate.

"it wasn't me." jung won answered, just as astounded.

our perspective changes and now we observe a group of various students, all gathered in one room. the class couple, the cheerleaders and members of the student council all sharing snacks and stories between them in perfect harmony until a knock interrupted. 

"come in!" allowed the vice president.

"hey guys," the door opened, reavealing hyun ho accompanied by his best friend, dong hyun, who stayed on the hallway behind him. "has anyone seen yn?"

"how come you don't know? you're always following her." mocked woo ram before taking a handful of chips from one of the various bags scattered around the room.

"you're one to talk." ji soo muttered, which provoked woo ram to throw a scrambled napkin her way.

"i'm serious." hyun ho replied, "i've tried texting her but this wifi doesn't even work."

"she told me she was going to get some water, isn't she downstairs?" just as so mi finished her sentence, one by one every phone in the room chimed.

notifications spread throughout the resort like a 14th century pandemic, resonating around every room as if imitating the never ending bells that announced the beginning of the end.

back in the gymnasium, joo won stood shaking below the basketball hoop with his friend by his side, eyes shut tight as neither dared watch the nearing hit from the ball.

"joo won, stay right there." kyung jun sneered as he prepared himself to throw. he looked up, targeting the net as he bent his knees, faked a jump, and sent the ball right into the boy's stomach.

joo won kneeled in pain, groaning and grasping his abdomen with both hands in his best attempt to soothe the aching sensation puncturing his body.

yn watched the situation unfold as she sat on the rubber gym flooring, otherwise cold if it weren't for seung bin's zip-up laid out below her. it had been kyung jun who'd instructed the blondie to give up his hoodie, since yn declined on taking his own. not a single word was heard from the girl ever since stepping into the gym as the trio took turns tormenting their two victims, until now.

"i didn't come here for this, kyung jun."

almost ten minutes had passed and she was still waiting for kyung jun to approach her and start the conversation he so adamantly pushed onto her.

"c'mon yn, let me give it one more shot."

he must've lost his fucking mind, thinking he had her wrapped around his finger to waste her time in such a way. fed up, yn got up and snatched the basketball out of his hands before throwing it away. it rolled towards jin ha, who immediately picked it up to quite the sound of the bouncing that only seemed to raise the tension of the ex-lovers' quarrel.

yn opened her mouth to give kyung jun an ultimatum, a last opportunity out of her remaining patience, when a sudden ding emitted out of her skirt's pocket. she would've payed no mind to it if it weren't for the other five identical sounds that propagated right after.

each person in the room took out their phones and faced their screens, which displayed a virtual envelope eagerly waiting to be opened. 

TAP TO VIEW YOU ROLE, read the text below.

"wasn't this the resort's app?" asked jin ha, to nobody in particular.

resort's app? 

she never knew about any app.

"mafia?" seung bin laughed from his spot at the floor and showed his screen. "what's this about?"

"what the fuck is this?" kyung jun mumbled with a frown, clearly confused.

yn brought one hand to the back of her neck as the abnormal sensation from minutes ago reappeared. goosebumps started breaking out throughout her skin and every cell on her body seemed to tremble uncontrollably while she stared at the little black mirror on her hand. which, as she would soon find out, reflected the last version of herself with any shred of purity.

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[leroibobo]

when the homes in the depopulated palestinian village of lifta were originally built is impossible to tell and most likely varies from house to house. the area's been known since ancient times, including having been written about in the hebrew bible. it's retained multiple different names throughout history - lifta by romans, nephto by byzantines, clepsta by crusaders, then lifta again by arabs. in more recent times, the area saw battle in the early 19th century, when it saw a peasant's revolt against egyptian conscription and taxation policies. (egyptian-ottoman ruler muhammad ali had attempted to become independent from the ottoman empire, and sought to use the area of "greater syria" which palestine was apart of as a buffer state.)

the village was predominantly muslim with a mosque, a maqām for local sage shaykh badr, a few shops, a social club, two coffee houses, and an elementary school which opened in 1945. its economy was based in farming - being a village of jerusalem, farmers would sell their produce in the city's markets. an olive press which remains in the village gives evidence to one of the most important crops its residents farmed. the historically wealthy village was known for its intricate embroidery and sewing, particularly of thob ghabani bridal dresses, which attracted buyers from across the levant.

lifta also represents one of the few palestinian villages in which the structures weren't totally or mostly decimated during the 1948 nakba. 60 of the 450 original houses remain intact. from zochrot's entry on lifta:

israel's absentee property law of 1950 permits the state to expropriate land and assets left behind, and denies palestinians the right to return to old homes or to reclaim their property. it's estimated that there's around 400,000 descendants of the village's original refugee population dispersed in east jerusalem, the west bank, jordan, and the palestinian diaspora.

like many depopulated palestinian houses, some of those in lifta were initially used to settle predominantly mizrahi immigrants and refugees, in this case 300 jewish families from yemen and kurdistan. the houses weren't registered in their names, and the area generally saw poor infrastructure and no resources including water and electricity provided by the government. most left in the early 1970s as a part of a compensation program to move out people who'd been settled in depopulated palestinian houses - if they didn't, they were referred to as "squatters" and evicted. (holes were even drilled in the roofs of evacuated buildings to make them less habitable). the 13 families which remain there today only managed to do so because they lived close to the edge of the village.

in 1987, the israeli nature reserves authority planned to restore the "long-abandoned village" and turn it into a natural history center which would "stress the jewish roots of the site", but nothing came of it. several more government proposals on what to do with the land had been brought up since then. this culminated in in 2021 when the israel land administration announced without informing the jerusalem municipal authorities that it issued a tender for the construction of a luxury neighborhood on the village's ruins, consisting of 259 villas, a hotel, and a mall. since 2023, they've agreed to shelve and "rethink" these plans after widespread objection.

the reasons for the objections varied significantly between the opposing israeli politicians - who see the village as an exemplar of cultural heritage and "frozen in time" model of palestinian villages before 1948 - and palestinians - who largely see the village as a witness of the nakba and a symbol of hope for their return. lifta is currently listed by unesco as a potential world heritage site, a designation netanyahu has threatened to remove several times.

many palestinians who are descendent from its former residents still live nearby. like with many other depopulated palestinian villages, they've never ceased to visit, organize tours of the village, and advocate for its preservation.

[noxturnalnymph]

Devotion 🖤 III. Path to the Future (Ch 9)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

PREVIOUS

III. Path to the Future

CH 9 (6k) “She left.”

The words ring in his ears, drowning out the cacophony of multiple things happening all at once. He’s trying to throw a jacket and shoes on while Tess is grabbing at him and begging him to wait until first light. He’s grabbing at Danny and demanding to know everything while Diego wails, apologizing that they didn’t look after you enough. The noise brings the other women downstairs and they all shout over each other, some arguing Joel should wait for a search party to be formed and some saying they’ll go with him and should leave right now. 

In the end, Joel acquiesces to Tess, not wanting to ignore her heartfelt pleading after the hours they just spent commiserating together. He waits until first light to leave with Danny, Diego, and Sasha in tow. He orders Danny and Diego to ride their mounts to the east and west, climbing opposite peaks on either side of the valley to look for any sign of you. He sends Sasha north along the valley to look for the same and orders everyone to send up smoke signals if they see anything and to meet back at the house no later than sundown. But he knows all of those efforts will be fruitless.

He already knows that you wouldn’t bother coming back through the town when your goal was clearly to get as far away from him as possible. You would have left the farm and continued south, which is the direction he goes. As Sasha stuffs snacks and canteens in everyone’s packs before they split up, she repeats Joel’s words back to him several times, meet back here by sundown, but by the look on her face she already knows what he does, that he won’t be back until he’s found you.

---

Joel watched for smoke signals behind him all day until the sun began to sink below the treeline, making it impossible for him to see anything short of flares, which he knew they didn’t have. He figured he’d be the first one to see signs of you anyways, which he did eventually. The next town south in the valley was about a four hour walk and while he knew you’d probably never been through there, it was well picked over by his people and had been free of infected every time he’d been there.

He thought you’d be cautious and avoid the town, his hunch confirmed when he made his way up the gentle slope just north of the town and saw the footprints you’d left. The spring sun had melted the snow and left the ground muddy, and when you’d come through here late last night you most likely hadn’t even thought about covering your tracks. But now he knows he chose the right direction, and he pushes forward along the ridge, following the breadcrumbs you unknowingly left for him.

Joel follows your tracks along the river - just beside the interstate - noticing you keep to the treeline instead of traveling along the roadway, which has better footing but would leave you exposed. You also head east, which is the opposite direction of the bigger mountain range and also away from the state’s most populated city. You’re avoiding overexertion and big-cities. Maybe you do have some survival instincts after all.

He nearly loses your tracks mid-afternoon when you veer away from the river at another city but takes a gamble and catches signs of you again along the road leading towards the New Hampshire border. You’re not looking for populated areas here, there isn’t even any evidence you’ve stopped anywhere along the way. He assumes you’ve already got a destination in mind and are focused on heading there. 

Long after sunset Joel finally decides to find a place to lie down for a while. He lays there in the dark and tries not to think about how worried Tess must be since he never came back, or how you’re somewhere out here too - all alone in the cold darkness. He knows this is all his fuckin’ fault. What a mess he’s made. He actually convinced himself that he was helping people, that he was saving them. He let himself believe them when they told him what a good man he was, a protector and a provider. 

He falls into a fitful sleep and when he awakes a short time later he decides to forgo any further attempts at rest and continue on your trail. He hopes you spent more time with your eyes closed than he did and he can make up some ground on the head start you got. He follows your winding trail along the woods’ edge, through overgrown fields, around a quarry, and over creeks, all avoiding any majorly populated areas. 

The only time you leave yourself exposed is through an hours-long stretch going through a wooded valley, where walking the roadway is your solitary option to avoid climbing up and down the rocky hills on either side of the pavement. By his calculations you probably traveled this section last night while he attempted sleep, which would have made your trek along the road a more protected position than he is currently in, trudging though the early morning hours and into the rising sun. 

He hikes on through the morning, thinking over and over in his head what he’ll say to you when he finds you, and eats the last of his packed food around noon. He knows he can refill his canteen in the river just ahead, which creates the border of Vermont and New Hampshire. He also knows there’s a major city if he continues on his path and knows that’s the reason your tracks start to head south into what his map tells him is a wide forest. 

This might be good he thinks, since he’s been hiking for nearly 30 hours and only slept a handful of them. He knows he could use a shady and secure place to take a nap. He waits until he’s about an hour’s hike from the last farm he passed before he walks off the trail to find somewhere to rest. Keeping the road just in sight, he walks straight through the woods and over a brook, finding a soft collection of last autumn's fallen leaves on which to rest his head. With the bird songs in his ear and the soft rustle of trees above him, sleep quickly overtakes him.

He jolts awake, a sound skimming his senses and alerting him to danger. He lies there, statue-still, and tries to listen past the woosh of the pumping blood in his ears, taking deep breaths to slow his thumping heartbeat. It’s dark here in the thick trees and the sun is low in the sky. He must have slept most of the afternoon away but he can tell it’s not evening yet. Suddenly Joel realizes it’s not a sound that woke him but the lack of sound. There are no birds singing, no insects buzzing, just the eerie sound of the branches creaking and the new spring leaves dancing on their boughs. 

He slowly sits up - weapon in hand and his head on a swivel - trying to listen for the clues that nature around him has already picked up on. A predator is nearby. Infected wouldn’t be this quiet, they’re mindless and insatiable and only care about one thing. This is either a large animal or a human. He actually finds himself hoping to catch sight of a black bear as opposed to the alternative.

Before he can get up from his sleeping position he hears quick footsteps behind him and a blunt crack to the back of his head, the pain radiating across his skull. He slumps forward and groans in pain, his hands loosening around his gun. He hears footsteps move around the front of him and feels his rifle being snatched out of his slackened grasp. A foot kicks at his torso and he groans again.

“He’s not out, you gotta hit him again,” he hears you say above him. 

No, it can’t be you. There’s no way.

“I’m not getting near him again, you said he was dangerous,” he hears a male voice behind him say. 

You’re goddamn right he’s dangerous, and as soon as his head stops pounding he’s going to-

A second thump, this time on the side of his head, is the last thing he feels before everything goes black. 

---

Joel doesn’t gain consciousness quickly, like coming up for air after being underwater. Instead it comes back in waves, just a few words here and there, a musty smell, the familiar sound of your voice, the beam of a flashlight hitting his eyelids. He’s trying to make sense of it but it’s all jumbled up and he’s not sure how to put the pieces together. He tries to sort out his thoughts bit by bit, every time he’s conscious he tries to figure one thing out and hold it in his mind, to remember it before he passes out again.

He knows he’s in a chair, he can hear murmured echos so he imagines the room is large, but the soft sounds of crickets outside tell him there's at least one window nearby. He knows he’s tied up, he can feel bindings wrapped around him and his arms are pinned behind his back. He knows he’s been relieved of his guns, the usual weights at his hip and ankle not present. When he’s finally able to stay awake for long enough to string a coherent thought together, he decides to open one eye for a peek at his surroundings.

He’s in a very large and long room - wooden tables and chairs scattered around - creating a maze of objects between him and five figures standing on the opposite end of the room. It’s dark - he’s been out for a while - and he can’t make out their faces or their conversations but he can see that two are tall and three are shorter. He thinks at least one of them is a woman. Could it be you? He thought he’d heard your voice.

Unable to hear any actual words amidst the murmur of conversation, Joel looks around again, trying not to move his head so he still appears unconscious. Divided windows line both sides of the building, moonlight pouring in from what he imagines is the south side and reflecting off the stark white rafters above him. He takes in the amount of chairs and tables in front of him and although he can’t turn his head, he would wager money there’s a kitchen behind him. If he had to guess where he was he’d say this was probably an old summer camp’s dining hall, the craftsman style construction pointing to a mid-century build.

He hears shuffling and sees two of the figures crossing the room towards him so he shuts his eyes and pretends to be unconscious again. Around tables and chairs he hears their soft footsteps, he’s still out muttered by a deep, gruff voice. He hears the footsteps stop just in front of him and feels a couple pokes to his chest. He does his best to play possum until he hears your voice - definitely your voice - shouting from across the room.

“You better make sure you double check him for weapons.”

“You already told us that three fuckin’ times,” a nasally voice with a southern twang shouts back.

A different, deeper voice says to quit hollerin’, then there’s a short back and forth between the two men in front of him filled with curse words while he hears stomping feet making their way over from the other side of the room. He hears your voice again but this time all three of you are cussing in hissed whispers, the most prominent phrase being fuck you, and he can’t take it anymore. He lifts his head up and stares right into your eyes.

“Oh fuck,” a tall asshole with the deep voice says, raising a pistol in front of him aimed right at Joel’s face.

“I told you,” you say.

Even in the dark Joel can see purple bruising around your left eye and a split in your lip, still oozing wetness. That’s a fresh wound.

“Shut up, whore,” a nasally twat that might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet barks at you.

Okay, Joel thinks, he’s gonna snap this rude twig in half first for talking to you like that. Did he give you those marks on your face?

“Quit fuckin’ callin’ her that,” the tall one elbows the twig and then pulls you into his grasp.

He watches you break eye contact with him as you wrap your arms around the giant’s middle - seriously, this guy must be nearly seven feet tall - burying your face in the center of his torso. He hears your muffled voice say I told you he’d come for me into his dirty sweatshirt as his free hand moves down your side and squeezes your hip. Change of plans. The big fucker dies first.

The other two people make their way across the room as String Bean grabs a knife off his hip, which Joel recognizes as the knife he put on his own hip when he left the house yesterday morning. He watches this idiot flick it around in front of him like some kind of hillbilly ninja, the knife glinting in the moonlight. It’s pathetic but it’s the only thing keeping him from boring holes into the back of your head as you remain clutched to that big oaf like a goddamn koala bear. He subtly tests the ropes used to tie him to the chair.

The two that join the group are a chubby guy maybe five and half feet tall, and a girl just a bit shorter than him, both of whom look to be teenagers. The tall one tucks the gun into his waistband and they all engage in a terrible exercise of whispering, pointing back and forth. Joel knows he’s half-deaf in one ear but they know they’re talking about him right in front of him, right? From what he can surmise, the two younger ones are a couple, and the girl’s big brother is the tall guy you’re climbing like a tree. He’s not sure how the scrawny one fits into the equation or how you got mixed up in this. Do you know these people?

“So are we gonna get rid of him, or what?” Skinny asks.

“That’s not part of the plan,” you snap, pointing your finger in his face.

Joel watches him slap your finger away and then get pushed by the big guy before all of you devolve into loud whispers again, cursing and hissing. This is getting very old very quickly. He tests the ropes again, flexing his arms and chest against them. He’s tied pretty tight with more than one length of rope. Jesus, what did you tell them, that he was Houdini? The bickering still hasn’t stopped so Joel clears his throat and the noise finally ceases, everyone turning to stare at him. Except you. You won’t meet his eyes. 

Just like old times.

“You ready to get the fuck outta here, baby?” he says, looking right at you.

He watches everyone else’s face swivel to look at you. You tilt your head slightly and meet his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, asshole,” you twist your last word like a knife into his gut.

He watches Big Guy snake his arms around your middle from behind, drawing you back to his chest. Who the fuck does this jerkoff think he is putting his hands on you? And why don’t you seem to mind? Skinny points at Joel and starts to get mouthy but Big Guy lets you go and drags Skinny and Chubby away from the group and behind Joel, leaving you and the girl alone in front of him. He figures this is as good an opportunity as ever.

“PJ, I’m sorry-”

“Fuckin’ save it, Joel,” you hiss.

“Seriously though, what are we gonna do now?” Girl asks you, side-eyeing him.

“What do you mean? This doesn’t change the plan at all,” you say with confidence.

“You said he’d kill us,” Girl whispers loudly.

He watches your face as you pull her away from him but you don’t look back to meet his eyes. Your face is passive, giving nothing away. You told these people he would kill them? Why would you say that? You’ve never seen him kill anyone. You’ve probably never even heard about the terrible things he’s done. Of course he’s killed people, but so has everyone. He thinks you might have even had to do your fair share to survive. But why would you tell these people he’s a killer?

All three boys come around from behind Joel, Skinny stomping around with a large folded up paper in his hand. He shoves it in Joel’s face and points to it forcefully. 

“Show us where you came from,” Skinny says.

Joel sees the paper is the map of the state of Vermont he’d been traveling with. Luckily nothing on it is marked, so there’s no indication where the Valley might be.

“He’s not gonna-” you start.

“Slut,” Skinny snarls. “You really need to learn when to shut the fuck up.”

“No she’s right,” Joel says, drawing Skinny’s attention back to him. “I’m not gonna tell you shit.”

Skinny opens his mouth to protest but you speak first.

“I told you I know how to get there, we don’t need a map,” you sigh.

“I don’t fuckin’ trust you!” Skinny whines, turning around to throw a mock punch in your face. You wince.

“You need to calm down,” Big Guy hums at his rageful companion, pulling you towards him again and away from Skinny’s reach. “She told us she’d get us there and it’s in her best interest not to fuck us over.”

Joel doesn’t miss the way Big Guy’s hand tightens around your arm when he says it’s in your best interest to cooperate. 

“We been on the road for nearly two fuckin’ weeks and I’m gonna be real fuckin’ pissed if this little whore is jerkin’ us around,” Skinny hisses.

“I’m not,” you say, looking up at Big Guy.

“I hope not, ‘cause we’re really hungry,” Girl says.

“Yeah,” Chubby agrees.

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Skinny snaps, pointing a crooked finger in the girl’s face. “You ate your weight in pickles this morning. Besides, your fat ass could go another week without food.”

This time Big Guy has had enough. He yanks you to his left by your arm and steps towards Skinny, right arm pulled back and threatening a punch. Skinny jumps back, arms in front protecting his face and starts muttering apologies, saying he was just kidding, avoiding the punch Joel isn’t sure Big Guy even intended to throw. Maybe he’s more bark than he is bite. However, he thinks Skinny is exactly as much bite as he seems to be, no impulse control and a violent streak, and most likely the one who gave you those bruises. Joel can’t wait to kill these idiots and save you from them, then bring you back home where you belong.

“It’s late and it’s been a long day, we all need some rest if we’re gonna make the long trek tomorrow,” Big Guy says.

Joel thinks that it seems like Big Guy is the brains of this little operation, watching as he orders the young couple to sleep on the opposite side of the room where they can guard the doors. He tells Skinny to take first watch of Joel - who he refers to as the old guy - and then mumbles something to you about keeping you close before dragging you back into the kitchen behind Joel’s back.

---

It’s a muffled sound Joel hears at first but he’d know it anywhere, your soft sighs. He never thought when he heard you making those sounds again that he’d be so fucking pissed off. What is that fucker doing to you? He tests the ropes a third time, wishing he could reach into the back of his pants where he keeps a second knife tucked away, a small one clipped to his boxers for emergencies. Emergencies like this. 

Skinny sits in a chair just across from Joel, about five feet away, watching him with a shit-eating grin on his face. If this idiot closes his eyes for a few minutes Joel thinks he can try and go for his knife. He’d be able to cut his bindings and start eliminating these morons one-by-one. But Skinny hasn’t closed his eyes. And you’re behind him with Big Guy right now, making gentle moaning noises. He needs to get free now.

“Ya hear that?” Skinny asks, smiling. Joel doesn’t answer. “He’s gonna dick your girl down real good.” 

Joel feels his face heat, his ears burning while he clenches his teeth to avoid letting go of the growl that wants to escape his throat.

“She told us all about you, ya know?” Skinny sneers.

“Oh, did she?” Joel scoffs.

“She sure did,” He whistles. “She sang quite the song. Said you have the biggest stockpile of shit she’s ever seen, and you have all these fuckin’ people doin’ your bidding.”

Joel tries not to let surprise paint his features. You little shit. You told this jerkoff about the town, about all the food and supplies, about him and his flock? What did he do to you to make you confess all that? It’s fine, he’ll just play dumb, convince him you lied.

“That sounds pretty nice,” Joel muses, nodding his head slowly.

“Yeah, that’s what we thought,” Skinny laughs.

“Almost sounds too good to be true.”

“Does it?”

“Come on kid, it’s been ten years since the fuckin’ world ended,” Joel drawls, a smile on his face. “No one is livin’ like that. We’re all just scrounging for our next meal.”

“Yeah… she said you’d say that.”

“One thing you should know about her?” Joel’s smile disappears. “She’s a lying little bitch.”

“Well she’s certainly a bitch,” Skinny huffs. “...’cept I’m starting to think maybe she ain’t lyin’. She told us you’d follow her, and you did.”

“Oh? What else did she say?”

“She told us you’d have a hidden gun on your ankle, and you did.”

“Interesting,” Joel hums, the reminder that they took all his guns creating a renewed anger at his current situation.

“And she told us you’d lie your ass off to keep us from raiding your shit,” Skinny laughs. “And here you are, tryin’ to lie to me.”

“I thought you didn’t trust her,” Joel mocks.

“I trust you even less, old man.”

Joel settles back in his chair, flexing to test the bindings again as he hears wet noises coming from behind him. He hears a low grunting, what he assumes to be that tall fucker getting off with his fucking woman. He lets the growl rumble in his chest now, hoping it’ll drown out the sounds behind him and quell his murderous rage. Skinny makes a grating noise that could be a laugh. Joel stares at a dark knot in the hardwood floor and imagines wrapping his hands around Skinny’s stick neck.

“Sounds like yer girl isn’t yer girl anymore, don’t it?”

---

12 hours earlier…

You knew that you’d been hiking for over a day, although there was no real way for you to keep time. You left the farm at sunset and now the sun was rising on your second day. You tried to do a lot of your walking at night, pushing aside the childlike notion that the dark was scary while also trying to ignore the very real threat of actual monsters. Scary as it was, you knew that logically, you would at least hear clickers coming. It's more dangerous to be quietly stalked if seen by humans in the daylight. Still, you kept to the trees for most of your trek and even climbed one for a quick nap the first afternoon.

You weren’t sure if anyone was after you but figured there was a pretty good chance Joel would send out a search party once he heard, so keeping a steady pace and stopping as infrequently as possible were your main priorities. You thought you would outsmart him by heading away from the populated areas or outrun him by walking almost non-stop until you hit the ocean. You didn’t risk stealing a map from Hank’s shelves but you stared at it for long enough to memorize the route numbers you’d need to take, even making up a song to fit them into so they’d stick in your mind.

So now you were just next to Highway ninety one, which - according to your rhyming song - takes you south to Lebanon. You spot the sun shining off ripples of water through a brief clearing in the trees and decide to fill your canteen away from the more exposed river, heading to what ends up being a serene lake surrounded by a thick forest. It’s gorgeous here. The sun is shining and keeping you warmer than the crisp spring air would otherwise allow. The landscape glows green, finally coming back to life after a long winter. 

This place reminds you of the lake you’d swam in during the summer camp you went to five years in a row as a child. Grab a swimming buddy, plug your nose, and jump in. God, you were fearless in those days. It's too cold to swim now but you wouldn’t anyways, not all by yourself. You walk the perimeter until you find a dock that will take you far enough away from shore to get some clear water without vegetation mixed in. Not that eating a little grass would kill you, but you’d prefer your water to just be water and not a salad. 

God, you could go for a salad right now. Rosie made the best salads with a homemade vinaigrette that rivaled any dressing you’d had before the world ended. Why were you thinking of that now, of Joel’s house? You shouldn’t be thinking of that. Or of him. Fuck him. You were far away from him now, having finally escaped. You were staring out over the gentle ripples of a beautiful lake on a peaceful morning all alone. Enjoy this moment, you earned it, you tell yourself. You stand up and twist the lid closed on your canteen, stuff it into your pack and turn around. 

Only you’re not alone. 

There is a man at the end of the dock blocking your path. 

Shit.

The fear starts to grip you, its icy tendrils shooting up your limbs and threatening to seize your rapidly beating heart in its grasp. No, you can’t freeze now, you have to keep your wits about you, you have to get yourself out of this situation. Making mental calculations as quickly as you can, you take off running down the old wooden dock, towards the shore, towards him. 

Surprised by your sudden movement, the man takes a couple steps forwards on the dock, planning to take up even more space on your path. A few more steps and you’re within spitting distance from him. You see his arms come out in front of him to grab you. You quickly turn and leap off the dock, landing in the shallow water by the shore several feet away. You use your paltry headstart to your advantage and take off running along the shore.

You turn your head to look back and you see him, stumbling over his own long legs, having tripped and fallen into the shallow water. Relief bubbles up inside you like a percolating kettle, warming your insides and making you feel almost buoyant. You’re still looking backwards which is why you don’t see the six-foot-plus wall of man in front of you. Not until you smash into him and turn your head back, finding that his chest fills your entire field of vision. The pungent smell of his body odor stings your nose, nausea washing over you.

He twists you around so your back is to his chest and two anaconda arms wrap around your torso, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe. You see the other man coming closer, soaking wet but laughing his fuckin’ head off, a mouth half-full of crooked, rotting teeth. He’s more of a boy than a man, now that you can see him closer. Probably early 20’s and around six feet tall. With his clothes soaking wet you can see how skinny he is, hardly any meat on his lanky frame. A nasal twang comes out of his voice between sputters and chuckles.

“You- You thought you were real slick back there, didn’t ya, bitch?”

“She gave you the fuckin’ slip, Roy,” a deep voice huffs above your head. “She woulda gotten away if I wasn’t here.”

“Whatever,” Roy mutters. “Shut up.”

---

You were practically carried around the lake until you arrived at an old summer camp, a worn wooden sign calling “Aloha” to its campers. Pulled inside a small white building, you’re tied to a chair by Roy - still dripping wet - in what looks like a space once used for arts and crafts. You see the really tall smelly guy and two shorter kids - one boy and one girl - going through your backpack, pulling out the food you’d stolen from the Mansfield’s root cellar. They’ve already eaten half of a jar of pickles by the time the ropes are secured around you tightly.

Roy strips off his wet coat and joins the group, prying open a container of applesauce and greedily drinking it straight from the mouth of the jar. You hear the girl offer the tall guy a wrapped up parcel and she calls him Mike. You watch Mike open your package of homemade smoked jerky that you were saving for later on your trip and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head. He looks over at you, catching you watching them, and holds it up above everyone’s heads.

“Where’d you get this?” he asks.

“I found it,” you whisper, your voice hoarse due to your too-tight restraints.

You don’t even have time to process the fist that Roy throws at your face until after it lands. You feel his knuckles hit the edge of your left orbital bone and slide into your eyeball, sharp pain shooting around your skull and straight back through your eye. You cry out and tears spring to your eyes, pouring even harder out of your left eye, which you can’t open. Your chest tries to heave with sobs as you hiccup, struggling to take deep breaths against the bindings. You hear Roy’s piercing voice over you.

“...so stop lying if you don’t want another one,” he finishes, flecks of applesauce flying out of his mouth to hit your face.

“I- I ca-, I can’t-,” you feel a tightness in your chest and you worry you’re going to start panicking, the blinding pain and the reality of your current situation hitting you simultaneously. This is bad. You’re sputtering. “I c- can’t b- b- breathe.”

Roy completely ignores your tears and your pleading, tipping the applesauce jar to his face and drinking down more of it. 

Pain spreads across your chest like a white hot heat, quickly becoming all you can think about, even pushing the throbbing in your eye to the back of your mind. You continue to gasp and choke, breathlessly begging anyone who’ll listen, but unable to focus on any faces. It feels like your body is being crushed, like you’ve been buried alive, every breath you can’t take in fully is another bucket of dirt thrown on top of you. The bindings across your chest seem to get tighter and tighter, the ringing in your ears growing louder.

Finally relief is delivered when you realize the young girl is at your side, her hand on your shoulder and a knife in her hand. The pressure is gone. She’s cut the ropes away from you, leaving you to take the deep lungfuls of the air you need to calm yourself down.

She pats your shoulder to reassure you before Roy - realizing what she’s done - drops the jar of applesauce to the floor. Ignoring the shatter of the glass jar and the splatter of the rest of the applesauce all over the floor, Roy grabs her by her hair, causing her to yelp in pain. He begins to scream in her face, calling her every name in the book before a massive hand is pushing a pistol into his temple. The tall guy, Mike, shoves the gun so forcefully into Roy’s head that it pushes him to the side, away from the girl. He lets go of her and stumbles back a few feet.

“Don’t you ever put your hands on my fucking sister,” Mike says.

Sister? This is good. This is very good. If Mike is willing to protect his sister from Roy then he could be willing to protect you too. You watch the girl run to the third young man’s arms, his face still covered in baby fat. You watch as he kisses her cheeks, petting her hair and telling her everything is okay as tears spring from her eyes. Once Roy has calmed down Mike lowers the gun, uncocking the hammer, and looks to you. He raises his other hand, still holding the package of jerky.

“Where’d you get this?” he asks again.

You look around, surveying the faces of his companions, each of them looking at you expectantly. They look weary. They look hungry. Looking in Mike’s eyes last, you see his deep blue eyes under heavy lids looking at you. They look like kind eyes. His floppy haircut curls up at his ears, giving him a youthful appearance but you’d guess his age was close to thirty. He seems quiet. He seems safe. You hope you’re not fucking wrong about this one.

“I can take you there,” you squeak, sounding as meek as possible. “There’s a lot more where that came from. They’d let us stay as long as we wanted. We’d be safe there, well fed... I can help you.”

“He asked you where, cunt” Roy snaps as he moves forward, his rage restored.

“I know how to get there, it’s a day’s hike away from here. I can take-”

You feel a whoosh of air right before the crack of his bony palm hits your face. Unrestrained, you fly off the chair and land crumpled on the floor, barely catching yourself. Roy has slapped you. God, it fucking hurts. Roy steps up to you and bends over your folded frame, shouting obscenities down at you before he’s elbowed out of the way by Mike. He must have put down the jerky because he reaches out to you with both hands, practically picking you up off the floor like a child. Instinctively you grab onto his arms and once on your feet, wrap yourself around him, drawing your face into his chest. 

Ignoring the pungent smell wafting off him, you lick at the wetness on your face, salty tears and metallic blood. Blood? Fuck, your lip is throbbing. You touch your tongue to your lip and the source seems to be a split in your bottom lip. That fucker has hit you twice now. You wish he’d fucking choked on that applesauce he guzzled down like he owned it. You cling to Mike even after you’ve calmed down, raising your eyes to meet his, hoping your gamble pays off.

“If you help me, Mike, I can help you,” you whisper - just loud enough so only he can hear you.

His ocean eyes scan your face, no doubt looking for hints of deception. It’s hard to trust others in this world, you know that better than anyone. He looks for long enough that you hear Roy call out ‘what’s she sayin’?��� over his shoulder. He looks back at Roy, then over to his sister, and then back at you. He nods his head.

🖤

NEXT

I miss you Iris 💐 Thank you for helping with this series. Thank you so much to my bestie Bug for helping me edit this. ILYSM.

🚨GOING FORWARD I WILL NOT BE USING TAG LISTS - THEY DON'T EVEN WORK HALF THE TIME. PLEASE FOLLOW AND TURN ON NOTIFS FOR @nox-notifs AS I WILL POST *FIC UPDATES ONLY* THERE.🚨

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx @lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin @heimtathurss @untamedheart81 @pixielou5 @feel1n-h1gh @elegantduckturtle @koshkaj-blog @vickie5446 @lilipads @blvckmvgicwoman

[solecize]

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.6k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. warnings for more mentions of death and jungkook being an idiot

part five: the phone call, the apology and the confession  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist

xii. the phone call

  being on the farm made you feel like a kid again - that was a given. when you were young, you often made your chores into games, to see how fast you could feed the chickens or tend to crops. however, being the sole individual responsible for upkeep and for the way the farm was now your source of income, it was evidently no longer a fun little game when barbies got boring. while you were in charge of your own schedule, you eventually hit the point where you felt like all of your energy was gone everyday. one of the only things that was keeping you sane was your friends.

  on the other hand, jungkook was having the exact opposite effect - driving you insane. for more than one reason.

  the email blast for movie night was originally forwarded to you by taehyung and you did accept, which you ultimately regretted come the night of. you usually didn’t partake in much during the week, as you reserved your social battery for the saloon on the weekends, but you didn’t see any issue upon receiving the invitation. 

  “do you want me to make you a coffee?” jungkook offered, as he stood across from you on the opposite end of taehyung’s kitchen island.

  it was the usual cluster of people gathered in taehyung’s charming bungalow, close to the river. you’d never been in a group of friends that were so adamant to their dedication of spending time together and not using work or school as an excuse to shut themselves in. most of the boys had brought food or drinks without any prior arrangement or communication, resulting in an abundance to share.

  you were glad you thought of picking up a bottle of wine beforehand and wasn’t the odd one out, but with your fatigue, you knew you weren’t going to be able to enjoy it yourself. it was the day for cleaning pens and sorting waste, so you’d been outside all day and smelled exactly like your chores. even though you took a lengthy shower and mentally prepared for movie night, you were exhausted beyond measure. 

  you shook your head. “i’m okay, thank you. i have to get up at five tomorrow.”

  from behind you, seokjin emerged from the living room and despite the current movie only halfway through - it was apparently jungkook’s pick, captain america: the first avenger - it looked like he was ready to leave. leftovers in hand, he brought jungkook in for a quick side hug and then did the same for you.

  “bye guys! sorry i have to leave early. y/n, i’ll come by tomorrow after work for the eggs?” seokjin beamed, leaning on the door frame and you noticed a handful of pink carnations in his grasp.

  you gave him a thumbs up. slowly, but surely, the tides were turning for the farm and making profit. you didn’t lack confidence that you would be able to make money for yourself, but you were unsure of how long it would take for your income sources to be stabilized. building a customer base off of the farm’s longstanding customers was easier than expected, but you had to work on improving efficiency and diversification of your products. at the end of the day, though, you were just one person and you were doing well. 

  this is what you continued to attempt to explain to your parents. shortly after seokjin’s departure, before you could join the rest of your friends and finish the movie, you received a call from your father and you excused yourself to taehyung’s backyard.

  your mother was the type to be overbearing and overprotective, while your father had a knack for criticizing you and making you question yourself. since moving, you seldom provided business updates to your father, which likely led to this phone call in the first place.

  “you’ve thought about how you’ll need to make further investments, right?” his voice was dry and it made your blood boil.

  breathing in deeply, you simply replied, “yes.”

  “okay, have you been managing your time well? the physical demands of the job?”

  it was as if your dad kept rattling off a list of reasons why you were incompetent for your role and you didn’t notice until now, but you had dug half-crescent moons into the palm of your hand. no matter how many times you said yes or that you had it covered, he continued going.

  by the time you finally escaped the phone call, you already began thoughts of doubt and wondering if he was on to something. you were saying you were handling things, but were you really? your worn down, sore body was screaming at you as you pondered.

  eventually, the sliding door into the house creaked open and you remembered where you were. jungkook appeared, having slipped on a denim jacket to combat the slight wind in the air and stepped out to the deck. there was a small frown drawn on his face.

  “you okay?” he asked.

  nearing a month in town and several weeks of jungkook’s presence becoming a constant around the farm, it was safe to say that the two of you grew close once again. it was more than you were willing to admit, that was for sure. it still surprised you when you heard how harsh your tone was when you opened your mouth.

  “i need to go home,” you snapped. you could feel your eyelids growing heavy, too, and you couldn’t be around anyone but yourself right now.

  jungkook raised his eyebrows. “already? that’s too bad, you missed most of the movie.”

  “just gotta go,” you mumbled, stuffing your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

  you got up, remembering that you left your sweater indoors, but jungkook still stood in front of the door. you had to hold back from grumbling.

  “i was hoping you’d go for a ride with me before you went home.”

  “a ride?” you sputtered. “no, i can’t do that.” your response was immediate and you noticed the way his eyes widened for a moment, as if he said something wrong. you were too tired to clarify how tired you were or how you haven’t been able to bring yourself to attempt riding again. it was a topic of discussion for another day.

  jungkook wasn’t sure what to say. “oh, okay.” and just like that, you side-stepped right past him and into the house to grab your things.

  the exit was unceremonious and it was fast, as you were holding back tears from the phone call with your father. you could vaguely recall jungkook asking you if he could walk you home, but you already flew out the door. your body was shaking the entire time after the conversation and you could only focus on making it home.

  your heart was in your throat and your shoulders were tense, as your head hung down the entire walk back to the farmhouse. you knew things weren’t going to magically be easy, but you at least thought you were doing a good job. you only wanted your parents to think the same.

  amidst your physical and mental exhaustion, you realized you took a wrong turn and weren’t sure where you were. your chest tightened and you could only wonder what kind of bad luck you rolled for the day. cheeks wet from stray tears, you wanted to scream.

you pulled your phone out, only realize it was a dead battery. maybe you were as helpless as your dad kept making you out to be, since you seemed to always find yourself in these kinds of situations. a cold breeze danced around your body and you shivered aloud. 

  “y/n?” 

  you recognized the voice to be seokjin, who no longer held flowers and seemed to be heading home. you hastily wiped your face, which he didn’t miss. he tentatively approached closer.

  “the farm is the other way, where are you going at this time of night?” seokjin asked gently.

  “i guess i took a wrong turn,” you sighed, hoping the way your breath shook when you did so wasn’t so obvious.

  seokjin offered to walk you back home and this time, in all your weariness, accepted. you peered over as the two of you walked and saw jungkook’s name flash on his phone. you remembered how you left the house and a heavy load of guilt settled in your stomach. you made the metal note to apologize to him tomorrow. 

  “i thought you had somewhere to be?” you tried breaking the awkward silence. 

  seokjin never missed a hangout with the boys and even if he had somewhere to go, he made sure that he provided snacks or anything of the sort to his friends. he was the type to take care of everyone. even you, a newcomer to town, seokjin didn’t forget to make you an extra cookie when he made some for the boys or save a seat for you at the saloon. 

  his smile seemed different than usual. “i made a quick stop to the cemetery to say hi to my wife.”

  you broke eye contact, looking down. you weren’t sure until that moment, but over the past month, you were forming the idea that seokjin’s wife wasn’t around. you connected the dots, but didn’t want to ask anyone for confirmation. 

  “can i ask how long?” you spoke slowly.

  “two years today. taehyung didn’t know what day it was when he planned the movie, but i insisted that everyone go on with the plans and i would just leave early.” 

  he explained that he moved to amber valley to be with his wife four years ago, before she passed away due to a terminal illness. you couldn’t even imagine. like jungkook, you would have never been able to tell with seokjin. you wondered if it was the same for others when they interacted with you, if the remnants of your grief were evident in your day-to-day motions. 

  you said, “loss is a funny thing. it follows you everywhere and you don’t notice until you remember to turn around.”

  “that means loss is also something that you have to leave behind you, y/n. it’s not easy, but you get there.” the small smile on seokjin’s face, whose energy never faltered, was comforting. “it’s people like you and jungkook that inspire me to look forward from loss. i think we’re all doing well for ourselves.”

  before the conversation with seokjin, you wouldn’t have been able to agree with that. you’d spend the last hour or so dwelling on the things you weren’t doing right or weren’t doing enough of. but, he was right. you were doing your absolute best and that was all that mattered. 

  xiii. the apology

  the days that followed, you saw less and less of jungkook. deep down, you knew it was your fault. you didn’t mean to storm out on him after the call with your dad and you lacked opportunities to apologize. he still replied to your texts, albeit with less enthusiasm and playfulness than usual. it seemed like he had legitimate excuses to step away from the farm, though, having heard from taehyung that mrs. oh was sick that week and jungkook had to take on more at work.

  you decided to take matters into your own hands. after failing to appear at the saloon that weekend, you decided to take an extra long lunch break on sunday and found yourself walking over to his store. this wasn’t the first time you visited him at work - in fact, you stopped by earlier in the week because you were passing by and you wanted to bother him. it wouldn’t be out of place for you to pop in.

  “is jungkook not here?” you asked sangwoo, mrs. oh’s thirteen year old son who was propped up in front of the register, watching a tv show on his phone. 

  sangwoo’s bored eyes looked up at you. “dunno. he’s not working today.”

  that was strange. you thought that was the part of the reason why he couldn’t come by the farm. you thanked the boy and left the store, wondering what you should do next. you contemplated texting him, but he left the meme you sent last night on delivered.

  as you walked back to the farm, you decided to take an early left turn and soon ended up in front of jungkook’s house. since moving back, this was actually your first time seeing his house again. it looked mostly untouched from your memories and you noticed that the white pick-up truck that once belongs to jungkook’s dad was still kept in the driveway. the tree in his front yard still had the same tire swing that you once almost broke your neck fooling around on.

  you weren’t entirely sure about what you were doing to say when he opened the door. you decided against outright accusing him of avoiding you, even though that was exactly what you thought he was doing. maybe take a page out of his book and conjure up a wild excuse.

  when you rang the doorbell, you realized there was no sound that followed and softly knocked instead. in a few moments, the door creaked open, just enough for you to make out jiwon’s big eyes.

  “oh, hi y/n!” her toothy smile reminded you of her big brother.

  you mirrored the smile. “hi jiwon. do you mind getting jungkook?”

  she opened the door wider and you could make out the living room behind her. there, you noticed hoseok fast asleep on the leather recliner seat in front of the television. jiwon quietly put a finger to her pursed lips, pointing to hoseok’s sleeping figure. she stepped out and you made space for her, as she closed the door. 

  “your brother is out?” you asked.

  jiwon nodded, clutching onto the teddy bear in her hand. it was the same one that once belonged to jungkook. you remembered because when you guys turned eleven, you made fun of him for a whole summer straight for still carrying it around. her other hand held a handheld electric fan to ward off the amber valley summer heat.

  “he took leo to the vet. why are you looking for him?” she sang the last part, swinging back and forth, looking up at you with a smirk that seemed to know more than you did. 

  you assumed leo was jungkook’s horse, knowing he continued to keep them at his house. that instilled a sense of relief in you, as it made you think less than he was intentionally avoiding you. your bubble was shortly burst.

jiwon sat down on the porch bench. “oh, and he’s definitely avoiding you!”

  “what?” you blinked, thinking that you didn’t hear her correctly.

  “i said hoseok is the worst sitter, i’m bored with nothing to do.”

  this little girl was definitely jeon jungkook’s sister, the mischievous glint in her eyes was all the proof you needed. 

  for the next half an hour, despite having only left the farm for a quick break, you broke out in conversation with jiwon and enjoyed chatting with her. you always wanted a sister and you always complained that god gave you jungkook as a friend instead. you couldn’t believe how bubbly and intelligent jiwon was for her age.

  jiwon was sitting crisscrossed, playing with the arm of her stuffed animal. “unnie. . .” you didn’t even flinch when she called you that, instead smiling. “can i ask you something?”

  “sure, jiwon,” you replied.

  she looked off to where her dad’s old truck was parked. “can you tell me what my parents were like? oppa gets kind of upset when i ask.” 

  you froze. the last month, you were dedicated to connecting with the valley once more. over time, you remembered the smell of coffee in town square and the way the sand on the beach shone like glitter. you remembered what it was like having neighbours and how cutting fresh grass felt like home. it was gradual, but you were slowly getting there. regardless, some memories only lived in picture frames and buried in your mind, underneath years that have gone by.

  “they were the best people,” you offered, closing your eyes and trying to imagine yourself on the same porch with jungkook as kids, where his dad taught you two how to play chess and his mom would always come out with iced tea after a long day. “your dad was the kind of man who was good at everything. he showed jungkook and i how to fly a kite, how to play chess - “

  “i love chess!” she interrupted, the smile on her face widening at the thought of her dad sharing something with her.

  like jungkook, jiwon looked at the brighter side of life. it was admirable. you could only wish it was contagious. 

  jiwon began swinging her legs on the bench. “i have the best oppa, but i feel bad for him sometimes. he was really smart when you were little, right?”

  “as smart as he can be with that dense skull of his,” you joked, which made jiwon giggle.

  she said, “did you go to college? i know oppa didn’t go to college so he could take care of me. . .”

  you reassured jiwon that jungkook only wanted the best for her and that he was happy right now. at that moment, you made out his figure approaching, walking with his horse by his side. you quickly stood up and you didn’t notice the way jiwon smiled in satisfaction when she watched you do so.

  “y/n? what are you doing here?” jungkook was puzzled at your appearance. 

  before you could answer, jiwon interjected. “can unnie watch me next time?” she was giddy, holding onto your arm. your heart warmed, knowing that jiwon took a liking to you.

  “jiwon, you know y/n is always busy,” jungkook scolded, pinching her nose. “sorry, i know she’s a handful.” he turned to you, apologetically.

  “hey!” jiwon piped, but he waved her off.

  you shook your head. “actually, i wouldn’t mind at all. i’d love to look after her whenever you need.”

  jungkook’s eyes softened. he cleared his throat and gestured for jiwon to come closer to him. he whispered something in her ear and handed over leo’s lead rope to her, presumably directing for her to take the horse behind the house. she rolled her eyes at him and did so.

  it was just the two of you now, standing underneath the beating sun. his cowboy hat protected his face, while you were covered partially by the house. still, he came closer and gently tugged you into the house, murmuring something about the heat wave that week.

  like the set-up of the farmhouse, there were several electric fans on at once inside. now that you were able to observe closer, you saw that jungkook’s house was a lot different than what you remembered. the furniture was different and was arranged differently. the old fireplace was closed up. his kitchen was no longer filled to the brim with snacks, as his mother used to keep it, and the only thing on his counter was a coffee machine. 

  “i wanted to change things up when they passed away, so i wouldn’t dwell so much,” he spoke, as if reading your mind. 

  there was only one picture that you recognized on the walls, being one of you and jungkook when you were approximately six years old. captured was the same living room, where the two of you were playing with power rangers figures. everything else was foreign, mostly recent pictures of jiwon. there was a single family portrait by the staircase, which depicted a toddler-aged jiwon and a teenage jungkook.

  you snapped out of it when you heard hoseok’s snores, still fast asleep a few feet away from you. jungkook snorted when he noticed. his voice remained at the same volume, unbothered.

  “why did you come by?” jungkook put his keys on the table next to the entryway. 

  you sighed. “i just wanted to apologize for the other night. i’ve been under a lot of pressure and my body was so exhausted that day, too.”

  he nodded slowly. “it’s okay. i was just. . .worried about you. jin told me he ran into you on your way home.”

  “yeah, i had a lot going on.” you brushed off imaginary dust off your tank top. “i didn’t mean to intrude, sorry.”

  jungkook assured you everything was fine and you did believe him in the moment. however, for the next week that followed, it appeared as though everything was but. you weren’t sure what affirmations you were chasing, but you were aware that things were off with him.

things were normal when you hung around everyone else, but jungkook still hadn’t returned to his usual routine with you of coming around the farm. he was lively when you conversed at the saloon or when you ran into each other in town, but it seemed like an invisible wall was erected between the two of you and you had no idea where it came from. you, being you, made it your mission to figure out why.

  xiv. the confession

  yoongi gave you a deadpan expression when you came to him for advice. you didn’t actually mean to come to him for advice, but as you happened to run into him at the hardware store, the sales clerk made a side comment that you couldn’t ignore.

  “where’s your boyfriend? don’t you two usually come in together?” she asked you, as you came in to check out new work boots. 

  you were perplexed when you realized she was talking about jungkook. for the previous weeks, you accompanied jungkook to the hardware store whenever he found a new excuse of a repair to help out with. 

  “he’s working today,” said a voice behind you and you turned around, seeing it was yoongi with insect repellant in his hand.

  the sales clerk seemed pleased with the answer. “oh, i see! i was just surprised, i’ve never seen you without him at your side!”

  “hi yoongi, nice seeing you,” you said, after giving the young lady a polite fake laugh.

  the two of you made small talk about the weather and walked out together. when you made it outside, you decided to be blunt.

  “i made jungkook upset, didn’t i?”

  he looked at you blankly. “no, he’s just under the impression that you’re overwhelmed with work and feels like he’s been ‘too much’” yoongi made air-quotes, as if repeating back jungkook’s exact words.

  “in what way?” you questioned.

  “i literally just said - oh, you guys are so clueless with each other.” yoongi squeezed his eyes shut. “bless your heart, honestly.”

even though a part of you felt it every time you opened your front door and saw jungkook, or even just seeing his name pop up on your phone, you remained silent. what were you to even say to that?

  he said, “oh, come on. even the little teenager at the hardware store can see that the two of you have feelings for each other.”

  sometime in between sharing meals together, sneaky glances when the other wasn’t looking and unassuming banter, there were undefined feelings that settled in the cracks. there was understanding and there was nostalgia. what you felt for jungkook you had yet to calculate. there was no other answer to what drove you towards him. 

  that same night, you decided it was time to put your foot down. you texted jungkook, confirming dinner with him and asked to meet you at the saloon. that was mistake number one. you don’t know why you thought it was going to be a good idea and realized where you went wrong when you entered, noticing that a few of your friends were lingering. it shouldn’t have surprised you, considering it was everyone’s typical hangout spot.

  you waved to hoseok and taehyung, declined jimin’s offer of a beer, and sat down at the very back of the bar. you hoped that this would be a sufficient sign for them to leave you be and then, jungkook walked in. you pretended to not notice and he walked over to your friends, greeting them and chatting with them briefly. namjoon then pointed towards you and you groaned, knowing that the boys were about to spectate your conversation.

  “hey, y/n. did you order yet?” jungkook smiled, taking the seat across from you. you saw a thumbs up from namjoon, away from everyone else’s line of vision, and you wanted to face palm.

  you shook your head. “how are you?” 

  today, he was dressed in his typical attire. all black, wearing dark denim and a wife beater tank. jungkook took off his hat when he walked in and placed it next to him. every outfit he wore seemed to expose his beautiful tattoos and it was always hard to not stare. you got a glimpse of his chest pieces a few times when he was working on the farm and the heat proved too aggressive for him, which prompted him to go shirtless. it was cute when he hurriedly covered up when you approached at these times, apparently too shy to be half-naked around you.  

  jungkook began talking about work and apologized for not coming around as much. the small talk made you even more nervous, having walked in and ready to lay down the law. the thoughts about him and what you thought were unresolved feelings between you and him were following you like bees to honey. despite this, you grew less confident as the mundane conversation dragged on. the two of you continued chatting and the subject eventually changed to the upcoming midsummer fair.

  “so, who are you taking to the fair? it’s become more of a ‘couple’ thing in recent years.” jungkook’s tone was breezy and casual, but you nearly choked on your water. 

  you tried to compose yourself, breathing as deeply as you could without making it obvious. “oh, really?”

this was your time to confess. the idea made you nauseous, as if you were a school girl. you took a breath. 

“yeah. you know. . .” jungkook trailed off, in thought. “taehyung seems to have taken a liking to you. you should ask him!” 

  did he just say taehyung? a plastic smile stretched across your lips, as you took a second to take it in. the enthusiasm on jungkook’s features confused you in a way you had never been confused before. you were reading everything wrong. the small touches, the big gestures. you couldn’t believe everything was all in your head. 

  “look, taehyung and i have gotten close since he moved to town. i’ll help you out,” jungkook declared. “you’re gonna need it, ugly.”

  “shut up!” you chuckled through your teeth, neither agreeing or arguing with him. you were still in a state of surprise.

  by the time the two of you began eating, it was just a few other patrons left in the saloon. a quiet thursday night, but your mind was screaming with just about a hundred different things and you could only smile and nod at jungkook, who was explaining taehyung’s ideal type. when jungkook got up to use the bathroom, you caught namjoon and hoseok’s eyes from the bar.

  when the former gave you a thumbs up, you could only respond with the most aggressive thumbs down possible.

  𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822@taiwan0618 @seokout @firelcrds @xwniazx @shellyyy177

[ceilidho]

1800s mail order bride [price/reader] for da wip game

i haven't yet gotten around to writing more of this fic (it's listed as complete on ao3 because i feel like it leaves off at a good place so if i never get back around to it, im fine with that, but the door is still open enough for me to return.

without having given this too much thought, this is what i would probably write if i were to make this into a proper fic (huge spoilers below because i'm basically outlining the entire plot):

after the scene in the sheriff's office, Price whisks you off to the local judge to be wed; this is where you come back to yourself and start protesting and denying that you're the girl he's waiting for

Price then says something about how "if you're not her, then who are you?" and brutally interrogates you about your identity (he thinks you're lying and he's just trying to make the truth come out) but you're still too nervous to say anything about who you are and where you're from because, remember, you just left a city where you killed someone. you have no idea how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. at one point you make up a lie about being "elizabeth smith from Rhode Island" and he challenges that by saying "we'll contact your kin then and have them confirm" (essentially saying you're under house arrest with him / in the town until someone related to "elizabeth smith" telegrams from R.I. or sends a letter)

you never actually give in and just go "fine, i'm the woman you've been corresponding with" but Price sees all these holes in your story as evidence that you are her and he's convinced that "your guilty heart brought you here to me anyway." There's basically nothing you can do to avoid being married off to him.

you're basically shell shocked the entire time at the court house and then on the trip back to the inn to collect your belongings to bring to Price's house.

the first night at his place is rough. you're basically like a feral cat the whole time - still insisting that he's got the wrong woman, indignant and furious when he thinks he has the right to put his hands on you and touch you (Price just lifts his brow at that because like...you are his wife now so really it's a moot point), and locking yourself in his bedroom the second the two of you are home.

Price finds all of this very amusing. he has stuff to do around the property anyway, so he lets you lock yourself in the room for a couple hours.

eventually he does just unlock the door with a key he has on top of the doorframe (you thought you were safe in there but oops nope). there's some conversation about "wifely duties" that has you screaming and spitting at him before he threatens to put you over his knee again, so you clam up and get a bit teary, which makes Price soften. (good excuse for me to write a soft but firm version of Price shushing you and drawing you into his embrace)

anyway, the middle of this story would be all slow, tender sex and you having to get used to being Price's wife while always keeping one eye out for any news of there being a warrant out for your arrest. you get spooked once by a man in town asking about any newcomers (maybe you're in a shop and you overhear him ask the cashier while you're behind a shelf) and try to flee, but Price tracks you down and he's sooooo mad when the two of you get home. like sex is rough that night.

events i'd want to have happen:

someone comes sniffing around town for you (bounty hunter maybe) and you try running away (unsuccessful, but you're mildly reassured when you hear the man has left town by the next day because everyone thinks of you as Price's wife so no one thinks to mention that a woman arrived in town the other week)

there's an incident on a farm on the outskirts of town that Price has to go to - he makes you promise to be good and you spend the next two days wrestling with whether to take the opportunity to leave or not. you end up staying. Price comes back and he's so happy to see his little wife still home after a few rough days of work. probably the first time he makes you sit on his face to reward you.

your luck finally comes to an end when the same bounty hunter finally comes back (your marriage announcement may have been in the local paper and somehow word got to him about a girl matching the description of the woman he's after) and somehow manages to trap you. the climax of this fic is that he manages to get you on a horse speeding away from town and you're heartbroken/terrified/desperate for John but your situation seems hopeless)

John catches up with the two of you and he, uh....deals with the bounty hunter that took his wife from him. before he "deals" with him, the bounty hunter does basically reveal who you actually are, and there's a moment where you see that John believes him. he looks at you in a strange way for just a second and there's this glint in his eye that says "yeah I either suspected this or this is new information to me but now everything makes sense" and your heart just stops because it's the first time where you actually don't want him to know that you aren't the woman that was supposed to be his wife

then he kills the bounty hunter and takes you home :) and he never ever acknowledges what the other man said. because you're his wife and that's all that matters.

suuupppperrrr tender loving sex that night LMAO probably out in wilderness because you're far outside of town and the two of you are exhausted (plus, John just buried this man's body so you had to diverge from the route home for a bit)

at some point in time, a woman does show up at your doorstep claiming to be John's wife. you slam the door on her face.

ok now i wanna write this again FUCKDJGHSJGVSD

[empressgeekt]

Trolls - Burning Branches AU part 1

Or alternate title, I have now been sucked down the sudden black hole that is this fandom and now the troll plot bunnies are running ramped around my Fanfic farm, because the creators of this franchise has added my weakness...Sibling relationships... Now I have plans for a two story saga in this fandom of which I wouldn't have glanced at with interest at all a month ago.

Well, that's enough rambling, Time to get into the meat of the fic plot.

So, while browsing on Ao3 I noticed that there was this Rock!Branch au, where Branch is separated from the pop-trolls as a kid and ends up being raised by Barb and Thrash of the Rock Trolls. I love this concept, more then some relatives of mine. But I want to put a little spin on it. I've been a big fan of amnesia/memory loss fics, and I noticed there was a lack of them in this fandom.

Brozone breaks up and Grandma dies like in canon, same old same old. However, in this AU Branch is forced to leave the Troll Tree as a kid, because there is a larger sigmatism about trolls who went grey. The Trolls are very clear that they want nothing to do with Branch. They are all already living with death at their door step and they don't need a grey child to constantly break the false image of happy paradise that the adults try to maintain in the Tree to keep themselves sane. Branch, with nothing else left for him in the tree, packs up and tries to leave to find his brothers, though he does worry if they would even want him now that he was grey.

After successfully escaping the town, (the bergens don't notice if a small troll vanishes in the middle of the night, they didn't notice the whole village packing up), Branch spends a terrifying night in the woods. Running away from what are "predator's" in the eyes of a small child. Until he accidentally, stumbles in the a wormhole. The wormhole sucks Branch away from, Pop territory to the outskirts of the Rock badlands. But in this new hot volcanic he is still far from safe. (I'm adding that their are harsh powerful dragons that roam around the Rock trolls territory, as there has to be some type of reason behind they turned their own music and instruments in the to energy weapons while the other tribes didn't. Not to mention the active volcanic activity everywhere!) While running away from some of these actual predators and dangerous lava pools, Branch gets shoved over a cliffside, and falls into one of the few rivers nearby. In the raging rapids, the little troll strikes his head against the rocky river bed. Knocking him out.

Meanwhile, Still-King Thrash is leading an expedition to the river to fetch water for the people of Volcano Rock City. Being the very soft and caring Father he is, once he sees a small child floating in the river he jumps in without a second thought, and pulls the child to the shore. He leaves the expedition in the hands of another Troll and brings the some how still alive child back to the City and into the care of a capable doctor. While waiting to hear if Branch will live, Thrash goes through the little sack the kid had with him. There's enough evidence for the king of rock to come to the conclusion that Branch was running away, and needless to say Thrash is furious. Who would be so cruel that dared to make a child in his kingdom feel so scared and unwelcomed that they would run away! (at this point due to Branch's greyness and the high emotions of the situation Thrash hasn't realized Branch is from Pop yet, not that it would matter in the long run he's still ticked off).

Eventually, the doctor (an old friend of Thrash's whom they have a deep trust between, I haven't named them yet), calls Thrash in. Thrash finds Branch unconscious on the medical bed with his head bandaged. The doctor tells Thrash that's its a miracle that Branch is even alive, but it would take a bigger one for the child to wake up. The underneath the blood of the wound was a skull fracture and possible brain damage. Then he mentions it would probably be better if Branch never woke up, and further explains Branch's nature as a pop troll, and his greyness. Thrash takes this information in with a sad heart. Stigma against pop was still running high in the Rock kingdom, despite Thrash wanting to believe his people could spare their bias to care for a wounded child, he knows that no foster family would take a pop troll in. He asks the Doctor to keep quiet about Branch, and that if the boy would wake up Thrash would take him in himself. He goes home and hugs Barb after an exhausting day, and asks her if she was open to having a little brother.

After a few weeks, Branch wakes up, but he has no memory of anything. Not his name. Not where he's from. Not how he got there. At this point the medical staff that were allowed to know about him, have taken to calling him Charcoal, or Char, after his perfectly black and shiny hair, and it just kind of stuck after that. Thrash has taken to visiting Branch, even before the boy was conscious, quickly growing fond over the boy and until he'd recovered enough to be taken to the royal cavern. Barb takes to having Char around very well. Having a younger sibling, gives her something to put her protectiveness towards. Thrash makes and announcement, claiming Char as his own to Rock, and putting the boy as second in-line for the throne.

Still it isn't all cupcakes and rainbows with Char in his new home. He has lasting effected form his head injury in the form of migraines and fainting spells. The child is plagued by nightmares, of Giants coming to eat him and old ladies. They frighten him so much he draws and designs traps and bunkers to keep himself safe. Some of the designs Thrash actually considers building in case of emergency. Music brings him to tears if it's too loud or sudden, or if Barb asked him to sing-along. His room is sound proofed, and he has a pair of headphones to block things out if needed. Thrash also finds that his new adoptive son, is far more book-smart then him or Barb, the rarely used Rock library becomes Char's second home. The child become well educated in History, engineering, math, sciences and politics.

It would take two years before, Barb managed to talk Char into coming to her music practice, where the kid learns that music is more then just noise that makes him feel scared/unsafe. Seeing the weapon music can be, something he can learn to protect himself with, Char becomes hooked on the idea of learning it. Too everyone's surprise, it comes to boy like second nature, and his voice is like that of an angel's.

Eighteen years pass, and Branch grows up to be, Prince Char, second born son to Thrash King of Rock. He's a known expert with a guitar, both as an instrument and a weapon, his reputation is that of a eerily smart and organized strategist, who is loyal to his family and people to a fault and ruthlessly protective. With Thrash's health, both physical and mental, in rapid decline, Barb is forced to take on the mantel of Queen earlier then she wanted, but this time she has a brother to lean on as an advisor. Which is a good thing, because between the two of them Char is a much better planner.

Pressure is turned up on the royal rock siblings, when an unexpected earthquake destroys the farmlands that feeds the city. Sure, volcanic soil can been great for growing plants, but rivers of lava and giant fresh trenches don't help at all. Barb flies off the handle, and begins to panic in quiet about what she needs to do to protect the people of Rock, while Char looks into historical records to see if the past king ever had to deal with issues like this. Eventually he stumbles on the knowledge that during ancient times if one of the tribes was in trouble they would call upon their sister tribes for aid.

"Oh that's great advise your books have, let's ask for help from our sworn enemies!" Barb would exclaim, "Wait...the other tribes! If they lasted as long as we did, then they must have resources! But they wouldn't help us...not unless they were just like us. We could use our string to convert..."

"Barb! I'm going to stop you right now. First one our string isn't powerful enough to over-write someone's genre, believe me I looked into it-"

"But if we get all the strings..."

"You mean steal them?"

"Yah!"

"No, if we were to fail that would only sour relations between genres further and our people would still be starving. We'd be better off forging an alliance with a tribe, rather then wasting already limited resources conquering one."

"URGH! Why are you always right....So, alliance...that's our best plan?"

"Currently yes."

"With people that hate us! Are we sure we can't conquer them?"

"Barb, were trying to make a harmony. You can't make harmony with everyone using the same voice. They all need to be different, and they all can't be forced into something they they aren't or it all falls apart."

"Whoa, that's deep. Where'd ya learn that?"

"I-I don't know...but the point still stands we need to befriend another tribe not conquer one!"

"Okay, so how do we do that?"

"Well, apparently theirs more ways then one, all of them include paper work, so leave that to me, but one of them we actually have a unique opportunity to ally with."

"Oh? And how do we take advantage of this unique opportunity?"

"You're not going to like this...but we use me..."

Branch would go on to explain his plan to ally the Rock kingdom with the Pop trolls...through an Arranged Marriage between him and the Pop princess. Barb hates it, especially after all the pop trolls did to her brother when he was young, but she can't argue the logic. The pop trolls live in a forest rich with food and plant life, and water sources. However, they have zero defenses other then how deep they live in the forest. (how he knows all of this Branch has no idea) If the alliance managed to go through, the Rock trolls could get the needed food supplies, and the Pop trolls could gain the knowledge of how to use musical weaponry.

Barb still hates it, it feels like her little brother is throwing away his future. But Char assures her that he's okay with it, and that it's his turn to take on the burden of the crown he supposed to wear. As a bio-pop troll the possibility of an heir from the alliance marriage is higher then if they use a random Rock citizen, and as Rock Prince that will give more creditably to the pleads of their people to Pop. He tells Barb to just take care of Dad when he's gone and that they always have debbie to talk to each other through letters.

So they send a message to Pop Village...requesting to consider the marriage.

At Pop village, Poppy is busy with her new duties as a fresh coronated Queen, caring for the village needs and further establishing peaceful relations with the Bergens after the fall of Chef. When the message reaches her, delivered Via Debbie and Biggie, Peppy tries to take it from her before she cane read it. And then she demands that he Explain why she just got a proposal in a letter from a Rock Prince?

Peppy reluctantly explains the history of the Tribes, and how some times they would form alliances between the genres by wedding members of the royal families together to ensure peace. He makes it very clear that He doesn't want Poppy to even think of answering the Rock trolls even if to decline the proposal, but she fights back saying hat this might be their only chance for peace between the genres for years to come if its taken this long for them to reach out this time. Peppy then tries to argue that if Poppy were to accept the proposal that she would have to marry this prince, this stranger, and he never wanted that to happen to her. He knows Poppy is queen now and he can't order her to do anything, but he asks her to think about this before making any kind of decision.

Poppy needless to say, deeply contemplates the proposal. She wants to help reunite the tribes, but bonding herself to a stranger she never met was a daunting thing. She talks with Cooper and Bridget who are surprisingly helpful with everything, and decides that she'll accept the proposal with the condition that she and her future groom have the chance to meet and get to know each other before the wedding.

Barb and Char readily accept the condition, and calculate that they can give one month of courtship before the Rock kingdom is without food. They respond back to Poppy, and tell them that Char and a few others would arrive in Pop Village a few days after she would receive the letter that confirmed the betrothal.

Char arrives at Pop Village with much fanfare from his travel companions, but shushes them quickly and addresses Poppy and Peppy in a polite manner. Poppy is kind of thrown off by how grey her future husband is, not that she shows it. Char is just as shocked about how bright and colorful she is.

The romance is awkward at first. The cultural differences get in the way sometimes. But eventually a connection is formed. Char learns to feed off of Poppy's energy and Poppy learns that there's more to this grey prince then gloom. With the wedding scheduled for the end of the month, Poppy decides to introduce Char to her BFF Bridget.

Needless to say, it doesn't go well.

Char's underlaying trauma comes back in a panic attack and flashback upon seeing the Troll Tree and bergens. The memory of his Grandmother's demise suddenly becoming clear as day in his mind. In the panic he accidently fires his guitar at Grisle and Bridget, with makes Poppy panic and angry at him. So he runs off into the woods.

Bridget and Poppy end up having a heart to heart where Bridget says that Char looked scared. Having heard about how Char was acutualy a pop-troll and was adopted into the royal family, Poppy connects the dots rather quickly. Realizing that Char used to live in the Troll Tree but didn't escape with the others. the whole visit was triggering for him.

She runs back to Pop Village looking forh im, only to find that Queen Barb had arrived to help set up the wedding, and she wants to know where her Brother is. Poppy blurts out what happened while trying to defuse the situation, and that only serves to rile Barb up further. Until Poppy snaps, yellling at Barb that they need to go looking for Char not fight here! This impresses Barb into agreeing.

Poppy finds him and they end up having a heart to heart, and confessing...

The wedding goes on as planned. On the neutral ground of the Troll Tree, allowing Char to visit his late Grandmother's home for the first time in twenty years.

All seems well...Until one John Dory screams, "Stop the Wedding!"

...

I will post part two in a separate post because this is long!

Part two, and Part three

Edit: The prolog for this fic, which is basically Char's child hood is now posted on Ao3. Link

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

We resume back at the farm, where post coital insult slinger Forest has a fit of remorse and atones by mopping the puddles on the floor that so bothered Giovanna.

Giovanna (likely anticipating the messes of many kinds to come in this household) receives a massage from Sage, while Tiago continues to be a happy person on a strange mission upstairs, much to Lilac’s bewilderment.

The Watcher had reluctant chef Lee prepare some salad for dinner, though she’s wondering with hindsight if even that may be a risky endeavour.

Awww - Giovanna is setting the table! And while Lee has managed not to start a fire (with fruit salad), he has sadly left the counter a bit of a mess.

Really, Lee? Baarry White is far too young for that kind of language.

After a long and rather stressful day, he evidently has enough of not behaving badly and insults Forest. But what's this? Do I hear a chair scraping behind him? Is LOYAL traited Lilac on the move?

You don't understand just how I’ve been waiting for this, ladies and gentlefolks.

Lee is embarrassed, and Forest has clearly never done anything wrong in his life ever.

Sage and Mister are wondering if it's too late to get out of this save file. Sorry, your contract is legally binding.

On a rush of confidence from calling out bad behaviour, Lilac does the rounds: flirting first with Sage, then Forest and Lee (she's a professional).

And the instant Lilac's back is turned, Forest attacks. Not him going after Lee's fashion sense... 😱

It's not all bad news for Lee, as he does get a much-needed aromatherapy massage from our leading lady (who actually has a reasonably high level of Wellness, since being a LAZY Sim she refuses to run anywhere, and that teleportation mechanic is handy). But it's Sage who gets to step into Lilac's office - her bedroom.

And I think that is where we will leave everyone else for this totally mundane, absolutely uneventful day...

@riverofjazzsims @ravingsockmonkey @fl0pera

@igglemouse @panicsimss @simsfvr

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari - 12 || End

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2,Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10, Chp 11 , Chp 12

Bucky's purpose in visiting Toby's house was simply to make a quick stop before heading to the markets. However, as he stepped inside, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The once cozy atmosphere was replaced by an unsettling sense of disarray.

Furniture was overturned, and the air was thick with tension. Bucky's heart raced as he cautiously made his way further into the house. Then, he heard a low, pained groan from behind the couch.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Bucky approached the source of the sound. There, lying on the floor, was Toby's grandfather, his face contorted in agony, blood staining his lips. It was evident that he had been injured, but the circumstances surrounding it remained a mystery.

Kneeling beside the elderly man, Bucky felt a surge of urgency. "Gramps! Who hurt you?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with concern and alarm.

Toby's grandpa slowly opened his eyes, his voice trembling with pain. "My son is here..." he whispered, his words laden with fear and despair.

Bucky's breath caught in his throat. He knew all too well about Toby's drunken father, a man plagued by addiction and violence. With a heavy heart, he gently moved Toby's grandpa to the safety of the nearby couch, all the while silently cursing the man responsible for this chaos.

Quickly dialing the local police and the hospital, Bucky surveyed the scene, his mind racing with worry for Toby and his grandmother. As he was about to reach out to Y/N for assistance, movement caught his eye near the open door.

There, Toby stood, bravely blocking the path of a menacing figure, his expression resolute despite the fear in his eyes.

The intruder's voice rang out, filled with aggression and entitlement. "Where's the fucking key?" he demanded, his tone dripping with malice.

Toby remained steadfast, refusing to yield to the man's demands. "I won't give it to you," he declared firmly, his voice tinged with defiance.

"Bullshit. I heard the person who gave it is rich. Just say that you crashed it, and he will give you another truck."

Toby shook his head defiantly. “No.”

The intruder's voice grew more aggressive. “Shut up.”

But the intruder's patience wore thin, and with a swift, violent motion, he struck Toby across the face, the sound of the blow echoing through the tense silence of the room.

Bucky couldn't bear to witness the brutality any longer. With a surge of righteous anger, he pushed through the doorway, confronting the intruder head-on. "Get your hands away from him," he commanded, his voice laced with a steely resolve.

Bucky's sudden appearance startled both, the intruder who name is Jack and Toby, their eyes widening in surprise as they registered his presence.

Jack clicked his tongue in annoyance. "And who might you be?" he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt.

Bucky's fists clenched at his sides, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "You hit your own father and son?" he spat, his voice heavy with disgust.

Jack scoffed dismissively. "A real man can take a punch," he retorted callously, his words a feeble attempt to justify his despicable actions.

But Bucky knew better. "Not like this," he thought bitterly, his gaze narrowing with disdain.

"Are you planning to sell the truck and squander the money on your gambling addiction?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Jack's face twisted into a sneer. "This guy doesn't know how to respect his elders," he grumbled, his words dripping with disdain.

Bucky's patience wore thin. "You may be old, but you're acting like a child," he shot back, his voice firm and unwavering.

With a derisive snort, Jack lunged forward, his fists raised in a clumsy attempt at aggression. But Bucky was ready. With lightning-fast reflexes, he dodged Jack's clumsy attack, retaliating with a powerful punch that landed squarely on Jack's jaw.

The force of the blow sent Jack reeling, his eyes rolling back in his head as he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Toby watched in stunned silence as his father lay unconscious at Bucky's feet, the aftermath of the altercation sinking in as the room fell into an uneasy silence.

Jack fainted, overwhelmed by Bucky's superior fighting skills despite his attempts to retaliate.

Though victorious, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that washed over him at the sight of Jack lying unconscious on the ground.

“Toby, Bucky! Are you all right?” Y/N's voice echoed through the room as she rushed in, her concern evident in her tone.

Toby, bearing the marks of his father's abuse, managed a weak nod. “Big sister,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N knelt beside Toby, enfolding him in a comforting embrace. “It's okay,” she reassured him softly, her arms wrapped protectively around him. Then, her gaze shifted to Bucky, who stood frozen in place, his expression clouded with remorse.

Sensing his inner turmoil, Y/N gently took Bucky's hand, her touch a soothing balm against the bruises that marred his skin.

“Bucky,” Y/N's voice cut through his thoughts, drawing him back to the present.

He blinked, his attention snapping back to Y/N as she addressed him.

She peered at him with concern etched on her features. “Does it hurt?” she inquired, her eyes scanning his bruised hand.

Bucky shook his head, forcing a reassuring smile. “No,” he replied, though the ache in his hand begged to differ. “Let's get them to the hospital,” he suggested, his voice firm and resolved.

🏥

At the hospital, Bucky found himself in the waiting room, his mind still reeling from the events that had unfolded. The doctors had assured them that Toby's grandpa and Toby were alright, which brought a wave of relief.

“What about Jack?” Bucky inquired, concern evident in his voice.

The doctor let out a snort, clearly familiar with Jack's reputation around town. “That man's just sleeping. You gave him a good punch,” the doctor remarked, offering a pat on Bucky's shoulder.

“Bucky.”

Startled, Bucky turned to find Y/N sitting beside him, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the chaos.

“None of this is your fault,” she reassured him, her voice soft but firm.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but Y/N silenced him with a gentle shake of her head. “Nobody's blaming you. Everyone knows Jack is an asshole,” she added, a hint of wry amusement in her tone.

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at her candid remark, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“It must be the first time you've faced this situation,” Y/N observed, her gaze searching his face.

Bucky nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in her words.

“Do you need a ride?” Y/N offered, her concern evident in her eyes.

Bucky met her gaze and nodded gratefully. “Yes,” he replied, relieved to have her support.

But when Bucky returned home, a sense of unease still lingered within him. He sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, attempting to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

When he opened his eyes, he found Archie lying beside him, his loyal companion in times of distress. Bucky scooped him up and made his way to the car.

Turning on the engine, he pressed down on the gas pedal, the familiar rumble of the car providing a sense of solace. He needed to clear his mind, to escape the suffocating weight of guilt that threatened to consume him.

The events of the day played over and over in his mind, each moment haunting him like a relentless specter. If only he hadn't given Toby the truck, perhaps none of this would have happened. The thought gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his perceived failure.

He couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. The image of Toby, battered and bruised, at the hands of his own father, seared into his mind.

Thinking of his own father, David, only intensified his turmoil. David, who had always been patient and kind, never once raising a hand in anger. Bucky couldn't help but feel like he had failed to live up to his father's example, his own shortcomings glaring in comparison.

Lost in a whirlwind of overwhelming thoughts and emotions, Bucky felt the hot sting of tears pricking at his eyes. He didn't bother to wipe them away, letting them fall unchecked as he drove aimlessly into the night.

The road stretched before him, a seemingly endless expanse of asphalt leading nowhere. And so, he drove on, seeking solace in the rhythmic hum of the engine, hoping to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos of his mind.

🏎️

Until the car came to a stop in front of the imposing mansion.

The night had grown late, the darkness enveloping the surroundings in an eerie silence.

Bucky stepped out of the car and approached the grand mahogany door, his hand hesitating for a moment before knocking.

The door creaked open, revealing the familiar figure of Butler Bernard. His expression shifted from surprise to recognition upon seeing Bucky standing before him.

"Young Master?" Bernard's eyes widened in disbelief at the unexpected visitor.

Bucky offered a small smile; his voice sounded raspy and exhausted. "Hey Bernard. Is dad still awake?"

Bernard nodded, his features etched with concern. This could be the first time he saw the young master look this tired. "Yes, he's in his study."

Bucky nodded solemnly and gently passed Archie into Bernard's surprised arms before stepping into the familiar halls of his childhood home.

David, still immersed in his work, was taken aback by the unexpected appearance of his son. Concern flickered in his eyes as he observed Bucky's troubled expression.

Setting aside his documents, David removed his glasses and rose from his desk. "What's wrong, son?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Bucky remained silent for a moment, his emotions swirling inside him like a tumultuous storm. Finally, he found the courage to speak, his voice trembling with emotion as he reached out to his father.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Bucky began, his voice thick with emotion. "All this time, I've been ungrateful to you."

Tears welled up in Bucky's eyes as he embraced his father tightly, the weight of his remorse heavy on his shoulders.

Bucky clung to his father, his emotions finally breaking free as he poured out his heart. "I've been so selfish, Dad. I've taken everything you've done for granted."

David was taken aback by Bucky's sudden words. He held his son close, his heart aching to see Bucky in distress. "You're not selfish, son," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm. "You've been trying to find your way, and sometimes that means making mistakes."

"But I've been so blind," Bucky admitted, his voice muffled against his father's shoulder. "I never realized how much you've sacrificed for me, how hard you've worked to provide for our family."

David pulled back slightly, cupping Bucky's face in his hands so he could look him in the eye. "I've always been proud of you, Bucky. You may have made mistakes, but you're learning from them, and that's what matters."

Bucky nodded, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I want to make things right, Dad. I want to be someone you can be proud of."

"You already are, son," David assured him, his voice filled with warmth and love. "And no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you."

With those words, father and son shared a moment of understanding and forgiveness, their bond stronger than ever.

David gave his son a reassuring pat on the back before letting him go. "Seems like something happened today. Get some rest," he advised gently.

Bucky nodded, grateful for his father's understanding. "Hmm," he murmured, his mind still heavy with the day's events.

*******

The next morning, Bucky woke up early, his body attuned to the rhythm of farm life.

Even Butler Bernard noticed his early rising. "Sir, you can't sleep?" he inquired.

Bucky chuckled. "No, I've had enough rest. Where's Archie?"

Bernard replied, "Ah, I gave him breakfast. He woke up even earlier than me."

Meanwhile, David made his way to the dining room, surprised to find himself the last one awake. It was usually Bucky who slept in until 10 a.m.

Observing his son playing with Archie in the backyard, David couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and nostalgia. Bernard, too, noticed the change in Bucky. "Young Master has grown up," he remarked.

David sipped his coffee, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. "Yes," he agreed quietly.

While Bucky was back at his own home, he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness. There were no crops to harvest, no eggs to collect, and no livestock to tend to. And most notably, there was no one to annoy him—no Y/N.

Sighing heavily, Bucky was pulled out of his thoughts by Butler Bernard's voice. "Young Master, someone called for you," Bernard informed him.

Bucky grabbed the phone, secretly hoping it was Y/N, but his hopes were dashed when he heard Steve's voice on the other end. "You're home, punk? Let's meet," Steve said.

Bucky's disappointment was evident in his tone as he responded, "Oh, it's you."

Steve chuckled, picking up on Bucky's mood. "Hey, why do you sound so disgusted with my call?" he teased.

Bucky shrugged, trying to mask his disappointment. "Just a little. Where do you want to meet?" he asked, resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be spending time with Y/N anytime soon.

🎉

When Bucky arrived at the usual gathering spot with his friends, he was surprised to find that Steve had organized a homecoming party for him. Cheers erupted as Bucky stepped into the venue, greeted by the smiling faces of his friends.

Expressing his gratitude, Bucky thanked everyone for the warm welcome. However, despite the lively atmosphere and celebration around him, Bucky found himself feeling oddly subdued.

Steve, noticing Bucky's subdued demeanor, couldn't help but ask, “Something bothering you? Or are you sick?”

Bucky shook his head, forcing a smile. “I'm fine,” he replied, though it was a lie.

In truth, he couldn't shake the unease he felt witnessing the abundance of expensive food and drinks being wasted at the party. He couldn't help but think of the hard work of the farmers who had grown and harvested those crops.

Steve, always one to jump to conclusions, chimed in with his own theory. “Must be a girl,” he teased, nudging Bucky playfully.

Bucky simply looked at his friend, a mixture of amusement and contemplation in his eyes.

Steve snapped his fingers. “I'm right. I bet it's not Kate since she's left for London. Let me guess, Y/N?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “She's just a friend, but how did you know?”

“It was a trade secret,” Steve said with a grin.

“I've known you for a long time. I can see that you've disconnected from this life,” Steve said, his tone serious.

Bucky sighed. “I guess so.”

“You should go to her,” Steve murmured, a knowing look in his eyes.

Bucky's brows furrowed in confusion. “I'm sorry?”

“I said you should go to her. What are you doing here?” Steve reiterated, his voice filled with conviction.

“You're right,” Bucky admitted, feeling a sense of clarity over him.

🏎️

Bucky left the party, feeling a sense of urgency to sort things out with Y/N. He spotted a familiar truck parked outside as he drove back to his house. Y/N was here.

Hurrying inside, he found Y/N and his dad in conversation. David noticed Bucky's arrival and excused himself. Now it was just Bucky and Y/N.

Bucky felt a lump form in his throat as he struggled to find the right words. “Hi,” he managed to say, his voice tinged with awkwardness.

Y/N's expression softened as she looked at him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and relief. “Is that all you have to say? You suddenly left. You made us worried,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of reproach.

“I'm sorry,” Bucky replied, his tone filled with sincerity. He couldn't shake his guilt for leaving abruptly and causing concern.

"How's Toby and his grandpa?" Bucky inquired anxiously.

"They're fine. And Toby has been looking for you too," Y/N responded with a hint of concern.

Y/N sighed, her eyes softening as she reassured Bucky. “You still feel bad for hitting Jack? Don't be. That man deserved it. And your dad made sure no one would bother Toby and his grandparents again.”

Bucky's brow furrowed in surprise. “My dad?” he echoed, taken aback by the revelation.

Y/N nodded, her expression serene yet determined. “So, are you going to stay here or go back to the farm?”

Bucky fell silent for a moment, pondering her question. Then, with a decisive nod, he reached out and took Y/N's hand. “Let's go back,” he said, his voice filled with newfound resolve.

With a shared smile, they walked out of the house together, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them, hand in hand. It was a new beginning for both of them, and they embraced it with hope and optimism.

-End-

A huge thank you to everyone who followed the series! What were your favorite moments? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

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https://creativepromptsforwriting.tumblr.com/post/666926157131890688/prompt-793

Ok but what if instead of saying it to each other, Daniel sees a picture of Queen with Ruben and he says talking to someone else.

“He brought out the smile that’s reserved for the people she loves” “how do you know?” “It’s how she smiled at me”

One Year of Enchantment Celebration! | this was a fun twist! tysm nonnie <3 hope you like it!

THERE'S NO REMEDY FOR MEMORY ✦ DR3

1.2k words | no warnings | set after nepenthe | series masterlist

The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of cicadas while the sky remained a clear, endless blue. The days have been long and hot in the farm for the past couple of weeks since the season has ended, with the landscape dotted with vibrant greenery contrasting beautifully with the sun-baked earth. 

This was his safe haven. Tucked far away from the media, the constant chaos of his fast-life, and all the people who would sit behind screens and criticize every tiny detail of his life and career. 

This was also a place where every corner held memories; ones that were like books with chapters, strong and deeply meaningful. Books that now were on a shelf—but never allowed to gather dust. 

The deck of the house bore silent testimony to the nights spent huddled together, sharing dreams, secrets and fears. Each plank seemed to hum with the energy of deep conversations, and stolen kisses. But now, those nights had vanished like the stars at dawn—just like her—, leaving behind an echo of what once was, etched into the wood and the heart of the farmhouse.

That was where you could find him most of the time—just sitting, barefoot and silent. 

See, he often found himself at war with his own mind and heart these past months. He couldn't help but be swept away by contradictory thoughts. 

On one side, the presence of her lingered in his mind. He still thought of the girl often, the memories of their time together refusing to fade. There was an unspoken truth he kept to himself, locked away in the recesses of his heart. 

On the other side, there was Heidi—sweet, kind, Heidi. He loved her, he really did and there was no doubt about it in his heart, but somehow, it didn't feel the same. The love he had for her was real, yet different, less consuming. She was his present, a comforting reality that he was grateful for, but she couldn't erase the shadow that her brightness left behind. This inner conflict gnawed at him, making the memories of the deck even more poignant and bittersweet.

Blake found him sitting on the floor, legs bent and an arm wrapped around them while the other hand held his phone, a deep frown etched across his face. The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the scene, but he seemed untouched by the summer's brightness, lost in a world of his own. 

Blake approached him, curiosity evident in his eyes, and asked, “What's got you so frowny, bro?” His voice broke through the driver's reverie, pulling him back to the present, where the weight of his thoughts momentarily lifted in the company of a friend—who's last name, ironically, was Friend.

Daniel debated between lying or telling him the truth. After a moment of hesitation, he decided he felt safe enough to share. He knew Blake would give him honest, no-bullshit advice. With a sigh, Daniel showed his manager-turned-best friend his phone, revealing a picture from a fan account. 

The screen displayed Y/N and Rúben, she was smiling up at Rúben while he had his arm wrapped around her, a matching smile on his face. The image stirred a mix of emotions in him, a stark reminder of what once was and what could never be again. Blake studied the picture, understanding the depth of Daniel's turmoil without needing to say a word.

After a moment of silence, Daniel finally spoke, his voice tinged with a mix of sadness and resignation. “He brought out the smile that's reserved for the people she loves.”

Blake looked at him, a mix of curiosity and concern in his eyes. “How do you know?” he asked gently.

Daniel's gaze remained fixed on the photo, his grip tightening slightly on the phone. “It's how she smiled at me,” he replied quietly, a humorless smile gracing his face. The weight of his words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the deep connection that had once existed and the pain of seeing it shared with someone else.

Blake took a seat next to him, the deck creaking softly under his weight. He probably knew Daniel better than anyone by now, and understood his struggles. He had seen the love Daniel had for her—massive and real—but also the toll it had taken on him during a time when he was not in the best place mentally. He had been a key witness to everything from the beginning.

“Mate, that's tough,” he said, his voice low and understanding. He debated whether to ask what has been on his mind for months, but this was the best chance he was going to get, “Be real with me for a second,” he angled his face to clearly see his, “You still have feelings for her, don't ya?”

Daniel sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the deck railing. A short silence settled between them, he exhaled slowly, eyes shut as the cogs turned and turned, eventually clicking into place in his mind—It was time to speak about the truth that has been troubling him. “Yeah, I do. It's hard not to, you know?” a wistful smile ghosted over his face, “She was a huge part of my life, bro. And seeing her with someone else, happy... it just brings everything back.”

Blake nodded slowly, absorbing Daniel's words. “But you've got Heidi now,” he reminded gently.

“I know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I care about her a lot. I love her, too. But it's different. It doesn't feel the same. Maybe it's not supposed to, but sometimes I can't help but compare.”

Blake's eyes softened with understanding. He knew why Daniel had ended things with the latina—with Sparky—, recognizing the immense strain Daniel was under at the time. But he had also witnessed the depth of Daniel's love for her and the pain she had endured when it all fell apart. 

“Love isn't always the same, Dan,” Blake said thoughtfully. “It changes, evolves. What you had with her was special, and what you have with Heidi is special in its own way. You were in a rough place when you and Sparky were together, but that doesn't mean your love for her wasn't real. And it doesn't mean what you have with Heidi isn't real, either.”

Daniel nodded, appreciating his trusted friend’s insight. “Yeah, maybe you're right. I just need to sort it all out in my head.”

Blake gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “And you will. Just take it one day at a time.”

Daniel smiled faintly, comforted by his mate's presence and understanding. “Thanks, bro.”

Blake grinned, leaning back on his hands. “Anytime, mate.” he got up from his spot, and began to head back inside. “Now, c’mon, get your ass up and let’s have a brekkie. I’m fucking starving, bro.”

He let out a chuckle, and as if on cue, his stomach growled. He could hear the faint voice of his friend complaining about having been enrolled in an early morning work out unwillingly. A faint smirk played at the corner of his lips. He breathed in a good lungful, his mind clearing as he breathed out and watched the summer breeze rustling through the trees, a reminder that life, with all its complexities, continued to move forward.