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mysteria157 · 8 months ago

Text

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Black Fem Reader

CW: Profanity, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Cowgirl, Fingering, Fingersucking, Cunnilingus, Slight Dom Reader (not much), Car Sex, Bathroom Sex

WC: ~16k (It's long so get some snacks)

Summary:

Maybe you're single for a reason. You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations, and you refuse to settle for less. For the ones who aren't worth the air they breathe, you chew them up and spit them out. You savor the taste so you know what to avoid the next time.

So when he looks down at you with that devilish smirk and calls you 'Princess', you're determined to prove that Toji Fushiguro is no exception.

Notes: Hello! This is my first fic with Toji and I'm nervous to get it out here. The setting of this fic and the elements I incorporated connect a lot with my own childhood and the memories (not the interactions in this fic) that I had at family cookouts and get-togethers. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | **Sequel**

“Can I get you a drink, princess?”

When you meet Toji Fushiguro for the first time, it’s on the fourth of July at your uncle’s house. It’s a big get-together at a two-story house located in the countryside. Every year he opens up his spacious home for a gathering of your extended family to bring excessive amounts of alcohol, play old school rap and R&B too loudly, devour delicious fucking food, and set off fireworks that have been collected since the beginning of the year.

Your uncle has already made a home by the grill and taken control of the speakers after one of your younger cousins attempted to play something ‘a little too racy’ for his tastes. You’re pretty sure it was an Ice Cube song from the 90s that your uncle hates but is too proud to admit, so he lectures your cousin about ‘what young folks should be listening to’ instead.

The smell of hamburgers and ribs has been teasing your nose for the past hour, and your hunger is borderline unbearable with each sniff. You avoid the allure of the long table of food because if you look, you’ll be three plates in before the meat is done. There’s coleslaw, baked beans, greens, and macaroni and cheese. Your favorite aunt also brought her potato salad and you know she’s going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting fresh before the fireworks. You love it so much and you were deprived of it last year when you were called in to work at the last minute. You will get some today.

The backyard is expansive and well-maintained, and your cousins and aunts have already laid their claim on swanky cushions of the nice patio furniture.

The one cousin you’re closest to in age and personality sits next to you on a large blanket a few yards away from the rising volume of your extended family. You were able to get a good ten minutes of conversation from her before her fiancé showed up and made a home inside of her mouth.

Your family normally has something to say about PDA—a stupid quip about acting ‘too grown’ even though you are both knocking on the door of thirty. But she doesn’t care—just like you, that’s why you like her so much even though her fiancé is sucking on her face like it’s his last day on Earth.

Shiu Kong is nice—gentle in his own way and carries himself with a bored air that seems to pull your cousin in. He’s enamored with her, practically folds in on himself when she’s around, and worships the ground she walks on. They’ve been together for a few years and you’ve never had a problem with him.

But that just might change today because he’s brought along a friend who has already ignited a flame of arousal and annoyance deep within your belly. From the moment Toji Fushiguro stepped into the backyard with Shiu, your family was transfixed. Your aunts can’t stop ogling, and your uncles and male cousins try to jokingly size him up.

“Oh honey why don’t you sit down, don’t be shy. Lemme get you something to drink.”

“That’s not steroids? It’s gotta be. Don’t play.”

“How much you bench?”

It’s annoying. So fucking annoying but you can’t help but agree. He’s a little older—maybe early thirties—but dangerously attractive.

Raven hair that reaches his ears, looks unbelievably soft and falls over emerald green eyes. A grey shirt hugs him too fucking deliciously for your comfort and dark jeans hug an ass that’s too fucking juicy. He’s a big man—a burly man and unfortunately, that’s how you like them.

Big, burly like a bear, respectful, and capable of making you feel small and protected but also valuing and worshipping you as a woman. Unfortunately, such men are hard to come by because you tend to intimidate them. You don’t tolerate disrespect in any form and quickly put men in their place if they try to undermine, belittle, or confuse protection with control. You know what you want, and you refuse to settle for less.

They can’t stand it.

And right now, you can’t stand Toji. As he looks down at you with a well-worn smirk on his face, a smirk that suggests he has plenty of experience in situations like this, your irritation grows. He’s a smooth talker, confident in almost everything he says. His voice is deep, but melodic in a strangely feminine way that makes his words slide like silk down your back, and the minute you heard it, your thighs threatened to rub together.

Definitely a smooth talker. But the nickname you don’t care for.

Princess.

Like you’re a dainty little thing who will bat her eyelashes and call him Daddy. It makes your walls of self-defense rise even higher, and the gentle smile you had given Shiu when he first said hello moments ago transforms into the beginnings of a frown.

Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, plant your wedges firm into the grass, and turn away from them before muttering, “I’m good.”

Toji simply shrugs; a gesture that annoys you even more because he doesn’t offer any other reaction that satisfies you. He settles into your previously vacated spot, leaning back on his hands. The jacket on his shoulders falls open and the sight of his shirt hugging his muscles is too much for you.

You inwardly curse as your eyes wander over his physique. Thick pectorals that you could easily rub your face against and make a pillow for yourself to sleep on stretch the fabric in a way that you’re sure it’ll rip. Abdominals tease just below the surface of his shirt that clings to him like a second skin. You want to lick between each one, press your teeth into the hard skin to make him wince and beg as you count each one.

Four, six, eight?

Fuck.

You don’t show how you want to straighten your spine against the chill of being caught staring. That smirk is on his face again, tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s a scar on the right side that slashes vertically over his top and bottom lip and you dislike the arousal that begins to boil between your legs from the sight. You wonder how he got it. If it was a fight, did he win? The thought of him wrestling another man to the floor and taking a cut to the face in the process shouldn’t arouse you, but god it does.

His eyes make you think of moss as you watch them slide up your body, and it almost feels like invisible hands caressing you. They’re large and pale, littered with scars along the knuckles as they glide up your exposed chocolate legs, dip between your inner thighs, and caress the curves of your hips.

“See something you like?”

He’s ogling you but has the nerve to try and put you on the spot? You have enough self-control to let logic worm through the rising lust inside of you. You sneer down at him, sharp enough for Shiu to visibly pale and your cousin to giggle at.

“To be honest, I don’t really see much.”

You don’t give him a chance to retort and you pretend not to hear the soft hum of nonchalance he throws back. You walk away from them, turning just in time to shield the way your eyes widen at the feel of your face and neck prickling with heat.

The moment you close the bathroom door inside your uncle’s house, the breath trapped within your lungs escapes in a rush. You press your forehead against the wood and the coolness of it offers only little relief to the burning of your skin.

You turn your head and press your cheek against the wood so the cold surface can slide along your cheek as you open your eyes to take in your reflection.

Of course, Toji would ogle you. You’re confident enough to know your beauty.

A red sundress that hugs your curves, stops at your mid-thighs. Knotless braids with curled ends are piled on top of your head in a loose bun with a few strands that spill along your hairline.

You’re good-looking. But you’ve been out of practice with a man for a long time. Your last relationship ended when you caught him balls-deep in your coworker. You’re too shy to pursue a one-night stand and not detached enough for a situationship.

However, you could risk it all for Toji and you hate that you’re entertaining the thought. You hate that you’re imagining him barging into the bathroom, bending you over the counter, and taking you from behind with his large hand digging into the small of your back and whispering how much of a good girl you are as you beg him to cum.

God, get yourself together.

To calm yourself down, you find solace in your uncle’s quiet kitchen. There’s only one person occupying it, your favorite aunt, who is heavily pregnant and working on the yellow cake that you’ve been thinking about all day. You use the opportunity to distract yourself and take over for her, shooing her away to relax in the backyard.

You crack an egg against the off-white countertop, fractures splitting up the sides before spilling its contents into the silver mixing bowl in front of you. A self-deprecating thought slithers in your ears, and whispers loudly with wicked intention.

Toji wouldn’t want a woman like you.

You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations. It pushes them all away, and although you normally take pride in keeping away those who aren’t worth your time, it can get lonely.

To see your ex actively cheating on you was icing on a cake that was slowly cooking in an oven of your own self-doubt. You have standards, and while your friends consider you the voice of reason in their misfortunes with men, most members of your family think you’re too picky. You’re too much work, ‘you think you know everything’.

“Men will always have a wandering eye, it’s up to you to keep them in check, girl.”

“Honey, I love you, but the more you pick apart a man, the less he will want to be around you.”

“They love it when you cook for them, girl. Take care of your man and keep him fed and you’ll keep him forever.”

Bullshit.

It’s bullshit to take care of a man in the same way his own mother does. It’s bullshit to lose all sense of self and independence, to wait on a man when he gives you less than nothing in return—when he can hardly give you the bare minimum. You don’t mind cooking for a man who takes care of you, who loves and values you, who would never hold you back and would encourage you when you can hardly encourage yourself.

But all the good ones are in relationships now, married with a few kids, and in your resolve to stay strong and weed out the bad to find the good, it’s left you a little bitter.

Most black families are old school, and yours is no exception. They hold ‘for better or worse’ a little too close to their heart. They cling to an ideal that a man runs the household down to the basics in a way that makes you uneasy and in your defense, you snap when you’re backed into a corner.

You love them, you truly do, but they probably will never understand just how aware you are of the world and how little you are willing to put up with the problematic things that others consider normal.

Your ex was great at first. But he got comfortable. And when he got comfortable, he got lazy, a little too controlling, and a little too frustrated when you asked for certain things in the bedroom. The only person who knows about your breakup is your mother, who had the gall to be out of the country for work, leaving you to fend for yourself for today.

You watch as the batter spills on each side of your wooden spoon, parting and then falling back together like sand. In your reverie, you don’t notice a few of your relatives who have now entered the kitchen and are roaming through the fridge. You can hear one of your least favorite aunts—the bitchy one—playfully joking with someone, and whatever drivel comes out of her mouth makes that person laugh. It’s deep and suave enough to make a tingle of electricity stutter down your spine because you know it’s him.

Refusing to look in their direction, you continue mixing the batter until the lumps disappear.

“You been hiding in this kitchen for awhile now,” your aunt begins, Atlanta accent the most grating it’s ever been as she turns her gaze toward you. “You’re normally a little more talkative when your man is here. He not coming?”

There is not a trace of genuine concern in her tone. You and her bicker often; she presses your buttons and then gets mad when you press back. Your ex’s infidelity is ammunition you don’t want to give her, but being caught in a lie is something she would only treasure more to use against you later.

You clear your throat and turn the spoon in the batter once, then twice before answering without looking her way.

“No, he actually came inside of my coworker a few weeks ago. So we split up.”

You can feel the noise before you hear it—a characteristic and sharp ‘mmm’ that seems to be ingrained in your family’s DNA. It makes your grip tighten on the wooden spoon, and you scrape along the bottom of the bowl until it screeches on the metal.

“You gotta watch out for this one, Toji. She’s always been an outspoken one. Too good for ‘em all and likes to be a little mean to her men.”

You scrape harder and then turn to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face.

“You’re right. The fact that I won’t settle for someone who will get bored with me after a few years makes me way too good for them. Should have turned the other cheek just like you did with your last husband. Or…was it the one before him?”

You catch the way Toji pulls his lips in to bite down on them, scar twitching as he fights to hold in a snicker.

Your aunt glares at you, purses her lips, and turns them to the side before pulling in a noise that has been passed down for generations. Her mother and her mother’s mother used the very same tactic to strike fear and insignificance in their children when they talked back. It’s a sucking of air between her teeth and the sound makes years of discipline from your own mother flash in your mind like you’re in the trenches of war.

You know she wants to say something, and you can taste the ‘you always got something to say’ in the air before Toji slides from his perch against the counter and places a hand on your aunt’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you a drink, huh? Didn’t you say you wanted me to try the beer you brought in?” She throws you a knowing glare before letting Toji lead her away; because if there is one thing that will distract her from showing out, it’s letting a good-looking man touch her.

The shaking in your hands helps you sift in the dry ingredients—a mix of sugar, flour, and baking soda—into the batter. The breaths through your nostrils are heavy and thick with anger, and the corners of your eyes sting with heat. You whip the batter harder than necessary, your aunt’s words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. Don’t—

The sight of a can of hard seltzer pressing onto the counter in front of you makes the ramblings in your mind stop. Familiar long fingers unfurl from the can and slide on the counter, their fingertips touching the edges of your mixing bowl in an effort to get to you.

“I would have given you a bottle of beer. But I had a feeling you might bash it over your aunt’s head.” He’s not wrong, and in your frustrated state, you consider his defense admirable. “I like a fight, but I’m a guest and the food looks good.”

Your grip on the spoon loosens slightly as Toji leans casually against the refrigerator, arms crossed over bulging biceps that stretch the short sleeves of his shirt. His jacket is now gone, and you can’t help but notice the veins in his forearms that protrude, tempting you to lick against them.

It takes the sheer will to tear your eyes away and focus on pouring the batter into the bundt cake mold, observing as it fills the intricate crevices.

“So he cheated? Most men are pigs.”

“But not you, huh?” you can’t help but retort, shaking the mold to disperse the air pockets that bubble on the surface.

In your peripheral, he shrugs. “I know what I like in a woman and once I get what I want, it makes no sense to look somewhere else unless she wants me gone. I’m a man…but I’m a loyal man.”

When you meet his emerald gaze, you can see a hint of pain and vulnerability that unsettles you, tilts you back on your heels from the force of his honesty. You reach for the can of seltzer and take a long swig to give yourself time to get your thoughts in order. The carbonation is sweet and fizzles along the sides of your tongue and down your throat.

“So what is it you like in a woman, Toji?”

It’s a question that probably should have been left untouched, but your curiosity overpowers your restraint. You don’t want to go back outside, because if your aunt is still feeling particularly petty, she will say something that will only make you leave. And you don’t feel like letting your family win today.

Toji’s strong gaze certainly isn’t helping. Those invisible hands slide along the crevices and dips of your body, stroking the small of your back before pressing featherlight against the back of your neck. The hairs rise in response, your skin prickling with gooseflesh.

Unexpectedly, he pushes off the refrigerator and walks closer to you, and you’re too shocked to back away. Despite his imposing stature, you know he won’t harm you. There’s something about him that’s warm and inviting, soft and tender even though his exterior is hard lines and muscle. The two of you are now mere inches apart, and the air feels thin as if you’ve reached the summit of a mountain and struggle to breathe due to the change in altitude.

Jet black locks graze against a rough cheek, the tips kissing the raised scar on the side of his mouth. Up close you can see his features more closely. His eyes are sharp and intense with deep green between his lids as if hiding a pearl in an oyster. Thin eyebrows make him look more serious and cutting and you’re swallowing back drool because your nose picks up a faint whiff of woodsy amber emitting from his body. It smells cheap—he’s put together in the most basic sense—but it still smells…good.

“I like a woman who knows what she’s about. Independent and doesn’t fuck around. Smart and pretty with curves I can grab and squeeze. Someone with some sass and isn’t afraid to put anyone in their place.”

He steps closer and your lungs heave in a desperate attempt to pull in air. The brush of the wall against your back makes you stutter out your exhale and you press your palms flat against the cool surface to keep you grounded.

“I like a woman with nice creamy brown skin that smells a little like the cake she’s baking…” Through the sea of delirium, you distantly realize that he’s describing you. “The red dress definitely is a bonus.”

That familiar smirk pulls against his lips again and your heart is thundering in your chest. You would be surprised if he couldn’t see it thumping erratically beneath the skin between what’s exposed of your cleavage.

But this is just another trick in their book to get you in their bed. Or in the bathroom. Or over the kitchen counter.

And as much as you want to, you can’t give in. Because you’ll hate yourself tomorrow.

So you tilt your chin up at him and narrow your eyes at his amused expression.

“Describing me in place of your ‘ideal woman’? That’s boring. Go use it on my bitchy aunt, she’s got fillers in her ass so that’s more curves for you to ‘grab and squeeze’ when she throws herself on you after the Hennessey kicks in.”

Toji’s eyes widen slightly before a harsh laugh barks from his mouth. It’s surprisingly nice on your ears and rattles the drums inside in a way that you don’t dislike. He pulls away from you, giving you a few more inches of space and the altitude in the air seems to level out enough for you to take an inconspicuous deep breath.

“Nah, nothing against fillers, but I’m more of a natural man myself,” he admits.

“Cellulite and stretch marks?” you ask with a lift of a brow, teasing but…mildly curious.

You watch as that smile slowly slides on his face, teeth glittering and eyebrows raising. He looks like he’s hit the jackpot.

“The whole package, princess.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, you push down the lingering arousal in your stomach, refusing to let it simmer. He’s funny and you appreciate a man who loves the raw and often overlooked intricacies of a woman.

His response is disorienting, throwing you off balance, and you’re unsure of what to do next. Your usual response is to talk back, to take delight in a man fumbling when his own cards have been turned against him. But you can’t think of anything right now.

You move around him to place the bundt cake mold into the oven, setting a timer with the plastic buttons above the stove. Snatching the seltzer from the counter, you lean back against the oven, putting a considerable distance between the two of you to think.

Toji mimics your movements, retreating to the fridge to relax against it, folding his arms across his chest, and god he still takes up the room. Even though you’re further away, it still seems like you can smell the cologne as if it’s sitting right on the skin below your nose.

“Do your moves always work on women?” you ask before taking a good swig of your seltzer.

He shrugs in response and turns around to dig a beer from the fridge. You don’t bother to hold back the urge to leer at him. You want to grab his ass, listen to him squeal in surprise, and blush in embarrassment when you squeeze. The thought of digging your fingers into the skin of it as he fucks you nice and slow makes your mind short circuit, a computer rebooting and making a loud noise before frying out indefinitely.

“On the rare occasion that I happen to use them, yes they always work. But…obviously not on you.”

“I’m not easy to win over. You need to be worth my time.” Your eyes flicker up to his face before he turns around to face you.

He takes a swig of his beer and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. The column of his throat is long and pale and you want to slide your tongue along the side to taste the saltiness of his skin.

“What’s it going to take?”

His interest in you is admirable, and a small part of you is giddy with the attention. But you’re nervous to give him an inch when most are quick to take a mile.

“I have a name so stop calling me princess. I’m not a royal, so unless you’re offering me land, money, or power, I don’t want to hear it.”

He barks out another laugh, his thick chest shaking and eyes closing as he throws his head back. You despise how good it sounds and you’re reminded of these moments when men seem so beautiful and wonderful before the ugliest parts of them are visible.

“What else?” he inquires, still chuckling as he takes another long sip.

“If you’re expecting sex from me, think again. I don’t do one-night stands or friends with benefits. It’s messy and I just don’t have the strength for it.”

He seems to consider your remark as if he has no choice but to weigh your stipulation before signing a contract. Then he smirks that devilish smirk that makes your cunt pulse between your thighs when you know damn well it shouldn’t. You cannot be this turned on by this man.

“Not even if I have a big dick?” he teases.

He’s annoying and you’re mildly disgusted but still willing to banter with him, so you grimace and roll your eyes. “What, you want me to take a look first before I make up my mind?”

He full-on grins, the fucker. “If that’s what it takes.”

But in true fashion, you bounce back with your own quip. “Public indecency is a crime and I also don’t like to look at cock until after I’ve eaten something. It’s nauseating.”

Laughter erupts from him once again, loud and boisterous that it seems to shake the oven against your back. He probably thinks you’re joking. But you’re not. Dick already looks alien. Looking at dick on purpose without any sense of arousal is pathological behavior.

Your heart flips in your chest when he pushes off the refrigerator again, taking a swig of his beer as he saunters to you and the sight is criminal. Your fingers dig just slightly into the metal can in your hands, a faint pop emanating from it.

“What are you bothering me for anyway,” you can’t help but ask, frustration coating your words as you frown more at yourself than at Toji. “I have so many other cousins here who are single and would love to get their hands on you.”

At first, he doesn’t respond, and in the silence, you struggle to take a full breath again. You don’t like that he’s so close to you, but you also love the way he smells and the way he looks at you as if you’re someone and not something to fucking eat. You’re a fucking mess.

His head tilts slightly, and his hair follows the movement, brushing against his cheeks as his eyes take you in instead of scrutinizing you.

The air feels thin again, and you ready yourself to leave when your pregnant aunt suddenly barges back into the kitchen and stops short at the scene. Toji takes a slow step back, not really bothering to fumble at being so close to you. You’re sure he doesn’t really care.

She’s your favorite for a reason because she understands. She’s not dismissive and mean and she simply smiles knowingly at you both before gesturing with her head towards the backdoor.

“Time to eat. Honey, why don’t you show Toji what’s what before your uncles steal everything.”

***

He stays close to you when you both make it outside, and you do your best to ignore your bitchy aunt’s gaze from her perch in one of the patio chairs. The spread of food makes your mouth water and you waste no time grabbing a plate for yourself and absentmindedly handing Toji one as well.

“I’ve never had some of this before,” he admits, and his voice is a little apprehensive from next to you as he takes everything in. It makes sense, this is probably his first cookout…his first black cookout at least. Strangely, you’re proud to be the one to guide him along.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing to the heavy helping of greens and ham hocks on his plate minutes later. You’re both at a small table alone and away from the noise.

“Collard greens…it’s a cabbage that’s cooked in a pot for a few hours with spices and broth. The ham hocks give it flavor, cook it before you add the greens so the meat falls off the bone better.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Toji gives them a wayward glance, an arch of a thin brow that makes his features more handsome than they should be, and then he takes a tentative bite before moaning sinfully in appreciation. The vertebrae of your spine lock in place, stiff with a sudden chill at the noise as you picture it slipping from his lips while you ride him until the hinges fall off.

You take your own bite to stop anything stupid from coming out of your mouth.

You figure he has to eat to accommodate for his size but to see it in action is something else entirely. He finishes two plates in fifteen minutes and as he makes his way to get another serving, your bitch of an aunt speaks up from across the lawn.

“Why don’t you get up and get him another plate?”

Why don’t you shut the fuck up?

You grip the plastic fork in your hand tightly, digging into your diminishing potato salad and swallowing the vile that you want to throw her way.

Make your man a plate before you make yours, get him a drink, get him another helping so he doesn’t have to, keep him fed.

Maybe this is why you’re single. You want to scream. You want—

“Don’t listen to her. You’re still eating, don’t move,” he levels, and you don’t miss the hint of irritation in his own voice as he gets up. “The same seltzer as before?” he asks, pointing to your drink that you didn’t realize was empty.

“I—”, you fumble before clearing your throat. “I like the strawberry one…if there’s any left.”

He shoots a wink your way and your body ignites with heat.

Your cousin worms her way over when Toji disappears, and you try your best to ignore the sly look on her face.

“Defending your honor from our bitchy aunt? My, my, the perfect recipe for your feminist heart.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, shoving the last of the potato salad in your mouth.

“He’s Shiu’s best friend. Moved here from Japan a few months ago and is living in the same city as you. It could be fate? You want his number?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap again, feeling exasperated but knowing that unless Shiu is here to stop her, she will talk until she’s tired or you’re swinging at her.

She giggles, undeterred and gearing up for more. “He’s single too. And you’ve got all our other cousins mad as hell because he won’t leave you alone.” You don’t reply, because you’re mildly intrigued and impressed with yourself. It’s nice to have the attention from someone so attractive; it’s just figuring out if he’s genuine that’s the headache. “When the music gets louder tonight…or when the fireworks go off, take him upstairs and fuck him on—”

“Didn’t I say—fuck you.”

She guffaws, loud and unabashed and it pulls a smile from the side of your mouth. You know she doesn’t mean it, you know that at gatherings like these, you’re the black sheep and she just wants you to enjoy yourself.

“Seriously though, cousin. Shiu doesn’t keep many around, but they’ve been friends since they were kids. That’s a good sign right?”

There’s some merit to it, but you still want to be careful.

And Toji Fushiguro makes it hard for you to be careful because he wants you around him all the time and is unashamed to show it.

Later in the night when the music is booming old school hip hop that your uncle won’t shut up about (he’s drunk), your other uncles—and a few cousins they will definitely con—have a table already bustling with spades. At first, you’re unsure how they convinced Toji to join, but he’s partnered with one of your cousins who has no clue about the game, and you realize they just want Toji to lose so they can feel good.

Feeling curious, you pretend to bring Toji a beer. He’s frowning down at the cards, irritated with his lips curled into a small scowl and your cousin is trying to act like he knows what to do, but his stupidity is palpable even from where you stand.

You offer him a beer and ignore the fact that the one on the table is still full. When he looks up at you, his sharp eyes hold you like a vice, frustration evaporating quickly before opportunity takes its place.

“Help me.” He doesn’t bother to hide the confusion in his voice and you can’t help the way your stomach flips.

One of your uncle’s snickers. “She doesn’t know how to play.” You do. “But she can try.”

You’re so annoyed, and you want to snap at him but Toji is pulling you closer to him with a muscular arm before you can. You’re in his lap before you know it, sitting precariously on a thick thigh with your back pressed against a broad chest and you can’t breathe again. The fluctuating altitudes are making you lightheaded.

Any other time and you wouldn’t hesitate to turn around and knock a man’s teeth in for grabbing you. But against your better judgment, you relax into Toji instead. His cheap cologne smells way too fucking good, he’s so big and warm against your body and your throat is drying up like you’ve taken a big breath in the middle of the Sahara.

“Don’t grab me like that,” you can’t help but grumble, only mildly put off.

“I improvised.” It’s a feeble excuse wrapped around a heavenly chuckle in your ear and you pray to whoever is listening, mentally offering up a sacrificial lamb, anything to ensure you don’t drip all over his thigh. “Now help me win.”

You do. Three times. He's adamant about winning and you're sure he has a gambling problem. And if your legs go a little numb from sitting on his thigh or if you lean into the way his outside hand slides to hold the curve of your waist, you don’t complain about it.

***

“You don’t dance?” Toji asks an hour later, joining you on the blanket that you occupied when you first arrived. It’s almost sunset, and the orange of the sky covers half of the backyard as your family revels in their merriment.

You shrug at Toji’s question, gazing at members of your family who are dancing in the yard. One of your loudest uncles is boasting about the music as he teaches one of your cousins dance steps. That used to be you so many years ago, and the moves are like muscle memory as you watch them. One of your aunts takes over the stereo, beginning what will surely be an hour of reminding everyone of the greatest hits.

You suddenly realize that it’s just you and Toji on the blanket. Your cousin and Shiu are off god knows where, and given her penchant for being a rebellious freak, she’s probably riding him on your uncle’s bed. The thought makes you shudder.

“Are you cold?” he probes, pulling you out of your thoughts.

It is cooler now, but that’s not why you were shivering. You’re ready to tell him no, to start shaking your head even as you watch him pull his own jacket off to place it over your shoulders. His hands smooth over your shoulders and down your arms as if securing it closer to your skin and your blood boils beneath your cheeks. Your skin isn’t light enough to show when you’re blushing, but you’re burning with nervousness.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you hiss instinctively, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. The surprise is evident on his face and you immediately feel guilty. “I’m—I’ll only be mean to you in return.”

For the first time of the night, he looks angry. His eyebrows dip, the scar on his cheek twists with the harsh frown on his lips and he gives a severe ‘tch’ that makes you gape at him. “Why because you’re mean to men?” he snaps, impatient and free of any tease.

It raises your hackles instantly, and you’re talking back before you know it. “Exactly. So why don’t you take a hint and stop trying to get into my pants—”

You feel a rough finger on the side of your cheek turn you further towards him, preventing you from looking at anything else.

“You just don’t like bullshit. Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

For once, you don’t have anything to say even though your hand is twitching with the urge to slap the words from his mouth. You want to. It’s easy for you to fight back and push them away, you’re good at it. But you can’t fight the way his gaze seems to calm you down against your better judgment.

You pull your face from his hold and roll your shoulders, sliding out of his sharp gaze and turning back to your lively family. One of your cousins is arguing about why the Cowboys didn’t make it into the playoffs, and now everyone has something to say.

You pull in a deep breath, scolding yourself to relax just a little. He hasn’t been so bad, and you’re not one to make things intentionally difficult if a man is honestly trying. You’re still apprehensive about his intentions…but he is trying without being a beast. So you exhale your frustrations into the July air, calm down so your heart can steady its frantic pounding from the lingering scent of his cologne, and dig your fingers into your uncle’s well-kept grass.

“Fine. If I let you be nice to me…what would be the next thing you would say?”

You can’t look at him, but you feel his eyes on your body as you pluck a few blades of grass from the soil. The strands slide against the pads of your fingertips, rough and threatening to cut, before fluttering in the breeze when you release them.

He’s grabbing you again, tenderly but possessively, sliding you into his embrace so your back is to his muscular chest, his chin rests on the side of your temple and his arms wrap around your waist. Your heart is back to leaping in your chest, pumping loud and fast in your ears, drowning out the music and arguing as if you’re underwater.

“How about you tell me about your family?” he suggests, voice unmuffled through the thickness of your hearing.

It’s a random ask, as if he wants to impress them, as if you’ve been dating for a long period of time and he wants to be prepared to meet them for the first time. The thought doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, even though you know it would never be a reality anyway. You don’t know if he’s just joking and frankly, the feel of him against you is warmer than his jacket on your shoulders and you don’t want to leave.

So, if it means he can stay put, you give in. You tell him about your aunts, uncles, and cousins—where they are from and what they do. You share your traditions when you all get together and the small intricacies you all share. It’s incredibly personal…maybe even too intimate. But he listens, and hums to let you know he’s paying attention, and asks you questions as you talk.

Eventually, his cheek rests on the crown of your head against your braids and you surprisingly don’t mind at all. When you notice his arms wrapped around you, you get a better view of the scars on his arms and fingers, and there is a rising urge to ask how he got each one.

“So she’s been married twice?” his voice is low in your ear so you can only hear him in the noisy backyard. His breath smells faintly of the beer he finished an hour ago, and it slides along the skin of your neck hot and thick. You resist the urge to cant your neck to the side to give his breath more room to roam.

You nod. “She got the fillers after the first husband. Those brought in the second husband. Then he left her for some girl in Cali.”

“Cali?’ he questions, confused.

You snort softly. “California.” You elbow him and the bone slides against hard muscle. Dammit. “You don’t know your states?”

“I’m foreign, not stupid.” The laugh that bubbles from your chest is sharp and you can’t help the smile that pulls against your cheeks from it. “I know my states!” He sounds truly annoyed and for some reason that makes you laugh harder. “Florida, Kansas—”

“I’m not asking you to prove yourself!” you sputter around a giggle, shaking in his embrace. But he’s not listening.

“Montana, New York…there’s another one…the big one.”

You gawk, turning just a little to crane your head up at him. He looks down at you with an embarrassed expression, his cheeks a little rosy even though his lips are flickering with the urge to laugh.

“I beg your finest pardon…the big one?”

The side of his face twists in the nastiest way, and he’s angry at being questioned. “Don’t—it’s the one down below!”

“In relation to what?”

His eyes narrow, emerald barely noticeable between thick lashes. You can sense his hold on you tightening slightly, his chest stutters in a huff and you realize with rising glee that he’s pouting. Normally you would revel in this…but—

“Texas,” you find yourself speaking up at him, voice soft and gentle on the edges. “The big one down below is Texas.”

He simply hums, his chest vibrating against your back, but his gaze is smoldering, taking you in and dipping down to your lips before flickering back up your eyes. You’re too hot now, his jacket against your skin too suffocating, your heart beating too fast against your ribcage.

You hate just how rebellious you like to be. “What, you gonna kiss me?”

The challenge is fleeting across his features and he leans down so quickly that you don’t have time to react. Your stomach flips with irritation at the implication that he would take from you without asking, and suddenly, you no longer want him touching you.

“I wouldn’t take it without asking,” he whispers in the small space between you both as if reading your thoughts. The tips of his raven locks brush against your cheek, there’s a slight kink in your neck from how you are looking up at him, but he’s so close that you don’t care. One of his hands skims up from your waist, caressing the curve of your ribs, and his thumb teasingly runs along the underside of your clothed breast. His touch is reactive in you, and you angle your body further into his actions. His gaze remains locked on yours, absorbing your very being without doing a thing and you’re fighting to stay in control.

“So can I?” he asks, voice deep with temptation. “Kiss you?”

You swallow the bucket of drool that has somehow pooled in the back of your throat in seconds. The thumping of your heart no longer fills your ears, replaced now by a deafening ringing, spurred by your growing desire as you open your mouth to respond.

“I…depends…are you any good?”

He nonchalantly shrugs, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his scarred lips twist into a smirk. He’s completely calm and you can tell if you told him no, he would leave it alone entirely. But he’s enjoying this, you can see it all over his face.

“Jury’s still out.”

You don’t trust yourself to say ‘yes’. Some part of you feels like if it comes out of your mouth, it will sound too desperate and you want to stay in control as much as you can. But, you could give yourself this. You’ve earned it. Just one kiss and then you could hide away until the fireworks and then use the noise as a cover to leave. After all, he’s hot. He’s been so nice and honest and the warning siren in your mind has long faded.

You deserve a reward.

So you nod, stiffly but enough for him to notice, and the air seems to thin out again when he leans in a little more.

“Toji!” one of your uncles calls out, severing through the heavy cloud of lust between you both like a knife. You recoil from his touch, his touch now only making you itchy, and you pull from his embrace so that his arms unravel and his jacket slides off your shoulders. The cooler air is freezing this time against your skin. “Come help me with the fireworks, would you?”

You don’t pay attention to his response, because you’re already up on your feet and making your way inside the house. Your body floods with the embarrassment and shame of being caught by your family…kissing a man that you’ve just met. You know you shouldn’t care…but it’s so easy for their behavior to rub off on you when you feel vulnerable.

***

Thankfully, no one is in the kitchen when you finally make it inside. The music dulls down when you close the backyard door and the ringing in your ears is now silent.

You resolve to stay inside until the fireworks go off. No one is really paying attention to you anyway—most of them are drunk, others too absorbed in the music and gossip so it’s a perfect chance for you to duck away and show your face again next year.

Should you tell Toji goodbye?

No.

No, you hardly know the man. Just a few hours in good company and a kiss that almost happened that you probably would have let escalate. You probably would have let his tongue slide into your mouth. Probably would have let him pull you into one of the spare rooms, eat you out until you’re seeing stars, and then bend you over the edge of the bed to fuck you until he—

For fuck’s sake.

You yank open one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a glass. You need water because your body is piping hot. There’s a sheen of sweat on your neck beneath the layer of braids that fell when Toji laid his cheek on your head, and your hands are slick as they press into the counter to give you strength to peek into one of the lower shelves. Of course, the only one in the cabinet would be on the highest shelf. Of course, you’re too fucking short.

You climb onto the counter, knees digging into the off-white surface as you lift yourself up and peer into one of the higher shelves. You spot a glass, and you can have a heaping glass to cool yourself off enough to get you home. And then you can just use your vibrator once and go to sleep. Or twice. Or maybe a third time to get the thought of him out of your mind for the foreseeable future.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s standing behind you. You didn’t even hear the back door open and close. But you catch a glimpse of a long, muscular arm reaching past your ear to grab the glass. You’re frozen, your fingers digging into the wooden shelf, unable to turn around and face him, even though you can feel his gaze hot on your skin.

Your plan is shattered, and you have no choice but to come up with an excuse to leave him. You’re combing through scenarios in your mind as you slowly slide down and perch yourself on the countertop, finally facing him. He places the glass on the counter, away from you, and closes the distance between you until the ridges of his clothed abs brush against your knees. His hands are searing against your skin as they rest on your knees and you watch his thumbs trace an obscure pattern with a touch that is featherlight.

“Your uncle interrupted us,” Toji finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of hopefulness despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. His gaze, so harsh and sharp, is alluring in its own way, tempting you to relax the steady clench of your thighs.

“It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway,” you chuckle, self-deprecation rising to the surface of your skin and prickling against the pores.

“Why not?”

Maybe because you would be too much for him and scare him away? Maybe the fear of being too demanding in bed, of not being able to stop once he kisses you, lingers in your thoughts, making the idea of having him only once and never again infuriating.

“I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. I’ll get you water and let you sneak away when the fireworks go off because I know you want to…even though you shouldn’t give a fuck about what your family thinks…but I would really like that kiss.”

Analyzing his features, you take in the sincerity reflected in the moss-green of his eyes. It’s a last-ditch effort to make sure something else isn’t hiding there, and you find yourself coming up short.

Slowly, you part your legs for him to stand between. His hands slide up your thighs tantalizingly slow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before pushing the fabric of your red sundress up to your waist. You try to ignore the way the cool air on your panties does little to quell the heat radiating from them. His hands wrap around your waist and a gasp heaves from your lips when he yanks you to him, your thighs brushing the sides of his thick waist.

One of the hands on your waist trails up to the side of your neck, gently tilting your head up, so you can look fully at him as his thumb traces the skin of your bottom lip.

“You better make it good,” you challenge, hoping your faux annoyance can mask the anticipation building in your gut.

He sees right through it and simply hums before he leans down to finally seal his lips against yours. He’s a big man, an overwhelming man, and you feel it in his kiss as his lips take every ounce of breath you have in your lungs. He tastes like the pound yellow cake that everyone got to before you could and a hint of beer and it’s the perfect combination that you want more of.

His hands are under your dress, brushing beneath your thighs for traction and pulling you impossibly closer to the point where you feel your clothed center brush against the zipper of his jeans. You dig your hands into the fabric of his shirt, twisting and silently commanding for him to give you more. You open your mouth to coax him and his tongue is wet and insistent against yours.

You can feel your resolve dissipating in the air, fizzling against the heat that radiates from your body and your self-control is walking on a tightrope, precariously and seconds away from falling. And once it’s gone, you’ll be a woman unhinged.

He yanks you to him again as if its not enough, harder this time with a growl in the back of his throat that makes you gasp into his mouth, then rolls his hips against yours and behind his zipper you feel him hard and bulging and angry and oh—

You pull away with a harsh breath, gasping for air and biting back a moan that gurgles in your throat when his mouth works its way down the skin of your neck. Your skin is sensitive, and it buzzes with the touch of his lips and invokes a fervent need so deep within you that you’re losing awareness of where you are. You’re lightheaded, brain in the fucking stratosphere and you have to lay down, you have to—

He’s guiding you onto your back before you can do it yourself and the cool counter is a balm against the skin of your exposed shoulders and back. He looms over you from his place between your legs, big and muscular and reeking of hunger.

“Toji,” you try to speak into the air, stifling a whimper at the sight of him stretching out your leg to rest on his shoulder.

One of his large hands caresses the canvas of your calf before you watch his lips kiss your chocolate skin. His rough scar scratches against you in the most delightful way as his mouth kisses up your calf, bends your leg to get closer, and then resumes his touch on the inside of your thigh. His face should be melting with the amount of heat emitting from between your legs, but he must relish in the burn because the second his tongue slides thick and wet against your clothed cunt, you whimper pathetically into the air.

You have just enough common sense to break from the desire to be fucked thoroughly to whisper.

“Toji, we can’t,” you swallow against the dryness in your throat. “Someone could see.”

You can feel the impatience on his body in waves but he has to listen to you. If your family were to walk in here right now to see their niece or cousin being eaten out like a gourmet meal, the Earth would swallow you whole.

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling you into his arms and carrying you out of the kitchen. You don’t care enough to tell him where to go; you’re too hot, too wet in your panties, and your need is twisting at the base of your spine in the most irritating way, begging to be soothed.

You hear the beginnings of fireworks being popped off in the backyard and your family is loud, thankfully so loud as Toji locks the door to the bathroom and drops you unceremoniously onto the counter. Though the metal of the faucet digs into the small of your back and you fall into the mirror as you clamber to get yourself in order, you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s on you again, all teeth and lips and sinful tongue in your mouth with equally sinful hands digging impatiently into the sides of your panties.

“Take them off,” you demand, practically whining and in less than a second you can only get one leg out before he’s sinking to his knees, eyes wild and shoulders heaving with untamed breaths.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. So damn pretty,” he whispers in reverence, throwing your legs over his shoulders, and the compliment makes your cunt throb in anticipation.

You can’t be sure if he’s talking to you or himself. Before you can breathe to calm yourself, it’s catching in your throat, hitching against a moan as his tongue licks a long wet stripe up the slit of your dripping cunt. His tongue parts your folds as if it’s the sea, savoring your essence and then sucking your clit into his mouth like it’s the cherry on top and you love it, whine at the feel, eyes crossing and rolling into the back of your head at the exquisite feeling.

He pulls away for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to regain control, and kisses the inside of your thigh before sliding two fingers up your dripping center, collecting your slick before beginning to rub circles on your clit. He’s mesmerized, and you take a moment to marvel at just how little of his green eyes are visible to you, his pupils are dilated with hunger and focused on the way your cunt moves with his fingers.

“Your bitch of an ex ever eat you out?”

You really don’t want to think about him right now, and you also don’t like the thought of someone feeling like they need to prove themselves to you.

But there’s a big man between your thighs who wants to unwrap you like candy. So you shrug, panting softly as you speak, “Every now and then.”

Toji scoffs, eyes seeming to darken like a forest at night.

“Every now and then,” he parrots, voice incredulous as if he’s heard the most insane thing ever, like he can’t believe it.

He increases the pressure on your clit harshly, causing you to buck against him, yelping in satisfied shock when he flicks your sensitive bud hard with his tongue.

“I’ll make you feel good, princess. Don’t you worry.”

The nickname doesn’t have the effect as before. No, this time you moan in response, your guts churning with satisfaction at the prospect of being worshiped.

Slowly the two fingers on your clit slide into you, testing the waters, gauging if you’re okay, and your jaw slackens at the feel of the stretch. Fingering is an art, an act that requires patience and skill. You have to know the right pace, when to curl, how to know a woman’s body to determine what she wants. It’s glorious when it’s done right.

And god, does Toji do it right.

He’s thorough and fluid in his strokes, using the tempo of your moans to curl at just the right time and sucking and licking your clit like he’s ravenous and your head is falling back into the space between your shoulder blades, eyes wide with disbelief as you stare at the ceiling.

The fireworks are consistent outside, popping off every second and it’s loud enough that you have the courage to voice how Toji is making you feel.

“Every now and then,” he hisses again to himself, angry and curling his fingers a little harder. You jerk against him, whimpering like a fool when you feel his tongue flick your clit harder as a reward. “He’s so fucking stupid. You taste so good, it’s unbelievable.”

He’s curling more now, brushing against that spongy wall that zings heat to your belly. Your insides churn, a molten heat popping to splatter against the base of your spine, pleasure coaxing you to reach that precipice that will let you fall apart.

Vaguely you hear him whispering words into the skin of your thighs that you can’t decipher, the thrumming in your ears too loud to hear anything else beyond the fireworks outside, your escalating moans, and the obscene sounds of him slurping you up. The muscles in your thighs begin to tighten, your fingers are sweaty as they slide against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, and you dig your wedges into the muscles of his back, white panties dangling off one ankle. He’s so good, so thorough and your breath is hitching, choking on a moan.

“There you go princess, cum all over my fingers. Get me nice and messy.”

His deep words are accompanied by a sharp bend of his fingers and you’re cumming with a shout, rejoicing in the hot pleasure that puddles along your bones. It’s abrupt and overwhelming, pulling a sharp current down your body that makes your back arch until it bumps into the sink behind you. He’s groaning from his place between your legs, still pumping his fingers and licking your clit to collect as much of your slick as he can.

By the time you look down at him, you’re still catching your breath, your thighs tremble from the sudden chill injected into your muscles. You catch Toji just in time to watch him begin to slip his two dripping fingers into his mouth, but you snatch his wrist, riding off the high of your orgasm to slip his digits into your mouth instead. Thin rings of green widen in surprise and you savor the way his cheeks darken as you swirl your tongue around his digits.

“You’re unreal,” he gulps when you pop his fingers out of your mouth.

You shrug, not willing to show him just how powerful you feel, and wrap your legs around his waist, panties still caught on the buckle of one of your wedges.

“I’m letting you be nice to me, remember? So what’s next?”

With a harsh pull, he stumbles closer to you, his hands slamming against the marble counter on either side of your waist. His breath hitches as you hastily undo his belt, eyes widening as he takes in the way you leer up at him.

“You got me a drink, defended my honor from my bitchy aunt, asked me about my family, ate my pussy…you wanna fuck me now?”

“I—” he starts, caught off guard by your forwardness.

“You want to bend me over this counter, make me look in the mirror while I take your cock? Smack my ass and make me beg for you to fill me up?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Toji chokes on a nervous laugh, hissing when your fingers graze the sensitive skin above his belt.

“Is that a problem?”

The hair of his happy trail is faint and dark just like the hair on his head, and your touch makes his stomach bunch in sensation. He shakes his head in response and you want to laugh so bad at the sight of him struggling to swallow. You haven’t done anything to the man, but he’s sensitive to your touch, and that makes the blood in your veins sing.

“If you’re letting me have you, you can have it however you want.”

Arousal hums to life between your legs, and you can’t help but be turned on at how much he’s giving you. You want him now and while the prospect of being fucked over the counter was what you had hoped, if your family comes in and hears you taking it like a champ, you’ll never show your face again.

So when the door to your truck’s backseat closes, you’re climbing back on his lap, relaxing further into him with the knowledge that you can be as noisy as you want. Your uncle has a seven-month supply of fireworks and land in the middle of nowhere, Hennessey, and classics booming from his sound system… it’s going to be loud for a very long time.

You’re running on your own current of desire at this point, pawing at his shirt so he can finally yank it off his shoulders and you’re drooling. He’s glorious and you don’t hesitate to rub your hands down firm pectorals, between the abs on his torso, and along the musculature of his Adonis belt. He’s cut like a marble statue, something that takes a painstaking process to hammer and smooth over until the result is almost—

“Let me take you out,” he suddenly suggests, voice gravelly with want but insistent.

Huh?

You’re immediately puzzled, eyebrows dipping into a furrow as you try to decipher his words. His hair is wild, black strands splintering and bushy but still giving you a gateway to his eyes and you see that he’s completely serious.

“On…a date?” A lift of his thin eyebrow in reply and the reality of him actually showing interest flags dangerously against your desire to ride him into oblivion. “Just the dopamine talking, I’m sure,” you say, hoping to dismiss the idea. You hadn’t expected him to actually…want to take you out. You can’t think about that right now because your head is too thick with hunger to try and have a conversation.

He hums, low and dangerous, a hand brushing the skin above your clit and you’re reminded of just how wet you still are from his sloppy tongue minutes before.

“You’re the only one here that’s cum, princess. I’m being serious.”

“It’ll pass,” you reply immediately, licking into his mouth to shut him up.

Thankfully he doesn’t try to interject because you don’t have time to talk right now—you don’t want to. You don’t know Toji, not well enough. While tonight has been one of the most relaxed evenings you’ve spent with a man in a long time, you’re unsure if he genuinely wants you or if he’s merely carried away by the thrill of being with a woman.

He tried to come onto you the minute he laid eyes on you, tried to kiss you after a few hours, and pocketed your panties even though you pretended to be oblivious. You just don’t know. If you had a pretty girl in your lap, you would probably say the same things. Ask her on a date, make her feel wanted so she’s more giving when you slide her panties off.

It’ll pass.

And that’s what you tell yourself when you feel his large hands palm your ass beneath your sundress. You are teeth against him, nipping his tongue, biting the skin of his jaw, the meat of his neck, and the sharp groan that you pull from him in response makes you drip like a bitch in heat against his jeans.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper to him sharply, turning around and leaning over the center console to fish a condom from inside. You had discovered them months ago, and they should have been more than enough for you to dump your ex then.

“Shit,” you hear Toji hiss from behind you before your ass stings from his slap against it. You yelp, jumping from the contact and you hope he can see your cunt pulse from between your thighs in response. “Hurry up, baby.”

When you face him again, you freeze, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. As you take him in, he snatches the condom from your hand and unfurls it on his cock.

Surprisingly trimmed with dark hair, he’s thick—not enough to be painful—but enough to enjoy the stretch so you can ride him until he flatlines and enjoy the ache in your thighs in the morning. It’s perfect; pale with a red tip that leaks into the tip of the condom, a vein along the side that you can’t lick without tasting latex. It’s a shame.

He throws you that devilish smirk, eyes twinkling in pride before he taps his thigh and beckons you like the best ride at the carnival.

“Hop on, princess.”

Your fingers grip the hair at his nape when you feel him inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that you have to breathe through, and the feel of his hands affectionately stroking your back catches you off guard. You don’t hate it; in fact, you want to lean into it, but you don’t want to give him any ammunition for something you aren’t sure about. So you slide down to the hilt and listen to Toji curse sharply through the sudden heat of you before you start a steady rhythm that throws him off.

Within seconds, you increase your pace, riding him with an intensity that makes the air in your throat catch and drag along the sides. He’s got a satisfying curve to him that grazes those magical spots within you to make the grip on his nape tighten like a vice. Your head is foggy with an overpowering mist that makes your mouth loose and your inhibitions low.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, pulling you out of the delirium you were basking in to focus on him. His jaw is relaxed, hot air puffing from between an open mouth and onto the skin of your neck, a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead and the sides of his cheeks and there’s a slight furrow to his thin eyebrows as if he’s trying to concentrate.

You’re giddy with desire. “Let me guess,” you tease, lips brushing against his. “Am I tight?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, eyelids hooded and upper cheeks darkening with a blush that spreads down his neck.

“Am I nice and hot?”

“Yes, fuck yes, baby.”

It’s meant to tease, because every man that has ever slid inside of you in the past says the same shit, but to hear it from him brings a strange sense of satisfaction that you find yourself slanting your lips against his. He still tastes like the yellow cake that you never got, but the flavor is intertwined with the remnants of your essence that still lingers on his tongue that dances with yours.

You plant your knees harder into the seat on each side of him, use your muscles to bear down and give you more control, and then you roll your hips, guiding him in and out in a tantalizing dance that elicits groans from him and makes him roll his head back against the headrest.

“Let me take you out,” he gasps into the air and you refuse to answer him—you can’t. It’s harder now to believe his sincerity because he’s delirious with lust. “Answer me.”

You growl softly and yank your hands from his hair to push down the straps of your sundress. You’re not wearing a bra, and he cusses like he just stubbed his toe as he watches your breasts spill free.

“Stop talking,” you whisper and yank his head forward, beckoning him to you and he catches on quickly, licking and sucking a nipple before pulling it into his mouth. The sensation makes you shudder, a gentle pleasure that your cunt appreciates and you pick up your pace on him again. “Stop asking me. Just let me fuck you.”

He bites down in retaliation to pull a squeak from you and licks over the sting in a half-assed apology. When you look down, his gaze is illuminated by the streetlights, a harsh glare that showcases his annoyance with your deflection, but his eyes droop when you squeeze around him in response.

You’re stuffed full of him, stretching along the sides, punching the air out of your throat with each bounce on his cock and your legs begin to burn with the build-up of exertion. Your nipples are wet and sensitive against his taste buds as he teases each peak into his hot mouth and it helps to mix that pot of pleasure in your stomach to life again.

You can feel it, like a crescendo of waves crashing against a dock, but the waves are coming in quicker and more turbulent with every moan and cry that falls from your lips. You push him off of your chest, dig your fingers into his shoulders for more leverage so you can ride his cock like you have nothing left to lose.

His chest is blooming red, covered in a light sheen of sweat that dips between his pectorals and pools in his collarbones. Your bun of braids came loose when he was eating you out in the bathroom, and now some are heavy on your skin with sweat and plaster over your shoulders and between your sternum and you’re hot and sweaty and trying so hard to reign it in.

He doesn’t buck up into you and you’re unsure if it’s due to laziness or the fact that he simply wants to watch you while he brings himself closer to climax. You hope it’s the latter.

“Do you like this?” you pant into his mouth and nip his bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. Be a good boy and tell me just how I’m making you feel.”

He groans and lands another smack to your ass that makes you gasp and arch further into him. It's the right amount of pain that makes your pussy pulse in response, the right amount of manhandling that can take you higher in a second.

“You’re a natural, princess. You ever ride him like this?”

You shake your head and he smacks your ass again, harder this time and digs his fingertips into the flesh to let the sting linger. It's so good, and you can't help the whine that you puff against his lips as he smirks up at you with a proud disposition.

“He couldn’t handle it. Probably why he cheated wasn’t it? You were too much for him. You know how you like it and he couldn’t deliver.”

You don’t answer him, but he’s right. He’s so right. He couldn’t stand it when you took control, hated when you asked him to do something that didn’t result in him being dominant, hated when he couldn’t even eat pussy without you having to ask.

The feel of his fingers on your clit makes you jump and you poke your fingers into his nape again and pick up your pace, panting and moaning like you’re running a marathon as the pleasure rocks inside of you like a pendulum.

“Oh god. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whisper, stomach burning.

You’re fluttering around him—pulsing and clenching and gushing over the thickest cock you’ve ever had and it’s glorious, you’re in fucking heaven.

The streetlight shines faintly into your truck, painting half of Toji’s face. He’s beautiful; that same annoying flicker of desire that captivated you when his green eyes met yours hours ago glimmers thin and dilated.

There’s a ruggedness to him that exudes masculinity, but glimpses into the depths of his eyes reveal a tender vulnerability that makes you wonder how soft he could be if he allowed you to get close enough.

The thought makes your cunt tighten around him, your thighs tense and fill with lactic acid and his fingers on your clit are unceasing, rubbing in a precise rhythm that makes you hiccup on a moan of incredulity. The hand not occupied with your clit is reclined across the headrest behind him and it makes him look unbearably sexy.

“I’ve never had a woman ride me like this,” he whispers, and you smile into his mouth, your kiss messy as you swallow down his compliment. He yanks you away and breathes that same insufferable ask against your lips.

“Let me take you out.” He rubs your clit faster, using the way you tighten around him as a guide to your pleasure, and his hand leaves the headrest to dig into the meat of your ass. “One chance. One dinner. I’ll give you what you deserve, whatever you want, princess. I promise just—”

“Stop it,” you whine and fight the burning sensation in your eyes. You’re so close, so fucking close and the storm inside of you is out of control but he won’t stop fucking talking. Won’t stop being so damn nice even though his cock is rearranging your guts in the nastiest way. You grip his hair and pull him closer to you so there’s no space between you to breathe. “Stop talking. Stop asking. Make yourself useful and make me cum.”

Thankfully he does. He scowls up at you behind the curtain of his hair but pinches your clit and you squeal, rolling your hips, riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The windows have already fogged up, the truck rocks with your movements, and you are consumed with a blissful incoherence that forces you to surrender and let your walls crumble.

Your thighs burn, your dress clings to your sweaty body, and the stimulation on your clit becomes almost unbearable as you whine with the need to cum. He hisses loudly into the car, bares his teeth for a second, and then his eyes roll before he’s slack-jawed and panting into stuffy air, a current of groans beneath.

“That’s it, Toji,” you gasp, voice strained as you teeter on the brink of an orgasm that threatens to overwhelm you. “Be nice to me just like you said and give me everything like the good boy you are.”

The hand not on your clit slips against the sweat on your hips, and you lick up the side of his neck, savoring the salt taste of his perspiration on his smooth skin, just in time to hear him. It’s faint and low, practically a whisper but he chants--

‘Fuck yes, fuck yes. So fucking good. Ride me, sweetheart.’

It’s tilted in a whine, pathetically desperate, but the sound of him does the trick because the flick of his fingers on your clit makes the biggest wave of pleasure crash over you.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you’re cumming, you simply yank his head back from the sudden force, tilt your head up to the ceiling and cum with an exhausted and wrung out ‘fuck!’ that you’re sure your uncle’s neighbors will hear a mile down the road. You’re dumbfounded with pleasure, dizzy with it and your belly is hot and simmering as you gasp and whimper at just how good it feels.

He’s laying you back on the seat before you can catch your breath. You’re still coming down, still moaning to catch up but his large hands are under your knees and bending them towards your chest to chase his own orgasm. The edge of the seat digs into the crevice of your spine, and your hand flies out to smack against the back of the driver’s seat so you don’t fall but it slips with sweat, is hard to hold onto and you can hardly focus with everything that’s going on.

His mouth is on you, stealing your breath that you still can’t control, swallowing your moans as he fucks you with a ferocity that pulls your soul from your body. He pulls away with a deep moan and stares down at you with a look that makes you anxious—like he wants to see you again, like he wants to come to another cookout with your rowdy family if it means he can bother you some more—like he really likes you.

You know he’s going to try and say something that you may not be able to talk yourself out of, so you take the intense furrow in his eyebrows and the stuttering of his hips as a cue.

“You gonna cum?” you purr up at him, moaning weakly from the harsh thrusts that stroke you into overstimulation.

“Yes,” he answers without fail, eyes locked on yours. “Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck—”

Reaching up, you cup his cheek, unsure why but feeling an inexplicable need, and the words that fall from your lips help him across the finish line.

“Cum inside me, Toji. Take what you want and fill me up.”

His eyes widen before they roll closed and he’s slamming against you three times hard and rough before the deepest moan you’ve ever heard slips past his lips. He pants heavily stuttering tiny thrusts into you as he comes down, the tips of his hair drip a few drops of sweat onto your neck before he lowers himself to rest on top of you. He’s too big for the seat and his knee digs into the floor of the truck to maintain his balance. His hot breath washes over your neck, slowly calming down, and in your daze, you realize that you’re holding onto his shoulders.

The hard lines of Toji that you noted when you first saw him now feel gentle against you.

He rumbles your name into your neck and you’re cutting him off before the dopamine can speak for him.

“We should get back inside before someone finally notices that we’ve been gone.” He abruptly lifts to look down at you, annoyance etched on his devastatingly handsome face. He wants to argue, you can taste it, but your fear wins. “My bitchy aunt has been at me all night, the last thing I need is her snooping.”

He’s quiet still, the edge of his lips curling into a dissatisfied frown. It stretches his scar in a way that takes away from the beauty of his face. Makes him look more alien and you have to pull your gaze from him. But he doesn’t argue like you think he would. He doesn’t speak or try to talk back or voice how annoyed he is.

He slowly pulls out of you and you immediately miss the feeling, ties off the condom, and pulls you up tenderly from the seat. Your skin is sticky and the truck reeks of sex. The high has worn off and all that remains is the overwhelming unease that rises like bile in the back of your throat.

When you both are finally dressed and creeping out of the backseat, the cool air is a welcome feel to your overheated skin. It washes away your trepidation, if only for a moment. Toji looms over you, tall like a bear that you desperately want to sink your embrace back into, but he still doesn’t speak, and the crease of annoyance between his brows doesn’t leave. He should hold onto it. It will help him get over you.

“Do you mind getting my purse from inside the house? I don’t want to go back inside just yet and I need to check my phone.”

Impatience emanates from his every pore, yet you can sense his anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. But he still doesn’t fight and makes his way back inside without a word.

You lied.

Your purse is in the front seat of your car—you threw it up there when you both snuck into the vehicle in the first place, but his attention was too busy trying to feel you up than pay attention to the satchel hanging off your shoulder.

Once you see the front door close, you get into the front seat, start your car, and drive away without a second thought. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly as the temptation to turn back tugs at you.

It may not be right to leave without saying goodbye, and lying to him has left a bitter taste in your mouth. Your family is too occupied with the fireworks and each other’s company to really notice your absence anyway, and you’re sure they’ll have no problem trying to distract Toji when he realizes that you’re gone.

The grip on the wheel doesn’t lessen, but you roll down the windows and let the evening July air wash away some of the sex that still lingers on the seats.

***

“So you did fuck him,” your cousin snickers over the speaker of your phone a week later.

It’s a Saturday night and you’re knee-deep in your wash day routine. It took you all day to take out your braids and the clear shower cap on your head traps the deep conditioner inside. You wipe away some of the excess near your ear.

You have Chinese waiting to be delivered, and you’re ready to finish your routine so you can go to bed. Your eyes are glued to your television playing some sort of nature documentary but your attention is elsewhere, specifically on trying to worm your way out of this conversation with your cousin. She’s called you every single day since the 4th and she’s done nothing but make you feel guilty about your abrupt departure.

As you expected, your family didn’t really notice your absence. But when Toji asked your cousin for your purse and then realized you had lied, he sulked in a lawn chair for the rest of the night before Shiu drove him home.

“Yes, I fucked him. So what?”

“Soooo do something about it. Fuck him again? He lives in the same city as you and is here indefinitely. Make a move—”

“It was a nice night, but he was already trying to flirt with me as soon as he saw me and I still entertained him and fucked him and—I shouldn’t have done that…I should have waited, maybe tested the waters more. He only tried to ask me out because he was horny as hell.”

She’s quiet on the other line, and you look up at the ceiling in exasperation because you can feel her annoying logic rev up before she fires away.

“So you’re just scared? Your ex cheated on you because he was a spineless pissy boy who slithered away because you didn’t take his shit. That’s not a reflection of you, at all. I know you like to have it all figured out before you make a decision, but not everything works out that way. Toji saw a fine ass black woman who talks her shit and he made a move. He’s a nice guy...a little rough around the edges, but truly…a nice guy. Someone for you.”

James Attenborough elegantly voices something about the cuttlefish on the screen while you try to contemplate what to say. She’s right. You hate that she’s right. It’s why you two are so close but still you retort in the best way you know how.

“Girl, fuck you.”

Her raucous laugh vibrates over the speaker in delight and you snort and roll your eyes when the doorbell cuts you off. The prospect of your Chinese food makes your mouth water and you’re rushing to the door.

Only it’s not your Chinese food at the doorstep, it’s Toji Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro who is protected from the rain under the overhang of your apartment door with one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other clutching a container. The annoyed look that you last saw on his face is gone, replaced by a neutral and bored look that seems natural for him, even though his eyes don’t convey that specific emotion. Those green eyes are reminiscent of your uncle’s well-maintained lawn as they look down at you with a nervous glint.

“Toji,” you breathe in disbelief. “How did you get my address…”

Your cousin squawks on the other line and swallows a giggle. “I’m gonna go—”

“Your cousin finally gave it to me.,” he replies simply and gestures down to the phone in your tight grip. “I’ve been trying to get it since you fucking left.”

“Damn, thanks?!” she barks at him. “Lemme get out of here, I’m getting another call anyway. Bye!”

You’re going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully and maybe in front of Shiu to get a few tears out of him if you’re feeling particularly evil.

You know she’s right about Toji, but you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have fucked him in the first place and you should have thought of a backup plan on the off chance that your cousin was going to be annoying and nosy as hell.

You ignore his intense and heavy gaze, shifting in discomfort, scratch the back of your neck, and blanch in horror when your fingers brush the edge of your shower cap. You’re wearing a large t-shirt, your feet are bare and your head is covered in a shower cap with deep conditioner leaking from the sides; a stark contrast from the calm and collected woman who snapped at him all day a week ago. Mortification washes over you in a heavy wave, drowning your mantra of not giving a fuck about a man’s opinion, and you step back to grab the door.

“Listen…I’m waiting for food and then I have to get ready for work in the morning. So you need—”

“You have time to spare then,” he cuts off and walks past you. You round on him, indignant in your gaze.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Get out, Toji!”

“You want me to leave? Hmm?” he asks, goading you like you don’t know if you’re sure.

You’re not sure, but—“Yes, goddammit! I shouldn’t have left but I don’t do this sort of thing! The moment you met me, you only wanted to get in my pants. And that makes you trying to ask me out while your cock is inside of me, a lot harder to believe!”

He firmly places the container in his hands on your kitchen counter, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and gives you a look that either makes you want to melt into him or slap it off his face.

“Listen—”

You’re on the defensive now, backed into a corner and ready to pull every card you have to just make him go away. “You here for a quick fuck then? Because you got me to let my guard down and because we had such a steamy time in the backseat of my truck, you thought, what? You could just show up and bend me over my couch?”

That flicker of irritation is back on his face and it crinkles the edges of his eyes, makes him look nasty and hostile.

“Fuck, will you stop—”

“Wanna have a little ‘situationship’ while you get acquainted with your new life here? Have me get nice and comfortable and as soon as I ask for something more, you’re jumping ship. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it?”

A sharp growl leaves his throat and he glares.

“Girl—” he starts and immediately stops, eyes wide as saucers at the venomous gaze that you shoot his way. There it is, a hint of a name to make you feel small and insignificant. It reminds you of your parents when you used to talk back and they slid the name to you in a warning to stop talking. You hate it and it stings that you have to hear it from him.

“Get out,” you bark, seething with a rage that brings a sting to your eyes.

He throws up his hands in frustration, looming like a bear from his place in your kitchen. “Will you just stop it!”

“I said—”

“Oh my fucking god—I like you!”

His admission catches you off guard, cutting through your anger, and you stare at him in astonishment. His face is red with embarrassment, eyes trained up at the ceiling as if asking the gods to give him patience. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze from across the kitchen.

“You don’t do this sort of thing?” he asks, gesturing between the two of you. You can’t find the words to respond, still too shocked, so you simply nod.

“What sort of thing is that? Flirting with you because you looked like the sexiest little thing in that backyard and I wanted your attention?” He’s annoyed, deep voice razor sharp as he speaks, but you don’t miss the step he takes closer to you.

“Me trying to make you feel better because your family is judgmental? Teaching me about the food you like because I’m not from here?”

He’s closer now and the air is thin again just like that night a week ago.

“Helping me win that little card game?” It’s spades, but you’re too lightheaded with how close he is to correct him. “Telling me about your family? What sort of thing is that? Hmm? Tell me.”

You don’t have a retort. You’re too stunned to speak even though you refuse to let the annoyed expression on your face vanish. You want to hold onto what little shreds of defiance you have left.

“You aren’t mean. You don’t tolerate bullshit, you don’t fuck around, and you put people in their place. You refuse to settle for less, and I already told you that’s what I like in a woman…And I like you.”

What do you even say? You never expected to see him again, and your mind is muddled as if you’re submerged in water. Your heart feels too big in your chest, your body too hot and sweaty and you’re nervous. He’s angry with his confession, almost annoyed and you’re beginning to realize that it is an emotion that’s second nature to him even if it’s not as intense as you think it is.

“Is that right?” you can’t help but test him, lifting a brow. You have to crane your neck just a little to look up at him.

He scoffs, the crease in his eyebrows smooths out and the scar on his lips twitches.

“Yea, that's fucking right. So…” he takes one more step closer and his body is brushing against yours. He smells mildly of toothpaste and bergamot from another brand of cheap cologne and the combination makes you weak in the knees. “Let me take you out.”

It’s the same demand that you’ve heard so many times now, but this time, it feels more serious, more meaningful with a hint of desperation. In the kitchen light, you can see just how silky his raven locks are and you grip your phone and the fabric of your t-shirt to resist the urge to run your hands through them.

“I’m listening,” you jest with a practiced air.

That wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, scar adding a devilish flair to his features, and your stomach burns with the realization that he’s too cocky for his own good, and you’ve unfortunately grown to like it.

“Shiu has tickets for something here called…football? He’s taking your cousin and has two extra tickets. Come with me and show me how to win.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves your mouth and your stomach flips at the genuine confusion on his face. “We don’t participate in the game. We watch it. But it’s fun.”

“All the more reason for you to come with me.”

“I…”

It’s a compelling argument, all of it is. And you want to, you really want to give this a shot and just be vulnerable for once. Because Toji seems like the kind of man who would let you be just who you are and would never make you feel lesser than about it.

The feel of his large hands cupping your cheeks pulls you out of your thoughts, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are mesmerizing, like the color of pine trees right before the sun sets and you feel yourself weakening completely.

“One date, princess.”

The deep timbre of his voice does little to help you and it’s worse because it’s just how he fucking talks. You’re not a royal, and you don’t have land, lots of money, or power, but you can tolerate ‘princess’ if it’s coming from his mouth.

Just one date. You deserve it. You’ve earned the reward.

You wave away his hands from your face just so you can breathe a little easier. He chuckles but gives you your space, and makes his way to the door that you usher him towards.

“Fine. Make sure you bring cash because it’s easier at the concession stands. I want a pretzel…and a hot dog.”

He snickers as he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring most of his face except for the ethereal glow of his eyes. His teeth shine from his bright smile and you roll your eyes in response before watching him open your door.

“Toji?” you call, your voice softer…apprehensive.

He turns around to watch you shuffle to him, your feet and legs cold against the chill from the open door. You hand him your phone wordlessly and he takes the hint to insert his number. When he’s finished, you open your mouth to speak, lips shaping words that won’t come out—words you want to say. But you can’t. Not yet. Maybe one day.

For now, you throw him an annoyed eyebrow lift and grumble. “Parking is a real bitch, so pick me up early.”

You avert your gaze, frustrated at yourself for sounding so mean as usual. Because that’s just who you are. The bitter, mean—

A finger beneath your chin lifts your gaze to him and he kisses you full on the mouth, slow and reassuring, minty breath sliding into your mouth when he nips your bottom lip. The self-deprecating voice in your head finally quiets, smothered by a pillow held down by his scarred hands.

When he pulls away, that stupid smirk is on his face, but it’s not as teasing, and your heart does something weird in your chest that makes you swallow hard.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies finally to your demand.

You watch his eyes take in your form from head to toe before he kisses you quickly once more and ducks into the rain.

When you finally get your Chinese and place it on the counter to dig in, your eyes land on the container that was in Toji’s hands from earlier.

You peek inside, and your heart does that weird thing again in your chest when you see a heaping slice of the yellow cake that you never got to have a week ago.

Thanks for reading! You can find the sequel here!

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tteokdoroki · 10 months ago

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THE AITA UNIVERSE - series masterlist.

✩ — r/about. a collection of intertwining stories set in a reddit thread inspired universe. where the actions of one satoru gojo create a ripple in the lives of various jujutsu kaisen characters.

✩ — r/warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, angst, fluff, dark content. set in the same universe, multiple aus, read all to understand others. each fic comes with its own separate warnings. fem / afab!readers.

✩ — r/things to note. yay !! a masterlist for all of my AITA inspired fics. i hope you like em!! - ao3 ver ⋆ m.list ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

╰₊✩ ONE. IF ITS ONLY A TOUCH, AITA? - satoru gojo.

TLDR: “but one day, she just grew up…and i haven’t been able to look at her the same.” satoru gojo never meant to fuck his best friend’s little sister. he never meant to make her fall in love him. he never meant to fall in love with her. satoru doesn’t want anyone to know, suguru has no idea and she wants to tell the whole world…does that make him the asshole? … ( 46.5K )

╰₊✩ TWO. THE PERFECT SHADE OF PURPLE - suguru geto.

TLDR: “i buy her gifts like i would for my sister and she likes them. we recently fucked at her place of work, i know it’s wrong but i just can’t stop.” suguru geto never thought he’d end up here. in a new city with a new job and a new life. he never wanted to lose his little sister to his best friend. he never wanted to replace her. never wanted to fuck someone who looked exactly like her. but here you are, and geto can’t help but want you the same way he wants her. he just had to get that off his chest… ( 11.4K )

╰₊✩ THREE. THIRD TIME’S A CHARM - kento nanami.

TLDR: “my coworker is a wonderful person. they’re kind and sweet. they care a lot about others. recently, i’ve been having some…less than platonic feelings for them and i don’t know how to handle it." kento nanami never cared for workplace shenanigans. he never took his mind off of work. and he never thought he would develop feelings for his coworker, nor expect for them to feel the same way about him. what happens when he misses your three attempts to ask him out? perhaps reddit will know... ( 5.5K )

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #geto x reader #geto smut #tw: dark content #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki

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reginaaxxwrites · 1 year ago

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It Took Time (Fred Weasley)

This was been in my draft for months already. I decided to finally post it. This story contains 6.2k words. Enjoy!

*****

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader (With a little bit George x Fem!Reader)

Warning: IT CONTAINS SMUT (Guys, I know this is the first time I released smut fanfiction. I just hope this one is good enough. I did not intend this story to have smut, but there you go. Enjoy your meal.)

*****

How do I start this?

I am madly in love with George Weasley. Yes, the famous George Weasley who always gets into trouble along with his brother, Fred Weasley. It was hard liking someone inside your circle of friends.

I tried not to be obvious about my feelings for him. I try to act casual because it's my way of controlling myself to burst my emotions when I'm with him. But sometimes I just can't help myself from showing him.

George would always sit beside me and talk about everything. Like his favorite spell or his memorable pranks. With every word he says, I can't help but get lost in it. I stare at him with dreamy eyes. And even if I get lost in his words, I still understand everything he said and it always piques my interest. I'll never get tired of his stories.

Unlike his brother, George seems to be more reserved. I don't know how to explain it but without Fred, he wouldn't be as chaotic as he is today. I guess they just complete each other.

"I think he fancies you," Angelina whispered beside me. I nudged her and rolled my eyes.

"I think not. Now, shut up and let me do homework." I continued to write on my parchment paper.

"Boringgg." She yawned.

I would be lying if I say I didn't think that he fancies me. I mean, it's possible. Or maybe I just like to assume things and feed my delusions. Because there are times he would flirt, but I don't know if that was intentional or if it's not.

"Damn you, Angelina." I glared at her. She looks confused as to why I cursed at her.

"I am mad. I really fancy him. And I can't do something about it." I buried myself on the table.

"Then confess to him. You'll never know until you initiate the move to tell him." She's right but what if I have been wrong all this time? That he simply just sees me as his friend.

George Weasley, why are you so hard to read?

"So... Any ideas how will you confess to him?" Angelina leaned on the table with a teasing smirk placed upon her lips.

"Shut it." I tried to ignore her but she was too clever to know it'll just keep bothering me and in the end, I would talk about it.

"Oh, I don't know, Angelina!" I slammed my quill and looked at her. I noticed that the Common Room went silent, so I looked around. They were all looking at me.

Okay, maybe I slam my quill too loud and too hard. I gave them my apology look and went on about what they were doing a while ago.

"Whoa, calm down, girl. You know I think it's unnecessary to confess--"

"But you just said a while ago?!" I am upset. Because it's been frustrating since then when I started to like him.

"I know. But listen to me. Everyone in this room knows you fancy him. Even his twin teases you about it. I'm sure George knows it too somehow. Maybe he just acts dumb because like you, he doesn't want to assume things."

"So, I should confess to him?"

"It's not like it's your obligation to do so. But if it's what you want. If it's the only way to stop you from overthinking then go. Take the risk or lose the chance, they say." Angelina smiled at me. She just knew the right thing to say.

I'm scared.

As the day goes by, I intend to show that I like him. But I'm not sure if he can tell. I'm not good with words. Never was. I'm starting to stutter, I can't even look at his eyes when I talk to him. I'm nervous whenever he's around.

Poor George doesn't know what I was feeling. How I was acting weird when he sits beside me during class and in the Great Hall.

If I don't tell him sooner, I'll forever look dumb in front of him.

"I can't tell him," I whispered to myself. Maybe it's because it's too soon. George and I recently got close this year because he joined me in playing exploding snaps during the first day of our sixth year. Ever since then, we just talk and talk.

"Hey, Longbottom." I knew I recognized that voice. I looked to see George making his way beside me.

"George." I greeted with a faint smile.

"I was looking for you."

"You are?" Why was he looking for me? Millions of possibilities went through my mind about why he was looking at me.

"Yes, I am. Lee was telling me about our paper and told me to get you so we could start at the Library." Oh. Of course, our research paper.

"You? When did George Weasley suddenly talk about boring stuff? What piques your interest?" I teased him and he just laughs.

Damn, his laughter. It's making my stomach churn or whatever it is.

"Well for one, Lee wanted to finish this paper so he could still be commenting in the upcoming Quidditch. Because Godric knows how bad his marks are."

"Aren't yours bad as his?" I raised my eyebrow at him.

"Rude but yes. That's one, no, two. And lastly, we know the kind of nerd you are and how you like to finish the given tasks as soon as possible. Aren't we making this easy for you, Longbottom?" He was grinning and looking at me. I swear I could feel my whole face turning into a beet red.

"Fine, Weasley." I took my stuff as he leads the way through the Library where Lee is waiting for us.

Once we entered the Library, Lee waves us over to the table where he was and books are already opened. I sat beside him while George took the seat in front of us.

"You do realize we still have a month to do this paper, right? We don't have to start right away." I told him while I bring out my notebooks and quills and ink.

"Who are you and what have you done to Y/N?" Lee acted surprised as I rolled my eyes at him.

"I mean, the sooner we finish this, the better. Don't you agree, George?" He looked at his best friend who nodded and grinned like an idiot.

"I feel like you two are messing with me." I glared at them.

"Whaaat?"

"Never," George answered.

I didn't push the subject any longer and started to skim the books Lee placed on our table. I guess, it is better to have this paper finished.

Later that night, I told Angelina how my day and her day went like we always do before going to bed.

"Have you decided?" Angelina asked while she was helping me brush my hair. We were both looking at each other in our reflection in the mirror.

"It's only a month since I started liking him. Don't you think it's too soon?" I was already playing with my necklace's pendant which was given by my mother. I did this a lot of times whenever I'm nervous.

My best friend held both of my shoulders and gave me an assuring smile.

"Then take your time. I'm sure you'll get the courage to tell him. I mean, we're Gryffindors, are we?"

"We are."

It was getting worst.

Exams are coming soon and I cannot focus. His image comes into my mind and I can't focus. I really need to tell him. I should, it would help me clear my thoughts. It was now or never.

I grabbed my sweater before leaving the Common Room and looked for the red-haired male almost everywhere in the castle. Then, I remembered they were supposed to be at the Courtyard today.

When I finally saw the guy I was looking for, I didn't waste any moment and grabbed his wrist. I heard some of the students whistling and teasing us, including his brother while I look for a quiet place where we can talk.

"Is something the matter, Y/N?" He looked into my eyes, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I... I--there's something I need to tell you..." I could faint at any moment because my hands were cold and shaking.

Deep breaths, Y/N. You can do this.

"Y/N--"

"I like you. It's bad, I know. We became friends not long ago. It was getting worst and I can't just sit still and do nothing about it. You don't have to like me back. And I understand if...if you don't want to be friends with me anymore..." I could feel my cheeks getting wet from my tears.

Ha, why am I crying?

I'm frustrated and confused because, for the first time, he's the first guy who is gentle toward me. I couldn't look at him even though I want to see his reaction. I'm scared.

"I don't know what to say... It's not like every day I received confessions like this. But..." He took a step closer to me. "Could you give me time? To think about, I mean."

I didn't answer him instead, I nodded. I tried to wipe my tears but a hand stopped me and gave me a handkerchief.

"Here. Don't cry."

I went back to the Common Room and saw Angelina waiting for me. She saw how red my eyes are and quickly went over to me. She embraced me, comforting me in her arms.

"How did it go?" She asked as we enter our dorm room. We sat in my bed and she tried to fix my face.

"I do not know. He told me to give him time. But Godric knows he won't talk about that conversation again unless I initiate it."

I tried to avoid George every time we cross the hallways, Angelina would sit beside me during classes and never left my side.

I was fixing my things when suddenly the door slammed hard. I turned to look around to see Angelina panting hard as if she had run all the way into our dorm room.

"Angelina! Are you all right? You look like you ran--"

"That's because I ran all the way in here." She took off her scarf and throw it on her bed.

"You need to talk to him." She firmly said to me. I looked away.

"Y/N, it's more painful to leave a question not answered than get rejected. I cannot stand my two best friends avoiding each other when they only got to be friends before the term started." She took my hand and helped me to stand up.

"But..."

"I don't want to get your hopes up. But I heard him and Lee talked about you. He told Lee that you had a chance but--"

"Nothing comes good after 'but'." I joked.

"I know. But he's scared, Y/N. He doesn't want to hurt you. If you talk to him now... You might help him to chase away anything that scares him from being with you. You need to take another risk."

Another risk...

"He's in the Common Room. Talk to him, Y/N. If it doesn't work out then I'm here for you. Always." She kissed my cheeks and pulled me out of the room. We took downstairs and saw the three of them.

He was laughing together with his best friends, Lee and Fred. Angelina went over to them and the two boys stood up. They both looked at me and smiled. The boys and Angelina left the room, leaving me and George.

"Y/N."

"George."

"Am I an idiot for liking you this much? Because if I am, then I must be the most idiotic of all idiots." I fake laughed but he didn't. His face showed an expression I'd never seen before. It was dark. It feels like he took my breath away.

He took steps closer to me.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I am ready to be with someone. I don't want to hurt you because you are one of the most important people in my life." I saw how he wanted to touch me or take my hand. But something was stopping him. It's like he can't take the risk of touching me like I'm fragile. He thinks that once he touches me, I'm going to break. He is scared of hurting me more.

"I'm sorry for making you wait for nothing."

"No, I get it. And I'm sorry... For avoiding you, for acting like I didn't know you, or pretending like we weren't friends at all after I did something that made you feel uncomfortable." I gave him a faint smile.

"I hope we can still be friends."

"We are friends, George. We always will be." our eyes never left looking at each other until the clock struck midnight.

"Good night, Weasley. I'll see you tomorrow." I started to walk away. I didn't bother to wait for his response.

"Good night." I heard him say before I reach the top of the stairs to look at him one last time before entering into my dorm room.

The rejection helped me to calm my thoughts. To stop me from assuming but the sudden actions from him never stopped. How he makes sure I don't get sweaty and hot from the sun's heat. Or when it rains he casts a spell to make an umbrella and we would share it.

I don't get him.

How can I move on when his words are contradicting his actions? Why does he keep making me a fool?

"What're you three doing?" I saw the twins and Lee brewing something in their cauldron. Potions ingredients were everywhere. If McGonagall saw this mess they would've been sent to detention straight away.

Bananas.

Newt Spleens

An orange snake.

A green leaf.

"Fred and George Weasley! You're making an aging potion! And you, Lee Jordan, tell me why am I not surprised that you're also a part of this?" I know what they're trying to do. They're going to try and trick the Goblet of Fire.

"Of course, you could tell by looking at the ingredients. Brilliant, isn't she?" Fred grinned like an idiot.

"No need to state what's always been obvious, Forge." He commented on his brother. They continued to mix the potion as if I wasn't there to scold them which I am debating on it.

"Have you decided?" Lee asked.

"What?"

"It's painful to look at you when you're trying to decide whether to tell McGonagall or you'd rather help us finish this potion." He explained.

"Actually... I'm not. Because this is stupid. Dumbledore cast a spell around the Goblet. You cannot trick the Goblet of Fire or Dumbledore." I lectured them but they just snickered.

These boys.

"No wonder Hermione worships the ground you walk, Longbottom." Fred teased me as I rolled my eyes at him.

"You three are going to regret it," I warned them but they just seem not to care.

"And thank you for the warning." The twins said in chorus.

"But"

"you know us--"

"breaking the rules." They gave me their most mischievous smiles.

I looked at Lee and he just shrugged. "What they said."

The next day, we were in the Great Hall during our free time. Hermione sat beside me, reading her book while I helped my brother with his assignment.

"You're joking," I told my brother. He looked at me, confused.

"You don't need my help in Herbology, Neville. You have high marks than I was when I'm in your year. Have confidence in yourself."

"Really?" I pinched his cheeks as I nod at his question.

Suddenly we heard laughter and looked to see the three pig brains. They went over in our direction while holding a small bottle containing the potion.

"Done it." Fred showed us the potion. I rolled my eyes at him while Hermione was trying to stop them.

"Honestly, don't even try," I whispered to her but she continued.

"It's not going to work." Hermione sang the words as the twins went closer to her. Fred looking at her, closely as well as George.

"Oh, really, Granger?" Fred smirked at her. Hermione tried to explain what I already told them last night.

And of course, they didn't listen to her and drank the potion. She looked at me, annoyed at the three boys. I mouthed her 'I told you, so.' before she went back to her book. Harry and Ron seem to be fascinated by the trick.

After they drank the potion, they stepped inside the circle and the students clapped and cheered them on.

Oh, now I'm curious what's going to happen. I watched them put their paper in the Goblet. We saw nothing happen to them so the students clapped in amazement. Of course, I believed that something is still going to happen.

And something did happen.

"Argh!" Lee, Fred, and George flew out of the circle as they aged into an old man. Peals of laughter filled the entire Great Hall. I couldn't help but also laugh. They tried to punch each other and put the blame on one another.

Later that day, Angelina and I decided to visit them in the Hospital Wing. They were finally going back to their age. Well, almost.

"I'd say a beard looks good on you, Weasley." I joked as I sat beside his bed. I touched his beard as he chuckled.

"I still look like a thirty-year-old man." He smiled.

"Better than looking like an eighty-year-old man."

"Ouch. I expect to still look handsome at that age." He placed his right arm on his left chest as if he was struck in the heart.

"Are you? I didn't take a good look. I was busy laughing earlier." I teased him and Godric, I hated when he gave me that smirk on his lips. I want to rip it.

Calm down, Y/N.

"At least tell me I made a perfect potion. Don't want to disappoint a potion master."

"You... You were never bad at potions, George Weasley." I gave him a gentle smile and he just kept quiet looking at me.

"I was already rejected and yet I still hope for us to happen." I buried my face in my pillow. My best friend sat beside me.

"Why do I feel like you're about to try and confess to him one more time?" I know she was teasing but damn her because she is giving me an idea to do so.

"Oh, no. I am only joking, Y/N! Don't even think about it." She said, firmly. "I swear I'm this close to swinging a bat on a bludger and then aiming it in his face."

"Please don't."

"I won't. Only because you said 'please'."

"What am I supposed to do? I expect these feelings would go away after getting rejected. Now, I'm only falling deeper." I'm starting to cry again out of frustration.

"Nothing. Just nothing." She looks at me as I sat down properly at my bed.

"You are not the problem here, Y/N. He's the one to blame. Putting you in this position where you should be moving on. Because Godric's sword, if only you know how boys from Durmstrang and Beauxbaton look at you every time you walked past them."

"What?"

"See. You don't need to set your eyes only on one boy who rejected you but proceeds to act as if he fancies you. Find other guys. Move on."

"But what if he does like me? He's just not ready like he said..."

"That's bullshit. It doesn't matter whether you're ready or not. If you like someone, you'd still pursue them, take the risk even if it's scary. Just like you did. Clearly, he's giving you mixed signals." Angelina sounded angry. She was annoyed like she wanted to punch George if she ever saw him.

"Would you get mad if I told you that I just sent him a letter? Confessing to him the second time?" I pout as she turns her face into a sour one.

"Y/N LONGBOTTOM!" She was angry. Really angry. "What exactly did you write in that letter?!"

"That I still fancy him. That if I didn't receive an owl from him later this evening, it means... All he did meant nothing to him."

"Please swear to me that this will be the last thing you will do." She just sighed.

"I promise."

"Then, are you sure you're ready for whatever response you receive from him?" Angelina looked worried for me. That's why I am lucky to have her by my side.

"Yes."

As expected from him, I didn't receive any owls from him. I slept through the night so I don't have to cry until it reaches morning.

My best friend and I went to breakfast, avoiding that one Weasley. While I was eating and chatting with Angelina, someone poked my sides. I look to see Fred, grinning as he sat beside me.

"Morning." He greeted us.

"Is there something you need, Fred?" Angelina raised an eyebrow at her friend.

"Nothing. I just wanted to eat breakfast." He shrugged his shoulders while placing a toast on his plate and into mine.

"I can get my own toast." I sounded mean but I didn't mean to.

"Looks like someone had a bad sleep."

"She did, Fred." Angelina rolled her eyes at him.

"I see... Well, let me just enjoy my breakfast, at least." Fred grinned like an idiot.

The twins were a bit mean when they started a bet between Harry and Cedric. Poor Harry seemed to look like he wants to drop out of the Tournament. Sadly, he can't because it's part of the rules.

And then there's Fred, who would always pester me around. He would poke my sides, even if he goddamn well knows that's my tickle spot. He would open up to me easily, telling me how he had a crush on Angelina during our 4th year. But stopped pursuing her because my best friend clearly doesn't look interested in dating him.

We became closer. We became more than acquaintances. We were close friends.

We became inseparable.

Angelina noticed it. How happy I am. I was blooming, she said. She never saw me this happy. And she was wondering why but didn't bother to have it answered because all she cares about was my happiness.

"You're an idiot, Fred." I scold him. "And stop that betting game you and your twin started. It only brings war upon Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors."

"You know, I've noticed you kept saying 'your twin'." He changed the subject. I looked away and watch the birds fly into the gloomy sky.

We are both in Black Lake to get some fresh air.

"I do not know what you mean."

"Damn, I know he rejected you. But I get it. You see, the problem with George is that he's afraid of women. He once liked Angelina but he did nothing about it." I was surprised that George liked Angelina. This is the first time I am hearing this.

"You both liked the same girl?"

"It always happens. A bit frustrating, honestly. But at times like that, I'm willing to give up the woman I like for him. We're twins but he's the younger one so..."

"You let go."

"Always. For my twin's happiness."

"What about yours?" I felt pity for him. I know I shouldn't because he wouldn't like that.

"George's happiness is my happiness." He smiled at me. But I know it was a sad one. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"A true Gryffindor." I felt him chuckle.

"So are you."

No.

Oh, no.

No... I can't possibly be falling for him now. This would be an outrage. I can't.

It's only been three months ever since I stopped liking George. Three months since then I have not talked to him.

"You and Fred seemed gotten closer. Both of you suited more perfectly." Angelina, once again, I know she's joking but she isn't helping.

Does she need to know? Must she know? I don't know. She might make fun of me.

Godric, it feels like a sin to fall for Fred.

"Oh, dear... I know that look. You like Fred." She placed her hand on her lips and went beside me. "Tell me everything." She doesn't look disgusted. Instead, she looks like she's excited.

I told her everything I know and she can't remove her smile ever since I started talking.

"Godric! I knew it!" She was giggling. "So what do you intend to do?"

"Nothing. I can't let him know. He can't know. I won't confess. I won't tell him anything." I mumbled.

"Right. Let him be the one to develop his feelings for you. You don't have to do anything this time." She smiled and pulled me into a hug.

"You should never feel guilty for liking someone. I pray that this time, Fred will do exactly the opposite George did to you. You two suit together, really."

"Thank you, Angelina. For everything."

"What friends are for?"

Professor McGonagall announced that there will be a ball. The ball is only exclusive for the fourth year and above.

Our head of house started to prepare us for the ball. She called all Gryffindors from the fourth year and above to practice our dance steps. So we don't look stupid on the day of the event.

Ron and his friends joked about something while looking at Eloise Mignon. I felt my insides get irritated and then McGonagall called him over for a dance. Fred and George made fun of their brother as well as Harry.

"Now, boys. Find your partners." I saw my brother the first one to rise on his chair. I smiled at him and asked Hermione to dance with him. She gladly accepted my brother's offer.

The other boys finally went to our side. Fred reached my wrist and pulled me on the dance floor.

"Really? No asking but pull the woman you see first? How gentleman of you, Weasley." I joked as he laughs at my words.

"Pleasures all mine, Longbottom." He winked at me as he spun me and then dipped me down while his hand was on my waist and the other one on my hand.

I saw George looking in our direction while he was dancing with Angelina. I immediately broke our eye contact and focus on Fred.

"Smooth." I smiled. "Who do you plan to ask on the ball?"

"Maybe Angelina? Or some girls from other houses." He answered. I got to admit that it broke my heart a little. I thought that it might occur to him that he can ask me.

"And you?"

"No one."

"I thought you were waiting for George to ask you." He teased but ignored it.

"Well, you thought wrong." I didn't mean to sound annoyed but I am. I don't why my mood changes suddenly. "Sorry..."

"Hey, don't be. I heard girls tend to get stressed on upcoming occasions like this." I unbelievably looked at him. "What? I mean, has anyone asked you?"

"That's a bit rude to ask a girl." I raised my eyebrow at him.

"So, no one--"

"Fred!" I playfully hit his arm. "Of course, someone had asked me. But I turned them down."

"May I ask why?"

"I'm waiting for someone to ask me." I could feel my cheeks burn from embarrassment.

"George, then." He continued to tease me to his twin.

"Please stop." He just laughs at me and continued to dance me away.

The day of the Yule Ball came.

The person I wanted to ask me, is going with someone from Beauxbaton. While my best friend is going with George.

"Stop fussing over your dress, Y/N." Angelina scolded me while she tries to adjust the back part of my dress.

"Must I attend?" I groaned.

"Yes! Because this might be the last time you'll experience this as a teenager. Now do me a favor and have fun." She finished fixing my dress and place an accessory on my hair.

"You look beautiful."

"I look like a clown."

"I know you feel bitter because of him but please don't let it ruin your night. Besides going without a date has its perks." She winked at me while I got up and took my white shawl to keep me warm for the night.

"Like what?"

"You can flirt with any guy!"

"Funny. Because you know exactly enough that I can't flirt." I rolled my eyes. "So...you and George?"

"It was a last minute. He just happened to ask me in front of Lee and Fred just to prove to Ron and Harry that they can ask any girl to the dance. We're going as friends." I can't help but smile when Angelina told me what happened.

"Idiots." Both of us giggled the way out of the dorm and went downstairs.

We saw George patiently waiting for his date, together with Lee. George's eyes were on me instead of Angelina's. I immediately looked away and pretended that didn't happen.

"You look stunning." He complimented her. I went beside Lee who smiled at me.

"Who's the lucky girl?" I asked Lee. The two started walking and we followed.

"Oh, I'm going alone."

"Why?"

"I'm having trouble who to ask. So, I decided not to come with a date." I immediately understood what he meant.

"How about you? I heard you received a lot of requests and yet you rejected every one of them." Lee gave me his playful smirk as I rolled my eyes at him.

"Piss off, Jordan. Maybe I decided to come alone just like you did."

"An answer that I'll never believe it's true." I slapped his arm, and we laughed it off as we reached the Great Hall.

Students are already interacting with each other. Giving compliments on how they looked good and the dress robes they were wearing. Some were already dancing while others are eating appetizers and drinking butterbeer.

While Lee keeps talking about asking the girl from Beauxbaton to dance and telling me exactly how he will approach the girl. A tall red-haired caught my gaze. Even though everyone can't tell who is who. I know and I can tell.

He looks handsome in his robes. That long hair he tried not to cut for a new look. But he looks good whether his hair is long or short. I pray not that he will not look in my way. Because I know what he'll do if he does. And I am not yet ready.

"Why don't you go and ask her already? I'm thirsty so I'll go fetch some drinks, okay?" I push my friend towards the girl. He didn't utter another word so I made my way to the tables.

I wasn't feeling to drink anything but water. After I got myself some water, I went further away from the crowd and the dance floor. I hid from my friends because I didn't want them to adjust to me. I want them to have fun without feeling obligated to make me feel better.

A famous band, Weird Sisters, started to take the floor. All of the students laugh and dance the night away. I saw two familiar Gryffindors, who also seems not to enjoy the event.

"And here I thought you went for the evening." I look up to see him lending his hand to me.

"And I thought no one will ever notice that I'm gone."

"It's already impossible to not notice you, love." He was still waiting for me to take my hand. I was hesitating, scared even.

"Were... Were you looking for me?" I asked.

"From the moment the ball started. But it seems you were hiding from the crowd." He answered. I took his hand and then led me to the dance floor.

"I might start to think you fancy me." I joked. He pulled me closer, placing his hands around my waist. His face was close to mine. I could smell his cologne, his breath. I could feel him, his warmth. My heart was racing.

"What if I am?" He answered in his low voice. His forehead rested on mine, never breaking his gaze on me.

"You're playing pranks on me."

"Maybe I am."

"Then stop."

"I can't."

His eyes kept looking into mine and my lips. He was moving closer as if he was about to kiss me. Maybe he was. When the music stopped playing so did he.

"I'm sorry." He gently pulled away from me.

"What for?"

"This." I felt sharp in my gut. "Shit. That's not what I meant."

"Clearly, it is. Good night, Fred." I turned my back on him and ran outside the Great Hall. I didn't expect him to follow me through the Courtyard.

"Y/N, please. Listen to me."

"I get it. I know you feel sorry for me. I know that the girl you asked should be the one you held earlier like that. So, why did you even bother to look for me, Fred? I am just your friend, aren't I?" My face was burning in anger but it was also cold because it was snowing. I was stupid for forgetting my coat in the Great Hall because I tried to run away from him.

"You are my friend. And you like my brother. So, you see? I'll be damned if he knew I was about to kiss you."

"Coward."

"What?"

"George made it clear he didn't like me. But I know it's also wrong to like you after George." Tears started to fall on my cheeks. "Merlin's beard, you are his brother, his twin. What will they think of me once they know I like you when not long ago I was trying to chase your brother?"

"We can't argue again because of a girl. I like you. Hell, I dreamt about holding you close to me, kissing you. Some of it came true, it was enchanting while it lasts." He tried to laugh it off. There was pain in his voice, his eyes were longing for me.

"I think I'm in love with you. You saw and accepted me. Understood me and my messy life. You have been patient with me. But I can't be with you when I know he's starting to fall for you."

"That's not true."

"It is. You don't have to believe in me. But you will when he tells you. I'm encouraging him to. So, please. Let all your feelings for him fall back in."

"No. You don't get to decide for me. And you don't get to set free all the things so that your brother could get it. You may care for his happiness, but I care for yours." I stomp all my way to him. It was hard to walk wearing my gown and the heavy snow on the ground.

"George had his chance with me. He took that for granted. You don't have to fix things for him. I understand you love your brother, unconditionally. Because I also have a brother that I'm willing to bet my life on. But I know he can take care of himself. He can make his own choices. I guide him but that's just it. His actions, his consequences to face."

"Y/N..."

"You're a good brother, Fred." I smiled at him.

"She's right, Gred." Fred and I turned to see George walking toward us.

"It turns out this potion worked." He showed us an empty bottle of invisibility potion.

"I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't deserve anything at all you have to give everything so that I could have it. You don't have to sacrifice everything." He placed his hand on his brother's shoulder.

George then looked at me. He removed his coat and placed it on my shoulder.

"I guess I liked you a little too late." He placed his hand on the top of my head and when closer to my ear.

"Thank you." He messed up my hair and left the two of us.

Fred took my hand as he removed his brother's blazer. We followed him when Fred threw the coat on him.

"She doesn't need it." He said and he led me somewhere more quiet. I heard George laugh as we disappear in his sight.

We entered an empty classroom. He closed the door behind him and muttered spells on it. I was starting to get nervous.

"Fred?"

He turned to look at me. It was like seeing a whole different version of him.

"Sorry. Are you still cold?" He went close to me and held both sides of my arms. Caressing them to make me feel warm.

"A little." My eyes found his.

We were about to kiss and this one would be it.

His lips found mine. He was gentle but started to get rough when I kissed him back, trying to follow him as if he was leading me. He lifted my weight which I was surprised by because I have a plump body. I don't have a toned and thin body like any other girl. And yet he still managed to lift me up as he placed me on a table. His rough, huge hands roam and grabbed my thighs. A moan escaped from my mouth.

"Don't hold it back in." He whispered between our kisses.

"Someone could hear us."

"I cast a spell, love. No one can hear you. So be loud as you can be." He bit my lip and then his kisses went down on my neck. I could feel he was trying to hold back leaving me marks.

His body rested between my thighs. I could feel him getting hard every time he pushed his body while he kissed me. He was trying so hard not to undress me so he stayed his hands on my bare thighs.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me to go on. Whatever you want. I'll do it. Tell me." He stopped kissing me. His lips were plump and had lipstick stains. My hand went over to his buttoned shirt and unbuttoned the first one.

"Do not stop." With that, his hand on my thigh went higher to grab my ass. I grabbed his wrist while my other hand tried to mess up his hair.

"God, you're breathtaking." While kissing my neck, he slowly unzipped the back of my dress. I felt the warmth of his hand on my bare back. I wasn't wearing any bra so it was easy for him to access my breasts.

He grabbed my breast while his tongue played with my nipple. I arched back in pleasure, making it easy for him to do what he was doing.

"Fred..."

"Be patient, darling." He pulled away from me and completely removed my dress, leaving me only with my undergarment. He also removed his top as I was still sitting on the table. I was awed to see him topless. Quidditch training did his body justice.

He went over to me once more to kiss me.

"Open your legs." His voice filled with such dominance that I didn't hesitate to do what I was told. He continued to kiss me, massaging my breasts. Those kisses slowly went down my neck, chest, stomach...and down to my...

"Fred!"

"Do you want to stop?" He asked. I was thankful for making sure I still want to continue.

"It's just..."

"What is it, love? Tell me."

"Must you kiss me down there?" I looked away because I just asked a dumb question. I heard him chuckle and placed his hand on my chin to make me look at him.

"Do you trust me?"

I nodded at him and he smiled, kissing my forehead for assurance.

"I'm preparing you so you won't have to feel pain."

He slowly removed my undergarment and kissed my pelvis as he went down to my womanhood. As soon as I felt his lips and tongue on my folds, I arched back. The empty classroom was filled with my moans and his kisses. I was starting to feel like I'm going to explode so I grabbed his hair. He stopped.

"Not yet." He licked his lips and unbuckled his trousers. I saw how huge he was. I was starting to get scared, wondering if it'll fit inside me.

"Do you still want to continue?" He asked one more time.

"Will it hurt?"

"Maybe. You have to tell me. May I have your permission?"

"Yes."

He slowly entered his length inside me. I winced in pain but knew Fred that was trying to be gentle as much as possible. When the whole of him was already inside me, he kissed my cheeks and tried to whisper sweet nothings. He was slowly thrusting, making sure I was feeling all nothing but pleasure before fasting his pace.

He continued to kiss me as his pace started to go fast. My moans were getting louder as well as his groans. He keeps kissing my neck and shoulders, hugging me ever so tightly. We were both close to our climax. And when he did, he pulled it out.

He kissed my forehead and went over to pick up my clothes. He helped me to clean up before we put our clothes back on.

"Can you walk?" He asked when he saw me struggling to stand straight.

"It's a little sore down there," I tell him. He looked like he was sorry for what he did. I smiled and tiptoed to kiss his cheeks.

"I'll be gentle next time. I promise." He said and then placed his coat on my shoulder. "Warm enough?" He smirked at me.

I knew it was a lie when he told me he'd be gentle. Because he never was. Can't blame a man with this amount of energy.

*****

#character x reader #fanfiction #harry potter oneshot #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp one shot #harry potter #gryffindor #gryffindor x gryffindor #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley #george weasley #oneshot #george wealsey x reader #george weasley fanfiction #weasley twins

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absolutebl · 11 months ago

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hey, do you know of any BL-s similar to A boss and a Babe? I don't mean plot wise or setting but a bl with a similar uke (Cher). I feel like I haven't seen much or at all BL-s with an uke that's such a crackhead, so vital, positive, non dramatic, up for anything, vocal about feelings and love, the one who also kinda pursues when it's needed, that pushes boundaries etc etc

Huh, you mean like a GGG uke? (good giving game)

There are LOTS of crackheads... seek ye Japan. But that goes real fast into cringe, like Secret Crush On You.

The GGG part is where we fall down. This is a very new take on the archetype. Also non-dramatic, I mean it's a BL drama so dramatic is kinda the point.

I'll take a stab!

crackhead

vital & positive (sunshine)

pursues when it's needed (switchy)

non dramatic (good)

vocal about feelings and love (giving)

up for anything, pushes boundaries (game)

Fits all 6 criteria (but in their own countries' style):

All the Liquors (Korea)

Mr Heart (Korea)

Ocean Likes Me (Korea)

Be Loved In House I Do (Taiwan)

Love Sick (Thailand - bet you didn't see that one coming)

And now some that do their best satisfying 4 ore more of the above requirements.

Thailand

Everyone is just really dramatic in Thai BL.

Coffee Melody (sides 1,2,4,5,6)

Ghost Host, Ghost House (2,3,4,5,6)

Great Men Academy (if you count it 2,2,3,6)

Ingredients (2,3,4,5,6)

KinnPorsche (1,2,3,5,6)

Love By Chance 2 (1,2,5,6)

Love In the Air (PayuRain 1,2,5,6)

Love in Translation (2,3,5,6)

Make A Wish (1,2,3,5,6)

My School President (2,3,5,6)

My Tee (1,2,3,5,6)

Secret Crush On You (1,2,3,5,6)

Why R U? (2nd couple 1,2,3,5,6)

Taiwan

Seme/uke is always weak, queerness is more authentic so roles less prescribed and campy

DNA Says Love You (sides 1,2,3,6)

Kiseki Dear to Me (sides 1,2,3,6)

Stay By My Side (1,2,35,6)

Korea

Seme/uke is pretty weak, little to no crackhead, and everything will be more reserved and muted.

Some More (2,3,4,5,6)

The Eighth Sense (2,3,4,5,6)

Behind Cut (2,4,6)

Jun & Jun (2,4,5,6)

Long Time No See (2,3,4,5,6) but also LIES

Our Boarding House (2,3,4,6)

Oh My Assistant (1,2,3,6)

Tasty Florida (2,3,4,5,6)

The Lover (2,3,4,6)

Tinted With You (2,3,4,6)

Unintentional Love Story (2,3,4,5,6)

Why R U? (2nd couple 1,2,5,6)

Japan

But the ones it does have it REALLY leans into.

Seven Days (2,3,4,5)

If It's With You (2,3,4,5,6)

Restart After Come Back Home (2,4,5,6)

Silhouette of Your Voice (1,2,4,6)

Takara & Amagi (1,2,3,5)

My Memory is shot but???

Like Love from China might work.

Most stuff from the Philippines first some if not all.

Vietnam's My Lascivious Boss and You Are My Boy satisfy soem criteria.

Might also be worth reading

List dated Mid Dec 2023, ongoing BLs not included. If it aired after that date you should add it to the comments or something.

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softboynick · 10 months ago

Text

forged by fire and crafted with care

firstprince | Henry holds the high expectations of the Crown on his shoulders, and it crushes him to the point of self-doubt and self-sabotage. That is, until he finally chooses a life for himself and chooses to live truthfully. He refuses to hide among the shadows no longer. He is Henry Fox, and no one will take that away from him.

OR The story of Henry's bravery and journey towards happiness as told through different pieces of jewelry.

5.5k words, rwrb-compliant, henry-centric, based on this beautiful piece of artwork by @artofobsession

Also read on AO3

Bea makes him a bracelet of beads and thread when he is six years old. It’s pink and sparkly and fits loosely on his small wrist when she puts it on for him. He can spell his name out just fine—he tells his Papa he’s a big boy almost everyday—so he can see that his sister added beads to spell out his name.

H-E-N-R-Y.

He traces his fingers over the letters and the sparkly pink beads around his wrist. It’s very pretty.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a friendship bracelet, Henry. All my friends at school were making one, so I thought I could make one for you, too.”

“But you’re my sister.”

“Sisters can be your friend, too, silly.”

“Oh. Well. But I don’t want you to be my friend. I want you to be my best friend, Bea.”

His sister laughs, and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard—well, second best, next to his Papa’s voices when he tells him his bedtime stories.

“Okay, okay, fine! I’ll be your best friend, Hen. As long as you’re mine.”

That night, when he is all tucked in under the covers and in his warm pajamas, he traces the black, blocky letters of his name and smiles, big, unrestrained, and most importantly, happy. He doesn’t have to wonder what his grandmother truly thinks about boys who play with their sister’s dolls and wear pink, sparkly bracelets. That will happen another day.

For now, as he falls asleep with Bea’s friendship bracelet secured around his tiny wrist, he doesn’t have to worry about the entire world’s burdens bearing down on his shoulders just yet.

****

His grandmother gifts him a watch that sits heavy on his wrist. It is a present fit for a man—fit for a king (even though he is only the spare)—and at thirteen years of age, he is already expected to act like one. She tells him that the watch will build character. That it will finally make him focus on playing the part of the dutiful Prince of England.

“A prince’s wardrobe will not be complete without a solid timepiece,” she tells Henry as she passes the box to him on the evening of his thirteenth birthday, and her voice has yet to adopt the tinge of disappointment that always seemed to be reserved for her two youngest grandchildren. That will come at a later time.

While the craftsmanship is objectively beautiful, the watch is rather bulky, interlaced silver brackets for the wristband with a deep blue face, gold accented numbers, and sturdy hands fixed meticulously to its center. It is the kind of accessory a boy his age is expected to wear. If it is quiet enough, he can hear the solid ticks and tocks of the watch’s inner machinations, a foreboding countdown to something further down the line.

But the line doesn’t seem far enough, and he is sent to Eton that following fall. He is terrified.

He is a sensitive soul, or that is what he overhears his family, but mostly his grandmother, says about him. He doesn’t know what it means, but he guesses it has something to do with why he’s so poor at making friends, even if he is a prince. During the first few months at school, he struggles to open up to the other boys in his year, choosing instead to hide away in the library or in his dormitory and bury his nose in a book when he isn’t in his classes.

The extra-curriculars he is expected to accomplish break open his shell, but only just. It isn’t until Percy Okonjo forcibly inserts himself into his life that he starts to feel the armor around his heart begin to crack.

****

Pez is a whirlwind, a summer storm, a rogue wave violently crashing into a wall of stone. He barrels into his life and never leaves, taking him by the hand and showing him a new world beyond the palace walls. He chips away at his armored heart with relative ease, and Henry has no idea how he is able to let his sensitive soul be placated by this boy of ultimate exuberance. He is gregarious where he is not. He is the extrovert that somehow has given one look at Henry and decided to keep an introvert like him forever.

And somewhere along the line, he decides he wants to keep him, too.

Their later years at Eton are spent hopping between dormitories, with the other uppercrust boys in their year and above, who are one day going to run England to the ground. They sneak in liquor from their father’s cabinets, the head boys pointedly looking the other way so they can join in on the merriment. They do ridiculous, stupid things, and drink themselves even stupider.

For the first time in a while, he feels free.

Henry is absolutely sloshed from stolen vodka and sambuca shots when Pez suggests he stick a needle through his earlobes. At least he has the wits about him to ask him why.

“Because! It’s what the cool kids do, Hazza.”

“You are fucking mental. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Just live a little, darling! Look, I’ve done this before, so you just need to hold still, sit pretty, and let Auntie Pezza do all the work. And besides, don’t you just want to absolutely piss off your old Gran?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the rebellious part of him takes over, and he decides that yes, he does want to piss off the Queen of England . He doesn’t need much convincing, piss drunk and all, and against his better judgment, he takes another huge swig from the vodka bottle right before Pez pushes the needle into the fleshy part of his ear. He chases down another mouthful when Pez has to the other one, and all he’s thinking about is how horrified his Gran will be if she sees the right state he’s in now.

The alcohol does enough to mask the stinging pain, and everything becomes a right blur after that. When he wakes up hours later, head pounding and mouth dry as sandpaper, his ears are throbbing, the skin pink and angry, and there is a silver stud in each of his earlobes.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

****

His father leaves and the only thing left of him is his memories and the signet ring on his little finger, the one he had presented to him when he’d just turned eighteen. He presses his thumb hard against the ‘H’ engraved into the face of it, feeling the grooves etched into the metal and thinking about his father all the while. He can almost feel his warmth embedded in the metal, but he knows it is only his grief blinding him with wishful thinking and a vibrant imagination.

He twists the ring round and round, mimicking the downward spiral he feels himself succumbing to as he watches his father’s coffin being lowered into the ground.

Then, he loses a mother, a brother, and a sister not long after. Mama loses her heart. Pip loses his love. Bea loses herself. And he is all alone with nothing but the memories of his loving father to remind him of what he has lost.

The world is heavy on his shoulders, and he doesn’t know what else to do.

****

It’s his birthday, and he feels a little less like the world’s closing in on itself now that his psychiatrist has re-adjusted his medication. He still doesn’t sleep all that well at night, but it is still a start.

He doesn’t hear from his mother, but he does receive a message via Shaan to “buy himself something special” along with an envelope full of banknotes. He understands why she travels so much, but one can only do so much to distract themselves from the pain of losing a loved one. He tried. Bea tried. Even Philip tried. It’s been years, and his mother is not the same person he used to know.

He asks Bea to accompany him for lunch, their PPOs trailing a few paces behind them. He hopes he can use his birthday to establish some kind of normalcy since it is just the two of them. Twenty-two, after all, is just a number. There isn’t anything significant about the age. No extravagant milestones attached to its connotation. But still, there are only two things worth noting on the day he turns twenty-two years old: Bea is sober, and he is gay.

After lunch, Bea takes him shopping to make use of the money their mother sent to him to spend, but nothing catches his eye. That is, until they’re in an antique shop, and he sees a pearl necklace sitting in the display case.

The string of pearls is delicate, reminiscent of the friendship bracelet Bea made him all those years ago. It looks as if it is glowing, like tiny moons held together by a gossamer of stars, and he wonders, wistfully, how it would feel on his skin.

“Oh, Hen. It’s so beautiful. I think you should get it.”

Bea is the only one who knows who he truly is. She is the first one he tells, after all. She hadn’t judged him then, and she still doesn’t judge him now. In fact, she openly encourages him to explore the part of himself that he keeps hidden away because of the watchful eye of the Crown.

“I- I don’t know. It’s just- It isn’t fitting for a prince, is it.”

Even he can hear how defeated he sounds in his own ears. An echo of his grandmother’s biting tongue, tutting at his behavior like an ever-present devil. A prince like him would have never been allowed to wear, let alone have, a piece of jewelry so…feminine, so insinuating of a life he isn’t meant to lead, a life his own grandmother would never approve of. Heavy is the Crown he wears, and it is suffocating.

He leaves the shop empty-handed and heavy-hearted.

Days later, he finds a box addressed to him sitting on his bed. He lifts the lid and what rests inside it knocks the air right out of his chest.

“I know it’s a few days late, but…do you like it?”

“Bea…you didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t. I wanted to. You’re my best friend, Hen. I like seeing you happy.”

He looks down at the pearl necklace, delicate in his hands, and his gaze becomes blurry with tears.

“Can you…can you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Hen.”

They stand in front of the mirror as she helps him close the clasp around his neck, the pearls sitting perfectly, gently, against his collarbone, and the boy staring back at him looks inexplicably…happy.

****

The constant appearances and camera-ready smiles have slowly begun to whittle him down to a shell of himself. The engagements have only seemed to ramp up since his father’s death marked the beginning of the Fox family’s detriment. The Crown has a reputation to uphold, and so under the orders from the Queen herself, Henry is carted off around the world, as the family’s sole representative, to make sure everyone sees how normal and happy the royal family is, when truly, they are anything but.

But it all becomes too much eventually, and he sneaks off needing a moment alone, a moment to be Henry Fox and not Prince Henry of England. To breathe and not have the heavy weight of the Crown looming over him.

He buys the earrings on a whim. He tells the jeweler they are a gift for his mother as he watches her pack them into a small velvet box. She gushes to him about the pearls, telling him how they’re ethically farmed from their supplier in Japan. She explains how the cooler waters in which they’re farmed cause the pearls to grow more slowly, making them more compact and giving them more luster than the average pearl.

He simply smiles and nods, half-listening. He glances over his shoulder and sees the lone PPO he wrangled onto this impromptu journey and his equerry still stationed at the door.

He takes the bag, cream and discreet, and turns to leave immediately.

“Finished, Your Royal Highness?”

He wordlessly nods at Shaan and disappears out the door and into the black car waiting for him at the curb. When they arrive back at Kensington Palace, he goes to his room, feigning exhaustion as an excuse. Shaan fortunately leaves him be, letting him know that he does not have any more engagements for the rest of the day.

Henry sits on the edge of the bed, pulls out the small felt box containing the earrings and sets it down. He then reaches into his bedside table and pulls out the box that holds the necklace Bea had gotten for him on his twenty-second birthday and places it down next to the earrings.

He releases an unsteady breath and waits a beat, before getting up to check that the door is locked. He knows no one will bother him at this time of day—Shaan will make sure of it—but he still goes to check anyway. He takes both boxes to the dresser, the mirror sitting right above it. He takes the necklace out first and caresses the pearls with his fingertips. He doesn’t have Bea’s help this time, so it takes some moments of fumbling before he manages to clasp it around his neck. He runs his fingers along the smooth surface of the pearls once it’s secured, cool against his skin, and lets out another breath.

Then, he opens the second, smaller box. The hinges are smooth as he lifts the lid and reveals the pearl earrings sitting prettily on a bed of felt. He lifts one to examine it. The silver hoop is cool between his fingertips, and a droplet of pearl hangs from it with a chain of delicate filigree.

He takes extra care to put them on. The left ear goes on first, and then, the right. They slip right through the holes that have miraculously not closed up after years of not wearing any earrings.

He stares at himself in the mirror for a long moment and watches as his eyes turn bright with tears. They spark with a newfound confidence that had laid dormant for years, beaten out of him by his grandmother’s incessant rules and expectations. But he sees now, as he stands there adorned in pearlescent jewelry, that she was not successful.

This is Henry Fox. Not the Prince. Not the grandson of Queen Mary. And absolutely no one is allowed to take this away from him.

Continue on AO3

#firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb #rwrb fic #red white royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #henry is a pretty pretty princess #my fic

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imsoveryveryconfusedatlife · 2 months ago

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Tag Game: Writeblr Interview

Thanks @tildeathiwillwrite for the tag here!

I hesitate to tag as many people as this is one of those things where there’s no point in doing it twice but tagging:

@xenon-writes-sometimes, @rumeysawrites, @rivenantiqnerd, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @kaylinalexanderbooks, and an open tag!

This is going to be a long post so I’m adding a break here

Short stories, novels, or poems?

I cannot stand most poetry. Maybe it’s because I’m still in school and have to analyse it but I can’t deal with how abstract it can be. I want to write more short stories but my one and only WIP is probably gonna be closer to a novel, if and when I finish it.

What genre do you prefer reading?

Fantasy, especially high fantasy. Murder mysteries and detective stories in general are a close second. Most other genres are reserved for spin offs or fan fiction.

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

I make a plan that I then actively ignore my OCs force me to not use

What music do you listen to while writing?

Most of the time I listen to the one Reddit podcast I’ve listened to every episode of because I can zone out and I don’t miss anything important. This one is a bit of a bad habit because it distracts me, but EPIC the musical is my current hyperfixation and I listen to that constantly as well.

Favorite books/movies?

Because I have the reading comprehension of an 11 year old we have Murder Most Unladylike (I would die for this series), its spin off the Ministry of Unladylike Activity, The Hunger Games but only really the first book, How to train your dragon but only really the Netflix show and the first movie (the books are great but I haven’t read them in 7 or 8 years and because they’re so different from the movies I’m not sure if I’d like them anymore)

Any current WIPs?

Gold, Greed and Gods which is a vaguely Victorian fantasy about the main cast trying to find a cult before it engulfs the world in literal chaos. And also magical shenanigans and timeline fuckery

Create a character description of yourself:

Honestly I’d rather not. Sorry!

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

No it kinda weirds me out. The closest I’ll get is asking my one irl mutual about their experiences with stuff that I (as a someone who is cishet and perisex) do not understand

Are you kill happy with your characters?

I’m not the biggest fan of angst so no. If anyone was gonna die you aren’t allowed to get attached to them so I don’t get attached them hence why the only dead characters in my WIP die before or very soon after it begins. That isn’t to say my characters aren’t affected, but I can only imagine any potential readers will be neither here or there about those characters.

Coffee or Tea while writing?

I don’t really like hot drinks but I hate the smell of coffee so tea?

Slow or fast writer?

A secret third thing which is I wrote 5000 words in 3 hours yesterday so for atleast the next week I won’t be able to string a sentence together

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

A healer would be fun? I wanna be a doctor so I guess that’s close enough. I cannot imagine I’d survive very long without my glasses/ contacts in any case.

Most fav book cliche:

Not really a book cliche but horny bard memes will never not be funny. I also love juxtaposition between characters, if done tastefully, eg. Ray of sunshine is best friends/ dating the grumpiest character alive. I also just love ray of sunshine characters in general. Also, calm/ happy go lucky/ mentor figure characters who have really high body counts and it’s just kind of an open secret are really fun.

Least favorite cliche:

A lot of romance tropes are tied for last place: miscommunication, any reference or idea that firsts=better (virginity, first loves, one true love etc.), not like other girls

Also love triangles. The only good love triangles are the ones that end in polycules. No exceptions (/hj)

I probably just have a problem with like most romance stories

Favorite scene to write?

I love when characters reference unique worldbuilding things that I actually had to think about. Similarly, if I feel I’m doing them well, exposition dumps can be fun.

Reason for writing?

Because blirbos in my head yearn for freedom

On a more serious note, I’ve gotta do something healthy with all this escapism and maladaptive daydreaming.

—

Questions:

Short stories, novels, or poems?

What genre do you prefer reading?

Are you a planner or a write as I go kind of person?

What music do you listen to while writing?

Favorite books/movies?

Any current WIPs?

Create a character description of yourself:

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

Are you kill happy with your characters?

Coffee or Tea while writing?

Slow or fast writer?

If you were in a fantasy world, what would you be?

Most fav book cliche:

Least favorite cliche:

Favorite scene to write?

Reason for writing?

—

Thanks again for the tag!

#This was fun!!#I didn’t expect that doing this would somehow curing my writers block a bit #writeblr #tag game #wip #writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity

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1eos · 5 months ago

Note

Hii Kendra! I love your reading/book tag and I wanna start reading more diverse books because my thesis is abt to end and I'll have more time to get into non-academic reading do you have any recommendations?

Also i think ur super cool in general I hope you've been doing well!

omg congrats on almost being done w your thesis! i know that extra free time is gonna feel soooooooooo good. and ofc i have recs!

the vanishing half by brit bennett - omggggg one of my most favorite books of all time currently. its almost a set of twins who run away from their hometown that's obsessed w breeding dark skin away basically and how their lives diverge with one twin passing as white and the other deciding to 'stay black'. its a romance its a family history its an homage to toni morrison. the prose is AMAZINGGGG and the characters are just so good. i love this book

this is your mind on plants by michael pollan -a very interestingly written nonfiction book on the like...contradictions of what mind altering plants are demonized/normalized. was hooked from the opening tbh

natural beauty by ling ling huang - how the toxicity of the beauty industry and societal pressures for woc to assimilate visually go hand in hand. the ending was wild but i really liked it

yellowface by r f kuang - a white woman has an inferiority complex bc shes a mid writer and instead of tackling her innate belief that she deserves recognition for being white and mid she proceeds to pretend to be asian. an infuriating but good read bc the narrator is the epitome of That Kind of white person 😭

my sister the serial killer by oyinkan braithwaite - title tells you the premise but it goes sooo much deeper than that. tackles what it means to be the 'ugly sister'/the 'sister's keeper' bc you're the eldest. devoured this book in just a day its so good

the only good indians by stephen graham jones - horror book rooted in the lives of a group of native american friends that grew up on the same reservation and the manifestation of intergenerational curses......metaphorical curses and like LITERAL curses. be warned ppl do die.......and it gets kinda crazy at some points so check does the dog die for list of warnings

a tale for the time being by ruth ozeki - this book got me into reading again. its two stories in one almost? a writer finds a lunchbox on the beach that has the journal of a japanese high school student named nao who is having a shit time in school and its this really amazing coming of age story not only for nao but for the writer who finds her story. warning. nao is casually suicidal at the beginning of the book and its not too graphic depictions of bullying towards the middle

#kendras book club #💖#and ty!!!!!!!!#asks

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katz-cradle · 1 year ago

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Twirixie Family

[Note; Apologies if this looks bad or the ships/stories are weird, these r just for funsies :3 ]

* all bases by SelenaEde on Deviantart - 1/2/3/4/5

This is part 1 of my mlp next gen kiddos, I'll probably just do the main six for now.

Meet Twilight & Trixie's kids; Duskshine, Star Shot, and Gatsby. More info on them in the read more :3

Twilight Sparkle (She/They); Twilight is the princess of friendship & principal of the School of Friendship, she's the same old book loving schedule obsessed Twilight they've always been. Twilight is pretty busy often being a princess and principal yet they still try to be there for her family, her and Trixie ended up falling in love after their friends set them up on a date and things just fell in line from there.

Trixie Lulamoon (She/Her); Trixie has cooled down in her theatric personality over the years (maybe it's Twilight rubbing off on her) though she's not the best with people still. She's been working as a late night preformer for her tricks & a part-time assistant for her wife when they need one. Trixie absolutely smothers her children in affection any chance she can and makes sure her children get only the best, though Twilight makes sure she's not completely spoiling them.

Duskshine (She/Her); Duskshine is the eldest of the three siblings and is the definition of a perfect daughter, she's a sweet friendly girl who's very generous to others. She tries her best to be the best person she can be and is definitely not pushing too much pressure on herself :]. Her talent is creating things with her magic.

Star Shot (She/Her); Star Shot is the middle child of the siblings, she's quite and reserved spending most of her time hidden away in her room doing her own things so she doesn't really have any friends or interactions with non family members. Her talent is astrology so she's very close to her auntie Luna, who was one of the people to make her get closer to a few pony's in town.

Gatsby (He/Him); Gatsby is the youngest of the siblings and is very talented for his age, sure he may not know how to control it yet nor have gotten his cutie mark but he has potential to be great.

@unidentifiable-body hehe I told u I'd tag u in all of these >:3 (unless u tell me 2 stop obviously)

#kitty scribbles #mlp #mlp next gen #next gen mlp #fanchild #twilight x trixie #twirixie #twirixie family #twilight sparkle #trixie lulamoon

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cdragons · 2 years ago

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Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

Chapter 2: You are my Best Friend, the Family I Chose, the Home I Found

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

Author's Note: The Reader/OC will be mentioned but not written in this chapter, but she will make an appearance in the next one. I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF or any of GRRM works. But please no hate, but please comment, like, or reblog if you liked reading this story and want me to continue! Also the OC's name and her pet's name are not in Mandarin but in Romanization because the characters in this chapter are thinking in English.

Also many thanks and love to @valeskafics as my beta! Check out her work if you don't follow her already, she's amazing!

Warnings: sexual content, sexual abuse, mentions of SA and r*pe but no descriptions, violence and violent themes, depression, suicidal actions, mentions of PTSD & survivor's guilt, offensive and racist terms, GOT canonical misogyny & sexism, angst (so much angst), and dark/yandere attitudes.

Previously in “Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered”:

“A place where she would meet another Greyjoy, but a different Greyjoy, a better one. A Greyjoy whose blood was Ironborn, but his heart would be northern. A northern boy whose blood carried the salt of the sea, but whose heart and soul were strengthened and bathed by the snow, the trees, and the winds of northern land. A boy who she distrusted before slowly and surely becoming her found brother, and she becoming his found sister.”

Theon’s POV:

Theon Greyjoy was somewhat of an enigma to most people, and to himself if he dared to be honest. He was known as Robb Stark’s best friend and brother, but Gods Old and New help him if he forgot that he was young Lord’s, no sorry, the young King’s inferior. He was the rakish and obnoxious ward graciously taken in by the honorable Eddard Stark, late Lord of Winterfell and House Stark, Warden of the North. But the term “ward” doesn’t hide the fact that he was their captive, their hostage. A hostage who at the age of ten, was robbed from his family, his culture, his home, after witnessing hundreds of Iron Island sailors and civilians being completely annihilated, just to be plopped down in the middle of a frozen mainland where no one likes him. Ned Stark may never have beaten him, but that didn’t mean the fact that he could with full jurisdiction send Theon to the gallows with a single word, and no one would bat an eye. He was supposed to an Ironborn, except he wasn’t, not since he lived amongst mainlanders for the past decade. He wasn’t a Northerner and couldn’t be a Stark, and he certainly wasn’t an Ironborn and he despised being a Greyjoy. He wished he wasn’t one the moment he stepped foot on the mainland, since he was brought to Winterfell, since he felt the gaze Lady Catelyn Stark’s cold and righteous eyes. But by the Drowned Man, he never hated his family name so much until he knew you.

Oh gods, you. He couldn’t help the sheer pride and love in his smile thinking about you, even in his sorry state. Because despite how his body still healing from the wounds brought by the ambushed arrows, the pure elation and shock from you storming the shit-stained Frey keep with five-thousand men (if he wasn’t so fucking plastered, he would’ve cried) and saving Robb and most of their asses, with minimal losses of only 157 men 158 if you include Talisa. You had even managed to subdue both Roose Bolton and Walder Frey before dragging their asses to the prison cells, along with the rest of their traitorous kin. However, there wasn’t time to celebrate their (really your) victory as you immediately put everyone to work. For someone who worked in the shadows, you looked so natural in organizing the camp to sections reserved for healing those who survived, and preparing the burials for those whose lives were lost. After that, you rushed every lord whose mind was just lucid enough in the largest empty tent. You insisted that finding whoever assisted the Frey’s in this ordeal, as Walder Frey may have been a vile greedy cunt, he wasn’t a tactical mastermind. And while Roose Bolton was an apathetic amoral sociopath, he could never possess the imagination for something so grand scale. After countless sleepless hours, the pieces were all put together, and ice that froze every lord’s blood in learning that this was a premeditated trap engineered by one fucking Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. The chaos and fury that followed was a sight to be memorized and passed on for years to come, any lost morale before that moment came back by a thousandfold strong. The southern snakes had really done it now, even if the plan had worked, the North would only drawback until they could strike once more. If there was one thing about the North that would always remain true, it was the fact that the North and its men never forget, especially an act as sacrilegious as what they now call the “Red Wedding”.

Every lord was shouting and screaming out blame, whether it be the execution of Lord Karstark, the release of the Kingslayer, the broken oath to the Frey’s, and on and on did they go. They didn’t stop until Lord Umber blamed on Theon for his father’s invasion to the North (despite that 1) he didn’t even know about the bloody invasion, and 2) he never left the fucking camp), and the usually mild-tempered Daiyu leapt on the table and knocked the Greatjon Umber on his great ass in retaliation. The sight of you in command will never leave him, not even when he had forgotten his own name and was too feeble to wipe his own ass. Even in your most irritable state, you dared not publicly showcase your emotions. But everything from the cold fury in your eyes to the raw determination in your spine, was enough to freeze a dragon’s fire. By reminding everyone while nothing can change the past, this event only further proves how there is no limit to the Lannister’s teachery, and that it was imperative to secure the North’s independence from the Southern leeches. You then told them of how you learned of the plan through a deal with a stranger wearing a red tunic and grey cloak, and that if they managed to survive the treachery, they were to immediately send word to Dragonstone.

“Dragonstone,” shouted out Lord after Daiyu grew bored of him and was now contently purring against Theon’s legs as he stood by you, “why in the seven hells would we send word to Dragonstone? So that we can get pissed over by Stannis Baratheon? How do we know you didn’t just make up the deal so that we could bend the knee to Stannis, or perhaps you’ve been working for the Lannister’s with the Boltons and Frey’s? Well? Answer me you chink-”.

Theon drew out his sword the second before he could finish, “You take those words back and beg for my sister’s forgiveness right now before I cut your tongue out and feed it to my falcon, you rancid shit.” Theon could allow disrespect against him, he grown used to it after all; but he would be flayed, eaten by hounds, and broken to a shell of a man before he allowed anyone to utter a word of disrespect to you, let alone that word. Each of the bannerman’s eyes shifted between the men, as most knew better than insult the mysterious spy from the far orient in the presence of the young Kraken. If Theon was not with their king, he was by his sister’s side, arm over her shoulders and her head on his, more often in silence as words were never needed in order to take comfort in one another.

And the girl was no different in her devotion to her brother, as her protection over him was as ruthless as it was creative. More than once had there been instances of soldiers throughout the camp making claims ranging from mad visions in their sleep to horses stampeding them throughout the woods to those who spoke ill of the Stark’s ward. The bannerman would have demanded their king to call for her head hadn’t her punishments been more amusing than irritating. Not that it would have worked, if there was only one thing the two young men had in common, it was the devout protection they showered the stoic spy. Even when the young king broke his oath to the Frey’s to marry his pretty foreign healer, did he remain true in his defense if anything it only grew. Such was the case with his own direwolf, who although remains steadfast in guarding his currently comatose companion, adored the Yi Tish girl far more than the now late queen if they were honest, as he was often seen being petted and fed scraps by her and even playing with her shadowcat. However, they just reasoned it was due to being acquainted with one another since the pup’s arrival at Winterfell shows what they know.

You placed a hand on your brother’s wrist, stopping any further action on his part towards Lord Umber. Theon’s eyes immediately darted down to your hand, and then looked at you. To an outsider, the act would look no different than a scolding to a child; however, those who had watched the two grow together, like one Lady Catelyn Stark, recognized the interaction to be one of the many of silent conversations between the two of you. Her eyes darting down to her late husband’s ward’s wrist, eyeing the rather poorly made charm bracelet you had gifted him for his name day so many years ago. Being a ward to one of the seven great houses, Theon was gifted many precious things, from expertly made blades to fine cloaks; but that little…thing was the item he treasured more than life itself, that and his loyal falcon, Ari. A falcon abandoned by its mother, was found by Theon and was assisted in healing the poor creature by none other than you.

A moment passed, and another had gone by, followed by a few more before Theon reluctantly lowered his arm and sheathed his sword. You turned your gaze to Greatjon once more, hand still holding on your brother’s wrist, before speaking in a loud and clear manner, “I will graciously ignore you accusing that I would ever betray House Stark, even going so far to suggest that I would ever switch loyalties to a southern house I had never cared, but may I first ask you what is the purpose of the North’s campaign to the South?”

“Pah! Aye, I can tell you, to march down to King’s Landing and swing our steel at enough of their piss-haired inbred to free the North-,” Greatjon was interrupted by the slamming of your fist to the table.

“WRONG!” You exclaimed, “Our goal from the beginning, our true purpose was to free our Lord Eddard Stark and his daughters from King’s Landing, and upon his death, we swore to avenge him and rescue his children! Have you forgotten my lords, forgotten Ned Stark, late Lord of Winterfell, the man you swore fealty to when you bent the knee to his house? Now we stand, fighting in a war, leagues from our North, miles from King’s Landing, from his daughter who he loved and cherished so dearly that he confessed to crimes he did not commit in attempt to save her from the lion’s den? Does Ned Stark stand here, does his daughter Lady Sansa? In fighting for the North’s freedom, we had forgotten our first goal, our true purpose! To avenge the blood of House Stark, to fight and protect their children! And as a result, the Gods have punished us for forgetting that purpose to the state we see ourselves in now. We have lost our greatest bargaining chip, half our men in taking Lord Karstark’s head, and now with greater losses in numbers with the betrayal from both House Frey and House Bolton. We may have regained one wolf, but such a miracle cannot be claimed by us as it had been Ser Sandor who brought her home.” Your words brought the attention of Sandor Clegane, who was standing in a corner. He was observing the scene unraveling before, in both shock that you thanked him for his act, and cursing you for bringing any attention at him at all.

“And do not ignore that another young wolf still remains at the lions’ mercy. And if Sandor’s words of her treatment hold truth, then I fear that her livelihood is at more risk than ever when word reaches the Red Keep that Tywin Lannister’s plan had failed.” Your voice grew more somber and quieter as you finished your speech. It seemed as if time had stopped, shame overtook every lord’s and lady’s face at your words, and Lady Catelyn knelt on the ground, sobs overtaking her body. The relief and joy in being reunited with her Arya, was overshadowed by the realization that still had one daughter far from her arms. Greater grief struck her in learning that her sweet Sansa had been routinely beaten and ridiculed at court by Joffery’s orders.

Ever so carefully, you knelt beside her, and gently placed your hand on her shoulder before grasping her to stand while allowing her to take comfort in your strong but gentle grip. You quickly called for a squire to fetch some cool water before handing Lady Stark a simple but clean handkerchief to wipe her tears. Such an act of familiarity to a highborn from a lowly spy would never be tolerated in normal circumstances, but no one dared to point this out, fearing that their Lady would fall apart had it not been for your support. After what seemed to have been an eternity to pass, Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island stepped forward.

“The girl is right.” Her voice left no room for argument, “In fighting for our freedom, we had forgotten our people, our past leader, and his own blood. We lost sight of our true goal, and in doing so we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable to our enemies. Right now, Stannis Baratheon is our best hope in retrieving Ned Stark’s daughter. And we need all of the hope we can get, be it in numbers or supplies.” The next words coming out the fierce Mother Bear of House Mormont shook everyone to their core, “I can sacrifice our independence, I can bend the knee to another Southerner, but I cannot call myself a northerner if I forget my oath in avenging the Quiet Wolf, along with Jory Cassel, and the rest of the northern men that died in that rotten keep.”

“But how can expect Stannis to hope true in his word, is he even aware such a deal took place?” Lord Rysell rose from his seat, his voice filled with trepidation. “After all, was it not Stannis who killed Renly, his own brother, his very own blood? How can we expect a Southerner, nay, a KINSLAYER to hold even a weight of honor after witnessing the mutiny we all had barely escaped with our lives? And what of the cost? What was traded for such information?”

“Stannis Baratheon along with Jon Arryn had been running King Robert’s kingdom throughout his entire reign. While Jon Arryn tried to reign in Robert, Stannis was the one who had actually proposed new laws in attempt to benefit the kingdom. This was a man who at age of 17, held his brother’s castle at Storm’s End and ate shoes and rats rather than surrendering to a hopelessly superior army from both land and sea. He, who ensured that his men, smallfolk, and his little brother were fed before him. And more importantly, Stannis has ships, ships that can lay siege to King’s Landing by targeting Blackwater Bay, should he want for an alliance.” Theon couldn’t keep the pride out of his eyes, here you stood, recounting the accomplishment of one man, stunning every lord by your extensive knowledge of military history in perfect clarity. Those hours spent in the Winterfell library and extensive lessons with Maester Luwin seemed to have paid off.

“As for the matter of honor, this war will not be won through honor, no this is war that will be done on the matter of duty.” Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you braced your body in continuing, “Ned Stark’s duty as Hand of the King was to the kingdom. In choosing his honor, he lost his head. Robb Stark chose love over duty, and it cost him the lives of his wife, his child, and nearly 3000 of our men. Our duty to the North was to avenge Ned Stark’s death and protect his children, and in that we have failed miserably. Whether Stannis Baratheon is honorable remains to be seen, but it was his devotion to his duty had made his men so loyal to him and his enemies call him a man ‘truly just.’ As for the matter of proof, I would hope that this message that bears his seal to provide some comfort.” You hand a creased letter to Catelyn Stark for confirmation. After vigilant investigation, she confirmed that it was indeed written in his hand and that seal bore House Baratheon’s sigil, along with the seal of Dragonstone.

“And I can assure you my lords that the price was more than fair,” your confidence was slowly diminishing as you chose your next words carefully, “all that was asked from the stranger was that I sail from Seagard to a locate an individual and escort them to somewhere Beyond the Wall, afterwards I would be told more details of my mission from there.”

“What comes after you get those details and finish escorting them?” Theon didn’t recognize his own voice. “Do they send you somewhere else, who’s this person, where are you going?” Seven hells, is that panic in his voice? “When do you come back?”

You looked towards your precious brother, eyes trying to convey a hidden message you don’t dare to speak aloud. You take a deep and shaky breath before clearing your throat in an attempt to keep your voice steady and clear, “I don’t.”

And just like that, chaos erupts once more.

Theon doesn’t realize he was asleep before being so rudely pulled out of his dream…memory?

“Well, memory it may have been, but a nightmare to relive it once more.” Theon thought as he tried to focus on his surroundings, before seeing the reason he was awoken in the first place. On his chest, stood a majestic falcon gazing into the eyes of his owner. Despite being a first-class hunter, one would think this bird of prey that feeds on both fish and birds alike by swooping at tremendous speed with little to no sound, was really a smaller parrot if others knew how spoiled Ari was for attention and treats. “Forget Robb, the real challenge will be in keeping this little fellow from going mad from losing his main benefactor,” thought Theon as he lovingly stroked a finger on Ari’s head, the falcon sweetly preening from attention from his beloved savior.

“THEON!” A familiar voice bellowed as the footsteps whom Theon was sure belonged to one auburn-curled king grew louder as they stride closer to his tent.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Knowing what will soon come, I only hope to find a barrel of ale to drown my sorrows in afterwards.” And with that being his final thought before rising from his cot and just finished dressing himself before his tent’s flap flew open, and in came the Young Wolf with a fury so terrible it would bring down the Wall.

Robb’s POV

After arriving at the camp, Robb immediately jumped down his horse and demanded a steward to take care of his steed before he marched forward with only one person in mind, Theon Greyjoy. His father’s ward, his best mate, his brother without blood and in-arms, and the brother to one particular Yi Tish girl that was sailing further and further from where she belonged. If there was one person who knew where she was going, it was Theon. He had to know, Li and Theon had a bond between them. A bond that Robb loathed to admit many times, as it was that bond that could not be easily shattered or poisoned as such with the bonds of mere companions or even lovers. For companions, some periods of time apart would often do the trick, but even on the most drawn-out operations his father sent you out on, time only proved to strengthen the bond as you would return with tales of the people you were sent out to watch, and even come back with small gifts as tokens of fond remembrance. Every single one of those gifts, no matter how often Theon would act as if he were given something burdensome, were treasured and placed inside a wooden box that he secretly commissioned one of keep’s craftsmen to create in order to store them. Even if you two were lovers, however painful that would be for him, it would be of great comfort to Robb knowing that it such affections would one day pass. No matter how great the flames of passion arose, they would usually die out, especially in one’s youth. In your case, hopefully in a way so spectacularly horrendous that it would kill any hope of rekindling those flames ever again. But no, instead you two stubbornly remained siblings, and your bond was that of great platonic love and adoration. It baffled Robb to no end as to why the two of you remained so insistently loyal to one another, but it was the same answer every time Robb brought out his frustrations.

“He is my brother,” you would say without fail. “He is the family I chose to love and cherish, and so I will choose him. I will choose him every time.” You would look directly at him, with your big brown almond-shaped eyes, so warm and frank, as if you were stating so completely plain and obvious to a tempering child.

“Can’t you choose me? I would choose you. I could be your family.” Robb exclaimed in great exasperation at your persistence. After all, why couldn’t he be your family? He who saw how well you played and calmed his younger siblings when he, his mother, his father, and even the septas were too busy; who would always help you whenever you stumbled upon a difficult word that you couldn’t spell or pronounce; who would show you the secrets of the Winterfell Keep that he would not even show to Jon or Theon; he who saw your secret smiles and hidden protection you bestowed upon the many strays and smallfolk children in the village town. By the Seven’s sake, he was to be the Lord of Winterfell and of the North after his father, who better than him to take care of you?

“No,” you stressed out, “No Robb, you couldn’t. You and I could never be each other’s family, not the way that he and I are, not in the way you want us to be.” You looked at him with your eyes, your big, brown, warm, cruel eyes; eyes that looked so genuinely apologetic that it almost made him forget his anger, almost. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Robb was sure that he sounded pathetic, but he needed to know, to understand, why he couldn’t be the one for you. Was it the differing status between you both, did his mother speak ill to you when he and his father were unable to witness it, or was it because you had feelings of love for someone else, someone not him? Oh gods, he could feel his young heart breaking at that final thought.

“Theon and I…”, you tried to find the words that could capture the meanings you didn’t know the words to, words that were not in any of the languages you had learned and spoken, “he and I are bonded. In a way that goes beyond words, beyond simply moments and memories. It is built on an understanding that only the two of us know of, something you have never and I pray that you never will understand, because it is a pain that very few our age knows about, and that is really all I can say of the matter.” With that being the final word, you turned and walked away, leaving the young heir more lost and aggravated than ever.

“Oh Li, my sweet, darling Li.” Robb thought as he admonished your words with tender childing. “How could you be so blind to your so-called brother’s selfish and arrogant ways? Do you not see how he would ruin you, how he would twist your naïve and tender heart with his cunning words and leering eyes?” After all, brother or not, Robb was not as stupid as many would like to him to be. Yes, he would admit that marrying Talisa was in poor taste, especially in letting her believe that she meant far greater to him than her original purpose. A purpose to strictly bring physical comfort and to destress after hard-fought battles, as well as to help him forget that he was to marry one of Walder Frey’s daughters and to forget about you. While he had never meant in their affair to go so far, he will admit that he got carried away with her. He got lost in their conversations and banter, in her altruistic warmth and kindness, he allowed himself to give into the idea of championing love and how it would conquer any obstacle set before him. But most of all, he longed for the idea of sharing a love with someone new, someone who didn’t know him from his youth. He wanted to love someone who didn’t know of the many insecurities that plague his mind whenever he planned for his next battle. He pined at the idea of someone who didn’t see the vulnerable boy he hid away to project the undefeated wolf marching towards the lion’s den. He was desperate for the warmth and frankness that would be rewarded to him from a woman whose love was sweet and generous and easy.

Talisa had been all of that, and more, so much more. She was opposite to you in every way, physical and emotional. The only similarity that could be shared between the two of you would be that your hair was dark, but even in that there were too many differences. You had routinely cut your hair to your armpit, whereas Talisa’s hair flowed past her midback. And upon further inspection, one could see very things streaks of silver and grey as a result of stress, meanwhile there were no such signs in his late wife’s dark locks. Both of your faces were beautiful and similar in some features but your beauty differed in hers not only in the regions of birth, but in evidence of treatment. Both of your faces had a straight nose, downward turned lips, and almond-shaped eyes. But Talisa’s elegant and angular visage contained no markings or blemishes of any kind. There were no crow’s feet, or scars. Even after witnessing her most laborious treatments and amputations, did she contain an angelic maturity that would envy the wealthiest of highborn women. Everything about her… her willowy and pliant frame… unblemished reddish hue complexion…angelic lips…legs that stretched for miles and were connected by full hips…all of it in the form of one truly mythic beauty.

Whereas you…if Talisa’s beauty could be compared to an angel that glowed compassion and wisdom, yours was that of a survivor that radiated the hardships from years of regimented training for an enduring body and great mental fortitude. Your shoulders and rib cage were broad, but your stomach was slim with a taut core. Your arms were a bit trim, but years in learning how to properly shoot a bow and arrow, along with varying combat made them toned and fine. Your calves were strong and thick and they stretched your trouser legs, and while many insisted you looked more man than woman, you relished in their power in action. Your waist was sinched in a way that showed off the fullness in your hips, and perfectly gave way to your marvelous ass that he stared at more times than he likes to admit, especially with Theon’s overly protective gaze following him no matter the time or place. But he had remained respectful in his gaze if you don’t count the number of times, he spied you while swimming in the springs with the sheer small clothes as your only barrier, or when he watched you bathe in your quarters in the secret compartments or whenever he stroked his cock with an unwavering gaze as you rubbed your clit calling out his name.

While Talisa’s skin bared no markings, there seemed not to be a single patch of skin on your outer framework that didn’t contain a fading mark or scar. Even your proportional facial features: with downward lips that usually remained stoic, and straight framed nose that rarely crinkled even when it was red in the harshest of winters, and eyes that seemed unemotional until one paid close attention in order to see the carefully guarded mirth and gentleness that brightly shone in your peace; were littered with marking brought by you whenever you spied a pimple and removed it, letting it bleed and fester before it healed and scarred. This aggravated his mother and sister Sansa to great lengths, especially Sansa as she would insist that you were spoiling your own beauty and that no man would ever want to marry a woman with such awful scars on her face. You would turn to her stating that you would likely never marry in the first place, nor did you want to leave. Marriage would mean leaving Winterfell, the Stark family, and your new friends, including her who gave you your first gift. This shocked and flustered Sansa, as that “first gift” was a poorly embroidered handkerchief she just wanted to throw away, but instead gave it to you. Not long after, Sansa gifted you a much prettier embroidered handkerchief, one that had little blue flowers sewn across the borders. She insisted that you throw out the first, but you told her that she made both, so both were too important. So, you bought a small wooden box from your meager savings, and tucked both away neatly and lovingly. She still chided you something fierce whenever she caught you picking and scratching your own face. But sometimes Robb would pass by Sansa’s chambers, and double back in shock seeing the two of you conversing (well, more akin to Sansa gossiping and fantasizing about the South while you gave monosyllabic responses) on her bed while she practiced braiding your hair.

This brought up the most glaring difference between you and Talisa, although neither of you were born in Westeros, let alone in the North. But Talisa would never, could never be a Northerner, not in the way he and his family were Northerners as they were Starks, not in the way you grew to be a Northerner. She would never be able to adapt to the bitter cold and snow, could never love the harsh and biting winds, take comfort in the fresh air and scent of smoke wood burning in a hearth the way you had when you were brought to Winterfell by his father. There was no doubt that she would be respected, admired even, but the North and its people would never take to her in the way they took to you. You, who after weeks of careful interrogation and healing, took off running in the Godswoods, climbing its trees, breathing in its holy air, sitting before the weirwood tree with no fear as if you knew it your whole life. While it took a good while for you to gain the castle’s staff trust, it hadn’t taken much time for the village folk to look after you, despite being a foreigner who barely spoke the language. Granted there was the occasional drunk and youthful miscreant who still called after you in offensive terms, but they were quickly taken care of by Theon (who was the third in the keep to take you under his wing, after his father and Maester Luwin).

In return for their kindness, you became somewhat of a silent guardian. You made sure that no wild animals harmed anyone, even those who lived outside the village and in the deep forests; ensured that no child was lost after dark, often returning with bitemarks and long bleeding scratches; and fought off cruel men to the women working in the brothels and the barmaids in the Smoking Log. You even went so far as to “educate” the men who crossed your ire with you... somewhat disturbed skillset from the streets of Qarth. These particular teachings brought you much favor with the town’s women, none more so than Ros (who just so happened to your brother’s favorite whore). So much so that she liked to refer to herself as your “best friend,” a sentiment you returned wholeheartedly, as she was one of the few who heard you laugh, not just a giggle, but a full-bellied laugh, and seen you genuinely smile more times than anyone (besides your brother of course and him). And animals, gods. Don’t even mention to Robb about the animals, he could go on and on about how you seemed determined to take in every stray that wondered around aimlessly, hoping for some scraps of food or a place with walls to keep out the cold. In the first year you were brought, Robb could name over a dozen separate occasions you brought in a stray to care for before being found out. His father had hoped that by letting you keep your beloved shadowcat, you would stop this habit. This caused the very opposite of his hopes to happen, as you had no intention to stop taking in every stray that looked you with sad eyes. You only made sure to hide them in more…discreet locations, mostly in Jon’s and Theon’s rooms, as they shared a fondness for a singular cute creature with sad eyes (you).

But even that was not the limit of your protection. You even provided help to the wives whose husbands abuse them in cruelties beyond imagination, to where these men’s cruelties extend to their own children. These circumstances were tricky to say the least, as there was little to be done as the wife and children belonged to her husband and father, as he was usually the main provider of the family. Very few women dared not indicate any signs of abuse to anyone, much less towards his lord father. Robb was in his father’s solar at the time, learning about his future duties when in you barged in, holding a thick stack of evidence and documentation of not only the alleged offenses, but also proof in showing that these women willingly came to you to bring forth justice, knowing that their Lord Eddard Stark could only do so much. Not only that, but you also found evidence of reports of similar offenses being thrown out, meaning that you took the time and energy to fish out the documents from every trash heap in order to properly present your case.

This is where your true talents laid, in your relentless empathy and your perseverance for change. You may hide your heart in guarded walls made of heavily forged iron, but that didn’t take away the fact that you cared, you cared so deeply. You would use the skills you tirelessly trained for the purpose to protect those who cannot demand protection from those in power and cannot afford to bring attention upon themselves. In presenting the evidence, you asked whether this would be enough to request a change in policy regarding the protection of women and children in not only Winterfell, but across the North. Your body in steeled posture, expecting refusal and rejection, froze in shock in hearing that he would immediately establish a new policy regarding the treatment of familial relations, and punishment in violating that policy would result in amputation or beheading. Immediately, you raced across his desk and hugged him so tightly that Ned Stark was sure you had been possessed by a strange benevolent goblin. Noticing your precarious position, you straightened yourself out and apologized profusely before thanking him and swiftly exiting his solar. When brought up to House Stark’s vassal houses, many protested, though none more so than Lord Roose Bolton, as rumors of him leeching and torturing his wife and smallfolk were legendary in infamy. He questioned why such Lord Stark felt it necessary for such a policy to be implemented, but Robb’s father remained firm in keeping your anonymity, knowing you would be targeted for serious punishment if the lords knew of your identity.

“Being a Lord is like being a father, except you have thousands of children and you worry about all of them. The farmers plowing the fields are yours to protect. The charwomen scrubbing the floors, yours to protect. The soldiers you order into battle.” He paused before continuing, “But it seems, I have forgotten what it means to be a father to many others. I have evidence, of hundreds, if not thousands of reports stating the mistreatment by a family head’s hands. Reports that were never brought to me by men I thought I could trust. As Warden of the North, it is my duty to care for these women and their children, but I have failed in my duty. That is why I have created this law, and any violations of this law will be brought to my attention by the official guards of each house’s town. However, any knowledge of these violations going unpunished will be informed to someone else, someone personally placed and hidden that not even your best spies will find. They will be my eyes and ears; they will be my messengers. Should you bring your own twisted sense of justice upon them, I will know, and as you all know, I’ve never been one to use a headsman to do my beheading.” With that being the final word of the matter, Robb’s father dismissed his men, and called for the ravens to carry out the new law across his land. Robb would never forget those words for as long as he lived.

True to his father’s words, reports of these violations were kept in the known, and the Northern houses were expected to carry out the law’s sentences. Wicked men who violently struck their wives and children without proper justification had their hands chopped off. Those who starved their families were thrown into the dungeons without food or comfort for varying periods of time. And vile rapists had public castrations, and were also faced with beheadings. The lords ceaselessly hired the best spies and sellswords to find Ned Stark’s eyes and ears, but nothing came out of it. Soon enough, crimes of not only this offense, but other unrelated offences started to cease. Time continued forward, and the number of reports continuously dwindled until women felt it safe to walk at night without the need of a dagger, children felt it safe to play with outside after dark, and those with wickedness in their hearts learned what it meant to act properly without needing intervention of a higher power.

Smallfolk across the North sung praises to Ned Stark, for his kind and noble heart, for his true sense of justice, for being a man with true honor and knew the meaning of a lord’s duty of his people. But the women and children of Winterfell knew the truth, and it was you they silently revered. After all, only you listened to their cries, to their pain and anguish. You who searched for proof and evidence until the amount grew so great that you knew it could no longer be ignored. Things were not perfect, no far from it, but they were better. They were so much better, and they had you to thank for that. You were their paragon of justice and truth, someone who pushed for action in their lord’s idleness. One young man came up to you in privacy, and cried his thanks. He revealed to you that he and his brother were raped by their mother since their father’s death, but he could not tell anyone the truth, he could not bear the shame. But thanks to you, that wretched cunt was beheaded, and he could finally take his siblings far down south, where they would hopefully find better work and start a better life. You were silent until you carefully asked the young man if you could have his permission to hug him. When he granted it, you carefully and slowly placed your arms around him before both of you were sobbing and wishing good fortune to one another.

“No,” Robb thought as he almost reached Theon’s tent, “Talisa would never be accepted as his queen, not when you had taken the hearts of Winterfell’s inhabitants.” And as much as he felt guilty for her death and how he wouldn’t truly love her, he knew that this was for the best in the long run. Talisa was intelligent, and kind; but the coming winter would be ruthless, and her warmth would be swept out long before spring would arrive. He did mourn for his child, but he knew that with you by his side, there would be plenty of opportunities to create new heirs, and soon enough Winterfell will be run amok by little wolf pups and laughter once more. “Even if you do not understand it now, you cannot hide your feelings from your mate, little dragon.” As furious as Robb still was by you running from him, he knew that sooner or later that the two of you would find each other once more, and in finding each other, you would rule by his side as his queen and the North would only prosper in your reign together. A reign that would come a lot sooner than later, if he knew where in the seven hells you were off to.

“THEON!” Robb shouted before he stormed into Theon’s tent, he watched with furious eyes at his oldest friend and greatest enemy when it comes to you as Ari off his shoulder and perched on top of Grey Wind’s head. His chest was heaving, his nostrils flared in barely veiled anger, as he vented out the words, “Where is she?”

“With all due respect, your grace,” Theon quipped out as he began to pour himself some water, inhaling it in a few gulps before continuing, “you’ll have to be more specific. I don’t have the faintest idea of who this ‘she’ would be?”

“Oh, so that’s how he wants to play this out,” Robb thought out as he took a deep breath. He should have known better than to expect Theon Greyjoy of all people to give a straightforward answer. He quickly sent Grey Wind out to guard the tent, and not anyone in before curtly replying, “Don’t act dull. You know exactly whom I am referring to.”

Theon sat at his desk before pretended to ponder with his chin in one hand, and elbow in another, before continuing, “No, no, I’m afraid not, your grace. ‘She’ could really be anyone, would ‘she’ happen to be your mother? No, no, no…how about Arya, or perhaps Sansa? No, Arya just got here, and Sansa’s still not here, no thanks to you…Oh! Might ‘she’ be your late wife? The one who you fucked, then married and got killed- “Robb grabbed his throat before he could continue on, fury finally getting the better of him, and slammed the back of Theon’s head on top of the desk.

“Don’t you start with me Greyjoy,” Robb could barely contain himself, but he knew he had to, if only to get the information of where you were heading. He swallowed his pride before loosening his grip, and spoke his next words through clenched teeth, “Where is Long Li going? Don’t even think of lying to me!”

Theon’s eyes softened at the mention of your name, before whispering out, “Are you demanding an answer as my king?” His eyes and voice hardened to prepare saying the next words without spitting at the man above him, “Or as my brother?”

“Aye, I am your brother, now and always, but right now, I come to demand you answer me,” Robb’s voice grew stronger as he stated his next words, “as the man who intends to take her as my future wife and mother of my children and future heirs.” As he finished speaking, Theon felt anger surge throughout his body, and he gripped Robb’s doublet with both hands and flipped him onto his back.

“What makes you think I know?” Theon venomously spat out with a bit of condescension, “And for that matter, what makes you think that I would ever tell you? The boy who threw duty for love, that’s what everyone’s calling you. And for good reason too. Robb Stark, King in the North, the Young Wolf that never lost a battle, almost got 3000 men killed for love, and did get his wife gutted for it.” Theon let out a mocking laugh Robb, who struggled to get out of his grip, only to remain pinned on the desk. “If it weren’t for Li, we’d all be dead, bodies thrown into the river, rotting at the bottom. And because of you, she’s gone, gone with some mad man who could do anything to her.” Theon could feel his throat constricting, but didn’t bother to restrain his worst fears. He wanted Robb to bleed out more than when Roose Bolton shoved an arrow to his chest, “She could be gutted, maimed, or raped by now, and it’d be all your fault.” Theon released his grip and quickly turned away as he wiped the tears running down his cheeks at the thought of you getting hurt, and him not being there to protect you. Recalling your tearful goodbye, filled with gripping hugs and sweet words, and refusal to acknowledge the fear of never seeing each other again. The thought of you, the only person he truly, completely, and unconditionally loved, gone forever killed him. He tried to not completely fall apart as he remembered the final look you gave him before urging your horse into a gallop to put as much distance between you and the camp on your way to Seagard.

“I begged her to not go. I told her that no duty was worth her, that she’s done enough for others and that she should just stay here, where she could be safe.” He let out a bitter laugh before persisting while pacing around his tent, “But she wouldn’t hear of it, said that she had to go, and worst of all, I couldn’t go with her. She said that she needed me here, to make sure that you had your head an’ wits still with you after you wake up. She told me, ‘Robb’s lost too much already, and you’re his best friend. He just lost the woman he loves and their child, he’s going to need you to keep him grounded more than ever now.’” He poured more water, and swung it back before continuing, “‘Keep you grounded’, yea’ fat load of grounding I did before, eh? No matter what me, your mother, or Li told you…you still married your pretty healer queen, because you thought you were entitled to more happiness than the rest of us. Some king you are, you fuckin’ piece of shit.”

Theon finally stopped before sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, sounding so tired and small that Robb wouldn’t have believe it was him if he weren’t right in front of him, “My sister is gone and might turn up dead and it’s all your fault, Robb Stark. And even if she’s alive, she can’t come back. You’re a shit king for making her doing this, for everything she did so that you’d and your family be safe.” Theon looked up, tears still streaming down his eyes, and stared directly at Robb as he scoffed out the next words, “She left feeling guilty, for so many things, all out of her control. First, for being too weak and injured to outfight the Tarth bitch; second, for not guarding those Lannister boys well enough, and the final part? The last’s the worst ten times over, because she thinks it’s her fault that Talisa and your child got murdered, that if she were just a little quicker and a little smarter and a little better, she’d get there earlier and both of them would make it out breathing. She almost went mad over it you know. I almost had to talk her out of throwing herself off the fucking Frey bridge, as if she hadn’t lost enough of her sanity already.” Both of them went silent after that, only until Robb walked over and sat by Theon and broke the tense silence.

“I didn’t love Talisa,” he rasped out, “I thought I did, I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” He looked at his feet, shame overtaking him as he only just realizes what Theon had lost as a result of his selfishness. “I cared for her, I loved our child, but I didn’t love her. I couldn’t, not when I already love Li, not how I will always love Li.”

“I know,” Theon responded, “I know.” Because while he was still angry, he knew Robb was genuinely sorry, even if he was an entitled prick.

“So,” Robb looked over to ask his old friend, “what happens now?”

Theon took in a deep breath, eyes closed in careful thought before answering, “We get out of this tent, execute some Bolton’s and Frey’s, meet with the bannermen, and make the preparations to Maidenpool to meet with Stannis to bend the knee or some shit.” He then turned his head to look at Robb with his trademark smirk and quipped out, “But before that last part, we’re going to find the biggest barrel of ale we got, and then drain the whole damned thing.”

Robb barks out a quick laugh, and tries to grip himself together in saying, “Perfect, what comes after the ale and before Maidenpool?”

“After the ale, we fight some more, drink some more, and then probably piss ourselves in our sleep.” Theon lists off before the two young men erupt in laughter, both tired of being mad at their best friend. “And before you ask, we’re meeting Stannis at Maidenpool because we got no bloody ships, and it’s going to be you, me, Arya, and Blackfish.” He saw the confused look in Robb’s eyes before going on, “The note asked for me specifically, probably to call me out for treason in being a Greyjoy or something. You’re coming because you’re the King in the North, Arya because two Starks are better than one in this case and your mother is in no state to continue on, my guess is that the bannermen probably want to send her back to Winterfell. And Blackfish is going because he’s a Tully of Riverrun, but he’s not your fuckup Uncle Edmure Tully of Riverrun.”

Robb chuckled out, “Aye, at least he’s not Edmure. And it’d be good for my mother to return to Winterfell, she likely wants to see Bran and Rickon more than she wants to see Sansa.” Satisfied with everything out in the open, the two men got up and called for their animal companions who guarded the tent from onlookers as they had their squabble.

“Come on now,” Theon slapped his king’s back as Ari flew to his right shoulder, “let’s spill some traitor blood and finish this meeting quick. Ale waits for no one.” And Robb laughed and smiled, remembering how good it felt to be laughing with Theon like he had in Winterfell. When everything was alright, his father alive and well, his sisters bickering but together, his mother with all her children, him with Jon and Theon in the training yard teaching Bran and Rickon how to shoot. No war to fight, no battles to be won, and most importantly, you were still by his side.

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